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chuluoyi · 5 months

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jealousy, jealousy...

- nanami kento x reader

your husband seems to be immune to jealousy, and you've pretty much convinced yourself that he just doesn't have it in him... or does he?

genre/warnings: crack, fluff, jealous!nanami (he is in denial), implied suggestive content, mentions of pregnancy, gojo cameo (i just can't pass up the chance of him annoying the heck out of nanami ahaha)

note: based on this ask, this is a little continuation to the secret wife! and this is in the same universe as love entries so gojo is married to the love entries reader! :)

general masterlist

By all means, Nanami Kento is not a jealous man.

He knows his worth. And he knows you. Out of all people, you wouldn't try anything with anyone.

Even more so with Ino. He knows him too, and there is just no way.

So... he really shouldn't get riled up, especially when it was his shitty senior who tried to set him on fire—

"It's still beyond me, how you managed to bag her," Gojo remarked with a bark of snort. Both of them shared the same table in this high-end bar, an afterparty for the school's graduation, but Nanami was seriously considering to move after Yaga left earlier until this clown came. "And keep her a secret too. I mean, that's so foul! If I were your wife, I'd divorce you on the spot."

Nanami threw him a pointed look. "The feeling is mutual. I feel bad for her for putting up with you too. And please don't be gross and say things like you being my wife. It's appalling."

Gojo's wife being his close friend and former classmate was what foul, Nanami thought. Sure, he would acknowledge Gojo's relentless efforts, but still, anyone willing to be this shameless paintbrush's wife must lead a really daring life.

The strongest sorcerer rolled his eyes. "Nah, I'll have you know that my married life is full of bliss. I have a proof, look at my—"

"If you want to show me hickeys, I'll seriously report you for harassing me."

And to that, Gojo merely whined and pursed his lips, and Nanami finally had some peace. He really entertained the thought of going back, because Gojo wasn't exactly a fun company, and this was getting late, until…

"Hey, Ino—the one who always follows you around," Gojo suddenly said. "Whoa, you're letting him close to your wife too, huh?"

Nanami whipped his head to where you were, and true to what Gojo said, you were indeed there, talking animatedly to his junior.

You were all smiles, and Ino was every bit as excited as you were. There was nothing remotely wrong with how you were conversing. You two looked like a pair of really, really good friends.

Ever since word of your marriage got out and became common knowledge, you've been receiving the kind of attention that Nanami wasn't sure he preferred. While he hadn't intended to keep it a secret, he certainly felt that a more private life was preferable.

But the thing was… weren't you too close with him? If it were up to him, Ino could've had at least two steps back. What were you discussing anyway?

"You're a lax husband, Nanamin, heh," Gojo whistled, totally grinning because he won this fight. "I know you probably think it's harmless, but a puppy is still a dog, you know~"

A puppy... is what?

That night, that phrase was what going through in his mind over and over as he chugged down his drinks.

No way, no way... It must have been because he had too much to drink. He couldn't possibly!

The next time he felt that unpleasant feeling, it was on one night, at the comfort of your home.

Both of you had just finished watching a movie, still lounging on the sofa. You were blissfully humming, texting away on your phone at—Nanami looked at the clock—11 p.m.

Now, now, he wasn't one who would be checking your phone or such, but he couldn't deny the curiosity within him, because you weren't usually texting anyone this late at night.

"Hehe~" suddenly, you giggled and Nanami glanced at you in wonder. You seemed to be having fun.

Who... are you texting?

Despite telling himself he wouldn't meddle in your affairs, he gruffly cleared his throat. "Dear, it's late."

"Oh?" you whipped your head to him. "Oh, yeah..."

You were genuinely confused, your husband was folding his face as if he was sour of something. "Kento? What's wrong?"

But suddenly, his face lit up into a smile, kind of forced though. "Ah, nothing..." And suddenly he lifted you up from the sofa, making you almost yelp as you dropped your phone and wrapped your arms around his neck. "Time for bed."

However, what you didn't realize was that your phone's screen lit up just as the sender replied to your message, and Nanami caught a glimpse of it.

Ino.

A puppy is still a dog, you know~

The heck?

"Kento?" you asked again, and he immediately turned to you, unable to read the message. Still, his mind was reeling in many ways, and when he looked into your innocent, round eyes, suddenly he clicked his tongue, eyes slitting in dissatisfaction.

"Time for bed, dear."

Long story short, that night, your husband was somehow a little more aggressive than usual... even as he fondled you ever so softly at the end.

The third time, Nanami had enough.

He had just finished a mission when he got that call from Ino, informing him that you were at a clinic after nearly passing out.

Out of anyone else... how could you not call him first?!

He may be vexed, but worry was what clouded his mind the most. You were almost five months pregnant now, and to have this happening to you—

He walked in to find you lying on the small bed, your eyes lighting up when you saw him. "Kento..."

"What happened to you? Why didn't you call me?" his voice was rough, and your smile fell. You felt him gripping your hand tightly. "How can you—"

Ino, sensing his apprehension, suddenly intervened, "Uh, Nanami-san, it's not—"

Nanami turned to him sharply, causing him to gulp.

"We were... in a bakery when Y/N-san suddenly felt faint," the younger man explained. "Please don't be too hard on her."

"And why are you with my wife in broad daylight?"

"Kento, it's not what it looks like!" you squeezed his hand urgently. "We were just... trying to find a cake, you know..."

"...what?"

And that day, everything Nanami thought he knew was turned on its axis. Perhaps, if he wasn't thinking too much—if Gojo's words hadn't taken his mind, he wouldn't jump into conclusions this easily.

Your first wedding anniversary was just in a couple of weeks, and you had enlisted in Ino's help to find this one bakery that he swore sold only the best goods. Your texts to each other were solely about that—nothing more, nothing less.

"Aww, Kento~" you cooed as Nanami helped you into your shared bed once you got back home. "You got jealous, it's cute, and I'm happy~"

He huffed. "I was not jealous."

"Ehh, didn't look like that to me though~"

"Listen," he said, taking hold of your shoulders once he had seated you on the bed, looking straight into your eyes. "From now on, whatever you do... you have to contact me first, alright?"

"Oh—?"

"When you need something, when you don't feel well, when you feel like you might be in some kind of danger..." his tone was serious, emphasizing each word. "You have to reach out to me first. You don't go to Ino, Gojo, or anyone else—me. You go to me. I'm your husband, and I intend to fulfill that role well for you."

And he placed a hand on your tummy, gently caressing it. "And of course the father role for the baby too."

You clamped up, totally speechless. This unexpected development made your heart soar with a heap of giddiness.

"Yes!" Your smile was so wide and radiant that Nanami was sure he had started to blush too. Then you flung yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a hug. "And you know... you're already the best husband and soon-to-be father ever! So you don't have anything to worry about, okay?"

Ah, how nice. Nanami chuckled as he placed his hand on the small of your back.

"Mhm, and from now on, I'll take charge of our anniversary. You only have to take it easy, alright?"

And when you giggled, he thought having you in his embrace like this was enough to satisfy him—after all, he was a simple man.

Epilogue

"I know even Nanami gets jealous! Heh, heh, heh~"

Gojo laughed crisply, and Shoko snorted as they listened to Ino recount the story, with the latter scratching his head uncomfortably.

"I really didn't mean anything, and now I feel kinda bad," the younger man said, his head dropping. "Nanami-san seemed upset too..."

"Not many things can get under his skin," Shoko remarked. "I really thought he'd be more rational, but having an expecting wife must've taken quite a toll on him too."

"Nah, don't find more excuses, Shoko! Now is time to pay up~!"

As Shoko grumbled and Ino was lost in his own thoughts, a loud cough suddenly echoed behind them.

"Gojo-san... Ieiri-san..." Nanami leveled his unamused gaze on them, his glasses glinting in the light, causing the two gulp. "What are you two doing?"

#nanami kento x reader #jjk fluff #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x reader fluff #kento nanami x reader #nanami x reader fluff #nanami kento #kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento fluff #kento nanami #kento nanami x you #nanami fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles #nanami x you

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agoodflyting · 3 months

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Why Aziraphale is completely ridiculous in the Bastille scene (and I love him so much for it)

A while ago I posted a comparison of Aziraphale and Crowley's costumes in the 1793 flashback in Good Omens and I wanted to add these little tidbits. (Because they haunt me.)

I feel like most people know this but IF YOU DON'T, Paris in 1793 is right in the middle of something called La Terreur.

HISTORY LESSON If you didn't learn this in school the French Revolution was when, after years of escalating social tension, a coalition representing the working classes of France revolted against the monarchy, violently overthrew King Louis XVI, and declared France to be a republic.

The new National Convention governing France ruled that King Louis XVI and his wife Marie Antoinette were traitors to the people of France because of how they had spent ridiculous amounts of money on luxuries for themselves while vast numbers of the lower classes were literally starving to death. (keep the bold in mind - wealth and class disparities were one of the key causes of the whole-ass revolution)

In 1793 (year of the flashback) both the King and Queen were executed by guillotine for their crimes.

This kicks of something called The Reign of Terror (La Terreur if you want to be French about it). A multi-year-long period in which the National Convention goes on a bloody witch hunt for any and every member of the middle or upper classes who could even possibly be considered a traitor by those same standards.

If you A) had money or privilege, and B) had ever used your money or privilege to treat yourself, you were getting executed. Over 25,000 people died during the Reign of Terror, half of them by guillotine. In fact, the iconic guillotine was used because it was physically impossible to keep up with the sheer number of people they were executing in Paris every single day.

Some things that could get you killed (actually and completely seriously) during the Reign of Terror:

Implying in any way you were sympathetic to the monarchy

Having a noble title

Having expensive things

Wearing expensive, luxurious clothes (*cough* AZIRAPHALE)

helping or sympathizing with anyone who did any of the above

a working-class person saying you were mean to them once

And then there's this bitch...

I AM NOBILITY PLEASE KILL ME So we have established that Paris in 1793 is in the middle of a frenzied, state-sanctioned bloodbath in which the working classes are massacring everyone even remotely nobility-adjacent. And in the middle of this frenzy, Aziraphale proceeds to roll up in Paris in this outfit:

How will this outfit get him killed? Let me count the ways...

First off- at this point everyone with even the tiniest shred of self- preservation is hiding the fact that they are in any way associated with the monarchy. The wealthy are straight-up abandoning mansions. The middle-class are plastering over decorations to make their house look 'poor'. The only people dressed remotely decent are the guys leading the National Convention and that's just because nobody can stop them. Everyone else is in 24/7 peasant cosplay or else they are covering themselves in cockades and sashes on to show they're pro-Republic.

