#first listen is vibes second listen is content

[thejagnusjarchives]

love these new magnus thursdays bringing back my tradition of listening to an episode and then listening AGAIN while reading the transcript to figure out what the goddamn hell everyone is saying #subtitlegang

[lnfours]

august | l.n

summary: you were never mine ; aka the one where the summer fling comes crashing down, but after an unexpected face in the media pen, lando is left questioning why he ever left.

warnings: pretend lando got a later start in formula one, summer flings, slight brothers best friend!lando, reader ends up working in the industry, kinda second chance romance vibes, fluff, hints of angst if you squint, and mentions of sexual content. i had to cut this short because it was getting super long, so if you want a part two to this make sure to let me know :) anyways, happy august, my loves 🤍 may your air be salty and the rust be on your doors.

listen | masterlist

summer: your favorite time of the year. where you’d spend your days outside, salt heavy in the air and the cool ocean breeze whisking away all your problems. your few months of peace where nothing else in the world mattered more than sitting on the beach by the ocean during the day and sitting by the cozy bonfire after the sun had finally set.

peaceful, until you had met him.

getting swept off your feet by the boy your brother had befriended was the last thing on your mind. but nonetheless, you had. his charming smile with cute dimples had you head over heels. moles charting his skin like constellations making him so much prettier. you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t breathtaking, laying on the lounge chair with his curls sitting almost perfectly against his forehead. so unaware at how your eyes danced over his figure behind your sunglasses.

a perfect example of beautiful chaos.

him and his siblings had gotten close to you and your brother, thankful for there to be people their age in the small costal town to befriend. you mostly kept to yourself and his sisters in efforts to push the crush you had quickly developed down. not wanting to start something that could never be finished. not wanting to put your heart on the line just for something to yank him from your grasps.

but after a week or so, you had caved in. getting to know him better every day. he had told you about his life back home, how he was a racer. wanting to make it to formula one, race amongst legends. you had told him about your studies in university, wanting to pursue journalism and things of that nature.

he listened with interest. being the only person who sounded interested in you talking about it, not like the others who had given quick responses when you had told them before. a change that brought a smile to your face and warmed your heart because he actually cared.

he had you opening up to him like a book, wanting nothing more than to understand the beautiful soul that stood in front of him. shared laughs and talks in the kitchen of your family’s vacation home echoing off the walls. sharing your deepest secrets, sharing stories about your youth that normally, you’d cringe about, but he found adorable.

and the two of you got closer, a bond forming between you. lingering glances and touches sending sparks through your bodies. and talks in the kitchen turned into conversations by the fire pit on nights where it’d just be the two of you. weeks of learning about each other. the weeks passed by quickly, and after the first month out of three he had known you like the back of his hand. and you had known everything there was to know about lando norris.

after a couple more weeks of subtle flirting and lingering glances, he had finally grown the courage to ask you what had been prodding at him since the moment he met you.

“can i take you out sometime?”

and like that, all your previous statements about not getting too attached, not wanting something for the sake of it being yanked away, was out the window. you met his green eyes, sparkling in the glow of the bonfire in front of you, a smile on your face as you spoke.

“sure.”

he pulled out all the stops. making reservations for the fancy restaurant downtown and bringing you flowers that had caught his eye in the shop window on the way back from his morning jog. a gesture that made you smile ear to ear and your heart beat quicken. a gesture that made you feel truly loved.

the first date turned into many more. wether it was getting dinner or ice cream in town, or heading towards the beach at sundown to watch the waves crash against the shore. the weeks carried on and you had dinner with his family, all of them ecstatic that he had found someone like you who loved their son the way they did.

you still remembered the day he had written against your skin. your stomach flat against the towel on the sand, back facing the sun that was slowly being swallowed by the ocean as the moon threatened to shine. he was propped up on his elbow, tracing shapes into your skin.

he drew with his fingers and you laughed softly, humming, “hmm, a star?”

he nodded, voice soft as he spoke again, “okay, i have one more. they’re words this time. ready?”

you hummed in approval, his index finger drawing a straight line against your spine.

i.

“i,” you said.

he nodded, writing out the next word.

love.

you furrowed your eyebrows as he drew the ‘e’, “love?”

“yeah,” he said, “last word, put them together.”

your heart squeezed against your chest as he wrote out the final word.

you.

you sat up, meeting his eyes, “you?”

he nodded again, smiling as he tucked the lose strand of hair away from your face.

“i love you.” it sounded heavenly coming from his lips.

you blinked at him, a smile finding its way to your lips, “i love you, too.”

you had pulled him closer by his neck, pressing your lips to his. his hand cupping your cheek, the two of you breaking away when the smiles had taken over your face, too wide to continue the kiss.

“c’mon,” you smiled, getting up from the towel. he followed your lead with a questioning look as you grabbed your bag, throwing it over your shoulder as the other hand grabbed your sandals. taking off towards the private entrance to the beach the lovely vacation home had come with.

“where’re you going?” he laughed, following you anyway. chasing after you with the towel in his hand.

“come find out!”

and he did, following you back up to the house. once he caught up, you were inside and up the stairs. you shut the door behind him, pulling him closer to you as your back pressed against the white wooden door.

“what’re you up to?” he smirked, letting your hands snake around his neck as his found their home on your hips.

“well, no one’s gonna be back for another couple hours,” you trailed on. he smiled, shaking his head.

“absolute minx.”

you smiled, reaching up and pressing your lips against his. he had immediately taken control, his hands moving to the back of your thighs before you understood that he wanted you to jump. he caught you with ease, never letting his lips leave yours as your legs wrapped around his torso, walking back towards your bed before he laid you down carefully.

you smiled as he climbed over you, leaving kisses against the exposed skin of your tummy in his path before his face met yours again, nose brushing against yours, “i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

your hands roamed the skin of his back as his squeezed your hips before he pulled away, breathless.

“you’re sure?” he asked softly, “i don’t want this to be something you regret.”

you nodded, reaching behind you and pulling at the ties of your bikini top, tossing it to the side. he watched you with love filled eyes, mouth agape as your head hit the pillows again. a hand coming to rest against his cheek.

“i’m sure,” you smiled, “i love you, lando.”

and after that, you’d often find yourself twisted in your bedsheets with him. your head against his bare chest as your nails drew shapes into his skin. his lips leaving soft kisses to your hairline.

after one specific night, you had fallen asleep against him when he got the call. softly moving you to your side of the bed before walking towards the connected bathroom. the call he had been desperately waiting for.

it was finally his moment. he was making it big.

“can you be here monday?”

he glanced down at the date on his phone. it was two days from now. he’d never make it unless he left now.

he glanced back into the bedroom where your sleeping figure laid, head resting against the pillow as you slept peacefully. he swallowed, immediately feeling guilty. he should wake you up.

“lando?”

“hmm?” he quickly snapped back to the phone call, “sorry, uhm, you said monday?”

“yeah, just to sign some things. do some press, show you around, that sort of thing.”

he took a deep breath, “okay, yeah. sure, sounds good. i’ll see you monday.”

“see you monday,” zak brown’s voice was warm on the other end, “safe travels.”

lando pressed the red button with shaky hands, shoving his phone into the pockets of his sweatpants as he walked back into the bedroom. he grabbed his hoodie off the end of the bed, immediately feeling regret as he looked over your peaceful state. how you were unaware that he was about to leave and never come back.

and with a gentle kiss to your forehead and a mumbled, “i love you,” to your hair, he walked out of the room. walked right out of your life just as quick as he had entered it.

when you woke up the next morning confused that he was no longer with you in your bed. you tried to call, but no answer. you were met with silence. even in your texts you were met with the ‘delivered’ at the bottom of each one. tears flowing down your cheeks as you were left wondering what you had done for him to disappear. to pretend like you were never a thing.

it wasn’t until the fall that you had seen his face again. this time on an instagram post from mclaren. announcing him as a full time driver. he wore a smile, the same floppy curls you had loved, were still messy. hitting against his forehead. he had finally got what he wanted.

and the years went on, you continued to see him pop up every so often. celebrating podium placements and achievements, finally living the life he wanted. the life he had suddenly chose that no longer included you.

he had checked in on you every so often, too. smiling softly when your face popped up on his screen as he’d scroll through your account. you had the life you wanted too, graduating from university and smiling at the camera as you held your diploma. the hard work you had put in finally paying off and meaning something.

he lost track at the amount of messages he had typed out and deleted in your dms. lost track of all the times he had wished he had told you, lost track of the different outcomes he had came up where the ending had you in it. even after convincing himself you were better off out of this lifestyle, he couldn’t help but wish you were.

the knocking on his drivers room had pulled him out of his thoughts, swiping out of your instagram account as the woman smiled sweetly in the doorway.

“they want you for media.”

he nodded, tossing his phone to the couch, tying the papaya race suit around his waist and slipping the mclaren cap back onto his curls, sporting it backwards as he followed the woman down the hallway.

“where’s oscar?”

“he’s already there,” she said sweetly, “hasn’t been there long, though. only a few minutes.”

he nodded, smiling politely at the woman before entering the media pen. she guided him to the opening, smiling before stepping to the side. he took a sip from his water bottle, smiling at the camera man who tapped your shoulder to get your attention. an apologetic smile on your face as you spoke, turning towards the fence, “sorry-“

the same green eyes met yours and the both of you stood in shock for a moment. sure, you had known you were going to bump into him eventually, but on your first day? was the media pen really lacking that many reporters?

“y/n?” he asked, voice soft as your heart hit the floor.

you swallowed, gripping your notepad a little harder as you sent him a tight lipped smile, “hi,”

“since when do you,” he stammered, tripping over his own words before taking a breath, “since when do you work for sky?”

“todays my first day, actually,” you said, a nervous smile on your face, and if he noticed, he thankfully didn’t mention it, “i see mclaren’s been treating you well.”

“y/n, can we-“

“let’s get started, yeah?” you dodged his question, glancing down at your notebook. he nodded softly in response and you motioned for your camera man to begin recording.

as you stood there asking him questions about his race, all he could think about was if you had wondered the same things he did. if you, too, laid awake at night and thought about all the different scenarios and lifetimes where the two of you ended up together. he wondered if you hated him for how he left you, without a proper goodbye.

he didn’t know it, but you could never hate him. even after all these years you couldn’t hate him with a single bone in your body. not when your heart still beats for him.

he opened his mouth to speak after you ended the interview, but it shut quickly as the woman in papaya cut off his thoughts, whisking him away to do more interviews. you watched as he left, a sad and regretful look on his face as he made his way to the next reporter.

“you alright?” your camera man asked, noticing how you chewed on your bottom lip. a nervous tick of yours that everyone seemed to have caught onto.

you nodded, straightening your posture and taking a deep breath, pushing every thought you had to the side berore smiling at the man next to you, “yep, who do we have next?”

[nadvs]

watch and learn (part one)

pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

content warning drug and alcohol use

summary it takes one conversation with your college dorm neighbor to know you won’t get along. rafe is loud, rude, and short-tempered. after he overhears you talking about a disappointing fling, he loses his confidence in his sexual abilities and suggests you start hooking up to both improve your skills in the bedroom. you can’t stand him, but it’s too good of an offer to turn down.

» masterlist

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At first, you cut your neighbor some slack. Over freshman welcome week, you figured it wouldn’t be reasonable to expect him to be quiet.

But it’s Thursday of week two, well past quiet hours, and the bass of his music is nearly making your bed shake.

You assumed the guy you’ve heard but haven’t seen yet would settle down once classes were underway. So much for that.

You have a lecture early tomorrow. It’s past midnight and his music and loud conversations are still drumming through your wall.

You’d call the resident advisor, but you’d rather talk to him yourself so not to risk any bad blood that could form from you snitching on him. You sigh, get out of bed, and decide to finally face him.

Rafe takes another hit of his joint, leaning back in his desk chair while three of his frat buddies talk about the past week of rushing.

He just got accepted into his top choice frat and he’s elated. And if he proves himself, he’ll be able to move into the Sigma Chi house next semester.

He probably will never get used to living in such a small room compared to the mansion he grew up in, but at least the frat house will be an upgrade.

“Dude, I think someone’s knocking,” Blake says, slapping Rafe’s knee.

“Oh, shit,” Rafe laughs, high out of his mind. He pauses the music and ambles out of the circle he’s been sitting in.

When he opens the door to see a girl in pajamas looking up at him, her arms crossed and her lips pinched, he’s taken aback for a second. Damn, you’re pretty.

“Hi,” you say, failing to force a smile at the man towering over you. The smell of weed hits you instantly. “I live next door. I wanted to ask if you could please keep it down?”

He grimaces as his unseen friends jeer behind him. You notice the Greek lettering on his t-shirt. A frat boy. Of course.

“You’re in trouble, Rafe!” one of them taunts.

He props a big arm against his doorframe, his blue eyes trailing down your body.

“Were we being loud?” he teases, purposely playing dumb. He’s obviously wasted. And is giving off strong fuckboy vibes.

“I have an early class tomorrow,” you try to explain. “Can you at least keep the music off?”

“What, you don’t like it?”

“Listen… Rafe, right?” you say. He nods, his grin still so fucking smug. You tell him your name. “I’m not trying to ruin anyone’s fun, but-”

“That’s kind of what you’re doing,” Rafe interrupts. The way your face screws up when you’re pissed off is too cute for him to stop fucking with you.

“Don’t you have a frat house you can do this at?” you finally snap, gesturing to his t-shirt.

“You telling me I can’t be in my own room?” Rafe says, annoyance starting to prick at his skin.

“Not if you’re gonna keep people up,” you say.

“Turn around.”

“What?” you snap.

“I wanna know if I can see the stick up your ass from here,” he says.

His friends explode in laughter and he looks back with a wide smile.

“I fucking hate frat boys,” you mutter more to yourself than to him. Rafe brings a hand up to his chest in mock offence. “And you’re not allowed to smoke in your room,” you add.

“You gonna tell on me?” He cocks his head, his hair falling over his forehead.

“Yeah, actually, I might.”

A man appears behind Rafe with a charming smile.

“Okay, okay,” he drawls to you, gesturing to dap Rafe up. “We should get going anyway.”

“Nah, man, you don’t have to,” Rafe says, immediately disappointed that his fun is ending.

“It’s late,” he says. The man nods at you with a smile.

“Blake,” he introduces himself to you. “Sorry about the noise.”

“Thank you,” you say through gritted teeth, wishing Rafe had half the manners his friend does. He shuffles past you, followed by two other guys who say their goodbyes to Rafe.

“Happy?” Rafe mutters, all the playfulness from his tone now gone.

“Thrilled,” you say, turning to get back to your room.

The next afternoon, you’re on the phone with your friend, Liv, as you make your way back to your dorm room after a full day of classes.

She’s trying to convince you to come to a party at a frat house tonight. You’re exhausted after a long day, but she’s right that you need some fun.

“I can’t be out long,” you say on the phone, pushing your key into the lock. “I’m tired. And honestly, already kind of stressed out over school.”

“Maybe you’ll meet a guy who’ll take your mind off things,” Liv suggests. You snort.

“The last guy I hooked up was such a disappointment,” you tell her. You try to twist your key. It won’t budge. “I almost faked my orgasm, then was like, it’s not even worth it.”

Liv laughs.

“They should know when they suck,” she says.

You wiggle your key, your fingers starting to hurt.

“Exactly,” you say. “Plus, he wanted to try this position and… I don’t know, I felt too nervous to do it. It was just a failure all around.”

Finally, your key twists and make it into your room, clueless to the fact that Rafe heard everything.

That night, you’re at the Sigma Chi house, two drinks in, when you spot your neighbor playing beer pong across the room. Shit. You’re sure this is his frat.

You already told Liv about your encounter with Rafe, so you nudge her and point him out.

“That’s my fuckboy neighbor,” you say.

“You didn’t mention how hot he is.”

“Wait until he opens his mouth,” you tell her, earning a laugh.

Honestly, Rafe does look good. He fills out his t-shirt so well, his backwards hat pushing his hair out of his handsome face.

Rafe glances around the crowded room and catches you staring at him. Even though you irritated him the first time you spoke last night, heat fills his body once he realizes your eyes are on him.

You quickly look away.

Despite how much of a tight-ass he thinks you are, he’s glad to see you tonight. What he overheard you say on the phone a few hours ago has been weighing on his mind. And his ego.

He finishes up his game of beer pong and the alcohol rushing through his system convinces him to find you and ask you what he’s been mulling over.

“Are you lost?” a voice says behind you.

You turn to look up at Rafe, who’s ducking down so you can hear him over the music. You glance back at Liv, who raises her eyebrows and turns away to give you privacy.

“Or do you actually know how to have fun?” he asks. You sigh as you glance back at him.

“I do, without the expense of people’s sleep,” you reply, a sarcastic smile on your face. “Crazy concept, right?”

“I figured it out,” he says. “Why you’re such a tight-ass.”

“I am not a tight-ass,” you reply.

“It’s ‘cause you can’t get off. I heard you,” he says. He sees embarrassment wash over your face. You know exactly what he’s referring to. “And I’m the loud one?”

You look away, regretting that you didn’t stop to think your voice would float into his dorm room. Fuck.

“Does that actually happen?” Rafe asks. “Girls fake orgasms?”

Your eyes dart up to meet his and you scoff a chuckle.

“Yes,” you say. “What, you didn’t know that?”

Rafe shakes his head. Admittedly, he’s been wondering if any girls faked cumming with him since he overheard you. It’s kind of a blow to his ego.

“Ouch,” you laugh, regaining your confidence. “Let me guess. You thought you had a perfect track record.”

“How can you tell that a girl’s faking it?”

You take a sip of your beer and he can’t help but notice the enticing way your lips look glossed with moisture.

“Every girl’s different,” you say. “But for the most part, you can… feel it. You know… down there.”

You’re glad you’re drunk for this conversation. You doubt you could have it sober.

“How?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“I’m not helping you with this,” you say. “Especially after you were such a dick to me.”

Rafe smirks, looking down. You notice he has really cute dimples. Shit. The fuckboy is charming you.

“Let’s start over,” he suggests. “I have an idea.”

“You can have those?” you ask.

“I heard you say you were nervous trying a new position,” Rafe says, ignoring your chide. You look down in unease again.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he says. You look at him again, speechless over how forward he is. “We can help each other. You show me how to make a girl cum and how to know I actually did it. And I’ll let you practice whatever you want with me until you feel confident.”

You freeze for a second. Is he seriously suggesting you two fuck… to get better at fucking?

“Oh, you’ll let me?” you say, his proposal admittedly making your stomach numb with anticipation. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” Rafe says with a shrug. You realize he’s being totally and unabashedly serious. “What? Do you need time to think about it?”

You take another sip of your drink, the cold beer spilling down your throat.

He is insane. But he’s also attractive. Charming. Confident. Would it be so crazy to start hooking up with him?

You’d have the guarantee of an orgasm, without wondering if the guy you’re with cares enough about getting you there, and you’d get practice so you don’t feel as insecure next time you’re with a guy you actually like.

“I’m in, only if you promise to actually respect quiet hours from now on,” you finally say.

“Great sex isn’t a good enough deal?”

“Who’s to say it’ll be great?”

“So, I have to tiptoe around my own room,” he says, his temper flaring.

“If you consider not blasting music at night tiptoeing, then yeah,” you retort.

If Rafe wasn’t sure of it before, he is now: you’re hot when you’re pissed off.

“Fine,” he relents. He’ll probably be moving out next semester anyway. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and opens a new conversation. “Text yourself so I have your number.“

You hand him your cup in exchange for his phone. You send an eggplant emoji to your number. He takes a sip of your drink and you scowl.

“Are you that selfish in bed, too?” you say.

“You can let me know,” he quips. You roll your eyes at him and take your drink, giving him his phone back. Rafe chuckles when he sees the emoji you sent yourself.

“I will,” you promise. “I’ll call you out on everything you do wrong. If you can take it.”

“Okay,” he says. “Tonight?”

Wow. He’s eager. It’s kind of thrilling that he wants you this badly.

“Maybe,” you say. “If I’m not too tired when I get home, I’ll text you.”

Rafe’s chest tightens with excitement. His hot, mouthy neighbor is actually doing this with him.

“Sure.” Rafe juts out his bottom lip, nodding, as if this conversation is completely normal. He’s so casual about it. This feels unreal.

You give him a small smile. Probably the first genuine one you’ve offered him. Okay. You can admit to yourself that you’re looking forward to hooking up with him.

You stay at the frat house for another hour, hanging out with Liv and a few other friends you made, before you make it to your dorm just before midnight.

After changing into pajamas, and the nicest set of bra and panties that you own, you text Rafe: i’m home if you want to come over.

About ten minutes later, you hear a knock at your door. You open it to see Rafe standing with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his gray sweatpants.

You’re sure he knows how good he looks when you notice the outline of his length. He did this on purpose.

“Eager,” you say. “Were you already home?”

“I was quiet, huh?” he boasts, stepping into your room. He takes a second to soak in your space, eyes travelling over the way you’ve decorated.

“What the fuck? Your room’s bigger than mine,” he says.

“They’re all the same size.” You settle on your bed, glad he’s so comfortable about this, not making it awkward at all. Truthfully, the beer has worn off, and you’re kind of freaked out.

But this is what you’re doing this for. So you can stop being so nervous about sex.

“I’ll show you my room and you’ll see for yourself,” Rafe says. You watch him pace across your space to study the photos on your wall.

His eyes travel over the snapshots of you with your family and friends, your smile bright and pretty in every image.

With Rafe’s back turned to you, you take in the way his broad shoulders stretch out his white t-shirt. By the slight curve in his back, you can tell he’s not just lean, but muscular, too.

“How long are you expecting this… arrangement to go on for?” you ask.

“Until we’re both satisfied,” he says confidently, turning to meet your eyes.

“So, you’re aware you won’t be coming out of this with a girlfriend, right?” you assert.

While Rafe is attractive and charming, he’s also rude and narcissistic. You don’t want him to think you’re interested in him in that way. This isn’t a romance.

“Oh, yeah,” he huffs. “I’m not gonna be in college tied down to one chick.”

You scoff. Yup. Definitely no romance here.

“Maybe don’t call a girl a chick,” you say. “At least not to her face.”

“Right,” Rafe says with an easy laugh. He slowly steps towards you, his eyelids heavy as he looks down at you. “You have nice tits.”

You feel your skin burn, looking down at your chest in your tank-top. Rafe hardens the longer he looks at you.

“How sweet,” you say flatly.

Rafe smirks and sits down next to you, getting right to business as he pulls you in for a kiss. His lips are warm and surprisingly soft. He tastes like cinnamon toothpaste and smells like aftershave.

He’s a good kisser. But you expected as much. By his confidence and the fact that he prepositioned you the way he did, you can tell he’s experienced with girls.

You feel his hand slide up your body and squeeze your breast. You sit back, disjointing your lips.

“Slow down,” you tell him. “Do you always go right into groping a girl like this?”

“Yeah?” His brows furrow.

“Okay, some might like it,” you say. “But most want foreplay. You have to give me some time to get turned on.”

“Aren’t you already?” he asks. “We’re kissing.”

“We’ve been at it for like, a second, Rafe. Just because you’re…” You look down at the tent in his sweatpants. “Ready, it doesn’t mean I am.”

“So, what should I do?” he asks.

“Just… don’t rush,” you say.

Rafe nods and leans into kiss you again, his hand cupping your waist this time. He doesn’t usually like kissing that much, typically wanting to jump right into sex, but the way your tongue runs over his is actually sort of nice.

A few moments later, his fingers dip to pull your top off. When Rafe sees you in your bra, he swallows hard. Why does he feel like this is his first time seeing a half-naked woman?

Probably because he’s being graded, he realizes.

“Wow,” he breathes. You look down, scratching your neck. “Damn, you do get nervous.”

“What?” you say.

“When a guy says wow, take the compliment,” he states.

You shyly shake your head and pull him in for another kiss to brush past the moment. He catches on, pushing you back.

“I’m teaching you shit, too, remember?” he mutters. “Don’t be shy. You’re hot.”

“Alright,” you groan, tugging at his shirt. “Take this off.”

He smirks and obeys, hoping he at least partly got through to you.

When your eyes roam Rafe’s bare torso, your heart pounds harder.

You continue making out, and he eventually slowly unhooks your bra. He peels it off and slowly cups your breast, fondling and gently squeezing.

“Is this too hard?” he asks.

“No, it’s - it’s good,” you sigh. You remind yourself this is supposed to be instructional. “You should… um…”

“What?” he asks against your lips. “Stop being shy.”

“Play with my nipples,” you say, cheeks burning. “Some girls like that.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” He looks down at your chest and softly pinches you, then rubs his thumb back and forth. “Good.”

Rafe is entirely hard now, your praise making him ache to be inside you. But he’s here to learn. He needs to go slower.

He dips to put his mouth on your chest, his lips locking around your nipple. You let out a shaky moan and he knows he’s doing something right.

Big hands gently press against your hips to push you onto your back. You settle on your firm bed, hands roaming over his smooth back.

He shifts to give your other breast the same amount of attention, coating your nipple in his warm spit. You bite your lip, feeling your stomach tighten in arousal.

“Can I go down on you?” he rasps.

You meet his eyes. Rafe realizes just how pleased you look already. It’s really gratifying.

“Yeah,” you whisper. He eagerly pulls down your bottoms and panties in one move, losing his breath when his eyes take you in.

“Goddamn.” His voice is strained. You’re already glistening and he wants to put his mouth on you immediately.

“Go slow there, too,” you say. “Kiss my thighs first.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding urgently. It’s satisfying seeing him listen to you like this, considering he doesn’t seem to care for rules.

Your thighs are so damn soft against his mouth. He peppers kisses up your skin. It’s taking all his willpower not to start eating you out right now.

Your breaths are shallow as he leaves languid, tender kisses on you. You feel his fingers stretch your lips apart and hear him sharply inhale.

“Now?” he asks impatiently.

“Yeah. Lick everywhere,” you say, “but pay the most attention to my clit. You know where it is, right?”

“I’m not that fucking helpless,” he mutters. You can’t help but laugh.

He lowers his mouth onto you and you tremble immediately. He laps at you for a few seconds, a groan escaping his lips.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You taste really fucking good.”

“Do you always talk like that?” you ask.

“Yeah, is it okay?” Rafe says, suddenly tense.

“It’s amazing,” you admit. “Keep doing it.”

“Yeah?” he says with a smile. He points his tongue over your clit, wriggling it over your flesh.

“That’s good,” you tell him. “Make your tongue flat, too. Switch between the two.”

You feel him nod against you, avidly taking every tip.

“And suck a little,” you tell him. Rafe didn’t think he’d like being bossed around, but the way you’re telling him what feels good and making him better at eating pussy is rewarding.

He starts to suck at your clit and the way you moan tells him everything he needs to know. He sucks harder and your breath gets shaky.

Rafe is desperate to see how the inside of you feels, even if it’s just with his fingers. He shifts to slowly dip a finger in your cunt and glances up to look at you.

“Can I finger you?” he says.

“Yes,” you nod. “It’s good to ask. Start with one.”

He slowly sinks into you, stopping at his knuckle. You’re so tight.

“Shit, baby,” Rafe whispers. “I know you’re gonna squeeze my cock so good.”

Your head is spinning. You’ve never had a man talk to you like this before. This is what you’ve been missing out on, hooking up with guys who didn’t care about your pleasure? It feels unfair.

He adds a finger, curling into you and feeling you clench around him as he continues to work your clit. You look down to enjoy the sight of his head between your legs, the tips of soft dirty blonde hair tickling your skin.

It’s intoxicating, being taken care of the way you want to be.

Rafe’s jaw starts to get sore, but your noises give him the drive to keep going. Eventually, your thighs press against your ears.

“I’m gonna cum,” you mumble. “Don’t stop.” Rafe’s stomach twists with excitement, fully alert and eager to take mental notes.

Your breath stops, your muscles tense, and your walls flutter around him as you meet your peak. Sparks of pleasure fire throughout your body and you tug at the roots of his hair.

He keeps sucking and licking and pumping his fingers until you shuffle beneath him, overstimulated.

“Okay,” you sigh. “Good, that’s good.”

Rafe sits up, his lips wet with your arousal. You look happy, yet somehow kind of guilty. He makes a mental note to figure out how to make you unashamed for having a sex drive.

The way you’re panting is making him so fucking turned on that it hurts.

“I need to fuck you,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly, hoping he’d say that. “Do you have something?”

He nods, pulling a condom wrapper out of his pocket. He takes his pants and boxers off at the same time and he springs out.

You never thought you’d think a cock could be perfect, but there’s no other way to describe it.

He leans over you, looking down as he lines himself up and slowly sinks into you. You watch him shut his eyes with pleasure, but when he opens them again, you look down at his body.

“So shy,” Rafe teases, his voice thick. “Make eye contact.”

You listen to him, meeting his eyes. It adds an entirely new level of pleasure and vulnerability, looking at each other while he starts to rock in and out of you.

He starts to thrust faster, revelling in the way your tits are bouncing with his force. His strokes are deep and powerful and you whimper over how nice it feels.

His balls feel tight already. He never cums this fast. There’s something about you that’s making his body react like this. But knowing you already orgasmed, he doesn’t let himself overthink it.

“Feels good?” Rafe asks with amusement in his tone. You moan in response. At least he doesn’t need to improve on this part.

He goes harder, losing his rhythm as he reaches his climax, trembling over you. The way he breathes through it is so unbelievably hot to you.

Once Rafe slows down, he collapses on top of you, his chest pressed against yours.

“How was that?” he mumbles.

“I don’t think your ego needs to get any bigger,” you say breathlessly. “But that was good.”

“Just good?”

You laugh. Okay, it was fucking mind-blowing. He doesn’t need to know that, though.

“Yup,” you say, patting his shoulder. “Let me up.”

“What - what could I have done better?” he asks, sitting up off of you, pulling out. “I listened to everything you said. I swear, I never cum that fast.”

You smirk. He’s desperate for the praise.

“Fine,” you say. “It was amazing, okay? Don’t let it get to your head, frat boy.”

It definitely gets to his head. You can tell by the way he’s smiling.

“What position did that guy want you to try? Wanna do it?” he asks. You shake your head in disbelief. He could probably go all night.

“Next time,” you say, exhausted, your muscles weak.

Rafe’s disappointed, but he doesn’t show it.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Next time.”

part two

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[krys4h]

𝐞𝐦𝐨 𝐛𝐨𝐲 ☆

𓍯 taking someone's virginity in a room you didn't remember entering wasn't in your plans tonight, but alcohol and Choso was a deadly combo.

contents : 4.3k, au university, fem!reader, virgin!choso, tattooed!choso, nsfw, smut with plot, alcohol, dry humping, masturbation, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, first time, creampie, praise, oral sex (f receving), pet name (baby), choso is a softie, confident reader, reader has acrylics, lot of jewelry and a belly piercing, the warped tour is still active, minors dni.

The exams was finally over and everyone only wanted one thing : partying.

You were no different. Dressed in a flattering tank top that hugged your chest beautifully and a slim jeans, you were ready for to have fun. It felt good for you to have the opportunity to get dolled up, you barely had the energy to do your makeup sometimes when you were focused on your studies. But now you had plenty of times to take care of yourself and wear cute outfits at parties like now.

The party was giant, you weren’t close with the person who hosted it, but they certainly had money. Most of the people was smoking in living room, the smell of weed was omnipresent. The music blasted loudly in the big speakers, you needed sometimes to cover your ears to listen to your friends.

“What?” you repeated a few times, lowering your head to them. “Haunted” by Beyoncé was playing and you couldn’t help vibing to the song. It was a remix with the ending of it extended and it intensified the sound beautifully.

“Isn’t that Choso?” your friends pointed, and that alone caught all your attention.

You stopped immediately what you were doing and glanced at the direction they were looking in. Alone against a wall and far from the crowd, your crush was standing with a red cup in hand. You heart raced at the sight. He wasn’t the type to party, so you were excited to see him here.

“Sorry, I’ll be back later,” you smiled at your friends, your eyes on him, your feet already moving.

They chuckled, knew already that you would do that. Everyone knew you had a thing for him, except him maybe. Choso wasn’t really the most intuitive person on earth, he kind of struggled with a lot of things socially. But you always loved his aloof behavior, he had that “nerdy charisma” that was difficult to explain.

Lost in thoughts and his head lowered, he didn’t noticed you approaching first. It was when he hear the near heels and jewelry sounds. His eyes looked up to you and his heart raced when he realized you were coming for him. He shifted a bit, gripping his cup. If you weren’t used to see in you English class, you would think he hated you with the distant air he displayed. But you knew deep down that Choso was a softie.

“Hey,” you greeted him with a soft voice, a cup similar to his in your hand.

“Hey.” His eyes shifted, looking down, avoiding looking at you.

You leaned against the wall next to him, your head side on it. You stared at Choso, noticing his eye bags. It was kind of sexy on him.

“It’s cool to see you, you’ve never came in these type of parties,” you said, the alcohol making you way more extroverted than you were. Your gaze lingered on his rock band shirt, pulled a bit on it. “My chemical romance?” you raised an eyebrow, “Is that what you’re listening when you have your headphone?”

Heat came to his face when you tugged on his shirt, he tried to play it cool.

“Yuji wanted me to go with him so… Yeah, I listen to-”

“You’re not gonna look at me?”

He scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks pinkish.

“Sorry,” Choso mumbled, finally laying his eyes on you but your beauty slapped his face. This is exactly why he preferred looking at the ground. It would never make him agitated and mesmerized like you did now. You were glowing with your makeup and the earrings you were wearing, he liked everything about your appearance.

His gaze fell on your lips for a second, absorbed by your lipgloss but shifted quickly to look away, not wanting to be impolite.

You chuckled, finding cute how anxious he was for you. He wasn’t like that with anybody in the campus, barely even acknowledged people and showed emotions on his face. You got closer to him, enjoying your unusual confidence.

“You seems nervous,” you smiled, sipping on your cup.

God, you were making this hard for him.

“No, I-”

“You know, I have an idea,” you placed you cup on a nearby surface. He widened his eyes when you wrapped your arms around his neck, his breath coming short.

“Why don’t you have fun with me? It’s better than staying alone here,” you whispered, you face close to his. You stared at his lip piercings, already feeling your stomach warming at the idea in your head.

You were too intoxicated to be embarrassed of yourself, nothing could stop you.

“Uh, I…,” Choso stammered, he almost lost balance when you clanged to him, forced to hold your waist.

His head was gonna explode. He never really spoke to any girls, and was even scared to say anything to you in class. He had a thing for you since the day he saw you, but was inexperienced with women.

Sure that your feelings was reciprocated because of his nervousness, you didn’t waste time. You leaned against him and his breath stopped when your lips met his. The fervor with which you kissed him made him weak, his hands trembled against you. He couldn’t believe what was happening, yet he didn’t reject you. He dreamed of this many times.

Your tongue grazed at his snake bites piercings and he let out a low gasp in your mouth. His heart pounded, he was overwhelmed by you, not knowing what to do but letting you dominate.

Pressed against the wall, he forgot all the people surrounding the two of us, only feeling your tongue.

“So?” you breathed against his lips.

He nodded almost immediately. You smirked before leaning to make out again.

You don’t know how the two of you found a way toward an empty room, your mind too hazy to grasp anything, but you know how cold his tongue piercing could be when he brushed it against yours.

Holding you by the waist, Choso carried you while kissing you. His tongue strokes was a bit clumsy, but he tried his best to follow you. You dipped your hand in his long hair, moaning softly when he knocked you against a door. He struggled to find the door handle, too busy grinding against you. He wanted to be buried in you so bad, his mind was in fire. He never felt that type of urge before. Everything was happening so fast for him, he only acted on instinct now.

He opened the door with his left hand, his right arm below your ass to lift you. His ease to carry you was making you excited to see what he hid below all these a band shirts. The room was small library with a relax corner, illuminated by a luxurious low lamp. You didn’t waste any time once he sat on the sofa.

As you sat on his lap, your hips rolled against his erection and Choso let out a strangled gasp, jolting. Your hands clanged on his shirt in his back with an enthusiasm that could scare him if he wasn’t as intoxicated as you. The sound of the party outside the door was muffled, you ears peaked at each of his sighs. Choso fondled your ass, gripping at it. The friction of your jeans rubbing against each other made him hissing, his expression contorted in a grimace.

He dreamed of this moment, having your ass in full display, his hands free of touching you all over. His eyes looked up to you.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confessed, slightly panting.

“Don’t worry.”

You took his hands and placed on your hips. He swallowed, still unsure of himself.

Anybody looking at Choso knew he never felt the touch of a woman. He barely opened his mouth in class, wasn't very approachable and everything that wasn't about Yuji and rock seemed to disinterest him. You never saw him talking to anyone beside his little brother and you wouldn’t be surprised if you were his first kiss now. 

You continued to grind against him, savoring the sensation of your jeans rubbing against your clothed clit. You were already wet down here, your mind wasn’t even thinking of a plan, you were just vibing. The friction felt so good. His hands shook on your hips, nervous.

You gave him a languid kiss and caressed his chest, trying to ease his anxiety. You swallowed all of his sighs and gasps.

“Is this your first time?” you whispered next to his ear, “You don’t have to do it, I can stop now if you want.”

Your hands in his hair and your breath in his neck was too much for him. He struggled to respond.

“It’s okay, I…” he begun and cleared his throat, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“Can I show you?”

You placed your hands on his.

“How do you want me to move?” you smiled at his nervous gaze, “Choose the pace.”

His grip was hesitant at first, his palms sweaty. As you rode him, he slowly took charge and guided your movements. His warm breath caressed your neck as you rubbed against each other.

Your close-fitted top was making his jean tighten every time you rolled your hips and your chest went in front of him. He fought the urge to lift his hands to grab your breasts. You nuzzled his neck, inhaling softly.

“Can I…?” he breathed.

“Mmm?”

He mimicked you, leaning down on your neck. Your breath hitched when his lips teased your skin. His touch was unsure, testing the waters, but goes more confident when he pressed soft kisses along your throat. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he knows he wanted to make you feel good. Dreaming about you was cool, but now you were his lap.

You lowered your hands on his shoulders and caressed them, biting your lip every time your clit rubbed against the bulge of his jean.

“You’re doing well.”

He bring you closer, moving you faster.

“Am I?” he panted, looking up to you. “You’re so beautiful.”

His eyes was brilliant, mesmerized by you. Your stomach warmed at his compliment and you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You’re so cute.”

He was doing a dangerous game talking to you like that. Your panties was already soaked from the back and forth, if he said more things like that with that low voice of his, you don’t know what you would do. Maybe sucking him off, just to hear him moan your name. Or maybe it was just the alcohol that was making you crazy with a simple phrase of him. In any case, you stood anyway, your hands on his shoulders. He looked up at you with a confused expression.

“Can I do something?”

“For me?” he frowned, as if displeased with the idea. He brought you closer, your hand played with his dark strands of hair. “I want to do something too.”

You titled your head.

“Like what?”

His hands grazed your ass, his cheeks pinkish.

“Can you just…” he wrapped his arms around you, bringing you on his lap and laid you down on the sofa. “Just tell me how to do it.”

He didn’t wanted to be the disappointment of your night so he swallowed his anxiety and bent toward you. He stood with his elbows each side of your stomach and gazed at your belly piercing. Your stomach contracted with anticipation, understanding what was going trough his head.

“You sure? You don’t have to-”

“Can that pretty mouth of yours let me please you?” he stopped you, staring at you. He bit the inside of his mouth and blushed at his own assurance. You smirked, a teasing glint in your eyes.

“Okay, baby.”

