#(they are just more stunned of it appearing here)
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The Boy Wonder #1 by Juni Ba rambling about why every time i open this book, i stare in wonder...HAHA and ofc!! how cute Damian is!!
Juni Ba’s style is so absurdly effective in telling a fairy tale for the ages. It’s a stunning blend of simplicity and complexity I'M GRIPPING THE PAGES AGAINST MY EYES…
Before getting into the interiors, THE COVER!! It associates autumn leaves to Damian's Robin title through the iconic cape shape/color; and on top of that, for a Robin going through a big transition in his life...a season of change one might say...Juni Ba your brain...
Damian and the leaves being the only colored parts of this cover is nice in focusing on those elements, but i also like to think by not coloring the background it prepares you to expect impressive inkwork in this book.
On that note, the interiors!! Starting off with Ba's backgrounds of Gotham as it establishes the strange new world that our young hero has been thrust into:
We get a neat tracking shot following a champagne glass that gives us a glimpse of Gotham from the upper echelons to the downtrodden in "Underwell"
This opening sequence quickly lays out the environment Damian will be traveling through in this series! It also sets the tone for some silliness with the cute zoom on the champagne glass before it BOKs the robber lol. Along with Ba's inks, O'Halloran's colors makes every part of Gotham pop - especially love the golds of the higher society shifting into the blues of the underbelly!!
Besides Damian’s personal conflict, Gotham feels like its own entity that he has to contend with. The dialogue speaks for itself, but within the art as well!!
"This city of ours swallows and crushes everything it can" -> a gargoyle's beak over Damian, crowds of people, and walls of advertising
"You've seen it too...the way it coils around one's mind from below." -> bridges and a passing train on a rail viaduct towering over a civilian
"A dark voice calling as if to say..." -> literally, "FEED ME"
LOVELY SHOT OF MOVEMENT... and i love how Damian's venture into Gotham opens with him passing a tree - its branches and leaves are the most organic element on the page before getting into the gritty details of the city! Some yammering because the inks are. so cool: the delicate lines of the leaves in the tree to the thicker/bigger lined ones closer to the camera on the right; the background inks allowing space around Damian's form + the fine line of his grapple!! More O'Halloran praise - PRETTY, and love his coloring over Ba's bg lines, particularly here, keeping the leaves darker on the right.
It's not only a pretty page it's just a really clean layout!! Ba exhibits this throughout the book but i really enjoy it here - from Damian nyooming, we head into these last 3 panels. his cute lil "Robin" shape easily draws the eye to the tops of the panels as we take in Gotham's liveliness alongside the lettering/narration
and the "Robin" shape?? SO CUTE. it's instantly familiar to us as Robin!! bold outline and filled with yellow...it's a Robin in movement!!...AN AUTUMN LEAF IN THE WIND... yeah, still not over that 😭
Damian's inciting incident is introduced in the former panel with a gorgeous backdrop of Gotham in the distance (plus itty bitty Trinity cameo haha). The shot parallels!! beautifully!! in the final page!! Damian is now in the depths of Gotham, his objective out of reach. The colors are of note too, where the familiar yellows of Gotham are suddenly a startling green after the demon makes its appearance. The Gotham land looks even more unfamiliar, which prompts Damian to seek help.
Some speculation, but the green could also be associated with the more mythical side of demons and such (like the ghost?? of the thief), but it could even imply there's a connection to the Al Ghuls themselves as it's the only other time green is so prominently used.
Now that the land of Gotham is established, popping in other fav bgs!
More lovely mix of Ba's inks and O'Halloran's colors!! especially allowing some of the brush/marker strokes to show faintly as part of the twinkling sky...STUNNING!! 😭 i love this whole page but this panel gets me weepy, SMALL DAMIAN IN THE VAST UNIVERSE COMBINED WITH THIS LINE "He knew he could be great. How unfair of the world to make him feel so small." KICKS MY ASS... i need to lie down
YAPPING AT MORE WONDERFUL INKING: the suggestion of windows offscreen from the frames casting these thick lines over the walls and stairwell; the minute shadow details over the railing; the hatching on the suits in the portrait; the framed portrait being its own panel!! cute hooded Damian in the gutter space looking in on the portrait/panel!! CUTE HOODED DAMIANS!!
SPEAKING OF PANELS, along with general effectiveness and efficiency, there's more whimsy in others!! like this kickass page of Nightwing whipping his escrima from first panel -> afterimage lines going POWPOWPOW hitting demons from a distance to ones closer to the camera -> and back into his hand!! IT'S SO GOOD AND SO FUN!!
Ba's action employs more diagonal panels, and characters are less restrained within boxes - there's more energy and freedom across the page!
not necessarily focusing on the action for this one, but THE WHIMSY!! the border itself is goop!! Also gotta point out that looming hammer shape!!
Nightwing's critical hit spans the entire page!! from silhouettes of a flip -> flashy stomping pose/Clayface -> to a distant shot of Dick landing
and a smooth finisher page!! love the motion lines on Dick's arms and waist + his head and arc effects popping outside of the borders; then the smaller panels for quick activity, and the final WOOB WOOB WOOB LOL i can hear this sound effect just as much as i can see it
Along with O'Halloran on colors, Aditya Bidikar on lettering works seamlessly with Ba's vision!! The text boxes for the fairy tale narration are like strips of yellowing pages from an old storybook!! Had to look up the term for this lol, but also reminiscent of those storybooks, there's even a use of "drop caps" - the big fancy capital letter!
