#(buddy you’re making it difficult to write!) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

randomshyperson · 4 months ago

Text

One Of Your Girls - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

summary: A study session turns into a make out session. Or the one where the most beautiful girl on campus is your situationship and you would never refuse to distract her, even during exam weeks.

words: 3.820k | warnings: (+18), college au, fuck buddies, popular!wanda x loser!reader, mostly smut but there’s actually some plot here, bottom!wanda (we need way more of this sorry), oral, fingering, some dirty talk, reader is briefly described to be shy and introverted because of the loser archetype, w and r are actually super comfortable with each other don’t be fooled, text messages are in bold cause i never tried that before.

A/N-> I have written more than 100 works for wanda, but I don’t remember ever writing casual sex before. To be a demisexual is really something, huh? Anyways, this was actually based on “One of Your Girls” from Troye Sivan, but around the middle I just started doing my own thing honestly. Good reading!

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Song-Based Collection

-&-

To inspire students to have sharper minds, as she likes to say, Miss Harkness is known for having the hardest tests on the entire campus. This means that you needed to study seriously for next week's exam, without quick readings or breaks to watch the television or talk about anything other than Applied Sociology with your friends.

And definitely, no 'study' sessions with Wanda Maximoff.

You shouldn't even think about Wanda, and her emerald eyes and bold hands. You need to think about Émile Durkheim or Max Weber, and any other sociologist from past centuries, with their difficult theories from which long and complicated questions will be in your exam.

But Wanda and the casual thing you two have is like clockwork. You had barely made up your mind about keeping your distance, and prepared a proper study session in your dorm - empty that afternoon due to a divine miracle that occupied Natasha and her girlfriend Maria all day - for your cell phone to vibrate with the notification from the person you had decided to ignore.

Stealing a glance at the contact name, you grunted quietly and turned your attention back to the book that had just finished reading the first page.

Focus.

Another vibration makes you roll your eyes.

Wanda didn't do anything wrong, maybe you could just say you’re busy.

"I am bored."

Her text makes you laugh through your nose. Typing quickly, you don't expect a return to your "And I’m busy. Talk to u later."

Your cell phone vibrates again, but you stand firm. Sociology will not study itself. There's a shift of pages, and you taste some of the mint tea from the mug on the table before your cell phone rings again.

Maybe it's someone else. It may be important.

You can’t even fool yourself.

The book is placed on your lap, and you unlock the screen for a photo that brings a warm color to your ears and spreads around your body as quickly as this whole thing began.

"What if I was in public?." You type with a certain harshness, which doesn't match the way your heart missed a beat. Or how you've completely forgotten about the book now, and all you can do is bite back a sigh at the image of the prettiest nipples in this galaxy.

Wanda responds in the same second, and you want to ignore the way your stomach twists at the thought of her feeling eager for a response from you.

"Kinky."

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "You're the worst" That's what you type. You end up sighing when looking at the pile of books around. Wanda only needed one stupid photo to completely take your focus away.

She types before you can tell her off for it. "Are you in your dorm? Wanna see you."

You bite your lip. She is so infuriating.

"I have to study."

You can almost hear her giggling on the other end. "Don't you always?"

You think about cursing at her teasing, but you don't want to cross any lines. It's true that this relationship is a constant push and pull, but Wanda isn't clingy for no reason. You're about to ask if something happened when she adds "Are you really gonna force me to send another photo..."

You swallow hard. "I'm not forcing you to do anything. I was innocently studying until now.”

It takes her a moment, but finally, there's another photo. With your fingers shaking, you forget to breathe at the image of her thighs, a red garter belt in contrast to the pale skin, barely covered by her mini-skirt. It was such a simple image yet so provocative, Wanda truly had talent.

"Fuck me." You sigh quietly, unable to type anything back for a moment.

And so she does it first. "Did I melt your brain?"

“Please come here.” You begged, only imagining her smirk on the other line.

Wanda typed back a second later; “I thought you were studying. I wouldn't want to distract you.”

You huckle incredulously at her cynicism, and almost type back a curse but end up deciding to get up instead, hurrying to make the room less messy for your guest.

Wanda takes a while to show up at your room - Unlike you, she lives on the other side of campus, in an apartment shared with her brother. The outfit she's wearing is definitely more impressive in person, and you have to control yourself not to feel jealous at the realization that a good part of the university has just seen her parading around looking so stunning. This was definitely Yelena's doing, the one responsible for trying out everything she learned in her course on her friends and successfully dressing the whole group like supermodels.

Sometimes you wish you were more sociable, at least to be friends with Yelena and get new clothes.

Not that you have any idea of this, but Wanda did a great job of hiding the way her stomach did two flips when she saw how comfy you looked, the dark green sweatshirt covering your shorts making her immediately think about exploring underneath.

"What's up, loser?"

Wanda had this problem. High defense barriers, almost all the time, but especially when she was feeling things that were out of her control. Like the way her heart raced in your presence, or how she was starting to run out of decent excuses to meet you without admitting the only reason was simply because she wanted to spend some time together.

When you first talked, freshman year, she was the most intimidating person on campus (she still is), but with a little insistence (or friends playing cupid) you had managed to see sides of her that no one else had seen. And vice versa.

It was a pretty interesting dynamic, the most popular girl on campus and a big nerd with social anxiety were somehow dating. Wanda dragged you to parties whenever possible, a possessive hand on yours and a threatening look at any idiot who thought of giving you a hard time. And often you end up in some drunken Instagram live or records of friends making out in the background.

When you weren’t doing the things she liked, Wanda would just show up. After your classes, in the study hall, during your break from your internship, and in your dorm. She didn’t mind showing you off, but there was something so soft about spending time alone. When her defenses were down, the mean girl mask would fall and she would laugh at your stupid jokes, or dress up in your clothes to make pancakes in the middle of the night.

It wasn’t an official relationship, but it was something really closer to one. Something that gave her free rein to come and go as she pleased from your life, and mess everything around as she went.

You made room for her to enter, and she gave a long kiss to your cheek before leaving her shoes at the entrance. You were blushing when you closed the door.

The dorm you shared with Natasha had little more than the space needed for two beds and two desks, but somehow you and her managed to squeeze in enough decorations on the walls and even some of her ballet and fighting awards. Your side was covered in band and movie posters and science holiday medals. A barely used keyboard sat dusty in the corner, and you had made a mental note to show Wanda how to play Over the Rainbow sometime. She tossed her backpack on the corner of your desk, and you hurried to try to clear up some of the clutter on the wood, blushing even more when she chuckled.

“Come here.” She asked softly, and you swallowed hard as you stumbled closer to her again, guided by her hands holding your wrists. Wanda actually wanted your arms around her, and that’s where she put them. So her hands went up to your shoulders. “You always get so shy when we’re alone.”

“I am shy.”

She shakes her head slightly. “That’s not true,” she says, leaning in close to brush her lips against yours. You gasp slightly, and Wanda pulls away, teasing. "You're an introvert, but no one shy says the things you say when you're turned on, darling"

Yochuckle, shaking your head with pink cheeks. "Shut up."

She bites back a smile, and leans in, but the kiss is too short, it's so unfair. You try to chase her mouth, but Wanda pulls away to hug you. And that surprises you as much as her breathing deeply into your neck.

You don't remember hugging her before. Not really. There's plenty of sex of course, and making out and pillow talk and late-night snacks. But Wanda isn't the type to cuddle, or hug. It gives what you two have an intimacy that you understand she doesn't want to have, or didn’t, past tense.

Your hand caresses your back, and you're not quite sure if you should say anything but finally you do; "Is everything okay?"

It's like throwing a bucket of cold, reality-filled water over her. She breaks the hug, forcing a laugh that doesn't convince you at all.

"Of course!" She says, pulling you close at once and giving you a kiss that's much more determined than before. That almost makes you forget where you were, almost. "Let's take these off." She pulls the folds of your sweater up, but even though you let her, you risk:

"Wanda, are you sure-"

She cuts you off again, this time kissing you with tongue. It's definitely hotter, and it elicits a breathless moan from you. Her hand holds your face, controlling the kiss until you whimper against her mouth. Wanda lets you breathe as she pushes you by the shoulders to the bed, and you fall sitting, facing her.

"I said take your clothes off." She repeats, but it's her who puts on a little show. She pulls off her blouse at once, and the exposure of her breasts covered only by a red lace bra leaves you mesmerized. Wanda giggles at your reaction. “Every damn time.” She teases, her hands moving to undo it. But you move suddenly, grabbing her hips and pulling her onto your lap in urgency. Wanda gasps in surprise at the heated kiss, losing herself in the task of removing her bra as you start to suck on her tongue. With one hand on your shoulder for support, the other ruffles your hair before she feels her bra loosen on her body, not having even noticed your hands working on the clasp until now. She bites her bottom lip as she feels the item being pulled away from her body.

“You’re getting better at this.” She teases again. You look at her with lust-bright eyes but also with a frown.

“Better? When have I ever been bad at this? Certainly not with you, because you came three times on your first time together.”

Wanda raises an eyebrow at you, her hips grinding slowly against your lap. “Like I said, not shy at all.” You roll your eyes, gripping her hips a little more firmly to guide her movements. It's Wanda who chases your mouth again, returning with equal fervor every kiss you give her.

Your hands let go of her hips to slide down her thighs, until finally touching the garter belt. You break the kiss with an affected groan, and Wanda takes the opportunity to catch her breath a little. If the image of her swollen lips and dilated pupils wasn't enough to drive you crazy, looking down did. Her skirt was wrinkled up, and the red garter belt was truly a sight. A damp spot was now visible on your pants from all her grinding, and you would have time to feel proud of making her so aroused with just kisses later.

As you pulled the garters and made them slap gently against Wanda's skin, you smiled when she shivered, a breathy moan escaping her mouth. It was such a beautiful thing, turning all her bad girl attitude into a pathetic mess of whimpering.

But suddenly you remembered that she had walked across half the campus wearing this, so your clenched jaw had another reason.

"Did you get dressed up for me?"

Wanda gave a short laugh, not really understanding what you were saying. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

You glared at her, your hands giving another warning tug, and Wanda wanted to hate the way her body twitched, but she couldn't help it.

"If not me, who?"

She blinked in confusion, deep in her own lust.

Why were you still talking when she was literally dripping on your lap?

"What are you-" She fell silent when you grabbed her throat, your grip making her thrust her hips in desperation for friction, her mouth opening in a needy moan. Her own reaction surprised her, and Wanda would have tried to work things out if you hadn't taken away her ability to respond when you kissed her again, dirty and hard until she started whimpering on your tongue again. When you pulled apart again, your fingers invaded her mouth and Wanda's eyes widened, realizing that this might be the first time she'd come without even being properly touched.

You seemed to have noticed the same thing, a chuckle escaping you as she began sucking on your fingers with the same fervor she was trying to grind into your lap.

"Tsk, look at you, Wanda." You began, your hand moving from her throat down to her garter belt, to pull it off again. "You really want me to believe anyone else can turn you into this needy mess?" Flushed with arousal, Wanda still manages to frown in confusion. Anyone else. What the hell are you talking about? There’s no one else.

But suddenly, you remove your fingers from her mouth, and when she tries to ask, it's too late. Your soaked fingers have moved down and they fill her without warning, sinking inside her and eliciting a throaty moan that makes her head fall forward, forehead to yours, and nails digging into your shoulders. You laugh hoarsely. "Fuck, you're so wet, Wands."

The dirty sound of your fingers moving inside her echoes in the room along with her breathless moans, but you don't prolong things for too long. There’s an urgency and roughness to your movements that makes Wanda roll her eyes back and bounce on your fingers in animalistic desperation.

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna—” It’s always such a beautiful sight. She arches on top of you, spasming as her climax hits her and spreads hot waves of pleasure. Your hand is soaked, but you pull your fingers away to lick them one by one as Wanda tries to get back into orbit.

When she finally does, it's rewarding. It's your turn to have your throat grabbed, and Wanda presses forward until you're lying on the bed, at her mercy, even as a smile plays on your lips.

It's time for her to shake that smugness off your face.

"You're overdressed." It comes in a warning tone, and her hands go down to remove your clothes, one by one. You help her, between one kiss and another, a touch and a squeeze, until finally, Wanda ends up on your lap again, this time, with no fabric between you other than the beautiful lingerie she picked out for you.

Oh, of course she lets you know.

"I don't want you to get any more cocky than you already are." She began between the countless breathless kisses you were exchanging, minutes on end in this hot make-out session. "But all I could think about when I bought it was how you were going to look at me." She takes advantage of your gasp in surprise to bite your lip and pull, making you tremble. With a smug little smile, Wanda looks at you with darkened eyes. "And how were you going to take it off."

Your hands move of their own accord - There's a hard tug to pull her against you, and you end up rolling around on the bed, until Wanda ends up underneath, writhing at your touch. Your fingers slipped under the belt again, but now you take your time to remove the item, slowly until Wanda couldn't hold her breath any longer.

Stealing a glance at her dripping pussy that she displayed so proudly on her parted legs, you clicked your tongue again before finding your space in her middle, your hands fitting behind her thighs.

"You spoil me, you know?" You whisper, feeling her fit her ankles into your back, an impatient whimper escaping her. You were so close to where she wanted, needed, but still not giving her what she was begging for. "I don't know what I did to deserve such a sweet gift."

Wanda tries to play along, she really does. But you give her a tentative lick, and another, and all that escapes her are shaky moans, as one hand grips your hair, the other seeks support in the sheets. Something she can pull at will without hurting.

She feels hot in all the right places, and she wants to police herself for how addicted she is becoming to the feeling of having you like this, but it's impossible to think about that right now. With you eating her so well and making her forget all her problems.

You hum suddenly, satisfied at the taste, and at the vibration, Wanda loses it. There's a loud whimper escaping her throat as she arches against you, begging for more, but you hold her in place, your own hips grinding against the bed as Wanda starts to sound desperate for your tongue to go deeper.

When you risk teasing her again, shallow tongue strokes that leave her dizzy and shaking, Wanda loses her patience. She curses under her breath, and grabs your hair with determination, managing a satisfied grunt from you before she forces your face against her pussy. Not caring if she’s hurting you or suffocating you, Wanda chases her high with near desperation. She grinds her hips against your face, and locks her legs behind your back, using you until she comes.

She sounds so hot when it finally happens. Your name drips from her tongue as she drips into your mouth. It’s so strong that her body instantly goes weak, her legs shaking around you. You chuckle against her thigh, taking great satisfaction in leaving her like this.

Still catching her breath, she calls out. “Come here, asshole.”

You think she wanted a kiss, maybe another orgasm. But Wanda just adjusts you to her side, so she can rest against you. This is new too, spooning. It's the kind of thing casual encounters shouldn't do.

Of course she notices how tense you've become, and it only takes the moment for her to stop shaking for Wanda to look up, her chin resting on your chest.

"You don't have to overthink everything."

A nervous laugh escapes you. "I wasn’t."

Wanda makes a small grimace of unconvincedness. "I know you were. It's what you do. It's one of the things that makes you, you." She says, and it takes you a little by surprise. She sighs then, and looks away, resting her face against your chest again. You almost think she's not going to say anything else when she continues. "It's good that you think of all the possibilities. That way I'll never be able to disappoint you, you'll always see it coming."

You frown, absorbing her words in silence for a moment. Wanda begins to draw patterns on your stomach that look like her initials, until you sigh.

"I know we haven't named it what’s between us, but whatever it is, you can always tell me what's bothering you." You let her know quietly, your fingers playing through the strands of her hair. "And we can just talk, you know? It doesn't always have to end in sex. You don't have to get a new lingerie as an excuse to see me. No matter how hot you look on it."

She pinches you for the joke, but she’s smiling when she looks back at you.

“You’re not good at the whole casual sex thing, are you?” She teases, but she’s genuinely so happy with your previous words that she just can’t hide it.

You smile, watching her hover closer and closer. “You think? Because I think I’m doing pretty well at this, miss-Oh, baby, I’m gonna come,”

You do an imitation that makes Wanda's eyes widen and she blushes deeply while she huffs in embarrassment. You burst out laughing when she tries to cover your mouth and stop the teasing, and it ends up turning into a small fight of hands and tickles until Wanda ends up underneath again, now with her hands pinned on either side of her head.

There is an exchange of glances between the two of you, and you are smiling just like her.

You know that today, Wanda will not tell you what bothered her, what brought her here. She is right, however, you’re an overthinker and already have a hundred possibilities for what could have brought her there, and considering that you know from her friends how much she has been fighting with her father in the last few weeks, it is not hard to assume it is related to that.

But Wanda returns the intensity of your gaze, and you know that something between you has changed. She will tell you when she is ready.

Your grip on one of her hands loosens, and Wanda uses the opportunity to touch your cheek.

"What are you thinking about?"

You sigh, and she can tell. Her heart misses a beat, and she considers if she’s ready for a confession. If it would scare her or make her so happy, she would freeze. Maybe both.

But you grimace a little, and smirk, and Wanda feels silly for even considering.

"I'm definitely going to fail Miss Harkness's class this semester."

Wanda frowns and then bursts out laughing, confused and incredulous.

"What?" She asks between laughs. “Why would you be thinking about this now? With a naked girl in your bed, you nerd!”

You giggle at her words, your free hand fitting on her waist as you wait for her to stop chuckling. "I don't know why you're laughing, this is your fault. You ruined all my study sessions with your... distracting presence."

She rolls her eyes in a playful manner. “"Well, I could always just leave-"

You grip her waist tighter, holding her in place. "Nah, who cares about classes anyway? Come here."

Wanda will definitely help you study, she makes a mental promise. But she will kiss you first just a little longer.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff oneshots #wanda maximoff imagines #elizabeth olsen #bottom!wanda

2K notes · View notes

dwaekkicidal · 1 year ago

Text

Lessons

˚ʚfwb!Bang Chan x fem!Readerɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: Just a regular session of your best friend helping you learn Korean <3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 1.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: fem!reader, nicknames; ‘honey and good girl,’ pvssy slaps, playful ass&thigh spanking, Chris calls himself Daddy once lol, rough sex, creampie (try to pee after sex pls <3)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: max and I spoke about this a few weeks ago and it was soo hot so I wanted to write something for it,,, but then I lost motivation for it for a while😭 anyways hope u enjoy <3

OH and thank you for 700 followers!! (im late so now so ~25 away from 800) :''') I have something planned for if/when I hit 1k hehe, Love u guys :>

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

After you had moved to Korea, you made it your sole goal to be completely fluent in Korean as soon as possible. You knew the basics and some vocabulary that got you through day-to-day encounters, but holding an actual conversation past introductions was rather difficult. So, this is how you found yourself in your current situation. Your best friend and fuck buddy of 2 years giving you weekly Korean lessons.

And this? This was a normal thing between you both. Sitting in his lap practicing while he sits there explaining things and kneading your thighs mindlessly. It was a normal occurrence! The only difference is you usually wore sweats or some sort of bottom that would cover your legs more. Today was one of the hotter days of the week, so you disregarded the extras and opted to only wear one of his shirts, nothing else.

His hands rubbed eagerly up and down your thighs, squeezing the flesh like he does with soft pillows. Again, it was normal, but today he seemed to be restless with his movements. You couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath when he mindlessly squeezed the flesh of your inner thigh rather roughly while he translated a word you couldn’t figure out. “What is up with you today? You’re more touchy-feely than usual.”

“Sorry haha. Had a long day so I’m fidgety.. And you know I can’t resist you in nothing but my shirt.” You only hummed in response. You believed what he said, but you also knew that he wasn’t stupid and that the apology was not for his roughness as much as it was for how riled up he knew you were getting. He was never actually sorry about being physically affectionate with you, but you both knew how you tended to get very horny when his hands were on you so desperately.

“Mmmm.. Let me play with you a little while you read, okay?” You shake your head and push your study items away, pulling a laugh from him when you mumbled out ‘Fuck that, I need you.’

“None of that hahaha. Focus on the reading, honey.” He said, placing a kiss on your cheek before leaning down and biting into your neck. You groaned and leaned back into him, grinding against him in an attempt to make him fold in your favor. He let the first few grinds pass as he left hickeys along your neck, but the second your hands cupped him through his shorts he grabbed your hips to still your movements.

“Hey.“ The commanding tone in his voice caught you off guard and had your hands immediately stop in their tracks. “Stop that. You’re going to finish reading this text and then I’ll fuck you nice and good.”

“It’s not that serious, Chris. It's just a few paragraphs, we can do it after or just skip out this week.. Plus it’s your fault I’m this horny anyways.” The attitude in your voice makes him narrow his eyes, and then he grabs your chin and angles you to look back at him.

“Watch your tone. And I’m not gonna tell you again,” His hand grabbed both of yours and placed them on the table before moving to spread your legs open for him. Then, he finishes his sentence and enunciates each word with a harsh smack to your bare cunt. “Finish. Reading. The. Article.” The last one comes off harder than the others and it pulls a squeal from you, making your hands shoot down and wrap around his wrist while your legs slam shut against his hand. He grabs from your inner knee and hooks your legs over his, keeping you spread for him, and he pulls your book closer again.

You can feel the teasing smile on his face after he places a kiss on your cheek and then speaks against it. “You only have one article left, honey. The quicker you read it, the quicker I can bend you over and fuck you into the table~” You can’t help but whine and nod. Once you look down at the material again, Chris’ hands that were previously rubbing your inner thigh move back to rub along your wet folds.

Then for what feels like the next hour, but was really just 20 long minutes, you slur out the words in front of you as best as you can. Chris’ left hand swapped between drawing circles into your clit and pinching your nipple, while his right hand shoved fingers against your walls. And every couple of minutes he would swap between kissing your neck to sucking hickeys into your collarbone. However, you weren’t allowed to cum and any time you mispronounced something or took too long to read a word, a stern slap was sent against your clit. As long as you continued to read well, he would pump 3 of his fingers in and out of you.

By the time you’re halfway through the material, your mind is foggy and you’re almost drooling on yourself from the constant edging. By the time you’re on the last sentence, your legs are shaking and you're slumped against him letting out quiet moans. Your neck and collarbone were so red from his incessant suckling, and you were desperate to get this over with. And then, when you finally finished, he stopped all movements to place a soft, congratulatory slap on your thigh and massaged your hips.

“Good girl… Now was that so hard?” With that, he hurriedly clears the desk before helping you stand and then standing himself. The chair you both rested on was kicked backwards and your whole world spun as he suddenly pinned you to the desk. You whined as his hand held a tight grip in your hair and pushed your face into the table. His free hand playfully squeezed and slapped at your ass a few times before you heard his shorts and boxers hit the floor.

You sighed out his name as he teased his tip through your folds, silently pleading with him to hurry it up. “Shhhhhh… ‘Atta girl. You did so well, baby. Now let me take care of you, yeah?”

He finally sunk in and nothing but low, whiny moans left your lips as you clenched around him. His free hand grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing it in appreciation while he slowly sunk every inch he had to offer. Once he bottomed out he gave you only a little bit of time before his thrusts started, albeit slowly at first but quickly ramping up due to his own impatience. It doesn’t take long for him to change to an unforgiving and rougher pace, his hand still holding your head against the table.

“Fff-fuck.. Christopherrr-”

“Yeah yeah, baby. Daddy’s got you. ‘M nice and deep, just how you like it right?” You missed the way he smirked when you let out a desperate ‘Uh-huh’ in response, but you could feel the way it encouraged him when his hips slammed against yours with more eagerness. He keeps this pace up for a while until he feels you tighten around him, and then he changes to slow, deep thrusts that make your eyes roll into your skull.

The hand in your hair slides on top of yours on the desk, intertwining your fingers, and he leans forward to place his forehead between your shoulder blades, “Mmmm keep squeezing me, Honey. Fffuck, juuust like that..”

When you’re tipping over the edge, he places a kiss on your sweaty skin and moans against it. “That’s it, baby. Cum for me and I’ll fill you up just how you like it, okay?” You want to nod, but everything hits you at once so you can only cry out against your desk.

As your orgasm starts to fade into overstimulation, he fixes his posture and focuses on his hip movements. A squeaky moan falls from your lips as he suddenly bottoms out and the hold on your hip tightens. He threw his head back and bit his bottom lip as he came, attempting to muffle his whiney moans. He rides out his orgasm by sometimes pulling out and snapping his hips harshly against yours.

