#cause I’m still wanting to write that fluff piece for him

[random0lover]

Anyone have some really good Gaz fic recs? I really want to get his banter right cause in my mind I have the idea of what his personality is like but I want to try and get the way he talks and goes about things correct, if that makes any sense 🤦🏻‍♀️

[sakkiichi]

COVER ME IN SUNSHINE.

Ways in which your kid calls his dad. Will he get to hear a ‘papa’?

ft. Scaramouche/Wanderer, Albedo, Xiao, Childe, Kaeya, Neuvillette x gn! reader.

cw/genre: pure fluff. Reader is referred to as ‘mama’, you and the character have a child. They’re all girl dads.

a birthday present for my dearest @bunny-rambles 🩵 i’m wishing you the best day today and always, hun ! ilysm, thank you for always being by my side. I hope we can celebrate many many more birthdays together, mwah <3

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳��� note: about this fic… i struggled quite a little with it, and i’m sorry it’s not my best piece… this was a totally new concept to write for me, but i still hope you can enjoy, bunbun, dear ♡

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

Wide indigo orbs meet his furrowed gaze.

Scaramouche is not amused.

Or at least that’s what he wants whoever sees him right now to believe. Namely, you.

Tiny hands cup the Wanderer’s cheeks, big eyes, so similar to his, staring up at him in wonder. The little girl in his arms squeezes his face, a pout forming on her father’s lips. Giggles erupt from her smiling lips, the corners of Scaramouche’s mouth unconsciously tilting upwards.

“You’re amused, huh?” Your husband asks, rocking the baby in his hold. She stares at him, her little arms flailing upward, giggling happily.

“Moochie!” She babbles, trying to stand on the wanderer’s knees, her hands reaching for his hat.

“Hey, hey, now!” Kunikuzushi pouts, securing his hat. “That is not a toy and I’m not Moochie…”

“Moochie!” His daughter repeats, poking his cheek.

He sighs.

“Not Moochie…” Scaramouche’s ears take on a rather rosy tone, especially when your giggles are not exactly inconspicuous, your attempt at keeping hidden just outside the living room, obviously half-assed.

“Pa-pa. Not Moochie.” He repeats, bopping his little one’s nose. “And here, play with this.” He offers, handing his baby a doll curiously identical to himself.

Your eyes soften from your spot when you observe the fond smile on your lover’s face. He might feign annoyance, but when it came to your baby, all the facade was scattered to the winds. Storm clouds and lightning seemed so far away when he was surrounded by the blue skies and birdsong that dawned with your daughter’s hand grabbing his finger.

“Pa..” The little one begins, lifting the doll, as if indicating that it indeed represents her father.

“Pa…” Your wanderer prompts, as he points to the cloth mini version of himself.

Then, the girl’s eyes focus somewhere beyond her dad, tiny hands wiggling and waving, the plush doll still in her grasp.

“Mama!” She exclaims, making to reach for you, trying to climb over the sofa’s backrest, where it not for your partner’s protective hold.

Finally stepping out from your hideout, you walk towards them.

Familiar warm arms wrap around the no longer broken puppet, as your precious baby rests between your two heartbeats. Yours, steady, undeniably human. His, bloomed anew, thanks to you; with a newfound tune, sweeter, gentler, thanks to his little one.

Scaramouche closes his eyes, lashes of now starlit midnights resting on his perfect cheekbones. His head leans on your shoulder, your lips feather-light on his dusky hair, as your hands gently lift his hat a bit.

Your girl grabs one of her father’s fingers once more, the handmade mini wanderer kept close to her chest.

Yes, storms were definitely over for days to come.

✧ ALBEDO

A tug on the leg of his pants and familiar unintelligible noises pull the alchemist out of his task.

Albedo’s features soften when he spots the cause of his distraction.

Putting the notebook he was currently scribbling on aside, he crouches down.

“And who do we have here?” The chalk prince asks, smoothing the golden locks on his baby’s small head.

“Mama?” She replies, her tiny hand pulling on her dad’s clothes.

The gesture is followed by one of Albedo’s gentle chuckles, eyes like northern stars on clear nights bright at the sight of his daughter.

“Mama’s not here now, little princess.” He explains, as he picks the baby up. “They will get home soon, though.” Your child stares at him as if unsatisfied with the answer, head slightly tilted to the side. “How about we have some fun in the meantime?”

Giggles that always reminded Albedo of sunshine days at dragonspine are the answer that follows.

Taking his little one’s two hands in his, the chief alchemist helps his daughter take a few trembling steps, the baby happily padding on the wooden floor.

“There we go, princess!” Your lover chuckles, sitting the girl securely on the beige couch. Teal eyes flecked in emerald follow your partner’s movements, as he rummages through your living room’s drawers.

A few seconds later, more incomprehensible joyful babbles follow, when he sits by your daughter’s side, his hands expertely setting the supplies he retrieved on the low table. She stares at him intently, her gaze drawn to the vibrant crayons cluttering the tabletop’s surface.

“What should we draw today, my princess?” Are Albedo’s words, as he hands his child a light blue pencil, its tip dulled so she can’t hurt herself.

“Snow!” She exclaims, her tiny feet kicking back and forth in excitement, eliciting chuckles from her dad.

“You want to paint snow, my little cecilia?” He asks, combing through her blonde strands. “Alright, how about we paint you, mama and papa building a snowman?”

“Yay!” Your baby reaches for the blank paper, wonder and excitement written all over her rounded features, her tongue sticking out the corner of her small mouth. She always loved to draw and paint, especially when it was with Albedo. And even if her pictures often ended up turning out as just criss-crossing lines or messy splotches, you and your husband always kept every single one of them, displayed as priceless masterpieces on the fridge’s door, the living room walls or your study.

After a few minutes of focused work, three figures start taking form over a background of messily drawn blue snowflakes.

“Look, dearie.” Albedo calls. “Who are these?”

His girl looks up at him, a huge smile on her face as she bites the pencil.

“Mama! Me! And Papa!” She answers proudly, pointing at each of the figures.

Albedo’s eyes widen, gilded sparks reflected in the cloudless skies of his irises at his daughter’s words.

Those last two syllables.

His own pencil falls out of his grasp, clattering to the carpeted floor. In this moment, nothing else exists, save for the jingling echo of his daughter’s angelic tone.

“Papa?” She asks, tugging on his sleeve.

Albedo picks the little girl up, rising her as she laughs, unaware.

“Can you say it again, little princess? ‘Papa’.”

“Papa! Papa!” Giggles leave her throat.

Softly, Albedo places a kiss on her kid’s forehead, hugging her as the both of them lay down on the sofa.

When you got home, silence greets you, broken only by even breaths. Smiling to yourself, you brush a kiss against your husband’s and your daughter’s hair, a new painting adorning the walls after you gently throw a blanket over the sleeping figures of your two treasures.

✧ XIAO

“Do you want to hold her, Xiao? She’s been looking at you for a while.” You chuckle, your gaze softened when it sets upon your yaksha.

Golden eyes, not unlike the child’s currently on your arms, shadow in fear and shame for a moment.

What if he hurts the baby? What if his karma taints her somehow? What if-

“Xiao.” Your hand finds his gloved one, centuries of bloodshed written in the concealed scars. “She’ll be okay.” You reassure, a gentle squeeze, as your fingers slot between his.

The adeptus glances in his daughter’s direction, her round amber eyes curiously observing him.

Your husband’s jaw sets, his lips drawn in a taut line. If someone were to look at him now, they may think he’s sulking, the furrow of his brow apparently an indication to steer clear.

You, however, know better.

“Here, I’m with you, love.” You softly utter, placing your daughter in her father’s arms.

The baby stares up at her dad in awe, her little hands fiddling with the necklace he always wears.

She’s so small… such a pure and precious being… will she be safe with him?

Just as these thoughts plague his mind, the girl curls up in his embrace, nuzzling against his toned torso.

“See? She adores you, Xiao…” You tell him, knuckles brushing against your baby’s soft full cheek. “Isn’t that right, sweetie?” She turns around, a smile drawing on her lips, as she buries herself further into Xiao, whose cheeks have gone as red as the carmine lining his eyes.

“H-hello, little qingxin…” Xiao greets her, awkwardly rubbing her back.

In response, his baby tilts her head slightly backwards, the molten suns in her stare illuminating her father’s rusted gold gaze.

“Papa!” She goes, a little clumsy, it sounding more like ‘dada’.

The vigilant yaksha’s eyes widen, his heart feeling like a million bright lanterns floating towards a starry sky.

“Xiao! She said ‘papa’! See? She loves you!” You excitedly chant, hugging your husband’s waist, as you pepper kisses all over his face. “You are her first word, dear, our baby adores her dad so much. I knew she would!” A smile tugs at your lips, lids fluttering closed as you rest your cheek on Xiao’s shoulder.

His hands hover around his daughter, his hold on her delicate, as if she was a newly bloomed flower whose petals could vanish if the wind blew too strongly.

“Papa…” The girl repeats, her chubby cheek squished against’s Xiao’s form. Her eyes are droopy, a little yawn escaping her as she settles more comfortably in her father’s embrace.

Your adeptus heaves out a sigh of relief, the warmth of a familiar fireplace swarming all around him, as if candid candle flames were running through his veins when the soft snores of his daughter reach his ears.

The conqueror of demons’ mask would be shed for tonight.

✧ CHILDE

Small hands are glued to the window’s glass panes, a pair of bright blue eyes staring awestruck at the image currently taking place in your garden.

Flashes of crystalline cyan flit across the air as Childe wields his double blades, merging them into a spear, his muscles taut at the effort.

The little girl’s tiny hands curl into fists, as she leans forward in anticipation, marine gaze following her father’s movements.

He reminds her of the illustrations she’s seen in the picture books Teucer has shown her before.

She must get closer.

Looking over her shoulder, your daughter makes sure you’re busy with something in the kitchen.

Her plan can be put into action now.

Crawling towards the door on all fours, she realizes she’s nowhere near tall enough to reach the handle.

Oh, but she takes after you, and will not be deterred by something like this.

Silently, the baby makes her way towards the dog you took in. He’s big and fluffy and very peaceful, often keeping company to the little girl. With a gentle pat to his side, she looks up at him with those big blue eyes and, despite his instinct to keep her safe, the puppy obliges to her demand.

Folding his paws, the animal lowers himself to the ground, allowing your daugher to climb. A vivid spark flashes through her ocean eyes, tiny hands securing on her companion’s fur.

And just as she was about to reach the door opening to the garden, a familiar voice that’s lulled her to sleep many a night stops her in her tracks.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, little lady.” You stand a couple feet away from her, hands on your hips, your concern masked with masterfully feigned anger.

Your baby stares up at you, that oceanic gaze puppy-like, much like her father did when you were mad at him.

“Mama…” She mumbles, her little hands signaling to where Childe is training outside, sounds you can’t understand leaving her pouty lips.

You sigh, kneeling to pick her up, rubbing your dog’s chin gently.

“So you want to see papa training, don’t you, little troublemaker?” You prompt, smiling as you tickle her belly. She giggles, wiggling her legs in your hold. “Alright, just this once, and because he’s almost finished with his routine.” You warn, softly pinching her cheek.

Once outside, you both stare at the harbinger, you, with heating cheeks; your daughter, in admiration and wonder.

Then:

“Papa!” She calls, energetically waving to her father, as you have to struggle so she doesn’t fall out of your grasp.

Suddenly, Ajax’s hydro blades vanish, a rare glow present in the eyes that are so like his daughter’s. A wide grin spreads across his sun-kissed features, arms opening as he runs towards you and his baby.

“Papa! Papa!” His daughter repeats, as your husband hugs the both of you.

No matter how cold Snezhnaya’s blizzards blew, Ajax would always have his personal patch of sunshine in you two.

✧ KAEYA

Calla lilies surround the scene, their russet-hued petals aglow in the blue shimmer of the statue of the seven standing amidst the lake.

Dusk approaches, the sky still dyed in shades of tangerine and cherry blossom, the sun, a glimmering halo right above the horizon.

Over frondous grass spotted in sun and shadow, a blanket lies, its baby blue pattern fading into the multiple colors of the snacks scattered above it: portions of cake you baked the afternoon prior; sandwitches carefully cut in triangle shapes; handpicked apples and sunsettias, cut and placed into plates by your lover.

But perhaps the most vivid color of them all was that of the couple sitting atop it.

A couple and their daughter.

“You really liked this pie, didn’t you, little lily?” Kaeya coos at his baby, her chubby cheeks littered with crumbs of the soft cake she’s been devouring all afternoon. Two pairs of ice blue eyes meet each other beneath the setting sun, the girl’s giggles eliciting a chuckle from her father’s lips as he carefully wipes her face. “Mama will be mad if you stain your dress, little princess.” The cavalry captain points out, in mock scolding.

His reprimand is met with a bashful smile and his kid cuddling into him, her tiny hands clutching his clothes.

“Kaeya, don’t tease her!” You swat at his arm playfully, soft laughter leaving the both of you as your husband smooths over your girl’s hair, placing a soft kiss on her head.

“Don’t pay any mind to papa, now.” You reassure her, tenderly brushing over her chubby hands. “He’s a little silly sometimes.”

The girl looks up at you, those iceberg toned eyes wide in wonder at the world that she still has to discover around her.

You ruffle her hair, as she turns around in Kaeya’s embrace, settling on top of his legs, staring up at him.

“Papa!” She announces, taking ahold of Kaeya’s long braid, playing with it. “Papa… prince!” She points out, as she grabs one of the dolls she brought: a boy wearing a crown.

With a knowing grin, you shift closer to your lover, leaning against his side.

“Yes, little sweetheart, you’re right, papa is a prince.” Kaeya’s hand locks with yours over his shoulder, fingers laced together, the warmth of his touch so paradoxical, given the freeze he commands.

“And that is why you’re our little princess.” The knight tells your baby, as he places a stray calla lily on her hair.

“Princess!” She happily babbles, rising her arms.

Instances like this… they truly stoked gentle flames around the captain’s heart, oftentimes concealed behind apparently crystalline walls of frost. As long as he had the two of you, at least during brief moments like this, there would be no need for practiced facades.

Across the distant horizon, even dusk seemed to delay, allowing a few more seconds of luminous skies for the family sitting below it, a flickering smile crossing the anemo archon’s face of stone.

✧ NEUVILLETTE

Slate skies expand above him, his opal eyes restless oceans in the tears they contain, painted lashes dripping in midnight droplets.

Rainbow roses seem to weep too, their petals downcast, the sunrise shades of their blossoms muted in the downpour.

Neuvillette stands alone, the garden of your shared home melancholy; the trees too bare, the grass ashen, the flowers wilting.

Save for the pitter-patter of rusted silver droplets, silence reigns the scene.

The hydro dragon’s mood had a tendency to be mirrored in the heavens over Fontaine, after all.

Sighing, the Chief Justice takes a sit by a bush of lumidouce bells. Fitting, for someone whose shoulders slump not unlike the petals of the periwinkle hued blooms.

“Neuvi, love.” A familiar voice calls him, gently. “What are you doing out there in this weather, dear?”

Long argent locks of hair shift, like seafoam by moonlight, when he turns around, water, from the rain, or his tears, or both, running down his cheeks.

“Someone has come to see you, my love.” You softly utter, beckoning your husband towards the porch, the impending cacophony of his racing mind and falling downpour partially silencing.

Neuvillette’s features warm up a bit the moment he realizes who you’re talking about.

A little girl placidly rests between your arms, eyes of crystalline dusk looking up at her father. Unlike his, hers are rounded, lacking the dark circles frequently etched under your lover’s.

“Look who’s here, little rainbow.” You coo at your daughter, who tries chasing after your wiggling fingers, right as you playfully poke her belly. “Papa is here, do you perhaps want to play with him?”

The baby looks at you, one of her tiny fists on her mouth, as her eyes crinkle up in crescents. Then, she turns towards her dad, arms reaching out.

“Papa! Papa!” She laughs, inclining her flexible small torso towards him.

Neuvillette’s gaze widens, placing his hands around his little girl, protectively cradling her in his embrace.

“Papa is here, sunshine.” Your lover assures her, as he leans down to kiss her nose.

In the distance, a familiar arch shoots across the heavens, the violet of goodbyes and separations shifting into rosy affection.

Golden replaces dull steel, flecks of it dotting the grass, remnants of rain clinging like emeralds to the verdant stems.

The sun is out. The hydro dragon cries no more.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Hello love!! How are you doing? 💕

I LOVE your works so much!! You are so amazing and talented!! I wanted to thank you for writing the 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 cursed technique Nanami fic, and especially not judging me for it 🫶🏽. I don’t know you but you seem like such a nice and cool person, with that being said… I was thinking about a fic I saw where Saturo Gojo got his wisdom teeth removed and he falls in love with you over again and I thought that would ADORABLE but with Kento 😭 (also I can’t remember who wrote the fic to give credit sorry) So like yeah Nanami would get his wisdom teeth removed and you’d take care of him and he would be such a charming man (he already is) but like just the most fluff thing he’d be like “you’re a very beautiful nurse” “I’m not a nurse but thank you” you feel me? Anyways that was it lol

Much love and take care!! 💗💗

(I don’t know what anon is 😅 is it like your followers cause I see request and people ask if they can be added as anon and I’m like so confused)

You’re my…. my wife?

Tags: Nanami x fem!Reader, established relationship, crack, fluff, suggestive at the end.

An: Hey Anon! Tysm for requesting again. I’m glad you liked the freaky energy fic!! Also, ofc I’ll never judge you for any fic idea (as long as it’s not like straight up deplorable with nasty kinks).

I hope it’s okay, but I changed this fic idea a little because I fear it was a bit too close to the original creator’s idea, and I don’t want to encroach on their idea. However, I hope the vibes are still there that you wanted!!

Your normally strong, doting, intelligent husband has been reduced to a confused mess. Lying in the bed in the sterile infirmary, Shoko carefully monitors his vitals while Satoru recites exactly how it all happened for the nth time.

Your loving, sweet, charming husband was hit with a very specific cursed technique while he was out on a mission with Gojo. Luckily, he was physically unharmed and mostly mentally unharmed as well… except the cursed technique is one that messes with the memory.

The curse didn’t just want to kill Nanami; it wanted to break him. The curse robbed Nanami of his memory of his most precious moments: the one’s that included you.

His hazel eyes scanned the room, wondering why everyone was making such a big fuss over him. He was fine - really.

You sat beside his hospital bed, wanting to hold his hand, but you didn’t want to overwhelm him. Shoko said that his mind may be a bit fragile after having such a crucial part of his memory tampered with.

When his hazel eyes met yours, Nanami stared at you for a moment before shifting in his bed slightly. He looked to be uncomfortable with your sheer presence, which only broke your heart more.

“Were you hit with the cursed technique too?” He finally speaks, looking over at you with a bit of a confused look. He was really trying to piece together why you were here with him.

“Oh, um… no..” You quietly respond with a forced smile. Your heart longed for your husband, and he was right here but he wasn’t your husband.

“Forgive me… Are you Shoko’s apprentice..?” He tries once again to remember. He’s seen your face before. Maybe in a different lifetime.

Satoru and Shoko are silent as they both witness what’s going on between you and Nanami. Holding their breaths, they’re hopeful that he’ll regain his memory at some point. The curse couldn’t just extract memories. As Shoko explained it, the curse probably just kept the memories hidden from Nanami. Your husband will probably slowly start to remember you over time.

“No… I’m not Shoko’s apprentice.” You politely answer again. As bittersweet as this is, it’s certainly a cute scene to see Kento trying to make conversation with you.

“Hm.” He hums to himself quietly before he gazes at you again. His hand combs through his hair, trying to fix it up from lying in the hospital bed, and Satoru quietly snickers.

“Trying to look good for her, Nanamin?” He teases lightheartedly, earning a death glare from your husband. You softly giggle too, realizing what’s going on. Your poor husband isn’t uncomfortable with your presence. He’s nervous.

“Don’t be crude, Satoru. There’s a lady in the room.” He huffs, shaking his head at Satoru’s audacity.

“Aww, thank you, Nanami.” Shoko grins, subtly playing along with Satoru’s tactic.

“I wasn’t talking about you.” Nanami responds flatly before his eyes shift to you in another “secretive” glance, except everyone notices how he keeps looking at you. Your husband can’t keep his eyes off of you.

“I.. apologize for being a bit forward, but do you think we could…” His eyes flicker down to the wedding band that’s proudly sat upon your finger. His face subtly drops to a disappointed look. “Ah, I see. forget what I was saying.”

Shoko and Satoru are nearly losing it. The irony that Nanami is disappointed that he can’t ask you out because you’re married to him is hilarious. You give them a look, and they both quickly excuse themselves from the room, so they can go laugh together.

Once the two are finally out of the room, you smile softly before placing your hand over your husband’s, using your thumb to gently stroke the back of his hand. He looks at you with an unsure look, but he doesn’t remove his hand. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows harshly.

“If you were my wife, I wouldn’t like you touching another man like that…” He mutters quietly, causing you to softly giggle.

“Well, it’s a good thing I am your wife.” You finally reveal to him, unable to keep the secret any longer.

Nanami’s eyes widen, and he looks at you with sparkling eyes but also utter confusion written all over his face. His heart is racing in his chest. The heart monitor starts to beep at a more pressured pace. The pretty woman that has been sitting next to him is his wife…?

“You’re my… my wife?” He asks quietly.

“Mhm.” You hum in agreement before lacing your fingers with his. Your wedding band rubs against his. Both of the gems were cut from the same diamond. His eyes then focus on the joining of your hands, and he notices it too. “We’ve been married for a few years now.” You explain in a calm tone, trying to ease him into the idea of it all.

“I… I’m sorry… I don’t-“ Nanami is rarely off kilter like this, but he’s just trying to wrap his head around it all. You’re his wife… You’re his wife. “I’m sorry- I just can’t seem to remember…”

“It’s okay, Ken. Take your time.” You encourage as you rub on his hand gently.

His eyes fall to his lap, and a small smile curls on his lips. He may not completely comprehend what’s going on, but he knows in his very soul that he’s the luckiest man alive because you’re his wife.

Watching Ken fall in love with you all over again and rediscover all his daily pleasures was a treat. He slowly regained his memory over time: prompted by his senses randomly picking up on familiar sighs, smells, or even tastes.

Ken didn’t only fall in love with you all over again. He fell in love with the life he cultivated with you again. He found himself laughing a bit harder. He squeezed you a bit tighter. He lounged in bed for an extra ten minutes in the morning time to bask in your presence.

Oh, and that’s not to mention the literal tears he cried the first time he felt your cherished cunt after the incident. The way you squeezed around him so intensely… the way it’s so fucking wet — greedily sucking him in… Goddamn, he’s so lucky to have you.

[headkiss]

steady hand

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader

summary: hotch catches you at the worst times, but you’re not mad about it. or: 4 times you need hotch’s help +1 time he needs yours.

word count: 6.1k

warnings: probably very inaccurate descriptions of r’s job (it’s for the plot, okay??), shy!reader, a very small injury description, yearning (?), first kiss, fluff !!!

a/n: hiiiii this is my very first hotch fic (gasp) so i hope i did okay!!! i’m excited to be writing for him and i have enjoyed it so far and i hope you will too!!! please please let me know what you think and if you’d want to see more of him from me <33

༄

People are usually impressed when you tell them you work at the BAU.

Which, you won’t lie, is something to be proud of, but their first thought is always that you’re doing something big and solving cases. They ask you if you were there when this case was solved or when that killer was caught.

Then there’s the nodding and dissipation of their excitement when you explain that you work a desk job there. Organize files, write reports, that sort of thing. That is a lot less impressive to most.

You’re no Agent Morgan, or Dr. Reid. Certainly no Agent Hotchner or Prentiss. Instead of being on the field, you spend your time fighting with a printer.

Getting the papers you needed should have been simple, a quick in and out that would have you back hiding behind your desk in minutes. Of course, the universe or something must be against you, because instead, you’ve spent at least twenty minutes trying to figure out what’s wrong.

It isn’t jammed (you’ve checked about five times to be sure) and you’re not educated in printers enough to know how to fix whatever’s going on. You’re just lucky nobody else has needed it yet.

“Come on,” you mutter, trying to pull it away from the wall to get a better look.

You’re sure there’s stress sweat building on your forehead. The last thing you want to do is ask someone for help, to make yourself too visible in this place full of important, intimidating people. You’d rather struggle on your own for now.

You make sure that the thing is plugged in (it is) and then check if it’s jammed. Again.

“Piece of shit,” you’re mumbling at the thing, leaning over it looking for anything out of place.

That’s when you hear someone clear their throat behind you. The sound has you jumping, your knuckles smacking against the wall where your hand had been wedged between it and the printer. You turn around to find Agent Hotchner.

He’d been walking by the printer room when he heard the grumbled curse words. Peeking inside, he’d been pleasantly surprised to find you fussing over the printer. He bit back a chuckle before making his presence known.

You tug your skirt down where it’d ridden up, fiddling with the hem as you try to push down your embarrassment. Of course he’d be the one to see you, in his crisp suit and all. He’s leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, his arms crossed loosely. You swallow and try not to look at his biceps.

“Sorry, sir. The printer doesn’t seem to be, um, printing.”

“I’m assuming that’s why you were fighting with it.”

You fight a wince, “you heard that?”

“Heard what?” He asks, though by the twitch of his lips, you know that he’s well aware of what you’re talking about. He then gestures at the cause of your issues behind you, “it’s not jammed, is it?”

“I don’t think so. It wasn’t when I checked, at least.”

You’re trying not to act as nervous as you are. You don’t think you’ve ever really spoken to Agent Hotchner, save for small ‘hello’s and that one time you apologized for bumping into him. He’s handsome—you’ve always thought so—and, more importantly, he’s basically your boss.

“Let me take a look,” he says, walking over. You step aside, staying out of the way.

“It’s alright,” you start as he looks over it, “I’m sure you have much more important things to do than fix a printer, sir.”

Hotch’s eyes flick over to where you stand, a hand still fiddling with the hem of your skirt, your hair a little messy, your eyes a little wide and worried. You look pretty, he thinks. And sure, he does have things he should be doing instead of trying to fix this printer, but he doesn’t really care.

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells you.

He looks back to the printer, and he seems pretty convinced about trying to help, so you drop it.

While he’s distracted, you take the opportunity to look at his profile. The slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the way his brows are pinched a little in focus. It’s unfair, you think, for him to be smart and brave, and be so good-looking on top of it all.

Like he’d heard your thoughts, felt your gaze, he looks over at you again. You turn your eyes toward the floor quickly.

It’s a couple of minutes before anyone speaks. You, staring at the carpet until your vision goes a little fuzzy. Hotch, pushing buttons and flicking switches trying to figure out whatever was going on with the damn printer.

Then, the sound of the ink swiping over the pages, the papers spitting from the printer. You look over at it, mouth slightly parted. What can’t he do?

The sound of your name has your eyes snapping up to his. It’s yet another surprise, him knowing your name. You’re not that important, in the grand scheme of things at the BAU, in the world, really. Someone meant to stay hidden in the background. And still, he knows your name.

“It should be fine now,” he says, grabbing your papers from the cartridge and handing them to you as he stands up straight. “Let me know if it gives you trouble again.”

You grab the pages from him slowly, still shocked at the whole exchange. Your fingers brush against his as you do. “I- Thank you, sir.”

He nods, moving towards the hall. He pauses in the doorway, turning back towards you. “Hotch is fine.”

“Sorry?”

“You keep calling me ‘sir.’ You don’t have to. Just Hotch is fine.”

“Right. Sorry, sir- I mean, Hotch,” you test it out. “Thank you again.”

Yes, Hotch thinks, he likes you saying his name a whole lot more. He sends you a kind smile, “no problem.”

Hotch walks away, probably towards his office where he has very important things to do. Stuff that was surely delayed because he paused to help you. You stare at the doorway for a minute, until you give yourself a papercut and look down at it.

Aaron Hotchner knows who you are.

-

You’re two shitty coffees deep so far, your report open on your desk, the typing bar blinking on the screen of your computer.

There’s pages to go, though you’re not sure how many. You’ve been doing the sort of mindless, robot typing you do when you’re tired. When you’re preoccupied with trying not to glance in the direction of Hotch’s office.

The team got back sometime last night, long after you’d already gone home. From somewhere in Indiana, you think. You’re not sure how they do it, flying about and still coming into the office. You’re tired and you can’t even remember the last time you’ve been on a plane. Add the crime fighting and you’d be a goner.

Blinking yourself from your thoughts, you look back at the blank pages spread out in front of you. It’s not unusual for you to be missing pieces that you need to complete things, it’s just inconvenient. You always end up having to ask someone for the files you need, and then you feel like a burden.

It’s stupid, but in a place full of important people, it’s easy to feel like you’re just in the way.

Anyway, it’s your job, so you push away from your desk and stand, tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your hands.

Your first thought is to go to Reid. As far as friendship goes, you’d consider yourself closest to that definition with him. He’s also the least intimidating of the bunch, probably because you see the most of yourself in him.

You find him in the kitchen with Agent Jareau, both holding their own mugs, probably filled with the same coffee as the one that sits on your desk. You knock gently on the door even though it’s open.

“Hi, sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if either of you have the files from that case you worked a couple weeks back. The one in Ohio,” you shuffle on your feet under their gaze. “I need them for this report.”

“Hey,” Reid speaks first, smiling kindly, “I don’t remember keeping them, but I can double check in my desk if you would like.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to do that, I’m sure I’ll find them somewhere.”

You’re about to head out the door when Agent Jareau stops you, “wait, I’m pretty sure Hotch has them. I can go ask him for you.”

It’s silly to feel nervous talking to them, especially when nobody’s ever been anything but nice to you. A little bit of the twist in your gut comes undone.

“No, no. I’ll go ask him if he isn’t busy, thank you though.”

“You should be fine, the door’s open,” she tells you.

You nod, sending the both of them a smile you hope doesn’t look awkward. “Thanks again.”

Their voices picking up their conversation follow you out the door. You cross the space, saying small ‘hello’s to Agent Morgan and Agent Prentiss when they greet you. You try to ignore the prickle of eyes on you as you climb the steps and head to Hotch’s office.

His jacket is draped across the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up on his forearms. It’s probably the most disheveled you’ve ever seen him, and he’s only missing a single layer. You look away from his arms when he says your name.

Hotch had his head bent, looking over a case when he’d heard footsteps, and he’d been glad to find you standing in his doorway. You work in the same place, yet he barely sees you. That’s probably why something lightens in his chest every time he does. The rarity, that’s all.

“Is this a bad time?” You ask.

“Not at all,” he leans back in his chair, “what can I do for you?”

“I’m really sorry to bother you, sir-”

“Hotch,” he reminds gently. His voice is easy, a hum that you think would sound good no matter what he was saying.

“Right, sorry. Hotch. I was just looking for some files that I need from a case you guys had for this report.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

Then, he smiles in that way that Aaron Hotchner so often does. A small twitch of his lips, a lift in the corners. One that you probably wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t paying so much attention. One that feels sort of like a gift.

You shake your head at yourself and elaborate, “the Ohio case. Three weeks ago, I think. I asked Agent Jareau, but she said you had them, so…”

Hotch wants to reassure you, but he’s not sure how to do it without standing up and letting himself grab your hand and squeeze it the way he’d like. And he can’t do that, not when you’re already nervous. Not when he’s not sure he could hold back after one touch.

“It’s no problem,” he opens one of his drawers, flips through folders until he finds what you’re looking for.

He stands up and walks around his desk until he’s in front of you, and he lets his gaze flick over your face while he has the chance. Your eyes find his easily, and you hope he can’t hear the catch in your breath.

Aaron isn’t usually so quiet with his affections, but that’s because he’s never found himself feeling this way at work. He wishes your desk was on his way to his office, just so he’d have an excuse to stop and talk to you. He makes sure never to use your favorite mug from the cupboard, just so you’ll be more likely to have it.

Hotch clears his throat, “here they are.”

He holds up the folder between you, his hand holding it loosely, the other hanging by his side. His fingers twitch.

You’re embarrassingly distracted by his exposed forearms, eyes trailing from his hand to the skin of his arm, to the way his shirt is tight where the sleeves are rolled. Then, it’s the color of his tie today, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows.

His hand reaching for yours is enough to erase everything else. He lifts it and places the folder in your hold for you. Your skin burns even when he pulls away.

“You alright?” He asks. Probably because you’d been staring at him like a weirdo.

Get it together.

