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yandere-daydreams · 1 year

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Title: Captured.

A Continuation of This Piece.

Pairing: Yandere!Geto x Reader x Yandere!Gojo (JJK).

Word Count: 3.3k.

TW: AFAB!Reader, Dub/Con -> Non/Con, Implied Kidnapping, Oral Sex, Threesomes, The Pervasive Aire of Homoerotica, Slight Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, Violence, Intimidation, and Biting. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

He let you wait outside while he booked a room. It was a test, obviously – to see if you’d try and run as soon as he let you out of his sight. You didn’t. You kept your back pressed against the peeling cement wall and your hands in your pockets as the man at the front desk screamed, as you listened to the slick sounds of carnage and Geto’s muffled laughter. By the time he came out, his clothes dotted with dark stains and his hands lathered in the same dripping scarlet, you thought you might’ve been too sick for whatever he wanted to do with you.

He held up a hand, two keys and their accompanying plastic tags hanging from each finger. “Pick a number, one through ten.”

You just wanted to get this over with. Then, you wouldn’t have to worry about monsters or mysterious men or any of this ever again. “Eight.”

“Oh, the honeymoon suite.” Your eyes widened, and he cocked his head to the side. “Kidding, kidding. That’ll have to wait, for now.”

The room was nicer than you’d expected. Not quite the oppressively beige monstrosity you’d feared, but not as far from the eye-bleedingly pink love hotel that’d be the permanent backdrop in your worst nightmares as you would’ve liked. Currently, you were sitting on the edge of a king-sized bed with faux-velvet sheets, staring at your feet as Geto washed his hands in the in-suite bathroom. So lost in your own spiraling thoughts, you didn’t notice the water shutting off, didn’t hear him approaching you until the mattress dipped at your side and a pair of hands came to rest on either side of your waist. In one smooth, effortless motion, you were hauled into his lap, left to balance on his thigh as his eyes raked over you unabashedly. “You should try to relax. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were afraid of me.” His hand fell to the hem of your sweater. You’d gotten dressed in a blind panic after waking up to an apartment crawling with those awful things, but now, you regretted not throwing on as many layers as you could, not putting as many barriers as you could between yourself and the feeling of his calloused fingers skirting over your skin. “I can help take the edge off, if you’d like.”

For the first time that day, you felt a spark of relief. “Do you have anything? I’m alright with pills.”

“I was thinking something more along the lines of…” His hand splayed over your stomach, his tone laced with a dark edge. “Choking you until you black-out, then having my way with your helpless body?”

“Oh.” Just as quickly, that spark was extinguished – crushed under an unforgiving heel and stamped into total nonexistence. “I… I think I’d rather be awake, thank you.”

He hummed, tapping two fingers against your hip. “Have it your way, little one.”

Without warning, you were thrown onto the center of the bed. Before you could haul yourself up, before you could fully realize what was going on, Geto was between your open legs, mouth latched onto the inside of your thigh and his hands tearing at your shorts. The flimsy material gave away easily, and your panties didn’t last much longer. You took back what you’d said about wearing less revealing clothes; making this take any longer than it already did would’ve been torture. As deftly as he worked, the knot of dread forming in your chest was faster, quickly overshadowing every rational thought you might’ve had in favor of telling you that you weren’t supposed to be here, that this was dangerous, that you didn’t know what was going on, that you—

His broad tongue laved over your now-exposed slit, and your panicked mind went completely blank. His mouth was hot, and he didn’t waste time, latching onto your clit and sucking before you could think to push him away. Your body, nerves fried by adrenaline and senses dialed up to the point of hypersensitivity, responded immediately, your back arching as you struggled to swallow back a fractured moan. He encouraged your reactions, laving over your clit as two of his fingers found their way to your now-dripping entrance.

His digits slipped into you without resistance, scissoring apart and splitting you open as your own hands balled around the sheets, as you locked your jaw into place and did what little you could swallow back any sounds that’d make you seem more pathetic than you already were. Your pitiful attempts at resistance earned a throaty chuckle that reverberated against your clit and made your thighs clench together. Vaguely, in the distance, you felt his hand curl around your ankle, then you were being bent in half, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he ate you out like a man starved. It was all you could do to keep your eyes shut, the tears that would’ve escaped otherwise safely locked away, to make sure you didn’t kick or thrash or do anything that’d make him decide you’d be more entertaining after you’d been half-mauled by one of his monsters. It was all you could do to keep your mind blank, to block out the terrible, wet noises rising up from between your thighs, to—

The door creaked as it swung open, and you scrambled to pull away from Geto, to cover yourself before someone saw you being brought to the brink of climax by a murderer. He held you in place, though, his grip turning vice-like as he kept you splayed-open and on-display for the familiar, white-haired stranger now standing in the doorway. “Satoru,” Geto started, still idly pumping his fingers into you. “How kind of you to join—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. You closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, Gojo had him pinned to the far wall, a small crater blown into the cement where the point of collision would’ve been. You could see an orb of blinding, blue light forming in his other hand, but Geto only clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Keep your dick in your pants, pervert,” he purred, eyes flitting to you. “There are innocents nearby.”

The orb of light disappeared, but Gojo didn’t move. “I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.”

You watched a first form at Geto’s side, watched in a daze as his knuckles collided with Gojo’s cheek with enough force to send him flying across the room and into the side of the bed, fracturing the steel frame. “Me neither, ‘toru.”

Letting out a ragged exhale, Gojo pushed himself to his feet and their conversation devolved into a rush of blows and kicks and insults half-finished before Gojo’s fist collided with Geto’s chin or Geto caught Gojo’s throat in his teeth. Clothes were torn, blood spilled across cheap carpeting, and you blinked once, twice, before shaking your head and hauling yourself up and taking stock of the situation.

They were fighting. Eventually, one of them would probably win, and that winner would probably want to fuck you. Maybe, after that, one of them would also help you. Maybe.

Gojo caught Geto’s hair in his fist and pulled. You could’ve sworn you heard Geto moan.

Okay. Alright. Yeah. No. Fuck this, actually.

Slowly, careful not to make a sound, you stood up and pulled your sweater down to cover your still dripping cunt before inching towards the door which was, surprisingly, still in one piece (it would dawn on you later that Geto must’ve left it unlatched, if not open, much to your delayed mortification). You could figure something else out. There were two other people who knew about your monsters, which meant there must’ve been at least one more. Gojo had been wearing a uniform, when you first met him, running for your life from the mangled mess of teeth and claws that’d managed to sink its talons into you, and you thought you’d heard him mention a school. You could find someone else, someone who wouldn’t ask for sex, someone who wouldn’t know your name before you introduced yourself, someone who’d give you a protective charm or a talisman and then demand for money or unpaid labor in return. You could—

It felt like vertigo, like the surface of the Earth had shifted underneath you. Your body tilted, collapsed, and then Gojo’s arm was wrapped around your waist, his chest pressed into your back and his fingers burrowed into the flesh of your side. “Trying to get away?” His voice was raspy. Geto must’ve gotten his throat. “That’s not very nice.”

“You were the one who burst in uninvited and distracted me,” Geto muttered. His lip was busted, and he cracked his nose back into place as he hauled himself up from the floor. “If you hadn’t interrupted us, they’d still be cumming on my tongue so adorably.”

Gojo didn’t seem to pay him any mind. His attention remained fixed on you, his free hand drifting to your vulnerable pussy. Using his thumb, he gathered some of the slick staining your inner thighs, toying with it as he spoke. “I thought the first time I touched you like this would be more romantic.” He paused, his ears ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Or, the first time I touched you while you were awake, at least. It… it got harder to control myself, toward the end.”

You snapped to Geto, teeth bared. “This wasn’t what we agreed to. I don’t want to—”

“Don’t talk to him.” His fingers slipped into you, curling against the walls of your cunt. Your breath hitched in your chest, and Gojo pressed a fleeting kiss into your cheek. “Don’t look at him. He’s not supposed to be here.”

“I could say the same thing about you, Satoru.” Stretching his back, he made his way back to the bed and collapsed onto it, letting out a strained groan. “If I hadn’t been so kind as to donate all of those very valuable, very hard-to-come-by curses to your pitiful cause, you would’ve waited… how long? Another year before so much as breathing the same air as your little crush?” His half-lidded stare met yours, and he smirked. “You should have a taste. The poor thing is heavenly when they’re scared.”

“He’s always been this bossy. I’m sorry you had to deal with him on your own.” Gojo drew back, but didn’t let you go. Rather, he looped an arm under your knees and pulled you off your feet, carrying you back to that fucking bed. He laid you out with more care than Geto had, but his expression remained uncannily blank. He’d been blindfolded the first time you’d met, and whatever eyewear he’d come with had been either removed or torn away, revealing eyes that were almost painfully blue. The only mercy was his hair – long enough to fall over his face and obscure his empty gaze, his parted lips. His hand drifted to your injured leg, still bandaged from the knee down, and his lips quirked downward. “I’m sorry you had to get hurt, too. But…” He smiled, leaned in until his forehead rested against yours. “It’s good that we’ll get to be together, right?”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell him to stop touching you, to let you go home, but you couldn’t go home, so you said nothing.

Geto let out an exaggerated yawn. “I didn’t put this little reunion together because I wanted to hear you talk, ‘toru.”

“See what I mean? So fucking bossy.” And yet, one of his hands fell away from you. You heard fabric rustle, metal clink, and then his cock was free, prodding against the inside of your thigh. You could feel your heart drop into your stomach as your eyes broke away from his and raked over his pale shaft, his flushed head, already leaking beads of ivory precum. He was tall. They were both massive, but nothing attached to a human being should’ve been that big. “You’re lucky I’m letting you watch.”

“Who said I’d be watching?” So preoccupied by your own terror, you didn’t notice Geto shifting until you felt his hands on your sides, then at the hem of your sweater, pulling your only remaining protection over your head. You scrambled to stop him, but there wouldn’t have been much you could to do fend him off at your best, let alone in the state you’d been reduced to tonight. With a breathy chuckle, he finished stripping you down, his attention immediately falling to your chest. “You wouldn’t want me leaving you alone with him, would you, little one?” He bowed his head, catching your nipple with his teeth and pulling harshly. A pained whine slipped past your lips before you could choke it back, and he turned towards Gojo, grinning. “See? They like me.”

Whatever rage Gojo felt, he managed to bury it beneath a soft smile, a pulse of pure electricity in his eyes as he took his cock in his hand, dragging the tip over your entrance. You thrashed, kicked, fought, but he only cooed as he thrust into you, like he was trying to comfort you. Like you would need to be comforted if he just stopped.

He bottomed out, his hips pressing into yours with a blissful sigh, and you lurched forward, moving to claw at his eyes, to wrap your hands around his throat, to do something. Geto caught your wrists before you could so much as touch him, though – laughing as he forced your arms flush against the mattress. As Gojo started to move in earnest, Geto slotted his lips against yours, taking advantage of your distress to force his tongue into your mouth while Gojo fucked you open, whatever gentleness he’d been attempting to show you falling away in favor of burying himself that much deeper in your tight heat. As soon as Geto pulled away, Gojo took his place, his kiss not quite as aggressive but no less invasive, no less unwelcome. You should’ve never left your apartment. You should’ve never run from your monsters. At least they might’ve been kind enough to kill you quickly.

By the time he broke away from you, your vision was spotted with black, your lungs aching from a lack of oxygen. Jerkily, he straightened his back and raised a hand, his fingers soon tangled in Geto’s hair. You watched in a daze as teeth clashed against teeth and lips collided with a bruising force, and considered the terrifying possibility that you might’ve been the first person either of them had ever kissed.

Gojo’s pace turned erratic, his hold on your hip crushing. His pelvic bone caught on your clit every time he thrust into you. You’d been able to control yourself when faced with Geto’s teasing, but now, every little cracked moan and pained whimper slid past your lips, barely audible above the sound of slick squelching and skin slapping against skin. Unwillingly, you clenched around him, and Gojo doubled over with a throaty groan, burying his face in the side of your neck. You felt his mouth on your throat, then his teeth, sinking into your skin deep enough to draw blood. You clenched your eyes shut, willing your body to go numb to the pain, to ignore the coil of pure agony winding tighter in your core, but Geto caught your chin, forcing you to tilt your head back and stare up at him. “Trying to run away again so soon?”

“S-stop,” you half-sobbed, trying to pry his hand away from your face. “Don’t touch me—”

“We’ll have to bring a gag along, next time. That is, unless you learn to be more appreciative.” He shrugged his sweatpants below his waist, wrapping his fist around his cock and guiding it to your lips. “Open up, little one.”

You grit your teeth, keeping your mouth shut as tightly as you could, but Gojo bit down on your collarbone and you screamed, jerking against him. Geto took advantage of your misery, slipping a thumb into your mouth and prying your teeth apart, forcing his cock down your throat. “Bite down,” he muttered, voice low and tone sharpened, “and I’ll make sure he knocks you up.”

A wave of cold dread washed over you, but you didn’t have time to linger on your newly realized fear. Geto was already fucking your skull, already leaving you struggling not to choke as you tried to remember how to breathe around him. Where Gojo was uncontrolled, Geto almost seemed… unaffected, holding your head in place while he rolled his hips with the idle pace of a man determined to milk every second he could out of you. It was unbearable; the burning in your throat, the heat in your core, the feeling of Gojo battering into your cunt until you couldn’t stop your legs from twitching, your back from arching, your pussy from clenching around Gojo’s length and drawing a sinful noise from somewhere deep in his chest. You let out a ragged moan half-suffocated by Geto’s cock, and then you were coming undone around him, your body convulsing underneath his. Gojo wasn’t far behind. With a hitched groan, he pressed his hips into yours and pushed another open-mouthed kiss into your neck, making no attempt to pull out before flooding your pussy with something thick and awful.

Geto wasn’t far behind, his eyes falling shut as he came down your throat. For the longest time, neither of them moved, Geto forcing you to choke down every last drop of his cum while Gojo stare down at you, eyes blank and lips parted, his expression caught somewhere between tender and awe-struck.

Finally, he glanced away from you, looking to Geto instead. “Let’s switch. I want to feel their mouth.”

Geto let out a breath of a chuckle. With your body limp, your jaw slack, he pulled away from you, leaning just close enough to let his lips brush against your temple before straightening his back and moving to take Gojo’s place between your legs. “Whatever you say, lover boy.”

Hours later, when your skin was little more than a patchwork of hickeys and bruises and you couldn’t feel anything save for a constant, excruciating ache in your cunt, Geto had fallen asleep with his arm around your waist and Gojo laid next to you, head propped on his fist and a soft smile painted across his lips. You could see the sun starting to rise from behind the thin motel curtains, feel the dread that accompanied being in a strange place with strange men at a strange time, but it all seemed secondary, pushed to a distance by your exhaustion, your devastation. When Gojo wrapped his arms around you, pulling you out of Geto’s hold, all you could summon was a whine of protest, and even that was quickly glazed over with an airy laugh, a quiet hush.

Geto’s shirt (discarded three hours in, when he stepped aside for a shower while Gojo made you cum on his tongue for the fourth time) was pulled over your head, Gojo’s glasses (lost in the initial fight, found briefly while Geto was bouncing you on his cock with one hand and jerking Gojo off with the other, then lost again) snagged off the floor and pocketed. As he slipped out of the beaten motel door, you shut your eyes against the dim light, burying your face in his chest, and he encouraged you to, cupping the back of your neck as he pressed a kiss into your forehead. With his lips still lingering against your skin, he spoke, his voice muffled by his proximity. “It’s alright. You can sleep, if you need to.”

It might’ve been sweeter, if you hadn’t been able to feel every inch of his smile cutting into your skin.

“I promised I’d keep you safe, didn’t I?”

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hairmetal666 · 1 year

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Steve has this bar he loves in Chicago. It's a little bit dive-y, a little bit dirty, but it's quiet. A good place for when he needs to clear his head.

Only, tonight, the place is packed. Music pounding from the jukebox, no space at the bar, patrons at the dartboard and pool table. In three years he's never seen it like this.

He has a second to wonder what's going on before he sees exactly who is going on, and for him to catch Steve looking.

"Stevie!" Eddie Munson cries. He leaps from the bar top, the people below scrambling away from the stomp of his big black boots.

He hasn't seen Eddie in years. Can't actually remember the last time. Max and Lucas's wedding? Robin and Nancy's baby shower?

Steve considers booking it out of there, escaping in the crush of the crowd. By the time he has the thought, though, Eddie's already pulling him into a hug.

He's excited to see his friend. He is! Really. He loves Eddie. But that's kind of the problem.

Steve fell in love and Eddie left town.

Well, maybe it wasn't so dramatic as all that. It wasn't until six months after they packed the last box in the back of Eddie's van that Steve could name his feelings for what they were. And by then, Corroded Coffin were building buzz and Eddie had a huge whole life outside of the people he saved the world with.

Over the years, as Eddie's fame grew, he came around less and now they hardly see each other. They still talk from time to time, Steve still buys all the band's records, and Eddie's still close with all the kids, Nancy and Robin too.

Eddie releases him, those big eyes bright, a pure and genuine smile stretching his face. Steve's stomach twists, heart skipping a beat.

"Gotta be honest with you, man. Never expected to see Steve Harrington in a place like this."

Steve snorts. "There's lots of place I go you wouldn't expect."

Eddie's smile wobbles, Steve thinks. It's gone in a blink, though, and Eddie laughs. "I'm sure you do, sweetheart. Have time for a drink with me?"

Eddie navigates to the bar, returns with two beers in hand. He presses his palm to the small of Steve's back, directing him to the single empty table in the corner as far from the jukebox as possible.

"How's life treating you, Stevie?" Eddie asks after a sip. "Nance told me the store is doing really well."

"It's good, yeah. Finally turning a profit. Wasn't sure about Dustin having us add a game section, but he was right. It's really taken off."

"Oh, he told me," Eddie smirks.

Steve rolls his eyes. "I'm sure that he did. He hasn't let me hear the end of it."

"That tone," Eddie says, voice soft.

"What brings you to Chicago?" He asks to hide the way all the fucking love he feels for this man is bleeding out of him.

"Not really supposed to be," he laughs. "Flight got diverted to O'Hare, can't get another one until tomorrow. Have to make it to LA in time to play a show."

They both know Eddie loves it; the rush, the adrenaline, that comes with performing, to making it to shows at the very last minute. It's how they got here in the first place.

"Working on new music?"

Eddie leans back, dimples popping with the pleased lift of his lips. "Oh, Harrington, you don't even know what we have in store." He leans over the table and launches into tales of rehearsals and writing. Steve drinks his beer and can't take his eyes off his friend, Eddie the sun Steve orbits around, helpless to his gravitational pull.

"So, Stevie," Eddie says, once there's no more to tell about music. "You seeing anyone?"

Steve hides his cringe with a chuckle. Picks up his beer to buy time and finds it empty. "Not anyone of note."

"C'mon, how is that possible? You're easily the hottest guy in this place."

He grimaces. "That's a low bar."

"Oooh, still bitchy after all these years." Eddie snickers, takes a swig from his bottle.

"Shut-up."

"Seems like it's been a while since you dated."

"You interrogating my love life now, Munson?"

"No, not at all. Just curious."

"Okay, who are you dating? Still that guy from People?"

"Gossip," Eddie frowns.

"Anyone else you got your eye on?"

"No one new," Eddie says. He stares at Steve hard for a second, like he wants to dig into his brain, like it holds the answer to all life's question.

"There is someone, then." Steve tries to ignore the jealousy licking down his spine. Eddie isn't his and never will be.

Eddie picks at the label on his now empty beer. "Not--not really." He licks his lips, leaning over the table again. "Is there a reason you don't seem to date anymore, man? It's just--you wouldn't hurt for options, right?"

Steve freezes, trying to figure out a way to answer that won't end up breaking his own heart. "Ah, it's--you know, things got busy with opening the store and everything. Stopped being a priority."

"Are you lonely?"

"Are you?" He snaps before he can stop himself. "Sorry, I'm--sorry."

"Yeah, man. I'm lonely as hell." Eddie answers as though Steve didn't give him an out.

"I--you ever have someone where the timing is always wrong?"

"Think it's a hazard of my profession. Who's yours?"

"What?" Steve clunks his bottle too hard against the table.

"The one that got away?"

"It's--it--I--it doesn't matter."

Eddie's smile is all jagged edges. "Nancy?"

"God, no. Nance and I are good with being friends. No lingering feelings there. Who's yours?"

"Ahh," Eddie sits back a little, eyes glittering with an emotion Steve can't place. "The best boy I ever met. Can't get over him, can't forget him. I think they guys are going to start banning my 'pathetic gay yearning songs'. Gareth's words."

Something in Steve's chest crumbles to dust. There's someone. Has always been someone. Of course. Eddie is beautiful and hot and charismatic and fucking famous. And Steve is--just a guy who runs a struggling bookstore with a couple of his best friends.

"That's--I'm sorry it didn't work out." He's trying to stop his voice from breaking, from giving Eddie any hint of what he's feeling, just knows he has to get out. "Listen, man, thanks for the beer. Great to catch up. You should hit up Robin and Nancy the next time you're in town. I gotta get going."

"Wait, Steve--"

"See you around."

He doesn't wait. He pushes through the people, and races out the door, into the crisp Chicago fall air. He squeezes his eyes closed, practices his breathing exercises, tries to relax the clench of his teeth, ease the screaming in his lungs.

Three steps away from the building is as far as he gets before he hears, "Steve, please wait." A hand catches his hip, holding him in place.

"Eddie, I don't--"

"It's you," Eddie says. His face is pale, stricken. "You're the one who got away, Steve."

"What?"

"I've never been able to work up the nerve to confess. I've been trying for years, but. Too afraid of losing you to tell the truth."

"Years?" Steve's brain is trying to wrap around what's happening. That Eddie has feelings for him? That he's the source of the pathetic gay yearning?

"God, since 1986, at least."

Steve doesn't know what to say; what to do. He's been waiting for this moment so long, and his brain goes on pause.

"It's okay if you don't feel the same," Eddie rambles. "Hell, I'd be surprised if you did, but--"

"You're mine too," the words tumble out.

"What?"

"You're the one who got away. For me. You're mine."

"Steve," Eddie breathes. "Is this--are you serious?"

"Pathetic gay yearning and all."

Eddie's laugh is a bright spot in the darkness, relief and happiness mixed with the hope of what's next.

Steve can't help but giggle. "We're so dumb," he says.

Eddie looks at him with a raised eyebrow before bursting into giggles of his own. "So dumb, Steve, oh my god."

"It's been a decade!"

"Fuck," Eddie cackles.

They collapse against each other, chests heaving with their mirth. As they catch their breath, Steve nuzzles against Eddie's neck, relishing the closeness. It's easy for him to change the angle so their lips meet in a kiss frantic with ten years of longing.

"Your place or mine?" Eddie asks once they part.

Steve laughs. "You think I'm that easy, Munson?"

"Oh, Steve," Eddie smirks. "I know it."

"Asshole." Steve presses a kiss to his jaw. "How many songs did you write about me?"

Eddie smiles so hard his dimples pop. "All of them, baby. Every single one."

Steve rests their foreheads together, body fizzing like freshly uncorked champagne, "Take me home, Ed."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #oneshot #angst #friends to lovers #angst with a happy ending #idiots in love #mutual pining #famous eddie munson #rockstar eddie munson #regular guy steve harrington #pathetic gay yearning #fluff #the one that got away #second chances #getting together

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sepublic · 3 months

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I cannot imagine being Camila Noceda because so much of her arc starts around her being scared for her child, wanting her to do well and succeed and being afraid she’ll get hurt. And then right under her nose, her daughter has disappeared on some adventure in another world but at least she seems fine, right?

