#the white one is super hard to get and i managed to get my hands on him so i’m on a HIGH

[godborn]

i know u guys don’t care but i have to show u my kpop dolls

[satorusugurugurl]

My Wedding Date is an Escort!

Summary: When invited to your best friend's wedding, you panic. One of the groomsmen, Toji Fushiguro, is your ex-fiancè. Not wanting to deal with probing questions and the embarrassment of being single, your friend Haibara recommends using an Escort! Taking a leap of faith, you book one, the hottest one. Gojo Satoru is hot, sweet, and funny! The package deal! Men and Women pay thousands to go on a date with him (even more, which he doesn't do often). So when your request comes in, the desperation and pleading tone of your voice. Gojo’s heartthrobs, even more so when you tell him you don't want to have sex.

Pairing: Escort!Gojo x FAB Reader

Word Count: 3,882

Warning: Mentions of depression, anxiety, language, steamy kisses, pillow walls

A/N: Ah yes, trauma dumping before things get super spicy!!! Love the communication, it’s giving this could be a great relationship but it’s complicated. If you want to be included in the tag list, you MUST have your age in your bio PLEASE!!! Thank you!!

Part One Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

Your breathless words had the world crashing down around Satoru as he stared at your flushed face. His eyes widened as he released you, his own heart hammering in his chest. He had never lost control like that before! But there was this pull in his chest, one that screamed that he needed to protect you from the walking douchebag with black hair away from his; no, what the fuck? Not his girl, his client! 

“Holy fuck, I'm sorry! Shit, uhm, I shouldn't have done that.” Satoru grumbled, scrubbing his hands down his face. “I’m sorry.”

Your fingers trailed slowly over your lips. They were still tingling. “No, it's okay. I almost blew our cover.” Satoru slowly dragged his hands down his face, his eyes transfixed on you as you spoke. “That was all part of the act. If you didn't do that, it wouldn't have looked as convincing.”  Satoru visibly seemed to relax, shoulders slumping as he sighed.

“Thank fuck.” 

“It was just weird.” 

“I'm sorry?”A white eyebrow cocked up at your words. “Me kissing you was weird? Was it bad?” 

Your face flushed more, the heat spreading across your cheeks before setting over your chest. “Oh god, that came out wrong!” Your hands shot up in defense. “I-I didn't mean like that, Satoru! I just—I haven't kissed anyone in over a year and a half. So I guess I just—yeah, I’m rusty.”

“No,” you jerked your head up, “no, it was nice.” Stunning blue eyes softened, making you swallow hard. He thought it was nice. He is the hottest man on the planet, and ESCORT thought kissing you was nice.

What the fuck was this life?

Snapping out of the trance Satoru had you in; you cleared your throat. “I-I think I’m gonna take a s-shower!” You tossed the extra pillow to the futon on the floor. “Oh, and uhm, that kiss was nice for me too.” You turned, bolting for the bathroom before slamming the door. 

You slowly slid down it, sitting on the ground as you touched your lips. Satoru had such soft lips. It felt really good being kissed like you were wanted. No, no, it was an act! It's all an act. An act that had Satoru pacing the floor as he ran his hand through his hair.

It was only once he heard the shower running that he sat on the ground. What the fuck was that?! His pale skin was almost red as he tugged at white tufts of hair. He never got flustered with clients before! Maybe he was going insane. He must be because his mind keeps replaying the kiss repeatedly. 

The way you stiffened, how your hands gripped him so tight as he kissed you like he had never kissed a client before. Satoru slapped both his cheeks before shaking his head. That breathtaking kiss was nothing more than him doing his job. He was looking out for you as a client. Yeah, that was it. That asshole of a guy was the reason his heart was still racing as he thought of you and your lips.

By some miracle, both of you managed to pull your thoughts away from the kiss. You showered before switching with Satoru. He finally came out ten minutes later, grinning as he witnessed you placing the four extra pillows down the middle of the futon. You fluffed, pushed, and sat back to assess your constriction before repeating the process repeatedly until Satoru barked out a laugh from behind.

“Quit the impressive wall you’ve built.” Looking over your shoulder, you watched Satoru pull a tank top over his head. He slowly pulled it down over chiseled abs that had to have been crafted by a Renaissance artisan. Because there was no way those were real. “I’ve never had a client do that before.”

”Please don’t take it personally.” You whispered under your breath before fluffing another pillow. “It makes me feel a bit better; I haven’t shared a bed with anyone in a while.”

“Hey, no worries, whatever makes you feel comfortable, you keep doing it.”

God, why was he so nice? Sure, you paid him the big bucks to pretend to be your boyfriend. But that didn’t mean he had to be so understanding and kind regarding your antics. If anything, you would have assumed your pillow wall would have irritated anyone. You know for a fact that Toji would have hated it.

His kind, understanding patience had you transfixed on his movements as you both settled into bed. You were on your side, facing him as he stared at the ceiling, his hands resting behind his head. The silence wasn’t at all awkward. It was comforting in a way. You didn’t have to force yourselves to make dreadful small talk; you could enjoy the silence. 

The silence, however, had questions eating away at your insides. “Satoru?” Your voice mingled with chirping crickets and the warm spring breeze outside. You waited until his head turned in your direction before you continued. “Would it be okay if I asked you a question?” His face softened as he nodded his head.

”Of course.” 

“Why did you become an escort?”

Satoru chuckled, rolling onto his side so you both faced each other. “I think I’ve answered that question about a million times, so it’s easy.” His arm snaked around one of the pillows between you, hugging it to his chest. “I come from a pretty influential clan. It’s all about power, money, and success with them, and being an only child, they expected a lot from me.” His eyes rolled. “The old geezers kept going about when I would get married and have my own kids. And I didn't want anyone else feeling that way.” A cunning smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “So, I became an escort to help people.” He snickered, hugging the pillow tighter. “Plus, I get to annoy those controlling old farts. So it’s a win-win for me. But I still handle my family affairs; being an escort is like my second job.” His words were genuine, and they had you smiling.

”That’s actually really sweet.” You shifted, inching just a bit closer to him. “You seem like a genuinely nice guy, doing stuff like this for strangers.” You giggled nervously, shaking your head. “That speaks volumes; I know you’re a nice guy, but I don’t know a thing about you.”

”I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Honestly.”

“Really?”

“Really.” 

“Okay, so do you like sleeping with your clients? Or has sex lost its spark?” You watched him curiously.

He shrugged a shoulder, smirking. “Sex is still good when it's with a good partner. But I honestly don't sleep with a majority of my clients. One because, well, let's be honest, they can't afford it. I charge double the price of a single day for sex. So that's ¥240,000.” 

“For sex?!” 

“Yep! So people can't afford it, especially when I do family events like this. But I usually refuse; I don't particularly like sleeping with someone unless I know them. You know?” 

You hummed, and Satoru grinned, inching himself closer. Another one of your constructed pillows shifted out of the way. “I understand. I'm glad you have the right to refuse.” He nodded, blue eyes almost sparkling in the light of the moon flooding the room. “Have you ever been in love?” 

“Puppy love, nothing more than that.” Satoru pursed his lips in thought. “But I'm not opposed to falling in love someday.”

“God,” you groaned, rolling into your back, “look at me, asking you stupid questions like I’m in high school.”

Satoru sat up, laying on his elbow as he looked down at you with a pout. “No! No, I don't mind! I like talking to you.” He was leaning over you, smiling wide, white strands of hair falling in his face.

“I like talking to you too, Satoru.”

Satoru wanted to reach out and move Y/H/C strands out of your face. To see if your skin felt as soft as it looked, to feel your warmth. His hand moved, and just before it touched you, he dropped it, clenching it in the pillow

“Y/N, could I ask you something?” 

“Seeing as I asked you something, it's only fair.” You smiled, and it was so fucking cute Satoru wanted to bury his face in the pillow and kick his feet. Restraining his urge, he cleared his throat. 

“You mentioned your ex in passing. I'm assuming it was that asshole from earlier?” You frowned, nodding. “I don't like to pry or push my clients, but I keep thinking about what you said. What did you mean by ‘why didn't he?’ when I asked why he broke up with you.”

Sitting up, you sighed, eyes slowly shutting. Remembering that night was something you desperately tried to avoid. Satoru, however, had opened up to you, and he was helping you. Plus, he'd already caught a glimpse of Toji, so you might as well bite the bullet and tell him. 

Sucking in a deep breath, you exhaled slowly, bringing your knees to your chest, hugging them. “Toji Zen’in and I were high school sweethearts. He was my first for everything, so of course, I fell hard. We moved in together when we graduated high school into a small apartment in Kyoto. We got engaged at nineteen, and things went downhill.” Your grip tightened around yourself. “To make a painfully long story short, Toji developed a gambling habit, burning through his savings while I was in college.” The sheets shifted as Satoru sat up, turning to watch you with narrowed eyes.

“So, as a novice baker working at my parent's inn at twenty-one, I faced a dilemma. My fiancè was jobless, nonetheless, and behind on our rent.” The inside of your nose began to burn as tears threatened to escape. “I could leave him and focus on me and my career. I'd be losing my home and the supposed love of my life. Or I could use the money I saved up for pastry school to cover the rent we were behind on.” 

Sheets shifted, and a large hand gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to look into Satoru’s eyes. “You didn’t.” The tears streaming down your cheeks answered his question. “Y/N—” A sad, broken laugh sounded in your chest. 

“I did. Used everything I saved up to keep us in our apartment for four years.” Nausea churned in your stomach as you laughed a little louder. “After all of that, everything I did, he broke off our engagement. He said he didn't love me, that he couldn't see himself with me five years down the road.” More tears fell down your cheeks, landing on the sheets. “Toji said I was too focused on my career, my dreams, that I was eating too many sweets. That I wasn't as exciting as I used to be.” Satoru’s gaze darkened as you spoke, watching you wipe uselessly at your eyes. “That devastated me, so I packed up, moved to Tokyo, and got pastry training. I haven't been back since.” 

“That fuckin’ dick!” Satoru looked obviously upset over everything coming out of your mouth. “Seriously, you're beautiful, god I hate people like that!” No one should ever be treated the way you have been. To take care of a partner, give up on a dream for someone who you were supposed to marry, to have them pull shit like that. It made Satoru sick to his stomach. 

“Yeah, I'm still trying to get over it. In a way, I guess I'm happy it happened because I feel like I wouldn't have gotten as far in my career as I have. But the scars are still there, along with the trust issues. I can't bring myself to date anyone, let alone have sex.” 

Oh. Satoru perked up at you mentioning sex. You had told him you didn't need sex. The reasoning behind that was like an itch he couldn't scratch. You brought it up, so he might as well take the opportunity to ask while he had that.

“Why is that? The sex part, I mean, you deserve your needs to be taken care of as much as the next person.”

“That my friend is because he broke up with me right after we had sex. Imagine just having an orgasm, and your boyfriend gets off of you and tells you he wants to break up before listing everything wrong with you.”

“Fuckin’ shithead.” Satoru wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his chest and hugging you as tightly as possible. “I'm so sorry you went through that. He's an asshole for doing that to you.” Satoru’s hand gently stroked your head as your face rested in the crook of his neck. “I hope you recover soon because you deserve to feel loved and happy.” His hand paused as he snickered. “And have mind-blowing sex that makes you forget all about those bullshit excuses he gave you.” 

Gojo Satoru’s words and tone were so genuine you found yourself smiling into his neck. Your arms wrapped around him as you lay down. “I hope so, too. Thank you, Satoru.” 

“No, thank you for sharing that with me; it means a lot.” 

The two of you stayed like that, his hand stroking your hair while you rested on his chest. Your pillow wall lasted thirty minutes and was never constructed again that night or the following one because there was a comfort you and Satoru found in each other.

The two of you had so much fun during the day. Laughing and talking as you would hang around with your family and friends. You told stories and jokes and went to dinners with the wedding party together. He got along well with everyone, and your friends liked him and his looks. At the same time, your parents admired him for helping around the inn, delivering towels to guests, and cleaning up with you. They saw him as a perfect partner, just like you had paid him to do it.

But you were beginning to wonder if it was just his job or just him being Gojo Satoru. The amount of laughing and talking you did in front and behind closed doors didn't feel like he was doing another job. He seemed to be enjoying himself truly. The days seemed to fly by, and it was hard to believe it was Wednesday night. Satoru walked you to the bar your friends were at for the bachelorette party. If it was Wednesday, you only had four days left with him. 

“Are you planning on getting drunk, like super drunk?” Satoru asked, looking at you from over his sunglasses. “Because that's a sight I would pay money to see.”

“Nah, I'll have a few drinks, but I don't like getting hammered drunk.” You gently bumped your shoulder into his side. “You sure you don't want to join us? The girls said they’re okay if you join.”

“Eh, I don't like drinking. I'm a lightweight, and it never appealed to me. If Suguru were here, oh, he'd be down.” You beamed up at him as he mentioned his one and only best friend. “Seriously, he'd love this shit. Being surrounded by girls, drinking with them.” Satoru shoved his hands in his pockets. “Seriously though, he'd love you. You two would get along great. I’ll have to introduce you to him when we get back to Tokyo.” 

His words struck you like a hot iron. He was pulling out his phone and checking the time, oblivious to what he had just said. The man you were paying to be your boyfriend for a week wanted to introduce you to his friend? His best friend! 

It had your heart fluttering as butterflies swarmed in your stomach. Satoru hadn't even corrected himself as he peered down at you, returning the warm and happy smile you were positive was tugging at your lips. God, you hadn't been this happy in so long.

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot.” 

“Cool! We should set something up. Maybe we could get din—”

The door to the bar flew open, and your friends, all looking intoxicated, spotted you. “There she is! Hurry up, Y/N, you need to catch up!” the bride-to-be slurred as she reached for you. 

“Waaait!! Mina, let her say bye to Satoru!!” another bridesmaid said, smacking her arm. 

“Right! Right, sorry!”

You giggled, looking into Satoru’s cerulean eyes. “I'm being summoned. I should get going.” Gojo snorted, leaning down and kissing you on the lips. “I'll see you later.”

“Uhm, excuse me.” Mina had a disgusted look on her face. “What the fuck was that lame-ass kiss?” Your other friends nodded in agreement. “Satoru, what the fuck? Don't you like Y/N?” 

“Of course, I like my girlfriend Mina.” 

“Then kiss her like you mean it!!” 

You turned, giving Mina a look that could curdle dairy. “Mina, stop.” She flipped you off, her attention never leaving Satoru’s face.

“If I don't get to go to a strip club, I wanna see a steamy kiss!” The other girls whistled and cheered. “I want it steamy! I'm talking smutty romance-level shit!” 

“Mina!” 

“What you both are hot as fuck! Consider it a wedding gift!!”

“Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!!” 

Oh great, now your drunken friends were chanting, and bystanders were watching. With a grimace, you turned to the very amused Satoru, who stared down at the drunken girls before his gaze fixed on you.  He shrugged a shoulder as if saying, sure, why not? But he left the decision up to you.

While you were tempted not to make your poor pretend boyfriend a walking spectacle for a group of drunk women. The thought of having to listen to them bitch and moan about you being a party pooper was way worse. So you sighed before turning to face Satoru with a smile. 

“You heard them. If we do this, I can return the dish set we bought.” 

“You don't have to tell me twice.” 

Satoru grabbed you by the throat, pinning you against the wall of the bar. His lips slammed against yours in a heated kiss you'd only seen in movies. His tongue was licking your bottom lip, and you so willingly obliged, opening your mouth, allowing his tongue entrance. Satoru trailed the hand that was around your throat down your curves. His large hand gripped your hips as he growled. Fuck he tasted so good, like cola and vanilla candy. Your tongue moved against his, trying to taste more of him. 

While you tasted like strawberries and chocolate to him, it was like a symphony of tastes between your tongues. One that he didn't want to end, his knee pushed its way between your legs, pressing firmly over your clothes core, making you gasp into his mouth, eyes going wide as the intimate touch. Your moan only made Satoru kiss you harder, desperate to feel the vibrations from the desperate sounds escaping your mouth.

“Whoa! Okay! Okay!” Mina shouted, her wine spilling as she hurried forward. “I said kiss her! Not fuck her in public.” Your best friend playfully swatted at his arm.

When Satoru broke the kiss, a string of saliva connected your bottom lips as you both gasped for air. The sheer intensity of the kiss rendered you speechless as he allowed his eyes to trail over your face. Taking in the flush tint of your cheeks, the way your body trembled under his hand, and the subtle way your hips rocked forward against his thigh. It looked like the kiss had as much of an effect on you as it did on him.

He pressed a soft kiss against your slightly swollen lips. “You did ask for a smutty book kiss.” Satoru sighed as he pulled away. “I just delivered what you asked for.” Mina said something along the lines of ‘smutty kiss without the smut, please’ as she headed back into the bar. “Well, she might not have enjoyed it, but at least you seemed like you did.” His teasing tone slowly brought you back to reality.

”Y-Yeah, it was lovely.” You fanned yourself before heading to follow after your friends. “I’ll see you later tonight.” You breathed out, but just before you could make it inside the door, Satoru grabbed your wrist, pulling you in for a hug.

”Call me when you’re done, and I’ll come get you, okay?”

”Okay.”

His lips were against yours again before he released you. “Okay.” He repeated your word back to you before waving you off as he headed back in the direction of the inn.

His kiss, the tone of voice, and the mere conversation of introducing him to his best friend whirled around your mind as you guzzled down a shot of sake, which had to have been the fifth one in the last forty minutes. While the other bridal party members were laughing and talking, you stared at the table. The kiss and Satoru’s words replayed over and over again in your head, like old sitcom reruns. 

Was it normal for an escort to tell a client they wanted to introduce them to their friends? Was he just being friendly or taking pity on you? Then there was that kiss outside of the bar! He didn’t have to put his knee between your legs, but he did! Now your panties were wet, and the more you thought about the kiss, about him, the wetter they seemed to get.

Holy shit, what was wrong with you!? 

Just three days ago, you told the guy you didn’t have sex; you didn’t need it. But the more you got to know him, the more times he kissed you, the more your icy resolve began to melt. Gojo Satoru was lighting a fire within you. One that you were very cautious of because you didn’t want to be burned again.

You got up from the table, swaying as you headed for the bathroom. Was Satoru just being nice? Or did he feel the same way you did? There was some sort of connection between the two of you. One that you might want to explore if he wants to as well. Why else would he talk to you the way that he did?

Entering the bathroom, you sighed, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your fingers trailed over your still-swollen lip. Toji had never kissed you like that in the past. Staring in the mirror, you groaned. An image of Toji stood behind you, haunting you like he had done for the last year and a half. 

“Ugh, just get the fuck out of my head and let me heal already.” You scolded the image of him in the mirror, flipping it off.

”I’m in your head?”

Your heart stopped, and your hand dropped to your side. Toji’s image smirked as he tilted his head. You were getting ready to ask yourself how drunk you were when Toji moved. His hands landed on the sink, caging you in while the smell of cedarwood engulfed you like a cloud of smoke.

”Toji—!”

“Shut up, we need to talk.”

(TBC)

Taglist:

@arminloverlol @jamzywiththejam28 @gojoful @maskedpacific @ahseyy @kash77 @sadmonke @ari-maccha @sugurubabe @hyori2 @bluechocolatemint @itsinherited @dellappatca @therealestpussyeater @dead-at-tokyo @nvrgojover @drakenswifeyy @nealeart @yunho-leeknow @fire-child-kira

[tteokdoroki]

ೀ⋆OCT 31ST LEGALLY BLONDE ━━ seishiro nagi + coercion !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. seishiro nagi + coercion. there’s no way someone broke up with nagi because he’s too blonde!? poor baby, maybe you could provide a little emotional support…(5.5K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, dark content, characters aged up to 20s, college!au, strangers to lovers (?), teaching assistant/student relationship, dom/sub dynamics, some switching, reader is lifted up by nagi, coercion, dubcon, handjobs, virginity loss, cherry chasing, oral fixation, mind break, praise kink, creampies, soft sex, clothed sex, unprotected sex, TA!reader, elle woods!nagi.

୨୧ — director’s note. happy halloween my loves! i hope you enjoy the final kinktober fic! its been super fun writing and editing for you all. stay tuned for the bonus in the coming weeks <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

this law school thing wasn’t all what it cracked up to be. 

after the love of his life, reo mikage, had broken up with him for someone smarter, blander and richer than him — nagi had been blessed with the genius idea of following his ex all the way to one of the top law schools in the world. the plan was practically fool proof, the guys at his sorority worked hard to help seishiro study — pulling all nighters for practice tests and rewarding him with naps every time he had gotten a question right. 

rin itoshi had even convinced his parents to reach out to a hollywood director so that they could film nagi’s audition tape. it obviously featured isagi and bachira too. nagi had even worn his best designer swim trunks to impress the board of admissions. they’d all been super supportive of the light haired male in his endeavours and were there when he passed his LSAT exam

with all of this combined, he had managed to get in in — if that wasn’t enough for reo, then what was?

the answer? nothing.

reo still wanted that bland, basic bitch his family was marrying him off to. she was sensible, she was rich and seishiro quickly realised that he had only ever been a bit of ditzy fun to reo — a dumb blonde to stick his dick into whenever the time felt right. eye candy and nothing more. balancing his shattering hard with the complexities of law school had been tough for the white haired male and everything seemed to be going wrong. no one would study with him, reo wouldn’t even look at him and his friends back home were busy with the wedding plans nagi so desperately wished he had. 

however, that’s when you came along. 

after having the epiphany that he didn’t need reo to succeed — nagi knuckles down and studied hard for the law firm internship being offered amongst his cohort. he was relieved to have you as a teaching assistant in the process, not only were you absolutely gorgeous but you were compassionate and empathetic. you were smart, eloquent and everything seishiro wished he could be for his ex.

perhaps that’s what drew him to you, why he followed your every word like a puppy drooling after a treat. you’d been kind to nagi for the entire semester, from helping him out with studying for the internship right down to today, where he would be taking on his very first case in a court of law. it should have been easy, the facts were simple too. the client and fellow fraternity brother  (shidou ryousei) was accused of and arrested for the murder of his wife… but something about the events weren’t seeming to add up. nagi couldn’t come up with an alibi either. 

it was as if the words; the reasonings, the justification for shidou’s freedom were right in front of grey-scale eyes, only scrambled up like morse code. “how about we take a break?” as if you were a vision from his dreams or an angel from up above, you appear behind nagi’s tall frame as he slumps defeatedly against the hotel room desk — your hands fixing themselves to his broad shoulders for a massage. “you’ve been at this all night, seishiro.”

the law student swears your touch could heal all human ailments, the warmth of your palms seeping into the tense parts of his muscles like a cell performing diffusion — relaxation forming a comfortable fog over his brain. “i know shidou didn’t do it,” nagi defends with a grumpy pout, leaning back into you so that his head rests lazily against your stomach. “he told me… he said he was getting liposuction.” 

“we’ll need evidence of that,” you note, jerking your head to the side so that nagi can write it down. this entire time you’d been such a good mentor. “good boy.” something clicks in the light-haired male’s brain, a crackle of electricity shooting down his spine at your praise — swirling around in his guts as if to activate arousal.  “run me through the witness statements again.” there’s a sensual lilt to the tone of your voice and your touch cascades from his shoulders up to his neck like a backwards flowing waterfall.

seishiro isn’t sure if he’s making things up or reading the signs correctly — but he knows that there’s some kind of tension bubbling in the air. particles that resemble an aphrodisiac using kinetic energy to collide together, painting the room with lustful colours. “shidou’s step daughter says she heard a gunshot around 2:15pm after leaving the shower, walkin’ downstairs only to find shidou hangin’ over his wife’s body — covered in blood. ugh, this is too much hassle. this doesn’t make any sense!” he tosses an annoyed sigh into quietness of the room, moaning in surprise when you cup the base of nagi’s neck to pull his head up to face you and your eyes meet.

“you need a break seishiro, we can come back to this later,” you hum, the vibrations of your voice laced with sex appeal. as he swallows thickly, the law student’s Adam’s apple bobs under the pressure of your fairy-light grip on his throat — anticipating more from you. at this point, you’re half bent over him as he leans back in the chair, pink tongue slowly darting out to cover your lips in a spit shine. “how about it?” 

this feels so wrong. nagi’s cock stirring beneath his slacks at how good and kind you’re acting towards him. no one has ever gotten him this hot before — no one aside from reo. and you were still his teacher, by technicality, it would be wrong for nagi to even consider sucking your tongue down his throat. and yet, he can’t find it in himself to stop the temperature from rising between you, for falling into your dangerously salacious trap. 

“y-yeah,” he breathes deep when you squeeze his throat a little to test the waters. “i could do with a break.” 

“me too,” you gasp all too agreeably, bending the rest of the way down to capture seishiro’s lips in a searingly hot kiss. just as he wished you pry his mouth open with the tip of your curious tongue — pushing through his plush lips and curling around his own pink appendage. the lip lock is passionate, ravenous despite the mess and spit that you exchange. he chases your lips until he can’t breathe, sloppily accepting anything you give him, letting you lead where he can’t. 

he’s never done this before, not like this, not without reo. but in this moment, the silver-blonde doesn’t think he could ever go back to making out with his ex. not now that you’re the one kissing him. 

“i-i've never done any of this before.” the blonde gulps, swallowing down the copious amount of spit that builds on the palette of his tongue — looking into your eyes as a sense of hunger dawns on him, as if you’re the very meal he’s set to devour. “not without anyone that wasn’t—“

reo. 

sure they’d done stuff together. naughty touches here and there, hands ghosting over boxer briefs and fingers tweaking nipples (sei’s were especially sensitive because of the cute little piercings his ex insisted he get) — but nothing close to actual sex, nothing with a girl, nothing with someone like you. a burning heat, unlike anything nagi’s ever felt before, begins to brew in his lower stomach. his cock rises beneath his pants that suddenly feel all too tight.

nagi’s girth twitches against his thigh as your nails rake their way down his chest and slowly pop open the buttons of his crisply pressed white shirt. it heaves beneath his clothes — heart hammering against its calcium cage of his ribs. 

“i can tell, pretty boy.” you soothe him by purring into the shell of his ear, teeth tugging at the softness of his lobe. “but you’re a good kisser though. did reo teach you that?” your lips cascade down to his neck like a gentle flowing river at the same time that your hands delve below the belt to squeeze at seishiro’s swelling erection — testing the waters. 

his hips instinctively buck up into the warmth of your palm and a grin spreads across your plush lips at the feeling of his precum soaking his underwater and smearing across your fingers in thick, clingy webs. 

white and seedy and he’s nowhere close to cumming. almost like a little virgin. 

“have you ever done this before, seishiro?” 

the sound of his name, salaciously spelt out on his tongue, earns you a high pitched whine from nagi — his head rolling to the side and his thighs squeezing together with vicious need. “n-no,” he pauses before he grunts out a response and his entire body seizes as you take a firmer grip on his cock — jamming a thumb into his leaky slit to spread his arousal. “but i wanted to i just… reo said not until marriage—“

“— you don’t have to listen to reo anymore.” you announce breathily, setting a steady pace to your fist to jerk him off with. you’ve barely started and yet your hand is already glossed in a slight sheen of pre, soiling your knuckles from its viscousness. it’s so much for someone who’s never gone father than sloppy kisses and grinding while making out. it nurtures a certain seed of satisfaction in your chest to see him so messy so fast. “you can listen to me, sweet boy. do you want this… do you want it with me?” 

without letting go of the fat, drippy cock within your grasp — you shift to stand between the desk and nagi’s chair, shoving papers and court notes to the ground in your lustful haze. nagi thrusts lazily into your closed fist as if it’s instinct, following the sensation like a moth takes to a candle light. his grey eyes grow murky like a pond, swimming with desire for you and only you.

who was reo mikage to seishiro nagi? when there was an angel like you willing to feed this inexperienced man morsels of a heavenly pleasure he’s never felt before. the lawyer in training nods at your words like an eager man fallen to siren’s song as bait. “i want you,” he whimpers airily. “i wanna with you.” 

you rub down his thick, lengthy dick far enough to have your fingertips briefly brush against seishiro’s sensitive, weightly balls — just pulsing full of seed to give to you. the feeling makes nagi jump up from his seat so that he immediately towers over you. his height doesn’t overwhelm you, not when the towering blonde collapses onto you with a case of the shakes. he trembles above you, supporting himself by using one hand on the table while is mouth sloppily finds your neck to suck on and pacify himself.

