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#his other thread is in the top ten too i hate this man (said while loving him dearly)

danses-with-dogmeat · 3 years

Note

could you do the “reaction to first time being shown affection” but with the new vegas/fo3 male companions as well?

Romanced! Male! FO3 Companions and the first time they’re shown soft forms of Affection

Here is some more fluff for all of you lovlies! Man, I love doing these sweet prompts so dang much 😅 Seriously, if there’s ANY characters you want to see for this that I haven’t done, please please please don’t hesitate to ask, cuz these reactions are just good for my soul (... or Sole, eh? Get it?).

Fallout New Vegas (M! Companions) reactions are also on the way for this prompt as well, and should be done soon!

Butch:

Lone's eyes fluttered open, taking in the sight of the darkened vault 101 bedroom as they stretched their legs from beneath the thin blanket with a small sigh. A blush spread to their face as they felt their partner stir beside them, repositioning himself onto his back, an arm thrown up over his head as a deep breath escaped his lips. They turned to get a better look at him, smiling slightly at how peaceful he looked. Eyes still closed, mouth dangling open slightly, hair tousled about every which way upon his head as it crushed into the pillow behind him. Lone just stared at him for a while, their heart beating insistently in their chest as they thought back on the events of their first night together… them and Butch… who would've thought?

They would have liked to pin it on the way he's changed over the years they've known him, because certainly ten-year-old Lone would have scrunched up their face in disgust at the idea of having a crush on the self-absorbed bully. But… truth is, Lone's always suspected that their feelings towards the fellow vault dweller had been more… complicated than simple hatred, or simple attraction. No, these feelings seemed to go deeper than that, even before, when they were kids and he would get on their nerves constantly, or in school when they were teens who frequently argued with each other, they knew there was something more at play between the pair, though they never would have admitted it at the time. Now though, they couldn't believe they had ever seen him any differently as they gazed tenderly at their partner through half-lidded eyes, filled to the brim with affection for the man that lay beside them.

Lone tentatively reached up a hand, not wanting to wake him, but needing to touch him. They brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, running their palm over the top of his head and smoothing down any stray strands that stuck out. Pausing their movements briefly, Lone brought themselves into a sitting position, keeping their side of the blankets up to cover their bare body as they scooted closer to him and reached their hands out towards his head again. Though his hair wasn't all that long, they rarely had the privilege of seeing it void of product, which often made it difficult to play with. Lone decided to take advantage of this instance. They took three separate strands between their fingers, crossing them over each other a few times before twisting the end, willing the little braid to hold its shape before moving to another section and doing the same. A smile spread on their lips as they carried on with their little movements, leaving a handful of tiny braids in the wake of their gentle hands as they continued listening to him snore softly below them.

As they grew less fond of the braided look, Lone smoothed each one out and began to thread their fingers upwards, giggling at their work as the entirety of his fawn-colored hair stood straight up over his slackened expression. Now if only I had dad's camera…

Their ability to stifle their laughter weakened, preventing them from suppressing the snort that escaped from them; the sound effectively jolting their companion awake.

"What the…?" He shook his head, attempting to expel his grogginess as he realized what had woken him.

"Why are you...? Wait, what happened? You laughin' at me?"

Lone nodded as another snort escaped them, Butch's confused expression now acting as the source of their second bout of giggling.

"Why? What happened?" He looked down quickly, trying to conceal any bare part of him that peeked through the thin Vault-Tec issued blanket. A panicked flush creeping up his cheeks as he tried to find the source of their amusement.

"No, no, it's nothing like that." They assured him, grabbing at his face with their hands to bring his attention back to their eyes, "Here."

Lone made a motion upwards, to try and smooth his hair down to a reasonable height, but Butch's own fingers followed, brushing the substantial mountain of silky locks that stood at attention atop his head before they could fix what they'd done. His eyes widened as he realized what Lone had been laughing at, shaking his head in an attempt to loosen the upright strands.

"Oh, you think that's funny, do ya?"

Lone smiled at him, shrugging as they prepared to answer him with some smart-ass remark, but he was upon them before they could utter a word. Their partner tackled them, pressing his lips to theirs as he forced them downwards against the mattress where he pinned their arms up over their head. When he had firmly secured their wrists in his grip, he released them from the kiss, now staring down at them smugly, a glint of triumph playing in his stormy blue eyes. Lone's heart beat raggedly in their chest as they breathlessly gazed up at their lover as he held them down. Though, to their surprise, he pulled further away from them and released his grip on their wrists, quickly bringing his hands down to their sensitive sides. He pinched his fingers slightly as he ran them over their ribcage, causing them to erupt into a fit of unbridled laughter, writhing underneath his cruel ministrations as he grinned wildly at them.

“How’s that for funny, huh, wise guy?”

Charon:

“Tell me something.” Lone stared up at the stars as they spoke, Charon’s stiff shoulder brushing their own as he lay beside them at the top of the parking structure, his shotgun still lying across his chest, held firmly in his grasp.

“What?” His gruff voice inquired. Lone couldn’t tell if he was being short with them because he was still unsure about spending the night at the top of the ruined concrete parking structure, or if it was because he genuinely didn’t understand their request, either way, they didn’t mind clarifying.

“Just, tell me something about yourself. You already know almost everything about me, and we’ve been together a few months now, and yet…” They trailed off, trying in vain to coax a proper response from their companion.

“What would you like to know?” Lone sighed softly, but smiled in spite of themself, shifting onto their side so they could look over at him. The ghoul was laying rigidly on his back, his eyes remained trained on the sky, as they had been since Lone suggested he quit keeping watch and just relax with them as they stargazed. Well, he stopped keeping watch, but I don’t think he ever got to the ‘relax’ part.

“Well… what do you want me to know about you?” They asked him, attempting to draw an answer from him without using a direct order. Ever since the two had become involved, Lone had felt uncomfortable with the idea of holding Charon's contract. Well, truth be told, they had always hated the idea of him being forced to obey their every whim and order because they held some torturous piece of paper, but now it felt especially immoral.

Silence fell over the pair as Charon struggled with Lone’s request, half of him wanting to abide by what they said and begin the process of opening up to the person he felt closest with, while the other half grappled with the phrasing of their question. The shadow of his officially void contract rendered his own preferences obsolete as the years of habit continued to keep him chained to the false comfort of his own complacency. He was never allowed to want before.

Lone gazed at him, noting the hard expression adorning his scarred face as the internal conflict raged between his temples. Charon’s pale blue eyes became obstructed as his brow furrowed, his jaw clenching as he ground his teeth in an effort to force his mouth to produce any words that could possibly provide an answer to Lone’s question.

The ghoul’s body shuddered as Lone extended their hand, sliding it over his chest before it came to rest atop one of his. They flexed their fingers, a suggestion to loosen his grip on the barrel of his shotgun, but he refused to budge. They kept the contact with him for a moment more, but as he showed no sign of yielding to their touch, they pulled away, rolling over onto their back once more.

Well, it was worth a try. Lone closed their eyes as their fatigue washed over them, remaining on the verge of consciousness as they awaited any response from their partner.

Instead of words, they felt a soft brush against their hand, and Lone peeked one eye open to witness the ghoul’s action as he pressed on, drawing his larger hand to rest over their own. Though the action was miniscule, Lone felt their breath catch in their throat as Charon slid his thumb over their skin soothingly. They hummed as a small grin graced their lips, shifting in his grasp so that they could entwine their fingers with his.

Lone’s expression dampened as they felt him pull away slightly, believing that perhaps they’d pushed their companion too far with their… official hand holding; but they were surprised as they felt his nails meet their wrist. He smoothed his fingertips up their arm slightly, before doubling back, capturing their hand fully in his own again. At that, Lone resumed their own comforting movements along his roughened skin. The ebb and flow of the pairs’ dancing hands seemed to coax something out of Charon, a sort of tenderness that Lone was otherwise unfamiliar with.

“I want… ” He started, and Lone held their breath, but continued running their fingers over his hand encouragingly.

“To tell you… it is no longer the contract that is binding me to you.” His movement against Lone ceased in his effort to continue speaking.

"At first, I did not think I would ever be able to separate myself from it. But now… the paper is obsolete. I'm loyal to you. I want you to know that."

Lone's heart leapt in their chest, as they felt tears of relief fill to the brims of their eyes. They couldn't say how long they'd been hoping to hear this from him, it was getting to the point that they thought they never would; that the dreadful scrap of parchment shackling Charon to his horrendous past would taint their relationship until the end of their days, but now…

A scarred finger brushed against Lone's cheek, capturing the tear that had escaped them in their moment of relieved contemplation. They turned their head, following his hand's retreat, and their eyes met his. A once stormy ocean now seemed to resemble a calm, pensive pool as he peered at them with a clarity he never thought he could have achieved.

Fawkes:

Lone’s eyebrows drew upwards as they gazed sympathetically at the mutant. Fawkes was hunched over, his head buried in his large hands as small grunts of frustration pushed their way through his overlapping fingers. He’d been having flashbacks all day long, the brief snippets of his time as a human tormenting him in their fragmented incompleteness.

“Fawkes?” They tested. Lone hadn’t been able to rouse him from his state of anguish since the pair had returned to their Megaton home. Three hours ago. They rose from their chair, moving to sit beside him on the couch. Thus far, they had let him be, believing that the memories he was struggling with would either come back to him fully, or slip away from his grasp altogether, as they usually did. But this time they appeared to be more insistent and less comprehensible, rendering their companion aggravated and exhausted, and leaving Lone feeling utterly useless.

As they settled beside him, they brought a hand up to rest on his broad shoulder, feeling the pulsing tenseness of his muscle as his heavy breathing forced his shoulders to rise and fall raggedly.

“Hey,” They said softly, “I know it’s hard, but you have to try and let it go.” Lone brought their hands up to grasp at his, gently pulling them away from his scrunched up face.

“That’s not you anymore. You’re Fawkes.” They told him, looking into his strained eyes, “You’re free now, free from the vault, free from who you used to be, and free to make your own choices. To be your own kind of person.” Slowly bringing their hands down towards his lap, they continued holding onto them tightly as they tried to bring him back to reality, tried to ground him back in the present.

“You’re my closest friend, Fawkes, no matter who you were, I love you now. For who you are.” Lone’s words seemed to finally draw his attention to them, his weary eyes softening at the sight of them, as the present world around him seemed to solidify. They felt his hands squeeze theirs to the brink of being too tight, holding firmly enough to keep him tethered to this reality, and when they flexed their fingers beneath the intense pressure, he became aware of his actions, and ceased them. The mutant’s grip softened as he exhaled, finally letting his taut muscles relax beneath his ravaged, olive skin.

“That’s it. Welcome back.” Lone smiled up at him, their own relief evident in their softened expression. Fawkes slumped a little lower, his fatigue forcing his shoulders to slouch and his head to bow forwards, as he blinked away the last shreds of the past that stubbornly tried to linger in his mind. Lone saw his shrunken frame as an opportunity, and withdrew their hands gently from his grasp, bringing their arms up to wrap around his shoulders. The hug was a little awkward, with his position facing straight ahead on the couch and Lone seated beside him, not to mention his much larger frame, which proved to be difficult to fully embrace; but, after a moment, he managed to bring an arm around Lone in an effort to return the gesture, allowing them to sink further into the security of his chest.

The pair remained this way for a few moments, both pressing the other firmly to them as they relaxed into the contact and grew more comfortable. Fawkes was certainly unused to the action, but his contentment was palpable in the way he slowly gave into Lone’s touch, leaning his head against theirs and clutching at them just a bit tighter before finally slackening and pulling away.

“Thank you, Lone. It is hard to feel… lost for such a long time.” His usually gruff voice came out like tattered silk as it was softened by the emotion accompanying it, and they couldn’t help but notice as Fawkes’s hand remained settled over their shoulder, still seeming to steady himself with the unwavering contact.

“Lone, how am I ever going to repay your kindness when you continue to assist me in so many ways each and every day? Your friendship is truly unparalleled.” Lone smiled at that, chuckling slightly at the sincerity of his words.

“Some people just… need more help than others.” They told him, “I’m happy to keep helping you every day, even if you can never repay me for it. That’s what people do when they care about each other, Fawkes. Love isn't a commodity to be bought and sold, at the expense of one and the gain of another; it’s something you reciprocate on your own terms, something you give to yourself and others without condition or expectation of gaining anything in return.”

Fawkes nodded his head slowly, eyes unfocused as he thought through Lone’s words.

“If that’s the case… Then, right now, I vow to love you as you say I should. Unconditionally. And hopefully that will be enough.”

Jericho:

The ex-raider collapsed with a groan, burying his head, face first, into the plush pillows atop their mattress. His rifle and bits of armor were strewn throughout the Tenpenny apartment, and Lone strolled behind him, trying to kick his things into a somewhat organized pile as they too tried to make themself more comfortable.

Bits of armor clattered to the floor as Lone made their way to their shared bed, smiling exasperatedly at their companion, stretched across the entirety of the mattress, preventing them from settling beside him.

I’m tired too, you know. They thought, releasing a puff of air as they considered how to go about solving this little problem of theirs. Lone tried dropping their bag beside the bed, the loud thud sounding as close to his ear as they could get it without physically hitting him with the sack, but Jericho didn’t even flinch. They clicked their tongue, peering around the room as they searched for a way to rouse him. As Lone started towards their shelves lining the wall of the hotel room, eyes set on the plethora of miscellaneous items they might be able to use to their advantage, a raucous snore erupted from within the plushness of their pillow-clad mattress. Lone groaned, turning about to face him before starting back towards the bed. Fine, you don’t want to make room for me? I’ll make it work anyways.

Lone approached the unconscious ex-raider, poking at the firmness of his back, testing, before hopping up in the air to land, stomach-first, on top of their companion.

“What the shit?! The fuck you think you’re doing?” He grumbled through the thick fabric.

“Just making myself comfortable.” Lone shifted their hips and shoulders, settling themself more firmly onto Jericho’s back.

“And you’re expectin’ me to put up with this shit?” He lifted his head, straining his neck to glare back at them questioningly.

“I really don’t see what you can do about it, old timer.” Lone leaned forward, digging an elbow into the back of his ribcage as they brought their mouth to his ear. They felt him tense at the pressure, bringing one of his arms back awkwardly as he tried to find a grip on them. Lone swatted his hand away with theirs, leaning onto their other side to avoid his flailing limb. As he felt their weight shift, Jericho twisted his body in an attempt to overturn them, but Lone instead decided to bring their arms around his shoulders, clinging to him so that their body shifted with his as he tried to roll them off.

“Mother fucker--” Lone began to giggle at his frustrated growls, as he rose, propping himself up on his elbows, with Lone still gripping him firmly, arms wrapped tight across his chest. He paused his thrashing, and Lone felt him shifting his head downwards, extending his neck to reach for something with his mouth…

“Ow-- Hey!” Jericho took a part of their wrist into his mouth, biting down hard, causing their grip to loosen, and at the opportunity, he decided to throw himself backwards onto the mattress, effectively crushing Lone beneath him. They felt the breath get knocked out of them as he landed, now settling himself on top of them, grinding the back of his head into their chest in an effort to make himself more comfortable in the most obnoxious way possible.

Well… that could have gone better, but hey, at least now I’m on the bed.

“Alright, you win.” They said, their voice coming out strained due to the pressure on their lungs.

“Damn right I do. Old timer… fuck you.” Lone laughed at that, reveling in the way he took their name calling so seriously.

“Alright, alright. I get the point, can you get off me now?”

“Nah. I think I like this. It’s real comfortable. Think I’ll just sleep this way.” Lone groaned at him, trying weakly to tousle him off their body before giving up with a loud sigh, being sure to blow their hot breath of frustration straight onto the top of his head. They felt his body shudder.

“Fuckin’ fine, little tike, I’ll get off.”

“Uck, don’t call me that.” Lone said as he rolled off of them, falling onto the mattress at their side. They peered over at him to see his reaction, pleased at the dark-eyed glare that bore into them, a glint of humor shining in their depths.

“Look, I’m allowed to complain,” They told him, shifting onto their side so they could see him better. “You friggin’ bit me.” The ex-raider smiled deviously at that.

“Hmm. Yeah, I did. And I’m about to do it again.” With that, he lunged at them, an arm wrapped around their waist to hold them in place as his teeth met their neck.

“Hey! What the--?” A moment later, the sharp pain dissolved away and was replaced by something soft as Jericho pressed his lips to the tender spot, soothing over the mark he had left. Lone’s eyes fell closed as his mouth moved up to their jaw, peppering kisses as it moved across their jawline to their chin, before finally drawing upwards to meet their lips.

“I hope you know.” Lone heard him say as he pulled away from them, “This ain’t over yet.” They felt the mattress shift as he collapsed back onto it, and they smiled at his words, scooting closer so they could throw an arm over his stomach as they pressed their head to the crook beneath his shoulder. Lone meant to say something cheeky in response, but before they could utter a word, they felt themself dissolve into sleep as the soft sound of Jericho’s snores filled their ears.

Here is the original post with the Fallout 4 M!Companions

Here is the post with Fallout New Vegas M!Companions

#fallout #fallout companions #fallout companions react #fallout companions reacts #fallout companions reactions #fallout 3 #fallout 3 companions #fo3 #fallout butch #butch deloria #fallout charon #charon fo3 #fallout fawkes #fawkes fo3 #jericho fo3 #fallout jericho #lone wanderer #butch fo3

329 notes · View notes

messwriting · 3 years

Text

Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Western AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

(my saddle’s waiting) ride it

Iwaizumi “Big Guns” Hajime x Female Reader

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings: Being ridiculous in front of your crush. Porn With Plot. Not researched strippers industry. Lowkey exhibitionism. Oral in a public space (bathroom); Cock-blocked Interrupted orgasms; Masturbation/fingering; Fingering in public (street), then while driving. Driving while fingering? Unsafe driving. Fucking against a door, then a wall. Alcohol and mentions of drugs. Side Tendou/Oikawa. Bit of a teasing, overconfident Iwachan. A poor excuse of oblivious colleagues to lovers.

Word count: WAY TOO BIG. +11k.

Note: 🤠 Brought by your wicked duo degenerates, Saint Dymphna and me: LAWBREAKERS MULTIVERSE 🤠 electric bogaloo

You guys know the drill @dymphnasprose started this all with their tempting ways! It was the image of Iwaizumi all oiled up, working in his garage like Channing Tatum that made me cave and do this. Once again, being with Dymph is nothing short of amazing and I LOVE THEM 🥺💕💕

This is wayyyy too ploty for something where I just wanted people to bang, but you guys know how I get with Iwaizumi. I’m not totally happy about how this turned out but honestly I have no time to work on it and it has to be out. You guys will realize I went full myself with Reader’s crush on Iwaizumi in this. Sorry not sorry.

Biiig, huuuuuge thanks to both @vanille--kiss and @oneblonded for their help in beta-ing this, you guys are incredible. 💕 As always a big thanks to @mixedhell who always helps me when I’m troubled <3

Iwa’s song: Pony (of course)

You can also read: MAKKI | MATTSUN

You check your phone and realize you’re late… again.

You hate, hate, hate morning classes, but if you want to be in time for your internship and still have time to study and, well, live, you’re obligated to accept the first class of the day on a Friday. You hate it, and you hate it even more that it’s how you have to end your week but you’ve made peace with it.

That doesn’t mean you can actually get there in time, reason why you’re twenty minutes late running with your keys and coffee in one hand while you try to balance both your books and your backpack with the other. And when you push the door with your hip, it makes a loud squeaking noise while opening, ruining both your quiet entry and bringing everyone’s eyes on you, of course, because when have you ever been granted a fucking break, right?

“Sorry!” You murmur while trying your best into making a curt bend, and your professor looks over his glasses to you in a very pointed manner but other than that he resumes what he was speaking on before.

You know he hates you being late (especially as a repeat offender) but you’re a fairly participative student and you regularly earn one of his top grades, so you think that buys you some slack -- and leverage. You go to your habitual seat by the wall, and try your best not making any other noises while you set everything in their places and, thankfully, a moment later, you’re able to breathe while in your seat, with your open computer and notes ready. You give yourself about twenty seconds to drink a bit of your coffee and check out where in the topic the professor is lecturing about.

“That’s why Iwaizumi-san will be receiving your papers. I’ll be returning to the next week, and in the time being, he’ll be doing the full TA hours. If you have any questions just ask him and remember to schedule appointments before-hand, if possible.” Your professor states something that makes it clear you lost some important announcement at the beginning of the class and your eyes fly to Iwaizumi in response, but the man is just sitting at his normal place, front class, quietly nodding to the professors’ explanation while his big hands fly over his notepad.

You sigh, wistfully, and take another sip of your coffee while your eyes thread over his form, clad in loose jeans that still seem tight in those amazing thighs of his and a hoodie that doesn’t do much to hide those incredible arms. Iwaizumi isn’t very tall, but he’s still taller than you and his shoulders are broad enough to engulf anything behind him when you stand too close. God, you wished Iwaizumi would do full TA hours on you anytime. He could work you into overtime too, you certainly don’t mind.

You gulp down the saliva that overflows your mouth with some coffee and leaves another small breath to accompany your thoughts.

You snicker just a bit and Iwaizumi’s eyes are suddenly on yours and your blood pressure peaks in a second while you choke on your coffee. Your teacher asks if you’re okay and you are obligated to answer yes while trying to shrink into the chair.

See. Incredible track-record.

You manage to not make a complete clown of yourself during class again and even win over some praise from your professor for your contributions in the debate about ethical issues and patient safety. It’s usual that you and Iwaizumi end up interacting with each other’s input in debates but he was quiet today and when you’ve made an addition to his comment about unhelpful patients and mandatory rest all he did was nod and roll his jaw. As if you know what the fuck that means.

You chalk it up to him stressing over being in full TA hours for the week and when the class ends you stay in your seat while finishing typing some notes before you blink and they’re suddenly lost in your brain. When you look up and start packing your things you realize there’s only you and Iwaizumi left in the class and notice he’s looking directly at you, almost as if he was waiting for it.

You don’t think there’s another man who can look so dashing before ten am and with just a small corner lip smile, but hey, you’re not complaining.

“Hey,” he says a one-word greeting and holds his hand up and your heart leaps before you can manage to send a smile his way. Ah, it’s really unfair how cute he is.

“Hey Iwa,” you greet back in a fair tone even if you feel a bit hot in the face, “You were unusually quiet today.”

He smirks and his hand clasps his neck for a moment while he scratches his hair. “Aa, just busy.” He hooks his backpack over his shoulder and walks over to you while you’re still packing your books. “You lost the warning, right?”

“Yeah, late. Something important?”

“Nothing big. It’s the deadline for the midterm article, which you lost the explanation to but here--” He extends you his open notepad and you see the notes and instructions there, scribbled in block letters not very neatly, but fairly organized. You look it over briefly, confirm that is nothing different from the normal and bring your phone to take a picture.

“Thanks, Iwa. Do you need any help with the TA hours?”

“Nah. It’s all fine. I organized my internship last month to have this week off.”

“Oh, smart,” you say as you swing your backpack over your shoulder and pick up your purse and the single book that couldn’t fit with your laptop in it. Iwaizumi makes you nervous. You’re fairly sure it’s because of the massive fucking crush you have on him. “Well, let me know if you need help.”

“Thanks,” you notice that he stays there looking at you for a second more... And then a few seconds more.

“Is everything okay?

“You’ve been getting to class late a lot,” his eyes turn wide when he realizes what he just blurted out and the small pink dust atop his cheeks could be the thing that ends up killing you. Your brain gets lost in a chant of CUTECUTECUTE and for a moment you resist the urge to clench your books to your chest. “The professor asked me to see if everything was okay.”

“Oh, ah…” You actually force a bit of laugh out at that, surprised and a bit breathless. Dammit, you monitor two classes and then suddenly being a little bit late becomes a crime. “It’s nothing, actually. I’m just not a morning person. And I hate early classes, but I needed to get this one because of my internship, so I’m struggling with the time.”

Iwaizumi nods and even gives you a short smile while you two start walking alongside one another out of the class. “Ah, you should really fix your sleep schedule. You know the drill, eight hours every night.”

“You mean that impossible thing?” You laugh and thank him when he opens the door for you two to pass. Hot and a gentleman, God really has favorites. “I’m trying, but it’s easier said than done and I’m something of a night owl.”

“Brat. You’re just on your phone until late,” Iwaizumi snickers and you all but gasp, and before you can say anything he’s signaling to the other side you’re going. “I still have classes, see you on the TA hours?”

“Yeah, I have two days of TA next week,” you manage to squeak out without making a fool of yourself after he calls you a brat and even smiles his way despite the way you feel a sudden heat wave over your body.

“Nice. See you then.”

“Bye Iwa.”

You scurry off the other side and when you turn a corner you stop and do something absolutely ridiculous that is an internal scream with your head against the wall. You press your forehead against the cold tile and breathe about two or three times, all while your mind goes into overheat after a small talk with Iwaizumi Hajime, the hottest, most amazing Teacher Assistant this Physical Therapy course must have ever had.

You hear someone saying your name while you try to recover and when you look to your side your heart sinks to your stomach as your eyes turn into plates. Hajime is looking at you funny, holding out a small paper to you and probably wondering if you’re okay in the head. Of course it’s him. It wouldn’t be you if this didn’t happen.

“Ahhh, hi again?” You squeeze out in a weird breathless voice and Iwaizumi’s eyes seem to turn a pretty dark shade while his lips spread in a grin.

“You let this fall.”

Sure, of course, you dumbass did.

“Are you okay?”

“Thanks, Iwa. I was uhhh just…” You press your lips because your mind is blank and then God decides to cut you some slack with a momentaneous brilliance. “I forgot an important thing was due tonight and yeah, I was just screaming at myself.”

“Anything I can help with?”

Yes. Marry me. Or just fucking, you’re not picky.

Your whole face burns and you lower your eyes for a moment because the images assaulting you are just too much. Iwaizumi looks just so good up close, all sharp jawline and hard planes on that spiky jet-black hair and green eyes. Jesus Christ, looking like that should be illegal.

“No, it’s just something for this bachelorette party I have tonight.” God decides to grace you with some more lying skills and you thank them internally. There’s even a smile on your face.

Iwaizumi nods away with your explanation.

“Ohh,” He says with a smirk and your heart does a leap. “That’s nice. Give the bride my congrats.”

“Thanks. I’ll tell her.” Then, he extends the paper again and you finally grab it, once again making a fool of yourself to him. “Sorry, thanks for this.”

Iwaizumi just nods and smiles your way, quickly turning back and leaving after saying goodbye and waving your way. This time you have half a mind to search a bathroom before screaming for real.

Honestly, you cannot believe where you are right now. Lawbreakers. The name is written in a pretty calligraphy font in bright fucking neon that simply demands attention in the dark of night. It’s the final stop of the bachelorette party of your good friend to which you are late. From the group text, everyone is at least nicely buzzed and you’ve been laughing with the ridiculous pictures the group of women have been sending you non-stop while calling you a buzzkill.

As your car pulls into the front of the place, you just can’t help but snort. It’s cheesy, definitely tacky but nice, a use of the western theme that actually plays well.

Outside there’s a neon cowboy riding a horse and you just… can’t help but be amused. There’s a small line of women waiting even when it’s already late but you walk up front as your friend had told you too, perks of being a member of the VIP entourage of women partying in the allegedly last night for your friend to be free.

The doorman lets you in quickly and just as you’re passing the threshold a tall, pretty and lean, but built man clad in nothing but a white outfit rolls to your side, offering a flute of sparkling wine from a tray.

“Well, look at that.” The smile he sends you is trained, but charming and you can’t help but smile back. “We truly do have the prettier customers. Can I offer you some champagne? Maybe something stronger?”

You’re just bringing your hand up to say no when you stop, muse about how much catching up you’ll have to do with your friends inside and shrugs. “Well, better get a head start, right?”

“Yes!” He congratulates you, standing too close as he brings you a flute and deposits on your fingers, his hand trailing on your pulse for a moment before he lets go. Then, he throws you another charming smile, the mischief reaching his eyes this time. “That’s a good girl~”

You try to hide the way his charm works by letting your mouth fall in a small laugh, but something tells you he catches that either way. That, you think, is what you call a seasoned pleaser.

“Thank you.”

Your cheeks are heating the tiny bit as you scurry off the corridor to the club insides, following the loud music and increasingly louder screams.

“Enjoy the show!” The man chuckles behind you and you raise your glass in acknowledgment, hurrying inside to do just that.

Honestly, it’s not what you were expecting.

As you pass the wooden saloon doors at the end of the corridor, the sound of screaming surrounds you as physical waves, washing through your body in such a high pitch you stumble in your heels. The energy inside makes you unable to not enjoy yourself automatically, surrounded by tables of women and a few groups of men all completely enthralled on the show that’s already happening inside.

For starters, western decoration aside, you were definitely not expecting to see your friend, the bride-to-be, being grinded on stage.

The strawberry-blonde male is thrusting against the center of your friend's legs, precise and exciting wave-like motions that clearly are making everyone inside, your friend included, lose their minds. He grinds and holds himself up, moves your friend around as if she’s a doll and humps her behind. It looks so sinful and still in perfect beat with the song and for a second your mind just-- short circuits, hand shooting to your mouth as the laughs tip over loud and hearty. Your friend is burning in embarrassment at the way the man is moving and grinding on her, hands almost locked on her body as if she thinks she can’t move or something will just blow up.

Then again maybe she’s the one who’ll blow up, being so close to such a fucking hot man. You can definitely see how that would make her blow a fuse, completely not used to this kind of thing.

You manage to stop laughing at your friend losing it on stage and quickly spot the table, the balloons that have been featured in lots of pictures making themselves seen: bright teal things stating “one dick forever”. Every single one dressed in black and with their current bright plastic cowboy hat. It could be worse; if the place wasn’t so fitting with it’s bright lights and mixed decorations ranging from cowboy neon signs and saddles in place of stools.

By the time you manage to walk over amidst the screaming and join in on the girls fun, the showman has finally let your friend go in prol of fishing another happy bride and she looks every bit completely shaken as you’ve thought.

“Hey, baby, you good?” The slit in her white dress is higher, clearly a side effect of the way the man hiked her legs just so…open, and you chuckle at how she huffs a breath out and let herself fall against the cushions, both parts pent up and mortified.

Well, you’re already liking the place.

Then, one of the other bridesmaids presses a full plastic flute of champagne to your hand, calls everyone up to a toast and you let yourself fall back into the festivities. Your friend seems to be having a hard time coming back from the heated grinding session in the middle show, to which she excuses herself from the table and reassures everyone that she’s fine. Still, you pull her on the side, ask her once again if she’s okay, to which she just explains she needs some air.

God, you understand.

You were about to follow her when another bridesmaid pulled you into a hug, happily chatting about how this place was incredible, and trying to fill you in on the fun you missed by being late. Your eyes accompany your friend for a moment, seeing as she walks a bit clumsy but otherwise fine to the corridor that leads to the bathroom. Well, she would be fine.

The current show ends and the lights glow brighter, finally allowing you to check out the place. The Lawbreakers Club is nice and full; filled to the brim with groups of women and men around and apparently yours is not the only bachelorette party taking place in the western-themed strip bar. The waiters are wearing skimpy little clothing, the place decorated as a cross-theme of magic mike and an imitation of a western saloon.

Then, before you can even finish the current drink you have in your hands, the lights go down once again while the stage is lightened up in bright neon. You’re all close enough and with an amazing stage view to catch when a very tall, very pretty, brunette who welcomed you earlier comes to the middle of the stage.

The crowd goes immediately wild as the song is lowered to a simple mumble in the background and the man walks slowly to the center stage, open hands and the devastating smile of someone who knows they’re all that and more.

Bit obnoxious but hey, there’s a literal horde of women screaming for him. You’d say it’s acceptable.

“Well, well, well, look like we have a full house tonight.”

The screaming reignites, sounding even louder since they also come from your own table and you can’t help but laugh.

“Are you guys ready for the next show?” The crowd screams a resonant yes. “Good. Let us make a lot of noise for two of our best, biggest outlaws around.” As the cheers erupted once again, you can actually hear some names being called, all revolving around names with big, pretty or animals thrown around.

“Did someone actually scream for Issei Horsecock?” You ask the bridesmaid closer to you and both of you laugh when she says yes. “Oh, wow.”

“Yes, yes, you know the ones. Now, let’s make our Big Guns flustered with the warm welcome, you know what a big softie he actually is under all that hard, big, brute exterior.” It’s actually enthralling to see Oikawa dealing with the crowd, you can’t help but laugh away at his faces and double meaning. Then he stops, winks at the crowd and goes, “Maybe he just needs a ride. So, ride it, ponies.”

It’s clear the announcement everyone was waiting for, as the crowd loses right there. The lights are once again focused on the stage, dripping low as the music picks up in a sexy beat as two big, broad and athletic men make their ways to the center stage, Oikawa nowhere to be seen anymore.

You cannot believe your eyes. You blink them once but then become completely unable to tear your vision from the image unfolding in front of you even for a second. The men comes to the front of the stage, holds onto the pole dance and undulates in a sinful, unholy trusting motion that has your mouth watering and he falls backwards with his hand supporting himself as his legs part on the metal pole and he keeps trusting in time with the bass, a honest-to-god mimic of sex that has you swalowing dry and drooling, your body heating up at the simple images that ellicit in your brain.

He does a twirl in the air, falls in a plank and holds a hand up to hold his cowboy hat all while supporting his body in only one hand. He undulates in thrust motions, twerk his ass in the air before pressing down and takes his hat off his head as a display of strength you never in your mind thought would get you this bothered.

His jet black hair is short and spiky, mussed by sweat and you immediately licks your lips at the salacious thought of licking it up from his skin. He falls with his back on the floor, start once again to proove just how fucking incredible it would be to ride him and then gets up in one single jump that knocks the air of your lungs.

You take in all of him as the light catches on his perfect body, wearing nothing more than an open black leather vest with beaten dark jeans and a big, daunting belt buckle and the cowboy hat in his hand.

And you feel as you have a out of body experience as his face registers in your mind, that mischievous smirk gracing his lips making your whole brain crash into a halt because you recognize that man as no one other than Iwaizumi Hajime, your long-time crush and Teacher Assistant with whom you were just earlier today.

Your eyes are unable to look anywhere but him, completely enthralled by the simplest realization that that single amazing piece of man is actually your long time crush, kind-of-friend and colleague. It feels unreal, impossible, to wrap your head around that piece of information and you’re rendered speechless, mind-blown and enchanted, eyes locked on his glistening muscles, the spanse of his skin on show growing by the minute as he does movements straight out of a wet dream.

Yours, to be even more specific.

It’s clear he doesn’t see you with the dimly lit room and the crew of women chanting. You’re sitting dumbfounded, mouth agape and blood reeling enough that your forehead seems like it will explode, but also feeling as if you’re suspended in a haze - as if Iwaizumi’s body undulating on the air as he holds himself on a pole is something of a spell and you’re definitely sucked in by it.

You can pinpoint the exact moment he sees you, as his show’s ending and the lights around the stage start shining once again. It’s painfully clear how Iwaizumi tenses from the realization, his eyes falling wide and curses tipping from his beautiful lips, the top of his cheekbones lighting up as he all but runs from the front of the crowd and in a moment you’re mirroring his embarrassment, face heating at the bizarre situation you’re finding yourself into.

Your TA is a stripper. And a very good, famous one at that.

What exactly are you supposed to do with this information?

It’s almost an hour and about three shows later where you’re filling your head pounding by the beat, unable to relax even as delicious men pass through your table and play with your friends.

You feel tense, paranoid at what exactly has happened and where Iwaizumi may be, stomach turning and unresponsive as you try to sooth it with booze until you give up, rising on unsteady legs. Muscles strained from how long you’ve been sitting still, afraid to look anywhere and be slapped across the room with some other shocking news.

You take a deep breath as you balance yourself once again on your heels and walk to the bathroom for some needed cool-down, latching on the opportunity when another show is already rolling, a hot but unapproachable-looking man with blond hair and streaks on it owning the stage as if it’s his territory.

As you’re turning on the corridor, however, you’re circled by big arms and yanked from the ground, a yelp turning into silence as you take one look around and find dark green eyes boring into yours, a harsh look on Iwaizumi’s face that make you embarrassed at what it does to your guts.

He scurries off with you inside a place that looks like a private room, fairly dark with red lights around and a ominous pole-dance stage in the middle that makes your mind overheat at the images it summons: the man in front of you clad in nothing but a black jeans rolling his hips up into the air as if daring you to take a ride.

Well, shit.

Iwaizumi’s arms leave your sides and you stumble a bit, eyes diverting down as your face burns. You realize he takes that the wrong way when he sounds gruff and pissed.

“What? Can’t even look at me now?”

You look up in time to catch his arms crossing around his front. You wish he didn’t do that, as now you have one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen all angry-looking with bulging arms oiled and shining, clad in nothing but removable pants, leather chaps, vest and a black cowboy hat.

You groan something unintelligible as you lose the ability to speak and Iwaizumi’s expression turns sour, lips pressed so hard it almost seems like he’s pouting, his hard eyes looking anxious and downcast.

That’s what helps your brain kickstart, completely unable to see Iwaizumi looking remotely sad and acutely aware of how this must be taxing on him.

“Sorry, I-- It’s not you,” You wince as his eyes center on you, unimpressed, “I mean it! It’s just-- I was caught off guard.”

Iwaizumi makes a humming noise and centers his eyes on you as if he’s waiting for you to keep going but your brain is completely blank, staring at him with wide eyes and burning surprise. You have to make a serious effort to avoid letting your eyes wander his frame.

“So,” you start, unable to handle the silence and Iwaizumi groans, pulling his cowboy hat off to thread fingers over his hair in a nervous display that you’re sure he did not mean to be sexy but ends up being anyway. “I’m not sure what to say here.”

“Shit. What are you even doing here?”

“Bachelorette party,” you answer without missing a beat and he all but groans again, as if just remembering is an actual thing that exists- and probably gives him lots of money if tonight was anything to go by.

The clear display of his anxiety actually helps you get a bit more at ease, and you can’t help but crackle an awkward smile. “So... you work here.”

“Yes,” Hajime brutal honesty shows he’s regaining his composure. “It’s good money if you work well and the hours are flexible.”

Not the only thing that’s flexible. You bite your lips at the thought to stop the words from actually spilling from your lips.

“I take it you're not public about this?”

“As little as I can considering the pictures and social media. The club is kinda famous, too.”

“I noticed.”

The silence stretches for a moment as Iwaizumi looks around nervously, his stance unmoving. You take a deep breath and sigh, lips falling in an odd, astonished smile. “Wow, Iwa, that’s…”

“What?” He bites back, defensive. You just end up chuckling, long breath falling from your lips as you look at him and can’t help but be once again dumbfolded at how fucking perfect this man is.

“Nothing, it’s just-- I would never expect it. It’s amazing, though. You’re amazing.” You wince at your own words and how telling they are, but carry on despite the burning on your face. “You seemed like a completely different person out there.”

Definitely not the quiet TA you’re used to. Definitely still completely gorgeous.

Your body tenses as your heart does somersaults in your chest, hunger flaring enough that your throat constricts and your face burns once again.

“Don’t you think it's bad?” It comes out a bit strained, his eyes trained on you, tense and vulnerable. And you just about fall deeper for him right there.

“Why? It’s your work.” You try your best smile, and after a little consideration Hajime’s shoulders finally seem to relax, lips jutting up just a bit as he breathes deep.

“No one in the university can know though,” Iwaizumi says quickly, eyes on yours with a little, tiny smirk. “Obvious reasons.”

That makes you giggle.

“Of course. I’ll keep your secret.” You agree in earnest, honest and clear, and this time when you smile at him, your whole body warms at how his eyes fall down to look at it.

“Good.” His voice goes down a tone, husky and gruff- and making unspeakable things to your already poor state. “Did you enjoy the show?”

Your heart seems to shoot up to your throat, and you try to squeeze words out around it.

“I… uh… yes, I mean, sure. It was… quite incredible.”

“Really.” Hajime smirks and you try to swallow your heart before you choke.

His green eyes stare deeply at your face, drinking the burning on your cheeks, the quick beat of your pulse on your throat, the pursed, wet lips and the way you tremble when he all but takes a step closer. You brace yourself, eyes lifting from the ground to center on him and the sticky, hot sensation spreads through your lower limbs at the burning heat you find there.

“Well, there’s another one to be done.” That tone comes again and you’re forced to press your legs just a tiny bit closer, suddenly aware of the fact you’re both alone in a dark room. He takes another step closer and your eyes fall on his lips, smirk starting to split his face in two, “Stick around.”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out and Hajime’s eyes turn darker.

"Iwa-channn~''

It's so close it sounds loud from across the half-opened door and Iwaizumi seems to fall back on himself, annoyance furrowing his brows. He takes another deep, heated look on you but tears his eyes away before you can’t say anything.

“Sorry, have to go.”

Your breath leaves you in one go. It feels like you just stepped off a rollercoaster, blown off the ground and slow to catch up.

“Okay, uh, good show?”

“It will be,” Hajime’s eyes are warm on you. Meaningful. “Watch it all, okay?”

And then he leaves, the brightness from the corridor snapping you from your haze as you suck all the oxygen left in the room and then screams silently against your hands.

Iwaizumi feels nervous for the first time since the first time he stepped on stage, about two years ago. It feels like he has something to prove and conquer in this single performance and it doesn’t help that Makki comes running late, smelling of sex and sporting marks that tell just of that, too. But for once Hajime decides he has his own stuff to worry rather than the shit his friends pull.

When they step on stage, his eyes zoom-in on you immediately, something spreading on his skin as he finds your attention centered on him - bulging, enthralled eyes and warm appreciation.

Hajime smirks. They haven’t even started yet.

On cue, Mattsun, Makki, Oikawa and Kyoutani slide on their position and Iwaizumi is delighted that your eyes remain on him.

When the show starts, among screamings and money being waved, he follows the steps nicely, out of habit. Iwaizumi tilts his hat at you and you burn so bright he feels his skin heating at the newfound power.

His vest is the first to go off and he makes sure to have his hands running around his chest more than once, teasing slide until the leather chaps as he thrusts his hips, waving motion that covers his whole body.

He circles, back muscles in the spotlight as his hands come up behind his head, holding the cowboy hat snug in his head, ass tight in the black briefs as he keeps the motions and then turns to fall down on a plank. Iwaizumi grinds down on the floor, blinks and smiles at the ladies but his eyes are only searching for you.

He gets up with an elaborate move and puts both his hands on the pole, holding himself up sideways before circling it, dropping and incorporating some break dance Kyoutani teached him.