“Fuck… If that’s how we end the studying session from now on, I might consider this payment.” He jokes.

You let out a breathy laugh and he starts to pull out slowly, pushing you into the table as he did so. You take the moment to catch your breath when you realize he’s gone quiet and there’s the light feeling of breath on your thighs. Your head snaps back and you realize he was kneeling in order to watch his cum slide down your folds.

“Hey!” you whine and place a hand on his forehead, pushing his face away only for him to resist, so you use your feet to push him harder. He laughs at your embarrassment and stands up, pulling you to sit up as well and lifting the shirt off of you. He uses it to wipe you down before throwing it into your hamper and grabbing one of his spare shirts from your dresser. He steals a kiss before covering you in the shirt, then drags you to the living room to watch a tv show together.

You two spend the rest of the night on the couch, watching tv and relaxing in each other’s warmth. It’s no surprise when soft snores are heard and you look down to see his sleeping face squished into your chest. You huff out a laugh before you snuggle him closer. Then, your eyes get heavy until they inevitably close, and you fall asleep too.

Taglist:

@jiminssluttyminx @changisworld @juskz @linohumina

#sian’s writing #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan x reader smut #bang chan imagines #chan smut #chan x reader #chan x reader smut #chan imagines #skz x reader #skz x reader smut

3K notes · View notes

hoseoksluna · 1 year ago

Text

LIQUID STARS | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. bam)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.8k

summary: to seal the deal, you give jungkook what he wants—your kiss, your cunt and your virginity.

playlist: liquid stars / pinterest board: wine

warnings: size kink, heavy dd/lg themes, provocation, dry humping, dirty talk, mentions of porn, oral sex (f. + m. receiving), multiple orgasms & countdown, dom/sub dynamics, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), first time, jealousy, inner child healing, plushie used during intercourse, jungkook fucks her numb & dumb, praise kink, cum eating, pet names and the establishment of a title, bondage, raw sex, tummy bulge, desperation, pain felt during intercourse, squirting

note: as difficult as it was to write this, i'm immensely thankful. this changed my life; it healed me and i'll dream about it for a long, long time. i was as exhausted as oc once i finished this, because i truly did give my all. everyone, this is part four to my series 'wine' and therefore the very end. this is the very beginning of jungkook's and oc's relationship. can be read as a standalone as there aren't any quirks from the other parts (except for bunny), though if you wish to read them now, now is the perfect time. now you can see the beautiful gradual development of their relationship. please, enjoy as you read and let me know your favorite parts bc i need to talk about this. heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that can be uncomfortable for some. thank you! and thank you for all the love on this series. i'll never forget it. i love you, guys. ʚɞ

side note: give some round of applause for 3D daddy provider jungkook everyone!! he deserves it!!!

Silky lilac bows adorn the tops of your pigtails that cascade down in loose braids, sprawled on the cotton of his pillow and on the soft belly of a bunny plushie. There are still traces of sunlight left on the bedding, which dissolve, little by little, into nothingness as the large star goes down, saying goodbye. It’s lightweight, the atmosphere—homely almost. And much to your surprise, you feel relatively at ease, despite the fact a man lies on top of you—a man you have a certain liking for.

It was natural for you to end up here and you, yourself, wished for it, even. Deemed it was only right after the man took you around for a walk while his silly Doberman guarded each and every step both of you had taken in sync, especially so when he persisted in buying you a small plastic ring of the same bunny you’re lying against. He didn’t even forget about his own canine friend waiting outside patiently like the obedient dog he is, and fed him the snackies he got for him as soon as he returned from the shop. You swore Bam was as giddy as you when he received his gift.

Now the ring glints in the last rays of the sun. His, too.

While yours is as white as the cloudy morning sky, Jungkook’s is as black as the drowsily dozing night sky. You think it’s the perfect contrast between the pair of you. Not that you should be noting these things, considering you’re just friends. But his skin is satiny soft, painted in impressionist tattoos, while his muscles, that his well-fitted T-shirt graciously allows you to see, are strong. You’re sure he could just lift you and throw you around without much of a strain. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s such a striking image of pure beauty. How could you not notice these intertwinings when they’re this lovely?

You like him—without a shadow of doubt. Can feel the call of an emotional attachment forming the more he studies your skin with the tip of his index finger, embellished with the Miffy ring, and it’s owed to the fact you’ve never been touched this way before. No one has ever come this close, no one has ever been interested in the moles scattered upon your shoulders, in the veins that make the pathway to the column of your neck. No one has ever gazed twice at them—but Jungkook?

He hasn’t stopped looking at them ever since he laid you down in the middle of his bed.

How could you stop such a call? Such a lull, such a magnetic pull. You know you should, but for the meantime, you simply don’t want to. Can’t lose this moment, can’t lose this once in a lifetime opportunity—

Jungkook presses his lips against the prominent mole in the center of your left shoulder. Those pretty, puffy lips, closing against your skin, the smallest dart of tongue swiping past. It shocks you for a moment before the feeling dissolves beneath, adjusting within the freshness of your system. How could you refuse such dynamic poetry, expressed against your own forlorn body? When it’s so blatant that it’s natural, that your body willingly accepts it without a fight.

You couldn’t.

Stretching your fingers between the thick strands of his hair, you close your eyes to savor the feeling of being wanted. The movement of his mouth, going even as far as to the first vein rooted in your arm—following it with those half-closed pillows. Up, up until he finds the line of your collarbone. Jungkook pauses there, simply breathes against you before he interperses little pecks there, nibbles and gentle swipes of tongue. The lining of your top won’t let him go further down, so he changes direction—relies on the pathway of your veins to guide him to your neck. And there… at the first contact, you grip the roots of his hair.

His kisses and nibbles are much harder here. And what’s worse, he takes the sensitive skin into his mouth and sucks. You fail at containing the whimpers that break out of your mouth and Jungkook reacts to them. Hums ever so deeply, rocks his hips against the mattress. You wish you were a bit bigger so you could feel the collision, but you’re just so small compared to his large form. You imagine he’s writing down the poems collecting inside of him with each cursive roll of his tongue. Wonder if there’s enough paper on your skin for all his words.

“You sweet little thing,” Jungkook coos onto the crook of your neck, dragging his lips up and down before he stops at your jaw. You feel the warmth of his breath and his body heat seeps into yours, creating unity, blackening the ink. It feels strange, it feels so new. Brisk and springlike, like fresh air in a stuffed room. You want to stay here for a long time, tasting the wholeness of spring captured in him. You want his words to flush you red with the tinge of the entire sunlight that opens the buds of flowers during all seasons in a loop. “Can I kiss you?”

You haven’t gone beyond the innocent touching of hands with him. You brim with a tight feeling of thankfulness that he asked you such a graceful question, although something else steals your attention entirely.

“Little?” you say, the smile on your lips pulled so taut that it quivers ever so slightly. It makes you crazy that he calls you that, but you play the game. Revel in it. “What do you mean little? I’m bigger than you.”

Jungkook cocks his brow at you, mouth falling into a lopsided grin. He sits back and you feel a whiff of coldness pass by the perimeter of your body, as if someone opened the window and let the winter air in, when it’s just his brief distance that caused it. The forming attachment in you tenses and before you can think about your actions, your hand finds his knee, his thigh and traces slow patterns there. Jungkook suddenly squeezes your waist, surprising you, and the ecstatic fluttering of butterfly wings break havoc all over your body. The solidness of his hands, their weight, their firmness, giving life to your body, meaning. You note how his fingers touch when he has his hands enveloped around you like that. And the inkling that your body matters in his hands like that slips into your mind, spreading through its axis.

You bite your lower lip. A small ache begins to grow in your intimate parts. It’s so nice to be wanted, to be considered good enough to be touched, to be kissed.

“You? Bigger than me?” Jungkook squeezes your waist again. Sucks in a breath through his teeth. Smiles softly; in a way that you find unbearably endearing. “No, you’re just little. Just a tiny, little bug. So tiny in my hands.”

For the breath he inhaled, you exhale it.

He leaves his hands there when he bends over you, hovering his lips over yours. His weight, his heat. You sigh against him in relief, in a newly blossoming excitement that he’s back again. You spread your legs wider, feet grazing his calves—

“Let me kiss you, please.”

You’d give in, but the game is just so pleasurable.

Your laugh is but a breath. “You wanna kiss me?”

You exhaled, he inhaled.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Since when do friends kiss?” You cock your eyebrow at him just like he did, prodding your tongue on the inside of your cheek.

He hovers a little bit higher above you, hanging his head in defeat, sighing. Places his hands in fists on either side of you, caging you in.

“Premium friends do,” he mutters, lifting his head, face all serious. You dig your toe into the toned muscle of his thigh, twirling sweet little circles, gliding up and down. Watch as his eyes lid and he tries to control it. “Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you.”

Your body panics, but you will it to relax.

“Does that come with the premium subscription?”

Jungkook purses his lips, supports his weight on one hand as the other, the tattooed one, grips your jaw. He squishes your cheeks, bites his lip once—seemingly ponders whether he should play your game or not before he lets go of your pout, but still keeps his hand there. He traces the shape of your lips with this thumb, feeding his desire to kiss you with scraps.

“Yes,” he utters. “Kisses, orgasms, my dog. It’s all—”

Orgasms, not just sex. Orgasms.

“I get to take Bam?”

Jungkook tuts at you. “You get to take me,” he corrects you. “Though, can even such a little thing like you take me?”

Probably not. Definitely not.

“But what about Bam?”

He looks at you as if he couldn’t believe the words you’re saying, turning his head slightly to hear you better. Then, he scoffs, running his tongue across his lips swiftly, letting them express the enjoyment of your provocation by stretching into a smirk. He places his hand back on the right side of you, thinking over his words.

“Bam is mine, but you can pet him. You can kiss him.” You can hear the feigned venom in that word as he spits it and you grin, pleased with yourself. You enjoy doing this to him. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you take him out for his walkies.”

You gasp slowly, fingers absentmindedly gripping his thigh. Butterflies buzz you with a mere hint of arousal and to convey it, you wet your top lip with the tip of your tongue. The dominance, the principle of proving to him whether you’re deserving of something. Your heartbeat quickens, reaching for him with each swell.

Oh, you’ll be good. You’ll be good until he’s sick of it.

It seems he’s as pleased with himself as you were with yourself, reading your body language as he beams down at you, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. You want to stick your fingers there, pinch the skin at the corners of his mouth. Feel them, kiss them—

“Deal.”

Jungkook blinks at you. He most likely expected you to be difficult. You like the look of surprise on him. A sweet kind of glint perches itself upon his irises. You’re at awe of how he manages to be so adorable and alluring at the same time. You could never understand it. You deem he must be otherworldly.

“A kiss to seal the deal?” he tries, raising his brows, lowering himself to his elbows.

He skims his lips across your cheek, descending to your neck. Places one, singular kiss there. Lifts his head to hear your answer, a soft curtain of hair falling across his forehead.

You make a face as if you’re thinking about it.

Jungkook groans.

It’s cold, the way he turns away from you and it startles you—but then he slides his hands under your back and lifts you with ease, sitting you down on his lap. He moves you from the muscles on his thighs to the hardness of his intimate parts and you groan at the feeling of it. You’re wearing an airy short skirt with tights and knee socks underneath, the barrier so thin that you feel the solid, thick shape of him right under your femininity.

You rock against him once. Jungkook lets out a sound akin to yours, fingers flexing—hands almost reaching for your behind before he decides against it and keeps them planted against your back.

He desires your consent. And that makes you feel light-headed. Tipsy on the wholeness of him, on the pleasure coursing through your body.

You rock your hips again—and this time, Jungkook whimpers.

You take your hands and, slowly, you make a pathway down his chiseled chest. He twitches against you when your fingers pass by his nipples, his body following and squirming along. And once you reach the definition of his abdomen, your hands rise and fall against its quickening movement as his lungs heave. You’re mesmerized by his reaction to your touch. It’s as if it was his first time as well and something about that makes you woozy, savage and absolutely feline.

And something about the way you’re allowed to do as you please, whereas he’s not, strengthens that state of mind, enriches it, thoroughly worsens it.

You want him.

It began with a ring and ended right here.

And the process of your decision starts at his hips, finalizes at the pebbles of his nipples and finishes completely at the sides of his neck. He gives you the same, if not better, reaction, his manhood moving against you, and it’s settled.

The giving of virginity to seal the deal, not just a kiss.

Hovering your lips against his, you slip your hand to the place where you’re connected to feel up the shape of him. You moan onto him, vigorous power seizing you, propelling you to wrap your fingers around him. The breaths Jungkook emits are desperate, tortured, wafting over you, intoxicating you. It fills you with confidence unlike any other that you’re able to coax such a thing of beauty out of him—that you, the artist, have the upper hand momentarily while he doesn’t.

And he waits, depends on you. You want to cry due to how happy it makes you, due to the way it suffuses an empty part of you, left abandoned by someone who should’ve taken care of it a long, long time ago.

Because of that—if it’s kisses that he wants, you’ll give him as many as his body desires as a thank you.

“You’re so hard against me,” you whisper.

Jungkook grips your waist hard.

“If you want it, you have to seal the deal,” he mimics your intonation, voice deep, tingling your tummy.

“I want it.” You clutch both of your hands on his jawline, thumbs finding the invisible dimples.

“Kiss me, then.”

You whimper at the longing to do so. Your tummy clenches, butterflies inside swarm around and—

When you close your lips against his top lip, they burst into smithereens. Jungkook sighs in relief, enveloping you in his warmth.

The kiss is hungry. You expected his first taste of you to be careful, contemplative, but he goes all in. Takes charge of the lip lock, swallowing you whole, moving against you, uttering low sounds that make your head spin and you just comply. Accept that you’re the one who submits to his craving and you find yourself liking it; find yourself wanting to deepen your submission.

You wrap your legs around his waist, your head tilted as you reciprocate all of those hard kisses. When he comes up for air, he just gazes down at you, out of breath. One hand still on your back, the other cradles your cheek. There’s something puzzling in his eyes, as if he was fighting something within. You’re radiated by that energy, heavied down by it, letting him pet you like a puppy while you wait for the next step.

“You’re so good that I’m considering letting you take Bam out,” he breathes, curling a wisp of your hair behind your ear. “Sweet little thing.”

He pecks you once. You grind against his manhood and as he shortly groans onto your mouth, you splutter into giggles. Behind you, as if he heard him, the dog peeks his head out of the door, giving his Daddy a questioning look. Jungkook chuckles.

“Bam, house.”

The dog leaves and Jungkook sinks his fingers into your hair, sighing. Kisses you, again without tongue—only does what you’ve allowed him, but you overflow with the desire for more. He’s so considerate, so respectful and while you’re grateful for it, you want to break it. Your trust in him, made whole by all that he’s done for you, settled within you, made a bed in the sensitive parts of you that now shine. He doesn’t need to remain there—you want to go beyond that.

“Touch me, please.” You look up into his eyes as you say it, willing them to see with all your energy how much you want him.

He rubs soothing circles on your back. “If I touch you, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.”

You lift your butt ever so slightly and bounce down on him, your skirt furling. Jungkook moans, pleasing you to the core. It’s bratty of you, but it serves him right for being so stubborn, so firm in his control. You want to break him.

“Can’t you see how much I want that?” you purr, bunching the cotton of his T-shirt in your fists.

He merely shakes his head, licking his lower lip, fucking with you. He tugs on one of your braided pigtail, the other hand gliding to your hipbone. “This little girl is horny? I couldn’t tell.”

A yellow light, sleepy in nature, spills through the blinds, latching onto the side of your neck. His eyes flick to it and his teeth sink into the wetness of his lip. He looks back at you when he says, “what was it that made you horny? The neck kisses?”

He straps both of his hands to your hipbones now, adjusting you so your sweetest spot rests against his cock, rocking your hips like he wants them to. He swallows down his noises, makes room for yours. You figure he wants to hear them.

You think about what made you horny. His respectful behavior. An electric spark spasms in your core at the memory and you roll your body against his at the impact—nipples pebbled, grazing below the hardness of his pecks. You moan loudly. He breathes heavily, can’t for the life of him contain that, gripping you with strength that will surely leave bruises. You add it to the list.

His control—the momentary, delicious lack of it, too. The dominance that follows it. His noises and how unrestrained he is when it comes to them. The allure and the attractive charm of his looks, blended with that insufferable cutesiness. His hard cock. The neck kisses, too, of course.

You summarize your answer and you tell him, “you.”

A hitch in his throat. “Fuck.”

Fuck, indeed. Fuck the steady rhythm—Jungkook speeds up your movement, the pace so fast your pigtails and your ribbons bounce, tits following suit. Your breath falls in step, moans echo within the walls of his room. He kisses you harshly, but that doesn’t silence you. He swallows your noises down, grunting.

“You wanna know what made me hard for you?”

You nod your head, lips forming a natural pout at the loss of contact.

“Those fucking pigtails of yours. The knee socks. How tiny you are in my hands. Seeing you lose your fucking mind when I kissed your neck. Those marks I left behind, hm, fuck yes. Those marks made me crazy,” he mutters, staring you down. “And you know what else?”

You wait for his answer as white flashes blind you, your roaring orgasm beckoning you close. He doesn’t stop rocking you against him, not once. Fills your brain with emptiness with his words coated wet by his dominant energy. You feel your own wetness soaking the fabric of your panties.

“Your brattiness,” he says. “I want to fuck it out of you and make a good girl out of you that won’t misbehave again with her smart words.”

A faint part of you, half affected by the pleasure he gives you, arises to stand up for you. “But I was good and you said so.”

He clicks his tongue, disapprovingly shaking his head. Slows down the pace so you’re able to hear him loud and clear, your orgasm backing away. “You see the thing is with little bratty girls like you, even when they act good for me, there’s still that dark little side of them that hides. Unless I fuck it out of them, they play with me. And trust me, I like the game until I don’t.”

You frown at him, but a moan betrays you. A fight throngs inside of you, his dominance yet again permeating you, causing you to flourish, but on the other hand, you don’t like being added to the mix. You want to be the only one—and it makes you angry that he had someone like you before you, that he even said it altogether. Though unfortunately, that’s something you can only keep to yourself.

The forming attachment breaks, splitting into two, with the knowledge that your wish is futile. You understand he said it for the sake of the role-play that you both naturally, wordlessly established through sexual attraction, but you still have a lot of getting used to within the dynamic. He’s experienced, you’re not. Though, when you think about it, he doesn’t know a thing about your purity. You never told him.

You blame yourself for your own pain. It’s your fault—you should’ve had a conversation with him about it before you let him do anything to you, instead of playing flirty games with him. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, if he knew you were a virgin. The thought of what you’ve done stains you, makes you feel filthy, but you will it to kneel inside of you like a wounded animal. You need to be strong if you don’t want to storm out of his room in tears.

No attachment, no liking.

Just sex.

There’s still a frown to your face, despite the fact you set yourself free with your decision. Jungkook chuckles at it, oblivious to your internal storm.

“You didn’t like that, did you?” You didn’t like being compared to other girls he’d been with; there’s nothing to be said of the like about the role-play aspect. Being called bratty did rouse a moan out of you. “You prove my words right.”

You roll your eyes. Jungkook grips your ass hard and spanks you. As the sting reverberates, along with it comes the realization you got what you wanted.

You broke him.

And now you have to face the repercussions.

Good thing you’ve sobered up from the stupefaction of your arousal.

You cradle his face and kiss him deeply in effort to change the narrative. No feeling of affection from earlier hangs upon your heart and you find that it’s easier like this. No strings, no pain. It relieves you—so much that you sense a layer of lightness to your body and tiny, manageable tears well in your eyes. You get to enjoy this after all.

There’s radiance to your eyes, rooted in hope, and true softness to your words when you say, “I want you to fuck it out of me. I want you to be my first.”

You want to be different—your pride is uninfluenced by your decision. If he fucks it out of you, the new narrative you’re longing for will fully take place and make living through this bearable. You know you can’t have him the way you’d like, but if fate wrote that you’re to have him this way—you don’t mind altering it to the little desires you’re allowing yourself to have.

Once in a lifetime opportunity. You can’t lose it.

Jungkook is left astounded by your words, eyes widening, shock evident on his features. Like your words, he softens, unclenching his fingers from your suppleness, the darkness in his irises making a way for gentleness to come through. He rubs the small of your back, hands ascending to your spine, feeling the clip of your bra, until he finds the nape of your neck. He holds you there, tenderly, as if you were a porcelain doll he now was careful not to break.

The change in his demeanor is stark. It surprises you as well—and like everything that has happened within the hour, it isn’t something you expected from him. The emotion that emerges from the roundness of his eyes touches the hardness of your decision, tries to get through, pokes a gap inside, letting the light in.

He tucks his darkness back inside. Strokes the back of your head, the silky ends of your ribbons sifting through his slender fingers. You relax against him and your body does it for you. It welcomes his tenderness, glad for the truth to be out. You fight against it—against yourself, willing your decision not to break but remain firm.

No strings, no pain.

But to no avail. The light spreads. His light. Celestial twinkles of stars, small parts of him that make him who he is.

“You’ve never had anyone before me?” he husks, regret glossing over his eyes, holding your head firmly as he awaits your answer. More stars spill like liquid.

You shake your head ‘no’, your chest tightening.

He kisses you and there’s something different about the way he does it. Now you can sense the carefulness you searched for earlier and you taste the primal core of loving care in the movement of his lips. The kisses are long, deep. As if you’re a different person now, a girl unlike any of the ones he mentioned. Someone who matters, someone who’s solid. You’re back at the beginning.

A lump forms in your throat.

“You sure about this?” he asks.

One part of you, greater and illuminated by his stars, wants it gently like this, with flowers of innocence and purity besprinkled across his features, never leaving you out of his sight, taking care of you. But you fear that if you allow him to be tender, your heart will choose him again and cling to his side. The other, more faint part of you, affected by your decision, thinks it’s better to stick to the role-play, for there’s the aspect of illusoriness that will not bruise anyone’s hearts, especially not yours. It will make you horny, Jungkook will get you off and, glowing, you’ll go home.

You can’t decide. It’s too much of a heavy weight to bear on your shoulders. You can’t do it.

You need him to say the word. You need him to decide what will be the face of the trajectory of your premium friendship.

Flowery or deceitful?

A small candlelight in you hopes for gentleness and purity before your fear unfairly puffs it out.

“Yes, I’m sure. I want you.”

Jungkook lays you down and, at last, you feel his manhood against you. He bends to pepper apologetic kisses along the column of your neck and you feel the authenticity of his regret, thrumming against you warmly. Your breath hitches in your throat, the principle of the candlelight in you not being a high hope after all—

“I’m sorry. I should’ve gone about this better.” A kiss to your cheek; you stifle your sobs. “I should’ve checked in with you, but I jumped straight in. This was a mistake on my part. I’m sorry.”

He blames himself, not you.

You want to remain stoic, but his authenticity beckons yours to come out and envelop him whole, gives access to your emotions and you can’t stop the miniature teardrop from flowing down the side of your nose. Neither can you stop the words that follow its footsteps.

“I should’ve told you first,” you whisper, sniffling. Jungkook furrows his brows at the expression of your pain in tender emotion, wiping it away. “But I was bad—reckless.”

He chuckles softly, caressing your hair. “You’re an angel. Sent to my side for me. You weren’t bad. I didn’t mean what I'd said.”

His words, his touch, the kiss he adds to your cheek to punctuate his sentence—Jungkook erases everything that has just happened.

Newness rushes in your chest, the pouring of spring into summer permeates your whole being. You hear the birds sing, the rustle of flimsy flower petals on tree branches as the warm wind grazes it with its touch. Jungkook seals this feeling by pressing a kiss to your sternum.

He said it, so it must be so. You trust him.

The firmness of the cage around your decision unlatches. Doesn’t fly away like the birds. Is a little bit afraid of peeking out. The candlelight returns to light up the room around that cage, blossoming into the sun.

“We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,” he says, looking up at you from the place where he dragged your top down to kiss your skin.

The sun rays in you absorb all of the darkness. The firmness extends one wing.

You run your fingers through his hair. Figure the only thing the summer in you is missing is the heat. You want him, you want sex and you don’t want to think about feelings or consequences. You don’t want to choose between anything anymore. You just want to enjoy yourself.