“good boy, sei,” you coo, voice as sweet as hot sugar or candy. “i want you too. i always have. you’re such a pure, darling boy. glad to see that it’s true.” your praise is hidden in your soft moans as seishiro licks at the crystalline salt on your bare skin. you’re a little too twisted, taking advantage of his inexperience and his position beneath you as a student, but neither of you seem to care in this very moment. 

sweat beads against nagi’s hairline like diamonds on an expensive Chanel necklace and roses bloom across his cheeks with exertion — his hips rise and fall into your sticky fist in fluid motions, changing the steady stream of ecstasy you provide him. your hand is a solace for his aching cock, but you still make your student work for it. make nagi chase you since he only works hard for the things he wants. and right now, he wants to reach the end of the tight rope of pleasure you have him walking on. and to stave off the stormy frustration he feels from the case.

your hand wriggles it’s way into his wet silver locks, dragging nagi’s hungry mouth over yours since he’s so desperate to taste you, to have at you. it shows in the way he roughly grabs your hips too, grip so tight it threatens to leave bruises he’ll have to apologise for later. “ngh… please. g-god. miss…a-angel please,” he stutters, his bucking into your hand faster and harder, back and forth, back and forth through the tight ring of your fist. his bright and angry red cockhead peeks through the other side, glazed in opaque white — it’s a nice feeling, blistering hot and sensitive. “i…hah… gotta—“

nagi’s lashes flutter against your cheek — a strained whine reverbing in the base of his throat while you let him fuck your hands to his heart’s content, let him chase this new pleasure he’s never known. let him fall from the high heavens with blackened and burnt angel’s wings. you make him sin, for the first time ever. something about this should feel off to nagi, his law teacher taking advantage of him like this — but at this point, he’s too far gone, drowning in a hellfire of lust. 

mocking his moans, your mouth falls open in one of your own as you follow along with the pitiful expressions crossing the contours of seishirou’s face. “what is it, sei? what do you need?”

the room is too hot. your bodies against each other are temperate in the sex tainted air — accompanied by wet slapping sounds from your hand around his throbbing cock. “n-need to let go. it h-hurts,” he sniffles out, forcing his tongue into your mouth again to calm himself down. the more you speed up, remorselessly jerking him off, the closer nagi gets to the end of his own tether. this sensation is unfamiliar, the crumbling foundation of his orgasm coming crashing down as you fling droplets of his precum and arousal about the place — some of it landing on your clothes, the desk and discarded papers. 

again, neither of you care. 

“surrender to me baby, it’s okay. i’ve got you.” guiding the pale blonde through his first ever orgasm, you pour your heated words into his slobbering mouth — tongue running over his pearly white teeth and tangling with his drool coated tongue. that’s all sei needs to hear before he crumples against you with a shout — the first wave of his high crashing over him and pulling him under. 

it’s world shattering, brain melting as he cums. his abdomen contracts under your never-ending touch, ropes of hot white dribbling from his stimulated tip like a tap that keeps running. nagi swears he almost blacks out, falling dizzy and victim to your lustful charms as he twitches and cums and cums into your soiled palm. 

“f-fuck,” a soft whimper bubbles up on his raw bitten lips, stuttered out in suprise. “w-what was that?” 

“you orgasmed for me, sei, so pretty baby.” comes another set of your gentle praises. he feels his entire body wrack with a shakes at your words, his cock doesn’t dare to soften either. “you look so good when you cum.” 

his greyish-brownish eyes roll back into his skull when you let him go, his tip slapping against his clothed tummy. the brush of his cotton shirt against the slit on his tip makes him writhe from the sensitivity. “c-can i cum for you again? promise i’ll keep being good.” 

“of course,” you grin, proud that to have corrupted the poor boy. “are you okay to let me touch you again or do you want it now?” 

“touch me. now.” he growls, gripping your hand and guiding it towards his dribbling shaft, aiding the movement of your palm around him to start slow and lazy — working seishiro up into a heat once more. this time, the way your hand languidly jerks him off is made smooth by the evidence of his last orgasm, which you now use as lube. if you weren’t pressed for time and with a court case first thing tomorrow, you would have gotten onto your knees to clean up his copious amounts of mess. 

you quickly reduce him to a babbling mess against you, drool laden on his tongue and dripping onto his skin as you drive your thumb over nagi’s hot tip in tight circles with your free hand — touching what doesn’t fit in the other. “reo treated you so badly, poor baby,” you mewl sweetly, kitten licking at his pulse point just below his neck. “you work so hard, you deserve so much better. you deserve me.” 

he believes you, blindly and naively. nodding tenderly despite the way he widely fucks both of your hands as if they’re a makeshift hole — warm and slick, all for him. dopamine shocks him at the stem of his brain, spreading throughout his body like a wildfire only you can tame — it burns so good and  feels even better to have your dainty, perfectly manicured fingers wrap around his chubby girth so deliciously.

for a moment, you let seishiro go to squeeze at his heavy breeder’s balls — noticing the way they pulsate in your palm to signify the pale blonde’s second impending orgasm. “i think…hah… i think ‘m gonna… c-cum! again!”

pushing at his shirt, you press a kiss to the creamy skin of nagi’s shoulder and hum pridefully. “thank you for letting me know, sweetheart. cum for me. give it to me.”

with your permission granted, another blinding ecstasy takes over nagi, and he falls victim to you and your merciless hands once again. blood rushes through his ears like a storm surge, drowning at your angel coos while you guide him through his high, never letting up as you palm him through it all. he quivers and his knees buckle, shooting a hot and hefty load of seed all over your hand and clothes and the papers nearby.  “o-oh! fuck…” nagi chokes on a weak sob, bleating like an innocent lamb at the slaughter house while he weighed against your shorter frame — allowing you to bare the brunt of his weight and height. 

he’s so pretty when he cums, silvering blonde locks matted to his forehead by sweat — cheeks pink and lips swollen and red. if you could, you’d swallow him whole and selfishly devour your student for all that he has to offer. silly little blonde, stupid for trusting you, for wanting to fuck you.

your hand doesn’t slow around his pulsing cock but instead speeds up, digging your thumb into his oozing slit as arousal pearls at its centre once more. “n-no, s’too much.” seishiro cries quietly, tears stinging a pathway down the apples of his milky cheeks. “it hurts.” 

“poor you, poor baby.” you say harshly, mocking the poor blonde’s sniffles and hiccups. he’s exhausted and frustrated but doesn’t dare to pull away — his hips running after your hand hungrily. “you’re so cute sei, panting for me like a bitch in heat, fucking my hand like the dumb little blonde you are.” he hisses at the overstimulation, gargles on spit as it floods his mouth to accompany his appetite for you. 

“i’m not…ngh… ‘m not dumb.” he whinges in response and before either of you know it, seishiro is cumming again. hard. soiling his lap with abundant amounts of white. his chest heaves as he comes down, collapsing against you. he might deny it later, but being dumbed down and reduced to a stupid blonde seemed to really do it for him. 

finding his lips again, you soothe nagi with short and sweet kisses that grow more feverish by his own demand. all of a sudden you find yourself pinned to the desk below with the tall blonde between your instinctually parted legs so that he can grind against your panty clad core. “you’re…you’re right,” you say, breathing deep through your nose as your composure threatens to fall apart. “you’re so smart, sei. you’re the best lawyer on our team but…” bucking your hips once, you lower your voice by an octave so that your words slip through his ears like molten chocolate. “you’re acting like a dumb slut right now. don’t you wanna be my dumb slut, sei?”

his palm flattens against the mahogany desk just above your head, caging you in against its cold surface. “y-yes i do, oh fuck. please lemme fuck you. lemme be inside. i’ll be good.” 

“are you sure, baby?” 

“please—“ 

“but sei,” you brush a stray hair that curls at the centre of his forehead, the dumb blonde looking down at you with swimming grey eyes because he’s so needy. “it’d be your first time…” 

his face scrunches, nose crinkled at its bridge and brows knitted together in frustration. now that nagi’s had a taste of your sinful elixir he can’t seem to stop, you’re like a drug an addict can’t quit. something that could ruin his life or future prospects if he doesn’t get help. and yet he can’t look away, can’t pull his body away from yours and his achy dick from between your thighs — instead leaning closer so that it sinks between your plush pussy lips. 

nagi licks his lips, tongue rolling over his bottom one as he pants desperately. “please angel,” comes his broken beg, hanging pathetically in the sex tainted hair. “i need you. need it so bad. please please please— mph—!”

satisfied with his begging, you shove a set of cum soaked digits past the swell of seishiro’s pretty lips — chuckling darkly as his tongue laps over and in between them, and he whines at the salty taste of his arousal on your skin. “atta boy,” you coo, thrusting deep into the hot cavern of his mouth until the pale blonde gags around you, swallowing your fingers down like they’re a cock. he sucks so obediently, so desperately as if to please. like a good student too — and all the while, you work on kicking off your panties and flipping up your skirt so that he can get a nice rewarding view of your glistening cunt. 

“c’mere,” you reach out to the blonde and he leans into you, letting you wrap an arm around his shoulders to keep him in place. “sei,” you gasp at the first contact of his thick, long shaft against your throbbing wet mound — mouth agape as if you’ve taken a gunshot wound to the chest. “do you know how to do this, smart boy? do you know how to fuck?”

nagi nods, pressing his forehead to yours while his hips jut forward on their own and his seedy tip brushes against your pearling clit so deliciously. at first, his movements are lax and the room is filled with the lewd squelches of your sexes moving over one another, but your breathing soon grows ragged and the salacious bump and grind becomes stickier and wetter. 

“u-uhuh.” he mumbles in response.

he’s so good for you even when his mouth is full and his mind is dazed, sucking on your fingers while he lets you overwhelm him. however, the blonde is only so well behaved and patient, and it’s not long before he slips his girth past the tight ring of your entrance without any warning. his fingertips dance up to your waist, grabbing at the fat there and using it as leverage to drag you to the edge of the table so he can sink into you further.

“oh…fucking hell!” you whimper wetly against the junction of nagi’s neck, nails digging into his shoulders to steady yourself while he sets the pace to your sinful dance. he’s bigger than what you expected (despite mapping his girth out with your hands), stretching your sloppy walls wide to accommodate for his size. you don’t complain, however, eyes rolling as he brushes up against pleasure spots you could never reach on your own. “o-oh baby, fuck me.” 

you pull your fingers out of his mouth with a lewd pop, desperate to hear the symphony of his sweet, low and sexy moans instead of having them muffled by your fingers while he fucks you for the first time. the pale blonde can hardly believe it — having your warmth wrapped around him and your cunt drool down on him like a waterfall. 

the law student throws his weight into fucking you, bullying his way into the deepest parts of your womb to slothfully fuck up your gooey insides. your cunt, your moans, your whole body has some kind of control over nagi — dumbing him down and reducing him to a sex crazed mess. to the point where he can’t even remember his ex’s name. he’s a mop of pale blonde hair and sweaty clothes, entirely hunched over you. 

“y-you’re so tight,” he tells you in a dreamy sigh, lost in the heat of your core. nagi’s grabs at your pudgy thighs and drags you back and forth onto his dick, the new deepness to his thrusts causing you to squeeze and froth around the fat base of nagi’s cock. “hah, feels so…so good.” 

wrapping your shaky legs around his slender waist, you offer up the same treatment to nagi — pulling him close to the point where he’s buried in your sluice sex right up to the hilt. his precum smears against your ribbed walls and his broken whimper echoes around your hotel room. “that’s it, fuck me like you fucked my hand, sweet boy.” lust sparks against your sex slicked bodies, your breasts bouncing with every one of nagi’s calculated yet sloppy thrusts. you can’t get enough of one another, clinging and clawing at one another’s bodies madly. “you can do it, prove to reo that you don’t need him. only me.” 

“o-only you.” nagi repeats weakly, tucking his face into your neck as he pounds you to the high heavens. the desk creaks beneath the force of his thrusts, threatening to break at the nails and bolts that hold it together. his eyelashes flutter against your skin, his low and deep moans mixed with high pitched gasps send a hot rush of dopamine across your brain and it really is all too much. 

nagi’s already cum three times and managed to fold you in half over his desk as a virgin. he feel as though he might break with how much he loves this, loves fucking you senseless. another fresh set of tears burn tracks down his face and gather in his unfairly long lashes as they tickle your skin. he hiccups and heaves against you, whilst his breathing grows ragged every time his glistening cock escapes the snugness of your tight pussy, precum stringing along your puffy folds. 

“so good baby, s-so fucking good!” your voice is broken and husky as you praise him, making his dick pulse against your g-spot over and over again. you’re fairing no better than he is, your skin blistering hot to the touch and bruised from how tight your student is gripping you — pulling you back onto his cock.

the pale blonde feels though he might burst, cream your insides like he did your hand and ruin that pretty skirt of yours — the one that sticks to his pelvis because of how close your bodies are. it’s rubbed him raw while he fucks you raw. “‘m i the best?” seishiro asks, cherishing the embrace of your viscous walls, his shaft coated in a crude mix of white as it froths from your tight little hole. “t-tell me i’m the best…” 

“t-the best i’ve ever had! f-fuck, sei!” you squeal in response, only egging the law student on, babbling your praises while fat droplets of your arousal flies about the place — painting nagi’s pelvis in a shiny gloss, curling in his white happy trail as well. 

“‘m the best. i’m the best for you.” grunting from the exertion and the very force of his own thrusts, seishiro wraps both of his strong arms around your middle and stands up from the table — taking you with him. at the new angle, the coil in your stomach only tightens and you fling your arms around his neck to prepare yourself for what’s to come next. “s’not enough, not deep enough. fuuuck you’re so wet and warm. i-i can’t,” he drawls lowly, nipping at the shell of your ear on instinct. 

that’s when seishiro begins to use his sheer strength to lift and drop you back onto his thick girth, fucking up into you at the exact same time. “g-good god!” you cry out, your impending orgasm prickling at your pelvis — shooting down each section of your spine. all of it only serves to spur nagi on. 

“give me your fingers,” he demands huskily, cantering into you from bellow — your juices running a steamy track down his heavy balls as they harshly smack against your peachy ass. “wan’ suck on ‘em. give ‘em.”

you don’t have time to register his ask because he grabs your wrist before your mind can even catch up (too occupied with the way he’s churning up your guts) and has two of your fingers in his eager little mouth — sucking on them diligently. you shudder as nagi runs his tongue between them, coats them in spit and drool that tracks across his chin once he’s done with them. 

“touch yourself for me?” he pleads through a wet whine, almost too innocently. “wanna see you cum this time.” 

it’s only then that you realise he’s been holding himself back, staving off his orgasm so he can see you writhe and gush all for him. the overstimulation must be burning at his brain, sizzling off his nerve endings and it’s probably more than the dumb little blonde virgin can take. so you do as he asks, trailing your spit slicked fingers between your bodies as they grind down on one another and you with your sensitive clit, pulling its hood back to draw tight circles over the pleasure nub. 

“o-oh! seishiro!” 

“that’s right, touch yourself f’me. wanna see you lose it like you make me lose it,” he moans softly constraining with how rough nagi pounds up into you. one of his hands slips from your hips to grope at your ass, pushing you down on him and forcing his cock to grind against that one special spot threatening to make you break. “‘m sorry,” he whimpers as though he’s going to cry. “d-don’t think i can hold back, angel.” 

“then don’t,” you gasp at the new friction, holding onto your last strings of sanity as you fumble with your clit tucked away between your ravaged folds. “i know you wanna cum for me, sei. l-let go, yeah? wanna see you break for me, like a good blonde slut.” 

your encouragement doesn’t give seishiro much choice, and while he’s in control of your bodies — his lean, strong frame anchoring you down onto his cock as it bullies your insides, you are in control of his mind. you destroy his train of thought, ruin the self-made man he was and send him tumbling into his final high. nagi’s orgasm breaks the surface viciously, pouring another load of his cum against your ripe and rippling walls. there’s still so much of it, the warm and viscous white seeping from your cunt and smearing all over your hot mound. 

the force of nagi’s high is so strong that he nearly drops you, just about managing to pin you safely to the desk once more. he’s still cumming and cumming and cumming — but that doesn’t stop him from thrusting into you hard and fast, desperate to trigger your orgasm so he can reward himself. it doesn’t take long, he’d already had you seated on the edge before his mind had shattered to pieces just from fucking you. 

you gush down his length and all over what remains of your shitty case notes (he probably didn’t need them anyways) with a pornographic shout when you finally hit your peak. it’s like the crescendo of a beautiful song — the world around you spinning and flashing white as you squirt and gush for the white haired lawyer. 

“f-fuck.” you giggle with a soft smile, fatigue washing over the both of you come down from the gates of heaven — crashing back down to earth with ecstasy still buzzing in your veins. “good boy, sei. you did so good for me,” you hum softly. “do you feel any better?” 

seishiro looks up at you from where his heavy frame has collapsed on your chest — clothes sweaty and askew, and offers you a lazy grin in return. “better,” he mumbles meekly and kisses a slither of your exposed skin, still grinding his seed into you as if to make sure it sticks. “thank you.” 

bringing a hand up to toy with his hair and soothing him, you nod. “good, we should get some rest, you’ve got a big trial tomorrow, pretty boy.” 

“do you think I can do it?” 

“i know you can, sei.” you scratch at his scalp. “i meant it. what i said earlier. you’re the best lawyer on our team. shidou’s defence stands a pretty good chance.” 

nagi grins once more, only this time he leans up to press a chaste kiss to your unexpecting mouth — pouring all of his gratefulness into it. 

because thanks to you, he feels more confident about the trial, — almost as if he’s won the trial already. and even if nagi goes lose, at least he’s won you over.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[cupid-styles]

so hear me out… u decide which one of ur couples this pertains to if any but… they go super hard one night and is like rlly degrading and filty. and they film it all and then the next night he makes her watch herself getting railed and makes her touch herself to how much of a sl*t she was being before… is that too much 🫣

my eye is twitching. here's 1k of sugar daddy h being a mean dom!

word count: 1k

content warnings: exhibitionism, squirting, daddy kink, f masturbation, degradation, dirty talk, m receiving oral, slight bondage, very not ramadan friendly!

. . .

"Are you ready to watch yourself, baby?"

Mia squirms on the wide expanse of Harry's bed, tugging helplessly at the restraints currently holding her wrists to the headboard. He smirks devilishly as he places his laptop on the TV stand directly in front of her, giving her no option but to stare at the dirty movie they'd made a few weeks back. 

It had been a night fueled by a combination of Harry being deep in his dom space and Mia being ready and willing to please. They'd discussed filming themselves many times before and it had always been something they were both interested in. It would never go anywhere, but the flare of exhibitionism it offered was enough to make Mia's core warm and Harry's length ache. 

When he presses 'play', Mia swallows tightly. Immediately, she's overwhelmed with the imagery of her laying in Harry's lap, tummy down, ass up. He's issuing a series of harsh smacks to her skin and making her count each one. Her voice sounds pathetic and worn, likely from the whimpered mewls that fell from her lips every time his palm made contact with her tender ass. She’s already naked — she had worn a pretty white lingerie set for him, but he was quick to snap the straps off her body, plucking the lacy bralette and matching panties from her form. 

“You look like a gorgeous angel, but I know you better than that, Mi,” he’d said as he pushed the fabric off her skin. 

"Slutty little ass," Harry mutters on the screen. In real life, he's crawled onto the bed next to her, his large hand taking real estate on her thigh. "Just needed daddy to punish you like the naughty brat you are, yeah? Needed a reminder of who owns these holes."

"Y-yes daddy," she utters delicately in the video. Her skin heats from hearing how pitiful she sounds. Harry chuckles from beside her.

"Isn't that cute?" Harry asks, nudging his chin in the direction of the small screen in front of them, "Hearing your sweet little voice all wrecked from moaning for me. All that from a couple of slaps on the bum."

She swallows nervously. When she doesn't reply, Harry squeezes her thigh. 

"Asked you a question, pet."

"Uh-huh," Mia replies softly, her pussy clenching as she watches Harry pull her into his lap. It's effortless, the way he yanks his own briefs down to reveal his erect length. With his hands gripping her hips roughly, she listens to the wet gasps fall from her pouty lips when he pushes into her, barely giving her any time to acclimate before he's thrusting upwards. 

"Such a tight little pussy. How do you manage that, hm? Daddy's always fucking this dirty hole and you always feel so good."

Mia whimpers involuntarily and Harry hums. He stretches his body above hers and her eyes flutter, inhaling his scent as he undoes the rope around her wrists. Gently, he lowers her arms down to her stomach, taking her hand into his. He cups it around her bare pussy and she gasps quietly from the featherlight sensation. 

"Play with yourself," he whispers. He curls her middle finger at her pearly clit, applying a bit of pressure before quickly removing it. "Want you to make yourself cum while you watch yourself get fucked, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Mia nods and nibbles on her bottom lip, listening as the version of herself on the screen moans. She's begging for him to fuck her deeper and harder, and she swallows harshly when Harry lays back against the mattress, giving her free rein to watch the video. She peeks over and sees his erection, large and throbbing in his pants. 

"Don't worry about me, sweetheart. I'll take care of myself after I watch you cum."

She exhales shakily, keeping her fingertips hovering over her swollen clit. On the screen, Harry's now fucking into her from behind, her cheek smushed into the pillow and a soundtrack of throaty cries making her hole pulsate in real time. Slowly, she begins to circle her clit, watching as he forms her hair into a messy ponytail and pulls at it, yanking her body upwards. With his chest pressing into her back, he begins to mutter filth into her ear.

"Gonna squirt all over my cock, aren't you? I know you are. Can feel that pretty pussy squeezing me. Such a nasty little slut, hm? Just a pair of holes for daddy to use. Make it worth my time, baby. Get me all messy. You know I love it when you make a big mess."

In real life, her fingers begin to speed up. She moans from the delicious pressure on the swollen bundle of nerves, jaw dropping as she watches herself squirt all over Harry's cock, thighs, and bed. He chuckles on the screen, using his palm to rub her and spray the liquid to make even more of a mess.

"There's my fuckin' girl," he all but growls. She doesn't have a second to recuperate before he's pushing her onto his knees on the floor and pushing his cock into her mouth. "Lick up your mess. Slurp it all up."

She uses her other hand to push a finger into her hole, whimpering as she pushes up against her g-spot. 

"Gonna cum, sweetheart?" Harry asks from beside her. She nods jerkily, eyelashes fluttering as she begins to feel her muscles tense. He smirks. "Knew you'd like having a nasty little film of us. Go ahead, baby. Cum for us."

It doesn't take much for her to finish after that, not as she watches her past self throat Harry's hard cock. She mewls out his honorific and Harry talks her through it — “there you go baby, there it is— pretty little pussy coming all over your fingers. Oh, there it is, sweetheart. Play with your clit for me” — issuing out praises while he comes down her throat in the video. 

"Such a good girl for me." he murmurs, pressing a light, loving kiss to her cheek. "Feeling okay?"

Despite still being in the aftershocks of her intense orgasm, she nods. He smiles and leans forward to thumb at her bottom lip before gently pressing it inside. 

"Good. Think it's time we make another movie, then." 

[millyhelp]

It all fell Down.

Jason todd x reader

warnings: mentions of death, blood, sad jason. read at your own risk. Angst shit.

Notes: I cried writing this. good luck. and yes, I wrote a super cute smut a few hours ago and now this puddle of sadness. Maybe I should continue?

please comment.

"Stay with me, stay with me..." Jason's fingers passed over your face affectionately. Thick tears of fear left his face.

You were bleeding. Your wound was deep, a bullet hit you.

It was supposed to be the perfect day. Your wedding. Your white dress was now red across the entire length of your chest. Jason's white suit blouse was in the same situation.

You lost blood quickly.

"It's okay." Your voice was weak and you coughed. The bullet hole had pierced one of your lungs, making blood fill it.

"There's nothing okay. Just stay with me, okay?" Jason sobbed and held you tightly against him. "Don't leave me..."

"I won't. I'm with you, right there." You placed your hand on Jason’s heart. His voice was low. Your lips were turning purple. "Jay..."

"Don't talk, save your breath. Look at me, please" Jason had never cried so much in his life. "Where's the fucking help?!"

Jason shouted, his voice broken by crying. The entire Batfamily was trying hard to control the chaos that was happening. No one had understood where the attacks came from.

"Jay..." You called him again. his eyes were heavy. You knew you couldn't take it anymore. "I love you..."

"Don't! Don't say that!" Jason shook his head. Childish sobs left his lips. "Don't do this with me!"

"Kiss me..." your blood-stained hand went towards Jason's face.

Jason would deny it. But he couldn't. Inside him he knew his end was coming. He was just being selfish.

His lips kissed you with tenderness and pain. Fear. afraid to lose you

Your lips were cold. A heavy sigh left your lips. Your heart stopped.

A scream of pain left Jason's lips.

"No! No! NO!" Heavy tears were left, loud sobs and screams. "DONT LEAVE ME! No..."

Jason shook your freezing body.

"Wake up! come on! wake up!" Jason caressed your face "My love, my princess. Come on, you have to wake up. Let's get married."

Jason went into a state of delirium. He wouldn't accept it. No. The only one who loves him the way he is, the only one who wasn't afraid of him. You were just sleeping.

"You chose such a beautiful dress for me, huh?" Jason's voice was broken. The tears didn't stop falling. "I can't wait to fill our house with kids. We want three, remember?"

Bruce, Dick, Barbara, Tim and Damian had managed to stop the attack. They did not identify who sent the shooters. But that didn't matter now.

A tear left Barbara's eyes when she saw Jason kneeling on the floor with you in his arms.

Dick, Tim and Damian knelt in respect.

Little Damian let a few small tears fall. Tears that no one thought he would ever drop.

Bruce walked over to his son. He placed a hand on Jason's shoulder.

"Jason..." Jason ignored him and continued talking to you.

"Come on love, wake up. I promised to take you to London! We have to catch the plane in a few hours!"

"Jason." Bruce spoke more firmly.

"You're going to love Paris! You told me it was your dream to see that big tower! My French is terrible, by the way!"

"Jason!" It was Barbara's turn to call him.

Jason looked at her. Barbara shook her head.

Jason didn't want to believe it yet. He ignored her.

"Jason! She died!" Damian's voice was loud and tearful. Broken.

"No... not for me..."

For Jason it was just a nightmare that for him, he would wake up like every other time. But this time, it wasn't a dream.

you were gone. you died.

and Jason can't save you.

[riordanness]

champagne problems — [l.laurence]

wordcount: 3.2K

warnings: angst

requested: no

a/n: i really love this fic, i spent a super long time on it and it took me ages but i love it so i hope you love it too &lt;3

“Thank you,” I tell my dance partner, another nameless, tasteless, personality-less boy I will never see again. I smile and curtsy, and turn away, as I do every time. No one will ever fill the hole in my heart the way that he did.

I spot Amy talking to Fred, and weave my way towards them. I don’t know anyone else by anything more than name, and it’s awkward. It’s stiff, it’s strange, and it’s uncomfortable. Trying to make friends with these men, men who couldn’t care less about my feelings or my ambitions; just my pretty face and my willingness to marry. Once they discovered I didn’t have my heart in that; at least not anymore, they lost all interest in me.

“Hey, y/n,” Amy greets me, offering me a glass of what I think is champagne.

“Thank you,” I tell her, and take a sip.

“How are you enjoying the party?” Fred addresses me.

I shrug, and try to smile. “It is alright.”

Amy has a sympathetic look on her face. She knows me a little bit too well. All the March sisters do, as well as… him. He knew me better than anyone. Or at least that’s what I thought.