“Yeah. Yes, sorry. Just sort of spacey today, I guess.”

When you look back to his face, there’s nothing but a sort of softness in his eyes you can’t identify. He smiles at you, and for the second time, you feel like you’ve won something.

“Is that what you needed?” He asks.

You open the folder and peek inside. You find exactly what you’d been looking for, not that you’re surprised. Hotch knew what you’d meant and you didn’t doubt that.

“It is. Thank you, Hotch,” you grin lightly when you get that part right. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“You’re not in my way.”

Hotch says the words like he’d known you needed to hear them, like he’d known what runs through your mind so often, like he can read you. He probably can, you think. He is a profiler after all.

Still, the words make your heart do a stupid little jump.

“I’ll bring them back when I’m done,” you say.

“No rush. They’ll just be going back in the drawer anyway.”

“Well, thank you again.”

“It’s no problem, really.”

Hotch watches you walk back to your desk with your head down. Looking at the folder in your hand, he thinks, at least it’s an excuse for you to come see him again.

-

Hotch isn’t in his office when you return the files.

Since you can’t thank him in person—assuming he’s off with the team somewhere saving lives—you leave a sticky note on top of the folder. You drop it on his desk and leave before you second-guess yourself and rip the note off.

You can’t help but think that the office feels sort of empty without the team there. Without Hotch there. It’s how it is most days, so you’re not sure why the absence feels so present now. You shake it off.

The day passes by, then your drive home, and the rest of your night, too. Through it all, you can’t stop wondering what Hotch is doing, wherever he is. Hoping he’s safe.

You’re certainly not expecting to see him the next day, back so soon, but you can’t say you’re upset about it. It’s a brief glance, him walking into his office, the rest of the team and their chatter following, but it’s enough to make your work seem less tiring for some reason.

It was a quick case, and Aaron was glad to at least get a couple of hours of sleep in before coming into the office. When he sits at his desk, the first thing he notices is the folder you’ve left there. The small note in your handwriting.

‘Thank you :)’

He peels the note away and folds it up. Without thinking, it ends up tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket. It’s a simple piece of paper, but it’s heavy where it sits. He rubs a hand over the pocket where the note is and gets to work.

It’s not until a couple of hours later that Hotch ends up leaving his office. Conveniently, in the direction of your desk.

You’ve been burying yourself in your work, your leg bouncing nonstop, your nose inches away from the pages on your desk, your chair pushed in as close as it’ll go. You have to, because if you take a break, if you look away, your eyes will search for Hotch, and you don’t really want to think about what that means right now.

About the ache in your chest when he’s gone, the urge to go ask him a stupid question just to talk to him. It’s awful.

The pen you’re using suddenly runs out of ink, and it makes you pause long enough to feel a cramp in your hand. You sit up and huff, pulling your drawer open and digging around for another pen. Your name in Hotch’s voice has you shutting the drawer and spinning quickly.

It’s just your luck that your shirt gets caught, that the sound of the rip is too loud to play off or ignore.

“Oh gosh,” you whisper, looking down at the damage.

It’s a cheap shirt, you shouldn’t be surprised, but it’s worse than you’d expected. This is what you get for sitting so damn close. The side seam is split, and if you move too much, your bra would probably be visible.

“This is so embarrassing,” you say, holding the rip shut with one hand and holding the other on your forehead. Of course this would happen to you in front of him.

Aaron’s eyes hover where your skin had been exposed, even now that you hold your shirt shut, wondering if it’d feel as soft as it looks. He can’t even remember what he came over to do or say.

He swallows and looks at your face, “do you have another?”

You shake your head, still hiding behind your hand, “no. I really, really wish I did, though.”

“I have an extra one in my go bag. If you’d like?” He hears himself say the words, and he doesn’t regret them, necessarily, but it’s clear to him that you mess with his brain. He doesn’t think straight where you’re involved.

You peek up at him, dropping your hand to your side. “Are you sure? I could probably just use some paper clips, or something.”

“Nonsense. I’ll go get it, okay? I’ll bring it to the bathroom so you can change.”

“You don’t have to-”

Your name leaves his mouth again, gentle but firm. “I’ll grab it.”

“Okay.”

You speed-walk over to the washroom and walk in, closing the door only to block out the rest of the office, who surely noticed what just happened. You’re probably never gonna live this down.

Your overthinking doesn’t get very far, because after only a minute, Hotch is knocking on the door.

“It’s just me,” he says. ‘Just,’ like that word could ever be used to describe him. “You can just open the door a crack and I’ll pass the shirt through.”

You do as he says, tugging the door open until you can see a white dress shirt (of course) in his hand. You reach out and he hands it to you easily.

“Thank you, Hotch. I’ll wash it and give it back, I promise. Sorry for this.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You can’t see his face, but you can hear the sincerity in his voice. “I mean it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, closing the door.

His shirt is wrinkled from being packed in his bag, and the sleeves are long when you put it on, but it smells like him and isn’t ripped so you really can’t complain. You roll the sleeves and tuck the bottom into your pants, looking in the mirror to make sure you look at least a little bit put together.

Holy shit, you think. I’m wearing Aaron Hotchner’s shirt. What world have you been living in recently? To be interacting with him more often, to be feeling this sick skip in your heartbeat whenever you do.

You toss your ripped shirt in the garbage, look up, and huff out a breath before leaving the bathroom. You’re surprised to see Hotch still standing there.

“Oh,” you nearly bump into his chest when you walk out the door, but the warmth of his hand on your shoulder steadies you. “I didn’t know you were still there, sorry.”

“You don’t need to say sorry so much, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You’re dreaming, surely. You pinch yourself on the inside of your arm, just in case. You don’t wake up.

“I- um,” you’re fumbling for words because he’s standing there, looking at you softly, calling you ‘sweetheart’ in that voice of his.

Aaron doesn’t know where that came from, but he’s said it and it’s happened. With the way he thinks about you, how often he does, he can’t really be surprised. Besides, seeing you get flustered because of him is absolutely worth it.

“I wanted to thank you for getting those files back to me so quickly.”

Your eyes flick over to his arm, and it’s then he realizes that his hand is still on your shoulder. He pulls it away and stuffs it in his pocket. He’s probably imagining it, but he swears his palm is tingling.

You wipe your hands over your thighs, “right. It was no problem, really. I was mostly done with my report, so… Thanks for giving them to me.”

“I’m glad to be able to help,” he says. Then he walks back to his office.

You’re standing in front of the bathroom for what’s surely an odd amount of time. Even back at your desk, you can’t shake the haze you feel, a pink tint to your vision, a flutter in your gut.

You spend the rest of your day with your nose buried in the collar of Hotch’s shirt, avoiding the gazes of your coworkers around you.

Aaron spends the rest of the day thinking about how you looked in his shirt. About how you’d look in it and nothing else. He drags a hand over his face when that pops into his head.

“You good, boss?” Morgan asks from the doorway.

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t miss the knowing smirk on Morgan’s face.

-

It’s very rare that Aaron leaves work at a reasonable time. So rare that he can’t remember the last time he wasn’t the last person there.

He’s used to the late nights, the empty spaces, deserted desks. Even so, it’s nice to finish up earlier than he’d expected. He looks forward to the extra sleep he’ll get, the longer time frame to decompress.

Leaving work early already felt like a small victory for the day, and he feels like he’s won something bigger when he sees you in your car, still in the parking lot.

You’d left maybe twenty minutes before Hotch, though you’d assumed he’d be leaving hours after you like he usually does. Everything was fine, normal as you bid your goodbyes to your desk neighbors, as you rode the elevator down.

The sun has started setting, and the air gets cooler as it sinks. You fish your car keys from your bag and unlock it, getting in quickly and tossing your bag onto the passenger seat.

You like your job, sometimes you love it, even, but you look forward to going home either way. You think about the warm shower you’ll take, the shitty dinner you’ll end up eating. Your lonely plans are ruined as you twist your car key in the ignition, it sputters and doesn’t start.

“No, no. Come on,” your head falls back, you huff and take the key out.

You try again, and still, no luck. And again, and once more until you’re fed up with it and drop the keys in your lap. Your head is dropped against the steering wheel, allowing yourself a moment of dramatics from your defeat.

A knock on your window startles you upright. Your heart races for reasons other than fear when you look at who it is.

Hotch stands outside, leaning towards your window with a scrunch in his brows. When he catches your eye, he steps back from your door and gives you room to open it and step out.

You shut your car door behind you and lean your back against it, “hi.”

“Hi. Sorry to scare you, but I wanted to check that you were alright?”

“It’s okay,” your arms are folded behind your back, your hands twisting. “Um, it’s nothing, just some car troubles.”

“That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“I guess not. It won’t start for some reason. I don’t know.” If he wasn’t standing right there, you’d probably smack yourself for how unsure you sound. “You keep catching me at the worst times, Hotch.”

He disagrees. Aaron can’t think of a time where seeing you could ever be a bad thing.

“You’re fine,” he says, his voice suddenly softer, “trust me.”

Despite the bite of the wind outside, the way he speaks warms you. He’s so honest in the way he speaks, in the sense that he sounds sure, even if it isn’t necessarily vulnerable. You don’t know how he does it.

A small smile spreads on your face before you can stop it, “okay, good. And thank you for checking on me. I’ll just call a cab and figure this out tomorrow.”

There’s no way he can let you take a cab. It’s obvious that with what he does, the things he sees, he’d rather know for sure you’d be safe getting home. But then, there’s the sort of floating feeling he has when he’s around you, one he’d like to feel for a little longer if he could.

“Let me drive you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, really. I’ll be fine.”

He ducks his head a little, catches your eye and holds you with that soft gaze of his. “Please, it’s not a problem. For my peace of mind.”

It doesn’t take much convincing, really. You’d much rather sit in a car that probably smells like him than in the back of a cab that smells like sweat.

“For your peace of mind, then. That’d be great.”

You grab your bag from your car before following Aaron to his, where he opens the passenger door for you and makes sure your legs are tucked inside before shutting it. He jogs around the front of his car and gets in.

“Where am I taking you?” He asks, starting his car. The radio hums softly through the speakers, and Hotch reaches over to turn on the heating when he catches you shivering a little.

You tell him your address, “you don’t have to drive me if it’s out of your way, Hotch. I mean it.”

“It isn’t out of my way,” he assures you, and he could easily be lying, but you accept it anyway.

It’s quiet for a little bit, besides the odd question from Aaron for which way to turn. You take the chance to look at him as he drives, his hands on the wheel, the street lights hitting his face. Your head lulls against the seat.

“You’re finished earlier than usual today,” you say. “Not that I know your schedule, or anything, I just-”

“Sweetheart,” he stops you, a smile spreading. It’s wider than what you’ve seen at work, unguarded enough to show his teeth. It’s really pretty. “It’s alright. It’s work I can be doing at home.”

“That’s good. A change of scenery, at least.”

“Exactly.”

You’re not sure what it is that feels different now, in the car. Maybe it’s because it’s only you and him, no prying eyes in the office, no concerns about what this is, what’s allowed. It might only be you, that feels this sort of spark with him, fizzing i’m the air between you. Either way, you’ll soak it up for the duration of the ride to yours.

Maybe that’s why you’re saying, “you know, I always thought you didn’t even know who I was. Until the printer thing.”

Aaron peeks over at you, leaned in his passenger seat. You look like you belong there, like there’s always been a spot for you in his life. Even when you’d started at the BAU, when he first saw you, he felt like it was right that you were there.

Hell, he’d asked Garcia who you were and has had your name in the back of his head since.

“I’ve always liked you,” he admits. He doesn’t say he’s always known you. Liked.

“Really?” You can’t help but ask. Someone like him even noticing you seemed unfathomable. But liking you? He’s gotta be lying.

“Really. Even when you were bumping into me.”

“You remember that?”

“Yeah, I do. You were looking down at the ground, walking like you were being timed. And you had on this light pink sweater.”

Your eyes go wide, focused on his face. You had been wearing a light pink sweater that day. And he remembers all of that? You think, if you looked at yourself in the mirror right now, your eyes would be in the shape of hearts, pulsing in your pupils.

“I can’t believe you noticed all of that.”

“I notice a lot of things,” he says.

Aaron has always had his guard up around new people, has always made himself more serious at work than anywhere else. Then you came along and he had to fight to keep things that way. It makes sense that the minute he sees you outside of work his walls would crumble to dust.

It was inevitable, really.

“I’ve always liked you, too.” Then, before he can say anything, you point at your building, “it’s this one here.”

The car rolls to a stop slowly, his turn signal flashing as he pulls over by the entrance of your apartment building. He puts the car in park and turns to you fully.

“Thank you for driving me.”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

His hand reaches out before he can really think about it, fingertips featherlight over your cheekbone, sliding over to tuck your hair behind your ear. Then, like it was never there, he pulls back. There’s a glow in his fingers where they’d brushed your skin, golden.

It matches the one you feel on your cheek, sparkling.

“Get in safe, okay?”

“It’s a few feet from here to the front door, Hotch. I’ll be alright.”

He huffs softly, twin smiles on your faces. Lovesick and shy, nervous and pink-hazed all at once.

“For my peace of mind,” he says.

“Fine, then. Your peace of mind,” you reach for the door handle, tugging it and pushing the door open. You look at Hotch again, like you can’t get yourself to stop. “Thanks again.”

“See you, sweetheart.”

“Bye.”

You step out and head to your door, turning around before walking inside to give him a wave. Aaron grins and waves back, watching you walk inside.

He stays parked by the curb until he sees a light flick on a couple of floors up.

-

+1

There’s a reason that Hotch is Unit Chief. He thinks quickly, keeps his head straight even with what he deals with every day. There’s also a reason his leadership has been questioned before, but never revoked.

He can be reckless, throwing himself into situations when he knows he probably should’ve waited for backup. This time, it only got him a split eyebrow and a few stitches. It’s been worse; this is nothing.

It is, however, proving to be an inconvenience. He’d gotten stitched up in the ER of whatever hospital was closest to where the team had caught their unsub. It had to be quick, from the hospital straight to the jet.

They’d told him to clean it up again and put a new bandage on it when he got back, which is what he’s trying to do now, in his office, with his laptop’s grainy camera as a mirror. He has the supplies the hospital gave him on his desk, but he can’t really see what he’s doing, and the task is taking much longer than he’d like.

His hands are a little shaky from the adrenaline of his day, and every time his arm comes up to reach his stitches, it blocks his view.

Then, he sees you walking up to his office.

Usually, you’d already be home by now, but you’d been yourself and messed up some of your paperwork, so you had to stay late to re-do it. When you catch sight of Hotch in his office, you’re not so annoyed with yourself.

You notice the things on his desk, the blood on the front of his shirt. Your feet carry you to his doorway easily. Last time you’d really spoken to him was that night in his car, and ever since, there’s been something boiling, a noticeable shift.

You tap your knuckles on his open door twice, “you okay?”

He gives up on dealing with his cut and looks at you instead, the slightly rumpled state of your clothes from a long day, the smile you wear that doesn’t exactly hide the concern in your eyes, the light from the hallway a halo around you. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m alright. Just can't seem to do this right,” he says, gesturing to his eyebrow.

“Do you need help?”

Aaron has never been one to accept help easily, always one to do things on his own. But, when you’re offering so sweetly, when your help means your hands on his skin, how could he ever say no?

“That would be great.”

He pushes his chair back to give you room to stand in front of him. Your legs between his, leaning against the edge of his desk. His knees bump into the sides of your legs, little bursts of the kind of warmth sunlight emits on skin.

You reach for the wipes first, holding them in one hand and reaching up to his eyebrow, the other grasping his chin gently to keep his head steady.

His hand reaches up to hold your elbow. It could so easily be innocent, be almost nothing, but it feels like more. His thumb running back and forth, your face close enough to his to have your breaths mingling. It really feels like more.

“You’re here late,” he says, low and quiet.

“Spilled coffee all over my work. Had to start over. Can you believe it?” You speak just as quietly, eyes flicking from his cut down to his, just for a second.

“I can, actually. You’re sort of clumsy.”

“Hey!” He’s right, of course, but the warm chuckle he lets out is worth your dramatic gasp.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he assures you, squeezing your elbow. “I think it’s cute.”

“Well, thank you, then.”

You set the wipe aside and reach for the bandage next, placing it over his eyebrow and smoothing down the edges with a light touch. When you’re done, you pull back but don’t go far. Your hands fall from his face to grasp the edge of his desk instead.

“All done,” you say.

Aaron’s hands have shifted to your waist. His touch is so delicate, but you’d never ignore it. It might as well be bruising, the way his hands affect you.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Hotch.”

Now would be the time to walk out the door, to say ‘goodnight’ and head home, but you’re in no hurry. Not when his eyes are shining in the dimmed light of his office, soft and practically melting.

They seem to beckon you closer, and though you don’t have a reason this time, your face ends up near his, noses almost touching. It’s as far as you go, afraid you’re misreading things, afraid you’ll be wrong about this.

Hotch closes the space for you.

His chin tilts up, his mouth catching yours softly at first. His hands tighten on your waist, his lips slightly chapped and completely perfect against yours.

You think your knees might buckle, so you put your hands on his shoulders, thumbs digging into his skin, like you’re trying to make sure he’s real. You’re not sure how you manage to kiss him back but you do, and you hear the sharp intake of breath he takes when you push back.

The kiss doesn’t deepen, but it doesn’t have to. You can feel plenty in it already.

It’s not long before Hotch pulls away, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head to look up at you. He removes one of your hands from his shoulder and holds it in his.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” he says, his thumb running over your knuckles.

You look down at your feet, at his legs next to yours. The hand still on his shoulder falls to your side, suddenly feeling nervous.

“You’re right, I’m so-”

“But,” he stops your apology before you can say it. As if you’d ever need to apologize for kissing him. “I’d like to take you to dinner sometime. If you’d want that.”

You look back at his face, eyes searching. He smiles so softly at you, it’s the kind of smile you could only ever give someone you like in this way. Someone you like enough to kiss.

“I’d really like that, Hotch.”

“Good,” he stands, but his hands don’t leave you. “And sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Call me Aaron.”

When you test it out, he’s sure of it; his name on your lips is his absolute favorite sound.

༄

thank you so much for reading!!! please please consider reblogging if you enjoyed, it helps a whole bunch more than you’d think and would mean a lot!! <3

[wonderlandwalker]

First Impressions | Eddie Munson x Reader

Stranger Things Masterlist / Inbox Summary: Eddie learns that Dustin has a recently reunited sister, and from the moment he meets you he's a goner. (read part 2 here) Content Warnings / Tags: Pure fluff, henderson!reader, tiny mention of a fight but nothing descriptive, not edited, no use of y/n Word Count: 1.4k A/N: Eddie brain rot cause I couldn't keep it in. Don't know if this is my best work but I'm planning to write more chapters on this so it's just a start, hope you like it

“You need a ride home after this?” It was more of a formality than an actual question, he always drove Dustin home after a session.

“Oh that’s okay, my sister is picking me up.” Dustin didn’t even look up from packing his things away, but Eddie’s head shot up.

“Your- you have a sister, since when?” As far as he knew Dustin was an only child, but now he was wrecking his brain trying to think if he had ever mentioned you before.

“I know you’re bad at math Eddie, but I just told you she’s driving so try and put the pieces together.” Dustin was looking up at him now, challenging him.

“Alright smartass, it’s time for you to shut up.” He told him as he ruffled through his hair, leaving behind an agitated Dustin trying frantically to fix it. 

The others had already gone home, but Dustin stayed behind late to help Eddie finish up, a habit that became more and more common as the two grew closer. When they finished packing up Eddie locked the door behind them, and while walking to the parking lot decided he wasn’t quite done interrogating Dustin.

“If you have an older sister, how come I've never seen her around before?”

“I mean she’s been around during holidays before, she lived with dad though but they had a big fight so she’s moved here.” It seemed like a sore topic, so Eddie dropped it for now.

As they got to the entrance of the school and felt the cool air on their skin Eddie indeed noticed another car in the usually empty lot, and you were sitting on the hood of it, a book in your hands as you patiently waited. The last rays of sunshine graced your figure as if the heavens themselves were blessing you, and Eddie had never been so sure he’d seena goddess in his life. It was just like the tales he knew so well, the ones he still devoted his life to, it was as if they were becoming true. You looked up when you heard them approach, smiling at the sight of them and giving Dustin a quick side hug as they reached you.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot of good things.” You held your hand out for Eddie to take, but all he could do was look at it, staring ahead as if hitting pause in a game, he stood still. He wanted to react, to not make the most horrible first impression possible, but the longer he looked at you the worse it got, getting lost in sight of your smile. “Alright, not a fan of handshakes, notes.” You chuckled as you withdrew your hand, and Eddie cursed himself for not having taken the opportunity to feel how soft your skin must’ve been. You looked at him again, your eyes piercing straight through his soul and he wondered if maybe he had found himself in one of his fantasy worlds, he must have. But the next second he shook himself out of it, because you were real, you were real and in front of him and expecting him to say something.

“I’m Eddie.” he said, nodding his head as if to confirm his own statement.

“So I’ve been told.” Another giggle slipped past your lips, and Eddie wasnt sure if it was from nerves or entertainment, but he was dying to hear more of it, even if he had to make a fool of himself to do so.

Dustins head kept going back and forth as if watching a tennis match of idiocracy. He had never seen Eddie so flustered, so used to the man flaunting with every opportunity that presented itself that this seemed quite out of character. In full disclosure, it was kind of freaking him out to see Eddie so beside himself, and it was freaking him out even further that he couldn’t figure out why. It was probably blatantly obvious to anyone else, but maybe it was for the best that Dustin couldn’t place where the tension originated from, either way, his patience had run out

“Can we go home now, I still have to call Mike to discuss our net strategies” You tore your eyes from Eddie, deciding that maybe it was for the best to head home.

“Yeah alright, maybe I’ll see you around Eddie.” You gave him one last smile as you got in the car with Dustin and drove off, but it took him another minute to pick his shambled ego up from the concrete ground as he berated himself for not being able to utter one coherent sentence. As he got in his van and drove home as well he decided he’d have to grill Dustin for more information on you the next time he’d see him. As he got to the trailer he grumbled a hello to Wayne before disappearing to his room, ignoring the backhanded comment he got about his grumpy disposition. 

He wondered if he’d ever be able to convince you he was cool, whether he’d be able to get you to agree to see him again, but after what just transpired he figured the odds were slim. Not that he’d give up so easily, he didn’t have much of a reputation to lose and if he’d be able to get you to laugh again that would be more than enough. But he didn’t get to wonder for long as Wayne knocked on his door, he was ready to tell the man to leave him alone, but the next sentence was one that confused him immensely

“Someone on the phone for you.” Wayne held the phone out to him, expecting him to get up from the bed and take it, but Eddie didn’t move an inch.

“For me, you sure?” He was still not quite sure what to do. “Unless another Eddie is living here I’m pretty sure.” He moved his hand again to accentuate the phone that was still on hold, but once again Eddie just sat there.

“If you want I can tell her to call back-” That’s when he sprung into action, snatching the phoen out of Wayne’s hand 

“No! No, I got it. Thank you.” The old man simply chuckled as he left again, closing the door behind him to give his nephew some privacy.

Eddie cleared his throat once before picking up the line put on hold. 

“Hello?” he asked, still not quite sure what to do.

“Hi, Eddie it’s me, just wanted to see if you were doing alright.” your sweet voice blessed his ears once more. He doesn’t know what he did to get the universe on his side like this, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

“Yeah I’m good, listen-” Eddie figured this time he shouldn’t waste his chance, and he probably had some making up to do. “- I’m sorry if I freaked you out earlier, just never seen anyone that pretty before.” You were giggling again, and it brought the biggest grin onto his face. “You didn’t weird me out at all, it was kinda cute. I had to bribe Dustin to let me use the phone so I don’t have much time but I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go out this weekend?” Maybe he should’ve waited a beart before answering, but he was too eager to care.

“Go out, as in a date?” It got him blushing, the red creeping up on his cheeks as he wondered if that’s really what you were asking

“I mean, kinda, if you want to.” He could almost see you blushing on the other side of the line as well, and he decided it was now or never.

“I’d love to.” 

“That’s great, I’m still kind of new around here, do you know any good places?” Your smile was present as you spoke, and he was already looking forward to seeing it again, now knowing he wouldn’t have to wait long.

“How about I come and pick you up, we can go to the mall.” His confidence was growing with the minute now, absolutely elated by the turn of events.

“Im looking forward to it” He wondered what you’d wear, knowing whatever it was it would look beautiful on you, and he knew he’d spend the entire date amazed at your presence. 

“Me too” he said before the both of you hung up the phone, he had already started planning the most amazing evening out, and maybe, he thought, maybe this year really would take a turn for the better.

[part 2 here]

[buckyandgeraltsupremacy]

remus x shy!reader

author: sj

warnings: fluff; reader is in hufflepuff; not edited lol

let me know if you want a part 2 cause i love writing for remus rn

masterlist

part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

---

you shared a lot of classes with the marauders. you weren’t even sure they knew your name. but even though you thought they didn’t know you, there was one marauder who always noticed you. remus could spot you in a crowd of one hundred. his eyes always searching for a yellow tie and your h/c hair. he thought you were so smart and always watched you take notes in every class admiring how focused you were on your studies. to be honest, that’s one of the reasons he always went to the library to study, he knew you’d be in there as well.

james had noticed this little thing remus had for you as early at 3rd year. he watched remus silently watch the hufflepuff girl with h/c hair. he didn’t try to intervene until they were older, still watching him pine over the same girl that had remus’ attention. he didn’t really know what to do so he told sirius and of course he knew exactly what to do.

you were sitting in potions after class had ended, classmates filtering out and gathering your things when someone came up to you and started talking to you. low and behold it was sirius.

“hey! i’m sirius” he said, shoving his hand towards you. you nodded, waking yourself out of shock that a marauder was introducing himself to you like they weren’t the talk of the school.

“y/n.” you replied, shaking his hand.

“great. my friend remus, you know remus right? tall, lanky, always holding a book, he’s sick and is always draining on and on about how smart you are so i thought i’d ask you for notes for him. id give him mine but i didn’t take any.” you cheeks turned red at the idea of them talking about you, much less remus thinking that you were smart.

“um. yeah. i can do that, let me copy them onto another piece of parchment and then you can take them to him.”

“perfect! come by the gryffindor common room anytime tonight and we’ll be there!”

when you finished up copying the notes that night, you stopped by the gryffindor common room to drop off the notes. you didn't have the password so knocking on the portrait would have to do. you stepped back and the door swung open to reveal sirius giving you and oddly big grin.

"come on in, love! so lovely of you to drop these notes off for poor remus." he ushered you inside and you stepped through looking around the room. you quickly found the rest of the marauders sitting by the fireplace, james, peter, and a tired looking remus. his eyes widened when you walked through the door, instantly shooting to james and peter and back to you.

"had a surprise for you remus. i know how much you love your notes, so i thought i'd ask for some from the master herself." sirius said, pushing you towards the group. your cheeks burned as you dug through your bag on you shoulder to find your copy of notes for him. you finally found them and took a few steps forward to remus who was sitting up straighter as you got closer.

"here you go. i just copied them from the notes that i took today. i hope they're good enough. i'm not sure what your normal style is that you're used to so i this helps." you said in a rush, looking down at your notes. you extended them towards the boy sitting by the fire. he reached for them.

"thank you so much y/n! you really didn't have to do this. did sirius make you any threats or force you do this?" he asked, lowering his voice slightly. you lightly laughed as a shocked sirius gasped and muttered some words you couldn't understand.

"no, no. i promise i did this of my own free will." you said, glancing up at his eyes. his smile reached his eyes once your eyes met and you instantly felt warm inside.

and so thats how your relationship started to form with the marauders. they soon started coming up to talk with you during classes and inviting you to sit with them at meals when they noticed you sitting by yourself.

your favorite though, was when you'd be in the library and remus would ask to sit at your table. he would work with you silently and you'd trade questions about homework back and forth, eventually even recommending books to each other.

you even got so close to them that the boys started including you in the teasing. one specific day, the boys found you and remus reading in the common room together. you were sitting on the ground in front of the coffee table and he was sitting behind you on the couch. the boys came in loud and instantly disrupted the calmness. sirius came bouding over to you and sat across the coffee table on the floor.

"i thought of one for you." he said, slapping his hands on the table. you jumped at the abrupt sound and leaned back on to remus' legs. the boys had been trying to figure out a good nickname for you so you could join their fun nicknames, but you weren't an anigmus like they were so there were lots of options but not of them really were fitting you quite right.

"what is it?" you asked, relaxing against remus' legs.

"flea. its perfect. you're small, quiet and annoying." you gasped and immediately sat up in protest.

"no! thats horrible i don't want to be called a flea, you git!" you exclaimed.

"but it just fits so well, flea. i can't deny how perfect it is for you." you started to protest, but a big hand stopped you. the hand, from remus, wrapped around your shoulder and guided you back to his legs, scooching you to between his legs and under him. his hands grabbed your shoulders and started to work there, massaging your tight shoulders.

"we're not calling her flea." remus insisted. you shivered and you hoped he thought it was from his hands and not his commanding voice. james then spoke up.

"what about hoppers?" you tilted your head and looked up at remus to hear his response, not protesting that one.

"she sure is as cute as a bunny and the size of one too. i vote yes." he said, looking down into your face. james nodded his head and sirius huffed.

"i still like flea better but hoppers will do when you don't annoy me, flea." sirius grumbled. you rolled your eyes and relaxed into remus' touch more, your eyes closing. unbeknownst to you, his small smile grew as he continued to massage your shoulders.

[jyoongim]

Hey there! My first time asking/making a request lol, but I had two separate ideas and you can just pick one or something.

First was an alastor w/ fem reader, it's mating season for red and this ones diff bc he's had his eyes on reader or smthn for a min and decides this season he's going to do his best to show off to her, lmao like "look look, I can provide and protect!" a bit intense bc it's mating season, but reader is CLUELESS until at some point it finally clicks and she's all "huh.. ohh SHIT"

Second idea was one that I thought would be funny, like so.. lucifer finds out Al likes reader and even tho he doesn't really like Al he's like " don't worry, I can definitely help with this" but he's lowkey a terrible wingman even tho miraculously it somehow helps in the end???

Again you can choose from either and end it however you want, fluff/nsfw/sfw. Or if none of this is your cup of tea then just ignore me!!

Not me on a fluff binge hehehhehe

hope you guys like it! I’ve been a bit slow to write and upload but I’ve enjoyed reading every request! I’m still taking a slight break but I try to give y’all SOMETHING. Hope y’all don’t mind!!

Lots of love-jyoongim

——————————————————————————————-

Mating season.

Usually an awful time of year that made Alastor more on edge than usual.

But something was different this year…

This mating season, the deer demon wanted a partner….

Alastor had his sights on a pretty doe and he was going to ensure that she was going to be his for the season…

—————————————————————————

You rubbed the sleep out your eyes as you greeted everyone as you took a seat for breakfast.

Pancakes. Bacon. Sausage. Eggs. Fruits.

Your stomach rumbled at the delicious smells.

”Fine hellish day isn’t my dear?” Alastor chirped as he piled food fruits and meats on your plate. You blinked at the amount of food on your plate.

”Al my stomach is only so big” you giggled causing the demon to hum as he took a seat beside you.

”A full belly makes a happy doe” he smiled as you happily ate the food.

Alastor watched as you ate, a soft purr rumbling in his chest.

”Why don’t we go for an outing dear?” Alastor suggested as you let out a burp.

You agreed.

It was rather chilly for Hell.

You and Alastor waltz around the city. You happily looked at the displays in many windows. 

You didn’t know Alastor’s agenda but you didn’t mind accompanying him.

You must have lagged behind him a tad as a demon slithered up beside you as you looked over some jewelry.

”what’s a cute thing like you doing all alone?” A deep voice asked causing you jumped, surprised.

”O-Oh hi um I’m just looking that’s all” you gave a nervous smile. Your skiddish nature took over as you took a step back. The demon advanced on you. He was big, could easily overtake you if need be.

”Why don’t I show you around? I don’t see a ring. I can show you a good time” sharp teeth smiled at you menacingly.

Your ears flattened, you might be  small but you could defend yourself. You bared your teeth at the demon making him chuckle

”Now now little lady lets not get ugly” 

You hadn’t realized he had backed you into a corner.

The demon pounced, making you screech as he pinned you to the wall.