“I meant it when I said that I want you to be my first,” you say, fingers curling around his ear. Jungkook leans into your touch and it’s as if he’s massaging the wing to alleviate it from a cramp due to being tucked in for so long.

“Okay,” he sighs, taking your hands and pinning them on the pillow and bunny above your head. He sits up, examines you and you wonder if he can see how truly fragile you feel. “Do you trust me?”

He’s had half a year of going out with you, mingling his life with yours, spending money on you and treating you like an absolute treasure to build your overall trust. And what he did just now? How he erased your pain? Your nod is immediate; you don’t need to think twice.

“Of course I trust you.”

“Good.” A soft smile. “I’ll make sure your first time will be beautiful for you.”

Your heart thuds. His words steal all the breath in your lungs, smoothing out the surface of your body for his stars to fill. Tears prick at your waterline.

“Are you scared?”

You’re an empty canvas.

“Not anymore.”

Jungkook nods, gladness pulsating off of him. “I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave you, not even once, okay?”

“Okay.”

He finds the zipper on the side of your skirt and yanks it down. “How many times do you wanna come?”

The ridiculousness of the question makes you laugh and you hide your face beneath your palms. “To be honest, I don’t expect to come at all. It is my first time after all.”

You marvel at the honesty seeping out of you. His work, no doubt.

Jungkook frowns, ridding you of the skirt, fingers hooking under the hem of your top. At the reveal of your pink, flowery, see-through bra, he stops altogether, stunned. He fondles the material, grazing over your soft nipples, at last reaching the embroidery of the small petals. He gasps in wonder, eyes flicking to your intimate parts to see if you’re wearing a matching set.

The same flowers adorn the suppleness of your tummy.

Jungkook smiles at his discovery. Is hasty as he drags the nylon of your tights down your legs, along with your knee socks.

“I’ll decide how many times you come for me, then.”

Heat pools in your femininity. There it is, the dominance that you love. Yet this time, it’s laced with his gentleness. Heaven on earth—a meadow full of flowers in the middle of summer. Like the ones on your lingerie.

Joy grasps your heart. “Do I get to know before you start?”

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss on your tummy. “What, you wanna count them down for me?”

You asked just because, but the idea excites you. You nod.

Your response prolongs the rumble of his laughter and you feel its vibration as he kisses his way up to your clothed breasts. You’d think he’d focus his attention on them, but he straightens—reaches for something behind him and retrieves your white knee socks. He bunches them in his hands and puts them on you as if he were dressing a child.

Paradoxically, goosebumps spread all over your thighs.

Smoothing the material over your thighs, he lies back down against you, lips latching on the spillage of your breasts that your bra gives him. While it feels dizzying, you still want to know the number. You poke him in the bulging muscle of his arm and in the process, you flush his cheeks red.

Jungkook pushes your tits together and licks over the line in the middle. The sight of the shine of his wet tongue against it drenches your pussy, ruining your pretty underwear, and you want him there, on your sweetest spot. Your nipples stand to attention and Jungkook listens to their call, thumbs brushing across them.

You mewl, grinding your hips against his stomach.

“Two times when I eat you out; two times around my cock,” he answers finally, awakening your butterflies. “How many times is that, then?”

Amidst the pleasure, you do the math. “Four.”

“That’s right. You think you can do that for me?”

You’re not sure. In fact, you’re not sure of anything—lost in his touch, in his energy.

“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, skimming his face for a sliver of disappointment in his features.

You find none. Only tenderness—round, soft eyes, brown in the light he radiates, nose and mouth buried in your tits, sucking on the skin, making you feel good.

“That’s okay. We’ll try together. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you if you don’t come as many times. Or at all. I promise.”

Your chest clenches. You grab his face and kiss him, licking over his bottom lip before you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook grunts, rolls his own muscle over yours, tasting you, feeling you. He inhales sharply against you, once again taking charge of the kiss, taking each and every thought and negative feeling you had and crushing it to smithereens.

He lifts you and switches places with you, sitting you down on his lap with your back supported by his chest. He roams his hands all over you—tits, tummy, hips, sides and thighs while he busies his mouth on your shoulder. As your eyes follow each movement, you notice the marks he embellished your breasts with and your arousal grows—so much that you take his wandering hands and hook them under the waistband of your underwear, guiding them down your thighs.

There’s a change to his breath when his index and middle finger feels up the fleshiness of your cunt for the first time. Hard, raggedy and absolutely tormented. He glides those digits up and down your dewiness, listening for the squelching sound that makes his cock twitch beneath you.

He moans onto your neck, nose tracing the column on its way to your ear. “How do you touch yourself?”

A sudden shyness overtakes you and you turn your head, needing to hide in his neck this time. You remain silent, the words lodged in your throat.

Jungkook sees you.

“Do you rub your little clit from side to side or in circles?” he questions, helping you answer.

“I—I like both,” you whisper onto his skin, moving your hips so his fingers slip to your clit, the sweet spot where you need him the most. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it, spreading you open, meanwhile you chase the firmness of his fingers.

“Just like that, ride them,” he husks, eyes dazed, fixed on the roll of your pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Head on top of yours, you nod, never ceasing your movement, transfixed, just like him, by the constant way the pads of his fingers fondle your clit before dipping between your lips. The heat of the summer tightens in your lower belly and it’s a desperate litany of begging what your mouth utters, despite the fact you’re not really sure what you’re asking for, but you let him hear it. You’re close, so unbelievably close, yet still have a road to walk on before you, and you close your eyes to feel the delight of his touch more deeply, only to find that you manage to do nothing of the kind.

When you sense his eyes on you and by instinct you reciprocate his stare, that’s when you feel the depth you sought after. Mouth parted, pupils dilated, eyelashes a drowsy catastrophe, messy hair casting a soft shadow over the planes of his blissed-out face. You want to kiss him. You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel—

“Let me do it now,” Jungkook says hurriedly, sensing the nearness of your climax.

“Yes,” you croak out, halting the movement of your hips—and ‘yes’ is the word that ripples out of your mouth a hundred, a thousand more times when he spreads you wider and rubs his fingers on your clit from side to side.

He feels the pleasure in sync with you, accepting all of your yes’, twisting his face the moment yours does, quickening the rapidness of his hand once he switches to circles to carry you to your summer-breathed paradise.

And when you come all over his hand, he slips two fingers inside your hole.

He stills the buck of your hips.

You widen your eyes at the new feeling of fullness and, panicking and constricting around him, you look at Jungkook, who merely strengthens his hold around you.

“Trust me,” he says, breathing heavily. He doesn’t move his fingers past his first knuckles; he lets you adjust to the size. Gives you a kiss full of tongue to distract you. “Does it burn?”

You begin to pant against his mouth, the high of your orgasm long gone. You’re uncertain to count it as one when it was so short lived, ruined by the sudden plunge of his digits. But much to your surprise, you don’t detect any burn in your walls that he speaks of, which you realize was his intention.

“No, it just feels a bit uncomfortable.”

He kisses you again. You feel your lips go numb, eyes lidding at the pressure you feel as he sinks his fingers a little bit deeper and begins to move them sluggishly, your slick creating another ring for him around his fingers. You try to meet his thrusts as the visceral sensation of being filled by longer, thicker fingers settles within you and takes roots. You discover that movement is the key to parting the uncomfortable feeling and it steps to the side to let the pleasure walk forward.

Jungkook presses his palm flat against your clit, guides the pleasure to envelop your body when he plunges his fingers deeper, past the second knuckles and fucks you in swift jerks. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan and he fills in the sound, expressing his fiery delight for you at the clench of your walls against him, accommodating for him, for his desire to stretch you out, so when he finally enters you, no pain comes to greet you.

Deeper and harder—yes, that’s what feels good. You roll your body, becoming waves of the sea as wetness and the build up of pleasure—seafoam—is all your senses wrap around.

“Feels good, baby?”

His need to check in with you speeds up the nearing expansion of your orgasm. Pointer and pinky finger digging into the skin of your backside, you watch the in and out motion, the digits coming out wetter and wetter each time.

“Feels so fucking good. I’m gonna come. I’m so close.”

It’s quicker. Way quicker than your first tiny orgasm. He slips in and out of you so smoothly—you’re obsessed with the sight, ravaged by it entirely. You grind your hips and fuck yourself back, picking up the pace but slowing down instantly when you feel yourself at the peak of your climax.

You want to prolong it. You love the feeling too much to end it too soon.

Jungkook stops your movements fully.

“I want to be the one who makes you come,” he murmurs. “I want to be the one who fucks your brain out. I want to feel you squeeze around my fingers. Fuck, I want it so bad.”

His hand drifts to your neck just to hold you there, the other, the busy one, fingers you harder, your fast approaching orgasm blinding your senses. Your drenched cunt squelches around him, the sound so lewd it causes you to seek comfort—your hand flies to his on your throat, fingers wrapping around his wrist, the tip of your pointer reaching the fat bulb of bunny’s head on his ring.

Harder and faster. A scalding fire burns you and you just take it. Loll your head back against his shoulder, giving him the space to grip your jawline. Flames grow closer and closer, leaving a layer of sheen on your body in its wake. You feel the sudden need to pee.

“Oh my god, Gguk—” Your muscles tense. Close, so close. “Gguk, Gguk—”

“What, baby? What’s the matter?” he husks, squeezing your neck once. “You’re gonna come for me? Gonna come on my fingers?”

You nod quickly, too quickly. Flames of the sun, licking you. Flames of the summer heat. Just what you wanted.

Jungkook opens your jaw, swirling his tongue around yours. “Let go. Come for me. You can do it, I got you—I got you. Come for me, baby, please.”

Obeying his desperate order, you do.

A small stream of your pleasure, a faint fountain, trickles out of you and into his hand. He gasps, in unison with your whimpers, and you’re transmitted elsewhere. The wildly colorful, blooming meadow on a hill, overlooking the languorous sea and he’s there. Reaches behind himself. Offers you his hand. The wind ruffles his black hair, sweeps it back and you’re giddy—as giddy as Bam, as giddy as you were in the moment the slid the white bunny ring on your finger—to take the last two of his slender fingers, the pinky and the ring, and sit with him by the edge of the cliff.

“Did so well for me.”

The whisper takes you back and you awake.

You’re different. Incandescent. Of life, of stars and its light, of growing fondness for the man you sit perched on the lap of, whose fingers still remain sheathed inside of you. He changed you. Perpetually, absolutely. He changed you and made you into something new. Something that is softer, more elegant—smaller but assertive. Alluring and kind. Indisputably good.

He fucked everything negative out of you with his fingers. Left the vast canvas of stars inside of you.

You’re no longer a plain spread of cotton, but a living, breathing artwork. His artwork.

Once he fucks you with his cock, you wonder what further internal changes are going to occur within you.

You feel a great deal of gratitude for him—and you want to reciprocate all that he’s done for you. You want to work hard at it. Spoil him. Make him whimper. You believe he deserves it.

“You finger yourself often? How come you took my fingers so well, hm?”

You’re panting, unable to speak. Absorbing the sharpness of the stars, acclimatizing to the change.

“I guess you do, huh?” he deduces. “Good little girl, preparing herself for me.”

For the life of you, you can’t catch your breath.

Jungkook kisses your cheek deeply. Pecks you on the same spot a hundred times, slowly taking out his fingers. Lets you see your slick coating his fingers and, softly, you gasp at the little ripples of wrinkles upon the tips of his fingers, mouth parting.

And then he sinks them into your mouth.

His hardness twitches behind you and you moan, your daintily bittersweet taste making your head spin. And when you look at him, you’re met with the utmost pink-dusted adoration painted on his face. You kiss it, inhaling it, letting it flow into your system so it suffuses your bloodstream, letting him taste you. You may not feel your lips, but the sentient poetry of the stars begins to sing in you. His stars. You feel like a flushed floweret visited by a bee. Spent, but happy.

Happy to be wanted.

Good, because he said you were.

As if internally intertwined with him, you feel the identical heat tinge your cheeks.

He says nothing as he lays you down and spreads your legs back to the way they were. Though when he’s graced with the sight of your bare cunt in all her glory, his face says everything that his mouth isn’t capable of. Hunger and torture—lips agape, corners of the mouth shiny with the rush of drool and Jungkook wipes it away, then lowers his fingers to your clit, to your lips, becoming more acquainted with this intimate part of you that no one had seen before him. He traces your small hole, even going as far as to your other, tinier hole and you yelp, stopping his exploration.

Jungkook merely chuckles, eyes darting to yours. “You’re so pretty.” You grow so hot that you think you must be on fire. “Especially there.”

You mewl, shrinking, hands looking for anything to hold and finding his bunny plushie. You take her into your arms, inhaling a scent that could never be hers. You recognize immediately whose it is.

Musk, vanilla, wood.

The thought of Jungkook cradling her while he sleeps moves you and you pout.

“How we feeling?” he asks, still caressing your fleshy cunt, dripping with dew.

Overjoyed. Overstimulated.

Heavenly.

“Good.”

A foxy smile. “How many orgasms was that, hm?”

You don’t know where your shyness comes from and why it chokes all of the words you want to say. You bury your face in bunny for a moment, taking a breath to fight against it, so you can please him because that’s all you yearn to do.

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

Jungkook stifles a laugh and it makes you feel terrible. And it’s worse when he leans over to kiss you, turns his head at the last moment and faces bunny.

“Bunny, how many times did she come?” he asks her, offering her his ear to hear her answer. Looks at you. Widens his eyes. Gasps. “Two,” he mouths. Listens some more. Nods. “I know she thought she wouldn’t come at all. Crazy, right?” Then he lets out an endearing sound. “She said she’d believed you could do it the moment you said it. She’s so happy for you. How cute,” he coos.

You giggle, the bridge in your throat loosening, light flooding you, over and over, until you think you can’t take any more of it. You feel so full, so happy and the sensation threatens to pour out of your tear ducts.

It heals something within you—that he treats you like this at your most vulnerable state. Your inner child flares, the stars the strength that fixes her stoop, helping her arise, stand straight, stand powerfully.

He smiles down fondly at you. “So what number are we at?”

You hide your face behind your hands. “Two.”

“What did you say? I didn’t catch that.”

You drop your hands and with as much energy as you can muster, you repeat the number.

He purrs, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.” As a reward, as if the praise wasn’t enough, he kisses you deeply. “Will you let me taste you?”

You swallow his desire, but speak up your own, “I want to taste you first, please.”

Jungkook hums, curses under his breath. He straightens and kneels before your form, fingers pinching the back of his T-shirt and pulling it over his body. You catch the sight of his broad shoulders, of each dip and muscle, and your irises grown in width. Him ridding himself of his clothes dishevels his hair and as he untangles his arms from the material, he smiles down at you, noticing your stare.

He caresses the back of your thigh before his hand flies to his hard length. He palms himself once, then continues to undress—tugs his sweatpants down to his knees, though he doesn’t bother himself to fully take them off. The shape of him is more prominent through the fabric of his white Calvins, the bulge of his mushroom wet and pellucid, and you sit up, hand itching to touch him, to join his in making him feel good, but he cups your chin—forcing you to look up at him.

He swipes his thumb over your lips. “You want it?”

You nod. “So bad.”

Jungkook curses again, the sound low and rough.

“Touch it,” he orders and both of your hands listen, wrapping around his girth, squeezing beneath the head of his cock. The thickness of him makes you see the light of the stars that you sense fluttering feverishly inside of you. Your mind is too empty, too washed out by your orgasm, by the change that you don’t even think about how you’re going to take him. Jungkook hisses, tilting his head back before he looks down at you intently. “You did this before?”

You’ve never seen one in real life before, let alone touched one.

“I’ve never let anyone get this close.”

Jungkook strokes your pigtails. “How come you know what to do then?”

Instinct or memory from porn you watched—you don’t know, it all blends together within the fuzziness of your mind. And you tell him.

“I watch a lot of porn.”

Jungkook smiles coyly and it strikes you. You’ve never seen him smile this way before or, even, feel this way before. All you know from him is dominance, dominance and dominance.

You release him from the confines of his boxers and repress your gasp. His ever glistening tip reaches just below his navel and the thickness of his girth obscures most of his pubic hair. Along with the sound of your surprise, you also have a hard time swallowing the saliva collecting in your mouth.

“I want you so bad,” you whisper, needy eyes looking up at him. Shy, too shy to let your gaze linger at the most intimate part of him.

He sucks in a breath at your words, hissing. And you need him inside of you all over again.

Fuck fuzzines in your mind. You’re fuzzy all over. Wrecked with nerves, suddenly. Your hands tremble, hovering in front of his manhood. Jungkook covers them with his, soothing you, and guides you to his shaft. Wraps your fingers around him. Doesn’t let go.

The feel of him under his supervision is slow. He allows you to take in every ridge of him, every vein—the softness of his skin, the warmth and the weight. Round after round, up and down, until you get familiarized with him. A trickle of his male essence drips down the side of him and your tongue instinctively darts out. Like your hands, Jungkook’s breath shakes and he anticipates your next move, despite the fact he’s in charge.

He’s been patient all this time, giving you the time you needed. But that hardly applies when you have him in your hands, when you own his neediness. His whimpers while he waits coax your slick out of you, soaking the bedding beneath you and you can’t take it anymore.

Neither, evidently, can he.

“Baby, please,” Jungkook croaks out. Tortured, so terribly tortured. Grip tight and clammy around your hands.

So vulnerable.

You ache.

You lick up a stripe of his essence on the side of his cock and Jungkook shudders. Shifting onto your knees, you show him the milkie on the tip of your tongue and Jungkook pulls your hair, tilting your head back. Kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Moans, lowly. Then, he holds his girth at the base and pushes your head.

When you take him, a mewl ripples around the thickness of him. His eyes roll back and his grasp of your hair tightens, burning your scalp, adding to the fire. He lets you feel it out; lets you figure out what to do, testing your knowledge from the porn you’ve watched. And the tensing of his stomach divulges his strained effort not to fuck your mouth.

You go slow about it. Swirling your tongue around that rosy head of his, along that delicious ridge, licking a flat stripe across that line of his slit. Getting to know him in all those intimate places, relying on your senses—on them to tell you what he likes. Your hand begins to move on its own, gliding back and forth in tandem with your tongue stimulating his sensitivity. You try not to think about how you can barely fit him in your mouth, because if you do—you’ll ruin his bedsheets.

But then Jungkook hums in approval, sending a gush of wetness out of you and you whimper—you whimper at the worsening ache you feel, at the helplessness that pools in your system by being just so filthily wet and horny.

He moves your hand faster. Breath jagged, bedroom eyes zeroing down on you. And then—

Jungkook moans your name. Over and over, clenching and unclenching his hand on the back of your head.

“Don’t have to teach you shit,” he spits. “You just watch porn all day, don’t you? Naughty girl.”

Losing control for a split second, he rams his cock into your throat—and you don’t panic, you don’t yelp. Instead, you groan.

He pulls you away from him with a sharp tug. Kisses you harshly. Shoves you down into the pillows with one push on your sternum.

Bending you in half, he drinks your cunt. Lips immediately suck on your needy bundle of nerves and it’s so fast you don’t even know which part of you he’s focusing on because he’s everywhere. Clit, hole, clit, hole—sucking, licking. Alternating, alternating so swiftly and deliciously that you completely lose your mind.

And then he lifts your hips and holds them in the air, wanting you to see what he’s doing to you. Like you, he darts out his tongue and teases you, hovering the muscle above your clit. Shiny, nimble, capable of doing unspeakable things to you. He watches as your pussy drools for him and he chuckles darkly. Tongue lowering to collect it, but unlike you he never does it. He lets the dew trickle down your skin.

“Cute little pussy. So wet. Wetter than when I fucked it. You liked playing with me on your knees, didn’t you?”

With your fucked out brain, you don’t think it’s taunting what he’s doing. You deem it’s just him reveling in what he’s able to do to your body—in the fact that he owns it, that he teaches it new things. The glint in his dusky, lustful eyes proves it.

Jungkook drags a long stripe on your clit, making your eyes flutter closed and your teeth to sink into your bottom lip to cage in your moans.

“Talk to me.”

You can’t. You don’t know how to talk.

He stares you down.

No answer from you. Just hard pants. Pussy drooling.

“I won’t play with you, then.”

Panic. “No.”

He cocks a brow at you. “No?”

Silence.

He begins to lower you down but you grip his forearm.

“Jungkook.”

Bent over above you, head low, he merely flicks his eyes to yours. Duskiness, such blackening duskiness in those orbs.

“Beg.”

All your muscles tense. Wetness gushes out of you.

Lucky for you, that word he wants is the one you haven’t forgotten.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

You groan in frustration.

“Be nice or—”

“Please, lick me.”

That dark chuckle. You feel yourself becoming obsessed with it.

“Where?”

A challenge. Your throat dries up.

“There.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly, making a sound that expresses just how much he didn’t like that.

“Try again. Last chance, little girl.”

The loving smile on his face says everything about how that threat is feigned. You hear it tell you—you have as many chances as you need. He’s merely encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone.

And something about that mellow, hidden kindness gently ushers you to do just that.

“Lick my clit, please.”

A hum. A long stripe on that sensitive, thumping spot. A roll of his tongue forward and backward.

“Like this?”

You choke out a moan.

“Yes, please.”

“Or—” He blows on you, causing you to tremble. “Like this?”

He shakes his head against you briskly, not yet at a full tilt. Just like his, your body shudders in his hands and he tightens his grip on your supple hips. You can’t take it, the pleasure is overwhelming and—

“Look at me,” he orders and you open your eyes, immediately. “Like this?”

Jungkook adds more pressure and rapidness to the movement, leaving you glazed sweetly in the sheen of his saliva. He moves your hips up and down on the firmness of his tongue and you scream, taking a strong hold of his hair.

“Oh my god, yes, fuck, Daddy—”

Shocked, Jungkook groans against your pussy, slowing down to ingest what your mouth has just uttered. It’s more than natural to call him by a title like this, instinctual, innate. It fits him so well and it drenches your pussy, your slick amalgamating with his liquid love. You’re certain he feels the rush.

Your Daddy.

You roll your hips against his tongue. Dark and more dark, those eyes of his. Bottomless pit.

“Fuck yes, call me Daddy again.”

The whimpers you let out are pathetic and Jungkook shudders at them, groaning. You whine the title over and over again, a verdant, dreamlike litany of your feminine sexuality pampered, cared for, supervised. Jungkook accepts the gravity of it all, each declaration propelling him to suck your clit harder, bruises forming on your hips from his deathly grip, black eyes never leaving yours, hypnotizing you.

And when you come like this, it’s unification what happens.

You’re bound to him and he’s bound to you.

Daddy and little girl.

Throughout your sexual experience today, you had a hard time accepting things but this—this is something that slept inside of you all your life and just now has been awoken to a flickering canvas of bright stars. You feel it blink, adjust to the piercing light, before it smiles dolefully—happy to be conscious, happy to be caressed.

Jungkook kisses you and takes his time. The taste of your femininity, the fresh coldness of your change, the strong wine of his desire. You’re drunk. You’re slurring your mewls.

And one thing about unification, it’s a mirror.

You swallow down the same mewls, uttered by his throat.

“Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he whispers, adjusting between your legs. “Will be gentle. You’re safe with me.”

He rakes the tip of his length along the entirety of your little sea-kissed seashell.

“You want it? You want Daddy’s cock inside of you?”

Jungkook looks into your eyes deeply as he asks you that question, the tip ready at your significantly smaller hole. He peppers kisses along your jawline and chin.

“I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you murmur, brows furrowed.

He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“We’ll chase the pain away,” he promises.

Your frown deepens.

“But what if it doesn’t fit?”

You expect him to chuckle, but he does no such thing. He absorbs your worry by kissing you tenderly. Then he glances at your body. Remembers he never took off your bra and fixes his mistake.

“You may be small, but you were made to take me,” he says and your heart skips a beat; you wonder if he understands the gravity of his words as they take roots within you, rising to bloom into splendid flowers. “Besides, my dick is tiny. You won’t even feel it.”

It is so far from the truth that you burst into giggles. He laughs along with you—a mirror reflected.

Stars and flowers. Sea and freshness. You were made to take him. You trust him.