Hajime’s hand slid easily with the oil on his skin, slowly planting his thumb under the loops of his leather chaps to the sound of screaming. He feels electricity edge through his skin -- someone’s eyes focused solely on him and the thrill of it it’s nothing he’s ever felt before. Suddenly he understands a bit more about how Oikawa feels with Tendou around.

Iwaizumi thrusts his hips forward once, snaps his belt off in the air with one pull, making the crowd gasp and scream and the itching on his skin turns south. He watches as your eyes follow the hard planes of his abs and the tight squeeze of his thighs on his leather chaps and then snap back into his face. The fact it’s you only makes it all the more exhilarating.

The choreo is once again on the floor, and he drops to it in a wave motion, hips humping on nothing without faltering, tight ass in the air winning cheers and waves; even so, it’s your silent appraisal that rings the louder.

He gets up again, circles the pole in a charming, teasing manner as he holds the metal bar and grinds on it. Iwaizumi lets his hat on the ground and turns his back to the public in time to snap his pants off in one go, at the same time as the other men on stage, staying in nothing but a ridiculously tight, dark, leather brief.

When he was first presented to the thing, he hated it and opted to go comando into some shows, which earned him some nice money and was always quite the surprise to the patrons. Now, as his eyes lock on yours and your wicked tongue peaks out to lick your plush lips in nothing but appreciation, Iwaizumi is rendered quite fond of the offending thing -- who’d thought this day would come.

Your eyes are glued to him and it almost hurts Iwaizumi that he can’t go straight to you, bring you on stage with him and glide your hands all over his body. He’s unsure of how to proceed but there’s no chance in hell he’s throwing this shot away.

He’s been crushing on you for far too long to do that.

In fact, the dumbfounded look on your eyes is quite endearing, much like all the fumbling and tripping over yourself that he got used to expect every time he sees you. Iwaizumi just assumed you were a bit clumsy and quiet, but then he got to know you and it all blew in his face.

You were a bit of a dumbass but also beautiful, kind, dedicated and attentive. The crush that started as a endearing feeling quickly escalated into opressing and Iwaizumi was all but rendered stupid around you at all times, firm believer that you never truly looked at him like that.

However, as you stare at him unblinking and eager, the picture of hunger in the most delicate predator, Iwaizumi realises he may be wrong and that thought alone is enough to ignite his veins.

Oikawa fishes a lady, pushes her on Kyoutani then does the same with another for Iwaizumi.

He smiles at her, professional, and brings her hands to his chest, his hips drawing circles against her. As her tentative strokes and fondling turn into frantic holds and clawing nails, his eyes can’t help but slide sideways, taking in the way you’re hanging out of every move of her hands.

Fuck, Iwaizumi can’t get hard. But there’s a clear throbbing threading south at your concentration. He can’t help but wonder if you’re imagining your hands on his body instead of hers; your hips against his as he grinds on hers; your mouth on his biceps when she kisses his trademarked asset, the ones that gave him his stripper name.

The woman slides several singles around his briefs, not without copping a few and your mouth falls open in an indignated breath. Iwaizumi tries hard to avoid it going to his dick.

He fishes for another woman in the audience as he lets the groups slide more singles not only on his briefs but inside his boots. Iwaizumi pulls one while she’s sitting in the chair, deposits it on the stage and grinds on her enough that the woman is overheated, hands faltering by her sides. Hajime’s eyes search yours once again, drinking, basking in the envy he pinpoints.

Does that mean you wish to be under him, like that? To feel his body against yours, his hips between your legs, his lower body shoved on your face?

Hajime ends his routine with this one halfway, unable to let them feel what you are doing to him and then - finally - he’s free to walk over to your table. Semi-naked, with his boots, hat and slow-rising hard-on.

He’s done this enough times to be able to keep up with the choreo while he’s navigating the tables, hips thrusting and circling, strangers hands sliding on his oiled body to deposit dollars anywhere they can. They’re mostly handsy, few grab his dick and scream, others palm at his thighs and chest. There’s both numbers and dollars being thrown on him but Iwaizumi is used to it - and that’s definitely not his focus tonight.

Iwaizumi stops for a moment at the table before yours. Joining in the fun as Oikawa is happily grinding on his roommate. It gives Hajime a chance to look your way, enough to find you completely enthralled by his body, wide eyes unwavering, mouth open in a breath as your hand fists the flute you’re holding, the perfect depiction of surprise and enchantment and fuck, Iwaizumi is thrilled.

When Hajime finally stops in front of you, you’re looking at him as if under a spell; mouth hanging softly as stars shine in your eyes and he can’t be faulted for fisting your hair, pulling you up to meet his chest, even if he’s careful with where he touches you.

Iwaizumi pretends his lips gliding against the shell of your ear is not a planned thing.

“You’re looking too hard. Are you enjoying the show that much?”

Your lips move without words falling from it and having you speechless all but set him on fire. Iwaizumi thanks every god (and begrudgingly Oikawa) for his expertise in what he’s about to do. His hand slides on your hips, feeling the way you sway with tremors and stop on your back to support you as he bends you backwards. His mouth skims the skin of your neck and dips lower, so his nose can cross over your cleavage, softly caressing the spanse of your collarbones.

“If you keep looking at me like that I’ll start thinking things, princess. Interesting things, physical things.” Iwaizumi lets his teeth close on the fabric covering your neckline as his eyes look up on yours to find every hint there can possibly be of your warm desire. “Seems like we’re reaching an agreement, too. Do like what you see, hm? Do you want me to do to you the same things I did with them?”

“No,” you tell him in a steady tone and Hajime’s eyes shoot up to yours, confused, until you sigh a breath against his face. “I want you to do more.”

He groans, pulling you tighter against his chest for you to feel the effect you have on him, choosing the momentum to circle his hips in what can be disguised as performance despite it being anything but.

“You can’t just tell a guy that. I may believe it.” His hands drop on your ass, gripping as he guides your hips to work with his and you all but melt, blown out eyes falling on his mouth.

“I’m hoping so. I’m pretty much using all my courage to tell you this.” Your breathless chuckle all but obliterates Hajime’s thinking and he has to put some distance between your faces before he takes your lips in a kiss.

There’s a ringing around his ears and he identifies it as the performance’s end approaching. He has to go back on stage to strip naked and his cock is going to give a show of his own tonight.

“Go wait for me in the corridor, quick.” It's a plea and a promise as he forces himself to let go of you and turn on his heels to get back on stage.

Oikawa gives him a hand up back onto the stage, eyes all knowing as they survey the whole big thing going on inside his briefs.

“Nasty, Iwachan~” His smile is a annoying little thing, but then he slaps Iwaizumi’s ass in encouragement, “Sneak off stage before the end, go, quick, I’ll cover.”

Iwaizumi grunts a thanks and as the boys line up one behind the other, he’s able to lock eyes with you and signal with his head before he dips through the backstage drapes.

You’re not sure what’s the plan when Hajime disappears through the back and your spine immediately shoots up, leaving your friends with a half-assed excuse as your legs carry you towards the corridor that leads to the backstage once you choose neither left or right, but only forward. Your eyes are focused, body overheating as your heart gallops in your chest, clinging to the words Iwaizumi whispered in your ears during his show as it repays again and again over your mind’s eye.

The door to the backstage is signaled with nothing, the only hint of its location being the in and out of men from it as their shows end and they leave the place to either mingle along the audience or enter a private room for privé little shows. Honestly, if it was for Hajime, you’d blow a hole in your wallet for every single second of his time.

However, as you’re closing in on the hidden door you start growing strikingly aware of the fact you have no idea how to actually meet him there and having to knock on it makes you feel both silly and self conscious.

Luckly, you don’t have to do anything.

Iwaizumi burst the door open in time to fetch you and drag you inside as you let out a little yelp, and suddenly you’re surrounded by the smell of weed, cigars and sweat along with men; Iwaizumi’s hot, sweety skin is sticky against yours and you have the fleeting thought that maybe that would be off putting to you if you didn't have the all consuming need to drop to your knees and lick it all from his fucking skin.

“Iwa,” leaves you lips for no reason, just for the fact it’s his name and you let your neck fall back against his shoulder, turning your head to finally taste his skin. Iwaizumi’s arms tighten around you in such a way you feel the rumble of his growl and he all but tow you deeper inside.

You can barely get a look around the dimly lit, dirty backstage room before you’re past the messy lounge and into a tight corridor that ends a small, locker-room styled bathroom where Hajime quickly dips inside.

You get one look at the metal lockers on the side, the two sinks with mirrors upfront and the four bathroom stalls on the left, two on each side before you focus back on Iwaizumi’s jawline, nibbling on whatever you can find and relishing on every little noise that tumbles from his lips.

Hajime’s arms leave you for one moment, depositing you on unsteady legs so he can turn the lock on the door and by then his hand is burying itself in your hair and closing at your hip, forcefully pulling you to him as his mouth closes around your neck and he proceeds to kiss, bite and suck at every spanse of your skin.

“Fuck, I didn’t want to do this here,” Iwaizumi starts with a gruff voice that makes your center weep, the force of his hands around you enough to render your feet useless as he strides over to the sink, imediatelly hiking you over it with his big hands over your ass and a hard bite at your shoulder as if he’s pinging you as the culprit of his angish. “But I can’t fucking wait anymore.”

He sounds so pained, so raw, that you can’t help but groan, mouth searching his quickly as your hands reach for his hair and shoulder, nails digging on whatever you find to secure your hold on his slippery skin. He tastes of whisky and weed, but it’s the fact that it’s Hajime that renders you intoxicated.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he admits as his teeth nibble on your bottom lip, a trail of kisses making their way down so he can bite at your neck, licking it over just so he can suck on it, your eyes rolling back inside your head as your body all but trembles. “I was sure you weren’t interested, fuck.”

That is probably the one thing that could pull you from the haze settling in your brain caused by the fucking thrill that having Hajime kissing and holding you is enough to cause.

“Are you insane?” You whine back at him, tilting your head away from his mouth as your fingers pull at his hair to look him in the eyes. Those beautiful, heated and earnest florest-green eyes that have been your demise since day one. “Iwa, there hasn't been a day I wasn’t interested.”

There’s an edge of surprise on his face, along with a hint of something soft you can’t name and you all but moan at him, unable to form words of just how much you’ve wanted him and for how long. So you choose to show him, instead, legs circling his frame as you press your chest against his and hold his neck with both hands to pull him in a kiss that leaves you lightheaded, toes curling on your heels and heat burning through your veins, melting your insides until it spills on your underwear.

A rumble in his chest tells you about the groan he keeps inside and Iwaizumi’s hands take hold of the flesh of your ass and thighs with bruising strength, violent heartbeats making both of your bodies tremble with need. But then he angles himself back, breaks the kiss and curses after one look at your face.

Next thing you know Iwaizumi’s down on his knees between your thighs, holding you open with big hands under your knees and your brain just ups and fries. Your panties are sticking to your drenched folds and there’s no way the flimsy triangle is able to do much to hide you from Hajime’s attentive eyes. He groans, fingers dipping under the sides of your underwear and he pulls it to the side, baring you the best he can.

He doesn’t really say anything past throwing you a burning look, kissing up the inner part of your thighs, and then he’s mouth is on you - tongue lavishing at both sex and fabric, circling your clit with wondrous expertise and licking along your inner lips like they’re about to spill all your secrets.

“Fuck,” slips from you as your head arches back, hitting the wall. “Iwaizumi...”

Whispered from you that way, his name is the only thing that conveys all of the feelings bubbling on your chest: the glee of the mutual crush, the excitement of being this close, the massive bliss igniting your nerves at his ministrations. If the way Hajime doubles down on his efforts between your legs is any indication - tongue slipping up and down then back up to circle your clit mercilessly - you’d say he agrees.

You feel suspended in time, tense as a tight coil that’ll tear with a single harsh pull. His tongue dances around your cunt as much as he did on stage: perfectly. Deliriously bringing you to a high you’ve aren’t sure you’ve ever tasted. And then he brings his fingers to calmly, slowly massage around your entrance.

“Oh fucking christ!” Your burning moan bounces around the empty space loudly and you swear you feel him snickering against your cunt, only you’re way far gone to care. “Haji-fuck!”

Your hand slides over his hair, fingers delighted at how soft they feel and you use your palm to press his face further against your folds. Your hips humping anything they can because staying still feels like an impossible task with the way your blood is boiling inside your veins.

But then someone is pounding at the door loudly and your eyes snap open as your high slips from you, Iwaizumi’s lips abandoning your sex to throw a nasty glare at the door.

“C’mon Iwa-chan~” someone calls outside, sounding unbelievably pleased at the interruption. “You know the rules! We need to use the bathroom~”

“Two minutes!” Iwa snarl back and as the pounding on the door doesn’t come back, you think he got himself a deal. “Fucking assholes. Can’t give me one fucking moment when they’re the ones always doing this shit.”

He sounds so pissed it’s actually awfully endearing. Red in the face with swollen lips glistening in a pout, and despite the throbbing on your cunt, you can’t help but laugh. His eyes come back to you and a renewed wave of pleasure curls on your pussy by the clear shift into softness you find there, so you pull him back up standing and make a point of kissing him so hard you’re licking your juices from his chin.

Two minutes apparently go by awfully fast, as the door is nudged once again. Softly, this time.

“Fuckers,” Iwa mutters after he breaks the kiss, eyes as daggers aimed at whoever is outside the door. “Give me ten minutes and meet me outside?” You realize by the tone of his voice that Iwaizumi is nervous and your heart does a sickening loop inside your chest as if you needed a heads up of how much you’re gone for him. Your face must do something weird, as his eyes scrunch up and his hands grip on your hips with a tiny bit of strength, pleading. “I just need to change and get my stuff, I’ll be real quick, promise.”

Jesus Christ, didn’t he get it yet?

“Iwaizumi,” His name sounds gruff past your breathless throat and you see the way his eyes turn steely, bracing for heartbreak. “You could tell me to wait forever, and I’d be dying outside waiting for you.”

You make a point of holding his eyes because it feels like it’s important and you’re thankful for that as you can watch the exact moment Iwaizumi lets a long breath out, eyes warming as his lips descend upon yours - one time, then once again; his fingers drawing soft little patterns over your skin.

“I’ll be outside,” you tell him before someone disturbs the moment between you two and he helps you down the sink, your panties choosing this moment to slide to the floor, showing the fact that all that pulling ended up causing a rip. You choke up a gasp and Iwa chuckles, hand sliding to your bare ass to pat at the plush flesh.

“Well, one less thing in the way.”

Getting out of the bathroom and outside the backroom ends up being the most embarrassing thing about it all, as you’re forced to pass through a horde of almost-naked men that throw you all-knowing grins. The pretty man that welcomed you into the Club is the one with the wickedest grin and you can see by Iwaizumi’s grimace alone that he’s in for a hell of teasing.

If the hand gripping your hip is anything to go by, you’d doubt he’s paying it half a mind. He leaves you at the door, tells the ones around there to shut it as they watch, and breathlessly promises you he’ll come in a bit before closing the door.

Even so you can still hear the immediate hollering going on inside and you chuckle for a moment, until you try to take a step and your legs betray you, shaken. There’s a smile etched to your face that you can barely contain until you’re painfully remembered of the fact you’re dripping between your thighs. That’s all you need for your heart to beat on your face, burning so bright you’re surprised you haven’t melted to the floor.

You’re breathless and antsy as you wait for Iwaizumi to come back, the club visibly emptier after the final performance. Your friends have left already, only waiting around until you came to pick up your purse, all of them tired and drunk and leaving in group after calling enough ubers and making sure you were fine.

And not without teasing, of course.

God, you were more than fine. But you’re throbbing, uncomfortable wet and empty, increasingly aware of the fact you’re standing there pantiless as the horny fog dissipates a bit in the absence of one Iwaizumi Hajime to end your logic thinking.

You get antsy of waiting around in the bar despite the bartender trying to make nice small-talk and instead trudges over to the corridor, standing there awkwardly fidgeting as if he’s taking hours and not literally a few minutes.

The door opens with an urge and Hajime’s eyes zoom in on you, long strides that only serve to make your body once again acutely aware of it’s poor state, arousal spiking to the point where you press your legs together to help with the feeling.

But then he’s reaching for you before he’s even really close, and you’re quickly running to him and latching your lips together with urgency. Now that you can kiss him it feels like there’s no point in any other greeting that doesn’t involve his mouth on yours.

His hair is dripping wet with a recent, clearly quick shower and he’s wearing the same clothes you’re used to see him with day by day and, somehow, that just makes it all worse, a literal groan passing your lips as you reach once again for his lips but this time Iwaizumi stops you with a groan, turning you in his arms so both of you can eagerly trudge out of the Club.

Hajime tries to be mindful of you as he shortens his long strides to be able to accompany yours. You’re balancing yourself to run on heels, laugh bubbling out of your chest at the exhilarating feeling of glee of a mutual crush. Iwaizumi throws you one amused look, sharp smile turning teasing as his hands come to circle your waist, hoist you up and hurry the remaining distance to his car.

“Too slow!” Iwaizumi teases with a grunt and chuckles against your neck, big toothy smile against your skin. “Hurry up!”

“Someone’s eager,” you tease but he’s already rounding his car, pressing you on the side to attach his lips to your neck, soft bites and circling hips that show you just how much that sentence is true.

One of his hands surrounds your neck and his thumb tilts your head up enough for his lips to capture yours, a soft kiss contrasting with the need in his grasp on your hips.

“I think we’ve waited too long.”

“Yeah? Who’s fault is that, dumbass?” You nibble on his lips and grind your hips on the impressive burning length that presses on your belly. Iwaizumi chuckles, biting on your neck as his hand slides past your hip to close on your ass.

“Yours.”

Your outraged gasp is lost on his lips, passionate kiss blowing your rational thinking with a nuke. Would you ever recover from Iwaizumi Hajime? God, you don’t think so.

You pull him closer, pressing your chest against him, pressure building once again as your nipples stand to attention. Your leg rakes up on his side as if you’re not on the middle of the street and Iwaizumi lets his hand slide to the underside of your thigh; fingers dipping lower, digits gliding over your drenched slit once before he dips them carefully past the tight ring of your entrance. It’s barely anything, but your mind short-circuits, head falling back against the car.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” Iwaizumi sounds anguished, teeth punishing his lips as his eyes bore on yours. His fingers slide deeper inside you and your mouth opens in a silent moan. “I can’t wait to be inside this pussy.”

That ends you, pussy clenching so hard around his barely there fingers it’s painful to feel the remaining emptiness. You puff a hot breath of air on his face, eyes dazed and blood boiling as you tense and throb.

“Iwa,” Your nails press on his skin so hard your own hand hurts, “if you keep doing this we’ll be doing it in the street.”

Something burns in him, as he presses his fingers deeper inside you to watch your eyes fall close and then pulls them all out, quickly opening the door.

“Get in.”

You obey, having half a mind to wonder if it’s really happening until he’s closing the door and circling the vehicle. “Iwa!” You plead, as somehow it feels like abandonment, your whole being hurting and boiling, a whine in your lips as Hajime slides in the driver's seat and turns the car on, driving it out the curb and down the street as a madman.

“We’re doing this right,” Hajime tells you as he drives, drinking your panting form from the corner of his eyes. His jeans are tight, hint of what awaits you forming a very clear pattern and you feel overheated, frenzied, throbbing with need. So as it turns out, you’re far past the point to care.

You adjust yourself in the seat, legs spreading to allow your hand to reach the appex of your sex as the other closes on a clothed breast. “Iwa,” you sigh in bliss as the pressure finally seems to give in just that one tiny bit. His eyes shoot to you and fall comically large at the view, turning hazed in sequence as his cheeks color red.

“God, baby, don’t do this to me,” Iwaizumi grunts, hand adjusting his cock through the jeans as his eyes try to flit between you and the fairly empty streets.

“I’m not doing anything to you though, I’m doing it to me.” You moan and the car loses balance for a second, sliding to the side and back as you laugh.

“You’re a fucking menace.”

“Try not to kill us, Iwa.” Is all you answer, moan slipping out at the way you let your fingers alleviate the pressure at your clenching center. Iwaizumi looks as if he’s in pain. One of his hands shoots down to hold on your left thigh, bruising strength delicious.

“You wanna play dirty, huh? That’s what you want?” The tinge of aggression in his voice makes your pussy throb around your fingers and for a moment it feels like he knows. “I can play dirty, baby. I can either make you cum like a good girl or let you hang the whole night like a brat, so what do you want?”

Your voice is nowhere to be found and your eyes are locked on Hajime as if he’s the one who hung the moon and stars. He even has the gal to smirk.

“I can be so good, baby, but I’m even better at being bad.”

You skyrocket shamelessly into a little bout of pleasure, a short-lived thing resembling a climax that’s caused by the whiplash of Hajime’s dominance and the pressure bursting inside you as you abuse your own fingers' expertise.

You tremble on his side, head thrown back with a moan of his name and Hajime curses loudly, hand at your thigh awkwardly reaching your slit to slide over it and push two fingers inside, catching the last of your short-lived climax. His face turns solemn, eyes darkening with hunger as a vein rises in his jaw and a renewed wave of wetness stains his digits.

Those forest-green eyes settle on you as he speeds down the empty street. “I’m going to end you,” Iwaizumi presses deeper and you arch your body, legs falling wider for him as fingers you effortlessly, driving and stretching you on thick digits that make you gasp on your own breath.

“This is how it’s going to be.” Hajime starts, voice rough and hot. “Once we’re out of this car and private enough, I’m burying myself inside this pretty pussy in one go.” Your whole breath leaves you in one quick breath, eyes falling open as Hajime’s thumb rounds your clit and a third finger starts pushing inside your walls, burning stretch making you delirious as his words take you apart, one by one.

“Then, I’m fucking you the whole night until you cant even think about a time where I wasn't inside you,” his fingers curve inside your walls, calling motion and upwards thrust that makes your pleasure sparks through your whole body, one hand closing around his wrist as the other locks on a breast. “Until you feel empty without me inside.”

He pulls his hand back as you all but sob, eyes literally welling with tears at the loss of your quickly rising bliss but one look at Hajime has you sobering up, his focused eyes on the street as he hurries down the rest of the way.

As it ends up, Iwaizumi stays true to his words.

He presses you up against the door of his apartment while you two are still on the corridor, brings his hands to your thighs and hikes you up against the door, your dress sliding way past your ass as your bare, throbbing pussy glides over his clothed length. Your whole skin feels like a live-wire, hypersensitive and vibrating.

Hajime’s mouth is closed in a bite on your shoulder as he uses his abilities to open his door without interfering with the sinful way you roll your center against his big cock, needy and lost, pleading for him to just fuck you.

When it clicks open, both his hands fly to your ass as he pushes past the door and close it with a bang as he presses you against it. His mouth is back on yours, tongue invading your lips with a groan and hand flying to tear his jeans open and down just enough for his big, hard cock spring free.

"Yes!" You break the kiss to cry at the first touch of his weeping, hot cock against your cunt, the sheer amount of wetness making it slide from your hole to your clit and then down again.

Hajime sucks a breath to still himself, slowly angles his hips back and let the thick head slide to your entrance with perfect precision, slamming himself half the way inside with one powerful thrust that have his head falling on your shoulder with a blissful groan, your cries of agreement thrown around the air above as you angle your head back.

Your walls fall open for him brutally, soaking wet and ready but still struggling against the stretch. It burns, his fat cock pulsing inside you and as you clench around his girth you realize he's not even all the way inside.

"Oh my god," you breathe out and Iwa sighs, fist slamming on the side of the door as he braces himself and rolls his hips, pushing steadily, sheathing his cock inside you slowly. You choke on a breath, suddenly silent, legs kicking out without your brain to rein on it.

"Jesus," Iwa grunts as he bottoms out, his legs trembling from the effort of holding himself back, mind stumbling as every single cell in his body seems overwhelmed by the feeling of reaching paradise. “You feel like heaven.”

Hajime tells you mostly because he wants to feel you clench around him and you do, his heart soaring with the delicious high of knowing exactly what makes you tick; but the throbbing of his cock reminds him just how long he’s been forgotten and Iwaizumi adjusts his stance, locks his arms around you and simply mutters, “Now, to fucking you the whole night.”

You skyrocket quicker than ever, few presses and pulls igniting a supernova bliss in your veins, tongue useless as it feels alien in your mouth, brain short-circuiting at his thrusts. You’ve never felt like this and you’re pretty sure you’ll never would, not without Hajime.

You’re so lost you don’t even realize he moves you from the door to the wall, Hajime’s hands grabbing a handful of your hair to pull you to a blistering kiss, the trimmed hair at the base of his cock doing wonders against your clit every time he bottoms out, nestled inside a place you never even felt before.

You’re so oversensitive, wound up and tense as your pussy holds him as a vice, grunts falling from his lips that make you skin all but burn at the delicious praise.

As you squeeze “Hajime” past your mouth in a painful breath, frenzied eyes searching for his, he soothes you with kisses all over your face.

“Go ahead, baby.” He tells you with his lips against your skin, “I got you.”

You explode.

There’s no other way to explain the way your pleasure blows you over, sharpshooter through your veins and short-circuits your brain. It feels like being caught in an ocean wave, unable to swim as it carries you underwater and the tides hold you down, unending twirls that assault you through every side until you’re finally reaching shore, rising above to suck a deep breath.

Hajime is peppering your face with kisses as you settle back inside your skin, blinking hazy eyes to his perfect face with a ridiculous smile that must show just how fucking much you’re smitten. But there’s an edge of something painful on his face.

“Wow.” You breathe and his cock responds inside you with a nod of agreement.

Hajime chuckles, plants a big kiss on your wet lips and tries to smile despite the strain on his face as he calls your name. “I’m going to fuck you now.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” you smile dumbly at him, loose and fuzzy around the edges. “Go ahead. Not sure I’ll be of much use, I think I just had a outer body experience.”

“Hmmm,” Hajime smirks, tight around the edges with his throbbing cock buried in your pulsing heat. as he seems pensive “No can’t do, baby.” He rolls his hips for a moment, lecherous noise echoing around the silent flat, then decides to bring you across the short distance to his couch, letting his ass fall on it graceless, cock pressing deeper with the movement. He drinks the little gasp straight from your lips.

“I think I’ve earned my turn to sit back and relax.” Hajime smiles, predatory, hungry and you decide you just may love him like this. “So why don’t you do us both a favor and ride it?”

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime smut #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu smut #thesmutpilecollab #cw exhibitionism

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smoochkooks · 3 years

Text

—hymne a l’amour (m.)

⟶ pairing: park jimin/reader

⟶ genre: smut, fluff, tiny bits of angst

⟶ word count: 5.5k

⟶ summary: it’s valentine’s day and your boyfriend decides to surprise you in more ways than one. and when you’re dating park jimin, cocky, smart and obnoxiously good-looking archeologist, you can be sure of absolutely nothing.

⟶ warnings: dom!jimin, sub!reader, big dick!jimin, sir kink, oral (m receiving), thigh riding, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, ass slapping, dirty talk, use of degrading names, unprotected sex, mentions of jimin having a daddy kink, jimin being disgustingly sweet boyfriend, oc having at least 2 (two) mental breakdowns, cringy valentine’s day presents

this is eldorado valentine’s day special but it can be read as a standalone. enjoy! xx

Spending Valentine's Day in the city of Paris is like walking through the streets of Beijing and smelling the strong essence of soy sauce and chicken every time you take a breath.

Overwhelming.

(Or at least that's what you think is a good comparison, since you've never stood your foot in Beijing before.)

Paris seems to be on another level when it comes to celebrating Valentine's Day. It's because that's the city of love, someone may say, but no, my friend, it's not just that. French grammar isn't the only stupid thing about said country. Citizens are even weirder, in more ways than one. It's the Eiffel Tower and the smell of garlic that disguises it all when you first visit France.

A week before February 14th, restaurants, cafees and grocery shops are all covered from head to toe in red hearts, chubby cupids, big teddy bears, various kinds of roses and, at the top of that – everywhere you focus your eyes on, you spot those huge inscriptions where words ‘love’ and ‘I love you’ are spelled in hundred different types of swirly fonts.

It's all too kitschy for your liking but tourists and locals don’t actually mind it even a bit. Once a year Paris turns into a set of the most cliché rom-com and no matter how irksome it might feel, you just have to survive this festival of boofonery.

You've always despised Valentine's Day with every fiber of your being (mostly because you hadn’t had anyone you could actually spend this day with) but your judgement took a sharp three-sixty turn when certain blond, charismatic man entered your life. Now, while you’re happily taken, a romantic dinner and a bouquet of red roses don’t sound that bad.

But when you're dating someone like Park Jimin, a smart-ass, cocky and obnoxiously good-looking archeologist, you can be sure of abosultely nothing.

It's a little past ten, you’re laying in your king-size bed, a day before the actual Valentine's Day. Jimin informed you he was going to be late for dinner because of some extra paperwork he had to do in the office, so you patiently wait for him. Wrapped like a fancy Christmas gift in a new pair of flimsy, lacy lingerie you recently bought in Victoria’s Secret, all hidden underneath Jimin's baggy t-shirt (the combination of casual and slutty never fails to drive him crazy). The set is cute, in a baby pink colour. The last time you pulled a move like this, Jimin went hard, literally and lyrically.

Let's just say that Park Jimin (and his dick) likes high-quality underwear.

Dating Jimin has taught you a few things, one of them being that his sex drive is insatiable, so you always need to be prepared. That’s why you're now laying here, on your bed, freshly shaved and smelling of coconut, your precious pussy ready to be worshipped by Jimin's mouth.

When you hear the familiar jingle of keys and the door to your apartment swings open, you squeal in excitement, grabbing your phone from the nightstand to scroll through it mindlessly so you don’t come across a girl whose only purpose in life is to get dicked down by her boyfriend.

(Which, right now, is your only purpose.)

“Babe, I’m home!”

You hear Jimin pulling off his shoes and coat, so you shout back, “I’m in the bedroom!”

He seemed to be in a good mood in the morning and if nothing's changed, you're positive about getting some action tonight. A well-deserved orgasm after work it's all you crave. You squeeze your thighs, and wait.

“God, I’m so fucking exhausted.” Jimin announces upon entering the room and as soon as those words leave his mouth, he collapses face down onto the bed. His lifeless corpse smells like sweat mixed with his usual cologne and you wrinkle your nose in disgust.

And that’s on getting railed by your boyfriend tonight.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs after a moment, voice laced with tiredness. He grunts and lifts himself up to place a chaste kiss on your lips. He tastes like bitter coffee and it makes you cringe, but you kiss him back nonetheless. He pulls off too fast for your liking and nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck instead. He cuddles into your side, mumbling something about you feeling warm.

In your head, you count. When was the last time you two had sex? Right, last Tuesday. Oh boy, what a night it was. Your ass still hurts a little while sitting on a chair, a byproduct of your boyfriend's palm landing smack after smack on your cheeks. Lesson learned: never smile too broadly to the waiter who blatantly flirsts with you. You're sure the whole appartment complex heard that night who makes you feel that good

(As if they don’t already know.)

See? Park Jimin is unpredictable.

“How was work?’’ you decide to ask instead, clearing your thoughts from the inappropriate images of Jimin’s bare body pressed to yours as he fucked you that night. You thread your fingers through his blond locks just the way he likes, massaging his scalp.

He sighs, his words muffled when he speaks. “This new employee can’t do shit. I had to prepare everything before tomorrow's expedition by myself,” he says. “I have to tell Namjoon to fire his ass.”

You falter your movements for a second. Right, the expedition. You completely forgot about it. Jimin's going to be out of town for the whole day, digging in the soil in some French village the name of you cannot pronounce.

It looks like your fancy lingerie has to wait for her big premiere a little longer.

“What time are you planning to be back home?” you ask.

“Dunno. Probably late.” Jimin exhales loudly, his breath tickling your neck. His hand travels to your nude thigh, giving it a firm squeeze. You fight back a moan that threatens to spill from you mouth. You really need to get laid soon. “We set off at 6am.” he adds, tracing circles on your bare skin. Your smile drops.

So the plans for morning sex on Valentine's Day stay where they belong. In your dreams.

“You're so soft. And you smell like coconuts. I could stay like this forever.” Jimin mumbles, circling your waist with his arms and pulling you even closer to him.

You sigh, basking in this situation just for a while, stroking Jimin's hair and listening to his steady breathing until he eventually falls asleep. Still fully clothed, still with his hand on your thigh. Carefully, so you don’t wake him up, you get up from the bed to take off your underwear. You do feel a little disappointed, but it's okay.

When you settle yourself on the bed next to Jimin again, your back facing him, a strong arm pulls you flush to his body. You hear him sighing with relief, and it makes you smile to yourself.

Lights off, everything can wait for tomorrow.

In the morning, just like expected, you wake up alone. There's no sight of Jimin, his side of the bed empty and cold. For your dismay, there’s no bouquet of red roses waiting for you in the kitchen, no box of chocolates or a small, cheesy note with your name written on it. Not even a short “Happy Valentine's Day, baby!” text on your phone. Absolutely nothing.

You tells yourself it’s fine. Maybe Jimin didn’t have enough time, maybe he was too occupied with expedition to prepare something special, maybe the big surprise is yet to come. However, you can’t quite shake off the feeling that something do seem odd and it makes you anxious. Leaving without a single text is not Jimin's style. Not when it's your first Valentine's Day spend together.

You probably shouldn’t worry that much. It's not a big deal, after all you hate those types of annual holidays and Jimin knows it. Yet something about the whole situation makes you uncontrollably uneasy. You have never been like this, vulnerable and sheepish. You hate Park Jimin for turning you into such a softie.

Walking through the streets of Paris makes you feel nauseous. You look at all the happy couples sucking each others’ faces for everyone to see and fight an urge to gag. Someone shouts “Love is in the air!” and you almost throw up. Everytime you see someone holding heart-shaped balloons or flowers, you whip your head in other direction. It's nothing, you keep reminding yourself. A stupid holiday that doesn’t mean anything at all.

But the actual nail to the coffin happens to be the atmosphere in Eldorado headquarters. It drives you absolutely crazy.

It's 12am and still no word from Jimin. You checked: this bastard was online one hour ago, so he just doesn’t want to talk to you. Fine, mister. If this is how you wanna play, try sucking your dick by yourself, beacuse I’m not getting near it anytime soon, you think to yourself, filled with rage.

Yeri wiggles her pretty eyebrows at you and asks about your plans for tonight. You fake a giggle, saying that Jimin will probably surprise you with something when he gets back from his expedition. The words taste bitter on your tongue, especially when the high hopes you had simply melted away this morning. Your friend then starts babbling about the restaurant she's going to with Jungkook after work and you listen to her rant with forced smile on your face the whole time.

Meanwhile, a few meters away from you Hoseok is giggling like a teenager, typing something on his phone, without a doubt (sex)texting his girlfriend. She's out of town and you’re more than sure Hoseok hasn't gone to bathroom ten minutes ago just to take a piss. Even Namjoon is in a pleasant mood today, humming some old ABBA hits under his breath. Yesterday he couldn’t shut up about his date with a girl who’s also his new neighbour. He met her when she came by to give him homemade croissants. Ironically, that sounds a lot like some kdrama lovestory to you, and Namjoon hates kdramas.

During lunch time, you scroll through your Instagram and almost slam your phone on the wall. There's a new photo uploaded on Kim Seokjin's account.

kimseokjin92: Celebrating Valentine's Day on Maldives w @minsuga #couplegoals #boyfriends #valentinesday #loveislove

They are on fucking Maldives. Fucking Maldives! You grit your teeth. It's fine. Completely fine.

But the absolute peek, the moment when you almost break down into tears and curl yourself into a ball of misery, comes in the person of Jeon Jungkook. He enters the office with a bouquet of the most beautiful red roses you have ever seen, a huge grin plastered on his stupid face.

Your heart clenches in your chest. Park Jimin could never.

Jungkook hands Yeri the flowers and she laughs, slapping his chest when he starts declaiming Romeo's monologue from the Shakespeare’s tragedy. He then kisses his girlfriend deeply and lovingly, making her cheeks flush in crimson. Hoseok coos at them, Namjoon following him. You swear you saw Jungkook's tongue in the process of said heavy make out session.

(Jealously is an awful emotion, you've decided a long time ago.)

An hour later, the bouquet stands proudly on Yeri’s desk and you stare at it with melancholy. You briefly avert your gaze to Jimin's desk and the memories flash before your eyes. The same desk he had you bent over, skirt bunched around your waist and cock drilling into your pussy, when you both stayed together at work after hours not so long ago.

You mentally slap yourself. Get your shit together, woman. It's not like he broke up with you. It's just some stupid holiday. It's nothing.

“Something's wrong?’’ Yeri asks you with genuine concern written on her face.

You swallow, forcing yourself to smile. “No, everything's fine. Just a headache.”

She eyes you suspiciously. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” you say. Even though your friend doesn’t look convinced, she eventually stops bothering you.

It's all good. My boyfriend forgot about our first Valentine's Day together but everything's alright. No worries, you want to say instead.

Later that day, when you exit the elevator and walk straight to your apartment, a strange smell of something burning fills your nostrils. Is that food? A real fire? No, that's definitely some meat that stayed too long in the oven.

The closer you are, the smell becomes stronger, like it’s actually coming from your apartment. You furrow your eyebrows.

“What the fuck.” you mutter to yourself.

When you open the door, your jaw falls slack, eyes wide like saucers.

Never, in your entire life, had you thought you would see Park Jimin, your own dearest boyfriend, popping out from the kitchen with his hair disheveled, sweat coating his forehead, wearing a black suit underneath the most ridiculous apron you have ever seen: pink with a big-ass ‘mr good lookin is cookin' written in the middle.

(Can someone remind you why are you dating him? Oh, thank God he isn’t naked underneath.)

He looks completely lost when he spots you, waving awkwardly in your direction. It's probably the first time he touched something in the kitchen that isn’t coffee machine. He’s so flustered that you almost forget he nearly turned your apartment into ashes.

“Hi, babe.” he says sheepishly.

It takes all the willpower you hold not to spit a lung watching your boyfriend who absolutely hates cooking, trying to look unimpressed by the smell of burnt food. He does a pretty poor job though, an apron not helping in the situation.

“Happy Valentine's Day!’’ he exclaims perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, approaching you and planting a kiss on your cheek. And after that, you burst into hysterical laughter.

(Seriously, you almost lose your own breath three times.)

Jimin looks terrified but most importantly – put out. You’re probably hurting his enormous, almost the size of Russia pride right now. (Not your fault Jimin has the biggest praise kink on the planet.)

“Why are you laughing? Is it because of the chicken? Fine, I can’t cook for shit but I tried, okay? I didn’t have enough time and it was the middle of the night in Korea so I couldn’t just facetime my mum for advice and-”

You interrupt his rambling with a searing kiss, effectively shutting him up. He falters for a moment but quickly catches up, pulling you closer to him, placing his hands on your waist and deepening the kiss.

But then, when his about to trail kisses down your throat, you hit his arm.

“What was that for?!” Jimin yelps, looking at you with astonishment.

“I thought you fucking forgot about the Valentine’s Day!” you yell, slapping his chest. “Why didn't you tell me about this?!”

“Because the definition of surprise says you can’t reveal it sooner?” he reponds in a mocking tone.

“Oh, shut up.” you grumble and pull him in for another kiss. You could feel him smiling into it, cheekily biting onto your lower lip. He places a loving peck on your forehead and brushes the strands of your hair behind your ears. There's so much affection in his eyes you could melt into a puddle right here and there.

“I’m sorry. Jungkook told me you looked upset the whole day.” he whispers.

“I wasn't!” you protest.

“He told me you almost cried when he gave Yeri a bouquet of red roses.”

This stupid brat.

You look up at Jimin. “Fine. I was mad. And sad. Everyone was having the time of their lives and here I was, on a verge of mental breakdown because my idiot of a boyfriend supposedly forgot about the Valentine's Day.” you say, crossing your arms over chest with a pout.

Jimin rolls his eyes and takes your hand, leading you to the living room, where a bottle of (your absolute favourite) wine is standing on the table, along with candles and, yes, red roses. It's too cheesy and straight from the cringy rom-coms but you don't mind, because it's Jimin and he poured his heart into this and it's all that matters.

When he approaches you again, he isn’t wearing that stupid apron and you blush at how perfect he looks, almost painfully handsome. His hair needs a cut so it’s pushed back from his forehead. God reincarnated in the form of a smart, cocky archeologist who happens to be your boyfriend.

You're, well, in your black jeans and baby blue sweater and you probably stink, but Jimin assures you with his loving touches he doesn’t mind, never will. He always does that, looking at you with those sparkling eyes which say you're the most beautiful thing in the world for him.

And it doesn't matter how many times you scold him throughout the day, how many banters you have over silly things, because at the end of the day, in each others’ embraces, it feels like home for the both of you.

“Since the chicken chickened out,” Jimin says nonchalantly, filling your glasses with red wine. “We can always get drunk and watch some old romantic movies.”

You smirk. “You cried the last time when we watched ‘When Harry met Sally’.”

Jimin clicks his tongue. “Don't test my patience, sweetheart or you won't get the presents.” he warns.

You raise your eyebrows. You hope one of them comes in the form of his dick. Suddenly, you’re reminded of your lingerie set, so you make a mental note to wear it after the shower. “Can I see those presents now?” you ask, looking at Jimin with pleading eyes. It's exactly three seconds till he softens.

“Fine.” he mutters and heads to the bedroom.

When he comes back, he’s not alone. Literally not alone, because he's caring the most hilarious Valentine’s present you could ever think of. A giant, white teddy bear, almost in the size of him, heart-shaped balloons attached to his right paw.

“This is,” Jimin whips his head to read the name on the bear's chest. “Ted.”

You blink. “You bought me a teddy bear named Ted?”

Jimin opens his mouth to say some witty comment but he stops when he hears you sob. “Baby, sweetheart, what's wrong?” He kneels in front of you, the bear long forgotten on the floor. You burst into tears and Jimin tries to calm you down, rubbing soothing circles on your thighs.

Once you eventually stop crying and regain your normal breathing, you wipe your tear-strained cheeks and look down at your very much worried boyfriend. “You are an idiot, Park Jimin. A fucking idiot. That teddy bear is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen and I should humiliate you for giving me that but...” You take a deep breath. “But I can’t. Because I fucking love you, dumbass.”