Smaller things of note, but the bit of "Weakness" text from Ra's has a kind of. grandiose feel to it. Then the cute B< Damian behind the window!! Love how the bubble and text are faded behind the glass too! The end of the bubble tail is a nice touch as it matches well with Ba's bg inking :0
Otherwise, it seems Ba has done a majority of the lettering - dropping a couple of my favs below!!
also just this whole page: the very loud AAAH! text draws both Damian's and the reader's attention to the panel below!! it's a cool transition to a new shot where you can see Damian's silhouette on the building! The final panel is cartoony violence off-page through the bold POW BOOM SLAM haha + DAMIAN'S LIL FIST!!🥺 and the guy's tooth RIP
Pure speculation - Juni Ba's concept art included Carrie Kelley, so i'm wondering if the hostage in the beginning could be her and we'll be returning to this moment in time by the end. The worn Robin colors are similar to the design + their head is conveniently covered.
In terms of story, I'm obviously heavily biased, but the initial read got me rolling in emotions with how it has you caring for Damian. Damian as a character is so fantastical in essence - it’s part of his individual charm in the batfam cast! an heir of two kingdoms, born and raised with great expectations suddenly thrust into an unfamiliar land. he has a sword. he has a dragon bat for a companion. he is haunted by the sins he has committed. he is two apples tall. he's truly fairytale material!!
LIKE...past the panels of only his silhouettes, this is our introductory appearances of Damian. It's laid out clearly in the narration, but this parallel is SO GOOD: from the powerful and ornate visuals of Damian and the Al Ghuls -> to a simple panel of Batman's shadow behind a boy littered in scars, stripped of his home and status
Damian is out of his element and proves himself in the way he knows how!!
just kick me down a flight of stairs why don't you. i don't know which messes me up more, the top 3 or bottom 3 panels. His facial expressions!! his expectations for approval dashed!! Damian's hand reaching for his father!! only to be left alone with the body. The page after this is the final nail in the coffin in feeling just how lost he is in the world before he acts on it. And you root for him the entire way!!😭
Despite Damian's fanciful background there's so much heart to be shown in his struggles and discoveries - and this classic form of a fairy tale lays it out so brilliantly!! It's shaping up to be an amazing balance of heavier elements and whimsy based on this first issue, and it leaves you wanting more!!
Besides being a thoroughly enjoyable read, it's inspiring work!! i've ordered Juni Ba's other books to consume more of his storytelling, and here's the ones i've found so far if you're interested in checking them out as well!!
Mobilis: My Life with Captain Nemo
Monkey Meat
Djeliya: A West African Fantasy Epic
The Unlikely Story of Felix and Macabber
okay shockingly, i didn't blab about how cute Damian is as much as i thought i would, but i think the collage at the top speaks for itself lol
this is all you need to know how cute Damian is in this!! his cheeks are so pinchable, it was done on page!! 🥺 these panels obliterate me
#rambling#damian wayne#it's been 2 weeks since this issue came out and i'm still cracking it open every other day#throwing my chattering into his tag to possibly get more people into the series especially if you're a fan of Damian!!#i even used capitalization for slightly easier reading LOLL#the Damian collage was taking so long i was laughing how i'm taking more time to do that than the actual ramble#then i started rambling and then i realized i couldn't shut up sdfgh#feel like i sound delusional most of the time so these are maybe my most coherent thoughts LOL#pointing at pages over my brother's shoulder 'love that...so cool...look how pretty that is...' articulating WHY makes me sound insane😭#the boy wonder
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𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐆𝐨𝐝 ꨄ Zaros
˜”* ❝𝙃𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙂𝙤𝙙, 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣, 𝙨𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙖𝙮; 𝘼𝙢𝙚𝙣❞
⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯
ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴅᴇᴀʀ ꜱᴇʀᴜʟʟᴀ,
⎯୨⎯ " " ⎯୧⎯
“Look at you, my Earis.”
You smiled at the compliment, knowing you looked ethereal. Even though it wasn’t the reason you were there, you still enjoyed picking out nice outfits. Give the people something to look at. People around you were stunned by your entrance, though, they weren’t the only ones.
Giggling, you take your elegant steps forward to your rival. He looked astonished by you. That wasn’t new though. Zaros tends to give you your credit where it’s due, especially regarding your appearance. He may be bitter but never dishonest.
“My Earis.” He takes a bow.
“My Zaros.” You tease.
He smiles at your comment, looking you up and down. Zaros tends to try to make you nervous. It only works sometimes.
“I must say, you look otherworldly.”
You smile at his compliment. His compliments usually felt better than others because even though you two weren’t on the best of terms, you knew he meant his words. However, you weren’t like that. Not at all. Sometimes, you’d make it obvious that you were lying but sometimes you’d do whatever you could to sound truthful.
“You look…” You started, “Okay.”
Zaros scoffed. He knew how you were whether it was teasing or genuinely being dishonest, he knew. And he couldn’t help but appreciate it a little.