He kisses your breasts, licking over your nipple—but briefly. Holding his shaft, he asks if you’re ready. You nod, your fingers desperately searching for his and Jungkook notices. Sinking slowly inside of you, he grabs his bunny plushie and tucks her into the crook of your elbow.

There’s a pinch of pain, blended with the feeling of discomfort as your walls stretch around his head.

Seeing it painted on your face, Jungkook draws close, enveloping you and bunny in his heat. Pushes a little more in. You wail softly, the pain intensifying. Fear intermingles with your features and Jungkook—the worry in his countenance makes you almost weep.

“Hold onto me,” he says, brows scrunched, so—so serious. “Relax, baby. I got you.”

You hook your arms around his neck, bunny sandwiched between your chest and his. Jungkook saves this time to let you adjust around him.

“I know it hurts,” he whispers onto your mouth, index finger, the ringed one, stretching to graze your cheek. “Just relax your muscles for me. It’ll feel good soon.”

You nod, trusting him.

He pecks you. Smiles.

“How many orgasms are we at?”

You roll your eyes, your own smile threatening your lips. “Three.”

Jungkook hums. Pecks you again. You feel your walls loosening, little by little.

A smug smirk. “You didn’t expect that, did you?”

“You obliterated my expectations.”

“Just wait until I fuck you properly.”

You blush, eyes twinkling.

“Pretty girl.” He kisses you and you feel your attachment forming again, though this time—newly. As light, as free as an entanglement of seaweed upon seashore, you and him. Connected. Bound. No fear, not even a hint of it. “I heard you watch porn.”

Your flush deepens. Jungkook sinks a little deeper. A faint pain—nothing bad.

“Who told you?” You laugh, the sound ridding you of your shyness.

But Jungkook grows solemn.

“Tell me what kind you watch,” he whispers, angling his head to give you a tiny kiss.

Your cheeks hurt from the smiling, from the onrush of emotions within you, sloshing to and fro. You feel hot all over.

“The one where all the focus is on the girl,” you whisper back. “The guy uses all kinds of toys on her and she just takes it. Comes so many times and there’s a countdown for it.”

Humming, he begins to nibble on the skin beneath your jaw, making your breath shallow. He pushes in another inch—and the pain is worse. You tighten your grip around him.

“And how many times do you come when you watch it?” Deep, deep is his voice, the calmness to your nerves due to the pricking you feel.

“I don’t stop coming.”

Jungkook swears under his breath and clenches his digits into a fist beside your head.

“And you finger yourself?”

You nod, confidently. Another inch. He smiles at your confirmation of his deduction.

“How many fingers?”

You scoff. “Just one.”

“Well done,” he praises, kissing you once, keeping his mouth on you even as he asks, “ready?”

You nod, again, even though there’s fright to your eyes. He sees it and he brushes his eyelashes against your eyelids while he kisses you, taking it all away. And he doesn’t stop, even as he pulls out and thrusts back into your heat. Gently, so awfully gently.

He didn’t break his promise.

Jungkook rocks his hips in slow, sensual, prolonged staccatos, moaning into your parted mouth. You’re so focused on him—on the bulging of his muscles on the either side of your head, the broadness of his shoulders, the slick sweat dripping down his neck, right from the top of his tattoo; on the sheerness of his pleasure as he moves in and out, carefully so as to not frighten you, that the pain quickly subsides.

And there you feel it.

The sensation unlike any other.

He rams into you, seeing the wrinkle between your brows smoothing, the lust clouding your eyes as the delight spreads all over your body, bringing along little dots of goosebumps. The night sea, windless, still hot from the afternoon’s goodbye kiss. You feel it—and you feel it deeply, sinking inside of you with every inch of his manhood. So much that you meet his thrusts.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck yes,” Jungkook murmurs, enraging the waves within. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being fucked?”

Stars and its light. He picks up the pace, hooking your leg over his shoulder, entering you deeper and deeper, giving you more than half. The thrill of feeling so full—you curse, you moan, you can’t hold it in, even if you tried. And Jungkook coos at your conveyance of the pleasure he’s giving you, never lifting his eyes off of yours, off of your features, your emotions. Surveying you, controlling you, making sure you’re okay—more than okay.

You sense the pressure coil deep within your core, the sense of your climax approaching and you’re astonished at how quick it is. You halt your own movements, needing—wanting him to be the one to get you there, the one who owns your orgasms.

“Gguk, Gguk, fuck—”

“I know,” he breathes. “I’m gonna make you come all over my cock.”

He fucks you harder, making you cry out. Deep, deep staccatos, so different from the slow, languid ones. You can’t catch your breath, the sea within you sloshes violently and then—

Softly, you sprinkle him with your fountain of pleasure. Not enough to drive him out, but sweetly enough to force him to groan against you and pound you harder into the mattress. Continuing as if you hadn’t come.

You don’t have the time or the space to think about what just happened—he fucks each and every thought of you.

“My little squirter,” Jungkook mutters, kissing you. “One more, baby. One more for me and I’ll paint you with my cummie. Hm, you want that?” You’re gone, flung out of this world into a tranquil island. The palm trees, the sea and his cock. Your emotions are numb, body limp. All you feel is his cock, ramming and ramming into you. “Or you wanna swallow it for me like a good girl?”

“Swallow, please,” you croak out and Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Rewards you by giving you the full thing, filling you balls-deep.

“You feel me?” He kisses you, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth.

Glorious, glorious delight. You can’t breathe. Too much.

“I feel you—” You lift your head to look down where you’re connected. “I—I feel you in my stomach.”

Sitting back, he lifts your hips and palms the bulge just a little bit above your mound. Feels it move under him once he resumes fucking you. He replaces his hand with yours, keeping you distracted as he undoes the ribbon in your hair and ties your wrists with it. Right there above the bulge, where he fucks you. Then he latches onto your hips and jackhammers his cock into you, watching as your tits along with bunny bounce with each slam.

“You look so pretty like this, tied up for me, taking all that I’m giving you,” he says, thumbing your clit, making you cry out. “Such a good fucking girl for me. I’m bringing you up so well.”

“Daddy,” you call out and Jungkook nods.

“Yes, that’s right. Daddy is fucking you so good.”

White flashes. Seafoam. The pressure in your tummy deepening and deepening. The roar of the night sea and your body following—you come all over him, painting him iridescent with your dewiness. His joggers, dragged halfway down his thighs, his boxers are all ruined—pelvis, thighs and cock glistening. It’s such a beautiful image to you that it suffuses you with energy and you begin to speak.

“Please, come for me.”

Surprised, Jungkook chuckles. “Don’t you have orgasms to count down?”

The ever persistent need for control. You kiss him, slip your tongue into his mouth to shut him up and you struggle against your ribbon, for the feeling of kissing him without your hands makes you feel iffy.

“Five. I came five times for you just like you wanted,” you whisper. “You fucked me so good. I’ll never forget it.”

And it’s the truth.

Jungkook pecks you once deeply, humming into the kiss. He pulls out of you and whilst he strokes his cock, his fingers tug down the ribbon around your wrists. You take your place on your knees, gazing with awe and hunger at his shiny length. And as if he needed it, he plunges his fingers into your mouth for more lubrication. Then, grabbing your jawline gently, he pulls you in towards his cock, letting your lips play with his tip the way you like it as he jerks himself off. You flick your tongue under the ridge of his head and his length twitches, stunning you. You do it again, more rapidly, and you don’t stop until Jungkook begins to tremble. Pulling him inside your mouth, then out, flicking faster and faster. Repeat.

Jungkook grunts.

“Yes, like that, princess. Fuck, I’m gonna come for you.”

He announces it, but it still comes as a surprise when the first rope of hot cum spills onto your flushed cheek. You suck him harder for a moment before you stick out your tongue, eyes flick up, as he empties his balls for you, his hand never ceasing the swift tug on his length.

And he just keeps coming. Rope after rope. Liquid star after star.

And you swallow it all.

Spent, sweaty and breathless, he helps you swallow it. Dragging his fingers to the places your tongue can’t reach, he feeds you his cum and you suck on his digits. Your heart thuds in your ribcage, especially when he begins to play with your tongue, smiling down at you in that dopey way.

He pats you on the cheek once you show him you’ve swallowed it all.

“Good girl. Good little princess.”

That you are. A changed person for all eternity.

“Is your tummy full?”

You nod, beaming vehemently up at him, the aftertaste of the bitterness of his liquid stars still wafting through your senses.

The three forbidden words rise in your tongue, even though you don’t believe them—you think it’s just the opulence of new emotions and experience that forces those words on your tongue. But they remain adamant when he bathes you clean, when he brushes your hair and gives you his clothes to wear to bed. They provoke you right there on the tip of your tongue when he gives you his zipper hoodie to wear on his balcony once you tell him you need a smoke and he joins you, giving you his pack of cigarettes.

And they come off the edge, in a different form, when you tell him of how he changed you while you hold his hand and he caresses your damp strands with a cigarette propped between his index and middle fingers, kissing your cheek. The smoke fixes a makeshift halo around both of your heads. One body, one halo. Bound.

“You’re such a lovable person, Gguk.”

What you don’t know is that those mere words changed the entire trajectory of his life. Yours, too.

BACK��to masterlist / read part one, read part two, part three

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot

5K notes · View notes

moonmunson · 5 months ago

Text

hello my old heart

a/n: wally clark has invaded my brain space and i cannot seem to rid him from my mind his himbo charms have seduced me. just in my mind this is set in the late '90s, but mr. martin isn't evil. none of the other kids are really mentioned by name, but this would be a few years after charley's death. as always i'm writing with a plus sized!reader in mind but anyone can read it.

summary: struggling with becoming comfortable in death, wally has made himself your new buddy.

cw: general angst and sadness over being dead, wally is a sweetheart who just wants to help. hurt/comfort with a sweet ending and a little bit of kissing. gn!reader, theatre kid x jock

wc: 2.1k

You think you’ve been dead for a little over a week. It’s hard to tell - time moves so differently here. It feels like static on the skin, the way the TV screen feels fuzzy when you touch it after it's been turned off. You haven’t spoken much, and the other dead kids don’t expect you to for a while. They’ve all told you that everyone reacts differently to their death, that there’s no right or wrong way to cope.

You’re worried that if you open your mouth, it’ll be difficult to stop crying. Or screaming, or both. So you sit quietly in the circle in the gymnasium, listening as Mr. Martin leads the support group meeting. You’re appreciative of his trying to get you to open up, but you’re only capable of responding in nods and shrugs. When it’s over, you go to make your way back to the auditorium. It might be weird to some, considering you died there, but it’s still the place you feel the safest.

A few steps out of the gym, you hear pounding footsteps coming up next to you. It’s Wally, because of course it is. He’s dubbed himself your ‘Unofficial death guide.’ He’s the sweetest, and you wish you could actively participate in conversation with him.

“You goin’ back to the auditorium?” When he talks, you have to crane your head to the right and all the way up because he’s so fucking tall. You nod, and he parrots it.

“I don’t know how you can go back to that place. I couldn’t even look at the football field for like a week after I died.” Even when you don’t respond, Wally keeps going. “I also don’t know how you stand sharing a space with Mina. She's, like, totally scary.” He makes a face then, pinched up, like he’s imagining being trapped in a room with the other, objectively more aggressive theatre ghost.

It makes you giggle. Like, audibly giggle. Wally’s eyes widen, surprised that he was able to get a noise out of you. He laughs in return, a breathless exhale. He’s clearly proud of himself.

“I have got to get you to do that again.” You shake your head no, even though the smile hasn’t left your face. “I’m serious, I have got to hear that laugh again!”

When you round the corner near the front office, you stop in your tracks, the smile on your face quickly fading. Your mom and dad are there, holding a box with everything that was in your locker. It’s a weird feeling. You hadn’t forgotten you were dead, obviously, but everything had felt very up in the air.

Like the moment before a show starts - everyone sitting in the audience, the curtain still down to block the view of actors taking their places. Like limbo. Seeing your parents, their tear stricken faces, that makes it feel real. Too real. The sharp breath you take in alerts Wally to the fact that something is wrong, and he follows your gaze to the two adults standing at the front desk.

“Oh shit, are those your parents?” Wally asks, his voice taking a softer tone. He has a volume control problem, everyone knows it, and you’re appreciative that he’s quieted down for this.

You nod, a small jerk of your head. He brings a tentative hand up to your shoulder, and when you don’t move away, he places it more firmly. “I’m so sorry, y/n. I really am. Do you wanna go up and see them?”

You don’t answer, you just walk away. Wally calls after you, but doesn’t follow.

The auditorium truly is your safe space. You were never brave enough to actually perform anything, though your teacher had begged you to. She’d heard you singing to yourself one day, and asked why you’d never auditioned for anything. You’d just deflected and said the stage fright would make you freeze. She’d been understanding, but encouraged you to think about auditioning for the show this year.

You were a senior, it’d been your last opportunity to be in the spotlight, but by the time auditions came around you’d chickened out. The hidden disappointment on your teacher’s face wasn’t so hidden, but she made sure you had your usual spot on the tech and run crew portion of the show.

You died a few weeks later, tripping off of the stage while setting up a set piece and breaking your neck falling into the orchestra pit. Like a sick fucking joke.

Now, you sit in the audience, gazing at the stage. It’s still blocked off by crime tape. The show for the end of the year has been effectively cancelled on account of your dying. ‘Postponed indefinitely’ is the term the overhead announcements had used, but you all knew what that actually meant. It just wasn’t gonna happen.

You mostly just feel numb. Obviously your death isn’t something you could ever prepare for, and just like every other ghost in the building, your life had been unfairly cut short. Just like everyone else, you’d had plans for the rest of your life. None of them solid or reliable, but you’d had some idea of what you wanted your life to look like. A well paying job that you genuinely enjoyed, maybe a husband or wife and a few kids. All of that is gone now.

Your parents in the front office felt like a kick to the gut, salt in the wound. The look on your mom’s face, the way your dad was cradling the box of your things like if he held tight to it enough it would bring you back.. it was too much to bear.

And Wally, sweet, kind, Wally. He’s been trying really hard with you, and you can’t even work up the nerve to say something to him. To thank him for being there for you, or answer any of the many questions or jokes he throws your way.

You don’t even realize the tears are streaming down your face until they drip onto your hands in your lap. Once you feel the first one, the rest fall in quick succession and before you know it, you’re audibly sobbing in the empty theatre. It’s almost embarrassing, the way your cries echo because of the acoustics.

Wally comes in quietly, and sits down next to you. You’ve been too preoccupied to notice anything other than your tears, heavy and streaking down your cheeks. He doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. He’s warm, and when you grab the front of his sweatshirt, he holds you tighter.

It takes a while for you to calm down - you’d been holding everything in for too long - you were bound to bubble over and explode at some point. When you feel yourself come back to your body, Wally is still holding you. He’s stroking your head and whispering comforts to you. You don’t deserve him, you think.

He’s still rubbing your back when you pull away to look at him, but you’re distracted by the wet spot on his sweatshirt - the light grey darkened by your tears.

“Oh,” you whisper, your voice cracking from how long it’s been since you’ve spoken, “I’m sorry.”

Wally’s eyes widen, not prepared for you to start talking, and he jumps to console you. “Woah, hey, don’t even worry about it. This ratty old thing? I’ve been wearing it for like, almost twenty years.” He giggles a bit, continuing, “I honestly think this is the closest this thing has been to a washing machine even longer than that, so. No sweat, promise.”

You nod, thanking him.

“Are you, like…” he trails off, not sure how to ask you if you’re okay. It’s a silly question, he knows that. “I remember the first time I saw my parents after I died. There was a vigil on the football field like a week after it happened. Everyone was there, and they were all crying and it was so weird. I didn’t feel dead yet, like I hadn’t accepted that it really happened.”

“That must’ve been really hard for you, Wally. I’m really sorry.” Your eyes meet, and he shrugs.

He smiles, a sad, nostalgic thing. He can’t tell you it’s okay, because it’s not. Instead, he goes to hold your hand. “I promise it will get better. It just takes some time. It’s gonna suck for a while, but we’re all here for you. I’m here for you.” His thumb rubs circles on the top or your hand, and you smile up at him.

“Thanks, Wally. I really appreciate it.” Your interconnected hands are grounding you. It’s the first time you’ve felt a semblance of peace since you died. “Do you mind if we sit here for a little bit? It’s quiet, I don’t want to leave yet.” He nods, and the two of you just sit there.

Just like Wally said it would, it gets easier.

You start going to more of the meetings with Mr. Martin, and you actually start participating. It was weird at first - you thought people would make a big deal out of your finding your voice again, but they just smiled, proud of your growth. Wally has been your biggest cheerleader, but they’re all really supportive. Even Rhonda, though she still sports her gloomy demeanor.

When they fix up the stage and clear the crime scene tape, the school holds your vigil there. Wally is right there with you in the audience, holding your hand while your parents speak. Your theatre teacher speaks too, and talks highly of you. Your brightness, the passion you had for theatre. When she says you had a beautiful voice, that you could’ve been somebody, she directs it at your parents. They agree, it seems.

There are still days where it's really hard. You retreat back into your shell, refusing to leave the auditorium or speak to anyone. Wally's patience with you is endless, and when you allow him to stay with you, he spends all day cracking jokes to help you feel better.

One day, instead of letting you isolate yourself, he drags you out onto the football field to get some sun. "We don't really need vitamin D anymore, but I really think it'll help. C'mon, the sun on your skin? Wind in your hair? Can't beat that, babe." He leads you out onto the field - one hand clasped in yours and the other holding a backpack.

The pet names are a new thing, but you don't mind it. He'd slipped one day, called you sweetheart, and immediately backtracked and apologized profusely. All you could do was laugh and call him cute.

"Where did you even get that?" you giggle, following him to a spot under a tree near the edge of the field. "Did you steal that from someone?"

He drops your hand to bring it to his own chest, offended at your assumption. "Me? Steal? I can't believe you'd think so lowly of me," he plops onto the grass, patting the spot next to him, "Yeah I totally stole it, emptied it out, and then filled it with a shit ton of snacks and drinks so we could have a picnic out here." He unzips the bag, pulling out at least ten different bags of chips and candy bars.

"This is really sweet, Wally," you can feel your face heat up, though hopefully it'll just look like it's because of the heat. "It's like a date, almost." His head shoots up to look at you, pink dusting his cheeks and ears.

"Y-yeah, if you want it to be. If you think you're ready for that kind of thing." He stutters, a nervous boyish thing. He's the sweetest person ever.

“I am, I think,” you nod while you’re talking, like you’ve made up your mind, “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met.” Wally ducks his head down, chin meeting his chest. He’s fully blushing now - it’s the cutest thing you’ve seen in a long time.

“C’mere,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and maneuvering your body so your back is pressed up against his chest, head resting in the space between his head and shoulder, “is this okay?”

You turn your head to try and look at him, and he angles his towards you. His face is inches from yours, and if you had a heartbeat, it’d be beating wildly right now. You can almost feel it, the pitter patter of it in your chest. Your hand comes up to cradle his cheek, rubbing your thumb over the space under his eye. You nod, and move in to kiss him.

His lips are so soft, and the way they move in conjunction with yours provides much needed relief. You stay like that for a few minutes, and when you’re done, he rests his forehead against yours. Eyes closed, feeling the gentle breeze sweeping up the hill you’re sitting on. You never had anything like this when you were still alive, the easy conversation and back and forth banter. He’s your new safe space. You don’t have to worry about anything when you’re with him.

“This is perfect.”

a/n: wally clark is actually so special to me and when i think about him for too long i get very emotional. my shayla. i wrote this in the span of like a day and a half so if there are any mistakes i'm sorry LMAO

if you liked this story, please like and reblog!! it'd mean the world to me, even if you just drop a silly comment. i want to write more for wally because he desperately needs more stories on here.

#wally clark #wally clark x reader #school spirits #wally clark imagine #i love that golden retriever man so much

482 notes · View notes

clairewritesfanfics · 22 days ago

Note

Can I request some hcs of a reader who can make the evil Mark’s literally melt like butter at the slightest touch or compliment. Like he’s normally very stoic and serious/scary and downright evil but as soon as the reader calls him “baby” he’s like defenseless puppy. Absolutely adores the reader but despite his softness, will still murder anyone who dares to look at them wrong.

Specifically thinking of Sinister, Viltrumite, Sheisty, and Emperor, but you can add whoever else you’d like!

Characters: Target, Shiesty, Sinister, Viltrumite

Emperor Mark (aka Target, Striped Mark)

I am still unsure how to portray this guy. He is one of the more difficult variants to write for, and I don’t know whether he’s immature and overcompensating or is a perpetually exhausted boss, but either way, he is a barking chihuahua towards anyone who isn’t you. Ferocious, loud and territorial, but harmless, as long as you’re around.

He hates it when others speak with you, especially “the help” or even your own friends. He glares at them without fail, but stays quiet because the last time he made a scene about someone disrespecting you by making unwarranted eye contact, you reprimanded him and refused to spend time with him until he promised never to get in the way of your social events.

Shiesty Mark

He used to be a total slob; not in the dirty doesn’t shower and brush teeth-way, but in the messy-leaves his clothes littered around the room-way.

Whipped. All of the Marks are, but this one's “friends” go out of their way to accuse him of this because he is a different man from who he was before meeting you.

I think I’ve mentioned it before, but he’s the type who does not repeat his mistakes. He is prone to being a manchild, but he never weaponizes his incompetence. You wish he wouldn’t scatter his laundry all over your shared home? Ask him nicely and he will fold everything and keep them in one corner for easy access. You don’t like it when he leaves his used glass unwashed on the kitchen counter? Tell him and you will never see dishes pile on the sink again.

He doesn’t care if his buddies make fun of him, but the moment they insult you is the moment they lose their right to live.

scenario:

“Am I dreaming?”

“No.”

“You’re shitting with me. This is some cruel prank, right?”

You laughed and tapped the package on the table, its plastic cover shimmering under the warm light of your living room. Today was Mark’s birthday. It was hard to forget because he’s been telling you that it was almost his special day a whole month earlier.

You hung a blue and yellow “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” banner over the flat screen TV and had his favorite songs blasting from his Godzilla-shaped speaker. His friends were coming over in a few minutes but you decided to give him his present early.

It was the newest GameCube with holographic features and a vibrating controller.

“This was just released in Japan two days ago, they say the program doesn’t even have English installed.” He held the box up like it was the most precious set of chinaware.

“I knew a guy who knew a guy who helped get the global release models.”

He set down the box and lifted you in the air. “Have I ever told you how lucky I am to have you?”

You ran your fingers through his hair just as the doorbell rang. “That will be your guests.”

He carefully set you down and started walking towards the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay? I mean, I know we have a more private thing later tonight planned, but it would be nice to have you here.”

“You’re sweet, but we’ve talked about this. I don’t think your friends like me very much so I’ll only be here for a few minutes to welcome them and then I’ll catch up on some reading in the cafe downstairs while you guys play with your new toy.”

“There is no way they don’t like you.”

You threw your hands up in surrender and went to check the food.

As you put the freshly baked lasagna on the kitchen island, the racket of Mark’s clique filled the whole condo unit.

“Imma set up the console, you guys can go ahead and eat if you want,” you overheard Mark tell them.

Familiar faces popped in, some smiling, some had their mouths in tight lines.

“Cool place,” said one of them. It was Kurtis, a guy who had bleached hair and wore really loose pants.

You smiled at him. “Thank you.”

His grin was more sardonic as he added, “Guess Mark must’ve been really good for you to let him move in.”

The others snickered.

“You got any beer here, sweet thing?”

You maintained your polite smile. “It’s in the fridge. Feel free to take anything.”

One of the girls rolled her eyes and she went back to the living room.

You refused to show them any weakness and resumed cutting up the lasagna.

***

“Look at these graphics.” Kurtis whistled as he and Mark raced against each other.

The living room boomed with music and the roar of digital car engines. The smell of booze and lasagna permeated the air.

“Right? Apparently, the stores in Japan all sold out the hour they released this thing.”

“So how did you get your hands on this thing?”

Mark beamed proudly as he crossed the finish line first, the controller almost vibrating out of his grip. “What do you think?”

“You stole this thing from Japan?”

“No, dumbass, they got it for me. Best part is that there shouldn’t even be an English setting but lo and behold. They gave it to me right before you guys came here. It was quite the surprise.”