His erection intensified when he heard the pet name. Choso looked down, and swallowed a bit. He closed his eyes a moment, inhaling before starting to kiss your skin. You hold you breath. His lips roamed around your lower belly, he tasted the skin he dreamed to feel against his tongue. You stroked his hair to encourage him, feeling the softness of his black strands. His fists tensed as your acrylics grazed at his scalp.

“Uh…”

He didn’t know if he should go straight to it, or still kiss you. He hesitated and paused his mouth near your jeans button.

“Do I…”

“It’s fine.”

You helped him unbuttoning your trousers. He looked down on you.

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve never seen.”

You chuckled as you lifted your hips to take off your jeans, and threw it below the sofa. His mouth went dry at the sight.

“You’re so…” Choso was at a lost of words. The teasing look of your face, the wet trail of his kiss on your abdomen and your lace tong was too much for him. He wipe off his sweaty hands on the couch, and brushed the side of your thighs.

“I’m sorry if I’m bad,” his lips hovered over your lower body.

“Choso, I think you’re already doing a pretty good job.”

“Really?”

His pulled a bit on the elastic of your panties.

“Yeah,” you shifted on the couch, your hands on his shoulders.

He raised his eyes a bit to see your reactions, he wanted to make sure he was doing the good thing. His warm breath hit your clothed cunt, throbbing in anticipation. Without warning, he pushed the tissue of your panties to the side and kissed you.

You jolted and gasped, your hands clenched in his hair. He backed down a bit, his face worried.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No…” you shook your head and relaxed a bit, “I was just surprised.”

He craved you. He wanted to do so many things at once to you that he ended up speeding up the process. But his passion for you could overcome his inexperience if he tried hard. You knew it the second he buried his tongue in you, tasting your juices with enthusiasm. You chocked and tightened your legs around his head. He wasn’t hesitant at all.

“Show me,” he whispered.

You placed your hands on his head and guided his movements. Choso dived to your folds with his tongue, lapping up and down. You let out a low moan, he was inexperienced but he was so eager to please you, his devotion excited you so much. Your taste on his tongue was making him crazy. He craved your taste and ate you out with fervor. As you grind on his face, he held your legs against his head.

His heart raced with nervousness, his mind full of doubts. Was it good? Was it too fast? Despite that, he pushed his tongue in you with force and vigor, eager to make you more moan that you were already. You were so soaked, his mouth made lewd noises every time he moved his head up and down, making circles with his tongue. His face wet in your juices, you guided him toward your clit that he sucked with greed. You shifted on the couch, throwing your head back. You were a mess, the room was filled with your panting.

“Choso,” you breathed, “Here,” you guided him, showing where to suck and lap, and he gladly followed you.

The pit in your stomach grew as the cold metal of his tongue piercing brushed your clit and made you jolt again.

“F-Fuck!”

You struggled to stay still as you shifted on the sofa. You trapped him between your legs, he continue to ate you out, with his eyes closed, his mind dizzy. He was in heaven, you tasted so good, this is was beyond everything he dreamed for. His nose rubbed your sweet spot every time he moved his head, causing you to pant even louder.

“Come here.”

He looked up to you, his mouth still making out with your cunt.

“You want me to…”

“Yeah.”

Choso paused. He gazed at your feverish eyes, feeling a strange sensation in his stomach. He was the reason you were aroused, you seemed satisfied but he didn’t saw you come. Did he do something bad? Sensing his doubts, you smiled to him.

“Don’t worry baby, you did good,” you straightened on your elbows. “I want just need more, okay?”

You loved how devoted he was to you, but he was still inexperienced, and you knew you needed more than that. You didn’t want to make things awkward for him if it was getting repetitive, and you didn’t finish. He nodded, and get closer to kiss your cheek. He wet your skin with your slick.

“I don’t have any protection.”

“I don’t need one,” you said, tugging at his jeans. You were on pills.

He wipe off again his sweaty hands on the sofa and inhaled. It was the moment he waited for. The moment he couldn’t ruin because he liked you too much to disappoint you. Outside the door, the party continued, people unaware of what was going between you and Choso.

He stood on his knees, taking off his band shirt. Your breath caught in your throat as you discovered his lean torso. You made a mental note in your head to never underestimate introverted guys from now, because, God, he was sexy. You caressed his sides, touching his tattoos. His abs tensed when he bent over you, tilting his head. He had a shy expression on his face.

“I’m sorry if…”

“Can you just fuck me already,” you spread your legs, staring at him standing up on your elbows.

He gulped. He took off his shoes with a simple gesture of his feet, throwing them on the floor. He got closer to you, looking at you as you undressed yourself, removing the rest of your clothes. His mouth watered at your chest, he leaned down to kiss it. With the palm of his hand, he fondled one of your left breast and sucked the nipple of the right. Your fists tighten on the sofa, breathing softly.

Choso leaned back to unbutton his jeans, his muscular chest and tattoos in display. You bit the inside of your mouth, and started to caressed yourself while looking at him. He froze and widened his eyes, caught off guard. You were so fucking hot, he couldn’t believe he really had you below him. His eyes followed your movements and lingered on the circles you were doing on your sweet spot. You fingered yourself and his mouth watered again. As he quickly stripped off himself, you silently prayed nobody would enter the room, not forgetting you were at a party.

You were already close from him eating you out, but your pussy clenched when you saw his length. He looked like he didn’t get bitches, but damn. You were already excited to feel him inside you.

And him too because he slid into you without warning. He immediately caught his breath, overwhelmed by your wetness and the warmth of your entrance. It felt incredible, like anything he felt before. You whined, already sensitive, your fingers pressed against your clit.

“Wait,” you needed time to adjust to his size, and he was too abrupt.

He nodded, and let you the time you needed. He leaned down to kiss your forehead and you gave him a soft smile, your stomach warmed up. He was so sweet with you, he really treated you like someone he cared for.

He pushed his cock deeper inside you and you placed your hands on his hips, guiding him. He needed to contain himself and took things slowly. He knew he was a virgin, so it was already miracle he didn’t finished the second he was inside you. He bent over, his hand on the backrest of the couch, and thrust into you in a slow motion. He panted, his forehead sweating. Your slick covered his cock as he pulled out with caution, and he shut his eyes tight, thrusting again. Your warmth welcomed him, the sensation was divine. He did his best not to move too fast, he was scared to ruin the moment and finish early.

At first, it was what he wanted. He wanted to keep his pace gentle and precise, holding your legs around his waist, putting you in a comfortable position. He wanted to hear your soft sighs when he pushed against you, to continue to feel your acrylics planted in his biceps, to hear your hoop earrings hit against the sofa as he rocked his hips against you. But when your hands pressed his butt against you to feel him better, he lost his mind.

The room was now filled with your pants and whimpers, Choso pounding into you as if he would die if he didn’t make this right. He wasn’t jackhammering, but fucking you with long and deep strokes. He needed to fill you, and see your body twitching as he buried his cock in you.

“Is it too fast?” he panted out.

“No, it’s perfect,” you rolled your hips and followed his frantic pace.

His cock filled your tight walls as he stretched you to his size. You were a mess and breathing heavily as you clenched around his length. A gasp escaped your mouth when his thrusts became more and more aggressive.

“I dreamed of this.”

He was at lost of breath.

“I dreamed of…”

He let out a low moan, his back and forth quicker and harder. A familiar coil in your lower abdomen, your fingers circled around your spongey spot as you panted. Your body twitched when he lifted your hips even more, pushed to hilt and flushed his pelvis against you.

“C-Choso,” you stuttered and clenched your thighs around his waist.

“It’s okay, I got you.”

It was supposed to be you who reassured him, not the other way around. He gained confidence in his movements and slammed into you with force. He was fucking you with an ardent energy, your hands shook as you struggled to even touch yourself. You stammered incomprehensible things. His grip on the sofa was tight as he pounded into you. He was immersed in the sight of your tits bouncing, his mouth open and panting. He was in heaven.

Your back and forth made lewd and wet noises as you milked him, the sensation was divine for him. His hips stuttered when you tightened around him. You shut your eyes tight as you arched your back. Your orgasm traveled your body with a tremendous force. Choso’s eyes roved over you, taking in your sight as he drove his cock in you. He was so close. He lost himself within you, his strokes sloppy.

He tried to resist to the imminent feeling before his weight crashed you. His dick twitched as he emptied himself inside of you. He fell between your breasts, his breath coming in short pants, just like you. The smell of sex and sweat enveloped the two of you. For a short moment, none of you talked.

“Wow,” he turned his head on the side.

You wrapped your arms around him.

“I told you we were gonna have fun.”

He smiled against your skin.

“Yeah, but I never thought you would be…” his voice grew hesitant, “Into me.”

“You have to be blind,” your hands stroked his hair and he closed his eyes. “Everybody knew it.”

“Really?”

“My friends wouldn’t even be surprised if I told them what we did.”

His arms encircled you and he nuzzled your chest. He pressed soft kisses around your breasts, his touch gentle and not as sexual as before.

“I can’t believe what we did.”

“We can do it again if you liked it.”

He widened his eyes and you burst into laughing.

𖥸

“You sure you’re okay? Wasn’t it too rough in the end?”

“You’re so cute, Choso.”

You were sharing a blunt with him on a bench, surrounded by bushes and shrubs, not far from the party. The weed had a calming effect on you, and you were smiling since the two of you dressed yourselves. Choso’s worry was so cute to watch, he was almost apologizing for everything he did.

“Why aren’t you asking for my number instead of talking?” you glanced at him as your lips wrapped around the blunt and took a drag.

Choso blushed, caught off guard and shifted on the bench.

“It’s true…”

He swallowed and scratched the back of his neck. Choso was shy as if he wasn’t fucking you 20 minutes ago. And honestly, it was hot. Nothing was more attractive than a guy intimidated by the girl he liked. You loved his complexity, his introverted distant nature who could becoming gentle, shy and even rough.

“So…”

He pulled out his phone and tilted his head towards you.

“Yeah?”

You smiled at him, holding the blunt between your fingers.

“Can I have your number?” his eyes lingered on your lips. “And... are you free this summer?”

You gave him what he wanted and raised your eyebrow. You thought he would ask you out on weekends, but not on a specific period of time.

“It depends, why?”

He looked away for a second before responding.

“I bought tickets for the Warped Tour,” he begun, fidgeting his hands, “Yuji chose to spend his summer with Megumi so…”

His voice was hesitant, but his gaze softened when he saw your bright smile. He wasn’t sure he were into rock or even into festivals, so he was reassured.

“Of course!! You need to give me your playlist,” you scrolled on your phone with enthusiasm, and he escaped a light chuckle.

The wind breeze caressed your skin as you laughed and chatted together. He never came to these types of parties before, but now was forever grateful to come to this one.

𓍯 𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬

[taegularities]

colour me in: redraft | jjk (m)

Summary: The calm is more appreciated after a storm. Life with Jungkook proves to you that sometimes, joy can, in fact, overshadow grief. Yet, not without confronting and removing all hurdles standing in your way once and for all.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some tame angst, sooo much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: new relationshippppp, so much hugging and kissing, yoongi!! tae!!, tears, abandonment issues, talk about social anxiety (just briefly and nothing serious!), jungkook drops a big question :'), a surprise in the middle, a surprise near the end, and then a SURPRISE at the end lol, many surprises, they're so crazy for each other it's gross; explicit sexual content: okay – kook is wearing a chain.. this vibe :'), making out, showering together, shower sex, spanking, biting, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, mouth/face f*cking, mirrorssss, he likes her ass and tiddies, tears, choking, v brief ass stuff, rough and soft sex, dom and big cawk jk, vocal jk, multiple orgasms, they're simps; ALSO YEAH THE ENDING :') ➳ word count: 25.3k ➳ a/n: so when i said this chapter would be shorter… welp lol. but i still think it introduces the next arc really well. i kinda love the ending!! .. and the next part will be </3 :'''') as always beta'd by my lovely @missgeniality 🤍 i hope you guys like this one a lot. worked my ass off for this fr :') if you do, please do support the chapter and interact with me, too, it makes my day <3 ➳ listen to: i need u by yaeow | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER

Monday morning’s breakfast is awkward. Or at least, the very first minute of it.

The hands of your watch drift to 9 AM; you should’ve expected you wouldn’t be occupying the dining table alone. Your parents, sipping the last of their coffee, aren’t that much of a surprise after all.

You breathe a quiet breath of relief when their eyes dart towards your timid forms at the threshold, then back to the table. And a moment later, they’re pushing their chairs back across the marble floor before they clear the path to breakfast for the two of you.

Your father acknowledges you with a brief, polite nod on his way out, even flashing a similarly quick smile. Ingenuine, because his glance, fleeting when directed to you, is as disappointed as your Mom’s behind him.

Today, you understand. Somewhere in the depths of your recovering mind, you feel upset about shitfacing yourself so thoroughly, too.

You haven’t seen your mother in over two days. Jungkook’s post-showcase confessions brought you to Eun, and the next morning you barely scanned your room before you left for her place again.

Guess the momentary encounter in the hallway doesn’t quite count; you could hardly crack your eyes open. Combined with half the dozen naps you took in your locked room the very next day, you won’t exactly expect pride from her right now.

Until now, as she advances towards your body, you didn’t consider much of her side; you stayed focused on the other occurrences passing after sunset. Moments whose scent your sheets still carry.

As your mother comes to a stand, you prepare your vocal cords, breathing in to explain yourself until you realise that she isn’t looking at you at all. Her eyes are firmly glued to Jungkook’s face, devoid of enmity for once.

Instead, she flattens her dress, sighing through her red-tinted lips before she nods towards him and simply says, “Thank you.”

And that’s it. A little breathtaking, entirely new.

You’re dumbfounded when she leaves; Jungkook doesn’t manage a single word. You imagine that if you’re baffled, he’s probably rethinking her words to assure he didn’t hallucinate them.

But neither of you did. And the silence lingering for a couple more seconds proves the depth of reality; not that you’ll change your mind about leaving your place. But the hint of appreciation, shot directly at him is a pleasant first nevertheless.

Breakfast is patient but fast. The quiet atmosphere doesn’t derive from the night before or what your mother just left you with, but from the emotional fatigue slowly dropping off your shoulders.

Jungkook lets you feast in peace, a soft palm rubbing over the back of your hand every now and then to assure you’re okay. And you are. You’re getting used to these changes.

To this alternative to whatever you feared before. A chance to erase all words and start on a blank page; a white canvas, waiting for vibrant colours instead of monochrome gloom.

Yet, despite the tranquillity last night, still present in the air and in your aching limbs, you don’t understand the sincerity of all the confessions he uttered until you leave.

Because breathing in your car isn’t as suffocating as it was the last few weeks. Back when you’d navigate through the town alone, the passenger seat empty. Or when you plucked up the courage and drove to the showcase numbly.

Or when the pain pierced through your chest; when your drunk ass thought the world would  remain blue forever.

All of it is gone when you buckle up, shifting in your seat as you announce, “Okay. Let’s finally get you home.”

The engine roars for a moment, the car trembling, but you only register the knot in your throat when he says, “Feels so unfair of me. Having my girl drive me around so much.”

You don’t miss the endearment; neither the way your heart skips a beat.

Incapable of a proper reaction, you clear your throat and stutter, all at once and oddly in succession until you settle on a weak, “Why unfair?”

“Because. You do it a lot.”

You really do not. The night the museum closed and you dropped him off at your place was one of a few times; besides, he’s operated your vehicle more than enough before, too.

But you don’t contradict him, instead lightly suggest, “Well, you can drive if you want.”

You’re relieved when he joins your smile, dimples ever-so-sweet and genuine as he promises, “It’s fine. I’ll just stare at you.”

The shudder along your spine is delightful — relentless, he keeps your nerves alight. Perhaps he’s back to the self you knew pre-broken-hearts, playful and teasing, but the effect of his words curses through your veins hotter than ever.

“That’s creepy,” you still retort; you’ll gladly keep fighting this sweet, awkward battle against compliments for life, unaware how to handle them. “And it makes me nervous.”

“Sorry.”

Jungkook laughs, the back of two fingers reaching to your cheek to graze it featherlightly. Maybe he feels the heat beneath your skin, enhanced through his touch.

By now, you’ve spent a year with him — as a party fling, a class frenemy and a blue flower. But each second ticking away brings a new wave of soft, shy speechlessness. New honeymoon emotions.

The certainty of his reciprocated feelings, the fact that you’re finally on the same page, makes you rethink his tender confessions and touches differently. Makes you navigate the relationship differently.

His eyes drift back to the quiet, narrow street, surrounded by houses and blooming gardens. Probably as tired of the idyllic utopia as you, he doesn’t spare the suburban setting any more attention.

He only lets a flat hand rub against his thighs, nipping at his clothing as he says, “God, I can’t wait to get out of these damn joggers.”

Right. While not a main focus, you did find the special attire at breakfast today quite amusing.

“Did you even get to shower since picking me up?” you ask.

“Yeah. When you were napping again yesterday. Just gotta wash my hair later tonight.”

Hmm. You spent half your day knocked out; Jungkook could’ve circled the world and you wouldn’t have known.

“Oh. Good.”

The road proceeds straight, emptier near the suburbs. You allow a reckless glance before tackling busy streets; his eyes meet yours in curiosity, hair even messier than the night he met you in front of the bar.

When he left his apartment in joggers and an old shirt, mane untamed and no extra clothing at hand, he probably didn’t expect to abandon his place for so long. It gives you solace that he doesn’t regret it.

You drop the million memories of yesterday’s sunset burning into your eyes and everything that introduced it. The drunk words and the begging.

And then drop everything that followed afterwards; more pleading, more touching, more confessions that were in no way uttered through inebriate but not quite through sobriety either.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

You drop all the remembrances to focus on the moment; just to make sure that it’s real. So you ask, “Why didn’t you wash your hair there, too?”

For a moment, you see a flicker in his eyes, short-lived and quick; and his answer shoots out even more rapidly, “Just so.”

He emphasises his admission with a shrug of his shoulder, but it’s not nearly as convincing as he anticipates. Not buying a word, you push again, “C’mon.”

“I swear.”

“I’m curious now, though.”

There’s a momentary drop of silence before Jungkook hums, thinking as though he’s crafting a plausible excuse. Then, he says, “I didn’t wanna be away for too long.”

“…Why?”

“Why would I want to be?”

Ah…

Hmm. Well, maybe that’s enough for now.

Maybe he’s still not used to laying his secrets open. Maybe you need to practise patience, too, and stop digging like that.

You know that’s not all there is, but you certainly understand that it’s not a lie after all. Despite the pause and the obvious way his brain racked for a reason, his tone is genuine. You’ve experienced his insecurities before — that’s not what it was this time.

So you focus on the steering wheel instead, turning it left and away from the truck you drove way too close to. Your distraction might kill you — right there, next to you, clearing his throat and sitting up.

“Oh,” he says, segueing, and you let him, “wait, I forgot. Could we stop by at Yoongi’s for a sec? I wanted to see how he’s been doing.”

An abrupt change in topics, but not too abstract. As someone merely acquainted with the man, you’ve been collecting info on his state from Jimin; of course Jungkook would drop by personally.

You take a look at your digital watch; it’s barely ten and you don’t need to get away before 10:45. Taehyung agreed to meet with you to accompany you to your new potential flat again, so you should have time for a detour.

But.

“Is he…” you start, “gonna be okay with me being there?”

“Why?”

“I mean, just ‘cause… You know. We weren’t the closest for a while.”

Jungkook’s forehead wrinkles in new perplexion, muttering a few words. It takes a couple seconds — but eventually, he figures out that you’re not referring to Yoongi and yourself, and his expression changes immediately.

To subtle pain, you’d guess, like he doesn’t want to relive the memory. Like it never happened; like you weren’t two pieces of the same shattered heart this entire time.

But then he sighs, a hand wandering to your thigh. He kneads it softly, as a reminder to himself and to you that the past isn’t transpiring right now; that you’ve finally breathed and waded through it.

His optimism is encouraging when he says, “Nah. He thinks you’re cool.”

“I guess,” you mumble. You tap the steering wheel nervously, lips in a thin line before you add a hushed, “And if not, that’s alright, isn’t it? Like, hey, as long as you like me? Yeah, I shouldn’t overthink it…”

Jungkook releases air through his nose. You perceive a subtle shake of his head, as if to scold you, hear him say earnestly but gently, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t just like you.”

And whether casual or not, his words engulf your body immediately, like a soothing warm touch across your chest, yet effectively freezing your beating heart in place.

You can’t pinpoint whether the weight of his own words ever affects him as much as it affects you, or whether harbouring these emotions has become a familiar habit to him. At least to you, his tone is conversational and promising, perhaps even subliminally reassuring.

“At the very least,” he continues, “he’ll never disapprove of you the way Jimin disapproves of me.”

Which… snaps you back into reality for a second.

Your friend’s name is connected to more than mere dislike for the man next to you; currently, you think of dark nights and lamp-lit streets. After-midnight shenanigans and near tears in your own car, driven by the man who broke and mended your heart.

It reminds you of a blurry picture; two guys standing near an entrance, the older of them patting the other’s shoulder; smiling at him.

You do wonder if it was a fabrication of your mind.

“Forget Jimin,” you tell Jungkook, speech broken when you take another left and resumed when broader streets start. “Also. He did say he’s growing fond of you.”

“Because you like me. I still need to prove my worth to him.”

You tut.

“Kook, you don’t need to do anything. He’ll come around eventually. Just be you.”

“It’s fine, honestly.” He leans in, nudging your elbow, echoing you with a teasing undertone as he says, “As long as you like me.”

You love it when the initial nature of your relationship breaks through the mist of newfound passion; when you find the foundation of what you were, remembering how you landed here.

Which is why you bite back a laugh the moment you suppress a sassy, teasing remark, as if on reflex. One steer shy from pulling into a parking lot, you breathe out. If you halted here now, you’d kiss him, you’re sure.

But you merely laugh, squinting your eyes as you say, “You’re okay.”

Yoongi’s apartment, now inhabited by only one instead of two people, lies a couple miles from the campus. Jungkook guides you through the streets, jumping from one harmless topic to another — you reach his friend’s place a lot faster than you expected.

The building stands at a quiet place, surrounded by mid-high trees that give the grey colour of the complex a bit of liveliness. You walk to the entrance laughing about something stupid, a subtle nudge of his shoulder here, you pushing against his arm there.

But despite the familiarity and whatever occurred last weekend, it’s still odd jumping into the girlfriend role just yet. The word itself won’t even roll off your tongue very easily so far because you can’t believe a thing about this new reality.

So your hand dangles next to his awkwardly. Your thoughts keep drifting, registering half his sentence at times. What-if situations of gentle kisses and upcoming nights spent together tighten your chest.

Jungkook’s speech is clear and fluent, so you don’t know what your impact on him is exactly. At least he’s made sure you do have one on him — but you still wish you had a map through his mind to understand every thought he houses for you. Every emotion.

On the way up you feel a little dizzy; whether it’s due to the circular shape of the staircase or his proximity, you don’t know. You only realise that something’s still bothering you when you’re halfway up, coming to a halt with one foot on the next step.

“Okay, seriously,” you say, and he turns to you immediately, puzzled as he drops to the same level as you. Close to you.

“What?”

“You said you didn’t wanna leave,” you repeat, still stuck on the hair washing and staying longer thought, “why not?”

The answer could be simple. Could be rooted in emotions and the confessions you later uttered — but there must be something more. You saw it in the brief feeling flashing across his eyes, sitting in the passenger’s seat with silence sealing his lips.

Maybe something happened… because something always happens.

“You’re still thinking about that?” Jungkook questions, eyes wide in disbelief; lips pouting.

“No secrets, right?”

This seems to snap him out of all mysteries, last night’s conversation travelling to the forefront of his mind. But something about your curiosity amuses him. He wraps the fingers of his left hand around the staircase reeling, head dropping with a delicate smile.

His hair hides his eyes, but you know they’re sparkling; voice a mild drizzle when he starts, “It’s…” He draws in, inked digits touching your elbow before moving up your arm absentmindedly. “Don’t worry so much. It’s nothing harmful at all.”

You wait. Let his thumb graze your neck, up to your chin.

He sighs, almost exasperated in a way. “You speak in your sleep, you know?”

Wait. What?

You blink, thoughts disoriented. The staircase is dimly lit, but you recognise the slight upward curve of his lips; more empathetic than teasing.

So you still do?

“Huh?” you make.

“I think you dreamed of waking up a couple times? You hadn’t, though, and it’d always be something about being alone again.”

Again.

The word reverberates through your mind, dragging and stretching. Didn’t you once read that a broken heart is akin to serious rehab, accompanied by withdrawal symptoms and slowly healing scars?

You guess your heart was hurting more than you already knew.

“Okay,” you say, nodding when he does, thumb lifting your head when you drop it. You swallow thickly. “What did I say exactly?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know anymore. Something about me leaving. And I was scared of waking you up while gone ‘cause you’d actually think I’d left.”

You hum. Allow yourself a moment to process the info; you seek out fragments of your dreams, but you draw a blank. You feel guilty about his concerns, yet relieved. Vulnerable. And somewhat reassured.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.

Your voice is barely above a whisper — less because of the conversation. More because of the touch on your cheek. It’s soft against your skin, and you shiver. The flutter in your chest is only just bearable.

That’s the thing about falling in love. It’s sweet — so much sometimes that it twists your guts. You’re in so deep, you could hurl.

“Nah. You don’t need to worry about this anymore, okay?” he murmurs.

His eyes dig into yours. Dark and shiny through his healthy tresses, livelier than ever. Sincere. 

You, on the other hand, must look unconvinced without intending to, because his mouth aligns with yours soon after.

He exhales, tilting his head, and says, “Look,” leans in, leaves a featherlight kiss against your cheek, right next to his thumb, “I mean it.”

Guess being with him comes with occasional mental blackouts. And regular arrhythmia. The palpitations behind your ribs are almost ridiculous; instead of gripping your own chest, you grasp his shirt immediately.

Lightly, as if you could collapse without this anchor.

He lets you pull him closer just a little, whispering as if someone could hear, “What’s wrong?”

Vulnerability hidden, you blink again, and joke, “Nothing. Just thought you were gonna kiss me.”

Jungkook smiles. His nose brushes against yours, toying a bit, and his bunny teeth make him look somewhat younger when he voices, “You want me to kiss you?”

“I always do.”

Your grin is playful, but your heart is pounding in your chest. Who would’ve thought the journey from a car to an apartment could be so long, so thrilling?

His snicker is gentle and canorous, knees careful against yours. Your heartbeat accelerates some more, rose-tinted lips opting towards their goal. You part your mouth, ready with a deep breath.

But the two of you are always subject to disturbances — so you’re disappointed but not surprised when you hear rushed steps on top of the staircase, strolling down and crossing your path just when Jungkook backs away.

The stranger passes by you with initial surprise in his eyes, not expecting you, but soon gets over it and drops his gaze again. And once he’s gone, Jungkook winks, a hand on your back pushing you forward gently.

“Later,” he says.

You know as you ascend the stairs.

Know that with the ease with which you handle your feelings for each other, you’ll strive towards a future where you won’t be haunted by dreams of being alone. Where you won’t fear his departure, and where his kisses won’t be interrupted by this cruel world.

The building reminds you of when you’d frequent the dorm you used to know. The walls and hallways are similarly built, narrow and somewhat cheap. They look like most buildings from the inside do, honestly, but you like the pleasant illusion the nostalgia brings.

Even the bathrooms are located near the end of the hallways; Jungkook once told you that Tae and Yoongi have their own kitchen, unlike him back when he still housed his dorm. But there’s a communal bathroom here, too; allegedly one reason why Tae moved out.

The only thing that separates this place from Jungkook’s old dorm is the subtle difference in scent. Not pure testosterone.

You smile.

The mood doesn’t match with what you felt back in June at all.

Back when you stomped to Jungkook’s dorm, furious about yet another insignificant issue, you didn’t think your fingers would ever be brushing his like they are now. Or when you escaped the rain and entered the building’s warmth, your umbrella leaving behind a trail of raindrops.

Your relationships, your priorities, your emotions. Your universe changed faster than the seasons.

As you walk past a random door, Jungkook cranes his neck, staring as if he could x-ray-glare a hole into it and glance at what lays behind it. Perhaps he’s thinking back, too.

You don’t know about all the things he experienced throughout the years there. Part of your heart stings because you remember you weren’t the only girl who ever frequented his place.

But you still left an impression — if the current status of your relationship isn’t proof of it, then the sudden touch along the back of your hand certainly is. A thumb following a vein blindly, opting to grasp your palm into his, yet retracting when you finally come to a stand.

The digit caressing your skin lifts to the door, and his knuckles knock three times, rhythmically. Your chest constricts as you jump back into the moment, probably half as nervous as you’d be if you met Jungkook’s parents.

A moment stretches as you wait for Yoongi to open, allowing yourself just another spiralling thought as you imagine actually daring a meeting with Jungkook’s parents. It’s too early to think about it, isn’t it?

It’s just.

Since yesterday, you’ve created a dozen different scenarios in your head, ranging from a civil, calm conversation with his father to a full snap. Half of you wants to know his genuine thoughts on his son’s sorrows; the other half wants to rage and then bolt away.

Ugh.

When the door swings open, your hand flashes to Jungkook’s. A startled instinct, even though nothing about the action was surprising or scary. But he doesn’t mind — of course he doesn’t.

His eyes rush to yours for a second, warm and somewhat thrilled, his smile permanent. And then he looks back at his friend, quietly squeezing your palm, the shy smile soft as he greets, “You’re walking without clutches, huh?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away. He looks from Jungkook to you and back. His gaze isn’t very telling, but you find amusement in it. If you weren’t so ridiculously and inexplicably nervous about his upcoming statement, you’d laugh.

Intently, he grants a peek at your entwined hands, and when he looks at the two of you again, he starts…

Smiling.

Gummies all out, a tiny laugh thrown in between before he says, “Ohoho. You’re here, too?”

The smile turns into a sly grin, a hand clutching the frame of the door. You guess he’s not as balanced after all. Possibly just abandoned his clutches for the short way from the couch to the door.

“I can totally go,” you tell him, the teasing tone missing; soft and small instead.

“Why in the world would you?” Yoongi steps aside carefully, nodding the two of you inside. You oblige, hearing his voice behind you jest, “Now, would you look at that. Did I do that?”

Jungkook automatically drops on the chair at the tiny dining table, like he’s arrived home, and you follow; make yourself comfortable on the seat next to him. There are three chairs, as though carefully chosen for the pair of friends who used to live together and a guest.

Next to you, Jungkook huffs, leaning back as he watches his friend plop onto the chair in front of him, and asks, “How would you’ve done that?”

“Well, you guys gathered at the hospital because of me.”

Right. Good point.

If he just knew how that night played out. Actually, you think he just might, yet not quite aware of its severity.

“Not because of you,” Jungkook promises, “I just charmed her again.”

You laugh. So does Yoongi.

He isn’t irritated or taken aback by the younger’s boldness; in truth, he seems entertained. Arms crossed, eyes small and grin wide. He half mocks, “The young ones are charming for sure these days.”

“Spoken like a true Grandpa,” Jungkook remarks. You press your lips into a thin line, but with a faint smile. You only listen; you’re in the territory of two friends who spend their time roasting each other. You’re not on that level yet, so you observe. “But I had to.”

“You had to, huh?” you joke. Okay, observation broken. Your body tilts towards him. “You didn’t need any of your charm for… this. But still good to know.”

Because you would’ve been putty in his hands, no matter what — charm or not.

"Can confirm," Yoongi agrees, nodding towards his friend, "that he was also a proper mess the last couple weeks. Very out of character."

Your eyes roll to the side to catch a glimpse of him, but the moment you detect the rosy dust on Jungkook's cheeks, you avert your gaze immediately.

Admittedly, the guilt in the middle of your chest is undeniable. But there's comfort in knowing you were never the only half who was deeply, perpetually falling.

Yoongi scratches his temple, doesn't meet your eyes; possibly shy when it comes to conversations like these. But he sounds warm and gentle when he says, "I'm really glad you guys are back."

You’re similarly timid, feeling strange. As if someone’s congratulating you on a fresh marriage. Or maybe that’s just the emotion you want, need to feel.

You say, “Thanks.” And then, ever-so-terrible with compliments, add a little, “Let’s say it was you. Double thank you to the man of the hour.”

Yoongi pulls a grimace hitherto unseen; it doesn’t faze Jungkook, but the Joker-esque grin and wide-eyed nod have you bursting into laughter. His friends are pleasant, you think.

If there was a way to lure Jimin in and convince him of this group’s collective appeal, you wouldn’t hesitate. There’s only a limited time you want him to play the petty, protective friend.

“So, how have you been?” Jungkook eventually asks.

Yoongi rubs the corner of his eye, stretching his injured leg under the table, “Never better. The bank is surviving without me. Besides, I haven’t gotten around to making some music in a while.”

“Tae did tell me you were enjoying your days off.”

Jungkook reacts with a tiny chuckle, but your eyes widen. You let him finish his sentence, and then spit, “Wait, wait. You make music?”

“Oh, I mean… I’m not any good,” he explains, wiggling a hand, a little startled as if he forgot you didn’t know yet. “I just. Make a few beats every now and then and write my own bars and stuff.”

“Wait, rap?” You stare between the boys, to and fro, only a little offended that you didn’t know you had a brooding future musician in your midst. “Can I hea—”

“No.” The answer is immediate. You pout. “Before you ask, I am way too much of a coward.”

“He’s amazing,” Jungkook intrudes.

And you whine, “Unfair, Yoongi.”

He imitates your expression, leaning back, copying your stance, and answers in the same childlike tone, “Warm up to me first! I’ll show it to you one day.”

“One day I’m gon’st hear it,” you declare, overly dramatic with your chin up, “you have my taste in music, you know? I know I’ll like it.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I can try.”

Yoongi blows a raspberry. You’re not sure what you expected; maybe subtle hostility. But the sense of casual camaraderie is refreshing; lounging comfortably in his living room was a picture far from your mind until now, and you think he enjoys the unforeseen gathering, too.

Because after a moment of stillness, a faint smile touches his lips, his voice back to normal and deep as he remarks, “It’s nice that you guys came. I get bored here a lot.”

Right. You kept wondering.

You don’t dive into the matter immediately, instead drenching your voice in a teasing lilt, “Even though Jimin visits you?”

“Shut up.” Mock exasperation rolls his eyes as Jungkook appreciates your joke, one foot pressing against yours under the table. “No. It’s just been lonely since Tae moved out. It’s a two people thing with two bedrooms.”

He shrugs his shoulders, attention fully on you. Jungkook either doesn’t have much to say or doesn’t want to interrupt. Only listens.

“Living here alone feels like I’m wasting space and money,” Yoongi finishes.

Curiosity piqued, you probe, “What did Tae say when he left?”

“He offered to let me move in with him. But that’d be pointless.”

“Why so?”

“He’s awesome for offering, but I think he wanted his own place, you know? Why would I intrude then? But I did tell him I’d look for another place.”

“Have you been?” you ask. You still remember how happy Taehyung looked last time you met him alone.

How he spoke so highly of a life on his own, gladly interrupted by the occasional visits Eun granted him. Yoongi, you think, would probably benefit from acquiring his own place, too — one that doesn’t remind him that someone left him behind, inhabiting a vacant space thought for two.

“Every now and then,” Yoongi admits. “Will think about it some more once my leg’s healed.”

You nod in understanding, a thoughtful hum escaping your lips. Yoongi soon leans forward, naked arms on top of the table, and delves into a discussion about the rising costs of rent.

He outlines the challenges of finding the right place in the bustling city, and explains his worries about the empty space in a too-large apartment. And you listen intently.

But as minutes pass, you can’t help but notice the contemplative silence Jungkook has fallen into.

It’s always the same with him — thoughts you can’t read, questions you need to postpone.

Because you do glance over at him, observe the distracted furrow of his brow, the distant look in his eyes. You understand he’s once again lost in unknown thoughts, and you sense how jumbled his mind must be.

But you still decide to hold off for the moment, out of respect for the ongoing conversation. You don’t focus on addressing his apparent preoccupation until it keeps going until later, way after you’ve bid Yoongi goodbye.

“Why do you seem so reserved?” you ask in the car, his home your new destination.

It must be around quarter past ten; you should still be able to meet Tae within half an hour. Yet, despite the brooding rush, you can’t help but wanna drag out the ride, finish this conversation.

“Hm?” he voices.

Did he not hear you? Maybe.

You sigh, seeking an available parking spot. You’ve already turned into his street, way past the park, halting close to his entrance. The engine dies, sudden silence inside the vehicle.

“Okay,” you turn towards him, forearm against the wheel. “You’re a lot less enthusiastic now. What’s up?”

He looks distracted. Drags his teeth over his full, pink lower lip hard enough for you to repeat, “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Uh.” Cue big boba eyes flitting to you. “I was just. Thinking about something.”

“Wanna share?”

“Yeah. Yeah, uhm. I swear I’m not trying to be mysterious, just. Not sure how to phrase it.”

He’s easing himself into this whole thing. The entire opening up act and being fearless with his feelings. So you don’t push him, but encourage, “Try. If not now, then maybe later, though?”

“No, no. Now is fine.” He frees his eyes off the dark bangs when he shakes his head a little, preparing to voice his hidden thoughts. Then, he breathes, “Yeah, so…”

One more second.

And.

“What if you dropped your plans of moving into that apartment?”

Oh. What?

Does he mean what you think he means…

There are only two options, right? And you choose to go with the one that would embarrass you less if it turned out wrong.

“Should I… do you think I should stay with my family?” you ask, your voice cautious.

But when his hands shoot up, immediately denying your assumption with round eyes, you breathe out through your nose. Relieved when he clarifies, “No, not at all. I mean, it’s up to you, but that’s not what I meant.”

So then…

“So you’re saying—”

He interrupts, rushing before he can back down, “Move in with me. And Yoongi could take the apartment you were considering.”

Fuck. 

You didn’t expect your heart to jump up to your throat like that. It’s a day full of brief heart failures. You barely know how to react anymore.

You stare. Then stare a bit more. And eventually, you simply ask, “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean…” He gulps, averting your gaze all of a sudden before it lands back on yours. You chuckle quietly, unprompted, and it boosts his confidence. “You stayed at mine for days and it worked. It could… you know— keep working.”

The suggestion lingers like a fresh breeze, grazing your cheeks and twirling around you like a soothing force. He beams — though subtle, he seems to interpret the simultaneous rise of your eyebrows and your lips immediately.

Still, he inquires, “I don’t know… too soon?”

Technically yes. But then again, no. Because he’s right — you’ve already experienced a piece of heaven, tasted the bliss of domesticity with Jeon Jungkook.

“You really are serious about this, yeah?”

“Only if you want me to be,” he counters, less tense than before, but a hand rubbing in nervous circles over his knee, “if not, then I was absolutely joking.”

An awkward, little chortle fills the small space of the car; you shake your head, teeth out and smile bright. There’s sweetness in knowing that his affection is real. That the thought of shared future pains, joys and days — that it’s all actually become so unbelievably real.

The car is cool in the shadow, but you feel a strange heat coursing through your body. At the end of the street, you see the sunlight brighten the moment he laughs. Fitting.

The crinkly eye smile softens when he reaches for your hand, pulling it off the wheel and wrapping it in his. There’s an automatic reaction in your chest, a constant racing when he says, “I mean it, though.”

Brief pause. He looks down to your fingers.

“I think I got used to having you there. And then, at Yoongi’s I had this… I don’t know, overwhelming urge to tell you. That,” his teeth worry his lip, releasing it softly, “I want you next to me for as long as possible.”

