#but now its been established that the reader could be either and that it doesn’t seem to matter which name they answer to

[skid-the-mighty-poet]

[kooklovee]

HOLD ON TO ME (m) - JJK

Your husband forgets your second anniversary. What starts as disappointment and heartbreak soon spirals into doubt- about your love, your marriage & whether he even sees you anymore. But when Jungkook realizes his mistake, he’s willing to do anything to prove that his love has never wavered..

Can he make it up to you, or is it already too late?

Pairing - CeoHusband!Jungkook x Wife!Reader

Genre - 18+, established relationship au, angst, fluff, smut, some more angst MDNI

ONESHOT - 11k words

Warnings - angsty ride, hurt/comfort, workaholic Jungkook, miscommunication, crying, deep emotional intimacy, slow build, Jungkook is an idiot but trust me he's sweet alright😭, Explicit smut- unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), soft dom Jk, nipple play, lots of kissing, love-making, creampie, pet names <3, praises, happy ending (sad ending's not in my veins🫸)

a/n- snsjkqkw It's my first fic (well more like I've taken the courage to actually post it)🥹 do let me know your thoughts on it <3 n consider a reblog if you like it, thank you for reading! 🫶

Masterlist kofi☕

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The soft glow of the overhead light casts long shadows across the dining room. But its warmth does nothing to chase away the cold emptiness creeping into your chest.

You sit in one of the dining chairs, fingers idly tracing the gold band on your ring finger, the once-familiar weight of it.. feeling heavier than ever. The house is silent, except for the distant hum of the city beyond the huge windows.

Jungkook is late. Again.

You’ve lost count of how many nights have passed like this, curled up alone in bed, the space beside you growing colder with each passing hour.

He always has a reason. A meeting that ran overtime, a last-minute project, something urgent that demands his attention more than you do. And you’ve always understood. Until now.

Your second anniversary is just around the corner, and for the first time in weeks, you have something to look forward to. Something that, surely, he wouldn’t forget.

You let out a slow breath, staring at the untouched dinner on the table. It’s the third time this week you’ve set two plates, only to eat alone. The food has long gone cold, but you still can’t bring yourself to clear it away. Some foolish, desperate part of you still hopes Jungkook will walk through the door, pulling you into his arms, murmuring apologies against your skin.

But the door stays closed. Your phone stays silent.

You check the time—almost midnight.

He used to call. Even when he was busy, he always found a way to let you know he was thinking about you. A quick text. A voice note. Something. Now, hours pass without a word, and you’re left wondering when exactly you started feeling like a ghost in your own marriage.

You clench your fists, blinking back the sting in your eyes. This isn’t you. You don’t doubt him. You don’t overthink things. But these days, love feels a lot like waiting, and waiting feels a lot like breaking.

And you’re so damn tired of breaking.

You close your eyes, trying to remember the Jungkook from before, before work took over, before the distance set in. The man who, despite his quiet nature, always found a way to make you feel cherished. He wasn’t one for grand speeches, but his words had always carried weight. Small, simple confessions once meant everything. Now, silence is all you get.

It wasn’t always easy with Jungkook. Back in college, he was cold, reserved, a storm you could never quite predict. But little by little, he let you in. His love had been careful, deliberate, whispered promises in the dark, stolen glances across crowded rooms, fingertips brushing against yours like a secret only the two of you understood.

And now, it feels like you’re losing him.

The thought sends a sharp ache through your chest. You tell yourself it’s just work, that the weight of being CEO is heavier than either of you expected. That he still loves you, even if he doesn’t say it as often.

But love isn’t supposed to feel like this.

The clock hits midnight.

You don’t know what you were expecting. A text? A call? Maybe the sound of the front door unlocking, Jungkook stepping in, exhausted but still managing to hold you close?

But there’s nothing.

Your throat tightens as you stare at the small cake sitting on the dining table, the frosting slightly uneven, the decorations a little clumsy. You were never a good cook. Jungkook knew that better than anyone. But in the early days of your marriage, you had tried. Because back then, cooking together had been something special. Flour-dusted fingertips, shared laughter over burnt pancakes, stolen kisses between stirring batter.

So tonight, with him too busy and too stressed, you thought a quiet, cozy celebration would be enough. Something small, something just for the two of you.

But now, looking at the untouched dinner, the unlit candle, and the cake that no longer seems worth eating, you realize how foolish that hope was.

You glance at your phone—no messages, no missed calls.

You put away the plates. You put the cake in the fridge, even though you know it’ll probably stay there, forgotten.

And then you crawl into bed alone, wrapping your arms around yourself because if Jungkook won’t hold you, who else will?

----

You stir, feeling the warmth of an arm lazily draped around your stomach. The weight is familiar, and for a moment it feels like everything is okay.

Jungkook is still asleep. Shirtless, his toned chest rises and falls in steady breaths, his face soft in the morning light. His dark lashes cast faint shadows on his skin, and his lips parted just slightly, making him look so much younger, so much more at peace.

You take your time looking at him, memorizing the exhaustion on his face, the faint crease between his brows even in sleep. He must’ve come home late—so late that you hadn’t even heard him.

Still, he’s here. Beside you. And that alone is enough to make something flicker in your chest.

Maybe he’s planned to stay home today.

Of course he remembers.

You can’t help but lean in, pressing a soft, loving kiss against his cheek. His skin is warm beneath your lips, and for a fleeting moment, everything feels like it used to.

Jungkook mumbles something incoherent, his brows knitting slightly before relaxing again. A small, sleepy noise escapes him, and the sound makes you giggle softly.

He stirs, his grip on your waist tightening just a little before his lashes flutter open. His dark eyes, still hazy with sleep, land on you, and for a second, there’s nothing but quiet warmth in them.

"You're up early," he murmurs, his voice thick with drowsiness. His thumb absentmindedly brushes over your waist, a touch so familiar yet so foreign all at once.

You smile, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead. "Couldn't sleep much," you admit softly.

Jungkook hums in response, his eyes falling shut again for a moment. He nuzzles into the pillow, his grip on you still firm like he has no intention of letting you go. And for a brief, fragile second, the weight of last night, of the distance, of everything, seems to disappear.

Maybe he really did plan to stay home today. Maybe this morning means something.

Your heart clenches with the smallest trace of hope.

Jungkook lets out a long breath and shifts onto his back, stretching his arms above his head before blindly reaching for his phone on the nightstand. His warmth leaves your side, the air turning cold almost instantly.

You watch as his expression shifts, sleep slipping away as his screen lights up. His brows furrow, jaw tightening ever so slightly.

Then, with barely a glance in your direction, he mutters, "Shit, I need to get to the office."

The hope you held onto so desperately?

Gone.

You blink, your mind scrambling to catch up.

Maybe he's kidding. Maybe this is just one of his teasing games, the kind where he acts all nonchalant just to catch you off guard later. That’s how it used to be. Him pretending to forget something important, only to turn around and surprise you in a way that left you breathless.

So you wait.

You wait for the smirk to tug at his lips, for him to toss his phone aside and pull you into his arms. You wait for him to kiss you insane, to murmur a husky "Happy anniversary, baby," against your skin.

You wait for him to prove you wrong.

But he doesn't.

Jungkook swings his legs over the bed, rubbing a hand down his face before standing up. He moves through the motions—grabbing a fresh shirt from the dresser, checking his notifications again, already half-immersed in whatever work emergency is pulling him away.

The realization settles in. suffocating. He’s not playing. He’s not pretending. He really forgot.

And with that, the last flicker of hope inside you dies.

----

The sound of the bathroom door clicking shut barely registers in your mind. The faint rush of water follows soon after, but you’re still frozen in place, staring at the empty space where Jungkook was just moments ago.

Your fingers grip the sheets as you try to process it, try to make sense of the ache settling deep in your chest.

He forgot.

The thought circles endlessly, refusing to fade. It should be simple, just a mistake, something easily fixed with an apology. But it doesn’t feel simple. It feels like another crack in something that’s already been fragile for weeks.

Your gaze drifts to your phone, the screen lighting up with messages from friends and family. Warm wishes, sweet texts. All reminders of the day that Jungkook should have been the first to acknowledge. And of course, they must have messaged him too.

But you know the answer before you even have to question it. Jungkook has two phones—one for work, one for personal use. And these days, his personal phone sits untouched, collecting dust somewhere in the house while his work phone never leaves his side.

Your throat tightens.

Even if someone did remind him, would he have even seen it? Would it have even mattered?

You swallow hard, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes.

Maybe you should say something. Maybe you should remind him.

But a part of you, one that you don’t want to acknowledge—wonders if it even matters anymore.

You push yourself up from the bed, the weight in your chest making it harder than it should be. You don’t want to sit here, waiting for him to remember, waiting for an apology that might never come.

So you move. Just as you step toward the bathroom, the shower turns off. The door opens a moment later, as Jungkook steps out, towel slung low around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his toned chest.

For a brief second, your eyes meet. He looks at you, blinking away the last remnants of sleep, his expression unreadable. There’s no sign of realization, no flicker of guilt or hesitation. Just the same tired, distracted gaze you’ve been seeing for weeks.

You say nothing. Instead, you walk past him, entering the washroom to go about your usual routine. brushing your teeth, washing your face, anything to avoid the tightness in your throat.

The sound of the sink running is the only thing filling the silence between you.

By the time you step out of the washroom, Jungkook is already dressed for work. His tie is slightly loosened, one hand adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves while the other holds his ever-present work phone. He looks like he’s in a hurry, but that isn’t surprising. He’s been having breakfast at the office for weeks now—always rushing out, always too busy.

Still, you can’t grasp that he’s actually forgotten.

Some part of you still expects him to pause, to turn around and say something. But he doesn’t. He’s focused on his screen, scanning through emails like today is just another ordinary morning.

Your chest tightens. You need to look away before the emotions creeping up inside you spill over. So, you pretend.

You settle at the table, opening your laptop like it’s just another workday. Since you’ve been working from home for the past couple of months, this isn’t unusual—but today, it’s not about work. It’s about avoiding him. About keeping your head down so he doesn’t see the way your hands tremble slightly.

If you act normal, maybe it’ll hurt less. Maybe you won’t break in front of him.

And maybe, just maybe, if you pretend hard enough, you can fool yourself into believing it doesn’t hurt at all.

“Baby, can you help me with the tie?”

His voice is smooth- like every other morning before this one. Like today isn’t supposed to mean more.

You hesitate for half a second before standing up, walking towards him. Your fingers move automatically, looping the fabric, tightening the knot, straightening it against his crisp shirt. You should pull away the moment you’re done, return to your seat, to your laptop, to pretending like everything is fine.

But just as you step back, Jungkook’s hand catches your wrist.

Before you can react, he tugs you closer, his warmth enveloping you as his large hand cups the side of your face, fingers splayed against your skin like he’s memorizing the feel of you. His touch is tender, his thumb tracing slow circles against your cheek, his dark eyes holding yours for a beat too long. like he’s seeing you, really seeing you, for the first time in days.

Then, he kisses you.

Warm & lingering. Like he actually means it. Like he actually feels it.

“Need it for good luck,” he mumbles lovingly against your lips, his voice deep, hushed.

You blink up at him.

Jungkook pulls back slightly, offering a small smile. “Big deal with the Kims today.”

And just like that, reality crashes back in.

Your mind struggles to process, to understand how he can be like this. How can he kiss you like this and still not remember.

His mind is somewhere else. His thoughts, his focus—none of it is here. None of it is with you.

You force a smile, nodding wordlessly. Because what else is there to say?

----

Jungkook moves around the house, gathering his things- his wallet, his keys. You stay where you are, settled on the couch with your laptop open, pretending to be busy, pretending that your heart isn’t sitting heavy in your chest.

Just as he’s about to leave, he steps toward you, bending down to press a quick kiss to your forehead.

“Love you,” he murmurs.

Before you can even respond, he’s already halfway through the living room, his focus elsewhere, his steps hurried.

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips before you can stop it.

You remember a time when things were different. When he used to whine, pout, and nudge you relentlessly if you didn’t say it back right away, just to tease him.

Flashback

The movie playing in the background had long been forgotten, the dialogue drowned out by the soft moans slipping from your lips. The purple neon glow cast dreamy hues across the living room, painting Jungkook’s skin in shades of violet as he moved above you.

His fingers laced tightly with yours, grip tightening slightly as his thrusts grew more desperate.

“J-Jungkook…” you moaned softly, nails digging into his hand.

He groaned against your neck, his breath hot, voice wrecked. “Fuck, baby…”

Your body arched beneath him, pleasure building to something uncontrollable. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, baby,” he urged, voice deep and rough, sending you tumbling over the edge.

You both unraveled together, gasping, shaking, holding onto each other like the world outside didn’t exist.

Jungkook pressed lazy, loving kisses all over your face, his lips brushing over your cheeks, your eyelids, the tip of your nose. “You alright?” he whispered.

You nodded, a sleepy, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. But then he just stared at you. A little too long. A little too intensely.

And then, barely above a whisper, like a secret meant only for you—he said, “I love you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, a playful grin tugging at the corner of your lips as you bit down on them, trying to contain your smile. He’d been saying it more often lately, slowly getting used to voicing what he felt.

But when you took a second too long to respond, he groaned dramatically, dropping his head into the crook of your neck like a kicked puppy.

“Say it back,” he grumbled.

“What?” you teased, laughing.

Jungkook huffed, then playfully bit down on your shoulder, just enough to make you squeal.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice muffled against your skin.

Still giggling, you cupped his face and pressed a soft kiss to his nose. “I love you, you big baby.”

His grin was instant, arms wrapping around you as he pulled you even closer, like he could never get enough.

End of Flashback

Now, he just says it in passing. quick, thoughtless, already moving on.

The front door clicks shut, and just like that, Jungkook is gone.

You sit there, fingers motionless on your laptop’s keyboard as the weight of what just happened settles deep in your chest. He forgot. He kissed you, held you, told you he loved you, but none of it was because he remembered.

Is this what your relationship has become?

Work, work, work. Always work.

It’s not that you expect Jungkook to run behind you all the time, to ditch his responsibilities just to shower you with affection. Hell, you supported him through everything- through college, through late nights chasing his dreams, through every stressful moment leading up to him becoming CEO. You believed in him.

But what about your love? Your marriage? Communication?

You’ve been patient. Too patient. more understanding than any normal wife would be. And you know Jungkook. You know he loves you, would bring you the whole damn world if you asked. But then why—why are you beginning to question it all?

Jungkook stepped into the CEO position a few months ago. At first, things were fine. He handled it well, still made time for you. But then… everything became about work. Slowly, then all at once.

You can’t even remember the last time you had truly loving sex. Not that Jungkook doesn’t love you but it doesn’t feel the same anymore. There’s tension in his touch, frustration in the way he moves against you. It’s not the warmth, the desperation to be close to you like it used to be.

Is this how life is going to be from now on?

Sure, you could talk to Jungkook about your feelings. Tell him that the distance is starting to feel unbearable.

But when?

When he’s always checking his phone? When he barely even looks at you in the mornings? When you feel like you’re living with the CEO rather than your husband?

Well, happy anniversary to you.

----

Your gaze drops to your hand, to the delicate band wrapped around your finger.

Your wedding ring.

For the first time in a long time, you really look at it- tracing the intricate details, the subtle shimmer in the morning light. And suddenly, it feels… heavier. Like you’re only noticing the weight of it now, as if it’s trying to remind you of everything it once meant.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, your fingers slip beneath the band, sliding it off. It’s only when the cool air brushes against your bare skin that it hits you.

Your breath catches, eyes widening at the sight of the ring resting in your palm. You hadn’t even thought about it—you just did it. And now, staring at the small, beautiful piece of jewelry, something inside you cracks. Tears gather before you can stop them.

Jungkook had spent weeks searching for this ring. Dragged you to countless jewelry stores, analyzing every cut, every design, obsessed with finding the perfect one. And no matter how many times you had told him that anything would make you happy, he had refused to settle for less.

"It has to be special," he had murmured against your temple the day he finally found it, slipping it onto your finger with the softest smile. "Because you’re special."

A broken sob escapes your throat as you clutch the ring tightly in your palm.

How did you end up here?

----

Jungkook leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he watches the final contract details appear on his screen. The deal with the Kims had gone smoothly, better than expected, actually. It should’ve been a moment of satisfaction, of relief.

Instead, he just drowns himself in more work.

The hours blur together, his coffee going cold beside him as he moves from one task to another. Another meeting. Another report. Another email. The same routine, the same cycle.

It’s later than evening when a familiar voice interrupts the quiet hum of his office.

“So you’re really here.”

Jungkook glances up, his fingers still typing as Taehyung steps into his cabin, arms crossed, a deep frown on his face.

“Hey, hyung,” Jungkook greets, barely looking away from his screen.

Taehyung scoffs, shaking his head playfully. “I really didn’t believe it when Yuna said you were still in your cabin.”

Jungkook blinks, confused. “Why?”

Taehyung gives him a look like he’s the biggest idiot in the world. “Y/N must really love you to let you work even today. My wife—dude, she would’ve killed me.”

Jungkook hums absentmindedly, still typing, still lost in work. “Mmm.”

Taehyung clicks his tongue, watching him for a second before letting out a chuckle. “Anyways, you’re still an asshole for working on your anniversary.”

Jungkook’s fingers freeze over the keyboard. The realization crashes into him all at once, like a punch to the gut, like ice spreading through his veins.

Fuck.

Jungkook’s fingers hover motionless over the keyboard.

His mind races to catch up with Taehyung’s words, but they don’t make sense. Not right away.

Anniversary?

No, that can’t be right. His brows furrow slightly as he glances at the date on his laptop screen.

November 22.

His wedding anniversary.

For a second, he just stares, as if the numbers might shift into something else, something that doesn’t prove what an absolute idiot he’s been. His heartbeat picks up, but his body doesn’t move. It’s like his brain refuses to register it fully, like if he doesn’t react, it won’t be real.

He’d forgotten.

Completely.

No hints, no reminders, no last-minute realization before heading out this morning. Just an entire day of emails, meetings, and a deal he had been so damn focused on that he hadn’t even spared a single thought for you.

His wife.

But—no, that can’t be right. He would’ve remembered. He should’ve remembered.

His jaw tightens, his mind scrambling for some excuse, some reason. anything to justify how this happened. But no matter how many ways he tries to twist it, the truth doesn’t change.

You had expected something. Of course you had. And Jungkook had given you nothing.

Taehyung’s voice barely registers now, his casual teasing just background noise to the way Jungkook’s pulse is starting to hammer against his ribs.

His wife. His love. His anniversary.

And he had let it pass him by like it was just another day.

How the fuck is he supposed to fix this?

Taehyung squints at Jungkook, waiting for some kind of reaction. When Jungkook stays quiet, his fingers frozen over the keyboard, Taehyung lets out a sharp laugh.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” He leans forward, palms flat on Jungkook’s desk. “You just realized, didn’t you?”

Jungkook inhales deeply through his nose, his jaw tightening. “Hyung, not now.”

“Oh, no. Especially now,” Taehyung shoots back, shaking his head. “Damn, man. Y/N must really love you to put up with this shit.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, his mind already spiraling. He checks the time—late. The entire day is gone. He’s spent hours sitting here, drowning himself in work while you—

Fuck.

He pushes his chair back abruptly, grabbing his phone and shoving it into his pocket. His coat is next, yanked from the back of his chair as he moves on instinct.

“Whoa, whoa.” Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “So now you care?”

Jungkook levels him with a glare, his voice lower, sharper. “Hyung.”

Taehyung lifts his hands in surrender, though his smirk lingers. “Go. Try not to get divorced on your second anniversary.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for another word. He’s already out the door, moving faster than he has all day.

And for the first time today, work is the last thing on his mind.

----

Jungkook’s mind races as he grips the steering wheel, his fingers tightening with every passing second. The city lights blur past, but all he can focus on is the suffocating weight in his chest.

How the fuck did he forget?

His phone vibrates in the passenger seat- probably another work email but for the first time in months, he ignores it. Instead, he swipes through his contacts, pressing the first name that comes to mind.

“Pick up, pick up,” he mutters, jaw clenched as the dial tone rings.

“Yes, Mr.Jeon?”

“Yuna.” His voice is rushed, urgent. “I need you to get me something. Flowers. A gift. Something big—just—fuck, anything.”

A pause. “Sir?”

“Now,” he snaps.

There’s a shuffle on the other end before his assistant hesitantly speaks again. “I…Mr.Jeon, it’s almost 10 p.m. Most places are closed.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. Of course they are. Because he’s too fucking late.

His grip tightens around the wheel. “Just—check. Call whoever. I’ll pay whatever.”

“Understood,” Yuna replies before hanging up.

What the fuck is he even doing?

No expensive gift, no overpriced bouquet, no last-minute grand gesture can erase the fact that he forgot. That he spent an entire day drowning in work while you—his wife, his love, the woman who has stood by him through everything—sat at home, waiting for him to remember.

His hands clench the wheel.

How much had he missed? How much had he ignored?

And the worst part—the part that makes his pulse spike, that has panic clawing at his ribs is the question he doesn’t have an answer to.

What if you’re done waiting?

Jungkook slams his foot down on the gas.

He’s not losing you. He won’t.

----

Jungkook steps into the house, and immediately, something feels off. The air is still. The silence stretches, suffocating, pressing against his chest. Almost all the lights are off, the space eerily empty, like no one has been here for hours.

His throat dries. “Baby?”

No answer.

He frowns, dropping his keys onto the counter with a sharp clink. His feet move quickly, checking the kitchen, the living room, even the hallway leading to the bedroom. nothing.

A weird feeling starts creeping up his spine. His heart beats faster as he strides toward the bedroom door, only to find the bed untouched, the sheets exactly the way he had left them this morning.

You’re not here.

His pulse spikes, a cold sweat forming at the base of his neck. His hands tremble as he yanks his phone out, immediately dialing your number.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three.

Straight to voicemail.

His stomach drops. A shaky breath escapes him as he stares at his screen, the call log mocking him with the lack of response. His fingers tighten around the device, his mind spiraling.

Where are you? At this time of night, alone- where could you have gone?

The walls feel like they’re closing in on him. His lungs strain for air.

Then, another thought claws its way in, violent and unwelcome.

Did you leave?

No. No. His chest tightens, his breath coming faster now. That’s not—that’s not possible. You wouldn’t just leave him. You wouldn’t—

He swallows hard, shaking his head. Don’t go there, Jungkook. Don’t even fucking go there.

But the panic is already curling around his ribs, suffocating, unrelenting.

You’re not here. And right now, that is the worst fucking thing in the world.

Jungkook’s fingers tremble as he redials your number.

Voicemail. Again.

“Fuck.” His breath comes out uneven, panic clawing at his throat. His hands are clammy, his chest tightening with every passing second. Where are you?

His mind is spiraling now, every worst-case scenario flashing through his head. His jaw clenches as he swipes to his contact list calling your friends.

Each time, the same response.

No, I haven’t seen her.

Did you check with—

Wait, what’s going on?

Jungkook grits his teeth, his hand tightening into a fist. His breathing is shallow, his pulse out of control. You weren’t with your friends. You weren’t picking up. You weren’t home.

And he still had no idea where you were.

Jungkook grabs his car keys with shaky hands, his mind racing. He doesn’t know where to go, doesn’t have a plan. All he knows is that he has to find you.

His feet move on instinct, carrying him toward the door. But just as he reaches for the handle, something catches his eye.

A small glint.

His breath stills. His gaze shifts toward the couch, and that’s when he sees it.

Your wedding ring.

Sitting there. Abandoned.

For a moment, everything stops. The pounding in his chest, the rush of his movements—everything.

The air in the room feels heavier, suffocating. His fingers twitch at his sides as he stares at the delicate band, his stomach twisting into something painful.

You never took it off. Never.

Jungkook swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He steps forward, slowly, almost cautiously, like touching it will somehow make this nightmare real.

His hand trembles as he picks it up, the cool metal pressing into his palm..

Jungkook stares at the ring in his palm, his vision blurring as a lump lodges itself in his throat. Tears burn at the corners of his eyes, his chest tightening painfully.

You wouldn’t just leave him like that… would you?

The thought alone knocks the air from his lungs. His grip on the ring tightens as his mind spirals, drowning in questions that only make the ache worse.

Were you thinking about this before today?

How long have you been feeling like this, so alone, so unloved that taking off your ring even crossed your mind?

A sharp breath escapes him, shaky and uneven. His knees buckle, and before he can stop himself, he’s sinking onto the floor, the weight of everything crashing down at once.

The ring feels heavier than it should, pressing into his palm like a cruel reminder of everything he’s neglected, everything he’s taken for granted. He squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling a slow, trembling breath.

He needs to find you. He needs to fix this.

Before it’s too late.

Jungkook exhales shakily, forcing himself to move. His legs feel unsteady, but he pushes through, gripping the wedding ring so tightly it bites into his skin.

Somehow, he manages to stand, his entire body tense with desperation. He stumbles toward the door, his heart pounding, his mind racing with every possibility of where you could be.

But just as his fingers reach for the handle—

The door swings open.

And there you are.

Jungkook freezes, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, everything stills. His panic, his thoughts, his entire world narrowing to the sight of you standing in front of him.

Then, in the blink of an eye, he moves.

He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it nearly knocks the air from your lungs. His grip is desperate, his hands fisting into your clothes, his entire body pressing against yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You stand there, stunned, your own arms hovering slightly, unsure of what just happened.

"…Jungkook?” your voice comes out confused, hesitant.

But he just clings to you, burying his face into your neck, his breath warm and uneven against your skin.

You don’t know what’s going on.

But Jungkook?

He feels like he just got his heart beating again. You feel the way his body trembles against yours, his grip impossibly tight, like he’s holding onto you for dear life.

Then, the sound reaches you. A broken, uneven breath, followed by the unmistakable hitch of a sob.

Your heart clenches. “Kook…” Your voice is soft, laced with worry as you try to pull back, just enough to see his face. But he doesn’t let you. His arms only tighten, his body curling into yours, as if letting go would physically hurt him.

Panic bubbles in your chest, your hands instinctively reaching up to cradle his face, your fingers threading into his hair. “Hey… what happened?” Your voice wavers slightly. “Are you okay? You’re scaring me.”

But Jungkook just shakes his head against your shoulder, another quiet, shaky breath leaving him.

You don’t understand.

But whatever this is, whatever’s breaking him like this—your own heart aches just watching him fall apart. Your concern deepens with every shaky breath that leaves Jungkook. He’s still clinging to you, his body trembling slightly, his face buried against your shoulder like he’s afraid to let go.

You don’t know what’s wrong, but seeing him like this—Jungkook, your Jungkook—completely unraveling, is enough to make panic rise in your chest.

Gently, you pull back, your hands cupping his face. His skin is warm, slightly damp from his tears, and when his glassy eyes finally meet yours, your stomach twists painfully.

“Come inside,” you whisper, your voice softer now, coaxing. “Please.”

He swallows thickly, nodding ever so slightly, but his grip on you doesn’t fully loosen. You guide him inside anyway, one hand wrapped around his wrist as you lead him toward the couch.

He sits down heavily, elbows resting on his knees, fingers threading through his hair as he exhales shakily. His shoulders are still tense, his whole body radiating something raw and unspoken.

You kneel in front of him, reaching for his hands, but he doesn’t lift his head.

Your worry deepens. “Jungkook… please tell me what’s wrong.” Silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. His fingers twitch against his temples, his breath uneven.

“I—” His voice is hoarse, cracking slightly. He swallows hard, gripping his knees. “I thought you left me.”

You blink, his words settling in, but it takes you a moment to fully process them.

He thought you left him?

Your brows furrow slightly as you shake your head. “Jungkook, I was babysitting Hanuel.”

His breath is still uneven, his hands gripping his knees like he’s trying to ground himself. His eyes flick up to meet yours, confused, searching.

“Hana and Seokjin had a date night,” you explain gently. “They asked me to watch him for a few hours.”

Hanuel, your neighbour's son. Jungkook stares at you, his body still tense, like his mind hasn’t caught up yet. You watch as his lips part slightly, his gaze flickering between you and the ring still clutched in his hand.

His fingers tighten around it, his knuckles paling. A beat of silence passes before he swallows thickly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“…Then why was this on the couch?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, fragile and uncertain, as if he’s afraid of the answer. And for the first time tonight, you don’t know what to say.

