⊹ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : strangers to lovers, heavy exhibitionism, exhibitionism tint, rough gym smut, explicit finger stretching
⊹ 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝘀 : bad boy jungkook, tatted/pierced, teasing, workout disruption, locker room/mirror grinding
⊹ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : highly explicit content, deep throat oral, intense digital stretching, extreme crevice saturation, rough thigh handling, direct mirror pinning, aggressive grinding against gym gear.
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▷ 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗬 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬
The bass throbbing through your noise-canceling headphones is the only thing keeping your feet moving in a steady rhythm against the black rubber tread of the treadmill. It’s past 11:30 PM. The small, private fitness center located on the ground floor of your luxury apartment block is usually completely dead by this hour, illuminated only by the harsh white glow of overhead LED panels and the amber city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
Usually, you love the isolation. Tonight, you had intentionally worn a pair of impossibly short, tight black spandex gym shorts and a matching cropped tank top, figuring the empty gym meant you wouldn't have to worry about anyone staring.
You were completely wrong.
Just two racks over, occupying the heavy deadlift platform, is Jeon Jungkook.
He lives somewhere on the upper floors of the complex, and for the last three months, he has been your absolute, unadulterated gym crush. He’s the epitome of a bad boy—covered from his right shoulder down to his knuckles in dark, intricate sleeve tattoos, with a glinting silver piercing through his lower lip and thick black rings tucked into his ears. He never wears a proper workout shirt; tonight, he’s in a deeply scooped, oversized black stringer tank top that is completely open at the sides, revealing the massive, sweeping expanse of his tatted ribs, his sculpted obliques, and the deep, defined line of his chest. His thick, muscled legs are clad in black sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips, his dark hair damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead.
Every time he bends over to load another heavy iron plate onto the barbell, the muscles in his back ripple beautifully under the fluorescent lights. And the worst part? He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
You keep your gaze fixed straight ahead, your chest heaving in shallow pants as you increase the speed of the treadmill, but in the reflection of the massive wall mirrors directly in front of you, you can see his dark, hooded eyes tracking every single movement of your body.
Suddenly, the heavy thud of Jungkook dropping a two-hundred-pound barbell echoes sharply through the rubber floorboards.
Through the mirror, you watch him grab a white sweat towel, wiping down his sharp jawline before his eyes lock directly onto your reflection. A lazy, wicked smirk curls the corner of his pierced lip. He doesn't look away. Instead, he slowly drops the towel onto a bench and begins walking straight toward the cardio deck, his stride heavy, confident, and predatory.
Your heart hammers against your ribs, completely overriding the rhythm of the music in your ears. You reach down, your fingers trembling slightly as you hit the stop button on the treadmill console, the belt slowing down to a smooth halt just as Jungkook stops right at the edge of your machine.
He leans his massive, broad frame against the handrails, completely invading your personal space. Up close, he smells overpowering—a intoxicating blend of clean mint, expensive cologne, and the raw, muscled heat of pure sweat.
"You're working pretty hard tonight, sweetface," Jungkook rumbles, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that sends a violent, hot shiver straight down your spine. He slides one tatted hand up to hook his index finger under the wire of your headphones, gently pulling one cup away from your ear so you can hear his voice clearly.
"Just... finishing my cardio," you pant, your chest rising and falling as you try to maintain eye contact with his dark, blown-out pupils.
Jungkook’s gaze slowly drops down your body. He takes his time, his eyes lingering heavily on the exposed skin of your midriff before tracking down to the tight hem of your short spandex shorts, which have ridden up slightly from the running, exposing the smooth curve of your upper thighs. His jaw shifts, a dark, heavy hunger flashing across his handsome features.
"Cardio, huh?" he chuckles darkly, stepping closer until his thick thigh brushes against the side of the machine. He reaches out, the rough pads of his tatted fingers lightly brushing against the bare skin of your hip bone, making your breath catch completely. "Funny, because I’ve been standing over there for forty minutes, and it looks like you're trying to put on a show. Those shorts are doing you an awful lot of favors."
"I didn't think anyone would be here," you whisper, your voice cracking slightly under the sheer weight of his confidence.
"Well, I'm here," Jungkook growls softly, his thumb pressing just a fraction harder into your skin, anchoring you in place. He looks around the empty gym, his eyes scanning the dark corners and the locked glass entrance. "And it looks like the security guard is on his break. Nobody is coming down here for the rest of the night."
The air between you turns completely thick, electric with a hidden desire that has been building up for months between shared glances over the dumbbell racks. The bad boy facade drops just a fraction, replaced by a pure, unadulterated possessiveness.
"Jungkook..." your voice is nothing but a needy whimper.
"Come here," he murmurs.
He grabs your wrist, his grip completely unyielding but surprisingly gentle as he guides you off the treadmill. He doesn't take you out toward the hallway; instead, he hauls your body straight toward the dark, private stretching area tucked behind a row of heavy weight machines, completely hidden from the main windows. The entire back wall is covered in a massive floor-to-ceiling mirror.
The second your back hits the cool glass of the mirror, Jungkook is completely on top of you.
He crowds his massive, muscled frame directly into your space, his hands slamming flat against the glass on either side of your head, pinning you entirely between his chest and the mirror. He tilts his head back, letting out a low, ragged breath before his mouth crashes onto yours with a terrifying, raw ferocity that completely knocks the wind out of your lungs.
The kiss is entirely filthy. Jungkook’s tongue slides past your teeth with a heavy, wet stroke, tasting you deeply while his body presses flush against yours. You let out a loud, uninhibited groan into his mouth, your hands instantly flying up to grip the bare, sweat-slicked shoulders of his stringer tank top, your fingers digging into his tatted skin.
He hums against your lips, the deep vibration driving straight down to your core as he shifts his hips, pressing his hard, thick length—already straining violently against his black sweatpants—directly against your center through your thin shorts.
"F-fuck," Jungkook growls against your mouth, breaking the kiss for a split second to swipe his tongue across your wet lower lip. His dark eyes are entirely wild under the white lights. "You're so soft. I've been thinking about doing this since the first day I saw you on that leg press."
Before you can even speak, his large, veiny hands slide down to the hem of your short shorts. He hooks his fingers into the tight fabric, and with one swift, impatient downward yank, he shoves the spandex and your underwear all the way down your thighs, letting them pool around your ankles.
You are completely bare from the waist down, your back pressed flat against the glass mirror, your wet center completely exposed to his gaze.
Jungkook lets out a dark, ragged groan at the sight, his jaw tightening as he tracks the clear drop of your arousal glistening under the gym lights. He brings his tatted hand up, his long, elegant fingers instantly diving into your wetness. He slides two fingers deep inside your tight walls in one heavy, continuous shove, making your back arch completely off the mirror as a sharp sob escapes your lips.
"Ah! Jungkook, oh my god," you cry out, your fingers clawing at his tatted biceps for balance as he begins to pump his fingers inside you with a rapid, brutal rhythm.
"Look at yourself," Jungkook whispers hoarsely, his mouth dropping down to bite sharply at the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving deep red marks right over your pulse point. "Look in the mirror, sweetface. Watch my fingers ruin you. You're so fucking wet for me."
You force your eyes open, looking at the reflection right in front of you. It’s an absolute sensory overload—Jungkook’s massive, tatted frame hovering over you, his dark hair messy, his fingers buried deep inside your center, creating a wet, squelching sound that echoes sharply off the glass walls. He adds a third finger, his thumb pressing down heavily on your swollen clit, rubbing it in fast, tight circles until your inner walls clamp down around his hand in violent, frantic pulses.
"I'm gonna come—Jungkook, I'm coming," you wail, your head rolling back against the mirror as the tension in your lower stomach snaps.
"Take it, angel. Come all over my hand," he growls, his pace getting faster, harder, completely unyielding until your body shatters.
A massive, liquid orgasm rips through your frame, your inner muscles convulsing wildly around his fingers as your release coats his tatted hand. You pant heavily, your forehead dropping onto his chest as you try to catch your breath, but Jungkook is already moving.
He slides his wet hand out of your core, his fingers glistening under the lights. He sits back on his knees for a brief second, his hands flying to the drawstrings of his low-slung sweatpants. With a sharp downward pull, he frees his thick, rock-hard length right in front of your face. He’s massive, veiny, and completely ready to take you apart.
"Get down," he rasps, his hands grabbing your shoulders.
You drop onto your knees on the black rubber gym mat, your hands wrapping around his thick thighs as you open your mouth wide, sliding his thick head past your lips. You suck him with a fierce, desperate hunger, your throat relaxing as you take his entire length deep inside your mouth.
Jungkook lets out a loud, feral groan, his hands instantly flying to the back of your head, his long fingers tangling in your hair as he holds you in place. His hips twitch forward, driving himself deeper into your throat until you let out a muffled, choked sound, your eyes watering from the sheer size of him.
"Fuck, you're trying to kill me," he pants, his knuckles whitening in your locks as you continue to wrap your lips tightly around his girth, the wet sounds of your mouth filling the empty gym.
He lets you suck him for a few more perfect seconds before he gently but firmly hauls your body back up. He grabs your waist, lifting you completely off the ground. He slams your back flat against the mirror once more, but this time, he grabs your thighs, forcing your legs completely wide open and wrapping them securely around his narrow waist.
You are pinned against the glass, your legs spread completely wide, exposing your dripping, swollen center right at his hip level.
Jungkook lines his thick, throbbing length right against your wetness, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an overwhelming, possessive greed that leaves absolutely no room for doubt.
"Now," Jungkook whispers, his breath hot against your lips as his pierced lip brushes yours. "Let's see how much more that pretty little body can take from me."
With one heavy, brutal thrust of his hips, Jeon Jungkook buries his entire, thick length deep inside you in one deep stroke, the wet smack of his skin against yours sealing your fate as the empty apartment gym dissolves into a sweet, chaotic blur of absolute, raw pleasure.
─── 💀 :*･ﾟ 🧴 ───
⊹ 𝐚/𝐧 :
NO BECAUSE WHAT WOULD I ACTUALLY DO TO HAVE JEON JUNGKOOK IN SLAM MY LEGS WIDE OPEN AGAINST A GYM MIRROR FR FJSDHFKSHF 😭😭
synopsis: When your boyfriend Soobin struggles to satisfy you in the bedroom, you both agree to see the city’s most sought-after sex therapist: Jeon Jungkook. Charming, confident, and dangerously skilled with his hands, Jungkook doesn’t just offer advice— he shows you exactly how it’s supposed to feel. What starts as clinical demonstrations quickly turns into something far more intense, with Soobin watching helplessly from the corner as Jungkook takes his time teaching your body pleasures your boyfriend never could.
warnings: smut mdni, masturbation, use of a vibrator, cuckholding, fingering, oral (f.rec.), unprotected sex, missionary, lotus, doggystyle, biting, ass eating (because @merakoo asked for it), ass slapping, hair pulling, rough sex, lots and lots of dirty talk, creampie, squirting, this is filthy as fuck, soobin x reader.
✶﹐word count: 10.5k | PART TWO
The room was quiet except for the slow, uneven sound of your breathing slowly returning to normal. You lay on your back beside Soobin, both of you staring up at the ceiling where the same faint crack in the paint had been mocking you for months now. The sheets beneath you felt sticky and warm, but the warmth wasn’t the satisfying kind that usually came after really good sex. It was just… fine. Everything lately had been fine. His hand had been gentle on your hips, his kisses soft against your neck, and when he finally came, he let out that familiar quiet groan before collapsing beside you. But you hadn’t. Not even close.
In the beginning of your relationship, the sex had been good enough to leave you content. It wasn’t mind-blowing or adventurous, but it was warm and loving and enough to make you curl into him afterward with a sleepy smile. Over the last couple of years though, things had slowly changed. The spark had dimmed into something mechanical, almost routine. You found yourself lying there more often than not, faking soft little moans so he wouldn’t feel bad, while the ache between your legs only grew more frustrated. Sometimes you wondered if he noticed how often you slipped away afterward. Tonight, you knew he did. You could feel it in the way his body had tensed just slightly when he pulled out, the unspoken awareness hanging heavy between you.
Soobin shifted beside you, the mattress dipping as he rolled over. His arm draped loosely across your waist for a moment before he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there like an apology he didn’t quite know how to voice. “Goodnight, baby,” he whispered, voice already thick and sleepy. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to sound normal.
“Goodnight,” you replied softly, turning your head just enough to brush your nose against his shoulder.
You waited in the dark, listening carefully as his breathing gradually slowed and deepened. Minutes stretched out, each one feeling longer than the last. When you were finally sure he was fully asleep, you slipped out from under his arm with practiced care, trying not to disturb the mattress too much. The cool air of the room hit your bare legs as you stood, and you padded quietly to the bedside drawer. Your fingers closed around the smooth, familiar shape of your vibrator, the one you’d come to rely on more than you wanted to admit. The weight of it in your palm felt almost comforting now.
You tiptoed into the bathroom and closed the door behind you with a soft click, locking it out of habit even though Soobin was dead to the world. The small nightlight cast a gentle golden glow across the tiles as you leaned back against the sink counter. Heart still racing from the unresolved tension in your body, you hiked up the oversized t-shirt you’d thrown on and parted your thighs. The moment the buzzing toy pressed against your swollen, neglected clit, a shaky exhale escaped your lips. This was never fine. This was intense, almost desperate— the sharp pleasure you craved but could no longer get from the man sleeping in the next room.
Your free hand gripped the edge of the counter as you worked the vibrator in slow, teasing circles, then faster, chasing the release that had been denied to you earlier. Your mind wandered while your hips jerked against your hand, thoughts drifting dangerously toward the crumpled business card you’d tucked away in your purse weeks ago. Jeon Jungkook. Licensed Sex Therapist. Specialist in couples’ intimacy issues. You’d stared at that card so many times, equal parts ashamed and curious. The glowing reviews online had mentioned how thorough he was… how hands-on.
Your thighs trembled as the pressure finally built to its peak. You bit down hard on your lip to stay quiet, eyes squeezing shut while the orgasm crashed over you in strong, pulsing waves. For a few blissful seconds, everything else disappeared— the frustration, the guilt, the growing distance between you and Soobin. Only the sharp pleasure remained. But as the high faded and you caught your breath under the dim nightlight, the reality settled back in. This couldn’t keep going on like this. Something had to change.
The next day dawned gray and quiet, the kind of overcast morning that made the apartment feel smaller than it was. You woke up before Soobin, his arm still loosely draped over your waist from the night before. For a long moment you just lay there, staring at the faint crack in the ceiling that had become an unwilling witness to so many disappointing nights. Your body still carried the faint ache of unresolved need, even after last night’s secret session in the bathroom. The memory of the vibrator’s buzz and the sharp, guilty pleasure it brought made your thighs press together under the sheets.
All day the business card burned a hole in your pocket.
You went through the motions— making coffee, answering emails, attending meetings, but your mind kept circling back to it. Should I say something? What if he gets defensive? What if he thinks I’m unhappy with him as a person and not just… this? The card felt heavy, its edges sharp against your fingertips every time you brushed your hand over your pocket. At lunch you pulled it out in the bathroom stall just to stare at the elegant black text again: Jeon Jungkook, Licensed Sex Therapist. Specialist in Couples’ Intimacy & Desire. Your stomach twisted with nerves and something else, something hotter and more dangerous.
By the time evening came, the anxiety had twisted into a constant, low hum beneath your skin. You cooked dinner in silence while Soobin set the table, the two of you moving around each other with the familiar, gentle choreography of a couple who had been together for years. Pasta with creamy tomato sauce, garlic bread, a simple salad, comfort food on a night that felt anything but comfortable. The apartment smelled warm and safe, yet your heart wouldn’t stop racing.
Halfway through the meal, you couldn’t take it anymore.
Your fork paused above your half-eaten plate, twirling a strand of pasta that you no longer had any appetite for. Soobin was talking softly about his day, something about a deadline at work, but the words barely registered. Your fingers trembled as they slipped into your pocket and pulled out the slightly creased business card. Without a word, you slid it across the wooden table until it rested beside his glass of water.
Soobin’s voice trailed off. He looked down at the card, fork hovering in mid-air for a second before he slowly set it down. The quiet clink of metal against the plate sounded impossibly loud. You held your breath, chest tight, watching his face as he picked up the card with long, elegant fingers. His eyes scanned the text once, then again, more carefully. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the distant hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock on the wall.
You waited for confusion. For hurt. For anger, maybe. Instead, Soobin let out a long, slow sigh.
It wasn’t the frustrated kind you’d feared. It was… relief. Deep, exhausted relief. His shoulders sagged as he placed the card back on the table, turning it over once between his fingers before looking up at you. His eyes were soft, a little sad, but strangely calm.
“You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?” he asked quietly.
You swallowed hard, nodding. Your voice came out smaller than you wanted. “Yes. I… I know things haven’t been great. Between us. In bed. I know you’ve felt it too.”
Soobin leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He stared at the card for another long moment, then looked at you again— really looked at you. There was no defensiveness in his gaze, only a quiet acknowledgment that made your throat tighten.
“I have,” he admitted, voice low. “I’ve felt it for months. Every time I touch you and you don’t… every time you make those little sounds like you’re trying to spare my feelings.” He gave a small, self-deprecating smile that broke your heart a little. “I didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t want you to think I don’t want you anymore, because I do. So fucking much. I just… I don’t know how to fix it.”
The honesty in his words made your eyes sting. You reached across the table and took his hand, squeezing it gently. For the first time in a long time, it felt like you were really seeing each other again. “I don’t want to keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not,” you whispered. “I think… maybe we need help. Real help. From someone who knows what they’re doing.”
Soobin glanced back down at Jungkook’s name on the card. His thumb brushed over the printed letters almost absentmindedly. After a long pause, he nodded. “Okay,” he said softly. “If you’re sure you want to do this… then I’m in. We’ll do it together.”
You let out a shaky breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, a strange mix of nerves and excitement fluttering in your stomach. The decision was made. The appointment would be made.
The waiting room of Jeon Jungkook’s private practice was quieter than you expected. Soft ambient music played low in the background, something instrumental and soothing that did little to calm the rapid beating of your heart. You sat on a sleek gray couch beside Soobin, your hand resting loosely in his lap while his thumb brushed slow, absentminded circles over your knuckles. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and clean linen. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in natural light, but the tension in your chest made everything feel slightly unreal.
You had been nervous all morning. The drive here had been mostly silent, both of you lost in your own thoughts, but now that you were actually here, sitting in this elegant, minimalist office, the nerves had twisted into something sharper. A low, thrilling hum of excitement sat right beneath the anxiety. Your thighs pressed together under your sundress as you replayed the glowing reviews in your head. Thorough. Transformative. Life-changing.
Ten minutes felt like an eternity.
Every time you heard footsteps in the hallway, your breath would catch, only for the sound to fade again. Soobin squeezed your hand gently, offering a small, reassuring smile, but you could see the same mixture of uncertainty and hope in his eyes. He looked handsome today in his button-up shirt, but even that familiar sight couldn’t stop the restless energy buzzing under your skin.
Finally, the door opened.
Jeon Jungkook stepped inside, and for a moment the world seemed to tilt.
He was stunning. Easily one of the most beautiful men you had ever seen. Tall and broad-shouldered, he moved with a quiet, confident grace that immediately filled the room. His black hair was slightly tousled, falling over his forehead in a way that looked effortlessly perfect. Sharp jawline, full lips, and dark, piercing eyes framed by long lashes. He wore a fitted black button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing tattoos that disappeared beneath the fabric, and tailored slacks that accentuated his powerful thighs. The subtle scent of his cologne, something woody and expensive, reached you as he closed the door behind him.
You couldn’t stop staring.
Jungkook didn’t speak right away. He crossed the room and settled into the large leather chair across from you, clipboard in hand. For several long minutes he simply read over his notes, his expression calm and focused. The silence was heavy. You found yourself tracing the line of his neck, the way his fingers held the pen with quiet strength, the faint flex of muscle in his forearm as he turned a page. Heat crept up your neck. Soobin shifted beside you, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the man in front of you.
After what felt like forever, Jungkook finally looked up.
His eyes met yours first, then shifted to Soobin. A small, professional smile curved his lips, warm, but with something unreadable flickering behind it. “Hello,” he said, voice smooth and low, like velvet dragged over stone. “I’m Jeon Jungkook. Thank you for waiting. I’ve reviewed the intake forms you filled out online.” He set the clipboard on his lap and leaned back slightly, giving you both his full attention. “So… why don’t you tell me what brought you here today?”
You swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. Soobin gave your hand another squeeze, silently encouraging you to start. Your voice came out softer than intended as you began to speak.
You told him everything. How the sex had been good in the beginning, warm, loving, safe. How over the past couple of years it had slowly become routine and unsatisfying. You described lying beneath Soobin, faking soft moans while your body remained tense and frustrated. The mechanical rhythm, the lack of real spark, the growing ache that no amount of “fine” could satisfy. You mentioned slipping away to the bathroom at night with your vibrator, chasing the intense pleasure your boyfriend could no longer give you. Your cheeks burned as you spoke, but Jungkook’s gaze never wavered. He listened with complete focus, occasionally nodding or jotting something down on his clipboard.
Soobin chimed in quietly, his voice laced with vulnerability. He admitted feeling the distance growing between you two. How he could sense you weren’t fully there with him anymore, how guilty it made him feel, how much he still wanted you but didn’t know how to reach you the way he used to. He spoke about the pressure of wanting to please you and constantly falling short.
Jungkook listened intently the entire time.
His dark eyes flicked between the two of you, absorbing every word. Every so often he would write something down in neat, precise strokes, his pen moving across the paper with a soft scratch that somehow felt intimate in the quiet room. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t offer empty reassurances. He simply absorbed it all, head slightly tilted, expression thoughtful and impossibly focused. You found yourself wondering what exactly he was writing. What he was thinking. Whether he could already picture exactly how to fix what was broken between you.
When you both finally fell silent, the room felt heavier than before. Your heart was racing, thighs warm, a traitorous pulse beating between your legs as you watched Jungkook tap his pen against the clipboard once, twice, before setting it down.
“I appreciate how open you’ve both been so far,” he began, eyes flicking between you and Soobin. “But to truly help, I need to understand the specifics. The details matter. How often do you have sex currently? How long do your sessions usually last, from start to finish? And most importantly… what does it actually look like when you’re together?”
You felt heat bloom across your chest and climb up your neck. Soobin’s hand tightened slightly around yours, his palm growing warmer. Jungkook waited patiently, giving you both space, but his dark eyes were sharp, missing nothing. When neither of you spoke immediately, he continued gently, guiding the conversation. “Let’s start with positions,” he said, tone professional yet undeniably intimate. “What positions do you usually use? Do you switch often? How does foreplay factor in— duration, techniques? And how long does penetration usually last before one or both of you finishes?”
The questions landed heavily in the quiet room. You swallowed, mouth dry, your sundress suddenly feeling too thin against your skin. Jungkook’s gaze settled on you expectantly, patient but commanding. There was something about the way he looked at you— focused, knowing, like he could already see the frustration coiled tight in your body, that made your pulse throb between your legs.
You took a shaky breath and forced the words out, voice barely above a whisper at first. “We… we mostly just do missionary,” you admitted, cheeks burning. “It’s what feels most natural for us, I guess. Comfortable. Soobin on top, me on my back. Sometimes I’ll ride him, cowgirl, but not very often. And when I do… there’s not much vigor to it. I get tired quickly, or it just doesn’t feel… right.”
Jungkook nodded slowly, writing something down in those neat strokes. The scratch of his pen seemed louder than it should have been. He didn’t look surprised or judgmental. Instead, his expression remained thoughtfully neutral, though you swore you caught the faintest flicker of something darker, interest, perhaps, behind his eyes.
“And how long does it usually last?” he asked, voice smooth. “From the moment clothes come off to when it’s over. Be honest.”
Soobin cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably beside you. His ears had turned pink. “Maybe… ten to fifteen minutes?” he offered quietly. “Sometimes less. I try to hold out, but…”
You squeezed his hand, both ashamed and relieved to finally say it aloud. “It’s not that it’s bad,” you added quickly, though the words felt hollow even to you. “It’s just… short. And always the same. Missionary with him above me, moving steadily until he finishes. I rarely do on my own during it. When I ride him, I try to move, but it feels awkward. Like I don’t know how to make it feel good for either of us anymore. There’s no real… intensity. No roughness. No experimentation.”
Jungkook listened with complete focus. His full lips pressed together in thought as he processed your words. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, closing some of the distance between you. The scent of his cologne wrapped around you, warm, masculine, expensive. “No oral?” he asked calmly. “No doggy style? No standing positions, no restraints, no toys during sex together? You mentioned using a vibrator alone at night, does Soobin ever use it on you? Or watch you use it?”
Each question felt like a layer being peeled back. You squirmed in your seat, painfully aware of the growing wetness between your thighs. The way Jungkook spoke, so direct, so clinical, yet dripping with unspoken promise, made your mind race with images you knew you shouldn’t be having in this moment. Him. Those tattooed arms. That confident grip. Showing you exactly what you’d been missing.
Soobin shook his head slowly. “We’ve tried oral a few times, but… it doesn’t last long. And no, we’ve never really done any of the other stuff. It just never felt necessary before. Or maybe we didn’t know how.”
You nodded in agreement, biting your lip. “It’s always been vanilla. Safe. But now it feels too safe. Too… predictable. I love him. I do. But I lie there wondering if this is just how it’s going to be forever.”
Jungkook’s eyes lingered on you a moment longer than necessary before he wrote a few more lines. The silence that followed was thick with tension. He finally set the pen down and looked at you both, his expression composed but carrying an undeniable edge of authority. “I understand,” he said, voice dropping slightly. “You’re stuck in a very narrow script. Missionary and occasional cowgirl with minimal energy or variation, that explains a lot about the frustration you’re both feeling. Your bodies have adapted to routine. Comfort has replaced desire.”
Jungkook set his clipboard aside completely now, the soft thud of it hitting the side table sounding final. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and fixed both of you with a steady, intense gaze. The professional mask was still there, but something sharper and more commanding lingered just beneath it.
“I’ve heard enough to see the pattern clearly,” he said, voice low and smooth. “Words and explanations can only go so far. At this point, the most effective way for me to help is through demonstration. I’d like to show Soobin exactly how to touch you, how to build real desire, and how to awaken the parts of your body that have been neglected.”
He let the words settle in the heavy silence of the room before turning his full attention to you. “I won’t do anything without your explicit consent,” Jungkook continued, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “This would involve me touching you directly while Soobin watches. I’ll start slow. I’ll show him how to kiss you, how to touch you, how to read your body’s responses. If at any point you want to stop, you say the word and everything ends immediately.”
Your heart hammered wildly in your chest. Heat flooded your face, your neck, and lower. You could feel Soobin’s hand tense in yours, his breathing shallow beside you. For a long moment, the only sound was the soft ambient music and the rush of blood in your ears.
Jungkook waited patiently, giving you time. His gaze never wavered— calm, confident, and impossibly magnetic. You swallowed hard, throat dry. Nervous energy twisted in your stomach, but underneath it, something hotter and more dangerous stirred. A deep, aching curiosity. Excitement. “Yes,” you whispered, voice barely audible at first. Then stronger, “Yes… I want that.”
Jungkook’s lips curved into a small, approving smile. He glanced at Soobin. “And you? Are you comfortable with me demonstrating on your girlfriend while you observe?”
Soobin hesitated for only a second, then gave a slow nod, his cheeks flushed. “If she wants it… then yes.” Jungkook stood up smoothly, moving with that quiet, predatory grace. He crossed the short distance between his chair and the wide, plush chaise lounge where you and Soobin were seated. He extended his hand to you.
“Come here,” he said softly. “Lie back and get comfortable.”
Your legs felt unsteady as you stood. Soobin released your hand, and you moved to the chaise, heart pounding so hard you were sure they could both hear it. You lay back against the soft cushions, your sundress riding up slightly against your thighs. Jungkook sat on the edge beside you, the heat of his body immediately noticeable. He was so close now. The scent of his cologne, the faint warmth radiating from his broad frame, the way his button-up shirt stretched across his chest, it was overwhelming.
He looked down at you, eyes dark and focused. “Relax for me,” he murmured. “We’re going to start very slow.” Jungkook leaned in, one hand gently brushing your hair away from your neck. His breath ghosted over your skin first, sending shivers racing down your spine. Then his lips pressed softly just below your ear. The kiss was feather-light at first, warm, deliberate. He took his time, kissing down the sensitive column of your neck with slow, lingering presses of his mouth. Each one felt intentional, like he was learning the map of your reactions.
A shaky exhale left your lips. Your eyes fluttered half-closed as he kissed lower, finding the spot where your neck met your shoulder and sucking gently. The wet heat of his tongue traced a small circle there, and your back arched instinctively. One of his hands slid up your side, slow and confident, until his large palm cupped your breast through the thin fabric of your dress. He squeezed gently, thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing strokes until it hardened under his touch.
“See how she responds when you take your time?” Jungkook said quietly, speaking to Soobin without pulling his mouth away from your neck. His voice had dropped even lower. “Don’t rush straight to the obvious places. Build it. Make her feel wanted.”
He kneaded your breast with just the right amount of pressure, rolling your nipple between his fingers over your dress, while his mouth continued its slow exploration of your neck and collarbones. Soft, open-mouthed kisses. The occasional gentle scrape of teeth that made your thighs press together. Your breathing had already grown uneven, small sounds escaping you that you didn’t even try to hold back.
Jungkook’s free hand rested on your waist, holding you in place as he shifted slightly closer. The weight and warmth of him beside you made your head spin. Every touch was precise, controlled, and devastatingly effective. You could already feel yourself getting wet, arousal pooling between your legs far faster than it ever did with Soobin.
Soobin sat quietly in the chair nearby, eyes wide and fixed on every movement. His hands were clenched tightly in his lap, breathing audible. Jungkook pulled back just enough to look at your face, his thumb still lazily circling your nipple. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. “How does that feel?” he asked you, voice husky. “Be honest.”
You could barely form words. Your neck tingled where his mouth had been, your breast warm and heavy under his hand. “It feels… really good,” you breathed, cheeks burning.
A satisfied smile tugged at Jungkook’s lips. “Good,” he murmured, leaning back down. “Then let’s continue.” Jungkook’s hands moved with deliberate confidence as he sat up slightly on the edge of the chaise. His dark eyes never left your face, reading every flicker of nervousness and arousal that crossed it. “Let’s remove this,” he murmured, voice low and reassuring. “I want you to feel everything without barriers.”
His fingers found the hem of your sundress, slowly sliding it upward. The fabric whispered against your skin as he lifted it inch by inch, exposing your thighs, then your hips, then the soft curve of your stomach. You raised your arms obediently, heart hammering against your ribs. With one smooth, practiced motion, Jungkook pulled the dress up and over your head, leaving your hair slightly tousled. He set the garment aside neatly on a nearby chair, his gaze roaming over your body now clad only in your bra and matching underwear.
The cool air of the room kissed your newly exposed skin, making you shiver. You felt incredibly vulnerable under their combined stares— Soobin’s wide-eyed and tense from his seat, and Jungkook’s dark, hungry, yet still controlled. Jungkook hummed softly in approval, his large hands returning to your body immediately.
He leaned down again, lips finding your neck once more. This time his kisses were deeper, more possessive, sucking gently at your pulse point while one hand cupped your breast through the thin lace of your bra. His thumb brushed over your nipple in slow, teasing circles, coaxing it to a stiff peak. He kneaded the soft flesh with just the right pressure, firm enough to make you arch into his touch, but never rushed.
“Watch how I’m touching her,” Jungkook said quietly to Soobin, his mouth still hovering against your heated skin. “Don’t just grab. Mold her breast in your palm like this… feel its weight. Use your thumb to tease her nipple until it’s sensitive. Her body is already responding, see how her breathing changed? That’s what you want.”
You let out a shaky whimper as he emphasized his words by pinching your nipple lightly through the fabric, rolling it between his fingers. Pleasure shot straight down between your legs. Jungkook continued kissing down your collarbone, occasionally glancing toward Soobin to explain, his voice smooth and instructional even as his hands worked magic on your body.
After several long, indulgent minutes of kissing and caressing your breasts, Jungkook’s hand began to travel lower. His palm smoothed down your stomach, fingers tracing the waistband of your underwear. He looked up at you, eyes intense. “Still okay?” he asked softly.
You nodded quickly, biting your lip. “Yes…”
With your permission, his hand slipped beneath the fabric of your panties. The first touch of his fingers against your bare, heated skin made you gasp. You were already slick with arousal, embarrassingly wet from everything he’d done so far. Jungkook’s middle and ring fingers found your swollen clit and began rubbing slow, lazy circles over it.
“Fuck… she’s soaked,” he murmured, almost to himself, though loud enough for Soobin to hear. His fingers moved with expert precision, not too fast, not too light, applying perfect pressure as he circled your clit again and again. “This is key, Soobin. Don’t rush to penetrate her. Spend time here. Learn exactly how she likes to be touched. Feel how her hips are already trying to follow my hand?”
Your thighs trembled. Soft, needy sounds spilled from your lips as Jungkook continued the torturously slow rubbing. Heat coiled tighter and tighter in your lower belly. Every circle of his fingers sent sparks of pleasure racing through you. He kept his mouth on your neck and chest the entire time, kissing and gently biting while his hand worked between your legs.
After several drawn-out minutes of this, Jungkook shifted slightly. He used two fingers to pull your soaked panties to the side, fully exposing you. Without warning, he slowly pushed one thick finger inside you, then a second, stretching you open with delicious care. A broken moan escaped your throat. Your back arched off the chaise as his fingers sank deeper, curling slightly to find that sensitive spot inside you. Jungkook groaned softly in approval at how tightly you clenched around him.
“See that?” he said to Soobin, voice huskier now. “She’s gripping my fingers so tightly. This is what happens when you take the time to arouse her properly. Slide in slowly… curl them like this… and listen to the sounds she makes.” He began thrusting his fingers in and out in long, deep strokes, his thumb returning to rub circles over your clit at the same time. The dual sensation was overwhelming. Your hips rolled against his hand instinctively, chasing the building pleasure while Soobin watched every single movement with flushed cheeks and parted lips.
Jungkook’s eyes flicked back to your face, watching you intently as he fingered you with steady, devastating skill. “You’re doing so well,” he praised softly, pumping his fingers deeper. “Let me hear you.”
Jungkook’s fingers moved with growing intensity, thrusting deeper and faster into your soaked pussy. The wet, obscene sounds of his thick fingers pumping in and out filled the room, mixing with your increasingly loud moans. You couldn’t hold back anymore. Your head fell back against the chaise as shameless whimpers and cries spilled from your lips. “Ah— fuck… Jungkook—” you moaned loudly, your voice breaking on his name. Your fingers dug desperately into his muscular arm, gripping the hard bicep through his shirt as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. Your hips bucked up to meet every thrust, chasing the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you so effortlessly. “Oh my god… it feels so good—”
“That’s it,” Jungkook praised, his voice low and rough. “Let it out. Don’t hold back for me.” His fingers curled perfectly against that sensitive spot inside you with every stroke, faster now, more relentless. The wet squelching sounds grew louder as your arousal coated his hand and dripped down between your thighs.
Your moans turned into desperate, breathy cries. Your thighs trembled violently around his wrist as the pleasure built higher and higher, far beyond anything you’d felt in months.
Jungkook suddenly slowed his fingers, keeping them buried deep inside you, and shifted his position. He moved onto his knees on the chaise, spreading your legs wider with his free hand. He looked over at Soobin, eyes dark with lust but still carrying that instructional tone. “I’m going to eat her out while I keep fingering her,” he told Soobin calmly. “This combination is extremely effective. Watch how I use my tongue.”
You whimpered at his words alone, already anticipating what was coming. Jungkook hooked his fingers under the waistband of your soaked panties and pulled them down your legs, tossing them aside. Completely exposed now, you shivered under his gaze.
He leaned down between your spread thighs, face inches from your dripping pussy. Without warning, he spat directly onto your swollen hole, the warm saliva landing right at your entrance. You gasped sharply at the filthy sensation. Jungkook used two fingers to spread the spit around, mixing it with your own wetness, before pushing his fingers back inside you.
Then his tongue was on you. A loud, broken moan tore from your throat as his warm, wet tongue licked a long, slow stripe up your pussy before focusing on your clit. He sucked the sensitive bud into his mouth while his fingers continued thrusting in and out of you, faster than before. Then he did exactly what he’d described, he fucked the spit into your hole with his tongue, pushing it inside you alongside his fingers in messy, obscene strokes.
You were on cloud nine.
“Fuck—! Jungkook— oh my fucking god—” you cried out, voice loud and unrestrained. Your back arched sharply off the chaise as intense pleasure crashed through your body. Your hands flew to his head, fingers threading through his soft dark hair, gripping tightly as his tongue fucked into you deeper. The wet sounds of his mouth devouring your pussy mixed with the filthy squelch of his fingers pumping relentlessly inside you.
Jungkook groaned against your cunt, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure through you. He alternated between fucking you with his tongue and sucking hard on your clit, all while his fingers curled and stroked that perfect spot without mercy. “Soobin,” Jungkook said, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips shiny with your juices. “Come closer. Sit right next to her. She needs you here.”
Soobin moved quickly, his face flushed dark red. He sat on the edge of the chaise beside you, eyes wide as he watched Jungkook devour you. You reached out blindly, grabbing Soobin’s hand and squeezing it hard as another loud moan ripped from your throat.
“Baby— ahh— it feels so good,” you whimpered to Soobin, voice shaking. Your body thrashed under Jungkook’s skilled mouth and fingers, hips grinding desperately against his face. You gripped Soobin’s hand like a lifeline while your other hand stayed tangled in Jungkook’s hair, pulling him harder against your pussy.
Jungkook doubled down, tongue fucking into you even deeper, spitting on your cunt again before diving back in with messy, hungry strokes. His fingers never stopped their brutal pace, curling and thrusting until your moans turned into near-screams of pleasure.
You were lost in it, whimpering, moaning, and shaking uncontrollably as the man between your legs showed you exactly what your body had been missing, while you held your boyfriend’s hand through every devastating wave of pleasure.
The pleasure built to an unbearable peak as Jungkook’s tongue fucked relentlessly into your dripping hole and his fingers curled against that perfect spot inside you. Your moans turned into desperate, broken cries, growing louder and more frantic with every filthy stroke of his skilled mouth. You gripped Soobin’s hand so tightly your knuckles turned white, your other hand fisting Jungkook’s dark hair as your hips bucked wildly against his face.
Suddenly, the coil inside you snapped.
You came hard on his tongue with a loud, shuddering scream. “Jungkook—! Fuck, I’m cumming—!” Your entire body convulsed violently, thighs clamping around his head as powerful waves of pleasure crashed through you. Your pussy clenched and fluttered around his fingers and tongue, gushing wetly against his mouth while he continued licking and sucking through every pulse of your orgasm. You thrashed on the chaise, moaning shamelessly, eyes squeezed shut as the intense release left you trembling and breathless. Soobin’s hand stayed firmly in yours the entire time, grounding you even as you fell apart under another man’s mouth.
Jungkook worked you through every last aftershock, licking you slowly and gently until your body finally sagged against the cushions, panting and dazed. Only then did he pull back, his lips and chin glistening with your cum. He looked devastatingly handsome like that, flushed, eyes dark with lust, and breathing heavily.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked between you and Soobin, voice low and husky but still controlled. “Are you both willing to continue?” he asked. “I’d like to move into demonstrating positions. The difference between what you’ve been doing and what she actually needs.”
You didn’t even hesitate. Still floating on the high of your orgasm, arousal already stirring again, you nodded eagerly. “Yes,” you breathed, almost desperately. “Please… I want more.”
Soobin swallowed hard, visibly affected by what he’d just witnessed, but he nodded as well. “If she wants it… yes.”
A satisfied, almost predatory smile tugged at Jungkook’s lips. “Good,” he murmured. “I’m going to fuck her raw. Skin to skin. No condom. She needs to feel the full effect, the heat, the friction, everything. Then I’ll show you, Soobin, exactly how to make missionary feel incredible for her instead of just… adequate.”
Jungkook reached behind your back with skilled fingers and unclasped your bra. He slid the straps down your shoulders slowly, savoring the moment as he pulled the lace away and dropped it aside. Your breasts spilled free, nipples already hard and aching. He groaned softly at the sight before leaning down and capturing one nipple in his mouth.
He sucked on it hungrily, tongue swirling around the sensitive peak while his large hand kneaded the soft flesh of your other breast. He switched sides, giving the same devoted attention to the other nipple, sucking harder, grazing his teeth gently, then soothing with his tongue. The wet sounds of his mouth on your breasts filled the room as you moaned and arched into him, your body responding instantly.
After several long, indulgent minutes of worshipping your chest, Jungkook finally positioned himself between your spread thighs, after kicking his pants and boxers off. He gripped his thick, hard cock in one hand, stroking it slowly as he looked down at your flushed, dripping pussy. “Watch carefully,” he told Soobin, voice rough. “This is how you claim her.”
He rubbed the swollen head of his cock up and down your slick folds, coating himself in your wetness, before pressing against your entrance. With a low groan, Jungkook pushed forward and slid into you in one long, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight, fluttering heat.
You cried out loudly at the stretch, your back arching sharply. He was big, thicker and longer than Soobin, and the raw, bare feeling of him inside you was overwhelming. “Fuck… so tight,” Jungkook growled, holding still for a moment to let you adjust. Then he pulled back almost all the way before slamming back in, setting a rough, brutal pace immediately.
The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room as he fucked you hard and deep. Each powerful thrust rocked your entire body, your breasts bouncing with the force of it. Jungkook’s hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he drove into you again and again, the wet, filthy sounds of your pussy taking his cock filling the air. “That’s it,” he groaned, eyes locked on your face. “Take my cock. Feel how deep I am?”
Your moans were loud and unrestrained, turning into near-screams every time he bottomed out inside you. The brutal pace left you shaking, gripping the cushions beneath you as wave after wave of intense pleasure rolled through your body.
Jungkook’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your soft flesh with possessive strength. He used your body like a personal toy, pulling you down onto his thick cock with every brutal thrust. Instead of just fucking into you, he yanked your hips forward to meet him, slamming you onto his length over and over again in a relentless rhythm. The wet, filthy sound of your soaked pussy being filled echoed loudly in the room with every powerful motion. Each time he dragged you back down, his cock buried itself impossibly deep, the head kissing your cervix and sending sparks of overwhelming pleasure shooting through your entire body.
“Fuck—!” you cried out, voice hoarse and broken. Your head tossed back against the chaise, mouth falling open in a constant stream of moans and whimpers.
Jungkook glanced over at Soobin, breathing heavily but still in control. “Soobin,” he growled, never slowing the way he was manhandling you onto his cock. “Play with her clit. Rub it while I fuck her. She needs the extra stimulation.”
Soobin hesitated only for a second before leaning closer. His hand trembled slightly as he reached between your bodies and found your swollen, sensitive clit. He began rubbing slow circles over it, just like he’d watched Jungkook do earlier. The added sensation was immediate and devastating.
Your moans instantly grew louder, turning into desperate, shameless cries. “Oh my god—! It’s so good… so fucking good— Jungkook, your cock is so big— I can’t— ahh!” The words spilled out of you in a messy, nonsensical stream.
Jungkook groaned in satisfaction at your words, his pace growing even more punishing. He kept yanking your hips down onto him with raw strength, using your body exactly how he wanted. The wet slap of skin against skin was constant now, your arousal dripping down his balls and soaking the chaise beneath you. Every brutal thrust made your breasts bounce heavily, your entire body jolting with the force of him claiming you.
Soobin’s fingers kept rubbing your clit, faster now, his eyes wide and dark as he watched you fall apart. “You look so beautiful like this,” he whispered, voice thick with a mix of emotions. “All fucked out… you’re glowing. So fucking pretty when you’re moaning like that.”
His words only pushed you higher. You squeezed Soobin’s hand tighter with your free one while your other hand clutched desperately at Jungkook’s forearm, nails digging into his tattooed skin. “Your dick is so big, it feels too good, I can’t think— please don’t stop—!” you babbled loudly, words slurring together between broken moans and gasps. Tears of overwhelming pleasure pricked at the corners of your eyes as he continued to wreck you.
Jungkook smirked, dark eyes gleaming with lust and satisfaction. He adjusted his angle slightly and started pounding into you even harder, pulling you onto his cock with every snap of his hips. The new position made him hit that perfect spot inside you with devastating accuracy on every thrust. Sweat glistened on his forehead and neck, his shirt now clinging to his muscular chest from exertion.
“That’s right,” he growled, voice rough and low. “Feel how deep I am? This is what your pussy needed. Not soft, polite sex. It needed to be ruined like this.”
He kept using your body ruthlessly, yanking you down onto him, grinding deep, then pulling back only to slam you onto his length again. Soobin never stopped rubbing tight, slick circles on your clit, his eyes flicking between your face and the sight of Jungkook’s thick cock disappearing inside you repeatedly.
The pleasure was blinding. Your moans echoed shamelessly through the room as another orgasm began rapidly building, even stronger than the first. Jungkook was fucking you better than you had ever been fucked in your life. The brutal pace of Jungkook’s cock slamming into you, combined with Soobin’s fingers rubbing relentless circles on your swollen clit, pushed you straight over the edge again.
Your second orgasm hit you like a freight train.
“Jungkook—! I’m cumming— fuck. ” you screamed, your voice cracking as your entire body seized up. Your pussy clenched violently around his thick cock, fluttering and gushing as powerful waves of pleasure ripped through you. Your back arched sharply off the chaise, thighs shaking uncontrollably while Jungkook kept fucking you through it, dragging out every last pulse of your release. Soobin’s hand never stopped, prolonging the overwhelming sensation until you were sobbing with pleasure, tears slipping down your cheeks.
You were still twitching and gasping, trying to catch your breath, when Jungkook suddenly pulled out of you with a wet sound. Before you could even whimper at the loss, he grabbed you by the waist and lifted you effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing.
He turned and sat down on the chaise, pulling you with him so you straddled his lap facing him. He guided you down onto his cock again in one smooth motion, burying himself back inside your sensitive, fluttering pussy. This new position pressed your bodies flush together, chest to chest, your knees bent on either side of his hips.
“This is called the lotus position,” Jungkook explained to Soobin, voice deep and slightly breathless as he held you firmly on his cock. “It’s intimate. She’s completely wrapped around me, which lets me hit every sensitive spot inside her. The closeness increases stimulation on her clit and lets her control the depth and rhythm while I guide her. It feels incredible for her because she’s full and every movement grinds right against her g-spot.”
You barely had time to process his words before your body took over. Still trembling from your last orgasm, you started moving on him, slow at first, then faster, rolling and bouncing on his thick length with desperate need. The new angle made him feel even deeper, pressing against places you didn’t even know existed.
“Ahh! Jungkook!” you sobbed, pleasure bordering on too much. Your hands gripped his broad shoulders tightly, nails digging into his shirt as you rode him. Your head tipped back, mouth open in a constant stream of broken moans and cries. “It’s so deep… so fucking deep, oh my god.”
Tears continued slipping down your flushed cheeks as you moved faster, chasing the overwhelming pleasure. Your breasts bounced heavily with every roll of your hips, pussy swallowing his cock again and again with wet, obscene sounds.
Jungkook groaned deeply, his hands sliding down to grip your ass. He kneaded the soft, plump flesh roughly, spreading your cheeks as he helped guide you up and down on his cock. Then— smack, his palm came down hard on your right cheek, the sharp sound echoing through the room. You cried out at the sting, clenching tighter around him. “Fuck, that’s it,” he growled, slapping your ass again, harder this time. “Ride me just like that. Use my cock.”
He buried his face between your bouncing tits, sucking one nipple into his hot mouth while his hands continued kneading and spanking your ass in rhythm with your movements. He groaned against your skin, tongue swirling and teeth grazing as he devoured you.
You were lost in it— sobbing, moaning, and babbling nonsense while you rode him with everything you had.Your head stayed tipped back, eyes half-lidded and glassy with overwhelming pleasure as you held onto his shoulders for dear life. Soobin watched everything in stunned silence from just inches away, eyes dark and fixed on the way your body moved on Jungkook’s cock and how his hands owned your ass.
Jungkook pulled his mouth from your nipple just long enough to look up at your pleasure-drunk face, voice rough with lust. “That’s my good girl… Keep fucking yourself on me. Let him see how pretty you look when you’re falling apart.”
You were completely lost in the overwhelming pleasure, rolling your hips desperately on Jungkook’s thick cock in this position. Your voice had grown hoarse from moaning, but his name still fell from your lips like a prayer. “Jungkook… Jungkook— fuck, Jungkook—” you whimpered repeatedly, your head tipped back and eyes glazed over.
Jungkook pulled his face from your breasts, lips shiny, and looked up at you with dark, lust-filled eyes. His hands squeezed your ass firmly as he held you down on his cock, grinding up into you slowly. “What is it, pretty girl?” he asked, voice low and teasing, a smirk playing on his lips. “What do you need? Tell me. Use your words.”
You sobbed softly, still moving on him, drunk on the feeling of being so full. “I want it from behind,” you begged, voice shaky and desperate. “Please… I want you to fuck me from behind.”
Jungkook let out a deep, amused chuckle that vibrated through his chest. “Greedy girl,” he murmured affectionately. Without warning, he lifted you off his cock, making you whine at the sudden emptiness. He easily maneuvered your body, turning you around on the chaise.
He guided you into position with strong, confident hands. “Soobin, sit down right here,” he instructed. Soobin obeyed, sitting on the chaise with his back against the cushions. Jungkook then pushed you forward until your face hovered just above Soobin’s lap, your elbows resting on either side of his knees. Your back was arched deeply, ass up and presented perfectly for Jungkook behind you.
You looked up at Soobin through your lashes, flushed and breathing hard, your cheek nearly brushing against the bulge in his pants.
Instead of immediately sliding his cock into you, Jungkook knelt behind you. He spread your ass cheeks wide with both hands, exposing you completely. He leaned in and sank his teeth gently into the soft flesh of your right ass cheek, biting and sucking hard enough to make you gasp sharply.
“I’m going to eat her ass now,” Jungkook explained to Soobin, voice calm but dripping with lust. “Most men skip this, but it feels incredible for her. It relaxes her and makes her even wetter. Watch.” Before you could fully prepare yourself, Jungkook buried his face between your cheeks.
A loud, broken cry tore from your throat the moment his warm, wet tongue licked a slow, filthy stripe over your tight hole. “Oh my god!” you screamed, your whole body jerking forward. He licked you again, slower this time, swirling the tip of his tongue around your rim before pressing it inside you.
You were crying out uncontrollably now, the pleasure intense and strangely intimate. Your hands scrambled desperately for purchase, grabbing onto Soobin’s thighs and squeezing hard as Jungkook devoured your ass with filthy enthusiasm. He groaned against your skin, the vibrations making your eyes roll back.
His tongue pushed deeper, fucking into your tight hole with wet, obscene sounds while one of his hands reached underneath to rub firm circles on your clit. He alternated between long, broad licks and pointed thrusts of his tongue, eating you like a man starved. Every stroke sent jolts of sharp, dirty pleasure racing up your spine. “Fuck— Jungkook, it feels so fucking good!” you sobbed, pushing back against his face instinctively. Tears of overwhelming sensation rolled down your cheeks as you panted against Soobin’s thigh, looking up at him with glassy, fucked-out eyes.
Jungkook pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against your wet skin. “Hear how loud she gets when I eat her ass? This is what she’s been missing.” Then he dove right back in, licking and sucking even more eagerly, his face pressed fully between your cheeks as he worked you open with his skilled tongue.
Your moans and cries filled the entire room, shameless and loud, while your hands gripped Soobin’s thighs like a lifeline, trembling as Jungkook continued. Jungkook didn’t rush. He kept his face buried between your spread cheeks, devouring you with slow, filthy dedication. His tongue swirled and probed at your tight rim, licking long stripes from your dripping pussy up to your asshole before pushing inside again. Every time his tongue fucked into your ass, a fresh wave of overwhelming pleasure crashed through you, making your back arch deeper and your fingers dig harder into Soobin’s thighs.
Your hips pushed back against his face instinctively, chasing more of that dirty, intense sensation. He groaned deeply against your skin, the vibration traveling straight through you as he continued with even more enthusiasm. He spread your cheeks wider with both hands, fully exposing you, and spat directly onto your hole before diving back in, licking and sucking like he couldn’t get enough.
Minutes stretched out in a haze of pleasure. Jungkook took his time, alternating between broad, sloppy licks and sharp, pointed thrusts of his tongue deep inside you. One of his hands stayed between your legs, rubbing slow, firm circles on your swollen clit while the other kneaded and slapped your ass cheek occasionally, the sharp smacks making you jolt and moan louder. You were a mess, sobbing, whimpering, and shaking as he continued rimming you relentlessly, pushing you closer and closer to the edge again without ever letting you tip over.
Only when your legs were trembling uncontrollably and your cries had turned into constant, desperate begging did Jungkook finally pull back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rose onto his knees behind you, his voice rough with lust as he spoke to Soobin. “Now I’m going to fuck her from behind. Hard. This position lets me go deeper and gives me full control.”
You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt the thick, blunt head of Jungkook’s cock pressing against your soaked entrance. In one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside your pussy, stretching you open around his thick length.
A loud, broken scream tore from your throat. "Fuck yes!" He didn’t give you any time to adjust. He immediately set a brutal, punishing pace, slamming into you hard and deep. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoed loudly through the room with every thrust. He gripped your hips tightly, yanking you back onto his cock over and over again, using your body exactly how he wanted.
“Fuck— so tight,” he growled, voice low and strained.
Every brutal snap of his hips drove his cock impossibly deep, the head kissing your cervix with every stroke. Your elbows trembled as you tried to hold yourself up, face buried against Soobin’s thigh while your moans and cries grew louder and more broken. Jungkook reached forward and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back slightly so your back arched even more for him.
“You like that?” he groaned, pounding into you mercilessly. “You like being fucked like a little toy from behind?”
“Yes! Yes, fuck— Jungkook!” you sobbed, tears of overwhelming pleasure streaming down your face. The angle was devastating. Every thrust ground against that perfect spot inside you, making your legs shake violently. Your pussy clenched tightly around his cock, soaking him with every rough stroke as he continued to rail you without mercy.
Jungkook’s pace was relentless, hard, fast, and animalistic. The wet, filthy sound of your arousal squelching around his cock mixed with the sharp slap of skin on skin. He kept one hand fisted in your hair and the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks, pulling you back onto him with every thrust like he was trying to bury himself even deeper.
Jungkook continued pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes, his hips snapping against your ass with a loud, rhythmic slap. Your moans were constant and broken, your body jolting forward with every brutal thrust while your face stayed pressed against Soobin’s thigh. Jungkook’s grip on your hips was iron-tight, fingers digging into your skin as he used you relentlessly.
He slowed his thrusts just enough to speak, his voice rough and commanding, yet still instructional. “Soobin,” he said, breathing heavily. “Grab her hips. Both hands. I want you to help move her back and forth on my cock. Feel how she takes me. Learn the rhythm she needs.”
Soobin hesitated for a moment, eyes wide as he watched Jungkook’s thick cock disappear inside you again and again. His cheeks were flushed dark red, but after a few seconds, he leaned forward and placed his hands on your hips, right beside Jungkook’s.
“That’s it,” Jungkook encouraged, still buried deep inside you. “Pull her back onto me when I thrust forward. Help her fuck herself on my cock. She loves it deep like this.”
Soobin’s hands tightened on your hips. At first his grip was gentle, almost uncertain, but as Jungkook started moving again, Soobin began pulling you back onto Jungkook’s cock in time with his thrusts. The added force made Jungkook’s cock slam even deeper inside you.
A loud, broken cry ripped from your throat. “Oh my god!” you sobbed, eyes squeezing shut as the new sensation overwhelmed you. Soobin’s familiar hands pulling you back combined with Jungkook’s massive cock stretching and ruining you created an intensity you’d never felt before. Every time Soobin yanked your hips back, Jungkook’s thick length drove into you harder, filling you completely.
Jungkook groaned in approval. “Good. Harder, Soobin. She can take it. Look how her pussy is gripping me every time you pull her back.”
Soobin’s grip grew firmer, more confident. He started pulling your hips back with more strength, helping impale you on Jungkook’s cock over and over again. The wet, filthy sounds grew even louder — the obscene squelching of your soaked pussy mixed with the sharp slap of skin whenever your ass met Jungkook’s hips.
You were falling apart between them.
“Fuck— fuck— it’s so deep!” you cried out, voice muffled against Soobin’s thigh. Your hands clutched desperately at Soobin’s legs, nails digging into his pants as your body was rocked between the two men. “Jungkook’s cock is so big… Soobin, baby, he’s so deep inside me— I can’t”
Jungkook kept a steady, brutal pace while Soobin pulled you back onto him with every thrust. The dual control over your body made you feel completely used, a toy being shared between them. Jungkook’s cock kissed your cervix with every forceful pull, stretching your walls perfectly around his thickness. “That’s it,” Jungkook growled, one hand moving up to grip the back of your neck while Soobin continued manipulating your hips. “Feel how she’s dripping down my cock? She’s fucking loving this. Pull her harder, Soobin. Make her take every inch.”
Soobin obeyed, his fingers pressing deeper into your soft hips as he yanked you back more forcefully. The new intensity made your eyes roll back, loud, shameless moans spilling from your lips as Jungkook fucked you raw and Soobin helped drive you onto him again and again. You were trembling violently, tears of overwhelming pleasure streaming down your face, caught in the devastating rhythm the two of them created together.
The combined rhythm was absolutely devastating. Jungkook’s thick cock slamming into you while Soobin pulled your hips back with increasing confidence created a merciless, perfect storm of pleasure. Your moans had turned into constant, broken sobs as your body was rocked between them.
Jungkook’s breathing grew harsher, his thrusts becoming more erratic and deeper. “Fuck— I’m close,” he growled, gripping your hip tighter while Soobin continued helping pull you back onto his cock. “Gonna fill this pretty pussy up.”
You could only whimper in response, your mind hazy with overwhelming pleasure. Jungkook’s pace turned punishing, slamming into you with short, brutal strokes as he chased his release. With a deep, guttural groan, Jungkook buried himself to the hilt inside you and came hard. You felt every powerful pulse as he emptied himself deep inside your pussy, thick ropes of hot cum flooding your walls. He kept grinding into you, pushing his load even deeper while growling your name under his breath.
The feeling of Jungkook cumming so deep inside you triggered your own orgasm instantly. Jungkook’s grip on your neck tightened as he pounded into you even harder. “That’s it, pretty girl. Cum on my cock. Let go.”
The pressure built impossibly high, tighter and hotter, until it finally snapped. You came harder than you ever had in your life. A loud, guttural scream tore from your throat as your entire body seized up. Your pussy clenched violently around Jungkook’s cock, and then you were squirting, hard. Clear, hot liquid gushed out around his thick cock with every thrust, soaking his hips, dripping down your thighs. You shook uncontrollably, sobbing and moaning as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed through you. Jungkook didn’t stop, fucking you through your orgasm and prolonging it until your vision went white and your legs gave out completely.
“Fuck, look at her,” Jungkook groaned, voice rough with satisfaction. “She’s squirting everywhere. Good girl… such a messy, beautiful girl.”
Your body finally went limp, trembling with aftershocks as Jungkook slowed his thrusts and eventually stilled deep inside you. He stayed buried in your pulsing heat for a long moment, letting you feel every inch of him while you tried to catch your breath. Soobin’s hands gently rubbed your hips, soothing the marks he’d left behind.
Jungkook eventually pulled out slowly, a rush of your combined juices dripping from your ruined pussy. He helped you collapse gently onto the chaise, turning you onto your back so you could breathe easier. Your chest heaved, body covered in a light sheen of sweat, cheeks flushed, and eyes glassy with exhaustion and satisfaction.
Jungkook sat back on his heels, breathing heavily but looking pleased. He glanced at Soobin, then down at your spent body. “That,” he said calmly, “is what she needs. Not just gentle, loving sex. She needs to be fucked properly, deeply, roughly, and without hesitation. She needs variety. She needs to be used and worshipped at the same time.” He looked at you softly. “How do you feel?”
You could barely speak, still floating. “Incredible…” you whispered hoarsely. “I’ve never… felt anything like that.”
Jungkook smiled, then turned back to Soobin. “You did well today. Helping move her like that was a great start. We’ll work on building your confidence and skill. This was only the first session.”
He helped you sit up eventually, handing you a soft towel and a bottle of water from a nearby table. While you recovered, he spoke to both of you about aftercare, communication, and homework, things for Soobin to practice at home before the next appointment.
As you slowly got dressed, your legs still shaky, you couldn’t stop stealing glances at Jungkook. The memory of how he had completely ruined you while Soobin watched was burned into your mind. Soobin was quiet, but he stayed close to you, gently rubbing your back and pressing a kiss to your temple. There was a new tension in the air, something shifted between all three of you.
Before you left, Jungkook leaned against his desk, arms crossed, looking unfairly composed and handsome. “Book your next session soon,” he said with a small, knowing smirk. “We still have a lot to work on… and I think you both know now how much she needs it.”
You left the office leaning on Soobin’s arm, body sore in the most delicious way, your mind already replaying everything that had happened… and wondering how much further Jungkook would take you next time.
when the stoic and devastatingly handsome sir jeon jungkook is appointed as your personal knight, sworn to guard your royal highness with a will forged from steel, you quickly discover that his greatest strength may also be his most infuriating trait, he is utterly immune to you. no matter how tightly you lace your corset, he remains the perfect knight, eyes respectfully averted, jaw set like stone. but while sir jungkook may be a man of steel, you are a princess accustomed to getting what you want, and with every sinful intention of discovering whether even the realm’s most loyal knight could be brought to his knees for you.
⎯⎯ pairing: knight jungkook x princess y/n
warnings: erotica, forbidden medieval fantasy au, porn with plot, age gap, yearning, size difference, oral fixation (f.), unprotected sex, the princess is very horny, cold,dom!knight, bigdick!knight, breeding, pregnancy trope, war brutality, motherhood, subtle angst
word count: 20.5k
The great hall of the royal palace echoed with the murmurs of the assembled court. The King sat upon his throne, his stern gaze sweeping over the line of elite knights who had come to compete for the highest honor in the realm, becoming the personal protector of his only daughter, the princess, you.
The position was coveted for many reasons, but none more obvious than the princess herself.
Beauty had always been your burden as much as your blessing. Tales of it traveled farther than merchants and faster than ravens, crossing borders until even distant courts spoke your name with a mixture of admiration and longing. Princes penned verses in your honor without ever meeting you. Even seasoned knights, men hardened by war and duty, often found themselves disarmed by nothing more than a smile.
With your coronation fast approaching, the kingdom stood on the brink of celebration. It would be the grandest event seen in decades, drawing princes, dignitaries from every corner of the continent. Some would arrive seeking alliances. Most would arrive seeking you.
The prospect amused you more than it excited you.
“Protecting my daughter is not merely a matter of strength,” your father’s voice boomed through the hall. “It demands unyielding discipline and absolute loyalty. You will each face three trials. The princess herself will accompany you, so that you may prove your worth in her presence.”
Your eyes swept slowly across the line of knights standing before the throne, a faint mask of boredom kissing your beautiful face, certain that none of them would truly be able to handle you.
For years, entertaining yourself at the expense of knights had become something of a pastime. A lingering touch against a gauntleted hand, a mere whispered compliment that left disciplined warriors suddenly forgetting their own names. Watching them struggle to maintain their composure was endlessly amusing.
You had notoriously toyed with men like this, living wildly beneath the weight of your royal title, and your father knew this better than anyone. That was precisely why he had designed these trials.
He wasn’t simply looking for the strongest sword arm. He wanted a knight with sharp intellect and the rare ability to withstand your constant attempts to live life on your terms rather than as a perfectly mannered princess.
A small, intrigued smile played on your lips when the first few knights stepped forward. They were impressive in brute force, but you could already tell they would crumble the moment you decided to play.
Then he stepped forward.
Sir Jeon Jungkook.
Even fully armored, with only his dark, piercing eyes visible through the narrow slit of his helmet, once his unflinching gaze met yours for a brief second, a strange spark ignited low in your belly. You tilted your head, studying those dark eyes with growing interest.
The first trial took place that very evening in the smaller banquet hall. Only a select few courtiers were present. You sat at the high table beside your father, sipping from a jeweled goblet.
Unknown to the competing knights, the King had arranged for one of the wine pitchers to be laced with a powerful sleeping draught. Harmless, but potent enough to leave the princess disoriented and vulnerable. Only the King, a few trusted advisors, and the princess herself knew of the plan.
The knights had been given only one instruction: protect the princess. No further details.
As the evening progressed, the effects of the draught began to take hold. Your thoughts grew pleasantly hazy, movements slower. The jeweled goblet nearly slipped from your grasp once before you caught it. A second time, you laughed at something that had not been particularly funny.
Several knights noticed. Some were too busy trying to appear vigilant, eyes constantly scanning the room for imaginary assassins.
A few noticed your condition and drew dangerously close. One insisted on helping you stand despite the fact that you had not asked for assistance. Another rested a hand against your lower back almost inappropriately while guiding you through the room. One knight even smiled when he realized how heavily you leaned upon him after stumbling.
The courtiers watched everything. So did the King.
You were beginning to feel genuinely annoyed when a tall figure stepped silently between you and yet another overeager knight.
Sir Jeon Jungkook.
Unlike the others, he had not hovered around you all evening. He had remained where a royal protector belonged, close enough to intervene, distant enough to respect your space.
Dark eyes studied your face through the narrow opening of his helmet. “The princess has had enough wine,” he declared.
The knight beside you scoffed. “She seems perfectly fin—”
“She does not.”
You watched surprise flicker across the other knight’s face.
Sir Jungkook’s hand briefly closed around your forearm as you swayed, steadying you before immediately letting go the moment your balance returned.
Within moments he had summoned two ladies-in-waiting to accompany you back to your chambers. When another knight offered to carry you himself, Sir Jungkook declined on your behalf before you could even answer.
“Her reputation is as important as her safety.”
For the first time all evening, genuine curiosity stirred within you.
Most men saw opportunity when they looked at you. Some saw beauty, a few saw a future crown. Yet somehow, Sir Jeon Jungkook seemed to see only his duty.
As the ladies guided you toward the doorway, you glanced back over your shoulder.
“How noble of you, Sir Jungkook,” you teased, voice softened by the draught. “Are you always so resistant to temptation?”
His gaze never wavered. “My duty is to protect Your Highness.”
For reasons you could not quite explain, that response lingered in your thoughts far longer than any flirtatious remark ever had.
The final trial was, by all appearances, the simplest.
After weeks of staged attacks, hidden tests, the remaining candidates expected one final demonstration of skill. Some anticipated a duel. Others believed they would be sent to defend the princess from another fabricated threat. Instead, the King announced that the last trial would consist of a single week of personal duty beside the princess. No further explanation was offered.
The knights were disappointed.
You, however, knew exactly what your father was doing.
The trial was not designed to test strength or intelligence. It was designed to test restraint.
Most of the candidates failed within days. Some became overly eager whenever you requested their company.
Others ignored palace protocol the moment you suggested bending the rules. One knight allowed you to wander through the city market without informing the royal guard because he was too eager to please you. Another accepted an invitation to share wine in one of the palace balconies despite knowing perfectly well how improper it appeared. Every failure was carefully observed and quietly recorded.
Only one knight remained infuriatingly impossible.
Sir Jeon Jungkook.
The more you watched him, the more determined you became to discover his weakness. Surely he had one. Everyone did.
At first, your attempts were harmless. During walks through the palace gardens, you lingered beside him instead of remaining ahead as protocol dictated. During meals, you directed most of your conversation toward him. More than once, you deliberately brushed your fingers against the steel of his gauntlet while speaking. Other knights would have turned crimson. Some would have stumbled over their own words.
Sir Jungkook merely stepped aside and continued his duties as though nothing had happened.
Perhaps it was the way every other knight had spent the past weeks attempting to impress you, the King, or the court.
Where others sought favor, he sought only to fulfill his duty. And thus, when the day of the final judgment arrived, the outcome surprised absolutely no one.
Your father rose slowly from his seat.
“Sir Jeon Jungkook,” he declared, voice echoing through the hall. “You have successfully completed all trials. You have shown not only strength and intellect, but the rare ability to anticipate danger and resist… temptation.” His gaze flicked briefly to you. “From this day forward, you are hereby appointed as the princess’s personal royal knight and protector. Guard her with your life. And may the gods help you.”
A murmur rippled through the court.
You turned toward Sir Jeon Jungkook, stepping just close enough that your crimson gown brushed his armor.
“Welcome to my service, Sir Jungkook,” you whispered so only he could hear. “I do hope you’re prepared. Resisting me may prove to be your greatest trial yet.”
His dark eyes held yours with unshakable strength. “I was under the impression I had already passed that one, Your Highness.”
—
Having Sir Jeon Jungkook follow you around all day wasn’t ideal.
It had not even been three months since his appointment as your royal knight, yet his constant, silent presence had already begun to grate on your nerves. He was always a towering shadow in dark armor, never more than a few steps behind. What annoyed you most was his utter lack of reaction.
No matter how boldly you flirted, no matter how you tightened your corset in front of him until your breasts nearly spilled over, no matter how many times you “accidentally” brushed against him, he remained perfectly composed.
What bothered you most of all was that you still had no idea what he looked like. Only those dark, intense eyes visible through the narrow slit of his helmet. The rest of him remained hidden behind steel, a constant, frustrating mystery.
The journey to the neighboring kingdom for the grand alliance celebration had been long and stifling. You rode in the royal ornate covered carriage borne by four strong horses and guarded on all sides. The extravagant gown you wore was beautiful but suffocating, the tight corset pressing against your ribs and making every breath feel like a struggle. Boredom weighed on you like lead.
Your dearest friend, Lady Isolde rode beside you in her own litter. She was to be wed in a month, and the two of you had spent the journey giggling like girls again, whispering behind silk curtains.
“He’s so tall,” Isolde teased, peeking through the gap toward where Sir Jeon Jungkook rode steadily beside your litter. “And those eyes… I wonder what the rest of him looks like under all that steel. Do you think he’s handsome, or just another brute?”
You laughed softly, though your gaze lingered on the narrow slit of Jungkook’s helmet, where those dark, intense eyes remained fixed forward.
“As if,” you replied, laced with mock boredom. “He’s far too proper. I could tighten my corset until my breasts nearly spill, and he wouldn’t even glance.”
Isolde giggled. “You should try. For science.”
Sir Jungkook’s eyes flicked toward the litter for the briefest second before returning forward. You smirked. Annoyed as you were by his constant, unflinching presence… you were also undeniably intrigued.
That night, after the feasting and music had died down and the royal party made camp near the forest’s edge, you slipped away, desperate for even a moment of peace, and determined to test just how far his restraint could stretch.
The air had grown chilly, carrying the faint bite of early autumn as you made your way to the forbidden stretch of the deep bend where the river water ran swift and dangerously deep. No one was permitted here after dark, especially not the princess.
You knew he would follow.
The heavy footsteps of armor soon echoed behind you on the rocky bank.
“Your Highness,” Sir Jungkook’s deep voice rang out, firm. “This area is strictly prohibited at night. The currents are treacherous and the water is far too cold. We must return to the palace at once.”
You barely looked at him. Your eyes were fastened upon the vast expanse of the river, moonlight dancing across its dark surface like scattered diamonds. You wanted nothing more than to feel the cool waves kissing your bare skin, to swim freely under the moon with no eyes judging you in, except his.
A small, unusually kind smile touched your lips as you turned toward him.
“Why don’t you join me, Sir Jungkook?” you asked softly, your voice carrying on the gentle night breeze. “Just for a little while. The water looks so peaceful tonight.”
Sir Jungkook stood like a statue in his dark armor. “Your Highness… that would be highly improper,” he replied, voice low. “I am here to protect you, not to… bathe with you.”
You let out a soft, melodic laugh and began walking toward the river’s edge, the hem of your gown brushing the grass.
“Well, I suppose then…” you bit your lip, your fingers moving to the laces of your gown with aching slowness. “I shall swim, and you will stand guard like the loyal knight you are.”
You could feel his intense eyes watching through the narrow slit of his helmet as you loosened the ties. The rich fabric slid from your shoulders like liquid silk, pooling at your feet.
Completely bare under the moonlight, you wore nothing beneath. Your skin glowed luminous and your full breasts rose and fell with each breath, nipples already stiff from the cold night air. The curve of your waist flared into soft hips, and the smooth, delicate skin between your thighs was on full display.
Sir Jungkook immediately turned his head sharply away, staring fixedly into the dark trees.
“Your Highness!” His voice was strained. “This is highly inappropriate. I cannot allow—”
“You don’t have to allow anything,” you cut him off, dripping with defiance. “You’re not permitted to touch me while I’m bare. So you’ll just have to stand there.”
You waded into the river with a soft gasp. The icy water bit into your skin, but the thrill of rebellion pushed you forward. You swam out deeper, the cold making your body hypersensitive.
You glanced back at the bank. Sir Jungkook stood like a statue, head turned away, refusing to look at your naked form even once. His armored fists were clenched tightly at his sides.
A thrill of satisfaction ran through you.
You felt exhilarated. Free. And wickedly aware that the most disciplined man in the kingdom was standing on the bank, fighting not to look at you.
“Are you really going to stand there all night, Sir Jungkook? The water feels wonderful… and I’m all alone out here.” You swam further out, the cold water caressing every inch of your bare skin. A soft, content sigh escaped your lips.
It would be a plain lie if you said you weren’t at least a little relieved that he had followed you. The deep bend was no joke. its treacherous currents and deadly depth were feared even by The King. Yet here you were, aching to tear down the walls of the knight who refused to bend to your charms.
You floated lazily on your back, letting the moonlight kiss your bare skin. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you took your chance.
Once a subtle current tugged at your legs, you gasped dramatically, flailing your arms and letting out a soft, helpless cry. “Oh—!”
You fought back a giggle, pretending to be a damsel in distress, knowing the current wasn’t strong enough to truly endanger you. You wanted to see if you could finally crack his composure.
But the gods had other plans.
Without warning, a far more treacherous undercurrent slammed into you like a living beast. It dragged you under violently, twisting your body, filling your mouth and nose with icy water. Real panic surged through you as you lost your breath and sight in the black depths.
“Jungkook!” you screamed, the sound barely coherent as water rushed into your lungs. This time, it was no act.
Sir Jeon Jungkook did not hesitate for even a fraction of a second. He plunged into the river fully armored, cutting through the violent current with powerful strokes. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, yanking your naked body against his steel chest as he fought the river with raw, expert strength. You clung to him desperately, coughing and gasping as he dragged you back to the rocky bank.
The moment he pulled you ashore, his helmet caught on a low hanging branch and was ripped clean off.
You lay on the grass, gasping for air, when your eyes finally focused on the man hovering above you.
And you forgot how to breathe.
Sir Jeon Jungkook was devastatingly, unfairly handsome.
Wet raven black hair clung to his forehead and sharp, sculpted cheekbones. Water droplets traced the strong line of his jaw and dripped from sensual lips. His dark eyes, now fully exposed, were intense and beautiful, framed by long lashes and thick brows. A faint scar graced his left eyebrow, adding a rugged edge to his otherwise perfect masculine beauty.
Before you could speak, he swiftly grabbed his crimson cloak and draped it over your naked body, covering you completely with careful reverence. His gaze remained locked strictly on your face, never once drifting to your exposed skin.
“Are you okay, Your Highness?” he asked, voice rough with concern. A faint blush colored his cheeks as he noticed the way you were staring at his now-bare face.
You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The combination of the dangerous current, the shock of nearly drowning, and the overwhelming sight of your knight’s true face left you dizzy and speechless.
Your vision blurred. You passed out in his arms.
Sir Jungkook pulled you closer against his armored chest, one large hand gently brushed your wet hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly tender. He lifted you effortlessly, cradling you like a warrior carrying his lady, your head resting against his broad shoulder, body wrapped securely in his cloak, legs draped over his arm as he carried you back to his mare.
He mounted carefully, keeping you nestled safely against him as the horse began the journey back to the palace through secret paths.
You woke briefly as he laid you down on the thick rug before the hearth in your royal chambers. The fire was already roaring. You were still wrapped in his cloak, beneath it only a thin silk bandeau now clung to your body, the delicate material barely containing your breasts, pressing them together in a deep, soft cleavage that rose and fell with each shaky breath.
You trembled from the cold and the lingering shock of the river.
Sir Jeon Jungkook remained kneeling by the fire, his movements precise as he stoked the flames. Water dripped from his raven hair onto his armoured shoulders. Then he rose to his full, imposing height, towering, broad shouldered.
Without a word, he reached for his helmet, which rested upon a nearby oak chest, clearly intending to conceal his face once more.
“No,” you whispered, your voice soft yet commanding as you pushed yourself up on one elbow. “Do not put it back on.”
The knight paused, gloved hand hovering above the helm. His dark eyes met yours, intense and conflicted.
“Your Highness… it is not fitting for me to stand before you unveiled,” he said, his voice carrying the formal cadence of a sworn knight. “I must maintain the dignity of my position.”
You sat up fully, the cloak slipping slightly from one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of your skin and the edge of the silk bandeau. Despite the cold still clinging to your bones, warmth bloomed low in your belly as you gazed upon his face, truly beheld it for the first time.
“Come closer,” You rose to your knees on the rug, the cloak parting further as you reached for him. “Let me see you properly.”
He hesitated, every line of his powerful frame taut with restraint. Yet he obeyed, lowering himself once more to kneel before you. Even on his knees, he remained nearly at your eye level, so tall and broad was he.
You lifted a delicate hand and brushed your fingers through his damp raven locks, pushing them back from his forehead. A contented sigh escaped your lips.
“You are far too pleasing to look upon, Sir Jungkook,” you whispered, almost in awe. “I had wondered what lay beneath that steel. Never did I imagine such a face.”
Sir Jungkook remained perfectly still on his knees before you. His hands rested tensely on his armoured thighs as he fought to keep his gaze fixed on your face and not the way your breasts strained against the thin silk bandeau.
“You flatter me, Your Highness,” he replied, voice low. “But I am your knight. Nothing more. Please allow me to restore my helmet.”
You shook your head slowly, refusing to let him hide again. Instead, you leaned closer, your fingers still buried in his damp raven hair.
A new, overwhelming wave of admiration and obsession washed over you. This man... this mature, hardened, breathtakingly handsome knight was kneeling before you like a devotee. The realization sent a fresh rush of heat between your thighs.
“You’re older than me, aren’t you?” you murmured softly, continuing to caress his hair with gentle strokes. “Hardened by battles and years I haven’t yet seen.”
You wondered how many more scars he carried beneath that heavy armor hidden across his broad chest, his strong back.
“I am twenty eight, Your Highness,” he answered quietly, his deep voice carrying that disciplined tone you were growing addicted to.
“Tell me something personal,” you said, your voice turning playful yet curious. Your fingers trailed from his hair down to trace his cheekbone once more. “Have you ever been with a woman, Sir Jeon? Truly been with one?”
His jaw tightened visibly. The question crossed every boundary a knight was sworn to respect.
“Your Highness… such questions are not appropriate for me to answer,” he replied. You leaned in even closer, still stroking his hair tenderly, your breath brushing against his skin.
“But I want to know,” you whispered. “Have you ever touched a woman the way a man touches a lover? Ever kissed one?”
Jungkook’s breathing grew slightly heavier. His dark eyes stayed locked on yours with iron discipline, though you could clearly see the storm brewing behind them.
“I have not, Your Highness,” he finally answered, voice low and honest. “My duty has always come first.”
A thrill ran through you at his confession. You let your fingers drift lower, brushing along his sharp jawline. “And if a woman wanted you… desperately?” your voice dropped to a near whisper. “If she wanted your mouth between her thighs… your tongue tasting her, would you deny her?”