You understand.

He means every minute that society and norms don’t force you out of the house. At nights and in the mornings, on off days and holidays. To fall asleep next to his presence, to wake up on the same mattress, too.

And the longing is undeniable; you know that it is. But you’re already swamped with decisions as it is — could you call off the apartment right here, right now? Rethink all you discussed with the landlord, Taehyung or yourself?

Life decisions are harder than that, and despite all the wants infiltrating your body, you can’t dive into this without a couple more following thoughts.

You keep gazing into his smouldering eyes, more intense when he looks up. Let their effect send a thrill down your spin, a surge of yearning through your veins. 

And then, you acknowledge the need for prudence. You savour the moment, let the anticipation built, and flash a sultry smile to ensure that, yes, if not now, then one damn day, I’ll be yours entirely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything to work more than this,” you admit, “but I need to—”

You halt. Words come hard to you these days; and the two of you are sensitive. It’s not easy to reunite after weeks of overthinking and distance; and you don’t want to provide more reasons to overthink.

But you forget that as sensitive as Jungkook is, he’s just as understanding and gentle, too.

Because he says, “You need to think. And I know you can’t just pack your things and move over, I just— I wanted it out there.”

“I know. I know.”

“And I,” he continues, “I actually thought you were gonna say no right away since you’re getting out of your childhood home just now, so naturally, you would wanna be alone for a while and—”

You lean forward, pulling your hands out of his grip. His eyes shoot down, baffled and confused, but you don’t give him a second to think or speak. In a moment’s notice, his cheeks are squished between your palms, his bunny face now akin to a duck.

“I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone all my life,” you tell him; Jungkook eyebrows furrow in empathy and worry, but you smile, “I don’t wanna be anymore.”

His expression and voice are dorky when he speaks, first words incomprehensible. You let go, watching the red splotches on his cheek, and he repeats, “Is that a yes?”

“It’s… I don’t know. A to be continued.”

“I’ll live with that.”

You don’t know if it’s the electrifying prospect of a life together or the confidence he follows his statement up with, but the insanity burns wild in your head. Untamed and dizzying.

“And I’ll wait for however long.”

“I didn’t even ask, I’m sorry… but are you starting work later today?”

You stand in the middle of Taehyung’s living room, a hand over your eyes to protect them from the bright sunlight. He’s busy piling the saucers and the cups, and you wait as he drags a vocal in thought.

“No, no. I’m off today.” He stands, and you automatically walk the short distance to the kitchen, lingering at the door frame. “Need the afternoon for an appointment at the doc. So yeah.”

“Oh. Everything okay?”

He doesn’t speak yet, dishes in the wash basin too loud. They clink and rattle; the moment you’ll move to an apartment by yourself, you’ll have to wash them yourself, too.

Maybe you can make your place as aesthetically pleasing and beige as Taehyung did. You don’t know — you couldn’t imagine much today nor discuss further details about the contract and rent and general house rules.

The landlord bailed on you last second. And Taehyung sacrificed over an hour that he could’ve spent keeping Eun company between her morning lessons.

You apologised the second you entered his apartment instead, thankful for the invitation to tea, yet harbouring guilt for wasting his time. But Taehyung proved incredibly kind, waving off your concerns immediately.

He asked, playfully offended, “So you’re saying a tea party with me is a waste of time?” And then he laughed, immediately shaking his head, “Nah. It’s fine. Am glad someone finally prefers tea over coffee, too.”

So now you’re here.

“Yeah, just a check up,” Taehyung answers, “vamps drew my blood and will tell me today if it’s good or not.”

“Interesting way to refer to doctors,” you admit, backing away when he leads you to the exit. You need to be at work in forty minutes tops. “Good then.”

He hands you your blazer, silent for a moment before he says, “Talking about feeling unwell.” You look up, arm halfway through the blazer’s sleeve. “What were you doing getting shitfaced like that?”

“Uhm…”

Word travels fast. Your cheeks heat up, fingers curling into fists. You smack your lips, letting out a tiny laugh, and ask, “Eun told you, huh?”

“Mhm. Scolded her for taking you to the bar and leaving you alone.”

You sigh.

You should’ve guessed that she’d tattle. And of course you might appear like the helpless, heartbroken girl, seeking comfort in alcohol, dark clubs and blue neon lights. It’s a little embarrassing, actually.

“Kook was there, though,” you defend.

“I know. I called when he was still at your place.”

Huh? What else did he do when you were asleep? Painted a Louvre-ripe masterpiece, probably.

Taehyung decodes the dozen questions in your stare, tumbling until his back leans against the wall. He explains, “We just talked for a sec. He sounded worried, so I didn’t prod too much. Just don’t do these things anymore, okay?”

Huh…

You can imagine it well. Partly because you remember the way he looked at you that night: distressed beyond belief, giving you soft orders, insisting on help everywhere — the car, the shower, the bed.

But also because you know him.

And you don’t think you needed to see him in those very moments to know he must’ve brushed through his silky hair. Must’ve looked through your room, gaze stopping over your sleeping figure.

Voice strained on the phone, yawning, shaking his head because he must have been a little mad at you, but comforted that you were resting, too.

You remember the tone of his voice, soft as a piano tune but saddened nonetheless.

”What did you drink? You’re… in such a bad state.”

You shake the words off. God, he was there for you more than you’ll ever know.

You say, “That’s nice, though, Tae… I didn’t think you’d ever get so worried about me.”

“Hey. You’re still my friend,” he promises.

He’s possibly been the only person throughout this entire ordeal to not be pissed at you or annoyed by you. You never doubted that he still liked you.

“I might not know you inside out like Eun or Jungkook do, but you’re part of this group. So naturally, you’re important, too.”

You push your hands into the pockets of the blazer, gripping the car keys inside. Bashfully, you smile. His sincerity pumps warmth through you; it’s crazy how good belonging somewhere, to someone, can actually feel.

It’s refreshing. New. 

“Wow,” you murmur, shuffling your feet, “thank you.”

“You’re glowing, you know. That’s nice.”

“Am I?”

He nods. “I can’t wait to see him glow either. A couple weeks were a couple too long.”

Those couple weeks felt like someone ripped out the hands of time, keeping them from moving. Your brain aged faster in that time, deep in a bottomless abyss. You don’t want to experience it again.

And you don’t want to imagine Jungkook in the same pit again. Looking for you, but bumping against walls, painted with his past that made him stumble back instead of pulling him forwards.

Your eyes trail down the hallway, looking at the small paintings and decorations on the wall. You take in the furniture, inhale the pleasant colours. Imagine his living room in its entirety, the sunlight seeping through the windows. Curtains pushed aside.

Your apartment could be like this, too.

But.

“Tae,” you begin. You wrap your fingers around your rattling car key; lick your lips. “Do you think I’d like it here?”

“Hmmm,” he voices, gazing down as if he could look past the parquet floor and to where your potential apartment stands nearly empty. “Yeah. I mean, I like to think so, because I’m very happy here.”

He stops abruptly, the tone of the last syllable not matching a sentence’s end. You wait as he smiles a little, creating a thought, “But you could be happy somewhere else, too. Happier even.”

His words hang in the air, a sense of both possibility and uncertainty tangible. You were wanting to venture into this new chapter of your life with hope, but also with trepidation.

Suburban areas are nice, but you opted for the heart of the city — the vibrant tapestry of dreams and opportunities. You didn’t expect the journey to be fraught with sudden doubts.

The best thing, however, is that doubts and dilemmas never seemed this… tempting.

You tell him, “There’s always a place that makes people happier, for everyone.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice tinged with wisdom. “Only, some people already know of it, and some keep searching for it.”

“And I am—”

You pause, anticipating for him to finish the sentence; he responds, “You gotta know.” There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, support and acknowledgment hiding right behind — matching his words, “I’d be bummed if you didn’t become my neighbour, but. Also just happy you guys are happy.”

Too kind for this world.

In your endearment, you laugh, suddenly stepping forward for a brief, thankful hug. A silent gesture of gratitude for his friendship, no matter how shallow or new.

The people you surround yourself with offer endless reassurance, and you’re lacking the words to express your appreciation.

“Thank you, Tae. Eun’s right when she praises your constant respect for other people, you know?”

Taehyung, maybe a little perplexed, brings a hand to your back, patting gently as he states, “No worries. The worst is over.”

You hope so. God, you genuinely hope so.

You pull back, tucking your hair behind your ear and bid him goodbye with one last nod. Taehyung closes the door behind you with a humorous thumbs up, and you grin before it’s silent in the hallway again.

There’s a tiny window outside, overlooking the street down there and the cars flitting by. The area isn’t as peaceful as Jungkook’s — more lively and noisy. You can see the city’s river if you look far enough.

And as you step closer to the glass, you envision your own apartment again. You imagine the soft glow of the lamp before you go to sleep. The comfortable couch you want to plant in the back of the living room, curling up with work or your laptop or a cup of hot chocolate.

You picture the view of the city as you step to your open window, glancing out as the steam of your beverage swirls in the evening air. Contemplating the world outside.

But then you start rethinking Jungkook’s words, too. The idea of belonging and happiness, of domesticity and what could be.

And at last, you visualise what it’d be like if you didn’t see any of this — the lively street, the river in the distance. Wonder how you’d feel if the horizon looked different.

If you stared out and saw a different canvas instead.

The changes in your life are drastic in some way, but Jungkook always stays the same.

Your house lies quiet most of the time; as days pass, you frequent your room, then drop by in the living room, greeting the staff, grabbing dinner and retracting back to your beloved bed.

Jungkook’s apartment, baby-sized compared to your place, allows a much livelier atmosphere. Maybe because you don’t need to yell for him to hear you from another room. Or maybe because it’s just the two of you.

Perhaps even because you find solace in the couch, in the smaller smart TV in front of it, the glass table, the carpet, the homely furniture in general. The scent reminds you of wood, but you connect it with him, too.

It’s different from the room you grew up in. Different from the luxurious chimney and marble you’ve seen all your life.  And you must admit that you enjoy it a lot more, too.

One of the few reasons why your mood changes from exhausted to merry the moment you knock at his door on Thursday. He was expecting you, because when he opens, he beckons you inside immediately, pulling you in and planting a generous kiss on your cheek.

A smooching sound accompanies it, his foot closing the door as he suggests, “Dinner first or TV?”

“Shoes.” You laugh. You slip out of your thin jacket before tackling your snickers quickly, your clothes suddenly itchy and uncomfortable. “Shoes first, and then shower? Can I?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s not the first time that you’d be doing it. But there’s still something new and pure about this new chapter of your life; one that comes with polite questions and reinventing reality, apparently.

Redrafting life as you knew it and striving towards something better.

“I knew it, actually,” he says, forefinger wiggling, “I put a fresh towel on the washing machine. Also had a handful of your shirts here, so there’s one of those on the towel, too. And my joggers… Sorry, you left none of those, uhm—”

He’s started walking ahead, scratching behind his ear, but when he notices you not following, he looks over his shoulder. Blinks at you, staring into his living room and back, innocent voice unsure, “Come?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just— you didn’t have t—”

“I know,” he interrupts, breathing a sigh in faux frustration, “I know I never have to. But I figured you’d wanna shower.”

“…Thank you, Kook.”

You wish you could say more; express your gratitude the way you want to. At least your body is jubilating, craving the hot steam of the shower. Starving further for some peace when you step into the bathroom and detect the neatly placed clothing.

Jungkook halts at the door, gripping its frame, a little shy as if you didn’t breathe each other in for the last couple of weeks and months. He’s looking at you, waiting for something, and when you raise an eyebrow in curiosity, he snaps out of whatever daydream he was in.

“Oh. Right,” he mumbles, cheeks flushed, “sorry. I’ll leave. Can heat up the food. Or, or do you wanna order in?”

“Anything’s fine.” He nods. Opts to walk away, big hand flattening his hair at the back. It takes a moment for your heart to riot as you watch him leave, immediately babbling, “Actually. I was—”

Returning within a moment, he looks alarmed. Less so when you point a thumb to the shower and suggest, “Do you wanna join?”

“You in the shower?”

No, doofus. Join to watch the washing machine unsoil your sweaty clothes.

You clear your throat. “Yeah?”

“I uhm… Is that okay?”

Goddamn. Redrafting life as you knew it, you said.

You just didn’t expect the two of you to still tip-toe around each other. Seems you still have a lot of adjusting to do.

You try to break the ice.

“Acting like I’ve never seen you naked.”

“No, I know,” he responds, “I was just thinking that you…”

You can’t quite decrypt what he’s trying to say, but you do perceive the flash of concern in his eyes. It’s a tiny glimpse, barely there; but you see it. And you think about it.

Try to understand, let moments pass — until you’ve grasped his thinking.

The night he helped you clean up was the last time you stood under a showerhead together; maybe he thinks you’re still connecting it to the night’s trauma or borderline dangerous intoxication. And perhaps you’re wrong.

But you still take a breath, and then segue, “Already took a shower, didn’t you?”

You know he did. He’s addicted to cleanliness, sensitive to scents; he hoards diffusers, skin care products and new underwear like a treasure. And showering is always the first thing he goes for, a beeline to the bathroom after work out sessions and intense summer days.

You follow up with, “It’s okay, if you did. I’ll just go alone and hurry to dinner, then?”

“No, no… No, it’s fine.” He starts his sentence fast, but slows down halfway through, awkwardly. “Of course I can join. What’s some extra refreshment, right?”

“That’s the reason, huh?” you mock, laughing when he shrugs his shoulder. “Keep acting like you’re not the biggest simp around.”

Your confidence boosts his own, too. The signature smile is soft, lips curved gorgeously, but the subtone of his words is teasing, and even a little cocky.

“Of course. I know, I know.”

“Come then.”

You offer a stretched hand, curling your fingers in and outwards, and he places his warm palm into it like a key to a lock. Albeit tense and nervous, your body feels good next to his. The telltale awkward signs of a new relationship don’t deter you from indulging in its sweetness.

So you’re not surprised at how quickly you undress, throwing each other’s clothes at the back of the washing machine and planting kisses whenever one of you bares their shoulder. Eyeing each other from bottom to top.

You think you ogle for a moment too long, though — and how could you not with the freaking silver chain dangling from his neck?

An exciting evening lies ahead, you can already tell.

It’s fresher now outside, and all of Jungkook’s windows are open. Despite the cosiness of the bathroom, you rush under the hot shower stream.

Only, it’s not as boiling as you’d like it to be. Jungkook starts and finishes his showers ice cold, so you screech when you meet water from the Antarctic. You jump on your spot, arms around your torso.

And when you allow yourself one single glance at him amidst the breathlessness, you notice that the asshole is doing it on purpose. Same old. Rouses core memories.

Jungkook wipes over your hair and your face, drenching them thoroughly. You only realise he’s smudged your mascara when he starts rubbing underneath your eyes gently, managing to get some of it off.

“Fuck,” you curse, “I forgot about that. Should I take it off first?”

The intention is to slip out, use one of his cleansing skin products and get the mess out of your face before stepping back to him. But you don’t make it far anyway; he yanks you back before your foot can even touch the mat.

And then, the moment passes in a blur.

Tense body back against his, he tugs you close. Holds both your wrists in front of your breasts, leaning in without a warning, and then — connects his dripping lips with yours.

If there was any space to gasp, you would. Instead, your fingers instantly dig into your hand, sharp nails scarring the skin. You move your fists, trying to touch him, but he holds you in place firmly.

That is, until his digits relax, trailing up your shoulder to your neck, jaw and then to your cheeks. Face in your grip, you let him control the pace. You find an anchor in his bicep, holding on; kissing isn’t enough.

You wish he could eat you up. Wish the tongue finally touching yours, swirling around it, was everywhere on your skin at once.

You feel a slight twitch underneath, right against your body; ready to devour, hopefully soon to explode. But Jungkook gasps for air when his lungs give out, allowing a break, backing away with your face still between his hands.

And then, he utters something surprising — something you didn’t expect in the heat of the moment at all.

“I was meaning to tell you something.”

“…Oh?”

“I’m uh. I’ve been meaning to tell you for days. I just never quite got around to it and we were so busy and tired all the time and—”

“What is it?” you break in, heart pounding at an unnatural speed. “I’m here now, so…?”

For a second, you expect this to take a whole different turn.

The database in your brain empties the moment you scour it for an answer, preparing yourself for molten knees and dissolving hearts. Or maybe, it’s already clarifying to liquid, jumping out of your chest and flowing down the drain along with the water.

But he doesn’t say what you anticipate. Though, what he does admit has your nerves glowing neon white anyway.

“So— the first night of my showcase. On my birthday?” he starts. You feel the muscles of your face change, and he sees it, immediately assuring, “No, no. Don’t worry. I was just gonna say that a guy came to me by the end of it? And—” 

He lets all of it sound like an unsure question. But you think you know where it’s going — you hold your breath under the already suffocating water.

“And?” you prod.

“And turned out Namjoon invited him, and he’s kiiiinda a big shot in the art business? Like, he’s a gallery collector, he said. He’d invest in my art and acquire it and have it showcased in bigger museums for more recogni— I know!”

Your mouth and eyes opened halfway through his quick explanation, fingers back in fists, pressing against his solid chest and then moving up to hook in his silver chain. You’re restless in the congested space, suppressing the high pitched sounds.

He puts his hands on your hips, snickering in joy as he says, “Be careful before you slip.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Thankfully I’m not, angel,” he shakes his head, bangs sticking to his forehead, “not this time, at least.”

You raise a hand to his pec, tapping against it, “Wait. So just so I understood correctly — they’re gonna put up your stuff there for an even bigger audience to see, yeah?”

“I mean, the gallery is definitely far bigger than the exhibition I participated in.”

“Oh my god, Jungkook, the exhibition already had a shit ton of visitors!”

He nods, proving a point.

You feel an electric current in your blood. Pride, that’s what it’s called, too. You sling your arms around his neck recklessly, nearly falling, but you can’t be bothered as you exclaim, “This is so— I don’t even know how to react, Kook!”

And who could convince a big-shot art connoisseur so quickly after graduation anyway? Jungkook’s god given talents are never praised for nothing — you knew it. Fucking knew it.

Won’t make it anywhere, your ass.

“That’s so fucking awesome.” You stare, out of breath all of a sudden. God, if there was a way to express your delight. “When is it happening? Are you selling the one you showcased?”

“I don’t know yet. And no. That’s too… personal to me.” You blink, nodding. Still overwhelmed with how his pieces made you feel — of course they’d hit even harder for the artist himself. “He wants something in a similar style, though. I’ll make something new for him.”

“What’s it gonna be?”

It’s a simple question. You swear it’s nothing too deep.

But Jungkook’s gaze changes. An amused, delighted expression replaces a neutral one, head tilting to the side just a little. His lips, already slightly swollen from the kiss, move up, eyes kind and sugary.

If you only knew how your small details affect him, too. How you looking at him like this, expectant eyes split wide, innocent and gentle, shoots an arrow to his heart.

You just don’t know.

He brushes the hair sticking to your cheek back and tells you, “You’ll see. I’ve been working on it these days, but. Will show it to you when it’s done.”

You can’t even be mad. If it was up to you, you’d probably wait for the big day, too — can’t spoil the surprise, need to cry tears of pride and joy in public.

So all you say, deep from the heart, is, “You’re the fucking coolest person I know.”

“Nah—”

“The coolest.”

“Funny,” he retorts, as bad at compliments as you; throws them back like a boomerang, “thought the same when I met you at the party last year.”

“…Gross.” That’s what you say. But you still shake your head; overwhelmed, smile plastered to your face and cheeks hurting. “God, Kook.”

And that’s all.

You keep holding his stare, finally too tired of the distance to endure any longer — and then lean in. You stop a couple inches away, watch his head angle more, mouth steering towards yours. The smile is mutual, fingers seeking a spot to settle on on each other’s bodies.

Your heart monitor would be wilding right now — the effect of your lips meeting clear as day behind your ribs. And this time, you don’t stop.

The push against his chest is immediate, his feet slowly tumbling backwards. His tongue burns hot against yours, your lower lip fitting perfectly in the gap between his lips. There’s a sharp hiss when his back finally touches the tiles, mouth open but not leaving yours.

Teeth soon clash, and you opt for more of his taste, well aware that you just cannot kiss more than you already are. His hands move up and down, never settling, both your lips harsh and impatient. Your tongues keep moving in patterns, thirst never quenched.

You break the kiss solely for oxygen purposes, but he uses the moment to let his palm wander from your face to your hair, grabbing a patch. One hand pushes against the small of your back, though soon dropping to your ass, fingers between your ass cheeks, teasing the clenching hole.

Fuck.

The moan isn’t intended, but very welcome — you love the sound of it as much as he does, followed by his own. An automatic reaction. His hips indulge in the tiniest movements, length jerking against your body; no more than an inch of his fingertip pushing into your ass.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you breathe, eyebrows furrowing, mewling against the corner of his lips. “More, now, please.”

It’s an attempt. Of course he won’t act that fast — you know him well enough. He’s been a soft gentleman often enough; but after holding back the past few days, missing it for weeks, you know it won't be easy on him either.

One of you will be on the brink of tears soon; until now, it’s usually been you.

You take a deep breath, agitated when he laughs. He retracts his hand, smoothing back his chaotic mane before leaning in for another peck. And that’s all it remains — interrupted immediately, saliva mixing with the shower water.

“I’m so fucking crazy for you,” he confesses; the shiver doesn’t hesitate crawling down your spine — neither does Jungkook, peppering your neck with kisses.

His actions are smooth — you let him do anything. Like, explore every little spot of your skin. From the softness of your face, down to the flesh of your ass, echoing hard when a flat hand slaps it out of nowhere.

You propel forwards, barely aware of your surroundings. The shower raining onto you is the only indicator of where you still are.

So when he turns you carefully, 180 until your back touches the tiles, you don’t realise his intentions for a moment. Only when he changes his approach, digging your shoulders hard into the wall, knocking you out of breath.

“Are you trying to—” you ask, but he interjects right away.

“Don’t question it this time, okay?” His face inches close again, teeth suddenly pulling and nibbling at your lip. “Just let us do. Lemme do, yeah?”

His chest presses against your tits before he backs away and palms your mounds, squeezing nearly painfully.

For only a heartbeat, though — he doesn’t stall further. Because another second passes before you’re turned in his grip, chest not touching his anymore, but the wall now. From behind you, he grasps your hips, dragging you back just a couple inches; enough to sneak his hand through.

“But whenever things get too much, you…”

You nod. Promise, “Will tell you. I will.”

“Good.” His cock pokes between your ass, and he spreads its cheeks. Lets the hardness rest between them, sliding up and down. “Gonna make you feel so good, though. Wanna make you feel so fucking good.”

Wow… wow, f—

Not that you were ever interested in it before, but…

Part of you wants him to shove it in anywhere. Wherever the fuck he wants. You’d endure all hour-long foreplay and pleas and tears for him.

And perhaps he’s thinking the same. Perhaps you even spoke it out loud — you wouldn’t be surprised if you did. But you choke on your spit when he says, “Missing the sex toys. Like… What do you think of new ones, hm? Someday, maybe. Like— like an anal pl—”

“Please,” you beg, “I’ll do fucking anything for you.”

Break in conversation. Then, “Holy shit.” He chuckles. Fuck — his voice is deeper now, isn’t it? “You’re being whiny. I thought you’re a badass business woman, but you’re so whiny.”

“Because— I can breathe when I work.”

“Ohh. And now,” he whispers, close to your ear, hand moving. Up and further up, stopping around your throat, as if he’s testing your statement. As if he could tell him anything about the state of your lungs. “Now we’re not as focused, right?”

“No thinking when I suck your dick.”

“Dammit. Really don’t wanna wait to fuck you numb.”

You’re shamelessly jittery, patience out the window. “Don’t then. Get to it now.”

“Nope. I know you’re not ready yet. And I’m not either… so—”

He steps closer, forcing your body further forward until your cheek is squished against the wall. His fingers leave your throat to find another target; something far more south, a lot more dangerous.

One small circle drawn around your clit, you gasp, hearing him ask, “You think you can come with just my fingers?”

“I don’t know. I honestly think I need—”

He chuckles, and you can’t help but laugh, too. You’re hilarious sometimes.

“You think you’re so smart. But we can still try, though.” He says it casually, as if the two of you don’t exactly know that he’s perfectly capable of pulling through. But his voice still softens when you don’t answer, “Hey. You wanna try, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Anything,” you convince him, “anything, Kook.”

“Good girl. The best, always.”

His touch vanishes. You let out a mildly confused sound, observing with an unfocused vision how he opens the shower door a little. He reaches for the towel on the washing machine, drying his fingers, other hand moving the shower head until it’s mostly wetting his own back.

It’s a tiny detail, really. You only told him once how action around the clit might become uncomfortable with hands priorly washed or wet, and it seems he remembered.

Your eyes shut when he returns to your bundle of nerves, massaging gently, skilled. It starts slow at first; you feel the hot wetness build in and around your entrance, the line between the shower water and your arousal fading.

Jungkook’s movements, calculated and systematic, only spur your body on. He’s always known what he’s doing; has analysed and explored what you want. How you want it.

It’s true heaven to you: the way he kisses your cheek. The way he draws moans out of you, the motions around your swollen bud rhythmic. Your back and limbs tingle; you don’t know what to do with yourself.

And when you can’t stand still anymore, Jungkook orders, “Stop that. You’ll break my jaw.”

“Sorry.”

Your apology is timid, tiny; he laughs. “You cutie… you’re adorable even in moments like these.”

You throw your head against his shoulder as if to oppose him, opening your eyes, looking straight into his eyes. Your eyebrows are kissing, tension between them, mouth agape.

And he adds, “Or maybe not.”

He lifts you up a bit, dragging your body along the wall — you didn’t even notice that you slid down this much, angled, ass darting out like this. But you also don’t mind the arm that rounds your torso, just underneath your tits, keeping you steady when he takes it up a notch and—

“Oh my god,” you squeak when he pushes two fingers in. “Yes, yes, please—”

The incoherent, random requests are his favourite. Most of the time, he knows better than you what you’re pleading for. Which is why he doesn’t stop this time; probably more in the mood to please you than tease you.

From this position, he can’t reach knuckles deep, but just enough to brush the walnutty spot inside. And to your surprise, the orgasm builds up fast; the first quiver takes over your knees, but you understand that this is nothing compared to what’s to come.

You press your hands to the wall, holding onto remnants of your sanity when he kisses your neck, and along your damp shoulders. His mouth is hot against your pulse, wet hair tickling under your jaw. He bites lightly; soothes the fleeting sting with his tongue. Vampiristic.

Like a sensual massage, well thought out, pornographic.

And then he picks up on pace. Whispers, “That’s right— we got this—”

He starts pumping into you; relishes your incomprehensible curses. The thumb over your clit and the impatience of his fingers inside are a dichotomy, and you don’t know what to focus on. Which is why you stop thinking altogether.

Jungkook takes a sharp breath, quiet whistling sounds included, and then groans into your ear when you do. He keeps his motions up diligently, fingers a bit deeper with each time your ass moves back an inch.

As an aid, he shifts his arm, too, pushing forward, palm pressing against your clit now.

And when you come, you melt. Nearly collapsing, you keep moving, on edge, every spot of your body in tremor. You can barely breathe; you’ve been nestled in the heat of the shower for way too long.

He notices your tremble in an instant, encourages, “Got it. Got you. Keep going, baby, c’mon.”

The peak is blissful; you don’t want to ever fall off the edge again. Want to remain in this starry, gorgeous ache. Your eyes could stay in the back of your head; the world may keep fading. And you don’t need to know where you are.

All you know is that your voice sounds odd, high when you pant, “Don’t go away yet.”

“I’m right here. Right here, got you,” he repeats, holding you upright.

Jungkook knows — knows how to get you from lowest lows to your highest highs. Today was as pleasant as a day at work can be; but if he’s ready to do all this to you on any other, worse day, too, you might never encounter grief again.

He scatters kisses all over your jaw when you’re done — busies himself as you catch your breath, swallowing, eyes closed. Once you’ve caught yourself enough to utter fragments of sentences at least, you tell him, “Something not human about you, Jeon.”

“Oh. Are we back to surnames now?” He cackles, soothing motions along your arms. “Are we gonna shake hands, too, once we’re done? Bow and say thank you?”

You shake your head, though the stupid smile doesn’t wait to spread on your face.

“You’re dumb,” you say.

“You make me dumb.”

He drops his touch, brushing your pussy again — maybe as a test. But you’re sensitive and vulnerable, closing your legs and opening your mouth in response. He’s sly; uses the moment to push two fingers in right away, pressing your tongue down.

And you, as challenge-accepting as ever, start sucking, tasting some of yourself. You wrap your hand around his, moving your head, chest still heaving from the exhaustion. Your eyes close slowly enough for him to see them roll back, a reaction to the images your brain creates.

Like, the thought of the member currently poking you replacing those digits. The prospect of emptying him entirely.

“Fuuuuck— wish my brain could take a picture of this and save it forever,” he says, voice strained.

You open your mouth, licking a strip along his finger, past the tattoo. “What’d you do with it?”

“Would… would bring it to the forefront of my mind,” Jungkook begins, reclaiming his hand and dragging it down to your waist, “and use it whenever you’re away.”

“Hmmm… and then?”

“Would just…”

He doesn’t continue. Only shakes his head, lifting his shoulders, stance desperate and wanting; maybe he’s even a little out of his mind.

You egg him on, “Show me if you can’t say it.”

It’s a surprise that he obliges, but then again, it’s not. You always forget just how weak he is — that his heart sits right there in your palms, his body a magnet to yours.

So you’re endlessly pleased when your eyes flit down to a hand around his dick. Stroking slowly, its head hard against your pelvis. And you manage to watch a tiny second longer until the floor beckons you towards it, down to your knees.

It’s uncomfortable immediately; slick and odd. But you’re distracted by your dry tongue, thirsting, ridiculously hypnotised by the cock dangling in front of you. And then his thighs… muscular and thick. You reach out to them, holding them, steering forwards.

Despite his delicate frailty, you don’t fare any better. Ready to bruise your knees like an obedient doll, eyes wide when you look up at him. You grip him softly, urging him to remove his hand, stroking in his stead.

You pass all pleasantries and hesitations, and dive in immediately — leading your mouth to the tip before wrapping your lips around it delicately. Determined, you let only a second pass, eager as you start moving right away.

Bobbing your head, you take him in as much as your gag reflex allows. He’s too big — it’s impossible to ever swallow him fully. But no matter how greedy you are, that’s it.

You don’t give into it all the way just yet.

Instead, you back away after another lick. Straighten your body, drawing in and repositioning until you can push your tits together around the stiffness.

His groan tumbles out of him broken, choked, a hand against the wall. His abs are rippling, bicep bulged, nipples tiny and perked. Dark brown. Eyes hazy.

You want to do so many fucking things to him — want to mount him. Pull his head back by his long strands. Want, need to kiss him, rub yourself on him, back and forth along his cock until his moans become uncontrolled. Sticky white cum sprayed over his tummy.

Your nails in your skin, yearning for more — that’s one of your billion thoughts.

Instead, you summarise your wants, whispering a single, simple, fucked out, “I…” You gulp down the knot. Shiver at your position, craving the hot water a little now. Then command, “Fuck my mouth.”

His eyes threaten to fall out of his head; like they always do. He knows it’s a constant reaction, too, it seems, because, “God. I’ll never get used to you saying this.”

“You better, though.”

“Right. Right…”

He caresses your face, pushes your hair back. Perhaps he’s had enough of the pace; because he soon reaches for your arms, compliant deer kicked out of his head as he forces your wrists up and crosses them against the wall.

One hand is all he needs to hold them in their place. One hand gripping them hard, disabling any movement of your arms.

You let out a strange, obscene sound, finding utter liking in this gesture.

But despite your pleasure, he still eases you into the process, the heart tattoo grazing your cheek. A touch so soft that you think he’s praising you, wordlessly and gently. Making sure you’re absolutely okay with whatever he does to you.

And you confirm it with another blink, stretching out your tongue, ready. Holding his gaze. Mesmerised and frustrated, he says, “You’ll kill me with the way you look at me.”

Jungkook fuels your confidence with vigour each time, eloquent through scorching heat, too. Because you don’t think you’ve ever smiled this self-assured before you knew him; or been certain about your power over others.

You used to be far more insecure than that, feigning ignorance and carelessness, but reevaluating your decisions every step of the way. Months ago, you could’ve never predicted such a shift in conviction towards yourself.

So it’s new to you, but invigorating at the same time, the grin you sport, the words you utter, “Killing you isn’t my intention,” when he doesn’t, you move your head towards the leaking head of his cock, awaiting destruction, “wanna make you feel more alive than ever.”

The breath tumbling out of his mouth is ragged, pinky finger twitching a tiny bit when you wrap your lips around the tip and then let it go with a plop again; like it’s a lollipop to you.

Your knees move closer to his feet, and he stretches his one hand to your shoulder, making sure you don’t get hurt on the slippery ground. But you’re far too distracted to appreciate the gesture just yet, even though you feel the faint tickling along your limbs.

“I got it,” Jungkook then says, back in charge, hands back on the protruding, thick veins.

He moves his hips forward, testing. You roll out your tongue once more, closing your eyes. Try to make more room in your mouth, despite knowing it’s a thing of impossibility. And to your chagrin, it takes only a few more seconds for you to be full already.

Taking in as much as your throat allows, you gag when you reach your limit, letting out a tiny cough, salivating. You still can’t move your arms; his fingers are like chains around your wrists.

“That enough?” he asks. “I’ll stop here, okay?”

You nod. Wait. When he doesn’t move, you start pulling back, and then push forward again immediately. Your tongue is drenched in absolute filth; the spit trails down your chin, and you wish it was his.

But that’s not the point of it all — you’re not supposed to comfortably bop your head back and forth, are you? Despite the daily softness between the two of you, you want to be used. Want all his greed.

And he knows. Asks, “What do you need?”

Of course you can’t speak. He’s aware of that; stares down at you as you breathe heavily around him, mouth stuffed to the brim. Cheeks aching from the circumference.

You moan around him, parting your lips, moving your tongue from under his dick to swirl it around it a little. You move back, tasting the liquid minimally dripping out of his slit. Fuck, you want all of it, in thick, sickening ropes, in loads and buckets.

“Won’t even back away to speak,” he teases, words contradictory, because he won’t allow you to take a break either. Shoves himself inside again; you’re embarrassed that you only manage half of his length. “The dedication is hotter than it should be—”

Full, coherent sentences. How?

But even his string of thought breaks when he starts in earnest. Filling up your mouth once more, as much as he can and then a bit more for good measure. You adjust to his movements, suck down immediately.

You don’t care about the loss of voice later; you want to eat him up entirely.

His strokes grow harder by the second, rock hard inside you. You move your head until the head pokes against the inside of your cheek, and the tight wetness affects him, his knees buckling by one single inch.

“Easy…” he whispers, shaking his head, water drops landing on your face. “Fuck. Wanna have you hanging off the bed one day. Wanna see my cock ram your throat…”

Easy, he said. He’s definitely not being easy on you, though. Not with these admissions. Not with his motions.

The thrusts aren’t just hard, but deliberate and controlled, too. Your head keeps pushing back, lightly touching the wall. You’re far over sucking his dick, way too obedient and submissive to define it like that.

No, you’re being fucked. Gagging and choking around him, sucking in the spit whenever only his tip remains inside, sounds lewd and specific. Coming from the back of your throat, wet, hot and bothered.

God, you wish you were strong enough to take him all the way down to the base, licking at his balls, feeling his twitching dick thumping at the very far back. But you guess this is more than enough for him, too.

Because he holds your wrists harder, a rope around them, digging into your skin. The free hand wipes your hair away again, your body sweat-soaked while the shower water still trickles down his back.

He holds you there; then reaches for your nipple; pinches it hard over your heavily heaving chest, pleased when you open your eyes and look up at him. Waterline damp — the dangling chain might just be one of the reasons for that.

“Bit more,” he mumbles, and you think he’ll surrender right there, inside your mouth.

Which is why you sit up straighter, more determined, licking at the underside of his cock when he drags it out a little. His balls hang in your face and you reach for them, tongueing, hungry, not wanting him to move away now.

He doesn’t. Not yet. Relief courses through you, swallowing around his thickness again. Rolling your eyes back, hearing subtle “Doing well, so well, angel”s, ignoring the pain in your arms as he holds them upright.

You hollow your cheeks when he buries himself in deep, struggling when he stops right there. He doesn’t move; your eyes well up harder. All air enters and escapes through your nose, and you’re shaking, holding his stare as he keeps his cock in place, absolutely still.

That is, until you can barely breathe anymore, nails digging into your palms, arms trying to escape. He doesn’t say a word yet, only lets your hands drop. Your shoulders crack a bit, and you shake your arms, filling up your lungs, your palms next to his feet.

His cock is covered in your spit when you look again; your gaping mouth and chin similarly drenched.

And only when your head stops spinning, does he hold his hands towards you, urging you to take them as he says, “Sorry, baby. You did so well, I…”

You grip his fingers feebly, getting up on weak knees. Instead of holding onto your hands, he soon wraps an arm around your body, pulling you up before he asks, “Less next time?”

“No,” the word comes out as a squeak, throat already affected, “I’ll always tap if I feel it’s too much. I promi— promise.”

“Good,” he praises, a kiss to your damp forehead. He turns the water off. “That’s all I want, baby. Look at me.”

You’re already exhausted, staring down, fatigue fuelled by the hot water. Your eyes flutter open as you meet his gaze, and he puts a hand to your cheek, thumb on your swollen lower lip.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he compliments; his hand must be heating up under your touch, “did you know? So sweet and stunning. It makes me sick.”

“Thought I was the only one. You…” He looks at you, and you hold him tight, smiling about your joke in advance. “You have such an effect on me, it makes me wanna throw up.”

Right. So in love, it makes your stomach turn.

“Please don’t,” he pleads, conjuring a tender eye smile. The wide grin is unreal. “And let’s get out of here. We can’t keep standing here.”

“Waste of water.”

“Yes, waste of water. That, too. And I should have some lube in the bedroom.”

Of course he’s as impatient as you — although you’re almost a hundred percent sure you could do without that stuff easily. The insides of your thighs are slippery, and you’re certain the shower wasn’t the sole reason for that.

Your legs feel weird, your body heavy when you finally get out. The cosy bathroom is filled with steam and heat, but at least you can breathe easier here than under the piping hot water.

The mirror is fogged up; you glance into it to check your state, but recognise nothing but your vague form. You wipe a stripe the size of your hand along it as you walk past, halting at the door. And when you look back, Jungkook is making quick, brief work on picking up the clothes you haphazardly threw to the side before.

“You don’t wanna do this later?” you ask, still fond.

It’s just him cleaning up the floor, but… you enjoy watching him do mundane things. You might never be able to explain why, but you do.

“Just throwing them into the washing machine. Will turn it on later,” he answers.

He straightens his body with a sigh when he’s done, sniffling as he usually does. His eyes are hidden behind his long hair, so he lifts both his hands to brush the soaked tresses back. The muscles of his arms are mountainous and firm. Tattoos ending at his shoulder.

He’s indescribably pretty like that. Looking up, lips parted, jaw chiselled.

You observe him for a bit longer, gaze trailing down his body. Small nipples, broad and sculpted pecs, six painfully visible rectangles of abs. Cock still mostly awake.

Fuck.

Crossing your legs, you bite your lips, one hand on the door handle. You take in the domesticity. The moment might be subtle and casual, but something about it is incredibly homely.