But you still let yourself break and you end up saying things you might regret. And then it’s only when you begin to worry about her that she comes back and she is scarred. She’s hurt. There’s a cut on her eyebrow and you realize it will never heal. It always reminds you of how you weren’t there for her, you couldn’t protect your daughter from those who hurt her, and if you’d been enough for Luz then maybe she wouldn’t have needed to come to the isles to begin with and be injured. You see how she’s begun to loathe and hate herself, because of things and people entirely outside of her control, and you couldn’t have been there to comfort her when she needed it. So now it’s built up for Luz into this horrific trauma that she hasn’t even yet begun to unpack.

Camila is stronger than everyone because if I’d seen my kid come back like that, I’d have broken apart asking what happened, are you okay, etc. But instead she remains strong because she can see that Luz and her kids are scared and they really need an adult who can be strong for them. Camila probably thought about what happened in Yesterday’s Lie afterwards, and come to regret her outburst; She must’ve guessed how it hurt Luz and made her feel terrible and alas she was right! So she vowed not to make that same mistake again and be even stronger next time, and she was!!!

But man that must’ve been so scary and helpless and painful, seeing what happened under your watch. Being unable to provide a fix in getting her back home, so of course Camila goes along to the Demon Realm once she gets that opportunity, because this all started because she wasn’t there for her daughter when she needed her most. Of course she supports her in coming out, as well as in staying in the isles; She won't blame Eda for giving Luz what she wanted and needed, as Eda herself couldn't be a hypocrite by telling Luz to stay with her mom. Camila won’t let Luz face this stuff alone like last time, not when she knows and Luz feels better about trusting her (or had to, anyway) and it’s what saves Luz!!! Because when Luz relapses after failing against Kikimora, it’s Camila who’s there to pick her back up and tell her everything she needs, which leads to Luz’s palisman String Bean finally emerging!!!

But then Luz dies and just. That scar must’ve reminded Camila that she wasn’t there to protect her daughter from anyone that might hurt her. And despite helping a little against Kikimora, it still happened again. Permanently. Man I wish Camila had a “GET AWAY FROM HER YOU BITCH” moment to get back at Belos for all she did her to child. But Camila had to keep going because after Yesterday’s Lie, she knew she still had other kids to look after. She was strong for Vee during Yesterday’s Lie, only to let herself drop right afterwards in front of Luz. But not again. No time for self pity, you just have to move on after a death and keep living, just as you did with Manny. And in the end, Luz IS all right, and she’s better than she’s ever been and there’s some huge relief.

Just augh Camila Noceda. Luz went on an isekai adventure, but maybe so did her mother? And I don’t mean with the Boiling Isles, I mean with the U.S. Camila might have been an immigrant, and not just the child/descendant of one. And even if she wasn’t, she still moved to Gravesfield. So in general so much of her life has been about going to another world and trying to survive and feel comfortable in it. As it was for Luz, too; But they survived along the way and found what fellow “weirdoes” they could, with Camila meeting Manny, who could’ve also related to her as a fellow Dominican American. And now she’s found others who can relate to Camila in other ways, as Manny also related to her as a huge nerd.

#the owl house #Camila noceda #angst

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wintertime-in-june · 5 months

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A Marriage of Convenience

Colonel!König x Vulnerable!Reader

You sobbed, hot and heavy as tears streaked down your face. You looked at the email through bleary eyes one last time before swallowing the lump in your throat and letting out further cries.

Your visa had come to an end and your citizenship status was declined. You had to go back to your home country, back home, away from KorTac, off the Austrian base.

As König walked past the door to the empty teaching room in which you resided he heard it. The high pitched, sniffles and cries. No man on his base could make these delicate, heart wrenching noises, no, he knew it was you. His perfect little recruit, his good girl, y/n.

He stopped at the door to the room, ready to enter but wanting to do so carefully. Now was his chance, you were crying, upset and oh so vulnerable... in need of a big hero to swoop in and save the day. Now, he just had to find out what you needed and he could make all the pain go away...

He pushed the door open tentatively, trying his best not to nearly rip it from its hinges like he usually did. He scanned the room looking for his little girl and there you were curled up at the back, knees tucked against your chest, with your back against a cupboard. He couldn't help but smile at your small, helpless form. Quickly catching himself his face fell, back to its neutral, stoic stare as he shut the door behind him with a click.

You heard the door close and looked up to see the hulking man that was your Colonel walking towards you. Big, heavy combat boots trudging on the ground.

Your mouth fell into an 'o' as you attempted to wipe your tears away, shaky breaths and sniffles, trying to placate your crying.

The Colonel stood before you, looking down before he himself got down in a squat and eventually sat himself in front of you, arms resting on his knees.

"I'm s-sorry Colonel." You manage to stutter out, the tears having ceased but your choked up demeanour remaining.

He gave you a sympathetic smile, it was no secret he had a soft spot for you, although, no-one but him truly knew how deep it goes.

You gave him a small smile back, attempting to put on a brave face. 'Cute' he thought to himself as he tilted his head to the side.

"What's up kleine Maus?"

'Little Mouse', that was his nickname for you. You smiled a little at the use of the name, tears still brimming your shining eyes.

"I- I got an email," you managed to stutter out before the tears ensued once more, "they're sending me back Colonel, I don't know what to do."

You buried your face in your knees once more, breath shaking as you attempted to get some air in your lungs.

You unlocked your phone and passed it to König, letting him read the email.

"I don't want to go back." You said, barely above a whisper as you let out a shaky breath.

"I like it here," you continued, "I don't want to go back home, my parents... they're not nice... and here I get food and, and I have a bed."

You sob a little as you think back to your old life. Although the military was tough, for you it was an improvement, and you weren't ready to give all of this up.

König read the mail before placing the phone down. His eyes narrowed as you said why you didn't want to go back home. It upset him... no, it angered him that your home life could be worse than this. The one place you were supposed to have guaranteed safety and support and you did not.

"What am I going to do?" You said, choked up, lifting your head from your knees to look at the man that loomed in front of you.

"How could you stay?" König asked, already theorising how he was going to fight off anyone who would even attempt at taking you away.

"I would have needed approved citizenship, m- my visa ran out of time." You said, attempting to blink away tears but feeling yourself getting choked up again.

"But my citizenship was declined." You cried burying your head in your knees once more.

König let out a low sigh as he shuffled forward to sit next to you. When his back hit the cupboard that your own one rested on, it shook under the sheer force of him propping himself against it.

He snaked an arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer to lean on him. He rubbed the side of your arm soothingly, an expression of distain for the predicament resting on his features.

"O-or I'd have to marry a citizen, but that's not going to happen." You let out a shaky breath, almost like a laugh, as though even the notion was ridiculous.

König's eyes shot open, as if he was having a Eureka moment to say the least. His soothing rubs on the side of your arm stopping momentarily. "A-and why's that not going to happen?" He spoke perhaps too quickly, too eagerly.

You look up at him with a confused expression as if it were obvious.

"I don't have any boyfriend, let alone an Austrian one who would want to marry me in the next," you think for a moment, "...six days."

There is a beat of silence as König collects himself, tries to remain calm and chill.

"I'll marry you."

The air is thick with tension as he awaits your response. You can't believe what you're hearing.

"Really? You'd marry me?" You say softly, looking up at König with awe in your eyes. As if he'd saved you, as if he were your hero.

"But what about you? What if you want to get married for real someday, is there someone you like?" You ask, you couldn't believe he would do this for you.

He lets out a low chuckle, you don't even know the half of it. He wanted you, this was his dream, he could practically not contain the ecstatic happiness he was experiencing at your issue. He knew it was wrong. He knew he was a bad, bad man for enjoying this, but his heart was beating faster, he was holding back a smile and he couldn't help but seize this opportunity.

Before meeting you he thought he would die alone, but not from rejection, no, truth be told he has never been interested in a person enough to pursue them romantically, that was until you stepped into his office...

Perfect, cute, y/n, with an adorable little smile and oh... code violating underwear. That's how the two of you first met. On your first week, sent to the office by the Lieutenant for your dress code violations.

From that point forward he was obsessed, unbeknownst to you. You just thought he let you get away with more, being a girl and all. He was nicer, kinder, sweeter to you. Trying your baking, letting you sit with him at lunch, helping you over the walls in training. A caring Colonel.

"Come here." He said lifting you up and placing you in his lap.

You allowed him to do so, smiling a little, was he really going to fix your predicament?

He wrapped his large arms around you, thick muscles keeping you safe. You leaned into him hugging him back.

"I'm going to marry you, no-one is taking you away."

You couldn't help but smile more as you hugged him tightly. Your heart beating a little quicker.

"Thank you Colonel, thank you." You whispered.

He let out another chuckle.

"You know, you don't always have to call me Colonel, maus." He teased a little.

"What should i call you sir?"

"Mein Ehemann." he stated, petting your hair as you leant against his chest.

"Mein Ehrmann," you repeated, he smiled at this, "what does it mean?"

"Your husband."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, maybe this marriage would be for more than just convenience...

#WinterTime #konig x reader #könig x you #könig x y/n #könig x reader #konig x you #konig x y/n #loser konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #cod konig #konig modern warfare #konig call of duty #könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig call of duty

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ahundredtimesover · 8 months

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I Want You to Stay (06) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, prior incidence of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; eventual explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 14.6k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: We're slowly heading somewhere! Still slow but it's something hehe thank you again for appreciating this piece! 🥰 Also... JK in that Vogue outfit with a corsage. YEP.

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight 🥰

PS. If I can’t tag you, pls fix your settings!

The silence that engulfs Jungkook’s apartment once you enter the following Monday is quite unnerving, as it brings back memories of the last time this happened and a half-naked woman came out of the bedroom and questioned who you were. The gym is empty. There’s no other sound of someone typing away or talking on the phone like the few times that you found Jungkook working before you even arrived.

You take a deep breath and decide to just face whoever comes out of these doors until one of them opens and out comes the man himself - alone - dressed in an oversized jumper and sweatpants. He looks like he just got out of bed with his semi-mussed hair - with a little sprout bouncing along as he moves - and groggy eyes, which widen once it registers that you’re here.

“Mr. Jeon,” you bow in greeting. “Are you feeling better?”

“A little,” he replies, his deep and gruff voice startling you a little. “What do you have there?”

He gestures towards the paper bag you’re holding, and you remember what you decided to bring over.

“Uh, chicken noodle soup,” you mutter, somehow suddenly shy. “Just an option for this morning. I wasn’t sure if you were still feeling under the weather.”

“I think I’m just fatigued,” he says. “But uh, I can have that.”

“Yes, sir,” you nod, putting it in a pot to eventually heat.

You prepare his suits for the week then prepare his breakfast, pouring yourself a small serving as well. He takes his seat and starts eating, and you glance at him to see his reaction.

“Where did you get the one from last Saturday?” He asks, his face expressionless.

“From a store nearby,” you answer. “I was heading somewhere and your building was on the way.”

“This tastes better. Where did you get this from?”

“I, uh, I made it,” you say softly, feeling a bit of pride that it’s something he complimented.

There’s prolonged silence that you’re suddenly nervous about. His eyes remain focused straight ahead while yours constantly flit towards him, partly to gauge if he’ll start talking about last week’s meeting and partly to see his reaction about your dish.

“You don’t have to send or make me food, Ms. Cho,” he finally says, wishing he’d said it with a bit more warmth.

But he’s not used to speaking that way, so it comes off as displeasure, as if he doesn’t appreciate what you’d done even if that’s exactly how he feels. He’s grateful; he just doesn’t want another reason to think that you actually care about him.

“My health is my responsibility, not yours,” he adds.

“I, uh… I suppose that’s true,” you say even more softly. “I just thought it would be nice to be given something like this when you’re sick.”

And it’s the truth. During the times you were unwell, Hoseok would remind you to rest or take your medicines; he even bought you vitamins and it’s why taking them became a habit of yours. You barely had the energy to make soup. But after that one time when you braved through an event and Yoongi noticed you feeling under the weather, he took you to a noodle house and ordered extra chicken noodle soup for you to take home. You had it all through the weekend, and though it wasn’t like your mom’s, it was still something familiar, and it was comfort that you badly needed.

You thought it was something you could extend to Jungkook. You weren’t sure if he was spending the weekend at home by himself, but in case he was, you thought that something warm would help. You were on your way to watch a local film and happened to pass by his area, the image of him sick and probably alone prompting you to just buy that dish and leave it at the reception. You suddenly craved it and made one for yourself last night, thinking it wouldn’t hurt if you brought some over for him as well. Even if he thinks it isn’t your responsibility, you think it’s still within your role to make sure that your boss - the Vice President - conducts his functions properly, and he can only do so if he’s healthy.

As you finish the small portion that you prepared for yourself, Jungkook wonders who’d taken care of you during the times you were sick. With your friends and family miles away, perhaps there wasn’t anyone. Maybe it was a boyfriend. Or maybe like what he’s come to see, you did things on your own. Maybe you think there’s no one doing that for him, too.

And you wouldn’t be wrong. He was never good with company, after all, whether it was offering or keeping it. So when someone offers something as simple as a bowl of soup for when he’s feeling unwell, it cuts through the walls he’s built around himself because he’s become used to no one even knocking to check how he’s doing.

But in an effort to remain unmoved and insistent on keeping his distance, he sets boundaries once more.

“You don’t need to do this for me, Mr. Cho,” he states. “I appreciate it, but I’d prefer if you don’t do it again.”

He sees your face fall from his periphery, and much as he wants to take it back, he knows he has to hold back. It was hard enough to resist feeling cared for.

He’d really spent the weekend by himself, turning down his friends’ invitation to go to a resort and Hoseok’s offer of dinner at this newly opened steak house. Jungkook was buried under the covers when the phone rang informing him that you’d left something for him, unwilling to move and get off the bed because he was too tired but also too hungry, so when he opened the bag and it registered to him what you've given him, he felt less alone and less sad for himself. The image of your shy expression flashed through his mind and he couldn’t help the smile he let out, giving himself only a minute to bask in your kindness before reminding himself that it means nothing more than making sure he’s well. It’s harder for you if he’s sick, he convinced himself. Still, he’d rather not think about it; he’d rather not torture himself by his brain wanting you to mean one thing, but his heart hoping it was another.

“I understand, Mr. Jeon,” you say, your voice a little too firm for his liking. “I apologize if it made you uncomfortable.”

“It—” didn’t, he wants to say. It made him feel nice and comfortable and that’s what he can’t let himself feel around you.

“I treat this as part of my job,” you reason, a half lie because you really did want to extend some kindness even if he may not exactly be deserving of it. “But it may not be so for you. I’ll take note of this moving forward.”

Jungkook concedes. Any objection will counter what he’s been saying, even if he didn’t mean all of it. And like how you always do, you get over it quickly, flashing him a measured smile and taking out your iPad to go through this week’s schedule.

You both head to the car after and discuss his previous meetings. You’re detailed and engaged, taking down notes and asking him questions like the professional that you are. He tells you about his meeting with artist Lee Jaemin and that he agreed with 80% of the pieces that you and Yoongi chose. You talk about the Board members’ reactions during his presentation and he shares what they talked to him about during the dinner.

“Socializing with them was tiring,” he admits. “I couldn’t keep up with all the things that they wanted to talk about.”

You give him an assuring smile. “You looked like you did well,” you assure him. “They seemed engaged, although as Mr. Jung would say, part of that is for show, to get on your good side. It would be smarter to think that not all of it was genuine.”

“True. But I enjoyed speaking with Mr. Saito. He’s an architect, too, and we had a really good talk about incorporating traditional elements in a modern design.”

“Yes, he’s always been kind,” you say. “But it’s good that you’re able to forge these relationships. Perhaps it’s also new to them, seeing you in that light. I suppose they don’t know you all that much. It’s a nice change being able to engage with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ah, well, it’s just during the company events that you attended, it wasn’t exactly hard to spot you,” you chuckle, seemingly comfortable now.

“And why is that so?”

He turns to you, legitimately curious because he’d never really noticed you before, even if he knew you as Hoseok’s assistant. If he’s being honest, you didn’t even look familiar when you first met, and that just reinforces the fact that Jungkook didn’t really care for the other people around him, especially during those events he was required to fly to Seoul to attend. If he’d paid a bit more attention, maybe he wouldn’t have been caught off guard when he did finally meet you. Maybe he wouldn’t have been as rude, too.

“If I may, sir, it was quite easy to spot one of the Jeon sons always at the bar,” you chuckle. “Your father and cousin would often look for you and you were always in the same spot.”

You’d noticed him, Jungkook thinks to himself. He wonders what you’d thought about him then, but given how he hated those events, it probably wouldn’t be something good. He just always couldn’t wait to leave.

“Ah. As you can tell, I’m not one who likes to socialize,” he says. “I don’t really know what to talk to people about. And I’m not that good with names nor faces. It was easier to keep to myself.”

“That’s understandable. But you already know that’ll have to change,” you remind him. “Half of what Mr. Jung did was attend events.”

“I know. He’s been preparing me for that. I need your help in that aspect, too, from remembering names to getting my energy up. Those are oddly what I’m most nervous about, if I’m being honest.”

“I’ll do what I can, Mr. Jeon,” you assure him. “I hope I can make things easy for you.”

You’ll never know the irony of your words, and perhaps the push and pull it brings about - as you try to make things easy for him, the harder it actually becomes on his end.

You find yourself back at the tailor shop the next Thursday for Jungkook’s suit fitting, and if it wasn’t for Taehyung telling you that your gowns are ready, you would have totally forgotten that you had some dresses made as well.

While Jungkook tries on his outfits, you’re instructed to choose several dress shirts that he’d be adding to his wardrobe, given the various functions he’d be attending from now on. You didn’t anticipate for this to be part of your role, but you don’t mind, as it’s a welcome change to what you normally do, which is attend meetings, bury yourself in paperwork, and everything else in between. At least you’ll be visiting the venue for the Arts Center event tomorrow, but today, you focus on the task at hand, which turns out to be harder than expected.

The options are endless. It doesn’t help that you have to envision Jungkook in each piece of clothing and that he looks good in every one of them, and that you have to imagine him at all. You see him everyday - and have seen him in as little as in just his gym shorts - and you don’t really want to have him in your mind as well. But how he presents himself is a big part of his new role, as Hoseok had told you. As the Vice President, Jungkook needs to look sophisticated and respectable, someone worthy to represent the company and the Jeon family name.

You go for different hues of grays and blacks and other colors, too. There’s an olive green that looks really nice, and a few maroons and pinks that would add variety to his everyday look. You’re focused on making your choices, but your focus shifts to Jungkook when he comes out of the dressing room donned in a patterned black suit. The fit is perfect and even with the distance between you two, you could spot impeccable details that make the outfit look elegant yet fresh.

“This is for the gala,” Taehyung states. “What do you think, Ms. Cho?”

“It looks nice” is all you manage to say.

It’s the only word you feel is neutral enough to describe him. Even if you could accept that Jungkook is handsome, you don’t exactly want to say so in front of him.

“I was going for something better than nice, but that should be fine, I guess. What do you think, Kook?”

“I like it. But don’t you think the sleeves are a bit too fit on my arms?” Jungkook asks his friend.

“Well, it’s not like you were flexing them when I was measuring you,” Taehyung playfully rolls his eyes. “But I can adjust it, since I doubt you’d take a pause on lifting weights anyway. It’s probably the material though so don’t worry, I’ll fix this. Okay, on to the next one.”

You return to your task at hand, choosing some patterned tops that are appropriate for less formal events, and you inform Taehyung who then says that he’ll have those made in Jungkook’s measurements. With your task finished, Taehyung instructs you to head downstairs so you could fit your gowns as well, and you follow in anticipation because these might just be the first and only custom-made pieces of clothing you’ll ever have the luxury of wearing.

A female staff assists you, making sure that the length and neckline are to your liking. The first outfit, the one for the Arts Center event, is an old rose sleeveless lace midi dress that looks even more gorgeous when worn. The gown for the Appointment Dinner is a black short-sleeved pleated piece that is both functional and fashionable, but it’s the last one - the one for the gala - that has your jaw dropping to the ground.

“Ms. Cho,” you hear Taehyung call out from outside the fitting room. “Is everything okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, unable to stop looking at yourself in the mirror and turning around to try to see every angle of the stunning dress. “It’s just, uh…”

“It’s what?” He asks worriedly. “Can you come outside so I can see?”

You take a breath before pulling the heavy curtains open and find Taehyung and Jungkook standing not far away.

“It’s too pretty, Mr. Kim,” you say shyly. “I don’t think I can wear this.”

“Well, you will. Because it’s custom-made,” he points out. “And it looks gorgeous on you. It fits perfectly. I assume the others do as well?”

“Yes,” you smile, feeling like a fairytale princess who gets to wear a gown that her fairy godmother had made for her. “They’re just…”

“Exactly what you need as this guy’s right hand woman,” Taehyung finishes for you.

He gestures towards his best friend who seems expressionless and probably unimpressed by how you look. It’s not like you mind but it at least wouldn’t be humiliating if he just stood there looking uninterested.

“What do you think, Kook?”

“It looks nice,” Jungkook shrugs, repeating the words you’d used on him earlier. Shifting his gaze from you to Taehyung, he excuses himself. “I’ll head to the car, I have calls to make.”

“I’ll finish up here,” you say, turning around to go back to the fitting room.

Jungkook exits the shop and finally breathes, feeling like he’d suffocated inside because of how you looked. He’d wondered how the dresses turned out, curious about the designs because Taehyung didn’t want to show him; it’s a surprise, the man had said. And now Jungkook knows why.

Stunning would be an inadequate word to use. The burgundy color of the gown made it look sophisticated on you, even more with the off-shoulder that showed off some of your features that he’d rather not think about. The flow was elegant, and he half wishes that he hadn’t thought of having these made only so he could avoid the moment earlier when he felt his throat dry up because of how beautiful you looked.

He’s gonna have to get used to being rendered speechless every time, he thinks, but it’s not like it doesn’t happen everyday, anyway. Every morning that he finds you standing in his kitchen, donning the pencil skirt and blouse ensemble that assistants are recommended to wear, his mind short circuits. There’s something especially fresh and electrifying about you at the start of the day, and he always has to pull himself together and act normal around you without giving himself away.

He can’t nurture the attraction, after all, even if he’s reminded of it during times like earlier, even more so when he gazes at you and you hold it, letting the tension build unconsciously. Because that’s what happened, as you pulled open the curtains and looked up. He wishes you were too shy to notice how long he had his eyes on you. But it’s why he had to get away. You’re too much for him sometimes, and he doesn’t know if you have any idea of how you affect him.

Jungkook stares at his phone, half hoping that an actual call would come to distract him. But nothing does, and he leans his head back and groans in frustration. What is it about you that makes him absolutely weak in the knees and stupid in the head?

Back inside, you give Taehyung your address so he can have the gowns delivered to your apartment for your convenience.

“Thank you again, Mr. Kim,” you say. “I wish I could do your creations justice.”

“You will. It’s in the confidence, so exude it, okay?”

“I’ll try,” you giggle. “Especially since those pieces will pretty much blow the Office of the VP’s budget.”

“Is that what Kook said? That these are budgeted under him?” Taehyung arches an eyebrow.

“Uh, yes, sort of. I just assumed because he’d pointed out that they were being made as part of my functions,” you explain.