The impure question hung heavy in the air between you. You shocked even yourself with how boldly it slipped out, but the vivid image, his devastatingly handsome face trapped between your legs, mouth glistening with your arousal made the heat bloom even more slick between your thighs.
Sir Jungkook’s hands clenched tighter on his armored thighs. A faint flush colored the tips of his ears and neck, but he remained on his knees.
“Your Highness,” he said, reverently, “I am sworn to protect you. Not to… indulge in such thoughts.”
You smiled softly. Then you leaned back on the bed, letting the crimson cloak fall open completely. The thin silk bandeau was the only thing left covering you, and even that felt too much now.
“Then I command you,” You looked down at him, this powerful knight on his knees before you, and felt a rush of pure need. “I want your mouth on me, Jungkook. Right now.”
“Your Highness, I—”
“Touch me,” you breathed, cutting him off. “Please, Jungkook…”
You reached down and grabbed his gloved hand, bringing it to your chest. Slowly, you pressed his large palm over the thin silk bandeau, letting him feel the soft, heavy weight of your breast. Your nipple was already painfully hard beneath the fabric.
Sir Jungkook’s breath hitched sharply. His entire body tensed, the muscles in his arm flexing under the armor as he fought against every instinct.
You didn’t stop there, dragging his hand lower, sliding it down your stomach until his fingers rested between your thighs. You were soaked. your petals slick and hot against his gloved fingers.
“Feel how damp you make me,” you whispered, voice shaking with need.
Sir Jungkook let out a low, strained groan. His dark eyes were fixed on your face, but you could see the violent war happening behind them.
The most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on — the princess, the future queen, was laid out before him in nothing but a flimsy silk bandeau, legs spread, pressing his hand against her dripping cunt.
“Your Highness…” he rasped, albeit desperate. “This is beyond forbidden. You are royalty. I am sworn—”
“I don’t care,” you whimpered, grinding slowly against his gloved fingers. “I need you. I’ve never felt this way before. Touch me now, my knight. Please.”
His hand trembled. For a long moment, he simply rested there, feeling your wetness soak through the leather of his glove. Then, with a broken exhale that sounded like surrender, his fingers moved.
He stroked along your soaked folds, parting the delicate petals of your most secret flower. And what a flower it was... a lush, glistening rosebud blooming only for him. Your outer lips were soft and swollen with need, flushed deep, delicate like the first blush of dawn.
As he gently spread you open, the inner petals revealed themselves: silky, and impossibly tender, layered like the finest rose in full bloom after a summer rain. At the center lay your sweetest nectar, dripping and honeyed, flowing abundantly from your aching entrance.
The knight didn’t know what came over him, but your pulsing heat and slick, puckering folds had him utterly entranced. His breathing grew ragged. You could see the way his throat worked, the way his tongue unconsciously darted out to wet his lips. He was drooling.
“May I lick you, Your Highness?” he asked hoarsely, voice thick with barely contained hunger. “Please… allow me to taste you.”
The desperate plea from such a disciplined man sent a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you.
“Yes,” you breathed, spreading your thighs wider for him, your voice trembling with raw need. “Use your mouth on me, Jungkook. Lick your princess until she cannot think.”
The moment the words left your lips, something in him broke. Sir Jungkook leaned in and dragged his hot, wet tongue slowly up your soaked slit. The first full taste of you pulled a deep, guttural groan from his chest. You were intoxicatingly sweet and dripping with arousal. He licked you again, slower this time, savoring every slick fold as if he were drinking the finest wine in the kingdom.
You cried out sharply, back arching off the bed as overwhelming pleasure flooded your body. The sensation was brand new, so intense it made your legs twitch violently.
“Oh... Jungkook!” you moaned, fingers digging into his raven hair.
The knight’s tongue circled your swollen clit before sucking it gently into his mouth, then plunged inside your tight heat, ravishing you with slow, deep strokes. The wet, filthy sounds of his mouth eagerly eating you echoed through the chamber, obscene, and shameless.
The most beautiful woman he had ever known, the future queen, was thrashing beneath him, legs shaking uncontrollably around his head, soft whimpers and loud moans spilling from her pretty lips.
Your hips rolled desperately against his face, coating his tongue, lips, and chin with your sweet release. Sir Jungkook drank every drop you gave him, groaning against your cunt as his own cock strained painfully against his armor.
He had never tasted anything so addictive.
You were already twitching, gasping, legs trembling so hard they threatened to close around his head. The pleasure was too much, too new, too overwhelming for your body.
Suddenly, Sir Jungkook pulled back slightly, his lips glistening with your juices. His dark eyes looked up at you, breathing ragged.
“Should I continue, Your Highness?” he asked hoarsely, voice thick with lust and devotion. “Tell me… do you want more?”
You could barely form words. Your body was shaking, pussy throbbing, dripping onto the mattress beneath you.
“Please don’t stop,” you whimpered desperately. “Keep licking me... please...”
The knight obeyed instantly. He buried his face back between your thighs and attacked your clit with relentless strokes of his tongue. Two thick fingers pushed inside you, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot while he sucked hard on your swollen pearl.
The pleasure hit you like a storm.
Your entire body seized up. A loud, broken scream tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you violently. Your thighs clamped around his head, hips bucking wildly against his mouth as you gushed on his tongue. Wave after wave of intense pleasure ripped through you, leaving you shaking uncontrollably, vision blurring at the edges.
You nearly passed out from the sheer intensity of it. body twitching, chest heaving, soft cries still falling from your lips as the pleasure refused to let go.
Sir Jungkook stayed between your thighs through every tremor, drinking down every last drop of your release like a man who had finally found salvation.
When your body finally went limp, trembling and oversensitive, he gently kissed your inner thigh before pulling back, his handsome face flushed and glistening with your arousal.
You could barely speak, still catching your breath as you stared at the sight of your proud, disciplined knight with your release shining on his lips.
—
“The Princess requires her knight’s escort to the eastern tower for stargazing.”
The message was innocent enough on paper. But the court had begun to notice how often you summoned Sir Jeon Jungkook for these private “duties.” Some whispered that the Princess trusted no one else. Others envied the knight who had earned such unwavering favor from the realm’s greatest beauty.
They had no idea what really happened once the tower door was bolted.
In the eastern tower under the stars, you would push Sir Jungkook against the cold stone wall and demand his mouth on you again. He always hesitated at first, “Your Highness, we mustn’t…” but the moment you looked at him with those wide, needy eyes and whispered “Please, Jungkook… I ache for you,” his resolve crumbled.
He would drop to his knees in full armor, push your skirts up to your waist, and bury his face between your thighs. The sounds he made while devouring you were filthy and desperately loud. wet slurps and deep groans as he drank every drop of your arousal. You quickly learned to muffle your loud moans against your own arm or his shoulder, thighs shaking violently around his head as he brought you to shattering orgasm after orgasm.
He never asked for anything in return at first. But one night, after he had made you come so hard you saw stars, you dropped to your knees in front of him, hands trembling as you freed his thick, aching cock from his breeches.
You had never seen the knight fully bare, but you had tasted him.
You took him into your mouth with clumsy but eager hunger, sucking and licking until he was groaning your name like a prayer, his gloved hand gently cradling the back of your head. When he spilled down your throat, you swallowed every drop, looking up at him with wide, adoring eyes.
The tension between you only grew hotter, more forbidden.
You began creating excuses just to be close to him.
You “accidentally” wandered into dangerous parts of the forest during hunts. You “lost” your way in the palace corridors at night. You deliberately teased foreign dignitaries until they grew too bold, all so Sir Jungkook would have to step in, pull you protectively against his armored chest, and hold you there while scolding you with his low voice.
Each time, you nestled your head against his chest plate, breathing in his scent, feeling safe in a way you had never felt with anyone else.
One quiet afternoon in the royal rose gardens, while the other knights kept their distance. The summer blooms were at their peak, rows upon rows of crimson roses spilling over marble trellises in a riot of color and fragrance. Courtiers often compared them to you. You had heard the comparison so many times throughout your life that it had long since lost all meaning.
Your attention was elsewhere when Sir Jungkook paused beside a rose bush heavy with crimson blooms. Reaching out, he selected a single flower and turned it thoughtfully between his fingers before approaching.
“A gift?” you asked.
“If Your Highness would accept it.”
The answer surprised a smile from you.
He stepped forward and tucked the rose behind your ear. His gloved fingers lingered only for a second before withdrawing, but even that brief touch seemed to affect him more than he wished to admit.
When you looked up, his gaze was fixed upon the flower. “Beautiful things are dangerous,” he said quietly.
You laughed. “I believe roses are dangerous for everyone except gardeners.”
His expression didn’t change.
“I wasn’t speaking about the rose.”
Your heart fluttered so violently you had to look away. it was becoming impossible to deny how deeply you were falling for him.
The kisses grew sloppier, more desperate with every stolen moment.
In the abandoned library, your knight would press you against the bookshelves, helmet removed, and kiss you like he was drowning, tongue sliding against yours, hands gripping your waist as if afraid you might vanish. You kissed him back just as hungrily, tugging at his hair, moaning softly into his mouth while your hand palmed the hard bulge in his breeches.
Your hunger for him was insatiable. You ached for his presence constantly. The court noticed how you lit up when he entered a room, how you instinctively moved closer to him during gatherings. They saw devotion, they saw trust.
They never saw the way you both held each other’s eyes like lovers who knew their time was stolen.
The relationship was utterly forbidden. Your father would banish him, or worse, if he ever discovered the truth. But neither of you could stop. Something real was blossoming between you.
The knight admired your wild, rebellious spirit. You admired his quiet strength and unwavering honor. In the darkness, you were no longer just princess and knight. You were becoming each other’s secret salvation. And it was only a matter of time before the tension finally snapped.
—
The Coronation.
The kingdom was in full celebration. Banners of the finest gold flew from every tower. The greatest event in decades had arrived, your coronation as Queen.
Princes from across the realms had come in droves, each more eager than the last to win your hand and the throne beside you. They brought lavish gifts, performed in grand tournaments, and showered you with compliments. The entire court watched with bated breath, waiting for you to choose.
You sat upon the raised dais in a breathtaking gown of white, looking every bit the ethereal queen-to-be. But your eyes kept drifting to the tall, armored figure standing silently behind your throne, Sir Jeon Jungkook.
He had become even more composed in public, yet you could feel the storm raging beneath his helmet. Especially when you decided to play your cruel little game.
Prince Min of Veina leaned close during the feast, whispering sweet nothings about your beauty. You laughed brightly, placing a hand on his arm, letting your fingers linger, leaning in just enough for your neckline to offer him a generous view of your breasts.
From the corner of your eye, you saw Sir Jungkook’s gloved hand tighten around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white.
Another prince, a golden haired lord from the eastern isles, offered you a rose during the garden promenade. You accepted it with a coy smile, twirling it between your fingers while glancing toward your knight.
Sir Jungkook’s dark eyes burned behind the helmet. You could feel his jealousy like a living thing, hot and barely contained.
That night, after the feasting and dancing, you summoned him to the eastern tower under the usual pretense.
The moment the door closed, he was on you.
The knight pinned you against the cold stone wall. The single rose you’d been idly twirling between your fingers, a gift from one of the many princes, fell forgotten to the floor.
Sir Jungkook’s dark eyes burned with something almost feral.
“You will be wed off soon?” he growled dangerously, breath hot against your ear.
You looked up at him, heart racing. Your long, wavy hair had finally been let down after the long day, cascading over your shoulders and hips like dark silk. The tight corset of your white coronation gown was already loosened, the fabric slipping slightly off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of your skin.
“What do you think about Prince Min?” you asked sweetly, tilting your head. “I think he’s quite lovely. So charming. He even said he would worship me every night once we’re wed.”
Sir Jungkook’s jaw clenched so hard you heard it crack. The jealousy that had been simmering all day threatening to explode.
“Doesn’t it drive you mad, Sir Jeon?” You leaned in closer, letting your breasts brush against his armored chest. “Knowing your princess, the one you’ve been secretly devouring every night, is wanted by so many powerful men? That they all dream of putting a ring on my finger and taking me to their beds?”
“It is exquisite torture, Your Highness,” he growled, eyes burning. “Watching them look at you like they have any right to you. Knowing I’m the only one who’s ever tasted you, the only one who’s ever made you scream.”
His raw honesty sent a sharp thrill through you. You bit your lip, loving the way jealousy sharpened his features, making his dark eyes appear even more intense. He was possessive and barely holding himself back. And you wanted to push him further.
You stepped away from the wall with a teasing smile, walking over to the tall, gilded mirror that stood near the fireplace. The white gown still clung to your body, hair cascading in long, wild waves down your back. You picked up a silver brush and began slowly running it through it, watching him in the reflection.
Sir Jungkook followed you like a shadow, stopping just behind you. His tall, powerful frame loomed in the mirror, twice your size, radiating heat and restrained fury.
“Does that bother you, my knight?” A teasing smile played on your lips. “Knowing that soon I might have to let another man—”
You didn’t get to finish. Sir Jungkook’s large hand closed around your wrist, stopping the brush mid stroke. He plucked it from your fingers and set it down with a deliberate clack. His other hand gripped your hip, pulling your back flush against his armored chest.
Your breath hitched. The playful boldness you’d been wielding all night vanished in an instant.
“Enough,” he growled low against your ear, “You’ve teased me enough tonight, Your Highness.”
His dark eyes burned into yours through the mirror. The intensity there made your knees weak. This wasn’t the restrained, obedient knight anymore. This was a man who had finally reached his limit.
He reached around you and slowly began unlacing the rest of your corset. The white gown loosened further, slipping down your shoulders. You watched in the mirror as he tugged it lower, exposing your full breasts to the cool air and the warm firelight. Your nipples were hard, flushed, and sensitive.
Sir Jungkook’s hand cupped one breast possessively, squeezing it as his thumb brushed over the stiff peak. You gasped, arching into his touch.
“Look at yourself,” he ordered quietly, voice rough. “Look how beautiful you are. How perfect. And yet you let them think they could ever have this.”
He pinched your nipple, rolling it between his fingers until you whimpered. His other hand slid down, gathering the fabric of your gown and pulling it up to your waist, fully exposing your bare cunt in the mirror.
Your face bloomed bright red as you instinctively tried to close your legs, suddenly overwhelmed with shyness at the sight of yourself so lewdly displayed, flushed and completely bare in the golden firelight.
But Sir Jungkook wouldn’t allow it. His large hand gripped your thigh firmly, spreading you open again as he pressed his body harder against your back.
“Don’t hide,” His dark eyes met yours in the mirror, intense and commanding. “Look how filthy and wet you are for me.”
You shivered, unable to tear your eyes away from the reflection. The contrast was obscene, your ethereal white gown bunched around your waist, breasts exposed and heaving, legs spread wide while his armored body loomed behind you like a dark, possessive shadow.
Sir Jungkook’s hand returned between your thighs. Two thick fingers slid through your slick folds, parting them slowly so you could see everything in the mirror. You whimpered at the sight, embarrassed yet unbearably aroused.
“So beautiful,” he breathed as he circled your swollen clit with his fingertip. “This is what belongs to me. Not to any prince. Not to anyone else.”
He pushed two fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as he began ravishing you with slow, deliberate strokes that made wet, obscene sounds echo in the quiet tower.
You tried to close your legs again, overwhelmed, but he held them open with ease, his grip firm and unyielding.
“Watch,” he ordered softly, voice dark with lust. “Watch how easily I can make my princess fall apart.”
Your eyes stayed glued to the mirror as his fingers plunged in and out of your soaked cunt, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. Your cheeks were flushed deep crimson, lips parted in shameless moans, breasts bouncing slightly with every thrust of his hand.
The pleasure built fast and merciless. Your legs started shaking, thighs trembling violently as you fought to stay upright.
Sir Jungkook’s fingers curled deeper, stroking that perfect spot inside you while his thumb pressed firm circles on your swollen clit.
You came hard with a broken cry, arousal gushing down his wrist and dripping onto the stone floor beneath you. Your head fell back against his armored shoulder, body convulsing as wave after wave of intense pleasure tore through right after.
The knight dragged his arousal coated fingers from your pulsing heat and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean while his dark eyes stayed locked on yours in the mirror. The obscene sight made you whimper, legs pressing together instinctively. This time, he allowed it.
You pulled away from him shyly, legs unsteady as you walked toward the wide couch near the fireplace. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover your bare breasts, suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment.
Sir Jungkook approached you ever so slowly. His heart was pounding. you could see it in the rise and fall of his broad chest. The way your flushed cheeks and shy posture made you look so adorable only made his desire burn hotter.
He stopped in front of you, towering over your smaller frame. Without a word, he gently uncrossed your arms, exposing your breasts again. You tried to cover them once more, but he caught your wrists softly.
“You’re too beautiful to hide, my love.” he murmured, voice low.
He leaned down and took one sensitive nipple into his hot mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder. You gasped sharply, hands flying to his shoulders as overwhelming sensitivity shot through you.
“Jungkook... it’s too much...” you whimpered, lightly pushing at his shoulders, cheeks burning with shyness.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark with lust and affection. “You’re so sensitive here,” he whispered, almost in awe. He flicked his tongue over your nipple again, watching your reaction closely. “So angelic when you tremble like this.”
He sucked harder, alternating between your breasts, licking and biting softly until you were a whimpering mess, pushing at him weakly while your body arched into his mouth.
You grew frustrated at the unfairness, nearly naked while he was still fully armored. With a small, determined huff, you pushed him back slightly and began tugging at the straps of his armor.
“It is not fair,” you muttered, cheeks still flushed. “You get to see all of me, but I still haven’t seen you.”
The knight let you undress him, helping you remove piece after piece until he stood completely bare before you for the first time.
Your breath caught.
He was magnificent. Broad shoulders, powerfully sculpted chest marked with old scars, some long and faded, others newer. A few dark tattoos adorned his left pectoral and ribs. His abdomen was ridged with muscle, leading down to narrow hips. His cock hung heavy between his legs, thick and already hard.
You stepped closer, running your hands over his bare chest, tracing every scar with reverent fingers, exploring the strong lines of his back, more scars mapping his battles. He stood perfectly still, letting you admire him, though his breathing had grown heavier.
“You are… so manly, my knight,” you breathed, barely coherent, as your hands returned to his chest, sliding down the hard ridges of his abdomen. “So big… so perfect.”
The room had grown hotter, heavier. The air between you felt charged with months of suppressed longing. Your breaths mingled as you stared into each other’s eyes... yours wide with awe and desire, his dark with barely restrained hunger.
Sir Jungkook’s control finally snapped. He lifted you and laid you down on the wide couch near the fireplace, pinning your exploring hands above your head with one large hand, holding them there firmly before his body hovered over yours, powerful and imposing, thick cock resting heavy against your inner thigh.
“Look at me,” he commanded, voice low and rough.
You did, heart hammering.
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, eyes burning into yours.
You squirmed beneath him, aching and desperate. “Take me,” you pleaded, trembling. “Please, Jungkook… give it to me. I need you inside me.”
Sir Jungkook let out a low groan at your words. He positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against your soaked folds. He was big, almost intimidatingly so. You felt the stretch even before he pushed in.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Your Highness,” he whispered, voice strained with worry and barely contained lust. His dark eyes searched yours, torn between desire and restraint. “You’re so tight...”
You trembled beneath him, legs parted wide around his hips. “Please,” you begged softly, cupping his face. “Don’t hold back. I need you. All of you.”
The knight exhaled shakily and began to push inside.
The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply as the thick head of his cock breached you, slowly forcing your walls open. Inch by thick inch, he sank deeper, filling you in a way you had never experienced before. It burned sweetly, bordering on too much, making your nails dig into his shoulders.
“Ah... Jungkook…” you whimpered, tears pricking your eyes at the overwhelming fullness.
He paused halfway, breathing hard, jaw clenched tight. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, rough. “I’ll stop. I swear it.”
But you shook your head, wrapping your legs around his waist.
“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, voice breaking. “I need you deeper… please.”
With a low groan, he pushed the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt. The fullness was devastating. You felt so stretched, so completely claimed, that for a moment you could barely breathe.
Sir Jungkook stayed still, letting you adjust, pressing soft kisses to your tear stained cheeks.
“You’re taking me so well,” he murmured, voice filled with awe and lust. “Such a good girl for me.”
When the burn finally melted into aching pleasure, you rolled your hips experimentally.
“Move,” you whispered. “Please… ruin me.”
That was all it took.
Sir Jungkook’s control snapped completely. He pulled back and thrust into you hard, setting a deep, punishing rhythm. Jealousy and months of pent up desire fueled every powerful stroke. The wet, filthy sound of his thick cock slamming into your soaked cunt filled the tower, mixing with your loud, broken moans.
He was a knight sworn to protect the crown, now utterly ruining the very sovereign he had pledged his life to shield.
“Mine,” Sir Jungkook growled, biting down on your neck hard enough to leave a dark mark. “Not theirs. Never theirs.”
He ravished you relentlessly, claiming you, marking you. His mouth was everywhere: sucking bruises into your breasts, biting your collarbone, licking the tears from your cheeks. He pinned your wrists above your head again, hips snapping against yours with raw need.
You came hard the first time, screaming his name as your walls clenched violently around his thick length. But he didn’t stop. He took you through it, then flipped you onto your hands and knees, on the wide couch.
First, he worshipped.
The knight dropped to his knees behind you, his large hands spreading your cheeks reverently. He leaned in and pressed slow, open mouthed kisses along the curve of your royal backside, lingering presses of his lips that made your breath hitch. He kissed lower, then lower still, until his tongue dragged hot and wet over your soaked folds from behind.
“So beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, breath hot and heavy. “So divine. And yet I am going to ruin every sacred inch of you.”
Then the worship turned into ruin.
He rose, gripping your hips with white knuckled force, and thrust into you from behind in one deep, devastating stroke. You cried out sharply at the stretch, the thick length of his cock forcing your walls open, filling you so completely it stole your breath.
You sobbed in pleasure, fingers clawing at the cushions as he drove into you relentlessly. The power he exerted over you was intoxicating. this hardened warrior, dominating you utterly while still worshipping every tremble of your body.
“You belong to me,” he rasped, ruining you with slow, devastating strokes now. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” you whimpered, voice breaking. “Only yours, Jungkook... ahh!”
By the third round, you were a sobbing, whimpering mess, tears streaming down your face from overwhelming pleasure, body covered in his marks, cunt swollen and dripping with your combined release.
He took you in every way he could: against the wall, bent over the couch, riding him as he sat on the edge of the seat, then finally on your back again with your legs over his shoulders as he drove impossibly deep.
All night long, the tower echoed with your moans, his deep groans, the obscene wet sounds of your bodies joining. He claimed you utterly and completely devoted.
When he finally came for the last time, buried deep inside you, he held you tight, spilling pulse after pulse of hot seed into your womb, filling you until you felt impossibly full, claimed from the inside out.
Sir Jeon Jungkook pressed his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against yours with every word.
“You command the entire kingdom, my lady,” he whispered reverently, “but here in this hidden place… you are mine to ruin.”
You could only tremble in his arms, utterly spent, legs wrapped around his waist, heart pounding wildly as the fire crackled beside you.
The weight of what you had just done, and what it meant for both of you settled uncomfortably in the air. But in that moment, wrapped in his powerful arms, marked and filled by your knight, nothing else in the kingdom mattered.
The days that followed were a delicate illusion of peace.
It was late morning when you found yourself in the secluded royal bathing pool fed by a gentle river, surrounded by floating lily pads and white blossoms that drifted lazily on the current. The water was warm, scented with rose and lavender oils poured in by your maids. Sunlight filtered through the overhanging willow branches, casting soft, dappled light across the surface.
You leaned back against the smooth stone edge, your long dark hair floating around you like ink in water. Your body still carried the secret marks of the previous night, faint bruises on your hips, love bites hidden beneath the waterline, and a persistent, delicious ache between your thighs that reminded you with every shift who had claimed you so thoroughly.
Your maids, Elara, Verra, and old, wise Selyse moved around you carefully. They had raised you since you were a babe, more mothers than servants. They knew you better than anyone.
Elara poured another stream of warm water over your shoulders, her sharp eyes catching the faint flush that still lingered on your cheeks.
“You are glowing again this morning, my lady,” she said lightly, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “One might think the moon itself had kissed your skin.”
Verra, younger and bolder, laughed softly as she massaged oil into your scalp. “Or perhaps a certain tall, dark eyed knight has been keeping you… well attended.”
You felt your face heat, but you couldn’t stop the small, secret smile that curved your lips.
Selyse, the eldest, clicked her tongue but her eyes were soft with affection. “Hush, you two. Our princess has always been radiant. Though…” she tilted her head, studying you, “there is a new light in her eyes these days. And a certain weariness in her step that speaks of long nights.”
You bit your lip, sinking a little lower into the water as lily pads brushed against your skin.
“It is nothing,” you murmured, though the flush in your cheeks betrayed you.
“Nothing?” Vera teased, wading closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially.
“We have seen you grow from a wild little girl into this breathtaking woman. We know your heart. And we know it does not belong to any of those puffed up princes parading through the halls.”
You reached out, squeezing Elara’s hand, then Verra’s, your voice dropping to a shy, trembling whisper.
“It is true,” you confessed, cheeks burning hotter than the midday sun. “I have given myself to Sir Jeon. Body and heart. He is the only man I have ever wanted. The only one who has ever touched me.”
For a heartbeat, silence fell over the bathing pool. Then came the gasps.
Elara’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth. Verra let out a delighted little squeak, nearly dropping the oil vial. Even old Selyse, usually so composed, looked momentarily stunned before her face broke into a warm, knowing smile.
“Oh, my sweet girl,” Elara breathed, scandalized, thrilled. “You wicked little thing! With your own knight? Right under the King’s nose?”
Verra giggled uncontrollably, splashing water playfully in your direction. “And here we thought you were simply fond of him! All those late night ‘stargazing’ trips… you minx! Was he gentle? Was he… big?”
“Verra!” Selyse scolded, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. She turned to you with motherly affection. “Though I must admit, we have suspected for some time. The way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching… that man is utterly gone for you, my lady.”
You buried your face in your hands, mortified but unable to stop the shy, giddy smile spreading across your lips. Your gaze drifted across the river to where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard a respectful distance away, half hidden among the willow trees.
Even from here, you could feel the weight of his stare. He stood tall and imposing in his armor, but his dark eyes were fixed on you with a quiet, burning intensity that always made your stomach flutter.
You bit your lip, still flushed from both the warm water and the memory of his mouth, his hands, his body claiming you so thoroughly the night before.
“He is… everything,” you whispered dreamily, more to yourself than the maids. “Strong. Honorable. And when we are alone… he worships me like I am his entire world.”
Verra let out another delighted laugh. “As he should! Our princess deserves nothing less. Though if the King ever finds out…”
Selyse gently squeezed your shoulder, her voice softening with both love and concern.
“Then we will protect your secret as fiercely as we have protected you all these years,” she said. “You deserve to love who you love, my dear. Crown or no crown.”
You looked back at Sir Jungkook again. He hadn’t moved from his post among the willow trees, tall and steadfast in his armor, but your heart ached with a sharp mix of fear and wonder.
If The King ever discovered the truth, he would not spare your knight. Sir Jungkook would be banished, or worse. And you… you would be married off immediately to seal the wound.
The thought disturbed you deeply.
You turned back to the water, forcing a smile for your maids, but the warmth of the bath could no longer chase away the chill settling in your chest.
—
The rumors had begun to spread like fire through the palace corridors.
A lesser knight claimed he had seen “suspicious movement” near the eastern tower. One of the visiting princes mentioned, with a sly smile, that the Princess seemed unusually attached to her personal guard. Nothing concrete, nor proven. But the whispers were growing louder.
Your maids noticed your distraction immediately. During your morning dressing, Verra fastened the laces of your gown with unusually tight pulls, her voice urgent.
“My lady… you must be more careful,” she whispered. “Some of the king’s men have been asking questions about Sir Jeon. They say he spends too many nights away from the barracks. And one of Prince Min’s retainers swears he saw a tall figure slipping into your wing after midnight.”
Elara’s hands paused on your hair. “The knight is being cautious now. He avoids being seen with you as much. But you… you still look at him like he hung the moon. It is only a matter of time before the King hears something he cannot ignore.”
Selyse placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her eyes full of love and worry. “You are playing with fire, sweet girl. And fire does not care how much you love it.”
Your heart clenched with fear. You hadn’t seen your knight alone in a week. He had been deliberately distant, protecting you both by keeping his distance. The absence gnawed at you like hunger.
That night, you sent for him under the pretense of needing extra security for a private walk in the inner courtyard.
The moment the hidden door to your chambers closed behind him, you were on him.
You pushed Sir Jungkook against the wall, frustration and fear pouring out of you in a desperate kiss. Your hands fisted in his tunic, tugging him closer.
“Where have you been?” you demanded between kisses, voice shaking. “I was scared. I thought something had happened to you. I thought my father had already—”
“I’m here,” he whispered against your lips, rough with emotion. He pulled you closer, arms wrapping around you. “I’m right here, my love.”
But then he pulled back slightly, forehead pressed to yours. His dark eyes were filled with pain.
“I cannot stay,” he said quietly. The words hit you like a blow. “Your father has ordered me to lead a company to the western borders. There have been reports of raiders. He says it is to prove my devotion to protecting the realm… and you. He also made it clear I can no longer linger so closely around you. The rumors are growing too loud.”
You stared at him, heart shattering.
“No,” you whispered, then louder, “No. You cannot leave me. Not now. Not after everything.”
Tears stung your eyes as the hurt poured out.
“After our first night, you pulled away. You kept your distance like I was poison. And now you’re leaving entirely? What if something happens to you out there? What if I lose you forever? I can’t take it, Jungkook. I won’t survive it.”
Your hands moved frantically, tugging at the straps of his armor with desperate, angry fingers.
“I don’t care about the king. I don’t care about the borders. I only care about you.”
Piece by piece, you stripped him. The armor fell to the floor with heavy clangs until he stood completely bare before you, broad chest, scarred skin, powerful frame looking every bit of the warrior he was. You shoved him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.
Sir Jungkook’s hands moved instinctively to the laces of your corset, trying to free you fully, but you slapped his hand away, tears already glistening in your eyes.
But the knight was patient. He sat up slowly, your legs still wrapped tightly around his waist, and gently cupped your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed away the tears on your cheeks with heartbreaking tenderness.
“My love,” he whispered, voice soothing, “Let me worship you. Let me take care of you tonight. Please.”
He leaned in and captured one of your sensitive breasts in his mouth, sucking slowly. His tongue swirled around your stiff nipple, drawing a shaky moan from you. He moved to the other, giving it the same devoted attention, sucking and licking until your back arched and fresh tears slipped down your cheeks, this time from overwhelming sensation and emotion.
Holding you close, then gently but firmly, Sir Jungkook leaned back, gripping your hips and guiding you upward. In one rapid motion, he pulled you over his face, settling you directly onto his waiting mouth. Your soaked folds pressed flush against his lips and tongue, your thighs framing his head as he looked up at you with pure hunger.
“Use me,” he growled against your dripping folds, the vibration sending sparks through your core. “Pleasure yourself on my tongue love. I want to drown in you.”
You hesitated for half a second, still shy and nervous, cheeks burning hot even as your body screamed for more. But the frantic ache between your legs won out. You lowered yourself more fully, your slick cunt sliding over his mouth, his nose buried against your clit. He groaned loudly, the sound muffled and obscene as he immediately speared his tongue deep inside you, licking and sucking at your juices like a man starved.
You started moving almost desperately, grinding down with frantic little rocks of your hips. Shyness still flickered in your chest, making you whimper and bite your lip, but the pleasure overrode everything. Your hands braced on the headboard as wet, filthy sounds filled the room, the slick slide of your cunt over his tongue, his eager slurping and moaning, the way he sucked your swollen clit between his lips and flicked it mercilessly.
“Oh gods...” you gasped. Your thighs trembled around his head as you grew bolder, grinding harder, smearing your arousal all over his face. He gripped your cheeks, spreading them, holding you down so you could use him exactly how you needed. His tongue ravished in and out of your dripping hole, then flattened to lap broad strokes from your entrance to your clit, devouring every drop.
But it wasn’t enough.
You lifted off his face with a wet pop, strings of your arousal connecting you to his glistening mouth. His eyes were dark, lips swollen and shiny with your juices. Before he could speak, you slid down his body impatiently.
You straddled his hips, wrapped your hand around his thick, throbbing cock, and sank down onto him in one frantic motion.
The stretch made you cry out, but you didn’t stop. You rode him hard, bouncing on his length with frantic, emotional need, your breasts bouncing heavily with every harsh drop of your hips.
“Don’t leave me,” you sobbed, riding him faster, tears falling onto his chest. “Please, Jungkook… I can’t lose you. Not after this. Not after you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”
He thrust up to meet you, matching your desperate rhythm, his strong hands gripping your hips to guide you deeper.
“I don’t want to go,” he rasped, voice breaking with the same pain. “But I must. Your father commands it. I have to prove my loyalty… so I can stay by your side.”
You leaned down, kissing him messily through your tears, riding him like you could keep him here forever if you just moved fast enough.
“Then stay inside me,” you begged, voice cracking. “Fill me up. So deep that a part of you stays with me even when you’re gone. I want to carry you with me when they try to take you away.”
Sir Jungkook groaned deeply. His hands tightened on your hips as he suddenly flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath his powerful body.
He made love to you then, with deep, devastating strokes that reached the very core of you. His mouth never left your skin, sucking marks into your neck, whispering promises between every thrust.
“You are mine,” he breathed against your lips, hips rolling deeply. “I will come back to you. I will fill you again and again until you swell with our future.”
You wrapped your arms and legs around him, clinging desperately as another orgasm built inside you. When it finally crashed over you, you sobbed his name, walls pulsing tightly around his thick cock.
Sir Jungkook followed right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a low, guttural groan. He came hard, flooding your womb with thick, pulsing ropes of his seed, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to merge your souls together.
Even after, he stayed buried inside you, pressing soft kisses to your damp forehead, your cheeks, your trembling lips.
“I don’t want you to go,” you whispered, small and broken. “I love you too much.”
Sir Jungkook pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his arms never loosening. “I know, my love,” he murmured. “And that is why I must return to you. No matter what.”
The weeks following Sir Jungkook’s departure had stretched into an endless gray fog.
You moved through your royal duties like a ghost wearing a crown. You sat through council meetings with a straight spine and a hollow smile, listening to nobles bicker about alliances, trade routes while your mind wandered back to your knight’s strong arms. Every night since, your bed felt too large, too cold. You would press your face into the pillow he had once used and fight the ache in your chest.
You missed him with a desperation that bordered on madness.
This morning was no different. You had barely kept your breakfast down before the maids helped you into a heavy velvet gown the color of deep wine for yet another assembly with potential suitors. The princes and lords from neighboring kingdoms were growing impatient. Your coronation was only a month away, and the pressure to choose a consort was mounting like a noose around your throat.
By midday, the nausea returned with a vengeance. You barely made it through the formal greetings before excusing yourself to the private solar, hand pressed to your mouth.
Elara followed quickly with a basin. You retched violently into it, eyes watering.
“Your Highness…” she whispered, rubbing gentle circles on your back.
“I’m fine,” you rasped, waving her away. “Just… something I ate.”
But it wasn’t.
Later that evening, after the day’s obligations were finally over, Vera and Selyse insisted on the usual massage to ease the tension in your shoulders. They helped you out of your gown until you lay on the wide cushioned table in nothing but a thin silk shift.
The moment Selyse’s skilled hands moved over your breasts, the older maid froze.
Verra, who was working on your legs, also stilled.
“…Your Highness,” Selyse said carefully, “Your breasts… they are fuller. Tender, yes?”
Your breath hitched. You had noticed it days ago but had tried to ignore the swelling, the sensitivity. The way even the softest fabric sometimes made you wince.
Verra’s hands gently pressed against your lower belly, not quite a touch, more an assessment. “And the sickness every morning… the fatigue… the way you’ve been crying in your chambers…”
Your eyes filled with tears. You turned your face into your folded arms, shoulders shaking.
Selyse knelt beside the table, taking your hand gently. “My lady… are you with a child?”
You didn’t answer at first. Then a broken sob escaped you.
“I think so,” you whispered. “I… I don’t know for certain, but the timing…” Your voice cracked. “It would be his. Sir Jungkook’s.”
Both maids exchanged a heavy glance. This changed everything.
Verra spoke softly, “My lady... with your coronation approaching. The lords are already circling like vultures, pushing their sons at you. If this comes out before you choose a prince…”
“I know,” you said, voice muffled. Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks. “I know what it means. But I can’t… I can’t just marry one of them. Not when I’m carrying the child of the only man I’ve ever loved.”
You sat up slowly, clutching the silk shift to your chest, arms wrapped protectively around your still flat stomach.
“My dear knight...” you sniffled. “He is out there fighting gods-know-what, and I’m here pretending to be the perfect princess while my body betrays our secret.”
Selyse brushed a strand of hair from your face with motherly tenderness. “We can hide it a little longer, Highness. Looser gowns. Ginger tea for the sickness. But you must decide soon what path you will take. The child… it will not stay hidden forever.”
You nodded, but your heart was breaking all over again. The thought of choosing one of those cold, ambitious princes while carrying Sir Jungkook’s child made you feel ill all over again.
Selyse pressed a kiss to the top of your head, her voice firm with loyalty. “We pray he returns soon, my lady. And until then, we will guard you and this little one with our lives.”
—
The weeks blurred into months as winter settled over the kingdom like a heavy white shroud. Snow blanketed the towers and gardens, turning the world soft and silent, yet inside your chest, the storm only grew louder.
Sir Jeon Jungkook had not returned.
Your belly had swelled noticeably now, a gentle but undeniable curve that marked the life growing within you. With the help of Elara, Verra, and Selyse, you hid it beneath layers of loose, flowing gowns and heavy cloaks lined with fur.
The rich fabrics concealed the truth for now, but you could no longer ignore the way your body changed, the tender fullness of your breasts, the occasional flutter of movement beneath your skin, and the constant, bone deep exhaustion.
You had begun excusing yourself from the suitors’ assemblies more frequently, claiming headaches or matters of state. But the King, grew increasingly impatient.
In the grand throne room one frost laced afternoon, he fixed you with a stern gaze as snow fell outside the tall windows. “You cannot delay any longer, daughter,” he spoke, heavy with royal command. “Prince Min of Viena is a strong candidate. The coronation is weeks away. You must choose a consort soon. The realm needs stability.”
You bowed your head, hands clasped tightly over your hidden belly beneath the voluminous velvet. “Yes, Father,” you murmured, the lie tasting like ash. Inside, your heart screamed for the only man you wanted.
Every few days, with your maids’ help, you sent letters. Verra would sneak them to a trusted rider, sealed with your private wax. You poured your soul onto the parchment; how much you missed him, the way your body was changing, the secret you carried, your love that only deepened with every passing day. Yet no responses ever came. The silence gnawed at you, feeding nightmares of him lying wounded on some distant battlefield or worse.
The worry became unbearable.
One bitter winter morning, wrapped in a thick hooded cloak that concealed your swollen middle, you slipped away from the castle with only Elara and Selyse accompanying you. The three of you rode through the snow dusted forest to a modest stone cottage on the outskirts of the kingdom, the home where Sir Jungkook had grown up.
When the door opened, an older woman with kind eyes and streaks of silver in her dark hair stood before you. Sir Jungkook’s mother. She froze at the sight of the princess on her doorstep, her hand flying to her chest.
“Your Highness…?” she whispered, stunned. “Surely I do not deserve to be blessed with your presence at my humble door. Please, come inside before the cold takes you.”
She ushered you, Elara, and Selyse quickly into the warm cottage, the scent of pinewood and baking bread wrapping around you like an embrace. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth as she helped you remove your snow dusted cloak. Only when you were seated by the fire did her gaze drop to the unmistakable swell of your belly beneath the loose gown.
You took a steadying breath, your hands resting protectively over your rounded stomach.
“I carry his child,” you said softly, trembling with emotion. “Your son’s. Sir Jungkook’s. He does not know yet… he has not returned, and I… I needed to feel close to him somehow.”
Jungkook’s mother, Maera, stood completely still for a long moment, her eyes wide with shock. Then her hand flew to her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes.
“Oh… gods above,” she breathed, her voice cracking. “A grandchild…? From my Jungkook?” Fresh tears flowed freely as she dropped to her knees in front of you, taking your hands in hers with deep reverence. “My lady… my princess. You honor me beyond words. You honor my son. To think that you, a royal daughter, would carry his child… I am stunned. Truly stunned. And so deeply moved.”
She pressed her forehead to your knuckles, weeping quietly with pure joy and emotion. When she lifted her head again, her eyes shone with fierce affection.
“You are already family to me,” she whispered. “Come here, sweet child.” She rose and pulled you into a warm embrace, cradling you gently as if you were made of glass. “You must be so frightened, carrying this secret alone while he is away. But you are not alone anymore. Not while I draw breath.”
You felt safe in her arms, the weight on your heart easing just a little as winter wind howled softly outside the cottage walls.
After composing herself, Maera wiped her tears and fetched a small wooden chest from a shelf. She sat beside you, opening it with trembling hands.
“Look,” she said tenderly, pulling out several treasured items. She showed you a faded sketch of a chubby baby with dark, serious eyes —Sir Jungkook as an infant. Another portrait showed him as a sturdy little boy of four, holding a wooden sword with determination. There was even a lock of his soft baby hair tied with a ribbon.
“He was always so intense, even as a babe,” she said with a watery laugh. “Strong and quiet… but when he smiled, the whole world lit up. Just like I imagine your little one will.”
You traced the portraits with gentle fingers, tears slipping down your own cheeks. Seeing these glimpses of him as a child made your love for the knight swell even deeper. You could so clearly picture your baby with his eyes, his strength, his rare smile. The thought made your heart ache with both joy and longing.
Maera kept one hand over yours, cherishing you openly. “Thank you for coming to me,” she murmured. “For trusting me with this precious news. We will wait for him together, my daughter. And when he returns, he will be the happiest man alive.”
The two of you sat by the fire for a long while — his mother and the mother of his child, talking softly as snow continued to fall outside, bound by love for the same man.
The days after your visit to Maera’s cottage only deepened the ache in your soul. Winter grew harsher, and so did your impatience. Every morning you woke with your hands on your swelling belly, feeling the strong kicks of his child, and the longing became unbearable.
One evening in the royal chambers, you fell to your knees before the King, tears streaming down your face. “Father, please… I beg you. Bring Sir Jungkook back. I need him. I cannot do this without him.”
The King frowned, confused by your desperation. “Daughter, he is leading my forces on the border. The realm needs him there. Why this sudden insistence on one knight?”
You could not tell him the truth. “I just… need him,” you whispered brokenly. “Please.”
He did not relent. The pressure to choose a suitor only intensified.
And then the sickness took hold.
Your body ached constantly. deep soreness in your back, hips, and breasts that made every movement painful. The baby’s kicks, once a comfort, now left you breathless. You grew feverish and weak.
Elara, Verra, and Selyse rarely left your side, forcing herbal teas and bitter medicines down your throat while piling warm blankets over you. For nearly a week you were bedridden, barely able to leave your chambers, hidden away from the court under the excuse of a winter chill.
One cold, silent night, as snow tapped gently against the window panes, you drifted in and out of a fevered haze. The herbs made the world soft and blurry around the edges.
You thought it was a dream when the heavy door to your chambers opened with a quiet creak and a tall, familiar figure stepped inside, shedding his snow dusted cloak. The firelight caught on his sharp jawline and those intense dark eyes.
Strong arms slipped beneath you, lifting you carefully as he climbed into your grand bed. A warm, calloused hand gently cradled your swollen belly. You felt the press of soft, reverent lips against the curve of your stomach.
“My love…” The knight’s deep voice whispered against your skin, rough with emotion. “I’m here. I finally came back to you.”
“Jungkook…?” you murmured drowsily, eyelids heavy, unsure if this was real or another cruel dream born of longing and medicine.
“It’s me,” he breathed, pulling your body flush against his solid chest. He was real. warm, solid, smelling of snow, leather, and the faint scent of campfires. “I’ve been aching for you every single day. Your touch, your voice… it kept me alive out there.”
His large hand stroked slow, soothing circles over your rounded belly, feeling the baby shift and kick beneath his palm. He lowered his head, pressing his lips directly to the taut skin.
You let out a tired, broken sound. “You left me… You promised you’d come back sooner. Look at me… I’m so sore, so heavy with your child, and you weren’t here…”
Sir Jungkook chuckled softly, the sound warm against your skin, even as his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I know, my princess. I deserve your scolding. I’m deeply sorry.” He kissed your belly again and again, soft open mouthed presses wherever he could reach. Then he trailed his lips higher, attaching his mouth gently to the swollen, aching curve of your breasts, sucking lightly and kissing away the soreness with such care that you whimpered in relief.
His hands never stopped moving, massaging the deep ache in your lower back, cupping and gently holding your heavy breasts to ease their weight, stroking your hips and thighs. He intertwined his fingers with yours, holding your hand tightly as if afraid you might vanish.
“You are unreal, my love.” he murmured, voice hoarse with awe as he looked at you. “Your glow… it’s deeper now. The way pregnancy has changed you… you’re beyond anything I could have imagined. You shine like starlight. Carrying our child has only made you more radiant, more mine.”
You clung to him weakly, drowsy but desperate for his touch. “The baby… it kicks so much. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl… but it feels like you. Strong and stubborn.”
Jungkook smiled against your temple, one hand still resting warmly over your belly. “This child is the product of our love. A piece of both of us. I already love them more than life.” He kissed you deeply, slowly, pouring months of aching into it. “Every battle, every cold night, I thought only of coming home to you like this… holding you, feeling our baby move, worshipping the body that’s creating our future.”
He continued kissing every place that ached... the sides of your breasts, the curve of your belly, the inside of your wrist, his mouth soft and devoted. You melted into him, the pain easing under his gentle care as he held you close.
“Stay…” you whispered tiredly, already slipping back into sleep.
“I’m here right now,” he promised, lips brushing your ear. “Sleep, my love. I’ve got you both.”
When morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, you woke slowly, body still aching but strangely comforted.
The bed beside you was cold. No warmth lingered. No cloak on the chair. No scent of him on the pillows. Only the faint memory of strong hands, whispered words to your belly, and soft kisses remained.
You touched your swollen stomach, feeling another firm kick, and tears filled your eyes.
Was it a dream? A fevered hallucination woven from medicine, longing, and love? Or had Sir Jungkook truly returned to you in the dead of night… only to disappear again before dawn?
The herbs and medicines your maids prepared worked their magic. The fever finally broke, the deep soreness in your body eased into a manageable ache, and the constant nausea faded. Though you were still tired, your strength slowly returned. Your belly continued to grow rounder and heavier, the baby’s kicks becoming more insistent and lively.
One quiet winter evening, when the moon hung full over the snow covered palace, your maids turned your chambers into a secret sanctuary.
Accompanied by Sir Jungkook’s mother, they had worked together in absolute secrecy. No one outside your trusted circle knew. They had decorated the large private solar adjacent to your bedroom with soft candlelight, evergreen boughs, and winter white roses. Warm furs and silk pillows were arranged in a luxurious nest near the hearth. Incense of myrrh filled the air, and a small table held gifts wrapped in fine cloth.
They helped you into a loose, flowing gown of the softest ivory silk that draped beautifully over your swollen belly, leaving your shoulders bare. When you stepped into the room, all four women bowed their heads in reverence.
Selyse took your hand and guided you to the center of the soft pillows. “Tonight we celebrate you, my lady. And the precious life you carry. No one else will know of this blessing. It is ours alone.”
They treated you with deep adoration, as though you were sacred.
Elara gently massaged your feet with warm scented oil while Maera brushed your hair until it shone. Verra offered you sweet honeyed fruits and warm spiced milk, foods meant to nourish both you and the baby. Selyse laid her hands lightly on your rounded belly and spoke soft blessings for a safe birth and a strong child.
Selyse, ever wise, placed a small crown of dried herbs and winter berries on your head. “You are the vessel of love and life,” she murmured. “Even in these uncertain times, you bloom. We honor you as our princess… and as the mother of Sir Jungkook’s heir.”
You felt tears prick your eyes as they presented their secret gifts: tiny embroidered blankets, a soft knitted cap in deep green, a small silver pendant shaped like a blooming rose, a symbol of motherhood.
Vera leaned her cheek against your belly for a moment, grinning when the baby kicked in response. “He or she is strong already. Just like their father.”
You placed both hands over your swollen stomach, feeling another firm flutter. The warmth of their love and the secret celebration soothed the constant ache of missing your knight.
“Thank you,” you whispered, “All of you. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Elara kissed your temple. “We will keep you and this little one safe until Sir Jungkook returns. And he will return.”
The warmth of the secret celebration lingered on your skin as you returned to your chambers that night. The maids had just helped you out of the ivory silk gown when a royal messenger knocked urgently.
“The King demands your presence immediately, Your Highness. In his private study.”
You had no time to prepare. Still glowing from the love and blessings of your maids, you wrapped yourself in a heavy velvet robe that concealed your very swollen belly and followed the messenger.
The moment you entered the study, the atmosphere turned icy. Your father stood behind his desk, several of your letters spread before him.
“Daughter,” he spoke, controlled. “I have given you time to come to me yourself. I know you have been sending letters to the front lines. To Sir Jungkook, specifically.” He turned to face you, his expression stern but not yet furious. “I know of your… admiration for him. Speak truthfully now. What is this attachment?”
Your throat tightened. This was the moment. With your belly heavy with his child and your heart aching, you could no longer hide everything.
“Father…” you began, voice trembling as you stepped closer. “It is more than admiration. I love him. Sir Jungkook is the only man I want.” Your hands instinctively moved to cradle your stomach. “And I… I am carrying his child.”
Silence crashed over the room.
The King’s eyes widened, then narrowed sharply as his gaze dropped to the unmistakable swell beneath your gown. His face darkened with shock, then rage.
“You what?” he hissed. “A knight’s bastard? While I have been parading princes before you? While the entire realm waits for you to secure the throne with a proper alliance?”
“Father, please,” you begged, tears filling your eyes. “It is his. Our love is real. If you would only let him return, we could—”
The King’s face twisted with fury. “You dare speak such filth to me? A royal princess swollen with a common knight’s bastard?”
You rebelled, voice shaking but defiant. “It is not filth. It is love. I will not marry Prince Min. I will not let you use me as a pawn for alliances while I carry the man I love’s child.”
“Enough!” The King slammed his fist on the table, making you flinch. “I have been patient with your childish infatuation, but this is treason against your bloodline. You will do as you are told! Your fate is sealed. You will marry Prince Min before the month ends.”
Later that same night, before your maids could even calm you, you found your most trusted rider in the stables. With tears streaming down your face and snow falling around you, you whispered your final message: “Tell him… tell Sir Jungkook that I will wait for him. No matter how long it takes. My heart is his alone. I will wait.”
The rider bowed and galloped into the night. No response ever came.
The next weeks were a nightmare.
Prince Min visited often, his eyes raking over your body with open lust and infatuation. He complimented your “ethereal glow”, clearly aroused by your pregnant form, but his arrogance disgusted you. He spoke openly of claiming the throne through you, of bedding you the moment you were his. You hated him with every fiber of your being.
You fought your father harder than ever, refusing to attend meetings with Prince Min, screaming that you would rather die than marry him. But the King had reached his limit.
One brutal afternoon, he summoned you again and placed a bloodied cloak and a forged letter before you.
“Sir Jeon Jungkook is dead,” he said flatly. “He fell in battle two weeks ago. This is proof.”
The world shattered.
You collapsed to the floor, a guttural sob tearing from your throat. The baby inside you kicked as if sensing your pain. From that moment, you broke completely.
You refused to eat. You barely slept. You stopped speaking, even to Elara, Verra, and Selyse who begged you through tears to think of the child. You lay in bed for days, staring at nothing, your once radiant glow fading into pale exhaustion. Your maids feared for both your life and the baby’s.
Despite how numb you had become, when your maids gently suggested taking you to Maera’s quiet home on the edge of the forest, you agreed without protest. You were taken there in secret under the cover of night.
Maera, a strong but grieving woman with the same dark eyes as her son, took you in without question. She cared for you with quiet hands and even quieter words. You didn’t speak much to her either, but you accepted her care wholeheartedly. After all, she was mourning the loss of her son, and you were mourning the loss of your lover and the father of your child.
The King, despite his fury, still sent guards to watch over you from a distance. You were still royalty, still carrying what he believed might be his grandchild. But you could only think of the protection you once had... the strongest, safest pair of arms that had ever wrapped around you.
You mourned deeply. But you couldn’t be completely selfish with a baby on the way, restless and eager to come into the world.
The labor came on a stormy night.
The pains started suddenly and violently. Maera and your maids worked frantically around you as you screamed and cried, gripping the sheets until your knuckles turned white. The King himself had ridden out in secret when he heard you had gone into labor, standing outside the cottage with a face pale with rare fear.
He didn’t know how to comfort you. He only knew one thing, his daughter was calling for her knight in her delirium.
Even though he viewed the child as the product of a sinful affair, something in him softened at the sound of your broken sobs. He could not lose you.
Inside the cottage, you gave birth to a baby girl.
She was small, chubby, with a shock of raven hair and big, dark eyes that looked exactly like her father’s. The moment the midwife placed her on your chest, fresh tears streamed down your face.
“She looks like him…” you whispered, hoarse and broken. “My little love… she has his eyes.”
You held her close, sobbing softly as the pain and grief mixed with a fragile, overwhelming love. Even in your exhaustion, you couldn’t stop crying. You believed Sir Jungkook was dead. The thought that your daughter would never know her father tore you apart.
Maera wept beside you, gently stroking your hair. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Just like her mother.”
Outside, the King stood in the rain, waiting.
When the door finally opened and the midwife stepped out, he demanded to know if you and the child were alive. Upon hearing they both were, something in his hardened heart shifted.
He turned to his captain without a word and gave the order.
“Send riders to the western borders at once. Bring Sir Jeon Jungkook back. Tell him… his princess has need of him.”
It would take time. The borders were far, and the roads were muddy from the storms. A week, perhaps a month.
In the quiet warmth of the cottage, you held your newborn daughter against your chest, wrapped in soft linen.
You rocked her gently as she fussed against your breast, nursing hungrily. Your maids and Maera moved around you, bringing broth, fresh cloths, and ever soft words. But you barely spoke. The grief had hollowed you out.
“I wish you could meet your father,” you whispered to the baby one quiet night, voice cracking. Tears slipped down your cheeks as she latched on again. “He would have held you so carefully. He would have loved you more than anything in this world. He would have protected us both…”
Maera sat beside you, her own eyes red from mourning. She placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He would have been so proud,” she said softly. “Of both of you.”
You could only nod, throat too tight to speak. The emptiness inside you felt endless. Every time the baby cried, every time she looked up at you with those familiar dark eyes, the pain returned like a fresh wound.
The King demanded your return to the palace, as you were still royalty, still bound to your father’s will despite carrying a child out of wedlock. He wrote letter after letter insisting you resume your duties and prepare for the inevitable marriage to Prince Min. You refused to answer most of them.
Your maids tried their best to comfort you, but even they could not reach the depths of your sorrow. The only light in your world was your daughter. Tiny, perfect, with Jungkook’s dark eyes and a tuft of raven hair. You held her constantly, whispering stories about her father, singing lullabies with a voice that often broke halfway through.
You mourned him deeply. The King had not even granted him a proper funeral. No rites. No chance to say goodbye. Just a bloodied cloak and a cold declaration.
One quiet evening, Maera left the cottage to fetch groceries from the nearby village. Your maids had been called back to the palace on the King’s orders, duties they could not refuse. For the first time in weeks, it was just you and your baby in the small, warm cottage.
You sat by the window, cradling her in your arms. She cooed softly, tiny fingers wrapping around yours as you gently rocked her. For a few precious minutes, you allowed yourself to smile a real, soft smile as you played with her little hands and kissed her forehead.
“My baby,” you whispered, “The loveliest babe. Don’t tell the queens and princesses, I think they’d be terribly jealous.”
The baby blinked up at you. “Oh, yes,” you continued solemnly. “Especially of those cheeks.”
You leaned back in the chair as exhaustion eventually won over you, your eyes growing heavy. With your daughter nestled safely against your chest, sleep claimed you quickly.
When you woke, the cottage was awfully quiet.
Your arms were empty.
Panic slammed into you like a physical blow. You shot upright, heart hammering wildly as you looked around the room.
The baby was gone.
“No… no, no, no...” you gasped, stumbling to your feet, voice rising into a broken sob. “Where is my baby?!”
You searched frantically, under the blankets, behind the chairs, near the hearth, terror clawing at your throat. Your mind spun with nightmarish possibilities. Had someone taken her? Had the King sent men to steal her away?
Then you saw him.
A tall figure standing near the doorway, cradling your daughter gently in his strong arms. She was sleeping peacefully against his chest, tiny fist curled into his tunic.
Your knees buckled.
It was Sir Jungkook.
He looked exhausted, travel worn, mud on his boots, shadows under his eyes, but he was alive. Real. His dark eyes met yours, filled with unbearable love and pain.
You stared at him, trembling violently, refusing to believe what you were seeing.
“No…” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, no, this isn’t real. You’re dead. They told me you were dead. This is another dream. You always come in my dreams and then you leave me again—”
Your voice cracked into a sob as you backed away, hands clutching your chest.
“You left me,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “You left me and our child. I mourned you. I almost died mourning you. Please… don’t do this to me again. I can’t take another dream. I can’t wake up to find you gone again.”
Sir Jungkook’s face crumpled with anguish. He took one careful step forward, still cradling your daughter like the most precious thing in the world.
“My love,” he said hoarsely, voice breaking. “It’s not a dream. I’m here. I’m real. Your father… he lied. He sent me away to the borders to keep me from you. But I came back the moment he allowed it. I rode without stopping.”
You shook your head harder, tears falling faster, refusing to believe it even as your heart screamed at you to run to him.
“You’re dead,” you repeated, voice small and shattered. “You have to be dead… because if you’re not, then you let me believe it. You never answered my letters. Not one. I wrote to you every single day, pouring my heart out, begging you to come back to me, to our child… and you never...”
Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks as the pain twisted deeper.
“You were in on it, weren’t you?” you whispered, voice breaking. “You let my father tell me you were gone. You left me here to rot in grief while I carried your child alone. How could you?”
The knight’s face crumpled with agony. He took a step forward, but you flinched, and he stopped immediately, hands trembling at his sides.
Before he could speak, your daughter stirred in his arms. As if sensing the suffocating tension in the room, she let out a sharp, hungry cry, her little lips puckering, tiny fists waving.
You moved without thinking, reaching for her. Sir Jungkook gently handed her over, his hands lingering for a moment as if afraid to let go. You turned away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed and loosening your dress to feed her. The baby latched on eagerly, her cries softening into small, contented sounds.
The knight stood there, watching you in silence. He looked lost, this battle-hardened soldier, returned from war, now completely unsure how to comfort the woman he loved. He slowly lowered himself to his knees in the middle of the room, head bowed.
“I wrote to you,” he admitted hoarsely. “Every chance I had. Your father… he made sure none of my letters reached you. He wanted you to believe I was gone. I fought every day to come back to you. I almost died trying to get word to you.”
You didn’t look at him. You kept your eyes on your daughter, tears falling silently onto her soft hair.
“I mourned you like a widow,” you whispered, voice thick with pain. “I almost died. And now you’re here… acting like you didn’t abandon me when I needed you most.”
The words cut awfully deep. Sir Jungkook’s shoulders slumped, but he stayed on his knees, silent and respectful, giving you the space your wounded heart demanded.
Your daughter stirred in your arms, letting out a small, distressed whimper as if she could sense the storm raging between her parents. You rocked her gently, pressing a kiss to her soft raven hair.
“Shh, my sweet one,” you cooed softly, “Mama’s here. You’re safe.”
Sir Jungkook’s hands twitched at his sides, aching to reach out, to touch you, to hold both of you, but he remained still, jaw clenched tight. He was no longer in full armor, only a worn tunic and breeches, his appearance shambled from the long ride, fresh bruises blooming across his knuckles and jaw.
You turned away from him, focusing on the small tasks that had become your life in the cottage. The rain outside grew heavier, pounding against the roof like a relentless drum.
You moved about the space, stirring the pot of stew over the fire, folding fresh linens, anything to keep your hands busy and your mind from breaking completely.
Hours passed in heavy silence. When your daughter finally grew fussy again, you nursed her by the hearth until her little eyes fluttered shut. You laid her gently in the wooden cradle Maera had prepared, stroking her cheek one last time before covering her with a soft blanket.
Only then did you notice movement near the door.
Sir Jungkook was standing there, cloak in hand, quietly preparing to leave.
Something inside you fractured. You stepped toward him, voice cracking. “You’re leaving again?”
He turned slowly, eyes filled with torment. “I was only going to check the perimeter. The rain is heavy, and I… I didn’t want to burden you further.”
You stared at him, this warrior who had survived hell just to return to you, and the dam finally broke.
“Come here,” you whispered.
He obeyed without hesitation.
You led him to your bed and with trembling hands, you began removing his tunic, revealing the damage the war had left behind.
New bruises painted his ribs and shoulders in shades of purple and blue. Fresh scars, still healing, cut across his chest and abdomen. He looked harder, a man who had walked through fire and barely returned.
Your lips trembled, but you forced yourself to stay steady. You turned away briefly, gathering clean linen strips, salve, and a bowl of warm water. When you returned, the knight stood perfectly still, letting you see all of him, the bruises, the brutal evidence of everything he had endured just to return to you.
You began tending to him in silence, your hands gentle as you cleaned a particularly nasty cut along his side. But the more you looked, the more the dam inside you cracked.
“What have they done to you, Jungkook?” you whispered, voice breaking. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you carefully wrapped a bandage around his ribs. “You’re… you’re covered in pain. All of this… just to come back to me?”
He stood motionless, letting you care for him, but his dark eyes never left your face.
“I would go through it a thousand times more,” he said softly, “if it meant coming back to you and our daughter.”
You shook your head, fresh tears falling as you pressed a bandage over another wound. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that. I can’t bear thinking of you suffering like this. I thought you were dead. I thought I would never see you again, and now you’re here… broken because of me.”
Sir Jungkook slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of you, even though you were still trying to tend to him. The powerful knight, the man who had survived war, knelt before you like the loyal protector he had always been.
“Your Highness,” he murmured, head slightly bowed, voice thick with emotion. “I failed you. I wasn’t here when you needed me most. I wasn’t here when you carried our child. I wasn’t here when you gave birth. I wasn’t here when they told you I was gone. Forgive me.”
You dropped the bandages and pulled him into your arms, holding his head to your chest. His arms wrapped around your waist instantly, clinging to you like a man who had almost lost everything.
A broken sob tore from his throat.
Your knight, your warrior, the strongest person you had ever known, cried against your chest like a child. Deep, shuddering sobs that shook his powerful frame as his arms tightened around you.
“I thought I lost you,” he choked out, voice muffled against your skin. “Every night on the border, I prayed I would make it back to you. To both of you.”
You held him tighter, fingers threading through his raven hair, your own tears falling onto his head.
“You’re here now,” you whispered, rocking him gently. “You’re here. You came back to us. That’s all that matters.”
For a long time, the only sounds in the cottage were the rain outside, the crackling fire, and the quiet, heartbroken sobs of a knight who had finally returned to his princess.
—
The rain had not eased by the middle of the night. It hammered against the thatched roof like an impatient army. You had fallen asleep in Jungkook’s arms on the narrow bed, your daughter nestled safely in her cradle beside you. For the first time in months, your sleep was deep and dreamless.
A sharp knock on the cottage door shattered the peace.
Sir Jungkook was awake in an instant. He slipped from the bed silently, pulling on his tunic and reaching for the sword he had left by the door. His body was still tense from war, every muscle ready for threat.
“Stay here,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “I will see who it is.”
But you already knew.
A cold certainty settled in your chest. You rose, wrapping a shawl around your shoulders, and followed him despite his warning. Your daughter stirred but remained asleep.
Sir Jungkook opened the door, sword half drawn, rain pouring behind the figure standing outside.
It was the King.
Your father stood in the downpour, cloak heavy with water, face pale and drawn. Guards waited at a respectful distance, torches flickering weakly in the storm. His eyes moved past your knight and landed on you.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then the King stepped inside without invitation, water dripping onto the wooden floor. His gaze softened when it fell on you — his only daughter, still pale from childbirth, carrying the weight of grief and motherhood.
“My child,” he said, voice rough. “You must return to the palace. You are still royalty. Still my blood. You do not belong in a cottage like this.”
You stood straighter, even as exhaustion and lingering pain made your body ache.
“I belong where I choose,” you replied quietly, but firmly. “And I will not return without Sir Jeon. He is my knight. He is the father of my daughter. He stays with me.”
The King’s jaw tightened. He glanced at Jungkook, who stood tall and silent beside you, sword now lowered but ready.
“I know what you are to each other,” the King said heavily. “I have known for some time. Prince Min is a fool and a coward, but his bloodline is strong. The alliance—”
“I will not marry him,” you cut in, voice steady despite the tears gathering in your eyes. “I will return to the palace. I will perform my duties as princess, as future queen. I will be the ruler this kingdom needs. But only if Sir Jungkook remains at my side. As my knight. As the man I have chosen. As the only man with any right to me.”
The King looked at you for a long time. He saw the woman you had become, not just his rebellious daughter, but a figure of quiet strength. The people in the surrounding villages spoke of you with reverence. They told stories of the princess who helped common women, shared food during hard winters, who listened to their troubles as if they mattered as much as any noble’s.
The King exhaled slowly, defeated but not broken.
“Very well,” he said at last. “Sir Jeon will return with you. He will remain your personal knight. But this… affair… must remain hidden from the court. For now.”
You nodded once, relief flooding through you.
The King’s gaze drifted to the cradle where your daughter slept. He had not yet seen her. You had kept her away from him, protecting her with every fiber of your being.
He took one hesitant step toward the cradle, then stopped, as if afraid.
The King’s shoulders sagged. For the first time in years, he looked truly old.
“Bring her home,” he said quietly. “Both of you. We will find a way.”
When the heavy door of the cottage finally closed behind your father, you let out a huge, shaky sigh. The weight of the conversation pressed on your chest like a stone. You turned and walked to the cradle, gently lifting your daughter into your arms. She stirred but settled quickly against your chest.
Sir Jungkook followed silently behind you, his presence warm.
“I would not trust him,” you whispered, voice laced with bitterness. “My father lied. He did all of this, told me you were dead, kept us apart, made me believe I had lost you forever. How can I believe a single word he says now?”
Jungkook stepped closer. He gently wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on the top of your head as you held your daughter.
“Petal,” he murmured softly, the old endearment slipping out like a balm. “Your father is a hard man, but he is not as cold as he pretends to be. He sent for me the moment he learned you had gone into labor. He could have kept me away forever. But he didn’t.”
You turned slightly in his arms, eyes wide with disbelief.
The knight continued, low and calm.
“There was one night… when you were still heavy with our child and very sick. I rode through a storm to reach you. Your father allowed it. He let me see you. I held you while you slept, fevered and restless. I whispered to you. I kissed your forehead and promised I would return. But I had to leave before dawn. He made me swear not to wake you. He said it would only make the pain worse when I had to go back to the borders.”
You stared at him, stunned. Tears welled up again.
“That night… it was real?” you whispered. “I thought it was a dream. I thought I imagined your arms around me.”
“It was real,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I was there. And I have regretted leaving you every single day since.”
You turned fully toward him, still cradling your daughter. The baby had woken and was fussing softly. You loosened your dress and began to feed her.
Sir Jungkook watched the two of you with such open love and longing that it made your chest ache.
“She has your eyes,” you said softly, brushing a finger over your daughter’s cheek. “So dark and beautiful. Just like yours.”
Sir Jungkook’s expression softened further. He reached out, gently stroking the baby’s tiny hand.
“And she is as beautiful as her mother,” he murmured. “I hope she grows to be as strong as her. As kind. As full of fire and love.”
For a while, the only sounds were the soft suckling of your daughter and the rain pattering against the roof. Sir Jungkook stayed close, one arm around your waist, the other lightly resting near the baby.
Eventually, after your daughter had fallen asleep again, you made the decision.
“We will return to the palace,” you said quietly. “Together. As a family. I will not hide anymore.”
The next morning, after tender farewells to Maera, who hugged you both tightly and kissed her granddaughter’s forehead with tears in her eyes, you left the cottage.
—
Three Months Later,
The palace had transformed around you.
After your return, the finest healers in the realm were summoned, learned men and women versed in herbs and ancient remedies. They tended to you with the utmost care, restoring the strength you had lost in grief and childbirth. Slowly, the hollow exhaustion faded. Color returned to your cheeks. Your body healed, and with it, your spirit bloomed once more.
You were treated not merely as royalty, but as something sacred. The people whispered that the Princess had returned more radiant than before, as if the earth itself had blessed her.
Your maids, Elara, Verra, and Selyse, were beyond ecstatic to have you back. They fussed over you constantly, brushing your long hair until it shone, dressing you in the finest silks, and whispering prayers of gratitude for your safe return.
The kingdom now knew the truth: the child was Sir Jeon Jungkook’s. The scandal had spread like wildfire, but instead of outrage, most of the people embraced it. They saw their princess glowing, and fiercely protected.
Prince Min had tried to slander you upon his return, calling you impure, unfit, a disgrace for bearing a knight’s child out of wedlock. Sir Jungkook had nearly killed him in the great hall before the King’s guards pulled him back. Prince Min was expelled from the kingdom that very day, the alliance shattered. No one mourned his departure.
It was a warm evening when you returned to the royal bathing pool, surrounded by floating lily pads and fragrant white blossoms. The water shimmered under the sunlight as your maids helped you undress. Your daughter, now three months old and full of life, babbled happily in Elara’s arms, reaching for you with chubby little hands.
“Come here, my sweet,” you cooed, taking her into the warm water with you. She immediately nestled against your bare chest, tiny fingers grasping at your long, wavy hair as you gently rocked her. She was a needy little thing, always wanting her mother’s warmth, her scent, her voice.
Verra smiled as she poured scented oil over your shoulders. “She adores you, my lady. Look at those big, bejeweled eyes.”
You glanced toward the far bank where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard, as always. He was no longer forced to hide. He remained your personal knight, ever watchful and devoted. His gaze met yours across the water, soft with love and quiet pride. He had become even more protective since your return, rarely leaving your side unless duty demanded it.
The King had grown strangely silent on the matter of your relationship. Seeing you flourish and beloved by the people, had turned him into something of a coward when it came to opposing you.
He doted on his granddaughter in private, though he still struggled to fully accept the circumstances. Yet he no longer pushed for any other marriage. He had seen what happened when he tried to separate you from your knight.
Bit by bit, your beauty had deepened into something almost otherworldly, skin luminous, eyes bright with life, a gentle fullness to your figure from motherhood that only made you more captivating. You moved through the palace performing your duties with grace while still finding time to help the common women who came to the gates seeking aid. You had become more than a princess.
At night, when the palace slept, Sir Jungkook was yours completely.
He would slip into your chambers, shed his armor, and worship you with slow hands and mouth. He made love to you like a man who had walked through hell and returned only for this. You clung to him every night, whispering how much you loved him, how you had chosen him long before the crown ever mattered.
Your daughter babbled softly, pulling at your long hair again with her tiny fist, drawing a soft, delighted laugh from you.
“Oh, my little one,” you cooed, gently untangling her fingers from your waves before pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek. “You are going to pull Mama’s hair right off if you keep that up, aren’t you? Such a strong little flower.”
She giggled in your arms, reaching up to pat your face with her small, uncoordinated hand, her big dark eyes, exact replicas of her father’s, sparkling with pure joy. The resemblance was almost startling even at such a young age. She was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.
Elara sighed dreamily as she poured warm water over your shoulders. “Look at her, my lady. She is perfection. She already has the whole palace wrapped around her tiny finger.”
Verra nodded, gently massaging oil into your hair. “And you, my princess. You glow like the sun itself these days. Motherhood suits you more than any crown ever could.”
Selyse, ever the wise one, glanced toward the bank where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard, fully armored but with his helmet removed today. A small, teasing smile tugged at her lips.
“And that one over there… he can’t take his eyes off the two of you. Look at him, standing there like a lovesick fool in steel. Our fierce knight, brought to his knees by a baby and her mother.”
The knight’s ears turned faintly red, but he didn’t deny it. His gaze remained soft, locked on you and your daughter with quiet awe and devotion.
Later that evening, in the royal rose gardens where he had once walked beside you as your new knight, Sir Jungkook carried your daughter in his arms.
He was still in full armor, crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders, but he held her with such careful gentleness it made your heart melt. The baby was dressed in the softest cream colored gown embroidered with tiny golden flowers, a little bonnet tied under her chin. She looked like a living doll against his armored chest.
She reached up with both hands, grabbing at the edge of his armor, babbling excitedly as she tried to pull herself closer to his face. When he leaned down, she patted his cheek with a wet, sloppy kiss.
Sir Jungkook’s entire expression softened into something almost boyish. He smiled, genuine and devastatingly handsome.
“My little love,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
You walked beside them, heart full as you watched your daughter play with the buckles on his armor. Every time he lowered his head to let her see his face, she lit up. But when he playfully put his helmet back on for a moment to tease her, she immediately fussed, letting out a small, indignant cry and reaching for him with both arms.
“No helmet,” you laughed softly. “She hates it. She wants to see her father’s face.”
Sir Jungkook removed it immediately, tucking it under one arm while cradling her with the other. He leaned down so she could press her tiny palms against his cheeks and give him another sloppy kiss on the jaw.
The maids watching from a distance cooed and teased him lightly.
“Look at that,” Verra whispered loudly enough for him to hear. “Who would have thought the man who survived the western borders would be brought down by tiny hands and gummy smiles?”
Later that night, the heavy oak door to your royal chambers was barred, only the soft glow of candles and the low fire in the hearth illuminated the room.
You stood before the tall mirror, slowly changing into your nightgown. The fabric whispered against your skin as it slid down your body. Your gaze caught on the beautiful ring on your finger, the one Sir Jungkook had slipped onto your hand in secret weeks ago, a quiet promise between the two of you. You turned it gently, a small, private smile touching your lips.
Your daughter lay nestled against your bare chest, warm and content, her tiny fingers curled around the edge of your loosened gown. She babbled softly, her big dark eyes full of adoration for her mother.
Sir Jungkook stood a few steps behind you, fully armored except for his helmet, watching the two of you with quiet awe. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting every healed scar and the lingering shadows of war that still clung to him.
You gently laid your daughter in her ornate cradle, pressing one last kiss to her forehead as she drifted into sleep. Then you returned to the mirror, picking up the silver brush to run it through your long, wavy hair.
Sir Jungkook followed without a word. He stopped behind you, his large hands resting lightly on your waist. Slowly, he leaned down and began pressing soft kisses along your bare arms, from shoulder to wrist, as you continued brushing your hair.
You giggled softly, cheeks flushing with that familiar shyness even after all this time.
“Jungkook…” you murmured, breathy. “You ought to distract me.”
“Good,” he whispered against your skin, kissing the curve of your shoulder. “I have missed you all day. I need my darling.”
He dropped to his knees behind you with a quiet clink of armor, bowing his head in his familiar, devoted way. You turned to face him, running your fingers through his raven hair, then tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the faint scars that remained on his face.
You saddened for a moment, remembering the brutality he had endured.
But he looked up at you with such pure worship that it took your breath away. To him, you were more than a princess. you were his salvation, the very source of life that had healed him.
You pulled him closer, and he rose, lifting you effortlessly into his arms and carrying you to the grand bed.
The knight laid you down gently, then began to worship you with slow, reverent hands. He unlaced your nightgown with painstaking care, peeling the silk away until you were bare before him. His mouth found your breasts immediately, sucking softly on one sensitive nipple, then the other, drinking the sweet milk that flowed for him with deep, grateful groans.
You moaned softly, fingers threading through his hair as he fed from you, his tongue swirling, lips sealed tight around your peak. He drank like a man who had been starving for you, savoring every drop as if it were the very essence of life itself.
Sir Jungkook groaned deeply against your breast, the sound vibrating through your chest as he drank almost desperately. His large hand cradled the soft weight of your breast, squeezing gently to draw more from you while his other hand stroked your side with reverent tenderness.
“So sweet,” he whispered against your skin, voice hoarse and worshipful. “You give me life, my petal. You heal what war tried to break.”
You whimpered, arching into his mouth, overwhelmed by the intimate, sacred act, fresh heat blooming between your thighs.
When he finally released your nipple with a wet pop, his lips glistening, he looked up at you with dark, adoring eyes.
“You are my salvation,” he murmured, kissing the valley between your breasts before moving lower. “The mother of my child. The light that brought me home.”
When he finally moved lower, he spread your thighs with firm hands and settled between them. He looked up at you once, eyes dark with devotion, before lowering his mouth to your core.
He worshipped your flower, seeking nectar with slow, deep licks that made your back arch, followed by gentle suction on your swollen clit. His tongue delved inside you, tasting every inch, groaning at your sweetness as if it were the most sacred thing he had ever known.
You whimpered and moaned, hips rolling against his handsome face as pleasure built in waves. He was relentless yet tender, bringing you to the edge again and again before letting you tip over.
When you finally begged for him, voice trembling with need, Sir Jungkook rose above you like a knight before his altar.
He did not rush. Instead, he sat back on his heels, dark eyes drinking in every inch of your bare, flushed body with such raw hunger that it made your skin burn. You felt vulnerable and impossibly desired under that gaze. A shy, breathless giggle escaped your lips as heat flooded your cheeks.
Sir Jungkook reached out with one large, calloused hand and traced a single finger slowly down your body, from the delicate line of your throat, between your heaving breasts, over the soft curve of your belly, and down to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The touch ever so feather light, yet it left fire in its wake.
“You are a goddess made flesh,” he whispered, voice hoarse with awe. “And I am but a mortal who has been granted the honor of kneeling at your feet.”
He leaned down and pressed his forehead to your thigh in a gesture of pure worship, eyes closed, breath warm against your skin as if he were praying to the only deity he had ever believed in.
Then he moved over you, settling between your spread thighs. His thick cock pressed against your entrance, hot and heavy. He looked into your eyes as he slowly pushed inside, inch by thick, stretching inch, filling you so completely that your mouth fell open in a silent cry.
You dug your nails into his back as he began to move, first slow and loving, then harder, deeper, claiming you with every thrust.
“I love you,” he groaned against your neck, hips snapping forward. “I love you more than life itself.”
When you came, it was with his name on your lips and tears of overwhelming pleasure in your eyes. Jungkook followed moments later, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a low, broken groan, filling you with pulse after pulse of his release.
In the quiet that followed, with the knight’s arms still wrapped around you and the weight of the world momentarily forgotten, it was strangely easy to remember the day he had first knelt before the throne.
The impenetrable knight clad in steel, sworn to protect a princess draped in silk. and protect you he would, as though it had been carved into the marrow of every breath he would draw, for eternity.
editing thid in a few hours. thankyou so much for reading!! comments and reblogs are very much appreciated mwah love you all 🫶💋
when your AC dies in the middle of july, the only thing hotter than your living room is the boy your brother sends to fix it. gee, i wonder what will happen on this unexpected house tour?
parings. jeon jungkook x female reader
word count. 11.3k
genre. older brothers best friend, “i won’t tell”, dom! but sweet!jk
rating. explicit (18+) MDNI
.⋆ warnings. strong language, manhandling, oral sex (both m! and f!receiving, masturbation, needy!kook, dom!kook, slight choking, kitchen sex, counter top sex, table sex, unprotected sex (don’t do it), penetrative sex, rough sex, cream pie, cum on back, tender aftercare, tabu relationship, secret relationship
spotify playlist
jen’s notes: found this half written story in my drafts and just haaaad to finish it since i thought it would go well with house tour. idk if the dialogue is off in the start since the brother doesn’t have a name, but i didn’t want to write in one of the other members as y/ns brother since that felt kinda incesty to me (i’ve written to many fics about them all). anyway loved this, even though it’s done 100 times before
the fan in the corner of room clicks uselessly, spinning once—twice—before giving up completely with a tired whine.
you groan, dragging the back of your hand across your forehead. sweat glistens there already, beading at your hairline and sliding down the curve of your neck. july has always been brutal, but this—this seems oddly personal.