The corners of Jimin lips lift in amusement but you’re clearly not done with your little speech, so he waits until you finish. “You organized the most cliché date ever. You read all the Grey's books. You can’t cook for shit and this stupid apron you wore? God have mercy,” You visibly cringe. “You declaim Greek philosophers when you shower. Fuck, you persuaded me to do teacher-student roleplay and I kept calling you daddy during the whole thing because you asked me to. You are everything I despise but at the same time I love you so much,” you say, tears once again welling in your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m telling you this now, even though I've realised this a long time ago.”

Jimin’s silent, so unlike him, declaring his emotions with a huge grin this time. He stands up and picks your body into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist as he walks you both to your bedroom. He places you gingerly onto the mattress, hovering over your figure.

(Your fancy lingerie can wait for another occasion.)

“I love you too, ___.” he says, staring into your eyes. “You’re making me the happiest man in this world.”

You roll your eyes, however there’s no use for that because your cheeks are already tainted red. “Oh, stop being such a sap.”

He smirks. “You love when I’m like this.”

“That is, in fact, not true.”

You’re lying and he knows it, but he always lets you banter with him like this anyway.

“Then what do you want me to be today?” he asks, his hands travel down to your zipper, then pull down your jeans. “Sweet? Loving?” He helps you take off your sweater and you’re left with nothing on beside your underwear. “Or do you want me to be rough? Push you around and fuck you stupid?” You gulp, your attitude successfully shut down. “Come on, use your words.”

Somehow, you manage to gain your composure. “Want you to take off your clothes first.”

Jimin chuckles, lowly and with a promise of more to come if you’re patient and behaving well, according to his commands. “You’re not the one to give orders here, baby.” he retorts. Then, he’s gripping your knees, pulling your legs apart and putting your pussy on full display for him.

There’s already a dark, wet patch forming on your grey panties and he tsks disapprovingly. “You’re wet and I haven’t even touched you yet. You want it that much, huh?”

You nod. “Please, touch me.”

“Try again.”

So he’s in that mood today. You’ve explored a fair share of kinks with Jimin so far and what you know for sure is that he always takes the leading role in bed. He likes to dominate, be the one in charge, railing you into the mattress until you’re crying out so loud your neighbours are banging on your walls.

You slip into your role naturally, your usual confident behaviour gone and replaced with timidity. He relishes in seeing you like this, helpless and vulnerable, a stark contrast to how you act on daily basis.

Jimin pins you with his dark stare and you give in. ‘”Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

He rewards you with a feather-like touch of his fingers on your pussy. He finds your clit with ease, rubbing it with practiced strokes until more juices drip down from your hole, wetting your panties embarrassingly fast. Your legs shake with want for more, to feel him sink his digits knuckle-deep into your cunt and finger you like he did that one time in a bathroom on your flight to Japan.

He doesn’t seem the slightest bothered with your state, ignoring your pleading eyes and wanton moans. He hasn’t even taken off your underwear yet and you’re already on the verge of an orgasm.

Jimin knows your body inside and out, probably better than you do, so it doesn’t come as a surprise to you that he can sense when you’re about to climax. He withdraws his hand from your center seconds before your release. You can’t help but huff with annoyance.

“Something's wrong, babygirl?” he asks, saccharine-sweet and annoyingly innocent.

Your retort dies on your tongue the moment he decides to unbutton his white dress shirt. You’re too distracted with delicious lines of his sculpted chest to complain about your denied pleasure anymore. Your hands itch to touch him but you stay immobile, devouring him with your eyes instead.

Jimin notices you're staring and smirks. “Like what you see?”

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

He then stands up from the bed and motions for you to come closer. You oblige without an ounce of confusion, crawling until you’re sitting on your heels in front of him. It’s a rather humiliating position but you can’t help but feel the rush of adrenaline in your veins when he cups your chin and tilts your head up.

“Take off my pants.”

You rush to obey, unbuckling his belt with shaky hands because you know what’s coming next once his pants are pulled down. He’s already hard, the prominent bulge of his cock straining in his briefs.

“Now my underwear.”

You nearly moan out loud when his cock slaps his abdomen, mouth salivating to take him in deep but you don’t dare touch him without a directed instruction. He makes sure your eyes are on him and starts stroking himself, spreading the precum all over his length, hissing when his thumb rubs the sensitive head of his cock.

Jimin groans, low and throaty, and you whimper quietly in response. “What, baby? You want my cock that much?” he asks, his left palm cupping your cheek. You whisper a meek “Please” and he chuckles. “Come on then. Show me what that slutty mouth of yours can do. Open up.”

Your lips part on command and you nearly moan when he guides his cock into your mouth. You’ve sucked Jimin's dick enough times to know what he likes, what brings him to the edge quicker than hitting the back of your throat. You lick the tip of his cock, eyes darting to check his reaction and, just as you expected, his features twist in pleasure.

You relish in a minute or two of the control you have over him before he grows bored with your teasing and decides to fuck your mouth instead. But for now, you make sure to have him suffer a little for that stunt he pulled earlier when he didn’t make you come.

You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks for extra stimulation. Your hands reach to fondle his balls and you smirk around his cock when you hear a groan leave Jimin's mouth. “Good girl,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek. You lean into his touch, moaning at the praise. “My pretty slut.”

The first hit on the back of your throat makes you gag because fuck, is he big. The only thing bigger than Jimin's ego seems to be his dick, apparently. When he threads fis fingers through your hair you know what’s about to come; jaw relaxed, saliva dripping down from the corners of your mouth, you’re ready to be ruined.

He withdraws, giving you exactly five seconds to breathe and then pushes forcefully inside. Your mind is filled with mental images of him giving your pussy the same treatment later. You would whimper at the thought, if your mouth wasn’t stuffed full of dick. Instead, you give your best, swallowing every inch of him obediently.

“That’s it,” he rasps, clamping one hand on the back of your neck for better leverage. “You’re doing so good, baby.” When he nudges the back of your throat again, you feel him throb. He pulls away from the warmth of your mouth seconds later, panting heavily. He falls back onto the bed and pats his thighs. “Come here.”

You scoot closer to him and crawl onto his lap. He smiles at you from below, pulling you in for a kiss. The hands he previously gripped your waist with now travel upwards, unhooking your bra. Your hips unconsciously move, pussy gliding along the flexed muscles of his thigh.

Jimin notices your desperate attempt at getting some friction on your most sensitive parts and helps you rock your hips. He moves your panties to the side and you moan, felling the delicious pressure on your bare center. He’s watching with amusement as you’re falling apart on his thigh, thumb reaching to rub your clit. You cry out, climaxing so hard you’re almost seeing stars behind your closed eyelids.

He keeps helping you ride out your high until you’re whimpering from the overstimulation. “Did you like it?” he then asks, urging you to look at him. “You were so desperate to come, sweetheart. Fucking yourself on my thigh like a bitch in heat,” You whine instead of responding, earning a harsh smack on your ass. “Use your words.”

Another slap lands on your cheek and you mewl. “Yes, I loved it, sir.”

He chuckles, maneuvering your body so you’re now positioned over his cock. He gives your ass a firm squeeze and you whimper, arousal dripping down the inside of your thighs despite orgasming just minutes ago. “Ride me, baby.” he says.

You hurry to obey, guiding his cock inside you. It's a tight fit but your wetness makes it smoother to push him deeper. “So big,” you mumble, bottoming out. You know damn well Jimin likes to be praised and if the smirk that stretches on his lips is anything to go by, he enjoys what you just said. “That feels so good, sir.” You start moving your hips languidly.

“Yeah?” Jimin quips, hands gripping your waist so tightly it almost makes the skin bruise. “Then show me what a good girl you are for me. Fuck, look at you. You’re so hot.” His palms cup your breasts, thumbs stroking your nipples.

You keen at the praise and quicken your pace. Your thighs start to burn but you ignore that, bouncing on your boyfriend’s dick like there’s no tomorrow. The room is filled with lewd noises, skin slapping on skin. Jimin looks down, staring at his cock coated in your juices as it disappears inside your hole. He curses at the sight.

Your legs start to shake, huffs leaving your lips. “Sir–please,” you whine, feeling yourself getting closer to the edge.

“What do you need, babygirl?” he asks, pinching your nipples. You squeal, your pace losing its previous rhythm.

“I’m so close.” you stammer. “Please–touch me.”

“Where you do you want me to touch you, baby?” He ignores your whimpers, the way your pussy keeps squeezing his cock in a vice grip. “Here?” He touches your tits again and you shake your head violently. “Or here–” His fingers find your clit and you cry out loudly. You feel so full, his cock hits your cervix every time you drop down onto him.

“Yes, yes,” you chant, mouth wide open and eyes squeezed shut. You probably look right now like a professional porn star but you couldn’t care less, not when you’re so close to the climax. “Sir–fuckfuckfuck, please!”

“There you go,” Jimin coos, circling your sensitive bud with his thumb. “Come for me, baby.”

You’re gushing around his dick, arousal leaking out of your hole and coating his thighs with your release. Your upper body gives out and you collapse onto Jimin, your cunt pulsing from the intense pleasure you’ve just experienced.

“Oh god,” you mumble. “I just saw the answer to the whole universe.”

You feel Jimin's chest shaking with laughter and when you look up, you find him grinning at you. “That good?”

“That good.” you confirm, sighing tiredly.

“Are you okay?” You hear him asking. No matter how much he likes to push you around and fuck until you’re seeing stars, he always makes sure if you’re feeling comfortable to continue.

You spare him a nod. “You know I can handle it,” you say, lifting yourself up. “I’m a tough girl, right?” Despite the oversensitivity, you start rocking your hips again. “M-made for you.”

Jimin smirks. “Yeah, made for me,” he confirms and slaps your ass. Your pussy flatters around his cock. “Not like this,” he mutters and turns you onto your back with one, swift motion. “Much better.”

You pout. “You didn’t like it when I was riding your cock, sir?” You’re bluffing, but a girl can her fun too.

He clicks his tongue, guiding his cock through your folds again. “Oh, baby, I was enjoying it very much,” he says, picking up his speed. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him even closer. “But now I want it harder.”

He fucks you just like he likes the most; fast and rough, unforgiving. He leans down for a messy kiss that’s all teeth tongue and his eyes nearly bulge out of his head when he sees his saliva dripping down your chin.

(He decides right here and there that he might wanna explore his newfound fantasy soon.)

Soon you’re feeling the coil in your stomach tightening for the second time, embarrassingly quickly so. You moan, cunt squeezing around his dick. “Again?” Jimin asks, voice laced with both mirth and disbelief. Tears well in your eyes and you give him a nod. “Such a fucking slut.” he spits, slithering himself into you even faster than before.

Your third and final orgasm is so powerful and sudden, it nearly makes you black out. Jimin curses, fucking you through it. “Kiss me,” you whimper deliriously and he obliges, slipping his tongue inside your mouth. “I love you.” you whisper into his lips and that’s what sends him over the edge.

“I love you, I love you–fuck.” he groans and spills himself inside, coating your pussy with his seed.

He collapses next you, chest heaving with every exhale. Your legs feel like jelly and you know you’ll have trouble walking tomorrow. Just when you’re about to tell Jimin to call in sick and spend the whole day in bed instead, he suddenly sits up.

“Wait, I forgot I have another present for us.” he says, rushing to pick something up from underneath the bed.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Jimin, I swear to God, if you bought us matching t-shirts–”

He grins like a child, showing you two white pillows, the most basic ones you could ever think of, with ‘his side’ and ‘her side' written on them. It's cringy and ridiculous and you fight an urge to punch him, but you don't.

Because it's Jimin and you will never complain about it.

Because you love him. And that's all that matters.

#jimin smut #btsbookclub #btswritingcafe #ksmutclub #btswriterscollective #bangtanarmynet #smutcentralnet #bangtanhq #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin fluff #bts smut #my writing

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multi--kpop--fanfics · 3 years

Text

(Not) Such A Good Boy

sub!bf!Juyeon x dom!fem!reader (ft. Eric, Kevin and Hyunjae)

genre: smut, slight crack, a bit of fluff towards the end

contains: dom/sub themes, degradation, oral sex (f receiving), marking, biting, spanking, Juyeon is a brat on a choker and a leash, unprotected sex (be safe y’all)

Author’s note: This man right there has been wrecking my existence lately (I blame Kingdom) and this GIF screams sub!Juyeon so yeah, enjoy this filth

“Lee Juyeon, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me”, you scoff under your breath. You have been waiting for the past twenty minutes in the living room, outfit and makeup on point, since you were about to go clubbing with your group of friends. But apparently, your dear boyfriend had lost all sense of time, trying to get ready.

Visibly irritated, you storm to your shared bedroom, your heels angrily clicking on the wooden floor. “Juyeon, I swear to God-” you mutter and stop mid-sentence, only to see your boyfriend leaning on the door, fully dressed and a lop-sided smirk plastered on his handsome face.

“You called, babe?”, he asks teasingly and before rolling your eyes, you give him an once-over, processing his choice of clothes - a pair of tight black leather pants that were hugging his muscular thighs deliciously, a pair of black combat boots, a cropped black sweater with holes around his clavicles and a black belt-like choker around his neck. He was the epitome of the emo bad boy that all parents hated and all girls craved.

“Um, what is this?”, you question him with a pointing finger. "That, is my outfit for tonight", Juyeon states, the previous smirk still on his face, "What, you don't like it?". "Isn't it a bit unfair for me to wear not so revealing clothes all while you're dressed as an emo himbo?", you complain and he laughs, "An emo himbo? Wow, you're getting more creative with your descriptions, Y/N. You're right though, it's a sort of questionable outfit". You perk up at his response, hoping he'll change into something more colorful and less hole-adorned, only to be utterly disappointed, as Juyeon reached into the closet only to drape a black leather jacket on top of his broad shoulders. "Now we're good to go", he turns to you and winks with audacity. Brat, you scoff mentally and pick up the keys to unlock the door and finally leave your shared apartment.

"Finally! What the fuck took you so long?!", your friend Eric yells at you, trying to overcome the loud bass of the club speakers. "Your complaints to your friend over there, he was the one who took twenty minutes to get ready", you roll your eyes pointing to Juyeon, who was greeting Hyunjae and Kevin, your other friends. "Yooo, Juyeon, what's up with the collar, bro?", Eric amusingly points out. "It's a choker, you tasteless twat. But what would you know of fashion, since you only know how to wear t-shirts and ripped jeans?", Kevin comments and Juyeon mouths a 'thank you' to him. "Simple is the best, my dear friend. Besides, I've been getting all the girls, unlike you and your snake print jacket", Eric retaliates. "Excuse you, this jacket is a fashion statement!", Kevin bites back, feeling insulted. "Not gonna lie though, it does look like a collar. Will you put him on a leash too, Y/N?", Hyunjae comments in a snarky way, making Eric cringe in disgust. "Hyunjae, please go get some drinks, for God's sake", you reply with a dismissive manner. "Yes ma'am", he rolls his eyes and goes to the bartender.

You turn to Juyeon, who was extremely stiff after Hyunjae's comment. "You okay, baby?", you nudge him softly and he's brought back to reality. "Y-yeah, I'm fine, no worries", Juyeon replies, praying that the loud bass could cover his shaky voice. "Don't listen to Eric and Hyunjae, they have zero fashion sense, bro. I would wear that choker too, looks hella good on you", Kevin adds while pointing to the choker and Juyeon's smile is back on his face, "Thanks, bro, I really appreciate it", he replies with a chirpy tone.

The music suddenly changes into a slower jam and Juyeon smirks devilishly, as he winks at you and walks towards the dance floor. You watched as he starts swaying his hips and shoulders in the most smooth way possible, his half-lidded eyes never leaving yours. Eric and Kevin were whistling and cheering on Juyeon, all while Hyunjae was snorting at their antiques. You were simply lost in the image of your boyfriend dancing like there was no tomorrow. He wasn't just following the rhythm, he was riding it - and boy, was he good at doing so.

In fact, he was so good that he gained the attention of many people in the club. And you were lowkey proud, because that man was yours. However, a certain girl wasn't aware of that - hence why she approached Juyeon and started dancing with him. You were a bit jealous, not gonna lie, but the next moment made your blood fucking boil.

He had the fucking audacity to put his hands on her waist and dance with her - all while looking to you over her shoulder with the most smug expression on his face. That fucker, you mentally curse. This was definitely payback for everything you said before you left the house. You just knew it. You weren't even the jealous or possessive type of girlfriend to begin with.

But you'd be damned if you were to let a random bitch run her hands over your boyfriend.

Hyunjae catches up to your motions and he grabs you by your wrist. "Hyunjae, what the f-" "Shut up and listen to me. Going there and creating a scene will not end up well for you and you will give Juyeon exactly what he wants", he states and his words hit home faster that you expected. "Since when did you become so perceptive?", you raise an eyebrow and he chuckles, "I have my moments too, Y/N". "So, since your brain decided to actually function tonight, do you have any idea?" you ask in defeat and Hyunjae starts pulling you to the dance floor by your hand, leaving Eric and Kevin completely baffled. He then pulls you into his chest and leans in your ear to whisper

"Just dance, Y/N".

A Cheshire cat-like grin spreads on your lips, as you catch up to his ulterior motive and you start dancing with Hyunjae, hoping that Juyeon will notice the two of you. "Don't think too much about it, it will happen naturally", he adds, "You're too stiff, Y/N, just relax and enjoy dancing".

His words actually succeed in making you relax and you sway your hips more comfortably, actually enjoying the slow jams echoing through the club speakers. Under the dim lights, you lock eyes momentarily with Juyeon, who was licking his lips and his gaze was a mix of lust and death glares, the last one directed to Hyunjae. "Told you it would work", he comments, "You owe me this one". "Shut the fuck up, Hyunjae", you spit back and he laughs.

However, his laughter is cut short by a very jealous Juyeon, who has grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. "Next time I see you dance with Y/N, I'll break your fucking kneecaps", he growls and Hyunjae takes a step back, "She's all yours, bro", he raises his hands in defense and returns to the table. Juyeon then turns to you, his blood still boiling with jealousy, as you watch him with a proud smirk.

"You find this funny, huh? Dancing shamelessly with my friend?", he clenches his jaw. You then thread a finger through his choker and pull him close to your face, making Juyeon gasp. "Funny? No honey, I'm fucking fuming right now, because you decided to act like a brat and put your hands on the first bitch that threw herself on you", you retaliate, your chill facade slipping away. A sickly sweet smile adorns Juyeon's face as he watches every single movement of yours. He lowers his head, his lips hanging mere centimeters over yours and he slyly pokes out his tongue to lick your lips, hissing at the wet feeling.

"You're so fucking hot when you're mad, baby".

That was the last straw.

"Get your stuff, we're going home", you announce and he flashes a toothy grin. "Yes ma'am", he replies almost immediately and you return to your friends' table. "Guys, we'll be leaving now, hope you enjoy the rest of the night!" you announce and Eric looks between Juyeon and you. "Do I want to know what's going on?", he questions and Kevin pats him on the back while shaking his head as in 'no'. You both bid farewell to your friends and you walk out of the club, jogging towards your car. Juyeon whips out the cars keys and he opens the door for you, his gentleman-like gesture a complete contrast to his previous bratty behaviour.

The ride back home feels like it lasted for hours, when in reality, it lasted only ten minutes - maybe it's your sheer desire to fuck your handsome boyfriend to oblivion. By the time you entered your shared apartment, your lips were on Juyeon's neck, your hands roaming his toned body and his arms wrapped around your waist.

"You love acting like a bratty slut, don't you?", you sneer at him and he releases a breathy chuckle. "Yeah, and so do you", he whispers and he trails kisses upon your neck and behind your ear, nibbling your earlobe. "Are you going to punish me for being a bratty slut?".

You thought you came right there and then, 'cause fuck, he is so hot like this.

"Is that what you want? Fine then, you'll get the punishment you deserve, slut", you hiss while gripping Juyeon's jaw, your manicured nails raking his porcelain skin, "Don't say I didn't warn you", you whisper into his ear and he releases one of the lewdest sounds you've ever heard in your life. "God, you're a desperate little bitch, aren't you, Lee Juyeon?", you ask while removing the detachable strap of your bag and clasp it on his choker, creating a make-shift leash. "Only for you, baby", he replies with a sultry voice and half-lidded eyes.

You pull him by the make-shift leash, and you push him onto the couch, where you settle yourself on his lap, his hard cock straining his already tight pants. You remove his shirt, exposing his chiseled body. Wasting no time, you attack his collarbones with your lips, trailing red and purple blotches on his soft skin. You bite the juncture of his neck teasingly and he releases breathy moans, making you chuckle. You grind your clothed core on his bulge, and the sweet friction makes Juyeon mewl again. He tries to reach for your crotch with his hand, but you stop him by pulling the leash, making him gasp.

"No sweetheart, no touching tonight", you chastise him, as you pull back to remove your clothes and his pants, leaving the both of you only in your underwear. Juyeon's bulge is even more evident now, the thin material of his boxers having a wet spot, due to his cock leaking pre-cum. The sight in front of you makes your own wetness pool in your panties - your boyfriend on a leash, his perfectly styled hair now disheveled, his upper torso covered in love bites, his muscular thighs fully spread and his cock straining against his boxers.

"Baby, fuck, please do something", he pleads with bleary eyes. "Lie down for me", you order and he's laid flat on his back with one swift motion, his desperation showing. You remove your underwear and place your naked pussy right in front of his face. He reaches for your thighs with his arms, but you slap them away. "I said, no touching", you say sternly, "But-", "You should have thought twice before touching that bitch with your hands. Now, be a good boy and use your pretty mouth", you demand.

Juyeon pushes his wet tongue into your heat without second thought and he's lapping up your juices like a starved man. You can't help but moan with satisfaction, having him under your control like that gave you a huge adrenaline rush. You raked your nails from his torso to the hem of his boxers, the sensation making him moan and momentarily halt his actions. You slap his left thigh to alert him and his cock twitches, the vibrations of his moans coursing through your body as well. Juyeon now flattens his tongue against your folds with a faster tempo.

"You like it when I spank you, huh? Naughty boy", you smirk and land another slap, this time on his right thigh. Juyeon retaliates by sucking on your clit harshly, making you yelp from pleasure and you feel him smirk against your pussy. You find the leash and tug it, pulling Juyeon's face even closer to your core. "Behave, or you'll sleep without cumming tonight", you warn him and he whines, but resumes his efforts nonetheless. "Good boy, k-keep it u-up", you stutter as you feel your high approach with each passing second. His tongue is alternating between circling your clit and pumping in and out of your hole, the squelching sounds creating a pornographic scene.

You scream as you cum on Juyeon's face, your whole body shaking, as he helps you ride out your orgasm with kitten licks. You pull yourself together and turn around to face him, as he nastily licks his lips to taste your essence. "Sweet like fucking candy", he comments, "Want a taste, baby?". You pull him by the leash and crash your lips on his, tasting yourself, as your tongues dance crazily in a battle of dominance. "You're still acting like a brat, but since you did as I said, maybe you deserve to cum after all", you state and bend down to remove his boxers and free his painfully hard erection.

"Y/N, stop fucking teasing already!", Juyeon whines again and you slap his thigh again, "Where did your manners go, baby?".

"Please, Y/N..."

"Please what?"

"Please use my cock to cum"

"Fuck, such a good boy", you moan and spear yourself onto his hard cock, the sudden stretch tipping between pain and pleasure. You give yourself almost no time to adjust and you start riding Juyeon like a mad woman. He pistons his hips in unison, pounding into you with a speed neither of your brains are able to register. You put your hands on his broad chest for support and he holds your hips with his hands so tight you might get bruises the next day. Neither of you are able to contain your obscene moans nor form coherent sentences, way too lost in pleasure and lust.

"Fuck, Juyeon, you're such a good boy, so good for me", "Only for you Y/N, shit- only yours", he groans and his hips start to falter, signaling his upcoming orgasm. "I-I'm close again, nngh..", you mewl as you feel your insides clench around his cock like a vice. "M-Me too, Y/N please let me cum, let me f-fill you up baby", "Oh God, yes, fill me with your cum, babe", you moan loudly.

Juyeon moans with you as he stills himself, his cock twitching uncontrollably and flooding your cunt with his hot cum, painting your insides white. You collapse on top of him, panting heavily, the both of you sweating and spent, laughing breathlessly. You muster all the strength you have left in you to remove the choker from Juyeon's neck.

"Oof, thank you baby", he nods, rubbing his neck softly. You swipe a few dark strands of his forehead. You notice the marks on his neck the choker left and you can't help but feel a little regretful. "Did I hurt you?", you ask sheepishly and Juyeon smiles softly and presses a kiss on your nose. "No baby, you were perfect. We should do this more often, actually. You look hella sexy when you take control", he teases and you playfully smack his chest.

"So you intend to dance with random girls in clubs?", you ask and Juyeon smirks,

"No, but I intend to be not such a good boy for you".

#juyeon smut #tbz juyeon #lee juyeon #the boyz smut #the boyz fanfics #tbz #would you look at that #another juyeon fanfic

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brockadoodles · 4 years

Text

Take my Heart, I’ll Give you my Soul - b. boeser

AN: Alright, here it is. Without a doubt my favorite and most popular fic. It will probably flop and my heart will shatter since this is a repost but y’all said you wanted it so here ya goooooo.

Word Count: 24,717

Warnings: Drinking, angst, mentions of sex, and that it’s a long one.

It might have been dramatic, but you couldn’t possibly imagine that you had ever had a day as exhausting as this. It was your senior year of university, and one of your seminars was an 8am. Normally this wasn’t an issue, you generally enjoyed mornings, especially in your new apartment. Ever since moving in six months ago, you found yourself waking up early to enjoy the sunrise over the city, sipping your morning coffee on your balcony as you watched the city come to life. Lights slowly turn on, pinks, and orange hues lighting up the sky as the sun rises. You found it calming, taking extra care to slow your breathing down and relax, the cool air running through your hair.

This particular morning, however, had gone entirely wrong. You must have forgotten to plug your phone in the night before, waking up slowly around 7:30, which gave you nowhere near enough time to shower, get dressed, and commute from the city to campus.

You rushed through your morning routine, simply brushing your teeth, throwing up your hair, and a simple combination of a sweatshirt and leggings to get you through the day. You were the type of person who hated being late, to you, if you weren’t at least ten minutes early to something, you got a sense of uneasiness in your stomach. You tried to brush the feeling off, reassuring yourself that your professor didn’t care and that you were still attending the seminar rather than skipping like most students probably would have.

You rushed out the door, locking it swiftly and throwing your bag over your shoulder, walking quickly toward the elevators of your building. You tapped your foot impatiently as you watched the numbers on top of the doors count upward to yours. When the doors opened, you saw Brock standing there, a deep blue Canucks sweatshirt on him, dark grey sweats covering his legs. You stepped aside, allowing him and his dog, Coolie, to walk out of the doors. You had only met Brock a few times, being as he was your across the hall neighbor and you hadn’t seen him until one morning in August, him introducing himself to you in the elevator. You had spoken a few times in passing, never more than a quick hello as one of you was coming or going, but he always offered a friendly smile.

Today he looked different, a frown on his features while he exited. He was clearly stuck in his own head over something, thoughts mulling around. If it weren’t for Coolie rushing to your legs, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed you standing there.

“Good morning, Coolie.” You leaned down to pet the dog, scratching softly behind his ears while he wagged his tail. Brock smiled over at you, mumbling a quick hello before you parted ways for the day. You barely knew him, but something felt unsettling about the way he looked at you. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, and it seemed more than just the fact that it was early morning.

The day progressed and things quickly escalated from minor inconveniences to flat out annoyance. Class passed by painfully slowly, and your shift at work dragged on, with your boss coming hard on you for something you didn’t feel at fault for. By the time you got back to your apartment, you had three new assignments due, and a new deadline for a project at work. Your head was pounding from the stress, and you pulled your hair up into a loose bun and settled into your glass of red wine, a pair of old red fuzzy socks adorning your feet. You combed through the cupboards, wine glass in hand as you pulled out ingredients for cookies with your other hand, knowing that baking might help take your mind off of things and that the smell of freshly baked cookies would remind you of home.

You had always been a stress baker, finding something relaxing about the meticulous craft that was baking, comfort coming from strict measurements, and the feeling of control as you worked through various recipes. It had gotten you through many rough patches in life, and earned you a ton of friends more than willing and enthusiastic to consume all of the treats you baked.

When you moved to Vancouver, you lost that luxury, and you hadn’t really felt stressed enough to whip out the supplies since moving in six months ago. But with that day being so long and exhausting, you found yourself missing home more than you usually did, and as you had for many years, you turned toward baking to get you through the homesickness.

You turned on some music, letting it play softly as you started mixing your dough. You danced around in your kitchen feeling the tension release from your body and your head start to clear as you loaded up a plate of chocolate chip cookies, exiting your apartment and heading to the one across the hall before you could consciously realize what you were doing. You could blame it on the glass of wine, but if you were to dig deep into the archives of your mind, you knew it was because there was a nagging feeling about Brock nestled there all day. A single thread tying you to this boy you barely knew, wanting to make his day just a bit better.

You raised your fist to the door, knocking softly while balancing the plate of cookies in your other hand. You instantly regretted what you were doing as soon as you removed your knuckles from his door and heard Coolie’s feet scrambling around inside the apartment. You held the plate nervously, the few leftover chocolate chip cookies still warm from the oven. You knew you looked like a mess, your hair was sloppily thrown up on your head and your makeup had long since been removed. The dark leggings you wore were stained with flour, from you accidentally wiping your hands on them while mixing your dough. You told yourself that it didn’t matter, you and Brock were friendly enough, and with the look on his face that morning not leaving your mind for most of the day, you wondered if maybe your neighbor needed some sort of pick me up of his own.

“Hello.” You were met with a voice you didn’t recognize. You looked up at the young man standing in the doorway, Coolie trying to rush out of the door once he saw it was you standing there. You made eye contact with him, noting that he was tall, and blonde, like Brock. He was wearing a Canucks sweatshirt, similar to the ones you had seen Brock in many times, so you could only assume he might be a teammate or someone else who works in the organization.

“Petey, who is it?” You heard Brock’s unmistakable voice, muffled from the walls. The boy in front of you smirked, looking down at the cookies in your hand, and your cheeks flushed red in embarrassment.

“Uhm, is Brock here?” You asked tentatively, sneaking a glance past the blonde-haired stranger in front of you.

“It is a girl with cookies.” He called back, voice calm and monotone. You weren’t sure what to make of him, he wasn’t not being nice, but he was quieter than Brock. And now, with it arguably too late to turn back, you were beginning to feel regret creep up inside you about going over there in the first place.

The door flew open after your short interaction with the other blond, revealing Brock. Coolie immediately rushed out, tail wagging as he whined for your attention and sniffed your legs. Brock smiled at you, a more genuine smile than you had seen from him this morning, and it instantly melted all of your nerves as he motioned for you to come inside the apartment.

“God, I don’t deserve you.” He groaned, reaching down to the plate of freshly baked cookies you just set on his counter. You saw another young boy sitting on the couch, dark brown hair, and dark circles under his eyes. He looked a little awkward and was staring blankly at the basketball highlights playing on Brock’s TV. You suddenly felt embarrassed, you had no idea who these friends of Brock’s were, and here you stood, hair a mess, covered in flour, bringing your neighbor who you barely knew cookies in the late evening.

Brock either noticed you tense up, or was just genuinely polite enough to speak up after he swallowed the last bite of the cookie.

“Ah, this is Petey.” He properly introduced the blonde who answered the door, clapping a hand quickly to his shoulder before throwing it back to point at the other boy on the couch.

“And that little dead kid is Quinn.” He smiled. Quinn looked over at you, smiling softly and nodding his head before resuming watching the television, not even reacting to Brock borderline insulting him. Brock eyed you curiously as you reached down to pet Coolie who was pawing at your leg for attention, a fond look on his face. Petey eyed you suspiciously, watching as his best friend looked over at you. He assumed this was the pretty neighbor he always talked about, who he never actually had the nerve to hang out with on his own.

You could see Petey mulling over the interaction, almost as if you were watching him analyze the situation, causing you to feel exposed there in Brock’s kitchen. You swallowed, just about ready to gather your excuses and head back home before Brock spoke up.

“So, what brings you over at 11:30 with freshly baked cookies? Seems a bit late for baking.” He teased, chuckling lightly as you stood back up, wiping your hands on your already dirty leggings. You felt your cheeks heat up with his eyes on you, you were a bit embarrassed, having intruded on what appeared to be their guys' night.

“Just had a long day and baking helps me unwind. I made too many and don’t know anyone else so…” Your voice got softer as you spoke, unsure of what else to say. You brushed a strand of hair away from your face, watching carefully as Petey went and sat next to Quinn, the two of them whispering a bit as you stood in the kitchen still with Brock. Brock leaned across the counter a bit in front of you, resting his chin in his hands while he studied your face. The next words out of his mouth smooth.

“Want to grab coffee tomorrow morning and talk about it?” He asked. Your eyes widened a bit, this was your neighbor, who sure, you were friendly with and was ridiculously cute, but coffee? Was it a date? Was it the beginning of a friendship? You weren’t sure. You glanced over to the couch, the other two boys now with their full attention on you, making you nervous once more. You swallowed one again, clearing your throat quietly as you answered.

“Sure.”

“Cool. There’s this really old place a block from here, they have the best latte art.” He smiled once more, grabbing another piece of a cookie and popping it into his mouth.

“Latte art?” You questioned, finding it oddly charming that this tall, broad guy would be interested in something as trivial as that. But you didn’t know anything about Brock yet, and you couldn’t help but smile a little bit at how adorable it was.

“Very cool, one time they tried to do a portrait of me.” He nodded.

“It was ugly.” Petey jumped in, smirking at his friend for finally making the move at getting to know the cute neighbor he had to suffer through Brock always talking about. Brock laughed, a genuine full laugh where his hand rested on his stomach and his eyes crinkled and you instantly felt yourself growing captivated by him. He had the best laugh and it made you feel warm, something that no one else had ever been able to do for you.

“9?” He ignored his friend, instead focussing his attention only on you. You nodded before saying goodnight to everyone. You walked back into your apartment, hopping in the shower and working through your evening routine, mentally preparing to keep yourself up all night in anticipation of this coffee date with the cute boy across the hall.

The next morning you found yourself irrationally anxious, silently cursing yourself for agreeing to coffee with Brock. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go, you liked Brock, maybe had a bit of a crush on him, but that was exactly the problem. You had no idea why someone as cute and successful as that wanted anything to do with you. You were just a normal person, finishing up your undergrad at the University of British Columbia, hopefully entering the world after with some sort of better job than you already had that would allow you to stay in the city. Brock probably had way better options than you on his horizon, given that he was, from what you gathered, a successful professional athlete.

The fears melted away when Brock knocked on your door the next morning, a smile on his face and dark beanie covering his hair. You felt more comfortable around him than you expected so early on in what would eventually become a close friendship, following his lead as you entered the elevator together. Conversation flowing easily between you as you walked the short distance to the coffee shop he had been so excited about from the night before.

It didn’t feel like he was a stranger, and you found yourself wanting to share more with him than you normally would with someone who was just an acquaintance from across the hall. You also noticed how attractive he was, feeling yourself blush more than once as he intently listened to you tell him about your school and work.

You reached the shop, looking up at the old wooden building, a stark contrast from some of the more modern structures lining the streets. It felt homey, a warm-toned feeling emulating from the outside, spreading to the inside as Brock held the door open for you, motioning you inside. You looked around at the shop, seemingly empty for that early in the morning, just a few other patrons scattered throughout. Brock followed you up to the counter, saying hello to the barista who seemed to recognize him.

“Hey Brock, the usual?” She asked, her hand reaching for a cup to write his order down. You noticed how friendly he seemed toward everyone, nodding to the other barista who was across the shop, wiping down tables, a quality that you found yourself attracted to.

“Yeah, but for here.” He smiled, looking toward you. You felt your cheeks flush, carefully saying you’d take whatever he was having, feeling slightly embarrassed. The barista nodded, grabbing another mug with a smile on her face as she looked from you to Brock and you tried not to think about if you were the first girl that he had brought here as he handed over some cash to pay for the drinks.

You settled into a table near the back of the coffee shop, talking endlessly about anything and everything together. Brock was a presence that you didn’t know how you lived with just in passing for the last few months, now that you were seeing what he was showing you. The strange thing about it was how natural it felt, a connection between you that you couldn't explain.

You watched Brock curiously as he was speaking, finding yourself slowly memorizing each feature of him as if you were painting a picture in your mind for safekeeping. You felt drawn to the way his eyes closed as he smiled, and the way his hand rested on his stomach when he laughed. He was distracting, in the most endearing sense of the word. You sat there in that coffee shop, listening to him for almost two hours that morning, a fluttering in your stomach and heart that you were cautious about.

When Brock walked you to your door that was just across from his, there was an easy smile on his features as the conversation dwindled down. You felt your cheeks heat up as he stood close to you, your hand fumbling in your bag for your keys, his eyes softly on you.

“Since we’re now friends.” He started, a small smirk present as the two of you stood in front of your door.

“Can I have your number so we can do this again sometime?” He added, leaning his shoulder against the door frame, coming in close to your body. He smelled like cinnamon and cloves, the warm smile still present on his face as he watched you, carefully gauging your reaction to his seemingly weighted question. You had to concentrate on not fumbling while you exchanged phones, entering your phone number into his.

When he handed you your phone back, you laughed softly at his contact entry, the little whale emoji and blue heart next to his name, feeling yourself flush at your cute neighbor who you just had what some would assume was a great first date with. You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest as the texts started coming in, communication between you becoming a new constant in your life, friendship coming together seamlessly as it was meant to be.

The only downside was that as you started getting closer to Brock, the more it became painfully obvious your crush was unrequited. But that was okay with you because having Brock as a friend in the city was something you were grateful for, and if it meant you had to pack up your seemingly silly crush into a box, sealed and locked away in the depths of your heart, you would, because having him was as a friend was better than not having him at all.

Brock, however, knew he liked you from the first time you showed up to his condo, your red fuzzy socks on your feet, flour across your legs, and cookies in your hands. He had seen you many times before, in passing when one of you was leaving or coming back, but when you knocked on his door that late November night, he knew you were someone that he wanted to get to know better.

---------

December came and you and Brock had quickly gotten close, any awkwardness that you usually experience with a new friend as you get to know them had already melted away. You found yourself at his condo more often than your own on days and nights that he wasn’t out of town. He had even gotten you to go to one of their home games, surprising you with a jersey beforehand and laughing when it wasn’t even one of his.

“Brock last I checked, your last name is not Pettersson.” You ran your hands over the stitching, and you tried not to let your quickly beating heart question why he wouldn’t want you to have one of his.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to grab one but I knew I had this. Don’t worry, next game it’ll say Boeser.” You nodded at his words, pushing down any anxieties you had as you folded the jersey and set it down, making a mental note to not forget it as you left.

“Okay, let me cook you, useless boy.” You joked, shooting him out of his own kitchen while you started washing the vegetables and preparing dinner.

You and Brock had developed somewhat of a routine the last few weeks, with at least two dinners a week together when his schedule would allow it. It was nice at first until Brock absolutely wrecked a simple meal and you realized you’d either be eating takeout or cooking yourself each time. You didn’t mind though, because you liked being there with him, a lazy smile on his face as he tried to help you with whatever you were making, usually sneaking in bites of the food while he thought that you weren’t looking.

“So let me get this straight, you need me, to go on a double date with you and some girl Quinn wants to impress? Why?” You laughed.

“He really likes this girl, and you know how huggy is, he’s awkward.” Brock smiled, knowing that you had a soft spot for the little Canuck of the team. He reached over with his fork, grabbing a quick bite of your roasted vegetables from your plate, humming as he plopped them into his mouth. You swatted his hand away from your plate, rolling your eyes as he overly exaggerated how good the roasted veggies were while he chewed.

“Please? He’s taking her mini-golfing, clearly, he needs help!” He laughed once more, thinking about how nervous his teammate had been over this date, practically begging him to come along. “Plus, I can’t just third wheel it.” Brock added.

You rolled your eyes, softening a bit at the idea of helping Quinn. Brock watched you as you pondered over the idea, knowing that you would probably say yes. You knew he wasn’t seeing anyone, so it wasn’t as if there was an option for him to bring a date.

“Fine, on one condition.” You said, pointing toward Brock with your wine glass in hand.

“I win put put, and you’re taking me out to that fancy new brunch place downtown.” Brock smiled at your words, relieved that you said yes. He raised his beer to your wine glass, clanking them together softly as he grinned at you, cheeks slightly pink.

“Done deal. You know if you wanted me to take you on a fancy brunch date, all you had to do was ask.” He teased. Your own cheeks now rivaled his, your crush on your best friend bubbling to the surface. Brock winked at you as you shifted in your seat, gulping back the last of your wine while shifting your eyes away from him. You needed to compose yourself, Brock was just joking around, he wouldn’t actually be taking you on a date and you needed to keep telling yourself that to push the lingering feelings away.

“Don’t push it Boeser.” You smirked, gathering your plate and heading into your kitchen, leaving him at the table while you started packing up the leftovers from the dinner you cooked for the two of you.

A few nights later you found a nervous Quinn in the elevator as you were heading back home to get ready for this date. He was wearing some nice jeans and a simple sweater, with a dark jacket over it, cleaning up nicely. His eyes looked nervous but it looked like he had slept, a good sign you thought. He had a small bouquet of roses in his hands, debatably too much for a low key first date, but you shrugged it off, thinking that this girl would probably appreciate the effort.

“Quinn, what made you think it was a good idea to take a girl on a date outside in December?” You said, ruffling his hair quickly as you walked down the hallway toward Brock’s door.

“I didn’t really think about it..” he trailed off, avoiding eye contact. You touched his arm soothingly before knocking softly on Brock’s door, Coolie barking in the background.

Despite the cold weather, and Brock trying to block every shot of yours that you tried to get to go in, you were having a great time. It was deceiving though, because you were sort of in your head about all of it, almost giving yourself the illusion that the date with Brock was real.

You stepped off to the side of the course, leaning against a short fence. Brock followed you, positioning himself right next to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“What do you think?” He asked, nodding his head toward where his teammate was, fumbling over his golf club while Kyn laughed at him softly. You smiled.

“I like her, he looks like a nervous wreck but it’s nice to at least see some emotion.” You joked, leaning against the small white fence next to Brock as you watched Quinn fumble over Kyn. She was currently giving him an earful about how to properly put the shot in through the small windmill, Quinn looking at her with adoration in his eyes.

Brock laughed, throwing an arm around your shoulder while he watched them. It was stupid, really, how such a simple action from him caused you to feel nervous. You had known Brock for a while now and while he wasn’t overly affectionate with other people that you could tell, he always seemed to have a need to be touching you when you were together. Sometimes it was his knee brushed up against yours on the couch during movie nights, sometimes it was his arm casually thrown over your shoulder while you were out with some of the team, and sometimes it was his hand brushing against yours while you walked.