“Shall we?” He reached out his hand, waiting for you to take it.
“I suppose we shall.”
This was a last-minute event. Everyone had been gathered together and invited to hear a speech from the two of you. It wasn’t originally in the plan but of course, Zaros suggested it. You were excited to speak your truth and to hear what Zaros had to say. However, at this point of the trials, you were less focused on winning. If anything, this had been teaching you something that extended beyond the throne.
The trial before this was a dance. It was just a way to show off how well you could follow choreography and that you did. Although, that day brought you and Zaros closer to one another. In one of the portions, you didn’t dance with him but rather you brought other people who were watching into the dance and encouraged them to join in. It was truly beautiful. Zaros had even told you how much you’ve matured through the trials.
However, rather than living in the past, you focused on the future. You smiled at the familiar faces of the people you danced with. You waved at people you used to ignore. It seemed you were becoming a new person that even the commoners could see themselves in.
“And now, please welcome The Earis.”
You smiled at the introduction and stepped up. As you looked around, people seemed to be more excited about your appearance. They seemed like they wanted you there because they liked you. Not just because you belong here.
As your speech went on, people would nod, smile, and cheer a little. It was like they already decided. A few times during your speech, you would glance at Zaros and instead of having an unfriendly glare, you would have a spark in your eyes that showed just how happy you truly were.
It was like a scene from a movie as you talked about the things you’d like to improve, change, and keep. You felt like this was the most authentic you’ve vocally been with the people of Serulla. Of course, it couldn’t go on forever. You closed off your speech in a very sweet manner and left it at that.
The people were given a few minutes of intermission to truly think about what you said and to let it sink in before the next speech. You were excited to hear what Zaros had to say.
“And for our next speech,” The next introduction started.
You felt your heart beating. You were nervous but you were also looking forward to this.
“Hello, everyone. As you may know, my name is Zaros Atha’lin and I am competing with the Earis for rulership of Serulla. I have many things I would love to discuss but first, I’d like to draw some attention to you, my Earis.” He turns to you and smiles.
However, it wasn’t the same smile you gave him. It wasn’t full of the same light and hint of love. No, it was dull and cynical.
“I have seen the way you changed over time. I think everyone has seen it and is just as astonished as am I. However, it’s not that simple. My Earis, you still have so much to work on. Your smile cannot erase the years you spent lying about others. Your dancing cannot take back the harsh, cruel words you’ve muttered to people who love you. Your truths do not take away from your many lies.”
You looked around, staggered by the words coming from his mouth. You thought that the two of you had been getting along. You thought there was a genuine friendship rebuilding itself.
“My Earis,” He initiates, “You look at me with endearment in your eyes yet you used to use those same eyes to look down on me. You smile at me with the same mouth you used to call me ‘Leech’. The people of Serulla do not know you. I know you. I know that deep down, you are bitter, savage, brutal, and heartless.”
Tearing up, you take another look around. This time, the audience looks more baffled than they did before. You felt that all this time you spent working on yourself had been for nothing. It didn’t matter how different your views were now. It didn’t matter if you were deemed the new ruler of Serulla because this would always follow you. It didn’t matter how much you’ve grown, you will always be an ungrateful brat.
“You cannot change my mind and I will not let you change the minds of the people. They deserve to know the real you. The real, nasty, selfish, and spiteful you. At the end of the day, you will always be that to me and I will always be a so-called Leech to you.”
You couldn’t take the whispers and the stares as Zaros continued his speech. It was too much to take in. You never would’ve thought he would use this to bash you and humiliate you in front of everyone.
But now, it all made sense. He did suggest this.
“Leech.” You said under your breath before storming out.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
saurrr dont get mad at me for this okayyyy....
THE NEXT THING I WRITE WILL HAVE A VERY GOOD ENDING I SWEAR ON EVERYTHING
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mayprompts2024, #21 fire
White Pony Tattoo - Part Two (Fire)
“What? You, how…” John struggled for words. “This is impossible!” He is impossible!
“To a lesser mind maybe. To me, it’s obvious.” Sherlock shrugged, a bored expression on his face.
Now this is unbelievable. How can he be so dismissive and haughty?
John remembered that a lot of people who had rated this shop on the internet had called Sherlock a brilliant tattoo artist but personality-wise a total arsehole.
Guess they have been spot-on, John thought.
“This is terribly rude, you know?” John’s temper rose quickly. Since he had nothing left to lose, having been rejected already, John added for good measure, “Has anybody ever told you that you’re an utter dick?”
John faced Sherlock’s piercing stare with blazing eyes. His mouth was set into a fierce line as if John was about to jump head-first into battle, hands clenched.
John had expected that Sherlock would get insulted and just throw him out, but no, something completely different and unexpected happened.
Sherlock laughed.
Genuinely and heartily and actually enjoying the verbal attack.
“Now and then, yes.”
Sherlock’s bored face transformed into one shining with mirth, laugh lines had formed and his stunning eyes had changed their colour into a sunny blue green hue.
“Ah, yes. Here appears the soldier, finally.” Sherlock nodded appreciatively.
John was dumbfounded by Sherlock’s uncanny knowledge about him. How does he do this?
