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joelsmochi · 1 year ago

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every man gets his wish - joel miller

rating: E 18+ pairing: neighbor!joel x f!pornstar!reader summary: joel discovers his next door neighbor makes porn in her spare time. once she's confronted, she finds out that he has an interest in helping create content ;) warnings: not proofread, no physical descriptions other than reader having an unidentified tattoo on her thigh and nice peach, unspecified age gap (ur choice pookie), [m] masturbation, objectively joel is a bit of a perv, some awkward dialogue, literal porn. literally, degradation (they get a lil rough), f + m oral, smacking/spanking, daddy kink (slight ddlg vibes too), pet names and plenty of dirty talk YUM wc: 3.2k a/n: happy valentine's day smut sluts :D!

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He almost couldn’t believe his eyes, but he’d recognize that tattoo anywhere; his gaze followed the tattoo on the back of your thigh as you rode your cute little excuse for a toy.

Your soft moans and breaths echoing through the speakers on his laptop made his legs tremble against the old desk chair in his room while he fucked his fist.

He didn’t even think twice about the video he clicked on. He just knew he was horny and in need of quick release, so he typed his favorite keywords into Pornhub’s search engine and clicked the sixth video that only showed your ass. He realized he never noticed how juicy it was, and the oil or lotion or lube or whatever you fucking used to make it so goddamn shiny only emphasized how perfect it was.

Staring at the screen, he grasped the armrest in one hand and cock in the other, watching your puffy pussy cream all over the dildo. He matched the strokes of his hand with the rhythm of you bouncing. Slowing down, speeding up, only fucking the tip or grinding—he reenacted every movement of yours as best he could.

Even waiting until you were shaking and shouting the words, “I’m cumming—fuck yes! Just like that baby,” before cumming with you.

He watched the last few minutes of the video, watching you slap the dildo on your creamy cunt and play with it a little more along with standing up off of your bed and jiggling your ass in your hands. You giggled softly watching yourself. Then, much to his surprise, you sat down in front of the camera and smiled.

He wasn’t expecting you to reveal your face, so when the video ended he looked out of his bedroom window into yours. You were lying on the bed reading a book in the very spot where you recorded that filthy video.

You weren’t trying to tease him, he knew that, but it certainly felt that way.

♡

Joel had successfully managed to evade you for a week feigning work has been keeping him too tired for company. He found himself a touch jealous that the world had seen you naked before him despite your relationship being completely platonic.

You owed him nothing, not even an explanation, but he still felt weirdly possessive over you. He had a slight crush on you when you first moved in, but you were so much younger than he was, and in his eyes you'd want nothing to do with such an old man like himself. Not to mention the 'crush' was mostly just a lingering desperation to fuck you.

The discovery led him to do a deep dive into your profile on the website. There he discovered what seemed like a plethora of your content along with your affinity for degradation whether it was to yourself or towards others.

However he felt like he could finally breathe when he saw it was all solo content. You didn't even seem to entertain the idea of fucking someone else and uploading it. He even felt a sliver of hope that he could be your first real fuck on camera, but if he already struggled with confronting his own feelings towards you then how could he ever open up the opportunity to doing a video with you?

Joel was finally over avoiding you. He was ready to admit his discovery to you and go from there. He just prayed you wouldn't freak out.

"Hi, Joel!" You greeted after opening your front door. "What's been goin' on cowboy, I've been a little lonely on this side of town."

He followed your actions and sat on your sofa; as instant as a heartbeat you noticed he was off. Nervous? Worry? Anger? You struggled to read him.

"Somethin' the matter?"

He pulled himself out of his daze and looked at you, mouth hanging open like he couldn't manage the words. They just sort of... Spilled out.

"I found your porn on PornHub the other day and I don't care that you sell porn. I really don't. You're a grown woman and it's your body and you can do whatever you want. I just felt wrong not tellin' you."

Poor Joel.

You wanted to laugh at him, tell him there was no guilt in finding it or even watching it (because let's face it, you know he did).

"Okay," you said.

"Okay..."

"...Did you like it?" You asked after feeling a little uneasy with the silence.

"Hell yeah," he responded without hesitation making you giggle.

"Really?" You tittered, "I feel like it gets old."

This was his golden opportunity. At the very least he could pass what he was about to say off as a joke.

"I could always help with that," he chuckled.

You were clearly taken aback by his statement but still smiling. "I'm don't like sharing my money, Joel," you scoffed.

"So don't pay me," he said just as he leaned in a little closer. "Just fuck me."

You couldn't fight the blush that rose to your cheeks and he cockily took notice of it.

"Are you fucking with me?" You bashfully asked.

This made him lean in closer, close enough for you to smell him, close enough to feel his breath cascading over your collarbones, close enough to know that the dark look in his eyes wasn't mischief. It was desire.

His hands cupped your jaw so that he could bring your nose to his. You felt beautifully trapped between his hands, gaze, and aura. Suddenly you were filled with the desire to let him take you in any way he wanted to imagine.

"You know what my favorite video is?" He whispered, breath hitting your lips. "You were on your side, getting ready to cum, and you kept saying I belong to you until you were screaming. Damn near crying. Your little fucktoy was soaked. You had cum everywhere. But the best part was when you did start to cum. You couldn't even look away from yourself, you looked too damn good and you fucking knew it."

"I'd look even better with you inside of me," you told him.

He sharply inhaled before placing his needy lips onto yours, pressing his face in as much as he could.

You moaned into his open mouth, reaching for his tongue with your own. His hands roamed down your body until they reached your hips; showing off his strength, he lifted you into his lap and stood up not wanting to waste another second.

He tried to be careful on the stairs but his eagarity caused him to misstep and almost drop you; he left no room for embarrassment and quickly returned to running up with you giggling at the mishap.

Joel placed you on the bed standing with his jean-covered erection eye level with you. "Where's your camera?"

"Really wanna record it, hmm?" You said softly, running your hand along his hard length and motioning your head to the dresser behind him.

He grabbed it, muttering, "Wanna show everyone you're mine now," whilst turning the camera on.

You cocked an eyebrow up as if to say oh really. "Is that so? I'm all yours now?"

Smiling, he pointed the now recording camera at you. He cupped your chin and dragged a finger over the bright smile you wore. "You're all mine now, darlin'."

You giggled coyly then kissed his clad erection slowly with eyes that remained on the lens.

"Quit teasin'," he demanded with a playful lilt.

You hummed and fake pouted, pulling your face away to toggle his jeans. "There are nicer ways to ask," you teased.

"I'm not askin'."

"Oh? My apologies, daddy."

Your hand began pumping his thick cock when you said that, making his cock jerk hard within your tight grip.

"Daddy, huh?" He entertained; you seductively nodded. "S'pretty right here..."

"Where I belong," you hummed.

Then, you lined your tongue up with the base of his cock, just barely teasing his balls, and licked a stripe up his girthy shaft before twirling your tongue around his red hot tip. You carefully watched as his face contorted, ensuring it was with pleasure and looking for any sensitive spots he may have.

He seemed to favor your tongue on his cockhead so that's what you prioritized for a minute. You tongue kissed it as if it were his mouth. Licking and sucking and pulling it into your mouth feverishly.

His cock tasted manly and the length was just as impressive as him. You finally pulled more of him into your mouth allowing him the privilege of feeling your gummy cheeks swell and close around his dick.

A strained groan left his throat and his head fell back in pleasure. You pushed some of him into your throat to gag, earning more spit to pump the rest of his length with.

Joel was enamoured to say the least. Your wide eyes locked with his letting him know you loved sucking his cock as much as he did. Spit hung from your chin prompting him to reangle the camera to get the side view of everything.

He placed a hand on the back of your head and gently fucked your throat. You moaned, grabbing his ass and pulling him in for more pain, more suffocation.

Your throat gagged over and over again, imitating the feeling of your swallowing his dick. You loved how he shamelessly moaned, filling your ears with the sexy sounds of his calloused whimpers and content praises.

"Such a good girl, sucking daddy's cock like that," he groaned. "You like the taste, don't you? Such a good little slut." He smacked your jaw as encouragement to keep doing whatever magic you were fucking performing.

Once your throat began to get sore you pulled your mouth off of him, still opting to use your hands as he laid you down and rested on top of you, giving you the sloppiest kiss you'd ever received and assisting you with undressing.

He tasted his cock on your lips and chin and slurped up whatever precum and spit you had leftover. It felt nasty and passionate, with subtle moans spilling from both of you, and Joel couldn't get enough of it.

"Sit on my face," he breathed.

"Sit on your face?"

"Mmhm."

You set the camera up on the dresser looking at the screen to ensure it would capture everything before complying with his wish. He let out a muffled moan as soon as your wet pussy came in contact with his wet mouth.

On the camera, everything could be seen: your cunt glistened effortlessly and his tongue lapped up whatever your body poured for him. His scruff tickling your freshly shaved skin made you giggle and moan, little noises everywhere that sung like a melody in his ears.

Your clit tingled with a pressure that encouraged you to started riding his face. In response Joel's calloused hands came up to grip your ass and assisted your movements.

He squeezed one cheek almost too hard before spanking it a few times, your flesh easily bruising red and stinging deliciously.

"Joel, your mouth... Perfect," you blabbered. You were filled with bliss: your eyes were closed, fingers twirling playfully in his messy hair.

God, he licked you so fucking good. So messy but that's what made it effortlessly perfect.

"I—oh my God. Fuck! I love your fucking mouth," you moaned loudly.

"Mhm?"

You shuddered at the vibrations, hips stuttering into his licks and sucks even deeper.

"Yes, Joel!" You cried, "Fuck you're gonna make me cum... You're gonna make me cum!"

He spanked your ass even more at this, making both cheeks turn a bashful color and jiggle against his jawline.

With trembling thighs you managed all of your strength to hump him harder and faster. Doing whatever you fucking could to reach your climax.

"Yesyesyesyesyesyes!" You happily cheered as your juices began to relentlessly pour out of your squelching cunt and down his chin.

A satisfied smile rose to your face as your clit throbbed through the orgasm Joel had just given you. You slowed down on your own time allowing him to savor every last drop he'd be tasting for now.

You carefully removed your weight from his face, feeling more out of breath than ever. Meanwhile Joel sat up and swiped up some of your come with his thumb just before forcing it into your mouth and using his other hand to pinch out some that managed to get inside of his nose.

You were a tad embarrassed by his action but his subtle grin let you know that there was nothing more sexy than getting you so wet that it literally almost suffocated him.

Your mouth latched into him, cherishing the scruff surrounding his face. He went to lay on top of you again, your head now hanging off of the foot of the bed; he held your legs to your chest and slid into you easily making you whine at the slight burn that came with being stretched out.

With furrowed brows and an agape mouth, he incandescently moaned into the thick air while his thick thumb found your sensitive clit. You flinched and exhaled harmoniously at the combination of pleasure, enriched in the ecstasy he gave.

"You're so fuckin' tight, babydoll. Agh—almost can't take it," he taunted. "M'gonna have to ruin ya."

He gently released the grip of your legs and put his weight onto you. His arms slithered beneath you, wrapping around you in a way that made you feel safe. Then he kissed you, much more softly than before and rolled his hips back and forth. Your slick walls gripped him, trying to suck him in deeper.

His lips pulled off of you with a pop and he licked a thick line from your clavicle to behind your ear as if he magically knew it was your sweet spot.

You giggled and shivered at the ticklish feeling, enduring it until it started to feel more sensual. He felt you relax within his touch and took it as opportunity to nibble the spot, biting it just enough to hurt a little bit.

Between his movements and your sweaty bodies sticking together you felt almost useless; you were used to doing the work, giving instead of taking. But it felt too good to stop now.

When you clawed at his back he pushed himself up and started slamming into you. You gasped, digging your nails into his arms.

"Love those pretty little sounds you're makin' f'me," he hummed, pushing his hand into your exposed neck and gripping it. "You like that? Hm? Ohh, you fucking love it. Look at you."

You raised a hand and smacked his cheek lightly—your way of saying fuck you considering his grasp of you. He reciprocated, landing a firm smack to your face and earning a smile in return.

"Fuckin' brat needs to be put in her place—"

You shook your head attempting to hum out a no.

The hand he had around your neck reached up to squish your cheeks so that he could come eye to eye with you. "God, fuck. I can't even punish you when you look at me with those pretty eyes," he said defeatedly. "Look at you, babydoll. You're so fuckin' tight. Best fuckin' pussy ever. So wet, just f'me."

"All yours, Joel. I'm all yours."

"Yeah?" He cooed. "You're all mine?"

"Fuck yes!"

"Cum for me, baby. Yeah, cum on my cock," he pleaded, "get it nice and wet for me darlin', need you to cum for me."

Between his scruff voice and brutal thrusts you found yourself falling into another orgasm, everything around you ceased to exist.

The world went quiet aside from Joel's encouragements and praises; you could feel the blood pumping throughout your body, your heart punching against your chest, and your body molding to the twists and curves of Joel's body.

As you squeezed and scratched and begged him for more more more you felt the tension between your legs dissolve passionately into a sear so strong you felt it warm and burning the flesh along your belly.

Joel watched your chest rise and fall with your tits bouncing to the rhythm of his thrusts. He rode you out until the very end of your high before picking you up and sitting on the edge of the bed with you straddling him.

Feeling even more horny and turned on than before you wasted no time and began bouncing on his painfully hard dick.

He was fighting his climax, needing to feel you wrapped around him as long as he could take.

"You feel so fucking good, daddy," you whined, "want your cum."

"You want me to cum inside you babydoll?" He pouted.

"Yes Joel. Want you to fill me up..."

"Gonna ruin that pretty pussy," he grunted, "gonna make you mine. This pussy belongs to me now, doesn't it?"

He listened to you whimper and weep and whine, coaxing you through it all while offering a few pops to your ass and thighs for encouragement.

You watched him lay down, arms folded behind his head to enjoy the little show you were putting on for him. Hair bouncing and flaying everywhere while you rode him with a bobbling head—the view from where he was looked pretty fucking perfect.

Your movements halted and you managed to turn around on his cock while keeping it inside; hearing a strained gurgly moan come from him as a result, you mercilessly began riding him again giving him the best view of your ass as it clapped against the peak of his belly.

"Good fuckin' slut," he slapped your tatted thigh and watched intently for a moment or two. "Good girl, mhmm. Doin' such a perfect job on daddy's cock."

Joel then sat up and reached for your clit, rubbing the sweetest little circles on it and using his free hand to turn your face to kiss him.

Reverse cowgirl had always been his favorite position, but he can't remember a time or even a moment where it felt this fucking good.

"You're gonna make me cum, baby," he whispered with his forehead leaning against yours. "Gonna make me fuckin' cum. Tha' what you want, baby? Want your daddy to fill this fuckin' pussy up?"

He gave your clit a mean smack but it only made you go faster.

"Need you to cum! Fucking—ohh! Cum for me, please daddy. Want you to f-fill me up!"

Joel began thrusting to meet you halfway, and his eyes stayed locked with yours as he muttered a string of profanities.

"Oh shit. Ohfuckohfuckohfuck. Fuck yes!"

He painted your pussy with his hot, sticky ropes of cum, moaning your name over and over with fluttering eyes and a tight grip on your hips. He thrusted a few more times before pulling out and meeting you with a few more soft kisses as a thank you.

You felt his cum slowly pouring out of your swollen cunt, trailing down his softening cock and on the sheets. You two stayed like that for a while, savoring the moment and taking your time.

A while later while he was cleaning up between your legs he said, "You better upload that video."

"You weren't joking?" You scoffed, wearing a smile.

"I wasn't joking," he said contently.

That night once he had fallen asleep in your bed, you decided to upload the full video uncut with the perfect title...

My DILF Neighbor Comes Over For A Creampie ♡

346K Views | 93% | 16 Hours Ago | ♡ 532

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whimsyvixen · 9 months ago

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𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕌𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 ~ 𝟙/?

Stalker Fic (original work)

Rating: 18+ Pairing: Female Reader x Male Yandere Synopsis/Excerpt: It felt like someone was looking at you. A predator looking at a fawn. Waiting for the right moment to sink its powerful jaws into its frail neck, and tear it apart. WARNINGS/TAGS: Dark fic, rape/noncon elements, extremely dubious consent, stalking, yandere, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, masturbation, captivity, non-consensual bondage, dacryphilia, forced breeding, forced orgasm, vaginal sex, fuck or die, tags will grow as this story progresses. ⚠️READ THE TAGS: Please be aware this work contains content that the reader may feel uncomfortable with or otherwise triggered by. DO NOT READ if bothered by tags . NO minors. ⚠️

A/N: Wooo! so I finally decided to make story for this post I made awhile back (a thousand thank you's to everyone who liked and commented <3 ). Please read up on the tags, so you know what to expect in the coming chapters. Happy reading!

-Dividers by @adornedwithlight-

It was raining outside, the distant thunder and pitter patter of raindrops hitting the window creating a lullaby that was lulling you to sleep. Combined with the soft rumbling of the bus, you could feel your body’s desperate need for rest after a grueling shift at work.

Familiar streets and roads were tracked by your eyes, the expected relief of almost getting home brightening up your mood despite the gloomy weather. You estimated that you'll reach your destination in less than half an hour, rummaging through your purse to take out your phone to set up a timer in case sleep overtakes you and you miss your stop.

Pressing the lever of your seat to recline, you got comfortable and laid your cardigan over your chest, finally giving in to the urge of closing your eyes. Seconds ticked by and all you could think about was how you couldn't wait to be in the comfort of the soft bedding on your mattress. Your muscles were practically begging for relief and you had enough pillows and blankets waiting for you back home to alleviate this problem.

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes that passed– your mind completely disassociating from reality while you snoozed– when your peace was shattered. A shiver of unease ran through you, waking up your consciousness abruptly and causing you to jolt awake.

The same feeling that’s been haunting you for weeks now was back.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood and your heart rate picked up.

It hadn’t always been like this. You could still remember a time when you climbed inside the vehicle without your gut twisting anxiously. At first, you chalked it up to it being caused by some low level of anxiety you were experiencing or lack of restful sleep. Something that could be easily remedied by swallowing a pill stashed inside a drawer back home.

However, as of late, a feeling of wariness and fear seemed to consume you, your fight or flight response triggered whenever you climbed up the stairs of the bus, each step weighing heavy on your legs as you went to take your seat.

It felt like someone was looking at you.

A predator looking at a fawn.

Waiting for the right moment to sink its powerful jaws into its frail neck, and tear it apart.

The paranoia getting to you, you turned your head to the right, swallowing down your nervousness as you tried to find the source of your panic.

There was a man seated in the opposite seats across from you. His stretched out and bulky frame took up much of the space, the black cap on his head and the mask he wore obscuring his features and giving him a mysterious vibe. The turtleneck shirt clung to him, emphasizing the broad muscles of his upper body even in his relaxed state. His back was to the window, his left leg bent in a careless fashion along both seats, facing you directly as he was browsing through his phone.

At least, you thought that's what he was doing. You didn't want to believe that the man was taking unwanted pictures or videos of you while you slept.

You didn't realize you were staring for too long, the stranger’s attention shifting away from his phone when he could feel your gaze, freezing you in place as your eyes connected with those dark depths. For some reason, you couldn’t look away, too afraid to blink as a chill took over you from being under the perusal of those piercing eyes. There was something wrong, you just couldn’t explain it. He tilted his head to the side, regarding your stunned state for a moment before his eyes crinkled with amusement. He waved good naturedly at you, a normal gesture of greeting that you would've returned if not for the twisting of your gut that warned you against doing such a thing.

When you didn’t return his gesture, the stranger’s eyebrows furrowed in dejection, bringing his hand down to lay against his lap almost disappointedly.

A good few seconds passed with both unwilling to look away from each other.

Your eyes, firm and guarded while his were inquisitive and curious.

As if finally sensing your unease, the stranger backed off by turning to sit properly in his seat and shifting his focus back to his phone.

Letting out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, you grabbed your purse and whipped out your phone, your shaky hands nearly dropping it when you first grabbed it. Turning the screen on, you realized you had taken a ten minute nap with seconds to spare from your alarm ringing. You were mere minutes away from arriving at your stop.

Taking a quick glance at the stranger once more, you tried to rid your paranoid thoughts that he was the reason for your being on edge these past few weeks. It couldn’t be, you tried reasoning to yourself. If anything, you were in the wrong for staring at him funny when you’ve never seen him before. Maybe this was his first ride on the bus and you made his experience weird because you kept looking at him as if accusing him of something heinous. Maybe he was just trying to be friendly and not spook you when you caught each other’s eye by accident. Maybe your groggy mind was making things up about a complete stranger.

Could the stress of work and your responsibilities piling up for the past few months be messing with your awareness? There was nothing special about you. You weren’t an important person. There was nothing, no gifted ability or priviledge, that separated you from the throngs of people you saw every day while heading to work. Why would someone want you with your bleak existence and no future aspirations?

Your anxiousness and worry slowly left you when you drew those conclusions about yourself, replaced with self pity as you realized you really had nothing going for your life. The somber expression staring back at you through your phone’s black screen only dimming your mood further.

It was a while before the bus slowed to a stop, the driver’s familiar voice announcing your destination and making you stand to walk to the front. Not paying attention to your footing, you tripped over your own feet and felt gravity pull you under. A small yip tumbled out of your lips, feeling pain on your left elbow from the hard impact on the floor. Your purse went flying in a comical fashion, your disoriented mind not sure in which direction it landed or if anything fell out of it.

Embarrassment quickly flooded you, feeling the eyes of other passengers stare at you and hearing a few snickers amongst them. Wincing from the blossoming pain in your arm, you had barely braced your hands on the floor ready to stand up, when you felt warm hands encircle your waist.

“Here,” a deep voice whispered against your ear. “Let me help you, sweetheart.”

You were lifted from the floor easily, your weight meaning nothing to the man as he held you gently until you got your bearings straight. You looked up at him, having to crane your neck upwards due to his tall height and seeing it was the masked stranger.

“I, uhm.. Thank you,” you stuttered over your words, a flush of heat blooming in your face at his proximity. You wanted to kick yourself for how high pitched your voice sounded, unable to maintain eye contact with him when he gazed so intently back at you. If you dared to say, it felt like he was trying to memorize every small detail about your face– birthmarks, the slope of your nose, shape of your lips, the emotion in your eyes. Realizing that you still held on to his arms wrapped around your waist, you nervously laughed before going to break yourself away from the intimate embrace.

“I’m okay now, you can let go,” you assured him, the fake smile plastered on your face concealing your tense disposition from his closeness.

You chose to ignore the way his fingers dug momentarily into your waist, gripping you a little too tight to be normal before he loosened his grasp, allowing you to generate a more respectable distance between you and him. Seeing your startled reaction to his handling of you, the stranger immediately apologized for his actions.

“You’ll have to forgive me for my forwardness.” He told you, imploring you with his eyes that he meant no harm. He bent down to pick up something on the floor, his other hand holding up the strap of your purse for you to take it. “I only wanted to make sure you wouldn’t trip over yourself again.”

“Oh! I-It’s ok really, I-,” your words were interrupted by the harsh voice of the driver telling you to hurry to the front if you planned to get out. You quickly snatched your purse back, ignoring the little jolt of electricity that zipped through you when you grazed his fingers. “Um, I have to go but thank you, again! Bye!”

You turned to walk briskly down the steps of the bus, thanking the bus driver for his patience and stepping out into the familiar streets of your neighborhood. Luckily for you, the rain had slowed to a soft drizzle, an umbrella not needed for the small trek you took to arrive at the apartment where you’ve been renting for the past year.

Locking the door behind you, you sighed audibly before throwing your purse at the chair nearest you. You walked over to your room, kicking off your shoes to land haphazardly along the floor because you were too tired to bother putting them away. Removing your damp clothing, you grabbed a towel and some night clothes to head to the shower.

Relaxing under the spray of lukewarm water, you found your mind straying to the stranger in the bus.

Who was he?

You weren’t lying that you had never seen him before. A man of his formidable size would have been easy to spot, sticking out from the rest of the passengers like a sore thumb. He was dressed peculiarly too, his attire giving off the impression that he values secrecy and privacy. And his voice! Goodness, you could feel yourself nearly melt remembering the richness of it. The way he held you like a dainty object didn’t escape your notice either, your cheeks aflame at how good his hands felt around your waist. The feminine thrill that his presence ignited was hard to subdue, unbidden thoughts of his hands squeezing and trailing over your naked body filling your mind.

Would his hands be soft and gentle? Or would they be strong and rough?

As if your hands had a mind of their own, they moved up your body to cup your breasts making you gasp at the contact. You looked down at your chest, seeing the peaks of your nipples hardening under your soft touch. You tried envisioning his hands squeezing the doughy flesh, your head tilting to one side as you wondered if he'd be satisfied with your size. Small moans escaped you as you continued to fondle yourself, closing your eyes and imagining him whispering sweet nothings into your ear while he teased your breasts. You were sure he’d trail a line of kisses down your neck, pressing his naked front against you so you could feel his excitement poking at the small of your back. A sudden hard pinch to your nipple brought you out of your fantasy, the thought of his cock causing your fingers to twist the sensitive tip excitedly.

You shook your head under the shower, trying to calm your racing thoughts before they got more explicit.

To think such things about a man you hardly knew wasn’t good. What if you see him again tomorrow? Could you bear to look at him knowing where your thoughts were straying at this moment?

You winced, memories of the loaded eye contact you threw his way making you want to smack yourself. Maybe you should apologize next time you see him. To prove to him that you weren’t a crazy lady that regularly gave the stink eye to neighboring passengers. Explain that your stress was getting to you. Perhaps be the first to wave at him next time to show there was no animosity between you. Maybe something could develop once you introduced each other, a giddy little voice tickled your ears.

Once you were done showering and drying your hair, you went back to the living room for your purse. You had placed your phone inside so the rain couldn’t wet it. You needed to wake up at a good time tomorrow to get ready for work so setting up an alarm was crucial. When you grabbed your purse, you noticed it felt lighter and looked down to see it was unzipped and wide open.

Oh No. There’s no way…

You dug your hand inside, hoping to feel the familiar mass of your phone only to come out empty handed. Then you remembered your fall from earlier.

“Damn it, it must have fallen off when I fell,” you cursed under your breath, gnawing on your fingernail in worry for a minute before sighing tiredly. You needed to sleep and staying up late thinking about your lost phone was not going to help. You’d have to wait until tomorrow morning to ask the driver if anything was found.