Your ears perked as heavy static buzzed through the air. The demon didn’t seem to notice 

 “You’ll make a fine piece of ass”

Black smoke poured through the alleyway and static popped.

”That’s no way to talk to a lady”

Black tentacles dragged the demon and blood-curdling screams escaped the demon, but were quickly silenced as Alastor ripped him apart.

”mine mine mine” Alastor growled as he chomped on the demon.

You gagged as chunks of flesh flew around.

Satisfied that the distasteful demon was in his belly, Alastor looked towards you.

A large sharp claw traced your face, he was growling but his eyes were soft. He morphed to be a bit smaller and helped you up, his red eyes roaming over you.

”I’m okay Al” you reassured giving him a smile. He seemed to calm down and looped your arm with his.

���dishonorable filfth” he hissed as he made his way back to the hotel. You pouted you really wanted to buy something but you’ve had enough excitement for one day.

You looked at Alastor and tilted your head “Al your antlers”

The usual small antlers were now big and standing tall on top his head.

”Nice rack” you giggled making the red demon smirk, his chest puffing proudly.

”than-thank you for all that. I really appreciate Al” you said sheepishly.

The tall demon hummed 

“Don’t mention it my dear. What kind of man would I be if I couldn’t protect you?”

——————————————————————————

Alastor had been lingering around you since the little accident. He had growled at anyone who got too close to you.

He was very possessive and protective of you, which you thought was sweet that the demon was worried about you.

You groaned as the sun peaked through your window. You sat up and you blinked in confusion.

Flowers, breakfast, and a tiny box.

Rest up little Doe ~Alastor

Your tail wagged in happiness. You don’t know why Alastor had been so attentive but you were eating it up.

You placed the flowers in a vase and began to eat breakfast.

Your face wrinkled as you pulled a piece of meat from your teeth.

what the fuck?

It was soft and fleshy. You shuddered but ate the rest of your breakfast. You opened the tiny box and keened when you saw the bracelet you had been looking at earlier in the week.

There were cute little radio themed charms.

You quickly cleaned up and went downstairs.

Charlie and Vaggie were sitting in the lobby chatting.

You smiled and waved, your bracelet caught Vaggie’s attention.

”Hey where you get that?” The question also caught Charlie’s attention, she immediately began gushing

”Oh my! Did Alastor get that for you? Omg so cute!”

Vaggie deadpanned “Alastor have been very cozy towards you what’s that about?”

You shrugged “I don’t know but it can’t be anything bad right?”

————————————————————————————-

“I see you got my gift” Alastor said, coming behind you as you red on the couch. You smiled “Its really nice Al but why the sudden gift giving?”

Alastor smiled “well my dear its mating season”

You blinked. Mating season? What did that have to do-

OH SHIT!

Your eyes widened “Y-You’ve been…”

His lips pulled into a genuine smile “Courting you? Why of course my dear!”

His hand circled the wrist with the bracelet. He brought it up to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to it.

Your body shuddered in delight and your ears flicked as he nipped at your fingers.

Your nose wrinkled at the smell of his pheromones, your tail wagging.

You let out a purr as you rubbed yourself against him and took off running, throwing a wink at him as he followed suit, giggling as he made a grab at your hips as you evaded him.

”Come and solidify your place Mr. Radio Demon” you teased slipping into his room.

A soft growl escaped Alastor as he followed you and had his shadow guard the door.

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook is giving up on you but you have so much love left to give.

> idol!jungkook x f!reader / angst, fluff, suggestive / wc: 8.3k

> warnings: mention of infidelity (no one did u can breathe ily), mention of a classmate slipping their number in oc’s pocket and oc feeling unsafe, mention of puking, mentions & allusion to s/x, alcohol consumption, making out, boob!e fondle, gr*nding kinda? jungkook is hard™️ they’re so in love it’s sickening

> in which masterlist!

playlist! and if/or when - ruel / hate everything - jungkook cover (gsoul) / hits different - taylor swift / statue - lil’ eddie / i wouldn’t ask you - clairo (i had to get in the zone & this is so oc-coded i need u to listen i’m so srs)

next: in which you don’t want to give up jungkook (even when he gave you reasons to, even if they give you reasons to).

note: this was a journey. happened back in june 2019.!! i’m ripping off the bandaid <3 deep sigh writing this made me realize how my babies have come so far. hopefully will follow up with a fluffy fluff lowkey inspired by the underwear live soonest lols i’m excited for it 2 stay tuned 🫂 reblogs & feedback are much appreciated <3

—

you forgot the walls of the apartment building you’re living in are thin. a small portion of the white paint has been chipped off, it looks like a birth mark, you note — except it’s not, and you’re the one who caused the irregularity.

your favorite glass is scattered across the kitchen floor, reduced to shards and to sparkling pieces almost as miniscule as dust. you don’t know what came over you. you don’t know why you threw it at the wall instead of filling it with cold water to only drink three sips like you usually do.

just when you thought you’ve been faring well in holding yourself together today, a fresh wave of sorrow overwhelms you. your knees buckle as you begin weeping, the loudest you’ve been since this nightmare has started. it swallows the knocking sounds at your door, but it’s still not loud enough to quell jungkook’s quivering voice playing like a broken record on loop inside your head.

“we should end this… i think it’s for the best, before we get drained.”

the rain is coming down fiercely and you’re freezing inside his car, parked outside your apartment. after all, his balenciaga windbreaker can only do so much against the blasted airconditioner. your throat is painfully dry, and your hands and face are numb from the piercing cold. but those are the least of your concerns because you feel like your head had just been dunked in ice water. the sting in your eyes are burning warmer as the seconds fly by and the muffled sounds of the torrential raindrops drum frantically in your ears. they’re clouding the car windows, mirroring jungkook’s tear-stained cheeks.

“i’m leaving again in three weeks. and i’m leaving again next year… and i’ll be gone again soon after that for a long time. i-i don’t know when i’m coming home, ___.” he pauses. the heel of palms press against his eyes, as if that could possibly barricade the saltwater leaking from them. “i never know where my life is taking me and you have your own… there’s too much-too much going on. i think that i’m just wasting your time, that this isn’t- it’s not going anywhere.”

“open the door! hello?! ___!”

“what do you want?!” you seeth in annoyance, swinging the door open to reveal your pesky neighbor.

he scratches the top of his head awkwardly at the sight of the mess that you greeted him with, having not bothered to pretend that you weren’t wailing your heart out.

”hey, i know you’re going through something…” his lips remain parted as he struggles to find the correct word, his right eye twitching voluntarily. “soul-crushing? right now. but i heard glass breaking and i was concerned that you, uhm, might’ve hurt yourself.”

the apparent nervousness and sincerity in his actions pull you out from the isolating disassociation you’ve imprisoned yourself in. you feel humiliated, presenting yourself in your most pitiful form infront of a kid two years younger than you. you envy him for having it together after storming out of his parents’ house while you-

“i’m not hurt. it was just an accident.”

you’re shamelessly lying infront of his face because the truth makes you feel too ashamed of yourself.

he only nods, smiling in relief. “i don’t know how to help make you feel better, so i just brought honey like i used to do before.”

you sigh, the familiar jar of honey and its red checkered lid waving at you like an old friend. has it been a year?

“bro, i told you i can’t accept this anymore.”

“you and your boyfriend already broke up. what’s the big deal?”

you have never wanted to smack someone more, the genuine confusion painted on his face feels like an infuriatingly harsh slap to yours.

“he wasn’t threatened by your honey, you dipshit. we just found out my blood sugar was getting a bit high!”

“oh- i’m so-”

you angrily slam the door shut. the silence you’re left with is suffocating, and you find yourself breaking down again.

he jumps in surprise when you open the door again, yelling- “and we’re not broken up!” before ripping away the jar of honey from his sweaty palms. he’s left completely flabbergasted, an inexplicable heaviness weighing on his chest when he hears your sniffling from the other side of the hard-wood.

“does that mean i can deliver again next week? i have too much in my kitchen…”

he doesn’t receive a snarky answer, surprisingly, so he continues talking.

“and f-y-i, your left cheek is bleeding! you might want to check on that!”

—

“you didn’t even give me any signs…”

you inhale a deep, shaky breath in a fragile attempt of keeping your composure. you want to scream, rip apart this thick tension with your bare hands, and force him to admit that this is just some kind of sick joke. you finally see him in person after months and all he has for you is a gift bag filled to the brim with heartbreak. this is too casually cruel, not something you would’ve expected from your jungkook.

“do you really mean that? or is there something else you’re not saying…? look at me.” you plead, weakly tugging at the hem of his long-sleeved shirt. the horrors of long-distance relationship stories claw their way out of your skin, adding fuel to the fire of your deepest fear. “you didn’t cheat on me, right? that can’t be it. we- we always-”

after you ended your last relationship, you cried at the parking lot of your university and continued living your life the next morning as if nothing happened at all. you did it all for yourself, anyway. he was gradually tearing down your confidence and your dignity; and you didn’t want to become a person the future you would despise for not being wiser, stronger.

and here you are at present day: spending the cozy sunday night solving chemistry problems on your desk. you have a blue bandaid plastered on your face and a cheek full of fruit and honey. and you would say you’re fine, but jungkook wasn’t here to sweetly dote on you while treating your wound. he isn’t here to taste the honey from your lips with that coquettish smirk of his. he isn’t laying on your bed, fighting to stay awake because he wants to fall asleep with you as his pillow.

no matter how hard you try to shut out this thought, it keeps knocking on the door. he’s going to be doing these sweet nothings for a different person when he finally reaches a more stable place in his life. you want to kneel on the ground, beg the heavens to meddle with destiny and never let you hear about it.

because that means he will never set foot in your apartment again, and the personal belongings you left in his room will be thrown out to erase the traces you left behind.

so this is how it begins.

the ugliest parts of you are swimming to the surface, tying themselves around your ankles because jungkook took away the ground from beneath your feet after unearthing your soul and… nothing makes sense to you anymore. if you wake up every morning to tend to your garden, and you look outside the window to learn that the sun has stopped burning, what do you have left?

your lips inevitably curve into a frown, but you inhale a sharp breath, patting your eyes dry before they can smudge the black ink on your notepad. and then you dip a strawberry in honey for the third time.

—

“no, baby, no- that’s not it.”

the dread and insecurity weaved into the cracks of your voice fill him with nausea and panic. he captures your frigid hand with haste, firmly holding it to his pounding chest.

“i would never do that to you. just the thought alone fucking disgusts me… you’re the only one. you’ve ruined me for everybody else.”

“then why are you giving up on me? am i becoming a burden?”

jungkook feels painfully numb, mind floating as the buildings outside the window get left behind him as a mere, passing blur.

“yah, jungkook-ah. are you crying?”

a torturous moment of silence passes as he struggles to find his voice. his tongue is tied, and his lost eyes are betraying the nights he spent practicing how to explain himself to you. back then, the reasoning he curated made sense. but faced with the consequences of his actions, the love of his life’s brain running a thousand miles per hour, recording a tale of woe and heartache on his passenger seat — he has never felt this much loathing for himself and his weaknesses.

you release a shaky breath, patting his rosy cheeks dry with your sleeves. you smile at him kindly, and he watches you in sheer disbelief. he can’t fathom the perpetual luck he’s been blessed with that he met, who he believes to be, the purest soul to grace this corrupted world. they’re damp with your tears, so it’s practically useless, but the sweet gesture is a stray beam of sunlight in the midst of the dull gray clouds.

the comforting rubs on his shoulder extracts him from his torturous thoughts, and only then does he feel the wetness on his face.

“you’ve been holding it back for the past week. just cry it out.”

he nods wordlessly, hiding himself in the fleece blanket from his lap. yoongi can feel a lump forming in his throat as he witnesses his youngest brother breaking down, jungkook’s pain also being his pain. as a group who’s been living together for the past decade, no one will be able to empathize with them as well each other. especially during times like this.

“___ hasn’t called?”

jungkook shakes his head wistfully, wiping away the tears that slid down his nose. he is dying to send you a text message, worried sick, and still used to hearing about your day the same way he is used to sleeping on his stomach.

“hyung,” the sound of the word borders on a sob. “it’s over. this is killing me… it’s all my fault.”

“but isn’t that what you wanted?”

“exactly. so why am i crying?” his hands ball into closed fists. “i’m an asshole.”

“enough of that!” yoongi loudly whines out his scolding. ”we all know you had your reason.”

“but, hyung, i fucked up!” he tenses up, blurting out the acknowledgement that’s been haunting him day and night. “she told me the most romantic thing and i felt so… fuck, i’m so angry at myself. i ruined everything. and i’m scared that i’d end up making things worse if i try fixing it.”

“stop beating yourself up. we can’t solve things this way.” yoongi grabs a bottle of water from the cupholder between them, twisting the cap open before handing it to jungkook. “drink first.”

once he starts drinking, he realizes that his throat has been awfully dry and sore. it’s most probably best for him to rest his voice. he can already foresee the concert rehearsal being absolute hell tomorrow. if he can’t sing, he doesn’t know how else he’s supposed to keep himself sane.

“talk to me. what did she say?”

“you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, do you know that?”

and with that revelation, he loses the warmth of your touch, and he comes crashing down like a wingless aircraft.

“i also need time to think about it. that’s only fair, right? that i get to decide, too…?” you swallow thickly, lips parting as if the words are resisting to come out of your mouth.

he looks at you with an emotion you can’t name, a push and pull between longing and trepidation.

if this was a movie, he would brave the rain and somehow perfectly deliver a poetically romantic speech that would sway your heart. if this was a movie, you would take a warm bath together, make out in the bathtub, and make love on your bed. if this was a movie, the day would end with the two of you tangled up, peacefully asleep and rhythmic breathing in sync. but he knows you. apparently not as well as he thought, but to some extent, he knows you. if he pulls you closer in the heat of the moment, you would feel suffocated and defensive and you would push him away; and he would lose you for good. that much he knows. so he lets you leave and he stays in the car— heartbroken, crestfallen, and regretful, because he might’ve just recklessly thrown away the best gift the universe has ever given him.

“i was thinking about how she never would’ve made this much sacrifices and efforts for anyone else and i feel like… i- it’s all going to waste because our future is uncertain. i can’t be committed to her as much as she is committed to me. and, and i felt like the guilt was eating away at me, you know? i wasn’t thinking straight.” jungkook chews on his bottom lip, a last ditch effort to prevent himself from sobbing. “it just… consumed me? like i was drowning… and all i could smell and taste was the saltwater.”

“i see,” yoongi sighs, crossing his legs and intertwining his fingers infront of his stomach as he finds the right words to say. “that’s a normal response. our brain is a very complex friend… but you know, everything i’ve been through as myself and as a part of our team, hmmm, they taught me that there are times when a problem doesn’t necessarily need a solution per se. you just keep going until the fog clears up and then you move past it.”

fuck, jungkook needs a glass of whiskey. or two. or twelve. he listens intently despite seeming like he’s spacing out.

“this won’t last forever and time slips away from us without us even noticing. you should do what you want to do. if we’re going to deprive ourselves of good things, what will we have left after everything is over? money we can’t spend in one lifetime? there’s no happiness in that.”

yoongi frowns, wishing he could do more to alleviate the weight hanging on jungkook’s shoulders.

“you deserve love outside all the noise, too. focus on the present which you can still control and deal with the future when it arrives. if you do otherwise, you’ll just be tormenting yourself… and i know it’s easier said than done but! do you want to hear something i’ve had on my mind lately?”

with a flushed face and swollen eyes, he tilts his head to curiously spy on his hyung.

“what is it?”

“your motivation to work out after our shows is so you can stay awake and spend time with her. that’s why you fall asleep everywhere else. do you know how scary and endearing it is to watch that? is that what you call ‘not being committed enough’?”

yoongi fails to hide his gummy smile, body vibrating with silent laughter as pictures of jungkook falling asleep standing up flash before his eyes.

“seriously, you punk! you scare me! i just pass out and die straight after while you- really, you’re really unbelievable. i envy you. for being able to love with everything you have until they break your heart. i mean it!”

“but i’m the one who broke their heart this time.” jungkook somberly utters in defeat, bottom lip jutting out and chin quivering.

yoongi encouragingly pats his shoulder, shaking his body lightly. ”you can make it up to her. she’ll reach out before we leave. have some more patience.”

jungkook’s eyes turn into slits, suspiciously squinting at the man sitting beside him. “why do you sound so sure?”

“because she loves you. why else?”

—

you automatically pause from eating cup ramyeon when your phone lights up on top of the journals you’ve been reviewing for the past hour.

“ah, shit! shit!”

you abruptly cover your mouth with your hand, exhausted eyes watering because you accidentally bit your tongue after reading the name of the sender of your newest text notification. you take sips of cold water, peering at your phone as you do so. your hands itch to type out a response, but the screen dies and turns black, another of yoongi’s messages in the same pile of unanswered ones from your friends checking up on you tonight. you can’t talk to anyone right now; you need to get shit done.

after eating your dinner at the convenience store, you come home to a plastic of fried chicken hanging on the doorknob of your front door.

Eat lots and stay healthy! I’m feeding Jungkook well too. Don’t worry. — Yoongi

you peel off the blue handwritten note, sticking it on the cover of one of your books. you carefully carry the food using your free hand, and you can feel it radiating on your skin, the heat of a freshly-cooked meal. you were always worried of being a bother when you occasionally ask him how jungkook is doing on tour, but this made your heart significantly lighter. gaining a good friend after losing your lover, perhaps life can show a smidge of mercy when it wants to.

too bad you’ve always been one to be greedy.

—

“ah, seriously. why did you have to break up with ___?”

“we’ve been through this a million times!” jungkook exclaims in exasperation as he fiddles with the controller, bumping his knee with taehyung’s. “focus. you’re supposed to be helping me forget.”

“i don’t remember agreeing to that.” taehyung responds with a shrug, smirking when he picks up a booster and runs past his friend’s character. “you finally found someone who could put up with you and you let them go? i won’t let you forget.”

jungkook scoffs, eyes rolling upwards. “bro, i should be the least of your problems.”

“nuh-uh.” taehyung tuts with a grin, belly aching with laughter when jungkook’s car jumps over his to steal the lead. he didn’t even know that was possible. he plans on using the same trick against him later. “i’m making you my biggest problem so i don’t have to deal with mine.”

“they’re not married yet. you still have a chance, you know?”

“yah!” he gapes at jungkook in shock, entirely forgetting about the game. “take that back!”

“don’t act like you haven’t thought of it!”

“yeah, but i don’t say it out loud. it sounds too wrong! i still have my morals left!” he cries out, stomping his feet on the floor.

jungkook lightly punches his arm, eyebrows pinched in confusion. “i meant you have a chance if they break up. i have morals too! what do you think of me?!”

“oh…” taehyung blinks. “you know who else have probably thought of that too, though?”

“who?” jungkook boredly questions as he scrolls through the game collection, contemplating about which one to play next.

“all the other people waiting in line for ___.”

the realization renders him motionless, stirring up the possessiveness coursing through his veins. for the love of god, he doesn’t want to be petty but that struck a nerve. he wants to storm out of the house and look for you, beg on his knees for you to take him back.

“aish, hyung, you’re driving me crazy! why would you tell me that? are we torturing each other?!”

“are you crying? yah, jungkook-ah.” taehyung watches his hunched figure with a guilty wince, hesitant hands rubbing the expanse of his back. “i’m sorry- i’m sorry… do you want a hug?”

jungkook stays quiet, head hanging low to hide his face crumpling with anguish. the loose but affectionate hug that he gets pulled into prompts him to fall apart, catharsis blossoming in his ribcage and turning his bones into jelly.

he hears obnoxiously loud sniffles, and he abandons taehyung’s shoulder to look at his face. “are you crying, too?”

“stop ruining the moment.” taehyung groans, forcefully pushing down his head again.

namjoon comes out from his bedroom in search for another extension cord, still sipping on the half-empty iced americano he took from the fridge only ten minutes ago. the heartfelt scene on the couch causes him to halt on his tracks. how did they go from playing games to crying together? he silently observes the two members for a moment before deciding to approach them.

“what am i going to do with the two of you?” he grunts, ruffling his hair in frustration. “shall we go out for drinks to disinfect your wounded hearts?”

the mention of alcohol makes them perk up, jungkook’s tearful doe eyes sparkling at the prospect of temporarily erasing the pain that has uncontrollably spread throughout his system. he wants to drink until he forgets that he has hands, until he forgets what it feels like to touch you.

“thanks, monie-hyung. i’ll have my appetizer.”

and the iced americano gets snatched away from namjoon’s unsuspecting hand within the blink of an eye.

—

“this is not a barbecue restaurant.” you stare blankly at the orange neon lights spelling out the name of the night club your friends secretly conspired to bring you to.

“___, loosen up! the fastest way to move on is to find someone else. this is the best place for that.” aera turns around from the passenger seat of the taxi, her red lips painting a thrilled smile. “just forget about jungkook. we all knew this shit was going to happen. i’m surprised you even lasted that long!”

“i don’t know what you’re trying to imply but i don’t appreciate your tone.” you warn her with a sharp, threatening look. “and the ‘someone else’ that i found at a bar before turned out to be biggest fucking jerk i’ve ever met. i’m not doing this again.”

“things might be different this ti-” mi-ran aids in persuading you, but it only adds fuel to the fire.

“oh my god! fuck off!” you yell in irritation, aggressively getting off the car and slamming the door shut on their faces.

you never look back, ignoring the shouts of your name and half-assed apologies. you don’t have the slightest idea about where you’re going — your feet have a mind of their own and they chose to go the opposite way of home. this isn’t how you envisioned your night. you just wanted to listen to the sound of the meat grill and complain about life giving you a taste of true love just to cut your tongue with it until you bled. was that too much to ask?

you’re about ninety percent certain that you just lost two of whom you treated to be your closest friends. you think of ah-young, and you briefly consider crashing at your best friend’s band practice, but you’re too exhausted to travel to the other end of the city.

with eleven seconds left in the timer, you cross the street with swift and long strides alongside a crowd consisting mostly of employees wearing the same navy blue uniform. at last, you’re among the bright and lively restaurants, the inviting smell of good food making your stomach sting with hunger.

it’s only taehyung who recognizes you when you unknowingly pass by, almost choking on his glass of somaek, the combination of soju and beer. with his career on the line, he is confident that he can recognize that balenciaga windbreaker anywhere and anytime. meanwhile, instead of talking about you, the youngest is drunkenly reminiscing about the alleged ghost encounters he had in their old dorms. their leader is tragically left to tend to the grill alone. he deeply regrets not dragging any of the older members with them.

“everyone, i think i just saw __-”

a grimace of cluelessness is plastered on taehyung’s face when jungkook claps once, enthusiastically pointing at him as if he just announced something inspiring and life-changing.

“you’re right, you’re right! that’s it! what i’m kind of trying to say here is…” he pauses, facial muscles relaxing into a gloomy expression. he sniffles and rubs his nose, making it a brighter shade of red. “when we move houses again, i won’t have stories like these to bring with me. the new ghosts will be my memories with ___.”

none of the other two dares to speak after that, the oddly satisfying sound of meat being grilled and the chattering from other tables occupy the uneasy and heavy silence. instead, they begin filling their own shot glasses with pure soju. namjoon is the first one to spill it down his throat, slamming it on the table before dishing out his phone from his pocket. by this time, all of them are already drunk, double vision blurry and speech a little slurred. they gave up on counting the green bottles and cans of beer a long while ago.

“shit, that was a good metaphor. i need to write that down.”

“namjoon-hyung, he’s crying again!”

jungkook’s head slumps on the table with a thud, hot tears escaping down to his temple as he laments. “i miss her so much. why did i have to break up with her the second we got home? why…? am i so impulsive? what do i do if… if she agrees that we- h-how am i supposed to live with myself after that…? i’m never going to love again.”

they shuffle apprehensively on their seats, but still, they tell jungkook what he needs to hear since he won’t remember tonight’s events, anyway.

that’s not going happen. she just needs some more time. i’m sure she’s missing you too. everything will be okay.

but it’s been almost two weeks of radio silence. their flight is in nine days, drawing nearer and nearer as if it’s purposely taunting jungkook. everyone is thinking the same thing, and everyone is afraid to say it out loud.

—

it’s 7am when his work alarm goes off. with a disgruntled noise, a hungover jungkook drowsily drags himself out of bed, eyes still closed as he swings the bedroom door open.

“oing?” he creates a noise of confusion when his arm bumps against an object. he blinks at the brown paper bag hanging on his doorknob, removing one of the handles to peek at its contents.

he buffers for a moment, staring blankly at his belongings safely tucked inside. there’s his black mini bluetooth speaker, tinted lipbalm, wired earphones, bucket hat, facial cleanser, moisturizer, and shampoo. these are everything he left on top of your study desk and in your bathroom. neatly folded on the side is his windbreaker, which he recalls as clear as daylight, how you reveled in its comfort the last time that you were together. the fabric softener you use has replaced his perfume, the cherry scent forming a rain cloud of nostalgia and longing above his head.

if this is a nightmare, he is begging for somebody, anybody, to break into the room and to bring him someplace where hope is not desolate.

his wounded heart, as his namjoon-hyung described, is experiencing an excruciating pain he never even imagined was possible. he now understands, why the broken heart syndrome is a real thing.

he can’t read you. is this your way of ‘reaching out’? have you kicked him out of your house, out of your life? for good?

the dread of losing you forever is gnawing at his insides. nausea almost succeeds in knocking him off his feet. his brain hisses with static. he panics at the disgustingly familiar sensation brewing in his digestive system, sprinting to the bathroom to spill out his guts.

they say that you don’t realize what you have until you lose it. that early morning, jungkook realizes that he’s only a human being after all.

—

“when did i put that there?”

you’re sorting out your dirty laundry after showering when you notice a tissue paper tucked in the front pocket of your denim jeans. you huff out a sigh, ripping it apart into tiny pieces over the trash bin with raging vexation. you will never understand how men thinks that these kind of stupid tricks are supposed to compel you into seeing them anywhere near attractive and desirable in your eyes. if anything, they make you feel unsafe and if your paths cross again, you will run the other way. great. another person in the lecture room to avoid. just fucking great.

at this point, you want to mockingly laugh at your own misery. just when you thought your day couldn’t possibly get worse, it fucking does.

you tuck yourself in bed by midnight, texting a friend about your joint presentation next week, and then rereading your conversation with namjoon from this morning for the nth time. you’ve been hoping it will shine light on the right path to take, because you’re still lost and hurt.

Namjoon:

he’s been devastated since

can’t this be sorted out?

stuff’s just been overwhelming and honestly i’m as anxious as him

i'm not trying to force you into getting back together with him ofc but please talk for closure atleast..

you’re also my friend. i think you need it too..

you scroll a bit further down afterwards, and your heart drops to your stomach when you see the three dots under the contact name ‘my jungkook’. you click on it as it beckons you to, only to allow time to flow like a river with no sea to kiss, idly watching the bubble appear and disappear, appear and disappear. almost everyday, you catch a glimpse of him at the very least, typing a message and never sending it.

the same goes for tonight, it seems.

his silence is torturing you. in the car, in your inbox, in your call history. a person knocks on the door and a part of you foolishly predicts that it’s jungkook not using his copy of the key out of respect.

you succumb to the yearning, heading to your shared media and files that you’ve been actively resisting for the past three weeks… for this exact reason.

you randomly click a video sent by jungkook three months ago.

“i know you’re in class but i’m too excited to show what i got you today!” he beams at the front camera, bunny teeth cutely showing. he picks up the first item from the hotel bed with his free hand. “you already own this book but this one got a different cover, see? it’s hardback? they say it’s a limited edition.”

he eyes it fleetingly, obvious that there is something else he is dying to mention.

“i won’t show it too close. you can look at it when i go home. there’s a little surprise inside.”

he scrunches his nose before teasingly sticking his tongue out.

“and then here we haaave-”

following that, he shows you an adorable fluffy white bunny with red eyes. it occupies more than half the screen, and without a doubt, it is soft and huggable.

“cooky’s new sibling! we found it at a gift shop and hobi-hyung said it looks like me.”

he presses his cheek to the bunny’s. “i accept. we do look alike, but my eyes are so much bigger.”

in the upcoming seconds, the video is muted except for his breathing. he plops down on the bed while ruffling his dark hair, staring at the camera wordlessly, evocative of when you catch him dreamily watching you study while you’re on a videocall.

“i miss you.” he smiles sadly, deep dimples appearing on his cheeks. “don’t forget to text me when you’re on your way home.”

he drops on his back, the firm mattress breaking his fall.

“mmmwah!“ he kisses the camera, and your screen freezes on the final frame.

the silence in the aftermath is defeaning. you tear your glasses off your face, burying your face in the pillows. you arrive at your final decision then and there. you don’t care. you don’t care. you don’t care anymore. you cannot bear to spend more of your days like this. his things that used to live here might be gone, but you look for him everywhere. you look for his car in the parking lot. you look for his hair when you see flowers. you wait for his name to be called in the coffee shop. on your way home, you linger at the playground where you used to usually meet.

because if your relationship with jungkook is truly doomed to fail, you want to watch its foundation collapse on the ground, burnt down to gray and black ashes that disintegrate when you try to grasp them in your hands… with good grace, it’s the only way for you to believe that there’s no more home to come home to.

with a trembling hand, you press the call button and for the very first time, you beg someone to stay.

—

jungkook’s breathing ceases, heartbeat violently racing in his chest. the ‘chimes’ ringtone tickle his ears, his phone vibrating incessantly in his hands. the two features he specifically customized in your contact settings so he will immediately recognize that it’s you who’s calling.

it’s been four days since you dropped off his things. and here he was, laying on his bed and struggling to find the right words to say because he refuses to believe that this is how it ends. the paper bag is still hanging on the doorknob. he hasn’t touched it since the first time. he doesn’t have the courage to do so.

fuck giving you space. he wants drown himself in you and never come up for air. he’s more than willing to suffer your anger or your coldness. he’s prepared to prove himself worthy of a second chance every second of every day. he wants to occupy half of your desk and half of your closet again. he selfishly wishes to be the first and the last person you fall in love with.

but until the very end, you’re the braver one.

“love?” your voice is quiet, barely audible, but it’s there, and he hears the affectionate term of endearment distinctly. “i’m sorry. i tried, i really did, but i couldn’t do it…”

“baby,” he falters breathlessly, half of him in disbelief, convinced that he has officially lost his goddamn mind and delusion is bleeding into reality.

“i tried living without you like you wanted- but i can’t-” you hiccup in between small sobs on the other line. “i love you, jungkook. i can’t live carrying around all this love with me. it’s too heavy…”

exploding and breaking apart, jungkook’s heart is a meteor that has entered the planet’s atmosphere, and he doesn’t know where to begin digging for the fragments so he can piece himself together again.

“we are too young and we don’t know what the fuck we’re doing and i love you too much. you don’t have to protect me… i’ll take my fair share of the responsibility, so just-” he hangs on your every word, and then you pause, your following words eliciting a powerful punch to his gut. “just let me love you and let me learn my lesson the hard way… let’s do that, okay?”

the walls of him room ebbs and flows in like the sea. he rests his forearm over his eyes, his skin gradually dampening with tears. he once promised himself that he would never put you in this position. he should be the one begging for forgiveness, repenting and crawling on his knees. but rather than wasting his time with surfing through another tsunami of self-blame, he reminds himself: i want to be a better man.

“okay, baby. let’s do that, hmm? let’s do that. it’s what i want too.” he coos softly with a hoarse voice. “are you at your apartment?”

you hum in confirmation, sniffling. “come home.”

—

a half-naked jungkook abruptly opens the door to yoongi’s room, wearing gray sweatpants with his left arm awkwardly inserted in one of the black t-shirt’s armhole.

“hyung! can i borrow your car? mine’s getting a check-up.”

yoongi tears his eyes away from the computer, hanging the black headphones on the nape of his neck. he merely shrugs before throwing the car key, and jungkook catches it in one hand with ease.

he sighs in relief, politely bowing his upper body to express his gratitude. “thank you, hyung.”

“what are you doing?!” yoongi half-smiles with fondness, jokingly waving him off. “just go- go. leave!”

—

jungkook nervously stands before your front door, head woozy with anticipation and fear. what if things have changed? what if your relationship never goes back to the way it was?

“oh. you’re back together?”

he whips his head back to find your neighbor arriving home from his part-time job. huh, he just realized that he has never really learned what his name is. the only information he has on him is that his sister owns a bee farm.

“how did you even know?” he asks with knitted eyebrows. “you haven’t been giving out honey again, have you?”