Aziraphale is basically a giant shiny white sign saying I AM NOBILITY PLEASE KILL ME.

First off the lace jabot and lace cuffs are both associated with the old-school wealthy in the 1790's.

His coat is also decorated in gold braid and silver buttons, which are both marks of wealth and luxury.

He basically looks like he works for Louis XIV - not just rich, but old school rich.

We know it's his natural hair color, but hair powdering (with clay and starch) had been a big trend with the rich all throughout the 18th century to get that clean white venerable look . To someone who doesn't know it's natural, it would very much look like he's wearing hair powder.

He's wearing shades of cream and white, which are very hard to keep clean and clearly states that the wearer is rich and can afford the upkeep necessary to keep an outfit like that stain-free.

He's wearing white knee-breeches and stockings, also called culottes. See above about laundry and how rich you had to be to wear white, but also working-class men wore long pants like this:

A large faction involved in the Revolution were the Sans-Culottes (no-culottes aka we wear long pants LIKE GOOD OLD WORKING MEN). Culottes are specifically associated with everything the revolution hated. That's right - Aziraphale is literally wearing The Fanciest of Fancy Pants in a city where a group called The Men Against Fancy Pants are running around murdering people.

And then there are his shoes.

Oh god his shoes

I could do a whole post about Aziraphale's blessed little white satin pumps and how ridiculous they are.

Actually I might just do that because this is getting so long and I still have to talk about the brioche.

So I can't remember if it's in the script book or if it's from Neil Gaiman's tumblr, but it's apparently canon (?) that Aziraphale was going around in that outfit asking people where he could get crepes and brioche when he was arrested.

The Affair of the Brioches

So... uh... we've all heard the line attributed to Marie Antoinette- how when she was told that her people were starving because there was no bread left in Paris, she famously said...

It's morphed into 'let them eat cake', but the line is first recorded as, "Then let them eat brioches."

While it's unlikely she ever actually said it, the important thing is that... people in 1793 would have thought she said it. It was used as political smear to show how arrogant and out of touch the monarchy was. Marie Antoinette in particular was reviled by the people of France, who thought she was the main cause of their economic problems. That's why she was executed too.

Bread and brioche and the lines between poverty and privilege were a big thing in Revolutionary France. There was a lot of political connotation to what you ate. The French Revolution came about because of decades of suffering among the lower classes of France. It wasn't something that some dudes just decided to do. The people of Paris have been through years of the absolute worst, most oppressive poverty and starvation you can imagine, all while watching the rich throw money around crazy.

So let us recap.

Aziraphale is dressed so ridiculously posh that he looks like a joke parody of a nobleman... and he is bumbling around Paris during the Reign of Terror. Asking people. For brioche. How I imagine everyone looked at him:

It is so astoundingly tone deaf and tactless. He is basically cosplaying as Marie Antoinette and then going around asking the poor for cake.

I just.... Aziraphale. babygirl. no. oh no. You're lucky they even bothered to take you to prison. I am amazed Crowley ever let him live that down.

I have no conclusion other than this. Aziraphale is ridiculous and I love him so much.

YES YOU REALLY SHOULD SIR.

#good omens #aziraphale #good omens meta #good omens costumes #aziraphale's white satin pumps #ineffable husbands

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thirst2 · 1 year

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There’s a flavor of jaded, almost combative, social skepticism that I don’t think I ever identified with but, with age, am rapidly developing a shorter patience for.

You’re not more clever for referring to something cryptically to the room because you happen to know a lot about the subject; you are not cute or funny because your joke sounded aggressive by any normative standard nor others smart when they notice the inherent contradiction of your statements because they were never meant to be fully serious; you’re not insightful (and certainly not helpful) just because you’ve opted to communicate in a manner that’s deliberately obtuse.

#i'm not entirely sure how to describe it #but it's this attitude like the world revolves around them and their personal development #so you need to figure out what they're trying to say because their thoughts and development on the subject is #(supposedly)#super important #rather than being even remotely aware that everyone is coming from a different place #and background and skill level #and cooperative social behavior #that tries to communicate clearly and assess where all parties are in terms of understanding #is infinitely more helpful (for all involved) and builds a better society and world #it's not quite edgelord behavior (as the person may not even say edgy stuff) but feels adjacent because they see everyone else as having #to catch up to them so they can't be deigned to meet anyone else at the same level #About Me #Social

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bayjaruchel · 11 months

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Underneath The Strobe Light

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Pairing: Mike Schmidt (2023)/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're aware of your feelings for Mike, but you're unsure if he feels the same. A single late-night conversation changes everything. (4.2k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

Extra Notes: Posted October 29, 2023

－－－

You know Mike, sometimes. Mainly in bits and pieces.

You know he has that poster of Nebraska above his bed; you know he's got a soft spot for terrible eighties cartoons. You know he likes his steak well done. Maybe it's generally useless information — but you've tucked it all away in a dear corner of your brain, in a well-worn cardboard box with his name scrawled fondly on the side in Sharpie.

He's been busy nowadays, especially with his awful new job at that abandoned restaurant. You've always been there if he needs someone to watch over Abby. It's a strange juxtaposition— spending more and more time at his house, but spending less and less time actually talking to him. But you know he's exhausted, both mentally and physically.

You don't expect much. You don't need much. Even though Mike's always offered to actually pay you for babysitting Abby, you've always declined.

However— needing and wanting are two very different things.

And you want. So, so much.

Sitting here, on the couch in his living room, your mind always wanders back to him. Abby's a really nice kid, even if she's a little on the eccentric side. Whenever you're sitting with her, watching her draw or watching the television, you can't really focus on Mike. But now, with her safely put to bed … There's nothing to stop you. Nothing to distract you from the empty spot next to you on the couch.

You blink, already bleary-eyed from the hour. There's some mediocre sitcom playing on the television. It's practically white noise, and you can feel yourself slowly but surely being lulled to sleep. The stubborn part of you wants to fight it. The tired part of you wants to just let it happen. You fumble for the remote instead, switching the channel.

World News Now?

Not bad, you think wryly, slumping back into the pillows. You liked the guy playing the accordion and singing about the news, polka-style. Hopefully they'll bring that back. Maybe large broadcasting networks actually do know their audiences.

Yeah, no.

You stifle a yawn, tugging your blanket a little tighter. The room's dark, so the only real sources of light are coming from the kitchen and the bluish glow of the television. The only sounds besides that of the T.V. are the occasional car passing by, joined by the gentle chorus of crickets. It's quiet, but not in a discomforting way.

It's kind of perfect. Like your own little bubble in the world. Untouchable. Not until the sun rises, anyway.

Your bubble suddenly pops when a car pulls into the driveway, tires crunching on the pavement, and your heart skips.

It couldn't be anyone else.

About a minute later, there's the sound of keys turning in the lock. The door swings open and then shuts behind him. Softly. He knows Abby would wake up if he slammed it. Then there's the thump of him setting down his stuff— carelessly.

The couch cushions squeak a little when Mike sits down next to you. Silently. He's gotten rid of that stupid security vest.

"Hey," you offer.

"Hi," he obliges.

You're sure he's not really paying attention to the T.V. "How was work?"

It's bland small talk at best, and brutally annoying at worst. But it's the only way to move into interesting conversation territory. And he didn't just trudge past you to go flop down on his bed, so you're assuming he does want to talk. You might pretend not to know, but you're well aware of his social life— or lack thereof. Everyone needs to talk, sometimes.

"Pretty dull." Rolling his probably stiff shoulders, he lets out a small sound of discomfort. Sheepishly, he murmurs: "I kind of … I kind of just napped, to be honest."

"Aren't you supposed to be a security guard?" You tease. "That's a really important job, you know. You have to stop all the dangerous teenagers from breaking in and spray-painting dicks on the walls."

He huffs out something reminiscent of a laugh. "Honestly, the pay's too low to take it seriously."

"And yet … "

"There weren't any kids, okay?" Mike shakes his head. When you turn to look at him, though, he's smiling. It's faint, but it's there. "No dangerous teenagers that I had to fight off. It was fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine."

You don't want to let the silence set in.

"Oh, yeah, we finished the leftover spaghetti earlier. For dinner. I hope that's okay."

"No, it's terrible," he deadpans. "I hate you."

"Asshole."

"Whatever." Mike snickers, and you bask in its gloriousness. "Yeah, it's okay. I know that I probably wouldn't have eaten it anyway. Did you, uh … " He pauses for a split second. "… Did you like it?"

His tone makes you wonder, but you hastily brush it off. "Yeah, I did," you clarify, "the sauce was pretty great. Was it store-bought, or?" Because if it was, then where can I get it?

"Yup," he replies, popping the 'p'. "Great stuff, for something that's canned. But I always add a little more garlic powder, too."

"Oh, really?"

Mike hums an affirmation. "It's like magic, I'm telling you. Doesn't even take a lot to add flavor."

"That's cool." You rustle with your blanket again, adjusting it more out of habit than anything else. That, and it's kind of cold. "I'll try and remember it for later."

He's almost cheeky when he speaks.

"It's life-changing."

You can't help but snort. "You sound like an addict."

Incredulously, he glances at you. "To what? Garlic powder?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"I can't believe that you'd say that." He slowly shakes his head, for the second time in the span of roughly a minute. "Especially as someone who's experienced it firsthand—"

"—you're the one talking about how life-changing it is—"

"—you can't possibly ignore the irresistible savoriness of garlic powder."

You look at one another for a moment. The sheer absurdity of the situation sets in all at once. And, well. He starts giggling, and you can't hold it in, either. How could you? Even though he looks at least part zombie, his eyes are still very much alive. Despite the blatant awkwardness and lingering shyness that always follows him around, he's still got a very contagious laugh.

After you both calm down, he lets out a long sigh.

"It's getting really late."

You cling to what little stubbornness remains. "Yeah?"

"Are you gonna head home?"

Again, there's something there. Despite his nonchalant attitude, it's almost like—

—but you're probably overthinking. Wouldn't be anything new. He has to get some rest, and so do you. The drowsiness repeatedly threatening to tug your eyelids closed is a testament to that. Normally, you'd just pass out on the couch or something, and take off early in the morning; before Mike and Abby wake up. But now, it's different. Now, you actually have to make a choice before your sleepy body makes it for you.