“Laurie!” I laughed, giggling so hard I couldn’t even escape him. His arms caught me tightly, poking and tickling my waist. I squirmed, but the pure joy of being with him was almost overwhelming.

“What?” he teased. “What’s wrong, y/n? Hmm?”

“S-Stop!” I gasped for air, playfully hitting him on the arm. Well, it was a pretty hard punch, actually.

“Ow! Y/n!” Laurie released me and winced, grabbing his arm.

“I’m sorry!” I tried to stop laughing.

He stared at me for a heartbeat, and just as my smile faded, he then grinned. “Gotcha.”

His happiness was infectious. I was smiling again, laughing again, purely and completely content to live forever in this moment.

“Y/n.”

Amy’s voice is a warning, and my brain only hears it a minute after I should. “Hmm?” I ask, glancing up at her. She’s used to my daydreaming, so I assume she’ll just repeat her comment, but Amy isn’t looking at me. She’s staring sternly at the staircase at the entrance of this ballroom.

I turn, and there’s a half moment of anticipation. Who has arrived?

Then, I see him. His wrinkled white shirt, untied bow tie. The glass of alcohol held lazily in his hand. His unruly curls are even more uncombed and unkempt than usual. His eyes are light with mirth and dull from the drink. Two women are fawning over him from either side, and he’s drinking up the attention more eagerly than the champagne.

Laurie.

My breath catches in my throat, and I try to swallow the sudden lump there. “Ah, I see.”

Fred puts a hand on my shoulder, a protective, big-brother gesture. I really appreciate him. No matter how many times I end up basically third-wheeling him and Amy when they go out, he never minds. Amy has told him all about what Laurie did to me, so he decided to step in and try to help fill that hole.

And I love him for it, but no one will ever be capable of making me whole the way Laurie did. And I’m not sure if anyone ever will be able to.

I take a cautious sip of champagne, watching as Laurie drapes himself on a lounge on the opposite side of the room. The girls with him sink to their knees on either side of his body, fawning over the boy.

I don’t care how much expression is visible on my face right now; I can’t do anything but stare in a mix of disgust, disappointment and utter disbelief.

Then, he sees me. His eyes clear a little, they get wide and surprised all of a sudden. He attempts to sit up a little straighter.

I can’t watch anymore. I turn and shove my glass unceremoniously in Fred’s hands, and walk out of the room as quickly as I can manage, heading to the little moonlit garden path I know awaits me outside.

I laugh as Jo tells me about her plans for a new story.

“I want to turn this one into a play,” she adds. “And you should be in it! The main character is just the perfectest part for you to play, y/n.”

I roll my eyes teasingly. “First of all, ‘perfectest’ isn’t a word. And second, you know I don’t act. I’m not going to be any good!”

Jo shrugs. “Won’t know until you’ve tried it.”

I don’t answer, my gaze sliding back to all the dancers on the floor. I wish someone would ask me to dance. But I know no one here other than the March girls. And I can’t exactly dance with Jo. She has a burnt dress and isn’t allowed to dance. Not that she minds; she says she’d rather eat a stick than dance with any of the boys here.

Then, I see a boy with dark curls and pretty eyes staring at me from across the room. I tilt my head, and give a little wave and a half-smile.

He returns it immediately and makes his way over towards us.

“Hello there,” he greets me. “I’m Laurie.”

Jo looks at him. “You’re the Laurence boy. You live near us.”

Laurie nods his head at her. “Miss March.”

“Please. Call me Jo. Everyone does.”

“Jo.”

Laurie then glances at me. “I don’t think I know you.”

I hold my hand out to him. “Y/n, Mr Laurie. I’m friends with the Marches.”

He smiles again, and it’s so pretty my chest hurts. Is this what falling in love is like? Is it supposed to be painful? Supposed to feel like you’re being ripped apart and glued together all at the same time?

I lean myself on the wall outside, my head against the cool stone bricks. My head is pounding, my temples aching.

I didn’t think that seeing him again would have such a strong reaction from me, but apparently even my heart rate still hurts because of him.

I can hear footsteps, but I don’t have the energy to hide my distress from anyone right now. Hopefully whoever it is will just walk by and leave me be.

“Y/n?”

The sound of Laurie’s voice will forever bring me the biggest rush of emotions in the world, but where it used to invite happiness and joy, now entices fear and anxiety and anguish.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight. “Hello Laurie.” I’m surprised at how even my voice sounds. I expected it to come out shaky and distant.

“Hey.” He sounds unsure of what he’s doing. “What’s happening with you?”

My eyes are still closed, and I still have my head against the rocky wall. I shrug one shoulder. “Nothing much, thanks for asking.”

There’s three heartbeats of silence.

Then: “How are you?”

I sigh, open my eyes. “Laurie. Why are you doing this?”

His eyes are unreadable. “Doing what?”

“You know what.”

“Y/n, I…” His voice fades. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

I give him a hard look. “Sorry? Laurie, this isn’t about what happened all those years ago. I’m over it; I’m over you.” I was lying through my teeth, but I refused to give him the satisfaction that knowledge would bring.

I sigh. “What are you doing, Laurie?” I wave my hand at him helplessly. “Drinking, probably gambling again? Fawning over random girls? Laurie, you’re better than this. And you know it, too. You’re throwing your life away, and I…” I swallow. “As your friend, I can’t just sit and watch. You need to stop this. Go home, go see your grandfather. Stop destroying the little boy he used to be so proud of.”

I turn, and walk away, leaving Laurie out there in the moonlight.

I don’t breathe until I reach Fred and Amy again. They’re laughing and drinking champagne together, but when they see me, the conversation dies.

“Hey, you okay?” Amy asks.

I try to nod, then tears glisten in my eyes and I have to drop. I shake my head, meeting my friend’s eyes. “I’m gonna go home,” I tell her.

She nods in understanding, her eyes searching mine, desperate for answers.

“I told him what he needed to hear,” I say quickly. “But—he still doesn’t know how much it hurts. And it hurts just to see him. It hurts deep in my soul. I—I can’t—“ I have to force myself to take a deep breath, sobs building in my chest.

I leave, Amy’s hand squeezing mine as I go.

I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling as ‘Aunt’ March chatters about how Fed and Amy are soon to be engaged, so I really must hurry and marry soon.

“Are you even listening to me, y/n?” she asks sharply.

I sit up straight in an instant. “Uh—yes of course, Ms March.”

“How many times must I ask you to call me Aunt,” she sighs. “You’re practically family at this point, my dear.”

I smile. “Alright, Aunt March.”

“Very good. Now, as I was saying…”

I zone back out as she talks, my mind drifting instead to Laurie. I truly had thought I was over him, or at least pretty much so. Rather, the moment I saw him, I thought I might explode. Seeing his smile, his eyes, the way he stands, it made all the memories just come flooding back.

“Laurie—“ I call, walking into his room one pretty Saturday morning. “Get up lazy bones. We’ve got things to do!”

The only response is a groan from underneath Laurie’s covers. I sit on the edge and poke at him.

“Come on!” I beg. “We’re gonna be late, you know.”

Laurie’s curls peep out. “Late for what?” he asks groggily.

I resist the urge to giggle. “Late for our adventures, of course. We have a walk planned, and you promised me you’d teach me fencing this weekend, and you have to keep that promise. It was a pinky promise.”

Laurie groans again. “I don’t want to get up, y/n.”

“What? Even to spend time with me?”

“Yes. Go away.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, Theodore Laurence, not until you get—up—“ I poke him in the shoulder twice.

“Y/n!” he whines.

I laugh. “Yes, Laurie?”

He sticks his head fully out now, and looks at me. “You’re my best friend, and I love you, but I am not getting up yet.”

I ignore the flutter in my chest and grab his arm, pulling him hard. “Yes you are! I promised your grandfather I’d force you to exercise while he’s gone, and I intend to keep my promise.”

“Fine,” Laurie relents. He allows me to drag him out of bed, and after he’s dressed, the two of us head off into our favourite trail in the woods.

My heart hurts, and my head hurts, and my eyes hurt. I want to get up, go for a walk or something, but I can’t find it in me to do so. So I simply close my eyes and continue to lay face-up along the foot of my four-poster bed.

It doesn’t seem like long at all before someone is tapping my shoulder.

“Sorry, Amy,” I mumble, eyes still closed. “Did I drift off?”

“It’s… not Amy,” a quiet voice answers.

I sit up straight immediately, and come face to face with none other than Laurie Laurence.

“Hi.” He almost says it like a question.

I frown a little, unsure of the nature of this unexpected visit. “Hello, Laurie.”

He winces a little. “Look, you don’t have to say anything. You said plenty last night.”

“You needed to hear it,” I retort.

“I know.” He lets out his breath. “I’ve been thinking, all night, about what you said. You were right, you were right about all of it. I am wasting my life, I’m ruining everything because of one stupid mistake that unravelled it all. And–and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I’ve hurt you, in all the ways that I have. You don’t deserve a friend like me; you never did.”

He stands to go, and for a heartbeat, I think about letting him. But then,

“Laurie!”

“Laurie!”

I see him, walking along the street as I pass on the other side. I immediately break away from Jo, who I was escorting to town. “I'll see you later, Jo.”

She smiles knowingly and shoos me off. “Bye, y/n/n.”

“Laurie!” I call again, running to catch up with him.

At the sound of my voice, he half-turns, double-takes, and then his face breaks into a wide grin, the way he always saves just for me. “Y/n!”

I run right until I’m in his arms. “I missed you,” I sigh into his hair. “When did you get back?”

I feel him smiling. “Only just this morning. I was going to surprise you, but you beat me to it, tesoro mio.”

“Laurie, you know I don’t speak Italian,” I laugh, pulling away slightly to look at him. “I’m not the one who just went to Italy for a year. And don’t use it without telling me the meanings; it’s mean! I never know what you’re saying.”

Laurie has a faint smirk on his face. “Sorry, tesoro mio.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me,” he replies easily, and oh, how badly I want to agree with him out loud. Yes, I wanted to say. Yes, I’m head over heels in love with you.

So I do say it. “Yes,” I say, “I do.”

Laurie blinks at me. “What?”

My mouth opens a little, but for a second, nothing comes out. “I do love you,” I say slowly.

Laurie stares at me. “Why?”

“Everything, Laurie,” I sigh. “You’re kind, and beautiful, and you understand me better than even I can. You’re always there to cheer me up when I need that, and when I’m sad, you’re all too happy to give me your shoulder to cry on. You always know exactly what I’m thinking, and feeling, and you always know the right thing to say. You don’t mind my silly ramblings, or fantasies, and you don't care what anyone thinks of you. You’re always the person I want to be around; Laurie, you make me so happy. I love you, Laurie Laurence, and I think I always have.”

There’s silence for a minute, just a heartbeat too long to feel comfortable. All I can hear are the birds in the trees above us, but their songs sound alarming.

Laurie looks away, then at the sky, and finally back at me. His tongue swipes his lower lip in a way that I know is nervous.

“Y/n,” he says, and his tone instantly crushes me. “I—that’s extremely sweet and beautiful and I love you too, but…”

My heart sinks. “But you love Jo.” A part of me had always known, but I’d tried to convince myself otherwise. Clearly, my instinct had been correct.

“I can’t help it!” Laurie tries to justify himself, but he has no reason to. He can’t help who he’s fallen in love with, just as I cannot help falling in love with him. “I love you, y/n, I truly do. You’re my best friend… but the love I feel for Jo, it’s different. And you’re not her. You will never, and can never be her.”

I feel like someone has ripped my heart from my chest, stepped on it, thrown it into a frozen lake, and shoved it back inside of me. All I can manage is a nod.

“You should probably tell her then,” I whisper, and I turn to go. I can’t bear looking at him any longer.

That was the last time I’d seen Laurie for a very long time. I’d left for Europe with Amy, leaving Laurie and Jo to have a life together, if that’s what they wanted. Turns out Jo never saw him in that way, and he was rejected by her later that very same day.

I was still amazing friends with all the March girls, and I still cradled my childhood memories close to my heart.

But my heart has never healed. Every time Laurie Laurence was on my mind, it stung like only yesterday. Any day that a memory of those long walks, the silly fights, the hugs and dances, the inside jokes and dumb decisions came to me, I’d break down and cry.

“Laurie!”

He stops at the sound of my voice, turns, and his green eyes meet mine. He stares, waiting for me to speak.

“Don’t leave,” I say softly. “Please. Don’t make the mistake I did.”

He turns to fully face me now. “What mistake?”

I let out a breath. “Running. When someone needed me most.”

His eyes clear in understanding. I missed this about him, the way he’d always know exactly what I meant by everything. I never had to explain anything, because Laurie knew my heart. He always understood what I was trying to say, no matter what.

“Y/n—“

I hold my hand to stop his words. “Don’t say anything,” I tell

him. “You don’t have to. You have never, and will never, be under any obligation to return the feelings I have for you. That’s not your fault, and it wasn’t back then, and I’m sorry that I dropped you out of my life after that day. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when Jo turned you down, I’m sorry I never replied or even read your letters. I—“

“You never read my letters?” Laurie’s voice sounds broken.

I stop. “No. I—I didn’t.”

Laurie looks down, his forehead scrunching together. “No wonder…” he mutters. “You… you had no idea.”

Now it’s my turn to frown. “No idea about what?”

He glances up, his eyes searching mine, for what I don’t know. “I wrote to you, y/n. Dozens of times. I poured my heart out into those letters. I told you how much I missed you, how badly I was hurting over what I’d said to you that day. I—I told you how Jo helped me to realise that it really was you all along. I’ve been in love with you since I first met you, y/n, and I never stopped. I just didn't realise it. But when you never wrote back, I assumed that was your answer.”

“Oh, Laurie,” I whisper, tears in my voice. “I’m so sorry.” A million thoughts are racing through my mind, but one rises above the others.

“Is it still true?”

He hesitates. “That I love you?”

I nod once. “Yeah.”

“It will always be true.”

And for the first time in a long while, I feel at home again.

[reinerszn]

ooooh how about bimbo!reader punishing sub!ethan for cumming too fast? 🤭 maybe some overstimulation or face sitting (but he'd prob like that ngl...)

content warnings: nsfw/smut, afab!reader, sub!ethan, pet names (momma, good boy, bad boy, pretty boy, puppy, baby), overstimulation, e’s just a very vocal&whiny guy we been knew that!, reader slaps e’s tip like once, pretty short and simple sorry :( not proofread either!!!

xylea’s note: 0.4k words sooo like super short. might write a little smth for the face sitting one as well bc that’s been takin’ up my mind for quite awhile ૮꒰ྀི⊃⸝ ⸝ ⸝⊂꒱ྀིა hope i did this justice for u anon !!

“t’much! t’much momma.. no no—“ ethan was helplessly squirming around, hands trying to swat yours away from his sensitive tip. “nuh-uh.. good boys keep their hands away. you’re a good boy, right?” you cooed, straddling his thighs to make it hard for him to move. he immediately took his hands away, frantically trying to keep them away. “momma— momma i’ma cum.. please!” he couldn’t hold back anymore and covered your manicured hands with his cum, spurting out everything he had in him. ethan involuntarily bucked his hips up.

god was he a sight. his brown, bouncy curls stuck to the slick of sweat on his forehead and his eyes were rolled back to his skull. ethan’s jaw fell slack and his mouth was open, heavy pants and strained groans leaving his kiss-swollen lips.

before he could even get over his high, you ran your thumb over his tip, using his cum as lube. your pretty acrylic nails complimented his dick that was twitching every now and then. “didn’t say you could cum, ethan. sucha bad boy.” a small chuckle left your glossy lips, enjoying the sight in front of you. he looked so adorable at your mercy :(

from still being so sensitive, he wriggled around on the bed, beautifully arching his back off the bed from your mere touch. his gasps and high-pitched squeals were like music to your ears. “g’na milk you of everything you have pretty boy. it’s what you deserve for being a bad boy, isn’t that right?” ethan was lost for words, his poor head clouded up with nothing but how pathetic he may have looked at this moment. from the lack of answers, you took your hand away and slapped his tip softly, earning a cry. “don’t hear you,” you cooed in a sweet yet mocking tone. “‘m a bad boy.. deserve this.” ethan was practically drooling, his tone slurred from the pure bliss. you hummed out in approval.

it’d been an hour at the least and ethan was already nearing his 6th orgasm of the night. he was seeing stars and tears kept running down his rosy cheeks. “please.. please momma— can’t do it anymore.” he managed to choke out between whimpers and breathy sobs. “jus’ one more puppy. know you have it in you.” you ran your nails along his thigh gently as the other hand was squeezing at his cock, hand white and sticky with all his cum. pleads continued to flee from his pretty pink lips. “g’na cum.. please— let me. please please please!” ethan was so spent, all he could do was cry and beg. “go ahead baby. you deserve it.” and with that he lazily bucked his hips up in your hands a few times before spilling into your hands, all sweaty and dumb.

[chronically-ghosted]

i crawl home to her

rating: 18+ explicit

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 8.2K

summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.

warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands

a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!

🤍Masterlist

You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies. 

And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.

And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet. 

“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.” 

You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year. 

“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.

“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life. 

The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel. 

“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”

“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.” 

“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”

“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”

You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.

“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”

There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him. 

“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”

Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:

“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”

“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”

“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”

You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.” 

He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin. 

By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale. 

“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.” 

“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers. 

“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?” 

Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 

History says no. 

So, maybe you’d just carry everything. 

You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.

“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now– 

His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.

“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”

You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap. 

You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house. 

Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.

She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand. 

“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”

She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face. 

“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”

“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.” 

As it is every year.

“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”

Here it comes.

“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”

“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”

“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”

Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.

Rings gone.

Earring gone.

Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.

His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.

Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe – 

You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.

“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit. 

To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers. 

“Poinsettias! My –,”

“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”

Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money. 

“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.” 

The bastard winks at you. 

Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived. 

“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”

She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet. 

“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”

A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling. 

So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.

Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??

God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.

He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair. 

And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with. 

“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”

Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”

“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point. 

You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.

“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”

You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.

“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”

“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.

She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?

“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”

Schmooze he did. 

From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world. 

For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too. 

In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren. 

“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy. 

“Mhmm hmm.” 

“When are you going to have some of your own?” 

And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.

It would be insulting to call it eerie. 

It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .

You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee. 

Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven. 

This, this Dieter, feels wrong. 

You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.

This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”. 

Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:

Anger. 

Shame. Guilt. 

Hot embarrassment. 

You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister. 

You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage. 

But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world. 

A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral. 

“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in. 

“Dieter, what are you–,”

“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.” 

White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye. 

“I’m fine. Just needed some air.” 

“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.

“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink. 

“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.” 

You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Dieter, please, just –,”

He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.

He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.

“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”

The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.

“This isn’t you.” 

You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed. 

“What’s not me?”

A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder. 

“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”

Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back. 

“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”

“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.” 

And out of nowhere, he smiles. 

Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.

“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”

You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue. 

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”

“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.” 

Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”

You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara. 

He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.

“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.” 

You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth. 

“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.

“Just . . .”

His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his. 

That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back. 

“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”

You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark. 

“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans. 

Oh. 

Maybe he did mean it like that. 

You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.

Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly. 

“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs. 

He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you. 

“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”

You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.” 

He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.  

“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” 

“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.” 

The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror. 

His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit. 

With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself. 

  “No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?” 

“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”

His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need. 

This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.

You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms. 

When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes. 

“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold. 

“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant. 

He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to. 

With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck. 

“Face down, baby,” he says. 

“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”

He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.

You do. 

Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on. 

He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.

“I’d rather just show you.” 

Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw. 

Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle. 

But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you. 

You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps. 

“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades. 

You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” 

It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror. 

The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.

“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring. 

There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.

He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning. 

You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.

“Hard, baby. Please.”

For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.

“Okay.”

He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.

His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb. 

“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,” 

He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back. 

Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides. 

“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?” 

Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.

“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time. 

“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.” 

Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass. 

“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”

Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter. 

“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”

He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.  

“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”

His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it. 

You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him. 

“Dieter, please –,” 

“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”

The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.

“Fuck them. Let them hear.” 

Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.

“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.” 

He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then. 

“Harder again, please.” 

Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt. 

You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.

“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade. 

“Say it again.” 

With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter. 

“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”

The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.

He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.” 

His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage. 

“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life. 

The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge. 

“Oh – oh, shit –,”

The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.

“Wait – fuck,”

He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later. 

The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth. 

Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.

Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling. 

You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder. 

“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.

In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours – 

And you’re laughing. 

You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.

He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands. 

“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.” 

You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle. 

He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest. 

“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”

You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at. 

“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”

Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant. 

“Dieter, I –,”

“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?” 

You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.

“Okay.” 

The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach. 

At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.

But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world. 

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 

Your heart says yes. 

[actuallysaiyan]

I Think You're Holding The Heart Of Mine(Part Eleven)

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, proposal, Gojo and the students spy on the proposal word count: 1.8k pairings: Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader summary: Nanami and you get a night off after a few months of working hard, and even though Gojo and the students are spying on you, Kento proposes to you! a/n: One of the last chapters!! taglist: @beneathstarryskies @sparklynightm4re. @seireiteihellbutterfly

Masterlist

“Wait, are you suggesting what I think you are?” Kugisaki asks Megumi, who’s sitting in front of her.

Itadori cocks an eyebrow, “Uh…can you repeat your idea?”

The black-haired teen sighs. “We should plan a date for our sensei. Not Gojo, but you know…”

Since you and Nanami had returned from your mission, everyone got to see just how happier you two were. You both returned to being the cutesy couple that everyone had thought you were previously.

Things were a little more passionate. Kento still treated you as his work wife. Peeling oranges for you as a snack, bringing you lunch and coffee when you need it most, giving you a shoulder rub. You enjoyed teasing him lightly, making jokes with him, and returning the shoulder rubs.

But there was something different. You two had found a deep love and understanding. Truly, your relationship sparked even more than it ever had. And the teens had picked up on that rather quickly. Fushiguro had noticed just how happier Nanami-sensei seemed to be. Even around Gojo-sensei, Nanami was okay with dealing with the nonsense that came from the white-haired sorcerer.

That’s when Fushiguro had finally concluded that you and Nanami must have patched things up. He can see the pep in your step, and the way that Nanami seems to have mellowed out quite a bit. So he thinks about how he can get you two even closer.

It’s been quite a few weeks since the mission, and you and Kento have been closer than before. He spends time at your place, and you spend nights at his. You two make love every second you can, but you’ve both been quite busy nevertheless. Finding time to be intimate and dating can be difficult.

“Fushiguro, you think that Nanami-sensei wants to propose to her?” Itadori asks, his eyes wide.

Megumi shrugs, “Look, who knows. They have been close since they were our age.”

Kugisaki coos, “That’s so cute! A childhood romance! Oh I bet they’d make cute babies.”

Gojo pops his head into the room, his eyes alight with curiosity despite being covered. He had heard just a little bit of the conversation his students were having, but he knew he could easily help them.

“Did you say you think Nanami is going to propose to usagi-chan?!” Satoru asks them, sitting on one of the chairs.

Fushiguro sighs, “I don’t know. It seems like it could happen. I think maybe he’s ready to make that commitment with her.”

Nobara sighs dreamily, “This is too cute! Imagine if they really got married!”

Itadori rubs his chin, “I already thought they were married…”

Gojo claps his hands together, an idea forming inside his mind. He knows it’s going to require a lot of finessing, and a little bit of luck. But regardless, even if this plan doesn’t go exactly as planned, it should still be good.

“Gather round, youngsters. I have a good idea.”

All three of his students look at themselves for a moment, unsure of how to even respond. But then they realize that maybe Gojo-sensei will have an actual good idea for once.

“Okay so I’m thinking…”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

For the first time in two months, you and Nanami finally have a night off. You don’t know how you managed to do this, but you were both super giddy about it. Kento decided to make dinner reservations for the both of you, though strangely enough Gojo had surprised him with some already made for both of you.

“It’s my thank you to both of you. You both work so hard. Go have fun,”

Kento was skeptical about the whole ordeal, but for once he decided to let it go. He decided to just enjoy the little gift that was bestowed on you both.

“Get ready for seven, love.” Kento whispers in your ear.

You shiver, “I will. I’ll be all dolled up for you.”

And you weren’t lying. When he picks you up, his eyes widen and his cheeks redden. You were the epitome of beauty and loveliness. If Kento thought he couldn’t fall deeper for you, he was sorely wrong. He takes your hand in his as he guides you to the car.

“How beautiful you are,” he says as he helps you buckle in. Then he kisses you, “You put the stars to shame.”

You blush and look down, “That’s much too sweet.”

He gets into the driver’s seat, the smell of your perfume invading his senses. He has a bit of a hard time focusing on the road as you’re just a vision of heaven. Eventually, you two make it at the restaurant that Gojo had booked a seat for you both.

Once inside the restaurant and brought to your seats, you realized just how fancy this restaurant is. The lighting is low and dim, but just the perfect ambiance for couples. There was light romantic music playing in the background and Nanami decided to order a bottle of champagne.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” You ask as you reach over to take his hand in yours.

Nanami caresses your fingers, “It’s truly a blessing.”

You two fall into a comfortable chatter. It goes from childhood memories, to what’s going on at work and how the training of the teens is going, all the way to current events in the world. Everything feels so natural and relaxing. Then you watch as Nanami tenses up.

“Ken, honey…what’s the matter?”

Kento knew this was all too good to be true. Fanciest restaurant in town for you and him, that was too good to be true. At one of the booths nearby, he sees Itadori’s pink hair peeking up. Then the young man turns around and when he sees his mentor looking right at him, he’s quick to turn around. Nanami spots the whole group. Fushiguro, Gojo, Kugisaki and Itadori.

“It’s nothing,” but Nanami still feels tense.

You try to calm him down with more champagne. This was supposed to be a happy night. Kento had been planning on proposing to you, but when this opportunity fell into your laps, Kento realized it could be the perfect time to do so.

He then realizes that everyone is here to make sure he does this. They are making sure things go off without a hitch. No hiccups, no errors. Kento sighs as he tries to reason with himself. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, as long as they didn’t interrupt.

“Darling,” Kento takes your hands across the table. “I have to tell you just how much I love you.”

Your eyes sparkle, “I love you too, Ken.”

His eyes are so dark with love right now. There’s a trace of lust in them too, but it’s all genuine affection for you. He brings one of your hands up to his lips and presses kisses to your knuckles.

“We’ve been so close since we were younger…and then I had to go and leave you. That was my biggest mistake,”

You hush him softly, “We both had things we had to work through.”

“I’m just so happy I can have you in my life again. When we both came back to work at Jujutsu Tech, it was one of the happiest days of my life.”

“Quit pushing, Itadori-kun!” Fushiguro whines, pushing the teen over.

“W-wait! I didn’t mean to push! I just adjusted my seating.”

Your eyes snap up to see the two students. Your eyes widened. Was this really happening right now? Kento’s eyes cloud over with stress and annoyance. Then you couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Why are they here?” You ask, cocking your head to the side so cutely.

Kento shrugs, “Wish I knew. I think this was a plan concocted by Gojo. He knew that I’d be—”

But then he stops himself. He was about to reveal his secret. You look at your lover even more confused than before. 

“Did he do it?! What did she say!?” Nobara asks, her eyes focused on the couple at the booth.

“I don’t think he did it. Sensei, can you hear?” Itadori asks.

Then it dawns on you and Nanami. Gojo is with the teens as well. He’s the one who orchestrated the whole affair. Kento looks like he’s about to lose his cool, but then he turns his attention to you.

“Nevermind anyone else. It’s just me and you. It’s always going to be that way, my darling.”

Then he pulls something from his pocket. He opens the little velvet box and your eyes widen. Your hands are shaking as Kento slides the box towards you.

“Will you be my bride? You’d make me the happiest man in the world.”

His words hang in the air as you try to calm yourself. You know you want to say yes and accept, but you’re overwhelmed with emotion.

“Will you be my real wife and not just my work wife?”