“Ah.” Kurtis put down his controller and reached for his beer.

Mark did the same and looked at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. Tell me.”

Kurtis shrugged. “You changed.”

“What?”

Their friends who were in the room with them suddenly stiffened.

Kurtis shrugged again. “Dude, you just said ‘quite.’ And who the Hell uses ‘lo and behold’?”

“They use those words.”

“Exactly. Just a few months together and now, you act like–” He waved his bottle “–like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like the kind of guy we used to make fun of. Look at this place, bro.”

Mark wasn’t an interior designer, and he would’ve been fine living in a dingy apartment so long as he had his essentials, but since he started living with you he has learned to appreciate a good painting or a potted plant, how one piece can really bring an entire room together. The old him would have scoffed at the person he has become.

But Mark didn’t like who he used to be before he met you.

He was about to make a retort when he caught a whiff of cigarettes. He walked into the kitchen. Two of the girls were smoking and drinking orange juice straight out of the jug.

“Nah, you guys can’t smoke here, and for the love of God, we have glasses for a reason,” he reprimanded, confiscating their cigarettes in one swift motion.

Kurtis was right behind him. “See what I mean, man? You’re a total pussy now. You never used to care about this kind of shit before.”

“Okay, okay.” Mark nodded. “I get what you’re saying, but I’m still me. I just… I dunno, I just like this place, and I like following the rules here.”

“You like–ugh, bro, you are whipped.”

He chuckled. “I guess I am.”

His friends blinked. No one expected that.

Kurtis recovered and smirked. “They really that good of a lay?”

“What?”

“I mean they got you acting like this after a few months of dating when the cops couldn’t even keep you in jail. Come on, man, are they that crazy in bed?”

Something ticked in Mark’s jaw. “Hey–”

Kurtis wrung his arm around his shoulders. “Maybe we’ll understand if you let us have a taste, hm?”

***

You were forcing yourself to remain interested as you read an entire book chapter dedicated to the whiteness of a whale. You were determined to finish Moby Dick today, or at least finish this boring part before your date.

The gentle ringing of the coffee house door signaled the entrance of a new customer, but you didn’t look up, intent on overcoming this damn novel.

“Babe?”

Goodbye, Ishmael.

You looked up. “Mark?”

His hair was ruffled, like he just blowdried it, and he had changed clothes.

You set down the book. “What’s wrong? Party already over?”

“Yeah, um, we kinda got into a fight.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh my God.”

“I may have made a mess of the living room, I’m sorry.”

“Oh–”

“I also accidentally broke the GameCube.”

You put a hand over your chest. “Must’ve been some fight.”

He hung his head. “I’m sorry, it must’ve cost you a lot to get that gift.”

“Oh, sweetie.” You rose from your seat and pulled him into an embrace. “It’s okay, it was your GameCube. I’m just sad that you didn’t get to use it for long.”

“I think I’m going to have to take a break from gaming. At least for a week.”

“Don’t you have that online competition next weekend?”

“My team and I decided to disband.”

You stepped back.

He answered your silent inquiry without meeting your gaze, “Long story, I’ll explain someday.”

“Well, it’s still your birthday, what do you wanna do?”

He played with your hands. “I just want to spend time with you.”

“I know, let’s go watch a movie–”

“Um, I just cleaned the living room and kitchen, so I think it would be good to let the place air out.”

You laughed like you didn’t see the rust on the sleeves of his jacket. “We do have a cinema. C’mon, birthday boy.”

Sinister Mark

Oh, boy.

This one lives for conflict, second only to one specific variant (I think you know who). Fortunately for him and unluckily for the rest of the world, you don’t care. Hell, a part of you even enjoys seeing him drenched in blood.

He has no restraint and will pick on people for the pettiest reasons. Man breathed too close to you on the subway? He’s hunting him down. A woman pushed you and cut in line for the cashier? He’s taking her hair.

Others have tried to ask you to stop him, but you don’t, because your Mark is always stressed because of work and he deserves the fun.

When you do want him to stop, maybe because you’re tired or hungry, all you have to do is call his name and he will dump what he’s doing to come to your side.

scenario:

Your little bee was late. Normally, you wouldn't have cared. You can forgive waiting for a few minutes, but tonight was a Friday and your favorite murder mystery show was premiering a new episode.

Plus it was exceptionally hot and humid today, and your cheap-ass boss refused to lower the AC temperature than the standard.

So here you stood at the steps of your office building at five p.m., foot tapping impatiently as you waited for your ride home. Sweat soaked you in every possible place.

And like the universe's idea of a joke, a co-worker you hated suddenly joined you.

He was being the usual twit that he was. Hitting on you despite the ring on your left finger.

After ten minutes of getting nothing from you aside from stone silence, the creep snidely remarked, “You know what I think?”

He slowly stepped closer to you, close enough that you could smell his rancid breath as he said, “I think that you're not actually taken, I think your ring is a fake and your fiancé is fake, all so you can have an excuse to be a frigid and stuck-up–”

He never got to finish.

Your “fake” fiancé was here.

More of your colleagues were on their way home when they found your Mark beating the tar out of the resident creep.

A woman turned to you and barked, “Do something!”

You tilted your head. “But he deserves it.”

Your answer made her take a step back. Why did people seem so shocked when you revealed that you supported your future husband? Did they think you had compunctions when it came to punishing annoying creatures?

You watched Mark throw the man on the ground. You didn't see why the others were so concerned. They should be grateful. That prick has been a nuisance since the day he joined the office. Mark was making the world a little better; not that you cared about the state of the world.

You pulled on your collar. It was getting hotter though, so you approached them.

“Marky, let's go,” you whined, circling your arms from behind him. “My head hurts and I'm all sweaty.”

He stopped punching. The fact that the pervert was still breathing meant that your honeybee was holding back.

Mark turned his head towards you and you kissed him on the lips.

“Hey.” He smiled.

“Hey, you're late.”

“I know,” he sighed and rose to his feet, twisting around so he could hold you by the waist. “I'm sorry. I had to deal with some pests that wanted to invade the planet.”

“Again?”

He shrugged. “They never learn.”

“Mmm, you're getting blood all over my coat.”

“I'll get you a new one.” He kissed your forehead. “You said your head hurt?”

You nodded softly.

“I'll give you a full body massage in the bath.” Securing you in his arms, he began to hover.

“Just a bath and a massage this time?”

He grinned and flew so high you can see an ambulance rushing towards your office building. “No promises.” He nuzzled your cheek. “I've barely seen you this week.”

Viltrumite Mark

This one was trained to be the perfect murder machine from the moment he could walk. Quiet, precise and deadly as a sharpened blade, Mark has no issues with killing even children if that is his assignment.

However, in your eyes, he’s a stray dog who has never known love.

The first time you hugged him, he went still as a statue and you spent thirty minutes explaining how humans express affection through physical contact. After that, he has no shame when it comes to touching you. He likes to hold your hand, the fabric of your shirt, cradle your cheek, pat your head and lay his chin on the top of your skull.

scenario:

“So it’s just pure sugar? And you humans actually pay for this?” Mark asked, turning the frog-shaped cotton candy. It was mostly pastel green and had two big black circles for eyes. “It’s hideous.”

“Don’t be like that,” you said, glancing at the plastic headband you bought from a vendor at the theme park entrance. Rather than animal ears, two green barrel springs bounced on top of his head, each one bearing a golden star. “He reminds me of you.”

Mark furrowed his brows. “I am not green.”

“He has your eyes.”

“My eyes are not black.” So he claimed, but from where you stood, his brown eyes resembled two pools of obsidian liquid, absorbing light everywhere, taking in as much information as they can.

You picked off one of the frog’s eyes and Mark made an offended face. Smiling, you held the piece of sugar cloud to his mouth. “Open up, space boy.”

Those dark eyes flitted from you to the green fluff, then at you, then back to the fluff. Finally, he obeyed. The sugar melted instantly on his tongue.

He pursed his lips.

“Well?”

“It is… not disagreeable.” He smiled and bit down on the other eye before pushing the cotton candy towards you. “You take a bite as well.”

“It’s okay, this one is all yours.”

He cocked his head, the stars slinking to the side. “But is it not customary for lovers to share food?”

Cliche as it was, your heart skipped a beat with how he looked at you as he said those words. Your stomach dropped a bit, too.

You’ve never had the talk with him regarding the exact nature of your relationship, because you were having fun with the way things were, but now you were afraid. Mark was sweet. He was also clueless with how human relationships work. You were his only friend so far, so it was natural that he would feel attached to you. He was naive, so wouldn’t agreeing to be his count as taking advantage of him?

Gentle fingers on your cheek grounded you. “I can see that my words have troubled you. If you are full then I won’t force you to eat, I will, what is the phrase…” He paused, then grinned proudly as he continued, “I will hide away your share for you.”

You laughed. Mark wasn’t always so touchy, but ever since you explained how it was normal for humans in a close relationship to express affection physically, he has been liberal with his touches.

“You mean, you will put away my share,” you corrected, taking his hand and swinging it beside you.

He frowned and dipped his chin. The stars drooped like dog ears. “I thought I got it right for sure.”

You smiled. You have a lot of things you wanted to show him. “Come on, let’s go try and win a bear–!”

Your words were cut short when Mark’s arm disappeared from your side and extended firmly behind you. His hand gripped firmly over a young man’s wrist.

He twisted his arm and the boy yelped.

“This one was reaching for your bag,” he explained calmly, black eyes boring into the teenager trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

“I-I’m sorry, it was a prank, I swear! I didn’t plan to steal anything–augh!”

“Mark, stop!” You put your hands over his arm. “He’s just a kid.”

“Do you know this person?”

“No.”

“He was trying to touch you without your permission.”

“I’m sure he was just being stupid–” you turned quickly to the teenager “–right?”

“Y-yeah! Yes! I just made a bet that I could get close enough to open your bag, s-swear to God! I wasn’t gonna steal or grope you! It was a prank!”

Mark faced you and blinked slowly. “You once said that pranks are dangerous and foolhardy and often break the law.”

“Well–”

“Where I hail from, miscreants have their bones broken.”

You heard the kid mutter an oh, God and you did the one thing you could think of at the moment: you grabbed Mark’s face and kissed him.

That seemed to reset his brain because he let go of the kid and dropped the cotton candy to the ground. His arms stiffened beside him like two metal limbs, unsure of what to do next.

When you finally pulled back, he stared at you. “That was a kiss,” he muttered, his prior coldness had melted away entirely, leaving nothing but wide-eyed surprise.

You tried to pull back your hands but his arms came back to life and held them in place. “You said kisses are special, and we shouldn’t give them recklessly.”

You chuckled nervously. “I know, I’m sorry.” Consent was a bit tricky to teach.

You averted your eyes and dared to ask, “Did you hate it?”

Tender fingers touched your chin and pushed you to look back at him.

“It was not disagreeable.”

this author has a few things to say:

There may be mistakes that I did not spot because I wrote half of this on my phone while lying on my back. The heat in my country is killing me.

I could not think of a good scenario for Target and I’ve kept anon waiting long enough so I just left it alone.

I know that a lot of people headcanon Shiesty to be a fuckboy, and honestly, he can be, but I remember watching him and thinking that bro gave strong "girls have cooties" vibes. Not saying he's a virgin (but he can be), but he feels more like a virgin than a playboy. He strikes me as someone who is more into playing video games than he is getting laid.

Viltrumite Mark is so cute, he is just perfect for corruption.

My variants keep raising the bar for my future spouse.

Disclaimer: The images above are not mine but are screenshots from the Invincible TV series.

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

MAIN MASTERLIST

Any questions for the author? Ask here.

#mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #invincible #invincible x reader #gender neutral yn #gender neutral reader #gn reader #request #ask #anon #emperor mark grayson #target mark grayson #striped mark grayson #shiesty mark grayson #veil mark grayson #sinister mark grayson #viltrumite mark grayson

382 notes · View notes

luludeluluramblings · 7 months ago

Note

dream team back. we’re currently yapping central again (per usual)

both of us are straight up in a tim drake brainrot spiral too!!! he’s a delightful little weirdo. a strange little gentleman if you will.

tim is such a funny little guy!!! he also makes a solid yandere. you can’t outsmart him. you can’t escape someone who can find everything about you. On the upside, I feel like he’d be happy to spoil his darling. also he’d be like, really considerate in weird ways??? I mean like you don’t get privacy (or you get the illusion of it maybe but not actual privacy.)

like yeah you’re always being watched in some way, but the man has committed every single one of your favorites and least favorites to memories. He knows what clothing you like, what specific features you look for in everything, and if he doesn’t, by god, will he learn. He knows your favorite song, and he knows the nickname you went by in elementary school.

Do you think he pretends to be normal and basically sets things up to send reader to be like a little love story?? You meet by chance, and he fell first. He fell a LONG time ago, so now it’s his mission to make you fall too. And Tim Drake ALWAYS finishes a mission. (Even as a baby daddy candidate). He makes himself the best option, even if he’s not the father.

Yandere!TimDrake x PastFriend!Reader x Aiden Cobblepot

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Sooooo, I'm finally and slowly going through my ask box and you two may have sparked an idea just for Tim. I might have to do a Part Two for this. (I'm falling into the WIP trap. Help!) But, I love the thought of the Bat Family have competition when it comes to their darling. Gives them a challenge. Plus, I really wanted to use Aiden Cobblepot for this. I've been wanting to sneak him into something.

A/N: We have neglected!Sib!Reader, but what about a Neglected!Friend!Reader? Fun idea. Tim already knowing everything about you only to find you’ve changed and wants to study you all over again. Only this time he’s keeping you! (I’m very fond of Tim. I think he’s difficult to write for me, but I enjoy the little stalker so much.)

Warnings: Yandere Themes, Romantic themes, Tim can be read as kinda platonic, GN!Reader

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You and Tim were once good friends. Well, he was your best friend. To him you were just a good one. High school buddies that would hang out all the time. At school only. And sometimes the rare gala you saw him at. It was rare you ever actually went to The Manor. You never asked to go. But, you had hoped to be invite.

Just like you had hoped that he might reciprocate that pesky crush you had on him back then. You had felt like it was so painfully obvious. Though it wasn't as painful when you finally figured out he was Red Robin and you waited and waited for him to tell you his secret identity. And, then you would tell him you already figured it out and you would look so cool.

Only, he never did. You both grew distant. You had put so much carful effort into keeping that distance from growing. Inviting him to hang out more. Asking him out for casual coffee. He always said the same thing.

"Oh, damn. I could really go for that right now. But, I'm just sorta busy. Next time though. For sure."

Over and over. He sounded like a broken character. Repeating the same phrase. One that you would hang around after the game was over to reminisce about all the fun adventures you both once had. However this was life not a game. You couldn't just restart and rerun the same adventures.

It made you ache when you finally moved on. When you finally pulled away. Because, Tim didn't even notice you were gone. His life to change. He didn't have to restart anything. You had lost your best friend and he didn't even care. It stung. It stung more than you realizing he'd never reciprocate your feelings.

But, like all things, time moves on and so do you. Leaving the past behind and starting a new game. One that you start to flourish in. Making new friends. Meeting new people. Building closer bonds and more healthy friendships. It had been interesting to realize how dependent you had been on Tim once upon a time. And, embarrassing. You can't help looking back on it with a wince. You almost want to reach out and apologize. But, that would be weird and you both live completely separate lives now. You hardly ever see him at galas now. Mostly because you don't go anymore.

Things, do change. You never expected your new partner would draw Tim's attention back to you. And, in such a terrible way.

You had a rough idea of what you were getting into when Aiden Cobblepot had asked you out to dinner. You figured he was only interested in you for your money or your half-decent looks or your family name and position. You had heard all the rumors about him, but still you went. Mostly, because you knew how dangerous he and his family were. And, you were… presently surprised.

He was a bit of an entitled asshole. But, he wasn't scared of getting dirty. You watched him lead you through the puddles of rain water and Gotham grim in the posh restaurant. He held more concern for you're clothing getting dirty than his, which were more expensive than yours. He paid for the date without flinching at the price. Encouraged you to try his own food from his plate. Talked about fond memories of the things he and his sister got up to as children while asking you about your own childhood.

Admittedly, you were easily seduced because after that the two of you became an item. You didn't even realize how official you were until he introduced you to his sister, Addison, and she was actually nice to you. Extremely nice. She did, however, threaten to kill you if you betrayed Aiden in any way, which was honestly fair enough.

Aiden and you were a bit on the opposite side of things, taste wise and morally wise. But, you both made it work. He continued his life of crime, but made no mention of it around you to keep you legally clean. You shared most of your life with him, letting him have a slight glimmer into normalcy. He liked to take you on fancy dates and show you a good time. You were happy to pull him inside just to spend personal time with each other. Of course, you both made compromises. Aiden had a taste for luxury, and you didn't mind indulging in it. Especially after you beat his ass multiple times in Mario cart. It was only fair you let him take you to a gala some point.

Little did you know that that was how Tim would come clawing and digging his way back into your life.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

For Tim seeing you again was like finding an old precious treasure. His life had gotten so difficult and complicate lately that just a reminded of all those old times was nice.

However, seeing you on the arms of the Penguin's son was a brutal wake up call. What were you doing? Had you hit your head? Was he blackmailing you? Drugging you? Everyone in Gotham could recognize the name Cobblepot and how dangerous they are. And, he remembers how smart you were so you couldn't have willing chose to be there. It's not logical.

For your safety, he reintroduces himself to you. Long time, no see. We should hang out some time and catch up. Only he means it. He can't let this happen. He can't let you fall in with a man like that. You're his friend. He'll win you over for your own sake. Ruin Cobblepot while he's at it because how dare he use you.

Even if you changed. Even if you don't smell the same. If your hair is different. If you dress different. Even if your very laugh had changed pitch, he knows you. And, if anything, he can just re-learn you all over again. It won't take long. He's done it all before. This time he'll savor though. This time he won't let you go as he pulls you back in. You were a good friend, this time he'll make you more.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I’m starting to type up Part Three of Pregant!Reader, but I ended up coming up with another start to it with more drama that would be strictly for the BatBoys. The messed up drama in it sounds fun and challenging, but I won’t do it until I finish what I started with the blurbs I have planned included.

A/N: Smalltown!Meta!Reader Part Nine is going to take a while. I have big plans for it, but Pregnant!Reader is kinda outshining it.

A/N: I will post about the LoungeSinger!Reader and another idea I came up with that y’all might like that I’ll add to the concept list.

A/N: There’s a Tony Part Two coming, but it’s only halfway typed and still not that yandere-y. Need to fix that.

A/N: My asks box is full, so I’m gonna try to empty it, but I host Thanksgiving in my family and I’m also a Christmas nut, so I’m gonna be busy. (I have four Christmas trees in my house currently… But I’m not as bad as my in-laws! They had their trees up BEFORE Halloween.)

#yandere tim drake x reader #yandere tim drake #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfam x reader #tim drake x reader #tim drake #aiden cobblepot #reader x aiden cobblepot #yandere batboys #yandere batboy #yandere batfam #answered asks #anon ask #luluramblings

394 notes · View notes

dayasusays · 1 year ago

Text

letting u know it took a month to write, edit and feel like a had to rewrite everything. i don’t usually write anything over 1k words, but here’s like 3.8k maybe… i hope you’ll enjoy it and it’s worth the time spend ! don’t forget abt feedback (comments especially) is very important <3

AND IT’S A REQ ACTUALLY i just forget to add it to the post :(

warnings ! — SMUT and ANGST, fem!vigilante!reader, blood and wounds mention, unrequited love, soft maledom, fingering, praise

summary ? — jason is not your friend, buddy, boyfriend or something.

౿ . . ` ౨ৎ ENJOY ‼️

of course it was an occupational hazard, jason thinks. of course he didn’t want to be around you so often, jason thinks. of course it annoyed him to see you too often after you’d patrolled together so many times, jason thinks. of course he didn’t like your smug, sweet face when you overtook him, jason thinks. of course his heart didn’t beat so hard every time he had to hold your hand when you almost fell off the roof, jason thinks. of course he finds you so annoying and smug that he wants to wipe that smile off your face, jason thinks.

he didn’t hate you, and you didn’t hate him. you’d say he's annoying and boring, but it’s fun to compete with him on things from who’s caught the most criminals to how many steps you get in a day. jason’d say you’re too smug, but seeing your face when you lose to him is very flattering. he’d say you know your stuff, and sometimes it’s nice to work with you. but only when you shut up.

he watches you at practice; he watches your every move and can’t help but sigh in admiration. todd watches you bite your lip every time you throw a punch and smiles contentedly. my god, one successful punch makes you feel so proud of yourself, and he catches himself thinking that he wants to push you against the wall and kiss you roughly just so you won’t be so cocky anymore. he wants to bite that lip, pull it back to put you in your place, and…

wait, what?

“you’re too close,” you whisper as he presses closer to you to hide deeper in the shadows of the alley, “move away.” “stop it,” jason mutters back, grabbing your hands and holding them in place.

you’re so annoying. he doesn’t wanna be this close to you either, he doesn’t wanna feel your breath on his skin either, he doesn’t wanna think about how pretty you are even in the dark. and you make it all the more difficult by twitching, pressing your breasts against his chest.

he looks down at you while you carefully avert your gaze. you’ve been working together for months, but it’s so embarrassing; todd chuckles briefly when he notices you lower your head and thinks about how you’ve finally stopped being so annoying, even for a second. even if that second is in the dark alley where you’ve ambushed someone, and when he’s so close to you that everything turns upside down inside.

“wanna go get something to eat after your patrol?” you look over your shoulder at jason, hearing an unintelligible mumble in response, “on the race. to the nearest diner,” you continue, already turning fully towards him with a tired smile on your lips as your stomach rumbles softly. todd has been acting weird lately. you’re not best friends and never have been, but you used to hang out a lot before; you’d eat together after patrols and often treat each other with the words that someone else should do it next time; he’d often let you leave early from patrols because you pretended to feel bad (he knew you were just tired); sometimes jason would even laugh at your jokes. but now you don’t even recognize him as… him. he became distant; the last time you ate together was a month ago. and you don’t care, of course. he’s a man with a personal life too, and you respected that. you two not even friends, you think.

“not tonight,” he mutters in a half tone, not even turning around to look at you, “maybe next week.” and that’s the fourth time he said it.

maybe you’re just worried about him as a coworker. he’s a vigilante just like you, and he’s not allowed to get his head in the clouds. but he doesn’t look like he’s distracted. he’s just avoiding talking to you.

when jason crashes through the window of your house, you have two questions: how does he know your address when you’ve never told him and he's never walked you home, and why all the blood that splatters on the floor as soon as he falls. and both questions go away when you realize that all that blood is his.

you’ve seen jason get hurt before, and you’ve seen it more than once, but it’s nothing compared to fixing him up on your own. he used to always give you directions when he couldn’t do it himself, and he always spoke loud and clear so that you wouldn’t panic too much, but listened to his voice; your hands were shaking as you bandaged him up while he kept whispering to you that you were doing the right thing. but now his voice was so weak you wanted to cry.

when he woke up the next morning on your couch, which he had soaked in his blood, he had two questions: why the hell did he go to you, if it was the last option, given that you were hardly a doctor, and what the hell should he do if he was in such a vulnerable position. it hurts to lift his arm, let alone stand up. and todd thinks…

his gaze falls on you: you’re lying on the floor, next to the couch, among his bloody suit and piles of bandages, and you’re asleep. his face unconsciously softens as he realizes that you’ve probably been sitting here all night, worrying about him and bandaging him up.

jason was even a little embarrassed; breaking into your apartment and ruining your whole evening (whole night) by making you worry. it’s almost childish, he thinks. he should have just gotten to the bat cave, he thinks.

“you okay?” you pull yourself up, sitting down by the couch and rubbing your eyes sleepily, “i only had time yesterday to wash your wounds and bandage you up, not sure that-“ “‘m fine,” todd mumbles back, letting a soft gaze fall on you, “thanks.”

it’s not the first time he’s thanked you, but a good feeling spills inside, making you blur into a smile.

it’s weird. seeing you twirling around jason while he tries to convince you that everything's okay feels weird.