“she only accepted it once.” the stranger puts his arms up in surrender with a roll of his eyes. “and don’t make her cry again, will you? she blasts sad songs late at night.”

and with an unpleasantly forceful shut of the door, jungkook is left alone in the hallway. his jaw clenches as he glares at the next apartment, but he rubs his face to release his frustration before he goes to meet you.

“we need to move in together.” he grumbles to himself as he enters your unit, relocking the door behind him. he removes his sneakers, neatly setting them down beside your pairs of shoes by the doormat.

he pads on the wooden floor with his white toe socks, looking around the dark and quiet living room. a faint orange light is seeping under the gap between the floor and the bedroom door, which he recognizes to be your favorite mode on your multi-colored nightstand lamp. he cautiously cracks the door open, and he is instantly greeted by your curled up figure, peacefully sleeping.

it’s muscle memory when he hangs his backpack on the backrest of your study chair before anything else. he also brought the paper bag you sent, putting it down on the floor.

he squats down infront of you, lightly prying away the phone you’re hugging to your chest and placing the device on the bedside table. the light is shining over your skin, and there are a thousand of photos and videos organized into the most treasured folder in his gallery, but not a single one of them will ever do you justice.

god, he missed you so much. it hasn’t been two years, but the life he had before he met you feels like an extremely distant memory.

he sighs, talking in hopes that he appears in your dreams. “how do you do this? you make it impossible not to love you.”

he unconsciously frowns at the sight of your puffy eyes. never again. never again. never again. he chants inside his head. he plants a kiss on each of your eyelids, taking his time to bask in the feeling of your weight under his lips.

he climbs on the opposite side of the bed, tucking you underneath the blanket before securely holding you from behind with his thigh hanging over yours. the warmth of your body and the scent of your shampoo cures the headache that’s been bothering him the whole day. he drifts off to sleep soon after.

—

the feather-light brushes through the silky locks of his hair pulls him out of his slumber half an hour later. he can make out your silhouette through his half-open eyes, the little-mermaid-like scene feels too vivid for a dream.

“why didn’t you wake me up?” you whine, sulking with a pout.

“i’m sorry.” he answers quietly, sitting up to engulf you in a tight embrace as endless apologies tumble from his tongue. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry that i gave up. i’m sorry that i hurt you. i’m so sorry… are you angry at me?”

“i’m upset.” you admit after a few beats, not seeing the point in sugarcoating it. “it hurts when i remember you saying that. and i understand you but… but i don’t like that you decided alone for us. if you do that again… then it will be over between us.”

he has an arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand firmly holding the back of your head. it’s a little hard to breathe, but it’s so reassuring to feel that he doesn’t want to let you out of his embrace. because you hated it — hated how it felt like letting you go was so easy.

“i regret everything. i’m sorry.” he whispers, concealing his tears by nuzzling his face on your neck. “and you’re not a burden. that’s not true.”

he knows that you mean your every word, so he lifts up his head to gaze directly into your eyes, showing that he is as sincere and true to his.

“from now on, all i’ll think about is what i can do to make you happy and safe without compromising our relationship… i’ll do better. i’ll love you better. i promise that i’ll be stronger for us. i won’t make the same mistake twice.”

you wish jungkook could be kinder to himself, treat himself with the same gentleness that comes so naturally with you. why is it that humans find loving themselves so laborious? why does being have to come with such a curse?

taking glimpses at the past, you should’ve been reminding him of these affirmations everyday.

“you don’t have to be strong all the time. i’m not asking for that.” you shake your head, voicing out yourself in a tone so soothing and illuminating. “i don’t want to go anywhere far away from you so think of yourself, too. i told you before, it’s okay to hold on to me. i’m also strong.”

jungkook feels so safe at home. he doesn’t remember what he was so worried of anymore.

“and you know what? if you really see it that way, then i’m telling you now. i want to waste my time on you. you can’t stop me.” your threatening eyes widen in conviction, provoking a sheepish smile to tug at the corners of his lips. “i always get what i want.”

“and you want me?” he innocently points at himself.

“love you.”

“i love you.” he replies, nosing at your neck before leaving a chaste kiss on your skin. “so much.”

“then put yourself in my shoes.” you hum, combing his hair with your fingers, lightly tugging to initiate eye-contact. “i want to take care of you just like how you want to take care of me. i think we have something rare and beautiful…” you pause, self-conscious about coming across as too needy now that you’re face-to-face, but an epiphany shatters your apprehension with a bow and an arrow.

this is what he needed to hear from you that day.

“so stay with me.”

jungkook’s vision becomes unfocused. he’s speechless; the only sound in the room is the humming of the airconditioner, but it’s almost as if you can hear the gears of his brain working their hardest. the pain that glossed his enchanting doe eyes has been replaced with a devotion you’ve never seen expressed so passionately in them before.

“all the time i own is yours.” he declares, cupping your face, the pad of his thumb daintily stroking your cheek. “all of it. we can do anything you want to do. let me make it up to you.”

“anything?” your face lights up with joy and mischief, and the butterflies in jungkook’s stomach come alive. he wants to make it his life’s mission to make you smile everyday; and that, he will do. “then i want you to kiss me.”

the sultriness of your enticing voice makes him go haywire. it’s been too damn long. he has forgotten what it feels like to kiss you. he slowly inches closer, his lips brushing against your lips before he pulls you in deeper, a fervent display of his yearning and apologies. he swallows the needy moan that escapes you as he slowly lays you down on the mattress, stripping off his shirt and mindlessly tossing it somewhere when you impatiently tug at it with another whimper. you cage his face in your hands, bringing back his lips on yours as if he’s the air that you breathe.

he wants to grieve for all the wasted time because everyday, he craved for this. to be honest, he forgets his name when he’s kissing you. outside, the crowds scream his name for being the best at what he does best, and he happily lives for the euphoria of it all. but in this room, there is only you and him. you communicate using the unspoken language of love with your lips. you bare the soft animal in yourselves with your teeth sinking in the other’s skin. you allow your rawest desires and truths to unravel with a slip of the tongue. he exists beyond his name, becomes an indecipherable enigma even to himself. what is the use of an explanation if there is no meaning anyway? all he knows is that he loves you despite all the reasons, against all the reasons.

he sneaks under your shirt, fingertips teasingly exploring your skin as if he’s drawing a map. he feels you quiver when he finally reaches your chest, gently kneading the soft flesh in his palm. this makes you mewl in pleasure, arching your back as your hand unconsciously curls around his wrist, the cotton fabric separating the two of you. the action electrifies jungkook, makes him lose himself a little more, which he didn’t think was still possible.

“touch me, please- jungkook. need you-” you choke out a desperate whimper, nearly sobbing as you guide his hand between your thighs. you can’t bear to spend another second untouched; the last time you made love feels like an eternity ago. he slips past the waistband of your underwear, the only article of clothing you’re wearing below. but to your disappointment, he gently caresses your hip bone instead of dipping his long fingers into your wetness.

“shh, hold on, baby-” he forces himself to break away from the kiss, swollen and red lips glistening with spit. “baby, look at me. you didn’t drink, right? i don’t want to take advantage.”

you gape at him with your chest heaving up and down, dumbfounded. “how could you even think of that right now?”

his eyes widen in panic, worried that he might’ve offended you. “no, no, no-” his palms skim your thighs, guiding them to wrap around his slim waist. you gasp when he presses up on you and his hard length rubs on your folds, sending jolts of electricity up your spine. a gush of arousal dampens the thin material covering your center.

“i want you so fucking bad that it hurts.” he gingerly wipes away the tears that you didn’t even notice streamed down to your temples. you can’t remember the last time you cried before today, they must’ve gotten tired of asking for your permission. “but you were crying when you called, baby. i had to make sure.”

“oh, my boyfriend is such a gentleman.” you muse dreamily. pepper his face with delicate kisses, lips curving upward with an adoring smile. “look at him enjoying my kisses.”

you playfully squeeze his cheeks together, making his pillowy lips pucker.

“you really wanted to break up with me in this case, huh? you wanted to live without me and my kisses? no way.”

his eyelids flutter open, and he shakes his head as he dips down to kiss you. “it was hell without you…” his teeth captures your bottom lip, nipping at the supple flesh. “going to build a life with you. i’ll build furniture, and they’re going to be ours.”

“good. you better.” your high-pitched giggles bounce off the walls as his lips trail down to your neck, licking a bold stripe over your ticklish spots. “i don’t have the patience for it, but i’ll be your trusty assistant.”

it’s ridiculous, how even the sound of your laughter turns him on even more.

—

jungkook learned that you finished your exams yesterday, having spent majority of the past two weeks pulling all-nighters to prepare for them. you seem to be confident about the results, the way you talked about it without concern. he never once doubted that you’re resolute and persevering, but acing your exams in the middle of a breakup is beyond what he can digest. it must’ve been a grueling experience, he can only imagine.

he presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, and then your lips, before dragging the blanket higher over your naked figure, a thicker one he brought out from the cabinet. poor thing, you fell asleep on his lap while he was drying your hair, incoherently murmuring about how tired you are.

he walks to your study space, fixing the loosening towel wrapped around his waist. one by one, he pulls out the items from the paper bag, returning them to their old places on your desk. he toothily grins at the windbreaker, ecstatic due to his plan on wearing it at work today. he wants to give it back to you smelling like him again.

an index card lands on the ground when he unfolds it, making him peer down in curiosity.

“what’s this?” he mumbles, bending down to pick it up.

jumbled thoughts. a letter shoved at the back of the mailbox. a hesitant confession. a bittersweet reminder that says: a wound does not magically disappear overnight. it requires the proper treatment to heal correctly, and even then, it might still leave a scar.

These are only a few of many. Why is this the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do? I’m usually the more logical one. Was it really so bad that we weren’t going anywhere?

and messily crossed out at the end,

I miss you.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[thecapricunt1616]

capriiiiiii can i pretty please request something with carmy and a gf who is dealing with being stiff / sore and tired. i acc just need him to take care of me. maybe cook me a meal. :(( ily

My loveeeee Hello I'm sorry this has been rotting away I've been dealing with such writers block I hope this doesn't suck aaa! I'm sorry I haven't been writing as much / around tumblr this week i've been busy with other things but I hope to write more soon <3 I finally got my new laptop so i'm going to try and cook some stuff up really soon! Warnings for btc: None really, pure fluff & happy carmy!not edited sorryyyy WC: 1638

You had helped Sugar set up her nursery last night. All the moving of large boxes, and helping build the crib, changing table, and dresser, you were wiped out to say the least. You got home around 4 am, and  When Carmy had left for the restaurant that morning, you were still crumpled on the couch where he’d left you, snuggled in a blanket and softly snoring. When he came home that night and nudged you, you jumped like a sleeping cat 

“I’m awake!” You said quickly with an unintentional snore, rubbing your eyes tiredly. 

“Brought you a sandwich and some fries. Back still hurts?” He asked softly. 

You whimper gently as you stretch out your sore muscles, sitting up once again in the dark living room. “How’s work?” You mumbled with a yawn, taking the takeout container as he plopped next to you and planted a kiss on your head. 

“Doesn’t matter, m’here for you baby, why don’t I get you a bath set up mm?” He flicks on a lamp and you blink a few times as your eyes get adjusted to the light.  

“You’re too good to me, you know that right?” You gave him a peck on the lips. He smiled a bit and rubbed your side 

“I can’t even count the amount of back massages you’ve given me after a long week. I’m just repaying the favor.” He watched as you took a bite and sighed in relief, your stomach growling- likely in thanks as you hadn’t moved from your spot all day long in your blanket nest. 

“This is really good, Bear” you mumble as you chew. He hums happily at your approval, giving you one more kiss to the temple before getting up. 

“Good, I put a piece of princess cake in the fridge for you for after your bath if you want” he said on his way to the bathroom, and you could cry at the bliss that was being taken care of. 

He makes sure to clean out the tub with bathroom spray and rinse it fully, before starting the water at the very hot temperature he knew you liked after plugging the tub. He got one of the little herb sachets with different flowers and herbs and hung it over the faucet so it infused into the water, causing it to be a pretty light pink color.

From the bathroom closet he grabbed your little bath tray and set it up for you, as well as the little bath head pillow that suctioned to the tub for you to rest back on, and got those set up before taking out the waterproof electric candles and setting a few out for you for a comforting ambiance. After he put a good amount of the muscle relaxing herbal epsom salts in the bath for you, as well as plenty of bubbles the way you liked and agitated the water for you, he popped your favorite fluffy towel in the warmer. 

He cut off the water and went into the bedroom, grabbing your fluffy bathrobe and a comfortable pair of panties for you as well as the book you were currently reading from your nightstand and got them all set up on the bathroom counter for you, as well as your hair brush. He opened the bottom drawer where you kept all your sheet face masks, and picked out a bedtime one and set it on the bath tray for you next to your book. 

By the time he came back out to let you know your bath was ready you had already finished eating and were once again slumped on the couch, you figured you had pulled or overworked something in your back because even holding yourself up was proving to be exhausting very fast. “Did you want some wine my love” he crouched down next to where you were snuggled on the couch, brushing your hair from your eyes gently. 

“Yes please” you said softly. He planted a gentle, lingering kiss on your forehead before going to the kitchen. He got your favorite wine out of the fridge, popping open the bottle and pouring you a glass. He brought it to the bathroom and put it in the little slot on the tray made for wine glasses, before coming back to collect you. 

“Alright, up” he held his hand out to you and wiggled his fingers for you to take it. You sighed softly knowing moving meant pain, but when you grabbed his hand he lifted you to your feet with little effort, being sure to steady you with his other hand on your hip since you weren’t expecting it. 

“Woah” you giggled, the action having woken you from your tired state and following him to the bathroom. When you saw the state of it, you pulled him into a tight hug, kissing his neck gently. You didn’t want him to see the fact there was tears pooling at your eyes, since he hated when you cried. But the fact that he had a nearly 14 hour day, and came home to you- and still went out of his way, above and beyond to take care of you. To make you feel loved, cared for. You’d never had another partner who was so attentive and went out of their way for you how he did.

“Love you…” you muttered before pulling away with a sniffle. He cupped your cheeks, giving you a gentle kiss 

“Your towel is In the warmer waiting for you baby, I’ll get your pajamas set out for you” he gently tucked your hair behind your ear and rubbed his knuckle over your cheekbone before heading back to your bedroom, leaving the door cracked behind him. You noticed after he left that your skincare was all set up for you as well as your favorite body lotion and its matching body mist which just made you smile even more. 

After undressing you sit in the warm bath, sighing in relief as the hot water did wonders for your sore muscles, resting your head back on the comfortable pillow as you sip your wine and hum contently to yourself. For a while you just sat, reading your book and sipping your wine and after about 30 minutes when the water had gone lukewarm, and your glass of wine had been finished - you decided to drain the tub. 

Carmy heard you getting out of the bath, so he went and got your pajamas that he’d been warming in the dryer for you and got your side of the bed all made up after filling your reusable water bottle with iced lemon water.  By the time you had gotten your lotion on and did your skincare as well as brushed your teeth, the house had already been shut down for the evening. He had made sure to clean up the kitchen and living room, as well as shut all of the shades and get your coffee pot set up for the next morning like usual. 

“Hey pretty girl” he takes your hand, kissing it gently “got some warm pajamas for you, house is taken care of you just have to get in bed” he motioned to the bed where your pajamas were nicely folded for you. 

“And you say you aren’t romantic” you mused, causing him to chuckle a bit as he wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head 

“What can I say, I guess you bring it out of me. Get your pajamas on I’ll rub your feet for you” he said and you hum happily, closing your eyes and planting a kiss on his neck

“Can I be babied like this all the time?” You joked, he huffed a laugh, handing you your pajamas. 

“The days that I’m not too wiped out from work, I can try” he plopped down on his side of the bed with a soft grunt of relief after being on his feet all day. You slipped out of your robe, and his eyes rake over your frame as you unfolded your soft, fluffy nightgown and slipped it over your head. “Mm mm mm” he said jokingly. You giggled as you crawl on the bed, resting your legs over his lap and wiggling your manicured toes teasingly. 

“Get to massaging this isn’t a free peep show” you said and he took your ankle, bringing it to his lips and giving it a chaste kiss

“What- so you can put me to work, and I can’t even eye the goods?” he joked as he put your leg gently back in his lap and grabbing the massage oil that he’d put on the nightstand and warming some in his hands before starting to massage your foot. You hum happily, lips curling into a small smile and your eyes fluttering shut in bliss. 

“Mmmm, keep doin’ that and I’ll let you see whateeever you want” you said happily, your voice nearly a purr from how expertly he was massaging your calves and feet. “Can I turn on Big Brother?” you asked and giggle at the way his face lit up

“You really waited?! Fuck yeah I wanna see whats up put it on” he said and you smiled, shaking your head jokingly as you turned on the TV. He had whined before about not wanting to watch ‘trash reality tv’ all the time, but over the course of the many nights he came home and you were watching it - he had eventually starting asking you to wait for him to watch ‘your show’ together, and you would tease him and tell him how you thought he said it was boring and gossipy, just to get his cheeks to go that cute shade of pink.“Of course I waited, it’s our show now”

[vatelixx]

The visionary, the willing executor,

Spencer Reid x afab!UNSUB!reader (written with mid!seasons Spencer Reid in mind)

SMUT!! copious amounts of angst (there’s traces of fluff in there as well if u get out ur magnifying glass)

BASED ON THIS SONG (it got so stuck in my head that I had to write something that correlated):

──── autistic spencer (it’s not explored that much, but it’s always gonna be present in my oneshots), evil evil reader (im not being dramatic this time. she’s literally a serial killer. like her ‘body count’ is copious. but idk, she’s kinda sweet. if u squint and ignore the bodies). They were in love ur honour !!! they’re still in love ur honour !!!! She pays him a visit two years after he found out about her homicidal tendencies (they miss each other, Spencer might also hate her a little but it’s okay, don’t worry about that).

Warnings: sub spencer (aaaaaaalways), maybe perhaps some vague, very faint mentions of switch!spencer but idk i blacked out writing this, choking, mentions of death and general behaviour that would get you a life sentence, praise more than degradation surprisingly, coming untouched, crying (you’d think that was a kink or something?), she fucks the good out of him, hopeful ending (eh, kinda), mentions of dante’s inferno, copious amounts of religious imagery, greek mythology references, this isn’t dead dove at all i promise.

w.c: 5k

a/n: everything i write has been so angsty recently. i’m working on something softer for my next upload i swear (alongside the requests, I promise, they’re being written im just a die-hard perfectionist). aaaaanyway, happy (belated) halloween!! It’s Spencer’s favourite season so i thought i’d write him getting destroyed by a serial killer (god when is it my turn????)

────────────

Spencer would consider himself a good person, by default. It’s reasonable: a renowned member of the BAU, with intellect he’s weaponized for morality. The blood etched onto his hands is justified. Necessary evil for greater cause. He’s willing to blemish his skin for the virtue, for the lives of others.

He remembers naivety. He remembers being so fragile he could easily crack into fragmented pieces of wasted innocence. Maybe that’s been stolen from him now, maybe the ruins of his sacrifices are too sharp to touch upon still, but he’s good. He knows he will always be good.

And yet, there’s a bruise. Something ugly and distorted that stains his skin. Something that has the ability to crawl deep into his bones and leave behind a mess of pain. Something bad. Festering and tainted, it haunts him with every breath.

You.

You, who came into his life as an abundance of sunlight. Helios personified. Pretty and warm, and everything he needed. He wanted to kiss you: the moment he stumbled into the coffee shop, tousled hair, overworked and raw from a burdening case. When you took his order, marking constellations onto the styrofoam cup. Andromeda, Ursa Major, Cassiopeia. Later, much later, then when you became an indomitable presence to his apartment.

But for all the good he’s preserved, Spencer knows he’s not allowed to receive it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” is the first thing he says when he finds you waiting for him. He always knew you would come back; you’re bound to follow him indefinitely. Like his shadow, his guilty consciousness, his cracked past of addiction and pre-pubescent torment.

He let you go. When the act was over, the curtain drawn, when he saw you. Homicidal, the perpetrator of the case he was working on, malevolence packed into the frame of perfection, oh even still, he let you go. Free to continue the cycle of death, he was left to scramble in the mess of his own misguided heart.

There’s risk in reward, and reward in risk. You’re meticulous, hedonistic to the last detail. But Spencer? Well, he will always be the one loose end you could never quite force yourself to clean up. The thread that kept untangling, even as time passed. Cut it off, you should be rational, wash every bleeding trace of him from your skin.

But there’s irrationality in love.

Blood adorns your features; there’s no need to touch up your appearance, to return to the domesticated facade you once used on him. No, he’s been exposed to the ugly now. There can be no do overs, no back-tracking, game over try again doesn’t exist in real time.

“What are you going to do about it?” you ask, and god, hes just as beautiful as the day you left him. So perfectly real, with dragging exhaustion and pretty brown eyes to ease the sting of his tight-faced, troubled expression.

You didn’t cut the phone lines, nor move the gun he keeps stashed in his cabinet drawer. Down the hall, to the left. You know he won’t make any abrupt actions. Know, in an intuitive way, telepathic communication between past lovers.

“It was a gamble coming here, aren’t you pleased to see me pretty boy?”

Spencer has to fight every urge he has, every moral he believes in to not lunge at you; to not strangle your slender neck, crack you in half, destroy you the way you’ve destroyed his sanity.

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since you cataclysmically uprooted his routined life. He fell in love with softness, not the jagged edge of a blade.

“I let you go. Wasn’t that enough?” it feels too natural, fighting in his apartment, some sort of twisted lovers quarrel. There’s a definite list of everything he should do in this moment, and despite all logic, he just blanks at the sight of you.

“You had to come back. Rub salt in the wound. Do you get off on this?” a sigh falls from his pretty lips, “Actually, don’t— don’t answer that. We both know the answer.”

“I get off on you,” you correct.

It’s true. If he was to analyse you, profile your warped brain like his other unsubs, he’d find nothing but unyielding loyalty to him. For all the damage you’ve done, there’s always been one anomaly to your detachment.

He stands right before you.

And, sure, maybe you’ve got a leg up in this situation. Perhaps the distorted memory of you holds him back: lazy nights and tangled sheets, his body pressed up against yours. The way he’d talk, quantum physics, philosophy, rambles that dissolved into open admissions of feelings. There’s a lot that was fake, but to be a good liar, you have to add subsidiary details of truth.

God, he wishes the world would be cruel—a cosmic alignment of karmic righteousness that would grant him relief: some kind of justification for what he must do. But the universe is indifferent, nothing but a distant star, a fleeting speck of dust in the grand scheme of life. There’s no such thing as good or bad, only consequences.

Consequences. Consequences for his actions. Butterfly effect. He can comprehend it. But, there were many things he adored about you, while the illusion of love was tangible. The way your hair would curl just above your shoulders, your skin in the morning light. The way you’d laugh at one of his obscure Star Trek references, better yet his criticism on modern, inaccurate horror. He could stare at you for eons, as though he was trying to make out the secrets of the universe in the constellation lines of your scars.

The illusion of love, as it was. He sees you now with the clarity of reality, the same way a mirage fades away as you approach; a distortion of perception.

“And you get off on me. Even now. Don’t you?” you say, shifting forward to close gravitational space.

There’s no way to disregard this morbid connection. No psychological justification he can exploit to demean your feelings. You’re not a psychopath, nor anything that relates to a lack of empathy. You feel— you feel empathy for all of your victims, the line of bodies that mark your path. But it goes deeper than that. There was reasoning for your actions, just as there was for his.

“Say it,” you goad. And there’s satisfaction here, sure. Something mean and condescending. But there’s also hurt, because he was supposed to be a means to an end, and now, he might very well be your end.

“Say you miss me. C’mon boy genius, a few little words and i’ll have enough content to satisfy me for years. Don’t be mean— you know I hate being edged.”

He does miss you, every day that he wakes up, his bones too hollow and cold to leave his bed. The ache in his chest where his heart was supposed to be, too empty to function. No amount of caffeine can fill the void in his skull where thoughts of you used to reside. The longing, the desire for the past to rewrite itself.

“You’re sick,” he tries. But he’s not good at this. Not when the love remained after the inevitable fall out, not when the darkest parts of him still clung to want, even after he realised the truth.

“You’re sick, and..” he tries again, “and I hate how much I miss you. There? Is that enough? Are you happy? Got what you wanted?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “No. If I ‘got what I wanted’, I would still have you.”

Spencer dies. Metaphorically, literally, what does it even matter? He dies, respawns, and then kisses the admittance from your lips.

Instinctively, just like the past, your hands tangle through his hair, and perhaps there’s a sense of ownership to the gesture. The knowledge that he will always be yours. Scarred from your touch, returning to your lips like a dog with a bird. There’s a mindless attempt at anger on his part, biting lips and rough teeth, but just like always, he quickly melts.

He melts, and you catch him. Because for all it’s worth, lies and deceit aside, you’ve always loved him.

There’s something powerful to the gesture; knowing you have someone wrapped around your finger. Even after you’ve bared the worst of you, the ugliness of man-kind. There’s someone out there that will wipe the blood from your cheek, and kiss you through it.

“Oh, even better,” you mutter against his lips, “Much, much better. C’mon Spence, show me just how much you’ve missed me.”

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since he felt like he could breathe.

It hurts, it hurts so much, because there’s a sense of coming home to the kiss, and he just wants you to stay. To ruin him forever. To leave behind a deformed version of him, something unrecognisable and equally scarring.

You’re too loyal and he’s too susceptible to any form of attention. Because you want him, and it’s easy to fall into a cyclical cycle of self-destruction when you’re the catalyst.

“I did miss you.” he admits again. “You— crazy, homicidal excuse of a person.”

Spencer’s hand comes up to touch your cheek, the rough texture of skin meeting something soft. His thumb traces down the curvature of your jawline, a silent hello that doesn’t linger long, too soon to be replaced with his lips.

You push him back against the wall, a painful groan escaping your lips when you feel his hips canting forward, searching aimlessly for a friction you’ve both been denied. Two years. His body still aches for you. It’s primal, something perverted and tainted and so very good.

You knew this would happen. There was not a doubt in your clouded mind that he would deny you. What you do to me, I do to you.

“There’s my boy.” you mutter when you grip said hips, fingers finding their natural, fated position against divine bone. When he begins to find a stable pace, bucking up to meet you with every kiss that you press to his lips.

He whimpers when you touch him, soft sounds of need slipping past his parted lips into the confines of his empty apartment. He’s trying so hard to maintain composure, but he can’t find it in him to fight the inevitable. The ache of separation between himself and you. So he lets it happen, like he always does.

My boy, the possession goes straight to his head. One simple phrase and he’s untangling, breaking to pieces because yes, he is yours. And yes, he will forever want to be reminded.

“Mhm, mhm. Oh— oh, fuck.” he’s so hard, clothed cock pushing up against you with every movement. He could get off on less of you. He has. Every night.

And yes, it certainly feels like home. It’s only the thing your body has been aimlessly yearning for, day in and day out. It’s not fair, not fair to you, that you’ve allowed your resolve to crumble, your strategic, one-track mind, for the fleeting body of a past lover.

But then again, demeaning him to a past lover doesn’t even begin to articulate this.

You’re fairly certain he was put on this earth, just to torment you.

And you’re fairly certain you’ll always let him.

“God, you’re such a slut for me.” you say, drawing back from the friction just to prove your point. The disintegrating whimpers that bleed out of his mouth in response are enough alone to confirm.

His head falls back against the wall, baring that lovely length of his neck and its pretty bruises. He wants you to kiss him there, to leave one last mark before he says ‘I won’t see you again’ and means it this time.

“Don’t— don’t stop—” even as he speaks, a mess of jumbled words and breathless sentences, you’re still teasing him. He hates how much it works, how much he’d rather fall into the pleasure of your hands.

“Fine. Whatever. Yes. What do you want to hear? That it’s whorish the way I want you. That you’re able to just… corrupt me with all these dirty words, even though I have an extensive vocabulary. Even though i’m supposed to be—“

He’s not even sure what he’s supposed to be anymore.

“You know the extent of my devotion.” he concedes.

There will always be sadistic pleasure in reducing him to such an ignominious version of himself. You’ve seen it before, back when you were trapped in an artificial, yet domesticated, haze of bliss. But to hear it now? Even after everything has been said and done?

That’s a new type of pleasure.

You know he still holds onto the facade of you, aimlessly reaching for something intangible, something that never truly existed. “You want me to be good for you, huh? Just pack up my shit, leave it all behind, get better? Think about it. White picket fence. Coffee every morning. God— it would be insufferable. Coming home to feed the dogs, talking every night over the phone, begging you to be safe on a case, or or—“

Spencer breaks. Silencing your words with a pained whimper.

Usually, he doesn’t allow himself to think about that fantastical hypothetic. He can’t afford to. Months after he let you go, when the truth had been exposed to his naive eyes, he’d spend hours in a mess of aching limbs, dreaming up alternative realities where your hands weren’t stained from blood, and the most despicable thing you could do was make his coffee bitter.

So when you force him to open old wounds, to rehash past hopes, he falls apart. A whine escapes his lips, hips bucking, once, twice and then he’s coming untouched. Making a mess out of himself— and it’s sick, so very sick to get off on the thought of you permanent, the epitome of good.

Something he could hold onto without slicing open skin.

It’s not a good orgasm, it never is without your direct help, but at least it’s some form of release. In the aftermath, he blinks away tears, vaguely aware of the cum staining his boxers, creating damp spots through fabric.

There’s something painful, cutting to your gaze when you look at him. At the debauched sight, corrupted from just a few words.

Give it all up? For what? Him?

All things considered, it’s tempting.

“Spencer,” you mutter in the serrated moments between. When he’s still nebulous, caught in the aftershocks of abrupt pleasure. When he’s just gotten off, untouched, on the notion of a domesticated life with you.

He’s struggling to breathe. He’s spent nights gasping for you, reduced to the most debasing version of himself. So out of touch, you drove a blade through his back, catching his heart on the way.

“Why are you— doing this?” he asks, but before you can even answer, provide him with an explanation that will devastate, he’s lunging forward, kissing the lies that cling to your lips. Kissing you because his mouth hurts when it’s not attached to yours.

“One last time.” he says; he’s too intelligent, too intellectually adept, to allow this swallowing cycle of humiliation to continue.

But, underneath it all, he’s also inherently selfish for you. He’s fairly certain you were engrained into his skin, long before he fell into your barbed trap, teeth and penetrative ruin.

“Then you leave. You actually leave, never contact me again. No showing up at my apartment unprovoked. I have a good life without you. Understood?”

You scoff. He presses forward, “Understood?”

You don’t protest when he elucidates his life as good. Even if it’s quite the contrary. Even if he has to bare witness to depravity every single day, scrutinise his way through the minds of the most perverse. Perhaps this is a social experiment to him, perhaps you are the guinea pig, Laika sentenced to space. You know he loved you once, but it’s hard to comprehend the feelings remained unscarred, it’s hard to imagine you’re anything but a test subject now.

You look at him. Look at that pretty face. Your undoing. He could be your achilles heel, hamartia in its rawest form, or maybe you willingly chose to do this. Maybe fate, and divine intervention played no part in your attachment to him. Maybe it’s just chemicals. The logics explanation. Imbalanced, skewed chemicals.

“Don’t worry, boy genius.” you respond, “You won’t get anything, not even a postcard, from me. It’ll be like I never even existed.” no trace. D.C has always been a monotone cesspit of nothing anyway.

It’s cruel. Because if you leave, truly leave. And he never hears from you again, never catches you in his kitchen, drinking coffee with an unadulterated smile, then he will begin to forget.

The curve of your spine, the scars beneath your chest, the way your fingers fit into his own. The way he was able to memorise your body until he could draw it in the dark, when your body was pressed to his, when there was nothing but a false establishment of safety.

He knows he can’t forget. Not technically. But it’ll grow distant, it’ll be replaced with new normals and routines. That, that, he can’t compute.

“Good,” he says, kissing you again, kissing you because this is it.

Spencer wants you. In every sense of the word, he wants you so badly it’s killing him.

His bedroom still holds traces of you. That, itself, is a crime. But he just falls into you. The way lovers do. Your hands against his skin— his hair threaded through your fingers, your lips at the base of his neck. He lets you leave another bruise, a mark, a confirmation of possession, because even if this is the last time, he is, and always will be yours.

“Still the prettiest person i’ve ever seen,” you admit when he’s flushed naked beneath you.