“Did it happen?! Did he ask her?!”

You look right at the group and your eyes tell them everything they need to know. You’re tearing up, unable to speak. Finally, you nod at Nanami.

“Yes, yes I’ll be your bride!”

Nanami comes over to your side of the booth, cupping your face in his hands. He kisses you over and over again before he slides the beautiful diamond ring on your finger.

“I couldn’t be happier.”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

Kento holds you so close as he pumps into you. Your fingers are intertwined with one hand. He keeps looking at the beautiful diamond on your finger. You were going to be his wife.

“Fuck—I…oh god, I love you.” He whimpers as he stills himself.

He’s buried so deep inside of you. For the first time in so long, he knows that he finally has you right where he needs you. His hands cup your face, caressing your cheeks so gently. Kento kisses you passionately and romantically, his own eyes filling up with tears.

“I will always love you,” he rubs his nose against yours. You feel one of his tears falling onto your cheek. “I will always keep you safe.”

Your legs wrap around him, pushing him in even deeper. Both of you moan loudly, holding onto each other even tighter. Your kisses turn more heated and hungrier as Kento begins to fuck you a little harder.

“I want a family with you,” he moans hoarsely. “Want to have a little baby with you.”

You gasp a little, your walls fluttering around his girth. Your juices dribble all over his shaft, making a small puddle underneath you. Kento growls in your ear.

“I’m going to get you pregnant.”

His hands caress your sides, making sure you feel so loved. He kisses you fiercely, his tongue tangling with yours. His thrusts are erratic, his hips slamming against yours. 

“I’m going to fill you up. Going to get you pregnant, honey.”

You cry out as your orgasm hits you hard, leaving you trembling and moaning his name like a desperate prayer. Kento is pulled into his peak as well, grunting and growling how you belong to him. His thick seed fills your cunt so much, it’s already dripping out.

He kisses you hungrily, “More. Let’s do it some more. I need to impregnate you now.”

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddiemas Day 7 - Mall and/or Job

pairing: steddie | word count: 1,884 | rated: G

“Munson Residence, wha'd’ya want?” Eddie groans into the receiver.

Whoever this is better be someone super fucking important to have woken him up with their damn ringing. He’s surprised Wayne didn’t wake up too, but it’d be kinda hard to hear the phone over those snores.

“Eddie! Thank god,”

Oh. Steve! Very important, actually.

“Oh, hey Steve, what’s up?”

“Eddie, can you do me a huge favor?”

“Yeah, of course, what’s wrong?” he immediately spirals into what all could have gone wrong, what could be going wrong. Everything dark blue and cold, vine-y and the flashing of red lightning—

“Nothing, nothing–well, something.. Can you please run to my place later today and grab my lunch? I forgot it this morning and I know I’m not going to be able to run back and get it and get back in time to eat it before my break is over.”

“Your lunch?” “Yeah, I packed one this morning but left it on the counter. There’s a key under the mat and everything.” Eddie barks out a laugh, “Tryin’ to get robbed, big guy?”

“I don’t care about any of the shit in that house.” Steve scoffs. He shrugs even though Steve can’t see him. “Fair enough. Sure Stevie, I’ll bring your lunch; when do you want me there?” “Dude, you’re the best; My lunch break is right at noon, can you be here just before then?”

“Got it. Five to noon at Family Video.” he drawls out as if he’s writing the information down.

“Uh, actually…not Family Video..”

A short two hours later, Eddie finds himself among a throng of people inside Melvald’s. He has to fight his way forward at first, but the crowd thins out as he gets closer to the registers.

Damn, he’s not even that far into the store and he feels like he’s ran a mile.

“Ms. Byers!”

“Oh! Hello Eddie, what brings you here?” “Steve called and asked if I could drop off his lunch to him. Do you know where he is? I didn’t even know he was working here.”

Joyce just grins at him. It’s weirdly mischievous. “Only temporarily, he’s near the back of the store. Just head back there and I’m sure you’ll find him.”

“Uh..thanks. See ya later Ms. B.”

He wanders toward the back of the store through the aisles, but stops up short when a fake white picket fence blocks his path.

The whole back corner of the store has been covered in fake felt snow, a couple of those fake plastic trees like Steve’s (though these are a normal size), a candy-striped ‘North Pole’, and dozens of paper snowflakes hang from the ceiling between what seems like hundreds of string lights.

And there, sitting in the middle of it on a throne that looks suspiciously like the one he used to use during Hellfire, is Steve. Dressed in a Santa suit. With long white beard, big ol’ belt and buckle, shiny black boots..

“Psst!”

He’s got something stuffed into his Santa jacket to give him the right shape, and even some small half-moon glasses, but those sparkling eyes, the freckles, that one swoop of brown hair stubbornly sticking out from under the fuzzy brim of his hat, that’s all Steve.

“Eddie!”

Santa Steve is fully enraptured by whatever story the kid on his knee is telling him, their hands waving every which way but somehow missing smacking Santa right in the face. Steve just continues to nod along, then gives them a hearty “Ho Ho Ho!” when they try to squeeze their tiny arms around his fake belly.

“Eddie!!”

He glances over at the sound of his name, and sees Robin waving frantically at him from her spot at old school music stand-turned-podium. She’s got on some sort of outfit that honestly looks like it was supposed to be a jester costume, where’d she even get that from?

His feet start toward her, but his eyes fall back on Steve Claus, now posing for a picture with the kid who’s smiling so wide it looks like his face will split in half.

Managing to take his eyes off Steve for a moment, he sees Jonathan behind the camera, and that Argyle kid is crouched in front of Robin, talking to the next kid in line to see Santa. All three of them are wearing matching jester costumes.

Eddie steps up to her podium after Argyle and the new kid pass in front of him to see Steve, “Family Video not paying enough, Birdie?”

She rolls her eyes, “Well, the extra cash doesn’t hurt. Joyce asked us to help out.”

He nods at her, and finds his eyes drifting back to Santa Steve.

This kid is much more shy than the last one, tilting her head down and taking short glances up at Steve’s face.

Steve is saying something to her, a low comforting sound that Eddie can only make out the tone of. His one hand covers the entirety of her upper back, and his thumb is moving up and down to try and soothe her nerves. His head is ducked down to be more level with her, looking at her over those half-moon glasses.

Suddenly, the girl’s head snaps up and Steve leans back a bit. “Yeah?” he hears him say.

The girl grins, nodding her head like crazy, then she too is squeezing Steve into a hug. It’s so unfairly endearing, he can actually feel his heart swelling in his chest.

Robin speaks up then, “So..?”

“So?” he repeats dumbly.

“So wha’d’ya think, Munson?” 

“Does he need a Mr. Claus?”

He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth.

“Uh, wait, I mean Mrs.–Do you have— is someone going to—”

Eddie chances a look over at her…she’s wearing a smug, shit-eating grin. She leans toward him conspiratorially and mumbles out “I wouldn’t mind a Mrs. Claus myself.”

She leans back, still looking smug, but there’s a note of panic in her eyes.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “So would he.” he mumbles out himself, jerking his chin towards Steve.

Robin only shrugs “You never know.”

“You never—what do you know, Buckley?” he asks, stepping closer and pointing an accusing finger into her still smug face.

“I know that there’s some mistletoe hanging above the breakroom door.”

He’s confused for just a moment, then understanding floods through him, “You little—”

A short whistle interrupts his incoming tirade, and Eddie can see Steve Claus moving out of the corner of his eye.

“Sorry folks, it’s time for Santa’s Cookie break!” Robin calls out over the long line of people. “He’ll be back in 30 minutes though, don’t you worry!” the smile falls off her face as soon as she turns her back to them.

Eddie follows her, Jonathan, and Argyle toward the back rooms, “I’m gonna take a nap.” She says, “Tell Santa to grab me before he goes back.” She waves toward a door as she passes it and from the sprig of greenery hanging above it, this must be the breakroom. 

Robin takes a right down a turn in the hall, and Jon and Argyle push out the back door of the building.

He expects more of the same when he opens the door to the breakroom, for Steve to huff and grouse about the kids or the parents or something, but when he does, Steve is grinning ear to ear as he combs through his (now removed) fake beard.

“Hey Santa Stevie.”

“Eds!”

“I’ve got your lunch.” he holds up the brown paper bag for Steve to see. Steve nods, and lays the beard out on an empty chair, taking off his hat and glasses too and setting them both on top before stepping forward to grab the bag. “And you have hat hair.” Eddie laughs.

Steve’s free hand jumps to his head and scruffs up the long hairs, making them stick up every which way instead of just being plastered down on his forehead.

“Better?”

“Sure, big guy.” Eddie pokes Steve’s fake belly.

Steve chuckles, then heads to a table in the corner where he dumps out his lunch bag.

“So what’d Past Steve pack for Future Steve?” Eddie asks, plopping down in a chair kitty-corner from Steve’s. “Bologna and mustard sandwich, Doritos, and half of a leftover Hellfire cookie.”

“And a Coke,” Eddie says, taking a can out of his jacket pocket, “I grabbed one for you from your fridge.”

“Thanks, Eddie.” Steve smiles warmly at him. “You want some?”

“No way dude, you gotta get your energy back after dealing with all those kids, right?” Eddie says, waving him off. 

“Eh, some of them are little assholes, but most of them are really well behaved.” he’s ripping his sandwich in half, “Gotta impress Santa, right?”

He offers him one half, and Eddie takes it.

“It’s really not a bad gig, though the beard is itchy as hell…”

Steve starts talking about some of the kids who have come by in the last couple days of them doing this, having started on that past Monday, the 1st.

There were the kids asking for baseball bats, Lincoln Logs, Malibu Barbie, Rockstar Barbie (“Barbie’s a rockstar now?”, “Barbie can be anything, I guess.”), all the usual things.

Then there were kids that asked for actual Santa stuff, “I don’t want my mom and dad to get a divorce.”, “I wish I had some friends.”, “I want my grandpa to get better.”

“Makes me wish I actually was Santa, y’know? Then maybe I could actually help them.”

Eddie’s heart is definitely getting way too fuckin’ big for his chest.

He puts his hand on Steve’s forearm where it’s resting on the table between them. “You are a good man, Steve Harrington.”

Steve’s face flushes nearly as red as his suit. “Thanks, Eddie.” he glances above Eddie’s head then, “I better go wake up Robin, if she naps too long on top of the potatoes, she gets cranky.”

Eddie snorts out a laugh, “Yeah, better get on that.”

Steve stands up and tugs on his hat, not bothering to put on the beard and glasses yet. The fuzzy white band smushes a lock of his hair onto his forehead. 

“Hold on,” Eddie stands as well, reaching forward to tuck the hair under the bottom of Steve’s hat. “Now you’ll be ready to see your adoring public.”

“Thanks,” Steve laughs, walking with him toward the door.

And of course, Eddie forgot all about the damn mistletoe until Steve’s arm stops him in the doorway.

‘Jesus H. Christ…’

He glances over at Steve, then up at the offending plant.. 

Eddie looks back down, out toward the rest of the store where they’d be clearly visible in the doorway.

“I guess you owe me one, huh big boy?” Eddie chuckles, ‘Stupid plant, stupid Robin, stupid Ed–’

His thoughts are cut off when Steve tugs him back into the breakroom, moves him against the wall, and leans down to press a kiss to his cheek. The opposite to the kiss he’d given Steve three weeks ago.

Steve leans back, a smirk on his lips and a pink flush on his face. “Now we’re even.” he winks, then turns out the door to wake up Robin.

i may have actually kicked my feet and giggled about this one lmao

also, rockstar barbie mentioned here is from the 1986 Barbie and The Rockers set

also, also, i'm getting rid of the 'pre' before the steddie up top, you all know what's happening and where this is going lol - it's steddie.

other parts! Pt. 1 (Day 1) | Pt. 2 (Day 2) | Pt. 3 (Day 5) | Pt. 4 (Day 6) | Pt. 5 (Day 7) [YOU ARE HERE] | Pt. 6 (Day 11) | Pt. 7 (Day 13) | Pt. 8 (Day 18) | Pt. 9 (Day 21) | Pt. 10 (Day 25) also on AO3! this year

[slut4slytherinss]

Labyrinth

Pt. 1 - Gold Rush

SEND REQUESTS!!

Summary: reader finds herself falling in love, hard, for Mattheo not long after she broke her own heart over him. Initially convinced that she will never recover from her pain that he caused, she marvels at how she finds comfort in the boy that hurt her.

1,470 words

Warnings: cursing, basically the same as pt.1 minus the angst, so much cheesiness it’s gross, lovey dovey!mattheo bc I’m extremely soft, sort of angsty but in a beautiful way, these aren’t even warnings atp, the other students being jealous cunts, possible references to books or movies, Regulus is STILL dead (wdym he’s literally in bed beside me rn), Dorothea being kind of rude (dw my girl is still your bestie), Drastoria(to all you Drarry shippers I’m sorry), mention of ronmione, slight rush and basically no plot, SUPER FUCKING SHORT IM SORRY😞

2nd person pov

Hufflepuff prefect reader

Female reader

“It only hurts this much right now.” Was what I was thinking the whole time.

You walk down the hallway aside Mattheo, fingers intertwined. You agreed to try it out and it’s lasted a month, but that doesn’t stop everyone in the castle from starting rumors. He traces circles on the back of your hand with his thumbnail, in a comforting manner, he leans in to whisper in your ear “Let’s go back to my dorm, okay?” You nod. You two go to his dorm a lot, not to hook up, you haven’t had sex since the party, his dorm is like a safe space — and his friends are fucking awesome. You’ve barely even told Dorothea what your relationship has been like, becoming closer and closer with the Slytherins.

-

When you get into his dorm you take your robe off, leaving you in your white button-up, skirt that rests appropriately at your knees, calf high socks and black Doc Martens. Mattheo places your robe gently atop a chair next to his desk before taking his own robe off and kicking his shoes off. “Lay with me, love?” He asks sweetly which causes you to roll your eyes, but oblige. You lie next to him in the bed, just talking. That’s all you two ever do lately, though, it gives you a fair bit of anxiety — trusting him with your secrets. It terrifies you, actually. You need to just—

Breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out. I’ll be getting over you, my whole life.

Seriously. He’s unforgettable. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to ease your nerves. Mattheo must feel how tense you are because he begins to trace stars on your back, it’s his little form of comfort. I’ve never been good at that, he’d told you once. Which seems like total bullshit because he always manages to calm you, or at least make you forget about your issues for a while. That also scares you, the fact he can make you want to cry, strangle him, and yourself, but also smile, laugh, hug him. Terrifies you. No one has ever impacted you this much. Everything is moving so fast, but Mattheo is there with you, along for the ride.

You know how scared I am of elevators. Never trust it if it rises fast, it can’t last.

-

You walk into your dorm, laying down on your bed and dropping your bag on the floor. You quickly turn over when you hear Dorothea’s voice “Look who’s finally home.” She says in an annoyed tone. “Dor? What are you doing in here?” You sit up, she looks at you with raised brows and crossed arms. “Really? You start dating Mattheo Riddle, leave me alone for weeks, get new friends and you’re asking me why I’m here?” You swallow, “You told me you’d get over him, you lied to me.” “Dorothea, c’mon, this is like—like a trial, to see if we’re good together, he’s really sweet.” You try to justify your actions “He’s Mattheo Riddle!” She whispers aggressively, shaking her head. “He’s my boyfriend!” You spit out, the word feeling foreign on your tongue. Dorothea visibly flinches, “What?” “He’s—he’s my boyfriend,” you repeat, more confidently. “You just said that the relationship was a trial.” “Well it is, but he’s still my boyfriend. Mine. So stop trying to criticize him and me simply because I care for him.” You breathe out that last part “You care for him?” She asks with a raised eyebrow. “Yes, I care for him. It’s not like—I’m in love with him or something, I just care.” You say quickly. You’re not in love with him. You can’t be, right?

Uh oh, I’m falling in love again. Oh no, I’m falling in love again. Oh, I’m falling in love. I thought the plane was going down how’d you turn it right around?

-

The day after your interaction with Dorothea is, odd, to say the least. You sit outside in the courtyard, leaning against a tree, you’ve been avoiding Mattheo like the plague ever since your revelation. This whole things just feels so—raw. But of course he found you.

It only feels this raw right now, lost in the labyrinth of my mind.

“Hey,” he gives you a small smile. “Hi.” You reply, he sits down next to you. “I haven’t seen you all day, you avoiding me?” That causes you to laugh—and also tell the truth with a few nods. “Yeah, yeah I have.” He tilts his head but doesn’t seem upset in the slightest. “Why’s that?” “Well—um,” you try to get the words out but they seem a little stuck. “It’s okay, take your time.” He brings his hand down to hold yours, tracing gentle circles on your palm. You smile and lean your head on his shoulder. “I care about you, Mattheo.” You admit. He grins, really grins. “I care about you too.” The boy says, “Really?” He nods “Always have,” he leans down so his lips are right next to your ear, “always will.” His whisper is like a secret for only you to hear, a promise that will never be broke, a sacred oath.

Break up, break free, break through, break down. You would break your back to make me break a smile.

-

“Boys!” You call out in a sing-song voice, “I’ve brought sweets!” They got in trouble for talking too loudly during class and were removed from this weeks Hogsmeade weekend, you decided to buy them some sweets. Blaise is the first to you, “Thank Merlin, Y/n!” He snatches a bag from you as you giggle. You toss some sweets onto Draco’s bed as all the boys thank you, Mattheo stands up and wraps his arms around you from behind, kissing your cheek. That action causes all the others to groan and tell you to “Get a room.” Pansy and Astoria walk into the room, talking animatedly, Astoria sits on Draco’s bed beside him, tossing bags of clothes at him, “I’ve got you a new suit.” He grins and kisses the side of her neck in thanks. “Y/n! You totally missed it,” Pansy exclaims, practically shoving Mattheo off of you to lock her arm onto yours. “We caught Weasley and Granger snogging in the bathrooms at Three Broomsticks!” You giggle at her words and sit down on Mattheo’s bed with her, “Seriously? You steal my girlfriend and now my bed?” He asks Pansy, in a mock-offended way, she sticks her tongue out at him. “C’est la vie.” Blaise shrugs with a smirk playing at his lips as he eats the chocolate you gave him. “Speaking of that,” Theodore begins “how’s the sex Matt?” He teases, which causes you to blush and Mattheo to shove Theodore. “Shut it man, that’s so gross.” “Oh c’mon!” Astoria exclaims, “Y/n never tells us anything about it.” She shakes her head. “Maybe she doesn’t want to.” Mattheo defends you, you just stay silent. You tune them out, you just hate how everyone already wants you to be sleeping together. Why would you? It’s taken you long enough to call him your boyfriend, let alone touch him (approximately three weeks). Sure, you’ve hooked up before, but never as a couple. That act is supposed to be intimate with a person you care about. So why do it so soon? You’re taken away from your thoughts by the feel of Mattheo’s hand gripping yours.

You know how much I hate that everybody just expects me to bounce back. Just like that.

-

It’s now been around two months, officially dating, Dorothea has apologized and became friends with the Slytherin’s, it’s all perfect. Except, you and Mattheo still haven’t kissed nor done anything but cuddle and hold hands. You’re not sure why but the act feels too intimate, too scary for you. You’ve kissed lots of guys before—granted none were your boyfriend—but still. You can’t seriously be falling for him, right?

“Hey love,” Mattheo murmurs, dropping a kiss on the top of your head. “Did Dorothea let you in?” You question with a yawn, he just hums and nods, sitting next to you on your bed. “How’s my girl doing?” He asks, “Stressed and exhausted.” You reply as you trace your quill along the parchment “You’re seriously doing that extra credit essay?” “Yes, Mattheo, I am. I’m totally failing Slughorn’s class and he never lets us do shit like this for extra credit, I’m savoring it.” He chuckles and pulls you closer to him by your waist. “Just take a little break. For me?” You groan but end up giving in, leaning back against his chest. “You’re so lucky I lo—“ you cut yourself off quickly, immediately looking away from him. He stiffens, “You what?” He murmurs, you swallow. “Nothing, nothing important.” You say quickly. Mattheo desperately wants to change the subject so he just nods and looks forward.

Uh oh, I’m falling in love again. Oh no, I’m falling in love again. Oh, I’m falling in love. I thought the plane was going down how’d you turn it right around?

After a few minutes of silence, Mattheo speaks again “What were you going to say?” He asks in a whisper, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your hip bone. “It doesn’t matter.” You murmur, but Mattheo is quite persistent and asks again, you finally give in and mutter “I love you.” Which causes his breath to catch, I love you, those words shouldn’t be a big deal—you aren’t asking him to marry you or anything—but they are. He swallows before murmuring “Really?” To which you reply with a timid “Yes.” A slow smile creeps up on his face. “Well, I love you too.” You grin like an idiot, love, a silly thing to be obsessing over—but alas, you are.

Uh oh, I’m falling in love again. Oh no, I’m falling in love again. Oh, I’m falling in love. I thought the plane was going down how’d you turn it right around?

-

A/N: sorry this one was so short, I just wanted to end this on a sweet note.. sooooo yeah. And sorry for the wait lol🙈🙈

[angelyuji]

the fanged man

yandere miguel o'hara x reader :)

you bumped into the wrong guy on your way to work :(

warnings! kidnapping! stalking! kinda implied noncon? breeding kink if you look super duper closely! miguel is scary! and i'm in love with his fangs! (you will definitely be able to tell) fem pet names for reader!

i'm in love with him and i need him in a way that is too graphic to describe!

you slam your apartment door shut in a hurry, “fuck, shit, fuck.” you rush down the steps, already late. ‘god, he’s definitely going to fire me now.’ your fuckass boss had told you if you were late one more time, you’re done. you feel angry tears well up, but by god’s grace, your bus was still at your stop. however, as you sprint down the street, eyes only on the bus, you slam right into someone. you’re on the ground just as fast and you see your bus speed away. you groan and look up, getting ready to cuss the person out. a man towers over you and you inch away. he was dressed in a tight shirt and baggy sweatpants, and usually you’re drooling over a guy like him, but something about him rubbed you the wrong way. maybe it was the way his hands were clenched into fists. or maybe the way he looked at you like he was going to eat you. “sorry.” you remember the horror stories you’ve heard from your friends about guys like him, and you decide to just let it go. figuring your safety is better than giving the guy a piece of your mind. he doesn’t say anything to you, scanning your face. he smiles and your eyes go wide. “do you have fangs?” he holds out a hand for you and you gingerly grab it. he helps you up.

“yeah, i do.” you quickly let go of his hand, a twinge of fear running through you. “sorry about getting in your way, sweetheart.” a smirk rests on his face and you back away.

“ha, it’s-it’s my fault.” you muster up a smile and take off, sprinting down the street. you can still feel his eyes on you as you run. you weave between the crowds of people and, somehow, made it on time. you burst in right a minute before your shift starts. your manager looks at you with an eyebrow raised before sighing.

“you’re technically not late.” you smile, proud and incredibly sweaty. “just go wash your face and clock in.” they sigh once more, exasperated. as your shift goes on, you can still feel the lingering feeling of his eyes on you. you look out the window when your shift was at a lull and see the shadow of someone standing near the windows. you look closer and the shadow smiles, fangs appearing, shining bright and white. you feel your body go numb and you couldn’t breathe, your coworker calls your name and you tear your eyes away from the window. when you look back, the figure was gone. you furrow your eyebrows and shake your head. as the shift comes to a close, you and your coworker close up.

“you okay?” they lean on the counter as you wipe down with a rag. you shrug, scrubbing off a hard spot. “come onnn, (y/n). you’ve been off all night.” they look at you, concerned.

you stop wiping and turn to them, “well… i bumped into this tall, creepy-looking dude on my way here. he had like fangs and he was like… 7 feet tall? and… i don’t know…. it feels like he’s watching me. you know?”

“you feel like you’re being stalked?” their face twists in horror.

“exactly!” you widen your eyes, feeling validated.

“oh my gosh, you have to go to the cops or something. that’s fucking scary.” they grab the rag from your hand.

“it’s probably in my head, plus what are they gonna do? they’ll laugh at me.” you groan, throwing your head back.

“at least let me walk you home or something.” you look back at your coworker, seeing their worry. you purse your lips.

“that’d be nice, but you live in the opposite direction.” you laugh, resigned. they look down, clearly in distress about your situation. “hey, don’t worry. it’s probably fine. i get creeped out by every grown man i meet.” you smile. they laugh and relent, telling you to call them when you get home. you close up and go your separate ways. you walk back home on edge, careful to avoid creepy alleyways. you hear the quiet noises of the city: cars, dogs, people talking. you pray that if anything happens, spiderman will save you. you swallow as you speedwalk back to your house. you quickly get back to your apartment, breathing out a sigh in relief. you lock the door and lean back, feeling the tension seep out of you.

“god, i was acting so insane for no reason.” you laugh to yourself. you feel around the walls for a light, but just as you flip the switch, something slams against you. a body corners you against the wall. you couldn’t scream, their hand covering your mouth. one hand presses against the door. as your eyes adjust to the light, you realize who it is, his mouth widens in a twisted grin. you can see his fangs peeking through and you feel your stomach drop.

“the fact… that you are absolutely no one in this universe,” he chuckles, “is truly my luck.” he breathes heavy. he leans his head on to your shoulder and you feel his teeth graze your shoulder, and your breath hitches. your eyes drift down and you see a costume almost similar to spiderman’s. he takes his hand off your mouth and wraps it around your waist, pulling you close.

“please, please, i don’t know who you are. i’ve never hurt anyone, please leave me alone.” you plead, tears pouring down your face. he chuckles and you can feel the vibrations with his chest pressed against yours. his face pressed deeper into the crook of your neck and you can feel his teeth digging into you, almost breaking skin. he takes a deep breath and moves away, still keeping you pressed against the wall.

“oh, pretty girl, beg.” he licks his teeth, as if taunting you.

you can feel yourself panicking, you couldn’t breathe, “what?” you choke out. the hand on your waist, moves up to your throat. he tightens his hand around your throat and you widen your eyes, you can feel his claws dig into the back of your neck and black spots dance in your vision. you struggle to breathe, clawing at the hand tightening around your throat.

“beg for your life.” he growls. he releases a little bit of pressure for you to take a breath.

“please, please, let me go. i’m begging you. please,” you sob and he chuckles again.

“god, you’re even cuter than i thought.” he murmurs. he lets go of your throat and pulls you into a tight hug. you try to push him off, but his claws dig into your back and you sag into him.

“please,” you whisper, “i have a family. i don’t know what you want with me.” you lean on his wide chest.

he pulls away, holding you by the waist, he pouts at you mockingly. “sweetheart, they’re not your family anymore. we’ll be starting a family.” your heart starts racing as you understand what he’s trying to say.

“no no no, please i’m not- i don’t-” he cups your face, rubbing your cheek with a thumb.

“you’ll grow to love me, you’ll give me the family i want.” before you could blink, the man digs his fangs into your shoulder. you scream as the pain hits and you can feel something flowing into you. he holds you as your legs collapse from underneath you. he holds you as your vision swims. “i’ll make you a good mother, pretty girl. everything will be alright, (y/n).” his voice carries you into the dark.

part 2

[discotitsposts]

soft smells

spencer reid x reader who loves cooking and baking cooking and baking with spencer.

fluff! rated e for everyone!

i keep seeing cooking and baking inspo on pinterest 😫

this is the recipe for bruschetta i used.

(i wanna be his housewife so bad it’s insane)

You hear the front door open as you’re taking the tray out of the oven. You’re so excited for Spencer to try your latest creation, you’re not paying attention to your hands and accidentally touch the super hot tray.

“Ow!” You scream. Spencer runs in and sees you cradling your palm.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” He asks, concerned.

“I accidentally burned my hand.” You hiss at the searing pain. You reach for the freezer to ice your burn.

Spencer stops you, “Wait! Don’t ice it! Ice is the worst thing for a burn!”

Spencer makes you sit at the dining table. He grabs a few things from the medicine cabinet as you watch.

