sucking off streamer!choso while he’s on stream >.<
cw: gender neutral reader, blow jobs, hand jobs
Choso had been ignoring you all day.
He promised his friend, streamer!Satoru said that he’d complete the 24-hour gaming challenge he proposed to him a few weeks ago, meaning he has been ignoring you for the past 24 hours.
And it was quite literally driving you insane.
You quietly walk into Choso's gaming room, making sure to avoid the eyesight of camera that was on at his desk.
Choso is playing with his lip piercings as he plays his game with his other hand. He’s playing some random shooter game while murmuring curses under his breath. Something about how these other players don’t have good strategy.
You slowly get onto your knees and nudge Choso's knees apart. Choso instantly notices, of course. His leg twitched the moment you got on your knees.
You slowly pull his sweatpants down, revealing his hardening cock, which smacks against his stomach.
You take his now hard cock into your hand, and you spit once onto it, making your spit act as lubricant.
You give him a few slow pumps before leaning down to suck on the tip.
Choso stops playing with his piercings and snakes his hand into your hair.
He starts pushing you down slowly as he continues playing his game with one hand. People in his chat stream keep asking if he’s okay; one asked why he’s blushing, and another asked why he keeps dying in the game.
You let him push your head down with ease. You start to lick the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock before completely swallowing him.
Choso suddenly lets out a cough, trying to cover up the groan he almost let out.
Choso suddenly tenses up once you swallow him; he smacks his legs together, leaving you suffocating between his beefy thighs. Choso’s hot seed spurts into your throat. You immediately prepare yourself to swallow every drop.
You knew Choso didn’t normally last long, but shit, this was probably the fastest he’s ever came.
After a bit, you pull off. You’re about to get up to clean him up, but suddenly, a bing comes through his speakers, notifying Choso that someone sent a donation.
The chat bot reads out the message.
@kikichooseviltwin sent $20.
Message attachment: Does anyone else hear gagging sounds?
Jude Bellingham being jealous is almost impossible to catch in the moment, it hides behind slow kisses, careful hands and a smile that never quite disappears. You don't realize something's changed until he's already decided to carry you home with him.
WARNINGS ◦ club scene ◦ alcohol use ◦ protective!jude (let him live) ◦ jealousy themes ◦ drunk!reader ◦ reader cannot hold her liquor to save her life ◦ making out ◦ slight suggestive content ◦ i'm convinced jude deserves financial compensation for this evening
5,473 ━━━━━ oneshot jude bellingham x reader
۶ৎ 𝓩 , this started because someone asked for jealous jude and somehow i managed to make a 5k words fic. to the lovely anon who requested this: i hope you don't mind that i took a few creative liberties. 😭 i just couldn't picture jude as the loud, territorial type, so i tried writing the kind of jealousy i personally think suits him better. thank you for inspiring this one bae xo <3
━━━━━ read on ao3
The private booth in the upscale Madrid club felt like an extension of the celebration itself—velvet seating curved around a low table already scattered with chilled bottles, delicate glasses catching the warm light from overhead fixtures, and a small reserved card that had your name on it.
The first hour unfolded slowly, unhurried. Congratulations blended into easy conversation as fresh drinks replaced empty glasses almost without anyone noticing. Stories from work drifted into football, football into travel plans, someone ordering another round before the waiter had even collected the previous one. Every so often another toast interrupted the conversation, glasses clinking across the table while your friends insisted on celebrating "one more thing."
It wasn't until your glass had been topped up for what must've been the third time that you realised you'd hardly moved from the spot you'd claimed beside Jude all evening.
You sat nestled against your boyfriend's side, his arm draped casually along the back of the booth behind your shoulders. The fabric of his black shirt was smooth under your fingers whenever you reached for your drink, and the subtle scent of his cologne mixed with the faint citrus from the cocktails.
Your girlfriends arrived in waves of laughter and hugs, their partners trailing with easy handshakes for Jude. Congratulations came in steady, warm increments, each time someone raised a glass or leaned across the table to toast your new contract, Jude’s hand would find your knee or lower back, giving a gentle squeeze. “Told you she’s brilliant,” he’d say, voice carrying that expressive pride without ever sounding performative.
His eyes would find yours across the small space, holding for a beat longer than necessary, the corner of his mouth lifting into a genuine smile. You felt yourself glowing under the attention, the champagne and cocktails sliding down easily, warming your chest and loosening the long day’s work tension from your shoulders.
Time stretched comfortably, conversations wandered: one of your friends recounting a disastrous event from last month, Jude chiming in with a dry comment about how football dressing rooms had nothing on event logistics chaos.
You laughed, the sound brighter than usual, and reached for another sip. The alcohol settled in gradually, first a pleasant buzz in your limbs, then a softer haze that made the lights seem a touch warmer and the music more inviting. Jude noticed, of course.
His thumb traced slow patterns on your shoulder, and when your laugh turned a little too loose he leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Pace yourself, darling. You want to enjoy yourself until later, right?”
The words were affectionate, not scolding, carrying the same quiet reminder he'd given you more than once before.
You smiled into your glass almost immediately.
He wasn't trying to stop you from drinking. If anything, Jude loved seeing you like this—lighter, louder, laughing at things that probably weren't as funny as they seemed after two cocktails. But the two of you knew exactly where your limit lived, mostly because you'd crossed it enough times to recognize the warning signs. You were a spectacular lightweight, and every celebration seemed to end the same way: waking up the next morning trying to piece together the last hour of the evening while Jude filled in the blanks over breakfast.
Somewhere along the line, you'd been the one to ask him to step in before that happened. Not to stop you, just to slow you down enough that you'd still remember the night you'd spent weeks looking forward to.
The club filled slowly around your booth. What started as a refined, spacious atmosphere grew denser with bodies and voices. Jude’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly at first, his arm stayed around you, but his gaze began flicking toward the growing crowd more often, tracking the flow of people near your table.
When someone bumped the edge of the booth reaching for a passing waiter, Jude’s body angled slightly, creating a subtle barrier between you and the movement. He didn’t say anything about it, just continued listening to the conversation, nodding along, fingers still playing idly with the strap of your dress on your shoulder.
You were too pleasantly tipsy to register the full shift, the way his easy usual energy had quietly layered into something more protective.
Eventually the music began to drown out the conversations around the table. One of your friends disappeared toward the dance floor first, dragging her boyfriend after her with surprisingly little resistance, while the second couple followed not long after, laughing as another round of drinks arrived just as everyone seemed to be abandoning the booth.
Jude stayed where he was for another minute, one arm still resting lazily along the back of the seat behind you as he watched the small exodus with quiet amusement. His fingers rolled the condensation around his glass while the conversation naturally dissolved into smaller pockets, people getting to their feet one by one without much urgency.
Clubs like this had their own rhythm. There were no phones held discreetly under tables, no whispered excitement when someone recognisable walked past. Famous footballers, actors, musicians, old-money families and business owners drifted through the room with the same quiet anonymity, everyone seemingly understanding that the point of the place was to leave one another alone. Privacy wasn't advertised; it was simply expected.
It was one of the few places where Jude could disappear into the crowd despite standing well over six feet tall.
He finished the last sip from his glass before setting it down with a soft clink, turning towards you with the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Come on."
His hand found yours before you even had the chance to answer, giving it a gentle squeeze as he stood. You followed with a quiet laugh, letting him pull you effortlessly to your feet, the room tipping ever so slightly from the champagne before his free hand settled instinctively at your waist to steady you.
"Easy," he murmured, smiling to himself.
Together, you slipped away from the booth and into the growing crowd.
His hand remained wrapped around yours as you left the booth, weaving between clusters of people without ever really having to think about it. Every now and then someone stepped into your path—a waiter balancing a tray of drinks, another couple laughing too hard to notice where they were going—and each time Jude adjusted instinctively, his hand slipping from yours to the small of your back for a second before finding it again once there was space.
The dance floor was fuller than it had been earlier, though it still carried the same restrained elegance as the rest of the club. Nobody was trying to outshine anyone else. Groups drifted together and apart beneath the warm lights, expensive dresses catching the glow as conversations dissolved into music.
One of your girlfriends spotted the two of you from somewhere near the middle and lifted her glass in the air with an exaggerated cheer before disappearing back into her own little world.
Jude laughed under his breath. He stopped just before the crowd thickened, turning to face you properly for the first time since leaving the booth. His hands settled naturally on your hips, thumbs resting lightly against the fabric of your dress as though they'd found their usual place without either of you thinking about it.
"There she is," he murmured, the grin on his face widening as you immediately caught the rhythm. "Closing deals by day..." You laughed before he could even finish. "...Owning the floor by night."
"Oh, shut up."
"I'm serious." His answer disappeared into a quiet laugh as you gave your hips an exaggerated sway just to prove a point, he watched you for half a second before shaking his head. "I'm really proud of you, you know that?"
You felt your own smile falter into something smaller, warmer.
"You worked your arse off for this." He gave you the gentlest squeeze before pulling you a fraction closer again, as though the words themselves weren't enough. "You deserve tonight."
Without thinking, your arms slipped up around his neck, fingers lacing loosely together as they rested there. The music carried on around you, people moving past in blurred flashes of light, but for a moment it felt as though the two of you had quietly drifted into your own little pocket of the room.
"Thank you," you said, the words coming quieter this time.
Jude frowned ever so slightly.
"For what?" His smile showed that he had no clue what you were referring to.
"For being here." You leaned in just enough to steal a slow kiss, unhurried and familiar, lingering for a heartbeat before your forehead brushed lightly against his. "I know you've been exhausted."
His expression barely changed, but you saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes. Pre-season always asked a little more of him than people realised. New tactical sessions, double training days, fitness testing, constant travelling, the expectation of arriving sharper than he'd left. It wasn't unusual for the two of you to spend most of a week working around one another's schedules rather than with them, stealing dinners together at ten o'clock or settling for a FaceTime call when one of you was still in the office and the other had an early recovery session the next morning.
"You've had a rough couple of weeks," you continued gently. "You could've gone home after training and slept for twelve hours."
A quiet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Could have."
"Instead you're here."
His hands settled a little more securely at your waist.
"Where else was I going to be?" The answer was so matter-of-fact that it made you smile. He shrugged one shoulder, almost as if the decision had never really existed in the first place. "My girl just signed the biggest contract of her career, I'm not missing that for shit."
You smiled and kissed him again, the corners of your mouth lingering there even after you'd pulled apart. Neither of you hurried to say anything else, there wasn't much left to add.
The music carried you forward instead.
Another song bled seamlessly into the next, and the two of you simply kept moving. Sometimes it was little more than an easy sway, your forehead brushing his chin as he absentmindedly traced the curve of your waist beneath his palm. Other times one of your girlfriends would pull you into a small circle, laughing as the group attempted increasingly questionable dance moves after another round of cocktails, each fresh drink arriving before the previous one had quite disappeared.
Somewhere along the way you'd stopped counting.
Jude never protested when you wandered off for a minute or two, he'd simply watch with that small, amused smile of his, occasionally catching the eye of one of the other boyfriends as they exchanged the kind of look only people accompanying very happy women seemed to understand. Every now and then one of them would drift over, the conversation between the four men coming and going naturally while they watched the celebration unfold in front of them.
They laughed amongst themselves, nursed the same drinks for far longer than any of you did, and every so often one of them would peel away when his girlfriend came looking for another dance.
He kept that balance for a long while: hyping you with grins and quiet praise, then instinctively shifting whenever the dance floor grew tighter around you. His body would angle just enough to absorb the occasional bump from passing strangers, one arm finding its way more securely around your waist while the other remained loosely tangled with yours whenever the music slowed again.
None of it felt deliberate, it was simply how Jude moved through crowded spaces.
Your group drifted together, then apart again, your girlfriends pulling you into little circles before someone inevitably reached for another round of drinks. You laughed more easily with each passing daiquiri, the pleasant warmth in your chest settling into your limbs until everything—the music, the lights, the conversations around you—felt softened around the edges.
More than once you caught Jude watching you instead of the room. Every time your eyes met, he'd smile without thinking, as if he still couldn't quite believe the night was real.
At one point he reached for you again, drawing you back against him with an easy familiarity before pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. When he pulled back, his eyes lingered on your face for a second longer than necessary, taking you in beneath the shifting lights before the corner of his mouth lifted.
"I'm gonna grab another round and use the bathroom," he said eventually, leaning close enough that only you could hear him. His hand gave your waist one last reassuring squeeze. "Don't wander off. I'll be quick."
You nodded, smiling up at him before letting yourself be swept back towards your friends as one of them waved you further into the crowd.
The minutes after Jude disappeared into the crowd stretched a little longer than you'd expected. Around you, the dance floor had reached its evening peak, conversations overlapping with the music as people drifted in loose circles beneath the warm lights.
One of your girlfriends was halfway through dramatically reenacting a disaster from a gala the month before when a man in a tailored navy suit wandered over, lifting his glass in greeting.
“Quite the celebration over here,” he said, raising his own glass in a small toast. “Saw the bottle service. Special occasion?”
Your little circle laughed almost in unison.
"She does," one of your friends answered before you had the chance, pointing enthusiastically in your direction. "Biggest contract of her career."
You groaned, already laughing. "Don't make it sound so dramatic."
"It is dramatic," another one insisted, throwing an arm around your shoulders with considerably less balance than she'd intended. "We're celebrating."
"Fair enough," the man smiled, his attention drifting back to you. "Congratulations."
"Thank you." You smiled politely. "It was a good day."
"What do you do?"
You told him the name of your company, explaining in a sentence or two that you worked in event promotion. Recognition flickered across his face almost immediately.
"Right... I know the name."
The conversation wandered naturally from there. He mentioned attending one of your company's events a couple of years earlier, one of your girlfriends interrupted to argue that yours had been better, somebody else burst out laughing because they'd completely forgotten what they were talking about in the first place, and before long all four of you were speaking over one another in the wonderfully chaotic way slightly drunk friends always seemed to.
The man stayed beside the group, chiming in every now and then with a comment or a question that you answered without much thought whenever there was a gap in the conversation.
Most of your attention, though, belonged elsewhere.
Your stomach already hurt from laughing.
At one point another boyfriend appeared beside your friend with the long-suffering expression of someone who'd clearly been sent to collect her before she embarrassed herself any further. She protested dramatically, insisting she was perfectly capable of standing on her own before immediately wobbling into him anyway, sending the rest of you into another fit of laughter.
You doubled over, clutching your friend's arm as tears threatened to gather in the corners of your eyes. "Oh my God..."
"I told you!" your friend managed between laughs.
"I can't breathe."
Somewhere beside you, the conversation with the man continued.
You answered something, you weren't entirely sure what. Whatever it was seemed polite enough.