There’s something in those doe-eyes, brown irises blown out of proportion, that hooked you. Even at the worst, it was still soft with him.

Slender frame, slightly arched, you want to bite into his hips, mark every inch of him as yours. It’s greedy, gluttonous, his messy hair, fanning out like a halo, the tangled curls he never bothers to properly care for.

“God, fucking look at you,” you grip his jaw, tilt his head back to bare that blemished neck of his. To have and to own. He’s so inexplicably different to you, so good it runs down to the bone. And maybe you’ve always been insatiable for what you’ve lacked.

He can’t take this. He can’t, not again. The past, the future will have to dissolve with this moment, because there will never be another again.

You will never get this close to him. It’s a terrifying thought, that this’ll be the standard of intimacy, of love - because he knows it isn’t. But he can’t risk the reality he’s faced with, the reality of living without this. Of living without you.

Your words only make it worse. He wants to beg you to stop. To cease the torture.

“Shut up.” He kisses you, as if to remind you that your mouth is made for kissing, for his lips, for a litany of dirty words that he can’t bear to hear. Those words are for someone else. For someone similar. Not him. Never him.

Defying fate. He gets off on being something bad beneath the surface. No one would ever expect it; boyish maladroit Spencer, the youngest of the team, willingly allowing, condoning, a killer to sink into his skin.

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” you respond, muffled against his lips. “If this is the last time, i’m going to enjoy it. Going to enjoy the sight of you, all desperate for me alone.”

“You assume i’ve ever been desperate for anyone else—“ he counters.

“Oh, that’s it. Keep talking dirty to me.”

“It’s not dirty. It’s a factual statement.”

You pull away, a trail of saliva bridging the space between your mouths. If there is higher power at play here, you want to curse, to spite your creator. Because if ‘things’ had been different, if you had been born from the same rib, this could’ve ended differently.

Or for that matter, never ended at all.

“Sit there and watch me.” you say, and Spencer hates the way he obliges. Pushing himself up against the headboard, he stares at you, at the way you position yourself, standing by the foot of the bed.

“Do you even know what you do to me? Do you even understand the gravity your existence has on me?” you continue, unfastening the lace corset that clings to your frame. When it drops to the floor, breasts exposed, you run your hands across them, catching pierced nipples for a vindictive moment of pleasure.

“I— uh,” Spencer is admittedly a little distracted. Sex had always been something ruinous between you two. Something that conflicted his lack of experience, forced him to adapt.

He always wondered how someone so soft, the epitome of light, could be this obscene. Now he understands.

“Lost your words? Come on, pretty boy. I thought you had an ‘extensive vocabulary?’ Hm?”

He wants to touch himself, to ease the pulsing throb that centres in his cock. But he doesn’t, because despite the time that has passed, he still knows your rules. “Don’t use my words against me. I’m being tortured.”

“Tortured, huh?” your hands fumble over buttons until you’re reduced to a pair of panties, soaked throughly, leaving scarce to the imagination.

“So so tortured. Oh my god, who are you? Can I please have my soul back?” he’s joking, but not really.

“Well maybe if you beg for it,” your words fade into a mess of moans, fingers slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. Spencer’s head spills back against the wall; he looks more affected by the movements than you.

It’s easy to fall back into old habits. Relapse.

“Come here, come here, i’m having an existential crisis.” he says, watching as you slip one finger, then two inside you, struggling to stand now. It’s strange how pleasure can reduce the most antagonising minds to vulnerability.

“Please— oh fuck, please. Please. Don’t make me watch, I can’t. Need you. Need you so bad.”

He thought he found the core of torture in you touching yourself, but he was wrong. Because when you crawl closer, when you slot yourself between his thighs, lips finding skin that only you have ever touched, he sees the root of evil in his brain. The ninth circle of hell.

It’s justified, he supposes. For all the good he’s done, he has betrayed. Himself, his friends, family, existence itself. There is not one thing he wouldn’t ruin, just to feel you. It’s incriminating, so yes, he deserves to freeze in Cocytus. He’ll willingly plead guilty, accept his entrapment in the ring of Caina.

“Poor baby, look at you.” you say, kissing his tip, catching the pre-cum on your tongue. Spencer responds: fisting bedsheets, fighting the restraint to buck forward, to find misplaced solace in the warmth of your mouth. He’s sprawled out across sheets now, lying back in a tangled heap of want. “Shh, it’s okay,” you continue, “I like my men desperate.”

“Desperate? Ah—,” he fights the urge to shut his eyes, too aware that this is the last memory he will ever retain of you.

You, painted into his mind. The final evidence left in the fire: mouth sinking down his length, taking him to the hilt, watery eyes and leaking mascara.

“This isn’t even desperation. You’re killing me. Just, oh oh— please, don’t. ‘M gonna cum. Gonna cum—“

Is it sick that he doesn’t want to? If only to prolong this transitory moment of destruction? Like the lotus eaters, he will always be mindless in the pursuit of more, more, more of you.

You draw back from his cock, only to press a soft kiss against the tip. The gesture alone has him reeling, has him begging to be saved, to atone for every sin he found in the comfort of your divinely crafted lips.

“Gonna let me sit on that pretty cock of yours, hm? Let me use you one last time? Promise i’ll be good,” a lie, “So so good.”

“God, yes. Yes, please. That would—“ You take him deep, deep enough that everything aches. He only feels alive when you’re wrapped around him, when there’s not an ounce of distance between your bodies, when he can touch the insides of you. Pry open the raw, unfiltered version of you.

He only feels alive when he’s sunk inside the harbinger of death. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt.

You’ve got one hand tangled in your hair, the other pressed flat against his waist, supporting you through each bump of movement. Eyes like marbles, Spencer looks up, and wonders why this will never be enough for you.

You look back, meet his gaze, as if you’re Orpheus, predestined to turn around, to always return. Even if it’s just for one last second. Even if the fall-out is so much worse than pushing forward blindly.

Oh, hes certain you’re carving a hole inside him, something that will only grow and expand, imploring to be filled by it’s inventor. It’ll hurt, for the rest of time, he supposes.

When he finds your hand around his neck, he isn’t startled. Neither, when your thumb presses against his throat, applying pressure until the world cracks and fades, distorting his refined mind to the here and now. He floats, feeling transient in the curse of your touch.

“That’s it. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He is a sacrificial lamb. The priests favourite. He will take the knife every time, and thank you for it after.

You release the tension, hand taking his instead. For all the cruelty you possess, you’d never think to harm him. Not physically at least. The emotional damage, however, finds you both. There can be no happiness in either of your worlds, not when the memory of each other festers. “Good boy— taking it so well. God, no one is ever gonna compare.”

He cries at the words. Pretty tears streaming down his face, because the reciprocation to his undying piety will forever trigger the warped chemicals in his brain. Will forever reduce him to something saccharine.

“Love you. Love you so much. Don’t go. Please,” he fractures, “please don’t go.” he begs, besmirched words he’ll regret in the wake of his pleasure. They don’t count, and yet, he knows, in the most depraved sections of his mind, they’re true.

You ride him harder. Back curved, finding god in the washed-out body of someone fatally destroyed. “Not going anywhere— fuck, fuckfuckfuck. That feels so good. You’re so good,” maybe it’s a kink to ruin something so perfectly spotless.

Maybe it’s a kink that he wants it.

“Say it. God, just say it. This once.” for old times sake, he almost adds. But that wouldn’t be objectively correct. For all the intimacy you shared, you never once articulated those three words. Perhaps it was to save your dignity, to hold pieces of yourself in the lies you beautifully crafted.

His thumb runs over your clit, and in the tangle of your orgasm, he almost thinks you forget about his demand. But after, when you’re still taking him, when you’re still clenching, unclenching, clenching around his cock, when you know you own every part of him, you answer.

“I love you.”

He falls apart. Hips canting, body squirming, whimper after whimper escaping his bruised lips as he releases inside of you. Pushed deep, defiled to the limit. For a moment, everything is okay, everything will be alright, because there’s pleasure, and it’s you. It’s always you.

How can he justify falling in love with you again? How can he, when he still clings onto the artificial love of the past? He’s not sure his heart can handle one set of feelings, nevermind two.

He takes you again, well… mostly you take him again. In ways that have him polluted with the remnants of your teeth. Canine marks, etched deep enough to bleed. He hopes the swelling leaves behind perennial scars, anything to remind him. Anything to hold onto when you’re gone and it’s cold.

After, when you lie together, he presses his forehead against yours and wishes he was in any other universe. One where you’re happy. Where everything is pure and simple, clean from sin.

There was always truth in what we shared before, you admit. Lazy nights spent draped over the couch, kissing him to silence convoluted rambles. Your presence in the morning, bathed in holy glow, sunlight bleeding over the pretty sight of you. The first night he touched you and saw god. And then the following night, when he ascended all over again.

He wakes to find no body. He wakes to find nothing. It feels like self-sabotage, the promise that you would leave, even if it’s quite the contrary.

In the absence, abstinence of your presence, he discovers traces of you in everything he sees, all of it, everything consumed, returning to the simple thought of you you you.

When the first postcard comes, Portland, dreary weather— beaches and ports, there’s no anger. No exasperation that you broke your word.

You love him, it’s morbid, but for someone like him, it overrules everything. Sanity, dignity, his own stable existence.

You overrule everything.

[britany1997]

Hey bestie

If the slot is still open can I have any form of Dwayne fluff. I’m back on my bullshit again and that bullshit is just the lost boys once more 🧡

Each Night Before You Go To Bed

(I really don’t do song based fics, this song just gives the vibes of what I’ve written, enjoy)

Of course I can write you some Dwayne Fluff! Hope you love this!

Dwayne x GN Reader

Warnings: some mentions of future child raising (but intentionally “raising” instead of “having” so reader could be whatever sex)

Dwayne’s arm hung around your shoulder, his finger laced loosely with yours. His thumb rubbed gently over your skin, a gesture so natural he barely realized he was even doing it anymore.

You spent every night together nowadays. Neither of you could stand being apart for very long. Dawn was agony, but you were thankful for every dusk that came with the promise of your lover gracing your doorstep. You’d never understood the “madly in love” cliche before Dwayne, but you got it now. Truly, madly, deeply.

As you walked along the boardwalk, intertwined, a thrift store caught your eye. You nudged your shoulder gently, prompting Dwayne to gaze down at you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Can we go in there?” You pointed with your free hand and Dwayne followed the path of your finger before nodding. “Sure baby.”

You smiled softly, tugging him along with you as you entered the store.

You’d been meaning to check out Artifact for ages on Marko’s recommendation, he’d always had great luck with the pieces here.

You squeezed Dwayne’s hand gently as you disentangled from his embrace, leaving him to browse as you flipped through the racks.

A couple minutes later, when you’d found some things to try out, you glanced around to check on your boyfriend.

Your eyes scanned the store, and once they settled on Dwayne, your face twisted in confusion. He was starring intently at something, you couldn’t quite see, on the shelves.

Curious, you crept around quietly to catch a glance of what he was so fixated on. When you peeked over his shoulder, your heart melted.

Dwayne had been starring at a pair of baby tennis shoes. He didn’t even notice you come to his side he was so lost in thought as he stared.

“Whatcha thinking about?” You asked, resting your head on his shoulder and whispering in his ear.

He tensed for a second, then blushed. Actually blushed. You’d never seen him do that before.

“Nothing baby, just uh…got a little distracted,” he smiled sheepishly before taking the clothes from your hands. “Did you want to try these on?” He’d brushed off the subject but you weren’t quite ready to move on.

You gave him a knowing look before reaching around to pick up the shoes. “Let’s get these too,” you suggested.

His eyes widened as his cheeks flushed again, “what would we do with them?”

You grinned, “I don’t know, I just thought we might need ‘em someday.”

The corners of Dwayne’s lips turned up into a bright smile, causing you to smile as well. How had you never noticed he had dimples before? For a tall, dark and handsome creature of the night, he was adorable. You stood on your tiptoes to kiss his nose, causing his cheeks to flush for the third time that night.

He grabbed the shoes almost reverently, smiling to himself and wrapping his arm around you.

“C‘ mon baby, I wanna see how these look on you,” he gestured to the pieces you’d picked, still held in his other hand, as he led you towards the fitting rooms.

After leaving the thrift store the two of you wandered to your favorite spot on the beach.

It was completely deserted, save the two of you. Just the way you liked it.

You leaned against his bare chest, his right arm snaked around your waist in a comforting embrace.

When he’d told you he was a vampire, back before you’d started dating, you’d thought he’d be freezing. No blood circulation and all that.

But every time he held you, you never felt more warm. You leaned your head back to rest on his shoulder, looking up at him fondly.

He smiled softly, leaning down to press his soft lips to yours.

“I love you you know?” he whispered.

You smiled brightly, “don’t get all soft on me because I’m gonna raise a kid with you one day.”

He frowned slightly, his brow furrowing as he shook his head.

“I don’t love you because of that,” he started, “I’d love you no matter what you wanted.”

He moved his head to rest against yours, “I don’t love what you can do for me baby, I love you.” He sighed, his eyes closing blissfully, “I love you more than anything.”

Your eyes watered and you turned your head to kiss his cheek. “I love you just as much,” you assured him. “I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“I wish I couldn’t,” he mused, his brow furrowing “had to wait a long time for you to come around.” He nudged you, “good thing you were worth it.”

You giggled, “no more lonely nights for either of us hmm?”

He nuzzles your nose with his, “never again,” he kissed your cheek, “what a privilege it is to be yours.”

You could feel your entire face flush bright red. “What’s with you tonight Mr. Romantic?” you teased.

He laughed softly, your favorite sound. “Just happy,” he told you.

You moved to loop your arms around him, “me too.”

Dawn was quick approaching as Dwayne dropped you off at your apartment. Your least favorite part of the night.

When the two of you reached the front door, his hands slid to your waist. He pulled your hips in gently as your hands snaked around his shoulders.

He leaned down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. You mewed into his mouth, one of your hands moving to tangle in his gorgeous hair.

You felt him smile against your lips as you stroked his hair. His hand moved up from your hip to your back, pulling you impossibly closer as his tongue slid into your mouth.

After awhile, you pulled away reluctantly. You wished you could keep going, but you’d hate to find yourself making out with a pile of ash.

You reached up to caress his cheek softly. He turned his head, his eyes closing as he kissed your hand.

“See you as soon as the sun goes down?” he asked.

You pressed one last chaste kiss to his lips, “and not a moment later.”

Taglist❤️ (comment to be added):

@6lostgirl6 @misslavenderlady @gothamslostboy @crustyboypix @ghoulgeousimmaculate @sad-ghost-of-garbage @anna1306 @chiefdirector @dwaynedelight @dwaynesluscioushair @its-freaking-bats @kurt-nightcrawler @ria-coolgirl @solobagginses @vampirefilmlover @vxarak @arenpath @bitchyexpertprincess @lostboys1987girl @arbesa-mind @softchonk @f4iryfxies @walmart-cereal @rynsfandomsfun @katerinaval @fraudfrog @memphiscity69

[shadowkoo]

love me softly

→ Summary: When your long-distance boyfriend's visit falls through, you decide to make the most of your free time. But after a day out, you're in for an unexpected surprise when you get home.

↠ taeyong x f.reader | 1.9k words | 18+ ↠ genre: angst, fluff, smut, established relationship, idol au, long distance au

→ Warnings: lots of pet names, a touch of sad vibes in the beginning but that turns around pretty quickly, the sweetest softest smut i’ve written in a while, praise kink, the lightest hair pulling idk if it really counts lol, body worship (yong really really love his girl okay), creampie, unprotected & explicit sex, if i’m missing any lemme know

→ Networks: @k-vanity @ksmutsociety

→ Author Note: happy october :) this is just a lil shortie oneshot (which was supposed to be a drabble skldjfa;lksdfj) to get me back on writing track, i’ve got a big spooky fic coming in the next few weeks!! divider credit

“I know, baby, I’m sorry,” Taeyong mumbles through his phone. “It’s taking us longer to film than we anticipated, so I’m gonna be delayed another day at least.”

Your boyfriend had initially set aside time in his very busy schedule to come visit you after he finished filming his newest music video in LA; which should’ve wrapped up a few days ago. Since you live on opposite sides of the world, he wanted to take advantage of being only a few states apart instead continents apart. You’re just a quick three hour flight away and he’s been thinking about seeing you ever since he planned this break in his schedule.

Except his plans keep changing; first it was production problems and now it’s the weather. They just can’t catch a break. And all of this is cutting into the time he is supposed to spend with you.

“Is it even worth visiting now? We’ll only have a day or two left from the week we planned together."

Taeyong’s brows furrow, “It’s worth it to me, you’re worth it. I know it’s not ideal, baby, but I miss you so much. Even if we only have a couple of hours together, I’ll still come to you when this is finished.”

Hearing the film crew calling his name through the phone, you sigh, letting the welled up tears fall down your cheeks. They’re ready to start filming the next scene and he has to go, again. You won’t be seeing him today, again.

“Honey, I’m so sorry. I have to get back on set. I’ll text you later, okay?” Taeyong’s heart rips into pieces when he hears you sniffle.

“Okay, I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you so much, Y/N.” He hangs up and takes a couple of deep breathes, blinking back his own tears. He hates when you’re hurt, especially when it’s his fault. Taeyong lets out a puff of air, time to pull it together. The faster he perfects this scene and those to follow, the faster he can be on his way to you.

It’s the next day, and you wake up with swollen eyes from crying all night. You push back the blankets and force yourself to get up. Sitting at home and being sad all day won’t do you any good.

You know that it’s not Taeyong’s fault he keeps getting delayed, everything that’s happened has just been an unfortunate string of events. You’ll admit that going to see him had crossed your mind last night, but then you thought better of it.

Girlfriends at work can cause problems, you don’t want to distract him or be in the way of the crew. Plus, you two haven’t fully gone public with your relationship yet. His management team has been informed for a while now, and other NCT member’s know too.

But the millions of fans? That’s a daunting step that you two haven’t taken yet. You’re not necessarily hiding your relationship, but you’re not flaunting it out in front of the world either.

As you get dressed, you shoot a quick text to your friend Fia to confirm your plans for coffee and a trip to the bookstore. Running on little sleep, you're in serious need of caffeine, and you've been eagerly waiting for your favorite author’s new book to drop.

She replies almost instantly, saying she’s in and excited to see you. You skip your usual makeup routine and throw your hair into a loose ponytail before heading out the door.

Stepping outside onto the leaf-littered sidewalk, you can’t help but smile—it’s finally October, your favorite time of year. The air feels crisp, and everything has that warm, cozy vibe that you love, from now until the end of the year. It’s the perfect season for coffee dates, soft sweaters, and losing yourself in a good book.

Fia is saving you a window seat inside her favorite cafe, “Hi! It’s been too long, I got you an Iced Pumpkin Chai.” She cheerfully hands you the drink, “So, how have you been? I thought Taeyong would be coming with you?”

“Ahh, right,” you say, before taking your first sip. “He’s stuck in LA unfortunately, but I still wanted to catch up you.”

“Oh no, that’s a bummer,” she says, resting a hand on your arm. “How are you handling it?”

“Better than last time, but it’s still not fun.”

“I bet, well if you get lonely you’re always welcome to come stay with me. I don’t think James will mind.” James is Fia’s elderly cat, who takes his naps on the windowsill quite seriously. He’s to sleepy to care when Fia has visitors, as you’ve witnessed.

“I might take you up on that offer.”

Meeting up with Fia completely turned your day around. The two of you sipped coffee, chatted about your latest reads, and vented about the upcoming book-to-movie adaptations that are sure to fall short. Then, you made your way to the bookstore, continuing the conversation.

After each grabbing a few books, Fia convinces you to go thrift shopping with her next. By the time you finally make it home, your arms are loaded with the day’s haul.

You set down the bags so you can punch in your door key code, letting yourself in. The afternoon sunlight shines through your windows, illuminating the beautiful bouquet of marigolds on your table with a warm glow.

‘Hmm, that’s weird,’ you think to yourself as you set the bags down next to them, ‘Did I buy these earlier this week and forget about them? That would be just like me with everything that’s been on my mind.’

You think nothing of it and head to your bedroom, ready to change into comfier clothes for the rest of the night. Earlier, on the walk home you decided you’d spend the rest of your night by making your favorite soup for dinner, and then settling in for a Halloweentown movie marathon.

Just inside your bedroom door, you see a hoodie drapped over a suitcase. Your heart swells as your eyes drift over to the bed, where your boyfriend is peacefully sleeping. Not wanting to wake him, you change quietly and climb into bed and wrap yourself around him, you need to make sure this is real and not a figment of your imagination.

He rolls over and envelops you in his arms, kissing you softly. “Mmm, I was wondering when you’d get back.”

It’s really him.

“How are you here right now?” you ask, pulling back to scan his face.

“We finished filming late last night. Well technically this morning around 3am, and I got on the first available flight.”

“How long have you been here?” you ask next.

“Not long, just enough for me to change out of airport clothes and climb in bed,” he chuckles, pulling you back in for another sweet kiss. His lips gently press against yours and a hand reached around to the back of your head, letting down your hair so his fingers could run through the loose strands.

Taeyong tugs your hair with the lightest touch, but enough for you to let out a soft gasp. He uses the opportunity to push his tongue in past your parted lips.

Your hands rub up his solid chest, and you moan into his mouth as his kisses get a little more rough, a little more desperate.

“Did you like your flowers?” he asks when your lips are just barely touching.

“They’re beautiful,” you giggle, “I couldn’t figure out where they came from. I thought I might have gone crazy.”

“I saw them at the market just down the street and they reminded me of how radiant you always are.” His eyes gaze into yours and you can see that he really means that. Your heart melts.

“Ugh, I missed you,” you murmur before pulling him in for another long kiss, only separating when you need air.

He admires how swollen and wet your lips are while he hovers over you, looking down with desire-filled eyes.

“I missed you so much. I missed kissing you. I missed the way you taste. The way you mewl when I touch you right here,” he whispers, his hand slipping in between your legs, sliding them under your panties until his fingers find their way home.

Tossing your head back into the pillows, you squeeze your eyes shut as one finger, and then two, dip inside your slick heat.

“God, so wet already.” His fingers pump into you again and they curl at the right moment, lighting your body on fire. He keeps a leisurely pace, wanting to savor every second of this. He can take you from behind later. Right now he wants to prove how much he missed you. How much he loves you.

“Mmm, yes,” you moan, having longed for this so much over the past few months. He knows you so well, your body is so in tune with his. “Let me touch you too,” you breath as your fingers find his waistband. You stroke his growing length. Feeling the weight of him in your palm has always makes your mouth water for what is to come.

Rough Taeyong is devilishly hot, but soft and sensual Taeyong is a whole other breed of demon. He’ll worship you until you’re a dripping mess.

He watches intently as your eyes flutter shut, knowing very well that you’re close. He strategically presses his thumb up against your aching clit, rubbing in dangerous circles until he feels your walls start to tense. “Come for me, babe. Come all over my fingers like the good girl I know you are.”

His words are enough to send you over the edge. He swallows your loud moans while you clench around his fingers, coming beautifully undone and writhing underneath him.

Taeyong lets you ride out the waves, completely captivated by how ethereal you look in that moment. “You’re a goddess,” he breathes, bending down to meet your mouth once again. He pulls back, only to remove your clothing before removing his own.

“Love me, ‘Yongie,” you beg, needing to feel him inside you, just needing him.

“Always.” He moves a hand to cup your cheek while he slowly sinks into your wet slit. No matter how many times he’s with you, he’ll never get over how perfect you are. He bites back a moan when he hits your cervix. A perfect fucking fit, every single time.

He moves with a pace so slow it feels like divine torture. “I’ll never get tired of this,” he groans, pulling out until just his tip is held between your folds, then rolling his hips back inward.

“OH my god,” you moan, your nails digging into his bare back, “You feel so good.”

Taeyong nestles his head into your neck, bringing you closer and closer to the release that you crave.

“I’m close, baby, so close,” you whine. “Come in me,” you beg, pleading for him to release into you. 

Taeyong hisses, his movements becoming more jerky. “I love you,” he groans as the coil snaps inside you. Waves of pleasure wash over your body, the sparks tingling through your veins. He follows your suit, tensing as your inner walls writhe around his length, milking him of his creamy seed.

He collapses next to you, whispering I love you’s into your ear as you both catch your breath.

“So,” you begin once you finally remember how to speak, “Wanna help me make dinner?”

“In a bit,” he sighs, pulling your limp body on top of his to kiss you lazily, “I’m not done loving you yet.”

→ Taglist: @beomcoups @mar-lo @starsrens (join here)

©shadowkoo 2024. All rights reserved.

[slytherinshua]

MY HEART RETURNS

summary. your love is pursuing his dreams as a violinmaker in italy, leaving you to wait for his return. genre. slight angst. fluff. based on whisper of the heart. warnings. some crying. reader feels lost and alone and like she's not good enough :( not proofread. pairing. zhanghao x fem!reader. wc. 1.3k. request. no. a/n. tiánxīn = sweetheart btw. ofc hao is already perfect for the role of seiji cause he plays violin (also he looks like seiji fight me). for all the other writers out there (even tho i don't ever plan to get properly published) we all relate to shizuku so much :') her struggles are so relatable and i just love whisper of the heart so much i think its such a beautiful and underrated ghibli movie. divider by @/aquazero.

The night air nipped at your cheeks as thoughts swirled in your head. Hundreds of worries, feelings, and uncertainties followed you wherever you went, and all you could wish was to be back in high school when everything felt a bit easier. Back with Hao to occupy all your thoughts and in turn take your mind off of everything.

Sometimes you wondered if waiting was really worth it. You were doing your best to pursue your dreams, do well in your final year of university, and throw yourself and your work at different publishers, hoping that one liked you enough to give you a chance. But you felt like a constant failure in comparison to your boyfriend. You’d always thought opportunities were more beneficial than school. Hao only seemed to prove that to you.

He was working in Italy, getting valuable skills from the masters. You were still stuck in your hometown, going to the same university everyone else in your family had gone to, trapped in the same system. You wanted to get out, prove yourself, do something meaningful with your life. But did you even have the talent to? Were you even worth it?

On nights where your thoughts just wouldn’t leave you alone, you grabbed a handful of Hao’s letters and walked up the hill back to the spot where you used to watch the sunrise with him. You missed him more than anything. Without his presence, you felt lost. There was no one to ground you, no one to reassure you, no one to believe in your flimsy dreams.

You hadn’t received a new letter in a while, and you were starting to wonder if it was a post issue, or if Hao was too busy to write. You hoped you would get one soon. It was the start of Winter already, and a breeze blew past you, causing a chill to run up your spine. You hugged Hao’s old jacket closer on your body. It must be even colder in Italy…

You slid one of the old letters out from its envelope. You were always careful to keep everything intact. From the colourful wax seals to the elegantly written address, to the coarse texture of the fancy paper, everything about it was precious to you. Hao was always meticulous, and his presence could be felt from every detail of the card.

Tiánxīn, how are things back at home? Lonely. 

How is your writing? Did you finish the last 3 chapters you were struggling to write? I finished the final draft last Saturday. Are you proud of me?

I’m doing well here, although I never stop missing you. At least one feeling is mutual. 

It’s the beginning of Spring as I write this, and the flowers are starting to bloom. Every pink bud reminds me of you. How are you always so romantic, Zhang Hao?

I taught some kids how to hold a violin properly the other day— one of them almost dropped it. I swear my life flashed before my eyes. If they had broken it, I could’ve gotten kicked out. They don’t know that they’re handling a piece of wood worth thousands of dollars. As much as it scared me in the moment, spending time with the kids cheered me up. Childhood innocence is an endearing thing, don’t you think? It is. Is it bad that I wished you had gotten kicked out just so I could see you sooner? I want you to tell me everything about Italy with your own voice.

I’m starting to find beauty in things that used to annoy me. It’s a strange feeling, but I think I could get used to it. The flowers used to only make me sneeze, but now they’re a gentle reminder of who I’m living every day for. Children used to get on my nerves, but now I can only think of your baby pictures. I keep working hard every day hoping that I’ll get a break to come visit soon. I’ve been saving up for tickets. Hopefully before Winter, I’ll be back in your arms. It’s Winter now… I miss your arms around me.

Ever yours,

Hao

You could only sigh and blink back the tears that had formed on your waterline. Why did he make you miss him so much? You sniffed, from the emotions and from the cold. It was getting even later in the night, and while you didn’t want to leave your special spot, you also needed sleep.

When you got back to your cheap apartment, you sprayed some of Hao’s perfume on your pillow and changed into pyjamas. It was funny how much time went into hunting for the exact fragrance he wore; but you had been thankful for it every single day since you bought it. Any way you could to bring traces of him back to your home was worth it. You fell asleep hugging the pillow tightly and hoping that he would grace you in your dreams. 

A soft puff of air hit your nose making you scrunch it up. It woke you out of your slumber, but not enough to open your eyes yet. You were in a confused bleary state trying to figure out where it came from. You definitely didn’t leave the fan on in the middle of Winter, so why…?

“Tiánxīn, wake up.” 

You blinked your eyes open slowly, furrowing your eyebrows as the view came into focus. Light from the morning sun shone through the window, cascading down until it hit the side of a face. Hao’s face.

“Am I still dreaming?” You whispered. A lump formed in your throat at the thought that you were— you must be. How could he be right in front of you? He was still far away in Italy.

He shook his head, a smile splayed on his lips. He moved closer, his weight dipping down on the bed. You could only stare, memorising everything about him. His eyelashes fluttered as his gaze dropped to your hand and he reached to hold it. His hands were warm and the skin of his palm was soft, although his fingertips were roughened by calluses after years of playing strings. He cupped your cheek with his other hand, brushing his thumb against your skin.

“I missed you. I’m sorry it took so long for me to come visit.” He frowned slightly as he saw tears start to build in your eyes. You squeezed his hand, as if still deciphering whether he was actually real. It had truly been years since he had first gone for his apprenticeship and then got accepted full time to make violins and teach. Although you had communicated through letters, it could never compare to being with him like this. 

“It’s okay.” You tried to steady your voice, force the lump in your throat down, blink back the tears. But you couldn’t with him right there.

“Don’t cry.” He wiped your tears carefully, his touch soft as always.

“Kiss me. Please?” 

And he obliged. He would always do anything within his power to see you happy. If you told him one day to fly to the moon and bring you back a piece of it, he was sure he would find a way, just to see you smile. The feeling of kissing him again was indescribable. You’d forgotten how it felt to be kissed by his soft lips, how they melded with yours like a dream. As if you two were meant to be.

You knew you always were. Your love story, although it sometimes felt tragic, was like something out of a fairytale. You would never forget the lengths Hao went just to get your attention. How ambitious, determined, and caring he was. He was your constant motivation to keep striving to be better. 

It was hard to live for your dream while being so far apart from him. Part of you knew that he would have to go back. Maybe in a month, maybe in only a week. Maybe sooner than that. Your heart would break once again saying goodbye to him.

But, for now, as he kissed you in the morning sunlight on your bed, you felt your heart healing from his touch. The long years away from him were a small price to pay for moments as precious as these. 

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[vbecker10]

Hey, I was wondering if you could write a Loki one-shot where the Avengers are invited to a very fancy party, even bigger and fancier than Tony’s parties, it’s in a huge restaurant and all and the female reader is very popular singer, like VERY, who has her own huge concerts and all and she agrees to sing on the event. Loki and Peter are both Avengers.

Now, I’m not saying anything romantic about Peter, because he’s literally a teen boy, I just love when Pete is a cute little shit, so maybe he is huge fan of the reader.

And Loki also takes liking into her and after some time Loki and reader will meet again and blah blah, you decide from then. Just don’t make it smut please. My pure ass heart can’t take it. Just fluff.

I know that you have written something similar to this, about that hex girls or something, but I want the reader to be a solo singer and worldwide popular and not just to sing at Tony’s party, but at something as huge and fancy as this event.

If you don’t like the idea or just don’t want to write it, it’s okay! I love your writing so much btw♡

—xoxo

Melody of Mischief

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: The Avengers are invited to the Battle of New York Charity Gala and it is the event everyone who is anyone in Manhattan wants to attend, except for Loki. Peter is uncontrollably excited as he tries to explain to the God of Mischief that the singer performing at the gala is his absolute favorite artist, Y/N. Loki remains unconvinced he will enjoy even a moment of the evening until he has a chance encounter with the rising star and realizes you are even more amazing than Peter had said you would be.

