⤿ synopsis : your husband has been working nonstop, but he makes it up to you after a particularly long day. . .
⤿ contents : afab wife!reader , mentions of injuries , praise , masturbation (f!receiving) , patrick is a hopeless romantic , slight voice kink ! 18+ MDNI
w.c. 2.3k
⩩ author notes : new character unlocked: patrick sumner! one of my favourites ♡ i’m lowkey in that part of the writing stage where i’m not sure what i’m writing anymore, i’m just typing words out and praying it fits. please enjoy this little one-shot!
┇likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! ❤︎
the rain came down hard against the glass pane of patrick sumners’ dimly lit office. heavy like hail, hurling itself down from the dark clouds that hung above the english sky. patrick stood at his desk as he urgently packed up all his necessary items, impatient to get home to you—his wife. patrick had usually been less busy, however his office had experienced quite an influx in patients over the last several days due to changing seasons. the common colds, the allergies, the injuries sustained from slipping on ice, you name it. it wasn’t uncommon for patrick to be on his feet all day, but this day in particular had him counting down the minutes until he could run out the door. he made sure everything was arranged correctly for the next day, but not as neatly as it normally was, there just wasn’t time for that. he had spent the last few days overworking himself, to the point where the few times he saw you was when he came home to you sleeping, or woke up to you sleeping. the candles were blown out, and the office was locked up. he walked down the darkened hallway of the building, passing by the offices of other specialists housed within the miniature medical clinic, all of them empty by now leaving patrick the last man out. he had meant to be home an hour ago, but patrick found it quite difficult to decline his services, especially when he knew it was an urgent matter. you were probably worried sick about him. he imagined you hopelessly staring out the window at the rain, an endless list of what could’ve happened to him warping around your mind and leaving you unsettled. in reality, you were waiting for him but not as worried as he thought you up to be. you had decided to spend your time waiting for him in the bathtub, a ritual you performed on certain nights when the home felt too cold without patrick’s presence. you stepped into the warm basin of water and held the sides to ease yourself in, letting your back rest against the cool porcelain. you tipped your head back and sighed, finally feeling soothed, although it would’ve been much better if your husband could join you. nonetheless, you let yourself get comfortable in the warm tub, scooting down slightly to cover more of your body. you reached over the side and grabbed a small bar soap and a coarse washing brush, lifting one leg out of the water to begin gently cleansing yourself. the water became considerably cloudy as a result of the soapy suds, shielding the view of your body under. your eyes were closed until you heard the unmistakable noise of the front door opening and shutting. patrick was home. heavy boots thumped up the stairway in an attempt to be gentle, patrick assumed you were already in the bed asleep until he saw the only lit room on the floor; the bathroom. the door was barely ajar, only a small sliver of light poked through from the bottom. patrick walked over to the door and slowly opened it, revealing you in the bathtub. his gaze landed on you and stayed there, not wanting to look at anything but his wife.
“aw patrick, i’ve missed you. please, sit” you smile gently at him, and gesture towards the small wooden stool beside the tub.
he walks forwards and makes himself comfortable on the stool. one wet hand reaches out from the water to tenderly caress his beard, small droplets of water dripping down his neck and to his knee. he holds your hand in place with his, and you wince at how cold he is.
“i apologize for my timing, it was not on purpose that i come home to you this late” his tone is gentle and soothing to your ears. the kind of voice you could fall asleep to. his tired eyes scanned over the barely visible figure of your body beneath the water, and then back up to your face.
“it is not your fault, my love. it is merely what you signed up for.”
“i never wish to have another day as long as this one. i thought of you the entire time i worked” he quietly admits.
“really?”
“you plague my every waking moment, my darling” he says it as if it were obvious.
his words never failed to make you feel special. patrick had a habit of talking with formalities, even with you, but he meant every word he said to you. he treasured you like no other person could.
you leaned upwards nearing his face before he got the hint that you wanted a kiss. he bent his head down slightly and pressed his lips against yours softly, careful not to ruin the moment. you let your lips linger near his before leaning back down, your eyes never leaving his.
“would you tell me about your day?” you ask him sincerely, but not wanting to press him incase he didn’t wish to debrief.
“you truly want to hear about it? it’ll bore you to sleep, i’m sure” patrick huffs a small laugh.
“please do, i have not heard the sound of your voice in what has felt like ages,” and it was true; patrick had been working a little more than he usually did, and you could see the exhaustion in his face. “and please come closer, put your hands in the water, my love” you grab his hand, signaling him to scoot forward, his abdomen pressed up against the side of the basin. you pull one hand against your collarbone, and he immediately feels the difference in body temperature. you roll up the sleeve of his white dress shirt.
patrick relaxes against your touch, finding comfort when in contact with your body. he begins, “as you know, i started my day early. my walk towards the office was dreary, but that is to be expected at this time. as soon as my doors were open, my practice became flooded with patients. all different types of cases and such,” patrick talked with a smallness in his voice, some words whispered and others softly spoken. during his talking, you would slowly drag his hand beneath the foggy water, closer to your breasts. he noticed you were moving his hand, but he refused to do anything about it just yet.
“it becomes difficult to distinguish the differences between common illnesses, all of them seemingly blending into each other. at the end of the day, i can only believe i have made the most correct decision for each patient,” you continue to pull his hand lower before placing his hand on one of your breasts. patrick doesn’t seem to falter in his speech as he lightly squeezed the fat of your breast, cupping them and smoothing a thumb over your nipple. you continued to stare at him as he talked, admiring him with a heavy lidded gaze. what were the odds that you would end up married to a man so easy on the eyes? he carried on with his talking with his hand simultaneously moving lower and lower, finger tips scraping over your midriff delicately. his profession consisted of touching the skin of many people, however your skin was much different to him, he could touch it all day without getting tired of it.
“i treated a young patient who had fractured his elbow after sliding on ice, it is certainly a painful area to injure but he was a strong boy, barely shedding a tear. then a woman came in claiming she may have contracted chickenpox” his hand was at your navel now, rubbing back and forth to the sides of your waist. you whined quietly at the ticklish sensation, and it made patrick’s eyes move to meet yours, already understanding what it is that you wanted. normally, he would’ve asked you outright what you desired, but this time he was going to let something happen without involving words. his gaze flicked back down to where his hand was, and brushed his fingers against your mound.
“are you sure you want to hear all the details of my day? you don’t seem to-” he began to speak again but you interrupt him, holding his hand under yours.
“keep talking. all i want is your voice” you say with lust practically dripping from your lips, pushing his hand down all the way to where you want it to be. you feel his hand freeze against you, breath hitching, but quickly relaxes. the pads of his fingertips dusted over your nakedness. you moan quietly and lean your head back, closing your eyes in the process.
“very well then, my dear. as i was saying, the woman had chickenpox. she was inconsolable over it, but i assured her that it would clear up over the course of a few days. then i sutured a man’s gash closed,” his fingers slowly ran up and down your slit, collecting whatever slick liquid that was beginning to seep out. every time his fingers moved upwards, he would press down slightly on your clit, eliciting a shaky breath from you.
“it was a deep cut. he had told me he sustained it from a rough night out, he couldn’t quite remember how it happened but judging by the look of it, it must’ve been done by a perpetrator with a blade” now he was rubbing small circles over your clit, and little noises were starting to break out of you. he wondered how you could get off to his gruesome stories, but you weren’t exactly listening to his words, more so his voice. the way it rumbled and rasped when he spoke quietly, aware of how loud his voice sounded when speaking full volume in a small echoey bathroom. patrick was not the type of man to raise his voice, he was quite a soft speaker, never really projecting his voice unless he wasn’t heard the first time. this translated into the bedroom as well. he was vocal enough to let you know it felt good, but he stayed quiet as he much preferred to listen to yours over his.
“the rest of my day became a blur, i believe i may have overworked myself. i spent more time thinking of you than my patients, which i assume must make me irresponsible. it is something i cannot help. i will indulge in my thoughts of you if my mind so pleases” you whimpered both at his words and his fingertips pressing harder against you, his pace unchanging. you open your eyes, and examine his starved expression. this is what he had been waiting to do all day.
“talk about me, now” you mumbled.
“i may not tell you very often, but you are one of the only things that keep me going in this life. i have no purpose if i cannot serve you.”
you bucked your hips into his hand, a clear indication his words were getting you off.
“o-oh patrick mmph” your words made him go faster, the water around his arm creating small ripples.
patrick watched how your chest rose in and out of the water every time you breathed, a tiny portion of your breasts poking out beneath the clouded water, wet skin shining against the candle light.
“i remember, the day i met you, that you would be the death of me. i never believed i would’ve been able to find someone after my time india, but you changed everything.”
the sensitivity in your core had you clenching around nothing. he knew exactly how to stimulate you and he wasn’t wasting any time with it. his fingers were now rubbing your clit at a moderate speed, and you could feel that euphoric sensation building up. your hips continued to jerk forward every time he became a little more rough.
“it’s so good—please—patrick”
“please what, angel?”
“g-god…please continue!”
“you want me to tell you more? how your mere existence consumes every part of me? how i cannot stand when you are not by my side? how i wish to touch as i am now every time i see you?” he was flustered from how much was spilling out of him, how vulnerable he was being. he couldn’t help himself if he tried, his feelings just tumbled out of him. he held your eye contact as slowly watched you nearing your finish. at this point, you could only nod and whimper at everything he said, words becoming too difficult to form. you reached out to grip patrick’s shoulder, but he grabbed your hand instead with his other free arm and held it to his chest.
“you’re close, aren’t you?”
“mhm! v-very..”
“come for me, my darling.”
you closed your eyes to help yourself focus, every rough drag of his fingers pushing you closer towards the finish line. you took a few deep, ragged breaths before it all came out. you finished with a loud whine and a buck of your hips up into his hand, chasing more friction. patrick watched the way your face contorted in pleasure, the way your eyebrows furrowed, your tongue when your lips parted and the sounds that would fall from them. god—it was such a beautiful sight.
“that’s it, thaatts itt. there you are. so good for me” he said, almost whispering to himself. he continued to circle your clit but very slowly and lightly now, pulling small aftershocks out of you. then he leaned down once again, lips locking against yours. one wet hand came up to caress the back of his head, dampening his hair slightly. you kissed him deeply as a thank you.
“patrick..” you pull away, lips mere centimetres from his.
Pairing: Lion Kaminski x single mom! Reader
Summary: Lion had met you struggling to carry a heavy laundry basket full of wet clothes while also trying to hold onto your little boys hand. You and him had started going out, but your little boy is still in want of distance from Lion.
Disclaimer: Mention of verbal abuse, being a single mother, mention of pregnancy, mention of struggling financially, a bunch of fluff like hello, hurt with comfort, socially distant child. Is proof read!!
w/c: 2,052
a/n: I'm still putting off the first thing i started working on, like I'm genuinely struggling with it, its so irritating. I think this idea is cute and I'd honestly like to expand on it (turn it into a mini thing) if the peeps like it sooo LET ME KNOW ❤︎
It irked you every time you looked at the stack of overdue bills crowding the kitchen table. The dryer had broken three weeks ago, and there wasn't enough money sitting in your account to fix it. Three weeks of hauling damp laundry across town, three weeks of stretching groceries until payday, three weeks of pretending you weren't calculating every dollar before falling asleep at night. You tried not to let Charlie notice. Children noticed everything anyway.
You thought about it often during those walks to the laundromat. The warm weather had finally settled in, and the orange glow of sunset always seemed to rush across the sky faster than you expected just a little after 5pm. Charlie was the only thing that made those trips enjoyable. He skipped ahead on the sidewalk, darting from one side to the other, making you nervous every time he got too far in front.
"Charlie, stay where I can see you." You shouted, panting as you carry the heavy load.
"I am!" he called back, grinning as he spun around.
"You are not."
His laughter carried through the evening air as he hurried back toward you.
The familiar chime above the laundromat door rang when you stepped inside. Warm air immediately wrapped around your body. The place smelled like clean laundry, lavender detergent, and hot steam. Commercial dryers hummed steadily in the background while fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
Charlie immediately attached himself to your side again, the excitement of the walk gone the moment strangers were involved. His small green frog rain boots squeaked against the tile floor while he rolled a little red toy car across his arm, making quiet engine noises beneath his breath.
Across the room, Lion looked up. He hadn't expected anyone this late. His eyes landed first on your worn white sneakers, then drifted toward the tiny pair of frog rainboots beside them. He watched Charlie press himself against your hip.
Lion wasn't trying to stare. He just couldn't help it. In his old life, women had always seemed untouchable. Ring girls in glitter and heels standing under bright lights. Perfect smiles. Perfect makeup. You looked nothing like that. You looked like you'd been through it for the day, like you could've crashed an hour ago if you could. And somehow he found himself watching anyway.
His attention shifted when he noticed something resting beside his steel-toed boot. A tiny red toy car. Lion glanced up and caught Charlie staring at it from behind one of the folding tables. The boy froze the second their eyes met. Lion bent down, picked up the little red car, and turned it over in his hand.
"Yours?" he asked quietly, and Charlie nodded. Without another word, Lion crouched down and rolled the car gently across the floor. Charlie hurried forward, grabbed it, and immediately retreated back to your side.
Lion couldn't help the small smile tugging at his mouth. Charlie narrowed his eyes suspiciously while making whispered car sounds, making a classic buzzing sound with his lips. That only made Lion smile more.
That had been the start of everything.
You'd been struggling with the dryer door, trying to keep it open while balancing a basket full of soaking wet clothes against your hip. The machine kept swinging shut every time you turned your attention away from it. "Come on," you muttered. The door slammed closed again. "Seriously?" You groaned. A large hand suddenly caught the edge before it could shut. You looked up. Lion.
"Oh." You said, embarrassment lacing into your words, obvious with the heavy sigh you let out. "You looked like you were fighting it."
Heat crept into your cheeks and flushed your face into your hairline. "I was winning." Lion looked at the overflowing laundry basket, then at you. Then back at the basket.
"You sure?" He asked. You looked annoyed despite yourself, you laughed. "Alright, maybe not. But, I've got it." You insisted but Lion insisted back. "Let me help." Without another word, he took the basket from your arms. Like it weighed absolutely nothing.
You stared.
"Jesus."
"What?"
"That thing's heavy."
Lion shrugged.
"It's laundry." The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. For some reason, it made your stomach flutter. Charlie peeked out from behind your leg. Lion noticed.
"Hey there," Lion said and Charlie furrowed his eyebrows, turning his head into your shorts immediately. You wanted the floor to swallow you whole. "Sorry." You said placing your hand on top of Charlies head. Lion shook his head. "Don't be."
And somehow he sounded like he genuinely meant it. He didn't sound like someone who was trying to just dismiss a child's behavior for the sake of the parent. After that, things moved slowly.
You'd started seeing each other. At first it was coffee, then lunches, then dinners. Somewhere along the way it became something more serious. You had tried to keep some distance between the two of you. Partly because you were scared. Partly because Charlie was involved. You kept waiting for Lion to notice and leave. To decide you came with too much baggage.
A struggling single mother. A quiet little boy. A complicated life. But he never left. He noticed. You knew he noticed. Yet he stayed anyway and didn't walk out because it would just be easier then continuing to try.
That scared you more than if he'd walked away. Because if Charlie got attached and Lion left later, it would destroy him. It would destroy you too. Crush you. But Charlie never made getting attached easy.
Normally he was energetic and chatty once he was comfortable. Around Lion, though, he became impossibly quiet. He sat pressed against your side during lunches. He buried his face against your shoulder whenever Lion asked him questions.
"How was school?" Charlie shrugged. "You got any favorite cartoons?" Another shrug. Lion glanced toward you. Charlie immediately looked toward you too. You wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
Still, Lion never pushed. Never complained. Never acted annoyed. He simply kept trying. "Got something for you." Lion said. Charlie's eyes immediately narrowed towards Lion with suspension. Lion held out a Matchbox car. The little boy stared at it with want but strong anxiety with the thought of taking it. "You don't have to take it." Lion reassured the young boy, Charlie looked at you.
You nodded, you didn't have to give him approval, he wanted it for himself. Slowly, he reached forward and accepted it. Lion smiled. Charlie clutched the car to his chest, his eyes lingering on Lion. That was enough.
There had been cookies one night after dinner while Charlie slept upstairs. Flour covered half the kitchen. Lion somehow managed to get chocolate chips everywhere.
"How did you even do that?" you laughed.
"I don't know."
"You literally missed the bowl." You said grabbing a rag to clean the mess. "I was trying."
"You were losing."
Lion rolled his eyes.
You laughed harder. Trying not to laugh too loud because of Charlie. Before he left, Lion carefully placed a cookie into a sandwich bag.
"What's that for?" You asked, watching him set it aside. "Charlie." Your heart squeezed painfully. It meant a lot to you that Lion was trying so hard with Charlie, even if Charlie was stubborn and stand-off-ish with Lion. The next morning Charlie found it waiting for him. He never said thank you. But he ate every crumb and asked you about more cookies later.
Sometimes Lion would sit at one end of the couch while Charlie sat at the other. Cartoons played on the television while neither of them said much. Lion never seemed bothered by the silence.