“Wanna ditch them?” Brock’s voice pulled you from your own head. You looked over at where Quinn and Kyn were standing, he was laughing at something she said, both seemingly oblivious to the fact that you and Brock had separated yourselves from them. You turned toward Brock, leaning into him slightly.

“Movie night?” You asked, knowing that those were likely going to be the next words from his mouth. Brock smiled, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your temple, sending your heart flying at the seemingly friendly kiss.

Brock pulled back, avoiding your eye as if he wasn’t sure why he had just done that and you felt your shoulders slump a bit at his reaction, only reinforcing his lack of feelings for you. But, the moment passed almost as quickly as it came, and he smiled down at you.

“You know me so well.” He said, the two of you already leaving the mini-golf course, seeing Quinn and Kyn in the distance, a budding romance building up between them that you found yourself slightly jealous over, no matter how hard you tried to push the thoughts of Brock taking you on a real date away.

---------

The next week, you were lounging on Brock’s couch, Coolie with his head on your lap, your hand resting gently on his head. Brock was in Washington DC, the Canucks on an east coast run. Over the last few weeks, you had slowly become the one that Brock trusted enough to watch Coolie, with you usually staying over at his condo, keeping an eye on things whenever he was gone. It was nice, domesticity with Brock that you fell comfortably into. You felt at home in his place, after many nights spent there with him over the few short weeks you had known him, and you absolutely loved the dog.

You never thought about how your friendship looked to other people, how quickly everything seemed to progress. You just felt like Brock knew you, and you knew him, two pieces of a puzzle that fit together smoothly, the only rough edges being your unrequited feelings for him.

You sometimes wondered if it was crossing some sort of metaphorical barrier of friendship though. You slowly picked up on him not talking to other girls, him calling and texting you even more so than he already used to, his body usually as close to yours as possible when you were together, and you would be lying if you said that you didn’t let your heart think about what it all meant.

The annoying thing was that you beat yourself up over it, allowing your mind to drift into places that Brock never put you in, in the first place. He never did anything to make you feel not good enough for him, so why did you suddenly feel like that’s what it was?

You hadn’t been able to watch the game that night, getting in late from work as you rushed from your office back to where Brock lived, where you used to live. You had seen the score though, and you knew the Canucks lost, and you were anxiously awaiting Brock’s Facetime to talk it out with him.

Brock always called you after bad games, or away games. There was something soothing in your ability to ground him, you listened to him, never offering advice if it wasn’t warranted, but you held him accountable to his game. He loved that about you, you had taken the time to learn him, memorizing everything about the inner workings of his mind to a point where he was unsure of if anyone would ever compare to you. Brock wanted you, more than anything, but what you had was so valuable that he wasn’t sure if it was worth the risk of losing. So instead, he took what he could get from you, and tried his best to give you everything you needed in return. He knew he was setting himself up for heartbreak down the line, but he didn’t care, so he kept dialing your number, with no intentions of stopping.

You picked up on the third ring, switching the call to facetime. Brock’s heart swelling in his chest, seeing you there in his condo, with his dog laying on you. He was selfishly getting too used to it, coming home to you, so much so that he found himself missing you when he would find stray items of yours scattered around. The hair ties in the bathroom, or the smell of your shampoo on his pillows. He knew he was falling, hard, and every time he came home to you, he found it harder and harder to restrain. Li

“Hey,” you said, eyes soft as you took in his appearance. He was in a hotel room, the dim lighting, and bad decor a giveaway. He looked tired, as you scanned his face you saw the large gash on his cheek, flecks of bruising starting to appear around it.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” You rushed out, instantly worried. You hadn’t seen anything about him getting injured, and even if it was just a cut, you felt a tugging on your chest, needing to know he was okay.

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay, just a high stick. My shoulder is a bit sore though, I took some bad hits.” He said, voice calm and reassuring. Brock was the type of guy who didn’t like to complain, he didn’t want people worrying about him, so he tended to brush things off, instead of focusing on what others needed. It was one of your favorite things about him, how selfless he was, but sometimes you needed him to take care of himself. You never said anything though, because it wasn’t your place to tell Brock how to react or not react to things that happened to him, especially if they were in his career. It was your job to be there as his friend and support him when he needed it, so that’s what you did night after night, facetime calls going so late into the night, often falling asleep next to one another on-screen.

“Tell me about your day though, could use the distraction.” He smiled. You could tell that something was off with him, maybe it was that he didn’t want to worry you with his pain, or maybe something else happened and he didn’t want to talk about it. Brock rarely asked for a distraction, he was always forthcoming with you, so him not wanting to talk about what happened bothered you, more so than it probably should have.

You bit your lip, glancing away from the camera slightly before looking back at him, short enough that you didn’t think he would notice. The truth was that you didn’t have a good day, you found out that you were going to be unable to go home for Christmas, something you had been looking forward to since moving to Vancouver.

Brock noticed something was wrong as soon as you picked up the call and switched it to facetime. You looked tired, your eyes heavy, the room dark with just the small lamp by his couch illuminating your face. He still thought you were beautiful, his mind reeling when he noticed you were wearing one of his sweatshirts, something that you did often that he never grew tired of. He saw you bite your lip and look away, something that you had a tendency to do when something was wrong. He softened a bit, waiting to see if you would bring it up with him. When you didn’t answer right away, he said your name softly and you turned, offering him a small but not quite all there smile in return.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked. You looked at Brock, not necessarily surprised at how he picked up on your shift in mood. You felt your eyes well up with tears, partially from the news from today, partially because you were simply exhausted, and partially because you missed him. He had been gone almost a week now and you were missing him more than you knew you should for being just his friend. Being in his condo, sleeping in his bed, the scent of him everywhere, it felt too intimate and you were beginning to get overwhelmed by what it all meant.

“I can’t go home for Christmas.” you softly said, him frowning slightly in return.

Brock knew how much that trip meant to you. You loved the holidays and you had been telling him for weeks how excited you were to go home and bake with your mom, go out to the tree farm and cut down the perfect tree with your dad, and just be around your family that you hadn’t seen in months. He also knew that most of the people you were close to in the city probably weren’t staying in the city for the holidays, and his heart ached at the thought of you spending Christmas alone.

“I’ll stay with you.” He said, voice small as if he was afraid this was too much, or the wrong thing to do.

“No, Brock you can’t, what about your dad?” You frowned, knowing how important going back to Minnesota whenever he could was to him. Brock picked up the phone, adjusting it on his pillow as he shifted around in the bed.

“I’ll just go home for All-Star break, it’s only a few more weeks, they’ll understand.”

“Brock-” you tried, him cutting you off quickly.

“I want to stay, let me.” He sounded so sincere, and you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by it. You knew Brock cared about you, he always made you feel like you were one of the most important people in his life, but volunteering to stay with you for Christmas because he felt bad you couldn’t go home was heartwarming in a way that you couldn’t describe. You felt light tears pricking in the corner of your eyes, the relief from knowing you wouldn’t be alone during your favorite time of the year making you emotional.

You propped the phone on the coffee table in front of you and pulled one of the sleeves of the sweatshirt down to wipe your eyes. Smiling softly at Brock who was watching you carefully, taking in your movements, hoping that you wouldn’t fight him on this.

“Okay.” was all you could manage, the tears slipping out quicker.

“Good, because I really think I need to make my trainer mad by eating a whole batch of those gingerbread cookies you have been raving about for a month.” Brock joked, trying to lighten the mood. He hated seeing you cry and it was even more distressing to him when you were alone in his condo, him a thousand miles away unable to do anything about it.

You smiled at his joke, nodding your head at his words. Words couldn’t describe how appreciative you were of Brock, and a few weeks later when Christmas did roll around, you baked him two batches of those gingerbread cookies, watching in enamored amusement as he tried to shape them into various shapes. You were treading down a slippery slope with Brock, one that you were terrified of as the train raced down the track, headed toward the sharp curve of your heart, a curve that you weren’t sure the train could withstand.

---------

January came and went, with you busying yourself with your last semester of classes, and Brock going home over the All-Star break, you felt like you hadn’t seen him in a while. It was the busiest month for both of you, with the Canucks mostly out of town for away games, the only times you truly got to see Brock were when he would come back to his condo late from roadies, carefully slipping himself into the bed next to you, softly murmured “hellos” before you both drifted back to sleep.

It was agonizing in a way, this back of forth with Brock, you were friends, but ever since Christmas, it had felt like more. You were almost sure he was going to kiss you that night, the tree illuminated in the background, joking around about hanging mistletoe up. And you let yourself stand there in front of him, prepared to take what felt like a long-overdue step in the confines of your relationship and it just never came. Brock never leaned in to kiss you that night, and you had carefully replayed the entire scenario over and over in your head wondering why he didn’t.

But now it was late February, and you were running late from work getting to Brock’s birthday party. You had been excited about this the whole week, feeling like you hadn’t had that many great opportunities to spend quality time with him. You were in the throws of midterm exams and a big project deadline at work, simply catching glimpses of him in late-night Facetime calls or the occasional morning coffee runs together if he didn’t have a morning skate or practice scheduled that day.

You had felt something shift since he spent Christmas with you, a dynamic in your friendship that felt slightly different. You didn’t know how to describe it, but the thoughts of him as more than your friend were getting stronger, more evident in the way that you thought about him. You were scared that maybe he could see your feelings, as if they were like a neon sign lit up in a window, the window protecting the piece of your heart that you hadn’t given to him.

You felt anxious as you left work, time slipping away from you as you sent Brock a quick text, apologizing for being late, and that you’d be there soon. You walked down the streets of downtown Vancouver, holding your arms close to your chest to keep yourself warm from the late winter breeze as you headed toward the bar where you knew everyone was.

Brock had been anxiously awaiting your arrival at the bar, knowing you were leaving a work meeting that had gone on a bit later than you anticipated. Most of his friends were there, mingling amongst each other in the dimly lit setting as they began celebrating Brock’s birthday, drinks freely flowing. He was waiting at the bar, saving a drink just for you for when you got there, knowing that you were the one he wanted to see. He watched carefully as he saw your figure come into view, you tucking your ID back into your bag and looking around for anyone you recognized. He was just about to raise his hand to try to get your attention when he saw you run into Quinn, instantly pulling him into a quick hug that Brock told himself he wasn’t allowed to be jealous over.

“You should tell her.” Brock looked over at the voice, Elias walking into the bar to get a refill of his drink. Brock just watched as the bartender handed him a new drink, Petey bringing it up to his lips to take a sip. When Brock made no move to respond to his friend, Elias spoke up once more.

“You should tell her how you feel.” He clarified, shifting his eyes slightly to where you were standing, just outside of earshot from where they were leaning against the dark wooden bar counter. Brock followed his gaze to where you were, looking at you. You must have just gotten there, your coat still wrapped tightly around your shoulders, cheeks, and nose slightly flushed from the strangely cold February night.

You were laughing at something that Quinn was saying, a genuine smile reaching your eyes. He would do anything to be the one to make you smile all of the time, harboring feelings that no one should have for someone who was supposed to be just a friend. If he really thought about it, he could rationalize that maybe you felt the same way, that the lingering looks you gave him as he told you about something important to him, the lines crossed after nights out where you’d wake up in his bed with your legs entangled together, all were indications that you wanted him in all of the ways he wanted you.

He was about to deny it, words tumbling out along the lines of “We’re just friends” to Petey that he had said so many times before, unsure of who he was trying to convince at this point. But before he could stop looking, you turned, catching his gaze, and offered him a small smile. The moment was quick as you turned your attention back to what Quinn was saying, but Brock was mesmerized by the small upturn of your lips.

“Brock.” Petey tried, looking at his friend who was so hopelessly in love with you that it didn’t even surprise anyone anymore. Brock pulled the cap from his head, running his hand through his blonde hair before putting it back on, trying to shake off the moment that had just happened.

“There’s nothing to tell, we’re just friends.” He laughed, desperately trying to believe it himself. It was so much easier if you truly were just friends, and if he had to repeat that statement a million times for it to be true, and for him to forget about the feelings he had for you, he would. He couldn’t lose you, and if that meant mentally locking up his heart when it came to you, that’s something he was willing to do.

“You two are something else.” Petey shrugged, leaving the counter with his drink. Brock quickly finished his vodka-soda, nodding to the bartender for a refill. He felt the alcohol starting to take effect on his body, watching as you slowly work your way through the crowd of his teammates toward him, stopping and saying hello as you passed by.

“Hey, birthday boy.” You smiled, walking right into Brock’s open arms. He hugged you close, resting his chin on your head for a moment before leaning back to grab you a drink. The bar in downtown Vancouver was busy even by a Friday night standard. The season had somehow worked out in Brock’s favor that year, with only a practice scheduled the morning of his birthday, and a day off the day after. He held you close for a moment, taking in the scent of your perfume and the presence of your body wrapped in his. He was already a few drinks in, feelings for you bubbling up to the surface from the haziness of the alcohol.

He handed you a vodka soda, letting his eyes scan your body quickly. You were wearing black booties and a pair of black skinny jeans that hugged your hips nicely. You had a navy blue sweater on, the dainty gold necklace that you always wore peeking through the collar. You had just come from work, not having time to change before heading to the party everyone was having for Brock’s birthday. You smiled at your best friend, chuckling slightly to yourself as you saw how hazy his eyes were from the drinks.

“Got you something, Boes.” you said, digging into your bag to pull out a small box, wrapped in blue paper. Brock looked from your eyes to the box, smiling widely as he slipped it from your fingers.

“A present? From my favorite girl?” He said, grinning widely. You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as he pulled you into his arms, pressing a sloppy drunk kiss to your temple, something that was a bit more than friendly and had your mind racing. Your skin feeling hot from his touch, even through your sweater, your silly little crush on your friend rising to the surface from his overly affectionate tipsy actions.

“Open it!” You beamed, taking a long sip of your drink. Brock quickly unwrapped the box, the curve of his lips tilting upwards as he looked inside.

“These are amazing, I love them.” He said, looking at the silver cufflinks you got him, engraved with a small outline of Coolie on each one. You thought the idea was kind of silly when you bounced it around with Petey, him reassuring you that this was exactly the type of sentimental but useful gift that Brock would love. Brock pulled you into another hug, letting his arm linger on your body as people started filtering through to wish him a happy birthday. You let your guard down, drinking arguably too much with your best friend, your head spinning faster each time his hands lingered on your body.

“Are you coming back to my place?” He asked, smiling once again at you. You nodded, curling your body back into his arm, that was loosely hanging over your shoulder. His breath was hot on your ear as he smiled wide at your wordless answer. You felt butterflies at the question that was only loaded in your head and going with a surge of bravery you reached up and laced your fingers through his, a move that earned you another soft kiss to your temple, and Brock’s sparkling drunk eyes looking at you fondly. You both ignored the looks from the others as you left the bar like that, hand in hand walking back to his condo, drunken giggles, and incoherent secrets spilled between you.

The walk back to the familiar building was quick and one you had taken many times before moving out, fond memories of nights out with Brock entering your mind as you stepped into the lobby.

“It’s still weird coming back here and not going into my place.” You said, walking into the elevator Brock trailing behind you, hand still laced tightly in yours. He pulled you flush against his chest, facing the mirror on the back of the elevator, looking at himself holding you, something he never wanted to stop doing.

“I miss just walking over to your place in the middle of the night.” He frowned, remembering the day you moved out.

“Mmm, me too babe, me too,” you mumbled into his jacket, the pet name slipping from your lips before you could reel it back in. Brock finally let go of you when the elevator doors opened, following your lead as you walked toward his front door. He fumbled with his keys as he heard his dog running toward the door at the sound of you and him waiting outside. When he slid the key in the lock, you pushed the door open, drunken giggles and Coolie’s whining filling the silence.

“Coolie, my favorite boy!” You said, tumbling into Brock’s condo, getting down on the floor to allow his dog to jump all over you in excitement. Brock laughed, walking into the kitchen and pulling out two glasses from the cupboard, filling each one with water. He came around the counter, reaching a hand down to help you up to your feet, you crashing into his chest, giggling.

You took the glass of water from the counter, drinking it slowly as you walked toward Brock’s bedroom, entering his closet to pull out a shirt for yourself to sleep in for the night. It didn’t even phase Brock how you walked around as if you lived there, because deep down he spent a lot of nights thinking about it. Whenever he was on a roadie, he knew you were there, watching his dog, sleeping in his bed, and it drove him crazy.

“Have I ever told you how much I love your bed?” You groaned, plopping yourself on top of the bed, crawling underneath the covers. Brock laughed in return, tossing his shirt to the floor and getting in next to you. He pulled you into his chest, the atmosphere in the room shifting to something more serious. You tried to focus on his face and the way he was looking at you, but all you could feel was your heart beating in your ears as his fingers danced softly along the top of your hip, sliding his shirt that was draped on your body just enough to show skin. You needed to do something to break the silence, to pull his stare away from you before you did something that you might regret.

“Did you have a good birthday?” You whispered, hoping that he couldn’t hear the steady thumping in your chest. Brock smiled again, his whole facial expression getting softer the more he looked at you.

“The best.” He whispered back, leaning in and pressing the softest of kisses to the corner of your mouth, lips almost touching yours. Your breath caught in your throat, the moment passing as quickly as he did it. Brock tightened his arm around you, leaning his head into your shoulder. You lay frozen there, with Brock draped over your body as you struggled to breathe. Brock’s almost kiss sending you into a spiral of thoughts, instantly making your heart race. It wasn’t until you felt his hot breath on your neck, and heard his snores in your ear that you were able to calm down enough, drifting to sleep, neither of you remembering or mentioning the almost kiss by the time you woke up.

The next morning, your eyes felt heavy, your head pounding as you tried to block out the sun coming in from Brock’s windows, the floor to ceiling windows normally offering your favorite view of the city shining sunlight that was far too bright for anyone who had that much to drink the night before to deal with. You groaned, feeling Brock’s arm wrapped securely around your waist, no memory of how you got into this position with him from the night before.

“Brock.” You shifted, trying to move out from under his arm. He groaned in response, pulling you even closer into his chest. You were overwhelmed by the situation you were in, Brock’s legs entangled with yours, his arm sprawled over your middle, his head in the crook of your neck. You felt more vulnerable with each thump of your quickening heartbeat, holding your breath while you pieced together the night before. You and Brock had slept in the same bed before, you were adults and friends. Sometimes after a night out, the two of you would stumble drunkenly back to his condo, wordlessly sinking into his bed together to sleep off whatever the drinks of choice were for the occasion. This felt different, you’d never woken up completely consumed by him, your bodies close together. It felt too intimate for your relationship, his arms too closely holding your body, his lips mere centimeters away from peppering light kisses into your neck.

You found yourself daydreaming about what it would be like to wake up like this every morning, feeling secure and content in Brock’s arms. You could easily picture a slow morning where you’re woken up in the late morning to soft kisses, running your hands through his hair while you come close together. It wasn’t that far off from where you were now with him, only you couldn’t just wake him up and kiss him, and the realization sent you spiraling into your own heart with feelings you had so desperately tried to keep at bay for months. You needed space, you needed to get out of his grasp and forget about how good it felt to be with him, even if it was only for a moment of consciousness.

“Brock.” You said more firmly this time, you shook his arm slightly and he seemed to realize what was going on. His eyes fluttered open and for a moment he looked at you, there in his arms and it was the best feeling he had experienced in a long time. Something so simple as being wrapped up in you sent him over the edge, tumbling through his feelings like a boat on rocky water.

He pulled himself from you, running a hand through his hair as he watched you get out of his bed, eyes lingering down your body. His heart was pounding, and his mind racing as you stretched slowly in front of him, his t-shirt you had borrowed from the night before riding up your thighs slightly. He let himself imagine for a moment what it would be like to pull you back into bed, fingers laced together while you’re underneath him, needing only each other.

“Fuck.” he cursed, trying to rid himself of the image he created.

“What?” You laughed, turning to look at Brock. He had a hand stretched out over his face as he groaned.

“Just a headache, one too many vodka sodas.” He joked, sliding his hand through his hair before smiling at you. You smiled back, your eyes soft as you focus on him. It felt like something more, the way you looked at him.

“Well, Boes, I’m starving, think I need some of your famous eggs.” You grin at him, the moment passing just as quickly as it began.

---------

Brock steps onto the ice, knocking over a few pucks that are stacked up on the bench next to the tunnel before beginning his usual warm-up lap. It’s game one of the first round of playoffs, the Canucks entering as the wild-card this year. He was absolutely buzzing with nerves for the first game, the energy in Rogers Arena already different than it was for normal home games.

It was still early, but the arena was already filling up with fans.

He was focusing on his pregame rituals, but still taking his time to read the signs that kids had taken the time to write, stopping every so often to toss a puck in their direction. He took glances over at the other end of the ice, where the San Jose Sharks were warming up for the game, flashes of video of their games running through his head as he focussed on getting mentally checked into the game.

He was pleasantly surprised when he skated by and sees you behind the player’s bench a few minutes into warmups, pre-game nerves for the playoffs settling in, but somehow slowly evaporating when he realizes you're there. You’re smiling brightly at him, offering a small nod as he noticed you. He quickly glances toward the young girl next to you, holding your hand. Brock quickly picked up a puck on his stick, bouncing it around before catching it in his right hand. He mouthed something to you that you didn’t quite catch, but before you could ask he was tossing the puck in your direction. You caught it, watching Brock as he smiled at your niece and waved.

“Is that the one?” Your sister-in-law teased as you reached down, and handed the puck to your five-year-old niece. You sighed, knowing exactly where she was headed with this conversation.

“We’re just friends.” You tried, not knowing who you were trying to convince more at this point. Your crush on Brock had developed into full-on feelings, and sometimes you were almost sure that he could sense the way you reacted to him. You hadn’t admitted your feelings to anyone, hoping that if you kept them guarded close to your chest that you would eventually move on and stop daydreaming about your best friend. But it seemed like almost everyone was onto your scheme, poking fun at your dynamic with each other every chance they got. No matter how many times it happened, you couldn’t help but feel a slight pinch in your chest each time Brock brushed off their comments. Your heart sinking every time he laughed the words,

“We’re just friends.” To someone.

Holly came down after warmups, just before the game was set to start, a smirk present on your face as she held her hands behind her back.

“Okay, what’s that face for?” You rolled your eyes, knowing Holly it could be anything. She pulled her hands in front of her to reveal a denim jacket resembling her own. You looked at it, noticing Boeser clearly written on the back, details surrounding his name of things you knew and loved about him. One thing that caught your eye, was the small patch on the top right corner, just where one of the seams aligned with the shoulder. You widened your eyes at your small initials embroidered into the corner.

“Well, what do you think?” She smiled brightly handing the jacket to your shaking hands. You didn't know what to think. You weren’t Brock’s girlfriend, Holly knew this. Holly also knew about your long harbored crush for him, feelings that had been spinning out of control lately, a wag jacket doing nothing to help them go away.

Your sister in law looked at you, a knowing smirk evident on her face as she bounced your niece in her lap.

“Holly…” You trailed off, unsure of if it was even appropriate for you to be wearing something like this, endless questions racing through your mind, wondering if Brock even knew about this, and worse, if he did, what would he say. You ran your fingers over the stitching on the jacket, letting your heart think for just a moment about what it would be like to wear this if you were actually his girlfriend.

“Well, put it on. I want to see.” you sighed at her demand, stomach filling with nerves as you placed the jacket over your sweater, the fit perfect on your frame. You felt like people were staring, it was obvious what that jacket symbolized and even most casual fans knew who Holly was, being that her husband was the captain of the team. The last thing you wanted to do was end up all over Twitter as “Brock Boeser’s girl spotted” or something like that. Not only would it be embarrassing, but your feelings were already growing stronger, like ivy settling into a trellis, weaving its way through the spaces while the beautiful leaves slip out, and you didn’t need those leaves present to the entirety of hockey Twitter right before an important series for Brock.

“God, he’s going to have a heart attack when he sees you. Poor guy probably won’t make it.” She said, taking a sip of her drink and settling down into the seat, the other girls slowly started to fill the friends and family section down by the ice. You felt exposed, standing there in a matching jacket knowing that so many of the girls knew you weren’t Brock’s girlfriend.

“Wait, he doesn’t know?” You exclaimed, making a move to slide the jacket off of your shoulders, embarrassment clouding your judgment, and turning your cheeks a bright color as you felt the temperature of the arena shift. The lights began to dim and the Canucks opening graphics started to appear on the ice, you instantly shrugging back into your seat when you saw Brock skate out with the rest of the opening lineup, eyes searching the crowd for you as he stood there next to his linemates. He offered a small smile toward you, nodding slightly before focussing his attention back on the ice as you waited for the anthems to start. You tried to ignore the way the jacket felt on your body the rest of the game, ignoring how the meaning of wearing it felt as time progressed.

It was late in the third when Brock scored a goal, pulling the team ahead 2-1. You jumped up and cheered loudly along with the girls as he skated right up to the glass in front of you with his linemates. When the celebration broke and he skated along the bench, bumping fists with his teammates, he looked at you the entire time, smiling brightly. He didn’t notice the jacket, too focussed on your smiling face, and the momentum shift as his goal pushed the Canucks in the lead as he skated by, the goal ending up as the game-winner for the opening night of the first-round series against the Sharks.

You shuffled out of the stands, saying goodnight to your sister-in-law and niece before following Holly down to the tunnels, a text from Brock burning a hole into your hand as you read it.

Wait for me? It read.

The words twisting in your mind as you tried to decipher what they meant. It could be nothing, but you couldn’t help but feel a shift in the air as you wore his last name on your back, standing amongst all of the other wives and girlfriends. You tried to push the feelings down, shoving them back into the box whose wood was splintering more and more lately, feelings for Brock tumbling out of the cracks. You couldn’t even deny it anymore, you liked him, and it terrified you in a way that you couldn’t explain, and wearing his name on your back was doing nothing to help you push the problem away.

You tapped your foot anxiously as you stood around with the rest of the girls waiting for him. You felt a bit out of place, being there among all of the wives and girlfriends, but Holly had stuck by your side, welcoming you with open arms, and a big surprise that you were now wearing.

The denim jacket hung loosely over your shoulders, Boeser embossed on the back, the number 6 stitched on the right arm. You felt a bit strange about it at first, not wanting to cross another boundary with Brock, the lines seemingly becoming blurrier and blurrier as the last few months wound down. You told yourself it was just playoffs, this was standard, and you knew Brock wasn’t seeing anyone, in fact, as far as you knew, he hadn’t been talking to anyone for months. You tried your best to ignore what that meant, to tell yourself it was just a coincidence that the two of you had started spending even more time together.

Brock exited the locker room, his hair was still slightly damp from the shower, his navy blue suit back on his body. He was riding a post game-high, and the feelings only escalated when he saw you standing off to the side. Your bag was draped across your arm, foot lightly tapping on the ground as your eyes looked around the hallway. His breath came to a stop when he realized what you were wearing.

Draped over your shoulders was a light wash denim jacket, one that he instantly recognized as the infamous wag jackets. His eyes darkened as he scanned your body, gaze lingering on the number 6 on your right arm, his number. He took the final steps toward you, wrapping your body into his as you realized it was him there to greet you.

You looked up at him, instinctively tossing a hand up to his slightly damp hair, his arm wrapped around your waist as he hugged you.

“That’s a nice jacket.” He said, leaning his head in, resting his forehead against yours, causing your cheeks to flush and your heart to rapidly beat in your chest. You didn’t know what he was doing, but something about the darkness of his eyes, and the softness of his voice removed you from where you were. All you could focus on was him, not the tunnel, not the other players and wags shuffling out of the arena, it was just you and Brock.

“Yeah? Thought I’d represent my favorite guy.” You whispered, leaning in ever so slightly, shaking with nerves and hoping that you weren’t misreading the situation. This was it, Brock was finally going to kiss you, and you weren’t entertaining any of your head’s thoughts of stopping it.

“I’d hope that’s my last name on the back.” He said, the tone of his voice lower, eyes reflecting something darker that you hadn’t seen before. Your cheeks were probably red by now, your heart was beating in your throat, and butterflies were swirling deep in your stomach as you both leaned in. The moment was agonizingly slow. You felt your eyes flutter shut, preparing yourself for a kiss that you had spent months waiting to happen.

“Boes! You forgot this!” Jake yelled, and Brock pulled away from you quickly, recovering instantly as if the moment never happened. Your heart sank, and your stomach filled with another emotion, one that you tried to avoid thinking about as you hung the jacket up in your closet later that night, coming to the realization that he didn’t want to kiss you, rather he must have just been caught up in the moment.

Neither of you mentioned the almost kiss, instead it was added to the overstuffed box of moments that you swore he felt what you were feeling, only to be locked away collecting dust as you waited for a kiss that at this point you were beginning to feel like would never come.

The Canucks unfortunately were knocked out of the first round, your heart aching as you watched the final seconds of the sixth game on tv, knowing that Brock was probably beating himself up over the missed breakaway chance from earlier in the period that would have tied it and sent it to overtime. You watched sadly as the Canucks skated off the ice, seeing Brock with his head down as he left quickly.

Your heart ached for him and the rest of the team, knowing how hard they had worked to get to that spot only to be eliminated so early on. You opened up your text thread with him, fingers hovering over the keyboard as you questioned how to offer your support when he most likely didn’t even want that right now. Before you could come up with some attempt at empathy for what he was feeling, your phone buzzed in your hand, his name flashing on the screen indicating a text.

“Going to try to sleep off the bad mood, we land at 8:30 tomorrow.” The text read. You just sent three blue heart emojis back, not knowing what to say, wishing that you could comfort him but knowing that he just wanted to be left alone. You couldn’t pretend that it didn’t sting. You wanted to be the person he went to for everything, and while you knew you were practically that person already, him not opening up to you now had you feeling like it was a reassurance that he didn’t feel the same. Your brain is trying to convince you that if he did have feelings, he would want to talk to you.

The official end of the season also meant that you knew your time with Brock was dwindling down as he prepared to go back to his hometown for the summer, something you were selfishly dreading. Going a few days without Brock usually felt too long, and you selfishly didn’t know how you’d handle not being able to see him every day. With how close you had grown in the months since meeting him, and how wrapped up in him you had somehow let yourself fall, you couldn’t imagine what this summer would be like with him gone.

Brock got back into Vancouver the next morning, coffee and pastries in hand as he came into his condo, relaxing as soon as he saw you and Coolie curled up on the couch. You were wrapped in the throw blanket, head leaning awkwardly on the back of the couch with Coolie curled up next to you. Your favorite show was softly playing on the TV in the background, a now cold cup of tea sitting on the coffee table in front of you.

He went into his room, dropping his bags near the closet and grabbing some fresh sweats and a shirt to wear, Coolie noticing and jumping off the couch to follow him. He reached down, greeting his dog with affection before walking back out to the living room. He slipped onto the couch next to you, pulling the blankets over enough to cover himself, nudging you softly until your eyes fluttered open to meet his.

“You’re back.” You said, voice slightly groggy from sleeping. Brock reached up and put his arm around you, motioning you to lay down on his lap. You smiled, curling yourself into him and adjusting your position so that you were able to lay on his lap. His arm adjusted, resting over your stomach, his hand just close enough to yours that you almost reached up and threaded your fingers through his. His other hand softly playing with your hair, actions feeling like they were blurring a line to the point of almost crossing it, but not taking the final step.

He didn’t say anything in return, instead looking down at you with a smile. You could tell he was upset, the reality of the season-ending finally kicking in now that he was home. But he made no move or indication that he was wanting to discuss it, probably earning an earful from the coach anyways. Instead, the two of you settled into the spot there, your show playing on the tv with both of your minds drifting to each other, wondering if the quickening paces of your hearts were normal or just an illusion of the feelings unspoken between you.

A few hours later, you found yourself in a different position, your feet were feet propped up into his lap, one of his hands was resting securely on one of your shins as he scrolled through his phone with the other. It was quiet, the two of you finally up and awake from the nap you took together when he came back, and you knew the inevitable talk of him leaving was coming.

You didn’t want to talk about it, and if you had your way, Brock would be staying in Vancouver this summer with you. But, you weren’t his girlfriend, and it was unreasonable to allow your mind to drift to that place, no matter how many times you thought to yourself that he must feel the same, only to be let down by nothing ever-progressing past friendship between you.

You didn’t know how much longer you could handle it, the underlying feelings every time his skin touched yours, the times where it felt like he was so close to finally kissing you, only to pull back and stop himself. You didn’t know what to do, your heart and mind battling back and forth with your mind begging you to distance yourself, trying to tell you that it was good he would be gone for a few months, and your heart telling you to keep as close to him as possible.

“So, when are you going home?” Your voice broke the silence. You spoke quietly, trying to hide the hint of sadness in your voice at the idea of him leaving. Brock looked up from his phone, locking it and setting it down on the coffee table before he squeezed your shin reassuringly.

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about that.” He started with a hint of nervousness in his voice. You leaned up, propping yourself up on the pillows to look at him, nodding at him to continue.

“Do you want to come home with me?” His question startled you and sent your mind slipping down a runway that you didn’t understand. The question felt loaded yet natural at the same time. Going home with him meant meeting his family, spending time with the people he cared the most about, and you didn’t know how to process what exactly he was asking of you.

You were just Brock’s friend, what would his family assume when he brought you home? Did they know about you? The questions were circling in your mind, causing you to freeze for a moment before being able to answer his question.

“Brock, what do you mean?” you asked.

“I know the last couple of months have been hard, with graduation and your job winding down, and I also know that I can’t imagine spending months away from you. I thought it would be nice to show you where I’m from, get you away from the city for a bit. You’d love it there.” Your heart fluttered at his words, overtaking every inner thought that your mind was screaming at you. Your head was telling you to say no, that this was most definitely a clear boundary that shouldn’t be crossed. But your heart was running through every red light, every traffic signal placed there by your head, telling you to turn around and stay in Vancouver.

You placed your hand over his and he instinctively flipped his hand over and threaded his fingers into yours. It was a small gesture, but one that sent your heart into absolute overdrive, killing off any willpower that your head was trying to preserve.

“I’d love to.” You answered, leaving your hand entangled with his for a moment as you watched his smile grow, a weight seemingly lifting from his shoulders. He looked happy, and you would have done anything to make him happy.

---------

Spending time with Brock in Minnesota was something that you didn’t know you needed. You felt like you were seeing a different side of him, one that you knew was there but that you hadn’t had the privilege to see before. He was more at ease around his family, always in a relaxed state of mind no matter what was going on around him.

You watched him with his dad, sitting out on the dock next to one another. The hot sun casting a beautiful sheen onto the lake water outback. Brock’s hair was getting lighter, his skin getting tanner with each passing week, and you found yourself falling even more in love with him than you already were. Watching him with his family changed something in you, you knew you had feelings before, but for the first time since discovering them, you wanted to do something about it.

There had been so many instances since being in Minnesota where you’d be there with Brock, so close to leaning in and finally crossing that boundary, showing him how you felt. But something stopped you every time, fear.

You continued looking out at the dock, watching as Brock sat with his dad. You loved this side of Brock, seeing him so at ease with one of the people that mattered most to him. You knew Brock was happy in Vancouver, and that he was working hard on contract negotiations to stay, but Brock in his hometown was a different side of him, one that you felt privileged to be able to see.

Your eyes lingered on the sky, bright stars filling the vast dark space, the moon illuminating a reflection against the water as you laid next to Brock on the small boat. Your head comfortably resting on his chest, his arm around your shoulders. It was another shift in closeness with him that had occurred over the short week you had been in Minnesota. Something between you had changed, and despite knowing everything you thought you could know about Brock, you found yourself wanting to know more. Each touch sends you closer to admitting your own feelings to him out loud, only to stop yourself short by the worry of losing the best thing in your life that you had.

“He’s happy you’re here, you know?” His mom’s voice startled you, her stepping onto the patio where you were, taking a seat at the small table outback, a drink in her hand. You looked at her curiously, replaying the words over in your head. Something about her tone had you feeling like there was more weight to them.

“I’m happy too.” You smiled, trying to keep your composure. It wasn’t that his family made you nervous, but you wanted to keep having a good impression on them because they were important to Brock.

“You can tell him, he feels the same way.” Her voice was distant, ringing in your ear as the words hit you like a force of air rushing through your lungs. You watched as she looked over at her husband and son, smiling softly, before looking back to you. You were frozen in time, hand firmly on your glass as you circled through her words in your head, dancing around the idea of taking them to heart.

“Just something to consider.” She said, standing back up and walking inside, leaving you to your thoughts.

You felt something bubbling up to the surface, feelings that you had tried for so long to keep in a box tucked away. Albeit, you were doing a poor job as of late, but something about what his mom said to you had you thinking about it, taking the chance on Brock, something you’d been telling yourself you don’t need to do for longer than you could remember. You were terrified, even if he did feel the same, that it wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t work out and you’d be left alone, in a city that you grew to love because of his company, shattered while you were left to pick up the pieces alone. But you also knew that you couldn’t keep going the way that you had, the two of you dancing around something that had been seemingly so obvious for so long, mere inches from one of you taking the plunge.

Brock caught your eye from across the yard, a gorgeous smile on his face as he made eye contact with you, eyes squinting slightly from the sun, skin glowing. Something about the way that he looked at you at that moment had everything come crashing to a head for you, and you knew his mom was telling the truth. You knew Brock was just as in love with you as you were with him, and maybe if you let your guard down long enough, your own fears would be powerless to stop it.

A few hours later you found yourself outside with Brock, the two of you in a comfortable silence as the pinks and oranges flashed through the sky, the sun beginning to set and moon beginning to rise. You had been thinking about what his mom said to you all day, about him feeling the way you felt, willing yourself to just reach out and take his hand, lacing your fingers together like you had done so many times before, only this time the meaning would be more.

Brock stood up, his sudden movement startling you from your thoughts as he reached his hand out for yours. For a moment, you wondered if he was in your head, taking the leap that you had been wavering back and forth over for quite some time now.

“Come on, I wanna take you on the water.” He said. You tentatively reached out and placed your hand in his, allowing him to pull you up as he threaded your fingers together leading you toward the small boat that was at the dock. He helped guide you over the ledge, using his hands to steady your hips when the boat lurched underneath your legs as you climbed on. You looked around, noticing the pile of pillows and blankets scattered on the floor of the boat deck, a bottle of your favorite wine visible.

Brock kept his hands steady on your hips for a few seconds as you adjusted to the movement of the water, your eyes curiously wandering around the small scene he had set up, fully intending to take you out for a nice sunset ride on the water.

“What’s all this?” You asked, feeling your stomach begin to fill with butterflies that Brock had given you so many times up until this point. He just looked at you, a fond smile present on his face while he reached his hand up from your hip, slowly guiding it toward the back of your neck to cradle your head in his hand. You thought, once again that this would be the moment where he would finally kiss you, but instead, you felt his lips touch your forehead, and your thoughts of doubt creep back in. You tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest as he let your body go, motioning for you to sit down as he got the boat away from the dock, the sun setting in the distance.

The whole time spent navigating to the middle of the lake was quiet but comfortable. You sipping on wine, and Brock steering the boat, sun continuing to set. He had a serious look on his face, and from knowing Brock all of this time, you knew he brought you out here for a reason, one that you only hope would be something good.

He dropped an anchor in the water, keeping the boat steady when he got to a place he liked. It was beautiful, the water of the lake a gorgeous deep blue, the dark trees casting shadows onto the water as the sun disappeared from the horizon, the moon taking its place in the night. Brock came over to where you were sitting, laying down next to you and watching the stars. He was quiet, deep in thought as you looked at him.

“Brock,” you started. He turned to face you, leaning up slightly and opening his arms, a silent ask for you to lean into him. You laid down, resting your head onto his chest, on hand sprawled out on his stomach. He reacted quickly, one of his arms wrapping around you, holding you as close to him as possible, fingers pulling slightly on the ends of your hair. He pressed a soft kiss to your head, another action that sent your mind fluttering with worry as you waited for him to speak. The two of you resting in that position, holding each other while the night continued on.

“I got an offer today.” Brock’s voice broke the silence, vibrating through his chest as he spoke, his hand absentmindedly playing with the tips of your hair. You knew what he was talking about, it was part of the reason you had come with him back home in the first place. Brock was up for a contract in Vancouver, something he desperately wanted, but he also knew that anything is possible in the league, and things can change quickly. You lifted your head up to look at him, pressing your hand into his chest for balance.

“Where?” You asked, voice small. You didn’t want to let yourself think about what would happen if Brock left Vancouver, and you had managed to push the thought away for weeks. In your mind, Vancouver had to work out, and maybe that was selfish of you to think, but you didn’t care. You knew how much he loved the city and believed in that team, not to mention the friends he had. Moving somewhere would be devastating for him, and you didn’t know how to process what that could do to your friendship if it would even survive at all.

“Nashville.” He hummed, threading his hand through your hair, resting on the back of your neck. A simple touch, one far too intimate for your supposed dynamic, but that sends chills down your spine.

Your shoulders slumped as you went over what he just said, repeating Nashville in your head a few times, mentally calculating the distance, trying to justify hanging on when he would be almost half a world away. You felt your heart sink completely, silently closing the door to telling him how you felt that night, realizing that if he was leaving, maybe it wasn’t worth the risk at all.

“Oh.” You said. Brock sighed, still holding on to your neck, looking you deep in the eyes.

“I’m still waiting for Vancouver.” He smiled sadly. You looked at him for a moment, recognizing the tenderness in his eyes, the way he was so shakingly trying to keep his worries at bay, to protect you from the possibility that this was your last summer together. You laid your head back onto his chest, focussing your breathing to match his, listening to the steady beat of his heart while you laid there, mulling over the words tumbling through your head.

“Brock?” You whispered, not daring to move.

“Yeah?”

“What happens if you leave? To us?” You tried to sound light, but the shakiness in your voice was difficult to disguise, the only noise surrounding you was the soft rocking of the water, and crickets chirping through the darkness. Brock tightened his arm around you, pulling you further into his chest. It was warm, secure, and for a moment you allowed yourself to drift into a headspace where this was more than it was. Brock was your best friend, but in that moment, you had never felt more sure that all of your feelings were reciprocated, the two of your heartbeats synched.

“Nothing, no matter where I am, you’re too good for me to not be close to.” You tipped your head up at his words, faces mere inches apart.

“Do you mean that?” You whispered, already knowing it was the truth. Brock never was dishonest, he wore his heart on his sleeve and proudly carried around the scars that people who didn’t deserve him left. He gently raised his hand to your cheek, offering a reassurance you needed in his expression, eyes connected with yours.