Across the room, Jude emerged from the bar with two fresh drinks balanced easily in one hand (water for you). His eyes found you almost immediately, more out of habit than anything else. For a second, everything looked exactly as he'd left it, your friends laughing amongst themselves, music carrying through the room, you smiling so hard your shoulders were shaking.
Then he noticed the man.
It wasn't anything obvious. No wandering hands or exaggerated flirting. Just the way he kept subtly angling himself towards you every time the conversation shifted, waiting for your attention to drift back to him. You, meanwhile, seemed entirely oblivious, answering whatever he asked before dissolving back into laughter with your friends a second later.
Jude stood where he was for another beat, watching the interaction settle into place. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he started across the dance floor, weaving through the crowd with the same measured pace he'd had all evening.
By the time he reached the group, the conversation hadn't changed all that much. You were still laughing, one hand resting on your friend's arm while you tried, and failed, to explain whatever story had just sent the three of you into another fit of giggles.
Jude stepped in beside you as though he'd never left. His free hand settled naturally at your waist, fingers spreading lightly against the fabric of your dress as he leaned in just enough to place the fresh glass into your hand.
"There you go, darling." You looked up immediately, your whole face brightening.
"There you are!" The smile that broke across your face was so immediate, so instinctive, that Jude felt something inside him quietly settle.
"Miss me already?" he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting.
"Mm..." you hummed dramatically, already leaning into his side. "You took ages."
"Seven minutes."
"Exactly."
A quiet laugh escaped him. He bent to press an unhurried kiss against your temple, lingering there for a second before straightening again.
Only then did he acknowledge the man standing opposite, his expression never changing.
"Alright, mate." The greeting was polite, almost conversational.
The man returned the nod without hesitation, glanced once between the two of you and smiled politely. "Congratulations on the contract."
"Cheers." A beat passed. "I'm gonna steal her back."
There wasn't a trace of hostility in Jude's voice, he'd said it with the same easy certainty someone might excuse themselves from a conversation at dinner.
The man understood immediately, wished the group a good evening and disappeared back into the crowd without another word.
Jude didn't watch him leave. His attention had already returned to you, his arm still comfortably around your waist as though it had never belonged anywhere else.
The rest of the night unfolded in that same unhurried rhythm. Jude kept his arm around your waist as the stranger melted back into the crowd, his fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of your dress in a way that felt more like habit than anything deliberate. You leaned into him without thinking, the pleasant haze of the evening wrapping around you both as the music swelled again.
For a while, nothing seemed different, your girlfriends pulled the group back into a loose circle on the dance floor, laughter rising easily whenever someone missed a step or nearly spilled a drink. Jude moved with you, his hands finding your hips as the beat shifted, pulling you close enough that your back rested against his chest, the warmth of him was steady, familiar.
Another song bled into the next, you turned in his arms, looping yours around his neck as you swayed together. Jude’s forehead brushed yours for a moment, his breath warm against your skin. Then, almost casually, as if the thought had only just occurred to him, he murmured, “Funny guy, eh? What was he saying over there?”
You blinked up at him, the question landing softly through the tipsy glow. A slow smile spread across your face as realisation dawned. “Oh my god,” you laughed, the sound light and affectionate, pressing your cheek against his shoulder for a second. “Were you jealous?”
Jude’s hand tightened slightly at your waist, but his expression stayed easy, almost sheepish. “Not jealous. Just… curious.” He shrugged one shoulder, eyes flicking down to meet yours as you both continued moving to the music. The crowd shifted around you, but the space between your bodies stayed small and warm. “He seemed pretty chatty.”
You grinned, tipping your head back to look at him properly. The alcohol made everything softer, warmer, and his subtle shift in mood only made him look more endearing. “Baby, I barely remember what we were talking about. Something about the club, I think? One of the events we did last year. I was mostly laughing with the girls.” You reached up, fingers brushing along the back of his neck as you pulled him a little closer.
He watched you for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You kissed him then, slow and sweet, tasting the faint trace of his drink on his lips. When you pulled back, your smile was teasing but warm. “My big, strong footballer boyrfriend getting a little worked up over some random guy who probably just wanted free bottle service stories.” You laughed again, the sound bubbling up easily, and Jude finally let out a quiet chuckle of his own, shaking his head as he rested his forehead against yours.
“Alright, alright,” he murmured, but his hand stayed firm at your waist, thumb tracing slow circles as the music carried you both.
The conversation didn’t linger, it dissolved the way things often did between you—into another kiss, then another sway of your bodies, your girlfriends pulling you back into the group for a few chaotic minutes of dancing before Jude drew you close again.
The night continued around you, laughter and lights and the steady pulse of the club, but you noticed the tiny shift in him as the hours wore on. He was still there, still affectionate—his hand finding yours, his lips brushing your temple—but he was quieter than usual, more thoughtful.
His smiles came just as readily, but they settled a little deeper, like he was turning something over in his mind without quite saying it aloud. You knew him well enough to see it, even through the pleasant fog of champagne.
Eventually the group decided it was time. Goodbyes stretched out in warm hugs and promises to text tomorrow, the energy winding down naturally as everyone filtered toward the exit. Outside, the Madrid night air was cooler, carrying the faint hum of the city. Jude’s driver was on the way, so the two of you lingered near the discreet side entrance, the doorman giving you both a respectful nod.
You were deep in that sweet, affectionate stage of being tipsy, everything felt softer, warmer, and Jude suddenly seemed like the most solid, wonderful thing in the world. You leaned your full weight against him without warning, arms wrapping around his middle as you pressed your face into his chest.
“Kiss me,” you mumbled against his shirt, the words coming out a little muffled and demanding in the best way.
Jude’s laugh rumbled low, one arm steadying you around the waist while his free hand came up to brush hair from your face. “You’re a handful tonight,” he said softly, but he obliged anyway, tilting your chin up gently and kissing you slow and deep. His other hand slipped your handbag and phone from your shoulder without being asked, tucking them securely under his arm as he kept you close.
You made a contented sound into the kiss, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, growing progressively handsier as the minutes passed and the car still hadn’t arrived. Your hands wandered down his sides, then lower, pressing closer until your bodies were flush.
He indulged for a while, kissing you back with the same lazy heat, one hand sliding up your back while the other kept you steady on your feet. But when your touch grew bolder, he chuckled quietly against your mouth and redirected with effortless care. Instead of pulling away, he tilted his head, kissing slowly along your jaw and down the side of your neck. His lips lingered there, warm and deliberate, before he gave one teasing, gentle bite just below your ear.
You shivered, a soft laugh escaping as you tilted your head to give him better access. Jude’s hand stayed firm at your lower back, guiding you subtly when you wobbled on your heels, his body strong and reliable against yours. He passed you his water bottle between kisses, murmuring, “you better drink this before getting into bed,” without ever making it feel like a correction.
You took the bottle, still grinning against his neck, and tipped it back for a few long gulps. The cool water slid down your throat, cutting through some of the pleasant haze. When you lowered it, you caught him watching you closely, his gaze lingering on the way your throat moved, the faint sheen on your lips. The corner of your mouth curved into something mischievous, the tipsy warmth making you bold.
“You’re so jealous,” you teased, voice low and playful as you pressed closer, one hand sliding up his chest. “Look at you, staring like that while I drink water. What, worried someone else might offer me a sip?”
Jude’s eyebrows lifted, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. His hand flexed at your lower back, keeping you anchored against him as the night air brushed past. “Not jealous,” he said, the words carrying that familiar Brummie lilt, warm and slightly defensive in the most endearing way. “Just making sure you stay hydrated.”
You laughed softly, the sound flirtatious and provocative as you tilted your head, lips brushing the line of his jaw. “Mhm. And you’re taking up all of my space and bossing me around.” Your fingers traced lazy patterns on his shirt, pressing just enough to feel the steady beat of his heart. “Very possessive for someone who claims he’s not jealous.”
“I’m not bossing you around,” he countered, voice low, but there was a quiet laugh threaded through it. His free hand came up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek as he looked down at you. The streetlights caught the subtle tension still lingering in his expression from earlier, but it softened under your teasing.
“Yes you absolutely are,” you shot back, grinning up at him with bright, tipsy eyes. You pushed up onto your toes—wobbling again—and stole another kiss, this one slower, more deliberate, your body leaning fully into his. “Big strong footballer taking care of his girl. Making sure no one else talks to me. Passing me water like it’s an order.” Between kisses you kept the playful pressure on, your voice dropping into something flirtatiously sweet. “Admit it. You hated that guy chatting me up.”
Jude exhaled a quiet laugh against your mouth, the sound vibrating through his chest. He didn’t pull away. Instead he kissed you back, deeper for a moment, then redirected with that same effortless control—lips trailing slowly down the side of your neck again, teeth grazing lightly in a teasing bite that made your breath hitch. “You’re trouble when you’re like this,” he murmured against your skin, hand steady at your waist as he kept you upright. His touch stayed sensual, affectionate, but grounded—never letting the moment tip too far while the car was still minutes away.
You hummed happily, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck as you melted further against him. The teasing hung in the air between kisses, light and warm, the subtle undercurrent of his earlier mood still present but wrapped in the easy intimacy of the night winding down.
The minutes outside the club stretched lazily, the cool Madrid night air doing little to temper the warmth still buzzing under your skin. You stayed wrapped around Jude like that for a good while longer, the teasing flowing as easily as the laughter between you. He kept one arm locked securely around your waist, holding you steady while his other hand occasionally adjusted the strap of your bag on his shoulder or passed the water bottle back to your lips.
You drank when prompted, but mostly you used the moments in between to push your luck, wobbling deliberately on your heels just to feel his grip tighten, pressing closer until your bodies were flush, your fingers tracing the line of his collarbone beneath his shirt.
“You’re so jealous,” you murmured again, voice syrupy and provocative as you tilted your head up, lips brushing the underside of his jaw. “Admit it. You wanted to drag me away the second he smiled at me.”
Jude huffed a quiet laugh, the sound warm against your hair. “You’re winding me up on purpose now.” His hand slid lower on your back, steadying you as you shifted your weight again, one heel catching awkwardly on the pavement. “Careful.”
You giggled, the sound bright and unfiltered, and did it again—just a little wobble, enough to make him pull you tighter against his chest. “See? Bossing me around." Your hand wandered down his side, playful and bold.
He shook his head, but you could feel the smile in the way his cheek pressed against your temple. “You’re trouble,” he said again, lower this time, the words laced with affection. For several long minutes you stayed like that, talking about nothing, really. Teasing him about the way he’d watched you drink the water, giggling when he tried to defend himself, stealing lazy kisses that tasted like champagne and the night air.
He indulged you, kissing you back whenever you asked, sometimes deepening them until your fingers tightened in his shirt, sometimes redirecting with slow trails down your neck that left you shivering pleasantly. The city hummed softly around you, distant traffic and the occasional passing car, but it all felt far away.
When the black luxury van finally pulled up—sleek, tinted windows, the driver stepping out to open the door with quiet professionalism—Jude’s demeanor shifted. He kept his arm around you, guiding you toward the open door, but his voice dropped into something more serious, steady, and low.
“Alright, that’s enough of that,” he said, the words firm but not harsh, carrying that natural authority he slipped into when he needed to be the grounded one. “You keep pushing and I’ll have to put you in your place when we get home. Behave for five minutes, yeah?”
The warning wasn’t a threat, it was Jude, looking after you in the way he always did, serious enough that you knew he meant it, but wrapped in the same care that had defined the whole night. You pouted dramatically as he helped you into the backseat, but the giggle that followed ruined the effect.
Inside the van the world narrowed to soft leather seats, dim ambient lighting, and the smooth hum of the engine as it pulled away from the curb. Jude settled beside you, immediately pulling you close so your head could rest on his shoulder. He took your heels off without being asked, setting them neatly on the floor, then draped his jacket over your lap when you shivered lightly.
You were still giggling at first, tipsy and affectionate, trying to climb into his lap with clumsy determination, lips seeking his again.
“Baby,” he murmured, catching your hips gently but firmly before you could fully straddle him. “Not here.” He redirected you back down beside him with effortless strength, kissing your forehead instead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth—slow, soothing presses that calmed the restless energy without shutting it down completely. “Settle. You're drunk, baby.”
You pouted again, dramatic and sleepy now, but the fight drained out of you quickly. The gentle motion of the car, the warmth of his body, and the long night finally caught up. You melted against his side, head heavy on his shoulder, fingers loosely tangled in the front of his shirt.
“You’re so sweet,” you mumbled, voice softening into something smaller and more vulnerable. “Taking care of me all night… even when I’m annoying.”
Jude’s arm tightened around you, his free hand coming up to stroke your hair in slow, rhythmic passes. “Not annoying,” he said quietly, lips brushing the top of your head. “Just happy, I like you happy.”
You hummed contentedly, eyes already drifting shut as the city lights continued to streak past the windows. “I love you,” you whispered, the words slurred with sleep and affection, genuine and unguarded. “So much.”
He pressed another kiss to your hair, holding you closer as your breathing evened out. “Love you too, darling. Get some rest. I’ve got you.”
The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence, just the low hum of the engine and the steady warmth of him beside you, carrying you home.
author's note — don't even know what to comment i'm sleepy as fuck and my back is killing me. if this sucks blame the pre-season because apparently i suffered through it too.
summary: After waking up from surgery still under anesthesia, you meet a ridiculously pretty stranger who claims to be your boyfriend. Convinced he's too perfect to be real, you spend the next hour flirting with him.
word count: 2.1 k
warnings: fluff, post-surgery / anesthesia humor, memory loss (temporary), established relationship, bucky barnes being soft, tooth-rotting fluff, mild embarrassment, idiots in love.
a/n: how crazy is that there's already +400 people following me now? I started working on this thing when I was a bit under 300 and timing was crazy. So I saw this tiktok & came with this silly idea lol not used to writing this much fluff, but I hope you enjoy it. (Also, update on rockstar!Bucky coming soon.) | dividers by @enchanthings
You blinked down slowly, the world swimming into focus in patches of white and blue. Hospital room, beeping machines, and— oh.
There was a man sitting beside your bed. A really really pretty man. Dark hair, sharp jaw, shoulders that looked like they were personally crafted by Michelangelo. And his eyes, of the most ridiculous shade of blue you've ever seen.
"Hi," you breathed, the word slurring slightly. "Are you real?"
The pretty man's lips twitched into a smile. "Yeah, sweetheart, I'm real. How you feeling?"
"Floaty," you admitted, trying to lift your hand but it felt like it weighted a thousand pounds. "Everything's… soft. Are you a nurse? You're the prettiest nurse I've ever seen."
He laughed and the sound made your fuzzy brain light up. "I'm not a nurse, baby. I'm Bucky, your boyfriend."
You squinted at him suspiciously. "No."
"No?"