How you speak to each other, and how his washing machine is cleaning both your clothes. It’s the little things, isn’t it?

Your eyes are fond when you say, “Whenever it does happen… I can already imagine all of it clearly.”

“Hm?” He blinks at you. “All of what, baby?”

“Of being here with you. All the time.” His motions stop. He drops his arms, a strand falling back into his face, but he doesn’t care. Glances at you for a couple seconds until you smile and nod towards the door. “Let’s go.”

But it seems he changed his mind in this split second that you turn to the exit.

Because all of a sudden, just as he did before, he tugs you back. And just like before, you land against the wall, having him staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time. His voice is a whisper, enchanting, “Okay… you know what. Forget it.”

“Huh?”

“Fuck lube, okay?” His eyes are glued to your lips. Then to your pupils. He looks lost. “We can manage. Don’t need the bedroom… just you. Want you right now.”

“Jungko—”

You don’t anticipate it — so it draws a small moan out of you when his fingers suddenly graze between your legs, digging in for just a moment. Fingering you for a split second as you gasp — and then they disappear again.

He moves in to kiss your cheek. Just a peck first. Then his lips open against your neck, hand moving up your body and pushing your tit up. His tongue soon joins the fun, darting through his parted lips, sucking your tits hard. Biting, groaning, moaning.

“Jungkook.” You push your touch through his hair as he kisses his way further down, nibbling at your sides, and you whine, “Don’t wanna wait, Kook…”

His eyes are closed and his voice hushed, raspy and deep as he says between kisses, “I’ll be gone for a moment, baby. You’ll barely notice, I promise.”

Strange how he means distanced from your kiss, not from your body. Strange how you miss each other while in the same room, but not melted into each other.

You’re losing your mind. Throwing your head back, ruining your hair against the tiles. Eyes droopy and hazy, mind turning in various directions as you relish each touch and peck. Your body relaxes; all the weight of the world off your shoulders.

Jungkook fondles your body, caresses all of you, planting kisses on your tummy, your waist, your pelvis. Continues to tug at the flesh of your thighs with his lips. It feels like a massage, not painful but gentle. Careful as he hoists up one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder. 

And then… he starts.

His tongue flashes out to your clit. Parts your folds. It’s difficult from this position, but his pointy wet muscle paints patterns over your pussy. And you reel.

Jungkook truly is an artist. Knows to make you mewl, turns your breaths laboured. You move your hips, guiding his face closer with your hand in his hair, slowly riding it. The French kisses, the brush against your thighs… he’s…

God.

“God,” you echo, “I love this, I—”

He’s feasting. Letting out alluring sounds, spurring you on, and you almost topple over the edge. But Jungkook knows what he’s doing — leaves you yearning, moving away and up to you.

When he said he’d be gone for a moment, he truly meant it.

Your lip quivers when he looks at you, ordering a soft, “You’ll come together with me.” He raises your chin. “Okay? You and I together. Always.”

Must be a hidden message. He’s not just talking about sex anymore, is he? But him and you in one bubble, separated from the world. Nothing but you, you and you.

You barely wait another second. Instead, you immediately lurch forwards, initiating a kiss beyond sinful from the start. Teeth clashing, tongues feral. For a couple seconds you breathe into each other, letting out odd noises, his hand pulling your leg back up again and pinning it against the wall.

You’re on your tippy toes when his cock teases your entrance, his lips soon on your shoulder again. Cold chain brushing your skin. He’s sucking harshly, guiding his dick inside with determination. Sheer impatience is palpable in his touch and audible in his sounds.

The head of his dick parts your folds, diving in; and you let out a moan so lustful that he grows downright desperate against your shoulder. Standing here like this is hard, too; so he puts his palms on your ass, commands—

“Jump once.”

“What?”

“Jump,” he repeats, “I’ll hold you. Want you, please.”

“Okay…” you mumble. You put your hands on his broad shoulder, readying yourself, “Okay.”

And then you do — immediately wrapping your legs around him. And he lets you fall slowly, body pressed against yours, so you’re sandwiched between him and the wall; so he can guide his hardness back to your cunt.

You drop onto it slowly, carefully. Impaling yourself on him, inch by inch penetrating your insides. The more you take in, the deeper the crease between your eyebrows. And when he’s bottomed out, you feel like… yourself again?

Because what moment is more intimate than this? What moment allows you to crawl out of your shell more than this?

Even if in a crude sense, this is yet another definition of home. And every definition can be traced back to him.

“You feeling alright?” he asks, and you nod immediately.

“Is a bit weird, but…” you hold onto him, one hand moving to his face. You don’t finish your sentence; only nod, exhaling against his lips.

“Can I start?”

Another nod; and then he starts pumping in. Slowly in and out; you’re firmly in place against the wall, slipping just a little. His hands engulf your ass again — his strength is mind-numbing, and his sounds loud as he splits you in two.

Your eyes shut for a mini moment, and when they crack open again, they’re met with the still mirror. It’s fogging up again, yet still clear enough to make out Jungkook’s back; the form of his body. Your thoughts tangle up.

You’ve seen him shirtless a million times before, fully bare — but it might be the first time you’re enjoying this very perspective. And the entirety of him… leaves you gasping. Butt naked, ass muscles flexing, the triangle shaped back smooth. Where do his guts even fit?

They’re a blessing, those reflections, catching the way he’s standing, ramming into you. And then you, burying your nails into his shoulder blades, expression fucked out, body moving up and down the wall. Having things done to you by him.

You’re so fucking lucky.

You mutter, “Kook…”

“Yes, baby.”

“You look so good… so…”

“Mmmh, you do, too,” the sentence starts in a clear tone, but morphs into a whisper, “just… can’t see enough of you… shit, babe—”

He leans in, parting your lips with his, your tongues touching as he delivers a rough jab just once. And that’s when things stop working for you.

Because soon enough, you’re swaying to the side, nearly falling; as his protective instincts kick in, immediately holding you, his cock jumps out. And he shakes his head, pecking your temple once, and then deducts, “Okay. This won’t do.”

“Hmmm,” you hum in agreement, weak on your legs, “bad idea for sure.”

“Hold up.”

He’s quick to turn you around, thoroughly in charge of your body tonight — you’re fully under his mercy. Ready to kneel and bend for him. And Jungkook, understanding your boundaries, gives you all you need — knows what to do, knows when to stop.

And you keep handing over control; more so when he pushes you over the sink, stating, “Okay. Looks easier.” A pause. “Looks so much fucking better, too.”

Wish you could see. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re tense.

He leans down to kiss your back. His dick pokes between your ass cheeks again, slipping down and further down until it makes itself home between your nether lips again.

It falls into it in one fell swoop, swiftly, as if it’s no effort at all — guess it never is.

And god, does the position feel heavenly.

Balls deep inside; the first angle that allows full unhinged, animalistic mode.

But he still starts out slow; with long strokes and a hand in your hair. You tumble backwards a little, urging him to move too, lifting your ass higher and pushing your legs together for maximal effect.

Allowing more tightness for him; more friction for you.

“I… missed fucking you so much,” he says between thrusts. “You feel unreal.”

You guess you do. He does, too. Maybe the two of you need a reminder that this is all too real; perhaps a tantalising equivalent to a wake-up-pinch.

So you suggest, “Fuck me harder, Kook.”

“Hmm… want that?”

“Been waiting so fucking long.”

And while a lover of patience and anticipation — who is he to reject your wishes after the entire ordeal occurring in this room? The two of you have dragged out this moment plenty.

So he listens fast; soon using your neck as leverage as his inked fingers wrap it smoothly. Agreeing, “It’d be my literal pleasure, babe.”

God, he’s a dumbass — but you can’t physically react. Too caught up in something else; storing the laughter and jokes for later.

Because he picks up on pace, not too much right away; but enough for his hips to slap against your ass. Enough for you to be catapulted forwards with a whine, cheek pressing to the glass.

You lift your hand, accidentally wiping again, but only manage a trail, hand sliding down. From behind, you hear a hoarse praise, “Looks so fucking hot,” he draws a sharp breath, nearly hissing, “I promise I’ll be careful, just…”

He pulls at your hair. Shoves his cock inside rougher, face closer to you, lips to your cheek. Swallows hard enough for you to hear, and then, “Tell me if it’s too much. Am careful until I can’t be, baby.”

Until he loses control. He says it right before he drops all inhibitions and — goes feral.

You squint your eyes shut, calling out his name; the word echoes in the small room, and for just a second, you worry the neighbours might hear. And then right away, you stop caring again.

Because you want this man. Now and later and forever; want him like this, want him in any way. This isn’t just sex to you — if that’s what you wanted, you’d download an app like your freshman self used to.

No.

No matter how obscene, there’s meaning in every one of your touches; in every stroke, in every word, in every single time you lose yourself in him.

Your stomach twists as he jackhammers into you; you’re craving proximity, craving all his attention. Want all of his emotions and touches raw and merciless. Want to see him.

Although, when your shut eyes open, you only see blurry forms in the mirror moving, him behind you. He squeezes your neck; you see that much before he slides it down your body, straight to your clit, no detours.

He pushes his knee up for a second, touching the edge of the sink and balancing on one leg, but drops it again soon. The white painted, stainless steel of the sink, previously cold on your tummy, burns against your skin now. A chafing feeling.

Jungkook draws more forms against your clit, but then retracts his hand; instead, squishing your tits, indecisive where to touch. But it’s the last move he makes before he straightens his body, palms on your ass until he spanks just once and…

Pulls out again.

What?

“Look at me, sweetheart,” you register.

You pant, fingers clutching the sink and gulping down the tiredness before you manage a turn. Your eyes land on his dick first; it’s fully drenched in your arousal, so unbreakably stiff.

He whispers again, “Look at me,” but the moment you do, he doesn’t withhold your stare for too long. Instead, his hands are back on your cheeks, drawing you close, seeking your lips. His never-satisfied thirst matches yours; you want to remain here and freeze time.

With your arms around his neck, he guides you towards the washing machine, pushing the clothes further aside. He helps you get on it, but you argue immediately, “This could be dangerous, right? Shouldn’t sit here, I think… might break…”

“It’ll be okay,” he says, making himself comfortable between your legs, pushing them apart with his thighs. Two fingers hold your chin, lips ghosting over yours. “Is a cheap ass thing… want a new one anyway.”

You wonder if he’ll say that about all the furniture he’ll fuck you on. Because observing his eyes, you know that he will — will soil every inch of his apartment within, what you anticipate, a short period of time.

But unfortunately for the washing machine, you’re too weak to reject the offer.

So you hold him tight, jostling him closer to you as you ask, “Yeah?”

“Mhmmmm.” The word drowns in your moan when his cock glides back in; when will you ever get used to this? “Don’t worry… won’t break as badly as we will.”

Well, fuck.

The ridges of his cock drag just right along your walls, the angle making your mouth water. Your cunt is burning; and he still dares to ask, “Okay like that?”

“More than okay, Kook… more than—”

He always screws you numb; barely ever lets you finish your sentences. Your moans have become a constant interruption, along with the goddamn things he says, “Your pussy is so good. So, so good.”

And then he’s back making out with you, sweatier than before. His body is enticingly warm, muscles working on you. Both his and your hair sticks to the nape of the neck or your back, and you hold onto him, keening against his lips.

Then, you lean back for a second, keyed up as fuck, propping up your body with your arms. Your palms press against the back of the machine, and he inches close to explore the bare skin of your torso. His chain skims your nipples, as if on purpose; and he kisses you here, there, everywhere.

Neck, clavicles, tits, jaw.

Perspiring without an end, all of this could be gross. But instead, you feel hyped up, sexy as never before. Dizzy at the sight of his golden skin, the small beads of sweat spreading on it.

It takes one or two more minutes of this insanity until things come to an eventual end. A glorious end, that is — filled with deep moans, squealed calls of names, unrhythmic thrusts that fasten for the finale.

“I’ll come,” Jungkook states, and you shoot back up to him, holding his head against the mounds of your tits. He kisses between them, breathing irregular, words muffled, “Gonna come so hard, what the f—”

And when he does, you lose all coherent thoughts immediately. Not that you could think before — but his uncontrolled exclaims already make you wish for a whole new round. Nevermind that your pussy is wrecked and beaten.

Vocal as ever, he finishes with deep shoves, slowing down with each second. His lips remain open between your collarbones, and you feel his eyebrows draw together. Thick strings of hot cum filling you up, your cunt tightens.

And somehow, after all this, he still finds the energy to sneak his hand between your bodies, blindly seeking your clit until he finds it. Familiar circles render you breathless, even though they’re lazy — but picking up on intensity when he leans back, still breathing hard.

He looks absolutely done — still fucking the rest of him into you. But you’re moaning and groaning, and he’s far from giving up as he says, “Come with me, baby.”

Honestly, he doesn’t need to tell you. You’re already calling and blurting out random words, already limp. Wrapping your legs around his torso with the tiny remaining energy you have left, absolutely insane.

Jungkook kisses you one last time. And you let the build up in your lower tummy and pussy proceed; up and up and up to the peak — until he delivers one last stroke, cock already softening, finger on your nub diligent and…

You milk his dick in its entirety. Your pussy clenches and unclenches. Random figures swim in your vision, flashy behind your eyelids. Limbs trembling, body a mess and fingers hooking into his chain, you only notice now that you’re repeatedly whispering his name.

Winding and crying. Trying not to tug too hard, to break the jewellery, but still urging him closer, closer.

You’re shivering, surviving the vertigo, breathing stagnant. Trying to control it. Quivering like fucking crazy, not feeling your legs.

Also hating how his cum is dripping onto the damn washing machine. In your hazy mood, you laugh a little.

It takes a bit of time for the two of you to calm down, to dim the adrenaline in your nerves. Your chests rise and fall in unison, still clutching to the embrace. His skin is flushed, yours hot, skin tingling with the lingering heat of the passed passion.

And when he finally moves back, looking at you, you see half a dozen things in there. Satisfaction and vulnerability among them. Maybe even a hint of mischievousness, proud of whatever just happened; happy with the emotions it conjured.

Stars in his eyes. Contentment, composure and affection at last.

A pleasant stillness follows, the world outside the bathroom nonexistent. The aftermath of the steamy encounter lingers until you break the silence after all.

“When the hell,” you start, throat dry, “did you get so broad?”

“…What?”

“You just. You looked endless in the mirror. You’re so—”

Amused, he displays a grin as sly as you adore. He tsks and then mocks, “Stop drooling.”

“You first.”

His chuckle is throaty; a result of the constant exclaims and the absolute dehydration. You give the two of you a moment to collect saliva on your tongue, to swallow and wet your cords.

Your fingers paint an invisible, light pattern on his skin; tracing his tattoos is one of your favourite things to do. You jest, “That’s a good way to destress.”

He arches an eyebrow, then rolls his eyes — but the devotion towards you behind the gesture is irrefutable. It carries into his words, no matter how playfully mocking his tone or his sighs, “Everything for the princess.”

“So,” you pause, lips curling into a soft smile. “Is this what I’m gonna be getting for the rest of my life?”

You see it immediately. The explosion in his eyes; the burst of stars in the depths of his pupils. Clear as the night sky, fond and sweet and magical. Guess you spoke big words for sure.

“…The rest of your life, huh?” he asks.

“No?”

“Is that what you want?”

Ever-the-boomerang, you gauge his reaction, closing the distance between you. Lips barely apart, you throw back again, “Don’t you?”

You don’t need to glance through his ribs, lungs, blood and skin; you see the swelling around his heart. Emotions swimming in it in abundance. You see all of it right in his eyes.

And his voice proves it; delicate and quiet, “Baby… you make my heart drop to my stomach all the time. Do I not look at you like I want a rest of my life with you?”

Gosh. You’re too weak for this.

“Look at me like that more often,” you answer, breathing against him, eyes dancing with delight, “maybe I’ll believe you then.”

“Huh,” he makes, letting out an entertained huff, “brat. Maybe later. Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed for now, alright?”

Right. You forgot you’re still here. Snapping back into reality is always a task.

Of course it is.

Because your world is a cocoon; you don’t want to leave it just yet. And maybe, somewhere in the near future — you won’t have to anyway.

Jungkook and you don’t waste minutes doing formalities tonight. No flickering candle flames; no organised set up of your table. You dim the lights, snatching a lamp from his bedroom and rely on it along with the TV’s brightness.

You filled your plates and stomachs with a dish he’s wanted to show you for a while. It’s some special Jeon recipe — limited to him specifically, not his family. The brief cut in your relationship kept you from the meal, but watching him fiddle with the pots and cutlery was worth the wait after all.

He’s still proud of it; you’re filled to the brim, sick to the core, but the noodle-Buldak-mayo-perilla-oil-combination introduced the night just perfectly.

Your body is limp against his after dinner, bloated. A mutual agreement concluded that watching a movie might be the easiest activity you could indulge in to further destress. So you cuddle up, eyes droopy as you wait for the Netflix logo and thump to subside.

You let the username float by, though unable to suppress your giggle. Your back shakes against him, his hand halting mid-air, remote control in it, and you comment, “Letjungcook7. You’re such a dork.”

“Why?” You look back, met with raised eyebrows and round eyes. “Do you not like it?”

“I love it. Don’t you ever dare change it.”

He tuts, trademark smirk tilted; responds, “And don’t you ever change your Sunny Baudelaire icon.”

“God, she’s an iconic baby,” you groan, enthusiastic; your hands gesture to the TV, Baudelaires nowhere in sight, “I will never shut up about this show.”

“That’s why you’re not allowed to change it. Kinda cute how much you love it.”

“Jungkook,” you tug at his unoccupied arm, placing his wrist and palm over your belly button, “would you ever rewatch it with me?”

His hand rubs gently over your shirt, and then drops until his fingers are toying with your — his — jogger’s strings. “I’m a pro at rewatching. I’m down.”

You whisper a dragged celebratory word, eyes back to the screen. He’s scrolling through the genres fast, barely inhaling the titles and summaries. And when he skips three more of the stuff you’d usually settle on, you say, “Don’t think you’ll find anything on there.”

Ironically enough, he answers, “We’ve barely looked. Look. Knives Out’s second part is on there.”

“I just watched it recently. Hmm, what about that Poe movie with Christian Bale?”

On cue, he passes it three seconds later, only stopping on it for a moment before he voices, “Hmm…”

You wait. Drag out another second. Then conclude, “Okay, you’re not feeling it. Got it. Something else?”

“What about Disney?”

“What about scrolling until we fall asleep?”

The hand still busy with the strings moves up to your sides, pinching you lightly. You flinch, hard enough to nearly break his nose, overdramatic by nature. Amidst your commotion, you hear him say, “Don’t mock me. I’ll kick you from the couch.”

“I’ll just stay on the floor then.”

“Angel, I swear.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

But you’re not.

Because the bicker continues for another ten minutes, remote control snatched every now and then, ideas suggested and immediately rejected.

Jungkook admits his guilty pleasures merely a couple minutes later, and you conjure all your patience and discourse abilities to explain why you can’t watch The Notebook or Titanic anymore.

But once Dion’s soprano voice builds a nest in a lobe of your brain, you give in, half laughing, half agitated as you tackle the 90s classic — only for Jungkook to click out again.

“It’s no fun when we’re not both ready to watch it.”

“Dude…”

More scrolling, you guess.

Five more minutes pass — and eventually, Titanic deserted, you sing the songs of Coco instead. You expect Jungkook’s attention and lips to shift halfway through the movie, tracing down your neck or along your sides – a standard for a weekday movie night.

But to your surprise, he powers through it with minimal dialogue and wide, focused eyes. Palm above your ribs, moveless under your shirt and his cheek pressed against your heartbeat, you assume he’s fallen asleep by the time the credits roll.

Until – you feel warm liquid wetting your shirt, a sniffle combining with his shaky breath before you ask with your own damp eyes, “Babe— are you crying?”

His answer is delightfully unashamed and immediate, “I’ve never watched Coco without crying.”

The soft strains of the movie’s soundtrack won’t let your eyes dry either; but Jungkook seems far more into it than you. Adoration burns hot in your veins.

“You never told me that!” you exclaim.

“Because it’s not worth telling. Should be a given — these movies are made to cry to!”

You giggle through your tears. Jungkook’s mind works in miraculous ways — non-judgemental, yet probably flashing a side-eye to those who do not partake in a sob fest during Coco or Encanto.

“I honestly love how you’re not a toxic male at all, you know?” you point out; you feel a huff against your chest.

At least he’s smiling through the brief sadness, too.

You crane your neck, not quite turning around just yet, and watch him rub his cheek clean off the tears. Not that his eyes have stopped welling up, though.

For a moment, you observe, staring at the swollen, pouty lower lip. His pupils glimmer in the TV’s light, long locks brushed back; half of them tied in a tiny ponytail.

You could overthink every detail of his face. Tell him all about his everlasting elegance. Instead, you only lower your voice, soft as you say, “You look pretty even when you cry.”

“Thank you,” he returns, though fingertips still work at the liquid, and you can’t help but laugh.

You can barely believe that’s the same confident beast who was pressing you against cool tiles just an hour ago. The stark contrast baffles you.

You’re amused when you question, “It really affects you so much?”

“Everything about it!” he immediately argues. You expand your eyes. “The way Coco looks at Miguel at the end. And that freaking moment when she meets her parents at the end. Does it not affect you?”

“Oh, of course it does,” you defend, “I’m a story girl. I’ll cry reading and watching these things, for sure.”

“And then the lyrics,” he continues, in his element a hundred percent, “the thought of remembering someone even after they’re gone and far away…”

The further his sentence progresses, the more the words blur. His voice is feeble, hoarse when he gets to the final syllables. When he pauses between his rambling to draw a breath, you hear a heartbreaking shake in his inhale.

And the exhale sounds like a quiet sob.

You turn back immediately, pressing onto the pause button, remote control still in his hand. The credits darken the room as opposed to the movie’s colours before. You see a damp trail along his cheek, eyelashes wet.

Your smile vanishes as you stare a little longer. The blanket falls from your chest into your lap when you lift your arm from under it, hastily drying his tears with your thumbs. Just slightly, he leans into the touch, but his face soon falls, an attempt to hide.

You ask, “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook isn’t embarrassed of tears — you figured this out without him admitting it to you. But he’s embarrassed of the guilt he feels; acknowledging it when he speaks.

“It’d just be nice,” hands holding his face drop; you touch his chest, “to make up with the family like this. They made it look easy.”

You keep looking. Bewildered, unable to answer for seconds too long. You blink until the words sink in properly, incapable of more than, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“No, no,” he argues, shaking his head, “I mean. Who am I to tell you something like this?”

“It’s okay. Your worries are legit worries, too. Look at me,” you reassure, prompting him to meet your gaze. “You’re not a bad person. Okay? It’s… so terrible that you think you are.”

“I fucked up.”

It dawns on you once more that he firmly believes that; causes a searing sting. The process is neither a smooth nor a quick one — you know it’ll take a while for him to convince him otherwise. To drop his current beliefs about himself.

“You didn’t,” you refute, firm certainty and conviction in your voice. “That’s not how a fuck-up is defined, I promise you. And those who are actually wrong probably know, too.”

“It’d just be nice,” he starts again; the shrug of his one shoulder doesn’t distract you from the misery and self-loathing in his eyes, “if he called at least.”

“I know. I don’t know, I… do you think you could call instead?”

Jungkook’s lashes brush his skin, the apples of his cheeks not as round and squishy as usual. Yet, the sadness makes him look younger, softer.

You sigh; a warm blanket isn’t enough anymore. You need to wrap him in the comfort of the world — ideally, in his father’s care.

Jungkook opens his mouth for another argument, but then holds it in, says after another moment of contemplation, “Actually… There’s a gathering coming up. I’ll see my people there, so… I don’t know. Trying won’t hurt, right?”

“It never does.”

His eyes start unfocusing. You recognise it in the way he glues his gaze to a point on the glass table, unblinking, staring nowhere in truth. You keep your attention on him for another second, hoping he’ll look at you, even if forlorn.

But when he doesn’t, you wrap your arms around him instead. His chest is calmer against your head now, breathing as soft as the palms that find your back. He presses you into his body by mere inches; you barely notice.

Your fingers draw shapes on his arm, a subtle consoling gesture. In the background, you hear the song fade, volume lower now. The movie soon transitions to something else; you don’t pay any mind to it, drowsy and distracted in his embrace.

But then your mind wanders; to the man keeping Jungkook’s thoughts hostage. You remember the conversation the two of you had last Sunday. You recall the way your hand held his broken heart together.

You wish it was as easy as a small scar — an echo of whatever once transpired, but also a reminder that it healed.

Then, for a second, you think of your own wounds. How they still need to be cured, too. How years and time alone won’t fix issues; you need to tackle them actively — maybe at some point, the two of you can.

You laugh softly against his shirt, burying between his pecs; joking, “We’re perfect for each other. Dysfunctional families and whatnot.”

His chuckle is still a light tremble, but genuine enough for you to celebrate. His hands push a little harder into your back; your body shifts up his lap, butt half on his thigh. Eyes shut, still sniffling.

Jungkook wraps around you like a soothing force, an invisible bubble. A bandage despite carrying all bruises. You sigh in contentment, head dizzy from exhaustion; waking up just when he blurts a question again.

“You really think that, right? That I’m not a bad person.”

You crack your eyes open a slit.

You understand. Someone who overthinks needs multiple repeated reassurances — you’re the same.

So you nod against him, guaranteeing, “You’re… kind of ridiculously amazing. You’re someone who gives all those people hope who don’t believe in humanity anymore.” Pause. “And I admire you in every way. So much.”

He doesn’t respond. You wait. Further dead silence, interrupted by the soft sounds of the TV. You lick your lower lip, dropping your gaze to where your thumb rubs his wrist. Tracing a vein.

His mellow voice reverberates, a melody to your eardrums when he whispers, “We’d do this so much if you were here all the time.”

“Crying in each other’s arms, huh?”

He clicks his tongue, accompanied by the grin you’re certain graces his face, even if you can’t see. You hear it in his voice all the more, “Sure. Also, have dinner together. Shower and watch movies together. Laugh and cry.”

You smile. “I still can’t believe it, you know? That you want this… and me at all.”

“You feel that, too, yeah?” Fingertips move up your spine, between your shoulder blades and then to the nape of your neck. Tickling, grazing gently. “I promise I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t truly feel all that, though.”

“What’s all that?”

“Just.” His chest rises. Then falls. “Everything.”

One of your heartbeats freezes, you’re sure. And when it comes back alive, you think — maybe he doesn’t need the world’s comfort after all. Or his father’s care. Maybe yours is enough right now.

But then again.

You’d be damned if you kept your traumas intact. Or his. You took each other as you came long ago — as vulnerable human beings, with a whole lot of baggage. With all the injuries on your heart.

Yet, this isn’t a state you want to accept. For neither of you.

Your unwavering belief remains steadfast — that one day, things need to become… okay.

So you gulp down all the pain, lighting a candle in your chest, and say,

“It’s not over yet, baby.”

Zara keeps yelling orders around. Her voice, usually collected and tender, is agitated today. You can barely imagine how many little tasks, how many stressed phone calls must be overrunning her.

You establish a distance between your device and your ear, protecting your hearing with one eye squinting shut. And when she returns to the conversation, you exhale through the nose.

“Sorry. You were asking—”

“How’s it look?” you repeat.

“I mean, everyone’s stressed,” she responds, clearly frustrated; as if it should be obvious to you. And it is; but you’ll spiral, too, if you don’t keep your calm, at least. “A lot to do.”

“You’re sure you don’t need me to come earlier?”

“All good, love. You’re not a manager yet,” she stops her speech to mumble something to another co-worker, imaginary hands jam packed with preparations for the press conference. “But when you are, you won’t know what to do with all the stress.”

“Great outlook into a potential future.”

“I just mean you should enjoy things while they last.”

Zara isn’t the only one wandering up and down the building to assure perfection. She’s only one of the big mentors, managers to handle everything; responsible for the catering and content to be presented at the conference.

Her team stands firmly behind her, but you don’t blame her for still allowing her head to steam. Of all busy people in their blazers and slacks, however, she’s been the only one to spare some time for you.

You’re grateful for her enthusiasm and support. You smile as you ask, “Do you think I can answer everything the way I intend to?”

“I think so.”

“It’s so new to me.”

“Yeah, but you’re a natural at this stuff. And also,” she speaks slower now. The chaos behind her has calmed a little; her voice echoes off somewhere. Perhaps a restroom. “Things are looking good.”

You stop sauntering through the room, pausing in front of the bed’s corner before dropping onto it. Dragging your tongue over your lower lip, you blink, and then ask, “You’re sure?”

“We had a couple conversations over here. Made a few more phone calls, and I think you don’t need to worry about a thing. We’ll come up with something if things derail, though, okay?”

You’re uncertain, still anxious. Should this afternoon flop, you’ll be screwed.

You need it to succeed. You can’t afford misfires. Ugh.

Restless, your foot taps against the floor. You try not to think of things going astray; try to think of a smooth progress, not precarious in any way.

Yet, you ask doubtfully, “Can we do that?”

“We always can. That’s business.”

Guess she’s right. Your mother has saved you one too many times — from stupid things you did as well as from things you never needed saving from.

A rich human being’s power over the media — and frankly, the world — is unbeatable. Barely to be underestimated.

“Okay,” you mutter, “thank you.”

Despite only hearing her voice, you imagine her nod, the way she often does. You miss the warm, promising palm on your shoulder. Appreciate that she’s still here instead of dropping you to the side; leaving the call to handle more relevant issues.

No, she lingers there; you hear her breathe until she asks, “Are you bringing your man, too, by the way?”

Your man.

You straighten your back in pride, bright smile back, “Yeah! He said he’d come and support me. But he’s not home yet.”

“Oh? Well, you gotta be here in three hours. Where’d he go?”

“God knows. But don’t worry about punctuality.” You hear a hum, glancing up at the clock. Past noon. “Hey, also. My parents are definitely gonna come, right?”

“Babe,” she drags the word a little, and you can almost see her side-eyeing you, “journalists will be present. Cameras everywhere. At least your mother would never miss such a thing.”

Right. Cares about that company too much.

You remember the times she proved it to you. When you’d come home from middle school, eating some extravagant lunch while watching her talk on TV. Conversing with your staff.

“Okay. Good,” you say, happy about that very answer for once.

Outside, a door creaks. Steps echo through the hallway, a soft call of your name following as you hear the jingling of keys stop.

He sounds joyful.

You get up, phone halfway off your ear as you say, “Hey, I should go. I think that he—”

And the moment you look at the open door of the bedroom, your heart stops. For a second, you fear an intruder at his apartment, but the longer you look, the more your brain gives out.

The black-white-red jacket hugs his broad shoulders comfortably, the thin white sweater underneath it nearly transparent enough to reveal his tiny nipples. But despite his stature, it’s not his body that kills the power in your head.

It’s the—

You murmur last words into the phone, making out a goodbye that doesn’t reverberate as much anymore. She’s probably out of the restroom again; too distracted to give your mumble any attention anyway.

You place your phone where you previously sat and inhale his appearance carefully.

First off — you can see his ears. Can see most of his eyes. His forehead.

His hair is still dark, but it’s tamed. The wild locks, usually a feature you’ve gotten used to over the span of that one year, lay comfortably on his head. In fact, most of them are gone.

You feel a needle in your chest, but one of the surprising sort. Not painful at all.

“Wow,” you only say.

He reaches to the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing the hair there. “Yeah?”

You move towards his body, eyes fixated on every hair strand. Then, close enough, you state the obvious, “You cut your hair.”

“I… yeah. Is it terrible?” he asks, round eyes meeting yours. He raises his hand again, to his ear this time, scratching behind it for a second. “Not used to it at all. But I figured I’d look a little more serious as an artist like this.”

Really? Most artists you knew cared the least about a fancy appearance.

Then again, Jungkook doesn’t look fancy. He just looks different. Breathtaking, more mature, older.

His cheekbones look more chiselled now, his eyes wider. You could pass out right here, right now, and he still wouldn’t know how relentlessly he affects you.

“More serious?” you ask, less because you need an explanation. More because your mind keeps wandering, and you can’t fathom a word he’s saying.

“Just. Needed a change, I think,” he admits, “and wanted to adjust to a press conference’s typical look, too.”

“You did this for the press conference?”

“I wanted to look put together.”

Your heart dissolves and dissipates. His voice is soft as a petal, tender like the colours on his arm. The expression he sports is unsure, like he wants to hide — waiting for your opinion.

He really put thought into this. Woke up this morning and set a goal with purpose, not uttering a word to you to surprise you a couple hours later.

You don’t know what to say. You barely know what to feel, except this unbearable urge to ramble down every piece of tiny emotion he’s ever made you feel.

You want his body wrapped around you, engulfed in a blanket, head on his chest and slumbering for the rest of your life. Want to mumble little confessions, shiver when his lips touch your scalp.

Overwhelmed — that’s what you are.

“I loved the long hair,” you finally admit, “I guess I got too used to it, so I need to adjust, but. But… this is so… It… it suits you.”

You’re stumbling over your words, suggesting doubt. Not the way to go. Perhaps they shouldn’t have chosen you as one of the press conference speakers after all. 

Jungkook’s concern grows visible in his big, round pupils; expressive, a true glimpse into his heart. You feel bad because you’re not as good with words as he is, and because he seemed so happy about his choice.

You just can’t fucking express yourself — even though you’re melting inside, falling harder. And maybe he notices your awkwardness, because he tries again.

“You’re uh— sure you don’t hate it?”

“No! God, no. It’s different. You look amazing, Kook. You look like…”

He swallows. “Like what?”

“You’re so pretty, Jeon Jungkook.” You say it with genuinity this time. He closes his lips, blinking, and while he attempts to veil his relief, you still see the high rise of his chest. “You look fucking gorgeous, no matter what you do. I… I mean it.”

The answer satisfies him. His risen shoulders drop a little, tension falling off, and he fixes the already perfectly sitting collar of his jacket before he smiles. Just a little, a subtle twitch of the corners of his lips.

As soft as his response, “I always aim to reach your level, you know?”

You roll your eyes. Partly to keep them from watering because your heart is bursting. Splintering like every morning and every night; you wonder if you’ll ever get used to it.

A couple gentle words lie heavy on your tongue, pressing against the muscle to let them out; but at the prospect of actually uttering them, your guts twist. You don’t want to throw up before the meeting.

So you remove the tightness from your chest with a deep exhale, nearly until your lungs are dry, and say, “Shut up.”

Playfully, you deliver a soft push against his chest, laughing when his dramatic ass stumbles backwards. Submerged in those goddamn dimples, you immediately grab the hem of his jacket and before you know it, you’ve taken a step forward and landed in his arms.

You sneak your arms underneath the leather-ish material, not hesitating for a second before you’re squeezing his torso. He lets out a choked sound, groaning, but reacts similarly fast as you.

His heartbeat accelerates for a moment, right against your ear as you make yourself small. The sweater smells like his favourite detergent and him; musky, fresh. Your palms, flat against his back, crave deeper touch.

Nothing crude; just an afternoon on the bed behind you, limbs entwined, laughing about things that probably aren’t that funny anyway.

For a moment, the silence transcends words. You inject the blend of gratitude and affection through your touch, ensuring he understands.

But when it’s not a testament to your emotions enough, you speak against his chest, voice very likely muffled, “You didn’t have to do this for me… you just. You never have to do anything for me, but you still do.”

“I’ll do anything for you.”

Immediate and sincere. Voice unwavering.

God, you’re not his strongest soldier.

A smile tugs at your lips, and you chide, "Stop that."

"What?"

"If you keep saying these things," you continue, a frisky lilt in your voice, "I'll die. Do you want me to die?"

Jungkook chuckles. Always a soothing melody in a hushed room. He remarks, grip still wrapped around you securely, "Acting all innocent now."

You don’t understand right away what he means — but then you hear his heartbeat, picking up on pace again.

Makes you want to squash him harder. Melt into him further.

“Shut up, Jeon,” you respond with a nudge, cheek pressed against his shirt. Just a moment longer — just a couple more seconds to inhale the solacing scent.

Your heart is unguarded; he could sever it if he wanted to. He’s proven that he has the power to. Yet, you keep fuelling it, vulnerable in his warmth as you say, “You’ve no clue what you mean to me, Kookie.”

Your vivid imagination might be forcing things upon your mind that aren’t actually there, but you do think you perceive the way his entire body melts. Nearly limp, in a state so relaxed and peaceful that you have only experienced in the mornings before.

Waking him up for work, feeling weightless limbs wrapped around you, passed out.

His fingers trace patterns on your back lightly, stirring from bottom to top and back. They first stop at the small of your back, then lift off your body, hands suddenly on your shoulders.

He pushes you off him, your movements reluctant, and looks at you with profound sincerity. His voice matches his expression, gentle and adoring, “Will you tell me how much I mean to you?”

Amidst the delicate minutes you spend standing between the bedroom and the living room, you almost forget that there’s a world outside. It’s a little more grey than before, similar to the suit you’ll be wearing in a couple hours.

You remember the prospect of an audience, the answers you’ve prepared, to questions they probably will ask. Zara told you they wouldn’t hold back — they’d phrase their inquiries friendly, but still keep the intentions devilish.

Right.

The world is still turning out there. You want it to stop for the two of you — frozen moments. But it can’t, at least not yet. Right now it’s too real; and you guess that the worst part is that in your line of business, it will keep revolving around people like you.

Whether you want it or not.

So maybe, if it truly needs to keep spinning and can’t halt for you, keeping you in the centre, you should give it something to talk about, too.

Something crisp, something new. Without a care for it, but all the care for you and the man in front of you.

Which is why you spare him another fond smile, forehead calm and your demeanour confident — and tell him, “I’ll do my best to let you know."

The audience stretches to the far back. All the rows are filled to the brim with reporters or guests. The shutter of the cameras and the flashing lights are agitating.

You look down.

Nervously tapping your feet on the stage, you shrink into yourself inch by inch. Your seat is uncomfortable, though padded, a little too warm against your ass right now. Zara notices your tick and puts a steady hand to your knee, repeating for the millionth time today, “Stop. It’ll be okay.”

“It’s just dawning on me though, Zara.”

“What is?”

You nod faintly towards the mic and the attendees, tell her, “That I was actually chosen to speak. They shouldn’t have chosen me.”

“You asked for it.”

“Yeah, but there are more important things to discuss.”

Zara’s lips form a circle; she shakes and lowers her head, sending out a beam of air that you feel on your wrist, blazer sleeves rolled up. You’ve been like that all evening.

“You can do it,” she repeats patiently, “you’re the boss’ daughter and they want your opinion. You’ll hit them hard with yours.”

You suck in a breath, leave the air in your cheeks, and then puff it out again. “I want to. I hope to, I just— never thought it’d be this nerve-wracking. Don’t wanna say anything wrong.”

The subtle shake of her head continues — or reemerges —, lips in a thin line, eyes slowly blinking, “Mh-mh. We talked about it, okay? Practised all the questions they could ask. You’ll be good.”

“You gotta promise.”

“As much as I can, babe, it’s up to y—” She takes in your falling face, holding back with a sigh when she sees the dread in your pupils. “I promise. Of course.”

She taps your knee, softly and lightly, and then says, “I’m so curious about everyone’s reactions. Like. Gosh, just look at those people.”

You understand what she means. “I know.”

Zara places a manicured thumb on her matte red lips, mumbling, “Here for entertainment. At least a third of them will add their own fantasies to the articles they’ll write. Hypotheses and manipulative, neutrally phrased thoughts. Cockroaches.”

Funny. That’s what you call them, too. A collective understanding, you see.

But.

“Shhh,” you voice, “they—”

“It’s fine. They know it, too. Like lawyers do.”