“Always.”

You instinctively reached up, threading a hand through his blonde hair. The two of you looked at each other for a moment, your eyes glancing down to his lips. The moment is frozen in time, nothing but the late-night cool breeze passing over your skin, raising goosebumps on your arms, but the only sensation you could feel was your heartbeat in your throat, willing you to take the chance. It was now or never, you thought, needing to show him how you felt, how badly you couldn’t handle it if he went to Nashville, leaving you alone in Vancouver without him by your side.

Without processing your next move, or allowing yourself to stop, you leaned up and pulled his head down to meet yours, pressing your lips softly to his for the first time. Brock reacted quickly, leaning further into the kiss, moving his lips against yours. Your mind was on overdrive, and your stomach in knots. You had wanted to kiss Brock since the day you tumbled into his apartment, fresh cookies from your infamous stress baking sessions. But somewhere along the way, he became your best friend, and while the thoughts of kissing him never went away, you locked them into a box tucked deep in the cavities of your heart, in hopes that it would protect you from losing him. By kissing him you had taken an ax to the box, ripping it apart at the seams and allowing the feelings to escape, blind to the pressure that you would come to feel from it all in just hours time.

You tugged on the ends of his hair, the kiss becoming deeper as he pulled you closer to him, every emotion you were both feeling tumbling out from the safe spaces it had been locked in. Brock slowly pulled back, eyes darkened as he looked at you, lips slightly pinker. He had never thought he would get the chance to kiss you, and now that he had, he didn’t think he could ever stop. But, he needed to know you wanted it too, that this wasn’t some fleeting caught up in the moment kiss.

You smiled at him, a smile that he had seen so many times yet could never get enough of. You leaned in, pressing your lips to his jaw slowly, delicately as your fingers pulled through his hair. He could barely breathe, your lips igniting his skin. He needed to feel every inch of you.

“Are you sure?” He hummed out, tilting your head up to look at him once more, a question holding more weight than either of you imagined would happen when heading out into the late summer night on that boat.

“I need you.” was all you said, intently looking at the boy in front of you who had somehow become everything. Brock kissed you quickly, a fire in his eyes and heart that only could be contained by you. You deepened the kiss as he slowly leaned your body back, rolling himself to hover over you. Your hands ran up his chest, settling back into his hair. One of his hands firmly pressed into the dock, steadying himself as his other snaked under the sweatshirt of his you had on, settling on your bare skin just above your hip.

Your breathing started to get heavier as his lips left yours, trailing softly down your neck and collar bones. His hands slowly sliding up your sides, resting just below the line of your bra. He pulled back slightly to look at you, admiring once again how beautiful he thought that you were. You knew what he was going to ask next, Brock was always the type to need clear consent before doing anything. You reached a hand up to his cheek, lifting your head to press your lips to his softly once more.

“It’s okay, you can keep going.” You smiled, thankful for the only light being the moon so that he couldn’t see your flushed cheeks. Brock pulled his hand from your sweatshirt, reaching up to grab yours in his, lacing your fingers together and pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand, a move that sent butterflies into your stomach.

“Are you sure?” He needed to hear you say it, he needed to make sure this feeling was real, and that he wasn’t just imagining what was about to happen with you. You squeezed his hand softly, words firm as you spoke.

“I want you, Brock, all of you.” He took his time, hands gently peeling the clothes off your body, reassuring kisses splattered all over your neck and chest. You leaned into him tugging softly on his hair while you felt his whole weight on top of you. Your mind was hazy, thinking of nothing but this moment with Brock, how good it felt to finally have him.

He laced his fingers through yours, pinning your hands down as he slowly entered you, his body hovering above yours. Moans softly filling the air as the pace picks up, your bodies flush against one another as you irrevocably cross a line in your friendship in the darkness, stars floating brightly in the sky, the only illuminance reflected on the still water.

---------

Brock swore he imagined it, you kissing him the night before, the way his hand fit tightly in yours, the soft breaths you took underneath him. And when he woke up to the light shining through the curtains, and you curled up under his arm he worried for a moment he was still in the dream. He lay there, listening to the soft snores coming from your slightly parted lips, admiring how at peace you looked. It was only when he realized you were in only his shirt, a hint of red marks peeking out from the collar that he realized he hadn’t been in a hazy dream after all. It was real, you and him, it was all real and he was determined to make it last.

“Morning,” Brock mumbled, pressing a light kiss into your shoulder. You opened your eyes slowly, memories of the night before flashing through your mind. You curl your body into Brock’s, and he pulls his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together. Your mind was racing, every emotion running through you. Brock kept peppering kisses along your shoulder, something that was far more intimate than friends should be doing. This was what you always wanted with him. So why did it feel like you were standing in a forest, waiting for the tree to drop on top of you, knocking you out of the dream world that you must have been residing in.

“Brock.” You whispered, daring yourself to break the silence. You felt your insides twisting, your stomach rumbling with nerves as you laid entwined with him. It didn’t feel real, and the longer you put off the inevitable conversation, the worse the heartbreak for you would be when he told you it didn’t mean anything or was a mistake.

“Yeah, baby?” He said, lifting his head up from your shoulder. You shifted in his arms, detaching yourself from him and sitting up in the bed. You felt exposed, laying there with nothing but a thin linen sheet covering your body, knowing that you had slept with Brock not once, but twice the night before. You bit your lip, avoiding his eye as he sat up next to you, running his hand through his hair.

Brock was nervous, you weren’t reacting how he assumed you would, and part of him wondered if last night was some fever dream. Something he imagined happening, but your naked bodies next to each other confirmed the reality of the position you two had put yourselves in. He wanted you, he wanted everything with you. He wanted to hold your hand all the time, kiss you whenever he wanted. He wanted to hold you while you cried and help wipe the tears away. He wanted to be yours and only yours, for as long as you’d have him, and the memories of your body entangled with his was pushing his heart to finally open up his heart fully to you, even if you already unknowingly held it in your hands.

“So, last night…” you trailed off, gripping the sheet closer to your chest. You were feeling more anxious with each breath you took, heart, filling with regret of your own actions as you sat there next to Brock. He smiled at you softly, no indication that anything was wrong, and although that should have reassured you that it would all be fine, something about it made you more uneasy. You opened your mouth to speak, willing your brain to somehow come up with everything that your heart wanted to say, only no words came out. Brock sensed your uneasiness and tried to grab your hand. You pulled yourself further away, not wanting to push the boundaries that you bulldozed through the night before.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Brock’s words rang in your ear, echoing in your mind as you felt your breathing constrict as if you were underwater, gasping for a final breath of air to fill your lungs. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, the words coming from his lips were so sincere, so heartfelt, and was what you thought you would want to feel in this situation. He watched you carefully, reading the signs of apprehension on your face, his heart pace quickening.

“I think I have been for a long time honestly, you just, you’re my best friend. But you’re more than that, you’re who I want to call in the middle of the night when I’m feeling down, you’re who I can’t wait to come home to after weeks away. You’re who I want next to me at every moment. I want to hold you all the time, comfort you when you’re sad, and celebrate with you when something good happens. God, you’re everything, you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever known.” He continued. He looked so happy, the weight of his words weighing heavily in the air, causing you to further sink into the bed, grasping on to the sheet like you were on the edge of a mountain, hanging on for dear life. You were biting your lip so hard, nearly drawing blood as he told you everything your heart wanted to hear. But it all felt wrong.

“Brock, you don’t love me, we just-” you struggled to find the words, not wanting to hurt him even though you were caving into your own insecurities and fears. You weren’t sure what you were doing, letting your brain sabotage what your heart desperately wanted, images flooding your mind about the pressures of being Brock Boeser’s girlfriend, what it all meant, how it would change you. You wanted nothing more at that moment than to go back to the day before and return to pining over him from afar because it was easier. It was easier when you didn’t know what his lips felt like against yours when you didn’t know that he was in love with you.

“I love you, and I want to be with you.” He said, his voice firm, eyes locked in yours. Brock was trying to hand you his heart, it was there, alive and beating in his hands and all you had to do was reach out and take it. All you had to do was say the three words back to him that you knew you had been feeling for years. But you couldn’t.

“Brock, we can’t.” Was all you managed to get out, your head hung down in shame. You didn’t see how his face fell, because you didn’t let yourself. You told yourself this was for the best, that Brock deserved someone better than you. Brock deserved to be with someone who he could give the world to, who could be waiting for him no matter where he went, and someone who he would be proud to show to the world. You felt your throat closing up and tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You weren’t even strong enough to face him, knowing what you were doing to him.

“Oh.” He said, turning his head to look at you. He felt like his world crashed right in front of him, the best thing he could ever have just out of the reach of his fingertips. A lingering taste from the one bite of you that he got to take. You were starting to cry, and for the first time in the years that he had known you, he was at a loss for how to help. Everything felt murky between you, the lines blurred together past the point of visibility, a comforting touch felt like too much now that he had opened his heart, unrequited.

He had thought this summer with you had been different, a shift in the trajectory of your friendship, built up feelings finally coming out into the open. You looked at him differently, glances lingering past the point of friendship, dancing along blindly in what he thought were reciprocated feelings. Brock was never good at reading the signs, but something in the way you gravitated to him over the past month disillusioned him into believing what he felt was mutual, that the sex the night before meant something more to you. He had never felt more sure of anything than he did as he kissed you, only to wake up the next morning and have you rip it all away. A dirty mistake that it seemed like you couldn’t wait to forget.

---------

The first few weeks back home you spent locked away in your apartment, ignoring every phone call, every text, any attempt at contact that wasn’t Brock. You didn’t expect him to call, but you wholeheartedly wished he would, because if you could, you would take it all back. You knew that stepping onto that plane you were burning down the best bridge you had ever built, and now here you were, broken and battered, walking along the edge of steel beams as you tried to forge it back together. But you knew you couldn’t, that bridge was built by two sets of hands, not one.

It took three weeks before Holly showed up at your door, baby in tow, demanding you get dressed and come with her. You did as she asked, carefully showering for the first time in days, putting on the slightest bit of makeup to attempt at hiding the dark puffy skin under your eyes, an indication of your lack of sleep since you returned to the city.

Your head rested on the window as she drove you out of downtown and closer toward East Vancouver. You didn’t have to guess where she was taking you as the familiar scenery passed by. When she parked outside of your favorite brunch place, you sighed quietly, appreciative of her efforts even if you weren’t hungry. You waited patiently as she grabbed Gunnar, buckling him up into the stroller before walking into the restaurant. It was a small hole in the wall place, with an outdoor seating area with white metal awning, decorated in lights and ivy, and earthy atmosphere as strangers chatted away eating their breakfasts, mimosas steadily flowing.

You sat down, listening to her catch you up on things with Bo and the baby, an obvious attempt at trying to distract you from your own thoughts. You appreciated her effort, you really did, but you weren’t ready to be outside of the safety of your apartment just yet. You nodded and hummed along as you listened to her talk, feeling nauseous once your food was placed in front of you. Your mind drifting back to the time you took Brock here, and the two of you got drunk on a Sunday from mimosas, having to walk around the neighborhood for hours before sobering up completely enough to drive back home.

“Okay, something happened with Brock. I’ve gathered that much, and I’m worried about you. Talk to me.” She finally tried, a reassuring look on her face. You didn’t know if she knew the whole story, if Brock had told anyone what happened, you had to guess that he was feeling bad enough to contact Bo about it, you had really messed him up. You slipped into the story, telling Holly about how you felt, and how you hurt the best person to have ever been in your life, tears settling into your eyes, threatening to spill out as you reopened the painful wound, still fresh from the weeks before.

“I don’t know how to fix it.” You whispered to Holly, looking down at the table setting in front of you. You twirled the fork in between your fingers, food remaining untouched on your plate as you sat in the restaurant with Holly. She sighed and shook her head softly at you. You could tell by the purse of her lips and the look in her eye that she was preparing to tell you something that you likely wouldn’t want to hear. You were okay with that though because, at the end of it all, you were the one who hurt Brock. You left him in Minnesota, and while you wanted to fix it, you had to come to terms with the realization that some things are beyond repair.

Holly set her fork down, leaning into the stroller that was sitting to the right of her. You watched as she picked up Gunnar, who was fussing. You hated that your mind instantly went to Brock. Knowing that if you hadn’t have let your fears outweigh what you felt in your heart, that he would have been it for you. You knew that. Deep down you knew that it was always supposed to be him.

Brock poured his heart out to you that morning after in Minnesota, sharing the most vulnerable pieces of himself with you. All you gave him in return was nothing but lies, and the image of you packing your suitcase, going back to Vancouver without him. The worst part was that as soon as you stepped foot on that plane, you knew what you had done. You knew you had broken the only person you had ever loved, and you still didn’t stop yourself.

It was like you were outside of your own body, watching as someone else sat on the tarmac, music softly playing in their headphones, head leaned against the airplane window. You left Minnesota as a different person, someone who was broken beyond belief, but it was at the hand of your own actions.

Holly cleared her throat, bringing your head back into the moment.

“Bo said he’s never seen him like this before and I don’t think he’ll see you, not right now.” She started, a solemn silence between you as she chose her next words carefully. You perked up at this, not knowing that Brock was back in Vancouver yet. You knew it had to be any day, with how training usually went for the team, but something about knowing he had returned and gone to Bo broke your heart even more, and you wondered if he found himself walking around the city as empty-hearted as you were.

“You know I love you, right? You’re one of my best friends. But, what you did, If I were Brock I wouldn’t forgive you either.” It was harsh, and it stung hearing it come from her lips. But you knew she was right, and if you settled into a thought where Brock had done that to you, you probably wouldn’t give him a chance either.

Your eyes welled up with tears. You avoided Holly’s gaze, bringing the sleeve of Brock’s sweatshirt that you were wearing up to wipe your eyes. It was the only thing of his you had managed to hang onto, something old from his rookie year, the 6 faded on the side, Boeser still clear on the back.

“I know.” Were the only words you could seem to find, your heart feeling heavy in your chest.

“Look, Brock loves you, right? He’s so in love with you, he has been for a long time, and God knows his heart is way bigger than all of ours. Just, give him some time.” Holly said. You tried to take her words as hopeful, but you worried deep down that you were permanently destined to live a life without him, nothing but an old sweatshirt and memories of your time together.

Brock had been feeling like the air hadn’t returned to his lungs since you left all those weeks ago. He couldn’t stop replaying the scene in his head, rethinking over what he said if he could have changed your mind, but most importantly why he even told you how he felt at all. He knew it was a risk to lay every card he had on the metaphorical table in front of you, but after that night on the boat, he thought he knew you would feel the same. He thought he knew you, and that it would end with your hand in his for the foreseeable future. Instead, the cards blew up in the air, disillusioned by the words you spoke, words he believed because you wouldn’t lie to him.

The worst part about it was that he wasn’t mad at you, how could he be? No person can help how they feel. A moment shared the night before, the lingering touches and your soft moans filling the room, didn’t mean to you what they did to him, and he could never have found it in his heart to be upset by that. But when you left that morning, he knew in his heart and mind that he couldn’t just go back to being friends with you. He couldn’t allow you to have any piece of him anymore, because all it did was confine his feelings back inside, shoved away for no one to experience but him. He was in love with you, and he didn’t know how to go back to being friends and make that go away. He didn’t know how to look at you without remembering how you felt beneath him, how complete he felt when his hands tangled in yours, lips exploring one another.

Brock spent those last few weeks in Minnesota trying to piece together how his life would look without you. He became a bit of a recluse, spending most of his days out on the water with his dogs, unplugged from his phone and friends, only answering if it had something to do with work. He let himself go through the motions as if it were a breakup because, in a way, it was. Losing a friend, especially when it was you, hurt him in a way that most other losses hadn’t.

You were there for him through every good or bad thing that had happened in his life since moving to Vancouver. Every win or loss, his injuries, every doubt he had as a rookie, every trade rumor, and every success. But it wasn’t just his career you had been there for, you were there through his life too. When he worried about his dad, you were the first person he would call. He smiled at the memories of you knocking on his door every time he felt anxious about his family, cookies, and wine in hand, ready to be the shoulder for him to cry on. You never questioned him or made him feel bad when he was upset. You just were you, and your comfort was all he needed to feel better.

You were such a part of his routine that it took him almost two weeks to stop opening your contact in his phone, willing himself not to call you. He hated that his first instinct most mornings was to check in on you, to see how you were feeling after all of it. He grew resentful, but only at himself for his own emotions. The resentment melted into sadness as the time for him to go back to Vancouver grew closer. He didn’t know what would happen when he came back. For the first time in his career, he dreaded going back, not because he didn’t want to play, but because it meant being back in the city where every step he took reminded him of you.

His condo felt different without your presence, and for the first time since you moved out of that building, he was grateful you no longer lived across the hall. He at least didn’t have to worry about seeing you in the elevator, or breaking his convictions and knocking on your door.

He took his time settling back in, slowly gathering any lingering items of yours and carefully placing them into a box. He’d been through breakups before, but nothing compared to losing someone like you. When he had finally rid his apartment of your belongings, he taped the box shut and set it by the door, trying to forget about it. Sometimes Coolie would sniff it, probably recognizing your smell from the items inside.

Brock settled into the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table as he opened the container of takeout that Elias had brought over. He fiddled with the remote, opening up Netflix to queue up the latest episode of Gossip Girl. He patted the spot next to him on the couch, motioning for Coolie to jump up. When he did, he settled in next to Brock, on top of the grey throw blanket that was draped over the cushions.

Elias took his time in Brock’s kitchen, scanning the apartment and looking at his friend. He knew Brock was miserable, and as much as Petey loved you, his loyalties were here. He carried his takeout container in one hand, the smell of the Thai food from down the street wafting into the air, two beers in his other hand and he walked to his spot on Brock’s couch. He set the beer down on the table, glass beginning to frost from the sudden change in temperature. He leaned back, eyeing the box by the front door suspiciously.

“What’s that?” He asked, pointing toward the object in question. Brock stiffened, glancing over where Petey was nodding toward.

“It’s all her stuff.” he sighed, not wanting to get into the subject. Petey knew what happened, as far as Brock was concerned, they didn’t need to divulge into the details once more. What Brock needed was a distraction from all of it, and Petey was happy to be there for his friend, even finally agreeing to watch Gossip Girl, which Brock had been asking him to do for months.

The pair sat on the couch in silence, eating and drinking while watching a few episodes of the show, before Petey left to return home, and Brock drifted into his bed. When he woke up the next morning, the box was gone.

---------

It was mid-October, three months since that morning back at his home in Minnesota. The season had just started, and the rain was starting to settle into Vancouver, a grey sky covering the city most days. He found himself settling into the familiarity of life during the season, but it didn’t feel the same. He woke up most days feeling like there was a hole in his chest where his heart should be, mourning over a loss that he didn’t know how to comprehend. You were still there in his mind, and while over the last few months it had become less frequent, he still wasn’t able to go any substantial amount of time without thinking about you.

He pulled his hood further onto his head as the rain started to come down harder. It was late morning on a rare day off. He was looking down at his phone as he pulled the door to the coffee shop open, the creaking from the worn-out wood filling the air.

“Oh god, sorry!” A voice startled him, one that sent him spiraling down a highway of memories he had spent the last three months trying to forget. He knew it was you, the voice unmistakable.

“Oh, uhm-” You started, and then cut yourself off. The two of you frozen there in the doorway, rain coming down. He hated every moment of this, an ache is his chest resurfacing harshly the longer time stood still with you in front of him. He looked at you, noticing that your hair was shorter, your eyes not quite as bright as they were before, a small frown settling on your features. You looked sad, and like you had been sad for a long time.

Brock often wondered what it would be like to run into you again, after having not seen each other for months. He wondered if it would happen organically, a chance run-in like the situation he was in now, or if you would show up to some event, knowing that his friends were still yours. For the first time since everything happened, he felt a different emotion seeing you, his heart clouding his head with resentment for what you did, the anger at your actions finally bubbling through to the surface.

You looked at Brock and saw a fragment of the boy you knew before, the one you ripped apart without a second thought, the one who invaded your dreams every night, haunting you of your past mistakes. You could have had a beautiful thing with Brock, and you let your fears overtake your mind and broke his heart in the process. You hadn’t spoken to Brock since the day you left, only hearing fragments about how he was from Holly when she was nice enough to share. She was the only one who would talk to you, the rest of your mutual friends cutting you out for what you did. You didn’t blame them, they were Brock’s family, not yours. But you couldn’t pretend that when Elias showed up with a box of your belongings, not uttering more than the words, “Brock wanted to give these back.” that your heart didn’t collapse with your body after you closed the door, letting the sobs overtake you.

You never opened that box, not wanting to relive any of the memories trapped inside, lingering in the belongings you had left with him over the years, the gifts you had given him probably tossed haphazardly in. You knew it was what you deserved, even someone with as big of a heart as Brock couldn’t forgive you for what you did, and you had to live with the consequences of that. Instead, choosing to see him only in your dreams, or scattered around the city in memories.

You knew living in the same area you risked the possibility of running into him again, especially since you two frequented the same places, the only difference now was that you did it alone. And while you thought about it, you never knew how it would make you feel to be in the same space as him again. It felt familiar, and almost every part of you longed to touch him, to reach out and push yourself into him and fix what you broke, but looking at him only confirmed the suspicions that you had that he wanted no part of your life anymore.

You stood in the doorway of the old coffee shop unable to move, your coffee securely held in your hand as you took in his appearance. He looked tired, his beard had grown out more than it usually was, his eyes dull. Your heart ached to know that you caused this, that all Brock wanted was to give you the world and you ripped it out from under him.

The moment only lasted a few seconds, with Brock turning his body away from you, no words escaping his lips as he continued into the shop, leaving you standing there on the sidewalk in the rain. Before the door shut completely, you opened it back up, figuring that if this was the only time you’d ever see him again, at least he would know that you were sorry.

“Brock-” you tried, grabbing onto his arm. You winced softly as he shook it from your grasp, eyes cold as he looked at you.

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” His voice was soft but harsh as he looked at you one last time, turning once again to leave you standing, stomach twisting, and eyes beginning to water. You’d never seen Brock so cold, and knowing you were the one that caused it broke you beyond belief.

You went home that day, the image of his face as he walked away burning in your mind as you curled up in bed and let yourself cry over the boy you were still hopelessly in love with.

Brock stood in that coffee shop for what felt like hours, agonizing over the small interaction before finally getting his coffee and leaving. He thought about it for the rest of the day, thinking of how different you looked, how you weren’t the same person he thought he knew inside and out. He thought about how maybe he was too harsh with you, seeing the broken look on your face when he said he didn’t want to talk, eyes filling with tears.

Brock went out to his balcony, sitting on one of the chairs, a place where he often went when he needed to think. You had basically become an intruder in his mind, invading his thoughts when he desperately wanted you erased. All he could think about was the summer, your hair blowing with the breeze while you sang loudly along to the radio, driving through back roads in his hometown. You were like a time capsule he couldn’t seal, instead he saw visions of you in old photographs taken on a disposable camera dancing through his mind, one by one, each a memory of him falling more in love with you. But the thing about photographs is they fade, the ink turns a different color when exposed to heat, and his confession ended up being the heat that warped the photographs of you, turning them into nothing but what was supposed to be fond nostalgia of the girl he loved.

He thought about you the rest of the week, living almost on autopilot as he shuffled himself from practice to games. His mind was so out of it, that he didn’t see a bad check coming from the Vegas player, sending his body curtailing toward the boards, head making contact with the ice as he fell. He managed to get up, limping back through the player tunnel to get looked at, every moment after that a blur.

He wished it was only that night where his game was affected, but the symptoms followed through practice the next day. He wasn’t skating as fast, he was missing calls, and fumbling over drills that were normally second nature to him. His teammates and coaches all noticed, frustrated with his lack of ability to separate his personal life from the game, but also worried that his lack of focus was going to get him seriously hurt.

Brock’s inability to disassociate from that short interaction was affecting his career, and when he spent the next game as a healthy scratch for the first time since playing in Vancouver, he was so broken that he couldn’t find the energy within himself to care.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when Bo appeared at his front door, his six-month-old baby strapped to him, a hard but concerned look on his face as he let himself inside Brock’s condo.

“Sure, come in,” Brock said harshly, wanting to be alone.

Bo looked around the room, walking into the kitchen to a scene he had never seen from Brock before. There were dishes piled in the sink, unopened mail piled up on the counter, empty take out bags piled up by the recycling bin. He sighed, unstrapping Gunnar from his chest and handing him to Brock. Brock reacted quickly, taking the baby boy into his arms and walking over to sit on the couch, holding him tightly to his chest.

He distracted himself with the baby as Bo silently cleaned the kitchen. He was sitting there, letting Gunnar bite on his fingers while he waited for anything from his captain, bracing himself for what was likely to be a long conversation, especially now that Bo had taken it upon himself to clean up the mess Brock left, not bothering to do it himself.

“You need to get your shit together,” Bo said, walking back over to the couch, wiping his hands on his jeans before holding his arms out, indicating he wanted his baby back. Brock handed over Gunnar, sighing softly as he ran a hand through his hair, unwashed for two days now.

“And take a fucking shower, you look like shit.” He added, words harsh but true. Brock knew he was a mess, his beard growing out, hair slightly greasy, but he didn’t care. He didn’t have the energy to deal with his physical appearance, and he didn’t feel like it mattered, it’s not like he had anyone to impress lately anyways. He didn’t say anything, he just let his eyes follow his captain as he sat down with the baby. He cursed Bo for bringing Gunnar, knowing it was a calculated move to ease into what was going to be a serious conversation, he knew Brock loved babies, and that it would soften the harsh words that were probably moments from coming.

“Look, you’re my friend above all else, I hate seeing you like this. But I’m also your captain, and it’s my job to keep your head focussed.” Bo started, Gunnar making soft noises while he spoke. Brock leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, bracing himself for the confrontation.

“I know.” Was all he managed in response.

“Holly had brunch with her a few weeks ago, she’s a wreck, Brock.” Bo softly said, hating seeing two people that he cared about hurting like this. While he was frustrated with Brock as a captain, wanting better from his teammate, he also realized that maybe right now Brock needed him as his friend.

Brock’s head shot up at that, hearing that Holly had seen you. Part of him felt a weird satisfaction that you were maybe just as messed up as he was, hurting over what happened still. Brock spent most of his time wondering why he seemingly wasn’t capable of getting over you, moving on, letting it all go. You didn’t feel the same way, and while he understood that, he didn’t understand why you left the way that you did, ripping apart the friendship that had been such a stable for both of you, or so he thought. But a small part of him, one that he wasn’t proud of, was feeling smug at the fact that you were likely not entangled with anyone else, that you were just as hurt as he was. Hearing that you were a wreck and not emotionless about it at least meant that you cared about him in some capacity, that maybe the friendship at least meant to you what it did to him before it all blew up in his face.

“Oh?” Brock questioned, unsure of if he truly wanted to hear just how bad you were doing, already feeling the guilt bubbling in his chest from moments before, his mind flashing back to the look on your face as he harshly pulled away from you, the memory causing a dull ache in his chest.

“I’m not here to tell you how to live your life, but she misses you. A lot. Holly didn’t tell me everything, and I know I don’t know fully what happened, but it might be worth hearing her out.” Gunnar started crying, interrupting Bo for a few moments while he soothed his baby, Brock mulling over the words from his friend.

Coolie came running out of the bedroom at the sound of Gunnar’s cries, a soft plush dog toy in his mouth as he jumped up to the couch, settling in near Bo and the baby, his tail slightly wagging, ready to make Gunnar feel better. Brock’s heart rate quickened, and he hated himself for his thoughts once again turning to you, an image of you holding a newborn, Coolie next to you on the couch as you rocked the baby to sleep. It scared him how you could hurt him so badly and yet he still imagined a whole life with you that would never happen because you didn’t feel the same.

“I don’t think it’s that simple, Bo,” Brock said, slowly beginning to feel like he could open up to someone. He hadn’t shared with anyone the true details of what happened between you, he never mentioned the night on the boat, or the morning after, simply telling them that something happened in Minnesota and you left.

“What happened? Why did she leave?” Bo tentatively asked, hoping that Brock felt okay enough to finally let someone in.

Brock took a deep breath, launching himself slowly into telling Bo what really happened three months ago, opening the wound that had been haphazardly stitched up with blood seeping through the bandages ever since he got back to Vancouver. Bo listened intently, never interrupting as Brock stumbled through some parts of the memories, not commenting when Brock’s voice became thick, or when he let the tears escape from his eyes, finally freeing himself of this problem he had kept locked away for months. It hurt to recount the entire event, but Brock also felt like a weight was lifting from his body as he spoke, freeing himself from the loneliness of overanalyzing each action you took and the word you said. It felt good to let someone into the mess that was his mind.

“You need to hear her out.” Was all that Bo responded with, a serious tone to his voice as he looked over at Brock cautiously, gauging what reaction might come from those words. Brock’s eyes widened a bit, a frown still evident on his face, slight hints of surprise filling his features at what Bo said. He wasn’t sure what reaction he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“I don’t know what the outcome will be, I don’t know if it will fix things between you. But this?” Bo gestured to Brock’s state, a slight dig at his heartbroken and pathetic appearance.

“It has to stop. It’s affecting your game, and your ability to function. So call her, figure it out, get the answers you need and either fix it or move on.”

Brock glared at his phone that was resting on the counter. He spent the last few hours after Bo had been there cleaning up his apartment, metaphorically piecing back together some sense of normalcy. Then he took a shower, letting himself mull over the idea of calling you, wondering if you’d even pick up the phone. He trimmed his beard, not fully shaving it, blocking out that he knew you liked his beard, remembering your fingertips on his cheek before some event he took you to. The old photograph of the memory coming into view of you saying you liked how it made him look, a soft smile on your lips as you spoke, cheeks heating up from the compliments you gave. That was the first time he remembered that he realized the things he was feeling for you weren’t what a friend would feel for another friend.

It was late fall, the Canucks annual charity dinner in full swing. You had come as Brock’s date that night, meeting most of the team for the first time. They had all heard about you before, offering knowing smiles as you entered the event with Brock’s arm around your waist. Even if Brock didn’t know how he felt, they all did. They watched as his eyes lingered on you for a little too long, how he danced with you slowly, keeping his arm securely locked on your hip as if you were the only two in the room.

Brock slowly picked up his phone, fingers tapping methodically toward your contact, something he hadn’t opened in weeks but still came naturally, a muscle memory that he never lost. He wasn’t sure if it was Bo’s words that got him to this point, or if it was him finally accepting that maybe you deserved to be heard out, but as he thought back to that first night of realizing his feelings, his mind danced through the memories fondly, them sparkling bright like the stars that night on the boat.

You had just gotten off of an entirely too long conversation with your mother, one that had your head pounding and all you could think about was the bottle of red wine sitting on your counter and the hot bath that you were going to take. Between brunch with Holly that week, seeing Brock, and your mom, you needed to take whatever energy you had left and try to relax. You grabbed the bottle, foregoing the glass as you walked into your bathroom, turning on the water as hot as you could. Maybe if you made it hot enough, you’d feel something other than the ache in your chest.

Seeing Brock felt like a figment of your imagination, and even though you knew you got the reaction that you deserved, that didn’t mean that it didn’t wreck the already fragmented pieces of your heart. Things had been hard since you left him in his bedroom, eyes wide in shock, heart burst and bleeding on his sleeve. You hadn’t slept in what felt like weeks, barely getting through the motions of each day, walking around Vancouver, and feeling him around you. You didn’t dare step foot far enough into downtown where Rogers Arena was, you couldn’t handle being near the building for fear of what it would do to you mentally.

You ignored hockey completely, tuning out the team, only hearing the bits and pieces that Holly told you the few times you had seen or spoken to her. The Canucks were too much of a tie to Brock, and you couldn’t handle watching them, seeing him on the tv, so instead, you tuned it out. But none of that compared to seeing him again, at the old coffee shop you first forged a friendship with him in, the only place you still allowed yourself to sometimes go when you needed a small taste of memories of him that were happy.

You sat in the bath until the water went cold, slowly working your way through too much wine to be acceptable for one person to drink on a Tuesday evening. You allowed yourself to cry, letting the tears silently roll down your cheeks, bubbles slowly melting away in the water, telling yourself that this was the last time you’d let yourself cry about Brock. He didn’t want anything to do with you anymore, a notion that you were now acutely aware of, his harsh words echoing in your mind with each sip coming straight from the bottle.

You get out of the bath, tossing on a pair of soft shorts and a big t-shirt, swaying into the kitchen, in a wine drunken haze. For the first time in a long time, you felt an emotion that you didn’t think you’d ever feel, acceptance. It was okay how Brock felt, it was okay that he didn’t want to hear you out, and while you still felt regret over your decision, part of you started to come around to the idea that there would be a life without Brock. Maybe it wasn’t today, but someday you were going to be able to open up those years of memories with him and they wouldn’t hurt, they’d instead be looked at fondly. Brock saw a side of you that no one else got to, and even if it all went wrong, you don’t regret sharing just a small portion of your life with him.

You tapped on your phone, connecting it to your speakers in your kitchen, turning on a relaxing playlist. Before you could realize what you were doing, you opened the cabinets, carefully pulling out the ingredients for baking soft chocolate chip cookies, something you hadn’t done in months. Baking used to always be your escape, but when you left Brock, even that stress and pain was too much to get you to pull out the mixer. The heartbreak you felt couldn’t be fixed with chocolate chip cookies, not this time. But, as you stood there, wine drunk in your kitchen with music playing softly, you finally felt like you could bake again.

You were startled when the music coming from your phone stopped, the generic ringtone indicating someone was calling now coming from the speakers. You ignored it, letting the ringing continue until it sent whoever it was to voicemail, assuming it was your mom calling again, something you didn’t have the energy for. You were finally feeling somewhat okay, you didn’t need her in your ear about fixing things with Brock for the second time that day. When the phone rang a second time, and then a third, you resolved to the fact that whoever was calling must have had something important to say.

You picked up your phone, heart in your throat as it went to voicemail a final time. You froze seeing the bubble on your home screen indicating you had three missed calls, all from Brock. His name never felt weirder to see on your screen, the emojis he put in there still present, something that used to always be on your phone but had since vanished. You couldn’t wrap your mind about why he would call, let alone call three times, but your heart feared the worst. Maybe something happened to his dad, maybe something happened to him, or the dog. You didn’t know, but when your phone lit up again for the fourth time, this time a picture of you and Brock lighting up the screen, you answered almost immediately.

“Brock?” You said, tentatively, you didn’t know what the tone of the conversation would be, and your stomach was racing with nerves.

“Yeah, uhm, hi. Hi.” He stuttered, clearly nervous to be calling you.

You gulped, sitting down on the stool by the island, legs dangling down, fingers nervously tapping on the counter. The wine you drank seemingly evaporating from your system, your mind falsely clear as you took in his voice. God, you missed hearing his voice.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, worriness present in your voice. Brock picked up on it right away, reassuring you everything was fine and that bad news wasn’t why he was calling.

“I’m sorry about the other day.” He started, referring to your run-in at the coffee shop.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Brock.” You softly spoke, terrified if you said too much that he would remember that he was talking to you, and hang up.

“I do, that wasn’t fair of me to treat you that way, and I’m sorry for it.” He said, his voice was firm but still soft. You could almost hear the wheels turning in his head through the phone, picturing him, probably in his kitchen at the same place you were, running a hand through his hair as he spoke. Before you could say anything in response, he spoke again,

“I was hoping we could talk if you’re up for it?” Your eyes widened at his words, something you weren’t expecting to hear from him. Not that you expected a call from him at all, but let alone an invitation to talk.

“Now?” You asked, unsure if he meant on the phone or something else.

“If you’re free? I uhm, I got curry, from that place you like?” He offered. You couldn’t believe how small his voice sounded on the phone, so much weight held in an offer for curry, something that used to be a routine.

“I can’t drive, I had some wine.” You started, Brock exhaling in response.

“No, no, uhm, I can take an uber. Be there soon?” You said, not entirely confident in your voice or words but hopeful for what was to come.

“Yeah, yeah that works. Keycode is still the same, just, come up.” He said. The conversation felt awkward, two people who had been through so much, trying to navigate the broken pieces of a love that was almost everything.

You walked into his apartment nervously, for the first time since knowing Brock, you truly felt like you didn’t belong there. You felt as if it was something was off. Brock looked better than he did the last time you saw him, his beard was trimmed, his hair clean, and his eyes didn’t look as tired. You felt uncomfortable there, standing in his kitchen while you waited for him to speak. When he didn’t, you found yourself getting more anxious, wanting to do anything to break the silence as he looked at you.

“Brock, how did we get here?” you asked, instantly regretting the question as soon as the words slipped fom your lips. It was a question that you already knew the answer to, because it was a situation that had the blood on your hands.

Brock sighed, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, jumping right into the discussion that had been put off for entirely too long now.

“It was never me that didn’t know what they wanted. I told you that I wanted you. I meant it. And you left. You let me have you for one night and you left.” Brock said, eyes watering. He was standing across the counter from you and all you could think about was pulling yourself into his arms and trying to make it better. But you couldn’t, you lost that right the second you walked out all those months ago. You wiped the tears from your cheeks, leaning a bit on the counter as you smiled sadly at him.

“Brock, I love everything about you. You make everything better. You make me love the things I hate about myself because you’re you. And you love them, why wouldn’t I want to be with you?” You felt like your head was spinning with each word that you spoke, your heart beginning to beat faster as you wished he could put himself inside of it, feeling every emotion you felt, trusting that what you were saying was the truth. You knew you didn’t deserve that trust, you could only hope that Brock would see past your mistake, and remember who you were.

“I’ve never been in love before, not until you. All of those feelings were only for you. And there you were, giving yourself to me and it scared me. Brock, it scared me so bad that all I knew how to do was run. And I know that’s not fair, you deserve more answers than that, you deserve someone who isn’t scared. But that’s the truth, and you deserve the truth.” Your voice was cracking as you spoke, words pouring out of your chest that you weren’t sure made sense anymore. You watched Brock carefully, trying to piece together the expressions on his face that you couldn’t decipher. You felt like you didn’t even recognize him anymore, that you were just two people who knew each other years before, and you didn’t know how a few mere months could do that to two hearts that were so closely connected.

“I just don’t understand how you can say all that, but when I told you I loved you, you left.” He said, voice cracking, tone matching yours. He ran a hand over his face, bringing his eyes to yours. He was trying to think of the right words to say, letting his mind process everything you told him. He couldn’t even focus on the fact that you just threw your heart over the table because there was a part of him that wasn’t allowing himself to believe you.

“I never would have been mad at you for not feeling the same, but you tore apart everything. Feelings aside, you picked up our friendship and threw it overboard when you decided to leave. I would have gotten over my feelings, but you decided that wasn’t enough, and that our entire friendship no longer was worth saving.” His words were harsh, cutting you deep because you didn’t want him to think that you didn’t want his friendship. You were standing on the edge of the boat, trying to reel in all of your emotions and Brock came crashing into you like a wave in a storm, and every fight or flight instinct had you thinking the best course of an option was to throw yourself overboard.

“Brock you were everything to me. I fell in love with you almost a year ago. You were everything I ever wanted and then it happened and it was so good that it scared me, and I fucked it all up. I let every insecurity tell me that it could never work.” Your voice breaking, desperately trying to make him believe what you were saying. If this was the last time you saw him, you needed him to know you loved him. Maybe that was selfish, but after all this time you still did, and after what you did, he deserved the whole truth.

“I just need you, to be honest with me.” Brock sighs. Your words should have been enough, and his heart and head were colliding as he tried to figure out what to do. He hated seeing you cry, he hated that he was in a way doing to you what you did to him by letting you release every feeling you had, offering next to nothing in return. But, another part of him felt like it was fair, and that he shouldn’t feel bad for making you give him answers. He spent months trying to get over you, trying to comprehend how one night made everything go so wrong, and maybe the answers would settle the battle in his heart and he could finally forgive you.

“Honest about what, Brock? About how I’ve spent every day since thinking about how I let go of the best thing I ever had? About how I painfully relieve what it felt like landing back in Vancouver knowing you were thousands of miles away hurting because of me? About how I’m still so madly in love with you that it's just aching in my chest I can’t get rid of no matter how hard I try?”

“Did you regret it? Leaving?” Brock whispered.

“The moment I got to the airport, I haven't stopped regretting it since.” The tears were freely falling down your cheeks. You watched in confusion as Brock walked to you, coming closer than he’d been in a long time. Before you could process his next moves, he took your face in his hands, pressing your lips together in a kiss.

You responded quickly, instinctively kissing him back, it was different than last time, probably because of the intensity, both of you trying to communicate your love for each other in the moment. Brock deepened the kiss, lifting you up and setting you on the counter, hands digging into your thighs. You could feel all of him, and you wanted this feeling to last forever.

Brock pulled back, running his thumb along your cheek where a few tears were still there.

“Brock-“ you started.

“We have to do this right, I need to know you’re in, that you want to be with me. For real this time”

“I’m in, Brock. You have my whole heart if you want it.” You smiled.

He leaned in, kissing you once more. When he pulled back, he pressed soft kisses all over your cheeks, trailing down your neck before pulling you in close to him, holding you tight.

“I love you.” You said, unsure of if he would be ready to reciprocate, but you didn’t mind. You would wait for Brock for as long as it took if it meant that things would be okay, that you would be together.

“I love you too, always have.” When he smiled, it was bright, eyes crinkling, cheeks slightly flushed from the shared kisses. You would do anything to keep that smile on his face all the time.

“By the way, I owe Petey $100 now.” He laughed.

“Oh? Why’s that.” You hummed, threading your hands through his hair.

“He knew we’d end up together I guess.”

“Seems like a good investment.” You teased.

“Worth every penny.” He agreed, dipping his head down and kissing you softly once more. The feeling of his lips on yours was something you knew you’d never grow tired of, knowing that Brock was it for you, and you’d love him as long as he let you.

#brock boeser #brock boeser imagine #brock boeser fic #brock boeser story #canucks story #canucks imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine

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marvel-and-mischief · 3 years

Text

Daisies

Part of my Floriography Series

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader Words: 2700 Warnings: gambling, swearing, alcohol, rough handling by guards, allusions to prostitution (it’s part of a scam), lighthearted punishment in the stocks Synopsis: Pero seems to always be around at the wrong time to sabotage your scams and join in with your punishments. Enemies to Lovers (sorta)

Daisies: attachment, new beginnings

💐

“Now remember, ten or above wins you double your stake, below ten and your stake is mine.”

