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mggslover · 7 months ago

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Angel

In which Spencer sees his girlfriend fresh out of the shower for the first time, you looked angelic, and he was about to ruin you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Girlfriend!reader Genre: smut (18+) Content warnings: spencer being horny, reader wears glasses, teasing, fingering, some spanking, p in v sex, facial, soft!dom spencer Word count: 3,8k A/n: this was supposed to be a short, smut no plot fic, but I got a little carried away...

The familiar goodbyes and sorrys were exchanged as you hung up the phone.

What was meant to be a romantic date out of town with your boyfriend had quickly turned into another one of those last-minute cancellations. It wasn’t surprising—Spencer’s work as a profiler came with its own set of unpredictable demands, and you were used to him being pulled away at a moment’s notice. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. You’d been looking forward to spending some time together.

You’d been dating Spencer for about three months, and things had progressed naturally from casual coffee dates to longer dinners and, eventually, a few trips to his place afterwards. As much as you enjoyed those nights, you wished they would last longer. You and Spencer made a habit out of quickies, knowing that at any moment his phone would inevitably buzz with a message or call from his colleague, Garcia. You couldn’t blame him for leaving, serial killers unfortunately didn’t work a nine to five. Spencer hated leaving you as well, making sure he offered you enough apologetic kisses and promises that he’d be back as soon as he could.

He always insisted that you could stay over at his place until he’d be back, but you never felt comfortable enough to do so. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy being at his place—you could already picture yourself curled up on the couch with one of his books, or take advantage of his bed, which was a lot bigger and more comfortable than yours. But it wasn’t quite home yet, at least not without him there.

With a resigned sigh, you decided to make the best out of the situation. It had been a long week, and you could use a night of self-care. As you set your phone down on the bathroom counter, you hit play on a playlist you’d made for such occasions—soft, calming melodies that would help you unwind. You pulled your hair back with a headband, took out your contacts, and started removing the makeup that took you half an hour to do earlier.

The bathroom mirror fogged slightly as the warmth of the shower filled the room. You hummed along with the song in the background, while you moved the cotton pads over your skin in a familiar motion.

As you finished, you carefully stepped out of your dress and turned toward the shower. The steam hit your skin as you slid into the stall, closing your eyes for a moment as the water hit your shoulders.

Without realizing, you spent a good hour in the shower. Once comfortably dressed, you let yourself sink into the plush cushions of your couch. A fuzzy blanket was draped across your just shaved legs, and the TV remote was within arm’s reach. You let out a content sigh, almost feeling as satisfied as you would be when being with Spencer.

—

Spencer’s signature melody of knocks broke your focus on the documentary you were watching. You swiftly moved up from the couch and checked the peephole on your door, just to be sure. A smile spread across your face as you saw Spencer rocking back and forth on his feet, plucking at the bouquet in his hands, straightening out each flower to perfection.

You opened the door with a big smile. “Hi, I wasn’t expecting you. I thought we cancelled tonight.”

He hesitates, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. “You’re right. I finished the case early, and I’ve been thinking about you all day. I just… wanted to see you.” His words came out more nervously than he intended. “I saw the lights were on, so I assumed you were awake.”

“I wasn’t asleep. Don’t worry,” you answered warmly. You glanced down at the bouquet in his hands. “Are these for me?”

“They are,” he replies, his voice softened as he handed them to you. “You said you liked lilies.”

“I do, thank you. They’re beautiful.” You accept the bouquet, moving to your tiptoes to give him a kiss. Having a boyfriend with an eidetic memory really is perfect.

“I’ll put them in water, come in.”

You moved to the open kitchen, so in awe of his sweet gesture that you were completely unaware of the way Spencer’s breath caught the moment you opened the door, how his pupils darkened when he inhaled your sweet scent and noticed the state you were in. Hair still damp from the shower you must’ve taken, wearing only a shirt, and your face bare besides the glasses you were wearing. Fuck… he didn’t even know you wore glasses.

He couldn’t deny how incredibly cute you looked. Spencer has only seen you during or after dates, and he loved how he could tell that you took the time to get yourself ready. Always wearing an outfit that fits you perfectly and having your makeup done in a way that enhances the features of your face. But it felt so intimate seeing how effortlessly beautiful you looked moving around in the comfort of your own home. You were beautiful in a way that seemed almost unfair, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the most captivating version of you he'd ever seen.

Spencer wasn’t able to take his eyes off of you as you walked to the kitchen, your breasts swaying with every step you took. The outline of your nipples were visible, because of the cold that escaped when you opened the door for him. Your bare legs reflected the warm kitchen light. He felt like he was about to lose his mind as you reached up to grab a vase from the top cabinet, the curve of your ass peeking out from underneath the shirt that you're wearing.

He felt guilty for the warmth that was spreading through him. He shook his head slightly, trying to reset his thoughts, but the temptation was there. Your easy grace, the way your bare feet padded across the floor, the gentle hum of the air between you—it all combined into something too alluring for him to ignore.

You could feel the heat radiating off of him as he moved behind you, placing a careful hand on your hip as he reached out to grab the vase. You turned around with a smile as he placed the vase on the kitchen counter.

“Thanks,” you beamed, and he mumbled a ‘You’re welcome’, though his response came out as more of a soft hum.

Before he could think better of it, he leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was slow, deliberate—his lips meeting yours with a tenderness that made his pulse race. His fingers tingle with the desire to pull you closer, but just before his hands slid around you, you pulled away, making him swallow back a groan.

“Ooh! I was watching this documentary that I think you’ll be really into,” you said, quickly putting the flowers in the vase and tugging him by the hand toward the couch. He followed like a stray pup, too caught up in the way you moved to protest.

“Oh, yeah? What’s it about?” He asked, hoping the conversation would steer him away from the other thoughts tugging at him. You settled on the couch beside him, and he instinctively pulled your legs onto his lap, cupping your feet in his hands to warm them.

“It’s about space. The universe, really. It’s fascinating, but honestly terrifying if you think about it for too long.”

Spencer nodded, though his mind was far away. He was more focused on the way that his fingers traced the soft lines of your calves. He gently started kneading the muscles, placing just the right amount of pressure.

“Would you go to space, if NASA invited you?” You asked, eyes still glued to the TV.

“Only if you’d come with me.”

His response made you turn around to look at him. The sincere and loving expression he gave you warmed your face. He squeezed your legs gently, and, just like that, you noticed the hint of desire hidden in his eyes.

“Come here,” he said in a whisper, patting his thigh. In a second you managed to crawl yourself onto his lap, and he held you steady by your hips.

You reached up to remove your glasses, but before your fingers could touch the frames, his hand found yours, halting the movement.

You noticed the slight squint in his eyes. “I can’t properly kiss you with my glasses on,” you explain.

"Then let me handle the kissing," he murmured, voice dropped low.

Before you could register his words, his lips had found your neck. His hands moved to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing along the line of your jaw, holding you close as his tongue licked a firm stripe up your sensitive skin.

“Oh, god,” you shuddered in a breath.

“Shaking already?” he teased, voice laced with amusement as he grinned against your skin.

“No,” you lied.

“Are you sure about that? Then why are you doing it again?” He comments before squeezing your breast, your nipple caught in between his long fingers.

You jumped at his touch, a moan escaping your lips. You shook your head as you saw his satisfied expression. “You’re such a dirty tease.”

“I haven’t heard any complaints so far,” he smirks, making you roll your eyes.

His breath was warm against your skin as his lips found their way back to the soft curve of your neck. Tenderly, he placed more kisses to your skin, sending shivers through your entire body. Once pleased, he bends his head down to capture your clothed nipple in his mouth, his hand still kneading your other breast.

“Fuck, Spence,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders to steady yourself. He took his time, his mouth sucking slowly on your nub, savoring the feel of you beneath him. Tonight, he was in no rush—he wanted to taste every inch of you, show you just how much he loves every detail of your body.

You were writhing in his lap as he flicked his tongue against your nipple. Heat forming between your thighs with every stroke of his tongue. He removed his lips from your breast with a pop, and sat back against the couch. His gaze was locked on the now wet, see-through patch on your shirt. He licked his lips, watching you like you were a piece of art he just created himself.

“Beautiful,” he stated.

The compliment sent a rush of warmth straight to your core, your body responding with a soft shiver. Without thinking, you began to grind yourself against his lap, a surge of excitement rushing through you as you felt the firm bulge beneath his pants. Spencer exhaled a deep, satisfied sigh as his warm hands slipped beneath your shirt. He cupped your breasts, squeezing them gently.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

You playfully raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Oh, so that’s what this is all about, huh?”

“Actually, it’s about all of you.” The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, turning you almost shy.

“Can I take this off?” he murmured, his fingers teasing the hem of your shirt. You nodded wordlessly and raised your arms. Spencer pulled the fabric over your head, his eyes tracing the curve of your bare chest. He cursed under his breath, his hands immediately finding you—fingers digging into your skin as he leaned in, nuzzling his face between your tits with a satisfied moan.

A string of giggles and moans spilled from your lips as his curls tickled your skin. His pink lips grazed you gently, pausing to leave sloppy, lingering marks—each one a reminder that you’d carry with you for the following days.

You moved against him, rolling your hips, finding release in the way that your barely covered heat rubbed against the rough material of his pants. Spencer noticed the change in your rhythm, the need in your movements. He guided you with steady hands, his fingers moving to your hips and then sliding lower, finding the curve of your ass, tightening his grip to help you find the pace you craved.

“Can you handle more?” His voice husked in desire. You nodded, your body already screaming for more. Goosebumps decorated your skin as his long fingers traced your inner thighs. You squirmed helplessly when his thumb pressed against your covered clit. A moan fell from your lips as you arched against him.

“You’re always so wet for me, angel.” The word slipped from Spencer's lips. It was the first time he’d called you anything other than your name or a shortened version of it, and somehow, angel felt more fitting than any word he'd ever used. You looked like heaven to him—your soft skin glowing in the light, your eyes sparkling behind the frames of your glasses, and the way you responded to his touch, every small brush of his fingers making your expressions change so delicately.

He slowly tugged the damp fabric of your underwear to the side, savoring the reveal of your glistening pussy. You lifted your hips, giving Spencer the access to slide a finger through your folds, spreading your wetness.

“Feels good,” you breathed out, your voice shaky as his fingers ran back and forth between your lips, each pass teasingly close to your entrance, but never quite slipping inside. The sensation made your hips buck against him. You weren’t used to being teased for this long—Spencer had a way of getting you dripping without even fully touching you. Usually that led straight to sex, which makes his slow touches feel almost torturous.

“Please, Spence,” you moaned.

“Please, what?” he mused, his eyes dark with desire as he watched how your arousal coated his fingers, his gaze never leaving your glistenings folds.

“I need more,” you begged, your voice a whimper.

“You can have more, angel. My fingers are right here,” he hummed.

A soft moan escaped your lips as you shifted, positioning yourself so his fingers were just below your entrance. Spencer’s breath hitched, and his mouth fell open as you sank down onto his fingers, inch by inch, taking him in. Your hand gripped his shoulder tightly for support as you moved, the sensation of fullness making your body tremble.

Spencer was the first to make a sound, his head falling back slightly as you adjusted to him. His moans only spurred you on. You pressed your forehead against his, your breaths shaky as he pumped his fingers in a steady, insistent rhythm.

His other hand moved to your ass, fingers spreading across your cheek as he squeezed, pulling you closer to him. You were grateful he was doing most of the work—your legs were already shaking, straining to keep up with the building pleasure.

Spencer’s fingers curled inside you, pressing deeper, and the angle was perfect—hitting spots you never managed to reach on your own. Spencer groaned at the sight. Your body was tightening around him, your slickness coating his fingers, and he couldn’t help but imagine it being his cock filling you up.

The sounds he made drove you crazy. Each deep groan, every stuttered breath, showed you how much he enjoyed making you feel good. His enjoyment only intensified your own pleasure.

You were so close, your nipples hard against his chest, your breath mixing with his as your hair tumbled over his face, the scent of it intoxicating to him.

Your breathing turned sharp and shallow, as the pressure built low in your belly. Your vision blurred, the edges of reality dissolving as you neared your climax.

“Baby…” you breathed, your voice a desperate plea. You locked your eyes with Spencer, hoping—praying—he could see the need in yours.

And then, with a confirming nod and a final twist of his fingers, you broke.

A flood of pleasure crashed through you. You gasped, your whole body seizing as your orgasm hit. You were unable to hold back the cries of your release, your hips bucking against his touch, your hands gripping his wrist to anchor you as the world spun in a blur.

He withdrew his fingers from your heat, and the sudden absence left you breathless, a soft sound escaping your lips at the loss. When you blinked your eyes open, Spencer’s warm gaze met yours, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You smiled back at him, a little dazed, as he brushed your cheek with his untouched hand.

He carefully took your glasses off, placing them on the armrest of the couch. His thumb tenderly wiped away the tears that had escaped your eyes. He then cupped your chin, pulling you toward him, and kissed you deeply, his lips soft and lingering.

“Thank you,” he murmured, as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

“I should be the one thanking you,” you softly laughed.

He shook his head, smiling. “No need for that,” he replied, his voice reassuring.

“But I want to,” you insisted. “Though… I think you’ll find I’m better at showing than telling.” You playfully whispered, as your nails grazed the outline of his dick.

You turned yourself around on his lap, your knees still planted on either side of him, but now with your back facing him. Leaning forward, you braced yourself on the coffee table, your elbows digging into the surface. You arched your back, making Spencer hiss sharply at the sight of your ass displayed before him, your arousal trickling down your thighs. The inviting shake of your hips made him lose his patience, and his fingers fumbled hastily with his belt.

“Fuck,” he groaned, hurriedly pushing his pants and boxers down his thighs. His cock sprang free, hard and eager, the flushed head brushing against the faint line of hair trailing up his abdomen.

He gripped his length firmly, pumping himself a few times before lining himself up with your slick entrance. The weight of his hand settled on your hip as he pressed the tip of his cock against your warmth. He teased you for the briefest moment before you slowly sank down on him.

A sharp cry escaped your lips as he filled you, the new angle making him hit depths you’d never felt before. The stretch was deliciously overwhelming, stealing your breath as your fingers clawed at the table. You shakily tried to lift your hips, but your legs quivered under the strain.

Spencer noticed immediately, his hands finding their place—one on your waist, steadying you, and the other trailing down to your calf. He began guiding you, his strength effortlessly lifting and lowering you along his cock. The room filled with the symphony of your combined moans and the rhythmic slap of meeting skin.

“God, look at you,” he rasped, mesmerized by the way your body took him in. His gaze focused on the bounce of your ass, hypnotized by the way it moved with each thrust. On instinct, he brought his hand down in a firm smack against your cheek.

The sudden impact made you jolt, as you let out a sweet, startled cry. The sound sent a surge of need through him, and he swore he felt himself harden further.

“You liked that, huh?” he mused in curiosity. Without waiting for an answer, he did it again, revelling in your shivering response.

Spencer pulled you against him, adjusting your position until you were seated in his lap, your back pressed flush to his chest. He wrapped an arm around your waist to hold you close, while his other hand rose to cup your breast. His hips snapped into you roughly, each thrust pulling an uncontrollable whimper from your throat.

“You’re doing so good for me, angel,” he praised, his voice hoarse as his fingers pinched and rolled your nipple. The combination made your head loll back against his shoulder, surrendering to his touch. He seized the opportunity to claim your lips in a needy, devouring kiss. Tongues tangled messily, swallowing your shared moans.

As your pleasure mounted, your walls began to flutter around him, drawing a strained groan from his throat.

“Are you close again, pretty girl?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper against your lips.

“Yes,” you gasped, barely able to form the word. “Spencer… fuck, I’m so close.”

“Then cum around me,” he encouraged. “I know you want it.”

“Will you cum inside of me?”

For a heartbeat, he stilled. “I…” He swallowed. His cheeks flushed as he hesitated on his next words. “I want to cum on your face.”