“oh fuck off,” you mutter, glaring at the silent air conditioner. “fucking shitty fuck.” a row of wise words.
the living room feels like it’s closing in, shadows of the evening stretching across the floor while the last bits of sunlight bleed through the windows. you grab your phone and pace barefoot across the cool tile, though even that is losing its relief.
“—no, i’m not joking. every fan is broken—it’s so fucking hot here,” you pant into the phone, pressing it between your cheek and shoulder as you wrestle with the remote. the display on the unit blinks mockingly. fucking useless.
on the other end, your brother sounds half-asleep. “and you’re sure you’ve tried everything?”
you roll your eyes, can almost hear the smug tilt of his mouth through the line.
“yes,” you snap. “i’ve pressed all the buttons. i’ve unplugged and replugged. i even begged to god. it’s dead.”
he hums, clearly entertained. “you’re not very good at critical thinking, you know that?”
you stop pacing long enough to glare at nothing in particular. “how fucking dumb do you think i am—” you bite out, loud enough that your voice bounces off the walls.
he laughs—laughs—and the sound only sharpens your frustration. “listen here, shithead,” you warn, “i wouldn’t be calling you if it wasn’t serious. i’m about to melt into the floor.”
“yeah, well, i already told you—i’m busy.” there’s a noise behind him, light and musical—a giggle. a girl’s giggle. typical.
you scoff, stepping over to the open window. warm air drifts in, heavy with the scent of asphalt and summer rain that never came. “no. put your clothes on and help a girl in need.”
“there’s a girl in need here too,” he shoots back—and then yelps, clearly swatted for it. apparently the girl in need didn’t quite like her new title.
you wrinkle your nose. “ew. you’re disgusting.”
he just laughs again. “then figure it out yourself.”
“fine,” you drawl, leaning your elbows on the windowsill, the faintest smile curling on your lips. bingo. “i’ll just have to keep every window and door open. let the air in.”
there’s a pause. “there you go,” he replies lightly, though there’s something a little more cautious in his tone now.
“mhm,” you hum. the evening air presses against your bare shoulders. “still too hot to wear a whole lot of clothes, though.”
the silence that follows is thick enough to taste. you can hear his breath hitch, just slightly.
you smile—small, devilish. “but that’s alright, isn’t it? me, undressed, at night, with all the windows open…”
“fuck you,” he snaps, and you can practically see him rubbing his temples. “alright, fine. i’ll— i’ll figure something out.”
“aww,” you coo, all sugar now. “you’re the best. thank you.”
you hang up before he can answer, the smirk lingering on your lips as the heat hums around you—alive, heavy, and waiting.
˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ ·
the ring of the doorbell slices through the thick air of the living room. you jolt upright from the couch, half startled, half relieved that your brother actually listened for once.
you swipe at your forehead—your skin still dewy from the heat—and hurry toward the door, bare feet padding against the tiles. the house hums quietly behind you: the low buzz of a dying fan, the faint chirp of crickets outside the open window.
“finally,” you mutter under your breath, tugging at the handle.
the door swings open—
—and the air leaves your lungs.
it’s not your brother. which would be fine on any other day; but not when all you’re wearing is a bra and a pair of tiny floral shorts. you weren’t joking with your brother—it actually was too hot to be wearing a whole lot of clothes.
your heart stutters hard enough to make your fingertips tingle. because standing on your porch, framed by the glow of the streetlight, is none other than jungkook.
not your brother. his best friend.
he’s wearing a sleeveless black shirt, a chain glinting faintly against his collarbone. his jeans hang low on his hips, scuffed at the knees; the ink on his arms catches the light, every line and shadow familiar and strange all at once. his dark hair falls a little into his eyes, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe.
“—oh my god,” you whisper before you even realize it’s out loud. your stomach twists.
jungkook’s expression flickers. surprise. confusion. then something unreadable. his eyes meet yours for a split second before darting downward—blinking hard, head turning away so fast his hair brushes his jaw.
maybe not the perfect timing to be standing almost butt naked at the door.
he lifts a hand, rubbing at the back of his neck, a half-laugh escaping. “jesus christ—uh, sorry,” he blurts, voice rough and uncertain, completely unlike the calm you’ve always known from him.
“oh my fuck,” you gasp, grabbing the edge of the door and pulling it halfway closed between you. the wood feels hot under your palm. “why are you here?!”
he’s laughing now, a nervous, breathless sound that only makes your pulse hammer harder. “i—uh—your brother told me to come by. said something about fixing your air conditioning. he didn’t exactly give me details before he hung up.”
your jaw tightens. of course. of course your brother sent him instead. you picture him—still in bed—with no idea what disaster he’s just caused.
“fucking asshole,” you mutter under your breath, pressing your forehead against the door for a moment before yelling, “give me two seconds!”
you don’t wait for his reply—you’re already running, practically tripping over your own feet as you dart toward the stairs. behind you, you hear the faint creak of the door.
“hey—uh—should i just… wait here?” jungkook calls after you, still half-laughing, clearly trying to play it off.
“don’t you dare come in!” you shout back automatically, already halfway up the stairs.
you slam into the bathroom, searching wildly for something—anything—to throw on. the mirror catches your reflection: cheeks flushed, hair a little wild, your skin glistening from the heat. your stomach flips.
“oh how beautiful,” you mutter, yanking open the cabinet door. after a few frantic seconds, you find a thin, pink robe hanging behind the door. it’s lightweight—practically sheer—but it’s all you’ve got. you pull it on, fumbling with the belt as your heart continues its uneven rhythm.
your stomach turns as you prepare for what’s waiting. jungkook—now practically inside your house.
you squeeze your eyes shut for a second, trying to steady yourself. he’s been around your whole life—your brother’s shadow in a dozen memories: baseball caps, quiet smiles, laughter spilling across your parents’ porch. always older. always untouchable. always the one you pretended not to notice.
you exhale, forcing your feet to move again, and hurry downstairs.
when you reach the bottom, jungkook has one hand braced on the doorframe, shoulders still turned toward the porch like he’s trying not to invade your space. but when he hears your steps, he glances back—and his lips twitch, a soft grin breaking through the awkward tension.
the heat seems even worse now—thick, humming, sticking to your skin no matter how still you stand. it feels louder somehow with him in the room; every slow movement, every breath magnified. you nod at him, finally letting him in.
jungkook crouches near the wall where the air conditioner sits, head tilted slightly as he inspects the silent unit. the white light from the window catches in his hair and the curve of his jaw. he looks so calm—the same way he’s always been, steady in that quiet way that never seems forced.
you hover a few feet behind him, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, heart still hammering in your chest.
“i obviously didn’t think you’d be at the door,” you say quickly, your voice breaking the painfully awkward silence. it comes out higher than you meant, like you’re trying to defend yourself from a crime you didn’t commit.
he glances over his shoulder at you, and there’s that smile again—small, amused, not unkind. “you usually greet your brother like that?”
you let out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “obviously i don’t! it’s just—its really hot here.”
“right.” he nods, turning back to the unit. he doesn’t tease you further, though his grin lingers as he unscrews the front panel. “okay let’s see what we’re dealing with here.”
you cross your arms, partly to look composed, partly because you’re sure you’ll combust if you don’t do something with your hands. “you actually think you know how to fix it?”
he shrugs one shoulder, still crouched. “guess we’ll find out.”
the hum of the summer evening slips through the open windows—cicadas droning, a dog barking somewhere down the street. the sound fills the space between you, while jungkook quietly works, focused and unbothered by the heat.
you can’t help watching him. the way the muscles in his forearms shift when he reaches for something. his tattoos shifting with his skin. the way a few strands of hair fall into his eyes, and how he doesn’t bother to push them away. there’s something grounding about him—unhurried, capable—and that makes you even more nervous.
he glances up once, catching you mid-stare. “you okay?”
you blink hard, fumbling. “huh? what? i’m just standing here.”
he laughs softly, low in his throat, shaking his head before turning back to the machine. “you’ve never learned how to lie.”
you roll your eyes, trying to hide a smile. “wow, thanks.”
he keeps working, unscrewing a few more bolts. “hand me that screwdriver?”
you hurry to grab it from the coffee table, your fingers brushing his when you pass it to him. it’s nothing—just a second—but your breath catches anyway.
he doesn’t react, at least not outwardly. just murmurs a quiet, “thanks,” before returning to the job, the faintest hint of a smile still ghosting across his lips.
you fold your arms again, eyes drifting over him without meaning to. the tattoos along his arm move when he does, the lines catching in the light. his concentration is intense, the kind that draws you in even when nothing’s happening.
the silence between you starts to feel different—not awkward, exactly, but charged in a way that makes every sound louder. the quiet hum of the screwdriver, the faint rattle of metal, the slow rhythm of your breathing.
after a while he leans back, resting on his heels. “found the problem,” he says, glancing up at you with a small, proud smile. “your filter’s completely clogged. it’s a miracle this thing hasn’t caught fire.”
you laugh, more out of relief than anything. “so, it’s fixable?”
he nods, standing up. “yeah. just needs a good cleaning and a new filter. i can run to the store and grab one if you want.”
you blink, surprised. “you’d do that?”
“sure.” he shrugs, casual as ever. “i was already out anyway.”
“oh, thank you.”
for a moment, neither of you moves. the air conditioner sits open and silent between you, the summer air heavy but no longer unbearable. and as he wipes his hands on his jeans, you catch yourself thinking—not for the first time—that maybe the heat wasn’t the only reason your heart felt so unsteady tonight.
the house feels strangely quiet after jungkook leaves. you stand in the middle of the living room. the silence wraps around you, heavy and still—like the air is waiting too.
you glance at the open air conditioner, a few tools scattered nearby. he’s coming back. soon.
you retreat upstairs, still barefoot, the robe brushing against your thighs as you climb. in the bathroom, the light flickers on with a soft buzz.
the mirror reflects the kind of chaos you’d normally laugh at—hair messy, cheeks flushed from heat, a few strands clinging to your temples. you look… human. but something about it suddenly feels unbearable.
you tug at your hair, trying to smooth it out. “not for him, just—” you mutter to your reflection. reassuring yourself. “it’s polite to look nice.”
still, you reach for your makeup bag.
a sweep of concealer here, a quick dab of blush there. a little mascara—just enough to look awake. you lean closer to the mirror, biting your lip as you assess the result. still you, just… softer. more deliberate.
the robe slips a little on your shoulder; you tug it back up, tightening the belt.
when the doorbell rings again, it’s sudden and sharp. you flinch, hand flying to your chest as your heart jumps. “jesus,” you whisper to yourself, then hurry out of the bathroom.
your feet tap quickly down the stairs, the robe fluttering around your thighs. this time, you pause at the door before opening it.
slowly, you pull it open—just a crack at first, only your eyes peeking through.
“boo,” jungkook says, his voice warm and playful.
you straighten immediately, caught off guard by his grin. “wow, mature,” you say, though your smile gives you away.
he laughs as you open the door fully, stepping aside to let him in. the sound of his boots against the floor feels almost too loud in the quiet house.
“always gonna open your door like that from now on?” he teases, glancing over his shoulder.
“you can never be too careful,” you reply, shutting the door behind him.
he hums, amused, and moves toward the air conditioner again. you stand back, watching as he crouches down to fit the new filter into place.
it’s a simple task, really. but your eyes keep drifting—to the way his shoulders shift under his shirt, to the way he brushes his hair back when it falls into his eyes.
the air in the room is heavy again, thick and warm, and he’s starting to feel it too. he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, the smallest sigh leaving his lips.
something in your chest tightens.
you suddenly realize how ridiculous it must look—you standing there like a statue while he works. you clear your throat, half to yourself, and head toward the kitchen.
the tap squeaks when you turn it on, cold water splashing into a glass. you hold it for a second, watching the light ripple through it, before you turn and walk back.
he doesn’t notice you approach at first. you hesitate, then extend the glass toward him.
“ah, thanks,” jungkook says, finally glancing up. his hand brushes yours as he takes the cup—a light, fleeting contact, but it sparks through you. you pull your hand back quickly, trying to hide it by crossing your arms.
he lifts the glass to his lips, taking a long drink. his throat moves as he swallows, slow and steady, and you don’t know why that’s so interesting. maybe it’s the way the sweat at his temple catches the light. maybe it’s the ease in the way he carries himself—like he never rushes, never fumbles.
a single drop of water slips down from the corner of his mouth to his chin. he wipes it away absently with the back of his hand, sets the empty glass down beside him, and goes back to work.
you watch him for another beat, then look away quickly, pretending to busy yourself with straightening the couch pillows. but your mind’s still humming, replaying every small movement, every sound—the clink of metal, the low hum of his breath, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath him.
when he finally speaks again, his voice is calm, unhurried. “almost done,” he says, glancing up with a faint smile.
you nod, your pulse still running faster than it should. “good,” you manage. “good.”
but somehow, the house feels even warmer than before.
the hum of the screwdriver quiets, replaced by the faint sound of cicadas from outside. jungkook leans forward, adjusting something inside the unit with easy precision. you’re standing a few feet behind him again, arms loosely folded, trying very hard to look anywhere else—but your eyes keep finding him anyway.
there’s something about the way he moves that feels too calm for this heat. even with sweat at his temple, he doesn’t rush; every motion is deliberate. he wipes his hand against his jeans, then glances at the circuit board inside the air conditioner.
you tilt your head slightly, watching the concentration in his expression, the small crease between his brows, the faint glint of light on his chain.
then, without looking up, he says, lightly, “you’re staring a whole lot.”
the words hit like a bucket of cold water.
your body stiffens. “i’m not!” you blurt, too fast, too defensive.
that earns a quiet laugh—the kind that starts low in his chest and stays there. “whatever you say.”
you feel your ears go warm. you look down at your feet, pretending to inspect the tile, wishing you could melt straight through it.
the silence that follows is thick, but not uncomfortable. it hums softly between you—the buzz of the evening outside, the faint click of metal as he works.
then he speaks again, voice softer this time. “you haven’t changed at all.”
you blink, caught off guard. “huh?”
he chuckles, almost to himself. “you were all over me when you were a kid.”
your eyes widen. “i was not!”
he turns just enough for you to see the grin tugging at his lips. “you so were.”
your mouth falls open, utterly scandalized. “not true! i was—i was just—” you start, but you can’t even find a defense that sounds halfway believable. the memory of being younger — tagging along when he came over, following him and your brother around—flashes through your mind, and you groan. “oh my god, don’t say that.”
he laughs again, full and genuine this time, shaking his head. “relax. i’m just saying—it’s kind of funny.”
you cross your arms tighter, half hiding behind them. “you’re so annoying.”
“sure.”
the room goes quiet again, and in that pause, something clicks inside the unit. then—
a low, steady hum fills the space. cool air rushes out, curling through the room like relief itself.
you both exhale at the same time.
“there you go,” he says with a small smile, wiping his hands on his jeans again. he turns toward you—then stills slightly, his eyes scanning your face.
his expression shifts—something softer, more curious.
“did you put on makeup?”
your breath catches. the question lands heavier than it should, mostly because of how he says it: not teasing right away, not accusing, just… noticing.
you blink fast. “no,” you say, too quickly.
his grin returns, teasing again now, lighter. “awww, for me?”
you groan, dragging your hands down your face. “i have to go lie down.”
he laughs, a warm, easy sound that fills the room—the kind that makes you want to smile even when you’re mortified.
“hey, i’m just saying,” he teases, stepping back to admire his work. “if i’d known i’d get the VIP treatment, i’d have come to fix this thing weeks ago.”
you lower your hands, cheeks burning, eyes rolling, but there’s a reluctant smile tugging at your lips anyway.
“shut up,” you mumble, half laughing.
he glances over, grin still in place. “you’re welcome, by the way.”
“mhm?”
“for saving you from heatstroke.”
you nod toward the air conditioner, pretending to study it. “yeah, yeah. i owe you one.”
he hums, turning back to the vent, voice a little lower now. “i’ll remember that.”
the cool air sweeps through the room again, but somehow, the warmth between you lingers just the same.
the air conditioner hums softly now, sending a thread of cool air across the room. it should have broken the heat, should have made everything easier to breathe—but it doesn’t. the air feels different now; thin, sharp, alive.
jungkook straightens from his crouch beside the unit, rolling his shoulders a little. you think you should say something—thank him, joke about the heat, anything—but the words don’t come.
for a moment, the world narrows.
his eyes meet yours.
it’s not a quick glance this time; it lingers. the kind of look that finds you and holds you there. his gaze flickers over your face like he’s trying to place something. something familiar and new all at once.
your chest tightens. you draw in a slow breath, trying to steady it, but your heart doesn’t listen. each inhale feels louder than it should, shallow, careful. the sound of it fills the small space between you, mingling with the low hum of the air.
he doesn’t move at first, just stands there with his hands loose at his sides. then his fingers flex—barely, a subtle twitch, like he’s grounding himself. his jaw tightens for a second, and you can see the faint rhythm of his pulse at his neck.
the silence stretches on and on. it’s not awkward anymore; it’s electric. it feels like both of you are waiting for something invisible to happen, something you can’t name.
you forget what you were supposed to do next.
then jungkook blinks, as if waking from a trance, and clears his throat. “well,” he says quietly, his voice rougher now, “if that was all, i should probably—” he gestures toward the door, his hand halfway raised.
it takes you a second to understand what he means. then you nod, stepping back automatically. “right. yeah.”
he takes a few steps, passing by you. the air shifts when he moves—his cologne faint, clean, familiar. it brushes past you like static, and something in you protests before your brain even catches up.
“or not!”
the words tumble out before you can stop them. he pauses mid-step, half-turned toward the door.
you freeze, realizing how loud that came out. “i mean—” you stammer, cheeks warming, “i’m bored. you could… keep me company. if you want.”
for a second he doesn’t answer. he just looks back at you, brows lifting slightly, expression unreadable.
“i don’t think—” he starts, his voice careful.
“please.”
you reach out without thinking, fingers closing around his wrist.
everything stills.
the air conditioner hums softly behind you, but it sounds far away now. his skin is warm beneath your hand, his pulse steady under your fingertips. your grip isn’t tight, but it’s enough to make him look down at the connection—your hand on his.
he inhales once, slow. his breathing changes, more deliberate now, measured.
when he looks up again, his eyes are darker. there’s no smile, no teasing in them anymore—just something quiet and searching.
the distance between you feels paper-thin. you can feel your heartbeat in your throat, in your fingers, everywhere.
neither of you speak.
you don’t move, afraid to break whatever this is.
and in that tiny stretch of stillness—the hum of the air, the faint creak of the floor, the two of you standing too close—you realize the house doesn’t feel hot anymore, but your skin does.
he exhales, eyes flicking briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes. his pupils catch the light; they’re wide, glinting like obsidian.
you feel your breath stutter. your chest rises once, twice, each one sharper than the last. the moment hangs there, fragile, endless. then, before thought can intervene, your body reacts to the pull in the air between you—
and the world seems to tip. you lunge forward.
his breath catches as your mouth meets his—a stunned half-second of stillness, like the universe had just held its breath too.
then his hands are on you.
one finds the curve of your waist, the other sliding up between your shoulder blades, anchoring you as he pulls you closer. it’s not gentle—not hesitant. it’s heat and tension breaking all at once, like a dam finally giving way. his mouth opens against yours, and the kiss deepens with dizzying urgency.
your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt—tight, needy—like you’re afraid he might vanish if you don’t hold on.
his tongue brushes yours, slow at first, coaxing. testing. then something changes—his grip tightens, and he exhales sharply against your mouth, like he’s been holding something back too long.
the robe shifts.
you barely register it—just the whisper of fabric sliding off one shoulder as he pulls you flush against him. his hand trails along the curve of your back, fingers dragging lightly against overheated skin, and your whole body shivers.
“shit,” he mutters into your mouth. “you have no idea…”
you gasp against his lips, the heat blooming between you like wildfire now, impossible to contain.
but he stills suddenly.
his mouth breaks from yours, just barely, his forehead pressed to yours. his breath is ragged, brushing across your cheek.
“wait,” he murmurs, voice rough, cracked at the edges. “are we… doing this?”
you blink, breathless, still caught somewhere between the now and whatever this is.
you could laugh. could joke, push him back, brush it all off with a smirk and some offhand comment about heatstroke making you both insane.
but instead, you nod—barely, but it’s enough.
his lips twitch. not quite a smile—something heavier. like relief. like resignation.
“you’re, fuck, you're his little sister,” he says under his breath, eyes locked to yours, like he’s reminding himself. warning himself.
but he doesn’t step away.
you arch slightly into him, eyes narrowing. “does it matter?”
his gaze flickers—heat sparking behind it again. “no,” he answers hoarsely. “not right now.”
his mouth finds yours again—harder this time, more desperate, like he’s already made his choice and there’s no going back now. his hands are everywhere—gripping, guiding, learning the lines of your body with slow reverence and rough hunger both.
the air conditioner hums on behind you, pumping cool air through the room.
but suddenly, something within him stills again. his eyes spark open, and he shoves you away. you gasp as you stumble backwards. his hand drags across his face, from down his nose to his lips, resting over his mouth. his eyes roam you, the robe that has slipped down one of your shoulders, revealing the strap of your bra. his breath slows.
“wait, fuck—it does—” he starts, words muffled by his palm. he removes it, his tongue flicking over the piercing in his lip. “he’ll actually kill me.”
“i won’t tell!” you blurt out, trying to persuade him into staying. your eyes go soft. you stare up at him with glistening, pleading eyes. “please…”
jungkook answers with a conflicted hum, his eyes narrowing as they pierce through you. roaming over your figure. taking it all in. his chest is heaving. fingers flexing by his side. you can tell he’s close to breaking. and suddenly—he does, “fuck.”
he lunges toward you, gripping onto your neck—forcing your lips to meet again. his body presses against yours as his feet start moving, leading the way. you don’t know how far you’re moving, but somewhere along the way he tilts slightly, turning the direction of his steps while still lavishing you with kisses. you stumble in your steps, until your back hits something sharp. the kitchen counter.
your gasp breaks between his lips as the cold marble biting into your overheated skin—but jungkook doesn’t pause.
his hands are everywhere—one on your waist, the other sliding up your back again, fingers fanning wide like he’s trying to memorize every inch. his grip is rougher, needier. no longer tentative, no longer holding back.
the robe slips again—completely this time—and bunches at your elbows. he pulls back just enough to look at you, to really look at you. at your flush chest, the pink lace bra covering you.
his chest rises and falls like he’s been sprinting. his lips are swollen, kiss-bruised. his eyes flicker—down your throat, to the slope of your shoulder, to the flushed skin peeking through sheer fabric—and then back up again, dark and wild.
“you’re making this really hard,” he growls, his voice guttural now, almost angry.
you swallow hard. “that’s kind of the idea.”
he huffs out a laugh, but it’s not amused—it’s exasperated. like he knows he should stop, knows he should’ve stopped ten minutes ago, but you’ve already pulled the brake handle off the train and thrown it into the sun.
and he’s still moving.
his hand slides under the robe, past your ribs, finding your waist again and pulling you in. his body presses tight to yours, his mouth finding the spot just below your jaw and dragging heat across your skin like fire trails. you gasp, head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut—
then, low and breathless: “he’ll fucking murder me.”
“he’s not here,” you whisper, voice shaking, “and if you stop now—so help me god—i’ll kill you.”
that makes him laugh for real. it’s breathless, incredulous, but real. he leans back just a little, dragging his thumb along your bottom lip, his fingers firm under your chin.
“what’s gotten into you?” he asks, eyes glinting with something dangerous.
you smile—slow, unapologetic. devilish. “what?”
he groans like he’s in pain, muttering, “fuck, this is so wrong.”
and then he kisses you again—slams into the kiss like it’s the only thing tethering him to the ground. his hand moves—one gripping the counter behind you, the other braced at your thigh, fingers sliding up, hooking behind your knee, hitching your leg up around his waist.
you cling to him, lost in the overwhelming crush of sensation: the taste of him, the press of his hips, the low, rumbling sounds he makes when you bite his lip a little too hard.
somewhere behind you, a glass tips off the counter and shatters against the tile.
neither of you flinch.
you’re too far gone—drunk on him, on the heat, on the sound of your name rasping off his tongue like he’s never said it before and is already addicted to how it feels.
“tell me to stop,” he growls against your neck.
you look at him, flushed, eyes wide and unblinking. “no.”
he doesn’t ask again.
and somewhere, deep in the back of your mind—beneath the sound of his breath, your sighs, the hum of the air conditioner—you wonder if your brother will ever realize that sending jungkook over was the worst mistake of his life.
or the best. depends who you ask.
jungkook’s mouth crashes down on yours again before thought can catch up. the grip he has on your thigh tightens as he lifts, hoisting you up onto the counter like you weigh nothing at all. the cold marble kisses the backs of your thighs, but your focus is solely on him—his tongue tracing yours, the way he fits between your thighs like he’s meant to be there.
you gasp as he presses in closer, the heat between you spiking—the feel of his erection digging into you. his hands drag over your sides, thumbs sweeping beneath the loosened edge of your robe as if testing how far he can push.
jungkook’s mouth dips lower—over your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. your head falls back with a soft thud against the kitchen cabinet as he opens your robe wider, lips brushing over the strap of your bra, teeth grazing skin with reverence and restraint balanced on a knife’s edge.
everything is heat. salt. breath. skin.
the hum of the air conditioner is drowned beneath the pounding rhythm of your heart.
this is happening. this is real.
and the part of you that always dreamed about this—the version of him not meant to be yours—laughs quietly behind your ribs, triumphant.
his fingers slip under the edge of your robe again—slow this time, purposeful. as if the moment has slowed for him too. the hunger’s still there, raw and consuming, but now it’s laced with something heavier.
your skin burns under his touch.
jungkook draws back just enough to look at you. his eyes drag over your swollen lips, your flushed cheeks, the way your breath hitches when his hand rests against your bare thigh again. his thumb brushes slow circles into your skin, the silence stretched thin between you.
“you sure?” he asks, voice low. no teasing now. no performance. just that quiet, steady seriousness you’ve love so much.
you nod once. “mhm.”
a heartbeat of hesitation. then he leans in—pressing his forehead to yours. his breath ghosts across your lips as he exhales, slow and tight.
and then—he pulls your robe apart.
not all at once. not roughly. he eases it open with both hands, like he’s peeling back the last excuse, the final defense. the fabric slides from your arms and pools at your waist, before he tugs at it, slipping it completely off—baring you to the kitchen’s pale, open light.
his mouth parts. you catch the breath he forgets to take.
“fuck.”
you shift on the counter, the stone beneath you cool, but not enough to ground you. not when he’s standing between your knees, looking at you like that—eyes dark, lips parted, hands hovering just above your skin, as if even he doesn’t trust himself with what comes next.
then finally—finally—he touches you again.
his palm slides up your thigh, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath catch. his other hand trails up your side, slow, deliberate, until it reaches the thin strap of your bra. he runs his thumb beneath it, tracing the delicate curve of it along your shoulder.
your breath hitches.
his hands are bolder when they move next. They travel—learn—press. he pulls you closer until there’s no air left between you, until your chest meets his and you feel the frantic beat of his heart through his shirt.
then his lips are back on you. not your mouth this time—lower. across your jaw. down your throat. his mouth marks a path between collarbones, teeth grazing the top edge of your bra, a groan vibrating through his chest when he feels you arch beneath him.
you grow impatient, clawing at the fabric of his sleeveless shirt. he groans against your skin, “so impatient.”
“tit for tat,” you say, tugging on his shirt. he smirks against your collarbone, looking up at you. and with a sudden shift, he rips off his shirt—now standing shirtless between your legs.
your breath catches.
jungkook’s shirt hits the floor with a soft thud, and all you can do is stare.
the kitchen light—faint and golden—kisses every line of his chest, casting shadows in the grooves of his abs, highlighting the defined cut of muscle across his torso. his tattoo stretches as he flexes his arm slightly, hand settling back on your thigh like he never left. ink curls over his shoulder and wraps around his bicep, intricate and dark, and for a moment your mouth goes dry.
he watches you watch him, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling slowly—like he’s giving you time to drink it all in.
“happy now?” he asks, his voice low, rough, teasing—but barely.
you don’t answer right away. you just reach out.
your fingers skim the edge of the tattoo on his shoulder first, tracing it like you’re trying to memorize it by touch. his breath hitches—just once—but he doesn’t stop you. if anything, he leans into it, like your hands are the only thing anchoring him now.
before you’re able to speak, he’s kissing you again.
hard.
his hand cradles the back of your head now, guiding, possessive, almost desperate. his other palm spreads wide over your lower back, pulling you flush to him, skin to skin now.
you press your palms to his chest, not to push him away, but to steady yourself. his skin is hot under your touch. real. too real. and when you drag your hands down—past his ribs, along his waist—he groans into your mouth, hips shifting instinctively.
“you keep doing that,” he warns against your lips, “and i’m not gonna stop.”
“don’t want you to.”
he stills.
just for a second.
and then his hands are on you again—bolder, surer. one slips beneath your thigh, lifting you higher onto the counter. the other drags down your spine, resting at the dip of your back, fingers splayed wide.
you feel like you’re burning.
not from the heat in the house, not from the summer swelter pressing against the windows—but from him. from the way he touches you like he’s trying to etch the memory into his bones.
your bra strap slides off your shoulder.
he watches it fall.
watches the way your chest rises with every shallow breath. watches as your nipples pierce before him.
he’s trembling. just barely—but it’s there. his eyes flick up to meet yours, heavy-lidded and unguarded, “you drive me nuts.”
you don’t speak. you just pull him in again.
because nothing you could say would match the way your mouth fits to his, the way your body fits to his. and when his hands finally reach the hem of your panties—you let them.
his fingers hook under the waistband—slow, testing, reverent—and for the first time tonight, you shiver.
his gaze doesn’t waver as he slides the fabric down your thighs, inch by inch, until it pools at your ankles like something surrendered. just until it falls onto the floor. your breath stutters as his knuckles trail along the inside of your knee, the touch maddeningly soft—nothing like the hard, hungry mouth that’s already wrecked your lips.
the air feels thinner, your chest tighter.
you brace your palms behind you on the counter, legs still parted around him, chest rising in shallow, unsteady breaths. you’re burning. completely. from his hands, his eyes, the unspoken weight of the moment.
then jungkook drops to his knees.
that steals your breath.
no warning. no words. just him lowering himself onto the cold tile floor between your thighs like it’s instinct. like he’s done before in a hundred your dreams. but now he’s here. now it’s real.
and he looks up at you like you’re both a blessing and a curse he’s finally giving in to.
“fuck,” he breathes, eyes roaming the length of you—from your flushed chest to the heat between your thighs. “you’re unreal.”
his hands slide up your calves, then your thighs, thumbs brushing the tender skin near your hipbones. every muscle in your body tenses, breath caught in your throat, but his mouth is already moving—kissing up the inside of your thigh, slow and deliberate.
your fingers twist in the edge of the countertop.
one kiss. then another. each one closer.
the air is thick. heavy with heat and something electric.
and when he looks up at you from between your legs—face tilted, breath already uneven—your stomach drops. his eyes are dark, locked in, consuming. not playful, not teasing. there’s no smirk now. just hunger. bone-deep. like he’s starving.
you suck in a breath as he leans forward.
“fuck,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. you’re already soaked. blush forming in your cheeks as he drinks in the sight of your dripping heat. “haven’t even touched you properly.”
you open your mouth—maybe to tease him, maybe to challenge—but then his tongue flicks out, dragging a slow, deliberate stripe along the slick heat of you, and your entire body locks.
your breath catches like it’s snagged on something sharp. he doesn’t stop. doesn’t ask if it’s okay.
just keeps going—a second lick, slower this time, his tongue wide and flat, gathering every drop of wetness from you. his mouth is hot. skilled. unrelenting. and you feel it—not just where he licks, but in the way his hands tighten on your thighs, pulling them apart just a bit wider. like he needs more of you.
a sound escapes you—a whimper, high and raw—and you grab the edge of the counter behind you like it’s the only thing holding you upright.
he hums against you. you feel that, too. the vibration. the satisfaction.
he buries himself in deeper. tongue curling, dragging, dipping into you with obscene precision. it’s not hurried. its like he wants to savor every flick, every gasp, every shiver he pulls from you.
“fuck—kook—” your voice breaks apart, breathless and high-pitched.
he only answers with a groan and another slow lick, curling the tip of his tongue just right, then sucking gently on your clit—and your head tips backwards, almost enough for you to fall back.
he catches you, of course.
one arm wraps beneath your thigh, hooking it over his shoulder, lifting your leg to open you further to him. the other arm snakes around your hips, hand splaying across your lower back, cradling you—supporting you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held.
that hand doesn’t grope or press. it just holds. warm and wide and steady against your spine as he devours you from below like a man on the brink of losing his mind.
you feel your body arch into his mouth without meaning to—your hips twitching with every slow, deep lick. every inhale you take comes out as a gasp, a whine, a half-formed word that doesn’t matter anymore.
jungkook works you open gently, then thoroughly. alternating between teasing flicks of his tongue to your clit and long, luxurious strokes. he sucks—then releases. circles—then flattens. sometimes soft, sometimes firm. and always, always watching your reactions. adjusting with every twitch, every moan, every time you grind forward into his mouth like you can’t get enough.
his nose nudges your clit. his tongue slides lower. he groans again—deeper this time—and the sound wrecks you.
you fist your hands in his hair. not hard—not to control him—just to anchor yourself to something.
“please,” you whisper, not even knowing what you’re begging for. just needing more. “please, kook, don’t stop—”
his only reply is a low growl against your core and a deeper suck of his lips, locking around your clit with delicious pressure, tongue flicking just fast enough to push you right to the edge.
the pleasure is sharp now—overwhelming—molten and impossible to outrun. you feel yourself about to break.
“i—” you choke on it. “i’m gonna—”
jungkook doesn’t stop. not for a second.
in fact, he holds you tighter. pulls you closer. slides his tongue down again, tasting all of you, then comes back up, flicking and circling your clit. and when he seals his mouth over you again, sucking on your bundle of nerves—
you shatter.
your orgasm hits hard—harder than you’re ready for—flooding you from the inside out. your thighs clamp around jungkook’s face, your back arches, your moan rips from your throat like a sob. your whole body goes rigid, then trembles in waves as he keeps going, working you through every peak, every flutter, every aftershock with soft, patient licks.
he doesn’t pull away until your legs start to tremble violently.
then, and only then, does he ease back.
his hands stay steady on your back, holding you like you’re fragile now, like something just barely pieced back together. he leans forward and presses a kiss—slow, warm—to the inside of your thigh before easing your leg back down.
he rises slowly—eyes hooded, lips glistening, face flushed—and you’re dizzy with it. the image of him looking like that after what he just did.
he moves in, close. one arm circles your waist again, pulling you into him. the other hand cradles your face—fingers brushing hair from your cheek, thumb ghosting your bottom lip.
“you okay?” jungkook murmurs.
you nod, weakly. “a bit dizzy.”
that earns a soft laugh from him, slightly smug.
“good,” he whispers, lips brushing your forehead.
then he kisses you—slow and deep—and you taste yourself on his tongue.
you reach for him again—low, slow—dragging your fingertips down his abs until they brush the waistband of his pants. you feel him twitch beneath the fabric, hot and swollen and aching, and your breath catches at the sheer size of him pressing against the jean fabric.
“you good?” you murmur, lips curling into a knowing smirk.
jungkook grits his teeth. “look at me.”
you do. and god—he looks wrecked. hair messy, eyes dark, jaw clenched so tight it looks painful. his chest rises and falls with sharp, shallow breaths, like he’s barely keeping control.
like you’ve got him strung up on a thread.
“you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters.
you drag your hand up his stomach again—then down—stopping just above his cock. teasing. threatening.
he growls, unbuckling his belt in a swift motion, throwing it to the side before he zips down his jeans. just enough to leave space for you. he grabs your wrist. not to stop you. but to guide your hand lower.
you let him. let him push your palm down, wrap your fingers around the heavy length of him beneath the his boxers. you squeeze—just a little—and he flinches, hips jerking forward into your touch like he needs it too much to be embarrassed.
his voice breaks. “fuck, just—don’t tease me, not now—”
you blink up at him through your lashes, innocent. “teasing?”
but you are. and he knows it.
still, he lets you.
you palm him slowly through his boxers, feeling every pulse, every twitch of restrained need. slowly, you slide your hand beneath the waistband, slipping inside, and your fingers wrap around bare skin this time—hot and hard and silky smooth. he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.
“jesus—”
you pull him out. and he hisses.
his cock springs free, thick and flushed, the tip already glistening with precum. you wrap your hand around the base and give one long, deliberate stroke—from root to tip—and his eyes flutter shut.
but only for a second.
because when jungkook opens them again and sees you watching him—watching what your hand is doing to him—something inside him snaps.
his hand closes around your wrist again. firm. commanding. and then—he pulls.
pulls your hand off him. steps back. you blink in confusion for a heartbeat.
until he grabs ahold of the hem on his pants and tug. stepping out of his jeans, revealing his strong, defined thighs. and by raising his hand—he grips himself.
and starts stroking. slow. tight. aggressive.
your breath stutters.
“wanna tease so bad?” jungkook growls, hand moving up and down the thick length of him with smooth, practiced strokes. “fuck, you drive me crazy.”
you freeze where you are, seated naked on the counter, heat pooling between your thighs all over again, as he stands just in front of you—boxers down on his hip, sweat-slick, panting—jerking himself with a pace that’s already turning savage.
every vein in his forearm flexes with the motion. his abs tighten. his hips stutter forward with every twist of his wrist, and you see how sensitive he is—the way his teeth grit, his jaw clenched like he’s trying to hold something in.
“shit—” he breathes, eyes locked on your chest, your mouth, your parted thighs. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”
you lean back against the counter, legs trembling. and you try to sound a whole lot more confident then you feel. “show me.”
and he does.
his eyes burn as he works himself harder now—fast, slick strokes from base to tip, his thumb swiping over the slit, spreading the precum across the head until it glistens. his breath comes out in ragged gasps, every muscle in his body tensing, straining.
“you sitting there,” he pants, “all spread out like that… fuck, i could come just from looking at you.”
you shift against the counter, thighs pressing together, your own arousal making it impossible to breathe right.
“don’t,” you whisper.
his hand falters for a second. “don’t…?”
“not yet,” you say, eyes dark. “i want to watch you suffer a little more.”
his laugh is rough. shaky. wrecked.
“bitch.”
“mhm.”
jungkook groans and jerks himself faster, grip tightening, the muscles in his legs flexing beneath the weight of restraint. his thighs twitch, abs clench, and a drop of sweat slides down his chest.
he’s close.
his cock is flushed red, twitching with every stroke. his hips are thrusting into his hand now—desperate, needy, chasing the edge like he can’t stop even if he tried.
“make a mess,” you whisper. “wanna see it.”
that’s all it takes.
he chokes on a groan and his whole body locks. his hand flies up, wrapping tight around the head as the first pulse hits—hot and thick, spilling across his own fingers and knuckles. his breath shatters, and he jerks himself through it—a second spurt, then a third, cum dripping down his shaft as his thighs tremble with the intensity of it.
he curses under his breath, body arching slightly, trying to ride it out.
and you watch all of it. the way his abs tighten. the way his mouth falls open, panting your name. the way his knees almost buckle from the force of it.
then he exhales, low and broken. staring at you. spent. messy. destroyed.
“holy fuck,” jungkook mutters, voice hoarse.
you tilt your head. “feel better?”
he wipes his hand across his stomach, slow and lazy. “no. not even close.”
he stands there—still catching his breath, sweat glistening across his collarbones, abs slick and twitching—his cock half-hard and messy, still glistening with aftermath.
your eyes trail down—from the flush creeping up jungkook’s chest, to the cum streaked across his hand, his stomach, the heavy length of him still bobbing slightly with the beat of his pulse.
and you hop off the counter. gently. stepping forward.
he watches you carefully, eyes still dark, still blown wide, though there’s something different now—wary, like he’s bracing himself and knows exactly what’s about to happen but still can’t believe it.
you sink to your knees without a word.
that’s when his breath catches.
“shit,” jungkook whispers, voice low and wrecked. “you don’t have to—”
you look up at him as you wrap your fingers gently around the base of him again, and say, soft, “i want to.”
and then you lean in.
you start slow—dragging your tongue along the underside of his shaft. a single, hot stripe, beginning at the base and ending just beneath the swollen head. you feel jungkook twitch in your grip. hear the way he chokes on his own breath.
your tongue circles the tip, lapping up what’s left of his release, tasting him like something sweet and forbidden. your mouth parts just slightly as you close your lips around the crown, sucking lightly—and that breaks him.
“fuck—fuck,” he moans, head tipping back, hand flying to your hair like he doesn’t know whether to pull you back or push you deeper. “you’re gonna ruin me.”
you hum around him, the vibration sending another shudder up his spine.
you take your time. lick him clean.
slow, swirling drags of your tongue along his length, catching every drop, every trace. your mouth glides down the shaft, lips parted, saliva mixing with jungkook’s release as you go. you kiss along the veins, mouth trailing down to his base, then back up again—worshipful, unhurried, like he deserves to feel every second of it.
his legs tense.
he’s leaning against the counter now, breathing hard, muscles twitching with restraint as you devour him slowly, piece by piece.
when you take him back into your mouth—deeper this time—his hand tightens in your hair.
“holy shit,” he breathes. “you’re unreal.”
you glance up at him through your lashes, mouth full, cheeks hollowing as you suck harder, bobbing your head now in slow, deliberate strokes. jungkook watches, jaw slack, eyes locked on your lips wrapped around him like it’s the most sinful thing he’s ever seen.
and maybe it is.
because you look hungry. possessive. you swirl your tongue around the tip, then sink down again, a little further—letting him feel the heat, the slick drag, the suction. your hand pumps the rest of him in time with your movements, twisting just right at the top as you suck harder, deeper, sloppier.
jungkook groans—long and low—hips twitching. “fuck—i’m already getting hard again. feel that?”
you do. he’s swelling in your mouth, thickening, pulsing against your tongue as you take him deeper still. your throat tightens, your eyes sting, but you don’t stop. you push down until the tip brushes the back of your throat—and hold.
“oh my god,” he growls, breath catching in his chest. “you’re gonna make me cum again if you keep—”
you moan around him. deliberate. filthy.
his thighs shake. his grip in your hair tightens. “fuck, baby—”
you start moving faster now—bobbing your head, saliva dripping from your lips, smeared across your chin as you suck him wet and deep, hand stroking what you can’t take, twisting at the base. jungkook’s rock-hard now, full and flushed, precum smearing against your tongue.
and the sounds—the sounds coming from him. guttural. desperate.
“look at you,” jungkook pants. “fucking perfect. mouth made for this.”
you glance up again, and his gaze locks with yours. that’s what sends him reeling.
your mouth is full. lips are red and stretched and messy. your eyes are glassy, heat-blown, dark. and you’re looking up at him like you want him to fall apart again—and again—until there’s nothing left.
jungkook pulls you off suddenly—gasping, cock wet and glistening, resting heavy in your palm.
you blink up at him, confused. dazed.
his thumb drags across your lower lip, smearing spit and precum. “get back on the counter.”
your thighs clench.
he leans down—hard, breath hot—and whispers: “i’m gonna cum down your throat next time. but right now, i need to fuck you so deep you forget your own name.”
you barely have time to stand.
jungkook grabs you.
big hands on your waist, your thighs, your body already trembling—and he doesn’t hesitate. doesn’t say a word. just lifts you—effortless—and throws you back onto the counter with a thud.
your breath punches out of you as your ass hits cold marble, legs sprawling wide. and jungkook steps in between them like he owns you.
his hands grab under your knees, yanking you down so your ass slides to the edge, flush with his hips. the counter digs into your back, your thighs drape over his forearms.
“you want me to be gentle?” he growls.
you don’t even blink. “try it and i’ll bite.”
his eyes darken. you feel him fumble between your bodies. and just like that—he slams into you.
one brutal thrust—no teasing, no warning—just the full, thick length of him driving inside in a single, punishing stroke that splits you open and fills you deep. your gasp is sharp, high, wrecked—your fingers scrambling for the edge of the counter, grasping for anything solid as your whole body lurches forward with the force of it.
“fuck—” you choke, eyes fluttering. “jungkook—”
his only answer is another hard thrust—deeper, if that’s even possible—hips snapping forward, cock hitting your cervix with a pressure that makes your vision white out. he doesn’t pause. doesn’t let you adjust.
he just fucks you. over and over again—the slap of skin on skin echoing through the kitchen like the soundtrack to something unforgivable. your legs are high over his shoulders now, his grip brutal under your thighs as he pistons into you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.
“shit, you’re so fucking wet,” he snarls, hips slamming into yours. “still dripping from. from my mouth. from my fucking hand.”
you sob out a moan, brain fogged, chest arched. “kook—you’re. too—too deep—”
he leans in—chest crushing your knees to your body, body weight pinning you down to cold stone—and stares you down.
“say it again.”
“you’re too deep,” you gasp. “i can’t—fuck, i can’t think—”
“good.”
he fucks you harder. faster. the counter shakes violently beneath you now, the edge biting into your ass, your spine arched like a bow. the only thing anchoring you is his grip—one hand under your thigh, the other wrapping around your throat as he plunges into you again and again and again.
his cock slides in and out of your soaking heat, each thrust louder than the last, and his name spills from your mouth on a loop. you’re gone. overstimulated. eyes glassy, hands clawing at his shoulders now as he bends over you, sweat dripping from his hair onto your chest.
“look at me,” he pants.
you force your eyes open.
he slams in again, holding there, buried to the hilt.
“feel how deep i am?”
you nod. barely.
“get used to it.”
you moan, a choked cry, back arching violently beneath him. your whole body pulses around him, clenches tight.
he sees it, feels your walls contracting around his cock. and grins, “oh, you’re close again. you’re gonna come, aren’t you?”
you nod frantically, whimpering.
his hand slips between you—fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, tight circles—and your scream rips through the kitchen like a siren. you snap.
you come hard around him, legs spasming, body thrashing against the counter as the orgasm tears through you like an explosion. you don’t even hear yourself—not over the rush in your ears, the slap of his hips, the growl in his throat as he chases his own high.
“fuck, fuck—” jungkook snarls, cock twitching inside you as your walls spasm around him—sucking him dry. “i’m gonna—shit—gonna fill you up, baby, fuck—”
you cry out again, overstimulated and wrecked and aching.
jungkook breaks. spilling deep inside you with a broken groan, hips jerking, pulse pounding through his cock as he empties himself in thick, hot waves. his entire body tenses, still buried in you, breath caught in his throat like even he wasn’t ready for how hard it hit.
there’s a silence again. just breathing. heavy and shaking. he doesn’t pull out. not yet. still buried inside you, still pulsing with the last tremors of release, jungkook stays exactly where he is—his chest pressed to your back, his hand splayed over your stomach, breath steaming hot against your shoulder. there’s a heaviness to the silence, a weight, as if the air itself knows this moment has changed everything.
and then he moves again.
a slow roll of his hips.
you gasp, already oversensitive, body twitching as you grip the edge of the counter tighter. “kook—”
“i know,” he breathes, but he doesn’t stop. another slow thrust, just enough to feel you flutter around him. “fuck—i just—i can’t get enough of you.”
you bite your lip hard, whimpering when he moves again—slow, deep, purposeful now. less desperate. more controlled. a different kind of hunger.
he withdraws almost all the way, then pushes back in with a groan—hips flush to your ass, his fingers digging into your waist like he’s trying to imprint himself into your skin. each movement is smoother, almost languid, but no less intense.
“still so tight,” he murmurs, eyes locked on the way you take him. “fuck—you’re unreal.”
“you’re obsessed.”
“yeah,” he admits, voice low. “think i am.”
his hand trails up your spine, slow and reverent. the other settles on your hip, guiding your body back into him with each deep grind of his cock.
you’re soaked, swollen, overstimulated—and it feels insane. every inch of him inside you rubs just right now, and the pressure is building again, slow and molten and dangerous.
he leans down as if to kiss you—but he moves past your mouth, lips ghosting your ear.
“table,” he whispers.
you blink, dazed. “what?”
“i wanna fuck you on the table.”
your whole body shivers.
his hands move to your hips, lifting—guiding you away from the counter. your legs are shaky, but he’s there, steady, pulling you upright until your body is flush to his chest.
you’re still connected. still filled.
and when he reaches around to cup the back of your neck, tipping your head forward to meet his chest, you moan—soft, breathless. letting your arms wrap around his neck.
jungkook walks you forward, one slow step at a time, until your knees bump the side of the kitchen table. he doesn’t ask. he just turns you, then pushes—gently—until your hands are braced on the table’s edge.
he draws back again—only to slam back in, hard enough to rattle the legs beneath you.
you cry out. and now the rhythm builds again. fast. bruising.
your breasts bounce with each thrust, your body jerking forward only for him to pull you back, over and over like he’s using you to chase his own destruction. his palm slips from your throat to your chest, cupping you roughly, squeezing your firm breast as his strokes deepen.
he groans. “fuck, listen to you.”
you don’t even recognize your own voice when you moan. you’re soaked down your thighs, your skin sticky with sweat and sin, your hair a tangled mess, and he fucks you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
the sound is obscene. so is the way you clench every time he hits that spot—just right, just deep enough.
“come again,” he grits out, thrusts losing rhythm, sweat sliding down his temple.
you nod frantically, hands white-knuckled on the edge of the table. “so close—don’t stop, please—”
“say my name.”
“jungkook—fuck, jungkook—”
you come with a cry that shakes your whole body, collapsing onto the table as your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. you’re shaking—legs trembling, body clenching around him in rhythmic spasms—and he groans so deep it sounds like pain.
he can’t hold back.
he slams into you once, twice more—then pulls out with a curse, wrapping his hand around his cock and finishing all over your lower back in hot, thick ropes. his breath is ragged, chest heaving behind you, his head falling forward as he rides the final waves of release.
the air is still thick with heat, but it no longer feels suffocating—more like a haze wrapping around you both. the fan clicks on somewhere in the background, like it finally gave up resisting. the cool breath of the air conditioner hums softly through the house, but neither of you moves to feel it.
jungkook’s breath is warm on your shoulder, heavy and ragged. he’s bent over you, arms braced on either side of your body, body trembling faintly from exertion and release. your cheek is pressed to the wood of the table, heart still pounding in your ears.
for a long time, neither of you speak.
then, slowly, you feel him shift—his fingers gentle on your waist now, as he steadies you. you exhale shakily, your body sore in ways that feel more satisfying than uncomfortable. he slides his hands up your arms, coaxing you to straighten.
“hey,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and low.
you turn your head slightly, glancing back at him. his eyes are softer now, searching yours for something—guilt, maybe, or hesitation. he finds neither.
he leans in, brushes a kiss to your shoulder, then another to the side of your neck. slower this time. not rushed. not hungry. just quiet.
you turn in his arms. your legs feel weak, but you wrap them around his hips anyway as he helps lift you off the table and carries you to the kitchen stool. he grabs a towel from the counter, wipes your back gently, then pulls one of your hands to his chest, “shit, listen.”
his heart is hammering against his ribs, “i went all out on you—you should thank me.”
you laugh—breathless, lightheaded. “mhm, thank you.” you tease.
he brushes a strand of damp hair behind your ear. his fingertips linger at your jaw. he studies your face. something cracks a little in his expression—uncertainty flashing behind his eyes. “i’m so dead.”
you still, eyebrows curling on your forehead, “we just had sex on the kitchen table… and you’re thinking about my brother.” you say, giving him a look.
“mhm, aren’t i sweet?” he says with a smirk, squinting, leaning forward just enough to plant a quick peck on your lips. when jungkook leans back again, he just looks at you. his eyes darting back and forth yours before he breathes in. then breathes out. he grabs ahold of your hand resting on his chest, and kisses the inside of your palm. “this was fun.”
you laugh, leaning back a bit to get a better look at him, “fun?”
“yeah,” he lets your hand drop, then moves his fingers to trace along your thigh, looking down at you as he traces his hands down to your knee. he cups it, giving it a quick shake before backing up. “you sort of got a two for one deal—aircon and a quicky.”
“don’t think that qualifies as a quicky.”
he hums out a laugh, “maybe not.”
a silence falls again. even though you’re both completely naked, it doesn’t seem to be an object of concern. it kinda just is that way, now. jungkook is still standing before you, only a few more steps back now—when his eyes dart down to his feet. you can tell he wants to speak, but that he somehow can’t manage. the calm confidence wearing off. so you break the silence for him.
“guessing it’ll be kinda awkward from now on.”
he keeps looking down at his feet. then, underneath his breath—he finally speaks.
“doesn’t have to.”
you don’t know how it won’t be. you’ve known each other for years. this is completely forbidden and taboo territory. which you’ve breached. broken. torn apart. now all your interactions will be stripped of innocence. your mouth hangs open as you’re about to answer, “it won’t be the same, though.”
“i don’t know,” he starts. still looking down at his feet. “i kinda like this new part.” his eyes dart up, meeting your gaze. they glisten. dark and wet—a pair of bunny-like eyes. and you drown in them. that’s before his words finally sink in. new part?
“what do you mean?” you answer, slightly confused.
“well—you said not to worry about your brother.”
your face goes soft as you start realizing where he’s going. you press your lips together, trying not to finish his sentence. and you succeed.
“what if we don’t…” he starts. his eyes beaming with anticipation. a complete different boy then the one who mercilessly broke you open just a few minutes ago.
warnings/tags — 18+, explicit smut, hard dom!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, jealousy, several tension filled moments, argument and miscommunication, confession of love, body insecurity, mentions of pain, descriptions of piercing process (reader gets her nipples pierced), masochism, use of latex gloves, sexual fantasies, makeout, hair pulling and scratching, hickies, lip biting, mild blood, lots of nipple play, degrading, praise kink, dirty talk, oral sex (f. receiving), clothed sex, creampie, pussy eating, clit play, fingering, face riding, several orgasms (he makes her cum three times), cum swallowing, overstimulation, cock palming (he has a cock piercing) missionary and doggy style, like one spank, he gets a tattoo of her birthdate ugh they're so smitten for each other, loving aftercare
wc — 7.3k
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jungkook had a different aura in him.
it wasn’t just his physicality—though he was muscular and bulky enough to get constant attention.
it was the energy he carried.
that intensity that made your heart race without permission.
jungkook was your brother's best friend and a tattoo artist along with a piercer who owned a shop.
jungkook had a good name.
he had several tattoos himself that you ached to touch also his piercings which were no less captivating.
jungkook was intimidating to most, always carrying a scowl that was like his natural expression now.
he also had a reputation of being rude and grumpy.
but with you?
he was different.
softer somehow though he'd never admit it.
his dark eyes would linger on you for a bit too long and the way he spoke your name.
it was subtle sure.
but you noticed—god did you notice.
it was like he was fighting himself every time you were near.
and you wanted to know why.
you'd met jungkook a few years ago and you'd been smitten from the moment you saw him leaning against his bike outside your house.
a cigarette between his lips
he'd looked at you then with his piercing eyes and since then you'd felt the spark between you both.
you didn’t know how to explain it.
jae, your older brother never suspected a thing.
he didn’t notice the way jungkook’s jaw clenched when you walked into the room or the way his body reacted immediately when you even glanced at him.
he didn’t see the way jungkook’s eyes tracked your every move.
like a predator watching his prey
only to look away when you caught him staring
but you saw it all.
you felt each of his eyes almost like a physical touch.
you'd caught him staring countless times—when you were curled on the couch with a book or when you were focused on something.
even when you were simply existing.
each time his expression would harden like he was angry at himself for looking and he'd turn away.
even if he couldn’t help it.
you'd always had a crush on him though you'd never dared say it out loud.
how could you?
he was jungkook—your brother's best friend and most importantly he was untouchable.
he treated you like you were still a kid, sometimes teasing you about your untied shoelaces or that one time when you tripped over your own feet.
“you’re so clumsy, doll.”
but he'd drop to one knee to tie your laces.
he always did that.
also hearing the nickname made you seethe.
you hated it.
it made you feel small like he saw you as nothing more than jae's sister but there was something else in the way he said it.
the roughness in his voice, it made your thighs clench.
it was confusing.
maddening even.
the way he made you feel.
he'd also pick you up from your university campus sometimes, either because jae asked him to or because he'd volunteered without explanation.
you lived for those moments.
you'd straddle his bike, your arms wrapped around his waist and you'd hold onto him a little tighter than necessary.
your fingers brushing his hard abs through his shirt.
he'd barely speak during those rides but you felt the tension in his body from having you so close.
it was torture.
being so close to him yet so far.
knowing he yearned for you but refused to act on it.
you'd tested him over the years.
pushing his buttons.
you'd wear the smallest shorts you owned when you knew he'd be at the house—the ones that hardly covered the curve of your ass.
one night you'd taken it too far when jungkook and jae were in the living room with beers in hand, talking about some new tattoo jungkook was working on.
you'd walked in wearing a tiny skirt and a t-shirt with no bra beneath it.
you bent over to pick up a pen from the coffee table, knowing full well the angle gave jungkook a clear view of your panties.
the way it hugged your pussy.
your folds visible.
you then heard the loud crack of glass shattering and you gasped and turned to see jungkook staring at the broken glass in his hand.
his knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping it, his hand bloody.
you gulped and backed off, almost guilty for playing with him like that because you didn’t expect such a reaction.
jae laughed oblivious, assuming jungkook was just being destructive since he was a workout freak.
but you saw the truth in jungkook's eyes—raw desire.
“watch it.”
he glares, warning you.
the tension between you had been building for years.
it was in the way he’d hover near you or offer to fix things around the house when jae wasn’t home.
just to have an excuse to be near you.
but you knew.
you knew he was obsessed with you just as you were with him.
you were tired of it.
the teasing, the distance and the way he kept you at arm's length.
you wanted to break his restraint to push him until he couldn’t hold back anymore.
because you were a girl who always got what she wanted.
and you wanted him.
today you were done with all the hide and seek bullshit.
it was time for the real game.
you'd decided to visit jungkook's tattoo shop with a plan.
you'd been thinking about getting nipple piercings for a while, something that would be only noticeable to you under your clothes.
it would make you feel powerful.
but you'd be lying if you said you weren’t doing this to get under jungkook's skin.
you wanted to see how far you could push him before he snapped.
you dressed in a tiny black skirt that was almost like a belt, short enough that one wrong movement would expose your thong.
you paired it with thigh high stockings and wore a tight crop top, the neckline low enough to reveal your cleavage.
you looked like trouble.
and you were very aware.
you looked at yourself in the mirror and paused, your heart pounding with nervousness and excitement.
you were so ready.
the shop was buzzing with people when you walked in with clients getting tattoos and some sitting around.
mark jungkook's assistant was at the front and he grinned when he saw you.
mark was always a flirt with you every time you visited the shop.
but he wasn’t jungkook.
no one was.
“y/n!” mark called.
his eyes raking over your outfit with surprise since he wasn’t used to seeing you like this.
“didn’t expect to see you here. finally ready for the date with me?”
you tilted your head, letting your hair fall over one shoulder, knowing it drew attention.
“maybe?”
you said sarcastically.
that’s when you felt jungkook before you even saw him, the air growing heavier as he stepped out from the back room.
his eyes locked onto you instantly, already pissed at the way you're practically half naked.
“y/n.”
he almost growled as he stepped toward you.
his tongue ran over his lip piercing and you couldn’t help but stare at it, imagining how it would feel against your skin.
“what the hell are you doing here?”
you didn’t flinch at his tone but lifted your chin instead.
“well… i wanted to see you.”
your voice sassy.
“and i want a piercing.”
his eyes narrowed.
“a piercing?” he repeated.
“what kind?”
you held his gaze, your lips curling into a smirk.
“nipple piercings.”
the shop seemed to go still as jungkook's expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line.
and for a moment you thought he might drag you out of the shop right then and there.
“are you fucking serious?”
he steps closer until he towers over you.
“you’re not thinking straight, y/n.”
“i’m completely serious.” you shot back.
your arms crossed which only pushed your breasts out further, drawing his eyes to your cleavage before he forced them back up to your face.
“i’ve been thinking about this for months. i wouldn’t be here if i wasn’t sure.”
he stepped even closer, his breath hitting your face which sent a shiver down your spine.
“you don’t just walk in here and decide that. you need to think it through y/n it’s permanent. it’s not like buying a new skirt or some shit.”
you were filled with irritation and you stepped into his space, refusing to back down.
“i’m not a kid, jungkook.”
“it’s my body and i get to decide what i do with it, not you.”
fury simmered beneath his expression.
“you’re being impulsive.” he snapped.
his voice rising slightly, drawing a few glances from the other clients.
“you don’t know what you’re asking for and you’re not doing this just to fuck with me.”
you tilted your head, your smile turning challenging.
“and what if i am?” you ask
his nostrils flared and you thought he might lose it.
but before he could respond, you turned to mark who had been watching the exchange with amusement.
“if jungkook doesn’t wanna do it, maybe you can.”
you wink at him before your eyes flick to jungkook to see his reaction.
“you do most of the work around here anyways right mark?”
mark's grin widened with mischief.
“hell yeah, i can do it.”
he pushed off.
“nipple piercings are my specialty. and you know i can make it special for you, babe.”
mark whistled.
jungkook's hand shot out before mark could take another step, grabbing your wrist and pulling you flush against him.
you squealed as your body press against the hardness of his chest
he gripped you but not hard enough to hurt.
“no one’s touching you.” he grits out.
“if you’re doing this, it’s with me and that’s final.”
your heart skipped a beat as you looked up at him.
you could see the emotions raging within him.
“jungkook…” you started.
but he cut you off, his hand sliding to your waist.
“let’s go.”
he left no room for argument as he turned, pulling you toward the back of the shop as you stumbled in your heels.
struggling to keep up with his fast strides
as you both entered the room, he shut the door behind you loud enough to make you jump.
locking it.
leaving only you and him.
the room was a bit dark, smelling of antiseptic with shelves of several supplies and an adjustable reclined chair in the center.
he released you and stepped back.
“why are you doing this, y/n?” he asked.
his voice calm now but still laced with concern.
“is this about proving something to me? what's going on?”
you swallowed.
“it’s not about proving anything.” you breathe.
“listen to me… you’re perfect the way you are. you don’t need to get anything, sweetheart.”
your breath shook at his words.
“but i want to.”
“i’ve wanted nipple piercings for a while. they're sexy and they'll make me feel confident.”
he studied you for a long moment, his eyes searching your face looking for any doubt.
“you’re sure about this?” he whispers
“completely sure? because there’s no going back.”
“i’m sure.”
you nodded despite the nervousness in your chest.
“i want this. i want you to do it.”
his jaw clenched but he nodded, turning to prepare his tools. you watched as he pulled out a pair of black latex gloves.
snapping them onto his hands with a sound that made your stomach flutter for some reason.
as he grabbed other items like needle, wipes and more.
he'd done this several times before but there was a slight tremor in his fingers as he arranged the items as if he was fighting to keep his composure in your presence.
“lay down.”
he orders gruffly.
you obeyed settling and your skirt rode up slightly as you did exposing more of your thighs.
you could feel his eyes on you and when you looked up, you saw his gaze on your exposed skin and his adam's apple bobs as he swallowed.
“take off your top.”
it was like he was forcing the words out.
“and your bra.”
your breath hitched but your trembling fingers reached for the hem of your crop top and pulled it over your head.
and then you unhooked your bra and let it fall to the floor, leaving you bare from the waist up.
your heart pounded so loud you could hear it in your ears or you were sure jungkook could hear it in the silence.
for the first time you were exposed in front of him.
you felt vulnerable...
and now the confidence and sassiness you held from before seemed to fade and you wanted to cower.
jungkook froze, his eyes fixed on your tits, his eyes dilating as he took you in.
his hands fisted at his sides and it made your skin tingle, your nipples hardening into sharp points under his gaze and also the cold air.
“what?” you asked.
tears welling in your eyes as you misread him being quiet.
your insecurities hitting you.
“do you… do you not like what you see?”
his head snapped as he glared.
“don’t say that.” he grunts.
“don’t you dare think that. you're perfect y/n—too fucking perfect. that’s the problem.”
tears streamed down your cheeks at his words.
“then why do you always push me away?” you whimpered.
“you act like i’m just jae’s little sister like i don’t know what i want when i’ve wanted you for years, jungkook.”
he lets out a harsh breath, running his hand through his hair before tugging it in frustration.
“you don’t get it, y/n.” he pleads.
“you’re my best friend’s sister. i can't—shit i can't do this to him or to you. i’ve been trying to stay away and keep my hands off you but you make it so fucking hard.”
his expression wounded.
“every time you’re near me, i’m dying doll. i’m fucking dying.”
you stood closing the distance between you, your bare chest brushing his as you fisted his shirt.
“then stop trying.”
you're shaking with need and years of pent up longing.
“i don’t want you to be good, jungkook. i want you to want me.”
his hand shot out, gripping your hair and pulling you close making you gasp.
“you don’t know what you’re asking for.”
he hisses as his face was inches from yours.
he didn’t wanna hold back any of his feelings or confessions.
everything came out.
“i’ve been obsessed with you since the day i met you, y/n. i can't get you out of my head. i wanna make you mine. but let me tell you one thing…”
he paused and looked at you intently.
“if i touch you i give in, i won’t be able to stop. and i don’t know if you’re ready for that.”
“then don’t stop.”
you rush out desperately.
“i’m ready, jungkook. always have been.”
for a second you thought he might push away and retreat like he always had but then his lips crashed against yours.
it was full of want and frustration.
he didn’t waste any time before his tongue forced itself into your mouth in a way that made your knees weak.
you moaned into his mouth, your hands pulling at his shirt wanting him closer.
needing more and more
it was like he was a wild starved animal who was given food after so long.
you couldn’t keep up with his mouth as his hands roamed all over your body, squeezing your ass to his liking.
he bites and sucks on your tongue, your breasts squished against his chest.
when you finally pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours.
both your breaths mingling
“you’re gonna ruin me, baby.”
he mutters brokenly as he wipes your tears away with his thumbs.
he hates seeing you cry.
especially when he's the reason for your tears.
you smile breathlessly as jungkook slowly pushes you back.
“now sit back down.” he rasps.
“we’re doing this y/n, but it’s gonna be my way.”
you were filled with nerves and anticipation as you lay back on the reclined chair.
he loomed over you, his shadow covering you completely because of how big he was and the size difference between you and him always turned you on.
it made you feel small yet your clit throbbed for him.
“i’m gonna mark you first.” he said.
“stay still, y/n. i’m serious.”
you nodded shakily as he leaned close and his gloved fingers brushed against your areola.
a whimper escaped your lips as he drew two dots with the marker, one on either side of your nipple.
the sensation was ticklish, your thighs pressing together even more to soothe the ache between them.
jungkook's eyes snapped up to yours at your noise, lust in them.
“you can’t make sounds like that. you're gonna make this hard for me, baby.”
“s—sorry,” you whisper.
knowing very well it was a lie
and he knew it.
you held his gaze biting your lower lip bashfully as you shifted slightly, which caused your skirt to ride up and reveal your thong.
the wet patch there visible for him.
his gloved hands flexed as he fought the urge to pin you down and take what he wanted.
he took a deep breath, steadying himself as he checked if the marks were on point, his fingers brushing your nipple directly now.
your body arched slightly off the chair.
it was overwhelming.
the gloves amplified every touch making your skin feel hypersensitive, every brush of his fingers was like he was touching your pussy.
your nubs so hard that it almost hurt.
“mm... such a needy little thing.” he rasps.
he spent longer than necessary on your nipple, his gloved fingers rolling the sensitive bud between them.
pinching lightly then harder, watching every reaction you gave him.
“ah!”
you yelped at a particularly hard pinch as you squirmed.
unable to be still.
“look at you.”
a slow smirk curls on his lips.
“so fucking sensitive. you love this don’t you? love me playing with these.”
you signed, your cheeks burning with his words but you couldn’t deny the truth.
“yes.”
“jungkook, please…”
his fingers flicking your nipples fast enough to make you cry out.
“you want more hmm? want me to make you feel good?”
“yes.”
you moaned loudly.
“please jungkook, i need you.”
he groaned, his brows furrowing as his lips brushed your ear.
“why are you so perfect, huh?” he growls.
“always making me lose my shit”
his fingers continued their torture, rolling and tugging your nipples until you couldn’t be still anymore as he switched to your other nipple.
repeating the same process.
“be still before i tie you down.”
his angry words made you still as you looked at him, your chest heaving quickly.
he suddenly stopped not wanting to give you any relief before he got the main job done.
finally he picked up the needle.
“okay, doll.”
“deep breath. this is gonna hurt but i've got you. you trust me, right?”
“always.” you whisper.
your eyes locked on his, your trust in him unshakable.
he was about to mark your body.
it felt like a permanent claim.
because it was.
he was permanent for you.
he nodded before he focused on positioning the needle against the marked spot.
“breathe in.”
you followed his words, your hand gripping the chair bracing yourself.
“and out.”
as you exhaled, the needle pierced through and a cry tore out of your throat at the sharp pain.
the pain was fleeting, replaced by a feeling that made your head spin.
jungkook's free hand was on your shoulder caressing the skin there, wanting to distract you from the pain.
“that’s it you’re doing so good, baby. just breathe.”
he worked quickly, threading the silver barbell through the piercing and securing it.
“one down.”
his voice tight like he was feeling the pain you were in.
as if it hurt him more.
“you okay, doll? talk to me.”
“yeah.” you get out.
tears falling steadily.
“it hurts but… i'm okay. i can do this.”
he smiled genuinely, leaning down to peck your lips.
“i know you can. you’re my strong girl.”
“one more, okay? you’ve got this.”
his words gave you strength as he pierced your other nipple and you couldn’t stop the sob that left your lips.
but jungkook was there immediately trying to quicken the process.
“shh... you’re doing so good for me. almost there.”
when the second barbell was in place, your body buzzed with adrenaline and desire.
your nipples throbbing with pain and pleasure.
you didn’t know you were such a masochist until this very moment.
you looked down at your new piercings and gasped at what they looked like.
they were exactly what you'd wanted—different, bold, yet sexy.
jungkook stepped back, his eyes not leaving your tits and you could see the way his eyes were fully blown wide black with need.
the way his jeans strained against the bulge that was impossible to hide.
“you look… incredible. those piercings.. goddamn they suit you so well.”
“you make it so hard for me to control myself.” he scoffs.
you stood and slowly closed the distance between you.
“then show me.” you murmur.
“show me how much you want me, jungkook.”
his lips met yours again messily as he carefully avoided your new piercings, not wanting to hurt you as he bit your lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
you yelp as he broke the kiss, his tongue coming out to soothe the spot on your lips.
“i’ll show you exactly what i want.”
he says angrily.
almost crazy.
and you felt the exact way as you tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.
“take it off.”
you pulled at it and he obliged, pulling his shirt over his head, revealing his tattooed muscular body.
your lips parted as your eyes traced his tattoos.
you’ve seen him shirtless sometimes when he would hang out with your brother during summer but you never got the chance to see them up close.
each one of them was a masterpiece and you wanted to know all their stories.
but that’s when your eyes stopped over a tattoo right over his heart and you realized that it was your birthdate in roman letters.
you were speechless for a moment.
wondering if you were seeing it wrong as your fingers brushed over the ink.
“jungkook…”
tears welled in your eyes again.
“when did you?”
“a year ago.”
your glistening eyes met his.
“i knew it was wrong, but i—i couldn’t help it… i needed a piece of you with me always even just like this.”
your felt like your heart was going to burst as you leaned in, pressing your lips to the tattoo kissing it softly.
your tears falling on his skin.
your tongue came out, gliding over the letter and his hand gripped your hip tightly.
“fuck y/n… what are you doing to me?”
your teeth nipped lightly at the tattoo.
“i love you.”
you couldn’t hold back anymore.
his eyes flashed and he cupped your face, pulling you into another kiss.
slower this time.
full of everything he'd been holding back for years.
“i love you too.”
he said sincerely.
“always have, always will.”
his face buried into your neck leaving open mouthed kisses, stopping to suck at the spot that makes you writhe.
your head falls back as he leaves a hickey, your hand gripping his shoulder.
marks soon bloomed across your collarbone and shoulder.
all his self control gone.
he dropped to his knees before you, his hands parting your thighs.
and the sight before you made your heart stutter, you'd imagined this exact scene so many times—him on his knees for you.
as you touched yourself in your lonely nights.
his gloved hands slid up your thighs, pushing your tiny skirt up until it was bunched around your waist.
the exposure made you shiver as his intense eyes drank you in before his eyes met yours, seeking your permission without words.
you nodded shakily.
he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your thong and slid them down your legs and your bottom lip quivered as he tucked the damp fabric into his pocket.
“i’m keeping these.”
a wicked smirk on his lips.
“a little reminder of this moment yeah?”
your cheeks were on fire as you averted your gaze, not being able to hold his too long.
he spread your thighs as far as they would go, revealing your dripping pussy to his hungry gaze.
the cool air hits your core making your hips twitch instinctively.
“fuck, just look at you…” he grunts.
his eyes locked on the way you clench for him, he could smell your sweet arousal even from the distance.
he couldn’t believe he finally had you like this.
“all spread out for me, just begging for my tongue.”
the degrading words turned you on further.
“jungkook.” you whined.
“please…”
“please what, doll?” he stressed
his gloved fingers brushing your swollen folds and the feel of the latex against your most sensitive part felt too much.
his touch featherlight barely there, as your hips bucked for more but he pulled back.
enjoying teasing you.
making you beg for him.
as if he already hadn’t done that for all these years.
“use your words, baby. tell me what you want.”
“i want your mouth.” you gasped.
“please i need you to—to eat me out.” you stammered.
he lets out a guttural groan as his breath brushes against your pussy making you writhe.
“you’re gonna kill me saying shit like that.” he mutters.
“you have no idea how long i’ve dreamed of this doll, of tasting your sweet cunt and feeling you cum on my tongue.”
his lips brushed against your inner thigh, leaving a trail of kisses as he made his way closer to your pussy while you trembled with each kiss.
he left hickeys on your thigh.
he was like a beast savoring you and you were losing your mind, your hand pulling your own hair.
“look at you, so desperate and i haven’t even touched that pussy yet.”
you let out a high pitched whine.
“mhmm, don’t tease me. i can’t take it.”
“ohh you can take it.”
he hums against your thigh.
“you’re gonna take everything i give you doll and you’re gonna take it good.”
that’s when his tongue flicked against your clit and you arched with a moan as his lips closed around your clit sucking gently.
then harder.
faster.
the metal of his lip piercing brushed against your sensitive bud as your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head.
“ah mmhm oh god, jungkook!”
you gripped his hair as he went on, alternating between sucking your clit and flicking it with his tongue.
he used his fingers to keep your folds parted for him.
it was already overwhelming you from his skilled mouth and he slid one gloved finger inside you.
your thighs trembled.
“dammit.” he growls.
the vibration against your pussy sends another wave of pleasure through you.
“yes, yes.”
your voice breaks as his finger curls inside you hitting that perfect spot that made you see stars.
“it feels so good.”
you couldn’t take the assault, your thighs closing on their own around his head but he held you open with his free hand.
devouring you.
he added a second finger stretching you further and you let out a wail, your hips bucking against his face.
you chased more of him grinding on his tongue and he let you use him like your personal sex toy.
he lets out hums of approval.
“mhmm hahh..”
you murmured incoherent words as his nose brushed against your clit, all while his fingers pumped in and out of you.
“you taste so fucking good.” he rasps.
his lips brushing your entrance as he spoke
“can’t believe i stayed without this for so long. i could eat this pussy all damn day and make you cum over and over until you're begging me to stop.”
his tongue lapped at your slit.
“what do you say doll? gotta make up for the lost time right?”
your hands tugged harder at his hair, pulling him closer to you as you looked at him with glassy eyes.
your body responding to each of his filthy words.
“you should.” you panted.
he chuckles darkly and before he could dive back in, your phone rang cutting through the haze of tension.
your frowned as you glanced at the screen to see jae's name.
your heart stopped as panic hit you but jungkook didn’t stop, his fingers curling rhythmically inside you.
“pick it up.” he demands.
you shook your head but he reached for the phone, forcing it into your hands.
“do it.”
there was a challenge in his eyes.
“tell him you’re not coming home tonight.”
you looked at him like he had grown two heads but you knew you couldn’t escape his orders so with trembling hands you answered the call.
“h—hey jae.” you managed
your breath hitches slightly as jungkook twists his fingers.
“where are you?” your brother asked.
“it’s late. you coming home soon?”
“u—um ah—”
you quickly covered your mouth, hoping to stifle your noises, pleading with jungkook with your eyes but didn't seem to care.
relishing in watching you struggle and the fact that you could get caught so easily.
“is everything okay? why do you sound breathless?”
jae asks a bit suspiciously.
“everything’s fine!”
you rush out, letting out a squeaky laugh.
mortified that he could hear you.
“i... i’m staying with a friend tonight. you know girls’ night.”
you tried to sound as normal as you could when all you wanted was to scream from the way jungkook's tongue and fingers worked.
jungkook's eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
as he redoubled his efforts.
you almost dropped your phone as you bit your fist.
“okay? just… be safe, call me later.”
jae had no idea that his best friend was currently between your thighs, driving you to the edge of madness.
“i will.”
you gasped ending the call just when jungkook's teeth slightly grazed your clit, your phone falling to the floor with a thud.
“jungkook, jungkook!” you sobbed.
“that’s it, baby.”
“cum for me. let me feel you cum all over my face.”
his words were your undoing and you came with a scream, your vision going white as your hands scratched his shoulder.
you were basically mindless.
your clit pulsed at the same pace as your heart as your cum hit him in the face.
he didn’t stop.
licking you through the aftershocks, his tongue is gentler now more soothing as he draws out every last bit of pleasure.
his fingers thrust until you pushed him away with a whine.
overstimulated to your limits.
“mhmm… so beautiful when you cum.”
he pressed a kiss against your knee as you tried to catch your breath.
“jungkook.” you whispered hoarsely.
your hands still tangled in his hair
“that was… oh my god.”
“you liked that huh?” he asks smugly.
“liked me making you scream my name?”
“yea..” you admitted.
you couldn’t look away from his eyes now, knowing that you no longer have to hide your feelings.
his lips still coated with your arousal.
“i loved it.”
“good.”
he stands slowly, his hands keeping your thighs spread for him.
“because i’m not done with you yet.”
nothing was enough—not for you and definitely not for him.
he needed more.
he looked up and down your figure, the skirt was still bunched on your waist and your thigh stockings were still there along with your heels.
you looked so damn irresistible like this.
so his.
your piercings still hurt but it was overshadowed by your need for him.
he comes down hovering over you, his hand on either side of you, his torso glistening with a sheen of sweat.
your hand immediately found the tattoo on his chest that he got for you.
you couldn't keep your hands away from it
it still made your heart ache with love.
“you want this?”
he looks at you as if he needed to hear it one more time before he let himself go completely.
“yes.” you whispered.
your hands wrapping around his neck.
you were as sure as you'll ever be.
“that has always been my answer, jungkook.”
his jaw ticks as he gulps hard.
“doll…”
“you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this. how many nights i fucked my fist thinking about you like this.”
you keened at his words as he slowly pushed his jeans and boxers down in one swift motion and your eyes widened.
you were awestruck because of his cock.
it was thick and hard precum already gathered at the tip but the specialty of it was the piercing.
it was bigger than you'd imagined several times and you already feel your pussy flutter again even if you just came a few minutes ago.
you stared at it.
your mouth drying at the thought of him inside you.