He takes a leaf from your aloe vera plant, and cuts the leaf open. He takes some of the gel from the leaf and rubs it gently on your burn.

You wince at the sensation.

He notices and says, “Trust me it will help.”

“I know.” You manage a smile.

He bandages up your palm and kisses it.

“Alright get more of those every hour.” He says smiling.

“More aloe?” You ask, confused by what he means.

“No, the kisses.” He hands you some medicine to help with the pain. You take it and go back to making your bruschetta.

You pick up the bowl you’d premade with the mixture of extra virgin olive oil, garlic, oregano , basil, onions, salt and pepper. Meanwhile, Spencer transfers the bread onto a cooling rack for you.

You brush the mixture onto the bread slices. It smells divine. Then you add the chopped tomatoes. It envelops Spencer’s nostrils and makes his stomach grow hungrier. He tries to steal a slice when you’re not looking.

“It’s still hot Spence. Unless you want your tongue to look like my hand I would put that back.” He sighs and puts the slice back.

You sprinkle basil on the bruschetta and tell Spencer to wait in the living room. He obeys silently. Stomach growling louder by the second.

In the living room, the soft smell of toasted bread and cheese fills his senses yet again. You’d added mozzarella on top and bring it into the living room some time later.

“Cooled off?” He confirms.

“Yes, try some.” He takes the biggest piece and takes a bite. He moans happily when the taste hits his tongue.

“Oh wow!” Is all he can say.

“Delicious. Nothing better.” You say wiping a crumb off your mouth. You look at Spencer whose face is covered in crumbs. His mouth is full. This is one of the funniest things in the world and you laugh.

He tries to say ‘something on my face?’ but all that comes out is,

“Thomeing o ma ace?”

“Yes!” You laugh so hard you can’t breathe and tears fill your eyes.

After he swallows, he kisses you.

“We should make food together more often.”

“As long as you don’t eat it all before it’s done.” You tease.

“As long as you don’t burn your hand first.” He fires back jokingly.

“Oh yeah? What should we make next?”

“Cake!” His eyes light up.

You giddily run with him to the kitchen to go make a cake. You make a strawberry cake together and Spencer decorated it with pink icing and white icing flowers. You slice up some fresh strawberries and add them on top.

It was the best cake Spencer had ever eaten. Even more so, since it was made with love.

-

the end

-

tags🍓-

(if you would like to be tagged in all future works you can let me know by commenting a 🍓!)

@whoisspence

@lemonadeinfuser

@fictionalobssed

@exoticisles

@in-another-april

@gallifreyan-idiocracy

[hockey-fics]

Gin, Tonic, and Tequila Shots ~ Jack Hughes

Summary: You really didn’t think you could expect much from a relationship that started with nothing more than hooking up. But as the occurrences become more and more frequent your feelings become more and more involved in something that you were sure could only end in heartbreak.

Word Count: ~5,500

Warnings: Drinking, smut, jealousy, language, brief toxic male behaviour. 

A/N: I didn’t edit this super well because, honestly, I don’t love it enough to read through it many times. But I really hope it’s better than I think it is for everyone’s sake.  

It was just supposed to be fun. And if you were being honest, it had been incredibly fun. The two of you ran in the same circles, in a way. At the very least you were both at the same house party one time and it seemed that as time went by those occurrences only became more and more frequent. You had talked, casually and in passing, before you truly got to know each other. In fact, for awhile you didn’t even really know each other’s names. 

But one thing you could remember was the night things truly ramped up, like someone had engraved it into your brain, still there even though it had been almost a year since that night. 

10 Months Ago 

You pull him over to the table from where he had been leaning against the wall, pretending not to be watching you play beer pong throughout the last game. “You’re going to be my partner now,” you tell him with the confidence that only shots of vodka could truly give you. 

“Am I?” he chuckles, a beer in one hand as you set the ping pong ball into his other. 

“Yeah,” you smirk, stepping back and glancing at the other side of the table. “Your turn,” you tell him, nodding towards the table. 

Jack shakes his head, giving you an equally enticing smirk as he turns to the table to take his first shot. You watch the ball he had thrown land perfectly in one of your opponent’s cups. “Not bad,” you comment, with the full knowledge that it was much more impressive than just not bad. “I’m Y/N,” you tell him before taking your shot, your own ping pong ball landing in a cup on the other side of the table. 

“Nice shot, Y/N.” He brings his beer to his lips, taking a large gulp, like he was hoping it would give him the power to sustain whatever he had just walked into. “I’m Jack.”

The rest of the game proceeds in the same manner, little jabs and flirtatious comments directed at each other throughout it. 

It took only the length of one game till the two of you had locked yourselves in the bathroom of the house you were at. You didn’t even know whose house it was but you were very grateful for the sufficient counter space that you were perched on, Jack between your legs making you moan loudly. 

“You need to be quiet,” Jack mutters, after pulling back to look at you, his hands firmly grasping your thighs. 

You’re breathless but you mange to breathe out an okay and paired with the nod you give him it seems to be enough to give him the reassurance to get back to it. You’re ecstatic that he does as you’re rocked through an orgasm that makes you clutch the edge of the counter so hard your knuckles turn white. 

“Fuck,” is all you manage to say as Jack wipes his lips with the back of his hand before bringing his lips back to yours in a passionate and heated kiss. You’re a fluster of movements and adjusting and grappling before you’re pressed over the bathroom counter. He has his hand in your hair, pulling your head back to look at him in the mirror while he slams into you. He was right that you needed to be quiet, but he was making it incredibly hard as he hit parts of you very few people had before. 

You’re barely able to pull yourself to standing after he’s done with you, your body feeling like jello as you lean into the counter. “Holy shit,” you whisper. But your heart sinks a little when you see that he was already on his phone just minutes after pulling himself out of you. Biting the inside of your lip you scramble to begin pulling your clothes on. 

“So, do you want to stay at my place tonight? Or do you want to go to your place? Or…”

Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at him, your shirt still in your hands. “What?”

Jack turns his phone around, showing you that he was trying to get an Uber. “I mean, I don’t know, if you want to stay here that’s cool but that kinda took it outta me,” Jack chuckles as he turns his phone back around to look at it. “Up to you, whatever you want to do.”

You’re staring at him, mind racing to figure out what to say. “I’m going to stay,” you finally blurt out. You didn’t want to. You really didn’t want to. But you also didn’t want to seem like you were too invested in something with the guy who just fucked you in the bathroom at a house party. 

Jack is silent for longer than you had expected before shrugging. “Okay, whatever.” 

When he left that bathroom you hadn’t expected to feel quite as deflated as you did. At least you knew each other’s names now. But there was a part of you that wished you didn’t, it was less disheartening that way. 

That was until a couple days later when you got a text from an unknown number. 

‘Hey, it’s Jack. Got your number from a friend. We’re going out for drinks, wanna come?’

It was a Friday and after you got home from work that evening you had immediately slipped into pyjamas, slathered on your skincare and called it a night. But that text changed everything as you hurried about your apartment trying to put yourself back together without looking too put together. ‘Yeah, sure. Where?’

You had gotten the name of the bar a few minutes later and met him and his group of friends that only seemed vaguely familiar there later that night. The end of that night went much like the first, though you had at the very least ended up back at his apartment and in a bed this time. But again you weren’t sure how to handle the situation. You didn’t want to seem clingy or pushy so you pulled your clothes on as soon as it was over, heading out the second you managed to get an Uber. 

It wasn’t until he ended up at your apartment that things changed. He didn’t leave immediately. He fell asleep beside you in your bed, both of you waking up the next morning beside each other. And something about that seemed to change the situation. Something about waking up next to each other, seeing each other with sober eyes. 

Suddenly you weren’t just using drinking or partying as an excuse to see each other. Of course that didn’t stop. You were still going to the same parties and running into each other on nights out. But beyond that he was calling you after hard practices or late at night when he had just gotten back from one city or another. And you were calling him over when you were in your apartment alone and all you wanted was for someone to run their hands over your body and touch you in a way that Jack seemed to do so well. 

Current Day

It had been ten months. They were ten great months, but it was a long time to be hooking up with someone for nothing to come from it. Not that you didn’t want anything to come from it. Hell, somewhere in the back of your mind you knew you would without a doubt say yes to being his girlfriend. But you shovelled that back into the depths of your brain, because if you knew you really had feelings for him you needed to address it with him or you would inevitably end up heart broken.

But you didn’t. You refused to say anything, to bring anything up to him. 

“So you’re just going to let yourself get hurt?” Taylor asks one Saturday afternoon as the two of you were getting ready to go to Jack’s hockey game that he had invited you to. He had also invited you to go out to a bar with him and some friends after so you didn’t read too much into the game invite if it was just a step in the direction of getting you into bed later that night. 

“I’m not going to get hurt,” you tell her, a blatant lie. But at least if you said it out loud you could maybe pretend that it didn’t hurt so bad when it did happen. You just didn’t want to admit that you had given him the power to hurt you. “He’s just good in bed.”

“Shut up,” Taylor laughs, laying across your bed giving you advice about what to wear that night. “You like him, stop lying to me.”

For a moment you consider lying to her, continuing with your little charade of only liking him because he made you finish, which was more than you could say about most guys. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t because he also made you laugh and he made you happy and he made you feel safe. “I just don’t think he wants anything more.”

“Has he told you that?” Taylor inquires. “But if that’s true I really think you need to end this thing you’re doing with him.”

Rolling your eyes you turn back to your closet, knowing she was right but also knowing you were annoyed by it. “He hasn’t told me that but if he wanted something he would have said something about it by now.”

“You haven’t,” Taylor points out. 

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you snap, picking out a shirt and turning back to look at her. “Sorry, I just, I don’t know,” you mutter.  

“It’s fine, I just don’t want you to get hurt but I also don’t want to push you to do anything you don’t want to do,” Taylor assures you, eyes switching from looking at you to the shirt you were holding. “I like that one.”

It’s a few hours later and you’re sitting in the arena watching the game, your eyes barely leaving Jack when he was on the ice and still seeming to get drawn to him when he wasn’t. You’re not sure how three hours could fly by so quickly but as soon the game comes to an end with the Devils winning 3-2 you couldn’t wait to get out of there and get to the bar to meet up with Jack. 

You knew waiting for him and going over to the bar with him was an option, but you figured it would just be easier to just meet there. You hadn’t anticipated how long you and Taylor would be waiting, and you definitely didn’t anticipate ending up at a table with a few guys who had approached the two of you and offered to buy you both a drink. 

“You want to do a shot?” The man sitting beside you asks. He had told you his name was Owen, he was an investment banker and most definitely a little too old for you. But you didn’t mind, it wasn’t like you had any intention of doing anything with him, the attention and free drinks just felt nice. 

You pretend to think it over, already knowing the answer. “Only if it’s tequila.”

“Deal,” he chuckles, standing up and taking your hand, leading you away from the table to an empty spot at the bar. You watch him rest his forearms on it, your eyes drawn to the obnoxiously large watch on his wrist. “Two shots of Don Julio 1942,” Owen says as the bartender approaches. 

You have to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes as he orders it, watching him fork over nearly fifty dollars for the two shots. He was obviously trying to impress you. But you weren’t overly impressed by him spending excessive money on a shot of tequila. Especially when you were immediately going to chase it with your gin and tonic. Because truthfully, you hated the taste of tequila but you loved the effect it had on you. 

You take the shot as the bartender sets it down, not trusting Owen enough to let him hand it to you. After a quick cheers you pour the liquid down your throat, trying not to wince as you quickly wash away the remnants with your drink. 

“I thought you liked tequila,” Owen comments, the breath of laughter that follows was tinged with an obvious annoyance. 

Shrugging you lean into the bar, looking up at him. “I don’t love the taste, but you know what they say.”

Owen raises his eyebrows, leaning a little closer to you. “And what is that?”

You knew you shouldn’t say what you were about to say. There was no reason for it. But you were tipsy and you didn’t care about leading anyone on or saying something you shouldn’t. “Tequila makes her clothes fall off.”

“Well in that case I guess I’ll be getting you another shot,” Owen smirks, about to raise his hand up to get the bartender’s attention again. 

Quickly you put your hand on his forearm, laughing softly. “If I keep going at this rate the only thing that’s going to be falling is me…on the ground.”

“Okay, okay, but let me know when you’re ready for another.” His eyes move from staring down at you to just behind you and you flinch when you feel a hand on your back. 

Whipping your head to the side you let out a breath of relief when you see that it was Jack. “Taylor told me you were over here,” he comments but his voice is quiet and he has his arm around your waist. Normally the two of you were pretty hands off in any situation that wasn’t just the two of you. “Come on, we have a table in the back.”

“I-,” you begin, glancing back at Owen, feeling Jack pull you a little closer as you do. “Sorry, I, um, I have to go. Thank you for the shot.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Owen snaps, shaking his head. “Want to tell your boyfriend what you were saying to me?”

“What? He’s not…he’s not my boyfriend,” you stammer but your cheeks are red hot as the tequila was hitting at the same time as the reality of this situation. 

Owen scoffs, turning his attention to Jack now. “Do your know your girl is acting like a slut to get free drinks?”

Jack’s hands are off you a second later and he’s stepping around you, putting himself between you and Owen. “Say that again,” Jack snaps. 

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, shuffling yourself back between them. Your hands were on Jack’s chest, pushing him back a few steps. “It’s not worth it, okay? Let’s just go, this night doesn’t need to end like this,” you tell him. 

You can tell he’s hesitant but Jack relents, taking your hand and pulling you towards the back of the bar. Before you can reach the table Jack pulls you to the side, his hand on the back of your head as he leans down and kisses you with an intensity that seemed angry. “Woah, okay,” you whisper against his lips as he pulls back. 

“You know I’ll buy you all the drinks you want, don’t fucking flirt with other guys for drinks,” Jack mutters, standing up straighter and confirming your suspicion about the anger hidden in the kiss. 

“You do not get to tell me not to flirt with other guys, for drinks or for anything else,” you defend, crossing your arms over your chest, trying your best to seem like you were actually upset that he was telling you not to flirt with other guys. 

“He was like thirty-five, are you fucking kidding me?”

“Fuck off, Jack,” you snap, stepping away from him. “Just leave me alone.”

“Hey, hey,” Jack comments, groaning as he follows you towards the table where Taylor was sitting and giggling about who knows what. 

When you throw yourself down beside Taylor she immediately asks what’s wrong but you simply shake your head, giving her a look to say that you would explain it another time. Jack sits down at the table seemingly as far away from you as possible, slouching down in his seat and picking up the pint of beer that was in front of him. You’re trying not to look at him but you can’t help it, glancing over at him a little too often. You can tell he’s doing the same, your eyes meeting too often for it to be a coincidental. And you’re not even paying attention to any of the conversation happening around you, mind entirely focused on Jack and his behaviour. 

You feel Taylor nudge your arm and you look over at her, noticing she must have asked you something and was waiting for a response. “Bathroom?” Taylor repeats, realizing you were lost in whatever you were thinking about. Standing up you follow her to the bathroom where she leans against the counter, giving you a look. 

“What’s going on?” she asks. 

Sighing you give her a shrug, not even sure yourself what was going on or where to start. “Owen told him I was being a slut to get free drinks which, whatever, I don’t care, but Jack got mad about it. I convinced him it wasn’t worth it to get into anything with Owen. But then he got pissed at me about flirting with Owen.”

Taylor rolls her eyes, lips curling into a smirk. “Hmm, I wonder why,” she comments sarcastically. 

“What?” you mutter, arms crossed over your chest. “Because Owen is older? I don’t think Jack should get to decide who I talk to."

“You’re such an idiot,” Taylor breathes out, shaking her head. “He’s jealous.”

“Well he doesn’t have to be such an ass,” you mumble under your breath, starring down at the ground. 

“Both of you just need to grow up and have a real conversation about what’s going on with you two.”

“I know,” you admit, looking over at her. “I will…not tonight though.”

“No shit, this is not the time,” she laughs, grabbing your arm and nodding towards the door. As the two of you head back to the table she pauses just behind Jack. “Oh look, a seat for you,” she comments, pushing you towards him before making her way back to the other side of the table. 

Hesitantly you sit down in the open spot next to Jack, eyes on the table till you feel him put his arm around the back of your chair, leaning in closer to you. “Hey, I shouldn’t have snapped at you, I’m sorry,” he says, voice quiet to keep the conversation between you and him. 

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t have either,” you reply, looking over at him. “Do you want to go get a drink with me?”

Jack nods, following your lead to the bar, leaning against it beside you. “What do you want?”

“I can get my own drinks,” you tell him, still a little shaken up by the acting like a slut to get drinks comment. 

“I know you can,” Jack chuckles. “I want to get it.”

Smiling up at him you give in, realistically knowing that wasn’t what Jack was thinking. “You know what I want.”

“Yeah, I do, but what do you want to drink?” Jack jokes, receiving a playful whack on the bicep from you. “Gin and tonic, you want a double?”

“Yes, please.” You’re glancing around the bar as Jack orders the drinks when your eyes land on Taylor, watching the two of you like a hawk. Shaking your head you laugh softly, looking back to Jack. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Just, uh, Taylor, she’s,” you begin before nodding in the direction of the table. 

Jack takes the hint and looks over, eyebrows furrowed. “Why was she staring?”

“She just…,” you begin, picking up your drink and taking a large gulp, trying to buy yourself some time to explain it. “She thinks you’re jealous and now she’s really invested in us.”

“Jealous of her?”

“No,” you laugh, shaking your head. “Of me with other…guys.”

Jack takes a second for what you were saying to sink in. “I mean, yeah.”

“Yeah, what?”

“I don’t want to see you with other guys, yeah, I was jealous.”

Swallowing heavily you feel your palms become clammy, cheeks beginning to flush. “Why?”

“Because I want you to myself,” Jack says so casually you’re sure you simply misheard him. “Do you want me to go try to get with someone else?”

“No,” you reply so quickly that you’re filled with a deep sense of embarrassment. “I mean, like, probably not, but you can…if you want.”

“I don’t want to,” Jack assures you, the two of you turning and heading back to the table. You take the seat beside Jack again, a little closer this time. Thankfully now that you were a little less distracted you were actually able to pay attention and contribute to the conversation. 

When everyone is heading out for the night Jack has his hands all over you, holding your hand or wrapping his arm around your waist. You had no idea what had gotten into him but you were assuming it was his way of asserting to everyone in that bar that you weren’t available. Everyone is standing outside waiting for their rides home and you’re a little tipsy as you press your back into Jack’s chest, tipping your head back onto his shoulder and looking up at him. “Can I come over?”

“Yeah, I kinda just thought you would be.”

You try to hide the fact that his comment makes your heart beat a little faster, your stomach filling with butterflies, an obnoxiously happy smile on your face. Jack wraps his arms over you, pulling you even closer into his body. “Uber should be here soon,” he tells you. 

You see Taylor looking at you with a knowing smirk, shaking her head in amusement before turning her attention back to her phone. “I’ll be right back,” you whisper to Jack, slipping from his arms to walk over to Taylor. “How are you getting home? I can come with you if you want.”

“Absolutely not,” Taylor giggles. “Go be with your boyfriend. Liam is going to pick me up.” 

You quickly hush her, glancing around to see if anyone had overheard her boyfriend comment. “Okay, I’ll stay till he’s here.”

Once you make sure Taylor is with her boyfriend you head back to Jack’s place in an awkwardly silent Uber, only a handful of words being exchanged till you’re in Jack’s apartment. 

“You know I wasn’t going to do anything with him, right?” you tell Jack, sitting on the kitchen counter, drinking a glass of wine from the bottle you had left there the last time you were over. 

“Hm?” Jack hums, closing the fridge after getting a beer and walking over to you, standing between your legs. 

“I wasn’t going to do anything with him…the guy at the bar.”

Jack lets out a loud breath, setting his beer down and running his hands along your thighs. “I don’t want to hear about you with another guy.”

“I’m telling you I wasn’t going to do anything with him,” you reiterate. 

“Good,” Jack comments, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. “But I still don’t want to hear about it.”

“You really are jealous,” you tease, setting your glass down and leaning down to kiss him. 

Jack kisses you back, tugging you off the counter and onto your feet. “Yeah, I am,” he mutters shamelessly. His lips are on yours again a second later and there’s a thrilling intensity to the kiss that you hadn’t experienced with him before. As Jack runs his hands under your shirt, fingers on your bare skin, you moan quietly into his mouth. “Let’s go to my room,” Jack mumbles, pulling back and letting you take the lead.

It doesn’t even feel like a second passes between him closing the door and him pulling the shirt off your body. With a playful smirk you do the same, tugging his shirt off and tossing it aside carelessly. The two of you are back to kissing as you fumble through the dim room to the bed where you push him back and climb onto him, knees on either side of his body. There’s a desperation to the kiss as Jack unhooks your bra, letting you pull back only to take it off your body. 

Rolling off of him you watch as he takes your jeans off, hand running up your inner thigh as he moves to hover over you, his lips on your neck, moving down to your chest as you whimper with desperation, hips squirming under him. “Please,” you whine as his fingers brush over the lacy fabric of your underwear, ones that you picked out specifically knowing the inevitably of this situation. 

He gives in to your begging, pulling back to tug your underwear off your body. He brings his fingers back exactly where you wanted them, a quiet gasp as his fingers brush over your clit. “Just like that,” you whisper as his fingers hit a rhythm that makes your fingers dig into his back. You’re alternating between kissing him and pulling back to catch your breath, quiet moans emanating from you with increasing frequency, clutching onto him desperately. “Oh, fuck,” you moan as your muscles tense, body jolting with a wave of intense pleasure. “Fuck,” you breathe out again, body relaxing into the bed under him as you stare up at him with a smile you simply couldn’t get rid of. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Jack mutters, eyes not leaving you as you press your hand into his chest, pushing him back till he was standing by the side of the bed. 

Climbing off the bed you stand in front of him, kissing him again as your fingers work on the button of his jeans. He pulls back and takes over, the two of you completely naked just a couple seconds later. Not that it was out of the ordinary, at this point you were fairly sure you had spent more time together naked than not. 

Lowering yourself to your knees you keep your eyes on him, watching the look of desperation cross his face. Your movements are especially slow, drawing it out, taking pleasure in making him wait for it. His breathing is unsteady and you feel his hand fall to the back of your head, not putting any pressure on it but you got the message loud and clear. Relenting, you let him have exactly what he wants and the groan that you earn as soon as he’s in your mouth makes it worth it. There’s something about the sounds he makes that always encouraged you to give him everything you were capable of. And tonight was no different, your eyes were watering, knees beginning to ache when he pulls you to your feet, nodding towards the bed. 

“Get on the bed.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed you lean back on your arms, looking up at him with a smirk as he takes a condom out of the bedside table and slides it on. “I want you inside me,” you whisper, batting your eyes with feigned innocence. 

A strangled groan leaves Jack’s lips as he steps over, kissing you quickly before placing his hand on the side of your waist, pushing you sideways. It was far from your first time figuring out his silent communication, turning yourself over onto your hands and knees. He’s still standing beside the bed when he tugs your hips back before easing himself into you. It’s slow and gentle just until your moans give him permission to pick up speed. 

His hand is tangled in your hair, tugging your head back as you’re moaning and grasping the bedsheets. “You like that?” Jack mutters, his voice strained. 

“Yes,” you gasp as he lets go of your hair, letting you fall back onto your forearms. “Fuck, please, you feel so good,” you whisper, your entire body feeling flushed and shaky as he slams into you at an unrelenting pace. You can tell he’s close to finishing, you knew him well enough to be able to predict it by his changing movements. You find your prediction coming true with Jack pulling out of you just a couple minutes later. 

After turning yourself back over you watch him begin cleaning himself up, completely distracted as you contemplate your next move. “Can you hand me my phone? I’m going to Uber home.”

The way Jack whips his head in your direction, eyebrows furrowed makes you giggle quietly. “What? Why?”

Laughing you sit up straighter, shaking your head. “I’m kidding,” you tell him. “But it’s cute that you don’t want me to leave.”

“I didn’t say that,” Jack tells you but there’s not even an ounce of him that tries to make it sound convincing. 

Rolling your eyes you lay back down, staring up at the ceiling. “You and I both know you don’t need to say it out loud.”

Jack is quiet for a second and you begin to wonder if he had gone into the bathroom. “Yeah,” Jack finally mumbles before actually retreating into the bathroom. 

It’s easy to fall asleep that night. Easier than it had been in a very long time. You didn’t know what it was, the remnants of alcohol in your bloodstream, the physical exhaustion from everything that had happened in the last hour, the feeling of Jack’s arm wrapped around your body, or something much more meaningful than that. 

It’s not often that you wake up after Jack but on this morning you did, thankfully less hungover than you were expecting to be. Crawling out of Jack’s bed you pull one of his t-shirts on, heading out to find him in the living room. “Morning,” you say softly, walking over and lowering yourself onto the couch next to him. 

“How’re you feeling?”

Shrugging you pull your legs up onto the couch, leaning your side against the back of it so that you could face Jack. “Honestly, pretty good. I don’t think I was really even drunk last night. How about you?”

“I only had like five drinks and almost a full one of those is still sitting in the kitchen with your wine.”

“Sorry for not letting you finish it,” you joke. A moment later you take a deep breath, looking into his eyes. “Jack, we need to talk.”

“Okay,” Jack mutters, waiting for you to go on with a look of confusion on his face. 

You knew you just needed to say it, that there wouldn’t be an easy way to say it so you just had to do it. “I like you, Jack. I mean, I have feelings for you and I don’t know what this is for you but I don’t know if I can keep doing this if it’s not going to become anything more.”

Jack is quiet for so long that you begin to prepare for what you expect is coming next. This really was just a friends with benefits thing for him. 

“I thought last night made it obvious enough that I do too.”

“What?” is all you manage to croak out, not fully believing him and not wanting to get your hopes up that he was saying what you were hoping he was saying. 

“I want this to be more.”

“Like…,” you begin, not knowing what to even ask after that, not wanting to embarrass yourself and say something that he wasn’t meaning. 

“I want more, I want to actually be with you,” Jack tells you, seeming much more calm about the situation than you were. 

Simply hearing him say what you had been desperately hoping for leaves you speechless. “I want that too,” you finally whisper.

Jack reaches over and grabs your hands, tugging you forward to straddle him. “I hated seeing you flirting with another guy,” Jack mutters, his hands under your shirt, resting on your waist. “I didn’t know what to say about it without just telling you the truth.”

“I promise it didn’t mean anything, I had no interest in him, but I’m sorry that it upset you.”

“As long as you don’t do it anymore.”

“Of course not,” you assure him with a quiet giggle, leaning in and pressing your lips to his gently. “When are you going to take me on a date? A real one, without our friends there.”

“Tomorrow night?” Jack suggests, getting a nod in response from you before you’re kissing him again. 

This time when you’re kissing him it feels different, there’s no expectation that the only purpose it served was as the first step towards sex. It felt so much more comfortable, safer now knowing that if you were going to get hurt in this situation it wouldn’t be the result of not having the courage to tell him how you really felt. 

[6urin]

HIGH SCHOOL CRUSH! (≧◡≦)

Or in other words, reuniting with your first high school crush, Scaramouche, and ending up in his bed.

contains: f!afab!reader x scara, pussyjob, blowjob, fingering, praise, drunk sex, creampie

(* ^ ω ^) : minor writing smut !!

Scaramouche is commonly known as a nobody in college. People rarely acknowledge his presence because of his, "quick to be pissed off" personality. This has caused many to stay out of his way, except for Childe. He's your average jock, always throwing the hugest parties and pulling the finest women on campus.

These two are quite the polar opposites and because of it, the kind-hearted ginger is always trying to introduce Scaramouche to new opportunities.

"You know, you're super hot, Scara. I'm sure if you tried, all of the girls would be head over heels for you." Childe's words are slightly incoherent at some parts as he brushes his teeth, shamelessly standing in Scaramouche's room, dripping wet with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips.