“I…” The word barely escapes your lips before you stand up, turning away from him. You can’t meet his eyes, not when your emotions are still raw, not when the weight of everything is pressing so heavily on your chest.

Jungkook notices immediately. Panic flickers across his face, and in an instant, he’s scrambling up after you. “Wait—baby, please.” His voice is desperate now, thick with emotion, his hands reaching out like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, stepping closer, his tone cracking under the weight of his own guilt. “I—fuck, I forgot—I don’t know how, I don’t even have an excuse, but—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head, his eyes glassy as they plead with yours.

“I never meant to make you feel like this,” he whispers. “I swear, I didn’t.” But you still don’t look at him. And that alone is enough to make his heart sink.

You swallow hard, your arms wrapping around yourself as you stare at the floor. His words, his desperation, his guilt—they all swirl around you, but they don’t erase the ache in your chest.

“Do you even realize how much this hurt?” Your voice is quiet, but the weight of it makes Jungkook flinch. “I spent the entire day thinking—hoping—that maybe you had something planned. That maybe you were just pretending to forget.”

Jungkook’s throat bobs as he steps closer, hesitating before reaching for your hand. You don’t pull away, but you don’t hold onto him either.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know I fucked up, baby. I—I was so caught up in work, I just…” He trails off, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “That’s not an excuse. Nothing is. I should’ve remembered. I should’ve been there.”

You let out a hollow laugh, finally lifting your gaze to meet his. “Jungkook… this isn’t just about today.”

His brows furrow, but he doesn’t interrupt.

You take a shaky breath. “It’s been weeks..maybe even longer—since I felt like your wife instead of just… someone waiting for you to come home.” Your voice wavers, but you push through. “And it’s not that I don’t understand. I do. I’ve always understood. But at what point do I stop being understanding and start being invisible to you?”

Jungkook’s breath catches, his grip on your hand tightening like he’s afraid to let go. “You’re not invisible,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “You never could be.”

“Then why do I feel like I am?”

Silence.

Jungkook shakes his head, his jaw clenching as he exhales unsteadily. “I never wanted to make you feel this way,” he murmurs. “You are everything to me, baby. Everything. I don’t even know who I am without you.”

Your eyes sting, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. “Then show me, Jungkook. Because I can’t keep being the only one fighting for us.” The vulnerability in your voice nearly breaks him.

He’s been losing you, piece by piece, for a while now. And he hadn’t even noticed.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop, the weight of your words hitting harder than any argument, any fight you could have thrown at him. His grip on your hand tightens, but you don’t squeeze back.

He’s losing you.

And it’s not because of one forgotten anniversary—it’s because he hasn’t been here.

He swallows hard. “Baby…” His voice cracks, his free hand reaching up to cup your cheek, but you step back before he can touch you.

The distance, however small, is enough to make his chest ache.

“Tell me, Jungkook,” you whisper, your voice barely holding together. “When was the last time we sat down and had breakfast together? When was the last time you really looked at me—not just kissed me on the forehead before rushing out the door?” You shake your head, a bitter chuckle escaping. “When was the last time we made love without it feeling like you were trying to release your stress instead of loving me?”

Jungkook’s breath hitches.

You let out a slow exhale, your voice calmer now but even heavier with hurt. “I don’t need grand gestures. I don’t need fancy gifts or a picture-perfect romance. I just… needed you to see me.”

His entire body feels cold. Because the truth is—he doesn’t have an answer.

He’s been so caught up in his responsibilities, his work, his stress, that he’s let the one person who has always been there for him slip through his fingers.

And the worst part? He didn’t even realize it was happening until now.

“Fuck.” His voice is raw, his hands running through his hair as he looks at you, really looks at you. At the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your lips tremble slightly like you’re holding back everything.

His heart clenches painfully. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you hold his gaze for a long moment before whispering, “I don’t know, Jungkook. Did you?”

Jungkook's breath is unsteady, his chest rising and falling too quickly as he stares at you, at the distance between you, the weight of your words suffocating him.

He moves. Before you can react, his hands are cupping your face, his touch desperate, almost shaky. His forehead presses against yours as he exhales a trembling breath, like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“I see you,” he whispers, his voice raw, strained. “I swear to god, I see you, baby. I just..I lost myself somewhere along the way, and I didn’t even realize I was dragging us down with me.”

His thumbs brush over your cheekbones, a silent plea laced in his touch. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.”

Your heart clenches, but you don’t push him away. You should- you should make him sit with this, make him feel what it’s been like for you all this time. But then his grip tightens, his voice breaking.

“Please, baby.” His lips hover just above yours, not quite touching, his breath warm against your skin. “Tell me it’s not too late.”

His vulnerability shakes you to your core.

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to steady yourself. “I don’t want to lose us either, Jungkook,” you whisper. “But I can’t keep being the only one holding on.”

Jungkook shakes his head instantly. “You’re not. You won’t be.” His lips ghost over your forehead before he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “Let me prove it to you. Please.”

His desperation is tangible, seeping into every word, every touch. And for the first time tonight, you wonder if maybe, just maybe—he really does see you now.

Jungkook watches you, searching for something—anything in your eyes that tells him he hasn’t completely lost you.

Before doubt can settle in, he takes your hand, pressing it over his chest, right where his heart is hammering wildly. “Feel that?” he whispers. “That’s what you do to me, baby. Always.”

Your fingers twitch against his shirt, but you don’t pull away. You don’t move at all, just staring up at him, your expression unreadable.

He swallows hard. “I know I don’t say it enough. I know I don’t show it enough, but fuck, Y/n—” His hands tighten around yours, his voice barely above a breath. “There is nothing in this world that matters more to me than you.”

You let out a slow exhale, your gaze flickering, like you want to believe him. like a part of you does, but the hurt is still too fresh. So he gives you more.

“I’ll fix this,” he promises, his thumb brushing soft circles over your wrist. “Not with flowers, or gifts, or some last-minute bullshit—but with me. With us.”

His voice drops lower, thick with emotion. “Just tell me it’s not too late.” Your lips part slightly, but you don’t speak. Instead, you finally—finally press your palm flat against his chest, feeling the way his heart beats erratically beneath your touch.

It’s enough to break something inside Jungkook. His grip tightens as he leans in, his lips brushing against your temple, then your cheek—slow, hesitant, as if he’s still afraid you’ll slip away.

And when you don’t, when you let him, he exhales a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours once more.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Like if he says it enough, he can make up for all the times he didn’t. And maybe, just maybe—you’ll believe him again.

Jungkook’s breath is warm against your skin, his forehead still pressed against yours, his grip on you unwavering. His words linger in the air between you. raw, desperate, filled with a love that had always been there, even when he’d failed to show it.

You swallow hard, blinking against the tears clouding your vision. He’s waiting—watching you so intently, so hopelessly, as if your next words will either put him back together or completely shatter him.

You take a shaky breath. “Jungkook…” Your voice wavers, and his grip tightens instinctively. “I love you too.”

A sharp exhale leaves him, his entire body sinking slightly in relief. But before he can say anything, you continue. “But this hurt,” you whisper. “More than you realize.”

Jungkook stiffens, nodding quickly, his hands cupping your face again, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slip down your cheeks. “I know, baby. I know. And I hate myself for it.” His voice cracks, his jaw clenching before he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a second, exhaling slowly. “I don’t want promises, Jungkook,” you murmur. “I just… I need to feel like I matter to you again.”

His hands tremble slightly as they slide down, wrapping around yours. He lifts them to his lips, pressing gentle, reverent kisses to each of your knuckles, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

“You do,” he whispers. “More than anything. And I’m going to spend every damn day proving that to you.” His voice is steady now. no hesitation, no doubt. Just quiet, determined love. And though the ache in your chest hasn’t fully faded, something shifts.

Because this time, you don’t just hear him. You believe him. Even if just a little.

Jungkook presses another lingering kiss against your knuckles, his touch reverent, as if grounding himself in you. But before he can lose himself completely, you gently murmur, “Have you eaten?”

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He shakes his head, gaze still searching yours. “No… I—"

“Go freshen up,” you say softly, stepping back just a little. “We’ll eat together.”

His fingers twitch against yours, hesitating to let go, but eventually, he nods. With one last glance—like he’s making sure you’re really here, he pulls away and heads toward the shower.

While he’s gone, you move to the kitchen, setting out dinner in quiet contemplation. The ache in your chest hasn’t completely faded, but there’s something else now- a warmth that wasn’t there before.

----

By the time Jungkook emerges, hair damp, dressed in a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants, you’ve already placed the food on the table.

He hesitates for only a second before joining you, sliding into his chair. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice softer now.

You nod, offering a small smile as you take a seat. The conversation is light, effortless. Jungkook fills the silence, stealing glances at you like he’s still memorizing you all over again. And through it all, his hand never leaves yours, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

After dinner, he helps with the dishes, working beside you in quiet understanding. The air between you feels lighter, yet still fragile, like something delicate being pieced back together.

Jungkook sets the last dish onto the drying rack, wiping his hands on the towel before turning to you. There’s a soft, almost hopeful look in his eyes, like he’s clinging to this moment.

You step away, hesitating for just a second before opening the refrigerator. Jungkook watches in silence as you carefully pull out the cake, placing on the counter, your fingers grazing the edges of the plate, before finally speaking.

“I…I’d made this.”

The words are quiet, but they hit harder than any raised voice ever could. Jungkook’s entire body stiffening as guilt crashes into him all over again. His eyes flicker to the cake- to the careful details, the effort, the thought you had put into it, for him. And suddenly, it feels like the walls are caving in.

His throat tightens. His fingers curl at his sides. He can’t look at you. He doesn’t deserve to. Tears gather in his eyes, blurring his vision, his heart breaking all over again, not just because he forgot today, but because he had broken you in so many ways without even realizing it.

And that? That’s something he doesn’t know how to forgive himself for.

“Jungkook..”, your voice barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the heavy silence like a knife.

He wants to look at you, wants to say something—anything, but he can’t. His head remains bowed, his hands gripping the edge of the counter, as if holding himself together takes everything in him.

You take a small step forward, the space between you feeling larger than it actually is. His silence is deafening.

“Jungkook,” you say again, a little firmer this time.

His lips part, a shaky breath slipping through, but no words come out. He wants to speak, to apologize again, to tell you how much he loves you, to somehow fix this- but his throat feels tight, his chest heavy.

He doesn’t know if words are enough.

“I… I’m so fucking sorry, baby,” Jungkook chokes out, his voice trembling as he finally speaks. His hands shake at his sides, his eyes still glassy with unshed tears. “I’ve been an asshole—a terrible husband. I don’t even know how to make this right.” His breath stutters, his words spilling out faster now, raw and desperate.

“I wouldn’t even be surprised if you left me,” he continues, shaking his head. “You should’ve. You deserve better. I—I can’t believe I—”

“Jungkook.”

You don’t let him finish.

Instead, you reach up, cupping his face with both hands, your thumbs brushing away the tears that have already begun to fall. His lips part in surprise, his rambling cut off as you rise onto your toes.

A gentle kiss on his lips.

Soft. Loving.

Tear-streaked and real.

Jungkook exhales shakily against your lips, his whole body melting into yours. His hands find your waist, holding onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

The kiss is slow, there's no desperation, no urgency. Just you and him, emotions bare. Tears continue to slip down your cheeks, mixing with his, salty and warm, but neither of you pull away. Because in this moment, there’s no need for words.

Just this.

Just love.

When you finally pull away, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing heavily, your tears still wet against each other’s skin. Jungkook’s grip on your waist is firm, like he’s grounding himself in your touch, afraid to let go. His lips part, like he wants to speak, but before he can, you whisper,

“You’re not a terrible husband, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s eyes glisten with more unshed tears, his lips pressing into a thin line, unable to speak. You wipe his tears away with your thumbs, offering him the smallest smile. “Just… love me better, okay?”

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, nodding again, more determined this time. “I will.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you believe him.

You press one last gentle kiss to his cheek before stepping back, glancing at the cake still sitting on the counter. “Come on,” you say, nudging him lightly. “Let’s cut this before it melts.”

Jungkook lets out a breathy chuckle, wiping at his face as he nods. He steps beside you, his hand instinctively finding yours again as you both move toward the small cake. The two of you cut into it together, Jungkook’s fingers lacing through yours around the knife handle. He doesn’t let go, even as you both take small bites in comfortable silence.

Once the plates are cleared, you tug at his wrist, nodding toward the bedroom. “Come to bed?”

Jungkook exhales, relief washing over his features as he nods. “Yeah.”

A few minutes later, you’re both under the covers, warmth surrounding you as Jungkook pulls you against his chest. His arms wrap tightly around you, his breath fanning against the top of your head as he whispers,

“I love you.”

This time, you don’t hesitate to say it back.

“I love you too, Jungkook.”

And for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep in his arms, where you’ve always belonged.

Jungkook’s fingers still tremble against your skin. Even as he holds you, his grip is laced with hesitance, a silent fear lingering beneath the warmth of his touch. It’s in the way his hands press into your back yet remain careful, as if he’s afraid of holding on too tightly.

You can feel the erratic thud of his heart beneath your palm, his breaths uneven, his chest rising and falling as if he’s struggling to keep himself steady.

And something about that, about him—makes your own heart ache.

Slowly, you lift your head from his chest, your eyes locking onto his in the dim glow of the room. His lips part slightly, his gaze unreadable, but the moment you lean in, his breath catches.

You kiss him.

It starts soft, so gentle, full of longing. Filled with everything you can’t put into words.

Jungkook melts into it instantly, his grip on you tightening, pulling you impossibly closer. The warmth of his lips, the slight hitch in his breath when you press harder. It sends a familiar heat curling through you.

The kiss deepens, your fingers gripping his t-shirt with urgency, needing to feel more. It’s desperate, heady, the space between you charged with something deeper than just want—something raw, something that had been missing for too long.

Jungkook pulls back gently. His forehead stays pressed against yours, both of you panting softly, but his hands shake slightly as they hold you in place.

His lips part, his breath uneven. “I… we shouldn’t…” He swallows hard, voice thick with hesitation. “I mean… I don’t want you to think I’m gonna fix this with sex.”

His words cut through the haze of warmth between you, grounding you both back in reality. You understand. Because even now—even now, he’s afraid. Afraid that this isn’t enough. Afraid that he isn’t enough.

Your eyes soften as you take in his hesitance, the uncertainty in his gaze, the way his breath trembles against your skin.

You reach up, your fingers threading gently through his hair. “I’m never gonna think like that, Kook,” you murmur, your voice quiet but sure.

His lips part slightly, his brows still knitted in concern, but before he can say anything, you lean in again. This time, the kiss is softer, filled with nothing but love.

You linger for a moment, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “I just… I need you.” Another soft kiss. “Please.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, his entire body shuddering under the weight of your words.

And just like that, whatever hesitation he had left—it’s gone.

Your breaths grow uneven as your lips move against his, the heat between you intensifying with every passing second.

Jungkook shifts, his body hovering over yours, his weight pressing down just enough to make you feel him. His hands slip beneath the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing, his touch still hesitant, fingertips ghosting over your waist like he’s memorizing the feel of you all over again.

But you don’t want hesitation.

You tug at his shirt, a silent plea, and Jungkook obeys without question, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Before he can think, you pull him back in, capturing his lips in another deep, hungry kiss.

A quiet groan escapes him, his hands finally exploring freely, pressing against your skin, feeling the warmth beneath his palms. His lips leave yours only to trail down your neck, his breath warm as he presses soft, lingering kisses there.

You shiver when he reaches the collar of your shirt, your own hands moving to help him remove it. Dark, love-filled eyes roam over every inch of your skin, his lips parting slightly, as if he’s trying to find the words but nothing he could say would ever be enough. Still, he tries.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “So fucking perfect.”

Your breath catches when he lowers himself again, his lips planting soft, reverent kisses along your collarbone, trailing lower over your shoulder, your chest. Your husband's mouth mapping you like you’re something sacred.

His lips slowly wrap around one breast, his tongue flicking teasingly before sucking softly. A moan escapes you, your fingers tangling into his hair, tugging lightly as he hums against your skin. His other hand moves to your neglected breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak as he keeps mouthing sweet nothings against you.

“You’re everything,” he whispers between kisses, his voice muffled against your skin. “I love you so much, baby.”

And as the heat between you builds, his touch grows bolder. A desperate whimper escapes your lips as your fingers tangle deeper into Jungkook’s hair, your body arching toward him, silently pleading for more.

He groans against your skin, the sound low and warm, vibrating through you. “Patience, baby,” he murmurs, pressing another lingering kiss to your chest before trailing lower, his lips tracing the curves of your body. “Let me take my time… let me make love to you.”

The way he says it, love—makes your stomach tighten, your heart aching as much as your body craves him. His hands glide down your waist, slow and purposeful, before slipping between your legs. His fingers find the damp fabric of your panties, pressing just lightly enough to make you gasp. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing his touch, and Jungkook groans at the feeling.

His dark eyes meet yours, silently asking for permission. You nod, unable to form words, and that’s all he needs.

Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he tugs your panties down, dragging them slowly along your legs before discarding them somewhere behind him. His gaze never leaves you as he lowers himself further, trailing kisses down your stomach, over the sensitive skin of your hips.

He settles between your legs. You feel completely bare under his intense gaze, the way his lips part slightly, his eyes darkening as he drinks you in.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice filled with something reverent, something devoted. His hands spread your thighs wider, his thumbs brushing along your skin in slow, soothing circles.

“My wife.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, making your core clench in anticipation.

Finally, he closes his mouth around you. One long, slow stroke of his tongue, and you fall apart instantly, a breathless moan slipping from your lips as your head tilts back against the pillows.

Jungkook hums against you, pleased, his hands gripping your thighs as he licks another slow, teasing stripe through your folds. “So fucking sweet,” he groans, the heat of his breath against your slick skin making your body tremble. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

He isn't just making love, he's devouring you.

Jungkook hums against you, the vibration sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open as his tongue moves with slow, deliberate strokes. learning you all over again, savoring every little gasp and shudder that escapes you.

“Jungkook—” Your voice is breathless, almost pleading, your fingers tightening in his hair, tugging him closer.

He groans at that, the sound reverberating through your core as he laps at you with more purpose. His tongue flicks over your clit, teasing, testing, before he sucks gently, making your back arch off the bed.

“Fuck—” You whimper, your thighs threatening to close around his head, but his strong hands keep you spread wide, completely at his mercy.

His lips brushing your sensitive skin as he pulls back just enough to look up at you. His lips are slick, his dark eyes burning with desire.

Your cheeks burn, he dives back in, this time with more urgency. His tongue moves in tight circles, alternating between slow, teasing strokes and deeper, firmer licks that have your breath hitching.

One hand slides up your stomach, fingers splaying across your skin before reaching your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingers. The combined sensation makes your thighs tremble, a moan tearing from your lips as your hips buck against his mouth.

Jungkook groans, clearly enjoying how responsive you are, his grip on you tightening as he eats you out like it’s his last meal. He flicks his tongue over your clit again, then sucks, harder this time, sending sparks shooting through your body.

“-fuck, Jungkook—” Your head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure builds, coiling tight in your stomach.

He pulls back just enough to murmur against you, “You gonna cum for me, baby?”

The heat inside you is unbearable now, hot and consuming. You nod desperately, your moans spilling freely as you grip his hair, your body teetering on the edge. Jungkook doesn’t stop. He pushes you closer, his mouth working you over with expert precision, his hands holding you steady as your body starts to tremble.

“Come for me, baby,” he whispers against your heat. “Let me taste you.”

And with one final flick of his tongue, you shatter. Pleasure crashes over you, your back arching, thighs trembling as you moan his name like a prayer. Jungkook groans, drinking in everything you give him, his hands stroking your body as he helps you ride it out.

Only when your body goes slack does he finally pull away, pressing soft kisses against your inner thighs, his voice thick with pride and adoration. “You’re so perfect,” he breathes between kisses, his voice thick with adoration. “My love. My wife.”

Jungkook moves up, trailing kisses along your body, over your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone. When he reaches your lips, he captures them in a deep, languid kiss, his hands cradling your face like you’re something fragile, something cherished.

Your fingers roam over his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles before moving lower, brushing over his abdomen until you reach the hardness straining against his sweats.

A groan rumbles from his chest at your touch, his hips twitching into your palm as you cup him, feeling just how ready he is.

“Baby…” he breathes against your lips, voice thick with want. You tug at the waistband of his pants, wordlessly asking for more. Jungkook obliges, sitting back just enough to push them down, kicking them off entirely.

He’s fully hard, the sight of him making your stomach tighten, heat pooling between your legs again. But before you can even reach for him Jungkook takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The intimacy of it overwhelming.

His other hand moves between your bodies, guiding himself to your entrance, his eyes locked on yours, searching, making sure-

With a final nod from you, he pushes in, slow and careful, stretching you inch by inch.

A soft moan escapes your lips, but Jungkook kisses you instantly, swallowing the sound, his own groan muffled against your mouth as he sinks deeper. The moment he’s fully inside, he stills, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing you in. And as he holds you close, as your bodies mold together so seamlessly, you realize- this isn't just sex.

This is home.

Jungkook moves slowly, each roll of his hips deep and deliberate, as if he’s trying to make up for every moment he let slip away. His body is pressed flush against yours, warmth seeping into every inch of your skin, his breath shaky against your lips as he kisses you between each movement.

Your fingers dig softly into his back, nails pressing just enough to ground yourself in the overwhelming sensation of him. One hand moves to his hair, your fingers threading through the strands, tugging gently as his lips travel from your mouth to your jaw, down your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses that make your heart ache.

It’s slow, it’s deep, it’s love.

And then, suddenly, you feel it.

A faint tremble against your body.

Something warm and wet against your neck where Jungkook has buried his face.

Your breath catches as realization dawns- he’s crying. Tears gather in your own eyes without warning, the sheer weight of the moment crashing over you all at once.

You tighten your hold on him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you press a soft kiss into his hair. “Kook…” you whisper, your voice barely holding steady.

He shudders at your touch, at the way you hold him, like you’re not just letting him fall apart but falling apart with him.

“I—” His voice cracks as he exhales shakily, his thrusts faltering for a moment. “I’m so sorry, baby.” His lips find your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he presses kisses there—apology after apology, praise after praise.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs between kisses, his words thick with emotion. “You always have been.” A tear slips down your cheek as you cup his face, guiding him up until his forehead rests against yours.

“I know,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I know, Jungkook.”

His lips crash against yours again, the kiss slow and deep, his movements resuming, gentle but full of something raw, something unspoken. His hands grip your waist tighter, his body moving in perfect sync with yours, as if this moment is rewriting everything.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, voice laced with love. “I’ll always have you.”

Jungkook shudders, gripping you tighter, his lips pressing against your shoulder, his movements slowing but never stopping. You can feel the love in every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath against your skin.

And when the pleasure builds to its peak, you come undone together, your bodies melting into one as waves of warmth crash over you. His name spills from your lips, his deep groan following right after, his arms holding you so tight you swear he never plans on letting go.

Silence lingers, only the sound of heavy breathing filling the space. Then, Jungkook shifts, lifting his head just enough to press the softest kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse but full of devotion. “I don’t deserve you… but I swear, I’ll spend my life proving that I do.”

You cup his face, your thumb brushing away the remnants of dried tears. “Just love me like this, Jungkook,” you whisper, voice steady. “That’s all I need.”

His hands tightening around you as his forehead presses against yours. “I’ll love you more,” he vows, his voice breaking slightly. “More than this, more than anything. Always.” His words settle deep in your chest, warm and real, and when he pulls you impossibly closer, tucking you into his arms, you believe him.

His heartbeat is steady now, no longer frantic with fear. Just warm, solid, home.

As sleep begins to pull you under, you hear him whisper one last thing against your hair.

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

---------------------------------------------------

[aellesira]

彡 gifts from you mean the whole world to me!

pairings, aether, albedo, alhaitham, cyno, diluc, gaming, kazuha, kaveh, kinich sethos, tighnari, venti, xiao, zhongli x reader. (separate)

ᯓ ᯓ' summary, what they get you on your birthday and why + how you react to it! and the silent message each gift passes. [ 1.7k word count. ] content, birthday gifts from our favourites, most are based off their voice lines, sorry for repeats or any ooc, fluff, mostly not established relationship, pining. happy birthday to me!

Yawning, you slumped down onto your bed after the day you had. Looking at the giant pile on the opposite corner of your room, memories of today and this week stirred in your mind, reminding you of everything you’d done today. All the gifts you were given by your lovely friends…

AETHER.

The Traveler, your partner in crime. 

These days you don’t get to see him because of how immensely busy he is off in other nations; he has long since passed from your own region of Teyvat.

But Aether has his own list of his favourite people, and you are one of those lucky few he loves dearly. So of course, his present is here too!

A picture of you two. You looked lovely in it, Aether was the one taking the picture, so it was more like a selfie, with Aether wrapping an arm around your shoulder. Paimon was flying in the background as well — you would be able to notice her if you squinted.

The Traveler and Paimon keep a lot of pictures, ones they take of you as well. This is one present you hold very, very dear.

ALBEDO.

He asked to sketch you, most definitely. 

And quite the lovely sketch he made, as lovely as the person it was of, you remembered a conversation the day before. He had asked if you would like to be his live model, or if he could take a picture of you. 

Nevertheless, the completed sketch was what was in that scroll. Carefully opening the ribbon, you were pleasantly surprised.

Framing it was obvious. Could you let such a thoughtful gift sit in your drawer somewhere in its beauty? I feel like Albedo would also want to see your reaction to his gift to judge if it was too little for something like your birthday, but he could tell you liked it.

ALHAITHAM.

Wouldn’t think too much of your birthday.

He doesn’t think it’s worth all the enthusiasm it gets, and that goes for his own and others’ birthdays.

Maybe he would do a favour for you just because it seemed like the right thing to do, even when he doesn’t bother with gifts on birthdays.

Although if you were his special someone, he might try to get you something you said you wanted a few weeks prior to your birthday, although for friends he draws the line.

CYNO.

I don’t think he’d know what you like specifically or what qualifies as a ‘good’ birthday present. Either he’d forget or he’d give you some new limited-edition expensive TCG card.

You don’t even play that often?

Nevertheless, it’s a sweet gift from Cyno, even if he wasn’t sure what you’d like as a gift.

Was half-considering offering to walk around the desert as like… a date (if he had a minor crush on you)? But he didn’t have time, didn’t know if you had time, and there is nothing romantic about roaming in the sand with beetles being the most interesting thing there — Tighnari told him that — so he relented.

DILUC.

Depends on how close the two of you are, but if you were someone he cares about, he would first get you a card.

Nothing too heartfelt; it was a rather fancy-looking card adorned with a simple happy birthday message from him, but it was really nothing much. Only for formalities, although you wished he would bring down the walls he let up for so long, at least with you, so as to make him less formal with you.

Maybe would buy you some expensive item from the shops, he doesn’t mind much, not with you.

GAMING.

Only a memory, because his gift wasn’t in your room.

 Oh! Your birthday is coming up? Just kidding, he’s been planning his gift for you for a few weeks now. He loves his friends, and that includes you, naturally!

Of course, it’s not Gaming it he doesn’t book you a private Wushou dance performance, just for your birthday. You’re always so busy, so you have to make sure you come to this one; it’s special.

You also knew he would make a reservation at Xinyue Kiosk, and damn, you can’t eat that much. Soups, curries, dim sum, rice, and so many other foods you couldn’t name…

All the same, you were really happy with his gift, touched by his kindness.

KAEDEHARA KAZUHA.

Definitely spent a few nights in his spare time trying to come up with a haiku for you.

As much as he has a habit of bringing on his flowery words of praise for you, your good qualities, and little things about you that only he notes, writing a haiku for you became something that he found rather difficult.

It wasn’t that there wasn’t anything to say about you, but could he write about you in a way that would capture your image anywhere close to perfect?

He thought not. As he put it, no word in our language could come close to describing you, and even though he had so much to say, he had only a little to write.

He gave it to you after your party, which of course, he had time to attend. Promising to read it once you come home, here you are. 