Turning off all the lights in your place, you finally headed to bed, a yawn leaving your mouth as you placed a knee in your mattress. Under the covers of your blanket, you tried clearing up your mind so you could sleep quickly. A sudden image of the masked stranger flashed through your head, your growing curiosity of him affecting you even in your most tired state.

Right before you slept, a nagging at the back of your mind told you to be wary of him.

A man lay on his bed alone, hair plastered to his forehead as he breathed harshly. His shirt was raised to his waist, exposing his naked pelvis and muscled thighs as he pumped his rigid dick at a furious tempo.

His choked groans and huffs were muffled by his mask, the man tilting his head back on his pillows to bask in the pleasurable sensations of his hand firmly stroking his length. Perspiration ran down every inch of him, the sweat dampening his bed and making him grunt at how his sheets clung to his heated skin. He slid his hand down his shaft– tightening his grip when he got to the base– hissing when it caused his cock to twitch before sliding it up once more to tease his cockhead and repeat the process. The squelch of the lubricant coating his dick was a decadent symphony next to his pleasured grunts, the aggressive handling of his pleasure nearly causing him to erupt as he continued to fuck his fist.

He was nearly there, half lidded eyes eyeing the drop of precum threatening to slide down his shaft and mix with the lubricant.

No, he didn’t want to cum so soon. Not without the image of the pretty bird he’d been stalking for the past month etched in his brain. God, she was so beautiful. Never had he seen a more perfect woman than you. His hands tightened remembering how soft and demure you were when he picked you up. The slight tremble in your body and your skittish behavior making him want to devour you where you stood.

Biting his lip, he slowed his pace and closed his eyes in concentration, conjuring up an image that would help to reach his climax.

In his mind, it was no longer his hand wrapped around his dick.

Instead, smaller hands were slowly stroking him in an almost reverent manner, seeming to worship every protruding vein and jerk of his member. A small gasp escaped you when cum drizzled out of his tip, smearing your fingers with the warm liquid to combine with the lube drenching his dick. He could feel the stickiness of it running down his thighs and balls, causing him to shudder at the sensation.

He could see you biting your lip anxiously, staring at him with those expressive eyes of yours waiting for his instruction. Unable to resist, he'd grab your hair and yank you his throbbing cock, your flushed face gasping at the heat emitting from his rod of meat pressed against your cheek. He hoped you were a smart girl, knowing what he desired from you as he slapped his dick on your lips.

He'd stare you down, arching an eyebrow as he waited for you to open that sweet mouth of yours. He knew he wasn't a small man–his girth was enough to intimidate even his most experienced past partners– but he was sure he could teach you how to swallow him down like a good girl.

You'd hesitate for too long, testing his patience. He’d need to be firm with you then. He'd pinch your nose between his fingers, blocking your airways and driving you to open your mouth to take a breath. It was all he needed to shove half of his cock inside your heated orifice. A guttural groan would echo in his room, the warmth of the hot cavern of your mouth and wiggling tongue on the underside of his dick making him see white for a second.

He could picture your muffled whimpering, your hands bracing against his thighs to pull away. He'd lift his upper body to get a better grip on your head, not allowing you to escape and forcing more of his dick down your throat. He'd praise you for being so good and lovely for him. Telling you to relax your throat, to make it easier for you. Before long, you'd obey his commands and start bobbing your head slowly to adjust to the fullness in your mouth.

He'd allow you to work at your own pace, content with seeing your tear ridden face for a few minutes more before taking over when you were going too slow for his liking. Your eyes would widen with alarm when he thrusted his hips up, a gargled whine vibrating through his manhood from the fierce jab in your throat. He’d repeat the same action again, a pleased groan rumbling out of him at the feel of your mouth struggling to accommodate him. From there on, he'd use you like a fleshlight, gripping your hair tightly to pull your face down to every one of his savage thrusts. Spittle and cum would rain down your jaw, messing your appearance as you gagged and moaned around the dick hammering your throat.

It was the fantasy of seeing you look up at him, eyes pinched with distress and tears streaming down your heated and sweaty face, that made him finally snap.

His hips jerked up in his hand, his body vibrating violently just as his cock shot out endless ropes of cum in the air. He grunted with each twitch of his pelvis, feeling the warm liquid pooling in the crevices of his contracting abs and staining his shirt. His chest heaved with exertion, the stranger breathing heavily as a result of cumming from his heightened lust. His mask hid his delirious smile, the stranger chuckling to himself at the euphoria he felt and the mess he created.

Only you could make him cum so strongly to drive him to lose himself.

Minutes passed until he was able to get his breathing under control, begrudgingly getting out of his bed to clean himself up.

Something about you had him hooked. What started off as a fleeting crush morphed into a distorted and unhealthy obsession, the stranger falling deeper in love with you every passing day, as well as the urge to take you growing exponentially worse. .

He longed to know what it felt like to have you in his arms, the thought keeping him up often at night.

Luckily for him, his wish finally came true tonight, remembering the softness of your body in his hands. You were a small little thing compared to him, barely reaching his chest. It wouldn't take much to overpower you, the statement giving rise to depraved thoughts of your squirming body underneath him, naked and helpless under his ardent touch. It took everything in him not to pull you closer, wanting to feel your delicious shape against his frame as the fantasy played in his head. He hated his mask at that moment, realizing he could've caught a whiff of your scent too if he wasn't keen on hiding his identity.

The stranger's eyes furrowed in displeasure at this, angry at himself for missing an opportunity to know you more intimately. Turning off the sink, he didn't bother to dry his hands when he ripped his mask off and flung it in the trash.

In a foul mood, he exited his bathroom and marched towards his study. It was already past midnight but there was something important he had to do before he slept.

Entering the room, he didn't bother to close the door and sat down, sliding the chair closer to his desk to get to work. He was inputting his PC’s password when he glanced at the rectangular object next to him.

It was your phone.

He inspected it, taking note of your phone cover and thinking it suited someone like you. He pressed the on button, seeing your phone screen light up and ask for the passcode to access it. He typed in a few guesses and not to his surprise, none worked.

No worries. This would only be a momentary issue. Nothing that he couldn't crack open once he plugged your device to his computer. Sure enough, within a few moments, all your browsing history and personal information was revealed to him. His eyes traveled greedily over all your files, desperate to know who you were and what you liked.

His impatience to claim you was nearing a tipping point. He already had a small taste of you and it was not enough. HIs hands clenched into fists. He wanted more. Desired to thoroughly possess you and infect you with his love.

One way or another, you were going to be his.

He would make sure of it.

#yandere #yandere male #obsessive yandere #stalker bf #cnc stalking #yandere male x reader #dark smut #dark content #darkfic #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw yandere #dark imagines #yandere oc

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sofiatarot · 6 months ago

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Pick a card: How do men see you vs how do women see you?

TIP JAR - FREE READINGS - PAID READINGS

1->2

3->4

Group 1

How men see you:

Men perceive you as someone who is transitioning into a better version of yourself. You exude a sense of self-assurance and fulfillment, as though you’re content with your life and know your worth. They find you approachable yet slightly mysterious, giving the impression that you have layers to uncover. You might appear as someone who’s moved on from the past and doesn’t let nostalgia hold you back. Physically, they see you as balanced and harmonious, with features that stand out for their simplicity and elegance.

How women see you:

Women see you as someone who’s been through transformative changes and come out stronger. You inspire others with your sense of adventure and openness, as though you’re always ready for a new chapter in life. They might admire how relaxed you seem, not someone who feels the need to prove themselves or compete for attention. Your energy feels uplifting, almost idealistic, and your appearance reflects that: approachable, unique, and effortless, with a style that’s welcoming and relatable.

Group 2

How men see you:

Men see you as someone grounded, steady, and practical, someone they can count on. There’s a quiet strength about you, like you don’t need external validation to feel confident. At first glance, they may underestimate you, but once they get to know you, they’re drawn to your stability and the way you handle challenges calmly. Your appearance might be understated, but there’s a natural attractiveness to you—clean lines, practical choices, and an overall polished vibe.

How women see you:

Women admire your ability to find balance in life and create meaningful connections with others. You’re seen as nurturing yet independent, someone who brings a sense of calm and trustworthiness to any situation. You have a grounded presence that makes others feel safe, but there’s also a mystical, introspective side that intrigues them. Your appearance reflects this balance, with a timeless, well-maintained style that blends warmth and sophistication.

Group 3

How men see you:

Men perceive you as someone intense and hard to read. You might come across as guarded or cautious, like you’re always weighing your options before making a decision. They find this enigmatic side of you both frustrating and captivating. Your personality seems fiery and passionate, though they might sense some inner conflict or unpredictability. In terms of appearance, you stand out for your boldness or a certain sharpness in your features that adds to your allure. You don’t blend in; you’re unforgettable.

How women see you

Women see you as someone who’s been through a lot emotionally but refuses to back down. You might have a rebellious streak or a defiance of traditional norms that sets you apart. While some might find you intimidating, others admire your independence and ability to speak your truth. Your energy is intense and dynamic, and this reflects in your appearance: striking, unconventional, and commanding attention without trying too hard.

Group 4

How men see you:

Men find you deeply transformative, like someone who has an aura of mystery and depth. You give the impression of being constantly evolving, which makes you both fascinating and a little intimidating. Your emotional intelligence stands out, and they see you as someone who feels deeply yet keeps a certain level of control over your emotions. Your appearance might lean toward the dramatic, with bold choices or striking features that leave a lasting impression.

How women see you:

Women see you as someone who walks the line between introspection and action. You have a way of observing people and situations that feels deliberate, as if you’re always analyzing and learning. You come across as confident in who you are, with a magnetic energy that draws others to you. Your appearance reflects this: bold, confident, and captivating, with a sense of style that’s both refined and powerful.

xoxo ❤️‍🔥

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harmonysanreads · 4 months ago

Text

Ignoratio Elenchi

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Anaxa x Female!Reader

Synopsis : It's your wedding day. So, an old ‘acquaintance’ has come to wish you well on the trials ahead.

Content Warnings : Yandere Themes, Toxic Relationship Dynamics, Some Not-SFW Implications, Anaxa Plays 5D Chess With You, Attempt At Banter, Anaxa Still Needs To See A Therapist.

Note : Special thank you to @naraven for brainstorming with me until we hit the juncture that inspired this fic. The way Anaxa interacts with Aglaea just gave huge Ex vibes to me and I couldn't get the vision out of my head — hence, this small tribute. Get cozy!

「 Words : 3.3k 」

The devil has come for your soul.

You're woken up from your dew-soaked dreams with this exclamation blaring through your ears, demanding a course of action — well in response to an exchange where you will not be one of the benefactors.

He leers over your conscious mind ; drumming idle, purposeful trills of your demise. And you close your eyes, shut tight the blinds to your mind and let him play his tunes. If nothing else, then to at least, create a chance to strike.

“Why are you here?” you envision an arrow slicing through the air, past the light of the chandelier and halting the intruder mid-step into what was supposed to be your safe space.

He dodges the strike, “Not curious about how I got in, huh?” a scintilla of Kephale's light bounces off of the vanity mirror, before being pushed away by the closing door.

But even the thud of the brutal push pales in comparison to the click of his shoes, you force an inhale upon registering his approach.

“What else? You're frail enough to squeeze through the gaps between the guards, that's probably what happened.” you find interest in your nails.

A brief pause almost gives you hope that you successfully, finally got the Blasphemer speechless, “Interesting how the first thing you think of is my figure.”

As if by some cue, the icy composure you so endeavored to maintain gets replaced by a flood of exasperation. You catch yourself just at the brink of sinking, the roundabout response isn't far from your expectations, unfortunately. What does prick a muscle enough to twitch is the near atomic smile reeking of a puerility that should otherwise be unsuited on such a corpse of a man.

You cut the insufferable eye-contact with his reflection, suddenly regretting your purchase of the sheer veil. “You’re avoiding my first question. I merely… feel an alarming increase in my blood pressure when it comes to random and unsought guests. Not a good condition for a bride, I'm sure you're aware, sir.”

By now, he’s crossed half the distance to your seated figure with his leisurely gait, arms surely shielded behind his back in that poise you know signals he’s full on guard.

“First of all, nothing in this universe is random, mathematically speaking — as I'm sure the Wise Lady is aware.” his foot crosses the line of your bed, you feel the faint sting of your nails digging into the skin of your forearms.

“Second, the unsought guest you speak of has not once heard the phrase ‘get out’ in the last three minutes. Making the use of that adjective redundant.” you find moisture in your palms once you loosen them, the scholar’s figure almost engulfs your reflection in the mirror.

“And last of all, if you're spirited enough to gift me such a sweet glare, I'm certain you can tolerate me for a while longer.” even though his left hand rests on the back of your chair, you can feel its weight awfully near.

This time, you don't bother applying icing over your rightfully held displeasure. The scholar steals a glance at the way your painted lips purse to hold back what he's sure aren't flattering palavers.

“Well then, answer me this, what exact conditions demanded the Great Sage’s mathematically determined presence to intrude on such an auspicious day?” your veil dances a step upon the tilt of your head, the visage of the intruder appears colored in amusement — though you don't dare to bet, on the validity of a performer’s emotions, that is.

“Oh, nothing too grand.” his free hand raises, index finger tracing the sparkling gold details of the garment draped over your head, “Merely curious about why the woman who always complained about extravagant parties taking place in this economy is going against her words.”

You reject his unasked for inspection with a flick of your fingers, you see his frozen surprise in the mirror once you turn in pretense of fixing the drapery. “Because we can afford it. What about it?” your side-eye thaws the Sage’s shock away.

“We, huh…” it's your turn to be taken aback by the genuine venom in his words. To your dismay, the scholar is quick to notice, exhaling to gloss over the blunder.

Because you are so kind, you hold your tongue and give him the chance to shoot back with his typical biting responses. The man in question simply copies your previous stance and holds his arms as a shield against whatever threat he’s weaving curses against.

His visible eye fixates on a point you can't pinpoint on your person, as if to burn through the images reflecting from his head to that canvas. You answer his obvious dilemma with a shrug, focusing instead on lifting the golden veil to inspect any smudges on your makeup.

“They applied too much rouge. It's distracting the viewer from the other components.” he chimes in suddenly, like a ghost on duty, making you almost jump out of your skin.

Before replying to his sudden wisdom in the cosmetic field, you double-check yourself, finding the accused rouge to be innocent. Your mind buffers for a second ; blasphemer he might be, but you know he wouldn't just pose a complaint without a good reason. You search through the shelves of your memories, searching searching searching along a trail you recognize vaguely.

Your lips morph into an ‘O’ once it clicks, “That’s not the rouge, dummy. That's called the highlighter. Its purpose is to look shiny.” fragments of idyll glitter through your words upon realizing that the scholar still confuses the two.

(Just as quickly, you stomp down whatever vestige of nostalgia that dared to crawl through those dead memories.)

The Chrysos Heir — a title you couldn't find more ironic on him — marinates in your words for a few seconds, huffing as if exasperated once they make sense to his brain.

He opens his mouth for a moment, but bites back whatever he was going to say. You marvel at this display of restraint, you would've said you were charmed by his decency had you been a less sane person.

If only he’d been like this in the past.

You turn away from him towards the vanity again, eyes glossing over the myriad trinkets scattered around it. Forcing irritation in your voice again, “If all you wanted to do was poke fun at my appearance, I'm delighted to announce that you’ve succeeded. Please see the —”

“Wow,” he cuts off your tangent quite rudely, you brows furrow against your wishes. “You can't even stand my presence longer than seven minutes now. And to think there used to be a time when you’d trail behind me like a Chimera without its owner.”

“Are you seriously counting minutes — ugh, you know what, don't answer that.” you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to soothe the flair in your temper.

The Chrysos Heir nods, all of a sudden obedient. You ignore the way life has started to bloom around the corners of his lips, “Let me make something clear, if you're here to reminisce, I have no patience nor interest in hearing it.”

The chain attached to his eye-patch bumps with the air as his head tilts, “You’ve changed.”

The genuine fascination in his tone almost stupefies you, almost makes you rethink yourself, almost distracts you from the way his eyes trail off further than what should be appropriate.

“What, disheartened that I'm not as easy to manipulate anymore?” you mimic his earlier stance, the image of the embers that have flickered within you can be seen on his visible eye.

The accused man laughs, laughs — confusing you like he has so many times before. An uncountable number of days you’ve perused, reviewed and practiced to steel yourself for a confrontation like this. You’ve envisioned how coolly you’d face him, how you’d throw him off his orbit with stringent words.

“On second thought, it seems that my observation was a bit hasty.”

And you’d dreaded facing once more that cursed twinkle that seemed to color his soul whenever you’d try to maintain a backbone. It doesn't help that there is truth to his claims, an appalling realization for yourself.

You force a sharp bite on the inside of your cheek, eyes flitting to-and-fro around the emptiness of the room. A chill races down your spine.

The scholar notices your sudden quietude and decides he’s having none of it.

His step is muted this time, his half gloved hand brushes back a wayward strand of your hair, “You’re still that clueless girl trying to brave this world alone, that gets shoved with more duties than she can handle and then, you go and take on even more. Because you can't stand the emptiness anymore.”

Touched by his sudden consideration and enthralled by his acknowledgement, you honor him with a deadpan. “And your point is?”

You can't nibble away the tiny smirk that emerges on your face at the way his fake nostalgia morphs in displeasure, the miniscule triumph overrides your senses and dulls them enough to not register just how much the blasphemer has shrunken the distance.

“My point is that you're making a foolish decision by choosing to marry that man. Do you have any idea what kind of conditions he’s going to impose upon you after you say ‘I do’? The ways in which he’ll make your life a living hell? Haven't you heard what the rumors are saying?”

Now he's being honest, you realize as every new question increases the force of their bites. You throw a glance at the way his left hand grips onto the wood of your chair, “Why should I listen to rumors? I didn't expect you of all people to take baseless whisperings to heart.”

You feel his burdened exhale caress the side of your neck, gooseflesh emerges against your control across the skin. “And I didn't expect you of all people to be privy to the Ostrich Effect.” the last syllable skids with enough disappointment to make a vein pop on your forehead.

You decide that you're done being coy and toss the explosive right to his arms, “You speak so big, but who are you again to have a say in what I decide to do with my life?”

A neuron has surely fried in his head, if the way his rosy pupil widens is anything to go by — or, that's what you’ll believe in at least.

You keep your gaze steady against the forming helter-skelter that you're sure is oscillating in his mind, attempts at meeting that question with a resolution crumbling in regrets buried in the past.

“I know you,” you feel the shiver of his breath on your cheek, “I know that you're the type to dive head first into your grave if it'd mean you’ll succeed in spiting me. You’d rather gyrate in torture all your life instead of swallowing your pride for your own good and I… I can't allow that.”

So, he does understand the kernel of the matter, though you can't decide whether you're thankful or irritated by the fact. His proximity allows you to peer into the dying flickers of a grief that tugs down on his lips and eyelids.

Perhaps you would've believed it. Perhaps you would’ve nodded and embraced this rare show of care, perhaps you would've jumped in joy at having the man you so looked up to acknowledge such an insignificant detail about your soul — had this been in the past.

A snicker of disbelief gets lodged in your throat, you open your mouth to retort but he beats you to the race. “Don’t forget, if it weren't for me, you would not have come this far. I was the cloud that shielded you, guarded you, allowed you to bloom.”

A flinch seizes you as his palm meets the surface of the mirror, “And you repaid me so generously by running away, into the scorching sun that's burned you so miserably no less. Say, does your future husband know of what an ungrateful bride he’s inviting to his life?”

Malice drips down from his words and pools around his eye, it advances to engulf you through the tremors of his figure.

Before he can open the verse to curse you more, you slap a firm palm on his lips, a dizzied glare meeting his shocked ones.

“Enough, Anaxagoras. Leave.” you press, a plea withers beneath the ire. You find that your mind has ceased to think against the emotions the wretched man has stirred.

The Chrysos Heir does nothing but process the move, eyes glossing over for a split second. Then, painstakingly, he retreats his hand from the glass — only to cradle your hand that’d covered his mouth, the red gem lodged in his skin gleams.

“How can you expect me to just leave after calling me that name?” he drags your fingers to press further, his cold lips meeting the tips.

A dumbfounded blink is what he gets, your mind stutters at the sudden turn in his tone. Instincts prob you to yank your hand away from his grasp, but a warning squeeze halts your attempt against your desire.

The chill from his lips melts into your skin and ignites there a fire. The fulsome heat confuses you, why can't you push him afar?

“I… came to wish you goodluck,” Anaxa finally mutters, saving you from sinking into a headspace you’d rather avoid.

You must've looked pitiful with puzzlement, as he rushes to add, “And to bid you farewell. Well, not that this had been my first goal, but seeing as you’re clearly not going to listen to reason, I have no choice.”

He burrows as much of his face as possible in the palm of your hand instantly afterwards — by the tug of a bygone habit — you realize. Tactfully he’s hidden away the visible cues that you normally use to read his unsaid words.

You feel something weighing down on you, whether in your gut or, your heart you can't deduce. But you decide to stay alert.

“Really? Is that all?” you poke, knowing full-well it is not. You know this cunning of his, monopolizing your intuition to speak just enough for you to catch on and do the heavy-lifting.

He answers you with silence, testing further what remains of your patience. You don't bother to control your frown this time, the beginning of a sharp ‘get out then!’ bubbling in your throat stopped just in time as he rounded your seat, bending his knee to a kneel.

You're sure not even the equations you had to solve back at the Grove had confused you as much, “And… what is this now?” you accuse flatly.

The Chrysos Heir finally lets go of your hand in favor of getting comfortable at your feet, literally. “Why are you so baffled? It's not your first time seeing me kneel.”

“Huh,” you heave, thoroughly speechless at the way he never stops talking as if nothing is wrong, as if nothing has changed since the time you spent sacrificing your time at the Grove for him. At the way he seems so happy to pretend that he's innocent, that he has nothing up his sleeve.

You cross your arms and hold your chin up, peering down at the eerie suppliance of the man notorious for bowing before none.

“This was the real deal, huh? You couldn't let the person who’d finally known about how pathetic you actually are go around and spread the news, right? That's why you had to latch onto me, that's why you were so desperate to keep me under your control —”

“No,” his admission is unnervingly soft, like it always is after he’s done stirring a storm within you. You find yourself out of breath from the near-outburst, his hunched figure appearing dewy.

“I have never been afraid of how much power you have over me,” he tilts his head, locks of lime green rustling as it meets your lap.

“You want to go around telling everyone how weak you make me? I will happily allow it — no, I will even help you spread the word myself. Go on, do it. I dare you.” he peers through his lashes, specters of mania swirls in his eye.

A startled yelp from Anaxa snaps you from the daze as well, he looks down for a second before bursting into a fit of laughter.

“Seriously, has your aim gotten bad as well?” his fingers encircle your left ankle, you push the heel of your shoe further in his chest in retaliation — he smiles.

“If you want it to hurt,” he ducks down to press a kiss on the dorsum, looking up to make sure you saw it.

You try to wrench your foot out of his grasp but he angles it towards the left using your momentum, “Then, you should always aim for the heart, tormentor.”

You feel your jaw slacken at the sheer audacity of this man — can he even be called one, at this point?

“Something is deeply wrong with you.” you blurt out, a shudder creeping down your spine at the way he pulls your heel towards his ribcage so that it may dig into his clothes even more.

The shiver sobers you, the compromising situation you've found yourself in finally registering in your head. You would've kicked him hard enoug to run a good pace away — had it not been for the death grip he had on your leg.

“And you like me like this, don't you? Just as you did two years ago, just as you can't pull away from me even now — you're as screwed in the head as me. Which is why we're perfect for each other, you can't escape this fact, not by running away to Okhema and definitely not by marrying some bimbo with a lot of money.”

There's that placid, snooty tone that's already decided what is correct and what is not, you feel an ache forming in your head as memories of its usage flare up in your mind.

Rage seizes your senses, filling your arteries with a strength you feel too drunk on to control.

It grasps onto his collar, pulling him to his feet with an abrupt jerk. “You cursed man! You came to ruin the one day where I thought I could be happy! Don't you know that the reason I am like this is because of you? You always play with my feelings, making me angry and and… and then…”

“Ah, my beloved flower.” you feel his finger brush away a tear that’d rolled down your cheek, frustration swelling over at last.

He gently pries your nails from the collar of his robe and swings your arm over his shoulder, shifting closer towards your ear, “Save your tears, I’ll rescue you from that cruel monster and whisk you to a place where none of these vermins will be able to find us.”

You feel another tear roll down your cheek and sink into his clothes, the cogs in your mind turn and twist as he holds you close — your stupor being broken as a flash goes off.

More follow the first, blinding you almost. Stringent noises connect as murmurs, you feel your knees buckle once you whip aside to face the commotion.

“So what they said was true…”

“The Lady was indeed in an affair.”

“I can't believe even the notorious Anaxa has a heart for romance!”

“Should we... do something?”

“What are you waiting for? Record! Record! This will go viral!”

“Anyone! Inform the groom!”

The golden veil glimmers as it touches the ground. Anaxa catches you before you can fall, shielding you from the paparazzi, “Come, let us run away.”

As the voices ricochet and the crowd draws nearer, you crane your neck to shoot one cautious glance at the Blasphemer. Through the fog of tears and disbelief, a brief flash of someone's camera illuminates a smile that makes your soul churn.

The devil had never come for your soul, he merely allowed you to dream that it belonged to you, for a while.

Thank you for reading!

TAGLIST : @yandere-romanticaa @kamananuionalani @pinksandss @hana-no-seiiki @deaddmoth @ladymothbeth @imcheshire @remyra @meigalahadovna @chopid @francisnyx @paboratti

#now anaxa nation don't say i don't feed you guys D: /silly #anaxa #anaxa x reader #yandere anaxa #yandere anaxa x reader #anaxa x female reader #anaxa x you #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader

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monster-disaster · 11 months ago

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[orcs] Tiktok

I can't get this TikTok idea out of my head... but...

Imagine sweet, innocent Reader who creates a TikTok account to share her charming videos of outfits, baking, and whatever else she fancies. She’s all about cottagecore and girly girl vibes. But then, her two orc friends discover her account and notice all the comments fawning over their girl her. So gradually, they start taking over her content, pushing her to make videos like the "scary dog privileges" trend, where she walks down the street at night with them trailing protectively behind her. Her wholesome videos slowly transform into thirst traps arranged by these controlling and manipulative males.