Sherlock stepped around the wooden counter and circled once around John, evaluating every inch of his body like a predator might scrutinize its prey for suitabilty to be devoured.
Unconsciously, John assumed a military stance and that earned him a raised eye brow by Sherlock.
“You’re not cowed.” Sherlock stated. “Good. I love the feisty clients.”
John’s skin shivered from alternating waves of cold and heat, being under Sherlock’s renewed hyper-attention. Something grew inside of him and reached out like a flower stretching towards the sun.
Yet, John refused to feel intimidated, so he raised his chin and fixed his eyes on Sherlock’s, locking them in a visual chokehold.
“Am I now?” John inquired, voice steady just as his hand. “A client? Not boring anymore?”
“Wrong. Twice.” Sherlock clicked his tongue. “Still not a client and I’m still not covering up your awful Virgin Mary tattoo with a boring soldier in full combat gear.”
John was speechless. Again. And hated it. He cannot know this!
John stared at Sherlock, watching him move with the lithe fluidity and enviable grace of a ballet dancer towards a light switch at the wall. Or was it the hidden strength of a prowling jaguar?
John had the distinctive suspicion that Sherlock did this on purpose. He was putting up a show for him. Anyway, the sight was something to behold.
The cozy dimness disappeared when the shop was bathed in harsh white light from a large panel on the ceiling. It shortly hurt John’s eyes and made him blink. The light left no room for vagueness and painted everything in stark contrast and highlighted every angle.
The planes of Sherlock’s angular face now looked like being carved out of Carrara marble and reminded John of Michelangelo’s famous “David” statue.
For the first time since he met the artist, John realized that Sherlock wore a purple dress shirt in the exact same colour as the curtain behind him. The shirt was very tight and hugged Sherlock’s slim but muscular chest like a second skin. It had to be bespoke since there were no wrinkles marring the expensive silk fabric.
Sherlock had left the upper two buttons undone and John caught a glimpse of white smooth skin and the beginning lines of an intricate black tattoo, beguiling and seductive like a promise to explore more. What image might be hidden under there?
Apart from these lines, John saw no other tattoos but Sherlock wore long sleeves that were held together by silver cufflinks in the form a tattoo gun.
Sherlock’s rumbling voice tore John out of these most pleasant musings.
“I offer you a phoenix, rising from the fire. The mystical bird that dies in the flames only to rise again, renewed and stronger than before. This really befits you and your personal resurrection story, don’t you think?”
John swallowed. Is he a mind reader?
“If you accept my offer come back in two days, 2 PM sharp. Now go, my next client arrives in five minutes.” Sherlock made a shooing motion with slender beringed fingers on his dextrous artist’s hand. “You may leave now.”
Shaken and not quite sure was it was that had just happened to him, John found himself back in the pavement in front of the tattoo shop.
Of course, John would come back. He did not have to think about returning to White Pony Tattoo for one single second.
+++++
tagging some people @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @peageetibbs @lisbeth-kk @raina-at
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"I NEED SOMETHING TRANSLATED. YOU CAN READ THIS, RIGHT?"
"You looked fermilar.... can't place my fingers on it" (who send this tiny angry, loud man???)
"But yes, I can translate. It looks like it's in illager. However, my service isn't free. You can either pay up in trade or with labor work." (Like I do hiring skeleton gaurds)
#hexavexen#hex#minecraft blog#interaction#(hehe)#(hex looks suspiciously fermilar)#(like the one that egged them with a potion)#(slowly putting two together)#:Pc#(wont say it outloud)#(they are just more stunned of it appearing here)#(welp!)#(time for business c: )#(good thing misc been practicing thier language studys :P )#minecraft#burned book#book#mystery books#misc the enchanter#the enchanted mistake#minecraft ask blog
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Don't feed him he'll come back (3)
Simon riley x neighbour reader
summary: The ghost that lives in your apartment block is a solitary man, people tend to stay out of his way, giving him a wide berth. You can't help but think he seems a little bit lonely, cue pestering him with bad jokes and food.
word count: 2.7k
warnings: making out, alcohol consumption.
Part 1 here, Part 2 here.
You start the next day riding the high of the previous night. You feel ridiculous, you’ve had relationships before, had been in love before, but the butterflies that stir in your gut whenever you so much as think of Simon put anything you’ve ever felt to shame.
It’s a little pathetic, you haven’t even kissed him. Not to mention you’ve no idea how he even feels about you. Simon’s an incredibly difficult man to read, where you wore your heart on your sleeve, Simon kept his cards incredibly close to his chest. You knew he at least held some affection for you, otherwise he’d never tolerate you dragging him from his apartment into yours. Something that feels dangerously like hope swells in your chest when you remember how tenderly he’d tucked you in and you desperately tried to stamp it out.
Casting your mind back, you attempt to pinpoint exactly where along the path you’d fallen so thoroughly and irrevocably in love with the mysterious neighbour that scared the shit out of so many tenants. Was it when you’d first seen his face?
No that wasn’t it, although, Simon was one of the most stunning men you’d ever seen. You’d been speechless when he’d revealed his face, something you’d been teased for relentlessly, his cocky smirk appearing in the subject of your dreams.
It had to have been before that though, because even if Simon was the ugliest man alive, you’d still love him.