Charlie caught some awful bug near the end of the month. The kind that left him miserable, his tiny body hurting, making him unable to sleep, he couldn't even get comfortable. He spent the entire night sick, crying, and exhausted.
Every time you thought he'd fallen asleep, another coughing fit or wave of nausea woke him up again. His tiny sobs broke your heart. You sat on the bathroom floor holding him while he cried against your shoulder.
"It's okay, baby." You cooed, patting his back.
"I don't feel good." she sobbed, the sob breaking with a cough following a gag before a deep inhale and another sob.
"I know."
Your own eyes burned with exhaustion. The fever came next. Charlie would sweat through his shirt only to start shivering minutes later. The thermometer numbers made your stomach twist. Lion had never taken care of a sick child before. Truthfully, he'd never really taken care of anyone but himself before.
Yet he showed up without hesitation. He made soup. Ran to the pharmacy. Picked up medicine. Helped clean up. He even held onto to Charlie when he got sick when Lion was around and you weren't.
Not because he expected praise. Not because he was trying to earn brownie points. Simply because he cared, not just about you, but Charlie. A few days later you were finally able to go back to work while Charlie recovered at home. Lion stayed with him. The little boy sat bundled beneath a blanket on the couch. His cheeks were still pink from the fever. The sticky Mickey Mouse fever patch was peeling away from his forehead.
The television played quietly in the background. Neither of them were paying much attention. "When are you leaving?" Charlie asked with no clarification. Lion blinked.
"What?"
Charlie kept staring at the television. "When are you gonna leave?" The question caught him completely off guard. He shifted slightly, turning toward the boy. "What'd you mean?" he asked, slightly nervous at the kids words.
Charlie shrugged. "Are you gonna leave?" His voice no longer sounded mousy and instead sounded rough from being sick. For a moment Lion didn't know what to say. Children didn't ask questions like that for no reason.
He leaned back against the couch. "I'm right here." Charlie finally looked at him. Lion held his gaze, it was clear that Charlie was confused. "I don't have any plans on going anywhere." The little boy studied him carefully, like he was trying to figure out if the answer was true. Then Charlie looked back toward the television.
Neither of them spoke again. A few minutes later, Charlie shifted slightly closer. Only a few inches. Lion pretended not to notice. The moment felt too important to scare away.
The payoff for Lion was never being called Dad. It wasn't some grand declaration. It wasn't Charlie suddenly becoming talkative overnight. It was smaller than that. More important than that.
It started with Charlie waving goodbye when Lion left at night. Then asking him for help with things. Then sitting beside him on the couch instead of across from him. Tiny moments. Little pieces of trust that meant everything to Lion.
One evening Lion had stopped by after work. He kissed you softly at the front door before heading home. "See you tomorrow." he murmured..
"Drive safe."
He'd made it halfway down the porch before a tiny voice stopped him.
"Bye, Lion." Charlies small mousy voice echoed.
Everything seemed to freeze. Lion turned. Charlie stood in the doorway clutching one of his toy cars. The little boy lifted his hand and gave an awkward wave. Lion smiled immediately. "Bye, Charlie." Charlie nodded and sprinted away back into the house.
That was it. Nothing dramatic. Nothing huge. Yet it meant more than any title ever could.
Because for the first time, Charlie had spoken to him without being prompted. Nobody reminded him to say thank you. Nobody told him to say goodbye. He'd wanted to. That meant everything.
The moment meant even more a few weeks later. The dryer still wasn't fixed. Life was still busy. Laundry still needed done. Lion had offered to bring Charlie with him while he emptied the change boxes in the laundromat machines.
The three of you walked down the sidewalk together beneath the afternoon sun. Without warning, Charlie squeezed himself between the two of you. You looked down. So did Lion. Charlie slipped one hand into yours. Then reached for Lion's with the other. For a second, neither of you moved. Neither of you wanted to ruin it. The little boy simply kept walking as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Lion thought his heart might stop. Nothing needed to be said, it was simple acceptance.
For the first time, Charlie wasn't just tolerating him. He was choosing him. And as Lion looked down at the tiny hand wrapped around his own, he couldn't think of anything in the world that had ever felt quite so special.
⤿ synopsis : after working your asses off, you and lion take a well needed vacation together. . .
⤿ contents : afab reader , lion is scared of flying :( , slight possessiveness (if you squint) , manhandling , rough p in v , breeding kink ! 18+ MDNI
w.c. 2.7k
⩩ author notes : i don't really know how i feel about this part, i don't hate it, however i think i'm running out of ideas. to whoever wanted a third part of this series, i hope it satisfies your craving! i'd be willing to make a fourth part (and most likely final part) if given ideas for it. let me know how i should close off this series!
┇ likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! ❤︎
the moment you and lion became official, it was nearly impossible to separate from him and vice versa. you were lion’s first ever girlfriend, and he was ready to make the most of it. you on the other hand had been in previous relationships before, most of them lacklustre or devoid of that burning passion you felt for lion. no one ever made you feel as wanted, as loved, or as special as lion did. he was unlike anyone you ever met. and with you by his side, lion’s performance continued to skyrocket with every gig he took up, advancing him further and further in the ranks. while it lined stan’s pockets, a lot of it was placed under the care of lion and unlike stan, he actually used his money right. he wasn’t reckless, didn’t buy copious amounts of drinks, food, and clothing. instead, he was using it to fund a secret trip he had been planning for the both of you. he only proposed the idea of course, lion didn’t have a single clue on how to book a hotel or a plane ride, he had never even been in an airport before. when lion had told you one night while relaxing on the couch, your head in his lap, you immediately felt a surge a giddyness rush through you at the thought of a vacation with lion. you remembered flying upright, meeting lions’ gaze with a shocked expression.
“wait, are you actually serious?” you scooted closer to lion, needing his full confirmation before you would climb all over him.
“yeah, i’ve got some money saved up. we just needa’ book it. we can go wherever you want, baby” lion says, chuckling at your reaction.
you wrapped your arms around lion’s neck and pulled yourself onto him, squealing into his neck excitedly. all he said was vacation and that was enough to make you act up. in truth, you two had been working really hard the last few months, so the idea of a getaway felt immensely liberating. you pulled your head away from the crook of lion’s neck and smacked your lips onto his cheek.
“eek! i’m so excited lion! aren’t you excited?!”
“i am that you are. i needa' be away from stan for a bit.”
“don’t think about stan, think about me. think about us, somewhere in another part of the world, maybe by an ocean, or we could be in a jungle, or a mountain” you started to drift off into your own imagination, listing every possible place you be in.
“mmm, i like that.”
“what were you thinking?”
you combed your fingers through lion’s fluffy hair as he thought about what he wanted to do.
“somewhere warm with an ocean. i wanna be somewhere we can relax, not a big city or anythin’” lion said, his words trailing off as he thought more about it, the idea of you and him laying down on warm sand, sun blazing, you in a bikini. he wiped that thought away for now.
“you’re absolutely right. any specific places?”
“you want me to pick?”
“i want to know where you’ve always wanted to go, since you’ve never…been anywhere.”
lion started thinking again, you let your fingers fall from his scalp to rest your hands behind him.
“any thoughts so far?”
“y’know, as kids, me and stan always used to see those ads for vacation trips in the bahamas. the ones where they let you get room service and all that. we would imagine ourselves there, chillin’ in the pool with some piña coladas. ‘course we never got to go-”
“you can go now!” you interrupted lion, excited at the idea of the bahamas. it was a pretty popular place, but you wanted to go wherever lion wanted.
“that’s where i was goin’ with my story.”
“aw, lion i love that idea!”
“i’m glad” he said earnestly, feeling at peace with the consensus.
you would spend the next few days looking over possible hotel options, many of them piquing your interest but always having certain factors such as being too expensive or being fully booked out. eventually, while in bed, lion at your side peering at the computer screen, you stumbled across a highly rated all inclusive with stellar reviews, and it was affordable! lion immediately told you he was into it, and you knew then that this had to be the one. you booked a basic room for one week, and booked the flights right after.
“oh my god, i can’t believe my man is taking me on a vacation…” you say to lion after turning the bedside light off, rolling closer to him and holding him tight.
“you deserve it.”
“we deserve it.”
you kissed lion’s forehead in the dark, and fell asleep at his side.
“it really should’ve been me comin’ on this trip, bro” stan said as he pulled out the luggage from the trunk of his car, not knowing if he was joking or not.
“there will be plenty of trips to come, stanley. wait your turn” you reply playfully knowing it would get on his nerves.
“easy for you to say, princess” stan muttered under his breath, pulling the lid of the trunk down.
lion stood on the curb, looking towards a plane in the distance taking off in the direction of god knows where. he hadn’t anticipated how nervous he was going to be, having never flown before. you kept reassuring him, telling him it wasn’t going to be as bad as he imagined it to be, and he believed you but he still couldn’t shake the anxiety off. his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden feeling of stan hugging him tightly.
“i’m gonna miss you so much, bro. love you, and stay safe, yeah? don’t fall for any of those tourist scams or whatever they got going on down there. and take lots of photos for me” stan said, pulling away and holding onto lion’s shoulders.
this was the first time lion was going to be away from his brother for a long period of time, and it was a little scary not having his guidance. however, lion trusted you way more. stan moved over to you and wrapped an arm around you, embracing you in a casual side hug.
“keep my brother safe, okay? and uh don’t forget to send me some selfies while you’re at the beach.”
“you’re gross.” you laugh, sensing his perverted undertone.
“only bein’ honest” he says shrugging. stan looks back at lion and catches him zoning out again.
“hey lion.”
lion’s focus snaps back to stan.
“you’re gonna be okay.”
lion nods, trying to look optimistic.
you and lion wave to stan as he drives out of the terminal. you help lion get through security, which you could tell he was intimidated by until he actually went through it and realized how simple it was. you made sure to look at everything he packed just to make sure he wouldn’t try to bring something that was against airport rules. when you were seated on the plane, you let lion take the window seat so he could see outside when flying. you could tell a small part of him was excited, a boyish smile painted on his face as he looked down at the earth below him. you didn’t know you could fall deeper in love with him at that moment.
the hotel was situated off the coast of the atlantic ocean, and it was the most beautiful sight lion had ever seen with his own two eyes other than the sight of you. lion was addicted to the window as you drove through the city towards the hotel, taking in the fact that he wasn’t in massachusetts anymore. you checked into the hotel and got your luggage taken up to the room, allowing you and lion to explore the hotel a little bit. the hotel was mostly open air, and had a massive pool area including a bar. the whole place was decorated with local plants which made it look 100x more expensive than it was. lion was enamoured by the view, too distracted to realize he was sweating from the insane heat.
“sooo, what do you think, baby?” you pull him close to you, satisfied by his reaction to everything.
“s’fucking magical. thanks for bringin’ me here” he smiled.
“anything for you” you kissed his cheek, feeling the light sheen of sweat coating his skin.
you and lion went up to the room, which had a king sized bed, a marbled bathroom with a stone shower and tub, and a balcony facing out to the ocean. lion immediately crashed onto the bed, the weight of the heat outside had made him sleepy. it was late afternoon by now, so you and lion decided to keep the activities light by chilling out by the pool. that night, you and lion got room service for dinner, something he always wished of having. you watched him chow down his food as he sat cross legged on the bed, clad in a fluffy robe. you snuck a photo of him without him noticing, just for the memory.
“you okay?” you said giggling at the mirror. you were stood in the bathroom fixing your hair when you noticed lion creeping near the door frame behind you, basically drooling at the sight of you in your bikini.
“don’t mind me..” he said, eyes still glued to your ass.
“oh i’m definitely minding you. why don’t you come a lil closer?” you say playfully.
lion walks into the bathroom and you turn around to look at him. now it was you doing the drooling. he stood there in his swim shorts, hair tousled from the humidity, and his muscles on full display for anyone who wanted to look. you visibly eyed him up.
“mmm, i don’t know if i can let you outside looking like that…”
“what do you mean? do i look stupid? should i change?” he takes your words seriously.
“no i mean, i don’t want other girls looking at you if you look that good. you’re only mine to look at.”
“‘could say the same f’you, that bikini isn’t coverin’ much” he says, noticing how thin the strings of the bikini were.
“just enough for the imagination” you wink at him before grabbing your beach bag off the sink counter.
you grab his bicep and you two leave the room. at the beach, you and lion laid out on the sand under a palm tree just reading and talking, and occasionally you went into the water to cool off. you were there for hours without even realizing it. when you came back from the beach, you and lion stopped at the bar to have something to eat, and then went back to the room to nap.
everyday went a little similar; you and lion would wake up, go down to the bar for breakfast, hang out by the pool or the ocean, eat lunch, explore the local surroundings outside of the hotel, and get dinner. it was the most relaxed lion had been in awhile, and he almost imagined himself and you living here, experiencing this reality everyday. although, he couldn’t deny the slight feeling of homesickness creeping up on him. you were more than halfway through the trip, sitting out on the balcony watching the waves crash over under the setting sun, when lion randomly blurted out something you hadn’t expected him to say.
“is it weird that i kinda miss boxing?”
you looked at him, slightly perplexed.
“really?”
“i dunno, i guess i’ve just been so inactive these past few days. back home, i did boxing almost everyday.”
“i mean, you could teach me how to box” you say giggling, and lion immediately understood the connotation.
“not fallin’ for that again” he shakes his head.
“oh c’mon, why don’t we go inside and have a proper match. i can’t promise you’ll win though, since you’ve been off your game.”
that’s how you ended up on the bed, laying on your side while lions’ thick arm put you in a chokehold, his cock plunging into you roughly. you had playfully wrestled for awhile, with lion tackling you to the bed. he let you get on top a few times, letting you throw pretend jabs at his face before he finally put you into the position you were in now.
“s-so good lion! oh fuckk!” you had encouraged lion to be a little rough with you, wanting it to feel like a workout in itself. you felt the head of cock ramming into your sweet spot with every thrust, driving your eyes backwards into your skull. you could’ve been drooling all over his forearm without even realizing.
“you like that, baby?”
“ye—s i do…i l-love it!” you say hiccuping.
lion was holding one of your legs up in his free arm, making sure he could reach a deeper angle inside of your warm cunt.
“m’not hurtin’ you, am i?” lion mumbled out of breath near your ear.
“n-no feels so good—oh god—don’t stop!” you whine out.
in reality, his grip over your neck was a little tight, but you liked that. it made you feel lighter and dizzier, which amplified the delicious feeling of his cock splitting you open. he was thrusting a little too fast, resulting in his cock accidentally coming out of you. he mumbled a small curse before you reached over between your sweating bodies and guiding him back inside you, but making sure to rub him between your slick covered folds first. he resumed his rough pace, and whimpered into your ear from the sudden tightness.
“c-cum inside me—please! ‘want it so bad..” you whined so loudly you thought the neighbouring residents could hear you. you begged lion to come inside you even though you were aware he was wearing a condom, but you preferred to pretend he wasn’t.
“yeah? you want me to knock you up? you’d probably like that.”
“yes please! lion—augh!”
you’d had sex with lion many times now, but you were sure this was the best time you had done it. it felt unrealistically good when he had you in this position, manhandling you like you were nothing to him. of course, lion didn’t see it that way since he was such a sweetheart, but ever so often you would catch yourself imagining him being more rough, in the same way he was in the ring with another man. that fire in his eyes, and the determination he had to win. right now, you felt closest to that version of lion, the version of him that could knock another human into the next day.
your orgasm was building up, and so was his. you let your fingers drift downwards towards your clit, only needing a small amount of friction to finish since lion was doing most of the work.
“m’so close, baby, don’t f-fucking stop!” you cried out softly, wanting to keep quiet even though you felt like screaming.
“almost there, i g-got you. cum for me.”
and you came. hard. hard enough to jerk your body forwards, your sweaty legs slipping out of lions grip for a moment. you tried to breathe through your orgasm, even with shallow breaths from the slight asphyxiation. lion came right after you, whimpering and groaning into the crook of your neck. of course, he didn’t actually come inside of you but that was to be expected. lion was very stubborn about not wearing condoms, every time you would ask him not to wear one, he would shoot you a weird look. however, you appreciated lion wanting to minimize danger. lion slid his arm out from under you and propped himself up, pulling the thin sheets over his naked lower half. you did the same.
“did that satisfy your boxing urge?” you giggle, running a hand over his sweat covered hair that stuck to his forehead.
“s’good enough.”
you kicked his leg under the sheet.
“ow, i’m kiddin’. of course it did, baby” lion said chuckling. he continued, “what was all that stuff you were sayin’ before…”
“mm nothing, just a fantasy..”
“you sure?”
“for now it is.”
“one day, i promise”
“promise what?”
“i’ll knock you up..” he looks away timidly, the thought of it too overwhelming. you just snort at him.
“don’t be shy about it, it’s okay.”
“‘just wanna make you happy.”
“you, more than anything, make me the happiest, okay? i love you” you caress his cheek, and leans into it.
⤿ synopsis : all your life, you’ve always gotten everything you’ve ever wanted. no one ever told you ‘no’ until you met a drug dealer named cook who didn’t want to play into your little fantasy…
⤿ contents : afab reader , reader is very much a spoiled brat , mentions of drug use (cocaine) and drinking , reader provokes/is a bitch to cook , slight dubcon , slapping , rough unprotected p in v in a car , doggystyle , gunplay , threats , freak!reader , face painting ! 18+ MDNI
w.c. 4.6k
⩩ author notes : second cook fic!!! this was pretty ambitious of me to write but i'm rocking with it! i almost wanted to give this to eric love but i decided he's not deserving of this type of treatment, so cook handled it instead. enjoy and please mind the tags!