Your pupils blew wide. His confession causing a smirk to tug at the corner of your lips.

That was all the encouragement he needed. His fingers dipped between your thighs, circling your clit in rapid, precise motions. The pressure tipped you over the edge, and with a cry of his name, you let go.

Barely able to recover, you slid from his lap onto your knees, settling in front of him. Spencer’s breath hitched at the sight of you—flushed and disheveled, your sweat-slick skin glowing in the low light. Your lips, swollen from his kisses, parted expectantly.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathed, unable to tear his eyes away. You looked angelic… and he was about to ruin you.

It didn’t take long. His cock twitched, thick ropes of cum spilling over your face and dripping down to your chest. His jaw went slack, his chest heaving as he watched you collect some of his release with your thumb and slip it into your mouth. The sight of you sucking on your finger was almost enough to unravel him all over again.

Spencer was unable to leave your side, grabbing his sleeve to gently clean you up. Once satisfied, you leaned forward, resting your head on his thigh as you savored the comfortable silence that followed.

His phone buzzed suddenly on the couch, shattering the moment. Spencer groaned, grabbing the device and quickly silencing it with a flick of his finger.

You laughed softly, your voice tinged with amazement. “What was that about?”

Spencer shrugged, tossing the phone aside without a second glance. “I can be late for one day.”

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cloudedcreams · 2 months ago

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thinking about a yandere! husband who wants to have children with you.

he’d always tried his hardest not to be too pushy about it. he’d never want to force you into anything after all! but the idea of children sounds so promising, and though he utterly adores children the most enchanting part about it for him is the idea of creating life together, and he finds that to be the most intimate part of all.

he loves making you cum, but when he does he loves to do it straight in your pussy, seeing his cum leaking out <3. and afterwards he keeps himself inside of you, letting his seed sink inside of you. even if you don’t get pregnant, it’s a nice little treat is it not?

you’re not too sure on how you’d feel about having kids, and he tries his best not to mind. though there are nights the two of you stay cuddled together he whispers about it through your ears, wouldn’t it be nice? to start a family together, to be the parents you always wished to have?

he rarely talks about his family, but from your understanding he had a deadbeat father and a depressed mother. he detests his father with his life and soul, and his mother committed suicide, though when he talks of her, he talks of her fondly, with love in his eyes.

but most of all, of course he loves you! he’s truly saddened if you don’t want to have children, and he never stops bringing the topic up.

as a father, he’s the true definition of caring. his ‘ideal’ family would be a girl and a boy, so they could look out for each other, but be protective of each other as well, like telling each other of red flags and giving one another advice on things to do with the other gender, like crushes and the likes.

he doesn’t play about his family! he’s not afraid to go psycho on a parent if they let their child do reckless shit that hurts one of his kids. he’s above blaming the child, but would give a little baby speech about respecting others, and treating them with love.

#reader insert #yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #stalker yandere #unhealthy relationships #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yan blog #yan.dere #yanblr #yandere husband #request #answered asks

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worlds-we-write · 2 months ago

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The Weight of It All

pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x Reader

summary: You’ve been hiding your sickness—and the truth—from Joel for weeks. But when a pregnancy test confirms your fears, the weight of it becomes too much to bear. Telling him risks reopening old wounds… but keeping it secret might break you both.

WC: 3.8K

tags: Age gap (60s Joel x 30s reader), pregnancy reveal, anxiety, crying, panic, mentions of past child loss (Sarah), emotional vulnerability, soft Joel, comfort, domestic tenderness, happy ending

My Masterlist

You’ve been sick for days. Maybe longer.

It started as something small—dull headaches, a little nausea in the mornings, that tight ache behind your ribs when you stood too fast. Nothing worth bringing up. Not with Joel. Not when he already worries too much.

You’d blamed it on stress. On the cold. On whatever dried meat Maria had handed you from the trade post. But it hasn’t gone away. It’s gotten worse.

Today, it hits harder than usual. Your stomach twists before your eyes even open. You lie in bed, curled on your side, one hand pressed to your mouth, breathing shallowly through your nose.

Joel’s already up. You hear him in the kitchen—footsteps creaking across the floorboards, the soft clink of silverware, the low grumble of the stove catching. You try to move, but the moment you sit up, your body rebels.

You make it to the bathroom just in time.

You vomit hard, clutching the edge of the sink like it might keep you tethered. Cold sweat beads on your neck, your spine prickling with heat and nausea and panic.

It’s not the first time this week.

And still, you haven’t told him.

By the time you pull yourself together, Joel’s voice is already calling down the hallway.

“Breakfast’s ready. You up?”

You splash water on your face and don’t answer right away. You can’t. Your reflection in the mirror looks pale, your lips chapped. You stare at yourself a moment too long.

Then you step into the hallway like nothing’s wrong.

He doesn’t question you.

He never does at first.

Joel’s at the stove, dividing up the food onto two plates. It’s not much—just scrambled eggs and a toasted slice of bread—but he’s humming under his breath like he’s proud of it. You try to sit down without making a face. The smell turns your stomach.

“Didn’t hear you get up,” he says, voice low and easy. “Sleep okay?”

You nod. Lie.

He sets the plate in front of you. You force yourself to eat a few bites, chewing carefully, swallowing around the nausea.

“You sure you’re not gettin’ sick?” he asks after a while, studying you. “You’ve been lookin’ a little… off.”

You shake your head too quickly. “No, just tired. Stomach’s been weird. Probably a bug or something.”

He doesn’t push. Just narrows his eyes, then reaches over to squeeze your thigh under the table. A quiet gesture. Comforting. You wish it didn’t make your chest ache.

You don’t talk much after that. Joel launches into something about a new gate they’re reinforcing on the east wall, and you nod along, trying not to gag every time you lift your fork. You excuse yourself early and claim a headache. He offers to make tea. You say no.

By the time you crawl back into bed, you’re already crying.

The test isn’t something you went looking for. Not really.

It’s tucked in the back of your dresser, hidden beneath a pair of old gloves and a cracked mirror you meant to throw away. You remember Maria handing it to you months ago, half-joking—“Just in case.” You’d laughed then. Said something sarcastic. Stuffed it in the drawer and forgot.

But you find it now.

Hands shaking.

Heart pounding.

You stare at the little plastic thing like it’s a weapon.

You haven’t had your period in… shit. You count on your fingers. At least two months. Maybe more. You try to remember when the last time was and come up blank. Just nausea and headaches and crying over stupid things like burnt toast and Joel leaving his damn flannel on the floor again.

You sit on the edge of the bed and peel the wrapper back slowly.

The directions are smeared but readable. You follow them. You take the test.

You wait.

Two minutes feels like an hour.

You pace the room, bare feet cold against the floor, every breath too shallow, too loud. You’re not ready for this. You can’t be. You’ve been careful. Joel’s older. You thought…

You glance at the stick.

Two pink lines.

Clear as day.

No denying it. No maybes. No confusion.

You’re pregnant.

You sink to the floor and cry so hard your throat burns.

It’s not that you don’t want a baby.

It’s that you don’t know how to have one. Not here. Not in this world. And not with Joel, not after everything he’s been through. After everything he’s lost.

You think about Sarah. The photo he keeps in his coat pocket. The way he still gets quiet when kids are nearby. The way he looks at you sometimes—like he’s waiting for you to vanish, too.

He hasn’t said her name in months.

But you see it in his eyes.

You press your hands to your stomach. Try to imagine what’s inside. Try to make it feel real.

And it does.

Terrifyingly real.

But you don’t tell him.

Not that night. Not the next. Not the week after.

You keep pretending.

Keep hiding.

Keep waking up sick and saying it’s nothing.

Because you love him too much to ruin this.

And you’re afraid—so afraid—that this will be the thing that finally breaks him.

You don’t remember when it stopped being something you could ignore.

Maybe it was when your nausea turned into full-blown vomiting every other morning. Maybe it was the way your body started to ache differently—heavier, tender in places it hadn’t been before. Or maybe it was the way Joel kept watching you when he thought you weren’t looking.

You try to keep up the act. Try to smile when he brushes your hair behind your ear. Try to laugh when he mutters something sarcastic about Jackson politics or how damn cold it still is. You sit with him by the fire at night, listening to the quiet crackle of the wood, letting him rest his hand on your thigh like nothing’s changed.

But everything’s changed.

You’ve got a secret growing inside you. One you didn’t ask for. One you still don’t know how to feel about.

And it’s eating you alive.

You start waking up before Joel does, slipping quietly out of bed to vomit or dry heave into the toilet, chewing your lip to keep from crying out. You brush your teeth in silence. Splash cold water on your face. Sit on the edge of the tub until the spinning stops.

By the time he’s awake, you’re already wrapped in a blanket on the couch, pretending to read a book you haven’t turned the page on in three days.

“You sure you’re not comin’ down with somethin’?” Joel asks again that morning, a mug of tea in his hand instead of coffee. “You’ve been… quiet.”

“I’m just tired.”

He gives you a look.

You try to change the subject. “What time you heading out with Tommy today?”

Joel doesn’t answer right away. Just hands you the mug. It’s chamomile. Your favorite. He’s trying. It makes your heart ache.

“I could stay,” he says slowly, sitting down beside you. “Ain’t nothin’ urgent. We were just gonna check the perimeter out past the ridge.”

“No, it’s okay,” you say too quickly. “I’m fine. Go.”

His jaw tightens a little. Not in frustration—more like… uncertainty. Like he doesn’t quite believe you but doesn’t know how to press without making things worse.

He kisses your forehead before he leaves.

You cry as soon as the door shuts.

You wander out later, needing air, even though the snow’s still packed in frozen ridges along the path outside the cabin. The sky is overcast, the wind sharp enough to sting your cheeks. You wrap Joel’s flannel tighter around you—he left it behind again this morning—and follow the half-trodden trail into the woods behind the cabin.

No one follows.

No one knows.

You find the edge of the treeline, the big flat rock you sometimes sit on in warmer months. You stand there now, breath puffing out in clouds, staring down at your gloved hands like they might hold an answer.

You fish the test out of your coat pocket.

You’ve been carrying it with you. You don’t know why.

Two pink lines, clear as ever.

You could throw it into the snow. You think about it—feel the urge in your fingers, the burst of anger that’s starting to rise like bile. You want to throw it, scream, crush it beneath your boot, pretend this isn’t happening.

But you don’t.

You sit.

And you hold it.

And you cry again.

That night, Joel makes soup. He tries not to burn it this time. You sit at the table and pretend to eat, smiling when he cracks a joke about the carrots being too soft. You’re exhausted, not just physically but from the weight of pretending.

“Was Maria askin’ about you today?” Joel says casually, handing you a piece of crusty bread. “Said she hadn’t seen you in a while.”

“Just been tired.”

“She said you should stop by.”

“I will.”

You won’t.

Joel leans back in his chair, watching you. “You know you can tell me if somethin’s wrong, right?”

You freeze.

He says it so gently, it almost breaks you. No suspicion in his voice, just quiet concern. The kind he only shows when he thinks you’re about to run—or when he is.

You want to tell him. You do.

But fear clamps down hard on your throat.

What if he looks at you and sees a mistake?

What if he looks at you and sees Sarah?

What if this is the thing that makes him leave?

You force a smile. “I know.”

Joel looks like he wants to say more. But he doesn’t.

He just reaches for your hand across the table and holds it in his calloused palm.

And you grip it like it’s the only solid thing keeping you from unraveling.

The nightmares come next.

You dream of blood. Of silence. Of holding something small and helpless and watching it disappear. You wake up gasping, clutching your stomach. Joel stirs beside you but doesn’t wake, and you’re glad. You don’t want him to see you like this.

You start wearing looser clothes. You start avoiding the mirror. You start skipping dinner.

Joel notices. Of course he does. He’s not stupid.

“Did I do somethin’?” he asks one night, voice quiet against your shoulder.

You’re in bed, turned away from him, pretending to be asleep. His fingers brush your arm.

“You’ve been distant.”

You say nothing. Your throat tightens.

“I ain’t mad,” he adds. “Just worried.”

You bite your lip so hard you taste blood.

“I love you, y’know,” Joel murmurs. “Even when you shut down like this.”

That’s the moment your heart breaks.

Because you realize what you’re doing isn’t fair. Not to him. Not to yourself. Not to the tiny life you’re carrying inside you.

But you’re still not ready.

Not yet.

You nod into the pillow, blinking tears onto the fabric.

“Love you too.”

A week passes.

Maybe more.

You lose track of time, counting your life in nausea and guilt and half-eaten meals. Joel never says it out loud, but you can see it in the way he watches you—like he’s trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces.

You think about telling him every night.

You rehearse the words. I’m pregnant. I didn’t know how to tell you. I’m scared.

But when you open your mouth, nothing comes.

Until finally… it does.

You don’t plan to tell him that night.

It’s the same as every other evening lately. Joel gets back late from patrol, shedding his coat and boots at the door with a tired grunt. You’re already in the kitchen, stirring soup that smells better than it tastes. You’re still too nauseous to eat more than a few bites, but you pretend for his sake.

He doesn’t notice.

Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just waiting.

The table is quiet as you both eat. Joel hums under his breath between spoonfuls, something familiar—an old Johnny Cash tune, maybe. He thanks you like always. Tells you it’s good even though it’s barely seasoned.

After dinner, he offers to wash up, and you let him. Your hands won’t stop shaking anyway.

You find him in bed later, shirtless and reading something he borrowed from Tommy—a survival manual someone dug up from the library. He doesn’t look up when you enter. Just shifts a little to make room for you under the quilt, reaching out to rest a warm hand on your hip when you slide in beside him.

You lie there stiffly.

Heart pounding.

Stomach twisting.

“You’re awful quiet,” he murmurs after a while, voice rough from sleep already creeping in.

You swallow. “Just tired.”

“Mm.” He turns slightly, fingers idly stroking the hem of your shirt. “You been sayin’ that a lot lately.”

You tense.

“I—” Your voice cracks. “Yeah.”

Joel doesn’t push. Not right away. He just keeps tracing slow circles on your skin, quiet and patient, like he’s waiting for something you’re not sure you know how to give.

And then—

“Been thinkin’…” he says slowly. “Maybe you oughta see that doctor Maria keeps fussin’ about. Just in case.”

You flinch. He feels it.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, too quickly.

Joel rolls onto his side to face you, propping himself up on one elbow. His brow furrows, and the concern there nearly guts you.

“You’ve been sick almost every damn day,” he says gently. “You ain’t eatin’. You’re pale. You cry at soup commercials.”

You bark a laugh that dissolves into a sob before you can stop it.

Joel’s expression shifts. Alarmed now. He sits up fully, cupping your face in both hands. “Hey—hey. What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, curling into yourself. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“What—? Sweetheart, talk to me. What’s goin’ on?”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

And finally—finally—you say it.

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

Not shocked. Not gasped or cursed.

Just… silence.

You feel him go still, like every muscle has locked up at once. His hands fall from your face.

You don’t look at him.

“I found the test a couple weeks ago,” you say, words tumbling now, rushed and raw. “I thought it was a stomach bug, or something I ate, but then it didn’t stop. And I remembered Maria gave me that test a while back and I just—fuck, I didn’t mean for this to happen, Joel. I didn’t mean to do this to you.”

“To me?”

Your breath catches.

Joel’s voice is low. Barely above a whisper. You finally glance at him.

He looks shell-shocked. Not angry. Not even upset. Just… wrecked. His eyes are wide, jaw tight, like he’s trying to keep something inside from breaking loose.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” you whisper. “After everything. After Sarah. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Joel doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at the blanket bunched around his waist, like it might offer an explanation he can’t find in your words.

“I thought you’d leave,” you admit softly. “Or worse—I thought you’d stay, but you’d hate me for it.”

Joel blinks slowly. “You really think that little of me?”

“No.” You wipe your eyes. “No, I just—I know what this means for you. I know what it could bring back.”