Scaramouche doesn't look up from his phone from where he's sitting on his bed and mumbles, "I'm not a people pleaser like you, Childe." Childe frowns and states, "We could be the campus' power duo if you flaunted your ego more." He sighs before walking back to the washroom to spit in the sink and rinse out his mouth.

At that, Scaramouche fixes his back's posture from the slouching position. "What the hell is he on about," he thinks to himself, furrowing his brows together. It's true, that he has a big ego. But isn't that the reason why no one approaches him?

"It's because you're showing it off it in the wrong way," Childe says, as if reading his roommate's mind. This time, he enters the room with a white t-shirt and whale designed pajama shorts, ruffling a towel in his wet, orange hair while remaining eye contact.

Scaramouche scoffs and leans back into his bed, "And you're suddenly capable of giving me advice, why?" Childe waves it off with an eyeroll, "I'm just saying. You know, your ego is in the wrong place. It shouldn't be in your status, but rather your looks. Like I said, you're flaming hot!"

The cerulean haired male grimaces, "Your word choice is a little problematic, Childe." He removes one earphone from his ear in order to have a proper conversation.

Childe grins, "You need to take more pride in your appearance. You have a tongue piercing and multiple ear piercings; Do you know how many girls would die for a man like that?" He sits on the bed with Scaramouche, bouncing the mattress. "I'm hosting another party here tonight," Childe says, nudging at Scaramouche's arm.

"Aaand, instead of being locked up in your room, I'll try and hook you up with some girls." At his sudden offer, Scaramouche groans. "No. I'm not going to go through all of this just to boost my ego. I already have enough of my confidence as it is-"

Childe disrupts his sentence with a wail, "I'll even help you choose clothes! Just please, please, please?" He clasps his hands together and juts out his bottom lip. Scaramouche narrows his eyes in frustration. He scowls, "Fine! But if it gets boring, I'm going back to my room."

That's what led Scaramouche here, awkwardly standing while occupying himself with sipping on a red plastic cup filled to the brim with beer. Don't take this wrong, Childe did try, but he didn't try hard enough, since the second a pretty girl caught his eye, he immediately left Scaramouche to fend for himself in the middle of this ear-deafening party.

He swore, he could go blind from how bright and colorful the flashing lights were. Scaramouche just itched to go to his room, but he wanted to wait a little bit longer on Childe to return. His friend's return never happened. And so, losing a purpose to stay here any longer, he turns on his heel, bound to go back to his room.

However, someone by the entrance of the bedroom manages to get his attention. If it wasn't the one and only (Name). You're known as the campus princess with your charm and that damn fine appearance. God, who knows how many guys have managed to get in bed with you?

Scaramouche would be a little embarrassed to admit that yes, he has a crush on you. The only difference is, he's known you since high school, so it's not as weird as the other guys have it. The two of you were partnered up for the three legged race and even though you guys lost, you admitted that you had fun with him.

After that, you and him became fairly close, but just sort of drifted away when transitioning into college.

Ah, maybe this is his chance! He can finally make Childe proud with this...

"Hey, (Name). I didn't expect to see you here." Scaramouche rubs his neck, seemingly a little bit flustered. Where's that ego of his now? You look at him in surprise and smile, "Hi, Scara. We haven't been able to talk much, huh?" You glance down at your own cup of beer, moving it in a circular motion to watch the liquid swish.

Scaramouche fumbles with his words, "Right, um, how are you finding college?" He gives you a profound gaze. He realizes that you find it hard to keep eye contact, for some reason. "It's okay! Surely a lot more different from high school," you say, laughing.

Scaramouche doesn't mean to look, but it's hard to focus on your words when that shirt hugs your curves so perfectly and that skirt exposes so much of your thighs.

"Have you... gotten a girlfriend?"

Your inquiry catches him off guard. Scaramouche pauses before chuckling, "Ah, no. I've been more occupied with my studies rather than my love life," He deadpans at the sight of Childe making out with a random girl on the couch. "Unlike some people." The last part of his sentence makes you giggle, "I can see Childe's still the same."

Scaramouche hesitates before asking, "What about you? You got a boyfriend? With how much the campus talks about you-" You shake your head, "Mm-mm. No boyfriend." You tuck a few loose strands of hair behind your ear and sheepishly say, "I don't like any of them, 'cept for one."

Scaramouche's interest is suddenly piqued. "Is that so? Who is he?" He knows it's a little brazen of him to ask like that, but the curiosity was gnawing away at him.

You take a sip from your cup and shrug, "Someone. I don't know if he likes me, so he's better off as a secret just in case I end up changing my mind." Scaramouche clicks his tongue inside his mouth. You're so obvious to him, it's adorable, really.

This is the most appropriate time to put that ego of his to use. He knows it's a big step and a rather huge assumption but at this point, he's confident about it.

"It's me, isn't it?" He does nothing but chuckle at your reddening complexion. Scaramouche tilts your chin upwards and smiles. "Drink the rest of that and you'll be fine with me." He nods his head towards the cup in your hold and your hands go clammy.

You do as he says and he does the same with his own drink. Scaramouche tosses the cups aside and pulls you into his bedroom.

You feel all of your senses overwhelm you the second he closes the door and has you against the wall, one of his arms securing your waist and his other hand holding your neck. He kisses you, slowly and passionately. You feel his teeth bite down into your bottom lip, emitting a soft gasp from you.

The more you two get into the kiss, the more you feel comfortable with finally putting your arms around his neck, grinding yourself against his body.

His room smells entirely of him and his scent is absolutely intoxicating. You still remember touching yourself back in your bedroom during your high school phase, thinking of Scaramouche's lithe fingers stretching you out instead of your own.

"Mmh, hah-" Your tongue barely manages to keep up with his, Scaramouche dominating the situation with how amazing his ability to kiss was. His tongue piercing constantly pokes at your tongue and you shiver at the feeling.

"You're so..." Scaramouche's breathy voice trails off as he flips up your skirt, pressing two fingertips against your clothed clit. You whimper from the action and the fabric dampens even more than before. Scaramouche slyly looks at you and removes his fingers. You dryly gulp in anticipation as he places you on his bed.

"So pretty," he breathes out, lips hovering over yours. You're thirsting for another kiss, but he simply hushes you and puts his fingers inside of your mouth. You diligently suck on them, eyes half-lidded and pupils heart shaped. Scaramouche mutters, "Just imagine if all of the guys you rejected could see you whoring yourself out for a simple no one..."

With his digits now covered in the slick of your mouth, he pulls your panties aside and thrusts three inside. During that whole moment, he never looked away from you. You loudly moan, the music and the chatter from outside surely drowning out your lewd noises. Scaramouche licks his lips and goes faster, your cunt clamping down on his fingers.

He lowly laughs, "Good girl, aren't you? Yeah, I'm sure you are." Your view goes hazy as you pant, "S-Scara...!" He curls his fingers, causing you to reach your high more earlier than expected of both you and him. Your white substances cover his hand and he sucks and licks at it, making sure to finish every single drop.

The next thing you know, you're getting pounded from the back with his cock driving into your dripping wet pussy. Your head rests on the pillow, drool wettening the case as you let out mewls and whines. "You're s-so big, Scara! Mngh, mmh!" Your manicured nails dig into the sheets, pussy tightening as Scaramouche moans.

"Yeah, baby doll? Gotta fuck you 'til the break of day." He rubs your clit at a fast pace, drawing you nearer to your high. "Ahn! Scara, mm, I'm gonna' cum!" You whimper out, "Fuck! Mmh!" With one more harsh thrust, the blunt head of his cock plunging straight onto your cervix, you splatter cum all over his pelvis.

Scaramouche's mouth falls agape at the sight of you squirting and he instantly shoots thick, white ropes of seed into your womb. He gives a few shallow thrusts before starting up his previous pace once more. Sounds of soft slapping fills the room along with your heavenly moans and squeals.

At some point, he orders you to turn on your back. You obey and his cock stiffens at your appearance. Your gorgeous lipstick now smudged, clothes all crumpled, tears peeking at your eyes and your cunt...

He watches his sperm leak and pump out of your glistening folds, tucking his bottom lip beneath his teeth at the sinful sight. You rub your thighs together and murmur, "Scara, this is so embarrassing..." Scaramouche gets on top of you and places an open mouthed kiss on your lips, which you reciprocate.

"Embarrassing? No, baby, you're so pretty," he sighs, readying his tip at your leaking hole once more. Sinking inside you, he starts plummeting more vigorously than before, as he gets more turned on when seeing your expressions. You attempt to cover your mouth with the back of your hand to lessen your humiliation, but he manages to put it aside and lean down to kiss your neck.

You re-adjust your legs around his waist, whining as he bites at the sensitive skin of your collarbone, placing numerous hickeys and love bites. It adds to the vulgar pleasure and you realize, you would've never imagined getting fucked raw by your high school crush.

The slippery walls of your cunt start to spasm and you arch your back, crying out, "Scara! Oh, m-hah!" Scaramouche moans and murmurs profanities when your cunt clenches so tight, making him meet his own climax. He pulls out his cock, watching his cum overflow from your pussy.

Scaramouche cups the side of your face and slots his lips into yours. Your cheeks go into a tinted pink when you carefully let your fingers run through his hair. Strands of cerulean frame his pretty face and you feel as though you just got creampied by the most attractive and kindest guy on campus.

And he ends up staying true to his promise, fucking you until daybreak.

You buck your hips forward as he sloppily eats out your cunt. His nose continues to bump onto your clit and you furrow your eyebrows, moaning. His tongue is simply a work of art, the pink muscle entirely inside of you, making you feel the most amazing pleasures ever.

You say multiple praises to him mixed with your own whimpers of his name, your hands messing up his hair with how much you've been holding onto it. It's around twelve in the morning, but the party hasn't settled down at all. You're surprised no one has left yet at this time, though it's expected since exam season ended.

His head is beneath your skirt, though he could care less. All he knows is that he's eating out his first love and each sound that left your throat is simply music to his ears. Scaramouche sucks and licks through your folds, desperately moaning for more than just one taste.

He didn't want this night to end.

The following morning, Childe is completely disoriented and hungover. The only thing that brought him back to his senses was the scene of a girl sucking on his roommate's cock.

"A-Ah... that's it, (Name)..."

The ginger swore he was hearing things. Childe blinks a few times and rubs his eyes before slapping himself in the face. He sits up from the couch and yawns. "Shit, my head. Scaramouche!" He shouts out once more, "Scara, can you make me some of your hangover soup!?"

Noticing the door to Scaramouche's room is slightly open, he pushes it without hesitating. It's just another average Sunday, right?

Childe's eyes widen as he tries taking everything in altogether. There, kneeling on the floor in between his roommate's legs as Scaramouche is sitting on his bed with a hand gripping your hair, is none other than you, of course.

You whine around his dick and lower your head to welcome more of his length into your throat, the vibrations emitting a groan from Scaramouche. Scaramouche's lips are agape as he mutters, "Good girl, good girl... fuck..."

Childe carefully backs away and closes the door after himself. Apparently, Scaramouche wasn't the only one who had a good time at the party.

[ahundredtimesover]

love love love the plm jealousy drabble! can you also write a super needy, subby plm koo 🥹 only if you have the time and energy! Tysm 🫰🏻

This is 5 months late but here it is - my take on "subby" Koo even if I do not know how to write this kind of dynamic. But I tried with CK JK in mind so I hope you like it. There's also lots of fluff and teasing and walking down memory lane and this is me, making up for the past 2 angsty parts. 🙂

Title: Please Love Me Bonus (09) - The Lake House

WC: 16,648

Tags/Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, past illness; CK JK, lots of teasing and fluff; talks of past sexcapdes; explicit sexual content ("subby" JK & OC trying to be a "dom" (??), mutual masturbation, thigh riding, oral (m & f receiving), straddling, fingering, lots of kissing, penetrative sex, creampie??) (18+) I’m obviously unsure of my smut pls forgive me 😅😅

Series Masterlist

“Am I making your heart flutter again, Mrs. Jeon?”

Jungkook smirks as he asks, his body turning towards you when he reaches the stoplight. 

Seated on the driver’s seat with his one hand on the wheel and the other one on yours, you shyly smile, knowing you’ve been caught, even if you weren’t really hiding your obvious attraction for your husband on this specific day. 

He’s got the short sleeves of his plain white shirt rolled up, his arm tattoos looking bright under the summer sun. His hair is curlier than usual as it’s grown longer, and paired with the denim jeans that you asked him to wear, he’s an absolute stunner. 

“You know the answer to that, hun,” you giggle, briefly looking away before he tugs your hand to look at him again.

“I wanna hear you say it, baby,” he urges, his eyebrows wiggling now. 

You know that he’ll take any chance he has to hear you confirm that you’re ogling him, and well, you’ve told yourself that you’ll do that every few times just to see him be a giggly mess. 

“You are, Kook,” you concede. “My heart’s non-threateningly leaping out of my chest right now. You’re so handsome and you’re so happy; it’s my favorite version of you.”

“Ah, I thought post-shower Jungkook is your favorite,” he teases. “But you also said that about post-sex Jungkook, and post-gym Jungkook, and Jungkook with his glasses on, and—”

“Oh stop it,” you laugh, getting flustered at him pointing out just how weak you are for him. He’s not wrong, though. “They’re all my favorites.”

“You can’t have more than one favorite though,” he playfully rolls his eyes. 

“So then what’s your favorite version of me?” You ask, challenging him.

“The present one,” he winks. “Today’s you is my favorite as of today; yesterday’s you was my favorite as of yesterday, and then the day before that was… you get my drift. Each one has been my favorite and it changes everyday.”

“You’re a cheater,” you shake your head. 

“I am a lover, babe. I love every version of you.”

You cover your face as you feel embarrassed for you and him, and you’re glad you’re the only two people who are witnessing your husband be incredibly cheesy, which happens every once in a while. You know he does it to make you laugh but you also know there’s truth to the things he says, no matter how cringey they could be sometimes. He loves you that way, and you like that he does.

“Do you love the version that upsets you, too? And that cries and gets sad when you’re away?” You wonder out loud, knowing that any reference to your recent fight and its aftermath doesn’t hurt you both as much as it used to. 

It was two weeks ago when he took the 4-hour drive from Busan to Seoul to be with you, and you’ve both been more comfortable talking about the things that hurt since then. It’s how you managed to get back to how things were, playfulness included. 

“Of course, babe,” he says, more serious and softer now. “I love you even when I’m angry. And even if it’s hard to see you cry, I love it when I get to hold you again. And then, you know, we have sex and then you talk dirty to me.”

“Kook!” You squeal, feeling your cheeks warm at the reminder. 

You’re rarely ever vulgar during sex, letting Jungkook take the reins in all ways including vocally, but that night, you felt so much desire that you just wanted to push him a little, perhaps make him feel how he makes you feel, and your words did what you wanted them to. He came so hard and you basked in the joy that you could do that to him. Thinking about it now makes you shiver, and you truly can’t wait for the long weekend you’ve been afforded to go out of town and be together, knowing what you’ll be doing most of the time.

“Why are you shy about it?” He chuckles, taking your hand from your face and kissing it. “It was so fucking hot, okay? And since you don’t do it much, it surprises me whenever you do, and that’s just… shit I’m getting hard just thinking about it.”

“Honey, behave,” you laugh, although the thought that he could get turned out at the memory of that night makes you giddy. Perhaps that version of you could show up in the next few days. 

“I will,” he smiles sweetly now. “But you know it doesn’t matter, right? You could just be lying in bed and sounding the way you always do and that’s all I need. It doesn’t take much to make me happy. Just you.”

Your nose scrunches as you try to temper your smile, but it gives him more reasons to tease you.

“Your heart fluttering again?” He wiggles his eyebrows now.

You pout in response and he can’t help but laugh, and the sound of it warms your heart in ways you can’t fully express. You were without it for weeks, as you recall the days following your stint at the hospital, how Jungkook had been cold to you until things blew over, and how he was distant right after because he didn’t know how to handle all his conflicting emotions towards you. Looking back now, your biggest fight since getting married was because of how much love you both have for each other, and that says a lot about how far you’ve come. 

Despite the weeks since then having been tough for Jungkook because of the meetings and project preparations he had to manage, he made sure to go home to you, hug you every night, message when he can’t call, and let you know that he needs you even when he’s just about ready to pull his hair from stress. And you were there, letting him lay on your chest, massaging his head, and kissing him constantly to let him know that you’ll weather the storm with him, no matter how tough things get. 

After getting things going and delegating the tasks for his project, Jungkook got the approval from his father to get two days off, which is why you’re both on the way to Busan, having missed home so much. You’ve both only visited since you got married but never stayed long enough to go around, and like what you both promised each other, you’ll make new memories in the places that hold unpleasant ones. Home felt the same but you’re both different now, and the flirty smile that Jungkook gives you is evidence of that. 

Perhaps it’s his feeling of temporary freedom that makes him look a lot more handsome today; he’s smiling and laughing and teasing, and it’s when his youthfulness shines. Perhaps it’s the way the sun highlights his caramel skin, or the way his curls fall on his shoulders, or maybe it’s the casual look that isn’t his usual sweatshirt and joggers ensemble that’s making him look even more irresistible. Maybe it’s everything, as he bops his head to the sounds of his playlist, his carefree vibe somehow making him glow. 

Maybe you’re just as excited, and so everything he’s done since this morning is probably just preparing you for what’s to come. 

You’d stopped to watch him dress up earlier and commented that he could be a jeans and underwear model, and he’d laughed, saying that in contrast to his younger years, he no longer feels comfortable walking in his boxers around strangers. He had to clarify that he joined some community fashion show during one of his backpacking trips because his companion convinced him and he was a hit; everyone was cheering and then flirting with him afterwards. He’s done with that, he’d said. You’re the only one he wants to see him that way; he’d give you a private show if you wanted, he teased. 

During your stopover at a cafe for breakfast, he was sitting on the chair with his legs spread wide while sipping his coffee, and you allowed yourself just about a minute to imagine climbing on his lap and marking his pretty neck while he moaned your name. 

And this whole drive, he’d been nothing but a tease - combing his hair with his fingers, dragging his tongue along his lips just because, and singing along to love songs while smirking at you. All the while, you’re smiling like a giddy teenager admiring her crush, and Jungkook makes sure to call you out on it. But you don’t mind, really, not when he stops at a shoulder on the road just to kiss the pout off your face and tell you that he becomes such a giddy mess every time he sees you be a mess yourself for him.

“Kook,” you whine against his mouth, wanting it all over you even if you know it’s not the time nor place. “We have to go to our grandparents’. You know they don’t like it when we’re late.”

“They miss us too much to get angry,” he argues, as he presses kisses down your neck. 

“We’re still out on the road and in public,” you counter, panting now as your pleasure increases. “And I don’t want to go into that lunch with messy underwear because that’s what’s about to happen. Please, hun, I—” your moan cuts you off when his fingers press onto your clothed pussy, feeling now the effect he has on you. 

“Hmm, baby,” he groans, suddenly frustrated at not being able to do anything more right now. 

He shouldn’t have teased you like this but he also couldn’t go on another minute not kissing you after you looked at him the way you’ve been all morning. There’s this perpetual desire in your eyes, as if you’re savoring every action that he makes, perhaps coming up with scenarios in your head that he hopes you’d play out once you’re both alone. He suddenly wants to fast forward to tonight for that, knowing it’ll take you until the early hours of the morning to get fully satisfied. 

“We should save all this energy for later, okay?” You say, taking his fingers that felt you up in your mouth, wanting to get back at him but also wanting to excite him; his hardened gaze says you succeeded. “In the meantime, we have to act like the precious, wholesome couple that our grandparents think we are.”

“Hey, we’re wholesome sometimes,” Jungkook laughs, willing himself to pull away from you and continue driving. “But, uh, do you think they’ll ask us about having children again? I don’t really know what to tell them; we can’t really ask them to not be on our business like we can with our parents. I just don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“I know, same here,” you sigh. “But Mother told me that she told them not to bring it up, since I have to focus on getting healthy again after what happened. Hopefully our grandparents won’t hound us about it.”

“If they do, then let’s just be honest.”

“And say what?”

“That we’re living our best lives and we’ve decided to let life surprise us,” Jungkook says. “And that it’ll come. And when it does, it’s gonna be really special because we prepared ourselves for it. Because that’s what we’re doing, right?”

“It is,” you smile, liking how he’s able to talk about having children in a casual manner now, with less of the fear and more of the excitement. 

You may still be just letting things take its course - with some false alarms along the way - but the challenges in between have been helpful in preparing yourselves for eventually starting a family. You know that when it happens, it’s going to be everything you imagined it to be. 

Your grandparents’ estate is not far from the beach. They bought a humble home in this area decades ago and slowly expanded the property by buying the surrounding land, until they were able to build a large main house with smaller living quarters for when their children and grandchildren visit. 

The garden is large and well-designed. You claimed a section of it when you were young. It’s where you had your playhouse set up because playing in it was the only thing you could do; you weren’t allowed to run around like Seokjin and Soyeon were. There was a spot where you laid your mat to play with your dolls; as you grew older, it became the place where you’d read books or paint or draw. The playhouse is still there, a little old and rusty but you imagine your future children playing in there one day. 

There’s a tall tree in the center and you stand underneath. It’s the one that used to shade you when you would watch your siblings play with the Jeons. 

Apparently, it’s also the spot of your first picture with your husband, as you find out from your grandparents. Your grandmother holds an old photo they recovered from one of their albums - you and Jungkook at 2 years old, standing next to each other, with him in a red hooded jacket and you in a yellow sundress. There’s distance in between, but you’re both posing the way little kids do, and you can’t stop gushing over how adorable you both looked.

“Honey, look at us!” You giggle. “Two years before you started disliking me.”

“You mean, 2 years before you rejected me?” He counters, pouting at you. 

You both pose the same way for another photo - Jungkook with a peace sign by his head and you with your close-lipped, sweet smile - and lay the polaroid next to the old picture, over 25 years apart. It’s amazing how things play out, you think to yourself as you gaze at them. Life does surprise you, and realizing it decades later is a different kind of special. 

Jungkook makes you take another photo so he has a copy, and you indulge him, knowing he gets pretty sentimental about these things. He said once that he wishes he had more of your joint childhood to remember and treasure, but much of that only lives in your mind because you’re the one who always paid attention; he was the one who tried not to mind you even if you were right next to him, the jealousy clouding his mind. Which is why whatever piece of your past he finds, he’ll take it, if only to put together the puzzle of your lives back then, and smile because even if he doesn’t remember much of that, he remembers everything about this - your now and everyday.

He goes through other old photo albums of your grandparents, telling his grandparents that he’ll check their stack as well when you both visit on your last day. It’s stories of the yesteryears that fill the air as you finish your meal, and you’re thankful that everyone is immersed in the stories to even bring up your sickness or your future family. 

The sound of Jungkook’s laughter fills your heart once more, and as he pulls you close under that same tree for a kiss, you think that it’s another new memory you’re going to hold dear.

Pulling up to the side of the road, Jungkook turns off the engine and meets you by the railings overlooking a semi-private beach. It’s one of several in town and Jungkook’s favorite. This is where he first learned to surf and he spent much of his time here with Jimin and Taehyung.

He tells you this as you both walk down the steps to get to the shore, reminiscing the days when things were much simpler.

“So that’s why you chose this for your 13th birthday party,” you say, looking around. “It’s gorgeous, Kook.”

“You knew I had it here?” He looks at you curiously, immediately thinking that Junghyun had told you.

“Yeah, I could tell from that big rock,” you say, pointing to it near the shore. “You had photos there and your brother told me how your mom was yelling at you to not jump from it. I… I asked him to show me pictures when he visited me at the hospital. I told him I wanted to see how happy you were.”

“You were recovering from surgery but you were still thinking about me, huh?” Jungkook says, a sigh almost escaping his lips at the thought. 

“You were really excited about it and I was sad I couldn’t go. If I was strong enough, I would have, but I guess you wouldn’t have noticed either way,” you laugh, knowing that Jungkook didn’t pay much attention to you then.

“I was pretty bitter, actually,” he admits. “You were supposed to be family but you didn’t come - that was the thought in my head. Silly, right? And pretty childish.”

“You didn’t know, Kook,” you assure him. “So you were looking for me?”

“Sort of,” he laughs. “I was being petty. I remember not wanting to ask hyung where you were so I never did, but I just chalked it up to you never attending parties anyway, so what would be different about me?”

“Yours was the only party I would actually go to, but I didn’t want to be the boring girl to you who just sat at the table while everyone enjoyed,” you reason. “So I never went to the ones after that. I always wanted to, though. But that doesn’t really matter now, does it?” You turn to him and smile before you wrap his arms around your waist. “I’m literally family and we’re here together. I think this is a nice good memory to make.”

“It is,” he says, kissing your cheek. “I’m glad I took you here with me. Immature 13-year old Jungkook can get over it now. If I told him I’d be marrying you 12 years later, he’d probably cuss me out.”

“You were cursing at 13?!”

“Yeah. Don’t tell my Mother.”

You laugh together as you head back to the car, the late afternoon heat starting to prick at your skin. It’s been a long day but you’re nowhere near done. You take the half-hour drive to your home for the next few days, a place that holds a lot of unpleasant memories for you, which is why you insisted on staying there. 

One of the Jeons’ beach houses would’ve been an easy choice, but when you told him where you wanted to go, he immediately understood. 

With your luggage bags in his hands, Jungkook looks around the graveled pathway and at the cabin in front of him. “So this is the place, huh?”

The place, he repeats in his head - the one where you found refuge in when you wanted to be away from him after he’d hurt you. That fight before your wedding was years ago but sometimes, it still feels like not much time has passed. He gets to see where you spent your days though, and while that may remind you of how hard it was back then, you could at least remember it now as a place where you both spent your weekend together. 

“This is the main house,” you say, ringing the doorbell and greeting the caretaker who welcomes you. You smile at the lake view just across; it calms your senses as it did all those years ago. “They only allow a small percentage of land to be used for residential purposes. When my siblings and I got older, my parents wanted to give us our own spaces, so they bought the surrounding areas so we can build our own houses however we want.”

You walk out to a covered pathway that leads you to your own piece of paradise - a one-floor home with a veranda that’s overlooking the lake. It has an open floor plan with the kitchen and dining on the left of the entrance. At the center is a freestanding wall that separates the sleeping area from the living room, both spaces having a good view of the water. The corner on the left houses your painting materials, giving you access to the outside where the magic happens. 

There’s a stretch of land down the steps towards another walkway that juts out to the lake, and as you lean by the railing, you take in everything that you see. It’s been years but a lot of things look the same, and just like this city, it still is; it’s you and the man next to you who are different.

“So what did you do while you were here?” He asks, trying to imagine how you spent your days while he wasted away in your apartment in Seoul.

“I… cried,” you admit. “I was upset but I still missed you. But I also painted a bit, read books… Most times I just sat here. It’s so picturesque, you don’t really get tired of it. It helped because I kept thinking about you being alone and worried even if I wasn’t ready to speak with you then.”

“I was thinking of you a lot back then, too,” he says, facing you now and taking your hand. “I hated that you were alone and I didn’t know how to get to you. But I guess I should thank this place, too, for letting you breathe and letting you think. Is that how you forgave me?”

“It was,” you smile. “After my emotions settled, I thought that one day, I’d like to bring you here. I’m glad I could do that now.”

Jungkook smiles at you softly before his eyes turn desirous. “So are you gonna paint and read books and just sit out here this time, too?”

“Hmm, I could,” you smile back. “But I was also thinking of making love to you here. I think that would be nice.”

“It would be,” he hums, cupping your cheek now and pulling you in for a kiss. “We could probably start now, huh?” 

His free hand sneaks inside your dress to cup your breast, and you jerk when he flicks your pert bud and you’re taken out of his spell. 

“Honey, I’d love that but we have a dinner reservation soon,” you say, pulling away. “It’s jazz night and we said we’d catch that.”

Jungkook doesn’t look disappointed. He agreed with tonight, after all, and he thinks he’d just be craving more and more if you started anything right now, so he lets you go for a shower while he unpacks his things.