“Are you sure we have to do it again?” You ask, nibbling on your lower lip as you adjust your phone on the tripod.

The room is dark with dim, red light casting a soft glow from the corner.

“It’ll be fun,” one of the orcs assures you, pressing a quick kiss to your neck before taking his place on the chair in the middle.

“Okay,” you breathe out. The lingering sensation of his lips sends a shiver down your spine as you start the recording.

The orc pulls a black surgical mask over his face while you step aside, adjusting the skimpy black dress they bought for you. It barely covers your ass.

As the music starts, your friend spreads his legs wide and motions for you to come closer. You are slow, trying to move in sync with the rhythm. He looks intimating in his seat, waiting for you patiently with his intense gaze staying on you the whole time.

When you reach the narrow space between his legs, he places his hands on your thighs, sliding them up your soft flesh until he reaches your bottom, pulling you closer.

“Do you think it’s good this time?” You ask, clinging to his broad shoulders.

He hums, his grin hidden but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes revealing his amusement. “Let’s see.”

It’s the ninth take. How many more times do you have to reshoot a few seconds? _

A few days later, in the car, your other friend grabs your phone as you take a seat next to him. You wear the same dress from a few days ago.

“What are you doing?”

“Just a minute,” he murmurs, starting the recording while his free hand moves to your thigh. His rough fingers dig into your soft flesh before slipping under your dress. Your breath hitches, and you want to close your legs, but his hand is already back on the phone.

“Perfect,” he grins. “Ready to go?”

You’re flustered and a bit confused, but you nod anyway.

And so it continues. Your page fills with videos dominated by their presence, and the comments grow wilder than ever. _

“We were thinking,” one of them says one day.

“About what?” You ask.

“We should make an OnlyFans.”

You freeze. “What?” you ask, shocked. Heat rushes to your cheeks. “But that’s a…a-”

“A what?” The other orc asks, leaning closer.

“A porn site,” you tell him, eyes wide.

“It’s not just porn,” they reply. “Sure, there’s that, but there’s a bunch of other stuff too.”

They share a knowing look over your head, grinning from ear to ear.

#monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #terat0philliac #teratophillia #orc x reader #orc romance #orc boyfriend #monsterfucker #monster fucker #monster lover #monster thoughts

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armpirate · 4 months ago

Text

The Vows Between Us (Part 2) || Jungkook

Part 1

Pairing: Jungkook x f reader || Arranged marriage

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut, dirty talk, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, teasing (Minors DNI. Refrain from reading if you aren't over 18, and ignore if you don't like this type of content).

Aprox. time of reading: 40/50 minutes

Summary: You thought it was over. The divorce papers had been signed, the marriage you never wanted finally behind you. You were free. Or so you believed. Months passed, and you built a life without him, a life where his name was just a whisper in your past. You even convinced yourself that the fire between you had burned out. Until he showed up at your door, with that same devastating smirk, with eyes that still held every war you had fought against each other. And with words that shattered the fragile world you had created "I never sent the papers." Now, you’re back in his world, back where it all began. But this time, it’s different. This time, it’s a battle of wills, of emotions too tangled to ignore. Because the man who once pushed you away is now pulling you closer. And the most terrifying part? You don’t know if you want to resist.

MASTERLIST

Two months had passed since that afternoon when Jungkook left the divorce papers on the counter, months since you signed them and stormed out of his house. You thought it was over. Final. You got the few things you had brought in your suitcase the first day you showed up there. You made sure to forget everything that was related to him.

He had made his choice, and you made yours -you walked away and never looked back.

That was the original plan, after all. You agreed on that arranged marriage, you both played the perfect couple and then you got divorced when he got the position he married you for. Several couples ended things after they realized they tied the knot way too early, so your case wouldn't stand out.

Life after him was quiet.

You slipped into a routine, convincing yourself this was freedom. The first three weeks, you tried to focus on yourself, you tried to find a job, you found someone new -a man with kind eyes, soft words, and no complications. He wasn't Jungkook, but that was the point. There was no fire, no chaos, no heartbreak lurking around the corner. You were finally getting that peace you had never been able to have.

You almost believed it was enough. Until you received his message:

"Come back. We have unfinished business"

For a moment, you sat frozen, staring at the screen, your pulse quickening. The message was too simple, too loaded with meaning. You'd spent months trying to rebuild your life, you spent months trying to forget about him and move on. Whatever unfinished business Jungkook thought you had was none of your concern.

You deleted the message.

It didn't matter. You weren't going back. You didn't know about him, but you were sure every business related to him was pretty much finished.

At least, that was your idea -until the doorbell rang.

You hesitated, your heart in your throat as you approached the door. You didn't know why, but the vibe you felt that day, the shiverings running up your spine, warned you not to open the door and just go on with what you were doing.

When you opened it, your world tilted and you knew you should've listened to your instinct.

Jungkook stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his eyes sharp and unrelenting, like he hadn't missed a single moment of your absence. His black suit clung to his frame, his expression unreadable, though there was an unmistakable heat in his gaze.

"Miss me?" he asked, his voice calm but laced with something darker, something possessive.

Your breath caught, but you quickly recovered. "What the hell are you doing here?"

His eyes flicked to your bare ring finger, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I think you know."

"No, I don't," you snapped, crossing your arms. "You signed the divorce papers, I signed the divorce papers. It's done. We're done."

Jungkook let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "No, Y/n. We're not."

Your heart stopped for a split second. "What are you talking about?"

He stepped closer, the air between you charged with tension. "I never sent the papers. I signed them, sure. But they never left my desk."

It hit you like a punch to the stomach. The past few months -the distance, the quiet life you tried to build- had all been based on a lie. You didn't know why you were so surprised, everything with Jungkook was always based on a lie.

"You've got to be kidding me," you whispered, your voice trembling with disbelief. "Why?"

Jungkook's gaze darkened, his jaw tightening. "Because I wasn't ready to let you go."

Anger bubbled up inside you, masking the ache in your chest. "You don't get to decide that for me."

"I think I just did," he said, his voice low and steady, the weight of his words suffocating. "And I'm not leaving until you understand that this..." he gestured between you. "...is far from over."

"You're insane," you said, stepping back to put distance between you. "I've moved on, Jungkook. I have a new life. Someone else..."

"Someone who isn't me," he cut in, his tone dangerously soft. "And we both know how that story ends."

"I don't care about what the fuck you do, but I'm not going back to you" you challenged him. "Don't want to send those papers? Fine, I'll get you to court if that's what you want".

"You can do that" he nodded "But I'm afraid it won't turn out well for you" his smirk widened at your confused expression. "You know... You left our home, you didn't even come to pick up your things because you sent someone else instead" his eyes narrowed "Abandonment isn't well seen during divorce trials".

You didn't want to lose your temper, but your voice broke as you raised it to confront him "What fucking abandonment are you talking about? You have the divorce papers, you signed them first".

"What divorce papers?" he lifted his eyebrow. "It's a bit difficult to prove something when you don't have physical proofs".

Your blood was boiling, your body was trembling with rage and frustration. How could he dare coming back to your life that way? After everything he did to you? Why was he making things so difficult?

You clenched your fists, refusing to give in to the whirlwind of emotions he was stirring inside you. "You don't control my life anymore."

"No," Jungkook said, closing the space between you until you could feel the warmth radiating from him. "But you're still my wife, so get that pretty ass back home if you don't want to make things worse for you".

You stood there, frozen, as Jungkook's words settled in the air between you. The anger, confusion, and pain bubbled up inside you, but there was something else too -a flicker of uncertainty.

You'd spent months convincing yourself it was over. That you were free. But standing here, facing him again -looking into those eyes that knew you better than anyone else- it felt like you were right back where you started.

"I'm not going back," you said, but the words came out more fragile than you meant them to.

"Then don't," he replied, his voice soft but resolute. "But be ready for the consequences. We're still married, so I expect you to go back to our house."

You met his gaze, determined not to show him how much his presence unsettled you. You weren't going to let him have the upper hand again.

"Our house, my ass..." you muttered, turning to walk away.

But then, his voice stopped you. "I left the keys in your mailbox, Y/n."

You froze mid-step, the weight of his words sinking in. He wasn't just expecting you to return. He was staking a claim on your life once more, as if he'd never let you go in the first place.

Swallowing your pride, you turned back to face him. "If I ever thought of coming back, don't think for a second that I'm going to make this easy for you. The way I acted before would be a beautiful road in comparison. I'll make your life hell"

A faint smile tugged at Jungkook's lips. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

The way he turned with his ego on its full rise, as if he knew you'd do what he wanted, had you losing yourself when you closed the door. You wanted to burn that apartment down, you wanted to throw every heavy object at his head, you even wanted to bang your head against the wall and make all the thoughts stop. You understood the fury, but why was one side of you glad he showed up? Why the hell were you hopeful and relieved?

You were angry at Jungkook, but even more frustrated at yourself, because there wasn't a logical explanation for your reaction.

What the hell was going on with you?

The drive back to your old house was a blur, your thoughts spinning as you tried to make sense of everything. You had made the decision to return, but only because you knew you couldn't escape the pull he had on you -not yet. Not completely.

When you arrived, you hesitated before unlocking the door. The keys were still in your hand, their cold weight a reminder of everything that had happened between you two.

As you stepped inside, the first thing you noticed was the silence. The living room was too quiet, the space feeling too familiar, too... him.

And then you saw him.

Jungkook sat casually on the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, a smug smile on his face. The thing that caught your attention, though, was the ring resting on the coffee table in front of him -your wedding ring. The same one you made sure to leave behind before slamming the door at the entrance and starting a new life -that you thought would last longer than just two months.

He watched you closely, eyes gleaming with an unreadable expression as he spoke, his voice low. "Welcome home, Y/n."

You didn't say anything at first, your gaze flicking from the ring to his face. The frustration and betrayal you felt were still fresh, but it wasn't enough to drown out the undeniable truth -Jungkook knew how to get under your skin like no one else.

You walked past him without a word, picking up the ring and slipping it onto your finger, the cold metal a reminder of everything you had once shared.

"Don't think this means anything," you said, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you. "I'm here, but I'm not yours. And I'm coming back with my conditions".

He smirked while arching his eyebrows, inviting you to share with him the ideas you came up with the twenty four hours you were apart.

"I'll keep my room, we aren't sharing a bed" you said first. "I want my space. I have enough with having to stay here until you get bored, I don't want to deal with your snores on top of it all".

His chuckle echoed in the four wide walls. He could give you back your room, it wasn't like he made any changes. Actually, he didn't dare to move a single thing whenever he got in there to sit at the edge and look around, since it was the only way to feel close to you those two months you were apart.

"We're married, but I'm living my life".

"That means fucking that new guy?" he arched his eyebrow, not amused by your second condition.

"That means having my own life, do and undo whatever the hell I want, leave this place whenever I please with no explanations. You want me here? Fine. But it'll be as if you had a piece of decoration".

"I want you here at eleven every night"

You froze at his petition, sure you didn't hear him well or understand him properly. Did he just say...?

"Go and fuck whoever you please, but at night I want you in your bed, under my roof" he calmly added.

He couldn't control who you were going to see, and it wasn't like it was going to be something to last forever -he was convinced you'd give up on any other men you had tried to meet after him the second you spent more time together again. It'd be as if you had never left.

He wanted to be relieved and calm, knowing that you'd be safe in his house. That was all he needed.

"And what if I don't want to?"

"I'm accepting your conditions, you should also accept mine" he cut you off, his glare rough as he drilled into your eyes.

"Fine..." you sighed. "The time I'm here, though, I don't want you to speak to me unless it's necessary. And I mean life or death situation" you tried to make yourself clear by adding that new condition.

"Now I can't speak to you?"

"You had a chance to and you didn't take it, now I don't want to hear anything, absolutely nothing, at all, from you".

Said that, you picked up your suitcase, walking upstairs to close yourself inside your old room, surprised at how the place even smelled the exact same way it did the day you left.

Jungkook's smile didn't fade as he leaned back on the couch, looking up at the short way you made to the first floor. "We'll see about that."

The first few days back in the house were cold and quiet -just how you wanted it. You stuck to your word, speaking to Jungkook only when absolutely necessary. If he asked a question, you answered with as few words as possible. If you crossed paths in the hall, you barely spared him a glance.

It worked... for a while.

But Jungkook wasn't the type to tolerate being ignored.

One evening, you were in the kitchen preparing dinner when you felt his presence behind you. He leaned against the counter, silently watching you as you chopped vegetables.

You ignored him, hoping he would leave.

He didn't.

The silence stretched between you like a taut wire, heavy and suffocating. Finally, Jungkook spoke, his voice low and deliberate. "Are you really planning on keeping this up forever?"

You didn't look at him. "We agreed to only necessary conversations."

"And this feels very necessary to me," he said, stepping closer. "Unless you're enjoying playing house in silence".

Your jaw tightened. "I'm not playing anything, Jungkook. I'm trying to survive living under the same roof as you".

His lips curved into a slow, maddening smirk. "Funny, because from where I'm standing, it seems like you're running away".

That did it. You dropped the knife onto the cutting board with a sharp thud and turned to face him. "Running away? From what exactly?"

"From me" he tilted his head, his eyes never leaving yours. "From whatever it is you're so afraid to admit."

"You're delusional," you said, crossing your arms. "Not everything revolves around you, Jungkook."

He took another step forward, and suddenly the space between you felt far too small. "No, but you're making it pretty obvious that something about me still gets to you" his gaze dropped briefly to your lips before locking onto your eyes again. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be working so hard to avoid me".

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you refused to back down. "I'm not avoiding you. I'm just choosing not to engage with someone who clearly can't respect boundaries".

Jungkook chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. "Boundaries, huh?" his voice dropped an octave, dangerously low. "Tell me, Y/n... how long do you think you can keep pretending you don't feel anything when I'm this close?"

He was right in front of you now, his breath warm against your skin. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to push him away, to tell him he was wrong.

But you didn't move.

For a second, neither did he.

Then his hand brushed against your wrist, his fingers curling gently around it -not forcefully, but enough to send a jolt through your system. His eyes searched yours, waiting for you to tell him to stop.

But you couldn't.

The tension snapped, and before you knew it, his lips crashed into yours.

It wasn't soft or tentative -it was raw and desperate, a collision of anger and need that left you breathless. His hand slid up your back, pulling you closer as the world around you faded away.

For a moment, you let yourself get lost in it -the heat, the frustration, the undeniable pull that had always existed between you.

But reality hit just as hard, and you pulled back, breathless and shaken.

"See?" Jungkook whispered, his forehead resting against yours. "You can lie to yourself all you want. But you can't lie to me".

"No, that's definitely more your thing" you clapped back, making sure your back was glued to the counter, as if that would keep from making another mistake.

"You still think I lied to you?" his eyebrows momentarily arched, before his hand landed over the counter, bending his body slightly.

"I don't think so, I know it" you tilted your head. "Which makes me wonder what the fuck do you exactly want from me?"

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" he aimed to take a step closer to you, his hand slipping from the counter as he approached you.

Before he could reduce the distance to a palm, you quickly picked up the knife over the cutting board to threaten him with it, Jungkook instantly raising his hands in a mockery surrender pose.

"You treated me like a fool once. I'm not allowing you to do it a second time" you assure him, your eyes piercing through his.

You dropped the knife back to the counter, thinking it was going to be a better idea to just leave and have dinner somewhere else than stay in that house and stand his constant comments and silent looks.

The moment you left Jungkook standing in the kitchen, lips swollen from the kiss you still felt burning on your skin, you knew you couldn't stay in that house any longer, at least not when you felt so weak.

One wrong word and move, and you'd be back to a place you'd regret.

You grabbed your coat and keys, ignoring the pounding in your chest, and headed straight to Steve's apartment.

He answered the door within seconds, his brows lifting in surprise when he saw you standing there. "Y/n? What's wrong?"

You stepped inside, brushing past him. "I shouldn't have gone back to him. Moving into that house was a mistake."

Steve shut the door behind you, his expression hardening. "Did he do something?"

"No," you said quickly, though your voice wavered. "Not exactly. But... he won't let me go. He keeps trying to pull me back in, and it's suffocating."

You tried to ignore the fact that you didn't tell your boyfriend about the kiss. You could have, but for some reason you chose to hide that detail.

Steve gave you a soft look, his hand aiming for your arm to brush his fingers against the thick fabric of your coat. "Let's get you something warm first".

You played with the white cup in your hands, the steam from your hot tea almost reaching your nose.

"It's clear what he's doing" he thought out loud, his head shaking while still deep in thought. "He knows you're too strong to fall for his games, so he's trying to trap you emotionally. If you really want to get him out of your life, you need to hit him where it hurts".

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Jungkook's entire identity is wrapped up in that company. It's what made your marriage necessary in the first place, right? He needed you to solidify his position as head of the company. So... why not disrupt that? Use the one thing that connects you both: his business".

The idea left you breathless for a second, the audacity of it hanging in the air. It was dangerous, calculated, and exactly the kind of move Jungkook wouldn't expect.

"You want me to ruin his position?" you asked cautiously.

"Not exactly ruin it," Steve said with a sly smile. "But challenge it. You have enough influence and knowledge to shake things up. Attend board meetings, make connections with the investors, prove that you are the real power in this relationship, not him".

Your mind raced at the possibilities. Jungkook had always thrived on control -especially in the business world. If you stepped into that world and took control of your own narrative, you wouldn't just be playing his game. You'd be rewriting the rules.

"I don't know..." you murmured, but deep down, a part of you was intrigued.

You wanted to fight back, but you weren't sure how the consequences of your actions could affect Jungkook in the future.

Hold on a second... Why were you even feeling sorry for him?

"Think about it," Steve said, leaning back with a confident grin. "If Jungkook wants to play power games, give him a fight he won't see coming".

You returned late that night, slipping back into the house like a shadow. Jungkook wasn't in the kitchen or the living room, but you felt his presence everywhere -watching, waiting.

As you climbed the stairs, your eyes drifted to the ring still sitting on the coffee table, gleaming under the soft light.

You ignored it and headed to your room, the resolve hardening in your chest.

This was war now.

Jungkook stood at the head of the conference table, his voice calm and commanding as he laid out his latest strategy to the board. His navy suit and confident stance made it clear who was in control. Every investor in the room hung on his every word.

Until the doors to the conference room swung open, interrupting him.

All eyes turned toward you as your heels clicked against the marble floor. Jungkook's smirk grew the moment he saw you. You were as beautiful as he kept thinking throughout the conference, that aura around you worked like a magnet. His attention had to be on you whenever you were in the same room -and even if you weren't. His eyes sparkled with mischief and curiosity, assuming you were here for a surprise visit.

But then you didn't stop by the door.

Instead, you walked to the far side of the long table, your expression composed and businesslike, not a single glance aimed at him. The room fell into a stunned silence as you looked down on the man who was sitting at Jungkook's right, your intimidating gaze immediately making him look to his left so everyone would move one seat away so his seat would be free for you.

Without a word, you took a seat, right next to Jungkook.

The tension in the room was palpable.

Jungkook's smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing as he watched you lean back in your chair, your fingers calmly tapping on the table. "Y/n," he said slowly, his tone low and questioning. "What are you doing here?"

You offered him a polite, professional smile, ignoring the flicker of warning in his eyes. "I'm here for the meeting, of course". You turned to the others, your voice clear and confident. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. You all must know, but I'm Y/n, and as of this morning, I'll be joining the executive board as the company's new Strategic Advisor".

Jungkook's jaw clenched. You could see the muscles in his neck tighten, though his expression remained otherwise unreadable. He leaned slightly toward you, his voice barely made it to your ears. "You've been busy, haven't you?"

You didn't blink. "I thought it was time I got involved. You keep insisting I'm your wife and such. You wanted me back at our house, so I think it's just fair I also take part in our business. You've always said we're a team, haven't you? You should be happy".

He straightened, eyes fixed on you, his mind running like crazy with all the thoughts in his head. "A team," he repeated, his voice dangerously calm. "Of course".

The meeting resumed, but you could feel Jungkook's eyes on you the entire time. Every word spoken, every decision discussed -it was all charged with tension. You chimed in occasionally, your remarks sharp and insightful, earning nods of approval from several board members, and casually opposing your husband's ideas or opinions.

By the end of the meeting, it was clear to everyone that you weren't just a pretty face in a designer dress. You belonged in that room, and you weren't going anywhere.

As the meeting wrapped up, the board members began to file out, offering you polite nods as they passed. Jungkook stayed seated, watching you with a carefully neutral expression. When the door finally closed behind the last executive, the silence between you became deafening.

"You've made your point," he said, his voice low and laced with something between admiration and irritation. "You had fun. Now go back home. This isn't a game".

You stood, smoothing your dress and giving him one last look. "Who said I'm playing a game, Jungkook? I'm just here to do what's best for the company".

With that, you turned and walked toward the door, leaving him sitting there -his eyes dark, his mind already calculating his next move.

That night, you barely made it through the front door before Jungkook's voice cut through the silence.

You swore things were being way too peaceful for it to be real. You left the company later in the evening, you spent time with your boyfriend, and then you went back home before eleven like Jungkook had conditioned you.

You didn't expect him to still be awake.

"You've got some nerve, Y/n," he said, leaning against the doorway of the living room. His tie was loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a sliver of his collarbone. His dark eyes pinned you in place, burning with a mix of anger and something else far more dangerous.

You calmly slipped off your heels, pretending not to notice the tension radiating from him. "I don't know what you're talking about".

He pushed off the doorframe, taking slow, deliberate steps toward you. "Really? Barging into my meeting, announcing your shiny new position in front of the entire board without telling me first? That wasn't just a power move, that was a declaration of war".

You crossed your arms, holding his gaze without flinching. "I'm only doing what's best for the company. Or are you threatened by me, Jungkook?"

His eyes darkened at the challenge, his jaw tightening. He stopped just inches away from you, his presence overwhelming. "Threatened?" he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. "No, love. I'm not threatened by you. But you should be careful".

You raised an eyebrow. "Is that a warning?"

His lips curled into a smirk, but there was no warmth in it "Call it... advice". He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your ear. "Because if you want to play games with me, you'd better be ready for the consequences."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" you shot back, refusing to back down despite how close he was.

He let out a low, humorless chuckle. "No, Y/n. I know you aren't scared of shit like that".

The air between you crackled with tension. For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in a dangerous standoff. Then, without warning, Jungkook's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping gently -but firmly- around your wrist.

"You think you can walk into my world and play by your own rules?" he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. "Let me remind you who taught you how to play this game in the first place".

Before you could respond, his lips crashed into yours, all restraint vanishing in an instant. The kiss was fierce, consuming, a clash of frustration and desire that had been building for far too long. His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you against him as if daring you to push him away.

But you didn't.

Instead, you kissed him back just as fiercely, pouring every ounce of your anger and defiance into it. It was a battle neither of you wanted to lose, a fight that left you breathless and trembling.

You found yourself pulling him closer, your hands wrapped around his neck when he pushed you against the door to corner you.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes burned with that familiar intensity -the one that always left you on edge.

"Tell me again," he whispered, his voice barely audible, "that you're not playing games with me."

You looked at him through hooded eyes, before you got back some strength to speak "I'm not. I'm just giving you the consequences of your actions".

After pushing him, you managed to walk away. You were paying him back with his own decisions, you were doing exactly what he told you to do -you even started wearing the ring again- only to make him regret everything he did to you.

Because, deep down, you weren't sure anymore.

But, as always, Jungkook changed the rules.

It started at the office. He didn't oppose your presence after a few days. Not only did he accept you working at the company, but he made it clear to everyone else that you belonged there.

"Y/n's perspective is valuable," he said during one of the meetings, his tone calm and confident, as though the two of you hadn't nearly torn each other apart the night before. "We'll benefit from her insight".

You blinked in surprise, not missing the way the other executives exchanged glances. Jungkook never shared control with anyone. Yet there he was, backing you up without hesitation, his demeanor warm and approachable.

You waited for him to pull some kind of stunt. To undermine you or push you into a corner. But it never came.

Instead, he stayed close -always helpful, always charming. He lingered by your office with coffee in hand, offering advice or casually checking on your progress. He praised your work during meetings, smiled at you in that disarmingly genuine way that made your stomach twist.

And he kept his distance -physically, at least. No more sudden touches. No more whispered words meant to unravel you.

But his eyes... his eyes never stopped watching you, never stopped waiting.

Every time you turned a corner, he was there. Every time you doubted your next move, he was one step ahead, guiding you with perfect timing. He was patient. Calculated.

He was making it impossible to hate him.

One late afternoon, after another meeting where Jungkook had spoken up in your favor, you lingered in the conference room, trying to process it all. The sun dipped low, casting golden light through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Something on your mind?"

You turned to find Jungkook standing in the doorway, his jacket slung over one shoulder, his sleeves rolled up. His voice was soft, almost casual, but there was a gleam in his eyes that betrayed his intent.

"Just thinking," you said, keeping your tone neutral.

"About how well we work together?" he asked, stepping inside and leaning against the table. "Admit it, Y/n. We make a hell of a team".

You narrowed your eyes. "You're up to something".

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Not this time. I meant what I said. I'm here to help you. I told you, we're partners now, we're a team. No games".

You wanted to believe him. You really did. But trusting Jungkook was like stepping into quicksand -you never knew how far you'd sink before it was too late.

Still... he was making it harder and harder to resist.

"I'll treat you to dinner" he moved his head, motioning you to walk with him.

But you froze. You already had plans, you were already meeting up with Steve to have dinner. But something in you couldn't hide the fact that you wanted to spend time with Jungkook -even if you saw each other all day now, it was never enough.

You could've said no and let Steve take you to the same restaurant you went to on Fridays, but you didn't.

"Uh, let me send an email real quick" you lied.

You took out your phone to let Steve know you wouldn't be able to meet him that night. It was the fourth time that week you stood him up. While the other times weren't related to your husband but work, they made you feel more regretful than that evening.

Twenty minutes later, you found yourself seated at a small, intimate table in an intimately lit restaurant tucked away from the city's busy streets. The place had an understated elegance -brick walls, warm lighting, the scent of freshly baked bread drifting through the air.

It wasn't flashy or extravagant. It felt... cozy. Unexpectedly personal.

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, watching you as the waiter poured wine into your glass. "Relax, Y/n. This isn't a business meeting".

You raised an eyebrow, swirling the wine in your glass. "Isn't it?"

"Not tonight." He rested his elbows on the table, his eyes never leaving yours. "I just want to enjoy your company. No business. No games".