Can’t refute. Eun told you one too many times how unfair the law business usually is, and how she’ll strive to not have anyone ever manipulate her. To remain genuine.

“Yeah, but,” you still argue, “I imagined they’d be listening in all the time. Don’t they do lip reading and stuff?”

She nods, a finger still on her mouth, smiling, “Mhm. I also feel like I could say whatever, but it’ll be you they’ll focus on today.”

Your heart drops, an uncomfortable twist in your guts adding to the stress. Might have to dash to the bathroom at the very last minute. You curse, “Shit, Zara… I should fucking ru—”

“Stay. You can do this. I promise.”

“Okay,” you take another deep breath, helping your oxygen-lacking, spinning head, “okay.”

You look back to the media present, ready to survive questions; prepared to provide answers. The moderator is talking to your mother at the front, covering the mic with a hand.

They gave you around five minutes to speak, and in that time, you need to answer everything. How you do it is up to you, but the pressure to perform in a certain way, accordingly, weighs heavily on you.

But it’s alright.

You’ll just need to stay confident. Stick to your message. They’ll have things to say anyway — and you’ll make the best of them.

You stare past the lights, squinting to find him, raking your neck. His figure towers in the back, easy to detect, and once he meets your eyes — or perhaps never having averted his from you — he lifts a hand to wave in tiny motions.

Then, he drops his fingers again, entwining them in front of his body. He isn’t necessarily allowed here, but you were able to sneak him through in advance. So now he’s a couple feet from the wall, choosing to stand rather than sit, so you find him easily.

So you seek his eyes for comfort if need be.

Before you parted near the entrance, he said, “I’ll be offering a dozen thumbs up like a fool if you need me to.”

You chuckled — but maybe he meant it. Because his smile and nod undoubtedly dispel your fears; as if he can see you struggling.

The seconds drag on, and the conference begins seven minutes later. Your mother is the first to talk, outlining a general overview of what’s to come. Of Charmante’s philosophies, of its success, praising the team.

Then, she forwards to important employees like Zara, letting them ramble about launches or ideas in depth. Business strategies, partnerships, bringing across points that you usually don’t get the chance to share.

This is legit press; even though out for a loophole, they won’t follow you around or hide in the shadows. Incessant and vexing, but at least they’re allowed here.

Conversations about new collections, store openings as well as expansions and customer engagement pass in a trice, and at some point, another coworker is uttering last words to a last question.

And you realise — that you’re next.

The moderator introduces you with pride; everyone applauds, smiling at you fondly despite all the controversies. ”Controversies.” Under quote marks, as Zara pointed out, because you never committed an offence.

You stand on weak knees. Trembling when you grip the podium. It’s like the sound in the room fades, a single peeping tone overshadowing all noise. You barely blink anymore; not even the flashy white can shut your eyes.

And god, you can hear your breathing. Your damn heart. Your nose sucks in all the air available in the room, or at least in the building, and then you open your mouth to speak.

a/n: this is not a cliffhanger!! tumblr just doesn't allow to drop looong posts anymore, so here's the rest of the chapter lol, keep reading and enjoying, i love you and will see you on the other side!! and don't forget to support this chapter, folks 🥺 <3

[messrmoonyy]

- The gilded cage

Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Request- how about some of the girls going along to the mayors party in Saint Denis. Have you seen the cut content of Molly when she was meant to be at the party? So Dutch takes Molly along, Arthur takes reader? And what if Arthur gets a a little jealous of reader mingling and then they sneak away for some smutty time together…

A/N- this is my first Arthur fic so he may be a lil out of character whilst I get to grips with writing him. I also have not written straight smut in like 2 years. But we vibe. Enjoy

Also shoutout to @devnmon for supporting and enabling my rdr2 brainrot. You’re a real one

Warnings- 18+ | smut: unprotected p in v, semi public sex ( wc - 7.7k )

Masterlist / AO3

Saint Denis was a little too rich for your blood. You’d only ventured into the city a handful of times, but the times you had you’d decided you didn’t really like it. You felt too… common. You never had liked the wealthy, flaunting their security and safety that was wrapped up in dollars and gold. 

But. You loved money. God did you love money. And as much as you hated the residents of the city, you sure loved robbing them blind. You always had had a knack for making the rich mysteriously lose their dollars and their watches, it had been the sole reason you’d ended up in Dutch’s gang in the first place. 

You’d even tried picking his pockets at first.

But you were on best behaviour tonight. Under Dutch’s orders. And you figured as boring as that sounded, you’d oblige. Simply because the men rarely let the girls get involved with any of the interesting stuff in camp. There was only so much laundry you could do before your brain truly went numb from boredom. Only so much listening to Miss Grimshaw nagging at you to do some work or Micah antagonising someone over something stupid. 

So even with Dutch’s strict orders to behave and your dislike of the city, you had jumped at the chance to come along to the party. 

“ i can practically smell the money “ you sighed as you took Arthur’s hand to step down from the coach, already hearing the bustle of the party happening somewhere out the back of the mansion in front of you “ you sure I can’t go pickin? Just a lil “ you were half joking, half not. On the times you had wandered into the city, the stuff you’d gathered picking your way around the saloons and back alleys had been a decent haul. The stuff some of these people carried around on the average day was enough to fund the food for the whole of camp for a couple days or more. 

Who knew what kind of goodies they’d have on them in their finery. 

“ no miss “ Dutch’s stern voice sounded, but he was sporting a small look of amusement “ keep those talented hands of yours to yourself. This is about business. We steal nothing. That goes for all of you. Steal. Nothing. Unless it’s information “ 

“ don’t worry. I’ll keep her in check “ Arthur spoke with a small chuckle, placing a hand lightly to your back. 

“ this is why we shouldn’t have brought the women. They always cause trouble “ Bill complained, as he stepped out of the second coach with Hosea, making you scowl. 

“ I hope you aren’t grouping me into that Mr Williamson “ Molly piped up with a disapproving scowl of her own as she stepped out of the coach, seemingly more mad at Dutch for not helping her out more than at Bill though. Arthur offered her his hand instead, helping her step onto the path without breaking her neck in her extravagant dress. 

Always the gentleman. 

She looked wonderful and you had begun to wonder if she had owned that dress all along or had gone out and got it special. Maybe Dutch had picked it up for her. It wouldn’t surprise you if she had been lugging it around from place to place, waiting for some perfect moment to pull it out. She always did look more put together than the majority of camp. Though you really didn’t understand how she could walk in the dress she was currently wearing, skirts full and you guessed pretty heavy too. 

“ no need to bring you “ Bill continued. 

“ I ain’t even causin’ trouble “ you piped in, throwing your own scowl Bills way again “ When did you last contribute to the box anyways huh Bill? I don’t see you doin’ nothin’ but sit around all damn day. No need to bring you I say. Jus’ cause you ain’t got no lady on your arm you’re complainin’ bout me and Molly “ 

“ what? A lady like you? I should be damn lucky I ain’t “ 

“ why you- “

“ Bill I suggest you leave it “ Arthur murmured lowly, planting himself between you and Bill before you did in fact cause some trouble. Bill grumbled something, spitting on the floor with a look of disgust and turning away from you. 

Dutch sighed heavily, looking increasingly pissed off at the group in front of him and held his arm out to Molly. 

“ Miss O’Shea “ It pained you a little to know he was probably only being nice to her tonight for appearances sake. He’d been practically ignoring her recently. And wasn’t doing Molly any good. You hoped a night out of camp would do her well “ now would you all just calm. Down. We, are simple distinguished gentleman, here for business. So start damn acting like it “ you scoffed at that, making a pointed look in Bills direction as you did 

“ distinguished my ass “ 

“ play nice now “ Arthur said quietly, but you heard the smile in his tone as he did. He then offered you his arm as Dutch had done to Molly. But unlike Dutch the act didn’t feel performative, a way to blend in and appear far higher class than they actually were. Arthur actually was a gentleman. For the most part anyways. 

“ why thank you mister “ you said in a cheery tone, throwing him a coy smile and slipping your gloved hands into the crook of his elbow. 

It did feel a little funny to be walking beside him like that. All dressed up and in clothes that weren’t smeared with gun oil, dust or god knows what else. It made your mind drift a little to what life could’ve been like. 

Your group crossed the street, promptly being stopped at the gates 

“ gentleman “ the guard greeted, taking the invitation from Dutch’s hands “ the mayor doesn’t allow guns at official functions “ the way he looked at Dutch and the others was almost demeaning. Like he knew you were all riff raff and of course would be the sort to attend such an event armed “ Not after last years incident “ none of the boys seemed particularly thrilled to be handing over their firearms. Arthur in particular sighed heavily beside you as he handed his pistol over. 

He didn’t like being unarmed. Especially when he was out with you. You usually also had your gun belt permanently fixed at your waist. But it wasn’t exactly fitting with your current attire. 

Though you did note the guards didn’t even spare a glance to you or Molly, which in turn made you all the more smug knowing you had your knife tucked into your boot. Just in case of course. 

“ Luca here will take you gentleman to Mr Bronte. I believe he is expecting you “ 

“ I know you got that knife in yer boot “ Arthur said lowly so that no one else would hear. 

“ he ain’t said anythin’ about knifes. Only guns “ Arthur smiled and shook his head slightly, placing his hand over yours for a moment. 

“ that’s my girl “ 

You walked up the neat cobbled path to the mayors house then, unable to do anything but look in awe at the huge house in front of you. You’d thought Shady Belle was something spectacular, had walked around every room imagining what it had looked like in all its glory. Amazed at the vastness of the place and all the rooms it had. 

And yet it was nothing compared to this place. This was real money. 

“ I look okay? “ you asked, suddenly feeling ever so slightly nervous, smoothing your hand over your skirts. Even in your attempts to look as clean and put together as you did, some part of you felt like everyone would see you were a walking sham. 

All in all you knew you probably did look fine. The dress was the most lavish thing you’d ever owned, you didn’t even want to guess how much it had cost Arthur. It was still on the simpler side, skirts not quite as full as Mollys and not as detailed. But it was beautiful. Pale pink and ruffled shoulders and details on your skirts, gloves up to your elbows in a material so soft you’d sighed when you’d first pulled them on. 

It all made a nice change from the usual simple clothes you wore, hips weighted by skirts rather than your gun belt. And skirts that didn’t have a million holes darned over. 

And Arthur had picked it all out. Had picked it himself especially for you. 

It did make you smile to imagine him in the tailors, completely out of his depth when it came to women’s fashion but determined to find you something nice. Your big, tough cowboy staring blankly at fabric swatches and fancy hats. 

“ gonna be the prettiest girl here “ you smiled warmly at his words, hand smoothing over your dress again. 

He’d turned up that morning into your shared room of shady Belle, finding you hiding away from Miss Grimshaw on the balcony, the dress draped over his arm along with some fancy suit and tie get up for himself. He’d looked almost sheepish as he’d shown you it, promising to go get you something else if you hated it. Which of course you hadn’t. 

You’d practically jumped with joy at being able to go out on a job. The boys so rarely let the girls do anything meaningful other than tend to camp. Though this particular outing you knew Dutch had only brought you and Molly along because it would make your group seem a little more agreeable. Something about women making them look a little less intimidating. And of course Dutch and Arthur’s partners were the most obvious of choices. 

Much to Mary-Beth and Karen’s dismay. Though they had very quickly changed their mind at the idea of having to hang off Bills arm all night. 

It wasn’t exactly the reason you wanted to be brought along. But you took it. 

The inside of the mansion was as glorious as the outside, it almost made you angry that people had such wealth. That these people could sleep in a new room each night of the week if they felt like it, when people were starving outside of their gates. 

“ Hosea, Bill. Take the ladies out and enjoy the party. We’ll join you after we pay our respects to signor Bronte. Arthur, with me “ Arthur gave a curt nod 

“ I won’t be long “ he assured, hand slipping down around your back and leaning down to your ear “ hands to yourself “ you scoffed as he said it, looking up at him as he stepped away from you. 

“ I can’t promise “ you caught his smile as he walked over to Dutch and the staff. Disappearing up the stairs. 

“ it’s just this way “ one of members of Lemieux’s staff spoke, gesturing the four of you in the direction of some doors leading out into the party. 

“ let’s go ladies. You fancy a drink? “ Hosea said cheerfully, following closely behind you and Molly as you headed outside. You were ushered out into gardens, a mass of the rich and wealthy of Saint Denis all crowded around. Drinking and laughing at things you were sure were not as remotely funny as they were making it out to be. 

Bill quickly made himself scarce, disappearing into the crowds to do lord knows what, much to your joy. 

“ right. Champagne? “ Hosea excused himself to collect some drinks and you stood on the back porch looking down at the groups of people. 

So far removed from what you were used to. You wondered how they’d react knowing you and your little group were currently sleeping in a barely standing plantation home, half of you out under the stars. That you were frauds. Not glamorous and wealthy like them. 

In your experience the rich liked to pretend the poor didn’t exist. Unless they were hiring them as help. 

“ oh I missed this “ Molly said beside you, almost dreamily in tone. And seemingly more to herself than to you. It was quite possibly the happiest you’d seen her look in days. 

She fit right in. Her gorgeous dress rivalling that of some of the other woman down in the courtyard, her hair piled up on her head and her fancy jewellery that was actually hers. Not something stolen from an unsuspecting lady in town. This was Molly. Money and wealth. It still baffled you how she had ended up with Dutch, how she could leave that all behind for a life wandering. 

“ you go to party’s like this a lot? Before Dutch I mean “ she gave a small shrug, searching in her small purse for a moment before placing a cigarette between her lips. You could imagine an even younger Molly, a bright eyed teenager done up all fancy and weaving her way through a party just like this one. 

“ sometimes “ her eyes were scanning the crowds, practically sparkling at being surrounded by the upper class again “ wonder what kind of people are here “ she seemed to be talking more to herself than you again and very promptly dismissed herself, heading down the stairs and gliding between the guests. Like some true social butterfly, decked out in her finest. 

Hosea returned with three glasses of champagne and a slightly confused look noticing Molly had vanished. 

“ eh more for me “ he said with a smile, handing you your glass before promptly finishing his own and moving onto what would’ve been Mollys “ I’m going to do some snooping. You’ll be alright? “

“ I’ll be jus’ fine Hosea “ you said with a smile and watched him too disappear down into the crowds. 

It was interesting to watch them, to see them behave as if this entire event was a normal evenings activity. Maybe for them it was. But it all felt so… false. People who appeared to be friends but didn’t seem to even really like each other, some silent competition between everyone to have the better dress. The better hat. The biggest house. 

You’d take your creaky cot under the stars with Arthur any day, would much rather sit around the campfire getting tipsy and singing. Surrounded by real family. Real friends. Relationships built on loyalty and protection. Not on trying to out do each other. 

You walked between the small crowds, eavesdropping on conversations in hopes to find something useful. Something to take back to Dutch to prove bringing you along wasn’t a useless endeavour. But it was mostly women discussing their elaborate hats, sharing stories of the terrible jobs their maids did, or complaining about their husbands poker habits. Or gossiping about how they had heard one of their friends was in delicate condition. 

You heard mentions of Leviticus Cornwall, but nothing concrete enough to warrant telling anyone about. 

You tried hunting down Molly, simply to have a friend to stand beside and not feel so…out of place. But she had vanished into the crowds somewhere. So you planted yourself on the side of an ornate water fountain, simply hoping Arthur would return soon. Maybe he’d dance with you, or take you walking around the vast garden laid out ahead of you. 

You two never really got the chance to do things like that. Romantic things. Arthur had his ways, of course. He’d take you out riding or sit with you on his lap by the fire, telling you about whatever interesting thing he’d discovered that day. He’d bring you flowers he’d pick from time to time, find you interesting things when he went wandering, let you read aloud to him with the excuse he wanted you to get better at it. When in reality you had seen him confess to his journal that he simply just liked to listen to your voice. 

He was far softer than he appeared. With you anyway. And as much as you didn’t like the kinds of people in attendance, you thought it might be nice to pretend for the night. To be two wealthy young oil tycoons, dancing and drinking champagne together, gushing about your money and your jewels. 

You made your way through another flute of champagne before he returned, interrupting your frivolous daydreaming. 

“ there she is “ you turned your head with a beaming smile at his voice, relief at a familiar face “ been lookin for ya “ he sat down beside you, looping an arm around your waist “ you behavin’? “

“ course I am. Ain’t took as much as a pearl “ you said quite proudly, though decided not to mention that the temptation had truly been hard to deny. Not only were these people rich, they were getting drunker by the second. They were practically begging to be robbed. 

“ good girl “ 

“ it go okay with ugh.. what’s his name? “ you asked, turning to face him. He looked just as uncomfortable with the entire situation as you did. This wasn’t his scene. It never had been. He’d grown up just as poor as you had. 

Arthur robbed the rich, he didn’t fraternise with them. 

“ Bronte. Yeah. Fine. Dutch he’s tryna find the mayor or somethin “ he ran a finger between his neck and collar of his shirt, clearly growing uncomfortable with it. It made you laugh a little. 

“ you ain’t cut out for the finer life “ 

“ no. I ain’t “ he was looking around at the guests in a similar way to you. With a mild sense of disgust “ saw some woman back there, hat so big she were topplin over “ you smiled and leant your head against his shoulder, he tucked you in closer to his side and dropped a kiss to the top of your head. 

“ was daydreamin whilst you were with Dutch “ you mused. 

“ yeah? About what? “ 

“ playin’ pretend. Bein’ fancy for the night. Y’know dancin’ and pretendin’ we got buckets of money “ the small sigh Arthur let out made you wonder if he thought that was a life you pined for. It wasn’t. Not really. Yeah, you liked money but.. you just wanted to be comfortable. Little ranch or a cabin some place quiet. Not poor. Not rich. Just. Existing happily “ ain’t us though “ 

“ you and me we… we ain’t like these people. We ain’t ever gonna be like these people “

“ we don’t gotta be. Me, you. Some pokey lil farm someplace out west? Now that’s the dream cowboy “ he chuckled and nodded, dropping another kiss to your head 

“ that’s the dream darlin’ “ you both sat quietly for a short while longer, watching the rich get drunker and more foolish. The odd person acknowledged your presence, greeting you as they passed or tipping their hat. But mostly they left you alone. It was at the point that one man drunkenly stumbled into a bush a few feet away that made you speak up again. 

“ never thought I’d miss that damn swamp. But lord above… these people “ Arthur scoffed as he too watched the fool try and right himself again, leaves sticking to the pomade in his hair 

“ yeah. I think I need a drink “ he patted your side lightly so you’d stop leaning on him and stood up “ champagne? “ 

“ oh well ain’t you just so kind sir “ you said in your best attempt a dramatic upper class drawl “ and you gonna dance with me after mister? “ you asked with a teasing smile and he rubbed a hand at the back of his neck for a moment looking almost sheepish. But he was smiling, the sweet genuine kind he only really seemed to show around you. 

“ sure darlin’. But I’m definitely gonna need that drink for that “ he ventured back into the crowds then and you stayed put, continuing to watch the guests laugh and talk about how incredible their lives were. 

“ I don’t recognise you “ an inquisitive voice spoke, tinged with that accent that the wealthy had started latching on to in some attempts to make themselves sound more superior. Smarter. Whatever. You thought it was quite ridiculous. You turned your head to look at the man, seeing if he was in fact talking to you. 

“ talkin’ to me mister? “ he was eyeing you up and down like he was somewhat intrigued but amused by you at the same time. A stupid top hat on his head adored with plumes and the chain of a pocket watch hanging from his pocket. It almost made you laugh at how your brain immediately began thinking about how you could steal it and how much it was worth. 

“ I am indeed miss “ he stepped closer, puffing on his cigar and not taking his eyes off of you for a second “ I have frequented many of the mayors parties but you… I do not remember you “ a small wave of panic flushed your skin but you remained calm. Not recognising you was far easier to work your way out of than if he had recognised your face. 

“ I’m new in town. My… uncle. He’s friends with Mr Bronte “ the man hummed, sitting himself down beside you. 

“ so you’re here with your uncle? “ you shifted slightly at his closeness but remembered you needed to keep up appearances so forced a smile onto your face 

“ yeah. And my husband. He’s around here someplace “ the man’s eyes immediately darted down to your gloved hands, probably noting the lack of a ring on your finger. You and Arthur weren’t married. But you may as well have been. He often referred to you as his wife, and he as your husband. 

He’d ask you one day. 

“ a lucky man “ the man said, blowing smoke in your direction and still looking you up and down. You decided at that moment you very much wanted to steal his watch. Dutch be damned. Having to put up with the likes of slimy rich men for more than ten seconds… well you figured that warranted you at least getting something shiny in return. 

“ oh well ain’t you just a charmer “ you said with a smile, placing a hand to his arm “ you here with your wife mister? “ the man laughed and shook his head, scooting a little closer to you.  

“ I’m more of a… free spirit “ you gave a small laugh, trying not to crinkle your nose at the smoke blowing in your face again. 

Arthur often smelt of fresh smoke, both cigarette and fire, and that fresh air smell that clung to your clothes after being out in the open air for hours. And you loved it on him, because it was well… him. The smoke from this man was far from appealing. But that watch…

“ ohh I see. You ain’t one to be tied down huh? “ your fingers inched closer to the man’s pocket, wrapping lightly around the chain. 

“ everythin’ okay here? “ Arthur appeared behind you, a glass in each of his hands.  

“ ah is this the fine man that brought you along? Well aren’t you lucky sir “ the man spoke and you noted he didn’t even glance in Arthur’s direction as he spoke, you were now looping the chain of his watch around your wrist. Just one small tug…

“ Mr Callahan “ Arthur murmured, handing you a glass and standing behind you with a hand to your shoulder

“ wonderful to meet you sir. Me and your wife were having a delightful conversation weren’t we dear? "The pressure of Arthur’s fingers increased as he spoke the sweet name, though you weren’t entirely sure it wasn’t because he’d noticed the man’s watch was now safely hidden in the fabric of your skirt. 

“ oh yes. Wonderful mister “ the watch discreetly made its way into your boot and you were ready to get away

“ where’d you find a beautiful thing like this sir? I may need to frequent the place myself “ he placed a hand onto your arm and finally looked up at Arthur rather than at you. He made your skin crawl. You didn’t hold a single ounce of remorse for the stolen watch 

“ oh no where you’d like “ his tone was a little snippy, the kind when someone was starting to piss him off but he was trying to keep his cool. And Arthur kicking off in the middle of the mayors party wasn’t exactly a part of Dutch’s plan. 

“ now I am so sorry but i believe my husband did promise me a dance “ you rose to your feet, sipping your champagne before placing the glass down and taking Arthur’s from his hands “ ain’t that right my love? “ 

“ yeah… need ya to come with me “ he said lowly, offering you his arm. His face had gone slightly dark, not entirely able to read him, you frowned slightly. But let him lead you away from the man, completely bypassing the area with couples twirling to the music. 

“ where we goin? “ you asked with a small laugh, latching onto his arm again and having to take quick steps to keep up with his purposeful strides “ Arthur?”

He didn’t answer immediately, simply led you away from the crowds and around the side of the mayor's house. 

“ You mad cause I took that watch? Look he deserved it- “

“ ain’t mad “ he mumbled, still leading you along. 

“ okay… so we stealin’ somethin’ else? “ you asked with excitement filtering into your words, already trying to figure out what it could be “ need me to act like a maid? I can do that real good y’know. Is it money? Papers? Oh, is it jewellery? Gold? “ Arthur chuckled at your excitement and shook his head, bringing you to a halt between some elaborately trimmed bushes and trees in planters. 

“ we ain’t stealin’ a thing “ you pouted with a mild disappointment and he chuckled again, advancing on you and backing you up against the wall behind you “ don’t gimme that look “ he tucked his fingers under your chin, nudging your face upwards to look at him. He was a god few inches taller than you, but he always made you feel ten times smaller when he looked down at you like that. 

“ what’s gotten into you? “ you asked with a giggle, hands slipping under his jacket to slide over his waist. 

“ just wanted some time alone with you is all “ 

“ behind some trees? You are a strange man sometimes Arthur Morgan y’know that? “ he gave a heavy sigh and brushed his thumb across your cheek softly, watching you intently. He always looked at you like you like you were the only woman on the planet “ you sure you ain’t mad about the watch? “ 

“ no. I ain’t mad. Feller flirtin’ with my woman and only loses his watch sounds like a good deal to me “ he grumbled, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips. 

And a light bulb suddenly pinged on in your head. 

“ are you jealous? “ you asked, unable to hide your complete utter joy and amusement as the realisation hit you. He grumbled some kind of an answer and tried to kiss you again but you turned your head to the side, so he settled for your neck instead “ why Arthur Morgan. You are jealous “ 

He didn’t answer you again, simply tilted your head so he could get at your neck more, his other hand splaying over your lower back to tug you close against him. A mischievous streak ran through you and you chewed on your lip for a moment deciding whether or not to push his buttons. 

“ he was kinda nice to me y’know. He seemed a nice feller “ Arthur’s teeth grazed your skin at your words and your smile grew bigger “ kept me from bein’ so lonely with you gone “ 

“ he wanted to do more than keep you company “ your fingers ran through the long strands of his hair, sighing softly as he continued to kiss your neck 

“ you think? You gonna keep me company now? “ 

“ oh I’ll keep you company “ you had said it only really to tease. Thinking that actually, a sordid little moment with your lover behind the bushes would be an incredible improvement on the evening. 

But it was hard to simply just kiss Arthur. He had wandering hands, had lips as addictive as whiskey. Even when you assumed he wasn’t particularly trying to work you up, he did. But the way he was tugging at your body to keep you pressed against him, the way his lips were burning a trail along your neck and across your jaw…

“ Arthur… y’know anyone could come round here “ 

“ stay quiet then and they ain’t gonna be none the wiser “ your skin prickled with heat at his words and your hips involuntarily rolled against him. Maybe it was the thrill. Maybe it was the fact that he was so… needy. Desperate to remind himself that you were his and not some stupid rich man in an equally as stupid hat.

He groaned against your hot skin as you pressed against him, the sound igniting something deep in your bones. Flaring up through your veins and cursing like lava through your veins. 

Your hands found themselves back under his jacket, fingers tugging at his shirt to free it from where it has been neatly tucked into his pants. You knew you couldn’t get it off of him but you still wanted to feel. 

You hummed softly when your fingertips met his skin, as hot as you knew yours must be. He loved to feel you touch him, loved when dragged your nails across his back, sunk your teeth into his shoulder to quiet your moans when you were dangerously close to other members of camp. 

You wished you could do it in that moment. Wished you were back in your room, truly the only good thing to come out of Shady Belle was the fact that you had a room. 

But Arthur didn’t seem keen on waiting. Seemingly having some point to prove to himself. And you were more than happy to let him. 

His hands drifted down to the floaty material of your skirt, reluctantly pulling himself away from your neck to frown at the material in front of him. 

“ why you gotta have so many damn skirts? “ he grumbled, fumbling with the layers of fabric hanging from your waist. 

“ you picked the dress “ you reminded him with a smile, chasing after his lips again. Desperate to kiss him properly now that he had stopped his assault on your neck. He kissed you with a energy that demanded your attention, that drew you in and locked you in place. Hot. Wet. Addictive “ least it ain’t as big as Mollys “ you said when you let yourself pull away. 

“ yeah well I weren’t plannin’ on keepin’ you in it when we- god damn there’s enough fabric here to dress the entire camp “ you couldn’t help the giggle that fell past your lips, watching him try to figure out how he was going to play out whatever sordid thoughts were running through his head. 

Your own mind had quite ungracefully fallen into the gutter itself, realising exactly what Arthur wanted. And your constant desperation for the man in front of you overruling all your concerns at the location. 

He seemed to be getting a little agitated with your dress and you held back the urge to giggle at him. Instead opting to try sooth the frown lines worrying at his forehead, reaching forward to palm at him through the material of his pants. In hopes it would be some kind of incentive for him to hurry up as well. 

As much as you needed him as badly as you needed air, you were also still aware of exactly where you were. And how long it would take until Dutch came looking. 

“ c’mon Arthur “ you whispered, desperation beginning to fill your words “ ‘fore they notice we’re gone “ it had been his idea to take you away, and yet you were seemingly the more desperate of the two of you now. But how could he or anyone else blame you? When he was all gussied up like he was. In truth you liked his normal attire a little more. Liked him a little more… rugged. But lord did he look handsome in his suit, his hair and beard all neat and tidy. 

Arthur’s breath audibly caught in his throat from your touch and it seemed to effectively spur him on. 

“ yes ma’am “ He spun you around with strong hands to your waist, your own hands bracing yourself against the wall. The next moments were a flurry of his hands hitching your skirts over your hips, grabbing at your undergarments before a strong arm looped around your waist to pull you back against him. 

His hand disappeared under your bunched up skirts making you gasp softly as his fingers dipped into the warmth between your thighs. 

“ this all for me darlin? “ you could hear the smirk in his words, feel it as he brushed his nose against your cheek. The short stands of his beard tickled at your skin, sending a shiver snaking along your spine. 

“ course it is “ the sound of a lady drunkenly laughing a little too close by made you freeze, hand reaching around to grab at Arthur’s arm. 

He didn’t seem discouraged by the idea of someone stumbling upon you both, simply moved his hand up to grasp gently at your jaw, turning your face towards his to kiss you. His other hand was still between your thighs, and you sighed softly against his lips as he drew a thick finger between the wetness of your folds “ oh Arthur…“ 

Your cunt clenched around nothing. As if silently begging for his fingers to just push inside of you, take you in a way you had always found so much more personal than just sitting on his cock. His fingers that held his guns, that he used to beat people to death more times than either of you could care to count. Those same fingers working you open, covered in the slick evidence of your desire for him instead of gun oil. Fingers that cause pain and damage, but also sent you spiralling into mind blowing pits of pleasure. 

And paired with the current location? It just felt… dirty. Erotic. You felt no better than a common whore loitering in a saloon for custom. You wanted him so desperately, needed him. 

“ Arthur “ you sighed, pushing your self against his hand as he toyed with your swollen clit. 

“ tell me what y’need pretty girl “ he said softly, tickling your skin with his beard and dragging his tongue across your neck before sinking his teeth into the flesh, making you whimper. 

“ you- Arthur. You. Please “ his hand continued its gentle movements as he worked at your neck. You pushed your hips back against him, grinding against the hardness still trapped by his pants in a way that couldn’t be comfortable. His breath shuddered against your skin as you did, holding you flush against him to let you wiggle your hips in a silent invitation to just take you already. 

A smashing glass drew your attention briefly away from him again. And as much as you could let him do that all evening, you were still hyper aware of your surroundings. 

You silently wished he’d just waited until you were back at camp, could take his time with you on that shitty little bed in the privacy of your room at Shady Belle. 

But there you were. And there were hundreds of others only a few feet away too. 

“ stop teasin we ain’t got the time “ at any other time he’d have worked you into a mess with his fingers, even dropped to his knees and disappeared under your skirts, have you coming on his tongue over and over again just because he wanted to. But he hadn’t planned the situation well at all, and you weren’t exactly in the best of locations. If anyone so much as peaked around the corner of the building a little too far you were certain you’d be spotted. 

And wouldn’t that be a tale. 

“ ain’t you bossy “ you opened your mouth to snip back at him, but your words evaporated into nothing but a soft whimper as Arthur followed your demands, pushing past his desires to take his time with you. Truly it was his own fault that he couldn’t though, as he withdrew his fingers and fumbled with the buttons on his pants. 

“ Arthur “ you whimpered softly, breath stuttering at the feel of his swollen tip brushing between the wet folds of your cunt. 

“ quiet now darlin’ “ He pushed in slowly, in the way he so often did. Making sure you felt every single devastating inch, your back arching against his chest as your body flushed with warmth. Even after so many times the stretch was still a lot, a deep burning ache that eventually melted away into a blinding hot pleasure that burnt its way through your veins. 

He pressed on until he was flush against you, the material of his opened pants scratching against your soft skin as he held you there a moment. He exhaled slowly, his breath warm against your skin. 

It was never fucking with Arthur. Not very often anyways. It was love making. Soft. And slow. And a brutal pace that made sure you remembered he’d been there the next morning, but oh so drawn out. He was gentle. Tender. It had always shocked you how violent he could be and yet become so careful and soft with you. And even there, concealed by a few perfectly trimmed bushes and planters, he was taking his time. Reminding you that you were his. And maybe reminding himself of the fact too. 

Reminding himself that maybe there were men only a few feet away that wanted you. That would pay for the pleasure of your company. But only Arthur could have it, that he was the only one you would ever offer it too. 

That this deep rooted instinct to protect what was his wasn’t entirely necessary but god was it wanted. That his desire made your blood boil with lust, skin burn under his touch. 

“ That’s my girl “ he whispered, tone low and steady as he set himself into a bruising pace, still tightly holding onto you as he did. His face had fallen to your neck again, lips latching onto every inch of exposed skin they could. 

You were certain you were going to walk back into the party looking like you’d taken a dip with some leeches. 

You tried your best to be quiet, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in some hopes that mixed with the sounds of the party happening only a few feet away you wouldn’t be heard. But it was so hard to be silent when he was fucking you like that. So determined, so strong, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in hard. 

Your hand was still gripping at his arm, blunt fingernails digging at his skin through his jacket. His pace increased a little, settling into a steady rhythm that carved a devastating stretch inside of you. 

“ y’know I think that feller- that feller back there. He wanted you like this “ you couldn’t help the smile that pulled its way onto your face, still flushing with joy at his jealousy. You knew Arthur desired you carnally. Always had done and always would. But a reminder like the present one was always nice. 

“ y’think so? “ 

“ I know “ he grumbled, his pace increasing a little more, clearly attempting to take out his frustrations with the handsy man. But also maybe simply trying to assure himself in the process too. 

Arthur didn’t like to admit it but he was a little self conscious. You’d heard him talk down to himself in the mirror countless times, had seen the way he spoke about himself when you peaked over his shoulder at his journal. Had an almost crippling fear of abandonment that sometimes he did need to be reminded that you wanted him. 

“ poor feller “ you said with a small sigh before pushing lightly at Arthur’s arm so he’d let you go. You winced slightly as he pulled out, immediately missing the heavy feel of him there, and spun around tugging him back towards you by the lapels of his jacket “ ain’t got nothin on you “ you hitched your skirts up in your arm and wrapped your spare hand around the now slick length of his cock making him stutter a breath. 

His face was flushed, bottom lip shiny from kissing you. You wanted to absolutely devour him, strip him of his fancy clothes and remind him just how much you wanted every part of him. 

The look in his eyes was almost primal. Desire and lust burning so brightly it made your chest ache, to feel so wanted. To feel so desired. 

To have a man so usually controlled and put together, be reduced to not being able to even wait until you got home. That he had to have you there. Right there in that moment. He couldn’t wait. 

You needed him to pull you apart. To worship every inch of you in the way he so often did. 

But the side of the mayor's house was truly not the place for such a thing. 

“ no one could make me feel the way you do “ you whispered, stroking him softly in your hand as you tried to stoke the fire under his ego. Make him realise he truly had no reason to be jealous “ and him back there? He thought he could huh? Poor feller “ 

“ poor feller “ he echoed, sliding a hand over your leg and hitching it over his hip, sliding back into you with a welcome ease that made your head fall back against the wall. 

“ Thinks he could fuck me better than this? Man must be damn crazy “ you said with a smile, breathless as he fucked into you. You were practically dripping around him, the lewd sounds between you enough to make your skin flush. 

“ you’re mine darlin “ you nodded immediately. Not a single doubt in your mind on the matter. You were his. And he yours. That was how it would always be “ all mine, you hear? “ 

“ all yours Arthur. Ain’t no man in this whole damn country could replace you” 

He moved with more determination, thrusting into you harder in a way you knew was going to bruise your back from rubbing against the wall. His all too familiar deep, hard pace. You pulled him down by the back of his neck, muffling your whimpers with his mouth cautious again that you were getting a little reckless. 

“ that good? Makin me feel so good darlin’ such a good girl “ the entire thing felt almost animalistic. Desires so strong they couldn’t be withheld. Dirty. Filthy. Perfect. 

“ God Arthur “ the look on his face alone made you clench around him, never wanting him to leave, needing to feel the heavy bruising sensation as he split you apart for the rest of your life. He hitched your leg higher, hitting some new devastating part inside of you that made you see stars. Eyes rolling to the back of your head and unable to contain the sounds escaping your throat any longer. 

“ There she is, jus’ like that darlin I got ya” his grip on your leg grew restless, fingers dancing over your skin and trying to pull you as close to him as he could get you. He always wanted you close. Always wanted to feel your skin against his own. A moment later his thrusts became sloppier and you knew he wasn’t far off. Though quite frankly neither were you “ so pretty for me like this ain’t ya? My girl “ his words only pulled you closer to the edge, knot twisting tighter. 

“ Arthur I- “

“ I know. I know darlin, can feel it “ he almost cooed, lifting a hand to cup your face gently “ that’s it look right at me. That’s a girl right at me “ with his gaze so intense you couldn’t hold it any longer, biting down on your lip as you attempted to conceal your sounds of ecstasy as you came over his cock. 

He was barely a second behind you, a stuttered groan of a sound leaving him as he dropped his forehead against yours, painting your slick walls with rope after rope of come as you clenched around him. Holding him in place so that not a single drop of him would go to waste. It was a risky business letting him finish inside of you, truly it was. But in your sex drunk haze you didn’t care, couldn’t give a damn because it simply felt too good to give up. 

He nudged his nose against yours, brushing his lips against your own and kissed you softly. So tender and gentle, his hand carefully lowering your leg back down, slipping his softening length out of you making you wince. He kissed the crinkles it caused to show at the corners of your eyes, whispering a gentle sorry. He soothed his hands over your waist with a care very few men had for women those days. 

“ my girl “ he murmured, littering kisses across your cheeks and nose. 

When he pulled back you couldn’t help but smile. The dopey, soft kind. He was looking far less put together than he had done when you’d arrived, the pomade in his hair no longer serving its purpose after your fingers had gotten to it. He’d broken a sweat too, his forehead shiny. His skin flushed. 

The smugness was overwhelming though, could see it in his eyes. In the small smirk pulling at his lips. He seemed incredibly proud of himself. 

“ you are somethin’ else “ he mumbled as he finished readjusting his clothes, reaching forward to slip the ruffled strap of your dress back up your shoulder from where it had slipped. Pressing a kiss to the skin there for good measure. 

“ I ain’t the jealous one “ you teased as you combed your fingers through his hair in some attempt to tidy it. 

“ ain’t jealous. No idea what you talkin about girl “ he said with a small clear of his throat in some attempt to hide the obvious lie, you simply smiled again and pressed a kiss to his cheek 

“ mhm sure “ 

There was something about having to go back out into the party with the light ache between your legs, with the evidence of Arthur’s jealousy slowly dripping down your thighs. And Arthur seemed to think so too 

“ now. I believe you wanted to dance? “

[navybrat817]

Within You

Pairing: Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky shows a different side of himself when you venture into a corn maze. Word Count: Over 3.2k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, DUBCON, unprotected vaginal sex, semi-public, breeding kink, spooky vibes, established relationship, possessive behavior, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Welcome to Navy's Trick or Treat Nonsense! Special thanks to @ghotifishreads who suggested soft!dark Bucky with a breeding kink and @tumblin-theworldaway for listening to me (s)cream about this. ❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @vonalyn ​, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was your first Autumn with Bucky. The two of you had been dating for less than a year, but you were completely enamored with him. Not only was he doting and smart, but he was a man who made your heart flutter in your chest whenever he looked your way. Even thinking about him sets your heart ablaze. He was the one for you.