He looks out the water as the sun starts to set and spots the two other houses not far away. It seems as though those have been renovated, with extra rooms for your siblings’ kids now, and Jungkook wonders when you’ll have your own place extended for another room. 

He lets the thought settle in, as he continues to get used to the idea of having a family with you. It would be nice, he imagines, driving off during long weekends to come here and enjoy the scenery and just spend time together. Your children would grow up knowing their great-grandparents, running around the same garden and beaches that he did, perhaps playing with your old toys, too. He knows those have been preserved at your request, waiting for the perfect time to give them away.

You call out to him and he turns around to find you in a simple linen dress, the neckline low enough for your tattoo to make an appearance. You look stunning, as always, and he has to stop himself from pulling you for another kiss. 

He gets ready and goes out in a white button-up long-sleeve polo, loose enough for the cool summer evening. He catches you staring at him again, and he smirks at you to let you know that once dinner is over, your long night will begin. 

The restaurant is just 10 minutes away by car. It’s fancy yet still cozy, serving some of his favorite elevated local dishes. The jazz performance is great, and with a small crowd, the singer encourages the guests to take the dance floor and that’s what Jungkook does, taking your hand and asking you to dance with him. 

You’re shy at first but give in. Flushed against his chest, you both sway more than anything, and inhaling his ocean scent while he caresses your back, you feel that warmth that only his love can give, the kind of warmth you’ll constantly seek. 

You finish your glass of wine before you head back to the car, with Jungkook laughing over something on his phone right before you leave, saying that the guys’ group chat is blowing up.

“What are they up to now?” You ask. 

“Tae did this stranger role play with his girlfriend,” he shares. “You know, when they pretend like they don’t know each other and pick each other up?”

“O… kay. And then?”

“He got made up to look like some old Hollywood actor with the red jacket and slick hair and all. And people flocked to him to flirt before he could even get to his girlfriend. I can imagine she wanted to stop it all right then,” Jungkook narrates. 

“Why don’t they just stay at their place and flirt there?” You say. “They can even dress up if they want to. Why go through the struggle?”

“Because it’s fun!” Jungkook exclaims. “There’s a kind of thrill from doing that, especially in a public place. The usual role play can get a bit over-the-top sometimes.”

“And you know that because… you’ve done it?” You ask, ready for his answer because you’re used to him just casually mentioning his previous sex adventures by now.

“Just the usual,” he shrugs. “Boss-secretary, doctor-patient… She was into it and I went along because sure, why not?”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Is that a trick question?” He asks, as he parks the car.

“No…” you answer. “I’m just wondering if role playing is something you like. If it is, then we can, I don’t know. Maybe try?”

He furrows his brows at you as you both enter your house, curious as to why you’re suggesting it when he knows it’s something that would make you uncomfortable. 

“Or like… uh, what else could we do?” You wonder out loud.

“Baby, we don’t have to do anything else,” he says, pulling you by the waist now. “If this is about you wanting to be ‘adventurous’ to appease me, then I’m gonna stop you right there.”

“I was just curious,” you pout. “I mean, it’s no secret that you’ve done a lot of these… ‘adventurous’ things with your partners - sex in a tent, in an alley, behind a waterfall… a sex show, and role playing as well? I guess I’m just wondering if you want us to do something exciting, too. If you’re still into that.”

“Baby, why would I want something else ‘exciting’ when I’ve got you?” He says, his onyx eyes boring into you to let you know that he means every word. “I married the prettiest girl in the world. Why would sex with you not be exciting? You know how fast I get hard with you. That’s… that’s exciting.”

You feel your cheeks warm again because he’s right. He does get hard pretty fast. 

“Plus, we’ve skinny dipped, had sex in a caravan, in the car, on a deck…” he continues. “But to be honest, you could just be lying down and I’d be all set.”

“That’s literally all I do,” you laugh embarrassingly. 

He’s always known that you like things simple. Sure, you give in to Jungkook’s requests, but most of the time, you settle for the same positions that you know give so much pleasure. You’re content; you just wonder if he is, too.

“Not all the time,” he corrects. “And those are just as exciting as when you’re coming undone under me and moaning my name, your perfect tits bouncing and your tattoo reminding me how much you love me.” He kisses your neck and you sigh in satisfaction at the movement. “I could get hard just thinking about that.”

You merely hum in response, not able to move on from it. You want to surprise him, maybe go out of your comfort zone to excite him differently, and so your wandering mind continues, something he picks up.

“Okay. Why don’t you… take control this time,” he suggests. “It’s nothing crazy. It’s just you directing me what you want me to do, how you want me to do it… anything.”

“That’s fine, hun, except there are times when I try to do that but you get so impatient and touch me right away,” you counter, chuckling now as you recall the times you direct him what position you want but his mind goes blank once things intensify and so he’s got his mouth and fingers inside and on you in seconds. 

“Fine, then we’ll do it without me being able to use my hands, then,” he says. “I’ll only use them when you ask, and stop when you ask. Are you okay with that?”

Your mind thinks of all the scenarios you’ve been playing in your mind all day, and you lick your lips in anticipation. 

“Looks like you are,” he says proudly, excitedly. “I guess then, we can start?”

You nod your yes. “You’ll be good for me?” 

“Fuck, yes,” he groans, his eyes widening in anticipation. “I’ll be so good for you, baby.”

“Kook, that wasn’t meant to be dirty talk or whatever,” you giggle. “I just meant that you’ll be good in following the instructions you set out.”

“Don’t care baby. Don’t take it back. But say it again, please?”

The way his eyes plead does something to you, and so you let your inhibitions go and follow what your pussy says. And right now, it wants to command Jungkook. 

You bite your lip before kissing him softly on the neck, trailing up until you reach his ear.

“You’ll be good for me?” You whisper sultrily this time.

He releases an incredibly deep grunt before he answers. “Yes, baby. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Okay,” you pant, feeling your heart race now. “Kiss me. Just kiss me.”

Your mouths crash against each other, desperate and wanting in their movements. Your tongues fight for dominance but he lets you take this, liking how you aggressively take him in and pull his hair, causing him to moan, even more as his hands remain at his sides, aching to touch you but he promised he’ll be good; he promised to let you take control even if all he wants right now is to rip off your clothes and make out with your body. 

You moan as well, slowing down now as you try to catch your breath. You face him, your eyes glassy and your lips swollen, and he seems to like what he sees. You take his balled-up fists and unclench them, placing them over his top. 

“Undress please,” you say softly. “And do it slowly.”

Jungkook follows, his fingers working on the buttons carefully, skillfully, making sure you get to see and remember what those digits could do to you. He can’t wait for you to direct him to work those on you later on. 

He gets everything undone and so he removes it - slowly, as you asked. 

You gaze at his toned body, crafted by immaculate beings themselves as they created him so perfectly - the tautness of his chest, the line down his torso that branches out to his abs, the narrowness of his waist, all complementing the gorgeous face that you also can’t get enough of. 

His jeans hang right underneath the white band of his underwear, and though you love this look on him, you like something better. 

“Pants off,” you say this time. 

And he follows, undoing the button and unzipping his jeans, pushing them off him until they pool on his ankle. His feet do the work of ridding himself of the heavy material, and all the while, his eyes are set on you - dark with lust and challenging you to do more, to ask him of more. 

“Sit on the couch for me, baby,” the pet name coming out during tense moments like this.

He walks there as you say, and you watch his half-naked form move away from you, and it’s making you go feral.

“Where do you want my hands?” He asks when you’re finally standing in front of him.

“Just on the side,” you answer, your mind going hazy as you admire him seated on the couch now, his legs spread enough for you to see the stiff member in between. 

His eyes remain on you but you’re staring at his gorgeous lap and those blue boxer briefs he’s wearing, shaping him in all the right ways. You take this time to ready yourself, removing your dress for him to observe. With your lace underwear, you know you’ve got him craving for you. His jaw tightens and you know just how to ruin him.

You kneel down in front of him and he seems to know what you’re up to, as he clenches his fists to control himself. He looks like he really wants to break his own rules now. But you push on, meeting his eyes before licking a strip over his clothed cock. It’s hardened even more now, and you can’t wait for what you’re about to ask him to do. You softly bite the flesh, feeling him strain his thighs as you tease him relentlessly. 

Once you think you’ve teased him enough, you look up at him. “I want to see,” you whisper. “Take it out for me, show me what I do to you.”

He grunts before he follows, taking his cock out of his boxer brief, begging in his mind that you’d let him at least squeeze it because with you in your underwear on, commanding him like this while still maintaining your softness and hints of shyness, he’s losing his mind; he’s in real pain right now. 

“Do you think about me when you’re away?” You ask.

“Yes, baby. I think about you all the time.”

“What do you think about?”

“Kissing you,” he grunts. “Tasting you, sucking every sensitive part of you, making love to you. Fuck, baby, I could go on.”

“Can you show me what you do when you think about those things?” You say, taking deep breaths now as you prepare yourself for what you’re about to see.

Jungkook sighs in relief and gets to it, squeezing his throbbing member and stroking it as you requested. He wouldn’t have known that this is what you wanted him to do. He’s obviously touched himself during the times before sex, and he also really does it when he’s away from you, but doing it this way - on the couch while you now stand before him, your eyes watching his every move - it’s exhilarating. 

He continues his movement, getting into it completely as he takes in the way you look, especially with your parted mouth and heaving chest as you watch him pleasure himself to the sight of you. It seems like you’re in a daze, as your eyes don’t move away from him.

It’s the way his perfect slender fingers wrap around his thick, hard cock. It’s the way they glide, how his thumb occasionally presses the tip, how he starts to heave, feeling the pleasure build up, and how his head leans back and his back arches, revealing the column of his smooth neck, a perfect canvas for you to mark later on. You don’t stop the moan that you release, wanting to get into it, too, as the sight of your husband touching himself to the thought of you is so captivating. Seeing that this is what he does when he’s missing you makes you giddy, and you get to marvel at all of that right now. 

You sit on the coffee table, your eyes still not leaving him. You feel the dampness in your underwear, so you press your fingers onto it for that much-needed friction, and you’re left wanting more. You remove it, feeling the string of essence stick to you and disappear as you throw your lace clothing on his side. 

You touch yourself, too, your fingers drowning in how wet you are. They aid in your own pleasure, as you rub patterns on your clit that has Jungkook’s eyes widening in shock as you get into your own action, quickening by the second. Your eyes drift away briefly from him as your thighs start to shake, only being brought back when you hear him ask you to “open up.”

You spread your legs wider to give him a view, knowing that will help him. You want him to reach that peak, and you want to see him do so, since you miss out most of the time because you’re too caught up in the haze of how he pleasures you. You continue with your movements, speeding up once you feel you’re close to the edge, and Jungkook matches your pace, only for you to crash first. 

“Oh my god,” you heave, feeling the mess you’ve made of yourself, and seeing it, too, as it pools on the coffee table. 

“Fuck, baby,” Jungkook groans, his hand still working on his cock. “That’s so hot, I’m— fuck, I’m close. I want to come, baby. Fuck.”

He looks at you like he’s pleading, but you want to be selfish. You want to hold onto this scene of Jungkook pleasuring himself like this. 

“Just a little bit more,” you end up saying out loud. 

He concedes, knowing he’s given you all control. He slows down a bit, just so he won’t make a mess before you’ve asked him to. 

You see his thighs shaking, his jaw clenching so tightly, and the veins from his hands and arms popping out form how much he’s controlling himself. 

“Fuck, baby. I can’t take it anymore,” he pants. 

You don’t want him to suffer. You’ve ingrained this scene in your mind already, so you tell him he can come, and the grunt that he releases will live in your mind, too. He paints his torso with his slick, but you get to him before it all ends, as you kneel back down and take his dick in your hand to swallow all that’s left. 

“Shit, baby,” he groans again, taking you in with your eyes closed, lapping him up as you lick him off. “You drive me crazy. That was so hot.”

You sweetly smile at him before spotting his cum on his abs, perfectly placed on the dips and ridges, tempting you to clean him up.

And that’s what you do, as you lean forward and lick what’s remaining of his seed, your tongue gliding upwards and to the sides of his stunning plane. You lick and suck each patch of skin in your way, and you feel him still shaking a little bit, perhaps still coming down from his high. You get to his nipples, dark and beautiful as you nibble on them while trailing up to meet him in a searing kiss, letting him taste himself on you.

“I’m sorry for making you hold back,” you whisper against his lips, meaning it because you could tell he’d really wanted to come. 

“No need to, babe,” he responds, heaving. “That was so sexy; I was losing my mind.”

You giddily smile, and Jungkook doesn’t know how you can maintain that sweetness while saying words and doing things that make him breathless.

“Can you go again?” You ask, eyeing his flaccid cock and licking your lips. 

“As much as you want me to,” he replies, his body tensing in anticipation once more when you trace his dick with your fingers, tugging on the hem of his boxer brief until you’re pulling it off him completely. 

You place it on his side and return to kneeling in front of him, capturing his gaze and savoring the look of him naked and willing. “I really like that brand of underwear.”

“I’ve been wearing that since I was a teenager.”

“I know,” you hum, earning him a cocked eyebrow from you. “You used to wear those low rise jeans that showed your brief’s waistband, and then you’d pull up your shirt or do cartwheels or anything to show off. It wasn’t hard to miss.”

You giggle at the memory, recalling how anytime Jungkook revealed slivers of skin when you were both in your teens, you’d get flustered and look away. Your siblings and Junghyun didn’t miss how nervous you’d been then, saying that your little crush grew up with the both of you. 

“Ah, yeah. It made the girls go wild,” he smugly says. 

“That includes me now. It’s probably the tiny waist,” you say, kissing him there, your hair dangling over his skin that causes him to curse. 

“Or the strong thighs.” You spread his legs open so you can kiss him in places, too, finding his sensitive parts and licking him there. He stiffens at your movements, his clenched fists clenching even more, and when you look at his dazed eyes, you know you’ve got him wanting again. 

“Fuck, fuck, baby,” he heaves, losing breath once more. 

“Or, to those lucky enough to see it, your pretty cock,” you smile sweetly again, as if your words aren’t sending him in a spiral.

Perhaps all the times that you’d ogled at him quietly isn’t so bad, Jungkook thinks, knowing that this is how you are once you finally voice them out. You’re so enchanting like this, as the lust in your eyes is tinged with that love and adoration you have for him. It’s such a turn on, but it’s also turning him into mush. 

He watches you as you suck his balls and then lick a strip up his member that’s now stiffened from your words. You take him in - slow and deep - before swirling your tongue around and he seriously could cry. You’re teasing him but giving so much at the same time; his mind and body don’t know what to do. 

“But it’s all yours now, baby,” he drawls, tempted to break his rule and tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “This body’s all yours and you can do whatever you want with it.”

You pop his cock out of your mouth and smile at him. “I will. That’s why I will admire it all I want.”

You stand up and look down at him, liking the anticipation in his eyes. You remove your bra and proceed to sit on his thigh, your slick sticking to his skin immediately. 

“You can touch me a little with one hand,” you mumble, humming once you let him cup your cheek first. 

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he moans, tracing your lower lip with his thumb before sliding it inside your mouth. 

You suck on it while meeting his eyes, and he pulls it away before a moan escapes you, his wet finger now tracing circles on your pert nipple. His smooth hand with patches of callouses from his workouts caresses your bare body, fondling your breasts and pulling your face close for a kiss. It’s right after when you take his hand and place it on his side, signaling that his time for exploration is over. 

You’re in control again, as you slowly grind against his taut thigh, perfect for the friction you badly need. 

“You’re so beautiful, Kook,” you smile, combing your fingers through his curly locks. “I like your long hair,” you say. “You kinda look like a rockstar.”

He chuckles at your remark, a little thankful for the change in your tone. “So I’ve been told. That’s why grandfather asked me to cut it. I said I need something to pull when I’m stressed since work is driving me up a wall and they’re all pushing me too hard.”

“Hmm, still talking back to your elders, I see,” you laugh. “Nothing’s changed, Kook.”

“I’m a lot braver now because I’m with you,” he winks. “You’re kind of my shield, you know? You protect me from them so I can be honest. They gave me shit for my tattoos but they stopped once you got yours.”

You hum in satisfaction at the thought, knowing that you could do this for him.

“Guess I’ll have to comment during lunch with them that I love your long hair and your grandfather won’t ask you to get rid of it,” you giggle. “He quite adores me and trusts my taste.”

“Nothing’s changed, indeed,” he laughs, knowing that even from his side, they adore you wholeheartedly. 

“I love hearing you laugh, hun,” you say, causing him to smile at your words. “You look so free and happy and so full of love.”

“And that’s because of you,” he responds, his voice low and serious and it does something to you again. “You’re all I need, baby. You’re all I want in this life.”

You nod to let him know you feel the same, but it gets you going, with you wanting to keep on admiring him. And you do, kissing him tenderly with your arms around his neck as your fingers comb his hair. You continue to slide against him and his moans in between tell you how into it he is. 

Your lips slide down to his jaw and then to his neck, alternating between its smooth expanse to the stunning canvass of his chest. It’s soft kisses turned to playful nibbles turned to desperate sucking, as you take all of him in and express your adoration with marks and bruises that will stay with him. You’re rarely able to do this because he’s always the one on you so you take your time, liking the rise and fall of his chest and the moans and curses he lets out and the way he tries to hold back any other movement from the one you’re directing him to do, which is nothing. 

So you give him something, reaching out for his hand and guiding it to his cock that’s hard right now. “Touch yourself please,” you ask, your hand still on top of his as he strokes his member like you instructed. 

“Keep going, okay? I just want to see you this way,” you whisper in his ear. “You’ll get to touch me soon.”

“Yes, baby,” he moans, cursing as you increase your pace of thrusting against his thigh. 

You suck his neck, feeling his head bopping to his own movements and hearing the vibrations from his throat. You finally sit back up to watch him touch himself, the same movements from earlier driving you just as crazy. His parted mouth makes you want it on you, so you ask him to kiss your body, and he happily complies.

“Fuck, yes,” he grunts once his mouth is on your breast, aggressively licking and sucking just like you did on his neck. “You’re so hot, baby. I could suck your tits forever.”

“Hmm, I’d love that.”

Jungkook gets lost in the softness of your breasts. It’s perfectly shaped and feels so good in his mouth. He knows how to get you going, so he does all the licking and sucking and tricks he knows. It’s hard when he could bust any moment as he pleasures himself; it’s tough not being able to touch you, too, but he’d take this scenario any day. Hearing you instruct him what to do drives him wild, even more with your giddy and soft eyes looking back at him before it turns lustful. 

Your moans are louder now; your thrusts are getting erratic, too. Jungkook wants to savor this but he also wants to reach his high with you. But you take his free hand first and direct it to your cunt, and his curses again at being able to feel exactly how wet you are. 

His fingers find your throbbing clit right away. Bent a little back, you give him space to play with you, getting lost in it once again because even with limited movement, he knows just what to do.

Jungkook works his way on your cunt while he continues to stroke himself. It’s insanely pleasurable. It’s also getting hard and painful, and so it’s music to his ears when you say that you want him inside you. 

He lets go of his cock for you to slide down on, and the relief of your velvet walls makes him shiver. It’s like being out in the cold and then being wrapped up in something warm; your pussy is all the comfort he needs. 

But you’re still in control, he reminds himself, as you thrust on your own pace before you’re bouncing on top of him. Seeing your breasts bounce with you is disarming; you’re so sexy like this and he has to remind himself that you’re his wife and he’s truly able to be blessed by this sight everyday. 

You collapse on his chest, flushed against him as you catch your breath. But you keep going, grinding against him slowly. He takes the opportunity to nibble your ear and you don’t complain, so he keeps going, sucking your neck until you’re moaning and bouncing on him again. You sit back up and turn to him, and he captures your breast in his mouth. That’s when you lose it, feeling an out-of-body experience where all your nerves are heightened and stimulated so you give in. 

“Take control, baby,” you moan. “I want to come all over your cock and I want you to come inside me.”

You say it to challenge him, to get him going, and that’s what happens, as he growls and immediately lays you on the couch because even as he loves this view of you, there’s still nothing like seeing the pleasure on your face when he’s on top of you, pushing to the depths of your hole and hitting you where you want it.

Your hair creates a halo and you look absolutely stunning, ready and desperate for him, as you whisper that you love him, that you want to feel him inside of you. 

Jungkook thrusts hard. He’s got your legs spread so he can hold your thighs up and you can touch yourself while he’s reaching that spot that only he can. You both watch as he slides in and out, and it’s messy and obscene and erratic and every bit as good as it can get. You’re screaming by this time, and when he feels your legs shake, he goes even harder. 

He kisses you, wanting to swallow in your moans when you finally let go, and you do, after a deep thrust that sends you over the edge. But he continues, chasing his high as well. He gets there when you whisper in his ear, feeling as if his body’s on fire with your words.

“Come for me, baby. You’re so good to me,” you moan. “No one can make me feel good like this. You’re all I need, baby. You’re all I want.”

He loses it every time you praise him like that and you know this, and that’s why you always say it at the end, when you want to bask in his essence just as he basks in yours. 

You feel his warmth coating your walls, and just as you’re about to shiver from the sound of his end-of-sex moans in your ear, he turns to face you - damp hair and heaving chest - and his look softens, his small smile appearing before kissing you tenderly. 

“I love you, so so much, baby,” he mumbles against your lips. “Every version, every day.”

You giddily smile at him again and wrap your arms around his neck to pepper his face with kisses. You pull him on top of you until he shifts to lay on your side, afraid to suffocate you after what was an intense period of lovemaking, which really started from when you’d asked him to take his clothes off.

“How was that?” You ask, turning to face him. 

“Baby, did you see me?” He chuckles. “I was a mess.”

“Yeah, me too,” you laugh, nodding towards the droplets of cum you left on the coffee table. “I… I kinda let myself go earlier.”

“And it was so fucking sexy,” he praises. “But did you like it? Did you like being in control and teasing me like that?”

“I did,” you giggle. “You were pretty pliant, too. Not gonna lie, I was surprised. I thought you were gonna be whiny about it.”

“I was losing my shit,” he admits. “But I kinda made the rules and it was so hot hearing you tell me what to do. Or, well, ask. You’re still pretty polite about it.”

You laugh along with him but he assures you that he doesn’t mind it, and that he’s glad you don’t try to change just because you’re with him. The last thing he wants is for you to feel like you have to be adventurous or daring just to make him happy.

“I know I talk about my reckless and thrill-seeking past like it’s a badge of honor but it doesn’t mean that I’m not satisfied with our safer, more comfortable way of living,” he tells you. “I don’t yearn for anything more than what we do, okay? You literally turn me on with whatever you’re doing or wearing so don’t think I’d want you to be or do anything else, babe. I get to kiss you and make love to you all I want and that’s it… I’m a happy man.”

You scrunch your nose and giddily smile at his words, hiding your flushed face on his chest. 

“And when you lose your shit like that because of me… it’s pretty special, too,” he adds, hugging you now. 

You turn to face him and soften at how he fondly looks at you. 

“You… ignite something in me, Kook,” you say. “Coming here after so long reminded me a bit of how it was back when I left. I was emotional because it hurt, and it was because I cared about you; I always did. Junghyun told me how distraught you were and I let myself believe that you cared about me, too. That’s what made me go back to you and try to make it work. And being back here… I just can’t believe how far we’ve come.”

You caress his face and he kisses your hand, the sparkles in his eyes making your heart race once more. 

“You make me love so certainly and so passionately,” you add. “It’s thrilling, loving you like this. And we can argue or have issues or feel off with each other sometimes but if at the end of it, we can forgive ourselves and each other then it’s okay. We love hard and I know that’s how I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

It’s his turn to scrunch his nose now and smile, choosing to kiss you deeply as he pulls you in a hug instead of saying anything more. You’ve said it all, he thinks; he knows you know he feels the same.

But still, you ask. “Have I left you speechless now, Mr. Jeon?”

He laughs at your teasing. “I don’t know why you say you’re not good with words. I… I needed to hear them, babe. Being here and knowing where you spent your days while I was wallowing in guilt and misery at home hits me but doing all this now with you reminds me that we got through that. And we got through the past weeks, too.”

“Thank you for taking a short break to be with me here,” you say, kissing him. 

“Baby, I wouldn’t pass up on any break from work,” he laughs. “But hyung assured me that I could. He knows I need to be with you after all that.”

You sigh in relief as you hug him, feeling the knots and bolts of his body melt away like yours are. Being together is like that for both of you, you think. Your love - in whatever form it’s expressed - is healing; it’s rejuvenating. It’s the kind you give so much of yourself to but feel like you’re becoming whole, complete, yet there’s still space for more. 

You’re glad your parents made that deal with the universe to save you all those years ago. It made you live long enough to experience this. 

A small smile forms on Jungkook’s face as he watches your soft, steady breathing. You seem to be in a deep sleep - a good one - he thinks, as the light from the sun coming from the glass doors doesn’t seem to be bothering you the way it usually does. He can’t blame you though. Last night was incredible. And pretty tiring, too, especially at the end when you let him take control, and he’d made love to you hard on the couch and then during your shower right after. 

You were breathless by the time you were in bed, and you had to constantly assure him that he didn’t go too hard for the sex to be considered a ‘strenuous activity.’ You’re still required to take things easy, as your cardiologist had told you, and the last thing Jungkook wants is for you to overwork your heart just because he’d been too keen to fuck you. But seeing you enjoy yourself did things to him. So did seeing you be giddy, and then hearing you express your feelings. 

It’s been a tough few weeks. He knew that during the times he was cold and distant towards you that he still felt so much love; it was just hard to express it because he was upset. He just had to process his negative emotions properly and ride them out. Once he’d cleared his head, there you were again, the only clarity he needed, and he was back to being the lovestruck man who’s head over heels in love with his wife. The best part was that you were the same, and being back in Busan and in this specific house is making him a little sentimental. And pretty horny, too. 

Jungkook moves away from the bed and removes his shirt that’s absorbed all his sweat. He woke up early and went for a run down a nearby trail, savoring the cool morning breeze by the water and the natural sounds of the forest. It was gorgeous, and he thinks of going on a picnic with you tomorrow to see the sights.

He just got back to the house, expecting you to be awake, but the sight of you sleeping peacefully is still something nice to return to. Wanting to take advantage of the tranquility of this place, he decides to do some painting. 

You showed him your corner yesterday. It’s complete with an easel and a stool that faces the view. There’s a bench with paint and brushes that you’ve left and you brought. You told him he could use them if he wanted. 

The lake sparks creativity, you said, and he feels that now. The sun casts a glow over it that he wants to capture in brush strokes, and he wants to create something to remind him of this particular day and this specific moment, where he stands by the kitchen counter in a space you’ve both come to claim as your slice of heaven. Moans were bouncing off the walls last night but right now, it’s quiet. And whether you’re naked and bouncing on top of him, or naked under the covers as you take your needed rest, he knows you’re all he needs and wants, and he’ll never get tired of telling or showing you all that.

Choosing the colors he’ll be using, Jungkook starts to work. He stays true to the view before him, blending the blues and yellows and greens that he sees and laying them all out on the canvas. He wants to surprise you, show you he’s learned some tricks that he’s seen you do; he can already imagine your proud face and that gets him excited. 

It’s almost an hour later when he hears shuffling inside the house followed by your call of his name.

“I’m outside, babe,” he yells. “I prepared the coffee in the pot, just press the button.”

You shout out your thanks and he gets back to work, immersed in the almost-finished product when your voice takes him out of his zone.

“That’s gorgeous, Kook,” you hum. “Way better than the one you did the last time.”

“Hey,” he laughs, tickling you. 

He turns to you and his face softens. You’re standing next to him with mussed hair dressed in his white button-up polo from last night. He’d left it on the stool by your bed and you probably decided to wear it when you got up because you know he loves seeing you wear his clothes. 

“Am I making your heart flutter, Mr. Jeon?” You tease, seeing his soft, dimpled smile. 

He hasn’t said anything for the past 10 seconds and you think maybe it’s your chosen morning outfit. 