┇likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! ❤︎
luxurious. lavish. expensive. three words that described your entire life. it had always been that way, ever since you were a baby until the present, you got all that you’ve ever wanted. the word ‘no’ wasn’t even a word that existed in your mental dictionary given the fact that you almost never heard it. you were highly spoiled and came from extreme familial wealth, solidifying your spot in every possible space you wished to join.
throughout your life, you were only gifted with the best; a picturesque home, professional babysitters, the top education available, and a life filled with extravagant experiences. those who didn’t know you called you a princess, those who did called you a rich bitch…and so what? they weren’t wrong. the hardest things you’ve ever endured in life were the times when your freshly manicured nails would chip, or when you just couldn’t decide what to wear while standing in a walk-in closet the size of an average person’s bedroom. you were out of touch with reality, and you liked that. you couldn’t fathom why the outside world needed your attention when you could simply live in your own plush bubble.
it wasn’t your fault however, that’s just the attitude you were constantly surrounded by and how your parents raised you to act. even your own friends acted in their own selfish ways, always flashy and trying to one-up you as if seeing who was more wealthy was the ultimate game of life. it was bothersome, but you could handle it no doubt. i mean, why let such minor troubles affect you when you were off attending the best university in the country, partying til dawn every weekend and getting with every boy you laid your eyes on. life worked in your favour, and to say you had tremendous power over people was an understatement. that’s why when one person resisted your efforts, you were enraged.
it all began when an invite to a party was sent to your instagram dms. a house party, tucked away near the outskirts of the city at someone’s family mansion. nothing you weren’t used to. as much as you liked partying on campus and your dorm only being a short distance away, they were more monitored therefore you couldn’t let loose as much. you were no stranger to a good party, as your friends often dubbed you as the ‘party itself’. it was happening on a weekend to celebrate the end of the first term right before the second one started, and best believe you needed a huge house party after the unbearable amount of exams you just took. you weren’t the smartest girl out there, but you certainly weren’t dumb. yes, your parents knew the headmaster well and put in a good word for you, but that didn’t mean you weren’t somewhat deserving of going to a nice school which is what you told yourself for comfort.
you texted your groupchat with your closest girlfriends asking if they received the same invite, to which they did. in fact, almost everyone in your year was. that was a lot of people, but the more the merrier. it was currently a tuesday, and the party was planned for saturday night, so you really had a lot to look forward to. the mere thought of it even gave you a sudden boost in motivation to get your assignments done early so that you could completely let go the night of.
that saturday afternoon, you stood in a fluffy robe facing your fully packed closet. your hand lightly glided over the hung up dresses, getting a feel for what kind of vibe you wanted to bring to the party. the party was only a few hours away, but you already had your everything shower, fully lotioned yourself from head to toe, hair was done, nails were done, and makeup almost fully completed. you tilted your head back in frustration, not understanding why it always had to be this hard when choosing an outfit. you thought about calling a friend to help you out, but you were all about surprises especially when it came to dressing up, so you scratched that idea off. instead, your mind wandered to the guy you’ve been seeing for awhile now. dominic. he was tall and charming, the one you could bring back home no problem. he approached you at a christmas party on the guise of having mutual friends, but he really only wanted to get you in bed with him. truth be told, it definitely wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had but it was manageable since you happened to be a mid dick magnet. you thought about dominic as you continued to decide what to wear. what could impress him? more so, what could show him you were that girl? you finally landed on an outfit; a mini dress straight from an archive fashion collection. your silhouette was hugged in all the right places and there was no doubt that anyone would be wearing something similar. you paired the dress with some kitten heels, your signature jewelry, and a clutch. standing fully dressed in front of your mirror, you took a few mirror selfies before stepping forward and pressing your glossy lips to the cold material, symbolizing good luck.
you shared a limousine with your friends on the way there, making sure to pregame with a bottle of champagne. the mansion came up on a hill and was absolutely stunning. it was an older french country mansion, not like those lifeless modern homes that were composed of giant rectangles. you didn’t know the host well, but you knew his family had good taste. it was around dusk when you arrived and the house was nearly filled by now, with some people choosing to stand out in the front and the back for personal space. you and your friends walked into the large foyer and was immediately met with the smell of perfume and weed. there could have been hundreds of people in this house. suddenly, dominic came into your peripheral and hugged you, which did shock you slightly.
“always good to see you, babe. how are ya? you all just arrived or what?” he said into your ear, almost slurring his words like he was drunk. he definitely smelled like it.
“yeah i’m alright, we just got here…you can let go now” you said uncomfortably through a smile, itching to get his paws off your dress.
dominic let go but continued to hold your hips as he leaned down to kiss you. your friends let you know they were going to walk over to the bar and asked what they could get you, and the thought of getting another drink instantly pulled you away from his lips.
“a glass of red!” you said desperately. wine loosened you up like no other drink could.
“ohh fuck, ‘forgot to ask you if you wanted something..” he says, cradling your cheek. you winced at the smell of booze in his breath and you leaned away.
“don’t worry, you’ll know for next time” you flash him a smile that makes his knees wobble, and he chuckles.
“glass of red for the little party girl!” one of your friends hands you a generously full glass, and you immediately begin chugging it like it’s beer. you were famously irresponsible with your drinking but you always denied it, mostly because you never remembered much when you were drunk.
for the first half of the night, you chatted and danced like a proper party goer, and you were always the one who stood out amongst the crowd. the second half of the night was a little different. it was already a little late by then, around 10pm, but the house was now at full capacity. some people were fully drunk, others jumping into the pool outside, and some upstairs occupying the guest bedrooms. the basement of the home was where the more ‘lucrative’ part of the party was happening. obviously you had to go down there. dominic told you about the host hiring some drug dealers to deal to the party goers, almost in the same way you hire clowns to entertain children at a birthday party. it intrigued you. you hadn’t really done drugs except a little weed here and there, and one magic mushrooms trip when you were 14. dominic led you down the winding stairs towards the basement, making sure to keep your tipsy self from falling. the basement was darker and the smell of weed was much stronger. it was buzzing with people, and dominic was eager to get some coke from one of the dealers. he pulled you along through the groups of people until he came up to a man sitting at a couch with drugs laid out in little baggies in front of him. girls tripped over themselves as they waited in line for more drugs when they clearly had enough, while some guys stood anxiously as they attempted to get a lower price on the coke, but the dealer kept firm on his prices. when it was you and dominic’s turn, you took a moment to register his look; he had on dark clothing that blended into the couch he was sat on, shaggy cropped hair, pale skin, and a face that made your stomach flutter. he was laid back on the couch nursing a beer bottle.
“what can i do for ‘ya, mate?” the man said as he leaned forward slightly, looking up at dominic.
“just some coke man, nothin’ crazy” dominic said trying to joke around, although it sounded annoying coming from his mouth.
“anyfin for your lady?” the dealer said looking up at you while taking a sip. you liked the way he looked at you, even if it was just a regular stare.
“we’re sharing” said dominic.
“‘course, mate. how much?”
“an 8 ball.”
the man sorted through his little baggies and pulled out one that was filled to the brim with the powdery substance. dominic pulled out his wallet from his pocket and hands the dealer some money, while grabbing the bag in the other.
“gracias my amigo” dominic says again in a cheesy voice, and it literally grates your ears to hear him try to be funny.
“enjoy” the dealer says kindly, although annoyed by dominic’s presence.
dominic takes you to another couch, still in view of the dealer, and flops down.
“you ever done this before?” he says while scrambling to find something with a flat surface, instead opting to use his phone screen.
“mm, no” you say sounding uninterested, your eyes completely focused on the dealer handing out more drugs. you wondered what his name was, how the host knew him, and if he went to your university.
“wanna sniff the first line?” dominic already had two lines created in the time you spent staring off.
“i don’t think i want any coke tonight, sorry babe” you say with a fake smile, feeling a little uncomfortable.
dominic pauses and furrows his brows, “okay so, i just spend money on coke for the both of us, and you’re saying you don’t want any?”
“i never told you i wanted coke.”
“yeah, but i was under the impression you wanted some since you wanted to come down ‘ere so badly.”
“you’re having a laugh, babe.”
he uses his money that he rolled up to sniff the coke while you talk, and he takes a hard sniff to really get it up his nose. you could tell he just wanted you to piss off already.
“this couch is reserved for people who do coke.”
“guess i’ll go back upstairs then. text me when you wanna stop acting like a dick” you huff, grabbing your clutch and storming away from dominic. you head towards the stairs, but you take one last look at the dealer, and he’s looking at you too.
3am was rolling around, and the party was wrapping up. the host noted on the invite that everyone would be kicked out at 3 because their parents would be coming back at 7am. the mansion was pretty trashed at this point, beer cans were littered all over the property, some toilets were clogged, the smell of weed couldn’t have been removed even with 100 candles burning, and not to mention all the people who were passed out. this house would probably never see another party again. you were still annoyed at dominic for how he treated you, but you also couldn’t keep your mind off that dealer. you needed to know his name at least before you left. dominic had already left with a few friends, coked out of his mind, so you felt okay going back into the basement. you told your friends you needed to use the toilet before you left, and they waited in the foyer for the limousine driver. you made your way down the stairs of basement, and felt your nerves twisting as it was pretty quiet down there. there were only a few party goers left, most passed out, but the dealers were packing up. you spotted him on the same couch, packing his things into a backpack, completely oblivious to you padding over to him until he felt the couch dip slightly beside him. he quickly turned his head to look at you and raised his brows in surprise.
“shops’ all packed in now, babe. you could’ve bought sumfin’ 10 minutes ago” he says as he returns to packing.
“not looking to buy.”
“whatdya’ want then.”
“your name.”
he looks back at you, even more surprised but also a tinge of confusion as well.
“cook. james cook. and yours?”
you gave him yours in the sweetest voice you could put on, using your charm as a weapon like a snake with venom.
“nice to meet you, cook.” you say quietly but genuinely as you admire his facial features. he had a boyish beauty. a little rough around the edges. the fact that you felt some attraction was incredibly weird considering you went for preppy guys, but in the moment you didn’t acknowledge it.
“say cook…why don’t we have a little fun in that bathroom over there?” you tilt your head with a pout.
cook laughs awkwardly and looks at you, then shakes his head.
“nah, babe. weren’t you here with some bloke? the unfunny one?”
you frowned, feeling insulted.
“that’s not my man, he’s just some guy i shag…not that he’s any good though” you trail off slightly on that last part, a quiet admission of truth.
“sorry ‘bout that. i’m not doin’ any shagging tonight though, sweetheart.”
you understood the concept of consent, but the concept of being told ‘no’ was making you visibly upset, not to mention the fact that you were pretty drunk.
“every guy wants to shag me.”
“every guys’ not me, babe.”
“but..i always get what i want.”
“dunno ‘bout that, darlin'.”
you slumped back into the couch in defeat, you didn’t even realize your protesting was becoming embarrassing. for a moment, cook looked back at you, slightly entertained by the spoiled brat sitting next to him.
“whatever, i’m too good for you anyways, so is this pussy” you say angrily while getting up.
“you keep tellin’ yourself that” cook says in a nonchalant tone, which riles you up even more.
“fuck you! you don’t even know who you’re talking to, you knob!” now you’re yelling, and people are looking.
cook just laughs, the same way he used to laugh when he was younger and some idiotic scenario was happening in front of him. he was throughly entertained by you.
tears start forming in your eyes quickly from both the humiliation and the fact that your charm didn’t work. you made an angry groan before thumping the floor with one foot like a child throwing a tantrum, and stormed off again. this time not looking back.
the ride home was a disaster. two of your friends got motion sickness, another was arguing on the phone with her parents, and you were sat there sulking. never in your life have you felt so rejected, that’s how ‘perfect’ your life had been. to a normal person, this would’ve been a regular occurrence but for you this was a horrible situation. was cook still attractive to you? yes. was he a massive dick? also yes. you started to think about how it would be if you fucked a drug dealer, how dirty it would be. not only would your family cease to speak to you, but it would be such a bad look for you. did it really matter though? technically, you were seeing dominic, but it wasn’t like you’ve never been unfaithful before. you’ve done plenty of things with plenty of guys while being in relationships all because you weren’t being satisfied at home. it would’ve been your little secret anyways, to fuck cook. you were notorious for making extremely bad decisions. you were going to see him again, and you would be getting exactly what you wanted.
some time had passed, and the party started to become old news. you never stopped thinking about cook though. you spent hours searching his name on google, instagram, facebook, snapchat, you name it, and he just wasn’t there. your only option was to get in touch with the host of the party, but they had their phone taken away for awhile for obvious reasons. when you did get in touch, they told you that they only knew one dealer from the group, and that dealer brought his friends with him. they offered to give you his number and you happily obliged. you immediately contacted the dealer and asked for cook. he asked for the reason and you told him you wanted to buy specifically from him. the dealer said okay and would set up a time for you and him to meet. when he asked for your name, you gave a fake name so cook wouldn’t cancel for any reason. after the conversation ended, you smiled excitedly at the thought of your redemption. this was your greatest masterplan yet.
you approached the car in the half empty car lot somewhere outside the city, heels clacking on the pavement. you had decided to wear a little disguise; a designer trench coat with some dark sunglasses. after all, you really weren’t supposed to be out here doing this. you walked up to the drivers side door and leaned down to look through the glass. cook rolled his window in confusion, and you took that moment to remove your sunglasses.
“thanks for meeting me” you say with a tone of faux innocence, knowing damn well this was his job, not some hangout you two planned together.
cooks’ jaw falls slightly in shock, but then he just chuckles.
“‘course it’s you again.”
you walk around to the passenger side and made yourself comfy in his car, even going as far as to pull down the passenger mirror and check your lipgloss.
“whatdya’ want, then” cook watches you, not fully believing you were just here for drugs.
“oh, you know, an apology.” you say as you used your fingernail to clean up the bit of gloss around your lips.
“and why’s that?”
“i’m sure you remember, you were rude to me the night of that party.”
“s’not rude, just didn’t wanna bang ‘ya.”
“why not? tell me why you wouldn’t fuck me?”
“you were clearly pissed, and i don’t shag girls like you.”
“girls like me?”
“just spoiled, petty, bratty. i don’t get on with those types of girls.”
his words were a slap to the face. it wasn’t the first time you heard someone call you those words but his words stung harder.
“well i don’t shag guys like you. guys who sell drugs for a living like an absolute loser in dishevelled cars, like what a joke.”
cook huffs out a laugh but it’s not because he finds you funny, you genuinely hit a nerve. cook never wanted to be a drug dealer, he was just doing this to survive.
“you think you can just sit up in ‘ere and chat shit about me and what i do to get around?” he was actually a little upset now, but it only fuelled you in a disgusting way.
“yeah, i do.”
“get the fuck out me car, mate.”
“i’m not your ‘mate’.”
“i’m not gonna say it again.”
you wouldn’t say it, but you were absolutely getting off on cook’s anger like the sick person you were.
“what if i don’t get out?”
cook was done. he reached into the waistband of his jeans and pulled out a handgun, aiming it right in your face. in one moment, your face went from smug to shocked. there was a click. he turned the safety off. you couldn’t even move, you were paralyzed in his passenger seat as you realized this could’ve been it, the end of your life at the hands of some drug dealer.
“get in the back, then” cook said, gun unmoving. he motioned with his head to the backseat of his car. you tried to speak but only a breath came out, a weird incoherent sound.
“don’t say nuffin’. get in the back now.”
you moved very slowly, crawling over the console into the backseats. cook waited until you were fully situated and then climbed over himself, gun still in his hand.
“d-don’t hurt me…i’m s-sorry..” you’re unable to control the shake in your voice, tears on the brink of your lower lash line.
“not gonna hurt you. just gonna teach you a lesson” he says gently but it still feels very condescending, rightfully so.
“get on your hands and knees for me.”
your heart dropped. somehow it was exactly what you wanted but it wasn’t at the same time. when you didn’t acknowledge his words, he pointed the gun in your face again, and that got you moving.
“good girl” he said under his breath as he watched you take off your coat, and position yourself so that you were facing the outside window and your ass was facing cook. you were wearing a black slip under your coat, nothing too sexy but obviously it was for easy access incase cook gave in. cook got up on his knees and lifted your slip over your ass, revealing a black lacy thong. you felt his hand smooth over one cheek before feeling a painful smack, earning a shriek from you. his digits pulled the lacy fabric down and used two hands to pull the two cheeks apart, inspecting your nakedness. your humiliation was beginning to turn you on. he removed one hand from your cheek and smacked your pussy, making you squeak and jump again. cook said nothing and continued to smack you, harder every time. then you heard a belt unbuckling and a zipper being pulled down, then a warm nudge at your dampening entrance. you whimpered at the thought of him impregnating you. then he pushed in, slow and steady, and you felt every inch of it. he groaned above you, and it was filthy. cook began moving at a fast pace, like he was ready to get this over with so he could kick you out of his car. he slammed into you with every thrust, burying himself to the hilt. you couldn’t keep the moans falling from your lips, he was just too good, and you almost already knew that. you hated how every guy you’ve hooked up with were so passive in the bedroom, never wanting to get rough with you or treat you differently even for one night. cook was different; he wasn’t making love to you—he was fucking you. and he was absolutely fed up with you. his pace made you gasp every time his cock plunged into you.