You sipped your wine, unsure whether to believe him. The man sitting across from you was far too good at blurring lines, at slipping through cracks in your armor when you least expected it.

"So," Jungkook said after a beat of silence. "Tell me. How's your first week at the company been?"

"It's been... fine," you replied cautiously.

"Just fine?" His lips curved into a playful smirk. "Come on. Be honest".

You leaned back, crossing your arms. "Honestly? I expected you to be more of a pain in the ass".

His laughter was low and rich, drawing the attention of a few nearby diners. "I'm full of surprises".

"That much is true," you muttered, setting your glass down. "But I still don't trust you".

"Good," Jungkook said, his tone soft but serious. "You shouldn't".

That threw you off. For a second, his expression shifted -his eyes darkened, his smirk fading into something far more sincere.

"But maybe," he added, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine, "you'll give me the chance to change that".

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. Jungkook had always been a master at keeping you on edge, but tonight was different. Tonight, his words felt less like a game and more like... something real.

The waiter returned with your meals, breaking the tension. The conversation turned lighter, Jungkook recounting an embarrassing story from one of his early days at the company. His laugh was contagious, his charm impossible to ignore.

For the first time in a long while, you found yourself lowering your guard -just a little.

But as the evening went on, you couldn't shake the feeling that Jungkook was always one step ahead.

You were halfway through your meal when Jungkook leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, his eyes gleaming with something you couldn't quite read.

"So... Steve," he said, his voice deceptively casual. "Tell me about him."

Your fork froze mid-air. His tone was light, but the question hit you with the force of a loaded gun. You set your fork down carefully, your gaze narrowing.

"What about him?"

Jungkook tilted his head, lips curling into a slow, almost amused smile. "You've been seeing him for... what? A few months?"

"Why does that matter?" you asked, sipping your wine, trying to appear unaffected.

He shrugged. "Just curious. Seems like a nice guy. The kind of guy who probably wears beige sweaters and helps old ladies cross the street". His smile turned sharper "Safe".

Your jaw tightened. "Yes, he is. Which is more than I can say for most people" you snapped back your attack clear.

"Wow, calm down. It wasn't meant as an attack" Jungkook chuckled, leaning back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. "Although... safe is boring. You're not boring".

"Not everything has to be chaos and fire, Jungkook," you shot back, your voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

He swirled the wine in his glass, studying you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. "No. But it's more fun, isn't it?"

You could feel the tension rising again, the air between you thick with unspoken words. He wasn't just curious -he was poking at something, testing you, trying to find a crack in the wall you'd built.

"I'm happy with Steve," you said, folding your napkin and placing it on the table. "And he's good for me. Unlike certain people who thrive on turning everything into a power game".

His smile faded for just a second, his eyes flashing with something darker. "You think I'm playing a game with you?"

"Aren't you always?"

Jungkook leaned forward again, his voice low, dangerous, and intimate. "If I were playing, Y/n, you'd know it. But I'm not. Not this time".

You stared at him, your heartbeat picking up pace. His words were a challenge -a direct, undeniable dare to see through his layers and figure out what he really wanted.

The waiter returned, breaking the moment as he offered dessert, but you waved him off. You needed air. You needed to get out before Jungkook could sink any deeper into your thoughts.

The cool evening air hit your skin as you stepped outside the restaurant, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You needed space -time to clear your head after that loaded conversation.

You had barely taken a few steps down the sidewalk when you heard the door swing open behind you, followed by the sound of his footsteps.

"Y/n," Jungkook called, his voice calm but commanding.

You didn't stop.

"I'm going home," you said without turning around. "Alone".

Because that was the only way you'd assure yourself you'd make your way to your room without letting Jungkook get in your head.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, easily catching up to you. "I'll drive you".

You stopped abruptly, spinning on your heel to face him. "I don't want your company".

Jungkook smirked, his hands sliding into his pockets as he stepped closer, his eyes gleaming under the streetlights. "I'm not asking for your permission".

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "You can't control everything".

His eyes darkened, his playful demeanor shifting into something far more serious. "I'm not trying to control you" he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone. "But I'm not letting you walk away from me like that. Not tonight".

Your breath caught in your throat as he stood so close you could feel his warmth despite the chill in the air. His presence was overwhelming -intoxicating in a way that made you hate how easily he could unravel you.

"I really can't stand you" you muttered, turning to walk again. But before you could take another step, his hand gently wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in place.

"Let's go home together" he said softly, his eyes searching for yours. "Please."

The word caught you off guard. Jungkook rarely asked for anything. He demanded. But the way he said it now, with that rare hint of vulnerability, left you momentarily speechless.

Against your better judgment, you nodded, letting out a resigned sigh. "Fine".

The car ride was silent, the tension thick as Jungkook drove with one hand on the wheel, his other resting on his knee. You kept your gaze fixed on the passing city lights, refusing to acknowledge the way his presence filled the small space.

But when you reached the house, it was clear the night was far from over.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the house, the engine's low hum fading into silence. You hesitated for a moment before stepping out, your heels clicking softly against the pavement. Jungkook followed closely behind, his footsteps deliberate but hesitant -something you weren't used to from him.

He opened the front door and held it for you without a word, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for something. You stepped inside, your pulse quickening when you felt him right behind you, the air heavy with unspoken words.

"Y/n," he said softly, his voice raw and unfamiliar.

You froze in place, your back still to him, your hand tightening around the strap of your purse when you were able to recognize that tone in his voice. You didn't want to do this. You couldn't do this. Not now. Not after everything.

But Jungkook wasn't giving you a choice.

"I've thought about you every damn day," he said, his voice breaking ever so slightly. "Every night. Two months, Y/n. Do you know what it's like to feel haunted by someone who isn't even there?"

Your breath hitched, and you turned around slowly, meeting his eyes. His usual armor -the smirk, the cocky confidence- was nowhere to be found. Instead, he looked... tired. Vulnerable. And painfully sincere.

"I hated it," he continued, stepping closer. "And then there's that... Steve" he practically spat the name, his jaw tightening. "You think he's good for you? He's not. He'll never know you like I do. He'll never be able to keep up with you".

"Jungkook..." you started, but he cut you off.

"No," he said firmly. "Let me finish. I know I've made mistakes. I know I pushed you away when I should've done everything to keep you. And I know it's selfish to drag you back when you started to move on. But it drove me insane knowing someone else was filling the space I left empty" his voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. "I can't lose you. Not again".

His words hit you like a punch to the chest, every syllable unraveling the carefully constructed wall you had built over the past two months. Your throat tightened, tears threatening to rise, but you clenched your jaw, refusing to let them fall.

"Stop," you said quietly, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

Jungkook's eyes flickered with confusion, but he obeyed, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"I can't hear this," you whispered, shaking your head. "Not now".

"Why?" he asked, taking another step closer, his eyes searching for yours.

"Because..." your voice caught in your throat.

You didn't know how to finish that sentence without exposing the feelings you were trying so hard to bury.

"Y/n," he said, softer this time, his hand reaching out as if to touch you but stopping halfway.

You took a step back, your heart hammering in your chest. "I need... I need space".

The room fell into a suffocating silence, the weight of his confession hanging heavy between you. Jungkook nodded slowly, his expression unreadable, but the hurt in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Okay," he said quietly, his voice barely audible. "I'll give you space".

You turned away quickly, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. But even as you walked toward the stairs, his words echoed in your mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

The restaurant was warm and filled with life, but you felt cold, your thoughts miles away from the conversation. Steve sat across from you, his smile easy, his words familiar and comforting, yet you barely registered a word. Your mind kept drifting back -back to the house you shared with Jungkook, to the memories that clung to you like a second skin.

"Y/n?" Steve called gently, his brow furrowed as he leaned closer. "Are you okay?"

"Huh?" You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts. "Yeah, sorry. Just... tired".

But you weren't tired. You were haunted. Haunted by the way Jungkook had started chipping away at your carefully built walls without even trying.

The mornings when you'd come down for coffee, and he'd already be there, leaning casually against the counter, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, holding out a cup he'd made just the way you liked it.

"Morning," he'd say, his voice low and husky from sleep, a knowing smile tugging at his lips when your fingers brushed as you took the cup.

The way he'd linger close -always too close. Passing by you in the hall of your office, his hand grazing your lower back, his touch sending sparks up your spine. Or how his eyes would follow you in meetings at the office, dark and intense, making you forget what you were supposed to be saying.

And the nights. The nights were the worst.

"Do you always work this late?" Jungkook had asked one evening, standing in your doorway, his tie loosened, his eyes tired but warm.

"I like working late," you had replied, barely glancing up from your laptop. But you'd felt his presence, the air charged with that electric tension.

"Liar," he'd muttered under his breath with a chuckle, disappearing down the hall before you could respond.

Every little thing he did had felt deliberate -small, intimate gestures that blurred the lines you had tried so desperately to draw.

And now, sitting across from Steve, you felt the weight of those memories pressing down on you like a tidal wave. You weren't the same person who had walked out of Jungkook's life two months ago. You had been reshaped, little by little, without even realizing it.

"Y/n, we need to talk" Steve said suddenly, his voice cutting through the fog in your mind. Those words brought you back instantly "I've noticed... Y/n, I think something's changed between us".

You looked up at him, startled. "What do you mean?"

He studied you for a long moment, his expression soft but knowing. "You seem... distracted. Distant, even. And I don't think it's just work. We barely see each other, and it's always one excuse after the other. And the little we get to see each other, you wear that fucking ring like you're actually married to him" subtly, your eyes moved down to your hand.

He was right. The first time it happened, Steve pointed it out with a joke. But the second, the third time... he noticed something was off with the way you started becoming more attached to that piece of jewelry. He noticed how you were distancing yourself from him, as if you never wanted to move on from the person who put it on you in the first place.

"I..." you tried to deny it, but the words caught in your throat.

"You're in love with him," Steve said gently, his eyes sad but honest.

Your breath caught in your chest, your pulse racing.

"No, I'm not," you said quickly, too quickly. "It's complicated".

Steve leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. "No, it's not. It's pretty simple, actually. You're still wearing his mark in every part of your life, even if you don't see it. And maybe you've convinced yourself that you've moved on, but trust me... you haven't" he sighed, his back resting on the backrest. "When we started seeing each other, I thought you'd eventually forget about him. But now that he's back, I can see it even clearer on you. You think of him the way I think of you".

His words stung because they were true.

"I... I don't know how I feel about Jungkook. But you're right about one thing: I think about him the way I wished I thought about you" you sighed. "And I've been so selfish with you, so unfair... It shouldn't have taken me this long to realize".

Or maybe you did realize earlier, but you just clung to the idea that the stability Steve kept offering you was all you ever wanted. You tried to cover up your feelings with what you wanted.

"I'm really sorry for putting you in this position, I'm really sorry for hurting you and making you waste your time. I shouldn't have..."

"I knew what I was doing when I first walked in" Steve smirked. "It was also my choice to stay. I just hope he can be better and make you the happiest, because it's the only thing you deserve, Y/n".

Your heart broke when you watched him getting up and walking to you, his lips leaving a small kiss on your forehead before he started walking towards the exit.

It was over.

The front door clicked shut behind you, the soft sound of the lock sliding into place echoing in the quiet house when you came back home. You kicked off your heels, your jaw tight and your mind a tangled mess of emotions. Your heart raced -half from the lingering tension with Steve, half from the anticipation of seeing Jungkook.

The lights in the living room were turned on, you didn't need to catch a glimpse of Jungkook sitting on the couch to know he was there, his elbows were resting on his knees, his dark eyes locked on you the second you stepped inside. He looked like he'd been waiting for you, his jaw clenched, his tie loosened around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt undone.

He was indeed waiting for you. You arrived one hour late to the time you first agreed on your conditions, and his mind was already racing with all the things you could be doing, or the things that could've happened to you.

"Late night?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge.

You froze, your pulse quickening as the weight of the conversation you'd just had with Steve pressed down on you. "Don't start, Jungkook. I'm not in the mood tonight".

He stood, taking slow, deliberate steps toward you. "I'm just curious. Did your boyfriend have something interesting to say?"

You glared at him, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. "This is none of your business".

He chuckled bitterly, his eyes darkening. "None of my business? You live in my house, Y/n. Everything about you is my business".

"You're unbelievable," you shot back, your voice rising. "I live in your house because you wanted it that way. We're still married because you wanted it that way. You made me your business because you're fucking insane" you snapped back "Yet I'm the one who owes you explanations and details?"

Jungkook stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "You do owe me an explanation, at the very least. You disappear for hours, come back with that look on your face, and I'm just supposed to act like it doesn't bother me?"

"It shouldn't!" you snapped. "This marriage is a lie, Jungkook! You don't get to be jealous or possessive. Fuck fuck's sake, you shouldn't even be worried. You said it yourself! It's meaningless, remember?"

He flinched at your words, his eyes narrowing. "You're really going to throw that in my face again?"

"You gave me no choice," you hissed. "I'm just playing by the rules you set, Jungkook".

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the air between you crackling with tension. His eyes flickered with something you couldn't quite place: frustration, anger, and something deeper, something dangerous.

"Fine," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "If that's how you want it".

You turned on your heel, heading for the stairs, your heart pounding in your chest. But Jungkook wasn't finished.

"You can run upstairs and lock yourself in that room all you want," he called after you. "But you can't keep avoiding this forever".

You didn't respond, your footsteps heavy as you climbed the stairs. When you reached your room, you slammed the door shut and leaned against it, your chest heaving.

The truth was, you were more terrified of not running.

Terrified that if you let him close again, you wouldn't have the strength to push him away.

Weeks passed, and the house felt colder with every passing day.

The distance between you and Jungkook had become a silent war -each of you too proud to surrender, too stubborn to bridge the gap. Every interaction was brief and transactional, your words clipped, your glances fleeting.

And yet, he was always there. Always watching. Always close enough to remind you that no matter how much space you tried to put between you, it was never enough.

Tonight was no different.

You stood in front of the mirror in your bedroom, applying the final touch of lipstick. The buzzing of your phone vibrated on the dresser -a message from your friends confirming the plans for the night.

You slipped into your heels, grabbed your jacket, and headed toward the door. The house was unusually quiet, but you barely noticed. You were halfway down the stairs when Jungkook's voice, low and groggy, stopped you in your tracks.

"Where are you going?"

You turned to find him leaning against the doorframe of the living room. His hair was tousled, his face pale, and he clutched the front of his shirt as if he could barely stand. His eyes met yours, and for a split second, you hesitated.

"Out," you said slowly, your brow furrowing. "Are you... okay?"

Jungkook groaned softly, staggering toward the couch and sinking onto it with a dramatic sigh. "I don't think so... I've felt off all day. I didn't even go to work".

When you didn't see him in the office, you thought it was because he was avoiding you as hard as you were avoiding him.

But you were wrong.

You crossed your arms, watching him closely. He looked convincingly miserable -too miserable, almost.

"You seemed fine earlier," you said, raising a brow.

You did catch a glimpse of him when you came back from the office. Truth was that you didn't pay enough attention to him, while he was lying on the couch, to tell whether he was really sick or just having a lazy day.

"I've been sick all day" he muttered, rubbing his forehead as if the weight of the world rested there. "Maybe it's a fever. Or worse. Who knows? I might not even wake up tomorrow".

You narrowed your eyes. "Are you seriously faking being sick to keep me from leaving?"

His head shot up, a spark of offense flashing in his eyes. "What? No!" he coughed -a little too perfectly timed. "I would never. I just thought... maybe you could stay. You know, in case I need... help".

A short laugh escaped you despite yourself. "Help with what? Tucking you in?"

Jungkook's lips curved into a small smirk, the sickly act slipping for a second. "Well, since you're offering..."

You shook your head, exasperated. "For real...."

He leaned back into the couch, his expression softening as he looked up at you. "Come on, just stay. Just tonight" his voice dropped, quieter, almost vulnerable. "It's been a while since we've had dinner together. I'll make it worth your while".

Something about the way he said it made your pulse quicken. His eyes -dark and earnest- locked onto yours, and suddenly, you were questioning whether you wanted to leave at all.

You sighed, glancing at the door one last time before slipping out of your heels and tossing your jacket onto a nearby chair. "Fine. But only because I don't want to come home and find you passed out on the floor".

Jungkook's eyes lit up for a brief second before he coughed again -weakly, almost theatrically- and leaned back on the couch like he was barely holding on. "I knew I could count on you".

You rolled your eyes, walking over to the other side of the room. "What do you want for dinner?"

"Takeout. Whatever you feel like," Jungkook said, already reaching for his phone. "My treat".

It wasn't long before the smell of food filled the house. Jungkook had ordered your favorite dishes, and despite yourself, you couldn't help but appreciate the thoughtfulness. The two of you sat cross-legged on the living room floor, cartons of takeout spread between you, soft music playing in the background.

He passed you a pair of chopsticks, his fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary. "You're too quiet tonight," he murmured, his eyes lingering on you. "What's on your mind?"

You gave a noncommittal shrug, focusing on your food. "Nothing much".

"Liar," he teased, nudging your leg gently with his knee. "You always get that look when something's bothering you".

"You're imagining things," you replied, taking a sip of your drink.

He watched you for a moment, his playful smirk fading into something softer. "I missed this".

Your breath hitched slightly, but you quickly masked it. "You mean tricking me into staying home while you fake a near-death experience?"

Jungkook chuckled, a warm, genuine sound. "No. I mean... being with you like this. Talking. Eating. Just... being".

You hated how easily his words unsettled you, how they made your carefully constructed walls tremble just a little.

"Don't get used to it," you muttered, trying to sound indifferent. "You're not that convincing, by the way".

His brows lifted. "What do you mean?"

"You forgot you were supposed to be sick about twenty minutes ago".

Jungkook froze, his chopsticks hovering mid-air, then laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess I got caught up in the moment".

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Uh-huh. Caught up in ordering half the menu and devouring it like you haven't eaten in a week?"

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "I haven't eaten in a whole day... almost. I needed to be convincing".

"You keep proving how crazy you are" you said dryly, but you couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at your lips.

As the evening stretched on, the atmosphere grew warmer, more intimate. You leaned back on the couch, full and content, while Jungkook sat beside you, his arm resting on the back cushion, his fingers just barely grazing your shoulder.

He didn't say much after that, just watched you in quiet contemplation, his gaze unreadable but steady, like he was trying to memorize every detail of this moment.

And for once, you didn't pull away.

"After all these months... I still don't know why you agreed to marry me" he said out of the blue, catching you off guard. "You're old enough to refuse. What could've your parents done to you? Block your cards?"

Your feet hesitated over the edge of the coffee table, while those memories came back after being left to the deepest area in your brain.

"I don't know. And I didn't want to risk learning it" you mumbled. "Sometimes I think they adopted me to trade me for something better" you scoffed, saying those thoughts out loud for the first time. "You can say all my life since I moved with them was about that. I was never a daughter, but an object to exchange. It's okay though" you sighed "I learned to live like that".

Jungkook stared at you for a few seconds in silence, drinking in every expression, every small gesture that gave out more of your feelings.

"I never thought of you that way" he admitted. "Before we married, I was attracted to you. Really attracted, I mean... You have no idea the amount of times that..."

"Jungkook, stop" you chuckled, attempting to hide your face behind your palms.

"What I mean is that our marriage just helped fasten things. Then I started to know you more after we moved in together, and I swear I've never been more lost with someone else before. Every little thing, even things I thought I already knew, made me feel like I was rewriting you all over again. I think... I started falling for you much earlier than I should've. And God, it felt so fucking good".

You could just stare at him as he spoke, trying to find a hint on how he was playing you, but there was nothing at all.

"But then... then you overheard me talking to Eunwoo... I knew the second I saw your face that I'd ruined everything. I hated myself for it. Every damn day after you left, I cursed myself for not stopping you".

Your breath caught in your throat. The sincerity in his voice, the cracks in his carefully guarded composure... It was too much. Too real.

"I just want you to know that I didn't say those things to hurt you," Jungkook began, his jaw tightening. "I didn't feel them. I could never feel them. I said them because I thought I was protecting you".

"Protecting me?" you blinked, confusion flickering across your face.

"My father started getting suspicious of us when I kept dodging the topic every time he brought up the divorce. And it got worse when I suggested you to become part of the company, because you're brilliant and you have amazing ideas, and you'd add so much by doing what you love... And you proved it these weeks. But my father thought that maybe I was getting too invested in you, and having us involved together in something else would only make it harder for us to part ways. I didn't want you to become a target, I didn't want you in between the crossfire".

You crossed your arms, trying to maintain your composure. "So your solution was to tell Eunwoo that I meant nothing to you?"

"I panicked. Eunwoo and his mother have a tight connection with my father, so maybe if I reassured him that everything was as always..." Jungkook admitted, his voice cracking just slightly. "I thought if I made it sound like it was all just business, like I didn't care... it would all stop. My father would leave you alone, and we'd be able to keep going for a little longer until we got strong enough. No one would question your success, and with just a little more time we would've gotten strong enough to get through everything. I didn't realize how wrong I was until it was too late".

He ran a hand down his face, his frustration evident. "It backfired in the worst way. You heard it, and it broke us. I would've taken it back in a heartbeat if I could".

"What changed now? Because I doubt your father was happy with the idea of having me back".

"It's worse to have you away, and share you with someone else, than going through a war against my father to keep you in my life" he whispered. "When I signed those papers... I was so angry at you, but I was angrier at me, because I thought I wasn't going to be able to protect you. And then you signed them as well, and I couldn't find the courage to file them and present them in court. It was the only thing that kept us together".

You leaned back against the couch, folding your arms tightly across your chest, trying to put some distance between yourself and the raw vulnerability in Jungkook's eyes.

"The first week, I tried to get you out of my head and convince myself that it was for the better. I kept postponing presenting the files until I realized I didn't want to".

You opened your mouth to respond, but the way Jungkook's gaze darkened made you stop short. He pressed his lips into a thin line, as if weighing what to say next, before finally leaning closer -too close.

"I gave you space, I let you live your life" he said, his voice low, almost dangerously calm. "But you didn't really think I'd let you go, didn't you?"

Your pulse quickened, unease spreading through your chest. "What are you talking about?"

Jungkook tilted his head, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "I never stopped keeping tabs on you. Not once. Those months we were apart? I knew exactly where you were, what you were doing... and who you were with".

Your heart stopped. "You... what?"

Jungkook shook his head, his expression almost regretful. "I wanted to let you move on at first... but the second I saw him holding your hand, touching you like you were his, I couldn't stand it. So I made sure he wouldn't last long in your life." he paused, leaning closer. "Did you ever wonder why Steve's company suddenly lost that big contract? Why he became distant, out of nowhere?"

Your stomach churned. You had wondered. You remember the big turn in Steve's personality after that, but you two managed to get him back on the right road.

"You..." your voice shook with rage. "You almost ruined his career just to... what? Keep me single?"

Jungkook's jaw tightened. "To bring you back where you belong" his voice softened, his eyes blazing with something raw and possessive. "With me" he sighed, slightly throwing his head back "When you didn't break up after that, I knew I needed to do something else. And that was why I showed up looking for you and bringing you back".

Your breath caught in your throat, torn between fury and disbelief. "You're sick in the head".

"Maybe," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you can't deny that part of you wanted to come back. Even now, you're still here. You're still mine."

Your hands clenched into fists as his words settled like poison in your veins. "Mine." That one word snapped something inside you, sending you spiraling between anger and something far more dangerous.

Shit... why was your body feeling lighter after his confession? Why were you so eager for his lips? Why did his twisted actions work to make your heart beat faster for him?

"I know you're feeling the same way even if you're with that prick" he whispered, his fingers softly tracing your jaw.

He shifted closer to you, his thigh pressing against yours, rubbing your skin over your tights. He looked into your eyes, and you could feel a spark ignite between you. "Y/n, love," he said softly, "I've been an idiot. I'm sorry."

Jungkook leaned in, his lips gently brushing against yours, instantly getting them to part as if he had thrown a spell on you. You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his touch, getting lost in the rush when he finally linked your lips together. It was slow, gentle, as if he was afraid you'd move away. But slowly, your lips sucked on his, your lower lip molding in between them, the kiss deepening as your tongues explored each other's mouths, the mere contact making the two of you moan. Jungkook's hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, making sure there wouldn't be a single inch between your bodies.

After the distance between you, he couldn't tolerate any physical space.

"You taste so good," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "I've missed this".

You moaned softly, your lips still brushing his, your body responding to his touch. "I've missed you too," you finally admitted, your voice breathless.

When you kissed again, you could feel the air shifting, the tension turned into something heavier, something that almost made you eat the other alive.

Jungkook's hand moved up to cup your breast, his fingers gently squeezing while his thumb rubbed against your nipple through the fabric of your dress. Shocked by pleasure, you stopped the kiss to bite his lower lip for a few seconds, the time it took you to control your own moan. "Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice a low growl, when you finally released his lip.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice filled with need. "I want you".

Jungkook's hand moved to the hem of your dress, slowly lifting it up, his warm palm covering every inch of skin he went through as he moved it up. And every centimeter of skin that was exposed made you eager for more. You raised your arms when he pulled the elastic fabric up enough, allowing him to remove it completely. Jungkook leaned down, his lips capturing one of your nipples through the lace of your bra, having your back arching and your body surrendering to him as you rested against the backrest of the couch. You moaned, your hands tangling in his hair to make sure he wouldn't move away.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his hands moving to unclasp your bra. "I could touch you all day".

Your bra fell away, and Jungkook's hands replaced the lace, cupping your bare breasts with an eroticism that had your breath catching in your throat. He kissed you again, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands explored your body, he wanted to make it clear you were his. Not to you, but to his own self. Your hands moved to his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly.

"I want to feel you," you whispered, your fingers tracing the muscles of his chest.

Jungkook moved away shortly, just enough to allow you to remove his shirt completely. He unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers. Your eyes widened as you saw his hardened bulge, straining against his briefs.

"You're already like this?" she chuckled, looking up to his eyes.

Jungkook smirked, hooking his thumbs into his briefs and pushing them down. "You keep underestimating the power you have over me, love. My whole body reacts for you".

Your hands moved to your tights, pushing them down along with your panties. Jungkook kneeled on the couch, his hands moving to your thighs, taking you by surprise when he leaned in, his tongue flicking against your clit.

You gasped, your body bucking against his touch. "Jung... kook," you moaned, your hands tangling in his hair.