"No," you said firmly. "Because if you were my boyfriend I'd definitely remember. I would remember so hard you'd be all I ever thought about. I'd be insufferable about it."
"You're insufferable about it," he said, grinning now. He reached out and took your hands, his thumb stroking over your knuckles. One hand was warm, the other was cool metal. "You literally have a folder on your phone called 'Bucky being pretty' with like three hundred photos in it."
Your eyes went wide. "I do?"
"Yes, you do."
"…can I see?"
"After you're more awake." He was trying so hard not to laugh. "The nurse said you'd be loopy for a bit."
"I'm not loopy," you insisted, then immediately contradicted yourself by reaching up to poke his face. "You're loopy. Your face is loopy. Too pretty, not fair." Your finger booped his nose. "Boop."
Bucky caught your hand before you could poke him again, pressing a kiss to your palm. The gesture was so tender it made your drugged heart skip. "You tell me that a lot."
"Well, it is true." You tried to sit up and failed spectacularly. Bucky immediately stood up, his hands gentle as he helped adjust your pillows. "Woah, you're really tall too. How tall are you? Like eight feet?"
"Just six feet, baby."
"That's so many feet." You grabbed at his jacket as he tried to sit back down. "Wait, come back. I need to look at you more."
"I'm right here." But he stayed standing, letting you stare up at him with unbashed wonder.
"Your eyes are blue," you announced, like you'd discovered something groundbreaking.
"They are."
"Like… aggresively blue. Who gave you permission to have eyes that blue? That's illegal, you should be arrested." You gasped suddenly. "Wait, are you a criminal? Is that why you're in the hospital? Are you on the run?"
"I'm not on the run, I'm here because my girlfriend had surgery and I wanted to take care of her and make sure she was okay."
You processed this slowly, then after a minute of silence, you said: "Your girlfriend is so lucky."
"Yeah?" His smile was soft, affectionate in a way that made your chest warm even through the drug haze.
"Yeah. I hope she knows how lucky she is, if I had a boyfriend that looked like you—" you sighed dreamily. "I'd never let you leave, I'd just stare at you all day. I'd cancel plans, I'd call in sick to work 'sorry, can't come in, too busy looking at my boyfriend's face."
Bucky actually had to cover his mouth to hide his laughter. "That so?"
"Mmhmm…" You tried to focus on him but everything kept going a little fuzzy at the edged. "What's your girlfriend like? Is she pretty? She's probably pretty, you seem like you have good taste."
"She's beautiful," he said quietly. "Smartest person I know, funny, brave as hell, a little reckless sometimes, which gives me heart attacks. But yeah, she's pretty perfect."
Your drugged brain felt emotions about this that you couldn't quite name. "Wow, you really love her."
"More than anything."
"That's…" your eyes were getting misty. "That's so nice, everyone should be loved like that. I wanna be loved like that." You looked up at him with the saddest eyes. "Do you think anyone will ever love me like that?"
Bucky's expression did something complicated. He sat back down on the edge of your bed, taking both of your hands in his. "Baby… sweetheart, I'm talking about you. You're my girlfriend."
You blinked slowly. "…I am?"
"Yes."
"But…" You looked down at your hands, then back up at his face. "But you're so pretty."
"So are you."
"And nice, you seem really nice."
"You're nicer."
"And you have good hair." You reached up to touch it and he let you, patient as a saint while your clumsy fingers carded through the strands."It's so soft, do you condition? What's your routine? I need your routine."
"You bought me the conditioner," he said, amused. "You did a whole presentation about hair care."
"I did?" You perked up. "Was it good? Did I use a PowerPoint?"
"It was very thorough, had charts and everything."
"Past me is so smart." Your hand dropped from his hair to his face, cupping his cheek. Your thumb traced his cheekbone, then down to his jaw. "You have a really good bone structure, like… really good. Are you a model?"
"Not a model."
"You should be, you'd be great at it. You'd just stand there being pretty and everyone would throw money at you." You gasped dramatically. "Do you even have a job?"
"I'm an Avenger."
Your jaw dropped. "Like… the superheroes?"
"Yep."
"Oh my god, you're a superhero! A pretty superhero." You looked at him with renewed awe. "What's your power? Is it being pretty? Because that should count."
He was fully grinning now. "I've got a vibranium arm. Super soldier serum."
"Can I see the arm?"
Bucky glanced at the door, then shrugged off his jacket and rolled up his sleeve, revealing the black and gold vibranium arm. Your drugged gasp was deeply gratifying.
"That's so cool!" You grabbed at it, running your fingers over the plates. "It's pretty. You're pretty. Everything about you it's pretty… do you sparkle in the sunlight?"
"That's vampires, baby."
"Are you a vampire?"
"No."
"Are you sure? Because you look like you could be a vampire. A really hot vampire." You squinted at him. "Smile, let me see your teeth."
He humored you, smiling wide. You peered at his teeth very seriously. "Okay not a vampire, just a regular pretty person." You seemed satisfied with his conclusion. "Can I tell you a secret?"
"Always."
You leaned in conspiratorially, nearly falling out of the bed. Bucky caught you easily, steadying you. "I think I have a crush on you."
"Do you now?"
"The biggest crush. An embarrassing crush." You bit your lip. "But you have a girlfriend so I shouldn't be saying this… that's not good etiquette, I apologize." You tried to look serious. "I respect your relationship, even though I'm dying inside.
"Noted," he was shaking with silent laughter now. "What if I told you that you're the girlfriend?"
"Then I'd say you're lying because there's no way—" you gestured vaguely at him. "—that someone who looks like that would date someone like me."
"And what's someone like you?"
"You know, regular, average… not a superhero. Probably have weird hobbies." You paused. "Do I have weird hobbies?"
"I don't thinks is weird, but you enjoy collecting vintage objects—"
"See? Boring."
"I think it's cute."
You stared at him. "Okay, but if we're actually dating—which I still don't believe—but IF we are, then I need to know some things…"
"Shoot."
"Have I kissed you?"
"Many times."
Your hand flew to your mouth. "Oh my god."
"Just yesterday you kissed me goodbye like five times because you kept forgetting things and having to come back inside."
"What else? What else have we done? Have we—" You lowered your voice to a whisper. "—held hands?"
"We live together."
The machine monitoring your heart started beeping faster. "We what?"
"We share an apartment… have for three months now. We meal prep on Sundays—"
"That's so domestic!" You clutched his hand tighter. "Oh my god, am I living my dream? Is this real life?"
"Very real life."
"Prove it. Tell me something only my boyfriend would know."
Bucky thought for a moment, his smile going soft. "You talk in your sleep, usually about work, but sometimes you just say random stuff. Last week you had a full conversation whether cats understand democracy. You also steal all the blankets and I have to burrito wrap you to get any covers. And when you're really tired, you make me play with your hair until you fall asleep."
Your eyes were getting watery again. "That sounds nice."
"It is nice, the best part of my day."
"Even the blanket stealing?"
"Even that."
A nurse peeked in, smiling at the scene. "How's our patient doing?"
"She's very high," Bucky said.
"I'm in love," you corrected, squeezing his hand. "With him, this pretty man. He says he's my boyfriend but I think he might be a hallucination because he's too perfect."
The nurse laughed. "He's been here since they brought you in, hasn't left your side."
"Really?" You looked up at Bucky with wonder.
"Really," he confirmed.
The nursed checked your vitals, adjusted your IV and gave you some ice chips to suck on. "The anesthesia should wear off in another hour or so. You'll probably be pretty tired though."
After she left, you went back to staring at Bucky. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Anything."
"If we're dating, can I kiss you?"
His smile could've powered the sun. "You don't have to ask for permission, sweetheart. But maybe wait until you're a little less loopy?"
"What if I forget? What if the drugs wear off and I forget that I'm allowed to kiss you and I just pine forever?"
"Then I'll remind you. Like I do every morning."
"Every morning," you repeated dreamily. "We have mornings together. Plural mornings."
"So many mornings." You yawned suddenly, the exhaustion hitting you. Bucky stood and adjusted your bed so you could lie back more comfortably. "Get some rest, baby."
"Will you stay?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
"Promise." He settled back into the chair, but kept hold of your hand.
"Bucky?"
"Yeah?"
"When I wake up and I'm not high anymore, will you still be this pretty?"
He brought your joined hands up and kissed your knuckles, his eyes crinkling with tat smile you'd apparently been cataloging in a folder for months. "Guess you'll have to wait and see."
"Can't wait," you mumbled, eyes already drifting closed. "Gonna wake up with the prettiest boyfriend in the world."
"Get some sleep, sweetheart."
"Okay, but just so you know—" you forced your eyes open one more time to look at him. "—if we really are dating, then I'm the luckiest person alive."
"Funny, I was thinking the same thing."
You fell asleep with his hand in yours, the steady beep of the monitors, and a smile on your face.
Two hours later.
You woke up slowly, the fog clearing from your brain. Everything came back in pieces—the surgery, the recovery room, and oh god, Bucky. Your boyfriend Bucky. Who you'd apparently hit on while high.
He was still there, slouched in the in the uncomfortable hospital chair, scrolling through his phone. When he noticed you were awake, his whole face lit up.
"Hey," he said softly. "Welcome back, how you feeling?"
"Mortified," you croaked. "Please tell me I didn't say anything too embarrassing."
His grin was evil. "Define too embarrassing."
"Bucky—"
"You told me I should be arrested for having blue eyes. You asked if I sparkled in the sunlight. You said you had a crush on me and then apologized because you didn't want to disrespect my relationship."
You covered your face with both hands. "Oh my god."
"Oh and you called my face 'loopy'". He was definitely laughing now. "And you said you'd call in sick to work just to stare at me all day."
"I hate you."
"No you don't. You love me, you told me so multiple times, very emphatically." He stood and came to bed, gently pulling your hands away from your face. "For the record, I recorded about five minutes of it."
"You what?!"
"For posterity." His eyes were sparkling with mischief. "And for the next time you try to say I'm not pretty."
"I didn't—I don't—" You couldn't even form a defense. "You are pretty."
"So you keep telling me." He leaned down and kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. "Feeling better?"
"Physically, yes. Emotionally, destroyed."
"Well the good news is the surgery went great. The bad news is I'm definitely showing that video at our wedding."
"Bucky!"
But you were smiling, and so was he, and honestly? You'd embarrass yourself a hundred times over if it meant waking up to that face. Even if you already knew you were allowed to kiss it.
Dr Brendon Park x Attending!Wife!Reader, The Pitt x Reader
Find My Pitt Masterlist here
Everyone swore that you and PTMC's Shark were sworn enemies. As you shoot him biting quips and retorts each time your paths crossed. You were one of the most kindhearted and considerate attending they worked alongside...so what was it about Park that elicited such feisty remarks?
It might have something to do with the ring that's tucked beneath your scrubs around a chain upon your neck.
Turns out Park isn't quite the lone Shark everyone assumed him to be.
Notes: some strong language, misconceptions, tooth rotting fluff and softness, some pregnancy mentions, Shark being so down bad for you even as you insult him in the middle of a trauma consult 💗shark tale references
Word Count: ~2.4k
It was a known fact in the Pitt that the infamous Dr Brendon Park.
Was notorious for being intimidating.
Piercing eyes, a sharpness to his movements, biting words.
Blunt and lacking any softness.
Teeth bared.
Living up to his namesake.
The Shark of PTMC.
If ever there was a time he was called down.
Med students and interns alike would scatter. Escaping the wrath of his path if it were possible.
Only for some poor student to be on the receiving end of the Shark’s pointed look. As he asked with a harshness that honestly should be reviewed by HR…
But he was the best of the best.
No one could deny that.
Even if his social skills could use a little softening.
Not that anyone would tell that to his face. In fear he would simply bite back, “Do you want me to save lives or do you want me to make tea and bake a cake for you? Cause I don’t have time for both”
The only other person to ever be on par with him.
Was you.
The attending that was kind to everyone who worked with you.
You, who was fair tempered. Humorous and light hearted. Direct when necessary.
You were an aspiration to all the med students and interns that passed through the Pitt.
You had a tenderness to your approach.
One they assumed had been garnered from your years being a mother to three.
A fact that you loved to talk about when time allowed. Speaking sweetly about your three little sweethearts.
There were your two girls, Frankie and Finn. Your two fraternal twin girls who were polar opposites to each other. Acting like day and night.
Where one was sunshine incarnate, as the other was pensive as the glistening moonlight.
But they tried their best to mimic one another despite not being identical.
They were witty and intensely curious in their own way. Bright eyed and in your opinion behaved a lot like their father, opinionated and forthright.
You also had your eldest son, Lenny.
Considerate and kindhearted, who was often compared to your own self. He loved watching out for his younger sisters, helping guide them.
Such as the best way to get out of trouble...
They were the apples of your eye.
And filled your heart with immense joy. It was clear you were overwhelmed by a happy home life. With a supportive husband by your side.
One that, come to think of it, you’d never mentioned him by name?
Too busy rambling on about what your kids had gotten up to. Asking Cassie for advice every now and again, considering her son Harrison was a few years older.
Hearing about your home life was always a little bit of a bright spot. And humorous as you retold stories of what they had gotten up to.
Even if it was a little chaotic. You wouldn’t change them.
You were thoughtful with everyone in the ER. Paying attention to their questions and concerns.
Remembering little details. Asking about how they were. An open hand for if times became difficult or they simply needed an open ear.
Lightening the mood when things became heavy. Or simply being by their side, quiet and reassuring.
Though as it appeared to everyone else.
The only person who didn’t afford your kindness.
Was Park the Shark.
For one reason or another it appeared as though you and Park were sworn enemies. Always locked in a battle of wits every time you crossed paths.
As you retorted dryly.
Face plastered with a smugness that only seemed to appear as Park entered the ER.
It was rare and only on occasion. Whenever he came down. Stern as he crossed the threshold into the trauma bays. Eyes analytical and observant. Straight to the point. You often gravitated towards him whenever he appeared.
It was always a spectacle.
If not at least a little satisfying to watch you go toe-to-toe with PTMC’s Shark.
There was a feistiness that his presence seemed to elicit from you.
As you muttered with folded arms, shaking your head as he’d respond with the bluntness of a rusted saw.
“Oh, fuck off,” you’d huff.
Clicking your tongue if he ever insulted a med student while in your presence, “Don’t be such a prick”
Shaking your head with a sarcastic quip, “Could you be any more tactless”
Passing phrases that you simply slipped into the conversation whenever the opportunity presented itself.
Insults and retorts that made everyone hold their breaths.
Lying in wait for Shark to retaliate. To shoot you a stone cold glare. Before ripping you a new one.
But the retaliation never comes.
No matter how harsh your retorts are. Or how many times you tell him to piss off.
He only rolls his eyes. Simply biting his tongue in exasperation. Never once snapping at you.