“Hmm. I know his office has a lot of money but these gowns would definitely blow up any contingency fund you have,” he chuckles. “So no, your assumption is wrong. Kook’s paying for all this.”

“What?” You exclaim. “But that’s— why?”

“Well, you do need these as part of your job, and he wanted to save you the inconvenience of spending for them. I mean, he did buy Lucas some suits, too. But between you and me, I think this is his way of apologizing to you, just in a very gallant way.”

“You mean unnecessary and undeserving,” you correct, still in shock that Jungkook is paying for all those, even if yes, he can easily afford them.

“Nope, not at all. I know he’s been difficult to deal with and I’d like to apologize on his behalf, seeing that he’s terrible at doing it. I know it doesn’t make things better but at least it’s something you don’t have to worry about anymore.”

“Well, that does help a bit,” you smile, following him as he heads out the door. “But thank you again, Mr. Kim.”

“Off with the formalities,” he laughs. “It’s Taehyung. And you’re welcome. It’s the least I could do to somehow make up for my ass of a best friend.”

“He’s not too bad. Not anymore, at least,” you counter. “I’ll go ahead. Have a good day, Taehyung!”

Jungkook manages to look down on his phone in time for you not to see him watch you talk freely and casually with his friend. That’s another person close to him who gets to experience how you’re like - joyful and warm, perhaps a little shy sometimes, but comfortable just the same. It’s something he’ll only see from afar; your positions necessitate some distance, but perhaps that’s better than not having you around at all.

You enter the car and you’re back to being quiet and reserved, your eyes focused on the road while Jungkook, in an effort not to keep glancing at you, turns to his leather notebook and doodles some designs that pop in his head. It’s his way of calming himself down most days, helping him focus given that his mind is often filled with too many thoughts that he can’t express. He hopes that in drawing them, he can somehow rid himself of the feelings he’s locked in and it helps, as he’s somehow able to get over the tension from earlier and the tiniest bit of jealousy over your casual engagement with Taehyung.

You both return to the office, with Jungkook proceeding to his room to prepare for a lunch meeting and you follow, taking some signed documents that he’d left earlier.

“Mr. Jeon,” you say as he settles in his seat. “Thank you for the dresses. I… I’ve never had anything as beautiful as those and undeserving as I may feel, I’m just really appreciative.”

Jungkook isn’t prepared for the softness in your voice as you say the words, and like the consistent jerk that he is, he brushes it off.

“Taehyung made them; you should thank him. I just paid for them,” he utters, his tone stern and uncaring.

His eyes flit to you when there’s silence on your end, and he wishes they hadn’t. There’s resignation in yours, as if he’s shattering another moment you’re creating where you’re just being sincere and he’s being dismissive. It’s his default, he reasons, not just towards you but towards everyone. Normally he wouldn’t mind how the other would take it, but with you right now, he wishes he was so much better than this.

You hold his gaze, as if trying to tell him things you don’t want to express. He’s not one to apologize, but he also won’t accept gratitude. You’re starting to think that what Jungkook can’t handle is any form of human connection. It’s something you struggle with at times, but you’re at least open to it, willing to accept kindness and appreciating people for what they have to offer. Jungkook deflects; he turns away. It seemed like it took so much for him to even verbalize needing your help and perhaps he was desperate; his reputation was on the line after all. But even then, he doesn’t give nor does he accept, and you wonder what made him that way.

“Is there anything else?” He finally asks after a long beat of silence.

“Nothing more,” you shake your head and excuse yourself.

Returning to your desk, you look at Jungkook from your seat. There’s a hint of emptiness in his eyes that you often mistake for apathy. Perhaps there’s more and perhaps the help he really needs isn’t just about dealing with his father or remembering names or navigating relationships required for his role. Maybe it’s about opening himself up a little, or smiling when the situation calls for it, or not questioning other people’s kindness towards him. Maybe it’s about realizing he’s more than just this heir to the company or the playboy he’s known as. Maybe it’s about seeing that he’s capable of sincerity and gentleness as well.

You sigh to yourself. It’s probably a long shot but you only feel strongly about it because you know what it’s like to turn people away. If it hadn’t been for your family and friends, you probably would’ve continued to do so. Jungkook may be your boss but he’s human, too, and he may just be waiting around to see who’d be patient enough to extend a hand and let him know that he’s not alone, that someone understands, and maybe that someone is you.

The days fly by too quickly for your liking and you haven't been able to take a breath. You had a meeting with the organizing committee of the Appointment Dinner most of last Friday and you spent your weekend coordinating with the designers for the Arts Center launch. It’s been last minute preparations these past two days and before you know it, Wednesday has come. You stayed late the night before and were gladly checked in at the hotel with the other assistants, so you at least got a bit of sleep even if your body felt like it continued to stay awake.

But tonight is important, as the newly appointed executives will be formally introduced to the corporation’s directors, shareholders, and subsidiary companies. You’ve been organizing this with the planning committee since the appointments were announced, and given that coordinating events like this is one of your primary tasks, you’re exhausted and excited and nervous all at once. But it’s the second time you’re doing this and you’ve learned so much since you did this for Hoseok. There’s more knowledge, sure, but there’s also more confidence. You also know enough to eat before the guests arrive and at 3PM, it’s exactly what you do, knowing you won’t have much else until the event ends.

The other employees compliment your dress, and you’re too shy to say who had designed it but you eventually do, knowing it’s good for Taehyung’s brand. But you don’t say much else, choosing instead to focus on the guest list as you’re tasked to do, and you go around the events hall to make sure that the VIP name cards are placed on their proper tables. You’re able to sneak bites of the canapes as you go, allowing yourself a flute of champagne for that kick you need to socialize with the guests tonight.

You engage with the early birds when they arrive, guiding them to their seats and putting on your most welcoming smile. You get Mr. Ri’s message that they’re nearby, so you head outside and stand by the entrance and wait for them, knowing Jungkook would want to know how things are going.

He exits the car in a black suit and white top, a statement brooch adorning his classic coat. The strands of his long hair are tucked behind his ears and he looks even more polished than usual, a look that catches attention; it definitely catches yours.

“Mr. Jeon,” you bow in greeting. “Some of your invited guests have arrived.”

“Have you spoken to them?” He asks, as you walk slightly behind him towards the venue.

“I have, and they’re looking forward to seeing you.”

He nods, and just as he’s about to enter the hall, he stops and turns towards you.

“You’re busy tonight, aren’t you?”

“Somewhat, sir,” you reply. “We all have our tasks but I’m free to move around. Do you need help with anything?”

“Just, uh, names.”

“I’ll always be nearby,” you assure him.

Your smile gives him the comfort he needs. He’s been without it since yesterday afternoon, given that you had to prepare as part of the organizing committee. And while the support team and Yoongi have been encouraging, only you really know why every event such as this is important for him.

Jungkook has already made gains with some of the Board members last week; this time, it’s about engaging everyone else - the staff, the partners, and key personalities in the industry. Hoseok and Ji-woo have done this before but it’s Jungkook’s first time. He’s no longer just an executive in the Southeast Asian office; he’s now the Vice President of the entire company. There’s a lot of pressure that comes from carrying the Jeon family name, and even more being the only one of the two sons who’s taking on such an important role.

The event hall is grand. It’s pretty special, too. It’s one of the projects he worked on as part of the design department years ago before he left for Singapore, and the thought makes him stop. Perhaps this is the reason why his father chose this venue for tonight; if anything, it’s a reminder of what Jungkook is capable of. He takes a breath and looks around to soak everything in before approaching his invited guests - partners and consultants he worked with in his previous role.

But that ends quickly, as many more people approach him for a greeting.

Jungkook is a bit overwhelmed. He tries to hold eye contact when he speaks to them but he can only do so for so long. Some faces are familiar but the names escape him, and he starts to regret all the times that he flew here for events like this and never engaged with the other guests. If he had, perhaps this wouldn’t be so hard.

There are those who introduce themselves, while there are those who don’t, perhaps assuming that he’d know who they are. Just like the couple who’s speaking to him excitedly, and he wants to return the energy by at least calling them by their names. His mind is blank, and just as he’s about to give up, he looks up and sees you, your eyes catching his as if you’re just waiting for his cry for help.

There’s pleading in his eyes and you get it immediately, as you walk towards his direction then greet the pair next to him.

“Mr. and Mrs. Yamada,” you say. “It’s lovely to see both of you again. I saw in the news that you’re launching a new project with our partners from Dubai. That’s quite exciting.”

“Ah, Ms. Cho,” they greet you back. “Yes, all thanks to Mr. Jung who helped us with that partnership. We’re excited for it as well.”

“Oh, I’m sure. We’re looking forward to it,” you smile.

“Thank you. I’m pleased to know that you remain as the Vice President’s assistant,” Mrs. Yamada says. “Perhaps we can invite Mr. Jeon to one of our hotels in Japan? Or even in London?”

You turn to Jungkook who looks less tense than he did a few minutes ago.

“Ah, yes, that would be great, Mr. and Mrs. Yamada,” he responds. “I’m sure I’ll find time during one of my trips and I’ll definitely give you a call. Perhaps we can talk about projects we can work on as well.”

The excitement in the couple’s faces is a joy to see and for their sake, you really do wish that Jungkook makes good on his promise. You ask him about it after they leave, and he says that the names were familiar. Ji-woo’s talked about working with them before and that they’re long-time friends of the family, so he should maintain that relationship.

A call of his name prompts both of you to look to the side, and he turns to you with a questioning face.

“Mr. Adam’s an investor. Behind him is Professor Zhang from SNU. They’re friends of your father,” you tell him. Seeing Bitna signal for you, you say, “I have to check on something, Mr. Jeon. I’ll be back.”

You turn around to head to one of the tables, but you look back to watch Jungkook greet those who approach him, his smile becoming more natural as the moments pass by. You briefly meet with some staff about the musical guest and some other last minute adjustments. You greet Taehyung and Seokjin who show up to support their best friend, with both men complimenting how you look.

Knowing that Jungkook will be needing you again after, you call over Do-hyun and Yohan and delegate some of your monitoring tasks to them, and then stand by one of the tables as you watch the socialization take place as more guests come in.

Your eyes find Jungkook again as he’s engaged in a conversation with some Board members and other partners, and you smile a little at how he’s able to maintain eye contact and look like he’s actually interested, especially after he looks up and gives you a look as if to say that he’s trying his best.

“Why are you watching him like some child who’s trying to make friends at the playground?” Chin-sun asks, the teasing tone of her voice making you chuckle. “He’s a grown man, you know? He can hold his own.”

“I know,” you reply, turning to her. “But it’s one of the many things that’s new about his role. And probably one of the more important ones. I just wanna let him know that he’s doing a good job.”

“Well, there’s no wife or girlfriend to do that. I guess that makes it your responsibility then.”

You disregard her comment’s implication and point out that Hoseok does that for Jungkook, too, but he’s just as busy and perhaps just as nervous as well.

“It matters a lot to hear it. Plus, social events can be overwhelming and isolating at the same time. He’s still getting used to it,” you add.

The prolonged silence prompts you to turn to her.

“You know, I admire you for a lot of things,” she says. “Your ability to remain kind after everything is one of them. I mean, after how he treated you those first few weeks? That was tough.”

Your resigned face pushes her to continue. “Do-hyun could’ve gone on without telling me about seeing you cry and I still would’ve known. You tried to hide it but your smile always fell too fast and your eyes were just always sad. Must’ve been hard, trying to get the team on his side when you couldn’t do that for yourself.”

“I honestly don’t know how I survived that first month,” you laugh to mask the sadness from that experience. “But that’s in the past. He still has his moments but at least there are good ones now. I’m here to do my job. Being kind after everything is part of it.”

“I wish you didn’t have to keep it to yourself though,” she laments. “If we couldn’t help, we could’ve at least cheered you up.”

“I didn’t want to bring you guys into it,” you say. “The team was incredibly busy with so many things and I managed. That’s what matters.”

“Oh, ___,” she sighs. “You put so much of yourself in your job. I think that’s why the bosses trust you. But that takes so much out of you, too. Do you have anything left for yourself?”

“What’s left is right here, Chin-sun. I don’t think I know what I am outside of all this.”

“Doesn’t that bother you? I mean, I’ve worked with you for three years and I can’t say I really know you outside of this, too. And if you can’t… well, that’s something to think about.”

“And I have. It’s something I’ve asked myself, but trying to find the answer isn’t as easy as asking the question. So I just put all my energy into my work because where else would I? It at least pays the bills and lets me enjoy little luxuries every once in a while,” you reason.

“Well, I know what learning who you are outside of this job would entail, and I’m a little selfish because I need you around,” she smiles. “No one does things the way you do, and that’s also why I figured that at some point, Mr. Jeon was gonna get himself together because he can’t afford to lose you. You’re so good at this, ___. He’s lucky you didn’t quit.”

“Apparently, it takes a lot to get me to quit,” you reply.

Or I was just never brave enough to do it, you want to say. Asking the question is indeed always easier than finding the answer.

“Let’s hope you find a way to find yourself without resigning. We can’t afford to lose you, too,” she winks.

“I appreciate that, Chin-sun. Thank you.”

“Well, I think it matters that you know that you’re doing amazing. I hope he treats you as you deserve.”

He tries, you think to yourself. At least that’s what you hope.

The call of your names from a familiar voice excites you, as A-yeong approaches you and Chin-sun. You engage in your usual hushed conversations until you see Jungkook in another sea of people and you decide to approach him, the relief on his face telling you that he’s indeed been needing you.

It’s not your preferred crowd. Something you’ve learned in your years of attending these events is that you would smile and entertain them and men would think it’s an invitation to invade your personal space. A lingering touch on the elbow, a hand on your waist, standing a millimeter too close… and they disregard your uncomfortable look or attempts at stepping away.

The man you’re introduced to is new but his ways aren’t, and you scan the hall to find Bitna who turns to you in time, the look you give her signaling another person to look out for. It’s a system they developed that they’ve filled you in on, and you immediately excuse yourself and check on the food served at the back even if you know they’re still well stocked. It at least allows you a breather. You’re not even a main actor but you’re tired as hell from socializing with people.

It’s not long after when the event starts. Speeches and a performance take place while dishes are being put out, and it’s after the main course is served when Jungkook steps away from his seat.

Choosing to stand towards the back before he’s called on stage to be introduced, he scans the hall and thinks about the work that the committee put in, including you, who had to deal with him while dealing with all this. He catches sight of you speaking with the other assistants, and he already knows there’s some planning going on. But like the last time, he felt you around even if you were busy; you held his gaze during the times he felt a little overwhelmed.

“You ready?”

Yoongi’s voice is deep but calming, and Jungkook takes it as his friend’s way of encouraging him.

“Not really, but I’ll manage.”

“Good. You’ve got people on your side,” Yoongi assures him. “Like me. And especially her.”

He gestures towards the left where Jungkook sees you approaching them. Since you started working for him, he didn’t expect how easily he could find comfort in your presence. He went from wishing you were someone else, to wanting to distance himself from you, to constantly hoping you were around. Those last two could actually coexist, and they do. There’s still detachment as his means to combat the attraction - he tries not to care about you, to not get to know you, to remind himself of who you are in his life, but he still depends on you for support, for comfort, for stability. You make his life easier; you also make it feel less lonely. And every time you’re there is a moment where he feels like he could breathe, like the noise in his mind stills because he’s forced to focus on you; somehow, you captivate him that way.

“Are you ready, Mr. Jeon?”

The contrasting tenderness of your voice gives him that boost and he nods despite the lingering nervousness.

“I guess so,” he huffs. “Let’s get this over with.”

He walks towards his seat up front while you stay behind with Yoongi who leads you to one of the free tables at the back. You both don’t say much to each other, focusing instead on the short speeches that Ji-woo and Hoseok give, both of them expressing their gratitude and giving previews of upcoming projects to look forward to. They’re masters at commanding a crowd, as evidenced by their engagement and loud applause at the end of it. You can already imagine Jungkook feeling even more nervous, knowing that’s not really his style, but you hope that your earlier encouragement lingers, as he walks towards the stage.

He delivers his speech flawlessly. Knowing him the way you do, you could tell he let his vulnerability shine through, even if it may not seem much to everyone else. The teaser about the Arts Center gets people excited, which he builds up on. He even slides in a few jokes that surprisingly get the audience entertained.

A small smile paints your face and from next to you, Yoongi chuckles in almost disbelief.

“Is it safe to say you’re proud of him?” He asks, as Jungkook walks down the stage and CEO Jeon takes the mic.

“You could say that,” you turn to him. “It’s silly, considering how things started. I… I didn’t think I’d be genuinely rooting for him, you know? But I am. I really want him to do well.”

“That’s good to hear, ___. I guess it means that things really are changing and he’s treating you better.”

“I think they are,” you hum. “I mean, not the best, but I also don’t know what that’s supposed to look like. I guess I’m just understanding who he is a little bit better now. And I think that makes the difference.”

“Like I said, he’s not a terrible person. He just needs… someone to be patient with him, someone to show him kindness,” Yoongi says. “I think that’s what he lost along the way. He stopped being that way to himself and so did people. They just didn’t want to upset him, but they also didn’t give or show anything more.”

“You think so?”

“Why do you think it’s so hard for him to forge even the simplest and most basic connections?” Yoongi questions. “They lack meaning for him. I think he’s forgotten what that’s like. Without sincerity or kindness, without intensity or honesty, there’s just… emptiness. Everything is fleeting for him.”

“And you’re telling me this, why?” You eye him curiously.

“Because I think your kindness did something to him.”

“And that is?”

“He’s showing a bit of that to himself, too. And I guess to others as well,” Yoongi explains.

“I’m a mere assistant doing her job, Yoongi,” you shake your head. “It’s a little selfish but I do what I can to appease him and to make our relationship good enough to make this job bearable for me. If it makes him a better person, good for him and better for me. I’ll just keep doing it then.”

Your friend’s silence prompts you to turn towards him. He seems to be in deep thought, perhaps analyzing what you’d just said, which he tends to do.

There’s no lie in your statement. You’d done your part of standing up to Jungkook at the start; you at least got to show you were capable of fighting for yourself in that sense. But after that, you learned that keeping things in and letting him see how his actions affect you works as well. You show kindness because it’s natural for you, but also because it keeps the peace, it keeps both of you stable.

But you can also admit that you do all that because wanting him to know that he’s got you on his side is a way to tell yourself that you’ve got people rooting for you, too, even if you’re not the best at keeping relationships nor keeping people close. You show Jungkook what you want to experience from people; you make him feel what you want to feel. Maybe that makes you selfish. You think it also makes you human.

It’s not something you tell Yoongi, though. But maybe with the way he looks at you assuringly, you suppose he knows it, too.

The event finally ends and the guests start exiting the venue. You bid them goodbye while instructing some in-house staff about cleaning up. Mr. and Mrs. Jeon greet you on their way out, commending you for your work along with the others, and it’s their encouraging smiles that remind you of one of the reasons why you stick to this job. They’re people you don’t want to disappoint as well, and seeing them satisfied is always a good thing.

“Hey, you’re officially off the clock,” Bitna reminds you. “A couple of us are staying for closing, remember?”

“Right,” you smile.

They have a day off tomorrow because of tonight but it’s not something you can afford, given that you’ve got the Arts Center event one a week from now. It’s almost midnight and you’d have to be up in 5 hours.

“I’ll get going then. I’ll just say goodbye to— oh, Mr. Jeon,” you say, finding him just as you were about to look for him. “Is there anything I can help you with before I leave?”

“Oh, there’s nothing. Just, uh, how are you getting home?”

“A cab,” you answer.

Yoongi nudges your arm from next to you with a pout on his face. “Yah! I’ll take you home. It’s not safe to take a cab this late.”

“Yes, that’s preferable, Ms. Cho,” Jungkook says. “It’s been a long night.”

“Okay, sir,” you nod. “And it has. You also did really well. I didn’t expect the jokes but they were obviously a hit. Yoongi laughed, that’s how I know.”

“You laughed, too,” Yoongi points out.

“I’m glad it worked, then,” Jungkook says. “You can get going. You can also report to my place at 8AM to give you more time to rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jungkook heads out and rushes to the car where Mr. Ri drives him home. His mind is still buzzing from what transpired but he’s glad he managed like he said he would, like you believed he would.

And amidst the relief that he did well and the nervousness from having to do something similar again next week, there’s you, a vision that he quickly shakes off and one he finds himself seeing after every big and small thing that he does.

Your warm shower and your bed have never felt this good, only because you’re as tired as you are and you want nothing more than the weekend to come. But you’ve got a few more stressful days ahead of you and you try to push through them one at a time.

You go to Jungkook later than usual that Thursday then spend much of the entire day meeting with him and the team about next week’s event. You conduct a visit to the venue the next day and then spend the weekend answering guests’ queries and helping Chin-sun coordinate with suppliers. Monday and Tuesday have you going from one place to another and hopping from one meeting to the next, all while balancing your executive assistant and events manager responsibilities.

It’s incredibly tiring, but you also won’t deny the exhilaration you feel. There’s something so satisfying about seeing everything come together, especially as you look around the venue - an industrial commercial space that Jungkook and Yoongi jointly designed specifically for tonight. The high ceilings allow for the large panels that project the Arts Center design, with bright lights Illuminating the curated sculptures and art pieces placed around. The space elicits a feeling of newness and familiarity, of hollowness and clarity. There’s integration of traditional and modern elements and essentially, of history and emergence.

It leaves you quite breathless as you look around. It’s not even the Arts Center itself but you know that this is the emotion that Jungkook wants the guests to feel. He wants them to be in awe, to look on in excitement.

“It’s pretty great, huh?” Yoongi asks next to you. “Worth all the hard work.”

“It is. Design and logistics did amazing in putting this together,” you say, given that you’ve spent the entire day working with both teams to set this up.

“Well, Jungkook’s vision is captivating to begin with. It really makes a difference when you’re led by a creative mind. Selling the idea won’t be so hard in a place like this.”

“I really hope so. We’re banking on the artists for exposure. There are gonna be articles about it, too. The whole process is being documented and that makes the final product much more exciting,” you explain. “I… I actually feel really good being a part of this. I’m glad I didn’t quit after that first week.”

Yoongi laughs along with you, knowing now that that experience no longer bothers you the way it used to. But he’s glad about it, too, not only because he selfishly wants you around but even more, he knew that you needed this, that you needed to feel redeemed in Jungkook’s eyes and in yours. Yoongi hopes that as the project goes on, you’ll learn more about yourself and what you want, what you’re good at, what you can give, and what makes you happy.

“That makes both of us. I’m sure Jungkook thinks so, too,” Yoongi replies.

“Well, we’ll never know because he’ll probably never admit it but it’s a good thought,” you smile. “As long as we maintain this unproblematic dynamic, I’m good.”

“Speaking of which, where is he?”

“On the way,” you say. “He had a meeting to attend and he said he’ll be fixing up here. He should be here in a few minutes.”

Do-hyun approaches you about the photographer and you excuse yourself, instructing Yohan next to her to lead Jungkook to the waiting room when he arrives.

Jungkook steps into the venue and like he’d hoped, he feels the energy as he takes it all in. There’s a lot of possibility as he looks around, and that’s what he wants the guests to see. He wants the artists to envision their own pieces displayed; he wants the creatives to imagine fashion shows and photo shoots and videos that come to life; he wants people to see the potential of an Arts Center beyond just looking at art pieces.