“f-feels so fucking good! cook-”
before you could finish speaking, cook leaned forward, pressing his abdomen into your back and wrapping his free hand around your mouth abruptly, his other hand pressing the gun to the side of your head. it made you gasp under his rough hand. his pace barely slowed down.
“not a fuckin’ word from you. you say another word and i’ll hurt you” cook says threateningly into your ear, pressing the tip of his gun harder into your skull with every word. you can only close your eyes and nod, warm tears sinking down your face onto his hand.
the only sounds being made were the sounds of aggressive skin slapping and the occasional whimper from you. cook kept quiet for the most part, not wanting to reveal how good you felt clenched around him even though his mouth was still near your ear. your nails dug into the faux leather of the seat as you felt your orgasm approaching. your mouth hung open with brows furrowed as it was building rapidly, hoping no loud sounds would come out incase cook made good on his word. with a few more thrusts, you came, shakily exhaling as quietly as you could. your aftershocks pulled cook’s orgasm closer as well, and his thrusts became sloppier. then he spoke again.
“turn ova’, needa see your face” cook said breathlessly, making you think he needed to see your face to finish.
he pulled back and you quickly flipped over, revealing your fucked out expression. cook was tightly fisting his cock as he used the headrest to pull himself forward, nearing your face. oh, he was going to finish on your face. he tipped his head back for a moment and made a sound that was a mix of a groan and a whimper. you opened your mouth as you waited for his cum but cook angrily told you to close it. you squeezed your eyes shut and suddenly felt a warm liquid shooting at your face, making your breath hitch. cook grabbed the top of your head with his big hand and brought your face closer to his leaking cock, painting your face with his release. he chuckled wickedly, watching you turn from a petty snob to a whimpering coward. this was unlike anything cook had ever done to a girl, but you pushed him to be like this and that was his reasoning, not that anyone would know about this. you opened your eyes when you felt cook was finished and caught a glimpse of your face through the window. you looked disgusting. mascara pooled around the bottom of your eyes, your hair was dishevelled, and you had a man’s cum all over your face. somehow, a part of you was still into it.
“you can go now” cook said, “you got what ‘ya wanted, now fuck off” cook said looking down as he frantically pulled his jeans up and re-buckled his belt.
you turned to open the side door and awkwardly stumbled out, quickly grabbing your trench coat and using it as a wipe for your face. cook moved to the front of the car again and handed you the sunglasses that you left on the dashboard. you put them on immediately to cover more of your face. then cook started his car and drove out of the parking lot, the exhaust blowing in your face as he left. you stood there, watching his car disappear, wondering what brought you to this point. you took a deep breath and called an uber home, returning back to your normal, cozy bubble but deep down secretly hoping you would cross paths with cook again.
extras: no use of y/n or she/her pronouns, reader is called ‘ma’am’ once but can be changed for whatever term is preferred; first meeting (reader is a tailor/seamstress); mentions of drinking; everyone wants roy but who’s surprised!
/ set before this blurb, but can be read as a standalone
Though the doors remained shut, the heat settled upon the quiet was an incessant customer. Outside, there were few who wanted to sit with its company; you moved about as it let itself in.
Fabric at your legs and your arms were firm on the skin despite its barely-there weight. Rolling the sleeves and undoing buttons did little to calm the warmth embedded in the air, resting on exposed forearm or sternum, so you took to organizing the counter so as to not grow agitated and dizzy. What silver lay there, a few scissors, dull and sharp, and needles of differing lengths, kissed your palms with their welcome chill. The sound, tinny and clanging against the wood, a melody for the weather’s lazy rhythm.
A thud of leather from dust, grating, to a creak atop the wooden steps brought your attention to the doors. He stood not like a cowboy, not like a man on the run with the phantom shadow of a pistol at his hip, but simply as someone with an inquiry resting behind their teeth.
Alice had told him to come by. That you would do a much better job at mending the gash that wanted to reveal tanned skin from his shoulder to elbow; she didn’t have the right thread, anyway, and had some tending to do around the ranch. Some blood leftover in dots were a red nearing a brown from the sun’s drying watch, not much but enough to notice—he didn't mind the mess, just wanted it fixed up.
“No need to get rid of such a nice thing,” he argued lightheartedly when he caught the quick raise of your brows. You shrugged in silent agreement—it would give you something to do in the balmy afternoon.
He followed as you made the way to a larger table towards the farthest wall, albeit with almost careful steps, like he was afraid to intrude even with there being no one else around. Above the table was a singular shelf with spools of thread in a uniform line, some fairly new and others nearly spun to their wooden cores. Ribbon curled with marks for measurements like old peels of fruits. A tin can held dull pencils.
You didn’t know much about Roy. The last time he had come into town, you were busy with an order: some dress with far too many ruffles and bows, darling but tedious in its creation from its bare beginnings. What you did learn was influenced through warmed blood outside the shop, both of drink and clothes muggy from heat: unabashed phrases that brought a flush to anyone untouched, a roll of your eyes and a wave of your hand when recited from your friend’s giddy hiccups. Talk of his manners and pointed teeth and wind-swept hair amateurly cut was strung along by anyone else who had caught your conversation—though the chatter became overwhelming with your drink sitting idly in your head, it provided a low eagerness in your limbs now.
“I’m tellin’ ya, I would not mind seein’ him one more time. Might even turn inta some gun-slingin’ bandit just so he can stop by,” one of the ladies in the bar had admitted, raising their glass.
You had laughed behind your palm; someone else standing a few feet away scoffed, pouring themselves another drink.
“Oh, please, you wouldn’t steal somethin’ if it had your name on it all pretty. And you can’t even read.”
As you sat down atop your stool, you turned to eye his figure. Watched his calm and still slightly unsure gait carry muted blue to everything that hung at the walls or succumbed to folds in shelves, not through some sort of distaste or boredom at needing you to fix something of his—as was usually the case in the past—but from a distant curiosity. Of course, there was nothing to be deemed inherently luxurious, so the act made a small smile tug at your lips. He looked almost like a child eyeing what sweet he would like to tuck into his pocket for later.
You waited a moment, reaching over the table for the smallest set of scissors to fiddle with. “Give it here,” you muttered with a jut of your head to where the article would lay, subject to your hand.
Taken out of his stupor, he nodded and handed the shirt over like an envelope to a stranger, or, more fittingly, a pistol in need of shining he knew he would get back.
The thread like a snake coiling to then disappear, its hiss shriveled by the pull of it taut in your fingers, you worked in quiet. Disjointed talk and hooves delicately pluming dust came in with a gentle breeze. His own boots shifted along the floor as he leaned his weight on one leg, then the other.
His shirt was warmer in your hands than you had expected, though maybe the air was to blame; it had a nasty habit of making everything it touched an unbearable extension of itself. The fabric was beaten in to take the shape of muscle at his arms, back, the nape of his neck. The blood stains looked harmless now that you were able to fold them out of view.
Without lifting your head, you glanced over at where he stood, just shy of pressing his hip to the table’s edge and hands clasped in front of him. “Can I ask what happened?” you asked.
He took his bottom lip between his teeth. “Just caught it on an old nail. Wasn’t lookin’ where I was goin’.”
You hummed. A third of the gash was sutured shut. “And the blood?”
“Oh, you don’t hafta worry none. ’S old.” His response was quick, quiet, as if you’d be afraid you would need to sow his wound next.
A thought flickered in your mind of if the blood was even his, given the word of mouth about his past. The ladies gushed over the mystery he brought on horseback, welcomed it with batting eyelashes and pet names. Too early to pry, you told yourself as you strung the thread along.
There was a part of you that was glad he did not talk much. The few men that would come in in place of their wives used to peer over your shoulder, throats coarse with voices worse, and spit something about your working too slow or a flat croon about not ruining whatever it was they handed over. They would leave with an unappreciative thanks and a shove of the doors.
But Roy did not hover. Even with his standing near, he waited patiently, only glancing every once in a while at your hands, which he would look away from if you focused your eyes on him at the sound of him shifting about.
It only took a few minutes. You cut the excess thread, running a thumb along the stitching. The line was raised like a new scratch.
You hummed and turned your body so you faced him, the stool creaking under the movement; he took the few steps to stand in front of you at the sound. Looking down, he took the shirt in his hands, putting a palm down in the same manner you had done. The imitation raised a certain tension in your being strangers—here was this simple thing you both cared for and would refer to the other if anyone asked. A part of you would now always trace the line of shoulder to elbow in all hours and every hour—you usually didn’t mind, but today there was a dwelling of pride lodged somewhere in your ribs, your wrists.
“Thank you.” He spoke with such a tenderness in his drawl, you thought that perhaps this was his only shirt. “Looks as good as new.” You caught the tick in his lip—which your own mirrored just briefly—as both of your eyes wandered to the blood as if it grew in mockery of his words.
You muttered under your breath that it was no bother as you got up and walked to the counter, him following behind and admiring the stitching as if it held threaded jewels. You reached for your catalog of customers, a piece of paper with names, the work you had done, the date, any other necessary information, when he cleared his throat.
He reached into his pocket, fishing for a bundle of coins set at the seam. “How much do I owe ya?”
You opened your mouth to object—it hadn’t been a hard job—but it was like he knew you would and shook his head. Dust blown in from outside fluttered about his mussed hair.
“I insist,” he said. He set down a handful on the counter. “How’s that?”
You slid them to the edge and took them in your palm, counting—it was more like the amount you charged for a basic shirt tailoring, which wasn’t much, but definitely more than necessary for a simple stitch: you never charged anything at all, unless you had to sow more fabric in or fetch another spool of thread.
“I ’ppreciate it.” The cluster grew warm in your hand and the smell was sure to stick in the lines. He gave you a curt nod, folding the shirt over his forearm.
“You be careful now, Goode,” you added, looking down briefly to write his name, looping the ‘o’s, feeling like a schoolgirl jotting down hearts in the margin of her paper.
He cocked his head in a slow nod, eyes cast on your own, a cool blue beneath eyelashes too delicate for a man of his nature.
“Yes, ma’am.”
That night, you were over at a friend’s for dinner. The candlelight spread across the soup she set in front of you like a finishing garnish.
“Isn’t he somethin’?” she fawned when you mentioned who came into the shop after she asked how your day had been.
She pointed her spoon in your direction, droplets falling to her dull tablecloth much like the blood that stained his shirt. “Next time, you should ask ’im to take his shirt off, just ta make sure nothin’ else needs fixin’.”
You snorted, chuckling. “I am not doin' that.”
“Oh, c’mon, I bet he’d do it if you smiled all nice! Everyone else in this damn town does it.”
You told her she was welcome to go find him and ruin another shirt of his.
She shrugged. “Any business is good business,” she smiled, and, ever an infectious woman, you did the same.
"A kindred spirit is someone who shares your values, interests, or mindset, resulting in an immediate connection. Finding a kindred spirit often feels like instantly recognizing an alignment in energy and thought, even if you just met."
˗ˏˋ walter lion kaminski ♡ f! reader ´ˎ˗
FIRST STOP ── friday i'm in love | kindred spirit tunes ♡
wc ˎˊ˗ 6.1k
⋆˚࿔┆ s u m m a r y ⋆ . ࿔ ˚ lion kaminski has one job: get to san francisco, win his next match, and keep his life from falling apart a little while longer. you are supposed to be focused on your own problems, and none of them include getting attached to a bruised boxer with sad blue eyes. somewhere between awkward first impressions and a lot of bad luck, two strangers may discover that the most unexpected detours end up taking them exactly where they were meant to be.
⋆˚࿔┆ w a r n i n g s ⋆ . ࿔ ˚ stanley kaminski being an asshole (not that surprising), tiny bits of lion being a melancholic poor thing, chaotic first interaction, strangers to friends to sillies in love, whirlwind romance (kinda?), no mentions of "y/n", clumsy & traumatized reader, corny content cuz y'know... fluff, not entirely movie-accurate for obvious reasons, writer's native language is not english (important detail) so there might be some grammar mistakes & inaccuracies, cliffhanger chapter ending.
⋆˚࿔┆ a u t h o r ' s n o t e s ⋆ . ࿔ ˚ what should i even say here *taps mic*……… is someone even gonna read this…… i dunno…. hey, so, this is my first time writing for the jacko fandom, and i might be... a bit nervous. i earnestly ask you to be patient with me cuz i believe i'm so damn rusty after almost a whole year without writing absolutely nothing and being a lazy bitch about my favorite hobby. so that's great. besides that, i'm gonna be honest: this is also my first time writing male character x female reader, so i'm nervous². anyways: this fanfic is meant to be divided into three parts (i mean, i'll try), and this is the first one. hope it's worth reading! :)
— annie 🌙
An undeniable fact about Lion is that he hates confronting Stanley. Maybe because he feels like, as the younger brother, he owes him some kind of respect. Or maybe because the older one (ironically) tends to act like a spoiled child whenever he doesn’t get what he wants. It’s a conflicting mix of both.
What hardly anyone knows is that there’s something Lion hates even more: an unexpected change of plans.
Considering their unstable lifestyle, he should’ve gotten “used” to the concept of uncertainty by now. Truth is, Lion can’t even remember when piling up debts that neither he nor Stan can afford to pay off, and bleeding for a couple of bucks became such a “normal” routine.
Not that Stanley gives him much room to suggest something better, anyway.
"Y’know the drill, Lion. I’m the brains; you’re the muscles. I do the thinking; you do the punching."
That’s the worn-out argument he always resorts to sweep away any spark of rebellion growing inside Lion’s naive head. It works, unfortunately. The younger one is scared of finding out what would happen if he says that he doesn't want to do “the punching” anymore.
As mentioned before, Lion isn’t a big fan of changes and the consequences that come with them. Staying loyal to what he already has going on is less risky and much easier.
Or it should be.
It’s seven in the morning when Lion wakes up before his alarm gets the chance to scream in his eardrums. He lazily stretches, gets up, yawns, and makes his way to the kitchen.
A hint of uneasiness stirs somewhere deep inside him as he notices his brother isn’t… around. Stanley may be really damn flawed, yes, but one admirable trait about him is his commitment to waking up early every single day. If the Sun’s up and he’s not wandering around the house, well... saying that’s rare would be an understatement.
Either way, Lion chooses to believe it’s a harmless miracle and goes through his usual morning checklist. Shower, breakfast, blah, blah, blah. He’s not in a rush, so when he checks the clock on the living room’s wall, he isn’t surprised to see that over half an hour has gone by.
Still no sign of Stan.
That can only mean one of these two options:
He’s dead.
He left the house for some unknown reason and didn't warn Lion about it, which would be so suspicious. Stanley would never pass up the chance to bother him so early in the morning.
Therefore, the first alternative is way more believable.
As soon as Lion finishes pouring another generous amount of dog food into Ash’s bowl, he decides to check whether or not he’ll need to ring 911 today.
To his relief, when he walks into Stan’s room, he doesn’t find a lifeless, cold body. However, the view right in front of him is... intriguing to the same degree. He’d even say it’s somehow worse than the corpse scenario he’d been imagining seconds ago.
What the hell is Abigail, their neighbour — a woman in her forties, happily married (...as far as Lion knows?) — doing in Stanley’s bed, clinging to him under the sheets and nake... oh.
This feels illegal.
All the blood in Lion’s body rushes straight to his face. He quickly looks away while his brain tries to process the crime scene he accidentally walked into. His instincts are screaming for him to take a step back, shut the door, and pretend that he never saw that — even if the memory will haunt him in his nightmares and the guilt will eat him alive every time he runs into Mr. Smith from now on.
Jesus.
Alright, he’s losing focus. There’s no spare time to waste on Stanley’s bullshit.
There’s no way he can leave without talking to his brother first, either. They should be on the road, heading to his next match — the one he absolutely can’t lose. Too much money involved, and they need it. More than ever.
It’s all Stan’s fault for being such a bad manager, by the way. If he hadn't gotten involved with people of questionable character, Lion wouldn’t have to be doing all this shit just to fix their lives.
Pepper, the gangster they — Stanley — owe a shitload of money to, seems to have developed a peculiar admiration for Lion. He’s watched some of the younger Kaminski’s fights, and it’s hard not to notice the huge potential there. That’s probably why, after a heated negotiation, Pepper agreed to forget about the debt thing if Stanley made sure Lion would compete in one of those underground boxing clubs, this time in San Francisco’s Chinatown. Pretty generous deal.
So, a few days ago, Stan had assured Lion he’d take their old car to the mechanic for a “quick check-up” before the long trip. He’d also added that it was “nothing Lion needed to worry about.”
Lion obeyed like he always does. Didn’t worry. Didn’t question. Whether that was a good idea or not, he’s about to find out now that he needs the keys.
“Stan…”
He shakes his brother’s shoulder, his voice sounding loud enough to wake a forgotten Mrs. Smith first. The redhead opens her eyes, grumbling before realizing that it’s Lion there.