This isn’t to say you’re always abrasive towards him. Just most times. Enough times for everyone in the ER to believe you hated the man.
And no one would blame you if you did. It just felt as though you didn’t really have a reason to.
Park was never outright rude to you. Never dismissive towards you. If anything he seemed. Nice?
It was puzzling for many.
Most swept the interactions under the rug.
Simply passing it off as Shark knowing when he was beat. When it was best to let things slide. Knowing better than to attack you with his brusque nature.
Never realising how your words lacked bite as you directed them to him.
Only ever focusing on the content. And never the delivery. Or the glint in your eyes when you crossed paths.
Until one day.
Joy, the new med student, simply asks outright. Abrupt as Park finishes a consult, after you had once again thrown a quippy remark his way.
“Aren’t you going to retaliate? Dr L/N literally just called you an asshole,” the question fell out of her. “You’ve yelled at me for less. Surely this goes against all of HR’s policies”
She had said the very words that were on everyone’s mind.
The very question no one had ever dared broach before.
Park simply raises a brow. Lips pulled taut, at her question. Letting out a huff. His eyes darted to meet yours.
A deadpanned expression crossing his features.
Is she serious?
While you bite your lip, holding back the laugh threatens to bubble out. Until it eventually succeeds, the laughter echoing brightly and freely around the room.
Thankfully the patient before you was sedated. Otherwise who knows how unprofessional this would come across to them.
The sound of laughter bubbling out of you, catches everyone in the room off guard. Freezing them in place.
While Park only sighs, shaking his head as a small chuckle escapes him.
Only furthering their confusion.
They felt like they were having a stroke.
Had the world turned on its head? What the fuck was happening right now?
The Park the Shark.
Infamous for his steely, cold demeanor.
Was laughing?
What had the world come to.
Perhaps it was the apocalypse, the end of the world, aliens had finally decided to invade Earth…
All of which seemed far more likely than witnessing Shark laugh.
Eventually you catch your breath, wheezing slightly as you muster out, “He has no right in telling me off, not when I birthed his three kids”
“You’re the one that wanted a big family,” He remarked.
Your lip quirks into a knowing smirk, teasing and light hearted as you retorted, “I distinctly remember that being you who said that”
All of the words that come from the two of you only leave the people in the room further left in a pitt of confusion.
“What the fuck?” Santos had muttered beneath her breath.
“He’s my husband”
“She’s my wife”
You had stated at the same time. As you add, brows furrowing in thought, “I’m sure I’ve mentioned him before?”
“No you have not! We were not picturing Shark when you said your husband was considerate and kind?”
You shrug, stifling your laugh. “He is considerate and kind when he wants to be”
Blinking in realisation, turning to Park, “Also, did you remember to pick up Finn’s soccer cleats?”
He nods, “Of course I did, they’re in the car for her”
“Good,” You nod with a bright smile, “Thank you”
“You know I’d do anything for you,” he murmurs, as you slide into the space beside him. Pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your head.
You pat his back, catching his lips with yours as you lean up. Before clapping your hands, “Ok. Let’s not hold you up any further, I’ll see you later, handsome,” You winked.
A quirk of his lips, as they curve into a smile. Fond. Appreciative.
“Love you”
As the others around you murmur.
“I think I preferred when they hated each other,” Santos commented.
While Whitaker responded, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, “I feel like my head is about to combust”
Moving back through the ER, as the trauma room is cleared. You are trailed behind by a flock of med students and nurses, all wanting to know how it was possible that you.
You, who was always so considerate and kind hearted.
Was married to Park the Shark?
It made no sense to them.
“How long have you been married?” Mohan asked.
While Princess added, “Forget that, how long have you been together?”
You replied as you moved to complete some charting, “Married for 9 years, almost 10 next month” pulling out the chain that always hung around your neck, tucked beneath your scrubs. As a pair of rings dip low pulling the chain down, one of which had a beautiful light blue diamond sparkling brightly. “We’ve known each other for well over 15 years, met through some mutual friends from med school”
“Has he always been like this?-” Javadi begins, failing to reach an apt description for Park.
“Like?” you raised a brow.
“So Shark like?” Jesse interjected, as Javadi snapped her fingers in agreement with the description.
“I mean kind of. But only as menacing as a whale shark to me,” you grin.
He had been brash when you first met. But the sharpness of his attitude had eroded and softened over time. You wouldn’t be with him otherwise.
And he knew that if he didn’t change.
You might’ve slipped from his grasp.
“So you have three kids together?” Langdon questions. Also intrigued by the news of your relationship.
Nodding with prideful glee, “Lenny, Frankie and Finn”
“Finn?” Cassie grinned, “That doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that Park’s nicknamed Shark does it?”
“Well. Maybe” You replied.
“....All three might be influenced by that fact actually”
“No”
“How did you manage that?”
“How did you get him to agree!?”
“I feel like everything I’ve ever known about you is a lie…in the best way possible”
A flood of questions only managed to bog you down further.
“Does anyone here know the movie Shark Tale?” you always chuckled to yourself each time you were reminded as to what led you to your children’s names.
The group around you murmured with faint acknowledgement of the movie, “Lenny and Frankie are sharks in the movie, so it felt fitting, and well, Finn is pretty self explanatory”
It had started as a little inside joke. Just for yourself.
Not even Brendon had caught on to the theme.
Simply excited and so in love with you.
Lenny.
You had softly spoken the name, whispered to the tiny little baby boy in your arms. Testing how it felt to slip from your tongue.
In your eyes it was the perfect name for your first child. You had hooked Brendon into picking the name by explaining how it meant to be brave as a lion.
So Brendon couldn’t resist.
Not when you whispered that name with such reverence.
And then in the lead up to your due date, throughout your secondary pregnancy. As he stayed by your side closely. Attentive and dutiful towards you.
Taking care of everything. Evenings after he’d put Lenny to sleep, he’d sit on the couch gently rubbing your feet.
You would talk aloud about the names you liked for your twin girls.
Frankie
That was one that had caught his attention.
You did always love the song Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli. So he simply assumed that was where the name came from.
It simply helped that it was derived from the name Francesca, meaning to be free. Independent. And if that wasn’t something he wished for his baby girl. He didn’t know what else there was to hope for.
And he was none the wiser.
To the fact that those names had been derived from a film. One that was unhinged and hilarious.
One that had sharks called Lenny and Frankie.
He had no idea his children were going to be named after sharks….
Well.
Not until you insisted on the name Finn.
That was the very name when you knew the jig would be up.
The moment you would finally have to reveal. Brendon Park’s kids’ names were all Shark themed…
But in that moment where you suggested the name.
And he had no right to go against you.
Not when you had just gone through 10 hours of labour to birth the twins….
Not that he even considered arguing with you over it. Finding the inside joke equally amusing.
He simply sighed with a small smile, kissing your head sweetly, in your arms the little bundle of endless possibility and within his own arms wrapped neatly was Frankie.
Murmuring softly, “Whatever you wish, love”
He might be brash and blunt with everyone else.
But for you.
And your three little kids.
He was as soft and pliable as playdough.
Even as you teased him relentlessly at work. Putting him in his place, just as you had done all those years ago. When you had first met.
Unafraid and bold.
It was what had made him fall in love with you after all.
He was so fucking grateful for you.
And if it meant naming your kids Shark themed names.
Then he would do whatever it took to keep that bright smile upon your face.
To be able to love and to hold you tightly.
As you kissed him softly.
Loving him tenderly.
You were his home.
Reeling him back to you.
You had him, hook, line and sinker.
And that was perfectly fine by him.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. Once again I indulge myself. Soft Park the Shark for his lover. Also who doesn't love a little secret relationship trope?? And I literally couldn't help myself with the kids names, I thought it was funny and sweet. (Shark Tale in my opinion is a hilarious film, nostalgia filled opinion) Let me know what you think! ✨
Read Part 2: Hooked On A Feeling Here!
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Or check out my overall Masterlist here
Jungkook knew by the third time whatever you were doing was far from innocent. The first time had been easy to ignore. You'd stepped closer while he was grabbing a drink, hand gliding down his grey vest as if there was something to fix, even though it was already perfect.
Then while eating, you'd brushed your hand over his thigh under the table. Although it's a habitual action but your fingers trailed a little too high and dangerously close to where he was already starting to feel the strain in his pants.
Later, when his aunt was showing some old photographs, his hand had rested politely on your waist, while you pressed back almost grinding against his crotch without anyone noticing.
God, you've kept testing his patience since you both arrived here.
From your side, it really wasn’t your fault.
Your husband looked disgustingly hot tonight. The white shirt, the grey vest, the diamond brooch you'd gotten him and those fucking gold rings on his fingers. Your husband looked straight out of a scandalous magazine no less.
It had been too long since he’d properly touched you.
And by too long you mean this morning which only consisted of a desperate makeout session against the dressing table until his dad had called to remind not to be late for the family gathering.
so here he was- looking like pure sin in front of everyone while you were starving for your husband's touch. it's only fair enough to make him suffer too, right. But as you continued with your evil plan of torturing him with your little touches, you began enjoying it too much.
Jungkook was barely holding it together now. He's trying to look relaxed but you knew him too well. Oh, how he wishes if he could just bend you over this instant and fuck that brattyness out of you.
“Aigoo, I left my reading glasses in the kitchen.”
“I’ll get them for you, halmeoni.” You give her a sweet smile before making your to the kitchen.
The moment you reach for the glasses on the counter, a very familiar tattooed arm slams against the cabinet beside your head.
You turn around to find the man you've been successfully avoiding to meet alone. Jungkook’s other hand lands on your hip trapping you between his arms as he presses himself into you. You could absolutely feel the unmistakable bulge pressing against your body.
“What are you doing?” You try to keep your voice innocent.
Jungkook scoffs. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he tilts his head. “You find this funny, huh?”
You try to bite back your smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about..”
“Keep up with the act and I’ll bend you over this counter right fucking now."
You gulp because your husband may or may not be kidding about this.
“Halmeoni!” you gasp looking at the doorway behind him.
Jungkook jerks back so fast he nearly loses his balance.
By the time he figures there's no one behind, you're snatching the glasses off the counter and dart past him with a bright giggle as you escape the kitchen.
“You little—”
He shakes his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair with a mix of amusement, adjusting his pants to hide his very obvious problem created by his wife.
--
By evening, it’s worse.
Much worse.
The garden's lit up with warm string lights filled with fun chattering and laughters.
But not for Jungkook, because he’s been on edge for hours now and it’s starting to show.
You see it in the way his fingers keeps drumming impatiently, in how his attention drifts back to you no matter who he’s talking to.
Which only makes it harder not to smile.
You sit on the grass with his niece, completely occupied as she shows you her new hair clip collection, nodding along, sharing a laugh at whatever she’s explaining.
“Really?” you speak clipping one on her. “That’s your favorite?”
She nods enthusiastically putting a few on your hair too.
“Are you staying?” she suddenly asks, looking up at you with hopeful eyes.
"Uhh.."
“Stay.” She fists lightly at your dress with her little hand. “Please?"
You soften instantly and glance up to meet Jungkook’s eyes.
The second he sees that look on your face he knows exactly what you’re about to do.
“No, we can't—”
“We can stay,” you say at the same time, smiling down at her.
You don’t look at your husband right away.
because you already know what you’ll see.
and when you finally do glance up—
Yeah.
There it is.
You actually have to press your lips together to stop a laugh.
Of course you didn't intend to stay the night but you also didn't have the heart to say no to his cute little niece. As the night stretches on everyone's scattered. Some have already gone to bed while others lounge in watching an old movie.
You’re curled up on a big sofa, laughing along with Jungkook’s cousins. Jungkook sits across from you joining in here and there.
It’s almost midnight and you’re still showing zero urgency to leave. Your usually patient husband is hanging on by a thread. Jungkook stands up after a moment before letting you know he's heading to bed and you sure catch the sharp edge in his voice when he looks at you.
You give it another twenty minutes before making your way down the room in the hallway where you always stay in whenever you visit.
Your eyes try to adjust to the darkness of the room.
Did Jungkook really fall asleep?
You did tease him a lot today. He’s been worked up since morning and you spent the entire day pushing his buttons.
You pout closing the door behind you. What if he actually got annoyed and decided to just sleep?
The thought barely forms before strong hands grab your waist from behind and you're pinned against the door.
Jungkook’s hand slides up gripping your jaw to tilt your head back. You catch the intensity radiating off him as the moonlight spills through the thin curtains.
He breaths out dangerously calm.
“Had too much fun today, didn't you?” His body burns hot against yours. He only has his trousers on. You can feel how painfully hard he is as his thick length of his cock presses insistently against your ass.
His thumb brushes over your bottom lip almost too possessive.
“My turn now.”
A soft whimper escapes your lips the moment he speaks into your ear. One of his large palm squeezes your waist while the other slides down along your thigh.
You whimper again pressing back against him seeking more friction. The movement makes him growl in warning.
He reaches for the zipper at the back of your dress and yanks it down almost roughly making it pool at your feet. For a second you think he’s finally going to fuck you senseless against the door. but you know your husband too well. After all the teasing you put him through today- he’s going to make you pay for every single second of it first.
You almost whine the moment you feel the loss of his heat. You hear the sound of him unbuckling his belt. Turning around fully, you find Jungkook has dropped his trousers. Sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but his black boxers.
The obscene bulge straining against it only adds more to your wetness.
“Come here.”
Your legs feel weak as you walk towards him.
His gaze drops to your panties. “Off.”
You do as he says, sliding off your drenched fabric down your legs.
Jungkook taps his thick thigh once, manspreading wider. You already know exactly what he wants.
The moment your dripping core makes contact with his veiny muscle, a sharp gasp leaves your lips. His thigh is warm and firm and slightly rough with a light dusting of hair that drags deliciously against your sensitive folds.
Your arms hook around his neck for balance as you begin to rock your hips forward.
His eyes stay locked on where your pussy is pressed, watching the way your slick glistens on his skin.
His muscle flexes beneath you, pressing harder against your clit. Your head falls forward onto his shoulder with a broken moan.
“Jungkoo-” You can feel how wet you are by how easily you’re gliding over his thigh. Jungkook leans back on his palms flat on the bed behind him.
He doesn’t touch you even once. Even as his cock is straining hard against his boxers leaving a wet patch from watching you use him.
Normally, Jungkook’s hands and mouth are always on you. So you know he's deliberately making you suffer.
You moan louder as desperation starts to build. Your slick is dripping down his thigh now.
“Kook.. please”
You become needy. You’re aching for his hands, for his mouth, for anything he's willing to give.
Your hands slide down his chest, pressing against the hard planes of muscle. You need more. You need him to touch you.
You dip your head and bite down on his shoulder making him hiss through his teeth.
“Kook.. touch me..”
Your voice comes out in a pathetic whimper.