His tongue continued to explore you, his fingers joining in, sliding in and out of her wetness with a slow motion that had you sinking deeper on the couch. Your moans filled the room, your body writhing against his touch.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his voice filled with desire, before licking again.

As minutes passed, you could feel your body tensing, your high crashing over you with such intensity that you saw white for a mini second. Jungkook's tongue continued to move, drawing out your pleasure, not wanting to move away from you. Your muscles relaxed, although not entirely, because you were back at that state of arousal that had you edging for more, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Jungkook stood up, his hands cupping your face to stop you before your mouth could reach his length. You looked up at him, your eyes filled with all the filthy things you wanted to happen.

You wanted him.

"I have to be inside you first" he bent over to kiss you. "It's the only right way to do it".

His hands hooked below your arms to pull you up, to quickly move around your waist and your nape to link your lips once more. His touch felt as if he wanted you to become one: the way he kept sticking your body close to his, the way his hand on your hair tangled around the locks to pull you deeper for the kiss, the way his nails scratched your back... It was more than just love.

You'd have walked blindly towards your room if you hadn't stumbled and fell over the stairs. Neither of you knew whether it was the need or hunger, but neither of you got up. Jungkook made sure to place you so you'd be sitting on the step while your back and head resting on the others, with his body barely making it on the edge to fit in between your legs.

He positioned himself at your entrance, his dick sliding in slowly. You moaned, your body adjusting to his size after so long. Jungkook began to move, his hips thrusting against yours slowly at first, trying to memorize the feeling, the way your walls wrapped around him so good that he almost forgot how to breathe.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his voice filled with pleasure.

Your hands moved to his back, your nails digging into his skin while your legs wrapped higher on his waist. "Jungkook, please," you moaned, your body arching against his.

You didn't know to specify what you wanted, he already knew. Jungkook's thrusts became more forceful, his body slamming against yours. You didn't even care how the edge of the step kept hitting against your back, that pain became part of the pleasure at some point. Your moans filled the hall, your body responding to his touch in a way it hadn't before. "Yes" you moaned, your body tensing as another wave of pleasure approached. "Jungkook" your voice cracked.

Jungkook's thrusts became erratic, his body tensing as he tried to control his own release from coming. But it was so hard, he ended up spilling himself inside you, his hips sloppily moving while his dick twitched wrapped around your walls, his lips seeking for yours to let you know he wasn't done.

Somehow, you made it to his room, the bed looked like a battlefield from all the turns and shifts, the sheets stained with sweat and something else.

Your body collapsed a third time over the mattress, your moan prolonging a bit longer while you tried to catch your breath. It was like a reward for getting him hard again when you sucked him off through his release during the second round.

Your ears beeped, your sight was blurry, but the only thing your over sensitive body could feel was the way his body collapsed on top of you, his body shuddering with his orgasm.

You laid there for a moment, your bodies entwined, his face hiding in the curve of your neck while he whispered the most devoted words to your ear. He rolled off of you, just to pull you close. You snuggled against him, your body still humming with pleasure, ignoring the rational part of your brain that was asking you to leave.

You'd have plenty of chances to act that way. During that night, you just wanted to be with him.

"I love you, Y/n," he whispered. "Even if you hate me for what I did, even if your heart belongs to someone else. I fucking love you, Y/n. And I doubt I'll ever be able to feel the same way about someone else".

The sunlight filtered gently through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You stirred awake, the weight of last night pressing down on your chest as memories flashed through your mind: Jungkook's confession, the tension, and how everything had unraveled after, how you tried to ignore it as he hugged you closer to help you fall asleep.

For a second, you hoped it had been a dream, but the faint hum of activity outside your bedroom told you otherwise. Jungkook was already awake.

You sighed, dragging yourself out of bed and into the bathroom to freshen up. The silence in the house was oppressive, a sharp contrast to the heated exchange from hours before. After throwing on something casual, you padded barefoot into the kitchen, where you found him leaning against the counter, a mug of coffee in hand.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Morning," he said, his voice low, almost cautious.

You nodded, walking past him to pour yourself a cup of coffee. The air between you felt suffocating, thick with words that had already been said, and some others that were left unspoken.

"Did you sleep well?" Jungkook asked, breaking the silence.

You glanced at him briefly. "Fine".

He took a slow sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving yours. "About last night..."

"Let's not," you cut him off, your tone firmer than you intended. "I think we've said enough".

His jaw clenched, but he nodded, stepping aside as you moved toward the fridge. You grabbed some fruit, peeling it in silence, feeling his eyes on you the entire time.

"Are you really going to pretend it didn't happen?" he finally asked, his voice steady but laced with frustration. "What I said, what we shared... it wasn't nothing".

You set the fruit down with a soft thud, turning to face him. "I'm not pretending it didn't happen. I just don't know what you expect me to do with it".

"I expect you to stop running," he said, taking a step closer. "To stop hiding behind your walls every time things get complicated. Fuck, I thought we were getting somewhere".

"And I expect you to stop playing with my life," you shot back. "You've been controlling everything since the beginning, how am I supposed to trust this isn't just another game to you?"

He looked genuinely hurt for a moment, his expression softening. "It's not a game," he said quietly. "It's never been a game. You're the only thing that's ever felt real in all of this".

His words made your heart twist painfully, but you pushed it aside, unwilling to let him see how deeply they affected you. "I need time," you said again, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can't just flip a switch and forget everything that happened".

Jungkook's shoulders sagged slightly, his frustration giving way to something more vulnerable. "I get it," he said after a pause. "Take all the time you need. But I'm not going anywhere".

You stared at him for a long moment before turning away, grabbing your coffee and heading back to your room.

You thought that would be the end of the conversation, at least for now. But Jungkook had never been one to back down so easily, and deep down, you knew this was far from over.

Later that evening, the house was unusually quiet. You sat on the edge of the couch, staring blankly at the television, not even registering the images flashing across the screen. The weight of everything that had happened lingered heavily between you and Jungkook, who sat a few feet away, his gaze fixed on you rather than the show.

"Y/n," Jungkook said softly, breaking the silence. His tone was different -calm, almost resigned. "We need to talk".

You turned to face him, your heart tightening at the serious look in his eyes. "About what?"

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced together. His usual confidence was gone, replaced by something more vulnerable. "I've been thinking... maybe I've been holding on too tightly".

Your breath hitched slightly, but you kept your expression neutral. "What do you mean?"

Jungkook looked at you with a mix of sadness and determination. "I've forced you to stay. Dragged you back into my life without giving you much of a choice. I thought it was what I needed to keep you close, but... I can see how much it's been tearing you apart".

You opened your mouth to speak, but he raised a hand to stop you. "Let me finish," he said gently. "If you want to go, I won't stop you this time. No tricks, no conditions. I'll set you free" his voice caught slightly on the last word. "I just want you to be happy, even if that means it's not with me".

The air seemed to leave the room all at once. His words, so final, hit you harder than you expected. For months, you had wanted exactly this -a clean break, a way out. But now that he was offering it, your chest tightened painfully.

"You're... serious?" you asked, barely above a whisper.

"Yes," he said quietly, his eyes searching for yours. "I'm tired of forcing you to stay in a place you don't want to be. I love you too much to keep you trapped here".

Your throat constricted to the raw emotion in his voice. His confession hung in the air, making it nearly impossible to breathe. You wanted to say something -anything- but the words wouldn't come.

For the first time, it felt like the walls you had built around yourself were beginning to crumble, piece by piece. And it scared you more than anything.

Jungkook smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'll leave you alone tonight. You can think about it. Just... let me know what you decide".

He stood slowly, his steps heavy as he walked toward the hallway. You watched him disappear around the corner, your chest tightening more with every step he took.

Alone in the silence, you realized that maybe, just maybe, the thing you were most afraid of wasn't staying with Jungkook -it was losing him entirely. You fell for him too long ago, you refused to see it even when Steve threw it at your face, and now you were scared of the aftermath of building all those walls around you.

The tension had been eating you alive for days. Each passing hour only made it worse. Jungkook had given you space -too much space- and the longer you waited, the more you hated it. You had tried to convince yourself that you needed time, but deep down, you knew the truth. You didn't want time. You didn't want to be free.

You wanted to be with him.

The realization hit you like a freight train as you found yourself pacing outside his company's headquarters. This was reckless -completely irrational- but you didn't care.

With your heart in your throat, you pushed through the glass doors of the building, ignoring the curious glances from employees as you made your way to the top floor. The elevator ride felt endless, every second ticking by with the weight of everything unsaid between you.

When the doors opened, you strode into his office like a storm. His secretary tried to stop you, stammering something about an important meeting, but you barely heard her. Nothing mattered except getting to Jungkook.

He was in the middle of a conversation with a group of executives when you burst through the door. His head snapped up, eyes widening in shock. For a moment, the room fell into stunned silence.

"Y/n?" his voice was calm, but the confusion and flicker of hope in his eyes betrayed him.

You didn't respond -not with words, at least. You crossed the room in long, determined strides, your pulse racing. The executives glanced at each other, murmuring awkwardly, but you didn't care.

You stopped right in front of him, your gaze locking onto his, while your hands were holding the divorce papers he kept in his office. You ripped the papers, throwing them over his desk. Then, without a second thought, you grabbed the front of his suit jacket and pulled him down into a kiss.

It wasn't gentle or hesitant. It was fierce and all-consuming, filled with every emotion you'd been holding back for months -anger, longing, love. Jungkook froze for half a second before his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer as he kissed you back with equal intensity.

The room erupted in gasps, but the world faded away. There was only him -his warmth, his scent, the way his lips molded perfectly to yours.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Jungkook's eyes searched yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"I don't want a divorce," you said, your voice trembling but determined. "I don't want to leave. I want to be with you, Jungkook. I want to love you, I want the freaky sex and the cozy nights in, the boring days and the full family pack. I want you".

A slow, almost disbelieving smile spread across his face. His grip on your waist tightened slightly. "Say it again," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of your pounding heart.

"I want you," you repeated, tears welling in your eyes. "I love you".

Jungkook pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes closed as if savoring the moment. "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say that".

The executives were still awkwardly lingering nearby, but Jungkook didn't seem to care anymore. He leaned down to kiss you again -softer this time, filled with the promise of everything yet to come.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, "Let's go home." When he turned to the executives, all of them were dedicating him a confused look "We'll retake this tomorrow morning. As you can see, my wife needs me".

Jungkook intertwined his fingers with yours, leading you out of the office without a second glance at the stunned executives. His grip was firm, almost desperate, like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go.

Neither of you said a word on the elevator ride down, tension crackling between you like a live wire. His thumb traced absent circles on the back of your hand, a gesture that felt far too intimate for someone who had just promised to set you free days earlier.

Once you stepped outside, the cool evening breeze hit you, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside you. Jungkook's black car was already waiting at the curb. He opened the door for you, his eyes dark and unreadable, and you slid inside without hesitation.

The ride home was thick with silence, but not the cold kind you'd endured for weeks. This one was heavier -charged with everything still left unsaid. Every glance he stole at you from the driver's seat only made your pulse quicken, while his smirk grew when he felt the muscles on your thigh tensing under his touch as he reached for it.

When you arrived back at the house, Jungkook barely waited for the door to close before pulling you into him. His lips found yours again, urgent and demanding, as he backed you against the wall in the entryway.

"I meant what I said," you whispered between kisses, your fingers curling into the fabric of his blazer. "I'm not leaving".

Jungkook rested his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged. "Good," he muttered, his voice rough with emotion. "Because I'm never letting you go again".

His hands moved to cup your face, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the intensity in his eyes. "Do you know how many times I've imagined you coming back to me like this?" he whispered, his thumb brushing across your cheek. "How many times I regretted pushing you away?"

"Then don't push me away this time," you said softly, your own voice trembling.

A flicker of vulnerability crossed his face -a crack in his carefully built armor. "I won't," he promised. "Not ever again".

He kissed you once more -slow and deliberate, savoring every second as if he were trying to memorize the feel of you all over again. And this time, it wasn't just a kiss filled with heat and passion. It was filled with something deeper -something neither of you dared put into words just yet.

"Come with me," Jungkook said, his voice low and inviting. His fingers laced with yours again as he led you upstairs, his steps steady but purposeful.

This time, there were no barriers between you. No distance. No hesitation.

You were back home.

Months had passed, and spring wrapped the city in soft sunlight and blooming flowers, a perfect backdrop for what was meant to be a "first-anniversary celebration" in everyone else's eyes. But to you and Jungkook, this was more than a party. This was your real wedding -a chance to do things right. No forced arrangements, no hidden agendas, no resentment. Just the two of you, ready to start again.

The preparations had consumed you for weeks, but for once, you didn't mind. Every decision felt personal now -every detail a piece of who you had become together. The venue was an intimate garden, bathed in warm light and adorned with white roses, soft candles flickering on every table. Guests mingled, clueless to the significance of the ceremony.

You stood in front of the mirror in the bridal suite, your heart racing as you smoothed down the lace bodice of your gown. This time, there was no hesitation, no dread weighing down your steps.

A knock at the door broke your thoughts.

"Come in," you called softly.

The door opened, and Jungkook stood there, already dressed in his tailored black suit, looking devastatingly handsome. His tie hung loose around his neck, as though he'd been too restless to finish getting ready.

"You're not supposed to see me before the ceremony," you teased, smiling despite the fluttering in your chest.

"I know," he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. His eyes softened as he looked at you. "But I couldn't wait. I needed to see you".

He walked toward you, stopping just short of touching you. His eyes roamed over your face, his expression shifting from admiration to something deeper.

"You're beautiful," he whispered. "But more than that... you're mine".

You felt your throat tighten at the sincerity in his voice. "Jungkook..."

"I know this is just an anniversary party for everyone else, but for me... this is it. This is our real beginning," he said, his voice low and earnest. "No pretenses, no games. Just us. I love you, Y/n. More than anything".

Your breath hitched at the words -so simple, yet so powerful. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his.

"I love you too," you said softly. "And I can't wait to marry you. For real this time".

A rare, boyish smile spread across his face. "Then let's go out there and do it right".

As you walked down the aisle moments later, everything felt different from that day months ago. This time, his eyes didn't carry worry or uncertainty. They were filled with warmth and love, unwavering as they locked on you.

And this time, when you reached him at the end of the aisle, it felt like the happiest day of your life.

The soft hum of a string quartet filled the air, blending with the scent of fresh roses as you stood across from Jungkook. His hand was steady in yours, his eyes never once leaving your face. The officiant spoke gently, inviting you to share your vows.

Jungkook had already said his -a tender, heartfelt confession of love and promises, full of words you never imagined hearing from him when your marriage first began. You barely managed to hold it together. But now, it was your turn.

Your throat felt tight, and for a moment, your eyes flicked to the guests seated around you. Then back to Jungkook. Only him.

You took a deep breath, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions flooding your chest.

"I've thought a lot about this moment," you began, your eyes locking on his, "what I'd say if I ever got the chance to do this right. The truth is... I didn't believe this would make me so happy when this all started. I didn't believe we'd make it. We were too different. Too stubborn. Too much like enemies who refused to surrender".

Jungkook's lips curled into a faint smile, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly, encouraging you to continue.

"And yet," you said, your voice softening, "somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, you became the person I didn't want to live without, you showed me a love and support I haven't ever seen in anyone else. I tried to fight it, I really did. But every time you stood by me -every time you pushed me to be stronger, even when I hated you for it- you made me realize something: I wasn't scared of you. I was scared of how much I needed you".

The air felt thicker, the world narrowing until it was just the two of you. Jungkook's eyes glistened, though he said nothing, waiting for you to finish.

"I love you," you confessed, your voice trembling now. "I love your strength, your loyalty, and your ridiculous determination to win every argument. I love how you see through me, even when I try to hide. I love how, no matter how hard I push, you always pull me back. So today, I'm choosing you again. Not because I have to. Not because of expectations. But because I want to. Every day, for the rest of my life... I want you, Jungkook. And I promise to always fight for us -just like you've always fought for me".

The guests seemed to vanish in the background, replaced by a heavy, electric silence. Jungkook's thumb brushed over your knuckles, his eyes filled with something raw and overwhelming. He leaned in slightly, his voice barely audible.

"You've just ruined me," he whispered with a soft, breathless laugh.

You cleaned each other's tears while smiling, your touch feeling as raw and sensitive as never before.

The officiant, or more like someone you hired to play it for that party, smiled knowingly. "I think it's time to seal these vows with a kiss."

Jungkook didn't hesitate. His hand cupped your cheek tighter, drawing you in for a slow, tender kiss -one filled with promises and beginnings, a far cry from the fiery, desperate kisses you had shared before. This one was different.

When you pulled back, breathless and dazed, the crowd erupted in cheers. But Jungkook only had eyes for you. And you only had eyes for him.

Taglist: @almostpurplelady

#armpirate #fanfic #ff #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkookxreader #jk #bts #wattpad #kookie #smut #jungkook smut #reader insert #one shot #jungkooksmut #jksmut #jk smut #arranged marriage au

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thesvnandthemooon · 2 months ago

Text

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: as requested, part two :) this isn’t exactly what you asked for, but i did keep the ideas in mind and tried to make it as similar as i could

summary: moving in w nat, renovating…no real plot, just vibes hehe

warnings: smut (oral, r receiving; penetration; fingering),

word count: 9.2k

part 1, part 2

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

There's no clear way to tell what this will end up being. It started with yellow paint — a creamy, muted shade, not unlike the petals of a buttercup. A deep red shade followed, rich and deep, but resembling blood a little too much. Then, you cracked open a paint bucket that looks like you poured its contents straight from the night sky.

A night sky is basically what you've turned one of the walls in your living room into. You're standing in front of it with a brush, using your fingers on its bristles to create tiny little stars. Natasha's on the floor, covered in paint and slowly dozing off.

"Do you think I should add the actual constellations? Like Aquarius, Cassiopeia..."

She hums, eyes closed. "I'm a Sagittarius."

"That's not what I meant", you say, turning around. But she looks like she's asleep already, and you scoff. "Hey! That's rude."

"Huh?" She blinks, then groans and sits up. "Y/N, it's the middle of the night."

You glance at your watch. She's right — it's past 4am, and you haven't slept yet. You shrug and step over a paint puddle to grab a different shade of blue.

"Aren't you used to it?"

Natasha rolls her eyes and puts her arms behind her head. She scoots lower until she's almost lying down. This doesn't even faze her anymore. Your sleep schedule is pretty much nonexistent at this point. You sleep when you can and want to, not when you should.

She doesn't mind it, either. Usually, you let her sleep. But now that you’ve started renovating, you insist she stays up so she can have a say in what everything will look like, too.

She hasn't had a full night's sleep in over a week now. She's used to taking naps in the afternoon sometimes, but now, those are mandatory. Otherwise, she'd topple over.

"Oh, great. Just when I thought the torture was over", she mutters. She sighs and forces herself to get up. "What's that?"

You're bent over the table, hands braced on the surface and loose strands of hair framing your face. You're staring at a map of the stars like it's the most interesting thing you've seen all day. Apparently, artists really do see art in everything.

Natasha nudges you when you don't reply. You blindly reach for her and grasp her wrist.

"From that night", is all you mumble. She raises her eyebrows, and you look up. There are blue paint freckles all over your face. "The night you kissed me."

Her cheeks go warm. She clears her throat and glances at the map again. "You mean the night you kissed me."

"You kissed me back, though."

"Yes, but you kissed me first."

You dismiss it with a wave of your hand. Straightening up, you walk back to the wall and start placing more defined dots. Natasha stands behind you and watches, arms crossed and eyes heavy.

She knows what you're like. If the circumstances are right and the networks in your brain are cooperating, you could go for another ten hours. It's happened before. She remembers you sleeping for an entire day afterwards.

Natasha nods at the hallway, already walking backwards. "I'll, uh, get some rest."

"Stupid brush", you mutter, frowning at a dot that ended up too big. You finally register her words and turn around. She's already walking up the stairs. "Like a grandma, I swear."

"I'm tired", she calls. Her voice turns muffled as she reaches the second floor. "You could join me, you know."

Too focused on painting the wall, you don't respond. All Natasha hears is the quiet creaking of the stairs and the wind howling outside. There's no traffic out here. You live in a remote area, so your only neighbors are forest animals and the moon.

Your words, not Natasha's. Obviously.

She enters the bedroom and takes off her stained hoodie. With you always working on something, she also looks like she spends her days sitting in an atelier. Even her bra is covered in purple chalk and inky fingerprints.

Magazines and paper scraps cover the bed. She sweeps everything to the floor, then she crawls in between the sheets. They smell like tea and honey, and she closes her eyes.

Not too long later, you pad into the room. Natasha's out cold, but she's curled up around your side of the bed to leave space for you. You lie down and scoot closer. Paint-stained fingertips brush against her cheek, and you doze off next to her.

Four hours. That's how long you last before a dream shoos you out of bed and back to one of your paintings. Natasha, ripped from her peaceful sleep, begrudgingly accepts that sleeping in isn't an option anymore.

. . .

Cross-legged, barefoot and sleepy, you sit on the porch. It's a warm morning, and everything is perfect for once. The sun is providing just the right lighting, the pencil is at that one point where it's neither too sharp nor blunt, and the sketch in front of you isn't looking like a mess anymore.

'Trust the process', Natasha said when handing you a cup of tea. You'd huffed, but she was right.

You're slouching, so much so that your face is mere inches away from the paper. You smudge some spots with your thumb, add highlights, come up with some details to round everything off.

When you're done, you sit up. You stare at the drawing and do exactly what you shouldn't — overanalyze it. As usual, only the flaws stand out, and you grab the paper and crumple it into a ball.

Behind you, the door opens. Natasha pokes her head out and frowns at the sight of a dozen paper balls on the porch. Pencils in different grades, an eraser, a cup full of cold tea. You turn around and give her a challenging look.

"I don't want to hear it", you say promptly.

"I liked that one", she says, stepping out and crouching next to you. She quickly presses a kiss to your temple before picking up the crumpled drawing. "It was pretty."

"Ah, yes. 'Pretty' is what I was striving for."

She rolls her eyes and gently unfolds the paper ball. She puts it on the floor and smooths it out as much as she can without smudging everything.

"It is pretty", she says. "Actually, the crumpled look gives it character."

You glance at it, but don't say anything. In a way, she's right. The creases and lines add something to it that wasn't there before. You've never done this with any other drawing so far, but you're definitely taking a mental note for future reference.

Natasha gets up, still holding the drawing. You watch her turn around and walk back inside with it.

"Wait, where are you-"

"You'll see", she calls. You scramble up from the ground and follow her into the kitchen. Inside, it smells like warm bread and the flowers you picked last night. But that's not what you're focusing on.

Right as you step in, she's reaching for a magnet and sticking the crumpled sketch to the fridge. Now it's hanging there between old grocery lists and polaroids, looking both out of place and like it was never supposed to go anywhere else.

You give her a deadpan look. She smirks.

"Character", she repeats.

"Uh-huh", you mumble, crossing your arms. You're staring at it like you're trying to figure something out. Natasha isn't sure what exactly that'd be, though. "Poor thing. The odd one out."

"I think it looks good there", she says. She takes a sip of coffee and leans against the counter. "Hey, quick question. Could you go back to my apartment later and pick some stuff up? I think there are two more boxes left."

For a few seconds, you don't say anything. Then, you shrug and shift on your feet. "Oh, I don't know. Why?"

She frowns. "Why? 'Cause I got work. I'm leaving in ten."

"Sure", you drawl, fiddling with one of the rings on your fingers. "Or we go together."

"Oh, come on. I pick up stuff for you all the time. I mean, all the deliveries..."

"That was part of your job. You got paid for it." After a beat, you add: "I tipped well, too."

"Why are you arguing about this?", she asks, immediately shutting you up. She tilts her head. "Y/N?"

No reply. Because how are you supposed to explain the reason why you won't go and pick her stuff up? There's a perfectly functional car in the shed outside, sure. One she repaired a couple months ago. Your beloved DaVinci, the red Fiat you bought a couple years ago.

It's a good car. It'd get you just about anywhere you need. If only you knew how to drive it.

Natasha doesn't know you have no clue. She thinks you're just not in the mood to drive, that you'd rather make her do everything for you. That's only partially the case.

You know how to start a car, how to stop it, how to use the steering wheel. Your cousin showed you when you were 17. But you never got your driver's license, and honestly, DaVinci is more of a friend you once intended to paint than it is a means of transportation.

"I got to paint", you blurt. "We'll pick them up together."

She sighs, but doesn't argue. As far as she knows, you're set on doing art for the next few hours — something she shouldn't interfere with. She drinks the rest of her coffee and puts the chipped mug into the sink.

"Alright", she mumbles. Relieved, you wrap your arms around her from behind and kiss her ear. "I want a reward, though. A tip."

"I tip well", you hum. Your lips meet her shoulder.

Natasha washes the mug and puts it aside. You slip your hands under her shirt and wipe the graphite smudges on her lower stomach. Your fingers are warm against her skin, inviting, and she has to move away from your embrace in order to be on time.

. . .

When Natasha comes home from work, she has to search the entire house and backyard before finally finding you in the shed.

The shed basically belongs to DaVinci, with her sad little glossy hood and the dust on her roof, abandoned and useless. Surrounded by shelves and spiderwebs, the setting sun casting a light on her. Even in here, paint buckets and blank canvases fill empty corners.

And then, there's you. Inside the car, feet propped up on the dashboard, the manual in your hands. You're frowning as you're flipping through the pages. Your nails are chipped, your hair open and freshly washed. You're in your own world, completely oblivious to what's happening around you.

She stares. You flip another page, still not having noticed her, so she lifts her hand and knocks against the wall of the shed. Finally, you look up and your eyes meet.

Usually, you're happy to see her after work. Excited. Even if you're in the middle of some project, you'll abandon it just to give her a kiss (and stain her face with charcoal). This time, however, it sends a jolt of panic through you. Hurrying to get out of the car, your heel hits the horn. It blares offensively.

"Shit", you curse, getting out of the car. You wipe strands of your hair away from your face. "Hey, babe."

"What's with the manual?", she asks, walking up to you. She reaches into the car and picks the manual up. "Don't know how to drive?"

It's supposed to be a joke. But the way your eyes widen tells her otherwise. She frowns and opens the manual to take a look inside of it.

"Why's this in Italian?"

"Well, I got it like that."

"Yeah, no", she says, glancing at you, "I get that. But you don't speak Italian."

You shrug, arms crossed. "As far as you know."