Joel’s breath hitches. He leans back against the headboard, one hand dragging over his face. The silence stretches between you like a rope pulled taut.

“I ain’t mad,” he says finally.

You flinch.

“I ain’t,” he repeats, quieter this time. “Just… I need a second.”

You nod. Curl your knees to your chest. You try not to cry again, but your chest won’t stop heaving, your hands won’t stop trembling.

Joel stays where he is for a long time. Not speaking. Not touching you.

But he doesn’t leave.

And somehow, that’s what breaks you the most.

Ten minutes pass. Maybe twenty.

Then Joel shifts.

He reaches for you slowly, hesitantly, and when you don’t pull away, he pulls you into his arms.

You bury your face in his chest and let yourself fall apart.

He holds you through all of it. Lets you sob until your voice goes hoarse, rubbing your back and whispering nothing-words you barely register.

When you finally quiet, he kisses the top of your head.

“You should’ve told me,” he says, not angry. Just aching.

“I was scared.”

“I know.” He sighs against your temple. “So was I.”

You blink. “You?”

Joel nods, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are wet, rimmed with red.

“I knew somethin’ was off. Knew it wasn’t just the weather or the food. I kept thinkin’ about what it could be, and I… I think I knew. I just didn’t wanna be the one to say it.”

“Why?”

He swallows hard. “Because if I said it, it’d be real. And if it’s real, it can be lost.”

Your breath catches.

He cups your face again, thumb brushing your cheek.

“But I’m not walkin’ away,” he says, voice rough but certain. “Not from you. Not from this.”

You close your eyes.

“Joel—”

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, whisper soft. “But I want to try. If you want this… I want it too.”

You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I do. I really do.”

He pulls you into his chest again and kisses your hair like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

“You’re not alone,” he says.

And this time, you believe him.

You wake to the sound of rain tapping against the window.

It’s still dark, the kind of blue-black quiet that only settles in just before dawn. Joel’s arm is wrapped around your middle, his chest pressed warm and steady to your back, one hand splayed low over your stomach like he already knows what’s growing there.

Maybe he does.

He hasn’t moved all night.

You lie still for a while, not quite ready to break the spell. The room is quiet, the fire low in the hearth, the storm outside soft but persistent. You can hear his breathing behind you—slow, even, calmer than you’ve heard it in days.

It’s the first time you’ve really slept in weeks. The first time you haven’t woken up sick with dread curling through your spine. There’s fear, still. Of course there is. But it’s quieter now. Outweighed by something else.

Something that feels a little like hope.

Joel stirs not long after, mumbling sleep-drunk nonsense against your neck.

You hum softly, shifting to face him. His eyes crack open, still heavy with sleep. You expect him to look tense. Uncertain. But he doesn’t.

He looks soft.

His thumb brushes your hip. “Mornin’.”

“Hi,” you whisper.

His gaze drifts to your stomach, then back to your face. “You feelin’ okay?”

“Better.”

He studies you a beat longer. “You sure?”

You nod. “Yeah. Still tired. A little queasy. But… it’s different now.”

Joel’s fingers flex against your side. “Yeah. It is.”

There’s a quiet pause. Neither of you says it, but it’s there in the air between you. Real. Alive.

“I kept thinkin’ about what I’d say,” you admit quietly. “When I finally told you.”

Joel smiles faintly. “What’d you come up with?”

You shrug. “I didn’t think I’d get that far.”

He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering at your cheek.

“You were right to be scared,” he says. “I was scared, too.”

You nod.

“But I want this,” he adds. “I want you. I want this baby.”

You blink fast. “You sure?”

“Sweetheart.” His hand moves back to your belly, resting there like it belongs. “I ain’t been sure about much in my life, but this?” He leans in, voice low and raspy. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Your eyes sting again.

He kisses you softly—slow, lingering, like he’s not in a rush anymore. And for once, neither are you.

Later, when the sky lightens and the rain slows, Joel gets up and pads to the fire to stoke it back to life. You sit on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one of his flannels, watching him move around the cabin like he’s already settled into this new chapter.

He talks as he works.

“Might need to reinforce that back door soon. Wind keeps slippin’ through the cracks.”

“Mmhm.”

“And we’ll need more blankets. If you’re gonna get cold easier, can’t have you freezin’ all night.”

You smile, resting a hand on your stomach.

“Could build a new shelf for the pantry,” he adds, glancing at you. “Start settin’ aside things for winter. For… y’know.”

He gestures vaguely at your stomach, the faintest blush creeping into his cheeks.

You can’t help it—you laugh.

“What?”

“You’re nesting.”

He frowns. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

Joel mutters under his breath, but you catch the corner of his mouth twitching.

He crosses the room a moment later and crouches in front of you, palms resting on your knees.

“I’m serious, though,” he says. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever we need. You just gotta tell me what’s goin’ on, alright?”

You nod.

“No more secrets,” you whisper.

“No more secrets,” he echoes.

He leans forward, presses a kiss to your thigh, then rests his forehead there for a long moment. When he looks up again, his eyes are glassy.

“You ever think about names?”

Your heart lurches.

“I haven’t gotten that far.”

“Well,” he says softly, “maybe we should.”

You stare at him.

“I know it’s early,” he continues. “But I keep thinkin’ about it. The kind of name we’d give. What kind of person they’ll be.”

You reach for his hand. “You really want this?”

“I already do,” he says.

You smile, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “What if it’s a girl?”

Joel swallows hard. “Then I guess I’ll have two reasons to keep this world safe.”

You press your forehead to his.

And you both sit there in the early morning quiet, breathing together, dreaming of something you never thought you’d have again.

A future.

That evening, Joel pulls you into his lap while the fire crackles, his hand absentminded on your stomach, thumb stroking slow circles over the curve that isn’t there yet but will be.

He talks to the baby like he’s already met them.

Tells them how much he’s looking forward to teaching them to fish, to play guitar, to run without looking back. He jokes about how stubborn they’re probably gonna be, how it’s definitely your fault, and how he’s not gonna let them out of his sight until they’re at least twenty-five.

You laugh, and cry, and laugh again.

And when you fall asleep in his arms, it’s the first time in weeks that your dreams aren’t full of fear.

They’re full of names.

And tiny hands.

And sunlight.

tags: @lowrisemiller @pedrito-is-punk7 here ya go from a post a couple weeks ago

2K notes · View notes

trivia-yandere · 24 days ago

Note

sending request:

College senior jungkook took interest to freshman yn

(I think this would be so good if there’s manipulation and dumbification in it)

ok im thinking best friends jungkook but make it college - got it :3

nerviosa

that time your cousins boyfriend, jeon jungkook; college senior, took a certain interest in you, a college freshman.

word count: 8.622

warning: slight age gap, power imbalance, naive reader, she's just a girl frfr, manipulation, affair/cheating, corruption kink, dry humping, dirty talk, breast play, nipple sucking, car "sex", fingering, kissing/making out,

teaser | taglist

The sweet aroma of cinnamon could be considered amazing and something you’d want to consume entirely. Yet it was still a spice with a bitter taste if taken in large amounts. Your relationship - if you can call it that - with Jungkook was only sweet in theory, but bitter in reality.

Much like cinnamon.

Loving Jeon Jungkook was sudden. It happened in a blink of an eye,surprising your own self entirely. The way your body would warm when he was around. The way you couldn’t wait to speak with him whenever he and you were in the same room - so much so that you would count the minutes until he did.

Loving Jeon Jungkook was also bitter. It had consumed you entirely, having you fall into a black hole that was him and him only. It had chewed up your heart and spit it right out. It left you feeling lonely.

Cold, lonely and painful.

And yet, like each and every time Jungkook had shown you who he was, your heart, of course, refused to believe him. He came back into your life time and time again after ignoring your existence when certain people were around, only sparing you a longing glance.

You supposed you couldn’t blame Jungkook more than you blame yourself. Jungkook was a taken man and the person he was taken by was someone you knew far too well. Still, your heart continued to pound rapidly whenever he was around. Your body would warm whenever his eyes flicker to yours, the hair on your skin rising. The way he’d lick his lips and offer you a small smirk - that’s where it always started.

“You’re mad at me.” Jungkook murmurs, leaning against your closed door. You’re sitting on your bed, a book open in your lap. You try not to look at his exposed arms and at the way they’re flexed.

“How so?” you respond, glancing back down to your book.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” Jungkook responds. You’re underneath your covers, but it stops at your waist. Your tank top is loose at the shoulders and only one strap is down your arm. “All week.”

You decide to close the book and place it onto your night stand. You grasp your phone and open an app. You decide to dim the lights in hopes of him not fully seeing your expression

You offer Jungkook your full attention now. “Where’s my cousin?”

Jungkook snickers softly. He leans away from your bedroom door, making sure to lock it before he does, and comes closer to you.

“Why?” Jungkook asks, at the foot of your bed.

“She’s your girlfriend.” you respond. You have yet to tell Jungkook to leave like you should have. You should have stopped yourself from the beginning, but you didn't.

“I’m aware.” Jungkook rounds the foot of your bed, “She’s mad at me.”

“I suppose that’s why you’ve come to me.”

Your tone is sharp, Jungkook notes.

“That’s not true.” Jungkook retorts. “You’ve been ignoring me all week. You walked right past me as if you didn’t see me.”

Your eyes watch as Jungkook sinks down onto your bed. His hand lays on your covered leg, squeezing it a bit.

“What do you suppose I do?” you shrug your shoulders. “Sit in your lap in front of everyone?”

You wish you had the passion like your cousin does. To speak your mind and tell anyone off. You wanted to punch the smirk right off of Jungkook’s face and tell him to get out of your room, but you couldn’t.

“Of course not.” Jungkook tilts his head a bit. “But I missed you. You haven’t missed me?”

Jungkook knows the answer. The way you bite your lip, glancing at the sleeve of tattoos on his arm. He enjoyed the way you’d trace them at times, fascinated with how much he had.

“Can I get a kiss?”

Your eyes snap to Jungkook . Your attempt at a glare is cute to him, but you’re far too slow in dodging him. You being underneath the covers gave him an advantage. He throws himself onto you, wrapping his arms around you. His nose slides across your cheek and dramatically, he inhales. “You smell soooo good.” he hums before his lips press to your cheeks. He kisses up your cheek, to your forehead, to down the next cheek.

You couldn’t help the bubbles of laughter falling past your lips. Your attempts to be upset with him were failing miserably. This is something you hated about yourself - how little it took for you to forget about everything he’s done. About everything you allowed him to do.

Yet and still, you’re fully aware that you cannot be more angry with Jungkook than yourself as you allowed him into your life after fully knowing who he was and what his intentions were.

Your relationship with your cousin was similar to that of an older sister. She was always there growing up and filled the role as one - even if that meant being a total bitch at times. Still, you knew this was wrong just as much as her boyfriend did.

“Can I?” Jungkook repeats, tone lowered to a mere whisper. His lips are only inches away from yours. He knows full well that if he kissed you, you’d do little fighting. But this was Jungkook, after all, and he wants you to tell him to. To admit that even now, with your tiny glares and rebuttals, that you still wanted him.

“We shouldn’t.” you breathe, but you don’t push him away.

When you first met Jungkook was when your cousin had brought him along to a dinner she had invited you to. She had told you so many things about Jungkook - how handsome he was, how athletic and competitive he was whenever sports was involved. Apparently, he was a good cook and also an amazing singer.

That was nearly a year ago, you think, before you started the same college they'll soon be graduating from.

Your first impression of Jungkook was that he was one of those boys that was arrogant - and he fit the descriptions. The tattoos and piercings. The way he walked as if he was the main character, and in a way, he is. Especially with your cousin on his arm. There was no way someone like him was as golden as your cousin said - until you met him and he indeed was such.

“I’ve missed you.” Jungkook doesn’t make a move. His nose gently rubs against yours. “I went to the diner and got our usual all alone. The old lady asked about you.”

You snort. You became fond of the old lady who always served you and Jungkook extra pancakes because she thought you two were a cute couple. When you went to correct her the first time, Jungkook had wrapped an arm around you and kissed your cheek. Maybe that’s where he had you wrapped around his finger for the very first time.

“You took me to that diner because it’s far from anyone who knows us.” you retort, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I took you there because it’s my favorite diner.” Jungkook corrects. “And when we first went, you needed something comforting.”

Your eyes close, the memory coming back.

Jungkook had found you seated all alone after one of his classes. You appeared like all the other freshmen, so burnt out already but still overachieving. You sat alone in the college’s cafe, books surrounding you and airpods in, though you weren’t listening to anything. Jungkook had come up and asked if you wanted to come with him to get pancakes. “Pancakes are best in the evening.” he stated, and before you knew it, you were in his car driving to the diner that you and he now frequented weekly.

“It’s just one kiss.” Jungkook’s weight was starting to crush you. “Or I’ll lay on you until you do.”

“You’re so frustrating.” you groan, but you cannot help the smile that forms onto your lips. “And then you’ll leave?”

Jungkook hums, pecking your lips. “Do you want me to?” he asks, going in for another intoxicating kiss, this time deeper.

You hum into his lips. You’re still beneath the covers and otherwise trapped beneath him entirely. Jungkook’s tongue forces your lips apart to glide right into your mouth.

You grunt. “You said one kiss.” you protest, but he knows you aren’t upset.

Jungkook smirks. “The first one doesn’t count. It was just a peck.” he states. “And if you wouldn’t have stopped me, then we would have still been having our first kiss.”

Your body feels the relief when Jungkook slides off of you, but now forces his way into the covers. You should’ve known that he wasn’t going to leave - yet you can’t expect him to if you never push him away.

Jungkook peaks at your pajama shorts. They’re fluffy and patterned with soft pink polka dots that he finds cute.

“You’re such a liar.” you snort as Jungkook snuggles beneath your covers with you, an arm wrapping around you to bring you closer to him.

“You can tell me to leave whenever you want.” retorts Jungkook, his arm bringing you closer to him. He inhales your scent and hums. “But we know you miss me just as much as I miss you.”

You hated how right Jungkook was. Your mind is screaming at you to let him go - to push him away and demand that you and he end this. Whatever this was exactly- but for one it was an affair. A pure slap in the face to your cousin who always brought him around you because she trusted you and him.

And you betrayed her.

But that knowledge doesn’t have either of you moving away.

“What were you reading?” Jungkook questions, his arm that's wrapped around you slightly caresses your arm as your head rests onto his chest. “One of your smutty books?” he jokes.

Your hand slams against his stomach and Jungkook cackles. “I’m just joking!” he exclaims. “I looked up that one book I saw you reading though…”

Your body warms, contemplating if you wanted to slam your fist into his stomach again. It wasn’t going to hurt him, but he’d know you were serious about attempting to cause him damage.

“…good girls like you shouldn’t read books like those.” Jungkook’s fingers lightly tap your arm, so much so that it causes goosebumps to form.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you scoff, but you cannot help the way your palms begin to sweat with nervousness.

“It means exactly what I said.” Jungkook’s finger continues to glide against your skin. “Those books are filthy. You’re too…” he hums. “...innocent.”

You’re silent for a few moments. You’re unsure of what to say in response.

“I’m not that innocent.” you murmur, nearly inaudible.

“Oh?” Jungkook chuckles. His hand stops caressing your arms, but his finger lightly begins to play with the fallen tank-top strap on your arm.

Your head lifts up so you can look at his face. He returns your look, a glint in his eyes that you cannot understand.

You lick your lips. “What’s funny?” you mumble, your brows knitting together.

Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh again. He doesn’t want to appear as if he’s laughing in your face, but he does find you cute.

“You’re just so cute.” Jungkook quips. “I can’t imagine you doing anything they do in those books.”

Your heart is jumping at how the conversation is steering elsewhere. Somewhere it hasn’t gone before.

Sure, Jungkook and you had developed something deeper than a regular friendship. You had allowed him to kiss you often; kisses that turned to makeout sessions. However, Jungkook always pushed himself back, pecking your lips a few times before it got any further.