Jungkook exhales through his nose in a mock.
You whine loudly, hips stuttering against his thigh as you try to chase the pleasure but it's not enough. It’s almost painful not having your husband’s hands on you when you need him the most.
Your hand moves down to palm him over his boxers. Jungkook lets out a groan jerking up into your touch.
One moment you're riding his thigh and the next you find yourself thrown onto the bed.
“You’re not getting to touch me soon.”
His words vibrate against your skin as he licks a stripe from the column of your throat.
“My wife's been such a brat."
You whimper trying to reach for him again but he catches both of your wrists in one large hand and pins them above your head. Jungkook reaches for something beside you and you know from the feel of it that it's the grey tie he wore. He ties the silk around your wrists tight enough that you feel the gentle bite of restraint.
Jungkook sits back admiring his work. His eyes rake slowly over your body while his fingers barely touch over your belly. Jungkook’s eyes darken even more as he watches you squirm beneath him.
He buries his head into the crook of your neck, teeth sinking into the soft skin to make you gasp followed by the wet heat of his mouth as he sucks hard.
He pulls back up to hover his lips barely an inch away from your own, so close you can feel the warmth of his whiskey breath. You chase his mouth, lips parting in plea to pull him down into a proper kiss. Jungkook exhales a low laugh against your lips. Your back archs as he unclasps your bra.
“You know the safe word?” he speaks against your skin as he starts kissing his way down between the valley of your breasts.
You whine nodding frantically, too worked up to form proper words.
He pauses above your left nipple, his warm breath fanning over the hardened peak.
“words, sweetheart.”
“yes.. jungkook, please—”
The plea barely leaves your mouth before he finally sucks hard around your nipple. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud while his hand continues its torturous path, fingers barely moving along your slick folds.
He alternates between sucking and gentle bites on your breast, then moves to the other one giving it the same attention. All the while, his fingers tease your entrance dipping in just the tip of one finger before pulling back.
You’re panting now, wrists straining against his tie, body arching up into his mouth and hand. Jungkook lifts his head, eyes locked on your flushed face as he continues his slow descent down your body, lips and tongue tracing a wet path over your stomach until he settles between your spread thighs.
When his eyes land on your pussy, a rough sound rumbles from his chest. A thin string of arousal clings to your inner thigh and every time your walls clench around nothing, more of it leaks out.
“I’m sorry,” your voice comes out as a broke whimper. “Sorry, Jungkook.. please”
It’s embarrassing how quickly the apology spills from your lips even though he hasn’t said a single word yet.
Jungkook hums against your thigh. He lifts your left leg angling it up to rest your ankle on his broad shoulder. The new position spreads you open even more for him, exposing your dripping pussy completely to his hungry gaze.
“Can’t hear you.” He places an open-mouthed kiss right on the inside of your ankle.
You whine pathetically.
“Kook, please...” Your voice cracks with desperation. “need you.. so bad. please—”
Jungkook's own desperation wins as he dips his head down dragging his tongue through your folds. The loud moan escapes you as your back arches for him. His hot tongue laps at you with deliberate strokes.
The cool silver of his lip rings only add more to your pleasure as he eats you out like a mad man. One of his hands grips your thigh tightly holding your leg in place on his shoulder while the other slides under your ass, tilting your hips up so he can bury his face deeper between your legs. You moan his name like prayers.
You bring your tied hands to thread your fingers into his hair. Jungkook groans loudly at the tug. His scalp stings from how hard you’re pulling but it only seems to spur him on.
You cry out from the pleasure of his relentless licking, sucking and kissing every inch of your dripping pussy.
You’re shaking. Whimpering. Already close to tears from how badly you need to come but Jungkook pulls back every time only to start the torturous cycle all over again.
“Hands above your head.” Jungkook spreads your folds open with two fingers before you feel the flat of his ring-clad fingers directly onto your swollen clit. You let out a sharp moan as the thick gold rings make contact with your overheated skin. "Fuck—”
He knows how much you love these. How fucking turned on you get every time you see them on his hands. He starts rubbing circles over your clit, letting them drag again and again adding a new kind of delicious friction that makes your toes curl.
Your arousal is leaking steadily down your thighs and onto the sheets beneath you more so coating his shiny gold.
“Look at you,” He murmurs opening you up more. “Dripping all over my rings like a desperate little wife. You love feeling them on your pretty pussy, don’t you?”
You desperately pull down on your tied wrists against the sheets. Your hips twitch uncontrollably trying to grind against the cool metal.
Jungkook chuckles darkly.
He dips his fingers lower curling them deep.
Tears of pleasure stings your eyes as your husband mercilessly continues with fucking you with his fingers.
Every time your moans get louder, every time your pussy starts clenching too hard around his fingers he slows down or pulls back completely leaving you empty and throbbing.
You sob from the frustration and overwhelming pleasure. “I can’t.. koo.. please let me come..”
Jungkook leans down pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your inner thigh. “No,” he sounds almost gentle despite the cruel way he’s denying you.
“You’re gonna come only on my cock tonight.”
He flips you over onto your stomach as his possessive hands manhandle your body yanking your ass up high.
Your tied hands remain stretched above your head. Your back arches deeply, ass presented perfectly for him pussy dripping and exposed.
“Fuck, look at you,” He holds you in place with a bruising grip as he admires the view of his wife.
You finally finally feel the drag of Jungkook’s leaking cock through your soaked folds. The hot tip teases your clit all the way down to your entrance. You can’t help it as you push back against him trying to take him inside.
“My greedy little wife,” he lets out a chuckle.
Before you can form a single word he pushes in with a deep thrust. A loud cry rips from your throat. Jungkook’s cock finds home as he buries himself to the hilt. The sudden fullness makes your walls flutter wildly around him.
“Fuck- baby,” he groans, fingers digging harder into your waist.
He doesn’t give you any time to breathe. He pulls back almost all the way only to slam back in harder setting a brutal pace right away. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass fills the room, mixed with your broken moans and his low grunts.
Your hands fist the sheets above your head as he fucks you roughly from behind manhandling your body however he pleases.
“Take it,” his voice drips possession. “Take every fucking inch like you’ve been begging for all day.”
You’re so glad the rooms in this farmhouse are built soundproof because the noises spilling from your mouth are beyond obscene. Every brutal thrust forces another filthy sound out of you. wet slaps of skin against skin mixing with the squelch of your soaked pussy taking his cock.
Jungkook fucks you rough and deep. His relentless pace makes you see stars. pounding into you from behind as if he’s trying to fuck the brat right out of your body.
His hand slides up from your waist to cup your breast to grope the soft flesh roughly. His fingers find your hardened nipple and pinch it hard.
You cry out.
You’re so close already.
He tugs your hair back roughly with one hand making your back arch until it presses against his strong chest. A strangled moan rips from your throat. The new position has his cock hitting even deeper inside you.
His hand snakes up your body and wraps firmly around your throat making your moan turn choked.
“You don’t get to come until I say so."
He bites down on whatever part of your skin his mouth can reach. His teeth sink in to leave dark bruises, marking you up as he continues thrusting into you with punishing strokes.
“All fucking mine,” he growls right against your ear. His hand tightens slightly around your throat as he speaks. "Taking my cock so well.”
His other hand slides down your body pressing rubbing against your swollen clit.
The sudden added stimulation makes your entire body jerks violently as the orgasm crashes through you.
Tears spill freely from your eyes, sliding down into your hair as your walls clamp down around his cock like a vice. Your pussy gushes around him while he keeps thrusting through it until your legs shake uncontrollably.
"such a brat, aren't you."
You barely recover from the first orgasm of the night before your husband has you on your back.
You try focusing your blurry eyes on him.
Jungkook has his hand stroking his cock glistening with your sweet arousal. The sight of you wrecked and crying beneath him makes him more feral.
He moves on top of you taking your tied wrists and pins them above your head. His mouth crashes down on you hard.
Jungkook barely gives you a moment to breathe between his devouring kisses. You moan against his lips as his cock slides all the way in you again. His hand tightens around your wrists as he starts fucking you harder.
Though the Jeon house has highest grade furnitures but the way Jungkook fucks into you. you pray the bed doesn't break.
“Wanted your husband's cock so bad, didn’t you?” he punctuates each word with a hard thrust. “Now take it. All of it. It’s all yours, baby.”
You can only sob in pleasure as he fucks you into oblivion as he keeps pounding and pouring filthy praises just for you.
You feel like you’re floating in a dream.
You have no idea how many hours have passed. All you know is the endless pleasure of being pulled apart and put back together by your husband’s insatiable hunger.
His stamina is almost animalistic, reminding you of your honeymoon phase when he'd made love seven days a week. In your husband's words, he could never get enough of his beautiful wife.
Jungkook has always been quite experimental with your sex life. loves trying new things, toys, positions on you. but his absolute favourite is still classic missionary. because he gets to see your face when you come.
Jungkook has both of your legs pushed up over his shoulders now folding you in half as he drives into you insane. The angle is brutal, making your eyes roll back.
when he pulls your legs down making them wrap weakly around his waist. your thighs are barely able to hold onto him so Jungkook hooks one arm under your thigh holding it up for you. You’ve completely lost count of how many orgasms you’ve had tonight.
Your mind is too blissed out to keep track of anything and your husband just can’t seem to stop. Jungkook chases every broken moan that leaves your lips.
By the time he finally spills inside you for the last time, you’re more than completely spent.
Your body is covered in his marks. Your pussy is leaking his cum and your legs are shaking so badly you know with absolute certainty you won’t be able to walk properly tomorrow morning.
Jungkook collapses beside you holding you in his arms. You're too dizzy to figure what's happening anymore. But you sure feel your wrists getting lighter followed by so many soft kisses on them and your forehead and your cheeks before you finally pass out.
--
The first thing you register as you awaken are feather-light touches gliding over your skin along with lips trailing down your bare back. You stir letting out a hum.
Jungkook’s hand continues its slow caress down the curve of your waist, over the dip of your hip, then back up again. He becomes so soft after every intense night you spend together. It never not makes you fall for him harder each time.
Jungkook nuzzles his head into your neck while his hand slips between your legs with aching gentleness. His fingers almost caresses over your swollen folds.
A soft whine escapes you as turn around in his embrace, but the moment you do, a sharp hiss leaves your lips.
“Shit, baby” he speaks while his eyes look down to check. “hurts a lot?”
you nuzzle your face into his neck seeking his warmth.
“I can manage..” you mumble against his skin.
Jungkook places a kiss to your hair.
“I’ll cook your favourite pasta when we get home."
You immediately look up at him.
“Work?”
He brushes a hair aside from your face.
“Taking the day off.”
Your face lights up and you lean to peck his cheek.
“I’ll make cheesecake too.” Jungkook shows you his other cheek.
You smile childishly wrapping your arms around his neck smacking another one of your sweet pecks.
“And?”
He slides you closer by your waist, tangling your legs together with his.
“And I’m gonna give you a Jeon Jungkook special massage,” he finishes with a peck on your nose.
“And?” you tilt your head still grinning.
Jungkook lets out a quiet laugh.
“And I’m gonna spoil my wife so so much.” his thumb brushes over your cheek.
“You already do,” you lean in to kiss him properly on the lips. He chases your mouth when you try to pull away.
“Well, I’ll add more to that then." A shared giggle fills between you as Jungkook rolls on top of you and starts attacking you with more of his kisses.
summary: you and dennis get interrupted while you're...messing around in a call room.
pairings: dennis whitaker x RT!reader (respiratory therapist)
cw/tags: no use of y/n, established relationship, smut (mdni) with afab!reader, fingering, unprotected piv, hickeys, bruising (obviously), biting, typical pitt warnings (depiction of car crash victims and their treatment, involving needle decomps, intubations, medications, compressions, etc etc), inappropriate workplace conduct (fucking in a call room, teasing from your coworkers during an ongoing trauma AND after, sexually suggestive remarks, flirting), dennis' muscles being hot and distracting, you have hair long enough to be tied back in a nondescript way, mentions of you having cleavage and nipples and you’re given visible hickeys. the colour of said hickeys is NOT described so you can picture whatever shade they would be on your skin! other than that no descriptions of you!! swearing. also idk if dennis' chain is a cross but...i made it one in this....so if you would find biting religious paraphernalia offensive then do not read this...
word count: 4k
dennis x RT!reader masterlist
general masterlist
taglist
inspired by this ask from my lovely lotus flower 🪷 anon, @libbyqypu and 2 hands by tate mcrae, particularly the line 'cause I want them all to see, you look good on top of me' because he looks exceptional on top of you your honour
Today’s shift has been brutal.
Dennis has barely gotten a second to breathe all day, let alone chart or just sit down. Seven o’clock doesn’t come with the relief of finally getting to go home, no—it comes with the dread that he’ll be spending at least the next two hours catching up on notes, and he isn’t the only one. Trinity, Mel, and Frank are all scattered around at various computers, eyes half-closed and voices quiet as they dictate. Robby’s doing the same, minus the dictating—since he refuses to chart out loud for whatever reason.
You come downstairs, hoodie on over your scrubs and backpack on your shoulders, swinging your hospital-issued lanyard around your hand. Your eyes pick over the central hub until you find him, approaching quietly, not wanting to interrupt the sentence he’s in the middle of. He gives you a quick smile as he finishes up, then sets the device on the desk.
“Hey, you got my text, right?” He asks, pushing off his chair, standing up.
“Mhm,” You hum, thrusting an iced coffee in his direction, one you had run out to get when he told you he’d be staying late. “Thought this might help.”
His eyes light up, more than they already had at the sight of you, taking it and setting it on his workstation.
“It definitely will, thanks,” He says. “I’ll go grab the keys-”
“I’ll just hangout upstairs until you’re done,” You interrupt. “I already found a call room.”
He frowns. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” You insist. “Any chance you can spare fifteen minutes? I got dinner.”
Robby answers for him, sensing the way he’s about to decline and push through, even though he’s on his last legs.
“Go have dinner with your girlfriend, we’ll be here when you get back,” He says. You raise your eyebrows at Dennis expectantly, gesturing in Robby’s direction.
“Boss says it’s okay,” You add.
Dennis smiles, nodding. “Yeah, let’s go.”
He follows you upstairs, coffee in hand, rubbing his eyes a few times, trying to wake himself up. You push the call room door open, dropping your backpack on the desk, unzipping it and pulling out a few containers. It’s nothing too fancy, just some decent things from the cafeteria, but neither of you mind. You lay everything out while Dennis watches, eyes fond and chest warm.
Your hands grab the bottom of your hoodie, pulling it over your head, revealing the black long-sleeve underneath. You don’t think twice as you toss it onto the bed, still focused on setting things up. Meanwhile, Dennis’ eyes fall, landing on the sliver of your waist that’s exposed between your waistband and shirt. He swallows, blinking quickly, already feeling heat spreading over his neck and cheeks.