But underneath the pride is nervousness. There will be important personalities coming today and it’s his opportunity to engage with them, to make them want to be a part of this. Talking about the details of the project would be easy; it’s connecting with them that’s a challenge. He had last week’s Appointment Dinner as a trial and like you said, he did well. It’s tonight that matters so much more to him. He supposes that what happens will set the trajectory for how the promotion of the Center will go, so making a good first impression is crucial.

Yohan approaches him and leads him towards the waiting room where his outfit, which Taehyung had pressed and sent over here, hangs on a rack. There are two magazine publications that will feature this event and both include an interview with him and some photos.

Jungkook starts dressing up, knowing he’ll be called for those not long from now. He looks at himself in the mirror and the uncertainty fills him again. It’s not the look he would’ve gone for but his best friend was adamant that an event like this calls for something new. With his trousers and fitted shirt on, Jungkook breathes in and out, and it’s at the same time when there’s a knock on the door and your call of his name suddenly makes him nervous.

You enter, stopping as you shut the door, your eyes a little wide, and look at him. You’re a sight to behold in your floral-laced dress and if he was anxious seconds ago, he’s even more now.

“I knew I should’ve stuck to the classic,” Jungkook sighs at your unmoving form.

“What—what do you mean, Mr. Jeon?” You ask, finally finding your voice.

“You’re not saying anything,” he frowns. “Tonight probably wasn’t the best time to show up in an outfit like this.”

“And why is that?” You wonder, walking closer to him now. You try to calm your racing heart because Jungkook looking this good in a checkered flared trouser and white v-neck shirt was not something you expected. “You look…”

“Pretentious?” He chuckles, shaking his head and bending towards the mirror, his angled body making you feel even hotter.

You’ve long accepted that Jungkook is a very handsome man. It’s probably why it was more frustrating despising him and, like Soomin said, also satisfying. He’s got a perfect mix of boyish and manly features with his doe eyes and chiseled jaw; the aura of confidence and nonchalance perhaps add to that as well. It also doesn’t help that he has a really good physique, something you’d seen on his first day on the job and one you’d denied affected you. You’d gotten used to it somehow. Hard as it was to suppress those thoughts every time you fixed his tie or watched him walk about his penthouse in his gym clothes, you managed. You’ve always been professional, and you’ve always reminded yourself to not let it affect you.

But tonight, it’s just hard not to, especially with the way his biceps are popping out of those short sleeves; and if the shirt were an inch tighter, you’d probably be able to trace his toned chest and abs as well. He’s cut his hair, too, slick and pushed back as if he's starring in some western rockstar film.

“Good…” you manage to say after what seemed like minutes. “The outfit looks good on you, sir. It’s new and fresh, not like the usual formal attire that screams ‘businessman who only wants profits.’ This is posh and stylish. It makes you look more approachable.”

“This is what would make me look approachable?” He asks incredulously.

“Actually, a smile would,” you say too quickly, earning you a laugh. “But this works, too. It fits with the theme.”

“That’s what Tae said, too,” Jungkook sighs. “He insisted that at least for these Arts Center-related events, I should dress a little more boldly and more interesting, things I definitely am not but, well, I couldn’t counter him when he said that my usual prints and styles make me look like I’m just going to a meeting or some business conference.”

“And he’s not wrong,” you point out, walking closer to him. “You don’t need anything eccentric, just something exciting. This is simple yet sophisticated.”

“Have you seen the coat?” He asks, gesturing to the rack when you say no.

“Oh. There’s a corsage,” you say, admiring the matching brown checkered piece.

“An oversized one,” he rolls his eyes.

“It looks pretty.”

“That’s what he said, too.”

“If you don’t like it, why didn’t you tell him during the fitting?”

“I did like it but it’s Tae - he’s good at convincing people that they look good. And I probably thought that, too. But he’s not yet here and he’s gonna be late so right now, all I can think about is that I’ll look ridiculous.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” you say, surprising him. “If what I think matters, then you’d have to take my word for it. The outfit looks good. It captures people’s attention and that’s what you need. You’re just gonna have to follow this up with similar styles but that wouldn’t be a problem. Just carry yourself with confidence. It’s what Mr. Kim would say.”

“I know. He texted that same line to me five times today.”

“He’s your best friend, Mr. Jeon. I’m sure he’s looking out for your best interest.”

“True, but then again, we were forced to become friends when we were young so who knows?”

You laugh at his words. “Is that so?”

“Our fathers are best friends so we spent a lot of time together,” Jungkook shares. “We were all so different and we got on each other’s nerves but I guess that made us closer. I… I wasn’t close to my brother so I just stuck with those who stuck around. It’s a good thing they turned out to be decent people.”

“They’re very kind, I should say.”

“Yeah. It sucks that their kindness didn’t rub off on me,” he says as he holds your gaze.

The tension rises as you look back at him. It’s hard not to fall into his eyes, and you’re thankful for the knock on the door and Yohan’s voice on the other side saying that the interviewer is ready for Jungkook now.

“Five minutes,” you call out, breaking the moment and retrieving his last piece of clothing.

You assist him in wearing his coat and just like reflex, you immediately fix the sleeves and adjust the corsage that isn’t actually that big. You look at him from head to toe and see Taehyung’s vision. There’s something captivating about Jungkook in this fit; it makes him intriguing and someone to look out for. You suppose that was the intention.

“Respectable enough?” He asks worriedly once you meet his eyes.

“Respectable enough,” you affirm, hoping your smile can give him the encouragement he needs.

You open the door and let the first set of crew in. You watch on as they interview and take snapshots while your own team from the marketing department capture what’s happening as well.

Jungkook sits cross-legged on the sofa, his eyes looking out into the distance as he absorbs the questions and thinks of his answers. He gesticulates as he responds, something you noticed him only ever do about topics that seem very important to him. He’s done it during meetings with the team and with Yoongi, and you suppose there’s that level of honesty that he shows then. His responses are thoughtful and profound, as the questions revolve around the type of art pieces to be displayed, how culture can be celebrated and respected, and what the public can look forward to once the Center is open to everyone.

The next interviewer starts off with the practical questions before moving to the technicalities of the design and structure such as the materials used, the techniques utilized in renovating such a massive complex, and how the Center itself represents art and culture. This is when Jungkook fully relaxes. You see it in his body language, in the softness of his expressions, and in the mellow tone of his voice as he discusses in terms you don’t fully understand but somehow still make you feel like you know exactly what he’s talking about.

It’s different seeing him in this way. Your team vetted these interviewers and publications and they seem sincere about their articles and so you know they aren’t there to judge; Jungkook knows they aren’t there to scrutinize him. He’s not there to impress them or even to sell the idea; he just wants to share it, to make it known, to narrate the process of this project that may still be in its very early stages but which has lived in his mind for years.

He may not always be good with words but you can tell that he finds them when the ideas are clear to him. He’s able to articulate what he sees in his mind and there’s something captivating about that. There’s a lot you can learn from him, you think, and if what you develop after having stayed this long is even just a fraction of his creativity, then you’d feel accomplished.

You can tell even more now how important this is to him, especially when he emphasizes the individual’s need and desire for connection and how he wants the Center to be a hub for that, or perhaps its creator. You wonder if he knows so much about it, or if, like you, it’s something he also constantly seeks.

You’re so focused on taking him all in that you don’t notice that you’ve been staring. Your eyes fall on his fingers, waving about as he draws imaginary pictures; they land on his lips, pink and dry as they utter words that are perhaps the most he’s said, and suddenly, his voice is the most comforting it’s ever sounded to you. You look upwards and that’s when you notice it - his eyes are on you just as yours are on him yet he continues talking, and you hold onto it for a few seconds before you feel the heat reach your cheeks. It feels like a burn and you snap out of the spell-like feeling you were caught in as you turn away now and try to catch your breath.

You hadn’t meant to stare but you were drawn to him at that moment, and as he talked about how the designs reflect the tangibility yet elusiveness of human connection, you found yourself drowning in his words and in the way he said them. He’d caught you before you could look away, and you decide that the only way to go about it is to pretend it didn’t happen.

And that’s what you do, as you remain on your spot with your eyes scanning the room, no longer focused on him.

The interview ends right as Chin-sun enters to say that some guests have arrived. You instruct her to entertain them first with Manager Lee as you wrap up in here and it’s not long after when you’re left with Jungkook once again.

“Was that good?” He asks, his gaze on you as you look elsewhere.

“It was. You seemed more relaxed,” you state, unnecessarily fixing the couch to distract yourself. “That’s a good way to start the evening, Mr. Jeon. I’m sure the guests would enjoy speaking with you tonight.”

“That’s what I hope,” he replies. “I’ll need you close to me to keep track of scheduled meetings or any invitations. I’d also like them to be familiar with you as my assistant so they know who to reach out to in case I’m not available.”

“Of course, sir,” you say, turning around to face him again, suddenly feeling nervous about the intensity of his look. “I’ll take note of all those.”

He nods then exits the room and you follow. You trail him as he starts to greet the guests one by one.

There are heads of private foundations and curators. There are creative directors from entertainment agencies and some art enthusiasts. There are artists and authors and poets, all of whom are intrigued and seemingly excited about what’s in store.

Jungkook heads to the front after being introduced by Manager Lee and takes his time to introduce the project, utilizing the panels and all of the interiors’ walls to showcase the design virtually. He presents his plans and the role of artists, creatives, creators, and consumers. It’s a half hour speech that ends, followed by a light sit-down dinner that Jungkook takes advantage of to engage with the guests.

He first greets the deputy minister of the arts and culture ministry and then Mr. Saito, who’d likewise brought some of his artist friends from Japan.

You then follow Jungkook around as instructed, taking notes on your phone in between to list all the upcoming meetings and other activities scheduled on the spot. You’ve somehow developed this skill with Hoseok but it still doesn’t get any easier. The fact that so many of them want to touch base with Jungkook after his pitch says a lot about how well he did and how much it resonated with the people he wanted to connect with.

Based on your notes, you can already tell it’s gonna be incredibly busy moving forward, and the thought suddenly makes your head hurt. But you push through, knowing there are more people to meet with, even with Chin-sun and Manager Lee entertaining half of them.

Jungkook takes the stage again to introduce some of the artists whose works will be displayed in the Arts Center, and he gives them time to talk about their pieces and what drew them into the project. The company head who’s been contracted to create the products for the souvenir shop also speaks, and as they share, you feel the excitement heighten. The opening is still a long time from now but things seem so clear and so certain, and you know that was because of Jungkook - because he demands the same level of excellence he practices from others, because he’s committed to his vision and he makes sure to see it through.

More engagement takes place, and your only breather is when Jungkook decides to talk to his father and then Hoseok but after that, you’re back to following him around and running out of calling cards for people to keep and call you in the future.

The last of the remaining guests finally leave at 10PM. You look around and the art pieces are being carefully wrapped for transport. The panels remain but Do-hyun and Yohan will be returning in the morning to pack everything up. Slowly, you start to feel the soreness creep in and the headache intensify but you shake all the pain off. There are two more days left for the week and you just have to power through them to survive.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?” Chin-sun asks as she readies to leave.

“I live on the other side of the city from you. From all of you,” you remind them. It’s really the only reason why you don’t hitch a ride with them, especially considering that they have families and pets they go home to. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“What about Yoongi?” Jungkook asks, surprising you because you thought he’d been on the phone. “Can’t he drive you?”

“He left an hour ago, Mr. Jeon,” you reply. “He has that early morning flight to Jeju tomorrow.”

“Mr. Ri can drive you home after he drops me off,” Jungkook says. “It’s too late in the night and it might be hard for you to get a cab.”

“Okay, sir. Thank you,” you mumble, waving everybody goodbye as you follow him towards the car.

You get inside and find him sitting in the backseat, his coat removed and his head rolled back. You can tell all the socializing drained his energy again, and you’d hate to remind him that there’s a Property Expo next week that his father assigned him to attend, as well as a Partners’ Fellowship Dinner where he has to deliver another speech. You decide to do so in the morning instead and let the soft sounds of the radio soothe your mind.

“I think tonight was a success,” he mutters, prompting you to turn towards him. “Everyone I spoke to seemed excited.”

“They were,” you affirm. “They wouldn’t be scheduling meetings with you if they weren’t.”

“That’s true,” he hums. “That’s one major event down and several more to go.”

“I hope the team was able to show you how well we work together, Mr. Jeon. And that like me, they’re all on your side.”

Jungkook lets your words settle. He agrees. The team was like a well-oiled machine. Each member knew their roles and performed their tasks excellently. And there was you, of course, handling every one of his instructions and requests with grace. You looked really beautiful doing it, too, and he doesn’t know if he wants to thank or curse Taehyung for designing another dress that makes you stand out from the crowd because that’s what happened tonight - everywhere Jungkook looked, it seemed like all he could see was you.

He shakes away the thought, knowing that constantly acknowledging his attraction towards you would just make things harder for him the way that denying it would, and while he doesn’t have a solution for that either, he supposes that not acknowledging it at all would be the best option.

So he focuses on the team instead, and he feels comforted to know that they worked hard because they knew how much tonight mattered to him, as Do-hyun expressed earlier.

“I’m glad they are,” he finally replies. “I… I still don’t think I’m their favorite person but as long as they don’t despise me anymore, then I’m satisfied with that.”

“They don’t,” you counter, although even you’d know that’s a half-lie.

“They do. Or did, at least,” he laughs dryly. “It’s easy to stay unnoticed outside of the team’s office, you know?”

The tinge of sadness in his eyes confirms what you’re thinking - he’s heard some of the team conversations about him. And while you’d argue that they’re not vile or anything close to that, you also know that talking about him not smiling or not expressing his gratitude are things you shouldn’t be saying behind his back. Even if they’re true.

“I”m so, so sorry, Mr. Jeon. We–”

“It’s okay, it’s not a big deal,” he interjects. “I mean, it’s not like I haven’t given you reasons to feel that way. You all did go from Hoseok to me and that’s quite the downgrade in terms of camaraderie and stuff.”

“We still didn’t have the right to say those things. And no, I’m not agreeing that you’re a downgrade,” you clarify. “Like you said, you and your cousin are very different.”

“I did. And that’s why I’m not surprised, is all I’m saying. But despite all that, the team did amazing tonight. Not like I’d expect they wouldn’t because they prefer someone more joyful or expressive, but it… it was also nice to see them enjoying themselves. I hope you did, too.”

“It was a memorable experience, Mr. Jeon,” you say. “It’s something new. The previous projects and events we handled were either residential or commercial in nature and our creativity wasn’t pushed as far as the Arts Center is doing. And we all appreciate that, even if we may not show it.”

“That’s good. At least there’s still something that you’re all getting out of this.”

There’s a sadness in his voice that you’re hearing for the first time. You don’t know what about tonight that’s making him vulnerable and honest with you. Perhaps it’s all the talk about human connection that he seems to struggle with, and maybe he’s realizing now that even with the team performing as well as they are, there’s still something lacking in soul and emotion that he thinks is because of him.

Whatever it is, you hope that he doesn’t let it bring him down too much. Working closely with him, you’ve come to see more of him despite his efforts to keep those layers unpeeled and you’ve come to understand him a little more. You’ve forgiven him in the process, too. The team is still adjusting and you know it’s your job to bridge that gap. You’ll just have to figure out how.

You let the silence end the conversation, not knowing what else you can say to comfort him at this moment. But you try though, as the car stops in front of his building and you call his name right before he closes the door.

“Yeah?” He asks, looking curiously at you.

You almost forget what you’re about to say as he’s bent forward, his arm propped on the car roof, the surrounding lights highlighting the features of his face.

“You did great tonight, too. And I learned a lot from you. Thank you for guiding us, sir.”

He’s left speechless, as he holds your gaze for a moment before nodding and closing the door. Mr. Ri drives away and you look back to see Jungkook walk slowly towards the building entrance, briefly looking your way before disappearing inside.

You arrive at the office the next morning at 9AM with a splitting headache, your body dragging itself towards your chair as you try to maintain balance and get yourself together. Jungkook had messaged late last night that he was going to have a breakfast meeting with his father so you could go straight to work, and given last night’s late finish, you could come at a later time as well.

That gave you another two hours of sleep, which you were thankful for considering the terrible state you were in when you woke up. Your body felt sore and the dryness of your throat signaled that you’re about to get sick - it was just a matter of when it was going to fully kick in. It’s how your body reacts to stress, a pattern you noticed since you started working in the company. It’s usually after succeeding weeks of late nights and big events when you give in - the headaches start then the sore throat; not long after, the fever hits and you’d have to spend days just doing nothing until you’ve expelled the exhaustion away.

On rare occasions, your mother or friends come, knowing you’d be too sick to make yourself some food. But they don’t always have that luxury. They have their own lives, too, lives that they just happen to have far away from you. But it’s why it mattered that you gave Jungkook that noodle soup when he was unwell. You know what it’s like to be sick and hungry and completely helpless, and you had a feeling that just like yourself, he’d deal with it on his own. You’ll probably have to stock up on food tonight to get you through the next few days; you just hope you haven’t completely fallen apart by then.

You take your medicines and try to focus on your tasks for this morning, scheduling meetings and screening photos from last night to be used for marketing purposes. Needing some tea, you head to the pantry and briefly check in with the team before heading back. You see that Jungkook has just arrived, as he accompanied his father to one of their project sites after their meeting. He calls you over and asks if Do-hyun and Yohan have come back from fixing things at last night’s venue.

“Yes, sir, they just got here,” you reply. “Everything’s been stored properly and Chin-sun’s working on the payments already.”

“Good,” Jungkook responds. “It’s lunchtime though, so you should all grab a meal. There’s a French restaurant that just opened a block from here. I heard it’s got great reviews, so take the team there and have them order anything they want. You can just use your card to pay but it’s under the office’s budget.”

“Okay, sir. Uhm, that sounds great,” you manage to say, excitement filling you because you spent the other night watching review videos of that restaurant on YouTube and immediately told Jimin and Soomin that you’ll be eating there when they visit you the next time. “What about you though? Aren’t you joining us?”

“I… Well…”

“You don’t have any other scheduled meeting other than the one we’ll have as a team at 2:30.”

“I don’t have to go,” he answers. “You all worked hard and deserve to enjoy yourselves and I don’t think that’ll happen if I’m around. We can all debrief during the meeting but lunch is your time to get together and bond as a group.”

“You’re part of that group, too, Mr. Jeon. You are our boss,” you counter.

“Exactly.”

“But Mr. Ju–” you stop, not wanting to draw another comparison, which you said you’ll stop doing.

“I know. Hoseok would join you for lunch or dinner and the team enjoyed his presence,” Jungkook states. “I don’t think that’s the case with me. This isn’t me putting myself down but… you know that I don’t really… do things like that. I’m still learning that part of the role and I don’t want to spoil their fun.”

“You can’t really speak for the team though,” you point out.

“Well, you represent them to me. Am I wrong to assume all that?”

“No, but I think it would be a good opportunity to prove to them otherwise,” you advise.

Jungkook sighs, knowing you’ve got a point. But he insists, claiming that he’s still figuring out the team and how to relate with them.

“I understand, Mr. Jeon,” you concede. “How about your lunch?”

“I’ll manage. You can all go ahead so you can get back on time.”

“We will. Thank you. I already know they’re going to enjoy it.”

The team is ecstatic when you tell them about lunch plans. They also only wonder about Jungkook’s presence once they’ve ordered and perhaps they’re still figuring him out, too. Much of their engagement with Jungkook is through meetings, as none of them, save for Manager Lee, feel comfortable or even free enough to just approach him. They also don’t know much about his interests or his quirks, and that puts you in the same boat as them.

You said once that you’re not sure if you’ve gotten used to him already. Maybe slowly you are, as you look around and wish that he was here to experience this, too. Somehow you just think he’d love the duck confit dish that you eventually order for yourself. Maybe you can let him know, and he can order it on his own time.

Lunch ends with everyone on a high from the delicious meal. Even you forget how terrible you’re actually feeling and let the laughs and scrumptious food compensate for the fatigue.

You get back to the office and head to Jungkook as the rest of the team prepares the conference room for the meeting. You see a half-eaten sandwich on his desk and hate to think that it’s all he had while you enjoyed a fancy lunch that he ordered you all to have. He seems to pick up your thoughts as your eyes flit from him to his food and he affirms you that he’s not that hungry, given the heavy breakfast he had this morning.

“How was lunch?” He asks.

“It was great. The food was really good. I had the duck confit that I think you’ll like and… uh, they were asking where you were.”

“They were?”

“Yeah,” you respond. “They were wondering why you didn’t join us.”

“What did you say?”

“That you were on a conference call,” you say. You didn’t like that you had to lie to them about it, but you also didn’t want to use that time to talk about Jungkook behind his back again. “Yohan said that it’s understandable; you’re always busy and he doubts you get a break while you’re here.”

“Oh. Well, he’s not wrong.”

“We had a good time though, and I’m sure they’ll tell you later but thank you. It’s nice seeing the team enjoy themselves. I wish you could see it, too.”

“Maybe one day,” he says sullenly, standing up right after to head to the meeting with you.

The room quiets down when you both arrive and Jungkook feels once more the shift in their disposition once he joins them. He can’t fault them for it knowing that’s because of him, but as time passes and the more he talks about the value of human connections - which the Arts Center aims to foster - the more he starts to think of exactly what he’s missing by keeping himself too far a distance from everyone else around him.

His father tries, he can tell. Most of their breakfast or lunch or dinner meetings aren’t actually meetings, and he supposes it’s just his old man’s way of spending time with him by disguising it as something work-related, knowing that Jungkook wouldn’t be into it if it wasn’t. His mother asks him over to their house on some weekends for lunch, her own way of reconnecting with him after years of being apart, but even with that, Jungkook just gives the bare minimum.

He doesn’t not like them; he just stopped being close to them at some point and he didn’t really care to mend it as he grew older. The women he sleeps with don’t count since he doesn’t even really talk to them, and other than Taehyung and Seokjin, and occasionally Yoongi, who keep up with his attitude, there really isn’t anyone else whom he thinks enjoys his presence enough to want to have him around.

He doesn’t know about you though, but he makes an educated guess and thinks there’s not much of him you’d miss just like anyone, and while the thought stings a bit, it’s one he tries to live with.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeon,” Manager Lee greets and implores the others to do the same. “Thank you again for lunch. It was really delicious and pretty fancy. I wish I’d worn a prettier tie than the one I have right now.”

“Your tie looks fine, Manager Lee,” Jungkook replies.

“Ms. Cho said you were busy, that's why you weren’t there,” Do-hyun boldly says. “Hopefully next time you can join us. I mean, not to assume you’ll treat us again, although that would be nice, but–”

“Do-hyun just wanted to say thank you,” Chin-sun butts in. “And that we understand you have so many things going on, Mr. Jeon, so hopefully, when you have time in the future, you can join us for a meal, too.”

“That, uh, that would be fine, yes,” he mumbles, taking his seat and avoiding looking at everyone except you. “Let’s start the meeting.”

You’re there for over two hours, rehashing the entire process, given that it’s the first event out of many that the team organized. Jungkook is generous in complimenting everyone, including you, and he gives updates on the interest generated and all the artists he’ll be meeting in their respective studios as a result.

The Ministry of Culture minister likewise pledged support, promising a linkage with the international media festival organizers like Jungkook had hoped. You’ve all accomplished so much in so little time, but the rest of the timeline shows that there’s still so much ground to cover. You plan the next steps and then spend half an hour talking about the other small projects that the VP’s office is managing before Jungkook adjourns the meeting and orders you all to head home to get some rest while he stays behind to work some more.