Sweet, lovely Lion, who now knows she's being unfaithful to her husband.
There’s a minute of quiet contemplation. Lion considers apologizing for walking in without knocking like this, but Abigail squeaks as she's yanking the thin cloth up to her neck.
“Lion?! Oh, Lord...”
“Hey, uh... Mrs. Smith.”
They share another agonizing moment of dread. She’s staring at him with those wide green eyes, he’s smiling awkwardly like he wants to melt straight into the floor…
And Stan is still mindlessly drooling on his pillow.
“I’m sorry—”
They say it at the same time, which somehow makes the whole situation even weirder.
Lion is about to explain and assure her he has no intention of getting involved in… whatever is going on here, but he misses the chance as Abigail is already scrambling to her feet and gathering her clothes from the floor, face flushed and body tangled up in the bedsheet.
As soon as she heads straight to the bathroom so she can lock herself in there, Lion releases a breath he didn't even know he was holding.
Then, Stanley frowns, grumbles, but stays in the same position as he stares at Lion with those swollen eyes.
“What?”
“Are you serious?”
It takes a lot to irritate someone like Lion. A lot. He’s not one to brag, far from it, but he can confidently say he has a high level of patience. The thing is, for months now — years — he’s been swallowing every small act of irresponsibility from Stan. It’s getting harder and harder to keep his cool.
Even so, he tries to take a deep breath and count to ten in his head.
“San Francisco. My next match. You said you were taking me there.”
Stanley blinks. Lion sighs.
“You forgot?”
Great. He’s not mad anymore. Just sad.
When Stanley’s two remaining brain cells start working, he drags a hand down his face and groans.
“Fuck.”
That answers Lion’s question.
He doesn’t want to sound like some whiny baby that’s not getting enough attention, but it’s impossible not to feel upset by this lack of consideration when it’s coming from his own brother.
“It’s okay.”
It is not okay.
Why can’t you at least pretend to care? For once in your life?
He swallows his own thoughts.
“If you wanna stay, I don’t mind. But I’m still gonna need the car keys.”
That last part wakes Stan up. For real. He sits up on the mattress as if that’ll help him think faster somehow.
“Oh, shit.”
Here we go.
“What?”
“I think... I think I might have… forgotten to take the car to the mechanic.”
That’s not too bad.
“That’s fine. You said it was just a check-up. I’m sure nothing’s wrong with it anyway.”
When Stanley’s tense demeanor doesn’t change, Lion knows there’s more to it than he’s saying.
“Stan... spit it out.”
“Well, there might be one tiny, little problem with the battery... and also the, uhm… fuel system... and the ignition... and—”
“Stan!”
“We don’t have enough money to fix all that!”
Lion blankly stares at him as if saying, “Please, tell me you’re joking.” All he gets in return is his brother’s weak, dumb smirk, which makes him want to smother that dumbass with one of the pillows.
“Are you serious?!”
Stan fires back as he tries to defend himself.
“I mean, why did I have to do it?! Why did it have to be my responsibility?!”
“You told me I didn’t have to worry about it!”
“Well, that’s— I mean, I was gonna—”
“I trusted you, Stan!”
Lion’s breathing is uneven, and his voice is cracking with the storm of bottled-up emotions boiling in his chest. Seeing the stunned look on his brother’s face makes him feel awful, though. Even if he has every reason to blow up like this.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
He trails off. His hands are shaking, so he forces himself to clench his fists and pull himself back together.
“Doesn’t matter. If I can’t use the car, I’ll find another way to get there.”
“What? How?”
“I’ll take a bus? Can’t be that expensive.”
“It’s gonna be way more exhausting.”
“Do I have any other options?”
This heavy quietness that fills the room says everything on its own.
Stanley insists anyway.
“We can figure out a quick way to fix everything—”
“Too late for that.”
“Don’t be stupid. We still have a few days—”
“Don’t wanna risk it.”
“Lion.”
“And I think it’d be better if you just… stay here this time.”
“Oh, c’mon.”
A disbelieving laugh slips out of Stanley’s throat. The kind that makes Lion feel brainless. Like he’s a joke.
“Lion, I’m your manager. I’m your brother. I can’t let you do this. Not alone.”
“Then start acting like one.”
“What?”
“Start acting like a brother since you clearly can’t act like a manager.”
Stanley’s lips part in shock at this sudden boldness. It’s stomping all over his ego.
“Are you even hearing yourself right now?!”
Lion pinches the bridge of his nose. Instead of taking his words back, he sticks to his point.
“You know I don’t wanna argue with you. The only thing I want is for you to respect my decisions.”
Lion’s jaw clenches as he watches Stanley rub his temple.
“You’re not doing this. I’m gonna figure out something better… as always.”
It’s Lion’s turn to frown, offended.
“I’m an adult, Stan. I don’t need your permission.”
Stanley’s eyebrows shoot up. So high they almost disappear into his hairline.
“Lion… what the hell is wrong with you lately?”
I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong, but maybe I’m just so fucking tired that you never seem to give a damn about what matters to me. About what could make me happy. It’s always about you. About what your selfish mind thinks is best for me. About what you want. Have you ever stopped to ask yourself what I want? And every opportunity I gave up so I wouldn’t disappoint you? Or are you too damn busy getting us into trouble? Trouble that I’m gonna have to fix for you?
Those words circling Lion’s mind force him to bite his tongue so they don’t slip out. They’re both on edge. The last thing he needs is a futile argument blowing out of proportion right now. He knows it’ll keep him up at night afterwards.
“Sorry, Stan. I just... I could use some time alone, y’know? I’ll call you as soon as I get there. Promise.”
“So you’re really doing this. Wow.”
If Lion were still just a boy, the venom in Stanley’s voice would make him feel sick with guilt. The thing is, they aren’t kids anymore. It’s not like Lion has to keep following his older brother around like a lapdog. It’s way past time for both of them to accept that.
“Don’t forget to feed Ash until I get back. I’m serious. I’ll kill you if you don’t.”
“This is so immature.”
Before Lion leaves his brother behind to deal with his bitterness, he adds with a hint of sarcasm.
“And I hope Mr. Smith will beat your ass as soon as he finds out you’ve been sleeping with his wife.”
“What—”
The door slams before Stanley can finish whatever he was about to say. As soon as Lion waves goodbye to Ash and grabs his backpack, he hears his brother’s confused yell echoing through the thin walls.
“Where’s Abby?!”
It’s impressive how painfully tedious a bus terminal waiting area becomes after an hour.
You’ve already stretched your legs, taken a short walk around, sat back down, read sixty four pages of this thick book you brought with you, scrolled through every single one of your socials, discovered that the public Wi-Fi there sucks, shifted around in your seat about fifteen different times in every-humanly-possible-position hoping to get comfortable, and now, in an attempt to seem less hyperactive, you’ve settled on: watching everyone else there as if they’re cartoon characters.
There are at least eight couples, and the sickening sweetness radiating off them is making your skin itch. One of them is this adorable elderly pair trying to solve what looks like a word search puzzle together. Their preciousness diminishes your envy. Just a little.
This sweaty nerd who’d been staring at you for almost twenty minutes is worth mentioning as well. He got petrified the second you glared back at him like you wanted to tear him apart, roast his body, and eat his flesh with barbecue sauce. Interesting.
There's a whole group of girls giggling and gossiping among themselves, too. Whatever they’re talking about seems to be so funny that you almost catch yourself getting invested in their teenage drama.
Then he catches your attention.
You can’t help but study every detail, drawn in by the melancholic magnetism the guy sitting a few seats away from you seems to have.
He looks like he’s texting someone on his phone, which naturally makes your eyes drift down to his hands. Despite all the bruises still healing on his knuckles, they look soft. Gentle. When he stops typing, you notice his fingers are shaking even if his facial expression remains calm in a tired sort of way.
What a pretty face. Sad-looking, but gorgeous.
That cut right beneath his eye, though, makes you wonder if he’s going through some shit. Just like you are. A wave of concern hits you, and that's insane. You don’t even know the guy. You don’t even know his name. Why he’s there. Yet, something about that quiet intensity in his captivating presence stirs up this urge to find out.
You realize you’re acting just like your nerdy admirer, gawking at this stranger as if he’s a mystery to be solved. An attractive mystery, but still!
As a matter of fact, he feels the weight of your eyes burning through him. Now he’s the one noticing you, which makes you panic.
You immediately go back to your phone after getting caught like that, clicking on the calculator icon and typing random numbers to pretend you’re busy.
You need someone to shoot you. Right now, if possible.
Male creatures don’t make you feel this nervous. It’s always the other way around. Intimidating men just enough to keep them on their toes is something you pride yourself on being good at.
Getting shy because some cute guy looked back at you for less than half a second? Sounds like a big, fat joke.
It makes you feel vulnerable. You’re still debating whether you like or hate that.
You shouldn't think about it all, actually. You promised yourself you wouldn’t get distracted like this ever again.
Focus on what matters.
You’ll make sure to remember to pick a seat as far away as possible from this hot, mysterious guy.
Yes, that's it. That’s what you’re going to do.
It's time to board.
The last hours flew by for Lion, even though Stanley didn't stop calling and texting him since he left early that morning. Most of his messages are saying stuff like “What did I do?”, “Are you still mad at me?”, and “Can you stop acting like a bitch and come back home so we can figure this out together?”. Lion eventually reaches his limit and turns off his phone. He needs to claim his spot in the line so he can be able to get on the bus, after all.
Since he’s so lucky, he ends up at the very end of it. Meaning he’s doomed to stay in a "leftover seat". Not that he cares. He’s just happy he managed to get a last-minute ticket this quickly. As long as he gets to his destination, the conditions don’t matter.
You, standing right in front of him, happen to share the same opinion while doing your best to look unfazed. You can sense his eyes right on the back of your neck, like laser beams are shooting out of his pupils.
What’s going through his head while he’s looking at you? Or is he just so bored that you happen to be the best distraction he could find among those other forty human beings gathered there? Or—
Just focus on the damn line. Your overwhelmed brain reminds you before you start to spiral. Just wait for it to move.
And it does start moving. Fast. Right when you feel the urge to open the soda can you bought from a vending machine minutes ago. The reason why you're at the end of the line.
In your defense, you’re facing a deadly risk of dehydration. Your throat is drier than the Sahara Desert.
So, this is how the first disaster happens.
As you’re busy trying to open the can without breaking one of your nails in the process (that would be an unprecedented tragedy), you’re not paying attention to your surroundings anymore.
Against all odds, you manage to breathe, hold your bag, and — miraculously — open your soda without any damage.
Or... almost none.
You’re heading straight for the floor. Yep. Face first. The whole clown package.
Your feet get tangled as you’re climbing the steps into the bus. You stumble forward, a humiliating sound escaping your mouth, and oh, man... this is getting added to your ever-growing collection of war flashbacks that haunt me before bed, isn’t it?
To make a nightmarish situation even more miserable, there’s Diet Coke everywhere. You must’ve shaken the can in the middle of the chaos. The liquid is all over the floor, your sneakers, and the poor driver, too.
Amazing.
Fantastic.
That’s exactly what you needed.
Look on the bright side. It could’ve been so much worse than this. You could’ve face-planted in front of an entire audience.
Luckily, someone catches you before you can destroy whatever little dignity you still have left.
“You okay?”
That calm voice comes with a soft, warm breath brushing near your ear. Your back is pressed against Lion’s chest because he pulled you toward him to stop your fall. So yeah, you’re certain that he can feel your heart racing and watch your skin break out in goosebumps. His strong paws are resting on your waist, even though you’ve already regained your balance.
Looking over your shoulder, your eyes meet his.
You expected him to be holding back a laugh. Damn, you’d understand if he laughed at you. You’re such a train wreck.
Instead, he looks like he wants to make sure you’re not hurt. That’s all.
It doesn't help your heart slow down.
The only response you manage is a weak nod. If you try speaking right now, you’re going to stammer something lame that it'll make you feel like jumping out of the nearest window even more. Nah, not happening. You’ve already exceeded your daily humiliation quota.
Lion clears his throat and pulls away after realizing he’s still holding onto you. You stepped on his foot by accident, too, but you need to apologize to an angry bus driver first. He’s the one who looks the most… screwed over.
“I—”
You try not to focus on the soda dripping down the bald man’s shiny forehead, which doesn’t work at all, since your eyes follow his hand dragging down his wrinkled face in a hopeless attempt to wipe himself off.
There’s burning fury in his voice when he cuts you off with a scream.
“GET IN AND SIT DOWN!”
You move like a recruit taking orders from a colonel. You’d better find an empty seat fast. Sink into it. Rethink every decision you’ve ever made.
But the last two seats left are all the way in the back.
One for you.
One for Lion.
There goes your “S.A.F.A.F.H.A.P: Stay As Far Away From Him As Possible” plan.
And look, Lion wouldn’t mind giving you both seats. He’d sit on the ground if it meant avoiding any chance of making you uncomfortable, but he’s quite sure that the bald driver will bark at him the same way he just barked at you.
He’ll have to check how you feel about this, though. Your whole body language is giving “I’m nervous as hell, please get me out of here” vibes. He doesn’t blame you for it. He’s intimidating.
Alright, he's not intimidating. Not in the slightest. That’s not quite the adjective he was looking for. Anyway, something like that. All the bruises and stuff. Besides, you don’t even know each other. In his opinion, making you feel unsafe through this entire trip would be unacceptable.
Trying not to sound accusatory, he asks patiently.
“You sure you’re good?”
You smile, even though you’re mortified.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Right.
“I just... I get it if you… if you are, uh... how do I say this? I-I don’t know.”
He scratches the back of his neck while searching for the right words.
“What I’m trying to say is… I could try to… to get someone to switch seats with me if that’d make you feel... better.”
It’s so visible when something clicks inside your head. You rush to answer.
“Oh. Oh, no, no, no. You don’t need to do that. Seriously. I’m fine. A hundred per cent. But thanks. That’s really sweet of you.”
You’re being genuine despite your mixed feelings, so Lion doesn’t push it. He quietly nods and takes your bag from your hands (completely forgotten for a moment) to place it along with his backpack in the overhead compartment.
You’re still standing there, not entirely sure what to do now. That makes the ghost of a shaky smile appear at the corner of Lion’s mouth.
He thinks you’re so endearing. Like a deer in the headlights. Or something like that.
“You can take the window seat if you want. I don’t mind.”
The offer pulls you out of your trance. There are more than ten people mentally cursing both of you by now because you guys are standing there acting like two idiots instead of sitting your asses down and shutting up.
For that reason, you give in a lot more easily than you’d like and skip the whole pointless “oh no, you can have it” “please, I insist” argument before one of the other passengers decides to throw a shoe at both of you.
Curled up in your seat with Lion right beside you, you pull the curtain open just enough to watch the scenery outside fade into the distance.
Your genius method of avoiding looking at him. Nothing personal, really. Making small talk when your mind’s a mess isn’t one of your strongest skills. All you want is to take a nap so you can forget everything.
Lion is a chill, silent company. Makes it easy for you to relax. It doesn’t take long before your eyelids grow heavy. While unconscious, you don’t have to worry about pretending to be nonchalant. You’re terrible at acting nonchalant.
It also doesn’t take long for your head to end up resting on Lion’s shoulder, using it as a pillow while you sleep.
Ignoring how his heart is trying to punch its way out of his chest, Lion doesn’t dare move a single muscle for the next hour. He’s afraid of waking you up by accident… and losing your comforting warmth.
There’s a new type of mayhem happening when you wake up.
Lion watches how your lashes flutter as your eyes open, and how long it takes for you to process the fact that you’re leaning against him. Again. Good thing your brain is loading at a slow pace, otherwise you would’ve freaked out over how close your face is to his.
You fell asleep.
On his shoulder.
For God knows how long.
And he let you?
You rub your eyelids, adjust yourself back into your seat, and ask in a hoarse mumble.
“Did I drool on your shirt?”
Lion hums, an unbothered sound, not annoyed in the slightest.
“A little, yeah.”
A small noise of frustration slips past your lips. The corner of Lion's mouth twitches once again as he tries to suppress an innocent, amused chuckle.
“Fuck. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Don't worry.”
You're about to say something else, but...
Why isn’t the bus moving?
It's parked. Frozen. No movement. At all.
Did you really sleep that long? The first stop shouldn’t be happening this early.
You narrow your eyes to force them into focusing. That’s when you notice a crowd gathered near the bus exit. A bunch of people are squeezing their way out through the tiny space as if there’s a zombie on board, ready to infect everybody.
Considering all the insane stuff that you've been through these past few weeks, it wouldn’t be a shock if that’s the case.
You turn your attention back to Lion.
“Do you know where we are? How much time has passed?”
“An hour… and a half, I guess. Wasn't really paying attention. And no, I'm not sure where we are. I mean, we had to stop at a gas station because one of the passengers... uh, threw up all over the person sitting next to him. So let's just say the situation got out of hand pretty quickly. Lots of screaming. I was about to wake you up. We'll have to get off so the driver can, y'know... clean up the mess.”
You blink. Several times.
Vomit sounds way worse than a zombie on board.
“That poor guy isn’t getting paid enough to deal with all this shit, is he? I feel bad for him.”
A beat.