“What do you do?” Jungkook asks. His fingers never stop toying with your tank-top strap.

“What do you do?” you repeat his question right back at him. Maybe it wasn’t something you should’ve asked - after all, everything he does has to be with your cousin.

Jungkook doesn’t respond, instead he continues to look at you. His gaze causes you to look away for a moment, pondering if this is a conversation you and him should be having. Specifically in this position, he and you so invasivly close to one another.

“I do a lot.” Jungkook speaks so suddenly that you almost miss it. You turn your eyes back to him, holding his gaze. “In these books-”

“They’re not all smut.” you blurt out and immediately regret it. Jungkook doesn’t laugh but his smirk is evident. “I mean…I read all types of stuff. Mystery books and stuff…”

Jungkook slowly nods his head. “I’m aware,” he responds. “I just want to know what they do in the books that are smut.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “You’re not going to make me say it…”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I suppose not.” he hums. His fingers finally relax and for a mere second, you and him are still. That’s until he changes your position again. This time, you’re brought on top of him. He’s wearing jeans and he wishes he would’ve worn something to feel you better in.

That didn’t mean that he couldn’t feel you at all.

Jungkook grasps both of your hands and places them onto his chest, your eyes slightly wide with shock. Your thighs are on either side of his waist.

“Come here,” Jungkook uttered softly, tugging your wrist a bit. He slides his hands cooly away from your hands so they can lay onto your hips. He squeezes them as your face hovers above his, mimicking the position he was in not too long ago. “you can show me instead.”

You’re positive Jungkook can hear how fast your heart is beating. Your hands tremble slightly against his chest.

Jungkook decides to take the lead, pressing his lips to the corner of yours, pecking ever so slowly. He trails them down to your chin, then jaw until they reach your neck.

You shudder, your legs nervously shaking. His hands roam up your sides. If he meant to or not, his hands slipped beneath your tank top and pulled you closer to him.

“Jungkook…”

Jungkook’s hands stop moving. They’re warm to the touch and they stop at the center of your back.

“...what are we doing?” You couldn’t help but ask. You weren’t wearing a bra and his trailing kisses mixed with his hands caressing your skin had caused your nipples to harden and they were directly in his face.

“Nothing bad.” Jungkook responds against your neck. “I just wanted to show you what I do.”

The feel of your bare back shouldn’t be as enticing as it was, but Jungkook was just a man. Having something so soft, cute and delicate on top would drive anyone crazy.

“Unless…” Jungkook’s teeth grazing your skin. “...you haven’t done this before. Then I’ll stop.”

You feel the bottom of your tank-top ever so slowly being pushed up. Jungkook’s waiting for you to say anything - or do anything - to stop him.

“Have you done this before?” Jungkook voiced.

You bite your lip. “Y-Yes.”

Jungkook hums. “Then it should be okay then,” he responds. He continues to trail kisses from the side of your neck to your throat, hands pushing the tank top further and further up your back. “There’s nothing to be shy about.”

Your tank-top stops right beneath your breast, Jungkook waiting for you to say something. Anything.

“We shouldn’t…do this.” you whisper. You hadn’t noticed how tight you were clenching Jungkook’s shirt until now.

“Is it because of her?” Jungkook asks. He allows his head to fall back against your soft pillows so he can look you in your eyes. “Are you going to tell her?”

“No!” you exclaim. There was no way you could ever tell your cousin that you’ve gone this far with her boyfriend. The question itself was ludacris and even the thought of it made you want to throw up.

“Neither will I.” Jungkook speaks. “It can be a secret you and I share, right?”

You aren’t able to answer before Jungkook pecks you on the lips.

“Whatever happens here…” Jungook’s hands move from your back and instead focuses on your shoulders now. The straps are already down and it’s nothing to further pull them down. His eyes never leave yours. They’re daring you to stop him - to push him away and be adamant that you didn’t want to do this.

You remained silent. Even as Jungkook fully pulls the strap from your arms and begins to push your tank-top down, you don’t say anything. “...stays here.” Jungkook finishes, his eyes flickering down to your now exposed breasts. “Okay?”

This was wrong, you think.

But you nod your head slowly, watching as Jungkook offers you a curt smile before his hands engulf your breasts entirely.

You yelp, the sensation shooting straight to your core.

“Relax. You’re so tense.” Jungkook murmurs, his thumbs directly onto your perky nipples. He rubs slow circles. “Talk to me.”

“Sorry…” you murmur, face warm.

“You don’t have to be sorry, baby.” Jungkook licks his lips, flickering his eyes to you.

The pet name sends another shot to your core. Your eyes widen a bit.

“I want you to be comfortable with me, okay?”

You nod hesitantly.

“You’re very beautiful.” Jungkook compliments. “When you read those books, how do they make you feel?”

Please, for the life of you, you didn't want to talk about the books. They’re just books that happened to have smut in them, not just entirely full of sex.

But you think of his question. You recall the way they made you feel, the shudder that ran up your spine with how descriptive they were, imagining that it was you in the position the protagonist was in.

“I…they’re interested to read.”

Jungkook hums, the pads of his thumb continuing to rub along your nipples. Your breathing becomes a bit hitched with how good it felt.

“What part exactly?”

You swallow.

“You don’t want me to know?” Jungkook leans forward to leave a single kiss right between your breasts. You’re positive it’s to tease you further, leaving you even more flustered than before. “It’s okay. You can tell me, baby.”

You let out a breath. “When…they touch each other, I guess.”

Your voice is so soft and embarrassed. Jungkook finds it cute.

“And where do they touch each other?”

“You know.” you sigh.

“Why are you so embarrassed?” Jungkook observed. “You’re so cute, baby. You don’t have to be shy.” he coos. “How about…you show me?”

Your hands are already on his chest. It rises and falls along with his chest. Dark eyes watch you closely, saying nothing more as he awaits what you’re going to do next. His large hands still has your breast perfectly in the palms of his hands and he makes no move to remove them.

You already told Jungkook that you’ve done this before - if a few hookups prior to your freshman year of college counted. You aren’t even sure yourself if you came from the acts and you’re unsure if you’d ever truly know.

So, to not further embarrass yourself, you sit fully onto Jungkook. Your clothed crotch sits directly onto his jeans, unable to look away as you do so. Jungkook’s chest continues to rise and fall, his thumbs moving slowly on your nipples, yet not halting.

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?” Jungkook doesn’t blink. He can feel his bulge in his jeans ready to be released and feel you better.

Your fingers grip at his shirt and for a moment, Jungkook thinks you’re going to say a smartass rebuttal. But you don’t, and something flickers in your eyes that has him curious.

“A few times.” you respond, voice small. “Am I doing something wrong?”

Jungkook hastily shakes his head. “You’re doing good, baby.” he murmurs, his voice cracking a bit. His stomach sinks in a bit as his mind thinks of the countless ways he could have you. So innocent and barely experienced life yet. So easy to mold into the girl he knows you can be. “What have you done?”

“Just…” your heart jolts. “…casual sex.”

You and him were actually doing this, you think. Even if it doesn’t go all the way, it’s gone far enough. Would you even be able to look him in the eyes after this?

“So…” Jungkook moves so instead of laying down, he’s seated right against your headboard. He’s now face to face with you. “…just casual sex?”

If Jungkook understood correctly, that meant it was just him fucking you until he came. High school boys weren’t much giving people. They were selfish and they take, take and take, but never give.

You nod your head slightly.

“Did he make you feel good?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Somewhat…I don’t think I…you know.” you laugh nervously.

Jungkook’s right hand trails down to your shorts. He touches the hem of it, glances between your eyes to your shorts, then back to you.

“Cum.” Jungkook deadpans, his lip twitching upwards at how flustered you appear by a simple word. “Do you want to cum?”

There’s a throbbing between your legs that you hope Jungkook cannot feel. Your hands grow sweaty, eyes widening a bit.

“H-How?”

Jungkook’s fingers crawl into your shorts. Your skin is just as soft, he thinks, and he cannot wait to see the rest of you.

“We can start off slow.” Jungkook starts. Tugging at your shorts.

“You just want me naked.” you rebuttal. Jungkook is glad to see you’re able to joke, your nerves slowly subsiding. “You’re still fully clothed.”

Jungkook snickers. “All you have to do is ask. Here,”

Jungkook gently pushes you off of him so that you’re seated on your bed. Your tank top is now around your stomach, breast fully exposed.

Jungkook proceeds to stand. His eyes look down at you. “What do you want me to take off?” he asks.

You swallow, your eyes glancing at his sleeveless shirt to his jeans.

“You can start with your shirt like you did me.”

“Okay.” Jungkook nods. “Take if off of me.”

Your hands shake as you come closer to Jungkook, his unblinking eyes watching your every move. It’s nerve-wrecking being in this position, you think, while he’s adamant on watching you.

You grab the end of his shirt and light pull it up, glancing at him to make sure you were doing this right - how else could you possibly take off a shirt anyways?

Jungkook pulls his arms up as you tug the shirt over his head, dropping it onto the floor beside him. His bare chest stares back at you and you have to fight yourself not to ogle him.

“Is that all you want me to remove?” Jungkook asks. “Because I want you to remove these,”

Jungkook’s hands are around your waist again, tugging you to stand before him. He watches your every movement as he tugs your shorts down. They fall effortlessly, leaving you in nothing but the cotton panties you wore. You’re thankful that they at least were cheeksters and looked good on you.

Your hands go to Jungkook’s belt next. You unbuckle it and then unbutton his jeans. This time, Jungkook focuses on your hands and how hot you looked half naked touching him.

Jungkook’s underwear are briefs and black - calvin klein. You immediately look away from the bulge that you see, your face growing even hotter.

“Come,” Jungkook says, tugging you onto the bed with him in the same position as before. He assures to press you directly on his lap so you could feel all of him. He doesn’t hide the groan that comes from his lips.

Your clit is throbbing, begging to be stimulated. You can feel the way Jungkook’s cock twitches immediately on impact.

“Do you touch yourself?”

The question shouldn't be invasive. After all, you willingly told him that a boy hasn’t made you cum before. At least, you didn’t know if they did or not - and honestly, if that was the case then the answer was an obvious no.

“Sometimes.” you admit.

Jungkook closes his eyes for a moment. He imagines you laying right here in bed, all alone. Your fingers trailing between your legs and playing with your clit until you’re sopping wet. The way your thighs would tremble with such pleasure and overstimulation and-

Jungkook shudders, his cock twitching again. He opens his eyes to look at you. His hands are directly on your hips now, squeezing them encouragingly. “Move.”

As you go to remove yourself from Jungkook, he pulls you back down.

“I meant grind.” Jungkook corrects.

You do as you’re told. You’re shy at first, only moving slowly. But you’re new to this and Jungkook understands that. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither were you.

“Circle your hips,” Jungkook instructs, his breathing increasing a bit. He swallows a lump in his throat, dark eyes watching the way you listen to him so well. “like that…”

You can feel your panties grow sticky against you, moist with your arousal. Your head falls back a bit as you quicken the pace, grinding your clit against Jungkook’s bulge.

“You’re doing good, baby.” Jungkook’s tone has darkened, now huskier. His left hand remains on your hips while his right slides up, capturing your breast. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” you moan, nodding your head a bit. Your gentle hand falls right on top of Jungkook’s against your breast, eyes fluttering. “so good.”

Jungkook groans. He’s never been a fan of dry humping - it was nothing but a tease. But doing this with you, someone so young and innocent - utterly forbidden to him - made it hotter.

“I bet you’re so wet right now.”

Jungkook would do anything to feel your bare clit right on his cock right now, but he wasn’t going to rush things. You and him had time, he thinks. He doesn’t want to think of his girlfriend now, but his mind flashes with her face. A part of him knows that this is wrong - he was taken advantage of someone young and naive and too close to her. But he couldn’t help but want to ruin you. Show you just how good he could make you feel - how good he could fuck you.

“I am wet.”

Jungkook slides his hand upwards. He glides past your shoulders and neck and grabs your cheek. Your eyes open to look at him, finding him already watching you. His thumb traces your pouty lips while licking his own.

“Has anyone ever touched you there?”

It could be a dumb question, of course, but the ways he wishes to touch you, he’s positive those dumb high school boys you associated with could never.

You shake your head and Jungkook scoffs. He knew it.

“Do you trust me to?” Jungkook questions. His left hand slides towards your ass, squeezing it in the palm of his hands. “I could make you cum, baby. You’d want that, right?”

There was nothing to be embarrassed about now as you grind against Jungkook and allow him to touch you so freely. The thought of his hands, so invasive and willing, between your legs causes your mind to spin. Your pussy clenches around nothing in particular, grinding a bit harder against his clothed cock.

“You would,” Jungkook commanded. His eyes dance between your face that he holds between his hand, to your greedy pussy sliding against his cock so needily. You’re so beautiful, he thinks, and feverish. Your lack of experience has him wanting to give you exactly what he knew he could give. “you would let me touch you. You want me to.”

“I-”

Your back slams against your bed suddenly. You let out a yelp, your eyes snapping open. Jungkook hovers above you, licking his lips.

“I’ll make you feel good, okay?” Jungkook assures, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’ll make you cum, baby, okay?”

Your heart pumps at his words, so soft in tone but entirely dirty. Your body is warm with embarrassment, but you’re highly intrigued. “Yes.” you breathe.

The way Jungkook’s tongue, warm and wet, slides across your skin. From your neck, to your collarbones to between your breasts - he couldn’t remember the last time he’s done this to his own girlfriend. Not because he was selfish and didn’t want to - but because she had no time to. Neglecting him and pushing him away until he fell into the arms of another woman.

“The boys you’ve been with are too young to know how to pleasure you.” Jungkook scoffs, engulfing your breasts into his palms, pressing tender kisses onto them. “But I’m not.”

You gasp at the feeling of Jungkook’s tongue wrapping around your nipple. His large hands squeeze your bosom, his tongue flickering back and forth onto the small, hardened bud. He’s gripping onto your breast so tight that you feel as though his fingernails are going to sink into your skin.

Jungkook’s lips pop your nipple from his mouth to now focus on the other one, giving it the same attention. There’s excitement that flows through him to hear your pitched breathing and sharp moans. It only gives him more satisfaction to latch onto your nipple, suckling and slurping onto it.

“You’re so reactive.”

Jungkook pops the second nipple from his lips, flicking his eyes up at you.

“It feels…” you swallow, your warm body shuddering. “…good.”

“I know it does, baby.”

The pet name has you shuddering even more, the hair on your skin continuing to rise. Your hand rests on Jungkook’s shoulder, fluttering eyes watching his handsome face form a short smile.

“You’re so cute, baby.”

Jungkook’s hand slides down from your breast. His fingers lightly tap against your stomach, then abdomen before he feels the light hem of your panties.

“I…I don’t know…”

Jungkook knits his brows. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if we should…you know?” you swallow the lump in your throat. “I wasn’t expecting to do this today. I don't think I’m prepared.”

You can feel the heartbeat right between your legs. The need to be touched is high, but your mind continues to yell at you that this is wrong, not just because of who Jungkook was but because you aren’t sure if you were ready to do anything with him. Your lack of experience compared to someone like Jungkook is laughable, and you didn’t need him laughing anymore than he already has.

“You don’t mean that.” Jungkook’s finger taps at your panties, eyelashes blinking a bit. “You’re just a bit shy. You don’t have to be shy with me.”

Jungkook hooks his fingers into your panties, offering you an otherwise sweet smile that you are oblivious to not noticing the mischievous intent beneath it.

“Unless you don’t…trust me.” Jungkook’s voice lowers. “Have I done anything for you not to?”

“No,” you say hurriedly. “of course not!”

Jungkook removes his hands from your panties, clicking his tongue. He’s silent for a moment, tilting his head as he watches you. His silence causes an unease to flow through you and you were pondering if maybe he was upset with you. “Jung-”

“You should probably go to bed.”