You follow him this time, trying your best to be stable as you take the bus home. You manage to buy some beef bone soup on the way for dinner, and once that’s all finished and you take a long hot shower to hopefully get rid of the stress in your body, you plop down on your bed and fall asleep with no warning at all.

You wake up in the middle of the night, your clogged nose keeping you from breathing. With puffy eyes, you search for your eucalyptus inhaler and take your medicine before going back to bed and hoping that when you wake up, you’ll feel less terrible than you do right now.

But you don’t, as you wake up to your alarm not long after and feel even worse. Your body is sore, your head feels heavy, and it’s a struggle to even turn to your side to try to pull yourself off the bed. Knowing there’s no way you’ll manage today, you call Mr. Ri and inform him that you’re unwell and can’t make it to work.

“I can’t even type nor talk properly right now,” you tell him. “Can you–”

“I’ll tell Jungkook, don’t worry,” he assures you. “And just to remind you, you’re sick, okay? So stay in bed, don’t do chores or anything, and don’t think about work for even a second. You hear me? And update me on how you are.”

“Yes,” you cough out. “Thank you.”

You lie underneath the covers and hope to the heavens that more sleep would make you feel a bit of relief and it does, given that when your phone rings five hours later, you don’t feel like your head is splitting apart.

“Good, you’re awake,” Mr. Ri says on the other end after you greet him. “Can you open your door?”

“Okay, just give me a few minutes. I’m exceptionally slow this morning.”

Mr. Ri laughs but tells you to take your time. You put on a hoodie over your gray sweatpants and briefly wash your face before opening the door.

“Work’s got to you, huh?” He asks worriedly as he stands in front of you. “Is it bad enough to warrant a visit to the hospital? I can drive you there.”

“I’ll manage,” you mumble. “But what are you doing here, Mr. Ri? Mr. Jeon has a meeting in an hour.”

“I know. But he wanted me to give you this.”

The older man initially hands you a large paper bag but decides to just place it on your table given your weak state. He removes the containers of chicken noodle soup, rice porridge, and soybean sprout soup, boxes of soft bread, and a small jar of yuja marmalade for tea.

“What–”

“Your meals for the next few days so you don’t have to worry about preparing them,” Mr. Ri says. “Jungkook wants you to focus on resting. He wants you to take Monday off, too.”

You look at him and suddenly feel like crying. You knew that waking up, you’d be worrying about what to eat, given that you barely have ingredients to work with. You also don’t have the energy to make anything, especially something that’d help with your health. Jungkook just relieved you of that, and at a time like today, you feel what it’s like to be cared for. And though you can argue with him using his own words - your health isn’t his responsibility - you won’t pretend that it doesn’t give you comfort knowing that he’d made the effort to buy all this and have them brought to you.

You talk a little bit more before he heads out, and you lead him to the door where you look across the street where the car is parked. Your eyes may be puffy but you don’t miss the silhouette behind that backseat window.

“How is she?” Jungkook asks as Mr. Ri enters the car and slowly drives away.

“She looks like someone who’s been working hard these past months and in need of rest. She says it’s normal but this is probably the worst. These few days off will be good for her.”

“I hope so, too.”

“She’s thankful for the food, Jungkook,” the older man says. “I know she’d probably say you didn’t have to but I could tell it meant a lot to her. She doesn’t always ask for help, you know? It’s good you’re somehow letting her know that she can count on you when she needs you. If this is you making it up to her, you’re on the right path.”

Jungkook hums in acknowledgement, although unsure what it means for him. Is it to compensate? To apologize again? To return the favor because you’d done it first? Is it to let you know that he has your back, too, the way you’ve been showing him that you have his?

He’s alerted by a message, your name on his screen somehow making his heart jump. It’s a text message and not one from the usual messaging app you both use for work purposes because, well, that’s really the only thing you talk about.

[From: EA Cho] Thank you, Jungkook. I really appreciate it.

It’s the use of his name. It’s the sincerity in your simple words.

He smiles to himself.

Whatever it means to you, he knows it means another thing to him. He doesn’t want you to feel alone. And that in the coldest nooks of his uncaring heart, he actually does care for you. For this moment, he’ll acknowledge it. For this moment, he’ll let himself feel it. He can only hope you feel it, too.

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tender-rosiey · 1 year

Text

sick — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: taking care of gojo cause he deserves it my baby :((

satoru forces his eyes open with a great struggle, but seeing your face makes it worth it. he presses a kiss to your forehead, before, reluctantly, peeling off the covers and heading to the bathroom.

his steps are heavier and his mind is a bit hazy. he figures quickly that he‘s caught a cold. but, like the idiot he is, he brushes it off cause what’s a little cold to the strongest sorcerer?

small coughs escape his lips every now then as he gets ready. he applauds himself for being able to do everything—despite the coughing fits—without waking you up.

finally, he tiptoes his way to your sleeping form to give you a kiss on the forehead once again. he takes a last look at your face and he smiles, one reserved for you only.

and so the routine is done! he is satisfied as he walks to the door, ready to act like his normal self that definitely doesn’t have a fever that is worsening by the second.

his hand reaches for the doorknob and, “satoru, where the hell do you think you’re going?”

he turns to you, a grin plastered on his face as he tries masking his coughs, “hey, hun! lovely morning, isn’t it? I was about to—“

“sit your ass back down.”

“yes ma’am,” he mumbles, looking like a kicked puppy.

you roll your eyes before pulling him back to bed. but, of course, he tries to fight it, “y/n, I am fine, really!”

“no, you’re not,” you huff as you make him lay down on the bed and cover him with the blankets, “your breath is heavier and your face is flushed.”

you press a hand to his forehead before gasping, “satoru, you’re burning up! and you wanted to work like this?”

“hey! nothing the strongest—“ he coughs in between, “—can’t handle,” he smiles, trying to assure you, but you don’t buy it.

and you are about to retort, but satoru’s phone rings, cutting your thoughts off. the caller is one of the higher ups.

before your husband gets the chance, you snatch the phone and answer the call instead, “can I help you?”

satoru has given up fighting about it anymore and simply accepts his fate. he snuggles closer to your chest while you listen to whatever the old man is yapping about.

then you respond, “satoru’s not going anywhere,” you tighten your hold on him and he feels his flutter a little at your secure hold. when was the last time he felt protected?

the old man’s yapping turns into barking and his voice is like chalk scratching the board so you sigh and reply, tone giving no room for further discussion, “he is sick. also, why don’t you up your game a bit? you’re maybe double or triple his age? shouldn’t you be able protect yourself? anyways bye! rot in hell!”

you end the call with a smile before tossing the phone to the side. satoru smiles into your shirt, “that was hot of you.”

“oh shut up,” you grumble as you pat his head, “how did you get sick anyways?”

satoru takes a deep breath, brows furrowed before he replies, “one of the curses was related to ice…or whatever,” you hum in response and he snuggles into the crook of your neck.

seeing satoru all weak, maybe even helpless breaks your heart. he is usually so loud, so bright, but now he looks so tired, frail even.

you sigh as your fingers card through his hair. you would’ve preferred if his day-off was spent with him being his usual self rather than all sick like this.

though you can’t deny that a part of you feels a little happy because he trusts you enough to be completely vulnerable with him.

so you press a kiss to the top of his head and he stirs around a bit, words a little slurry, “…what’s wrong?”

“it’s nothing, but I have to go and make you some soup, satoru,” you say while trying to get up, but his hold on you tightens.

he voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, “…stay.”

your heart clenches at the soft plea, but you know that he needs to be well fed so he can recover quickly, “satoru, honey, you need to eat so you can get better,” your hear him groan before reluctantly pulling way.

still, his hand is holding onto your own, and he looks up to you, eyes barely open, oh how you missed seeing those blue gems shinning as usual, even if they scared the shit out of you at night, “just don’t take long…please.”

you nod and press a kiss to the top of his head, “look at you being so polite.”

he grumbles, making you giggle.

you finally make your way to the kitchen. you hope that satoru can sleep a bit till you’re done with the soup.

you don’t feel the time as it passes, already invested in making the best soup for your sick husband.

after a while, you’re finally done. you give yourself a pat on the back before carrying it to the bedroom. you speak, voice low, “satoru?”

he turns in his sleep and slowly opens his eyes, smiling a little, “you’re back?”

“of course, I am, silly. I would never leave you,” and both of you know that those words hold much deeper meaning than it looks like.

you set the soup on the nightstand, “come on, you need to eat, honey.”

he stretches a bit before sitting up—the movement seems to cause him pain but he hopes you don’t point it out—, a wide smile on his lips as he looks at you, “my pretty wife made soup, just for me?” he coughs a little, “I am flattered.”

he sounds better, you note. that sleep must’ve done him good so you hope the soup will make him feel even better.

you take a hold of the bowl and satoru opens his mouth, expectantly. you quirk an eyebrow at him, “what are you doing?”

he closes his mouth with a pout, “you’re not going to feed me?”

he is finally back to his antics, you think as you narrow your eyes, “and why would I do that?”

“because I am your very sick husband who only wants to be pampered by his pretty—“ he is cut off by you shoving the spoon in his mouth.

he swallows the soup, satisfied, and with a grin so wide you’re thinking of smacking him for looking so smug yet so cute at the same time, “thank you, honey!”

you roll your eyes, albeit fondly, “yeah, yeah,” you huff as you feed him another spoon and the smile never leaves his face.

you also notice the little kicking of his feet. does being spoon-fed by you really make him this giddy?

“y/n, you know how everyone boasts about my strength?” you feed him another spoon and he hums in contentment before continuing, “I think my only weakness is you.”

“doesn’t that make you scared?” you inquire as you set the empty bowl aside and satoru wastes no time as he hugs your waist as snuggles into your chest, his favorite place, “having a weakness and everything.”

he shakes your head, “nope, it just makes me want to get even stronger so I can protect you.”

he thinks for a moment, “you got me wrapped around your pretty fingers and I don’t see anything wrong with that,” he then grins, looking up at you.

it’s silent for a while before you speak up, “satoru.”

“hm?” you practically hear the smirk his voice.

you deadpan, “did you just fart?”

“honey, I could never!” and satoru thanks the heaven that he is sick cause he knows that he would’ve been hit by every single pillow on this bed otherwise.

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ventique18 · 2 months

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🐉 and his son were quietly having a midnight snack, until he pulled out a chocolate and his baby clapped his chubby dragon arms in happy anticipation.

🐉: "Do you want this? Would you like to trade your last nugget for it?"

The boy nodded excitedly, but one bite of the dark chocolate made him realize that his papa had scammed him.

It tasted like that one time he tried to lick a coal. What kind of chocolate was that? It wasn't sweet and milky at all!

He cried; feeling miserable. How could his papa do this to him? That was his last piece of nugget and now he was going to die of hunger.

🐉, laughing: "Do you want your nugget back?"

The boy nodded.

🐉: "I can gift this to you, but I want a gift from you too."

Baby pushed the bar of coal-chocolate to him.

🐉: "You don't like that, do you? So I don't like it too. I want you to give me something that you love, for that is how you give an earnest gift."

Baby sniffed for a second, feeling helpless. Then, he dug into the pouch that he kept around his neck before pawing it to his dad.

It was a round pebble.

In reality, rocks did not really hold much value and many would not agree to trade for it, but 🐉 smiled. It was something that his little boy picked for himself and thus, akin to a treasure.

🐉: "For something as precious as this, I offer you something equally valuable."

An entire tray of nuggets. The little boy squealed in delight and leaped to guzzle it down.

... It wasn't even a minute later until he started crying again after realizing that his nuggets were no more and his precious pebble was gone forever.

He really should've just went to mama instead of papa who liked stealing his pebble. Papa was a greedy, greedy man.

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #ventique rambles

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bbydoll18xx · 5 months

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An Inch Away From More Than Just Friends

Paige Bueckers x reader

Your ex-boyfriend is quite literally the smallest man who ever lived, and Paige is there to pick up the pieces

Themes: Heavy smut, angst, happy ending <3, friends to lovers

Word count: 3k

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

“And you deserve prison, BUT. YOU. WON’T. GET. TIME!” you scream-sing, each word punctuated with a hand slapping the table loudly. Tears fall down your face and you let out a ragged breath, attempting to quell your rage and anguish.

Your stupid ass, idiot of a boyfriend, Connor, had cheated on you with some tramp from Florida, of all places. And he had subsequently dumped you over text, attaching a picture of the girl sucking his cock.

You wanted to murder him. Slowly. With a knife.

Here you sat, though, after the shock of that text message wore off, sobbing at your kitchen table to Taylor Swift. Your life felt like a terrible sitcom.

He was your first boyfriend. You didn't really date much in high school. The boys were immature and gross, and the girls were too intimidating to approach in a flirty way. You just wanted to feel wanted, sick of constantly being the third wheel with your friends.

Despite getting broken up with out of the blue, you knew why Connor had done it. It was the reason for your countless arguments you had suffered through the last year.

Paige Bueckers.

Paige was your best friend, and Connor had absolutely loathed her from the moment you had introduced the two blondes.

Your boyfriend had always been slightly possessive; it was one of the things that had initially attracted you to him. You had always craved an intense and all consuming love, and at first, you had thought you'd gotten that. But fate was tempted as you and Paige grew closer.

As the song you’ve had on repeat restarts for the hundredth time, you recall your last argument. It wasn’t difficult considering it happened just a few days ago.

You and Paige were hanging out in your apartment like you did frequently. Laying side by side on your bed, a movie played on the TV, sending flickering lights through the dark room. You were both exhausted from the week, but each other’s presence produced a calm energy that washed over all of the stress you had been feeling.

Your legs are tangled up with Paige’s, and your head is nestled in the crook of her neck. The movie is long forgotten, as you relish in the presence of your best friend. She hums in content at your closeness, enjoying your company just as much as you.

You can actually feel your heart cry, realizing that you couldn’t get any closer to the blonde girl.

You had been having several realizations the last few months: Your fondness for UConn’s favorite star was more than just friendly. Unfortunately, you were pretty sure that Connor had also picked up on this. And if this helpless little crush of yours continued, you’d be in deep shit.

Contemplating your situation, Paige nudges into you, catching your attention.

“I can literally hear the wheels in your head turning. Whatcha thinkin’ about, baby?” Paige teases softly.

Baby.

Your heart flutters, as it always did when she called you little pet names.

You shrug, the movement slightly jostling Paige.

“Just dealing with some stuff,” you mumble, a feeble attempt to minimize what you were feeling. It's not like you could tell her anyway.

Before Paige can goad you into revealing more, the door to your bedroom is ripped open, hitting the wall with a slam and reverberating through the apartment.

“I fucking knew it!” Connor shouted, pointing at you and Paige. His face was screwed up into an ugly expression of contempt.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Paige yells back, as you simultaneously shout, “Connor you can't just barge in here. That’s so fucking rude.”

“Stay away from my girlfriend, you nasty, little bitch,” Connor sneers meanly. Paige’s eyebrows furrow at this, standing in front of him to look him in the eye.

You try to stifle a laugh as Paige gets in your boyfriend’s face; she was two inches taller than him, and she never let him forget it.

“I don’t know about ‘little,’” she retorts with a smug expression on her face.

Enraged, Connor spins around, stomping out of the room, kicking your couch on his childish rampage out.

Your breathing is irregular as you try to slow your heart rate. Sobs are already bubbling up inside your chest, threatening to seep through the cracks that Connor had left once more.

Paige pulls you into her lap, cradling you against her chest in a desperate attempt to comfort you. Little did she know, her touch was all you really needed.

You are pulled back into the present, feeling empty without Paige. Tears roll down your cheeks and your bottom lip wobbles. You felt like you were never really present anymore; walking through life in a daydream. Pictures of Paige constantly filled your brain, and you knew the unrequited feelings would be much more painful than the harsh termination of your and Connor’s relationship.

Fuck. You were down bad.

You take to your couch with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Those were two guys you knew would never fail you. You allow yourself to rot the day away. Episode after episode plays, but you are barely paying attention. You feel like screaming, the feeling of desperation wrestling with your typical sense of composure.

Your vision slides over to the top of your fridge, where an impressive amount of alcohol sits.

‘Perfect. I can't pine when I’m black out drunk,’ you think miserably.

You were so, so wrong.

An hour later you were dancing around in nothing but one of Paige’s shirts and your underwear, using a large bottle of tequila as a microphone. You were usually a quiet roommate, but the empty apartment was the perfect excuse to let out all the emotions you had been holding in for months.

You were so engrossed in your performance, you miss Paige walking in. When you finally turn to face her in a dramatic spin, hair flying everywhere, you gasp in shock.

Paige is grinning. “Havin’ fun, babe?” she questions, clearly amused by your drunken antics.

You were too inebriated to feel embarrassed, and you nod with a bright smile. You thrust the bottle towards the blonde, encouraging her to join in your fun.

“Oh, what the hell,” Paige concedes, taking the bottle and lifting it up to her mouth in a way that had you suddenly feeling sticky.

She was sinful when she was drunk. It was not your fault that you wanted the clingy Paige that accompanied large amounts of alcohol.

You spend the next hour taking turns sipping from the bottle, enjoying the feverish burning in your belly that follows each swallow. It doesn’t take much time for Paige to catch up to you, and you know she’s tipsy once she pulls you into her lap and starts drawing shapes onto your thighs. A quiet moan escapes from your lips at her touch; her fingers were fucking magic.

You turn to face Paige, straddling her on your couch. The tequila in your system was making you bolder than the blonde was accustomed to you being, but she welcomed it. Now face to face, with nothing but your flimsy panties in between Paige’s muscular leg and your slick center, you gaze at her with heavy lidded eyes.

She was so pretty, and her eye contact made you bashful. Breaking away from the heat of those blue eyes, you wrap your arms around her neck in a huge hug, causing Paige to let out a small chuckle at your affection.

You were nothing if not candor whilst drunk, so Paige is hardly surprised when you slur, “Connor hated how I look at you. That’s why he broke up with me.”

Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, Paige murmurs, “How do you look at me?”

“Like you hung the fuckin’ moon,” you sigh dreamily, the tequila making you feel warm and fuzzy.

“Oh, really, baby?” Paige questions, her voice growing deeper as you tilt your hips against her thigh once more in an attempt to feel some relief. Her presence was overwhelming your senses, and there was fire deep in your abdomen that was raging.

You forget to respond to her, too distracted from the way her leg felt so damn good against your clothed pussy. Attempting to lessen some of the desire building up inside you, you experimentally roll your hips, letting out a lustful whine as you realize how good it feels.

Paige is momentarily stunned at your boldness before she grabs your chin, tilting it up to meet her eyes that were full of want. Your pupils are blown, the irises just a small ring at this point, and she questions if you really want to do this.

Well obviously.

You nod your head, unsure if you had any words in you to describe just how badly you wanted Paige to fuck you.

“Baby, use your words,” Paige drawls. The huskiness of the term of endearment has you panting, and you struggle to moan out a “Yes, please just fuck me, P.”

That was all Paige needed. She places her hands underneath your ass, and lifts you up, carrying you towards your bedroom. You wrap your legs around her toned figure and meet her lips in a searing kiss.

In a second, it feels like all the shittiness has evaporated away, leaving you feeling reborn and renewed. Paige was a fucking drug to you, and you needed another hit.

Setting you down on your bed, Paige wastes no time stripping you of your oversized t-shirt, leaving you in your cotton panties that were now completely soaked. She swirls two fingers across the drenched fabric, smirking to herself that she was able to have such an effect on you. You whine at her deliberate actions and pout like a child who wasn’t getting their way. Paige laughs at your desperation and kisses the pout right off of your lips, licking into your mouth with fervor.

You tug at her shirt, wanting her to be as bare as you were, and she quickly slips it over her head, throwing it onto the floor. There was still an imbalance of clothing between the two of you, and you finger the waistband of Paige’s sweatpants, wanting to see every bit of her.

Shaking her head fondly at your blatant lack of shame, she gets off of the bed and shimmies out of her pants, leaving her in just a sports bra and those boxers you loved a little too much. From where you were still sitting on the bed, you shamelessly let your eyes rake over her toned figure. She was stunning, and you felt pride well up inside you, knowing you were finally going to have sex with the tall blonde.

It almost made the years of pining worth it.

“This better?” Paige asks, gesturing towards her body, and you giggle in response.

She climbs back onto the bed, a knee placed between your parted thighs and presses it against your soaked heat. You let out another loud moan at the contact, and your back arches off the bed from the pleasure.

There are no thoughts in your tipsy, drunk-in-love brain, and it shows. You’re mumbling in tangents, now, pleading with Paige to do more.

She finally concedes and goes to take off your panties. She’s being a little tease, slowly dragging them down your legs, while keeping intense eye contact with you. You are pretty sure the act makes your pussy drip even more.

Placing a leg over her shoulder, Paige opens you up and takes a second to admire the gleaming wet folds that were hers and only hers. You tremble under her stare, feeling deliciously vulnerable in a way that makes you want to submit to her every whim.

She inches closer to your pussy, pressing hot kisses all along your inner thighs. You revel in the buildup of it, trying to avoid being pushy. To no avail, your hips jut forward, slightly humping the air in an attempt to get some release.

Coming back up to nip your earlobe playfully, Paige whispers sensually, “Gotta be a good girl for me.”

You try to respond, but her use of the phrase ‘good girl’ makes the words catch in your throat. She resumes her kisses, trailing them down your throat to your chest, where she takes a detour in favor of showing your pretty, peaked nipples some attention.

Another whine leaves your lips like a prayer, as Paige leaves love bites over your tits. That would look like a damn masterpiece in the morning, and you’re already planning to take a Polaroid picture of you topless, covered in Paige’s hickeys.

Finally, she trails back down your stomach, fingers ghosting over your skin and leaving behind thousands of goosebumps in their wake. Your skin felt like it was on fire.

“Please, Paigey. Need you, baby,” you whimper brokenly, begging for some respite from the torturous teasing.

Paige gives in, dying to taste to you, and she licks a fat stripe on your pussy, starting at your dripping hole and ending in a tantalizing circle at your clit. Your hands fly to her head, trying not to pull at her hair too much.

She inserts her middle finger into you, drawing another slutty moan from your lips as she pumps into you vigorously.

There really is no way to describe just how good she is making you feel. The past six months of sex with Connor had been passionless and repetitive. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to go without this again.

Paige inserts another finger in your pussy with a smirk and continues to pummel them against your g-spot. The pressure in the pit of your belly was already building, and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you exploded. Paige had taken a break from eating you out to kiss you once more, wanting you to taste your sweet wetness on her lips. It was possibly the hottest thing you had ever done, and the act pushes you closer to the finish line.

“Gonna cum, Paigey,” you moan wantonly, your thighs twitching and your back arching once more. The tequila in your system causing you to act especially debauched.

Paige loves it.

“C’mon, baby. Be a good girl and cum for me,” she moans in response against your soaked pussy, and you fall apart instantaneously.

High pitched whines and moans fill your bedroom as Paige continues thrusting her fingers in and out of you, slowing down as you ride out your high. If it wasn’t for the alcohol, you would be embarrassed with yourself, but there was no thought of that.

You needed to taste Paige.

Once Paige pulls out of you, licking her fingers off as if she was starved, you reattach your lips feverishly. You taste so good, but you are dying to know what she tastes like, and without warning, you strip the rest of her clothes off.

She lays her head on your mountain of pillows, blonde hair fanning in all directions. You can see the heaving of her chest, already anticipating your touch. Her lips are swollen in a way that’s positively sinful, and you think you’ve never seen anyone look as beautiful as Paige does right now.