“At least the 'second-hand embarrassment' spotlight isn’t pointed at me anymore.”
Lion grins, unable to contain himself this time. Your judgment isn't working like it should since you're a bit drowsy, so you don’t catch the way he’s looking at you with so much tenderness when you're this close to him.
Maybe it’s better that way.
“We should, um...”
You gesture toward the exit, now a lot less crowded.
“Uh, yeah... yeah, of course.”
This is fate telling you to feed yourself. Your stomach will start to ache soon, so you should find something at the gas station convenience store to make it feel less grumpy.
Finally, a tiny bit of luck. Even if it came at someone else’s expense.
A bag of chips and a new Diet Coke can — since your first one ended up all over the sulky driver’s face — is what falls within your budget.
The humble amount of money you have tucked away in your bag is for some other stuff you’ve planned. You can’t afford any luxuries, which is why you’re at this modest dining area at the back of the convenience store, taking your time to finish your lonely feast.
All the other passengers are outside, showing levels of annoyance that vary as they wait for the bus to be “fixed.” You weren’t able to absorb every detail of what happened, but what you do know is that the sweaty nerd guy got nauseous and threw up his entire breakfast all over one of the women you’d also seen earlier in the terminal waiting room. Poor thing. All you could offer to help was some wet wipes and one of the spare tees you had in your bag, so she could change into something clean.
So yeah, everyone’s standing out there with their arms crossed in such a depressing mood that it could make even a funeral seem more lively.
...almost everyone.
You can see Lion approaching from the corner of your eye, sitting down on the stool next to you. He slides a mixed fruit cup, a sandwich, and a bottle of water across the counter without saying a single word.
Towards you.
Your response is to narrow your eyes as if chivalry is some kind of alien, suspicious concept.
“What’s this?”
“Food?”
Oh, hilarious. He’s so funny.
Lion smirks at his own cleverness before shrugging.
“Can’t you just accept it? No questions involved?”
The words come out soft, without any real bite behind them. The silly expression on his face almost makes you cave.
Your stubbornness doesn’t allow you to, though. Your mother would end your life if she saw you considering disobeying her wise teachings about always being cautious around men and their “good actions”.
“Why are you doing this?”
Lion hums, taking a bite out of his own tuna sandwich.
“Because I know you’re hungry. Your stomach was growling while you were asleep.”
Your whole face heats up, but Lion is still gazing at you with that infuriating smile.
“Did you really have to say it like that?”
“Sorry. You’re right. That was so rude.”
“It really was!”
You huff, splaying a hand flat on your chest as if you’re so offended. That goofy theatrical side of you manages to make Lion giggle.
One of the sweetest sounds you’ve ever heard. You have no idea why your heart warms at it. Against your will, of course.
But the feeling fades when a pang of guilt hits you.
“You didn’t have to do this, y’know. Spend money on me, I mean.”
It’s not that you’re being ungrateful. You know your intuition isn't lying, and it's clear that Lion is a cool guy. You just want to fully understand what’s happening here, even if there might not be much to understand.
Lion’s eyes soften when he sees your playfulness fading.
“Don’t think about it like that. It’s not a big deal.”
It is a big deal to me. That’s what you stop yourself from saying out loud.
“Besides, chips and Diet Coke won’t be enough to satisfy you. The next stop’s gonna take a while, so... I don’t know...”
He trails off, unsure how to elaborate, then shrugs as a last resort.
He’s so adorable when he's nervous. Your inner demons are gnawing at the bars of their enclosure. You deserve some kind of award for the self-control it’s taking not to pinch his cheek at this very moment.
“Thank you. I mean it.”
His eyes drift away from yours. You can see his ears turning red as he nods.
“You’re a nice guy.”
He swallows hard.
You can tell when someone isn’t used to being complimented like that, so you decide not to push it.
A pleasant silence settles between the two of you while you eat, until you remember a detail.
“You don’t even know my name. Feels unfair.”
He thinks for a second before suggesting.
“Then you should fix that.”
“What?”
“Tell me your name.”
You look deep into those beautiful blue eyes of his, then you tell him your name.
He hums and mumbles it as if wanting to hear how it sounds in his own voice. For some foolish reason, your heart skips a beat. Maybe two.
“That’s a pretty name.”
His eyes trail over your face. Appreciating it.
“It suits you.”
Now it’s your turn to look away. You’re afraid he’ll notice how much he’s affecting you.
“You’re not gonna tell me yours?”
Lion catches that tiny spark of curiosity hidden in your whisper. He clears his throat to answer.
“Walter. Walter Kaminski. But people call me Lion.”
Your smile grows at that. You can understand why, despite the introversion he displays.
“Lion.”
You savor his name oh so gently. Lion is trying his absolute hardest not to show how much he’s being affected by your melodic voice saying his name like that.
“It suits you.”
“I-It’s just a dumb nickname my brother gave me when we were kids, and he still makes sure everyone knows about it, so I guess it’s my actual real name now. Can’t get rid of it.”
His attempt to change the subject fails. You insist on making him squirm even more.
“Why would you wanna get rid of it? It’s adorable. I like it.”
“It’s silly.”
“No, it’s not! It’s cute.”
“Really?”
“Really, Lion. So cute.”
“T-That’s enough.”
You smile at how this rosy hue on Lion’s cheeks keeps increasing every time you say his name.
Unexpectedly, it’s like you both are inside a bubble that makes time seem nonexistent. The conversation that unfolds isn’t particularly deep or philosophical, but it flows without much effort. Anyone watching from a distance would assume you’ve known each other for a while, considering all the giggling and teasing going on.
You’re aware that this is going to end once you reach your destinations, though. Maybe you’ll exchange numbers, go your separate ways, and never see each other again. The vague memory of him will be the only thing you’ll have left.
It’s so stupid that this specific thought saddens you, but finding someone who makes you feel this comfortable this fast is almost like a divine gift.
Instead of letting the melancholy swallow you whole, you stay in the present, where you’re both still talking each other’s ears off.
“I mean, Edward is so much cooler. Everyone knows that. He may not be the perfect partner, but he’s protective, loyal, and he glows in the sunlight like a mirrorball. It’s such an obvious choice, in my opinion.”
“I’d choose Edward, too. Jacob is a toxic idiot.”
“Team sparkly vampire?”
“Team sparkly vampire. No doubt about it.”
The convenience store cashier — a friendly girl with short dark hair, braces on her teeth, and a name tag on her apron that says Nia in huge letters — is leaning against the register counter while observing everything with knowing amusement written all over her face.
She doesn’t want to get involved in the very serious debate you’re having, but this is an emergency.
“Sorry to interrupt, guys.”
You and Lion immediately stop rambling to look at the teenage girl.
“Just thought it was important to let you know your bus is leaving.”
A beat.
“Without you.”
What?
“What?”
You both say it at the same time. Nia nods while motioning for you to hurry up.
You and Lion don’t just hurry up. You burst out of the convenience store like a tornado, nearly tripping over each other in the process.
The bus is pulling out onto the road beside the gas station. You feel your chest jolt as you run while trying to keep hold of your heavy bag by its strap, which almost sends you crashing face-first into the ground.
For fuck’s sake. You can’t catch a goddamn break.
“WAIT! PLEASE!”
Lion isn’t doing much better. Despite his athletic background, there’s no way he can catch up to a vehicle moving that fast.
The two of you sound like an absolute pair of utter buffoons, uselessly shouting and waving your arms in the middle of the road.
When you realize it isn’t going to work, you stop, both of you out of breath, staring at each other with matching expressions of panic.
“They’ll notice we’re not there. Don’t worry.”
That’s Lion trying to comfort you when you sit down on the curb, put both hands on your head, and close your eyes like you’re trying not to lose your shit.
“They’ll come back. You’ll see.”
The last glimpse of the bus turning down the road and disappearing farther and farther into the horizon is enough to dry up whatever hope Lion had left.
He sits down beside you on the curb.
That’s it.
You two are screwed. Doomed. Cursed. Abandoned.
But at least you have each other.
Ew, erase that. That was so unbelievably cheesy.
What you’re trying to say is that Lion’s company eases some of your anxiety.
“They’re not coming back, are they?”
“Yeah... I don’t think so.”
For a long minute, you both just sit there.
Just the two of you.
Two broke losers left behind in the middle of nowhere, completely at fate’s mercy.
Looks like you’re going to be spending more time together, after all!
synopsis : lion has gone away on a trip to compete in boxing tournaments across the states, but he makes it up to you when he comes home...
contents : afab reader , kissing , clingy!lion, use of the pet name 'baby' , long distance , manhandling , lion is a munch , p in v , protected sex , praise , use of 'i love you' ! 18+ mdni
w.c. 2.9k
⩩ author notes : official part 2 of i mean it! i hope everyone who enjoyed the first part loves this continuation just as much. i really love writing for lion, so my own writing was lowkey making me blush a lil..
┇likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! ❤︎
ever since the last time you saw lion kaminski, bruised and breathless on the mini couch in your office, you hadn’t been able to control yourself properly and neither could lion.
it wasn’t long before you and lion started going on proper dates. you weren’t dating yet—you wanted to be slow and intentionally test his patience before he could no longer hold himself back from asking to be yours. he always insisted on treating you to the fancy places around town, but you never let him take you anywhere he knew, deep down he couldn’t afford. so most dates became stay-in dates; lion would come over to yours, you’d cook something fun together, watch a little tv, and the night would end with his head between your thighs as a thank you.
these dates were a regular occurrence until lion was offered to compete in tournaments around the states. it was a regular training day when stan came barrelling in with the news, grabbing lion by the shoulders and saying ‘you’ll never fuckin’ believe the deal i just got us, bro’. you knew this was a big opportunity for him, and you felt happy that lion’s talent was being recognized, but the idea of lion being miles away from you was upsetting to say the least. the opportunity involved lion taking a 1 month trip to compete in 4 states, completely funded and paid for by the tournament organizers. lion didn’t know if he could function properly without you by his side for a few days, let alone a month. he had made multiple attempts to convince you to come along with him and stan, but you ultimately decided it was best that you stayed home so lion could have a little more motivation to win and come home.
the day of his leaving, he came to the gym as you were opening for the day and gave you one of his windbreaker jackets that you could wear while he was gone. in exchange, you gave him a slow, passionate kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him deeper. this lasted for merely 20 seconds before stan laid his fist down on the car horn, unable to watch you tongue his brother for another second. you watched from the entrance as the car sped off, feeling a deep pit begin to form in your stomach. you hugged lion’s white & navy windbreaker to your face and inhaled what was left of his scent.
the first call happened 5 hours later, when lion was approaching the first location in the state of new york. he told you he couldn’t call for long because he wasn’t trying to drain his data, but that he just needed to hear your voice.
“awww, well i could just send you a long voice message that you could listen to if you wanted.”
“nah, i wanna be able to talk to you too, not just hear you.”
you couldn’t stop the smile growing on your face, he made you feel so special without even trying. he continued to call you throughout the days. there were regular calls just to hear you, and other times it was a facetime when he needed to hear you and see you. sometimes, you would accidentally miss his calls and feel so horrible for it as you imagined him on the other end, his face filled with disappointment at the ‘caller unavailable’ message on his phone screen. lion did more than just call you; he would also text you, either sending you a photo he thought was funny or a goodnight/goodmorning text. in response to his messages, you would send him selfies, both innocent and suggestive. it got to a point where lion had to train his face not to react so stan wouldn’t try snooping on his phone.
lion updated you on every fight, relaying the details on how it went and if he won or not. every time he facetimed you, a new bruise or cut was visible somewhere on his face.
“how are you holding up over there? are you in any pain?” you asked lion sincerely as you sat at your office desk, chin perched on your palm.
“m’alright, stan’s been helpin’ me with that stuff…he’s not as good as you though” lion breathes out in a laugh. god, you wanted to be there so bad.
“i really miss you. ‘wanna touch you so bad” your thoughts slip out into words before you can even register it, and quickly try to backtrack, “i mean..i wanna hug you and stuff…”, now it sounds even worse.
lion grins, “miss you too. everyday, i do. i wish you came along so you could…‘hug’ me” he laughs again, and you look away from the camera in embarrassment.
“sorry, that was so corny. i didn’t mean to say that out loud” you held a hand over your face to hide your awkward smile.
“you don’t have to be sorry for missing me, baby.”
baby. you pause.
“too early?” he catches your pause at the pet name.
you shake your head, “no, i liked it. i just…it caught me off guard, but i liked it.”
you continue to chat before it’s time for lion to get lunch, and you return to your mountain of emails.
finally the day had come, and lion was on his way home. his return was giving you a weird surge of energy, and you used it to clean every inch of your home so that lion could relax in a clean, comfy space, unlike the motel rooms he had been staying in.
the sun was beginning to slowly dip beneath the sky when you heard that familiar knocking at your door, the knocking you had been anticipating for hours. you were quick to open the door, and stood in front of you was lion, the man you had been missing like he’d been sent to war. you hug him as tight as physically possible, which startles him. he lets his duffel bag slip off his shoulder into his hand then to the ground beneath him, and wraps his arms around your back. you pull your face back to stare at him.
“i think i got the wrong apartment” he says jokingly, trying to rile you up.
“mm i don’t think so. i think you’re right where you belong” you reply, knowing he’s trying to play a joke on you.
you pull off him and bend down to grab his duffel bag, which was much heavier than you were expecting.
“what the hell is in this bag” you say with a concerned tone, dropping it down beside the doorway
lion smirks, “1 month worth of clothes and a few trophies.”
“oh, i bet” you say, coming over to him again and pulling him in for a kiss. you exhale as you melt into the kiss, not realizing how badly you missed this—missed him.
you didn’t even know where to put your hands, you only knew you needed to keep kissing him to make up for the times he wasn’t here. lion’s hands stayed locked on you, one hand at your waist and one cradling your jaw. you stayed like that for what felt like an hour, and it should’ve been an hour, but it was really only a few minutes. lion pulled away first and whispered something about being hungry, to which you happily told him that you were going to make whatever he wanted, since he’s had nothing but take out food for a month. you spend the night cooking, debriefing, and laughing over whatever silly things come to your mind, just enjoying having lion home with you.
“i wish i could see how you fought. i love watching you during your training” you tell lion as you turn off the bathroom light and walk into your room. lion sat on the edge of your bed, still in his day clothes, watching your figure as you walked around your room in your pyjamas.
“i don’t like when you see me get too intense” lion keeps his eyes on you, watching you apply moisturizer to your face.
you look at him over your shoulder and scoff, “oh whatever, it turns me on” you shoot him a smile.
“oh yeah?”
“mhm.”
there is a moment where neither of you speak, the room swallowed by silence. you begin, “what if i wanted to learn how to box…would you teach me?” you ask innocently.
“what, like right now?” he is a little taken aback by your question, but not surprised since you always ask him silly questions.
“yeah. me and you. right now” you say in a semi-serious voice.
he laughs and looks away, hands rubbing up and down his thighs nervously.
“lion, i’m so serious.”
“no, you’re not.”
“get up and show me how to fight.”
“you really want a fight?”
“yes! i already said.”
lion rises slowly, and you turn to walk over to him. he stands there fully dressed while you’re clad in flimsy pyjamas. you bend at the knees and begin jabbing him lightly in the chest, he doesn’t move once, so you change your plan. you quickly tackle him to the bed, to which he begins wrestling you. both of you erupt into a fit of giggles as the stupidity of the situation sets in.
“you’re losing” you say with a cocky tone, obviously knowing neither of you were doing anything to each other.
“you sure ‘bout that?” lion stops pretending to play fight, and hooks an arm around the front of your neck, pulling you back against his chest. you start kicking back at his legs, and without effort, he locks one leg over yours, leaving you squirming.
“can’t get out now, can ya?” you can’t see his face but you feel him smirking, a warm feeling creeps up on your face.
“just watch, i’m gonna get you”, you use your one free hand to try to pull his arm off your neck, and although you worked out, his grip is iron strong considering he did this for a living.
“nah, you’re strugglin’. see? just give up.”
you groan as you attempt to wiggle your way out, feeling his bicep tighten around your neck, making you slightly dizzy. you wouldn’t admit it to his face, but you liked having him handle you like this.
“‘gonna take you out. you can’t win against me, baby.”
there it was again. baby. it’s so much worse in person. you stop struggling against him, which he takes as your defeat. the ache you were beginning to feel between your thighs before suddenly intensified by a simple name. he sounds so good when he says it, the way his voice rasps ever so slightly.
“okay, you win..” you say in a small, defeated voice, earning a small chuckle from lion’s mouth that was mere inches from your ear.
“c’mon, you barely tried.”
“i did, but you were being mean.”
“you’re a sore loser, you know that” he mumbles as he loosens his grip on your neck and moves off of you. you turn onto your back and wait for his eyes to meet yours. he moves to sit back on the edge of the bed, and turns his head to look at you.
“you alright?”
you mumble something under your breath, wanting to tell him something yet not wanting him to know either. he shifts closer and leans his head down.
“i didn’t catch that.”
you look away, “m’horny.”
he pauses before going, “was me play fighting with you a ploy to get you horny?”
“mhm…now you have to do something about it…”
“what do you want me to do about it?”