Perhaps it had been when he’d first sat down across from you at the small kitchen counter, large bulk and dark clothing incredibly out of place against the backdrop of your colourful and plushie-filled apartment. It was the first time you’d ever seen him nervous, or rather the first time you could tell he was. But for all that he initially seemed out of place, seeing him in the sanctity of your home made your heart sing with affection.
(Though a part of you acknowledges that your heart has belonged to Simon Riley from the moment he laughed at one of your stupid jokes, it just took a while for your brain to catch up to what your heart already knew.)
You’d never meant to fall in love with the neighbour who’d reeked of loneliness, loneliness that you’d unfortunately recognised and silently vowed to do your best to alleviate. You’d never intended for your feelings to bloom and grow into a garden that now centred around Simon Riley.
But they had. They had and no matter what you did you knew they weren’t likely to be stomped out any time soon.
Knocking on his door that night you try to douse the disappointment that fills you when he doesn’t answer. It wasn’t often that Simon was called away so abruptly that he didn’t even have time to let you know but it still happened occasionally. Sending him a swift text you wish him a safe deployment and sign it off with a new joke you think he’d appreciate.
The days pass much the same. You wake, think about Simon, send him a text and continue about your day. Although you're used to the radio silence it’s like the acknowledgement of your feelings makes the worry and restlessness ten times worse.
When the three-month mark hits with no indication that Simon has even seen your texts, your worry starts to turn into an all-encompassing panic. More than once you’d been so distracted that you’d made a mistake at work, earning the concern of your coworkers and friends as you were unusually out of it.
You want to reassure him but you can’t even reassure yourself. What if he was dead? Would you ever even find out? You weren’t family, there would be no obligation to let you, a random stranger, know. Is this how you were doomed to spend the rest of your life, wondering what had happened to your beloved Simon?
Another two months pass and you’re nothing short of a nervous wreck, your dreams and waking thoughts filled with awful scenarios of Simon being tortured, dying or dead. You can’t sleep, can’t even bring yourself to cook, because it reminds you so painfully of him.
The perpetual state of simply not knowing starts to become too much to bear and you’re on the brink of doing something truly desperate when you run into your landlord. You’re on good terms but he’d not exactly someone you’d ever gone out of your way to speak to. Now, however, you were practically tripping over yourself to catch his attention, not even bothering with small talk. “Have you heard anything from Simon?”
The man’s confusion is palpable and it takes a few minutes of stilted and baffled conversation before he discerns who you’re asking after. “Ah, the man with the mask,” he gestured towards his face, “he terminated his lease a few weeks ago, odd really, still had half a year left.” The conversation may have continued for a little longer but you didn’t hear, your responses filtering through on autopilot.
The soft material of your quilt against the bare skin of your arms, signifying your return to the safety of your bed, is what finally snaps you from your dazed stupor. All of the frantic worry, concern, fear morphing into an apoplectic level of sheer fury. Because Simon was apparently fine. Not only was he fucking fine, he was doing the one thing you’d never thought him possible of, ignoring you.
He was fucking ghosting you.
They say there are five stages of grief. You’ve completely skipped over denial and are stuck on anger, bargaining and acceptance won’t happen and you refuse to let yourself be depressed. Thus, anger it is, and boy is there months of pent-up rage.
Work becomes central to your life, the only thing stopping you from completely crashing and burning, Icarus falling from grace, punishment for falling too hard and too fast for what was unattainable.
You work yourself to the bone just so you can sleep at night without the visage of brown eyes and soft ashy curls infringing on the corners of your consciousness. It’s not sustainable, you know it, your friends know it and your boss knows it. You must look destroyed too because you don’t think your boss has ever encouraged someone to take a break in her entire history working for the company.
It only takes one day of rest before the anger-fueled agitation thrumming through your veins has you pacing relentlessly, your nails are chewed down to stubs and you think you may actually hurt someone if you don’t do something. It’s a bit of a Hail Mary, you know, but you still let out a scream of irritation when none of your friends are free to get blind on a weekday for an impromptu night out. Still, it’s a minor setback and one that your agitation-fueled self won’t be put off by.
Your room is a mess, clothes strewn out all over your bed and floor as you try to find the sluttiest thing you own. Bingbong meows discontentedly as you shove him off a pile of your tops and you simply scowl at the little fat fuck that usually brought you so much joy. However, you do give him goodbye kisses when you finally amble out of your front door and call an Uber.
To your dismay, the man driving you is chatty, even when you give short, terse answers that could not be more clearly a screaming invitation to leave you the fuck alone. He throws you hungry looks in the rearview mirror that makes you want to pull your skin off. You may have dressed to get attention but not from this kind of creep. The car barely rolls to a stop before you jump out, booking it double time to get yourself double parked with some drinks.
You’ve sequestered yourself at the edge of the bar counter, away from the crowd but still close enough to call for drinks on demand. It’s about five drinks in, sculled far too fast for you to keep up properly when you sense a man slide into the seat next to you. Dark hair, blue eyes, devilish grin and when he opens his mouth a delicious Scottish accent flows out. The complete opposite of Simon.
Perfect.