Natasha rolls her eyes and shuts the manual again. She taps it, looking at you. "Everything okay with the car? Why do you need the manual?"

You give her a blank stare. For a few seconds, she stares back, then she sighs and pops open the hood of the Fiat. As a car mechanic, her first instinct is to check on it.

You don't know much about cars. You don't know how to drive them or how to inspect them. Truthfully, you're not even fully sure how you change the fuel filter. She made you promise you'd do it every 30 thousand miles — but you don't drive the car, so there's no use for it.

Natasha leans over the engine bay, her hands supporting her upper body.

"Looks fine to me", she says, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. She glances at you. "You wanted to go pick up the boxes?"

"Uh", you say dumbly. She raises her eyebrows. "Yeah, uhm, sure."

"And what went wrong?" She straightens up and wipes her hands, now stained with grease and fuel. Your eyes trail up her arms. After work, they tend to look especially enticing, even more than they usually do.

You shrug absently, still staring. "Nothing. I guess."

"Then why do you need the manual?" She watches you zone out, then lets out a frustrated noise and steps closer. She waves her hand in front of your face. "Are you done?"

"Huh?" You look at her face — finally — and blink. "Oh, yeah. Look, there's this thing I haven't told you about. Nothing bad, I swear, just a little issue."

Natasha frowns. She crosses her arms and studies you, like she's trying to figure out what you did without you having to tell her. You didn't cheat, she knows that. Maybe you wanted to get into car tuning and screwed up somewhere else. It'd explain the manual.

Her eyes zero in on your hands again. This time, she doesn't notice the chipped nails. She notices your clean hands, your paint-free fingers. She grabs your wrist and flips your hand over.

You let out a noise. "Hey, what are you-"

"You didn't paint", she says, tapping your palm. She looks you in the eyes again. "What's with the car, Y/N?"

You pout at the fact that she managed to see right through you. She's observant, almost as much as you are. When you show her your drawings, she notices even the smallest details, the ones you thought no one but you would ever see.

But she does. She sees the tiny things, the things others don't deem important. You usually love it, but right now, it's a little annoying.

"Alright", you mutter, pulling free from her grasp. "You want me to say it, huh? Well, I can't drive. Like, at all."

Natasha opens her mouth, then closes it again. She frowns and gestures at the Fiat. "And DaVinci?"

"Oh, yes." You nod and turn around, grabbing a paint bucket. You hold it up into the air, looking proud for some reason. "Car paint! I wanted to personalize her for someone and then maybe sell it. But then I felt bad. I mean, imagine someone buying you only to change your appearance and resell you. That'd hurt your feelings, no?"

Natasha stares at you for a long moment. She clears her throat, trying to bite back a grin, then nods at the (apparently sentient) car.

"You can't drive. How old are you again?"

"Okay", you mutter. "This is why I didn't tell you."

"No, no", she says. She puts her hand on your lower back and leads you toward the car. "Come on, sit down. I want to check something."

Huffing quietly, you sit down and buckle up. You stare at her, still standing too close to comfort to the car, and gesture with your hand.

"Are you trying to get run over? Move."

Natasha raises her eyebrows and steps aside. You put the key in the ignition — at least you know how to do that — and turn it. The car comes to life, still as smoothly as it did when Natasha repaired it.

For a moment, you hesitate. Both hands on the wheel, left foot on the left pedal, hand on the gear stick. You glance at Natasha, who just gives you a nod. Exhaling, you move the stick into first gear and step down on the accelerator. The car suddenly thrashes forward and you almost crash into the wall.

You let out a panicked squeal, but somehow, you manage to hit the brakes. Natasha clears her throat.

"You weren't lying" she states, voice dry. "That was the saddest thing I've seen in a while."

You scowl and try to put the car into reverse. Natasha gestures for you to get out, then she sits in the driver's seat and puts the car into its previous position again. Fingers drumming against the steering wheel, she pokes her out the window.

"See? Not that hard."

You roll your eyes and brace your hands on the frame of the window. She tilts her head up and you steal a quick kiss from her.

"You're a jerk."

"I'm being honest", she retorts. "Driving a car is easy. All you need is a little practice. I mean, you know the basics. I saw you change gears."

"I was this close to tearing the shed down."

"It's an ugly shed, anyway", she says. She nods at you. "Come on, sit down. We still need to pick up the boxes."

You let out a long-suffering sigh. "Only if we're renovating later."

Natasha contemplates for a short moment. All she sees in her head are paint buckets, thrifted furniture, stained hands and lips and kisses that taste sharp and bitter. Sleepless nights, staying up until the sun comes up.

There are worse ways to pass time, she decides.

. . .

"Did you get the goods?"

Natasha puts the takeout bag aside and shrugs off her jacket. Her eyes stay glued to you the entire time — you're standing on a vintage sideboard from the 60s, one you found at a thrift store. You thought about painting it first, but then decided the original color deserves to stay.

Instead, you're repainting the wall. You liked the night sky, but it made the room look dark and sad, so now you're replacing it with a lighter shade of green. You're green, too. There are specks of color all over you, from head to toe.

"I did", she says, kicking off her boots. "You need to learn how to drive. Seriously."

You get on your tiptoes to reach the top of the wall. "Why? I got you."

Natasha may not be working as a delivery driver anymore — not regularly, that is —, but you still have your way of ordering stuff. Food, crayons, glitter, stencils. A milkshake here and there.

And you? You're still refusing to drive. Natasha's insistent on teaching you, but you keep finding excuses.

"You know, I used to get paid for this", she says, moving behind you. Her lips press against the back of your thigh. "I used to get tips."

You turn around, and she puts her hands on your hips. You step closer and put your hands on her shoulders. Natasha's still holding onto you, so you step off the sideboard and end up in her arms. Legs around her waist, you give her a quick kiss. Your hands on her face stain her cheeks with paint.

"I'd argue that this is better than getting paid", you say. She rolls her eyes. "I mean it! Now let me down, we need to put up the shelves."

"The ones meant to go above the sideboard?" She frowns. "The wall's wet. You just painted it."

"Right", you mumble. Smiling, you brush your thumb over her lips. "It's not just the wall that's wet, you know."

She raises her eyebrows at you. Her fingers curl into your thighs — a silent behave — but the smirk, currently trying to fight its way onto her face, betrays her. She's tired from work, but you're warm against her, and you're flirty, and there's no reason to say no to you.

The velvet cushions of the couch are soft beneath you. It creaks when Natasha joins you, and she leans in to kiss you. One braced next to your head, her other hand slips beneath your shirt and kneads your hip.

You taste like tea and lemon tart. You're covered in an array of scents, all of them familiar. The paint, the soap, the body butter you use. Her lips press against your pulse point, and her hand snakes around your back. Practiced fingers find the clasp of your bra and undo it.

Ever since you started the process of moving Natasha into your house, there's been a lack of this. One of you is always working, always busy — she's still working as a car mechanic, and you've got your art to focus on. When she comes home, you're usually holed up in your little art corner.

She looks at you, out of breath and flushed. You stare down at her, and she reaches up to wipe away a smudge of charcoal.

"I missed this, you know."

"I missed you", you reply. Natasha smiles faintly.

"You see me every day", she retorts, tugging up your shirt and pulling it over your head. It lands in a paint bucket. "Shit."

You glance to your side. The shirt is white, but apparently, it'll be partially green now as well. You huff and wrap your arms around her neck.

"I thrifted that one."

"I know", she mumbles, kissing your jaw apologetically. "I'll get you a new one."

"Don't know how thrift stores work?" A breathy moan slips past your lips. She smiles, glancing at the paint bucket, and reaches over to dip her fingers into the cool liquid. "Hey, what are you-"

Cold fingers brush over your collarbone, making your words die in your throat. Natasha smiles, lips against your neck and fingers spreading paint on your chest. Goosebumps form all over your body.

You swallow and watch her fingertips trail over the curves of your breasts, then dip into the valley between them. She's watched you do similar things before. For some reason, you like finger painting. The feeling of skin against canvas, leaving behind streaks of color. Dipping your fingers into paint and watching the liquid drip from them. Run them over someone else's skin.

Usually, Natasha's the one who turns into a canvas for you. You straddle her waist or back, nudge her hair aside, then run your hands all over her. But not this time.

"You're always painting", she mumbles. Her lips find yours again, and you moan against them. "My turn."

She smears more paint between her hands, then cups your breasts. Green handprints are left behind, a visible proof of her touching you. She smiles against your mouth and smoothes her hands down your sides.

You can't speak anymore. For once, you're out of words. All you can feel and think about is her hands between your thighs, rubbing paint on you and marking you. Her breath is hot against your neck, a stark contrast to the cold substance on her hands.

It's messy, it's slow, and it's way more arousing than it should be. Your back arches into her when her hand travels higher, closer to your shorts.

"You're good at this", you mumble, voice a low breath. Wetness is pooling between your thighs, hot and damp, and Natasha tugs off your shorts. She's hard already, but she's ignoring the throbbing feeling in her sweatpants to keep smearing paint all over you.

She kisses her way down your stomach. Her face is full of paint as well, but she doesn't even notice. All she can focus on is pressing kisses to the inside of your thighs.

The cushions underneath you are stained, too. Green fingerprints and splatters, some smudged, others intact. Natasha lifts your hips a little and hooks her thumbs into the waistband of your underwear.

"You're so pretty", she mumbles, face pressed against your thigh. She slips the delicate piece of fabric off you. "Makes sense why you like to paint now."

"Mhm?" Your head lolls to the side. Your fingers blindly search the air until they find their way into her hair. You grip it lightly, for support.

Natasha hums against you. Her face is buried between your thighs, tongue teasing you. She's eating you out, slowly, and her hand lets go of your hip to dip into the paint bucket again. When she grips your thigh, her fingers are dripping wet and cold. Paint runs down her wrist.

In the middle of it all, you change positions. She's on her back now, with her hands on your waist and you riding her. She's breathless, flushed, her hips lazily thrusting up into yours.

The paint bucket is still right next to the couch. You lean over and run your fingers through the green liquid, then smear the paint across her abs. You're painting her, decorating her, all while being filled to the brim.

Mid-whine, her hips jerk off the couch again. You tighten around her and she pulses. Without warning, she unloads herself in you. A soft moan escapes you, eyes falling shut, and your fingers curl into her abs.

The couch creaks under your movements, the air smells like paint and sweat. You lean in and kiss her, smudged fingers cupping her face.

. . .

Renovating a house is stressful enough as it is, especially when someone's moving in.

You're an overachiever, though. You don't do things the normal way, and Natasha's aware of that. She knows that you want to do everything yourself. When you told her about your idea to renovate, she dismissed it at first. She didn't see the necessity (and truthfully, still doesn't) because she liked your house the way it was.

You insisted, though, and started the process. At first, it was fine. You painted the dining table and replaced the lampshade above it. You bought new scented candles and ordered vases.

Small things, at least in the beginning. Natasha sometimes helped, whenever she wasn't too tired from work. But then, you started doing more and more.

Painting walls, assembling furniture, picking out things like rugs and lamps. Visiting thrift stores and flea markets. One morning, she woke up to you tearing down the railing of the back porch. It's been a month, and you only just replaced it.

Your current project and hyperfixation are the new shelves you found on Facebook marketplace. Pink, with little hooks to hang cups on.

Of course, you're not the one putting it up. You're standing behind her, a bowl of cereal in your hands, and watch her try to find the right spot on the wall.

"Higher", you say, stirring your cereal. It smells milky and sugary. "Higher...higher...wait, that's too high. Maybe a bit more to the left, too."

"Sure", she mutters, adjusting it again. You hum and shovel cereal into your mouth. "Better?"

"Eh", you say. "Higher again."

Natasha sighs, but does as told. She's balancing on a small stool. "You're not being helpful, you know."

You pad to her side and scoop up some cereal. You hold the spoon to her mouth, milk dripping from it and landing on the hardwood floor.

"Here", you say, gently nudging her lips with it. She lets out a grunt. "Come on, you need energy. Fuel."

She shakes her head. She's barely surviving your HGTV reenactment, whereas you're here trying to spoon-feed her like a toddler.

"I don't want cereal", she says, frowning at the shelf. No matter what she does, it refuses to end up perfectly vertical. "Dammit. Where's the spirit level?"

You shrug and look at the mess on the floor. The old rug, now rolled up. A new paint bucket. A cereal box and an empty bottle of milk. Scattered in between it all, a bunch of tools like hammers and screwdrivers and a cordless drill.

"Beats me. But the shelf looks fine."

"It has to be vertical", she insists. You smile and put the bowl aside, then start searching through the mess. You bend over to look under the couch, and Natasha stupidly glances at you.

Your ass, on full display in her boxer shorts. Your shirt, slowly riding up and exposing your smooth back and the specks of paint there. She nearly falls off the stool.

You straighten back up, this time with the spirit level in your hand. Upon seeing her flushed cheeks, you tilt your head.

"You good?", you ask, walking back to her side. You hand her the tool and pick up your cereal again. "Need some cereal? Maybe your blood sugar dropped."

"You get pale when that happens", she mumbles. You're holding the spoon to her mouth again, and she begrudgingly takes a bite. "God. Way too sweet. No wonder you're always zippy."

You tilt your head and lick the spoon clean, then put it back in the bowl. A couple of soggy Froot Loops swim at the surface of the discolored milk. She's right, it is sweet — even the bit of milk she left in the spoon was.

"It tastes good", you say, putting the bowl against your lips and tilting it to sip the milk. Natasha sighs, and you smile at her. "You're done soon? I wanted to paint the railing."

She hums and glances at the clock. Close to midnight, which isn't too bad — but definitely too late to get started on the railing. The porch light is weak and flickers, though, and if you open the paint bucket now, you're not closing it for hours.

Natasha needs some sleep. Desperately. And she hasn't gotten the image of you, bent over in her boxers, out of her head yet. She'd love to do something about that. No way she's letting a railing take that from her.

She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and shrugs. "We can do that tomorrow."

"You're taking me driving tomorrow."

"We can do both", she argues. She uses the spirit level to check the marks she mad are level, then she nods at the cordless drill. "Baby?"

You hum and hand it to her. She drills into the wall, biceps flexing slightly and sweat dripping down her arms. Between all the renovations, she can't believe you haven't had the idea to install A/C yet.

You lean against the wall and watch her. Natasha, distracted, almost drops the shelf.

"Need a hand?", you ask, tilting your head and crossing your arms. She shakes her head and screws the brackets into place. She wishes she could screw something else, though.

"I'm good", she mutters through gritted teeth. "Screws, please?"

In the end, Natasha focuses on the shelves a little too much. You excuse yourself, saying you're going to the kitchen — which isn't a lie. Empty bowl in hand, you pad to the sink and quickly do the dishes. You can hear her curse quietly in the living room.

On your way out, you glance at the stack of paint buckets you keep in the hallway. Your eyes look directly at the color you picked for the railing. A pastel yellow, subtle enough to not make the exterior look tacky but not quite as boring as simple white paint.

She said you'd paint the railing tomorrow, but nobody has the patience to wait that long. You grab the bucket and one of the brushes, then make a beeline for the back porch.

Somehow, Natasha doesn't even notice. She's still on the stool, but now she's putting up the cups you painted together. They don't match at all, unfortunately. Yours look like you bought them from some whimsy vintage store, whereas hers resemble a teen's idea of art. But you painted them, together, and they give the room a nice touch.

You've managed to get outside and close the door by now, so you're crouched in front of the brand new railing and popping open the lid of the bucket. You dip the brush into it, then slowly drag the bristles over the twisted balusters. Trees rustle, the porch feels cold beneath you, but the moon is full and a cat runs across your lawn.

You'd stay like this forever. All that's missing are your headphones and your favorite playlist. But you didn't anticipate a pair of arms winding around you and scooping you up.

"Hey!", you say, dropping the brush. "Oh, great."

"We agreed on tomorrow", Natasha says, already turning around and stubbornly carrying you inside. "We're not doing this. Not tonight."

You give the railing a look so wistful it even makes your girlfriend jealous, so she rolls her eyes and shuts the door with her elbow. Even though you're back inside the house, she doesn't let go of you.

"I wasn't going to paint the whole thing", you say.

"Oh please, you would've slept out there." She adjusts her hold on you, then huffs. "You've done it before."

"That was different!"

Natasha shakes her head and walks into your bedroom. Again, she utilizes her elbow to turn on the lights, then she walks to the huge bed in the middle of the room and puts you down. You pat the quilt and scoff.

"Sleep", she says, turning around and pulling off her shirt. "Long day tomorrow. Can't have you falling asleep behind DaVinci's wheel."

"I really don't want to learn", you mutter. You get up and shimmy out of your paint-stained shorts.

"You don't have a choice", she replies. "It's final. You're getting that driver's license."

Natasha's right. You don't have a choice, and you're getting that license — eventually.

. . .

To make practicing driving easier, Natasha found an abandoned road nearby your house. Surrounded by trees and nature, she was sure you wouldn't be able to hit anything. There's nothing there to hit, anyway — no houses, no sheds. Just some trees and a fence.

She was wrong. It hasn't even been five minutes when you freak out over a butterfly sitting on the windshield. You accidentally put the car into reverse, spin the steering wheel in panic, and crash poor DaVinci into the fence behind you. Birds lift into the air, wings flapping and clearly as panicked as you are.

"Oh my god", she says, grabbing the steering wheel. "Not like that, babe."

"I told you I can't drive!"

"I don't even know how you did that", she says, glancing at the rearview mirror. Sure enough, you've managed to tear down the fence. "That'll leave scratches."

"What?" You turn, your hand slips from the steering wheel, and you hit the horn. It blares, and more frightened animals jump up and zoom away. Natasha rubs her temple.

"Like a reverse Snow White", she mutters.

She's a car mechanic, so she's not qualified to be teaching you how to drive. She thought it couldn't be that hard, anyway; she's been driving for over a decade, after all. Apparently, she underestimated your ability to prove her wrong.

"I don't like this", you complain, tugging at the neckline of your top. "It's hot, I'm sweating, and I'll crash us into a tree."

"It's not that hard. Maybe start by not putting it into reverse."

You slump into your seat, head lolling to the side and eyes pleading. Natasha isn't impressed by your dramatic little display, though, so she raises one eyebrow and doesn't say anything. You stick out your bottom lip and she pinches it.

"Come on", she says, gesturing at the steering wheel. "Try it."

"I don't know how." You throw your hands up and shake your head. "That's it. Seriously. Even DaVinci is scared at this point. It's Uber and you forever."

Natasha loves you. She really does. She loves the way your face is freckled with paint in the evening, and she loves how you put sketches of her into her wallet. She loves how the setting sun is casting a light on your face, and she loves the dozens of mugs you've collected. She loves how passionate you are, and how you're able to drive her up the wall in just the right way.

She's renovating your house with you. She picks up food at 2am when you're starving because you haven't eaten all day. She'd kill for you and she'd die for you.

There's one thing she isn't going to do, though, and that is keep driving you around like some sort of sweet aloof passenger princess.

"Scoot over", she says. You tilt your head at her. "You heard me."

"We're going home?", you ask, unbuckling and getting out of the car. Natasha slides into the driver's seat with ease. You're about to turn around and go to the passenger side, but she quickly reaches for your wrist. "Oh, come on."

You give her a glare, and she almost starts stuttering. There's no reason to be scared of you, but sometimes, she is. She doesn't know why, either. You're sweet, usually, but also vaguely threatening. Unreadable, too.

"You're going to murder me out here, aren't you?"

"Not if you behave", you shoot back. "What do you want?"

A quick glance at your legs makes her hesitate — you're wearing shorts, just like she is, and she'll feel you against her like some sinful driving risk. She pats her lap, anyway, and you wiggle your eyebrows. You've forgotten about your disgruntlement.

"Got it", you grin.

"Just so I can show you how", she says impatiently. "Sit down."

You do as told, and she immediately regrets her decision. You, in her lap. Wearing shorts. On a summer day. This can't end well.

Natasha exhales softly and nods, closing the car door again. Your back is pressed against her front, skin warm and smelling like vanilla. You shift in her lap and she almost curses.

"That's good", she mumbles, lightly grabbing your hands and putting them on the steering wheel. "Like this, remember? Now show me how you should do it."

You nod, start the car and reach for the gear stick. Natasha watches as you shift into first gear, but you wiggle in her lap and her focus wavers. It's hot enough already, 90°F/32°C — but when you put two bodies together like this, squished behind the steering wheel, you get friction and sweat and heat. The back of her neck is damp already, baby hairs sticking to her skin.

She holds her breath when your thumb brushes against her thigh. Truthfully, you're not thinking about driving either. How could you? You're in her lap, feeling her body tense with every movement of yours. You notice how restless she's getting, how the soft bulge in her pants slowly hardens.

The car starts driving. Natasha puts her chin on your shoulder, her hands on your waist, and tries to keep her eyes on the road.

"Now ease of the clutch", she mumbles into your ear.

"Okay." You turn in her lap and quickly press a kiss to her jaw. Her face heats up even more. "Which one's the brake again?"

There's no question easier to answer than that one, but she's currently a little distracted. You're squirming again, trying to both get comfortable and make the situation in her boxers worse. She exhales and grips your waist, trying not to toss you into the backseat.

"It's —" She lets out a grunt, "— that one."

You smile to yourself. She's fully hard now, pressing against you like a threat and a promise all at once. You adjust the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of her face, and it doesn't disappoint.

"Wait", you say, barely suppressing a giggle. "Are you turned on right now?"

"What? No! Just...keep driving."

"You're so turned on. God, you're ruining DaVinci's innocence."

"That was ruined a while ago", she mutters, recalling the time you had sex on the hood. The car had creaked and complained, dust was everywhere, but the sight of your ass print on the hood afterwards made it all worth it. "Careful."

You look at the road again and hum, keeping control over the steering wheel. "We haven't tried the backseat yet, you know."

Natasha has to physically restrain herself from tossing you into the backseat and doing exactly what you suggested. She stares out the window again, eyes fixed on the road stubbornly, and pats your side.

"I said ease off the clutch", she says. You hum and grind into her, and her eyes roll into the back of her head. She's leaking precum already, and you can feel it against your thigh.

"I thought you meant you."

There's only so much Natasha can take. The second you turn your head, she pulls you in to kiss you. It's a messy, impatient kiss, and it makes you sigh and let go of the steering wheel. You shift in her lap so you're facing her more, indents from the steering wheel on your thighs and your face flushed.

She keeps one hand on your waist and puts the other on the steering wheel, but honestly, she has no idea where the car is going. All she can focus on is your tongue in her mouth and your fingers tracing her face. You wiggle against her and she moans into the kiss.

The car slowly drifts into some bushes. Natasha still doesn't stop. She squeezes and palms your waist, her eyes closed and her body buzzing with the summery heat that's gathered in the small space. You reach between you to cup her through her shorts, and she nearly cums on the spot.

"We're going to die like this", she mumbles into your mouth, breathless and not thinking straight. You smile and trail kisses from her mouth to her jaw.

She only manages to hit the brakes when something — a bigger rock, probably — bumps against one of the wheels. You laugh against her mouth and quickly start unbuckling her seatbelt.

"Backseat", you whisper, pressing a kiss to her mouth. She hums and you pull away, but instead of letting you get out of the car, she shifts you in her lap and tugs off your shorts. "Patience, baby."

"I'll cum either way", she grits, helping you take off your clothes. She pushes her own shorts down to her knees and nudges your panties aside. "You choose whether it happens in my boxers or in you."

"Only one right answer", you pant. You sink down on her and she moans in heat-drunk relief. You move your hips and she nearly snaps. "Not yet."

"You're learning to drive after this", she says, out of breath, and ruts her hips up into you. You're bouncing in her lap, clutching her shoulders and trying not to crash out.

Beneath you, the car creaks. The sun is setting. It's a good thing you chose an abandoned road to practice driving on, otherwise you'd be in trouble.

. . .

It takes you a total of five more months to finish renovating. At this point, you've learned enough about driving to get an appointment for both the tests required to earn your driver's license.

The bedroom was the room you finished first. Billowing white curtains, a quilt in the shades of a sunset, the walls a soft orange and paintings everywhere. A sketch of Natasha on your nightstand, and a turtle you crocheted on hers.

You're sprawled out on the bed. You're on your back, holding your notes above your head and studying. To be fair, it looks like you're studying — but you're also trying everything in order not to.

Thankfully, Natasha comes to the rescue. She walks into the room, the last unpacked box in hand, and sets it down on the nightstand. You turn your head to give it a secretive glance. She opens it and starts rummaging, not saying anything.

You're patient for exactly twenty seconds. Then, you get too antsy to play pretend.

"What's that?", you ask, putting down your notes. Natasha fishes out an old Polaroid camera.

"Found this in the attic", she says. She points the lens at you and tests the camera, and to her surprise, it works. She looks at the picture, at you in one of her shirts. Top button undone, hair messy, lips slightly parted. Staring at the picture, she swallows. "Looks good."

"Yeah?" You smile and shift a little. "Want another one? For your collection."

She doesn't even hesitate. She just stares at the picture for another moment, then looks at you through the viewfinder. Soft thighs on full display, and the light of the setting sun cozying up to your face just right.

"Shirt", she mumbles softly. "Undo another button."

You tilt your head, but your fingers find the buttons of your shirt immediately. You push the button through the hole, undoing it, and the shutter goes off again. More fabric slips right off your body, revealing skin and the necklace you're wearing. Natasha exhales quietly.

Her fingers fumble with the camera. She steps closer and points the lens at your upper body.

"Another button", she says, then adds: "Take it off. The shirt, I mean."

You've taken nudes before. Not in a sexual manner, per se — you were testing your new camera and wanted to see what it'd look like. It'd been golden hour, just like right now, and the kitchen seemed like the perfect backdrop.

You haven't shown the pictures to her. They're somewhere in one of your scrapbooks, tucked into the bookshelf in the hallway. You weren't planning on showing them to her either, which is a good thing. You'd rather she takes her own.

The thin piece of fabric falls to the floor. Natasha bites back a sound of desperation. You're not wearing a bra.

"This good?", you ask, leaning back into the pillows. The shutter goes off once more, and she nods. Her mouth has dried up.

She looks at the new pictures, her stomach twisting and flipping. The pictures are all a little off-center, a little hazy from the heat. They're intimate, private, meant just for her.

She points the lens at your thighs and captures them as well. There's a faint hickey on your upper thigh, a little memento of last night. They've always been one of her favorite things about you. She's spent nights burying her face between them, or simply resting her head on them.