The scruffy drunkard sat opposite you let out a bellowing laugh, the nasty stench of his rotten teeth hitting your nostrils. His movements sloshed the tankard of mead in his hand, spilling some of its contents on the table between you. You had to hold back your look of disgust and smile through the uncomfortableness.

“I won’t lose. Throw ‘em, lady,” he slurred. You had to fight off the smirk threatening to show on your face as you shook the two, six sided dice in your right hand. You had nothing to worry about, the dice were weighted, favoring the lower numbers and therefore guaranteeing your win every time.

“Alright, but when you win you owe me a drink!” you winked cheekily at your mark, catching his eye whilst you threw the dice on the table. The more you distracted them the less chance there was of getting caught in your scam.

The dice came to a stop and you both looked down at the same time; a three and a four, earning a groan of disappointment from the few onlookers that had gathered to watch.

“Better luck next time,” you grinned, gathering up your dice and winnings as the man muttered something unintelligible and grumpily left the table, “anyone else want a go?”

“I will.”

You froze at the voice in your ear and saw the figure of a familiar man take the recently vacant seat opposite you. Pero Tovar always seemed to show up in your life when you least wanted him to. He was an annoying ghost and you could never shake off his haunting. You should gather up your earnings and leave but something kept you rooted to the table. And the longer you took to contemplate your next move, the more the drunkards in the tavern wanted to know what was going on. Soon you’d attracted quite the crowd.

“I said, I want a go.”

You looked into his brown eyes, the ones that sparkled with humor, always at your expense.

“It may be too difficult for your small brain to understand how to play,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Then let us play a different one. I will throw the dice, and if the total is lower than ten, I win every penny you have taken tonight.”

The bastard. The only reason he would suggest playing it that way was if he knew how you were cheating the game. You clenched your jaw in frustration.

“I think I am ready to take my leave-“

“But we have an audience!” Pero smirked, raising his voice and waving a hand at the tavern full of people who hurrahed, eager for you to throw the dice. You were cornered, physically by the wall of people around you and mentally by Pero who knew if you refused the game it would look suspicious.

“Fine,” you grumbled, faking an over the top smile, twirling the dice in one hand and clenching your other hand into a fist under the table. Stay calm, don’t show him how much he was getting to you, you told yourself. You’d chase him down afterwards and with a knife to his throat take your money back. That would show him.

You dropped the dice on the table and leaned back in your seat to see Pero staring at you. You didn’t need to see the dice to know you had lost, the weights that usually worked for you were against you this time, and the tavern goers yelled in surprise and delight, some were even joyfully patting Pero on the shoulder in congratulations. All the while Pero was smiling at you, self satisfied at playing you at your own game.

You pulled the drawstring bag off your hip and threw it across the table, hitting Pero in the chest.

“Better luck next time,” Pero mocked your earlier words, “would you like a drink to drown your sorrows in?” Pero threw the bag of coins in the air and caught it successfully.

“Oh bugger off, Pero,” you hissed, leaving the tavern in a huff. You didn’t want to see him again this night. You’d get him back next time.

The boy was young, still a teenager but old enough to know better. His clothes were of the finest materials, gold threads held the pieces together and added beautiful patterns to the front and shoulders of the jacket. He even had a long, shiny feather in his cap. He stuck out in the crown like a sore thumb.

You had been scouting the market for marks all morning and he was the only person you thought worthy of relieving of coin. He had a guard with him, who was more interested in looking at the women walking by, and his coin purse was dangling enticingly down by his hip. It would have been much easier for a child to run along and snip the string with a knife but the only ones you’d found were hand in hand with their parents. So you were on your own.

You were hidden down the side of a building, in the shadows and away from prying eyes. Or so you thought until you caught the flash of a grin out the corner of your eye.

Pero Tovar was mirroring your position on the other side of the marketplace, the wealthy man in the middle of you both. Pero moved his gaze to said man and it was then you knew he was after your mark.

It had been only a couple of nights since he took all your money at the tavern and you’d be damned if you were going to let him swindle you of even more coin. You had to get to the mark before Pero did, by any means necessary.

You tried to plead with him, subtly shaking your head but all Pero did was lean against the wall and offer you a warning glare.

The mark was buying a trinket from a stool, handing his purchase over to the guard to carry and looking around for where to go next. This was your only chance.

You untied the string at the top of your tunic, letting it open up to display your chest more than you would usually allow. But you needed a distraction and a way of getting close to the man without suspicion. You pulled out the small scissors from your boot and held them comfortably in your dominant hand, shaking down your sleeve to keep them out of sight.

You tried to ignore Pero but as soon as you slipped out of the alley he did the same, heading directly for the wealthy man.

Unfortunately whilst you were gaining speed through jogging movements, Pero’s purposeful strides were larger than yours, meaning you both reached the man at the same time.

“Sir, could I offer my services-“

“You seem too respectable to want the services of a harlot-“

“Harlot? Excuse me, I am so sorry, this ruffian-“

“Ruffian! You should show some respect-“

Your attempts to get close enough to grab the purse were scuppered by Pero subtly pulling you away with a hand around your waist. And as much as you tried to pry him off you, he was strong and stubborn, rendering your scam completely useless. The wealthy man’s guard dragged him away with a growl in your direction to stop you from pursuing them.

“What was that!?” Those words had been on the tip of your tongue but Pero spoke them first. You looked at him with a confused frown.

“What?”

“What were you thinking? That guard could have killed you.”

“Oh do not pretend you care for my health, you wanted that purse to yourself.”

“I did, but when I saw you were going to get yourself in serious trouble I had to come and save you instead of getting the coins for myself. You are welcome, idiota.”

You stared at Pero in disbelief. Was he expecting gratefulness? You couldn’t quite believe what he was saying.

“I have been doing this for years and I haven’t gotten caught once. I would appreciate it if you didn’t save me again,” you huffed, tying up the strings of your shirt before stomping away from him.

If you never saw Pero Tovar again it would be too soon.

You were mad. But you were mad that Pero was right more than you were mad at your actual predicament.

You had been playing a simple card trick on an unsuspecting traveller, one that you’d played hundreds of times, it had never gone wrong. Somehow the extra card up your sleeve (the one you used to cheat with) had slipped out and fallen to the floor and a guard that had been watching had spotted it and arrested you before you could run.

So that was how you found yourself in the stocks all morning, set in the middle of the courtyard of the castle grounds for everyone to laugh at. A few delighted children had thrown various rotten vegetables in your face, most adults had taken pity on you and walked on by. Your back was hurting from being hunched over, your feet were aching on the hard, stone ground. But none of that compared to the pain of seeing your foe being dragged towards you.

“Please, I beg you, this is punishment enough, do not put that man anywhere near me.”

“Anyone would think you hated me,” Pero grumbled, humor in his voice despite being guided towards his punishment.

You felt the top half of the stocks lifting off the back of your neck, a second of relief, as the guards situated Pero next to you. His hand was so close to yours you could touch him, not that you wanted to. The stocks were dropped down and locked in place and the guards left you alone.

“You bring me nothing but bad luck,” you mumbled, huffing as you shifted on your feet.

“Because I was not there to save you this time?” You could hear the smirk in his voice which irritated you.

“Because I have never been caught, and then you start showing up everywhere I go and I am caught, and to make things worse, I have to be punished next to you!” You laughed humorlessly, narrowly dodging a handful of what smells like horse manure. You shoot a glare over to the man who threw it.

“Carino,” Pero clicked his tongue and you felt his hand sweep against yours, “these rotten potatoes are preferable to your whining.”

You gasped and tried to flick at his hand but it only hurt your bruising wrists.

“When I get out of here I am going to find the biggest vegetable, fresh from the ground, and throw it at you.”

Pero laughed a large, belly rumbling laugh that surprised you.

“Why are you laughing?” you asked, baffled at his sudden turn of emotions, but it didn’t deter him from laughing more.

It was the second plop of manure hitting the top of your head that had you joining in with Pero. The ridiculousness of the situation, the bickering between you, and your damn hand kept knocking into his. It was all so silly.

You spent the rest of the morning in fits of giggles with the man you thought you hated.

You were thrown down the steps of the dungeons, your knees hitting the hard, dirty floor before you were hauled back to your feet to be taken to the cell that would be yours for the night.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” was the voice that greeted you. You saw him sitting in the corner of the cell, a growing bruise on his jaw and stripped of his leather outer garments. He looked softer in just a shirt and breeches, more vulnerable but also kinder. Like any ordinary man, not the pain in the ass you knew him to be. You chuckled at the sight of him.

“Your life would be boring without me,” you teased, but Pero nodded his agreement. You plopped down next to him with a sigh, stretching out your legs and feeling the soreness of your knees as you rested them. You rubbed at the tenderness over your skirts.

“Are you hurt?”

“Some scrapes, that is all,” you assured him, but his eyes lingered where you were soothing your burning knees, “how did you end up in here?”

“Not my fault,” you raised a sceptical eyebrow, “a drunkard started a fight with me.”

“And where is this drunkard?” you asked suspiciously, looking through the bars into the other cells, all of which were empty.

“He passed out. The guards did not want to drag his useless body in here.”

You hummed, clearly not believing his tale. He rolled his eyes at you, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing.

“And you?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you end up in here?”

You sighed, remembering what had happened.

“A noblewoman thought I was going to steal her purse.”

“You were not going to steal her purse?”

“No!” You feigned looking scandalised at the mere suggestion, before dropping the act, “I was going to steal her dog.”

Pero guffawed, not expecting you to say such a thing.

“Her dog?”

“It would have been worth more than the coins in her purse.”

Pero rubbed at his tired eyes. You listened to the sounds around you; the guards gossiping outside the dungeon door, a rat squeaking somewhere nearby, the rhythm of Pero’s breathing. It was the first bit of peace you’d had in a long time.

“If we get caught again they will not simply throw us in the dungeons,” Pero whispered ominously.

You couldn’t disagree with him, but there weren’t many other options for people like the two of you. You were wanderers and loners. You had no money, no home, no family. What choice did you have?

You glanced at Pero who was already looking at you. He looked defeated, with dark bags under his eyes and his lips turned ever so slightly downwards, he looked how you felt. Hopeless and alone.

“We keep running into each other. That must mean something,” you claimed, feeling stupid as soon as the words came out. You quickly looked away and waited for him to mock you.

“You think this is God’s will?”

You shrugged and began picking at the dirt on your skirts.

“Perhaps we should do something about it.”

“Like what?” you asked, allowing your tone to lift in hope.

“If we are meant to be, maybe we should get out of this town and find another.”

“Together?”

“Why not?”

You looked at Pero then. There was no teasing in his eyes or smirk on his lips, he was being deadly serious. Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of sticking with Pero from now on. However, you couldn’t make it too easy for him.

“Well for one, I’d be stuck with your ugly mug.”

Pero grinned and let out a deep, throaty chuckle.

“I would wager my ugly face is better than the hangman's noose.”

The room became sombre once more as you realised what your options were. You had to leave town, but you could either do that alone or with the man whose company you were beginning to enjoy.

You felt Pero nudge your side and you saw he was holding a single daisy up to you.

“Do you carry flowers at all times?”

“No, idiota, they are growing in the walls,” with an amused shake of his head he carefully placed the small flower behind your ear and leaned back to admire his work.

After your initial shock you smiled your thanks and he smiled back.

“Bonita,” Pero muttered and leaned his shoulder against yours as he settled back against the cold, damp wall.

You think you could get used to sticking by his side.

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog @phoenixhalliwell @computeringturtle

#Floriography Series #Pero Tovar #Pero #Tovar #Pero Tovar x Reader #Pero x Reader #Tovar x Reader #The Great Wall #Pedro Pascal

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dewykth · 4 years

Text

—acquainted (m)

“there he goes again. wishing for too much. silly boy, doesn’t he already know he will never have you the way he wants?”

muses. motorcyclist!taehyung x reader words. 2.3k+ contains. smut, angst, unrequited feelings, a fatal love affair notices. explicit sex scene, infidelity (don’t), slight degradation

He should really stop this.

The thought crosses Taehyung’s mind for the fifth time as he exits his apartment complex and mounts his bike. It’s there the whole forty-five minute drive it takes to get to your house. The high rise buildings disappear with each passing mile, replaced with modern, ostentatious estates. You live on the far end of the city, where The States is imprinted on a granite slab right in front of an opulent water fountain. He punches in the memorized gate code, pushing the intruding thoughts to the back of his mind.

The palatial homes never fail to make Taehyung’s mouth drop. His eyes traverse over every inch of the vast lush mansions. It’s all he can do, because he’d never be able to afford such a luxury. Taehyung barely manages to scrape up his rent money in time, hardly getting by with his shitty 9 to 5. But a boy can dream, he supposes.

His bike drives up the path to your residence, and he parks behind the separate garage, just like you tell him to. Away from any prying eyes. Old rich people are nosy, you had excused, they don’t have anything better to do. Taehyung believed you, not like he’d know any better.

Your house was the most impressive. Strikingly beautiful white marble, making the other houses on the block look stale in comparison. It suits you, he thinks.

A statue of an angel sits atop a platform, water shooting out of the top and into the vast pool surrounding it. It’s beauty is supposed to catch the eye of anyone entering your home, but Taehyung’s been here too many times to count. It isn’t as impressive as before.

He reaches the familiar mahogany-coloured doors, and his fingers find the doorbell before he can think of turning back. He pushes it once, twice, then takes a step back.

Why is he here again?

Taehyung told himself that it’d be the last time. That he wouldn’t come back again, that he’d cut whatever this was short, that he’d stop seeing you. That was what he had said the last time he saw you, yet here he is again. Taehyung isn’t like this. He doesn’t fuck someone more than once. He doesn’t go over anyone’s house to fuck. So why is he standing at your door for the third time this month?

He’s playing a dangerous game.

Taehyung likes to think he’s a man of control, but everything is different with you. Your number appears on his phone, and hearing your voice calling out for him is enough to make him break. It’s stupid, he’s stupid. It’s a Friday, half past five. The time you ask for his company is usually on Saturdays. The days Taehyung should be out clubbing and finding someone to take home for the night. Not be standing in front of your three-story mansion like a fool.

He should leave. He should leave and never step foot in this neighbourhood again.

The doors open, and Taehyung finds it baffling that there’s a twinge of disappointment in his chest at the sight of one of your housemaids. It’s not like you greet him at the door every time he comes over. You never do.

The maid says nothing, beckoning him to come inside. He does, because he has no fucking self-control left. Taehyung follows the petite woman up the stairs, and even though he knows his way around the grandiose manor, he lets her lead him anyway. They turn a corner at the end of one of the many hallways, and Taehyung’s heart starts ricocheting against his ribcage once he catches sight of the familiar ivory door at the end of the hall. The woman stops a few feet away from it, bowing before taking her leave. He watches her before reluctantly turning back.

What the hell is he doing here? He should go. You don’t even know he’s here yet. He should turn back, he should go home and tell you something came up.

But Taehyung is frozen, feet glued to the floor as he stares at your door dumbly.

Breathe. Count to ten. Then leave.

He can’t seem to move though, not even to knock on the door. It seems he doesn’t have to though, because it is swinging open before Taehyung can count to three.

The sight of you takes his breath away, which is nothing out of the ordinary, and all thoughts of leaving fade away into the endless abyss of his mind. You’re wearing that stupidly gorgeous smile of yours, the one that Taehyung likes to think is reserved only for him. He hates it, he despises how weak you make him feel. How fragile you’ve made his heart.

He shouldn’t be here.

Leaning your head against the door, you raise a brow at him. “Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to come inside and fuck me?”

And something switches inside him.

Taehyung pushes you inside, hands coming to the back of your neck to pull your lips to him. He kisses you fervently, with urgency, like he’s been starved of you for years, even though it’s only been two weeks since he last touched you. Too long.

His tongue slips into your mouth when you gasp in surprise. Taehyung twirls you around, pushing you against the door. His hands come to rest on either side of your head, and his lips leave yours in order to nip at your neck.

You gasp, “Mhm, I missed you.”

Taehyung tries to not let your words get to his head. It’s not like you mean them. “Did you, baby?” he murmurs against your neck, “Or did you miss my cock?”

You smirk, tilting your head to the side to make more room for him. “Maybe both.” They’re empty, he reminds himself.

Your hands go to his hair, tugging slightly and Taehyung can’t stop the soft moan that escapes his lips. He spreads your legs, hooking one of them around his waist. You get the message, jumping slightly to wrap your other leg around him. Taeyhung’s hands go under the silk robe you don, squeezing your bare ass as he kisses you again. He blindly leads you to the large bed near the middle of the room, setting you down on the thousand thread count sheets.

Taehyung hastily opens your robe, dick hardening at the sight of the black lace lingerie adorning your body. “Is this for me, baby?”

You only smirk in response. His lips meet your neck once again, placing open-mouthed kisses down to the valley of your breasts. Taehyung sucks hard, teeth nibbling softly at your skin and you moan, “mmhh, Tae, no marks.”

He growls at your words, resisting the urge to bite down onto your skin. But he obliges, moving his lips along. Taehyung’s hand slips behind your back, fingers expertly unclipping your bra. He doesn’t bother to slip it off, instead pushing the fabric down before his lips latch around your nipple. You gasp, back arching into him prettily.

Does he really think he could ever stop coming back to this?

His tongue swirls around your bud before he sucks harshly, just the way he knows you love. Your hands find his hair once again, tugging on his black curls. Taehyung moans around your breast while his other hand comes to your neglected one, pinching your bud in between his fingers. “F-fuck, Tae, please.”

His mouth comes off of your breast with a pop, a trail of his saliva connecting your wet nipple to his red lips. Taehyung smirks, “Please what, baby?”

He loves to see you begging for him. Needing him. He needs you just as much. “Please, touch me, anything.” you squirm when his fingers start to dance up your thigh, and he can’t help but chuckle.

“Ah, baby, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific.”

“Your fingers,” you gasp at the feeling of Taehyung’s fingers ghosting over your heat. “I want your fingers, please.”

Anything you want, he’ll give it to you.

Taehyung slips off the lacey fabric, throwing it across the room. His fingers come to lightly toy with your clit, and his eyes widen at the sheer amount of wetness. “Baby, you’re so wet and I’ve barely even touched you.” You whine at his teasing, hand coming to grip his bicep. “I told you, ah, I m-missed you.”

Empty.

Taehyung slips his fingers inside, making scissoring motions to make room for him. You’re a mess, moaning and clutching at his bicep with such force he’s sure he’ll see your finger indents tomorrow morning. Taehyung doesn’t mind it, even when he wishes he could mark you his just like you do to him.

He’s a fool to think such things.

“Nngh, fuck, Tae, please. I want your cock.”

You look beautiful like this, quivering underneath his touch. A blissful expression etched onto your flushed face, lips swollen from your teeth. He wants this vision of you to stay in his head forever. Where he can pretend you’re his, he’s yours, and you belong to one another.

Where you come undone in his own bed, not the one you share with your husband.

Taehyung grits his teeth.

Too much. He wants too much.

Taehyung slips his fingers out of you, ignoring your whine in favor of turning you around. He angles your ass up high before hastily removing his leather jacket. His tattooed fingers quickly undo his belt, and he pulls his jeans down. Taehyung’s cock springs free, and he grabs the foil wrapper from his pocket, ripping it with his teeth before slipping it onto his shaft. He lines himself up with your entrance, holding his breath as he slides into you.

And, god, he could never get enough of this.

You both release simultaneous moans of ecstasy when he bottoms out, and Taehyung thinks he’s far too gone already.

He grips your hips, sliding out until only the tip is inside of you before slamming his hips back into you. You whine, head dropping to the mattress as Taehyung continues to fuck you at a brutal pace. He watches the way your hands grip the white sheets as you moan about how good his cock feels.

Taehyung is on cloud nine, addicted to the way you feel around him. You’re a drug, and he can’t get enough. He can’t stop coming back to you. Taehyung wants more, more, more.

“Such a slut,” he grunts, “moaning for another man on your husband’s bed. Tell me, baby, does he fuck you like this? Does he make you feel this good?” He can feel you tightening around him as he spits out the words, angered. It doesn’t deter your loud moans, if anything it turns you on even more.

His hand comes down on your ass hard, and you release a muffled moan into the mattress at the pain that just feels too good. “I asked you a question, baby.”

Your head lifts, and your arms struggle to hold you upright as Taehyung continues to fuck you just right. “Only y-you- nngh, only you fuck me this good, Tae.”

And he knows they’re just pretty words. That it’s just to flatter him. As soon as this is all done and you’ve gotten what you want, Taehyung is left with nothing but a shadow of your empty promises.

But Taehyung lets himself pretend for now, just for the sake of his pleasure. He pretends the ring on your finger is his, and you only want him. For his pleasure. He feels you tightening around him, and his hand travels to your weeping pussy. Taehyung’s fingers skillfully rub your clit, knowing just what to do to send you over the edge. You whine loudly, and with one last flick of his wrist, you’re coming undone, moaning out for him. Taehyung grunts when your walls contract around his length. He thrusts sloppily into you once, twice, before he’s reaching his high with your name on his tongue.

The sound of your heavy breaths overlapping his filters through the room. Taehyung collapses next you, blissfully staring at the angels delicately painted on your high ceilings. He belatedly registers that you’ve moved away from him, now standing beside the expansive bed as you wrap a silk fabric around your frame. Your eyes meet his, and you smile before placing a kiss on his cheek. Your lips leave the spot tingling, and Taehyung can’t seem to take his eyes off of you, wanting to revel in this fleeting vision as much as he can.

“Thank you.” you say before walking to your bathroom. Your soft-spoken words hang in the air as Taehyung sits up and the door shuts behind you. This is how it always goes. You never ask him to stay. You never invite him for another round. You never ask for more. So why does it hurt so goddamn much this time?

The ride back to his apartment is always the worst part. The coming down of his high, when the effects of your presence wear off. When the actualities of this relationship sets in and the devil on his shoulder fights with the demon in his head.

She doesn’t want you like you want her.

That’s fine. I only want the sex. Just like her.

Liar.

But no matter how many times he tries to lie to himself, it’s useless. Because, no, Taehyung doesn’t just want the sex. He wants you in his arms. He wants to lay with you in his bed. He wants you to be there when he wakes up. He wants to cook breakfast for you in the morning before eating you out on the countertop of his kitchen. He wants it all.

There he goes again. Wishing for too much. Silly boy, doesn’t he already know he can never have you the way he wants?

He’s playing a dangerous game.

No, he’s already lost.

#bangtanhq #btsguild #btsbookclub #btsgoldnet #cypherwritersnet #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung x you #bts smut #bts fanfic

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blvejeanbaby · 3 years

Text

My Mandu Man | Jung Yunho

Pairing: Yunho x reader, brief Seonghwa x reader Word count: 4.5k Warnings: mentions of sex, that’s all Summary: Seonghwa and y/n love to kiss while drunk, for some harmless fun, but Yunho gets jealous.

You were never the life of the party, not even when only surrounded by your best friends. You were always smiling and laughing and having fun, yes, but that was different than being the life of the party. The one to earn that title tonight was Wooyoung, who was even more hyper than he usually was and even more loud too. You looked at him as he bounced around the room, singing, dancing and drinking. You chuckled as he nearly slipped and fell, grabbing Hongjoong around the neck, who toppled over instantly because of the suddenly added weight.

“Is that funny to you?” Seonghwa sat down next to you on the floor, backs against the wall, and handed you the drink he had promised he would get you. “My friends hurting themselves?”

You rolled your eyes at him, taking the drink from his hands. “You’re right. I should probably get some water into Wooyoung so he won’t have a massive hangover tomorrow. And then I should tuck him into bed so he can’t hurt himself or Hongjoong again.”

Seonghwa laughed sarcastically. “Oh, you’re so funny, Y/N.” He took a sip from his drink. “You know, I’m kind of over this now.”

“What? Over your drink? I’ll gladly take it.” You stuck out your hand to him, but he quickly pulled his away. He was too fast, making the contents of the cup slosh over his hands.

He groaned, wiping his wet hand on his white shirt, leaving behind stains that he was too drunk to care about. “Over the party! I’m tired.” To illustrate how tired he was, he laid his head on your shoulder, closing his eyes.

You took your free hand and lightly patted his head. Seonghwa didn’t pull his head away, though, so you took use of the opportunity to thread your fingers through his hair. There was always this urge inside of you to do so, but when sober or awake enough, he would always be too careful. Your eyes scanned the room, trying to locate Wooyoung again. He was dancing with Yeosang in the middle of the room, who, despite the alcohol you had seen him consume, was still a little shy over the sexy moves Wooyoung whipped out. When your eyes travelled further across the room, you spotted Yunho. He was standing directly opposite you, lips attached to his cup but eyes focused on you.

You had caught him staring at you all throughout the night already. The first time was when you arrived at the door with your two best friends. Your one friend was dressed in a shirt that showed off her boobs, the other in shorts and knee high latex boots which were reminiscent of a dirty fantasy, both of which had instantly grabbed Mingi’s attention. But Yunho, who popped up behind Mingi in the hallway as if he had been wanting to answer the door instead, only had eyes for you and your simple velvet wrap top.

You smiled at Yunho, who smiled back widely. You were about to motion him to come over, but then Seonghwa’s head popped up again. Your attention was instantly pulled to him as he said: “You know what would make this party fun again? Your lips on mine.”

You laughed and set your drink down. “I’m starting to think that the only reason you offered me a drink was so you could get me to kiss you.”

“It’s been a while, don’t you think?”

You had to admit that he was right. Seonghwa and you were just best friends, nothing more than that. You could tell each other everything and were each others’ wingman if needed. You would give each other advice on friendships and relationships alike. About a year ago now, you two had drunkenly made out at a New Year’s Eve party, right at 12 AM. It had lead everyone to believe you were a couple, but even after you had spent a lot of time trying to convince everyone that wasn’t the case, you had not ceased to kiss each other. In fact, every opportunity you two got at parties - that is: whenever you two weren’t preoccupied with other people - your lips were locked together.

It was perfect, really. There were no feelings involved and you had long ago agreed to never have sex, so it wasn’t even really a friends with benefits situation. Or, maybe it was, considering kissing Seonghwa wasn’t exactly a punishment.

“You make it so romantic,” you said, wrapping your arms around Seonghwa’s neck. “I don’t know why I keep doing this.”

Seonghwa didn’t answer, instead placing a hand on your cheek to bring your lips closer to his. The kiss was sloppy, sloppier than usual. It truly showed how much Seonghwa had had to drink throughout the night, but you weren’t complaining. It was a nice change to how he usually kissed, which was a bit more held back, as though he was afraid to catch feelings.

What you didn’t know, as you were happily going up in the kiss, was that Yunho had now crumpled up his plastic cup and cast it aside, because he - in sharp contrast to you and Seonghwa - was not liking the amount of kissing you two were doing. He was one of the few of 50 people who had witnessed you and Seonghwa kiss for the first time on New Year’s Eve. He had been standing on the side of the room, near the door, arm slung around Hongjoong’s shoulders to wish him a happy new year, when his eyes had found you and Seonghwa in the middle of the crowd. You had been talking a lot all evening, nothing out of the ordinary, and then suddenly -

Yunho had been nailed to the ground, watching his crush make out with one of his closest friends. He had to be shaken out of his trance by Hongjoong, who hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, and was now handing him a flute of champagne. Yunho chugged the drink at once before finding himself something stronger.

He knew he had no real right to be upset. He didn’t have a claim to you, hadn’t ever properly expressed his feelings toward you to anyone. But that was the problem; he had feelings for you. If he had ever doubted it before, he did not now.

Yunho had been watching you all night long, sure that tonight was going to be the night he was confessing to you. But there was never a good opportunity to get you alone and besides, the longer the night went on, the drunker you both became. And even though Yunho was well aware that he was drunk, he remembered that he wanted to tell you when you were both sober, or tipsy at the most. Tonight was not the night.

You let go of Seonghwa, giggling as he tried to chase your lips. “You are so drunk,” you said, running a hand through his hair again.

“Drunk and horny,” he mumbled before kissing you again.

You allowed him to pull you closer until you were on his lap. It wasn’t a very comfortable position, with your knees on the hard floor. Seonghwa deepened the kiss, you felt his hands wander to your ass and - “Stop, stop,” you said, pulling back. “Remember what we promised?”

“No sex,” Seonghwa groaned, leaning his head back against the wall with his eyes closed. “Fuck, Y/N, I hate that rule.”

You laughed, placing a last kiss on his lips before moving off of him. “There are so many girls at this party that would want to have sex with you. Go seek them out.”

“Who do you suggest?” Seonghwa opened his eyes and looked around the room. “That one? What’s her name? Haseul?”

“Yes,” you said. “She’s been with Jongho before, but it was a one night stand. Or do you not want sloppy seconds?”

“She could never be a sloppy second.” Seonghwa stood up, taking his drink with him. He blew you a kiss before walking off in Haseul’s direction, leaving you on the floor by yourself. You chuckled as you watched him approach Haseul, who was happy to talk to him. You knew she had once had a crush on him. Even if she didn’t anymore, she would probably find him attractive enough for a one night stand.

You sat for a while by yourself until you thought you probably looked pathetic and got up, in search for better company. You eventually found San and Yunho in the kitchen, on end of a beerpong table. They were playing against two boys you had never met before. You waited until the game was finished before you went up to San and Yunho and wrapped your arms around both of them at the same time. “Anyone up for a game against me?”

“I’ll do it,” San said.

“No, I will.” Yunho exchanged a glance with San, one you didn’t notice.

“I’ll be referee then,” San said, understanding the look at once. He quickly started rearranging the cups on the table, adding beer to them again.

“Us against each other?” you looked up at Yunho excitedly. “What does the winner get?”

Yunho didn’t have to think about this for even a minute. “The loser pays for the next movie night.”

“Fine,” you said, before getting in place at the other end of the table. Movie night was a big deal for all eight boys and they often invited you and your two best friends to come as well. You usually split all costs between all eleven of you, so paying for everyone by yourself would be quite the expense. But you weren’t one to back down from a challenge.

There were ten cups, placed in a triangle and filled halfway with beer. The previous teams had all been 2-vs-2, played with two balls total, but San took out one ball considering it was now just you-vs-Yunho. “Good luck,” San said, handing you the remaining ball.

Even though you usually relied on a partner to make the shots, you would sometimes get lucky. That was not the case on your first throw, however. It would take you six throws to finally get one ball in, and by then Yunho had already managed to put two balls into your cups. You lined the empty cups on the side of the table before taking your position and throwing the ball. Finally, you managed to make it into the front cup.

Slowly but surely the cups in the triangle disappeared until you only had one cup left, while Yunho had two. Even though you ought to give up now and no longer have hope, you tried every last bit to distract Yunho, hoping to make him throw badly. For a second you thought it had worked but then -

“I won!” Yunho’s smile lit up the entire room and you found yourself biting your lip as you took the ball out of the cup. You couldn’t even be mad at him winning, his reaction was too adorable. He touched knuckles with San and then watched you down your beer before coming over to your side of the table. “So when is our movie night?”

“Our movie night?” You looked up at him confused. Was it the copious amounts of alcohol you had consumed tonight that made your brain fuzzy enough to misunderstand? Or had you heard perfectly fine?

“Yes,” Yunho said. “Just the two of us.”

That changes things. You nodded. “Okay. Well... how about we meet on Saturday?”

Saturday was fine with him, so you found yourself anxiously making your way over to Yunho’s dorms. He shared it with San and Hongjoong. You had wondered whether they would be at the house that evening, but while you were out at a café with Seonghwa, you had checked the boys’ group chat via his phone and found out that the boys were both going to be at Seonghwa’s place instead.

“Why did you guys all say no to movie night and then hang out at your place?” you asked him, your head spinning with all of the dots floating around that you didn’t seem to be able to connect.

Seonghwa shrugged, downing the last of his iced americano. “Yunho just said you two had made a bet and you lost. So we’re going out to Sinkhole tonight.”

“Sinkhole?” You had to laugh at that. Everyone in Seoul knew the club’s reputation; your friends did too. “So it’s that kind of a night?”

Seonghwa shrugged. “You won’t be missing out on much. You enjoy being with Yunho, don’t you?”

His words seemed to have a second layer to them and you didn’t want to spend time unpacking that. You made your way over to Yunho, San and Hongjoong’s apartment around 7 PM, hauling takeout and snacks with you. San and Hongjoong were just getting ready to leave when you arrived. “Y/N!” San said excitedly. He peeked into the takeout bag and licked his lips. “Ah, dakkochi! You know how to make my heart flutter.”

“It’s not for you.” You pulled the bag out of his reach and kicked off your shoes. “It’s not just your favourite.” You made eye contact with Yunho, who had come out of his room at the sound of your voice. You smiled widely and adopted the best aegyo voice you could muster. “Oppa, I brought you dakkochi! Now, are you going to make me the mandu you know I like?”

You ignored the expressions on San and Hongjoong’s faces - their jaws had gone slack, their mouths making an o-shape, as well as their eyes bulging out of their heads - knowing they were surprised by your aegyo. You hated the idea of purposely acting like a child if you didn’t have to, but you knew the effect it would have on Yunho. Bright red dots appeared on his cheeks; you saw a muscle in his face twitch before a smile appeared and he nodded.

“Yay!” You shot into the slippers that actually belonged to San; he had the smallest feet out of the three boys, meaning you could reasonably fit them. He didn’t comment on it, as he normally would, instead staring at you as you followed Yunho into the kitchen.

“I can’t believe it,” San whispered to Hongjoong as they zipped up their coats and stepped outside. “Y/N never does aegyo. She hates it! What is going on?”

“I think I get it,” Hongjoong said. He grabbed San's arm and gave him a push toward the elevators. "Let’s go.”

You waited until you heard the door shut before you gave Yunho a quick hug. It wasn’t usual for you to hug any of your male friends. You only gave into Seonghwa sometimes, because he could be a big teddybear if he wanted to be, but he was in many ways like your actual brother, obviously except for the drunk making out. But with Yunho, it was different.

“Thank you,” you said to him. He had already taken out the deep fryer and was now rummaging in his freezer for the frozen mandu. It was of a particular brand that you couldn’t find in any of the convenience stores in the area surrounding your apartment, and even if they had sold it near you, you didn’t have a deep fryer to prepare them the way Yunho does. He had made it for you a handful of times before, but this time you thought you’d treat him with dakkochi in exchange for it. “I know it takes a bit of time to heat up and all.”

“It’s okay,” Yunho said. “I don’t mind if we start the movie up a bit later.”

You nodded. “Let’s have the chicken before it gets cold,” you said. You started unpacking the takeout.

By the time you had finished the bulk of it, the oil was hot enough to fry the mandu in. You stayed by Yunho’s side as he fried the dumplings. You were still hungry, but you found yourself thinking that you could wait forever on these fricking dumplings if it meant you could look at Yunho the way he was right now. His face was slightly sweaty from the heat of the fryer and he was wearing a cringy apron that said ‘Kiss the cook.’ Hm, I might...

“What?”

“What?” You looked up, startled.

“What did you say?”

Suddenly you realized; you had spoken out loud. “Oh, nothing.” You quickly averted your gaze. “What movie do you want to watch? I’ll go ahead and set it up.”

You decided to watch a comedy film, but one that included some romance as well “because I know you like that,” Yunho said. You were just glad to have an excuse to leave the kitchen. You were confused by your own thoughts. Yes, you had a soft spot for Yunho, if that wasn’t clear by now. You had wondered many times about what it would be like to have a closer relationship with him. It didn’t have to be sexual or romantic, you had told yourself many times. You just wanted to get to know his personality...

But as you set up the TV and prepared the boys’ living room for you and Yunho’s movie night, you couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps there wasn’t more to this. You would never do aegyo for anyone; no matter how badly you wanted something from Seonghwa, you would never resort to that. You didn’t get why couples wanted to match, but when you and Yunho had accidentally worn complimenting outfits to dinner with your friend group one time, and Wooyoung had teased you, you had found yourself wishing that there was something to be teased about.

Yunho turned off the fryer. He had seen you staring at him for a while, eyes drifting down to the silly apron he was wearing. It was a gift for Hongjoong from a few years back, before they had moved in together. Now, Yunho was the only one wearing it on a regular basis. The green frog with the golden crown, the white letters saying ‘Kiss the cook’... Your eyes were glued to the letters when you said: “Hm, I might.” Yunho had heard it quite clearly, had seen your lips move as you said it. And then he also saw your panic.

You had collected yourself by the time Yunho came into the living room with the mandu on a plate. He also brought the bag of snacks and drinks and the remainders of your shared dinner to have with the side dish. “Ready?” he asked, before pressing play on the movie.

It started. It was not even that good, you had to admit. But nonetheless, you didn’t dare take your attention away from it, afraid your only other option was to start wondering if Yunho had actually heard what you said, if he knew what it meant... You sneaked a glance at him, right at a funny bit of the movie. Yunho laughed, and as he did, your heart contracted. What did he have to be so cute for?

You couldn’t rely on the buzz of alcohol now...

You also couldn’t say that you had actually watched the movie. You had been too preoccupied with your own thoughts, the food and Yunho, and then you had missed the ending because you fell asleep. You were startled from your sleep by Yunho, who was gently shaking you awake. “Good morning,” he said, smiling. “Do you want to sleep in my bed, instead of on the couch?”

For a second you thought you had heard him wrong and it was your sleep riddled brain playing tricks on you. But when he repeated his question, you couldn’t deny it. “Are you trying to get me into bed, oppa?” You let your voice raise in pitch at the term, knowing it would make him blush again. The combination of your puffy, sleepy face, the implication behind your words and its contrast with the innocence in your tone of voice, made Yunho feel shy. “I’m just joking,” you said. “Is it really morning? I should head home.”

“It’s late,” he said, quickly recovering. “The underground is out of service for another four hours at least. I thought maybe you’d like to sleep more comfortably.”

“Alright.” You nodded. “Let me freshen up a little.”

As you left for the bathroom, Yunho felt his heart thump wildly in his chest. He would do anything for you, really. If you had asked him to walk you home, he would’ve done it within a heartbeat, even if you lived halfway across Seoul. He knew he was treading dangerous waters now, especially now. Really, he ought to have had woken you up in time for you to catch the last train, but he was selfish. Yunho didn’t know when he would get you to himself again and he knew he would regret not doing anything now that he had the chance. Before Seonghwa actually managed in stealing you away from him. Or before anyone else could.

When you emerged from the bathroom, Yunho was waiting outside, leaned against the wall opposite. “If you don’t mind, I’ll sleep in the room with you. I’d rather be on my air mattress than on the couch for when San and Hongjoong come back from clubbing,” he said.

“Sure.” There was nothing wrong with sharing the same room, right? No, you decided. You helped Yunho get his air mattress and sleeping bag from the messy cupboard in the hallway and went to his room next. It was very tidy, almost as if he had planned to show it to someone. The only thing that was untidy, was his desk. It was obvious he had been sitting at it before you arrived, doing assignments for college. “Oh, you were studying earlier?” You sauntered over to the desk, examining the complicated mathematical formulas.

“Attempting to,” he said, spreading out his air mattress on the floor next to his bed, blocking him from opening his closet doors. The room was small, as was expected from a bedroom in Seoul, but it offered just enough space for him. “The module is quite hard.”

“I wish I could help you,” you said, turning back to look at Yunho as he spread out his sleeping bag on top of the mattress. “But I’m rubbish at anything mathematical or scientific. You know that.”

“I do.” Yunho smiled at you, sitting down on his makeshift bed. “But thanks for the offer anyway.” For a moment it was silent, then he patted his actual bed. “Come on, you can head in. You must be tired.”

“No,” you said, surprising even yourself. “I have never felt more awake, actually.” You sank down onto his air mattress. “Are you sure you’re going to be comfortable on the floor?”

“Better than the couch,” he said. “I will be fine. Promise.” He didn’t add that it would only be better because he would be able to be so close to you.

“I don’t believe you.” You leaned your back against Yunho’s bed behind you. “But alright. Thanks, by the way. For letting me stay here. And for the mandu.” You winked.

Yunho’s smile widened. “You know, I don’t do this for just anyone.”

“That, I can believe.” You smiled at him. And that’s when you thought: wait... “So, now that we’re both still up at this hour... maybe we can talk about something a bit more intimate?”

Yunho’s heart beat erratically at your words. “Intimate?”

“Yes,” you said, thoughtfully. “I mean, like...” Now it was your turn to be shy. “...relationships and such? Are you dating anyone at the moment?”

“No.” He spoke fast, too fast. “How about you? I’ve noticed you and Seonghwa...?”

He refused to look at you, but you didn’t know because you refused to look at him. “Seonghwa and I are just friends. I wouldn’t want to date him, he’s... difficult.”

“Difficult?”

“Yes. And I already like someone else,” you said. This was the first time you admitted it out loud, and as soon as you said it, your heart beat so loudly, you were sure Yunho would be able to tell and figure out exactly who it was you were in love with. But even though that would probably be your worst nightmare, it was also a scenario that you would welcome. It was much easier for him to connect the dots, than it was for you to come to a conclusion on what to do. You had your suspicions, though...

“Are you going to tell me who?” Yunho asked. He licked at his dry lips, sure he would have his heart stomped on by you right at this moment.

“I can give you a hint? You can guess?” You felt like a middle schooler. But perhaps middle schoolers were right in this department. Just beat around the bush, why don’t you, Y/N? your mind spoke to you angrily.

“Mmkay,” Yunho said.

He sounded unsure. “Well... He makes great mandu, like you. You know that’s my favourite side dish.” You sneaked a glance at Yunho. He was playing with the zipper of his sleeping bag, avoiding your eyes. “I liked it when he dyed his hair blonde, because he looked like a prince. He’s very tall and lately, he’s been getting quite muscular too. I don’t think he noticed me noticing that...”

Was he getting it? Ugh, you felt like you were 12 years old all over again! Why was confessing so hard?

“He uhm...” you continued, when Yunho didn’t answer, “He also has a really sweet personality. People often say he’s like a puppy. But what I really like about him, is how funny he is. Sometimes he doesn’t even try. But he can also be really serious and thoughtful. And he’s really patient, he lives with one of the most annoying people I’ve ever met in my life. Besides Wooyoung.”

You noticed you had slipped up the second you said his name. You looked up in panic. Yunho had also looked up at the sound of Wooyoung’s name. You often complained San and Wooyoung were the most annoying pair of boys you had ever met, even though you loved them dearly. It only dawned on Yunho then. All of those descriptions... He should’ve known the second you mentioned the dumplings. “Y-you like me?” He couldn’t keep the tremble out of his voice.