“fuck me…please. you’ve been gone so long” you force yourself to mumble out what you want, knowing you sounded desperate. you reach for his hand and slowly drag it up your abdomen, towards your breast, to which he gives a slight squeeze, feeling your nipple pebbling under his palm. he removes his hand and stands up, beginning to strip down until he is only standing there in his loose boxers. you push yourself backwards on your bed and cover yourself with your sheets, insinuating you wanted him to come under the covers with you.
“you hidin’ now?” he asks, joining you at your side, pulling the covers up over his boxers and leaving his lean muscled abdomen on display.
“i barely touched myself while you were gone..” you say as you stare at his body, noticing his muscles got a little bigger while he was gone.
“me neither. stan was always in the room with me” he laughs.
you make an impatient noise, “mm no more talking now”, you pull lion on top of you, and he leans down to kiss you, caging you with his arms. your finger tips slip down beneath your pants while he kisses you, and you start rubbing small circles on top of your underwear. lion takes notice of this and uses one free hand to slide down your pants and underwear fully, and you help him by kicking them off. he sits back on his knees and you spread your legs, revealing the sticky mess that has accumulated from your play fighting. lion wastes no time getting himself down on his front and wrapping his hands around the front of your thighs. he dips his head down, and takes a slow, flat-tongued lick up your pussy. his tongue flicks your sensitive clit, and your thighs tighten around his head, bucking into his face when he starts slurping around it. he tries his best to clean everything up with his mouth, but the slick continues to leak out of you every time he hums lowly against you. his mouth was like a magnet to your clit, and he wouldn’t have stopped until you told him you needed him inside you. he sat back up and leaned over you to grab a condom from your bedside table drawer. you watched him push down his boxers and stretch the tight latex over his thick, hardened cock, lining himself up to your slick entrance before pushing in. a barely audible whimper leaves his lips from the sudden tightness around him, and you drink up his slightly pathetic expression.
“you missed this pussy?” you say, seeing how your words fluster him.
“y-yeah. a lot” lion manages to breath out as he bottoms out. he grabs your thighs and pulls them against his chest, leaning forward onto his hands so he can stabilize himself. you wrap your legs around his waist, and he starts to move at a steady pace.
“mmm..that’s good. you’re good, lion” you cradle his face with your hands, cooing at him.
the little praise made lion speed up his pace, not fast yet, but just enough to make you whimper and tighten around him. you watch his gold necklace swinging near your face, and pull it down to bring his lips towards yours. you feel the slight scruffiness of his mustache against your own lips as you moan into each other’s mouths.
“fuck—you’re s-squeezing me—agh” lion is dazed from the feeling of you gripping his cock, the view of your tits bouncing under him, and the squelching sounds coming from the place you two were connected. the sensory of the moment was becoming all too much for him to handle, resorting to resting his head in the nook of your neck where he would leave small, shaky kisses. you move your hands up to hold his back, digging your nails into the muscled flesh.
“f-faster please—make me cum..” you moan impatiently.
lion’s hips begin snapping into yours faster than before, his pelvis bumping into your clit ever so often which elicited high pitched whimpers from you. a ring of cream sat at the base of his cock as he was driving every inch of his cock into your sweet spot. your release was beginning to build quickly, and you could tell his was too from the loudness of his whimpers and groans.
“oh—fuck! i missed you s’much…i love you” you let out the 3 words you knew would absolutely ruin lion, and it did. he choked on a moan as his hips stuttered, his cum shooting out into the condom. you let a squeal as you felt your own orgasm take over you, the euphoric feeling from your core made your hips buck up into his. you stayed in that position for a moment to catch both of your breaths, and he finally moved his head out of your neck to look at you. he was completely fucked out; cheeks pink, eyes glazed, hair tousled. the state of him made you giggle.
“you said ‘i love you’?” he mumbled. he heard you perfectly clear, but wanted you to repeat yourself.
“mhm. i love you, lion.”
he stared at you for a moment, his gaze switching from your eyes to your lips before saying, “i love you too.”
you embraced him in one last kiss, a kiss that grounded lion in the reassurance that you really, truly loved him. he pulled away slightly, lips still brushing yours.
𖦹 beautiful person award! once you are given this award, you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. if you break the chain, nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out ⸜(｡ ˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ 🧁
ᰋ ˓ . synopsis ,, you’re home from univeristy and you’re already pushing every limit with your mother’s boyfriend, remmick. a red bikini that barely covers anything, a cherry popsicle sucked slow and messy on the porch, and just enough attitude to make remmick’s patience snap. (wc: 6.1k)
ᰋ ˓ . contents ,, fem!reader. taboo dynamic. age-gap. mom’s bf!remmick. kinda mean!remmick. semi-public bathroom sex. risk of being caught. messy unprotected sex. p in v. rough sex. creampie. daddy kink. anal tease. brat taming. degradation kink. dirty talk. light spanking. praise. crying during sex. teasing. overstimulation. oral fixation. messy blowjob. gagging. throatfucking. spit. cum swallowing. mdni 18+
𝜗ৎ . notes ; i need my laptop taken away. i just sat in front of this screen for almost nine hours straight… ANYWAYS mom’s bf remmick, the delicious concept, was brought to my attention by my pookie @iceemochaa ! this is dedicated to the ppl of the gooning sever who always match my freak. i fought with the header for so long… i gave up on trying to find a matching picture for remmick, so take the pic of jack from that photo shoot instead 🤭 MIND THE TAGS.
main masterlist | remmick masterlist
The heat sits heavy over the yard this afternoon, pressing itself into the grass, the porch boards, the white glare of the patio stones, and every inch of bare skin you have decided to show.
You’ve been home from uni for a little over three weeks, long enough for the house to fall into a familiar rhythm again, though nothing about Remmick’s presence in it feels familiar in any harmless way.
Your mother moves around the kitchen with the radio playing low, humming while she rinses vegetables and talks about grilling later, and Remmick keeps himself out on the covered porch where the sun cannot quite get to him.
There’s always been something wrong with the way bright light bothers him, something about the glare that makes him squint and retreat into shade with his sunglasses low on his nose and a beer sweating in his hand.
From where he sits, he has a perfect view of the yard, the pool, the lounge chair, and you.
His beer runs empty sometime after your mother disappears back inside to check on the food, and you notice it before he says a word.
The can hangs loose between his fingers, condensation dripping down to the porch boards, his gaze still fixed somewhere near the pool even though you know he is watching you from the corner of his eye.
You push yourself up from the lounge chair and cross the patio barefoot, letting the heat of the stone bite at your soles as you pass him without asking what he wants.
When you come back out, you don’t hand it to him right away.
You hook your nail beneath the tab and crack it open yourself, the sharp hiss cutting through the air. Foam gathers at the lip, and before it can spill over, you lift the can to your mouth and take a small sip.
It’s bitter and cold on your tongue, not really what you want, but Remmick’s eyes drop to your mouth so quickly that it is worth it.
You swallow, wipe a bead of beer from your lower lip with your thumb, and only then hold it out to him.
“Thought you might need another,” you say, sweet as anything.
Remmick takes the can from you slowly. “You always this helpful?”
You smile and turn away before he can see too much of it. “Only when I feel like it.”
You had chosen the red bikini because you knew exactly what it did to him.
Therems no innocence in it, not with how little the top covers and how the bottoms keep riding up whenever you move, the thin fabric slipping between your cheeks.
The first time you stepped outside, towel tucked under one arm and sunglasses pushed into your hair, Remmick’s conversation with your mother had gone quiet for half a second too long.
Your mother had not noticed, too busy fussing with a pitcher of sweet tea through the open sliding door, but you had.
You caught the pause, the slight lift of his chin, the slow drag of his eyes down your body before he forced them away and took a long pull from his beer.
And that was all the encouragement you needed.
You spread your towel across the lounge chair with unnecessary care, bending at the waist instead of crouching, letting the bikini top gape just enough that you felt the warm brush of air against your tits. You stretched out beneath the sun with one knee bent, then rolled onto your stomach after a few minutes, propping yourself on your elbows while the bottoms rode higher.
Every motion became performance because his attention made you bold.
You fixed your towel; you adjusted the tie at your hip; you reached behind yourself to tug at the fabric, only to let it snap back into place a little worse than before.
Each time, Remmick stayed silent…
By the time you rise to go run back inside for a drink, your skin is glossy with sun and sweat, and you know without looking that he’s watching the swing of your hips.
You pass close enough to his chair that your thigh nearly brushes his knee, and the scent of him reaches you through the summer air… beer, smoke, soap.
His fingers drift toward your hip as you pass, slow enough that you could let him catch you, but you slip away at the last second and glance back over your shoulder with a smile that’s too sweet to be believed.
“Need something?” you ask, voice light.
Remmick’s jaw tightens, and his gaze flicks once toward the kitchen before settling back on you. “You know what you’re doing.”
You only smile wider and slide through the door, leaving him with the view of your ass as the red fabric disappears inside.
When you come back a minute later, you have a cherry popsicle in your hand.
You settle on the porch step beside his chair as though you have simply chosen the nearest bit of shade, knees drawn loosely together.
The popsicle’s already beginning to melt in the heat, red syrup gathering along the edge of your fingers, and you bring it to your mouth with all the patience in the world.
You lick up the side first, slow and flat-tongued, tasting sugar and artificial cherry while your eyes drift toward the yard as if Remmick is not sitting so close that you can feel the tension coming off him. Then you wrap your lips around the tip and suck, letting your mouth hollow around it, letting the wet little sound linger between you.
His hand flexes around the beer can.
You do it again, slower.
“Careful,” he mutters, so low that your mother wouldn’t hear him even if she stepped out onto the porch.
You turn your head slightly, popsicle still between your lips, and blink at him with open, false innocence. “Careful with what?”
Remmick’s eyes drop to your mouth, sunglasses gone now, pushed up into his hair, and without them there’s nowhere for his hunger to hide.
He looks tired from fighting it, annoyed with you for knowing that, and unbearably handsome with the porch shade cutting sharp along his cheekbones. He lowers the beer can, his thumb rubbing slowly through the condensation as his stare drags over your lips, your chin, the thin red line of syrup that’s escaped and started down your skin.
“You’re gonna get yourself in trouble,” he says.
You swallow around nothing, then take the popsicle from your mouth and lick the drip before it can reach your chin. “Maybe I’m bored.”
His laugh doest sound amused. “That what this is? You bored?”
“Maybe.” You lean your shoulder more firmly against him, close enough to feel the heat of him through his shorts. “Maybe you’re just easy.”
The look he gives you makes your pulse kick, though he does nothing, and somehow that’s worse than if he grabbed you outright.
His eyes move over your face with a slow, punishing focus, as if he is deciding which part of your attitude he wants to break first.
Then the corner of his mouth lifts just slightly.
“You been acting like a spoiled thing since breakfast,” he says, voice quiet enough to stay private. “Bending over in that suit, looking back every time you know I’m watching. Now you’re sittin’ here with that in your mouth, makin’ a mess on purpose.”
Your thighs press together, but you keep your expression sweet. “It’s hot outside.”
“It’s about to be hotter inside if you keep it up.”
You glance down and see the thick shape of him straining against his shorts, half-hidden beneath the loose fall of fabric, though not nearly well enough.
The sight makes your stomach dip.
Yesterday, you let him corner you in the laundry room while your mother was out getting groceries, let his hands skim your waist and dip under the hem of your shirt before you slipped away laughing at the last second.
Two nights before that, you knelt for him on the rug beside your bed, taking his cock into your mouth with your fingers twisted in his shirt while he kept one hand braced against the mattress, hips thrusting up into the warmth, and tried not to make too much noise.
Later, alone under your covers, you touched yourself until your wrist ached, replaying the sound of him losing control, the rough praise he tried to swallow, the way he looked at you afterward.
You drag the popsicle over your tongue again, slower this time, and Remmick’s hand moves.
His fingers find the back of your neck beneath your hair, resting there with enough pressure to make a warning out of the touch.
“You got something real nasty coming the second I get you inside,” he murmurs.
Heat pulses between your legs, slick and immediate. You tip your head back just enough to look at him through your lashes. “What, Daddy’s mad?”
It’s not the first time you’ve called him that, but it still does something to him every time, especially here, with your mother moving somewhere behind the kitchen wall and his beer sweating onto the porch boards and you sitting at his knee in a bikini that barely covers anything.
His hand slides lower, thumb brushing the side of your throat in a touch that feels almost tender until his mouth moves closer to your ear.
“You keep saying it like that,” he says, “and I’m gonna make you say it with tears in your eyes.”
Your breath catches, and the sound gives you away.
He reaches for your ass, palm sliding over the curve of it, but you slap his hand away with a sharp little laugh and rise before he can catch you. “Pervert.”
For a second, he looks almost still enough to be calm. Then his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek, his gaze dropping to where your bikini bottoms have ridden up again. “Yeah,” he says softly, “keep laughing.”
You should stop there, but stopping would mean admitting he’s gotten to you, and you have spent too many days enjoying the game to fold just because he finally sounds dangerous.
So you make him wait.
You stretch out beneath the sun again, roll onto your stomach, let your legs part just enough to make him shift in his chair, then rise to dip your feet in the pool and glance back at him each time you feel his eyes burn across your skin. You tease from a distance because distance makes you brave. You bend over to look for sunscreen in your bag. You let syrup from the last of the popsicle stain your lips and smile when he stares.
The afternoon stretches long and gold, the heat softening at the edges only when the sun begins to sink behind the trees, but Remmick’s patience does not soften with it. If anything, he grows quieter as the day goes on, and the quiet has your pulse fluttering with a nervousness you refuse to show.
Inside, the house smells like chlorine, warm skin, cut tomatoes, and something salty your mother has started on the stove. She’s put out a tray of hamburgers and salads for later, moving between the counter and the fridge while she talks about a coworker who called in sick and a neighbor who borrowed a serving bowl and never returned it.
You sit at the kitchen table across from Remmick, damp hair sticking slightly to the back of your neck, one of his old shirts thrown over your bikini because your mother told you not to drip on the floor. The thin cotton clings to the wet fabric beneath, and every time Remmick looks at you, you remember exactly how little separates his gaze from your skin.
Your mother pours herself a glass of wine and leans against the counter, still talking. “I’m gonna shower before I eat. Don’t let the buns sit out too long, alright? And don’t pick at everything before I get back.”
You nod quickly, too quickly, and Remmick leans back in his chair with his beer to his lips, watching you over the rim of it.
Your mother pauses in the doorway. “You two want anything before I go?” She glances to you first before turning to Remmick. “Baby?”
“No, I’m alright. Go take your shower, we’ll be here when you’re done,” Remmick answers, polite as anything, and the smoothness of it makes your toes curl under the table.
The second her footsteps fade down the hall, the whole kitchen seems to hold its breath.
Water pipes groan somewhere behind the walls. A door shuts.
You look at Remmick, and he looks back with all the patience gone from his face.
The chair scrapes the tile from how fast you stand.
You only make it halfway to the guest bathroom before his hand catches the back of the shirt and pulls you in against him.
A breathless laugh escapes you, more panic than humor, but he crowds you forward with his body, his mouth close to your ear while his hand slips around your waist and presses low on your stomach.
“Runnin’ now?” he murmurs. “You weren’t shy outside.”
“Remmick,” you whisper, glancing toward the hallway.
“That ain’t what you called me on the porch.”
He pushes you into the bathroom and kicks the door shut behind him.
Before you can turn fully around, Remmick has you backed against the sink, one hand at your jaw and the other bunching the damp shirt up over your ribs.
“You had a lot to say when you were out there showing off,” he says, thumb pressing lightly at the corner of your mouth. “Where’d all that mouth go?”
You try to answer, but his grip makes the words come out soft and useless. “I was just teasing.”
“Just teasin’,” he repeats, dragging the phrase out as if it offends him.
His eyes lower to your chest as he hooks two fingers under the bikini top and tugs until the cups shift, baring one breast, then the other.
The air hits your nipples and makes them tighten into stiff peaks, and Remmick’s expression changes with open satisfaction. “That what you call it when you spend all afternoon trying to make me hard while your mama’s ten feet away?”
You swallow, cheeks burning. “You could’ve looked somewhere else.”
His mouth curves enough to make you wet. “I did. Then you bent over again.”
The laugh that leaves you is thin, unsteady, and it breaks when he leans in to bite gently at the underside of your jaw.
His stubble scrapes your skin. His teeth press without quite hurting, and his hand slides down to your hip, fingers spreading over the damp red fabric that has tormented him all afternoon.
When he touches you there, he feels how soaked you already are, the bikini bottoms clinging slick and hot to your swollen cunt. His fingers still for a second, then press harder, rubbing the wet fabric right against your dripping slit until your knees nearly dip.
“Look at that,” he murmurs against your neck. “All this attitude, and you’re already messy for me.”
You try to turn your face away, embarrassed by how wet you are, but he keeps your jaw in his hand and forces you to look at him.
“I’m sorry.” Your breath trembles, though your hips move into his hand.
Remmick gives a soft, breathless laugh and lifts his head to look at you. “Too late for sorry now, girl.”
He reaches behind you and turns the sink on just enough for the faucet to run, giving the room another layer of noise. Then he turns you around with a firm hand at your waist, bending you over the counter until your palms land on either side of the basin and your tits press against the cool porcelain.
