#and they made me take it in the MORNING and then i got in trouble if i was sleeping during the day

[unadulteratedvoidtragedy]

Concubine reader gets harrased by the staff and emperor Price intervenes

A continuation to this

Masterlist

Sleep doesn't find you easy, the image of John's smile repeating in your mind again and again. The next morning the maids wake you up from a restless sleep, busy to get you ready for the day. Another letter from the emperor arrives after breakfast, he asks you to accompany him to visit the night market and see the lantern festival.

With the letter there is a wrapped gift and when opening it there is a poetry collection. On the first page in a penmaship that starts to feel familiar are the words: "This is a personal copy of one of my favourites, I hope you'll find as much joy reading it as I did. I annotated parts that reminded me of our pleasant discussions". Smiling you carefully caress the words and go read some of the poems in the garden under the willow tree.

When it's time to get ready to meet John you discover to your horror that almost all your dresses have been cut down or ripped, tatters of fabric on the floor. None of your maids looks you in the eye when questioning them. You would not be surprised to find some of your jewelry missing too. Just as you're feeling dejected an attendant from the main palace comes to pick you up, but stops in his tracks when seeing the mess of your room. He swiftly turns around without a word, probably going to inform John of you not being able to come. A group of concubines outside your chambers witness the scene with curious eyes, one of them snickering behind her fan.

As you try to pick up the pieces and see what could be salvaged, the maids going outside and not bothering to help you now, the door opens and John comes in. Maids and concubines alike scramble to greet him, it's been ages since he payed a visit to this place after all, but he only looks at you, a furious expression on his face. You quickly catch yourself and curtsy:

"Greetings, Your Majesty!"

"What is the meaning of this?"

"It seems someone managed to sneak into the lady's room and destroy some of her things" said the attendant from earlier.

"And where were the maids or guards when this happened?" John asked impantiently. The silence that followed was deafening, maids quickly dropping to their knees pleading for mercy and even the concubines were cowering in a corner.

John made his way towards you, a hand lifting your chin and the other on your shoulder. His expression morphed into something gentler, but the crease between his eyebrows was still there:

"Were you hurt?"

"No, Your Majesty, I got to my room after everything was over"

That seems to assure him, some of the tension in his shoulders visibly dropping. He keeps a hand on the small of your back, rubbing small circles.

"An investigation will be conducted tomorrow in order to catch the person who dared to do this. Any found accomplices from the staff will be fired immediately! "

"But Your Majesty..." one of the guards tries interjecting, but the look on John's face make him stop in his tracks.

"The rest of lady's belongings will be moved to an already prepared room in the main palace. I hope the staff will be suficiently careful this time as the value of any damaged or stolen items will be directly deducted from your pay"

That seemed to motivate them, the maids picking your belongings with great care and trembling hands. A carriage was already waiting outside, John gently taking your hand and helping you get in.

"I hope this unpleasant experience won't trouble you for too long"

"Thank you, Your Majesty. You've been too kind to me"

A finger gently caress your cheek, a smile on John's face as he brings your head to rest on his shoulder.

"I hope the night market and the celebrations will be to your liking"

[paracosm-draw]

Heyo! Just saw you're taking prompts. If it's up your alley, maybe something with rich and famous (politician, actor, businessman) Obi-Wan meeting grad student Anakin?

Oh I had a lot of fun writing this one 😆

Thank you for this prompt that made me cringe every five seconds for Anakin, I hope you'll like it as I took some liberties with Obi's occupations 🫶🏻