Straddling her, you lean in to suck at the soft skin underneath her left ear, pulling out moan after moan that went right to your still-buzzing pussy.

Trailing down to her tits, you knead one before attaching your hot mouth to the other, swirling your tongue around it and then nipping it experimentally.

“Fuck, babe. Please. Can’t do more teasing,” Paige grits out, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

Just as yours had, Paige’s hips squirm, and you grin up at her. You press kisses across her toned abdomen, mentally noting that her abs would be nice to ride another time, and finally settle at the opening of her legs.

Spreading her open, you gaze upon her glistening wetness momentarily before diving in. You could not possibly wait another second to taste her.

You two both moan at the contact, sending muffled vibrations against Paige’s pussy that brings forth a second, louder groan of pleasure.

Wanting to make her feel so, so good, you plunge two fingers into her sopping wetness, while flicking the tip of your tongue across her clit repeatedly without ceasing.

It had been awhile since you had eaten another girl out, but it came back to you immediately; it was like riding a bike.

Paige’s moans fill the room, and you think you could die there happily. You’re unrelenting. The combination of three of your fingers and that lavicious tongue of yours soon has Paige panting out, “fuck, baby. I’m gonna cum.”

She rides out her orgasm, switching between moaning your name and naughty words that have you immediately wanting to do a second round.

You pull your fingers out of her wetness, making a show of licking them off in front of her before meeting her in an erotic kiss.

You lay back on your pillows, stifling your sighs and calming the beat of your heart from what you had just done with your best friend. You look over at her, hoping and praying that the sex you just had wouldn’t ruin your friendship.

Paige bites her lip, in a not so great attempt at hiding a smile, and pecks you on the lips. “That was way better than that fuckhead, Connor, right?” She was smug as hell. But she was not wrong.

“Considering his dick was three inches, uh yeah,” you laugh. “But joking aside, you were amazing.”

“Just glad I could make my girl feel better,” she replies.

“I’m your girl?” you ask, cheeks ablaze in a fiery heat of desire.

“You are now,” Paige chuckles, interlocking your pinkies together in an earnest proclamation of affection.

You were hers, and she was yours.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #paige #friends to lovers #angst #smut #wlw #paige bueckers x you

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suashii · 1 year

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୨♡୧ GOT ME LOOKING FOR ATTENTION! — how they react to you being needy.

featuring. itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, barou shoei.

warnings. f!reader, f!masturbation, dacryphilia, marking, pet names (pretty lady, good girl). all characters written 18+.

note! it's my first time writing barou so please be kind! enjoy (≧∀≦)

₊˚ପ⊹ ITOSHI RIN

it's a day before rin was expected to return home and instead of telling you about his early arrival, he figured he'd try to surprise you. though, when he opens the door to the apartment, you aren't at your usual spot on the couch. he worries that you might not be home, until he hears it—a pitchy whine coming from down the hall. he follows the sound that leads him to the bedroom where the door is slightly ajar, enough for the moans to spill from the gap.

rin pushes the door open with his foot, revealing your figure on the bed. it's a lewd sight; on your knees with your legs spread, fingers stuffed in your dripping cunt in a chase for that sweet spot you can't quite reach. still, you pump them with fervor in search of blissful relief. it takes a moment for you to notice the man's presence and turn to him with teary eyes.

a gasp catches in your throat at the late recognition. your call of his name comes out wobbly. "rin?"

a tear falls past your lashes as you blink, rolls down your cheek and drips from your jawline. rin thinks it must be a little fucked up that seeing you in such a state turns him on. it makes his pants feel tighter, lights glowing embers beneath his skin. he figures that, maybe, he should inquire about the watery look in your eyes.

"why are you crying?"

"it's not the same," you reveal, turning your gaze down. you chew at the inside of you cheek, contemplating on if you should elaborate. though, when you drag your eyes back up, it's like his teal stare compels you to continue. "y'know... as when you do it."

rin didn't think his ego could get any bigger but you have a knack for feeding it. the confession goes straight to his dick and as much as he'd love to sit and savor your helplessness for just a little longer, there's a way address both your needs while still having a bit of fun with you.

"i'm here now," rin tells you, closing the distance between you. he wipes another stray tear from your cheek. "so, why don't you ask for my help?"

₊˚ପ⊹ SHIDOU RYUSEI

your breath tickles shidou's collarbone as you let out yet another discontent sigh that borders a whimper. with a drink in one hand and the other settled on your waist, shidou glances down at you. it's a rare sight to see you so clingy; usually he's the one sticking to you like glue. but now, there's a sparkle of want in your eyes as you toy with the buttons of his shirt, fingers threatening to unfasten them.

"a little touchy there, huh?" shidou says with a grin. he wouldn't mind putting a little bit of his naked chest on display but it's unlike you be so forward at events like these—ones where anyone can see. "thought you preferred when we maintained decorum at these types of things."

"you know i don't want to be here," you respond, a soft pout punctuating your words.

oh, does he know. you'd been even more touchy while the two of you were getting ready earlier. the length of your nails grazed the curves of his abdomen as you straddled him, your clothed cunt hovering just above the growing tent in his boxers. leaving a wet kiss on the pulse of his neck, you rolled your hips, grinding down on his bulge. releasing the lip you had pulled between your teeth, a tempting offer fell from your lips. "can't we just forget about this one? i think we'd have more fun here anyway."

if weren't for his manager warning him that another absence would be the woman's last straw, shidou would have given in and stayed home to please your every desire—lapped and slurped at you until you came on his tongue and fucked you until you did the same around his cock.

though, in an effort to stop himself from burning any more bridges in the industry, he chose to attend with a needy girlfriend and a painfully hard cock.

lifting his glass, fuchsia eyes flit to the watch wrapped around his wrist.

"twenty more minutes, pretty lady." shidou dips his head down so his lips are ghosting yours. the airiness of his voice sends shivers down your spine, causes goosebumps to raise on your arms. "and i'll be happy to take care of you."

₊˚ପ⊹ NAGI SEISHIRO

nagi isn't usually distracted so easily when he's playing games. he pays his phone little mind, so much so that people begin to worry when he doesn't text back after a couple of hours. sometimes he's focused to the extent that he forgets to eat until he can hear his stomach growling.

the one exception and his favorite distraction is you.

he doesn't mind when you shimmy your way between him and his controller, latching onto him like a clingy koala bear. he'll rest his chin on the top your head and let you be. that much was meant to be the plan today when you took your place on his lap but you seemed to have something else in mind if the kisses you left trailing up his neck were any evidence.

they were easy enough to ignore at first but the soft feel of your lips against his skin eventually turned into wet, open-mouthed kisses—the kind where you suck and nip at him. each bruising kiss you leave behind chips away at nagi's focus. though, much to your dismay, his caramel eyes stay glued to the screen ahead of him.

you were almost sure he would have given in by now, picked up on the heavy hints you were so clearly dropping. you suppose his cluelessness is one of his many charms and you certainly don't mind having to speak up if it get you what you want.

"sei," you draw out the syllable, curling your fingers around the wisps of snowy hair at the nape of his neck, "wouldn't you rather play with me?"

the purr of your voice and the implication behind your words makes him still for a moment, long enough for little health his character had to dwindle, prompting the game over screen. he doesn't seem to see his failure and if he does he's made it apparent that he doesn't care.

finally, you're the focus of his gaze. nagi abandons the controller in favor resting his hands on your hips. his hold on you is firm and when you meet his eye, you can feel your heart jump in your chest. it isn't so often that you witness this side of him—the one where he greed is palpable. that and his next words light a flame within you.

"what did you have in mind?"

₊˚ପ⊹ BAROU SHOEI

there's something endearing, captivating, about watching barou practice. his moves are fluid yet forceful and they can't help but remind you of another activity that you'd describe the same way. it's even more difficult to not make the connection as you watch his chest heave and beads of sweat drip down from his hairline.

the image makes your mind wander to thoughts of you beneath him, mouth open wide and nails running down his back as he pounds into you, hitting that sensitive spot he's sure will make you come undone. you rub your thighs together at the thought in a feeble attempt to alleviate the pressure between your legs. it does little to help and you imagine there's only one thing that can.

"hey."

you blink at the call of your name, eyes focusing on barou at the barrier between the field and the stands. he beckons you over with two fingers, he other hand wiping away the perspiration that dampens his face. picking up the water bottle you had refilled for him, you scurry over to meet him.

your gaze follows the bottle as barou brings it to his mouth. you watch his adam's apple bob up and down with each swallow before your eyes drag up to see his lips wrapped around the spout. the scene before you transforms again, this time to one where it's your nipple between his lips. you squeeze your thighs together, crossing one arm over your chest. when you speak, your voice comes out a little squeakier than usual. "almost done?"

barou shakes his head. "still got half an hour."

"half an hour?" you repeat, eyes widening and lips curling down into a frown.

barou isn't stupid. just like you've been watching him, he's had his eyes on you. he's seen how you've been looking at him with that far away gaze of yours and he knows exactly where your mind had gone in those moments. after all, you're doing a pretty poor job of hiding it.

"be a good girl and wait," he tells you, tipping your chin up so you're looking him in the eye. his crimson stare is hard but there's something else behind it—hunger. "then i'll give you what you want."

thanks for reading! consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed ❤︎

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: blue lock #itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #shidou x reader #nagi x reader #barou x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk smut #blue lock smut #bllk imagines #blue lock imagines #bllk scenarios #blue lock scenarios #bllk x you #blue lock x you

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sturnioloisland · 3 months

Text

As your boyfriend (NSFW) | C.S.

Pairing: Chris x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW below the cut, so minors dni, but I’m not your mother.

A/n: I did Matt’s version, so now I am presenting Chris’s version. I don’t like it that much, but I hope it’s okay enough for you guys, mwah🫶🏻

Personally, I think this man is the biggest tease in the entire world and this will certainly be a hill that I die on.

“Answer this question, baby, it’s an easy one to answer.” He’ll whisper in your ear while you’re sitting in his lap. His fingers are definitely under your shirt running over you sensitive nipples, “am I turning you on?”

He won’t accept a simple nod of your head. No, no, you’ll have to vocalize your answers on all occasions. Even if he’s gripping the back of your head while his cock is hitting the back of your throat. He relishes in hearing the noises you make while trying to answer him.

I wouldn’t necessarily say he’s mean, but he definitely does not play fair.

“Look at you so helpless beneath me, and there’s not a thing you can do about it.” He’ll say to you while his body is on top of you as he’s moving himself in and out of you, relishing in the sounds of your gasps and moans. “Yeah, you belong under me don’t ya baby?”

Messy!!! When he eats you out, but definitely blames it on you. “You’re making such a mess on my face, ma. Are you that turned on?” And he’d dive right back into your pussy. He wants to taste all of you.

LOVES seeing you on top of him. “Go on, baby, get yourself off on my cock.” He’ll either let you set the pace, or he’s gripping your hips, hard, and drilling up into you. He just loves watching your facial expressions.

When he’s sitting against the headboard while you ride him? He’ll wrap his arms around your body and have his face buried in your breasts. Kissing them, sucking on them, nipping at them, something! “It looks like your marks from last time are fading. I guess I need to redo them.” Sometimes he’ll grip your hair from behind and pull it back to completely expose your neck to him. “I love it when you let me leave marks on your neck, baby.” And boy will he leave some marks, as long as you allow him.

“I want to watch how desperate you look as I give you every last inch of me.” Remember how I said he was a tease? No matter if you are crying in desperation for him, he’s inserting himself so slowly into you. He just loves watching your face scrunch as you try to take him all in.

Personally, I think he someone who will have your face planted into the pillow as he rails into you from behind, locking your hands behind your back with his own grip.

He loves bringing you to a point of overstimulation, whether it’s with his fingers or his cock. He loves how you stumble over your words, or grip his wrists, and cry out from the pain and pleasure that you’re feeling.

He’s not one to come inside of you, but he loves either coming on your stomach or on your ass. “Stay still, baby. I want to take a picture of you like this, for future use.”

When all is said and done, and he’s cleaning you up. He’s placing kisses starting from your ankles all the way up your body to your lips all while mumbling, “You did so good, baby, such a good girl for me.” Sometimes he may get a little carried away with the kisses which will subsequently lead to round two.

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alien-magnolia · 5 months

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I Need Someone Older

Fic description: Dean finds you on a hunt and takes you along to get you safely out of danger, fun ensues :) as the two of you feel an inevitable pull of attraction towards each other.

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tw: AGE GAP! Hyper-feminine reader in early 20’s, Dean in late 40’s, daddy issues <3, dom-coded dean, sub-coded reader, bj, breeding kink!, extremely subby-coded reader, helplessness, praise!!!

Word count: 3.1k

Don’t like, don’t read!!

May 5, 2007

7:40 pm

Your white knee high socks were getting a little dusty from the dirt on the woodsy soil. You came out here to write your poetry, desiring a place for peaceful solitude, and perhaps some creative inspiration. You dusted off your skirt as you sat down on the moist bed of grass. The waning moon was a bit yellow tonight, yet you thought nothing off it. You began to write a few words in your floral notebook, with some neat handwriting and a gel pen.

All of a sudden, you hear a wail in the distance. The wind is cold. A few leaves rustle out a few feet away from you, causing you to stare into the dark pathway on your left, in which many trees loitered. You felt as if you were being watched. You continue with your writing, until again you hear a rustle, this time, a bit closer than before. A chill goes down your spine, and you slowly turn to see a pair of yellow eyes, a figure with long, sharp, claws, and a tall, curved, spiny, skinny, body, with a tail. It snarls, coming closer to you. You drop your notebook, and crawl backwards, the dirt making indents on your palms. You hear a few male voices, and see boots running to attack the creature.

You see a flame, the creature is light ablaze, and you pass out from fear. The last thing you remember is strong arms lifting you up, the smell of beer and cherry pie clouds your nostrils.

You wake up in the wood again, this time, the brighr and warm morning light shines down on your skin, littered with cuts and bruises. You seemed to have lost your favorite lipgloss in the process.

“Where am I? My head…,” you whine, seeing a handsome man next to you, bandaging your cuts and cleaning them. That cheered you up a bit. You wince as his calloused hands rub alcohol on your wound, and you meet his eyes. He had green eyes, dark hair, wore a flannel and jeans and had the most amazing body <3 he looked just, so big, compared to you!

You ask him his name and what happened. “The name’s Dean, sweetheart. My brother and I were in these woods looking for a wendigo. We sure as hell did find one.” You nod, still reeling from the attack last night. “Did that… person, thing, do that to me?,” you ask, eyes wide, a bit nervous. “It’s no person, honey,” he chuckles darkly. “Hate to break it to you, but monsters are real. The whole gang. Vampires, werewolves, spirits, demons, all other things that go bump in the night. All are real.” You sit in shock as he continues to fix your wounds. You notice how good his calloused (gunpowder covered) fingers feel on your calves. You wince as he brushes over a wound, jerking your leg back.

“Too rough?,” he asks, a large hand resting on your thigh. You nod. “S’alright. I’ll be more gentle, yeah?,” he asks, and you nod, feeling satisfied as the older man returns your smile.

“Hey. Might’ve caught trail of another wendigo up ahead. We should get going,” another man dressed in similar fashion walks up ahead, talking to Dean, taking a glance at you. “What's the hold up, Dean?,” he asks.

“Shut it, Sammy. Can’t you see I’m doing something here? Found her at the site where the thing was. Had to fix her up.” Sam nods, as Dean tells him your name. The two then agree to further go hunt for the second wendigo. “What about her? We’re deep in the woods now, sure as hell she ain’t going to go back on her own, Sammy.” “Fine. Take her with you, as long as she doesn’t cause a problem.”

So it was. You were now going to hunt for the wendigo with the Winchester brothers. The dirt and thick jagged branches sometimes were too much for your legs to handle, so you held onto Dean for some of the walk. He didnt seem to mind, and only smirked as you accidentally leaned too much into him, your soft chest grazing his wide and big arms.

“Stay here, stay put. Don’t go anywhere,” Dean commands you, and you do as said, wait as the boys go into the dark cave. An hour later — there was fire, shrieking, and the boys come out unscathed. The last wendigo has been killed, and the three of you make your way back to “baby,” which you later learned was Dean’s nickname for his ‘67 Impala.

Dean drove with Sam in the front, you in the back seat. You dozed in and out of consciousness as the engine lulled you toward the heavy tug of sleep, you overheard the two men speaking about you.

“Well, Dean she has no ID on her so it’s better off that we take her to the local sheriff’s station. We know Jody, she might be able to help,” Sam inquired. “Yeah, well Sammy, you know what, Jody’s probably just going to tell her to go back to the woods or some shit. Maybe she’s far from home. Maybe she was hiding. Who the hell knows? Bet she’d tell us first before talking to law enforcement,” Dean countered.

“Why is it always you and women, Dean? She’s so young too. Maybe a little too young for you?”

“Shut it, Sammy. Respect her. She probably has her reasons. She’s real pretty and I’ll get what I want, eventually,” Dean retorted. Sam sighed.

You drifted back into sleep but squeezed your thighs together at the thought of the older man using you and getting what “he wants.”

You were more than happy to give it to him.

You were in a dingy 1970’s era hotel room, with dark brown shag carpet, rickety beds with neon orange polyester sheets, and a single lamp in the corner, flickering on occasion. No tv, but a rotary phone and radio. Sam was on a chunky laptop that whined and whistled due to all the power his research into Wendigos was taking up. You believed he was on a library forum of some sort. You sat on the bed, dwindling with the phone cord. The low buzz of the fan was heard from the corner.

Dean comes up to you. “Heya, kid. I’m gonna go get some grub. Wanna come with?,” he asks, offering you a hand to help you up from the bed. You nod, smiling, and taking his hand. Dean opted to go to a local bar to get some takeout. He ordered a large burger, large pilsner beer, and a cherry pie. You got some chicken and French fries, sharing some pie with him. You tell him that you were in the woods to write poetry, you got lost and then time seemed to go. Your cell was dead too. He told you about his ‘job’ with his brother Sam, choosing to follow his dad John Winchester’s legacy of hunting down things that go bump in the night. He made you laugh, asking you about your writing, your college education, a life that someone like him never had.

“We’re so different, you and I, know that? Seriously. I mean, college? In my dreams. Wondering what that’s like,” he said to you, while taking a sip of his beer.

“What can I say. I want a decent life for myself, sometimes. I have a pull towards the arts. Literature, actually. Sometimes though, I just want to be on my own. Without the pressures of society, on the road, like you two. Bet you don’t have any deadlines to meet,” you jokingly admit to Dean.

He chuckles, but then nods, a more serious expression growing on his face now, taking another sip of his beer. “Life sucks, kid. Sucks for me and Sammy, we’re out on the road, might die the next day. Never know what the fuck’s chasing after us,” he has a bit of a solemn expression, taking another sip of his beer.

You nodded, understanding him, seeing through the “tough guy” facade that he’s put up. He was scared. He needed someone to comfort him, to support him. His brother was his partner, yet that wasn’t the partner he was looking for.

You reach over to put your dainty hand on his large one. “Thanks for dinner, really. We should save some for Sam, though, I think,” you giggle, watching a grown man blush over your gentle touch. “Yeah, sure thing sweetheart. Anytime…,” he trails off, his blush seemed to get stronger and he was avoiding eye contact a bit.

“You okay?,” you ask, meeting his eyes, feeling something start to heat up between the two of you, the air suddenly was heavy. “You’re just, well, pretty, kid. Seriously. Real fuckin’ nice, sweets,” he chuckles, his large fingers coming to intertwine with yours. You almost faint under the pressure of his hand on yours, your eyes drift to his muscular and wide frame, his tattered Jean jacket, his necklace on a black piece of string, his chiseled jawline. As funny as he was, you knew that you had an undeniable attraction towards him.

He saved you from the wendigo, but you let him. You let him take you back to the motel with Sam. You let him have you stay with them. Now. You’d let him have your body. All of it.

“Maybe we can go into those woods again? I can show you some poems?,” you reel, watching the older man’s eyes light up with a burning flame. “Sure, thing, kid. I’ll take you up there in ‘baby.’

With a few stares and leers from the other inhabitants of the shady bar, Dean leads you by the waist out the door, and into his impala, opening the door for you, of course.

“Ladies first,” he bows down a bit as he holds the shabby car door open for you. You take his helping hand and slide into the shotgun (front) seat. He quickly runs over to the driver’s side, a toothpick in his mouth as he climbs in, adjusting the jagged rearview mirror. You struggled to buckle up in the old model of a car, so Dean helped out, buckling it for you. You liked the many things he seemed to do for you. His care. His help.

He pulls out of the diner driveway, one of his ringed hands on the wheel, another tracing gentle patterns all over your thigh. You adjust your socks as his patterns make you heat up — inside and out. “I know a place. You down? If not I’m fine with it, sweet thing. No pressure, s’all,” his voice is soft, gentle, as if speaking to a child. You blush. “It’s alright, Dean. I’ll show you my poems. I’ll show you something else too, I think you’ll like it,” you cover your smile as you let out a few small giggles. He smirks back at you.

“Oh I’ll like it, alright. God damn,” he stifles, his strong, calloused fingers gripping a bit harder on your soft thigh. The rest of the drive was tense, just how you liked it. Soft rock — ‘Blue Oyster Cult’s’ “Don’t Fear The Reaper” played in the background, and it would usually lull you to sleep. Not tonight. Your heart raced, stealing glances at the man next to you. The man about to take your virginity, what concept you or society made of it. You hoped he didn’t mind.

The impala pulled into a motel parking lot: the same one where you left from. “Dean. Your brother..won’t he..?, you ask, and he quickly interrupts. “Well just be in a different room, is all. Sammy wouldn’t care anyway, as much as I’d like him to. He takes your hand again, leading you to Room 22, on the second floor. Your fingers trace the grimy balcony railing as you head up there.

The door shuts. You smile at him, then look down at your feet. “Can I, um. Kiss you, Dean?,” you ask, shy and sweet, a delicious pie on the shelf, a cherry blossom that smells and tastes so sweet, intoxicating the older man closer and closer to you. “F’course. You’ve never done this before, have you?” You nod. “Let me take the lead, yeah, sweet thing. I’ll be gentle. Scout’s honor,” he smiles, holding up two fingers. You nod, wrapping your small arms around his broad chest. Your soft chest pressed against his, you feel the cool metal of his pentagram necklace press against your warm, beating heart.

His large arms trail down to squeeze your waist a bit, and then rub circles down below, your waist and hips. He gave them a tight squeeze, you gasped at his strength. His fingers continued ministrations on your waist, hips, thighs, and the two of your lips danced in a slow and sensual rhythm. You could taste the beer and cherry pie on him, and you ran your fingers through his coarse hair.

His thumb rubs your cheek a bit, and he picks you up in his arms, you wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you over to the bed, gently laying you down under him. His face above you, his brown eyes in awe taking in your sweet skin, putting him in a trance. His calloused hands run down your arms, your belly, gentle, soft, and slow. He grabs your chin, pulling your face towards his, and meets you for a chaste kiss, slow, you felt the stubble on his cheek and smiled into his lips.

His hand runs through your hair, over your cheek, this thumb caressing your face a bit. You keep the kiss going, you feel him getting rougher, hungrier for you. Your hands touch his broad chest, trailing on the hem of his shirt, which you take off. His chest was bare, just with a tiny bit of hair, and a very prominent happy trail <3 of which you run your fingers through.