"Um." You rub your eyes again. "I mean. I could, if it's bothering you—"

"It's not."

He interrupts you so quickly that it catches you off-guard. It seemingly catches him off-guard, too, judging by the way he promptly averts his gaze and pretends to care about the guy on the television going on about some sort of plumber strike in the city.

"Oh." You need a second to process. "Oh, okay. Well, in that case … I don't really think that it'd be safe for me to drive right now." You laugh, a little too airily for it to be completely genuine. "I'd probably fall asleep at the wheel or something." At least that's the truth. "I'll just take the couch. As usual."

"Okay," he says. He's back to murmuring.

"And I'll be gone before you eat breakfast." Subconsciously, you're fiddling with the slightly frayed edges of the blanket. It's well-loved. "As usual."

You think you hear him suck in a breath, seconds before:

"Why don't you stay?"

Your own breath stutters in your chest.

"... what?" Is all you can manage, without horrifically humiliating yourself.

"I mean," he rushes to correct himself, "you come by sometimes because you want to spend time with Abby— she likes you a lot, you know, sometimes I think she likes you more than she likes me . I think—" He's properly nervous now, his knee bouncing up and down. But he's already continuing before you can get a word in. "I think she'd like you to be here in the morning. And you don't accept pay, anyway. You just— won't."

His nervousness is spreading to you. "Hey, I—"

"Why are you here, anyway?"

The question sounds like it's been a long time coming. He's demanding you now, brow furrowed and eyes sparking with emotion. "Is it out of pity? Do you feel sorry for me? Do you feel sorry for Abby? Because if you do, then— then you can just—"

"It's not!" You exclaim.

Immediately, you realize that there's a sleeping girl not too far away, and shamefully lower your voice.

"... It's not, I promise. I just—" It takes a little while for you to gather the right words, and when you do, you don't drop your gaze from him. All of his previous frustration is all but gone, replaced by a slightly wide-eyed expression that's making your heart ache a little. "I genuinely really like spending time with Abby, okay? She's really sweet, and creative, and just a really great kid. And I—"

You stop yourself.

"And you what?" Mike asks, gently.

Might as well, huh?

"And I really like spending time with you, too," you admit, finally unable to meet his eyes and focusing on your lap instead.

There's an incredibly tense beat, in which you swear your life flashes before your eyes.

Then:

He's barely audible when he speaks. His knee has stopped bouncing, but he's playing with his thumbs. Clearly, your confession— vague as it was— resonated with him, in some way. You hope he understands what you meant, because you couldn't possibly put it all into words in a way that would make sense.

"Feeling's mutual," he mutters.

Your head almost snaps up at that. Maybe you had expected it, deep down— you're not oblivious, duh— but it's one thing to have a hunch, and another to have that hunch proven. And out loud, no less.

"Yeah?" You dare to ask.

Slowly, he looks up. He meets your eyes.

"Yeah," he repeats breathlessly, like the wind's been knocked out of him.

You let your blanket fall from your shoulders, and it slides all the way onto the floor.

You reach out.

He lets you lace your fingers through his.

Mike's palm is sort of clammy— and he's shaking a little— but he still squeezes your hand. On instinct, you guess. It still makes you smile. He doesn't return it, but his lips are parted a little, and you really, really like that. More than you probably should. You like a lot of things about him more than you probably should.

You scooch a little closer, and he doesn't move away. You let your gaze drop back down to his lips again, making your intentions clear. Still, you don't know if it's clear enough. You lean in, just barely.

"... Can I?"

His reply is almost instantaneous.

"Please."

You swallow all of the witty quips you could make, and kiss him instead.

He's very tentative at first. Like he hasn't done this for a while. But you ease him into it— and before long, he's got one hand on the back of your neck, the other somewhere near your waist. He tastes like coffee and something else you can't really put your finger on. It doesn't really matter, though. Because you are kissing him, damnit!

His eyes are still shut when you part— with a soft smack — but they flutter open after a second. You're not sure if you're supposed to say something meaningful. Luckily, he leans in instead, and your thoughts are immediately transported elsewhere.

You kiss like this for a while. It's really nice, and you know he needs it. So do you.

However— when you start losing track of time, lost in the moment, he makes a noise.

It's quiet, definitely. But it's nothing like the little hums and sighs he's been making so far. It makes you shift closer, pressing more insistently into him. And he responds, enthusiastically wrapping his arms around you, closing the little distance between your bodies that there was. You can practically feel his heart jackrabbiting in his chest when you slip your tongue past his already kiss-swollen lips.

He moans.

You indulge yourself. For a little longer. And Mike chases you when you part.

"We shouldn't do this in the living room," you whisper, nearly panting. "The couch is a little—"

"Okay," he whispers back, already sounding wrecked. "Okay."

You've been in his room before. You've sat on his bed— you've even laid on it before. But you've never straddled him on it before. It's a position that makes your head spin a little, and you occupy yourself with kissing him again. His hands fit perfectly on your hips, but they don't stay there for long, tragically— they trail upwards, up your waist, to your back. To your shoulders, and then back down again. It's as if he just can't get enough. You can't either. You need more.

So, you tug at his shirt. He gets the message right away— hands scrambling to pull it up and over his head. He's still rather slim, but with a slight softness, mostly located in his midsection. There's a light dusting of dark hair on his chest, as well as the provocative happy trail leading down from his navel. You drag your eyes downward, admiring him, and then decide that you're wearing too much clothing. Your top comes off, dropped onto the floor near his.

Mike takes more time to admire you when your torso is completely bare. His hands are warm on your bare skin, and slightly rough. Like before, he's hesitant at first, but when you encourage him— either literally or with physical indications— he grows bolder. His stubble scratches gently against you when his lips find your collarbone.

You squirm a little, not even realizing it— and you feel him. Simultaneously, you both gasp. He's not fully there, but he's at least half-hard— and it can't be comfortable in those jeans.

"Should I—"

"Yeah—"

With steady fingers, you unbutton his fly, and then unzip him. It's a little awkward when he shimmies out of the jeans, and when you wriggle out of your bottoms— you both snicker a little, but he's back to comfortably breathless when you settle back onto his lap. Under normal circumstances, you would tease him again. And yet, you can't bring yourself to. Not right now, at least.

All you want to do is keep going.

You roll your hips, testing the waters. His breath audibly hitches, and his hands fly up to settle back on your hips. He looks up at you, eyes already half-lidded— and they close when you grind down again. And again. His lips are clumsier this time when you kiss him, but he still reciprocates all the same. The sensation of him directly underneath you like this is intoxicating. You can feel every little twitch and every little jolt.

"Fuck," he breathes, long and drawn-out, " God, I can— I can see the spot on your—"

"Yeah?" You encourage, grinding down again, drinking in his answering groan. "You like that?"

"Yes —"

"You want me to take 'em off?"

Mike's pupils are blown wide, even though his eyes are already dark as is in the dimness of the room. He nods, once, then twice. "Yes," he murmurs. "Please," he adds, for good measure.

He stares openly when you get off him, just enough to peel off your last remaining layer of clothing. And when you sit back down, well. It's obvious that you'll have to give him a second. "Can I," he says, finally, "can I touch you?" The way he's looking up at you again is just so sweet, so needy, that you consider saying no. Your throbbing core quickly shuts that idea down.

"Go on," you encourage.

He helps you move so he has easier access, and—

His fingertips find your slit, already wet for him.

"Look what you did to me," you murmur.

He visibly flushes— and then carefully works one finger into your slick heat. The feeling, combined with his thumb brushing against your clit— it's relief that you've needed this entire time, and you can't help but let a quiet sound escape your lips. It's apparently enough incentive for him to quicken his pace a little. Deliberately, he continues massaging your sensitive nub in a firm but easy pattern as he gently pushes a second finger inside you.

Mike may be out of practice, but evidently, he still knows what he's doing. He peppers kisses up and down your neck, some more open-mouthed than others. Crooking his fingers, he maintains his diligent rhythm. A thought floats through your mind, unbidden— he must have strong hands, if he's been able to keep up like this—

Two becomes three, and you're spreading your thighs a little wider for him. He's still transfixed, but speeds up at your urging, breath hot against the divot between your neck and shoulder. You chance a glance down, and you can see the visible outline of him through his boxers. You did that to him. He's desperate— for you.

"Mike," you gasp, "nnh—"

"Yeah, c'mon," he mouths, against your neck, "c'mon—" He's not letting up in the slightest, and when you tell him to, he speeds up again. He needs to see you cum just as much as you need to feel it. Your needs and wants are rapidly blending into one. You squeeze your eyes shut, but open them to look at him. His dark curls are a mess, his hand working tirelessly between your legs.

"Mike —"

He says your name in return, like he's the one in the vulnerable position.

"Mike , 'm gonna— 'm gonna—"

"Please," his breaths are ragged, debauched, "cum, please, c'mon, lemme see it—"

"Oh —"

The tension snaps, and you spasm around his fingers. Your hips twitch, and you moan, your mouth falling open as you ride out your orgasm. You're rising— falling — molten honey pooling in your core, before flowing throughout your body. And Mike keeps going throughout it all, letting you enjoy the sensations until you're fully satisfied.

Nearly boneless, you sag backward. His fingers, soaked with your glistening release, slip out of your cunt with a wet noise. He doesn't waste any time in bringing them up into his mouth, cleaning them off with his tongue— at the taste of you, he groans, even though it's muffled. Your mind takes a moment to catch up again with the world, but another thought manifests itself— how would he react, if you let him use his mouth on you? How would his head look between your thighs? He would be noisy, wouldn't he? Enthusiastic, pliant, and—

Your desire, although it waned for a short minute, comes back tenfold. But you take one look down again and— you can do that later. Right now, you want him inside you.

Mike lets you tug him down for another kiss. He lets you feel the worn fabric on his thighs, almost playfully. When you palm him through them— he hisses through his teeth, hypersensitive even though you've barely touched him yet. You're going to fix that, though. Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, you tug them down.

You were right. He's desperate. As soon as his overheated skin meets the cool air, he lets out another quiet hiss. And when you take him in hand—

"Mmh —" A firm stroke from base to tip, and you've already got him. He's average in length, but a little girthy. You know he'll be perfect. There's a little drop at the head of his cock, and you resist the urge to lick it off, focusing instead on warming him up a little. He whispers your name, once, when you pump up and down, twisting your wrist.

"Got a condom?" You ask, stilling for a second. His eyes snap to you.