Your mouth is slightly agape when Jungkook speaks.

“You have that test in the morning, right?” Jungkook continues, raising a single brow. “At least, that’s what you told me.”

“Right.” you nod your head, voice low. “Are you…are you leaving?”

Jungkook’s eyes watch you for a moment too long before he shrugs his shoulders. “Do you want me to?”

“No.” you admit far too quickly for your liking.

“Then I won’t.”

The bed is strangely cold by the time you wake up. You don’t notice at first until your mind registers the night before. The way Jungkook held you against him, his legs entangled in yours to keep you close. Your warmth radiated off against one another, and now that he was gone, you realized just how cold you felt without him there.

It takes you a few minutes to get up from your bed. You are not upset that Jungkook left. After all, he wasn’t supposed to be there. Still, it does leave a sting in your heart knowing that you’ve allowed things to go as far as they had. You trot down the hall to the bathroom, closing the door behind you. It takes exactly ten minutes to do everything you need to do before making your way down the same hall to go to the kitchen.

You had a test in an hour, that part wasn’t a lie. You hoped you could focus on said test and get your mind off of the man that is Jeon Jungkook.

You aren’t lucky, however. You round the corner to enter the kitchen and immediately stop in your tracks.

Your cousin is leaning against the counter, dipping a tea bag right into her streaming cup. You recall that it’s her favorite mug - a glass one that’s shaped like a skull. It matches her personality perfectly, you think.

“Morning.” your cousin says, glancing at you from the corner of her eyes. “Kook cooked breakfast.”

Your heart pounds outside your chest. It isn’t hard to notice the taller man behind her, but you were trying your best to avoid looking his way at all. But, of course, you fail. Your eyes make their way to him to find that he’s already looking at you. When your eyes meet one another, Jungkook offers a smile. He holds up a bowl, signaling that he had indeed cooked breakfast.

“I…Im not hungry.”

Jungkook slowly lowers his hands. He glances at his girlfriend - your cousin.

“You’re not?” your cousin asks. She turns her head to fully face you. “DId you even eat before bed? I saw your plate in the microwave.”

You let out a short breath. Nothing ever got past her, you think. You were lying about not being hungry. You just didn’t want to be caught between her and Jungkook during breakfast and be left in such an awkward situation that only you and he knew about.

Your stomach rumbles, causing your cheeks to heat up. Your cousin snorts, turning back to her tea.

“Sit and eat.” your cousin insists.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Jungkook sing-songs, placing the bowl onto the kitchen island. “ was even thinking of making a protein shake.”

You sit on the stool, looking down at the eggs before you. You glance up at Jungkook to find him looking at you already. His smile doesn’t falter. It’s soft, you think, and awaiting for you to do…anything.

“Thanks.” you murmur.

You begin to eat, your foot bouncing nervously as your cousin blows and sips onto her tea. Jungkook does what he says and begins to make a protein shake - adding different variations of fruits, yogurts and a powder you haven’t seen until today.

“So,” your cousin turns to face you. She doesn’t look your way, too consumed with the tea she’s attempting to not burn her throat with. “how’s school? I feel like I haven’t seen you lately.”

That’s because she was busy. Your cousin consumed herself with work and you applaud her for being able to handle that and school. You, like most freshmans, are far too in your head that you don’t even believe you could handle anything.

“Alright. Just…studying.”

“College isn’t all about school.” she places her mug onto the island. Jungkook is behind her, the blender sounding loudly. “You should live a little, too. When’s the last time you saw your friends?” she speaks louder.

“We facetime all the time.”

Your cousin snorts. She furrows her brows. “You should see them. Invite them over!” she encouraged . “Or go out. There’s parties everywhere.”

The blender stops. Jungkook begins to pour the semi-thick shake into a shaker bottle - something else you were positive you hadn’t seen until now.

“Do you go to parties?” you asked her, plucking some more egg into your mouth. There's white rice on the bottom, you note.

“Sometimes.” she nods. “Recently, no. I've been working on volunteering and building my resume along with references. But you have time.”

You swallow as Jungkook places the bottle in front of you. He offers a short wink that only you catch. “So you can have enough energy throughout the day.” he tells you.

“Kook keeps trying to get me on making shakes and smoothies everyday.” she rolls her eyes playfully. “I can’t be bothered.”

“Try it.” Jungkook insists. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Your hands tremble under pressure as you do as you’re told. It’s good, the taste of strawberries are evident. You could understand why Jungkook would make them daily - he was a “gym bro”. His words, not yours.

“It is good.” you agree, licking your lips. “I should get ready soon.”

“How are you getting there?” your cousin questions. “Kook can give you a ride.”

“I can walk.” you shake your head, glancing to Jungkook who’s eyes hasn’t left you. “It’s only around a fifteen minute walk.” You were grateful your cousin lived so close to campus and allowed you to occupy her extra bedroom. Granted, it was being paid for by both of your parents so it was a win-win regardless.

“I don’t mind.” Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “It’s spring and you never know when it’ll rain.”

“I can bring an umbrella-“

“Just accept the ride, Y/N.” your cousin deadpans. “Stop being weird.”

You’re silent, blinking a few times. Your lips are pressed thinly together, and for a moment your eyes turn into slight slits. Here you were trying to keep your cousin's boyfriend at a respectable distance, and she was calling you weird.

Granted, she doesn’t know about what her boyfriend does - you’ll never tell her. You couldn’t bring yourself to be annoyed with her persistence in making sure you got to school safely and on time.

“Okay.” you murmur, pushing the stool away from the island with a curt nod. “I’m going to get ready now.”

Jungkook watches the way you scurry out of the kitchen. He turns his eyes slowly to his girlfriend and clicks his tongue. “You can be a little easier on her.” he suggests, grasping the bowl you were once eating out of and bringing it to the sink. “She’s only a freshman.”

Jungkook hears a scoff just as he turns the sink water on, preparing to wash the dishes.

“I have been going easy on her.” she says. “I want her to have a normal college experience. She coops herself in her room all the time and allows herself to waste away.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes at his girlfriend's words. He doesn’t say anything on topic, however.

“What are you doing tonight?” Jungkook questions, scrubbing a dish clean.

“Networking.”

Jungkook hums. He felt like he knew as such. Ever since she’s managed to get an internship - not including the many volunteer work she does while also maintaining an actual job and school - she’s been a busy person. He’s unsure how she manages to come home and cook almost 4 days a week and keep track of you.

“I see.” Jungkook turns off the sink water. “Tae keeps asking about you. They miss you on game nights.”

Her lips form a low smile. “I miss beating his ass in connect 4.” she laughs. “But not all of us can have wealthy parents like you guys.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond. He’s gotten used to his girlfriend's “playful” jabs. He was told too many times that her going to college wasn’t a side quest like it was for him and his friends. It was interesting to see how serious she took life while also telling you to live a little more.

“I’ll see you later.” Jungkook decides to speak instead. He comes closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Whenever you’re free…” he murmurs, his lips against her forehead.

You aren’t sure why you’re nervous entering Jungkook’s car. You’ve been in here before. It’s clean and always smells like fresh linen. The dark seats are always warm - you later realized that his seats are heated and he always assures they’re the right temperature before you enter.

Jungkook, as he begins to drive down the quiet street, places a hand onto your thigh. You don’t say anything, only watching the way his tattooed fingers tap along.

“What are you doing tonight?” Jungkook questions.

There’s music playing low in his car. The roads are empty, only a few cars on them this early morning. You glance out the tinted windows and take a deep breath.

“Nothing.” you reply. “Leave it to my cousin, I should be going to a rave.”

Jungkook snorts. He squeezes your thigh, wishing it was the sensitive, soft flesh he felt last night.

“She just wants you to have fun.” Jungkook says. “Live a little, you know? Go out. Party. Be a college student.”

You want to roll your eyes. Of course he would defend her - you don’t expect him to take your side, either way.

“I have a few friends who always throw parties.” Jungkook speaks up. “You can go.”

You slowly turn your head, your interest somewhat peaked.

Jungkook stops at a red light. He faces you. With furrowed brows, he asks, “Why are you looking like that?”

You swallow. “I have never been to a college party before.” you murmur, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Um,” you continue, licking his lips. “is it…tonight?”

Jungkook’s lips slowly turn upwards. “Sure is.” he says. “I can take you…if you’d like. This party isn’t going to be as crazy as it would be if we were, let’s say, sophomores.”

Jungkook recalls the many crazy parties they’d throw - the pool parties, costume parties that always ended with someone being overly offensive. The amount of fist-fights that ended in a big brawl; the full college experience.

Jungkook remembers his girlfriend being by his side at a few of them. Until she stated that she couldn’t continue to associate herself with “mess” - her words. That, and then state that she wasn’t like them. She didn’t have her parents' money to get her out of trouble if needed be.

“You can invite some friends, too.”

You feel Jungkook’s hands creep higher. He continues to drive, his eyes focused on the road.

You should push his hand away, you think. Distance yourself from this man that doesn’t belong to you.

You don’t. You never do.

“I’ll try.”

Pulling into the parking lot, Jungkook comes to a stop. He doesn’t cut the engine - he doesn’t need to be here until later. He does, however, remove his seat belt. He turns towards you, watching the way you take off your own seat belt.

“Thanks-”

“You don’t have to be in there for another 10 minutes.”

Jungkook, who had lifted his hand from your thigh when he took off his seatbelt, had made it his mission to put it back. This time, his fingers - ever so gently - slide into your inner thigh. His dark eyes glance at you innocently, but you aren’t that dumb to think that he only wanted you to sit here and talk.

“I have a project due later,” Jungkook begins, his tattooed fingers tapping lightly. “but then I’m free.”

“Okay.” you murmur, licking your lips. “Why are you telling me?”

Jungkook’s own lips form a low smirk. You were cute when you were this way - feigning uninterest. He knows if you truly didn’t care, you wouldn’t have asked in the first place.

“Don’t you want to hang out with me?” Jungkook pokes his bottom lip out.

“I’m going to the party, aren’t I?”

You try to relax, but you can't. You hoped desperately that your face didn’t show how nervous you were being with Jungkook. You would think after last night, him squeezing your thigh and seemingly growing closer wouldn’t affect you. But this was Jungkook and of course whatever he did had an effect on you.

“You’re right.” Jungkook hums, tilting his head a bit. “Wear something…cute but relaxed. You can meet my friends.”

Jungkook wonders if you would feel the same way about them that your cousin did. She didn’t not like them. They were the same group of friends they hung around for years. Only, she matured a lot faster than either of them had, thinking about a future far ahead than they ever did.

You swear your heartbeat is in sync with the low beat of the music. You don’t say anything, only returning the look that Jungkook is giving you. He’s probably waiting for you to tell him to move his hand - to stop inching closer and closer to the warmth between your legs. Or, maybe he’s waiting for you to get out of his car and get to class.

You don’t do anything.

“Can I get a kiss before you go?”

Your heart flutters at his question, body warming. You swallow.

“You don’t just want a kiss.” You retort.

Jungkook chuckles low - you were right. If it was up to him, he would have his way with you right in the backseat. But he was a patient man and you were worth more than a simple hookup in his car.

“I’ll take whatever you give me.”

You don’t realize who initiated it, but your lips are on Jungkook’s far too easily. Like you knew, the man wasn’t going to let you go off with a single kiss. Instead, he replaces his right hand with left one and wraps his right arm around you to keep you in place. His tongue pries your lips open, sliding it into your mouth.

The kiss is hot, growing heavier by the second. His arm lightly tugs, wishing he could pull you right into his lap. Instead, his left hand swipes between your legs, lightly rubbing.

You’re the first to break the kiss, breathing in as much air as you could before Jungkook found his tongue back in your mouth. But, he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you closer and allows himself to do the same, his wet lips falling to your jawline.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

Jungkook’s tone is deep, breath tickling your jawline as he kisses down. He makes his way to your neck, tongue circling your flushed skin.

“Yes-“

You don’t get to finish. Jungkook slides his hands into your pants, those greedy and invasive fingers cupping you through your panties. You yelp, eyes widening.

“W-What are you doing?!” you hiss, turning your eyes to the nothingness that is outside the car. The windows were a dark tint so even if someone was there…

You take a deep breath.

“I just want to make you cum.” Jungkook says against your neck. “Before you go.”

Your heart continues to pump rapidly. You don’t make a move to stop him, even if the denial is on the tip of your tongue. Instead, your eyes slowly trail down to watch the way his hand slides further into your pants.

“It’ll feel good, I promise.” Jungkook says. “I can make you cum in 5 minutes. You’d want that, right?”

If you had any sort of respect for yourself and your cousin, you would’ve ended it right here. Push him away and tell him you no longer wanted anything like this from him.

You hadn’t. Your silence, to Jungkook, was consent. He knew you wanted him to. Short breathes come from those parted lips, your chest rising and falling. Your thighs even widened a bit to allow him to feel more of you.

You jerk when Jungkook’s fingers make their way between your panties, sliding past your clit. Jungkook sucks in a breath, “You’re wet.” he groans. “I knew you wanted this, baby.”

“This…we can’t-”

“No one’s here.” Jungkook’s fingers twirl around your clit. You swallow the moan you want to let out. “Look at me.”

You do without hesitance. Jungkook holds your gaze while your body warms. His fingers continue to rub along your clit, keeping pressure on the already sensitive bud. You let out a soft gasp, unknowingly opening your legs wider.

“There you go,” Jungkook murmurs, continuing to hold your gaze. He leans in a bit more, appearing to be hovering above you. “you’re so wet right now. You must feel good, right?”

“Yea,” you nod your head, voice strained with nerves.

“Don’t be shy.” Jungkook chuckles at the way your face looks. So pretty and young, he thinks, so full of life yet lacking of experience that only one with years could give you. “Give me a kiss.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. Instead, he continues to rub along your clit, circling the bud faster and faster. You managed, somehow, to capture his lips in your own. It causes your moan to die down, but either way, you manage.

The kiss is just as hot as before. Jungkook forces his tongue inside, suckling on your own as his greedy fingers find your hole. His pants are tight, cock throbbing and twitching to be let free. His fingertips tease your hole - so tight and new to all of this, he thinks. He couldn’t wait to show you the world of pleasure he could expose you to if you’d let him.

You gasp out when Jungkook’s long fingers enter you. The feeling is different. It wasn’t as filling as a cock, sure, but the way he manages to thrust them in and out of you tells you that he knew what he was doing.

Jungkook groans against your lips when your soft hand grasps his cheek. The act causes Jungkook to thrust his finger even faster inside of you. His forehead pressed against yours and his teeth clamp down onto your bottom lip. “Feel good, baby?”

“Yes!” you nod your head.

You made the mistake of looking down. Your eyes catch Jungkook’s hand hidden inside your pants, only his fis wrist visible. The veins on his arm pulse and the sight alone has you moaning a bit louder - why did it look so hot? It’s nothing too sexual, you think, but it was also Jungkook. Everything on Jungkook was hotter than it should be.

“Kook,”

You don’t realize you’re holding his face until you feel your nails dig into the skin of his cheek. Jungkook doesn’t mind, however. A bit of pain never hurt him. “You gonna cum all over my fingers?” he asks. “You’re such a dirty little girl, Y/N.”

Why did that have you clenching around his already pumping fingers? Did dirty talk really excite you, or was it just Jungkook?

Regardless, you nod your head, eyes meeting his again. Your mouth opens slightly to let out hushed, drawn out moans that you only heard when you were making yourself cum - and even then, it never felt like this.

“Say it,” Jungkook continues, pecking your lips. “say you’re my dirty girl, Y/N.”

It’s an insane statement to make when he wasn’t a single man. Yet, you knew that. You knew who he was and know fully that what you and he are doing is wrong- but you comply. “I’m…I’m your dirty girl,” you breath, thighs shuddering and stomach clenching.