A/N: OMG I love this request! I absolutely love Loki and Peter together but I've only gotten to write them interacting once or twice so I am super excited about this. I'm sorry if it seems front loaded with the two of them but there is plenty of Y/N and fluff, I promise. Lol thanks for specifically requesting a one-shot cause I have a tendency to make things way too long... this is still really long though lol. Thank you so much for this request! I hope you like it! 💚

Thank you @siconetribal for help with the title! 💚 if it were up to me, my stuff would never have one haha

Loki sighs in annoyance as he closes his book. Placing it on the coffee table, he gets up to answer the frantic knocking at his door.

"What do you-" he begins to ask as he opens the door. Before he can finish his question, Peter has walked right past him and into his apartment.

"Hey Loki," he says cheerfully as he pulls off his jacket and throws it haphazardly over the back of the armchair. Loki watches the teen drop his backpack on the ground near the couch and begin pacing quickly around the living room.

"Hello Peter," Loki greets him, trying to push aside his irritation. Had it been his brother or another member of the team, he would have swiftly removed them from his apartment but the young Avenger had begun to grow on the God of Mischief in recent months.

"Did you hear the news?" Peter asks with a wide grin.

"I assure you, I have heard nothing today that would make me anywhere near as excitable as you currently appear to be," Loki responds as he uses his seidr to pick up Peter's discarded bag and jacket, placing them on the hooks by the door.

"Sorry about those," Peter apologizes, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I don't dislike when you visit but I will insist my space remains orderly," he reminds the teenager and Peter nods. "Now, what is this news?" he asks as he takes a seat on the couch, picking up his tea while Peter wanders into the kitchen.

Loki sighs hearing the fridge open. "They are on the bottom shelf," he calls to the hungry teen. "And the cabinet to the left of the stove," he adds knowing exactly what Peter is in search of.

"Thanks," he calls back then returns moments later with a small bottle of orange juice, a bag of pretzels and two pieces of string cheese.

"I still refuse to believe that is or ever was cheese," Loki says as Peter opens the plastic wrapper.

"These are fantastic," he insists with a smile, pulling apart the cheese. "Why do you keep buying them if you don't eat it?"

Loki takes a sip of his tea, refusing to voice the obvious answer that he buys them specially for Peter's visits. He teen laughs but knows not to push his luck and instead focuses on Loki's question.

"They finally announced who's going to be playing at the big gala tomorrow night!" he says, plopping himself on the couch next to Loki who holds his mug tightly to keep from spilling any of the hot liquid. Peter pauses a moment for dramatic effect but the God shows no signs of curiosity. "Oh come on, don't you want to know who it is?" he asks in disbelief but Loki only shrugs in response.

Peter gets up, unable to contain his own excitement. "How could you not care? It's going to be epic! The best party on the year, maybe the decade," he says.

"I am a thousand years old, I have been to a great many parties, Peter," Loki reminds him then takes a sip of his tea. "And besides, I am not sure I would like to attend a charity event that is being held to raise money for victims of my attack on the city."

"Right..." Peter says slowly, lowering his eyes to the ground but then he looks back at Loki. "Actually," he starts again and Loki can practically see the wheels turning in his mind. "If you don't go... it might be seen as disrespectful, you know? You attacked the city when you were under the Mind Stone's power, everyone knows that but if you don't show up at the fundraiser they might not think you are... what's the right word?" he pauses, trying to pull in the God of Mischief.

"Remorseful?" Loki guesses, knowing what the teen is trying to do.

"That's it," he says, thinking he has the prince where he wants him.

"You make an interesting point," Loki acts as if he is truly considering it then adds, "But I am still not going."

"Ugh!" he groans at Loki's lack of enthusiasm. "Come on! The artist they picked is amazing! She's my favorite. I can't even believe she would agree to do this. She usually plays only massive, sold out concerts. I didn't think I'd ever get a chance to see her, especially not at something like this," he says as he jumps onto the wall then the ceiling. Loki can't help but cringe at the scuff marks the teen leaves behind as he moves above him.

"You still don't know who I'm talking about? It's Y/N," he says as he jumps back to the ground.

"I have no idea who that is," Loki replies as Peter sits next to him.

"What!? How could you not know who she is," Peter asks in shock. "I play her music every time we're in the lab together. You were humming one of her songs yesterday."

"It must have wedged itself into my mind after you set it on repeat," Loki says, unwilling to admit it was a very catchy tune with surprisingly deep lyrics. "It doesn't matter who is playing, I will not be attending and that is final," Loki states, setting his mug down on the coffee table.

With a mouth full of pretzels Peter asks, "Seriously?" He swallows quickly and continues, "I told you, it's going to be the biggest party ever. How could you not go? I would give anything to go but I can't." He sulks on the couch, arms crossed.

"Why would you not attend?" Loki asks as he gets up, walking into the kitchen to put his empty mug in the sink.

"I didn't get invited," he shrugs, "I'm only an intern for Stark Industries, remember? Spiderman got invited but I can't wear the suit and mask the whole night. I won't be able to eat or drink plus people always try to get me to take it off and it just gets really annoying."

Loki sighs, looking at the upset teenager on his couch. "Do not make me regret this, Peter," he says and the boy looks up, his eyes full of hope. Loki shakes his head as if he can't believe what he is about to say. "Fine, I will go... and I will bring you as my plus one."

Peter sits up straight, the excitement returning but it quickly fades and he says, "It's too late for me to get a nice suit to wear."

Loki says, "I can help with that as well." He snaps his fingers and a black suit appears in a garment bag on the hook next to Peter's belongings.

Peter gets up and before Loki can react, he pulls the God into a tight hug. Loki doesn't hug him back, his arms trapped under Peter's and after a second he says, "That is quite enough of that, please let go."

"Oh yea, sorry," Peter says taking a step back. Loki smooths out his dress shirt but Peter can see the hint of a smile on his face when he looks back at him.

Loki steps onto the red carpet wearing a perfectly tailored black suit with matching black dress shirt and tie. Peter is close on his heels in the suit Loki conjured for him. "This is the coolest thing ever," the teen says loudly over the shouting of onlookers, reporters and photographers.

"You were correct, this seems to be quite the event," Loki agrees through gritted teeth as he tries to ignore the questions the reporters throw at him as he passes.

"Loki, did the Avengers force you to come tonight?" "Loki, is coming to the charity gala part of your probation or was it your idea to come?" "Loki, do you have anything to say to the victims and their families?" "Loki, did you donate any money to the foundation?"

Peter looks around in stunned silence when he and Loki finally pass through the tall double doors. The large hall is bursting with people and activity. Across the two side walls are long bars staffed with dozens of bartenders making complex drink orders for the rich and powerful of New York. Fabric drapes the walls in different colors and shades, creating an ombre effect around the room. At least fifty round and rectangular tables fill the middle of the space, crisp white table cloths cover each one. Place settings have been carefully set at each seat with a small name card indicating who each one is reserved for. At the very back of the hall, is a stage with a cleared space in front of it and Peter knows exactly who that is for.

The teen takes out his phone and begins snapping pictures of the room, no longer able to contain his excitement. Loki looks around the crowded space and is quickly filled with regret for having agreed to come. He can't push down the feeling that every person in the room is either looking at him or talking about him. He shouldn't have come, he thinks as he looks towards the doors.

Peter grins from ear to ear, unaware of Loki's internal struggle. The teenager stands directly in front of Loki and holds up his phone, "Smile."

Loki looks down at him and before he can say anything he is struck by a bright flash of light. "Did you just take a picture of us?" he blinks quickly.

"Yea, a selfie," Peter nods with a laugh.

"Delete that," Loki orders as his phone vibrates. He removes it from his pocket to check the message. "How could you have sent this to the entire team already?" Loki groans as he begins to receive responses from his brother and the other Avengers.

Peter shrugs then see Steve and Bucky through the crowd. They wave for him to join them closer to their assigned table and he gives them a thumbs up in return. He looks happily up at Loki who puts his hands in his suit pockets and says, "I will join you all shortly. I wish to wander for a bit first."

Peter says, "Okay, see you in a bit."

Loki walks past one of the bars but he is not looking for a drink, he is looking for a place to alone before he is stuck at a table with the team for the remainder of the evening. He moves to a far off corner where the fabric that is draped from the walls is darkest. He sighs contently, thinking he has found a secluded place to breathe.

"This hiding spot is taken," you tell the tall, well dressed man as he approaches you, crossing your arms against your chest. The last thing you want before your performance is to deal with anymore boring socialites.

"Oh, my apologies," he says as he notices you and you see the disappointment on the prince's face. "This is quite a large venue, I have no doubt I can find my own hiding spot before we are called to our tables," he smiles politely and turns to leave.

You realize he hadn't been looking for you, he had truly been searching for a place to avoid the crowd of people chattering away. He begins to walk away and without thinking you call after him, "Wait." He turns back towards you. "It's a pretty big hiding spot," you laugh awkwardly, "I think we can share it unless you wanted to be by yourself?"

"I would never turn down the company of a beautiful woman," he smirks.

"I heard you were a charmer, Prince Loki," you can't help but giggle as he stands close to you. "Or do you prefer 'your highness'?"

"Loki is fine, please," he insists with a laugh. "I do feel as if I am at a disadvantage though," he says and you look up at him. "You know my name, but I do not know yours."

You stand silently, stunned by his words. Does he really not know who you are? You have tried not to develop an overly inflated ego but it has been years since you've met someone who hasn't recognized you immediately. When your first single hit the number one spot three years ago, your career took off and you have been in the spot light ever since. You've spent the last year touring dozens of major cities in the United States, Canada and Europe. You are on magazine covers, you have done countless interviews on talk shows, you are even booked to perform in Times Square for New Years Eve in a few months and the God in front of you has no idea who you are.

Loki chuckles at your silence and says, "If you will not tell me your name, I will be forced to continue calling you 'beautiful'."

You blush as you are pulled from thoughts, "That works."

"So what are you hiding from this evening?" he asks as he leans on the fabric draped wall behind him.

You shrug, not wanting to give away who you are just yet. "My boss," you tell him a slight fib, hoping the God of Lies won't notice. You were hiding from your manager and his new assistant. Mark was a good manager, but he insisted you met as many guests tonight as possible before your performance. Their fake smiles and rehearsed complements were tiresome, you slipped away the first chance you could. You wanted to meet real fans, people who actually enjoyed your music, not these stuffy rich people.

Loki nods at your short answer and you ask, "Why are you hiding? I assumed a prince like you must love big parties like this."

He smiles but looks down as he smooths out his suit jacket and you can't help but notice how perfectly it fits him. "I used to enjoy the balls quite a bit on Asgard," he agrees, "But I admit I am having a difficult time with the idea that this event is for the victims of the attack I led last year."

You cover your mouth with your hand. "Oh my god," you say slowly then lower your hand. "I'm so sorry, I didn't... I should have realized that."

He shrugs but remains silent.

"I guess it's kinda weird that they invited you in the first place right? Like why would you want to go to a fundraiser for a disaster you caused?" you ask and he nods, putting his hands in his pockets nervously. "I'm sorry," you say again as you realize how uncomfortable you've made him.

"It is alright," he says. "You are not the first person to wonder why I am here tonight and I am sure you will not be the last."

"That's not what I meant," you tell him but you can see his eyes searching for a new place to hide. "How about we talk about something else?" you suggest, not wanting him to leave just yet.

He looks back at you after a moment, seeming a bit more relaxed, "What would you suggest we talk about, beautiful?"

You giggle at the pet name he has decided on, "Umm..." You look around and see the stage. "What do you think about who's going to be performing?"

He looks at the stage as well than back at you and you can see there is still no connection between you and the singer in his mind. "I have heard a great deal of wonderful things about her," he says. "Peter, my..." he pauses as if he is unsure of the next word, "I suppose we are friends but do not tell him I said so."

You laugh but he seems serious, "I promise I won't."

"Peter is a tremendous fan. He listens to her music a great deal," Loki says then he looks down and chuckles. "He is the only reason I am here to be honest. I knew how much he wanted to see Y/N perform so I brought him with me."

"Aww, that's really sweet of you," you smile and he shakes his head but you can see he seems happy with his decision. "Do you like her music too?" you ask, trying to remember the last time you had been able to get a truly honest opinion from someone.

He nods and your heart beats with excitement. "She is quite talented," Loki says. "I seem to have Black Bird stuck in my head quite a bit lately, but that may be because it is Peter's favorite. He plays it on repeat when he is thinking."

"That's a pretty good one," you agree. It was one of your most popular songs and you were set to play it tonight, as you do at every concert. "Do you have a favorite?" you can't help but ask.

"Hmm," he thinks for a moment then he smiles when he decides. "Crystal's Edge," he says.

"That's my favorite too," you reply enthusiastically. It has never been as popular as some of your other songs but it has a deep, personal meaning to you.

"You have good taste," Loki says and you laugh at the irony of his complement.

Your smile fades when you see Mark watching the two of you. "I'm sorry, that's my boss," you point towards him and he folds his arms against his chest as he frowns at you. "I have to go, but I really liked talking to you."

"I enjoyed speaking with you as well," Loki says. He takes your hand and gently places a kiss to the back of it causing you to giggle. "I hope you are able to enjoy the rest of your evening, beautiful, but if not I am more than willing to hide with you again."

Loki pulls out the chair next to Peter and the teen asks, "Where did you go?"

"I was talking to-" Loki begins to explain but before he can continue, the stage lights come on and the overhead lights dim slightly.

"Y/N is starting!" Peter says excitedly and Loki leans back in his chair to watch the performance before the food is served.

You walk out on stage and the guests cheer and applaud, their energy thrills you. TV cameras move into place and you wave to the audience and the cameras with a smile. You take the microphone off the stand and thank everyone for coming to support such a worthy cause. While reciting the speech Mark's assistant prepared for you, your eyes scan the guests until you spot the younger prince of Asgard.

Loki's eyes are fixed on you in shock and when your gaze meets he leans towards the teenager next to him.

"Norns," Loki whispers to himself then he leans towards Peter. "That's her! The woman I was speaking with."

"What?" he looks at Loki then the stage, still clapping as you finish your speech. "You met Y/N!?"

You smile, trying to keep from laughing at the boy's quick double take between Loki and yourself. Looking towards the band hired to play with you got the next few concerts, you nod to signal that you are ready for the first song to start. Moving with the rhythm of the intro, you sing the opening lyrics of one of the first songs you ever wrote. Your heart races as you dance across the stage, singing proudly with your backup singer next to you.

The second song is a crowd favorite and as the music begins you find Loki in the audience again. He smiles, tapping his fingers on the table to the beat and you get an idea. "I would like to dedicate my next song, Black Bird, to a very big fan of mine," you say into the mic and you watch the teen bounce in his seat. "Peter, this one is for you."

Peter laughs excitedly, barely able to contain himself as he signs along with Y/N loudly and out of tune. Loki smiles to himself as he nods his head along with the rhythm of the song.

You perform your next three songs, feeding off the energy of the guests as they sing along with you from their seats. A few move off to the side of the space or between tables to dance in pairs or small groups. You move back to the center of the stage and prepare yourself for your last song of the evening.

You look out into the crowded room and easily find Loki who hasn't taken his eyes off of you for a moment. You turn quickly, walking to the drummer who signals for the other musicians to join you. They nod at your request and you ignore the questioning look your manager gives you as you return to the center of the stage.

"Sorry for that," you apologize to the crowd. "I originally planned on closing my performance this evening with Glass Roses but I've decided to play my personal favorite instead." The intro for Crystal's Edge begins and Loki smiles as he leans forward in his seat. "This song has always held a special place in my heart and tonight I would like to dedicate it to someone I hope to meet again soon."

You slip away from your manager much easier than before and head to your previous hiding spot, hopeful Loki will be waiting for you. You can't help but smile when you see him leaning against the wall, watching you approach him.

"Hello again, beautiful," he says with a smirk.

"Hi Loki," you blush, thankful to hear the pet name again. "Did you like the show?" you ask, feeling nervousness spread through your body.

"Very much," he assures you and you relax instantly. "And I must say, Peter greatly appreciated your song dedication. I'm not sure I've ever seen the boy so happy."

"I'm glad he liked it," you tell him happily. "I was hoping I was right in assuming he was the person you were sitting next to." He nods and you take a step closer to him, out of the view of the guests. He puts his arm around your waist to pull you closer, your body just inches from his.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you who I was," you say as your smile fades slightly and you look down.

"Don't be," he replies, touching your cheek to bring your gaze back to his. "I can imagine you rarely meet someone who is as unaware of your fame as I was. I admit, I feel a bit foolish for not having known who you are."

You shake your head, "I actually really liked that you had no idea who I was, it's been so long since I've met anyone who didn't recognize me. It was fun to talk about my music with someone honest about their opinions."

"I understand," Loki says. "I can see how it would be nice to speak with someone who did not have any preconceived opinions about you."

"Exactly..." you agree then pause. "Oh, I guess you have the same problem... seeing as how I knew who you were."

"At least you are known for being tremendously talented," Loki complements you again and you feel a blush creep up your neck and cheeks. It has been so long since you felt as if someone was giving you genuine compliments and Loki seems to have a never ending supply. His smile falters for a moment and he adds, "I am known for... being the reason we are all here tonight I suppose."

"Loki," you say quietly and touch his cheek but he looks at the ground between you, "You are known for more than that." He shrugs and you can feel him pulling away emotionally even though his arm is still around your waist. "Loki," you say again and he looks at you but you can tell his smile is forced, you have done that yourself many times.

"I apologize," he says and clears his throat. "I think they are enough people here talking about me and the damage I have caused to this city. I would rather learn more about you."

"We can talk about me in a minute," you tell him with an anxious smile. You see a flicker of nervousness cross his face but he hides it quickly. "I'm sorry if I said anything before that upset you," you say and he shakes his head, "I didn't mean anything bad when I said I was surprised you came tonight. I just..."

"We don't need to discuss it," he says and he removes his hand from your waist.

"Please," you put your hand on his arm and move closer to him. "I'm sure there are people here who don't think you should have come... but I'm really glad you did," you say and he smiles slowly. "I can't imagine how hard tonight must be for you but the reason I didn't immediately think of that the first time we talked is because I don't think you are to blame for what happened. Everyone knows about the Mind Stone, although I doubt we know everything, and anyone can see how hard you've been working with the Avengers. When I said I knew who you were, it was because of all the news stories of you saving people over the last year. You're a hero, you know that right?"

He smiles genuinely as his arm wraps around your waist again. "Thank you, beautiful," he says. "You don't know how much it means to hear that."

"You're welcome," you smile then reach up and kiss his cheek to the surprise of both of you. "I- I hope that was okay?"

He smirks and nods, "It was more than okay, although I had thought I would ask to take you on a date before I kissed you."

"You want to ask me out?" you ask, sounding more shocked than you meant to.

"Unless," Loki pauses, concerned by your shock, "I've misjudged something?"

"No, no," you say, shaking your head and you can tell that is not helping his confusion. You laugh, "I'm sorry, I just... it's been a really long time since someone asked me on a date."

Loki looks at you, his eyes searching your expression for an answer to the question he is now unsure to ask again. "I would love to go on a date with you, Loki," you tell him with a smile and he pulls you flush to his chest. He leans down and kisses your lips softly.

He strokes your cheek gently with his thumb and you look up at him, you can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable with someone. You suddenly realize there is something you should warn him about. "Umm..." you mumble and he tilts his head questioningly. "I just want to prepare you for something."

"What's that, beautiful?" he asks, his hand on your lower back begins to move slowly up and down.

"I know your pretty famous," you say and he nods reluctantly, "But... and I'm not saying this to sound full of myself or anything... but when I go out anywhere, I tend to get followed by paparazzi. I'm thinking if we go out together, they'll swarm us."

"Oh..." Loki says as his hand pauses on your back.

"I still want to go out with you," you promise quickly, hoping he doesn't think you are changing your mind. "I just wanted you to know it won't be just us. I don't know if... are you okay with that?"

He smiles, "I would be fine with that so long as I was with you but I think I have a solution to that issue."

It's now your turn to be confused.

He chuckles, "There is a reason there are so few sightings of me outside of missions. I am a trickster god, remember?"

You blink in shock, "I didn't... I guess I didn't really think about it. So do you just make yourself invisible or something?"

He laughs again but shakes his head, "I could but no. I have learned humans become nervous when books and other objects move around them but they cannot see what is causing it."

You giggle, "Okay, it's not weird to be freaked out by that. So how do you go out without people noticing you?"

Loki smiles as his seidr surrounds him briefly with a faint green glow. His long, black curls become lighter and shorter, thin black framed glasses appear on his face and his suit changes from black to blue. He still looks like Loki but if you passed him on the street, you would most likely not have looked twice.

"I can create an illusion for you as well," he offers.

"That's... amazing," you laugh. "You look like a hot college professor."

"Thank you," he chuckles, looking down at his suit as he straightens his blue stripped tie. "I only showed you most of the illusion. To others, my face will also appear different but I was concerned that would be a bit... much?"

You nod, "I'm glad you still look like you, I like your face."

"That is the sweetest thing you have said tonight," he jokes.

You kiss his cheek again and ask, "So I guess I can't call you Loki when you look like this right? It's kind of a unique name."

"Generally, I go by Tom when I wear this illusion," he informs you.

"Tom?" you repeat.

"Too dull?" he asks, sounding unsure of his choice.

"I like it, you look like a Tom," you giggle. "Its nice to meet you Tom, I'm Y/N."

He kisses the top of your head, "I believe I will continue to call you beautiful."

You smile up at him and he slides his hand to the back of your neck, pulling your lips gently to his. You grip the fabric on the back of his suit jacket and kiss him deeply. When you finally break the kiss, something catches your eye.

"Shit," you say when you see Mark approaching you and Loki.

He looks towards your manager, then looks down at you and says, "I know the event is not over for a few hours, but how would you feel about our date beginning now?"

"Really?" you ask.

He smirks, "If you would like, I will take you anywhere you want to go."

You reach up and kiss him again then say, "All I want to do is sit in a cafe and get to know you better."

"Done," the God of Mischief smiles as his hand begins to glow, changing your appearance to everyone but other than himself. He keeps his arm around your waist and together you walk right past your very confused manager and out of the party.

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

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[borathae]

"Yoongi can’t talk right now. He is so ruined and it’s only been seconds. This is going to be the biggest torture you ever made him go through. Being touched and licked should have prepared him for your pussy, but it didn’t. When you played with him, Yoongi noticed the spell but it felt more like very intense edging to him. He is starting to realise that this is so much more."

Pairing: Vampire!Yoongi x Witch!Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, Smut, domestic Fluff

Warnings: switch!Yoongi, switch!Reader, this goes from Dom to subbiest!Yoongi, he is all cocky at first but then turns into the whiniest baby, i love when men submit :), he spanks her casually and talks about putting her over his lap, it’s not in a sex related context but with heavy sexual undertones, she is such a tease when she subs ahaha, and a sexy demon when she Doms, explicit flirting, dirty talk, istfg the tension between them, a lil bit of dry humping, sex spells, magical orgasm control, strength & size kink, she lifts him onto the counter to feel him up, stripping, he sits on her lap as she gives him a handjob, edging, praise, good boy kink, she calls him kitten, he calls her Mistress, begging, sexy possessiveness, messy nipple sucking, blowjob, deep throating, CBT, masochist!Yoongi, she rides him, his big vampire cock makes an appearance, so much cum besties, subby boy tears, his fangs make an appearance too, she fucks him into non-verbal subspace, dollification in the sense that he can't move anymore cause it feels so gooood, this is both the kinkiest sex ever but also deeply emotional for him, you know me there's gonna be an emotional conversation at the end, they're in love :(

Wordcount: 11.4k

a/n: listen besties, you know my thoughts on them. i can't form any more words. i just love them and i want them to be happy always 🤎

“My love?” you say, sitting down next to him and draping your arm over his tummy.

He was lounging in his living room, writing lyrics in his notebook when you interrupted him. 

“What do you want?” he asks, not looking up.

“Why do you think that I want something?”

“You’ve got your needy princess voice on.” 

“I don’t have a needy princess voice”, you mumble with a pout. 

Yoongi lowers his pen and gives a look, cocking his right brow up.

“Even if I do”, you give up, “you can at least give me a chance to voice it.”

He lowers his book to his lap and turns just a little so you are facing him better. 

“I’m all ears.”

“Okay so”, you begin by taking his hands and bouncing on the sofa excitedly, “I’ve been thinking and I wanna show you something.”

“Okay?”

“Here. This”, you place a piece of paper into his palm, “read it.” 

Yoongi sighs in defeat and reads whatever secret you put onto the paper. He looks attentive at first, but soon his expression changes into utter surprise and shock until landing on confusion.

“Where did you get this from? I didn’t show you that yet.”

You snicker mischievously, grabbing his thigh to shake his leg.

“What do you think of it?”

“I wanna know where you got this from. That’s not the magic we’ve been practicing.”

“Tae. He had this really interesting book on sex magic and he gave it to me and I went through lots of spells with him already. This was one of them.”

“Princess”, Yoongi says in his scolding voice, lowering his eyes at you, “what did I tell you about doing new magic behind my back?”

“Technically you said that I knew enough control these days that I can feel safe in myself.”

“Yeah and then I followed it up by telling you to discuss new magic with me before trying it. Perfect control doesn’t mean being master of all magic. You can still get hurt or hurt others. This is crazy”, he says, lifting the piece of paper to wave it in the air, “you’re not ready for this kinda stuff.”

“But I am.”

“What do you mean?” he squints his eyes, “princess, what did you do?” 

“I’m only gonna tell you if you promise not to get mad.”

He squints his eyes even harder, making it difficult for him to see. But he doesn’t need to see clearly right now, to see the utter mischief in your eyes. You may pretend to be sorry right now, but you aren’t. You are completely and utterly confident in your past sins and Yoongi is meant to accept them all. He loves that you feel safe enough with him to feel no fear in confessing to him, but he also hates that your trust in him means that you will act reckless way too frequently. 

“Fine”, he grumbles through gritted teeth, “I won’t get mad.”

“Okay so, I practiced with Tae. Many, many times until I was good at it. Then I practiced it on Tae and at first it didn’t work, but the second time we tried it I was able to control it for ten minutes. And by the third time we tried it, I managed to do it for an entire session.”

“Fucking hell, this is giving me a headache”, he murmurs, massaging the bridge of his own nose, “what else? I get a feeling that’s not it.” 

“Of course not. I did it a few more times with Tae and it went splendidly with all of them. And then I did it, okay so remember how Kook and I went on a camping trip?”

“You did it to Kook?!” Yoongi gasps, “are you outta your mind? Princess, don’t do that.”

“No, it’s not like that. I did it to him and it went well”, you calm him down, taking his hands, “it went really well. So well actually that I gave him a Ripper high without blood.”

Yoongi gawks. The silence between you and him is heavy, but not uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry, you did what?”

“I gave him a Ripper high without the blood, just by controlling his orgasms and making him cum really hard.”

“Stop fucking with me.” 

“I’m not. This actually happened. Ask Kook.”

Yoongi studies your face with distrust in his eyes.

“Go on, ask him”, you stress, shaking his arm.

“No, don’t be weird”, he whines and shakes you off, “I’m not gonna ask him that. Goddamn it princess, I wanna be so mad at you right now. You’re so reckless. Do you even have an idea what could have gone wrong? What you could have done? What-”

You silence him by kissing his lips. Deep and passionately. With your hands cradling his face and your tongue tasting his surprised gasps. Deeper. You need him to forget he ever wanted to be mad at you.

You climb his lap, hook your arms behind his head to pull him close. Yoongi sounds so utterly helpless underneath you. His thighs keep pressing together and his fingers cling to your body desperately. How obviously ruined he is. Just from simple kisses. 

You break them because you know that you’ve got him enchanted.

“Nothing happened”, you whisper. 

“If you think that I’m just okay with it because you kiss-” 

You kiss him again, even deeper than before.

Yoongi shakes you off, “princess, stop that. You-”

You pull him back into the kiss, silencing his growl of complaint by stuffing his mouth with your tongue. His fingers twist your jumper at the back, his throat produces a small keen of helplessness. His tongue tangles with yours. He couldn’t even control it happening. It was instinct. 

Your fingers begin scratching him behind his ear. He’s sensitive there, resulting in his chest to rub against yours as he arches his back. 

He’s distracted. Good. Your plan has worked. 

You break the kiss again, basking in the desperate sigh he lets out. His pouty lips chase you. You know that he wants more. Good. He can’t think about scolding you if he craves your kiss.

You flutter your eyes open once you are far away enough that you can comfortably look at him. He has his head tilted back and his eyes half-lidded. They switch between staring at your lips and gazing at your eyes. 

“Don’t do that”, he whispers.

“Just needed you to shut up”, you answer him as your fingers play with his hair at the nape of his neck. You know how much this makes him shiver. He gets so weak because of hairplay.

Yoongi chuckles deeply, sliding his hands to your butt. He spanks you with both hands. Hard enough to make it tingle and to force your body to flinch into him instinctively. You even let out a surprised moan, arching your back. 

“Say shit like that again and I’ll put you over my lap”, he warns, rubbing the tender spots on your pulsating buttocks, “understood?”

“You’re being unreasonable”, you argue, earning yourself another spank. You had hoped that it would. It burns so good, making you sigh his name. 

“Are we understood?” he stresses as his big, manly hands rub your tender flesh. His touch feels addictive. 

“Yes”, you get out, “yes, we’re understood.”

“Good girl. I like you so much better when you listen”, he praises and runs his hands along your waist. Up and down, back and forth. His touch feels like electricity on your skin. 

“Yoongi”, you sigh, grinding on his lap instinctively. The spanking made you needy, “Yoongi, I wanna try the spell on you.”

His touch stops. Silence. His eyes are widened as he stares at you.

“I’m sorry?” he gets out.

“I wanna do it with you.” 

“Why do you wanna do that?” Yoongi gasps with widened eyes. 

“I don’t know, I just thought that it could be fun”, you say, shrugging your shoulders.

“You’re just gonna mess it up”, he is pretending to be against it. You can see it in his eyes. 

“I know I can do it and you’re the only one who didn’t get to experience that yet”, you try harder.

“I’m three thousand years old. What makes you think I never experienced that before?”

“Because you were a brooding loner, who didn’t wanna be touched, for most of it”, you throw back.

“Wow”, he lets out and laughs. It’s heavy in amusement. His hands slide to your ass, taunting you because they aren’t lifting for a spanking again, “I was a perv for the first few centuries. You know that I was.” 

“Yeah well, then you didn’t experience it with me yet”, you throw back. 

Yoongi smirks. He’s so sexy when he does that you feel your heart flutter at the view. 

“I’m busy with lyrics.”

“That’s okay. We can do it whenever you have time.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t act stupid”, he says and picks you up so he can lie you down on the sofa. He hovers above you, pressing his crotch against yours, “you’re so fucking wet already and you wanna act all innocent with me”, he rasps, rolling his hips into you, “as if I have the choice to still say no.”

“You always have a choice. You just gotta be stronger than your urges and stop getting affected by my smell.”

“You’re a brat”, he says as his amused smirk grows, “fuck, I wanna make you cry on my cock.”

You shudder. He’s driving you insane. He can be so dirty-mouthed if he wants to.

“You can only do that after I made you shake”, you tell him, earning yourself a deep growl from him.

“See? I have no fucking choice.”

“Yeah, you do.”

His eyes gleam in the thrill of this little game you are playing. He closes the distance between your lips, needing your kiss. The tug was too unbearable otherwise. He is so hungry for you. 

You however, turn your head away. It results in his lips to mouth at your jawline. He lets out a chuckled whine, dragging his fangs over your skin without pressure.

“Don’t deny me”, he whispers deeply.

“I don’t wanna kiss right now”, you lie, twisting his hair playfully.

“Yeah, you do. You just get off on being cruel”, he rasps and nibbles on the spot where your jawline meets your ear. 

“Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t wanna get lost in something which isn’t my plan.”

“Plans can change.”

“No”, you laugh and push at his chest harsh enough that he has to sit up. You sit up as well. Your legs are tangled together, your middles pressed closed. “Not this plan. I still have lots to do. Potions to brew and bottles to fill, so you still have a few hours to think about your answer.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then you can have my kiss and you can make me cry on your cock.”

“See? That sounds like a good plan.”

“Definitely, but I also know that you’re only pretending to be against my plan.” 

Yoongi chuckles, cocking his right brow up.

“Brat”, he says, making you grin victoriously. 