"Oh my God, " he quickly mutters under his breath, before raising his volume, "uh, yeah, I think so. Lemme—" And he's already scrambling off the bed, opening the drawers of his nightstand with speed, but somehow simultaneously managing not to make much noise. He rifles through them, but soon emerges victoriously with what he was looking for. It's a little funny, how he doesn't waste any time in ripping it open and tossing the garbage into the mostly-overfull pail near his bed. Hastily, he rolls on the condom. You think he's expecting you to lay back or get up on your hands and knees so he can fuck you like that— you wouldn't be entirely opposed to it— but that's not what you want right now.

You place your hands on his chest and push him back down so he's sitting against the headboard. He goes without complaint, even shifting when he understands what you want to do. He's flushed almost down to his neck.

When you sink down on him in a smooth slide, still slick from earlier, you both moan. He sounds strained— he's biting his lower lip, squirming until he finally bottoms out. You have to take a moment to catch your breath, too; the fullness is just how you imagined, but it's so, so much, especially because of your lingering sensitivity.

"I'm not—" He audibly swallows, hands tightening on your waist when you move just a little, "oh, fuck, I'm not gonna— I'm not gonna last long." He's babbling a little. "You're tight, fuck."

You rock back and forth, once, and it's enough to force a choked noise from his throat. You watch his face, observing every little twitch, the clenching of his jaw. You can't hesitate for much longer, though— so you begin lifting yourself and dropping yourself down on his cock. Just in little movements at first, so you can get used to the feeling. His eyes squeeze shut—

"Look at me," you demand, and he does. He doesn't try and thrust up into you when you really start to move. Up and down, up and down, with lewd plaps that accompany your sounds; his grunts— you swear you hear him whimper . His eyelashes flutter open and closed, as he struggles to follow your command, wanting to be good. For you. Even though you can see his thighs flexing as he holds everything back. You ride him for all you're worth.

True to his words, you can tell when he gets close. Maybe he's been on edge this entire time. You thread your fingers through his hair— he buries his face into the crook of your neck, maybe out of embarrassment. You can feel how flushed he is, a thin sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies. Your muscles are aching, but you're determined to make him cum. You're determined to do this for him.

He says your name, but it's more of a whine. "Please — I'm gonna— I can't — "

"Go on," you pant, "you can. Don't hold back." Your arms are wrapped around his neck, now, holding him tight; just like his arms around your waist. The contact is almost too much, but somehow it's still not enough, despite him being inside you. "Go on," you repeat, after he whines again, the sound sending white-hot heat straight to your core. "Cum."

Mike twitches, and you can feel him pulse— the sound he lets out is high-pitched, muffled into your skin. You slow your movements— the aftershocks of his orgasm last longer than yours. It might've been a little while for you, but it had definitely been longer for him.

He doesn't let go, even after his breathing's slowed down.

Gently, you pull his head back so you can look at him. He looks up at you with slightly wet eyes. The kisses you press to his cheeks and forehead make him scrunch up his face.

"Hey," he rasps, "I gotta throw out the condom. Hang on."

"Yeah, okay."

When he slips out of you, you both sigh a little. With unsteady fingers, he ties up the condom before chucking it into the pail.

The sheets are cool on your skin when he pulls them over you both. The room reeks of sex, but both of you are too exhausted to care. When you turn to lay on your side, he's behind you, throwing an arm over your waist. Tugging you closer. Almost absentmindedly, there's a kiss pressed to the back of your head.

"Thank you," he mumbles.

You stare at the far wall, unable to close your eyes just yet.

"For what?"

"For—" A pause. "For everything, I guess."

The awkwardness is back. But you let it in. You smile.

"You're welcome."

He doesn't respond, but shuffles nearer, chest pressed up against your back. It's not long before you're both fast asleep.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt smut

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moonstruckme · 5 months

Note

can i request a reader who can’t admit she’s upset with one the marauders (or all)? like refuses to cry…only if you’re comfortable of course. thank you :)

Thank you for requesting gorgeous!

modern au

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

The smell of smoke coming from the kitchen is the first sign that Sirius has tipped over from resentment into remorse.

“Jesus,” you open the front door on your way into the kitchen, eyes watering, “what are you doing?”

“I was trying to make rice,” he says, fanning desperately over your pressure cooker, “but I think I’ve fucked it.”

“Do you think so?” Any other day you’d both grin at the harmless snark, but now Sirius’ expression pinches and you think your own must look the same, your tone more biting than you meant for it to be. “It’s fine, it’ll be fine once it airs out. Help me with the windows?”

Sirius acts like it’s a competition, opening three windows before you’ve finished two and looking at you like he’s expecting a pat on the head for it. You try to give him a smile, and his expression clouds over.

“Sorry,” he says, voice not quite cool but oddly remote, “the idea was to surprise you with dinner, and I’ve broken your rice thingy instead.”

“It’s not broken,” you reassure him. “I’m sure it’ll be fine once I clean it out. Why were you trying to make dinner?”

Sirius grimaces. It’s a full body motion, his eyebrows hooking in the middle while the muscles in his forearms shift uncomfortably and his shoulders migrate upward. “Sort of a shitty attempt at an olive branch, I guess.”

Some of the smoke has cleared, and you brave the kitchen. “I don’t need an olive branch,” you say. “If you say we’re good, we’re good.”

“Don’t do that.” He follows you into the kitchen. “I can tell you’re upset, just because—” Sirius hisses when you take the bowl out of the pressure cooker, transferring it swiftly to the sink “—fuck, baby, don’t burn yourself. Let me take care of that later.”

“I’d rather handle it now,” you say, turning on the faucet. “I’m just letting it soak anyway.”

“I’m trying to handle this.” Sturdy hands wrap around your shoulders, turning you to face your boyfriend. He looks at you steadily. “Don’t pretend you’re not angry with me, because I know that you are.”

A spark of annoyance tingles up your spine as you shrug, reaching behind you to turn off the faucet. “I’m not.”

“Can you stop trying to make me feel like an idiot? I know you. You’ve been all stiff since last night.”

“You were angry last night. Not me.”

“Yeah, well it seems to have caught on.”

You turn away from him and back towards the sink, swishing your hand in the cold water of the bowl to dislodge the charred rice sticking to the bottom. You don’t know where Sirius gets off, acting like you’re holding a grudge when he’s the one who shouted at you last night. Your phone had died while you were out with friends. That was all that had happened. You didn’t think anything of it, because Sirius, the only person who would really worry about not being able to reach you, knew you were out and that you’d be home late.

But when you had gotten home, he’d been furious. Gone on and on about how he’d been trying to get a response from you all night, and how dangerous it was to get drunk when you couldn’t call anyone (nevermind that you’d been with your friends), and how freaked out he’d been. He wouldn’t listen to you. He’d only wanted to yell and rage, and make you sit in your heels on the couch while he did it. He’d even seemed like he might be tearing up a couple of times. And you hated to think of him being scared for you, but since when was it your responsibility to answer every time he called? He knew you were with your friends. You hadn’t asked him to check in on you.

He’d gone to bed still fuming and you’d stayed on the couch rather than try to sleep in a hostile bed. Now, inexplicably, his tune seems to have changed.

“So,” Sirius sighs, “this is you not mad, huh?”

“Yup.” You scrub at the bowl with your fingernails.

“I just want a chance to apologize.”

“You can if it’ll make you feel better, but I don’t need it.”

“Why can’t you just admit it?”

“Because I’m not the one who gets pissy about stupid things.” You dislodge a chunk of rice and your hand slips across the bowl, splashing water onto your shirt. “That’s you.”

There’s a second of dense, oppressive silence. When Sirius breaches it, you can hear the smirk in his voice. “There’s my girl. Tell me about the stupid things I got pissy about, would you?”

“It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s not. It wasn’t nothing to me, and clearly it wasn’t to you either. Go on, doll.”

“I don’t want to argue with you.”

“Sure you do.”

“Why do you want to fight so bad?”

“Because,” Sirius says, and you can hear him moving behind you, can all but see him leaning against the counter, the picture of insouciance, “I think you need to get it out of your system.”

You scrub harder at the bowl. Blackened bits of rice float to the top of the water. “Like you do?”

A pause. His voice softens. “It’s not always a good thing. I shouldn’t have shouted at you, last night.” Something in your chest tightens painfully at this new gentle tone. “I’m sorry. I let my temper get the better of me. I was just worried about you.”

“I don’t think that’s my fault,” you say, managing to sound mostly normal. You dump out the contents of the bowl, filling it again with warmer water. “My phone was dead, and I was with my friends. I didn’t need you to worry about me.”

“I just do, when I know you’ve all been drinking, and I can’t talk to you to know you’re okay…” Sirius takes in a breath, breaking your heart with how it sounds like he’s trying to steady himself. “But you’re right, okay? It wasn’t fair.”

“I didn’t know I was coming home to be shouted at.” This time, your voice betrays you, a pitchiness that makes you go quiet fast. You hear Sirius move.

“Sweetheart?” he asks softly. There’s a touch at your elbow. “I’m sorry, baby, please look at me.”

You don’t want to, but you don’t want your embarrassment interpreted as ire. You take a quiet breath before pivoting from the sink. Sirius’ eyes are waiting, sad and fretful as they probe at yours.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, impossibly quieter, and runs his fingers from your elbow up the back of your arm. “It wasn’t your fault, I wasn’t being fair. I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”

You press your lips together, hard. His eyebrows hook up in the middle.

“You can cry, sweet thing. It’s okay.” You shake your head mutely, blinking, and Sirius makes a terribly lovely cooing sound, snaking an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest. You hug him back as the first hot tear rolls down your cheek. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Your shoulders jump with a stilted, poorly repressed sob, his grip on you tightening. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby. My temper tantrum really did a number on you, huh?”

You laugh wetly. “Guess so,” you squeak. “Sorry.”

“If you apologize for this, I may shout at you again,” he warns fondly. “You haven’t done anything wrong, lovely girl. Just let it out, if you need to.”

You know that’s not easy for Sirius to say. Know he’s likely close to tears himself, from how agitated seeing other people cry makes him. You appreciate the offer.

You fall into a silence less heavy than any that’s suffocated your home since last night, broken up only by the steady, quiet thumping of Sirius patting your back and the intermittent smooching sounds as he kisses your shoulder or your cheek or the side of your neck. You stand still in your smoky kitchen, wetting your boyfriend’s shoulder with tears and snot, and he lets you.