His hands lead your hips up against the wall, tracing patterns on your back. Your lips are hungry for each others, you push your chest into his. “Fuck, sweet thing. Gonna drive me up the wall here, Jesus,” his voice now an octave deeper, raspier, breathless. His cherry pink swollen lips meet yours again, you feel his aftershave on your face. Your thighs rub against his growing bulge, positioning your legs so his thickening tent on his jeans was pressed up snug, right into your growing wetness in between your legs.

“Dean…want it,” you moan out, your delicate, manicured fingers tracing the toughness of his stubble. “Want what, huh? Gotta ask nicely, don’t keep me guessing, honey,” he smirks, a condescending expression appearing on his handsome face.

“I-uh, your, uh, oh, fuck,” you breathlessly whimper out, as his rough, calloused fingers gently slide down between your legs, rubbing your soft, warm folds, through your pretty and pink lace.

“Let me see what you got down there, hmm?,” he smirks, knowing that he has you completely wrapped around his finger. You nod, his hand cups your cheek for another kiss. He slides off your skirt, your knee highs, your Lacey top. You work on his jeans, until he stops you, with a look — meaning that he can take care of it.

All clothes gone — your legs intertwine, he presses his leaking bulge into your folds, you could practically feel how you clenched around nothing!!

“Dean…,” you beg again. “What’s wrong, huh? What’re you beggin’ for, seeet thing. Gotta give me words,” he says, all the while his thick fingers continue to work you open — get you ready for him.

A soft smile is on his face as his fingers become ever so gentle, continuing a circular pattern, pausing to tightly cup and squeeze your pulsing mound.

“Want. Want your, ha — your cock, Dean. Please. Please!,” you squeal out, just as he cups and massages your mound once more. “Why didn’t you say so, at first, sweet thing? Here I was thinkin’ you only wanted my fingers,” he chuckles, smile full of adoration — seeing you in a close to ruined state. His fingers pull out with a squelch.

You whine at the loss, your cunt throbbing, pulsing, desperate to be filled!! He smiles, hands on your hips. “Bend over f’me, baby.” You do as said, his smile and yours widen as his two hands cup your ass, giving it a hard smack.

His hands trace up and down your back, your waist, until you feel his soft tip press at your entrance. You turn around to view what you’ve been waiting for. He’s big. Short, yet thick. Oh so thick. You weren’t sure if he’d fit. A large vein ran down his left side. Fuck — how you wanted that in your mouth.

His hand gently guides your face back down into the table which you were bent over. “Down, baby. You’ll get a chance later, yeah?,” he soothes you. You nod. You feel his throbbing tip at your mound, as he slides in — you feel the stretch, just for a bit, and then he starts to push in, you felt so full !!

“Fuck— ah, Dean, too much, too much,” you squeal out, as he slides in, and starts to move, thrust, slow, gentle at first, and then deep, fast, his thick balls slapping against your mound. You saw stars, felt pressure as he kept going, faster, rutting into you, his hairy chest pressing into your back. The man had put you in a mating press. You wouldn’t mind. With how it’s going with him — you’d take his seed. Anything for the man that saved you from the Wendigo.

Your eyes roll back into your head, his grip on your hips was like a vice. The two of you finish with screams. He groans. “Fuck, sweet thing. You take it like a champ, yeah?” You nod giddily, anything for his praise and approval. “How’s about we stay in this room tonight? I’ll getchu’ a beer.” You nod. “That’s my good girl. Stay put.” With that, your mound is even more wet, you’re left clenching, covered in his cum as he leaves to get you snacks.

He comes back, presses a nice kiss to your forehead, and makes the two of you some dinner. You wondered what this will lead to.

Author’s note: pls support your creators <3 if you love this fic pls comment or reblog! Greatly appreciated <3 xoxo - Liz

#liz’s masterlist #liz writes 🖤#supernatural smut #Dean Winchester smut #dean x reader #dean winchester hot #winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #dom!dean winchester #hyperfeminine!reader

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365granitegirlx · 1 month

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♡ Let’s Fuck Her Up ♡

There’s nothing wrong with an innocent game of truth or dare among roommates…unless they’re two guys who seem to have massive crushes on you and each other.

Vessel x IV x F!Reader

Smut, M/M/F threesome, Bi!Token, praise, dirty talk, fingering, cunnilingus, finger sucking, some spanking, reader is yanked around like a fleshlight, p in v (pretend we talked about birth control prior), and they were roommates

A/N: a ✨ beloved mutual ✨ once said “hey what about a truth or dare fic” and then I was struck by lightning in Best Buy with this idea. Also I took to just naming them Ves and Ivy in this for my mental health.

You’re laying on the couch. Mindlessly scrolling. Completely zoned out from whatever Ves and Ivy are talking about. 20 minutes ago it was all “yeah let’s go out oi oi” and all that but no one had any good ideas. Well. You did! But of course, the “boys club” always overruled you. You knew there were risks involved rooming with two guy best friends—either they treated you like a helpless little girl that needed defending and items retrieved from high spots or like you were the neighborhood girl their respective parents had guilted them into inviting. Suddenly, you hear your name and a snap.

“What?! Jesus.” You say rolling your eyes as Ivy tries to get your attention.

“I asked you something…”

“She’s checked out, man,” Ves says chuckling.

“Yeah yeah, fine. I’ll ask again. Truth or dare?” Ivy asks with his elbows on his knees as he leans forward on the loveseat across from you. Ves shakes his head and stifles a laugh, whispering “you wanker” in reference to Ivy’s mischievous grin.

You snort and decide to play along just to prove how stupid of an idea this is. How old are we?

“Fine. Truth.”

Ivy taps his chin as if he doesn’t already have a question in mind. “Which of us is the best looking?”

“Me. Easy.” You say straightfaced. It’s incredibly satisfying to watch Ivy’s shit-eating grin melt into a scowl. Ves pats him on the back as if to say “there there big guy.”

“Well…ok…but…” Ivy sputters.

“You actually disagree with her, Ivy?”

“What? No, I mean, come on…apples…apples and oranges mate.”

“So why’d you ask her? That’s literally the same question you asked her.” Ves asks with an exasperated laugh, flailing his arm a bit.

You’re watching them banter and the same suspicion creeps up in the back of your mind. There’s something more there. Maybe. The way they look at each other. The little nudges. That’s not just chemistry…that’s not just…being playful.

“Boys boys boys,” you interrupt. They both look at you. “Ves…truth or dare?”

The taller man blushes a little. Maybe he didn’t actually want to play this game and thought Ivy was being a prick. Maybe he just couldn’t believe you were playing along. He shrugs, trying to look nonchalant. “Dare.”

You catch Ivy’s eye and realize you’re both chuckling at Ves’s willingness to take on a dare. A tiny moment. Another one of those times where you think, “is this something?”

“Alright…I dare you toooooo…hmm…read us your most recent sexts.” You laugh but the boys don’t. You expected Ves’s reaction—rolling his eyes and rubbing his temples—but you didn’t expect Ivy’s blush. Or him fidgeting a little. “Uhm…”

Ves shrugs. “I don’t sext.”

“Oh. Well…”

He snorts. “I’m fucking with you.” He fishes his phone out of his pocket as Ivy watches him with great interest. What is this? There has to be something going on. He unlocks his phone and scrolls a bit. “Ok…it says…” he scrolls some

more, “it says ‘you should have your lips around me instead.” And with that he locks the phone and puts it back in his pocket. He looks over at Ivy as if he’s sizing him up. You feel like you shouldn’t be here.

“Truth or Dare, Ive?”

Ivy rolls his eyes as if the game he decided they should play is the stupidest thing ever. “Truth, I guess.”

Ves responds immediately. “Tell her what you said about the last guy she brought over.”

Oop. Ivy’s eyebrows furrow, and you feel your stomach drop a bit. The last guy you had over was pretty sweet but didn’t seem quick to move forward. You still talk to him and go out sometime.

Ivy pinches the bridge of his nose and answers. He knows he needs to be a good sport for his own game.

“I said he was a loser.”

“And?”

Ivy groans. “And a simp.”

“What’s wrong with being a simp?” You ask with play seriousness.

“You need someone who doesn’t have to be pathetic to get your attention. Not some lost idiot.”

You laugh with a scoff. “Takes one to know one?”

Ivy throws a small pillow in your general direction and you toss it back when it falls near you. He dodges it and grabs the pillow Ves had been holding. He’s ready to start a pillow fight as you shriek and giggle as he comes toward you when Ves says “alright alright, Ivy it’s your turn.” Ivy lands a soft thump of the pillow against your side before sitting by Ves again.

“Fine. Sour puss. Alright princess, truth or dare?”

Your cheeks are still warm from the silliness and adrenaline. You gather your nerves and…

“Dare.”

Ivy nods and thinks for a second before looking back at Ves. Some unspoken boy conversation going on between them.

“Let us guess what color panties you have on. If neither of us can, you get bragging rights. If one of us guesses correctly…you have to prove it.”

Both men are looking at you like your word is law. They’re hanging on the edge on your every word. Waiting. Like good boys. Wait no stop that. You sigh and stand up, doing a little twirl. “Alright, do your worst.”

“Black” they both blurt out, straightfaced.

Fuck. You shouldn’t be surprised but here you are scoffing and rolling your eyes. You loop your thumbs under your shorts and pull them down enough to let them see your black boyshorts. “Congrats on guessing one of the most common underwear colors. Alright. Ivy. Truth or dare?”

“But it’s my turn!” Ves interjects.

“Dare.” Ivy snaps back calmly. The tension is building.

“Give Ves a little kiss.”

There’s a lengthy, heavy pause. Ivy huffs out a little laugh. “Is that all you’ve got?”

Ivy and Ves lean towards each other and you feel a pulse deep deep inside you. Ves crooks his finger under Ivy’s chin as their lips meet. Seconds feel like an eternity. Ivy cups Ves’s face and gently caresses the taller man’s cheekbone with his thump. Your breath catches in uncomfortable shock but your synapses are firing like crazy. They’ve done this before. And it’s so hot. It is so clear just how into each other they are as one kiss ends and Ivy immediately initiates another. At one point Ves gently bites Ivy’s bottom lip, and Ivy chuckles as he pushes Ves back a little. Not out of disgust…but more like “not here, not now at least”

Ivy looks at you as he runs his fingers through his blonde hair and licks his lips. You barely register that you’ve actually slipped off your shorts while watching your roommates make out. “You cool doing a dare,” he asks, nodding up at you.

You nod wordlessly. Your breath is coming heavier.

“Good girl. I dare you…”

He looks at Ves but his eyes are taking in every single inch of your body. Ivy lets out a dry chuckle and looks back to saying, “I dare you to sit in Ves’s lap.”

You look at Ves for some kind of reassurance or “gotcha” reaction, but instead he beckons you forward and pats his lap. As if in a trance you walk towards him and shyly straddle his lap. His hands gently tug you by the hips.

“There she is…” Ves whispers as he looks up at you and moves your hair off your shoulders. Ivy scoots closer and puts his arm around Ves.

“Look at her on your thighs…” Ivy says without breaking his gaze from your body.

“I know. Like an angel.”

“Mm like a queen.”

“Ah…yeah…a queen. On her throne. Aren’t you?”

You know you look dumb right now because you feel dumb. “Wha-…”

They both giggle at your adorable confusion. Ivy starts toying with the strap of your tank top as Ves kneads your hips and love handles. Ves lets his head rest back on the couch as his hands go under your shirt.

“Is it ok if he does that, babes” Ivy asks softly as he brushes your hair behind your ears before pulling down your tank strap.

You nod, “…yeah. I…I like it.”

“Good. I do, too” Ves says as he lifts your shirt a little. You instinctively suck in your stomach but both guys protest. Ivy caresses your tummy with his fingertips and hums happily. “She’s too cute,” Ves says as he lets one of his hands drift up to cup your face. His thumb rubs over your lips, and your tongue pokes out to touch it. You taste his skin as his long thumb presses past your lips. You let out a small moan which elicits reverent coos and sighs from the guys.

“You like how he tastes, princess?” Ivy asks as his hands smooth over your back and ass. He leans close to your ear… “you should really try his cock. If you like his thumb that much…” he plants tiny kisses on your neck… “then imagine how wet you’ll get when you’re deep throating him.”

You moan and move your head to kiss Ivy. His plump lips press against you in the most delicious yet agonizingly tender way. Ves moans as he watches and circles your nipple under your tank with his thumb…still wet from playing with your tongue. Ivy palms your other breast through your tank top as you grasp at his thick, delicious body. He moans gently and relishes in finally…finally kissing you. You’ve always thought he was sweet and gentle. Listening to you vent, ruffling your hair when you’re being silly or even when he’s proud. So kissing him was like coming home. A hug.

Ves’s free hand trails up Ivy’s chest and rests at his neck. You pull away reluctantly from your friend’s lips…only to lean down and kiss your other friend.

If kissing Ivy was tender and soft, kissing Ves was frantic and needy. Between the two of them, you’ve felt the most sexual tension with Ves. You often end up spending a lot of alone time together. Just scrolling or watching something mindless. It’s not that you don’t talk…it’s comfortable silence. And glances. So many stolen glances. But now he’s holding your hips tight and pressing you against his toned body like you might disappear. Ivy groans softly as he watches you two, his lovers.

“She’s sweet, isn’t she, babe?” Ivy whispers to Ves as you feel your shirt being going over your head.

Ves pulls back from the kiss to get your shirt off and bites his lip as he ogles your chest. “Like fucking sugar,” he says breathlessly. He pulls you close and licks a long line up up your chest, making you moan with your head back. Ivy turns your face to him and nuzzles your nose with his as Ves starts kissing and sucking at your tits.

“Ivy…mm..please…” you whimper…willing him to touch you.

“Use your words, sugar,” Ves growls, “tell Ivy what you want. You’ll love it…he’ll make you feel so good.”

Ivy chuckles as you tug at his hand. “Touch me…please…I need you…” you groan… “take care of me.”

Both Ves and Ivy make cute satisfied little sounds as Ivy’s thick fingers slide under your boyshorts. You gasp as he finds your clit and blush with embarrassment at just how good it feels to have him touch you as Ves sucks your nipples. Your fingers tangle in Ves’s hair and your teeth clench as Ivy moves to trace your slit. You sit up a little to give him more room but the angle is weird…and you’ve never had two men pawing at you before. You’ve never been shared. The pad of Ivy’s middle finger playfully taps at your entrance. This whole time he’s been kissing and nipping at your neck but now he moves his lips to your ear.

“You’re a needy girl, aren’t you? You like doing this, hm? Being in the center of attention?” He whispers as he ghosts over your clit again. You whimper as he pulls his coated fingers from your folds. “Fuck she’s hot. Ves…”

Ves briefly looks up and quickly pulls away from your breast when Ivy offers him his finger. You watch as Ivy traces his finger around Ves’s lips before Ves takes the finger into his mouth. He takes a sharp breath and moans as he holds Ivy’s hand steady as your essence off him. God you want to just stare. Seeing the way Ves looks up with eager eyes and the way Ivy just lets him clean his fingers breaks your brain. You feel like a chained up bitch in heat. You want to play. You want to be your normal, slutty enthusiastic self…to show them what you can do…how you can make them feel. But you feel intimidated. Sensing your discomfort, Ves pulls you close. When he disengages from Ivy’s hand, he buries his face in your neck, taking in your scent and biting you gently.

“It’s a bit much, yeah? A lot to take in,” Ves says softly as he trails kisses on your collarbone. “Do you want to keep going?”

You can barely think. On one hand you have no idea what this means for the dynamic afterwards, on the other…if you don’t cum tonight you might actually combust. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

You feel Ivy pulling you off Ves’s lap and against his nude torso. You were so wrapped up in Ves marking you that you didn’t hear Ivy get undressed. He pulls you down to the floor and lays you down. You look up and see Ves slipping off his tshirt before laying beside you.

“He’s going to take such good care of you, sugar,” Ves says almost teasingly as he kisses your temple. “You’re gonna cum all over Ivy’s fingers and pretty face.”

Ves’s hand slides down to your now bare pussy and gently circles your clit before carefully spreading your lips to give Ivy better access.

“Fuck…Ves…”

“Ah Ves you should see how her pussy clenches when you touch her. Fuck you’re getting her ready for me” Ivy says right against your clit. He flicks his tongue sharply against it, making you jolt. Ves responds by kissing your cheeks and cooing words of praise.

“Yeah he’s good with his tongue, huh, babygirl? Do you like what he’s doing?”

You feel your pussy quiver against Ivy’s face as he alternates between licking and sucking your clit. Ivy reaches up to play with your tits. Ves caresses Ivy’s arm as your nipple is lightly pinched. You moan and try to lift your head to kiss Ves…or get his attention at least. His eyes are glued to your slick cunt and the gorgeous man eating it out. Ivy must be looking back because you see Ves blow a little kiss before he turns his attention to you. You reach up to him and finally get to m pull him in for a sweet kiss. Ivy moans into your pussy and adds two fingers. As he rubs your sensitive bundle from the inside you break the kiss and moan against Ves’s lips.

“Ves…Ivy…I…I…don’t—“

Ivy stops when he hears this. Both men are concerned about you when you whimper like that. Ivy lays atop you, his still clothed bulge pressing against your hot cunt.

“I don’t…know how to cum unless I do it myself.” You say blushing profusely. “It’s not that easy for me to just…let go.”

Ves pets your hair as Ivy softly kisses your collarbone. “Then you call the shots, love. What do you need? What would you like?” Ivy asks softly before he gently teeths your ear lobe.

“I need to get fucked.”

Ivy and Ves share a pleasantly surprised look. They thought for sure you’d say you needed a breather but here you were asking to be dicked down by your two closest guy friends. Ves leans in to kiss Ivy before whispering “you’re already on top of her…you go first, handsome.”

Your pussy throbs watching them kiss right in front of you. Ivy cradles Ves’s face so tenderly you feel like you’re intruding, but you quickly feel apart of the moment when Ivy begins tracing lazy circles on your tummy. Ves’s kisses trail down Ivy’s cheek to his neck, and you take the opportunity to sit up. Shyly, you reach out and touch Ivy’s bulge through his shorts. He lets out a sharp moan as you stroke the length. It’s thick, and you can already imagine the stretch that would come from taking it completely. Ivy gently pushes your hand away.

“You’re too good at that, babe. Mm slow down.”

You chuckle softly and start kissing the other side of Ivy’s neck. He groans whinly. “Oh fuck you both…mm…‘snot fair.” Ves chuckles and moves his kisses to your cheeks. “Yeah there we go. Let’s pick on our girl” Ivy says as he dive bombs the other side of your neck. You squirm and moan as they both kiss, suck, and bite at your neck. Ves moves to you close to him as he lays back on the floor. You’re positioned like you’re going to ride him but you hear Ivy taking his shorts off behind you.

“Ivy’s going to fuck you now…yeah? Can you handle that for us, baby?”

You swallow hard and whimper as your feel the head of Ivy’s cock tease your entrance.

“She wants it, Ves. You should feel it.”

“Oh yeah,” Ves asks with a bemused expression as his unceremoniously reaches down and fingers you.” Mmm. Yeah…you are awfully wet…and you’re practically trying to suck my fingers in.”

Ves removes his fingers but you don’t feel empty for long. Ivy presses against your pussy and presses in with delicious restraint. He’s big and you’re tight. It’s been a little since you’ve been fucked from behind so it takes a second for you to regain some brain power after Ivy’s cock finally caresses your gspot. You feel yourself clench on him and a gentle spank.

“She’s gonna make me lose it, Ves. She’s so tight.”

“Mm yeah? She gonna milk you dry?”

You moan and try to relax but it’s hard when they talk about you like you’re not here. How they praise you and flirt with each other.

“If I’m not careful, yeah…she just might.” Ivy spanks you again. “You’re gonna love her Ves…well…love her more.”

Your brain feels fuzzy as you look down at Ves as holds your hips still for Ivy. Ivy starts rolling his hips into you…the stretch and friction is incredible. You feel like you’re on fire and itching an in impossible scratch.

“Mm. Such a good girl. We just love you…don’t we Ive?” Ves asks as he stares up at you. Ivy can’t answer the question directly.

“God…fuck…finally…finally…such a good girl…fucking love you, babygirl.”

You cry out as you press against Ivy for a deeper fuck. “I…love you…Ivy…fuck…aaahh GOD baby.” Your climax ripples through you as he keeps you in place for his boyfriend. “Fuck. FUCK. I love you both.”

Ivy’s breath hitches and he grabs for Ves’s hand. Ves looks up at you sweetly and says, “Ivy’s gonna cum inside you. Ok? Such a good girl to take his cum. And then…I’m going to fuck his cum and my cum so deep in you that you won’t sit right tomorrow. And we’ll have to take care of you…sweet princess. Someone will have to kiss that pretty pussy better when we’re done. Would you like that? For your boys to take care of you and pamper you all day? All the fingers and cocks and…”

“Shut up Ves…I’m not gonna last long if you don’t…fuck…hnng.” Ivy desperately fucks into you. He’s holding back, you can tell. The pace is measured and careful…and so fucking hot. Ves winks and flashes a wicked grin.

“I’m just having a conversation with our girl. That’s all…” Ves starts moves hands to your breasts and presses hot, wet kisses on each one. You feel another orgasm clench Ivy’s cock.

“Ivy! You’re so….fucking big….” You cry out as you become overstimulated.

“Nah baby…fuck…fuck…you’re fucking right…god Ves, she’s so tight. You’re gonna love it….”

“Ivy cum for me…please,” you beg. Your confidence is growing, and since Ves isn’t holding your hips anymore, you fuck Ivy right back. You feel his wide hand press into the middle of your back, making you fall against Ves. Ivy cries out your name and moans out in whines as he coats your womb with his cum. Your pussy clenches hard like it’s desperate for more.

Ves breathes heavily after holding you as Ivy fucked you and made you his for the moment. “I don’t know if I’ll last long,” he says pathetically. “You two are so hot together.”

Ivy pulls out of you and comes to your side. You two share a deep kiss and stare into each others eyes for a bit.

“You’re so good,” you whisper to him.

“That’s you, girl.” He gives him a quick kiss. “Now let’s play with Ves.” Ivy pats you to get off Ves and he tells Ves to sit on the couch. Ves obeys and takes off his sweats. His cock is hard and twitching for both of you. He sits on the couch, and you straddle him once again. Ivy guides your hips and sets you down on Ves’s cock…slowly…slowly…slowly…

You moan and whimper as you’re stretched once again. Ivy was definitely thicker, but Ves had length and a slight bend that felt so yummy inside you.

“Fffuuuuccckk…Ves…baby…” your voice is barely coming out.

“Move her,” Ves whispers to Ivy as he plays with your nipples.

“Alright…work with me, babygirl, yeah? You want him to bust for your pussy?” Ivy whispers huskily from behind you as he starts to move your hips up and down. He has you bouncing on Ves’s cock…he’s in control. Ves’s fingers press roughly into your plush hips so hard you can feel the bruises blossoming.

“God you’re so perfect…such a fucking queen…” Ves whispers as he pulls you close for warm, desperate kisses. “Ivy…Ivy…I need to fuck her.”

Ivy lets go of your hips, and Ves immediately repositions so he can fuck up into you. Ivy has to cover your mouth as the most obscene moans and whimpers leave your pretty lips.