“Yeah, I know”, you say and untangle yourself from him. You get up from the couch even if Yoongi tries so hard to keep you with him. In the end however, his hands slip from your hips and he is left feeling cold and desperate while you look down at him.

You run your hand through his hair. Yoongi tilts his head back instantly, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. 

“Think about it”, you tell him, “I gotta go back to work.”

You step back, but Yoongi manages to snatch your hand. He holds it tightly, guiding it to his lips so he can kiss it. 

“Stay. Don’t go”, he begs, looking up at you with pleading puppy eyes.

You really want to stay. Hell, you want to kiss him and touch him and allow him to make you feel so good that you cry. But you can’t. The game of chase is too much fun with him and you know for a fact that Yoongi loves it just as much. There are many occasions where you turn each other on without acting on it instantly. The thrill of denial and the desperate hunt which follows, makes the sex all the more intense. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t”, you tell him and slip your hand out of his hold.

“Princess”, he pleads, but you step back.

“I’m in my kitchen. Yeah?” you tell him and turn to leave.

“Fuck”, Yoongi drops in the sofa, running his hand through his hair, “you’re so fucking cruel.”

You are in the doorframe, looking over your shoulder. The playful smirk you send him, makes him crazy.

“See you later”, you coo and finally turn to truly leave. 

You spend the next hours getting needier and needier. You just can’t stop imagining all the possibilities of tonight and as your mind produced vivid images of Yoongi being lost in pleasure, it couldn’t help but wander to past evenings with him. Shared moments of intense pleasure run through your mind and make you all the more desperate for him. It may sound peculiar, but you love those feelings. Thinking about sex with him is just as exciting as actual sex with him. You love swimming on those thoughts and especially when you know that your near future will include sexy times with him. The knowledge makes the fantasising just all the more sweet.

You managed to fill an impressive amount of potions in the time you thought about Yoongi. 

You made a deal with Maël and the Seville pack to deliver potions for the upcoming blue moon next week. The wolves want to strengthen their lifespan and asked you to deliver the needed potions for it. The ritual will be a werewolf only event, but you are allowed to see the preparations with the explanation that you are Min Yoongi’s mate. It is honestly remarkable which places you are allowed to enter without question because you are his love. It is also very nerve-wrecking to think about which important people trust your magic because they know that Yoongi has his entire trust in you. You are obviously excited about all the opportunities, but if you told your past self what kind of life she would be living one day and what kind of job she would be pursuing, she would have called you crazy. You’re a witch, delivering potions to an established and highly important werewolf pack and you are helping your vampire Creator mate keep the peace between the supernatural factions. Goddamn, your life is awesome.

There is a sudden knock on your door. Your heart does somersaults in your chest, your knees almost give up on you. He is here. Yoongi is finally here. You check the clock. It’s not even been two hours. It felt so much longer than that however.

“Yes?” you call out, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

The door opens and in steps Yoongi. He seems to have taken a shower as he is in a rope and nothing else. The rope is black with golden dragons on the material and a golden belt. His long raven hair is tied into a bun.

“Oh? Hey there”, you tell him as calmly as possible, while your heart is almost giving up in your chest. You pretend to be busy with wrapping rope around the potion necks, whilst in reality you are just waiting for him to make a move.

The door locks.

Your heart races even more.

Yoongi is by your side within seconds, wrapping his arms around you from behind and connecting his lips with the side of your neck. His big hands squeeze you while his strong arms pull you against him. You stumble because of it, but Yoongi holds you with enough strength that you barely even notice the stumble. He sways you from side to side slowly, helping you instantly float on the sensation of being close.

You feel light-headed. Fantasising about being intimate with him made you so sensitive that his neck kisses feel like paradise right now. 

“You were being fucking awful with the shit you pulled”, Yoongi rasps, “telling me all this shit and then just leaving. You think I was able to actually be productive these past two hours?” 

You can feel his voice against your back. You press yourself closer because of it.

“I was just saying. It was just an idea.”

“Stop fucking around”, he warns, guiding his lips to the shell of your ear, “you knew what you were doing.”

You smile. Of course you knew what you were doing, that’s why you did it in the first place.

“And what is your answer?” you ask him.

“If we are gonna do this, I need you to promise me not to tell anyone.”

“Of course I won’t. It’s our secret.”

“Good girl”, he praises and turns you in his arms. He presses you against the countertop, staring you down with dark, enchanting eyes. You feel so drawn to him. You touch his chest.

“So how are we gonna do this?” you ask him.

“Not so fast. I’m not done yet”, he says and takes your hands to guide them behind your back. He steps closer this way, making you gulp as you look at him. He lowers his voice, caressing your wrists as he keeps you pinned, “I need you to promise me that if I won’t react as well to the spell, to not get disappointed.”

“What? You mean that you’re too strong for it? Like you are too strong for the rope spell?” you taunt, staring at his lips.

Yoongi tugs his brows together, making you snicker victoriously. 

“Don’t worry about it, my love. It’s okay to be nervous”, you tease him as you rub his chest.

His frown grows, but you know not to be intimidated. He is just embarrassed to be caught in a lie.

You run your hands to the nape of his neck and begin to play with the hair he didn’t put into the bun. 

“Anything else?” you ask him.

“You’re a brat”, he mumbles.

“I know”, you grin, “and you love it. Be honest.” 

His frown softens. He steps closer, sliding his big hands to your hips. He lowers himself, you do the same. You are resting against the desk in a way so that your legs are between his’ and he can look down at you. Your weight, you support with your elbows propped on the countertop.

The tension is unbearable. Your lips are only a tilt of the head away from feeling the other’s kiss.

“Kiss me right now”, he orders in a rasp, staring at your lips with half-lidded eyes.

“And if I won’t?”

“I’m gonna get my kiss regardless.”

“Is that a threat?”

“This is the truth.” 

You giggle, “oh Yoongs, you are so delightful.”

Yoongi gazes at your lips.

“Kiss me”, he whispers.

You lift yourself. Yoongi moans, parts his lips and closes his eyes. He is so eager to kiss. With a fluttering heart, you watched it happening. You giggle and lower yourself again. 

Yoongi opens his eyes.

“Please”, he begs, cupping your cheeks. He lets his words swirl over your lips, “give me permission to kiss you.”

“You’re so cute”, you whisper. 

Yoongi moves his lips as if he was already kissing you, letting out a pained sound. 

“I’m begging you, allow me. Please.”

“I don’t even have to enchant you to get you begging”, you taunt, inching closer.

Your lips ghost over his’. Yoongi moans softly, squeezing your cheeks. He doesn’t move in. Not until you initiate it. The denial aches.

“You’re a delight”, you whisper and push him away from you 

Yoongi stumbles back, looking so utterly hurt. You take his waist and switch your roles, pushing him against the counter. One surprise movement later, he sits on top of it, pressing his legs together in embarrassment.

“Why would you do that?” he complains.

“Because I can”, you are smiling up at him and kneading his hips, “now stop pressing those legs together and let me get a peek.”

Yoongi follows without hesitation, gawking at you with his eyes slowly getting softer in submission. He knew that he would be the submissive tonight and he loves it. He feels so excited about it. You are such a good Dom and you know him like no other. He trusts you, he can be naked with you, vulnerable and utterly himself and you wouldn’t judge him. Which is why he loves it when you’re bossy. Yoongi loves being a helpless slut just following your orders. 

You slide your hands to his inner thighs, sending electricity through his veins. You massage them gently, never going past the hem of his rope. He wants you to go past. He currently exists for nothing else than your touch.

“You’ve got the softest thighs, my love”, you gush and look into his eyes, “I want to exchange safewords with you.”

“Snowdrop.”

“That’s right and is it okay for me to control the scene?”

He nods his head, opening his legs further. You are caressing his skin mindlessly as you talk and it feels so good.

“Say it.”

“Yes, it’s okay.”

“Good boy. Is it okay for me to take off your clothes and to touch you?”

“Yes, it’s okay.”

“Both?”

“Why are you asking so many questions? You’ve been torturing me for two hours, please I wanna be touched and cum in your hands”, he whines, cracking you up. 

You bounce on the spot, blinding him with your smile. Your fingers knead his flesh. It tickles uncomfortably which forces Yoongi to whine and push them away. You change your grip, now caressing him again. This all happened within seconds as you smiled at him.

“You won’t cum for a long time, kitten. So get that outta your head.”

Yoongi gulps, opening his legs even more. He looks so, so needy this way. And like such easy prey. He even arches his back so his nipples would slip out of the rope accidentally. So perky and dainty. He’s got the prettiest nipples. You ogle them for a moment then look back at his face.

“And second of all, I fucking love you acting this way. My pretty slut, mhm?”

Yoongi rolls his hips against nothing. His skin is charged in sensitivity, his body feels fuzzy. With just your eye contact, your simple touch and your words, Yoongi already feels fucked. Shit, you are such a safe space for him. You make it so easy to switch from his normal – careful and wary – headspace to his sub headspace.

“One last question, promise”, you say, running the back of your nails up and down his inner thighs. Yoongi places his hands behind his back, putting his weight on them just so he can arch into your touch. 

“Please hurry up”, he stresses, hurting unbearably. He needs your touch on his cock. It hurts so bad to be denied.

“Is it okay for me to go with the flow or do you need me to ask for consent each time I do something new?”

“I wanna be touched”, Yoongi begs.

“Answer my question, kitten.”

“Don’t ask for consent, just touch me. I’ll say if I don’t want something.”

“There we go, that’s all I needed to know. Thank you for being such a good cooperator, kitten. Such obedience needs to be rewarded”, you say and slip your hands from his thighs. 

You twist the golden belt between your fingers and open the loose knot with one tug. The fabric still hides him, but you open it. You want to see him and marvel at his beauty. His ivory skin glows golden in the candlelight, his dark nipples are swollen and against his soft tummy, his hard cock stands impatiently and aches for your touch. His velvety cockhead is flushed, the thick veins on his cock pulsate as he gets harder under your greedy eyes. 

“Look at that. You’re already hard”, you gush, looking up at him, “kitten, you’re so hard.”

“I’m so needy.”

“Of course you are. My needy kitten.”

You run your fingertips to his tummy. Up, up, up until you can trace his pecs and down again. Teasing. You trace the outline of his cock on his tummy without touching him on his cock.

“Please touch me”, Yoongi begs. He’s such a good boy with you, always so eager to beg. 

“I am.”

“Touch my cock, please”, he tries, arching his back. 

“You’re such a fucking delight, my kitten”, you rasp and step closer. Your fingers slide to his waist, your lips connect themselves with his chest. Your teeth take his right nipple and play with it hungrily. Your lips suck him swollen, your tongue tastes his skin. 

Yoongi feels lightheaded while his nipple feels charged in pleasure. Every touch, kiss, lick and bite feels better than the last. He thought that he couldn’t get any needier, but he was wrong. 

“___”, Yoongi begins moaning your name. That means a lot with him. Your name doesn’t fall from his lips often. Only when he feels deeply and overwhelmingly emotional. Being pushed deeper and deeper into the safest, most pleasurable subspace is definitely one of the most intense emotions he can experience. Your name feels like relief during those moments, your syllables taste like candy on his tongue. 

You switch sides. You are a very fair Dom after all. His nipples need to be worshiped equally. He has such a pretty pair of them. Once his left nipple feels as swollen as his right, you lift your head. 

His cheeks are flushed. He is breathing heavily. Your thumbs stay on his nipples, rolling circles into them.

“Be my good kitty and take off your rope”, you order him. 

Yoongi obeys. The rope falls onto the countertop and stays there.

“There we go. Look at you.”

Yoongi is entirely naked while you are still dressed. If his past self could see him right now, he would actively make sure never to meet you just so he doesn’t have to get naked in such a demeaning way. But Yoongi isn’t his past anymore. Yoongi is in love and he is happy and he found his safe home with you, which means that being naked while you were dressed feels good to him. Maybe even empowering because of how incredibly smitten you look. 

“I want to worship you for hours, my love”, you tell him as you run your hands over his torso.

“Because I’m beautiful?” he asks shyly, earning himself your eye contact.

“Say that again.”

“Do you want to worship me because I’m beautiful?”

Your heart does somersaults in your chest.

“Do you think that you’re beautiful?” you can barely get the words out.

“Yes”, he whispers, lowering his head shyly. 

“Holy shit”, you press out. Your hands cradle his face, your eyes sparkle as you make him look at you, “holy shit, Yoongi my love. You, you never said that- you, oh god, are so beautiful, oh my love”, you choke out and squeeze his cheeks. 

Yoongi feels great. Nothing hurts. Except his cock. Oh god, he is thinking of it again.

“Can you touch my cock?” he begs, “please, I was a good boy”, and he bargains.

“I can, just not here. Follow me, my love”, you say and take his hands to tug him off the countertop. 

He hops off and follows you to the sofa. You twirl and fall, tugging him down with you by his hips. Yoongi stumbles and falls onto your lap, gawking at you with widened eyes.

“What the hell?” he says.

“You like it?”

“Why should I, I like it? You tugged me down and that’s it.”

“No, I meant do you like this?” you ask him and wrap your hand around his cock to jerk him off. 

Yoongi gasps, writhing desperately as his legs squeeze around your thighs. His eyes widen for just a second before his lids flutter and a breathy "ah" slips past his lips.

The first touch won’t ever lose its spark. Yoongi has to moan again because all the mental and physical teasing made him unbearably sensitive. 

You place your unoccupied hand on the small of his back and tilt his hips so his cock thrusts into your palm. Then you continue your rhythm, running your skilled hand up and down his entire length.

“Do you like this? Mhm?” you repeat your question.

“Yeah”, Yoongi gets out, writhing on your lap. This position is a first for him. To sit on your lap and have you touch his cock. He feels so vulnerable and small in this position and it’s messing with his already dizzy head. 

Yoongi lowers his head, looking down at where your hand makes him feel electric. His tip is glistening in his excitement. 

You run your fingers to it and give him a squeeze, forcing more droplets to leak out of him. The sensation combined with the visual makes Yoongi moan. 

It was soaked in surprise, shock, pleasure and submission with a hint of embarrassment in the end. 

“Look at you”, you have your sexy, powerful voice on. The kind of voice which makes Yoongi’s knees weak, “you’re leaking like crazy”, you say and massage his pink tip in strong squeezes. You have him between your thumb and pointer finger, using the grip to really make him leak. 

And he does. Oh, how he leaks. He gets so wet for you. He gets especially wet when you are helping him fall into his small subspace. And tonight. Oh tonight, you pushed him into it with one simple act. The act of sitting him down on your lap and playing with his cock.

“Look at all of this. You’re so wet for me, kitten.”

Yoongi falls even further, arching his back so the tip of his cock moves between your fingers. He closes his eyes and scrunches his nose. A breathy, “fuck” follows. So quiet and shy only you can hear it. 

You watch him, feeling your tummy churn in excitement. His cheeks are rosy, his pretty button nose is scrunched up and his dark hair frames his delicate face messily. 

“You’re so pretty”, you praise him, “my pretty kitten.”

“Please”, he chokes out and lowers his head. His body writhes on your lap, his cock throbs between your fingers. 

“Yoongi, love”, you speak sickeningly sweet, placing your fingers under his chin to tilt his head up, “don’t hide your pretty face from me. Open your eyes.”

Yoongi obeys, looking at you with droopy, glassy eyes and his lips parting as he keens shyly. He can barely keep up eye contact. It makes him feel so shy that his tummy keeps fluttering. But he doesn’t want to disobey you. Not when you touch him so good and not when you look so pretty.

“That’s better. You have such beautiful eyes”, you say and smile, “keep looking at me, kitten.”

“___”, he whispers shakily, cupping your face as his hips roll back and forth on your lap. Like this, his balls and tender hole grind against you, sending bolts of warm pleasure through his middle. His palms are clammy. You know that it is because of a mixture of pleasure, coyness and the intense warmth his body produces because he is with his soulmate. His touch feels so alive on your skin, because this is how you make him feel.

“That’s it, don’t you dare look away”, you praise, rewarding him with the best touch Yoongi ever felt on his cock. Nobody feels like you do. Nobody makes him feel so good. 

Yoongi mewls and runs his clammy hands to your jaw. He cradles it for just a second then his hands slip to the sides of your neck.

“My handsome prince”, you whisper, “you’re my handsome, pretty love.”

“You’re making me cum”, Yoongi chokes out and pulls a face of devastated pleasure. 

“Thank you for telling me”, you say and retreat your touch, caressing his thigh instead.

“No”, Yoongi breathes and squirms, “please…”

“You’re such a good boy for telling me.”

“Don’t edge me, please”, he begs and tries to tug your hand back to his aching cock. 

“You’re cute. I take it that I can start with the spell now?”

“What spell?”

“The orgasm control spell. Yoongi love, that’s why we’re doing this tonight. Did you already forget?” you ask in a fond snicker and your loving hands caressing his waist.

“Oh”, Yoongi lets out.

He was so lost in pleasure that he forgot the true purpose of tonight. He is so deep in subspace that he forgot the only reason why you are touching him is because of the spell. He feels a little sad at that thought, lowering his eyes.

“Unless you don’t want it anymore. Then we can do something else”, you say.

He shakes his head, “I want it, but I’m, I don’t know, I need reassurance.”

“Of course, oh Yoongi you’re my most loved. Yeah?” you say and slide your hand to his cock, “and I’m gonna make you see stars”, you add in a rasp as you run your hand up and down the underside of his cock. 

Yoongi moans softly, closing his eyes and slipping his hands to your shoulders.

“Don’t stop”, he whispers and adds a breathy, “please, Mistress.”

“Okay. I won’t stop. Is it okay for me to do the spell when I notice you getting close again?”

Yoongi nods his head.

“I need to hear it.”

“Yes, surprise me with it. Please, holy fuck, don’t stop.”

“There we go, that’s what I like from you. You’re such a good boy voicing your consent like that”, you praise him as your thumb massages his most sensitive spot. 

He writhes and moans softly, “fuck. There.”

“Yeah, right there. You’re such a good boy, my love. Such a good boy.”

“Okay please”, Yoongi reaches down and laughs panickedly, “be quiet.”

You snicker, “close?”

“Yeah…“

“You’re so cute”, you say and cup his cheek, “come here, kitten.”

Yoongi leans down. Your lips brush his forehead. A hot, breathtaking sensation shoots through his body. A big, unbreakable knot forms deep in his tummy and his cock suddenly feels like exploding. Not literally but he swears, one wrong touch and he would shoot cum everywhere. Except that there are touches on his cock and no matter how good they feel, he can’t let go. 

You pull your head back, studying his face. 

“Shit, ah”, he gasps, opening and closing his mouth as he tries to make sense of his own state, “what did you do? Ah.”

“See? And you wanted to tell me that you’ll be too strong for the spell.”

He somehow manages to open his eyes. They are filled with devastation.

“It shouldn’t feel like this.”

“Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head.

“What else?”

“I can’t, I can’t cum. But I want to. Please don’t edge me, I don’t know what- ah-”, he stutters, ending his senseless rambling by rolling his eyes back and closing them. His nose scrunches up, his fingers dig into your shoulders as his body begins fighting the enchantment. He keeps grinding and humping and bouncing on your thigh, all while his cock throbs and pulsates between your fingers.

“Look at you. You’re such a needy kitten. Look at you trying to cum”, you say and giggle maniacally, “you’re so cute.”

“Fuck. Shit”, he gasps and tugs your hands away. “Oh”, he startles because of his own reaction, looking at you with big eyes. His hands grasp themselves and move up to hide his lower face behind them, “sorry”, he mumbles into his little fists.

“You’re okay”, you soothe him, “I can stop this again. It’s not your taste, is it?” 

“I don’t know”, he confesses and looks at his cock. It is swollen and pink. So pink it borders red. He drops his right hand and wraps it around his cock. He still covers his mouth with his left hand, changing the grip once his own touch meets his length. He squeezes his own cheeks, furrowing his brows as his eyelids flutter. A deep purr rumbles in his chest, his thighs squeeze your own. His own touch feels so different than yours. You have the softest palms while his’ are slightly calloused from fighting. He misses your softness whilst at the same time getting addicted to his rough touch.

“Fuck, please”, he begs as he tightens his fingers around his cock. He tugs on it, trying so very hard to make himself cum. He fails miserably at it, gripping your upper arm in desperation, “please princess, please.”

You watch him touch himself, caressing his twitching thighs as you do. His hand is so big around his cock. Yoongi isn’t small, he is actually the perfect length, but his huge hand makes his cock almost look tiny. He pumps it around his girth, squeezing out droplets of useless precum. 

“Ah god, shit”, he presses out and speeds up his hand. Wet squelching and the needy sounds of him fill the room. He is panting like crazy, mixing in deep purrs and desperate gasps every now and then.

“There we go, touch yourself. Isn’t it fascinating? Look at your wet, little cock. Such a wet kitten cock, mhm?” you talk to him in your sexiest voice, soothing the shakes in his legs with tender touches. 

Yoongi mewls loudly and drops his head against you. He humps you, fucking his cock between his naked tummy and your clothed stomach. His hands, once grasping his own body, slam down on the wall behind the sofa. He scratches his nails down as he somehow tries to make himself cum. 

“Fuck”, he presses out, letting the word swirl over your face. His hips chase you quickly, giving his cock a fruitless fuck, “f-fuck.”

“Does that help?” you ask him with a fond chuckle on your lips and your hands grasping his buttocks. They are tensing uncontrollably, mirroring the desperation he currently experiences.

“No”, he croaks, “what did you do to me? I can’t cum. I want to cum, please.”

“Just say the word and I’ll stop this.”

But Yoongi doesn’t say the word. Yoongi mewls and fucks himself against you with such vigour it knocks the air out of you. And again. Again. Again. Yoongi is desperately humping you even if it makes breathing oh so hard for you.

“Stop that”, you laugh and grip his ruthless hips, “hey, you’re gonna make me have a stomach ache if you continue humping me.”

Yoongi drops onto your lap, whimpering into the crook of your neck. His hands cradle the back of your head, his body shudders.

“I can’t do this”, he gets out in a fragile voice.

“I will stop this, yeah?”

“Don’t stop please. I can’t cum. Holy shit, what did you do to me?”

“Magic”, you say and slide your hands under his thighs, “now don’t startle.”

Yoongi startles. You stood up with him in your arms and he didn’t expect it. He presses himself closer, whining about being put down.

“I’m too heavy, don’t do that.”

“You’re not heavy. Hush.”

You turn and sit him down on the sofa. Yoongi looks up at you, looking so embarrassed. He’s adorable.

You give him a grin and fall to your knees before him, spreading his thighs for him. Yoongi reacts in a thrust of his hips and his hands placing themselves over yours. You caress his skin and look up. He is breathing heavily, looking so utterly nervous yet turned on.

“My pretty kitten”, you praise and take his cock between your lips. 

“Ah”, Yoongi gasps, furrowing his brows as his cock twitches into you. He is so messed up. His tummy clenches like crazy.

“Mhhhm”, you purr around him, sinking down on him until he tickles the back of your throat. You hum deliciously, swallowing around him to make it all so tight for him.

“Please”, Yoongi breathes and grips the edge of the sofa. He squirms, pressing out another “please” when you begin fucking your mouth with his cock. All while you are purring and humming and moaning around him, making him feel your voice in the most stimulating of ways. It makes him so sensitive.

Yoongi scrunches his face in desperate pleasure. He can’t cum. But he wants to cum. You feel so good. Hot, warm and soft. You keep sucking on his tip and licking the spots which are the most sensitive. Everything – every single fiber in his body – begs for him to let go, to fall into the sensations. But Yoongi can’t let go. The pressure in his tummy aches and makes breathing hard, his legs are so weak that they can’t even tremble anymore and his nails hurt from gripping the sofa. And yet he can’t cum. No matter how hard he tries.

You are at his tip again, sucking so harshly your cheeks fall in. All while your left hand is sliding to his balls and your right is jerking off his shaft. You are moaning as you feast on him, sending vibrations through his sensitive cock. 

“Please”, he begs. Pleads. Whimpers. His eyes tear up. He closes them and curls his lips back as another high-pitched whimper rolls off his tongue. 

“Mhhm, ah”, you slip off of him deliciously, slurping up the sweet mess he leaves just for you, “you’re so wet, kitten”, you taunt, massaging his thick vein and therefore forcing more useless precum out of his cock. It sits on his flushed tip as pretty, translucent pearls, “look at that mess. It’s so fucking useless, isn’t it?”

Yoongi takes your hand and squeezes it. You look up, meeting his glazed over eyes. 

“Need a break?” you ask him to which he shakes his head, “what else? Mhm?”

“I need to cum”, he presses out.

“But you can’t. I know, you told me before”, you say and smile, kissing his knuckles softly, “don’t worry kitten, you’re in safe hands. And mouth”, you say and snicker at your joke, lowering yourself back to his cock. 

Yoongi wanted to complain about your stupid joke, but couldn't because you stole his ability to speak. All he can muster are needy noises and desperate gasps for air.

You take him as deep as you can go, using the position to really push him past your throat’s limit. It’s not uncomfortable, it’s so incredibly hot to you. Especially because it makes Yoongi whimper above you and grip your head as his body slacks in utter defeat. His legs fall open further and his tummy softens as his muscles give up on him. He presses out a weak, “hngnmm” and lets his head all against the sofa and roll to the side as he is staring at you with heavy eyes.

He doesn’t use the leverage he has on your head. He truly wastes the opportunity, letting his hand lay limp on your head while you throat fuck his cock. Your left hand grips his pretty waist, your right cups his balls and tugs. 

“Ah!” he yelps, thrusting into you against his will. His back arches off the cushions, his eyes roll back involuntarily. The pain was intense, gaining in intensity because your spell turned his body into one overly sensitive mess.

You slide off with a slurp, keeping your attention on his flushed tip while your hand tugs again. Harshly. The pain sits deep, but feels like paradise. 

Yoongi drops his hand from your head for the sole purpose of rubbing his own face. With both hands. Desperately. Mostly to make sense of his state, but also to wipe some of the tears he spills. 

Another tug on his balls reminds him that he’s your fucking slut. He throbs between your lips and chokes out an agonised sound. It is filled with so much pain and torture that you feel the need to check up on him.

“Colour?” you ask, massaging his aching balls gently.

“Green”, the word leaves him breathlessly, a small whimper follows, “please let me cum, please.”

“Mhm, I don’t know. You’re so cute when you’re like this”, you coo and kiss his tip, “my cutie.”

Yoongi touches your head before cradling your cheek. His palm is sweaty, his touch weak yet loving. You tilt your head up to see him.

“Please", he whispers, staring at you through his lashes. His dark hair hangs into his face messily. He is practically glowing in pleasure. The view makes your heart race. He is so pretty.

“You’re cute when you beg”, you say and give his balls a tug. Once stretched to their limits, you incorporate a twist to really drive the pain deep.

Yoongi’s face scrunches in pleasure, he squeaks out a “please” while his enchanted cock throbs between your fingers. 

“Like this, so cute”, you squeal and giggle, “my cutie patootie”, you add in a squeak and tug on his balls, giving them a twist when it hurts the most.

Yoongi thinks that you are the cruellest person ever. Your voice and the words it produces build him up and makes him feel so loved, your eyes show him how much he is adored and yet your hands torture him as if you hated him. You are so loving and yet so cruel. Yoongi can’t function because of it. 

“Mistress, please”, he begs and squeezes your cheek gently.

“My cutie”, you say and kiss his palm. Just once because then you stand up. Your torturing, amazing touch ceases to exist. Yoongi feels cold because of it, aching in his chest.

He reaches for you instantly, “don’t leave, I need you”, he pleads.

“I’m not leaving”, you assure him and slide your hands to your own clothes to undress. 

“Oh”, Yoongi lets out, watching you with heavy eyes, “you’re beautiful, princess.”

“You’re beautiful too, love.”

You step out of your pants and get on his lap. Yoongi welcomes you with his hands touching your hips instantly. You slide your hands to his jaw, using a gentle grip to tilt his head up. Yoongi gazes up at you, looking so utterly ruined. Only you can get him this way. Ruined and flushed. So pretty. 

“You’re gonna cum inside me. Are we understood?”

“Yes, Mistress”, he whispers as he runs his hands up and down your lower back. 

A faint smile washes over you. You run your thumb to his lips to trace them. Yoongi chases you with a soft moan and his tongue darting out to lick you. You allow him, watching him lap at your thumb while his devoted eyes are gazing at you. 

“Who do you belong to, Yoongi?” you ask him.

“___”, he says your name without needing to be asked. 

“Yeah, that’s right”, you press out with a fluttering heart, “shit, you’re mine.” 

“Yours…”

You pick up his cock and sink down on him. Yoongi’s face scrunches up. He is so overtaken by pleasure and yet he still finds the strength to press out a desperate “yours.” As if it was instinct, but it’s not instinct. It’s the result of a well-trained, loved and utterly devoted sub finding his heaven in his Dom. And it’s his desperate attempt to show you that you and only you own him. He is yours and only yours and being reunited with you is the drug his body runs on.

“That’s right. Mine”, you praise and bottom out. You caress his neck and begin moving on him. Up and down with a skilful roll in your hips to make sure he hits every single inch of you.

Yoongi presses out a desperate moan and drops his head into your chest. He hugs you close, shaking in a tearless sob. It feels so good to be fucked by you.

“You’re doing so well”, you praise him, hugging him against you with your hands deep in his soft hair. 

Yoongi can’t talk right now. He is so ruined and it’s only been seconds. This is going to be the biggest torture you ever made him go through. Being touched and licked should have prepared him for your pussy, but it didn’t. When you played with him, Yoongi noticed the spell but it felt more like very intense edging to him. He is starting to realise that this is so much more. With every bounce on his sensitive cock, every clench of your soft walls, every swirl of your hips, Yoongi feels less and less in control of his own body. This is the true effect of the spell. Every second with you feels like ecstasy and yet Yoongi is denied its high. He is right at the source and yet can’t taste its sweetness on his tongue. 

He forces his head to tilt back just so he can look up at you. His hair is a mess on his forehead, his eyes are barely open and his chin is still in contact with your chest. 

He presses out your name until the first vowel then forgets how to talk as you slam down on his cock again and render him useless. 

“You’re so handsome, my love”, you coo as you cup his cheek with your left hand. You keep your right still buried deep inside his long hair, giving him a soft tug because you know he can take it. The bun he once wore has long being ruined. You fucking love him like that. Messed up and ruffled just by you.

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut in the most devastating of ways, hiding his face in your chest again as his throat produces the most beautiful of sounds. 

“So handsome and you’re taking me so well”, you praise while you are ruining him. You bottom out, writing your name with your hips. He should remember who treats him like that. He shouldn’t forget.

Yoongi falls back because his body is weakened more and more the longer you ride him. 

You fall with him, laughing because you didn’t expect it. Your hands slam onto the wall to support yourself, your boobs smother him. 

“Careful baby”, you snicker. 

“Yours”, he croaks and gathers your tits just to suck and lick them. He is wet and sloppy with it, giving you glimpses of his fangs and you are loving it. 

“Yes baby, this feels so good”, you encourage him and use the new position to bounce on him. Your clit grinds against his lower tummy this way, while his cock hits all the right spots deep inside.

Yoongi mewls and whimpers into your tits while you feel yourself get lost as well. You are going to cum on his cock. That’s all you can think about right now. His touch, his lips, his warmth and throbbing cock paired with the feeling of having him at the tip of your fingers makes you feel so weakened.

Yoongi drops his lips from your nipple. He can’t breathe. If he doesn’t fight for air soon, he will pass out. His head is against the edge of the backrest, your tits are all in his face while you bounce him. You fuck him so hard that the impact your ass makes on his thighs is audible. You sound so wet. So goddamn wet. He feels it stick to his thighs and run down his balls. Your puffy walls keep clenching and sucking on him as you make yourself cum. Yoongi knows those motions by heart. You always start to get tighter when you are getting close. Yoongi finds it hard to control himself during such a ride on normal days, but today he is actually suffering. He wants to cum, but he can’t. He is so serious. He wants to cum, but he can’t. Why does nobody know how serious he is? He wants to cum, but can’t. He can’t. Every second feels like that one pivotal moment before he tips over the edge, but he can’t. 

“Please”, he begs, scratching his nails down your back. He doesn’t even realise that he is leaving marks on your skin. All he needs you to fucking understand is that he can’t fucking cum, but he wants to so, so bad.