Swooning and struggling to hold your giggles, although nobody would hear you anyway. You told yourself he did this for all his close friends, but perhaps Kazuha tried to hide his true feelings for you in that poem, ones you shared too.

KAVEH.

Let’s be real; he doesn’t have enough money right now to spend on you.

But I feel like he would try to just barely hold on to enough to get you something he remembered you said you liked. 

Kaveh is an emotional person. Not in the sense that his feelings are out of control, or that he is too dramatic, but Kaveh truly cares for people. You of all people, anyone would note. 

Knowing that, the little trinket, bracelet, or small thing that Kaveh was able to give you meant more than any expensive gift anyone else could give you, even if he didn’t know that himself.

Maybe, one day you would have the courage to tell each other how you feel, but until then, he is happy with your shy little smiles and giggles whenever you get to see him.

KINICH.

Also wouldn’t know what to give you.

He frees up his schedule to spend some time with you, and that time is spent exploring Natlan for fun. And it is fun! Whenever you had to cross a pit of lava or a deep valley, he’d hold onto your waist and grapple through the sky.

At first it was pretty scary, but you knew Kinich knew what he was doing. The close proximity to someone you trusted also helped, although it flustered you a little.

Not a physical gift, but his presence was more than you could have asked for.

SETHOS.

He could give you anything, anything you wanted, and yet, it still wouldn’t feel like something attributed to him. Sure, you could spend time with one another, but he’d made that a habit a long time ago, of seeking you out constantly, so he ruled that out.

Totally not based on his voiceline — gives you a desert dweller hairstyle!

And it looks very cute, braids and all, you keep it for the whole day, especially with that pretty flower in your hair you don’t quite remember Sethos putting on…

TIGHNARI.

Speaking of flowers, Tighnari gets you a potted plant. Whichever Sumeru flower you loved, whether that be a Sumeru Rose, Kalpalata Lotus, Padisarah, a Nilotpala Lotus, it was one of them for sure.

It was there right now, right by your windowsill. If you looked hard enough it had already started to bloom under your care.

Tighnari comes around a few times after that, whenever he has time, and it is truly such a sweet thing, to see his gift bloom into such a beautiful flower as the day passes.

You love taking care of it, and make it a habit to water it every morning.

VENTI.

Was going to get you something, maybe, maybe not… you didn’t know. But alas, he eventually forgot it was your birthday and spent his evening at the tavern, like he usually does.

He didn’t quite expect you to go there too… had you been seeking him out? Then he remembered the poem he created a few days back. Stopping his incoherent rambles and songs although people were still tipping him for them, he sang.

It was about you, but did you know? Probably not. Still, it was quite a lovely song, about someone he cherished, a friend he wished to keep forever by his side. A lovely song.

You decided not to bother him while he performed, wondering who was this special person he sings for. You hum this tune in your room right now, wondering.

XIAO.

A memory. Also another that doesn’t care for mortal traditions, such as birthdays — he doesn’t understand it.

But it’s you, so… maybe he could give you something. An amulet. He created an adepti amulet for you, one you wore right now. After all, the one thing he wants for you above all else is your safety.

Even if he feels he can’t show you his care, he’ll do it however he can.

ZHONGLI.

Asks to spend time with you, if you would allow it. He takes you to a market with many fine brocades, gems, and jewelry to buy.

Of course, he knows what you’d like best, and what is best, so…

You end up having a lovely collection of trinkets, bought by him, although you insisted repeatedly not to dote on you so much.

The two of you have dinner, watch some stories and plays, all to end it with a final goodbye after the lovely day you had with Zhongli giving you a Glaze Lily. You as you were now, smiling and blushing at the flower in your hair, greatly remind him of someone dear.

[dpr-moni]

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (afab)

Genre: a little pwp but a little established something, friends-to-lovers

Summary: Namjoon accidentally sends a text intended for you to your roommate.

Word count: 3.2k

Content: sexting, shower sex, oral (f receiving)

A/N: for @rpwprpwprpwprw for asking if i have more namjoon (and making me realise that, outside of A Fine Line, I have precious little 😭) this is a repost that has been a little edited and re-titled

Coming Clean

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god,” Yeji repeated over and over as she barged into your room and sat herself on your bed. “Why is Namjoon texting me this?!” 

She thrust her phone into your face and you tried to control your expression as you read. 

Namjoon: I think I'm going to need a cold shower...  

Namjoon: unless you want to join me... 

Ok, you thought, could be worse. Wasn't that bad at all, really. Maybe. A bit suggestive, certainly random, but he had some plausible deniability-- 

Unfortunately, the text was only part of it. Yeji scrolled and your jaw dropped as your eyes lit on a photo that left almost nothing to the imagination. He wasn’t fully naked, but as near as dammit. You could’ve seen his erection from space. The colour drained from your face. You spluttered, choked, didn’t know what to say. And then another message came through. 

Namjoon: FUCK 

And in a second, both previous bubbles disappeared, replaced by ‘This message was deleted’. 

Namjoon: I know you saw that... I can see you read them... 

Namjoon: I’m SO sorry 

Namjoon: Obviously they weren’t meant for you, Yeji 

Namjoon: PLEASE forget you ever saw them 

Namjoon: PLEASE 

Namjoon: PLEASE PLEASE 

Namjoon: I’m so so so so sorry 

“Wow,” was all you could choke out.  

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Yeji screamed, so close to you that you thought your eardrum might burst. “WHO IS HE SEXTING?!” 

The answer was you. Or rather, he was supposed to be sexting you and not Yeji. He had been sexting you recently. Doing a lot more than that, too. You just hadn’t told anyone yet.  

It was an accident, really. Neither of you meant it to happen. It just did. There was nothing ground-breaking about it. Same old story: you drink too much and get a little handsy with each other because you’ve secretly kind of always liked each other; then you get more than a little handsy and then you do it again and again and, suddenly, it’s A Thing. A thing you decide not to tell everyone else about. Not exactly Austen or Shakespeare but good enough for you. 

You sat on your phone as it began to buzz, hoping to hide its sudden, coincidental flurry of activity. You didn’t need to check it to know that it was Namjoon. You didn’t know why he was calling; you and Yeji lived together: of course she was going to run straight to you with this. Of course you wouldn’t be able to answer.  

“I don’t know,” you answered Yeji. “It might just be some person from an app.”  

She looked at you sharply. 

“Why are you not also screaming?! Did you not SEE what I saw?! Are you MAD?!” 

“I saw it! I saw it! But... I don’t know, he’s a grown man; he can sext who he likes.” 

“Not without telling us! Ugh, the gossip! He’s depriving us! Besides, wow, who knew he was packing like that?”  

You nudged her with a grin, trying to play it cool, frantically kicking your legs underwater to smooth this over. 

“Let the man have a couple of secrets, eh? What's the harm? He’ll tell us when he wants to. And I think he probably doesn’t want you to know he’s packing like that. Doesn’t want me to know either,” you added hastily. “He would probably prefer that neither of us had seen that. You shouldn’t have shown me that! He’ll be embarrassed. Just let him have his secrets and his privacy, at least for today.” 

“But I want him to tell me NOW! I’m going to reply to him. The interrogation is starting. I will keep you updated, if you even care.” 

She was already standing and wandering back out of your bedroom.  

“Sure you don’t want to interrogate him with me?” she asked, though she kept walking, knowing you would refuse. 

“I’m sure; I’ve got some stuff to work on.” 

“Suit yourself. I’ll fill you in later.” 

She shut your door as she left and you whipped out your phone. 

Namjoon: oh god i’ve done something bad 

Namjoon: like really bad 

Namjoon: I was trying to text you—I was supposed to send it to YOU 

Namjoon: I accidentally sent a photo of my dick to Yeji 

Namjoon: she definitely saw it 

Namjoon: I don’t know how I get out of this. What do I say? I can’t tell her it was meant to go to you! 

Namjoon: Help me  

You laughed and pressed dial, hoping Yeji was focused enough on her mission to pay no heed to the sound of your voice in the next room. 

“Hey.” He sounded a little breathless, his breathing a little heavy down the phone. 

“Yeah, so Yeji just left my bedroom actually. She showed me what you sent.” 

Namjoon groaned. 

“I’m sorry.”  

“You don’t have to be sorry; it was just a mistake.” 

“But how do we get out of it?”  

“I don’t know. I told her it might just be someone on an app; you could go with that. Pretend to have a casual thing-” 

“But then if we come out and say we’re... whatever we are, the timeline won’t work-” 

You shrugged, alone in your bedroom.  

“That’s a bridge we can cross when we get to it. We can just say you lied to keep it a secret.”  

“I guess.” 

“Seriously, Namjoon, I think it’ll be fine. Yeji will find something else to obsess about soon enough, by tonight probably.” 

You were trying to convince yourself as much as you were trying to convince him. You were right, Yeji would find something else to be distracted by. It probably wouldn’t erupt all over your friendship group; it probably wouldn’t get out of hand. They probably wouldn’t tease him mercilessly about it until you abruptly shouted up that it was you, thus revealing everything.  

Probably. 

It’d be fine.  

He groaned again. 

“Just such a stupid thing to do. And I’ll tell you this for free: a very effective boner killer, too.” 

You laughed. 

“So you don’t want me to come over and shower with you?” 

“Oh, shit, I didn’t say that. My door is always open to you, you know that.” 

You sighed. 

“I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight so I don’t know if I’ll make it.” 

“Ok.” 

“But keep thinking those thoughts, ok?” 

“Yes, ma’am.”  

“Oh and Namjoon?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Send me the photo?” 

* 

You didn’t know about Namjoon but you did keep thinking those thoughts. They were driving you to distraction. You had barely read more than a page of your report in the last half-hour. You kept unlocking your phone, looking at your message thread with Namjoon, at that photo. At a certain point, it becomes more efficient to do the distracting thing first and then knuckle down. Get it out of your system so you can concentrate afterwards. It was starting to sound like a very appealing course of action. 

You picked up your phone again.  

You: have you showered yet? 

Namjoon: No, why? 

You: Can I come over? 

Namjoon: Do you even have to ask? 

Namjoon: (that means yes) 

Namjoon: please 

Namjoon: come now 

Namjoon: please 

You shut your laptop; Yeji was similarly sequestered in her bedroom so you were able to sneak out without rousing any sort of curiosity. Thank god. 

* 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

“So about this shower.” 

And the door had barely closed behind you before Namjoon was kissing you, pulling you closer, running his hands up your body.  

“You really want to shower?” he asked. His voice was low and gruff, his words mumbled against your neck. 

You laughed. 

“Transparency: I want you to fuck me in the shower.” 

He responded by nipping at your earlobe.  

“You gonna ask nicely?” 

“No.” 

He gave your nipple a tweak and you jerked against him, your hips knocking into his, drawing a quiet moan from his mouth. He grinned at you and kissed you firmly. 

“That’s my girl.”  

Your clothes littered the floor as they were discarded en-route.  

“Why haven’t we done this already?” Namjoon asked as he hoisted you onto the edge of the counter. “Fuck, I’ve been thinking about this so much.” 

“You’re a shower sex guy, huh? Noted.”  

“For you? I’m an anywhere-sex guy.”  

Your words were taken from you, from your mouth to his as he pressed his lips to yours and licked into your mouth. You were hot already, even before the shower began to fill the room with steam. That was the thing about Namjoon; he made you so impatient. The mere thought of him had your heart racing. A kiss was enough to get you wet. To make you hot. To have you scrabbling and scrambling to undress him. To have you gasping and moaning before he’d even touched you.  

When he kissed you, your mind was wiped clean, a blank static fuzz. When he sucked hard bruises into your neck, your chest, you were nothing but animal. No shame, no overthinking, no insecurity, just pleasure buzzing all over your skin, shivering down your spine, coiling in your guts, pooling in your core.  

Namjoon sank to his knees on the hard, tiled floor and kissed your inner thighs. He wrapped his arms around them, pulled you a little closer—you clutched the edge of the counter and his hair for balance—then he licked you, firmly from slit to clit and back again, into every fold and then into your cunt. You weren’t backward about coming forward and, when you had first done this with Namjoon, you had been fully prepared to tell him how to do it, how you liked it. He hadn’t needed the instruction. That first time, he’d had you reeling after a screaming orgasm within a minute.  

You didn’t think you’d last even that long this time. Not with his lips around your clit, his tongue warm and wet against it, the soft pressure as he sucked, the harder pressure as he flicked, the feel of his fingers as he rocked them inside you, insistent and unstoppable. He made a mess of you and, moments later, you made a mess of him, coming over his face, your slick dripping down his hand.  

He pressed sticky kisses onto your stomach, his tongue laved over your stiffened nipples, his lips pressed softly against yours and then harder, then his teeth took your lip and he bit down.  

“So about this shower,” he murmured against your lips, his eyes poring over yours.  

You couldn’t speak, could only nod, and he held you steady as you settled your feet back on the floor, your legs still wobbly.  

The room was hot now, the water hotter. As Namjoon crowded you against the shower screen, you felt breathless, a little suffocated but you didn’t know if that was down to the steam or to Namjoon. He ran his hands all over you as you kissed, your bodies pressed tightly together, his flushed, leaking dick trapped between you.  

Where Namjoon made you impatient, he seemed to have an unlimited supply of patience. He soaped you up, every inch of you, and you realised how intimate this was; it suddenly wasn’t just sex. He was touching your body with a different kind of care and attention now. Sex was imminent but this moment, this moment wasn’t about sex really. He turned you around, gently, running his hands down your back and over your backside, all the way down to your feet and all the way back up. He pressed a kiss to your soapy shoulder and wrapped his arms around your waist. His lips then found the shell of your ear. 

“Baby, you’re fucking beautiful,” he whispered and a spark rushed down your spine.  

You turned your head and kissed him, trying to say with your body what you couldn’t find the words for. And then, 

“Can you fuck me now?” 

Because your heart may have been gripped tight in the fist of your feelings but your cunt was empty, aching, and much louder. 

He grinned, his hands squeezing at your glutes, kneading, then pushing you forward a little, smoothing up your back and along your arms, placing your hands flat on the tiled wall, braced. He held you like that, in suspense, in anticipation, his hands here and there, his lips first on your hip, then the back of your neck, his body distant, then pressed close.  

You begged because you had learnt that he liked it. That he liked it when you sounded a little breathless, a little whiny, your voice catching as you asked him, please, please, to fuck you.  

“Namjoon... Please?” 

You dipped your head, pressing your forehead to the wall, your fingers scratching down the tiles as you continued to clench, your soft, wet walls coming together around nothing. Still.  

“Just one more time, baby. Just ask me one more time.” 

“Please fuck me. Namjoon, ple- ah, fuck—hnn-” 

It was familiar now, the pressure of the stretch as he pushed inside you. You swore quietly again as he bottomed out and dragged backwards, slowly, torturously slowly. He kept a hard grip on your hips, keeping you or him steady or both. The steam swirling around you, the clean, fresh scent of Namjoon’s soap, the water hitting your skin, Namjoon’s lips on your neck as he thrust a little harder now, squeezing past your g-spot, making your legs tremble—it was overwhelming.  

You were transported. No longer just in the shower in Namjoon’s apartment. No longer was this just sordid nor was it mundane. It was you and Namjoon. A thing that had lain dormant in you, something you hadn’t seen coming until it happened and then you couldn’t believe that it hadn’t happened before. This was what you had been looking for. Yes, him fucking you, yes, the way he kissed you and the way he knew which buttons to press, yes, his dick hot and heavy on your tongue, thick and slightly curved and fucking you just right. Yes, all of that but more, too.  

You had not talked about where this was going, what you were to each other, but now you knew and your heart grew three sizes, straining against the vice of your ribcage, thudding heavily against it, making your head dizzy with a rush of blood. 

Namjoon grunted behind you, his breathing becoming laboured. Your name fell off his lips as though it had always lived there. His fingers found their way forward and onto your clit, rubbing in circles that started slow and got faster and faster as you made your way to a second orgasm.  

He wasn’t far behind, his thrusts hard and rhythm faltering before he came with a long drawn-out curse. He pulled you backwards, held you tight against his chest and you were grateful for the support, not sure if you could stand.  

“As good as the fantasy?” you asked, panting, your head tipped sideways and up to look at him. 

He kissed you, deep and slow, making your knees weaker, your hands gripping tight at his arms around your waist.  

“Better. Way better.”  

You twisted and wrapped your arms around his neck. He kissed you again, pushed you backwards, your body meeting the wall. He sucked on your bottom lip, nipping lightly with his teeth, then he opened his mouth and you rolled your tongue with his, still able to taste yourself on him. You traded kisses, still under the persistent patter of water, still hot and wet and soft against the unyielding tile. Namjoon murmured your name against your lips.  

“What should I tell Yeji, huh?” 

“Oh, you’re thinking about Yeji right now? Maybe you did send that text to the right person...” 

Namjoon headbutted you lightly. 

“I’m worried,” he confessed. 

“About what?” 

His eyes were penetrating as he looked at you, trying to see into your mind, know what you were thinking. He did it when he needed reassurance, when he wished he could be more confident about what he had to say. You kissed him, brushed his hair back from his forehead, touched your nose to his.  

“I don’t want to ruin this,” he said, voice still quiet until the rush of the water.  

“How is it ruined?” 

He shrugged, a small twist in his mouth.  

“If people find out...” 

You shrugged back, larger and surer than he. 

"I never minded people knowing. You were the-” 

“No,” he said, pulling back and looking at you quizzically. “What are you talking about? It was you who suggested keeping it a secret.” 

“Not at all! It was you!” 

“No, it wasn’t!” 

“Well, if it was neither of us, then why are we keeping it a secret?!” 

You looked at each other, aghast, bewildered. Then you laughed. You kissed his shoulder and he returned it on your temple.  

“So should we just tell people now?”  

“What exactly do we tell them?”  

“That depends on what you want this to be, I guess,” you answered, acting casual as if your very breath weren’t sparkling in your lungs, making it hard to breathe, making the little shower cubicle airless as the two of you screeched up to a subject you’d been so easily avoiding.  

“What do you want it to be?” 

“I want to be with you. Like, for real. Relationship shit.”  

The sigh of relief that came from Namjoon was so large it was almost comical. He kissed you. Wrapped his arms tight around you and moaned into the kiss. “Thank god. Me, too. Me, too.”  

“So it’s settled then.” 

“Settled.” 

You nodded at each other, once, firmly, and then went back to kissing under the water. 

* 

Later, you sat with Namjoon in his bed, resting between his legs, your back against his chest.  

You: btw, Namjoon meant to send that photo to me 

Yeji: um 

Yeji: WHAT 

You took a photo of the two of you, Namjoon’s topless torso visible, your heads close, your smiles respectively bright and bashful. You sent it to Yeji. 

Yeji: WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

You: yeah it’s kind of a thing 

You: that we’ve been doing 

You: for a bit  

You: probably going to keep doing it some more, tbh 

You: some more or a lot more yk 

When she didn’t reply, you assumed first that she’d had a heart attack. Then that she was busy letting every single person she’d ever met know about the two of you. If you needed news spreading, she was the one to go to.  

“So now everyone knows,” Namjoon said, nuzzling against your neck, dropping light kisses against your skin. 

“Everyone knows,” you replied, tipping your head slightly to give him better access. “Oh, also,” you said, suddenly remembering, “everyone knows about your big dick, too. There’s no way Yeji kept that back.” 

He laughed, hearty and full.  

“I think I’m ok with that, actually.” 

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

can you please do loki x reader new kink exploration?

.⋆｡Playtime｡⋆.

Loki x plus size reader

Sex with Loki isn’t boring but it isn’t exactly spicy either and you’re craving something more

Warnings: breeding kink, ownership kink, smut, mentions of other kinks, fluff, established relationship, rough sex, no real foreplay, implication of the beginning of a d/s dynamic, safe word mentioned WC: 1.4k

6k Follower Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Oh come on! We all saw the way he was when we handcuffed him, Loki is kinky as hell and you cannot tell me that you two just do missionary shit!” Natasha’s words were slurred, courtesy of the half dozen mimosas she had devoured before her meal had actually arrived. 

Heat radiated off your cheeks though it wasn’t from the alcohol. “So what if we do? It’s fun!” You insisted, making Wanda roll her eyes.

“You’ve been together for almost a year and you’re saying that you haven’t even dabbled in tying him up?” You shook your head, “Tying you up?”

“No! Ok, we haven’t done anything,” you lowered your voice and glanced around the bustling restaurant, “kinky per se. But c’mon it took us years to even admit we liked each other and over two months to even get to heavy petting. We just move slowly is all.”

Natasha scoffed. “Yeah right. That man wants to utterly destroy you, he’s just being sweet because you don’t have as much experience as him. He doesn’t want to scare you off. If you want to get properly down and dirty with the man, you have to go to him first.” She said matter-of-factly as she took another swig of what was now just champagne.

You looked to Wanda for backup but she just shrugged. “She’s right. You have to make the first move.”

“But where do I even start?” 

They looked at each other before turning back to you. “Tumblr.”

——————

You wondered if they ever got tired of being right. Pet play, CNC, BDSM, anal, the world was laid out in front of you and all you had to do was to find one (or two) that you really liked and beg your godly boyfriend to indulge you.

Your laptop was propped up on a pillow in front of you, a little notebook beside it that you were using to jot down anything you found even vaguely interesting. The list continued to grow as you scrolled but nothing had jumped out at you as something you desperately had to try. 

“What are you up to my love?” Loki slid onto the bed beside you, his lips immediately finding your cheek. You cringed as a drop of sweat landed on your bare shoulder.

“Just doing some research. How was your workout?” He rolled his eyes and snuggled closer, his body slightly warmer than its usual icy temperature. A slim arm wrapped around your waist, his fingers just barely grazing the swell of your ass. You shifted your hips so that his palm dropped further, now fully cupping your backside. His lips curved upwards against your temple.

“I would much rather have worked out with you, love.” You shivered as his voice dropped and he squeezed your ass. “Especially when you look so delectable in this thin top.” The tip of his nose brushed against the strap of your tank top which you had paired with some thin panties.

“You are insatiable,” You suddenly smirked, turning your head so your lips were barely touching, “my king.” The last syllable had barely passed through your teeth then Loki’s eyes darkened and his lithe body tensed around you. Blunt nails dug into your ass as he held his breath for a moment, before he released it with a growl.

“You’re playing with fire, little one.” Your heart skipped a beat.

“Then it’s a good thing I have you to cool me down.” Your tongue darted out and you quickly licked at his lips before Loki could digest your words.

“Oh you naughty thing.” Your laptop and notebook were shoved to the side as your boyfriend pushed you onto your back, quickly settling himself between your soft thighs, pinning you to the bed. You couldn’t help but internally preen at the god’s wavering composure. “You do not know what you’re asking for.”

Your hands trailed up the length of his back, dragging his tight black shirt up with them. “Oh but I think I do.” The way he loomed over you, the savage look in his eyes, his heaving chest, his weight keeping you down. You knew exactly what you wanted at that moment.

You wrapped your legs around his hips and tugged him against your core, the bulge of his cock knocking against your covered clit. “I want to be owned by you. Entirely.”

“But do you know what that truly means?” His hands creeped down to your hips, grabbing them with greater force than he had ever used on you before. You gasped and arched your back but he quickly pushed you back down. “It means that you’re mine, every single piece of you.” His fingers curled into the top of your panties and tugged them down with a swift roll of his shoulder.

“Loki.” He tsked, his shirt now discarded.

“Your thoughts will be mine. Your body. Your soul. Your pleasure” Your shirt soon followed, discarded on your bedroom floor then his shorts. An evil look creeped onto his face. “I will be your king, your god. You will take no other ever again.”

“Please.” You felt like you could barely breathe, the weight of his words falling heavily on your chest. 

His cock throbbed against your lips, slowly becoming coating in your wetness. “This perfect, tight cunt is mine to do with what I wish.” His hips rocked back, letting his cock drop down to your entrance. Your eyes widened and you clutched at his forearms. 

The thick head pushed against your opening, sending a pleasant burn through your pelvis. “If you wish for me to stop at any time, just say so.” His voice softened just enough to urge you to acknowledge him before you were plunged into his possession. You nodded quickly and raised your hips from the bed as you attempted to suckle him in.

“Mine.” He snarled, and without any warning, buried himself to the hilt, forcing a scream of pleasure from deep inside you. You clutched at the hard muscles of his back, desperate for any way to keep yourself grounded as he pulled out half-way and then slammed back in.

“Fuck, I should’ve done this the moment I met you. Wasted too much time not buried in this cunt, not claiming your womb.” You gasped, your pussy clenching down on his thick cock. Loki’s lip curled up. “Oh you liked that didn’t you? You want me to put you to use.” His hips tilted, hitting that spot inside you that made your mind go fuzzy. 

“To breed you.” Your moans bounced off your bedroom walls, spurring the god to thrust into you even harder. “To show the entire world that you’re fucking mine. You belong to a god, you carry his seed in your belly. Who am I to ever deny you?”

He grabbed your wide hips and leaned back onto his heels. Your eyes rolled back as his tip suddenly slammed against your cervix and his heavy balls slapped against your ass. “I’ll fill you every chance I get, just to make sure it takes and you know that you are mine forever.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, surely drawing blood, but you were too lost in pleasure to even care. Your body drew tight as you found it harder and harder to breathe. “I’ll give you what you want, little one. I’ll give you everything.” 

“Loki!” Your legs locked around his hips, forcing him all the way into your spamming cunt as you finally came. He groaned and dropped his head to the crook of your neck. Shallow thrusts worked you through the powerful orgasm as he raced towards his own.

“All mine.” His teeth sank into your shoulder as an icy chin spread through your stomach. You could feel his cock twitching deep within you even through the fog of ecstasy. 

Loki slumped down onto your chest, finally releasing your hips as he softened inside you. 

“Holy shit.” You giggled breathlessly. “Knew that list was a good idea.” 

As gently as he could, your boyfriend pulled out of you and flopped onto his back, dragging your spent body on top of him. “What list?” He mumbled into your hair in between soft kisses.

“Made a list of kinky stuff I wanna try.”

“Oh? And what else was on that little list of yours?” You propped your chin up on his sternum.

“Knife play?” Loki groaned and tugged you closer.

“Gods what have I gotten myself into?” He laughed.

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[hibiskissess]

Is it Too Much to Ask

*ೃ༄

Malleus Draconia x Reader

“Stay close to me, child of man.” Malleus spoke tenderly, his body unimaginably close to yours.

You could feel his chest rising and falling with each breath, the moonlight illuminating his features like a delicate candlelight.

“I wouldn’t want you getting wet on my account.”

The umbrella overhead loomed over the both of you, ensuring protection from the rain.

━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━

Days prior, while walking between classes, Malleus had mentioned his club and the disappointing lack of members in it.

“Maybe I have just not advertised it enough around the campus. I’ll just have to make more posters.”

Your heart clenched at his words, knowing the real reason why Malleus was the sole member- everyone else was too intimidated by his presence to even dare joining.

“Maybe I could join you next time you go out.” you offered, seeing his face light up in return.

“I would not be opposed to the idea.” He smiled downwards at the ground, obviously pleased. “We have a meeting in two days. Please meet me in the mirror room when the day comes.”

━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━

The days passed and now you were here, standing ever so closely to Malleus.

“Gargoyles are the best when viewed during rainfall. I apologize for only having a single umbrella, Child of man. Pay it no mind.”

Despite his words, that was easier said than done in this situation.

He pointed upwards, his face bright as he smiled at the stone creature. “Do you see that one? While many view them as grotesque, gargoyles are actually positive in many ways. They prevent the erosion of the mortar on the structures they are built on, along with warding off evil spirits from entering. It’s quite fascinating, no?”

The nighttime’s luminescent sky bathed Malleus’ features, his fair skin paralleling that of the moon’s creamy color. Dark, silky strands of hair bordered his face, acting like a frame to an unthinkably beautiful painting.

His ever-present undeniable excitement was infectious, causing you to smile in return. “That actually is pretty interesting,” you admitted “but how do they make the evil stuff go away? Their appearance doesn’t seem like the type of thing that would do that.”

You looked up at the monster, being unable to argue against its scary look. Wouldn’t something more… *angelic* keep away evil? It looked kind of evil itself, if you were being honest.

Malleus responded immediately, continuing his explanation. “Well, that is exactly why their likeliness is presented in such a jarring way. They make malicious entities afraid of entering the establishment they’re guarding.”