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jungkookstatts · 1 year

Text

Not in the Way You Think

[Summary]: You've been after your best friend for ages. But how are you supposed to know that he's after you too if he insists on being a bachelor until his dying breath?

[Theme]: ChildHoodFriendsToLovers!AU, NonIdol!AU, VirginReader!AU, BachelorJK!Au, Fuck-Boy JK, Virgin Reader

[Rating]: 18+, explicit content, dry humping, protected sex, fluff, somewhat angst, many many years of pining, making out, oral. Soft dom/Dom JK, sub Reader, virgin things, mention of alcohol and a pen

[Word Count]: 6,043

[A/N]: Hi. I've resurrected. For now. Enjoy! Also, if anyone knows what's going on with my materialist -- sos!!

[Materialist]

“Sorry, but there’s no fucking way,” your best friend scoffs against the lip of his dab pen. He was about to take a hit, but was abruptly stopped before you told him something completely unbelievable to his ears.

“Jungkook, I’m serious,” you whine.

God, this is so embarrassing. You fiddle with the rims of your hoodie's sleeve, examining it in shame. You can’t dare to look at the face of your best friend on the other side of the couch. His words already make you feel embarrassed enough, you can’t imagine what looking at his face would do.

“Y/n,” he starts again, that disbelieving smirk proving to adorn his features. “You’re 24 years old. What the fuck.”

“24-year-olds can be virgins, too, Jungkook,” you roll your eyes. “Not everyone strives to have over 30 bodies on their ‘fucked list’ by this age.”

You feel so embarrassed. Of all people, you thought your best friend wouldn’t shame you like this. It’s already embarrassing enough to be at this age and to not have tried anything sexual with anyone before. You’re inexperienced. You know that. But the conversation originally didn’t start this way. What was once a talk about which flavored soju was better than the other, turned into a ridiculing conversation about your lame sex life. The last thing you need is his bantering about how shocking it is to hear everything you haven’t done yet.

“57,” he corrects you with yet another smirk. This time, there’s a tease in his eye, obviously waiting for your reaction on his body count number.

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes. “Forget it.”

You try to grab the remote on the coffee table, but Jungkook takes it before you can.

“Wait, now,” he laughs when you smack his arm. “I’m not done asking about this yet.”

“Jungkook!” you whine. “I’m seriously so embarrassed. I don’t want to talk about it with you anymore.”

“Have you ever kissed anyone?!” He raises his pierced eyebrow. “What about Taehyung? And Soobin? Aren’t those guys your ex’s? You had to have done something with them, Y/n, c’mon.”

“Yes!” you blush harshly. “Of course I’ve kissed people before. I’ve just never…done anything dirty with them.”

“Not even like a hand job or anything?” he raises his other eyebrow.

“Jungkook, please stop reacting like that. You’re making me feel worse,” you tuck your hair behind your ear.

It’s no news that Jungkook is not only your childhood best friend but he’s also been a notorious fuck-boy since about 5 years ago when the two of you moved to a different city to attend the same college. He has always told you that he was going to spend his university life being a bachelor, making it a goal of his to see how many girls he could get underneath him by the age of 25. He's gathered quite a lot. Except now, he’s more knowledgeable than you for once, and you’re not taking the news so well.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. But his words prove to be carried with no remorse. “Not even oral?”

“Jungkook!” you kick his knee. “Seriously. I continued this conversation with you because I thought you’d be nicer about it. You’re obviously the experienced one here. But clearly, you’re not experienced enough to know that not everyone is constantly looking for which sexual activity to try on the next stranger.”

You’ve been his #1 ear to all of his stories for years now, no matter how repetitive they can be…or how much they secretly punch you in the gut every time he tells you a new one.

The two of you couldn’t be more opposite. He’s sporty and social, you’re quiet and mellow. He’s into the music and business world, whereas you’re into radiology and all-things-hospital. He’d rather spend his free time partying and making himself feel good in any way that he can, whereas you’d spend your free time wrapped in a book or having coffee over a new podcast about aliens.

But no matter your differences, the grunge boy that you grew up with sitting on the opposite side of the couch, making fun of you and laughing at the sheer difference in how the two of you chose to live out your college years, will always be your best friend. He might remain a crush or even your first love, but nothing can change the fact that the two of you click like two peas in a pod. You couldn’t trade anything for that, even your secrets about what you feel for him.

“Woah, hey,” he chuckles. “Sorry. I’m just–wow. It’s just shocking to me, I don’t know. Especially for you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you scrunch your eyebrows together.

“Well, I mean,” he laughs awkwardly, putting his pen on the table. “It’s no secret you were the girl every guy was trying to get into their bed all throughout college…and high school.”

“Tch,” you shake your head. “As if, Kook. Don’t try to make up for ridiculing me about my sex life by covering it up with fake scenarios.”

“I’m serious, Y/n. Just as serious as you are about this,” he says. “You thought that Soobin, the university's #1 crush–a guy even more wanted than me–would agree to go out with you and date you if you weren’t the hottest chick in the school?”

“Yeah, well, that was short-lived,” you scoff, remembering the events of your break up. “He didn’t really want me. Or well, he did, but not like how I thought.”

“This is why I’m shocked,” he explains further. “Literally every man that I knew talked about you. I don’t know how their efforts could have gone unnoticed by you. But I guess you were too in your head to notice. You had the hottest man in the school, but not even that was enough to even make you think about doing anything with him?”

As much as that information flatters you, it doesn’t satisfy you at all. Truthfully, Jungkook could talk about any man in the world that might want you. But if that category doesn’t include him, the thought doesn’t arouse you at all.

Your own brain can’t even wrap itself around why you were so hung up on him. Why would you possibly want a guy like Jungkook to want you. He’s careless and reckless. He doesn’t give things a second thought and pushes all your buttons at the worst times. He’s foolish and irresponsible – a walking stick screaming ‘bad news’.

But at the same time, he is oh-so gentle. He’s kind and sweet, considerate and respectful. His touch makes you jolt, and his voice relieves your headaches in an instant. You feel safe when he is there, and absolutely terrified when he is not. He’s strong and capable, but also sentimental at heart.

You don’t think you could find anyone else like him in the world. No one like your Jungkook.

No wonder your past relationships didn’t work out for you. Taehyung you broke up with out of frustration. It was with him that you realized that Jungkook was too in your head to be dating anyone fairly. And just when you thought you were over Jungkook being your ideal man, Soobin walked into your life. But since he broke up with you over your own inexperience, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about how maybe you waited too long. No one wants someone who has no idea what they’re doing in the bedroom at the age of 24. Most of society at this age is dating to marry. You’re still dating for the experience.

“It’s not that I didn’t think about doing anything with him,” you respond. “I just–I don’t know. I couldn’t. It didn’t feel right. He wasn’t–I don’t know. We just weren’t a good match. The same goes for Taehyung and everyone else before him and Soobin.”

Your best friend is quiet for a moment, trying to wrap his head around everything that you’re saying.

“But it’s all irrelevant now,” you continue. “We’re graduated, and there’s nothing I can do about previous male efforts towards getting me in their sheets. It’s just–there’s something wrong with me.”

“Clearly,” Jungkook agrees. “Sex is like–life. You truly don’t know until you try. Do you even masturbate?”

“Jungkook,” you sigh quietly, as a disappointed palm presses against your forehead. “You weren’t supposed to agree to that.”

“Well, do you?”

“Of course, I masturbate.”

“And that hasn’t persuaded you at all? Don’t you imagine what it would feel like to have something other than your fingers or some toy getting you off?”

“That’s so graphic,” you scowl.

“Well, do you?”

You roll your eyes.

“I do, don’t get me wrong,” you agree. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just too hung up on a scenario that’s not possible–at least not for me.”

“You’re pined after by millions, Y/n,” he sits up straight on the couch, his legs folding against the cushions to get a better look at you. “Any scenario is possible in your world. Especially related to sex. You could get any man that you wanted to if you just broke down a wall or two and went after them.”

“That’s not–never mind,” you give up. You’re too embarrassed to admit anything. You also don’t really want to. Risking your friendship with Jungkook isn’t worth letting out a secret like this. You’d lose him forever, and you can’t risk that. “No one wants a 24-year-old virgin,” you begin again, trying to move on from your previous words. “Unless they’re a crazy perv, or one of those dudes who thinks that only ‘marriageable girls’ should be virgins until they tie the knot. And, well, those guys are just…weird.”

Jungkook laughs at your words and a small smile forms on your lips from the sound of his laugh.

“Y/n, what are you saying?” he exclaims amidst his laughter. “Look at you! You haven't lost a cent of your desirability in all the years I’ve known you. Any guy would want you.”

“But not you,”

“Huh?”

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck. Why did you just say that?!

The thought slipped past your lips without a second thought. There’s heat in your cheeks, and you can’t bear to look at Jungkook’s face. You might have fucked everything up now. Just over a thought you didn’t think twice about. Your brain must have been done suppressing it, but now you have to sit here and wait for the consequences of letting it all go.

“Sorry,” you clear your throat. “C-Can you give me the remote? I’d like to drop this and finish this show.”

“Nuh-uh,” he laughs in disbelief. His rough hand gently wraps around your wrist, forcing you to look at him again. “What did you just say?”

“Jungkook, please,” you cry. There’s fear in your voice. You’re so scared of losing him, you can’t even think properly. All you want to do is pretend like nothing happened. Like this whole conversation didn’t happen and you were back to talking about flavored soju. The thought of losing your best friend floods your mind, and you beg him with your eyes to stop. But he’s unrelenting.

Jungkook scoffs at the look in your eye, his grip loosening on your wrist before sliding it off completely.

“Y/n, you are so oblivious, it actually gets on my nerves more than anything in this world sometimes,” he says.

You feel your heart sink to your stomach.

“I didn’t think I’d actually have to tell you this because I thought it was obvious how I feel about you,” he laughs to himself. “I don’t know how long you’ve noticed, or if you’ve even noticed at all, but I’ve had a crush on you since freshman year of high school, Y/n. And it’s only grown since then. So don’t think for a second that I wouldn’t want you.”

Words fail to leave your lips. You’ve had so much shock and embarrassment during your time spent with him tonight. But nothing could have prepared you for this.

“Jungkook, none of this is making sense,” you stop him. As much as your heart leaps at his confession, a part of you is still completely misunderstanding something. “You mean to tell me that you’ve had a crush on me for how long? And yet in the meantime, you’ve made it your mission to be with every woman on campus? How in the world do you expect me to think you had feelings for me when every Saturday morning you tell me about whose pussy you were up the night before? How was I supposed to know?”