(Still taking prompts ☄️)

~~~

"Anakin, no."

"Oh, Anakin fucking yes." The concerned one retorted with an ominous grin as his gaze traveled slowly to the other side of the cafeteria. "Have you looked at him ?"

"I did !" The brunette seated in front of him hissed. "And I won't let you mess with one of my father's best friends just because you can't keep it in your pants !"

Anakin's grin widened as his eyes stayed glued to the man queueing at the self-service desk with a salad on his tray.

"I wonder how he is keeping it in his pants. It looks hug- Ouch !"

Anakin jolted back to his friend all the while reaching under the table to massage his shin with a wince.

"Did you just hit me ?!"

Padme glared at him from above her own half-eaten salad, arms crossed against her slim chest.

"Stop staring at my father's friend like a freaking pervert ! You're going to get him and us in trouble."

Anakin sniffed as his lips turned to a pout. He shrugged.

"Your father doesn't have to know about it. I know how to be discreet. I know plenty of places where you can suck a dick without anyone know- I'm joking. I'm joking !"

He quickly raised his legs on his chair as Padme's glare intensified, but as tall as he was he still managed to hit his knees under the table anyway.

"I know you're not joking." Padme sighed, but she was a woman of little faith, or she knew him too well. He preferred to believe the former.

"You're the one always complaining about my lack of romantic life." Anakin pointed out.

"Sucking stranger's dicks in old abandoned classrooms is not what I call a romantic life, Anakin." His friend retorted flatly.

"Maybe he's the love of my life ?" Anakin tried. "He's totally my type. Do you want me to live sad and alone my entire life because you didn't let me find out ?"

"You don't even have a type !" Padme exclaimed, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "You think that every fling you've got is the love of your life !"

"Well, there's only one way to find out." Anakin replied, crossing his arms against his chest as well, like it could protect his bruised ego from his friend's absolutely false allegations. "And I do have a type."

"What is it then ?"

"Him."

"You're insufferable." Padme groaned, pushing her meal away. "Plus, he's at least twice your age. He's probably married with three kids, a dog and a monospace."

"You could always ask..."

Anakin knew he was becoming a pain in Padme's ass at an alarming rate, but he couldn't help it. The attraction he had felt when the man had entered the amphitheatre earlier in the morning to present their robotic company was something he hadn't experienced in a long time. Or ever.

"I'm certainly not asking my father about his friend that you want to fuck."

Hearing Padme lose her calm and use the word "fuck" was one of the rare delights in Anakin's current life. He could have stopped there, but he had never learned to be reasonable.

"Oh, come on. I'm not going to fuck him, he's going to fuck me."

"It's the same thing ! You know what I mean."

"Well, it's not exactly the same-" Anakin grinned, ready to give her some details as a revenge for the comments on his love life, when someone cleared his throat behind him.

"Hello there. I hope I'm not interrupting something. I was looking for a place to sit but it seems like the whole room is already packed with starving students."

Anakin closed his mouth with an audible click, before slowly turning his head to the unmistakable accent he had fallen in love with during the last two hours. And stared.

Kenobi was standing next to their table, in his white shirt and well-fitted sandy pants, holding his tray in his strong hands - no rings in sight - and Anakin felt like falling in love all over again. His eyes were even bluer now that he could see them up close, little streaks of gray interwoven in the copper of his beard, a cute little mole decorating the top of his right cheek and as Anakin's eyes focused on his nose he realized he had some adorable freckles there. Absolutely perfect.

"Can I sit there ?" The man asked, and Anakin realized he must have stared awkwardly for a long time when Padme stepped on his foot under the table.

He winced as she gestured to the man to take place.

"Of course, Mister Kenobi." She answered, all the while sending a murderous gaze to her friend. "It would be a pleasure."

"Why, thank you." The man replied with a polite smile, before putting his tray down next to Padme's, so Anakin was right in front of him. "You already seem to know me, so should I deduce that you were at the presentation earlier on ?"

"This one was." Padme replied, nodding at Anakin. "I'm just keeping him company during lunch."

"Oh, I see." The man smiled, before turning his attention to Anakin, who hadn't stopped staring. "And you are...?"

Anakin blinked, and it took another blow on his shin for him to get it together.

"Uh... I'm Skywalker. Anakin Skywalker, I mean. You can just call me Anakin, tho-" He stammered awkwardly as the man in front of him raised an eyebrow.

Anakin closed his mouth as a faint blush crept on his cheeks. If first impressions were important, he was certain he had just fucked up that part.

"Well, nice to meet you and your friend, Anakin Skywalker." Kenobi smiled lightly before holding out a hand to him.

Anakin's brain froze for a moment. Was the man asking for something ? He looked at his hand, before looking over the table, finally searching for his friend's eyes when he found nothing to give him.

Padme was looking at him with wide eyes that screamed "are you stupid ?", and Anakin probably was because it took a couple of seconds and Padme to mouth him "just shake it" to finally understand what was going on.

"Oh, uh- Sorry." He mumbled before reaching out to shake Kenobi's hand, the blush spreading to his ears and the tip of his nose.

He didn't dare look at him in the eyes after such a display of stupidity but Kenobi didn't seem to mind. He gently shook Anakin's hand, but when he was supposed to let go, he didn't. Instead, his fingers circled Anakin's wrist and he turned it slightly with an interested noise.

"What model is that, if you don't mind me asking ?"

Anakin blinked, then frowned. He dared looking up only to find out that Kenobi was closely examining his prosthesis with light touches and curiosity written on his features. Of course. How could he forget who he was talking to ? The man probably invented the blueprint of the model he wore right now.

"It's... Something I made myself." He admitted coily. "I know it's not perfect but-"

"You made this yourself ?" Kenobi interrupted him, surprise pushing his voice a note higher. "Really ?"

"Really." Anakin replied, letting a nervous laugh as the man looked at the prosthesis with renewed interest.

He glanced at Padme, who shrugged.

"This is excellent work." Kenobi finally stated, letting Anakin take his hand back. "You're talented."

Anakin immediately regretted the lack of contact, the warmth of Kenobi's hand on the sensors of his artificial skin. And he was all flustered by the compliment. Most people didn't even dare look at his prosthesis, even less ask questions about it.

"Thank you, sir. It means a lot coming from someone like you." He said, before clearing his throat and adding. "I lost it in a motorbike accident."

He didn't know why he had felt the need to share this information but he almost heard Padme internally facepalm in front of him. He didn't dare look in her direction.

"Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that." Kenobi replied, his eyes softening in a way that made Anakin's heart ache.

"It's okay." He managed. "It was a long time ago."

2 years, in fact.

"So you ride ?" Kenobi asked.

"I did." Anakin nodded. "But Padme wouldn't let me after the accident."

A glint of recognition suddenly lighted up in Kenobi's eyes at the words, and he turned to Anakin's friend.

"Miss Amidala ! I'm so confused, I didn't even recognize you."

"It's been a while." Padme acknowledged with a smile. "I might have been twelve at the time ? Thirteen ?"

"You sure have grown up." Kenobi laughed. "Your father told me you wished to enter the Senate in a couple of years ?"

"Indeed." Padme smiled sheepishly. "I hope so."

She looked at her watch, before looking at Anakin.

"Speaking of, I should get back to my office." She got up with her tray. "Mister Kenobi, it's been a pleasure. Anakin, I see you tomorrow."

Anakin blew her a little kiss as the man shook her hand as well, saying something about her career and her father but he wasn't listening anymore. He was looking at Kenobi, at his gentle face and the softness of his hands, and the interest he showed for Anakin's craft. It made him look even more sexy. He had to try something. Anything.

"So," Kenobi turned back to him as Padme walked away. He leaned forward slightly, putting his elbows on the table, his meal completely ignored by now. "Do you miss riding ?"

Anakin raised his eyebrows, a bit taken aback by the question. But the answer was easy.

"Yes." He admitted. "A lot."

"Do you have any classes this afternoon ?"

"I- Uh, I have one." Anakin frowned. "Why ?"

Kenobi leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms against his chest, his gaze slowly traveling up and down Anakin's form, making the young man squirm on his seat.

"What do you say I take you for a ride so we can go grab a coffee and talk about your future in my company ?"

Anakin's jaw dropped on the table. It was the boldest thing someone has ever asked him, for a lot of different reasons. If Kenobi wanted to steal his heart, he couldn't have done it any other way.

"I- Are you serious ?!" He couldn't help but blurt out.

"Dead serious." Kenobi nodded. "Your talent and your work deserve to grow in an environment that allows you to be at your best."

"I mean- I mean, for the ride ?" Anakin stuttered, not believing his ears. "You'd let me ride your bike ?"

"Oh yeah." Kenobi grinned. "My bike, too."

[niconiconi-30]

STRAWBERRIES & CIGARETTES | JJK | ONESHOT

A biker! Jeon Jungkook x model! original female character fanfiction

ღblurb:

He’s Seoul’s most wanted biker—reckless, worshipped, untouchable. She’s the runway’s brightest star—disciplined, desired, untouchable. But some histories refuse to stay buried. In a city that never stops watching, their midnight rendezvous blur the line between love, lust, and self-destruction. Because when the past tastes like smoke and strawberries… How do you pretend it never happened?

ღ relationship: f/m ღ characters: jeon jungkook, OFC ღ genre: romance ღ trope: exes with benefits ღ word count: 11.7k

ღ Tags/warnings: MDNI, toxic relationship, angsty smut, hurt/comfort, second chances?, unresolved feelings, yearning, situationships, miscommunication, they are both the problem(lol), , heavy angst, messy emotions, morally grey, explicit sexual content, they are both switches, passive-agressive, PWP, routh sex, oral sex, fingering, hair pulling, little dirty talk, power play, dom/sub, implied aftercare, etc.

!!this work contains sexual themes that might trigger people, if they are uncomfortable with explicit forms of physical interactions. Kindly refrain from reading!!

ღ also on: ao3

▢note : okay okay. pardon me for any mistakes since this is my first ever smut. for ages, i have read and taken inspo but i am genuinely not sure how much did i accomplice and also since it's my first-there aren't extremely elaborated parts since i am still learning. however, i think this turned out well and also made me horny mid morning- so *smiles awkwardly*.feel free to leave likes, comments, reblogs, asks and requests. All are heartily appreciated and will really make me blissful. please enjoy <3

LIZ

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

attention-charlie puth after hours-the weeknd never be the same-camila cabello one of the girls- the weeknd, JENNIE bathroom-montell fish

Jeon jungkook is an asshole.

Uh, well, not according to the thousands of admirers who ooze their eyes out to fancy him. The people that admire the way he adjusts himself on his Ducati Panigale V4, takes a vainglory to flaunt his masculine haughtiness- a huff of his cigar, sweat slicked hair falling apart from his eyes, and a trademarked half-smirk. Casualty has never played a part in jungkook’s deal with his perspective of life. Call that the perks of being a hotshot biker of the biker’s church club or the mere fact that his male bosom boosts with a ego larger than any other in the arena- again, a hotshot and renowned biker of seoul.

The mania or passion that thrills the people is not just the way he slides his gloved fingers over the throttle or the way the machine responds to him, growling and roaring to take off any moment. And before he does? There’s that signature posture of helmet tucked under one arm, sleeves of his leather jacket rolled just enough to expose the infamous clocked tattoo, as if perfect timing ever had a lot on him. Pftt.

So when he takes off, engine thumping, wind tearing off the entire wilderness and the feral sound making a whoosh and a whir, the people cheer louder- flags and banners gets higher and higher by the same amount as jungkook rides, higher up touching the sky or his tires kissing the winning line. And there’s a designated level of adrenaline and fury that comes with winning almost everything. Jeon jungkook knows so better.

To south korea, jeon jungkook is an enigma. A gold plated recklessness. You can label all sorts of appellation to define jeon jungkook. Biker’s church club’s golden boy? Yes. Reckless and wild? Yes. Charming and fuckable? Yes. A fuckboy? Double yes.

The kind of nuisance that harbingers a massive trouble. The type of boy your mothers warn you to stay aloof of and the therapist begs you to forget.  It is not his ideal fault to have a face that captivating or money that massive, gold rolled cigars and pumped bodies- nope, no steroids. Ages of torturing to look ideal. He has got a suit face, a beautiful aggression with a sharp jaw and brooding eyes. Talking sweet, working skillfully with fingers and trapping you into a labyrinth- he knows it well. Too well.

Now, he is an asshole. Just not a manipulative asshole. He lets woman come close in after-party rooms, hallway bathrooms or sometimes, his penthouse. He’s honest in the most brutal way. He will let you know his intentions that you will be ghosted soon. No promises or stupid ‘I love you’s’ if you assume that the way he held you meant something, that’s on you. Not him. Never him.

He loudly informs that he is a fuckboy who takes his vanilla time to fuck and then leave. Within you lies the decision at the other end.

Jeon jungkook is everywhere- like wildfire, like the moon seen by every star. A little dark, grayish all around adorned with gazillions of stars. In paper, in magazines, in shoots and in every other instagram reel that covers his reputation, scandals and all that media frenzy.

And maybe that’s what brasses off Eva Lee.

And to her, he is forever an asshole.

If jeon jungkook, to the world, is a fantasy, to eva lee, he is the worst kind of reality that was once hers.

An asshole who once was her boyfriend. Her fuck-buddy now.

Not really a buddy either. A person she messes with. A man, who she lets her to touched by, squeezed and gripped and teetered- all that filthy sorts.

It is so miserably twisted that way their relationship has transcended now. So fucking laughable. And to think, they were once each other’s ride or die.

Eva remembers the time, some four years back from the present.

It was the biker’s church’s after party. A party for some recent victory, a collective wins in a series of races between countries. For years, several racing clubs participates and aspires to win the final trophy. That year, it was in the hands of that club. The shining armor shaped like a wine glass- sparkling and glinting when light fell, decorated with fine carvings of diamonds, or rubies.

Eva had no impetus to attend the party. She was busy, signing off interview agreements, her schedule packing up vigorously while also keeping updates on her recent shoots going fervid. Her modeling career had just taken a stake- high level shit and scandalous news every day. Those flashlights and glam that clicked within the time she walked with her heels off through the red carpet.

Maybe only heavens knew how hard it was once, trying to nuzzle into the fashion industry- looking up to models, the way their cheeks flared and legs shone and how within the concurred sex appeal did they strike the hearts of all people around.

To be a model was not eva’s childhood dream, well merely a thought. By the age of 13, eva was certain she was required to follow her businessman father’s heavy footsteps and land onto the periphery of stock markets and spreadsheets.

But teenage confused the little dreaming girl. Reading became an addictive habit and when she flipped across cosmos and vogue magazines, more and more stars sprinkled upon those young eyes. In Paris, an old issue of vogue Italia infuriated her, the cover- this stark, with a woman unsmiling, no soft filter or glitter but a illusion of a storm within. The face was blunt- no expressions but little eva’s mind and heart expressed too much.

It was a harmless obsession-quietly at first. Campaigns were like textbooks and the models- were like angels, beautiful and bold. So eva was a little zealous all over trying to create a world which was far away from her upbringing.

She grew up n what most people would call privilege. Gold-threaded life. Father , a respectable and brooding businessman and mother, a lawyer. So you could imagine the power and command. She had drivers running, waiters serving, a summer house by the sea, and holidays in places with languages she couldn’t speak. She was lucky, true, but also was not oblivious. She learnt comfort does not shield one from struggle. It only changes the kind of struggle one faces.

It started with booking informal test shoots with photographers. Parents warned, tried diverting the young mind but it all stood unswervingly. Portfolios, castings and rejections were the initial steps to embark and of course being daddy’s little princess didn’t help. Not when the said dad had issues with her daughter chasing a dream different from what he wanted. So she had to started off individually- minimalist skincare brand. Lens flashed and so did her confidence. And when the indo- Italian photographer praised her eyes as inquisitive and that her body language had the effluent lust to beguile people, eva had been anything but skeptic. So now, eva lee was indeed to be model. A A-fucking-star model.

There was something beneath all that idea of lavishness that eva wanted to profit with. The extravagancy of everything. Pools of fame and luzury, wrapped only when she would attempt to ramp in front of millions. And that’s what she had achieved, slowly and articulately, to reach the peak.

It’s scrupulous to identify her in billboards that hung over the night skies, people everywhere wishing and chanting and howling out her names when she passed. It amazed her initially when everyone wanted to get her name, surreal and shocking. But then she prepared herself.

Now, does she like the fame? Yes, actually.

That’s not a humble answer people would like to hear. But that’s true. So predictably true. People cheering, photographs and everything. There was a thrill that lay with becoming a celebrity star after all that desire.

She needed the world to see her but more importantly, needed to show what she saw, and how that could look through her.

And by now, she was too busy to attend some fancy party with bikers, cigarettes and diesel. Will ripe the allure of softness she had built. But oh, she was also asked to make harmless scandels to stay trendy. She, like any other models, by now understood the fashion world where only beauty doesn’t prevail in the long run. You need headlines, some bold statements and tons of outrageous “unintentional” caught ups in public.

So she had to go, appear and smile.

The music in the club’s basement thumped through the bones, a deep bass line flowed. A elite private party with handpicked guests. A-list crowd mixing motor oil scent and expensive perfume. A blend of whiskey, leather jackets and red heels.

Eva entered with a sip of boredom behind her glossed lips. The venue was not particularly different from any other elite after parties she had ghosted in and out of.

Eva nodded at a few people she vaguely recognized from other press tables and runaways. She hugged few, puckered some kisses in the air. The party buzzed with chaos where everyone was talking too fast and moved too hastily. Music blared and quests suffused. It was exhausting and she wasn’t even twenty minutes in.

Her tequila stayed barren as she hung her head a little low, a little out of the sight in a small scoop.

From where she sat, she could identify people, who sometimes looked in her direction and had eyes of surprised recognition. She did not wish to be unnecessarily rude. So a half smile could pass.

Her eyes had barely halted to rest, and noises increased like a parsed mayhem. She could hear the faintest of a laugh or maybe two. Someone was laughing, someone just made out. Someone complaining or someone saying something like a faint- ‘ride or die baby, ride or die’ followed by a clink of the owner’s tongue. It sounded sultry, so hoarse and abrasive.

She followed the bearer of the sound. Someone tall, broad shouldered and near the far corner of the room, one arm slung around someone’s shoulders- some girl, tall and modelesque, lips parted In obvious amusement. The man had his head tilted low, whispering something in the blonde’s ear and under all that dim red and blue disco haze, eva could witness a cocky glint in his half-lidded eyes, the playful sneer at the corner of his mouth.

Eva found herself staring- black on black, plain shirt and leather jacket. Beautiful in an un conventional way- sharp jawline, nose a little crooked in the centre, a small noticeable scar and some inked artwork that eva couldn’t properly pencil but can imagine. Eva wondered wat is it like to stay so free and confident. She couldn’t really. She had to built a image that she was something intangible like a talisman. So what did this man have in him to bare everything and still be so abstruse and creditable?

She didn’t know his name. not yet. But-god help her-she was curious.

Curious in the way he drank his drink, neck titling back, jaw catching the pulse of neon light, a few strands that he swept off carelessly. His lips curled around the rim of the glass and hand flexed when he set it down. He was talking, some hush and a shush, she couldn’t decipher. His fingers played with the silver rings on his fingers, thumb dragging absentmindedly across metal like it was a muscle memory. He leaned to speak to someone on his left, some other guy, and equally hot but less intimidating, atleast to eva. He chuckled a little at their conversation. The blonde on the other side looked lazily amused, not that eva blamed her, and she received a grin from the same man.

Eva kept watching those half grins like a movie scene. Imagining if she got that grin, If he looked at her the way he looked at the girl, his cologne brushing against her skin. Maybe something woody and expensive. If those fingers, that now played and twisted his rings would skim the curve of her arm in passing or tuck a few strands of her hair while kissing, soft or no-rough, commanding. His hands on her waist, his chest against her.

The music changed, turned into some metallic chorus with verses too loud, trenching eva away from some wild dreams. She blinked.

God. What was she doing?

Was that the knocking of some deep sleep that made her think like this or that maybe, she was, too needy of something. Either way, she was a celebrity who in mind had to direct her thoughts and keep them sober.

Nope, not a teenager in a club imagining strangers with mouths and scars. She chewed her cheeks, letting out a huff.

She took one last turn to notice if he was there. But her lips turned a little down, just a little. No more. He was gone, whoever he was. It was nice though, alluring but exciting to see a person sculptured so methodically.

Eva shook her head once, hard, almost like she was physically trying to dislodge the thought of some guy.

She turned, heels clacking, making soft excuse me to go out and head to the terrace. On the road, people are bound to recognize her and inside, she would be caught staring at a mere intruder. Not the best thing.

Up on the club’s terrace, the air was cooler. The music thumped faintly behind the walls. She leaned on the railing, one arm folded under the other, smoking a cigar.

From up here, Seoul glittered like it was alive, breathing.

“So, on a rate of 1-10, how intimidating is my face?” a voice spoke. Rough, abrasive- Wait a minute. Fuck.

“And you asking, why?” eva mumbled. Another huff.

“Figured, if one stares a little too long, they are either remembering where they saw me or…they are judging me” he came to stand beside eva.

“I wasn’t doing either”

“sure, I know I can be hot. Thought I was imagining but it was too long, man, thankyou pretty girl” his said snickering. Eva felt him staring at her, quite openly and so now he for sure was judging.

“you think highly of yourself” she let out a dry laugh.

“comes with the job” he replied “you would be cocky too If people photographed your bike more than your face”

“that your personality?” eva glanced at the keys, shiny and clipped to his belt loop.

He grinned “only the least complicated part of riding”

“-bikes?” that is a very odd thing to say.

He frowned slightly, letting out an almost amused smile “among other things”

Up close, he looked charming, almost flawless except for the scar which was really a suitable accessory adorned on his pretty face. The stubble around his jaw was intentional. And some eye-catching piercings, one on his bottom lip, another on his brows and a lot, lot more. The leather jacket now hung from one shoulder, smell full of cigarette and drinks and some…blonde. Not that eva gave a fuck.

“so” the said man speaks “what are you doing here, hiding?”

“I am not hiding?” eva spoke, hair flowing, hitting her cheeks.

He looked for a second then forwarded his hand to almost snatch the cigar away from eva and on his lips. “sure looked like it”

“I needed air”

He tilted his head,eyes skimming her profile, “fair”

Eva gave a side-eye “do you make it a habit, talking to woman you catch staring at you?”