He’s almost gotten himself together by the time you’re done, but then you turn around.
The long-sleeve is a v-neck, one that would be wildly inappropriate if you hadn’t been wearing a scrub shirt on top for your shift. Your necklace, the one he had saved so hard to get for your first birthday after you started dating, glints against your skin. Your chest is exposed, curves of your cleavage on display. Your pants hang low on your hips, and he knows every inch of you so well by now that he can practically see them through the fabric.
“I didn’t have much to work with,” You admit. “Figured it was better than nothing.”
Dennis nods, stepping towards you. “Yeah, no, this is really sweet, angel.”
You smile when he grabs your waist, pulling you close, kissing you quickly.
“How mad would you be if I didn’t eat any of it?” He asks, voice just above a whisper, forehead resting against yours. You frown, face shifting with confusion, about to ask what’s wrong, he’s sure. He doesn’t let you.
“There are…other things I’d rather do with my time,” He adds, tightening his grip on you, both thumbs dipping under your waistband. “But it’s completely fine if you don’t want-”
You take a second to recover, the proposition shocking, but then you’re all in, cutting him off.
“Fuck the food,” You say lowly, looking over his shoulder towards the bed, the thrum of desire already settling in your stomach. He exhales, mouth tugging up into a small smile. He stares at you for a few seconds, then his lips are on yours again. It starts soft, but it spirals fast, your arms wrapping around his neck, lips locked. He slides his hands under your shirt, cold fingertips digging into your sides, sending a shiver down your spine.
He pulls back for a moment, lifting your shirt over your head, tossing it off to the side. Your heart pumps against your sternum, blood rushing to your chest as you reconnect. You grab either side of his face, trying to get impossibly close, lips haphazard and frantic. Dennis’ movements aren’t any more precise, guiding you away from the table until you feel the wall against your back, both of you almost tripping over your own feet. He reaches towards your spine, unclasping your bra, letting it fall to the floor.
He ducks his head down towards your chest, lips closing around your skin, nipping softly. You gasp, fingers threading through his hair as he leaves small bruises, barely leaving any skin unaffected. He eventually takes your nipple in his mouth, sucking hard.
“Ah, Den,” You sigh, tilting your head back, eyes closing. He unties your scrub pants, shuffling them down your thighs along with your thong. He comes back up, kissing you again, chest heaving. You whimper against him when he drops a hand down, pushing two fingers inside of you.
He doesn’t break the kiss as he pumps them up and down, feeling how you tighten momentarily, thighs clenching and legs already starting to quiver. You rock your hips in time with his fingers, needing more.
“What do you want from me, angel?” He asks, the question murmured against your lips.
You shake your head. “Anything you want.”
He lets out a breathy laugh, licking his lips. “Yeah, okay.”
You can still remember when you first started dating, when he would’ve asked if you were sure. Now he knows that you’re more than sure.
He pulls his scrub top off, along with the t-shirt he was wearing underneath. You watch his chain fall back against his chest, his muscles rippling as he throws his clothes aside. His collarbones catch your eye, and you kiss the left one, then the right. You nip at the bone, knowing how sensitive he is there, then you give him a bruise to match the myriad he’s given you. It throws his focus for a second, his breath catching with a soft groan.
He grabs the back of your thighs, setting you on the bed, climbing on top of you. He puts his lips back on you, starting just below your ribcage, leaving bruises and kisses all over your stomach. He continues down to your thighs, occasionally biting into your skin. You admire the gradient of hickeys he’s left, the ones on your chest already dark. You bite back a comment about him ‘marking his territory.’
He lifts his head, panting, one hand holding himself up on the mattress while he raises the other, turning his watch towards his face. The action is so unreasonably hot you have to bite the inside of your cheek to avoid moaning.
“Eight minutes,” He comments, looking at you. His eyes are dark, matching your own. “I can get you off-”
“Don’t worry about me,” You breathe, eyes flicking between his face and his chain, which is hanging off his neck, swinging back and forth lightly. “Just fuck me, please.”
He raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t object, especially when you reach out, fingers curling around the silver necklace. You tug on it, pulling him close. He fumbles with his own scrub pants, untying them and pushing them down, keeping them around his thighs. His muscles press against the elastic waistband, visibly flexing.
“Jesus fuck,” You say, making him look at you, eyes wide.
“Something wrong?” He asks, concern flashing on his features.
“No, no, fuck, you’re just-” You pause, his thigh muscles still commanding your attention. “I love you so much, and you’re so hot.”
He smiles, all worry washing away. “I love you too, baby.”
You gesture to his watch. “Eight minutes, Denny.”
“Right, right,” He says, shifting so he’s in line with you. You arch your back as he slides a hand underneath you, bracing your pelvis as he slowly pushes in. The lack of foreplay makes it hurts a bit more than usual, your face scrunching up, grip on his chain tightening. He watches you closely as he moves, making sure he’s not going too fast.
You wince at one point, and he freezes.
“You want me to stop?” He asks.
“No, please don’t,” You say, visibly relaxing a touch. “Keep going.”
Your eyes rolls back once he’s in, reaching for him. He lowers himself onto his elbow beside your head, his other hand coming up to your cheek. The feeling of cold metal on your chest makes you flinch, looking down to see where the bottom of the cross grazes your bruised skin.
“Jesus,” He murmurs, hitting your cervix easily. The cross moves with each thrust, occasionally hitting your jaw. “You feel amazing, angel.”
You moan in response.
“Shh, don’t want anyone hearing you,” He murmurs, adjusting so the pendant hangs above your mouth. You take it between your teeth.
He rolls his hips again, making your eyes flutter closed as you whine. Dennis looks you up and down, realizing that you’ll definitely be sensitive for the next few days while your bruises heal. He’s about to speak again when there’s a knock on the door.
You both go still, listening closely, not entirely sure if it was really a knock or just someone out in the hallway. Dennis turns his head towards the door, squinting.
“Was that-”
There’s another knock followed by his last name, then yours. It’s Lena, undoubtedly. Dennis is off you in a second, already pulling his pants back up. He scoops his t-shirt off the floor, yanking it over his torso while you do the same with your long-sleeve, pulling the thin blanket at the end of the bed over your exposed legs after. You reach your arms up, acting as though you’re tying your hair back when he turns around, making sure you’re decent before opening the door.
“Hey, Lena,” He greets. “Everything okay?”
“We’ve got a pileup,” She explains. “Four victims, five minutes out. We need all hands on deck.”
“Shit, okay,” Dennis says. “Yeah, we’ll be right down.”
She gives him an apologetic smile, looking past him towards you. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Oh, uhm, you didn’t,” He says, stuttering, face heating up quickly. “We weren’t-”
“See you downstairs!” She calls, walking away from the door. Dennis let’s it close, leaning against it when he faces you again.
“You think she knew?” He asks. You laugh, swinging your legs out from under the blanket and standing up, stepping into your pants and shimmeying into them. You press a quick kiss to his lips and pass him his scrub top.
“I think she definitely assumed,” You say, pulling your own scrub top out of your hoodie and back on. “You played it off nicely, though.”
“Really?” He questions, voice slightly muffled from behind his shirt, his head poking out the top a second later.
You grin, patting his shoulder as you step into the hallway.
“No, not at all.”
He huffs, following you out. You take the stairs down, stopping at the bottom, moments away from shouldering the door open. You stop, reaching out for him. He takes your hand in his, bringing it up, lips grazing your knuckles.
“Ready?” He asks.
“Lets do it.”
Jack spots you immediately, calling your last name.
“Need you in here,” He says. “Whitaker, help Ellis in trauma three.”
“On it,” Dennis says, dropping your hand as you go your separate ways, both already focused on the task at hand.
You follow Jack into the trauma room, the number of people half what you’re used to. You aren’t sure how many dayshift doctors are still around, but Mel’s already there when you walk in. The patient is tugging against restraints, ones EMS must’ve put on, as she tries to finish up her primary exam.
“Ready for RSI,” Bridget says. Jack nods.
“On her,” He says, nodding his head towards you. “Findings, Mel?”
“GCS nine, confused, unresponsive to questions or commands,” She explains. “Decreased breath sounds on the left, gurgling. GCS is right on the brink, but I think we should intubate.”
“Do it,” He says, already halfway out the door. “Come to trauma three when you’re finished!”
“Wait, where are you going?” Mel asks, worry edging into her tone.
Jack pauses, watching as you move to the head of the bed. “You’re good, she’s got you.”
The door closes behind him, and she looks at you. You give her a reassuring nod.
“We’ve got this, Dr. King,” You say. “Let’s push paralytics?”
She nods. “Yes, please.”
Bridget administers the meds, and you open the patient’s mouth, positioning the blade correctly and turning the light on.
“Do you, uhm, do you want the monitor?” Mel asks.
“Nah,” You say. “Seven-five.”
You’re finished in under thirty seconds.
The patient’s sats come up, but they plateau in the high-eighties. Mel listens to the chest again, frowning.
“eFAST,” She says, lifting his shirt up and placing the tool against his chest. “No lung sliding on the left.”
“Tension pneumo,” You agree, also looking at the screen.
“Decompression needle,” She orders, putting the wand back and pushing the screen off to the side. She takes the needle in her hand, positioning it above the correct intercostal space. You’re squeezing the bag attached to the patient’s tube, watching as she inserts it, hearing the telltale rush of air escape.
“Sats improving,” You say, seeing them climb into the mid-nineties. “Nice work, Dr. King.”
Someone yelling your last name makes you look away from the monitor, passing the bag off to Bridget and running out of the room. You pull your gloves off, throwing them out, seeing Parker standing in the doorway of trauma three.
“What’s going on?” You ask, skidding past her. She takes her place beside the bed again, where Dennis is already doing compressions, each push showing up as a wave on the screen. “Shit.”
“We need an airway, now,” She says, despite it being obvious.
You grab new gloves. “Mac blade with video scope.”
“Rhythm check,” Parker says, making Dennis stop, raising his hands. The line flattens, the hallmark ‘beep’ ringing out. He leans back over the patient, one knee resting on the edge of the bed, not noticing when his shirt gets caught underneath.
“Do you want a pause?” Parker asks, looking at you, rolling her sleeves up in preparation to take over compressions if needed. You shoot her a glare, one that makes her smirk.
“Need me to teach you how to intubate through compressions, Dr. Ellis?” You counter, already visualizing the chords on the screen. “Don’t stop, Whitaker.”
He doesn’t, but his mind drifts for a moment, seeing countless times you’ve said those two words to him in a vastly different context. The door swings open, revealing Trinity and Robby.
“How long has she been down?” Robby asks.
“Four minutes,” Parker says. “Rhythm check.”
Dennis leans back again, his knee still up, pulling his shirt down even farther. He’s panting, and he takes the opportunity to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Push another epi,” Parker directs, looking up at Dennis, her eyes landing right on his collarbone, where a dark bruise is forming. “Uh, compression swap.”
He steps back, his shirt springing back into place as someone else takes over, but it’s far too late. Robby’s obviously averting his eyes, Trinity is nodding, swallowing whatever comment she wants to make, and Parker’s trying to stay professional.
You place the tube, letting one of the nurses put the bag on. Parker slips her stethoscope in, placing it against the patient’s chest, nodding.
“Good breath sounds,” She says.
“Want some ice for that bruise, Huckleberry?” Trinity asks, tone completely serious.
Robby closes his eyes, shaking his head.
“What?” Dennis asks, confusion obvious, but you know exactly what she’s referring to. You take over compressions, desperate to be doing something in this moment, knowing that the two of you will never live this down.
“On your collarbone,” She says. “Looks painful.”
You can’t see his face, but you can picture how red he is as he starts to stutter.
“I, uh, no, I’m fine-”
He stops, not wanting to dig himself any deeper.
“Rhythm,” Parker says. “Keep it together, everyone.”
You lift up, identifying the waves quickly, placing two fingers against the patient’s carotid. “Pulseless.”
“PVT, let’s charge to two-hundred,” Parker says, taking the defibrillator pads in her hands. “Clear.”
You’re back on the chest the second you realize that she hasn’t gone back into sinus, sweat starting to drip down your neck from the exertion.
“Walk me through reversible causes,” Robby says.
“Uh, hypovolemia, but her BP’s okay and we’ve already given two units,” Dennis starts. “Hypoxia, but her sats have come up. Acidosis?”
“I can grab an ABG if someone can switch,” You say, breathless.
“I’ve got it,” Santos says, stepping up beside you, taking your place once you come off.
“Keep going, Whitaker,” Robby instructs.
“Pneumothorax, good breath sounds though,” He adds. “Tamponade.”
You’ve moved towards the patient’s thigh, heparinized syringe in hand, palpating before inserting it. The tube fills slowly with blood, the colour deep red, a result of her low perfusion. You cap the tube, passing it off to a nurse, then you return your focus to the airway. You set your own stethoscope to the patient’s chest. Air is moving, but it’s not sufficient.
“I’m adding a PEEP valve,” You say, grabbing the piece from the drawer, attaching it to the exhalation port, setting it correctly.
Trinity takes her hands off the patient.
“Charge again, two hundred,” Parker says. “Clear.”
The phone rings, and you rip a glove off, grabbing it off the wall, saying your last name once it’s against your ear. Robby and Dennis wait for you to say something, ready to take action based on whatever the lab says.
“Potassium seven-point-three,” You say. “pH is the same.”
“What next?” Robby asks.
“Calcium glutonate, three gram IV push over two minutes,” Trinity says, letting someone else take over compressions. “Ten of insulin, one amp D50.”
There’s only two nurses in there, and both of them already have their hands full, so you step in.
“I can do calcium,” You say, grabbing three syringes and three bottles. You draw the medication up, setting each down on the tray beside you. “Going in.”
You push each syringe over fourty seconds while the insulin and dextrose are set up, everyone moving in sync, compressions still ongoing under Parker’s lead. The third shock finally gives sinus rhythm, and you sigh in relief, tossing the used syringes and vials into the correct bins, then adjust the vent settings to avoid hyperventilation.
“ET looks good, fourty-two,” You say.
“Whitaker, place an arterial line,” Parker instructs. “Let’s give norepi.”
“Got any beds upstairs?” Robby asks, and you laugh.
“For you? I’ll make it work,” You say. “Give ‘em a call once she’s back from CT, tell them I’ll bring coffee on Monday.”
You walk out of the room, stretching your arms above your head, tilting to one side to try and ease the ache that’s starting in your muscles.
“Jesus, what happened to you?” Jack asks, stopping mid-stride, looking down at your slightly exposed stomach. You drop your arms once he gets closer, but he’s already seen enough, one eyebrow raised as he gives you a stern look. “I’m gonna’ kill him.”
“What?” You ask, laughing through the word. “Relax, I was a willing participant.”