There’s a bit of anger in your voice. All these years of getting your heart shattered over his countless stories about girls that weren’t you. About how he kissed Emily on Friday night and then fucked her best friend, Rachel, in the ass a few hours later. About how he went all the way home one weekend just to fuck your high school calculus teacher. Or about the countless times you’ve walked into your shared apartment with him, only to look down and see an extra pair of girly high-heels sitting by the door next to his shoes. Or the many pairs of unfamiliar panties you’ve found in the wash. Or the smell of strong perfume constantly stained on his side of the couch.

“How in the world did I expect you to think I had feelings for you?” he reiterated your questions irritably. “Y/n, I asked you to be my date to prom! Hell, don’t even try to cut out the fact that we almost kissed when we graduated high school. I hung out with you every day after school in both high school and college. Fuck, half the reason I came to this university was to be by your side. We even have an apartment together!”

“You’re my best friend, Jungkook!” you explain.

“You don’t have to remind me,” he runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “I gave up trying to make us anything more than friends a while ago. Fuck, every time I lay with a girl it’s the biggest reminder of all that we’ll only be friends.”

“Fuck you, Jungkook,” you cry. A tear falls down your cheek from his words. God, you’re so frustrated and angry and annoyed and so relieved. You don’t know which emotion to put first. “Fuck you. You shattered me into pieces. You call me oblivious when I’ve spent years loving you. But you’ve been too busy telling me about who you’re going to fuck next to notice."

Jungkook breathes heavily, anger leaving his nostrils. His eyes are foreign to yours. You’ve never seen so much emotion in them at once.

And then suddenly he’s on your side of the couch, hovering over you, holding your jaw in his big, tattooed palm. His lips sear against yours kissing you with passion you’ve never felt before.

It’s second nature to hold his face in your hands. His ears slip between your middle and index finger; the cool metal of his earrings touches your skin gently.

You moan into him when you glide your right hand into his locks, pressing him tighter against your body. Jungkook grunts at the feeling of your hand in his hair. Never in a million years did he think he'd feel you like this. No matter how many times he’s imagined it before, no matter how many times he’s pretended it was you instead of the stranger beneath him, the feeling of imagining you is nothing compared to the feeling of actually having you right there in his arms.

You can feel him lay his weight heavier on you the more you kiss him. It prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him tighter against your body.

Jungkook’s lips detach from yours slowly, his thumb lightly pressing against your bottom lip as he pulls away.

“I’m sorry,” he kisses you again slowly. It’s wet and soft, but you don’t mind. It’s him, and he feels right. “I guess we gave each other too many mixed signals.”

You kiss him back, holding his chin between your index finger and thumb.

“Are my signals clear now?” you ask him gently.

“If you’re telling me that you want me…more than just friends,” he presses his nose against yours. “Then they’re clear as day.”

You smile against his lips when he indulges on you again. Jungkook kisses you slowly and softly for another few minutes. It’s much different from the kissing you did a few minutes ago. This time, he’s gentle, and so are you. Your hands find purchase at the base of his scalp again, and you smile as he moans at the feeling. This is a whole new learning curve for you, and you’re finally going through lessons you’ve restricted yourself from accessing for a very long time. It feels so good. It feels amazing to have him in your arms like this.

But still, somehow there’s something missing. There’s a pit in your stomach, a wetness in between your thighs that begs you to rub up against him. And so you do, but you’re stopped with a firm hand on your hip from the man above you. You suddenly feel embarrassed again.

"Y/n,” he pants against your lips. He looks down at your conjoined hips. A part of him feels embarrassed at the sight–he doesn’t think he’s been more hard in his life. But he respects you more than to indulge in his own fantasy right now. “You’re still a virgin,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you exhale. “But I want you, Kook. I want you to be the one to take it.”

“Y/n,” he coos, swiping his thumb across your cheek. “I think you should think about it. I’m not the most romantic person in bed. I also don’t think I’m cut out to be your first. I don’t deserve you like that.”

“Don’t say that Jungkook,” you scrunch your eyebrows together. “You say that as if I haven’t been imagining you in the same way that you imagine me. You say that as if I haven’t been waiting for 10 years to kiss you like this. I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long, and I think this moment is why I haven’t been able to indulge in sex with anyone else. I feel right with you.”

You watch his eyes dart from your eyes to your lips. He’s lazy with his decision on which to focus on right now. His heart is so overwhelmed, he doesn't know which feature of yours to honor first.

“What are you doing to me,” he laughs at himself. You smile back at him, and he swears nothing has ever been more right than how it is at this moment.

“Will you take me, Jungkook?” you ask him again, much softer this time. It sounds strange coming from your mouth. You’ve never asked anyone to do that for you. The only person you’ve wanted, or have imagined, taking it away from you has been Jungkook. And here he is above you.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Your words send all the blood straight to his cock, as if it didn’t have enough blood in it already. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want,” you confirm with him. “I want you.”

“God, I want you, too,” he says, kissing you passionately yet again. This time, he scoops you into his arms, sitting you up on his lap. You straddle him perfectly, your thighs hugging his, and your core pressed temptingly against his own.

Jungkook moans at the feeling, his hands finding purchase on your hips before slowly grinding them against his own.

Your hands fall from his jaw to his shoulder, the feeling of his clothed dick against your pussy is much more shocking than you thought it would be. Never in a million years did you think such a strange action would feel so good.

“Kook,” you whine against his lips.

He breathes lightly against yours, trying to keep his composure as you make yourself feel good on his thighs.

“Can I touch you?” he asks gently. His hands remain on your hips until you nod, giving him permission to explore your body in whichever way he would like to first.

He watches your face as he slides his hands up to your waist. His fingers make their way under your silk pajama shirt, causing you to jolt at the feeling of his skin against yours. It puts a desire in your heart that you’ve never felt before. You’ve never wanted to explore anyone else like this.

“C-Can I touch you?” You ask him this time.

Jungkook laughs a little at you asking for his permission. In a way, he’s not really used to that. He finds it endearing that even though he’s fucked a lot of girls in his lifetime, the fact doesn’t take away that he’s still worthy of asking something like that to you. The other part of him laughs as if he’d ever say no to you.

“Please,” he gives you permission.

With that, you look at the fabric of his shirt leaning against his collarbone. His typical black shirt covers just enough to make you curious.

But your eyes move to your own hands, which are delicately mimicking his actions, except they start by pushing up his shirt from the bottom. Your fingertips feel his abs underneath them. They’re defined, and you hate to admit that they make you really nervous.

Your eyes flick to his, and they read your mind like a book.

With one motion, he takes his hands off your waist and pulls his shirt off, revealing all his glory to you in one quick second.

You take a deep breath, and he chuckles a little. But his laughs stop the minute you touch him again. They slide up his abs, your fingertips feeling his honey skin underneath you. They slide to his arm, covered in ink. They’re a perfect representation of him, and you haven’t told him enough how much you love them. They’re passionate and edgy, handsome and strong, but gentle and honest all at the same time.

You almost get lost in his ink when he slides his fingers further up your shirt.

Your breath stops in your throat when he grazes his fingers on the underside of your boob. You’re not wearing a bra, and the fact only excites Jungkook more.

But he wants to be patient with you, even though he knows that the two of you want this so badly.

“Can I?” he asks again.

“Yes,” you give him permission in a whisper.

With that, he slides the silk fabric up and over your shoulder, his breath stopping in his throat when he sees you.

“Fuck Y/n,” he breathes out. He looks to you for permission again to touch you, and you nod with a small smile on your face.

Jungkook gently cups the underside of your breasts, his body leaning forward as he does so. His lips wrap around your nipple and you gasp when he twirls his tongue around your sensitive bud.

The sensation prompts you to press your hips deeper against his, eliciting the sweetest sound from his throat. His black jeans frustrate him, the barrier is too thick between you and him.

He sucks on you harder before popping off and transferring his torture to your other nipple. Your pussy feels like it’s almost gushing arousal from his mouth alone. A raspy moan leaves your mouth as he gently bites on your bud, prompting you to tug at his hair.

“K-Kook,” you moan. “Please,” you beg.

Jungkook pops off your nipple, his mouth trailing kisses up to your neck. His hands slide up your back, holding you close against his chest as he kisses and sucks on the sweetest parts of your neck. You know he’s learning you, and you’re 100% willing to let him continue.

“I want you inside of me,” you pant against his ear. “Please, Kook. I want you.”

Jungkook pulls away, resting his hands on your waist again.

He looks at you with more seriousness now, although his lips are red and swollen and his skin is starting to shimmer with the slightest bit of sweat.

“Are you sure?” He asks you again.

“Yes,” you hold his cheek.

“Okay,” he smiles.

With that, he stands up with you wrapped around his waist. You know where you’re going, and you giggle against his neck at the fact that this is reality. You’re in his arms, your skin against his, and he’s on his way to make you feel closer to him than you ever have before. This is the only man that you’d let do this to you, you’ve realized. And the relief that it is finally happening makes you giddy and so so happy on the inside. You can’t help but hold him closer.

Jungkook gently lays you on his sheets. They smell like him, and you feel warm inside when he tops off the scent with himself hovering over you.

“Have you…you know,” he gulps. “Used anything before?”

“Like a dildo?” you clarify.

“Yeah,” he kisses your neck again. He’s completely overwhelmed with you. He can’t stop kissing you, and he doesn't want to stop anytime soon. The urge to mark you as his own–to show every man that you belong to him–is so strong. He can’t help being so proud that this has finally happened. That you’re with him, and that this is the start of something new between the two of you.

“Other than my fingers,” you sigh. “No, not really.”

Suddenly, Jungkook stands up, uncomfortably fiddling with the zipper of his jeans. What you said made his dick hurt with arousal. His jeans are too tight on him now, and he wants to feel all of your skin against his.

You watch him take off his jeans, feeling overwhelmed by the look of his cock springing free underneath his gray Calvin’s.

“S-Sorry,” he apologizes for the change in pace. “They were getting tight.”

“I can see why,” you exhale.

You feel taken aback by Jungkook’s size. It’s still clothed by his boxers, and he already looks like he’s going to rip you open. No wonder he is in such high demand.

“I’ll prep you,” he promises. “N’ go slow.”