“well” he scrunched his nose “depends, if I am interested”

“and are you interested?”

He shook his head once, “no reason to not be interested in the eva lee”

Eva’s brows twitched just a little “so, you know me”

“who doesn’t?” he let out an obvious smile. Eva shrugged, taking her cigar back “so what now? You follow me out here to get my number?”

“I followed you because heavens forbid, I am awe-struck by thy beauty, m’lady” tattoo man emphasized and it took a second for eva to realize he was being sarcastic. He stopped laughing, realizing that was random. He coughed a little.

“you’re funny, because of course I am interested in you, and not even subtle. But yes, you are funny”

“you are weird”

“that I am. People say so.” His lips flickered “ Plus I thought you can favor my company.”

Eva looked at him.

“the number part is optional” he concludes.

“you always talk like this?” she asked, now a little more curious than before.

He raised his elbows. “only when I mean it”

“nah, you probably pull out these corny lines to every other lady” she shook her head, stabbing the cigar on the rooftop railing.

“that bothers you?” he asked and as an afterthought “m’lady?”

“you’re cocky” she remarked and he played along “you are beautiful”

“okay, who the hell are you?”

That made him stop bickering like earlier. He sat silent, for a second, maybe contemplating. As much as eva wanted this mystery man be gone, she couldn’t help asking who he is that has taken her precious curiosity.

“okay, I get it, you ar-“ “jungkook. Jeon jungkook” he murmured.

“never heard” eva replied and jungkook just snorted.

The neon lights behind them blinked in sync. Neon shadows ran across their faces. Pink, blue, bussing and flashy.

“I still don’t get why you…here” eva looked at him “you wanna get laid becau-“

“I don’t do that with women who have already made up their minds about me” he said casually.

She tilted her head, half-chuckling “and what do you think I have decided?”

Jungkook gave a very small smirk, all that troubling and looked directly into her eyes. So bold, so desparate. Eva had never felt more conflicted.

“that you’re going to fall In love with me anyway, so why rush it?”

Oh, jeon-fucking-jungkook.

A bump on her car ride halts her thoughts that she would rather burn. Eva let out a long, slow breath as the night city swamped past her car windows- seoul’s night life. Always glowing, like a fever dream. It rained in the morning, and the weather is still wet and peachy.

Her fingers were tightened around the steering wheel. Her phone, silent, and kept on the cup holder was used too many times a little before. It glowed with messages eva wished she didn’t go through.

Jungkook: I’ll come around 9 pm. No denials. Last time, it was urs.

There was nothing surprising in this. This was their usual routine, unwritten but understood. Days picked out like cold appointments, when they fucked and didn’t talk unless they It was something knotty.

However, today has been a hectic day for eva. Fresh with meeting some Spanish sponsors to invest in her newly flourishing fashion brand and following to meet some interviews. A public press meet, some nagging guests, a two or three deals and what not. She was exhausted.  The awful and untimely rain was nothing helpful either, only patched her timings. She has three emails flagged urgent, a 9A.M. shoot call first thing tomorrow and ofcourse, the presence of a persistent tightness in her lower back from standing on heels for four hours. She has been looking upto a warm bath, an exfoliating scrub, microwave soup and a bit of any show to feel normal again.

Instead, she is driving, presently, through the city. Low hum of tires on asphalts, heading towards her private penthouse suite she swears not to go every time.

She has called him before; listing her issues and that, by no means today was a good day. But jungkook has a big ego, bigger than the toned chest he has made, that made him pick up the last time they had sex which was her call, not his. A week ago. And he didn’t refuse instead helped her strip off herself from her black lacy dress and then grazed his teeth, nipping her collarbone, sweetly. And so, this was his turn to get back what he showered.

Now, jungkook isn’t to blame completely. Eva could have sternly said a “no”, cut the call- block and all that if she wanted to. It is not like they are children trying to sneak out to do nasty things but mere adults who should respect a boundary.

But did she call him, daring a challenge that she cannot, at all given her circumstances meet and have sex? No.

Because everything involving jungkook has always been a labyrinth of confusion and betrayals to her own heart.

Her brain hisses at her to turn the wheel the other way. Go home, be smart and powerful. Have the upper hand. But her hands stay steady, traitorous and stubborn.

She tells herself it is all about being fair. That he was calling the shots tonight because she has had the last time. She omits the part where she will very likely love to have him hover over her, low breaths and sounds of intentional whimpers that drive her crazy. Only about being fair. Only.

The lights blur past. She barely notices the city anymore. Her head spirals with the echo of the night they first met- ride or die, baby. Ride or die. How she wishes they didn’t meet that day, his laugh and all that weirdness. How he said her name like it was some secret he was not supposed to know.

It was the beginning, a beautiful beginning that at one point felt like a vibrant future but things, when it comes to love, just don’t dribble smoothly.

Now it is complicated, and twisted. It is her knees hitting the back of a leather couch or her voice biting out a warning to leave after or his back retreating towards the bathroom while she stares at the ceiling, mind blank and full of guilt.

She turned left, parking in her usual spot when she enters the gates of her penthouse. Her hands grip the wheel, as she hopes maybe if she sits still, time will reverse. She will be in her actual house, warm rice and sandalwood perfume and not this version of herself.

In the elevator, she can see her reflection in the transparency of the walls- a woman in a structured blazer, lips still lined perfectly and eyes rimming in a tired kind of black.

She has no reason to be pissed off at jungkook. If anything, she needs to hates herself- unlove this place and her and forget jeon jungkook ever existed.

Eva steps in, pressing the code to the penthouse.

Jungkook has called and she hated it. Hates him.

But she is here, In body and soul, isn’t she?

Again and again.

The front door clicks shut behind her.

Eva steps out of her heels first. The sharp clack of them hits the marble, echoing too loudly. Her penthouse is dimly lit, washed in the golden glow of the city. The scent, notes of lavender with a tinge of rose petals, expensive and sultry, mixes with a hint of black orchid.

The walls were a deep, moody gray, and smooth concrete framed by shadowy beige and golden accents. There is a floor-to-ceiling window that bore out over the city. The Han River could be seen flowing, gently, unbothered of the turmoil elsewhere. The living room was low-lit, amber lights and smoky crystal sconces. One or two separated couches, a fancy dining table, a plush cream sectional curve in the middle of the space, and a sleek untouched fireplace. No tv. Not a place for entertainment.

A open kitchen rests at a side with a fridge that probably consist of everything rotten. A lot of wine- deep red and chilled whites, lined up like sacred lovers in waiting. Coffee table, a meaningless book shelf.

And her bedroom- the heart of it all.

King sized bed resting low to the floor, drapes in deep cream sheets and an unreasonably soft gray duvet. Minimal pillows and displaced cushions.

A big stony bathroom with mirrors and a tub that can fit two. Steam that clings to the glass. Nothing extravagant-some soap, towels, or maybe someone’s ring that was left in a hurry and never got out of it.

This penthouse was not a home. Just a bearer of her own sins she repeatedly prayed not to commit. The sin is not cheating- hell, she is not married and neither is cheating, just only coming back to someone who is not hers. How pathetic. How pathetic eva.

Only if the media knew this, the people that look upon her knew this- but lust does blasphemy and sometimes, the high takes you to things you cannot return from.

Eva still thinks back to the day they thought of this ironic deal- no strings attached, fucking your ex-boyfriend. Shameful. So shameful.

The day was 9 months ago.

Some months after their break-up.

The post break up part was not even about healing. It was about some lingering attachments that refused to wither just so easily. Like signs- stupid signs- that the universe kept placing in eva’s path just to mock her.

Maybe a playlist they once shared, a leather jacket that looked like his, sometimes a scent- smoky vetiver and pepper, reminding her things.

And sometimes, the feverish and vivid dreams. Not even the soft, romantic ones where he kissed her like she was his whole world. No, those were forgivable.

But the ones where they fought. Where she screamed at him for leaving and he just stood there-silent, beautiful, infuriating-until she woke up gasping for air, with nothing but silence and sweat in her sheets.

And now people would think the poised and elegant eva lee was mistreated, and her feelings were tawdry against jungkook’s counterfeited ones.

However, she initiated the break-up. And now people would ask why? And she would not answer.

Shit was, really, fucking, complicated.

They had tried to be civil post break-up. Tried to pretend they could run into each other at events and keep things polite. Nothing was ever, really, graceful anyway. It was clear- there was loathing and disdain all over.

It had been six months that they had broken up. Done with each other and long passed the naivety of feeding delusions. Eva believed jungkook didn’t really care about how fucked up they were or that anything about the break up had affected him or not.

Hell, she didn’t see him around for 3 months now- as if he disappeared, quite suddenly, in the thin air. Like a memory that had erased itself.

A person can deny feelings. Can deny how their heart can thump and flip. Can control emotions if needed. But hunger? Lust? That has to be one of the sickest sins of the seven that are there.

So when jungkook and eva meet, once again, under critical circumstances at some auction party, it was too poignant and obscure to ignore the need to just come undone against each other.

A lot of things happened that night. Like when jungkook took a step further to kiss eva, she didn’t refuse.

When eva pulled him evn closer, tugging at jungkook’s buttons, he let her.

Or when in some unknown place that they moaned and whimpered, they let themselves be- for one night. They said- one night. Sure.

But jungkook was not a ephemeral drug. He was like a ever consuming one- like nicotine or all those sorts.

And eva, beautiful eva, was everything that jungkook wanted. Every single thing about eva.

That changed into an unspoken routine and when they were released of those hormones did they acknowledge these obsession they had got with each other. But it was too late.

So that was it then, a kiss- then nakedness and a lot of noises that they shouldn’t be appealed to.

The door clicked. Past memories stand in past tense.

And just like all other days that had been spent here, in a morbid secrecy, once again, there would be one- filled with everything but love.

“nice to see you knock” eva mumbled dryly, sipping her drink.

Jungkook walked in, unbothered, dressed in shades of black and grey. As the hell knows, jungkook is a horrendous kind of appeal, and so when he has the black translucent mesh top underneath that revealed his toned chest contours, it looks like it is deliberately worn. And somehow to contrast the bold cloth, he has put on some structured oversized blazer.

He looks like he came hurriedly from something formal- hair layered and jelled, a two or three locks falling. And if that’s not everything that commands- “come, fuck me”, then eva doesn’t know what is.

“you didn’t answer the doorbell last time” he says, shrugging as he tossed the keys of his car on the kitchen table and then helped himself retrieve a bottle from the fridge. Yes, a cotes du Rhône. Classic jeon jungkook.

“that’s a cue that I wasn’t in the mood for visitors” her jaw clenches a little.

“but I am not a visitor, am i?” jungkook smirks.

Eva gets up slowly, the cut of the navi blue sundress reveals her bare thigh just a little.

She takes some step, a small breathe and jungkook’s eyes wavered. Always amused by her tactics.

Her nose scrunches timidly, “where did you come from?”

“a board meeting, why?” he muses.

“no, thought I got a scent of some women’s perfume” she mumbles walking close to him. “must be nice, to get laid two times, you’re a pro” she smiles. Eva has got a thing with playing stupid games she is going to regret later.

“ah, there she goes, accusing me” jungkook snorts putting down his wine. “and who, god forbid, would tell her she is fucking some A-class actor in paris and getting caught on balconies with” he states flatly, voice like smoke and worn leather. “must be nice. To be publicly adored”

Oh. Right. Some actor. She almost has forgotten. Jungkook always reminds her of things she will try her best to omit.

Eva laughs, a cruel and sexy sound. “jeon jungkook, are you jealous?”

He takes a step close, chest touching one another’s “not at all, just surprised you have lowered your standards”

She narrows her eyes “says the man who had a brunette in his bed last weekend. Pftt. Was stalking your club mates”

“well, she talked less, sucked better” jungkook chews his teeth, leaning closer.

“better, as in-better than me?”eva licks her tongue.

Eva was not sure what she was playing at. Only that jungkook looked so fucking bang-able, if that’s even a word. And suddenly all her remorse went down the lane.

Jungkook brings his face close to her ear, lips brushing “atleast she didn’t  pretend she hated me while dripping down my fingers”

Eva’s jaw tightened. But losing to jungkook? Never.

“that’s because she wasn’t important enough to hate. Sucks” jungkook stills because maybe, that cuts.

They don’t flinch. Neither ever does. Love was off the table.

Jungkook’s tongue ran over his teeth. God, she was infuriating. Annoyingly infuriating.

He grabs her by the waist, harsh. He tilts his head ever so slightly, muscles underneath his jaw twitching very lightly. “keep talking like that” he mutters leaning close to nibble softly on eva’s lower lip “and I will fuck you so fucking hard you won’t be able to find a solid excuse to give your fuck ass Parisian boyfriend when you go to him with your stuck up little conscience limping and wearing nothing but the scent of me, eva lee.”

What that enough to turn on a 29 year old woman soaking wet?

Eva grabs jungkook’s blazer around the collar, pulling him in for a long and eager kiss. He deepens the kiss almost immediately and pushed his tongue into her mouth, eliciting a moan.

It doesn’t take a second before a metallic glint gets twisted along with his tongue on hers. A piercing. A tongue piercing. Eva feels she may lose the last thread of control any time soon.

Jungkook pushes eva down the sectioned couch, the blinds are turned to not please the outside people of this heinous act inside.

Eva’s posture lay barren on the couch, the blue dress caressing a minimal of her thighs while also revealing the lacy garment underneath.

She could hear the clattering of metal as he discards his belt, almost equally hungry. However, eva can notice a slight of unusual urgency in jungkook’s actions as if he has no extra time but to devour eva as soon as possible. Hungry and needy. Good for her.

He advances, hovering over her, removing all the messy shreds of her hair as if they play a taunting game of teasing the already frustrated boy.

One hand under her head on the couch, jungkook’s fingers slowly move to the lining of the underwear, helping her undress. Her soaked core clenches but she won’t really admit that. That is jungkook’s work to find out how and where to pleasure her.

She adjusts herself looking down where jungkook has put the underwear to the side, dangling around her knees. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, jungkook caresses her clenched entrance.

He nibbles the side of her lobe, smirking on noticing how her muscles tighten and he is very much the teaser. “so eager for me, pretty girl?”

Eva rolls her eyes, upholding her eye level just to meet his “just fuck me already, we both know there’s not much time”

“true” he says, moving his eyes. Eva grows a little confused. What’s up with him today? Probably not because he is not in the mood else he wouldn’t have called.

His fingers line towards the core, fingers that want to be filled in, all white and smooth. Eva’s chest heaves as she clears her throat, her hand moving towards her bosom, trying to feel every bit of it. He moves his hands, deliberate and urgent, the raspy and lewd sounds of wetness accompanying her gravelly moans.

Now, eva can fuck whoever the hell she likes, and they can make her feel just as satisfied but jungkook, he has the power to throw her to the gates or nirvana and that, she will admit, is just his excellent fingering skills and not how much he eager she gets for him.

Her eyes are shut, lips trembling as jungkook’s fingers, now two, inside her moves with equal intense. She is about to come undone, the urgency helping her release every frustration of the day. The little ridge, like the perfect g-spot, has been only used by him and him alike, like he knows every other inch that has to be perfectly cradled with to help her. There, there, just there. Don’t stop, just like that, yes. Please.

Even the weather growls once, as if the weather is playing its part to come undone too, pouring its own relaxation in the form of cold and dull raindrops.

The movements stop.

Eva’s eyes shut open. Glaring.

Jungkook grins “needed a drink”

What the fuck?

He gets up, huffing and fixes his air. He tosses his blazer somewhere eva is too annoyed to notice.

“what’s wrong with you?” she coos, throwing her head back on the ccouch.

“I love watching you getting the frustration I get every time I see your legs on the covers”

“and jeon jungkook is all about being jealous today” eva says, grabbing the wine bottle.

Jungkook gulps down the sip, eyeing eva once and then walking to the window that stands viewing the Han River. Yes, jeon jungkook is out of place and acting odd today.

Eva lies blinking a little too many times then mixes her dress, “I’ll be….in the bedroom” he says.

Eva stands in front of the mirror in their master bedroom, caressing herself, touching and wondering how long will it take for jungkook’s hands to replace hers. Impatient, wanting.

As if on cue, jungkook enters the room, noticing eva. He comes behind, placing a small smooch on her shoulder. Eyes up, he trails his tongue along the nape of her neck, letting out a small gasp from eva. His hands move to remove the lacy sundress down to her waist, squeezing her breasts as If he has the perfectly curved hands to fondle with them.

Eva moves ahead, turning around, holding his forearm. She lowers herself down the carpeted floor and unbuttons the bottoms of his jeans. Jungkook only admires, his hands around the fluff of her hair.

She palms his rigid bulge through his clothing. He watches her fingers caress his cock, biting her lips trying to stifle her amusement.

Wrapping her fingers around it, her tongue slides out of her mouth and licks a stroke up to the top of it. Those smudged eyes of her looking up ever so innocently.

Jungkook can forever carve this view. Even ink it if it was respectfully possible.

At this time, she looked so fucking pornographic. So eager, desperate. And jungkook has no issues getting teased and played.

Eva takes him into her wet mouth, sucking hard, hollowing her cheeks. She feels him throb, let out a grunt and it satisfies her. It’s not every day the jeon jungkook gets to be this undone by woman. She will like to think it’s only her attempt to make him feel. Her possession.

She pushes her hair out of her face and jungkook gathers her hair tighter thrusting himself against her, making her move herself in sync with his own throbbing.

She removes it out of her mouth, only the tip of her tongue touching his. Taunting and explicitly making him annoyed. Foreplay is all about teasing and letting out reactions even though both are going to fuck hard just a little later, right?

She knows jungkook is frustrated and she moves back, still kneeling.

Frustrating him.

“asshole” she mutters.

Jungkook kneels himself, hands till tightened around her silky hair. He kisses her hard, lips twisting and playing and then helps her stand up, almost throwing on the bed.

“on the bed, bra off” he orders climbing himself as well.

Her back is against the headboard, while he closes the distance as his tongue finds her nipple, serpentine against the hardened core and sucking them as long as he wants. Eva knows she will end up writhing having his tongue flicker all over, making her wet and filthy but that does not matter not when she could feel his pre-cum leaking, and the idea of her being all used up, in good ways, by jungkook makes her insatiable.

As much as jungkook wants to play it coy or look all nonchalant about not wanting to nibble each part of her, he has long around been patient.

Jungkook’s elbows rest on either side of eva’s head, all tangled with her soft hair. His nose nuzzles with hers, lips plucking on her cheeks. The clink of a silver chain dangles detached from his neck, and to where her chin meets his bare torso. Eva’s lips waver to hold the chain, creating a distraction and tug at it. Jungkook believes she is going to be the death of his.

Watching eva bite her lips, so red and plum, as her hands tighten around jungkook’s bare back, looking every bit the celestial angel that has come tonight to be worshipped by him. To hell with patience.

“you look so fucking gorgeous” jungkook hums against her breast, lips trailing down to reach the abdominal layer.

Her legs clench which makes him frown. He pressed her legs apart, where her hole lies-wet and liquefied to the extreme that jungkook wants to have every bit the taste-always has.

“that” he points to the wetness “is all mine”

Lowering himself, his shoulder squelching as his tongue licks across the top of her clit. When he hears her moan, that he looks up with only his eyes- “like that?”

When eva gives no dissatisfaction, jungkook continues, head buried deep as he licks up and down, helping you lose in the ecstasy.

Eva is leaking around his fingers as he spreads her even more. He moves his fingers too, near the entrance of her hole with his tongue parching the clenches parts of her clit. There’s no dignity in the way he will leave you tethering.

“so sweet, so fucking sweet” he muses, his own tongue filled with the warmth of the creamy liquid. He gathers the creamy slick.

“don’t sto-fuck” eva mumbles, head leaning back, holding onto the ivory sheets, that lay wrinkled.

He moves up, grabbing her hand to move back. Her bare back on display for him to play however the fuck he wants.

“bend over, pretty girl” and eva follows, wanting to be ordered. To be so submissive that she will forget there was ever a side that wants to dominate him to.

The tip of his cock nudges slowly and gently at first, the hole spreading by the coarseness of the shaft. Eva curses, her neck sweat and nails pinning against the headboard. He pushes himself, once or twice and then repeatedly. His hips picking up pace, molded with her throaty moans.

One hand on her ass, jungkook’s fingers tangle around her hair, that smells so addictive jungkook has lost himself. He pulls her arched back, maintaining his pace. She lets out whimpers of pleasure as jungkook hands get a grip of her neck, almost choking her.

His teeth graze her neck, nibbling enough to leave purple bruises. Then her little boyfriend would question and jungkook will be so, so proud. “tell me, does he make you feel like this, hmm?” he mewls, his body clammy against her.

She can barely form words, her own lips smudged and eyeliner dripping down.

“n-no” she shutters, feeling him thrust hard and sloppily.

“properly. Does he? Has he? Will he?” he practically growls, hand clasping her throat as her hands find the need to capture his hand, wanting to make him stop and go harder simultaneously.

“you. Only you” she moans and that fuels jungkook. He will like to go deeper and fuck her so sweetly, that she will forget every other man that have had the ability to fuck her pretty cunt.

“good”

Her lips find his as he controls his pace, now a little gentle but still making her writhe.

He throws her over again, bending her against him, breaking apart their contact. He looks dangerously sweaty, his fingers dripping with all her sweetness. The thing made by him, only for him.

Eva grows impatient, so eager to cum that all sense of morality has ceased to exist. She crawls to jungkook, grabbing the side of his neck and kiss. Jungkook hisses when she bits his lip, almost as hard for the blood to ooze out. He grabs her gently, even though her sudden dominance has left him bruised with his ego.

Eva grazes his wrist, pulling close, smiling ever so evil- a mastered smile to pull out for every model shoot. Seduction is a thing eva has learnt, thought it will not be needed for jungkook but she has a knack to play with death and danger, the sole reason as to why she chose jungkook as her boyfriend in the first place.

She places him against the wall of the bed, groveling closer againt his ear. Her hands traces his shaved jaw, his pretty lips and then she whispers, ever so lightly that will for sure have jungkook to beg.

“fuck me sweetly, pretty please”

That will do. Jungkook grabs her back, placing her on his lap. She puts her legs on either of his hips, rubbing her clenched clit against his pulsating dick.

Her face breathes near his by the time he inserts himself against her. light moans and groans get filled with the pattering rain outside. The weather was windy but there was only steam raised up with the unusual heat.

Jungkook’s arms were around her tightened hips, guiding her as always. Her hands on his hair, pulling and tugging at every other pain that jungkook will very likely love to endeavor without any complains.