“like what you see, baby?”
his head tilts cockily as he revels in your reaction.
his ego boosting.
he wrapped his hand around his cock stroking himself slowly, his thumb brushing over the piercing as if teasing you about what's about to come.
the sight was almost pornographic, especially with his gloved hands and his tattoos.
you nodded as you watched him, mesmerized by the way he pumped his cock, his balls jostling as his head fell back.
“fuck me…” you beg.
he laughs breathlessly.
“look at you practically drooling for me like a good little slut. you’re gonna take this cock so well, aren’t you?”
“yes, yes.” you babbled.
the humiliation behind his words made you moan as you looked away but he grabbed your chin making you meet his eyes.
“don’t you look away. i want my girls’ eyes on me always.”
his hand slid under your thighs, lifting them slightly to keep you open for him as two of his fingers slid inside you without warning.
“ah, wait!”
your nails dug into his chest as your hips shifted away from him, but he held you in place not letting you run.
“shh... i have to make you ready for me.”
his tongue laps at your jawline as he penetrates you with another finger as three of his fingers scissor you.
stretching you further and further.
“you’re so tight, sweet girl. don’t wanna hurt you.”
you sobbed against his shoulder as he worked you open, the sounds of your arousal filling the room.
“i’m ready… just please.” you pant.
you couldn't take it any longer.
he huffs before pulling his fingers out and lining himself up, the piercing brushing against your entrance.
“are you sure about this doll?”
it was taking every ounce of control to hold himself back.
“i wouldn’t want it any other way.”
you said determined making sure he knew the seriousness in your tone.
that was all he needed.
he pushed into you slowly filling you inch by inch, keeping his eyes on your face to make sure you weren’t in pain.
his piercing dragged against your inner walls, adding a whole new sensation that made you sob.
not being used to it at all
it was too much yet not enough.
“ahh!”
he stretched you to your limits with his fat cock.
“fuck, you’re so tight.”
he paused, letting you adjust to him.
“taking my cock so well like you were made for it.”
you moaned at his praise as you adjusted to his size.
“it’s so big—oh god—”
a cry breaks your sentence.
“i know, baby.”
he sucked on the spot beneath your earlobe.
“you’re such a good girl. being so good for me.”
he slowly starts to thrust inside you, hitting spots inside you didn’t know existed.
letting you get used to him.
slowly the pain turned into immense pleasure.
“please don’t stop.”
“never baby.”
his hips start moving a little faster as the sound of skin slapping against skin, along with both your mixed noises was all you can hear.
it was so lewd.
“you’re mine y/n. no one gets to fuck you like this. not mark, not anyone, just me.”
he was still set on the fact that you flirted with mark just to piss him off.
his hips gives you a punishing pump.
“only yours.” you babbled.
your moans turned into screams as your nails raked down his back, leaving red lines.
you were so full.
“yeah.” he hissed.
the pain turned him further into an animal.
“say that you’re mine.”
“yours.” you hiccupped.
you couldn’t speak.
“i’m yours, only yours.”
his thrusts become more erratic as he angles his hips to hit you perfectly.
and you clench him in a way that feels like you are squeezing the life out of him.
“shitt squeezing me like you never wanna leave.”
you never knew sex could feel like this even if you’ve dated before.
no one could make you feel like him.
his eyes fixed on the way your breasts bounced for him and the piercings made them way too alluring.
his half lidded eyes fixed on him and he was sure he would fuck your tits once they healed.
paint them with his cum and the thought makes him fuck you quicker.
“jungkook, i’m gonna cum please. i can’t.”
“cum for me.” he snarls.
his cock slamming into you with a force.
“let me feel it.”
your throat grows raw from screaming as your legs kick from the intense orgasm that crashed through you.
milking his cock.
his thrusts never slowed as he chased his own release, not giving you time to recover.
his hand flips you onto your hands and knees.
you squealed at the way he manhandled you.
your knees almost gave in as you braced yourself, holding onto the chair and he impaled you from behind once again.
sliding into you in one smooth motion.
“nghhh hahh gosh, i can’t.”
tears spilled down your cheeks.
“fuck you’re so tight like this.”
he spanks your ass slightly making you arch up as you bite onto the cushion of the chair.
it felt like he was going to break the chair.
you were surprised that it was still holding on.
“push that ass back for me.”
his hand gripped your hair, pulling your head back as you murmured nonsense.
your body on autopilot as you met his thrusts.
he watched hypnotized at the way your ass bounced on him and the way your pussy gripped his cock.
liquids oozing out from your earlier orgasms.
he was living in his dream.
he roars grabbing both your arms and holding them back so he could keep you tethered while his hips slapped into yours relentlessly.
your nails dug into his hands as he went faster and faster.
“holy fuck. take it baby.” he curses loudly.
it was like you were in heaven from ecstasy.
and before you knew it, you were cumming again.
“i can’t, i can’t please—”
you were broken.
that's it.
“you can. just let it happen sweet girl.”
his thrusts grew sloppy as his cock pulsed inside you before he came with a choked moan.
filling you with his warm release.
his hands gripped your hips so hard you knew you'd have bruises as he collapsed against you.
he made sure you took each spurt of his cum beforre he pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you.
as you both caught your breath, his cock still inside you softening but heavy.
his hands roamed your body, soothing the marks he'd left.
“my baby…”
his lips brushed against your shoulder.
“are you okay? i’ve never… fuck i’ve never felt anything like that.”
you turned your head, meeting his eyes that were full of adoration and you nodded.
“me neither.”
he hums contentedly as he pecks your lips.
your eyes flicker, already feeling sleepy from cumming too many times.
your body giving up on you.
you felt so sated.
and most importantly happier than you've ever been.
“now don’t sleep on me. let me clean you first.”
you giggled softly, suddenly shy now that the intimacy faded as he pulled out of you slowly with a squelch making you whimper.
but his gentleness helped you.
he grabbed some wipes, cleaning between your thighs and himself as well before he grabbed his hoodie and helped you put it on.
it was like he was wrapping you in himself.
“there you go.” he smiled.
both of you looked sickeningly in love.
not being able to keep your hands off each other as he explained how to care of your new piercings in detail.
“no tight clothing for a while and it will be sore for a few days but if it gets swollen you call me okay?”
“i’ll be there to take care of you.”
you nodded, feeling giddy at the thought of him looking after you and the new connection between you both.
“love you…”
after letting you rest for a while, he led you outside not caring about the other artists or clients who were still in the shop.
you knew they didn’t hear anything because of the soundproof room but both your states were pretty obvious about what happened.
jungkook held you in bridal style, his grip tightening as he met mark's gaze.
he didn’t feel necessarily jealous because he always knew you were his.
but he had to make sure no one even thought about his girl.
you hide your face in his chest at everyone's gaze.
he took you outside to his motorcycle, helping you get on.
“just you and me, doll.”
“always.”
your arms wrapped around his waist, your cheek pressed against his back, the engine started and he drove through the quiet night.
you felt alive.
free.
like you were exactly where you were meant to be.
and you clung to him tighter feeling the warmth of his body as he gripped your hand pressing it against his heart.
you smiled as you felt his heartbeat match yours.
you knew this was only the beginning.
you were his and he was yours.
and as he drove, it was like both of you were in the path of a new future.
one full of possibility.
he promised himself he'd never let you go now that he finally had you.
that he'd spend every day of his life showing you how much you meant to him.
|| mr. jeon wasn't looking for a girlfriend when he hired you as a babysitter for his 5 year old son - however, he took a liking to seeing you in his own home, way more than he'd realized. (13k words)
content : age gap (31 & 22) , secretly down bad jungkook, mini slow burn, sensitive reader, teasing, jealousy moment, eventual smut (mention of m. masturbation, unprotected p in v, oral f. receiving, praise and degradation, edging, doggy, hair pulling, talking her thru it, small boobs appreciation, clit play ..), fluff, lwk mean dom kook, they want each other bad, reader has long hair, jungkook is kinda grumpy, themes of dom & sub faintly underlying
♡ bunny´s notes : dad jungkook is my fav trope ! i worked hard on ts,, lmk what u think (This took ages to write) >.< may contain typos or errors
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Life looks different twice a week.
On boring mondays and long wednesday evenings, you'd been making your way over to a neighbourhood that seemed far out of reach before, getting on a bus you'd never thought to ride. Lavish residences with blooming gardens line the streets of his district, among them, a rather dark looking, simple house; plain garden with a swing placed thoughtlessly right in the middle of the neglected front lawn, a broken porch light glowing whenever it felt enticed to.
Yet the herbal, earthy and simultaneously fruity scent of bonterra organic cabernet lingers in the air from what feels like a mile away. The artificial sweetness of your 16 euro body spray - notes of sugar and vanilla - create a mismatched harmony that infiltrates Mr. Jeon's home.
His son fell in love with you at the first meeting.
The puppy-like looking little boy had nannies on trial and error before - highly paid, recommended ones, the kind that have a linkedin, like all the other rich bastards in Jungkook’s circle have. While the first two's soft approach got the occasional giggle out of Jukyung, the following three, stricter ones, failed to do anything but make him cry and refuse to eat the meals they had spent so much time preparing. All of it seemed to make no sense since - he is by no means a difficult child to charm, proving equal habits by the time you came around. Hiding behind his dad’s leg and clinging his tiny hands to the cashmere pant, eyes wide and already glossy from glancing up at the fresh face in front of him.
Maybe that's why Jukyung came to adore you so quickly. Sweet faced and unmistakably younger than any of the other women his dad hired. Old enough to be old in his eyes - but young enough to know the shows he watches, recognize marvel superheroes and play the songs currently on the radio - when he repeats them with a jumbled melody and made up, Incoherent lyrics.
“He's a bit shy” Jungkook sighs, muttering as his fingers skim down the kid's tiny shoulders soothingly. You reply with a small hum, offering an inviting smile to him as you talk,
"That's okay. I'm sure we will get along. I'm – , nice to meet you Jukyung.”
He blinks slowly, the big doe eyes that match his dad's shine with childish excitement Jungkook lost somewhere along the way of becoming a man.
“Namjoon said you're good with brats like him” Jungkook continues, a curious glint in his serious gaze, his friend's judgement remaining under scrutiny.
“Mr. Kim?”
He nods, “He suggested you to me”. While adjusting his tie, he spares a quick look at the golden watch on his wrist.
“I hope you get along. Don’t hesitate to call me if there is an emergency.”
Jukyung pouts as he looks up to his dad, his iron man shirt bunched up in angry little grips of his hands. You stay quiet, listening to the serious tone in Jungkook's voice fade out into a parental gentleness, wiping the look off his son's face as he crouches down, giving him a kiss to the forehead and a reassuring pat on the head. “Appa is gonna be home in a couple hours. Be nice, okay?”
“Okay” he grumbles in return, almost managing to sound annoyed - if it wasn't for him nodding enthusiastically. The determination of his dad is wearing off on him even at this age.
Overall, the resemblance is striking, which is definitely why your eyes keep scanning over Jungkook's form. Noticing his full, pierced bottom lip, the slenderness of his fingers, the sharp contours of his jaw and round tip of his nose that looks exactly like his sons.
Jungkook also thinks his son is just like him.
The panorama window sits high above the rest of the city, his desk overlooks people scrambling for a taxi, kids leaving their school's building with a backpack that's almost bigger than their own body. The corner of his office desk is decorated with a frame holding a picture of his son on his third birthday, smiling at him. The assistant left long ago, the humming of the radio turned off with her departure, Jungkook always works in silence when he is in solitude. His mind was filled with enough noise.
Vibrations drumming against his desk snap him out of the deep focus read he was loosing himself in, his eyes feel dry from the screen's blue light that glowed continuously - picking up his buzzing phone, trading for a smaller blue light to stare at him.
A picture of Jukyung takes up his screen, a large wooden spoon clutched in his hand, his feet anchored to the stepper in order to reach their stovetop. From the caption, it reveals the orange hued, vegetable filled pan to be a coconut curry that his son has, supposedly, made all on his own.
He huffs in the memory of Jukyung attempting to help him with pajeon when it had rained two days ago - knowing from extensive experience that his five year old may be a talented boy, but certainly no chef.
The screen turns dark again, leaving a read notification on your end. Streetlights down the line start turning on their yellow glares, the sun’s glow replaced as it bids goodbye slowly, notifying him that it is time to go home soon.
“Appa!”
“You’re not sleeping yet?” he tuts, loosening his tie and pulling off his suit jacket that survived another day. Jukyung shakes his head, a mischievous look proudly displayed on his face.
“You should have put him to sleep” Jungkook says, looking over at the neatly cleaned kitchen. From his distance, he can make out a covered pan still filled with a generous portion of food.
“He has a set bedtime” he continues, brushing past you as you walk to the front door, picking up your shoes.
Up until now, you assumed to have done a good job with his son. He was quick to talk to you, engage - reluctantly - with your suggestions, his shy and guarded posture loosening into clumsy movements as time went by.
“Right, i’m sorry, i guess i forgot about it”
Your reply is timid, shoulders raised against your knowledge, voice lowering into a smaller, flowery tone. The coconut curry’s aromas fly their way from the kitchen into the rest of the house, lingering in the air like an apology.
“Next time then”
Next time - Jungkook wants you to come back for a next time. Satisfaction runs through you quietly, Jukyung’s sleepy face looking up at you as he waves goodbye,
“Yes, see you next time” you say, waving back at the two politely.
It’s even quieter in his home than it is in his office once his son has fallen asleep. There’s no loud clock ticking on a wall, no background of employees talking in the hallways or printers working.
But there is a warm, home cooked dinner, sitting on his stove for him to eat.
Upon lifting the pan’s cover, the scent gets stronger, delicious spice and freshness rise with the steam of the dish. Jungkook doesn’t recall the last time he came home to the warmth of someone else’s cooking. Since Jukyung was born, there might have been a day - once or twice - where someone was watching him and there was food left over for him to eat. A day or two, where he didn’t need to carry his tired hands to rummage through his cabinets after vast hours of working. It was always cold, he knows that for a fact.
It wasn’t the comfort of a hot meal, the embrace of a taste that was seasoned with care - the picture of Kyung stirring the curry flashes in his mind as he scoops another spoonful into his mouth. He groans, aware of the inevitable look of anger crossing his expression. Jukyung pointed it out to him a couple months ago, how he always looks mad when he likes the taste of something he’s eating.
The static rush of water running is the loudest one in his house as he rinses off the empty plate, even with the pressure turned up to it’s fullest - with the water splashing over the rim, wettening his underarm, the rhythmic beating of his heart sounds loudly within his ears.
It’s the last sound he hears before he goes to sleep, the last thing he feels when his eyes are closed and his body feels warm, even with the AC running in the background.
Mondays always brought giddyness into his home. Jukyung got to pick the movie for the night- which typically ended up being either ponyo or spiderman into the spiderverse. His matching spiderman socks glide against the wooden floor as he sprints towards the front door, where you're sliding into the cotton slippers Jungkook bought for you to wear on your visits.
“You're gonna hurt yourself Kyung” Jungkook calls out, walking up behind him in slower strides.
“Hey Kyungie” you greet while his giggle starts up your own. Freely letting it out, the smile lines craving your skin, the scrunch in your nose blooming. You're reaching to mess up his hair a little, as he peers into the large tote bag hanging from your hand, the coloring book you brought looks very tempting.
“Noona, you have one?” he gushes.
“Of course. Told you I would bring you one didn't I?”
Nodding, he looks at his father who's displaying a lighter version of the same grin he's got on his face.
“What do we say?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow, turning his expression into a playful look of strictness.
“Thank youuu” Jukyung sings, sporting another giggle. He probably never wanted his dad to leave the house this badly, the idea of filling out little bear drawings with you couldn't wait any longer.
"That's right” his dad retorts.
“Give that to me” he continues, grasping the handles of the bag with his hand and pulling it out of yours. He must've noticed how it looked filled to the brim, now setting it on his couch as you pour yourself a glass of water.
“You can leave your things here, no need to carry everything over and make hassle”
You set the glass down, smiling at him awkwardly. “You’ve been saying that for weeks”
“Exactly” he says, buttoning up his coat, “And you keep ignoring it”
“Most of it is my uni stuff, Kyung's been sleeping early lately”
"You're studying that late?” he asks, narrowing his gaze at you. You hum in confirmation, explaining that the exam you're about to write has been driving you crazy. “I just can't get the hang of his writing. You’re not secretly a kant lover, are you?”
Jungkook scoffs, shaking his head abruptly. Philosophy has never been his thing and probably will never be. His life lessons wouldn't have been avoided by knowing what some old man thought a thousand years ago, his business would not have grown to be any bigger either.
"Unfortunately not. My advice is to keep reading. You'll get it eventually”
“Stellar, Mr. Jeon” you say, watching him shut his eyes in response. Juykung's laugh sounds faintly in the back of the open living room, busying himself with the crayons he snuck out of your bag.
"There's money on the counter for food, I didn't have time to go grocery shopping”
You look over to the couch as you speak, purposefully raising your voice to get the kid’s attention.
“That’s okay. I was thinking of making pizza from scratch”
Jukyung's doe eyes widen at your suggestion - snapping towards you for the second time, his excitement spills over into the room, flooding it with infectious, childish happiness.
“Pizza, I love pizza. Appa never makes it”
You gasp loudly at the perfectly reasonable revelation, shaking your head at Jungkook with faux disappointment.
“Really? That's no good”
Jungkook, a bit caught off guard at his son's cheekiness though it should come to no surprise, crosses his arms over his chest as he defends himself with the excuses of that being untrue, that if Jukyung ate his vegetables, maybe he'd consider pizza more often.
Their back and forth grants a glimpse into the home the way nothing material ever could. His son's expensive backpack and cheap pokemon bodywash don't account for the late nights that he lets him crawl into his spacious bed, strokes his head and mumbles made up stories to get Jukyung to fall back asleep. Domestic bickerings of father and son that are too alike and yet, couldn't be more different.
Jungkook's face never looks more handsome than it does when he's with his kid, his smile only reaches his eyes in moments like this. It's a sight you felt privileged to, a sight you, admittedly, called back into your thoughts often.
“Noona always gets to be the nice one, isn't that a bit harsh on me?”
“No, no you aaare is nice too. But noona is so nice. Just like you said noona is...” he trails off, pursing his lips and really straining his thoughts. He's thinking hard, and the adults have to hold back a laugh at the deep frown in his brows, the angry purse of his lips. At least before you understand that he's trying to recall something Jungkook had said about you.
“That's enough” he cuts in, reaching his hand down to high five his son,
“Don't cause trouble”
The front door creaks open, turning back with a composed expression, he nods at you, stepping out of the house without another goodbye to spare.
The sun is high up in the sky even in the afternoon. Rays of light reflect on the metal slide tucked into the back of the playground, scorching and unusable on days like these. From the bench you're sitting on, next to moms spreading the newest affair stories coursing through the neighbourhood, Jukyung is in perfect view. Running around in the knee long denim shorts he begged you to let him wear - they look just like ones his dad has on when he's not in a suit, he said. Watching his short legs scramble around among the equally tiny ones of his two friends, you could make out that they must be playing catch - or something akin to it. His giggles are loud and his friends laughter bright, it felt impossible not to smile at the combined sound of it.
Jungkook spots you as he rounds the corner, his shortsleeved button down shirt and black jeans sticking out sorely in a crowd of floral dresses and lightly colored Tshirts. The low call of your name gets you to notice him taking a seat on the bench as well.
“Mr. Jeon, you're early”
“My meeting was cut short” he replies, facing the playground in search of his kid. You can tell the moment he spots Jukyung, the frown in his brows evening out, his upper back now rests against the bench in relaxation.
“Has he been good?”
“Of course. He's really energetic today” you chuckle, meeting his eyes that have shifted over to you. He huffs out a short laugh, “Yeah, Kyung loves this weather” he adds, seeing a strand of your hair swaying past your face in the breeze. You tuck it back in place, holding a hand up to see past the blaring sun.
Your words about the new show Jukyung started watching turn into background buzz for him as Jungkook's gaze wanders off to the side, trailing after a mother holding hands with her son as they make their way out. Heesung, the little boy and Soojin, his mother, live a block down from him. Kindergarden has caused their worlds to collide in more than one way - Jukyung frequents their home, Heesung and him play football in their yard - while Soojin sometimes laughs a tad too loudly at Jungkook's sarcastic remarks and accidentally goes to pick up her son in a shirt that might've been washed too hot. Watching her now, his expression doesn't change, his frown never returns as though there is nothing present to bother him. Maybe there wasn't, maybe he had five years to get used to being a single father, to this inner feeling of somehow taking something away from his son.
He pushes it back down, letting his thoughts run back to routine - when his next meeting starts tomorrow, what he'd be cooking for dinner later.
“Sounds like something he'd like” he states, unsure if that's even the case. “How was your exam?”
“Oh, it went well, I think. I'm just glad it's over now” you reply, sighing with the relief of long studies that have come to an end. The glimmer of initial surprise doesn't go unnoticed, he himself is a bit stunned he managed to remember anything outside of his own schedule.
“I was always stressed in uni. I'm sure you did a good job” he says, seeing the exhaustion behind the coralish blush and the concealer you wear daily.
You try not to visibly melt at the validation, it was like he could pick out on your underlying insecurity, your silent need for something as simple as reassurance - someone to tell you that you did well, as embarrassing as that is.
“It is stressful. I have a paper due next week and I haven't had time to start it”
Jungkook hums, "Shouldn't have come today. You never cancel” he mutters almost disapprovingly, the image Jukyung swinging next to his friend reflects in his eyes.
“I wanted to see Kyungie. Promised him we'd be going to the playground”
A subtle, sunny smile takes its place on your lips when it’s your turn to face the swings - just as he's pulled to look at you again, because as time went on, it's been becoming increasingly, infuriatingly difficult to stop himself from doing so. Reluctantly, he allows his focus to remain on the sheer softness he can make out by looking at your lips, the fondness painting your face in peace. Something compels him to mumble that you're too nice to his son, wishing for you to overhear. He knows you do hear him once that gentle smile turns into an actual chuckle again and suddenly, he is almost grateful that you did.
Jungkook also knows what classes you have on the days you watch Juykung, he knows that the dress you’re wearing is your favourite because his son said it makes you look like a pretty princess - and he knows that he tried his hardest to pretend that he does not know any of those things. Just like he ignores how you remembered to ask him about the marketing deal that'd been stressing him out lately and how you noticed that he fixed the porch light after months of putting it off.
“Seriously, how long was that thing flickering for, it would drive me crazy”
Jungkook snarls briefly, the way he does when his son is being a bit of a brat, before searching for the answer to your question in the back of his mind.
“I don't remember a time it ever worked. When Hyejin and i first moved in it was already like that”
Hyejin.
It wasn't like you'd never thought to ask. Never sat in their home looking for evidence of another parent - pictures where she'd be seen moving in the background or posing with him. The absence of a mother was impossibly evident, regardless, never making the home feel incomplete. Jukyung never asked complicated questions about his mother, never had a complaint about her working too much, like appa does, or why all the other kids had one to come home to. But there had to be one, gathering from that one time he asked you if your mother and you are still friends, he knows he has one too.
The first ten seconds after he says her name are silent, it's always like that when he does mention her to anyone, like a curse you weren't supposed to say out loud.
“She's..?”
“His mother” he finishes, the uncomfortably familiar tightening in his throat fails to climb all the way up to shake his stable reply, practice over the duration of five years does that to someone.
“I see. I've never heard you talk about her” you say awkwardly, only noticing how that sounded once the sentence is spoken, you open your mouth to stumble over words that tell him “It’s not like you have to, i just meant-”
"No need to get scared” he says, the rough laugh that follows makes a flash of heat go through your stomach and an embarrassed flush flood your system. His unshakeable calm and stupid, serene seriousness even whilst laughing - rattled you every single day since meeting him. It makes you nervous by default, to engage with someone that seems to have it all together. So unlike you, so unlike any of the men that you’ve come in contact with in university frats and hallways.
“It’s not like there's much to say, she didn't want to be in his life, so she isn’t”
Occasionally, fragments of life were really that plain. That easily explained, a history of grief, longing, hard work and separation summarized into a bite sized answer that accomplished as much answering as a question like that can be answered. The addition of her leaving Jungkook stranded at 26 with a newborn that, he now has to raise into a functioning human, didn't serve any purpose. The detail that they had just begun renovating the house was useless. Five years later, all that matters is that the world kept spinning, that Jukyung may not have a mother but he does have a father that loves him unconditionally. A father that's happy with the way things are, for the better.
The simple answer sunk in and now, it didn't matter to you either, insignificant how's and why's vanished because of how hollow it felt to look into a story that ended in a content little boy.
“I don't think he needs more than his dad. You're doing amazing at giving him what he needs to be happy”
Jungkook’s throat tightens again, unfamiliar this time, fondly, like he wants to bathe in the compassion of that sentence and remind you - that Juykung needs you too.
“Thank you” is what he settles for, allowing enough space for quiet appreciation to sit down between you.
It doesn't stretch on much longer, interrupted by the high pitched crying ringing through the otherwise tranquilly chaotic playground. Crying that sounds too much like Jukyung. You're on your feet before he registers; it is indeed his child that's sitting on his newly scarped knees, sobbing tears that tumble down his chubby cheeks in a stream.
“Shh, it's okay Kyungie, come here.. Let noona see..” you mumble into his black messy hair, the wetness on his face seeps into your shirt as he molds himself into your chest. You're crouching form has Jungkook standing uselessly to your right, looking down at your hand that soothes his kid's back, the comfort of your embrace sparks Jukyung to sniffle in order to catch his breath and explain that he fell, only for his voice to break at the end.
You place a kiss on his temple, picking him up to sit on your underarm while inspecting his minimal wound with worried eyes that look suspiciously glossy. Jungkook's whispering gruff “It’s okay" 's, the unease in his own body diffusing when Juykung naturally reaches for your embrace, seeks your soft words with tiny hiccups. Softening even further, as his miniature fingers brush a salty tear from your own cheek.
Jukyung pouts, telling you not to be sad, that he's a big boy. He knew he’d be safe when you came walking, knew you’d be there to hold him when he was hurt and Jungkook now knew - that his son's trust in you is the biggest blessing a curse could possibly bring. Butterflies that he thought lost their wings half a decade ago begin to fly through his stomach briskly, the tingle so juvenile and youthful it feels almost wrong to pay attention to.
“You need to be more careful buddy” he grumbles, hugging the small boy to his chest as you´re passing him over, listening to his sobs subside slowly.
“Do you wanna eat ice cream before we go home?”
Jukyung's mood brightens in a bat of his long eyelashes, the glossy doe eyes staring into his dad's demandingly and he knew no better than to give in. “I want choco ice cream" he nods enthusiastically, forgetting all about his scraped knee at the thought of tasting chocolate that melts into his mouth.
“Would you like one too?”
“Yes, yes noona take one! You like strawberry” Jukyung says proudly, stealing the polite no off your lips, declining the idea of you missing out on something as amazing as ice cream. Jungkook looks at you to confirm,
“You're right, I do like strawberry” you say to Jukyung, though you're looking at his dad, who is already pulling out cash from his wallet, whilst his son is beaming about being able to recall the flavour you favor most.
“Thank you Mr. Jeon” you tell him after he's done ordering for the three of you. He's about to open his mouth to tell you that it's really nothing, but Jukyung butts in.
“Jungkook”
Both of you share a look of confusion, tilting your head at the little boy apparently does the trick, he repeats his father's name - this time elaborating simply,
"Appa's name is Jungkook”
Jungkook's puzzle pieces fall into place before yours do, huffing at the innocent ease of his words, the weight behind them invisible and unimportant in the mind of a five year old. Jukyung takes the icecream into his greedy little hands as soon as it's in reach, licking away at it like there was a timer running - the pain of his previous injury long left in the dust.
“You're right Kyung” he enforces after a split second of bravery in his weakness, handing over your own portion and hoping - that you'd understand the message he's trying to send.
Normally, you’d refuse. Immediately result in professional smiles and head shakes, saying that there is no need to skip formalities. It might have been the intensity of his brown eyes as he established what he wanted, how there was never an offer as much as there was a demand. Doomed to the beauty of his name and the honey as he said it, there remained no bone in your body that craved to deny him. Your throat itches to say his name, let it roll off your tongue delightfully, let the sound hang in the thick summer air.
“Jungkook” you repeat, satisfied at hearing yourself say it. The wall tore down loudly, echoing a minimized space between you two. Realistically, it was nothing more than his first name - but also, nothing less than being called by his first name.
“Getting used to that will take time”
"Don't stress out” he exhales heavily, facing his kid that's succeeded in smothering his mouth in chocolate ice cream.
“Noona, can you not stay for longer? pleeeease?”
“Jukyung, let noona go home, she's been entertaining you all day” Jungkook chimes in, picking up his whiny kid by his armpits, the stretched word please becoming background noise as he groans, settling him against his broad chest.
“Enough, it's late and you're sleepy, say bye to noona” he says, a slightly worn out edge to his tone. Jukyung pouts as he waves in your direction, watching you zip up your jacket with glassy puppy eyes.
“Bye bye noona” he mumbles dramatically, making a kissy face afterwards. With your fingers scratching at his head that rests on Jungkook, you tell them, “Goodnight, sleep well”
Jungkook's tiling his head down involuntarily - closer, focusing his unguarded gaze on the genuine smile on your face, the tenderness in your words as you speak to his baby. His heart thumps stupidly loud when Jukyung giggles at your touch and he hates how submissive he feels to all of it. To the ridiculous image of extending the hold to include you, attach his lips to your head because it'd be so easy to just lean down and -
"Mr. Jeon?”
“Yes”
Sharp. Maybe too sharp - too forced against the silent, pillowy warmth that bubbled up inside him moments ago. He notes your startled blink, the sweet innocence of those pretty eyes that don't understand what it does to him when you stare up like that. He doesn't correct you, respects the much needed, accidental distance in the usage of his last name.
“I uhm, just wanted to say goodbye”
“Yeah” he grumbles, roughly wiping a hand down his tired face, his other holding on to the squirmy child, “Goodnight”
The door shuts, Jukyung is rubbing his eyes sleepily and it's just them now. He's just Appa now, and you're on the bus - on the way back to the university dorm you live in. At times that felt like a united world broke its illusion. You were, whether you yourself knew or remained painstakingly unaware, in utterly incompatible worlds. That is his mantra, his voice of reason anytime he starts drifting into thoughts that notice how much your dynamic creates a harmonious balance despite it all. Despite him being nearly a decade older, a single dad, a rich business man.
Because as much as he feels sick being stripped down like this, naked in the shower - exposed to his bare thoughts - in your eyes, all he truly ever was, is Jukyung's dad. Just Appa - just Mr. Jeon, Jungkook. He desires nothing more than to solely be Jungkook, that's who stares back at him with every glance in the fogged up mirror. But he isn't, or more so, he cannot be. Not when you have too much ahead of yourself, the youth of nine years he'd lived through already- and deserve so much better than a thirty-two year old single father that fists his cock to the remembrance of his first name on your lips, in that sweet, girlish voice.
He groans your name quietly - like the sound hurts and scratches its way up his throat because it feels wrong, so wrong how naturally it seeks to slip out no matter how much he forbids himself to voice it. Slow drags of his hand over his aching cock transform into hasty strokes that crave a smaller, softer hand to tip him over. The blurry picture of you earlier, in that pretty dress that hit just below your knee, the fabric denting at the curve of your waist just enough to make out the dips and curves - felt sinfully beautiful in his mind's eye. It would've felt much more satisfying to spill into a hand that has polka dotted gel nails, watch his milky arousal drip from those feminine fingers instead of his tattooed digits. He wouldn't be washing it away shortly after, there would be no shameful cloud to loom over his head as he shampoos it.
“Would you like to stay for dinner?”
“Sorry,” you hush, gathering up the limp child in your arms. His head lolls back, pouty lips parted in a relaxed snore. Jungkook’s fingers brush yours when he takes his sleeping kid into his arms, bicep straining against the black button down, “I tried to keep him awake. The playground really did a number on him”
"Not surprised” he says, stroking some long strands from Jukyung's forehead, “So?”
“Oh, right” you almost forgot he asked you something. It was just so distracting - the subtle ways he would soften when looking at his son, the way his shirt clung to his arms and chest in an intimidating contrast, “Sure, if it's no issue”
“Of course not” he mutters back like the question was an inconvenience, the width of his shoulders coming into view as he steps up the staircase, getting ready to lie Jukyung into his racecar bed.
Jungkook’s long day shows up in his slower movements as he chops up the ingredients, adding that tired rasp to his already sultry voice as he talks.
“You bought it for him”
“What?” his eyes narrow a little, swinging the noodle pan with an easy wrist,
“The bed he's been rambling about” you answer, standing just shy of brushing against his frame when attempting to pull out two plates from the top cabinet. Your stance proves unstable, fingertips reaching for lengths out of reach even on the balls of your slippers,
“Yeah. He wouldn't let it go” Jungkook says with a short exhale, his fingers reach beyond yours, pulling out the two plates with a clank that's too loud in the sudden silence. His chest brushes against your shoulders with the slight lean, the ghost of his contact haunts your skin with shivers, no matter how brief it had been.
“Here” he says, his gaze dropping to meet yours, already looking up at his face that seemed too close - even though there is a respectable distance, you could clearly see the mole under his bottom lip, the silver ring in the corner that glistened in the fluorescent kitchen light. The action remains uncommented but you swear you see his eyes dart to your parted lips for an unusually long second- just as he returns his attention back to the curry pasta, leaving you to set the plates down like nothing had happened, because nothing did happen.
The unforeseen pulse between your thighs would beg to disagree. Embarrassingly it blooms, causing you to press your legs together secretly - hidden under the dark wood table just as he sits down next to your tense figure. Not across, not facing you with the length of his table separating you. On the chair next to yours, body angled in to fill up your empty plate with a delicious smelling dinner. The action is careful, caring in a way that only worsens the ache with its underlying dominance, with the gruff mumble of him telling - or rather, ordering you to start eating. You wait for his plate to be full before you do, and with the first bite always comes that satisfied, low moan. Jungkook knew it was coming, he'd first lost his mind when you got icecream together and braced for its arrival ever since. Your reactivity had him fantasize about how stupidly easy it is to make you moan, how he would probably be able to make you cry if he just kissed you for long enough, deeply enough.
“You should eat too” you mumble, covering your mouth. He's staring, he just now realises.
“Is it good?” Jungkook questions, taking a first bite himself - the flavours spark on his tongue in the familiar comfort of a dish he has cooked a dozen times over.
“Soo good” you hum, nodding your head as if to support the statement while chewing. He hums too, beginning to feel the heat rise up his neck and it steals his ability to speak momentarily.
“Yeah?” he huffs, a swipe of his tongue over his lips accommodate the strangely sultry intonation that's laced itself into the conversation,
“You like it?”
The way he asks feels loaded. You do like it. Both of you know you do. The simple answer is yes, the complicated one is the softer sounding yes you give him;
eyeing his lips, voice quieting to mirror the weight of his own gaze.
“I'm glad. It's nothing elaborate” he mutters, spinning his fork slowly with a stern glare into the plate. He was getting distracted.
“I saw normal people by sally rooney in your bag” Jungkook states, remembering how the cover caught his attention. He read that book a while back, turning the pages about stories of, well, normal people. Relationships, lives. From the handful of books he read, he wouldn't shy away from crowning this one as his favourite. Something so ordinary and complicatedly mundane felt like second nature. You, on the other hand, take another bite as you gather your thoughts.
“Terrible book. Don't read it, it's a waste of time”
“What?” he fires back, a sharp huff of air leaving him.
“What? It's so boring, basically nothing happens in it” irritation laces quietly into your words, watching him get increasingly more irritated in return. He sets his fork down, a tinge of sarcasm accompanying him, “Right, nothing in 300 pages”
“Yes” you say, barely smiling while gesturing his way, “Now you get it”
Jungkook shakes his head, grumbling that, “You have terrible taste”
“Because I don’t wanna read about someone’s daily life?”
“Because you think that slice of life is boring. It's social commentary” he says, his voice getting a tad louder with his increased annoyance and it hits him then, that he's getting way too worked up over this. He can’t help it, the feeling of being misunderstood prickles underneath his skin. Instead of going on a tangent about the lessons in life and the beauty of normalcy in a society where there’s so many expectations thrust on you, he resumes eating.
“If I wanted philosophic takes I’d read my classes notes”
“Maybe you should”
“Sorry?” you say, more mockingly than seriously offended. Jungkook, looking back up at you with his signature, neutral expression tells you; “Apology accepted” before breaking out into what can only be described as an indefinite smirk.
“Once you get older, you’ll understand wanting to know about lives like your own” he retaliates, eating another mouthful of pasta to let the statement settle first.
“I’m not saying it’s not understandable, i’m saying i think it’s boring”
Your explanation doesn’t pull an answer from him, pushing you to start talking again. “I like when a book takes me places that.. aren’t realistic”
“Most people do”
“Yeah, i guess”
You’re looking at him from the lens of someone that has lived an equally as normal life - maybe even more so, without a child to take care of on your own, without the headstart of abundant money, the responsibility of a business on your shoulders.
“But I guess it’s nice to read something boring once in a while. Makes you feel less boring yourself”
"Recommend me one. Maybe it can change my mind” you add after a moment of consideration, the olive branch fragile and swaying as you wait for him to take it.
“Intermezzo. Also by sally rooney.”
“Are you a fan?” you joke, raising an eyebrow at him. He tuts, his shoulders shaking slightly with a gentle, low laugh spilling from his lips. Ease takes over your body, a smile openly shines on your own lips now, the thought of wanting to hear his laugh again makes you feel impatient.
Impatient to listen to more of his opinions, unwrap the tangled ropes that tie together his thoughts.
Perhaps too impatient, too uncoordinated as you brush the fork past your lips.
"There's something” he begins, inching closer with intent. His hand reaches to your face, thumb swiping at the corner of your lips with added pressure as he mumbles the remainder of his sentence, “... on your face”
He’s unable to stop looking, unable to pretend he does not see your eyes widening, your breath catching in your throat. The tiny sound of surprise has him holding down a deep moan. He doesn't let his finger linger afterwards, his thumb is gone from your skin as fast and unexpectedly as it had landed there in the first place. However, you would be able to feel it tingle there for hours later. Even days.
Like on this quiet friday evening, standing in your cozy bathroom, looking into the mirror as you tie your hair back, remove your hoops - wash off the make up that’s been marinating on your face for longer than it should have. You scrub, closing your eyes, the warm water feels like a hug on your stripped skin. In the black behind your eyelids, the touch on your face feels lively - and you can almost hear his voice too, telling you to read the book that’s now sitting on your nightstand, halfway into a story of grief, love, family.
A story about a part of life everyone will be confronted with. An ending no one can escape witnessing and falling victim to. Nature taking its breath back, people losing each other and gaining vital epiphanies, long winded stories that end in questions and answers. Reflection, a window into your own life and it's fragile evanescence. Death isn’t the only grief a person can experience. Losing someone - something, the effects of that run through your veins because of absence. Learning to fill the hole - whether by stitching it up or embedding its presence into routine, isn’t a task exclusive to the aftermaths of a death.
The text message notification dings, transferring you out of the story that’s been playing out on the laid out pages.
“Can you watch Kyungie today? It'd be from 7pm to around 9:30pm.”
With a glance to the time on top of your screen, you close up the book, letting him know that, yes - you’d be there soon.
When you arrive after taking the usual route, nothing is particularly unusual, though something is different. Impossible - to - ignore - kind of different. He stands in front of the hallway mirror for much longer than normal, adjusting his tie for what seems like the seventh time in five minutes. And when he walks past to slip into his jimmy choo's, the air reeks thickly of bleu de chanel.
Manly, fresh, deliberate.
“What’s the occasion ? You never make me watch him on weekends”
“It was a bit spontaneous. I’ll pay you extra for the short notice - and I’ll text you if it gets later.”
You nod in agreement, give him another questioning look he fails to acknowledge as your heartbeat continues to speed up, the clingy awareness of insecurity providing its steady beat. He swings his coat over his shoulders, slipping into it carefully. The gust of wind that passes when he closes the front door behind him is cool, uncovering how suffocating the air in your lungs is. Suddenly, you knew what this was. Why it might get later than anticipated, later than how things usually are.
Jungkook is going on a date.
It doesn’t matter, does it?
That you’ve never seen his hair styled like this and you're already mentally scrolling through restaurants he might be taking her to, silently wondering If he kisses on the first date,
If he tastes like nicotine and sugary maturity.
It matters when the strong feeling of disappointment rushes to your chest and your mind wraps itself around the concept of Jungkook looking to date. The quiet intimacy from your perspective now staring back at you like a huge misunderstanding. It didn't vanish - if anything, the plunging feeling only grew with his son that is already tugging on the sleeve of your oversized sweater, babbling about wanting to watch ponyo and do puzzles. Activities with his noona, the babysitter that watches Jungkook’s son.
Jungkook's son, who’s so completely in love with you, who you've sung to sleep with Jungkook admiring quietly, leaning against the doorframe - hoping you didn't spot his shadow. Jungkook who'd heard you tell Jukyung your favourite fruit and somehow, always ended up buying tangerines at the end of the week after that
“Noona actually brought you a new puzzle”
His smile widens into an innocent giggle, wrapping his little grubby hands around your arm and you can not be asked not to chuckle in return, letting him walk you to the couch. “Did you eat dinner Kyungie?”
“I’m starving” she chuckles, "Haven't eaten in hours”
Boring, god the woman in front of Jungkook is so incredibly boring to him.
Soojin's pretty, with long brown hair and a low cut shirt, a gentle voice and a nice smile. The faint touches of her hand on his arm when she laughed at something he had said - or the way her eyes darted to his lip ring - didn’t reel him in. Not like it did with you, where he felt the pull of wanting to kiss that needy look off your face. Everything she said, about her yoga studio and the way she liked going golfing, was so boring to Jungkook. He wondered, at some point of watching her sip the wine he ordered, if you had already put Jukyung to bed, if your hair is pulled into a messy pony yet and if you knew what he was doing right now.
Something about it made him feel almost guilty. He'd avoided saying it on purpose, why you're watching over his son today and yet, when he glanced back at you through the window, It was obvious you had caught on. Obviously, whatever you were feeling about the realization, you did not look happy for him. In a twisted way, it made him happy, even if for a mere moment.
Dinner tastes good, steak always does the trick - wine always relaxes him. Unable to indulge in it to the full extent, he had to drive - but getting wine drunk has never sounded more appealing. Especially after the fifth failed attempt of intellectual conversation. Words were not getting him anywhere but deeper in thought, nowhere and yet, parked in front of her apartment, with a slightly frustrated frown in his eyebrows - his lips kept colliding with hers anyways, allowing her warm tongue to lip past and explore his mouth. His eyes shut tightly in an effort not to sink into this burdening feeling, the low groan that he lets out sounds more frustrated than blissful. Frustrated with himself, with the fact that Soojin's hands on his shirt buttons fail to faze him, that he doesn't move his hands up and down her body to map out the curves she has - but simply anchors them to her hips. He was holding on to the denim like the image of you, despite wanting nothing more than to let go of both at that very moment.
“I should get going” she mumbled breathlessly, the desperation in her airy voice sounded like she imagined him to refuse, to keep her in his car and mess up the make up she'd spend so much time putting on, let her undo the very last buttons of his shirt too. So when he hums and agrees, saying that it is getting late and they both do have a child at home after all, her slick smile turns almost polite. Straightening out her hair with her fingers, she stepped out without meeting his gaze once more.
Jungkook exhales heavily after the Mercedes door slams, running a sweaty hand down his handsome scowl and begins driving home, to his son, to you.
The rattling of his keys don’t wake you from the slumber you’d fallen into about halfway into the second round of ponyo playing on the flatscreen. It laughs at Jungkook, mocking the storm that was already rampaging his thoughts. You looked like a domestic wet dream; Jukyung's sleeping from with his head laid on your chest that is rising and falling, comfortably matching the rhythm of his son's slowed breathing. With unspoken awe, he notices how his son holds on to your shoulder loosely, how your soft hand looks big on the little boy's back and your eyelashes fan so prettily against your rosy cheeks. Noting the absence of a blanket, he’s already halfway into laying one over the both of you, ignoring the sheer fact that, realistically, he would need to wake you and you should be making your way back home.
“Jungkook?”
The dazed mumble of his name halts him in his tracks, widened blanket hanging in his hands without a purpose. He lets you wake up, waits until the fog of sleep disappears from your eyes to continue talking. The taste of his date's lips haunts his mouth in a bitter aftertaste now, seeing how your first instinct was to pull Juykung closer to your body, perching him upright as you sit yourself up.
“Shit I must've fallen asleep. Did you just get back?”
“Yeah, about a minute ago” he answers, folding the blanket back up, “Did he make you watch that fish movie again?” he mumbles, nodding towards the tv.
You nod too, groaning softly while tucking the sleeping child into the corner of the couch, coming to yourself from the nap. “Probably why we fell asleep, seen it about a hundred times now.” A beat of silence passes, your voice turns painfully careful,
“ How.. was it?”
Jungkook stills, the air between you both growing thick. A tense glance is exchanged as he steps forward an inch, his fully dressed-up form standing right in front of where you are sitting on his couch with a softness he isn't familiar with. He tried to clear himself of his actions - weak attempts in forgetting about you, buttoned his shirt back up and reapplied his perfume to overpower her stench. He was aware it was to no use, not when you could see his well gelled hair now beginning to fall loose, how a trace of red was smeared slightly around his lips and the pristinely ironed shirt looked just a tad messed up. He clears his throat, answering the question you never wanted to ask in the first place.
“Okay, I think”
“Okay?” you echo, the curious undertone smells like a hope you didn't dare to have. Misplaced, possibly unwelcomed.
He sighs, a quick shake of his head following,
“Nothing special. "Didn’t feel it.”
It was short, direct. An answer that was true to his nature and another relief to yours.
“Not your type?”
“No, not my type” he says, his body slumping down on the couch next to yours with a hand reaching to caress Juykung’s back - his head tips back against the couch with a delicious stretch of his neck. No purple bruises, no wet patches of skin decorating the road down to his shoulder. The darkness of the living room provides you with a slight comfort, swallowing details of your feelings, like the slight shake in your fingers when you too - lean back against the couch, head tilted enough to face him. He looks at you for that brief lapse of time, vulnerable wordlessness settles down, taking up the remaining inches between your faces. Raw and hidden all at once, the absence of light strikes Jungkook to be honest with not only himself, but you.
“It just felt unnatural. I didn't really.. want to be there”
He murmurs, his eyelids feeling heavy with drowsiness, “Wanted to go home”
“Sounds boring. We had fun here, you really missed out” you mumble back with withheld amusement, feeling the effects of this moment take a toll on you. It’s easier to tease him when you feel unseen, there is less resistance to the pull that always wants to tug you together adjacently.
The hum he lets out sounds from deep within his throat, almost rumbling through his deep, quiet words.
“Like I said, I wanted to be home”
Home, didn't just mean at his house, inside his walls without anyone to bother him but his kid. Home meant being somewhere you were, somewhere he had his son in reach, somewhere he knew he belonged. There was no use in explaining his favourite book to a woman that wasn't interested in the workings of his mind, no use when you'd read the same book and - hated it, listened to him bitching about you not getting the point but nonetheless, ended up reading another one of those just because he saw value in it.
When you breathed a part back into his lungs that was devoid of air, that now longs for warm meals after a long work day, the sight of a woman sleeping with his kid in her arms, a soft laugh he helped elicit.
Utterly, devastatingly terrifying.
“I felt like that with my ex boyfriend. Like I had to be what.. he wanted me to be” you say after a deeper inhale, the breath filling your tight chest with courage. You learned not to cry because he would get annoyed, mastered to dim your light for comfort, but it's plastered all over your face, how much allow yourself to show when you feel like it's just Jungkook that's watching.
“Unnatural, if that's what you meant”
“I did” he clarifies, “How long were you together for?”
“Not too long, I broke up with him after six months” you explain, reminded of the day you chose yourself. It must be laughable in his eyes, you think. Six months was nothing compared to his break up. Instead, he sympathetically quiets his words, mist of late hours making them feel too loud anyway.
“I’m sorry to hear that”
"Don't be” you shake your head, "It's better that way. I don't want to pretend”
“Neither do I” he admits, running his fingers through his hair, the previously formal style now messily sitting on his head with wear. He looks comfortable.
“Was.. this your first date after Hyejin?”
The question is a leap, a gap you didn't know you had permission to breach. As the question leaves your lips, the dark gives away how he doesn´t seem fazed or surprised, he just presses his lips together, nodding “Yeah. Had a baby to raise”
“Do you feel ready now?”
Jungkook cocks his head, his body instinctively turning towards you. The invisible string of rough, vague want and deep, intricate need for connection pulls tighter.
“Ready?” he hums, a moment of debating his answer goes by “Ready isn't a feeling. You decide ready”
Control is a possession he kept dearest to him. Decide how people look at you. Decide what they know. Decide when you're ready, no matter how much his heart rebels against it with its violent beat, no matter how much his hands long for a counterpart to lace his finger through and squeeze when things get overwhelming.
“You shouldn't pretend. There's nothing you have to hide”
You mutter, turning to your side as well. Whilst looking at him with the slit of separation that presented as a large wall, there still wasn't anything he could hide under. You'd seen him, even with his suit on and his back turned, you were always able to see Jungkook.
Midnight struck on his rolex like lightning, the string that's been pulling at your heads and hearts snaps underneath the tension of him deciding - that he isn't ready yet.
“You should go home, you'll be exhausted for your 8:00 am class”
He rises to his feet, cracks in his surface blend back together as the newfound space creates enough room to stop breathing in each other's exhales, swallow each other's words.
A sinking feeling comes up back as you do from the suede couch, the distance is notable, your smile adjusts into one he knows is restrained and it makes him feel like an asshole. He doesn't fight it, tells you to be safe after you open his front door, stepping outside of the isolated world they created.
The candle, a big, blue and sparkling six, is lit with its swaying flame moving in the wind passing through the Jeon’s kitchen window. Jukyung leans forward, his lips pursed as he blows out the candle with his birthday wish rooted deep in his mind, letting the smoke from the extinguished flame carry it out into the world.
“Did you wish for something good buddy?” His dad asks, wiping off the chocolate icing sticking to the bottom of the candle.
“Of course I did” he smiles proudly, the shimmer of childhood bright and alive as another year of life is ahead for him. His eyes widen in amazement the second the knife slides into his belgian chocolate mousse cake,
“What did you wish for?”
“That’s a secret, silly” Jukyung nods enthusiastically, watching as his dad raises a questioning eyebrow, placing a generous slice down on to the plate laying on the table.
“Alright, Alright” Jungkook says, pressing a kiss to his son's ruffled hair. In true Jukyung fashion, the chocolate spreads beyond the corners of his lips and somehow always ends up all over his fingers. But it's his birthday today, so all Jungkook can really do is watch, smile and hold back the current of emotion raving through his pulse.
After dropping Jukyung off at his best friends house, he drives back up the road, spotting someone waiting on his porch.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hey” you start, shuffling the blue paper bag from one hand to another,
“Sorry, i just wanted to drop off a gift for Kyung. Guess I'm a little late” you smile, reading him unlocking the door as a silent invitation for you to follow. Taking off your shoes as always, sliding into your house slippers laying right next to his.
“What did you get him?” Jungkook grabs two glasses from the cupboard, holding up a bottle of lillet. You nod, “A coloring book. The totoro one, i'm tired of ponyo”
Jungkook grins, pouring the both of you a refreshing, full glass. The weather is beautiful today, breezing romantic summer air. His eyes note the pink lipstick stain on his glass after you took a sip, sitting prettily.
“I can't stand that stupid fish” he grumbles, bringing his glass to his lips, concealing the way his smile widens at the sound of your laugh.
“He's growing up fast. He was so much more.. baby like when i started”
“Yeah. He's a little gentleman now” Jungkook rests his forearm on the counter, leaning against it casually by your side.
“He starts preschool soon right?”
He hums, looking into his glass,
"In September"
You hum too, the marble counter reflecting a ray of setting sunlight into the room. Glows of the golden hour soak his honey skin in it's hues, the glint of fresh tears in your eyes is more obvious when colorful.
“Ahh..” you shake your head, smiling to suppress it further, your finger already on the way to catch what's threatening to fall from your eyes, “Sorry, i get emotional so quickly”
Jungkook shifts closer, the natural black strands falling over his forehead - his body folds slightly to adjust to you, he knows this feeling. He recognizes it for what it is, for what it has always been with you around. He's not good at hiding it this time.
There's beauty outside control.
“That's okay. I get it, he's my son” he murmurs, brushing his fingers against yours, resting on the cool surface. You wait for them to disappear, but they never do. His fingers stay on top of yours like a feather light kiss, brown eyes refusing to look away from your face as the sadness disappears into sheer relaxation.
“You do realise that he loves you” Jungkook says, his thumb slowly moving against your hand,
“Do you know what he wished for, when he blew out the candle?”
His body moves forward again, you shake your head no, letting him continue, the words drowned in quiet affection.
“He said it's a secret, but that lasted for maybe 10 minutes”
Another smile blooms on your lips, waters the one growing on Jungkook's as he continues, focused on keeping that devastatingly heartfelt look all over your face.
“He wished for you to keep watching him when he gets older”
Jungkook is mesmerized with the first tear that truly tumbles down the apple of your cheek, a single, short sigh passing through your lips as you do nothing but look at him. Into his eyes, searching for something.
He inches his fingers closer, time feels stretched out into slow motion as his thumb makes contact with the wetness on your cheek, swiping it away carefully. You don't shatter under his touch, encouraging his thumb to wander down your jaw, caress again, until, unwillingly, tilting up the tip of your chin subtly.
He's powerless as he leans down, breathless at the first angelic touch of your lips on his.
Jungkook wants to kiss you until the world fades out.
Your lips attach to his too, slowly at first, testing how good it feels in your whole body every time his quiet sounds slip into your mouth, getting louder once your arms have made their way around his neck. His kisses grow demanding at the closeness, the warmth of your body creeping from your waist into his palms, your sweet moan of satisfaction makes him smile faintly right into the kiss, sliding his tongue against yours to pull another moan from your mouth.
“We need you” he mumbles, the words swallowed under more passionate collisions, drowning in your combined heavy breathing that resulted from being each other's source of air.
“Do I kiss better than Soojin?” you mumble after a hitch of your breath, his swollen lips trail down your tilted neck eagerly and patiently all at once. The memory of her makes his skin prickle, wanting nothing more but to tie himself to you further. Wet, open kisses punctuate his response, the nickname seeping into your skin, embedding its low sound into your body.
“Jealousy looks cute on you, sweetheart”
“M'not jealous" you chuckle, airy and full of lies. You can feel his grin resurface against your jaw this time, his hands slip underneath the hem of your blouse, tracing the slit of skin with slow strokes,
“Don't lie to me” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours for another taste of you. “M'gonna take this off”
He announces it, waiting for your nod to confirm before pulling the fabric over your head. The white, lace adorned bra cups your small chest beautifully, pulling his eyes to trace down the curve of your neck, the line of your shoulders, down to your breasts. He attempts to soothe his ragged need by running his hands up and down your back, feeling the skin grounding him.
Your manicured fingers pull him in by his tie, loosening the patterned fabric as he works on shrugging his heavy jacket off his shoulders. The rings on his finger are cool against your cheek, while your fingertips thrum against his chest once you've managed to unbutton his shirt. The desire in your eyes is honest as you do nothing but look at each other, painted under the light of the kitchen, shifting as he carries you up the stairs, lays you down into the plushness of his large bed. His black covers dip underneath your combined weight. There's gentleness in this heat, in the way his fringe tingles on your forehead as he supports himself - bicep flexing next to your head.
“You're so fucking beautiful” he whispers, nipping at your bottom lip the moment a pout forms on your face. Inside his chest cracks open the sentiment of being naked. Everything you know about the way he is, the pressure of his kisses and the taste of his skin, how his muscles flex and his eyes get heavy lidded - made him so, so naked.
Above you, the warmth radiates from him, forgetting that your skin is exposed to the cold nightly air taking up most of the tranquil room. Birds singing outside remind you that there's a whole word beyond this moment and these four walls that surround you.
Jungkook, most of the time, knows what he wants. His lips and hands wander all over you, rounding your shoulders, unclasping your bra with distracting flicks of his tongue on your collarbone. The bra gets tossed somewhere unimportant, his mouth devotes itself to leave every patch of your chest kissed, tracing down the subtle swell of your breasts - but there's only so much throbbing you can take between your thighs, so many little nibbles until you get restless and dig your nails into the naked muscle on his back.
“Stop whining” he huffs, tugging sharply at your right nipple while lapping at the equally stiff left one, his lips close around it with a rougher suck. You naturally whimper again, raising your back off the bed to indulge into his touch as much as you try to squirm away from it. The only place you wish to run to right now is this.
Alternating sides, he glances up at your pleasure clouded face, circling your bud the tip of his tongue torturously slowly, rubbing against the other one with the pad of his thumb without necessary roughness.
Too shallow, too soft.
“Please”
Jungkook hums at your whiny plea, noting the furrow in your eyebrows that's formed in concentration to, somehow, feel more of his touch.
“Ask nicely for what you want” he retorts, continuing to suck on your skin with time entirely at his mercy. Your fingers curl into his hair, voice coming out quietly and stained with embarrassment.
“Please.. give me more”
“Not so hard, is it?”
You shake your head no - breaking into a louder moan as he sucks more insistently, lips smacking against your skin. “Yes- mh -mmh”
“Like this yeah?” he mumbles, the breathless moans coming from your lips fill up his ears with motivation to keep kissing at your chest until your palm flattens on his forehead, pushing in overstimulation. He smiles, dominant and beautifully dangerous while dancing down the line of your stomach, kissing along your navel with his tongue dipping just a slither below your pant line. Warm fingers cup your thighs, carrying the need to rip off your pants to be gratified with the feel of your skin on his own.
If both of you listened closely enough, the joined, rapid thumping of two interlinked hearts could be heard below Jungkook's deep murmurs.
“You're so needy, what are you squirming for?”
“You, Jungkook” you pout again, unfamiliar with the desperate edge in your voice and the urge to beg for something like the touch of another person. His grip on your thighs loosen, repositioning to rub your hips on either side.
“What do you want from me? Talk to me”
“Something, just do something” you groan impatiently, biting the corner of your lip at the sudden sting after the smack he lands on your thigh, shaking his head to retaliate.
“Ask nicely. You want me to take this off and touch you?” he asks, narrowing his voice down into a delicious, low rumble that melts you down further, sinking into the intoxication he's drunk with. His dark eyes look straight up at you, expecting you to answer him. Still, there's an underlying question in the way he brushes his thumb over your hip bone as he waits for your response.
“Can you please.. take it off”
“And do what?”
He slowly unzips your pants, popping the button and getting a glance of the tiny bow sitting obediently atop your panties. Teasing, so sweet.
The sensation of your pants sliding down your legs feels freeing, an obvious damp spot greeting Jungkook as he tugs your legs free - making his painfully erect cock twitch against the material of his boxers.
“Touch me, please” you finish, a glossy layer overshadows your eyes and a slight sheath of sweat coats your palms. Nervously, you grip the dark sheets, closing your thighs to hide your growing arousal from him. His demeanor shifts to compliment your surfacing emotion, sliding his warm, steady hands up and down your arms, placing a longing kiss to your forehead. Your chest deflates with a heavy exhale into the safety.
“Good girl, that's it pretty. I'm gonna touch you, just like you want”
His own need is mere background noise the minute he parts your thighs again, sees the reciprocated craving of your body for his. The tip of his index draws a line on your inner thighs, touches the scruff lace edges of your panties before laying his palm out, cupping your mound into his hand possessively.
His round nose brushes your cheek as he just holds patiently, grinding ever so slightly against where you need it most. Jungkook’s tongue comes out to take a brief lick at the shell of your reddened ear as his whispered lures taunt you.
“M'gonna be so good to you. You want that don't you? You want me to make you feel good?”
The depth of his fingers circling your tender clit is sufficient for a gasp to leave you, for your lips to seek out his in order to dim down the volume of desire coursing through you. He doesn't respond by engaging in your kiss, rather by slipping his fingers below the cotton to find a small sea to dip in, trail back up to more gratifying touches on your most sensitive part.
“You gotta use your words” he insists, the circles growing smaller, faster against your slickness. Practically coaxing the words he needs to hear out of you, the want much greater than any fear.
There's beauty outside control.
If Jungkook was pretty before, he's striking now. Buried deep between your thighs that he has hooked over his shoulders. Inhaling the scent on you, tangy candy and musk, coating his tongue from the first long stripe he licks up your center. Your thighs tighten, secure in his hands that lock you down on his mouth.
The slow, long licks don't last for long, shift into sharp, short flicks against your swelling clit. Feeling him strum the pad of his fingers against your entrance, you break out into another helpless whimper, tightening around nothing but the sole thought of his thick fingers nestled inside your cunt.
Knowingly, he doesn't push in, keeps sucking on your clit, letting his saliva run down your puffy folds, you know what he needs to hear, you know what he wants you to do.
“Please, put it in - haah”
Jungkook groans, the deep noise vibrating against your soaked skin. One of his fingers slide in slowly, pausing his mouth's actions as the warmth welcomes him in like it had been awaiting his arrival. He uses the pause to listen to his name falling from your lips, appreciating your eyes shutting when, without a warning, a second finger sinks in, curling both digits upwards deliberately.
“You're so good, look at you” he mumbles, plunging his fingers in and out of you slowly enough to feel them drag against your walls, making a mess with relentless laps on your clit.
“I - fuck i'm gonna come” you squeak, tugging the strands of his hair weakly, your lower stomach is full to the brim with pressure, a large wave of pleasure tips right over you, swimming into his mouth greedily.
“That's it, come right into my mouth” he moans, licking up every drop of delightful pleasure spilling from you. Your taste hits him all at once, eyes closed and frowning for more. He doesn't stop you, lets you rock your hips into his mouth, unfiltered.
“Needy fucking thing aren't you? Not enough?” he huffs, rising back to his original position of hovering over you. Flushed, trying to suppress the panting and submission. Red looks elegant on your face, his thumb traces the color in adoration, watching the pupils dilate in your eyes.
He looks just like you do, exhales heavy and raw, desire replacing the blood in his veins.
The tension winding in his toned stomach snaps at the brief, careful touch of your warm hand on his bulge. Hard, straining aggressively. Your hand rests there, feeling out his thick shape, his length below your fingers.
“I need to feel you” he breathes out, permanently etching the words into your brain despite how softly they were spoken. Quickly returns to smash his lips onto yours with a rough kiss as if to consume you whole, passing the taste of yourself onto your tongue.
“Lift a little f’me”
One of his many pillows slides under your stomach, the imprint of his hand burning your bare hips, knees rooted in his sheets. Jungkook takes a shaky inhale, gathers your hair into his hand to reveal the curve of your spine, there for him to kiss reverently.
“Fuck, you’re soaking” he bites down on his lip, a groan ripping from his throat at the sinful sight below. Your thighs gleam, the same shine coating his heavy cock as he grinds it through your folds, slapping the pink tip against your glossy, tight hole once, then twice.
“Thaaaat’s right, take my cock so well”
Praise soothes the stretch he’s giving you, building a cozy home inside your body to reside in. You know now, that you want it all. His heart, his mind, his body craving itself into yours on nights like these. Your hands are planted down securely, though your elbows wobble under his impact.
Pushing in further until his pelvis makes contact with your backside. At the first feel of him, entirely sunken into you, intertwined, both of you remain melodically silent.
He adjusts the position of his hips, angling until a spongy, soft spot nudges his tip - and starts moving his hips. Deep with a craving for connection in this messy pleasure. It’s been so long since he felt himself burn with another person, smell the sex in his bedroom and enjoy the taste of salty sweat and sweet skin to skin.
“Good, so so good” your broken words buzz inside his head, making the deep and rhythmic ruts get sloppier. Moans, groans and whines come together in harmony, loud, shameless.
“Suck on it baby, c’mon” Jungkook threads his strong arm around your throat, holding his thumb on your plush bottom lip. When you don’t open your mouth right away, too lost in the vast ocean of pleasure, he shoves it past your lips - grinding against the wet muscle.
Your lips close around it instinctively, mindless callouts muffled by sucking just like he’d ask. Your obedience sparks him to thrust deeper, pushing your body back into him gets you another reward - his wet thumb finds your oversensitive clit, stimulating it wildly. No direction, no even movements as he seeks you out and you keep calling for him.
“I’m gonna come jungkook”
“You're gonna hold it” he gruffly says, taking away the additional pleasure to run his fingers through your hair, pulling your head back at the roots. Your neck stretches - back arching more than either of you thought possible and it stings better than you’ve ever felt it before.
The thorough, overwhelming orgasm building in your body is impendant, you clench on his big cock and whine for him louder,
“Can- can’t, please, mhh- fuck”
“You can, you can. C’mon be good and hold it” he grits out, jaw tense as his hips snap ruthlessly, chasing his own high.
You’re so soft and warm and so fucking tight - the arch of your back clings with sweat against his will and he loves it. The knowledge of you wanting to break all over his cock - all of it comes together to push him over the edge he’s been dancing on. He’s falling fast, closing his eyes for one last time to pull the strings of his voice together,
“Let go for me, let go baby”
“Fuck” he whispers, pumping his cock into his fist, right after feeling you gush on him. He throbs in his own hand, then you feel it - sticky, warm as it leaks down onto your back, drips down while he’s attempting to catch his ragged breath. Your knees finally give out - with a long, tired sigh, your sore chest makes contact with his bed, head buzzing, aware of your body’s heat and unaware of the look in his eyes, the heaving of his broad upper body.
Footsteps sound behind your closed eyes, inching closer to you. He places the damp towel on your spine, wiping away the traces of his cum, kisses the spot after, pats your butt like he had every right to that normalcy.
The normalcy of laying down next to you, wrapping his still bare body around yours - heart beating against your back. You still don’t see him, your open eyes scan his colorful tattoos contrasting your skin.
“Are you feeling okay?”
His voice is rough, the aftermath of what you did audible, louder in the proximity of his mouth to your ear. You give something close to a nod, a mumbled yes in response. You are okay. More than okay.
“Not too rough?”
“No”
“No?” he buries his nose into your neck, mumbling your words back in a question.
“No,” your body moves before you could stop it from happening and finally, after everything, you’re looking straight at him.
“Was perfect”
It’s not monday or wednesday today, which is precisely why Jukyung is confused for the first minute of seeing you take your jacket off.
It’s saturday, his dad has a day off and is wearing black sweats and a dark grey t-shirt. So he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
What matters though, is that his favourite person is in his home unexpectedly, so he runs up to you, flinging his arms around you in a rush.
"Noona! "
“Hey there” you greet back, returning the hug. Jungkook watches with his arms crossed and his head slightly tipped to the side.
The confusion in Jukyung’s eyes returns when you give the same greeting to his dad - allowing him to sneak his arms around your waist. This is new.
“We’re having movie night, i told you buddy” Jungkook says, reading the question off his child’s lips. He did tell him, however, Jukyung naturally assumed it would be on the following Monday. Not a boring, 7pm saturday - an hour before his technically strict bedtime.
“You decide on a movie while appa and i make snacks yeah?” You add, smiling at Jukyung warmly. Behind you, the older man waits impatiently, holding the edge of the door in his hand. Jukyung nods, taking charge of the remote to select a movie - all three of you knew what it’d be, you’ve been unsuccessful in redirecting his favourite ghibli movie.
“Missed you” Jungkook mumbles against your lips, the door mostly closed - shielding you from the curious pair of eyes his son holds.
Smart kid.
You tell him you missed him too, breathing in the subtle perfume on his shirt. His palm holds the side of your face, making an effort to keep your eyes on his.
“He’s used to sleeping early, an hour and he’s dozing off, promise” he says quietly, knuckles grazing your powdery soft skin,
“I know” you whisper, closing your eyes to soak up his touch. When Jukyung would find out is still undecided - it hasn’t been long but, sneaking around creates a guilty cloud to float above your heads, raining down anytime the three of you come together.
Jungkook smiles, precious and simple, then leans down again to feel your lips on his to reassure that - soon, you’d tell him soon.
A gasp erupts in the silence but neither of you are the cause of it.
Or.. right now.
“Appa - you’re -” the childs eyes widen alongside his big, toothy smile.
“Kyungie - listen to me-” you start - frantically turning to him while Jungkook shuts his eyes tightly, accepting their dooming defeat.
“Appa likes noona, Appa likes noona” Jukyung sings loudly, skipping around the kitchen.
Fine Line
Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov
Explicit
3.6k words
set after the All-Star game in Florida
a/n: is it ever going to be not scary, writing for the first time for a new fandom?! is there a way how to avoid Heated Rivalry these days??
This fic is an entusiastic try to get these two out of my system, hopefully.
Shane was not particularly used to this kind of behaviour with Rozanov. And definitely not this kind of contact. Usually, it was a lot of pulling and pushing, quick movements to get rid of clothes or put the other into a position, Rozanov manhandling Shane - confident and sure.
This was nothing like that.
It's the other way around, aka Ilya bottoms this one time.
“Is everything okay?” Shane asked. He was not oblivious, or stupid. Maybe he didn’t understand Russian, but he heard Rozanov’s agitated voice on the phone calls. And his phone would ring more often now than ever.
Rozanov dropped back on the bed next to Shane. “Yes,” he said tersely, although the tension in his whole body said otherwise.
“I can go, give you space--” Shane started offering, not wanting to impose now when Rozanov had been clearly going through some rough times, most probably family stuff.
But the other man cut him off with a firm “no.”
“Okay,” Shane nodded and watched as Rozanov moved closer to him - unexpectedly, slowly - leaning in until his forehead touched Shane’s shoulder, simply resting there.
Shane was not particularly used to this kind of behaviour with Rozanov. And definitely not this kind of contact. Usually, it was a lot of pulling and pushing, quick movements to get rid of clothes or put the other into a position, Rozanov manhandling Shane - confident and sure.
This was nothing like that.
Unsure what to make of the quiet moment, Shane sat still, witnessing Rozanov taking a deep breath in and releasing it slowly, silently. The air hit the side of Shane’s neck, sudden and shocking - causing his skin to break into goosebumps all over his body. The familiar trace of cigarettes hit his nose, but mingled with Rozanov’s scent, Shane surprisingly didn’t mind. He liked it.
Shane swallowed, unsure what to do in this uncommon situation. His hands hovered awkwardly, suspended in the air as if any wrong angle might make Rozanov jolt back into the version of himself Shane knew better - sharp edges, barked orders, a shove between the shoulder blades when things got too close.
Lifting one hand up hesitantly, Shane slowly settled it on Rozanov’s upper back. The cotton of his black shirt was warm, stretched over muscle pulled tight with tension.
Then the screen of the phone in Rozanov’s hand lit up, and Shane could see a string of messages coming up, all of them in Cyrillic.
In answer, Rozanov groaned and swore under his breath in Russian, flinging the phone behind himself, somewhere on the bed, and Shane could feel the way his back instantly tightened up again, to the point of a slight tremor running through his body.
“You’re shaking,” Shane noted out loud before he could stop himself, surprised and almost worried by Rozanov’s strong reaction to the messages.
Rozanov’s breath hitched - not quite a flinch, not quite an admission. He moved his face so his lips were pressed against Shane’s neck.
“It will pass,” he replied, voice muffled against Shane’s skin.
Shane wasn’t convinced. And he didn’t think Rozanov was either. He was also pretty sure Rozanov was trying to distract him, as he started to mouth against the sensitive skin of the side of his throat, placing open-mouthed kisses everywhere he could reach without moving too much.
He found himself leaning in just slightly, a slow, instinctive tilt toward warmth. “You need to relax,” he said, baring his neck to Rozanov.
Rozanov just hummed, the low sound a vibration against Shane’s skin.
“Your back is so tense,” he murmured, digging his fingers into the hard muscle. “I saw you hit the barrier last week.”
And he did, watching the game in his hotel room, eyes trained on Rozanov (as always), witnessing him getting thrown against the dasher board. The impact shook his whole body, his lower back taking most of the impact.
Rozanov stopped kissing him. “Oh, you saw?” he said mockingly, but his voice didn’t sound all that composed. There was something in the tone that Shane recognized from the afternoon in Rozanov’s house. The last time they’d been together.
“Maybe a massage would help?” Shane looked at Rozanov, trying to catch his eyes. They all had non-stop access to the team physiotherapists and massage therapists, but knowing Rozanov, Shane doubted that he’d taken advantage of that.
Rozanov didn’t answer right away, and that in itself was telling. “Are you offering?” he asked slowly after a pause.
“Yeah, why not?” Shane shrugged. All players underwent seminars on how to work out the most common kinks and knots from playing and practising.
“Mr Masseur,” Rozanov teased.
Shane huffed a laugh. “I’m serious. You’re hurting.”
That earned him a small scoff, nothing but air and pride. Rozanov pushed up just enough to look at him, hair falling over his forehead, eyes narrowed - not in anger, but in calculation. Like he was trying to figure out what angle Shane was playing at.
But there was no angle. That was the part Rozanov didn’t know how to handle. And honestly? Shane was kinda getting tired of his attitude. He knew that two could play the game, especially after their last encounter. It had been painfully obvious that Rozanov had let his guard slip down, and the roles had swapped momentarily.
If Shane was invested in their whatever it was, so was Rozanov.
“Get on the bed, c’mon,” Shane stood up, motioning to the bed. He surprised even himself with how decisively he sounded.
Rozanov looked at him with raised eyebrows but didn't say anything. He turned around and started lowering himself on his stomach when Shane stopped him:
“Take your T-shirt off.”
“You only want to get me naked.”
“Obviously. How else can I do the massage?” Shane deadpanned.
Rozanov opened his mouth, probably to say something filthy, but the exhaustion in his eyes betrayed him. The fight had gone out of him long before Shane walked into his house.
Getting on his knees, Rozanov got rid of his top in one quick move, then lowered himself down onto the duvet with a short exhale, shoulders still bunched tight like he expected to be interrogated at any moment.
Shane moved to straddle his hips while avoiding sitting right at his ass, palms warm against the rigid line of Rozanov’s spine. He wondered briefly why they still had to play this tug of war, when they obviously not only both needed this, they also wanted it.
Shane let his palms settle fully against Rozanov’s back, feeling the heat of him, the tension coiled so tightly beneath his skin it was a wonder he hadn’t snapped in half days ago. His thumbs traced the grooves along either side of Rozanov’s spine, admiring the sight in front of him before pressing down gently, testing.
Rozanov jolted - not away, just in surprise.
“You okay?” Shane asked softly.
Rozanov muttered something sounding like “okay” into the comforter.
“You should’ve let the physio look at this,” Shane murmured as he dug his thumbs gently into the palpable knots.
Rozanov made a sound. “Physio will tell coach,” he said into the pillow. “Coach will bench me. I do not need that.”
With a small exasperated sigh, Shane kept going, hands moving with more certainty now, palm gliding over skin as he pressed, rolled, coaxed each knot into loosening. Beneath him, Rozanov started to melt. Not fully, not completely, but enough that the rigid set of his shoulders began to give.
There was more to the tension Rozanov held than the light injury. It was the weight of intense stress and worries.
Shane let his hands drift lower again, fingers brushing the tension banded along Rozanov’s lower back - the exact spot that hit the boards. At the touch, Rozanov’s breath caught sharply, like before.
“That’s it,” Shane said quietly, leaning down until his lips brushed Rozanov’s ear. “Breathe deep,” he commanded.
The thing was, Shane knew he liked when Rozanov ordered and pushed him around a bit. He liked giving up his inhibitions. He was unsure if Rozanov wanted the same now. But if he did, Shane was more than willing to oblige, taking pleasure in doing this for Ilya. For Rozanov.
“You should’ve had this checked,” Shane said, voice gentler without meaning to be. “You act like pain is a personal failing.”
“It is weakness,” Rozanov muttered.
“No,” Shane countered, hands still moving. “It’s human.” Softening his touch, Shane switched to broad, warm strokes meant more for comfort than repair.
He couldn’t stop looking at the path his hands were making on Rozanov’s broad back - the pale skin reddening where Shane pressed harder - giving in, stretching and relaxing. It was always Rozanov who held Shane’s current position on the top, and Shane couldn’t suppress the swell of heat low in his belly now when their roles had been switched unexpectedly.
Shane dragged his palms up Rozanov’s spine again, thumbs sweeping over skin in a less therapeutic and more admiring manner. He felt the man shiver -just slightly, barely a tremor, but enough to confirm what Shane already knew.
Rozanov wasn’t just relaxing. He was giving in.
“You don’t have to be invincible all the time,” Shane murmured, almost under his breath, unsure if the words were meant for Rozanov or himself.
Rozanov exhaled sharply, the sound halfway between annoyance and something far more raw. “Invincible is easier,” he said into the pillow.
“For who?” Shane asked.
“There are people back home who expect this from me.”
Shane would be probably more disturbed by the answer if he didn’t choose that exact moment to pull the waistband of Rozanov’s sweats down a few inches to get even lower on his back - just to be met with a faint outline of a bruise, the ugly bloom of purple and red that had been hidden under fabric and pride.
“What the fuck?!” Shane exclaimed, straightening up and shuffling a bit lower on Rozanov’s midsection to pull the pants down until half of the most perfect ass was peeking out. There was nothing surprising about the fact that Rozanov had no underwear on, as Shane was aware that he never wore them when at home.
Rozanov lifted his head a fraction at Shane’s outburst, but he didn’t look back, just went still.
“It looks worse than it is,” Rozanov replied, the default deflection rolling out of him on autopilot.
“Bullshit.” Shane traced the edge of the bruise with his thumb, careful not to press. It wasn’t small, not superficial, but the kind that spread under the skin like spilled ink, ugly and swollen and still blooming. “Jesus Christ, Rozanov.”
Shane exhaled through his nose, steadying himself before sliding his hands - tenderly now - across Rozanov’s hips, brushing the unbruised skin. The contrast between the soft give of muscle and the stark violence of the purple mark made his chest twist.
“Does it hurt to walk? To sit?”
A beat. Then: “…Sometimes.”
Shane was happy, more than ever, that he was on another team. Because if one of his teammates withheld information about an injury like this - trivial or not -he would punch them in the face.
He was in no position to judge or question in this case. Shane let his head fall forward, resting for a moment between Rozanov’s shoulder blades, the frustration simmering hot under his skin.
After a moment of silence, he moved his fingers back up, working into the muscles along the shoulder blades - a safe area. Rozanov’s entire body seemed to loosen centimeter by centimeter, his face half-buried in the duvet, lips parted, breathing uneven in a way Shane hadn’t seen before, not even during the roughest, messiest moments between them.
Even the smallest hint of surrender from Rozanov was enough to send heat curling low in Shane’s stomach. Because he could feel it, not just in the relaxed muscles or steady breathing, but in the quiet, unquestioning way Rozanov stayed beneath him.
“Feels good?” Shane asked, voice low, unable to keep the edge of heat out of it.
Rozanov hummed a deep, warm rumble that Shane felt more than heard.
“Yes,” he said without teasing.
Shane leaned forward, minding the injured area, until his lips brushed Rozanov’s shoulder.
But he didn’t stop there. He let his lips trail down the wing of the shoulder blade, the curve of bone under skin, moving lower in soft, deliberate presses of his mouth.
Rozanov didn’t speak. He only breathed, heavy and uneven. Shane’s hand slid down Rozanov’s side, thumb gliding along the ridge of his ribs, and he watched Rozanov’s fingers curl into fists where they’d been resting by his head.
“Just relax,” Shane whispered against warm skin, his breath fanning over the sensitive place where Rozanov’s back curved into his waist, where the bruise spread.
“Doing… my best,” he muttered, voice deeper now, thick with something Shane recognized from every time they’d crossed lines they swore they wouldn’t.
“Yeah,” Shane murmured, lips brushing the spot just above the swell of Rozanov’s ass. “I can tell.”
It was - without a doubt - a very impressive ass, and being face to face with it now, Shane didn’t want anything else than to set his teeth into the supple, round flesh.
So he did.