You nodded, surprised by his vast knowledge in the subject matter. “You really know your way around this stuff, Malleus. It’s impressive.”

“You flatter me, Child of Man. It is something that has always been dear to me, so I aspire to be knowledgeable on the matter.”

━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━

After a few more minutes of walking around and stopping to remark about a multitude of facts about the gargoyles, the rain began to pour down in an increasingly heavy rate. Only guarded by a single umbrella, the two of you found shelter under an entrance to one of the nearby buildings.

“I apologize again for only possessing one umbrella. I never had the need for multiple, so I did not have more than one.” Malleus apologized again, clearly feeling guilty that the rainfall was postponing your excursion further.

“It’s no problem- we probably would’ve had to stop either way. It’s raining too hard.” you assured him, watching his expression soften only slightly.

“I can at least do this for you.”

You watched as he slid off his raincoat, putting it over your shoulders. While not having a jacket of your own, due to Crowley’s slim budget, you couldn’t help but feel selfish taking his.

“You don’t have to- I’m fine, Malleus, really. I’d rather you be warm.”

Despite your words, you couldn’t deny how nice it felt wearing his raincoat, being insulated to keep in your heat from the cold rain.

“Don’t fret it. I feel better knowing you won’t be sick the next day just because of me.” he smiled, looking out to the grey sky. “If the rain does not clear soon, I will escort you home. It is the least I can do.���

His gaze is firm and direct, clearly telling of his sadness from the sightseeing trip being ended so abruptly.

“Malleus, you know, you can still tell me some facts. I don’t necessarily have to *see* the gargoyles to hear about them.”

Your solution lit up something in his mind, causing him to nod. “I suppose you are right- seeing them is just an added benefit that we cannot posses any further tonight.”

Together, you sat side by side on the stairs of the building, making sure he knew you were listening and attentive while he was talking.

・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・

The night grew longer as Malleus continued to remark on his extensive knowledge about the stone figures, eventually lulling you into a slumber.

While you had not meant to fall asleep, the sight of your head leaning against his shoulder was an endearing sight to say the least.

He picked you up in his arms, the raincoat covering you like a blanket. A flash of green light surrounded the two of you before the Ramshackle dorm appeared in sight.

Carefully opening up the door to let himself inside, he guided himself to your bedroom before placing you down and enveloping you in a warm blanket.

He leaned down, a gentle kiss pressed to your forehead.

“Thank you for treating me tonight with your company, Child of Man. It was something better than anything I could’ve asked for.”

His hand trailed down the side of your face, ever so gently touching it.

“You’re more beautiful than any sculpture I have ever laid my eyes upon.”

Just as suddenly as he had appeared, he vanished with another flash of light, leaving you oblivious and at ease in the comfort of your mattress.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[heart-eyed-love]

Pet Names

Summary | Eddie is getting used to having someone new around getting your attention

Contains | Fem!Reader, Established Relationship, Cursing, Talks of sex, Pet names

Word Count | 1.1k

The sun was peeking through the window, and Eddie could feel your warmth behind him. He had woken up about 15 minutes ago, and he was just lying there, peacefully, as he awaited for you to wake up.

Then a soft mutter of, “Hi, Baby boy…” and he doesn’t think he’s ever snapped his head back faster. You weren’t one to really use pet names, but you’d use the occasional, Ed’s. He on the other hand would call you pet names more times than not, the most frequent being - babe. There were even times when he saw you cringe at a specific name and he would note them in the back of his head, making sure to reuse them again just to tease you.

So hearing your soft morning voice, whisper such a thing, had him more than excited. Soft smile on his face at the sweet words.

Only his face sours when he realizes the words weren’t for him. They were for the cat that was now laying at your side. He let out a scoff.

About a week ago, the two of you had been sitting out on the couch in front of your shared trailer. Lounging together as you read your book and Eddie was writing something in his journal, when a small meowing can be heard next to you. You are the first to notice the small tabby cat that stands in front of the couch.

“Hi…” Eddie takes notice of the higher pitch in your voice and looks up from his journal, seeing you leaning down to pet the small animal in front of the two of you. You look up to him with big eyes as you pet the cat, and it then leaps up onto the couch, right next to you.

“Eddie…” You say excitedly as you scratch the cat’s neck causing it to close its eyes in contentment.

“You know, that thing probably has fleas or something, right?”

You shoot him a glare, “You don’t need to ruin the moment… look at him…” You say sweetly as you look back to the small cat.

Eddie can already tell what the look in your eye is. He already knows what you’ll inevitably ask him, and Fuck No he doesn’t want a cat.

“Y/n, No.” He says as sternly as he can when it comes to you.

You furrow your brows slightly, and a frown tugs on your lips as you place your hand on his leg, “But Eddie… He needs a home…” Why did you do that? Why did you always have to do that shit when he said no, it made the process a lot harder for him.

But it made the process a lot easier for you.

Cause as you made dinner in the kitchen, Eddie sat at the end of the couch, glaring at the other side where the freshly washed cat was now sitting. He was actually surprised at how well the cat acted when you were bathing him, he thought he was gonna have to end up taking you to the hospital for rabies so some shit.

But no, you must just have some magic touch to you or something. Well, obviously you do, apparently you use it on him everyday, he just didn’t know it also applied to cats.

And that’s how the week had been going, you and this new cat, that you had decided to name Roane, were attached at the hip. That little shit would follow you around everywhere. He had to kick him out of the room a couple times cause he kept sneaking in when Eddie was trying to get some alone time with you, if you know what he means. He was not about to let this cat sit in the corner and stare at his bare ass as he ruins you.

So yes, this cat getting special treatment from you was gonna pull a scoff from him. He stares at the creature that’s now curling up on your chest. “Sorry, didn’t know you were awake…” You say softly as you look over at him all sleepy, messy hair, eyes half lidded and you look beautiful. But he has to resist your charm. He’s upset at the both of you.

“Didn’t know you were awake either… until I heard you sweet talking this little shit.”

You gasp in mock offense, grabbing the kitty’s head, giving it a small kiss on the forehead before saying, “Do not call our son a little shit! He’s precious and he just wants to spend time with us…”

He glares at the cat, “You call him ‘baby boy’, he’s the first one to get your kisses in the morning, and he gets to curl up on your chest in the morning… he’s a little shit.”

Smirking as you remove your hand from the cat, moving it over to your boy's messy hair and your scratch at his scalp, “I’m so sorry, Baby boy…” You coo teasingly, “I wasn’t aware there was a one sided feud going on between you two…”

“It’s not one sided. He knows exactly what he’s doing.” Eddie watches as you pull the cat from your chest and you begin lifting it over to his, “What are you doing?” But soon the cat is shifting so he can comfortably lay on his chest instead.

“He just wants some love from his dad…” You smile over at the scene in front of you. Eddie glares at you, before staring down at the lump on his chest, “Pet him, Eddie.” You say more sternly, and he’s rolling his eyes as he brings his hand up to the cat’s body to give it some light scratches.

And he’s purring like a motorboat.

“Damn, he doesn’t even purr that loud with me…” You say with a soft giggle. Eddie has to hold a small smirk when the cat nuzzles into his chest more as he continues to run his hand over his fur.

But only because you told him too! Not because it’s the softest fur he’s ever felt…

“Okay, but i’ll have you know if you are gonna be calling him pet names then you’ll have to do the same for me… I was fine with you not doing it before but now that I've got a taste of that life I can't let it go…”

You groan and roll your eyes playfully. “Yeah? Whatever you want, Sweet Cheeks.”

He glares over at you, “I’m serious, Y/n. When I get home from work you better run up to me and say some shit like ‘Oh Baby, I missed you so much.’ Got it?”

“Yeah. Got it, Baby…”

[mydarlingclaudia]

I could be mom (unless you want to be dad)

note : divider is from @/grlselle. handful of paragraphs before smut sowwy. I also just wrote this spur of the moment because I finally had a bit of motivation and this is the winner of that poll I did last week and I was bored so the smut isn't that long and I'm remembering that I never really knew how to write smut soooo. mdni

wc : 1.4k

tags : @lottiies @luvrgreyy

desc : whiny husband. smut!! - unprotected p in v, riding. established relationship, little bit of fingers in mouth whoopsie, you've got a daughter, fem!reader, vendetta!Leon, not proofread

You unbuckle your daughter’s seatbelt and pick her up out of her booster seat, housing her up onto your hip while you straighten your purse on your shoulder and walk to the front door. Leon’s motorcycle is propped up on its kickstand in the driveway, you didn’t know he was supposed to be back yet. He told you he’d be getting home late, but you got home later than him, apparently. At least your daughter wouldn’t jump up on him now that you’re home, she’s out cold, he’s probably drunk or asleep.

New York had been hard on him. You were upset enough when he told you he was going to Colorado for a week three days beforehand, but having him come home and tell you he didn’t even get to relax as much as he wished because he got pulled into work just made you annoyed. You loved your husband, truly, but he could piss you off like no one else. You know his work is messy, you know he can’t be around all the time, you know he’d rather ease his problems by drinking rather than opening up to you. And you know he's trying to protect you and your daughter, you just can't really help but want something normal.

Maybe you had to work on actually planning things with him, though. Dinner was often between five and nine p.m., you and Leon haven’t been on a date night in like, what, a year now? You know it’s not about him not being attracted to you, your schedules are just so busy that there hasn’t really been enough time for the two of you to go out on a dinner date or something like that.

The house is dark when you step inside, you don’t smell any alcohol, either. You kick off your shoes and take your daughters off as well before you put your keys into the tiny bowl on the kitchen counter, you’re not going to bother to change your daughter into her pajamas, she’s already in shorts and a shirt, that’s good enough and you’re tired, anyway.

Her room is always messy, you’re lucky you don’t trip over any toys even when you turn on the light. You spend maybe ten seconds tucking her in and kissing her cheek before you shut off her light and head to your bedroom, Leon’s asleep on the bed, he doesn’t even smell like beer, which is a good thing.

Leon always looks more peaceful when he’s sleeping, you wish you had offered for him to come over to your friend’s house with you and your daughter tonight, maybe letting him rest was good, though. So you change into pajamas and lay next to Leon, who instantly stirs.

“Hm…?” Leon murmurs when you wrap your arm around him.

“It’s me,” You whisper against his bare shoulder, you immediately feel him relax.

“When’d you get back?”

“A few minutes ago.”

“Have fun?”

“Mhm,” You press a kiss to his shoulder blade, he hums and readjusts the pillow under his head before he finally decides it's to his liking and rests against it again. "Love you."

"Love you, too." You hardly hear him say it, but you squeeze him a bit tighter, hearing the soft chuckle he lets out before he falls back asleep a few seconds later.

—

You and Leon shift around in bed a lot at night, you're never in the same position you went to sleep in when you get up in the morning.

Tonight, though, you wake up to Leon grinding against your hip at one in the morning. You're not mad, he was doing it in his sleep, anyway. Doesn't stop you from waking him up and climbing on top of him after you pull his boxers down.

"Christ, Leon, shut the fu-fuck up!" You hiss at him, continuing to slowly ease yourself up and down on his cock. You've never heard him so whiny before, could've been because the two of you haven't had sex in a little bit.

"C-Can't help i-it-" He gasps out, digging his fingers into the plump flesh of your hips while he bucks up into you. You've been doing this for maybe five minutes now, trying to tell him to be quiet and that you aren't forgetting his needs, but his face is so flushed and his chest is heaving and you can't really tell if he's even trying to do as you say.

His mouth remains open as he continues to let more and more lewd noises escape his throat whenever you sink back down onto him, you don't know how he isn't getting cramps in his hands from gripping onto you so tightly.

But you continue on, squeezing around him tightly because it made him feel even better inside of you. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, your eyes screwing shut while Leon's stay glued to where you're joined, watching as your cunt sucks him in over and over again.

His expression is nothing but pleading and needy and you're so in love with it, your hands rest on the soft fat of his pecs, his trembling hands can't stay in one spot anymore.

"Sweetheart, God, p-please." Leon's voice only gets louder and you have to shush him again, your eyes staying open long enough to shoot him an angry glare.

"If you wake her up-"

"I won't!" He cuts you off, his hips bucking against yours again while his head falls back against his pillow. You're probably not much quieter than him, hearing him whine and moan only triggers something in your brain that makes you mimic him, and there's the soft plap plap of your bodies to go along with it.

You've tried kissing him to swallow up his moans, but your mouths never stay connected for long due to lack of oxygen or he just can't hold your head in place. But his lips are still glossy with his drool and yours, and there's a few hickeys on his neck that he'll stare at for the next handful of days to come.

You know he's close, you're not far behind. Though, you know that when he cums he won't shut up.

But you continue to push your hips up and down, trying to keep your eyes from rolling back when you sink down onto him fully. It only adds more fuel for him to get increasingly louder, muttering about how good you feel and how he needs to cum inside you.

A few more thrusts and he'll be done, you know it. So before he can wake up the whole neighborhood, you grab his chin, forcing him to look at you so you can kiss him. You know that's not enough, of course. So when you pull away from him, a string of saliva still connecting your swollen lips to his, you push two fingers into his open mouth, trying to not his the back of his throat. Leon waits for only a second before he realizes, biting down on the base of your fingers lightly only to then suck on them.

And you're right, as always. After a few more thrusts he cums inside you, moaning around your fingers. The sight of his drool coating your knuckles and eyes lidded with pleasure almost does it for you, but you meet your own release after you raise yourself up to get him balls-deep a few more times.

You sit there on top of him for a few more minutes, looking up at your ceiling while you catch your breath. Leon has yet to tip his head back and slide your fingers from his mouth, trying to catch his breath, same as you.

You're the one to pull away from him, he looks a little annoyed when you pull your fingers out of his mouth and wipe some of the spit onto his chest, but you know he loved everything the two of your just did. Leon smiles at you after a few seconds, wrapping his arms around your back to pull you down onto him for a kiss.

"When did you get so whiny?" You whisper against his lips, then press a few soft kisses there.

"Don't tell anyone," You snort and pull back from him, your hand cups his cheek and he smiles against your palm.

"I wouldn't, that's only for me, right?"

"Only for you,"

[f4ggydog]

mari x reader🔞: you look so fine

tags: smut, nsfw, reader has a dick, cum painting face, cum swallowing, oral, blowjob, porn without plot, a little filthy but not dark, pussy eating, a bit of overstim, hopefully not too ooc, established relationship

“Hey you.” You smirk at a slithering Mari whose crawling up next to you. You play with a strand of her dark hair and chuckle. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late to be up right now?”

Mari doesn’t entertain your question. Oh, you know the drill. Unfortunately, you’ve grown to have quite a weakness to those big doe eyes. Those brown eyes could turn you to mush within a minute and Mari knew that.

“Sooooo, are you gonna do something about it?” Mari shrugs.

“About what, babe?” You roll your eyes. Everybody in the cabin was already asleep. Mari should be resting too. But of course she had to get her way before she could seek out a proper slumber.

Maybe it was your fault that you were such a sucker, that those big eyes weren’t something you could easily say no to. It was your favorite feature of Mari’s. Not that you’d trade any of her features for the world, but her eyes in particular lit a warmth inside of you that wasn’t comparable to any previous encounters you’ve had with other women.

“You look cold,” Mari giggles. “You know, I heard somewhere that going to sleep cold could, uh, make you more likely to die.”

“Are you a scientist now Mar?” You lay your hand over your forehead.

“It’s just frostbite! It has to do with frostbite! I don’t know, I remember reading it in a book.”

“Baby, while I do appreciate your efforts to convince me to have sex with you right now, I do think there’s too much of a risk with everyone around us.”

“We’re in the attic, idiot. Remember? Nobody’s gonna come up to the attic because they hear some groans or something. They probably will think it’s some ghosts.”

God, your gorgeous girl and all her excuses.

“It’ll be quick,” Mari begs, flashing you some of the biggest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. “Need you a lot right now.”

“Mar,” you sigh, wiping your face. “Can’t we wait till we’re on a hunt or something? Then, we can sneak off into the forest and do what we need to do.”

“We don’t have to do anything crazy right now,” Mari whines. “Please. I’ve been thinking about you all day. You barely talked to me today, dumbass. It’s like you hate me or something.”

Yeah, she always adds the insult at the end.

“C’mere.” You invite Mari to pull down your pants. “But we can’t be so loud though, okay? Even if either of us feel really good.”

Mari makes quick work of your jeans. She pulls them down to your ankles and your semi-hard cock springs out from the containments its been kept in. You always find yourself giving into that pretty princess. But saying no is always simpler stated rather than done.

She quickly takes your cock between her hands, pumping slowly at first. Then, she places a kiss on your tip, which makes your hips twitch.

“You like what you see, Mar?” You gently caress the back of her head.

“I’ve seen bigger,” Mari teases, leaning down anyways to plant kisses along your veiny shaft.

“You little brat,” you growl. “How would you feel if I just started fucking your face for saying that?”

Mari whimpers, using one of her hands to now fondle your balls. She may still be clueless at proper foreplay, but she’s touching as carefully as she can.

“Too big for you?” You coo, a sly smirk resting on your lips.

“Shut up. I’ve literally sucked you off before.”

“And let’s not pretend that you didn’t struggle. That was one time, Mar.”

Mari’s cheeks are a rosy pink and she lowers her head in slight shame.

“Don’t get shy on me now, pretty girl. You were such an eager beaver before.”

“Don’t s-say eager beaver,” Mari replies. “You sound corny. What kind of loser still uses that term?”

“The loser who’s cock you’re about to suck.”

You had a talent for matching Mari’s energy. A little banter could never squash your ego.

“Fuckkk,” you groan, slowly guiding Mari’s lips onto your cock head. “There you go. Just start with the tip.”

You buck into her mouth ever so tenderly, making sure not to bruise her throat or cause it to go sore. She’s still your beautiful girl at the end of the day. The sex wasn’t about agony or punishment or teaching her a lesson. Sure, you occasionally used playful little threats to entice Mari and give her ants in her pants. But, at least for now, you knew that you couldn’t go super rough on her. Mari was the definition of “too cute to harm,” like a butterfly flapping its wings through the forest.

“Just like that,” you encourage. “Mhm, there you go, Mar. Take it nice and easy.”

Mari nods, her doe eyes locked onto your gaze. She briefly pulls away to catch her breath before diving right back onto your hunk of flesh. Her nose nuzzles up against your pubes, inhaling that scent she’s craved so intensely.

Though, any compliment of your body parts wouldn’t do justice to Mari’s own beauty. She’s a gift sent to you from the heavens, an angel wearing the disguise of a semi-rude teenage girl. Her body’s divine, a treasure that you didn’t deserve. But yet, life was generous enough to supply you with the most beautiful royalty on the planet.

“So good Mari,” you praise. “Such a good girl for me. That’s it. Oh, you use that pretty mouth so good.”

Mari muffles her gratitude. All previous attitude has slipped out of the window. She couldn’t even think about being bratty. Her head was empty and filled with nothing but thoughts of gathering your cum.

One particular suckle makes you jolt and you pull Mari’s head in deeper. You wait to see if she’ll tap on your thigh, letting you know that she needs room to breathe. But Mari doesn’t. She hollows her cheeks and trains herself to take your decently sized cock better.

Your eyes roll back, your lip quivering as Mari pleasures you. “Yeah, I love looking at those pretty eyes while you suck my cock, baby. Such a pretty princess, aren’t you? Look at that adorable little face.”

“T-Thank you,” Mari whimpers. “Trying to be good for you, want to have your cock in my mouth a-all the time…”

“I know baby.” You pet Mari’s head like she’s a cuddly kitten. “Doing so good for me. You can take it, baby. I know my brave girl can handle it.”

Mari gasps. She’s hesitant to deepthroat you, but she senses that you’re reaching the edge. You’re both gonna die one day. Mind as well live on the edge.

Mari widens her mouth and unclenches her jaw. She takes you all the way to the base and doesn’t pull back as swiftly as previous times. Her eyes water and gagging sounds ensue. But she’s your brave girl, and she’s ready to tolerate another challenge life tosses her way.

“You’re taking me so good. You’re doing so good, baby. So proud of my sweet girl.”

Mari’s gotta keep going. You’re so close. She can feel it in her bones. Her own toes curl at your cock hitting the back of her throat.

“Oh fuck, fuck,” you purr, struggling to keep the volume of your voice down. You even forgot that other people were residing in this cabin along with you and Mari.

Mari redoubles her efforts.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum all over that pretty face. You’re so fucking irresistible. You have no idea what the hell you do to me, Mar.”

Mari chuckles. She adores getting you to a state where you’re drunk on lust and gratification. Before Mari can gain control of her breathing, you pull her off and spray her with white. Thick, hot fluid squirts onto Mari’s face. It covers almost every part except her eyes and some even slips into her mouth. Mari initially wrinkles her nose at the salty taste, but opens her mouth keenly when you scoop some cum off of her skin and press it to her lips.

“Good girl.” You nod your head. “Just suck it off my fingers, baby.”

Mari cleans your digits off, your hand caressing her hair with care.

“Atta girl. God, such a pretty sight, your face mostly splattered with my cum.”

“Don’t try to embarrass me!” Mari lightly punches your arm. “You’re the one that was completely lost a few seconds ago. Your face was all twisted in pleasure just from my mouth.”

“Oh, you’re so very descriptive, Mar. Maybe don’t get so cocky though because you’re next.”

“Good.” Mari’s smile stays arrogant. “It’s only right that you return the favor. Wouldn’t be a fair exchange if you didn’t help me.”

“Don’t talk so smart with me. You’re the one who’s gonna have dried cum on her face.”

“Shut up asshole,” Mari groans, undressing and pushing her own pants to the side.

There’s a wet patch on her underwear and you cherish the way Mari jumps when you press down on the spot. It’s like pushing a button on a teddy bear at the store to get it to make certain noises.

You slip Mari’s underwear down to her ankles and then off her feet. You notice the way she closes her legs, like she’s trying to hide something. But her arousal doesn’t lie. There’s wetness costing her inner thighs and shining on her pussy.

“Someone was excited.” You crawl closer so that your mouth can be centimeters away from her slick cunt.

“Don’t tease,” Mari pouts. “Need you down there…”

“You need me down there?” Your eyes twinkle. “Yeah, need me to make you feel good, baby? You want me to make that pretty pussy cum?”

Mari throbs, hard. She wasn’t expecting that line.

“Oh, you poor thing. Do you feel deprived, Mar? Does your little pussy feel neglected? Hm?”

“S-Stop it.” Mari crosses her arms, looking off to the side. “I…ugh, fuck you.”

You understood exactly how to rile your girl up. And Mari’s too focused on her mortification to notice you diving straight for her slit.

You spread her pussy out a little wider with your fingers, lapping at her entrance to warm her up.

“Baby,” Mari whines. “Baby, I…”

“It’s okay, Mar. You were right earlier. Your cute pussy needs some attention too.”

Mari sucks in her breath and gasps as your tongue starts swirling on her clit. A heat flash washes over her and she begins sweating. Her hands form into fists and she claws her nails into her own palms.

Mari always had a problem with sensitivity and cumming too fast. You swear one flick on her clit could send her into an earth shattering orgasm. You don’t recall ever having Mari last longer than ten minutes. It remained difficult to treat her fragile body like a glass sculpture.

“S-So good,” Mari squeaks. “I-It’s so good, baby. A-Ah, wait I-“

“It’s okay baby,” you soothe, still suckling on her nub. “It’s okay. It’s supposed to feel good. Let it feel good.”

“I don’t wanna cum so fast,” Mari sobs. “B-But, it feels really good. Please don’t stop, please, please.”

“I’m not stopping,” you reassure between licks and kisses. “My pretty girl deserves all the love she can get.

Mari’s eyes fill with tears. Her body thrusts into your mouth, overwhelming her further. Her lip can’t stop trembling and it’s nearly impossible for her to keep her noises of ecstasy at the right volume. You’re both surprised nobody’s woken up to witness the chaos yet.

“Just feel good, Mar.” Her pussy pulses against your face. You slide in a finger so your mouth has more room to talk her through it. “I know it’s a lot, but that just means you’re feeling incredible. It’s a good thing. I’m right here, baby.”

“Fuck, fuck. Y/N, I think I’m already…”

“So close already?” You decide you owed Mari a bit of good faith ridicule. “Yeahhh? You already want to cum? Poor thing can barely keep herself together.”

“I know, I know.” Mari shuts her eyes. “Please, please. I, fuck, I can’t take much more. Please, a-ah!”

Mari was melting underneath you like a snowman in the sun.

“Fuck, please, please. Please.”

“Is that the only word you know how to say now?” You chuckle mischievously. “Has my baby gone all dumb with her thoughts? All she can think about is her pussy getting slobbered on?”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Mari protests meekly, despite knowing she loves the condescending baby talk.

“Like what? You don’t like when I talk to you like a little puppy, Mar? Hm? You don’t like when I treat you like a squirmy little puppy?”

“Fuck, fuck!” Mari sobs. “Fuck, it’s too much. It’s too much, please!”

“Nooo, but you can take it for me, princess. Cause you’re a good girl and that’s what good girls do. They take my finger and my mouth, yeah?”

Mari cums right on your tongue. She rocks her hips against your face, riding out her orgasm. The pleasure consumes her so deeply that it turns into pain and overstimulated tears run down her cheeks. She cries and cries, babbling like a mess while she cums undone. Meanwhile, your mouth is still running, egging her on so she doesn’t waste this high she’s riding.

“That’s it Mari,” you coo. “That’s it. Such a good girl. Just keep cumming. Make sure you get it all out, okay?”

“I’m exhausted,” Mari pants. “F-Fuck.”

“God, my pretty angel is such a mess. Look at how soaked you are. I can still taste your juices in my mouth.”

“D-Don’t make me throb again,” Mari mewls.

“It’s so fun to watch you unravel though.” You grin wickedly. “I almost want you to go another round.”

Mari gulps. “A-Another one? But I’m already so sensitive.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” you purr.

You were sliding on the thin line of not wanting to coax Mari to the point of distress, but enjoying when your girl was spoiled.

But you see a glint of fear in Mari’s brown eyes, so you stop. You quickly swipe your hand across her pussy, cleaning up any remaining fluids that were sticking to her genitals. Then, you pull Mari in for an embrace and a kiss on the forehead.

Mari sits herself in your lap and snuggles against you like your body functioned as a pillow. She hums into your chest, still a shy mess. You rub Mari’s back and hold her as tight as you possibly can.

“Did so good today princess,” you praise. “You’re always such a good girl for me, my special girl.”

Mari lets out a cute yawn.

“Someone’s a little sleepy,” you comment. “I really did tire you out, did I?”

“Shut up,” Mari remakes. Still a fighting spirit, even in exhaustion.

[glossdebut]

everything i want (a take a bite drabble collection) | MYG

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader (TAB!couple)

✧ GENRE: established relationship, fluff, smut, humor

✧ REQUEST: @joonary: hello my dear friend i am here to request something with dilf yoongi 😁 no other specifications go crazy and @beomcoups: I wanted to send you a request with Yoongi and you spend the day at the beach with this prompt "isn't that view beautiful"? It can be sfw or nsfw.

✧ SUMMARY: The best part of being with Yoongi, from the very beginning, was that nothing had to change for either of you. You could be married to Yoongi and to your job at the same time, build your career from the ground up and never sacrifice a thing. But this? Having a baby? It’s all going to be sacrifice. It won’t be just you and Yoongi anymore, living in your precious little workaholic love bubble. Everything is going to change.

✧ TAGS: pregnancy, different stages of pregnancy (conception, morning sickness, early labor, etc.), the smut is crazy but this is mostly soft, TAB!couple are in complete domestic bliss i fear, and they’re married!, yoongi and MC being each other’s voices of reason, TAB!yoongi’s murderous inner monologues make a comeback, rina cameo, baby penny <3, beach episode moment (warnings under the cut because… um…)

✧ WORDCOUNT: 7.6k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: blame MJ for this. and my m’lady anon for saying i’m always ovulating. *taps mic* min yoongi my womb is empty please call me.

P.S. thank you to tanni @yooniivrse for beta reading <3

P.P.S. i feel like this can maybe stand alone??? but parts of it might be confusing if you haven’t read take a bite in its entirety, so… do that, if you want!