He is thrusting against her, deliberately hitting her favorite spot. There was a tune to the way both their bodies moved against each other. This moment does not make jungkook think of any other race, rarely, but has ever lost. Eva doesn’t remember any insult. Only them, only each other.

His lips gave hollow kisses on her neck, wanting more of eva’s moans to reach his ears. To be completely affected and addicted by the sexy and lustful sounds she can make.

Eva is beyond the level of pleasure she can receive. “shit, shit-fuck” she whimpers. Jungkook helps her adjust her hair, now clammy and against her pretty face.

Jungkook races his pace, determined and so focused on to let eva release her high. He has never been so out of control with any one else, not even on the tracks when his aim was to only win. Here, now, there’s no winning- only wanting to make love to a woman he can never make a future with.

Not that he doesn’t wish, only that eva thinks it’s this weird fucking schedule they have. Jungkook will like to think that make love-beautifully. Complicated but just her and only her.

Fuck if there was ever any other woman.

“want to keep fucking you forever, eva” he mumbles, sucking her nipples.

Eva has gained her breath, now a little in between her control “I have shoots to do tomorrow”

“or you could just leave everything and ride in Harleys with me” he mutters, quickly. “you know, ridin’…Harleys in….” he grins. Eva lets out an unwanted chuckle.

“shut up and fuck me”

“surely” he whispers, teeth gazing her ear, her neck, her hair, her everything.

Both were pacing up, trying to fuck as long as they want but their bodies wont really compromises because losing control has always been their suite with each other.

“cum with me, all over me, just me” he says, placing half kisses all over her shoulder as she moves, rubbing against her.

“the world doesn’t revolve around you” she says. Will not leave a chance to bite at jungkook’s cocky habits. Jungkook likes it anyway.

“your world does”

“bullshi-fuck!” she curses just as jungkook inserts hander, willingly to shut her bitchy mouth up.

“I am so sorry” he coos, looking up with his doe eyes.

He is not.

“fuck you” she growls “you are” he mumbles.

They both moved. Jungkook is losing his loads, wanting to unload every creamy spurt all over her, coating her with everything that’s there.

Her forehead leans to touch his, a little gentle. She is moving and moving, wanting to come apart as forever. There’s no need to restrain herself.

Eva’s stomach crumbles, feeling the knot of nirvana reaching her. she moans heavily, letting out the last breath of her high. Unaware that jungkook watches her come undone, a light smile, having nothing but warmth that has, shamefully, long gone but back whenever with her.

She moves herself, hurriedly to let her feel his cum too.

He grabs his throbbing cock and slides himself fully into her mouth, guiding her hair by the ponytail he has got a hold of. His grunts intensifies eva’s will to make him cum. His eyes roll a little, feeling her body go rigid the more she sucks.

Eva’s jaw started to get tired but she wants more. See the strongest man she knows get affected as much as she wants. Else wise she will yell and shout how much she hates him for ruining her both mentally and physically. But now, like this, hate is a word long banished, there’s only desire to collide, to tether at the edge and have the Buckingham palace appaear in the form of jungkook’s nakedness.

Her red lips wraps his dick lightly, molding and twisting. Jungkook’s release was building and his grip on her hand fastens, wanting her to come duck better, more than right now. Have all of him, his on her, her on hers too.

So filthy and unholy.

He guides her to coax up and down. Eva relinquishes the control, to the point of gagging. Jungkook was mewling, groaning by the mess eva has created.

When the pressure of his orgasm builds, he became breathless, pulling his cock out and on her face. Her chocolate orbs sparkled with such intensity jungkook, once again, wants to stay buried within her.

“where do you want me?” he grunts, impatient.

Eva scoots closer, kneeling. Her palms red. “on here, please”

“I am gonna cum, shit”

Jungkook releases, the raspy cum all over, making her lick her tongue. Jungkook is sometimes so surprised by her boldness as if even fucking again and again will not recompense how high jungkook gets with her.

Like she is angel, a diving sculptor only kept to be admired. But there, she is, so spectacularly licking her tongue, eyes wide and a mix of everything jungkook sees as his future home.

Only if.

He helps her get up. He knows the ritual now. She will go ahead, take a warm bath, forget she ever begs, as guilt will engulf her. Back to the old rhythm jungkook so fucking hates.

Eva walks over, plucking some soft towels, and open the door of the bathroom with a clack. She will not lock, traditionally. Let it open.

Jungkook walks over to the balcony, after putting on his jeans. Smoking has been a realief- a better drug than eva. Atleast it says it will intoxicate you with a previous warning. Doesn’t abandon you as well.

Seoul has bared its soul with a thunderous rain. Has been all the day. Jungkook eyes looks over the night-still glowing even under the thunder and winds. His eyes do not reach himself, betraying himself. What is he doing here? What is the need to be here?

The smoke he is taking whirls in front of him, like puffs matching his own emotions. Tangled and messy.

Jungkook loves to be pleasured by woman who sees him as some idol that can fulfill their undying sexual desires. Jungkook likes to play that way, takes all the control mostly, and then have them leave.

So, what’s here? He has asked himself that a lot of times and now there’s no answer.

Eva thinks he’s a heartless bastard without any moral sense. He will like to think he is. a selfish and pathetic person, opportunist too. All that synonyms. He will let eva think whatever she thinks.

She has always been like that- putting her own thoughts before his. But he will not call her toxic, crazy or insane. To him, she is so beautiful, so intangible that having her like that under him has kept him coming back like a magnet.

He will like to stay unvalued if that means eva will let him touch her.

Jungkook thinks of the breakup they had. So strangely, unpredictably.

Sure he had been busy for long, to the point coming to eva felt like a burden. Not that he will deny. There were races, endorsements, team meetings that turned into all-nighters, breakdowns of both bikes and contracts and the general exhaustion that came from maintaining an image as seouls’ underground racing champion.

He was busy. He was unavailable.

Emotionally detached like he has always have been. He didn’t understood he could be doing this when they first made love, then kissed and then promised each other a relationship. Jungkook was so deep into his feelings for eva that the retrospective of what could have happened if he put on his issues, didn’t enlighten him then.

He thought his usual distance would make eva understand-she is a celebrity too. That she would wait. That there was strength of what they had could survive a few unanswered calls, a few delayed flights and some miscommunication.

Apparently he was wrong. He knows better now. He might have never made her feel that he was still hers and her, his through all that chaos. Assumed that she would fill in the blanks with her own certainty. Only If, now that he thinks, he could have done things differently- said words he meant. Kissed, said he loved her and all that.

Eva had it all- money, fame, success and praises. So why would jungkook’s absence hurl her? that was jungkook’s wrong thinking because the only thing eva ever wanted was him. His little presence, a little enthusiasm in her works or whatever normal couples do.

Jungkook thought eva was better-alone but knowing he was there. And eva had a thing with romanticizing silence. She started filtering what she told him-the fights with her brand manager, the anxiety before fashion weeks, and all that media nightmares. She thought his absence meant he didn’t care or that, as they say, a silent minds leads to the bundle of issues and misunderstandings. Trust stood on the line, where she thought he was out there with someone else.

Thought what people would think. That hurt more than she ever let on. She acted like she didn’t need him anymore. Like he was just one more man in her life who was too selfish to really understand her. Maybe he was. But she never expressed it. Never gave him a chance to try. She’d walk past him in their shared apartment with the same calm indifference she used for paparazzi. Cold. Composed. Professional.

That was the thing about Eva. She was brilliant at performing love -radiant smiles, forehead kisses, and whispered “goodnights” over champagne glasses. But beneath that, she was scared. Scared of needing someone who wouldn’t stay. So she stopped needing. And Jungkook didn’t notice until she’d already stopped.

They both began to live parallel lives under the same roof  like touching the same walls, sleeping in the same bed, but drifting like unmoored satellites. He kept chasing adrenaline. She kept chasing control. And neither of them had the energy to sit down and ask, “Are we okay?”

One thing led to another-missing birthdays, each other’s championships, fashion shows and all that. It was not really about those terms either, because all circled to the fact that they were too busy aiming careers that love became sidetracked. Came to the point it felt like they have used each other for sex, for lust and no real feelings. It’s easier to think like that.

So, when people pressurize her with love-bombing questions about jeon jungkook as the boyfriend. Media wanted pictures, that didn’t thrill her anymore.

They fought over the unexpected break up agreement by eva just a little. Like, for the sake of fighting. She made the decision. He handed her the reason.

He didn’t beg. Didn’t show up at her door in the rain. Didn’t fight or did anything to keep her. thought it was better to let her go and have her deserve what she truly deserves. He thought staying would be the same as losing her-either way, she was gone.

And he let her, like a dumbfuck coward. The new boyfriend of hers is better, atleast is happy to har her. Might worship the ground she walks on. That is what Eva deserves

Not a stupid, jeon jungkook. People worships him, throws banners and adoration for what? He is a sick man. Who is proud to let go of his love. How shameful. How unmanly.

And so, when they made the offer of fucking without strings- jungkook thought it would be a way to apologize for all that he did as a pathetic lover. He will touch her like a man who has no right to ask for anything else. Will fuck her like an apology wrapped silently. That’s the least he can do.

Eva is a precious ruby, a rarest wonder built with finery as If the heavens took a personal time to create her. Her eyes, that glowed, like a mix of brown and hazel under moonlight. Her cheeks, toned but soft, sometimes sparkles under the dusky warmth. And then there’s her rounded lips so appealing and plump and what not. Her body-god heavens, her curves and every other shred of the skin he gets to touch. Oh, how lucky, isn’t he?

Eva must be kind letting a man as horrendous and pathetic as jeon jungkook still touch her. how, jungkook cannot fathom.

Only now that he stands overlooking the river flowing gently, rain a little heavier now, he thinks how close they were to achieve the stars if not the storm had arrived.

Ride or die, baby. Ride or die.

The bathroom tiles are cold now, done by the harsh wind outside. There’s some crippled leaves lying that has come from the window.

Eva lies on the tub, with the water running-half a turn hotter, then back a notch, something out of a habit more than desire. There are steams curled up that fogs the mirror near the tub. She cannot see her reflection right now but it might be one of contrition and self-hatred. Her undergarments were in a heap of the closed lid. The bra and her cotton panties. Minimal and nothing fancy.

Eva sinks into the water, slowly and carefully to engulf the silence ever more. The water falls on her thighs, her waist that still ached after the aftermath. The collarbones shiver with the heat while the purple bruise over there makes her hiss. She lets her knees fold, the water hugging like a blanket, protecting her. her skin looks pale and a mix of flushed pink now.

Usually, she lights candles, plays music and romanticize even though there’s nothing so blissful about it. However, tonight her muscles are a little too sore and her head hurt. Her heart is tired too. That was all.

She, has, throughout the night noticed the unusual approaches of jungkook- softer than regular, a little close, and at times his eyes looked like it wanted to ooze out and tell things he cannot. Why, why, why.

She should not care. Caring meant losing, weakening. But something about how jungkook touched her today. What was it?

When eva tries to move, she winces due to the dull ache in her lower back. Bubbles start to ripple and circulate -a mix of lavender and fresh lotus, like how she wants. Like how he wants her to want.

She tucks one foot under the other, toes brushing the curve of the drain. Water sloshes gently with the bubbles. The glass of wine she poured earlier is on the sink of the counter. She wants to drink some that can soothe all the pain.

A faint sound of someone approaching rings near her ears. She lets he eyes rest. She can never be prepared to whatever jungkook tells.

Jungkook quietly comes, leaning against the counter, in front of the mirror. The warm haze of steam meets him immediately, clinging to his already sweaty skin. The light overhead was a faint yellow only casting a grainy, golden tint.

Jungkook watches her. The angel. His pretty girl. Well, once.

Her collarbones peek through the surface of the bubble bath. A few droplets linger at the base of her throat. Her hair has fallen out of the messy bun in paces, loose strands curling damply against her shoulder.

Jungkook gazes at the subtle rise and fall of her chest. Beautiful. The way her fingers flexed occasionally under the surface causing the bubbles to pop. Beautiful too. A small bruise near her neck, made by him only for him to witness. That was beautiful. Those gentle breaths, those lashes that flutters, as if it knows jungkook presence but refuses to acknowledge.

That was beautiful too. Her hating him was gorgeous, fitting.

All that he wants.

Her lips part, jungkook sees.

“On a rate of 1-10, how intimidating is my face?” she mutters. Jungkook has to smile.

She remembers. Their little secret.

“so much I can go another round” he tells because he cannot tell “so much, I want to hodl you, hug you, kiss you, tell you I am yours and only yours”.

“you are a fucking man whore. Nuisance to society” eva muses “menace kind”

“only with you”

“please don’t call me for two weeks. I have loads to do” she tells, rising up to get out of the tub. Her skin glowing like hues of golden and something blush has poured upon.

Jungkook goes silent. Once again, that baffles eva. She looks straight to his eyes-that always looks unreadable. “what’s the matter with you?”

“eva” he speaks, so silently loud that their heartbeats could be heard maybe “I am moving to vegas. Tomorrow”

“oh” her face is rid of all that blush that was there just a second later”umm, like a club trip?”

Jungkook lets out a low chuckle “not really. It’s a contract with an affiliate club-li-like joint races, sponsorship gigs and maybe collab. Might take some years”

Silence slams into the room. Eva doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink.

“Congratulations” she muses.

Jungkook shakes his head once “Vegas is like a way out, all sorts of glam and all that. Nice place. Good money”

Eva steps out, tying the towel tight against her “good for you, yeah”

He bends his head slightly trying to decipher eva’s motions. “are you not happy for me?”

“not really. But yeah, good to know” she says, clenching her jaw. Jungkook steps forward, wanting to hold eva’s hands. Eva only backs off.

“what is it, eva?”

“since when have you received this…opportunity?” she asks, her damped hair dripping water.

“maybe, a month ago, I don’t kno-“

“and you didn’t tell me!” she turned. Jungkook can see how furious she is.

“we don’t talk normally, do we? Also yes-I am telling you now”

“why did I ever expect anything else either, jeon jungkook. Go ahead, kudos to your hardwork, chase your dreams, be rich”

“that was aggressive, thankyou, pretty girl”

“stop calling me that” there was a glare in eva’s face. And jungkook is a little annoyed too.

“what? What are you so pissed off about?” he stands up, leaning close “you wanted me gone from the face of earth, so what proposition do you have now?”

eva furrows, the little droplets still falling, one, two. “you want to know what I have to say?” she yells “I don’t want you to go to Vegas”

his brows twitch “funny. Don’t do this, eva. I already booked the flight”

“unbook it”

“I signed the contract-“

“rip it”

“I have promised my mates”

“break it. You’re good at it”

“jesus, eva!”

Eva pushes jungkook as he leans against the counter “you don’t get to fuck me jungkook and then leave. It was a mistake first time but not now, you promi-fuck that! We wanted this, don’t we?”

“and what is this?” jungkook accuses, trying to calm her

“this. Look, we broke up and that’s true but we were good with this, it is some other woman? You like someone else now?” eva asks, her tone rough now “if that’s the reason, I get it, you should-“

“stop this eva, you are hurting yourself” jungkook holds her wrist. He knew she will say something but never thought she can say things he never imagined. Didn’t she say she hates him?

“am I ?” eva clears her throat, her arms around his neck “then help me! Don’t leave me”

“you broke up with me, eva” jungkook mutters, his lips just over his “it wasn’t me, it was you. I begged you not to, I asked you what did I do wrong an you left. Why act now that you care?”

Eva looks down “alright then, I am a world-class pathetic person. I am selfish and so stubborn and I don’t care about anyone” her voice breaks. Her hands slip from jungkook’s neck “and I am sorry”

Jungkook looks else where. This is not the time for this. He promised himself he will just say his plan and walk away.

Instead he finds himself caressing her cheeks, his palm on either cheeks of her-his thumb gracing her like she is so precious, which indeed she is. “look at me”

Eva’s eyes travels to everywhere but on his. “I am a bad, bad person, eva. You see, with me, you will be just depressed, and I will hurt you” jungkook takes a breath “and you hate me. Remember that. You hate-you should hate me”

“I don’t” eva speaks, her eyes glistening. Her hands travel to caress his bare torso-a small scar along his collar “it’s funny, isn’t it? I don’t hate you at all, not at all. And you know that too.”

“then what, eva, do you love me? Do you have feelings for me?”

“what do you think?”

Jungkook sighs, blowing wind out of his cheeks. He pulls eva close and then turns the shower on. Cripples of water fall on them. Jungkook unties her towel, tossing it somewhere.

The water soothes both of them, as crystals from heaven. Jungkook pulls out something from his pocket that eva cannot see. Her back stays attached to his chest.

Something cold touches her chest, in between the curve of her breasts. It’s a small pendant, almost the shape of heart that looked like a small strawberry too- shining under the semi-golden husk.

“for you” he speaks, lips against her shoulder. Eva has no reason to cry, why would she? But she is, a drop or two falls as he adjusts the locket around her neck.

Eva remembers that she saw this, about an year ago, while being on a trip to new York with jungkook. There had been some issues that made them not purchase that moment. Jungkook remembers. And he remembers because forgetting it anymore will result in him not gifting this to her ever.

“please” eva sobs “don’t go, please”

“come with me then, there”

Eva goes silent. “you can’t, I know. Seoul is your life and that is mine. When we left each other, it was this damn career that pulled us apart. And I don’t think this will make any change this time too”

“I hate you, jungkook” eva manages to speak.

“yes, I know, you have made it very clear” jungkook speaks, his own voice breaking too. He plants a kiss on her shoulder. The water falls In rhythm. Their bodies get wet-so messy, no filthy and so them.

“you should leave” eva speaks letting herself where she forever wanted to belong. His arms, her body only in his arms.

“do you want me to go?” jungkook smirks, lifting his hand to move the wet hair from her collar, kissing and teasing. Eva gasps which makes jungkook want to savour every breathe he can, right now.

“we- we can do long distance” eva offers, unsure of her own words.

“you have gone mad ,eva. Didn’t know you still want me that much” jungkook speaks but it’s not a tone he usually uses to flirt. He is breaking too. Eva can understand.

“is everything a joke to you?” eva was crying as she speaks, her eyes shut as jungkook’s fingers squeezes her breasts, his lips on her bare back. So close they might die together.

“that boyfriend of yours, he is a nice guy and he h-“

“he is not my boyfriend. You know it. It is a part of making some scandals. Stop bringing him” eva practically warns, now turning around.

Their eyes meet, so determined to fall apart. There was a tension neither wanted to acknowledge. Were they not breaking because all they wanted stood infront of each other. A family they once believed they will build. Those petty dreams.

“what’s stopping us, jungkook? From us becoming something?” eva says leaning close, her eys full of moisture and undone tears.

“tell me, if I say, you will leave everything, forgive me and come, with me?hmm?” jungkook mutters.

“will you do, that, if I say?”

Jungkook keeps a silence to hang over. Eva learns jungkook will never be the one she wants but then he speaks “I will, eva. I will do anything to have you back”

He snickers and continues. “but you wont, eva. You wont like me without my dreams and you cannot abandon your success too. It’s a harsh and cruel reality. We are better off without each other”

“what about our promises?” eva suddenly mutters.

Promises. Promises like building a house in seoul’s outskirt-live and grow a future. Promises like going on long and reckless drives during the night. Promises like kissing each other until they are sick of it. Promises like having toddlers dancing around the house. Promises like him going to praise her after and before every ramp and her cheering the loudest for him. Promises like visiting LA together, watch agora hills, visit places no one goes. Do things no one knows. Promises.

“what are promises, if not broken?” jungkook chooses to say. “hate me, eva and let me hate you too, that will help me survive”

Eva has her hands clutched around him, refusing to leave. Jungkook’s eyes bore onto his- like memorizing every contour that’s there on his girl’s face. “and hit me, punch me, kill me too, but” he reaches forward removing her tears that has dried “don’t cry for me. I am not worth your tears”

Eva pulls him closer, kissing him, savoring his taste. Jungkook leans too, kissing her lips, her nose, her cheeks and all of her. she is a drug, better than anything. He takes all the time to cherish her, tell her-if not through words- how precious she is. how undeserving of jungkook.

He is hugging her tight. They don’t understand how love can be this harsh, so cruel. Only that love was a bunch of apologies. So jungkook is sorry. Sorry for loving her, sorry for letting her love him. But he cannot say that. It will be harder to leave.

jungkook breaks the hug, pulling her close. His fingers lift her chin, pressing one long kiss. tongue to tongue, moulding and twisting as if a simple kiss can join the two and make them inseparable. only if.

They are standing against the main door, his back to her. eva doesn’t speak.

Jungkook turns once, trying his best to cheer. He has told about how he will call, give all the updates and that they will remain friends. But he might not do because eva wil be better If she doesn’t’ get a call too.

“I’ll miss you, pretty girl” he laughs. Eva smiled too.

Maybe, jeon jungkook is a lot of things. A lot of what ifs in him, a lot of complications eva will remember.

But also, this is true.

Jeon jungkook is her asshole.

taglist (send me an ask): @lovingkoalaface , @mar-lo-pap , @struberri , @kooscripted

thankyou so much @cursed-carmine for these dividers. your works are incredible and creative <3

[smokebombsandspotlights]

would you do some wag!Manon of Katseye x F1 fem reader, where reader is a running for wdc and Manon is very supportive to her

“Racing Hearts” 🩷

Pairing: platonic!F1 grid x reader, reader x WAG!Manon (Katseye)

Word Count: 757 words

Genre: Found Family, Platonic Fluff, Light Angst w/ Comfort, LGBTQ+ Support

Summary: Y/N is one of the most promising drivers on the 2025 Formula 1 grid and in the running for the World Championship. Her girlfriend, Manon from Katseye, is her biggest supporter, always in the paddock cheering her on. But being a female driver in a public LGBTQ+ relationship comes with its own challenges. Luckily, the entire grid—and the love of her life—has her back.

TW/CW: Mentions of online hate and homophobia, Brief social media negativity, Emotional comfort and found family

Paddock Mornings and Supportive Eyes

The 2025 season had been a whirlwind for Y/N L/N, and she was living every second of it.

Podiums nearly every weekend.

A tight title fight with Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

And most importantly, Manon by her side, walking through the paddock with that bright Katseye smile that made headlines almost as much as Y/N’s overtakes.

Every morning before a race:

Manon would hand her a water bottle and kiss her cheek.

The cameras would flash.

And Y/N could almost hear Twitter collectively losing its mind.

“Ready to take pole today, champ?” Manon whispered with a grin. “Always, if you’re watching,” Y/N replied, her nerves settling instantly.

The WAGs and Drivers’ Instant Acceptance

The first time Y/N brought Manon to a Grand Prix, she had been terrified of how the grid would react.

Instead:

Charles Leclerc immediately offered to take their first paddock photo, declaring, “I’m your Instagram husband now.”

Lewis Hamilton gave Y/N a quick hug and said, “Love is love, and we’re happy for you.”

Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri became unofficial Manon bodyguards anytime Y/N was in meetings.

And the WAGs?

Kika, Charlotte, and Carmen practically adopted Manon on the spot.

She was braiding Charlotte’s hair by the next race weekend.

The paddock quickly went from curious stares to comfortable routine—because when Y/N was around, Manon was part of the family too.

The Social Media Storm

Despite the warmth in the paddock, the internet wasn’t always kind.

After her first win with Manon in attendance, her phone blew up:

“Why is she dating a girl?”

“This is just for attention.”

“Focus on racing instead of your relationship.”

Y/N usually ignored it, but one night, scrolling through the comments in her hotel room, the words stung.

Manon, ever perceptive, noticed the shift in her expression.

“Baby… don’t read those.” “I know. I just… I hate that people can’t just be happy for us.”

Manon cupped her face, her voice soft but firm.

“You’re fighting for a world championship. You’re making history. And you’re loved—by me, by your team, by everyone that matters. The rest? Noise.”

Found Family on the Grid

The next morning, during the team briefing, Lewis Hamilton approached her.

“Heard some of the online stuff,” he said quietly. “Been there. Don’t let it in. And if anyone ever gives you trouble? You’ve got twenty angry drivers behind you.”

She laughed, and he winked.

True to his word, the grid had her back.

During the next press conference, Lando casually corrected a reporter who tried to reduce her achievements to “distractions”: “Distraction? She’s literally leading the championship. Next question.”

George Russell added, “She’s proving exactly why she belongs here. That’s what matters.”

The solidarity was loud and clear, and her confidence soared.

Chasing the Championship

The season built to its climactic final race in Abu Dhabi.

Y/N and Max Verstappen were tied in points.

Charles Leclerc was just behind, praying for a miracle.

The tension in the paddock was electric.

Before the formation lap, Y/N found Manon by the garage, nerves thrumming.

“I’m terrified,” Y/N admitted. “Good,” Manon teased gently, fixing her balaclava. “That means you care. Now go get what you’ve been fighting for all year.”

Manon kissed her helmet just before she climbed into the car.

The Race of Her Life

The lights went out.

Wheel-to-wheel with Max.

Late dive on Charles into Turn 9.

Perfect pit stop from her team.

By Lap 52, she was leading the race, her radio crackling with her engineer’s voice:

“Just bring it home, Y/N. Manon’s waving like crazy in the garage.”

On the final straight, tears stung her eyes.

She crossed the line P1.

The team erupted in screams.

The world champion was Y/N L/N.

Celebration – Love and Found Family

After the podium celebrations, she ran straight into Manon’s arms, champagne soaking her race suit.

“You did it! My world champion!” Manon yelled, spinning her around.

The drivers surrounded her like a protective circle:

Charles lifted her off the ground in a hug.

Lando poured more champagne over her helmet.

Lewis gave her the proudest smile.

No one cared about the cameras or social media noise. All that mattered was the family she had built on and off the track.

That night, she posted a single photo: Her and Manon holding the championship trophy together, surrounded by smiling drivers.

The caption read:

“For the love, the family, and the dream we chased. 2025 World Champion.”

The internet could say whatever it wanted.

She had Manon’s love.

She had the grid’s support.

And she had her title.

In that moment, she realized she’d won so much more than a championship.

End.

[dandyshucks]

Guz walking in to find me eating jello w whipped cream and i go "hooooly fuck dude have u tried this stuff. it's so good." and he looks at me like i'm insane for a second before laughing as if i've just told a joke and then i just stare at him and he realizes i was not joking at all and was being so very genuine. and then he just looks confused and is like "wait. you're telling me you seriously never had jello with whipped cream before????" and i nod and he loses his mind like "YEAH OF FUCKING COURSE IT'S GOOD JUNO, THEY'VE BEEN DOING THIS AS A DESSERT FOR FIVE BILLION YEARS"

and then we eat some jello together <3

anyways guess who just had jello w whipped cream for the first time an hour ago HFDSHGDSGJKL

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[salemwasnteverhere]

How the Hashira men react to your neighbor asking you to be quiet

Characters: Tengen, Sanemi, Rengoku, Obanai, Gyomei, Giyuu,

Additional shit: Swearing, Sanemi fighting said neighbor, Rengoku being blunt, mentions of sex, ooc mot likely :p

Tengen

He couldn't care less

His whole thing is being flashy and loud so he wants you to be loud

Like it's not his fault that dick is magical

After he shoos your neighbor away he makes sure to be as loud as possible that night

He's pounding into your cunt and you swear your gonna break when he whispers "okay now scream exactly how big my dick is. Don't forget the tip color-"

He gets cut off by you hitting him with the pillow

Way to ruin the mood

But that doesn't stop him and instead he goes harder, making sure the bed creaks loud ASF for your neighbor

"Not my fault he doesn't know how to please a woman." Is his main reason for doing so

He really wants you to scream his name so it's imbedded in your neighbors head

"Morning N/N!" Him to your neighbor from the balcony while your trying to get out of bed and failing

"Actually die." Both you and your neighbor to Tengen

Sanemi

Cares alot

Why the fuck is that limp dick biscuit talking to you and him? Who does he think he is?

You were the one who broke the news to him thankfully cause if Sanemi was the one who opened the door then you'd have to see your husband through glass in a prison

Just kidding. The Slayer corp would get him out of trouble if he didn't do it himself.

Anyways

Sanemi made it his goal to piss your neighbor off as much as possible

Your under him, practically creaming on his cock, and he's slamming the wall yelling "This loud enough yet?! Huh!?"

Not kidding I can see him doing that

He quite literally had you against a window where your neighbors could see him destroying you just to make them mad or uncomfortable, hopefully both.

But then he'd get pissed someone else would see you all naked and fucked out so he settled for the wall next to the window

One day your neighbor, finally having enough, bangs on your door yelling and guess who opens it...Sanemi!!

Good Lord was he waiting for this

It took one punch and the guy was out

Kinda what happens when you put a normal dude against a guy who kills demons for a living

Rengoku

He's a good neutral between caring and not caring

Like he doesn't wanna make your neighbors mad but he also loves hearing your screams

So he tries to keep you quiet during sex but fails since he gets to into it to give a fuck

The next days his loud ass voice wakes you up

"IM SORRY FOR MAKING INCREDIBLE LOVE TO MY WIFE!" He's not being sarcastic thats his genuine apology

Your facepalming and you want to die when you see your neighbor and she can't look at you

"PERHAPS SHES MAD BECAUSE HER HUSBAND CANNOT PLEASE HER!" Rengoku says casually and you know she can hear you from outside in her garden

"Inside voices!" You place your hands over his mouth to try and shut him up.

It works for a bit before he's yelling again

You love your husband but holy shit you wish he would speak normally sometimes

He's actually quiet in bed though

So your the problem (real)

Obanai

I'm not an Obanai fan so forgive me for how bad his section will be

Obanai is a quiet mf, and you're not even that loud

It's your neighbor who was the problem

A little old man whose hearing aids apparently had the power of 67 suns

You and Obanai found this out when he was outside training and your neighbor came over

He was so sweet and polite and even chuckled at Obanai's redness

Obanai cared at first but got over it

You? You make sure to not make a PEEP in bed

Okay that pisses Obanai off but he understands your reasons

At least make a gasp or sum cause he's over here like "Wait does this feel good? Can she feel it? Did I forget where the clit is?"

Brother is STRESSING

Then you cum and he's like "ah"

Then he's like "Did you take it?"

You have to keep yourself from murdering him cause how tf would you fake squirting

Gyomei

Babe I'm not gonna lie, you're a screamer

Gyomei is built like a house and your telling me your just gonna whine and whimper?

NO

Your over here crying and screaming into his chest, neck, the pillow, anything.

And Gyomei loves it!

He can't see your reactions so hearing and feeling them let's him know he's doing good

Gyomei isn't loud but he's not quiet

He'll grunt and moan and praise you, but he's not gonna cry out.

Well he'll cry but you can never tell from what

When the pussy so good you start crying 😭🙏

When your neighbor politely asked you to be a tad bit quieter Gyomei actually laughed

Not in a 'nah we'll keep being loud' way but more of a 'sorry we'll be quiet' way. He also found it hilarious how you actually died of embarrassment.

Don't worry he thinks its endearing

Yet it was kinda hard for him since he enjoyed hearing you

But your touches and now quieter moans made that better

And then there's also you literally drawing blood from his back you were scratching so hard

Giyuu

Holy shit you have never seen him so embarrassed

Like you could shade match his Haori to him and get the exact same color

He was the one your neighbor told and he stopped working when 'loud' and 'moaning' left their lips

If a demon doesn't kill him then his own actions will

Giyuu isn't loud, and he loves that he can make you feel so good that your loud for him.

But he didn't want your neighbor back over at your house so he tried to keep you quiet

You were super confused when he held his hand over your mouth in bed and he just pointed to your neighbors house. Then you got it.

So you nod and try to keep quiet.

You know in school when the teacher tells you and a friend to shut up but they look at you funny and you break?

Yeah that was you

You were riding Giyuu one night and you were loud so he was like "holy shit I love you but please- I can't look our neighbor in the eyes anymore."

And you couldn't help but laugh

Like howling

You calmed down obviously but sex was very giggle filled after that

You've never seen Giyuu so panicked

But give him a week and he'll stop caring

[drop-dead-dropout]

and even then, that won't help if you're institutionalized as a minor.

You wanna actually help institutionalized mentally ill people? Get them legal help. Post their rights on the walls. Give them access to phones and lawyers. “My small business sells cutsie scrubs for inpatients!!!” literally nobody cares what they are wearing in the fucking hospital but you Becca. shut the fuck up

[lovebugism]

Omg girlie can you imagine bob adjusting to having super strength after the serum? I'm thinking of the classic marvel scenes of wolverine and spiderman breaking the sinks bc they don't realise their own strength yet

ty for requesting :D — the one where bob reynolds has a way of ruining everything but you (established relationship, post-thunderbolts, cw smut 18+!! | 1.5k)

Robert Reynolds is the strongest Avenger known to man. He’s also the clumsiest one, too.

It’s a running theory among the Thunderbolts that his newfound powers didn’t relieve him of his gracelessness, but rather amplified it along with his strength. His perpetual awkward disposition would be endearing if it weren’t the absolute worst trait a superhero with otherworldly capabilities could possess.

Of all things to be known for, Bob is notorious for breaking things around the tower — not because he’s angry or because he ever means to, but because he’s happy and totally unaware of his strength, like some kind of large-breed puppy.

But, by all accounts, Bob Reynolds is completely and utterly harmless. 

Most of the time.

He’s the last to wake and join the lot of you by the poolside, where the team scarfs down their breakfast by the water. Ava forks down her omelet and meanders aimlessly on a pool float, while Alexei belly flops into the water until his tattooed torso is glowing red. “Lena, look,” he calls to his daughter with a grin every time. “Watch me, Lena.” (He’s got no idea Yelena’s fallen asleep behind her sunglasses.) 

Alexei hits the water harder this time and inadvertently splashes Ava from the opposite end of the pool. She glares with her mostly unscathed omelette in hand. “Do it again, fat man,” she threatens callously enough to make the aging super soldier cower. 

“Hey,” Walker scolds instinctively from where he sunbathes in a lounge chair. “Play nice.”

Bob enters then like a total ray of sunshine — a giddy, golden thing in a white tank top and a pair of tropical-patterned trunks. He glows with the distant understanding that this will likely be the first time in years he’s gotten to have fun. The ‘totally sober, free from experimentation, no obligation to fight crime’ fun.

He’s got a smile on his face that someone could see from a mile away. The kind that shows the dimple in his left cheek and makes his eyes squint at the edges. The kind that you’ve learned often means trouble. “Bob, slow down—” you just manage to caution from where you kick your feet in the shallow end with Bucky.

But by then, it’s already too late. 

Bob’s already slammed the door shut behind him — a simple flick of his wrist that’s got a world of inadvertent power behind it. Everyone flinches, bracing themselves for the inevitable impact. The thick glass of the sliding door cracks and shatters until you can’t see through it anymore. 

Bob just freezes, cheeks burning red, like staying still enough will make him invisible. 

“Nice going, Bobby,” Ava chides with her mouthful.

“I’ll fix it,” he squeaks out.

Walker laughs. “How?” 

Bob falters. “I’ll… I’m sure I’ll figure it out,” he shrugs with a wavering smile, much too pretty to argue with.

It stays broken for two days after that, which is how long it takes Valentina to send someone up to fix it.

Typically, when Bob breaks one thing, he breaks several others in quick succession. None of you is totally sure why that is — you only know that a few of you have made quite a bit of money betting on what he’ll break next. (You once made a pretty penny in one night after correctly assuming that Bob would break the dining table before dinner after he’d shattered one of the chairs at breakfast that morning.)

So, you feel pretty confident now betting that Bob will end up shattering the newly installed glass door. 

Of all the other guesses from the remaining Thunderbolts, Alexei’s is the most horrid. “The bed’s next. I know it,” he guesses in a low Russian drawl, then scoffs at the screwed look of disgust on your face. “I share a wall with you, you know? I hear these things—” 

When Bob follows you into the bathroom later that night, half-asleep and insistent on keeping you company while you shower, you wonder silently what’s in there for him to break — the sink, the towel rod, the mirror maybe (if he’s being particularly reckless, which would then mean you’d owe Yelena fifty dollars). 

You can’t help but worry as he trudges in behind you, visibly weighed down by sleep.

“You don’t have to wait for me, Bob,” you giggle from behind the foggy, translucent curtain. He can just barely make out the pretty sound of it beneath the thundering water cascading over you in steamy droplets. “You know that, right?”

Bob rubs a fist over his swollen eyes, wearing the need for slumber all over — in his wild chestnut curls and the glazed-over look in his dark ocean eyes. “I want to, though…” he murmurs in tired slurs. “I missed you.”

“Well, if you were asleep, you wouldn’t be able to miss me.”

“I always miss you when you’re not around,” Bob scoffs, wrapping his fingers around the counter’s edge as he angles himself to sit on top of it.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words dissolve on the tip of your tongue at the dull crack that fills the bathroom. Bob freezes, eyes wide and breath hitching in his throat. The feeling of the marble counter shifting underneath him sobers him from sleep almost instantly.

Your hand slides the shower curtain back, just enough to reveal your flushed features and dripping hair. “…Did you break just something?” you wonder aloud when you don’t find anything obvious out of the ordinary.

Bob swallows hard and shakes his head, despite the split marble slowly pinching his sweatpant-clad thigh. “No,” he answers in a voice an octave higher than usual.

He shifts uncomfortably, and your eyes narrow into the thin slits. “You broke the counter, didn’t you?”

“I’ll fix it,” he blurts, just like he always does. 

Because he always has the best intentions, never means to ruin anything — he just wishes he had the ability to put things back together after he’s broken them. He’d want that power over being some stupid invicible schmuch any day. At least then he’d feel actually deserving of all the praise he gets from the public, if he could make things better instead of destroying them.

As far as Bob’s concerned, the only thing he knows how to do properly is make you feel good. You’re the only thing he’s touched that he hasn’t totally ruined. Despite everything he’s hurt with his hands and his body and his mind, he uses those things to bring you to heaven and back too.

He fucks you within an inch of your life into the mattress, propped on his arms above you with his hands balling the pillow into his fists. His core burns with the intensity of his merciless thrusts, which punch so many pretty whines out of you.

“That the spot, baby?” he pants when your mouth parts in a silent moan, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. “That the spot? Huh?”

You nod wordlessly, unable to form the words, as your body grows taut underneath him. The stimulation is constant and ruthless — your sensitive nipples caged beneath his chest, your swollen clit rutting against the coarse thatch of hair above his cock, your velvet walls gushing around his piercing thrusts. 

The pleasure is all-consuming. You couldn’t run from it if you tried.

Bob watches with lidded, attentive eyes as your orgasm racks suddenly through your body. Your nails dig crescent shapes into his shoulders in a desperate attempt to tether yourself when your limbs start to tremble underneath him. Your cunt pulses around his twitching cock, and his own orgasm swells in the pit of his stomach along with his pride.

“There you go…” Bob pants into your neck, hiding his face there while he chases his high with rapid and erratic thrusts. His fingertips threaten to dig bruises into your skin from where he holds so ardently to your hips. “Take it, baby,” he whimpers. “Take it…”

Your body feels lighter than air as you come down. You exhale deeply and rake your fingers through his curls, coaxing him softly as his cock begins to jerk within your pulsating confines. “Cum for me,” you beg in quiet slurs. “Need it so bad, baby, please cum for me—”

A pained sort of groan sounds deep in his throat. He punches into you once — hard — and suddenly a dull and hearty crack sounds from underneath you. You blink, and suddenly you’re lying halfway crooked on a lopsided bedframe. 

If Bob notices the damage to the wooden thing, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps exhaling pretty little whines into your skin as his cock spits deep inside you. It takes several long moments for the haze to pass, for his cock to soften, and for Bob to realize how both of you are leaning ever so lightly askew.

“…I broke the bed, huh?” he pants against your neck, face still hidden, as his body weight rests wholly on top of you.

You nod, still breathless. “I think so.”

“I’ll fix it,” he promises.

You know he won’t, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

All you can think about now is that you owe Alexei fifty dollars.

[ihavenointerestinreallife]

family relations | 18+ mdni

everyone knew that where fred went, george was right behind him; even if nobody could tell them apart half the time, two identical ginger boys always signaled trouble. 

when you showed up–someone with a stark difference in look to the two boys–it immediately raised an eyebrow. while not rare to see the two twins apart, it was a sight to see them accompanied by someone other than another member of their family, often at least. 

with the amount of nosy students at hogwarts it didn’t take long until someone got curious. 

“she’s just a part of the family,” george would say. 

“she’s like a sister to us, really,” fred would add not long after. 

— 

holidays with the weasley family were always chaotic to say the least. it seemed every year a new person stayed for christmas in the burrow, most notably in recent years harry and hermione joining their best friend ron–this year, the family home saw you as its new addition. 

the weasley family home had been filled to the brim since the birth of ginny, and the addition of companions only brightened it with more love. 

on christmas morning, everyone who didn’t own one already (or miraculously lost their original) received their first of molly’s many knitted sweaters, all personalized with their first initial. you’d never forget the first christmas you reunited with the twins wearing their own sweaters. 

“did mrs. weasley make those so she could remember which of you is which?” you asked. 

“mother says she could never forget who is who, which i guess is why i’m wearing his sweater, and he’s wearing mine,” fred would reply. 

when the day came for you to receive your own, the twins had visibly outgrown the jumpers you first saw them in, instead adorning new pairs to fit their growing builds. 

“molly, it’s beautiful! i dreamed of the day i’d get my own,” you said, running your fingers along the woollen fabric. 

“i’m glad you like it dear- and look, now you match freddie and georgie.” 

your head whipped in the direction of the two boys to confirm her words, and she was right. you matched fred and george from the overall blue color to the yellow letter. 

the way they looked at you then, you knew you could get used to matching sweaters. 

— 

you were purely friends with the twins up until your shared sixth year when they went to the yule ball with angelina johnson and katie bell. sure, the way they looked at you for the past year and a half had you questioning everything you felt for them. and sure, having them next to you at every given moment–closely, at that–made you think things friends wouldn’t dare say out loud- but this was a whole new level. 

molly had sent all the hogwarts attending weasley children outfits to wear to the ball; ginny a bright pink and mint gown, ron a very explicit hand me down likely of bill or percy’s, and the twins looked dashing in their matching suits. but you knew they could look even better, each hanging off one of your arms. 

instead you had the pleasure of watching both fred and george dance multiple rounds with their dates, while you sat next to harry and ron, also bummed out by how terrible the evening had gone. 

“they wanted to go with you, you know.” 

you jumped, turning your head to hermione who seemed to be itching to escape the crowd. 

“don’t be silly hermione, we’re just friends.” you muttered as you chewed on your lips, effectively removing them of any color you stained them with. “besides, you saw how eager they were when they asked angelina and katie in potions.” 

“or they were just trying to tease ron, you know how brothers are.” hermione looked at you with pity, as if there was someone she had hoped would ask her to the ball as well. 

the moment you decided to guess who she’d hoped would have asked her, your eyes scanned the crowd for either fred or george. it was futile for a second, until on either side of the floor you noticed both twins sneaking a glance back at you, both still occupied in dances with their dates. 

“hermione,” you began, tone laced with shyness despite how loud the music drowned your words out, “how would i know if my feelings surpassed friendly?” 

— 

it only took a day for feelings to be admitted by all three parties, only taking half of another for you to find yourself sandwiched in bed by both of the twins. robes had been discarded by the door, and you weren’t even sure you’d be able to find your scarf considering how long it had been gone. 

the boys sat knee to knee with you straddling both their laps, george to your front and fred to your back. they worked together to pull your hair off your neck, and then to unleash your tie from its collar, effectively exposing your bare skin to them. 

it didn’t feel real when the warmth of fred’s lips ghosted your skin, not even a semblance of it when they finally latched on. the amount of times you dreamt of them touching you intimately could not have prepared you for the feeling. 

“does it feel good when he kisses you like that?” george teased knowing you wouldn’t be able to catch your breath in time to reply. 

“yes georgie- fuck,” you moaned as fred bit down and sucked like a man tasked with marking you as his own. “freddie, people will see..” 

“let them love, they’d put the pieces together soon anyways.” he bit down again only a couple inches away from the first love bite, effectively securing the notion of nosy onlookers creating their own story to tell off. 

and tell off they would when every week new patches would show on your neck. the twins took turns marking you in places just indecent enough to turn heads, but not enough to solidify any real narrative about the three of you. 

a couple of weeks of people swearing they saw you snogging both twins at once in the gryffindor common room had at least one person becoming bold enough to ask you how you really felt about fred and george:

“they’re like my brothers, really.” 

— 

happy valentine’s day

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Wendigo

Being out on the frontier ain't easy, 'specially not for a woman. And when a stranger wanders in from the plains, you know things ain't never gonna be easy again. 5.4k words. Originally published October 2022.

IT'S MORNING WHEN YOUR DADDY DRAGS A DEAD MAN INTO THE HOUSE.