“c’mon,” he mutters almost irritably, “i’m already fine. i just-…” “you’re staying,” you parry, frowning and folding your arms across your chest.

you hold out a bowl of hot soup to him and see the frown not leave his face. it’s almost funny — todd is sitting on the couch, frowning and looking up at you, just as stubborn.

it’s weird being together with you for so long, considering how distant he’s been for the last month, but when you plop down next to him and turn on some comedy on the tv, all thoughts evaporate. jason turns to look at you and sees you smile when you realize you’ve managed to change his mind.

he thinks that maybe you’re right; he should stay at least a couple of days.

you find yourself on the floor next to the couch where jason is sitting, holding his bandaged side; he’s trying to tell you something, but you can barely hear anything as your eyes run over his figure and you don't know what to do. you distinctly feel panic rise to your throat and you can’t hear his voice anymore.

you get up on woozy legs, sit down next to him, and todd makes another attempt to get through to you; you blink as your brain tries to get you to do something.

jason reaches out a bloody palm, grabbing yours and pulling you closer.

“calm down,” todd says a little louder, “‘m not dying, it’s just-…” he swallows, catching his breath, “just opened wounds. stop the bleeding and bandage me up again.” his words begin to reach you and you reach for the bandages that are already soaked in his blood.

jason sighs heavily as you sit down (practically fall) on the couch next to him and try to relax.

“you alright?” todd turns his head toward you and sees the tears of tension pooling in the corners of your eyes. he doesn’t quite know what he's doing as he pulls you onto his lap.

jason wants to think that he’s just comforting you; the way you nuzzle your nose into his shoulder and murmur softly makes him wince. of course he’s in pain, ready to howl about how uncomfortable you’ve gotten on top of him, but he realizes that he’s been dreaming of this for the past six months-dreaming of feeling you so close that he can feel your heartbeat. “that’s alright,” todd mumbles, awkwardly stroking your hair, “‘m alright. c’mon,” he doesn’t notice the way he himself bumps his nose against the base of your neck and leaves a brief kiss there with his dry lips. it’s an accident, you think on the first kiss. he tries to get comfortable, you think on the second kiss. it feels good, you think on the third kiss and give in, pulling away from his shoulder and exposing more of your neck.

you feel his strong hands on your hips and move you closer; his thumb caresses the skin of your thighs, making you press your breasts closer to his as jason leaves another light kiss on your neck.

todd feels his head spinning as he hears your first moan.

gosh, he feels like a pubescent teenager next to you, because the way you’re pressed against him, your heartbeat and breathing quickening, is too much for him.

your palms gripping his strong shoulders, it’s too much; your open lips that beg to be kissed, it’s too much; your quiet sighs that turn into moans when he bites the skin on your neck, it’s too much; the way you breathe out his name, it’s too much.

he looks up at you, blinking slowly and muttering a quiet “should i stop?” as his palms lightly squeeze your thighs. and you realize you can’t get a word out of your mouth when jason is looking at you so lovingly. it seems like just a second before his pupils become hearts.

“keep going,” you whisper, lifting your head and leaving a brief kiss on his lips, “please.”

todd swallows hard and reaches forward to kiss you again; kissing you slowly and sensually, as if he’s afraid you might run away. but you cling to him, deepening the kiss and causing jason to moan low into your lips.

one of his palms slides up your thigh to your waist, reaching under your t-shirt and helping you pull it off over your head; a surprised sigh escapes his lips as he looks you over. “so pretty,” whispers todd as he continues to cover your neck with kisses. he pinches your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and he hears your moan, which he intercepts with a kiss.

jason trails kisses down your chest, making sure to leave a kiss on the crevice between when you pull away and catch the uncomprehending look in your eyes.

“lemme just…” you stand up, pulling off your pajama pants, and almost immediately sit back down on his lap when you hear a quiet hiss, “did i hurt you? should i get up?” “a little closer,” todd points and wraps his palms around your waist. he helps you move closer, “yeah, there you go.”

he looks into your flushed face and tries to squeeze out a brief smile, but only succeeds in a ragged sigh, pulling you in for another kiss.

his fingers slip under your underwear, quickly finding your clit and pressing gently; you nuzzle your nose into jason’s shoulder again, wiggling your hips in search of more stimulation.

and now, as he inserts his fingers, you moan softly in his ear, biting the soft skin; it seems the way you clench around his fingers is unbearable, because it’s todd is ready to equate that feeling with a sense of satisfaction. he’s ready to moan at the way you feel against his fingers, because the way you're asking him to be faster is just unbearable.

todd looks up at you, and something inside is definitely turning, because you can't look at him like that. look with such desire, while continuing to whisper how well his fingers are stretching you; he just can’t, just fucking can’t, when you look this good. jason finds you so adorable in this moment, when you arch your eyebrows to the bridge of your nose and ask to be faster.

“you're teasing,” you mumble and flinch when he roughly presses his fingertips against the sensitive walls, “c’mon, please…” your hands reach for the waistband of his pants, but he intercepts your wrists faster. “lemme get you ready,” todd quietly parries, kissing your earlobe, “just a little more. m’kay?”

it takes you a couple minutes to start almost begging him to fuck you; the way he takes his time is torture. he just wants to do it right, the right way: with foreplay and tenderness, which doesn't seem to suit him at all. but the way jason soothes you with short kisses on your temple as he inserts the massive head of his cock says otherwise. he's so gentle that you practically melt as you relax into his lap.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, covering your eyes and digging his nails into the skin on your waist, “that’s it, baby.”

for a moment he thinks you’re lovers. he’s so gentle and unhurried, and you're so beautiful and desirable. he wishes you were lovers. that all his tenderness was justified by your beauty.

todd gently pushes deeper as his fingers play with your hair in a soothing gesture; you moan muffledly, squeezing his palm harder. “sorry,” jason responds and stops, “okay?” his voice sounds like he's genuinely worried, and it's almost awkward, “can i keep going?” you nod, snuggling closer to him and your breath hitches as he makes another thrust.

you shouldn’t enjoy it so much. enjoying his tenderness and good sex is wrong, unfair to jason, but in the moment it feels so good that you’re lost in him for the sensations as he’s lost in you for the feelings.

todd gives you half a minute to get used to it, and afterward he pushes in again and again, wrenching sobs from your lips. “so tight,” jason whispers, nestling into your shoulder and biting down lightly. his fingers find your clit again and make a few circular motions, making you clench around his cock, “that’s it. doin’ so well for me.”

his free palm gently squeezes your thigh as he quickens his pace a little; his lips find yours to first lube the corner of your lips before pulling you into a deep kiss. your thighs bump against his as you once again lift up and sit back down with a loud groan.

this is unbearable, jason thinks. holding you so close and fucking you so well, knowing you’re not his, unbearable.

but right now his head is all about you and how you feel around his cock, so he moans as he cums inside, feeling you cumming with him, relaxing in his arms.

you shift from foot to foot as you hand jason the bowl of soup, and he looks up at you and sighs as he takes it. accepting for the first time in a couple days, because you hadn't even talked before.

awkwardness. realizing you slept with someone you have (almost) nothing for is awkward; realizing you can’t be in the same room with him for longer than a couple minutes is awkward; realizing you’re the one who let him do it is awkward; realizing how unfair it is to him is awkward.

“look,” todd starts as you turn around and walk off in the direction of your bedroom, “wait-“ “i’m tired,” you turn back to him over your shoulder and smile weakly, “i’ll talk to you tomorrow. okay?”

and you didn’t know (actually secretly hoped) that jason wouldn’t be in your apartment that morning.

and then you’ve been lying awake for two days since jason left your apartment. it was so fucking awkward that you want to turn back time and not have sex with him, because you don’t even know what to say to him or how to take it. you wanna think that it was just a mistake and you both gave in to the moment, but the way todd looked at you won’t get out of your head. he looked at you like you were his whole world and he looked so in love that it makes your stomach twist to realize what you’re doing to him.

sometimes you wish you weren’t vigilante. and this is that moment, because you can’t just run away from jason. disappear from his life so it’s not awkward, block his number and just… walk away because it’s not fair to him.

it’s not fair to him, you think. you shouldn’t have done that, you think, and you come to the conclusion that things will sort themselves out and go back to the way they were. at least you want to think that the way he looked at you was just a dream, and that all his tenderness was because he’s just… that way.

although deep down you realize you don't know a damn thing about jason todd, who you spent that night with and worked with for so long. maybe know a little bit about red hood, but not about jason todd.

“wanna go out to eat?” jason tries to sound carefree, but he can clearly feel that tension and awkwardness between you after that night. and so he can’t help but catch himself thinking that he shouldn’t have done it. shouldn’t have comforted you, shouldn’t have given in to the moment, shouldn’t have kissed you like you were lovers, shouldn’t have fucked you so tenderly, shouldn’t have looked at you with all the damn love, shouldn’t have… your mumbling makes him distracted from his own thoughts.

“can't tonight,” you parry, turning to him and trying to force a smile, though somewhere in your stomach there’s an uncomfortable feeling of anxiety that you can’t control, “things. lots of things to do, actually.”

and todd just nods back, staring into the darkness of the alleys, into the burning streetlights, looking at the people passing by, looking anywhere but at you. he knows he can’t fix it, so he tries to at least just make contact so it's less awkward.

but you’re not stupid and he’s sure you know what that night meant. you know what his eyes and all that indescribable tenderness towards you meant and that's why you’re avoiding him now. avoiding him just like he avoided you. he didn’t say that stupid “i like you” thing (which would have made him feel like a lovesick teenager), but now jason thinks that’s where he should have started, even if he knows that this (possible) relationship wouldn’t end up being anything good as long as you’re both vigilantes.

it's a matter of time, jason thinks, and casts a glance at you. you nervously run your fingers over it.

and you’re starting to annoy him. really annoy him. you’ve been avoiding any conversation, avoiding any contact even after three weeks since the incident, and it’s so damn annoying.

you probably think that by doing this selfishly, you’re helping you both avoid this awkwardness, but what you don’t know is that jason can’t even sleep well without thinking about you and what he could have done to make things go back to the way they were before. todd thinks about how you should have just said no to him. said that damn “i don't feel anything for you” and he would have gotten over it and you would have worked together and he would have just… not feel like he did something wrong. you think about the fact that keeping out of his sight is helping, but he’s looking for you everywhere you can be.

he can’t even catch you at practice no matter when he comes in. on patrols, you keep such a distance that jason knows you won’t be heard, and yelling across the street to call for you is stupid and irrational.

so he gives you another week in the hope that things will go back to normal.

but when you keep avoiding him even after a week, all todd’s patience comes to naught. you act so childish, he has to catch you on patrol and make you talk to him.

“what the fuck is going on?” jason raises his voice a little, grabbing your arm and turning you to face him. the movement is sharp, but he doesn’t squeeze your arm too hard, so as not to hurt you. you see that pure frustration in his gaze as he looks at you, “you’ve been avoiding me for a month!” he stares into your eyes as if he can read your thoughts, and you try to look away again, “don't you fucking dare! answer my question!” “just-…” you stop talking, averting your gaze. it’s so embarrassing, you wanna run away. “what 'just'? can you tell me what’s going on?” todd steps forward, “if you’re going to say no to me, then say it straight out, not run from me for a month!” he yanks your arm, forcing you to pay attention to him.

it wasn’t supposed to end like this. in your head, it would take you a week to get over this awkwardness and work with jason again like you used to, but then you see him and it’s all over again with anxiety and awkwardness mixed with fear because you never planned on falling in love with him. so you kept avoiding him and the feeling that it was wrong kept growing.

“we're still… working together,” jason mumbles in a semitone, “don't make this any more awkward. just say no to me.” “sorry, i didn’t mean to,” you shift from foot to foot as he releases your hand, “coworkers, red?” you hold out yours to him and smile awkwardly. trying to smooth the moment over.

jason looks at you, at your palm, at you, at your palm… and turns around, shoves his hands in his pockets. just walks away, leaving you standing there. walks away with a broken heart and regret in the balance.

⁉️ m.lists | abt me | inbox 💌 (reqs are open)

508 notes · View notes

literaryvein-reblogs · 7 months ago

Note

How do I write mean insults that's in character for a character to say? I'm personally poor at coming up with insults that don't sound generic or would actually cut deep, being mean in general. I want to write a snarky character with a dry sense of humour when it calls for it but don't know how to go about it.

He's also recovering from a superiority and inferiority complex.

As the writer, you know your character best, and what insults would make sense for them to say (also considering the bigger context of the scene). So, I'll just provide you with a compilation of prompts and notes from different sources, and you can choose which ones are most appropriate to incorporate in your story.

Writing Notes: Insults & Dry Humor

A List of "Sophisticated" Insults

Craven - having or showing a complete lack of courage; very cowardly

Fatuous - silly or stupid; complacently or inanely foolish. From Latin infatuate, which once meant "to make foolish," but which now usually means "to inspire with foolish love or admiration."

Insipid - not interesting or exciting; dull or boring

Obstreperous - difficult to control and often noisy

Obtuse - stupid or unintelligent; not able to think clearly or to understand what is obvious or simple

Pusillanimous - weak and afraid of danger. It's been used by such notables as Ralph Waldo Emerson ("It is a pusillanimous desertion of our work to gaze after our neighbours"), and the disgraced Vice-President Spiro Agnew, who called journalists "pusillanimous pussyfooters."

Sanctimonious - pretending to be morally better than other people. It once meant "possessing sanctity; holy, sacred." The genuinely holy aspect faded, and William Shakespeare is credited with first using sanctimonious to mean "hypocritically pious or devout."

Twee - sweet or cute in a way that is silly or sentimental. Just as buddy is believed to be a baby talk alteration of "brother", twee is a baby talk alteration of "sweet". Although twee is still considered a chiefly British term, it's increasingly popular in American English.

Unctuous - revealing or marked by a smug, ingratiating, and false earnestness or spirituality. Unction can mean "anointment" or it can name something used to anoint, such as a soothing or lubricating oil. That idea of oiliness led to unctuous, which can describe the slickness of false sincerity.

Vacuous - having or showing a lack of intelligence or serious thought; lacking meaning, importance, or substance

The insult would also depend on which other character it is directed at. Here is a list of "funny" insults for adults from Reader's Digest:

My days of not taking you seriously have come to a middle.

You are the human equivalent of a participation trophy.

If you were a spice, you’d be flour.

You may have a sparsely attended funeral.

I smell something burning. Are you trying to think again?

You’re like a lighthouse in a desert: bright but not very useful.

Don’t worry—the first 30 years of childhood are always the hardest.

May your life be as pleasant as you are.

You’re as useless as the “ueue” in “queue.”

Your face is just fine. It’s your personality that’s the issue.

...and for your character's significant other:

I like you. People say I have no taste, but I like you.

You continue to meet my expectations.

I’ll never forget the first time we met. But I’ll keep trying.

If genius skips a generation, our kids will be brilliant.

We were happily married for a month. Too bad it’s our 10-year anniversary.

I admire the way you try so hard.

You’re entitled to your incorrect opinion.

Have you tried doing it the way I told you to the first time?

The best part of watching a show with you is when you fall asleep because then I can watch my show.

Don’t call me crazy—you’re the one who married me!

You can always alter these to better suit your character. You can read the full list here, which also includes some insults for kids, best friends, and family.

Tips for Better Humor Writing

Humor writing isn’t all about landing a good joke (except for when it is). In creative writing, the effect is usually a bit more nuanced. Here’s a few writing techniques to get you started:

Subvert expectations. Try to undermine the audience’s expectations or reform them with structural elements.

Save the best for last. Humor is often a release of tension, so the sentence builds that tension, and the pay-off—the punchline—happens most naturally at the end. This is also sometimes referred to as the “rule of three,” where two thoughts act as a build-up to the final humorous closer.

Use contrast. Are your characters in a terrifying situation? Add something light, like a man obsessing about his briefcase instead of the T-Rex looming behind him.

Use good wordplay. Sometimes words themselves are funny, and just as often, their placement in a sentence can make a difference. Some words are just funnier than others, so make a list of those that amuse you the most.

Take advantage of cliché. While clichés are something most writers try to avoid, it’s important to recognize them,so you can use them to your advantage. Humor relies in part on twisting a cliché—transforming or undermining it. You do this by setting up an expectation based on the cliché and then providing a surprise outcome. In humor writing, this process is called reforming.

Use humor as a counterbalance. If you just pile on one terrible thing after another, it starts to become ridiculous, and people won’t buy it. Using humor is a great way to achieve the proper balance between fantasy and real life. Remember, if a roller coaster only did twists and turns the whole time, it wouldn’t be as fun to ride.

Level of Intensity

There are people who shrug off an insult (“That’s just the way she is”) and people who commit murder over an insult (“I’m avenging my honor!”). Plus, of course, everything in between. Which is your character?

To be believable, consider the following:

Personality. How hard does your character take events in general? Does s/he get really excited over good fortune and really depressed over setbacks? Then we’ll find it believable that s/he gets really angry and reacts accordingly.

The second cause of an intense reaction is the nature of the specific fight that you’re creating on the page. Lily Owens lets most of her father’s insults go by (“the art of survival”). But when he starts in about her mother, the topic is too important to Lily to gloss over. Lily’s reaction is intense. She runs away. Another type of character might merely have seethed silently. Still another might have fought T. Ray more intensively, setting fire to the house with him inside.

Finally, the strength of fights is culturally determined. Where public or even private scenes are disapproved of (upper-class London, old-money Boston, “well-behaved” families), arguments may be muted, even when the subject matters a great deal. In other cultures, volatility is not frowned on, and people may feel free to scream at each other in public. In extreme cases, murder may even be considered a duty, as in avenging a sister’s sexual assault.

Where is your story taking place? Are your arguers in tune with local or family culture? Maybe not. You can create interesting effects by portraying the rebels against the local mores: the meek child born into a battling family, the furious feminist in polite 19th-century English society.

On Dry Humor

Dry humor - is all about the subtle irony of the facts being stated plainly; it is the contrast between sentiment and reality that makes the situation funny.

The technique is known for its simple, often matter-of-fact declarations that will make the audience laugh or be perplexed (humor is subjective, after all).

With dry humor, delivery and intention create a sort of comedic cognitive dissonance or contrast. Sometimes it is as simple as using a bit of sarcasm, but it can also be more than that.

Dry humor lives and dies on the back of doing less.

Less facial expressions, less props, less setup—less is often more when it comes to landing the joke. You aren’t using a big, dramatic setup or a grandiose vocabulary to make your point.

Essentially, these jokes are derived from saying the opposite of what is meant or delivering them in a way that purposefully counteracts the supposed meaning of what is being said.

Dry Humor in Writing

The function of dry humor has often been to highlight the absurd.

It is effectively executed in moments where satirization of the circumstances at play require little more than noting the facts aloud.

When writing this sort of humor, quick, cutting accuracy is key to making the jokes land.

Simplicity is king, and an honest statement of the facts will always lead the way to finding the funny.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Humour ⚜ Laughter & Humour

Hope this helps with your writing!

#writing reference #humor #writing notes #on writing #writeblr #writing advice #writing tips #dark academia #writing prompt #spilled ink #light academia #creative writing #literature #character development #dialogue #writers on tumblr #writing resources

229 notes · View notes

practicalsuccubus · 2 months ago

Text

Incorrect Quotes part 10!

(As a reminder, feel free to draw these! Just tag me so I can see them! Im also writing an extreme angst piece and feel bad so Im hiding it with humor) Chase: Just left the doctor's office. I'm up to 198 lbs. I'm going to eat 2 lbs of nachos so I can be 1% Nacho. Nox: Chase. Stop. This is a relationship. We make reasonable and intelligent decisions together. I need you 100% committed to be mine. Chase: 99% yours. Nox: What? Chase: 1% Nacho man - Nox, complaining to Violet: So you can say "Have a nice day" and that’s considered polite. Nox: But when I say "Enjoy the next twenty-four hours" apparently i'm being "extremely threatening, Buddy". - Chase, answering phone: "M'yello?" Deacon: "What. Did you do?" Chase: "Okay… but you can't get mad." Deacon: "WHAT. Did you do." Chase: "Okay, first… I was minding my own business-" Deacon: "BULLSHIT!" Chase: "I waaaas!" - Deacon: Why do you mess with Buddy so much? He's threatened to kill you at least twice today. Chase: Because at this point it's a game, and if he gives in then I win. And he knows it. - Chase: So if you have ten chocolates, and someone takes away half of them, what will they have? Nox: A broken hand. Chase: … n-no. - Chase: Don’t go picking a fight with me. I could make your life difficult! Nox, sarcastically: Wow. I wonder what it’d be like to have a difficult life. - -in a book- Nox: Sorry I was late, I was doing something important.

rapid, approaching footsteps. door slams open.

Chase, disheveled: HE PUSHED ME DOWN THE FUCKING STAIRS! - -a book goes off-script- Nox: Bing bong, hey what's up, you're doin' a bad job. Chase: I KNOW I'm doing a bad job! - Nox: I think I'm gonna start gaslighting you. Chase: You're gonna start gaslighting me? Nox: That's not what I said. - Chase: Sometimes Deacon says, “Chase, what do you think you’re doing?” But that just means stop. He doesn’t actually want to know my thought process. - Prunella: Don't worry. chase likes your butt and fancy hair. I know. I read his diary. Nox, touching his hair: He thinks it's fancy? - Nox: Wife? Why am I the wife? Chase: Because you're attentive, sweet, and look good in white~ Nox, blushing and turning away: Y-You can't just say stuff like that, Chase -

And finally, since this is #10, Deacon and Chase present "I'm at Soup"~! Chase: Hello? Hey, What's up?

Deacon: I need your help, can you come here?

Chase:….I can't, I'm buying clothes.

Deacon: …Alright, well, hurry up and come over here.

Chase: ….I can't find 'em

Deacon: What do you mean you can't find 'em?!

Chase: I can't find them, there's only soup.

Deacon: ….What do you mean 'There's only soup'?!

Chase: It means there's only soup!

Deacon: WELL THEN GET OUT OF THE SOUP AISLE!

Chase: Alright! You don't have to shout at me ;_;

...

Chase: There's more soup!

Deacon: WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S MORE SOUP?!

Chase: There's just more soup!

Deacon: Go into the next aisle!

Chase: There's still soup!

Deacon: WHERE ARE YOU RIGHT NOW?!

Chase: I'M AT SOUP!

Deacon: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE 'AT SOUP'?!

Chase: I MEAN I'M AT SOUP!

Deacon: WHAT STORE ARE YOU IN?!

Chase: I'M AT THE SOUP STORE!

Deacon: WHY ARE YOU BUYING CLOTHES AT THE SOUP STORE?!

Chase: FUCK YOU!

(plz give me more incorrect quote Memes like I'm at Soup I wanna do one that's StarGoth)

#cinderella boy #cinderellaboy #nox #buddy cinderella boy #nox cinderella boy #chase hollow #chase cinderella boy #buddy #stargoth #deacon cinderella boy #prunella cinderella boy #i'm at soup

98 notes · View notes

breakmeoff · 20 days ago

Text

Optimus Fine │The Boy Next Door (drabble)

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader

warnings: none! fluff n crack.

word count: 500ish

synopsis: the insanity of the daily gifts keep coming, and you are coming to realize that there are many more where they came from. chris will get bored with you at some point - right?

drabble sequence: falls between The Boy Next Door chapters 5 & 6

note: there are so many other silly puns/pick-up lines that channie and stay have exchanged that i have a hidden treasure trove of these i could keep writing lol. thx for reading :)

Masterlist

Whenever Chris put his mind to something, he didn’t ever waver until he got what he wanted. And right now - he wanted you. At this point it had been about a week and a half since the random gifts had started being delivered to your office.

It was becoming more difficult for you to hide the fact that you had a ‘secret admirer’, because by this point your new buddy, Henry, from DHL was becoming a regular in the hospital hallways - always making his daily stop at your office.

With your eyes focused on your computer monitor, scanning over the documents you’d just been sent on your newest research assignment, you heard the faint knock on your open office door. Without even looking up, you smirked lightly. “Afternoon Henry…”

“Y/N,” he began, walking in with the small package tucked under his arm and his tablet out for signature. Turning to look up at the deliveryman, you caught his lopsided smile. “If you’re not careful, I bet your coworkers are going to start thinking these are all from me,” he said with a chuckle.