You watch him give himself a few pumps over his boxers, closing his eyes from the feeling of releasing a little bit of tension. He smiles when his eyes land on your face, your eyes completely fixated on his dick.

“Something caught your eye?” he laughs at the expression on your face.

“Shut up,” you smile.

Your breath stills when he hooks his fingers around the rim of your pants, asking your eyes for permission before he continues. You allow him, and soon you’re left in just a pair of boy shorts with a huge stain soaking at your core. The sight has Jungkook immediately leaning himself on his elbows against the mattress to get a better look.

“Fuck,” he whispers, sliding his hands on the underside of your thigh. He pushes your legs up, examining you for the first time. “You’re soaked, Y/n.”

“S-Shut up,” you shy. “Do something already.”

Jungkook laughs at your embarrassment, hooking his fingers underneath the waistband of your underwear and sliding it up and off your body.

“As you wish,” he whispers against your core. You don’t even have time to react before his mouth gently envelopes your clit. He sucks on it as you squirm beneath him, the intensity of his pleasure feeling like it’s going to be a lot to handle.

You slide your fingers into his hair when he plays at your entrance. It’s so wet, and he can’t control himself from sliding his finger in, knuckles deep, as you moan from his actions.

Your responses only fuel his fire, causing him to lap you up even more, to slip another finger in and curl it up into your g-spot. He can feel you tense, and he knows you’re close. He wants you to get there, but you stop him before he has the chance to.

“Want you, Kook,” you whine. “I wanna cum with you.”

“You wanna cum with me?” he restated your statement as a question.

You nod feverishly against his pillows, your eyes coming to lock with his.

“I want you inside of me when you make me feel good,” you explain. “That’s how I want it.”

Jungkook gulps. Fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’s ever heard.

“If that’s how you want it,” he smiles.

With a swift motion, he gets up to take off his boxers, his dick slapping against his abdomen as he does so.

It's almost comical how quickly he reaches for a condom in his nightstand drawer, slipping it on while his eyes stay right on yours. They tell you he’s been longing for you for so long. That this moment was one that he always dreamt of, but never thought would become a reality. You can only hope that yours convey the same.

Jungkook hovers over you again, his tip lining up with your entrance.

“Are you sure you want this? I can stop right now if you want me to,” he asks you again. There’s a worry in his eyes, as if he doesn’t think he’s the right one to take this from you.

“I want you, Koo. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. Please take me,” you plea.

You watch that man above you gulp before he kisses the tip of your nose. He rests his elbows on the sides of your head, trapping you underneath him. With a kiss, you feel the burn of being stretched suddenly flood your system. He pushes in slowly, your back arching into him as he struggles to find a normal breathing pace.

It hurts, but he goes slow. He’s aware of your discomfort, and he wants you to say something before he continues.

“S’ this okay?” he asks you.

When you look down, you realize he’s only half way, and your head tilts back against sheets. He’s so big, you don’t know what to do with yourself.

“Mmhm,” you grip his shoulders. “You can move, Kook.”

Jungkook pulls out, and then goes back in quicker and deeper this time. The feeling causes you to dig your nails into the skin of his back, the pain and pleasure bringing you to a high you’ve never felt before.

“Ahh- Y/n,” Jungkook moans on top of you. His head falls into the crook of your neck as he keeps a steady and slow pace. “You feel so good,” he pants against your skin.

“F-Faster, Kook,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Mm,” he hums, happily obliging to your request.

Jungkook speeds up the pace, his hips slapping against yours lewdly. There's so much liquid shared between the two of you, but neither of you care. It feels too good to stop.

“M’ feel good, baby?” He asks you, hovering his lips above yours. “This what you wanted?”

“Y-Yes,” you cry, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach from the name he called you.

Jungkook suddenly takes your hips in his hands firmly. Sitting on the back of his heels, his body towers over you before ramming his hips into yours again. The action causes you to tilt your head back, feeling fuller than you were just a minute ago in this new position.

“Yeah?” He licks his lips. His face looks demonic–like an actual sex demon is on top of you right now. “This is what you wanted, huh? You wanted to be fucked by this fat cock so bad, didn’t you, hm?”

Jungkooks fingers grip your hips tighter, slamming them against his own even harder than he did before. You can feel him against your cervix, hitting your g-spot with every exit and entrance of his cock in your pussy.

“Wanted you so bad, Koo,” you cry.

You feel your toes start to curl, and a part of you feels scared that you might cum too quickly. You want this to last longer.

“Yeah?” He bites his lip. Hearing you say that makes his head go fuzzy. The girl he’s wanted for so long, the girl he thought he could never have, is finally his. And he’s a part of something that is so special to you, he feels honored and overwhelmed all at the same time. “You gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna cum on my dick?”

“K-Kook,” you whine. “S-Say you wanted me, too. S-Say–”

“Fuck, Y/n, I wanted you so bad,” he grunts at the thought. He feels angry for the time he’s lost due to thinking one thing when it was actually the other. He could have been with you like this every night. He could have been loving you and holding your hand, and kissing you all day long had he just grown a pair and done it earlier. He should have kissed you at graduation all that time ago. Or maybe even earlier at prom. He’s wanted you all along. And thinking about how he felt when you got together with Taehyung and Soobin made him feel a jealousy he’s never felt before. He can only imagine what he’s done to you. The fact that he had someone new every night to talk to you about makes his heart hurt with the fact that telling you those things might have shattered your heart into dust just as you dating someone else did to his own.

“I wanted you then, and I want you now, and I want you after,” he continues. “I don’t want to let you go ever again.”

Your back arches from his words, your neck falling back from the pleasure and the pain all at once.

“Koo,” you grab onto his wrist. “I think I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah?” He bites his lip again. His hair falls in front of his face as he watches your breasts move with his dick inside of you. “Cum for me baby, I’m not that far behind.”

Jungkook falls on top of you again. But this time, he brings your legs up over his shoulders, pushing into you even further than before. You’re starting to think he has an endless cock. Every new position he puts you in, you feel another inch inside of you.

You feel a white heat wash over you, and somehow you see stars as he continuously moves his dick in you harshly.

“A-Ahh,” you hear him moan. “You’re so tight–m’ gonna cum,” he tells you against your ear. “S’ that–that alright?”

He holds out until you let him, nodding into his cheek, too blissed out from your orgasm to form a worded response.

His thrusts get sloppy after you give him permission. The last few of them are hard and deep before you feel his dick pulse inside of you. A stream of sweet moans and your name falls from his lips as he releases inside of you. Out of all the music in the world, this is the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard.

After a few moments to catch a breath, he pulls out, not wanting any of his cum to leak out of the condom as he begins to soften from his post-sex glory. Jungkook kisses you gently, moving your hair off your sweaty face. He kisses your cheek and your forehead before tucking your hair behind your ear.

“You okay?” he asks you gently.

You laugh at his question. Hell, you were more than okay. Your best friend, first love, and current love, just took your virginity. Although you know you have a lot to experience in the sexual world, you whole-heartedly believe that it cannot get any better than this.

“Yes, are you?” you ask him back.

Jungkook laughs in the same way that you laughed at him.

“Is it safe to say that you’re my girlfriend now?” he asks.

“Only if the feeling is mutual.”

-----

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts, 2023 ]

3K notes · View notes

elssero · 1 month

Text

so… head?

e.kirishima

♰ nsfw/suggestive content, pussy eating, slight angst to smut/fluff with kiri being a d1 eater <3 part1

you step hurriedly into your apartment and you feel as though you can finally realise the breath it feels like you’ve been holding your entire walk- no run home. you open your phone to find messages from each of them, mina asking where you went and denki excessively apologising asking if he made you uncomfortable. their messages are filled with worry- your not like this, your strong- so strong. if anyone knows how to take a joke it’s you, which is why you running of has them so worried.

you shoot mina quick message- something along the lines of being tired because of work and promising you’ll make it up to them next time, that seems to calm them down a bit.

despite having basically ran the entire way home in nothing but a mini-skirt you still feel hot all over- not a warm hot- no definitely not. you feel hot inside. you decide a cold shower is a definite and you strip as fast as possible, the material of your clothes are sticking to your skin and you need to wash this feeling away immediately.

with the high of drunken state now completely gone you step under the water with a hiss- it’s freezing. that seems to derail your attention long enough for you to shower completely.

settling into your couch in much comfier clothes you pick up your remote and browse through your tv services- trying to find something to take ur mind off whatever the fuck tonight was.

you can’t though- you can’t stop thinking about kiri, and how hot his breathe was against your skin, the look in his eyes when he spoke to you, his voice low- almost desperate. you take a quick peek at your messages- more from mina, photos now of everyone together, without you. a few more from denki, clearly now alot more drunk as he’s slurring even more apologies, he’s blabbering about cancelling the head plan and you can’t help but giggle at his typos. without realising your eyes gravitate towards kiri’s name on your wall of messages- he hasn’t text.

should you feel so disappointed? you knew he was only saying those things because he was drunk- of course he was but that doesn’t stop the little hurt u feel creep up on you when you realise everyone else has messaged you.

you contemplate for a moment- how do you move forward from this? at first glance it could be easy enough, you don’t work at the same agency as kirishima so the only time you see him are during your groups weekly get togethers, you debate in your head for a moment before deciding that you’ll face him when your ready, until then you plan to avoid him. saving both you and him from the embarrassment of having him either a- forget it ever happened or b- have him probably apologise for joking around and tell you he didn’t mean it.

you can’t even decide which option you’d rather- having him forget would mean you would never need to bring it up with him, he could live in blissful ignorance while you take your sweet time getting over it. kirishima is so sweet though, your sure if he remembers tomorrow morning that he’ll attempt to apologise for his attempt to make you feel better- you’d rather he didn’t say anything at all.

you spent your week diving head first into work, hardly giving yourself a moment of rest- you put yourself forward for every patrol shift you can get. upping your daily patrols to minimum 2 a day, sometimes even 3 if your struggling to sleep and decide to take a night shift.

to say your friends are worried about you is an understatement- you’ve never been one to overwork yourself, you always seem to have a perfect balance between your work and person life so to see you completely ignore anything personal has them almost frantic for you.

sero messages your groupchat about plans for friday, he invites everyone up to his place- clearly excited about his new minibar finally being set up. you smile at the message but not respond quite yet. not until you see a message from a certain red head matching his excitement in his own message confirming that he’ll be there this weekend. you frown slightly reading his message- it’s clear he’s talking to everyone else fine so it seems to be just you he hasn’t spoken to all week. you decide not to reply straight away, instead finishing your second patrol of the day in hopes of going straight home to sleep after.