“You know the answer to that,” he replies, pulling you by the waist and directing you to sit on his lap. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” he says of the painting. “But since you’ve seen it, what do you think?”

“It’s very Bob Ross-esque,” you compliment him. “And it’s really good, hun. The day’s pretty nice, huh? I’d paint this scenery, too, if I wasn’t so tired.”

“You’re welcome,” he smirks. “But I went for a run and everything was just so pretty. You were still sleeping when I got back so I thought to try painting while waiting for you to wake up.”

“Well, it’s good I was still asleep then,” you smile. “The piece is great. You’ve got a good teacher, I’d say.”

“She is. She’s pretty hot, too, so it’s hard to focus sometimes.”

“You’re so cheeky,” you playfully roll your eyes before kissing cheek and standing up to get your coffee.

You choose to lean on the railing when you return, soaking up the midday sun and relishing the calmness of the lake. It’s so peaceful out here, making you appreciate your house’s soundproof walls because you definitely were not quiet last night. Other than the loud thrumming of your heart at how much you were lusting over your husband touching himself and coming undone in front of you, you also know that your joint moans were pretty obscene. 

You didn’t shy away from letting him know how you were affecting him, especially when he’d pounded into you so purposefully that you felt him so deep within you. Even the bathroom sex was mind-blowing. So was the loving way he’d kissed you until you both fell asleep, and the thought of all the ways that Jungkook makes love to you sends a shiver down your spine. 

You shake a little bit and turn around, surprise laced on your face as you see your husband looking at you from his stool, legs spread with a smirk on his face in all his shirtless glory. 

“How long have you been ogling me?” You arch an eyebrow.

“As soon as you came out,” he smiles. “You look stunning, babe. The lake’s pretty lucky it gets to be your background.”

You chuckle at his cheesiness and sip your coffee. “Finish your work now and then we can get ready to head out. We can have early lunch at the seafood place our families used to go to.”

With you by the railings looking breathtaking against the view, it’s a nice scene that Jungkook wants to capture. “I wanna try to draw you,” he states, taking one of your sketch pads and placing it on the easel now. 

“Oh yeah?” you ask. “I should pose then.”

He turns to you just as you start unbuttoning your top, leaving your tattoo and black satin underwear exposed. You see him visibly swallow and you push it, adjusting his polo to reveal more of your skin. 

“This okay, hun?”

“I–, uh… hmm,” he furrows his brows, his eyes flitting from you to the pad. 

Jungkook decides he’s not good enough to capture you in drawing, and he’s definitely not patient enough to wait to finish it before he can kiss you because the way you’re teasing him is a little too much. He has to have you right now.

Retrieving the polaroid camera from inside the house, he walks back out and snaps a shot. “I won’t do you justice, babe,” he explains. “And you look too fucking sexy to pass up on.”

He takes another one and then places them on the coffee table next to him. He walks to you and immediately captures you in a deep kiss, his hand gripping your waist the same way yours grips his chest.

“So that worked, huh?” You giggle. “I was wondering when you were gonna just walk over here and claim me.”

“You could’ve just said you wanted me, too,” he laughs. “You know I like hearing that.”

“You also like it when I tease you,” you counter. “And, well… here I am.”

You bite your lip and pull the polo just enough to expose your shoulder, and Jungkook basically growls at the act, putting away your coffee then kissing you once again. 

You moan against his mouth once his hand slides inside to fondle your breast, and the sensation from his touch sends you in a daze. You let him suck your neck only for a while, nudging him to turn to you so you could get a look at him.

“Baby,” he whines, wanting to have continued to map out your body in this open space. 

“I just…” you trail, your eyes scanning his half-naked form, his cream-colored joggers low enough again to show the band of his boxers. 

You trace your fingers down his torso, following the lines and ridges that you know he works hard on. His breathing quickens, even more so when you slowly slide your hand in, immediately stroking his semi-hard cock. 

“Fuck,” he groans, his head leaning back at the pleasure he feels, your soft skin soothing yet electrifying him at the same time. 

But you shouldn’t be the only one, he thinks, as his hand sneaks inside your underwear now, his fingers finding your throbbing clit amidst all the wetness. 

“Mhmm,” you hum, your mouth parting as you suck in a breath. 

Jungkook wants to bask in your look as you pleasure each other, but he also really wants to kiss you, so he pulls you close, angling your head with his other hand and takes you in. It’s all tongue and teeth, as you both seem desperate for the other, and that’s what prompts him to start walking back and taking you with him, needing to taste you this second because he can feel just how wet you are for him. 

He guides you towards the desk near your bed, lifting you a little so you could sit on it, causing you to let go of his dick and you whine in response. You’re not able to say anything more, as he slides two fingers inside your hole at the same time that he sucks your nipple.

“Kook, oh my good,” you keen, feeling your slick spread as he pumps into you. 

He doesn’t say anything. He just continues with his movements as you heave in pleasure, grinding reflexively as you seek more friction than just his fingers. 

“Do you want more, baby?” He asks, looking at you now.

“Yes,” you whisper, your mouth parting once he presses your clit. “Want your mouth. Oh god, baby,  I want your mouth.”

He slows down his movements before retrieving his hand from your damp underwear, showing you his fingers drenched in your slick. He licks them off you as he holds your gaze, and you take his hand off his mouth so you could suck them, too. 

You moan as you do, suddenly wanting his dick as well. He crouches down before you get to say anything, pulling off your underwear to see you dripping wet, your essence forming a dot on the desk this time. You’d be embarrassed if he didn’t look so turned on by it, and you completely lose it once he licks a strip up your pussy and swirls his tongue around it. 

You lose all sense by then, allowing yourself to just let go because with how he’s gripping you and sucking you dry, you know you won’t be able to control how your body will react anyway. 

He sets a rhythm, pulling your hips to meet his mouth and you follow the pace, grinding against him as your body burns with so much pleasure. Your ass sits by the edge and your legs are hanging on air, but you know he’s got you. It isn’t like this is the first time, yet every time feels like it is. Jungkook does you so well, you’ve stopped questioning his ability at this point. 

Your legs start to shake and his hands glide to hold up your thighs while your arms support you. It’s uncontrollable by now and you don’t mind the moans that escape you. He’d just fucked you senseless last night but that already feels too far away. You know it's still gonna be another good one this time. 

“I’m coming, Kook. Agh–” you shriek, feeling it so suddenly, until you’ve reached the edge and feel even wetter, as your orgasm hits and it feels like a waterfall.

Your husband hums from in between your legs, taking all that he can, even as your legs continue to shake. He kisses your inner thigh before kissing up your torso, meeting your dazed look with his satisfied smile. 

“Can you go again, baby?” He smirks, taking off his joggers and boxer briefs in one movement to reveal his cock that’s definitely ready for you.

You want to trace the veins with your tongue, lick the pre-cum off it, and swallow it until you can’t breathe, but his hand gets to it first, with him knowing now how touching himself turns you on. He strokes himself a little, and the version of you that touches herself when he does is back, as you instantly fiddle with your clit to address the aching need at the sight of him like this. 

Holding the base of his member, he pushes slowly into you, joining your moan at the feel of him within your velvet walls. 

“Baby, you feel so good,” he grunts, as he meets your thrusts. “So, so fucking good, my dick could live here.”

“I want it to,” you manage a response. “Kook, baby, you’re so big. Go deeper, please. I can take it.” 

Jungkook follows, moving closer and pushing harder as you ask, feeling your edge as he drags his cock against your walls. You’re moaning in his mouth, lips no longer moving as you feel lost in all that he’s doing to you. 

“You like that so much, don’t you?” He moans. “Like how deep I go? How much I stretch you out?”

“Yes, baby,” you huff, unable to form words now. But you try, knowing he likes hearing you like this. 

You’re flicking your nipple while he’s massaging your clit, and with all the movements, you feel it again. You try to hold out, wanting to savor this feeling a little longer, but Jungkook’s erratic movements tell you that he’s just about to reach his peak, too, so you let yourself go again, waiting for the crash and hoping he’d get to do it with you.

His body shakes now, you feel it, as yours does the same. And it’s not long after when you feel the shiver all over you, and then he comes, too with a release of a deep breath that gives you goosebumps. 

He pulls out, and seeing his cum slide out of you, he pushes back in, making you yelp in surprise.

“We made a mess,” he chuckles, his voice low and hoarse from all the moaning he’s done. 

“Hmm, we did,” you huff, seeing him swirl his dick with your joint essence on your pussy. 

He’s done this before. But seeing it from this angle, with the sun shining from your glass wall - it’s incredibly sexy. You laugh to yourself. It’s not even lunchtime. 

“Honey, I’m tired,” you laugh now.

Jungkook kisses you tenderly and you smile against his lips. “Okay then. We shower and then we take a nap. Food can wait.” 

You stare at the plates of food that you and Jungkook had devoured. A lunch for 4, you think, and you blame the late morning nap you took that’s caused you to have your first meal at 1PM. You don’t mind though, as the dishes were much more delicious with how hungry you were, and Jungkook seems the same, as he satisfyingly smiles at you. 

“Ah, that was good,” he hums. “Nothing like our favorite seafood restaurant.”

“I know, right? I remember how our grandparents would always reserve the function room for our families,” you say. “You boys were always so rowdy, running around the place.”

“Food energizes us,” Jungkook shrugs. “And yeah, I remember. Seoyeon would scold us for being noisy.”

“And I was always just there, sitting and laughing at the silly faces you were making when the adults finally told you off.”

“You really had a crush on me, huh?” He smirks, pulling you closer to his side so he could have a better look at you. 

“Yes, and you really never noticed,” you counter, laughing at his pout. “Would it have made any difference if you knew that weak little me adored you and your bowl-cut?”

“I really don’t understand how you found that cute,” he laughs. “That’s my most embarrassing look ever.”

“What? It was adorable!” You giggle, pinching his chin. “You were always so mischievous but the haircut made you look tiny and pure for some reason. Plus, you had this smile. It was always very sweet.”

He sighs at the thought, imagining a prepubescent Jungkook causing trouble with you still thinking he was pretty special. “I don’t remember as much about you. I hate it.”

“Kook, we have so many photos and home videos,” you comfort him. “We can always go through them and try to remember. I think that’ll be fun, don’t you think?”

It would, he smiles to himself. Days and nights of being curled up on the couch, watching your younger selves and thinking of how neither of you would’ve imagined getting married and being this in love. Your future kids would ask how you two met and you could both show them those videos. He’d proudly say how you were crushing on him early on and you’d tease that he never really minded you. It’s all fun, though, and he can picture your future kids enjoying it, too, perhaps thinking it could be them on screen. He’s suddenly excited to find out who they’d take after. 

“Honey? You okay?”

“Yeah, I just zoned out a bit but of course, that would be fun. We can make fun of each other while watching.”

You smile at the thought, knowing that reminiscing those days would be a shock to him. You wonder how much of your adoration for him was caught on camera, but even you are curious. Your siblings and Junghyun would tell you stories as you got older, and there were things that you’d either forgotten or didn’t know. 

Sometimes you think you downplayed just how big of a crush you had on Jungkook when you were younger because it was unrequited - a silly thought now, given how he is with you. He used to not look your way but now, it seems as if he can’t take his eyes off you the way you can’t take your eyes off of him.

You both exit the restaurant and drive to your middle school. You introduce yourselves and are immediately allowed in. Classes have just ended so it’s a little busy with the students leaving, but the shrieks remind you of how things were during your time, and how different you and Jungkook remember your pre-teen days to be.

The difference is much more glaring once you’re in your high school not far away, especially as you look around the library that’s changed a lot over the years. But you remember your spot at the corner, where you and Yeri would study while Nari drew dresses and Minhyuk read comics. 

“You know, I’ve probably only ever been here thrice,” Jungkook laughs, the place an unfamiliar spot for him. It’s also so quiet; it’s unnerving and probably why he never really came here.

“I’m not surprised,” you laugh. “But then again, I’ve only ever stepped foot on the field twice.”

“What? Did you not have PE class?” 

“I did,” you say. “My parents had me spared from the physical stuff, so I just read up on sports and other things for my grade.”

“That’s so sad, babe,” he laments. “PE was like, the best. It was the only subject I liked.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you exclaim. “But yeah, I got used to it. It’s different learning a sport by reading it but it was okay, I guess. My teacher would let me watch classes and varsity games sometimes.”

“Let me guess, you were watching me?” He smirks.

“Not always,” you playfully roll your eyes. “You weren’t the only good-looking guy in school, you know?”

“What! Who else was?”

“Secret,” you tease, sticking your tongue out and walking down the hallway. 

You pass by the auditorium, another place you spent a lot of time in. Minhyuk used to play the violin and you’d watch his rehearsals with their music group here.

“Okay, tell me you’ve been here at least once to watch a club performance or something,” you say, turning to him. 

“Uh, no?” He laughs. “All I remember from this is that we had an important game against a rival school on the field and all your friends were there except for you. Hyung watched it and I overheard him ask them where you were and Yeri said you were at the auditorium because there was some flute recital or something.” He rolls his eyes. “Why would that be more interesting than my soccer game?”

You laugh at his bitter expression. “You wouldn’t have cared, hun. And I’m pretty sure she said saxophone. That was Jaehyun’s instrument.”

“Who’s that? Why doesn’t he sound familiar?”

“Because he was a year older,” you respond as you walk past the seats. “He, uh, he invited me, said I was probably gonna watch the game but it didn’t hurt to try, and he was surprised that I said I’d watch him.”

“Were you… a thing?” He furrows his brows.

“Why would that matter,” you ask. “You were the one dating the class President and the gymnast and a lot of other girls.”

“Yeah but I never took them seriously,” he defends. “We just… you know.”

“Oh, I know,” you chuckle. “Talks of how good of a kisser you were and uh, other stuff spread like wildfire, Kook. It wasn’t exactly a secret.”

You're right, it really wasn’t. He was the rich popular jock that girls flocked to and he loved the attention, and that continued until university. But like he always said, it was all fun for him. 

You… you were never the type to date for fun, so he knows that any guy you were with could’ve been the one, and yes, even Won-shik. Or Jongin. Maybe this Jaehyun dude. 

It could’ve been Mingyu.

“So you and the guy, were you…?” He asks again. 

“He courted me,” you say. “But I wasn’t sure about having a boyfriend at that time and he said he’d wait but I told him not to. We drifted once he graduated and that was it.” 

“Okay.”

“Does that matter?” You wonder.

“Sometimes I think there could’ve been a version of this life where we weren’t married,” he starts. “Like, you could’ve been with someone else you loved and I probably would’ve been arranged with some other person but you and I would still see each other regularly because of our families and like… that’s just… a hard thought to have. If it wasn’t me with you right now.”

“Yes, Kook, it’s a hard thought but also impossible because I’m with someone I love and you’re with me right now,” you tell him. “And this is the only version of life I’ll have. Also, I think I have a pretty special connection with the universe so sometimes I think they were truly on my side. They kept me alive and well, they made me marry you, the man who never really took anyone seriously and now look at you!”

“Yeah, look at me, head over heels in love with the woman he was bitter about and barely minded,” he laughs dryly. “But I think they were on my side, too.”

You smile at the thought, knowing that Jungkook may not really be able to let go of the guilt from years ago but he could at least look at things this way - at the end of it, you get to be together happily, making new memories in the places you’ve known all your lives, and out to make even more.

You continue your walk around the school. You pass by the faculty to greet your teachers from over 10 years ago, who fawn over both of you. They say how surprised they were that you’d ended up together, but don’t doubt that now seeing how happy you both look. 

Walking down the hallway, you gush over the shelf with championship trophies that Jungkoook had won with the soccer team. And then finally, you sit on the bleachers that overlook the soccer field, Jungkook’s stage during your years in school. 

“It does look pretty with the sun casting a shadow over it,” you hum, seeing that it’s late in the afternoon. “I can see why you loved being here, Kook. And seeing you play now, you truly belong on the field.”

“Those years were fun,” he reminisces. “I loved the adrenaline rush, the thrill, the cheers… I loved the attention, really. It made me feel free. I think I kept chasing that high outside of it. And it got me into a lot of trouble.”

“Well, all that trouble landed you right here with me,” you comfort him. “I think it’s not all that bad.”

“Not at all,” he agrees. “But I still experience all that, you know? The thrill, the cheers, the attention… I married someone who gives all those to me. My younger years can’t really compare.”

Your cheeks reach your eyes as you giddily smile. “My heart is fluttering, Mr. Jeon,” you giggle. “Too bad we’re in school so I can’t kiss you right now.”

“Actually, I know a spot…”

“Kook!” You squeal, not wanting to know where he’d made out with the girls back then, but he laughs along to tease and says that you both could always drive back home and do all the kissing you want. 

Tempting, you think, but all the walking has made you hungry and he promised you’d have milmyeon for dinner and then pass by the kiosk where Mrs. Na always bought you your favorite hotteok. 

You do all that, and just like what Jungkook said, you go back home and do all the kissing you want. 

The kissing obviously escalated to so much more. Jungkook let you ride his face and you let him fuck your mouth. The lake house is so conducive to lovemaking, you told him as you started to doze off, and he assured you that all this wouldn’t end here. There’s lots to make up for, but also, making up with you makes him feel like a new man and a better lover, and he wants to be able to show you all that. 

He doesn’t mess around though, as you wake up the next morning flushed against his firm chest that you can’t help but kiss all over, and to get you going for morning sex by the lake, he wildly eats you out then takes you from behind while you look at the view outside. 

You at least eat your breakfast that you had made on the veranda and then have enough energy to walk down the trail by the lake to see the forest and the birds. Jungkook lays down a mat and you both enjoy fruits and desserts before heading out for a late lunch of pork rice soup that you’ve dearly missed. 

You drive around your part of the city, passing by spots and beaches you used to frequent, and it’s as if you could hear the shrieks and laughter from your younger days, sounds you joined in on every once in a while. But much of it was Jungkook’s, and you smile at the thought; he was already making your heart flutter then, and you don’t think that’s ever gonna stop.

He stops by a familiar park, and it takes a while before it registers that this is the playground that both of you used to go to a lot. It’s the midway point of your grandparents’ estates so all you Jeon and Kim kids would play here before heading to either of those places. 

It’s also where he asked you to play when you were 4 years old. And where you told him no.

“Are we here to reenact that moment I broke your heart?” You tease, walking next to him as you bask in the sight of your childhood. You may not have played in the playground but you did have your dolls with you. 

“Sort of,” he chuckles. “With a good ending this time though. I kind of wanna have both memories ingrained in my mind so they could remind me of how far we’ve come.”

“Sounds good,” you smile, sitting on the bench that you think is the one you would always sit on. 

It’s been over 20 years and a lot about it has changed, but you suppose it’s a good guess.

“It’s amazing the memories that we retain, isn’t it?” You wonder out loud. “I remember that day, too. We were just 4 years old, and, well, it’s one of the few that I remember.”

“I know, right? I don’t remember much from that age apart from that moment, actually,” he says. “It stuck with me, maybe because it really affected me. Who knows? Maybe I was crushing on you before that so I chose to forget everything else after you rejected me,” he laughs. “Selective memory and shit.”

“Could be,” you laugh along. “But can you imagine how it must’ve been like for our families seeing us grow up and grow apart? It must’ve sucked.”

“I’m sure it did,” he hums, knowing how much your families wanted this union. “Perhaps the universe was on their side, too.”

You smile at the thought. Coming back to the places with traces of Jungkook as the kid you admired from a short distance makes you sentimental because he’s right, there could’ve been another version of life where you didn’t end up together. Who knows if your fondness for him would’ve faded if you’d married someone else? But you’d still see each other regardless, and the feeling could be haunting you. 

You wonder if you weren’t sick, or was just careless enough to have played with him even if you weren’t allowed to - how different would your friendship have been like growing up? Would you be closer? Would he have been as reckless or less of the playboy he was? Would you have been more daring just to keep up with him? Would you have both tried to date? What if it didn’t work out, being as you were both still young then?

But as you look up at Jungkook who’s now standing before you, his hand in his pocket before he reaches it out the way he did over 20 years ago, you think that maybe all those had to happen so you could have this. 

Maybe the distance meant that you’d both grow and make mistakes individually. Maybe having different sets of friends and hobbies meant you’d both appreciate yourselves for who you are so you could appreciate the other just as much. Maybe his colorful relationship record and your neutral one meant being able to balance excitement and security. Maybe all the heartbreaks along the way meant you’d learn how to ride through them so you could love each other even more. 

Because as you take his hand and stand up to meet him for a kiss, you don’t think you could ever love him more than you do right now. You feel it all over your body that you think it’s all it knows to do at this point. 

“Four-year old Jungkook is probably bursting at the seams right now,” he hums as he kisses you again, his arms around your waist and his forehead against yours. 

“And four-year old me is probably doing the same,” you smile. “But this 29-year old version of me is so content right now, Kook. She can’t get any happier.”

She can, are the words that echo in Jungkook’s mind. Being here makes him realize how else you - both of you - can be happier. But he keeps the thought to himself and chooses to agree with you for now. 

“That’s great, babe. This version of me feels the same.”

The stack of Polaroid photos from the past 3 days has gotten taller. There’s so much from the beach, your grandparents’ house, your schools, the trail, and of course, the playground. Jungkook holds up the ones from earlier where you’re sitting on the swing and the one where you both attempted to slide together but got stuck. 

Your smiles are as wide as they could get, and seeing them now tugs at his heart. You seem like you can’t get any happier, but he also knows there’s something more that you wish for. 

And it isn’t just about giving it to you; he wants to make it with you, because seeing you skip around earlier and play in the seesaw with him and laugh your sweet, tender laugh - he knows that there are so many more ways he can show you he loves you, and the sight of you happy and free and content is something he wants to see everyday of his life.

“What you looking at, hun?” You ask, as you wrap your arms around his crouched form on the edge of the bed, your chin sliding in the crook of his neck and peeking at what he’s holding. 

“All our photos,” he says. “We ended up taking so many.”

“Hmm, more to put in our photo album then,” you hum, kissing his cheek before kissing his shoulder, and then his back, given that he’s too sexy not to have your lips mapping them out. 

You make it to the line down his back, kissing his tailbone before lying in bed. “I’m tired,” you yawn. “Let’s sleep, hun. We have a day of travel tomorrow.”

Jungkook keeps the photos in a pouch and turns off the light before he lays next to you, his arm stretching out so you have space to rest your head on his chest. 

You make yourself comfortable right away, close to drifting to sleep with his post-shower natural scent and his smooth skin. 

“Baby?”

“Hmm?”

“I was just thinking…” he starts. “We kinda went down memory lane, you know? And sorted things out like we said we would. We got through a fight that had us loving each other even more and I feel like I’ve learned and matured after all that and I… I think I’m ready.”

He turns to you, wanting to see your face, and your curious eyes meet his certain ones. 

“I want to have a family with you,” he says. “And I mean, really want it, like, I want us to seriously try now.”

“Kook…” you mumble, a little surprised but beaming with joy just the same. 

“I’ll admit at the start, a part of me just wanted to get ahead with it because I knew it would make you happy and that would make me happy,” he admits. “But now, I just… I want that for us because we love each other so fucking much and I don’t know how else we could show or express it. And that’s nice, isn’t it? It’s overflowing and the only other person who should receive that love other than you or me is someone we both created.”

You’re frozen, constantly blinking at him in disbelief until he nudges your nose with his. 

“Hey, say something,” he whispers. 

“I… ” you quiver. “I’m… Kook, that’s amazing. You… We… we’re ready. We have so much to give and we, I…”

A tear falls down your cheek. 

You and Jungkook had agreed to let life just happen. You make love all the time anyway and it used to comfort you that there could at least be a chance you’d get pregnant with the frequency you do it. But conceiving a baby isn’t that easy. You may have sex a lot but it doesn’t mean you always do it at the right time. Both your stress levels have been quite high, too, and that’s been a factor on why it hasn’t happened yet. 

There were a few times when you thought your period being late meant you could be pregnant, only to have it happen right before you told Jungkook. You won’t deny it disappointed you a little. 

But now, with him saying he wants to actively try, it’s making you excited and nervous but incredibly happy. You’ve wanted this for a while, and you realize now with what you and Jungkook could handle and take on together, you want it even more. And he’s right there with you. 

“Oh, baby,” he says, caressing your cheek. “I’m… I’m sorry it took a while for me. Wanting to let life surprise us feels like a cop out now.”

“Don’t be sorry, hun,” you sniff, sighing into his touch. “What matters now is that we both want this. And we’re… we’re really gonna try.”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “We can go see your doctors tomorrow or the day after to consult. Whatever they say, we’ll follow. If we have to have even more sex, then that’s great.”

You laugh at his words. “I think we have enough of it.”

“We never know.”

You kiss him. Deeply. You kiss him so hard, it’s the only way to express how happy you are because words fail you. You kiss him so long that you climb on top of him, wanting to feel him wrap himself around you, touch you, cradle you, show you how much he loves you.

“Oh, so we’re starting now?” He teases once you pull away. 

You just hover over him, your eyes boring into his sparkling ones, and you giggle as you boop his nose. 

“I’m actually not ovulating but it doesn’t matter,” you say, pressing your clothed pussy against his cock. “I just… I just want to feel you right now. Your wanting to have a family is such a turn on, I’m scaring myself.”

He smirks at your honesty but he loves it. Your being turned on by it is also turning him on. 

But he lets you do what you want first, as you kiss down his torso then pull down his boxer briefs to lick his hardening cock before you take him all in.

“I thought you were tired, babe,” he huffs, feeling the tension build as you take him so desperately, his thighs straining from the pleasure. 

“Not anymore,” you say, gagging with how big he is. You turn to look at him with his cock in your hand now, meeting the smirk he has on his face. “I think I can do this all night.”

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts. “You gotta play fair. I need my time to do you, too.”

Waking up the next morning feels different. With Jungkook flushed against your back and his arm around your middle, you think that hopefully in a few months, he’d be lovingly caressing you there when there’s a tiny human growing inside you. 

It’s a nice thought, but one you can wait for a while to happen. Although last night’s sex was pretty intense, you’re not fertile and there wouldn’t be any surprises soon, but it was still really good. Your emotions had overtaken you and you went with what your heart and body were saying, and you’re now left with sore limbs. But you don’t mind. You’re satisfied beyond belief. And while this may be your last day of your time here, you’ll be going back to your normal life with much more excitement this time. And you know your husband feels the same. 

He wakes up shortly after, and you both pass up on breakfast to just sleep in and cuddle, knowing there’ll be less of this again, so you savor being naked in each other's arms, giggling and kissing.

You finally make it out of bed and pack up, ready to head to his grandparents’ as you both promised. It goes by smoothly, with them fawning over you as always, and you and Jungkook spend some time right after going around the estate and recalling memories again. 

He takes you to his room, which is where he stayed when he was much younger. It’s still a little boy’s bedroom with all the toys organized and the clothes stored neatly. He opens his closet and takes a chest from the floor, unlocking it to reveal sets of baby clothes in mint condition. 

There’s a swaddling cloth and a blanket, a crocheted bunny and a baby giraffe. There are onesies and beanies and tiny shoes and mittens. 

Jungkook touches them lightly, excitedly thinking about your future baby wearing them. 

“I have a chest like this, too,” you say, smiling up at him. “It’s at my grandparents’. Do you think we could pass by for it? I think it would be nice to have our tiny one wear our clothes, don’t you think?”

“It would be,” he smiles. 

You both casually tell your grandparents that you wanted to bring the chests back with you to Seoul “just in case” because you’re sentimental, not wanting to make too big of a deal out of deciding to finally and seriously try getting pregnant this time. You don’t miss their glassy eyes and proud faces, though, and you think of the joy they must be feeling. You hope all goes well and that they’d get to spend as much time with their future grandchildren as possible. It was their dream, after all, and you know it means just as much to them.

With your treasure troves in the trunk and your hand in Jungkook’s, you both drive away, hoping that not too long from now, a little one will be joining you in your weekend getaways and short breaks and vacations. You could only hope they’ll love you with all their heart as much as you know you’ll love them with all of yours.

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