“Oh my god, I did not need to hear that,” He mumbles, reaching out towards your shirt, patting it down.
He sighs, closing his eyes. “Those things can give you a stroke, you know.”
“They’re not on my carotid, Jack.”
“Doesn’t matter,” He counters. “You should ice them.”
You roll your eyes as you walk away, wanting to get your charting over with so you can go home.
Back in the trauma room things have settled down. Dennis finishes with the arterial line, repeat labs are drawn, and the patient is taken up to CT. Trinity reaches towards his shirt, tugging the collar down, exposing the bruise again. He swats her hand away, yanking it back up, cheeks burning again.
“Had some fun in that call room, hey?” She asks.
Dennis shrugs, knowing he can’t defend himself. “Maybe. Whatever.”
“I knew I was interrupting,” Lena adds, holding the door as people start to file out. Trinity calls your name, pointing to his collarbone with her thumb.
“You trying to kill him or something?”
You glance over, shrugging. “He bruises easily.”
“Hang on, he has them too?” Jack asks. “This is a hospital, people.”
“Too?” Trinity echoes. “Oh my god, this is the best day of my life.”
“Leave them alone,” Parker says. “If my girlfriend looked like her I’d be marking her up all the time.”
Dennis’ face scrunches up. Robby pats him on the shoulder.
“You good?” He asks, genuinely curious, not trying to embarrass him any further.
“Uh, yeah, all good,” He says. “You wanna’ finish the charts at home?”
You’re already turning the computer off. “Yes, definitely.”
“Need to finish what you started?” Trinity asks, but Dennis is half-way to the locker room.
“It'll help him get the charting done,” You say, face completely blank. "Positive reinforcement, or whatever."
Trinity’s jaw drops, Robby rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, Parker loses it. Jack raises his arms, walking away from the hub, calling over his shoulder.
“I expect no errors in those charts!”
“You know I’m very thorough!” You call back, not able to stop yourself from smiling when he groans from across the department. Trinity’s typing quickly on her computer, too fast to be updating a chart. Parker snorts from where she’s working, and you determine that they’re almost certainly sending messages back and forth.
Dennis comes back down a few minutes later with your belongings, having gone upstairs to grab them while everyone was distracted. He passes you your hoodie, and you tug it over your head. You bid them goodnight, getting some waves and ‘night’s in response, along with a very pointed look from Trinity. Dennis’ hand hovers over your lower back as you leave the department.
You wait until you’re in the car to bring it up.
“Sorry, baby,” You say, tugging his shirt down, exposing the injury. “I didn’t mean to do it so hard. Does it hurt?”
“No, no, it’s fine,” He promises, laughing a bit. “That was…something.”
“That’s what they get for interrupting,” You say, softly running your thumb over it. “You do bruise easily, hey?”
He jokingly pushes your hand away. “I’m…pale!”
“Right,” You say, smiling. “Seriously, we should ice it when we get home. Might as well ice your arms while we’re at it.”
“Why would you ice my arms?” He asks, face showing that he knows your answer is going to be far from serious.
You shrug, leaning over to him, rolling his sleeve up a few centimetres. Then, you bite his fucking bicep, just for a second. It’s light, but Dennis still flinches, despite the fact that you do this constantly.
“Every time,” He murmurs. You kiss his arm after, laughing when he flexes it, kissing it again.
“Let’s go home,” You say, tilting your chin up. He looks at you for a moment, face soft and eyes loving in the way that makes your stomach fill with butterflies.
summary: steve harrington should be listening while his friends are talking. instead, he’s watching you from across the room, curled up with a book, like he hasn’t been in love with you for years already.
warnings/tags: steve harrington x reader, established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, soft steve harrington, roommates / found family, reader wears glasses, soft teasing, steve harrington being in love, no use of y/n, alternate universe tbh no upside down drama, no spoilers
wc: ~1.3k
cutie lace divider by: @uzmacchiato
Steve Harrington is supposed to be listening.
That’s usually easy enough. This kitchen, their kitchen, has seen enough late-night conversations and half-burnt dinners and arguments that turn into laughter to make listening second nature. He knows the rhythm of it all. Knows Robin’s pacing when she’s mid-rant, the way Jonathan leans like he’s trying to disappear into walls, the way Nancy always ends up holding a mug whether she remembers pouring herself something or not.
They’re roommates. All of them, in one way or another. Technically, it’s Steve, Robin, and you on the lease, the ones who split rent, argue over utilities, and pretend not to notice when the grocery bill gets a little too high. But Jonathan and Nancy are there so often they might as well have their own bedroom and designated mugs in the cupboard. There’s a drawer that somehow became Jonathan’s, a stack of Nancy’s papers that never leaves the counter, shoes by the door that no one questions anymore. Found family stacked into a too-small house with creaky floors and mismatched chairs, a fridge covered in notes that say things like who finished the milk?? and don’t eat this and seriously, Robin.
Robin is currently mid-story, hands moving wildly as she talks, voice bouncing off the cabinets as she recounts some disastrous interaction at Family Video earlier that day. Jonathan’s leaning against the counter, nodding along, occasionally adding a dry comment that makes Nancy snort into her mug. It’s easy and familiar and comfortable in the way only shared history can be.
Steve is physically present.
Mentally, though? He’s gone.
He’s sitting at the small kitchen table, one leg hooked around the rung of the chair, elbow propped up, chin resting in his palm. His eyes aren’t on Robin as she talks, and they’re not on Jonathan or Nancy either.
They’re on you.
You’re curled up at the far end of the couch, tucked into the corner like you’ve always belonged there, which, really, you have. One socked foot is folded beneath your thigh, the other lazily nudging against the armrest. You’re wrapped in one of Steve’s old sweatshirts, the navy one with the frayed cuffs he refuses to get rid of, and the sleeves are pulled down over your hands as you hold your book.
Your hair is still a little messy from the bun you’d had it in earlier, now loose and soft around your face. Big frame glasses sit low on your nose, catching the lamplight every time you shift. There’s a crease between your brows as you read, lips moving ever so slightly like you’re mouthing the words in your head. Every once in a while, you pause, thumb marking the page with a dog ear, gaze drifting unfocused as you think about whatever you just read.
Steve watches like it’s the most important thing in the world.
It hits him the same way it always does, quiet and sudden and overwhelming. That familiar swell in his chest, the one that makes him feel sixteen and twenty-three and something in between, and all at once. Like he’s still discovering you, even after all this time.
Several years together. Shared mornings where one of you wakes up before the other and just stays. fears whispered into pillows. Shared grocery lists written in different handwriting and lazy Sundays spent doing absolutely nothing. Shared silence that never feels empty.
And still, this.
Still the way his heart stutters when you absently tuck your hair behind your ear. Still the way the world seems to narrow until it’s just you and the soft sound of your book pages turning, like the rest of life has dimmed itself out of respect.
“Steve.”
Robin snaps her fingers in front of his face.
He blinks. Once. Twice.
“Huh?”
Nancy raises an eyebrow, lips twitching in amusement as she takes in her best friend. Jonathan glances past him, follows his line of sight, and immediately understands.
“Oh,” Jonathan says, like something has just clicked into place. His eyes dart toward Nancy and they have a small conversation with their eyes before she also follows his line of sight.
“Oh,” Nancy echoes, amused.
Robin turns slowly, dramatically, like she’s afraid of spooking a wild animal.
“You’re doing it again,” she says.
Steve frowns. “Doing what?”
“The thing,” Robin says. “The staring. The,” she gestures vaguely at his face, “the ‘I have never seen a human woman before in my life’ expression.”
Steve straightens, defensive. “I’m not staring.”
Nancy takes a sip of her coffee. “You haven’t blinked in, like, a full minute.”
Jonathan checks his watch. “Honestly, it might be longer.”
“Kinda impressive, honestly.” Nancy grins from behind her mug.
Steve scoffs, cheeks warming. “You guys are being dramatic.”
Robin grins, one that’s equal parts sharp and knowing. “Buddy, you look like you’re one piano ballad away from proposing.”
That finally gets a reaction out of you.
You glance up from your book, eyes flicking from Robin to Steve. “Proposing what?”
Steve’s ears turn red at that, as if marriage and kids hadn’t already been a familiar topic between the two of you—one that’s whispered beneath the shadows of your shared bedroom.
“Nothing,” he says quickly. “She’s lying.”
Robin gasps. “Wow. Bold of you to accuse me of slander in my own kitchen.”
You smile at their light bickering, soft and fond, the corner of the page still pinched between your fingers. “What were you staring at, then?”
Steve opens his mouth but nothing comes out.
He looks at you, really looks at you, and his expression gives him away entirely. The warmth in his eyes, the way his shoulders soften, as if the rest of the room fades the second you have his attention.
You tilt your head, amused. “Steve?”
Jonathan mutters, “Oh my god,” under his breath.
Steve finally exhales, defeated but smiling. “You.”
Robin throws her hands up, her voice half yell and half laughter. “There it is.”
Nancy can’t help but laugh too. “You’d think after years he’d be over it.”
Steve shakes his head, earnest, as he shrugs. “Never.”
Your smile gentles, something warm blooming in your chest. You place your book mark (a Polaroid of you and Steve from the previous Christmas) between the pages, close your book, setting it aside on the arm of the couch, and stand. You cross the short distance into the kitchen, steps unhurried. When you stop between his knees, it feels like muscle memory on both sides, his hands already lifting, already settling at your hips where they always fit so naturally.
You turn and sink into his lap, sideways, fitting against him like it was always meant to be this easy. One arm slips around his shoulders, the other resting loosely against his chest. He exhales a long and quiet breath, forehead tipping just slightly toward you.
You lean down then, pressing a kiss to his lips, soft, familiar, sweet.
“Hi,” you murmur.
Steve smiles like you’ve just handed him the moon. “Hi.”
Robin watches the whole thing with a dramatic gag. “I feel like I need to leave you two a room. Or maybe the whole house.”
Jonathan snorts but doesn’t move. Nancy doesn’t either, just smiles into her mug, with a look that reads nothing but fondness.
Steve huffs. “Rude.”
You laugh, resting your forehead against his. “Let him,” you say softly. “I kinda like it.”
Steve’s grip tightens protectively, just a little. His thumb traces absent circles at your hip, grounding himself in the simple fact that you’re real, you’re here, you chose him again today.
Conversation drifts back in around you. Robin keeps talking, Jonathan adding comments, and Nancy listens like always. Life continues, overlapping and warm.
Steve doesn’t stop staring, because he never will, and somewhere in the quiet center of his chest, steady and certain, is the thought that always comes back to him in moments like this:
If this is the rest of his life, shared kitchens and teasing friends and you curled into him without hesitation, then he’s already won.
Blurb: Beau wants your first time to feel special, even if that means fresh sheets, your favorite candle, and a suspiciously well-planned Spotify playlist.
You knew Beau had cleaned before you even stepped through his bedroom door.
The hallway outside looked exactly as it always did, a pair of sneakers abandoned near the wall and somebody’s sweatshirt draped over the banister downstairs, but his room was suspiciously untouched. The floor had been cleared, the clothes that usually collected across the chair were gone, and the comforter lay smooth over freshly changed sheets.
Then the scent reached you.
You stopped just inside the doorway, recognizing it before you found the candle flickering on his dresser. It was the same Bath & Body Works scent you stopped to smell whenever you wandered into the store, the one Beau had once claimed was indistinguishable from every other sweet candle lining the shelves.
He nearly walked into your back before realizing you had stopped.
“You bought my candle.”
Beau followed your gaze toward the three burning wicks. He had positioned the jar in the center of the dresser, the label facing outward, which made his attempt at looking indifferent considerably less convincing.
“You made me smell it every time we passed that store,” he said, moving around you to place his phone beside the speaker. “At some point, remembering became a survival instinct.”
You stepped farther into the room and lifted the candle, warmth gathering beneath the glass. The price sticker had been scraped from the bottom badly enough that part of it remained attached.
The thought of Beau standing inside Bath & Body Works, surrounded by walls of perfume and lotion while trying to remember the name of your favorite scent, made something tender settle beneath your ribs.
“You went in there alone?”
His attention became absorbed in adjusting the volume of the music. “I’m not discussing what happened in that store.”
A soft song drifted from the speaker, one you had sent him months ago after discovering it during a late-night study session. You set the candle down and glanced toward his phone. Spotify remained open, displaying a playlist titled just music in lowercase letters.
You picked it up before Beau could stop you.
His hand reached toward yours, but one look at your face made him reconsider whatever wrestling match he had been about to begin.
The playlist was nearly two hours long. There were songs you loved, slower ones you had heard playing from his car, and a few romantic tracks that you never would have guessed Beau knew existed. The order was too deliberate to be accidental. Each song flowed naturally into the next, the tempo shifting so gradually that he must have listened through the entire thing while arranging it.
“You planned transitions.”
Beau rubbed the back of his neck, already turning pink near the collar of his shirt. “I didn’t want some awful locker room song coming on and ruining everything.”
A laugh caught in your throat. “Beau, you made a sex playlist.”
“I made a playlist for tonight.”
The distinction seemed important to him, though you suspected it existed mostly because he could not bring himself to name a playlist after the reason you were in his bedroom.
You looked around again. Fresh sheets. Your favorite candle. Two bottles of water waiting on the nightstand. Even the lamp had been dimmed low enough to soften the room without leaving you in darkness.
All afternoon, you had been imagining Beau completely at ease while you struggled not to overthink every part of the night. It had never occurred to you that he might spend hours cleaning his room and rearranging songs because he was nervous too.
The realization loosened something inside you.
“You didn’t have to do all this.”
His expression changed when he looked at you. The embarrassment remained, but something more earnest moved beneath it.
“I know.” Beau took the phone from your hand and set it down without turning off the music. “I wanted to.”
He said it simply, without turning the moment into something so serious that you would lose your nerve. That was one of the things you loved most about him. Beau could make something matter without making it feel heavy.
You moved toward him, slipping your hands beneath his open jacket. “The candle is a lot.”
“It was the biggest one they had.”
Your smile brushed his mouth before you kissed him.
Beau’s hands settled on your hips, drawing you closer until the front of your body met his. The kiss began softly, familiar enough to quiet the nervous flutter in your stomach. You knew the shape of his mouth and the warmth of his hands. You knew the small sound he made when you caught his bottom lip between yours and the way his fingers tightened whenever you pressed against him.
There was nothing unfamiliar about wanting him.
It was everything that came next that had occupied your thoughts since you told him you were ready.
Beau seemed to sense the moment your mind began racing. He pulled back only far enough to look at you, one hand rising to smooth your hair away from your face.
“You’re thinking too much.”
“I haven’t even said anything.”
“You get this little crease right here.” His thumb passed between your eyebrows, flattening the expression he had apparently learned to recognize. “It’s like your brain is trying to go into overtime.”