The reaction was instant. Rozanov’s whole body jerked, fingers fisting tighter in the sheets. His hips twitched under Shane, not away - never away - but in a startled, involuntary give that shot straight through Shane’s chest.
“Hollander--” Rozanov’s voice cracked on his name, half-warning, half-want, fucking careful not to call him by his first name.
Shane’s tongue soothed the spot he’d bitten, slow, deliberate, a quiet promise. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“You already are,” Rozanov said, but it came out strangled, breathless, absolutely not a complaint. They were teetering on another boundary here.
Shane’s hands slid up Rozanov’s hips, gripping them firmly, thumbs stroking slow circles into his skin. The position - Rozanov on his stomach, bruised and breathing hard, letting Shane touch him wherever he wanted—did something devastating to him.
“Have you ever--” Shane considered his words as he tucked his fingers into the hem of Rozanov’s pants, half covering his butt, and pulled it fully down under the swell of it. “--bottomed?”
Rozanov made a low, rough noise. It could’ve been a chuckle. “When I was a teenager. Years ago. There was an older man, he liked it that way.”
Shane faltered. “Did you like it that way?”
“Yes. Sometimes… it is good.”
It was Shane’s turn to take a deep breath. He had to close his eyes for a second, breathing through the rush of heat that hit him at the blunt, startling honesty. When he opened them again, Rozanov was still under him, still giving him that quiet, unthinking trust.
So he leaned down again, kissing the imprint his teeth had left, then dragging his mouth slowly across the curve of Rozanov’s ass before parting the cheeks.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
When no answer came, Shane let his hands ease over Rozanov’s ass, palms wide and sure as he held him open, exposing his hole.
He dipped forward, letting his breath ghost over skin that had no business being this soft. Rozanov shivered, a full-body tremor he tried - and failed - to hide.
“Jesus,” Shane whispered, not sure if it was meant for Rozanov or himself.
Rozanov turned his head slightly against the pillow, enough that Shane could see half of his profile: flushed cheek, parted lips, eyes hooded but not closed. Then he shifted slightly, putting more weight on his forearms, lifting up his pelvis just so.
Shane’s eyes fell back on Rozanov’s ass, thumb slowly brushing the rim, then he leaned back down to kiss against it. He continued down the crack until he reached Rozanov’s balls and mouthed at them too.
“Tell me,” Shane murmured against warm skin, voice steady even though he wasn’t. “Tell me what you want from me.”
Rozanov swallowed hard, breath hitching, shoulders tightening like he was fighting something in himself.
When he spoke, it was barely a whisper.
“You.”
It was all Shane needed at that moment. He knew that Rozanov kept the lube in his bedside table, so he reached for the bottle, grabbing a condom too - maybe too forward.
His hands shook as he coated his fingers with a generous amount of the clear gel. Meanwhile, Rozanov moved, slow and deliberate, propping a pillow beneath his hips and adjusting his leg without a hint of hesitation to give Shane better access.
Shane had no experience in this field - only what he’d seen in porn and how Rozanov usually prepped him. Which was carefully, thoroughly, and with a care that’d surprised Shane at the beginning.
Not wasting any more time, Shane shuffled between Rozanov’s legs, reaching down to put the first finger in. He was definitely nervous, as he carefully slid it in and out, listening closely to any indications of discomfort from Rozanov.
Shane moved with a concentration he didn’t know he was capable of, watching the way Rozanov’s breath stuttered, how his shoulders tightened, then eased. Every small reaction drew Shane in deeper into this fucked up dynamic, messing with his head, messing up everything he’d known about the other man until this day.
His free hand splayed warm across Rozanov’s hip, watching intently where his finger disappeared, then he added another one.
Rozanov let out a low sound at that - small, raw, not quite vulnerable, but close. It went straight to Shane’s chest, settling under his ribs. He couldn’t believe Rozanov let him do this. His whole face was on fire with the intensity of the act of Rozanov’s unexpected surrender, and the need to not fuck this up, not to disappoint.
“It is enough,” Rozanov grumbled after a particularly precise jab that had him groaning.
“I just… don’t want to hurt you,” Shane said.
“Get in me.”
“I am in you.”
Rozanov glared at him over his shoulder, slowly rising on both of his knees. “Get your dick in me.”
Shane took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay,” as he drizzled more lube directly over Rozanov’s hole.
“You trying to drown me, Hollander?” Rozanov questioned, and Shane’s reply was a quiet, absentminded “fuck you,” which was more accurate now than ever.
He put on a condom, a bit clumsily, while Rozanov waited, somewhat patiently.
Shane swallowed, breath catching in his throat as he lined himself up. Rozanov didn’t look away. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t tense.
If anything, he leaned back the tiniest bit, an unspoken, impatient come on that hit Shane like a punch.
The feeling of Rozanov around him was absolutely mind-blowing, and he had to really talk himself into not coming right away. Instead, he focused on getting this right, on being good for Rozanov, making it good for him. The need to match the ultimate pleasure he would receive from him during their sporadic but intense encounters was what drove him.
Watching Rozanov react to every movement, every thrust was overwhelming. Shane felt the power but also the responsibility, wanting Rozanov to remember this forever.
Usually, it was Shane who was louder when they were fucking. Rozanov wasn’t exactly quiet, but he definitely held back, in a way. He was generous with kisses, which Shane secretly loved, and now he couldn’t do it. It was difficult to gauge Rozanov’s reactions, because he couldn’t see his face.
So he concentrated on getting the angle right, to hit Rozanov’s prostate. He kept stroking his back, drawing invisible paths between the moles, squeezing the flesh of his sides.
“Harder,” Rozanov said at some point, voice low and strained.
Shane obliged, forcing his hips to thrust deeper, faster. This was not unlike any other physical exercise - he knew how to use his body - apart from the man underneath him.
Rozanov reached behind him blindly, fingers finding Shane’s thigh. He let out a sound. A quiet, broken thing that Shane felt all the way through him.
“Jesus,” Shane whispered, not sure if it was prayer or curse. Rozanov’s head dropped between his shoulders, breath shuddering, and Shane knew he found what he’d been looking for.
His forehead thudded against Rozanov’s upper back as he kept pushing in these long, searching thrusts, jostling Rozanov’s body.
Shane kissed the spot between Rozanov’s shoulder blades, then stayed there, forehead resting against warm skin as the moment stretched and tightened around them both. The room felt too small, the air too thick.
He reached with his hand where they were joined, lightly touching his fingers to Rozanov’s rim. Maybe it was weird, but he felt like he needed to do so to believe this was actually happening.
When Rozanov moaned, Shane moved his hand a bit higher, brushing against the blooming bruise, and then pressed down with his thumb. He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting, but it was not another sound from Rozanov - only this time, it was more of a surprised shout, hoarse and almost broken.
Shane could feel him clench, which almost made him come right then. He slowed then, easing into a steadier rhythm - something controlled, something he could hold onto.
He could hear Rozanov chant “yes, yes, yes” over the filthy noises they were making, and he didn’t hesitate the next time he pushed down on the bruise - harder - clearly causing Rozanov to lose it as he came loudly, sagging forward, his forehead dropping to the mattress as if his body had finally run out of ways to hold itself together.
Shane watched in awe as Rozanov crumbled, and it took only three more thrusts to make him come too, messy and breathless.
It was strange to come while being in Rozanov, the tight heat made his head spin. It was different than with a girl. Better, more intense, he thought briefly before quickly burying the idea away.
Facing Rozanov’s back, he was met with the evidence of his injury again, the dark splotch standing in stark contrast against the rest of the skin. Shane desperately hoped that the pain Rozanov had sought just moments ago had nothing to do with how he thought of himself, of what he deserved.
SYNOPSIS — what’s better than a boyfriend? Two boyfriends who spoil you rotten the day of your birthday. You can ask them anything you want… and you do so in the bedroom, where Shane and Ilya will give you the ultimate birthday gift.
CONTENT WARNING — f!reader, established poly relationship, canon divergence, consumption of alcohol and tobacco, reader has some tattoos, dry humping, voyeurism, bit of throat-fucking, rough sex (m/m), mirror sex, brat taming, use of a d!ldo, tit sucking, size kink because yes <3, spit and cum used as lube (don’t do this at home, please), spit kink if you squeeze, multiple orgasms, quirofilia (I’m afraid my fixation with hands really shows here), v4ginal sex with a lil’ twist, aftercare ‘cause our boys are sweethearts <3
WORD COUNT — 4.4 ; ao3 link!
ANYA'S CORNER — this fic can be interpreted as a second part to this one; also, if I had a nickel for every time I wrote a fic settled in a nightclub with reader’s boyfriends, I’d have two nickels... which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice (truth is, I love nightclubs’ vibes, not their crowdedness lmao)
P.S. — the same disclaimer I put in the first part applies here, too; that being said, enjoy and bye! <3
Your boyfriends really outdid themselves. Not only did they wake you up that morning by bringing a giant cake to your bed, then gave you some of the best presents you’ve ever received, oh no.
The greatest gift came in the form of a surprise birthday party at your favourite nightclub in Montreal.
How they managed to do that without spoiling anything, you didn’t know.
What you did know, though, was that you were surrounded by the most important people in your life, including your friends. Some of them you befriended at your old job, but most of those who were at the club tonight were part of your boyfriends’ friends’ inner circle.
Someone put a drink in your hand.
Turning, you saw Svetlana and Elena a few inches from you, the bright lights almost blinding.
“Birthday drink for the birthday girl.” Svetlana said in a singsong voice, her curls a fiery halo around her face.
With that, you were at your fourth tequila shot of the night, yet you were still reasonably sober.
You flashed both girls a smile, then chugged down the alcohol. Elena clapped her hands and all but dragged you and Svetlana on the dance floor.
While making a bee line to get there, you managed to stop long enough to give Shane the little glass and steal a kiss from Ilya.
They were both sitting at the bar counter, their gazes never leaving you.
“Join us, my loves,” you breathed, hand stretched towards them. “The dance floor is waiting for you.”
“In a bit,” Ilya smiled, his dominant hand on Shane’s thigh. “We want to watch you dance with your friends.”
You pouted, eyes shifting to Shane. Out of the two, he was the one who folded faster whenever you asked for something.
“Are you sure? Work kept us apart, lately. We haven’t seen each other a lot, this week.”
After Shane gave a quick look to your outfit and sighed — according to him and Ilya, you looked a little too good in flared jeans, high-heeled boots and the velvet top Yuna got you for Christmas —, his eyes softened as they landed on your pouty face.
“I know, but we need to discuss something about next month’s match, first. Go ahead, we’ll be with you soon.”
“Come,” Elena rolled her eyes and took you by the hand as she said loud enough for them to hear over the music, “Let them plot while me and Svetlana show you what a good time truly looks like.”
And with that, the girls spanked you at the same time, making you giggle. “Incorrigible, the two of you.”
Still, you looked over your shoulder as you reached to the dance floor. Even if they feigned indifference, you knew them too well not to notice they’d been staring intently at your ass.
You had to admit it: they were right. Those jeans hugged your every curve just right.
And you were going to use every weapon in your arsenal to make them drop the act.
Sandwiched between the girls, you had to shout over the music to inform you were going to take off your jacket. They stepped aside as you shook the leather jacket off your shoulders.
A collective gasp behind you.
“When did you get this?”
You ditched the piece of cloth on the nearest chair and smiled.
“Last week. It healed quicker than expected, but it itches.” You knew your friends’ eyes were on your freshly tatted back, as two other pairs were, too. “The tattoo artist gave the all-clear to keep it uncovered, so here we are.”
“Girl.” Without touching them, Elena traced the fine lines inked on your skin with her fingers. The design started from the shoulder and ended just below the hipbone.
“You got a damn tiger tatted on your back a week ago and didn’t think to tell us? Wait. Did Ilya and Shane know about it?”
“I think they do now. Look at their faces.” Svetlana pointed out with a smirk.
The three of you turned and it took a lot of effort from your part not to run to your boyfriends and kiss them both stupid.
They were shocked, aroused and pissed off all at the same time. You had wanted to surprise them later, in the intimacy of your bedroom, but they had left you with no other choice.
Blowing them a kiss, you started to dance with the girls, hypnotized by the flashing lights around you.
Two men flanked you, Svetlana and Elena as another song started to play. To your surprise, they weren’t Shane and Ilya, but another couple you had cherished for forever.
“Guys, you made it!” You all but flew in Scott’s open arms, while Kip hugged Elena and smiled at Svetlana.
Considering your line of work, you had crossed paths with Hunter’s team more than once and, over time, a friendship blossomed between the two of you.
Then, when the bond deepened, Scott introduced you to Kip, and you fell deeply for the barista.
No wonder Scott loved him so much.
“Happy birthday, gorgeous,” Scott happily huffed as he wrapped his arms around your middle, careful not to touch the tattoo. They'd seen it from afar as the entered the club, Kip informed you.
“So, how does it feel to be old?”
“Funny, shouldn’t you be answering that?” Laughing, you slapped Scott on the shoulder, signalling him to put you down. Once he did, Kip came to stand by his husband and kiss your cheek, wishing you a happy birthday.
After saying hi to the girls, the hockey player asked: “Where are your debouched boyfriends, anyway?”
“Right ther-” You cut yourself off.
They were not at the bar counter, anymore.
“Uhm…” Svetlana’s voice focused your attention elsewhere, right on the dance floor.
Shane and Ilya were dancing some meters away from your group.
And as the teasers they so loved to be whenever you acted like the brat you so loved to channel, they were grinding against each other, backs turned on you.
“Oh,” Kip commented, blushing. “Did you fight or something?”
Stunned, you picked your jaw up from the floor and inhaled so profoundly you felt your lungs adhere against the ribcage. Those two got back at you in the nick of time.
“If we hadn’t before, we will once I get my hands on them.”
Svetlana looked at Elena, then turned to you. “Wanna give them tit for tat?”
“You don’t even have to ask.”
Elena smiled, waved at your friends to stay there to enjoy the show and dragged you and Svetlana a scarce meter away from your boyfriends.
“Let’s see how long they can resist having to watch you while you touch somebody else.”
You didn’t need to be told twice.
First you leaned against Svetlana, and she grabbed you by the hips, laughing, while you mirrored her movements. All while Elena danced close to you both, her eyes beaming with mischief.
Not even bothering to see if Ilya or Shane were watching, you turned to look at Scott and Kip from across the dance floor.
And if the hockey player’s smile was anything to go by, then you were dead certain your boyfriends were going to be livid.
Good.
“Come closer.” Elena prompted with a little grin.
As you did, the dark-haired beauty candidly kissed Svetlana’s cheek, then brushed her lips against yours.
“Остопизденеть.” boomed a very familiar voice beside you three.
“Wow, that didn’t sound nice.” Elena looked at you and Svetlana. “Did he just cuss me out?”
Svetlana shook her head, her own flirty demeanour suddenly reignited by Ilya’s exclamation.
“No, don’t worry. It’s more like ‘I’m so sick and tired of this shit’ sort of thing.”
The girls giggled, but you? Oh, you were having the time of your life.
As the icing on the cake, Scott and Kip joined you for an impromptu shot battle; as you linked both arms with the men’s, one shot in each hand, something in the air shifted.
Pretending you didn’t notice anything weird going on — or that a pair of hands you would’ve recognised everywhere had got hold of your hips —, you stared directly into your boy friends’ souls and smirked.
“On the count of three. One, two-”
Blonde, long curls was all you saw as one of your shots disappeared behind them. Ilya drank the tequila as if belonged to him all along, indifferent to everyone’s annoyance.
“You really got to stop doing that, Ilya.” Svetlana told him in Russian, because you had told her and Elena what he had done the first night you met.
He ignored her and, unflinching, he angled your head upward to meet his hungry eyes, then furiously pressed his lips against yours.
Still dazed by the stunt he just pulled, you melted into the kiss, but it took you a while to understand what he was doing.
He hadn’t swallowed the shot, rather he was making you drink it directly from his mouth.
Again.
“Double shots for the birthday girl, right?” Shane whispered in your ear. “Wait for the other one, now.”
You fought back a moan yet regained your sanity by pushing them both away to drink the shot still tangled with Scott’s arm. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction to see you all hot and bothered so soon.
Then you leaned low enough for Kip, Hunter and the girls to let them hear you say, “If by tomorrow at noon you don’t hear from me, just know I will be passed out in my king-size bed. Come rescue me, please.”
“Nah, I think you will be exactly where you want to be, girl.” Kip commented with a sly smile.
His husband nodded and ruffled your hair like the gentle-mannered giant he was.
“Go get them, tiger.”
“You’re so not funny.” You wailed, then turned to Svetlana and Elena. “Girls?”
“Sorry, babe,” the auburn of Svetlana’s hair burned as bright as her eyes were shimmering with malice. “I’m catching an early flight to Boston.”
“And I’m working all day. Go be with your men, love.” Elena added.
All pleas fallen on deaf ears, you waved your friends bye and went to retrieve your leather jacket, ready to accept your fate; needless to say, both Ilya and Shane were shadowing you.
They continued to do so in silence even after you got home and undressed.
Clothes discarded on the floor, and still in your underwear, you climbed onto the bed, crossed your legs and stared back at them.
“Well?”
“Well, what?” Shane asked.
“Are you just going to stand there and do nothing?" You clarified and pointed a finger at where they were. “The night’s still young, you know.”
“We might,” Ilya crossed his arms and tilted his head. “You lied to us. You deserve no other gift.”
“Oh, come on! I didn’t lie per se. I was just waiting for the right moment to disclose this to you,” you turned to show the tattoo in all its glory. “But you missed the clue. I had to improvise.”
“Still, no sex for you tonight.”
For me? That’s oddly specific, you thought to yourself with sudden clarity.
Then you noticed the boys’ bulges and a huge, gigantic wave of insolence washed over you.
Smiling, you jogged to where they stood and patted their erections with the back of your hand, eliciting soft moans from both.
“Go on, then. You can have the room. Once you’re done, you can join me in the living room.”
Your fingers fished around Ilya’s back pocket for a second, then grabbed the cigarette packet. “But I’m taking this with me.”
Before taking it out, however, you gave his ass a good squeeze.
As you pulled back your hand, though, Shane wrapped his fingers around your wrist and yanked you closer.
“You picked up a nasty habit.”
“And whose fault is that?” you purred, unwavering, eyes diverting to Ilya. “Have fun, my loves.”
You tried to get past them to reach your living room, you really did, but they both had moved with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine long before you realised what they were doing.
You ended up on the bed again, but before you could attempt to get up once more, Ilya’s hand was on your stomach, pinning your whole body to the mattress.
“No, no, no. You stay. You watch.”
His lips touched your ear shell gently as his fingers played with your panties’ lacy front. “Shane is good boy and he deserves to be fucked by me. If brats like you don’t behave, they get nothing.”
Instead of stinging, the words went straight to your core.
Leave them to toy with your arousal without lifting a single finger.
Yet you held your ground and pushed your chin upward in defiance.
“What are you waiting for? Do your worst. Tame me.”
Totally unfazed by your arrogance, Ilya unzipped his jeans and his cock slapped against your lower stomach.
The sheer girth of it always had your mind buzzing, but this time you had no time to do it because he positioned himself right above you, one of his hands grabbing the headboard as the other tapped your chin.
“Open.”
And you did as Ilya ordered with narrowed eyes, taking every inch with ease. You’d done it plenty of times by now.
Still, you found yourself gasping for air when he suddenly thrusted into your mouth, the tip bruising the bottom of your throat.
“Fuck.” Shane was now at the side of the bed, eyes gone huge. “Are you sure you’re not choking her?”
“Of course. I’m teaching lesson to her, and she is loving it, trust me.” was Ilya’s cooly response, totally contrasting with the white-knuckled grip on the bedhead.
He was unbelievably hard in your mouth, every little movement a fine stroke on his flesh.
Out of frustration, you moaned around him and a string of Russian curses escaped his lips. The hand on your stomach raised to get in your hair.
“Behave.”
And with that, Ilya started pummelling in your throat, quickening the pace as he felt you growing restless underneath him.
“Look at this,” Shane’s index pressed against your throat, right where the indent of Ilya’s cock was. “You’re taking him so, so well.”
“True,” your other boyfriend agreed, punctuating that matter of fact with a sharp thrust that left you breathless. “But you will do better.”
Rozanov halted his movements and got off slowly, leaving you to yearn for more.
Astonished, you watched as he extended a hand towards Shane. The dark-haired man spat on Ilya’s palm, then moaned as he was hauled closer by the Russian to start a heated kiss that had both backing off to your wardrobe’s mirrored doors.
After stroking their erections together with his spit, Ilya turned Shane on the stomach, then stroked his girth with what was left of his and your saliva.
And as you finally regained control of your body, hand sneaking to the cigarette packet, Ilya eased himself in Shane with a single, relaxed thrust.
Both panted at the same time, but Shane was a goner as soon as Rozanov started to thrust deeper, one of his hands pushing his boyfriend’s face against the door as the other one pumped his cock.
You had just lit a cigarette and brought it to your lips when the two stared at your sprawled form on the bed through the mirror. Shane’s laboured breath had fogged the surface, yet his eyes had been on you for a moment before Ilya delved harder repeatedly, each thrust matching the equally maddening pumps of his dick.
You fought against the brutal need building in you to touch yourself while watching them, an act you’ve been doing since the three of you became an item.
Ilya and Shane had talked you into doing it more often, to be honest, for you had considered it an intrusion of their privacy for the longest time.
“This is such a sensitive topic… I don’t want you to think I’m fetishizing you or anything like that.” You’d been on the verge of tears when you had told them that three months earlier, the three of you lounged on Ilya’s couch.
“You both are gorgeous as hell and I adore the life of you, that’s why I have the impulse to do it, but I’d understand if you feel uncomfortable. Plus, I know people talk behind my back about my relationship with you two, it’s just that I don’t want to caus-”
Shane had stopped your yapping with a finger to your lips. “Fuck them. We don’t give a shit about anyone else’s opinion but yours. If you want to do it, do it.”
“But-”
“He’s right,” Ilya had guided your hand between your thighs, his thumb dragging along the crotch seam of the jeans. “Don’t feel bad about it, because we do not. We like when you touch yourself.”
Green orbs met yours in the clouded mirror, cutting through the memory. As always, he knew Shane’s body language as well as yours.
“Do it.”
One hand sneaked past your panties, fingers quicky spreading your other lips apart as you watched your boyfriends love each other. Moaning at the sensation of being filled, your fingers slotted inside you, you timed their rhythm with Ilya’s thrusts.
They were both so close to their orgasms that you could feel Shane’s moans in your bones, as you did with Ilya’s.
“Wanna cum for me, baby?” Ilya breathed in his ear and Shane keened in response, a hand grabbing his ass to go faster. The other one flew to the mirror door, leaving a sweaty handprint on it as Rozanov did take up pace, the tempo he set so frenzied it made the whole wardrobe shake.
Shane came with a panting whimper, legs trembling as the orgasm washed over his body.
Ilya held him but didn’t stop thrusting until he shoved his face against Shane’s neck and cursed, his own release coming down on him as hard as the other boy’s. “You let your hair grew too much, Hollander. It tickles.”
“Fuck off, you love it.”
When they both returned to planet Earth, Ilya removed his hand from around Shane’s erection to lick it clean. The Russian teaser was aware of his effect on his lovers, so it came as unsurprising when Shane got another hard-on.
“Later,” Ilya kissed him. “We have other thing to do, now.”
“Uhm.” Shane turned to look at you and smiled. “I need to rest a bit, first. You fucked my brains out.”
You had another puff of the cigarette, the other hand still buried between your thighs, when Ilya walked over to you.
“Did you like it, birthday girl?”
“Not as much as Shane. You did fuck him stupid.”
The aforementioned gave you and Ilya the finger, yet he wasn’t as offended as he wanted to sound like when he stated, “Stop stroking his ego or his head will grow so much he won’t be able to put a helmet on again.”
“You two can stroke other part of me,” Ilya cooed, his gaze fixated on your panties. Well, what was left of them, anyway. The flimsiness of the underwear didn’t go unnoticed.
His smile grew impossibly bigger. “You’re soaking wet. You like us a lot, uhm?”
“Duh.” You rolled your eyes; both observations were the understatements of the century. “Hey, how did you get so good with dirty talk in English?”
“Audiobooks.”
As if that answer sufficed, he put out your cigarette in the ashtray on the bedstand and hovered over you once more. He tried to nudge away your hand but failed.
“Take off panties.”
“No.”
He narrowed his eyes, tone as deep as he could drive himself into you and Shane. “I’m not asking again. Take them off, or I will not play nice.”
Suppressing an irritated sob — as a new wave of slick painted your thighs —, you removed your fingers.
But the brat in you awakened with a fierce roar.
Mischievous as ever, you lifted your hand to his face, tapped on the lower lip and the moment his lips parted, your fingers glided inside his mouth.
“I said no. You do it.”
An exasperated but very horny sigh from Ilya, the sound reverberating around your drenched fingers as he sucked on them, the taste of your arousal as intoxicating as Shane’s.
“Still haven’t lost the attitude, have we?” your other boyfriend asked, completely compelled by the scene playing in front of his eyes to do nothing more but sit by the bed, voraciously eating up every second.
“Ah, my love. We all know you’re the angel, here. Rozanov and I are the imps who corru- Ilya.”
All thoughts went down the drain because the fair-haired demon’s mouth was now on your clothed nipple, sucking and biting through the lace of the bra as if his life depended on it.
He used a hand to knead the other one, his fingers pinching and rubbing and- my God.
He took a breather just to stare up at you and growl, “I warned you”, then continued the relentless attack.
You grabbed him by his hair and mewled, the orgasm you denied yourself to watch them come rushing back to light your entire body on fire.
“Close already?” Ilya asked innocently as if he hadn’t started that whole mess himself in the first place. “But brats don’t deserve to come so soon.”
His entire presence vanished from over you.
You hadn’t realised you had your eyes closed until you opened them again to glare at your boyfriend.
“You just fucking didn’t.”
“Oh, I did.” He indulged in the sight of you, bothered and a breath away from coming just by having his mouth on your tits. “First, I want to try something. Shane.”
You whipped your head in his direction as he leaned towards your nightstand and opened the bottom drawer. Already see where it was going, you squirmed and tried to get away.
All to no avail, because Ilya’s hand was pinning you down again.
“Guys, come on…”
“Ah, not so brave anymore,” Ilya motioned for Shane to pick up the object you kept in that specific drawer and made space for him to join you two on the bed. “The feisty kitten got her nails clipped, yes?”
“I will claw both your backs while you sleep if you don’t stop teasing me.”
Your self-control crumbling before their very eyes, both your boyfriends shared a meaningful look.
Two things happened at the same time: Shane spat on your beloved blue-purple dildo, coating its entire size while Ilya’s teeth came to grab your panties, pulled it down your legs as his fingers went behind your back to unclasp the bra.
Now completely naked, underwear tossed somewhere behind them, Ilya gestured for you to get up; too riled up to disobey, you obliged.
“Get on your stomach.”
Again, you did as he ordered and changed position to get on your hands and knees and then down, back arched enough to draw a moan from both men.
“Beautiful.” Shane brushed his fingertips against the tiger. “Can’t believe you didn’t tell us the moment you got it.”
“I wanted to,” eager to feel them closer, you pressed your ass against Ilya’s cock, its tip poking at you. “Didn’t wanna spoil the surprise, though.”
It was Ilya’s turn to touch the tattoo. “It suits you. With this view, we can’t wait to fuck you forever.”
A startled scream bubbled in the back of your throat as he pushed inside you, your inner walls so sleek he hadn’t needed to prep you further. He buried himself to the hilt, balls pressing against your skin.
“Ssh,” Shane cooed and without missing a beat, he slipped in the dildo under Ilya’s girth, stretching you out in ways you hadn’t experienced before. “You’re doing well. Breathe.”
“And she likes it, too.” A playful slap on your ass, Ilya rotated his hips to help you adjust to the new feeling. “She is clenching like crazy around my cock.”
“S-shut up.” You stuttered, out of breath, as you accommodated both lengths through gritted teeth.
By the time you did, you shot a glance to your boyfriends and grinned. “Go on. Isn’t what you were waiting for?”
Shane and Ilya moved in synchro, coordinating their antics to never leave you empty, but at some point, they were always inside you at the same time.
And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I’m cl-“
“Yes, me too,” Ilya gave a sharp thrust as he bent down to kiss between your shoulder blades. “Come around us, pretty girl.”
You were tensing around them all too soon, the so-long denied orgasm slammed against your ribcage so violently you fell on your front, lower back still encased by Ilya’s hands as he and Shane continued ramming into you.
Eyes watery with pleasure, your head turned to look at them kissing, and a strangled moan from your part was all it took for Shane to remove the dildo and for Ilya to do the same.
He came on your back with a slow hiss, careful not to hit your tattoo.
Meanwhile, your other boyfriend had disappeared into the bathroom for a minute or two, walking back to you both with hot towels and the soft promise of a warm bath.
He helped you and Ilya clean yourselves, then awarded you with a smile. “Let’s get you into the bathtub.”
“Can’t soak into water for long. The tattoo…”
“I have you, don’t worry. Come on.”
With that, Shane lifted you by the back of your thighs as you, too spent and sated to function properly, got carried by him into the bathroom.
He eased you into the tub as Ilya got behind you, his fingers already in your hair to detangle it; Shane, on the other hand, was giving little pecks to your scrunched nose.
“I really need to get a jetted tub. Enough space for you both to fit.” Your voice came off slurred, almost a whisper.
Both men kissed your face, then Ilya beamed. “You are pro at that, already. We have no complains.”
“Idiots,” you scuffed, raising both arms to pat their annoyingly beautiful faces. They were beaming with sheer adoration. “You’re lucky I like you.”
pairing: charles leclerc x roomate!fem!reader
summary: in which you and charles are roommates OR charles is obsessed with you and you're oblivious.
warnings: slight yearning, cute, fun, some angst (not really), smut!!!!, 18+, NOT PROOFREAD!!!
word count: 6k
author's note: hi hi!! forgive me for this being posted late! thought it was on a scheduled post but it just did not do it?? anyways, hope y'all enjoy. to my patreon babies, i am working on the next piece for chiaroscuro and will prob post a sneaky of sometime this week <3 xoxo
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You’d known Charles through mutual friends for a pretty long time. Long enough that you were familiar with each other. Probably not enough to be living with him.
But when your lease fell through, he offered without an ounce of hesitation. M’hardly home anyways he shrugged at the last gathering you were at. Better you than some stranger, yeah?
And somehow…only a week later, you were pushing your suitcases onto his polished wood floors.
The wheels squeaked as you pushed them through the door. And Charles was on the couch already. A leg stretched out, sweats on. Practically sprawled along it. He looks at you with a slow grin.
“Took y’long enough…I was expecting y’like hours ago.”
“Traffic.” You let your tote bag fall to the floor with a. Thud. “Also…your building has way too many doors.”
He doesn’t hesitate for a second. “Our.”
“What?” Your eyebrows furrow.
“It’s our building now, cherie.” He smirks. Eyes slightly glinting.
You huff, kicking your shoes off. “Pretty sure it’s not my name on the lease.”
“There is no lease.” His smirk grows. “I own this, yeah?”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah…must be nice.”
“It is.” He says like a promise. “You’ll see.”
-
Charles thinks he’s fucking ridiculous.
He’s a grown man for crying out loud. Travels the world…has signed contracts worth more than most people’s lifetime earnings. He can sit in a car at three hundred plus kilometers an hour and barely bat an eyelash from it.
But you? Walking through the condo with your hair tied up and shoes kicked off by the front door? It undoes him. Sends his heart spiraling.
It’s not like its new either. He’s always liked you. Not in a obvious way.
Like that one dinner a few summers ago when he could barely focus on his own conversation because you were laughing. Hand over your mouth like you couldn’t even help it. And he remembers thinking that’s unfair and staring at the open space over your shoulder until the heat left his cheeks.
Remembers the one time when it rained so hard that you stole his hoodie. Pretended it annoyed him. But he remembers wishing he could pause time right then and there.
It makes him feel like a fucking teenager again.
The way he paces without meaning to sometimes. Has to tell himself like some mantra that its just because he’s not used to sharing space. But he can’t stop looking at you. Can’t stop memorizing the way you chew the inside of your cheek or the corner of your nail whenever you’re hyper focused on something.
He swears he almost died the first morning he walked out to you cooking breakfast. Like it was some fucking fever dream.
And it wasn’t even anything dramatic. Just you standing at the stove. Hair slightly messy from sleep. Wearing some worn, oversized t-shirt. Humming off key while the smell of butter fills the condo.
And he stood frozen in the archway like a fucking freak. Because you looked too normal there. Too right.
“Morning,” you glance over your shoulder.
“Mm…” He clears his throat. “Morning.” And then he steps in, leaning against the counter. “You…you can cook?”
You snort. Your way of saying yes, dumbass.
Charles grins. “I can cook too.”
You whip your head, fully looking at him now. “No…no, you definitely cannot.”
“I can,” he insists. Even though he knows its a lie.
“Y’do know I was there that time y’tried to boil pasta, right? At Joris’s…set off the fire alarm.”
He groans. Lets out a laugh. “That was…years ago…I’ve learned I swear.”
“Y’really put almost no water in the pot.”
His ears turn red. “I was distracted.”
You shake your head, grinning wide. Laughing with your head fallen a little back. “Just stick to your cars, Leclerc.” And then your flipping an omelet onto a plate. Placing it near him.
He picks up a fork from the drawer. Trying everything and anything to ignore the burst of warmth in his chest just from your laugh. “S’better than yours,” he lies, takes a bite of the eggs.
He swears they’re the best eggs he’s ever eaten. Probably just because it’s youwho made them. But he won’t admit that. Not out loud, at least.
-
There’s always a mug left on the counter. Half-finished….or half-full. However you wanna look at it.
Tea gone cold in it. A faint mark of your lip gloss at the rim.
Charles rinses it the same way he always does. His thumb grazing the edge just before the water and soap washes it away. And he’ll grouch about it sometimes. Muttering it loud enough so that you do hear. But he never means it. Because the mugs have become part of the apartment now. Part of your loop.
“Don’t throw that one!” You call from the living room.
He glances over his shoulder as he leans over the skin. Catches the sight of you curled on the couch, laptop on your knees. “Why not?”
“Cause m’not done.”
“Y’never finish them.”
“Yeah…well I might this time.”
Charles laughs. Tips the mug into the sink anyways. The pattern. The predictability. You.
He dries his hand on one of the bunched up dish towels tossed on the counter. Walks over to the couch and drops onto it with a small huff. The cushions dip with the weight of his body. Your shoulder bumping his before you get a chance to scoot over to make more room. But you never make much space for him.
“Y’left your shoes in the hallway again.” He says. Stretching his legs out so one of them brushes against yours.
“You’ll survive.”
“Y’say that…then I’ll break my ankle.”
“Always the dramatic one.”
He smirks. Lets his head fall back against the back of the couch cushions. His grey t-shirt is soft and worn. It makes him look more boyish. And you don’t even realize how you’re cataloguing it. The same way he’s been cataloguing you.
“You’re ignoring me, cherie.” He says after a few moments of silence.
“Am not….m’just busy.”
He leans closer. Chin practically digging into the skin of your shoulder as he looks at your laptop screen. “Busy? That’s literally a shopping cart.”
You laugh. Shove his chest lightly. “Don’t judge me….y’literally sit on your sim for hours.”
“That’s literally my job.”
“Yeah…well, you don’t need to do it for as long as y’do.”
Charles tips his head at your laptop. Eyes crinkled a bit. “Another green sweater?”
“It’s sage.”
“They’re all the same, cherie. Green…oversized…too warm.”
“Comfortable, y’mean?” You grin.
He hums. Taps his fingers against the arm rest of the couch a few times. Something he does when he feels restless.
“What are we doing tomorrow?” You ask, shutting your laptop. Setting it aside on the table.
“Tomorrow?” He tilts his head like he can’t remember what day of the week it even is.
“Yeah. Groceries…laundry…that trip to buy a new rug we so happen to keep putting off?”
“Boring.” His lips curl. “But yeah, that’s fine.”
“Y’say it like y’don’t love rug shopping.”
“You pick them out…I just carry them.”
“It’s a team effort.” You grin.
The blanket slips off your shoulder. Charles hooks it back without thinking. Fingers brushing your arm.
“Yeah….yeah” he mumbles. “Team effort.”
Your playlist loops back to the first song again. And you hum to it without even realizing, your head falling against his shoulder.
And Charles stays perfectly still while listening.
-
You don’t really know when it started.
When you began noticing him the way you do now.
Because he isn’t just Charles. No. He’s the sound of the door opening and closing at weird hours. He’s the way the couch dips when he drops onto it.
You tell yourself it’s nothing. That you just live together. That anyone would do these things. Catalogue a person without even meaning to.
But sometimes you catch yourself starting at him longer than you should. At his messy hair in the morning. At the veins on his hands whenever you ask him to open something for you. At the corners of his lips whenever he says your name.
It gives you butterflies. Stupid butterflies. Because Charles doesn’t look at you like that. Not really. He’s got a crazy life. Fast cars. Fans. Models. And you’re just…here. His roommate. A friend.
But it still sneaks up on you.
Like mornings when you’re half asleep, begging for the tea to be done. And he’s just padding around in sweatpants. No shirt. Voice low.
And your stomach flips every fucking time because its cozy. Homey.
Or even the nights whenever he comes in late. Tired. Dropping his keys on the counter and then flopping onto the couch beside you. Close. Always too close. Thigh pressed to yours. Arm sprawled behind you.
But sometimes….when you catch him over the rim of your mug. His eyes soft and smiling. You wonder if you’re wrong.
Like just last week. When he pressed a hand onto your hip. Chest against your back as you stood at the stove. And he leaned over your shoulder to take a glimpse at the pan. “Smells good, cherie.” He muttered. Voice low and lazy right in your ear. “Not as good as you though.”
And you just laughed it off. Because what else could you do?
-
It’s not like it never happened.
It happened once.
A night that blurred from too much wine. Too much laughter. You both were on the couch. Closer than usual (which says a lot). Cause Charles always sat too close. It’s like the two of you didn’t even know what personal space was sometimes. His thigh pressed to yours. Blankets pooled in your laps.
He was telling a story. Some ridiculous story about training, his hand waving in the air dramatically. Accent thicker. And you were just leaning into him. Laughing harder. Head falling into his shoulder without so much as a single thought.
And then you turned your head at the wrong moment…maybe the right moment.
And his mouth was there.
Soft at first. Hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure if this was really happening. Like he was waiting for you to pull away.
But you didn’t.
So it got hungrier. Deeper. Rougher. His hand brushing the side of your face in a way that makes your heart want to pump out of your chest.
And you remember just how dizzy it made you. How your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. Anchoring you. The groan he let out deep in his throat when you leaned in further to him.
And then, it ended. A muttered excuse. Both of you pulling back like nothing happened. Just some laughter.
And then you continued to laugh it off the next morning. Blaming the wine.
Charles nodded. A little too quick.
But neither of you mentioned it again.
But sometimes when its too quiet or you catch his eyes lingering, you feel it. The weight of his mouth on yours.
-
The new picture frame is crooked on the wall.
Charles balances on the arm of the couch. One socked foot digging into the cushion. The other pressed against the wall as if it will help steady him. And whenever he reaches a bit too high, his shirt rides up. Exposing a strip of tanned skin…right above the waistband of his sweats.
“S’not straight…” he groans. Jaw tight as he fiddles with the frame. Moving it to the left a bit more. He steps down, dipping down to look at it from a new angle. Hair falling in his face until he’s blowing at the few hairs impatiently. “Still not fuckin straight.”
From the kitchen, you cradle a mug in both hands. “It looks good.”
He shoots you a glare. And then he’s back at it. Climbing higher on the couch. Knuckles slightly pale from the pressure of his fingertips against the frame. Shifting it again.
“No…not fine.” He says. Voice flat. Pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “Maybe…maybe the wall is crooked.”
“Or maybe you are.”
He huffs a laugh. “Funny.” And then he’s hopping down, the weight of his body making a thud. Then he takes a few steps back. His arms folded across his chest as he stares at the frame. Not satisfied. Frowning.
Climbs back onto the couch.
You let him fuss. “So Jill said she’d cover f’me tomorrow…which works out cause he actually wanted to meet me at seven…”
“Mmm.” His hands are flat against the wall now. Biceps flexing as he nudges the frame more.
“I haven’t decided where though…” you continue. Watching him shake a bit on the edge of the couch. “Italian feels too basic for a first date, right?”
“Mmm.” He squints again. Nudges the frame again. Thumb grazing the wood like he can smooth it away.
You sigh. “Are y’even listening to me?”
“Oui.” He mutters. Clearly not. His nose almost brushing against the glass of the frame. Then, he’s frowning. “Maybe lower.”
You roll your eyes. Setting the mug down with a little clink. “Whatever…I said yes…so m’going tomorrow.”
There’s a moment of silence. Then Charles’s body jerks like you just pulled a rug out from under him. His hand slips off the wall, socked foot slipping off the arm rest. He flails a bit. Curses with his heavy accent. And then falls to the cushions.
The whole couch shutters. The crooked frame falls even more sideways.
“You’re what?”
His voice is rougher than you’ve expected. Low. Urgent.
He’s half-sitting now. One hand gripping onto the couch like its the only thing keeping him steady.
His eyes are on you now. Unblinking.
You blink. “M’going out…” you say slowly. “On a date. Tomorrow.”
“Italian?” He asks. Voice a bit tight. “Everyone does Italian…boring.”
It lands like a jab. But not at you. More at the thought of him. Whoever he even is.
You laugh, but its more because you’re a bit unsettled.
Charles shrugs his shoulders eventually. Leans back into the couch. But his jaw ticks. “That’s great.” He says. And he tries to say them lightly, but they leave a bitter taste in his mouth. “Really. First dates are fun.”
You tilt your head a little. And his eyes are on the crooked frame now. But his fingers tap restlessly on his leg.
“Why d’you sound like you’d rather attend a funeral?” You joke.
He looks at you then. Lips twitching a bit. “Because, cherie…” he mutters. “Y’have terrible taste.”
-
Charles sleeps like shit.
Tosses and turns so much that it causes his sheets to tangle around his legs tighter with each twist. And the pillow is never comfortable no matter how many times he flips it over. He drags the blanket higher only for it to pull over his feet. Leaving them exposed to the cold air.
He kicks at it. Frustrated. Kicks at it repeatedly, again.
And the cycle starts over.
But it’s not the blankets. Or pillow.
It’s you.
Every time he tries to close his eyes…he sees you. Laughing with your head back. Eyes crinkling in the corners with tears from laughing so hard. Smiling in that soft way when the coffee shop barista remembers your order…or when you scroll on your phone and find something that’s so stupid, funny. But not here. Not with him.
On a date.
The words prick his skin like a fucking needle. Over and over. Date. Date. Date.
He presses his palms into his eyes, mutter a soft curse. He kicks the sheets down entirely when he feels suffocated. Only to yank them back up when the air gets too cold. The time on his phone crawls past four…Then five.
His brain runs in circles. He pictures you in that dress you wore once…when you claimed it was too much for grocery shopping but it would literally undo him if he saw you wear it for someone else. Pictures you sipping out of your mug…letting someone else get you in the mornings like he does.
It’s stupid. Small. Everything.
When the first glimpse of light peeps through the curtains of his room…he feels hollow. Muscles stiff, eyelids heavy.
The worst part is that it’s not even the first time you’ve mentioned a date. There have been others. Names that mean absolutely nothing to him until they’re leaving your mouth. But he always just acts like its fine.
And when Charles finally pulls himself out of bed in the morning…it literally feels like his body has been hit by a truck. He slips on a hoodie without thinking.
The place already smells like coffee. And you’re sat against the edge of the counter…legs swinging…scrolling on your phone. Hair tied up. Sweater slipping off of one shoulder.
You look up as he crosses the threshold. “Morning.”
“Mm.” He practically grunts. Pulling the cabinet open to reach for a mug. Sets it down on the counter top harder than he should’ve. “Morning.”
You squint your eyes at him. “Y’okay? Y’look a little rough…”
“Merci.” He reaches for the pot, pours it. “Good morning to you too, cherie.”
You laugh. Shake your head a bit. “Did y’even sleep?”
“Barely.” He stirs his coffee. Shrugs his shoulders. “Need to head to Maranello anyway.”
This catches your attention. Brows furrowed a bit. “Already? I feel like y’just got back.”
Charles leans against the counter, facing you. His mug cradled in both hands. Shrugs his shoulders again. But his jaw ticks this time. “Always somethin to do…meetings…sim…work.”
It’s not the words…but the way he says it. Clipped. Quick. Like its something he rehearsed.
Because the truth is…he doesn’t really need to go. Not today. Or even tomorrow. But it’s the only thing he can say without you asking too many questions.
And the last. Thing he wants to do is sit here. In this condo. And hear you talk about another date like it’s nothing.
You set your mug and phone down. “Stay a little longer please. You’ve got time…”
He opens his mouth, ready to protest. But you’re already brushing it off. Slipping off the counter. “You’ll literally end up falling asleep in the car if y’leave now…Might as well wait, yeah?”
Charles stares at you. He should tell you no. That he needs to go. But you just look at him with a small smile, like you don’t even need to second guess if he’ll listen.
And that’s all it takes.
He lets out a soft laugh. Sets his mug down. “Fine. Just a bit longer.”
Like it was ever really an option.
-
Charles doesn’t make it to Maranello.
The day just….happens.
First its groceries. Where he pushes the cart and you weave around the aisles. Holding up two boxes of pasta which has him muttering just pick one, cherie and for you to roll your eyes. Only to throw them both in. He sneaks some candy into the cart when you aren’t looking. And when you notice at checkout, you swat his arm. But he doesn’t take them out.
Then laundry. You dump a basket of clothes onto the couch…which has him groaning in protest. But he held anyways. Folding one of your shirts so badly that you have to take it from him. Laughing so hard that you can barely sit straight.
And eventually, you both have claimed your areas of the couch for some cringy TV show you’ve been watching for the past few weeks together. You stretch your legs out eventually, placing them across his lap without even asking. He pretended to complain…acts like he’s uncomfortable. But when you try to take your legs off of him, his hand is wrapping around your ankle over the blanket. “Stay.”
And six episodes later, you’re still there on the couch.
Until you’re popping up for the first time in hours. The blanket slipping off your body to the floor. “I need to start getting ready.”
Charles stretches. Pretending that the TV is super interesting even though the episode is paused. “For what?”
You’re already halfway towards your bedroom when you half shout, “Drinks! Meeting with that guy Jill set me up with, remember?”
How could he forget?
The date has been circling in his brain since you mentioned it. Charles swallows. Forces a soft hum as he taps the TV remote against the arm rest of the couch. And he hopes you don’t hear how stiff it comes out.
“Don’t go anywhere!”
Charles drops his head back against the couch. Huffs a laugh that isn’t really a laugh. More like a breath of air.
He should leave now. Get in the car. Drive to Maranello like he said he was doing.
But when you call his name again…light. Like you expect him to come running.
He’s already on his feet.
Because of course he is.
-
Charles tells himself not to move too far into the room. Not to let the expression on his face give him away. So he folds his arms tighter across his chest. Leans agains the doorframe like it’ll hold him together.
“Neither,” he says. Voice even. “Stay home.”
The words land sharp.
You laugh. Try to brush it off while tossing a throw pillow from your bed at him. “Funny.”
But theres something in the way his eyes don’t leave yours. Dark. Unblinking. That makes your stomach flip.
You turn away quickly, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. For no reason. You press the first dress against your chest, forcing a smile as you stare in the mirror. “This one makes me look like m’trying too hard, yeah?”
He doesn’t blink. “Looks fine.”
“Fine,” you drop the dress to the end. “That’s the worst word.”
Charles jaw ticks. Swallows. “It’s…good.” Then his voice softens after he swallows again. “Looks good on you, cherie.”
Butterflies swirl in your stomach. Quick enough that it has you pressing your lips together to try not to smile too large. You glance down at the dress, picking it back up and hanging it against your chest. Pretending you don’t feel the compliment in your bones.
He doesn’t mean it like that. He can’t. He’d never…
You grab the second dress option. Lighter. “Better?”
He answers a little too quick. “Better.”
You look at him in the mirror. And he’s looking away, eyes set on some spot near the edge of your bed. Arms crossed. Unreadable.
“Really?”
“Yes.” Clipped. The kind of answer that makes doors slam shut.
You nod. Force a grin.
“Onto the shoes?”
“Mmm.” He hums, shifts his body agains the frame. Cool. Controlled.
But you swear his jaw ticks when you bend to pull a pair out from under your bed.
You tell yourself you’re imagining it.
-
The bottle of wine is already half-gone. Two glasses balanced on the little table that makes a noise whenever you two laugh a little too hard. And its working its way into your veins. Loosening your tongue.
The loveseat is small. And there’s absolutely no space between you two. His arm rests along the back of the seat. Not exactly touching you…but you can feel the heat of his hand.
Charles’s head is thrown back from laughing so hard. His knee nudging against yours on purpose this time. “That’s the line? Mon dieu, cherie…..even I could do better than that.”
You roll your eyes, “Yeah, right.”
He turns his head toward you then. Closer. And his smirk is lazy. But his eyes are so green and sharp. “I could, cherie.”
Your heart skips a beat. But you bite back a grin. “Prove it.”
His eyes flick to your mouth and back. He doesn’t even hesitate.
One second his arm is dangling lazily on the loveseat. And the next its around you. Pulling you closer. Mouth finding yours. Soft. Then rougher when you don’t pull away.
The couch groans under the shift of his weight as he pulls you further into him. Mouth pressing harder to yours. His hand is at your jaw, thumb dragging along your cheek. Tilting your face to angle the kiss deeper. One arm tightened around you that he has practically pulled you into his lap. Knees knocking into his thighs.
You gasp into his mouth when he tugs. He instantly swallows the sound. Takes advantage of the widening of your mouth and slips his tongue against yours. Hot. Demanding.
“Charles…” you breathe, but its lost into the kiss. His lips are reverent against yours. His teeth catching your bottom lip. And it makes you whimper.
The sound nearly kills him on the spot. He slips his fingers higher, trailing the edge of your dress. And your hips tilt towards him before you can even think.
He groans into your mouth. Low. Presses you closer to his chest. And the blanket you were once sharing slips to the floor. Unnoticed. And your skin is on fucking fire. Burning wherever he touches.
Your hands curl harder into his hoodie. Needing him closer. He breaks from the kiss..only to press hot kisses along your jaw. Down your throat. His teeth grazing your skin.
“You’re…” his voice is rough against you. “…so much better than this, cherie. Y’know that, yeah?”
You can barely think. Barely breathe.
His mouth devours yours again. Like he’s fucking starving for it. Like he’s been waiting too long to be able to kiss you again.
And it’s desperate. He presses you down into him. Hard enough that you can feel how hard he is through the fabric of his sweats.
“Fuck,” he mutters. Voice ragged. Hands slipping beneath your dress. Palms hot.
You groan when his mouth trails along your neck again. Your back arching into him as you squirm in his lap.
“You’ve got not idea,” he groans. “…no idea how…how long I’ve wanted this…you.”
His fingers hook into your panties, tugging them aside. And you’re gasping. The cool air brushing agains your skin before his fingers push in. Slow. Deliberate.
And you whimper out when his thumb circles your clit. He kisses you again. Working you with his fingers until you’re grinding in his hand. Desperate. Shameless.
Your head tips back. Let out a broken moan as he pushes another finger into you. Stretching you slowly. Your hips twitch against him. Chasing every single drag of his fingers. Your fingers slip into his hair. Grasping it.
“I can’t…fuck,” his mouth is at your throat. Kissing. Licking. Biting. “I can’t pretend anymore…” his words are muffled. “S’like it’s driving me insane…”
Your heart pounds. His fingers working against you faster. “Charles…”
He looks at you then. Eyes sharp. Green. “Say m’wrong…say that I’m imagining it…that you don’t feel this.” His other hand grips your waist, pushing you harder against him. “Say it…and I’ll stop.”
But your body betrays you. Hips tilt, pressing closer. And then his mouth is crashing back into yours again.
“You’re…..” You breathe. Break the kiss for a second. “Not…you’re not wrong. Told myself I was…fuck…” You lose your train of thought when he curls his fingers just a little more. “Told myself I was imagining it. But I feel it….always felt it.”
And he audibly groans as he feels you clench around his fingers. Your hips rocking against him. Chasing the high.
His tongue slides against yours. And you can’t stop the moans from slipping out your mouth as he works his fingers into you. “Mon dieu,” he groans. Forehead knocking against yours.
You break the kiss to tilt your head back. His mouth immediately moving to your throat. “That’s it, cherie. Give it to me, please? Yeah?”
And it hits. Sharp. Hard. Like something inside of you snaps. You clutch at him desperately. Your moans muffled by his mouth when he pulls you back into him.
And he works you through it. Fingers deep. Until you’re shaking in his lap.
When your body finally relaxes. Your head in his neck.
“You’re never laughing this off now, cherie.”
-
It was Charles.
Not a dating app. Not Jill setting you up. Him.
The way he leaned against the kitchen counter just a few nights ago. Lips quirked up when he said let me take you out, yeah?
And you tried to make it lighter. Tried not to let your stomach turn over when you said yes.
Dinner turned into wine. Wine turned into the two of you pressed into each other in the back of a taxi. His hand finds your thigh. And before you can so much as think twice, your mouth is on his.
Messy. Rushed. His lips against yours, tongue slipping in. Desperate. He groans into your mouth. Rough and deep. Pulling you closer to him.
The car jolts to a stop and it has your teeth hitting. Both of you gasping and then falling into a laugh in the middle of a kiss. Still not pulling apart. He mutters something in French against your lips.
And then the driver clears his throat. “We’re..uh, here.”
You both freeze. Mouths still pressed to each other. Then you pull back enough to catch his grin. Eyes glinting.
You laugh. Shaking your head. And he laughs too. Before kissing you once more like he can’t even help himself.
The driver coughs again.
You’re still laughing when Charles fumbles for his wallet. Tossing a few bills towards the front without even glancing at him. His other hand grabbing your wrist, tugging you out of the car. Lips finding yours the moment the car door shuts.
You both stumble through the building. Charles’s hand on your back. Fingers sprawled staking claim.
And by the time the front door shuts…you’re gasping into his mouth. And he’s stripping off his coat in one quick motion, tossing it to the floor.
“Fucking hell, cherie…” he groans into your lips. “Wanted this for so long…don’t…don’t even know how the fuck I kept my hands off you.”
His hands are everywhere. Slipping under your dress. Gripping your ass. Squeezing anything until you’re moaning and melting into his mouth.
He presses your back into the wall. Hips grinding into you.
Your head tips back into the wall as he claims your throat. Sucking dark bruises into your skin. Hand slipping higher, panties tugged aside. And before you can speak he’s pushing two fingers inside of you.
“Mon dieu, cherie…you’re fuckin dripping.” He curls them a little more.
A sharp moan breaks as his thumb brushes your clit. “Charles…”
“That’s it,” he cuts you off. Voice low. Filthy. “Say my name again, yeah? Y’gonna come all over my hand again?” He teases.
You chase the high. Hips rocking against his hand.
Your orgasm hits suddenly. Sharp. And you cry out. Nails digging into his skin as you come hard. Body trembling.
He groans out loud. Working you through it. “M’gonna ruin this cunt, aren’t I?”
Your hands are fumbling with the buckle of his belt. Eager to get it off. The leather slips. Clinks.
“Impatient little thing, hm?” He grins. Hands looping with yours to yank the belt loose. Shoving his pants and boxers down far enough to free his cock.
Your breath catches. He’s thick. Hard. And flushed to the tip.
Charles groans as he fists himself once. His forehead presses to yours. “Wanted….wanted to do this properly. In bed. Take my time with you, cherie. Strip you slow…..worship this cunt for hours, yeah? But you….” He cuts himself off with a sharp intake of breath as you push your hips toward him. “You’re begging now…can’t fuckin wait, hm?”
You pull him closer. “Don’t care…” your voice is needy. “Want you now..here. Please.” You practically beg.
He laughs in disbelief. “Mon dieu, you’re….you’re going to kill me.” He raises one leg, slipping his hand on the underside of your knee to hold it up. His grin is brutal.
And the angle of your hips changes, letting him drag his cock once….twice…through your folds before lining himself up and pushing in.
The world quite literally fades away as he buries himself in you. The skin on skin. The way his name tastes on your tongue when you moan it out. And he’s so deep its like he’s trying to brand himself inside of you.
“F-fuckkkk,” he groans. “Mon ange…y’don’ know what you’re doing to me…” his voice cracks. His thrusts are rough and relentless. Like he’s chasing something he’s needed for years.
You can barely recollect moving. The floor is cold against your knees. Wall firm at his back. But all you can feel is him. Stretching you. Filling you.
And his hands fumble at your hips as you straddle him. His head against the wall as you sink down on him.
You press the palm of your hands flat agains this chest, using it for some kind of leverage as you roll your hips into him. His eyes are pinched shut. “F-fuck…oui, like that….fuck fuck, keep going…s’il te plaît…” His fingers dig into the skin of your ass, pushing you down harder into him. Faster.
And every bounce has you gasping. Thighs shaking. But when he opens his eyes, glinting with something borderline worshipful…keeps you going. And his lips are pressing beneath your jaw. Licking. Sucking.
You grind down harder.
“Look at you,” he breathes out. Eyes fucking wild. “Takin me so well, cherie….made f’me, yeah?” His voice cracks. And it has your skin burning.
You whimper. Pressing your nails into his shoulder. “Charles…”
“Oui, chérie….say it again.” He groans as you squeeze around him. “Can feel y’milking me…want me to fill you, hm?? Want to be so full y’can’t think of anyone else?”
And the words have you riding him harder. Chasing that heat building in your belly fast. His gaze never leaves you.
“Gonna make me….f-fuck fuck fuck,…gonna make me come…” His hips start pushing up into you. Trying to meet you in the middle.
“Yes…fuck…” You clench. “Want y’to come inside me…”
And that’s all it takes.
His hand is slipping to the back of your neck. Wrapping around it firmly…squeezing…pulling your lips to his. Mouth crashing into yours as he swallows your cries.
And your orgasm rips through you.
And then he’s spilling into you. Muttering nothing but curses as he holds you down on his cock. And his grip is fucking bruising.
It takes a few more strokes until you’re just limp against his body. Him pressed into the wall, seated on the floor. He presses soft kisses to the skin of your neck…your collarbone…your lips.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, cherie/“
You manage to let out a small laugh. Limp. “At least its a good way to go, right?”
He laughs. “M’so fucked.”
You blink. Sit up to look him in the eyes. And he looks so soft. So happy.
“Like emotionally or like…physically?”
He gives you a lopsided grin. “Both…definitely both.” His fingers trail your face.
The corners of your lips twitch.
“No saving me?”
“Not tonight…” Your hands curl around his. “Maybe tomorrow.”
He closes his eyes. Head rested agains the wall. “Good. I’ll still need that coffee tomorrow.”
You drop your head into his shoulder. Laughing. And he presses a kiss to your head. And for a while you just sit there. Silent. Comfortable.
pairing: charles leclerc (older brother bff!) x fem!reader
summary: in which your older brother's best friend is definitely off-limits OR you and charles find yourselves orbiting around each other regardless of a five year age-gap.
warnings: language, some smut, 18+, fluff, idk this was just like fun and cute dynamic...NOT PROOFREAD (prob typos and stuff)
word count: 8k+
author's note: I hope you guys like this. it's just a lot of snippets of moments of them. it was fun and cute to write. & I def would consider going back and writing for them again in the future!! xoxo, hope you enjoy
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Age 22 and 27.
One thing about Charles is that he was always there.
Not literally. Not in the clingy or suffocating way. And not in the way like when your mother berates you on the daily for leaving your shoes scattered in the hallway whenever you’re in a rush…orr how your brother critiques your clothes on the daily. But for the most part…yeah, he was around.
There in the kitchen at most dinner’s. Thanking your mom in French until her eyes lit up like stars. There in the living room, half-asleep on the couch after practice. One hand slung over his face while your brother insisted they’d only play one more round of FIFA.
There in the background of every Christmas photo. Sometimes blurred. Sometimes right smack in the center. Sometimes holding a fucking plate of cookies like he’s part of the family. Always present.
And you literally cannot remember a time you didn’t have a crush on him. Sometimes you wonder if you came out of the womb pre-programmed for it. For him.
Because were you ever supposed to stand a single chance?
Charles was….well, Charles.
Messy hair that never behaved, even when he tried. And you know he tried…gel, water, the whole nine yards…but his hair did whatever it wanted. And it was still annoyingly perfect. Even when he slept on it and it was sticking up in all different ways.
Eyes too green. Always crinkling at the corners whenever he laughed or smiled. It made your heart want to fucking jump out of your chest sometimes.
And don’t even get fucking started on his mouth. Soft. Pink. Always twitching. Or curling at the corners like he’s about to say something he shouldn’t. Chewing on his bottom lip once in a while whenever he’s thinking too hard.
Like right now.
Sprawled in a kitchen chair across from you like he’s got nowhere better to be. Elbow’s pressed into the wood of the table. Fingers pressed to his bottom lip, chewing, as he squints at the cards in his hand like they offend him.
“It’s UNO…not fuckin’ chess,” you groan. Fanning your cards.
His eyes flick up. Green. Sharp. “Strategy is everything.”
“It’s literally just luck.”
“Strategy,” he repeats. Then slaps down a green seven like he’s solving a fucking war.
Your brother groans from the other end. “You’ve been staring at those cards for like ten fuckin years. Play it or pass.”
Charles ignores him. “She’s just panicking…” He says lightly. Eyes flicking to yours. “That’s why she’s rushing me.”
His grin is quick. Sharp. Aimed at you. “Patience is a virtue.”
“Not one of yours,” you spit back.
Your brother slams a card down muttering a kill me now, please.
Charles finally sets down two green skips onto the table. Making it his turn again. “Oops.”
“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath. But not low enough for him to miss it.
He leans back in his chair, lips twitching. “Language,” he mutters. Soft enough that your brother can’t hear it, but enough for you to know that its just for you.
And that’s the game. Really.
Three of you at a table. But sometimes, it only feels like two.
Because Charles meets your gaze like there’s a conversation happening through it. And he smirks whenever you roll your eyes. Like he’s trying to memorize the way you do it.
Like he isn’t five years older than you.
-
Age 12 and 17.
You sit on the curb. Your legs stretched out awkwardly in front of you. Stink fingered and sulking as the last of your ice pop drips faster than you can eat. The juice trails down your wrist. Staining red. And you smear it against your shorts but all it does is leave a splotchy handprint of dye on them.
The afternoon at the karting track is brutal. The sun is too high. Too hot. Making everything feel stronger. Smell stronger. Gasoline…burnt rubber…you name it.
The heat waves across the asphalt. And the sounds of the engines have been so constant that you’ve stopped noticing it for the most part.
“Here.”
You look up.
Charles crouches in front of you. Water bottle extended in the palm of his hand. His helmet dangles from his other hand. Hair damp and stuck to his forehead. His cheeks tinted pink from not only the heat, but the effort he put on the track as well.
And he looks like he belongs here. Like the track was made for him.
Whereas you….you look like the little sister who got dragged along because your mom said she didn’t want you home alone.
“Don’t want it,” you grumble. Wiping at the stickiness on your wrist.
“Trust me, y’do.” Voice calm as he nudges the water bottle closer. Close enough until you can feel the condensation against your knuckles.
“Seriously…m’fine.”
He lifts his brows like he doesn’t believe you. “You’re twelve.”
“So?”
“Soooo,” his eyes crinkle a bit. “Word on the street s’that twelve year olds can’t handle the heat.”
You narrow your eyes. “You’re only seventeen. That doesn’t make you ancient.”
He laughs. “M’definitely old enough to know when someone’s about to faint.”
“M’not gonna.”
He hums. Skeptical. Leans forward and plants the bottle in your lap like it was always meant to be there. “Y’would. And then your maman will blame me. So drink it, s'il te plaît.”
Your cheeks burn. And it has nothing to do with the sun this time. No, this is because of the small French tumbling out of his lips. So you roll your eyes and twist the bottle open dramatically.
You glare at him over the top of the bottle as you take a sip. Like you’re making some point.
“Better,” he says immediately. Smug.
You stick your tongue out toward him. But he’s already standing to his feet. And he should walk away now. Should head back to the pit to joke with your brother.
But he doesn’t. At least, not yet.
He drags a hand over your head, ruffling your hair until its sticking all over the place.
“Hey!” You swat his arm. “Don’t!!!”
“Can’t help it.” He grins down at you. Eyes too green and too kind. “Y’make it sooo easy.”
And then he’s jogging off toward the others. Helmet swinging in his hand. Leaving you behind with crazy hair, cherry red fingers….and a water bottle you’ll never say thank you for.
Because that’s who Charles is. He teases you, annoys you. But always looks out for you.
Like family.
-
Age 14 and 19.
You slam the screen door of the house so hard that it fully rattles against the frame. Heat clings to your skin the moment you step outside. Birds and bugs buzzing. Your arms are crossed, nails digging into your skin because if you don’t you might just fucking scream.
Your brother’s voice still carries through the house. Muffled from the distance but still sharp.
Overreacting, he’d called you. Acting like a fucking spoiled brat.
The kind of comments that he’ll forget after dinner, but you’ll remember for days.
You drop onto the porch steps. Pulling your knees to your chest. Trying not to blink too fast to prevent any tears from spilling. But your eyes burn. Not really tears…but close enough.
The door opens again a few moments later. Shuts a little quieter than before.
“Hey.”
You don’t look up right away. But you know it’s him. Charles’s sneakers scuff against the floor before he lowers himself to the step beside you. Close enough that you feel his presence but careful to leave enough space.
“Your brother’s an idiot.” He says it like its some fact. Not just his opinion.
A laugh, short and shaky, escapes before you can stop it. “Tell me something I don’t know, Cha.”
He bumps his shoulder against yours lightly. “He doesn’t mean it, y’know…he just runs his mouth whenever he’s worked up.”
You nod, but barely. Your chin is dug into your knees.
“Yeah.” He leans back against his hands, his palms flat agains the wood. Eyes on the yard. “He’s been like that for forever….loud first…thinks later.”
You finally glanced at him. And he looks calm. Hair damp from the pool, white t-shirt clinging in spots he didn’t fully dry off. You think it’s unfair how at ease he is when you feel like you might just explode.
“And you still hang out with him?” Your voice flat.
“Someone’s gotta keep him outta trouble.” He grins. “It’s a public service….really.”
And that makes you laugh. For real. Easing the tension in your throat and chest.
The sound of it makes him glance at you. Before he looks back to the open yard.
After a beat, he tilts his head. Steady. “Y’weren’t overreacting…he…he, uh should’ve listened.”
The words land a little heavier than you expect.
You press your face into your knees a little harder. Just so he won’t see you smile.
-
Age 16 and 21
The paddock is a lot to handle. Cameras everywhere, people rushing by, the sun outright burning the pavement to be hotter than it should be allowed to be. And your brother is already halfway down the lane. Completely forgetting about your presence.
Typical.
You hang back, taking your time. Sipping on some water thats already gone warm from the heat. And you’re trying not to look lost…but the truth is, the place feels huge.
And then someone is whistling. Loud. Sharp.
You freeze.
A man…maybe mid-thirties. Older. Lanyard digging right into his gut. Leaning against the barrier with his phone angled at you. Smile stretched wrong.
“C’mon, love…give us a smile. Just one picture…” He hollers. “Pretty girl like you just doesn’t walk past every day.”
Your stomach flips. Fingers clenching around the water bottle. And you’re about to say something…anything…but then you see Charles’s head turn.
He doesn’t miss much.
Never has.
One moment he’s laughing with his Ferrari engineer. The next, he’s walking back towards you with his jaw tight. And the space between you and the main shrinks in a blink. Charles slipping in front of you so fast that you nearly stumble into his back.
“That’s enough,” he says.
Not loud. Or even angry. Just firm.
The man stammers. Tries to laugh it off a bit. “Just a p…just a photo…”
“She’s sixteen, y’sick fuck.” Charles doesn’t raise his voice. But he really doesn’t need to. His tone says everything. “Delete it.”
The man’s face scrunches into a sour expression. But he taps his screen to delete the photo and then shoves it back into his pocket.
Charles doesn’t move until the man falls back into the crowd. And only once he’s out of sight does he look at you over his shoulder. Checking you once. Green eyes flicking over you like he’s making sure there’s not a hair out of place.
“Y’okay?”
You nod quickly. “Yeah…m’fine.”
He doesn’t believe you. You can see it in the way his eyes linger for a few moments longer. The way they sweep over you. Face. Shoulders. Hands. Takes note of the water bottle crunched in your fist. And the flush of pink on your cheeks.
His jaw ticks.
But he doesn’t push you. Instead, he angles himself closer. Brushing the back of his hand along your elbow. A subtle, gentle touch. More than enough to keep you grounded.
And he stays there.
All the way down the lane. Keeps himself between you and the swarm of bodies. Blocking the photographers from getting you.
It’s all instinctive.
Your brother reappears by the time you make it to the motorhome. Oblivious as fuck. “Where’d you two go? Y’nearly missed Toto…he was right…”
Charles cuts him a look. Sharp enough to make your brother pause. “She was behind.” He says. “Pay attention next time, would you?”
Your brother rolls his eyes. “She’s fine.”
Charles doesn’t answer. Just opens the motorhome door, guiding you in first.
And for a moment, you catch the edge of his face. Jaw tight. Lips pressed thin. Like he’s fighting the urge to go back out there.
And maybe to him, it’s nothing. Just doing what he’s always done for you. Watching…stepping in….making sure you’re always okay.
But to you, your cheeks go hot. And it feels like the only safe thing in the whole area was standing right beside him.
-
The motorhome is much cooler. Quieter.
You sink onto the bench. And you keep your eyes on the crunched water bottle. Charles doesn’t sit right away. Instead, he paces a slow line across the small space. Dragging a hand through his hair. His jaw hasn’t unclenched since he saw the photographer earlier.
“Y’should’ve told me.”
Your head snaps up. “Told you what?”
His eyes darken. “That he was talking to you…that he had a camera on you. Anything, really.” He breathes deeply. “Y’just stood there.”
“I…” you pause. “I, I didn’t know what to do.
And something breaks in his expression. Not anger…more like fear. And then he crouches in front of you.
“Y’don’t freeze when men like that try something, yeah?” His throat works. “You don’t stay quiet. Y’come find me….always.”
You blink hard. “Cha, I can handle-“
“No.” His tone is sharp. Hand hovering but then closing near your wrist. “Y’shouldn’t have to handle it. Not alone.”
The words hang there. And you swallow.
“People like that…” he pauses. Jaw working. “They don’t get to look at you like that…they don’t get to speak to you like that.” He shakes his head. “Not while I’m here.”
He takes the water bottle from your hand. Sets it aside. And stays close.
“You’re safe with me.” He says. Voice quiet.
-
Age 17 and 22
The restaurant is chaos. Not like people dancing on tables chaos, but it’s loud. Waiters are weaving between and around tables. Glasses are clinking. And you’re crammed into a booth with your brother. Charles across from you.
And your brother is mid-story. Waving his fork in the air like its some baton. And you’ve probably heard this story a bajillion times. Charles too. But not one bothers to chime in.
Charles is leaned back with an arm stretched along the booth. Barely listening. His eyes skim around the room. His watch catching the soft overhead lighting every time he fidgets. And he nods at the right places of the story, but his mind is definitely somewhere else.
Until you cut in.
“Anyways,” you say lightly. Pushing the straw around in your drink. “Jimmy asked me out.”
Your brother freezes mid-gesture. “What?”
Charles blinks. Straightens his back a bit. “Who?”
“Jimmy.” You repeat. Trying to be nonchalant. “Boy in my grade. He asked if I wanted to see a movie or something this weekend.”
And their reactions are immediate.
Your brother drops his fork. “That kid with the mop hair? That guy? Absolutely not!”
Charles is shaking his head at the exact time. “You’re seventeen.” Voice flat.
You groan, falling further into the booth. “Oh my god. I didn’t say I was marrying the guy. S’just a movie.”
“Doesn’t matter,” your brother shoots back. Leaning closer. “You’re too young.”
“Seventeen is not too young for a movie!” You snap.
Charles cuts in. “It’s too young if its with Jimmy.”
You laugh. “Says the guy who was probably kissing girls younger than that!”
His lips thin. “That’s different.”
“How?” You press on. Leaning forward on the table now. Feeding into the crack of his usual calm demeanor. “Because you’re you?”
“Yes.” He says simply. Like it’s true.
Your brother groans. Muttering about how exhausting you are, but you barely hear him. Because your focus is on Charles. On the way his hand tightens around his glass. On how he doesn’t look away.
And you realize he’s not only annoyed. But he’s fucking rattled.
“Y’can’t stop me.” You say.
He breathes through his nose. And for a moment you’re convinced you see a flicker in his eyes. Frustration. Disbelief. Annoyance. Something close to fear?
“Y’don’t know what you’re asking for,” he mutters.
You fall back into the booth again. “Doesn’t matter…m’going.”
Your brother starts another protest, but Charles just sits there. Watching you like he cant decide if he wants to drag you back into that neat little box he’s always kept you in.
Or just admit that you really don’t fit so neatly into that little box anymore.
-
Age 18 and 23
It doesn’t hit him like some lightning bolt. No…it’s slower than that. Sneakier.
Charles is leaning against the balcony railing. Phone loose in his hand as he pretends to scroll. And you’re just there…tucked into a chair across from him. Legs pulled up with a book. It’s nothing special.
An ordinary moment.
And that’s why it rattles him so bad.
Because when the fuck did it change?
When did the little kid who used to follow him and your brother around the karting track covered in popsicle juice…turn into this?
The version of you with your hair twisted into messy bun, strands falling loose. Bare shoulders catching the last of the light before the sun dips for the night. Gloss covered your lips.
You stretch without looking away from your book. And the hem of your shorts rides a little higher on your thighs. And his chest goes tight. Too tight.
He looks away. Fast. Jaw clenching.
Looks at his phone like it’ll help him.
But he looks back. Always back.
You can feel it…and he knows it. Because you begin to lower your book slowly, glancing at him over the spine of your book. Lips curled. “What?”
He clears his throat. Forces himself to shrug. “Nothin.” But his voice sounds wrong.
You set the book in your lap. “You’re staring.”
“M’not.”
But he definitely is.
-
You shouldn’t be here. You’re vividly aware of it as you continue to climb the stairs. Bare feet agains the concrete. Heels hooked in between your fingers. And your head is buzzing.
Going home isn’t an option. Because going home means your mom seeing you like this….masacara smudged, eyes slightly red, reeking of alcohol. She’d have a fucking freak out.
So you end up here. At your brother’s place. At Charles’s place.
You knock once. Soft. When no one answers, you knock harder.
And then the deadbolt is clicking, the door opening.
Charles.
Hair a mess. Sticking in every direction like he was just asleep (he was). And his voice is scratchy and low.
“Mon dieu,” His eyes flick over you. Quick. Sharp. “D’you know what fuckin time it is?”
You try to straighten up. Try to pretend you haven’t been out drinking and partying. Pretend you’re sober. But your voice slurs. “Mmmm late?”
“Three in the morning.” He leans against the door frame with his arms crossed. But he doesn’t make you stand there for long. He steps aside, giving you space. “Get in before someone else sees y'like this.”
You scoot past him. Toes padding along the wooden floor.
Charles shuts the door and when you turn to look at him…he’s already watching. Assessing you.
“Where’s my brother?”
“Asleep…like a normal person….like I just was.” His mouth twitches. “Unlike you.”
You flop onto the couch, throw your shoes down onto the rug. And run a hand over your face. “Don’t lecture now….can’t do it.”
He doesn’t move. Stays still. Barely even blinks. But tilts his head.
“Didn’t even say anything.”
But he’s thinking it. And you can feel it. Thinking about how late it is, about your glassy eyes, about what your mother would say if she saw you like this.
And then he’s scooping your shoes from the rug. Setting them by the wall neatly. Because of course he does. Even when annoyed, he’s careful.
“Yeah…but you’re thinking it…” you grin with your eyes shut. “Thinking about how late it is….how I look-“
“Y’look drunk.”
“Exactly.” You look at him through your lashes, eyes half-lidded. “And y’hate it.”
His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. But not really. And then he drops onto the chair opposite of you. Elbows on his knees.
“Y’shouldn’t be out like that.” He says. Voice…firm.
You hum. Swing a leg over the other one. And the strap of your dress slips off your shoulder. “And what??? Miss all the fun?”
“Fun…” he repeats. Voice dry.
You sit up and lean forward now. Resting your chin in your hands. “Y’jealous?”
His eyes narrow. “Not even close.”
But he’s looking. And you can tell. The way his jaw tightens. The way his fingers tap against his knee like its some reminder for him to keep still.
And for a moment…you realize you might have more of a chance with Charles than you ever thought you would.
And the thought warms your skin. As you grin at him. “Sure doesn’t look like it.”
His mouth twitches. “Go to sleep, cherie.” He says, standing to his feet. “Before y’say something y’regret.”
But you don’t miss the pause in his steps. The way his eyes flick back at you one more time. Just to be sure.
And you think it could be nothing.
But you know better.
-
The beach is busy. Kids shrieking at the shoreline. Music bumping from someone’s speaker a few towels down. Seagulls dive-bombing at any possibility of food thievery. And it smells like sunscreen and salt.
You’re lounged on your blue striped towel. Legs stretched out. Laughing at something one of the boys from school said. He’s all joy and sunburn, bleached tips from chlorine and sun. And he keeps leaning closer whenever he talks. You let him.
Charles notices. Of course he does.
And he’s supposed to be napping under the umbrella. Sunglasses low. Your brother beside him, scrolling on his phone. But Charles’s head tips just slightly whenever he hears your laugh. Jaw tightening just a bit with each laugh.
“Relax,” your brother says without looking away from his phone. “She’s not twelve.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Charles spits back. Grip rather tight on the water bottle than necessary.
“Didn’t have to.” He smirks at his screen.
Out in the sun, you’re still laughing at whatever this loser says. Too close. Too tan. And you tilt your head back to face the sun. Lips shiny with gloss. And a little smug.
Charles feels it like a needle beneath his skin.
And then he can’t help himself. He’s up. Suddenly standing over you. Bottle of sunscreen in hand.
“You’ll burn.” His voice is flat.
“I won’t.” You roll to your side, placing a hand over your forehead to squint up at him. “M’fine.”
The boy beside you laughs. “I was just sayin the same thing…she missed a spot right he-“
Charles is already kneeling down. Ignoring both of you. Squiring the lotion into his palm. “Hold still.”
“Charles…”
“Stay still.” He smooths the sunscreen across your shoulder. Down your arm. His touch firm enough to leave no room for the boy to even think about stepping in.
And then the boy is shifting awkwardly. Muttering something about needing to go catch the waves and then wanders off.
You look at Charles. Heat crawling up your neck. “Seriously, Cha? I said I didn’t need it.”
“You did.” He leaves no room for argument. Wiping his hands on the towel without even glancing at you. “Better now, yeah?”
And then he’s standing again. Back beneath the umbrella. Slipping his sunglasses back onto the slope of his nose.
Your brother doesn’t even glance up from his phone. “Thanks for babysitting,” he laughs.
Charles doesn’t answer. His jaw is tight. Fingers tapping at his knee. Controlled.
But you….
You can’t stop smiling into the towel.
-
Age 21 and 26
The Dolomites are nothing like home. Almost everything is cold, white, and endless. Snow stacked high on the rooftops of every building. Trees covered with frost. And the mountains are sharp.
The house your family rents is all wood beams and stone. Windows slightly fogged as the fire burns inside.
Everyone has gone to bed. Worn out.
Except you….except Charles.
You’re sitting on the back steps. Boots partially unlaced and a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. The air bites your nose, tinging it a little red. And you know you should go inside. You should. But the cold is kinda relaxing. Keeps your head clear.