You were cumming - all the while still having another five minutes left until you needed to be in class. Your eyes squeeze shut as the pressure consumes you, higher-pitched moans coming from those sweet lips.

Jungkook brings his fingers out of you just on time, his lips coating kisses on your neck. His cock continues to throb but he tells himself that even now, you weren’t ready - but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t be soon.

@investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @mar-lo-pap @ami-s-k

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #trivia-yandere #explicit-tae #cinnamon #btswritersclub #bangtan smut #bangtanwritershq #bangtanwriters net #btswriterscollective #bts smut #btswritingcafe #bts college au #nerviosa

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fushiguruuzzzz · 5 months ago

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req by @lizbix for 700 event

OIKAWA who is “just a friend”

OIKAWA who dedicates every serve (even the ones he misses) to you with a wink and a cocky grin, throwing in a “just because you’re special to me,” on occasion, but it’s all strictly platonic. yep.

OIKAWA who tosses his volleyball jacket over your shoulders when you’re cold, and just before you can see the gentle fondness in his eyes, he brushes it off with a “just displaying my kindness. thank me with a kiss later, mhm?”

OIKAWA who only smiles when you hit him in return, but really just wishes you’d take him seriously.

OIKAWA who is always staring at you when his fangirls try to get his attention — he doesn’t even realize it, but they sure do.

OIKAWA who sniggers to himself every time he’s asked if you two are a thing, because in his mind, you kind of are. he won’t deny what he believes to be true. if he’s right, he’s right.

OIKAWA who always manages to somehow slip into your house, and you often find him sprawled out in your bed, snoring like he’s in hibernation.

OIKAWA who smirks lazily as you let out a deep sigh and crawl in beside him, wrapping his arms around you and ignoring your excuse of “I’m tired” and “it’s obvious you won’t move anyway.”

OIKAWA who is just a friend, but you’re curled up under the covers with him and sinking into his warm embrace, soft skin brushing over his as his heat seeps into you.

maybe OIKAWA is just a friend, but as he presses his face into the crook of your neck and mumbles something that sounds scarily similar to “I love you,” it doesn’t feel like it. not like you mind.

OIKAWA who denies any hints at his sleepy confession profusely, telling you it must’ve been a dream — a fantasy of yours that you’d gotten caught up in that day. he says he doesn’t blame you, he gets it a lot.

OIKAWA who only admits that he did, in fact, tell you he loved you back then three years later. he figured it was a good time, because now you’re curled up in bed once again, except the covers are not yours. they’re his too; property of the home you’d created not long after graduation.

OIKAWA who stares at the back of your head, stunned, when all you responded with was a smile and an “I know.”

OIKAWA who feels really dumb afterwards, but he figures it’s alright, since he ended up at his planned destination all the same. he’s still mad he lost so much time, though.

I cannot write for oikawa I think. please don’t attack me for this.

gen tags: @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniyaa @kashee-h @bubybubsters @lizbix @mayyhaps @adoresia @gumims @cinnamxnangel @aldebrana

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writeriguess · 4 months ago

Note

Can you do Katsuki x female reader where reader's daughter (who she had with another man years ago, her ex turned out to be abusive) finally warms up to Katsuki enough to start calling him her dad? The girl has traumas about her dad so it's a big step.

author's note: never mind about the GIF library—it only seems to work with certain tags. Katsuki's tag takes 5 minutes to load before throwing me with an error. I'll try adding GIFs to posts that actually load for me.

Piece by Piece

Katsuki had always been patient, in his own rough-edged way. He knew better than to force anything, especially when it came to your daughter, Aimi. She had every reason to be wary of men, of father figures, and he never blamed her for keeping her distance. He had seen the haunted look in her eyes when she flinched at loud voices, how she hesitated before speaking, always gauging if she was safe.

At first, she barely acknowledged him, only ever referring to him as "Mom’s boyfriend" or simply "Katsuki." It stung a little, but he never let it show. Instead, he showed up—again and again. Helping her with homework, cooking meals when you were busy, staying up with her when she had nightmares, and never pushing when she needed space. He wasn’t trying to replace anyone. He just wanted her to know that he wasn’t going anywhere.

There were tough days. Days where she barely spoke a word to him, locking herself in her room, the old memories dragging her down. On those nights, he’d stay up, making sure she knew he was around if she needed anything. Some nights she had nightmares. He heard her muffled cries through the door but never forced his way in. Instead, he left a cup of tea outside her door, a small note scrawled on it: "You’re safe. We’ve got you."

Slowly, she started warming up. Small things—like watching TV in the same room as him instead of avoiding him altogether. Asking him to pass the salt at dinner instead of pretending he didn’t exist. He took every small win, knowing trust took time.

Tonight was no different. You had fallen asleep on the couch after a long day, leaving Aimi and Katsuki alone in the kitchen. She sat at the table, lazily pushing around the remains of her dinner while Katsuki stood at the sink, washing dishes.

“You don’t have to do that,” Aimi mumbled, staring at the soapy water. “Mom’ll do it in the morning.”

Katsuki huffed, rinsing off a plate. “Tch. Ain’t lettin’ her wake up to a mess. She does enough as it is.”

Aimi was quiet for a moment, watching him. He knew that look—like she was debating something, turning it over in her mind. “You always help,” she said finally, almost accusingly.

Katsuki dried his hands and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Yeah. So?”

She fidgeted, picking at the edge of her sleeve. “My real dad never did.”

His chest tightened, but he didn’t say anything. Just let her talk.

“He used to yell at Mom a lot. At me, too.” Her voice was small, but steady. “I used to wish he’d just leave us alone. But when he finally did, I still felt…wrong. Like maybe I wasn’t good enough.”

Katsuki’s hands clenched into fists, his nails biting into his palms. The urge to track down that bastard and make him regret every word, every bruise, every scar he’d left on them—it burned hot inside him. But this moment wasn’t about his anger. It was about Aimi.

He forced himself to take a slow breath. “That asshole had nothin’ to do with your worth, kid. He was just a piece of shit who didn’t deserve you or your mom.”

Aimi looked up at him then, really looked at him. “You’re different.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool even though his heart was hammering. “Damn right, I am.”

She gave a small, almost shy smile. Then, barely above a whisper, she said, “Thanks, Dad.”

Katsuki froze. The plate in his hand nearly slipped. He turned to her slowly, his throat tight. “What’d you just say?”

She shifted, suddenly nervous. “I mean—only if you want me to call you that—”

He was across the room before she could finish, pulling her into a hug. He felt her stiffen at first, but then she melted into him, clutching his shirt with small hands.

“You’re damn right I do,” he murmured, his voice rough, thick with emotion. “You’re my kid now, got it?”

Aimi sniffled against his chest. “Okay…Dad.”

Katsuki held her tighter, pressing his chin against her head. He stayed like that, letting her feel the steady strength of his arms. After a few moments, she let out a small laugh, muffled against his chest.

“You’re squishing me.”

He grunted but loosened his grip slightly. “Tch. You’ll live.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her expression softer than he’d ever seen. “I think I’m really lucky.”

Katsuki’s throat tightened again, and he ruffled her hair roughly to hide the way his eyes burned. “Damn right you are. Best damn dad you coulda picked.”

She giggled, a sound so rare it made his heart ache. “Yeah. I think so too.”

Yeah, he’d never let her or you go. Not for anything.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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moondustbaby · 1 month ago

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Make a Mess of Me (bsf!rafe)

cw: smut, mutual masturbation, mdni 18+

⸻

You don’t know how it started.

One minute you were tangled up under the covers, laughing, teasing, touching—and now you’re both naked, breathless, flushed head to toe and too far gone to pretend this is innocent.

Rafe’s sitting between your spread thighs, one hand wrapped around his cock, the other gripping your knee to keep you open for him. You’re propped up on your elbows, completely bare, your fingers moving slick and slow between your legs as you watch him watch you.

“Fuck,” he groans, eyes pinned to where your fingers circle your clit. “You’re so wet already.”

“Yeah?” you breathe, your voice shaking. “You’re the one jerking off while staring at me.”

He laughs—quiet, broken. “Can you blame me?”

His cock is red and leaking, every stroke making your stomach clench. He’s not subtle about it either. He wants you to see. Wants you to know how close he is.

“Touch lower,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “I wanna see you fuck yourself.”

Your hand drops, two fingers sinking into your soaked cunt, and you gasp at how sensitive you already are.

Rafe groans like it physically hits him. “Jesus, baby. That’s so fuckin’ hot.”

You’re flushed, your whole body prickling with heat, thighs trembling as you fuck yourself slow, slick sounds filling the space between you.

“Wish it was you,” you whisper before you can stop yourself. “Wish it was your fingers.”

His jaw clenches. “You’re gonna make me come.”

“Do it,” you say, breath hitching as your fingers speed up. “Wanna see it.”

He strokes himself faster, eyes locked on your cunt like he’s possessed, chest rising and falling in sharp bursts. His thighs tense beneath him. His breath hitches.

You’re right there too—hips rolling, stomach tight, moaning his name like a prayer.

“Come with me,” he pants, voice breaking. “Wanna see you fall apart, baby, please—”

And you do.

Your orgasm crashes through you, your fingers rubbing fast and desperate as your thighs shake. You cry out, head dropping back, back arching as you clench and pulse and drip.

And then you feel him.

Hot spurts of come shoot across your stomach, your hips, your chest—warm and sticky as Rafe groans through his release, body trembling as he spills onto your skin in thick, messy ropes.

Neither of you move.

You’re panting. He’s blinking down at you like he doesn’t know what universe he’s in.

There’s come on your tits. Your stomach. Your thighs. You can feel it.

“…Well,” you manage, dazed. “That happened.”

Rafe wipes a hand over his face, still catching his breath. “That definitely happened.”

You glance down at the mess between you. “You wanna get me a towel or just stare at me forever?”

He smirks, leaning in to kiss your knee. “I was gonna use my mouth.”

a/n: oops i wrote another one inspired by a p!link lmao. yall ate up the last one i posted so i thought id write another! and uhh ya these are fun to write 🫢

♥️ lani

masterlist

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kxsagi · 21 days ago

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“𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧”

a/n: everyone say thank you, landon! he hurt me and now i wrote angst. i’ll never forgive his bitchass for cheating on liz (yes i’m still mad about it) and i pray that she heals fast and thoroughly 🙏

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, karasu tabito, bachira meguru, ness alexis

itoshi rin

he doesn’t say he misses you. instead, he shows it by keeping everything the same. your mug is still by the sink. your shampoo still in the shower.

he trains harder than ever, but there’s a hesitation in his eyes, like he’s searching for something beyond the net, like scoring without your "good luck" feels hollow.

he deletes your contact but memorizes your number. blocks you, but checks your socials with a burner. his pride won’t let him reach out, but gosh, he wants you to notice he’s suffering.

sometimes he thinks about bumping into you “by accident.” at a café. bookstore. anywhere. but he never goes because he’s scared you’ll already be with someone else.

he dreams of you. and in those dreams, you always leave again.

isagi yoichi

he blames himself. rewatches every conversation in his mind like game tape. where did i go wrong? where could i have passed better? loved better?

he still talks about you like you're part of his life. "she loves that song." "she would’ve liked this." even though the room goes quiet after.

he keeps every gift you gave him. your first silly drawing, the bracelet you made at some street fair. it’s tucked in his drawer like sacred things.

you told him once he overthinks everything, so now, ironically, he overthinks that, too. did you mean it as a joke? were you serious? were you already halfway out the door?

he wishes you’d just tell him you hate him. because silence is worse. silence is hope’s cruel cousin.

itoshi sae

he lets you go with a poker face. you’d think he didn’t care. but it’s the first time in years he misses a penalty kick.

he deletes your pictures. not because he doesn’t care, but because he does. too much. and seeing your smile in that yellow-tinted light makes his chest cave in.

he scrolls through your old texts when he's drunk. replies to them like you're still there. never sends them.

he never begs. never asks you to stay. but every time someone mentions your name, there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes, like grief dressed in quiet clothes.

he used to be bored of everything. now, he’s just tired. especially of pretending you didn’t matter.

kaiser michael

you were the first person to tell him he didn’t have to perform all the time. that you liked him even when he wasn’t loud, golden, brilliant.

he didn’t believe you. not really. until after you left. now the silence around him feels unbearable, like a stage with no audience.

he flirts more now. louder, emptier. it’s all performance, a desperate echo of who he used to be when you were around to bring him down to earth.

he keeps expecting you to walk in, roll your eyes, say "you’re so dramatic." but you never do.

sometimes, he talks to you when he’s alone. not the real you, the memory version. and she’s always a little kinder than he deserves.

shidou ryusei

he doesn’t cry. he doesn’t talk about it. but suddenly, the fire in him feels more like self-destruction than passion.

on the field, he’s a menace. fouls more. gets carded more. you were the only one who calmed him down, reminded him of softness. now there’s no balance.

people call him reckless. a lunatic. but they don’t know he’s trying to feel something. anything.

he won’t admit it, but your absence tastes like metal in his mouth. bitter. sharp.

sometimes, he punches the wall and pretends it’s not because he remembered your birthday and realized he has nowhere to send the gift.

mikage reo

he’s always had money, always had power. but losing you? it’s the first time he couldn’t buy his way out of pain.

he tells himself you’ll come back. that it’s just a break. that if he levels up, scores more, shines harder, you’ll notice.

goes to the places you loved together, always ordering your favorite drink and leaving it untouched. “just in case.”

he practices apologies in the mirror, over and over. never sends them. because every version feels too small for what he broke.

his smile is still perfect, still charming, but if you look too close, it doesn’t reach his eyes anymore.

nagi seishiro

he doesn't understand why you're gone. he replays the breakup like a confusing side quest with no clear ending.

sleeps way more than usual. not because he’s lazy, but because dreaming of you is easier than being awake without you.

when he plays games now, he keeps losing. rage quits more often. "it's boring," he says. but it’s really because the person who used to sit beside him is missing.

keeps your shirt. cuddles it like a plush. doesn’t say a word when reo comments on it.

still texts you sometimes. “this meme reminded me of you.” “you’d laugh at this.” you never reply. he still sends them.

karasu tabito

he jokes more than ever. laughs louder. flirts harder. but his humor has a sharpness to it now, like he’s constantly daring the world to notice he’s hurting.

people say he's “the same as always,” but they don’t see him standing outside your apartment for 30 minutes just to walk away with a heavier heart.

started journaling again. you told him once that writing helped with healing. he writes like you’ll read it one day.

won’t admit it, but he plays dirtier now. more aggressive, less patient. “love made me soft,” he says. like it’s a curse.

he misses your voice. not just your words. the sound of you saying his name like it meant something.

bachira meguru

he paints you. over and over. sometimes with wings. sometimes with broken glass in your smile. always with love.

still talks to his "monster" about you. "you think she hates me now?" "do you think i scared her off?"

he’s still sunshine to everyone else, but when he's alone, the silence is suffocating.

your absence changed his art. darker colors. messier strokes. people praise his “emotional evolution,” but he just misses being happy.

he goes to the park where you first kissed and sits on the swing for hours. waiting. just in case you remember, too.

ness alexis

he always said you made him feel seen, not just as a shadow to kaiser, but as his own person. now that you’re gone, he forgets how to exist without comparison.

overcorrects. becomes louder, flashier, more dramatic. like if he’s impressive enough, you’ll regret leaving.

still wears the cologne you bought him. even though it makes him nauseous with memories.

he swears he’s over you. but the second someone mentions your name, his hands start to shake.

keeps your photo as his lock screen. “aesthetic,” he says. “nostalgic,” he means.

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arminsumi · 8 months ago

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. . . 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Suguru Geto (18+)

Suguru tying his hands behind his back because his best friend wants you — and he wouldn't get in the way of Satoru's happiness, would he?

► 'I heard that you fell in love... I wanna grab both your shoulders and shake, baby, snap out of it'

+ warnings: MDNI/18+ content, cheating, smoking, sexual tension, angst

"No, not at all. Don't worry about it." Suguru shook his head in denial.