“I’m so close, baby”, you moan above him, caring shit about him. You are just using him and his enchanted cock. Yoongi feels so ruined, spilling tears from his ruby eyes. Your tits keep slapping his face. It’s like mockery to him. He is so desperate to make you understand him and find pity in yourself and yet you are blind to it, “so close, kitten”, you press out, squeezing around his cock, “your pretty kitten cock is gonna make me cum so good.”

Yoongi tries to beg you, but can’t. He doesn’t know how to speak. Only animalistic sounds come easy to him. They’re not of feral nature, but that of a scared, little animal getting cornered by its biggest predator. You are talking about your impending orgasm while he suffers. Yoongi feels so fucking mocked by you and as a result, he wants to kiss the very ground you walk on. You own him.

You motherfucking own him.

“So close, kitten. So fucking close”, you moan as your tits remind him what heaven is and your pussy keeps his enchanted cock on edge.

Yoongi tries to help you, but he can’t. His body is useless. He can’t even get his legs to move or his hips to meet your bounces. He genuinely feels like a stupid, little sexdoll right now. A sexdoll meant to exist for your pleasure and to be useless otherwise. You could do anything to him and he couldn’t even fight back because you ruined his body to the point of paralyzing exhaustion. 

All which still works are his hands and they are currently dimpling your ass from gripping you so goddamn harshly. He’ll leave bruises in the deepest parts of your flesh, but you can’t care about this right now. Yoongi doesn’t even notice that he is bruising you. He feels numb to anything other than your hot pussy and your tits in his face. He snatches for them and manages to brush his tongue over your left nipple. It’s so weak and slow, his licks that is, and Yoongi can’t speed up even if he wants to.

“Yes Yoongi, yes. Fuck my prince, my beautiful, ah”, you moan, rutting against him. Your walls are so tight. Yoongi tries to breathe through it, but even that gets hard when you knock the air out of him each time you slam yourself down on him. 

Your hands come to cup his cheeks and tilt his head up. You want to meet his gaze, but can’t. Yoongi’s eyes are glued shut, his face is crinkled in pleasure. Or agony. You can’t decide. Maybe it’s both. 

“My love”, you moan and climax to the view of him, “a-ah Yoongi”, you whimper, dropping your forehead against his’ as your body shakes out of control. 

Yoongi’s hands lose strength as well. Your pulsating, clenching walls are too much. Not even spilling tears is enough to show the desperation he feels at this point. But he still does. It’s the only thing he can still do besides moan like crazy and fight for air.  

You come down soon, but don’t slow down as you fuck your tight walls through the overstimulation. 

Yoongi tries again to produce words, “p-please n-no more”, he chokes out and tries to grip your hips, “I can’t take much more.”

“I know kitten. Almost there”, you lull your words, sounding so ruined by your high. You speed up your hips, fucking him into insanity and no control.

“No more”, he squeaks and presses out a pained, “oh”, before a sob shakes him. 

“Who do you belong to?” you rasp the words against his temple.

“You”, he chokes out, spilling tears.

“Yes Yoongi, fuck”, you lull as you drag your lips to his forehead, “cum for me”, you order and kiss his forehead. 

The spell drops. Yoongi screams and arches his back off the sofa to its breaking point. His head he keeps thrown back, showing view to his throat and his agape mouth. His fangs are on full display as he screams over and over again as you finally fuck him to an orgasm. His cock, once perfectly human sized, grows into his supernatural length within a second. 

“Fuck, ah”, you gasp, convulsing around the sudden intense stretch. One second you need to get used to it and then you are already bouncing on him again, fucking masses and masses of hot cum out of him, “yes Yoongi, cum for me. Yes”, you growl, using the edge of the backrest as support. Shit, he is cumming so hard that it is squirting out of you and you fear that he might stuff you past your body’s limits. You can’t get enough of him, wishing for him to reach places no human should be creamed at.

“Keep cumming for me. So fucking good. You’re such a good fucking boy”, you moan while Yoongi is reduced to screaming and clawing at the couch. If he didn’t claw at it, he would hurt you. He has no control over himself right now. It scares him, but all the more it fills him with sensations he hasn’t experienced in millennia.

Yoongi thought that he knew pleasure with you. He was so sure that he couldn’t climax any harder with you. You break him and build him up just to break him again over and over each time your bodies connect in pleasure. You know his every spot and how to get him to his breaking point, you know how to keep him there until even breathing gets hard and you know how to draw it out until begging is the only thing he can do. His pleasure is on your literal fingertips and Yoongi thought that you already dragged out the deepest highs from his soul. And yet he was wrong. He was still fucking wrong. 

The last time he felt that kind of high, Yoongi lived a different life. He killed for pleasure, fucked for short relief and found his highest high in the taste of blood. He was twisted and wrong and loved nothing more than the sensation of blood coating his throat. He doesn’t like to think of this time in his life, but sometimes he thinks about the highs he can’t have anymore and begins missing them. And you are dragging such a high out of him right now. Safely. Without blood spill. Two millennia without it and Yoongi finds it again at the fingertips of his beloved woman. If he didn’t already exist solely for you, he would have started to do so right here and now. 

His screaming stops in sync with his back dropping against the sofa. He grows limp as paralysation sets in. Yoongi is there for it. Mentally he takes in every second of his vulnerable state and he can’t do anything against it. He should feel scared, but he doesn’t. He just feels so ruined and happy that he wants to smile but he can’t. Even that he can’t do because you fucked him into helpless paralysation.

“Good job”, you praise and slip off of him, “ah shit, I’m not peeing myself right now, it’s your cum”, you say and laugh which makes even more cum squirt out of you. It covers his thighs and drips to the ground. Truly you are leaking like a goddamn faucet. You snicker at the situation and look at Yoongi when he doesn’t respond. 

He is staring at the ceiling with ruby eyes and silent tears running down his cheeks. His lips are parted and his cheeks look so…fallen in as if his muscles stopped working.

“My love?” you ask, cupping his cheek, “what’s wrong?” you say, shaking his head gently. It flops from side to side without any kind of protest from him. Like his muscles forgot how to work.

You study him with furrowed brows. Unmoving and limp. Almost as if…you widen your eyes. This is the result of a Ripper High. 

“Holy shit, I gave you a Ripper high”, you gasp and press out a squeaky giggle, “oh my love, I did it!” you exclaim and begin kissing every inch of his face, “I, I did it. I knew I could do it. Oh my love, oh I love you. My love, you’re doing so well. It’s safe to come back to me, my love. Take as long as you need to, I’m right here.”

Yoongi is present for all of it. Physically he is gone, but his mind and heart are still with you. He doesn’t feel your kisses and loving touches at first. At least not on his skin, his heart still feels their effect. It swells in his chest and fills with the warmest of warmths. He knows that what you are speaking is the truth. It is safe to come back to you. There won’t be agony and guilt waiting for him, just love and the healing feeling of home.

“My beautiful, handsome love. Oh my Yoongi, I’m so happy and so proud and oh, I love you like crazy.”

Your words have an even stronger effect on his heart, affecting his mind as well and healing wounds so deep he thought they could never heal. When he lived a different life, being paralysed after his high meant that he slaughtered villages, left families ripped apart and caused nightmares to whoever was unlucky enough to survive. When he lied paralysed between the massacred bodies of his once pleasurable hunt, the guilt and pain of what he did made him cry and scream his lungs out until he stopped tensing up and he had to flee the scene with his limbs barely wanting to work. 

And now he knows that once he regains control of himself, there won’t be any bodies waiting for him. Just you. Perfectly fine and unharmed. 

The first kiss he feels on his skin is one at the tip of his nose. You trail them up the bridge of it and by the time, Yoongi feels your lips on his forehead the feeling in his skin returned completely. He can feel the wet mess on his lap, your warmth against his skin and your loving touch on his face. 

“___”, he croaks with his voice terribly ruined.

“Hey”, you speak gently, “welcome back. You did so well, I’m so proud”, you praise, tilting his head into a kiss. 

It focuses his attention on his lips and Yoongi does everything inside him to make them work first just so he can kiss you back. It happens soon. Yoongi regains control over his lips and finally kisses you back and it fills him with so much overwhelming happiness that his body regains control within the brink of a second. He loves you so much and he shows you that he does with his arms wrapping around you and his body melting with yours as he sits up and deepens the kiss. 

And he kisses you. Kisses you. Kisses you. And kisses you without wanting to stop. He kisses you with you on top of his lap, kisses you with his arms around you and his hands as deep in your hair as your texture allows it, kisses you with his chest flush against yours and his throat producing the most grateful, happy whimpers. 

He stands up with you in his arms, still kissing you. He keeps kissing you as his weakened knees drag him down and he falls onto the couch with you underneath him. And even then he keeps kissing you, needing you to understand what this meant to him. What you just healed. What you fucking mean to him. He swears that no kiss he shares with you is enough to show you what he feels for you. None of them is enough and so he has to keep kissing and kissing and kissing you until he finally finds the one worthy enough of his feelings. 

Quite frankly, he would have kissed you for countless more hours if you hadn’t broken it for him. You had to because he barely gave you time to breathe and you felt dizzy. 

“___”, his begs are instant, his lips search for your kiss but find your fingertips. The spot on your body which holds his heaven, paradise and dreams. Yoongi begins kissing them, doing so with his body trembling in emotion. 

“I can’t tell if you’re upset or not”, you whisper, watching him with overwhelming feelings in your chest. You always thought that he showed you every variation of kisses he had to offer, but the way he kissed you right now was unlike any kiss you ever shared. It left you feeling overwhelmed in the best ways possible.

He tries to answer you, but can’t. He is too overwhelmed by everything he feels.

“Take your time”, you encourage him, caressing his cheek with gentle fingers while his lips still kiss your other hand.

Yoongi tries again.

“The last time I felt this high, it was surrounded by dozens of massacred bodies”, he begins with his cheek seeking your palm. You help him find it, feeling your heart grow in love when he nuzzles into you, “I hated myself so much and wanted to die.”

“Yoongi my love”, you croak, cupping his other cheek as well.

“For hundreds of years I chased this high even if I hated it. For hundreds of years feeling it meant that I killed innocent people and left others traumatised and now you-” his voice breaks as his emotions overtake him.

He opens his eyes, giving view to the tears blurring his vision.

“I love you so much”, he chokes out shakily, “I-I want to know words more honest than love, but there are none. I love you so much more than love, I can’t f-find words. I feel so much for you”, he stutters and lets his head fall into the crook of your neck. He closes his arms around you, cradling you against him as best as the position allows him, “you’re the home I always longed for, ___”, he confesses, leaving you to spill tears because it felt so good to be loved by him.

“You’re my home too, Yoongi”, you say, hugging him against you as your nose nuzzles against his face, “god, you’re making me cry”, you confess in a chuckle, “I was planning for the evening to be fun and kinky and yet here we are sobbing again.”

“I feel so much, I can’t help it.”

“That’s okay, as long as we have each other we can be little crybabies after sex”, you say and making him laugh out a sob.

“Yeah”, he says, “ah fuck”, he gets out and laughs into the crook of your neck as much as he sobs.

You snicker and hug him closer, kissing his hair, “my Yoongi.”

Being with each other is the only thing that truly matters and if one was wondering, yes Yoongi will whine about everything which happened once he regained clarity again. It will come by morning after you and he shared cuddles in your bed and he wakes up to an empty bed and a magical note telling him that you were in your kitchen. He will find you kneeling by the couch as you attempt to fix the holes he ripped into the cushions and Yoongi will sit down next to said holes and give you the shiest glances you ever saw on him and mere seconds later, you and he will talk about last night. You will be terribly excited while Yoongi will whine at first about how reckless it was, but in the end he will giggle with you and tell you how nice you made him feel and that you healed wounds he never thought capable of healing. Then you will attempt to fix the couch together, stealing kisses and snuggles way too often as your giggles just didn’t seem to want to stop.

[creamsickle-writes]

Bubblegum Kisses: Koby x F!Reader

Tags: nsfw, fluff, "there's only one bed" trope, dry humping, penetrative sex, accidental creampie, and accidental ruined orgasm

Koby rehearsed the scene repeatedly in his mind as he approached the meeting room. He would attend the briefing, maybe offer a few words to his superiors afterward, and then leave.

That was the plan.

He had to follow it this time.

When he pushes open the grand doors to the meeting room, he tries his best to only look for his chair and keep his eyes down, but, yet again, he can’t help himself. As soon as he takes his seat, his eyes scan the room.

And they finally stop searching once he sees you talking with some high-ranking officers. 

His eyes rake over your features; your soft-looking skin, beautiful eyes, and fantastic figure are all he can focus on. ma

Ever since you started attending these meetings a month ago, he couldn’t help but be distracted! He would usually zone out, thinking about how he would approach you or his opening line, only for him to dip out of the meeting room and never say a word to you.

If it wasn’t painfully obvious, he had a massive crush on you. However, he knew he shouldn’t pursue it.

After all, you were a relative of Sengoku. And while he was no longer the Fleet Admiral and your relation to him was distant, it would still be messy for him to become involved with you. 

He tries to clear his head, shake it off and all that, but his heart starts to race when your eyes meet his from the other side of the room. 

He looks away quickly, trying to appear as though he is busy with something else, but when he peeks at you again, he notices you walking his way,

His heartbeat is in his ears as he perspires; surely you weren’t coming over to him. He continues this game of his, eyes glancing back and forth between you and the table in front of him. 

But as you come closer, his face grows red and his head dizzy. 

And when you finally sit next to him, well, he almost faints. 

“You’re Captain Koby, right?”

“Uh, y-yes-“

Koby almost dies of shock when you take his hands in your own, your eyes wide with excitement, “It’s a pleasure to meet such an amazing hero!”

Koby clears his throat, trying his best to be polite, “W-Well, I’m not all that special; it’s really all thanks to Vice Admiral Garp and his training-“

You hold his hands even tighter, leaning in as you heap on the praise, “You’re too modest; You saved so many lives at the Rocky Port Incident, and-!”

You’re quickly silenced by Fleet Admiral Sakazuki, who clears his throat, ordering the start of the meeting. You smile at Koby and release his hands, turning to give Sakazuki your full attention. Koby just stares at his hands in awe.

The meeting is about general things: where to deploy ships, major incidents that recently happened, and the ever-growing list of dangerous pirates.

Koby is intently listening before he feels something graze his thigh. He jumps and hits his knee on the table, causing a few eyes to glance his way. Koby gives an apologetic nod, trying to eliminate any awkwardness, but the remnants of confusion and disapproval from the others who noticed are still there.

Looking at his lap, he sees a tiny, folded piece of paper. He glances back at you, who is eagerly waiting for him to unfold it.

He gives a timid smile before picking up the paper, unfolding it before reading a simple sentence:

“These meetings are so boring, aren’t they?”

He read it a few times before finally registering what was happening. A blush creeps over his cheeks, and his chest tightens as he tries to play it cool.

Eventually, he starts mentally drafting his response. He takes a pen from his jacket pocket and begins to write back.

Folding it along its previous creases, he slides it back to you.

You two pass the note back and forth like this for quite some time, and it’s clear that some people notice this exchange. But nobody says a word, not wanting to interrupt the Fleet Admiral.

Little giggles and snorts are kept quiet as you two exchange written words, the conversation flowing naturally. You give your name, and while Koby already knew it, he didn’t want to say so for fear of sounding like a creep. 

Though, what he didn’t know was why you were attending these meetings. They were for higher-ups, and you didn’t fit that description. 

When Koby asks, you answer gladly, explaining that your role would soon be assistant to the new Fleet Admiral. These meetings were just to prepare you for everything that was to come.

After getting the topic of work out of the way, you two talked about yourselves on a more personal level. You discussed hobbies, interests, and things of that nature. 

As the meeting comes to a close, you pass the note one last time. Koby unfolds it and furrows his brow as he reads a string of numbers, followed by: “Let’s talk some time!”

Koby’s eyes bulge, and his face turns scarlet. He goes to look at you, but when he does, your attention is strictly on whoever is delivering the final words.

He pockets the letter.

_____

That was months ago, and since then, word had spread of you two communicating outside of work often. People had spotted you both getting lunch, enjoying time by the beach, and generally being a bit too close to each other (though it was usually you initiating the close contact)

Rumors began to fly, and eventually, they made their way back to Koby. Sometimes people would say you were just friends. Other times it was lovers. And sometimes, it was partners.

Koby was greedy and wanted them all to be true. 

But he had an internal struggle; he wanted to ask you to be his, yet he was always warned to never date within the Marines. Work relationships growing romantic always complicated things, and he didn’t want to make things messy. It was something he had been mulling over endlessly, many sleepless nights caused by this dilemma.

But tonight, he knew he had to say something when he saw you under the gate of Sabaody Park clad in a cute, short dress and Mary Janes. 

He would confess to you; it was decided.

He just needed to think of when.

“Koby!” You called, waving your arms, “Over here!”

When he reaches you, you do a wide spin, your dress’s skirt twirling, “What do you think?”

“You look great!”

Koby almost leaves it there, but he gets a sudden idea.

“But you know, something’s missing…”

You tilt your head, and Koby reaches behind his head, untying his bandana before placing it behind your ears, tying it behind your head like a headband. 

“There!” He steps back and admires you again, “It matches your dress perfectly.”

Your smile radiates warmth, and your fingers hover over the new accessory, “Oh, thanks!”

Koby’s heart pounds when you reach for his hand. While you always held his hand, it never got old for him. 

“Let’s go!” You exclaim, dragging him towards the gate, “I’m gonna totally crush you at these carnival games!”

“Oh, we’ll see about that!” He laughs, following your lead. 

The day turns to night quickly. You weren’t sure how long you had been there, but the fun you shared made the time fly by all too fast. 

After riding the biggest rollercoasters and eating enough junk food for the year, you both make your way to the exit. You hug a plush that Koby had won for you in the shooting gallery and skip happily along.

Koby’s chest tightens as he watches you walk ahead, your dress swaying with the motion of your hips. His heart hammers to the beat of your steps, the clicking of your heels and his internal drum creating a frantic rhythm.

His mind races as he parts his lips and shuts them once more; he’s hesitant to say what he wants, but eventually, he works up the courage to speak.

“Hey, uh,” Koby clears his throat, causing you to slow down and look back at him. He stiffens up and stutters a bit, “I had a really fun time tonight-“

“Me too!” You say cheerily.

Koby wants to say more, to say how he wants the next time to be an actual date or that the next time you hold hands, it’ll be as partners, but your voice cuts through his hesitance.

“And,” you lean in, balancing on your heels, “There’s more fun to be had!”

You grab his hand and guide him along the path that leads out of the park. 

He decides to hold off on his confession a bit longer.

Koby laughs as you tug him, “Where are we going now?”

“Just wait; you’ll see!”

Eventually, you two approach a massive building. Koby tilts his head back to observe it thoroughly. The gigantic structure is pale, with countless arched windows and balconies. Silhouettes from the inside are illuminated by dazzling lights as they glide around the interior. At the top is a blue roof, and the corners of the building are decorated with smaller dome-shaped summits.

“Ah, what’s this?” The pink-haired man asks, following your lead as you proceed.

“A hotel!” You beam happily, “I hear they have an amazing restaurant, and I wanna get room service!”

“O-Oh,” he laughs nervously, “You reserved a room?”

“Is that bad?” You crease your brows with worry and stop in your tracks, “I thought you’d like some time away from that marine ship and the food.”

“N-No, I appreciate it!” He reassures you, and your sad-looking face brightens immediately, “I just, well, what are the arrangements like? Are we sleeping here or…?”

You nod, “Yeah! Don’t worry. Some strings were pulled, so it’s not terribly expensive or anything! And it’s only for the night; you can go back to your duties in the morning.”

As you turn back around, continuing to guide him, Koby’s mind races with varying thoughts, some more vulgar than others, as he imagines sharing a room with you for the night. Of course, you’d be in separate beds, but a man can dream, right?

As you both approach the grand doors, a man out front scurries to open them, inviting you inside. The pale floors are perfectly polished, and your images reflect across the smooth marble. The lounge has many plush-looking couches, with little wooden side tables for guests to leave their drinks and pocket-sized trinkets. Koby watches as people wander around the space, some pointing upwards to admire the large chandeliers that dotted the ceiling.

Koby appreciates the fantastical lounge while you bounce ahead to the receptionist, sorting out the arrangements and grabbing the keys quickly. When you return, you squeal happily, presenting the keys to Koby with delight, “We’ll be pretty high up, so we’ll have an awesome view! Come on, let’s go see it!”

The trip to the room makes Koby’s heart race, and his palms begin to sweat. Being alone in a hotel room with you… it was too much for his heart to handle. And, when you reach the door and unlock it, all the impure thoughts bubble to the surface because in the large room sat only one bed.

“Oh!” You exclaim, “There must’ve been a mix-up. I swore I asked for a two-bedroom suite…”

“W-Well, we should get this fixed! I can go back downstairs and-”

You walk into the room and sit on the bed, slipping off your heeled shoes, “It’s alright! I don’t mind sharing a bed.”

“B-But-!”

Koby protests but you just laugh, “It’s fine! Really! Unless the idea makes you uncomfortable?”

“I-It’s not that. It’s- well-“ Koby stutters uselessly, trying to find a way to express why he wants to change rooms. But when he sees your cute face and confused expression, he decides he can handle this if it’s just for one night…

“It’s nothing,” Koby grins reassuringly, “Let’s just order that food and get some rest, okay?”

You give a wide, toothy grin.

____

“Oh, that was so good!” You exclaim, throwing yourself into the fluffy bed, your head hitting the pillows.

Koby sits on the edge of the bed, nodding in agreement, “Much better than what we eat on the ship, that’s for sure!”

“But all this food is making me kinda sleepy…” you yawn, rolling over onto your side so you are looking at the pink-haired marine.

He smiles softly and rises from the bed, “Go ahead and sleep then…”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, “Where are you going?”

“Huh?” He looks at the bed and then back at you, “Oh, I’m just going to sleep on the floor. It would be rude not to give you the bed and-“

You pout and reach your arms out, “Nooooo, stay in bed with me.”

His face turns red at your words, and he laughs a bit, “No, I shouldn’t-“

“Why not?” You huff, crossing your arms, “You’d sleep next to Helmeppo if you had to share a bed.”

“That’s different.”

“How?” You protest, “I’m your friend too.”

“Well, it’s different because- well- because-“Koby stumbles through an excuse hopelessly, trying to formulate something quick. 

But you’re quicker.

“It’s because I’m a girl, isn’t it?” You whine, “C’mon, it’s only weird if you make it weird.”

“I-I’m not making it weird. I’m just, ah, well-“

“I’m not going to do anything to you if you’re worried about that-“

Knowing you, you didn’t mean that sexually, but the implication makes Koby’s face hot.

“N-No, I know that- I know you wouldn’t! That’s not- it’s not-”

“Then what is it?” 

Koby’s chest grows tight as he’s backed into a corner. He can’t lie to you, so he timidly whispers, “I just… really like you…”

His heart is in his throat as his feelings are finally released into the universe. The room feels as though it’s spinning, and Koby’s brow becomes wet with sweat as he waits for your response.

“I like you too.” You say bluntly, “But isn’t that why we should be able to share a bed?”

He shakes his head, “N-No, you aren’t understanding.”

He inhales deeply before continuing, “I… really like you, and it would be wrong if I slept next to you with those feelings in my heart.”

Koby babbles as you sit up and rise from the bed, approaching him slowly.

“It would be perverted and messed up, and I couldn’t take advantage of your trust like that-“

You press your finger to his lips, silencing him effectively, “And like I said, I like you too…”

Koby is stunned when you let out a little giggle, leaning in so your lips are mere centimeters from his.

“And I’d love to share the bed with you.”

Koby’s throat goes dry, and his lips quiver as yours are so tantalizingly close. 

And, without further hesitation, he closes the gap. 

You gasp in shock as he kisses you. It’s sudden and desperate, his lips pressed against yours with a strangely assertive force. His hands rest on your hips, and your face burns at the intimate touch. 

He quickly breaks the kiss, “S-Sorry, I should’ve asked to do that. Please, forgive-“

You cut him short with a kiss of your own, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kiss him with a fiery passion. The young man is taken aback by your boldness, but he melts into the kiss, bringing you closer. Your chest presses against his body, yet you feel you’re not nearly close enough. 

You slide your tongue over his lips, and he jolts in surprise. He parts his lips, gliding his tongue over yours. When you moan into his mouth, he feels his cock harden in his pants. 

And you feel it too.

Koby is the first to pull away again, and he looks at you in embarrassment, “Sorry about, um, that. I-I can’t really control it-“

“It’s okay.” You smile sweetly, your hands trailing down his chest.

He groans softly, reaching for your hands as if to push them off, “God, I don’t think I can control myself like this.”

“What do you mean?” You ask softly.

“When I kiss you, it makes me excited, and- and I don’t think I can trust myself to be a gentleman if we do that again, so please- please,” he pleads with you, “Tell me to stop-”

You look up at him innocently, your lashes fluttering as you say the words:

“But I don’t want you to stop.”

And with that, his restraint snaps.

In a flash, you’re lifted off the ground and pressed against the wall, Koby’s lips attacking your neck now. He licks the exposed skin, placing firm kisses along the damp trail. 

His hands are grabbing at your ass, massaging and kneading the flesh, and your legs are wrapped around his waist, drawing him closer.

You moan when you feel his growing bulge prod against your clothed pussy, your warmth growing wet. And when he begins grinding against you, you grip his shoulders tight.

Your lips find each other again, and the reunion is frantic, your mouths desperately moving against each other. Your tongues dance, and your saliva mixes, your combined sounds echoing throughout the room.

When you grind your hips against him, he bucks desperately, trying to gain as much friction as possible.

“Shit,” he hisses under his breath, “That feels so good-“

“Can we… do it without the clothes in the way?”

Koby nods, your wish sounding like music to his ears. He carries you to the bed and lays you down slowly, his hands sliding up your thighs to your panties.

He peels the garment off slowly, watching your expression to ensure you aren’t having second doubts. But you bite your lip excitedly, spreading your legs even wider.

As Koby fumbles with his shirt and pants, you slip off your dress and bra, leaving you only in his green bandana. You crawl further up the bed, your head resting against the pillows as he settles between your legs. Your eyes travel to his exposed cock, the organ twitching above your entrance.

He leans forward to kiss you again, his muscular chest and solid abs pressed against your soft body. A moan bubbles up from your chest as he hooks your legs around his waist, his cock sliding effortlessly between your soaked lips.

He grinds against your slit, his tongue exploring your mouth as he rocks back and forth, his member twitching and pulsing. 

In a sudden twist, you roll him onto his back and take charge, pinning his shoulders to the bed as you grind your hips into him. 

“Oh,” he laughs breathlessly, “You’re so bold-“

He brings his hands to your hips, guiding you as you rock your wetness against him. You press your forehead against his, your eyes flickering back and forth between his eyes and his lips. 

As your movements grow more desperate, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you further onto him so the pressure is more intense.

Your new lover begins to lose himself, his grip growing tighter and his soft grunts turning into full-on moans as his cock aches, desperate to cum.

Though your hips grow more frantic and without meaning to, you take his tip inside.

“Oh shit-“ he gasps, “Wait, wait- we shouldn’t- I don’t have a condom-“

“You can just pull out, can’t you?”

“Mmn, but,” he weakly protests, clearly not even convincing himself, “It’s dangerous-“

“I’ll just take the tip,” you smile, “It’ll be easy to pull out in time that way.”

“Alright,” he nods, “Just the tip. T-That should be fine…”

Koby bites his lip as you slowly begin riding him, your walls enveloping his swollen, pink head. He grips your hips but tries not to force you down too much lest the whole thing slips in. 

But god, did he want you to take every inch of it.

The urge to fuck you only grows as you take a bit more than you promised, more slowly slipping in each time you move downwards. Koby knew you didn’t mean to do this, but it drove him crazy.

And when he watches your face contort in pleasure as you rub your clit, your breasts jiggling with each little thrust and bounce, he feels his self-control going out the window. 

You two move your bodies together like this for quite some time, but when you part your lips to call his name, he can’t resist anymore.

He’s only human.

In one smooth motion, he forces you down onto his cock, burying himself balls-deep in your cunt.

“Koby-!” You squeal in surprise, your eyes fluttering as he filled you up, “But you said-!”

“I changed my mind-“ he grunts, “I-I’ll still pull out, promise-“

He wastes no time destroying you, his hips slamming upwards and his hands holding your hips in place. You squeal and moan loudly, but Koby’s grunts closely rival your volume.

“So wet-“ The young captain moans out, “A-And tight- Oh god, you feel so good-“

You mewl at the praise and fall forward, your body resting against his as he fucks into you. You bury your face in his neck as he pummels your inner walls; you’re shocked at how rough he is, but you love the feeling.

“Koby! Oh-!” Your voice grows louder still, your words shakily coming out, “A-Ah, it’s so deep!”

Your squeals become louder as his hips piston in and out, his rhythm becoming less consistent and more erratic. 

Loud creaks sound out as the force of his thrusts rock the bed. Your moans and his grunts drown out the sound, though, as the headboard slams against the wall. 

His cock batters your cervix, his sensitive tip mashing your deepest walls. Your insides begin to twitch and tighten, your orgasm fast approaching. 

“I’m cumming-!” You warn him, and somehow, someway, his hips snap upwards even faster, causing you to almost faint when you finally reach your climax. 

He fucks you through it, only slowing once he’s certain you’ve ridden your high to completion.

You pull yourself off his cock, his shaft coated in your slick with a thick ring of cream built up around the base. Your legs are shaky, but you sit back on your heels, your eyes glued to his still-hard, red cock.

“You didn’t finish yet-“ 

He shakes his head, his chest rising and falling, sweat glistening over his naked body. 

“No, but I still have energy to spare,” he laughs, “if you want to keep going.”

You smile and lean forward, resting on his body as you take his lips with yours. You two kiss, his hands traveling all over your body, his thick fingers eventually settling in your hair as yours grazed his chest. 

Koby flips you over so he’s on top now, his cock rubbing against your slit as it did before. 

“Ah, wait…” he perks up, grabbing a spare pillow and placing it under your ass, “I hear that makes it feel better for you..”

You watch with curious eyes as he runs his thick head over your needy clit, your parts effortlessly slipping and sliding against each other thanks to your cum lubricating his cock. 

He prods your hole, teasing you for a moment before slowly sliding in, only stopping once his balls are pressed flush against your ass. 

You let out a pleased sound as he rocks his hips, his pace much more controlled now. His eyes meet yours, and he holds your hip with one hand, the other holding your hand. 

He dips down to kiss you, and suddenly, his hips roughly snap forward, drawing a gasp from you.

He pulls back and does it again and again, the headboard of the bed knocking into the wall once more, your moans filling the room. The creaks and lustful sounds create an intimate, filthy song that continues for what feels like hours.

“You sound so good,” he rasps against your lips as his hips more at a steady pace, “So pretty- oh my god- you feel so good- fuck, I love you so much-“

Koby leans forward and captures your lips again, his thrusts becoming less consistent and more erratic as he approaches his climax. You grip his shoulders, hanging on for dear life as you enjoy the ride. His moans grow desperate, his cock twitching eagerly within you.

“I’m close-“ He pants out, “Oh fuck, I’m close-!”

He moves to pull out, but he’s too late, his first rope of cum shooting inside your pussy. 

“Shit-!” He hisses, hurriedly pulling out. You watch as his balls tighten and his cock bobs excitedly, rope after rope decorating your lower stomach. You felt terrible as you had no doubt his orgasm was ruined by the sudden interruption.

He pants as he stares down at you, watching the white sticky seed oozing out of your cunt. It slowly starts to sink in what he’s done, and he begins to panic, running his hand through his hair as he curses under his breath.

“It’s okay,” You try to comfort him, “There’s a store downstairs in the lobby. I’m sure they have some, um, emergency contraception.”

Koby considers your words and calms himself, taking deep breaths before nodding, “Y-Yeah. Yeah- you’re probably right.”

He quickly adds, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. I promise I’ll pay for it. It was my fault, so it’s only right-“

You can only laugh, “Don’t worry so much. It’s okay. Just… hold me before we go downstairs.”

Koby smiles and takes you into his arms, his warmth, and steady heartbeat making you feel safe.

“So uh,” he clears his throat awkwardly, “The answer is probably obvious but I just want to make sure: we are officially a couple now, r-right?”

You giggle, “I would like that… Would you…?”

“O-Of course!” He says excitedly, tripping over his words, “I would love nothing more!”

And you kiss his cheek with a smile.