The door clicks open and then he’s there. Charles.
His cheeks are slightly pink from the cold. Hair messy beneath a knit beanie, and his jacket is half open.
He pauses when he sees you, but only for a second. And then he’s sitting beside you on the step.
“S’cold.” He says softly.
“Yeah,” you mutter. Clutching the blanket a little tighter. “Helps clear my head, y’know?”
He hums. Nods like he gets it. And for a while you just sit there, shoulders brushing against each other every so often. Listening to the silence.
You glance at him. Like really glance. And it knocks the air out of your lungs. Because he’s older. Steadier. And the faint glow of the lights catch the green of his eyes. The curve of his mouth.
And for the first time, he doesn’t feel untouchable.
You tilt your head. “Thought you’d be asleep by now, grandpa.”
“Couldn’t.” He shrugs.
“Was it the wine?”
He looks at you. His eyes glint. “Maybe y’did.”
Your heart pounds. And you laugh too quickly. Trying to make it seem normal, but failing. “What? Why, cause I stole the last glass?”
He grins. “That too.”
You bump your shoulder into his. “You’re terrible at relaxing, y; know? Always watching…always worrying.”
“Well someone has to keep y’out of trouble.”
“Mmm. My brother definitely isn’t doing it.”
“Exactly.” He says. Voice soft. Eyes lingering a bit too long.
And you turn to face him more. Tugging the blanket closer. “What would y’even do without me to babysit? You’d be so bored.”
“Sleep more.” He fires back.
You lean closer. Smiling. “Bet you’d miss me though.”
And his laugh is low. Shaky. “Impossible.”
“Liar.” You whisper.
And the word hangs there. He doesn’t bother to look away fast enough. His gaze flicks to your mouth. Quick. Like it was some sort of mistake. And then his fingers tap his knee like he’s telling himself not to move. To stay still.
And you lean a little closer. Just to see. Testing.
And that’s all it takes.
His lips find yours. Soft. Cold. A hint of red wine. It’s clumsy but his hand comes up to your jaw, holding you when you begin to sway a bit.
And then he breaks. Pulls back hard.
“No.” His voice is sharp. Horse. “We can’t…we can’t do this.”
Your heart hurts. “Charles…”
He shakes his head. Drags his palms over his face. “You’re…you’re my best friend’s sister…littlesister….You’re….It’s wrong.”
His words sting more than the freezing weather.
He stands quickly. Muttering something in French that you can’t really hear. And then disappears inside before you can even say a word.
You stay on the steps. Lips tingling. Blanket clutched tight.
You don’t move for a while.
-
The lodge is warm and crowded. You’re sitting at a high table. Swinging one booted foot as your skirt rides justa little higher than it should. It’s plaid and definitely short enough that your mom had to click her tongue at it. Paired with an oversized sweater that keeps slipping off your left shoulder no matter how many times you tug it back up. So eventually, you stop trying.
You look good. Effortless.
“Another?” The boy beside you asks. Lifting his empty glass in your eye view. He’s smiling, pink cheeks, and tall. He looks sweet. You don’t really care.
You’re pretty sure his name is Max…or Matt….
“Sure,” you smile. Sipping the last of your drink. “But only if y’promise not to tell another stupid ski joke….”
He laughs, nudges you with his arm. “C’mon it was funny.”
“Y’mean terrible, right?” You correct, lips twitching in amusement. “Y’just wanted to try to brag about how fast y’can get down the mountain.”
“Well….m’the fastest here…” He taps his chest. Proud. But also joking (kind of…not really).
You gasp. “Oh my god…should I…should I like swoon now?”
He grins wider. Leaning in closer. “Would y’swoon harder if I said I can beat your brother?”
Now you’re laughing. Bright. “Listen…everyone thinks they can beat my brother. And they can.”
Across the room, you feel it like fucking gravity. Charles. Leaning against the bar with a beer bottle in his hand. Your brother beside him.
He’s nodding at whatever your brother’s saying, but his gaze keeps shifting. Slipping. Landing on you.
And every time it does, it feels like your chest might crack.
Because last night happened.
A kiss. Heat…wine…the press of his warm mouth against yours. Quick. His hand beneath your jaw. Holding you like he wanted to. And then his panicked whisper of we can’t before he disappeared like he was on fire.
Too young. Too messy. Probably too many reasons that sounded like nothing but damn excuses.
You’ve barely looked at each other since.
And you hate that you want to go up to him and demand he admit it was something. Hate that it makes you ache.
But instead, you just push harder. Which he notices. Of course he does.
“Be right back, birthday girl…” He reaches for your empty glass.
“Not my birthday,” your lips curl a bit.
“Could’ve fooled me…you’re practically glowing.” He winks. Disappears to the bar.
You roll your eyes but can’t stop that little smile from stretching across your lips. At least, until your gaze slips back to Charles across the room again.
And he isn’t laughing anymore.
Isn’t even smiling.
His jaw is set. And his green eyes are sharp across the room like he’s actually been watching the entire time. And the perfect braid bitch at his side says something…nudges his arm when he doesn’t look at her. But he still keeps his eyes on you.
And suddenly everything feels hollow. Because no matter how hard you try to flirt or how cute you feel. The onlyreaction you want is for a man burning a hole straight through you across the bar.
A man who claims that you can’t happen.
-
“Strongest they had….” He slips the whiskey into your hand. “Figured y’could handle it.”
You smirk. “Oh really?”
He laughs. “Y’don’t strike me as a vodka soda girly.”
You smile at that. Shark-like. “And what kind of girl do I look like to you again?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Beautiful. Someone who can keep up.”
It should land. And it almost does. But then a voice slides up from behind you. Low.
“She hates whiskey.”
You don’t bother to turn around. Because your stomach is in knots telling you its Charles.
He’s standing at your table now. Still holding a beer. The sleeves of his cable-knit sweater shoved to his elbows. He doesn’t look at you…at least not right away.
He’s too busy staring at the boy. Trying to be casual…but it’s not.
The boy blinks. Lets out a small laugh. “What?”
Charles tips his head at your glass. “She doesn’t like it…never did. Always makes a face after the first sip.”
You feel the heat creep up your neck.
And just to prove a point, you force yourself to lift the glass and swallow. And it fucking burns all the way down your throat, makes your eyes slightly water a bit…but you manage to smile sweetly after. “Not tonight.”
Charles looks at you then. Jaw slightly tight and then he’s taking a sip of his beer. “Mmmm, sure.”
Matt (you think) nudges your arm. “Guess you’ve got him fooled, yeah?”
“She fools people all the time.” Charles says. And the words sit heavy between the both of you.
You glare at him. Turn back to the boy. “Ignore him. He’s basically my other brother.” You throw the dig.
Just to see if it hurts him a little. It does.
But it makes Matt laugh. “You’ve probably known each other for forever then, hm?”
Charles mouth twitches. Not really a smile. “Long enough.”
The boy leans in closer. Oblivious. “Then I guess you know that she can handle herself, yeah?”
Charles gives him a tight lipped smile. Drinks from his beer. Still doesn’t leave.
And the silence stretches too long.
“M’gonna go grab us another round.” Which you know is probably a lie, considering he just came back with more.
And the moment he’s gone, the air completely shifts.
Charles places his bottle down on the table. “Y’don’t like whiskey.”
You roll your eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ, Charles. You’ve made your damn point.”
“M’not making a point.” He says. Voice hush. “M’just telling you not to drink something you hate just to-“
“Just to what? You cut him off. “Just to prove that m’not a kid?? To show I can make my own choices?”
His gaze doesn’t falter. Green. Sharp. “Just to get under my skin.”
Your heart stutters. “Maybe it worked then.”
His mouth twitches. “Congratulations.”
You lean forward. Voice coated with sweetness. “Relax, Cha…m’not just throwing myself at anyone who looks my way.”
His gaze narrows. “Could’ve fooled me.”
And it lands like a slap.Your cheeks redden. “At least they don’t act like kissing me would be the end of the fucking world.”
And the air feels like its on fucking fire. His throat tightens.
“Don’t.” He grunts. “Don’t bring that up here.”
You don’t look away.
“Why? Why not, Cha?” Your heart feels like its in your throat. “Is it too real for you?”
“Because it shouldn’t have happened.” He spits.
You laugh. But its humorless. “Yeah….yeah, I got that part already.” You slip off your stool, pushing it back in the process. Causing it to screech against the wooden floor a bit. “Which is why m’not gonna waste time with someone who doesn’t even want me.”
And before you can so much as take a single step away…his hand closes around your wrist. Firm.
Hot.
“Don’t twist my words,” His voice is tight. Closer. His eyes stay locked on yours. “Y’think I don’t want-“ He cuts himself off, dragging a hand over his jaw. “You don’t get it.”
You freeze under his grip. And for a few moments its as if all the chaos of the lodge as disappeared.
“You’re right.” You bite out. Voice breaking a bit. “I don’t get it…I don’t get why y’kissed me if y’were just gonna make me feel like a fucking kid after it.”
His hand tightens just a bit before he finally releases it. Like it hurts him to let go.
“Because it’s not….it’s not that simple as you think.”
And it makes you want to fucking scream. To rip your hair out. Because it is simple. At least, to you.
-
Your brother’s rummaging through the kitchen drawers. Muttering something about tape and scissors. You’ve got a list on your phone…gift ideas for mom…and he’s dragged you into helping him because he claims you’re just better at this stuff.
Charles is there too. Of course. Leaning against the counter, his sleeves pushed up. Watching like he belongs.
“Thought we could go into town after lunch,” your brother glances up. “There’s a little shop there that she likes…”
“Good with me,” You say. Scrolling on your phone.
Your brother groans, shutting a drawer. “I’ll check my room…again.” He says. “Hold on.”
And then he’s gone, footsteps carrying down the hall.
Silence fills the kitchen.
Charles crosses his arms, watching you scroll. You don’t look at him.
“Keep staring at that thing and you’ll need glasses by twenty five.”
“Mmm.”
He raises a brow. Waiting for the usual jab. Like how he’s practically blind already, or that you’d look better in glasses.
Nothing.
“Y’know,” he tries again. Pushing off the counter to step closer. “Your brother’s hopeless with this shit…without you, he’d be getting a bottle of cheap wine and calling it the gift of heaven.”
You tap at your screen. “Then it’s probably good I’m here.”
It lands flat.
He studies you, jaw flexing.
“Normally you’d give me some credit, yeah?” His mouth twitches. “Whats wrong? Saving all your comments for later?”
You glance up for a quick second. Just to meet his eyes. Look back at your phone. “Don’t have any left I guess.”
The words sting sharper than you mean them too and he fucking feels it.
He just stands there. Drags a hand across the back of his neck. A bit restless.
“You’re really not gonna talk to me?” His voice drops lower. Less teasing. More…raw.
You shrug. “Already did. Said it’s fine to go to the shop, yeah?”
“Not what I meant.” He grunts. “And you know it.”
Silence.
And it stings a lot. Because he’s not used to this. He’s used to you engaging. Meeting him in the middle. Matching him.
But this silence gnaws at him.
-
The next few days you make it a point to avoid him. Which is easy, mostly.
And it works.
Only because Charles lets you do it. He doesn’t push or corner you. He just watches.
And then it happens in the middle of dinner prep. Your brother is upstairs showering. You’re cutting up some veggies at the counter with your head down. Pretending you don’t feel Charles standing near the sink.
“Knife skills need work,” He says casually. Like he’s testing if its okay.
You don’t look up. “I’ll live.”
He exhales through his nose. You keep cutting.
And then suddenly he’s grabbing your wrist, pulling the knife out of your grip. Setting it on the counter.
“What-“ you begin, but he’s already guiding you to the back door.
“We’re talking.” He cuts you off.
“Charles…”
“Non. Enough.”
The cold air hits your face as he nudges you outside. Shutting the door. And its quiet. He holds your wrist until you’re yanking it out of his grip.
“What the fuck-“
“You’ve been ignoring me for days.” He snaps. “I can’t…I won’t pretend that it’s not obvious.”
You fold your arms. “Take a hint.”
His jaw clenches. “Y’think I haven’t? Y’really think I haven’t tried to pull you away? It’s driving me insane.”
Your throat tightens. “Good…guess y’know how it feels then.”
The silence between you crackles. Like he wants to reach for you.
And then he takes a deep breath. “Y’think I don’t want you.”
You laugh. Bitter. “That’s exactly what y’told me Charles.”
He flinches a bit. “No. That’s not….I told you that we couldn’t. Not that I didn’t.”
You stare at him, blinking hard.
“Y’think this is easy? That I don’t feel…” He pauses. Dragging a hand through his hair. Pacing a bit like he needs some distance. “I’ve spent years telling myself you’re off limits. That you’re….that…”
“My brother’s best friend?” You snap. “Practically family? Too young?”
“Yes!” His voice practically shouts. Cracking a bit. And then he lowers his voice. “All of it. And it doesn’t…it doesn’t make any of this easier f’me.”
You laugh again. Shaky. “Then why bother at all? Why kiss me if y’can’t? Why slam the door right after and rush away? Do you even know what that felt like?”
He drops his head a bit. Doesn’t answer.
“I’ve liked you for years. And I thought…” your voice cracks, but you continue anyways. “I thought that maybe…just maybe you finally saw me the same way. But you don’t. You never will. And I’m done wasting my time.”
You turn to reach for the door handle. But he reaches for your wrist again.
“Don’t say that.” He mutters. His voice raw.
Your eyes blaze, turning back toward him. And he’s so much closer. “Why not? It’s the truth!”
“Because you’re wrong.”
And his eyes drop to your mouth .For a second. And it feels like you’re both standing on the edge of a cliff.
And still, he doesn’t move. Just keeps holding your wrist.
“Then show me.”
And he just stares. Like he doesn’t believe what you’re saying. Like it’s taking everything in him to restrain himself.
But then it all shatters.
And he’s tugging you forward. Not aggressively. But desperate almost.
And his mouth crashes onto yours.
It’s hot. Sharp. And nothing like the first, careful kiss you’ve shared a few weeks ago. This one is all teeth and tongue.
You gasp into him. And he practically swallows the sound whole. Pressing you closer into him.
Your fingers fist the front of his sweater, pulling him closer. Needing him closer. He groans hotly into your mouth.
And then he’s pulling back. Breath ragged. “Merde…”
“Don’t.” You cut him off. Lips swollen. “Don’t you dare ruin this.”
But he looks at you like he already has ruined everything. Like he knows that he can’t stop himself from wanting you now.
And it terrifies him.
But not enough to stop him from leaning in again.
Stealing another kiss.
-
The first time happens late. Later than it should. The house is quiet. Your brother passed out upstairs. And you both had been drinking. Not drunk but like loose. Laughter spilling over the cards scattered all over the table.
But now the laughter’s gone.
And you’re pressed against the wall of the hallway. Charles’s hand above your head. And he’s chest is rising and falling as if he just did a marathon.
“We shouldn’t,” he mutters. Forehead practically touching yours.
“I know,” you whisper.
But then he’s kissing you. Hard. Desperate.
Your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him close. And he groans deep in his throat. Breaking apart to mutter fuck…this is wrong
“Then stop,” you breathe. Fingers already slipping beneath his shirt. Palms pressing into his warm, toned skin.
He doesn’t.
The kiss deepens. Rougher. Hands everywhere. Your hips. The small of your back. Your jaw,
And he lifts you before you can even protest. Your back hitting the door of his bedroom in the process. And it makes you both freeze in fucking place…listening, waiting.
Nothing. Your brother sleeps on.
And Charles is kissing you again. Swallowing you whole practically. He sets you down on the bed. Stares at you for a moment like he’s trying to burn the image of you on his bed into his brain. Flushed…breathless….fucking beautiful.
“This is a mistake,” he whispers again. But he doesn’t mean it. And you know it. It’s his final moment of protest.
“Then make it with me,” you whisper.
And that’s the last thread of restraint he has.
Because he’s on you again. Kissing you until your lips ache. Until you’re both gasping for air. Hands fumbling with your clothes. And its clumsy in the dark room. Frantic with the urgency of years built up to this.
“Christ,” he groans. Kissing down your throat. His teeth sinking gently into your shoulder occasionally.
You gasp, hips bucking against his.
Clothes come off in a rush. His sweats shoved down…your shorts thrown away. And then his hands are slipping between your thighs. His fingers find your core easily. Slick and desperate.
“Always so stubborn,” he mutters. Kissing you again. Swallowing your moan as he pushes his fingers in. “Never listen.”
“Shut up.” Your nails dig into his shoulders. But you arch into his touch.
He works his fingers in you until your shaking. Until you’re biting your lip to try to stop the sounds from spilling.
“Mon dieu…..fuckin look at you.” He groans against your ear. Voice rough. Dark. “So fuckin’ wet all over m’hand…” He pumps faster, scissoring his fingers inside of you. Flicking them just right that it has you careening forward with a. Cry.
And then he’s pulling his hand away, tugging your hips closer, lining himself up.
“Tell me y’want this…” he presses his forehead to yours.
“Want you..” Your voice shakes. “Always.”
And that’s all he needs. Because he pushes in. Slow, deep. Stretching you until your back arches off the bed. He groans. Jaw dropping as he bottoms out.
“F-fuck, fuck…” His voice cracks. Green eyes wide.
Your nails scrape down his shoulders. Overwhelmed by how full you feel.
He pulls back just to slam into you. Hard enough that the headboard knocks agains the wall. And a broken sound tears from his throat. “I’ve want this….fuck…wanted this for so long.” His lips are on your neck now. Biting. Sucking. Words hot against your skin. Burning. “Y’don’t even know.”
Every thrust is deeper. Harder. Mesa. He’s talking between every groan, like he can’t stop.
“Years…god…fuckin years I’ve been trying not to look at y’like this..tellin myself…telling myself that I couldn’t. That you were too young…off-limits…” His hips grind into yours a bit harder. His cock hitting that spot in your tummy just right.
Your legs tighten around his waist. Pulling him in closer. And he gasps, his eyes clenched shut as he fucks himself into you harder.
His mouth presses against yours. Kiss messy. And then he’s pulling back to say, “thought…thought I could stay away…protect you. But m’so fucking weak when it comes to you.”
Your orgasm builds sharp and fast. He reaches down to press his thumb to your clit, and you fucking break with a moan muffled against his shoulder. Body shaking as you clench around him.
And the way your cunt squeezes him undoes him instantly.
Even as he comes, he keeps moving. Like he can’t stop. And you’re still pulsing around him…body twitching…when he groans into your shoulder and drives into you harder. Rougher.
“I…fuck…I can’t…” His words are choked. “Tried to stay away…tried to be good..” His thrusts falter. “You ruin me.”
You cry out. Muffled by the crush of his mouth on yours. Hands fisting into your hair, tugging your head back so when he lifts his head he can watch.
Even when he’s empty, he keeps grinding his cock into you.
“Drive me fuckin crazy,” he mutters into your neck. Collapsing into you. “And I’ll still want you again in five minutes…”
And the way he says it so casually…so grumpy…so honest…makes you smile wide.
-
Age 23 and 27
Your brother stomps back in with the bowl of popcorn. Oblivious to the heat buzzing at the table. Plops back down, a shoves a handful of it into his mouth. Mumbling m’never playing again.
Charles doesn’t even look at him. His eyes just stay locked on yours. Smug. “Game’s over anyways.”
“Yeah…cause you cheated.” You shoot back.
He tilts his head, a curve of his lips betraying him. “I don’t cheat.” He pauses. “I win.”
And he knows you remember the bet. The soft whispered winner gets whatever they want tossed out like some joke. But definitely being followed.
Your brother doesn’t notice the way your cheeks burn. Or the way Charles’s foot presses against your beneath the table.
And later, when the house has gone quiet.
Charles collects.
It’s not loud or frantic.
It’s soft. Deliberate. His hands steady as he cups your face in his hands. Mouth lingering on yours like he wishes it could be sewn to yours.
“Mine,” he whispers. Raw. Honest. “Always.”
And it’s moments like this…beneath all the teasing, the secrets…the hidden touches. That makes you remember its not just heat or adrenaline.
It’s love.
The kind that make you both reckless. The kind that keeps you sneaking around.
Soft. Dangerous.
And neither of you have any intention of stopping.
summary: You have the entire office wrapped around your finger. Confident, hard working, and more than sure of your positon. You hold the power to do and say whatever you please. But, theres someone else. Someone else in the office who just might be able to knock you down a few pegs, and for some reason, the idea of being reminded that you are less than you think you are is positively riveting. And maybe for once, you could just lay back and let someone else do all the work…
warnings: so many hr violations, tension, drunken confessions, power dynamics, banter, microsoft ex*el(sorry), hongjoong is a tease, reader is overworked, pet names (ma'am, baby, sweetheart, etc.), dom!hongjoong, office sex, body worship, cocky joong (YES YESYES), unprotected sex, stress relief, whiny joong(YES YES YES X4), praise, oral (f!recieving), over the desk, manhandling, fingering, hair pulling, eye contact, cumming all over your stomach
wc: 10.1k
notes: i've been wanting to write something like this for months, and here it finally is, hongjoong fucking the stress out of his boss (you)
tracklist: the town, #icanteven, black milk
Deadlines to meet. Pitches to present. Meetings to schedule and papers to revise. You were drowning.
You pride yourself on your work ethic, and you rarely let yourself fall behind for anything, no matter what. But with the holidays rapidly approaching, the office would be closed for a few weeks, and things needed to be nipped in the bud before the new year.
Employees swarmed around the office, the clacking of keyboards and the clicking of metal shoe plates, the droning of the printers, and the whispers that flowed from grey cubicles swirled about the space as you stepped out of your office. You did your best to ensure your employees were not overworking themselves, that they got ample time off, and met deadlines without loss of sleep.
However, everyone was on a time crunch. People were planning family trips and making holiday excursions, and the whole office was a chaotic tumble, everyone frantically trying to wrap things up as soon as possible.
You thought that if you stared at Excel for one more second, you would throw your monitor out the 13th-story window. A coffee, that's all you needed right now.
Making a beeline for the break room, you strode past employees offering a curt good afternoon, your eyes drawn to the snow that swirled out the tall glass windows of the building. You stepped into the breakroom, thinking at first you might have had it to yourself so you could brew your coffee in silence before you went back to work.
“Are we allowed to bring Jell-O shots to the holiday party, Ms. L/N?”
Slowly, you closed your eyes and let your head tilt up to the ceiling, a heavy sigh escaping your lungs as annoyance already began to run its course through your veins. You walk forward towards the coffee maker on the counter, completely ignoring the presence of the man standing by the table.
You grab the container of coffee grounds and scoop some into the filter silently.
“Yoo hoo? Is this thing on?” He speaks again, and you almost spill the grounds.
“Why are you in here?” You ask him, switching on the coffee pot and picking at a hangnail.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he presses, and you watch as he leans his head over in your field of vision, a groan bubbling from your throat.
“No, Hongjoong. You cannot bring Jello shots to the holiday party. There will already be drinks provided.” You reluctantly turn your head to look at him.
All charming aura and confident attitude, Kim Hongjoong leans against the counter with a lazy smile, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His dark hair framed around his face in a neat style, a few stray strands here and there that only added to his boyishness. His tie is loose, as always, and his fingers are clasped around a stir stick that he twirls in his hand. And as per usual, he’s giving you that knowing look. That look that always irritates the shit out of you.
Hongjoong was one of your best workers, and you admired his ethic to an extent. But that's as far as it could ever go. In any other department, he was truly insufferable. You almost think he’d make a great manager; he could annoy his employees to get work done just so they could get him to shut up.
He worked well. He met deadlines. He was funny sometimes. Charismatic, always willing to help. And you hated it. Hated him. You felt like he didn’t respect you. You felt like he was prancing around the office with the confidence of ten men, some idea planted in his head that he was above it all. Of course, you never asked him about it. It's just what you thought. You don't have control over him. He met deadlines, but not because of you. His boss. He threw amazing pitches, but not because of you. You felt as though you did not influence him in any way, shape, or form, even though he worked under you. And it drove you fucking crazy.
Always watching. Always whining. Always giving you new reasons to fire him, but you never do.
“Didn’t think so,” he chides, and you nibble on your bottom lip as you watch your coffee slowly drip into the pot. “Okay, how about a charcuterie board. Can I bring one of those?”
“There’ll be a notice of termination on your desk in 5 minutes if you don’t stop asking me stupid questions.” You snap lowly, tapping your fingers on the counter rhythmically, your eyes narrowing at the man in front of you.
His smile only grows and waves you off like he’s dismissing a compliment.
“Ma’am, you do know there's a no-flirting policy. Have some decorum.” You could hear the grin through his words, and you could only roll your eyes in response.
The annual holiday party rolled around at Christmas time. Just a few days before the company shut down until January. It was always a daunting task for you. Find caterers, book a venue, and invite everyone in the entire office. It always went the same: everyone would pregame, show up, get blacked out drunk, and then clock in the next morning with a hangover that could kill God. And nobody ever learned from their mistakes from the previous year because the pattern was continuous, and you were sure this year would be no different.
You never drank at the parties, well, at least not much. You were responsible, as you had to be in the office every morning, punctual and ready to grind for the last few days. Surprisingly, Hongjoong was similar to you in that fashion, staying sober enough to come in the next day, his best self.
But something about the stress that's been weighing you down this past year might urge you to indulge just a little more than usual this time around.
“I assume you’re all caught up.” You pick up the hot pot of coffee and pour it into your cup. You already knew the answer.
“Of course I am, do you even have to ask. That’s why I’m your favorite.” Hongjoong smiles widely and hands you 2 packets of hazelnut creamer and 4 packets of sugar. Just how you like it. You raise an eyebrow and snort, taking the additives and shaking the warm feeling that bloomed on the back of your neck. He was, in fact, not your favorite, but you wondered when he had the time to memorize how you liked your coffee.
“You’re really sure of yourself, Kim.” You tear open the packets and pour them into your cup.
Hongjoong slips the stir stick into his mouth, nibbling on the end gently. His eyes rake over your body for just a moment while you add more sugar to your coffee, his gaze stuttering where your stockings hugged the thickness of your thighs. “That's how I got this job, Ms. L/N.”
You reach for a stir stick, but Hongjoong tries to hand you the one he has. You made a face and reached past his outstretched hand to grab one from the box.
“Rude.” He whines, placing the stir stick back into his mouth. As you stir your coffee, Hongjoong’s eyes remained glued to your face, like he was waiting for you to turn back to him and satiate his attention. You sigh and finally turn to him, your hand on your hip and the stir stick swirling in your cup when you let it go.
“If you’re all caught up, then find something to do, or go home. I don’t really care. But you’re not gonna stand here and annoy me until I’m done with work.”
Hongjoong's smile slickens, like he senses the unease that stirs within you, an unease that he brought up. “I like looking at you, though.” He says simply, a tingle in his tone that makes your chest flutter quietly. “I can’t stay and stare at you until you go home?”
You close your eyes, take in a deep breath, and pick up your coffee cup. Hongjoong watches your every move like it was the most entertaining thing ever, and you hated his stupid, handsome face. It’d be much easier to deal with his bullshit if he were hard to look at.
“Hongjoong, you’re too pretty to be acting this way.” You deadpan, sipping your coffee, your eyes staying glued to his over the rim of your cup.
His eyes widen, and you see his throat bob as he swallows, clearly not expecting you to say something like that, but as he does, he recovers quickly, his sly grin returning promptly. “You think I’m pretty?”
You smile and raise your brows. “Well, yeah, I sure didn’t hire you for your personality.” You click your tongue and set your cup back down. “I can’t help but feel as though you think you’re above me.”
Hongjoong shakes his head slowly, a soft laugh slipping past his lips. “Oh, I would hate to give you that impression, ma’am. I have nothing but the utmost respect for you.” It doesn’t seem sincere; the playful glint in his eyes and the amused tone of his voice make you want to laugh harder.
“Do you have fun getting a rise out of me?” You ask, your eyebrows knit in discernment as you try to read his body, his expression, anything to just understand what he's thinking.
“Oh, absolutely, you make it really easy,” he grins, those beautiful teeth on display. You find your eyes wandering down to the thin vein that bulges on the side of his neck, how it disappears behind the collar of his dress shirt. It hugged him well, and you mentally shake those thoughts out of your head before they could go any further south.
“And you make it really easy to want to fire you.” You say half sincerely. And of course, all he does in response to your empty threat is laugh.
“Whatever you say, ma’am. Stats are on your desk. I finished them an hour ago. I hope they’re to your standards, as they usually are.” He winks at you, turning to pour himself a cup of coffee as well.
Your jaw clenches, and Hongjoong catches it, his tongue running over his teeth as he watches the way your body tenses in response to his nonchalance. You really do make it easy, but it's only because it was him. Hongjoong manages to irk you in a way that no other man has been able to before. You weren’t sure what it was about him; the air he radiated challenged you. Your authority, your patience, your body. He made you feel hot all over, whether it be his sly remarks that pissed you off, or the charming smiles he shot your way that made your heart skip.
Kim Hongjoong made your blood pressure rise in a way that was borderline unhealthy, but god, he was so fucking good at his job. It didn’t help that you did, in fact, like looking at him, and you almost thought that he knew that. That’s why he bothered you so much; he knew the effect he had on you.
An employee who intimidates his employer is a recipe for disaster, and the tension that charged between you two anytime you were in a room together dangerously intrigued you both. Yet, it was like you both couldn’t get enough. Neither one of you would say it, but it was there. And it was palpable.
“I’ll see you at the holiday party, Hongjoong.” You say with a note of finality, turning on your heel to walk out of the breakroom.
Hongjoong watches you walk away, his hand reaching out and switching the coffee pot to the warming setting. “Can’t wait,” he calls back, biting the end of the stir stick off with a quiet snap. “Maybe let loose this time around, ma’am. It might do you some good; you seem more stressed than usual.” Hongjoong’s tone had a ring of concern around it, and that alone made your skin prickle with irritation, and maybe something else.
You hoot out a laugh as the break room door shuts behind you, the hustle and bustle of the office flooding your ears once again.
You could let loose this year, take the night just to let out your nerves, and live in the moment. It probably wouldn’t hurt.
“Whoa, Ms. L/N, I didn’t mean this loose. How many fingers am I holding up?”
You squint your eyes and really look. “Seventeen.” You hiccup.
“That's not even humanly possible, ma’am.”
The party rolled around faster than you could even process, and before you knew it, you were wandering around the venue, glass of chardonnay in hand. Employees chatted loudly around you as you took in the grand space. Large chandeliers and glassy floors, everyone was dressed to a T, bright smiles and obnoxious laughter around every corner.
You wrapped your cardigan around your body tighter, not because you were cold, but parties had never been your thing. You had them organized for your employees because you knew they would appreciate it. They would often come up to you late into the execution, smelling of wine and drunk smiles on their faces as they thanked you profusely for not making their job a living hell, and then crying about how they are going to be late to work in the morning because of how shit faced they got.
It made you happy to see them living, one last hurrah before the holidays took their time and attention for the remaining weeks. Some of your male employees tend to get bold once the alcohol starts to flow, offering you a dance or even a ride home.
You always politely declined and never brought it up the next day to save them the embarrassment.
The stress of the year had really torn you down worse than usual. You weren’t sure if it was the developments the company had been pushing or maybe the fact that your mind had just been kind of scrambled the whole year, but in that moment, all you wanted to do was drink until you passed out. Not out of sadness or anything depressing, just to not have to think about having to walk into the office tomorrow morning and sit at your desk and drain your life away on Excel.
One glass of chardonnay turned into two, then three, then four… and before you knew it, you couldn’t see straight. The lights were too bright, and your body wracked with hiccups. You stumbled around the venue blindly, laughing at things that weren't funny and actually accepting dances from people.
That's when he found you, shit faced, sitting on the spiral stairs, your half-empty glass clutched tightly in your hand as you overlooked the swarms of drunken people.
“There she is!” Hongjoong says cheerily, walking over to you with a wide smile. It faltered slightly when he noticed how disoriented you looked, swaying on the steps slowly with the glass in your hand held loosely like you didn’t even know you were holding it.
“Hong– joong…” You sneer, words slurring as you raise your eyes to watch as he prances over to you. “Why are you here?”
He raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Um, I work here? From the looks of it, I’m glad I didn’t bring the jello shots; you seem drunk enough.”
You scoff and attempt to stand, placing your hand firmly on the railing and shooting to your feet clumsily. Hongjoong was quick to reach out and steady you, or you would have tumbled to the floor. “Don’t talk to me like that!” You mumble, the warmth of his hands on your bare arms spreading throughout your body. His fingers curl around your biceps, holding strong to keep you upright.
“W-Woah! Hold on now, you almost fell-”
You interrupt him, pulling your arms from his grasp. “I’m not a child, I can handle my alcohol.”
“Clearly not,” he mutters, a small smile on his lips, and he reaches forward and gently takes your wrists in his hands. “C’mon, let's get you off these stairs.” You pout, but you let him guide you off the stairs, following in clumsy movements as he walks you down the hallway where fewer people are gathered, away from the loud drunken craze in the main area.
He leans you up against the wall, placing his hand flat against the back of your skull to make sure you don’t bang it. “Alright, you need anything? Water, bathroom? You can yell at me some more if it’ll make you feel better.” His smile is genuine, his perfect teeth poking through his plush lips, his eyes low and soft; he looked at you like you were the only thing he saw. Or maybe it was the alcohol.
Your heels made you a little taller than him, your heavy eyes fluttering as you found yourself leaning your head down and resting your forehead against his shoulder. He stiffens slightly, the contact unexpected.
“You smell good.” You whisper, your breath fanning over his ear. Hongjoong couldn't help the laugh that bubbles from his chest.
“Oh wow, you’re really drunk, ma’am.” His hands clasp your shoulders and gently lift you back up so he can see your face. “When I said you should let loose, I didn’t mean drink yourself into a stupor.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” You slur, raising your hand to gently push at his chest. “I’m your boss, that's my job…”
“You’re right, that is your job. But at the moment, you are in no shape to do your job.” He turns around to go fetch you a glass of water, but you reach out. You grab his wrist and shove his palm flat between your breasts, over your racing heart.
“Um-” Hongjoong starts, more than surprised at your sudden and strange move, but you beat him to it.
“Feel that?” You mumble softly, pressing his hand harder against your chest. “You piss me off so badly, Kim.”
Your brain is fuzzy, and you really have no idea what you’re doing at the moment, but it happens anyway. “You’re giving me grey hairs.” You sneer, your grip on his wrist tightening.
Hongjoong takes a step closer, embracing this strange choice you’ve made to make him feel your heart race beneath his palm. “I am?” He responds, and he smiles slightly, like he was getting a kick out of you acting so unlike you.
“You are.” You groan. “Kinda wanna fuck you too. But you don’t deserve that.” You let go of his wrist, and his hand falls away from your chest. You giggle and tilt your head back until he bumps against the wall.
“Maybe if you weren’t such an ass.” You speak loftily into the air with a heavy sigh. Hongjoong was at a loss for words, your confession floating around in his brain.
“That's a serious HR violation, Ms. L/N,” Hongjoong teases, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he takes in your drunken form with nothing short of pure amusement.
Your hand shoots out and grabs his tie, wrapping it around your hand and tugging him closer to you, so close your noses brush, and your wine-ridden breaths mingle in the quiet of the venue hall. “You’re a walking HR violation, Joong.” You whisper, the nickname new and sparking something fresh between you two.
“Always flirting with me, getting on my nerves, testing my patience.” You end every word with a sharp bite, tugging harder on his tie as a punctuation to each sentence. “And yet you never do anything about it.”
His eyebrow raises, then falls, slowly. “Do you want me to do something about it?” He purrs lowly, a warning in his tone. You took note of the connotations, but ignored them. Your eyes narrowed further.
“You wouldn’t dare.” You seethe, the alcohol makes you brave, and you decide now is the best time to test his limits, if he actually had any. “You dance around me, begging for my attention all the time. Joong wants the boss’s eyes on him at all times, yeah?”
He doesn’t speak, but his gaze shifts, cold yet heated. His hand twitched at his side, like he was restraining himself from grabbing something. He bites back what he really wants to say to you, opting for a more tame response.
“Can’t help it that you’re so responsive.” He hums deeply, testing the invisible barrier between you two, leaning in further, his lips mere millimeters from yours. “You choose to give me the time of day, ma’am. That's all on you.”
You curl your fingers further around his black tie, the fabric rough against your palm.
“You think you’re better than me, Hongjoong?” You question, your face heated, and your heart racing even faster.
Hongjoong only smiles, that stupid, knowing smirk, and runs his tongue over his teeth like he does when he knows he’s got the upper hand. Despite the position he’s in at the moment, with his tie in your grasp like you’ve got him on a leash.
“I’m not better than anyone, ma’am.” He replies indifferently. Then he leans in, pushing the boundaries and hovering his lips just shy of your ear. His breath seems cold in comparison to your hot skin. Your grip on his tie loosens.
“And neither are you.”
You both don’t move for a minute. He stays by your ear, his breathing steady as it fans over your neck. Your body tingles strangely, and a weird feeling pushes its way through your gut.
Then you speak, and maybe what you end up saying sets something into motion, but whether it was a mistake or not, you will learn in due time. You pull on his tie to drag him back in front of your face, your gaze momentarily flicking down to his lips before boring into his eyes like you were trying to kill him with looks.
“Actions speak louder than words, Kim. Stop playing games and make good on your words, or keep your mouth shut.” Your gaze is set hard, testing. Silence stretches between your way too close bodies. His breath fanning over your lips, his eyes half lidded, and his chest rising and falling with steady breaths.
The hustle and bustle of the party fades into background noise at this standstill, your skin buzzing alight with a new feeling. He was so close, you could feel the heat radiating off his body, smell his expensive cologne. He smelled like chocolate and wine, and it only made your head feel fuzzier.
Carefully, his hand lifts and cups over yours, prying your fingers from his tie. His hard gaze never falters, dragging your hand away until it falls back to your side.
“You’re drunk, (Name.)” he whispers, and his low tone sends a shiver down your spine. It’s the first time he’s ever called you by your name. “Lay off the wine for the rest of the night, will you?”
You click your tongue and push your body off the wall, Hongjoong taking a step back, the space between you two returning.
“All bark, and no bite.” You grumble, turning away and walking back into the main area of the party, your heels echoing off the shiny walls. Hongjoong watches your every step, his eyes dark and his lips pressed into a thin line. He watched until you disappeared around the corner. The gears in his head turned, a flush rising to the back of his neck.
He really wanted to keep his job, he really did. Hongjoong was a good man, and he would never take advantage of someone as drunk as you are.
But it took every fiber of his being not to drag you to the bathroom and fuck you over the counter until you lost feeling in your legs just to prove you wrong.
You wished the sun had just exploded that morning. Your hangover could indeed kill God. Your head pounded like steel drums, your eyes burned, and your stomach roiled. You dragged yourself to the office the next day, a hot coffee clasped between your cold hands. You remember the night before in bits and pieces, and when you stepped into the office, the vibe was the same.
Everyone sat at their desk, bags under their eyes, and a bottle of ibuprofen at the ready by their monitor. You mumbled a collective good morning to everyone before retreating to your office. Your office was warm, the hum of the heater working almost as a lullaby. Two more days until the holiday. That's all you needed to get through. Finalize some things, make sure holiday pay is at the ready. Prepare for the new year. You really wished you hadn’t even touched a wine glass last night.
Your computer mocked you the entire day, every clack of the keyboard like a nail in your skull. The screech of the printers makes you want to bang your head against the wall.
The bits in pieces you could remember last night were enough to keep you anxious all day long. His smell. That's the number one thing that stuck with you. Rich chocolate and a soft musk. Fruity wine and a gentle brush of clean linen.
Every time he walked past your office door that day, your eyes lingered, like you were trying to find the missing piece of a puzzle. You remembered the tickle of his dark, soft hair, his low, dangerous voice.
All the pieces you had gathered led you to one conclusion. You two got close somehow. Close enough to smell him, close enough to feel him. And it made your brain go haywire. The pieces you were missing had you on edge. What was said, what was felt. How far did it go?
You wouldn’t have to wonder for very much longer.
Slowly, one by one, employees file out of the building, heading home for the holidays. Computers shut down and cubicles cleaned out, the snow outside swirled louder as the sun continued to set after a long and grueling day. Everyone stopped by and wished you a happy holiday before heading off, to which you would smile and reciprocate, still somewhat battling a headache.
Silence gradually fell over the office as the evening dragged on, the words on your computer started to meld together, and you found your eyes wandering towards the grand glass windows of your office more often than not. You tapped your foot beneath your desk impatiently, and by 10 o’clock, you were the only one left in the office.
You sighed aloud, leaning back in your chair with your hands on your face, dragging them down exhaustedly. Your headache finally subsides as you wrap up final tasks.
Finally, you were done.
Then, your office door creaks open.
There he stands, hair a slight mess, his tie loose, and that little smile on his face. You groan really loudly this time, making sure your annoyance is very evident.
“You didn’t even bother to knock.” You bite, gathering files on your desk as you stand to put them away.
Hongjoong shrugs his shoulders like he couldn’t care less. “What, were you indecent or something?”
You snort out a quiet laugh as you shut down your monitor and gather pens. “What do you want? Everyone else has gone home. You should too.”
“I want to know why.” He says, stepping further into your office, the opaque door shutting behind him with a quiet click.
“Why has everyone gone home? It’s the holiday, Hongjoong-“
“I'm not trying to be funny.” Hongjoong continues to walk until he’s stood in front of your desk, and you cross your arms with a sigh as you look him over.
“Then what is it?” You deadpan, trying your best to push down the new fuzzy feeling that blooms quietly in your chest when he’s closer than usual. You needed to get out of the office right now, get away from him. Clear your head for the holiday.
“Why don’t I deserve it?” His eyelids lower, his hands plant firmly on your desk as he leans over it, his voice low as his fingers grip the edge of the cool wood.
You pause, confused. “What are you talking about?” Your voice shook slightly. You were confused, yes, but there was something in his voice when he spoke that made you think you had said something. Something that blurred boundaries.
“Last night. You said I don’t deserve it.”
You swallow, narrowing your eyes in an attempt to gain the room back. To take control.
“Deserve what, Kim-“
“To fuck you.”
Your breath catches. There it was. The push your brain needed to remember. The memories came flooding back, and Hongjoong could visibly watch your morale crumble as you remembered the things you said to each other, the way you touched him. He acted more professionally than you did when you talked to him in that hallway. How you challenged him.
“ ‘All bark and no bite,’ you had said.” He quotes you, his smile falling.
“I was drunk.” You reply, your fists clenching the pen in your hand. “I didn’t mean anything I said to you.”
“Drunk words are sober thoughts, right? You had to mean some of it.”
“I meant the parts about you being an insufferable ass.”
“I’m sure you did, you seemed very sure of yourself.” Using your own words against you. You bite your tongue.
“It’s not professional.” You reply curtly, as if it actually meant anything.
“Nothing that’s ever happened between us has ever followed along the lines of professional.” Correct once again.
“That’s all your fault, you’re always crossing lines.” You’re trying to be reasonable, but your words are empty.
“I didn’t know lines had been drawn.”
“Hongjoong.”
“(Name).”
You both stop and stare. You couldn’t win with him; he was right. The lines, if there had been any, had been blurred beyond recognition. In that office room, you were not employer and employee. You didn’t know what you were.
“I don’t know what you want from me.” You admit in defeat, dropping the pen on the desk with a clatter, your voice dropped to a low murmur. Hongjoong stands up straight and walks around your desk to stand in front of you. He walks close enough to you that you're forced to take a seat in your swivel chair. He stands there, his knees pressed against yours, before leaning down.
He grabs either side of your armrests, caging you in against the chair as he lowers his head to meet your eyes. “I want you to say what you want from me.” His hair falls over his eyes, his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and his grip on the armrests makes the chair audibly creak.
He smelled too fucking good, and it was suffocating you. Your fists clenched in your lap as you craned your head to look up at him.
“Now that you’re sober.” He murmurs, leaning his head closer, so close his warm lips brush over your ear. “Clear-minded.” He moves his head to whisper in your other ear. “If you don’t think I deserve to fuck you…”
You don’t move, you don’t shy away from him. You don’t push him off. You stay dead still, your heart racing. He leans his head further in, and you could feel his lips press against the side of your throat, a whisper of a kiss against your warm skin that made your entire body erupt into a flurry of tingles. His hair tickles the side of your neck, and all you could see was his shoulder as he leaned over you.
“What can I do to convince you, ma’am?” He purrs against your throat, and you couldn’t help the small whine that slips from your lips. The wind outside howled, and the office felt like the heat was on full blast. You felt trapped, in the best way possible.
Hongjoong takes notice that you have yet to deny his advances, so he ups the ante. His hand on the left armrest lifts, gently brushing his fingertips over your wrist that lies on your lap, tickling patterns and circles.
Then he drops down, slowly running his fingers up the length of your clothed thigh. He pulls away from your neck to meet your eyes once again, his eyebrows lax. He catches the wanton look in your gaze, and it nearly undoes him.
“I could work a little harder just for you.” He whispers, a hint of a desperate whine at the lilt of his sentences. “Put in some extra hours, really put my all into those reports.”
His hand trails further up, now massaging your hip in slow strokes, gently gripping the flesh. “Or, I can get a little more hands-on.”
Up the side of your waist, crossing over to gently rub your lower tummy over your blouse. You fought not to melt at the feeling of his warm hand, but you were promptly losing the battle. “I could kiss those pretty lips until you forget that you could fire me at the twitch of a finger.”
Over your stomach, back to your side, dragging up your arm to your shoulder. “I could really blur those aforementioned lines, maybe even try to change your mind if you’d let me finger fuck you until your legs shake.”
He presses his lips against your temple as his hand finally finds its home at the nape of your neck, grabbing it and squeezing gently. “I could make you forget how to walk without even fucking you properly if you let me get my mouth on you.” His whispers make your stomach leap; his hand never ceases its massaging movement on the back of your neck. His fingers gently scrape your lower scalp, sending a pleasant sensation throughout your bones.
“Whaddya say, boss?” he smiles against your temple. Your hands that were previously clenched, you hadn’t even noticed that you had grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, effectively holding him in place above you as your breath fanned over the skin of his throat, excitedly.
When you finally speak, it's low, but confident enough.
“You’re still not doing anything, Hongjoong.” His hand on the back of your neck freezes.
“Actions speak louder than words.” You repeat one last time.
You feel his lips spread into a smile against your temple, then his fingers brush upwards, burying his hand in your hair. “You’re shaking.” He coos, and you feel his fingers curl, firmly gripping your hair at the scalp. “Clearly, my words affect you much more than you’d like to admit, ma’am.”
He yanks your skull back, forcing your head to crane upward, moving his head back before crashing his lips into yours without a warning. Heat blooms from where your lips touch, Hongjoong’s head tilted to kiss you messy and deep, and you let out a groan that could only be from satisfaction that falls down his throat. You grip his collar harder, his other hand on the armrest, moving to press down on your thigh. Hongjoong grins into the kiss, keeping your head at that angle, your noses bumping from the frantic movements.
The desperation, the tension, the anger, and the stress, all being released into a hungry, rule-breaking kiss that made your knees buckle. Hongjoong maneuvers your body up by your hair, forcing you to stand to follow his movements. He pushes you until your back is pressed against the tall glass windows, his lips never pulling from yours as he kisses you into a fever. His tongue melts with yours in a practiced dance, and your brain fogs as he presses his body against yours.
His hand slips from your hair and trails down your body, over your blouse, down to your skirt waistband. Then he pulls away, his lips leave yours as he sinks to his knees in front of you.
You watch, chest rising and falling with frenzied breaths as you brace your palms flat against the cold windows.
On his knees, Hongjoong’s hands trail down your legs, landing on the buckle of your shiny black heels. He makes slow work of his hands, gently undoing the straps of your heels and slipping them off your feet like they were made of glass. He kisses the side of your knee softly as he slips off the other shoe, setting them off to the side neatly.
Your stomach flutters at the carefulness of his actions, his eyes lifting to watch your watery gaze take in the sight below you. Then his fingers brush upwards, featherlight touches until they reach the welt of your left stocking.
His fingers slide beneath the sheer fabric as he slowly pulls it down your leg.
“Y’know…” he starts, right as he pulls the stocking completely off your body. His fingers moved to the right one. So slow, so teasing.
“You remember that one day, you came into the office, and for the very first time, you were wearing thigh-high stockings.” He slips off the second one, laying the pair next to your heels. His hands slid up the sides of your legs, feeling you shiver beneath his palms.
“I said something to you about them. About how I liked them.” Hongjoong’s hands slid beneath your pleated skirt, cupping either one of your thighs possessively. His fingers dip beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging at them teasingly.
“You gave me shit about me mentioning them. Telling me that I shouldn’t be paying attention to what you wear like that.”
He slips your panties over your thighs, down your legs, until they fall on the floor at your feet. Bare beneath your black skirt. His hand grips the underside of your left thigh, hiking it over his shoulder as he kisses the soft skin.
His other fingers gently brush through the wet mess you've made between your legs, and your breath catches in your throat at how easily his fingertips glide through the folds of your slick cunt.
“But I swear, every single fucking day since then-” he bunches your skirt up around your hips, pushing his face closer to your center, his fingers easily finding your clit and circling it oh so slowly.
“There hasn’t been a single time when you haven’t come to work wearing them.” His warm breath fans over your pussy, and you shiver, a whiny moan slipping from your lips.
“Lying through your teeth like that, chastising me for saying how pretty they looked on you.” Hongjoong grins, slipping his wet fingers into his mouth and licking your shiny arousal off of them with a greedy groan.
“When it's so obvious you’ve been wearing them every day just for me.” Then his mouth is on you. His tongue slips through you, parting your folds with a wet, loud slurp, and immediately your legs begin to tremble.
His hand keeps your thigh firm and hiked over his shoulder, his other hand gently massaging your hips while his mouth works wonders on you. Slipping his tongue up, circling your clit. Back down, drinking up each gush of arousal that spills from you. Suctioning his soft lips to the sensitive bud and burying his face so deep between your thighs, you were afraid he might not be able to breathe.
But he was moaning like he couldn’t get enough. The vibrations of his breathy keens sent shocks through your body, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thigh as he devoured, eating your cunt greedily like he had been dreaming about it for years.
You couldn’t control your moans, and they only spurred him on further, his tongue mapping out patterns. Listening to your noises and pinpointing what you liked so he could keep it up, keep you crying for him.
“Fuck…” he laughs against you, moving the hand on your thigh down to gently circle his finger around your entrance. “Taste so sweet, smell so good.” He laps at your clit hungrily, and you choke on a moan when you feel him slip a finger into your snug pussy, your warm walls pulsing around him. “Let's see if we can find that spot that’ll make you cry for me, yeah?”
He prods around, curling it, massaging, and when he feels your thigh tense and your breath shake, he knows he’s got it. “There she is.” Promptly, he slips another finger inside of you, pressing up and forward, rubbing pressured curves against that spongy spot deep inside of you, his mouth suctioned around your clit as his tongue draws patterns around it that make your gut twist.
“F-fuck-! Hongjoong!” You cry out, your hands flying to his mussed brown hair and burying your fingers into it at the scalp, grounding yourself so you don't buckle at the knees.
“I know, baby, I know.” He murmurs around your sensitive bud, his fingers moving deep inside of you in repetitive come-hither motions. Your head bangs against the cold glass, your back arching off of it as you take what he gives you with drunken earnestness.
“Let it all out, c’mon, big stretch sweetheart…” His hand moves away from your thigh and slides around to your lower back, pressing against it, forcing your arch further, stretching the tense muscles there as his fingers turn you inside out.
You groan, and he rewards your good listening with a nip to your clit. “That's it, I got you.” He reassures you, pressing your buttons and working you out, playing with you like it was giving him life. “Fuck you’re so pretty.” He slides his glasses off his face, all fogged up and starting to drip with your wetness, slipping them into his pocket.
Your nails scratch against his scalp, your jaw clenching as the pleasure rocks through you like electricity, your breath stuttering each time you feel his tongue slip over your clit, each time his fingers curl particularly hard.
Hongjoong catches the way your walls clench around his fingers, how your thighs vibrate, and your toes curl. “You close, ma’am?” He smiles around your clit, still in the mood to tease you even when he’s knuckle deep in your cunt.
“Yes, Hong–joong-!” you cry, tugging the hair at his scalp and pulling him deeper between your thighs. “Stop fucking around, please!”
Now that makes Hongjoong laugh. And then he’s growling, keeping up the persistent rhythm of his fingers and sucking your clit. “Never get to hear you say please… begging suits you, sweetheart, I could get used to that.”
He shakes his head back and forth, the friction making your head swim and your chest cave. Just when you’re so close to falling over the edge, Hongjoong pulls from you with a slick pop.
You groan in disappointment, and Hongjoong stands and swallows your complaints in a deep kiss, your own taste flooding your mouth. His tongue swipes over yours, letting you savor the flavor of your arousal. Allow you to relish in what he had done to you. How absolutely wet he’s made you. You listen as he unbuckles his belt with one hand, while the other grips the front of your throat.
“C’mon.” He groans against your mouth, and he's maneuvering you back over to the desk. You reach out your hands just as he pushes you down onto it, shoving the files off the surface onto the floor. Hongjoong flattens his hand against your back, dragging it up until it reaches the collar of your blouse.
“Arms.” He commands breathlessly, and you lift them, allowing him to slide the fabric over your head. Your skin is bare to him, his hand trails back down to unclasp your bra, and you help him slip it over your arms.
Hongjoong’s warm hands flatten against your shoulder blades as he keeps your front pressed down against the cold wooden desk. He drags his palms down, along your spine to where your black skirt hugs your hips. He leans his body over yours and presses wet kisses to the side of your neck, his hands roaming up and down your body like it belonged to him and him alone.
You could feel the rough cloth of his tie tickle the skin of your back. One hand leaves your body, and you could hear him shuffle his slacks down, and then you feel him. Your hips squirm as you feel the heat of his cock against your lower back.
You let out a needy whine, to which Hongjoong lifts his hand to your hair, burying his fingers into the locks, gripping it tight, and pulling your head back until you arch beautifully. Your skirt remaining bunched at your waist, you wince at the sting from him pulling your hair, forcing your neck to crane, almost far enough you could see the ceiling of your office.
“Fuck, wish you could see yourself right now.” Hongjoong’s other hand massages your hip, his nails lightly scratching against your goose-pebbled skin. He pulls his hips back until you can feel the fat, dripping tip of his cock slip between your lips, and he slowly drags his hips between your thighs, each slow thrust coating his length in your wetness and catching the friction of your clit.
“Bent over your own desk, wet and desperate.” he leans down and pulls your head farther back, pressing his lips flush against your ear and letting out a low, whiny groan right in your ear that makes your thighs clench around his cock.
“Driving me fucking crazy.” Your whole body shivers when you feel his blunt nails gently scratch against your scalp, unable to contain your pathetic whines.
“Please, Joong…” you cry quietly, pushing your hips back against him to try and coax him to finally slip inside of you. “Need you so bad, baby, please…”
You could feel his cock twitch between your thighs, and it made your chest swell with pride. No matter what position he had you in at the moment, you knew he was a sucker for your attention. For your praise.
“I want you to make me feel good.” You moan softly, and you feel his body curl further over yours, until you meet his eyes, your neck craned so far back it almost hurts. He looks down at you, and when you see him, you nearly unravel.
His face is flushed, his lips are spit-soaked and kiss swollen. His pupils are blown and his hair a hot mess. “Yeah, you want me, baby? Want me to make you feel sooo good?” You whine in confirmation, right as he leans in closer, his eyes boring into yours, nowhere to hide. All you could do was share his heated gaze. Feel a type of desire that was burning you alive from the inside out.
“Keep looking at me.” He commands breathlessly, and you feel his tip just barely breach your entrance. “Wanna see those pretty eyes cross when I stuff this pussy full of me.”
When he slowly pushes in, you realize it's much thicker than you could have ever guessed. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, and Hongjoong’s eyes stay on yours, barely blinking as his own lips part in satisfaction. His eyebrows knit in pure bliss as your warm, fluttering walls swallow him up. You choke out a broken moan at each inch that slips inside of you, and not even halfway in, and you feel so unbelievably full.
“Hongjoong…!” you gasp, and Hongjoong only nods in acknowledgment. Your vision goes blurry as he fills you up, and the grip on your hair only tightens as he feels you pulse around his cock.
“Sorry, sweetheart, I know it's big,” he purrs, the hand on your hip sliding up and down the side of your waist, coaxing you to relax so you could open up some more and let him slide all the way in.
“You’re so wet, though, making it so easy for me.” He kisses your forehead just as he pushes in a little more, met with a little less resistance. “God, you’re dripping everywhere.”
When he’s filled you to the hilt, you can no longer control your shaking, your body a shivering pleasure-ridden mess. You can feel his cock jump inside of you, holding still to try and calm his brain before he absolutely loses it and pounds you stupid over your desk.
“You’re so fucking tight, pretty.” Hongjoong laughs above you, and he slowly pulls his hips back, his thick girth dragging against your walls with a slick sound. You moan aloud, the fat tip of him perfectly sliding over that spot.
Then he slides right back in, a nice, long stroke that hits every angle just right. Hongjoong could hear it in your voice, how good you were feeling, and it was sending his ego through the roof.
“This what you needed?” He tugs your hair, just as your eyes begin to roll when he starts to set a slow, deep rhythm. Languid, heavy thrusts that forced you to really feel every inch of him gliding in and out of you.
He leans down to whisper in your ear, and you could catch low whimpers and the way his breath catches when your cunt squeezes around him when you hear his soft voice.
“Baby is sooo stressed.” He thrusts hard, just for a moment, smiling when you nearly yelp. Then he’s back at it slowly again. “Overworked and tired, and all this time. All this fucking attitude…” he kisses the shell of your ear and breathes in your scent, his body shaking like he was high off of your smell.
“And all you ever needed was for me to fuck it out of you, hm?” He pushes his cock in deep, then slowly rotates his hips in a heavy grind that makes your voice shiver when you moan.
Your hands grip the edge of the desk, and you swear you heard the wood splinter beneath your nails. Hongjoong leans away from your face to look down at where he sat inside of you, and you hear him growl above you and squeeze your hair.
“Shit, baby, you’re literally dribbling on the fucking floor.” He watches as he slips out of you, just leaving the tip inside, drunk over the way more of your arousal seems to flood out of nowhere and drip to the grey carpeted floor.
“Mmm… Joongie-!” You whine, and the hand on your waist travels to the small of your back, kneading and pressing, massaging the knot of stress out of it. All the while, his cock never stops moving, sliding in and out of you, dragging over your G-spot maddeningly, and it’s almost too much for you.
“Hold on, baby, work with me, okay?” His hand massages down until it cups the underside of your trembling thigh, pushing your leg up until it’s hiked over the desk.
The new angle is incredible, now pushing even deeper into your guts. You let out a low, drawn-out groan, Hongjoong’s heated palm squeezing and kneading your thigh as he held it up.
“There we go, that's better. Doesn’t that feel good, sweetheart?” He coos, and his tone sends shocks straight to your gut. You nibble on your bottom lip, each heavy glide of his hips making your desk creak quietly beneath your melting bodies.
Hongjoong’s hands were gripping the reins, fucking you deep and talking to you all sugar and cream, but his brain was reeling just as much as yours. “You don’t have to say anything honey, I can feel your pussy pulsing around me. I know what it needs, and you know I can give it to you just right.”
The satisfaction of finally putting you in your place, a beautiful, confident, powerful woman such as yourself, his boss, the woman who wrote his checks. Bent over, wood digging into your stomach as he pressed you against the desk, absolutely ravaging your crying pussy. And you were begging for it. Begging for him.
He was fucking loving it.
“Doesn’t it feel good to give up control?” He murmurs around lusty groans, feeling your stomach cave as he speeds up the pace of his thrusts, your wet sounds and your mingled moans bouncing off your office walls. “To not have to worry about meetings, or deadlines…”
His hand snakes around, and then your entire body jolts when his fingers press against your clit, rolling over it smoothly. “When all you have to do is lie down and fucking take it, nice and deep?”
Each brush of his cock against your G-spot, coupled with pressure on your clit made your brain short-circuit, and all you could do was moan pathetically, which apparently wasn’t good enough for Hongjoong.
The hand in your hair grips tighter and yanks your head far back, and his lips are pressed hard against your ear, his heavy breaths the only thing you could hear as he manhandled you as he saw fit. “I’m talking to you, boss.” He seethes against your ear, pushing up against your clit and leaving wet, warm kisses against the shell of your ear.
“Not a very good listener, are you, baby?” He clicks his tongue and rolls his hips deep into you, and you choke, your throat bobbing visibly with the way he forced your neck to crane at his whim.
“‘M sorry!” you gasp around a whiny moan, and Hongjoong’s cock twitches at the sound, a pained groan of a laugh coming from his throat.
“Fuck, honey…” he pulls his hand from your hair, and suddenly he slips out of you. You whine, feeling empty, Hongjoong groaning in tandem at the loss of warmth. But then he’s flipped you over, your back against the desk as he grabs your ankles and spreads them nice and wide. He slots his body between your spread thighs and slides the length of him through your soaked folds.
When you finally get to look at him, you whine loudly. His hair was so messy, his skin sweat slick. His tie hangs loosely around his collar, his blazer slipping off his shoulders, and the top buttons of his dress shirt are undone.
His hands keep you open as he quickly sheathes himself right back inside of you. He leans over your body and his hands hold either side of your head, keeping it still as he ruts his thick cock right back into you.
His nose brushes yours, keeping his frenzied eyes on yours as he slots his lips with yours, swallowing your moans and cries as he fucks you on your back.
“Say it again.” He groans into your mouth, his hips relentless as he ravages you in this new, exposing position. His hands are firm on either side of your face as he barely gives you any time to even breathe. “Say you’re sorry. Wanna look at you when you apologize to me.” You waste no time.
“I’m so sorry-! Joong-!” you moan down his throat, your hands flying around to cup the back of his neck, pressing his lips harder against yours. His hands warm on either side of your face make your brain fuzzy as he purrs and whines against your mouth with each thrust of his cock into your cunt.
“Again,” he whispers.
“I’m… fuck- sorry!” you cry.
“Again, baby again.” He whispers even lower, and your stomach clenches, like he tugged a string that was unraveling you from the inside out.
“I’m sorry Hongjoong!” He grins wickedly into your mouth, pulling away, a thin string of saliva snapping as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, letting out a low whine against your heated skin.
“Yeah, you are…” he whispers in your ear, and you feel that knot starting to form in your lower belly, the heat pooling tantalizingly.
You claw at his shoulders, whimpering out attempted warnings. “‘M c-close, close…” You fist the fabric of his blazer, your legs shaking as you focus all your attention on falling over that edge.
“You cumming, baby?” He coos into your ear, peppering kisses right below your lobe. You could only nod, your breath stuttering in your lungs as your orgasm crept up your back.
He keeps up that same angle, same pace, perfect, and helps you teeter closer to the edge. “Whenever you can.” He drawls, his hands staying on your face and turning your head to face him once again. His eyebrows furrowed, and his lips parted as he whined right against your mouth.
His eyelids are lowered, his gaze is focused. Like he’s trying to pick apart your expressions as carefully as he can. Read the glint in your eyes and the tremble of your lips. Swimming in the fucked out glaze of your teary eyes, the pleasure rendering you helpless beneath him.
His lips hover millimeters above yours, your heavy breaths kissing each other. You feel the thin soft skin of his lips brush over yours when he speaks, a whisper so low you can feel it in your gut.
“Cum for me whenever it feels right, baby, you can do it. Make it messy, okay? Don’t hold back.”
It was hard to deny when you had never felt an orgasm hit you this hard. Hongjoong tried telling you to breathe through it, but you physically couldn’t. It rocks your body hard, and you swear you hear the sound of his suit jacket ripping. But he pays no mind, kissing you with hungry fervor, slipping his tongue over yours, and drinking your loud moans greedily.
“That’s it, that’s it.” He instructs into the kiss, his hands keeping your head still as your body convulses and jerks beneath him. “Let me help you ride it out.”
His cock slows inside of you, long deep strokes, each kiss against your sensitive G-spot, making your mouth pool with saliva.
Before he could let himself fall apart inside of you, Hongjoong lifts off of your body, slipping his soaked cock out of you and letting it rest against your lower belly. Whining softly, he leans his head back, his hands coming down and cupping either one of your breasts, squeezing as he spills all over your stomach.
Pumping white ropes of cum all over your soft body, heady groans and purrs hitting your ears as he cums all over you, his chest heaving and his cock twitching against your stomach. His fingers pinch your nipples and roll them as he grinds slowly against the flesh of your tummy, slowing to a stop when he feels himself coming down.
“Holy fuck…” he sighs, leaning back down and grabbing the front of your throat, kissing you hungrily as his other hand massages your hip, helping you come down from your own high. “You’re unreal.” He whispers against your lips, grinning when you giggle in response.
“You’re lucky it’s the holidays and I’m feeling rather giving.” You tease, catching your breath and nudging your nose against his. “Or else this is a write-up.”
Hongjoong hoots out a laugh and gently massages right beneath your breasts. “You could fire me and blacklist me from every company within 100 miles, and I would still think it was completely worth it.”
“You’re lucky you’re my favorite.”
You could visibly see his eyes light up. “I thought you said I wasn’t!”
You shrug and kiss his nose. “I lied. But you can still be my favorite while also being an insufferable ass.”
Hongjoong tilts his head and smiles fondly. “I’ll work on that.”
“Please do.” You chide. “Make it a New Year’s resolution, I want to see improvements after the holiday.”
“Maybe I’ll make some steadier progress if you come over and help me work on it?” He wiggles his eyebrows, and you playfully smack his shoulder.
“We’ll see.” You sigh dramatically, but you couldn’t help the warm smile that damn near splits your face. “I’m still your boss, though, and you are on thin ice. Watch yourself, Kim.”
He stands and begins to walk to grab some things to clean up, raising his hand to salute cheekily.
“Yes, ma’am!” He shouts, and you roll your eyes.
HR seriously cannot find out about this, or else you’re both getting the boot.
And knowing Hongjoong, he’s definitely not going to make it easy on you.
tags/warnings: han has a crush on reader, smut, roommates, biology/anatomy, studying, teasing, masturbation, praise kink, licking, kissing, making out, hickeys, han is sensitive and easily flustered, sub!han and kinda nerd!han, unprotected sex, reader "leads" han, grabbing, riding, fingering, reader compliments han often and he get's all red (or it's kinda more dirty talk)
authors note: i had to repost this smth was wrong!! the roommates trope was requested :) also i'm gonna start with the hp ones! Thanks to everyone that voted on the poll! Also i "used" the title a bit different here than in my last fic:P
word count: 4-5k
Your roommate han sits with you for a biology study session as you settle on his lap, touching him and using his body to answer the questions. Months of teasing have left your flustered roommate unable to resist.
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The apartment you shared with han was a typical off-campus setup: two bedrooms, a cramped kitchen, and a living room couch that had seen better days. It's just a short walk from the university gates, it was perfect for late-night cramming or early-morning rushes to lectures. You both attended the same college, but different majors - your literature one kept you buried in novels and essays, while han dove into music production. It was a balance that worked, mostly. Except for the part where you'd turned teasing him into your favorite hobby.
You'd always known han jisung was the type to blush at the slightest provocation. With his soft, round cheeks and that sparkle in his eyes, he was like a walking invitation to push his buttons.
It began innocently enough, or so you told yourself. Like that first rainy tuesday in october. You'd both stumbled home soaked from the downpour, classes dragging on longer than expected. Han shook out his umbrella in the entryway, water dripping from his dark hair as he kicked off his sneakers. You, however, peeled off your drenched jacket right there in the hallway, revealing the thin white tank top clinging to your skin like a second layer.
“Ugh, this weather is brutal”, you complained, wringing out your hair and letting droplets trail down your neck. Han's gaze flicked up from unlacing his shoes, and he froze, eyes locking on your chest before snapping away so fast his neck cracked.
“Y-Yeah, totally” he mumbled, voice pitching higher as he grabbed a towel from the closet and thrust it toward you without looking. “Here, uhhmm, dry off. I-l'll make tea or something”
You took the towel with a grin, draping it over your shoulders but not bothering to cover up as you followed him to the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, you watched him fumble with the kettle, his ears burning red. “thanks, jisungieee. You're always sooo sweet. Bet you don't get this much excitement in music theory” you say while leaning closer.
He let out a nervous chuckle, that bubbly sound strained as he avoided eye contact. “E-excitement you say? N-nah, just notes and rhythms. Nothing like... whatever you're studying today.”
The kettle whistled, saving him from saying even more nonsense, but you caught the way his hands shook pouring the hot water.
At school, han could unwind. You'd see him between buildings sometimes, laughing with his friends. No teasing there - just pure, unfiltered jisung, bubbly and carefree. As soon as he entered your shared space, the air changed
The next escalation came on a lazy Friday evening. The water ran hot as you stepped into the shower, imagining his reaction.
Sure enough, minutes later, the front door clicked open, followed by the shuffle of his backpack hitting the floor. You heard footsteps approaching the bathroom, then a sharp intake of breath.
“y/n? Did you...uh...” his voice trailed off, hesitant and already tinged with embarrassment. You turned off the shower, wrapping a towel around yourself before peeking out the door.
There he stood, holding your bra between two fingers like it might bite, his face a completely red. His wide eyes darted from the bra to you, then to the ceiling, and the blush exploded across his skin - cheeks, neck, even his collarbones peeking from his shirt turning a vivid pink.
“Oh! Hannie, you're home early,” you said, stepping out with the towel knotted loosely at your chest. Water still beaded on your shoulders, trickling down into the valley between your breasts. “What's that? Mine? How'd it get there?” you ask innocently.
He thrust it forward, nearly dropping it in his haste, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck as if to hide the spreading red. “It was just... hanging. I-I thought maybe y-you might n-need it or - wait, no, that's stupid. Sorry i-i don't know what 'm saying.. i'll just... put it in your r-room?” his words tumbled out in a shy rush, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. The nickname had him flushing even harder, his ears practically glowing.
You took it from his grasp, your fingers brushing his in the process. He jerked back like you'd shocked him, that shy smile wobbling on his lips while his face burned hotter. “Don't worry hannie i'll handle it. Unless you want to help? clasp it?” you say stepping closer and dropping the towel a bit lower, so its barely covering your nipples.
“U-uh y/n y-your towel it's-“ he tried but it's useless, the red on his cheeks stands out even more now. “You're killing me, y/n. I-Im gonna g-go... study. Yeah. Study.” he says before he closes the door to his bedroom.
The pattern continued. Saturday mornings became your personal favourites. You'd chill in the kitchen in oversized sleep shorts that rode up when you reached for the cereal on the top shelf, bending just so to give him a view of your ass as he poured coffee. “Pass the milk hannie?” you'd ask innocently.
Han's hand would freeze on the carton, his eyes widening before he forced them down, a fresh wave of red flooding his face. He'd pass it over quickly, mumbling, “Sure, here”
“Sleep well?” he'd manage, trying to sound casual, but the blush betrayed him every time.
“Like a baby,” you'd reply, hopping onto the counter and crossing your legs, the shorts hiking higher. “You? Heard you humming in your room late last night. Composing something steamy?”
“Just... melodies. Nothing special.” But you'd catch him glancing at your thighs, only to look away with an even deeper flush.
“hmmm like what you see hannie?” you ask while leaning closer to him “you know i'd give you everything you want right? And with everything i mean absolutely everything hannie, you name it” you whispered into his ear. You like teasing him like this. But before you can continue you can hear his phone ringing. He quickly snaps out of it and goes to pick up the call.
Sometimes you'd drop your phone near his feet during dinner prep, bending at the waist to retrieve it, your shirt dipping low enough for a peek down your neckline. You always wear your best bra for moments like these. Straightening up, you'd find him staring at his plate, fork paused mid-air, his ears red, cheeks burning, even his lips parted in shy surprise.
“Clumsy me,” you'd sigh but not being bothered enough to fix your top.
“No problem,” he'd mutter, voice rough and barely above a whisper, the blush refusing to fade as he shifted.
One particularly night midweek changed everything. You'd come home from a long lecture, skirt rumpled and mind wandering to frustrations beyond books. Slipping into your room, you didn't quite close the door all the way - it wasn't an accident - you just couldn't be bothered to close it.
Your hand slipped under your skirt, fingers circling your clit as tension uncoiled. Soft moans escaped your lips, a low “Ah...” here, a sharper gasp there, the sounds carrying through the thin wood despite your half-hearted attempt at quiet. Your mind went to han, you love his cute flustered face but you can't get his abs out of your head. How can the owner of such an adorable face have such a ripped body? Your fingers start to move faster wishing it were his and not yours.. “hmph.. ugh.. h-han” you moaned out, ...and his back muscles, don't even get started on those, you hope that man never leaves the gym seriously, he and his back muscles are a blessing to man kind.
Thinking about his abs under you, his fingers in you.. you stared moving your fingers even faster and reach with your other hand your breast, pinching your nipples, your mind's filled with han and only him. “Yes.. han.. gosh hannnn...” you continue breathless, as you feel yourself getting close your moans grew wider and wider.
On the other side, Han was in the living room, headphones halt-on as he sketched lyrics. The noises filtered through - subtle at first, then unmistakable. His pencil stopped, face draining then flooding with red as realization hit. He shifted on the couch, thighs pressing together, ears straining to the door down the hall. The slight moans, the rustle of fabric, had his cheeks burning, shyness warring with curiosity. He bolted to his room soon after, door clicking shut, but not before you heard his hurried footsteps, knowing he'd heard every whimper and moan.
In his dimly lit room, Han stared at the insistent bulge straining against his pants “hhh not again,” he muttered, cheeks flushing as he unzipped and freed his throbbing cock. He wrapped his hand around the thick shaft, stroking slowly at first, but visions of your soft, plush thighs wrapping around him flooded his mind, urging him to pump faster, hips bucking into his fist.
Your pinkish lips - full and glossy - haunted him next, the perfect shape for sucking his cock instead of this desperate handjob. A bead of drool escaped the corner of his mouth, he was so lost in the fantasy, imagining them stretched around his tip, tongue swirling.
God, he was embarrassed by these filthy thoughts, but he couldn't stop. Your breasts, heavy and begging to be groped, filled his head - nipples hard under his palms, his mouth latched on, sucking greedily. He'd trade a whole month of manga binges just for one taste, one chance to bury his face between them.
His strokes quickened, slick with precum, a soft "mmm" slipping from his lips as pleasure coiled tight in his core.
The next morning, he avoided your eyes over breakfast. You 'dropped' your fork under the table, bending to fetch it - skirt lifting to bare your thighs. Coming up, you hugged his neck again, whispering, “Morning, hannie. You look cute when you're all sleepy-eyed.” you mumble still a bit sleepy yourself.
“You always smell so good” you added, nuzzling briefly into his neck. He nodded “y-yeah thanks i bought this new..” he kept talking about why he smelled so good but you didn't care it's not like you wanted to smell like him, you wanted his smell on you. It's seriously addicting and you can't get enough of it. You want him to leave it everywhere on your hair, your clothes, your breasts and your thighs..
“Say..” you spoke up again, “do you mind helping me with biology sometime? Exams are soon and they're brutal, also you've always been an A student in bio, we wouldn't even need to check if the answers are right” you continued.
His eyes met yours “y-yeah sure. Whatever” he swallowed hard but you could see the growing nervousness in his eyes.
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You kicked the door shut behind you, the pleated skirt of your university uniform swishing, the blouse felt a bit rumpled from hours of note-taking, buttons straining slightly over your chest, but you left it as is - perfect for what you had in mind.
Dropping your backpack by the entryway table with a soft thud, you inhaled the familiar scent of the place
Padding across the cool hardwood floor, you rounded the corner into the living room. There he was, han jisung, lounging on the worn gray couch with his legs stretched out, uniform still intact from his own classes.
Dark pants hugged his slim hips, the white shirt tucked neatly but with the sleeves rolled up to expose forearms that had grown more defined from his recent gym habit. The tie hung loose around his neck, and his dark hair was tousled as if he'd run his fingers through it in frustration over some melody stuck in his head.
“Hey hannie” you said casually “did you just get back as well?.”
"Hey, yeah like uh 15 mins ago? I think" he replied while rubbing the back of his neck, a classic tell for his nervousness, he glanced away for a second before meeting your gaze again. “Classes dragged today. Music theory prof had us dissecting chord progressions for hours. What about you? Survived the bio lecture?”
Dropping onto the arm of the couch right beside him, your knee brushing his shoulder in an 'accident. The contact made him tense slightly, but he didn't pull away. “Barely. All that talk about cellular respiration has my brain fried. But that's why I need you, genius. Help me cram for the anatomy section? Quiz me, make it stick. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can do a movie night?. You know, blankets, snacks, zero brainpower required.”
His face brightened at the mention of movie night, the pink in his cheeks softening into a genuine grin. “Movie night? Count me in. I've been dying for a break. Yeah, I can quiz you - no problem.”
“Great” you answer with a genuine smile. You get up to grab all of your biology textbooks from your bag and bedroom, and some flashcards. “Okay, tutor. Start simple. Question me like i'm five, but with the real bio answers. Make it interactive - i can point things out, whatever.”
Han nodded eagerly “alright, basics first. Where are the eyes located on the human body, and what's their primary biological function?”
You settled beside him on the couch, close enough that your thigh pressed against his. Leaning forward, you traced the arch of your brow. “Eyes sit on the front of the skull, one on each side of the nose, inside the bony orbits. They're organs of vision - light enters through the cornea, focuses on the retina, and photoreceptors turn it into signals sent along the optic nerve to the brain. The iris controls pupil size to regulate light.”
He blinked, clearly impressed “damn, you nailed that. Way better than my first attempt in class. Okay, building on sensory stuff: the ears. Where are they anatomically placed, and what's the specific role of the outer ear components, like the pinna and the external auditory canal?”
This was perfect. With a smile you didn't bother hiding, you swung your leg over his lap in one smooth move, straddling him before he could process. Your skirt rode up immediately, the fabric whispering against his pants as you settled your weight, core pressing lightly against the warmth of his thigh.
His hands froze mid-air, eyes going wide as a violent blush erupted across his face, painting his cheeks, nose, and even his forehead in deep red. His mouth opened and closed.
“W-What are you doing? y/n I-uh-” he stammered, his body rigid beneath you but not pushing away. Instead, his fingers twitched, hovering near your hips as if unsure whether to touch or flee.
You placed a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart through the blouse, and leaned in until your noses nearly brushed. “Relax, Hannie. It's hands-on learning. You know? A bit of interracting, it's just for the purpose of memorizing it. Also it's way easier to demonstrate on a live model, don't you think? Trust me, i'll remember it better this way.” Your breath tickled his skin as you turned your head, lips hovering near his ear. Gently, you traced the outer curve with your fingertip.
“So, ears are located on the lateral sides of the head, positioned between the temporal bone and the mandible, roughly at the level of the eyes” you said while brushing with your lips against his ear. You can see his them growing red.
“Y-y/n i don't think that's the ans-” but before he can finish his sentence you started licking his ear. His body trembled as slight moan escaped him. When you started to suck and nibble slightly at it he started to 'complain' “y/n... oh God, thats-ahh sensitive please don't-” but by his shaky breaths and eyes rolling back, you could tell that he was enjoying this.
You pulled back just enough to meet his dazed eyes “And hannie? Did i get it right” you asked innocently. “Well uh- yes i mean no, uhm the first part was?” he mumbled out avoiding your eyes.
Unsatisfied with his reaction, you dove back in, kissing along the edge of his ear, your tongue tracing it. Han's moans grew louder, unrestrained - soft at first, then building to needy whines that filled the room. His fingers dug into your sides, not guiding but clinging “feels... too good. Can't think straight,” he admitted, voice muffled against your shoulder as he buried his face there briefly, hot breath ghosting your neck.