“Buy you a drink?” You were never one to turn down free drinks, especially not from handsome men, not even when your heart still screamed for Simon. Firmly pushing down all thoughts of puppy brown eyes you flash your own version of a flirty smirk, turning to face the man so your knees brush his.
The conversation flows so naturally that for those few moments suspended in time, you really do forget about Simon. It’s clear that both of you are simply searching for some carnal relief and that knowledge helps you to release your last few inhibitions. Just when you contemplate sliding off the stool and leading him away to a dark corner to have your way he slips up and mentions his team.
“Team?” You croak, a mixture of disbelief and dread building.
“Aye, me taskforce. Am in the military.” He must see the way the corners of your mouth are now downturned, your left eye twitching slightly as your mind once again flits toward the blond man who had stolen and then shattered your heart. “Bad experience with a military lad?” There’s no hostility in his tone, just genuine intrigue and you allow yourself to relax once more, focusing intently on his baby blues.
“Two actually” you snort exasperatedly, chest panging a little at the thought of your deceased brother. Swallowing, you regained your nerve, stepping between his spread legs and loosely swung your arms around his neck. “Best not make it a third yeah?” you whispered against his lips, liquid confidence flowing in your veins after far too many cocktails.
A moan reverberates in your chest, caught by Johnny’s, he’d told you to call him Johnny, tongue as his warm hands pulled you to sit on one of his thighs. The muscled flesh grinding upwards and causing you to yelp, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders to stabilise yourself. Somewhere the logical part of your mind, the part dulled dangerously by spirits, is screaming that you’re still very much in public but the heartbroken and horny part wins out as you continue to make out with the Scottish stranger built like a god.
His mouth attaches itself to your neck and your eyelids flutter shut as your hands move to tangle in his hair, tugging harshly to ground yourself from the onslaught of sensations Johnny’s providing your pent-up body with.
Just as one of his palms slips below your shirt you’re suddenly being ripped off the man with a surprising gentleness that you don’t have much time to ponder on before you’re shrieking as you watch Johnny get punched in the jaw.
The alcohol has thoroughly distorted your vision and the dim lighting doesn’t help but the fire in your veins is doused with icy despair as you quickly recognise the large bulk of the man who’d just laid out poor Johnny. The tattoos covering his arm and that goddamn skull mask were simply unmistakable.
“Simon!” Your shrill voice is joined by Johnny’s own pained and confused groan as all three of you struggle to assess what’s just happened.
“Wait, Johnny?” Simon sounded equally as confused, though his chest was still heaving in… anger?
“You know each other?” You cross your arms defensively, drunk brain trying to catch up on the turn of events. You refuse to look at Simon, instead staring at Johnny as he pulls himself up and you wait for an explanation.
“Teammates” Johnny spits out a little blood and you can’t help the somewhat hysterical laugh that bubbles forth.
Teammates.
What were the fucking odds? Of all the attractive men and women frequenting this specific bar you almost shack up with one of Simon’s presumably closest friends. The evil vindictive part of you screams to go through with it anyway, though given Johnny’s sudden wariness and dawning horror as he connects some sort of mental dots you doubt that would be happening.
Huffing, you turned from the two men and gathered your belongings as quickly as possible, hoping to make a hasty escape in the confusion. Hoping to escape before Simon could see you cry.
Whatever deities existed seemingly weren’t on board with your plans and your attempt to skirt around Simon is instantly thwarted as he firmly but gently grabs your bicep.
“Let me go,” you curse the way your voice wavers traitorously even through gritted teeth and you wince when you realise you can’t even bring yourself to say your name. Simon remains silent and if anything his grip even tightens a little, as if he were afraid you would slip through his fingers into nothingness. Incredibly audacious of him considering what he’d put you through these last few months.
“Simon lad, I’m sorry, I dinnae ken they were-” Simon cuts off Johnny’s apology with a wave and curt nod that’s very clearly dismissive. Johnny, the traitorous bastard that he is, simply smiles, bids you farewell and then leaves you to deal with the brute that broke your heart.
Stubbornly you refuse to face him, even when his gruff voice begs you multiple times. Evidently, Simon gets tired of your refusal and forces your eyes to focus on his with a forceful, guiding hand on your chin. Equal parts dismay, arousal and anger wage war in your body at the action and you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste the metallic rust of blood.
The silence is damning and though his grip loosens it remains cupping your chin and sliding up to caress your cheek. He’s wearing that stupid skull balaclava and as such you can only see his eyes. Those godforsaken pools of weariness and tenderness that threaten to pull you in until you drown in them. His thumb gently caresses your lip, still swollen from Johnny’s machinations and you force yourself to speak, to display your hurt before he somehow worms his way back into your good graces.
“What? What could you possibly want from me Simon? Haven’t you done enough?” There’s a vulnerability, a defeatedness in your voice that you hadn't meant to let slip but the man catches it, you know he does. Because though you hate to admit it, at this point, even after months apart, you think Simon might know you better than you know yourself.
“I’m sorry.” It’s a pathetic notion and when he doesn’t elaborate it causes you to finally wrench away. You barely make it over the threshold of the exit when suddenly Simon is there once more, crowding into your space with the desperation of a man starved. His arms wrap around you like a vice, trapping your back against his chest.