The mirror catches your face, flushed and wide-eyed, lips parted around shallow breaths. Remmick stands behind you, broad and sun-warmed, hair slightly damp at his temples, his expression sharpened by everything you’ve done to him.
He looks at your reflection, not your body first, but your face, watching embarrassment spread across it as he drags the shirt up your back and shoves the bikini bottoms down just far enough to expose you. They catch around your thighs, tight and indecent, while he nudges your feet wider with his.
“There she is,” he says, voice dropping. “There’s my spoiled girl that wants me to fuck the attitude outta her,” he breathes.
You grip the sink. “Remmick…”
“Huh?” His hand comes down on your ass hard enough to leave a sting and sharp enough that your breath breaks. “You worried now?”
“Remmick—”
Another smack lands lower this time, followed by his palm smoothing over the heat he has left behind. “Try again.”
The correction makes your eyes flutter.
You look at him in the mirror, pride and need tangling so tightly in your chest that you can barely breathe through either one. “Daddy,” you whisper.
His expression changes, hunger pulling tight across his face. “Better.”
He unzips his shorts behind you, the sound small under the running faucet and distant shower, but it still makes your whole body tense in anticipation.
When he frees himself, heavy and hard in his hand, he doesn’t push in right away.
He makes you watch his face in the mirror while he rubs the thick, flushed head of his cock through your wet folds, dragging it slowly from your swollen clit up to your entrance, gathering slick until both of you are glistening.
The first touch makes you whimper, the second makes you push back on instinct, needy enough to forget yourself, and he clicks his tongue.
“Now you wanna be eager,” he mutters. “Out there, you kept moving away every time I touched you.”
“You were on the porch.”
“And you were in my face,” he says, pressing against you just enough to make your body clench around nothing. “Lickin’ that damn thing, looking at me like you wanted me to drag you inside by your hair.”
Your face burns hotter because some part of you has wanted exactly that.
Remmick must see the truth of it in your reflection, because his mouth brushes your shoulder in a kiss that feels almost affectionate before his teeth graze the same spot.
“You get so embarrassed when I say it plain,” he murmurs.
“Please,” you breathe, the word slipping out before you can dress it up as anything else.
He stills. “Please what?”
You press your forehead closer to the mirror, eyes half-lidded, voice trembling under the weight of his stare. “Please fuck me.”
His reflection in the mirrors shows you that it pleases him; in the way his mouth curves and his eyes darken.
He drags the head of his cock through your slick again, then higher, pressing right against your tight little asshole and circling until your whole body tenses, the flutter of panicked want moving through you before you can hide it.
Remmick laughs low, gives one more firm nudge, then pulls back.
“Maybe next time,” he promises, voice dripping with filthy intent.
Your stomach flips at the words, cunt throbbing harder, and he sees that—sees everything when he has you like this, bent over and bare for him, all your teasing turned into wet need and shaky knees.
He lines up again, this time at your soaked entrance, and pushes in slow, stretching your pussy lips wide around the blunt head, feeding you inch after thick inch until your walls grip every veiny ridge and you’re white-knuckling the sink edge.
“There you go,” he mutters, watching your face in the mirror. “That’s what you spent all day asking for.”
The stretch is thick and immediate, your body slick enough to take him but still overwhelmed by the size of him, every inch forcing you open while your fingers curl against the porcelain and a low, broken moan slips from your throat.
Remmick watches your face the entire time, jaw slackening slightly as your mouth falls open and your eyes water.
“Mm,” he breathes, hips pressing forward another inch. “That’s what all that teasing was for, huh? You fuckin’ tease. Wanted me so bad you couldn’t act right.”
You try to answer, but he sinks deeper, and the words dissolve into a broken sound.
He feeds himself into you with patience, letting you feel everything, the heat of him, the drag, the fullness that makes your thighs shake. When he finally bottoms out, balls flush against your clit, he stays there and bends over you, one forearm braced beside your hand on the counter.
“You feel that?” he whispers, mouth at your ear. “All the way in, baby. That’s what you were asking for.”
Your eyes slip shut, tears gathering from the stretch and the pressure. “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
His groan is soft, almost unwilling, and then he pulls back and snaps his hips forward hard enough to jolt you against the sink.
You choke on a gasp, but his hand comes up quickly, palm covering your mouth while his other arm wraps around your waist to hold you in place.
“Quiet,” he says against your temple. “Unless you want your mama asking why you’re moaning with her boyfriend in here.”
The threat makes your cunt clench around him.
His eyes meet yours in the mirror, dark with triumph. He starts fucking you then, not slow anymore, not gentle enough to let you pretend this is only another stolen touch. His hips drive into you in deep, rushed strokes, each one rocking you into the counter while the faucet runs and the shower hisses upstairs.
The room fills with the wet, filthy smack of his hips against your ass, the loud, sloppy squelch of your cunt taking every thick inch of his cock, his breathing rough at your ear and your muffled cries trapped beneath his hand.
He knows exactly how to angle himself, how to hit the place inside you that makes your legs threaten to give out, how to keep you pinned open.
“You spent all day acting like a brat. Now look at you,” he mutters, voice fraying as he thrusts into you, bending over you so his chest presses hot to your back, lips brushing your tear-streaked cheeks in mocking little kisses. “Gonna cry for me, baby?”
You whimper against his palm, tears spilling over now, hot tracks down your cheeks that embarrass you as much as they thrill you.
Remmick’s gaze flicks to them in the mirror, and something pleased and possessive moves across his face. He uncovers your mouth only to grip your jaw instead, forcing your chin up so you have to look at yourself.
“Look at you,” he says, softer now, mean threaded through praise. “We both know you’re just gonna do it all over again tomorrow, aren’t you? So you gotta learn the lesson now.”
“I can’t,” you whisper, though your hips push back into him in helpless little movements.
“You can.” His mouth brushes your cheek. “You’re gonna take it. You made me wait all afternoon, didn’t you? You can take a little more.”
The words loosen your pride, melt the last of your performance, and leave you trembling beneath him with your cheek near the mirror and your body taking every thrust he gives.
When his hand slips between your thighs and finds your clit, your whole spine arches. He rubs you in tight, firm circles, still driving into you from behind, and the combination makes your breath scatter.
“Please,” you gasp, too loud.
His hand returns to your mouth at once, and his hips never slow. “You wanna get caught that bad?”
You shake your head quickly, but your body betrays you again, clenching hard around him while your eyes roll half-shut.
“No?” he murmurs. “Then keep that mouth quiet for me.”
You nod against his palm, crying harder now from the pressure building too fast, too deep, too much after an entire afternoon of teasing yourself with the thought of him.
“Please, I’m gonna—” Your words break off on a mewl.
“I know,” he says, stubble scraping against your cheek as he nods. “I can feel it. Poor baby’s not so mouthy now, is she?”
He rubs your clit faster, his cock dragging heavy through your cunt, and when your orgasm hits, it takes you with a helpless, silent sob.
Your body locks around him, thighs shaking, nails scraping uselessly against the sink while Remmick holds you up and fucks you through it, the wet sounds of your pulsing pussy growing even louder around his thrusting cock.
“There you go,” he whispers.
You’re still pulsing around him when the shower shuts off, and both of you freeze for half a second.
Then Remmick’s hand tightens on your hip, and he buries a groan against your shoulder, his restraint snapping under the risk. He fucks you harder, shorter strokes now, chasing his release while you tremble oversensitive around him.
You bite down on your own wrist to stay quiet, tears still wet on your cheeks, and he watches the motion in the mirror as if it might finish him all on its own.
“Fuck,” he breathes, low and ragged. “That’s it. Hold still. Let me have it.”
His hips drive deep once, twice, then press flush as he comes inside you with a thick, shuddering groan that he barely manages to swallow.
You feel every pulse of him, hot and deep, your body milking him while footsteps sound faintly upstairs.
He stays there for one dangerous second too long, forehead dropping to your shoulder, breath shaking against your skin. Then he pulls out slowly, and the sudden emptiness makes you wince.
Warmth spills down your inner thigh almost at once, and Remmick watches it with a dazed, hungry look before tugging your bikini bottoms back into place, trapping the mess against you.
Your reflection looks wrecked—lips swollen, eyes wet, chest still heaving.
Remmick turns off the faucet, then catches your chin and kisses you, stealing the little sound you make before it can become anything louder. When he steps back, he tucks himself back into his briefs, zipping himself up.
From the upstairs hallway, your mother calls, “You two still in the kitchen?”
Remmick’s eyes stay on you. “Yeah,” he answers, voice almost normal. “She was looking for a towel.”
Your mouth falls open slightly at how easy the lie comes, and he gives you a warning look that makes your thighs squeeze together.
“Found one,” you call, voice thin but steady enough to pass.
Your mother says something about the burgers getting cold, her footsteps moving away, and only then does Remmick turn the sink on and wet his thumb, wiping under your eyes just enough to make you presentable without erasing all the evidence. “Fix your face, baby,” he murmurs, mouth nearly touching yours. “And don’t walk too fast.”
The rest of the evening stretches around the secret in a haze.
You sit at the table with your mother and Remmick, eating too little, nodding when spoken to, hyper aware of the damp heat between your thighs and the places where his hands have gripped you.
Remmick plays polite beautifully; he passes your mother the mustard, asks about her morning shift, laughs at one of her stories with that easy, low charm that makes her smile without knowing he has just had you bent over the bathroom sink while her shower ran.
Every so often, his knee brushes yours under the table, or his eyes find you over the rim of his glass, and your body answers with a pulse so strong you have to shift in your chair.
Then your mother’s called in not long after dinner.
The hospital has some emergency, the sort that makes her sigh while tying her shoes and mutter about being too old to keep running out at night.
Remmick walks her to the door, kisses her cheek, tells her to drive safe, and stands on the porch until her car disappears down the road.
You watch from the hallway, clean from a shower that hasn’t managed to rinse him out of your head.
When he comes back inside, the house seems larger around the two of you, every room gone quiet except for the ceiling fan and the faint buzz of insects against the screens.
He doesn’t come to you, because maybe he thinks one stolen, rushed, filthy mistake is enough for the day, or maybe he likes making you wait as punishment.
He goes to your mother’s room, changes into boxers, and leaves the door partly open like a dare.
You stay in your room for almost an hour, pretending to scroll on your phone while the memory of him keeps sliding through you: his hand over your mouth, his voice at your ear, the way he said baby—the term of endearment your mother called him—when you were shaking around him. Your thighs still ache. Your skin feels too sensitive under your nightshirt.
You try to ignore it until your own restlessness turns unbearable, until your fingers slip beneath the hem and find yourself wet again.
That’s what finally makes you get up.
The hallway is dark except for the warm bar of light from the bathroom nightlight.
Remmick’s asleep when you reach the bedroom, or close enough to it, sprawled on his back with one arm tucked behind his head and the sheet low over his hips. Moonlight and porch light cut soft lines across his chest, showing the rise and fall of his breathing, the dark hair trailing beneath the waistband of his boxers, the relaxed heaviness of him in sleep.
He looks less mean like this, younger almost, though there is nothing harmless in the memory of his hands.
You crawl onto the mattress carefully, and it dips under your weight.
Remmick stirs but doesn’t wake fully until your mouth touches the line of his jaw. His lashes lift, eyes unfocused for a moment, then sharpen as you kiss along his stubble, soft and open-mouthed, tasting soap and salt on his skin.
“What’re you doing?” he rasps, voice rough with sleep.
You kiss the corner of his mouth. “Couldn’t sleep.”
His hand finds your waist beneath the nightshirt. “That so?”
You nod, though your hand has already slid down his stomach, fingers tracing the waistband of his boxers.
He lets out a quiet breath, watching through half-lidded eyes as you move lower.
The sheet shifts around you when you slip beneath it, the space under the covers warm and close, filled with the scent of him.
You tug his boxers down just enough to free him, already half-hard, heavy against his lower stomach. He twitches when your fingers wrap around the thick base, and the low, pleased sound he makes goes straight to your cunt.
“Still needy?” he murmurs from above the sheet.
You press a kiss to the swollen head of his cock instead of answering, lips brushing the sensitive skin before your tongue follows, licking slow and filthy over the slit to taste the first salt-warm bead of him.
He hardens fast in your grip, thickening until the veiny shaft fills your palm completely, the flushed tip already leaking more for you.
A soft groan leaves him, his fingers sliding behind your neck under the covers.
“Girl,” he breathes. “... been trouble all day.”
You smile against him, then take him between your lips. Slowly at first, just the head, letting your tongue swirl the way it did around the popsicle on the porch, letting him feel the echo of what started all this.
Remmick’s hips shift, his hand holding onto the nape of your neck, and he lets you make a mess of him.
You suck him deeper, your lips stretching wide around his girth, spit gathering quick and slick as you work him with eager, wet pulls of your mouth.
The slurping sounds fill the dark room under the sheet—loud, messy—and it makes your face burn as if anyone else could hear.
You love him like this—breathing harder because of your tongue, his thighs tensing when you take him too deep and swallow around him.
Your eyes water from the stretch, but you keep going, moaning softly around his cock when his fingers tighten on you. The vibration makes him groan again, louder this time, and he quickly presses his mouth shut as if remembering the empty house still has neighbors close enough for sound to carry through thin summer walls.
“Baby,” he warns, though his voice has no real warning left in it. “You keep doing that, I’m not gonna last.”
You pull back just enough to kiss down the slick length of him, then lick back up with slow devotion, taking the head into your mouth again and sucking until his hips jerk.
His hand guides you then, setting a rhythm that makes your jaw ache and your thighs press together beneath the covers. His fingers tighten on your nape, holding you right where he wants you, and then he starts fucking up into your mouth in short, greedy thrusts.
You gag around the thick length when he pushes too deep, throat tightening hard around the swollen tip, the sudden squeeze pulling a ragged groan from his chest.
He pants above you, breath coming faster, hips rolling again so the head nudges against the back of your throat and your eyes water instantly.
Remmick watches the shape of your head bobbing beneath the sheet like it’s the only thing in the world worth staying awake for, his groans turning into low, broken pants that he tries to swallow down.
“That’s my girl,” he whispers, voice rough and full of sleep-warmed hunger. “Knew you were done being a little brat.”
You hum around him, and his breath catches hard. He fucks into your mouth a little faster, hand firm on your nape, using you just enough to make your throat spasm and squeeze around him again and again.
The wet, choking sounds growing louder as your spit coats every thick inch until his cock is glistening and your chin is soaked. His thighs tense under your palms, muscles jumping each time your throat tightens and milks the head.
He comes with his grip tight on your neck, hips lifting once, twice, burying himself deep as he spills hot and thick across your tongue and straight down your throat.
You swallow him eagerly, throat working around every heavy pulse while his body goes tense beneath you, then softens all at once, a final shaky groan rattling out of him.
Even after he’s done, you keep your mouth on him, gentle now, licking him clean with slow strokes of your tongue that make his hand tremble against the back of your head.
You suckle softly at the sensitive tip until he twitches one last time, then finally pull off with a wet pop, lips shiny and swollen.
When you finally crawl back up beside him, he catches you by the jaw and kisses you.
He tastes himself on your tongue and groans softly into your mouth, pulling you close until your bare legs tangle with his under the sheet.
Outside, the night presses hot against the windows, cicadas still screaming from the trees as the fan turns lazy circles overhead.
Remmick’s thumb moves over your cheek in a slow, absent stroke, and when you tuck yourself against his side, he lets you, his arm heavy around your waist.
“You’re gonna start up again tomorrow, aren’t you?” he murmurs.
You smile against his chest, too pleased with yourself to lie well. “Maybe.”
His hand slides lower, resting over your hip. “Then I guess I’ll have to teach you again.”
Then he leans in closer to your ear. You assume he’s going to say what he’d plan to do, how’d he plan to get get you alone again. Instead, his voice drops to that low, gravel-rough drawl and his lips part on words that make your eyes widen.
“Dirty slut, fuckin’ your mama’s boyfriend and then crawlin’ in here ‘cause you couldn’t settle without a taste of daddy’s cock. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Shame rushes hot through your chest at the words, burning up your neck and flooding your face until you feel stripped bare in a whole new way, but anger twists right alongside it—sharp and sudden, at him for saying it out loud, at yourself for how badly your body still aches for him even now.
You shift like you might pull away, ready to slide out of the bed and disappear back down the hall. But Remmick’s fingers close tight around your wrist, stopping you cold.
He tugs you right back down against his chest, voice low. “C’mere,” he murmurs, urging your mouth to his.
You resist at first, turning your face just enough that his lips catch the corner of yours instead, a small, stubborn sound of protest slipping out even as heat coils tighter in your belly.
He doesn’t let you go, thumb stroking slow over your pulse until you finally give in, mouth softening, parting under the insistent press of his.
The second your lips meet—soft and hesitant at first, then melting open—his free hand lowers, sliding down your side and slipping just beneath the waistband of your shorts, brushing warm skin and the damp edge of your panties with a stroke that makes your breath hitch against his mouth.
And from the way those fingers linger, tracing lazy circles right where you’re already wet, his lesson for tomorrow might not even wait that long.
thank you @aseafullofstars for the tag!!
rules : when you get this, make a new post, list 5 of your favorite songs, publish, and tag some of your mutuals!
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