“Come on,” you smiled as you took his hand and pulled him toward the pumpkin patch entrance.

The two of you took turns regarding date nights and outings. Today, you chose a pumpkin patch. You told him it wouldn’t feel like Fall if you didn’t go and listed off the fun things to do. There was a hayride, pumpkins and apples to pick, a corn maze, and much more. He obliged since he knew it would make you happy. He even gave you a small smile when you told him the website claimed that the maze was tricky, but you knew he’d find his way out easily.

You stopped and inhaled the cool air, the scent of warm apple cider drifting your way from the stand nearby. The temperature dropped just enough that you were comfortable in a sweater and the sun peeked out through the clouds to greet you. It wasn't overly crowded and it was the perfect weather. Even better because you had the perfect man by your side.

It was going to be a good day.

“Where should we start?” You asked, smiling when a small group of kids headed toward one of the tractors. “Hayride? Pick a pumpkin to carve later?”

“Where do you want to start?” Bucky replied, a small breeze blowing some of his dark brown hair back.

Your answer died in your throat as you gazed at him. His hair was the third thing you noticed about him, long enough that it almost touched his shoulders and soft to the touch. You loved running your fingers through it, whether it was to soothe him and pull it when he was between your thighs. The second thing you took notice of was the massive size of your now boyfriend. Over 6’4” with broad shoulders, a puffed out chest, and thighs made for riding, he intimated most while he excited you.

His cool blue eyes, of course, were the first thing. Gazing into them was like swimming in a private sea, ready to ride a gentle wave or get swept away in a storm depending on his mood. You could handle the entire range of emotions because you were his girl. It was that simple.

“You’re staring, doll,” he smiled, your cheeks warm at being caught. If any other guy called you "doll", it would've sounded silly. It was endearing coming from him.

“Well, I can't help it. You’re gorgeous,” you said.

“You are gorgeous,” he argued, the compliment sending more heat to your cheeks.

“You said that this morning,” you teased. The two of you moved in together recently and you had a hard time getting out of bed some days. Waking up beside him was like a dream, but it was your reality.

“And I'll say it again,” he smiled before a girl stopped in front of the two of you with a tray.

“Hi,” she greeted with an ear-to-ear smile. “Would either of you care for a sample of cider? We have warm and chilled.”

“Ooh,” you smiled, glancing between the cups. You loved apple cider. “I'll take warm, please.”

“Same. Thanks,” Bucky said, selecting cups for each of you. He blew on his before he drank it, a weird look crossing his face as he swallowed. “Is something on the bottom of my cup?”

“Nothing on mine,” you said, glancing at his cup once you tried your cider. “I think it's a sticker. Is it a cauldron?”

“Oh! You got the lucky, special sample!” the girl grinned as you and Bucky shared a confused look. She balanced the tray in one hand as she handed your boyfriend an orange coupon and took the empty cups from you. “Free cider for two. Enjoy!”

“Thanks,” Bucky said before she went to give samples to others.

“Lucky guy,” you smiled, raising an eyebrow as he slowly licked his lips. “You okay?”

He blinked and nodded. “Yeah. Was just warmer than I expected.”

“You didn't burn your tongue, did you?”

“No, but you should massage your tongue with mine anyway,” he half joked.

You smiled and nodded toward the maze. “Why don’t we check that out first?”

“So, you’d rather check out a maze instead of soothing your boyfriend's tongue?”

You giggled as you made your way to the start, grabbing a small sheet of paper. There were different sets of “animal tracks” to find throughout the maze. Anyone who found them all got a prize. “Why check out a maze when I can check you out?” You asked, unable to keep a straight face. “That was cheesy.”

“It wasn’t cheesy,” he said before his smile widened. “It was corny.”

“Oh, my god,” you laughed more. One thing about your boyfriend, he could always bring a smile to your face. “You think you’re so…”

A little boy ran out of the maze with a smile before he lost his footing and pitched forward, his sheet of paper floating to the ground as it flew from his hand. You rushed over to help when he began to cry, carefully helping the poor child sit up. “Ouch,” he sniffled.

“Hey. You okay?” you gently asked, making sure to keep your demeanor calm as you brushed some of the dirt away. You also grabbed his sheet before it could blow away. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”

He wiped his face and pointed to his knee once he rolled up his pant leg. “Right here.”

“Okay. Let’s take a look,” you nodded as Bucky joined you, crouching down on the other side of the boy. He looked worried, too. Minus the small scrape, he looked fine overall. “Poor little guy. Scrapes are no fun. But you know what? You’re a strong little boy.”

“I am?” he asked in a small voice.

“Yeah. Very strong,” Bucky agreed. "My girl wouldn't lie to you."

It was sweet how he spoke of you. “And you found all the animals, so you get a prize,” you smiled, showing him his paper where all of them were shaded. “You’re strong and smart,” you added, which brought a smile to his face, too.

“Timmy!” a woman shouted as she jogged out to the maze. “I told you not to run off. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” he replied, taking your hand so you could get him to his feet. “Hurts, but I’m strong and smart.”

Timmy’s mom bent down to inspect his knee herself before she gave you a relieved smile. “Thank you for helping him. How can I repay you?”

“That's not necessary. We're glad we could help,” you said, making sure he had his sheet. “You enjoy your prize and listen to your mom, okay?”

“Okay,” he nodded, waving as he went with his mom. “Thanks!”

“Cute little guy,” you smiled as Bucky slowly stood up. Your boyfriend had a few expressions that you were used to seeing, but you couldn’t read the current look he gave you. It was as if he was seeing you in a different light. “What?”

“Why haven't I knocked you up yet?"

You opened your mouth to say something, a feverish and unexpected heat moving through your body. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard what I said,” he said, his piercing gaze rooting you to the spot. “Just wondering why I haven't."

Though you knew Bucky was the man for you, the topic of kids hadn’t come up much. Partially because you hadn’t been together a year yet. Wouldn’t it be too soon to have a little one running around when you weren’t even engaged? Not that the two of you had to get married to have kids.

Maybe him seeing me comfort Timmy brought it to the front of his mind.

“I don’t know, Bucky. Why haven’t you knocked me up yet?” you teased. You almost shrank under his gaze a moment later when he didn’t laugh or crack a smile.

“Maybe I should. We can go home and get started right now,” he said. There was no hint of a joke in his tone. “This would be a fun place to bring our kids one day. Don't you think?"

“Why don’t we talk about it after the maze?”

He looked hurt for a split second and you almost assured you weren’t blowing him off. You wouldn't do that. It was merely a serious talk for another time. “Sure. After the maze,” he agreed, taking your hand as you made your way back over.

A chill ran down your spine when you walked through the entrance. It was strange. You weren’t afraid, especially since it wasn’t dark outside. So where did the unexpected chill come from?

“You okay?” Bucky asked, his voice a little rougher than usual as his grip tightened on your hand. Did he feel weird being in here, too? “I didn't freak you out, did I?”

“I'm fine and you didn't freak me out. You know you can tell me anything,” you replied, shaking it off the chill as the two of you began to walk through. The maze took up almost a third of the entire place, the stalks high enough that neither of you could see over them. “I think we should find the werewolf tracks first. Because they're one of your favorite animals.”

Before you could turn right down one of the paths, he brought his mouth close to your face. “That and I wouldn’t mind sinking my teeth in and leaving my mark on you.”

The breath rushed out of your lungs when you turned your head and caught the darkness in his eyes. His pupils were larger than normal as he stepped closer, almost backing you into the corn. “Is that right?”

“And you’ll let me,” he said, your heart racing as he leaned in. His kisses stole the breath from your lungs and your eyes slipped shut just before his lips touched yours. “Won’t you?”

“After we find the first set of tracks,” you whispered, pressing your hands to his chest so he’d back away.

He didn’t budge.

“Seriously, doll. Why haven’t I knocked you up yet?”

This again?

“I thought we were going to talk about that after we got out of here,” you reminded him, stepping to the side to go further down the path. “Where is this coming from anyway?”

“Been thinking about it for some time. I just haven’t said so,” he answered as he followed close behind. Was he afraid to say something before because it was too soon? That admitting it would scare you off? “Now that I'm talking about it, I can't stop.”

You were tempted to make a joke that there was something in his special cider sample making him talk. “You're serious about this?”

“You moved in with me. We love each other. I want a life with you. Of course, I'm serious.”

Glancing over your shoulder to find him watching you, you couldn’t help but smile. “I love you, too, Bucky,” you promised before you focused on the path again. You weren’t sure just how far the two of you had walked through. “But something like that is-”

You shrieked when Bucky spun you around by the shoulder, a wild look in his eyes before his mouth met yours in a persistent kiss. Compelling desire moved through you, but it didn’t matter how much you wanted him. The two of you were still in public. There were families around.

This wasn’t the time or place for this.

He broke the kiss before he shoved you almost painfully to your knees. He was never that forceful. “I’ll lose my mind if I’m not inside you.”

“Bucky, what the hell?!” you asked as he moved behind you and dropped to his knees, too. He yanked your pants and underwear down before you could stop him. Did you want to stop him? “We’re in a maze. What if someone catches us?”

He scoffed as he pushed you forward, forcing you to brace yourself with your hands. The cool breeze touched your exposed pussy, sending another chill down your spine. “You think I care if anyone catches us? I need you and they can’t stop me. They'll see that you're mine.”

The corn seemed to move in closer as you heard him unbuckle his belt, as if to give you some privacy. It had to be your mind playing tricks on you. “I'm already yours. Can you just slow down for a second?”

“I’m sorry, doll,” he swore, clamping a heavy hand over your mouth. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Bucky sheathed you in one hard thrust, your cry smothered by his hand. You admitted to him once that he was the largest you’d ever had, which he both loved and hated. While it made him feel good that your ex-boyfriends weren’t as big as him, could never stretch you the way he could, he hated thinking of anyone else being inside you. He liked to remind you that no one else ever would be. And because of his size, he usually took great care in prepping you.

His need must’ve clouded him, the burn from the stretch more intense than usual.

“I’m sorry, doll. I don't know what's come over me. I can’t help myself,” he apologized again as if he sensed your discomfort, your cunt gripping his cock like a vice as you breathed through your nose. “But it’s okay. I’ll make you feel good. Just take me.”

You whined as he nearly pulled out completely and shoved himself back in as deep as he could go. That was your only warning before he set a steady pace, your hands fisting the dirt and your ears ringing as blood surged through your veins. It wasn’t long before your wetness coated his cock, the burn fading to pleasure from the friction. He fucked you before, but it was nothing like this. Bucky was like a man possessed. No, not even a man. More like a wild animal rutting into you, claiming you.

Where anyone could stumble along and find you.

“So soft. So warm,” he groaned, leaving sloppy kisses along your neck. “So fucking good.”

You tried to push yourself higher on your hands and knees for better support, but the force of his thrusts surged you forward. Removing his hand from your mouth, he placed it on the back of your neck as your cheek hit the dirt. The hold gave him leverage to fuck you deeper with your ass in the air. The soil felt cool in contrast to the hot palm against your skin.

“Better keep quiet,” he warned you, even as the angle sparked ecstasy within you. All you could do was bite your lip to try and keep the sounds in as much as possible. “Or do you want someone to catch me breeding you?”

“What?” you gasped, unable to lift your head as a new sensation hit you.

“You heard me,” he growled, draping himself over your back and maintaining his harsh pace as he breathed against your ear. “Gonna breed you. Gonna fucking drown your womb with my seed. ‘Cause you’re mine. All. Fucking. Mine.”

The sweet doting boyfriend you were used to was nowhere to be found as his cock wrecked your cunt. Was there something unexplainable causing him to act this way or had he been holding back? You would question him later. For now, you could only go limp as he fucked you into the dirt with vigor. And it felt good. You couldn't deny it.

“Gonna be so full of me. Fuck, you’ll look so beautiful carrying my baby,” he grunted, barely able to make out his words his thrusts increased in speed and strength. The slap of skin on skin filled the air and you almost had to cover your mouth yourself to stop your mewls. “Your belly round. Your tits nice and full. Might keep you knocked up so you remember who you belong to.”

The image of Bucky with his hand on your belly filled your mind, sending jolts of unexpected pleasure down to your toes. “I can’t take it, Bucky,” you gasped, even as you felt the tug of your building climax ready to snap. “It’s too much.”

With a deceptively soft kiss to your neck, followed by a small nuzzle, Bucky let out a deep moan. “You can take it. You always do ‘cause you’re mine. My good girl,” he rambled on as you whined, the wet slide of your pussy squeezing him tighter as you got closer. “Need to pump you full. Need your cunt to milk every drop from me. You want it. I know it. Come.”

You couldn’t hold on any longer, your fingers curling in the dirt again as you came with a cry. You were overwhelmed by the pure bliss, shocked at just how powerful your orgasm was. He hadn’t teased your clit, yet you gushed around him like he had. The squelching sound blended in with your whimpers as he fucked you through it.

Maybe you liked the idea of him breeding you more than you realized.

“That’s it, doll,” he groaned as he chased his release. “Take it. Every. Fucking. Drop.”

Bucky's rhythm faltered as his cock pulsed, spilling inside you with a growl. He kept his hips flush against yours as he breathed raggedly against your neck, keeping your bodies joined together for as long as he could. He didn’t move until he began to soften, making a whimper spill from your lips when he pulled out of you. His fingers quickly replaced his cock to keep his spend from sliding out of you.

“You okay, doll?” he asked, his voice still a touch of gruff mixed with softness. “I didn’t mean to be so rough.”

“Mmm,” was the only response you could give him.

It was like a switch had gone off as he helped you up, keeping you from collapsing as he got your underwear and pants up. He wiped as much of the dirt away with his hands as he could, softness in his eyes once again. Minus his disheveled hair, he looked fine. Like he hadn't just fucked you in the corn maze.

You two were lucky you hadn't gotten caught.

He hugged you as close as he could while you tried to make sense of his behavior. Whatever raging beast was inside him was satisfied for the time being. But what came over him?

Large hands framed your face as you tried to get your shaking under control. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” you mumbled.

“I’ll draw us a bath when we get home, okay? Get you cleaned up and make sure you aren't too sore,” he offered with a tender kiss to your lips. “After I throw out your birth control pills. You won’t need those anymore.”

So, how are we feeling? What do we think? Love and thanks for reading! 🧡

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[downbaddetective]

On one of my recent rewatches (note taking for color analysis), my partner sat and watched with me, and I thought I would share some of the things he had thoughts on in no particular order:

•He also believed that Niko's sprite attention cloud was a physical manifestation of soulmatedness/lesbianism directed at Crystal like the rest of us did

•He owns an older Miata, so he was pretty pleased with the fact that Esther owned one (the first time I had watched, I involuntarily clocked it (I am not a car person), so when she confirmed that I was correct in the last episode I had told him that he should be proud of himself, lol.)

•Loved Esther up until the very end

•He enjoyed the music

•I don't think he was fully sold on Niko at first, but she quickly became one of his favorites

●He liked Crystal the most from the beginning (He asked how people hated her because I talked to him about my frustration with some weird takes that were going on, to each their own, but that one also still confuses me.)

•'You're my best mate' "oof, not the friend zone"

•Both Esther and Niko seemed to have all of his favorite lines

•I accidentally spoiled the fact that Niko 'dies' but I didn't say anything about what happens after the fact, so when the last couple of episodes were foreshadowing her dying, he basically went 'but I don't want her to die :('

•In addition to the previous point, the morning before we watched the last two episodes (we had to watch it in chunks), he was talking about how he doubted that we would get renewed (not in a mean way) but the last episode closed out he immediately said he was angry there was no season 2 and that this show deserves at least a season 2

•He wasn't fully convinced that it's Niko in the Igloo at the end

•He wants Jenny to go to London because he loves her

•He got frustrated with nobody listening to Tragic Mick's story and cheered when Niko asked him to continue

•He wants Mick to be able to be a Walrus again

•He essentially said 'My god, he wants to fuck the cat' lol

•He struggled to describe the vibes he was getting off of the Cat King, he has yet to find the words

•He loved the cats (probably because they said fuck and other such words)

•He also enjoyed the dandelion sprites

•There wasn't a whole lot that he had to say about Edwin and Charles, just kinda vibed

•He apparently missed the Cat King's cat form the first time, so he saw the second instance and said,"Of course he's orange"

•I also asked the rhetorical question, "Who told the ghost population of Port Townsend that the Dead Boy Detectives and their new medium were there?" Without hesitation, he went, "It was the Cat King."

•He has been exposed to Orbwin and Chorb content on here and is deeply entertained by it, so he looked really worried after the explosion at the butcher shop so to help I pointed and said "Look, it's Chorb!" It helped

So, needless to say, if you haven't already watched it, you should watch Dead Boy Detectives.

[baka-bakeneko]

Body - Toji Fushiguro x Fem Reader [NSFW]

tags: bodyguard Toji, bodyguard/damsel dynamics (if you squint), Toji is a bastard, brat/brat tamer dynamic, dry humping, a tad of CNC, wrap it before you tap it psa, rough fuck, dominant Toji, our little secret vibes

wc: 3.19k

synopsis: Toji gets hired to be a bodyguard for a bratty public princess.

a/n: thank you to @/yunonoai_ for singlehandedly fueling all my Toji imaginations into reality. This one for you, boo. and also u, anon that was asking for more toji content.

Toji repeated in his head brat, brat, brat every time he was in vicinity of you. Of course, public princess like you needed Daddy's protection. And Daddy paid a pretty penny for you.

Upon his first time meeting you, after effectively schmoozing your father for the position, Toji kept his eyes trained to yours while he dully scanned over you.

Toji bit back a scoff, bowed his neck to show respect in front of your father and introduced himself. He'd sat down after your father left with a kiss to your cheek, leaving you in the loft alone with him.

When the door shut, you rolled your eyes and undid the top buttons of your shirt and undid your hair. Toji quirked a brow, already assuming the worst.

In all honesty, Toji wished that your father had called it what it truly was: brat sitter. He followed behind you, carried your bags, listened to your girly gab with your friends about boys and sat with you in the car while you talked on the phone to your mother.

He wildly misunderstood the duties of this position. While he casually carried his gun attached to his hip, Toji hadn't gotten a sense of danger except for him being around you.

Whether or not you agreed with your father's need for protection, you had to commend Toji for being able to blend into the background. He was barely close to agreeable in anything you did, a grimacing pillar of stone close behind you. But he was intimidating, to say the least.

You remembered the look on your friend's faces when he sat behind you at lunch; his looming, plain glare piercing through them, leaving them quiet and nervous.

With a glance behind you, Toji raised an unamused brow then lowered his head to eat his meal.

"He's very..." one friend whispered at you.

"Big. And scary." The second one added.

You shrugged and resumed your meal. "That's what he's meant for."

He did exactly what your father ordered him to: to be your shadow. A phantom among your daily routine without a hitch. He was silent in the car afterwards, following you out of the car with your bags in his hold.

You retrieved your loft keys from your purse as the doorman opened the door for you two. Toji grumbled softly, dropping off the bags to an attendant while keeping in step with you to the elevator.

Just as the two of you made way into the elevator, Toji's earpiece sounded and he tapped it with his middle finger. "Sir?"

The formal introduction grated Toji's nerves, his teeth gritting while he listened to your father. He was quiet while his earpiece buzzed with information, wedging himself to the back wall of the elevator after pushing the button for your floor.

You stood near him, pulling out your phone to check your messages in the downtime. As the two of you stood, waiting for the elevator to close and go up, more tenants filed in.

Toji instinctively grabbed your elbow and pulled you before him, giving more space to the strangers that slowly filled the confined space.

"Yes sir, we're boarding the elevator now." Toji offered, turning his attention down at you then to the closing doors of the mechanism.

You glanced up at him, his hand now grasped at your elbow to keep you close. The elevator was soon cramped with strangers shoulder to shoulder and you stood close in front of Toji.

You shifted your footing, pulling your knees together to fit in Toji's wide stance. Toji glared down at you stepping closer to him.

Brat, brat, brat. He repeated in his head, even as your backside squished against his waist. He pursed a breath out, turning his head to listen to your father again.

"Take her inside when you get upstairs. I'd like to implement a short-term lockdown, just in case."

"Of course. How long?" Toji asked, ignoring you shifting against him again.

He attempted to flush his mind back to the pay, anything but the actual wedging of his soft cock between your cheeks.

Were you even wearing panties under this skirt? Toji cleared his throat and blinked hard, trying to rid his mind of that thought.

You wiggled in front of Toji, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Putting your phone back in your bag, you crossed your arms and stood tall before Toji.

His pecs felt directly behind your head, the heat of his body looming behind you. With a glance over your shoulder, you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.

Toji couldn't find a placement for his hands, unable to cross them like you had. He placed them on his hips, releasing a soft exhale above his head.

"Yes sir. Will do," Toji finished off his phone call with a double tap to his earpiece.

You turned your head over your shoulder and lowered your voice.

"What did my father have to say?"

Toji grit his teeth, leaning down to meet your ear with a whisper. "You're going to be on lockdown."

Toji's breath traveled down your spine, making you inhale sharply. Your arms crossed tighter over your chest, hiding the perk of your nipples.

You shifted your knees, which made your ass rub against Toji's cock again. He tilted his head back against the wall, trying to ignore the feeling of you against him.

Brat, brat, brat. Stupid brat. Spoiled little fucking brat. He bit at his inside lip, his hands gripping tighter at his hips. Toji couldn't pull his hips back any further, only let you lean against his cock.

An errant whimper escaped you, feeling your bodyguard's figure stiffen behind you. You flinched, tightening your cheeks only for Toji to clear his throat.

The doors one at a time, allowing small groups of people to filter out of the elevator. Toji glanced up at the corner of the elevator, noticing the security camera no doubt getting the full view of him practically dry humping his boss's daughter.

By the time that they reached your floor, Toji was adamant with pushing you off of him and out of the doors as quickly as possible. You couldn't blame him in the slightest; a moment longer in that situation and you would've faltered.

Toji had to admit that he would have folded, his natural beration of you in his head no longer aiding his disdain but his natural urges.

He kept his eyes level at the back of your head, following you down the hallway to your father's penthouse. Eyes up, Fushiguro. Goddamn it.

Even with his personal lashing, Toji couldn't help but falter his eyes down your spine and to your ass poured tight into your pencil skirt.

The slight slit between your thighs was highlighted with the flash of sensitive skin. He growled in his throat, straightening his back and returning his gaze to your head.

You felt Toji's eyes bore into the back of your skull, felt personally ogled and examined by this man. When you finally reached the door of your father's penthouse, you opened it and let your bodyguard follow you in.

Upon closing and locking the door, Toji's heavy hand slammed over your shoulder.

Your breath caught, feeling the man's massive stature over your back as his lips crept to behind your ear. Just as you felt his other hand slip up between your thighs from the slit of your skirt.

"Are you fucking wet for me right now?"

You whimpered softly, your body pressed against the heavy oak door. You willed yourself to ignore this man's question, even as his calloused fingers stroked up the sensitive insides of your thighs. His knuckles left no side of you in want, caressing up just to stop before your pussy.

You shut your eyes, holding your forehead to the door before Toji grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you back to look at him. His fingers weaved into the hair at the nape of your neck, offering a delicious sting down your back.

"You want to answer me, brat?" He seethed at your face, his teeth bared together.

Your chest curved out, the buttons of your shirt tempted to break open. Your hands went for Toji's at your skirt and neck respectively, earning another tug at your hair.

"Behave and answer me." Toji's scarred lips made their way to your ear even as his fingers slipped between your lips.

You crooned at his touch, feeling him swirl the wet he caused back and forth before retracting. Still, you didn't answer him as he found his own answer.

Toji scoffed, pulling his fingers from your skirt and holding them up for you to see. He tilted his soiled fingers in the afternoon light from the windows and clicked his tongue at the sight.

"Fucking knew it," Toji purred, nipping at your earlobe. "Why don't you tell me how you taste, hmm?"

You forced your lips together, folding them in to keep Toji's fingers out. Even though you'd been with him all day, you didn't trust the cleanliness.

"What if I don't want to?" you quipped, nipping out at Toji's digits when they approached your mouth.

His glare was unfazed by your defiance, knowing this was nothing new he expected. Toji shook his hand in your hair, loosening your fight against him.

"Fine," he bit, using his wet fingers to pluck your shirt buttons open. "Tell me then, brat, what'll happen when I force my cock in your mouth."

Your eyes flamed at the thought, your knees melting apart when Toji shook you to the floor. He was not one to ask for your permission, but he understood when you said 'stop' it'd be done.

There was no way that he'd actually risk his pay to fuck a spoiled brat. "Say you swear by my cock that you'll keep it secret."

You sneered up at Toji, knelt before the knot on his pants. "Fuck you."

He took a deep breath in and out, your venomous tone nothing against your seductive eyes. "You should work better on your delivery. And hide your want a bit harder."

His free hand had his thumb flatten against your lips, admiring how malleable and biteable they were. Toji would mark them last, pierce the soft skin with his teeth to make you bleed.

Thumb forcing between your lips, over your teeth, he hooked you towards him. The jut of your jaw made you straighten up, glaring at Toji. When you were right where he wanted, he pulled his thumb out and unceremoniously tugged his pants down to reveal his thick, at-attention cock.

It sprang before your face, practically kissing your nose with precum. Though your glare attempted to convey disgust, your pussy wetted further at the sight. His musk was natural, something expected from a man who only showered on days he worked.

The sweat from him was pungent, cloaked with cologne but was now heady before your face. Your mouth watered, repulsed with yourself.

"You can't hide that you want my cock." Toji said, grabbing the base of his erection and tapping his tip against your nose. "I'll let you kiss it if you beg."

Your teeth forced together, narrowing your eyes at your bodyguard. Toji grinned at your expense, shifting his angle to tap his cock against your pressed lips.

"Just like a brat to want me to force you." Toji pushed at the back of your neck, bringing you to kiss at the underside of his cock, dragging your lips down to his balls.

You moaned at the feeling of his dick skin hot and tight against your lips. His vein twitched against your mouth, giving way to his desire. Your nose was violated with the sting of his musk, only driving more wet out of you.

Toji groaned at the feeling of your lips against him, wanting to grind his cock over your mouth to climax. It was the very least he was willing.

"Give me something. God damn," he exasperated, pulling your soft lips away.

You hissed at his grip, giving him an arch of your chest in exchange. Your hand went for his wrist again, your other tugging at your skirt to hike it up.

"Oh," Toji said, his eyes wandering down your body until he caught sight of your bare pussy. "That's exactly what I wanted."

You purred softly, spreading your knees further apart by his agreeance. When he tilted his head to gain view of your wet lips, you slammed your knees together again.

A carnal growl rumbled from Toji's chest then, his teeth bared like a feral dog. "Brat."

He released your hair and sat on the couch in the room, grabbing hold of his cock and stroking. He shut his eyes, imagining anything else to get his mind off of you but was met with the mental roadblock of your ass, your lips.

You sat on the white marble floor, staring over at frustrated Toji. Even without him paying attention to you, he made you bothered. Your hand on your skirt hem dipped in to tease yourself, watching as Toji bitterly handled his cock.

Toji lolled his head side to side, trying to meddle through you but ultimately failing. Opening his eyes to you, he raised a brow at your efforts. He so badly wanted to force you down and take from you, but there was delicate game to be played.

Even when you met his gaze, your doey eyelashes fluttering in invitation, Toji remained sat on the couch handling his dick in softer strokes.

"Stop toying with me. If you want me, come sit on it."

His eyes narrowed on you, rolling his shoulders back as he toyed at the head of his cock. You pouted, sinking your fingers into your core.

Toji sneered, watching your fingers slowly pump into you. Your brows furrowed, pussy clenching as you hummed. He attempted to keep himself at his seat, though he felt taunted by your sounds.

"Brat." He barked. "Now. Get on my cock."

You squeaked, leaning forward on your fingers as you ran your other hand up your chest and to your neck. Fighting his want and your own felt nauseating, but you knew what it would mean to fuck your bodyguard.

Even without your father knowing, you'd know. And once it started, you weren't sure you could stop. To have his dick on command was exhilarating to some effect, but still you fought yourself.

Toji launched himself from the couch, crawling over to you before grabbing your knee and pulling your legs spread. He was tired of wasting time, he was exhaused by games.

"Tell me now. Yes or no?" He asked the softest he could. Toji's teeth were still grit, his scarred top lip quivering in a sneer.

His cock was hung precariously between your splayed thighs, your legs draped over his hips. You felt the heat of him against you, ready and willing.

You slipped your fingers out, vulgarly displaying your open pussy to him before pulling your skirt up to your stomach. Your throat parched, you nodded at him.

His sneer curled into a sinful grin, his hands gripping your hips as he angled his cock to your ready entrance. Without a second to ready yourself, he pushed into you.

Your hands fisted on the marble floor, wiggling your hips to accomodate his girth. Shaky breaths rattled your chest with Toji pushing further into you.

"So tight," Toji groaned, throwing his head back at the instant relief. "So wet."

You mewled at his words, shifting on his length. He raised up on his knees, effectively pulling your legs up and over yourself before he started slamming his cock down into you.

Audible cries escaped you, your body folded onto your shoulders. Hands flailing at his thighs for him to slow down, but he tore through you with a stamina that had you melting.

Sweat was instant, dotting your bra and hairline while Toji maintained his standard of put together. His hands gripped tighter into your thighs, effectively bruising them and ready to puncture them with his dirty nails.

You crooned out with each thrust, Toji becoming entranced in the chase of the high rather than your pleasure. He relished in your pulsating walls, your wet pussy sounding with each slap of his hips.

Your body became a whole from you, vibrating on the end of Toji's cock. You seethed when he fucked into you, whined when he pulled out and moaned when he spread you open around him.

He strung a long dip of spit from his bottom lip where your clit throbbed, ignored, and kept pumping. Lechery coursed through him, abandoning all pleasantries for the boss's daughter.

Lower back aching, you angled your hips to ease the weight of Toji's heavy hips jackhammering. With that, you found yourself clenching tighter around his cock.

Your breaths drew fast and layered, your chest choking your neck. "Shit, Toji, h-hold on, I'm gonna--"

Toji squeezed terminally hard at your thighs, piercing your skin as he tutted deep against your insides. A pained gasp escaped you, his mouth finding your bottom lip and nipping you raw.

The euphoria slammed into you, your stomach rolling. Mouth gaped, you tasted a tinge of blood on the tip of your tongue. Toji's dark glare bored into your watering eyes, taking in each minute tinge on your face.

"Easy little brat," Toji spat down at you, riding your velvety walls. "Daddy would die if he saw you sullied like this, huh?"

Dirty talk was never one of Toji's strong suits, especially with practical silver spoon princesses.

"Guess it'll be our little secret," Toji said, running his hands further to catch onto your skirt. He tore the fabric at the zipper lining down your back, exposing your blushing, sweaty skin to the apartment.

You whined, pulling in your bottom lip to aid the nip. Toji shut his eyes and staggered through his thrusts, jutting his hips hapzardly in and out until he finally pulled out and came.

His twitching cock rested against your spent pussy, marking your face and chest with his cum. He rolled his shoulders back with a satisfied huff, giving your plushy thighs another hard squeeze before dropping you to the floor.

Toji reeled back on his haunches, catching his breath and nursing his sensitive hard on back into his pants. He wasn't going to spare another look at you, knowing that if he did, he'd bend you over again.

You gasped at the ceiling, slowly regaining feeling in your toes before sitting up. You stretched your neck, grabbing your tattered skirt to clean up Toji's signature mess on you.

After a few moments of silence, Toji looked around the penthouse. Still intact as minutes before, no security cameras in sight.

He rounded his stature, returning to his hardened work demeanor. "Aren't you going to offer me some tea?" He asked, matter-of-factly.

You scoffed in disbelief at him, glaring at him from under your brows before you pushed your way onto your feet.

"Make it yourself."

[bad268]

heyy could you write a kimi x reader story where the reader is american? sorta inspired by olivia rodrigo’s so american possibly? tyyy love your writing

So American (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X American! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (thank you lovey! I'm sorry this is short, olivia rodrigo is not my main type of music, so this was the first time I heard it lol)

Warnings: Aged up Kimi

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 840

Summary: So American by Olivia Rodrigo

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

God, you were gonna marry him if he kept this shit up. He was just perfect, and you were sure you were in love. 

Kimi was written by a female, you could tell. The way he was just all around perfect, you couldn’t get over it. He was the perfect person to be with, the perfect gentleman, and the best companion. You would happily follow him anywhere he went.

Late-night drives were the best. Where you two would fly down the nearly empty roads, your feet up on the dashboard, you two felt free. Granted, late-night drives did not happen as much as you wanted them to since his schedule was so hectic, and they were only really used to help you two go to sleep. You would happily sit in the passenger seat, wearing one of Kimi’s shirts and sweatpants as you picked the best music to pick the vibes.

“You’re so American,” Kimi chuckled one night when you played Party in the U.S.A.

“This is what makes you think I’m American?” You chuckled back, moving to change the song.

“No, leave it,” Kimi stopped you, moving his hand from the shifter to push your phone down and hold your hand. “I like that you’re so American. It’s cute.”

“Ah, you think I’m cute?” You joked, making your voice an octave higher.

“Of course I do,” He chuckled again, bringing your intertwined hands up to his lips to place a kiss on your knuckles. “You’re the cutest.”

God, it wasn’t fair! How could this vroom vroom guy make you feel this much? If he kept this shit up, you might be in lo-

That drive made you realize you didn’t just love Kimi, but you were in love with him. He was everything to you and that interaction helped put that into perspective for you. You were infatuated with him. You would talk about him any chance you could to anyone who would listen. You could not stop thinking or talking about him. His style and his interests became yours. You used to be such a homebody, fully content with sleeping the day away, but man,  it’s hard to sleep when he’s with you.

It was one of those off weekends during the summer break. Mercedes gave their drivers the first week completely off. No media, no training, no nothing. Just a free break to rest, recuperate, relax and recharge. Kimi decided to spend it in America with you. He had only been to America for the Miami Grand Prix, but he wanted to visit your hometown and stay for a while. His family was fine with it since it’s easier to stop by Italy when most of the races are in Europe. America is a little farther away.

And you two did exactly what he wanted. You took him around your neighborhood, showed him around all of your favorite spots, and had fun not abiding by the harsh racing schedule for a week. It was nice to just stop and be teens for a week. It wasn’t until the night before he had to head back to Brackley for media and training that you realized you didn't want to let him go again.

You both laid in bed, a movie long forgotten in the background. Kimi was asleep, but you were wide awake. You were busy memorizing every feature of his face, counting his freckles, twirling his curls. You watched his breaths steady as he fell Anything, everything, and nothing all at the same time. You didn’t want him to go back yet.

“Are you going to keep staring at me or will you eventually go to sleep?” Kimi’s groggy voice broke you out of your trance. You were so lost in your thoughts, you didn't realize he woke up. You stared at him in shock, and when his word registered, your eyes became watery. Of course, being the ever-attentive boyfriend he is, Kimi noticed immediately, making a move to sit up and turn on the lamp. He pulled you into his arms and held you against his chest, “Hey, amore (love), what’s going on? You can talk to me.”

“I don’t want you to go back yet,” You whimpered as you hid your face in his chest. “I’m sorry if it’s a little too much or a little too soon, and I don't wanna assume this stuff, but do you love me? I think I’m in love with you, and I’m not ready to say goodbye to you yet.”

“Hey, slow down,” Kimi comforted, pulling you back a little to rest his forehead against yours to look you in the eyes. He whispered, “Ti amo mille (I love you so much).”

“God, I wanna marry you,” You sighed with a light laugh. “Is it too soon to say that?”

“No,” He laughed with you, pulling you into a brief kiss. “I can always take you with me. I wouldn’t mind having il mio Americano (my American) with me for a while. I’d love it actually.”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[miraclewoozi]

DRIVE. - l.c

DRIVE -- or, the night you realise it's actually very hard to stay mad at the guy who shows up at your house, throwing stones at your window on a Thursday night, to try and fix something that was your mistake in the first place.

pairing : chan x fem reader. content : fwb > lovers. angst, smut (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT), fluff. more or less in that order. they’re both dumb as hell. not explicitly put in any detail but this was written with a more 70s vibe in mind so feel free to bear that in mind when thinking of the car/tech/styles etc if u like. w/c : 7.8k warnings : lots of swearing. it’s all a big fuckin misunderstanding because i am a whore for that. weed & alcohol mentioned (neither party is drunk or high at the time of this taking place). mentions of past cheating (neither mc or chan are the cheater). some pov switching because i said so. let me know if i've forgotten anything. proofread exactly once so if there's a typo, no there isn't. SMUT TAGS UTC.  notes : dino. get the fuck off my ass. i’m so serious i am not strong enough to handle the very real feelings i have for you. go away.  notes 2.0 : i listened to halsey’s drive for some inspo for this & took that as the title, so feel free to give it a listen if you want!

SMUT TAGS : dom!chan. car fuckin', making out, hair pulling, grinding/dry humping, fingering, finger sucking, dick riding, marking/scratching, unprotected sex (make good choices), overstimulation, multiple orgasms. praise. chan calls reader ‘baby’ & ‘sweetheart’. he’s a BIG talker during sex (sorry).

You’re not stupid. You heard his car pull up outside your house almost an hour ago. 

Since then, at random intervals ranging anywhere between thirty seconds and five minutes, there have been clinks of a thrown stone at your bedroom window, a piece of the gravel that lines your driveway. Each time, it makes your jaw tense, makes your fingers tighten in the bedsheets you pulled all the way up to your chin in a foul mood at 8pm. It’s been the same now for almost two weeks — you’ve been getting home from work, showering the day away, eating your dinner and retiring to your room as early as you possibly can. Your roommate tried to find out what was wrong around day three but you very promptly shut her down — she’s since learned that the best she’s getting out of you currently is a dismissive wave of your hand or some kind of a grunt. She joked one evening that it was like she’d adopted a teenager; you scowled so violently that she went to her room. 

Hardly any of your other friends have seen anything of you, either, despite the fact that several have come knocking to check if you’re all right. 

You’re very much not all right, as it happens. This is perhaps the most upset you’ve ever felt, and that’s going quite some way. The angriest, too. It’s worse than when that middle aged woman threw her entire bucket of popcorn at your head when you gave her salty instead of sweet, and you were picking kernels out of your hair for the rest of your six hour shift. It’s worse than when your nasty supervisor ‘forgot’ you were in the bathroom and ended up locking you inside the cinema overnight, because you didn’t have your own set of keys to get out and the people whose numbers you remembered weren’t answering their phones. 

It’s somehow even worse than when a summer crush from a few years ago broke things off by telling you that he already had a girlfriend back home and that you were basically just a means to pass the time and get his dick wet. God, and you thought that was the lowest you could possibly be.

Here you are, though, so far beyond all those things it would be comical, if it didn’t hurt. Chan has really done a number on you, and you’re not sure how you ended up getting so emotionally involved in your situationship with him that this is what you’ve been reduced to. For days now, you’ve been swallowing back tears of frustration (both with yourself and with Chan), rolling around in your bed night on night, unable to get to sleep because all you can think about is him.

Him, and the way he sounded genuinely horrified when his friends asked about the ‘movie girl’, and he laughed, ‘God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen’. It was impressive, how quickly your face fell, in no way aided by the squealing giggles that rang through the house as a very, very drunk girl came running out of the living room and shut herself in the toilet, drowning out a chunk of the conversation you were listening in on. Somehow, it hurt even more when he went on to say ‘besides, there’s… someone else’. 