In this relationship, you're the one who makes art. You paint and draw and mold clay, you embroider her clothes with little shapes. Now, she's the one holding the camera. She's the one sitting down next to you, leaning over you, kissing you and going down on you while still holding the camera with one hand.

Her hand is dipped between your legs, her mouth presses against yours. The shutter goes off every few minutes, whenever Natasha remembers she's still holding it in her hand.

She captures everything like it's her last time seeing it. They're not just nudes. They're not just something she's going to use to get off whenever she's bored at work. They're sacred, in a way, and even you know it.

You're breathless and flushed. The camera presses against yours thigh as you come around her hand. Neither of you are sure how much time has passed, but the sun has gone down. It's dark in your bedroom, and Natasha takes one last picture of you, naked and covered in a thin layer of sweat.

Most of the pictures end up in her toolbox, but she puts her favorite one into the drawer of her nightstand.

. . .

Natasha puts her chin on your shoulder to peek into your sketchbook. She's got her own resting in her lap, a pencil lying between the pages, and you've been suspecting she's trying to copy you. It's become obvious this very moment.

You turn the sketchbook away and frown at her. She raises her eyebrows and quickly shuts her sketchbook.

"No copying", you say, still frowning. "Ever heard of intellectually property?"

"I wasn't copying you!", she retorts. She leans back on her hands, the grass soft and cool between her fingers and the sun hitting her face. "Just looking for inspiration."

"That's basically what copying is."

Natasha rolls her eyes and slumps into the grass, fully lying down now. She's staring at the branches and leaves of the tree you're sitting under, lipstick marks on her jaw and graphite on her cheek. Her fingertips are stained with it as well, and when she touched her face, she smudged her skin with it.

"This was your idea", she says. You lay on your side, propping yourself up with one arm. "You could at least help me. Or be a bit more grateful."

"I am grateful."

It's not a lie. You are grateful she agreed on this date. She's not someone who's interested in art — or making it — so you're usually on your own when it comes to sketching. It doesn't bother you, but having her join in on the fun is definitely the preferred option.

Natasha, on the other hand, only said yes to make you happy. A cute picnic and some doodling, maybe a make out session in the grass here and there. A drawing on the back of her hand, too. Not the worst way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

You reach out and wipe at the graphite on her cheek. She turns her head and you lean in, leaving a second lipstick mark on the corner of her mouth. She shifts a little and you put your hand on her shoulder, stilling her.

"Careful, the plants."

She looks to her side and spots the flowers she almost squished. Wildflowers — dandelions, buttercups, speedwells. Some moss, too. She glances at you, eyebrows furrowed. "You're serious?"

"I don't joke about moss", you say, reaching out to brush your fingers over it. "It's soft because it wants to be touched. Isn't that nice? So don't squish it."

"I've seen you pick daisies."

You tilt your head. Strands of hair fall in front of your eyes, and she lifts her hand to brush them aside. You grab her wrist, gently, and place her hand in your lap.

"That was for a project", you retort. "Remember? A gift. For you."

Natasha immediately shuts up. Of course she remembers it. The picture frame, filled with dried flowers and sketches of her. It's on her nightstand, next to the crocheted turtle. She sighs and adjusts her position enough to make sure the moss stays safe.

"You happy?"

"Almost." You tilt your head, eyes squinted. "If only you didn't put your arm on a snail."

Her eyes widen and she immediately sits up. Sure enough, a trail of slime stains the sleeve of her hoodie. Even between watercolor and charcoal stains, it stands out. She quickly tugs her hoodie off and tosses it aside.

"That's it", she complains. "We're going inside."

You give the snail an empathetic look. It doesn't look hurt, the shell is still intact, but you brush your finger over it anyway.

"Poor baby", you coo. Natasha shoots you a glare. "No respect for other creatures. I know."

"We're going inside", she says, grabbing her things. You're still stroking the snail, head planted in the grass next to it. She sighs and stares at you for a moment, then caves and drops everything again.

If it were anyone else, she’d just get up and leave. But it’s you, and she’s the one who’s been delivering food for you even long after you started dating. She’s the one waking up at the crack of dawn just to remind you to eat. Not ending this date prematurely is one of the easiest things she’s done so far.

You pick up the snail with a kind of carefulness that makes every teasing remark vanish right from her tongue. She sighs, then reaches out to touch the shell. You raise your eyebrows at her, silently declaring victory.

“Don’t”, she just says.

“It loves you!” You smile at the snail, then pause. Natasha tilts her head, one eyebrow raised, and waits for you to explain. She knows the look in your eyes. Some idea hit you, and you’re about to make it everyone’s problem. There have been glitter fiascos and sleepless nights, glue in hair and a room covered in paper shreds. A tiny snail is the least of her worries.

She’s right. Of course she is; she knows you, after all. You jump up, the snail cradled in your palm, and hurry back toward the house. Natasha’s stunned for a good moment, then she grabs your stuff and follows after you. But you’re not slowing down — you hurry up the stairs instead, then turn around mid-staircase and run back down. She curses and jumps aside to let you through.

She walks in on you in the art corner of the living room, digging through your supplies with one hand. The poor snail, ripped from its natural habitat, is trying to slither over your wrist. You straighten up again and walk back to the stairs. This time, you’re holding a bunch of pencils in different grades.

Natasha doesn’t question your intentions. She walks after you, silently, and leans against the doorway when you reach your destination.

There's one room you didn't finish renovating. Your initial plan was to eventually turn it into an atelier for you, complete with everything you could possibly need. Shelves filled with labeled boxes, containing pencils and paper and watercolors. An easel, a potter’s wheel, some space for your unfinished paintings so they don’t occupy the rest of the house.

You didn’t paint the walls, or put up wallpaper. Instead, you’re now starting to sketch snails onto one of the walls.

“You want an atelier full of snails?”, she finally asks. You hum and nod at the pencils, telling her to join in. She hesitates, then picks one up and stands next to you.

She’s still not good at this, but she’s improved — a lot. Even if the shell ends up too big and the face a little too cartoonish, it’s passable. And the smile that lights up your face upon seeing it certainly tells her she did well.

“I don’t want it to be an atelier”, you say ten minutes later. You’ve put the snail into a potted plant by now, where it’s munching on a leaf. Another snail has joined the sketched one on the wall.

Natasha glances at you. To her own surprise, she’s completely invested in this little project. “No?”

“No.” You carefully add the lower tentacles to the snail’s face. “It’s a nursery.”

The pencil in her hand almost drops. She blinks a few times, but you seem undeterred. You’re still sketching, still adding to the design that will soon cover the entire wall. She’s not sure if you’re aware of the weight your words have, but then you look at her.

You know what you said. You haven’t discussed it before, not in depth, but it’s been brought up. Apparently, you’re set on it now.

Natasha hesitates. But then she leans in again, the graphite tip of the pencil pressing against the smooth wall again. More snails appear, one by one, until the wall is covered in them.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #wlw #lesbian #fanfic #marvel #wlw smut #smut #fluff #moon’s fics

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ultravi0lence14 · 6 months ago

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SWEET ANGEL

dean winchester x angel!reader

2.5k | angst, enemies to lovers, szn nine

summary: with angel now living in the bunker, dean has to swallow his pride and realize not everyone is out to get him.

WHEN ANGEL FALLS IN LOVE

the drab walls of your room in the winchester’s bunker stared back at you, almost taunting in how their beige and gloomy colours looked around you. it was coming up on week four post fall, almost a month since you were locked out of heaven, and you seemed to be making absolutely no progress.

sam had tried to teach you about humans, explaining different types of slang and technologies that they had created. though, he decided to stop after his brief pop culture unit turned into a brutal argument stemming from your confusion.

it didn’t make it any better that you had no clothes. your white dress from the day you were found under the wilting willow was all you had; grass and mud washed away though the memories still lingered.

everything was starting to become unbearable. the scratchy sheets on your bed, the barren walls with no life or colour. your day to day routine wasn’t too bad. wake up, talk with sam about humanity and it’s customs, try a new snack, and then hobble away to your room where you’d indulge in copious amounts of youtube videos and pinterest boards.

there happened to be an old laptop of sam’s lying around, and after some grumbling from dean, both he and his younger brother helped you set up and navigate the device.

dean was a topic you wished to never bring up or even think about. the man stuck to his word, not talking to you unless you initiated first. even then he sometimes wouldn’t respond. when he did, it was always snippy responses that had you rolling your eyes, retreating to where you actually felt wanted; an enigma of a place that you created in your own company.

the internet was something you marvelled at. looking at a plethora of video content on youtube, and all different types of pictures on pinterest.

a sense of fashion was something you started to pick up on, looking at countless pieces online and even grabbing magazines from the store when sam would take you out with him.

your angelic roots peaked through in the fashion and aesthetic you gravitated towards. a girly vibe was always something you enjoyed, but you also seemed to like the more quirky and unique styles. skirts, plain and colourful tights, bright sweaters and form fitting tops seemed to find a way into your brain; the drab cotton dressed you landed on earth in going to shame as you looked at all the different patterns and fashion choices.

it finally dawned on you that this is what you needed. the boring walls, uncomfortable bedding, and borderline empty room just wasn’t doing it for you anymore. you needed to find yourself, express who you wanted to be without the chains of heaven wrapped around your body.

you needed to go shopping, and fast, but there was simply one problem. sam had left yesterday to go help some hunter friends on a case, leaving in their car and expressing how he’d be back in two weeks time. so, it seemed as though dean was the only person who could help you with your recent epiphany.

the plan was a lost cause, but begrudgingly, you got up from your bed and made the short walk to dean’s room. twirling your hair nervously, you found yourself stood in front of his door, hearing the faint sound of music coming from what you assumed to be his record player. slowly lifting your hand, you let a delicate knock linger on the wood; a drastic change from the intense music playing from behind the door.

music halted, a metaphorical record scratch being heard as heavy feet came towards the door. wind blew the front pieces of your hair back, and you were greeted with dean’s gloomy face as he stared down at you from where he stood.

“what do you want, feathers?” his words had a cadence of annoyance, like he’d rather be doing anything else but talk to you. it made you wring your fingers together, picking at your cuticles as you looked up at him through your lashes. “i have a favour to ask.”

if this were any other occasion, dean would say no. hell, he’d probably slam the door in your face. but those eyes, those goddamn eyes that stared into his soul. they were big, giving your already angelic features a doe-like look. dean was mentally kicking himself at how easily he was folding.

with a sigh, he cocked his head to his right, staring at you intently, a way to mask how your look was making him feel. “i’ll only say yes ‘cause sammy’s away — but tell me what it is first. i’m not going on some whack ass trip all ‘cause you batted your eyes at me all pretty.”

the words that left dean’s lips had your own parting in shock, eyes widening even more. he was so strange. one second he hated you and the next he was flirting like you were a girl he saw at the bar. but you decided a while ago to not question dean’s ways, for diving in too deep would be like swimming in the mariana’s trench.

with a light cough, you continued your recent proposal as dean looked down at you with a cocky grin on his face. “i want to decorate my room, get new clothes, really integrate myself into society. and before you complain, i’ve been wearing the same dress for a month; it’s time for a change.”

dean would love to say no, he truly would. he’d love to laugh in your face, tell you that your sweet and innocent act wasn’t working on him. every angel — besides cas — that sam and dean had come across left them with more problems then they started out with. why should dean trust you?

but over the past weeks, he couldn’t help but realize how unreasonable he was being. cas trusted you, and sam seemed to be doing just fine in hanging out with you everyday. dean had to swallow his pride and realize that someone wasn’t planning to hurt him or his brother, that all you had on your mind was reinventing yourself and not dwindling into psychosis by staring into your empty abyss of a room.

though it was dean at the end of the day, and he could never admit that for once he was wrong. so with practiced ease, he pushed down those feelings and huffed loudly, reaching across the door frame for his keys and pushing past you out the door.

“c’mon feathers,” he grumbled as you stood by his door shocked, not knowing how to react to dean actually wanting to help you. “hurry up before i change my mind.”

the car ride was tense, an awkward tension that had you smushing into the side door. dean’s music blared through the speakers, a testimony on the fact he didn’t want to talk to you. there was no place in your bones that had you wanting to talk to him, but after 2 hours in the car, you got confused on where he was going.

“umm, dean?” you questioned, turning your body towards his and watching as his jaw ticked from his side profile. “where are we going?”

he didn’t turn his head, didn’t look away from the road as his jaw tensed and his fingers gripped on the steering wheel. “minnesota.” your lips parted, confused on why he was going to a whole different state before he spoke again. “you’ve never been to the mall of america. i’m giving you important life experiences, feathers.”

dean watched as your eyes widened, pouty lips opening wide as shock filled your body. he honestly didn’t know why he was driving a whole ten hours for you to go shopping. it was unnecessary, but dean couldn’t stop himself from continuing his drive.

“oh.” your voice came out breathy, your head going down to your chest as you fiddled with your fingers. “well, i’ve never been on a drive this long. what do you do?”

what did you do? when he was with sam, it was like muscle memory. sit in silence for a bit, jokingly bicker back and forth, sam would sleep for a bit. but you had never done this before. so dean had to think of a whole new way to keep you entertained.

he truly was trying to work on his animosity towards you. so with a sigh he turned slightly to look at you. “some people sleep, some talk to the whole time. what do you wanna do, sweetheart?”

“can you tell me about your views on the world?” your words had dean fully turning his head to look at you. he briefly gave you a confused look before turning back to the road. why would you ask that? he understood you were an angel, a heavenly creature that didn’t know anything about her own father’s creation, but why did you what to know his views on it?

sensing his confusion, you backtracked as best as you could, shaking your head and staring out the car window at all the trees and fields melding together like molten lava. “i just mean, i’ve heard how sam feel’s about certain things, but i want to know how you feel. your favourite music, movies, what your dreams are. i don’t know dean, i just want to know more.”

he was shocked, not ever having someone ask him what his dreams and favourite things were. he slightly turned his head again, eyes watching as your hair curtained your face. tentatively, he pulled his hand away from the steering wheel so he could brush the strands away from your face. your cheeks blushed as he tucked it behind your ear, hand gracing your cheek softly as he let it fall down your arm.

“sure, whatever you want, angel.”

that’s how you two spent the rest of the drive; dean raving on about all his favourite things while you silently listened, inventively taking in all his interests. you noticed how over time he became more open, excitedly talking about his interests from childhood to now. it was nice, listening to all the things that made dean, well, dean.

it wasn’t even like he wanted to stop. this was one of the most relaxing drives he’s had in a while. you didn’t interrupt him, you just sat and listened. sitting in his front seat like the heavenly angel you were and looking more like a painting than a celestial being.

dean even drove through the night, not wanting to wake you as you slept so pretty in the car. he didn’t mind not getting any sleep if it meant not waking you up to go to a motel. he was also accustomed to not sleeping for days, so he was honestly fine.

the mall finally came into view just as your eyes peeled open. you were confused, not used to the notion of sleeping. it was like a massive weight had lifted off your chest, arising like snow white out of her bed of flowers. as you noticed where you were, you excitedly looked at the structure, eyes wide in awe as you scrambled out of the car and dashed towards the entrance.

you were like an excited bunny, hopping around from store to store as dean kept a close eye on you. each shop you came out with something new — god bless fake credit cards — and dean had to stop himself from thinking about how pretty you looked in certain items.

at first you needed to figure out what your size was, so dean would be succumbed to sitting in stuffed changing rooms with obnoxious pop music playing while you tried on tops and skirts behind a flimsy curtain. when you came out in your first outfit — a long sleeve black and white striped top with a denim mini skirt — dean almost passed out in the fucking store.

his breath almost lodged in his throat, making him choke on his own breath like a damn child. that white dress of yours never let him see how long your legs truly were. they exemplified the skirt low on your hips while your just as long torso helped the shirt fit perfectly.

he knew you were a tall person, but holy shit.

you were like a fucking model. dean had to remind himself of his forced hate towards you for if he didn’t, he’d push you into that change room with his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.

when dean awkwardly mentioned that you probably needed to buy some undergarments, he sat outside the victoria’s secret as you toddled in with a perplexed look on your face and his credit card in hand. the bag you came out with was massive, and dean was enough of a gentlemen to not look inside or too close to it.

the rest of the stores were a blur. a plethora of bags filled with tight fitted zip ups — some knitted, multiple skirts, tight fitted tops, cozy and colourful sweaters, a multitude of coloured tights, brown and black suede boots, and even more dresses that dean swore that it wouldn’t all fit in the impala.

it didn’t make it any better that you even shopped for your room. floral sheets with ruffled pillow cases, a white comforter, multiple tall, thick and short candles to decorate the space, and a multitude of prints and paintings that had dean shocked by your artistic eye.

as you finished at the mall, dean decided that a couple of thrifts store wouldn’t hurt. you were enthralled, looking around and grabbing as many cool trinkets as you could for your shelves. he found you a used cd player, taking you to the section with cd’s so you could pick out some music.

sam had gotten you a spotify account, so you knew the stuff you liked. songs and albums from artists dean didn’t even know you knew about graced your cart. britney spears, alanis morissette, carrie underwood, abba, fleetwood mac, and other similar artists that dean didn’t simply like, but he’d buy them just for you.

he even saw you pick up old one direction and justin bieber cd’s, and decided to not even question you on it.

you were so excited, and dean didn’t want to dim the ravenous sparkle that lilted your eyes. you rambled on about how you were going to revamp the old furniture without even needing to buy new ones, how the art studio stool that you bought for the desk was going to be so much better than the uncomfortable wood chair.

dean promised he’d take you to shops around the bunker to get essentials like comfy clothes and pajama’s, but for now, it was time to go back home.

the ride home had dean’s heart pumping just like before. you kept asking him more questions, asking stories about his childhood and how long he’d been hunting for. you were so interested in his life, which sent a wave of electricity through dean’s bones.

he started to admit to himself that he may be an asshole. how could he be so mean to such a sweet angel like you. your innocence, darling nature, and soft yet exuberant aura left dean feeling like he was floating on a feather.

you just made everything simple, and dean realized that helping you become human was the best thing cas had ever decided for him.

TAGS: @floralscented @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @ostaramoon @haunteres @fallbhind @rubyvhs @foolinthera1n @taurus0queenie33 @vaiieydoii @jasvtsc @bitchykittenconnoisseur @angel-inspiredblog @galacticalllcafffeine @pascal-rascal424 @annoyingstrawberryballoon @fayeisuppose @geisterfvhrer @bluemerakis @si1ver06 @drqstqr @wh0s-ra3 @supernatural-bangtanboys @whump-loverz @mostlymarvelgirl @d3anwinchesterswife @youdontknowe @oceanolokys

*creating my perfect 2000s makeover montage in this chapter and living vicariously through it. also poor angel doesn’t know what online shopping is. she’s going to be a depop warrior tho i will tell you that much.

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #imagine #supernatural x reader #dean winchester imagine #ultravi0lence14 #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x angel!reader #when angel falls in love #dean winchester series

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charliemwrites · 1 year ago

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Part 4

Mister(s) Steal Your Girl is, somehow, now the official title. Congratulations you little shits (affectionate).

Content: Toxic Behavior, Brief Weight Shaming, Hurt/Comfort

You didn’t expect to see Johnny much after that one night - or possibly ever again. Kyle introduced you two, it was a lot of fun, but you figure that’ll be the end of it. Like introducing a new man to your girlfriends (not that you can really introduce Kyle to yours) you passed the vibe check and now Kyle will keep you and Johnny separate.

That’s how it’s been with Brandon’s friends. (Granted, you don’t really care for Brandon’s friends. And you figure it’s mutual based on the “uptight” comments they pretended to think you couldn’t hear.)

You’re starting to realize that Kyle is always going to subvert your expectations.

Johnny becomes a fixture - a welcome one. While you and Kyle still have your date nights and privacy, Johnny joins you two at least once a week for movies, drinks, dinner, or just silly adventures out and about.

You’re surprised that you don’t mind. Johnny is fantastic company, always respectful, funny, and friendly. Whenever the two of you are left alone, there’s no dead air. In fact, sometimes you could almost swear there’s electricity. Which is… well. It makes it hard to look him in the eye sometimes - and looking at Kyle even harder.

Guilt nips at your stomach until one of them distracts you with another story you’re 70% sure they shouldn’t tell you.

You and Johnny play a game with pub napkins, doodling something on one folded half, then passing it over for the other to scribble on the second half. The trick is not cheating and seeing the first half, then unfolding it to a complete (and usually silly) picture. Gaz always gets to name whatever monstrosity has been created.

You get a month of that good company. Then Kyle sighs at his phone one night.

“Shipping out again,” he explains when you glance at him.

“Will you be gone long?” you ask, shifting.

His brow furrows. “Not sure. They can’t tell us much over the phone.”

You hum in understanding. Still new to this whole military thing, the redacted danger of it all, but you think you’re getting the hang of it. At least, Kyle never seems annoyed when he can’t answer you, only apologetic.

“Is it gonna be the whole team?” you ask.

“Nah, just me and the cap.” He rubs his palm along your calf, a gesture that you suspect is self-soothing rather than for your benefit. “Probably not too dangerous, then.”

You make a noise of protest, nudging at his thigh with your foot. “Bad luck!”

“Sorry, sorry!” he chuckles, tapping his knuckles on the wooden end table. “You’re right.”

You crawl from your side of the couch to his, nuzzling up under his arm. He trails kisses along the side of your face as you snuggle in.

“I’ll miss you,” you mumble into his neck. Still a little embarrassed to be so needy, but you want him to feel appreciated.

“I’ll miss you too, chickadee. I’ll call if I can, yeah?”

You hum in agreement, squeezing an arm around his middle.

“While I’m gone, if you need anything - even some company - you ought to call Soap,” he adds.

The idea is tempting but… “I don’t want to bother him.”

“I promise you won’t,” he laughs. You don’t know what’s so funny, but hearing his voice rumble in his chest like this is always a treat.

“Maybe,” you allow.

“We’ll take it.” Before you can ask what that means, he loops an arm around your waist and scoops you into his lap. “Now then, about my send off.”

Your giggle turns into a moan as his mouth slants over yours.

Kyle’s only been gone three days. You’ve occupied yourself with cleaning up the flat you share with Brandon. Dust has been collecting since you’ve been out and about so much - and god knows Brandon hardly does more than load the dishwasher. Besides, a good bit of spring cleaning is a pleasant enough distraction, humming as you toss out old things to make more room for the new stuff you’ve been collecting.

“Good to see you getting back to normal,” Brandon says cheerfully. You glance up from the laundry you’re folding. He continues, “I was worried with how behind you got on things, but I knew you just needed some time. I told you this would be better for us both.”

You try not to let that sting. Even if things are better now, and continuing to get better, you can’t forget the pain that lingers from the beginning.

“Tell you what,” he adds, hands in his pockets. “When you finish cleaning up, I’ll take you out to the pub, yeah? Put on something pretty.”

You perk up, pleasantly surprised, though hesitant.

“We could leave earlier if you helped,” you point out, hoping for more than just dinner. “Maybe we could walk in the park or something before eating.”

He gives you a weak smile. One you recognize more than his real one by now. It’s almost apologetic, but not quite.

“I would but I’m bloody exhausted from this week, ya know? Big projects coming up at work.”

Your smile freezes. “And some late nights, I’m sure,” you try to joke.

He doesn’t laugh like you expect, but gives you an odd look. “Why would you say something like that?”

Baffled, you shrug. He shakes his head.

“I’m going to take a nap, come wake me up when you’re ready to go.”

You manage to finish the majority of your to-do list by 5. Shower, get dressed, do your hair and makeup with Brandon snoring in the background until 6. By then, he still hasn’t woken up from his nap, so you perch on the edge of the bed and gently nudge at him until he stirs.

“I’m ready to go, babe,” you murmur.

He scrunches up his face - you spare an affectionate thought for how cute it is. You’ve always found it cute.

“Five more minutes,” he grumbles.

You laugh a little. “It’s getting late, we should probably head out.”

He groans. “Five. Minutes.”

You huff in amusement and reach for his phone to set an alarm, but pause at all the notifications from dating apps crowding his screen. There are… a lot. And as you’re looking, a new message pops up, just labeled “blonde” with a peach emoji. Gross.

You set the alarm and slip away to the living room.

It takes him another half hour to finally rouse, shuffling into the living room with a groan.

“C’mon,” he yawns. “It’s going to be bloody crowded by now.”

You follow him quietly to the car, knowing he’s not chatty when he’s just woken up. Hunger only adds to his mood; you can practically see a cloud forming over his head. By the time he pulls up to the pub, he’s downright grumpy. He grumbles about shit parking, and the milling people outside. It looks busy.

“We could go somewhere else?” you suggest.

“This is fine,” he says.

He parks a block away and starts at a swift pace. You try to hold his hand, but halfway there, he pulls away to check his phone and doesn’t take it again.

Surprisingly, it’s only a twenty minute wait for a table - but Brandon sneers something like “of course it is” under his breath. You smile apologetically at the hostess and usher him away.

He doesn’t talk during the wait, at first. Until suddenly he blurts. “We wouldn’t have to wait if you’d woken me up.”

You blink at him. “I did. You asked for five more minutes.”

“Well, why didn’t you wake me up then?”

“I set an alarm?”

You don’t know why he’s so irritated, just that he seems tired and hungry.

“You know I don’t listen to alarms,” he complains, scowling at the sidewalk.

“Okay… I’ll wake you up next time,” you offer.

“Yeah, next time.”

Thankfully, the two of you are called a little early. The pub is indeed loud and crowded, and you’re definitely overdressed. But at least you know what you want - Brandon’s taken you here a million times before.

Wisely, you wait until he’s downed the texmex rolls before trying for conversation again. He hums along as you talk about work, about the books you’ve been reading, about the new movie you saw last week. You think it’s going pretty well, catching up on each other’s lives, when he interrupts you mid-sentence.

“Where was this?”

You frown. “At the grocery store…?”

“You’re still on that? Thought we moved on from that story.”

You don’t bother finishing it, just ask him about his work. It’s like pulling teeth. A lot of “good” and “busy” and “same as usual.” By the time your entree comes, you’ve given up, not sure if you want to cry or just walk away to see if he even notices. He keeps checking his phone. Your fingers twitch to text Kyle, but you don’t want to bother him while he’s working.

The end of dinner can’t come sooner. You decline dessert when the server asks.