✧ WARNINGS: vaginal fingering, oral (f. receiving), dirty talk, spanking, nipple play, hand/finger kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, yoongi calls reader a sl*t in bed but it is all extremely consensual, rough sex, unprotected sex (duh) (but wrap it before you tap it), creampie (double duh)

one —

Yoongi’s being a real good sport about it, but you know you’re being annoying.

Ever since both of you got home, you just… There are things that need to be done, okay? Like unloading the dishwasher. You can’t just leave that for tomorrow, that would be insane. And since you’re unloading the dishwasher, you might as well organize the kitchen cabinets. They’re a mess, and you’re putting away dishes anyway. Why postpone the inevitable?

And Pepper! Sweet, sweet Pepper. She needs to be fed, obviously. You’re not going to neglect your cat, are you? Your cat who has nobody else in the whole world aside from you and Yoongi? The two of you are responsible for a whole life—feline life! Feline life. 

This doesn’t have anything to do with what Yoongi��s eomma said tonight. Absolutely not. 

You are a grown woman. An award winning music journalist with a kickass career and a super hot, famous, rich man by your side. You’re not going to let Yoongi’s eomma get under your skin. You’re just fidgety. Who wouldn’t be after dinner with the in-laws?

You pause mid-kibble pour, staring down at the sparkly, significant thing wrapped around your finger. It’s been over a year, and sometimes you still can’t believe it’s true. Married. Husband and wife. Mr. and Mrs. Min.

The thought makes you relax, just a little. Yoongi is your better half in every sense. Your soulmate. And more than that, he has your back. There’s no reason why you can’t just tell him what you’ve been thinking. What you’ve been thinking for a long time now, really. 

As if he can read your mind, your husband sidles up behind you, wrapping his arms around you as you finish feeding the cat. 

“You wanna talk about it?” he murmurs against the back of your neck.

“No,” you huff, turning in his hold to loop your arms around his neck. “But I think we have to.”

Yoongi hums, dipping down to kiss you softly. “Okay. Let’s talk about it, then.”

With a sigh, you peel yourself away from your husband and head to the couch. This feels like a sitting down conversation. Yoongi sits next to you, pulling you into his body, your head on his shoulder.

“Y/N… You know it’s not a dealbreaker, right? Kids. You know that.”

Tilting your head up, you study his features.

Yoongi is usually so unshakeable. It’s rare that you see him truly nervous, not when it comes to you. Your relationship is so solid, you can’t remember the last time you saw him like this.

“Yoongi, of course I know that,” you assure him immediately, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek.

The two of you had the marriage-and-kids conversation not long after you moved in together. It was the logical thing to do, with how serious things were getting. The marriage part of the conversation was easy. Yeah, duh, you wanted to marry Min Yoongi one day. No shit. 

The kids part, though? That was a little harder. At least for you.

You didn’t know if you wanted kids. The cons far outweighed the pros, especially where your work schedules were concerned, and at the time, you weren’t sure if that would ever change.

Yoongi was amenable about it, though. He wanted what you wanted. Kids, no kids, whatever. You’re pretty sure those were his exact words.

“I’m not freaking out because I think you’re gonna, like, leave me or something.”

“Okay,” he says, visibly relaxing. “Then why are you freaking out?”

“I don’t know!” you groan, pressing your face into his shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“Baby,” he huffs. “This is our decision, not my eomma’s. Nothing’s changed.”

That’s the thing. That’s why you’re so restless.

“Maybe…” Fuck, you can’t sit still for this. So you stand, hoping you can force the words out if you’re pacing. “Maybe things have changed.”

It would be funny, the way Yoongi’s mouth pops open in a little ‘o’, if you didn’t feel like you were about to throw up.

“I just—” You rub your hands over your face, exasperated. And then you’re stopping in front of him, jabbing your finger at his chest. “You’re really annoying, you know. Paternal. Every time I have to watch you play with your brother’s kid I really want to smack you.”

“Paternal?” Yoongi snorts. His hands catch yours, interlaced fingers pulling you to stand between his open legs.

“Paternal,” you sniff. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Of course, that only makes it worse. He looks so fond, even though you feel more and more like you’re dying as you speak. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“You mean how long has this been plaguing me?” you grumble, earning a laugh from him.

“Yeah, sure,” Yoongi says as he looks up at you expectantly.

You look down at your joined hands, swinging them back and forth so the warm lamplight catches on your rings. “Since we got married, I guess.”

Yoongi squeezes your hands to catch your attention, quirking an eyebrow at you when you glance up. “That long?” he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure,” you mumble as your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

“You’re telling me now,” he points out. He sounds a little unsteady, like he’s feeling just as jittery as you are, now that it’s all out in the open.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I am.”

“You want a baby?”

You nod, bottom lip catching between your teeth. “I want a baby.”

Before you have a chance to react, Yoongi sits up, pulling you into a kiss with a hand on the back of your neck. Almost as soon as you melt into it, clambering into his lap as your lips slot with his, he’s pulling away. 

“With me, right?” he teases, squawking indignantly when you pinch his sides in retaliation. “Yah, I’m just making sure!”

“Yes with you, asshole!”

two —

You feel a little stupid.

Maybe it’s because you don’t know how to act now. Nobody told you that planning to have a baby would suddenly put so much pressure on sex, but now here you are, standing in the kitchen in a too-tight dress while you try not to burn dinner.

You never cook. That’s Yoongi’s job. But you don’t know what else to do with all this restless energy, don’t know how else to initiate the ‘okay, I’m ready, knock me up’ conversation.

You’ve talked about the important things. You’ve dealt with the birth control issue. You’re taking, like, vitamins and shit now. All that’s left is to… actually try, right?

Except you’re nervous as hell, have been since you woke up to the notification from your cycle tracker informing you that you’re in your fucking ‘fertile window’ (ew!), and you’re suddenly acting like someone you don’t even recognize. Christ, you wonder if Yoongi has been feeling like this, too.

Speaking of Yoongi… He isn’t home yet, and for a moment, you think it’s not too late to just get rid of all of the evidence. Do away with the self-imposed theatrics, order some takeout, and act like it’s just another night. It’s not like Yoongi would mind.

But you’ve already committed to these stupid fucking steaks. And candles. There are candles.

It is too late, anyway. Almost as soon as the thought begins to form in your brain, you hear the sound of keys jangling and a lock turning, and then your future sperm donor himself is slipping his shoes off at the front door.

At least, he’s trying to. He’s got one socked foot out, frozen in his tracks as he takes in the scene before him.

“Did I forget an anniversary?”

You scoff, eyes rolling despite the nausea building inside you. “As if you’ve ever forgotten anything in your life.”

“Point made.”  He kicks his shoes off the rest of the way, nodding his head in the direction of the candles on the table. “Wanna tell me what this is for, then?”

You shrug, poking at the steak sizzling in front of you with a pair of tongs. “I wanted to make you dinner.”

“You don’t do that,” he says, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Well, I felt like it tonight,” you huff in exasperation.

“Okay,” he says, rounding the counter. His eyes rake over your form shamelessly, now that he can see all of you. “And the dress?”

“A girl can’t dress up every now and then?”

“Hey,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “Not complaining, believe me. Just curious.”

You know you’re being a little bit testy. Evasive. But it’s not your fault. Is there a good way to say ‘I did all of this because I want you to cum inside me tonight’? If there is, you haven’t found it.

Instead, you settle on, “I just felt like it.”

Yoongi hums, sliding behind you so he can wrap his arms around your middle. “Just felt like it, huh?” he mumbles. You can feel his lips on the back of your neck, and it’s dizzying how quickly your body reacts to his proximity. “No ulterior motives?”

“Nope,” you say. It sounds like bullshit, even to you. But how are you supposed to spin a convincing lie when your husband’s hands are on you? Hands that slide from hips to waist to tits as his mouth grows insistent at your nape, making you shiver.

“Shame,” he murmurs, nosing at the curve of your neck until his lips reach the shell of your ear. “I was hoping you wanted me to fuck a baby into you.”

“Fuck,” you breathe. Your legs are already growing wobbly beneath you, and he hasn’t even touched you. It’s pathetic, the way anxiety gives way to anticipation so easily.

Smoothly, Yoongi reaches in front of you to turn off the stove. It’s probably best that you skip dinner, anyway. Those steaks were going to be shit and you both know it.

You’re guided away from the stove, spun around so the small of your back is pressed against the kitchen counter. The room seems to shrink around you with the way you’re pinned under Yoongi’s gaze.

He kisses you, slow and deliberate, your legs growing even weaker at the way his lips slide against yours. You get lost in it for a moment, reveling in the way his body molds to yours as his tongue teases at the seam of your lips. But then he pulls away.

“Why don’t you tell me the truth?” His hands slide down your body to knead your ass roughly, causing the hem of your dress to ride up. “What does my girl want, hm?”

“Yoongi,” you whine, desperate as you reach down to palm him through his jeans.

“Nuh-uh,” he chastises, voice laced with amusement. He grabs hold of your wrist, bringing it up to his lips to press a gentle kiss against your skin. “You’ve just gotta ask, beautiful. You know I’ll give you what you need. I’m not a mind reader, though.”

Annoying. Also patently untrue, but whatever. The point of all of this—the dress, the candles, the dinner attempt—was that you wouldn’t have to say it. But of course, Yoongi never makes things easy for you.

“You already know, though,” you huff. “Don’t be mean.”

Yoongi huffs a laugh, fingers skating teasingly along the hem of your dress. “Okay, baby,” he concedes. “I’ll be nice.”

And then his hand slips under your dress, only to find that you’ve foregone panties for the night. “Shit,” he groans. “You’re gonna kill me.”

The anticipation of the day has left you dripping for him, the pads of his fingers sliding along your cunt with ease. You gasp when he thrusts two digits into you, moan when they curl against your front wall, the sensation sending you climbing up the counter.

“This?” he murmurs against your lips. “This is what you want?”

Suddenly, all of your anxiety from the day washes away. It’s stupid, you realize, to be so scared of just telling him everything you want. He loves when you tell him what you want, loves to be the one to fulfil every single one of your wishes. And right now, while your husband’s fingers fuck into your pussy in the middle of your kitchen, all you want is—

“Fuck me. Please, Yoongi. Need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?” he growls. “Why?”

“B-because,” you whimper, cheeks flushing as you finally say the words. “W-wanna make a baby with you, wan’ you to give me a baby.”

“Fuck,” Yoongi hisses, nipping at your jaw. The pace of his fingers is slow and steady as heat crawls up your spine. You cry out when his thumb begins to circle your clit, your eyes rolling back in your head at the sensation. “There’s my good girl. I’ll give you what you need, baby, I promise. Just cum for me first.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You’re so fucking wound up, and his fingers feel so good pumping in and out of you, it was only a matter of time before you unraveled for him. 

Wetness gushes around Yoongi’s fingers, the filthy squelch of his ministrations filling your ears. You don’t have it in you to be embarrassed by it. Not when you’re this close. Before you know it, your orgasm is washing over you, leaving you clenching helplessly around his fingers as he mumbles praise into your neck.

“Shit,” you breathe.

Gently, Yoongi withdraws his fingers. “Feel good?”

With a giggle, you nod, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Mm. We really need to stop using our kitchen for non-kitchen related activities, though.”

“Nah,” he chuckles. “Where’s the fun in that?”

As you catch your breath, you start to feel antsy due to the silence that settles between you two. Everything’s out in the open now, isn’t it?

As if he can sense the shift in your energy, Yoongi presses his forehead against yours, rubbing his hand down your back. “You’re in your head again.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, pouting.

“Don’t apologize,” Yoongi murmurs softly. “Just tell me what's wrong.”

You take a shaky breath, closing your eyes for a moment. Better out than in, you suppose.

“I just… There’s all this pressure now that we’re trying to have a baby. I guess I’m just worried we’re not… doing this right.”

“Right?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Like… It’s a big deal, isn’t it?” you say, glancing at your forgotten steaks further down on the counter. “Shouldn’t we treat it like one?”

Yoongi pulls back, eyes widening in understanding. “So… The dress and the dinner.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, and you can’t help but squirm as he studies you for a moment. You desperately wish you knew what he was thinking, but you know Yoongi. He chooses his words carefully, always.

“Do you want to do things differently?” he finally asks.

Huh.

“What?”

Yoongi grins, chuckling as he reaches to intertwine your fingers with his. “Y/N,” he starts, squeezing your hand. “You are the woman of my dreams. It doesn’t matter when or where or how it happens, our baby is going to be made with love no matter what.”

Your heart pangs at that, lips twisting in a contemplative frown as you consider his words. Damn him for making so much fucking sense all the time.

“If you want to do the dinner and the candles and the rose petals and everything else, we can do that,” Yoongi says, pausing to kiss your nose. “I’ll take my time, fuck you nice and slow. Anything you want.

“But I don’t want you to feel nervous about this,” he murmurs, pressing more kisses into your skin until he’s nosing the underside of your jaw. “I could bend you over this counter and fuck you right here, and we’d still be doing things right, as long as it feels right to you.”

Yoongi’s right. You’ve been building up all of these unrealistic expectations for how this night should go, and for no reason. The anxiety that had built a home in the pit of your stomach gives way to something hotter, your eyes fluttering shut as his breath ghosts over your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, tangling your fingers in his hair as he mouths at your neck. “I don’t want anything to change.” 

“Quit apologizing,” he chastises with a bite to your skin that makes you gasp. “You know what you want. Always so good at telling me, too. So tell me.”

Here goes nothing.

“I want you to take off my dress,” you breathe. It feels like a good place to start. 

Tongue darting out to lick his lips, Yoongi’s gaze roves over your body. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Bedroom? Or here?”

“Bedroom,” you say, gently pushing him out of your space so you can hop off the counter. 

You barely get a chance to steady yourself before Yoongi’s grabbing hold of your hand. You can’t help but giggle at his eagerness as he drags you out of the kitchen, pausing only to blow out the candles you’d lit earlier.

Once he gets you to the bedroom, Yoongi spins you around so you’re facing away from him. You feel the evidence of his arousal against the curve of your ass as he slowly unzips your dress.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the back of your neck as your dress drops and pools at your feet. His hands roam over your body, squeezing and caressing everywhere he can reach. “How did I get so lucky, hm?”

Turning in his hold, you loop your arms around his neck with a cheeky smile, your naked form pressed against his clothed one. “Through a mutual disdain for square dancing, if I recall correctly.”

Yoongi laughs at that, gummy smile in full force even as he shamelessly fondles your breasts. “You don’t recall correctly,” he teases. “I had to put in a lot of work after that to actually get you, remember?”

How far you’ve both come since then. No more tortured longing. No more misunderstandings. No more fear of taking the leap. All that remains between you now is love. Plain and simple. 

“You had me from day one,” you insist, fondness swelling in your chest. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

It’s so gratifying, witnessing the way you can still fluster your husband after all this time. With pink cheeks, Yoongi ducks his head, attempting to hide a shy smile. “Aw,” he coos, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Do you love me or something?”

Snorting, you bite back a grin. “I do. Very much. And you love me.”

Yoongi hums in agreement. An errant squeeze to your ass, as casual as it may be, reminds you of where you are. Heat floods you all over again, a delicious shiver wracking your body at the reminder of what you’re about to do. As head over heels as you may be for Yoongi, you’d really like to get his cock inside you sometime this year. 

You catch his gaze, raising a challenging eyebrow at him.

“But you can fuck me like you don’t,” you offer. 

In an instant, the softness in Yoongi’s eyes shifts into something else entirely. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his grip on your ass tightening.

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice so low and gravelly that your cunt clenches in response. You know him well enough to know that he’s giving you one last out, that his control is likely hanging by a thread.

But fuck, you want it. Want to be fucked within an inch of your life, because who knows the next opportunity you’ll have to get it like that once you’re with child?

“I can handle it.”

Yoongi scans your features for a moment, taking in your flushed cheeks and parted lips. The way your body responds to him without a second thought, willing to take anything he wants to give you. If he’s looking for uncertainty, he isn’t going to find any. Not anymore. 

He must be satisfied with what he finds, because before you can react, you’re suddenly on your back, gasping as you’re enveloped in memory foam.

“Spread your legs, baby,” Yoongi says, his hands on your knees roughly guiding your legs to part nice and wide so he can settle between them. “Show me that pretty cunt of yours.”

“Yoongi,” you whimper, fingers instinctively threading into his hair. It’s getting so long lately, so pullable. You might kill him if he tries to cut it anytime soon. “Want your cock, you don’t have to—“

Your pleas are effectively halted when Yoongi spreads your folds with his thumbs, looking up at you with eyes that are all pupil. “You’re this wet for me, and you think I’m not gonna get my mouth on you?” 

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, surging forward to lick a broad stripe over your pussy. You cry out, back arching and hips kicking off the bed when his tongue flicks against your oversensitive clit.

“Fucking dripping,” Yoongi groans appreciatively. “Holy shit, Y/N.”

The whine that escapes you is pathetic, embarrassment and arousal warring inside you as you rock your hips forward. Luckily, Yoongi gets the hint, dipping down again to swirl his tongue over you.

It’s filthy and loud, the way he sucks and slurps at your pussy like he’s starving for it, can’t get enough. It doesn’t take long before your second orgasm is barreling towards you, thighs trembling on either side of his head as you squirm under him.

“Yoongi, fuck,” you mewl as he laves over your aching cunt, tugging hard at the strands of dark hair caught between your fingers to keep him from pulling away. “I’m gonna cum, like, any second.”

Yoongi hums, tongue lashing at your clit at a pace that almost drives you up the bed. Everything feels so fucking good, so overwhelming, that you can’t hold back any longer. 

You cum hard, a litany of curses and moans falling from your lips as Yoongi works you through it, only letting up when your hands push weakly at his head.

“You’re so worked up, baby,” he teases, although the way he palms himself through his jeans as he climbs over you tells you he’s just as turned on as you are. “You want my cum that bad?”

Your pussy flutters at his words, silently begging to be filled. Fuck. It doesn’t surprise you that your husband knows how to read your body this well, knows exactly how to push all of your buttons, but it still drives you crazy all the same.

“You’re worked up, too,” you huff as you snake your hand under his, feeling the way his erection strains against his jeans. He’s so fucking hard.

“Of course I am,” he agrees, chuckling at your impatience. He pulls his shirt over his head as he speaks, moving to deal with his jeans next. “I’ve got my girl cumming so easily for me, begging for my cock. Why wouldn’t I be worked up?”

“Then fucking do something about it,” you whine, mouth watering when his cock springs free in front of you. You need him inside you yesterday.

In a flash, you’re flipped over roughly so you’re flat on your stomach. 

“So fucking impatient,” Yoongi growls, delivering a sharp slap to your ass that makes you moan.

You feel the heat of his hand dip between your thighs, fingers sliding over your slippery folds, and you can’t help but push your ass back against his touch, knees spreading as wide as they’ll go.

“Look at you. You’re desperate for it.” He sounds almost amazed. You whimper when he slides his fingers from your core, replacing them with the blunt head of his cock. “Well since you wanna act like a slut, I guess I have to fuck you like one, hm?”

Yes. Fucking. Please.

“Please,” you breathe, arching your back prettily for him, wiggling your hips in a way that makes him hiss. “Want it, please.”

Yoongi teases you for a moment, rubbing his tip through your soaked folds, but then the warmth of his body disappears from behind you. “Nah. I changed my mind,” he finally says, smacking your ass once more. “Turn over. I wanna see your face when I cum inside this pussy.”

Oh.

You’ve never moved so fucking fast in your life. Within seconds you’re on your back, and Yoongi doesn’t waste any time either, slotting his body between your legs with ease. You both moan when he finally slides into you, one of his hands coming up to cradle your face.

Yoongi’s always been so patient, much more patient than you. He gives you time to adjust to the stretch of him, his thumb sweetly caressing your cheek as you look into each other's eyes.

But that’s pretty much all the grace you get.

Once he’s sure you’re ready, the first snap of his hips has you reeling, your eyes rolling back in your head. And then he’s fucking you for real, setting a pace that has you crying out his name.

“Fuckin’ love being inside you,” he grunts, his eyes fixed on where your bodies meet so he can watch the way his cock slides in and out of you. “Pussy was made for me, wasn’t it, baby?”

You don’t think you could speak if you tried, too high on the feeling of Yoongi’s cock hitting that place inside you that makes you see stars. Instead, you turn your head, craning your neck until you can get the thumb that was rubbing your cheek into your mouth.

You love Yoongi’s hands. Love how strong and capable they are, love how gentle they can be even when he’s fucking you this hard. You could live and die with Yoongi’s fingers in your mouth and you’d be a happy, happy woman.

Yoongi groans, his thrusts growing rougher as you wrap your lips around his thumb and suck. “There’s my good girl,” he praises. “Fuck, you’re so pretty, baby.”

You preen at the praise, looking up at him through your lashes as you moan around the digit. But then Yoongi’s using his free hand to hitch your leg around his hip, driving his cock even deeper into you somehow, and you’re pulling off of his thumb with a sob.

“Yoongi! F-fuck, it’s too much—”

“You begged for this,” he growls. His thumb, slick with your spit, travels down to circle a nipple, your breath getting caught in your throat when he adds his forefinger and pinches. “You said you could handle it. So take it.”

He keeps fucking into you, rough and relentless, and even though you’ve been reduced to a sobbing mess, it feels so fucking good. So you do what he says and take what he’s giving you.

Satisfied, Yoongi dips down to lave his tongue over your other nipple, sucking it into his mouth as your hands fly to grasp at his hair.

“Nnnghh, Y-yoongi,” you moan. “Feels so g-good.”

With one final flick of his tongue against your breast, he comes back up to kiss you, his mouth moving against yours with an urgency that takes your breath away.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, pressing his forehead against yours. His hands come up to cradle your face again, wiping errant tears from your cheeks. “Love you so much.”

“Love you too,” you sob, using the much-needed reprieve to catch your breath.

“Taking me so good,” he breathes, thrusts growing erratic as he pants against your mouth. “Can’t wait to give you a baby.”

You moan, clenching around him in response. “Need you to cum,” you pant, delirious. “Please, Yoongi, wan’ you to fill me up.”

“Fuck,” he moans, eyes squeezing shut as if he’s pained. “‘M gonna. Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Do me a favor and rub your clit for me, m’kay my love?”

You do as you’re told, slipping a hand between your sweaty bodies. It’s not going to take much at this point, not with how desperate he looks above you. He’s a fucking sight for sore eyes, lips bitten and pupils blown as he tracks the movement of your hand.

“Shit, you’re so sexy,” he groans. “Gonna cum.”

You’re right there with him, both of you moving in perfect synchrony as you chase your release. All it takes is a few passes of your fingers over your clit before your vision goes white, a sob escaping your throat as you feel Yoongi spill into you with a groan.

You cling to him, arms wrapped around his neck as he presses sloppy kisses to your naked shoulder. “God,” you breathe, thighs shaking when you stretch your legs out.

You both gasp for breath, skin sticking together from the sweat that’s been created between you.

“Yoongi?” you mumble. He hums, lifting his head to look down at you. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asks, brows furrowing in confusion. Then, he grins tiredly. “For giving you the creampie of the century?”

“Ew,” you huff, flicking his forehead weakly. “No, idiot. For getting me out of my head.”

You know he knows what you mean. That’s what you do for each other. Yoongi knows how to calm you down like no one else, and you know you do the same for him. It’s a perfect give and take. 

“I don’t know if this will be… If this is the time that’s gonna give us a baby,” you continue, lips twisting as your eyes water slightly. “But I can’t imagine a better man to be the father of my child. I just want you to know that.”

Yoongi softens, taking in your words. Wordlessly, he dips down, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses you tenderly.

“You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever met,” he says, his voice gentle. “I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.”

The two of you lay there for a long time, bodies tangled together as you process everything that just happened. What it means for both of you.

The best part of being with Yoongi, from the very beginning, was that nothing had to change for either of you. You could be married to Yoongi and to your job at the same time, build your career from the ground up and never sacrifice a thing.

But this? Having a baby? It’s all going to be sacrifice. It won’t be just you and Yoongi anymore, living in your precious little workaholic love bubble. Everything is going to change. 

Funnily enough, nothing has ever felt more right.

three —

It stands to reason that you find out that you’re pregnant in the office of Look Here Magazine. Where else?

You had your suspicions this morning, when you rolled out of bed nauseous as hell. But you also had an important interview scheduled for this afternoon—surely, you were just anxious about that. But the interview went great, and you still felt like shit afterwards. 

And then you got sick. Like, really sick. In the bathroom of the store you’d stopped at to grab some ginger ale, hoping that would help with the nausea.

Instead of ginger ale, though, you watched with no small amount of shame as the clerk at the register rang up a pregnancy test for you, eyeing you with thinly veiled judgement. Whatever. Jealous bitch needs to get laid.

So here you are, locked in the single stall restroom at your office, staring down at two pink lines. Fuck.

You’re shaking like a leaf. You’re fucking giddy, of course you are, but holy shit. It’s real now. It’s real, and you’re at work, and Yoongi is at his studio, and all you want to do is call him and tell him the news. Because you’re overjoyed, but you’re also terrified, and when you get like this, he’s the only one who can make you feel better.

But you can’t. You don’t want to tell him over the phone. You want to see his reaction in real time, see the gummy smile you love so much, feel his warmth when he pulls you into his arms, kiss him stupid.

So instead, you pick your phone up with trembling hands and snap a picture, sending it straight to Rina. 

It’s five in the morning in Athens. You know she won’t see it for another few hours. But it still calms you down enough to clean up and exit the bathroom, returning to your desk on shaky legs.

★ ★ ★

You can’t wait, as it turns out.

It’s seven in the evening. You got off of work less than thirty minutes ago, and you’re already all the way across town, riding in an ostentatiously large elevator to get to your husband’s swanky ass studio. You definitely broke several traffic laws to get here so fast, but you don’t care. Who knows when Yoongi will get home? You need to tell him now.

When the elevator doors slide open, allowing you to step foot onto Yoongi’s floor, you start to feel sick again. For a different reason this time. 

You know Yoongi’s going to be just as psyched as you are, but still, what if he’s not? What if he’s scared shitless and all of a sudden he changes his mind about this? You both wanted a baby, but it sure as shit feels completely different now that it’s real.

You don’t know what you’re going to do if he has a change of heart. Fuck. Flee the country, probably.

You put one foot in front of the other, following the familiar path to Yoongi’s studio. Your heart races as you punch in the code you know by heart, gut twisting as the whir of the lock fills your ears. And then you’re stepping inside, slipping your shoes off at the door with the expression of a sighted rabbit on your face.

Yoongi spins around in his chair, eyes widening at your unexpected presence. “Hey,” he greets, visibly puzzled as he gets up to pull you into a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Hey,” you breathe, heartbeat thrumming in your ears. But still, it feels nice to be in his arms after the day you’ve had. “I didn’t know I was. Sorry if I’m interrupting.”

“Nah, don’t apologize. I need a break anyway,” he says, pulling away to study your face. “Everything okay?”

“Um!” you squeak out, grabbing his hands to pull him towards the couch in the corner of his studio, sinking down on the worn leather. You stare down at the material beneath you. He really needs to replace this thing. “Yes? I think so. I hope so.”

“You’re scaring the piss out of me, Y/N,” he huffs, settling down next to you. Gently, his fingers grasp your chin, lifting your head so you’re looking straight at him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Swallowing thickly, you shift your bag into your lap, digging around in it for a moment until you can procure what you need. Shakily, you hold out two positive pregnancy tests for him to see. God, pregnancy is so gross. You’re holding pee sticks in your hand.

“I’m, um…”

“You’re pregnant,” Yoongi breathes, eyes widening in amazement as he stares at the little lines. Tearing his eyes away, he gapes at you. “You’re pregnant? We’re going to have a baby?”

“I think so,” you say, chewing at your bottom lip nervously.

“Shit,” he says, grinning so wide you can’t help but return it. “We’re going to be parents!”

Before you know it, tears are streaming down your face, even as you laugh in disbelief along with him. You never should’ve doubted him, not even for a second.

“We’re going to be parents,” you sob, still clutching the positive tests in your hand as you speak through your tears. “Can I put these down? It’s so gross. I peed on these.”