And when you have managed to drift off after hours of staring at the walls and the ceiling, hearing those words on a loop on your fed up brain? Of course he’s been in your fucking dreams, too.

In your defence, all you were trying to do was use the mirror in the hallway outside the kitchen he and his friends were standing in, readjusting your top to cover the hickey that he had so kindly left on your collarbone just the night before. It wasn’t as though you sought him out to listen in; it was a coincidence. And okay, fine, maybe you should have walked away when the conversation turned to the topic of Chan’s love life. Maybe you should have not crept closer and held your breath to be able to hear them all better. Maybe, even, you should have stayed around long enough to ask what he meant by it then and there instead of hopping in a taxi and going home without saying goodbye to anyone. 

Hindsight really is a beautiful thing.

Never gonna happen. Well, Chan seemed quite happy to ignore the fact that it already had happened. Several times. At least four of those being in the very car currently on the street outside your home. The car he’s used on countless occasions to drive you up to lovers’ lookouts in the dead of night, letting one of his many mixtapes play through the tinny speakers, where he’d kiss you breathless and cradle your face between his palms, as his fingers would delicately explore beneath your clothes, as his broad shoulders would slot between your thighs, as his hips rol–

And maybe you aren’t stupid, but Chan seems determined to prove that he sure as hell is. He came to pick you up from work the day after the party like nothing had happened, and couldn’t figure out why you said you would rather walk home in the rain than get in with him and stormed away without any further explanation. Then, he showed up on your doorstep on the morning of your day off with your favourite coffee and a breakfast bagel, asking if you could talk. He still didn’t realise what he’d done to upset you, so you slammed the door in his face. Finally, just earlier today, he ran after you in the mall, persistent as you’ve ever known him to be, and laid a hand on your shoulder when you didn’t turn around to just the sound of his voice calling your name. 

You pushed him off so hard he almost fell over. 

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” You had barked, shrugging your shoulders to try and realign your jacket. “I don’t want to talk to you. What’s not clicking?”

His face resembled that of a scolded pet when he took a step back and frowned at you. “I just wanted to–”

“I don’t care what you want, Chan,” you spat. “Give it up. I’m done.”

You could see the desperation swimming in his eyes as he scrambled for what to say and your heart felt like it was being weighed down all the way into your stomach. You supposed that was the part of you that was causing all this ache in the first place, and further that it was to blame for your current state of misery. But you steeled yourself and stood your ground nonetheless. He wasn’t going to win you over with puppy eyes and a pout. Not this time.

In his silence, you only then noticed how hard your breaths were coming, each slow and long but still dangerously unsteady. You lowered your voice, top lip curling at him as you muttered, “You’re embarrassed of me enough to lie to your friends? Fine. I don’t give a–… but shit, next time, tell a girl that to her face instead of behind her fucking back.”

It’s been seven hours, and you keep replaying the last thing he said to you as you stormed away (how his voice got quieter when he realised you weren’t turning back; how he sounded so hoarse, so sorry). 

‘I’m sorry if I hurt you - I— I never meant to.’

If. If. If. Were you not making it completely fucking obvious that he had, most definitely, hurt you? Part of your brain is even now starting to go down the route that he’s doing this on purpose, that it’s some twisted sort of damage control, that he hopes maybe if he plays dumb for long enough, you’ll forget what you were mad about or maybe start to second guess what you heard. But if that’s what he thinks, he obviously doesn’t know you very well at all. That’s never going to happen. 

Hell, for someone you were being so careful to keep in the appropriate lane in your head, Chan really has you thinking yourself in circles. You’re sick to your back teeth of him, and his stupid voice and his stupid smile and his stupid –

Clink.

Stupid. Fucking. Stones.

A groan loud enough to definitely catch the attention of your roommate sounds from deep within your chest at this interruption to your spiral and you finally, finally concede. Whatever argument he’s so clearly longing to have at 11 o’clock on a Thursday night? Fine. He can have it. If it means he backs off for good, you’ll give him his one last ruck.

You pull the window open none too gently and lean enough through it that Chan comes into view. He isn’t even looking up, you realise, too busy sifting through the driveway trying to find his next little projectile, and you hiss his name to get his attention. It startles him so much that he drops the indiscernible bundle in his right hand. He blindly scrambles to pick it up, those big, earnest eyes gazing at you as if you’re floating in midair before him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask him, trying not to raise your voice too loud but at the same time, needing to generate enough volume for him to hear. He holds the bundle in both hands, now, and they catch the light of the lamp by your front door. Flowers, you register, squinting to try and make them out, your brows furrowing so much that your forehead hurts. 

Black dahlias.

You choke back a laugh. Ah, the joys of fooling around with the son of a florist. Are they all so damn dramatic? (Or does he just know that they’re your favourites?)

Whichever it is, you tell yourself that’s not going to work. You won’t let it. Through gritted teeth, you say, “go away. I’m serious. I’ll call the cops on you.”

He shakes his head, begging as he steps just a little closer so his face is more visible in the amber light too. “Please–” he hurries, biting his bottom lip. “Please, don’t– just… tell me what I did. I want to make it right. Please.”

He never begs like this. In all the time you’ve known him, you swear Chan has said ‘please’ to you fewer times than you could count on your fingers. Which is by no means a bad thing — that’s just always been the very comfortable nature of your friendship, and later, the -with-benefits tag that you ended up sticking on the end. 

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose and fighting not to shiver in the cold nighttime air. Note to self: don’t do a Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the fucking winter without layering up, first. “What does it even matter?”

“What do you mean, what does it matter?” He asks, looking down at the bunch of flowers in his hands, then back at you. “I-... you know I’d never hurt you. Not on purpose. Please, just… if I did something–”

“There’s someone else,” you echo, fed up with his pretending. He’s a fair actor, you’ll give him that – he might even have been able to convince you, if you hadn’t already heard the other half of this tale he’s doing his best to spin in his favour. 

His face screws up, thinking he’s misheard. It’s his turn not to understand now. If you’re telling him you’ve met someone else, he’s got questions, because you’d promised to be open and honest with each other if that ever happened, so that you could call things off and go back to being just friends without it becoming a big deal. That was always supposed to be a calm conversation, not… whatever this is. You talked about it, right at the start. But… those are the words you’re saying, aren’t they? And why would you be mad at him if you were the one whose circumstances had changed? 

“What?” he asks, finally. “What do you mean?”

“God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen. Besides, there’s… someone else!” You raise your voice without really meaning to, before swallowing hard and glancing back inside your room. “You said that, Chan. Don’t piss me off by coming here and pretending like you didn’t.”

Chan starts to look like he’s trying to figure out an algebraic equation in his head while only having half the required information; his eyes fall down to the gravel, his lips move without any sound coming out of them, his features tighten until there are definite lines between his eyebrows. Then, it clicks. The lightbulb moment. He slaps one hand to his face and shakes his head furiously, and you just know he’s going to wake up with an ache in his neck tomorrow because of it.

“Oh fuck,” he curses. “No, no, no, no, no – that’s not–”

“What did I just say?” You spit down at him. “Don’t piss me off–”

“Listen!” He shouts, and you gesture with your hand for him to lower his voice, interrupting his flow of thought and rendering him silent for a moment. “Fuck, please. Come down here and talk to me. That’s not what you think it is.”

You’re in every mind to slam your window shut and leave him out there in the cold. It would work if you got out your headphones to drown out the sounds of him trying to get your attention, which you have absolutely no doubt in your mind that he would do. And maybe then he’d get the hint; maybe then he would understand that you’re not just some pushover who he can just pick up and play with when it suits him. 

But he’s still holding those fucking flowers like they’re a lifeline, still looking up at you without a single lick of anger on his face. Not stress at having been discovered, which you would have expected him to be swimming in right about now. He looks… kind of beside himself, as if nothing could possibly be worse than what you’re threatening to do.

All this, for you? It just doesn’t make sense. 

“Please,” he says again, quieter, weaker. For the first time, you pick up on the hint of a shiver in his voice, and you swallow. Whether you’re gulping back your pride, or your resolve, or the last remnants of your sensibility, you don’t know. 

Does he deserve for you to hear him out? You’re not sure.

But does he deserve to be stuck out in the cold in just his stupid leather jacket and a pair of jeans? 

With regret, you think, no. He doesn’t.

All you give him is a scowl before you disappear from view entirely, pulling the window closed and drawing your curtains again. Faster than you think you ever have before, you throw on a sweatshirt over your pyjamas, grab your keys, and hurry down the stairs as silently as you possibly can. 

He’s stood in exactly the same place when you edge outside and pull the door closed behind you. Up-close, you can see the tiredness on his face: this is a man who has exhausted himself in worry, you think, and yet he still smiles a little when he sees you in full. He still holds the flowers out for you to take. He still purses his lips and blows out a stuttered cloud of air. Nervous, and not in the way you think he ought to be. So when you walk straight past him and don’t take the dahlias out of his hands, instead standing by his car and waiting for him to unlock it for you, you start to feel overwhelmingly guilty. 

Chan is many, many… many things. But he really isn’t this good of a performer, no matter what you’ve been telling yourself all week. For God’s sake, why is it so much easier to be angry at him when he’s not standing right in front you?

You slip into his passenger side as he fumbles to set the flowers down on his backseat again, and he joins you up front just a few moments later. His hands are shaking when he sets the keys into the ignition. His whole body is. When you cast a real look over at him, the tips of his fingers are pale and his lips are lacking their usual rosy, pink hue. Your own teeth are chattering despite only having been truly exposed to the cold air for a matter of seconds; you dread to think how frozen he must be.

“Are we driving?” You ask to break the silence. Since he got into the car and fiddled with the heating settings to try and warm things up a little, he hasn’t said a word. It’s awkward. It’s horrible. You already miss the comfortable way you’ve been able to sit for hours together, barely talking, just watching the lights of the city and the cars travelling through it. 

You already miss him. Which is a strange thought, seeing as he’s only about ten inches away. 

“If– if you want,” he says, stuttering through the frost in his lungs. “We can go—...”

“Drive, Chan,” you say. It’s not just because you want him to stop falling over his words – which, to be fair, you do. Chan has always been very confident, carrying himself with the air of someone who knows exactly their worth. It’s one of the things you treasure about him. So this? Is fucking weird. But a big part of it is that you know his car will heat up faster if it’s in motion, and right now, you think maybe he’s at risk of losing a finger or two if he doesn’t get some circulation back.

He steps on the gas and the car pulls away from your home. It’s the first time you’ve ever been in his car without there being some sort of music playing, whether that’s historically just been the radio or a tape he put together with the help of one of his older friends. (The tapes that always had your first initial on them. The tapes that he never failed to ask your opinions on when he dropped you home – as if he’d compiled them with only you in mind.) The silence feels jarring and you can hear every rumble of the engine, every squeal of the brakes he definitely needs to get serviced. 

But the car does warm through, and you sigh out relief as the bones in your hands move a little easier, as your fingers curl and uncurl to less resistance from your taut muscles. Chan feels it, too; his body relaxes, his breaths stop coming out in fractions, his face gets some colour back. The timing feels a little less awful when you finally say, “go on, then.”

Chan glances over at you as he drives down an unlit street. Only for a second, like he’s checking you’re still there, before his eyes train back on the road. He’s going to one of your favourite spots. It isn’t a lookout – it’s somewhere completely shut off from the rest of town, hidden by the trees near the railway tracks, somewhere you’ve never had to worry about being seen or heard. Maybe he’s anticipating a screaming match. Maybe he’s expecting something else. Maybe, even, he just cares about how much you love it there. 

“I didn’t know you heard that conversation,” he starts, sheepishly. You want to roll your eyes, reach over and thump him, ask if that makes what he said okay, but you don’t. You stay looking out the front windscreen too. Waiting. “I… all right. I was out of my ass drunk.”

You click your tongue, pressing it afterwards against the inside of your cheek, but again, you stay quiet.

“I don’t think you heard what you thought you heard, though,” he goes on to say. “‘Cause– ‘cause it wasn’t…”

But you can only be quiet for so long in the face of this mess. Especially when he’s apparently working towards a doctorate in beating around the fucking bush. “I heard you tell your friends that it was never gonna happen with ‘movie girl’.”

Chan’s face brightens, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth is wrong with this man. Why does he find that funny? Why is his chest moving like he’s trying not to laugh?

“And you… thought you were movie girl,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Okay – shit. I’m sorry.”

You look at him properly, now, as he indicates to the right and takes the turn that leads him down the lane to your spot. “What are you talking about?”

“I get it,” he says. “You work at the–... but you’re not movie girl. Not that movie girl.”

“Stop talking in riddles before I get out of this car, Chan. It’s too late for this shit.”

He holds a hand up as if to apologise and settles back against the head cushion, suddenly looking far more comfortable than he did thirty seconds ago. He clears his throat, running his tongue over his lips, before sucking in a breath and letting himself go on.

“You’re not movie girl,” he says again, successfully clarifying nothing. “There’s this chick I used to dance with — years back, before… God, when we were in school, like, forever ago. She moved away when we were sixteen.” As he talks, he reaches your destination and sets the car into park, before he unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face you. You do the same, shifting your weight to tuck one leg up beneath you, and with your undivided attention, he goes on. “I ran into her recently. She’s back in town now, I guess. It was like, two weeks—?”

“I’m gonna be all-over grey by the time you finish telling this story,” you interrupt, raising an eyebrow. “Can you please give me the short version?”

“Not if you want it to make sense,” Chan shrugs. Begrudgingly, you let him keep talking. “She said it would be cool to hang out, maybe catch a movie or do lunch or something — and look, I didn’t know she was asking me on a date, I thought she was just being nice, y’know? Trying to be friends, but… you weren’t working that day, it was when you had that… that stomach thing going on? And I brought you the soup my mom made, remember?”

You nod; of course you remember. At the time, you wondered why on Earth this grown man’s mother was making you food — you asked yourself whether he’d told her about you, or if she thought it was for someone else. In the end you decided he must have just been bringing you leftovers. But you’d been too worn out to start asking questions; instead, after you’d eaten, you let yourself fall asleep with your head in his lap as he patted your hair and hummed his favourite songs. You hadn’t let yourself think too deeply about it since. 

“Anyway. We were sat watching the movie and she, uh,” he glances down at his lap, tips of his ears burning pink. “She put her hand, sorta, on my thigh? And then I was like, shit, I didn’t read this right, like… at all. So I moved it off and she took the hint — and after it ended I said to her, you know, I was flattered, right? But I wasn’t interested. And then I went home and got that soup and—… yeah.”

He came straight to see you. To look after you. Hell, you didn’t even fool around that night; in retrospect, it was all uncharacteristically domestic. And slowly, the pieces you’ve spent days struggling to fit together start to fall into place. It makes sense. The only question that remains is do you believe him?

Well, tell a lie. 

There is one more. 

“You said there was someone else,” you add quietly. 

You’ll die before you admit it, but this is secretly the part that was hurting you the most. 

You can’t even look him in the eye, right now; your cheeks are burning with the embarrassment of even caring. As much as you want to tell yourself that the only reason you’re pissed is just because of the dishonesty, you can only stare at yourself in the mirror and point-blank lie so many times. Someone else. You hate it. 

Just the thought of him seeing somebody else, taking them out on dates, smiling at them, laughing with them, kissing them the way he kisses you, touching —

A shiver runs the length of you and you cross your arms, thrusting your sleeve-covered hands under your armpits. 

Chan takes a deep breath in and exhales it slowly, like he’s blowing smoke out of his lungs. “There is,” he admits, nodding slowly, avoiding your eyes, too. “There is someone else.”

“When were you going to tell me?” You ask. 

Chan doesn’t respond straight away. You don’t notice, but eventually his eyes do land back at you; it’s only when he clears his throat to get your attention that you look at him long enough to realise he’s quite deliberately staring. His lips are lifted on the right in a lopsided smile, his eyes soft as he reaches across the seats towards you. You stare blankly down at his hand until he wiggles his fingers, and you think briefly that this is the most fucked up ending to a situationship you’ve ever been through. 

You drop one of your hands down and let him hold it, though, staring at his face as his thumb brushes over your knuckles and you wait for him to finally say it out loud. For him to announce that he’s fallen for somebody and that he can’t see you anymore. To put the nail in the coffin. Don’t tell me their name, you think. I don’t want to know anything about them. Please, just don’t.

“For someone so frustratingly smart, you’re really fucking dumb,” Chan says, finally, swallowing around his words and squeezing your fingers. Whatever stoic expression you had forced onto your face at the start of this conversation dissolves into irritation and you snatch your hand away from him again, letting his own fall and collide with a thunk against the handbrake. 

“Oh, sorry that I didn’t realise you were sneaking around behind my back when that’s the one thing we promised we wouldn’t do,” you snap. “God. The only stupid thing I’ve done here is get involved with you in the f—”

“You’re the someone else.”

Oh. 

Oh.

“I’m—?”

“You.”

The admission hangs heavily between you, as does your nonsense, unfinished insult. Neither of you really know what to do with yourselves except sit perfectly still and try to somehow deal with your increasingly dry throats. When Chan moves, it’s only to turn down the heating dial when his cheeks burn a bit too hot; you appreciate it, in part due to the bead of sweat currently running down your back, but you don’t say so. 

“You could have started with that,” you say weakly, wrestling with all your strength to keep even some of your cards close to your chest. It’s not working though. Your attempt to conceal your elation is a bit like throwing a single leaf on top of a bison and calling it camouflage. 

Chan commits to laughing, finally, your sentiment breaking him too. Now, you do crack that smile, albeit mostly just at the sound that comes from him. It’s bright and airy, lighting his whole face up as he drops all the way back and leans against his car door, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I was trying to build to a moment! It’s not my fault you hit every branch of the anti-romantic tree on your way down.”

“I am not anti-romantic,” you scoff in protest. 

“Yes — you are.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“No, you’re just an idiot.”

“Says she who didn’t realise her fuck-buddy had feelings for about six months, Jesus.”

“Chan—” You start, your voice laced with a playful warning. 

“Here I was thinking I was making it completely obvious,” he rambles on. 

“— oh my God, just shut up and kiss me.”

“Dropping hints left and r—” … “Huh?”

He stops short a fraction of a second after you finish, stumped and silent, frozen with everything but a little buffering symbol above his forehead. Kiss me, you said. Chan, […] just shut up and kiss me. All right, you’ve asked him to do that before, but not like this. Not as if you’ll wither away should you not get a taste of his lips this instant. It takes him some time to process it, but he does move in first, eventually. The way he always does, closing the distance between you like he’s been shot out of a cannon, one hand either side of your face, crashing feverishly against your mouth. 

Every now and again, he’ll be happy to let you take charge and set the pace: mostly just if he’s feeling lazy or especially generous. Tonight isn’t one of those times, however. He holds you and kisses you possessively, like you’re his, like this is how he finally gets to lay claim on you, licking between your gasp-parted lips after he moans straight into your mouth. He’s spearmint sweet, edged with that one cherry flavoured chapstick he stockpiles as he grins up against you, rolling his body fluidly with every separation for air, every changing angle. 

He pulls your sweatshirt up over your head and throws it down into the footwell on the passenger side, straight away hurrying to kiss you hungrily again, hands cupping your neck. His tongue is in your mouth once more, there’s no way you could possibly differentiate your breaths from his: you’re one, in every way you can be with your clothes still on, but it’s not enough. 

“Want you,” you whimper as he nips at your bottom lip and pleasure rushes through you from head to toe. 

“You’ve got me,” he groans with his eyes still closed. “I’m all yours.” 

“No,” you insist, whimpering when his cute little nose drags across your cheek until he’s pressing hot kisses to your jawline. “I— fuck—”  He suckles on the sweet spot below your ear and your spine tingles, head tilting to give him better access. “Chan, I want you.”

Chan settles back from you, his usually bright, sparkling eyes now darkened with desire. All he gives you is a singular glance sideways, but you know exactly what he’s suggesting. You nod, breathing deep, biting the inside of your cheek; he turns off the headlights and it’s all systems go. 

There’s a rush to scramble into the back of the car. Chan takes the keys out the ignition and climbs through the gap in the seats; you opt for the less hazardous approach of getting out of the vehicle entirely and re-entering it instead. Not that it bothers him — no sooner is the door closed behind you, Chan’s hands are on your hips and he pulls you on top of him, your leg knocking the dahlias off the leather and onto the floor in the process. You gasp and glance down but he averts your attention with two fingers under your chin, guiding you to look back at him. 

“What? You think this is the last time I’ll bring you flowers?” He asks, capturing your lips as he leans up to you; at the same time, his hands drop low and he starts to slide open the buttons down the front of your pyjama shirt. “Baby, m’gonna get you so many more.” 

You sigh at the affectionate name, at the change in its use; until now, Chan has only called you baby while he’s buried inside you, bruising you inside and out with sharp thrusts and rough-gripping fingers. But as much as you can feel him growing hard against the inside of your thigh while you try to get comfortable, one knee planted either side of his hips, you can’t help but feel as if this time, it means something different. 

(He’s had feelings for six months: it always meant what it does, now. You know that, deep down.)

Somewhere in amongst the never-ending sloppy kisses and constantly travelling hands, you manage to strip both his jacket and T-shirt off him and you’re pressed bare-chest-to-bare-chest with Chan, feeling every little hitch of his breath in his lungs, every thump of his heartbeat, every tiny increase in the temperature of his skin. Your desperate search for friction between your legs has you rolling your hips down against his hard-on, drawing grunts and making him squeeze at your tits when you rock against him the right way. His head eventually drops to your chest and he replaces one hand with his mouth, freeing his fingers to slide down the front of your pyjama bottoms. 

It’s honestly rarer for Chan to get straight to the point than it is for him to tease you a little first, so when he flattens his palm against you and brushes his fingertips over your already aching clit, you let out a squeak of surprise. He shivers, releasing your nipple from between his teeth for a moment; once he’s collected a little more arousal to ease the friction, he continues to rub at the bud, slowly building the pressure inside you.

“No panties?” He asks, struggle clear in the roughness of his voice. 

“I was in bed,” you gasp, eyes rolling back. It’s for the best that it happens out of pleasure, really, because you’re not sure you’d be able to stop yourself rolling them in exasperation at his remark otherwise. You shuffle a little, lifting yourself up on your knees more, breath hitching when he uses the newly granted space to dip his hand lower and press a finger against your hole. “Please, Chan — this can’t be comfy— just…”

“S’fine” he argues, shaking his head, despite the fact that the angle of his wrist is actually kind of painful, right now. The truth is that he can’t bring himself to care: not when he can smell your fabric softener on the shirt still hanging off your shoulders, the shampoo in your freshly washed hair, all so pretty mixed with the damp scent of your desire. Not when you clench around him as he slides his finger in and out of your cunt. Not when he could get you to soak all the way through these pretty satin pants. 

Your arms snake around his neck as he dips a second finger inside you to join the first. The way your thighs tighten around his hips could — should — be embarrassing, the fact his sturdy lap holds you open enough for your pussy to be toyed with even more so. You almost always do this too music, too — for what might be the first time ever, you can hear every single wet sound your body makes, every hitch of your own breath, every grunt he gives even though he’s not the one being pleasured. 

You don’t even realise how you’re rocking up and down against his hand until Chan licks from the base of your neck to your jaw, smirking over your pulse point and says, “gonna ride my cock this good too, baby?”

And if it was anyone else talking to you like this, you would be embarrassed. Mortified, at being so needy you’re here doing all the work for him. At the cry you give as he splits and scissors his fingers to stretch you out. But instead? You feel another rush of arousal drool out of you as you press your nails into his shoulders and nod, bouncing harder and watching how his bicep tenses up solid with the effort of keeping his arm steady for you to use. 

“Wanna,” you gasp. “Want it so bad, Chan—”

Despite your pleas for this to move further, when his hand pulls back out of the elastic of your waistband, you feel like you could throttle him. The urge ebbs away when his soaked fingers press to your lips and he quirks an eyebrow at you, though — you end up suckling them clean, licking up every trace of your own slick. You lock eyes with him as you do, slumping on your thighs so your drenched core sits right over his tweaking length, the seam of your pants giving just enough friction to your clit for it to feel good as you grind down on him again. 

“Get those off,” he instructs, trying to sound hard and dominant. Which would work, perhaps, if his voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence. “Now.”

Even though you’re overcome with a need to tease him, the desire you have to be split open on his length outweighs it, so you do as you’re told and hold it in for later. It’s not easy, but you manage to manipulate yourself in his lap to work the satin down your thighs and past your knees. He helps you tug them the rest of the way past your ankles and feet, shoves them onto the floor — Chan’s hands settle back on your hips and yours skim down his stomach at the same time, fingers grazing over the little hairs that trail from his bellybutton down into his jeans. 

“Can I?” You ask, playing already with his belt buckle. 

He hums assent and you slip it all the way open, tugging as he moves his hips underneath you so you can pull it free from the loops. Between you, you manage to get his jeans unfastened, to pull both them and his boxer shorts down over his ass and to his knees; finally, fucking finally, his cock sits pretty and leaking and free between your stomach and his. It’s getting cold in the car now the heating isn’t on, but you’re already burning up in anticipation for him to ruin you; the way his abs ripple as he takes his shaft into his hand and strokes himself a couple of times to prepare tells you he’s in the same boat. 

It’s like clockwork, from here. You shift into position as easily as you settle into bed after a long day. Chan rubs his tip through your folds, feels the warmth of you and hisses through his teeth with fluttering eyes. Just like always. This never changes. He can’t ever get enough of that first feeling of his cock against your pussy: it’s like the first hit of a blunt, like the first sip of a cold beer, the first full-body stretch early in the morning. He’s sure it’s what arriving at the gates of heaven must feel like. 

You sink down onto him slowly, fluttering around his tip and stilling to give you both a moment to get used to the feeling. He’s thick inside you. Thicker than his pretty, dainty fingers have ever been able to stretch you enough for. Even as wet as you are, you still need to suck a deep breath into your lungs before you can relax your hips further and let your heat swallow him all the way to his base. 

Chan’s head is tipped back in pleasure, he’s biting his lip at the sting of your nails pressing hard into the back of his neck. He loves it, though — loves how the pain shoots in waves down his spine, how it tingles in his brain, how he knows you need to anchor yourself this way or you’ll lose control. He kneads at your ass as you sit against his thighs, listening to you whimpering at how deep he is inside you.

“So fucking tight around me still,” Chan groans, focusing all his willpower into keeping his hips down on the leather beneath him. “Shit, baby — you feel so good…” His neck softens and his head drops forward again as you start to move, rising and falling over and over. He kisses your throat and down to your collarbones while you work up to a rhythm, sliding his palms up your back, hugging you close to him. 

He isn’t even the one putting in the hard work, but within minutes of this, his soft, fluffy hair clings to his forehead. A light sheen of sweat makes him radiant under the moonlight breaking through the trees. He’s breathing heavily, the top of his toned chest painted a soft pink — you don’t think he could possibly look prettier. Not until he cups your jaw with his hands and you look upwards: you land on his smiling face, those plush, swollen lips, his devilish but sweetly glittering eyes. The sight of him, looking at you like you’re some kind of Goddess, makes your pussy tighten and your tiring hips stutter. You slip your pyjama top all the way off your arms and curl your fingers into his hair, meeting him in an open-mouthed kiss, through which you’re both just beaming. 

You’ve never kissed him this much. When it all started out, you sort of had a rule against it, but now? Neither of you can stop. As he starts to fuck up into you, taking the reins and letting your burning thighs rest, he keeps your face steady with his hands and freely allows his lips to slide against yours. It’s not refined. It can’t be. Not with how hard and fast his movements quickly become, not with the onslaught of curses and moans and babbled praise coming from the both of you. One particularly sharp thrust makes you yelp out a squeak of his name and he just swallows it down, making a point to keep aiming for— and hitting— that same spot inside you. You’re a mess. 

He could do this all night. When your orgasm bubbles inside you and he starts pinching at one of your nipples, sending you over the edge, he’s nowhere near finished. Even though your cunt massages at his length, throbbing and pulsing through your climax; even though your voice is so high by now that only dogs can hear you; even though you nearly collapse on top of him with almost all your weight in his lap, and he has to work twice as hard to keep this going, he barely slows. He definitely doesn’t stop. 

“You can gimme one more, right sweetheart?” He asks, grunting into your neck. “Always feels so fucking good when you come.” You choke up an ‘mhm’, to which he responds by slipping a hand between your bodies and down to where you’re connected. His thumb presses against your clit again — not moving, just applying enough pressure to make you stutter when you say his name. 

Your thighs are still twitching when you try to lift yourself a little, try to meet his movements as he chases his orgasm too. The “problem” with Chan is that his stamina is otherworldly. You couldn’t keep up if you wanted to. 

“Relax,” he says, tensing his jaw, doing the opposite himself. “Fuck — lie down.”

It’s pretty cramped and hard to move, but you lift yourself off him and only slightly lament at the sudden emptiness between your legs. There isn’t time to get too upset, however: moments after you get comfortable on your back, Chan shoves his jeans the rest of the way down and stands with one knee planted on the seats, lifting one of your ankles up to rest it on his shoulder. He slips back inside you easily then, gripping around your calf to keep you both steady. From the word go, his pace is relentless. You scrabble around for something to hold onto but the entire car seems to melt away; you ball your hands into fists at your sides instead, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

“Mm-mm. Look at me,” Chan hums, tightening his grip on your leg. “Wanna see those pretty eyes.” 

You obey, opening your lids to look up at him while he pounds into you hard enough to make the car shake. Over, and over, and over, and over. Rougher. Faster. For how long? Who even knows. All you’re truly aware of is how good it feels. How the windows grow foggy with the  steam of your laboured breaths. How his sweat mingles with your own. 

When his fingers on the other hand get reacquainted with your clit, when he bites down on his bottom lip, when his thrusts start to get messier and more erratic and the veins in his arms start to bulge out, you know he’s getting close. He doesn’t need to tell you out loud. The smirk he wears speaks for itself. 

“Where d’you want it, baby?” He asks you, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle. 

“In— mmh, in-…side me—” you stammer, hips jolting as you near your second orgasm to match his first. “Please, Chan — want it all…”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah—”

Well, he must’ve been holding himself back something spectacular, because a few thrusts later you watch all of his muscles contract as he tips over the edge, and you go hurtling with him. It’s all so much. All your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire and your vision starts to blur at the edges; it’s not long before you have to close your eyes to shut one of your overworked senses out, completely. Your muscles are sore. Your throat hurts. Even your lungs ache. 

God, he hasn’t gone that hard in so long, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can barely speak — it’s going to take you a week to recover from this, minimum. 

He stills deep inside you, feeling his cock throb with the last pumps of his release. Your leg slips off his shoulder and your foot lands down with a thud onto the car’s (thankfully clean) floor; he bends forward to kiss you, still breathing heavily against your lips. You’ve come over completely boneless and reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair again feels like running a marathon at sprint pace. You’d fall asleep right here, right now, if you could, but with sweat cooling rapidly against your skin, you know that’s probably not up there as one of your finest ideas. 

“You really think getting involved with me was stupid?” Chan asks, nudging your nose with the tip of his own. He’s never been less serious than this in his entire life, which stops you feeling too bad when you lightly slap at his rock solid chest and try to push him off you.

“Yes,” you lie, attempting to reach to the ground for your pyjama shirt while he grips your chin and attacks you with tiny little pecks all over your face. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

(Chan chuckles to himself and thinks that he’s quite happy to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, really. He can stay that way, as long as you promise never to stop.)

thank you so much for reading. i hope you enjoyed it - likes, feedback, comments, reblogs are all so appreciated.<3

[bro-atz]

if only it was simple [bro's 500 — hongjoong]

[enemies to lovers, smut, royal!au, hongjoong/afab!reader]

requested by: 🍀

in which: kim hongjoong is the bane of your existence, but you cannot seem to live without him.

word count: 2k

content: smut, bathroom sex, blowjob, facial, doggy, window sex, UNPROTECTED SEX (PLS WRAP UP IRL), consensual!

rated: R | nsfw — minors do not interact

author's note: @pocketjoong @nebulousbrainsoup pls don't kill me i have more things to finish writing hehe

Every time your parents hosted a royal ball for all the neighboring kingdoms, you resented them because you hated the balls they threw. You honestly hated being royalty because that was just not something you vibe with. No, you liked peace, quiet, and when a sense of calm washes over the castle while you read all the books in the royal library. So, a mass gathering of people was definitely not your cup of tea. Gosh, how you would prefer a cup of tea over the stupid blood red wine in your glass.

It wasn't just the noise, either. It was the people who brought the noise. You didn't know how on Earth other princesses could gossip for minutes, hours, days, freaking eons, but they did, and you hated it. And the princes were just as bad, but rather than gossips, they just spread vulgarities. You wanted to wash your mouth with soap just listening to what they would talk about.

Prince Hongjoong of the Kim Kingdom was the worst of them all. He gossiped with the princesses, he engaged in the vulgar talk with the princes, and he treated you like scum. How you loathed him. You loathed the way he talked, walked, acted— the entirety of his being made you feel like he was put on this world to torture you. And, of course, that torturous being just had to approach you the second you fell within his line of vision.

"Hello, princess," he greeted you with a very obviously sardonic, sickly sweet voice.

"Prince Hongjoong," you bit back as you maintained eye contact with him.

"Ooh, yeah, I did not like the way you said my name just now, princess. Why don't you try a nicer tone? It would suit you."

"Go jump up your own ass and die."

"So mean," Hongjoong sniffled and wiped away his crocodile tears. "You should really treat your guests better."

You didn't even bother responding to him. You quickly turned your head away and walked away from Hongjoong, knowing that the man would not follow. He knew better than that.

While you desperately wanted a distraction, there was quite literally no one you wanted to distract yourself with. Again, you seriously hated these stupid balls. Rather than talk to another royal, you called over one of the butlers and tried to give him the glass.

"No, princess, you mustn't waste," the butler scolded you.

"Please, I didn't even want this in the first place," you sighed heavily. "Can't you just give it to someone else?"

"I'm sorry, princess, but I cannot do that either. You will just have to finish it."

Swell. With a wave of your hand, you dismissed the butler and cradled the glass in your hands, your fingernails clinking against it as you tapped your fingers. Yes, you knew not to waste food or water, but wine was not water, and it wasn't like you could give it to some starving child because children were not supposed to drink wine. So, you needed to dispose of it in another way.

It was when you accidentally made eye contact with Hongjoong again and saw the smirk spread across his face did you find a solution to your little problem. To top that, he was flirting with another princess from another kingdom, flaring up your irritation even more. You glided towards him and very purposefully spilled the dark liquid all over his jacket, effectively ruining it.

"Oops," you said rather flatly.

"Really?" Hongjoong responded with a sigh of exasperation followed by a half-assed chuckle.

"You should get that cleaned up! Here, I'll do it for you," the princess Hongjoong was talking to inserted herself between the two of you, ending your slight glaring contest.

"No, princess. It wasn't your fault. It was Princess Y/N's, so I believe she should take accountability for her actions," Hongjoong shook his head. Then, turning to meet your glare with a cheek smile, he added, "Don't you agree, Y/N?"

Before long, you were in your personal bathroom. You found the supplies you needed to get the wine stain out of Hongjoong's jacket, and rather than take the jacket off, he kept it on. He sat on the edge of the basin and waited for you to begin correcting your mistake.

"Be honest with me, princess," Hongjoong whispered as you got to work. "Do you have a problem with a wine or with me?"

"Both," you immediately responded. "But the lesser of the two evils is definitely the wine."

"That stings."

"Tough."

Hongjoong let out a scoff. He leaned back and observed you working on his jacket, the warmth from the alcohol he drank that night started to consume his body— it was either the alcohol or lust actually. To figure out which it was, he tucked the hairs framing your face behind your ear before placing his fingers under your chin, making you look up at him. He didn't mean to look down as he wanted to observe your facial features, but considering you were bent over, he got an eyeful of your cleavage. It was definitely not alcohol, but lust. His fingers then moved from your chin to your hair, his fingers raking through before grabbing a fistful. He ran his tongue over his lower lip before biting his lower lip, his eyes darkening with every passing second.

"Down on your knees, princess," Hongjoong said in a very low voice.

"Absolutely not," you flat out refused.

"You better listen to me when I'm asking nicely."

"Asking nicely would include the words "please" or "may", and I've never heard either of those words leave your tongue," you nearly spat out. "Besides, you said we would never do this again—"

"I know what I said, and I don't care anymore. Knees."

With a slightly wistful sigh, you lowered yourself to your knees, Hongjoong's lap before your face. Your muscle memory activated, and you got to work on undoing Hongjoong's pants, your fingers pulling at the waistbands.

"I thought you didn't want to do this," Hongjoong snickered. "But you seem so eager right now."

"Shut up, Hongjoong," you breathed out before revealing his hard red cock, your mouth watering.

You completely took Hongjoong by surprise when you immediately took him into your mouth, your head going all the way down, the tip of his cock brushing the back of your throat. Hongjoong flung his head back and bit his lower lip to hold back his moans. His hold on your hair got tighter, and he guided your head back up, his hand moving you at the calm, steady pace that he wanted.

“Yes, just like that,” he hissed through grit teeth. “Keep going, princess.”

When Hongjoong shoved your head down all the way every so often to get you to gag, it made you resent him a little more, but you would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t like the rough way he was treating you while you sucked his cock. You also kind of liked it when he praised you and massaged your head when he adjusted his grip of your hair, and when you heard his breathing hitch and his moans get higher in pitch, it filled you with excitement.

“Oh— I’m cumming!” Hongjoong groaned, his cock quivering uncontrollably in your mouth.

He pulled your head back and rubbed himself a couple times before decorating your face with white stripes. You licked your lips, the saltiness of his cum lingering on your tongue as you tasted him. While it was fun momentarily, you frowned at him and let out an exasperated sigh.

“Goddammit, Hongjoong, now I need to clean my face,” you grumbled as you stood up, your fingers already beginning to clear his cum from your face.

“Would you rather I have you swallow?” he asked cheekily.

“Honestly, yeah. It’s neater that way.”

You heard him let out a slight chuckle as you turned your back to him. You poured some water into the sink and bent over to begin washing your face, letting your guard down completely. You were so fixated on clearing the opaque off your skin that you didn’t even realize Hongjoong had approached you from behind and started undressing you from the skirt down.

“Hongjoong! What are you doing?!” you yelled at him as you tried to turn around and get him to stop.

“Princess, you can’t tell me that you don’t want this right now,” Hongjoong sighed as he forced you over the sink, his bare waist pressing against yours. “You’re so wet. It’s as if your cunt is begging for me.”

You couldn’t argue with that. Hongjoong’s moans earlier turned you on to an incredible extreme, and you were itching for relief. You pressed your lips together before admitting defeat and saying, “Then you better do a good job, or I will—”

“Don’t worry, princess,” Hongjoong interrupted. “I always do a good job. You know that.”

Spreading your ass cheeks, Hongjoong got a stellar view of your glistening cunt. He ran his tongue over his lower lip as his thumbs neared your folds and spread them, your gaping hole eagerly waiting for him to fill you up. He wasted no time in lining up his cock with your cunt and shoving into you, your entire body lurching forward with the impact. Your hands gripped the sides of the sink, your hold getting tighter as he began to move at a steady rhythm, the sounds of his waist slapping against yours echoing in the silence of the bathroom.

“Oh, princess,” the prince groaned blissfully. “You’re always so tight— you were made for me, weren’t you?”

You answered with a little yelp when he changed his angle and thrust upwards, his cock rubbing against your walls all the right ways. It felt so right, but truth be told, it wasn’t enough for you. Neither you nor him, apparently, as he grabbed your waist and pulled you upright. His cock left you for a split moment so he could turn you around to face him. He then led you to the sole window in your bathroom.