You're curled up in front of the fire place, half dreamin' and half reading, when they stagger through the door. You notice your daddy first, breathing hard with the effort of keepin' the man up.

"Pa? What happened?"

Snow is thick on his shoulders and trapped in the brim of his old Stetson. But your daddy don't seem to care.

You get to your feet slowly. It's then that you notice the stranger.

A real tall fella, bent over like he ain't got much strength left in him. The winter was cruel to him and what's left of him is all bone, bone and hunger and aching need.

"Get the door to your room open."

Your daddy ain't askin'. That's his rancher voice - all hard steel. Your daddy is commanding you.

You stand still, too shocked to move. It ain't normal. Your daddy never talks to you like you're just one of the cowhands.

"But daddy, I don't want a dead man in my room."

You're whining, you know it. But you can't stop yourself. The stranger is covered in snow and bleeding too. You don't want him on top of your nice clean sheets, don't want a dying thing in the place where you sleep.

"Ain't dead yet. And he ain't gonna die, not if I can help it."

The stranger looks carved outta hunger and little else. Dark clothes and mean looking spurs, he ain't the type of fella you invite into your home.

"But why my room daddy?"

Your father is already dragging the man down the passage, his boots real loud against the wood floor. You follow behind them, your book still hanging from your fingers.

He doesn't wait for you to catch up. Just leans the fella against the wall for a second and opens the door to your room himself.

"But pa-"

Your daddy ain't hearing it. He spears you with a look to tan leather, a real mean glare that shuts you right up.

Your pa ain't ever cruel - not to you. You can't understand it. Why is he getting all worked up about a stranger? Ain't one man just as good as the next? Why go through all this trouble for someone you don't even know?

He drops the stranger on your bed and you flinch. When he speaks, his voice is still hard.

"He's half starved and half frozen. It don't look good and I want you to stay right here with him."

"Me? I ain't know a thing about him!"

Your daddy ignores you, dusting the snow off his hat 'fore putting it back on again. "Feed him and keep him warm, 'til I'm back with the surgeon. You hear me?"

You're staring at your daddy. He's gone mad, you're sure of it. The stranger is just another mouth to feed and you ain't got the food, not with winter already here.

Your daddy is tough and your daddy is smart - he tamed the west, made something out of the wild frontier. You don't like this starved man in your home, but if your daddy's asking you...

You nod slowly, shifting your eyes to the stranger.

"That's my girl." Your pa's voice is kinder and he grins at you. Then he's out the door.

In the silence, you finally take a good look at the man. He ain't much older than you really, but there's a hunger in his face you ain't got.

He's mighty handsome too, but it ain't...

It ain't a safe kind of beauty.

He's got plenty of scars but that ain't what makes you wary. 

There's something cruel in him - in the lines 'round his eyes, in the set of his jaw. He's winter lean. 

What was your daddy thinking? Leaving you to care for a wolf?

You take a deep breath. You can handle this. He's just a man, a man like any other. Ain't no kinder and he ain't no crueler.

But you ain't sure where to start. Lookin' at him is like lookin' straight into a grave. He ain't got no colour to him and his breathing is too slow to be normal.

Well, if you were sick and near dying, you'd wanna be comfortable, right? Get him all tucked away then get something for that hunger, that thirst.

His Stetson is covered with snow but underneath the ice, it's midnight dark. Slowly, you take it off. You're waiting for him to open his eyes, flinch, scream, anything.

But he's still as death and the hat comes off easy.

Underneath it, his hair is a dark blonde. Long enough to brush his jaw and still littered with snow.

The strands cling to his forehead and you smooth them away without thinking. His skin is real cold. Hell, he's probably frozen straight down to the bone. 

You sigh quietly.

His gun belt has two revolvers, both of 'em a bright silver. They ain't just for looking pretty either - the metal is covered in fine scratches from years of use.

You reckon it ain't a good idea to sleep with guns on and you reach forward, your fingers brushing the buckle.

He grabs your wrist.

He moves fast, faster than you've ever seen a man move. You try to jerk away, but he still has some strength in him and his grip is iron. Tight enough to bruise.

"The hell you doin' girl?"

The stranger's voice is deep but rough with thirst, a coyote learnin' to speak. You're frozen - you ain't expected him to be so strong or so fast.

You swallow and slowly drag your eyes up to look at him.

"Takin' your belt off."

It's his eyes that you notice first. Yellow gold and dangerous, he looks like he wants to eat you alive. Coyote eyes your daddy calls 'em.

"Oh really?" His eyes rake you up and down, lingering without an ounce of shame. "And you haven't even asked my name yet."

He ain't a gentleman and there's something in the way he smiles that makes you go cold. It's staring straight down the barrel of a gun, the way he makes you freeze.

"I ain't got a chance to ask your name on account of all the near fainting."

He laughs. It's deep, like his voice. But it ain't a kind laugh. The stranger don't have no kindness in him at all.

"I 'spose that's fair."

He's still holding your wrists but his grip ain't as tight.

"It just ain't a polite thing, touching a man's guns while he's sleeping. You get that darlin'?"

He lies down again and finally let's you go. Talkin' ain't done him no favors and his breathin' is real shallow. His eyes are closed again and you stand up, all slow and cautious.

"I'll get you something to drink."

He don't respond and you hurry away, your back burning the whole time.

Water is everything out on the plains and with winter outside your door, even the well has started freezing. You don't wanna feed the stranger, don't wanna quench his thirst. What good has ever come from having a coyote at your table?

But your daddy told you to do something and you listen to your daddy, 'specially out here. You listen to him 'cause otherwise you'd be dead and gone long ago. Buried out on the prairie like so many others.

Life ain't easy out west and the land belongs more to ghosts than people.

When you return, the stranger's eyes are still closed. Most folks look harmless in their sleep, like their dreams are all they care 'bout. But that ain't true of him.

Being near him is being near a bear just as the snow melts. Any moment, he'll open his eyes and chew straight through your heart.

You clench your jaw and reach out your hand. Your fingers rest on his forehead, then his cheek. He's still icy to the touch and you ain't sure how he keeps breathing.

"That feels real good sweetheart." His voice is low.

He opens his eyes slowly, and when they settle on you, he manages a smile. His teeth are sharp and his lips are bloody, like he's been chewing at them for a real long time.

"I brought you some water."

He sits up slowly but his eyes never leave you.

"Much obliged darlin'."

He reaches for it and his fingers brush yours. You flinch - his touch is cold as the grave.

He drinks slow but his muscles are tight and you know it ain't easy. He's fighting with himself for every sip - the desperate, thirsty part of him just wants to gulp it all down. He would drink a river dry, if you gave him the chance.

When he's done, he looks at you and he smiles. A twisted thing that never touches his eyes.

"You got some food too?"

"I do."

But you ain't eager to share it with him. What was it the ranch hands always said? Don't feed the wolves unless you wanna feed them everything you've got?

Your daddy was wrong to bring him here - wrong to offer him hearth and home when the men were lean and the crows were watching.

You don't move and he watches you. In the quiet, your heart starts to race. What's going through his head, that makes his eyes so dark?

"You ain't much like your pa, you know that?"

His wolf eyes look straight through your soul. You fidget with your dress, tryin' your best to look uninterested.

"Your daddy is a better man than most. But you...well, I reckon he spoils you."

He licks his lips and you realize the bleeding is worse than you thought - he's teeth are red with it.

He continues, "Your daddy ain't taught you enough about the frontier."

Who does he think he is? Lyin' in your bed, drinkin' your water and lecturing you?

"You ain't know a damn thing me."

You're scared of him but you're bitter too, and anger is easier to stomach than fear.

You don't mean to snarl at him, but your blood is up and you ain't good with your temper. Your cheeks are red hot and your heart leaps right up your throat, 'til you can almost taste your own blood. 

"Get your own damn food if you want it."

You turn to leave but his hand grabs the back of your dress and he yanks you toward him. He's strong and you ain't expecting it, ain't got any time to dig in your heels. 

You land hard on the bed, right next to him.

"I ain't done talkin' sweetheart. Ain't your daddy ever taught you any manners?"

He's voice is real close to you ear and he has a growl to him that makes you freeze. He smells of juniper and pine, of icy cold winter.

"Let me go."

You try real hard to sound brave and mean, to sound like your pa when he wants something done. But you ain't your daddy and the stranger is too close and too cruel. Your voice is quiet and afraid, a girl begging a monster.

You hate yourself for it.

"Why would I do that?"

His other hand curls around the back of your neck and he leans toward you, 'til you can feel his breath on the shell of your ear.

"You've got a real temper in you girl."

His voice is rough with somethin' you can't recognize. Hate? Anger?

He ain't a man to be disrespected, ain't someone to take an insult.

You should apologize, say your rage got the better of you. Say you won't let it happen again and that you're real sorry. Ask him to please let you go.

But even in your fear, your pride won't bend. How dare he touch you so easily? You don't belong to him - he ain't got a damn say in how you behave.

You swing around, your nails coming up to scratch his face, dig his eyes out, make him bleed.

But you ain't learnt from the last time.

He's faster than you and he catches your hand in his. His grip is tight and he's skin is rough, calloused from years of gun slinging.

He's face is just next to yours and the dim morning sun casts him in shadow.

"Temper, temper."

He chides, his gravel voice rumbling through you.

You're going to bite his face off, just lean forward and-

And he's smiling.

Not a cruel smile neither. All gold eyes and real deep dimples.

He's dangerous, you know it in your bones. But his smile is all honey, all sunrise gold.

There ain't a lot of men out here, and none who smile at you like that. None who look you straight in the eyes like you're all they've ever wanted.

"Let me go, please."

You ask politely this time. He's too handsome and he's too close and Lord help you, your hearts gonna run right outta your rib cage.

He hums softly. "Ain't happenin' girly. I let you go and you're gonna run right out that door and leave me to freeze."

You want to get away from him, it's true. He's twisting your soul 'round his fingers 'til you ain't sure whether he wants to kiss you or eat you alive. 

You shake your head. "I'll stoke the fire. My pa said to keep you warm."

He laughs, a real throaty laugh. "You always do what your daddy says?"

"Of course."

Why did it have to be him? If your daddy was going around saving strays, couldn't he have found someone else? Anyone else? 

The stranger is a mystery and you hate it. 

His grip tightens 'round your neck. "You ain't gonna run off?"

"Ain't that what I said?"

He's quiet for a real long time. You start thinking he ain't even considering it - he's just gonna keep you here with him 'til your daddy gets back. 

And then he let's you go.

"Alright sweetheart, let's see you keep your word."

You stand up slowly, keeping your eyes on him the entire time.

Your room is the only bedroom with a fireplace and when you've put all the space you can between the two of you, you finally turn your back on him.

You stack the firewood carefully, feelin' his eyes on you the whole time.

"You ain't scared of me, are you?"

You flinch. 

"Why would I be?"

Your voice comes out real calm. It's easier when you ain't looking in his eyes, when he ain't spearing you down with the heat of his stare.

"I ain't sure. I promise I'm real nice darlin'."

You make the mistake of looking at him. He's smiling at you with those sharp teeth and he don't seem nice at all.

You drop your eyes real fast. Your cheeks feel all tingly and you ain't sure why, ain't sure how he does this to you.

Ain't you 'sposed to like men who are kind?

Not this stranger, not a man made cruel from years of hard living. And still...

"You got a name stranger?'

"I do."

You wait but he doesn't say anything more. He's giving you a taste of your own medicine and you loathe him for it.

"How did my daddy find you?"

"Is that really the question you wanna ask me?"

His voice is better, less harsh. But that don't mean he's kind. Don't mean he's good. 

You fiddle with the kindling, staying quiet. 

" 'Cause I think what you really wanna know is 'why.' Why your daddy brought me here, why he wants to save me."

You turn to face him. How did he know? You ain't that easy to read. Hell, most of the ranch hands can't even tell if you're in a good mood, much less guess what you're thinking.

Who is this man?

He has you full attention again and he smiles, runs his hand through his blond hair. 

" 'S what I was sayin' earlier. You ain't know enough about the plains. You can't survive alone out here. You've gotta take care of folks, gotta keep them fed when they need it. Your daddy knows that."

You raise a brow. "And what happens when you don't?"

He laughs but it's bitter as sand. "Hungry folk are dangerous folk."

But ain't he half starved already?

You turn back to the fireplace, finally striking a match. The fire catches quick and the light rims you in gold. 

The stranger watches you - on your knees and haloed in warmth, you're a sight for sore eyes. All those long months on the plains, always tryin' to be one step ahead of death and here you are, a just reward for all his suffering.

You ain't got a clue how hard life is, ain't got any idea how the nights stretch long and lonely. But he'll teach you. 

He'll make sure you learn the danger of hunger unsatisfied. 

"Come sit with me." He says quietly.

You stand and shake your head slowly. Being in here is stifling, makes you wanna crawl right outta your skin.

Is it fear or want? You ain't sure.

"Come sit with me. I don't bite." He ain't smiling no more.

You swallow and cross your arms, fold a little into yourself. He ain't anything you're familiar with. Folks don't order you 'round - not when you're the boss' daughter.

"I don't trust you." You say simply.

He's sitting on the edge of your bed, his revolvers glinting in the cold winter sun. He's a desperado, you ain't got a doubt about it.

"What am I gonna do to you girl? I just want a little company."

He taps his fingers 'gainst his knee, watching you with sharp eyes.

"You ain't got a clue darlin'. Out there, folk shoot 'fore they offer conversation. Is it so bad that I wanna talk to you?"

"Then talk. I can hear you just fine from over here."

He shakes his head slowly. "You grudge me food and water. And now you won't even talk to me. You always this charmin' sweetheart?"

You bristle. He's the one who ain't got any manners at all, not you.

"Fine." You snarl and stalk forward, stopping right in front of him. "Happy now?"

A smile is crawling 'cross his bloody lips. "Still ain't working on that temper, are you darlin'?"

"I ain't your darling! And I ain't got a temper neither."

He reaches out slowly and his hands come to rest on your waist. He don't hold you tight but his fingers are long and they dig into you just a little.

You freeze, not expecting him to touch you. His voice is real low, just shy of a growl.

"Don't me want to call you my darlin'? You'd better stop me then."

You slap him.

You're quicker than him for once and you hit him hard enough to twist his head, the sound cracking through the quiet. Your palm stings and it runs straight up your arm.

He touches his cheek gingerly, his other hand getting real tight 'round you, clawing straight into your back.

Oh no.

You're done for. He's gonna grab one of his guns and end you right now, shoot you straight through the heart. Or maybe he'll do it with his bare hands, just choke the life outta you. Or -

He laughs.

"God damn girl, I bet you've got a mean right hook too."

He grins and rubs his cheek.

"You're a real hellcat, ain't you?"

His other hand is still curled 'round your waist and you step away, pull yourself free of him. You don't trust his good mood. Don't trust his smile when his eyes ain't got no joy in them.

He ain't eager to let you go but there ain't much he can do to stop you - nothing gentle at least.

You've had enough of him - of his entitlement and his anger, of his values that mean nothing to you. You spin on your heel and aim for the door.

"I wish he left you outside to starve."

You ain't gotta share a damn thing with him. Who cares if he dies? What's yours is yours. You ain't gotta give him food or shelter or kindness. Ain't owe him.

Your daddy was wrong. You gotta look out for yourself first.

"Sweetheart I-"

You leave 'fore he can finish, shutting the door and leaning against it. Just tryin' to slow your heart.

He ain't a pious man and he ain't thinking holy thoughts 'bout you.

The first thing you notice when you turn around is the dimness. The fires burnt out, sure. But the sun should be shining through the glass.

You walk into the living room and stare out the big bay windows, your mouth fallin' open. 

The clouds are thick and dark, real storm clouds blowing in from the plains. And the wind has gotten stronger too. You watch it kicking up puffs of snow and hurling it past the glass.

A blizzards blowing in, you're sure of it.

But it's movin' fast, faster than you thought possible. When the stranger came in, there weren't even a breeze.

God, is your daddy gonna be okay? Maybe he's reached town already. Maybe him and the doc are drinking together and waitin' for the storm to pass. Your daddy's tough - he'll be fine. Right?

"You okay darlin'?"

You whirl around, your heart in your throat.

The passage behind you is real dark and you can just kinda see the stranger, a blurry silhouette. He's standing strange and his arms are real long looking. Has he always been that tall?

"I'm...fine."

There's something 'bout his voice you don't like.

Somethin' in it that makes you take a step back. And then another and another, 'til you're pressed right against the window sill. It digs into your back and the chill goes straight down to your spine, dulls its teeth on your marrow.

"What I tell you 'bout leavin' while I'm talking?"

You can just make out his yellow eyes. They're catching the light and glinting like an animal's.

He continues, "You're real slow to learn, ain't you?"

You frown, your heart stuttering inside you.

"No. 'Course not."

He laughs and it runs down your neck like ice.

"You're really somethin', you know that y/n?"

When did he learn your name? You sure ain't told him.

His voice is low but it has winter's bite to it. He talks to you like cowpokes talk to girls after a real long time out in the plains - all hunger and need.

"You're just the kinda girl I like. Selfish, greedy, gotta learn her place."

His eyes trace your body and he smiles at you, that mocking half smile that ain't got an ounce of kindness in it.

"Now come 'ere."

He lunges forward but you're ready for it and you dive outta the way. You land hard on your knees but you scramble up, your blood screamin' in your ears.

Gotta get a weapon or somethin' - he's still stronger than you, even if he's half starved.

Your daddy keeps a Henry rifle 'bove the fire place and you aim for it, movin' fast.

But the stranger ain't no ordinary man. He grabs you from behind and you both go crashing down.

His body is pressed right up against you and he's cold as ice.

"That blizzards keepin' you right here darlin, ain't no running."

His voice ain't human. It's the cracking of bone, the tearing of flesh, the hound dog howling. His voice is hunger and nothin' else.

His hands are pressed into the floor next to your waist and his teeth brush your ear. Even starving, he's lean with muscle and you can feel the hardness under his skin.

His breath is cold and it smells of wintergreen.

He's gonna bite straight through your throat. Rip you apart. Have your heart right between his teeth.

But you ain't dying today.

You snarl and try to buck him off, but he doesn't budge. His weight is pressing you into the floor and you can't take a full breath.

Your ribs feel like they're 'bout to snap inwards, shards of your own bone driving straight through your heart.

You struggle under him and he laughs.

"Keep doin' that sweetheart. I love feelin' you squirm."

His voice is husky and it ain't like anything you've heard before.

The dead fire is right next to you and the embers are still hot, still have some burning red streaking through them.

You reach out and grab one. It's scalds your palm and your whole hand is nothing but white hot pain. But you ain't gonna let that stop you.

You twist around and press the burning ember right in his face.

He shrieks like an animal and leaps back, light on his feet like he don't weigh a thing.

"Fucking hurts." His voice is a hiss, a rattlesnake under your skin.

You scramble up and yank the rifle down, swinging around with your finger on the trigger.

The stranger is in front of you and there ain't nothin' human left in him. He's crouched down on the floor and his limbs are too long - sticking out like an insect's. He ain't got no lips neither. Just ragged, bloody skin like he's eaten straight through them.

Corpse pale and cold as the frost, the stranger in your home was always a dead man.

His teeth are sharp and long and Lord help you, he has so many teeth.

He lunges toward you.

He's fast, faster than anything alive. But you ain't done fighting yet.

His body is in the air when you fire the first shot. The bullet hits him straight in the head and knocks him back.

Black blood sprays across the floor, across the furniture, across your face.

He crashes into the dining table, his spine shattering against the table legs.

You don't wait to check if he's still alive.

You aim for his chest and empty your daddy's rifle. Put bullet after bullet straight into his heart. The sound is thunder and when the firing stops, your ears are ringing.

His blood pools around him, thick as oil. The wendigo is still.

The wendigo is dead.

The blizzard is startin' in earnest now and the snow outside the windows is coming thick and fast. Your shoulder aches from the rifle's recoil and you can't get the shaking outta your fingers. You sink down to your knees, your breath ragged.

They were just 'sposed to be stories.

You keep your eyes on its body, scared of even blinking.

With a heart of ice, it's born in the cold, lean months.

The wendigo devours.

The wendigo is ever hungry.

But the wendigo is dead.

You wait a real long time. Until you heart ain't as loud and the blizzard rages, until the whole house is freezing. The wind screams and the wendigo doesn't move.

You're safe.

You close you eyes. You let yourself breathe. The gun slinger is dead and he ain't gonna hurt you, ain't gonna touch you.

You were right - ain't nothing good ever comes of strangers at your table.

The winter grows angry, but you're safe and you're warm. And the stranger ain't ever gonna have you. You smile. You open your eyes.

He's gone.

He was dead and now he's gone.

You jump to your feet, holding the rifle like an axe. The quiet stretches around you, nothin' but your own breathing to break it.

Where is he?

You keep perfectly still, squinting into the dark corners of the room. The light is scarce and every shadow hides him.

"You ain't getting away from me sweetheart."

You whirl around but he's quick as a cat. He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you toward him.

He ain't gentle and he shakes you 'til your jaws rattling. Holds you like a kitten.

He's pressed up behind you and he dips his head low, 'til his lips are right above your pulse.

"So selfish but so warm..."

You scream, try to pull away. But he ain't movin' and all you do is rip some of your own hair out.

He laughs, laughs deep and cold.

"You gotta start listenin' sweetheart. What I just say 'bout getting away?"

He uses your hair like a leash and tosses you straight across the room.

The floor hits you hard and knocks the air clean outta you. Pain spikes white hot right through your ribs.

He's stronger than any man has the right to be. He threw you clear across the room without even tryin'.

He don't wait for you to get up neither. He just grabs your jaw and drags you to your knees. His fingers dig into your cheeks.

He's human again but that ain't a kindness.

His nails - his claws - leave bloody scratches 'cross your skin.

You look up and he's staring down at you with those strange, hungry eyes.

Coyote gold. Wolf gold. Killer gold. 

His pupils are blown out wide, 'till they're all black rimmed in honey. He's staring at you and there ain't nothin' but want in him.

"Your daddy's a good man. He knows the way of the west. But you..."

He smiles that sardonic grin of his. Your bullets ain't left a hole but blood is running down from his hairline. It creeps down into his mouth and his smile is red and cruel. 

"You need to learn a lesson girl."

He pulls you up and you scream. You claw at him, dig your nails in deep 'til your fingers ache.

He holds you like a prize and his eyes drop to your lips. And then lower still.

You're crying, tears on your tongue bitter as poison. It ain't fair. You just wanted to keep yourself safe and fed and warm. You shouldn't be punished for it. 

He runs a thumb across your cheek but there ain't no kindness in it.

"Awww, am I scaring you darlin'?"

He said your daddy was a smart man, a kind man.

Would he have let you go? If you were generous or selfless or good?