Laughing softly, you reached for his tablet, making eye contact briefly before signing your name. “Y’know at this point it might be easier that way.”

Taking the tablet back from you, he nodded his head and tipped his cap at you teasingly. “This time tomorrow?”

“I hope not for your sake,” you grinned, giving a half wave as he walked out your office door the same time two of your coworkers walked by, glancing in to see yet another package on your desk.

Not even bothering to care who saw this time, you reached for the pair of your scissors resting in your pen cup and sliced open the tape on the cardboard box. Sitting neatly on top was a familiar looking card.

If you were a Transformer, you’d be Optimus Fine. - BC

You’d never typically been one for stupid humor before, but now, reading each new pick up line was becoming your favorite part of the day.

Dropping your scissors back where they belonged, you then placed the new card on top of the growing stack of the others that had come with each previous gift, and turned back to the box.

Reaching inside and digging past the packing peanuts was precisely what you expected, an Optimus Prime figurine. With a heavy smile and soft laugh, you shook your head and placed the new toy next to the snow globe you had received earlier in the week - in a place of honor right by your monitors.

Reaching for your phone, you quickly snapped a picture of Optimus and sent it to Chris.

You: You aren't ever gonna quit, are you? Chris: not until my last dying breath You: I think I'll run out of desk space before that happens. Chris: guess I gotta send a desk next You: Do and you die. Chris: I have a better way you could get me to stop? You: I'm afraid to ask... Chris: let me see you soon You: Chris... Chris: i'm finding this way too much fun and am happy to keep sending you embarrassing toys if you'd prefer Chris: your choice really Chris: but I'm warning you right now... Chris: I won't give up until I get what I want, sweetheart.

tag list: @angel-writes-skz-here @idkimobsessed @queenofdumbfuckery @mfcherry @downingmorphine @pixie-felix @d3kstar @lveegsoi @ebnabi @nebugalaxy @babystay724 @mmarusa @imagine-all-the-imagines @erisuna @beabidoobee @hanniesbubuwife @bbykaixx @riri53 @jinniesgirl @alx-wyjsr @skzswife @hwangjoanna @stephanieeeyang @minnysproutgriffinteddy

#bang chan x reader #bang chan #bang chan x female reader #stray kids x reader #christopher bang #bangchan #skz bangchan #skz x reader #skz fanfic #skz #skz channie #bangchan fanfic #stray kids bang chan #stray kids fanfic #stray kids #the boy next door fanfic

65 notes · View notes

ash5monster01 · 1 year ago

Note

could you write todd helping reader in english? like helping her with poetry or just regular homework. also, they are already dating ❤️ im a sucker for established relationships im sorry lol

Study Buddies

Pairing: Todd Anderson x FemReader

Warnings: established relationship, fluff, some language, just sweetness

Summary: Being a student at Welton is difficult and even more so when you already struggle with most of your classes. Thank God you have a sweet boyfriend who is always so willing to help.

word count: 700

Masterlist

The groan you let out immediately causes Todd to lift his head and scan the library for any onlookers. Deer in headlights like always just at the thought of someone paying a semblance of attention to him. You shake your head as you watch him, dropping the pencil in your hand as you completely give up on the assignment in front of you. When Todd realizes the coast is clear he finally turns his attention towards you.

“What’s wrong now?” he curiously asks and you wonder how he ever got comfortable around you if he panicked like that over just a couple of curious looks.

“This homework is impossible. I give up” you tell him, eyes glancing at the chemistry you no longer cared about. Even if you could figure out what all of it meant, the amount you had been given was absurd.

“You don’t give up, you just need a second to collect your thoughts” he says, voice his normal quiet and hushed tone and you watch as his hand reaches and slides the book back towards you. “Give it another go”

“I’d rather die” but the pointed look he gives you convinces you to pick back up the pencil and stare at the images on the page.

“I don’t get it” you pout, half annoyed and half on the verge of tears. Welton was hard, you knew that, but it still broke your spirits just the same.

“Let me see” he says, scooting close enough that his knee bumps against your own. He’s a fool if he thinks there’s any chance you’ll pay attention to your homework now. Not when your extremely adorable boyfriend is now this close to you.

“Oh well that’s easy, here look” but when Todd’s eyes look up to meet your own he can see you’re no longer interested in whatever he’s trying to show you. The look makes his ears tint pink and you can’t help but smile.

“Todd, I don’t want to do my homework anymore” you coo, leaning your face close to him. His head swings again, searching to see if anyone was peaking in on this private interaction. He freezes when your hand reaches up and stops him.

“W-we have to study” he tells you but you let out a soft ‘shh’. Stopping his stuttering and brushing your nose against his own. His face is fire truck red in an instant.

“I’d rather kiss you” you say, hot breath fanning across his lips and you can feel his mouth opening and closing, struggling to find words in this very moment. You love how shy he can still get around you.

“You gonna stop me?” you whisper and he shakes his head in your hand, yearning for it just as much as you. With your grip still on his chin you tip his mouth up and towards your own, sealing it against you.

The soft sigh he lets out causes you to grin against his lips before closing them around his again. You kiss him briefly but enough to make him dizzy. When you pull away his eyes are closed, mind reeling and now suddenly desperate to get far away from here. You chuckle to yourself lightly, watching as he processes the moment between you.

“Can you help me with number 6?” you ask and his eyes snap open, trying to recover from the whiplash you’ve just given him. He’s a mumbling mess, head snapping between you and the text book and you offer him as innocent a grin you can muster.

“Everything okay?” you curiously ask and he smiles, laughing lightly to himself and mentally cursing himself for always falling into your traps. It made sense you were the only girl who was able to lock him down.

“Everything’s just fine” he says, sliding back close and leaning to look at the question. You watch him intently, waiting as he processes the words.

“Okay, listen close” he starts and you grin, eyes casting over the page as you’re now prepared for him to explain. He was right you definitely needed a second to collect your thoughts.

Best mini break ever.

373 notes · View notes

hoseoksluna · 1 year ago

Text

BANANA MILK | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader

genre: smut, a tiny bit of angst

word count: 5.6k

summary: when a porn video accidentally plays on his tv, jungkook makes sure you watch.

playlist: banana milk / pinterest board: wine

warnings: forced and consensual porn watching, crotch grinding, dom/sub dynamics, plenty of desperation, praise and degradation, reader has daddy issues (like the writer,) oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, biting, pet names and a particular title used, handjob, plushie used during intercourse, spanking, raw sex, squirting, size kink, multiple orgasms, cockwarming

note: this can be read as a standalone, however it's a part two of my fic 'wine'. you guys asked for it and i delivered. <3 i wrote this entire fucking thing in a trace and on my phone, and i still don't understand how i managed to do that. even though i struggled in the beginning, i enjoyed writing this as soon as i got into it. there will be a part three as well—from jungkook's pov. so as you read, look forward to it next sunday. let me know what you think in the comments, don't be shy! mwah ᡣ𐭩

Following the shapes of the sunlight on the parquet floors, your small feet are warm. The clicking of fingers on a sleek keyboard takes you, momentarily, into a hazy frame of mind. You feel as though you’re in a novel yourself, and the sound is a mere announcement that your steps, calculated in depth—thought through, plotted, and cared for—are counted by the man a few feet away from you, the writer, the long lost poet. Counted patiently throughout the rising action until they reach, at last, the climax. The notion unfolds within you, unfurls little by little in a way that you like, for it makes you feel exceptionally alive and poetic. It casts a languorous smile upon your shimmery face. Perhaps it’s due to the double meaning because you’re here for a reason. Or perhaps you owe that smile to the easy joy blooming in your chest, one that was sown hardly an hour ago.

You were in a bookstore, skimming through a paperback that enveloped you in blue dreaminess. The language you had the honor to graze with the pad of your finger was flowery in a way that stirred something within you—something that is noticeably sprouting to life. The furniture of the room was dark and antique under the yellow dimmed light, very much like the one you have at home. It was so you, a true personification of your whole being that made it quite difficult to leave, even though you had something to look forward to.

You were convinced it was your home.

A home that you came around to for the first time in your life—how strange.

You bought the book. It had to be yours, and you had to have a keepsake, a direct link to your hideaway. You set it by the wall next to your shoes and your purse with a pink photocard holder, pulling out a certain bottle of happiness that you brought along for your friend.

The sunlight strips take you straight to him, your feet—kissed by the sun—padding softly on the floor; the third step of the rising action. Jungkook sits slumped on his coffee brown couch with his laptop propped on his lap. His shoulders, clad in a denim sweatshirt, hunch in ever persistent concentration, a Word document opened and being swiftly filled with Hangul. Persistent enough that he doesn’t twist his head to greet you. He knows you’re there. Heard the sweet sing-song beep of his passcode being accepted, letting you in into his solitary life. Knows you didn’t forget it this time because he didn’t have to stand to his feet to open the door for you as he so often did in the past.

You wrap your arms around his neck from the back, tits squished against the nape from the low neckline you chose to wear for the day. It shreds his concentration to smithereens; you feel him inhale raggedly through his nose, fingers coming to a halt on the keyboard. You press your lips against his scarred cheek, not as plump as they usually are because they are still pulled taut into a smile, and whisper, “hi, Ggukie.”

He turns his head to face you from the side.

“Hi,” he breathes. There are peachy specks of glitter scattered all over your eyelids and you watch him study them, round eyes flicking between each one of them as if he can’t get enough of them—as if there are more for him to greet the more he looks.

And he’s right. There are.

His tender mien causes your heart to clench, overflow with a continual stream of endearment for him. You notice the mark of your guileless kiss on the apple of his cheek, the lip gloss pink and glimmering. Decide to leave it there. Decide it suits him well.

“Close your eyes,” he says, and you do.

He drifts the pad of his thumb along that delicate skin. Not to disturb the artwork, no. But to acquaint himself further with it. It’s been a long time since you wore glitter. It’s been equally as long since you were this happy—he senses it, the little iridescent stars tell him somehow. There’s so much of it that when he lifts the digit, the eye makeup stays intact, as if he hadn’t touched it at all. Jungkook flicks his eyes to the craftwork of his stained fingertip, the glitter, the stars nuzzling homely within the lines. Smiles as he mumbles, “pretty.”

You kiss him airily as a thank you. No hands, not anything. Just your lips puckering from the little distance between the pair of you. You retrieve the bottle of happiness from your back pocket and hold it against his hard chest.

Confusingly, with lips rounded, Jungkook looks down and gasps.

Banana milk.

“Come here.”

He hauls you down onto his lap like you weigh nothing, his laptop pushed away to the cold side of the couch. You squeal, pulling your hair as you lay against them and try to find a better position, discomfort painting your features in a way that makes Jungkook scrunch his nose adorably. He lifts your neck and gathers your hair, smoothing it down on the leather. You look up at him. The stars have migrated to your glossy eyes.

“Where’s yours?” he asks, hand placed on the crown of your head, the other clutching the chunky bottle protectively like a child.

“I already drank mine.”

Jungkook pierces the paper lid with the slim straw and takes a sip. Lowers it until it pokes you in the line of your lips. Nods at you, encouraging you to drink.

Your heart clenches again, and the thoughtful gesture makes it swell. It suddenly feels like your chest is very tight, like there’s no space for your organs. You massage the feeling away, wrapping your lips around the plastic, taking a few sips. No hands, not anything.

“You’re a sweet boy,” you whisper, a dollop of the creamy liquid adorning the oily pinkness of your lips.

A bright blush creeps along his cheeks, settling along the bridge of his nose as it ever so often does. Gazes down at you, then at your lips. Scrunches his nose again as he shakes his head, bending to peck you delicately, tongue swiping across your bottom lip, cleaning you up. His habit at this point.

“I’m a man.”

Your face grows hot. The imprint of your lip gloss stained his mouth and it worsens your state, deepens your dreaminess. You’re leaving small parts of your being as marks on him. You find that beautiful, in all its simplicity.

“Sweet and pretty,” you add in a hushed whisper, more to yourself than him.

Twinkles, akin to your glitter, flood his eyes and they deepen in thought. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and when he drifts the palm of his hand down your throat, curling around your collarbones, you realize he’s having flashbacks.

Wine. Neck. Tongue.

The cause and effect on your panties in mere seconds.

Your helplessness. The way you apologized for coming because you weren’t allowed.

Jungkook smirks and so do you. Lets his palm roam down to your tits, discovers only with the lift of his finger that you’re wearing a lacy blue bralette under your top.

“So easy to pull to the side,” he comments, more to himself than you. Doesn’t look at you when he begins to fondle them, transfixed by their fullness.

“That was my—”

“How was your day?” he cuts in, a breathy concoction of a hiss and a moan escaping his mouth once he feels your nipples stiffen under his hand. Index and thumb come and squeeze at that nub, coaxing a hum out of you.

Your brain degrades slowly but surely, metamorphosing into mush. You struggle with your memory, abruptly unable to remember where you were and what you did before you were half spread across his lap.

“Good,” you try. “Fantastic, actually.”

Jungkook smiles. Pinches your nipple again, fingers pressing flat and moving up and down. You moan out for him, writhing in a newly, softly burning desire.

“Really?”

“Yeah, went to the bookstore.”

Did you?

“Bought anything?”

His hand drifts back to your neck, never losing skin-to-skin contact, wraps around the column, then goes back down to your tit. This time, to your neglected one. Gives it the same attention.

You don’t remember if you bought anything.

Zoning out, you focus on the pleasure, fluttering your eyes closed. Figure this is just a meaningless talk that doesn’t require truthful answers or any for that matter. You widen your legs, calling out for his touch there. This is what you came here for. He doesn’t need to know about the itty-bitty parts of your soul.

Jungkook grabs your arm and pulls you up, guiding you to straddle him. You poke the banana milk, propped against the backrest, with your knee. Despite your now lustful haze, you’re careful not to knock it over.

A billow of the whole night lines his eyelashes, arousal blanketing his irises. You run your hand through his hair—can’t help yourself, you’re just obeying your body’s intimate wishes—and tip his head back, his soft strands sifting through your fingers. You draw near to his slightly parted mouth as if to kiss him, but you’re here just to tease him, to make him want more just like he did to you, hovering your lips above his. His slowly quickening inhales add much to your wooziness and you go to hide in the crook of his neck, but he stops you dead in your tracks when he says, “you came here to get fucked, didn’t you?��

Your laughter is but a breath. “How did you know?”

You kiss him there, incorporating your tongue, sucking the sensitive skin for a mere beat of time. And just like him, you discover why he likes kissing your neck as much as he does.

A film of goosebumps shrouds the small portion of the exposed skin of his chest that you’re allowed to see. Jungkook moans lowly, gripping your ass and pulling you closer to his semi-hard crotch, sinking lower into the cushion. Eager hands hook under the hem of your top and fling it out of you, latching onto the back of your neck and drawing you to his face.

He doesn’t kiss you.

He begins to talk.

“I waited for you all fucking day,” he murmurs against your lips, sucking in a breath of air as if there wasn’t enough in his lungs, as if voicing out his desire exerted his energy.

“All I could think about were those fucking tits,” he confesses. “Those hips of yours, so small in my hands. That pussy, fuck. I wanna eat it,” he groans, furrowing his eyebrows. “God, I wanna eat it.”

You nod to each and every word of his, grinding your pelvis against his, mewling into his mouth.

“You understand what I’m saying to you, don’t you?”

You nod again, your body begging you to be allowed to arch your back, but the grip Jungkook has on your neck prevents it from happening. The fire of desire burns bright, made bigger and blue by his spluttering sparks.

“‘Course you do, you’re my good little girl, aren’t you? Smart and educated,” he praises and your walls clench. “Let me eat your little pussy.”

“Please,” is all you manage to utter before he holds you steady by the waist and lays you down on the couch.

Your shoulder blade hits the remote control and a sudden echo of a girl’s moan booms through the room. Both of your heads swing to the TV to see a girl humping her teddy bear, barren down to her full femininity except for her panties. She plays with her nipples, pulling on them while flicking her hair back, hips rapidly moving back and forth on the nose of her big fluffy friend. Mesmerized and completely sobered up from your drunkenness, your clit gains a heartbeat, your teeth sinking into the bottom of your lip.

Jungkook hastily rummages around you to find the remote. You stop him.

“Leave it on.”

He blinks at you, mouth agape. You smile at him, thumb brushing along his knuckles as you take the remote from him and place it on the coffee table. The gesture smooths down the wrinkle between his brows. His blush deepens, the color of roses stunning you.

Undoing your jeans, he pulls down your zipper. “You want me to eat you out while you watch porn?”

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

Jungkook sighs, sagging your pants down to the middle of your thighs. “Don’t call me sir or I’ll fuck you in the ass right here, right now.”

“Hurry, she’s almost done.”

He spanks you harshly and you squirm, quickly reminded of his need to be in control, but he listens to your need. Rewinds the video back. Slaps the remote back down onto the wood of the coffee table, which makes you burst into giggles and Jungkook smirks, folding you in half, dragging your panties to your jeans pooling above your knees. The center sticks to your core, causing him to growl, hand coming to wipe at the corners. The girl hops on the teddy bear. Moans fill your ears.

He kisses your clit. Pinches the back of his sweatshirt and hurls it at your head, obscuring your view. You huff in frustration, throwing it back at him, but he catches it. Your breath hitches in your throat.

“You should focus.”

“You going all in for me?” you ask, speaking of his nakedness.

Clothes come off on the verge of his climax, never before it; it’s so unlikely of him to discard himself so quickly. He usually keeps at least one item of clothing on, too hasty—too hungry to bother, until he can’t take the heat anymore.

“For you always.”

He dives into your pussy, tongue licking against your folds, nose pressed against your mound, inhaling you. Going up and down, he drinks you. Moans at the taste, eyes lidded and drunk as he stares at you through the little opening of your barely parted legs. You wish to spread them wider, the pleasure forces you to, but you can’t—the tight fabric won’t grant you the satisfaction.

“Take it off of me,” you whine.

He comes up for air. “No.”

You whine louder, fingers grasping at the waistband. Jungkook grabs your hands and pins them down to the cushion, thumbs resting in the middle of your palms. He doesn’t let a drop of you go to waste, sheathes his tongue into your warmth as he fucks you, nose rubbing against your engorged clit. You tip your head back, lose a sight of him for a moment, digits naturally wrapping around his thumbs like a baby. A litany of curse words, broken by your moans that sync to the girl’s sounds of pleasure, fall from your mouth. You don’t even look at her, too busy—too distracted by the man below you, by the way his open mouth works against you, his dimples hollowing into straight lines, so akin to the sunlight strips that led you to him, as he flicks his tongue against your clit.

You brush your fingers through his hair again, hold it at the roots through the small hole between your thighs. It provokes him enough that he looks up at you and finds you staring back at him. He growls against your cunt, a warning, the vibrations sending you back. Your eyes roll into your head and your hips follow, grinding into his glistening face.

Jungkook hums. Sticks around to see if you’re watching the porn, slowing down the pace of his flicks.

You’re not.

Coming down from that wave, your eyes set back down on him.

Jungkook peels his mouth off of you. Bends over you and grips your neck, pushing you down. The other hand spreads your slick all over your cunt, gliding back and forth. No pressure, not anything. Hearing your squelching noises, he mimics you. Also rolls his eyes back. Awakens the butterflies in your tummy.

“Focus,” he hisses.

You mewl. Ride his fingers to at least feel something, but you achieve nothing of the like.

He spanks your pussy, another warning.

You don’t listen. Can’t take your eyes off of him. Of the disheveled mess on top of his head, the sweat that pools at his hairline, the disarrange of his thick eyelashes from having his lids closed against your skin, the sheen of his nose, the wet puffiness of his lips, the kiss mark on his cheek. You take a deep breath.

It’s impossible to focus on someone else other than him. Especially when he licks his lips, the tip of his tongue sailing around the arc of his lips—the arc of your character development. Swallows the dewiness he called out like teacher to pupil.

You were a virgin when you met him. It was him who taught your body to get messy for him like this. His tongue that tasted your girlishness first. All your first times were with him and continue to be under his ever strict but safe supervision.

Under his custody in a way. You do call him Daddy after all.

“I missed your cuntie so much,” he husks, tightening his grip a tiny bit to emphasize the importance of his words. “But I can’t eat it if you don’t watch.”

His index finger turns your head to the side and his other hand travels down to your wet heat. The girl clutches her friend’s fur in her fist and fucks him slowly. With each roll of her hips upwards, you can see the shine of her slick adorning her folds. Jungkook sinks two digits inside. Can barely fit them in due to the way you clench around him. You fight his hold against your cheek, needing to look at him.

“Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” he whispers. “My horny little baby.”

He keeps them there, at the beginning of your hole, pumping sluggishly. Doesn’t look at the girl. Didn’t do so ever since the video started playing. His eyes only drink in your reactions, the twist of your features, the little sounds and breaths that break out of your mouth, gracing his ears, making his cock hard.

It disturbs something within you. Stirs it to life. Kindles it radiantly, adjoining it to the fire of your desire. You know what it is, but you can’t bring yourself to accept it. It’s a feigned reality, one of a novel. Not the one that could ever be applied to your life, burst at the seam, engulf the radius until it absorbs you.

You’re not that lucky. You’re not lucky to have him in that way.

You’re lucky enough to have him physically connected to you once a week.

But emotionally?

Tears prick your waterline.

“I want your tongue on my clit,” you croak out, reckon it’s better that you listen to him, watch the girl make herself come, follow her footsteps and go home.

Distance is safe. Distance heals everything, particularly emotional attachments.

Jungkook ceases his slow movement. Lowers your legs down so they repose across his thighs. Strokes the tremble of your muscles, removing your jeans and your underwear. Keeps that dangly fabric hanging off of the edge of the coffee table. Caresses your face as he says, “Daddy wants that, too. So bad. But you gotta be my good little girl and watch it. Then Daddy will play with your little clit.”

“Okay.”

He settles back into his position between your legs, enfolds your thighs around his shoulders. Placing a tiny kiss on your pussy lips, the soft fleshiness of your thigh steals his attention. He begins to plant big, wet kisses there. Alternates between nibbles and those kisses, mumbling something under his breath that you can’t make out.

The girl’s furry friend is drenched in her wetness. You buckle your hips with need.

“I want to hear your apology,” he orders, lips pressed against your skin.

You look at him and mewl.

“Eyes on the TV.”

He bites you.

You hiss in pain. “I’m sorry.”

He kisses the pain he caused. “What for?”

“For watching you,” you whisper, a lump forms in your throat and is softened by the look of endearment he gives you. Doesn’t reprimand you for keeping your eyes on him.

He latches onto the voluptuous part between your hip and thigh, marks you there. “And why did you watch me?”

You bite your lip to cage the words you really want to say behind your teeth, but some of them slip out. “Because you’re beautiful. Too distracting.” Because you look at me, and not at her.

Jungkook hums. Kitten licks your clit to reward you, lips wrapping around the bundle to suck it. Makes a sound of satisfaction, eyes closing to drown in the feeling. Lets go with a pop. Does it again. Suck. Pop. Suck. Pop.

You moan. Near to the last step of your rising action. One more and you’ll reach your climax. You keep your eyes peeled on the girl, her screams guiding you to that sweet release.

“My good little girl. Making me weak. Making me drunk,” he mutters against your pussy, blowing cool air against your dewiness; you shiver and he laughs softly. “Come for me, baby. Please.”

He sucks your clit again, but manages the pressure. Makes sure it’s light, so you enjoy it as much as he does.

“Keep watching it. You’re doing such a good job. Keep those pretty eyes on the TV.”

A new texture rubbing against your pussy surprises you and a moany gasp escapes you. You look down to find his dear Hello Kitty plushie in his hand and the different, rough sensation tears the rope in your belly.

“That’s it. Ride her. Fuck yeah. Make a mess on her for me. Good, good girl.”

You gush out, your orgasm taking over your body. Trembling, squirming, you thrash your hands in search of something stable that would help you ground yourself. Jungkook doesn’t slow down his movement but he finds your hand, finds the other one too, and pins them above your head. Bends over you and watches you closely, watches those waves surging through your body until they still.

He kisses you, then.

“Such a good girl for me. Well done.”

You struggle to catch your breath.