"You sure? I was under the impression that you wanted her." Satoru said.

"Wow, Satoru, you've known me for how long? And yet still you misunderstand me." he smirked, "I only ever said that she's pretty. That's all."

"Oh!" Satoru blinked, "Okay, good."

"She's probably interested in you — you should go for it." Suguru encouraged.

"Yeah, I think I will. I mean, the worst she could do is say no, right?"

Suguru let out an amused hum, keeping his lips pursed.

As Satoru went over to your table, Suguru watched with a tightening jaw, wishing for the worst — but his wishes fell on deaf ears, he soon realized, as he observed a 'yes' forming on your lips.

... Am I a fool?

Suguru's features twitched in discomfort when he watched you and Satoru hitting it off.

It's fine. I don't like her that much, anyways.

. . . 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝,

and Suguru realized that he was, in fact, a fool. Quite possibly the biggest fool in the world.

Whenever you and Satoru flirted, whenever you kissed, whenever you locked up like lovers so shamelessly and openly in front of him, he felt sick to his stomach — terribly sick. He'd suddenly excuse himself to the bathroom, and tremble over the sink; not quite ready to squeeze the contents out of his stomach, but close to retching.

But weren't you a fool, too?

"Why did you ever think that dating his best friend would bring you closer to him? It's just silly." your friend derided.

"Don't ridicule me. My feelings for Satoru aren't a lie — "

" — yeah right."

" — it's just that I expected them to overpower the feelings I had for Suguru. Can you really blame me? Even you said that Suguru has that something about him."

Yes, that something about Suguru Geto. Many people before you have felt that urge to desperately grab him, sink their claws into him, and never let go. He's never been oblivious to it.

Suguru's so blasé about love. He's the kind of man that doesn't show too much interest — and that's half the fun of it all. There's no pressure; just tie your laces and run after his shadow.

. . . 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐧 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠,

and by summer the tension between you and him was growing like a little beast in the pit of your bellies.

Stolen glances. Quiet midnight conversations in the dark hallway. Pathetic flirting quickly covered up as a joke. Lingering hugs. Drunk confessions conveniently 'forgotten' the next day. Walking as if in a daze at your side, side-eyeing you kissing his best friend with an unmissable bitterness shaking his eyelashes.

It was only a matter of time until it all became too much. Who remembers who snapped first? Him or you? Of course you can blame it on drunkenness, but isn't that the reason you got drunk with Satoru's best friend in the first place? So that tomorrow, all the kisses could be excused with "I was drunk, it didn't mean anything".

. . . 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬,

it was more than that; you feeling up his chest and nimbly unbuttoning his white shirt, him pushing you up against the wall, not kissing you like a normal person — tasting and relishing your lips and cheeks and neck like some kind of starved animal, Suguru lured you into his cold, dark bed with full intent to devour you.

"Let me take it off for you." Suguru offered, soft voice shaking with this greedy lust that you can't quite explain.

You complied and let him peel your clothes off your body — and though he did it with haste, he savored every moment.

I'm taking what's supposed to be mine.

That's what he thought, and kept repeating to himself in his head as he unzipped his black skinny jeans and hurried out of them, and slid his boxer briefs down, and got inside you like he didn't care about anyone by any name except yours.

Grunting like he needed this for his whole life, Suguru muttered small dirty things against your neck, hiding his face there.

"... you're so tight, are you sure it doesn't hurt?" turned into "... you're taking it so well" turned into "am I better than him? Tell me I'm better than him, please. what do you mean you 'don't know'? Come on, you can lie to Satoru but don't lie to me... I know I can fuck you better than he can." turned into "Cum for me, baby; let me see how pretty you look when you cum all over a big cock" turned into "... why don't you just stay the night?"

. . . 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚,

because Suguru got a taste of what it's like to wake up with you at his side. It was like a picturesque view; you looking messy and splayed out after a long night sprawled out underneath him.

When he felt his heart pang with the anxiety that he'd never be able to have you to himself, that's when he got out of bed and got dressed, leaving you alone in his bed.

It was a bad idea.

Getting a text from Satoru, shaking your upper arm to wake you, panicking but trying to look composed, seeing his hickeys on your neck — Suguru just went silent with guilt.

What have I done.

He sat on the edge of his bed, the early morning sun just barely streaming in through the gap in the curtains, and he watched you get dressed.

"I need a cigarette." he said anxiously, and got up to go have a smoke on the balcony.

You gave him a weary look and watched him leave. Just as you pulled the last bit of your clothes on your body, he lit up and drew in a deep breath and tainted his lungs with dirty tar and carcinogens.

Walking out onto the balcony, hearing the early morning traffic of Tokyo and seeing the dreary grey of cloudy skies, you stood besides Suguru.

Your attention. That's all he ever wanted. Your attention and a lot of it.

"Sorry." he apologized, lowering his cigarette and putting it out. "I know you don't like it when I smoke."

"You're right; I don't." you said, coming in close and pulling him down for a kiss. "But for some reason, it tastes good on your lips."

He looked down at you with full, black eyes.

"I'm not gonna tell Satoru anything about last night. Are you?"

"No, but I'm thinking of breaking up slowly with him."

"Don't do that. Just forget about me. You love him right?"

You looked away to the skyscrapers and refused to meet Suguru's eyes for a while.

"How am I supposed to forget about you?" you chuckled, "Even if I could, you don't really mean that, do you?"

"... No." Suguru hesitantly replied.

He looked at you shiftily, torn between crying and kissing you or both — a million little and big feelings overwhelmed him. He tried to organize them all, or at least as best he could, and waited for a moment of mental clarity to come over him before speaking again.

"Is it my fault, or have you been thinking of breaking it off with him for a while?"

"It's not your fault, Suguru. It's been a long time coming."

"How long?"

"Since it started. But why are you asking me questions that you know the answer to, Suguru?"

He shrugged, "I just needed clarity."

"Well there's your clarity." you sighed, "I'm gonna take a hot shower."

Suguru looked at you, dying for the moment when your eyes met his gaze, but it didn't come; he stood there unsatisfied and frustrated as you went inside without even paying him a glance, his black eyes on your back.

He rubbed his face, sighed hard, and lit up another cigarette and smoked it while listening to the shower run in the background, just pathetically daydreaming of little fantasies of joining you.

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬: 𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

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ddarker-dreams · 5 months ago

Text

A Deal's a Deal.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, violence against minor characters, descriptions of anxiety, mentions of alcohol. Word count: 5k.

“... Sorry. This one’s no good either.”

Sighing dejectedly, you sink into your seat.

You can’t tell if your companion’s disappointed. He maintains a neutral countenance, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts. Still, you study him, awaiting some visual indication before moving the conversation forward. He must sense your intentions, for he catches your gaze and smiles.

“Should we call it a day? You look tired.”

“The hell? Isn’t it considered taboo to tell a lady she looks tired?” You grumble. “And here I thought you were Casanova incarnate. You’ve got to work on your charisma stats.”

Chrollo shrugs halfheartedly. “What point is there if you’re immune to my many charms?”

“Let’s be real — ‘many’ is overdoing it, a little humility won’t hurt. I commend your budding self-awareness, though. At least we’ve made progress on that front.”

He hums, offering no rebuttal. You realize that you’ve perked back up, reinvigorated by his goading. He certainly knows how to get people going. Among his defining features, that’s one of the first you recognized; his uncanny way of orchestrating favorable outcomes.

Sipping your preferred warm beverage, you canvass your surroundings.

The café’s less crowded than when you came in. There are still a few students typing away on their laptops while consuming a concerning amount of caffeine. In the corner sits an elderly couple, whose order you overheard by virtue of the volume it was placed at — “Give me a regular coffee. Straight black, none of that ‘appaccino, grand venti’ nonsense. Decaf for my wife.”

(You prayed for the barista’s sanity when he tried explaining the different ways ‘straight black’ could come).

“... I am losing my touch, aren’t I?” Chrollo murmurs. You snap your head in his direction, having temporarily forgotten his existence. “You prefer older men?”

You almost choke mid-sip. “Pleh…! That’s it, I’m retiring, good luck sorting your issues out.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“How I wish you were wrong,” you deadpan. Lifting his phone off the table, you scroll through its contents. There’s nothing new to look at. “An exorcist, huh? You’re positive that’s a real thing?”

“They exist. They’re just rare, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I blame the Protestant Reformation.”

The skin beneath his eyes wrinkles. “... Cute.”

His compliment makes you frown.

“Quit it with the flattery, already.”

“Flattery implies a degree of insincerity, no?” He challenges. “You of all people should know when I’m being genuine.”

“You make it sound like I’m a walking polygraph.”

His lips part and close as he considers his response. “That isn’t how I view you.”

This guy’s clever with his word choice, you think. Too clever.

Disliking where this conversation might go, you redirect.

“This ‘Hunter’ site you’ve been using… is there any way for me to access it?”

“Feeling a bit impatient, are we?”

There’s a patronizing lilt to this tone that has you inhaling sharply. Closing your eyes, you ball your hands into fists, willing your agitated mind to relax. Your goal feels so close. This future you never believed possible dangles above your head, only to recede as if you were Tantalus whenever you grasp for it. Needling Chrollo won’t get you any closer, but at least it gives you something to do, mimicking progress.

“The Hunter site has various measures in place to prevent account sharing. You don’t want to end up on their radar,” Chrollo retrieves his phone and tucks it into his coat’s pocket. “While your enthusiasm’s admirable, I suggest you leave this part to me.”

You swallow thickly. “... Right.”

“Are you upset?”

“No, I’m not,” you rest your hands on your lap. “Just, y’know. Reminded that we’re from two different worlds.”

Outside the café’s windows, individuals from all walks of life bustle about. Some are on their phones, others chatting with friends, or holding their partner’s hands. It’s a picturesque display of normalcy. They’re likely thinking about what to have for dinner, when to set their alarm for the following day, if they can squeeze out of plans they halfheartedly agreed to over the weekend; you know this because you aspire to live the same way.

“You’re closer to mine than you think.”

A fervent disagreement blazes then turns to ash on your tongue. There’s an unidentifiable quality to his stare — neither kind nor outright malicious — almost clinical in its effort to elicit a reaction. You stir in your seat. Despite your time together, he’s as much an enigma as he’d been upon your first meeting. Charming and courteous, yet lacking genuine warmth, like a faux candle.

“Do you get some kick out of riling me up?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “Your expressive nature is endearing. I can’t help myself.”

His words resonate with such clarity that you can’t help but wish he’d been a little dishonest.

“I’m not a toy for you to entertain yourself with.”

His smile makes you squirm.

“I know you aren’t.”

“Then what—” you cut yourself off, fearing what might occur if you continue your original line of questioning. “Man, you’re exhausting to deal with. Has anyone ever told you that you have an awful personality?”

“Few get to be around me enough to comment on its quality.”

“I’m counting down the days until I’m no longer a member of that inner circle.”

Before Chrollo can respond, his phone audibly vibrates. Newfound excitement overwhelms you at the sound. He glances at the notification and nods, confirming your speculation. He places it in your eager hands. While you prepare, he steeples his fingers and leans forward, intrigued as always with your work.

You relax your breathing. This entire process is based on intuition, chasing after faint sensations until your desired outcome manifests. A pliable force thrums through you — what Chrollo refers to as ‘aura’ — awakening from its dormant state. Mindful of your public surroundings, you keep your dominant hand beneath the table. Where there was once nothing, a three-dimensional object rests snugly against your palm. Buttons of varying utility jut outward along its perimeter. This small item, shaped like a cassette recorder, stirs antipathy in your heart.

Holding down rewind, the cassette whirrs to life. You prepare to record the latest audio note sent in for analysis.

Instant Replay (One More Time!).

These past few months have seen your ability frequently leveraged. It was your personal conviction to refuse its use, lest paranoia eat away at you. However, freedom from this bondage necessitates further entanglement. You’ve parted with your long-standing morals, primed to pick through the syllables of others for your own purposes.

Right and wrong no longer concern you.

All you care about is surrendering this loathsome ability to the man sitting across the table.

The night air is unforgiving in its chill. It infiltrates your layers of clothing with laughable ease, seeping into your marrow and demanding that you shiver as recompense. Gritting your teeth, you pick up your pace, cursing the parking garage’s elevator for being out of order. You knew parking at your friend’s apartment complex was sparse, but this is a new record.

The heels of your shoes click against the concrete staircase as you rapidly ascend. A pale, yellowish hue illuminates your path, the lights occasionally flickering. The moon must be feeling shy tonight, for it hides behind thick, stationary clouds, refusing the world its silvery guidance.

Upon arriving on the third floor, you hear an ominous crackle in the distance.

The consequences are immediate. Intuition tells you to pause, goosebumps erupting over your flesh from head to toe. Darkness swallows your surroundings whole in inky blots. Blinking rapidly, your eyes struggle to adjust. You feel around for your phone and turn the flashlight on. The sudden loss of power perplexes you, did the building’s breaker trip? From what you can see, the rest of the street is unaffected.

You’re about to resume your journey when you feel something cold press against your temple.

“Don’t move,” a deep voice demands. The roar of a car’s engine echoes nearby, as does the hurried screech of tires. “Not so much as a fucking inch.”

Anxiety sets your every nerve aflame. You go stiff as a corpse, and perhaps you may have been mistaken for one, if not for the thunderous pounding of your heart. The moisture in your mouth dries up. Tortuous seconds drag on, devoid of any further commands. You’re ready to offer up your purse, wallet, or anything else he insists on, but he’s eerily silent.

A pair of approaching headlights blind you.

Is this more than a robbery? You struggle to comprehend the nightmarish events. The man holding you hostage radiates agitation, shifting his weight from foot to foot. In doing so, the barrel drags along your sweat-slicked skin. His apparent sloppiness has you weak in the knees — it’s your life hanging in the balance, why is he acting like the situation is reversed?

Abruptly, the vehicle veers off course, crashing into a line of parked cars. A terrible cacophony follows. Glass shatters, metal debris shrieks whilst scattering, and car alarms angrily sound in disunity. What you’re witnessing doesn’t feel like real life. Your disbelief is mutual, for the man holding you captive spews curses.

You hear a click by your side; the gun’s safety being disengaged.

“Shit!” He maneuvers you in the direction of the crash like you’re a shield. “There’s no way we were followed, no way, we did everything perfect—”

The man never finishes his sentence.

There’s a wet gurgle, then a wheeze, as something warm splatters on you from behind. Bile rises up your throat as the wretched noises continue. He must’ve fallen to the ground, for you no longer sense his lumbering presence, or feel the cold kiss of metal on your skin. Regardless, you refuse to budge. You squeeze your eyes shut and tremble wildly.

“There, there. You’re safe now. ♥” A rich baritone speaks from behind.

His declaration comes out discordant, belying the reassuring contents. You bristle at the new threat that’s presented itself. If what came before was a house cat, then this is an apex predator, the king of the jungle. The air around him feels oppressive, almost noxious. Even without a firearm directed at you, your panic reaches its zenith, soaring to heights untraversed.

“Hm? Still scared? Ah, that’s right,” he muses to himself. “Chrollo said you’re sensitive to dishonesty. This could be troublesome.”

“You… you know Chrollo?”

“So you’re not in a catatonic state — how reassuring.”

Slowly, you turn around, sensing a distinct lack of ill intent. Flashlight in hand, you try to make sense of what you witness. The scene that greets you is gruesome beyond your wildest expectations. The man who you assume held you at gunpoint has collapsed onto the ground, his jugular slit clean. Blood gushes from the wound like a geyser, forming a crimson puddle around his head. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, nearly bulging from the sockets. Liquids ooze from every visible orifice and a foul odor rises alongside them. This pitiful creature could’ve been your end. Instead, he met his, departing this world in abject terror.

Unexpectedly, his muscles twitch. Out of reflex, you jump back and yelp.