the patrol goes by quickly and suddenly your on your couch again, unable to sleep while endlessly scrolling to try find something to watch. without any luck you open up your messages again to see the rest of your friends all confirming their availability for the friday coming, your frown from earlier re-appearing on your face as you send a quick message to your manager asking them to set up your schedule for you to be out on patrol again on friday night.

you scroll up the chat messages so you can send a direct reply to seros message in the chat inviting you all over- your reply is short and sweet, letting your friends know that you’ve been scheduled for patrol on friday night and are unable to make it this week. you tell them to have a good time without you though! sending the message while you ignore the tight feeling in your chest.

you want more than anything to be with them on friday but you can’t- your not quite ready to face them yet. especially kirishima who you’ve assumed has forgotten about your drunken conversation.

you get a couple pitying messages in the chat- your friends expressing their disappointment at the fact you won’t be there- telling you that they’ll miss you and it won’t quite be the same without you. nothing from kirishima though- you ignore the way your brain immediately picks up that he hasn’t said anything about your absence and decide it’s late enough already, you need some much deserved rest.

the following weeks go by in a blur, you work, you eat and you sleep. your life seems to be moving in a constant wheel of the same activities day after day- your colleagues are now taking notice of your unceasing interest to pick up every shift your offered, your manager even taking a moment to tell you to slow down, you don’t need the extra patrols your doing great on the rankings as it is. you ignore her though, telling her it’s not about the rankings- you just want to work as much as you possibly can so she, against her best wishes schedules you for yet another friday night patrol.

this will be the forth week in a row you’ve missed out on your friends hangouts and you can tell their starting to get increasingly stressed about your constant absence- mina phones you while your in the office to ask where you are, she’s been stood outside your apartment knocking like an idiot. it’s nearly ten pm and she lets out a groan when you tell her your still not home- promising to be back soon.

she’s not there when you arrive home an hour later, you find a message from her almost begging you to talk to her- she’s troubled by your unwillingness to spend time with her and you do your best to soothe her worries- promising to try and make it next week.

your settling down for bed when you hear a knock at your door- it’s nearly twelve at night, who the fuck is at your door so late?? you pray it isn’t mina- not believing in your ability to face her without breaking down, you head to the door anyway.

you open it quickly groaning at the light coming from the hall outside your apartment to be met with none other that eijirou kirishima standing breathless at your door.

your mouth drops quickly before you pull yourself together, you give him a questioning look before finding it in you to speak. “what are you doing here?” it’s not much but it’s all you can muster right now.

“i- “ he doesn’t continue, he looks almost as shocked to see you as you are him, despite him being the one knocking at your door close to midnight. “i had to see you.”

you raise an eyebrow at this- what the fuck is he doing here? in the middle of the night, stood outside your apartment alone.

“right… do you wanna come in?” you don’t want him to come in, infact you would have rathered if he hadn’t came at all but that’s not the situation you’ve found yourself in.

“please.” is all he replies and you look at him a little starstuck, he still sounds breathless- as if he ran here but you let him in despite your worries.

he follows you into your dimly lit apartment- you watch as his eyes dart across the room, stopping quickly at the pile of packaged food wrappers on your kitchen island as a pang of worry hits him even harder. you stay silent as you guide him to your couch and urge him to sit down next to you, taking note of your silence he begins to speak.

“so uh- how have you been recently? haven’t seen you in awhile..” his sentence trails off and you don’t even look at him when you answer with a quiet “i’ve been good.”

“i- okay look. i came here to apologise to you” you turn, looking at him now, this seems to increase his already nervousness- “i think- i think that i made you uncomfortable a couple weeks ago and i just want to apologise-”

“-it’s fine” you cut him off you begin to look away from him again now as you continue, ignoring the knot in your stomach as you realise you had been right- he had just been joking last month. “everyone says things they don’t mean when they’re drunk.” you finish off your sentence and take a quick drink of your water next to you- your mouth is dry.

“what.”

you snap your head to look at him- your eyes meeting his with an expression you didn’t expect- he’s hurt? confused? your struggling to read him but it’s clear he isn’t happy.

“what the fuck are you talking about?” he continues seeing as you don’t reply to him.

“what?” you answer back- your confused now, your talking about the same night are you not? “i’m talking about at the bar? when you made that joke about eating me out to make me feel better?” your calm. collected. surprisingly so- especially about a topic like this- you say it like it’s nothing. a stricking difference from when you last spoke and you physically ran away from the man infront of you. you’ve had alot of time to think about this situation over the past few weeks and you’ve decided it’s far easier to just ignore the way his words have you warm feeling inside for the sake of your friendship- for the the sake of group.

“i wasn’t joking.”

his eyes don’t leave yours as he replies- he looks even more broken now- “you thought- you thought i was joking?” he’s rushing his words out now, almost as if you can’t hear him.

your eyes blow wide open- your shocked as you look at him and he seems taken back-

“kiri please- i’m fine you don’t have to do this” you stand up now, you attempt to walk away but you don’t make it far as you feel a grip on your wrist as you turn away from him. your spun around quickly now face to face with the red head.

“i wasn’t joking- i wouldn’t joke about something like that-” you hear him- he sounds desperate- your eyes soften for a second as you look him in the eyes.

you take a breath. a slow one. you decide not to respond- not trusting your voice.

“i meant it. every single word.”

you’ve had enough. you’ve fought these feelings for far too long too continue to doubt yourself now. you move faster than you can think as you pull him down to your level by his neck and crash his lips onto yours-

the kiss is fast and passionate he’s pushing back into you now- wrapping his huge arms around your waist pulling you down onto the couch behind him, you rest on him straddling his waist as you push himself further into his mouth. you kiss for a minute- tongues pushing against the other feverishly before he parts from you.

“i can’t believe you thought i was joking. f-fuck when i said id do anything for it i meant it.”

you can’t help the blush that erupts from your face at his words.. your lost for a second before you answer him.

“s’not my fault, it took me by surprise- i’ve never had anyone express interest in that before..” you lean into him again, mouth hovering slightly about his- you can feel his long breaths against your lips as you pause, lips turning up into a slight smirk as you continue- “especially not like that”

he’s looking at you with half lidded eyes again, his current state reminds you of his one in the bar- you feel like an idiot, you can’t believe you didn’t see it then. he wanted you. he so clearly wanted you and you were so wrapped up in your own insecurities that you missed it.

“like what?” his voice even more breathy now- he doesn’t move closer to you but you can feel his breath growing quicker, he’s longing- wishing you’d just close the gap between you and him.

“desperately” is your answer, slow and seductive as you close the distance, pushing your mouth into his without giving him a second to think, he groans at the contact and you let your full weight fall onto his lap as you straddle him properly now- without hovering.

his hands roam the plush of your waist dipping down to your thighs, they’re bigger now that you’ve fully sat down on him and he moans as he squeezes his hands into the fat of them, pulling you closer to the buldge in his pants. you feel it at your core- he’s hung you don’t doubt it for a second as your rock yourself against him- craving some sort of pleasure as he moans into your mouth and breaks the kiss.

“p-please stop that.” he moans it out “if you keep grinding on me like that i won’t be able to do what i really want to.”

your suddenly flipped over, your lying down back against your couch as you use your arms to hoist yourself up as your eyes follow kiris figure, he kisses against the fat on your stomach avoids the material your small sleep shorts.

he ducks his finger under the band and looks up at you- hunger in his eyes. “this is what i really want… if you’ll let me.”

you nod- far too quickly as you mumble an audible yes before you can let your insecurities get the better of you again. he wastes no time pulling down the hem of your shorts- exposing the full view of your pussy to him.

he stalls for a second- just looking before he moves. the second is enough time for you have second thoughts.

they’re quickly shut down when he audibly whines “h-holy fuck baby look at you.” he’s crazy. he must be fucking crazy. “prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen- can’t believe i get to be the first to taste it.”

you don’t have time to be shocked as he dives straight into you and you immediately let out a loud moan, it’s pleasure like nothing you’ve ever felt before. he’s lapping you up like he’s starved, you don’t think you could stop him now even if you wanted too. (which you definitely don’t) he refuses to come up for a breath, he’s taking long fast licks against between your slit before he begins to suck.

that must be it. you think. when women around you talk about how pleasurable getting head is this must be the feeling they talk about. your eyes shut and involuntarily as your hand rushes to grasp the hair on his head- pulling him closer to your core.

he moans into your pussy at the pulling of his hair and you feel it. you feel him fucking moan into your pussy as he drinks you up, you can’t even comprehend how wet you are right now. you’ve never felt this good in your life.

there’s a knot in your stomach you feel getting heavier- you need to realise it- you want it more than anything.

kiri feels as though he may as well be in heaven, he looks up at you for a second and nearly cums right there. your heads thrown back- eyes shut and mouth agape, your panting, making noises that move directly towards his cock. it twitches in his pants again- pre-cum dripping as the already existing wet patch continues to grow.

he needs you- he needs to pull an orgasm from you and he needs to do it soon. your thighs are soft around him, he’s keeping a firm grip on them as he feeds on you, fuck, it’s too much for him-

your in no better position than he is, your gasping for air at this point, paying no mind to the erotic sounds leaving your mouth, all you can do is grind down onto kiris face- chasing the realise.

you find it- it comes fast and hard- you let out a loud moan of his name as you reach your high- legs attempting to clamp shut around kirishima head and he only moans in response to the plush of your lights strangling him.

he waits for a second- let’s you calm down before he manoeuvres you to sit you up straight. your eyes begin to open as you find yourself face to face with an extremely red kirishima- your slick still dripping down his face, he’s smiling at you with nothing but admiration. he picks you up effortlessly and moves you towards your bedroom, he cleans you up and places you under your covers within a few moments, he joins you in bed without changing himself and it reminds you-

“what about you?” your eager- despite your tired state. “don’t worry about me baby” he’s quiet- he sounds nothing but content.

“why not?” your extreme tiredness making you almost delirious.. but you know you want him- to finish at least.

“i kinda- i already kinda came.”

no fucking way.

this is the longest i’ve written and god did it take FOREVER (maybe a couple of hours)

@von-studios part 2 baby <3

#bnha #mha smut #mha x female reader #mha x reader smut #mha x reader #mha kirishima #kirishima x you #bnha eijiro kirishima #bnha kirishima #kirishima smut #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou #mha #bnha x reader

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