“Please.” His voice is a hoarse whisper carried away by the wind, just for your ears. “Please, I know I fucked up, please just let me explain.” His body shakes a little against you and you stand there in the cool night air fighting an internal battle. Simon Riley hurt you.
Hurt you far greater than any man or woman had ever managed.
And yet. And yet.
You still loved him so much it burned.
“Ok.” Your voice is croaky, reedlike and thin as your mouth moves without your brain’s permission.
“Ok?” Simon’s head darts up from where it had been resting against you, voice watery and full of childlike hope that you find yourself nodding.
“Ok. But you only get one chance.” Simon all but goes boneless against you, apologies and thanks spilling past his lips like wildfire but you interrupt him before he could go too far. “Not here, my apartment,” you don’t particularly want him in your space, but you can’t do this in public either, “until then just… don’t speak.” Your voice cracks towards the end but neither of you acknowledges it, standing in strained silence as you wait for your ride home.
Simon’s eyes burn holes in the side of your head but once again you refuse to look at him, staring out the window into the darkness of the cityscape as you try to mentally prepare for what’s about to come.
Tags: @innercollectivecomputer @cooliofango @pertinentpostmortem @ghostslillady @domaniquessidehoe2 @ilovehyperfixating @pauphs @skotchi @bunnyreaper @tokusho @ohworm-writes @penismonkey @daisychainsinknots @taman-a @guess-whos-now-a-mood @leclercdream @justarandommom @iwannabealocalcryptid @dd122004dd @actuallyhiswife @alexisv15 @perfectus-in-morte @waves-against-a-cliff @fog-sama @juvenillia
#x reader#cod mw x reader#simon riley x reader#kat’s writing#ghost x reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#ghost mw2#ghost cod
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Meet Me at the Met
Lewis Hamilton x up-and-coming singer!Reader
Summary: in which you go head over heels (quite literally) during the most important event of the year and end up right at the feet of none other than Sir Lewis Hamilton himself
Warnings: minor injury
The roar of the crowd hits you like a tidal wave as you step onto the iconic themed carpet of the Met Gala. Flashing bulbs from countless cameras nearly blind you as you blink rapidly, trying to adjust. Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it thrumming in your throat.
“Over here, honey!” A photographer calls out, gesturing for you to turn towards him. You pivot gracefully, the layers of shimmering tulle from your Maison Margiela gown swirling around you.
“Work it! Look this way, sweetheart!” Another shouts, snapping shot after shot.
You take a steadying breath, channeling every ounce of confidence you can muster. This is your first Met Gala, the biggest night of your fledgling music career so far. One misstep could be disastrous.
Your publicist Samantha appears at your side, perfectly put together as always in a sleek sheath dress. “You’re doing great,” she murmurs with an encouraging smile. “Just keep smiling and be yourself.”
Nodding, you continue gliding down the iconic path, pausing at the designated spots to pose for the ravenous paparazzi. An elegant string of Bulgari emeralds adorns your neck, glittering mesmerizingly under the bright lights.
“Miss! To your left please!”
You turn obediently, the intricate beadwork on your deep blue-green gown catching the flashes. Despite the oppressive late spring humidity, you refuse to let a single drop of sweat show. This night is too important.
After what feels like an eternity, a security guard appears to usher you up the final flight of stairs and into the main event. With a brilliant smile plastered on your face, you make your way carefully up the steps, lifting the delicate train of your dress to keep from tripping.
Suddenly, one sparkly heel catches on the fabric and you’re thrown off balance. Unable to catch yourself, you tumble head over heels back down the stairs, gasping in shock and pain as you land hard on the ground.
There’s a collective intake of breath from the crowd as you blink up at the bright lights, thoroughly stunned. Your vision is blurred and there’s a sharp throbbing in your head. When you try to push yourself up, bolts of agony shoot through your right wrist.
“Oh my god, are you alright?” A deep, accented voice sounds from beside you.
You turn your head and your breath catches in your throat. Crouched beside you in an exquisitely tailored double breasted suit and wool coat is arguably the most handsome man on the planet. His beautiful coffee-colored eyes are filled with concern as he reaches out to gently brush a loose strand of hair from your face.
“I … I think so,” you manage to stammer out, though your pounding head begs to differ. “Just clumsy, I guess.”
Despite the sheepish grin you attempt, a wince of pain crosses your features as you shift positions. Lewis’ brow furrows and he places one large hand on your bare shoulder to keep you still.
“Easy there, love. Don’t try to move just yet,” he soothes in that rich baritone that has melted millions of hearts. “You took quite a nasty fall.”
You nod mutely, unable to tear your widened eyes away from his handsome face. This couldn’t be happening … could it? Did you really just faceplant in front of the entire world and, perhaps more importantly, your celebrity crush?
“S-Sorry,” you whisper, utterly mortified. “I’m usually much more graceful than this, I swear.”
Lewis chuckles warmly and you feel your cheeks flush. “No need to apologize, darling. These things happen to the best of us.”
Nearby, Samantha is frantically trying to wave over security and a medic, her expression pinched with worry. You groan quietly as another stab of pain lances through your skull. Definitely a concussion, if your swimming vision is any indication.
“Let’s get you looked at, yeah?” Lewis murmurs, rising fluidly to his feet.