You laughed, lowering your forehead against his chest. “I’m nervous.”
“I know.”
He did not tell you there was no reason to be. There were reasons, even if none of them meant you had changed your mind. You had spent years hearing that your first time would be painful or awkward or disappointing. People spoke about virginity as something to lose, something another person took from you, and no matter how much you trusted Beau, part of you had started treating tonight like a test you had forgotten to study for.
His hand moved slowly along your back.
“We can keep kissing,” he said. “We can watch a movie and let the world’s most embarrassing playlist run in the background. You didn’t sign a contract when you came over.”
The offer did not come with disappointment hidden beneath it. Beau would genuinely let you change your mind, blow out the candle, and spend the rest of the evening arguing over what to watch.
That certainty was exactly why you had chosen tonight.
You lifted your head and kissed him again.
This time, you let your hands wander beneath his shirt. The muscles of his stomach tightened under your fingertips, and Beau exhaled against your mouth before helping you pull the fabric over his head. He tossed it somewhere behind him, apparently deciding that his clean floor no longer mattered.
Your jacket followed, then your shoes. Each piece of clothing made the room feel warmer, though you knew some of that heat came from the way Beau looked at you.
He had seen you in your underwear before. You had spent enough nights tangled together for him to know how your body reacted beneath his hands, but tonight made every touch feel newly charged. When he reached for the hem of your sweater, he paused long enough for you to lift your arms.
The fabric disappeared over your head.
Beau’s gaze moved over you without rushing, lingering where the cups of your bra held your breasts. There was no exaggerated praise or dramatic speech. His hand simply settled against your waist while he kissed the curve of your shoulder, and the warmth of his mouth told you everything he had not said.
You reached behind yourself to unfasten your bra, but Beau caught your wrist.
“Let me.”
The clasp opened beneath his fingers. He eased the straps down your arms, watching the fabric fall before bringing both hands to your breasts. His palms were warm, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until they tightened beneath his touch.
Your breath caught when his mouth closed around one.
Beau backed you toward the bed without lifting his head, his arm circling your waist when the backs of your knees met the mattress. You sat down, and he followed, settling between your thighs while his tongue moved slowly over your nipple.
Your fingers slid into his hair. The nerves had not vanished, but they were being replaced by something stronger. Every pull of his mouth and every stroke of his hand reminded your body that this was Beau. He already knew what made your back arch and what made your thighs squeeze around him. He had never rushed you before, and he was not about to begin now.
He kissed down your stomach, pausing at the waistband of your skirt.
His eyes lifted to yours as his fingers found the zipper.
You nodded, and Beau drew it down.
The skirt slipped over your hips with your help, leaving you in the underwear you had spent far too long choosing. They were prettier than anything you normally wore, a soft scrap of lace that had made you feel bold while standing in front of your mirror and extremely exposed now that Beau could see them.
The look on his face made the effort worthwhile.
“Those are new.”
You tried not to smile. “Maybe.”
His fingertips skimmed the lace along your hip. “You bought special underwear, but I’m the one getting judged for a candle?”
Beau leaned over you, pressing a kiss to your stomach before you could continue dismantling his defense. His laughter warmed your skin.
“You’re distracting yourself again.”
The words were softened by another kiss, then another, his mouth moving lower until it hovered above the waistband of your underwear.
Your teasing faded.
Beau curled his fingers beneath the lace and drew it down your legs. You lifted your hips, watching him remove the final piece of clothing before his hands moved along your thighs.
Being completely naked beneath him should have made you feel more nervous. Instead, Beau lowered himself between your legs with such familiar hunger that embarrassment barely had time to form.
He kissed the inside of your knee, then followed the path upward.
Your fingers tightened around the comforter when his mouth reached the crease of your thigh. His breath passed over your center, warm enough to make your hips shift toward him.
Beau glanced up at you.
There was affection in his expression, but there was desire too. He did not look at you as though tonight had turned you into something delicate. He looked at you the same way he always did when he wanted you, only more intensely, as though the trust you had placed in him had deepened every part of it.
His arm hooked beneath your thigh, opening you wider before his tongue slid through you.
Your head sank into the pillows.
The first stroke was broad and slow, gathering the wetness already beginning to collect before his tongue returned to your clit. Beau had eaten you out before, enough times to know exactly how much pressure made your breath catch and how quickly your body became sensitive.
Tonight, he took even more time.
He licked you until your thighs relaxed around his shoulders, alternating soft circles with slow passes that made warmth gather low in your stomach. Each time your hips began moving against his mouth, his hand pressed gently over your abdomen, not holding you still so much as grounding you against the bed.
The music continued somewhere beyond the rush of blood in your ears.
Beau’s fingers moved over the inside of your thigh, giving you enough time to register what he was doing before one pressed slowly into you.
The sensation was familiar. He had touched you this way before, but the purpose behind it made you more aware of every inch. His finger entered gradually while his tongue stayed against your clit, and your body opened around him with less resistance than you had feared.
He worked it deeper, curling it against the spot that made your legs tighten.
“Beau.”
He answered with a low sound against you, the vibration making your stomach clench.
Your fingers threaded through his hair as he began moving his hand. The pace remained unhurried, each stroke paired with the steady movement of his mouth. Pleasure built gradually until you stopped wondering whether you were relaxed enough or doing anything correctly.
There was only his tongue, his finger, and the tightening pressure that made you lift your hips from the mattress.
Beau waited until you were slick around him before easing a second finger alongside the first.
The stretch was noticeable. Your body tightened instinctively, and his hand stilled while his mouth softened against you. He did not retreat or force you to adjust faster. He kept licking slowly, letting pleasure work through the unfamiliar fullness until your grip loosened in his hair.
His fingers pressed deeper.
You exhaled shakily, the initial pressure fading as he began curling them inside you. The sensation was fuller than what you were accustomed to, but Beau’s tongue remained focused on your clit, keeping discomfort from becoming the center of your attention.
Soon, the stretch became part of the pleasure.
Your thighs trembled around his head. Beau moved his fingers with a steady rhythm, spreading them slightly each time he drew them back before pressing them into you again. He watched your face from between your legs, adjusting whenever your breathing changed.
The orgasm gathered faster than you expected.
You felt it in the tightening of your stomach and the way your body began chasing both his hand and his mouth. Beau knew it too. His fingers curled more firmly while his tongue flicked over your clit, refusing to let the pressure fade.
Your back arched.
The climax broke through you in a rush, your fingers gripping his hair as your thighs closed around his shoulders. Beau kept his mouth against you while you came, drawing out every pulse with slow movements of his fingers until the pleasure sharpened into sensitivity.
You tugged lightly at his hair.
He lifted his head, his mouth wet and his eyes dark.
The sight of him between your thighs sent another weak contraction through you.
Beau withdrew his fingers slowly, then kissed the inside of your leg before moving back up your body. He braced himself over you, and you barely had time to notice the shine on his mouth before he kissed you.
You tasted yourself on his tongue.
The kiss was deeper than the ones before, your hands moving over his bare back while his hips settled between your thighs. His jeans were still on, the hard length of him pressing against you through the denim.
You reached down and fumbled with his belt.
Beau’s mouth curved against yours. “Still nervous?”
“Yes,” you admitted, opening the buckle. “I also want you.”
The humor left his expression, replaced by something so warm and intent that you had to kiss him before you became overwhelmed by it.
He helped you with the button, then stood long enough to remove his jeans and boxers. Your gaze dropped despite yourself.
You had felt him through his clothes before. You had touched him with your hand, had even wrapped your lips around him once, but seeing him completely naked while knowing he was about to be inside you made the reality settle differently.
Beau was thick enough to make your stomach flutter.
He noticed where you were looking and climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself beside you rather than immediately settling between your legs.
“We’re not in a hurry.”
You nodded.
He opened the nightstand and removed a condom and a small bottle of lubricant. Of course he had both waiting. Beau had apparently planned the evening down to every possible detail, though you decided not to tease him when he squeezed some lubricant onto his fingers and touched you again.
The coolness made you flinch before his fingers warmed it against your entrance.
He worked one into you, followed by the second, moving them slowly while kissing you. Your body remained loose from the orgasm, taking him more easily now. Beau stretched you with patient strokes, his thumb brushing over your clit whenever your breath caught.
When he removed his hand, the emptiness left you aching.
Beau opened the condom and rolled it down his length. His movements were steady, but you saw the tension in his jaw and realized he was holding himself together more tightly than he wanted you to know.
He settled between your legs.
The head of his cock brushed against you, slick with lubricant. Your breath stopped as he dragged it slowly through your wetness before positioning himself at your entrance.
Beau leaned down, supporting himself on one arm while his other hand rested against your hip.
“Look at me.”
You met his gaze.
“If you want me to stop, I stop. It doesn’t matter how far we get.”
You nodded again, but Beau waited.
“I’ll tell you.”
He kissed you, slow and lingering, before beginning to press inside.
The first stretch was more intense than his fingers. Your body tightened around the broad head, and Beau stopped immediately, barely inside you.
Your hands gripped his shoulders.
He stayed close, kissing the corner of your mouth while his thumb moved along your hip. The pressure burned slightly, not unbearable but sharp enough that your instincts told you to tense against it.
“Breathe for me,” Beau murmured against your cheek.
You took a slow breath. Then another.
He did not move until your thighs loosened around him. When you shifted your hips experimentally, the pressure changed, becoming fuller rather than painful.
You pulled him closer.
Beau pushed forward another inch.
The stretch returned, but this time you were ready for it. He moved slowly, pausing whenever your expression tightened, letting your body adjust around each part of him before going deeper.
His arms trembled faintly from the effort of holding himself still.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yes.” You slid your hands from his shoulders to the back of his neck. “Keep going.”
Beau pressed his forehead against yours as he eased farther inside.
The fullness seemed endless at first. Your body resisted, then gradually yielded, opening around him until his hips finally met yours. A quiet sound escaped him when he was fully seated, his eyes closing briefly as your walls tightened around his cock.
He stayed motionless.
You felt every part of him, the thick stretch and the weight of his body held above yours. The initial sting remained, but it was fading beneath the warmth of his skin and the slow circles his thumb traced against your hip.
“You’re shaking,” you whispered.
Beau opened his eyes. “I’m trying very hard not to ruin all my excellent preparation by losing my mind.”
The laugh that left you loosened the last of the tension in your body.
His expression shifted when he felt it.
“Can I move?”
You drew him down for a kiss. “Please.”
Beau pulled back slowly, leaving only the head inside you before pressing forward again.
The first thrust made you inhale sharply. It was not painful, but the drag of him against your walls was unfamiliar enough to overwhelm every other sensation. He repeated the movement with the same measured pace, giving you time to understand the fullness rather than bracing against it.
Your hands moved along his back.
Each thrust became easier. The stretch remained, but warmth began curling around it, pleasure gathering as your body adjusted to the rhythm. Beau watched you closely, his gaze moving between your face and the place where you were joined.
He changed the angle slightly.
The next stroke brushed something deeper inside you, making your hips lift to meet his.
Beau exhaled roughly. “There?”
You nodded, pulling him closer.
His thrusts grew more confident, still controlled but no longer hesitant. He pushed deeper each time, his pelvis pressing against your clit at the bottom of the movement. The room filled with the soft sounds of your breathing, the slide of his body against yours, and the playlist Beau had spent far too long arranging.
You wrapped one leg around his waist.
The change drew him deeper, and a moan slipped from you before you could soften it. Beau’s head lowered to your neck, his mouth opening against your skin as his composure began to fray.
He had been so focused on you that you almost forgot what this must feel like for him. The reminder came in the tension of his shoulders and the low sound he made each time you tightened around him.
Your nails dragged lightly down his back.
His hips snapped forward harder.
The sharper thrust sent pleasure through you, and Beau immediately slowed, lifting his head to read your expression.
“Again,” you whispered.
Something in his eyes darkened.
He gave you another deeper stroke, then another, finding a rhythm that pushed the discomfort entirely from your mind. Your body moved beneath his now, meeting each thrust instead of waiting for it.
The sweetness of the evening did not disappear. It changed shape.
Beau kissed you harder, his hand sliding beneath your thigh to hold it higher against his side. The new angle allowed him deeper, each thrust drawing a broken sound from your mouth. His restraint slipped piece by piece as you pulled him into you, until his breathing became rough and his hips moved with a desperation that made heat coil through your stomach again.
You were not sure you could come from the feeling of him alone, but Beau did not expect you to.
His hand moved between your bodies.
His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow circles while he continued thrusting into you. The combination made your walls tighten around him, and Beau’s pace faltered.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth.
Your second orgasm began building almost immediately, your body still sensitive from his tongue. Beau kept his thumb moving, matching the pressure to the rhythm of his hips until you could no longer separate one sensation from another.
The candlelight flickered behind him. Your favorite scent filled the room, sweet and warm, mixing with the heat of Beau’s body and the faint clean smell of his sheets.
You clung to him as the pressure tightened.
Beau felt it approaching. His mouth moved along your jaw, his voice low and strained near your ear.
“Let go.”
The orgasm broke through you with his next thrust.
Your body tightened around him in pulsing waves, your back lifting from the mattress as pleasure swept through you. Beau kept moving, his thumb circling your clit while you came around his cock, though the rhythm of his thrusts quickly became uneven.
He buried his face against your neck, a rough groan leaving him as your walls continued clenching around him.
His hips drove forward once, twice, then held deep inside you as he came in the condom, his entire body shuddering over yours.
Beau remained above you until his breathing steadied, his forehead resting against yours while the last tremors passed through both of you.
When he finally pulled out, he did it slowly. The movement left you tender enough to wince, and his hand immediately settled against your thigh.
“I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your knee before taking care of the condom.
You expected him to return to bed, but Beau disappeared into the bathroom instead. He came back moments later with a warm washcloth and sat beside you, one hand gently parting your thighs.
The first pass made you tense. His gaze lifted to your face, but he did not turn it into a worried interrogation. He simply slowed down, cleaning the dampness from your skin with soft strokes.
A faint trace of pink marked the cloth.
Beau noticed it, though his expression never changed. His thumb moved soothingly over your knee as he finished, treating you with the same tenderness as before without making you feel embarrassed by it.
Once the washcloth was gone, he handed you one of the water bottles waiting on the nightstand and climbed beneath the covers. You barely managed a sip before he drew you against his chest.
His fingers drifted lazily along your back. The playlist continued softly, and your favorite candle still warmed the room with its familiar scent.
You tucked your face beneath his chin, suddenly too tired and full of emotion to overthink the words.
“I love you,” you mumbled against his chest.
Beau’s arms tightened around you. He kissed your hair, lingering there as he whispered, “I love you too.”
You smiled into his skin and let your eyes close, held safely against him while the music played on.