Laughing, Yoongi takes the tests from your hand and sets them aside, pulling you into his lap so he can kiss you silly. “Fuck,” he murmurs, breaking away with a sniffle. “I’m so happy.”

Fuck. He can’t do that. He can’t cry, too. You don’t think you can take it.

“Me too,” you say, wiping at your eyes. Then you smack his shoulder, sniffling yourself. “You can’t cry, stupid. You’re supposed to be the strong one.”

Another laugh bubbles up from his throat, nothing but fondness and joy in his watery eyes. “I think for the next nine months, you’re one hundred percent going to be the strong one,” he says, staring down at your belly with awe.

It’s crazy. There’s nothing there yet, but yes there is.

“Yoongi,” you whimper, mouth twisting as you try to hold back another wave of tears. “We’re going to be parents.”

“We’re going to be parents,” he repeats, swallowing thickly as he meets your eyes again. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” you agree. You’re delirious, so happy you think you could pass out. “I love you.”

Pulling you into a tight hug, Yoongi rubs your back soothingly. “I love you so much, baby,” he breathes as he nuzzles into your hair.

Nothing has ever felt more right.

four —

Yoongi is going to kill somebody. It’s only a matter of time.

He was close, in that stupid fucking airport. It was going to be that bitchy flight attendant. It was. She’d been testing his patience all goddamn morning, getting testy every time he asked for updates on his flight, and Yoongi was already barely hanging on by a thread. But then he could practically hear your voice in his ear. Don’t be a jackass. It’s not her fault your flight is delayed, you’d say. Because you’re his voice of reason when he can’t keep himself in check.

So the flight attendant was spared.

Then, it was going to be the snot-nosed little brat that kept kicking the back of Yoongi’s seat the whole way home. He had booked the flight last minute, unable to upgrade past economy. Which was fine. It’s not like Yoongi’s a snob!

He was just already pissed off. He wanted—no, needed—to be with you, instead of cruising at 35,000 feet, stuck in his very own personal saw trap. But you’d insisted he go on this stupid ass work trip, eviscerating every single logical objection he tried to make. You were impossible to reason with lately. 

So there he was.

In the end, the kid was spared, too. Only because throttling a child would probably look really bad for him, considering the circumstances.

The universe just seemed to be working against him, even after the plane touched down on the tarmac. Because of course! Of course it took him forever to find his stupid suitcase. Of course it took him even longer to get an Uber. Of course there was traffic on the way! Why not? What’s one more ‘fuck you, Min Yoongi’?

And of course, when he finally makes it, when he’s panting and out of breath, suitcase in hand as he searches wildly for the room number he was texted, the first person he sees is not you.

“Well look what the cat dragged in!”

Yeah, Rina might not make it. He’s sure you’ll understand.

Yoongi appreciates Rina, he really does. He tries to be there for you when you need him, but sometimes, despite his best efforts, he can’t be. It’s just the way life works. But Rina always steps in when she’s needed. Today is a great example.

That being said, Rina also has a tendency to step in when she’s not needed. Or particularly wanted. Like the entire past month, living in his guest bedroom to dote on you even though—apart from the work trip you insisted he go on—Yoongi has literally been working from home since month six, at your beck and call. 

Yoongi gets it. Rina is your best friend. He knows you’ve been elated to have her closeby this past month. But still, Yoongi would’ve paid for a hotel room for her or something. It’s been a little weird trying to, like, fuck his super hot pregnant wife knowing her best friend is just across the hall.

“Hi, Rina,” he says, deadpan even as he’s catching his breath. “Wanna point me in the direction of my wife?”

“She’s piiiiiissed at you,” Rina sing-songs, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

Yoongi’s eye twitches.

“Because I’m late?” he guesses.

“Because you impregnated her in the first place.”

“Great,” he says, choosing not to engage. He points at a door. “There?”

“Good luck, champ,” Rina says in response, waving him through. Like he needs fucking permission to see you. Don’t engage don’t engage don’t engage.

Huffing, he opens the door to what he can only hope is actually your room, closing it softly behind him.

“Yoongi,” you warble.

There you are.

Suddenly, it’s like none of the events that have transpired today matter one fucking bit. Not the frantic voicemail he’d woken up to, the delayed flight, the bratty kid, none of it.

You look like an angel. A very pregnant, very stressed angel, but his angel nonetheless.

“Baby,” he breathes. He’s by your side in an instant, carding his fingers through your hair. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“How was your trip?” you ask, leaning into his touch so sweetly. Man, he missed you.

“About as pointless as I thought it’d be. Just wanted to be with you the whole time.”

“Well, you’re here now.”

“Yeah. I’m here now,” he hums, pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple. “How are you feeling?”

You huff at that, staring up at him like he’s stupid. Or like Rina wasn’t lying when she said you’re pissed at him. 

“Like my vagina will never be the same again, thanks to you,” you grumble. “I can’t believe I let you do this to me. I’m going to make you pay, Min Yoongi.”

“Feel free,” he huffs, unable to suppress the small smile quirking at the corners of his lips. He can’t help it. You can be pissed at him all you want, he’s just happy to see you. “I’ll even remind you, if you want. Do you want me to put a date on your calendar?”

“Don’t push it,” you grit out, glaring daggers at him.

“You’re the only one doing the pushing today, baby.”

“God, I hope so,” you whine. “Get this thing out of me! It’s not fair that you get to be a DILF and I have to be all big and gross.”

A DILF???

“Baby,” Yoongi coos, doing his best to stifle the laughter threatening to break free. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. You’re glowing.”

“It’s sweat,” you deadpan.

“No, I’m serious,” he insists, taking your hands in his despite the way you try to whack him away. Despite his amusement, he’s completely sincere when he says, “You are the most beautiful woman in the world. Don’t be like that.”

“Really?” you pout.

Yoongi nods sagely, squeezing your hands. “One hundred percent a MILF.”

You groan, whacking his hands away in irritation, successfully this time. “Make yourself useful and go get me some ice chips, motherfucker.”

He snorts, backing towards the door with a little salute. “Yes ma’am,” he says. “I’ll be back in a few. I love you.”

“I love you too. Asshole.”

As he slips out of your room, he swears he catches the corners of your lips turning up, although you try valiantly to hide it. 

Yeah. You’re going to be just fine.

five —

It’s been nine months—thirty six weeks, because apparently babies are measured in weeks for some reason—since Min Penny was brought into this world. Yoongi doesn’t think he’ll ever get sick of looking at her.

She looks so much like you, it’s crazy. Every time he says that, you’re quick to tell him just how wrong he is—that she has Yoongi’s nose, Yoongi’s eyes, Yoongi’s smile—but when he looks at her, all he sees is you.

He loves it. She’s perfect.

She sleeps every night in a crib that Yoongi built, surrounded by stuffed animals that you handpicked, in a home that you two have made together.

Yoongi couldn’t be happier. 

The three of you have spent the last week or so in Daegu, and Yoongi’s parents have had ample time to get plenty of pictures and shower Penny with gifts that she proceeds to shove in her mouth at every opportunity.

It’s time to head back home, but not before a little detour. 

The weather is perfect today, giving both of you an opportunity to celebrate Penny’s (belated) half birthday the way you’ve been wanting to. A little overcast, but not so much that there’s a chance of rain. Really, it couldn’t be any better.

Yoongi’s always hated the beach, but a weekend trip to Jeju with his family didn’t sound half bad when you’d pitched it. And now that he’s here, sprawled out on a blanket on Jungmun Saekdal Beach while you shovel Jolly Pong into Penny’s waiting mouth, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

When Penny grows disinterested in the Jolly Pong, you take a moment to adjust the little yellow sun hat you’d bought for her earlier and then lean back on your hands.

“Isn’t that view beautiful?” you sigh.

It’s so silly. You’re gazing out into the water, eyes sparkling as you take in the scenery in front of you. It’s beautiful here, it is. Yoongi hasn’t been to Jeju in a long time, and he’s sure the view is just as beautiful as you say. But all Yoongi can see is you. You, the amazing mother of his child. 

You’re radiant, glowing in a way that he’s never seen before. Even after all this time, you never fail to take his breath away.

“Yeah,” he hums, his hand curling around yours where it rests in the sand. “It is.”

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[stellaspectral]

Hello! How are you! I have literally binged all your work on ao3 in the space of a few hours! I am besotted!!! You write angst like it’s no one’s business!

Lucky me I see your requests are open!

Okay I was wondering if I could request 2007 or bayverse , either Raph or Leo with an established relationship!reader

who had a life altering event happen, ( for e.g being involved with the turtles got her in danger ) and the trauma completely changes her , she becomes cold, secretive ( bonus point if reader becomes vigilante to get revenge ) as a way to cope. how Would the turtles react to that? How would they mend their relationship?

up to you whether it’s straight up angst or angst to comfort!

I know this is a lot so please disregard this if it’s a bit out there, or take what you want from this and make your own spin! I’d frankly read your grocery list!

A/N: Hey there! 👋 Thank you so, so much for your incredibly kind words about my work! Hearing that you binged it and enjoyed the angst has really made my day 🥰

For this request, I’m going with Bayverse Raph. I hope you enjoy it! 💖

The Space Between a Touch (angst)

❤️ Bayverse Raphael/Female Reader ❤️

CWs: Angst, depictions of PTSD and trauma aftermath, past kidnapping, self-destructive behavior, light swearing, some violence and fighting. All characters are aged-up.

The change didn’t happen overnight. It was a creeping frost, starting in your eyes and slowly encasing your heart.

Before, your laughter used to echo in the lair. You’d spar with Leo, teasing him about his seriousness, play video games with Mikey, and assist Donnie with ideas for his inventions. At the end of the day, you’d curl up against Raph’s side, his massive arm a familiar, comforting weight.

That was before.

Before the ambush, before Karai’s blade had sliced too close. Before you’d been grabbed, used as bait.

The memory of the knife’s edge against your neck, the feeling of rough hands dragging you, the chilling pronouncements and threats from Shredder—they play on a loop. You were a vulnerability, a weakness they exploited. And that knowledge has become your armor, keeping everyone out.

Mikey will hold out a controller, his eyes hopeful and pleading. “Just one round? For old times’ sake?” The flashing colors on the screen and the upbeat music feel garish now. You shake your head and tell him you’re busy. The lie tastes like ash in your mouth as you walk away, his smile faltering.

Donnie still shows you his latest gadgets, his explanations enthusiastic, but you no longer offer suggestions. Your mind, once buzzing with complimentary ideas, feels … blank. Static-y. He’ll look at you, searching for that spark. And when he doesn’t find it, his voice trails off, a quiet disappointment settling in his eyes.

Leo approaches you with a different tactic. He finds you in the dojo. Not meditating, not practicing. Just standing in the center, your arms wrapped tight around yourself as if trying to hold the splintering pieces of your composure together. His footsteps are deliberate on the tatami, giving you ample time to acknowledge him.

You don’t turn.

“We need to train,” he states, his voice devoid of its usual older-brother warmth, replaced by the clipped, focused tone of a leader assessing a critical situation. It’s not a request. He moves to stand a few feet in front of you, his expression unreadable. “Now.”

The words are like stones dropped into a frozen pond. For a moment, you almost expect them to skid across the ice you’ve built around your heart. You finally meet his gaze. The Leo before you isn’t the brother you teased; he’s the warrior, the strategist—and he’s looking at you like a problem to be solved.

Training. As if a few katas could erase the phantom feel of steel against your skin. As if a perfect block could undo the way your own body had betrayed you by freezing in terror.

“Why?” The word escapes you, a broken shard of sound, barely a whisper. It’s more than you’ve said to any of them in days.

Leo’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “Because out there,” he gestures vaguely towards the city beyond the lair, “they won’t care if you’re not feeling up to it. They won’t wait for you to be ready. Shredder knows your face. He knows you’re with us. You think he won’t try again?”

The implied threat, the reminder of your vulnerability, stabs through the numbness. It’s the very thing that haunts you. You slowly unwrap your arms, your fingers stiff. “Fine.” The word is flat. You don’t reach for a weapon. You simply settle into a basic defensive stance, rigid and shallow.

Leo observes you, his gaze sharp, analytical. He doesn’t comment on your lack of a weapon, nor on the reluctance radiating from you. Instead, he mirrors your stance. “Defend yourself,” he orders, and then he attacks.

His fist comes at your face. A deeply buried reflex from countless hours spent in this very dojo makes you raise an arm. Though it’s too slow, too hesitant. His knuckles connect with your forearm, not with full force. But enough to send a shockwave up your shoulder. The thud echoes the dull ache that has taken permanent residence in your chest.

He doesn’t pause. A leg sweeps towards yours. You stumble back, ungainly, your feet feeling like lead. There’s no grace in your movement, none of the familiar rhythm of sparring. He’s peeling back the layers of your composure, one precise strike at a time.

“Again,” he says, and launches another flurry.

You try to parry, to block, but your limbs feel disconnected from your brain. The commands get lost in the haze. Each impact, even a glancing one, sends a fresh jolt of memory through you.

Rough hands gripping your arms, pinning you.

The glint of steel too close to your vitals.

You flinch, and the movement leaves you open. Leo’s foot connects with your side. It’s controlled, a training tap, but you gasp, doubling over slightly. The air rushes out of your lungs, and with it, a sliver of the ice around your heart seems to crack, releasing a fresh wave of chilling fear.

“Focus!” Leo barks.

His words strike a nerve. An animal—that’s what you feel like. Trapped. Helpless.

“I can’t!” you yell. A choked sob escapes you, a sound you instantly try to swallow. But it’s out. Hanging in the air between you, more damning than any outcry.

Leo stills, surprise and concern flickering in his eyes.

You can’t fight him. Can’t fight this.

You can’t go back to who you were.

“I … I can’t,” you whisper, the admission tearing through you. Before you rush out of the dojo, out of the lair.

Of course, your change in behavior hits Raph the hardest.

When he reaches for you on the couch, you flinch, the phantom weight of Shredder’s hand a cold press against your skin. It’s a reminder of helplessness, of being held against your will. At night, you lie rigid, your back mostly to him, feigning sleep almost immediately. You feel him hesitate, his breath warm against your hair, his hand hovering as if unsure whether to touch you, to bridge the gap.

The feeling of Raph’s plastron against your back, the rumbling chuckle that vibrated through you when you said something particularly cheeky. The surprisingly gentle way his massive, three-fingered hands would cup your face—those are memories now. Sepia-toned and distant, from a life that feels like it belonged to someone else.

The closeness you once craved now feels like a brand, and the frost inside you deepens. Preserving the pain, ensuring no one can get close enough to make you vulnerable again. Your armor is strong, unyielding.

And utterly, terribly lonely.

A chasm has opened between you and the brothers. You see the worry on their faces, the way they exchange glances when you turn away. You hear the hushed tones of their conversations, though the words remain just out of reach. But the fear whispers insidious lies, telling you that distance is safety.

And so, you remain encased, a prisoner of your own memories.

You don’t visit the lair much anymore. Instead, you train at home. At the gym. Becoming faster, more ruthless. You patrol on your own, taking down Foot soldiers and other criminals with a fury that would make even Raph pause. You’re protecting them, you tell yourself.

You won’t be the weak link again.

You’re rarely even at your apartment long enough to talk to Raph when he visits. And sometimes, you disappear for hours on him, often returning well after midnight. You offer vague excuses: “Needed air” or “Just a walk.”

But Raph sees the new bruises overlaid on top of the fading ones. He sees the cut above your eyebrow you try to hide with your hair, the way you move with a carefully concealed stiffness that speaks of fresh pain.

And tonight, something in him snaps.

You barely have your keys out of the lock when his enormous frame fills the narrow hallway of your apartment, blocking your path. He crosses his arms over his chest, his shadow engulfing you. The dim light from the living room throws his features into sharp relief, and the usual gruff fondness in his eyes is gone, replaced by a simmering, dangerous stillness.

“Where were you?”

“Out,” you mumble, trying to sidestep him.

He doesn’t move. Instead, his hand reaches out, his fingers brushing against the fresh scrape on your cheekbone you hadn’t even realized was bleeding. You flinch violently, recoiling as if burned.

His hand freezes, then slowly retracts, a flicker of hurt crossing his face before the anger resettles. “Out gettin’ this?” he presses, his voice tightening. “And the one you’re hidin’ over your eye? What about the ribs I know you’re favorin’?”

“I can handle myself, Raph,” you say, your voice harsher than you intend.

“Handle yourself?” He takes a step closer, and you instinctively brace, your back hitting the wall. “More like handling gettin’ yourself killed. There’s a difference, you know.” His eyes, usually a warm green, are narrowed, boring into you. “You think this is protectin’ us? Runnin’ around like a maniac, pickin’ fights you can barely walk away from?”

“I’m not weak anymore,” you spit out, the old fear twisting into a snarl. “I won’t be a liability. Not again.”

“A liability?” He scoffs. “You think this ain’t makin’ you one? What happens when you don’t come back one night, huh? What are we supposed to do then? What am I supposed to do?”

His voice cracks on the last question. You see the deep worry lines etched around his eyes, the exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders that he usually hides so well.

“You think we don’t see you? The way you keep pullin’ away?” he continues, his voice dropping again, thick with pain. “Leo’s beside himself. Mikey keeps tryin’ to get you to smile, just once. Donnie … he just looks lost.” He shakes his head, his gaze dropping to the floor for a second before snapping back to yours. “And you … you look at me …”

He hesitates.

“You look at me like I’m … like I’m him,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “Like I’m gonna hurt you.”

The accusation hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. His eyes search yours, desperate for a denial. For any sign that the you he knew—the you he loves—is still in there, somewhere beneath the ice and fury.

You open your mouth, but no words come out. The shame of his statement lodges in your throat, a bitter pill. Because sometimes, in the dark, when a hand reaches for you—even his—the terror is so blinding you can’t tell friend from foe.

His expression crumples, just for a second, the sight more devastating than any roar of anger. Then, the hardness returns. “This ain’t strength,” he says, his voice flat, final. “This is you dyin’ slow. And you’re draggin’ us all through hell with you.”

He turns then, not waiting for your response, leaving you alone when he departs for the lair. The cut on your cheek stings, a reminder of the battles you keep choosing. And for the first time since everything went to shit, you wonder if this is a battle you can actually win.

Or if you’re just ensuring everyone you care about loses.

Donnie confirms your late-night habits one night. As if Raph didn’t already know. But he dreads his brothers’ reactions.

You’re not here, of course. You’re out somewhere in the city’s sprawling darkness, chasing the adrenaline that numbs the ache, oblivious to the fact that your carefully constructed secrecy is crumbling—because Raph knows his brothers aren’t going to let it go.

Donnie swivels in his chair to look at his monitors. “I’ve been tracking the use of my tech,” he says, tapping some keys. A map flares to life on the main screen, your recent patrol routes shown in red lines. “As well as unusual activity on police scanners and reports for the past few weeks.” He pauses, looking over his shoulder at his brothers. “She’s been going out alone. Not for walks. She’s been hunting.”

Despite already knowing, Raph’s blood runs cold, then hot. The protective fury that defines him surges, so potent it makes him tremble. Not at you. For you. And at Karai, Shredder—at the world that broke you.

Leo’s breath hitches. His eyes, usually so focused and analytical, widen as he stares at the patrol routes—your patrol routes—illuminated in damning red across the city map. The sheer recklessness of it, the isolation, hits him like a blow to the chest.

“Alone?” he murmurs, the word laced with a dawning horror and a sharp sting of guilt as he remembers your shattered cry in the dojo.

Leo thought it was a momentary break, a surrender to fear. He hadn’t grasped it as a declaration of this self-imposed, dangerous exile. His mind races, replaying every interaction, every sign he missed or misinterpreted. His gaze flickers to Raph, seeing the barely contained storm in his brother’s eyes, and then back to the screen, a muscle working in his jaw.

He should have seen this. He should have known. The strategic part of his brain screams about the tactical disadvantage, the unnecessary risk. But beneath it, he aches with a profound sense of failure.

Mikey goes utterly still—before his head snaps up, his eyes wide with an emerging, terrible understanding. “Hunting?” he echoes, the word small, almost childlike. He pictures you out there, alone in the dark, facing down the kind of threats that make even their seasoned team move with caution.

The image of the you he knows being consumed by this cold, violent purpose is hard for Mikey to comprehend. A knot forms in his throat, tight and painful. “No …” he whispers, shaking his head slowly, as if denying the truth will make it somehow vanish. “Not … not by herself. She wouldn’t … she knows better …”

But even as the words stumble out, he remembers your averted gaze at his game invitations, the way you recoiled when he tried to sling an arm around your shoulder. He’d thought you were just sad, lost in a funk he could eventually coax you out of with enough persistence. He hates he was so oblivious.

“She could get really hurt, guys,” Mikey says, his voice filled with a visceral fear for your life. “We gotta find her. Now!”

“What are we waitin’ for?” Raph slams a fist into his palm. “Donnie, you got a lock on her?” His voice is a low growl, the protective fury he feels for you practically radiating off him in waves.

“I’m working on it,” Donnie replies, fingers flying across his keyboard, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Her tracker signal is faint. She must be deep in the old warehouse district by the docks. And—oh no.” His voice drops, a note of alarm entering his tone. “Multiple heat signatures converging on her position. Foot. A lot of them.”

Leo’s face is grim, his earlier guilt solidifying into steely resolve. He meets Raph’s furious gaze, then Mikey’s, and finally Donnie’s. “Gear up,” he orders, doing his best to remain calm despite his rising panic for your safety. “We go in fast, we secure her, and we get out. No unnecessary risks, but she’s our priority.”

This isn’t just a rescue mission. It’s about bringing you back from the brink.

From the abyss you’ve thrown yourself into.

You’re crouched on a rain-slicked rooftop, the city’s neon glow reflecting in the surrounding puddles. The wind whips your hair across your face, stinging your eyes, but you welcome the bite. It keeps you sharp, keeps the ghosts at bay, if only for a moment.

Below, a van pulls up to a darkened warehouse, figures clad in familiar black outfits spilling out. Foot. Too many. Caution tries to pierce through the anger that’s become your constant companion. You ignore it. This is what you do now. This is how you prove you’re not a liability.

You drop silently from the rooftop, landing in the shadows of an alleyway, your breath misting in the cool night air. You move with a speed and ferocity that is born of a reckless disregard for your own safety. The first two Foot soldiers go down before they even register your presence—a swift strike to the temple, a brutal knee to the gut.

You move through them, a whirlwind of focused rage. But they keep coming.

They’re more prepared tonight, or maybe you’re just pushing your luck too far. You narrowly avoid a kunai, the metal grazing your arm, drawing a thin line of blood. Spinning to meet the next attacker, you grit your teeth against the sting. You block a punch, counter with an elbow, but another soldier comes at you from the side.

You duck, but not fast enough; the weapon connects with your ribs. It steals your breath and sends a jagged bolt of pain through your side. You stumble, a gasp escaping your lips. For a horrifying second, the faces of the Foot soldiers blur, morphing into Shredder’s visage. Panic lances through you.

No. Not again!

You fight back with renewed desperation. You take down two more, but you’re outnumbered, outmaneuvered. A blow to the back of your head sends you sprawling onto the pavement. Stars explode behind your eyes, and the world tilts precariously. Rough hands grab your arms, hauling you to your feet.

“She’s the one,” a gruff voice snarls, too close to your ear. “Karai will be pleased.”

Your heart plummets. This is it. This is exactly what you were trying to avoid, the scenario that’s haunted your nightmares. You’ve failed. You’ve become the weak link all over again. Despair washes over you, so potent it almost extinguishes the fight in you.

Just as a pair of Foot soldiers begin to drag you towards the warehouse, a familiar roar cuts through the night.

“GET YOUR FILTHY FUCKIN’ HANDS OFF HER!”

A massive green shape hurtles out of the darkness, slamming into the two soldiers holding you with the force of a battering ram. You fall to your knees as they’re sent flying. Before you can even process it, another green blur, smaller and faster, clears a path around you while another deflects incoming attacks.

From the rooftops, shuriken fly with pinpoint accuracy, disarming several more soldiers. You look up, then look around you.

Raph. Leo. Donnie. Mikey.

They’re here.

They found you.

They came for you.

Leo lands beside you, beating back a blow aimed at you. “You okay?” he asks, his voice tight with controlled urgency, his eyes assessing you quickly for injuries before flicking back to the remaining Foot.

You can only stare, the word “Fine” dying on your lips. The fight is still raging around you, but for a moment, everything seems to slow.

Raph is a force of nature, tearing through the Foot with a righteous fury that makes your own recent efforts look like child’s play. Mikey is a vibrant, chaotic blur of orange amidst the grunts and sounds of combat. Yet every move is precise, protecting your periphery. Donnie uses his tech-enhanced staff, sending out small electrical charges, creating openings, and controlling the flow of the fight.

You watch them move as one, a perfectly honed unit. Protecting you.

The armor around your heart cracks.

They dispatched the remaining Foot soldiers with brutal efficiency. The clash of metal fades, replaced by their heavy breathing and the distant wail of city sirens. But your world has narrowed to the colossal figure dropping to his knees in front of you.

Raph.

His eyes are wide, frantic, scanning you from head to toe. The fury that propelled him through the fight is still thrumming beneath his skin, but now it’s overshadowed by a desperate concern that makes his features almost painfully vulnerable. “You hurt?” he asks, his voice a hoarse rasp.

His hands, the ones you’ve flinched from—the ones you imagined were Shredder’s in your nightmares—reach out. They hover for a heart-stopping second. Then, with an almost agonizing tenderness, one hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb brushing your jaw. You don’t recoil.

You try to nod, to form words. But a choked sound is all that escapes. The fight, the fear, the sudden appearance of your saviors—it all crashes over you.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Raph murmurs, his other hand coming up to gently take your arm, examining the graze from the kunai. “We gotcha. You’re safe now.”

His gaze locks with yours, and in their depths, you don’t see accusation or disappointment. You see the raw, unfiltered fear he must have felt, the pain his own words inflicted on you earlier. And beneath it all, an unwavering, stubborn love.

A single tear escapes, tracing a path down your cheek. Then another. You try to stop them, to maintain some semblance of the hard shell you’ve cultivated. But it’s useless. The crack widens, and the pent-up emotion floods through. “Raph …”

He carefully pulls you forward, and you don’t resist. You collapse against his broad plastron, your face buried in the crook of his neck. His arms wrap around you, strong and secure, holding you together as the sobs wrack your body.

He smells of rain, sweat, and the faint, familiar scent of the lair.

Of home.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I got you. We all got you.”

He just holds you, murmuring against your hair, the rumble of his voice a soothing vibration near your ear.

Through your tear-blurred vision, you see the others. They’re all here. They came. Despite everything, despite the walls you built, they came.

The mending won’t be easy. The shadows of what you endured, and what you have become, will linger. But as Raph holds you, his brothers stepping closer to form a protective circle, you feel the first, tentative thaw around your frozen heart. The journey back to being yourself will be long—

—but you won’t be walking it alone.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

To Need Somebody

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, angst, very light fluff, pre-established relationship, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: After a hunt goes poorly, Dean retreats down a well-tread path of self-loathing. You've been here before, and you'll be here again, and you'll stay every time. Self-esteem warning, but that's it.

Author's Note: First Dean fic! A very good excuse to rewatch supernatural and say it's for my own edification as if he doesn't live in my head rent-free.

Title from Renegade by Big Red Machine ft Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 3.8k

The night doesn’t pass as quickly as you’d like it to. It’s long and slow, treelines and yellow grass moving in blur out the window as the stinging, stabbing pain in your leg keeps you awake.

You keep your face pressed to the glass, hidden in shadows and under your makeshift blanket—it’s just a jacket, but it’s Dean’s so it smells like him and might be better than a blanket—so that the light reflecting off your tired, tear-stained face doesn’t catch the attention of the rear-view mirror.

Doesn’t catch the attention of Dean.

He hasn’t spoken since the drive home began. He’d carried you to the car, then into the motel, then on the bed, holding you still while Sam cleaned and sewed up the gash in your thigh. Dean had muttered words of comfort and let you bite down on his shirt through the stitches. He’d told you that you’d done well, and that the kid was going to be fine.

The kid with you was going to be fine. You’d been faster than the demon—but not faster than its blade aimed at your leg—and the little girl who had attached to you was going to be traumatized, but had a lifetime ahead of her to heal from it.