“I, uhm-” You were about to say that you guessed so, but really, you were more sure of yourself now than ever before. “Yes. I do.”

“Good,” Yunho said. He scooted closer to you. “Because I like you too. And it was torture, having to watch you and Seonghwa kiss over the past year. Torture.”

“Why did you never say anything?”

He had a fair point.

“Well, now that you know,” you said, “what are you going to do about it?”

Yunho smiled. “Something I have always wanted to do.”

#kpop imagine #mine #kpop x reader #ateez fluff #ateez imagine #ateez x reader #park seonghwa #my writing #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #seonghwa imagine #yunho imagine #yunho fluff #seonghwa fluff

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sadclearance · 3 years

Text

two petty cowards

pairing: izaya orihara x male!reader

summary: two petty cowards meet again at a funeral.

category: smut(?), fluff(?), angst(?) man i suck at categorizing

warning(s): sexual content, oral sex, dry humping, implied/referenced death (non-graphic)

word count: 2722

key:

italicized - thoughts

past tense - past

present tense - present

two petty cowards stand a few feet apart, avoiding each other at a mutual friend's funeral.

izaya thinks back to how it all started.

it was a rainy day, just like this one.

"trouble seems to always follow you," y/n sighed as he trailed behind izaya. he'd given up on trying to keep the ends of his pants dry a while ago.

"don't be deceived, i'm the one that's causing the trouble," izaya gave a cheeky smile even though he knew that y/n couldn't see it.

"c'mon," y/n said as he grabbed izaya's arm and dragged him into a convenience store.

"am i being kidnapped?"

"if that's what you wanna call it," y/n shrugged. "you're all scuffed up. we need... rubbing alcohol? cotton balls? bandages?"

"you're the one who brought me here, but you don't even know what to get?" izaya let out an amused laugh.

"i don't know... i just know that your face looks pretty bad right now," y/n turned away from him, embarrassed by his lack of knowledge.

"are you saying my face usually looks pretty good?" izaya asked teasingly.

"maybe i am."

izaya was taken aback for just one moment. he knew y/n thought he couldn't see his flustered red face, but izaya had a clear view of it in the reflection of the window.

the reaction wasn't what was surprising. rather, it was his words.

for years, izaya had known that y/n went along with everything he did because he was crushing on him. anybody would've been able to tell just by watching the way y/n reacted to the slightest brushing of shoulders and how he felt the need to follow him everywhere to "keep him out of trouble", even though they both knew that wasn't possible.

yet, for all these years, y/n had never said anything to hint at it. izaya knew that y/n didn't think he knew about these feelings. that just because he never said anything that might've even hinted at the fact that he held feelings for him, he was a brilliant secret keeper. that his actions weren't a dead giveaway.

y/n grabbed one of everything even remotely related to medical care and checked out.

izaya made his way out of the store, not bothering to keep the door open for y/n, who was carrying everything with both of his hands, as he couldn't afford the cheap plastic bag.

he had done this many times before, and y/n never complained.

"stay still," y/n said. they had gotten to their shared residence, an idea that was brought up ten years ago by a then bold thirteen year old y/n, ignored by the thirteen year old izaya who was only concerned with his "neither too close nor too far" philosophy, then officially proposed by an eighteen year old izaya.

"it stings," izaya flinched more than he normally would've. y/n's face was so close to his, staring intensely at the wounds on his face, holding izaya's chin with one hand to keep him still while he cleaned his wounds with the other.

he wondered why his face wasn't red. from izaya's previous observations, when a guy liked a girl, his face would heat up just at the thought of him being close enough to kiss her at any moment, especially if she was sitting on his bed... so why? guy on guy crushes couldn't be that different, could it?

"maybe he'll jack off to his sheets when i leave," izaya thought to himself. such thoughts would be vulgar to anybody else, but izaya only asked himself if he should bring out his old surveillance cameras. "it would be fun to watch his desires and morals fight."

"maybe the pain will finally be enough to keep you from bugging shizuo," y/n said, knowing that that wouldn't be happening any time soon. it was a playful remark, but izaya could hear the poorly hidden worry in his voice.

he felt a certain incomprehensible feeling inside of him, knowing that y/n was so focused on fussing about his wounds that he couldn't even think about his desires for him.

"that'll just add to the thrill," izaya replied with a sly smile. he put his hands behind him so that he would be able to lean on them, pulling back not too far but not too little, trying to see if the shy maiden in love would risk subtly chasing after him or let him go that easily.

y/n's hand stayed on his jaw.

he craned his neck to the left and slightly back, his gaze bound to make y/n overly conscious sooner or later.

as he had expected, his sultry expression combined with the way he had positioned himself, baring the nape of his neck and letting his shirt slide up, revealing the slightest bit of his stomach, was enough to make y/n break.

he had expected him to blush furiously and make up an excuse that he had to meet up with somebody in order to leave the room, but y/n instead tightened his grip on izaya's jaw and pressed his lips against his.

even after he recovered from his momentary shock, izaya neither reciprocated nor pulled away. it was another test. would y/n desperately kiss the man he's been in love with for ten years like he's always wanted to, or would he pull away and regret blowing his cover?

y/n pulled away quickly, looking at the floor with wide eyes.

"ah, so it was the latter," izaya noted.

"i'm sorry," y/n said, unable to lift his head.

izaya had expected this outcome, but what he didn't expect was for himself to be disappointed.

"i just... i don't know. i'm sorry. please forget about it. i was just--"

he was unsettled with his own disappointment, and hearing y/n do exactly what he had expected him to do was only putting him in an even worse mood.

izaya got up from y/n's bed until he got close enough to grab y/n's hand and let himself fall backwards.

with that, izaya's back was against the comfortable mattress, and y/n was pulled on top of him.

"i really hate what's coming out of your mouth," izaya said bluntly. "especially when there's so many better things that it could be doing."

y/n's mouth fell open in shock, and izaya took that as an opportunity to push the back of y/n's head until their lips meet again.

he was evidently too hasty in doing that, as y/n's teeth hit a little too hard against his lip.

"shit." that hurt a lot more than he could've ever anticipated. since when had he been so clumsy?

"are you okay? fuck, i'm sorry," y/n said against his lips.

"sh," izaya hushed and started moving his lips.

it wasn't long before y/n started to reciprocate, and even though izaya wasn't the most experienced kisser, he could tell that y/n had even less practice than he had.

"i guess he's too much of an honest guy to be with anyone he doesn't like, and he's only liked me ever since we were little," izaya thought to himself as he let his tongue slip through his lips and push between y/n's.

there wasn't much resistance on y/n's part, so it was easy.

the velvety hot feeling of being inside of y/n's mouth was admittedly intoxicating, and izaya could kind of understand why the couples back in school made out brazenly in the hallways.

y/n seemed to feel the same way, if his subconscious grinding was anything to go off of.

izaya bucked his hips up, chasing after the friction that rubbing their crotches together created.

he felt like a teenager in heat again, with the way they were humping each other without even taking their clothes off.

izaya pulled back and looked up at y/n in the same sensuous way that he had earlier. the thin string of saliva that kept them connected was both disgusting and seductive at the same time.

he licked his lips and let himself absorb y/n's features for a second. his slanted eyes showed that he was astonishingly dazed, and his cheeks were flushed a brilliant red. izaya's favorite, however, was his panting lips, swollen and red, the almost whiny sound that came out from them almost adorable.

snapping out of his predatory trance, izaya reached down and unbuckled his pants, pushing them and his boxers down enough to reveal his erection.

y/n turned his head away in embarrassment, but izaya caught his jaw with his hand, forcing him to turn to look at him.

"suck me off," izaya said in a tone that was breathier than he would've liked to admit.

y/n's eyes went wide, and his already parted lips blubbered as if he wanted to say something but couldn't think of what.

izaya grabbed one of y/n's hands and led it until it reached his cock, shuddering at the feeling of direct contact.

y/n blushed at the feeling of it throbbing in his hand.

"i want you to suck me off," izaya repeated as though he were challenging him which, in a way, he was. he wanted to see if y/n would go as far as to give him a blowjob, even if he had never had any experience with it. would the idea of a foreign action chase him away, or was y/n too eager to please izaya to leave him high and dry?

y/n pulled himself down low enough on izaya's body to do as he was told.

he gave an experimental lick along the underside of his erection and gained more confidence in what he was doing when izaya moaned.

izaya watched as y/n did his best to please him, trying to take all of him in his mouth and struggling to balance sucking and licking. his desperation was obvious and all the more arousing.

he noticed that at first, y/n tried to go slowly, trying to swallow back the spit collecting while keeping his mouth wide open. the constricting of his throat as he tried to swallow felt incredible around him, but izaya decided that he preferred the fast messy y/n that gave up on caring and let his drool spill down his erection, leaving a hot wet mess.

izaya awarded his efforts by threading his fingers through his hair and caressing the side of his huffed cheeks with his other hand.

y/n moaned at that, something izaya found incredibly amusing. it was the lightest of touches, not even sensual, but it was enough to pleasure y/n.

he tugged more at the hair in his hand, reveling in the vibrations that came from every noise y/n made.

"fuck," izaya groaned out the only verbal warning he gave. y/n could tell he was close, though, by the way he had started treating him roughly, keeping y/n's head still as he thrusted his hips with little care until he finished in his mouth.

as he came out of his high, he could see y/n gulping and wiping his lip. they were even more swollen than before, and now izaya really regretted not setting up cameras in y/n's room sooner. it was an image that he wanted to be able to save.

as izaya sat up, y/n shook his head and attempted to push him down again.

"wait," y/n almost begged.

that only fueled izaya's curiosity, and he easily overpowered y/n, flipping their positions so that he was on top.

he smirked at what y/n had been trying to hide from him.

"you got off to sucking my dick," izaya stated rather than asked.

y/n turned away, and izaya couldn't tell if his cheeks were more red because of what they had just done or because he was embarrassed.

izaya grabbed his face again and pulled him in for a short kiss. even he wasn't too sure why he had done it.

thinking about it now, izaya thinks that might be where things went wrong. his confusion and denial was probably what lead him to do what he did next.

"you hired a secretary?" y/n asked.

"yeah," izaya said without bothering to look up from his chessboard.

"you didn't tell me," y/n mumbled.

"why would i have to tell you?"

"that's... that's not what i meant, i just--since we share a house."

"she won't touch your room, if that's what you're worried about." izaya moved a pawn forward.

"i'm not worried," y/n said.

that was the first of two conversations they had about namie yagiri. the next one took place after another one of his tests--more specifically, the last test he got to make.

"aren't you overreacting?" izaya asked. he tried to seem nonchalant, but that was hard to do when he had to run to keep up with y/n.

"i'm overreacting?" y/n stopped running to turn around and look at him with eyes full of disbelief.

izaya was taken aback. y/n had never raised his voice at him before.

"what else do you think you're doing?" izaya raised an amused brow.

"how else am i supposed to react?" y/n nearly scoffed.

"you're upset," izaya noted.

"upset? of course i am! you were kissing her--why were you kissing her?" y/n's face crumpled.

"she kissed me," izaya shrugged.

"and you just let her?"

"why not?"

"i..." y/n didn't know what to say. "i just thought we had something."

"i love all humans equally. you know this." izaya looked at him as if he were being ridiculous.

izaya could visibly see the fight leave y/n. his shoulders slumped, and all expression on his face dropped. he slowly turned around and started walking away again.

"just... go home, izaya," y/n didn't turn back to look at him. "i don't wanna be around you right now."

confused by the unprecedented response, izaya just stood in the middle of the road. y/n, who had persistently followed him for ten years, had just told him to go away.

he couldn't have calculated such a thing, but even more so than that, he didn't expect to come home to find y/n's room ransacked.

"it looks like we've been robbed," izaya said casually, leaning against the doorframe.

he stood frozen as namie told him y/n had left with an overflowing duffle bag just hours earlier.

the next time he saw y/n, he was with another man.

༺♥༻

"people think of him like some cold-blooded monster, but he's more human than anyone i know; he's so fragile inside. if you pumped him full of love and betrayal and such, i think he'd fall apart."

shinra had said that in their last year of school. it was probably his own weird way of trying to console y/n.

"sorry, shinra," y/n sighs as rain hits the back of his head while he looms over his closed coffin. "i focused on the wrong part of your wise words."

a year after he moved out of izaya's house, he found himself walking down an all too familiar road in ikebukuro. he's been denying it ever since, but it was definitely because a part of him wanted izaya to see him.

and as he wanted, he crossed paths with izaya that day.

it was a reunion cut short by none other than himself.

"y/n, it's been a while," izaya walked up to him so casually it hurt. as if they were normal buddies who hadn't gotten a chance to see each other in a while simply because of conflicting schedules, not because they left on the terms that they did. "who's this?"

seeing how unfazed he was had only added to the year-long pain he'd been suffering. maybe this was karma for trying to hurt him. shinra was wrong--or maybe he just didn't mean enough to izaya for him to see this as betrayal.

with his plans tearing apart his heart rather than izaya's, he brushed him off without a single word. he continued walking with the man he didn't particularly care for without looking back. a part of him still hopes that if he did, he would've seen izaya look like a kicked puppy.

though, even now, he doubts that izaya's face would've worn anything but a careless grin.

"what wise words?"

y/n looks up from the coffin, and the rain now slaps lightly against his face.

two petty cowards stand only a foot apart, seeking each other at a mutual friend's funeral.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

a/n;

i wanted to try the style of going back and forth between the present and past. it didn't turn out exactly as i would've liked, but i think it's okay.

i would really appreciate any feedback on this! did the smut suck? was it boring? did the plot suck? lmk :) that also goes for any of my other works

also playing around with borders is fun

draft from sept 2020

#izaya orihara #durarara #izaya orihara x male reader #x male reader #male reader insert #male reader #mlm #durarara x male reader #smut #anime x male reader

146 notes · View notes

bvccy · 3 years

Text

Tenderness and Ferocity | 5. The Fourth Day

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes x Hydra!Reader Fic Synopsis: The Winter Soldier is starting to make stupid mistakes in the field, which is Bucky's way of trying to wrest back control and sabotage his handlers. Hydra brings a new doctor to figure out what's wrong with him and fix it. As she spends time with him, she becomes fond of the Winter Soldier, and he becomes fond of her. Bucky has other ideas. Or, a fic in which the Winter Soldier is the good guy and Bucky is actually the bad guy. Warnings for this chapter: Angst, Smut, and Dubcon (our boy receiving) Word count: 4171 Read on AO3: [link] [Previous Chapter] [Fic Masterlist] [Next Chapter]

"Man only plays when in the full meaning of the word he is a man, and he is only completely a man when he plays."

— Friedrich Schiller

He stepped in the room the next day and she was waiting for him, as always, sitting down quietly. There were no machines on the table, only some papers… and a plate of plums. She smiled at him as he came in, and saw him smiling back this time.

"Come in. Close the door. We won't share any with them." she jokingly whispered referring to the guardsmen outside. He obeyed and went to take his seat.

"How are you today? Are you well?"

The Soldier nodded without thinking.

"Help yourself to them, by the way." she said, pointing to the plate. The GSR had shown her how much he liked them. "They're not easy to come by around here, better make the most of it."

Now that he had permission, he took a slice and relished the feeling of actually enjoying something he ate. It was a new experience with, yet, an old familiar reaction.

"Today's session is going to be as short or as long as you want it to be. I just want you to do one thing: write on this paper ten sentences…" and she slipped before him a page and a pen, his attention still on the plums, "beginning with the words 'I am'."

His eyes snapped up to her. Seeing that she was serious with her simple but impossible request, he grabbed the pen and stared at the page. He immediately felt like a dumb ox; what was he supposed to write?

"I won't watch, if you want. I'll just stand over there, and you can call me over when you're ready. Alright?" She was smiling and being friendly, but that didn't stop him from feeling tricked somehow. It was, oddly enough, a familiar feeling — that of a schoolboy caught unprepared for a test.

She stood up and went to stand by the door, leaning against the wall while she looked outside through the slot that let in the light from the hallway.

'I am' — what, exactly?

The first thing that came to his mind, of course, was that he was a soldier. He was a man too, but both options felt stupid somehow, vapid. He was also alive, but was that the sort of thing she expected? Was it that simple? Was it a trick?

He barely touched pen to page before lifting it again, dissatisfied and angry. After a few minutes, hearing him grunt and shuffle, her attention went back to him.

"Done already?" She knew he wasn't but walked back anyway, and pretended not to notice how he tried to sink his bulk in the bare wooden chair and hide behind the empty air. "Really, nothing at all?" she asked as she stopped beside him. "Surely you can think of something…" She sounded more teasing than frustrated in her chastisement, but he still avoided her eyes. He heard her sit back down and felt her amused stare burn into his cheek.

"Well, what are you?" she started, pretending to think. "You are a man, right?"

He nodded.

"And — You can write any kind of sentence, such as… You are in a room, yes?"

Nod.

"And you're such and such feet tall. You're sitting down. You are awake. You are dressed. You are writing. You are thinking. You are young… or, are you old? What do you think?"

He finally looked back up at her, in innocent confusion.

"We don't have to decide on that, then. How about… Are you happy?" she tried.

He still hadn't written anything, and seemed even more uncomfortable with himself.

"Too much, I guess…" She got up to walk closer and rested her thighs against the table's edge. "Well, you're healthy. Right?"

Nod.

"And strong. And handsome…"

He looked up slowly at that and found her looking down at him, gently but with focus.

"Did you know that you're handsome?"

"That's eleven sentences."

"Oh… Is it?"

She hesitated for a couple of heartbeats, thinking, then decided. What would a man do?

Slowly, she slipped her knees between his spread thighs, gripped the back of his chair with her hands, and leaned ever-so-slightly in. To the side of her, she heard the pen clatter on the table as it slid from his limp fingers and he leaned back. Away from her? Oh. No matter.

Her right hand, hot and soft, came down to caress the side of his face, and she bit her lip tightly to keep a too-excited smile from breaking out. His eyes looked straight up into hers and his lips parted on their own when she tilted her head on the way to kissing him, but with an involuntary impulse he leaned back further against the chair.

"I can't." he said — half-chocked, half-conviction.

"It's alright, I… I won't…" she started, taken aback by how definitive his rejection was.

"It's not that. I can't…"

"What do you mean 'you can't'?"

"I can't touch you."

She finally leaned away from him, if only a little. "…Who said that?"

His fists clenched impotently, one on his knee the other still on the table, and finally he admitted: "The Director."

She backed up further to look at him and think about what that meant. In the back of her mind, she was relieved that his rejection didn't actually come from any revulsion to her, but only to disobeying orders. "Why would the Director tell you not to touch me?"

He was sat down quietly as ever, but never had a man looked more desperate to run away.

"Soldier." she called a bit more firmly. "Why would the Director say that?"

"He c— saw me…" he confessed.

She let him simmer in his guilt while she considered the implications, which were altogether too delicious and threatened to run away with her. Keeping her voice calm, she dug further. "What did he see you do?"

The Soldier only huffed and swallowed his words, bracing his feet against the floor, looking down to the ground, fighting with himself like a half-domesticated beast. When he didn't answer quickly enough, she dipped down, perching on her high heels, and leaned with her hands against his knees to look up searchingly into his eyes.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to" That's a lie. "but you know I'm not like him. I won't get angry with you, or disgusted…" and she watched his face carefully for the twitch of the muscles that predictably came at the corner of his mouth. There was an admission there, but also curiosity. "You can say anything." she soothed, rubbing his knee comfortingly. "How bad can it be…?"

Very.

"Come on, tell me… What happened?"

Thread by tenuous thread, he allowed her to unravel that which held his chest in a tight grip. "I was dreaming. About you."

She looked at him in a sly, satisfied way, having finally caught him in the lie she'd long since suspected; but now she didn't have the heart to reproach him. The fact that he had dreamed of her only added a personal satisfaction on top of the professional one. He's recovering more quickly than he let on. Not only dreams, but lies too.

"And what were you doing in your dream?"

He shifted and, instead of counting the cracks in the concrete, moved his attention to his left, to a dark corner, ever further from her eyes. She knew what it was, otherwise she wouldn't have asked, and he partly hated her for it. For how close she was when she asked him that. For how she rubbed his knee in a way that made him throb.

"It wasn't… I wasn't myself in my dream."

"How do you mean?"

"I wasn't there at all, like I didn't exist. There was this other this man, he didn't look like me, or sound like me, or think like me — I don't know how I know what he thought. I guess I was him, but I wasn't."

"I see... And how did the Director find out what you were dreaming about?"

A certain part of him wanted to kick her off him and choke her and break her neck for making him feel that way, for making him a coward in front of her — her of all people. But another part, more in control and much more encompassing, knew he couldn't stand to see her so much as afraid. It was a strange feeling, to want to kill someone — to want it, not just be ordered to — but also want to protect her from anything and everything in the world and see her alive and happy and just see her, every day.

So he took a deep breath and willed his eyes back to hers, waiting wishfully before and beneath him, and sucked in one good long look to work up the nerve to barely admit: "He saw me… How I was… because of you." The Soldier shifted, wanting her hot little hands off his knees but she held on and pressed forward.

"How could he see you?"

"Through the cameras. He came in soon after." He remembered clearly the supercilious sneer, the lazy gait, the direct command, and his own shame and fear and anger. "Ordered me not to touch you, not to tell you about my dreams."

"When was this?"

"The… the first morning." and he didn't need to explain which day or how many ago.

"Was it a nice dream, at least?" she dared to ask.

"Not exactly."

That knocked a bit of her glee off, until she noticed the leer of longing in his eyes.

Without giving herself the chance for one more treasonous thought, she raised herself back up. To the Soldier's surprise, her hands went straight to his belt and started tugging, unclasping, clumsily pulling it out like a dead snake.

"What—"

"The Director might have said you can't touch, but he never said anything like that to me. Arms behind your back."

He had enough wherewithal to realise what she was asking for wasn't exactly respecting the spirit of the order, but he also had enough sense to not argue. So the Soldier put his arms back behind the seat, and allowed her to tie his wrists together with the thick black belt — a useless effort as he could probably break it off if he tried.

After she finished a few thorough loops and knots, her hand lingered on him, then up his metal arm, his shoulder, his neck, threading through his tousled hair before finally cupping his cheek in a touch so small and warm and timid as to be completely unfamiliar. And he saw in her eyes the same surprise he felt, as if discovering a new world that could only bridged through another.

She turned and sat sideways across his lap, her other hand holding onto the back of the chair, her feet dangling a few inches off the ground. He brought his knees in a bit closer to make a comfier seat — he could hardly feel the weight of her, but at the same time that delicious little pressure was all his body knew.

She took her time settling in, working up the courage, thinking, fearing… and he felt ready to just break out of the belt-binds and pull her closer and crush her against him, but she finally got the nerve, and leaned in, and with her eyes never leaving his placed one chaste kiss against his mouth.

The Soldier stayed still, suspended in tension against the chair, against her hopeful gaze, against the welcoming scent of her cheek — and inwardly, worst of all, felt a forgotten part of himself brace for impact like an anchor sinking fathom after slick fathom in soft ink.

She closed her eyes when she went to savour his lower lip, then his scruffy chin, the sunken cheek, the hard outline of his cheekbone… He opened his mouth hungrily and leaned in to chase after her but she kept her kisses punishingly pure — as if he was nothing better than a love letter or a child's bruised knee or a venerable family cat.

When her kisses reached his throat he could — finally — bury his face in her hair at least, and breathe her in to burn from inside his lungs out through his whole body, and stay there forever. She must have found that flesh particularly satisfying; she parted her lips and opened her mouth and bit, just gently, across his skin, then lapped over the damp muscle that arched in tension there and thrummed with his moans.

Slowly, she allowed herself to feel him, strength leaving her arms as more of her soft chest leaned into his, rubbing the black t-shirt against his feverish skin and his heart nearly leapt out to join hers. He could feel her cant her hips on his thighs as her wet kisses moved from one rough jaw, to the other, then down his neck where wet heat pooled, lapping, lapping against his muted groans.

She leaned back to look at him, blushing and dizzy, and offered up her mouth with a teasing smile. He dipped to take it, but she just pulled back — once, twice, then a terrible third. "I thought you weren't supposed to touch me." she cooed against his starving lips. "Naughty, naughty boy."

An uncharacteristically pitiful sound ground past his teeth as she got off his lap and balanced herself between his eagerly widening thighs. He didn't even have time to shift in his pulsing discomfort before she crouched back down, legs held primly tight in her skirt, and started shoving his t-shirt up.

By this point, he didn't dare think about what she wanted from him anymore, so he decided not to think at all and let his head lean drunkenly back.

She could only roll it up so much before his thick bound arms stopped it, but it gave her enough to admire under the dismal light. He could feel the trembling in her fingers as she traced his chest, his ribs, his tensing abdomen, and suddenly his legs were bracing against the floor again.

Her elbows rested on his thighs as her fingers caressed their way downward until they reached, just gently tip-teasing, the edge of his trousers, but didn't pull them down nor move closer to where he was aching. Her lips left kisses on his damp stomach, what was left of her lipstick smudging blood-red wherever she found a particularly admirable divot to sink into. She didn't even bother to look up at him, nor did she lavish his body with any particular aim — she seemed content to just kiss what she found for kissing's-sake, healing one imaginary wound at a time with the complete abandon of someone who found life worth living only in a singular beloved.

Those ticklish explorations and her torturous hands were scraping at the edge of his restraint and soon he could barely keep himself from pulling at the knots around his wrists — tensing before remembering to sit still, then pulling again, one arm trembling the other changing calibration with a mind of its own. The chair too was scraping against the naked concrete in his longing to get away, to get closer, to get more of her, and the sound could barely cover the traitorous echoing of his moans.

His hips tried in vain to reach, at least a little bit, any part of her body, thrusting up into the infinite indifferent air between them, but all he managed was to rub himself again his tightening pants, and even that was just about enough, but not nearly.

"I need…" He couldn't finish begging because he didn't know how, wasn't supposed to know how, but it still seeped through every sound he made.

With her mouth still suckling on a shapely curve of muscle at his waist, she looked up, and her little claws sunk into his thighs at the sight of him: heaving, dishevelled, completely at her mercy. Those large grey eyes, now glassy and pleading, searched her face from behind the tendrils of his hair that fell to frame the marble-pale angles of his face — that face which used to be so stoic, so frightfully empty, now chipped away by a patter of kisses to reveal underneath a peachy-soft and blushing boy, who was forced to grow too fast.

She raised herself off him, suddenly abashed and pitying, and his heart stuttered with the panic that she was leaving… but she stayed right there. Within the bulky frame of his legs, she balanced herself on one high heel and kneeled with the other on the small space left on the chair between them. Her hands caressed his heavy head, brushed his hair away, and she rested her lips above his brow in a silent and continuous kiss.

He was so warm, she could feel it through his clothes, could almost feel the throbbing and churning of his desire in time with his whimpers as he took what little she offered and rubbed himself gratefully, desperately against her small, hard knee. His head fell forward suddenly as his whole body curled in on itself in her embrace and with one, two, three painful pulsations, finally released.

She kept kissing and cooing against his overheated skin as he worked himself through it, biting his lip through heaving gasps, burying his groans in her chest, and she realised in passing that that was the loudest she had ever heard him be. Even after the energy was drained from him and he calmed down, she could still feel aftershocks of his pleasure tremble against her leg as a little more and more was pushed out of him, seemingly never ending, until it did.

His breath ran hot and cold as it fanned over her skin, through her shirt, while he slowly came back to himself. She didn't move away, content to hold him close as long as he needed. Her fingers soothed his forehead while her chin rested on top of his head, her eyes far away in the quiet. Her heart was still drumming away and he didn't even need to strain himself to hear it while he felt his own, beating to match her rhythm, and then slowly come down, together.

"Are you alright, my darling?" she asked in an easy voice that masked her concern. He didn't say anything, just buried his face deeper in her shoulder and hummed contentedly.

She could feel the cloying dampness between her own legs collect and start to cool. Her lower lips ached as if beaten and were still throbbing. The virile scent of him beneath her didn't help at all, but it didn't matter anymore either. She had only wanted to cherish him, even at the dreadful prospect of his indifference — which, as a gift, turned out not to be so; to give and give and give to the point of nonexistence until all that was left of her was the spark that burned for him, for as long as he needed it.

She dedicated so much of her energies to the mission, to the work, to the distant goals of glory that Hydra promised, and she once thought that to leave behind useful things was her chance at true freedom from the mundane materialism that had sickened her into this exile in the first place. But within the unexpected package of one kidnapped and brainwashed soldier, imprisoned to a degree he didn't even comprehend, she found a gate to something so much better — one small form of immortality through immolation.

Her attention went to back to his arms, still tied behind him, and the way that left shoulder gleamed in the low sepulchral light caught her eye. One hand went to caress its silver surface until she caught sight of the clandestine mark they put on him. "I hate that ugly thing." she spoke with genuine disgust, her nails catching against the symbol there. "Wish I could scratch away this red satanic star."

The Soldier couldn't tell if it was some possessiveness of hers talking or just the Hydra zealot, jealous of a competing cult, but he felt too weary to hold those walls up anymore, and too serene in her arms to care.

She moved away from him, gently letting go, stumbling a little in her stiff ankles and straightening her skirt on her way around. She undid the knots and rubbed a little at the wrist that bore its marks. After a parting kiss to the bent back of his neck, she dropped the belt on his lap. "Let's get you cleaned up." she whispered.

He heard her fumbling with something, and then there was a quick run of water at the sink in the corner. The Soldier had just barely straightened himself in the chair when she came back around and started wiping down his chest with a slightly damp handkerchief. He looked down at her and she looked back, slightly blushing the lower she went, until she reached his trousers and paused.

With an awkward smile, she handed him a batch of tissues and hurried back to the sink.

He had to smile too, almost laughing at the odd standards of her shyness. He unbuttoned himself and wiped off the gooey seepage, wincing and going gently as the cool air hit the raw parts of him. His pants were still quite soiled on the inside, and his t-shirt was damp but drying; it would have to do.

It didn't take long for him to straighten himself out, to put his shirt and his belt and everything back together while she got rid of the evidence, and when she turned back to look at him it was almost as if nothing had happened. He stood up and turned to find her walking straight toward him, just like that first day. Only this time she was smiling, her steps were gentled by the aches and stiffness, and it wasn't just the Soldier she was looking at, but also someone… else.

His feet stood firm while he waited for her, but as soon as she was within reach he curled a hand around her hip and leaned down — only for her to press against his broad chest and pull away.

"We have to leave soon, or they'll come looking for us." The Soldier swallowed his complaints and nodded in understanding. Of course it was too much to ask… And then the killing blow: "I can't see you tomorrow."

"What. Why not?"

"We have a staff briefing all morning, and then I'll have to write a report on your progress, and I have to make something up about this session, and I'll be busy with meetings the rest of the day…"

She was holding something back. His eyes stayed on her body and he rediscovered how small she was beneath him, so steady but so close to wavering. He held her still by the hip, pressing into the fragile skin of her abdomen while his other hand went up to grip the base of her neck. To anyone else it would have been a threat, but she drank in his rough touch with calm. His thumb edged the neckline of her shirt away to reveal brand new skin stretching over birdlike bones.

Her eyes stayed on his, her smile ever-tender as she looked up into his troubled face, completely trusting in his murderer's-hands. The Soldier bent down to kiss the curve of a clavicle as he held her firmly in his arms and asked, again, "Why can't you see me?"

He let her battle with her conscience as he moved his hands down her sides, one hot one metal-cold, gently down and up her thighs, gallantly avoiding the curves of her behind to rest at the small of her back as he let himself fall from underneath her hands and go down on one knee in front of her.

"I'll see you again. Maybe… maybe next week…"

He could hear the breath tense out of her body as he brought his face dangerously close to her, but instead of aiming for the source of that sweet warm scent, he rested his lips right over her lower stomach, kissing now this way, now that, through her clothes and her skin, wanting her to know exactly where he wished he could reach, and take root.

A pair of hands came to rest on his head and caress the hair out of his face, then quietly and shakily she confided "They're considering you for a new mission."

He hummed against her, listening but uncaring.

"Maybe I can try to see you before you're sent off." she said pensively as her hands slipped to his shoulders. "Yes, I can stop by and say… maybe even get an approval…"

Don't trust this devious Hydra bitch!

Would you shut up for once?

102 notes · View notes

star-spangledstud · 4 years

Text

ALL THAT MATTERS

Pairing: Frank Castle x (female!) reader

Warning(s): angst

Summary: he’s all that matters to her. Is she all that matters to him?

"How many times have I told you to be careful out there?" You ask, allowing the back of your hand to rub against your tired eyes.

"Every time." Frank mumbles, looking down at his feet while he allows you to gently tend to his injuries.

Truthfully, you don't even remember when or how it got started. It was initially Karen who asked you to keep an eye on him and since you owed her a big favor you complied, but that debt’s been paid long ago and the late night nursing hasn’t stopped. You don’t even question Frank anymore at this point, because you know damn well what he gets up to on nights like this one.

He stumbles through your front door with a trail of blood on his heel and a deep scowl etched onto his face, which is mostly covered in caked blood and bruises.

It scares you every time, knowing what he’s is capable of. You always wonder what the other guy looks like after a run in with The Punisher, but more often than not, Frank's injuries imply his opponent has either bit the bullet or is wishing that they had. You know he’s killed people in the past, and that he still does it all the time, but you still help him. Whether or not that makes you an accomplice is something you'd rather not question. Instead, you stitch him up in silence.

You are scared of his capabilities, but not of him.

You can hear the low rumbling of cars outside while you scoot closer to Frank so you can get a better look. He’s currently seated on the edge of your queen-sized bed, the fresh linen sheets a crumpled mess beneath him while his hands grip the soft material tightly. His eyes are screwed shut while you thread a needle through a superficial stab wound near his shoulder. Frank doesn’t make a sound. Instead, he bites his tongue, allowing you to focus on what you’re trying to do.

"I'm getting really sick and tired of your shit, Frank." You grumble through gritted teeth while pulling the wire through his irritated flesh.

He grimaces when you tie it into a small knot to secure it, but his face changes completely when your eyes meet his for the first time since you broke out the seeing kit.

He grins down at you, causing the streaks of dried blood across his nose and temple to crack into little broken lines that remind you of cracked face paint on Halloween.

You hate how much you enjoy it when he smiles because it’s a rarity to find Frank with anything but harsh words and a scowl, but you can’t help the warm sensation spreading through your lower abdomen when he does smile. Frank's smiles are more rare than blood diamonds, that you’re sure of. A man like Frank might've done a lot of smiling when his family was still alive and well, but those days are long gone and anger is all he has left now.

"That right?" He asks, his eyes lingering on your face while you continue to clean him up.

Drops of heavy rain and gusts of wind roughly hit the window panes, creating a melody of pitter-patter and whistles that echo softly throughout the room. The clock on your nightstand hit 4 a.m. ten minutes ago and you should be fast asleep at this ungodly hour, but your priority is the man in front of you. He’s always the priority.

"Damn right I am." You say, taking a pause to look back at him.

Frank’s wet clothes are soaking through your white sheets, which are now nearly fully covered in a mixture of fresh mud and blood that leave the air with a coppery scent. Frank knows you'll get over it, you always do, and frankly, he wonders why you even bothered to purchase such expensive linen in the first place. The first time he tried to pay you back for ripping them accidentally with one of the knives he had sticking out of his jeans, you'd politely told him to fuck off and that you'd take care of it. He never brought it up again, even though his hands itch to give you money for all the trouble he causes every time he finds himself leaving your apartment after a nightly patch-up and a glass of whiskey.

Frank’s come to understand this isn’t a business transaction for you anymore. You don’t see him as one of the animals you’re paid to treat during your daytime veterinary job. He isn’t just some sick little puppy looking for treatment. He’s a broken man, looking for understanding in a world he can’t understand himself and somehow, he found something it in you. You don’t take pity on him. You just do what has to be done and he admires that, because he does the same.

He slowly sips the whiskey you gave him when he first came in and stares blankly at the black screen of the television that hangs above your dresser. He’s the one who hung it up for you. He did a good job, he muses. Perfect height, perfectly straight.

You suddenly notice a piece of glass sticking from the top of his abdomen. With a gulp, you grab the whiskey glass from Frank’s fingertips. Before he can object, you down it, allowing the sting from the alcohol to heat the back of your throat as the liquid slides down. You don’t think he knows you hate the sight of blood, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is getting him fixed up.

You rise from your chair after taking a lukewarm washcloth and dabbing it across the scrapes and cuts on his hands. Giving him a once-over, you take in the work you just did, subconsciously counting the bruises that stain his tanned skin in the process. You’re exhausted, terrified to turn around and look at the clock at this point in time, but you’re too persistent and set on making sure he’s okay to really care.

Letting out a breath you'd been holding in, you absentmindedly nod. Frank’s eyes, dark and restless, scan your face slowly, taking in every feature from the blue circles underneath your droopy eyes to your rose colored lips and strands of hair that always fall out of the messy bun atop your head.

"Why do you keep doing this, huh?" He asks suddenly, voice gruff and thick with sleep.

You lift your shoulders and bite your lower lip, afraid to speak. He notices the wrinkles in between your brows when you frown ever so slightly and he sighs. With both hands placed on the bed, he makes a move to get up, groaning when you instantly shove him back down.

"Can you like, not rip out your stitches? Just this once, I'm begging you," You huff, your hands pressed firmly against his chest to make sure he doesn’t move again, "Just because you're The Punisher doesn't mean you're immortal. You need to rest as much as the next guy."

You slam the first aid kit shut and tap on it with your fingernails, anything to keep yourself distracted after tossing your dirty gloves in the bin next to the dresser. He smells like musk and expensive cologne. You didn’t notice it until he got so close to you.

"Hey," he says, grabbing both your hands and holding them tightly in his, "You don't need to do this, alright? I won't bother you anymore if-"

"Shut up, Frank." You say curtly, cutting him off before his statement could fully pass his swollen lips.

You don’t want him to say it, because you don’t want this - whatever it is - to stop happening. You’re emotionally invested and breaking it off now would do more harm than good. You think he secretly knowsleaving you will fuck you up, but he doesn’t want to admit it.

"I'm serious, girl." He said.

"Look, I get it, alright. You're a bad man, Frank. The kind of man I'm supposed to have nightmares about. The kind I'm supposed to stay away from so I don't get myself into trouble or get myself killed," You roll your tired eyes, "but I don't believe it for a second."

"Believe what?" He asks genuinely, rolling the pad of his thumb along your soft fingers.

"That you're bad, Frank. Sure, you have shitty ways to go about things, but I refuse to believe you're a bad person. Karen doesn't believe it and she knew that I wouldn't believe it either. That's why she sent you to me." You sink down on the bed beside him, feeling the dirt and sand rub against your bare legs.

He wants to leave in this moment, get the hell out of your bedroom before you get in too deep, but the look you’re giving him tells him that ship has already sailed and there is no way for him to get rid of you. He knows the people around him always manage to get hurt because of him and as he’s sitting there, watching you in completely silence, Frank realizes he’d rather die than watch you get hurt. You've been taking care of him for months, never question his motives, never complain when he goes off the radar for weeks on end. He needs someone like you in his life.

He needs a woman like you in his life.

"Then what am I?" He asks finally, breaking the heavy silence between the two of you.

"I don't know," you say frankly, "For now, you're alive. That's all that matters to me."

The words leave your mouth before you can silence yourself. Heat rises to your cheeks when Frank inhales sharply at the sound of your voice, sweet and soft and so much the opposite of his own. It isn’t a confession of undying love, but it confirms his suspicion. You care for him beyond the formal patient/nurse relationship you two share.

His heart begins to involuntarily hammer in his chest from the thought alone.

He wants it, to be close to another human again, more than he ever thought possible after what happened to his family, but he doesn’t trust himself enough to make a sound or move an inch. When he looks at your bare arm and notices goosebumps rising all along your skin, he finally moves.

"You cold?" He asks in a raspy tone of voice, allowing his crooked nose to momentarily bury itself in your naked shoulder.

You shudder at the feeling of his hot breath against your skin and you nod silently, your ear making contact with the side of his head. Your heart aches for him and you wish so badly he would just make a move, anything to let you know your feelings are reciprocated, but he remains idle beside you, leaning against you in the glimmer of gentle candlelight.

Your body finally jerks up when he presses a long kiss to your temple, your eyes screwing shut in a painful frown while his do the same. His hand clasps around your back and squeezes it, but before you can even let out a content sigh, the warmth of his hand disappears, and all that remains is cool air coming in through the draft from underneath your bedroom door.

He picks up his stuff, the guns and ammo he keeps on his person at all times disappears in his pockets while you watch him trudge through your bedroom. His dirty shoes leave footprints all over the cream colored carpet, his fingertips leave stains on your furniture. The speed with which he moves through your safe space painfully tugs on your heartstrings.

He looks at you once more after swinging open the door, a sad expression painted on his face in blood and words he can never say on the tip of his sandpaper tongue. When he catches your face, eyes misty and mouth quivering, he needs to bite his lip to stop himself from punching a hole through the wall. Frank leaves without another word, forcing you to listen to the sounds of his weakening footsteps and the front door that closes silently behind him.

You don’t see him again for another four months.

#jammywrites #frank castle imagine #frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #marvel fic #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #the punisher imagine #marvel x reader #frank castle angst #frank castle fluff #frank castle fic #the punisher angst

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scabopolis · 3 years

Note

Omg congrats on 600 followers! Honestly any fake dating with Jonah x Amy would be amazing, although I love number 44 and/or 48 on your Google Docs <333

This is my first Jonah x Amy fic and I offer two caveats: 1) I’m still not sure if there is a particular vibe people who read for this pairing preferring, so...here we are, and 2) I have only made it through 4x12 of Superstore but am pretty familiar w/ what happens the rest of the series.

Prompt: “You know we’re not actually dating, so why did you propose to me in front of my family?” / “I’m sorry, I panicked.” --- Title: the scene of the complication Fandom: Superstore Pairing: Jonah/Amy Other Characters: My crippling insecurity writing for a new fandom, sleep soft mornings, dumbs being dumb (but, like in a cute way) Additional Tags: friends to lovers (or idiots to friends to lovers??), fake dating shenanigans, alternative universe where Amy’s HS pregnancy test was negative and she and Jonah met in college Word Count: ~2,100 ---

It started with a chance meeting ten years ago, and somehow it’s brought Amy Sosa here: awake in her childhood room with Jonah Simms beside her, sleeping off upwards of half a dozen tequila shots. Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. She knew that day they met in the lecture hall that Jonah was a person who would make her life exceedingly more complicated.

And ten years later, here they are, practically leaving complicated behind in the rear view mirror.