He smells of the forest and your head is swimmin' with it. His thumb traces the outline of your lips and his smile is all teeth. He'll shatter your bones like glass if he wants.

He presses his lips against your cheek and whispers to you, his voice cruel as the snow.

"I'll be gentle sweetheart. I promise."

It's then that you realize.

A man's got more than one kind of hunger.

[zephyrchama]

"What time is it?" you grumbled.

It was dark, and it didn't feel like morning. You were excited that the brothers had come to spend time with you in the human world, and you were sure they were excited, too. But you were also exhausted and wanted a good night's sleep.

You could vaguely make out the outline of Beelzebub in your doorway. There was a weird smell in the air you couldn't identify. Belphegor sat on the edge of your bed, saying, "You can't get mad, okay?"

He rubbed your back in a comforting manner. Beelzebub was fidgeting with his hands and kept glancing over his shoulder. They were acting suspicious. "What's going on?"

"Just remember: you can't get mad at us, okay?" Belphegor repeated.

You groaned in passive agreement.

"I was trying to get a midnight snack and I broke the toaster," Beelzebub confessed.

The room was silent. That was it? You huffed. "That's okay, we'll get a new one tomorrow. They're pretty cheap."

"Actually, he used too much strength and the toast got stuck in it," Belphegor elaborated. You wondered why this story couldn't wait until morning.

"It was taking a long time to cook, and the toast wouldn't pop up. So I kept waiting for it to finish, but the bread started burning." Beelzebub explained. "There was a lot of smoke, and I didn't want the alarm to wake you, so I turned that off first."

"He punched it off the ceiling," Belphegor clarified. "And then the toast caught on fire, so I threw the whole thing in the sink and turned the water on to put it out. It was quick thinking."

"Yeah, except the toaster was still plugged in, so it caused the power to go out and made an even bigger fire." Beelzebub slumped his shoulders. "Sorry."

That's why it was so dark. The power was out for the whole house, not even a single LED was on. You sat up, assisted by Belphegor. With your head away from the pillow, there was a horribly acrid smell of smoke. You can't believe you hadn't noticed it sooner.

"What?" You went to stand up. "Take me to the kitchen," you ordered. The demons hadn't even been in the house for 24 hours and were already causing trouble.

Beelzebub lead the way as your trio moved in silence. You hung the front of your shirt on your nose to try and mitigate the stench of fire. You flipped the kitchen light on out of habit to no avail. Instead, you had to squint.

The cabinets and counter were black and also soaking wet. It looked like something exploded. The fire alarm was scattered into a hundred plastic pieces every which way, and the wall outlet was still smoking. The toaster in question, dented and charred, lay in the middle of the floor. It sat in a puddle of water that trailed from the overflowing sink, which was still running.

"You broke both sink handles?" you exclaimed. They had been snapped clean off and the faucet was bent.

"Yeah, Belphie panicked and couldn't control his strength," Beelzebub told you.

Belphegor put a hand on your shoulder. He was calm and spoke with a soothing tone. "Remember, you can't get mad."

[squipa]

got your heart in a headlock

aka soft secrets and domestic moments with jason todd

———

jason grew up in fire. all that he is and all he that knows is cigarette smoke and uncaged adrenaline. he never used to pretend to be something different, he knew what he was and he lived with that burden like he did any other. in the past, he never lied to himself, or let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be something else.

something good.

enter you, you who is good and whole and endlessly kind. you with lips full of sugar, arms full of warmth, and eyes full of love. you, who was made with starlight and wonder, who never looked at him like he was a bad dog, like you were capable of being bit. you, who is light and closeness and understanding. who loves him so deeply in a way he doesn’t deserve to be loved.

so when he comes home from his world of ash and blood, he becomes someone who wears your vanilla shampoo, just because he likes to smell like you. he becomes someone who has the time to watch cheesy romcoms and lengthy youtube videos, just because he gets to hold you in his arms. he becomes someone who sleeps in a bed with eight pillows and dozens of stuffed animals, because he can listen to your soft snores all night long. in your home (which you insist is his too), he is not made of jagged, broken edges, he is not unloveable, he is not a violent dog.

he starts to believe that your love could make him something beyond bloody knuckles and restless nights.

he’s your jason, and he thinks that’s all he wants to be. even if he’s not good at showing you how much he cares. even if he has trouble accepting that your kindness and goodness don’t come with ulterior motives or strings attached. even if he can’t be the guy he thinks you deserve, he still loves being your jason. it’s his duty more than his role, he lives to see you smile, to hold you in his arms on rough nights, to kiss you senseless. because you’ve given him a strange sort of hope that makes him believe he can be more than he is.

normally, you’re not able to sneak out of bed without waking him up. vigilantes senses and whatnot make him an infuriatingly light sleeper, but today was one of those rare mornings you managed to slip from his iron grasp and get up to pee without disturbing your sleeping beauty.

you take a second to watch him, smiling softly as his chest falls rhythmically while he breathes. you don’t often get to see him so peaceful, where his body isn’t tense with the weight of the world, his eyes don’t have that worried glare. you like that, at least in his moments of unconsciousness, he doesn’t feel so unfathomably stressed when he’s with you.

you gently close the bedroom door, making sure you’re quiet enough to not let your boyfriend continue to rest. once you hear the satisfying click of the door, you move to the kitchen, wiping the sleep from your eyes.

you turn on some soft music, ensuring that the volume is low enough as not to disturb jason’s sleep, as you work, pulling the ingredients from your pantry, preheating the oven. you crack three eggs into a small bowl, humming to yourself as you go through the motions. you don’t notice jason until he slips his arms around your waist, pulling a yelp from your throat.

he breathes you in, carefully smushing his nose into your hair. he’s so warm you think, you want to live a life in those arms, big and protective and a wonderful source of heat. “tell me i didn’t wake you up.” you wince, leaning back into his chest, looking up at him. he shakes his head, yawning.

“you didn’t, ma.” he says, sleep plaguing is voice. his obvious exhaustion not stopping him from smiling down at you. “what’re’ya making?” a twinge of an accent bleeds into his voice, the jersey he doesn’t care to hide so early in the morning, a part of him you revel in getting to hear.

you smile back, looking back down and continuing your work with the ingredients in front of you. “i’m baking a pie for mrs. lewitski downstairs.” you explain. “her cat just died.” you say, a small pout pushing at your lips.

jason shakes his head, frowning softly. “poor lady. can i help?” he asks, his voice twinging with empathy. he wonders if, before he met you, he would care about such a thing. if he would be the sort of person to sympathize with something as small as a cat funeral without your guiding hand.

you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he would.

you nod, pointing at a cutting board and a pile of granny smiths. “cut the apples.”

he nods, pressing a kiss against the tippy-top of your head before he pulls away, a goodbye that feels like torture. “yes ma’am.” he says, carefully taking a knife out of the knife block before heading over to his station.

neither of you talk, lost in the comfort of each other’s company. jason peels and cuts the apples with expert precision, you form the dough for the crust. it’s quiet little moments like these that make up a life together.

“jay?” you ask, after giving up on rolling out the particularly tough dough. “could you give me a hand?”

he looks up from the apples, of which he’s already almost finished (damn those vigilante skills), and gives you a nod. he sets down the knife, coming up behind you, pressing himself against your back.

“of course, baby.” he whispers into your ear, his teeth lightly sinking into your cartilage, just enough to make you shiver. he gently places his arms over yours, holding his calloused hands atop yours. he moves the rolling pin slowly back and forth, putting his strength into the dough.

he pushes dough slowly, his breath hot against your neck. “like this?” he asks, once the dough gets thin enough. again, you shiver, his voice sending little waves through your spine.

“little thinner.” you say, leaning back into him.

“little thinner.” he hums, his voice a low mumble in your ear.

jason todd grew up in fire, he was born in it. but that fire makes him emit a pleasant warmth that you can’t live without. it makes his touch burn against your skin, sending electric shots through your body. it makes him the only person you’ve ever wanted to come home too, the only person you’ve ever been capable of loving, the only person you could ever love. his warmth was made for you, a cocoon of his fire you can only pray surrounds you for as long as you live.

he continues rolling, until he gets the crust rolled just right. truthfully, you extended the moment a little more than necessary, lightly instructing just a bit more, oh wait, can you make it thicker? to allow yourself to bask in the fire a second longer. you can feel a knowing smile pressing into your head, noting how he does move ever-so-slightly slower in service to you.

once he’s done, he pulls away, his hand trailing against your waist, lingering in the small of your back for a second longer than he likely should. he goes back to chopping the apples, humming with a small smile on his face. you too continue your task, making a sugar mixture to pour over the cubed granny smiths.

eventually, you both finish, and he helps you pour the apple-brown-sugar mixture into the dough-lined pie tins he helped you make. his hands are surprisingly gentle with the pasty. you didn’t realize that he was scared of ruining something as delicate and beautiful as something your hands were benevolent enough to create. but he would do whatever you asked, even if he was unsure why you would want his help. he doesn’t create, he destroys.

“can you press a fork against the edges, like this?” you ask, demonstrating how he could press both ends of the pies together. he simply nods, his fingers brushing against yours as he carefully took the silver from your hands. “i’ll check the oven.”

you pull back and open the oven, sticking your hand into the scorching air to test its temperature, earning a small frown from jason. you quickly close the door and turn back to him, moving across the kitchen. your hands slide around his waist, meeting just below his belly button. you lean up, pressing your head into the back of his neck, planting a small kiss against his spine.

“you’re good at that.” you say, watching as he works.

“yeah?” he mumbles, a soft smile on his face. he doesn’t quite believe he’s doing less harm than good, but he likes the reward he’s getting for it.

“i should make you my official pie-presser.” you respond, placing another kiss against his neck.

“i’d be honored.”

“you should be.”

“you’re making it a bit hard for me to focus, ma.” he says, shivering as you kiss him again and again, making sure to breath him in.

you smile against his skin. “i only need you to focus until we put these in the oven.” you mumble seductively, breathing hot air into his ear.

he pauses, stiff and still for an entire moment, before his shoulders drop and he returns to work like a man possessed. you squeeze yourself into him, breathing in his scent- a mix of irish spring and leather.

he only moves to put the pies in the oven, giving your arm a squeeze before he pulls away. “how long?” he asks, his fingers brushing over the keypad on the oven timer.

“twenty-five minutes.” you say, leaning back against the countertop. he presses the buttons carefully, before making his way back to you.

he smiles, not just with his mouth, but with those piercing blue eyes you can’t seem to tear yourself away from. his hair, messy from sleep, falls a bit in his face and, well, it’s your job to push it back. once he gets close enough to dip his head down, your hands are all over him, one against his forehead, smoothing his hair, and the other trailing down his arm.

“you’re my favorite helper.” you say, as he leans closer, a grin forming from the smile that had such a hold on his lips.

without warning, his hands slip on the bottoms of your thighs, and he hoists you up on the counter, eliciting a yelp from you.

“jay!” you exclaim, giggling. you spread your legs just enough to make room for him, letting him lean in, placing your arms against his shoulders. he’s wearing a shit-eating grin, but looking up at you with stars in his eyes.

“you didn’t think all that help was for free, did you?” he says, moving closer, his lips a breath away from yours. you playfully roll your eyes, but you can’t suppress the smile on your face, or the red that dusts your cheeks.

“and what exactly do i owe you?” you ask, raising a brow.

he leans in closer, his lips taking yours. for a moment, all you are is jason, all you can and ever want to be is a person that he loves. his lips crash against yours, in a perfectly soft rhythm that you two have learned to follow with each other. passion isn’t a word intense enough to describe a kiss like this, especially when compared to the loveless kisses you’ve given your past partners.

this is love.

neither of you want to pull away, but you do. something so good means eventually you’ll have to come up for air.

“y’know, we’ve got—“ jason pulls his head back, checking the oven timer. “—twenty minutes and fifty three seconds before you have to take out the pies.” he points out, his eyes darting back to yours with a mischievous sort of grin. “why not make the most of them.”

you giggle a little bit, like he’s not your jason and you haven’t been in love with him all this time. it’s ridiculous your boyfriend of a year has such an effect on you still, but here you are, a blushing mess of a woman, infatuated with the man in front of you.

“and how would you suppose we do that?” you ask, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

his grin spreads across his face, and before you can think to do more than flash your dopey smile, he pulls his hands under your ass and picks you up, holding you against him.

you yelp again, giggling as he pulls you closer. your legs wrap around his waist, and your arms meet at his middle back. he smiles up at you, pressing a chaste kiss against your smile, before moving you towards the bedroom, sucking a soft kiss against your neck.

the secret you keep from jason, only because you know he wouldn’t believe you if you dared confess it, is that he is inherently good. yes, he was forged in fire, tossed around by a universe with little care for his happiness or his safety. you’re not sure how he hasn’t realized that that’s what makes him a good man, a man who cares about cat funerals and revels in making you feel warm and loved. you know that he credits you with his goodness, that you’re the reason he loves and deserves to be love, and if he needs you to be that reason, you’ll do it proudly. but jason is good beyond you, a man with unwavering character. that’s why you love him so.

[moonsgemini]

apple pie - cowboy!rafe

summary: Rafe Cameron would have a lot of things in his life differently if he knew he’d meet an angel like you. Befriending your brother in the small town was the best and worst thing that happened to the both of you.

warnings: cowboy!rafe, brothers best friend trope, fem reader, she/her, mentions of religion but reader isn’t very religious (yeah idk either), smoking, alcohol, mutual pining, kissing, also found family you could sayyyy

an: this is inspired by feathered indians by tyler childers & my ongoing need to find a cowboy whose obsessed with me. I didn’t include topper in this bc I do not see him as a cowboy LOL y’all let me know if you want a part two. Was really feeling it at the beginning but idk if I love it.

-

Megan Maroney blasting through your headphones wasn’t enough to muffle the sound of the slamming front door and numerous loud footsteps that followed. The familiar sound of rowdy boys filling the house, then came the familiar muffled voices. It only surprised you a little because it was still early into the night.

Usually your brother and his friends came back around three in the morning from the bars, but that’s if they didn’t have work the next day. You knew they didn’t have work because your brother, Mason, had promised to take you shopping in town. You could only assume that they got into some sort of trouble. It’s the only reason why they’d be back early.

Slipping your headphones off you got up from your desk where you had been working on assignments for your summer class. Climbing down the stairs in nothing but your cut oversized tee shirt that exposed your collar bone and soft sleep shorts.

Your brother spotted you immediately, “Hey! She’s awake!” Mason exclaimed with a mouthful of the apple pie you had baked earlier. The slur in his speech giving away his intoxication.

You scoffed with a smile, “It’s only ten Mase,” you turned to the three other boys that were gathered around the kitchen table, “hi fellas.”

They greeted you with mouths full of pie. Except him. He was leaning back in his chair with a dopey grin and bloodshot eyes, his plate clean and pie long gone. You figure the other three were on their second slice.

Your gaze lingered on him like it always did. That warm feeling in your chest returned, it always did when Rafe was around. It made you feel fidgety and nervous. Like a school girl with a crush. So typical it’s on your brother’s best friend. That thought brought you out of your Rafe induced haze. You walked over to where Mason stood as he ate the last crumbs from the pie tin.

You grabbed it from him with an eye roll, “Well I’m glad you boys enjoyed that. Lucky I made two more. They’re for church tomorrow.”

“You always make the good stuff for church,” Kelce mumbled with his eyes closed blissfully savoring the dessert.

You laughed, “Maybe if y’all went you’d get a slice.”

Mason shook his head at the boys, “Why do you think I go.”

Rafe snorted, “To stare at Thea Foster actually.”

Your brother rolled his eyes and muttered, “She has a boyfriend.”

You smirked placing a hand on his shoulder, “Well I heard there’s trouble in paradise.”

He turned quickly to you bewildered, “From who? When? Why?”

Rafe, Kelce, and Jake burst out laughing. Your poor brother was so in love with a woman he couldn’t have. Rafe understood his pain, but he couldn’t let Mason know that. When the boys quieted down you answered his question, “From Sarah Ann at the nail salon yesterday. She said Thea found fake lashes in his car and then a couple weeks later she followed him because he said he had a work emergency and sure enough he was meeting some girl from the city.”

“That fucker,” Your brother seethed, “I’ll thank him then kill him and then thank him for fucking up.”

You patted his chest as you past him to grab the boys dishes, “Relax big guy.”

“Let’s celebrate with a shot,” Jake said knocking on the table excitedly.

Kelce nodded, “My buzz is wearin off.”

Rafe shrugged watching as you placed the dishes in the sink, “Sure.”

He had smoked a whole joint by himself on the way here and he was still feeling the effects. Something that he had started to regret when you walked down the stairs. He thought you’d be asleep and you wouldn’t see him high and drunk. It’s not like you hadn’t seen him like that before, but he preferred to be sober around you.

Mason poured every one shots including you. Rafe looked up at you with a mischievous smile. The floaty feeling in his head making you look like an angel. Soft bare face and comfortable clothing. He imagines you waiting at home for him dressed like that. Waiting to have dinner together after a long day. That fantasy always made his heart clench.

Mason finished pouring the glasses and began handing them out. The amber liquid sloshed onto the table since he filled them all to the brim. You’d make him clean the kitchen tomorrow.

You looked up at Rafe and found him already looking at you. Your heart raced ou held up your shot glass with the guys. Mason went on about friendship and comradery. The two of you not looking away from each other. Feeling emboldened you didn’t look away not even when you felt your blush move down your cheeks to your neck and chest.

Everyone tipped back their glasses taking the shot. The liquid burning the pit of your stomach. You scrunched your nose in disgust, “ugh I hate whiskey.”

Rafe scratched the back of his head, “I need a cig.” He walked towards the stairs heading to the office. It was the best place to get onto the roof. A spot everyone liked to go to because it looked over the whole ranch.

You pointed at the dishes in the sink, “Wash those before bed. I’m gonna finish studying then go to bed so don’t be too loud.”

“Yes ma’am,” Mason teased.

The two of you had moved to the small town a five years ago. Mason found his dream job on the ranch they live on and his boss the owner, Mr. George, let the two of you stay at one if the houses on the property. You were just grateful to leave your hometown and your parents. Your brother always felt like your only family and when he asked you to come with him you didn’t hesitate. You started community college at the next town over and got a job at the local diner. You two had built community here. Your brother befriending the other ranch hands Rafe and Jake and the local bartender Kelce who had all become more like brothers to him.

-

As you made it up the stairs you passed the office and peered in. The cool summer breeze blowing in through the open window. You stood in the doorway for a few seconds contemplating whether to go out there or not.

When you met Rafe you felt all that ooey gooey stuff you had read about in romance novels. You thought it wasn’t real because it what world would a man make you feel like that. Your faith in the male species to sweep you off your feet had completely disappeared. Until you met him. It was a weird feeling in the pit of your stomach.

It didn’t help that he looked at you the same way. Or when he would do sweet things like buy you trinkets when he went out of town. He’d give you rides if Mason couldn’t and if he was around you never had to carry anything yourself.

Rafe always wanting to be near you if you were around and making sure you’re safe. When your brother had gone out of town he texted and called all weekend making sure you were safe. He almost got in his truck and slept outside your house to make sure nothing happened but he talked himself out of that.

You were his best friend’s little sister. He loved Mason and didn’t want to do anything that would ruin that. It took Rafe so long to rebuild his life in the small town he didn’t want to ruin it by hurting you. He would lose you and your brother.

You climbed through the window to see Rafe sitting on the ledge probably on his second cigarette. You watched as he tilted his head back and exhaled.

“ain’t anyone ever told you that those things will kill you,” You said with a smirk as you walked over to sit beside him.

He shrugged with a smirk, “Never had a good reason to quit.”

You held two fingers out for him motioning for him to place one between your fingers. He shook his head with a laugh as he got one from his almost empty pack.

You brought it up to your lips as he pulled the lighter out. Rafe cupped the end of the cigarette as he lit it. Your eyes watching him the whole time. Rafe fought every fiber of his being to not look at you or else he’d throw out the damn cigarette and kiss you. You didn’t know the power you held over him. He’d cross rivers, oceans, and valleys for you without a second thought.

“I’ll come with ya to church tomorrow,” He said breaking the silence. He doesn’t even know why he just said that. Rafe has never been religious and the only times he’s thought about it were when you showed up in his life.

Now you weren’t devout or anything but when you moved here it felt like a good place to interweave yourself into the town. The move also had you feeling a little lost so you went to where people always say they find something. You’re still not sure how you feel about it but you still go when you can. Your brother started joining you after a couple weeks.

You snorted, “I’m sure you will.”

“I’m serious I’ll go,” He bumped your shoulder with his.

You smiled at him, “Okay Rafey. Then I’m gonna make sure you go because I already know that you’re stayin the night.”

He looked at her with a playful scowl, “Who said I’m stayin?”

“You’re still stoned and you’ve had more whiskey,” You shook your head, “You’re stayin.”

“Whatever you say boss,” He flicked his cigarette off the roof after finishing it.

You rolled your eyes, “I’ll get you up bright and early don’t worry.”

“As long as I get some more pie tomorrow.”

“I did make you something,” You flushed a bit at your next words, “I made you those peanut butter chocolate chip cookies you like. Hid them from the guys or they’d eat em all.”

“You’re so sweet,” He admitted, “those idiots wouldn’t savor them like me.”

You laughed softly trying not to look at him or you’d burst into flames, “So true. I’ll give em to you after church tomorrow.”

“S’that my reward?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, “So you better behave.”

He was feeling bold now. After your shy confession he wanted to be bold. His fingers itched to touch you, “What happens if I don’t behave?”

Your eyes widened a bit not expecting him to say something like that. Did he mean it like that? You couldn’t over think this right now. The tension in the air thick and pushing the two of you closer together.

You shrugged, “I could show you right now.” You didn’t even know what you mean by that but before you could take your words back a voice behind you two broke whatever trance the two of you were in.