“You're doing amazing, taking every kiss. Your ears turning red like this? Such a good boy” you murmured the compliments against his skin, feeling him shiver, his cock hardening fully now, a firm ridge pressing insistently against your core. You ground down subtly, eliciting a sharp cry from him, his head falling back to expose more of his neck. “Aaah-y-y/n” he breathes out.
After a few more teasing licks - drawing out those delicious sounds - you sat up slightly, hands on his shoulders. “Next question, tutor. Keep up.”
Han swallowed audibly, his Adam's apple bobbing, chest heaving as he fumbled for the textbook with trembling fingers. His tie was crooked now, blouse slightly untucked from your movements. Voice hoarse, he managed, “throat... the larynx. Where's it positioned in the neck, and what's its function in both respiration and voice production?”
You hummed approvingly, shifting your weight to grind more deliberately, feeling him throb beneath you. As your lust grows so does his cock underneath you. The small amount of layers making it almost unbearable to not take it out and finally put it in. But you wait. Not yet. You still wanted to play with him a bit.
"The larynx sits in the front of the neck, just below the hyoid bone and above the trachea" you whispered while moving from his ears down to his neck.
“It's made of cartilage and holds the vocal cords inside” you said, now kissing his neck slightly biting it and getting severals moans out of him. “Mhmmm those vocal cords” you say sucking even harder now.
“When you breathe, it opens so air can pass through easily” since it looks like he stopped breathing you decided to help him a bit out and started going up and down on him, humping him slightly, just so your clothed pussy goes down on his huge bulge. He wanted to say something but he only managed gasps and shaky breaths out of him.
“Y-y/n wha- what are you-“ but before he can continue you shut him up by colliding your lips. “The lips. Soft and sensitive, they shape every word, every breath. They tease, taste, and tempt - made for feeling as much as speaking” you mumble out but this time han's lips crash against yours - no hesitation, just heat. His fingers slide up the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your breath mingles and the world narrows to the press of his body. Every movement feels deliberate, hungry, his kiss deepening until it leaves both of you dizzy and wanting more.
You bit at his lip slightly, grabbing his by his tie and deepening the kiss, just enough to get a reaction out of him. His hands clutched your hips harder, nails biting through the skirt, as his body arched into your mouth.
“Fuck-y/n! That... ahh, hurts so good,” he gasped, voice cracking into a whine, his blush spreading down his neck to disappear under his collar, each suck drawing out more desperate sounds - moans that pitched high, whimpers that begged without words.
Letting go of his mouth you look down at your marks on him. admiring the red-purple spot before licking over it soothingly.
“Right here, see? The adam's apple” “mhmmm” he answers in a low moan, “you're moaning so prettily, Hannie. Such a perfect boy for me, letting me mark you up.” The praise made him keen, a fresh wave of heat flooding his face as his cock jerked against you, pre-cum likely soaking his underwear by now.
You didn't stop there, more sucks and nips along his throat, building a trail of hickeys that would bruise even more beautifully by morning. Each one pulled louder cries from him - “Please... more, oh god, your mouth..” - his hips bucking weakly, seeking friction. His tie dangled loosely, brushing your cheek, and you tugged it playfully, feeling him pulse in response.
“Your neck's so pretty and muscular, Hannie. Makes it easy to kiss every inch. And these sounds? Driving me wild - keep moaning like that for me.” You whispered dirty encouragements, your own arousal pooling, panties damp against his hardness. He was a wreck already, eyes glassy, lips parted on pants, but he was ready for the next question, voice wrecked.
“H-Heart... anatomical location and primary function?Chambers, circulation.”
Smirking, you reached for his tie, fingers loosening the knot until it slid free. You tossed it aside, then moved to the buttons of his shirt, popping the top one open to reveal the hollow of his throat. “Mhmmm hannie so pretty” you say while scratching his skin teasingly with your nails as he whimpers, head falling back.
“The heart sits deep in the chest, just left of center-tucked safely between the lungs, behind the ribs” you moved to the next button.
“It's strong and steady, a muscle that never rests. Four chambers working in pertect rhythm, pulling in and pushing out life with every beat” you whisper popping another one open.
With each button undone - two, three, four - more skin emerged: the sharp line of his collarbones, the smooth width of his chest. You pushed the fabric apart, exposing his nipples.
Leaning down, you kissed the center of his chest, right over where his heart hammered wildly “feel that beat? That's your pump working overtime because of me” you say with a wink, making him chuckle but also growing red “you're unbelieveable y/n..”
Han's moan was low, loud and raw as your lips sealed over the skin, sucking a hickey directly above his chest bone. His hands roamed up your back, clutching desperately, body bowing off the couch “y/n... yes, fuck - your tongue.. it's too much-“ he cried out, voice breaking. His abs clenched visibly as you trailed lower, kissing across his torso.
“God, hannie, your chest is incredible. So firm, these muscles i can't get enough of them i really want to lick them” you said with lustful eyes. He couldn't take it anymore, moans growing louder - long, needy draws of breath turning to sharp gasps. “Such strong muscles hannn ahhh- bet you worked hard for them. Makes me want to bite, eat you up completley.”
His cock strained, grinding up against your soaked panties with each roll of your hips. “Please... touch me more. I'm yours - tell me I'm good,” he begged, voice pleading, blush spreading down his neck.
You did, nipping gently before licking broad stripes over his skin, a bite here a lick there. Nails going over his toned abs.
“You are so good, baby. The best. Look at these arms - wrapping around me so tight, all buff and powerful. Turns me on seeing you like this, shirt open, moaning loud for your roommate” your hands slid to his biceps, squeezing the taut muscle as you sucked harder on his chest, leaving a lots of marks. “Mhmm y/n m-more- praise me more-“ he said shyly and breathless.
But you didn't want to give completely in yet. Just a tiny bit more teasing. Just a bit.
Without prompting, you transitioned smoothly. “Lungs next, sitting on either side of the heart and protected by ribs. They let you breathe - air comes in when the diaphragm and chest muscles expand them, and goes out when they relax”
Your fingers traced his ribs, pushing the shirt fully off his shoulders to bare his torso. You kissed lower, over the lung fields, tongue dipping into the dips between muscles “breathe in deep for me, hannie. Show me how they fill.” He obeyed, chest expanding on a moan, your mouth following the rise and fall.
You ground down harder, feeling his desperation, Your fingers traced his ribs, pushing the shirt fully off his shoulders to bare his torso. You kissed lower, over the lung fields, tongue dipping into the dips between muscles “breathe deep for me, hannie. Show me how they fill.” He obeyed, chest expanding on a moan, your mouth following the rise and fall.
You ground down harder, feeling his desperation, dirty talk spilling freely. “Your lungs must be working overtime with all these moans. So hot hannie, panting like that - fill me with those sounds.”
Cries echoing as you explored, hands kneading his abs - hard muscles that flexed under your palms. “These? Insanely defined. Your body is soo hot hannie, making me wet just looking at it. No not wet. Making me almost even cum” you whispered, praise fueled him, his hips snapping up, cock leaking steadily.
Time blurred in the haze of touches and questions, but Han pushed on, voice a wrecked rasp. “Fingers... the structure and muscles of the fingers. What's their use?”
Bingo.
You locked eyes, his blown pupils reflecting your hunger “each finger has joints that bend and stretch, with the thumb a little different. Muscles in your arm and hand let them move just right-gripping, pressing, teasing... or exploring”
Grabbing his hand, you guided his fingers to your blouse, unbuttoning it slowly to expose your bra, lace straining. Then, putting his index and middle fingers into your mouth, sucking at them, you swirled your tongue, coating them in saliva. Han groaned deeply, a loud, submissive sound, his free hand fisting the couch “y/n... fuck, your mouth a-and tounge-“
Popping them free, slick and shining, you hiked your skirt higher, shoving panties aside to bare your dripping pussy. The cool air hit your folds, but his gaze burned hotter. “Watch, me hannie. See how they function inside.. of me” you pressed his fingers to your entrance, sinking down slowly, pushing them into the tight, wet heat.
He cried out, eyes rolling as you clenched around him “so warm... tight, oh shit-y-your pussy's gripping me ughh” his voice was loud, moans punctuating each word as you rode his fingers, guiding his thrusts. You curled them yourself at first, showing the motion, then let him take over.
“Curl like that - yes, hit my walls. Good boy, fingering me so deep. Your fingers are perfect, long and skilled - making my clit throb” you ground against his palm, pleasure coiling tight. He pumped eagerly, thumb finding your clit by instinct, rubbing circles that had you moaning back.
“Am I... good? Tell me, please y/n tell me- fuck, you're soaking m-my hand” he whined, pleas mixing with his loud groans, blush fierce as he watched his fingers disappear inside you.
“The best, baby. So good, learning my body. Your arms flexing while you do this? So buff, so hot - drives me crazy hannie”compliments poured, pushing him faster until your orgasm hit, walls fluttering, juices flooding his hand in a gush. “H-hannn” you cried trembling.
Pulling off, you brought his fingers to his mouth “clean them. Taste how you wrecked me” and he sucked greedily, moaning at the flavor, eyes watery.
But the fire raged on. You tugged his belt open, zipper down, freeing his cock-thick, veined, tip glistening with pre-cum.
“Next?” You asked, but you weren't expecting an answer that has anything to do with the biology textbook this time - he didn't give one, anyway. Instead, he told you exactly what he wanted.
“The ass," he panted, voice desperate. “Location, function - mmmmm...”
“Posterior pelvis and proximal femur, largest skeletal muscle. Extends the hip for standing, walking, climbing - powerful thrusts too” smirking, you grabbed his hand, placing it on your ass cheek, forcing him to squeeze the firm flesh through the skirt.
“Feel mine hannie? It's strong for riding” you said leaning closer to his ear "wanna.. see for yourself? Making sure i'm saying the truth" he moans. He moans so loud and squeezes your cheek harder, so hard it defenitly left a red mark.
He kneaded roughly, groaning “so full.. perfect ass, y/n-wanna- wanna- grab it while...” his words trailed into a moan as you stroked his cock.
“You will, pretty boy. Your cock's throbbing-sooo big hannie, leaking for me" positioning over him, you sank down, pussy swallowing his length inch by inch. He was huge, stretching you full, and you both moaned- yours husky, his loud.
“y/n it- 'm so so deep in you- your walls, milking my cock- p-please, ride me. I promise i'll be good, i'll be s-so good for you just let me put it in completely. Please- y/n i need-“
And you did, starting slow, rolling hips to grind his base against your clit. Then faster, bouncing, tits spilling from your bra. Wet slaps filled the air, his moans constant - loud, broken cries of “yes y/n oh my- your pussy's perfect- and your tits p-please let them free i-i need to see them p-please i've been imaging what they look like for so looong-h-how they feel a-and taste God y/n just remove your bra i-i can't take it-“ he thrust up submissively, letting you set the pace, hands squeezing your ass as guided.
Finally, you gave in, unhooking the bra with one hand and letting it fall away. Your full breasts bounced free, swaying as you rode him faster, grinding your clit against his pelvis. Han's eyes widened, a groan ripping from his throat “fuuuck they're pretty- so big, so soft... please, let me taste y/n” he strained upward, mouth open, tongue out like a starving man.
You leaned forward, shoving one tit into his eager mouth. He latched on immediately, sucking hard on your nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive peak while his hips jerked erratically beneath you. His free hand kneaded your other breast. The dual sensations - his cock pounding into your dripping pussy and his hot mouth devouring your tit - pushed you closer to the edge.
“That's it- fuck into me. Good boy, filling me so well. Your abs clenching? Wanna cum on them soo bad. Arms around my waist- hold me while I use you” dirty talk flowed, praise endless “moan louder, Hannie. Love hearing how my riding breaks you. Such a good big cock, twitching inside.”
He obeyed, cries echoing- "g-gonna cum- please- you're too good, praising me... your body's so mhmmm" his body's tensing, abs rippling under your nails.
“Cum now, fill my pussy, like you've always wanted it - you earned it, so good and obedient” he shattered with a loud moan, hot cum pulsing deep, triggering your own release, clenching around him in waves.
You collapsed onto his chest, both panting, his arms wrapping loosely. Hickeys dotted his skin, shirt ruined. “Best lesson ever, hannie. You're the best study partner, letting me use your body like this to demonstrate. This is going to be my favorite study method from now on”
He chuckled weakly, still blushing. “Shower... then movie?”
“Absolutely” you kissed his jaw while getting up “...also before i forget - you should show me where you got all your biology knowledge from? I need to prepare for our next study session. i'm questioning our A student hannie next, let's so how well you really know bio.”
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ pornstar!jisung who flies you out for a video and makes you cum harder than you ever have in your life, on and off camera.
( second part extension to this post i made here. )
pairing: han jisung x f!reader genre/tags: smut, dom!jisung, fingering, oral (f. receiving), nipple play, piv, unprotected s*x, praise kink, light degradation words: 2.2k
the dm didn’t even look real. your thumb hovered over the screen for a long time, rereading his name, the stupid little checkmark, and the preview line that just said “hey.” jisung. your favorite creator. the guy whose face you’ve memorized from hours of his videos.
opening it only made things worse. “went through a bunch of applications. yours caught my eye. you free to chat?” you were seconds away from reporting it for impersonation until he sent a voice note. scratchy, casual, undeniably him. you nearly dropped your phone on your face.
you reply back with a yes embarrassingly fast and he laughs about it in the next message. “eager. i like that.”
the first calls were awkward.. your nerves made your voice shake, and he noticed straight away. “relax, i’m not scary,” he teased, and you muttered something about how that wasn’t true at all. he pressed, gentle. asked what kind of stuff you liked, what you didn’t. it wasn’t dirty at first, more like an intake form but through voice notes. “so, tell me. kinks? boundaries?” you listed all the basics, hesitating when you admitted you were pretty vanilla. “that’s fine,” he said easily. “vanilla is good. it just means i get to ruin you at the right pace.”
when you mentioned degradation, he paused. “a little?”
“a little,” you repeated, chewing your lip.
he hummed like he was filing that away. “and safe words? do you have one you’re comfortable with?”
you chose red. he said good choice. “i want you to use it if you need to. doesn’t matter what’s happening, i’ll stop. deal?”
“deal,” you whispered, heart thumping.
“good girl.”
the days blurred after that. he kept messaging, sometimes real questions about logistics, seomtimes random bullshit. “what’s your favorite snack?” “cats or dogs?” “you’re a night shower or morning shower person?” he had a way of weaving in comfort until talking to him felt like texting a close friend, not some pornstar you’d been getting off to every night.
but flying out to meet him hit different. your stomach was twisting in knots the whole trip. every bad thought crowded in— what if you looked worse in person, what if he regretted picking you, what if you got cold feet and literally froze in front of the camera?
and then the door opened and there he was. not behind a screen anymore. 100% real. messy hair, sweats hanging low, that smile tugging slow at his lips like he could already sense how nervous you were. “hey,” he said simply, leaning against the doorframe as if you weren’t seconds from fainting. “you made it.”
inside, the lights were already set up, the tripod pointed at the bed, and your chest tightened. jisung noticed immediately. “too much?”
you shook your head even though it was.
he walked closer, soft steps, stopping just in front of you. “hey, look at me.” his voice dropped. “we don’t have to rush. we can talk, hang out, order food, whatever. i don’t care if the camera’s on today or tomorrow. you’re the one who sets the pace.”
you exhaled, tension loosening. “sorry, i’m just..really nervous.”
“don’t be sorry, it means you care.” he smiled then, real and sweet. “besides, i’m good at making people forget about nerves.”
you snorted before you could stop yourself. “you’re cocky.”
“confident,” he corrected, grinning. “but only because i know once we start, you’ll forget the camera’s even there. you’ll just be looking at me.”
later, when he tugged you onto the bed for test shots, you kept darting your eyes toward the camera. “ignore it,” he does his best to reassure you, pulling you into his lap. “just focus on me. like you always do.”
“i don’t—”
he smirked. “don’t what? don’t spend every night watching me get off? don’t imagine being the one under me?”
your face burned with embarrassment. “shut up.”
“see? already forgetting the nerves.” his mouth brushed your ear. “good girl.”
his mouth found yours before you had time to think. slow at first, lips soft, coaxing. then deeper, hungrier, like he been waiting through every message, every call, every night you spent touching yourself to his videos. his tongue slid against yours, teasing, pulling back just to make you chase him.
your hands fisted in his shirt. his were everywhere— on your waist, sliding down to your ass, squeezing until you’re gasping into his mouth. he groaned when you arched closer, sound vibrating through your chest, and tilted his head to kiss you deeper. it was too much too fast and it all made your brain fuzzy. the camera was already rolling, red light glowing, but you dared not to look at it. not when jisung’s thumb was rubbing circles into your hip bone, not when his palm dragged up under your top to cup your breast.
“fuck,” he muttered against your lips, giving it a squeeze. “so soft.” his mouth trailed hot down your jaw, biting at your neck, tongue licking over the sting. you whined, legs locking around his lap, and he laughed low. “yeah? already needy?”
his other hand slipped up your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin until you trembled. he didn’t even touch your pussy yet and your stomach was already tight, heat pooling lower with every grind of his hips under you.
“jisung—” you tried, but he cut you off with another dizzying kiss, teeth tugging at your bottom lip. “say my name again,” he whispered, voice wrecked already. “sounds so fucking good.”
he leaned back for a second, eyes dragging down your body, then up again with a smirk. “lift your arms.” you did, breathless, and he peeled your shirt off slowly like he wanted.to savor it. his gaze lingered, lips parting as he took you in. “jesus. you’re even hotter than i thought.”
the compliment burned through you, nerves and arousal tangling, but then his mouth was on your chest. open-mouthed kisses over your tits, tongue circling your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra until you gasped. he pulled it down, sucking harder, groaning like he’s starving.
his hand shoved between your thighs then, pushing them open wider, cupping you over your shorts. “fuck, you’re warm. bet you’re already wet, huh?” he pressed his palm down, grinding you against him until you moaned. “knew it.”
the lights were hot, the camera steady in the corner, but all you could feel was jisung. his mouth, his hands, the thick bulge pressing up against you. he looked up at you with that messy, cocky grin, lips shiny from your skin. “don’t look at the camera,” he said again, rubbing harder against your pussy. “look at me. i’m the one you’ve been waiting for.”
jisung tugged at your shorts with impatient hands, breathing heavy against your neck. “off,” he muttered, already peeling them down your thighs before you even moved. your panties followed, dropped careless to the floor. he sat back just to look at you, bare in his lap, cunt glistening under the lights. the red glow of the camera caught it perfectly. he grinned.
“fuck,” he said low, almost to himself. “you’re soaked. all this just from kissing me?” he pressed two fingers against your slit, dragging them slow, spreading you open for the camera. he held his fingers up, wet and shining. “pathetic, baby. already dripping and i haven’t even given you cock yet.”
you whimpered, trying to hide your face, but jisung caught your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “nah, none of that shy shit. the camera wants to see your pretty face when i wreck you.”
he pushed you down on your back, yanking your legs open wide. the angle was perfect, he adjusted you himself, spreading you so the lens caught every inch. then he slid off the bed, kneeling between your thighs, his lips brushing over your inner thigh. “you ever squirt before ?”
“n-no—”
“good.” he smirked, biting into your skin. “you’re gonna for me.”
his mouth latched onto your clit before you could answer, tongue flicking fast, sloppy, sucking like he needed it to breathe. you cried out, hips jerking, but his arms locked around your thighs and held you down. “stay still,” he growled into you, voice sounding muffled. “let me eat.”
he buried his face in your cunt, tongue dragging deep, nose pressed against you while he moaned like he’s fucking addicted. spit and slick coated his chin, dripping down his jaw, but he didn’t care, he licked it all back up, sucking at your hole before pushing two fingers inside without warning.
“ah- jisung!” you gasped, nails clawing at the sheets.
“fuck yeah, that’s it. moan for me. let them hear how good i make you.” he pumped his fingers fast, curling them against your sweet spot, tongue still working your clit, solely focused on making you cum.
your legs shook, heat spiraling fast, and he noticed. “yeah, you’re close, don’t fight it. cum for me, baby. give me that mess.”
it hit hard. you feel your whole body tense up, thighs clamping around his head, but he forced them open, growling as you came. liquid spilled over his hand, down his wrist, soaking the sheets. your vision had completely blurred, voice breaking on his name.
jisung pulled back just enough to watch it, chest heaving, face glistening with your slick. “fuck, look at you. first time squirting and you did it all over my face.” he licked his hand clean, eyes locked on yours, cock straining against his sweats. “you’re perfect for me. so fucking perfect.”
he wiped his chin with the back of his hand, eyeing the camera. “the fun’s just getting started.”
jisung barely gave you a chance to catch your breath before he’s standing, yanking his shirt off in one go. his sweats dropped next, boxers tented and wet at the front from how hard he’d been grinding against you.
your eyes widen. “oh my god—”
he laughed, cocky. “yeah, you like it? this what you’ve been watching every night?” he wrapped his hand around himself, stroking slow just to make you watch. “all those times you came to my videos, it was over this cock, wasn’t it?”
you nodded frantically, thighs still trembling.
“say it.”
“yes- fuck, yes.”
he climbed back onto the bed, lining himself up, the thick head sliding through your slick folds. “look at you. dripping, messy, spread out just for me.” he pushed in slow, inch by inch, stretching you until you were gasping, nails digging into his shoulders. “fuck- so tight. you’re takin’ me so good already.”
the camera catches it all— the way your pussy swallowed him, the way your wetness emits loudly in the room. jisung leaned over you, bracing himself on one hand while the other grabbed your tit, squeezing, thumb rolling over your nipple. “you hear that?” he groaned, slamming in deeper. “that’s the sound of you getting ruined on my cock.”
you whined, back arching, tits bouncing with every thrust. he bent down to suck one into his mouth, groaning against your skin, still fucking you hard. “fuck, i could bite these tits all night. they’re perfect. you’re perfect.”
he pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your stomach before you could even whimper at the loss. “up,” he ordered, smacking your ass once, hard. “arch it for me.” you scrambled to obey, face pressed into the mattress, ass high. jisung slid back in with a grunt, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise.
“look at this ass,” he groans, pounding into you hard, deep. “so fat in my hands. fuck, i can’t get enough.” he smacked it again, watching the way it jiggles. “you’re made for me. y’know that?”
the sound of skin slapping filled the room, his cock driving into you mercilessly while he leaned over to grab your tits again, pulling you up onto your knees so he could fuck you upright. his lips pressed to your ear, “you’re my little pornstar now. mine. everyone watching’s gonna know how good i fuck you.”
you cry out, babbling, barely coherent. “jisung, i- fuck, i can’t—”
“yes you can. you’re gonna cum for me again.” he shoved two fingers against your clit while still relentlessly pounding into you, and you screamed, tightening around him until you collapsed forward, shaking through your orgasm.
he didn’t stop. dragged you up again, flipping you onto your side, one leg thrown over his shoulder. the new angle had him slamming into you even deeper, his cock hitting that spot that made your eyes roll to the back of your skull. “fuck- yes, right there, huh? i can feel you clenching. you love it.”
his hand was on your tit again, kneading, twisting your nipple while his thrusts turned more brutal. “look at me,” he demanded, fingers gripping your jaw to force your gaze to his. “look at me when you cum on my cock.”
your body obeyed before your brain could— tightening, fluttering, cumming again while jisung groaned loud, head falling back. he pulled out at the very last second, stroking his lentgth over your stomach, spilling hot and messy ropes across your skin, chest heaving.
he smirked at the camera, “told you i’d make her cum like a pornstar.” he leaned down, smearing his release across your tits with his palm, groping them one more time before pulling you in for a sloppy kiss.
“and we’re not done yet,” he whispered against your lips.
summary : Finding out your boyfriend´s cheating in a world where leaving him would mean a scandal, you find a different way to get back at him involving the one person that would bother him the most. His childhood rival.
wc : 14,8k (that’s crazy lol)
warnings : a biiiiiit of angst, SMUT ! p in v, rough sex, jealousy, dom!charles, dirty talk, use of degrading language, horny and kinda asshole charles, cheating
a/n : HIII this is my first ever fic!! English isn’t my first language and I used a loooot of google translate hahahah so if you see any errors please let me know! I hope you all like this :D also the divider’s by @cafekitsune !
it was a bad idea
to think I could stop
was such a bad idea…
i can't get enough
You weren’t even surprised when you found out.
However, that didn’t make it any less painful.
Because you had loved Max. Really loved, as much as someone could love another person living in a different world. Between stolen nights and hotel rooms, following him around the globe while he was too busy to tell apart the days that you were there and the ones that you weren’t.
You thought it was worth it. You thought he loved you. In reality, he barely even noticed you.
He used to be so attentive you thought he was borderline obsessed with you. He wrote down your schedules so he could pick you up from work, he sent you chocolates to the office, and he gave you gifts every week. Just because, he said.
He wasn’t a man of words, however, he didn’t tell you how beautiful you were. He complimented your outfits, the ones he bought, and he showed you off every weekend. With so many jewellery—picked by him, for sure—that you shined. And he was there holding your hand, smiling at how everyone seemed to want to take a picture of you two together. Of him with you. Those were the ones he liked the most, the ones where you looked perfect by his side.
You thought it was worth it. The lack of privacy, the constant cameras on your face, the comments in every social media post.
Because you had him. You found the one for you, the man you loved.
So when he stopped picking you up, you figured that was normal. He was incredibly busy, after all. And you were old enough to get home alone, for sure. You could very well do that yourself. But the gesture used to be nice.
A few weeks later, you realised he wasn’t going to send chocolates to your office anymore, he wasn’t just forgetting. Well, you could live without those too. You weren’t in the honeymoon phase anymore after all, right?
But not-so-slowly, it happened with everything.
He didn’t care about photographers in the paddock finding them together, or about how your clothes looked.
He stopped calling you every night when he was away. And then he stopped calling you those weekends whatsoever. Barely even a text when he landed safely.
So when the pictures dropped, it didn’t even cross your mind that they could be fake. Some misunderstanding.
No, they were real. You just knew. He had been behaving differently for the past few months, his attention shifting. You weren’t any sparkly new thing anymore, after all. And Max had always looked for sparkles.
You didn’t try to talk to him, not knowing if you were heartbroken, angry or relieved. You were probably the three of them.
He didn’t excuse himself, didn’t even apologise. He just brought you a gift—the first one in months—a beautiful and clearly expensive pearl necklace, and asked you to accompany him to some event.
You both knew what it was for, to calm down the gossip. To tell people it was completely fake, that you two were alright and very much in love. But the only fake thing was your smile. Your gentle touch.
By the time you got home, you had come to terms with your feelings.
You were mad.
You were mad that he had cheated on you, you were mad that he had stopped caring, but you were specially mad that he hadn’t cared at all about staining your reputation. About forcing you to carry the weight of a scandal that made international news.
Because in this world, you didn’t make choices. You couldn’t choose what to say in public, you couldn’t choose what to wear, and you couldn’t choose how people looked at you. How they pitied you.
No matter who’s fault something like this was, they always made it the woman’s.
So yeah, you were mad. And God, you wanted to get back at him. Because you knew very well that you couldn’t just break up, not right after the scandal. You were doomed to stay with him, at least until it wore out and everyone could accept whatever bullshit excuse you posted on instagram.
Eventually, you decided on the next best thing. An eye for an eye. But he was already so detached from you, that you really had to think it through if you wanted to upset him. You needed someone specific.
And luckily, you knew the perfect man for the job.
***
Charles Leclerc was flirty and cheerful. He had a very particular boyish charm that he didn’t hesitate to use in his favour with interviewers, team representatives and overall women. Specially the ones he didn’t work with.
You had heard the rumours about him, like everyone in the paddock. About his last relationships, about the many girls that waited in line to wake up in his bed, about how whenever you did end up there, you were almost definitely bound to never see him again.
Those were the odds, that was his game.
And coincidentally enough, exactly what you needed.
You weren’t stupid, you noticed how he looked at you. That stupid smirk from afar when you walked close enough to the Ferrari hospitality, the up and down glance whenever you wore anything red, his fleeting touch on your lower back when he walked close enough, with the excuse of letting himself pass by.
He stared like he knew it was just a matter of time.
And you really didn’t mind boosting his ego if it got you what you wanted.
So when you got the opportunity, in some fancy club after the Italian GP, you took it.
He walked to you first, like he didn’t already have at least twenty girls blushing, waiting for him to talk to them again after he got himself a drink.
You didn’t go home with Max that night. Not like he cared. He probably didn’t even notice, since you didn’t sleep in the same bedroom anymore.
To your surprise, it happened again. And again. For some reason, he didn’t push you away after the first night.
And so this weird affair started, in which you weren’t really doing anything wrong, but you couldn’t tell Charles the truth. So he still thought you were cheating on Max. He probably preferred it that way, the sick asshole. You were sure it was the reason why you were different from the other girls.
He could have something of Max. Not a trophy, not a championship. But at least he had stolen something from him, like he had taken all of his glory.
And that worked for you. Because as much as you were starting to enjoy being with him, you couldn’t really trust him.
Would he leak the story to the media if he knew? If he thought that would upset Max… it was very likely.
And you couldn’t take those chances.
***
You were wearing an elegant long blue dress. Red Bull Racing blue, in case the whole show Max and you were still playing into wasn’t enough. If it was for the PR team, they’d put a sign on your forehead that said Verstappen’s girlfriend. That was it, that was all you had been reduced to.
Luckily, the gala was one of those events where you could become invisible in the crowd. Because no one was really paying attention to you.
You had played your part, made your statement. I’m still here, still Max’s. No one needed anything else from you.
No one but Charles.
He stared at you from the other side of the hall, not even blinking while taking a sip of his expensive champagne. And you could fucking feel it. His eyes burned your skin, they saw right through you.
Everyone talked and socialized with the other drivers and millionaires, but you knew it was just a matter of time until he dared to approach you. He was walking past you, pretending not to notice you and brushing a hand against your waist just to tease you, making you close your eyes for an instant.
He chuckled, knowing that—as always—you were getting affected by him. So as the night went on, he continued with the light touches and the stares.
Until he got tired of the teasing.
"Having a good time so far, baby?" You heard him whisper right next to your ear.
"What are you doing?" You asked, trying really hard not to look at him when he put a hand on your lower back.
"Can I not even talk to a beautiful lady?" He said again in your ear, his breath hot against your skin.
He teased you more, as his hand remained on your lower back, slowly moving lower down to your hip. And you could feel his stupid smirk.
"Max is literally ten feet away" You reminded him.
It wasn’t really about Max. You wanted him to see it, but not the rest of the fucking gala. Not the rest of the world. Because then they’d make you out to be some whore, the villain in the story. The one who broke poor Max’s heart.
The media would never leave you alone.
Just like Charles wasn’t right now.
"I know..." He said "Which makes this whole thing way hotter"
He moved a bit closer, so his chest was against your back, his hand still on your hip so he could pull you back into him. Just slightly. Just enough, so your could feel him.
"Charles"
"Keep saying my name like that. It sounds so sweet coming out of your mouth" He almost purred as his hand moved to your thigh and he pressed his front into your back, making you realize he was half hard already.
"Stop it" You whispered, only loud enough for him.
"Why? You're enjoying this, aren't you?" He replied in your ear, his hand on your thigh slowly rubbing up and down, trying to be inconspicuous about it so no one else could tell the things he was doing to you.
"If anyone sees us..."
He fucking laughed. A low, dangerous laugh. The one that told you he had already convinced himself that he had you. And at this point, maybe he did.
"He won't notice anything, trust me." He continued rubbing your thigh, and you could feel him getting even harder by the closeness. "Let me have some fun. Can you do that for me, baby?"
"We can’t do this here…"
"Why not? There are plenty of quiet places we can go to, mon ange." He whispered in your ear again, his hand moving a bit higher on your thigh as he started to become more desperate for you, wanting to have you even if it was for a moment in some back room.
"Right, and you know it because of the many women you've fucked here, no?" You bit back, looking around one again, making sure no one was paying attention to your conversation.
He laughed, the comment getting to him, but it was true. He'd done his fair number of girls in galas like this one, but he had never paid much attention to any of them.
"Are you jealous?" He teased, pulling you closer against him.
"Fuck off."
He chuckled, enjoying the reaction he got from you. He leaned in to bite your ear lobe before whispering. "Mhmm, say that again. I love it when you curse at me like that."
"Charles, stop it" She nervously pulled away "What's wrong with you?"
He pulled you back in again, as he was getting frustrated with your rejection. He didn't want to let you go that easily.
"Just let me have you for a moment, will you? I want you so bad..."
She had to suppress a moan when she felt his hardness against her lower back.
He smiled as he felt you shiver against him, happy that he was getting to you. He leaned in to whisper in your ear again; "Look at what you're doing to me, baby. Do you like that? Knowing you're making me all worked up for you?"
He continued running his hand up and down your thigh, slowly sliding them higher and higher to see how far he could get with you in public. Right in front of Max.
"Jesus, Charles..."
He chuckled at your reaction, loving how his name sounded from your lips when you were aroused.
"Keep saying my name like that, mon amour, and I might do something I’ll regret in front of this many people" He whispered as he started to get bolder, his hand moving a bit more up your thigh.
"Okay, stop" She moved away, turning around and looking at him. "Come to the bathroom in five minutes."
He was surprised to see you finally giving in, but he sure as hell wasn't going to complain. He loved the feeling of sneaking around and knowing you were risking being found by your boyfriend. By his rival.
"I'll be there."
***
He waited 5 minutes, as you had told him, and then went straight to the bathroom down the hallway.
He looked around, making sure no one was watching, and walked in, closing the door behind him.
Sure enough, there you were, waiting for him.
"Just in time" You said, tilting your head and smiling slightly at him.
He didn’t reply. Not with words anyway. Instead, he pulled you against him and kissed you, backing you into the wall so he could pin you against it. He was eager and desperate to have you as his hands roamed all over you body.
You got into one of the cabins. He closed the door behind him and immediately pushed you up against it, kissing you again, his hands on your hips to pull you in as hard as he could against himself as he pressed you into the cold surface.
He continued kissing you until he was out of breath and pulled away, still close so he could whisper into your ear. "I want you so bad…"
"I want you too" You gasped out, your back slightly arching against him.
"You don't know how hard it was not to rip this dress off of you right there, in the middle of that room..." He said, as he started kissing your neck, sucking and biting while his hands moved to the skirt of your dress, lifting it up.
You helped him out however you could, pushing your panties to the side as his fingers started to explore you. Slowly. Torturously.
He pulled away to look at you and smiled at seeing you were already so ready for him. "You want me that bad, huh?"
He started unbuttoning his jeans with one hand, never taking his eyes off of you, and never erasing that insufferable smirk off his face.
"Shut up" You replied, already starting to get out of breath in the small cabin.
You knew you had to be quick and quiet, as anyone could notice you were gone. Or worse, anyone could walk into the bathroom.
He chuckled and pulled his jeans down, just enough to take his dick out and pressed up against you.
"You're mine right now, yeah? You belong to me."
You nodded when he picked you up, your back against the cabin's door.
He smirked, happy to see you agreeing so quickly. He moved your legs to lock around his waist as he supported you by pressing your back against the cold surface. His hands squeezed your thighs possessively before moving up to grab your ass and lift you higher against him.
Not wasting any more time, he thrusted into you, making you gasp and close your eyes.
He smirked, his ego loving the reaction he got as he kissed your neck, biting down on the sensitive skin as he started moving his hips. He took one of the hands on your thighs, and moved it up to cover your mouth, not wanting you to be too loud and let other people know what was going on.
You whined against his hand, making him chuckle again, surely enjoying the sounds you were making, even if you were trying to be quiet.
He took his hand off of you so he could kiss you, swallowing your moans to keep you from being too loud. "Be quiet, baby. You don't want us to get caught, do you?"
You shook your head, trying not to moan, and he laughed, loving how hard it was for you to not make any noise.
"Good girl. Keep being quiet, yeah?" He whispered in your ear, as he started biting your neck again, moving his hips harder into you, his cock stretching you wide open. "You don't want anyone to know you're back here with me, do you?"
You let your head fall back against the door, one hand moving to the surface as he slams into you, setting a brutal pace.
He smiled when you moved your head, giving him a full access for him to attack your neck with his mouth. He knew he was making a mess of you, and he loved that he could affect you that much. That he could affect Max’s girl that much.
He pounded into you relentlessly, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the bathroom. His balls slapped against your ass with each thrust, his cock hitting deep inside you.
"Fuck, your pussy was made for me," He grunted, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
But suddenly, he froze.
Someone had entered the bathroom.
He cursed under his breath, as he held you tighter against him and pressed his hand against your mouth again, silently telling you to be quiet.
And, of course, because it would’ve been boring otherwise, they heard Max’s voice.
"Jesus Christ, the most fucking boring gala of the year" He was talking to someone.
"Yeah, I just want to get the fuck out" The other man said. "I feel like I’ve aged ten years in here."
Charles tried to suppress a chuckle when he heard Max's voice, as this already was such a taboo situation, and it was even funnier that the man who had no idea he was currently balls deep inside his girlfriend was in the bathroom with them.
He continued to hold you up against the door, listening in on Max and the other person's conversation as you closed your eyes, trying so hard to keep quiet.
He could tell you were trying your hardest not to make any noise. But Charles couldn't help but tease you.
He moved his hips just a tiny bit, getting a shiver out of you.
And you immediatly opened your mouth, not making a sound but almost.
He pressed his hand even harder against your mouth, knowing you were trying your hardest not to make a sound, but knowing he’d had you close to. He slowly smirked and bit your ear lobe again, whispering in it: "Shh... quiet now. Wouldn't want your boyfriend to hear how good my cock feels inside you."
He then moved his hand away from your mouth, starting to slowly slide it underneath your dress, making you immediately shake your head, knowing that if he used his fingers too you wouldn't be able to stay silent.
He smirked mischievously, knowing how sensitive your clit was, and kept sliding his hand until he found your soaking wet pussy. Without hesitation, he started playing with the bundle of nerves while continuing to fuck you slowly, knowing that the combination of his thick dick and his fingers would make it almost impossible to stay quiet.
You held tightly onto him, making him feel your nails digging into his back, at the same time you could hear Max laughing at something the other man said.
And like the sick fuck Charles was, he whispered; "I want to hear you say my name."
You shook your head pathetically, knowing there were still two people in the bathroom just outside their stall.
And he fucking smirked, leaning in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Come on, baby." He muttered, increasing the pace of his fingers and thrusts harder into you. "Say my name while I fuck you."
You hid your face against his neck, biting his shoulder so as not to make a sound.
Charles slightly groaned as your teeth sank into his skin, the pain mixing with pleasure. His hand came up to grip your hair gently, holding you against him as he fucked you harder. "Fuck... right there..." He was starting to struggle to stay quiet too now. "Say my name and I’ll give it to you."
He heard Max saying something, still talking to that guy. And Charles wanted to make her come while he was still there, less than 10 meters away while his girlfriend was being slammed against the cabin door by another man.
He could tell you were close, so his fingers worked faster on your clit while he pounded into you slower but deeper, hitting your best spots. "That's it baby, you're mine. You're my good girl, aren't you? Tell me, who do you belong to? Whose name are you gonna moan, huh?"
"Please…" You said, the only word that you managed to get out without being too loud.
He smiled wickedly against your neck, his fingers pressing harder on your clit and his cock hitting your G-spot with every slow thrust. "Please what, love? Tell me what you want, I'll give it to you." He whispered back, keeping you exactly on that edge, not letting you tip over until you said what he wanted you to.
And you couldn’t fucking take it anymore.
"Please, I need you…" You said, quietly. "Charles, please…"
He groaned softly as your whisper reached his ears, his name falling from your lips exactly how he wanted. And it was the hottest fucking thing he’s ever heard.
"You're gonna think of me now, every time he's with you" He whispered, breathlessly. "And you're gonna remember it's my name you moan, my dick and my fingers that make you come"
You whined against the skin of his neck. "Yes… just you…"
He wanted to make you come so hard that you couldn’t help but moan his name, right there where Max could hear if he as much as moved five steps.
"M’gonna fill you up, baby, gonna make sure you feel me for days." He whispered, slamming into you harder, his fingers working your clit furiously as he fucked you with wild abandon.
And that did it for you.
Charles watched as your pussy clenched around his hard dick, milking him, your body shaking with an intense orgasm. He kept fucking you through it, his fingers continuing to work your clit until you were a mess against him, biting his shoulder to stay quiet.
"Merde… oh, fuck…" He filled you up, his hot release shooting deep inside you. He covered your mouth with his hand again as you whimpered softly from the intense pleasure.
You stayed quiet for a few seconds, trying to catch your breaths. And Charles took advantage of the time to kiss you. Slowly, almost gently. Very different from before.
After a few more seconds, you heard Max and the other guy walking out of the bathroom, and only then he allowed himself to chuckle. Started as a scoff, and ended as a laugh.
You rolled your eyes, untangling yourself from him and fixing your dress. "Not funny."
He let out another snicker. "I think you coming for me while your boyfriend was five meters away is hilarious, actually."
"You’re sick." You replied, putting your panties back on.
He smirked as he saw you trying to make yourself look decent enough. "You're the one who keeps coming back to me."
"Like you’re not all over me."
He chuckled, knowing you were right, knowing full well that he was the one who started this entire thing by pulling you away from Max and into the bathroom, but he loved the fact you were just as desperate for him as he was for you.
"Maybe that's true, but it's not like you're exactly fighting me, are you baby?"
You almost winced. "Don’t call me that"
Charles didn’t erase the smirk off his face, knowing you were trying your best to act all cold and distant now that the intense moment was over.
"Why not? Didn't it make you feel good when I called you that a minute ago? Because I know you liked it, a lot"
"But now we're not fucking, are we?"
He scoffed at the tone of your voice. "Not right now, no. But we will be in the future, because we both know you can't help yourself when you're around me."
"Jesus" You rolled your eyes again, walking out of the stall and towards a mirror.
The gesture made him smirk, enjoying how frustrated you got every time he pointed out how you couldn't resist him.
As you went towards the mirror, he pulled up his jeans and zipped them back up before following you, positioning himself behind you.
He watched you at the mirror, as you tried to fix your hair and makeup so Max wouldn't suspect anything.
Not that Max looked at you at all these days, specially compared to the way Charles was admiring you, looking completely and utterly infatuated with you.
"Still looking perfect" He whispered. "I wouldn't have been able to tell what you've just been doing"
"Good. Because I wasn't doing anything"
He smiled at that quick little response from you, knowing it was a big bluff. "You keep telling yourself that, angel. But you know that the things I just did to you, you could've never gotten from him."
Your jaw tensed slightly, as you tried to keep fixing your makeup, your pulse embarrassingly unsteady as you reapplied your gloss.
And, of course, he noticed. He always did.
"Yeah, exactly. He's never been able to satisfy you, has he baby? Not the way I do."
You turned towards him. "This was the last time."
He knew it wasn't, because he knew the way you were, the way you reacted to him. So he raised one eyebrow at you. "We both know that's not true, baby. Max will ignore you again and I'll be here to make you feel good."
God, you hated how fucking smug he was.
"Think whatever you want, but it's over."
He smirked. "You're funny, you know that?"
This time, you scoffed. Right before starting to walk away. "Fuck off"
Charles followed you out the bathroom, knowing he would be able to ruin you again sometime not to far from this moment.
"You know where to find me!"
You didn't reply, and simply went to Max.
Who didn't even ask where you had been.
Seeing the way he didn't even look twice in your direction, much less asked about your whereabouts, it made Charles' smirk get even bigger. He knew his words were true, he knew Max wasn't satisfying you, he knew he didn't care about you as much as you deserved.
And he also knew that he could give you exactly what you needed.
***
The notification sounded at midnight.
It had been a week since the gala, and you knew Charles would reach out sooner or later. It was always him, pulling you closer. And you just let him.
It was a simple "hey". Casual enough on the surface, but his name on the screen already made you feel goosebumps. It always did, didn’t matter what he was saying.
You didn’t want to cave this time.
So you waited a few minutes before replying. "Not happening."
Your text didn’t have the wanted effect however. Charles couldn't help but laugh. He couldn't believe you were trying to convince yourself that this wasn't going to happen again.
But he played into it.
"I was just saying hi"
"Sure, i'll bite" You replied "Hi"
"How've you been?" He wrote back, not getting to the point that quickly.
"Good"
He didn't really believe you.
He couldn't tell if you were replying like that because you were actually okay, or because you just didn't want to talk to him. But he knew you were probably neglected by Max. And talking about him, he was a bit intrigued as to how you were actually feeling about your boyfriend right now.
"How's Max?"
You rolled your eyes. "Busy."
"Too busy to take care of you again?"
Of course. Predictable.
"Goodbye Charles"
He wasn't having your quick dismissal anymore, he was too intrigued.
"Stop it, we just started talking" He quickly replied again.
"I don't think you want to talk"
He honestly just chuckled at that your response, because damn did he know you weren't wrong.
He didn't really want to talk, he just wanted you. Preferably under him again, falling apart while moaning his name.
"What do I want to do then?" He asked.
"I'm not going to your place, Charles"
He was that damn easy to read. Then again, he had never hidden the fact that he wanted you.
"Come on, baby. You know l'd make you feel good"
And there it was. The need, the desperation.
"I feel pretty good by myself thank you very much"
He knew you were trying to act all cocky and confident, but there was no way in hell he was going to believe you.
He'd always take care of you, he'd always make sure you were well looked after. He'd give you all the attention you deserved.
"Sure you do" He replied, sarcastically. "All alone on a Friday night? You're definitely feeling great"
You almost smiled.
"Self-care night"
"All alone in your room?" He typed out.
"Yeah"
He knew you weren't doing any self-care at all. You were looking for the sort of attention that Max wasn't giving you. And it was just perfect for him to take advantage of that.
So he texted back. "Sounds like you need some attention"
"I have attention."
He rolled his eyes.
"Clearly not enough if you're talking to me"
You didn't reply, and he knew he was getting to you.
All he needed now was to get you all worked up, and then he'd have you in his bed again.
"I miss hearing you say my name"
You bit your lower lip. You knew what he was doing. And hell, was it working.
"Shut up"
Charles smirked as he saw your brief and blunt reply. He knew this was working, you were slowly giving in. He didn't want to push too much, but he definitely wasn't going to back down.
"Do you not miss screaming my name like a good girl?" He texted back.
"I hate you"
He rolled his eyes at that, knowing damn well you didn't hate him. You would've blocked his number and ignored him a long time ago if you did.
"You have a funny way of showing it" He typed back.
Again, you didn't reply.
He couldn't tell if you were ignoring him on purpose, or just trying to come up with something. So he typed out another text.
"I'd be so much better for you than Max"
To that, you replied.
"Yeah, I'm sure"
He couldn't help but roll his eyes. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that you still thought Max was the one for you.
"I would be. I'd give you all the attention you deserve" He quickly typed back. "I'd fuck you so good"
"Stop it, Charles"
He was not going to stop after getting this far already. He loved seeing how you were slowly getting worked up over this, he could just feel you getting frustrated over the phone.
"Come over" He insisted.
"Fuck off"
He rolled his eyes again, getting just a little bit frustrated that you were not giving in just yet. He wanted you, hell, He needed you. And he also needed to prove to you that he was more worthy than Max in every single way.
"Baby, please"
You sighed.
"You're insufferable"
He couldn't help but chuckle at how stubborn you were, always fighting your feelings for him. But he knew he would eventually get what he wanted out of you, because you simply could never resist him.
"So come over and do something about it"
There were a few seconds of silence on both sides. Charles knew when to push and when to stop, and he had pushed a lot already.
You looked at the time, 00:34. Max wasn’t home yet, and you didn’t even know where he was.
Probably some club, maybe someone else’s bed.
God, you needed it.
So you replied.
"Fine."
He immediately smiled as he saw your text, knowing he had won you over just like he always did.
"Door's unlocked, princess"
The nickname gave you goosebumps. And he wasn’t even fucking there. The thought of his voice was enough to get you desperate.
This wasn’t just about getting back at Max.
You were screwed.
***
You arrived at his building half an hour later.
Charles was standing in his penthouse, leaning against one of the walls, waiting for you to come in, and immediately smiled when you opened the door.
You sighed, letting your bag fall to the floor and walking to him.
His smile widened as he watched you walk all the way over to him. He didn't even know why you tried to resist at this point. You knew you wanted this, you knew you were more eager for him than Max.
"That wasn't so fucking tough now was it?" He said, as you approached him.
"Shut up" Was the only thing you said, right before kissing him.
And Charles didn't hesitate at all to return the kiss, immediately wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him, knowing damn well you wanted this as much as he did.
"Such a bad attitude you have" He mumbled against your lips, smirking between kisses.
You chose to ignore his words. You didn’t need a dialogue right now, you needed him. In the most primal, desperate way possible.
So he continued kissing you back, loving the taste of your lips and how you were finally giving in to your desires. Loving the kind of power that he had over you.
"I can make you feel much better than Max does" He whispered, as he moved his lips down to your neck.
"Don’t talk about him"
He smirked, knowing you didn't want to be reminded of him. He definitely didn't want to mention that dumbass either, but he did want to get a reaction out of you.
"Why not?" He said, continuing the path down your neck. "You don’t want me to remind you of how much Max doesn't satisfy you?"
"Shut up, Charles"
He just chuckled against your neck, not letting you go just yet. He could feel you getting frustrated as he mentioned Max, so he whispered again: "Not my fault you're here with me now rather than him"
You almost gasped when he started to kiss a sensitive spot on your neck.
"It is your fault"
"No, it's yours. You came here all by yourself. You know you can't stay away, baby" He said as he slowly started walking you back, towards his bedroom.
You moved your hands to the edge of his t-shirt, tugging it off. "I fucking hate you"
He chuckled as you started to undress him, throwing the shirt to the side. He could tell you were already incredibly worked up, he could feel your frustration against him.
"No you don't princess" He replied, now pulling your shirt off over your head "You just hate that you can't resist me"
You let him take it off, and he immediately started kissing you again, pulling you against him, his hands quickly unbuttoning your jeans. You very gladly let him take them off.
Charles pushed you back onto the bed, laying you down before he got over you. He knew he was already winning right now, knowing that you were falling for him all over again.
"So fucking beautiful" He mumbled, as he slowly started to undo his own pants.
He pulled them off, now only left in a pair of black Calvin briefs, the ones he knew damn well you loved him in.
He looked down at you, his eyes roaming over your body as he took in every inch of you.
"Look at you, princess. All f’me" he said as he got on top of you, straddling your hips.
Your breath was caught in your throat when you noticed the boxers. The fucking prick.
He smirked, noticing your reaction to your favourite pair. He knew the effect they had on you, he knew how much you loved them, and he made sure to only wear them for you.
"You love these, don't you?" He said in a low tone as he hovered over you, his hands on either side of you.
"I’d love them more on the floor."
He chuckled at your reply, slowly trailing his hands down your body, all the way to your hips.
"Such a naughty girl" He replied, still gripping your skin as he looked down at you "Always getting what she wants, huh?"
You smiled, even tho he couldn’t be further away from the truth. It was almost funny how little he understood this arrangement.
"Usually"
"Not always." He mumbled, suddenly flipping you over onto your stomach. "Definitely not with me."
You let him manhandle you, knowing how much of an ego boost it always gave him when he could just move you to any position he liked.
And of course, Charles smirked, his hands slowly trailing up from your hips to your torso, all the way up to your shoulders.
He was in full control now.
"You give all this power to Max?" He asked as he leaned down, whispering against your ear.
You shook your head, making him chuckle. It only made him want you even more, knowing that he was the one in control and not the Max Verstappen.
He was winning here. A different kind of fight.
"Of course not, baby. You give this power to me" he said, leaving a few kisses on your neck "Only me"
He got on his knees, pulling his briefs off and throwing them to the side, leaving himself completely naked on top of you. He was all hard and ready for you, and he wanted nothing more than to ruin you.
"Look at how bad I want you" he mumbled to your ear as he pressed against you, letting you feel his hard and angry cock against your ass.
You closed your eyes, sighing, and he smirked again.
He started to kiss across your back, tracing your spine with his lips as he left kisses all over you.
"You're so quiet tonight, princess" He mumbled against your skin "What happened to the feisty girl from a few minutes ago?"
"Don't be an asshole" You replied, not needing the teasing but needing him. Right now.
He smiled, leaving a bite on your skin as you told him not to tease. He could tell you were getting impatient with him, he could tell how much you wanted him.
"Don't get sassy with me mon amour, I know you want this just as much as I do." He replied, his hand travelling along your stomach, up to your chest.
You moaned when he squeezed your breasts, his thumb playing with one of the already hard nipples.
He knew how much you were trying to stay quiet and not give him the reaction he wanted from you, but he couldn't help it.
He needed to hear you.
"That's it..." His hand moved lower, his fingers playing with the skin of her lower belly.
He chuckled as he heard the breath you let out, his touch sliding down your stomach and between your legs, finding your pussy already wet and ready for him. He groaned against your back, slipping two fingers easily inside your slick core.
You pushed back against his hand, seeking more friction, as he kept pumping them in and out of you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. He kissed along your spine, his other hand reaching around to play with your nipples again.
When he put his fingers away, because he was just that cruel, you whimpered, complaining.
"You're so needy," He laughed softly, his hands spreading your legs wider. "All whiny when I don't touch your pussy for two seconds." He smacked your ass cheek softly, making you jerk, and you tried to rub yourself on the bed for friction again. “You want more?”
"Charles… please…"
He chuckled darkly at your desperate plea, his cock throbbing with need. "That’s all you’ve got?" He mocked you, rubbing the head of his dick along your wet folds. "C’mon baby, y’know what I wanna hear."
You weren’t against begging, not as long as it got you what you wanted.
"Please… make me feel good, please…"
He groaned deeply, positioning himself at your entrance. "That’s a good girl" He pushed in just the tip before pulling back out. "Say it again, tell me how good I make you feel."
"So good" You felt his lips kissing your spine.
He smiled against your skin, still continuing to kiss across your back.
"So nice f’me tonight" He pushed in another inch, making you arch. "Y’know how good I can fuck you."
"You’re better than Max..." You said, knowing that was definitely getting you laid.
And even if you couldn’t see him, you could fucking feel his smirk.
That was all he needed to hear.
"That’s it" He slammed fully inside you, making you cry out. "Fucking perfect."
He started to move, his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. He leaned down, biting your shoulder softly—ironically enough—as he fucked you harder and deeper.
You held tightly onto the mattress as he hit a spot inside you that made your eyes roll back, his pace becoming brutal and punishing. He reached around to rub your clit roughly while fucking you aggressively from behind.
Charles let his head fall back, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw the mirror next to his bed. And like the dirty fucker that he was, an idea popped into his mind.
He suddenly changed position, gripping your hair and moving your head, making sure you could see yourself. See yourself and him right behind you, fucking you.
"Open your eyes, baby. Look at us..." he said, making sure you'd look at the glass while he kept pounding into you. "I want you to see who's doing this to you."
You lifted your head, watching his reflection as he fucked you hard and fast. His eyes met yours in the mirror, full of heat and possession. "Does that look good, princess?" He whispered in your ear. "Being beneath me like this?"
You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. The sight in the glass was the hottest thing you’d ever seen. "Yes… ah, yes…!"
"God, you’re so fucking tight," he praised, his movements becoming even more aggressive. He reached around to slap your clit a few times, making you whine out his name. "Keep looking at me, baby. See how well I’m fucking this pretty pussy,"
His reflection showed a man full of lust, face contorted with pleasure as he hammered into you mercilessly. His abs were glistening with sweat, muscles flexing with each powerful thrust. He pulled your hair even more aggressively, forcing you to arch your back.
"Fuck, you look so beautiful taking my dick," he groaned, his movements becoming even more brutal. He started to fuck you so hard that the bed began to shake violently, creaking repeatedly.
His thick dick hit your G-spot again and again, the sensation overwhelming. You cried out his name loudly, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as he continued to slam into you like a man possessed.
"Please… oh my God…!" You moaned, not even knowing what you were begging for. You just needed more of him.
He ignored your plea, however, his hands moving to your hips to hold you in place as his pace became so hard and fast that it was almost painful. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mixed with your loud moans and his grunts of pleasure.
In a second of weakness, you let your head fall onto the mattress, closing your eyes. But Charles wasn’t having that.
"No, no. Head up, baby." He quickly demanded, pulling your hair to make you lift your head again. "I want you to see how good I'm making this pussy feel." He slapped your ass, before gripping it tightly and using it for leverage to fuck you deeper.
You eyes ran over his sweaty muscles, his abs red and his biceps hard and tight. His hair was already sticking to his forehead, the rest of it messy in a way no one else could see. God, he was a fucking vision.
"That’s it." He growled through gritted teeth, watching your breasts bounce wildly with each thrust. He let go of your hair to reach around and grab them harshly, kneading and squeezing them while continuing to pound into you mercilessly. "Watch me ruining you, baby."
He wanted you to see him. To see it was him, the one making you whine like that, not your boyfriend.
He knew you were comparing him to Max in your head, so he fucked you harder to prove he was better. His abs contracted tightly with each thrust, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over again.
"Merde, I love how fucking loud you get with me." He groaned possessively, watching your reflection moan and writhe under him. "Max never made you scream like this, huh?"
He pounded into you relentlessly, his body slamming against yours with brutal force. He reached around to rub your clit hard between his fingers, making you scream his name again as he fucked you into oblivion.
You rolled your eyes at the feeling. "No… never…"
"Mhm, that's what I fucking thought." He growled triumphantly, his pace becoming almost inhumane.
The room was filled with the sounds of wet skin slapping, the bed creaking dangerously, and your desperate moans mixed with his deep grunts.
"C’mon, baby. Fucking scream my name." He encouraged roughly, his thumb circling her clit rapidly while his cock hit her deepest point with every thrust. He leaned over you, his muscular chest pressing against your back as he wrapped an arm around your neck possessively. "Let me hear who's making this pussy feel good."
His name left your lips immediately, as if your body was just waiting for him to tell you what to do, what to say, when to say it. Whenever he was over you like this, he owed you.
"That's it." He said, his movements becoming even more intense. He released your neck to grab your hair again, pulling your head back sharply as he fucked you brutally from behind. "Say it louder, baby. Who's fucking you better huh?" He demanded harshly. "Who does this pussy belong to?"
"You… Charles, it’s yours…"
"Fuck yes, it's mine. My fucking slut." He roared, his hips slamming into you with wild abandon. The bed shook violently as he fucked you with all his strength, his cock throbbing inside you. "I'm going to come so deep in this pussy."
Your body immediately reacted to the insult, your eyes rolling back and your hands holding tiger onto the mattress.
"That's right, baby, fucking squeeze my cock." He groaned approvingly, feeling your muscles contract tightly around his dick. He reached down to grab your ass harshly, using it to pull you onto him as he kept fucking you deeply from behind.
"Please…" You said, your mouth barely managing to get the word out. "Please"
"Please what, angel?" He smirked darkly, knowing exactly what she wanted but loving to hear her beg. He slowed down his thrusts deliberately, swirling his hips deeply inside her and grinding against her clit with every movement. "Tell me what you need."
"I need to come… please…" You begged, your hips moving back against him to try and get some more friction.
"Yeah? Gonna come on my cock?" He murmured approvingly, his hand moving to roughly grab your hair and pull your head back again as he fucked you harder and faster. "This pussy is going to milk me dry, isn't it? Fucking greedy thing." he growled, his other hand reaching down to roughly rub your clit.
He could feel your pussy convulse around his thick dick, and God if that didn’t make him go crazy.
"Fuck, yeah! Come f’me baby" He encouraged you, his hips moving faster as he felt your orgasm approaching.
You hated how much he knew your body at this point, how he could tell exactly what to do, how to move. He knew you had never come this hard with Max, never sounded this desperate and needy. And of course, it made his ego swell immensely.
Between his deep thrusts and his fingers quickly rubbing your clit, it didn’t take you more than a few seconds to come, moaning loudly.
"That's it, baby. Fucking come all over my dick." He said triumphantly as he felt your pussy squeeze him tightly, your juices flowing out and coating his cock.
He continued to fuck you through your orgasm, his movements becoming even more brutal as he chased his own release.
"Holy shit..." He groaned loudly as he came violently inside you, his dick throbbing and pulsing deeply in your pussy, making you moan again.
He kept moving slowly through both of your orgasms until you were both completely spent.
He then slowly pulled out of you, falling down onto the bed besides you, still trying to catch his breath. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in close to his chest.
You closed your eyes, and Charles held you against him, his heart still racing a little as he lay next to you. He planted a few gentle kisses on your forehead as he started to slowly run his fingers through your hair, enjoying the moment.
He then pulled the sheets over you, trying to make sure you were comfortable. He could feel how you were struggling to catch your breath, his arm wrapped around you, pulling you against his bare chest.
"That good, huh?" He teased, loving how worn out you were.
You frowned, even tho there was no real sentiment behind the gesture. "Shut up."
He chuckled, enjoying this. It was such a boost to his ego, knowing how exhausted you were because of him. No one but him.
"You're not even able to talk after that... it must've been good" He teased, pulling you closer against him.
"I hate you."
He smirked, enjoying how grumpy you got after a good round.
"No you don't" He planted a gentle kiss on your forehead.
You just hummed, closing your eyes again, your legs tangled with his.
He smiled, loving how cute you were when you were tired like this. He started to gently run his fingers through your hair again, trying to soothe you.
"You going to fall asleep?" He mumbled, the feeling of your body against his making him sleepy as well.
"Hm, no, I can’t" You lazily said. "Gotta get back"
He didn't want to let you go, not when he was having you all to himself like this. No Max to distract him from you.
"Stay..." He mumbled, pulling you a little closer against him. "Don't go back yet."
"I've already been out for a while" You replied, but let him move you.
He didn't care about that. He just wanted you to stay with him. To stay in his bed with him, not go back to Max
"Ten more minutes." He whispered as he continued playing with your hair.
"Nine."
He chuckled and shook his head, knowing that you weren't going to give him more time than that.
"Alright princess, nine minutes and twenty seconds."
"Deal."
He smiled again, now knowing that he had nine more minutes to cherish you all to himself. Before he'd have to give you back to your boyfriend.
"Good girl." He planted another kiss on your forehead, pulling you a little closer.
You just let him.
When you first started sleeping together, one of you would leave right after, no need to cuddle or talk or anything like that.
It was different now.
At some point, you started talking. And cuddling. And after blinking, it wasn’t just sex anymore. It wasn’t detached.
You didn’t know what to do with that.
Charles held you close to him, feeling the comfort of your body against his, both of you naked and tangled up in the sheets. He had grown to enjoy these moments a lot.
So, before he even fully realised it, he spoke.
"I don't want you to go back."
You sighed, and he held you closer to him, knowing that this was a situation you couldn't really change. He was well aware that you had to get back to Max.
"You don't want to go back either" He mumbled, his voice quiet.
"He's my boyfriend."
Charles wasn’t having that. Max was your boyfriend but you still let him fuck you, so it wasn’t like you were deeply in love with him, nor you respect him whatsoever.
"I know he is. The boyfriend you come to me and cheat on" The words came out before he even realised it, but he just had to say it.
He never spoke about this sort of thing, the feelings he might have for you, but right now he just couldn't hold back.
This was the closest he had come to actually open up.
"You call me when you're bored of being his girlfriend." He said, no emotion in his voice. He was stating facts and he didn't know if you were going to be mad or not.
You stared at him for an instant, you jaw tense, and then got out of the bed, covering your naked body with one of the sheets.
You couldn’t have this fucking conversation right now.
He watched you get out of the bed, pushing himself up on his knees while his eyes were still locked on you. "Running back to him now?"
"Fuck off" You replied, starting to search for your clothes on the floor.
He couldn't just sit back now, not when his emotions were running crazy and everything he'd been holding in was slowly spilling out.
So he got out of the bed too, quickly putting his sweatpants back on.
"No. Stay here and hear me out" He said as he started walking towards you.
"What, you wanna give me an ethics speech now?" You moved away, starting to get dressed. "Have you suddenly gotten morals?"
Charles stood there, only a few steps away from you as you put your clothes back on.
He knew this was wrong, this whole deal. And this conversation was more than inconvenient. But God, he just couldn’t hold it in anymore.
"No" He mumbled, his voice stern but quiet. "But I'm tired of seeing you run back to Max every time. I'm tired of the fact that I'm just your dirty little secret to have fun with."
"Don't worry, Charles, I won't bother you anymore."
Hearing that made his eyes widen as his heart suddenly started racing. That's not what he wanted. That's not what he meant.
He took a step closer to you, needing you to understand.
"That's not..." His voice was a little more broken as his body was suddenly flooded with emotions. "That's not what I meant. I don't want you to quit coming to me, I just don't want you to keep going back to him."
You froze.
Not because this was taking you by surprise, but because you knew.
You had tried to convince yourself that you were reading too much into it, that you were setting yourself up for disappointment… but deep down you knew this hadn’t been casual sex for a long while.
He took another step forward, still completely vulnerable. But he didn't care right now, he just wanted you to understand what he meant.
"I don't want to see you run back to him, pretending that you're his perfect girlfriend every time. I don't want you to go back to him and act like we never happened" He said, looking at you, his eyes filled with emotion.
"Charles..."
He continued to walk towards you, only standing a few inches away from you. "I don't want you to be his, Y/N. I don't want you to keep going home to him and pretending like you don't do this with me. I want you to be mine."
The look in your eyes was killing him, he genuinely couldn't tell what was going on in your head. Were you surprised? Were you gonna yell at him for saying all this? Would you tell him to forget about it?
"I'm tired, mon amour. I'm tired of this being a secret. I'm tired of pretending you're his girlfriend, pretending that we don't have this" He mumbled, trying to make you understand.
You shook your head. "Stop it, Charles, what are you doing?"
But he couldn't stop, not now. It was all coming out of him and there was no stopping it now. All the emotions he'd been holding in were overflowing, he had to tell you what he was feeling.
He stood there, his voice desperate and broken as he looked at you. "I can't keep doing this. Seeing you go back to him when you're done with us is fucking ruining me."
"You're making this complicated."
He chuckled and shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh. "It's already complicated, mon ange" he mumbled. "It's already complicated, because every time i see you with him I have to pretend we don't do what we do, and when you're done with being his perfect girlfriend you come back to me."
You looked away, but Charles gently reached out and placed his hand on your cheek, making you look back at him.
"Don't look away" He muttered softly. "Don't... I'm not finished yet."
You frowned slightly, tilting your head. "What else could you possibly have to say?"
He took a deep breath, knowing that this was now or never. He just needed to tell you how he felt, no matter the outcome.
"I don't want to have to keep pretending that we don't mean anything to each other. I want... I want you to choose me, Y/N" He said, his voice quiet.
He took a moment to look at you in your eyes, and then continued. "Because I'm in love with you."
Oh, Good God.
"No" You shook your head, taking a step back.
He felt the pain in his heart when you stepped back from him, feeling like he had messed this up, like he was gonna lose you.
"What do you mean, no?" He mumbled, his voice breaking as he looked at you.
"What do you mean? Why are you saying that?"
He couldn't understand why you seemed so surprised by this, it seemed so painfully clear to him. But you really had no idea how he felt.
"I'm telling you how I feel, Y/N. I'm telling you that I've fallen in love with you" He mumbled.
And he looked at you almost like a wounded animal, with puppy eyes that made you weak.
You ran a hand through your hair, trying to focus, trying to get your head around this whole mess. Because this was your fault, all of this was on you. For playing a game you were always meant to lose.
He studied your expressions, trying to figure out what you were thinking right now. Was she thinking that he was crazy? That he had lost his mind?
"Say something" He almost pleaded, wanting a sign from you that he hadn't screwed everything up.
"What do you expect me to say, Charles?"
He didn't know. He just stood there almost naked, feeling vulnerable in more ways than one. He just hoped that you felt the same as him. That you wanted to be with him too.
"I don't know, Y/N. I don't know.... But I expected you'd say something other than just 'no' when I told you l was in love with you."
"You can't be... in love with me" You replied, unconsciously lowering your voice when you said the last words, almost as if you were scared someone could hear them.
"Why not?" He muttered, his eyes still studying you as he took a couple of steps closer to you.
"I have a boyfriend."
He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to contain himself. He just admitted his feelings for you and your response was to talk about Max.
"I know that you have a boyfriend. I'm not talking about him. I'm talking about us." He said, as he opened his eyes again.
"There can be no us, Charles. I'm with Max."
He was tired. Tired of Max being an excuse for everything, an excuse for you to push off what he's feeling for you. He stood there in front of you, his expression stern but his eyes filled with emotions.
"Then why do you keep coming to me when you're bored of him?" He replied, his words getting a little harsher as he spoke.
You shook your head. God, it was much more complicated than that, but he couldn’t know. You couldn’t tell him, because you weren’t sure if you could trust him with it. With your reputation, with your life.
He let out an exasperated breath, trying to stay calm but struggling to keep his emotions in check.
"Is it because I'm just an easy way for you to get off?" His voice was rough as he looked right at you, studying your expression.
He studied your face intently, wanting to hear you say something more than just the boyfriend excuse. He wanted to hear you say something that meant a little more than just rejecting him.
"I mean... that's what you use me for, right?" He said again. "Tell me the truth. Is this just fun for you? Just sex."
"No."
He felt a flicker of hope, his heart skipping a beat when you said that, his expression becoming a little more desperate.
"Then why do you let me fuck you?" His voice was still low and rough as he stood in front of you.
You looked away, turning around, but he needed you to look at him right now.
"Stop that. Look at me." He said, his voice a little sharper.
You shook your head. "I should go, actually."
He was not about to let you off the hook like that. He didn't understand why it was so hard for you to just talk to him and say whatever was on your mind. It couldn’t be that terrible, could it?
"No you're not." He brought his hands up and gently placed them around your waist, pulling your back closer to his chest.
Your body involuntarily relaxed when he touched you, and you hated that he could make you surrender to him like that, so fucking easily.
Charles held you close to him, feeling that he had finally gotten a reaction other than coldness from you. He put his chin on your shoulder and wrapped his arms around you a little tighter, needing you to listen to him.
"Stay and talk to me. Hear me out" He mumbled in a low, soft voice.
You didn't reply, but didn't pull away either.
He took advantage of the opportunity, and gently began to press soft kisses on your shoulder and neck. He was desperate for you to stay.
"Just hear me out... please mon ange." He whispered between kisses.
He knew french wasn’t fair, he knew exactly what he was doing as he continued to speak to you, knowing that the words and the accent were having an effect on you.
"S'il te plaît, écoute-moi..." (Please, listen to me)
He could feel your body relax under his touch, giving in to him and this moment. He continued to hold you close, his kisses on your neck and shoulder becoming more intense as he continued to speak in French.
"Tu me rends fou. Je n'arrête pas de penser à toi.." he said, softly, against your skin. (You drive me crazy. I can't stop thinking about you.)
"That’s not fair..." You complained, your eyes closing for an instant.
He chuckled softly against your skin, your words making him smile slightly. He continued to trail kisses along your neck and shoulder before responding. "What's not fair?"
You moved away, turning around to face him.
Charles let out a frustrated breath and let his arms drop down to his sides when you suddenly turned around. He stood there in front of you, looking right into your eyes.
His body language looked a little defeated, but his eyes said otherwise. They were filled with emotion. He knew that this would be the moment that you'd either stay with him or walk away for good.
He took a step closer to you, his eyes still looking intently at you. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the next words he was about to say to you. His voice was low and gentle as he spoke.
"Don't go. Please, mon amour. I need you to hear me out. I just need to say a couple of things to you."
You didn’t reply. But didn’t walk away either.
He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he was about to tell you. He needed to get this out, to make you understand exactly what he was feeling.
"I want you to know that you've been the only thing on my mind for months. I can't stop thinking about you, I can't stop wanting you, needing you" He paused for a moment, trying to get all the words out. "And it's not just the pleasure, it's everything"
You tilted your head, but didn’t interrupt him.
"I love the way you laugh, and that little smile you make when you're thinking about something. I love the way you say my name" He paused again "I love the way you sing in the shower, I love seeing your cheeks flush when I say something dirty to you."
And then, he said it.
"I love you."
God, this was so bad.
This wasn’t what you wanted, what you had in mind. You wanted to hurt Max, to make him feel as terrible as he had made you feel.
And in the end, he didn’t even care. And now you were left to handle the consequences.
Charles took another step closer to you, his eyes pleading with you to listen to him.
"It's not just about the sex. It's more than that. It's been more than that for a long time, you know that as well as me." He mumbled quietly as he studied your face. "I love you, Y/N"
His eyes were glued to your face, searching for any sign of a reaction. He needed to know if you even understood what he was saying. His heart was racing, he had never told anyone he loved them before, and here he was confessing his love to you, the woman he had an affair with. What was supposed to be casual, and hidden.
"Please... say something. Just anything…" He pleaded, taking another step closer, now just a few inches away from you.
You moved away from him, but instead of leaving, you sat down on the edge of his bed.
His heart almost shattered when you moved away from him, but his body relaxed a little when he saw that you had sat down on the bed. He waited a moment before he slowly made his way over to where you were sitting, wanting to give you some space but also needing to be close to you.
He sat down beside you, making sure that there was still a small space between your bodies.
"I'm not a horrible person." You mumbled, looking down to the floor.
He looked at you for a moment before he responded. He could see that you were trying to hold back something, that you were hurting in some way. He wanted to reach out and touch you, but he didn't think it would be a good idea right now.
"I know." He softly replied.
You winced. Because he didn’t know.
He didn’t truly know what was going on, the whole story. And you weren’t supposed to tell him.
He could still go to the press, he could leak the whole thing. And then, you’d wake up in a world where people either pitied you, or hated you. And as much as you wanted to think you were used to the hate, the idea fucking terrified you.
But he was looking at you with concern in his eyes and instinctively making himself smaller, as one would approach a wounded animal, not wanting to spook you.
And God, you knew he cared.
Charles Leclerc was many things. Charming, cocky, a playboy… But he wasn’t a liar. He didn’t fake interest, he didn’t fake worry.
And he definitely didn’t let anyone see him vulnerable.
Like he had just let you.
So you looked up from the floor, searching for his eyes. And when you saw his careful gesture, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you.
You shook your head, your eyebrows pinched together in fear and worry. "You don’t get it."
His voice was gentle when he spoke. A far cry from the arrogant man everyone else saw. "What don’t I get?"
"This whole thing. The cheating." You said. "Max... he's been cheating on me for a while."
Charles was actually kind of shocked to hear you say that. He had a feeling that Max wasn't the most devoted boyfriend, but he had no idea that he had been actually sleeping around.
"He's been cheating on you?" He repeated softly, still looking at you.
"Yeah." You admitted. "I found out almost a year ago. It was a whole mess, and he didn't stop. So I..."
He was starting to understand a little more now. That made sense, the way you continued to come back to him. But he didn't know how to feel about all this.
"So you came to me." He said quietly.
He sat there for a few moments, processing everything. He wasn’t sure if it made him happy, the fact that you weren’t capable of just cheating, or if you coming to him out of spite should hurt him.
"I couldn’t leave him." You explained. "They wouldn’t let me. There’s his PR team, and the contracts, and so much fucking stuff… I’m trapped."
He took a deep breath, looking over at you. "So you came to me for revenge."
"At first." You nodded, looking at him. "I mean, you're his childhood rival, it was... the most I could hurt him. And you were very open to it."
He couldn't help but sarcastically chuckle at that. He was definitely open to it, he had been very willing to bring you to his bed.
"So... you using me to hurt Max made you feel good?" He asked in a quiet, cautious voice.
"I thought so" You replied. "Before I realised that it wasn't the revenge what was making me feel good, it was being with you."
He was trying to control his emotions right now. Hearing that you were feeling good with him, not just because you were getting revenge against Max, made something flutter inside of him.
You sighed, covering your face with both hands. "God, this is such a mess... I'm sorry."
He could hear the guilt in your voice, that your conscience was hurting you. He had a big urge to reach out and hold you, to tell you that everything was going to be okay, but he held himself back.
He shook his head "Don't be sorry, mon ange. I understand why you did it."
You looked up at him again, your eyebrows pinched together in worry. "You do?"
He nodded as he studied your expression.
He understood why you had come to him in the first place, why you continued to come back to him.
"Of course I do. Max is a shithead and he hurt you, and getting back at him felt good." He replied, his eyes looking deep into yours. "It doesn't matter why you came to me, the only thing that matters is that you did."
You shook your head, looking away. "This is so complicated."
He sighed and leaned forward a little, his hands resting on his knees, trying to find the right words for this moment.
"It is complicated... but we don't have to figure it all out right now." He replied as he looked over at you again "Just tell me what you want."
"I want to stay here."
He didn't even try to hide the way his face lit up when you said that. He couldn't help but smile slightly, his heart racing at your words.
"Then stay." He mumbled, reaching over and gently taking your hand in his "Stay with me tonight."
You didn’t really have a reason to say no. Max would notice, but wasn’t that the whole point of this? For some reason, his reaction didn’t feel at all important right now.
It certainly didn’t feel important when Charles wrapped his arms around you, and when you started feeling his breath on your neck.
To be fair, nothing seemed to matter at that point. Nothing in the world could’ve taken you away from there.
Away from him.
***
Everything changed after that night.
You first noticed when you got back to your and Max’s apartment after breakfast. You didn’t rush, didn’t care that he was most definitely awake by now.
When you opened the door, you immediately heard footsteps from the end of the hallway, walking towards you quite rapidly.
"Y/N?" Max appeared in the room with a confused frown on his face. "Where the hell were you?"
You took your jacket off, leaving it on the back of a chair. "Out."
"Yeah, I can fucking see that. Out where?" He insisted. "I texted you like five times."
"Ah, my phone died, my bad" You simply replied, leaving your bag on the table.
"That’s all you’re gonna say?" Max was very confused, this was far from your usual behaviour. "Who were you with?"
You shrugged. "A friend."
Now that took him out. He could’ve gotten behind your girlfriends, but a friend? One friend. Was it a man friend?
"A friend" He repeated. "Which friend?"
"It’s none of your business." You said, looking at him as if he had just made the most stupid question in the world.
"It is my fucking business, since you’re my girlfriend."
You rolled your eyes. "I’m not."
"Y/N."
"What? Do I ask you who you spend your time with?" He doesn’t reply. "Yeah, that’s what I thought."
"It’s not the same" He frowns. "You already know."
You looked back at him. And smiled.
"Then you know too."
***
Max’s behaviour changed after that.
He was more careful, more attentive. He clearly wanted to know who he was. But he didn’t think you owed him an answer.
So he just paid attention. He listened when you were on the phone in the living room, watched every man that walked close to you, and checked social media to see if you’d been seen with anyone.
But you were more clever. And you wanted to prolong his suffering. So instead of just dropping the bomb, you gave him nothing.
You changed the password in your phone, dressed more carefully whenever you went to see Charles, and didn’t let him get close to you whenever Max was around.
He gladly obliged.
He had to admit that it was incredibly difficult for him to stay away from you, since he wasn’t used to caring about your boyfriend catching you, back when he wasn’t paying attention. But now he was, and a part of Charles wanted desperately to mock him, to touch you in front of him, to kiss you.
The other part, however, was way too amused by the sight of his tense rival trying to figure out who was sleeping with his girlfriend every time they walked into a room.
It was funny, how people not knowing what they had until they lost it was so real. Max didn’t care when he thought he had everything under control, when he thought he had the power and Y/N was just… there. Waiting for him to get home, to give her any sort of attention.
But now someone else was giving that to her, and suddenly he didn’t have her anymore.
He didn’t like that at all.
So when the race weekend started in Silverstone and he walked next to you into the paddock, his eyes were on every man around.
On everyone that looked at you for a second too long, that complimented you, or touched you in any capacity.
Which is why Charles stayed away. He knew he’d have you in a few hours anyway, and the sight of Max’s jaw so tight and his expression bordering on desperate was fucking hilarious.
He looked at him as he put his hand on your waist, pulling you closer to him. Pathetically.
He also looked at him while he tried to see what you were doing on your phone when you sat down new the Red Bull hospitality. And when he almost yelled at some guy for standing too close to you.
He could feel how tense he was.
So he texted you.