(“What are two hopes and one fear you have for your first lecture on your first day of college?” the guy sitting to her right asks.

Amy doesn’t answer at first but this stranger just waits for her, all blinking, bright eyes and freshman eagerness. It’s barely morning. Is this her life now?

“Hope one,” she says, holding up a finger, “that I’d sit next to someone quiet. Hope two,” she holds up another, “that no one would talk to me before I managed to find coffee.” She holds up a third finger. “And this moment right here is what I feared.”

For some reason, her shortness delights him. His smile is open and affectionate, and he nods in appreciation.

“Noted.”

And Amy fully intends to never speak to this wide-eyed panda boy ever again, but then their General Psychology professor informs the class that the person they’re sitting next to will be their assignment partner for the semester.

The next lecture her partner – his name is Jonah, she learns – brings her a cup of coffee and doesn’t speak a word until she takes a long sip.

Complicated.)

Jonah snuffles in his sleep, his eyelids fluttering slightly. His hair is doing that thing it does when he’s hot or drunk or has run a hand through it too many times, where a single lock of hair hangs in the middle of his forehead. Amy resists the very real urge to brush it away. Because, yeah, she has those kinds of thoughts a lot and they also make things complicated. They’re friends. Maybe even best-friends, but definitely not ‘tenderly brush a lock of your hair away’ friends.

Do those kinds of friends even exist?

Jonah stirs again, and now that it’s clear he’s actually waking up, Amy reaches for her phone and opens Candy Crush. The last thing she needs is to get caught staring at him like some weird stalker.

“Oh, god,” he groans, his voice scratchy. He stretches out with another groan, his foot bumping against Amy’s as he does. Rather than move away, he kind of just rests it there on top of hers. And this is something she is all too familiar with. Drunk and/or hungover Jonah is yet another complication. More accurately, his propensity to cuddle indiscriminately is a very real complication.

“I need—” Amy reaches for the glass of water on her night stand and hands it to Jonah, stopping him mid-thought. “Do you have—?” She hands him two ibuprofen. “Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome.” She looks back at her phone.

Jonah swallows the two pills and drinks the entire glass of water, and then lays back down, curling slightly into Amy’s side.

“I made so many mistakes last night,” he says.

“I’m aware. As are your 80 Instagram followers.”

“I liveblogged it?”

“And tagged everything with the hashtag ‘best noche ever.’” He groans again and turns his face into Amy’s side. She sets her phone back on the nightstand. “What got into you?”

“Your dad is intimidating.”

“My dad?”

“Yes. Your dad. And then he and your brother kept pouring me shots—”

“I knew this had Eric’s fingerprints all over it.”

“Well, it was kind of my fault, too.”

She frowns. “What do you mean?” Jonah doesn’t answer and Amy kicks him under the covers. He looks up at her. His eyes are red-rimmed but also so sleepy and soft. Complicated. “Jonah.”

“They kept asking me questions. About you and me. And I was so worried I’d say something wrong, I kept taking shots to avoid answering.”

“You could have found me.”

“I know, but—” he trails off.

“But what?”

“I want them to like me.”

“Oh, Jonah.” She gives in and brushes the lock of hair off his forehead, and he looks up at her. “They’ve known you for 10 years. They’re never going to like you.”

“Thanks, I feel so much better.”

“I do have one more question.”

“Okay.”

“You know we’re not actually dating. Right?”

He closes his eyes and nods. “No. Yeah. I know.”

“So why did you propose to me in front of my family?”

“I panicked.”

“Panicked?”

“Your dad asked what my intentions were, and there were just so many shots.

“And that’s why you shouted ‘I intend to marry her!’?”

Jonah flips the comforter over his head. “I just got wrapped up in it all.” His words are muffled from under the comforter.

She’s glad for the moment of respite, with Jonah unable to see her. If Amy didn’t want things to careen so off track, she probably shouldn’t have agreed to let him come to her dad’s retirement party as her fake boyfriend.

(“I don’t see what the problem is,” Jonah says, spooning more cashew chicken onto his plate. “You don’t still have feelings for Adam, do you?”

“No. No. God no,” she says. “Absolutely not.”

“Alright. I’m clear on the no.”

“It’s just the last time I saw him— Well, you know.”

“I recall, yes.”

And he does. Jonah knows all about Amy’s high school boyfriend. The one she liked but never quite loved. The one she broke up with when the pregnancy test came back negative. The one she slept with again the summer after their senior year of college.

(An event that occurred in no small part because Jonah was dating Mindy and the two of them were talking about moving in together. Maybe moving to the west coast together and Amy realized there was a very real possibility she was going to be left behind.

Jonah doesn’t know that part of the story.)

Adam is also the guy who thought having sex in her childhood bedroom meant Amy wanted to get back together. He’s the guy bringing his very beautiful fiancée to her dad’s retirement party. Because he’s also somehow the guy who still helps her dad with home improvement projects. And Amy is just Amy – the one who doesn’t visit St. Louis enough, and is using her very expensive liberal arts degree to work as a survey researcher for Cloud9, meaning she’s basically paid to manipulate shoppers.

And, not that it should matter, but she’s also very single. Has been for a while now.

She mostly blames the man stealing chow mein from her plate for that. She blocks Jonah’s chopsticks with hers, and a piece of cabbage goes flying.

“Stop that,” she says.

“You’re not eating it.”

“I’m too annoyed to eat.”

“If you only ate when you weren’t annoyed you’d starve.”

“I hate you.”

She pushes the chow mein around her plate. God, when she thinks about it, this really is Jonah’s fault. If she could just find a way to get over this stupid, dumb, little crush that has creeped up – without her permission, mind you! – then maybe she could actually—

“I could do it,” Jonah says, interrupting her thought spiral.

“Do what?”

“Go with you to your dad’s retirement party. Be your fake boyfriend.”

“You think that’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s a great idea. Besides, I am very close to getting your dad to like me.”

“He’ll never like you.”

“It’s not that I didn’t like the painting—”

“—How would this even work?” she asks, cutting him off.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I think we act like we normally do, but maybe you can hold my hand and be nice to me.”

“Eww.”

Jonah smiles around a large bite of cashew chicken. She really needs to stop hanging out with him so much – he’s become immune to her insults. It’s rude.

And him as her fake boyfriend is a terrible idea. Truly awful. If Amy is looking to get over her crush and make things between her and Jonah less complicated, there are better ways to do it.

Except.

Except she kind of wants to.

“Okay. Let’s do it,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she says decisively. “But if you try and kiss me, I’ll cut your lips off.”

“That seems like a proportionate response.”)

“So, to be clear, I told you kissing wasn’t allowed, and you thought that left proposals on the table?”

He groans again from under the comforter. It’s a little sad and a lot pathetic. Poor guy.

She pats the comforter in the area of what she hopes is his shoulder. As annoyed as she is at having to untangle these threads, it’s not his fault. Not really. She knows her family is relentless. Amy slides down and flips the comforter over her head as well.

Jonah rolls over onto his side to face her. Amy does the same.

“It was better than Adam’s proposal.”

“Adam proposed?”

Amy nods. “Ish. If I remember correctly he said, ‘I’ll marry you if I have to.’”

“Yikes.”

“Right?” It’s cozy under this blanket. Intimate even. “You did say some nice things. Even if they came out kind of slurred.”

“Amy—”

“Sexy, huh?”

“I really didn’t mean to shout that to all of your dad’s—”

“Because it’s not true?”

“No!” Jonah winces and Amy isn’t sure if it’s ‘I have a hangover’ induced or ‘I am revealing too much’ induced. “It’s true. Of course it’s true. You are very, you know.”

“Sexy on a completely objective level? Or, are you saying that you, yourself, Jonah Simms, think I’m sexy?” Jonah goes completely still. Amy isn’t even sure he’s breathing. It’s entirely uncharacteristic and a little unnerving. She pokes his cheek. “Are you blushing?”

“Big time, yeah.”

That does enough to break the tension under their blanket enclave, both of them laughing, at first awkwardly and then more genuine. Once they stop to catch their breath, Amy notices they’ve shifted closer together.

This would be the perfect moment to flee from the scene of the complication. But the complications don’t seem so terrible at this specific moment. She blames that lock of hair of his.

“How long have you held this opinion?” Jonah frowns at Amy’s question. “Regarding my sexiness?” she clarifies.

“Amy—”

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

“I just want to—”

“Really? You really want to have this conversation?”

Jonah stresses the ‘you’ and Amy knows why he does. There isn’t a topic or feeling that is off-limits to Jonah – he’d happily discuss every feeling he’s ever had. It’s her. It’s always her.

Their faces are so close they’re practically sharing the same pillow. It takes no effort at all for Amy to close the distance between them, lightly brushing her lips against his. As quick as it began it’s over, and even in the dim light under the comforter, Amy can see Jonah’s eyes blown wide. She’s sure she looks just as shocked and she’s the one who did it.

“You said if I kissed you you’d cut off my lips.”

“Which is why I kissed you.”

“Oh,” he nods. “Makes sense.” Jonah taps out a slow but erratic rhythm against the side of his leg. She just knows he’s trying to stop himself from verbalizing every single thought in his head. “To be clear, was that a friendship kiss, or—”

So Amy kisses him again. This time Jonah recovers quickly from his shock, winding a hand into her hair, his palm cupping the back of her head. It’s just unbelievably good.

“Okay,” Jonah says, his voice unsteady as he pulls away. “That answers that.” He traces her jaw with his thumb. “Any chance we could do it some more?”

Amy rolls onto her back, putting some distance between them. “I don’t think so.”

“Wait. What?”

“Your breath is awful.”

Jonah breathes into his hand and sniffs it to confirm. “What if I brush my teeth?”

Amy sighs, long and exasperated. “I suppose that would be—”

Jonah is out of the bed in seconds, scrambling for his overnight bag, and Amy presses her lips together to hide her smile. From the way Jonah smiles, soft and delighted as he backs out of the room, she isn’t fooling anyone.

So far past the point of complicated, she thinks, her heart still racing. But then again, maybe complications that make her feel like this are okay.

#simmosa fanfic #superstore fanfic #jonah x amy #jonah simms #amy sosa #amy dubanowski #I hope you like it anon!#first fic for a new fandom is always the most nerve wracking!#why is that?#p: jonah x amy #c: jonah simms #c: amy sosa #tv: superstore #otp: fresh start #Anonymous #never stories

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zeldasayer · 4 years

Text

I transcribed and translated Pedro’s interview from GQ Germany for all of us. I tried translating as good as possible but bear with me, English is not my mother tongue. By @sixties-loser

Pedro Pascal, the star from “Game of Thrones”, “Wonder Woman” and “The Mandalorian” talks about becoming an adult, film, fashion, corona – and a painful surgery in the exclusive GQ interview.

It seems almost eerie how empty the streets of LA are in the sunshine. Meanwhile a new normality seems to be coming to Europe, most people in L.A. are still cutting their own hair. Many have not seen their friends for half a year. The pandemic is out of control. The reaction towards it too. Inviting someone into their garden for a “distance drink” can cause the same distress as suggesting to switch spouses.

Therefore, it was particularly surprising that Pedro Pascal immediately accepted. He accepted the drink, not to switch spouses. He is one of the rising stars and newcomers this year – if it wasn’t for corona sending the whole film industry into a forced vacation, there would most likely not have been time for said drink. After having his skull crushed in “Game of Thrones” followed the lead role as a DEA agent hunting Pablo Escobar in “Narcos” in 2015 and now he is stepping towards big Hollywood films. From the 1st of October onwards the Chilean-born actor will be starring in the blockbuster “Wonder Woman 1984”. Moreover, the second season of the “Star Wars”-series “The Mandalorian” on Disney+ starring him as the lead is going to air in October this year – but he will be underneath a helmet. Well, we all are under a helmet in 2020 in one way or another. We want to meet the man who a few years ago still worked as a waiter in New York, whose parents were political refugees who found asylum in Denmark and settled in Texas and whose son one day signed up for a theatre group in High School.

Then, the cancellation! While we were in the middle of fixing up the house and the garden for the drink with Pedro and organizing the fashion shoot, which was not easy considering the safety measures in L.A., his management called with an unfortunate message: Pedro – no, not sick with corona – had to get emergency surgery because of a damaged tooth and was lying in bed with a swollen face that was hindering him from speaking and taking pictures. The sun is shining onto empty streets. And our empty garden.

A few days later he nonetheless arrived at our front door without a swollen face but still with threads in his mouth. He was not chauffeured by a limo-service but he came with his own car – he even picked up his make-up artist. He is helping her carrying all of her utensils into the house and declares: “I’ve got time today!”. What a celebrity! It seemed like we did not want to ask him how he made it to the A-List of Hollywood but he wanted to ask us how we made it to the A-list. Pedro Pascal! Yes, what kind of a celebrity?

Pedro Pascal: Sorry for messing with your plans. The surgery was an emergency.

GQ: Really? We were wondering whether the swelling wasn’t the product of a secret visit to the plastic-surgeon. Apparently, they are drowning in work because of the quarantine in Hollywood.

PP: I have to disappoint you. A few days before our appointment I was rushing to the hospital with a fractured tooth and the worst pain in my entire life – a hospital in which treats people with severe cases of corona. I was unable to reach any dentist! Right in front of the parking lot a specialist called me back. The pain was hell despite the ten injections I got. The doctor said I was not an exception because a lot of people are grinding their teeth because of all the stress.

GQ: What are you most afraid of at the moment?

PP: How the government is handling the pandemic is worrying me more than the virus itself. This shortage of intelligent management of the crisis is a moral shame. The leadership crisis in this country is turning us all into orphans – destitute and abandoned.

GQ: How did you spend your time over the last few months?

PP: I spent it with frozen pizza and sweatpants in Venice Beach. I live in a rear house that’s in a family’s garden. Actually, there are a lot of good takeout places nearby but for some reason I just love pepperoni pizza from the supermarket.

GQ: That does not really sound like movie star-lifestyle. What does it feel like being suddenly stopped from top speed to zero?

PP: Regarding what is going on around the world one should hold back one’s own mental turmoil. I would be lying if I was saying that I am not disappointed. The whole team put a lot of heart and work into the production of “Wonder Woman 1984”. We had a lot of fun on set. I wished to travel around the world and introduce the film with the same lively energy.

GQ: You come from a politically engaged, socialist family that fled from the Pinochet-regime in Chile. What do you remember from that time?

PP: My sister and I were born in Chile but I was only nine months old when we first found asylum in Denmark. From there we quickly came to San Antonio in Texas where my dad started working as a doctor at the university clinic.

GQ: Texas is not known as a socialist utopia. How did you assimilate?

PP: San Antonio is not a Cowboy-town but very diverse with big Asian, black and Latino communities. I remember it as a romantic place, culturally open. The culture shock only came as we later moved to range county in California. There the atmosphere was suddenly white, preppy and conservative.

GQ: How were you received in California?

PP: I’m still ashamed of the fact that I did not correct my classmates when they kept on calling me Peter. I am Pedro. Even if I didn’t grow up in Chile the country and the language are still a part of me. I was very unhappy in that environment. However, I was fortunately able to go to another school close to Long Beach where I felt more comfortable. Through the theater group at that school I found my way.

GQ: Were you able to visit Chile as a child?

PP: Yes, when my parents made it to the list of expatriates that were able to travel to Chile without consequences. First, there was a big family reunion and then my sister and I stayed there for a few months with relatives while my parents went back to Texas. They likely needed a break from us. They got us when they were very young, had a buzzing social life and my mother was obtaining a PhD in psychology.

GQ: Was your mother a typical young psychologist who wanted to apply her theoretical knowledge at home?

PP: You mean, whether I was her guinea pig? For sure! I remember strange tests and sittings that were disguised as games where someone was watching me react to different toys. I cannot have been older than six but I was already aware of the dynamic. My favourite thing was being questioned about my dreams. That was a wonderful opportunity to come up with fantastic stories.

GQ: Was that your first performance?

PP: Of course! My mother worried about my strong imagination because I was living in my own fantasy world rather than reality. I hated going to school. I was always categorized as the troublemaker. At one point, the topics at school became more interesting and my grades also went up. There are so many kids that are unnecessarily diagnosed with learning disabilities without considering that school can be abhorrent. Why is it so accepted to be bored in class when there are so many stimulating ways to convey knowledge?

GQ: Considering al that has happened this summer around the world: Do you believe that we can seriously demand social change now?

PP: I Hope so. After lockdown, the first time I went out was to protest for “Black Lives Matter” on the streets. The energy was peaceful and hopeful until the police provoked severe conflicts. Nevertheless, we cannot run from problems like we used to this time and we cannot distract ourselves from them either. It seems like the pressure of the pandemic led to a new clarity: We cannot go on this way.

GQ: The “Wonder Woman 1984” Trailer revives the optimism of the 1980’s. From today’s point of view, it seems almost nostalgic.

PP: That’s right. You really are happy for two hours. The director Patty Jenkins created a film full of positive messages. We shot in Washington D.C., then in London and Spain – this sounds like I am talking of a past time.

GQ: Do you miss traveling?

PP: I’m just now realizing the privilege of just packing up one’s stuff and being able to fly anywhere. An American passport used to guarantee unlimited travel. And that’s why it the small radius of our lives is actually unimaginable. Over the last years I often retreated for a break after shootings because I was constantly on the move and overstimulated. My friends were already complaining I had become too comfortable. We all took social contact for granted and are only realizing now how dependent we actually are on human contact. Over the last weeks I often longingly thought about all the parties and dinner invitations I declined.

GQ: In L.A. people spend more time at home or nature than in other metropolises that are more geared towards public life. Could this city become your second home after New York?

PP: My Real Home are my friends. I have been a nomad since I was little and I do not have a place where I have put down roots. Up until not long ago my physical home was a place in between departure and arrival. Therefore, it was something I did not want to complicate through the accumulation of stuff. On the contrary: Without having read Marie Kondo’s book I have freed myself from excess baggage over the last few years and I lived relatively minimally.

GQ: Is there nothing you collect or something you just can’t throw away?

PP: Books! I even still have the literature I read when I was a teenager and when I was in college. Recently, I stumbled upon a box full of old theatre manuscripts and materials from my time at the New York University. I also cannot part from art easily, just like I cannot part from lamps or old photos. On the other hand, I can easily get rid of furniture and clothes.

GQ: Do you remember roles that were really only completely defined through the costume?

PP: Yes, I am particularly thinking about “Game of Thrones”. At that time I understood for the first time what it meant to be supported by a look. This is thanks to the costume designer Michele Clapton. She created very feminine robes and brocade coats for my character that nevertheless looked masculine when worn and I felt very sexy in them. Of course, Lindy Hemmings power-suits and Jan Swells bleached hairstyle for the tycoon-villain in “Wonder Woman 1984” were very important as well. At first I did not really see myself in the role because the cuts and colors of the 80s do not really fit my body. I’m more the 70s type.

GQ: Do you incorporate those inspirations into your personal wardrobe?

PP: In my free time I choose comfort over a cool look these days. Sometimes I miss the times when I expressed myself through a certain style. It is hard to imagine that I went to Raves as a teenage in the 90s; I was a real club kid with ridiculous outfits: overalls, balloon pants, football shirts and a top hat, like in Dr.Seuss’s “Cat in a Hat”. Later in New York I was hanging out with a group of people that felt it was very important to have a certain style. The fact that I am basically only wearing sweatpants everyday is actually tragic.

GQ: whoever plays roles in comic book adaptations becomes a bodybuilder and eats ten chicken breasts a day. You don’t?

PP:My body would not agree with that. It is hard enough to stay in shape normally. When you’re in your mid-forties you have to live with a lot more discipline. Up until before my tooth-incident I worked out with a trainer in my garden multiple times a week to keep the quarantine body in check.

GQ: Apart from the personal trainer, are you in a steady relationship?

PP: I am not ready for that yet. Maybe at some point I will be but until then I’ll let it be. I can’t even offer you absurd corona dating stories.

GQ: What would annoy you the most if you were your own roommate?

PP: I can be quite controlling. I have to conjure all my humanity to prevent myself from going through my entire film collection. When I don’t want something I cannot keep it to myself or be passive-aggressive, I always have to take it to the frontlines. Other than that, I tend to have tunnel view: when I am not feeling well I cannot imagine to ever feel better again. I have trouble relativizing my emotions or to wave off problems. Method-acting would really not be for me. This is why I try to only work on projects that feel good, where there is mutual support and encouragement.

GQ: When we were trying on the clothes earlier you spoke of a lack of self-confidence. How does that get along with a career like yours?

PP: Isn’t it interesting how these characteristics and circumstamces relate? Self-worth comes from inside but it is also influenced by what society values because we often internalise the public gaze. I have lived in New York for 20 years, I studied there and made a living by working as a waiter until my mid-thirties because the theatre and film jobs I got did not pay the bills. There were so many times I was almost there. The disappointment of having missed the perfect role or opportunity by a hair’s width can be crushing. When should you give up and what is plan B? That is a question that is not only on many actors‘s minds but also on many others minds who struggle for a living – no matter how much potential they have or how close they seem to be to the top. We are seeing now how our narrow definition of success destroys society. At the same time, we are realizing that where we come from and the color of our skin still decide whether we can exist with dignity.

GQ: What are the positive aspects of a relatively late success as leading-man?

PP: I feel like I can decide over my own life without the pressure of having to accept projects or to have to present a certain identity on social media. This is for sure also because I am a man. Regardless of age, Women have to try harder to stand out.

GQ: Life always consists of risk management – now more than usual. For what would you risk losing something?

PP: Generally, when you never risk something you might never get ahead. That is for friendship, love, work and creativity. I have to be ready to take risks for the things that really matter to you.

#pedro pascal #THANK YOU MY LOVE!#submission

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hearteyesbowen · 4 years

Text

practicing lines ☆ ricky bowen

nothing says high school plays like two lead actors hating each other to their core

warnings: slight angst, slight fluff, some swearing, heavy making out

part I , part II

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

If there is one thing Y/N hated most, it was Richard Bowen.

Richard “Ricky” Bowen was the high school sweetheart. The most polite and respectful man in his grade, and probably his school. He held the door for anyone and everyone, he offers to help his teachers in need of grading test papers, and he seems to be the perfect boyfriend material. That’s not what you thought.

You despise everything about him. The reason for your resentment was due to the fact that you got the part for Gabriella when he wanted Nini to get the part so they could rekindle their broken love. Ever since then, he has been nothing but rude and obnoxious to you. You did everything you could to try and make peace with him, but he only cared about his stupid plan to fix his own mistakes.

It was clear to the whole school of the mutual hatred between you two. Although Miss Jenn tried to warm you up to each other with her bonding exercises and one-on-one script read throughs, nothing was more powerful than your anger for each other.

Today, after learning that the school’s stage was mysteriously burned down, you all traveled to the El Ray Theatre.

“Ok kids, let’s go to page five.” She yelled, taking her clipboard and standing on the side with Carlos.

You scrambled through your bag, grabbing the heavy script that Carlos printed out for you. You turn on your heels swiftly, only to crash into your ignorant co-star.

“Watch it, happy feet.” Rick snarled, towering over you.

“Why not give me some personal space, Richard?” You smirked. “Almost makes me think you have a crush on me.”

“You fucking wish, Y/N.”

“Language, Ricky.” Miss Jenn warned.

You give him an innocent smile, turning your back on him as you walked to center stage. You heard him groan under his breath as he trailed behind you.

You both stood next to each other, or five feet apart from each other, flipping the pages of your script to the next scene. You quickly skimmed through the page, reading through the scene you were about to act out.

“Let’s go to the scene where Troy and-”

You heard a loud snap coming from the ceiling. “Watch out!” Someone from the back screeched.

You felt a strong pair of arms grab you and pull you to their body, covering your head. A large sand bag fell from the roof, making everyone around you scream and hold on to each other.

“Is everyone ok?” You heard Seb cry out.

You look up from your hands that covered your eyes and saw horror in everyone’s eyes, from the sack to you. Confused, you remembered that you were in someone’s grasp. You look up and see Ricky, breathing heavily. He looked at you and everything was quiet.

You pushed yourself off of him, sweeping your body from the dust in the air. Ricky did the same, clearing his throat and avoiding your gaze.

“Maybe we should take a five.” Miss Jenn hummed, “Ricky and Y/N can go and look for a quiet, hopefully safer place to practice lines while the rest of us can figure out how to work the lights and not die.”

➢➣ ➢➣

“Wow, not even a goddamn thank you for saving your life?” Ricky asked annoyingly as he closed the door behind him.

You had both found a hidden storage room in the dusty halls of the theatre. Inside were worn out dresses with threads popping out, multiple broken chairs probably used during performances, and an old piano.

You rolled your eyes, “No one asked you to save me, Dicky.”

“What did you just call me?” He growled.

“I said Dicky.” You spat. You dusted off the chair of the piano before sitting down, leaving room for Ricky.

He rolled his eyes and took off his navy hoodie. His shirt went up a little, revealing his toned chest. You forced yourself to stop staring and tried to ignore him as he sat down, leaving as much room in between you two as possibly without falling off the bench. His hands grazed they top of the piano before pressing his fingers on top of the keys. He began to mess around with the notes, playing small and random tunes. His eyes were glued to the instrument as he played, and you noticed a small smile forming on his lips as he practiced . You almost forgot about everything as you listened to him play. Watching him focus on his music brought a shiver to your body, and almost a warm feeling in your stomach. You had never felt this towards Ricky, all you felt was anger. But now, this whole new feeling brought a new light to you.

“Should we start practicing our lines?” Ricky asked, turning to look at you. A heat ran to your cheeks as you both stared at each other. You noticed a change in his eyes and saw him glance down at your lips once.

“Yeah, uhm, go to page five.” You said, turning away and grabbing your script from the top of the piano.

Ricky was still in shock of what happened. He got up from the bench and grabbed his script from a tall, wooden shelf next to the door. He watched as you turn around the seat to face him, still looking at your script. He noticed your tongue stick out ever so slightly which made him smile. He quickly wiped the smile from his face, bewildered by his reaction.

“I don’t need my script, do you?” You ask softly.

His throat went dry as he looked at you, your hair falling slightly over your flushed cheeks. Something in him clicked, and his knees began to grow heavy.

“No, you’re perfect-that’s perfect.” He rambled.

You kept the page of the scene open and placed the script next to you on the bench. “Remember in kindergarten, you’d meet a kid, know nothing about them, then ten seconds later, you were best friends?” You recite.

“Yeah.” Ricky mumbled.

“Singing with you felt like that.”

“I never thought about singing, that’s for sure. Until you. And now,” He said, gazing into your eyes. “And now,” He repeated, seeming lost.

“What an actor you are.” You joked, giggling a little.

“What does that mean?” He asked somewhat annoyingly.

“It was a joke, Ricky. Calm down.” You countered, standing up as you got more irritated. “You can’t take a joke?”

“I’m sorry, aren’t you the one who can’t even thank someone for saving their life?”

“That bag was no where near me, idiot. What were you trying to save me from? Dust bunnies?” You yelled.

Ricky scoffed, “And to think I thought we were getting better at being nicer to each other. I’ve tried so hard to make things between us better but clearly you don’t want that. I’m just waisting my time.”

You were taken back. “How is all of this my fault? You are the one who started getting pissed off at me for getting the lead when you wanted Nini. Is that why you fucking hate me? Because I’m not your ex girlfriend who is happy with her new boyfriend?” You screamed, your fists curled into each other tightly.

Ricky’s rich brown eyes grew shinier, his mouth agape and in shock. Neither of you have fought like this before.

“I’m sorry.” He said, taking the smallest step towards you. You took a small step back, feeling yourself close to the wall. “I’m an idiot.”

“That’s one way to put it.” You mumbled, stepping back one more step as you hit the door

“Look, I know it was wrong for me to be mad at you for getting the part. I was so caught up in the idea of me winning back Nini like they do in the movies that I totally disregarded your feelings too.” He confessed. “I started to realized how wrong I was about you a while ago, but we were so deep into our frustration for each other I didn’t know what to do but to try and start being more polite. I’m the worst guy in the world and you never deserved to be treated like a dick, it was all my fault.”

“I shouldn’t have been so rude either.” You muttered, “It was childish for me to retaliate with an attitude instead of just working it out, you know? I deserved some of the harshness from you.”

“Can we agree that this was on the both of us?” He begged, letting out a little laugh.

“Yeah, for sure.” You replied, softly laughing as you brought your attention to the floor.

You stared at your shoes and dusted off your jeans. You felt Ricky stare at you, so you looked up. His lower lip was caught in between his teeth, slowly turning his soft lips red. You couldn’t help but steal glances from his eyes to his lips, noticing Ricky do the same.

“I feel as though I owe you an apology.” He started, moving closer to you. His slim body towered over your own.

“Oh, you do. I expect an amazing gift to make up for this.” You smirked.

One of his hands went to your chin, grabbing it gently as the other went to your waist. Your hands rested on his chest.

“I have an idea.” Ricky whispered before he crashed his lips to yours.

His large hand moved from your chin to your waist. Your arms slid from his chest to around his neck, and curled up into his own curly hair. His grip on your waist tightened and pulled you closer to him, making sure to leave no space in between you. You tugged his hair, making him let out a low groan. You smiled at his reaction. His hands slid down your waist and under your butt, motioning you to jump. You jumped up and wrapped your legs around his waist, and he slammed you up against the door. He began to trail kisses from your lips to your neck, and you tried your best to hold in a moan. You felt the marks he was leaving from your neck to your collarbone. You moved his head back up and brought your lips to his again.

“I knew you had a crush on me.” You breathed out. He bit your bottom lip, making you gasp, and letting his tongue slip through.

Ricky walked back to the piano and sat down, letting you straddle his waist. You latched your lips to his neck, leaving matching marks on his neck. He let out small moans, gripping your hips tighter as you went on. Your hands went to the hem of his shirt, tugging at it so he would take it off.

“Ricky? Y/N? Are you two in here? This door is jammed!” You heard Big Red call out from past the wooden door.

You both quickly pulled away, getting up from his lap and readjusting your shirt. Ricky did the same to his messy hair. He swiftly grabbed his hoodie he left on the piano and tossed it you, motioning at your neck with the numerous marks he left.

“Yeah we’re here! Just push the door.” He replied. He moved one of his hands to the side of his neck, hoping to subtly cover up the red scars you left him.

You managed to put Ricky’s hoodie on before Red opened the door. You took in the scent of his cologne and adjusted the collar more up to hide your bruises.

“Miss Jenn is having a midlife crisis so we’re going to order pizza. Are you guys good with pepperoni and soy cheese?” He wondered.

“Yeah, totally fine.” You answered. Ricky gave a small nod to his friend.

Red was quick to notice you wearing Ricky’s clothing on your body, but didn’t want to question it out of fear for his life. He gave a simple “ok” and left without question, knowing he would just demand answers out of his best friend later.

Ricky turned back to you, scratching the back of his neck. “About what just happened-”

“We can discuss over our next read through together.” You interrupted, giving him a soft smile.

“How about the movies tomorrow? At 8?” He asked hopefully.

You gave him a smile and walked up to him, going to peck his lips only to be pulled back by Ricky for another sweet kiss.

➢➣ ➢➣

You both walked back to your friends who were scattered around the main entrance of the theatre. Everyone noticed you two holding hands, Ricky’s hoodie, and the obvious makeup on his neck. You both acted as though nothing happened.

You were pulled away by Carlos and Ashlyn, noticing Red going for Ricky. “Excuse me, last time I remembered you and Ricky were about to murder each other.” He mumbled quickly.

“What do you mean? We just had a really, really heated argument right now.” You defended, playing with the sleeves of his larger hoodie.

“Is there something on your neck? Oh my god Y/N did you and Ri-”

Miss Jenn bursted through the door happily, “Alright kids, let’s go back to school!”

A/N - well heres another imagine !!! this one was fun to write and more steamy so ur welcome ! im thinking of doing a part 2 to breakdown, so let me know what u think or send me suggestions or requests of what to write next :)) love y’all

#ricky bowen imagine #ricky bowen x reader #ricky bowen #ricky bowen blurbs #ricky bowen fluff #ricky bowen angst #ricky bowen oneshot #joshua bassett x reader #joshua bassett imagine #joshua bassett oneshot #hsmtmts imagine

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specsforwoo · 3 years

Text

Son of Notus | Demigod!Ten

Parent Deity: Notus ( God of the Southern Winds)

Allegiance: Aether

asldkfjaslkj Airhead much

Okay he is actually really smart

But he hates showing it because he doesn’t want to be stuck up

Like top of his meteorology class

But also top of of his modern dance class

He really likes dancing

It makes him feel like he is flying

Which is the best feeling in the world if you ask him

Kinda found out he was a demigod on accident, but he doesn’t even know he is a demigod asldfkgj

LIKE IT WAS A MAJOR ACCIDENT

So maybe he got a little too heated in an argument and a desk was flown into a wall

And he didn’t touch the desk

Notus is known for being the most temperamental of the Wind Gods

And it definitely passed on to his son

Oops

But he is also probably one of the most laid back of his friends beside Johnny

His personality really changes depending on who he is around

He likes to act silly around Taeyong and Yuta because seriously those two need to take a chill pill and down it with a Piña Colada

But when he is around his half-siblings and younger demigods he turns really protective really fast

And when he is around say Johnny or Chenle or Haechan he becomes the somber one because someone needs to stay calm when those three are together

So he actually got brought to camp rather forcefully

Because apparently when a monster is hot on your tail it tries to directs you to other demigods

Which is exactly what happened

Remember that desk that flew into a wall, well the person he was arguing with was actually a cyclops shrouded by the Veil

Good job, Ten

And the monster chased him all the way to the camp

But like he wasn’t claimed yet and had only known about his powers for a few mere hours, the poor boy

So he crossed the borders to camp and suddenly the cyclops stopped chasing after him? But he was open in the middle of the woods?

Until he turned around and he saw this huge green field with a pavilion and a lake and what looked like 50+ cabins in the distance and an amphitheater

And he was even more terrified because what in hell is this place and how could I not see it before

And suddenly this young girl who was probably around 5 years old with green skin came up and latched onto his leg

And now he’s even more scared bEcAUSEe GreEEN SkiN

But then a normal human walks up to him and sees the cyclops outside the border and kinda just goes oh, new demigod? Have you been claimed?

And honestly he is ready to pass out

Which he does

So apparently after he passed out (the little girl started crying because the cute man is hurt) that random demigod called for help and helped carry him to the pavilion before calling the Apollo/Achelios Camp Leader to check him out

After he woke up it took him a realllllly long time to process everything

And that night when he went to sleep in the Hermes cabin he was still super confused and kinda scared. Because did his mom know where he was? His cellphone dropped into a river while he was being chased. Did he even know where he was? Was he a freak? A million thoughts were running through his head at once

After barely sleeping a wink he woke up to an blow horn and 3 campers cackling around his bunk

Which got him mad and when he clenched his fist the blown horn popped

Oops

So basically he was in the Hermes cabin for around 3 months because no one had claimed him but he had also shown powers limited to demigods so he definitely wasn’t an outsider

And he actually got into the swing of things

Archery was cool, he was okay at it

He didn’t like swords that much but he could survive

But wow, flying on a pegasus? That was the best feeling in the world

He loved the go to the track and fly around after dinner until midnight

And suddenly one day while he was training with his pegasus, Tadd, he got bucked off the saddle while everyone was watching

It was at least 30 feet high

And he landed on his damn feet

And the next thing he knew he had a shining silver cloud erupting in flames over his head

And a voice in the back of his middle, deep, gruff and spiky was talking to him about how he was ready to face the challenges as the son of a god, a specific god: Notus

And Ten was really happy, so was everyone else because 1) they had never had a son of Notus here before and 2) Everyone could tell Ten couldn’t wait until the day he found out who his father was

So Ten has probably been at this camp the longest except for Jaemin but that’s a long story

And the one thing he does do during the summer is go out into society to look for other demigods

Which was how he met you. He had tracked you to a small town outside of Seoul and you were just like any other person

Music blasting in your ears as you walked down the street, humming along, eyes glued to your phone

And he almost thought that he had tracked the wrong person

Until he noticed your little obsession with gold.

Not like you were robbing banks and jewelry stores but as he got closer to you in order to bring you to the camp he realized you like to sew clothes with gold colored thread, Your jacket had gold embroidering. Your phone case was gold

When he brought it up you just laughed and said that your mom had told you all your life that gold was your dad’s favorite color and for a while you used to use it to give a connection to him but soon it became your favorite color as well.

And one day while he was meeting you up for coffee at a local donut shop, he noticed a shadow out of the corner of his eye but decided to ignore it

2 hours later he was gripping your hand running down an alleyway trying to pull drachma out of his pocket so he could hitch a ride back to camp and away from the Griffin currently chasing you down

Apparently waiters don’t like it when you try to send cold coffee back

He finally got you in a Hermes Cab and spent the entire time to the camp explaining what had happened

Let’s just say you took it a lot better than he did and didn’t have to be carried inside the camp borders

He was about to take you to the Hermes cabin when a Sun and Lyre appeared simultaneously above your head

You had been claimed by Apollo in the mere 5 hours you had been aware that you were a demigod

And Ten had to admit, he was jealous, why did he have to wait 3 months when you had to wait 5 hours

But he was also happy because he knows the feeling of finding a missing part about the puzzle that was a demigod’s life

So he goes and introduces you to your half-siblings and you immediately fit in

And he usually leaves new campers here, their cabins will take care of them now, but he doesn’t want to leave you

But has to because Johnny keeps Iris messaging him from the Aether Cabin about some party he needs help setting up

And to his dismay it seems like you don’t even notice him leaving

Or even his presence for the next 3 weeks because you have been getting along with your siblings really well

But one day Johnny is throwing another party and it spread across the entire camp, but he just wasn’t feeling it

He seemed even more bitter about the party than Taeyong

And you were there of course, talking with Sicheng (your Camp Leader) and Taeyong but kept noticing Ten just sitting in the corner reading a book? It was about modern dance okay

So you excuse yourself from Tae and Sicheng to go and plop down next to Ten

They were both totally giving you wiggly brows and side eyes

But he looked up from the book, startled to see you sitting across from him

You were the first one to speak

You're usually the life of the party, what’s going on?

Just not feeling it

It was easy to tell he didn’t want to talk about it, at least to you

So right as he went to pick up the book again you cut it

ThankYouForFindingMeAndBringingMeHereAndIReallyOweYouBecauseYouSavedMyLifeAndIDon’tKnowHowToRepayYou

*Breathe*

AndI’mEvenMoreSorryAboutAvoidingYouBecauseIDidn’tKnowWhatToSayAndYouKindaMakeMeNervousBecauseIThinkYouAreCute

And you realized what you said right after you said it causing you to jump out of your seat, racing pasting a chuckling Sicheng and Haechan while blushing

Did I mention Ten is also Track Captain at camp because Wind Gods are super fast and that passes on to him and Johnny just hates running

So he caught up to you right in front of the lake holding your arm

I think you are cute too

And he leans down, kissing your cheek

And he walks you to the Apollo Cabin, kissing your cheek again before going back to his own cabin

It’s the first night since his first day at camp that he can’t sleep

But he doesn’t mind it this time

They think I’m cute too. *cue unmanly giggling at 4 am followed by a pillow thrown from Johnny’s side of the room*

And the next day it’s back to when you didn’t know you were a demigod

You and Ten are practically joined at the hip

While he helps you with agility and reflex you help him with archery

And you both are great flyers

And while he practices dance, you play the harp to create simple melody for him to follow

You guys really just compliment each other in every way

Making you the perfect team

Especially when chariot racing is on the table

You are a much better marksman than he is and he is a much better driver than you lol

So basically every time you 2 team up for racing

No one else wants to join because they know you will win

So the Camp Director forces you two to be on separate teams with in your own cabins

Which means you are paired with Sicheng, who is a great driver and an even better shot

And Ten is stuck with Johnny, dear god

Actually Johnny is really good with a Javelin and Sword so you know you are going to have to watch out for him

And you two get competitive

Remember how I said you make a perfect team?

You might make better enemies lmao

Ten tried to drive your chariot off the track so you Stuck a javelin in his back piston

Sicheng fired a flaming arrow into their hold so Johnny sawed through half of your reins

In the end you won

Shhhh, Ten wants a recount

Okay but he is really excited, jumping out of the chariot and racing over to you while Sicheng is trying to pull at your arm to go to the pavilion to be crowned with a golden laurel

And Johnny is silently sulking on the second place pedestal

But once you and Sicheng are hoisted onto the first place platform and you are crowned he is screaming and hollering and just overall being a really supportive boyfriend

But when you guys go onto the track competition he whoops your ass and doesn’t think twice about it

But you are there in the crowd screaming and hollering and being an overall supportive girlfriend

And later that night the camp decides to hold a sorta dance to commemorate the competitions and their winners

And everyone takes it seriously

Like after a straight week of pushing each other into mud and water and falling of pegasi in the sky and pushing your way through monster infested forests

Everyone wants to dress up and be slightly classy

So the Aphrodite and Eros houses have had boys and girls alike weaving in and out of their common areas because they offered to help everyone look their best for this event

And you and Ten agreed to not reveal your outfits to each other until you met up at the pavilion

And you were in a light blue dress that you got an Aphrodite kid to enchant so it would look like clouds moving around the ripples in the dress

And Ten was in a flowy gold top, half tucked into slacks and a couple buttons undone. An Eros kid temporarily threaded his hair with gold

BEST DRESSED COUPLE ANYONE

So basically he forces you into the middle of the dance floor and does that cheesy slow dance in the middle of everyone else jumping around and headbanging

But DJ!Mark totally notices so he switches the song to a self composed one that has a nice melody to it and soft vocals so he can create the mood for you two

And you are both slightly swaying to the music, nothing too fancy, definitely not what everyone was expecting from Ten

But you have you head on his shoulder, his hand encaptured in yours with his other on your waist as you both whisper a small conversation

And he mentions he’s met Apollo once

Which totally shocks and scares you… because he’s met your dad? The god?

But he just chuckles under his breath, and whispers in your ear about how he made Ten promise to never hurt you or he would face the full wrath of a god

Which got you even more scared because Ten… pls dont get hurt

But he laughs under his breath again and lets go of your hand to pull something out of his back pocket

And it’s a charm bracelet with a lyre and a cloud on it with a cursive T too

And as he slips it onto your wrist

He whispers about how he told your dad that he would quicker marry you than hurt you

a n y w a y s

Ten is a really soft bf and demigod and person in general

Unless it comes to hurting someone he loves

Then he can and will seriously injure someone

But other than that

Everyone looks up to him

Not just because he has been there forever