“You’re gonna be mine, too, baby. You’re gonna be so full from me and Ivy. So much love in your pussy…such a good…fucking…fuck….FUCK.” Ves cums inside you and keeps fucking through his climax. You both and breathing heavily…like you might hyperventilate. Ivy helps you off Ves’s lap and sits you on the couch between them. Ivy clings to your back as Ves moves to hug you. You turn your head as the two men press needy kisses on you, letting it become a slow, sensual kiss between the three of you.

#sleep token #sleep token fanfiction #sleep token x reader #iv sleep token x reader #vessel x reader #sleep token smut #vessel smut #iv smut #wolfie's scribbles

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ode2rin · 1 year

Text

if his tendency to spend all of his money on you (not that any purchase could make a dent in his massive empire) wasn't annoying enough, reo had developed another endearing yet infuriating habit—one that left you torn between feeling adored and wanting to throw the nearest pillow at his face.

said man is currently in the kitchen with you, attempting (albeit with some struggle) to be useful by following your every move. tired of his constant hovering, you assigned him a simple task to keep him busy: taking out the groceries from the paper bags.

here came his habit again. the first time he did it, you brushed it off, assuming he hadn't heard you well due to the distance. the second time, you noticed his subtle perks and pouts. now, for the third time, you were determined to catch him.

“reo…” from where you’re standing, you could see how he perks up at your call, “can you pass me the apple?”

silence.

you’re right. you tried again, just to be sure.

“reo.”

another beat of silence. this one followed by an affectionate sigh and a wry smile on your face.

“love, can you pass me the —”

“here.”

almost instantly, reo materialized beside you, a beaming smile adorning his face, looking at you like his gaze meant to say, ‘yes. i am love, that’s me.’ he extended the requested fruit with a graceful motion, his fingers gentle as he offered it to you.

this man, really. “so, you can hear me properly after all, huh?”

“yeah? my hearing is fine.”

“oh, is it? i couldn’t tell because i called you twice, and you weren’t responding. why is that?” you teased, a fond smile gracing your lips as you start slicing the apple you washed.

he pouts, his go-to theatrical gesture that's hard to ignore. “you know why,” he mumbles.

of course, you do. you had used that endearment once, and now, suddenly he insists on being called by nothing else. it had been a slip of your tongue, a phrase that felt like it was custom-made for him and him alone. looking at how his smile nearly outshines the sun when you address him as such, you can't help but consider that maybe love—both the word and the emotion it embodies—is all about him, for you.

you love that smile more than anything, so if it means a simple endearment could paint it on his face, you're happy to oblige. well, not without a few playful teases first.

“what if i’m on the brink of danger — like a crocodile is chasing me, and i’m about to die, and i call out your name like ‘reo!’ are you still going to ignore me? because i didn't call you love?” you turn to face reo briefly, then return to your task of slicing apples, the motion fluid and familiar.

it's always been the scene – you doing kitchen work and him watching you, because your boyfriend is a little helpless when it comes to knives, pans, and a stove. or in simpler words, anything to do with what a kitchen is for.

“first of all, that's an incredible imagination and such a realistic situation, given that we live in a city far from any vicinity of swamps, marshlands, brackish waters, and wherever the hell crocodiles live,” reo counters, his voice amused and suddenly defensive.

as he was about to start explaining his second point, you interrupt by placing a sliced apple into his mouth, a light-hearted gesture of “shush” as you hear him out.

but reo is not reo if not stubborn, so even with a muffled voice, he continues. “second, is that what you think of me? you know i will come flying to you!” now, that’s an honest and valid point.

“and lastly, you call everyone a cute pet name. last week, you called a kid sweetie. yesterday, you called a stray cat darling and lovely. then you’re here calling me reo? just reo?” his tone is laced with disbelief, his volume slightly lowered, revealing a hint of embarrassment at his little rant.

a chuckle escapes you as he concludes his argument, prompting you to turn around and draw closer, your arms finding their place around his neck, while his arms encircle you instinctively, holding you close against him.

“reo is my favorite word, though. it’s too bad that you don’t like it.” you murmured.

reo knows what you’re doing. “you’re distracting me.”

“is it working?”

of course, it does. reo isn’t just helpless in the kitchen, but he is a much worse case of helplessness when faced with your warm gaze and soft charms.

he nodded in affirmation, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your back, “have i told you i love you?” he asks, swiftly changing the matter.

“only everyday, love.”

reo began again, ever stubborn and persistent, always eager to prove his point. “that’s not enough. i think i should do it every hour—”

“i love you.”

another beat of silence, again, for the third time.

if it wasn't evident before, it's undeniable now – reo is really helplessly in love with you. such testament to that is him now gaping and at a loss of words for your sudden declaration.

reo needs you to go back to your usual teasing self; your affectionate version might just give him a heart attack.

smiling to yourself because you caught him off guard, you took your chance. “now, go there and sit. as much as i love having you around, you are an awful cook, let alone an assistant.” you gently pushed his chest, guiding him toward the couch.

“that's not how you speak to your loved one, though.” he mumbled in response, seemingly recovered from your sudden i love you that almost knocked the air out of him.

“are you saying something?”

“i said, off the couch i go.”

you shook your head, a fond smile gracing your lips as you watched him, before heading back to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

your loved one, huh? that’s him, definitely.

reo and love, to you, it’s the same thing.

note. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY LOVER (i swear i planned something better pls forgive me) i'm late i know but it's still august 12 here :P i don't know what this is but pls take it away from me. reo i love you i love you i love—

#☁️ my ode to you #mikage reo #reo mikage #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #mikage reo fluff #mikage reo x y/n #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #bllk imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 19 days

Text

good guys, bad deeds

pairing: javi p x f!reader

cws/tags: ONLY ONE BED, javi is reader's dad's best friend, minimal physical description (reader has pussy and boobs and wears a tank top and panties), p in v (unprotected bc ... i'm sorry), oral f! receiving, accidentally cumming inside, author does not speak spanish but wishes she did and researched spanish dirty talk but still knows v little, periodic pov switch

summary: reader comes to visit javi in colombia and he only has one bed, so they decide to sleep in it together and shenanigans ensue. it's wrong but it feels so right...

a/n: for the roll a trope challenge! @burntheedges

wc: 3.9k

taglist:

@gothcsz @onlyasimp4-2dbitches @harriedandharassed @withonly-sweetheart

join my taglist

Half the time Javi smokes inside out of stubbornness – he can still hear the voices of ex-girlfriends back in Texas telling him off for it. He has what he intends to be his last cigarette of the day outside because his apartment has begun to make him stir-crazy. With Escobar "behind bars", there's a brief lull in the DEA office. He's become so used to chaos that he thrives off it now.

A taxi pulls up and a young woman steps out - for better or worse, Javi knows a lot of the women who spend their nights on the streets of Bogota and Medellin. This woman is unfamiliar, though the look in her eyes suggests she knows him. He sifts through strings of drunken memories, but can't place her.

Until he hears her voice. "Uncle Javi!" she says, flying into his arms which are not yet open to catch her. He's a DEA agent, a young woman should not be strong enough to knock the wind out of him but you get pretty damn close.

He'd completely forgotten you were coming – but, even if he'd remembered, he wouldn't have recognized you. God, how long has he been away?

You look older. That's what he tells you later, trying to put it as matter-of-factly as possible, trying to sound neutral and indifferent to the fact that a beautiful woman is standing at his doorstep like a baby in a basket, helpless in a foreign world, brought by cab rather than stork.

Javi carts your luggage up the stairs and little does he know that you're practically salivating over the sight of his broad shoulders, his strong arms that could just pick you up and throw you onto the bed–

"Are you planning to stand there all night?" Javi's voice snaps you out of your daydreams.

"Yeah, yeah, of course. I'm so tired, I'm practically falling asleep standing up."

Jet lag can do a number on anyone, but it doesn't help that the flight attendants were happy to provide you with alcohol. You try to act sober, but Javi's a cop, he's trained to call your bluff.

You stumble through the doorstep and you hear him stifle a laugh. "Are you okay? You look drunk."

"I'm not drunk. I had a few drinks on the plane, but I sobered up at the airport while I was waiting for you to come get me."

You watch guilt wash over him, and you almost take back your statement, but you don't. It's a rare opportunity to see Javi flustered, and even if it's not for the ideal reason (in your dirty mind), you'll take it as consolation for his forgetfulness.

"I'm so sorry. I've been so wrapped up in everything here that I completely forgot you were coming."

You shrug it off, not committing to accepting his apology but not wanting to prolong his suffering either. God forbid a man has to take accountability for his actions.

He follows your gaze which travels across the living room, through the kitchen, as far as your eye can see from the entrance where you stand. "I would've tidied up if I'd known I was having a guest."

"I honestly expected worse."

"You think I'm a slob?"

"No, you're a man – a single man – and the apartment of a bachelor is never a clean one."

"Who says I'm single?"

"Your ring finger."

"Maybe I have a fiancée."

"If you did, I don't think you'd be so defensive."

"I like being single."

"I like being single too."

He moves swiftly away from the relationship status conversation. "Unfortunately, I don't have a guest room, so you'll have to sleep on the couch if that's okay…"

"You're making your guest sleep on the couch?"

"Oh, I assumed you'd be more mature."

"I am mature. That's why I'm asking politely and not throwing a tantrum."

"Fine, mija. I give up. We're both too tired to argue."

"We can take turns, so you can have your bed tomorrow."

Taking turns means Javi shares the bed with you.

He strips himself of his shirt and you struggle to keep your composure. You have a better view of his broad chest and big arms with him shirtless and you can see the trail of hair from his belly button leading down to the waistband of his sweatpants, and god, how you want to find the end of it. A happy trail, they call it, but what it makes you feel is something different than happiness, something impure.

"What?" He catches you staring. "It's hot as fuck in here, and it's my room. I sleep shirtless. Take it or leave it."

Take it. You want him to say it to you in a different context.

"Whatever. You better not try anything funny."

"What is that supposed to mean? Do you really think I'm that type of guy?" He seems genuinely offended that you think of him that way.

And, in truth, you doubt he's like that, which is why your fantasies about him 'trying something funny' are a bit unrealistic, but you let them run wild regardless.

"Chill," you say, "I'm kidding."

The truth is that you'd be perfectly fine with any funny business Javi would be willing to offer you. But it's late and it's your first night as a guest in his apartment, so you decide not to try to provoke him.

You fall asleep soon after you tuck yourself in beside him.

It's been quite some time since Javi has been forced to share a bed with someone. Outside of women who stay over - and women rarely stay after the act is finished — he sleeps alone. You don't snore or drool on him which was a positive as he's been with women who did both of those things. He's known sleep talkers and sleep walkers — Lorraine was the former. It isn't until the middle of the night when he's awoken by your stirring that he realizes how cumbersome it will be to sleep next to you. It's a queen-sized bed, which should fit two, especially when one of those two is a young woman. So, why are you practically on top of him? You've managed to roll over, sprawl out, and curl back up to restart the process. You always end up further on Javi's side, so he continues to inch away until he is forced to be up against you lest he fall off the bed and onto the floor.

He tries to sleep as best he can, and prays for the sun — something he's never done before. Javi is hardly a morning person. But, he wakes up again before his alarm sounds. There is one glaring issue, he finds.

It's not his fault that your ass is up against his crotch and that every movement you make inadvertently teases him. It's so unfair that you make him this hard when he can't jerk off. He can't because you're here. Doubly unfair since you did this to him. It's not your fault that you're pretty — too pretty for your own good, whether Javi ends up giving into the primal needs inside him or you end up with another man. Thinking about that gets him harder - not because he likes to think about you with another man, in fact, he hates it, but jealous fuels the fire inside him. If he let his possessive feelings towards you overcome his rationale, he could fuck you the way you deserve, and he's sure you'd enjoy it. You need it, whether you know it or not.

Or, maybe it's just projection, maybe hope. Pretty women make him weak. God forbid you find out and use it against him. Javi's the type to risk it all - money, career, even his life. Not just for pussy - because it's not about that anyway, it never has been. Pussy is easy to come by - in fact, if he gathers enough saliva in his palm and closes his eyes he can almost replicate the feeling by himself. But being with a woman, all soft skin, strangled moans of his name, nails piercing his skin, needy kisses, teeth, tongue, and heartbeat - he hasn't been able to fully satiate that need ever, and he doesn't remember a time before he was a tenderhearted soul in a soldier's body.

Javi could get himself off, it wouldn't take long, but the shower is in the en-suite so he'd wake you up if he turned on the water. Plus, it'd feel wrong having you in the next room while he did such a thing even if he tried not to think about you while he did it, even if you slept in blissful ignorance, pure and untainted by the knowledge of Javi's teeth digging into his fist to muffle a moan as he shudders through his orgasm.

He wasn't thinking about you until your body was pressed up against his own. He doesn't think of you like that, or at last, he didn't. Not before you came to Bogota, appeared in front of him so grown up that he hadn't recognized you at first. You were a girl the last time you stood in front of him, he remembers having to kneel to hug you when he said goodbye. Time has passed and you're fresh out of college now. A woman, not a girl.

He's somewhere between thinking and dreaming when you spring up in bed with a gasp, and on instinct, his hand flies to the bedside table to search blindly for his gun. Until he realizes it's just you. A harmless girl.

Maybe not completely harmless.

He places his hand to his bare chest as he breathes slowly, trying to calm down.

You look like you're on the verge of tears and it pains him. "I'm so sorry, Uncle Javi."

"Mija, don't worry," he says, rubbing your back to calm you, "You just startled me."

"I just had a bad dream," you tell him.

You used to have those when you were younger, he thinks, now I have them too.

"It was just a dream, you're safe." He lies down and nods for you to lie back down too. "I'll keep you safe," he says quieter.

You move closer, facing him, and he lets you because he knows you need comfort more than anything. Javi resists the urge to hold you, worrying you might feel his hard—on through his sweatpants.

He stares - no, gazes - at you for a moment, unsure of what to say. You meet his eyes with a similar look - inquisitive, though you're more curious than he is. Javi feels dread in the face of what he fears is unfolding. You see an opportunity where he sees a warning. Do not go any further, it says. But he hasn't done anything.

Except for lie down next to you rather than taking the couch, and sleep shirtless rather than sweat through a t-shirt. He's more angry at himself for his reluctance to admit that this is a self-indulgent choice no matter how he flips it. Either he's a bad host or he's a bad man.

The answer becomes clearer when you lean in and he closes his eyes instead of pulling back like he should. He doesn't want to embarrass you, he decides. Better not reject you, at least not like this, he should let you down easy. Which he'll certainly do after kissing you.

It's so unfair, Javi thinks. He'd forgotten what it feels like to kiss someone who wants him. Women want his money, at best, his body. Often, both. But Javi is the type of man who wakes up at sunrise so he can slip out before he has to man up and have an awkward conversation over coffee.

Cupping your cheek gently is certainly wrong but so is kissing you, and he's already doing that. He should kiss you sweetly, make this a little more dignified, salvage what's left.

Your lips are soft and it's not your first kiss unless this is an incredible stroke of beginner's luck. Hungry, yet teasing, forcing him to reveal his own desire when you draw back a bit and he has to be the one to reach for you.

He notices you drifting closer to him and before he can make things much, much worse, he snaps out of it and pulls back entirely.

"Querida, we shouldn't… It's not right," he says because he can't say he doesn't want you.

"Why? What's wrong with it? We're both adults, we're sober, we're single…"

"You're much younger than me, and your father is my friend."

"Age is just a number, and what my dad doesn't know, can't hurt him."

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, playing the whole thing off like he isn't grappling with conflicting feelings inside.

"You said you'd never lie to me, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Tell me the truth, then, do you want me too?"

"You can't ask questions like that, mija."

"Why, Uncle Javi?"

"That's why. I cannot sleep with someone who calls me 'Uncle Javi'."

"It's not like we're actually related."

"I know that. This wouldn't even be up for discussion if that were the case."

"So it's up for discussion?"

"No. No, it's not. We're not doing it."

He stands up abruptly, does a terrible job of adjusting himself in his sweatpants, and walks towards the bathroom.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking a shower."

"It's past midnight."

"Can a man not take a shower at night?"

"At least be honest and say you're going to jerk off."

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, putting his head in his hands. Then, he turns to you, "I'm going to jerk off. Happy?"

"Can I come with?"

"No. If I wanted you to be with me, I'd just do it in bed."

You pout, disappointed, and he thinks that's your last resort. He nearly lets his guard down as his hand reaches the bathroom door, reaches safety.

But, in a voice that's so familiar yet so foreign coming from your mouth, you ask, "You usually do it right here?"

He stares at you, his body slumps a bit like he's melting as he watches you play with the straps of your top, like you might take it off.

"Javier," you say, seductively.

"Don't do that to me…" he pouts, pleads. He doesn't want to give in.

"I just think we could have a really good time. I mean, I bought these panties for you, but I guess if you don't want to see them, maybe I can find another DEA agent who wants to…"

"I'm not letting you go and whore yourself out to my coworkers."

"Why not? You don't want me."

"I didn't say that. I said 'it's wrong', and it is."

"I guess I can see how it might be wrong from some angles, but I really like you, and I just want to know that you like me back — I just want to be wanted, to know someone thinks I'm good enough."

It's so unfair. Javi has to assume you're acting, but you're doing a great job because your teary eyes are filled with emotion — maybe it is real, he thinks. And that's what lands him back in bed with you.

"I like you," he whispers, "and you know that. I think a lot of guys like you… they don't deserve you, but trust me when I say you're more than wanted."

"I don't want any of them. I only want you." You look up at him with those pleading eyes that have always worked.

"I'm not a good man." he sighs.

"I want you anyway."

"I'm not a good man because I can't help myself."

You look at him with hope shining through you.

"Before we do anything I need you to know that I love you to death but this is sex, not marriage, not a relationship - I want to make you feel good tonight, but tomorrow we go back to normal, got it?"

"You act like you're taking my virginity. I'm not that innocent little girl anymore. I'm not expecting you to fall in love with me, I just want you to fuck me."

He has the knee-jerk instinct to tell you not to swear. but the scowl of disapproval quickly turns to a smile. You're not that innocent, are you?

You grab his face and whisper, "If I'm going to have casual sex anyway, isn't it better if I do it with you?"

"Oh, so now this is all 'casual sex', and I'm just doing damage control by fucking you?"

"My dad asked you to keep me safe, right? If I'm bed with you, I can't get in bed with any other potentially dangerous men."

"I'm always gonna take care of you." he says, dipping down to kiss your neck.

"Javier." It's a drawn-out plea for something, anything. It's the simultaneous gratitude brought about by the relief that washes over you when he agrees to this but the carnal frustration at the anticipation of him, heightened when you feel his erection pressing against your thigh.

You can tell he's big - though, the tightness of his pants leaves little to the imagination regardless. Nervousness strikes you because he's Javi. He thinks you don't know how much of a womanizer he is. As if you've ever been stupid enough to believe the marks on his neck were just razor burn or that he had no idea where the pair of panties in his glove compartment came from.

You don't dare ask how many women he's slept with, you don't need to know the number to know you have a laundry list of competition. You won't be his best - that much you know - still, you can't be his worst.

All your worries move to the background when you remember that Javier is kissing you, tugging down the straps of your top, kissing your neck, your collarbone, your chest. Your heart swells at his gentle devotion, but your core aches for him as your much dirtier fantasies flit around your mind.

You would never have guessed Javier would be into this type of sweet and slow sex. Most men you've been with want you in a way that feels more perverse, more distant.

Javi lets his hands wander along your skin, he teases you and marvels at your reaction. He doesn't just grip you, he holds you.

You shouldn't be as surprised as you are when he grabs your ankles and pulls you to the edge of the bed before kneeling with his head positioned between your thighs.

"You said you wore these for me?" he asks, fingers toying with the waistband of your underwear.

"Yeah. I remember finding a similar pair in your car once, and so I thought you might like these."

"You'd look good in anything, but you did a good job picking these out. Definitely my taste."

"You can keep them."

His eyes flicker with something, something you've been dying to see. "What are you going to wear?"

"I have more, like, ever color."

"They're all for me or just these ones?"

"All for you." The statement holds greater weight than the thin lace fabric, and surely he knows that.

There is desire in his eyes when he flicks his tongue along your folds for the first time.

Javi decides that if he's going to indulge, he shouldn't indulge half-heartedly. He should not be doing this, but you deserve to feel good. Someone else should do this for you, but no one else is here. It's Javi's responsibility to take care of you. He's just helping you sleep, that's what he tells himself when he gets a taste of you and knows he's so incredibly and utterly fucked. He groans into you, and you return a prettier sound.

He's too old to be this hard, this hungry for a woman. The most unfair part of it all is that Javi doesn't need sex, he doesn't need the touch of a woman. He needs you. Forbidden fruit always tastes the sweetest.

Your voice shakes when you say his name, warning him of your impending orgasm. He massages your hipbones as if to say, "you're going to be okay, just let go". You look embarrassed when you come down from your high so he makes a point of staying between your legs, locking eyes while his tongue gathers every drop you give him, and smiling when he wipes his lips with his thumb.

The predicament lies between his own legs. The question still stands stiff and painfully hard. Should he allow himself the pleasure of fucking up? Of fucking.

You notice his hesitation. "Javier, I want it too, you know?"

"It's still a mistake."

"Everyone makes mistakes… maybe you could just allow yourself to make one - for me."

Making one mistake surely isn't enough to make you a bad person.

"Don't you ever get tired of being the good guy?"

He smirks at you. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Patience is a virtue, and not one you have.

"I'll do it for you," you say, tugging down his sweatpants, watching his cock spring out.

"Puta madre," he says, as you stroke his length, running your finger over the tip, kissing it with the pad of your thumb, "if you keep touching me like that I'm not gonna last."

Javi stifles his curses in English, ultimately ending up settling for Spanish at the rare moments he can find words at all. Clearly he forgets that you speak enough Spanish to understand what he's saying, but you let him think you don't because the things he says are even sexier than what he says in your daydreams.

He drags the head of his cock along your folds, coating himself with your wetness.

"Que cosa tan linda," he says under his breath, marveling at your body, fully naked in front of him.

"Please," you whine, and he nods, silent but committed.

"Mira como me toma," he says as he eases inside you finally.

He keeps the rhythm of his thrusts slow until you beg for him to go faster. Harder, deeper, more, more, more.

"¿Te gusta eso eh?" His voice is thick with lust, he's not even talking to you, not really, just running his mouth unable to help it.

Soon, it's nothing but curses through gritted teeth accompanied by the slick sounds of your arousal.

"Quiero que me hagas tuyo" you finally give up the game when he's about to cum.

It's not the fact that you want to be his that takes him over the edge unexpectedly, it's the way you say his name and he knows you already are. You hold onto him for dear life, locking your legs around his hips and forcing him deeper, your inner walls flutter around him, and he is helpless against the tidal wave of ecstasy that crashes over him.

He's dizzy after you suck the life out of him, but his rational mind returns when he pulls out and watches cum drip out of you.

Javi panics, momentarily considers every horrible possibility and every solution - will he have to fake his own death and leave the country? But your soothing touch as you gently pull him closer, your relaxing voice accompanying it, calms him.

He buys you the morning after pill and feeds it to you along with the best breakfast he can conjure up as an apology.

You thank him, but just before he thinks he's in the clear, you say, "if you really wanted to make it up to me, you could eat your breakfast in bed…"

He's about to say 'no', but you wink, and instead, he says, "Fine. But just this once."

spanish translations:

Que cosa tan linda = what a pretty thing

Mira como me toma = look at how well it takes me

¿Te gusta eso eh? = you like that eh?

Quiero que me hagas tuyo = i want you to make me yours

this post helped me lots!!

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