“Probably for the better,” Brandon tells you lowly when they’re gone to get the check. “I think you’ve put on a bit of weight. You know how you get.”

You probably have - Kyle has a sweet tooth and practically begs you to split desserts with him. Johnny’s shares his food with you now too, grinning when you express approval for whatever high-protein dish he’s picked and shoving more at you.

As for “how you get”… Brandon’s mentioned in the past when you were heavier that you get mopey, aren’t much fun to be around.

(A small part of you wonders how that would even effect him at this point. He doesn’t spend enough time around you to notice if you’re mopey. Is that why tonight has been such a disaster…?)

You just collect your purse and lead the way out of the pub. It’s a quiet walk back to the car, even though Brandon seems to be in a better mood. He’s still texting, nearly bumps into an elderly couple along the way.

Back at the apartment, he runs his hand down your side, tugs at the lace hem of your shirt.

“Careful,” you chide.

He sucks his teeth and drops his hand. “I’m just trying to be playful.”

“I know, but I like this shirt.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’ve got three just like it.”

You don’t answer, know it’ll lead to more useless bickering. Just tug the stupid thing over your head, ready to go to bed.

“Hey now, that’s more like it,” he drawls, fingertips running down your spine.

You jump, surprised, but play it off that his hands are cold. He makes some crass comment about warming them up, reaching for your breasts, and your stomach churns.

“I-I think I ate something bad,” you lie, all but sprinting for the bathroom.

You close the door behind you - but don’t lock it. Just sit on the floor, the wall cold against your back, while you try to breathe through your spinning, conflicting thoughts.

He’s finally giving you attention, affection. Why aren’t you jumping at this opportunity to spend time with him? Not long ago, you would have been weeping with joy to have an iota of your normal relationship back. Maybe you really did eat something bad.

“Hey,” Brandon calls through the door, “I’m gonna stay somewhere else tonight.”

You stare at the blank white wood, aghast. “But I’m sick.”

“It’s not like I can do much, is there? Except listen to you be sick all night,” he reasons. “And who knows. Maybe it wasn’t something you ate. Maybe it’s contagious. I don’t want to spend the weekend ill.”

Your eyes burn. He didn’t even open the door to check. “Yeah,” you agree, voice robotic, “you’re right.”

Not even five minutes later, you hear the front door close. That almost, almost does you in. You manage to keep your lackluster dinner down, but not the tears.

You let yourself be pathetic for a few minutes, crying into your arms, folded over your knees. When you finally manage to get yourself together, it’s not Brandon you ache for. It’s Kyle. It’s not possible, you know. You just don’t want to be alone even though the nausea is dissipating.

Sighing, you remove your ruined makeup and wash your face, climb into one of Kyle’s jumpers. At least it still smells like him. It’s only as you’re trying to decide on a comfort show, huddled into a ball on the couch, that you remember his advice.

It takes all of fifteen seconds of debate before you scramble for your phone.

I know it’s late, but are you free, you text Johnny.

A response comes almost immediately.

Always for you, lass. You bite your lip on a tiny smile, already feeling better. Your phone buzzes again. What’s up?

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment as you figure out what to ask - then how to ask it.

Would you want to come to mine for movies? I don’t feel good…

He answers instantly again. Ice cream not-good or Theraflu not-good?

You sniffle when you remember that being sick was a dealbreaker for your night with Brandon.

Ice cream not-good, you reply.

Say no more, hen. Be there in fifteen. Pick a good one.

You watch TikTok’s until there’s a knock at the door. Upon answering, you’re swept up in a bear hug that lifts you off your socked feet.

“Johnny!” you cry, laughing a bit in shock.

“There she is!” he crows, swinging you around. “Been missin’ my best girl!”

You tell yourself the thrill in your stomach is just from him setting you down. (It’s a harder sell when it happens again seeing his wide smile and warm blue eyes.)

“You're ridiculous,” you huff, “I’m not your best girl.”

He arches his eyebrows. “Oh, yer keepin’ track, are ye?”

“C’mon, you must have a partner or something?” you prod as you usher him inside.

“Kyle must’ve told ye, hen, it’s hard in this line of work,” he explains, shrugging. “Tried before but… usually they just end up feeling neglected, ya ken.”

You hum. That’s why Kyle said you and he would work so well with the open relationship - that you’d still have someone at home while he was out. That you wouldn’t be alone if something happened to him.

“Anyway, this is no kinda talk for a cozy night in, now is it?” Johnny says, cutting your melancholy musing short. “Come look at what I brought ya!”

You only notice then the two grocery bags in one hand. He herds you to the couch and sets them on the coffee table for you to root through.

“My favorite!” You exclaim when you extract the tub of ice cream.

The grin Johnny shoots you is proud. “Kyle said so.”

“You two,” you sigh happily.

He’s also brought a squishy stuffed animal, crisps, popcorn, soda, candy, and a small collection of self-care items. You hold the face-masks up with a questioning smile.

“Heard somewhere that it’s good for ye, when yer feelin’ down.” You try not to giggle when the last word comes out sounding like “doon.” He continues, blissfully ignorant. “Hope that’s the right shite, there was a lot to choose from.”

You throw your arms around him, chest warm. “Thank you, this is perfect, Johnny.”

He circles his arm around your waist, holding you close. “Anytime, bonnie,” he murmurs into your hair.

You squeeze his shoulders as you pull away, waving one of the mask packets with a wicked little smile.

“Wanna try this ‘shite’ with me?” you tease.

You expect a resounding and masculine-heavy no. Instead, Johnny tilts his head consideringly for a moment, then shrugs.

“Eh, why the hell not?”

You wake up the next morning to a mess of candy wrappers, discarded moisturizers, and an empty carton of ice cream. And the smell of eggs. Cartoons are playing quietly on the telly. When you yawn and sit up, you’re greeted by a cheerful Johnny at the stove, wearing your pink apron.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he calls.

You flush and smile back, glad that you called him. “Mornin’!”

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Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #misters steal your girl #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #Brandon the crash dummy

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lovegalor333 · 8 months ago

Text

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

safe house (next part)

summary: your boyfriend takes it too far again and paige picks us the pieces

content warnings: domestic violence

“Pick up, pick up, pick up.” You plead over the drone of the dialling tone. You were trying to reach your friend Allie, her apartment wasn’t far from where you were but you didn’t want to show up unannounced, but you also didn’t really have a choice. It was either Allies place or a park beach at 11PM because there was no way you were going back to your own apartment.

You lived with your boyfriend who had a temper firey enough to melt ice caps and you often ended up on the receiving end of said temper and today was no different.

You had gone to your classes and studied in the library for a few hours before heading home to cook dinner. Your apartment was silent and unlit when you walked in and you said a silent prayer, thankful that you would get a moments peace.

You cooked dinner, your favourite playlist softly emitting from the speakers, curating the perfect evening vibe.

The sound of a key turning in the door made your head snap up from the stove and you quickly paused your music in an attempt to not create any unnecessary arguments. Your boyfriend had an opinion on everything you did from the way you dressed, who you hung out with and even your music preference. He made it clear that no girl of his would listen to slutty music after you had played SZA one time.

“Hi baby, I cooked for us.” You announced as he joined you the kitchen, peering over your shoulder to look at the pot of freshly cooked pasta.

He’d been at the gym, he smelt of sweat and his skin was clammy against yours as he pressed into you.

“Pasta?” He questioned in disgust as if you just offered him a plate of raw meat.

“Yeah, you love pasta.” You said gently, he did love pasta, you’d been together almost a year now and he’s said many times it’s his favourite food but somehow you knew you’d be in the wrong tonight.

“I’m not eating that.” He scoffed, purposefully knocking the handle of the pot sending the pasta you had just cooked flying to the floor. The tomato sauce still hot, splattered up your leg causing you to jump back and collide into his chest.

“You don’t know me at all.” He says shaking his head, a deep frown set on his face. “You love pasta.” He mocked your words.

You mummbled out apology after apology as you begin to clean the mess he made but it’s no use. His hands were in your hair and then around your throat and you squeeze your eyes closed knowing what was coming next.

Like always, you told yourself just take it, there’s no use fighting back. He was bigger and stronger than you, your small hands are no match to his. Once he got bored, he goes to take a shower, without a second look in your direction and that’s when you left.

By the time you reach Allies place, she still hasn’t picked up so you hope that she’s in and just not on her phone as you knock at the door.

Your face ached and throbbed as you wait for the door to be opened and you knew the metallic taste in your mouth was blood, undoubtedly from a busted lip. Allie knew what your boyfriend was like so the sight of you wouldn’t be a shock but it was because it wasn’t Allie who opened the door.

“Y/N?” Paige, Allies roommate stutters, eyes darting around your face, her shock at your appearance evident.

“Um- is- is Allie here?” You murmur feeling embarrassed that someone else is seeing you like this.

“Um, no. Her and Jana are out. Are you OK? Come in.” She rambles out, stepping aside to let you through the door.

“I can wait in Allies room.” You suggest, noticing the setup of the living room. There was a blanket on the couch and Greys Anatomy was on the television and from the way Paige was dressed, in slouchy plaid pyjama pants and a black sports bra, you assumed you just interrupted her chilled night.

“Wait.” Paige stops you as you begin to walk to your friend’s bedroom. “What happened?”

You turn to look at Paige and her brows are furrowed and eyes turned down in genuine concern. You stare at her for a while, not knowing what to say or how to say it.

“Who did this to you?” She asks gently, voice soft and caring and your walls crumble as tears spill out and you stumble to sit on the couch, suddenly very light headed.

“My boyfriend.” You choke out between sobs and you watch as Paiges face turns from soft and concerned to hard and filled with anger.

“What the fuck?” She hisses coming to sit beside you on the couch. “How long has he been doing that?”

“A while. It’s fine. It looks worse than it is.” You reassure Paige and it was true. It always looked worse when it was fresh, once you washed your face and iced it, it would look better and with the right amount of makeup, you could cover it completely.

“Fine? Y/N this is not fine!” She fumed and brought her hand up to your face causing you to flinch at the unexpected, sudden movement.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. Can I touch you? I want to check you’re OK.” She apologises, her voice light and calm, an adjustment from a few seconds ago.

You nod your head, granting her permission to inspect your face. Her hands are soft and warm against your skin, they’re big but not big and scary like your boyfriends, they’re big and comforting as they trail across your face causing you to wince every now and then.

Paige uses a cloth and warm water to wipe away the dried blood on your lip, it stings but you’re used to it so you don’t react. Her movements are slow and careful as if your a piece of fine china and she’s scared to use any force incase you break.

“Are those- are those hand prints around your neck?” Paige asks and you can only nod, there’s no point denying it, the blonde girl is practically in your lap she’s so close to you.

“Fucking hell Y/N.” She breaths out and her hand comfortingly rubs up and down your arm.

“I don’t know what to do. He just gets so angry for no reason and I can’t fight back. I’m not strong enough.” You begin to sob again, only now realising the severity of the situation. You’re blooded and bruised again because of your boyfriend but you can’t see a way out.

“You have to leave him. You can’t keep going through this.”

“I can’t Paige. He’s already told me he won’t let me leave him.” You cry.

“Listen,” Paige begins, taking your face in her hands, “listen to me good. Tonight was the last night he’ll ever put his hands on you. Do you hear me? He’ll never hurt you again.” She comforts as tears spill down your cheeks and she wipes them as they fall.

“You’re safe here.” She adds before leaning in pressing a kiss to your forehead, it wasn’t sexual at all, it was completely platonic and warm and comforting and you believed her. You were safe here.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: hello guys, hope u enjoyed. let me know what u think, im still new to this 💋

#paige bueckers #paige x reader #wlw #fanfic #uconn wbb #wcbb #imagine #blurb #lgbtq #lesbian #paige bueckers imagine #oneshot

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basicallyreigenarataka · 1 month ago

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Sun-kissed lovin’!

Lads x reader

you finally forced yourself to take a much needed vacation after your excruciatingly long and disastrous semester. you expected to relax, to soak up some sun and forget about your stupidly hard major, but fate had other plans for you! now you’re stuck in some odd love… hexagon?! how could you have possibly made five boys fall for you in such little time!

pairings: xavier x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, sylus x reader, caleb x reader

content: MDNI, fem!reader, modern au, college au, fluff, embarrassment, jealousy, caleb is down horrendously bad, caleb focused chapter the other boys aren’t here yet BUT are foreshadowed/mentioned teehee, some outfit inspo to show off the cutesy tootsie outfit you’ve got on!! on a mannequin so u can imagine urself wearing it, basically just an intro chapter to get u into the vibe of the fic! next chapter is xavier… 🤤

masterlist

Chapter One

College has been a drag. You endured five long years of this bullshit assignments, sleepless nights, and absolute academic hell. But finally, you only have one year left before you’re running off that stage with a diploma in hand! You could practically taste the freedom- sweet and delicious right on the tip of your tongue. You’re never turning back to that shitty campus once you’re finally off it’s grounds, you promised yourself.

You told yourself you needed a vacation- no, you deserved one! Five long years of dedicating yourself to your stupidly vigorous major and you were absolutely beat! you need a vacation- and a reward!

After some back and forth with yourself, some researching, and some planning, you booked a summer-long vacation at some cheesy rental in an even cheesier beach town - Seaside Point. You snorted when you read the name, totally a tourist trap, you thought with a giggle.

Despite renting the place for a long two month stay, the place was actually pretty cheap! The house was big enough to house up to two people, with each having their own side. So, only renting for one, it only costed about half of what it usually costs. What a deal! You immediately booked and paid that sucker before booking your airplane tickets and all other necessities.

That was three months ago, now, you were standing right outside the rental house, numerous amounts of suitcases laid by your feet, fresh out of the Uber that drove you straight here from the airport. The salty breeze hit your face just right, the sound of the crashing waves in the distance like music to your ears, and that’s when you knew you were finally free.

The rental was gorgeous. It was spacious, just a stroll away from the cute little tourists town, and (possibly your favorite part of the whole place) right by the shore! You didn’t want to buy a rental car, and with everything in walking distance, this was the best possible setup! You mentally congratulated yourself for scoring such a great place before walking up the porch, punching in the code the owners sent you to unlock the house, letting yourself in.

Just like the listing said, the house was big enough for two people. The house was split by two doors on opposite sides of the foyer, lockable from the inside, effectively creating a private, separated living space. The foyer was the only shared area, intended for each guest to come in and out as they pleased. You smiled, despite sharing the rental with someone, there was a lot of privacy! The likelihood of you meeting the other guest in the foyer was super low, anyways. Besides, judging by the silence, it seemed like the other guest wasn’t even here yet, either! You clapped your hands together happily, relieved you wouldn’t have to interact in any unnecessary situations.

With a satisfied smile, you began to drag your luggage to your side of the house. It was time for you to finally settle in!

It took three trips to get all your bags inside. You had to pack a lot! You were staying for two months- that’s no joke! There was no way you weren’t about to show off every outfit and swim suit in your wardrobe. Plus, the essentials! Hygiene products, multiple so you wouldn’t have to buy shitty ones from those tacky tourist markets, all your makeup and skincare products, at least three chargers for your phone and laptop incase any broke, bedding, cleaning products, and two first aid kits, just in case, and random products or necessities here and there, each and every bag stuffed to the brim.

It took you about two hours to unpack everything. You hung up all your clothes neatly in the closet, the poor thing overflowing with shirts, pants, skirts, and dresses. You put your variety of swim suits, bras, panties, socks, and whatever else you may need in the dresser drawers, not before cleaning them, of course. You never know what freaky stuff other guests have been up to… You shuddered at the thought, face scrunching up in disgust as you shoved the rest of your bikinis into a drawer and slammed it shut.

After you had finished unpacking and making the bed, you let yourself flop right on top of the fluffy sheets with a dramatic sigh. You closed your eyes, perfectly content with falling asleep right now from how soft the mattress and pillows were, but the sound of your growling stomach perked you right up.

I guess I am pretty hungry… Last I ate was at the airport… You thought with a hum, sliding off the bed and picking up your purse, rummaging through for your phone and wallet.

You made sure to bring plenty cash, you had been saving up for at least a year for this trip! It wouldn’t hurt to go out and get yourself a bite to eat. You wanted to walk around the charming town, anyways.

And with that, you giddily hopped over to the overstuffed closet you had just organized. Better put these clothes to good use!

Despite the growing hunger pain, you still took your sweet ole time to construct the cutest outfit possible.

It took you a good thirty minutes of trying on clothes, disliking them, and trying on even more before you finally constructed a simple, cutesy outfit that looked just right on you! You slipped into a blue corset top that hugged your chest and waist just perfectly, accentuating all the right places. To match the delicate white lace of the top and white pearls you wore around your neck, you wore a ruffled white skirt that just barely covered your ass. You were on vacation- who cares if you’re showing a little too much! That was the point!

You checked yourself out in the mirror, an appreciative hum leaving your lips.

“Gosh, I am so hot.”

You have yourself a happy little twirl, admiring the cute outfit on your even cuter self. Oh, thank God you had the best fashion sense on Earth! You were so ready to show it off, even if it was just at a nearby restaurant.

With that, you slipped on some simple white sandals and made your way out of the house, ready to enjoy yourself for the foreseeable future.

You tilted your head curiously when you noticed no noise coming from the other side of the house as you entered the foyer, hand on the front door. Maybe no one was renting that side after all?

You skipped out of the house joyfully, bright smile on your face. You knew exactly where you wanted to go.

In preparation to your big vacation, you made sure to research the town and its little shops. Turns out, there’s this super cute TikTok famous cafe nearby! You have been dying to try a latte from the place, and a little dessert.

You knew this wasn’t exactly smart. If you were hungry, you should go buy real food. But nope! You’re stubborn, and you are determined to get your hands on a sugar packed pastry.

The cafe was only a good fifteen minutes away in walking distance. It was totally doable, especially with a calming walk like this. The sea breeze felt amazing against your warm skin, cooling you off from the unforgiving sun that blazed down on the cute town.

The sea air was a bit funky, but more nostalgic than anything! It reminded you of your days as a kid, going to the beach with your family and your best friend, Caleb’s family.

You mentally noted how long it’s been since you last spoke to Caleb. The two of you made sure to stay in contact even when you went separate ways in college, but you haven’t seen each other in ages! Plus, your texts have been looking a little dry. You’ve both been so busy with school.

You debated sending him a little text, asking him what’s up and how his own schooling is going. After a long moments thought, you decided you better should! Maybe after this cafe run, though.

You arrived to the cafe just a few minutes later, skipping down the sidewalk with little care. You were just happy to finally be free from the clutches of shitty professors.

You stepped into the cafe, awing at the selection of baked goods, drool pooling at the corner of your lips as you stared. You wiped your mouth quickly, looking back and forth to make sure nobody saw you drooling over pastries like a little kid.

But then, your eyes fell onto a man.

A man who looked way too similar to caleb.

Like, he could be his twin, similar.

You blinked, staring at the man unconsciously. Gosh, he looked just like him! What a coincidence!

You were about to turn away, when the man turned to face you and suddenly made eye contact.

You immediately jumped back, eyes widening as you spun right around on your heel. Oh man, he totally caught me staring. Totally thinks I’m a creep. You thought as you scrunched up your nose in embarrassment, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks as you prayed he hadn’t noticed-

“Pipsqueak?”

Huh?

You spun right around. Eyes still wide as you took in the familiar nickname. What did this guy just call you? There was actually no way this was-

“Caleb?” You spoke with uncertainty, voice small as you were left frozen in place as you stared at the familiar man.

Oh, you were so fucking dumb. The guy who looked like Caleb’s twin was Caleb!

“Oh my gosh- pipsqueak! It really is you!”

Caleb lit up the moment he saw you, the conversation he was having with someone unfamiliar to you totally forgotten. Without hesitation, he instantly bounded towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist almost possessively and lifting you right off the ground like you weighed nothing. You let out a surprised squeak that turned into a lighthearted giggle as he spun you around happily, like this was the end to some cheesy disney film.

“I can’t believe it’s you! How have you been, pips? School treating you well? Are you on vacation? How long are you staying for? Are you-”

Gosh, he acted like such a puppy sometimes. A cute puppy, but a very overwhelming puppy.

“Caleb, one question at a time!” You said with a breathless laugh, slapping his arm lightly. Not enough to hurt him, but enough to cut him out of his endless questioning.

Caleb blinked, his own face flushing when he realized how overbearing he may seem- and how pretty you’ve gotten. He rambled apologies before setting you back down, the height difference between you two was laughable.

“I’ve missed you so much, Caleb! Let me just buy a latte and something to eat first,” you told him, eyeing a delicious looking eclair, “then I’ll answer every question you’ve got for me!” You didn’t wait for a response, already spinning around to inspect the treats before ordering.

He nodded firmly, though his focus was already drifting. His gaze dropped down to finally take in your revealing outfit. He was glad you had your back turned to him, too busy studying the pastry selection to notice the way he was checking you out. Not just because he’s rather die than get caught staring shamelessly, but also because he had an incredible view of that way too short skirt you were wearing.

She should not be wearing something that short. He thought with a grumble, eyes narrowing and lips forming into an angry pout. Yet he continued to stare shamelessly, chin propped on his hand as he took in your figure, licking his lips unconsciously. You, completely oblivious to his not-so-bestfriendish-thoughts, was busy ordering some stupidly overpriced latte and ridiculously fancy slice of black forest cake.

When you finally returned to the table, Caleb immediately jumped at the opportunity to question you, again. He smiled innocently, gaze returning to your face as if he wasn’t just staring at your perfect bust and thinking dangerous things due to your ass barely covered from that short skirt.

“So, pips, it’s been like, I don’t even know how long since we’ve last seen each other! What a coincidence we bumped here,” he chuckled as he snagged a bite of your black forest cake, earning a loud whine from you. That sound alone almost had him mentally spiraling. He choked on a cough as he continued, looking anywhere but your face. “So… What exactly are you doing here?”

You shot him a glare, tugging the plate closer to you so he couldn’t steal another bite. “Uh, vacation. Duh. Classes have absolutely ruined me! I needed a break. I’ve been planning this for like, the past year! I’m staying for the next two months. I actually just landed today.” You took another bite of your cake, humming in approval as you washed it down with the latte.

“How about you? I haven’t seen you in ages, Ca!”

Caleb was fighting back every voice that mentally screamed at him to reach over the table and kiss you silly. Admittedly, he’s always had a thing for you. Since middle school, probably. But seeing you like this- all dolled up and practically moaning from a few bites of cake, it was doing things to his poor brain. He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, still looking away as a means to hide his blushing face. “Sorry, classes been super busy. I didn’t mean to not text you as much… I’m really sorry.” His expression softened sadly, realizing how much they’ve drifted over the past year. He never intended for that to happen, in fact you’re the last person he wanted to lose.

You frowned looking at Caleb’s saddening expression. Oh, he looked like a hurt puppy! The sight made your heart clench.

You reached out and rested your hand over his, offering a comforting squeeze. His eyes widened instantly, and you swore you could see him blushing.

“Aw, Ca… Don’t blame yourself. Both of us got busy, it neither of our faults.”

You offered him a soft smile, one that could light up a room. He could feel his face getting hot, his hands getting clammy. God, it was like high school all over again. He wasn’t ready to come to terms with his attraction to you, it felt so… wrong. Like it was a sin. Like he shouldn’t like you- wasn’t allowed to like you because of your bond since childhood.

“Thanks, y/n…” He spoke, voice still small with his own worries, but his pout was turning into a small smile. “Truthfully, I’m here because a friend tagged me along. He’s interning at the nearby clinic over the summer. He’s my roommate.”

You nodded, humming as your eyes lit up, “oh, that’s awesome! Do I get to meet him?” You giggled cheekily, batting your eyelashes at him playfully.

Your question and attitude seemed to have upset Caleb, because his expression immediately faltered. He got this look to him, the same look he got in high school when some loser tried to ask you out to some stupid dance. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes were narrowed, and his brows were furrowed impossibly together. You swore you could even see his eye twitch. But as quick as his face tensed, it returned to normal.

The whole thing was bizarre. You were about to ask him if he was okay, apologize for the question thinking it may have been personal. But before you could, he cut off your thoughts with his borderline jealous tone.

“Um. I’m not sure…” Caleb trailed off, refusing to maintain eye contact. Now it was your turn to narrow your eyes, confused by Caleb’s sudden shift in demeanor.

“Huh?” You asked, head tilted to the side in confusion. “Why not? He’s your friend, right? We could all go down to the beach or something-”

“No.”

Caleb’s voice was firm, with a harsh and mean edge to it that left you flinching. He’s never spoken to you with this tone.

Your lips parted, but no words escaped your lips. You didn’t know how to respond to him.

“You don’t need to meet him,” Caleb finally grumbled, arms crossed as he stared at anything but you. His tone got lighter, as if he noticed you flinch and he felt guilty. But it still had that edge to it that left you with goosebumps. Something about it was so… primal, possessive.

You blinked, ready to ask him another question, but he cut you off once more.

“I just… I think we haven’t seen each other in a while, and I want it to be just us.” His words were much softer now, more aware of your feelings. It had an almost bashful undertone to it, so boyishly charming it made you blush.

You wanted to tease him, call him jealous and watch him get flustered and whine. But you didn’t. You just nodded along, cheeks red from how honest he sounded.

Caleb finally stood up, looming over your still sitting form at the dainty cafe table. You’d just now noticed how tall, how muscular Caleb had gotten. How did he even fit in that small chair? And how have you never noticed?

Caleb leaned down slightly, gently brushing some stray hair from your face. His touch was impossibly gentle for such large hands, like he believed he could break you with just a touch. “I gotta head back,” he said, a soft smile on his face as he stared into your eyes. “But text me if you need anything. I’m serious.”

You nodded, a little surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “O-of course. You text me, too.” You huffed.

Caleb chuckled at your defiant huff, standing back up and away from your face, much to your disappointment.

He turned around, ready to head out, but not before sliding a crisp twenty dollar bill beside your now empty plate.

“For the food.” He spoke, not turning back around to face you. “I don’t want you paying when I’m around. See ya.”

You didn’t even get the chance to decline the offer- to shove the move back in his face. He had already left the store!

“Determined bastard…” You muttered, shoving the now crumpled bill into your purse.

You stood up, cleaning up your spot at the cafe table before heading out, eager to spend some time on the beach before you headed off to sleep.

dividers by @/h-aewo and @/anitalenia

taglist

@just-a-deriva @simplyscrewed @godoffuckedupcats

@booklover99988755421 @yuenriie @liz9898

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