“Hey! Are you just gonna let the rest of us get wasted by ourselves or what!” Mason exclaimed as he stuck his head through the window.

Rafe snorted, “I’m comin jackass.”

“I better finish my assignments.” He climbed through the window and held his hand out for you as you stepped through.

“Can I ask a favor?” You asked him. The dim lighting in the office illuminating his face in a way that made him look like a Greek God.

“Anything,” He responded and Rafe truly meant anything.

You sighed, “So after church tomorrow I wanted to go to that book store in the city and Mason is gonna take me. But I don’t really want hungover grumpy Mason to take me,” Just then you heard a thud and loud laughs downstairs.

“Well you know ho-“

Before you could even continue he was nodding his head, “I’ll take you, don’t worry.”

You beamed up at him with bright eyes and a wide smile, “Thank you Rafey. I’ll be quick too.”

He shook his head and wrapped an arm around your shoulders starting to walk you both out of the room, “None of that you can spend the whole day lookin and I won’t care.”

You looked away as your smile grew timid and that damn blush was back. He stopped in front of your bedroom and you already missed his warmth.

“You know where to find us when you wanna have some fun scholar,” He teased lightly.

“Yeah yeah. You know where the blankets are and please make sure that if those idiots want to go home they’re good to drive.”

He mock saluted at you, “Yes ma’am.”

Rafe constantly teased you about your over protection of the group of men. Truthfully he found it endearing because no one has cared so much for him. Even if it’s lumped in with your brother. None of you had family here so it was nice that the five of you had created your own.

As you sat back at your desk you couldn’t stop thinking about Rafe. Honestly you never stopped but after seeing him it always amplified the thoughts. There’s nothing in this world that you wanted more than Rafe Cameron, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to act on it.

You didn’t want to ruin your relationship with your brother. He’s never been that overprotective but you had no idea how he’d be if you dated his best friend. So your fantasies of the tall cowboy remained as just that, fantasies.

-

If wrangling four six foot plus men to church would get that shocked look out of Mrs.Cramer you would have done it a long time ago. The old woman could hardly believe you got those ‘hooligans’ to come. The boys had a bit of a reputation. Not necessarily bad but they knew that if something was going on it was probably them.

Like when Jake drunkly rode a pony into the post office. Or when Mason accidentally left the pig pen open and there were thirty pigs loose in town.

The five of you were now back at your house. Rafe was waiting downstairs for you to finish changing. The other boys were drinking beer watching a baseball game. Mason was beyond grateful he didn’t have to take you anymore.

“I’m ready,” You announced while walking down the stairs. You had changed into your red boots, denim shorts, and a white tee shirt. Simple yet it had his mouth watering. Imagine what it’d be like to peel it all off. He needed to get it together.

“Be back later Mason,” You waved them goodbye before grabbing your purse. Rafe mumbled a bye as he followed after you like a puppy.

-

Not only did Rafe not complain about anything you did in the car but he also let you pick the music. He was having the time of his life. On the outside he looked concentrated on driving and completely unbothered.

“It’s right up there,” You pointed to the building coming up.

He pulled into the parking lot, “You been here before?”

“I have but it’s been a couple months.”

He parked and opened the door for you. The smile on your face making the forty five minute drive worth it.

Well forty five minutes later he was starting to get antsy. He swears he’s seen you make five circles around the fairly small book shop. He was sitting in a purple chair meant for reading. You had given him about six books and your purse to hold and you were still browsing. The only reason he was getting impatient was because he was hungry.

You walked over with two more books, “Okay now I need to narrow these down to just three.”

His brows furrowed, “Three?”

You nodded, “Tips were short this week and I had to use my savings to fix my laptop.”

He stood up holding the six books, “Come on lets go pay.”

You followed him trying to keep up with his long strides, “Uhhh did you not just hear me I can’t afford it Rafe.”

“That’s why I’m buying all of them for you,” He shrugged as if it were nothing.

“No no no,” You pulled his arm to stop him right before the counter, “You can’t do that, that’s too much.”

“You want them all right?”

“Well yeah but-“

“But nothing baby, I got you.” He turned to the counter where the cashier was waiting for the two of you to finish.

You stood behind a bit dumbfounded by not only his kindness but because of what he called you. Baby. That was new.

-

After a long day of book shopping, pizza eating, and laughing you were drained. On the way home you had fallen asleep, waking up once he turned onto the dirt road that led to your house.

You yawned, “We’re here already.”

“Yup and it looks like Mason’s not home.”

“Oh he texted me telling me he was going to a bonfire. We’re invited but I’d rather stay home.”

Rafe opened the door for you like he had been doing all day. He also held your heavy bag of books.

“Me either honestly.”

“You wanna watch a movie with me?” You asked hoping he’d say yes.

“I’d love to.”

You plopped yourself onto the couch to browse movies. Rafe set the books down on the kitchen table before joining you. Except he stood in front of you and grabbed your boot tugging it off each foot.

“Thank you Rafey,” You smiled at him.

You put on Twilight knowing he won’t care and secretly loves it. Today had been perfect. Rafe made you feel like the only person existing. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted him to be more than a friend and it was starting to pain you, but it was something you could live with for now.

A half hour later you had dozed off onto Rafe. Your leg draped over him and face tucked into his neck. His head leaning on yours and one hand in your hair the other around you. This was the best sleep Rafe had ever gotten. He could feel you all around him he didn’t want this to ever end.

Yet you both jolted awake when you heard the front creak open and voices following. Twilight had ended an hour ago and New Moon had started playing. You and Rafe broke a part trying to fix yourselves. A rosy tint to his cheeks as he peered over at you with a teasing smirk. You couldn’t help your blush either as you returned the mischievous smile.

“Hey you guys are back how’d it?” Mason asked as he walked into the living room with Kelce.

“It was good, got lots of new books,” You turned to Rafe with a knowing look.

“Hey is that,” Kelce pointed at something on your inner thigh. You had one leg bent so your inner thigh was facing up on display. An right on it was an impression of a long horn and some intricate designs. Everyone knew who had something that looked like that.

“How’d that get there?” Kelce asked with an amused smile as he pointed between your thigh and Rafe’s belt buckle. He burst into laughed as mason groaned.

“Guys I know y’all like have a thing for each other but I don’t wanna know that stuff,” Mason gagged.

“What Mase!” You groaned, “Nothing like that!”

Rafe laughed feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders, “Dude we fell asleep.”

“I sure hope so, not on my damn couch.”

You decided to mess with him, “Well if you insist.” You grabbed Rafe’s hand and laughed as you pulled him upstairs. He didn’t even hesitate following and also laughing.

You dragged him into your room turning so your back was to the door. Still holding your hand Rafe used the other to push the door closed. Walking you both back in the process so your back was against the closed door. One hand beside your head and the other moving from holding yours to holding your waist.

His head dipped down as your laughter died. Things suddenly felt serious and you realized how close he was and he was touching you. It felt really good.

“So uh sounds like Mason is okay with us,” Rafe murmured.

“Is that you confessing you like me?” You teased looking down at his lips.

He nodded causing your noses to brush, “Yeah I like you baby, can I make it anymore obvious.”

“Can you?”

He squeezed your waist with a smile before dipping down and finally molding his lips to yours. It was like being able to breathe for the first time. His mouth felt good against yours. He kissed you with desperation and need showing you just how long he’s wanted this. How he’s wanted it just as much as you.

Both his hands were now on your waist and traveling over your body feeling every dip and curve. The small whine you let out making him want to throw you onto your bed, but he promised himself if he ever had you he’d take his time. Savor every moment with you.

You pulled away breathless and drunk on him, “I like you too if you couldn’t tell.”

He pecked your lips, “I’ll buy you all the books you want just to hear that again.”

“I like you,” You leaned down up and kissed him again, “Now can we finish the twilight series?”

[baby-yongbok]

JOI-ful

Hwang Hyunjin x Afab!Reader

✦ Genre - Smut [MDNI] - Established Relationship ✦ Word Count - 1.8k

✦ CW -  Mutual Masturbation + JOI (Guided masturbation), Unprotected sex & creampie (wrap it up for santa), Choking (self-inflicted by hyunjin for like a minute), Odd holiday sexual innuendos.. ✦ Summary - You and Hyunjin are feeling something other than holiday cheer after digging up your holiday decorations. ✦A/N - I'm late asf but life has been a bitch and I wanted to write to that moment in the livestream Hyunjin joined with Innie and Seungmin like a week or two ago? Anyway, enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡

✦ Masterlist✦

He's a fucking tease. 

You've known that since you met him but right now; while you both lounge in your living room after hauling every box of Christmas decorations you could find up from your basement you find that it’s the worst that it has been in awhile.

You’re supposed to be putting your Christmas tree up before heading to his parents house for a holiday dinner but you’re stuck staring. Hyunjin was exhausted by the hunt for the boxes but you didn’t expect for that to lead to him laid back, manspreading on the couch across from you and looking damn good while doing it.  

You told him to rest, but what the fuck?

It doesn’t help that he’s been working you up all. fucking. day. Lingering looks and touches in the kitchen this morning, sexual innuendos while rummaging through the tiny basement and now this. You've been strong, you've gotten through it but you don't know how much more you can take.  

The tease in question is scrolling on his phone while you sit in the chair opposite the sofa. The boxes of decorations are haphazardly spread in the space between the two of you but they do nothing to obstruct your view as you allow your eyes to wander. Your gaze runs over the expanse of his leg, his muscles are hidden beneath the loose cut of his jeans but you have no trouble imagining.

You trace over his pelvis and hip, you take in his large hand rubbing over what you know is a toned stomach that you would just love to mark up right now. Your gaze goes up, up, up until it meets his. 

And he fucking smiles. 

Hyunjin sits up on his elbows, dropping his phone to the side with his eyes on you. You're frozen, shocked and embarrassed that you got caught but that only lasts for a second before you run with it. You keep his eye contact and lean in to challenge it. He likes that. 

“Darling.” Hyunjin's tone is innocent when it hits your ears. Deceiving. 

“Yes, honey?” You lean against the arm of the chair, resting your chin in your palm while he sits up further, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. 

“What kind of mood are you in?” He takes his turn at taking you in, drinking in every inch he can before his eyes are on yours again. 

“What do you mean?” 

“What kind of mood are you in, baby? I think that the question is clear.” The corner of his mouth turns up and he speaks slowly like he handcrafted the words himself.

“Are you asking if I want you?”

“Mhm.” The quick dart of his tongue over his bottom lip distracts you. “Do you want me?”

“What makes you think that I do?” 

“You’re staring.” He shifts, “So obviously too.”

The contents of the conversion goes over your head and crumbles into a thick tension much quicker than you expected it to. You both stayed right where you were but your clothes made it to the floor with the boxes eventually. 

You don’t remember what you said that made Hyunjin decide that it was too hot to keep on his cardigan and black tank top but you don’t care to remember when he undoes his jeans and pulls them down his lithe waist just enough to free his heavy cock from the confines. 

He’s still got his eyes on you, still laid back on his elbows but now he’s got his leaky dick 

in his palm while his long fingers - that you wish would replace your own - work over the head of his cock so expertly that you can hear his breath hitch from where you sit. 

But there’s a catch.

“Oh fuck.” He attempts to whisper but he doesn't quite make it.  “More, more, please.”

You listen, watching him lie back, flushed and deep in the pool of pleasure that you're controlling.

“Twist your hand over the tip.” You whimper from your chair where your fingers are exploring your own soaked sex. “Keep your pace, don’t speed up yet.”

He listens, whimpering so beautifully it makes your pussy clench around nothing while your fingers run up your folds and send a shiver down your spine when you circle your swollen clit. 

“Just your clit.” He orders back, his voice rough and thick with desire. “Tease it for me, just how I would.”

You whisper a curse, following his instruction and moaning at the way it lights your skin ablaze. 

“Hand around your throat.” He moans at your order before his digits can even touch the flushed skin of his neck. “Squeeze, just like I would.” His head is thrown back, long fingers wrapped around his throat while his other hand pumps his leaky cock at the pace you set.

 His hips buck up into his fist and it takes everything in you to fight back a moan. “Shit, please, harder.”

“Harder?” You whisper back to him, letting your finger slip down from your clit to where you’re leaking. “Please.” He moans and you keen, indulging in more than you were ordered to.

“Behave.” He hisses, letting his fucked out gaze linger on your wandering digit. “Just your clit, you heard me.” You pull back and press a firm circle into your clit that punches such a perfect pornographic moan from you that Hyunjin reconsiders his instruction for just a second.

 Instead of retracting his order he squeezes the sides of his throat a bit harder, indulging in the blurry headrush that your moans feed him. 

“Faster.” You moan and he crumbles, complying in an instant. His hand polishes his blushed mushroom tip with newfound fervor. Precum dribbles down and gets caught between his fingers in a sticky mess that you want to swirl your tongue around.

“You’re trying to make me cum.” His words are choked and drowned out by the groan that follows. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“You’re getting distracted, hun.” You tease with stuttered breath and trembling fingers. “It’s your move.”

Hyunjin is a mess, his tongue is heavy and pressed against the roof of his mouth. He can barely hold a word but he tries, uttering a sound that is just an ounce less desperate than the last. “Fuck yourself.” His breath catches, his eyes shut. “Two fingers, hit that fucking spot I’m thinking about.” 

It’s over from there. 

Your fingers slip down and slip in easily. They’re nothing like Hyunjin’s long fingers, the way he’d scissor into you and curl up against your sweet spot is unrivaled but you pretend. You’re knuckle deep, eyes open and watching him with a slack jaw that exchanges lewd sounds with him. 

His hand picks up pace over his cock, ignoring your set pace as he chases his high and imagines that it’s your touch that’s sending electricity down his spine. Your touch, your cunt, your mouth, he’s lost in the feeling. Hypnotized by the delicious burn of his impending orgasm.

“Hyune, fuck, you’re so… so hot like that.” He fixes his mouth to challenge your praise but it only nudges him closer. “Wan’ you, your fingers. Mine aren't’ enough, they - they aren’t yours.”

Your whining breaks him, it gets him up and over to you, kicking the boxes of decorations to the side until he can take a step wide enough to scoop you up from the chair and replace your body with his own. It’s hot, heavy and messy. He sits you in his lap, your soaked heat over his leaky length and his lips crash to yours in a kiss that makes you dizzy. 

Your lips move in a tangled tandem that has you exchanging and swallowing moans until you have to come up for air. He holds your jaw, gentle but firm “You’re gonna sit on my cock and make us cum, okay?” 

You nod, lift up and sink down like it’s second nature. Hyunjin slumps back in the chair, manspreading just like he did earlier but now there’s little to leave to the imagination. He’s sheathed so deep that you can feel his tip kiss your cervix. 

“Baby, I won’t last another fucking second.” His hand is on your hip, long fingers splayed over the plush flesh while the other moves to rub brutal circles over your puffy clit. “Cum on me, c’mon.”

You’d fall back from the bold pang of overstimulation if he didn't move his arm around your waist. He keeps your hips down, guiding you to grind in his lap. He cock twitches inside of your swelling walls, abusing your guts like it’s his fucking job and you come undone. 

“Hyunjin, I’m fucking cumming. I’m fucking - shit, baby, baby.” He takes that as an invitation, joining you in the clouds as he spills sticky white deep in your cunt. His hips buck, his lips fix into a thin line with a choked howl and you collapse forward, riding the wave of aftershocks while he shudders.

“God fucking damn, jagi, fuck.” He wraps his arms around you, grabbing onto you in an attempt to find his bearings but he only finds more of a reason to fall apart. You’ve never been so full of him, dripping his seed with more coming from the shuddering man beneath you. “So much.” You whimper and he keens with his eyes screwed shut and lips parted. 

You kiss him, sloppy and sweet. It makes his hips buck up and you grind down to meet the movement but he squeezes you harder to stop you. “Nuh uh.” He mumbles into the kiss, pulling back just enough to speak. “You will make me cum again.” He pants but you chuckle, kissing him again, softer.

“I think that there’s room for a bit more.” Hyunjin smirks lazily, cracking one eye open to peek at you before the other one follows. “Yeah? You’re leaking you know? You’re stuffed.”

“Need more.” You rest your head on his shoulder, allowing your body to fully sink into the firm yet soft comfort of your boyfriend. “It’s never enough.” 

“You are a greedy girl.” He teases with a rasp and chuckle. “We need to decorate.”

“You can decorate me.” He scrunches his nose at you, looking down and feigning disgust. “You’re still half hard so you didn’t hate that as much as you’re pretending to.”

A quick clench of your stuffed cunt around him both proves your point and milks a hiss from him. He slaps your ass in warning. “Stop it or I will frost you like a cake.” It’s your turn to feign disgust and he grins at the reaction, happy to get some payback.

“Don’t make that face, you started it, my little gingerbread cookie.” 

“Ew, no no no, stop it.” He holds you tighter against his chest and kisses your forehead between each weird innuendo he comes up with. “Creamy like hot cocoa.”

“Hyunjin, stop it!” He kisses you but you squirm with a laugh. “Let it snow, Let it snow, Let it snow.”

“Hyunjin!”

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[ilookattextile]

I got a job at a Ukrainian museum.

On the first day someone asks me if I have any Ukrainian heritage. I say I had ancestors from Odesa, but they were Jewish, so they weren’t considered Ukrainian, and they wouldn’t have considered themselves Ukrainian. My job is every day I go through boxes of Ukrainian textiles and I write a physical description, take measurements, take photographs, and upload everything into the database. I look up “Jewish” in the database and there is no result. 

Some objects have no context at all, some come with handwritten notes or related documents. I look at thick hand-spun, hand-woven linen heavy with embroidery. Embroidery they say can take a year or more. I think of someone dressed for a wedding in their best clothes they made with their own hands. Some shirts were donated with photographs of the original owners dressed in them, for a dance at the Ukrainian Labour Temple, in 1935. I handle the pieces carefully, looking at how they fit the men in the photos, and how they look almost a hundred years later packed in acid-free tissue. One of the men died a few years later, in the war. He was younger than I am now. The military archive has more photographs of him with his mother, his father, his fiancé. I take care in writing the catalogue entry, breathing in the history, getting tearful. 

I imagine people dressed in their best shirts at Easter, going around town in their best shirts burning the houses of Jews, in their best shirts, killing Jews. A shirt with dense embroidery all over the sleeves and chest has a note that says it is from Husiatyn. I look it up and find that it was largely a Jewish town, and Ukrainians lived in the outskirts. There is a fortress synagogue from the Renaissance period, now abandoned. 

When my partner Aaron visits I take him to an event at the museum where a man shows his collection of over fifty musical instruments from Ukraine, and he plays each one. Children are seated on the floor at the front. We’re standing in a corner, the room full of Ukrainians, very aware that we look like Jews, but not sure if anyone recognizes what that looks like anymore. Aaron gets emotional over a song played on the bandura. 

A note with a dress says it came from the Buchach region. I find a story of Jewish life in Buchach in the early twentieth century, preparing to flee as the Nazis take over. I cry over this.

I’m cataloguing a set of commemorative ribbons that were placed on the grave of a Ukrainian Nationalist leader, Yevhen Konovalets, after he was assassinated. The ribbons were collected and stored by another Nationalist, Andriy Melnyk, who took over leadership after Konovalets’ death. The ribbons are painted or embroidered with messages honouring the dead politician. I start to recognize the word for “leader”, the Cyrillic letters which make up the name of the colonel, the letters “OYH” which stand for Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN in English). The OUN played a big part in the Lviv pogroms in 1941, I learn. The Wikipedia article has a black and white image of a woman in her underwear, running in terror from a man and a young boy carrying a stick of wood. The woman’s face is dark, her nose may be bleeding. Her underwear is torn, her breast exposed. I’m measuring, photographing, recording the stains and loose threads in the banners that honour men who would have done this to me. 

Every day I can’t stop looking at my phone, looking up the news from Gaza, tapping through Instagram stories that show what the news won’t. Half my family won’t talk to the other half, after I share an article by a scholar of Holocaust and genocide studies, who says Israel is committing a genocide. My dad makes a comment that compares Gaza to the Warsaw Ghetto. This gets him in trouble. My aunt says I must have learned this antisemitism at university, but there is no excuse for my dad. 

This morning I see images from Israeli attacks in the West Bank, where they are not at war. There are naked bodies on the dusty ground. I’m not sure if they are alive. This is what I think of when I see the image from the Lviv pogrom. If what it means for Jews to be safe from oppression is to become the oppressor, I don’t want safety. I don’t want to speak about Jews as if we are one People, because I have so little in common with those in green uniforms and tanks. I am called a self-hating Jew but I think I am a self-reflecting Jew.

I don’t know how to articulate how it feels to be handling objects which remind me of Jewish traumas I inherited only from history classes and books. Textiles hold evidence of the bodies that made them and used them. I measure the waist of a skirt and notice that it is the same as my waist size. I think of clothing and textiles that were looted from Jewish homes during pogroms. I think of clothing and textiles that were looted from Palestinian homes during the ongoing Nakba. Clothes hold the shape of the body that once dressed in them. Sometimes there are tears, mends, stains. I am rummaging through personal belongings in my nitrile gloves. 

I am hands-on learning about the violence caused by Ukrainian Nationalism while more than nine thousand Palestinians have been killed by the State of Israel in three weeks, not to mention all those who have been killed in the last seventy-five years of occupation, in the name of the Jewish Nation, the Jewish People — me? If we (and I am hesitant to say “we”) learned anything from the centuries of being killed, it was how to kill. This should not have been the lesson learned. Zionism wants us to feel constantly like the victims, like we need to defend ourself, like violence is necessary, inevitable. I need community that believes in freedom for all, not just our own People. I need the half of my family who believes in this necessary “self-defence” to remember our history, and not just the one that ends happily ever after with the creation of the State of Israel. Genocide should not be this controversial. We should not be okay with this. 

Tomorrow I will go to work and keep cataloguing banners that honour the leader of an organization which led pogroms. I will keep checking the news, crying into my phone, coordinating with organizers about our next actions, grappling with how we can be a tiny part in ending this genocide that the world won’t acknowledge, out of guilt over the ones it ignored long ago.