Your phone buzzed with the notification, and you had to move a bit so Max wouldn’t see. Even if he was desperately attempting to look normal, you knew he was trying to read it. Bad.
"He’s so tense it almost hurts to look at him." He typed out. "If it wasn’t so funny."
You smiled. "You’re mean."
"You know what else I am?" He asked, but didn’t leave you room to reply. "Missing you."
Max turned to you when he heard you scoff.
"It’s way too risky."
"It’s the whole point, no?" He insisted. "Him finding out."
"Not in the middle of the paddock tho." You texted him back. "Too scandalous, I’d lose."
"Then we’ll be cautious."
You rolled your eyes. "You’re desperate."
He smirked when he saw your gesture from afar. "And you’re desperate enough to keep replying to me."
You turned off your phone, leaving it on the table, biting your lower lip.
And then, it buzzed again.
"My room’s door is open for you, princess. Give it a thought."
After an instant, he added; "I really miss being between your thighs…"
You knew it was a losing game. His effect on you didn’t even surprise you anymore.
So when Max started talking to one of his mechanics, you quickly stood up and walked away, putting your phone back in your bag.
You managed to sneak into the motorhome with the excuse of bringing something back to Charles that he had very conveniently left to your boyfriend. No one batted an eye.
And when you walked into his driver’s room, there he was. Sitting on the couch, already looking at you. Already fucking smirking.
"Don’t even say it" You couldn’t hide a smile, taking your jacket off.
He immediately stood up, his hands finding your waist. "I didn’t say anything."
"You were going to."
He hummed, kissing your neck once, his breath against your skin. "Maybe."
"You’re so annoying" You rolled your eyes. "Can’t you even wait a few hours?"
"Why would I wait hours when I can have you moaning my name right now?" He asked, biting your earlobe softly, kissing it afterwards to soothe the feeling.
"Oh I don’t know, maybe because we’re in the middle of the paddock" You replied, but didn’t move away. "Anyone can walk in."
"They won’t bother us." He muttered, his lips all over your neck. "Didn’t you see the note outside the door? Charles riposa. They take my rest very seriously here, angel."
"Then you should be resting, not wasting more energy." You mocked him back.
"It’s a sacrifice I’m very willing to make."
You giggled, and he was quick to take your top off, leaving you in a new bra you had bought just for him. He didn’t need to know that tho.
He kissed you deep and desperate, one of his hands tangling in your hair while he pulled you closer with the other in your waist, as your arms wrapped around his strong neck.
But before he could carry you to the couch, someone knocked on the door. Forcefully.
"Open the door" You could hear Max’s voice. "Open the fucking door, Y/N, I know you’re there."
You stared at Charles when he broke the kiss, glancing at the door.
Okay, this was it.
He quickly handed you the top back, and you put it on before he opened the door.
"Max?" Charles said, softly, acting confused.
He stormed into the room, and the monegasque took advantage of that to close the door again. At least they’d have some privacy.
"I can’t believe you, are you fucking serious?" Max looked between the both of them. "Of all people, you chose him to cheat on me with?"
"Relax, yeah? I don’t like your tone." You replied, fixing your hair.
"And you think I like having my girlfriend fucking my biggest rival?" He replied. "You psychotic bi-"
"Watch it." Charles interrupted him. "She’s not doing anything you haven’t done before."
"Except I don’t go around sleeping with her coworkers in a place full of cameras!"
"No, instead of that you force her to stay in a relationship she doesn’t want anymore. After cheating on her." The brunette said, taking a step closer to him. "Yeah, I can see how you’re totally the victim in this situation."
Max wasn’t intimidated by that, and got closer to him too. "You shut the fuck up, alright? This isn’t about you."
"It kind of is about me tho" He mocked him. "Since I’m the one she wants."
Verstappen’s jaw tensed even more, but he didn’t look away from him. If anything, he leaned closer.
"Move away. We’re leaving." He said, and then his eyes searched for his girlfriend behind him. "Y/N, we’re leaving."
You didn’t follow him. "I’m not going anywhere with you."
"You heard her, mate" Charles smirked. "She’s staying. So you can walk the fuck out of here and let us continue where we left off."
Then, because he was that insufferable, he added: "It was just about to get interesting, you know how she gets. Well, my bad, I actually don’t think you do."
That did it for Max. That guy was not only fucking his girlfriend, he was gloating about it to his face? Oh, he wasn’t having that.
So that’s why, ten seconds later, both of them were fighting on the room’s floor. Like two pathetic teenagers.
And no matter what you said, they weren’t listening.
You could tell this wasn’t just about you either, it was long overdue. Because Charles needed to beat him at something. Beating him up worked too.
However, when you threatened to open the door and let everyone see them like that, after a second they seemed to calm down, getting off each other. Charles sat up, heavily breathing, his back against the legs of the couch, and Max wiped a thread of blood away from his chin.
You stood there, your hand on the knob. "Max. Get the fuck out."
He knew he didn’t really have a choice. So after difficultly standing up and looking at you one last time, he left the driver’s room.
You closed the door, and then looked down at Charles, letting out a disappointed sigh.
But he just fucking smiled up at you.
"What’s so funny?" You crossed your arms.
"I’m not laughing" He replied, his eyes half closed as a trail of blood fell from his nose.
"You look amused."
His smile widened. “I’m not. I’m just happy."
"Happy?" You repeated, kneeling in front of him, cleaning the blood with your sleeve.
"Mhm" He hummed. "I won."
You scoffed, shaking your head. "I don’t think there was a clear winner back there."
content/warnings: PLEASE HEED THESE WARNINGS! consensual non-consent, reader says no and it is ignored (this was agreed upon beforehand), spanking, degradation, light choking/hand on throat, I think that's it? If I miss something lmk!
author's note: the wheel hath spoken again, and it paired Hongjoong with CNC! This one is prob my favorite so far. I really like how it turned out, and I hope you guys like it too! Hongjoong gets a lil mean, but that comes with the kink I feel. Anywho, enjoy! <3 Pardon any typos, I am only human.
Despite having spoken about it in explicit detail and leaving no stone unturned, it didn't make it any less nerve-wracking knowing Hongjoong and you were going to act out one of your biggest fantasies, CNC. Hongjoong has been rough with you, but still mindful to never make you too uncomfortable. Now you were asking him to rough you up in ways that may make you wince, but he promised he would only stop if you used your safe word.
Nothing would make him stop, unless it was your safe word.
The thought shouldn't thrill you the way it does but you find your thighs clenching when your mind wanders to it. You shake your head to clear your mind and bring yourself back to the present moment, washing dishes in the kitchen. You put the plate in your hand into the drying rack as you hear footsteps coming from the stairs. Soon enough, Hongjoong walks into the kitchen, giving you a smile as you meet eyes.
He was in typical "lounge at home" wear: a loose crewneck sweater and matching shorts. You wonder if he had been in the home studio working on something before he came down. Your thoughts are broken by a kiss to your cheek as arms wrap around your waist.
"Hey, baby." Hongjoong rests his head on you and you sink into his arms a bit as you keep rinsing out the cup you picked up.
"Hey Joongie, what's up?"
"Nothing, just wanted to come see my pretty girl. You always look so cute when you're doing nightly chores."
You laugh as Hongjoong squeezes you in his arms.
"Yeah? I look so hot in this big shirt that's god knows how many years old and shorts?"
"Mhmmm, good enough to eat." Hongjoong playfully nips at your shoulder and you laugh as you twist in his arms, but he tightens his grip so you can't get away.
"Stop it, Hongjoong! Not during dishes! I've told you that how many times?" You lightly chastise him as you try to push him off with an elbow, but he doesn't move.
He only presses himself closer to you and when you try to wriggle free again, you feel something hard pressing against your ass and go still. Heat floods your face as you blink once, twice, then try to turn to look at your boyfriend.
"Eyes front." His command comes low, dangerous and your heart jumps into your throat as you listen immediately.
"Joong...just let me finish the dishes." You say softly, looking at the multiple glasses and forks left. It would take, maybe, 5 minutes at most.
"Mmm, no."
You blink in surprise, not expecting to hear that from him.
"No?" You repeat in disbelief, trying yet again to turn around but a hand to your back presses you against the counter.
You wince lightly as your hips meet granite and your hand flies forward to brace yourself against the counter.
It's then that your brain finally catches on to what's happening. You did clear today as one of the possible days for the fantasy, but it had entirely slipped your mind.
Well, if this is what's going down, you may as well give it your all.
"Hongjoong. Stop fucking around, I told you not during dishes. Plus, I'm not in the mood today." You keep your voice firm as you can despite the excitement thrumming through your veins.
"Well, I am." He responds, a chilling calmness to his tone that makes a shiver run down your spine.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" You bite back at him with annoyance in your tone.
"It means you should shut your fucking mouth, bend over this counter, and spread your legs for me like you always do. Because that's what I want. Now hurry up, before I lose my patience."
You swallow thickly, a surge of arousal making your thighs clench involuntarily and you have to remind yourself that you needed to keep up the attitude.
"You can crank one out in the shower. I said I'm not in the mood."
You put the cup into the drying rack and go to grab another when you see Hongjoong's arm come from behind to turn the faucet off. You go to complain about that when the same hand moves to your throat and grips it loosely. Your body goes pliant under his hand, a response that is involuntary at this point from the many nights he's choked you while fucking you past the point of thinking. Hongjoong wasn't above playing dirty and using this knowledge to his advantage— moving you to the right so you were no longer in front of the sink and pushing you down on the counter hard, forcing a grunt out of you from the impact of your chest against the cool granite.
The chill was a nice contrast to how heated your body was, but you can hardly appreciate it when Hongjoong is flipping your shirt up to smack your ass. He moves an arm to lay it across your back, pressing down hard to keep you pinned to the counter as another smack rains down on your backside. Your body jumps instinctively, trying to wiggle out from under Hongjoong, but the angle your body was at and the fact that your hands are still wet and slippery work against you— he just moves with you, pushing down harder and keeping you where he wants you.
"Just stay still. We know how this ends." Hongjoong sighs, like he's dealing with a petulant child instead of forcing his girlfriend's shorts down to her ankles.
Heat floods your cheeks as he kicks your legs further apart with his foot and makes you spread wide for him. The pose was slightly humiliating, knowing your arousal is on display as a smug chuckle sounds from behind you.
"All that mouth just to be dripping for me. Pathetic." His tone is flippant as his fingers trail up and down your slit.
You bite down hard on your lip to hold back the moans that want to slip out, not wanting to give Hongjoong the satisfaction of hearing you feel good, but truthfully he didn't need it. Your body was loud enough, the squelching of your pussy as he thrusts two fingers into you roughly makes him groan.
Your hips twitch and writhe, the granite digging into them uncomfortably at times but Hongjoong doesn't even acknowledge your attempts. Like you didn't exist beyond the pussy currently drenching his fingers. A toy he was getting his fill of until he was satisfied, and it lit a fire in your belly that you didn't know existed until this very moment. You shouldn't like being treated like this, and yet your pussy clenches around his fingers and you have to keep reminding yourself you can't give in to him.
"Trying to keep this pretty pussy away as if it isn't weeping for me right now. Clearly, you don't know what you need." He speaks in a mocking tone as he curls his fingers one last time before pulling them out and sucking them clean obscenely to make sure you hear it, "Don't you worry, baby. I got just what you need right here."
You're barely able to register his words before you feel the familiar sensation of his tip running up and down your slit.
"I fucking said no, Joong!" Your voice is far weaker than you'd like it to be, but it was hard to sound defiant when your mind was growing hazy from the scene and the excitement it was bringing you.
That, plus his fingers, had your brain already swimming in that pleasurable fog that makes you needy. Hongjoong leans forward, his chest pressing on your back and his cock resting on your bare ass as he whispers.
"I don't recall asking."
The whine you let out is involuntary, your forehead falling to the chilled granite underneath you as your hands try to find purchase on something but every edge is just a bit too far to grip. So your mind continues to float away when you feel Hongjoong enter you with a rough thrust. You cry out the same time he moans, rocking his hips lightly as he stays as deep as he can in you. His girth was always a bit much in the beginning, but the slight burn felt more fitting for the scene and in a way it only turned you on more, clenching around him as your legs tremble.
Hongjoong's free hand rubs down your side, over your ass and thigh before slapping the side of your thigh. You let out a shocked yelp and he chuckles in amusement before starting up a punishing pace, hips smacking hard into your ass as the sounds of skin on skin fill the kitchen. There's an ache forming where your hips keep meeting the countertop with each thrust, but it blends in with the pleasure of your boyfriend fucking you roughly. Soon, even your teeth aren't enough and your cries join the sounds filling the room, along with Hongjoong's light grunts and panting.
A hand meets your hip and tilts them up ever so slightly and his next thrust makes stars appear behind your closed eyelids as a cry is ripped from your throat. The arm on your back moves up your body again, his hand wrapping around your throat again as he focuses on keeping that damning angle that has your eyes rolling back.
"Yeah? Feels good, baby? You wanna tell me no, now?" He sneers, thrusts picking up in severity, any attempt at words coming out garbled as your orgasm approaches fast, "Go ahead. Tell me. Tell me no. Tell me not right now."
His mocking makes your gut twist, a mixture of arousal and shame seeping into your veins, but your orgasm didn't care about that at all. Much like how Hongjoong only cared about fucking into your sweet spot until you lost yourself. So despite your mind's internal war— your body gives in to the pleasure and you start clenching and tightening around Hongjoong's length, making him hiss softly.
"Come on. Speak. Pretend like you have some control here." He continues to poke at you, nails digging into the fat of your ass as he watches you take his cock, "Tell me no. Tell me to stop."
Words don't form on your tongue, no matter how you try. You can only whimper and moan and cry as the pleasure mounts to a breaking point. Hongjoong smirks, knowing you were very close to cumming.
"Nothing? Good. Now make yourself useful for once and cum on my cock." Hongjoong speaks through gritted teeth, giving your ass one more harsh smack.
It pushes you over the edge. Body convulsing under him as incomprehensible sounds pour from your lips and you gush onto his cock and down his thighs. Hongjoong's laugh feels like a taunt as his thrusting slows down. You try to catch your breath and bearings, but then fingers are circling your clit and you whine, using the last of your strength to look over your shoulder at your boyfriend.
He's still mostly dressed, hair disheveled, and eyes wild as they lock with yours. The warmth being absent from them shouldn't turn you on and yet you clench around his cock, pulling a dangerous smirk out of Hongjoong.
Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, smut, semi-public sex, sex in a bathroom stall, established relationship, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks), porn without plot, overstimulation, slightly rough sex, slightly possessive Joong, car sex, fingerfucking, bedroom sex, oral sex (f receiving), multiple orgasms, creampies.
A/N: HEEHEHEHHEH, I'm finally writing for Hongjoong >:] I wanted to do this for a bit now, wanting for the masterlist to have some variety (it's obvious who my favs are, but I'm very much ot8...). Anyway, this is pure filth, but controlled filth. As always, this is not how I depict the idol in real life; this is purely fiction!
Word count: 2.9k
Dividers from @cafekitsune
You were supposed to be clubbing with your friends tonight at the club in which your boyfriend—Hongjoong—was DJing.
It was supposed to be a tiny surprise—to surprise him with your arrival and watch him light up the room and make the crowd cheer with his amazing music.
What you were not supposed to be doing, however, was screwing your boyfriend in a stall of the male restroom with his hand over your mouth to muffle your moaning.
"Shhh, you don't want to get caught, do you, baby?"
He asked softly, panting against your shoulder as he fucked you from behind, your tits practically spilling out of your cocktail dress, which he bought for you a couple of weeks ago because he thought it would look nice on you.
This damned dress was the thing that got you into this situation in the first place. You had decided to wear it as part of the surprise.
You didn't expect Hongjoong to go feral the moment he saw you, grabbing you the minute he got a break and a different DJ subbed in for him.
"This dress.. You look so fucking pretty, I couldn't take my eyes off you, I almost messed up my set—ngh.. so pretty. So pretty f'me.."
He whispered against your skin, the spaghetti strap of the dress having already fallen off your shoulder. Hongjoong pressed kisses all over your skin, making sure not to leave marks, even if he wanted to.
Thankfully, the two of you weren't going to get caught even if you wanted to.
Hongjoong had locked the door to the restroom while the two of you were making out earlier, so just the two of you wouldn't get disrupted.
"That's it, pretty girl, fuck, squeeze my cock just like that."
He groaned, squeezing your hips so hard they'd probably bruise while keeping the pace quick and rough. The sounds of skin slapping echoed throughout the vast club restroom, mixed in with your muffled whines.
"This dress is for my eyes only, mmkay? I– I don't want those asshat men to gawk at my pretty girl—" he leaned his forehead against your shoulder, his breaths heavy while watching his length go in and out of your heat.
God, you looked so pretty pressed up against the door of the toilet stall, taking his cock without complaint, it was going to make him cum early.
On one hand, Hongjoong felt guilty for taking you away from your friends and fun while he was supposed to be DJing, but on the other, he couldn't give two fucks about it.
"M'gonna fuck you hard like this at home too, you know. After my gig, you're getting in the damn car, panties off and I'm gonna take your pretty ass home, understood?"
You nodded against his palm, moaning softly while he continued pounding himself into you, rearranging your insides with each punishing thrust.
"Good girl," Hongjoong praised, smiling as he closed his eyes tightly, moving one of his hands to find your clit.
He rubbed it harshly with his middle and forefinger, starting to match it with his thrusts, making sure you came first before he did.
"Hong– Hngjoon—mnf-!" You moaned into his hand as you started to feel your orgasm building up, spasming around him eagerly.
"I got you, baby. Let go for me, come on, cum on my cock.."
And you did, shudders going over your whole body as the knot in your abdomen snapped, making you cum all over him.
Hongjoong continued rubbing your oversensitive nub whilst continuously drilling his cock into your slippery cunt, drawing your orgasm out.
You cried out pitifully against his hand, overstimulated by the amount of pleasure he was sending.
"Fuck... Keep– keep squeezing my dick like that, and I'll cum, sweetheart—do you want me to cum on your ass or inside you?"
He asked, gently removing his palm from your mouth, letting you speak out in soft pants.
He covered your mouth again, his thrusts sloppier before halting when he buried himself deep inside you to let out spurts of hot, hot cum.
The liquid mixed with your slick inside you made your eyes roll back in pleasure, your jaw going slack.
Once Hongjoong was satisfied, he gently pulled out, watching as his release ran down your thigh.
"Fuck, I'd take a picture, but I'll get time to do that... Let's clean you up, pretty girl. We don't want them to know you got fucked silly by your boyfriend in a bathroom stall, right?"
He joked as he got some toilet paper to clean you up, being gentle with you after having been so rough.
Them as in your friends. Right. Your friends.
It made you wonder if they were looking for you—they probably were, but this club was big, so they probably assumed you just got lost or needed fresh air.
After Hongjoong had finished cleaning you up, he helped you get out of the male restroom without getting caught.
"Ten minutes. Give me ten minutes and we're out of here. My crew can handle one night without me.."
He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, smiling as he pocketed your panties, "Go say goodbye to your friends."
Nodding towards your group of friends who were sitting by one of the booths, Hongjoong started walking back to the DJ stand and letting you go back.
"Girl–! Where have you—oohh..."
Most of your friends grinned, knowing where you probably were, one of them playfully elbowing you.
"Already got some action, huh? I'm guessing you're gonna head out soon because 'you complained about a headache' and Hongjoong has to get you home."
And as if clockwork, Hongjoong popped out of nowhere, smiling apologetically at your friends.
"Hi, ladies, this little lady here just texted me earlier that she has a headache, so I told my crew that I'd be heading back earlier to get her home. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"
Your face flushed at how accurately your friends seemed to know Hongjoong's excuse already, one of them—the one who was elbowing you earlier—mouthed something along the lines of: 'get that dick'.
That made your face and neck warm up even more.
By the time you and Hongjoong got to his car, your face was as red as a tomato, but you were still aching for him, even through the embarrassment.
The breeze between your legs made you shudder, reminding you of the earlier encounter in the restroom, making your cunt spasm around nothing.
Even if you had just fucked, you couldn't get enough of him.
"You okay?" He asked softly as he opened the door to the passenger seat for you, letting you enter before going over to the driver's side and getting in.
"Oh– uhm, yeah.. I just—my friends know about your excuse.." you mumbled, still embarrassed as your thighs clenched together.
"Yeah? Well, it's better to let them know than not, no?"
"Joong, I don't need them to know when I get railed-!" You laugh, hitting his shoulder as he started the car.
Driving towards your apartment was a slow one, with gentle music playing in the background, and Hongjoong's hand resting against your inner thigh, his thumb rubbing gentle circles.
Once he parked at a more secluded spot, you knew what was gonna happen.
"Backseat. On all fours, pretty girl," he ordered gently, squeezing your thigh before letting go, and letting you climb into the backseat of his car.
You got on all fours like he said, your pussy aching from anticipation. Watching as Hongjoong unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, down to reveal his collarbones before rolling his sleeves up and following you to the backseat.
"Today of all days, you decided to wear this pretty thing... you're a menace." He tutted, pushing the skirt of your dress up to reveal your ass to him once more, seeing how your slit glistened with slick, turning him on.
"Fuck, you're already so wet for me..." Groaning, Hongjoong gathered your juices with his fingers, making you gasp at the feeling.
"Joong-ah.." you mewled, looking back with hooded eyes, already panting softly at his sensual touches.
"I know, I know.. You're just so pretty like this. Let me admire the view before I ravage your pretty cunt again."
He teased you by rubbing his digits on your slit, spreading your pussy lips, and pressing his index finger on your clit. It made you squeak, making him chuckle softly.
"Gonna fuck you with my fingers first, mmh?" Hongjoong announced softly before pushing two of his fingers into you, leaning against the door while he slowly moved with practiced precision.
Your velvet walls squeezed and squelched at the pleasureful intrusion, your legs quivering as he hit all the right spots that made you see stars.
"Hongjoong–!" Moaning when he pressed at a particular spot deep inside you, you moved your hips, moving back towards him.
"Shh, I know, I'll make sure you cum, I won't make you hold back, baby.."
He reassured you, whispering soft praises about how good you were being for him, and making you sing with a string of babbles and whimpers.
Your orgasm hit you hard, making you lean your forehead against the window of the car, your pants causing it to fog up.
Pulling out his fingers, Hongjoong brought them to his mouth, moaning at the taste of you on his tongue. So sweet.
He soon undid his jeans, pulling out his aching cock from its confines, hissing softly as he stroked himself, spreading his precum along his length.
"Tell me once you're ready, and we'll go," he murmured, moving towards you and grabbing your hips gently once more, sandwiching himself between your slick pussy lips, going back and forth to coat himself with your juices.
Once you recovered, you gave him a weak nod, whining out when he filled you up, deliciously stretching your hole out.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, you're always so tight for me, aren't you, baby?" He started moving, slow, shallow thrusts at first, mixing with long, dragged-out ones that made you whimper and quiver under him.
"Joong-ah– I can't, I won't la- last.." you whined out brokenly, one of your hands leaning against the window to support yourself as Hongjoong enveloped you from above.
"Yes, yes, you can, and you will, pretty girl, come on, just a bit more, I promise, it'll feel good." He whispered against your ear, making you shudder as he continued driving his cock into you, his tip kissing your cervix at this angle.
At that point, you couldn't hold it in any longer, the heat in your abdomen coiling as the knot snapped in you, and you came in waves.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I couldn't—" you apologised, causing Hongjoong to hush you gently, rubbing your sides as the car windows continued to fog up while he continued to thrust in and out.
"S'okay, baby, just let me keep going, gonna make you cum a third time, hm? Can you do that for me, pretty?"
With a nod and a whimpered hum, your boyfriend's pace quickened to rougher and less controlled thrusts, his rhythm getting sloppy as your cunt squeezed him tightly after your release.
He was getting close again, and from the way your pussy was squeezing him—you were too.
"Gonna cum again, Joong-ah," you mewled, earning a grunt from him, his dick twitching inside of you before releasing spurts of hot cum once more, his length buried deep.
The walk to the apartment was a blur, the two of you making out on the way, Hongjoong not being able to get enough of you in the dress you were wearing, his cock hard in his jeans again by the time you got into your shared home.
Kicking off your shoes at the entrance, Hongjoong picked you up bridal style and carried you towards your shared bedroom, seemingly in a hurry to get you there. His eagerness made you giggle, causing him to smile.
He gently placed you on the bed, leaning you against the pillows. Small confusion dawned on you when he started crawling towards you on the bed, settling his head between your thighs.
"Joong-ah? Wha-what are you..?"
"Shh, let me taste my sweet, pretty girl, hm?" He rubbed your calf, pressing a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. You sigh and nod, leaning back into the pillows.
Pressing soft kisses all over your inner thighs, Hongjoong nipped on the skin gently every once in a while, leaving tiny hickeys all over. He brought you closer, holding the back of your thighs, and squeezing.
You gently threw your head back the moment he pressed a feather-like kiss onto your exposed pussy, still leaking both of your juices.
Flattening his tongue, he licked your mixed releases from your gaping hole to your clit, starting to messily make out with your cunt.
Slurps and slick sounds filled the room along with your soft sighs and whines, your hand finding itself in Hongjoong's hair.
He kept alternating between sucking your pudgy nub and thrusting his tongue into you, his nose sometimes rubbing your sensitive clit just right, which made your thighs clench.
The way your walls clenched around his tongue made Hongjoong groan, loving how tight you were for him. It made his hips grind against the mattress to somehow relieve the ache growing in his pants.
Heat coiled in your stomach, your toes curling as you felt your release building up quickly. Your grip on his hair tightened and your breaths were shallower, signaling him to focus on your clit more, suckling on the now oversensitive bud.
"Joong-ah—!" You cried out his name, coming around his tongue and mouth, and he drank up all of your orgasm, prolonging it further until you were whining and pushing his head away.
"Can you handle going further..?" He asked, wiping the slick from his lips with the back of his hand, looking incredibly hot doing it.
The sight of him between your thighs, being done with making you cum just now, turned you on even more.
"Yeah..." You nodded, letting go of his hair before he moved up to kiss you, making you taste yourself on your tongue, making you moan against his lips.
Hongjoong grabbed your sides, pushing the dress up to get rid of the excess material off your skin.
It was getting in the way now, and he didn't want to soil it.
You were helping him, moving your hands up, so he could take it off, and once he did, he almost busted in his pants.
"No bra? Seriously? You're asking for a spanking, sweetheart..." he murmured, ducking his head down to bring one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking roughly, which caused you to whimper pathetically whilst holding onto his shoulders.
"M'sorry, I won't do it again," you mumbled, panting and whimpering as he ground himself against you, the tough material of his jeans pressing against your clit.
"Please, Joong-ah, fuck me again—please.." you pleaded, making him pull away from your mound before humming.
"Do you deserve to get fucked again, darling?"
"Mnhn.. please. I'll be a good girl, I promise." You nodded eagerly, trying to convince him to fuck you, even though Hongjoong hadn't planned to stop either way.
He got rid of his shirt and jeans along with his boxers, leaving him bare above you. The sight of him naked always made your toes curl, not being able to get enough of him, the same way he couldn't get enough of you.
Positioning his tip against your entrance, he looked at you with adoration before pushing in, easily slipping in from the amount of wetness coming from you, but you were still as tight as a vice for him.
"Fuck—" he cursed, leaning his forehead against yours before taking one of your hands to intertwine his with yours. "I love you."
He whispered, bottoming out, making the two of you moan at the same time.
"I love you too, Joong.." you whispered back, and he started moving slowly, pulling back until his cockhead was the only thing inside you before snapping his hips sharply and filling you.
The pace was slow but brutal. Gentle but rough. Full of love and passion, which he wanted to show you.
"You should wear that dress more often for me..." he panted, keeping his pace consistent, his dick hitting all the right spots, only making you respond in soft hums.
"Mm– mhmn.. y-yeah, okay—" you nodded, sharp inhales every time he ground his hips into you, driving you to the brink of your orgasm.
"You gonna cum, baby?" He asked, and you nodded, squeezing his hand.
"Alright... You can cum, beautiful."
With his permission, you let go, coming for the nth time tonight, your legs quivering and your pussy deliciously aching from the amount of stimulation it was receiving.
Your walls spasmed around his cock, causing Hongjoong to cum soon after you, spilling himself once more into your sweet, tight pussy.
The moment the two of you recovered from your releases, Hongjoong collapsed on top of you, humming with satisfaction against your breasts.
"Wear that dress at the club again, and I won't be able to control myself.." he murmured softly, squeezing your side with his free hand.
pairing: charles leclerc x ex-situationship!fem!reader
summary: in which you and your ex-situationship are stuck together at a villa in italy for your mutual friends destination wedding OR you and charles may or may not be in love with each other
warnings: angst, smut, language, also cute and fun???, like forced proximity, more like confused on how to act with each other than mean, still some meanness, one French phrase (not sure if its correctly written), NOT PROOFREAD (prob some typos I'm sorrryyy my keyboard loves to autocorrect the wrong words sometimes)
word count: 10.3k
author's note: okay so this ended up being way more fun than I anticipated. I wanted to make them really mean to each other at first but that didn't just feel natural (so sorry if you're expecting full on hating each other, cause they don't). it's more like bickering and damn I wish things never changed energy if that makes sense. there's still obviously arguments, but it didnt feel natural to have them constantly being mean and fighting considering they are at their friends wedding (like don’t make it about urself the whole weekend bestiessss) LOL. anways, I hope you like!!!
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You’d seen photos. Of course you’d seen them.
Lucy sent them months ago. A couple of blurry iPhone photos and screenshots from some wedding websites. It’s like a literal movie she said, with multiple red heart emojis and a voice note squealing over the string lights and views.
You zoomed in on the photos with interest at the time, nodded along with her squeals. But standing here now…sweating just a bit from the Italian summer heat, doesn’t do it justice. Like at all.
Even with the struggle of your suitcase along the gravel.
The villa is absolutely fucking stunning.
Pale green shutters pushed open to let a breeze through the villa. Tucked right between a vineyard and some olive groves.
There’s laughter coming from the side of the villa. Definitely close to the garden. And you can hear the sound of a bottle popping...maybe a few glasses clinking together....and of course the unmistakable voice of Emily shrieking. Something like Lucy, y’better be fucking joking!!!
You grin to yourself.
You pull your suitcase onto the tile, and Lucy’s already clocked your arrival. Half-speed walking, half-skipping toward you barefoot. A glass half-full in her hand.
“Finally!” She throws her arms up as you drop the rest of your bags, pulling you into a hug.
“Already drinking, hm?” You laugh.
“Uh…hello,” She says, dramatically swinging her arms in the air. “It’s Italy.”
“And I’m early.”
“You’re late by my time.”
Your smile grows wider. “Ahhhh yes, of course. How on earth could I ever forget just how early y’show up to stuff.” You joke. Because the one thing about Lucy is that she’s usually late.
She grins. “Missed you so much.”
“Y’saw me two weeks ago.”
She rolls her eyes. “C’mon…go dump your stuff in your room and then come meet everyone.”
“Please tell me there’s a fan in my room.”
“It has a…window.”
You roll your eyes with a soft laugh. Bending over and grabbing your bags again as Lucy wanders back.
You head towards the villa. And somehow it’s possible that it’s even more beautiful on the inside.
There’s a table set up with little welcome cards and towels. All handwritten. Name tags and room assignments.
Yours says….window view and a biiiig bed. you’re so so welcome <3
You smile.
You find your room at the end of the upstairs hallways. One with a gigantic ass bed all to yourself because…surprise, you’re probably the only one that came solo.
And it hits you. You really are probably the only one who came alone.
You collapse face down onto the mattress with a soft sigh.
But it’s fine.
You’re here for Lucy. You plan to wear something pretty, drink a few glasses, and pretend you don’t think about the one person you haven’t seen yet. The one who has probably already said hi to everyone else.
The one who’s probably somewhere around the villa, with his hands in his pockets. Charming someone new.
Your window is open, and you hear someone laughing. Deep. Familiar.
Another cork pops. And you can make out Lucy’s voice.
You take your time getting ready. Partially to decompress after the travel and lack of sleep you had last night.
You put on a pale pink dress. Simple jewelry consisting of some earrings and a dainty neckless. Shoulders bare.
When you check your phone for the first time since landing, you see a text from Lucy.
Lucy: Dinner soon, b! You’re next to Charles….pleeeeease don’t stab him
You stare at it.
And then, very…very calmly throw it down on the mattress with a huff.
-
You make your way down when the sun finally dips behind some of the trees.
The string lights haven’t really glowed yet, the sun still a bit too bright. And a long table is placed in the middle of the garden. Olive trees surrounding it.
The table is covered in linen and pretty flowers. Some mismatched wine glasses, cute name cards, and some tea-lit candles.
People are already seated. Laughing and passing the bottles around. Some standing behind chairs as they greet others with hugs.
You spot your name near the center of the table. And sitting in the seat beside it…already leaning back with his arm slung over the back of your chair…like this isn’t the first time he’s sat beside you in months….is Charles.
He’s in a linen button down. The top two buttons undone, showing you the dip of his throat. Sleeves rolled up on his forearms. And his hair is a little messy. Not in a bad way, but just the kind that makes you wanna run your fingers through it.
You approach calmly. Like your spine isn’t ramrod straight. Like you’re not thinking of what the prison sentence for murder in Italy is.
He sees you. Grinning like he’s been waiting for you.
“Look who finally showed up.”
You want to slap him.
You want to kiss him too.
You sit into your seat, not even acknowledging him. You set your bag by your feet and pull the napkin into your lap like it’s the most important thing to focus on.
And then you force a smile. Because this is the first time you’ve seen him since you stopped whatever the fuck it was you both were doing.
And it makes you want to scream.
Because it used to always be so easy with him. Like stupidly easy. Effortless. Like in the way your hands always used to find each other’s beneath tables. Beneath the sheets.
And then it ended. And he let it.
“M’literally five minutes early.”
He hums, like you’re wrong. “Late.”
You roll your eyes.
And he laughs. “Still so testy, hm?”
You glance at him. “Still leaning over my chair.”
He raises his arm off your chair. Resting it into his lap. “Didn’t realize y’were so territorial.”
“M’not.”
He nods his head in slow motion. His eyes glinting in amusement.
The wine bottle makes it way toward your area of the table. And you go to reach for it but Charles reaches it first.
He fills his glass first. Then yours. Like its something automatic. Like he knows you wouldn’t ask for the bottle from him and probably would wait until another came around.
You eye the glass like it offended you. But say nothing.
“I can drink out of your glass first, if y’need.”
You take your glass. “Don’t waste your time.”
“You’re right,” he passes the bottle down. “Like watching y’suffer too much anyways.”
You let out a small laugh as you take a sip before you can stop it from happening. And it’s barely audible, but of course he hears it.
And his grin widens.
You glare at him. “Don’t.”
“What?”
“Whatever smug bullshit you’re thinking.”
“M’just happy you’re still such a terrible liar.”
You don’t answer. You reach for a piece of bread in a basket instead. And the person on the other side of you leans closer to talk about the itinerary.
And Charles shifts a bit closer. Pretending like he’s just trying to hear better. But his knee bumps into yours. Once.
Twice.
And you’re not sure if you can convince yourself its an accident.
But it feels like a match being lit.
-
You’re sitting on the arm of someone else’s chair at the fire pit. A wine glass in one hand and your sandals in the other.
Laughing at something Chloe said about how her sister accidentally sent a nude photo to her boss.
“Okay,” one of the groomsmen calls out. “Real question here…if y’had to marry someone…anyone at this wedding…”
“Absolutely not.” You laugh. “Don’t even bother finishing that sentence.”
“No..no no no,” Rachel laughs with the rest of the group. “Obviously hypothetical… no one gets offended. You have to pick.”
You hold your wine a bit higher. “I pick the bartender.”
“The bartender is not a guest.”
“He has all the alcohol and doesn’t talk too much. Marriage material in my opinion.”
Everyone laughs. But you can feel it.
A glance.
And you don’t need to look to know that Charles is looking at you from just a few seats away.
The group keeps going. Chloe picks some guy you don’t know…Luke…who she thinks might be single but could also already be married. Rachel picks Lucy’s dad. Someone else picks Lucy, which then sparks a ten minute debate about whether she counts.
You stay quiet. Sipping from your glass. Laughing when other’s laugh. And very…very intentionally not looking at him.
“So…what about you?” A voice says from behind your right shoulder.
You glance over your shoulder to see Charles standing not too far from you. An eyebrow raised.
He’s looking at you. Waiting.
“What about me?”
“Who’d you marry?”
You glance at your wine glass then back to him. “We’re doing that now?”
“We’ve been doing that for the last twenty minutes,” Chloe half-whispers into your ear.
You glance around and the entire group is watching.
Charles tilts his head, like he knows just how annoying he’s being. “C’mon…y’gotta pick one.”
You smile. “I already picked the bartender.”
Charles laughs. “I thought we agreed that y’cant pick him.”
“He’s marriage material. M’telling you.”
The entire group laughs. And Charles grabs an already opened bottle to fill his glass back up. His back to you for a few moments.
Chloe leans in to you again. “Forgot how much you two bicker.”
You shake your head with your brows furrowed. “We do not bicker.”
You glare at her for a few moments. And Chloe just smirks back, turning back to the rest of the group conversation like she didn’t just plant something in your brain for you to knit-pick over later.
Charles returns, his tone casual. “Soo…just to clarify. If the bartender was a guest, you’d marry him?”
You shrug. “Yup.”
He smiles. “That’s comforting. Really comforting actually.”
Your brows furrow. “To who?”
“To me,” he says. “Always figured if you ever did get married, it’d be to someone boring.” He keeps his eyes on the fire.
“Boring?”
Charles wine glass dangles in his hand. Like he’s trying to not make a scene. Even though he clearly is. “Yeah…like…someone predictable. Someone with a routined schedule and a bedtime.”
You blink. “Wow.” You drag on the word.
You glance around and no one reacts. Everyone is too caught up in their own conversations now. Laughing at something Jacob was saying, another person trying to light a cigarette.
“Y’rehearsed that one, didn’t you?” You mutter.
Charles smiles. But it’s small. And his eyes are still on the fire. “Didn’t have to…known you long enough.”
You scoff. “You don’t know me.”
He turns towards you then. Just enough that he looks at you.
“That’s cute.”
You shift. Trying to keep your voice even as you say, “Seriously. Y’think that whatever we had was enough to know me?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. No. He just looks at you. Like really looks. But the light of the fire makes it hard for you to read the expression in his eyes.
“Still defensive as ever.” He holds your gaze.
“Still cocky as ever.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “No. M’just right.”
“About what exactly?” You straighten your shoulders. “Your expert analysis on my future husband?”
He smiles. But its cold. “M’just sayin…y’always had pretty shit taste.”
You snort. “Right. And you fall under that shit taste, yeah?”
That hits. And you can see the flicker in his eyes.
But he recovers. “Yeah. And then spent months acting like it was nothing.”
You blink. Once. “It was nothing.”
“Sure.” He nods. Slow. Like he’s trying to get under your skin. But he knows he’s already beneath it. “Keep telling yourself that.”
And he says it in that same maddening calm tone he used to use. The one that always made you want to chuck something at his smug fucking face.
You let out a dry laugh. “Y’know whats funny? You keep saying I acted like it was nothing, which it was…but it was you who couldn’t stay the night.”
He leans forward.
“I didn’t stay because I knew what it was,” His voice is low. “Didn’t mean I liked doing it.”
You scoff. “So you…didn’t…like it. But came back anyways…is that right?”
He brings his wine glass to his lips now. Shrugs his shoulders. “S’not like you locked your door.”
You clench your jaw. Turn to look at the fire as someone else laughs. Everyone too far in their own conversations to save you from this.
“M’not doing this with you.” You say quietly.
Charles glances at the sky. Then back down to you. But you don’t meet his eyes.
“I’ve moved on.” You stand to your feet. “M’here for Lucy and Max. That’s it. We can be civil, or we can avoid each other.”
Charles lips tighten.
“Pick one.”
And you don’t wait for a reply.
You just turn, heels crunching against the gravel, as you let out a fake yawn and a quick goodnight to everyone.
Leaving the fire and him behind.
-
The very first thing you do by the time you get outside is heavily ignore the group forming around a printed out sign in the grass that says Team Bride & Team Groom: Olympics and beeline right to the bar.
You didn’t really get a good look at the bartender last night, but you recognize enough to know its the same one from last night. Dressed a little less formal with his sleeves pushed up. Already popping a bottle.
“Morning,” he says. A smile on his lips. “Y’look exactly like someone who’s dreading group games.”
You sigh. “Does anything good ever happen after the decision of split teams?”
“Nope…not once.” He pours you a glass without even asking. And its mostly champagne, barely any orange juice. “I’m Mattia.”
You take the drink, with joy. Take a sip. A long sip. And the drink is absolutely perfect.
“This is basically therapy, y’know?”
Mattia laughs, leans in. “A bit cheaper too, yeah?”
You’re mid laugh when another voice cuts in.
“She laughs,” Charles huffs. “That’s new.”
You don’t even need to look at him. You close your eyes for a moment. Take another sip to ease yourself.
And Mattia remains cool. But glances between you and Charles like he’s watching an episode of some reality show.
You place your finished drink down, pushing it toward Mattia with pleading eyes. Saying please, give me another before I jump off the nearest cliff. Mattia takes the glass with a smirk.
You turn towards Charles. And he’s in a baby blue t-shirt that clings a little too well to his chest and biceps. Sunglasses shoved up into his hair. His skin is already sunkissed.
You blink. “Good morning.”
“Early start?” He nods his head at the glass Mattia just refilled.
“Desperate times.” You nod.
“Lucy said everyone needs to be back by the dinner table for pairing assignments.”
“Great,” you say. Voice flat. “Can’t wait…I’ll be there in a bit.”
Charles doesn’t move.
You glance over and he’s still leaning agains the bar. His arms crossed. And that same annoying stance like he’s just existing there.
“I said I’ll be there.”
He shrugs. “Didn’t say anything.”
You raise your brows. Glance at Mattia who smirks at you. “But you’re still here?”
“Just…” he rolls his shoulders. “Taking a breather…it’s hot out.”
You glance up at the clear sky. It’s breezy and not too hot out. “Is it?”
He nods. Unbothered. “Y’know how I get.”
“You seriously gonna hover?”
He feigns offense.
“M’just making sure you don’t forget the schedule.”
“And I told you that I’d be there.”
He nods. Still doesn’t move.
You blink at him. “You’re really staying? Should I get you a name tag and mixer?”
He smiles, seeming more interested. “Well that depends. Are y’tipping me?”
You groan.
And he stays right there.
-
You stand in front of the table in the lawn. Stacked with paper fans, clipboards, and sunscreen bottles.
You squint at the table, arms folded.
“Okay! So pairings are listed near the corn hole sets. Grab your name tags!” Lucy beams out with joy.
You step forward, already dreading these games. And you find your name in Lucy’s curly writing. And next to it…
“Fuck me,” you groan to yourself.
“Already did.” A voice says casually from behind.
You freeze.
Roll your eyes.
Turn slowly.
Charles has his sunglasses hooked onto the collar of his shirt now. Arms crossed like he knew you two were paired the entire time.
He raises his brows. “What? M’just finishing your sentence.”
You hold his gaze. “You’re hilarious.”
And he looks smug. “Could’ve been worse. Y’could’ve been partnered with, like…Mattia.”
You don’t bite. You grab the bean bags off the table. And he walks beside you for a few paces.
“Y’look tired.”
“And you look like someone who rigged this.”
Charles laughs, “Y’really think I would bother to rig a lawn game?”
You snort. “Please…you literally once strategically stacked the Uno deck just so I’d draw twenty cards.”
“That was different.” He laughs, again. His eyes crinkling.
“I knew I should’ve faked an injury this morning.”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh, c’mon. Y’know we’re unstoppable at corn hole. Basically the dream team.”
“Oh yeah,” you snort. “And then you left halfway through the game to go flirt with Joris’s cousin.”
He lets out a fake gasp. “She said she liked corn hole!”
You roll your eyes. “You’re literally impossible.”
Charles grins. Walking backwards just so he can stay in front of you while looking at you. “Yet, here we are.”
You throw a bean bag at his chest.
And he catches it without a single flinch.
“See? Teamwork.”
-
If there’s one thing to know about Charles Leclerc, it’s that he’s competitive as fuck.
Like smug-shit eating grin, absolute fucking menace type whenever there’s a scoreboard involved kind of competitive.
Like would rather die than lose type of competitive.
And apparently, that also applies to lawn games at a wedding.
You’ve seen it before, of course. Game nights, beach days, that one terrible escape room in Mallorca one year. But watching it now, while in the middle of a lawn in Italy while tipsy on Prosecco, feels a bit different.
Maybe it’s the heat…except for the fact that it really isn’t too hot out. Or maybe it’s his rolled up sleeves giving you a sight of his tanned forearms. His watch. The fucking veins.
Or it could be his grin. So smug and boyish. And so aware of just how good at this he is. At knowing when to throw a wink that burrows under your skin.
And you hate. Hate. That it still works.
Hate the way your stomach flips whenever he mutters a watch this from across the lawn before sinking a bag through the board. Hate the way you wanna smile when he celebrates like he just won a world championship.
You’re supposed to be over him. Considering, you never even dated, was there even much to get over?
And when you hit the board…dead center during the final round…
Well, he loses his fucking mind.
Like face split into a grin so fucking wide you’re convinced its just muscle memory from a pole finish. And before you can even process anything, Charles is already sprinting across the grass.
“Lets fucking gooooo!” He yells. So loud.
And then fucking lifts you. Hauls you over the shoulder.
“Charles!” You shriek, laughing. “Put me down!”
He doesn’t. Because of course he wouldn’t listen.
Instead, he circles a few victory laps while you dangle over his shoulder. One arm locked around your thighs, the other pumping his fist in the air.
“Y’kidding me?” He shouts. “That was amazing! We just won!”
“Put me down!” You laugh, kicking your feet.
His voice is warm. “You were a fuckin’ star out there.”
He sets you down carefully, slowly. Almost like he didn’t want to. And you instantly shove his shoulder with a grin on your face.
“Don’t do that again.”
He shrugs. Cheeks flushed and grinning wide. “Y’love it.”
You go to argue, but decide against. You’re too winded from laughing and his shoulder shoving into your stomach. Too flushed from the glasses of Prosecco. Or it could also be the way he’s looking at you.
You fix your hair.
“Might have to retire now.”
You playfully roll your eyes. “Please…you’d never survive retirement. You’d get too bored and end up coaching like…competitive shuffle board or something.”
He laughs. “Only if you’re on my team.”
You roll your eyes.
“Don’t make this into something it’s not.”
His smile falters. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” You shrug. “Just….don’t make it into something.”
He furrows his brows. “M’not.”
You nod once and walk away.
-
Most people have showered by now. Changed into light and breezy clothes. Like linen and light colors. The garden glows as the sun begins to lower in the sky and cocktail hour is settling in.
You’re standing near the table decked out in miscellaneous types of bread, olives, and other light bites. Your shoes are off and tucked beneath one of the rattan chairs. Chloe is mid-story, waving her hands in the hair, and you and Rachel are trying not to laugh too hard. The both of you wiping tears from the corner of your eyes.
“No like I swear to God, he deadass told her he was a literal pilot,” Chloe laughs. “Like…fully sober said that.”
Emily chokes on her drink. “Wait…but I thought he, like…worked at that juice bar or something?”
“Exactly my point!” Chloe points. “Even told her he flies for Delta too.”
Rachel hits your arm. “Speaking of men who lie…”
“Oh my God,” you cut her off.
“No no…I didn’t mean it like that,” she teases. “Was just gonna say…you two were too good at corn hole today.”
Emily nods. “Like weirdly good.”
You shrug your shoulders, twirl the straw around your drink. “We’ve played before.”
Chloe raises a brow. “I remember game night last summer…when we all played what was it? Uno?”
You nod.
“You two got like scary.”
You smile softly, pretending your stomach isn’t forming knots. “We’re just competitive.”
Chloe shoots a look over the rim of her glass. “He’s still hot though.”
You snort. “Christ, Chlo.”
Rachel leans in closer. “He hasn’t looked this relaxed since he got here. Or maybe he’s still riding the high of your win.”
Chloe sips. “Or maybe its because someone finally doesn’t look like they wanna stab him.”
You open your mouth to fire something back. But Mattia walks over, casual. Refills in hand. Replacing all of your drinks with no questions asked, and a small wink at you.
As soon as he’s out of an earshot, Rachel leans in. “Okay…so bartender husband is kind of cute.”
You glare at her. “It was a joke.”
“I know,” Rachel agrees. “But he’s still cute.”
“I hate all of you.” You groan.
They laugh, and eventually you join in.
“Well, your not ex boyfriend seems like he’s about to snap that beer bottle.”
You turn a bit just to follow their gaze.
And across the garden, right by the set of bocce, Charles is standing with a few of the other groomsmen. A hand on his hip, and the other holding a beer. His sunglasses are on, but his head is tilted like he’s not reallylistening to whatever Jordan is saying to him.
But his eyes aren’t on Jordan. Or the game of bocce.
They’re on you.
But he looks away the very second your eyes meet. Like he wasn’t staring. Like he wasn’t very pointedly watching Mattia refill your drink.
Emily sips her fresh drink, “Subtle.”
You roll your eyes and turn back to the girls. “We’re being civil.”
“More like being watched.”
You ignore it. Pop a grape into your mouth.
Pretend that it doesn’t make your stomach twist.
-
You’re already two glasses of Prosecco in. Wearing a floral dress that flows to your mid-thigh. And the warmth from the alcohol is making everything feel softer. More loose.
Especially while next to Charles.
You’re both slightly tipsy.
And his leg brushes yours beneath the table. Once…twice.
“I think Max is already drunk,” you whisper as you watch Lucy’s fiancé try and fail at opening a bottle of wine.
Charles grins. “He looks like he’s about to pass out.”
You glance at Max’s face and immediately burst out into a laugh. Nearly choking on the last sip of Prosecco you just took.
“Shut up,” you whisper, covering your mouth like that will hide anything. “You’re so mean.”
“You’re the one who said somethin first!”
“Yeah…” you place your glass down. “But I said it with love.”
Charles hums. “Yeah…sure.” Not believing you.
You nudge him with your elbow. “Says the guy who once called Lucy’s ex a loser.”
He nearly chokes on his glass of wine. Grin widening. “That’s different.”
“You literally said it to his face.”
“He brought up crypto at a baby shower.”
You’re both laughing now. And Charles is watching you with his eyes crinkled at the corners. The way they always do when his laugh is real.
“Y’know you keep doing that.”
He raises one brow. “What do you mean?”
“Act like we’re still something.”
His eyes trail over your face. His features softening.
“We were never really not.” His tone is casual.
Your silent for a few moments. Take another sip of your Prosecco. Stare at the sky for a second.
And Charles clears his throat softly. “D’you remember Mexico?”
You nod once, even though his eyes are on the stem of his wine glass.
“Y’mean the apartment with that leaky sink?”
“You hated the neighbor.”
“Yeah, well that fucker vacuumed at three in the morning. Who wouldn’t hate him?”
He chuckles. “Y’liked that couch though.”
You glance at him for a moment but the image hits you fast. Uninvited.
Your spine pressing into the worn fabric of the couch. Hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave red marks. And his low, needy voice in your ear begging you to stay quiet, mon ange right before he pushed in deeper.
You blink. Hard. Swallow down the memory with a big chug of your Prosecco. Emptying the glass. But it doesn’t help.
“That couch was awful.”
His voice lowers. “Didn’t sound like y’hated it.”
You turn your head to catch the smirk on his lips. Cheeks reddening.
“Shut up.”
His smile widens. Clearly satisfied.
-
The sun is high and it’s hot out. But there is a breeze that pushes through the vines of the vineyard just enough to make it somewhat bearable.
You’re all halfway through the vineyard tour. And everyone is already a little buzzed. Lucy’s clinging onto Max’s arm to keep herself from falling over the uneven grass. Chloe’s probably taken nine hundred photos of the vines. And someone has already spilled wine over their linen pants.
The guide stops again to pour another round of samples. A pale looking white wine. You accept the glass with a smile, knowing you probably won’t like it.
You’ve never been the biggest fan of white wine. Something about it always left a bitter taste in your mouth.
But you swirl the glass anyways with a smile.
“Switch,” a voice says from behind your shoulder.
You glance behind.
And Charle is standing right behind you, holding his glass out like it’s no big deal.
Yours is untouched, but his is already half-drunken.
You blink. “What?”
He shrugs. “Y’never liked the whites. Switch.”
You give him a confused look. “How do you know that?”
He gives you a sideways glance. “Cause you hated every white wine during that time in Barcelona.”
“I don’t hate every white wine.”
“You hated most of them.”
“Well…that’s because the bartender gave us shitty ones.”
Charles is grinning now. “Didn’t stop you from drinking it though.”
You roll your eyes. “I was being polite!”
“Yeah?” He holds out the glass. “Well then be polite again. Switch."
You hesitate. But eventually hand your glass over, accepting his rosé.
He says nothing else. Just clinks your glass with his before stepping away again.
Like it didn’t mean anything.
You sip on the rosé. The coolness making you feel so much better beneath the burning sun. And you hate the fact that it’s exactly what you wanted. That he knew.
The group begins to move again. You fall behind for a bit, walking slowly.
Charles eventually finds himself at your side again. But he doesn’t say anything. Just matches your pace in comfortable silence.
And it shouldn’t matter. But it does.
Because you’re not fine. Like not really.
Because he still pisses you off. Makes you want to scream at him one second but laugh the next. Still makes your heart ache.
And he’s just there. Under your skin.
Like he never really left.
-
You tell yourself that you should go inside.
Like everyone else has. You heard everyone shut their bedroom doors. All the sleepy goodnight’s. And the fire pit is nearly burned out.
You should get up. Should go wash your face. And definitely should not be sitting here hoping that he walks out looking for you.
But of course he does.
Charles doesn’t say anything at first. He just drops onto the bench beside you calmly.
“You’ve been avoiding me all night,” he says.
“M’not.”
“You are,” he mutters, placing his water down on the gravel.
You don’t answer. Just stare at the burning ash of the fire pit.
And he leans in closer. You feel your pulse spike.
“I watched you all day, y’know?” His voice is low.
And you feel your fingers wrap tighter around the sleeve of your hoodie.
His hand brushes your thigh, barely. But enough to cause a twist to form in your tummy. Like he’s testing the waters.
And you don’t stop him.
“Y’wanna know what I thought about?” His voice low. “All day….all night?”
“Not really,” you lie.
But he ignores you.
“Thought about how y’used to sound,” he whispers. “When I’d fuck you slow. Let you ride me until you couldn’t handle it anymore.”
You suck in a breath. “Charles…”
“Thought about your mouth…” His hand rests on your bare thigh now. Intentionally. Possessively. “What it looked like wrapped around m’cock.”
And you hate how quick your body reacts.
How the heat blooms low in your tummy. Sharp. The kind that makes your breath catch.
And you should stop this.
Should laugh it off. Should remind yourself that it’s late and that you’ve been drinking all day. That its probably just all the wine and lovey wedding energy is just fucking with you.
But you don’t stop him
Don’t stop him as he reaches for your jaw, turning your head towards him.
“Bet you’d still fall apart for me, yeah?” He mutters.
And then you’re kissing him.
Or he’s kissing you.
Your mouths crash together and he groans. Deep and needy. Fingers tightening against your thigh. Tongue sliding against yours.
It’s desperate.
Hot and outright fucking stupid.
You moan into his mouth when his fingers slip higher, fingers pushing the fabric of your shorts aside. Like he still knows exactly how you like to be touched.
And he’s groaning when you tug on the collar of his hoodie, pulling him closer.
His mouth drags down your neck. Hot, open mouthed kisses against your skin as he targets the spot beneath your jaw that always made you weak.
“Fuckin’ missed this…” He mumbles.
And you gasp when his fingers trail higher, toying with the fabric of your panties but not slipping under them.
“Y’gonna come upstairs with me?” He breathes. Lifting his head enough to meet your eyes. And his voice is wrecked. “Let me fuck you like I used to?”
You freeze.
Heart stuttering. Everything in you still burning. Aching.
But your chest tightens. And its like all common sense floods back in.
The mornings he left without a word. The nights you had to tell yourself he was never yours.
“I can’t do this….” Your voice shakes. “This…this is a bad idea.”
He stills. Hand moving out from your shorts, but still resting on your thigh. And the heat in his eyes flickers.
“Right…” He mutters, pulling back from you. “There it is.”
“Charles…”
“No, it’s fine.” He snaps. “Y’want me when y’want me. Then push away the second I ask for more. Nothing new…”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” His jaw tenses. “Y’think that this is just me getting off on kissing you in the dark or something? Y’think I’m here because I just want to fuck for old time’s sake?”
You flinch. Tears threatening to form in your eyes.
And then he’s running a hand through his hair. “Y’dont get to act like I don’t feel this too.”
You feel your throat tighten.
“And you don’t get to pretend like this….like this means something now.” You feel the frustration forming. “Not when you didn’t want it to mean anything before….Not when you let me think that I imagined it all. Like I was the one who made it more than what it really was.”
His mouth opens like he’s going to speak. But he hesitates. And nothing comes out. Not for a few seconds, which feels like a damn eternity.
“I didn’t disappear,” he knits his brows together. “Y’literally iced me out.”
“Because you left first!”
He shakes his head. Laughing. But it’s bitter. No humor in it whatsoever.
And then he’s swearing gently under his breath, leaning back a bit like the space will ease the pain he feels.
“I never stopped wanting you,” he confesses. “That was the fucking problem.”
And then he’s standing up. Leaving you to the fire before you can say anything else. Before either of you can say more.
Say something you’ll both regret.
Again.
-
You wake up with the kind of headache that isn’t from alcohol.
Though, all of the wine and Prosecco yesterday most definitely did not help.
Your mouth is bone dry. And your limbs are sore from how you fell asleep on the bed without even changing out of the clothes that smell like straight up fire. The same hoodie. The same shorts that his hands were under not even nine hours ago.
You squeeze your eyes shut. And the memory of last night hits you like a fucking train.
The kiss. His hands on your thighs. Mouth against your neck. His voice, low and whispered, asking you to come upstairs with him.
And the way you said no.
You push your palms into your eyes with a groan, as you sit up in the bed.
“Fuck.”
But you don’t let yourself think about it for too long. Instead, you jump in the shower, tug on something casual. Like a pair of loose linen pants and a tank top.
When you finally make your way downstairs, it’s pretty quiet. Not completely silent. Some people are still asleep, where it seems others have been up for quite some time.
You can hear a few quiet voices from the kitchen, and the sound of ceramic mugs and a coffee machine whirring from outside on the coffee table.
Your stomach outright turns when you spot him.
He’s already out in the garden. Wearing a worn, faded t-shirt (one that you definitely used to steal often) and a pair of shorts. Coffee already in hand like he’s been up for hours. Sunglasses pushed into his hair.
And his face is unreadable. But his body looks calm.
Almost too calm.
You reach the coffee table and pour yourself some coffee. Hoping that maybe he won’t say anything. Hoping that maybe he will.
But he doesn’t say a word when you step out.
No.
He just glances at you once. Eyes flicking up from your neckline to your mouth. But he looks away just as fast.
You find a seat far enough down the table that no one would say its odd. Like you’re avoiding him or something.
Lucy eventually walks out, big sunglasses covering her face. Holding a ceramic plate with a single piece of toast. “Okay,” she whines while heading toward you. “Reminder that wine tastings are cute and fun until they turn into a full on pre-game.”
Chloe groans from behind her, plopping down on the seat beside you. Resting her head on the table. “I need somethin fried…like immediately.”
You manage a small laugh.
But then Charles speaks.
“Morning,” he says it casually. Like he didn’t tell you last night how much he missed the sounds you made while he fucked you.
And the way he says it, feels like a test. A reminder.
Because he’s trying to make it seem like he’s saying it to Lucy and Chloe too, but he’s only looking at you.
You sip your coffee.
“Morning.”
You don’t meet his eyes.
-
The villa is like ten times louder now.
More voices. More kisses on cheeks and happy greeting. More suitcases being dragged around.
By the time the sun has hit high in the sky, you’ve changed into a sundress with your hair half-up. Lucy insistedthat the welcome party was casual. But still photo-friendly, obviously.
She hugged you four times and was basically bouncing with joy at the sight of the decor on the tables.
The crowd nearly doubles. Extended family. University friends. Co-workers.
And you do the polite greetings. Smiling. You help Rachel fix the strings of her dress, help with whatever needs to be done so that Lucy doesn’t feel an ounce of stress.
You sip on something Mattia made you. Its bubbly, fruity, and definitely a little too strong for someone who has barely eaten today.
And you haven’t talked to Charles all day aside from the muttered morning’s earlier.
But you feel him every time you’re in the same area.
He’s standing beside a side bar. A light blue button down with his sleeves rolled up, and linen pants. It’s the kind of shirt that makes your mouth dry. Unbuttoned enough to show his thick neck and collarbones.
He’s laughing at whatever the girl he’s talking to said.
She’s tall. Pretty. One of Lucy’s friends…you think…but you’re not sure. And you definitely don’t miss the way her body is angled toward him.
And you can’t hear their convo but you know that laugh. Because you’ve heard it many times before. From girls at the races. From girls in hotel bars. From girls who don’t know what he’s like when he’s angry. Or when he’s possessive.
When he fucks you hard and whispers against your skin like you’re the only thing holding him together.
You turn away. Pretend to be interested in the tray of caprese that one of the server’s is walking around with.
But when you glance back because you just can’t help yourself…he’s already looking at you.
And he’s not even trying to hide it.
His gaze lingers. Like he wants you to know that he’s staring.
Rachel slides up next to you. “Soooo,” she smirks. “Guessing you saw the tall brunette?”
You sigh. Turn your back to Charles completely. “Hard to miss.”
“I think she’s from Lucy’s grad program or somethin. Pretty sure her name is Jenn.”
You sip your drink, nodding.
“She’s nice,” Rachel adds. Her face softening a bit as she looks at you. “But she’s not funny…and you’re way prettier.”
You laugh a bit, but it doesn’t feel real.
“He’s free to do whatever he wants.”
“Well…yeah, but you do know he’s doing it on purpose….right?” Rachel mutters.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” you lie through your teeth.
She gives you a look. One that says you’re so full of shit.
“She’s not you…she’ll never be you.”
You glance at Rachel. Brows knit. “What’s the supposed to mean?”
Rachel shrugs her shoulders, grabs a bruschetta from a tray. “It’s just…it’s just kinda wild, y’know? Like watching him pretend he’s still not wrapped around your finger.”
You roll your eyes. “Trust me…he’s doing exactly what he wants to be doing.”
Rachel tilts her head. “Maybe. But he used to say that you ruined him for anyone else.”
And she says it so casually while she takes bites of the bruschetta. Cupping her hand beneath her mouth the prevent any spillage.
You blink. “What?”
She chews dramatically, unable to speak until she swallows. “Yeah…like when we were out one night, he was tipsy. Said somethin about you like she’s the only person who ever made me feel like I didn’t have to perform…”
Your throat tightens.
“Think it was right after that trip to Spain,” Rachel adds.
And you stare down at your feet for a second. “He said that?”
She nods. “Don’t think he even realized he said it…”
You half-laugh. Trying to ease the tightness in your chest. “Well…he clearly recovered just fine.”
“He hasn’t,” she says. No hesitation in her answer. “He just acts like he has.”
Your eyes drift to him again.
Jenn’s laughing, like head tilted back laughing. And his smile flickers a bit, but its nothing more than polite.
And his gaze falls back on you.
He doesn’t look away.
Rachel leans in. “And you can lie to me all y’want about it…but don’t lie to yourself.”
-
By the time the sun set’s, the party is in full swing. Like dancing, too many drinks being poured, loud laughter…full swing.
Everyone’s seated for dinner now, a few more tables set up for the guests who arrived today, but close friends and wedding party members at the same long wooden table.
You’re tucked beneath Emily and Rachel, half-listening to the story they’re telling.
But you haven’t moved your fork in nearly fifteen minutes.
And across the table, diagonally from you…Charles.
And Jenn is beside him. Asking questions about racing or whatever it is that she wants to know about the Scuderia Ferrari F1 driver.
You eventually pick up your fork. But only to push your food around.
“Y’okay?” Emily mutters.
You nod. “M’fine.”
She follows your gaze and winces. “Okay…so not fine.”
You pick up your wine glass with shaky hands, take a large sip.
And then you hear Charles laugh. But its not a real one. It’s one of those laugh’s he uses on media days. In press conferences. But its still loud enough to hurt.
You shove your chair back and excuse yourself for a few moments. Something about needing to grab a hair clip from your room. Maybe something about needing to restroom also.
And no one stops you. Emily just gives you soft eyes and a slight nod.
You pass Mattia at the bar. He raises a brow, but doesn’t say anything. You give him a smile…but its more like just the corners of your mouth being turned upward. Because its not really happy.
You step at the side of the villa, where a small bench wrapped in ivy sits.
And you finally breath out, letting your head fall back against the villa wall.
But of course, you don’t even get more than a minute of time to yourself.
Because Charles shows up. Hands in his pockets. With his eyebrows furrowed like he doesn’t know why he followed you. But couldn’t help it.
And you both can still hear the faint laughter of everyone at dinner.
You just needed five fucking minutes to yourself.
And of course, it only took him one.
“Hey…” Charles says, voice extremely soft.
“M’fine.”
“Y’dont look fine.”
You exhale. “Y’dont need to do this.”
He steps closer. “Do what?”
“This.” You wave your hands between the two of you without even looking at him. “Check on me. Act like you care.”
“Act like I…” He scoffs. His eyes narrowing like he’s fucking annoyed now. “Tu te fous de moi? I do fucking care.”
“Riiiight.” You half-laugh. “That’s why you left last night. Couldn’t even finish the conversation.”
You finally look at him now. And his hands are balled into fists like he has to. Because otherwise he’ll reach out and grab oyu. His jaw twitches.
“Cause I didn’t want to say somethin that I couldn’t take back!” He exasperates.
“Maybe you should’ve,” you bite. “At least then you would’ve been honest.”
“Honest?” His voice is laced with frustration. He steps closer. “Y’want honest?”
“No.” You huff. “What I want is fucking silence…I want to get through this wedding without having a fucking breakdown.”
His eyes narrow. “Y’keep acting like you don’t want me but then y’look at me like you fucking miss me.”
“I don-”
“Bullshit.” He cuts you off. “You do…and m’fucking tired of pretending.”
You straighten your spine. “Then stop.”
“I tried!” He half-shouts. “I tried being distant. Tried to ignore it. Tried to watch you talk to Mattia like it didn’t bother me…”
“Oh my fucking god,” you groan. “Mattia? Are you serious?”
“Yes!” He half-shouts, voice breaking a bit.
You close your eyes for a second, open them. “You’re the one who said it meant nothing.”
He shakes his head. “No. I never…never said it meant nothing. I said that I couldn’t give you what you wanted….and that’s not the same, like at all.”
“Oh, so this is better?” You gesture to the space between you two. Which is much smaller than when he first showed up. “Y’think throwing some kind of tantrum whenever I talk to someone proves anything?”
He laughs. “Y’think this is a tantrum? Y’havent even seen me lose it yet.”
“Well then maybe you should.” Your voice is bitter. “Maybe if you stopped acting like I’m the villain in your story…”
He cuts you off.
“I’m in love with you.”
And you stop breathing.
He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t take it back.
“I’m in love with you,” his voice softens. “And its driving me insane.”
Your mouth opens.
Closes.
“Say something…” He practically begs. “Please.”
But all you can do is stare at him. At the man you once let all the way in…or so you thought. And the one who keeps finding ways to break your heart.
“I need to go,” you push off the wall quickly.
Pushing past him.
-
You slam your bedroom door harder than intentional. Not to be dramatic or anything. But it makes you feel a little better.
Your dress is sticking to your skin. And you already have your earrings pulled halfway off. You’re fumbling with the zipper on the back of your dress. In need of it off.
Because you’re shaking.
Because he said it. He finally said it.
Not when you needed it earlier. Not when you laid in bed together all those months ago. But now. When everything is already broken.
You pace the room.
Until you hear your bedroom door push open again.
“What the fuck, Charles?” Your voice cracks.
He doesn’t answer. Just steps into the room hurriedly and shuts the door again. And he looks pissed. Jaw tight. Chest slightly heaving like he just ran up the stairs (he did).
“We’re not leaving this fucking room until we talk this out.” He says.
You scoff. Placing your earrings down on the dresser. “There’s nothing to talk about anymore.”
“That’s bullshit…and you know it.” He steps closer. “Y’really don’t think I see it? The way you…you look at me but then act like m’some fuckin stranger to you?”
“You are a stranger now.” You snap. “You left.”
His eyes narrow. And his nostrils flare a bit. “You pushed me out.”
“And you didn’t fight it.”
“I didn’t fucking know how! You shut me down whenever I tried!”
“M’not doing this. We’re here for a wedding. We’re not dragging our past like we’re toxic exes or some shit.”
“Oh, because god fucking forbid we acknowledge what the fuck we actually were.” His voice is angry. “That it wasn’t just sex. That maybe…just maybe, you could just open your eyes and fucking see that you actually mean something to me.”
You stare at him. Balancing your weight onto another leg, before sighing and sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Do you really think that I didn’t want to fix it?” He raises his voice a bit. “Y’really think I don’t think about what I could’ve done differently? And you won’t even give me the time of fucking day for me to try.”
“That’s not fair…”
He cuts you off.
“Isn’t it?” He steps closer. “Because I’ve been fucking trying…but all you do is ice me out….pretend…pretend like you’re not angry or hurt by it all.”
“You, of all people, do not get to decide how I deal with it!” You raise your voice back. Nails digging into the fabric of the duvet. “Y’cant just walk in here demanding me to act one way or give answers for something…especially when its not like you gave me any either.”
His eyes are blazing.
“Y’want answers? Fine.” He runs his hands through his hair. “I quote on quote leftbecause I felt more for you than I ever planned. And you kept me at arms length…arms fucking length…until I stopped even knowing where we stood.”
“I did not keep you at arms length.” You hiss. “I gave you everything and y’still left!”
He clenches his jaw. “And you never once asked me to stay.”
You feel yourself freeze. And the pounding in your ears is almost all you can notice.
“That’s not fucking fair,” you stand up. “Y’cant just throw that in my face and act like…”
“Act like what?”
“Act like I’m the only one who didn’t fight.”
Charles huffs. “You didn’t….Not even once.”
“I shouldn’t of had to though.”
“You shouldn’t have…” He pauses. Running a hand over his face like it’s taking everything in him not to blow up.
“You’re fucking unbelievable, y’know that?” He mutters.
“Oh…I’m unbelievable?” You laugh. But its sharp. “You leave and disappear. And then what? Y’say I love you and think everything’s going to be all dandy again?”
“I didn’t say it to fix anything.” He snaps. “I said it because it’s true.”
“Well congratulations, Charles.” You give him a sarcastic clap. “It’s too fucking late.”
And then he’s standing in front of you. Invading your space by the edge of the bed.
“I don’t believe that.” His voice is furious. “I don’t fucking believe that…and I know you don’t either.”
You tilt your chin up. “Y’really think you can just show up and say you love me and what? We’d jet off into the sunset together?”
“You never stopped wanting me.”
You don’t speak.
“I think,” his voice dips lower. “…that y’kiss me like you’re mad that you need it. And that you pull away because it scares you how after all this time…y’still want this…want me.”
You still don’t answer.
And he leans in closer. Lips hovering yours almost. “Tell me that I’m wrong.”
Your hands grip at the fabric of your dress by your hips.
And your voice cracks when you mutter the words you’re wrong. Because you know that he’s right.
And his eyes outright sparkle at the falter in your voice.
You don’t flinch or push him away when his hand cradles your jaw. Thumb trailing your bottom lip.
“M’not wrong.”
“I shouldn’t want this.” You confess.
“But you do.”
And he waits. Gives you the chance to push him away.
But you don’t.
So you whisper under your breath, “you’re such an asshole.”
And then he smiles. Lips curling up in a grin. Before he’s pressing his lips against yours in a heated kiss.
He pulls off of you, only to mutter the words, “Stop acting like it’s gonna stop you.”
You huff in between kisses. “I hate you.”
“Y’hate how much y’still think about me when you touch yourself.”
You laugh. “See? Ass.”
He doesn’t answer. He’s too busy kissing you. All teeth and tongue. Like he wants to punish you with his mouth. Like he’s still angry with you. But that doesn’t matter.
Because nothing else matters.
Not when his hands are dragging down the rest of your half undone zipper like he’s been dying to. Or when your dress hits the floor and you’re in nothing but underwear.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Been thinkin about this since I saw you again.”
You tug his shirt up. “Should’ve stayed gone.”
He laughs as you shove the shirt off of him. “Y’don’t mean that.”
You do. But your hands are all over his chest anyways.
“You’re such an ass,” you whisper again as his lips trail your neck.
“And you….” His hands slip to right beneath your butt, gripping the back of your thighs until your legs hit the edge of the mattress. “Are still the best thing I’ve ever fucked.”
“You’re disgusting.” Your breath hitches when his lips trail along your ear.
He hums. “Sounds like you’re about to let me back in…”
You roll your eyes. “Every time I think that maybe…maybe I won’t.” You confess.
“And yet…” He whispers into your ear. And you can hear the smirk in his voice. “Your legs are already spread f’me, mon age.”
“My god, I hate you.”
His lips trail over your cheek to your lips. “Hate me harder then. Maybe moan it next time.”
And then he’s kissing you. It’s bruising and hot. And then he’s sliding one finger beneath the waistband of your panties. Grinning into the kiss.
“Still so fuckin wet f’me.”
You gasp as he dips his fingers.
And then your back hits the mattress, him following after you. His knee between your thighs, forcing them wider. His lips trailing along your neck. The spot right beneath your jaw that you love so much.
You arch into him.
“Tell me to stop…” His voice is low. “Better yet….tell me y’don’t want this…”
You don’t.
Instead, you hook your fingers into the waistband of his pants. “Just shut up and fuck me.”
He groans. Desperate.
And he doesn’t hesitate. Already kicking his pants off, dragging your panties down like he’s starved and has no time to waste.
He mutters something in French. But its too fast and too hushed for you to catch. But it sounds hot. Like worship.
“Fuckin missed this,” He breathes. “Missed you.”
You shiver when he presses his chest to you. Cock dragging over your center.
You’re fucking soaked.
“Y’gonna tell me how much you hate me again?” He grunts, like he’s struggling from just shoving himself in. “Or y’gonna beg for it?”
“I’d rather choke.”
Charles grins. “Oh mon ange….I hope y’do.”
And then he’s thrusting in. Deep. Hard.
And you cry out. Shocked by the feeling of it all.
“Fuck…f-fuck…” He groans.
Your nails dig into the sheets. And then into him. One of your hands digging into the skin at his shoulders, while the others slips in between his hair. Tugging like you can’t help it.
“Y’hate me, yeah?” He breathes into your ear. And the pace of his hips is merciless. “Hate me so much that y’soaking my cock, hm?” He teases.
“Shut up.” You moan out.
And then his hand is slipping beneath one of your thighs, pushing it up to open you wider.
He thrusts harder. Mouth trailing whatever inch of skin he can get his lips on.
Your head falls back agains the mattress. His pace getting sappier. Still hard. Like if he fucks you hard enough, you’ll finally understand how much he means it.
“I should hate you,” you groan.
“But you don’t…” He presses his forehead to yours. “And I fucking love you.”
And that breaks you.
Your walls squeezing him. Hands grabbing at his shoulders. “Don’t…fuck…don’t stop.”
“Yeah?” He thrusts deeper. “Y’need it like this, baby?”
You literally can’t speak. The pleasure and emotions making your throat tight. So you nod.
His hand trails up your thigh. His grip so tight its possibly bruising. “This what you needed, hm?” He groans. “Just wanted to be split open like I’m the only one who knows how?”
You’re shaking. Body twitching with each thrust and muttered word.
And then he’s dragging his thumb between your bodies, pressing against your clit. Pressing. Circling.
And you arch instantly into him.
You moan, shaking. Orgasm hitting hard and fast. Your legs tighten around his body, nails digging into his skin.
And Charles groans loudly. Losing it.
“Fuck..fuck fuck fuck, mon ange…” he swears.
And then he’s thrusting once….twice… burying himself until he spills into you. A choked moan escaping as he presses his forehead to you.
-
Neither of you have moved.
In fact, it’s been at least five minutes and he’s still just laid on top of you. Breathing unevenly into the crook of your neck.
And he doesn’t lift his neck until you’re muttering a I’m sorry while staring at the ceiling.
He lifts his head then. “For what?”
You swallow. Your eyes meeting his.
“I don’t know…” You feel your throat tighten. “All of it.
He stares at you for a while. Like he’s trying to read between the words. The way you hold his gaze.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like it’s only on you.”
You let out a breath, like it relieved some tension in your chest. And it kind of sounds like a laugh but there’s not an ounce of humor in it.
He shifts a bit, still not letting ago. He keeps one hand beneath your back, while the other trails along your ribcage.
“I did all the wrong things. Pulled away when you shut down….didn’t fight hard enough when I should’ve known…”
You nod. And he presses a kiss softly to your cheek.
“I thought if I gave you space…” He swallows. “That you’d come back…”
You feel your eyes begin to burn.
“I thought if I let you go that you’d stay.”
His jaw twitches, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment while he tumbles curse words, his French accent more prominent than usual.
“We’re so fucking backwards, aren’t we?”
You smile. “Just a bit….still are.”
You’re both silent for a moment.
“I don’t want to keep hurting each other.”
“Me either.”
And there’s something vulnerable in his eyes when he looks at you.
-
The music has slowed down. The kind where its been too many hours of upbeat music and too much drinking, and everyone needs a moment.
The cake’s been served, most shoes are gone.
Lucy’s already cried twice. So have you and the other girls.
You’re half-delirious from the champagne. Or from Charles.
He finds you leaning against one of the tables, smiling.
“Y’look like you’re about to pass out,” he steps in front of you.
“M’fine….”
“You’re drunk.”
“M’not.” You smirk.
“You definitely are.”
“No.”
“You’re smiling at the bread basket.”
You glance at the bread rolls, and then back to him. “It’s really good bread.”
He laughs. And you hate how much it makes your stomach clench. How warm it makes you feel. His jacket is long gone, sleeves rolled up, top few buttons undone.
He reaches for your hand. “C’mon.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Riiiiiight…..here.” He steadies you on the dance floor.
You rest your head against his shoulder, swaying in silence. Comfortable.
His palm pressed against your back.
“Remember the first time we danced?”
You snort. “Y’mean the night I spilled red wine all over you?”
“I wore that shirt home.”
“Probably to bed too,” you joke back.
He hums. “Might’ve jacked off to the thought of you too.”
You tilt your head back with a laugh. “Christ, y’were so annoying that night.”
“And you were mean.” He quips.
“You still liked it.”
He grins. “Yeah…still do.”
He holds you a little closer now. Still swaying to the music like one. And you can feel his smile against your temple as you tuck your head into his neck.
“You always hated dancing,” you mutter.
“Nothing’s changed.”
You shake your head against him.
“But this doesn’t count…this is like…holding you while we..uh, sway.”
You laugh. And it’s almost too easy. Fingers curling around the back of his neck a little tighter.
You both sway in silence. His hand slips a little lower on your back. Not exactly possessive, but close enough to it.
“I love you.”
You say it like its nothing. Like its just there. Light. True.
And he stills for a moment, before letting out a deep breath.
“You’re really gonna say that and then fall asleep on me, aren’t you?” He grins.
You smile. “Probably.”
You lift your head to look him in the eye. Your eyes half-shut. And his hand brushes a strand of hair from your face. Then cradles your jaw. And his lips brush your cheek. Then your jaw.
“Say it again,” he whispers. Lips hovering yours.
You smile.
“I love you.”
He presses a quick kiss to your lips. “Good because je t’aime. M’fucking obsessed with you.”