The little boy that had been with Dean didn’t. He was ash scattered over the skyline and stuck to wet grass. And you knew Dean blamed himself, even though Sam had told you in hushed words at a gas station that it there was nothing anyone could have done. The kids eyes had started to go black, and he’d wandered to the window with an expression of wonder Dean had caught immediately, because he was a good hunter and better man.

And it wasn’t Dean’s fault the kid had punched through the window with inhuman strength. You’d all assumed that the crazy fucking ritual was more of an offering than a conversion. If your kid had punched through a window, you would have likely lost her as well.

But you hadn’t. Sam’s hadn’t lost his either. By pure, shit luck, Dean’s was the one that formed a stronger connection. That fell under faster, and died for it.

So now Dean wasn’t speaking to you or Sam. He’d helped you to the Impala, checked that you were comfortable, and set his jacket over your body, even after you told him you were okay. You’d reached a hand up to his face, told him you loved him, and gotten a grimacing smile in return.

You know he loves you. He’s not good at saying it, but you know. You know because he’s driving slower than usual, to avoid bumps. You know because the music is low, and it’s one of his better tapes. One of the one’s you’ve told him you like more than the others, and the one he always put it on when you’re in pain.

There isn’t a doubt in your mind that Dean loves you. And the silent acts of attention and service make the exact three times he has said it all the more meaningful.

The first time, when you’d tried to leave—reaching a breaking point of I can’t keep loving him like this, but I can’t get over him while I’m here—and he’d shot down your every fear with begging words and a confession he’d sounded afraid to make.

The second time, when you’d died. Really died, and Dean had tried to break up with you to protect you when you’d come back. You’d called an idiot, but your idiot, and simply refused to leave him. You’d told him to give you one good reason he wanted you to go, and he’d never see you again. He’d shouted, and you’d screamed, and you think you won. You’re still here, so you won. 

The third time, which you called the good time. Where he hadn’t said it in a shout or plea, or because he was in afraid of losing you in whatever form, but because he wanted to. Dean had really just wanted you to know that he loved you, and now you did. And you’d never doubt it again.

But this still hurts. The wall that forms over Dean—a form of protection from this silent burden and self-inflicted torture you know must be unbearable and heavier than the world, crushing on his shoulders and head and ribs—is like a stray dog that you just have to watch tear itself apart, and hope it will accept your outstretched hand. Offering comfort it doesn’t know it deserves.

You know Dean loves you, and you know he never takes your hand, and it still really fucking hurts. A fight would be better than this. Screaming would be a relief to the heavy silence that had started to form a weight in your lungs. Your head felt like iron, and you were beginning to wonder if your tongue with ever stop being a pointless muscle that was uncomfortable in your mouth. Stop just itching at your teeth and finally become useful. Find the right words that would make Dean do anything, anything at all. Literally anything that wasn’t sitting like a sentry and holding the wheel like—if he choked it and it spat out blood—something would fix itself.

It’s dawn when you hear the engine stop, and you can’t move. A little because you still can’t fully support any weight on your leg, but mostly because moving will be acknowledging that you’re awake. And being awake comes with choices. You either have to look at Dean and pretend you don’t see the way he’s ripping himself apart before smashing everything back together in a way that’s just a little less stable than before, or you have to not look at Dean.

He’ll notice. He notices everything, especially obvious things like you not looking at him. And it will hurt him—make this hole you think lives in his ribcage or spine bigger and more hollow—so no matter what pain it causes you, you need to look at Dean.

You push up your forearms with a groan, and he’s right there. Already watching you, so obviously in pain, and so obviously guarded from it that there’s not much for you to do right now. These are things Dean has to ask you for before you can give them. If you offer kind words, he’ll think they’re tainted with pity and spit venomous ones back. If you offer a body he’ll take it, but then the hole will grow larger as the guilt sets in for using you, even if you were the one that asked.

When it’s like this, all you can do is sit with him. Let him help you into the bunker, and—when he tries to put you in bed—insist he stays here, or you go where he goes.

You can make that about you, about not wanting to be abandoned in the midst of your physical turmoil, instead of Dean. He’ll let you follow him if it’s for you.

“You need to rest,” he grunts your name, and these are the first words he’s spoken in almost twelve hours. They’re almost inaudible, and a little angry, but they’re the most amazing sounds you’ve ever heard. “Been a long night. You’re hurt-“

“I can rest with you.” You whisper, and he looks like you shot him. “I don’t want to be alone, Dean. Please.”

There’s a long, horrible moment where you think he’ll say no. Where he’ll mutter that he’s never a productive in a bedroom setting for anything like resting, give you an empty smirk and a sleep well, Sweetheart before walking out the door and closing it behind him. If he does, you won’t be near him until he comes to bed in the dead of night, finally deeming himself worthy of undeserved luxuries like blankets and pillows.

In that awful moment, you consider crawling to him and dragging the entire bed set with you. Demanding that he gives you just proximity, because you both need it. He won’t have to touch you, or look at you, or speak to you, but he’ll be near you. At an acceptable distance, in case something in him escapes and you need to be there to catch it.

Dean doesn’t help you out of bed to follow him. But he does climb onto the mattress at your side, sitting up at the headboard and resting his hands in fists against his thighs, staring ahead with a practiced, unreadable expression.

You take it. Loving Dean is a lot of taking things. A lot of trying to give things back and having them be refused. It’s worth it, worth every screamed fight and strange, empty moment of only being near him, because most of the time it’s not like this. Most of the time it’s jokes and shared, sparring words. It’s almost all watching him be goofy and charming, and kissing a stubbled cheek when he gets in a mock fight with Sam and loses. Smiling and telling him you’ll get him next time, Buddy.

But these darker, emptier times are an unavoidable hazard of the trade. People who date in offices have to navigate HR, people who date in entertainment have to deal with the media and hunters who date have to deal with the fact that loss is inevitable, and you can’t afford to be attached to anything. On top of that, Winchesters who date have to grapple with their whole… everything.

But Dean is still with you. And that means he’s decided the joy of having you is worth the pain of losing you. It’s why when you slip your hand into his, he doesn’t pull it away. He squeezes it, and clings to it like a lifeline.

Sleep fades in and out in a haze, never long enough to dream or feel rested, but enough to register that Dean is crumbling. It starts with his body suddenly slouched down the mattress, then his legs are tangled in yours. Soon after your face is near his neck, and finally, he’s asleep at your side.

From there the day is traded sleep. You’re awake, and you shift the blanket to cover his body with yours. He’s awake, and suddenly your hair has been brushed from your face. You’re awake, your leg is hooked over his waist. He’s awake, you’re on top of him.

When you’re finally awake together, you just watch each other. You don’t speak first—Dean always to speaks first during these things—but you might have to stay here for a while until he does.

His eyes strained as if something is going to burst out of him, and he’s using every fiber and crevice of his will to keep it in. You don’t want to keep demanding more of Dean’s will. You don’t want to demand anything of him at all. So you just wait for him to fall a little further—keeping a soft, encouraging smile on your face the whole time—until he comes down entirely and speaks again. Light words coated in a pain that makes your head and heart ache, but words all the same.

“How’d you end up there, Sweetheart?”

You shrug, matching his tone but making your face more open. Wide and almost innocent, considering the position of resting over to your sex-god boyfriend, whose hands are wandering to hold you by your thigh. “Not sure.” You lean down, smiling at Dean like you have a secret as your voice drops to a whisper. “Between you and me, I think someone keeps putting me here. I go to sleep and wake up in the same place every time.”

He chuckles. “We should do something’ about that. Tie you to the bed so you can’t be moved.”

“I think,” you kiss his jaw, tangling your fingers in the soft, spiky hair at the nape of his neck. “That might just spur him on. He’d like the challenge.”

You start to kiss over his cheek—because it’s rare you get moment to just touch him without any need to go further, with neither of you asking for more, so you’re taking full advantage—and Dean’s head falling back with a low, long sigh, eyes closing as you continue your self-set task.

“He might.” Dean mutters. “But he also might not let you get to the sleepin’ stage.”

“He would.” You say against his skin, rising back up to watch his face, a strange combination of relaxed pain on his features that you knew too well. Where his brown was drawn but his breathing was slow and easy, and his mouth was parted but in a small frown. “Or he’d end up sleeping on me. The joke would be on him, though, because I love that too.”

“You seem to know this guy real well,” he says your name, dragging his eyes open to hold your gaze, and almost breaking your heart with how tired he looks. How he doesn’t seem to find peace in the truth of the words he’s saying. “He know you?”

“Better than anyone.” You whisper. “And I do know him. I’d like to think it’s better than most.”

“Do ya?”

“I do.” You drop your chin to prop on his chest, and Dean shift up to keep watching you as you speak. “He’s a bit of a goof, but very serious when he needs to be. He’s charming and handsome and a total cowboy, right down to the very odd chivalry and voice.”

“Odd chivalry?”

“He’ll hold my hair back when I’m sick and open every door, but he gets all bitchy when I ask for a fry, even when I offer a blowjob in return.”

“I always give you the fry, even when you just fucking ate all your own. And I don’t take the blowjob.” Dean grumbles, and your smile widens.

“Because you’re a very chivalrous guy, Winchester. Even if you keep moving me on top of you in the middle of the night.”

He frowns, scanning over your face. “I can stop that-“

“Don’t. I think I’ll find my way back here anyway.”

“Yeah? You like it here, huh.”

Dean’s words aren’t teasing like they might have been on another morning, but defeated. All you can do is hold your ground, and stay.

“I love it here.” You hum, playing with his hair under your hands in the way that always slows his breathing and eases the storm in his brain. “I love you.”

Dean sighs, and you know exactly what’s coming before he says it. “Look, Baby-“

“Don’t call me Baby, Dean.” You mutter, continuing your movements. “That’s either a sex name or an apology name, and we’re not about to have sex."

He says your name again, and it’s lower and deeper than before. Like he never wants to stop saying it, but can’t afford to anymore. “You gotta understand that I’m no good for you. Hell, no one’s good for you, but son of a bitch, I’m plain bad-“

You drop your head down to his chest, and take a long, laboring breath. This happens, in some form, every time. You don’t want his apologies or excuses or attempts to convince you to leave. If anything they just cement your place here, because you can be a little spiteful, and you’re not one to give up. As long as Dean keeps loving you, you’ll keep waiting out the darker nights at his side. 

But you’re also a little sick of it. How pointless this is, how it only wastes the finite time life has to offer to anyone, let alone two hunters. How it hurts Dean to say, and you to hear, and he seems to think he’s doing you some sort of favor by pushing you away. That this is saving you and not killing you. Slowly, slowly eating at you until you don’t leave—you won’t leave—but you do start to wonder if it’s you. If Dean just doesn’t trust you or like you all that much, and doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. It’s just as irrational as Dean’s own logic—if only because he’s hurt your feelings a lot before, and always torn himself apart for it after out of love and pain after, making it up to you tenfold—but it remains a little, nagging voice in your head. That people who want you don’t try to push you away. That he does love you, but maybe can’t see a life with you, and just wants you gone.

You try and offer yourself some grace for your doubt, because it’s really, truly, not about Dean. Despite what he seems to believe, you’re not perfect either. You don’t end up hunting because you’re incredibly emotionally stable and have a pristine, joyful past. It just all happened to fall into place that your breaks and cracks line up with Deans. That he can fill in divets and depressions that eat at you—not pretty enough, not likable, nothing anyone could really chose to stay around, always the backup, always the poet and the prophet but never with a name people will remember when you’re inevitably gone—and you can do the same for him.

You need to try to keep doing the same for him. There are parts of you Dean knows that soothing and healing will take time to do, and parts of Dean you’re worried to touch and make worse, but there are also breaking points. Where your words start to spill out in a desperate play to just make it a little better for you both.

This is one of them. And all he’ll have to do is listen.

“You don’t need to agree with me,” when you start your voice is soft but cracked, like a breath you have to fight to take. “And you can even tell me I’m wrong after. But please don’t leave.” 

He looks mostly confused at that, at the sudden shift in the air and spaces between it. Still heavy and clouded with sorrow, but also wired. Detriment. “I ain’t leaving you-“ He says your name, and you cut him off with a sigh. 

“Don’t leave the room. Don’t leave the bed. Just stay here and listen.” 

His frown deepens, but he nods. And now you have to talk. 

It’s not rehearsed or prepared, but it doesn’t need to be. You know what you need to say.

“I’m not going to tell you it wasn’t your fault, because I know you hate that. But I hate when you do this. When you blame yourself, or try to. It’s mean to me.” 

Dean’s hands tense on your body, and he looks like a wounded animal, but you keep going.

“I love you. A lot. And when you tell me I shouldn’t it’s, it hurts.” You sigh, trying to just keep your eyes fixed on a freckle near his nose as you start to choke on your own words and the salty taste they bring. “It doesn’t feel good. It’s like you think I don’t know what I’m doing. Like you’ve tricked me into loving you, when I want to be here. I really like being here, and I know it’s not about me, but I want it to be.” You chance a look at his eyes, and they’re glossy. No tears—you’ve never seen them before, and you likely won’t see them now—but the closest thing you ever get from him. A storm that stays green and trapped, instead of crashing out onto golden, soft skin for you to brush away.

You feel a little selfish, because this is really not about you.

And you can’t really bring yourself to care, or stop.

“I wish you’d let this be about me too.” You whisper, your voice almost inaudible over the lump and ache in your throat. “I wish you’d let me help. I let you help, Dean, and it’s not fair.”

“’S different, Baby.” Dean’s voice is hoarse, and a little unsteady as he shakes his head. “I don’t-“ 

“If you say need help, Winchester, you’re going to need to start rehearsing your speech to convince Chuck to send you back again.”

“You don’t know I was gonna to say that-“

“Yes, you were. And it’s not different. I want to help, Dean.” You’re almost pleasing, and it’s an effort not to crawl up his chest and outright beg. “Let me help, or stop telling me I should fucking leave you. I’m not going to, and I know you don’t really want me to, or we’d have been done two years ago.”

“You shoulda listened two years ago-“

“But I didn’t. And I won’t now.”

Dean shakes his head, huffing a dry laugh. “You’re real damn stubborn, anyone ever told you that?”

“You have.” You let a smile twitch at your lips, but you still don’t relent. “And I’ve told you that you’re no better. And it’s one of the many reasons why I don’t want anyone else.”

“You should-“ 

“No, I shouldn’t.” You give a full, close-lipped smile that’s mostly made of hope. You haven’t fixed anything, but you may have soothed it. Found a way to make his hated a little less consuming, because this is hurting you, and Dean hates hurting you. If he can’t start to change or listen to genuine reason, you can use his own twisted logic against him. “And I’m staying here. Because I love you, and I don’t want to hear about how I deserve better. I know what I deserve, and I know what I want.”

“Me.” 

Dean says his word like he hates it, and you say yours like it’s a prayer. “You.” 

He looks defeated, but not in pain. When his hand wanders up your back, tangling in your hair and tugging it just enough for you to know what he wants, you comply. Falling carefully forward and letting Dean’s lips find yours, allowing him to lead the kiss and decide where it ends. Long and soft and almost delicate, his free hand still rubbing and squeezing on your thigh, but nothing more.

It doesn’t need to be more. Because Dean pulls back slowly, staring at you with a slight awe as he clears his throat, and his voice come out slow, but not forced.

“I,” he swallows, shaking his head at mostly himself. “I love you. And I, uh, I’m glad you’re still here. Glad you’re stubborn.” 

Your smile makes your cheeks hurt, but it’s pain born of joy, so it’s not really pain at all. “I’m glad I’m stubborn too.” You rest back down against him, and know neither of you will move for a long while. “It means I get to stay here.” 

End Note: I'm pre-gaming something. Thank you so, so much for reading!

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@artemys-ackles

[stayinlimbo]

Unsaid (Not Unwritten)

pairing: lee minho x gn!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, hurt/comfort, previous communication issues being resolved, mentions of not feeling loved, forgiveness because they do actually love each other, like one swear word lmao, self-indulgent af because i have free will word count: 0.6k note:  is this based off a true story? yes. what's the moral? communication requires effort but is so worth it. i feel like i couldn't portray this fic in the way i wanted to but i tried my best ♡

Minho’s front door is chipping. That’s to be expected, considering the apartment complex is ancient, and his landlord is unwilling to give the place a much-needed paint job. You’ve never really taken the time to inspect the old wood or notice the small patches of discoloration, revealing the original color scattered along its expanse. You’ve never hesitated to knock on his door, either.

Stalling the inevitable is pointless; you know that. However, it doesn’t stop you from hesitating, hovering a fist inches away from the very door you’ve stood in front of for the past five minutes. The carefully folded piece of paper crinkles in your other hand, tightly gripped by your side as you take a steadying breath to calm your thumping heart.  

Eight rhythmic knocks echo against the wood. There’s no going back; he’s sure to know it’s you now.

Ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty seconds. The wait has never been so daunting. There’s no one else in the hallway to see you rocking back and forth on your heels—no one to see your cautiously optimistic gaze glued to his door.

Forty seconds. Maybe he needs to prepare himself before he sees you. Fifty seconds. Or maybe this was a bad idea. You can feel yourself physically deflating. Maybe he doesn’t want to see you yet. One minute. But what if he didn’t hear you? Should you knock again? There’s no harm in trying.

You raise your fist again, and the door creaks open. 

You quickly shuffle backward a couple of steps in surprise, retracting your hand back down to your side. Minho peeks his head out of the door, his downcast eyes slightly widening and then squinting when they meet yours.  

Minho opens the door further, shuffling around the entryway to face you directly. He scans over your disheveled figure, a small consequence of rushing over to his place and taking the stairs instead of the elevator, with a pensive look. “What—“

“I’m sorry,” you say, cutting him off and watching his lips part in surprise. “I’m sorry I haven’t been making you feel as loved as you deserve.”

Minho slowly nods, his gaze softening and brows quirking up in a way you know it’s okay to continue. You give him a small smile, closing the distance between you until you’re less than a foot away from him. 

You grab his hand, gently turning it upward, and place the folded paper in this palm. “Because I do love you, even if I’ve been communicating it in a really shitty way.” 

Minho looks down at the paper, scribbled writing peeking out from the interior, and back at you in question. 

“I’m not good at verbally telling you how I feel, so I tried writing down everything I could,” you murmur, seeing a look of astonishment cross your boyfriend’s face. 

“Can I read it now?” Minho asks, smiling as he flicks his gaze between you and the letter. 

You lightly shrug, trying to ignore your warming cheeks. “If you want to.”

Minho unfolds the letter, bringing it closer to his face. You wait with bated breath, wringing your fingers in front of you as your boyfriend’s eyes trail over the letter you poured out of your heart and soul. 

“If you don’t like it, you can burn it,” you say, half-joking. 

Minho snaps his head up at your voice. “Do you mean it? Do you mean everything you wrote?”

“Of course, I do, dummy,” you laugh, sending him what you’re sure is the epitome of a lovesick smile. “I love you.”

Minho crosses the door’s threshold, wrapping his arms around your waist as yours simultaneously wrap around his middle. 

“I love you, too,” he whispers into your neck, pressing plush kisses along the skin. “Thank you.”

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[moonstruckme]

soft sirius x reader pleasee 🙏🙏 either established relationship or fwb/friends to lovers vibes you decide

Thanks for requesting!

modern au

fwb!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

“You ought to start locking the door,” Sirius calls out as he enters your flat. You tug out one earbud to hear him better. “I could be a serial killer.” 

“Right, sure,” you snark lightly, washing dishes double-time. “And you ought to start calling before you come by, but we both have our bad habits.” 

“Like you’d pick up if I did.” He saunters into the kitchen, taking in the mess and then pretending not to notice. He leans against the counter beside where you’re working. “I just thought I’d drop in and see if you have a bit of free time.”

“A bit?” you laugh. “Looking for a quickie, Black?” You stack more dishes on the drying rack, jolting forward to steady them when a bowl on the top threatens to tumble. “Sorry, no time. The kitchen’s been a mess for days, I have to clean up before my flatmate gets home from class and murders me.” 

“But she seems like such a nice girl,” Sirius muses, taking the precarious bowl and drying it with a towel. “Anyway, doesn’t your flatmate’s last class end at, like, six? It’s hardly three.” 

“It’s weird that you know that.” It’s not, really. You know a freakish amount of details about his life, too, but it’s easier to keep up the casualness of this arrangement if you pretend you’re not quite as close as you are. You go into the living room, collecting dirty dishes and talking whilst you walk. “She does, but I have to revise my essay, and if I don’t get this done before I start on that, it won’t be finished before she gets home. I’ll forget, I know it.” 

“Hm.” Sirius takes the kettle down from its cabinet, nudging you aside to fill it from the tap. “Why do you have to revise your essay tonight?”

“Because it’s due in three days,” you explain, taking his place at the sink as soon as he’s out of the way to dunk more dishes in the soapy water. “And I have another essay due in four days, so if I don’t work on this one now, I won’t have enough time to finish that one. And besides those, I’ve got my regular work to keep up with.” 

Sirius is quiet for half a second, which is unusual enough that you look over to check that he’s still here. He’s giving you a look you know too well, one dark brow and one corner of his mouth quirked up suggestively. “Sounds like you need to blow off some steam,” he says. 

You try to scoff, but it comes out a snort. “Oh, fuck off. And quit looking at me.” 

You don’t look up from your task this time, a particularly stubborn piece of food requiring your attention, but you can tell Sirius is pouting at you from just his voice. “A cruel demand, and one I can’t abide by. Sorry, gorgeous.”

“Freak.” You continue scrubbing at the dish. Finally, you give in, using your fingernail to attack the crusted-on piece of mystery food and doing your best to ignore the grossness of it. It comes off, but your nail breaks. “Damn it!”

“Hey.” The teasing tone drops from Sirius’ voice. “Take it easy, dollface. You’ve got time.”

It doesn’t feel like you have time. There’s been alarm bells going off in your head since you’d woken up on Monday morning and realized all you had to do this week, and there’s no time for any of it. There’s a dangerous pressure building behind your eyes, but if there’s one thing you definitely don’t have time for, it’s a breakdown. You force a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. 

“I know,” you tell Sirius. “Thanks.”

“Maybe you should take a break,” he suggests lightly. 

You cut a knowing look his way. “I do not have time for a shag right now, Sirius.”

He grins, showing his teeth. “Not what I was thinking of, but as always, let me know if you change your mind.” You roll your eyes, and his smile drops. “Just, like, an actual break. You seem kind of stressed.” 

“I am,” you say, like duh, “but I don’t have time for a break either. I’ll be less stressed when everything is done.” You just have to make it until then. 

Sirius goes quiet again, but you don’t bother wondering about it this time. It’s fine if he’s worried about you. You want him to be, a little bit. You want someone to see how hard you’re trying, even if it doesn’t look like your efforts are producing much. You’ll wash the dishes, and your flatmate will still be annoyed you’d let them pile up in the first place. You’ll turn in your essays, and they’ll be just okay enough to pass. You can work all day, from the second you wake up until you fall dead asleep, and sometimes it feels like it’s for nothing. But what’s the alternative? Stop, and watch your barely-together life fall apart completely? No, you just have to get through this week. Just this week, and then you can rest until the next hard week. 

You stack the last of the dishes on the drying rack, and your hand has barely left before the three on top slip off. You lunge forward on instinct, like you think you can catch them. You can’t. The crash is loud, but you barely hear it. You bring your hands to your face, cupping your mouth between your palms. Your horrified exhale blows hot air back onto your chin. 

“Okay, it’s okay.” Sirius’ voice is soft, as is his touch on your shoulder, encouraging you back from the glass shards. “You’re alright, just be careful, yeah?”

“Fuck,” you say, and you try to laugh, but what comes out is a dry sob. “Oh my god, fuck me.”

“I think we’ve agreed now’s not a good time,” Sirius jokes, taking a dish towel and using it to scrape together the bigger pieces. “Do you have a broom, love?” 

You shake yourself out of your stupor. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll grab it.” 

You step over Sirius, and he makes a half-suppressed sound of alarm when you come too close to the glass but takes the dustpan when you hand it to him. You sweep up the glass, going farther than necessary from the site of the damage to ensure no one ends up with an impaled foot later on. Sirius dumps it in the trash. 

“Thanks,” you tell him, trying to reorient. “Okay, I need to—”

“Oh, would you look at that,” Sirius cuts you off, going to the stove. “It appears I’ve put the kettle on. Must be habit. Sit and have a cup with me, doll?” You give him a look that says you know what he’s doing, and he shrugs like he doesn’t care. “Just for a few minutes. Please.” 

You relent perhaps too easily, picking out mugs for the both of you and accompanying him to the living room. You curl up against the armrest of the couch, and Sirius settles in next to you, his thigh touching your hip. They’re your usual spots, but what’s not as routine is the arm he wraps around your shoulders, drawing you into his side. You sip at your tea as if you don’t notice. The warmth is soothing as it goes down your throat and seeps into your insides. Sirius turns on the TV, and it’s obvious by now that you’ve been lied to, he doesn’t intend to let you go after a few minutes, but you’re losing the will to hold him to it anyway. You let your head lie on his arm as he begins to trace slow, smooth shapes into your shoulder. 

And though it feels nice, you say, “I don’t need you to coddle me.” 

You feel Sirius shift to look down at you, and you tilt your head to meet his eyes. “But you’ll let me,” he says, “won’t you?” 

You don’t know how to answer that. Sirius doesn’t seem to be waiting for one, pressing a casual kiss to your head and then focussing back on the screen, his doodles on your shoulder never faltering. You rest your head on him again, and you suppose that’s answer enough. 

[chrystal-ink]

Outlaw Shadow x fem reader

Ride into the sunset

description: the lonely outlaw makes his way back into town his reason, you warnings: Reader is a sex worker, brief mentions of sex work. Minors DNI Notes: i don't think I've written faster in my life. inspiration definitely struck with this one. I might go back and make some changes here and there but I NEEDED to get this one out lol. -enjoy

The sun beat down on the plains as the outlaw moved through the shadows. Any one with half a brain would avoid town with a bounty on their head, take it as a sign to get out of there and never return. However the outlaw had something to take care of, someone much more important than any bounty could get in the way of.

He entered the dusty brothel through the back entrance the stench of spilled alcohol and dried tobacco from its patrons stung his nose. The out of tune piano played as the performers on stage danced entertaining the crowd.

He snuck over to the bar where a familiar bat was stationed cleaning her counter top, before he could sit down she poured him a drink which he happily accepted.

“Have I missed her?” The outlaw asked.

“She’s up next.” Miss Rouge responded “but I need to talk to you.”

The outlaw looked at her in confusion he always paid his bill as overpriced as she was he always left her with plenty of money to cover whatever was necessary.

“It’s not about your bill it’s about one of my girls.”

“What about her?”

“She’s stopped seeing clients.”

“What do you mean?”

“She has removed herself from the roster for any sort of private entertainment for any of my patrons, she will only entertain you privately in the rooms upstairs and she won’t be taking payment for it either.”

The outlaw’s calloused heart skipped a beat. Was that really true?

“now, as owner of this establishment it is my duty to protect my girls, if she doesn’t want to take clients that is fine by me, but I will not stand by and let you drag her heart through the dirt so you either commit to this or walk out the door, do you understand.”

“I understand Rouge I’ll take care of her.”

The bat smiled taken by surprise at the outlaw’s swift answer.

“My, after all these years on the lamb you’ve finally grown a soft spot.”

In all honesty it wasn’t a hard decision for the hedgehog to make he had come to the establishment to make his intentions known to you anyway.

He didn’t intend to buy yours or anyone else’s services when he first came into the brothel two years ago. Rouge, one of his oldest friends, had offered him a place to stay if he would run security for her. She had just bought the place and was determined to clean it up. So he was responsible for kicking out any rowdy customers, anyone who would grab, or harass any of the workers. It wasn’t a glamorous job but he felt accomplished at the end of the day knowing he protected innocent people from harm.

Most of the girls stayed away from him, mostly out of fear. His reputation was far from secret, being an outlaw wanted in six counties was far from ideal for him either, still there was one girl who wasn’t afraid of him at all in fact she seemed more curious than fearful.

He never took any of her offers and yet she still stuck around him. He found her conversations to be the best part of his day often seeking you out whenever you weren’t entertaining just to talk to you.