Bottles clattered to the ground as Hongjoong swept everything off the windowsill and hoisted you there. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he prepared to enter you, this tip of his cock teasing your clit. A whine emerged from the back of your throat as you gripped Hongjoong shoulder’s, the fabric from his jacket getting bunched up in your grasp.

“Don’t tease me,” you whimpered as you pulled him towards you.

Hongjoong let out a snort of amusement. Locking eyes with you, he did as you quite literally begged and stopped teasing you, his cock swiftly entering you and filling you up once more. You groaned in slightly relief before biting on your lower lip to keep all of your lewd noises to a minimum. However, Hongjoong didn’t like that. With his thumb, he pulled down on your lower lip, forcing you to let go.

“You know I like to hear you, princess,” Hongjoong murmured as his lips neared yours, his breath brushing past your lips.

“We can’t be too loud, though,” you replied through erratic breathing as Hongjoong’s thrusts sped up. “The ball is still going on.”

“What a shame,” he sighed.

So, to help you keep quiet, Hongjoong’s lips met yours, his tongue immediately slipping into your mouth and tangling with yours. You moaned into his mouth as he kissed you feverishly, his waist gyrating into yours with incredible speed and vigor. Your hands moved from his shoulders to the back of his neck, your fingers running through the hair on the back of his head.

“O-Oh, Joong!” you cried.

“Are you close, princess?” he asked, his breathing hitching as he felt himself nearing his climax.

“Mmhmm… Oh, God!”

You flung your head back as you felt pleasure wash over you, white filling your vision. You were blinking stars out of your eyes when Hongjoong guided your face back down, his lips meeting your again as he seemed to not be able to get enough of you.

“May I cum inside, princess?” he asked you breathlessly in between kisses.

“Please.”

Hongjoong moved away from you slightly so he could get a better hold of you as he thrust rapidly into you several times before releasing his load inside you. His groan of ecstasy echoed in your ears as he dropped his head to the nook of your neck, his hot breath hitting your collarbone.

“Was that good enough for you, princess?”

bro's 500 event | bro's 500 event masterlist

bro's 500 taglist: @eyeryis @sinnarols @nakiiko @hyukssunflower @aaa-sia

@k-hotchoisan @hwallazia

networks: @atzhouse @cromernet @cultofdionysusnet

@ksmutsociety @newworldnet @wonderlandnet

[green-tea-in-absinthe-bottle]

BLADE NSFW ALPHABET

My first time writing NSFW alphabet, enjoy. + 18 content under cut. Who should I do next?

GENERAL MASTERLIST

Aftercare

Blade is a bit awkward during aftercare, he is very touch deprived person and most people don't even dare to look him in the eye, afraid of his criminal record and mara. Still, he cares about your wellbeing so if you tell him to clean you up or bring you a glass of water he will do so immediately. He just needs to learn how to take care of somebody properly once again.

He will let you do whatever you want with his body tho, you can cuddle him (don't worry about his initial stiffness, he will relax if you massage his scalp), give him kisses, even braid his hair. He very rarely allows somebody to get into his inner circle but once you are there he is very lenient person overall. He got very distrustful and aloof with age, he is too tired to sleep around with people he doesn't have emotional connection to if he can just rub one off in need instead of being vulnerable in front of a stranger. To get anywhere close to his body you need to get through his defences first, and once you do he gets kinda soft for you.

You know how he allows Stellaron Hunters to use his phone, accepted Kafka's nickname for him, listens to Silver Wolf yapping about games etc.? Now you have that privilege to annoy him as well.

Body part

He feels very detached from his body, to the point of objectifying himself as a Blade. He doesn't like any part of his body in particular but he is entertained by your reaction to his chest. When you swoon over it, cuddle his boobs or suck on them he definitely is amused. Might even pat your head when you push your face in it.

On you he absolutely adores your face and all the cute expressions he can observe on it. He especially likes it when your eyes light up at his sight and when your gaze gets clouded with desire.

Cum

He doesn't mind making a mess at all, but if you prefer it inside of your holes he will do as you wish. He doesn't care much about that, he's not disgusted by yours or his bodily fluids with one exception. If it lands on your face anywhere besides your lips and chin he will wipe it down in a second, he doesn't want to feel like he disrespects you.

Dirty secret

So Blade is a very flexible, fit man...Once during jerking off he realised he can bend and lick the tip of his pretty long dick. He came instantly.

Experience

I believe his experience as Blade is limited to occasional quickie with Kafka, just to release some tension in between missions. I don't see them as proper lovers, more of a coworkers with occasional benefits, of course he respects her and cares about her but nothing else. Once he got committed to you he stopped sleeping with her. Kafka isn't bitter about that cause she has many options but if she finds you cute she might suggest threesome sometimes.

As Yingxing his situation was much more interesting. I don't necessarily see High Cloud Quintet as a polycule, but you can't convince me that him and Dan Heng didn't play around a bit, even now their fates are intertwined in special way and they reference each other. They just give divorced couple vibes, sorry not sorry. The way Blade refers to Baiheng so tenderly makes me believe he had a certain past with her as well, I ship her with Jingliu but I think Blade was in love with Baiheng at some point. His feeling were probably unreciprocated.

It's just my headcanon so don't cancel me pls.

Fav position

He likes it when you ride him, doesn't matter of it's his face, thigh or dick... He wants you to get yourself off on him in selfish way. When he gets on top he likes missionary cause he loves your lewd expressions so much.

Goofy

Blade takes intimate situations very siriously, it's not easy for him to show you his scars and he prefers to not joke around during sex. If he feels like it, he might tease you a little bit after it but that's it.

Hair

Just like in case of his beard, he takes good care of it. It's not completely shaved like his face but it's soft and clean.

Intimacy

For him to turn into your service switch you need to make him feel very safe and accepted, it makes him very vulnerable to give himself like that. It's important for him that you don't want to change him and appreciate him with all his scars. He can't be fixed and if you understand this and you don't mind - it's a very good beginning.

He might not be the most affectionate man out there but he will hold you like you are his greatest treasure, carress your hair and kiss your forehead so you feel safe in his arms.

Jack off

He doesn't get horny often if his sex partner isn't around to arouse him, after 800 years he doesn't see much appeal in jerking off. Still, he will do that to put himself to clear his mind and put himself to sleep faster. His hands are stiff and get tired fast so he masturbates by pounding into a fleshlight.

Kink

To me he is a switch (leaning sub) so I will split kinks into sub and dom. As a sub:

This man calls himself a Blade. It's easier to go through all the pain as a cold weapon without soul than as a shadow of his former self, genius who lost his ability to create and his main ambition. So he gave himself a new purpose, objectifying himself in the process of becoming his last masterpiece.

The thing about swords is they are meant to be used, directed by hand of their owner. Centuries of self-objectification messed with the way he perceives his body, also during sex. He wants to be used by you to please yourself and he needs to know he does good job as your toy. He has heavy praise kink, please tell him how great he feels and how he fulfills all your needs.

His extended life lost spark centuries ago, he craves intense sex to feel something. Blade has a high pain tolerance, he likes it rough. While he might be a bit skeptical towards typical tools used on masochists like whips or paddles, scratch his back really hard when he pounds into you and he will go crazy. He will mock you if you try to give him love bites but secretly will enjoy the sensation.

As a dom:

He is still obsessed with being used for your pleasure, but this time he takes matters into his own hands. He will figure out how to give you best sex of your life, even at the cost of overstimulating you. Trust me, he's very observant. He will use every trick known to him to fulfill you with his fingers, tongue and cock until there is not a single coherent thought left in your brain.

Sometimes he feels like this is not enough to ruin you properly. He will use toys to play with you even more, on a rare occasion he might think about threesome but he is very picky about who can touch you and he has one strict rule - nobody but him can slide into your tight hole. He will let Kafka satisfy you with her mouth and scissor/grind into you tho, if you are fine with it.

If you want to see the dominant side of him more often you just need to ask or to misbehave a bit, he is a natural brat-tamer. Loves to show you your place and fuck the attitude out of you, sight of submissive look in your teary eyes makes him very hard. Knowing he earned this look from you feeds his pride.

Location

He needs to feel safe and in control of his surroundings. Sorry, the only places he can unwind in are his room and his car. Don't worry, he made sure the backsits are extra comfortable and warmed up.

Motivation

In the past he used to have sex to get his mind off certain things from his past, but with a regular sex partner he will most likely be turned on by the thought of his body being the source of pleasure instead of pain for once. He wants to be nothing more but a weapon, tool of destruction, so why does he feel so proud when you let him know nobody could satisfy you like he can?

No

He will never ever approach you during his mara attacks, he can't bear the thought of hurting you. Fetishizing his condition in any way will result in getting kicked out of his life so no feral mara-struck beast Bladie for ya.

While I see him as a bit poly and I believe under certain circumstances he could rarely share you with Kafka, I also think he doesn't trust people so easily anymore, he is very protective about his closed social circle (it's literally just you and Stellaron Hunters) and he won't take it well if you suggest threesome with somebody whom he doesn't know very well or with one of his old friends from Quintet. His reaction depends on who do you suggest tho, if it's Jing Yuan you will receive cold shoulder for many nights but if it's Jingliu or Dan Heng - instant break up.

Oral

He wants you to ride his face and is proud of all the things he can do with his skilled mouth, especially in contrast to his long and beautiful but stiff fingers. He hollows his cheeks when he sucks on your clit/dick, looking you straight in the eye all the time and forgets to breathe when he french kisses your hole. Does he even need to breathe as an immortal?

When he receives head he likes the sounds you make the most, gagging on his length, salivating around it, kissing up his vein... Lick right under his foreskin and watch him lose control over his body.

Pace

He can go very fast and hard when he wants to fuck the brains out of both of you or he can go so gently it breaks your heart. Nothing in between. When it comes to your pace he wants you to do it however is the most comfortable for you.

Quickie

He would only indulge in them if he uses sex as a distraction, this elder prefers to take his time with you and take care of you thoroughly. He especially dislikes skipping foreplay, cause getting in the mood is very important to him.

Risk

With his fighting skills he could totally do risky stuff and come out of this with no trouble but to him sex is a time to relax and feel good, not to give himself more stress. He might do such things if you really, really want them, but it's not his style and he would rather not to be honest.

Stamina

His physical stamina is almost endless, with his self-healing and regenerating abilities he is capable of lasting for much longer than any mortal, but his emotional and mental exhaustion influences his stamina. If he gets overwhelmed at any point he will stop. Just hold him tightly and tell him it's alright. Otherwise he has no problem lasting for the whole night.

Toys

He will use toys on your nipples and clit to give you even more pleasure but no dildos or anything that could penetrate you cause that's his job and you don't need anything but him in your pretty holes.

Unfair

He teases you only if you have been a brat before. He doesn't like to deprive you of pleasure, that's not what he wants do to. But if you behave like you need to be tamed, for example smile a bit too much at another man, don't expect him to go easy on you. Once you've been too friendly during your trip on Astral Express and Blade edged you five times before you fainted.

Dont think you can tease him too much either, this man is very old and very patient when he gets petty. Just look at how long he holds on too grudges. He will tease you back and make you swallow all your words. You can't win this game with him.

Volume

Not a loud man, you can hear a few grunt here and there, quiet moan rarely and that's it. Let's just say he prefers to use his mouth differently in bed. It's not much but you know those sounds are genuine so you appreciate them. Also, who wouldn't get weak being praised in that husky voice of his?

Wild card

You surely heard of people having sex rooms in their places, but have you ever heard of making one in the car?

He lives in Stellaron Hunters headquaters and as much as you guys like to spend spicy time in his room, collection of toys you guys keep in there is nothing compared to the one he has in his car. He knows the rest of Hunters can hear you two so you need to keep quiet when you are at home, but in the garage you can moan his name as loud as you want to. He takes you out on dates in secluded spots like empty beaches or near the lake so you can enjoy each other's bodies while connecting with nature (but you guys stay in car during the do so he feels secure, comfortable and covered) . He lived in wilderness for years before joining Stellaron Hunters so if you encounter animals he will know how to behave.

Backsits are warmed up, they can be extended so you guys can lay down almost like in the bed, Blade carries you favourite blankets with himself. Locked up together with you toybox, so none of his coworkers can find those things when he gives them a ride.

How did he manage to get warmed up sits in such an old car? Well, this man was hella good at mechanics during his previous life as Yingxing. His memory and hands got worse but his brain is as sharp as it was when it comes to such things.

X - ray

Very long but not so thick, not overly prominent veins, very fragile head and base. His balls don't hang too much. Sorry, I never know what to write in this cathegory.

Yearning

He's an old guy, his libido went down with age to certain extent. He doesn't have the best relation with his body, doing physical things isn't something he does just for the sake of it.

He usually has sex for one of two reasons. To get stress out of his body and distract himself from his flashbacks or when he is deeply attracted to somebody and being in their company turns him on. Since he met you his libido woke up again after years and if you spend quality time with him on a daily basis you will have regular sex.

Sometimes he just wants to be left alone but it's not about you, he needs to deal with demons of his past on his own from time to time. There are nights when he just needs to be held, he will be grateful if you stay for him.

If you want to turn him on the easiest way to do this is first making sure he's relaxed and relatively in good mood at the moment, sometimes you can improve it with massages and hugs, sometimes you need to give him space. Then, sit or lay down very close to him, initiate a slow make out session and he will get hard in no time.

Tip: His ears and neck (especially on the back) are very fragile. Tease them well and see what happens.

Zzz

Blade needs a lot of sleep, you have to let that senior citizen rest his eyes in peace. He usually falls asleep surprisingly quickly, especially when he can smell your perfume and make sure you are safe and content, but he wakes up as soon as he hears anything suspicious, even if it's as quiet as leaf crushed under shoe. That makes him a great bodyguard. Also he can fall asleep while standing, with his eyes still open, holding onto his sword. He looks like a Halloween decoration when this happens.

There are nights when ghosts of the past and pain from mara won't let him sleep. He likes to watch over you on those nights, finding peace in slow rhythm of your breathing.

Face he makes when you sext him on his public cellphone:

[st-eve-barnes]

Leverage (Michael Gavey x fem Reader)

Chapter 2

Summary: When your ex threatens to release some very personal videos you are left with no choice but to do what he asks: seduce the biggest nerd on campus, Michael Gavey. Will you rock his world or will he fundamentally change yours?

This chapter: Michael starts tutoring you but things are off to a rocky start.

Word count: +1900

Warning for the entire fic: 18+ for explicit content and language. Kissing, oral sex (male receiving), dry humping, hand job, fingering, p in v sex. First kiss and loss of virginity. Experienced reader. Enemies to lovers vibes.

Fluff, smut and of course angst (my favorite combination! lol) I haven't watched Saltburn yet so all characters in this fic except for Michael are my own.

Read Chapter 1 Here

***

All my fics are also on AO3

***

After almost two hours of Michael’s tutoring you were beginning to contemplate throwing in the towel and just letting Ben release that video. What’s the worst that could happen anyway?

Michael had been cocky as soon as you had sat down in front of him in the library that evening. Right now he was bordering on rude and very obviously growing more impatient with you by the minute. And the faster he talked the less you listened, leaving you both frustrated.

You had a splitting headache and all the numbers and calculations were just dancing across the page now, mocking you. None of it made any sense, no matter how many different ways Michael tried to explain it all to you. 

You were good with history, languages, art or psychology. Numbers were hell on earth.

“Are you even listening?” Michael sighed impatiently, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms behind his head.

“Yes,” you nodded, followed by a heavy sigh,”No, ugh..I’m sorry, I just…I lost my focus about an hour ago.”

“An hour ago? You didn’t even have it to begin with,” Michael called you out.

“I just don’t know how this is so easy for you, like you don’t even have to think about it at all.”

“That’s because I don’t,” he answered smugly, making you roll your eyes.”Go on. Ask me a sum.”

You sighed some more but indulged him anyway,”33 times 20.”

He gave you a look,”Don’t insult me, a real sum.”

“333 times 444.”

“147.852,” he answered without even blinking. You had no way of knowing if his answer was even correct but you didn’t doubt it for a second.

“How did you do that so fucking fast?”

“I don’t know, I can just do it, in my head, I don’t have to think about it.”

“Lucky you,” you rolled your eyes again.

“They’re gonna get stuck in your head if you keep doing that, you know,” he teased, making you squint your eyes at him.

He shook his head with a little amused grin,“Ask me another one then.”

“It’s fine, you made your point, you’re a genius.”

“Ask me another one, just to be sure,” he insisted.

“Michael, it’s fine, I get it.”

‘Ask me another fucking sum!” he raised his voice, making the few other people in the library look up at you both with annoyed looks on his face. You wanted to crawl under the table and disappear.

“Alright, fucking hell…1245 times 987.”

“1.228.815,” he answered, giving you another satisfied little smile.

You just stared at him without saying anything.

“My brain works different from yours,” he then explained.

“Yeah, no shit.”

You were beginning to see why Ben was so threatened by him, Michael was an actual mathematical genius, Ben didn’t stand a chance at that internship. That thought suddenly filled you with immense joy. And then fear, because if Ben didn’t stand a chance then what were you even doing here?

Michael watched as your face fell.

“Do you want to take a break?” he suggested.

You nodded,”Yeah, a permanent one, I’m never going to get this.” You dropped your head onto the table and let out a desperate little whine.

Michael just shook his head,”So you’re a quitter, I would say I’m shocked but my mum told me never to tell a lie.”

You lifted your head to give him an angry glare but he just ignored you and closed his books, not giving you time to object before he was up and out of his seat.

“When you’re serious about wanting to learn, you know where to find me,” he said,”Until then…stop wasting my time.”

“Michael,” you sighed but he was already walking away from you, and with it your last chance to stop Ben.

You couldn’t let this happen, if you let him go now your fate was sealed.

“Michael, wait!” you rushed after him without thinking, finding him halfway in one of the book shelves. 

You grabbed at his arm to stop him, taking him by surprise. 

He froze, eyes staring wildly at the spot where your hand was touching his arm. But he didn’t pull back or try to stop you. Instead he almost seemed to lean into your space a little, accepting your touch, his mouth opened in a surprised little sigh when your fingers gently closed around his elbow. 

Of course the nerd was touch starved, it was almost too predictable. And was that a blush creeping up on his pale cheeks?

Ben had been right, Michael clearly wasn’t used to being touched, especially not by a woman. But he didn’t seem to dislike it, at all.

Maybe this mission wasn’t so impossible after all.

It was a desperate move, you realized that, but desperate is what you were.

“Please, wait,” you begged again, placing your other hand on his wrist while you gave him your best sad eyes and pouty lips,”You can’t give up on me, Michael. Please, you’re the only one who can help me, I need you.”

You watched him swallow hard at those last words, his eyes flickering from yours down to your lips and back up again.

He was staring now, shamelessly, not even trying to hide it. You used his obvious interest to lean in closer, so close he could almost feel your breath against his cheek and when you slowly and very deliberately licked your lips you could hear him bite back a quiet whimper. 

You took another step forward and carefully pressed your body up against his. That’s when you felt it, undeniably, he was hard. You had barely touched him and yet he was rock hard in his stupid cargo pants. 

You had him right where you wanted him and you could have sworn he was about to close that final distance between you two and pull you in for a kiss.

But then he leaned back and his thin lips curled up into a smug, annoyed grin.

“What are you playing at?” he asked.

“What do you mean? I’m not playing….”

“Stop lying to me, you stupid girl,” he growled and took a few steps back from you,”You say you want a tutor but you don’t give a shit about what I’m trying to teach you and now you want to…what….seduce me? How daft do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re daft at all!”

“I know this isn’t about math and it sure as hell isn’t about you wanting to get into my pants, girls like you don’t want nerds like me.”

“Girls like me?” you asked, staring at him with anger in your eyes,”Oh, you mean stupid girls like me? Listen, you little shit…”

“I meant pretty girls like you,” he interrupted you, shutting you up instantly.

He took a step closer again, towering over you and forcing you to lean against the book shelves behind you.

“What is it you want from me then?” he mused, as if he was asking the question more to himself and not you,”You’ve never paid any attention to me before this week…not until…I saw you scheming with Ben in the library a few days ago.”

Your eyes widened at his statement and it was enough for Michael to know he was onto something.

“I fucking knew it,” he shook his head and laughed,”What does that twat want from me this time, hmm?”

“Nothing,” you answered, too quickly.

“You’re a bad liar, girl.”

His stare was making you nervous, you wanted to blurt out everything to him and at the same time run away and never speak another word again. But there was no place to run from Ben and his ugly threats. Michael was your only ticket out of that bad spot.

He stepped back from you with a sigh,“Fine. Whatever. Tell your rich little friend that whatever you and him want from me he’s not going to get it, under any circumstances. Can you remember that or should I write it down for you?”

You nodded, feeling tears well up in your eyes. Michael’s harsh tone combined with the hopelessness of your situation was suddenly too much and you burst out into tears.

To your surprise Michael’s whole demeanor changed instantly and he rubbed his hand over his face with a heavy sigh.

You started crying,“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to involve you in this shit, I’m so sorry, Michael.”

For a moment he just looked at you, your tears and desperation too real for him to ignore.

Then he leaned back against the book shelves next to you, not saying a word. You looked up at him through your teary lashes and it was the first time you could see real compassion in his blue eyes. ”What does he have on you?” he asked softly.

”We used to date, he has some…private material he’s threatening to release.”

“Fucking prick,” Michael spat out.

“Yeah, he really is and I’m an idiot for ever being with him,” you wiped at your tears and looked surprised when Michael reached into his pocket and handed you a handkerchief. It looked like the ones your grandma used to have and you couldn’t help but smile through your tears.

”Thanks,” you sobbed and used it to wipe your cheeks dry.

“So…what did he want you to do in return then?”

”He wants that internship at Charter Inc.”

Michael nodded knowingly,”Yeah, that one is mine.”

“I know,” you smiled weakly,”That’s why he…he wanted me to distract you.”

Michael scoffed,”Jesus fuck, what an idiot. There’s nothing on this earth he can do to keep me from getting that job.”

You nodded,”I know.”

And with that realization came more tears. You used Michael’s handkerchief to keep them at bay.

“Do you think he’d actually do it?” he asked,”Are they just empty threats?”

“I honestly don’t know what he’s capable of and I don’t want to find out.”

You both stayed quiet for a while. Michael didn’t make any attempts to comfort you or touch you, but he didn’t move from his spot right next to you either.

“What can I do?” he asked.

“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do, Michael, this isn’t your problem, or your fight.”

He nodded,”Yeah, you’re right, it isn’t.”

You could feel your stomach drop in defeat.

“But,” he then added,”I’d really fucking hate to see a rich kid win in life.”

You couldn’t help but laugh through your tears.”Got any ideas?”

He thought about that for a little while and then he nodded,”We could…make him believe his plan is working? I mean, for now, until we can come up with something better.”

“How?”

“He won’t do anything as long as he believes you’re on board, yeah?”

“I guess not.”

“So we pretend that you’re…distracting me.”

You laughed bitterly at his choice of words.”He wants me to fuck you, that’s what he means by distracting you. You realize that, right?” you then blurted out and Michael snorted out loud but he regained his composure quickly.

“Then…I guess we pretend that you’re fucking me,” he said calmly, letting his eyes meet yours. You felt a shiver run up your spine, the good kind.

“Alright,” you nodded.

“Alright,” Michael repeated, keeping his eyes on you for a few moments too long before he eventually looked away and nervously pushed his glasses up his nose, smiling shyly,”When do we start then?”

[tyuns-world]

⊹ My stalker ⊹

Stalker!Kai × Fem!Reader

Genre: smut

Warnings: stalking, nsfw (minors dni)

Summary: Kai has been secretly watching his neighbor for months, fantasizing about them, even going as far as trespassing. One night, he gets the opportunity to make his move.

Wc: 1k

Kai watched you sleep, eat, have friends over, and celebrate holidays. You had yourself a proper stalker, and you didn't even know it. You kept your bedroom blinds wide open, unaware that he'd rented a room adjacent to yours—a room that gave him a full view of you as you undressed to shower. He loved admiring the curves of your body, thinking about how soft your dark skin must be and how perfectly angelic you must smell.

He knew you preferred a vanilla scent, evident from your lotions and perfumes. He even bought the same ones so he could surround himself with your scent, touching himself while thinking about your perfect body: your large, round breasts, your smooth, slightly chubby stomach, your plush thighs, and that nice, round ass. Of course, he admired more than just your body; he wasn't a creep who only wanted you physically. No, that's what low lives do. He loved your expressive brown eyes, the way you laughed with your whole body, how careful and caring you were, and, of course, how naive and careless you could be. You never closed your bedroom blinds and sometimes even forgot to lock your apartment door.

Don't you know how easy it is for someone to sneak behind someone into your building, take the elevator up to the 13th floor, and enter your apartment? It always smelled lovely; you often burned incense and candles. He liked sitting on your soft couch, imagining how nice it would be if he were your boyfriend, watching a movie and cuddling with you. Then, he'd take it to the bedroom, where he loved finding the toys you hid. He often imagined it was his cock you were taking, not some dumb vibrator. He always slipped out before you came back, locking the door behind him. Wouldn't want some creep breaking in now, right?

Kai was good at keeping a low profile. As a pretty famous streamer, it was second nature for him to disguise himself when he went out. Despite being a little shy, he didn't give off creepy vibes to anyone. Whoever met him thought he was tall, charming, and attractive. So, of course, no one would suspect that he was a stalker obsessed with watching you. He first saw you in the grocery store months ago, back when you worked there. You helped him find the ingredients for a recipe he wanted to try, and Kai, admittedly new to cooking, was smitten with you from that moment. You were so kind, helpful, and patient, never getting angry at his inexperienced questions. He had never felt this taken by someone before, so of course, after that day, he followed you home. He had to know where his future wife lived.

You were Kai's first and only target. He had never been interested in dating or anything else, just focused on his living a bachelor life. But as soon as he met you, he put in more hours as a streamer and content creator. He needed more money so he could take care of you, so you'd never have to work. He never spent his paychecks on much—only on a room perfect for watching you, some gadgets to plant in your place so he could hear your lovely voice, and, of course, any scent you bought.

One night, Kai saw you get dressed in skimpier clothing than usual. Your skin glowed as you tie your curly hair up. He wondered where you planned to go, showing that much skin. Only he should see you in clothes like this. As your friends came over, he plugged his headphones into his computer so he could listen in. "This club is gonna be so fun, Y/N. It'll be a nice break from the boring, drab life you live," your friend said. Kai always thought your 'besties' were a bad influence, and he vowed to get rid of them when you two were ultimately together. The next few words you said sent Kai into a frenzy. "Yeah, maybe I'll find someone to bring home. These dating apps are failing me and my sex life."

Such promiscuous words leaving your pretty lips excited him but also angered him. How dare you think of sleeping with anyone but him? The reason your dates never pan out is because Kai always gets rid of them. He's not a killer, of course, but he pretends to be a bereaved boyfriend or ex to scare them off. The man you need is him.

Kai never put himself in a position to be spotted by you, but he had to go to this club and make sure any man who approached you was properly dealt with. This was a stupid decision on his end—he could get recognized and cause a commotion—but he didn't care. He needed to protect you from the creeps of this world. He called up a few of his friends and told them they should get drinks at this club he heard about. Despite spending his every waking hour tracking your movements, Kai hadn't killed his social life. So his friends weren't suspicious at all. Kai threw on his usual attire of black and grey clothing, complete with a baseball hat and mask to hide his face, and set out to the club. He had to arrive before you so he could scout the perfect place to watch.

After a while, Kai regretted bringing his friends along. Despite being a good cover, they were also a huge distraction, craving drinks, parties, and dancing. All he wanted was to watch his pretty angel. So far, you'd just been having a good time with your friends, with the occasional guy trying to approach but getting shut down. He was lucky you had high standards. He didn't know if he'd be able to control himself if you were dancing up on some stranger.Kai made the mistake of looking at you for too long, which piqued the interest of his friends. "Ah, she's beautiful. She got your eye, Kai?" Kai's friend, Yeonjun, teased, throwing his arm over his friend. Kai remained calm; if he freaked out now, his friends would get suspicious. "Yeah, she's pretty, but I doubt I'm her type," Kai shrugged. "Well, of course, you'd be nobody's type with this get-up you have on," Beomgyu piped in, taking off Kai's hat.

That made him panic a little. kai felt a surge of anxiety clawing at his chest. "We know you're a streamer and all," beomgyu says, his voice laced with doubt, "but I doubt anyone here will recognize you. I mean, most of them are drunk." In one swift motion, he reached out and yanked Kai's mask down before Kai could even react. Suddenly, Kai's face was completely exposed, and a wave of regret washed over him. He cursed himself silently; he should have just called in a bomb threat to the club. That would have been easier, safer.

But before Kai could even contemplate hiding his face again, one of your friends approached their group. "Hey, we’ve been watching you guys a while. do you guys wanna sit with us over there? We have a booth," she offered. Kai knew he should refuse, that every instinct screamed at him to protect his anonymity. But the mere thought of being close to you in person set his heart pounding, his legs moving of their own accord, faster than his brain could catch up.

Before he knew it, he was standing in front of your table, watching you sip on a drink. He glanced behind him, silently pleading with one of his friends to take the lead, to sit down first. But they betrayed him, sensing his infatuation and seizing the perfect opportunity. With a slight push, they nudged him forward, forcing him to take a seat next to you, while they settled in with the other girls in your group. It was a subtle action, one that went unnoticed by everyone except Kai, who felt like his world was spinning out of control.

The conversation flowed naturally between the group after Kai calmed down, the tension of his unmasking dissipating into the air. Despite the initial panic, he found himself surprisingly happy about the situation. It had provided him with a valuable opportunity to gather more intel on your friends, and he was definitely planning on doing some serious research once he got home. Every word that escaped your pretty mouth was already familiar to Kai, but he feigned surprise nonetheless, his heart fluttering each time you spoke.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask, but aren't you KaiInteractive?" Sakura, one of your friends, spoke up, her voice cutting through the ambient chatter. There it was – his cover blown. Now he had to be extra careful to ensure you didn't spot him while he followed you around the city. Before, he could comfortably watch you stroll through the streets, jog along the same path as you, and even slip into restaurants unnoticed. But now, he had to ensure he wasn't anywhere close to your line of sight.

"Yeah, I am," Kai replied, his tone tinged with annoyance towards the friends who had stripped away his disguise. "That's so cool! I watch your streams all the time! Y/N and I were there for your first 24-hour stream. We love your stuff," Sakura gushed, her enthusiasm evident. You stiffened slightly at the revelation, and Kai couldn't help but feel a twinge of shock. He hadn't known about your presence at his 24-hour stream; it had happened long before you two had met at the grocery store.

Did that mean you had recognized him all along, and that's why you had been so nice? As Kai pondered this, he felt his obsession with you intensify. He needed to know absolutely everything about you. "Oh, is that right?" he teased, directing his playful remark at you. You grew noticeably quiet and shy under his gaze, a reaction that only fueled Kai's desire to unravel more about you.

"Let's dance," you interjected, smoothly changing the subject as you seized Kai's hand, guiding him towards the pulsating dance floor. In that moment, Kai's curiosity almost vanished entirely as he found himself swept up in the rhythm, his focus solely on you. As you moved with a captivating grace, dancing provocatively with him, Kai couldn't help but marvel at his incredible luck. Each sway of your hips, each sultry glance, etched itself into his memory, becoming a permanent fixture in his mind.

Though not lacking in dancing skill himself, Kai made sure to keep you thoroughly entertained, matching your every move with fluidity and precision. After a while of dancing, you turned around and stared at Kai with intensity. There was a heavy tension in the air, and you couldn't take it anymore. You smashed your lips onto his. Kai was overjoyed; he could die happily today. All those hours wishing your perfect lips were upon his, and now it was a reality. Kai matched your hungry energy perfectly, already thinking about how good it was going to be to get off on this later.

When you two parted for air, you got on your tiptoes and whispered into Kai's ear, "Let's go back to my place." All of Kai's self-preservation instincts flew out the window as he eagerly followed you out of the club and back to your place. As soon as he stepped through your door, you kissed him passionately. Kai grabbed your waist, eliciting a moan from you. He knew how much you loved that; he had caught you a few times pathetically trying to grab your own waist while masturbating. Despite the dim lighting, with only the faint glow from the kitchen lights, Kai expertly guided you both towards the couch.

He knew your apartment's layout like the back of his hand. As you fell onto the couch, Kai admired the way you looked: heavy breathing, smudged lipstick, dress hiked up revealing part of your panties, and the lustful look on your face that drew him in. He could get addicted to this.

Kai pulled his shirt over his head and discarded it on your living room floor. Despite being a shut-in, Kai had a perfectly muscular body. He knew your type and had trained hard to become it. As Kai moved to lay on top of you on the couch, you stopped him. "Let's head over to my bedroom," you said, interlacing your fingers with his and pulling him towards your room. Kai didn't even take in the lovely vanilla scent of your room; he was too focused on the angel stripping in front of him. He couldn't concentrate on the decor or think about wandering into your bathroom.

The scene before him was far better than any information gathering he should have been doing. Kai already knew what your naked body looked like, but to be able to touch it and confirm his thoughts about its scent and smoothness was way better. He didn't waste another moment, pulling you into another breathless kiss, touching you in all the right places as if he knew your body inside and out... because he did. He had studied you and was overly prepared for this moment. He knew exactly what you liked and to what extent. He knew you enjoyed your breasts being sucked on rather than flicked. He knew which dirty words elicited a response from you.

You felt as if Kai was made for you in that moment because he had molded himself to be. Every kiss, stroke, and word was perfect, and he knew it. Kai was in complete control of you as you lay in a pleasure-induced daze beneath him. Everything he did felt amazing to your body, and you surrendered completely. His cock even felt like it was made for you, as you easily adjusted to his length and girth, utterly fucked out of your mind by him.

Kai loved being able to control you like this, relishing how desperately you wanted him, how you needed him in this moment. He was overjoyed, teasing your body and leaving his love marks all over your neck and chest as he fucked you just right. you were his only his and from this moment thats all you will be. Every touch, every thrust, was a testament to his meticulous preparation and intimate knowledge of your desires, intensifying the electric connection between you two.

Kai could feel your body tensing beneath him, your moans growing louder and more urgent. He knew you were close, and he matched your rising need with his own fervor. His hands roamed over your body, caressing and gripping, driving you wild with desire. He whispered dirty words into your ear, knowing exactly which ones would send shivers down your spine. Your vision blurred as the pleasure became too much to contain. With one final, deep thrust, Kai pushed you over the edge.

You cried out, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. Kai came just from the sight of you finishing. you left breathless and trembling and Kai was proud of himself; all that watching and learning had paid off. He got to see the ultimate sight, one he now couldn't live without. He must be with you—he had to speed up his timeline and integrate himself into your life. everything was perfect you were perfect.

After you both came down from the high of your orgasms, you looked up at him with soft eyes. "Will you stay the night?" you asked as Kai started to slip back on his boxers. As tempting as the offer was, Kai needed to get back and update his Y/N journal and he must get up early to watch your daily jog. "Yeah, it's late and my place is pretty far," the lie slipped easily from his lips.

"Oh, but don't you live right across from me?" you said mindlessly, hoping to get the boy to stay. Kai stopped in his tracks, and you realized what you had said. Fuck, you just blew your cover. How will you explain this? Maybe he's too tipsy to even realize? You don't want to have to get rid of another.

[astaroth1357]

Oh God, What Have We Done??: Father!Belphegor Headcanons

You know, I was going to write this for Simeon, and I still might, but Belphie lost the Dad poll and I must right an injustice when I see one.

Content: Somehow incredibly fluffy with Big Happy Family vibes; mostly meme fodder

~♡♡♡~

I refuse to believe this could have been planned. No person in their right mind is going to look at Belphie and go, "Oh yeah. That's some real good father material right there!" Belphegor wouldn't even say that to himself.

Either a condom broke, a pill was skipped, or some orphaned demon child imprinted on these two like a baby duck and followed them home. Either way, NO ONE wanted this, but it's happening.

Belphegor's reaction to realizing that he's a Dad:

Everyone else's reaction to realizing Belphegor is a Dad:

Beel's reaction to realizing that he is an Uncle:

But seriously though, Beel is the only one with any kind of unwavering faith that his twin can pull this off. Never doubts him for a second and never will.

Everybody else though....? Well. Satan is already cleaning out the local libraries of their parenting books, Asmo's searching Mommy blogs, and Lucifer keeps staring off into the middle distance like he's questioning every single life decision that has brought them to this point. Fear is rampant, despair is on high.

The biggest worry is that Belphegor is going to leave MC more or less high and dry. He's not exactly known to be a "go-getter" when times are tough and though he has his soft side, sure, no one would call it particularly "nurturing."

Diavolo and Barbs weren't even sure if they should announce the news to the realm. Of course one of the Lords of the Hell having an offspring is a pretty big deal but under these circumstances...

What if it was treated like a joke by the populous? Painting a target for ridicule on Belphie and MC's backs had to be the LAST thing anybody wanted...

Even Belphegor, in a pretty heartbreaking moment of self-reflection, tried to convince Beel to take over for him instead. Not to shirk the responsibility, but out of pure acknowledgement that he would make the better father between them...

Beel, of course, was not having this for a second. And you know what? Everyone would do well to listen to the wisdom of Beel! Because he knew instinctively something that everyone else had conveniently forgotten-

No matter the circumstances, Belphie's kid was a part of the family. And that meant that they, the MC, and even Belphie himself were never going to be doing this alone.

And that fact was proven quickly enough when every member of the family, extended or otherwise, stepped up to lend a hand.

Levi and Mammon took it on themselves to go out and buy whatever baby items they needed and seemingly came in every day with handfuls upon handfuls of bottles, baby gates, socket covers, and TOYS (literally so many toys. They bought more toys than diapers).

Lucifer and Asmo set to work on renovating a nursery/kid's room almost immediately. The eldest had the plans drafted within a week of the news while Asmo buried MC and Belphie in paint swatches and magazine catalogs for the walls and decor.

Satan roped Beel in to help him train Belphegor to be a little less lazy and more attentive to the MC and the baby. Even going so far as to curse a baby monitor to sound like fog horn to him and only him if the kid began to cry.

The angels chipped in with gifts and free offers to babysit (mostly from Simeon, but Luke is already eyeing the little one like a baby sibling and is protective as such).

Solomon uh... Well Solomon offered to cook MC whatever they wanted through the pregnancy at first, but when that got a HARD veto he switched to just giving HoL a touch of magic baby proofing. Nobody can figure out how to get under the kitchen sink anymore, but that means the baby won't either!

And, of course, despite Belphegor not liking him much, Diavolo is probably the BEST psudeo-uncle a kid could have. He's already sent Barbatos out to curate the best baby food and Lucifer is training him on how to hold infants properly so he can take turns being babysitter with Simeon.

As a father... Belphie isn't perfect. He did whine more than a few times about no longer being the "baby" everyone doted on. A couple times, he may even act just as childish as his kid...

But in the moments late at night when he's rocking them in his arms, dead tired from being awake for hours but determined to make sure they sleep first...

Or when he's walking around the House with them tucked to his chest because they'll never cry if he holds them.

How he pays attention to every little thing that interests them so he can craft each of their dreams more exciting than the last...

Or how he, more than any of the others, knows what a precious treasure it is to be with those you love since you never know when they'll be gone...

He'll do alright. With the love and support of everyone else, their child will have everything they need...

As long as they don't turn out as spoiled as he is 💀