“Rest assured, he’s dead as a doornail.”

“Why…” you wet your dry lips, “What… what just…?”

While you stumble over your words, the building’s power makes a triumphant return. The lights flash intermittently, then go steady, allowing you an unobscured vantage point. Before you stands a tall, bizarrely dressed individual, with bright red hair. His beady, yellow eyes have a predatory gleam to them that he doesn’t bother suppressing. He holds a playing card in his claw-like hands, the three of spades.

It’s coated in fresh blood.

Your eyes fall to the fatal wound on your assailant's throat, the gears in your head turning.

You take a step back.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” With a flick of his wrist, the offending card disappears, though its memory burns strong. “I’m Hisoka, Chrollo’s… colleague of sorts. Now, there’s no need to introduce yourself. I’m well acquainted with you. ♥”

Is that supposed to make you feel better?

You couldn’t hide your suspicion if you tried. At the very least, there’s no indication that was a lie. However, his familiarity with you is a double-edged sword. If he’s crafty, he can outmaneuver your ability. Dishonesty isn’t black and white, there are loopholes to avoiding your detection. For instance, one can remain purposefully oblivious, lie by omission, or speak in vague terms. These gray areas pass you by as if you lacked this ‘sixth sense’ to begin with.

He was lying when he said I’m safe now, you recall. But he doesn’t seem interested in harming me…? Something isn’t adding up.

After much deliberation, you ask, “So you just happened to run into me?”

“Nope. I’ve been following you,” he freely admits. Your aghast expression makes him laugh. “What’s the matter? You were baiting me for the truth, were you not? You’re welcome to have it. ♦”

In your heightened state of sensitivity, you sense multiple presences converging nearby. Security guards, if you had to guess. You weigh your options. If you stay here, you’ll undoubtedly be harassed for a story that explains the chaos. Telling the truth would land you in a straight jacket whereas deception guarantees cuffs. Leaving in your car is off the table too, you’d be dubbed an important witness. There’s no way you can claim you drove by the carnage without noticing anything.

“I can help get you out of this debacle,” he offers. “We’re both seeking the same end — the return of Chrollo’s Hatsu. The latest recording I’ve obtained is most promising. So, I’d rather we don’t continue this conversation in prison. ♣”

Hisoka takes a step forward and extends his hand.

The security guards are getting closer, you think. There’s no time left.

And so you make your choice.

You didn’t think places like these existed outside of the movies, or maybe you just don’t get around enough.

You’ve found yourself in what you can only describe as a biker’s bar. The decor is old-fashioned, slightly worn yet authentic. There are pool tables, too many televisions to count, and a functioning jukebox nestled in the corner. Rough-looking men wearing leather jackets make up the main clientele. Fortunately, it’s Hisoka who draws the most attention, his gaudy getup acting as a magnet for the eyes. No one pays you any mind.

For the second time this week, a weirdo treats you to drinks. The main difference is that this is a depressant and not a stimulant.

You take hearty sips to calm your nerves. All that happened feels so surreal, like a collection of grotesque images that would be blurred out in a documentary. This is exactly what you wanted to avoid. You want to be normal, untethered by the oddity that is Nen, the ‘world’ Chrollo inhabits. You decided long ago that nothing good can come from it. Maybe if you were more adventurous, prone to taking high risks for high rewards.

But you’re not.

Endless money, power, and influence don’t sound appealing. Sure, there’s an allure initially, until you consider reality. Lots of money means either lots of taxes or lots of tax evasion. You barely know what a W-2 form is, much less the hoops you’d have to jump through if your income exploded. Power and influence aren’t all they’re cracked up to be either. All that scheming to stay at the top would take away from what makes life truly worth living — reading Wikipedia articles and watching eight-hour-long videos analyzing a video game from two decades ago.

“Holy shit,” you press pause on the cassette recorder. “This Abengane guy’s the real deal.”

“Oh?”

“He’s familiar with getting rid o’ Nen. During his… huh, what’s it called again… oh. Yeah. Audition. Durin’ his audition for Greedy Island—”

“ —Greed Island.”

You wave his correction off.

“—Yeah, yeah, whatever. But, basically, he’s legit. How’d ya even come across this?”

“Magic. ♥”

You make a face. “Is everyone who uses Nen annoying?”

“Some more than others.”

Speak of the devil. Craning your neck, you’re met with piercing gray eyes. Unlike Hisoka, Chrollo isn’t dressed like he’s auditioning for the circus. Instead, he comes across as a guy who’s going to pitch the worst idea for a startup you’ve ever heard. He’s wearing a dark blazer with a gray turtleneck beneath it, along with white pants and black loafers. You’re about to make your joke known when something about Chrollo’s demeanor changes your mind. Intensity pours off him in waves, giving you pause.

“Good news, boss. We found your exorcist.”

The title Hisoka uses to refer to him has you tilting your head. He did refer to himself as Chrollo’s ‘colleague,’ but the word boss implies hierarchy.

“I heard,” Chrollo smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m surprised you’re not rushing back to Greed Island to track him down.”

He slides into the booth beside you while never looking away from Hisoka. The tension brewing in the air perplexes you. Shouldn’t this news be a cause for celebration? You’ve helped Chrollo search for a Nen exorcist for months now. Chrollo’s been searching for a Nen exorcist for months now. You’re uncertain what reaction you expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“All in due time. I’d hate to cut my time with your little assistant short.”

Hisoka makes a point of looking you up and down.

Somehow, Hisoka has made Chrollo seem normal by comparison. Disliking the attention, you reach for your drink, only to notice how light it is. Have you already drunk that much? While inspecting the near-empty glass, you realize the room’s starting to feel warm. The stress of what you endured must’ve impaired your judgment.

What time is it, anyway? Do I have work tomorrow?

Your watch reads 2:05 a.m.

Shit.

“I need— need to get going…”

“Why the rush?” Hisoka questions. “Things were just starting to get interesting. ♥”

You ignore him and stare Chrollo down, waiting for him to move aside so you can leave. Instead of getting up, he leans closer, pursing his lips. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him. Heat creeps over your face, from your cheeks to your ears. There’s no denying that the bastard’s handsome. Your friends love teasing you about him for that very reason. They never believe your insistence on having a ‘strictly platonic’ relationship, some even have bets for when you’ll end up together.

Maybe you would’ve considered it if you didn’t know about his Nen proficiency.

There aren’t any readily available statistics for Nen, but if you had to guess, you’d say most of the population is ignorant of its existence. People who do know about the Hunter’s Association consider it a private enterprise that specializes in exploration and taking on contract jobs. According to Chrollo, this is by design. You can barely go about your day pretending there aren’t superhumans roaming the planet, doing all sorts of crazy nonsense.

Society would plunge into chaos if the knowledge reached them.

You hear what sounds like your name coming from underwater.

Blinking sluggishly, you discover Chrollo’s hand on your shoulder. “Hm? What?”

“I’ve been calling your name,” he speaks languidly, likely for your benefit. “Are you alright?”

“Well…” you trail off, pondering the question. “... Mm, yeah, probably not. I gotta get home, and— god, my car— it’s still back there. I don’t want… I can’t…”

The anxiety you thought you buried resuscitates itself. It’s dull compared to earlier, yet your breathing grows shallow and your hands feel clammy. Your intenses churn like a parasite had been embedded inside. Everything feels far away, as if you’re in a dream, physically present yet mentally adrift.

You could’ve died.

You almost died.

You’d fought desperately to scrub your mind of this knowledge, but the bottle can only do so much.

“Say, Chrollo,” with a nearly imperceptible motion, Hisoka summons a playing card between his middle and pointer fingers. “If I were to slice her pretty neck, what would you do?”

The old-fashioned glass Hisoka had been sipping from cracks.

Pressure invades the air like a thick, heady fog, so tangible in its potency, that the chatter elsewhere dies down. The sudden silence allows for the clinging of billiard balls to reverberate throughout. Patrons glance around, vaguely aware that something is wrong, yet ultimately unable to identify the source. This primal sense of foreboding evaporates as swiftly as it arrives. The lively atmosphere reemerges, until all present seem to have forgotten anything unusual ever occurred.

Hisoka absentmindedly cleans up the glass shards, piling them into the corner while Chrollo drums his fingers along the table. Chrollo’s jaw is set and the skin between his eyes is pinched in contemplation.

Hisoka lets out an exaggerated sigh. “This is turning into a bore. I was confident you’d lose your cool, even if just a bit…”

“Pathetic.”

The unexpected vitriol has them both turning their heads in your direction. Chrollo blinks, while Hisoka tilts his head, staring at you owlishly.

He points to himself. “Me?”

“Yeah, you! You’re like— one of those birds, those showoff birds… dancing with your colorful feathers… ‘nd stuff…” your speech isn’t the most coherent, unaided by the irritation that’s boiling your blood. You leer at him, fed up with everything, especially whatever schemes he’s roped you into. A rough picture is presenting itself, one stroke at a time. To Hisoka, you’re nothing more than glorified bait. You don’t know if he played a role in engineering the evening’s events, but it wouldn’t be a surprise.

At the very least, he admitted to following you. Even if he was a third party, he could’ve disposed of the impending threat. Instead, he waited, exposing you to bloodshed for his own ends. You wish you could come up with a more scathing insult. Unfortunately, your temple is throbbing and clear enunciation grows harder as your body digests the liquor you inhaled.

Hisoka looks at Chrollo. “I’m a bird?”

“She’s calling your bluff,” Chrollo clarifies. “Had you intended to follow up on your threat, she’d know.”

You’re glad Chrollo realized what you were going for. The diatribe sounded better in your head. Nonetheless, he’s communicated the essence of things, lacking as it is in panache. Hisoka hums, eyeing you like you’d make for a fine appetizer before the main course.

“You must have kept that detail from me on purpose. What an intriguing ability. ♥”

Chrollo brushes aside his comment and refocuses his attention on you. “I’ll drive you home.”

“But my car—”

“I’ll handle it,” Chrollo reassures.

He slides out from the booth and stares at you expectantly. You get the sense that trying his patience isn’t a good idea; his encounter with Hisoka must have soured his mood. He helps steady you as you stand, securing his arm behind your back. Neither of you acknowledges Hisoka while making for the door, though you can feel his eyes tracking your every movement.

Upon emerging from the bar, the cool air you deplored earlier feels like a godsend. You hear cars rushing up and down the street, indicating the presence of a highway. Other than that, you don’t recognize the area. It’s a small, decrepit outlet, featuring shops plastered with neon signs and bars over the windows.

Chrollo ushers you in the direction of a black, unmarked McLaren.

“If you’re gonna do all that, at least get a less basic color… like pink…”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

Once you’re in the passenger seat, he fixes the strap of your purse and then buckles you in. It isn’t long until you’re on the road. He stays in the slow lane, mindful to avoid abrupt motions. You recline back and rest your head, hugging your arms close to your body. At the next red light, he sheds his coat, draping it over your person. The cashmere fabric is soft on your skin, embedded with his cologne and warmth. This, paired with the low hum of the engine has your eyelids growing heavy. You try resisting the temptation.

“Thank you.”

“Hm? For what?”

“... Are you serious?” you murmur. “For comin’ to get me.”

“Of course.”

Relief rushes over you as the surrounding area becomes recognizable. Traffic is nonexistent this time of night, it shouldn’t be but a few more minutes until you’re home. Then you can crash out on your bed and deal with the existential weight of reality in the morning. Work can fire you for all you care, you just want to sleep. If you were on your deathbed, you’re ninety percent positive they’d ask you to find shift coverage before you croaked.

Chrollo pulls into your apartment complex, parking as close to the entrance as he can.

You fiddle with your seatbelt, intending to make the rest of the trip by yourself.

He places his large, calloused hand over yours, preventing further progress.

“... Chrollo?”

He doesn’t respond. His thumb rubs slow, steady circles against your skin. You swallow a growing lump in your throat. He hasn’t been himself all night. Or, to be more precise, he’s showing you a side of himself he’s hitherto kept hidden. You always knew there was more to him than he let on. You never wanted to open that Pandora's box, lest your plans be jeopardized. Playing with fire has its risks, yet cauterizing your personal wounds took priority. You don’t know if you have the right to pray the rest of your being doesn’t go up in flames.

“I assume you’re aware of my fondness for you?”

“I— well…” you stumble over your words, then meekly ask, “Is now really a good time for this?”

Chrollo lowers his head and smiles. “No, I suppose not.”

An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air.

“One more question, then I’ll let you go,” he looks up at you through thick lashes, an enigmatic gleam passing over his eyes. “Do I frighten you?”

Your body tenses. He addresses you so softly, so sweetly, had you not witnessed his mouth moving, you would’ve mistaken his voice for belonging to another. Your facilities aren’t functional enough to properly process his query. Perhaps that’s the point — him cornering you at this vulnerable junction. You don’t get why. You don’t think you could even if you were sober.

Chrollo, for his part, seems to acknowledge he won’t get far in your current state.

Or maybe he gleaned his answer.

He lifts your hand to his lips, where he presses a lingering kiss. You can’t bring yourself to be the first to pull away. He lingers a while longer, as if stuck in a trance. When he does part, the skin tingles in his absence.

“I’ll be in touch.”

For the past week, you’ve carried on as if nothing ever happened.

It’s easier this way. There are instances where your performance is threatened, like when you ran across a news article detailing the ‘grisly murder of two men at a parking garage on 9th St,’ yet these lapses can be smoothed over. Ignore, distract, forget. This cycle lends you a credence of normalcy and eases you back into everyday life.

You haven’t seen Chrollo since that night. You suppose he’s preoccupied with his arrangements to meet the Nen exorcist. While you don’t know the specifics, you imagine he’ll have to meet this Abengane in person. In the recording, he addressed two men — named Battera and Tsezguerra — where he proved himself qualified to enter ‘Greed Island.’ Aside from a few anonymous forums, information on this mythical game is sparse. All you know is that the price is exorbitant and that Battera obsessively tracks down every copy available.

Wherever there’s Nen, things inevitably get weird, you think.

You begin tidying up your apartment. First is drying off the dishes, which saw their first use all week for a much-needed home-cooked meal. While doing so, your phone vibrates. You throw the damp rag down in a hurry and check the screen. All you find is a notification about your upcoming menstrual cycle. Sighing, you put your phone down on the counter.

Chrollo had been truthful when he promised to take your Hatsu for assisting in the return of his. A part of you is relieved by his absence; the other is frustrated. You want to get this over with. It’s like when you have an appointment later in the day and spend the time leading up to it in a limbo, not wanting to get involved in anything until the commitment is over. Is it possible he already took it? Curious, you hold your dominant hand out. You haven’t used Instant Replay since the night at the biker’s bar.

Aura surges through you, concentrating at the palm of your hand. Much to your disappointment, the light pink cassette tape appears. Maybe it no longer works? As a test, you rewind the recording of the audio Chrollo provided at the café. Once primed, you press play, listening attentively for certain cues.

“It is my great honor to profess that I, Lilith, can purge you of any ailment, even scourges derived from Nen — for a small donation of…”

The self-proclaimed Mistress of Panaceas sounds increasingly garbled as her lies surface. Clicking your tongue, you deactivate your ability. Everything remains operational. You don’t know what you expected, you’ve overheard the telltale sounds of lying the past few days. It just hasn’t been directed at you, which weakens the effect.

Will you really have to endure this the rest of your life?

Shortly into resuming your task, there’s a knock at your door.

You ignore it, not in the mood to deal with a neighbor asking for something. After thirty or so seconds, there’s another round of knocking. You suppress a groan. Why can’t the world sense that you’re moody and let you brood in peace? Trudging over, you try to put on a pleasant face, unwilling to lash out on others even if you’re in a terrible mood. Erring on the side of caution, you glance out the peephole.

Upon doing so, you almost lose your balance.

…

He must’ve decided he kept you waiting long enough.

#chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #chrollo brainrot #my stuff

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