The first time he entered your room it was a particularly crowded day. Shadow had been a well known feature of the brothel at that point, most patrons were too afraid of what he’d do to them if they acted out to even attempt to do anything, so he got a nice break. It had been too loud in the showroom to carry any decent conversation so you led him up to your room. In the quiet privacy of your quarters the two of you opened your souls to each other.

He told you of his past, a simple life on the farm turned sour. The family he lost, the sister who was murdered and the determination to never let anyone suffer like that again. His mission in life was simple, serve justice even if the law wanted to get in the way and in this corrupted town it often did.

You told him of your past as well, a girl from a rich family forced to marry a man you never loved who dragged you out west and gambled all of your money away before being shot in town square for not paying back his loans. you would have died in the streets if Rouge hadn't found you and offered you a job.

He admired your courage and determination to pull yourself back up despite your unfortunate circumstances. You were proud of the work you did as it finally gave you the independence to move on from your family.

"My mother would keel over and die if she knew what I was doing" you said to him one day. "But I don't care, I would have died myself if I had been married to that scoundrel another minute."

"You deserved better" he commented.

"I'm gonna find me better one day, mark my words"

the glimmer of hope in your eyes as you spoke made Shadow's heart race.

He began visiting your room more and more a relationship blossomed between the two of you. He found himself truly caring for you and wanting to protect you.

He never got physical with you, knowing your line of work he didn't want you to see him as one of your clients. the only thing he wanted from you was your companionship, and it would kill him if you thought anything else.

as the two of you got closer it became harder not to cross that physical barrier. he loved you and he didn't just want you to hear it he wanted you to feel it to know with every fiber of his being that he was yours. still he kept himself under control, that was until his last visit to you.

“And up next on the stage is our radiant miss Pearl here to sing a song for you” the announcer shouted the curtain opened as you stepped out to thunderous applause.

Miss Pearl was your stage name Rouge insisted that all her girls identities be concealed, you finally had given him your real name privately about six months ago he was surprised at how well it suited you. He preferred to call you that over miss Pearl any day.

You began your song slow and melodic, singing of a love you pined for hoping someday he would return. Your eyes scanned the crowd when a glimmer had caught your eye, it was him. your heart swelled, no longer were you performing for the crowd rather you were serenading your love as he smiled at you, a smile only you were allowed to see.

you watched as he drank in every note that left your lips, his beautiful crimson eyes never left you once as you performed, everyone in the room seemed to disappear the longer you stared at one another.

finally your song was over, you saw miss Rouge slide the key to your room over to Shadow. you raced off stage to meet him there the two of you had so much to talk about.

Shadow entered your room just as you had finished getting into your dressing gown.

"I'm surprised to see you here today, I thought for sure you were waiting for the heat on you to die down."

"I had to see you." he responded "I hated the way I left you"

"The Sharif was looking for you I understand. besides it was exciting, helping you escape and all."

"Still, it didn't feel right."

"well that can be easily remedied," you took his hat and coat off leaving him in just his shirt you led him to the bed gently pushing him down to lay on it. "You were right there" you laid down beside him moving your face close to his so you were only inches apart. "And I was right here." You cradled his face in your hand as he leaned into your touch.

“I shouldn’t have done what I did”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I wanted to do that.”

“I Just don’t want you to think I was using you for that.”

“I never thought that of you” you paused a moment collecting your thoughts. “I have been with a lot of men in my time, especially in my line of work. My husband, my clients they all had one thing in common.”

“And what was that?”

“They never saw me as anything more than a piece of meat. They were only interested in their own desires, it didn’t matter if they were doing it with me or the girl next door or anyone else in this place. They would thrust into me only chasing their desires never mine, half the time I would just get bored staring at the ceiling waiting for them to be done.” You scoffed.

Shadow looked deep in your eyes seeing the pain of overwhelming loneliness you hid deep inside, behind curtains of happiness and hospitality. He took your hand in his brushing the back of it with his thumb.

You continued “But you, you’re different you’re the first person who cared, you wanted to know me. You don’t see me as anything less than a person. You waited till I was ready, and when we finally did it, it was a whole different experience.”

You smiled thinking back to his gentle touch his low rough voice softening asking you if you were okay, it was clear he had been seeking your desire rather than his. And when the two of you were finished, he held you in his arms while he cleaned you up.

That was when the sharif came in. Someone had tipped off his location after he stole back some horses for a family who’s farm had fallen on hard times. the wealthy man who swindled the horses from them was found tied up and gagged in his mansion his safe tapped into and all the gold inside mysteriously vanished. Shadow only kept enough money to keep him afloat giving the rest to those who needed it.

The Sharif knew what Shadow was really doing, often turning a blind eye to it. He knew this town was corrupted and if Shadow was the one to balance it out so be it, unfortunately he had to step in whenever shadow went too far past the boundaries of the law.

The Sharif entered the brothel loudly giving the two of you plenty warning. You helped Shadow out the window, lying through your teeth as the sharif interrogated you.

“I couldn’t go back to taking clients after that. It didn’t feel right.”

“That couldn’t have been an easy decision to make”

“It didn’t feel like it, not really."

the two of you sat quietly taking in the moment. You had been apart for two months and if felt like torture. now that you were reunited neither of you wanted to leave.

Shadow had looked around your room, it hadn't changed too much in his absence. but there was one stark difference on your vanity sat a poster, one that bared his face.

"Is that my wanted poster?"

a dusting of pink made it's way to your cheeks.

"It was the only way I could see you while you were gone"

"You wanted to see me?"

"I always want to see you"

the confession came so casually but it was just as effective.

"Speaking of which I got you something." you got up from the bed opening one of your drawers you pulled out a small piece of paper handing it to him.

turning it over he saw it was a photograph of you.

"I got this taken a few weeks ago, i figured it wasn't fair that I got to see you everyday while you had to rely on your imagination for me."

Shadow smiled tucking it into his shirt pocket.

"I'll make sure to take care of this then since you went through all the trouble for me."

you smiled coyly at him.

"I need to tell you something." Shadow said looking you in the eyes.

You nodded nudging him to go on.

"I Love you, everything about you, I know things are hard with me being an outlaw , having to flea town every few months, and I know that what were doing might put you in danger but, I want to start a life with you. I have a plot of land ten miles from town It's not much but I can build us a home maybe a small farm. you can still work of course if that's what you want to do. I know you enjoy your independence and I'd never want to take that from you."

your heart raced at his words. it was everything you had wanted to hear him say but a thought clung to your mind one you couldn't ignore.

"If we do this, I'll become an outlaw too wont I?"

He nodded solemnly.

you sat a moment weighing your options, finally coming to a decision.

"I'll do it, but only on one condition."

"Anything"

"You have to teach me, everything. how to do what you do and how I can do it. I see the work you do I know it can get bad but I see the good that comes from it. I can cover areas that you can't, I know how to spot someone in a bad situation, if I can get them out before things get really bad maybe they'll start to see what you're trying to do."

Shadow thought about it, he hated the fact that you would put yourself in danger like that, but he admired your boldness. he loved that you understood what he was doing and he appreciated you wanting to help. He knew you were smart and capable, that you would pick things up quickly. he knew outlaw life was lonely, but maybe it didn't have to be.

He looked at you seeing the hope in your eyes was all he needed for his answer.

"You've got yourself a deal"

You smiled at him, rushing to pull him in.

The two of you embraced each other for the first time not just as partners in love, but partners in crime.

[macabr3-barbi3]

pretty wings- Vox/fallen angel!Reader

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55237840

A Good Samaritan- a rare commodity in Hell- helps Vox to his car in the rain. How can he ever repay her?

(There's a second chapter now!)

Tags: wing kink; angel wings; fallen angels; vaginal sex; couch sex; fantasizing; begging; switching? maybe idk; Vox has a lil crush <3

💙❤️💙❤️💙

How it still manages to rain in Hell when there is no real atmosphere, he would never understand. Vox had never really liked the rain, even when he was alive- all it ever meant was canceled plans, systems going down, deep shitty puddles that got his shoes and pants wet and dirty. Like now, standing off the back porch of the restaurant he had just finished a meeting in, waiting for his fucking assistant to answer his goddamn phone and call a driver for him so he could go the fuck home since he couldn’t walk to his car. 

He had been standing under the awning of the restaurant for twenty minutes now. The rain showed no sign of letting up, his meeting partners had all left, and Vox was fucked. He couldn’t go back inside- what kind of fucking loser goes back into an establishment after paying their tab, and for what? To ask for an umbrella? He’d rather die again. And if his assistant didn’t pick up his phone real fucking soon, someone would absolutely be dying today. 

“Excuse me, sir?”

He sighs internally, sets his charm to its max setting and the brightness of his screen up before he turns towards your voice. “So sorry, doll, I’m afraid I’m all out of time for photo ops today!” 

You raise an eyebrow, and he lets his gaze travel over your form. You looked relatively normal for a demon, your face still pretty human besides the two horns that came off your skull. Your eyes were wide and yellow, a heavy coat draped over your shoulders as you looked at him- not that much shorter, he noted, which was a nice change of pace from talking to Velvette all the time and having to crane basically in half to meet her eyes.

“That’s… not what I was going to ask.” 

He resists the urge to roll his eyes, and can feel his screen glitch on his smile as he watches you. “An interview then? Look, you can contact my people but I am really not in the-”

“What I was going to ask,” you interrupt him, and Vox fights down the wave of annoyance at having been cut off, “was if you needed help.”

His face screws up and he means to immediately deny. “Absolutely not. I’m perfectly fine-”

“Are you?”

And that was going to get annoying fast if you kept doing that, he thought to himself.

“You’ve been standing out here for close to half an hour and glaring at your phone. I don’t think its crazy to assume that you need some assistance with something having to do with the rain.” You look him over, much the same way that he had done to you. “I would imagine that the whole ‘TV head’ thing you have going on doesn’t mix well with precipitation.”

Well, you had him there. “You’re not wrong,” he admits testily. “But my assistant will be sending someone to drive me soon. I’ll be fine.” He flashes you a winning smile.

“I mean, I guess you could wait for your assistant to answer your calls- doesn’t seem like you’re having much luck with reaching them.” You cross your arms over your chest, and- nope, Vox was not going to stand out here in the rain and ogle some random sinner’s tits. He redirects his gaze. “Or you could let me either walk you to your car or walk with you to wherever you’re going.”

He throws you a side eye and sighs heavily, letting his head drop back before rolling an eye down to look at you. “You don’t look like you have an umbrella,” he says, crossing his arms now as well. “How exactly are we getting to my car?”

You give him a smile that shorts a fuse in his head for a moment, wide and earnest and pretty. “Who needs an umbrella?” You shrug one of your shoulders and the coat you’re wearing starts to slide off your shoulders. Vox makes a move to stop the slide like a gentleman, keep the coat covering your body and stop it from slipping into a puddle, when it rises up off your back and comes to cover the both of you. He sees black feathers interspersed with white spots as the bottom comes into view, and he realizes it wasn’t a coat at all.

You had wings. Big, powerful wings by the look of it- the part connected to your back didn’t shake under the weight of the limb being extended over your heads. He stared at them; he knew he was staring, that you might think it was strange, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was mesmerizing. Thrilling.

He feels a spark of arousal shoot through him at the sight of them, and his plans change for the night. You’re pretty, and the curves of your body are appealing, but the wings. He wants to explore them. Wants to tease you with your own feathers. To run his fingers over them and watch you struggle to maintain this composure you have. He’s confident in his ability to get you home with him- maybe offer a drink as thanks for your help or something. 

“Sure, I guess you can walk me to my car,” he says, feigning an air of disinterest despite the twitch in his cock. “It’s not every day one meets a sinner so giving- I might as well take advantage!” He sees the flinch that shoots across your face, making your wing tremble, but you straighten up and stiffen your shoulders, gesturing out to the street being beaten by the rain.

“Lead the way.”

He steps out from under the awning and is delighted when your wing does, in fact, shelter the both of you from the weather. You bring the second wing out to block any rain from blowing under the first with the wind, and Vox is fucking obsessed with the subtle muscle of them, the careful strength in the way that you adjust the angle of them to keep him dry. It seems subconscious, the movement of them, as Vox gave you directions to where he had parked earlier when the sky was dry and he had thought he could enjoy a nice walk after his meeting. 

A piece of paper, litter off the ground, comes flying under the shelter you were providing him aiming right for his screen. He brings up a hand to block it- wet paper wouldn’t do any real damage but it was still annoying- when the tip of the wing over your head dips down slightly, catches it with a corner, and flings it off to the side. A drop of water manages to fly off the thing and splatter on his screen. You give him a smile, apology on your lips at being unable to prevent the attack. You turn back to the cars in front of you, looking for the electric blue of his vehicle that he had described to you.

Vox wants you spread out in his bed, he decides. Your wings splayed out behind you in whatever position he decided to take you- he would work with anything. He could trace his fingers over the delicate bones with you on your back as he drilled into you; grab a fistful of feathers while he fucks you from behind, use that leverage to sink his cock into you as far as he could manage; let you unfurl them from your back while you ride him so they cover you both like a blanket, seal yourselves off from the rest of the world and let the only light you see be his screen in the darkness of it.

“Sir?” 

He blinks hard a couple times and realizes that you’ve reached his car, and you’re standing there in the rain illuminated by the few streetlights that reach this back corner. Your eyebrow is cocked at him in amusement, wings still suspended over him. “I think walking you over here defeats the purpose if you don’t actually get in the car.”

“Right, right!” He touches a claw to the vehicle and it roars to life as he grabs the handle and maneuvers himself inside of it. He looks up at you now, the positions reversed, and his breath catches in his throat, cock throbbing. You’re magnificent like this, wings still hanging above you and slightly over the car to make sure no moisture can reach him. The rest of your body is relaxed but he can see it in his head, the way that you would look tense with pleasure, eyes clenched shut and mouth hanging open. 

You give him a smile. “You’re welcome, by the way.” 

The vague chagrin that shoots through him does nothing to quell the erection rapidly growing in his pants. “I was going to say thank you,” he insists, and the way you laugh has him wanting to inject the sound into his fucking veins. “Can I- can I give you a ride home? You know, as thanks for walking me over here, making sure I don’t get waterlogged.”

You look like you’re going to refuse at first but then you shrug. “Sure. It’s not too far, if you really don’t mind.”

Fuck yes! The processors in his head are whirring, wondering how best to convince you to come back to his place on the way to yours. Or fuck, maybe he could just join you at your place. He wasn’t picky about where the fucking happened, as long as it did. He was desperate for it, to have you gasping for him while he plucked at your pretty wings with his cock nestled deep inside your pussy.

The passenger door opens and you enter the car with your knees on the leather seat. He questions it for only a moment before you lean back and shake your wings viciously outside the vehicle, dispersing as much of the water as you can before you sit normally in the seat. You buckle up and give him a sweet smile, pointing a slender finger to the other side of the parking lot where the exit is.

He can’t remember being so fucking turned on before as he puts some music on and starts driving. Sure, he had his fun with Val and sometimes some of his actors between scenes and shit, the occasional fangirl or one of Velvette’s models but just being aroused by the presence of someone? Who wasn’t actively trying to seduce him? Was just sitting in the passenger seat of his car while he drove her home?

It was new, and it was exciting, and God, those fucking wings…

They’re tucked delicately behind you, the black of your feathers contrasting nicely with the deep red leather of his seats. He’d never seen a demon with wings like these before- they were usually attached to the arms of them or draped off the back. More for decoration than anything else; even Val’s wings weren’t so prehensile and flexible, he thought, thinking about the way the tip had dipped down to sling that piece of paper away from him.

“So, your wings-”

“We’re here,” you say with a grin, the car not even having left the parking lot.

“What? I- here? ” He does stop the vehicle before looking over at you, craning his neck forward to look at a building that sat kitty corner to the restaurant he had his meeting in.

“I told you it wasn’t far.” He can hear the giggle in your voice. “How else do you think I saw you standing out here the whole time? I could see the glow of your screen from my window. Figured I would offer a hand since you didn’t look like you were making much progress.”

He stares at you. He hadn’t had time to try to convince you to spend more time with him- to convince you to let him get his hands on those feathers.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You’re reaching for the door handle when he blurts out, “wait!”

And thank fuck, you do. You look back at him with an eyebrow raised but your hand stops reaching. He clears his throat, fixes you with what he hopes is a suave look. “Let me thank you,” he says. “We can go grab a drink at my place- or I can buy you dinner, if you’d rather do that. Order some takeout if you want to stay home.” Smile wide, he waits for you to respond.

Bells and whistles ring in his head as you buckle back up. “I’m down on one condition.”

“Name it, doll,” is his immediate response, and he’s only a little embarrassed at the speed with which he spoke. “Really, I want to give you a proper show of gratitude- there’s no way this counts. Whatever you want.”

A crooked little smile graces your face. “Can I get your name?”

He can almost feel the error message crawl across the bottom of his screen; he doesn’t know what it says but he watches your eyes follow the scrawl of words, the real reason he knew it was there. “Vox,” he says, holding a hand out for you to shake. “Pleasure to meet you.” He leaves off what is obvious to anyone else- Overlord of Hell, Media Mastermind, TV demon on the fast track to ruling Pentagram city. If you didn’t already know these things then you had to be new- that explained the blatant disrespect earlier, interrupting him, dismissing his words. If you didn’t know he wouldn’t tell you yet. He would win you over and get you onto a horizontal surface without his reputation; preferably with his sharp tongue, strong fingers and thick cock if he had a choice in the matter.

“Vox.” You repeat his name, and it sounds so sweet and innocent that he can’t wait for you to scream it out in ecstasy. You give him your name in return as he pulls out of the parking lot and heads towards Vee Tower.

The silence is comfortable on the relatively short drive, Vox pulling the car into the basement garage of Vee Tower and quietly relishing in the fascinated expression on your face when someone comes to grab the keys to park his car as he leads you to the elevator. “You’re some kind of hotshot, huh?” You ask, lashes fluttering at him in a way that makes his knees weak.

“Something like that, doll,” he says, smile wide while you take it all in. Even just the garage is sophisticated and impressive, and he wishes he could see it through your eyes. He notices your raised eyebrows at the push of the button for the penthouse, but you don’t say anything. “So, your wings- are you some kind of bird?”

A tight smile. “Something like that, doll,” you parrot back to him. “That’s more of a second date question, I think.”

Second date. Was this your first date? Fuck, he should have called his assistant ahead of time and made him get something prepared fresh- gotten some fucking good champagne in- swapped out his comfortable sheets for the silk ones that his bed partners were nuts for even if he didn’t really care for them. But his assistant was fucking useless tonight, evidenced by the fact of your being here in the first place since he couldn’t get a car to fetch him.

Vox might not have met you if he had answered the phone though- so maybe he would let it slide.

He leads you out of the elevator into his home, the lights of Pentagram City casting a lovely red glow over your body. “Nice view.” You stand by it, the white tips of your wings illuminated where the light shone through. He comes to stand beside you in front of the couch, and you give him a pretty smile. “I do have a question though.”

“What’s that?” He has his phone out, firing off one last text to his assistant - "If I don’t hear back from you in the next ten minutes I’m swapping your contract for one of Val’s. FUCKING ANSWER ME” should get his message across- and missing the narrowing of your eyes when you turn back to face him.

“Do you know that you aren’t subtle?” You hook an ankle around the back of his leg and yank, sending him toppling backwards into the couch, his phone hitting the cushion next to you. He has only a brief moment to flounder, wonder what the fuck was happening, before you were straddling his lap, knees on either sides of his thighs and your skirt pulled taut between your legs. “See, I really couldn’t tell if you thought you were. I figured I would ask.”

“What?” He can’t find the power to do anything but watch with his eyes wide while you slide your hands down his chest and settle into his space, the warmth of your cunt palpable through his trousers where you rest against his rapidly hardening prick. “What do you-”

“Ah, you don’t know. Cute.” The word makes him twitch, and when he opens his mouth to protest what comes out instead is a choked off whine as you roll your hips into him. “I like my men a little cute- when they think they’re being so suave and sexy but all they can think about is getting their hands on my body. Or my wings, in this case.” As you mention them you let them puff up a little behind you, spread out ever so slightly so Vox could get a better look. His breath catches- silhouetted by the glow of the city behind you, you were breathtaking. 

“What gave me away, doll?” He could deny, but what was the point in that? The night was already progressing the way that he wanted. You were perhaps a little more forward than he was expecting, but he could work with that. As long as it ended with your pussy swallowing up his cock he would be a happy demon.

You laughed, the sound like a bell in the silence of his place as he settles his hands on your hips. “Besides the blatant ogling of them when I first brought them out and the whole way across the parking lot, you mean? You had an error message in the car running across your screen just here-” You lean down and lick across the lower right corner of his face. “You wanna know what it said?”

“Enlighten me.” He’s amazed he can still get a word out with the blood rushing to his cock, hard length pressed against you where you’re seated on his lap.

“‘Pretty wings,’ it said.” Your fingers come down to undo his belt, whipping it from the loops of his pants. Vox nearly chokes on his tongue when you pull his cock out, already hard and leaking in your hand as you tighten your grip. “Suuuper cute. Over and over.” You lift your hips a bit, shoving your skirt up near your hips and hovering over his length. “I wanna hear it instead of reading it though- can you say it for me, pretty boy?”

You skim his tip through the slickness between your legs, and his brain short circuits when he realizes that you haven’t been wearing panties. “Fuck me,” he manages to laugh out. “Was this your plan the whole time? Play the good Samaritan to get me home so you could ride my cock?”

You shake your head and let yourself sink down the slightest bit, a breathy moan leaving your throat as his head is swallowed by your tight, wet heat. “Not initially. I really was just trying to be a nice person.” You throw him a wink, pulling away when he tries to thrust up and not allowing him to get any deeper inside of you. “Come on now- give me what I want and I’ll give you what you want.”

Fuck, if that doesn’t shoot straight to his prick. “Pretty wings,” he murmurs, letting one of his hands leave your hip to brush against the soft feathers. “They’re beautiful. Strong. Fuckin’ perfect.” With each word you slide down further until you’re fully seated on his cock. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“That’s it, baby,” you say, and shift your hips forward to get him where you want him. “You were thinking about this, yeah?” With a downward grind you let your wings unfurl completely, filling his vision with a flash of feathers that blocks the light of the city from reaching him. A ripple runs through them, the tremor rolling all the way from top to tip and the feeling is imitated around his cock, your tight walls rippling.

He doesn’t whine, thank you very much. But a broken drawn out sound does escape his mouth, screen thrown back over the back of the couch. He can’t bare to fucking look at you with how perfect the moment is, the sight and sound and sensation of you stuffed with his cock better than he could have imagined. “I wanna touch them,” he says, but when he reaches his fingers out you wrap your hands around his wrists, surprising strength in your redirection of his palms to your chest.

“Can we say ‘please’, pretty boy?” You let your wings flutter, a gust of wind blowing across his face from the movement, moaning when his prick hits a soft spot inside you that makes you gush around his length. “I’ll let you touch them if you ask nicely.”

His pride fights him for a moment- this wasn’t exactly how it was supposed to go, with him at your mercy instead of the other way around. He had wanted you under him, wings spread across his mattress and feathers fisted in his hands while he fucked you.

“I’ll give you a demonstration of what I’m looking for,” you offer, and then your lashes are fluttering, eyes rolling back into your head and a whine falling forth from your mouth. “Oh fuck, Vox , baby, please.”

Pride flies out the window in favor of the feeling of your cunt clenching around his cock. “Please, sweetheart,” he says, and he lets his clawed thumbs roll over the pebbles of your nipples where you hold him against your chest. “Let me touch them? I’ll be real gentle with you, baby.”

You pick up the pace, releasing his hands and bringing your wings forward, bordering him on either side so all he can see is you. “That’s what I like to hear,” you whisper with a grin, bracing your hands on his shoulders and properly riding him now, the slick sound of your body taking him in echoing in the emptiness of his living room.

He lifts his trembling palms from your chest and brushes the tips of his claws along the bottoms of your wings, feathers gliding softly over his digits- the sensation makes you moan, another gentle ripple running through them. He fists his hands in them, pulling lightly like he might at someone’s hair, and your wet heat pulses around him, pussy tight like you mean to keep him inside of you forever. He wants that- wants to stay buried where he currently is until Hell falls to pieces around you.

His phone rings on the couch beside him, the call taking over his screen moments later. Vox doesn’t want to let go of your wings, having just gotten his hands on them- with a shake of his head the call is dismissed, only to immediately come back and take over his face again. “God fucking-”

You lift a hand from his shoulder and answer the call, a right swipe and a wicked smile leading to Vox’s assistant’s voice filling the space between you and him. “-and I am SO. SORRY. Sir I swear, I have never had my phone on silent like this before-” He continues his rant, and Vox struggles to remember why he was even calling right now- he was fucking busy, damn it, what the fuck.

“-understand that you’re upset, but please, sir, I’ll do better, just don’t send me to Valentino-”

“Better answer him,” you whisper to Vox, dragging your tongue up the side of his screen, hips grinding down. “If I cum before the call ends I’ll leave.”

Graceful fingers slide down your body to rub at your own clit, moaning prettily into the side of his face while his assistant rambled in his ear. Vox was going to fucking combust.

“Just- fuck, man, shut up. It’s fine.” You chuckle into his shirt, deft fingers unbuttoning it and raking your claws down his chest. “ Jesus fuck, I- no, not you. It’s fine. We’ll talk in the morning-”

“But sir if you still need a ride-”

“I fucking found a ride, alright,” he mutters darkly, tightening his grip on your wings in one hand and letting the other trail firmly along the top of it, all the way down to the tip. The feathers seem to shiver in his grasp and your cunt clenches around him, threatens to pull him over the edge with how close you are. “Call me in the morning. Now f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡c̨̨̣̮̝̈́̔ͯ̀͂k̼̼̞̦̞̼̔ o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞. ”

Voice files corrupted, he disconnects the call, reaches his hands around your back to finger at the base of your wings, the skin there taut and sensitive if the keening groan you let off into his shirt is anything to go by. “Fuck me, you feel divine,” he mutters, and you choke off a chuckle at the word. “Let me feel you, angel, cum on my cock.”

“N- naughty men that don’t say please don’t get to make demands,” you say, and he could tease you, could pull your hand away from your clit and make you hover right on the edge of release. But he was a selfish man, and could admit that he wanted the feeling of you coming undone around him more than he wanted to be right.

“Please, baby, please,” he begs, and you hiss through your teeth at the sound of his pleading, sweet and low, the slightest hint of static to his voice. “God, fucking d̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟t͖͖̠̬͛, please, l- let me w̡̻̻̣͚̒̀ͅo͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅh̨͚͚͖ͯ̒̄͗͞i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟p͔͔͚͉̬̋ͩ̾͗ y͙͙̪̰ͫ͌́o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡-”

““Oh fuck, Vox, baby, please-” Less sarcastic this time despite the half formed smile on your face, and the teasing lilt to it is ruined by the clenching of your eyes as you clamp down on his prick and cum, fingers of the hand not frantically rubbing at your clit digging into his skin while you shudder and shake in the embrace of his arms. 

He follows you moments later, the tension he had felt since meeting you outside the restaurant finally cresting and crashing, and he spends himself inside of the slick grip of your cunt, still riding him with the effort you can spare after the force of your orgasm before eventually slowing. You take your fingers from your clit, circle them around the base of his cock and collect some of your combined releases before bringing them up to his mouth, pushing inside and letting Vox’s tongue wrap around the length of them.

Fuck. You would be the death of him, he was sure.

“Not bad,” you mutter once you’ve collapsed bonelessly against him. “Might need a couple more rounds to really show you the ropes though- really get it through your screen here who is in charge.”

“That’s not you, doll.” Vox laughs, and you bring your wings up to surround the two of you like a fort, the glow of his screen illuminating your face and the teasing smile you wear.

“I guess I could be willing to share,” you agree, leaning forward far enough to press a teasing kiss to the plastic of his face. “We can talk about it tomorrow after you reassure your little assistant that you’re not going to murder him.”

“Still thinking about it,” he muses, “but we’ll see.” He runs his fingers again along the bottom of your wings, delights in your shiver, and wishes the rain would never stop.