And there’s no oxygen left in your lungs when Jungkook begins to rock his hips against his plushie, the button of her nose pressing deliciously against your sensitive bundle. Your moans come out in staccatos, dry and breathless. Little squeaks of pleasure that make him crazy. Eyebrows furrowed, stare dark and fixed.

“Fuck, Jungkook. Oh, fuck.”

He laughs and you expect to be degraded, having realized that both of you forgot, for the first time in months, to do so, but he rams into her and nudges his nose against yours. Dimples prominent, mouth stretched into a grin. A sight to die for.

“I could come like this, baby. But I want to feel you. Need your little pussy around me. Might go crazy if I don’t fuck you,” he says hastily, chucking the plushie away. “They might lock me up.”

You might have wanted to go home, but who are you to deny him when he’s this desperate for you.

Butterflies swarm in your belly. And you laugh.

“Fuck me, baby. Come on,” you say, the pet name on your tongue scorching your whole body.

Jungkook hums, palms his hardness as the outline of his cock makes you salivate. While you reach for Hello Kitty to hug her because you need something solid to hold onto, he pulls out his heavy length out of his sweatpants. Wanting him naked, your fingers push down the material and you uncover that he’s not wearing any underwear.

You curse under your breath, your pussy drooling for you.

His member slaps against his stomach and you hiss, your saliva collecting in your mouth at the sight. He grips himself, throws his head back. You focus on his red tip, on the evidence of his arousal agleam in the sudden shadows of the room. The video stopped playing; silence replaced it instead. You care very little for it, entranced by his manhood, by his defined abdomen, the hardness and roundness of his pecs and the small, singular mole right underneath. You find yourself longing to kiss it, swipe your tongue against it and you fulfill your body’s wishes.

You get on your knees. Hello Kitty falls in the middle of them. Jungkook curiously watches what you’re doing and when you do what you longed to do, he moans softly.

“Princess,” he sighs, moans again when you brush your fingertips against his nipple. “You make me feel so good.”

“Yeah?” you question, looking up at him, fingers tweaking his nipple and he vocally shows you how much he likes that.

His sounds of pleasure, the variety of pet names and praise makes you feel woozy all over again. Your pussy dampens the plush fabric, adding to the mess.

“Feel how hard you made me,” he whispers, guides your hand to his length, wrapping your fingers around his girth; you show him, too, how much you like that. “Spit on it.”

You don’t have to be told twice.

Spreading your liquid love all over him, you grip him tight beneath the mushroom to coax that delicious hiss you love hearing. You begin to move your hand from there, sliding his foreskin up and down. His groans are a panoply of pure beauty that you wish to own forever. You wish you could freeze time right now. Deem this is as close to paradise as you could ever get.

This is where you want to be, for all eternity.

You lick over his nipple and Jungkook sobs. Sounds just like you when he plays with you and it makes you sob just the same. You hold it in, though, think this is a time reserved for him only. Concentrate on flicking the nub to make him feel good, squeezing his tip. He deserves it.

“I’m gonna turn myself in,” Jungkook whines. “It’s your fault.” He kisses the top of your head. “You made me crazy.”

You laugh, quickening the pace of your hand that soon slows down when he sultrily orders, “hump her for me.”

“Fuck,” you let out, eyes wide and round as you look up at him. “You want me to ride her?”

A rumble of agreement passes through his lips. “Make Daddy proud.”

You withdraw but Jungkook clicks his tongue.

“Keep your hand where it belongs.”

Your jaw falls open.

He guides you back where he wants you, meanwhile you rearrange the plushie and sit down on her nose, cringing at the cold wetness you left there.

You rock your hips once. The dull pleasure numbs your senses, electrifies your body. Before you’re even aware of it, you hump her like your life depends on it. Your hair lifts and falls around you gracefully in spite of your pace, little strays sticking to your flushed face.

“Slow down, fuck,” Jungkook groans, placing his hands on your shoulders and wrist to stop you. “Slow, baby. Can you do that for me?”

You listen, even though it’s evident you don’t like it.

He chuckles. “Good job,” he praises. “Fix your face.”

You smile up at him, cracking into a gentle laughter. Out of breath, out of your mind.

“That’s it.”

He kisses your forehead. Reaches behind him and grabs the banana milk. Points the straw at your lips. You gulp it down loudly. Jungkook fixes your hair in the meantime.

Sitting down, he hauls you onto his lap. Your back presses against his chest, the tip of his shaft aiming at the middle of your belly. It scares you, how deep he can go and you turn your head to look at him with wide eyes.

He squeezes your tits, pulls the fabric to the side. Pinches both of your nipples at the same time before he kneads the flesh. Your roll your hips against his manhood, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

“You’re just too small, aren’t you?” he whispers against your cheek.

You meow a soft sound that confirms his words.

“Won’t even fit in you. Need to stretch out you for me,” he says, hands traveling down your stomach. “Can you even take two fingers?”

There it is, the degradation. But it’s so tender that you can’t even believe your own ears. You mewl again, finding it so hot that he talks to you like this, knowing you took three of his fingers the last time he touched you.

“I can,” you say and there’s allure to your words, your pussy grinding against him.

He hums. Maneuvers you a little so his cock sits against your ass. Plays with your slick just to hear the filthy sound before he plunges two of his fingers inside of you. He curls them and is brutal as he pistons into you in fast jerks, the muscles in his biceps bulging. With his free hand, he makes sure you gaze at him and he nudges his nose with yours. His short breaths fan against your cupid’s bow and in return, you feed him your moans. He swallows each and every one, his pace never faltering, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your stream of pleasure shoots out onto the coffee table and Jungkook would miss it if his reflexes didn’t act out for him. He groans, strumming his fingers against your clit to prolong your orgasm, lifting you to ram his hard length into you.

You welcome him embarrassingly fast, smothering him until he’s fully sheathed inside you. Because he entered you mid climax, it triggers another one and you scream, thrash your body that he encages with his arms around you, one hand flying to your neck to keep you down. He presses his lips against your temple, lulls you with gentle sounds. Mutters apologetic words, words of encouragement, praise and reassurement. All while ramming his cock into you.

You’re forgetting the day and time. Hell, you’re forgetting your own age and name. All you know is dick.

His dick splitting you open as your head knocks back and forth.

He squishes your cheeks, pressing a kiss there, and it brings you back. You open your eyes, blink a few times. Yelp as he fucks you deeply and holds.

“You’re taking me so well,” Jungkook husks. “You always squirt for me, don’t you?”

You nod, dumbly. He plunges his fingers into your mouth to gather your saliva and takes them down to your clit. He rubs it, and he rubs it in fast circles. His other hand finds the soiled plushie and he crams her into your arms. You cuddle her, needing the comfort.

“If I had a vibrator, I’d keep it right here on your little clit the whole time and break you fucking apart.”

You clench around him, signaling him how much you like the idea.

“I know you’d like that. The thought of it won’t let me sleep. Might have to get it for you after all.”

Your surroundings are foggy. Another surge of orgasm reaches for you to get you. Your whole body shakes. You hug the plushie tighter.

You prop your feet on his muscular thighs and weakly, you snap your hips down on him, setting a steady pace that makes you see stars.

Jungkook ceases your movement. Grabs your waist tightly.

“Stop or I’ll come.”

You fight against him, pushing down on him. He lets you.

“You want Daddy to come for you?”

“Yes, please, I’m so close,” you squeak.

“Hold onto her then.”

He meets your thrust, groans at the impact, at the teamwork. Has a deathly grip on you and Hello Kitty that bruises you, stills you as he ruts into you, his balls slapping against your sensitive, abused femininity. You’re losing everything; you’re losing yourself in him, in his manhood, in his desire and pleasure. Submitting all that you are to him, willingly giving over all that you have left of your being. Knowing it will be safe, knowing you will be taken care of.

And with that you come, and you come hard. You coax his orgasm, beckon it out with the one final clench of your pussy around him. You milk him dry, stars clouding your vision and the warmth of his hot spurts of cum filling you to the brim. Jungkook whines.

He loses it completely.

Babbling sets of incoherent words against your cheek, he kisses you there, drags his kisses down to your jaw and your neck, squeezing you and Hello Kitty in his arms as his cock stays sheathed inside of you.

Two things you do make out when you come down.

A string of pet names directed to you. A bunch of ‘baby’, ‘princess’, ‘little girl’, all held close by the prefix of ‘my’. Held as close as he holds you.

And something else entirely.

“I love being inside of you. Whether it’s with my fingers or my dick. I don’t care. I just love being inside of you. You feel like home.”

He strokes your hair, over and over, from the side like that. From the crown of your head, past the curve, down the side of your neck. All while kissing your skin. Tiny little kisses that soothe you, lull you into tranquility, prove you utterly wrong.

But you’re still delirious from your high. You don’t realize what he said.

You don’t realize that your home isn’t within the walls of that bookstore but within the arms of the man that holds you.

And you don’t realize that he feels the same way.

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part three

2K notes · View notes

justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms · 6 months ago

Note

Hi! Could I possibly ask for some tokyo debunker hurt/comfort headcannons where the reader is really smart but has some learning disabilities that make certain aspects of school like deadlines way more difficult than they should be?? Maybe they're struggling with their coursework and refuse to ask for help until they've failed the class completely?

I don't really have any certain thoughts, character-wise. I figured beggers can't be choosers, so whatever sounds best to you, lol. Maybe Tohma, Haku, Luca, and Sho?

Hi Anon! Thank you for the request! Sorry it took so long. I hope you like the headcanons!

Fandom: Tokyo Debunker

Characters: Thoma Ishibashi, Haku Kusanagi, Lucas Errant, Sho Haizono x gn! Reader (separate)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How do the characters help you when your learning disability is making education tricky?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Honestly, I see Thoma as someone who has struggled with learning in the past. He’s very intelligent but can’t really learn the same way as others.

But he’s managed to find a way of learning that works perfectly for him and is more than happy to help you find the learning style that works for you.

He does understand that you don’t like asking for help though so he’ll do what he can to make his help subtle.

If you do ever ask for his help, he’ll push all of his other duties to the side so you can have him entire focus. He wants you to feel supported in every way possible.

Haku’s an interesting case. On one hand, he’d be happy to help since he worries about the stress you put yourself under.

On the other hand, he’ll respect your choices and stay out of your way if that’s what you’d prefer. He knows you’re an independent person and that you can handle yourself.

Super helpful once you do ask him for help. He’ll give you a hand understanding any concepts you’re struggling with and assignments that are coming up while also making your time together fun.

You’ll be all caught up before you even realise it with Haku as your study buddy. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Luca finds it really difficult to take a step back from helping you out at every hurdle. He’s a naturally caring person and wants to help you through any struggles you have.

But if you really don’t want any help until you’re at your breaking point, he’ll do his best to keep out of your way. He’ll still pop in every now and then, getting you to have a drink break or a snack.

If you ask for his help, he’ll do everything in his power to be of assistance. Whether that’s calling an impromptu group study session or sitting with you and talking through ideas, he’s happy to help.

Luca’s great at explaining concepts in different ways so if the way your teacher has said something doesn’t make sense, Luca’s a good person to go to.

Unlike Luca, Sho’s a lot more willing to let you handle your problems by yourself. Until you ask for help, he won’t step in.

That’s not to say he doesn’t care about you! Far from it in fact. But he’s a firm believer that people need to try and solve their own issues before they turn to others for help.

If he can see you slipping, he’ll do little things to remind you that he’s there if you need him. Sometimes it’s leaving your favourite snack beside you while you’re studying. Other times, he’s calling you into the kitchen under the presence of getting you to try his latest dish.

As soon as you do ask for help though, he’s all over it. He’s quite smart, even though he doesn’t study so he’s a great person to ask if you need assistance on any assignments.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey, did you enjoy this? If you like my writing, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi page! This will allow me to make some money off my writing, something I enjoy doing.

ko-fi.com/justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms

Important Note: Please only donate if you are financially able to. If you are currently in a position where you can't donate, a like, comment or reblog will mean just as much.

#writing #fanfic #headcanon #headcanon request #request #tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker x reader #thoma ishibashi #thoma ishibashi x reader #haku kusanagi #haku kusanagi x reader #lucas errant #lucas errant x reader #sho haizono #sho haizono x reader

75 notes · View notes

kaiserposting · 1 year ago

Text

Michael Kaiser — Molasses

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 2.5k TYPE: Humor, Established relationship, Idk if i'd call this fluff lol, bad communication gets resolved at the end WARNING: trigger warning for CRINGE

“Is it easy for you to keep up with him?”

Your friend is interrogating you about Kaiser again. After a while, the topic of your relationship lost novelty, making way for newer drama, but it’s difficult for them to disregard that you’re dating a football player. Like, a real one, not just some dude who goes to play every other Sunday with his buddies.

You swirl your straw around your drink, looking at it like there’s slop in the glass instead of what you ordered. You wouldn’t say you keep up with Kaiser, so you shrug. “Give him a ball to kick around and he’ll be content.”

They raise an eyebrow, picking up on your sulking. Not like you’re being subtle about it. “So, I take it you’re not super stoked about things right now?”

Well, that’s the thing. You have nothing to do with what makes him happy. You don’t even call him by his first name, which is odd for obvious reasons, but also because it gives off the impression you’re one of the lackeys on his team, even though you don’t play. Or worse, a stalker fan who follows him around a lot.

Of course, you know what he’s like. That he’s a jerk who isn’t occupied with much besides himself, whose personality is cold and distant, and despite being a bit of a romantic, you’d prefer to think you didn’t have any unrealistic expectations. Maybe you overestimated your ability to tolerate how unavailable he is. And still — still! — is it such a crime to expect your boyfriend to display some vulnerability after several months of dating?

He doesn’t show you much of himself besides his persona, but you find it unnecessary, this covering up and playing His Majesty and forcing distance between you two with his paper thin smiles and showy kisses after games. You’re not a journalist trying to write an exposé on him (‘Michael Kaiser Is a Big Bitch’). You just… You just like him is all, and have a desire for a more profound closeness.

Does he share the same sentiments of affection towards you? It’s kind of a ridiculous question to ask yourself, and he’s way too pompous to allow anyone he finds uninteresting in his presence, but are you on his mind as often as he is on yours? Does he wonder about you the same way? You don’t believe you’re even half as elusive as he is, so it doesn’t seem plausible.

On the other hand, are you too overbearing? Should you pull back and relax?

You’ve been meaning to be mature and speak up about your concerns, but have been procrastinating on the conversation. For now, you wallow in your doubts while your friend suggests you break up with him and points out how big his forehead is, and how dumping a star is a ‘once in a lifetime opportunity.’

___

Kaiser is… off balance.

Not really. He’s standing upright and his posture is perfect and he’s not dizzy, but right now, the world is wrong and he can only hope the way he is clawing at his phone doesn’t betray how upset he is.

“Ness,” he says in his ‘I am about to complain’ tone. It is also only slightly different from his usual voice.

“Yes?”

“Before I continue, I just want you to know that I’m being very brave and nonchalant about this.”

Ness smiles, the expression seeming guileless as usual. “Of course,” he says eventually.

Kaiser all but shoves the screen in his face, since putting all of your offenses into words is beyond him, though it soon occurs to him Ness can’t read from this proximity and ceases the assault he’s committing on his eyes. Ness scans over your sparse chat, looks up at Kaiser again, and raises his eyebrows.

“They can’t make it to practice?” He states it in the form of a question when it appears that Kaiser is unwilling to talk, even though he’s the one who started the conversation.

“Congratulations, you can read. How many times has this happened?”

“I don’t know,” Ness says, despite knowing this is the fifth since he counted every time you didn’t show up the last two weeks. “Are they not feeling well?”

You shot him down the last two times he asked you to go out on a date. And you haven’t called before bed in a while. And you didn’t even add a kissy emoji when you told him good luck (not like he cares about your stupid emojis, but you didn’t). And whenever you see him lately, you act closed off.

“No, they’re totally avoiding me,” he says, after going through a mental flashback of all of your betrayals as if he was in a war instead of on iMessage. “Do you think I’m ugly? Or maybe boring?”

“Never.”

“Then what should I do?”

Did he have a plan for if he were unattractive? Get plastic surgery just to keep dating you or something? “You should try asking.”

“Maybe our relationship is losing its spark,” Kaiser says, completely disregarding Ness’s input. Ness continues smiling. It is unnerving, but an idea comes to Kaiser’s mind, and he’s too busy marveling at his genius to notice. “It’s an easy fix. I just need to romance [Y/n] again.”

Ness is still smiling.

“Anyway,” Kaiser continues despite the lack of answer, “you know they love those comics or whatever. It can be like a challenge. Recreate the atmosphere, sweep them off their feet. I can make my sweetie’s dreams come true. Because I’m not replaceable, and only I can do that for them. Right?”

For a brief moment, Ness considers telling him this is not the way and that he’s jumping through so many hoops, he’s going to trip and fall, but decides against it. Maybe there’s a grain of truth to what he’s saying. He doubts anyone else would come to this conclusion, for one, let alone devise a plan around it. If irreplaceable is synonymous with unique by some stretch of the imagination, then sure.

“Of course,” he says again. His eyes are big and innocent. Kaiser gets the distinct impression that Ness is judging him right now.

___

It’s already dark outside and you’re still sitting at your desk, doing mundane things on your computer, once again distracted from an assignment you’ve been meaning to do for a while. Something smacks against the window, startling you, but when you pull the curtains, you don’t see anything near the sill. You assume you imagined the noise, but another pebble hits the window, and this time you witness it as it happens.

The thought of some asshole throwing rocks at your windows irritates you, so you stand up to investigate, pressing your forehead against the glass.

Kaiser waves at you from below, looking way too cheery. You don’t know what he’s doing here, but you turn to go and let him in through the intercom — did he ring? you don’t remember him doing so — until you notice him gesturing at you to open the windows. Confused, you comply, peeking your head out, the cold breeze blowing against your cheeks and invading your already poorly insulated apartment.

“You look lovely today,” he yells out. Not a strong start, but he can redeem himself. Maybe.

“Thanks? Do you wanna come in?”

“Yes.” You lean away from the window again, but he stops you with another bizarre request. “No, wait. Later.”

This perplexes you even more, but you humor him with a weary expression anyway, resting your face against your palm.

… You interrupt his unnecessarily loud reading of some obscure love poem with a flail of your hands and a, “Cut it out and just come up!”

God, you hope none of your neighbors heard. To spare you both of this embarrassment, you don’t give him a chance to continue and instead close the windows, hurrying to let him in and unlock your door.

What’s with him, anyway? You feel a pinprick of anxiety at what’s about to come after such a strange… greeting from him, but try your best to seem stoic while you wait for Kaiser to climb up the stairs.

When he comes into view, you offer him what you consider a cool nod (which you may or may not have practiced in the mirror), and he continues to stand there at the doorway as if waiting for something. You move aside to give him space. Kaiser blinks once, figures this isn’t going his way, then follows your lead.

“Please don’t make me ask ‘where’s my hug at?’” he says, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. “That’s not like me at all.”

In your struggle to think of a neutral response, all you come up with is, “No one’s making you do anything,” which sounds more disagreeable than what you’re going for.

His lips settle into a thin line, the action calculating, as if he’s contemplating his next move. Both of you are being tactical. It’s weird considering this is supposed to be a sweet surprise visit from your boyfriend, not a battle of psychological warfare, but you don’t even know what’s going on anymore.

Then he takes a step closer until he’s in front of you, invading your personal space with his face leaning in so close to yours, resting his palm against the wall, almost pinning you to the wall but not quite. “Why not?”

“Do you need something? I kind of wasn’t expecting you, so,” you say irrelevantly. In your head, you’re still trying to make sense of this, not understanding where these corny gestures are coming from all of a sudden.

“No, I just wanted to see you. Is that a crime?” he says, backing away, folding his hands behind his back. There’s an artificial grin on his face. “Was this enjoyable for you?”

“Well, um, it was alright.”

“Did you like my recitation?”

“No…”

He read your stupid favorite series and the idiot love interest did both of those things. Does he have something that Kaiser doesn’t? And should he throw an irrational and jealous tantrum about it, shoujo style, or should he move onto the amnesia subplot?

This is awkward. You can’t think of an inoffensive topic to bring up. Perhaps deliberately withdrawing yourself from him has impaired your conversational skills? Either way, his unpredictable actions from earlier are throwing you off your game.

Kaiser follows you when you lead him to the couch, sitting in a manner you think is far too dignified considering he was serenading you from under your balcony not too long ago — prim and proper, with his ankle crossed over his knee and his hands intertwined together like he’s at a fancy meeting, offering opinions about a business deal.

You fumble for the remote with sweaty fingers, turning on the TV, hoping for a distraction. You can’t focus because you can feel Kaiser’s gaze on you, putting you on edge, burning into your side profile. He’s not even paying attention to whatever random show you started.

You turn towards him, conveying your incredulity with a raise of your eyebrows because you’re not even sure what you’re supposed to ask. ‘Why are you looking at me?’ doesn’t communicate what you want to say to the fullest extent.

“Oh, you caught me staring longingly at you. How embarrassing,” Kaiser says with the same sly smile, not sounding the slightest bit ashamed.

“Are you okay?”

“No. Have we met before?”

You scrunch your face in evident disbelief and think, OBVIOUSLY?

It makes Kaiser contemplate whether the amnesiac subplot is worth continuing.

“Seriously, you’re acting weird,” you say after gathering your wits.

“‘Weird,’” he repeats in fake amusement and looks away, switching from… whatever he’s been doing to a strange defensiveness, then adjusts the collar of his shirt. “I think the definition of that word is subjective.”

“I mean, sure.”

“And anyway, you were the one who was acting strange first.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Instead of acting like I don’t exist anymore, you should’ve just said you want to separate.”

God, Kaiser is so dramatic. Saying you were ‘acting like he doesn’t exist’ just because your world doesn’t revolve around him. You’re struggling to keep up with these mood swings. “But I don’t want to break up?”

“Oh,” he says before his lips turn up again. “That’s good,” he settles on, figuring it makes him come across as calm and collected enough.

“Honestly, I don’t know what you were doing, but… if you were worried about something, maybe you should’ve just told me?”

“You’re so cute when you’re being hypocritical.”

You cross your arms and frown, offended.

“I mean,” Kaiser elaborates, “you haven’t told me why you’re avoiding me either. And what was I doing? I wanted to find a new way to woo you again, but since you didn’t notice, it obviously didn’t work. Let’s just pretend it never happened.”

“Well, it’s hard to put it into words,” you say, picking at a hangnail on your finger to distract yourself. “I don’t want you to woo me or anything. A lot of the things you do are performative, just for show. Even all this wasn’t sincere… So I don’t wanna be in a situation where I’m opening up to you when you’re not doing the same.”

He seems taken aback by this. “Do you doubt my feelings for you?”

“Not exactly. More like the depth of them, if that makes sense?”

“When I thought I was losing you, I started acting irrational,” he says in a disdainful tone, vaguely gesturing at nothing in particular to imply this entire ordeal. “I hate to admit it, but it scared me how much it was affecting me.” Kaiser appears to regret admitting this almost immediately, though, because he tries to divert your attention by asking, “Is this the appealing kind of vulnerable? Or the pathetic one? I could repeat myself while flipping my hair from my best angle if it’d help.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry,” you say. “I should’ve just been upfront instead of playing games. You were right, that’s pretty hypocritical of me.”

“Yes, you should be sorry, making me act like a clown.” You narrow your eyes at him in annoyance. “But I guess I was confusing you, so I’ll forgive you this time.”

“Hold on,” you say, when the tropes finally click into your head (though you have to admit, as much as you love the romance genre, these things do come across as really bizarre in real life). “I don’t know if you were reading with your ass or what, but all these things are supposed to happen before the characters get together. It was way too late for any of this!”

“Haha. Is that so?” Kaiser asks, pretending he’s not dying of even more mortification on the inside. Then he pulls out his phone. “That reminds me, I organized a duel for your hand against Ness at the city center for later. I guess I should cancel it.”

“What-”

“Don’t worry, we choreographed it to be quick and painless, with a decisive win in my favor,” he says, as if any of what he mentioned is what you were questioning.

“Choreographed- Never mind, actually, I don’t wanna know. Why would Ness even agree?”

“Because I asked him to do it…?”

#michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x you #bllk x reader #bllk x you

222 notes · View notes