Before you can protest, he slips one arm behind your back and the other under your knees, cradling you gently against his firm chest. You suck in a shocked breath at the sudden movement, instinctively reaching up to grab onto his shoulders for stability. His Burberry suit is buttery soft under your fingers.
“Whoa … y-you really don’t have to carry me,” you stammer out as he easily lifts your frame.
Those rich brown eyes meet yours with an amused glint. “I insist. Can’t have one of the brightest new voices in music getting any more hurt, can we?”
You bite your lip shyly, unable to hold back a small smile of wonderment. Is this really happening right now?
“I’ll be fine, honestly,” you try again as Lewis maneuvers around the gathered crowd, heading for a discreet exit with Samantha close behind. “Just a little banged up.”
“Your wrist is already swelling, love,” he points out with a frown. “Best to get it checked properly, yes?”
“I … yeah, okay,” you acquiesce quietly, not having the energy or brainpower to argue with him further.
The two of you disappear through a door and down a mercifully empty hallway, leaving the stunned crowd and flashing cameras behind. Samantha is rapidly conversing with security to locate the nearest medic station.
“Thank you,” you murmur, letting your head rest wearily against Lewis’ shoulder. Up close, he smells incredible — like crisp bergamot and just a hint of expensive cologne. “For helping me, I mean. I’m sure you had better things to do tonight than playing knight in shining armor.”
Lewis smiles down at you, eyes crinkling in a way that makes your heart flutter unexpectedly. “What a coincidence, I just so happen to be a knight.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling shy under his warm gaze. “Lucky for me then, I suppose.”
“Indeed,” he agrees with a wink. “Though I can’t take all the credit. That dress is clearly too stunning for us mere mortals to handle.”
A watery giggle slips past your lips before you can stop it. Even slightly concussed and in quite a bit of pain, you can’t deny that foreign flutters are dancing in your stomach just from being in Lewis’ presence. He’s even more charming in person than you ever could have dreamed.
“You’re too kind, Sir Hamilton,” you tease lightly. “But I’ll be sure to leave the couture gowns at home next time.”
Lewis opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by Samantha hurrying over with a young medic in tow, his kit already open. The worried expression on her face deepens when she sees your obviously injured wrist cradled against your chest.
“Thank god you have her,” she exhales in relief, nodding towards Lewis. “What do we know so far?”
“Took a pretty hard fall down those stairs,” Lewis explains calmly as the medic kneels down to begin his assessment. “She was unconscious for a moment and seems to have injured her wrist as well.”
You wince as the medic gently prods along your forearm. “Definitely a sprain at the very least,” he confirms. “And with the way her pupils are reacting ...”
He shines a small light into both your eyes, brow furrowed in concentration. “I’d say mild concussion too. We should get her to the infirmary for further evaluation, just in case.”
Hearing his words, a small wave of panic crashes over you. Missing any part of tonight because of this would be devastating. You force yourself to sit up straighter, ignoring the way the room spins sickeningly.
“No, no I’ll be fi-”
“You’re not going anywhere but to get checked out properly,” Lewis cuts you off firmly, placing a staying hand on your shoulder. His expression brooks no argument. “Head injuries are nothing to mess around with, love.”
You open your mouth to protest again, but Samantha quickly interjects. “He’s absolutely right. We’re not taking any chances with your health.”
As much as you hate to admit it, they do have a point. If your condition really is as serious as the medic suggests, it could be dangerous to simply brush it off. You let out a resigned sigh, wilting back against Lewis’ sturdy chest.
“I suppose you’re ri-”
Before you can finish your sentence, a sudden dizzy spell washes over you. Bile rises in your throat as the room tilts crazily. Your voice trails off into an anguished groan as you squeeze your eyes shut, fighting off waves of nausea.
“Alright, that’s it. We’re getting you looked at immediately,” Lewis declares. He shifts you effortlessly in his arms and strides down the hallway, the medic and Samantha hurrying to keep up.
The rest of the journey to the infirmary is a blur. You’re vaguely aware of being transferred to a gurney and giving the doctor on staff your information. Lewis’ worried face keeps appearing in your line of vision, his voice a soothing balm against the incessant pounding in your skull.
Finally, the doctor confirms that while your concussion isn’t serious, you definitely need to be monitored overnight. A brace is fitted around your sprained wrist and you’re given strict instructions on managing the symptoms over the next few days. Throughout it all, Lewis remains stubbornly by your side, declining offer after offer to return to the main event.
Thoroughly drugged and exhausted by this point, you can barely keep your eyes open as a wheelchair is brought over to transport you out to the car waiting area. Lewis helps you into it carefully, crouching down in front of you with a tender expression.
“I’m so sorry,” you mumble miserably, gesturing vaguely to your bandaged wrist and slightly dazed state. “I’ve completely ruined your whole night … your entrance, your photo ops … everything.”
He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head adamantly. “Don’t be ridiculous, love. I’d take meeting someone as wonderful as you over all of that any day.”
You blink up at him in surprise, an embarrassed blush staining your cheeks. Did he really just say that? Lewis Hamilton, world famous athlete and heartthrob, thinks you’re wonderful?
“Still,” you protest weakly. “This is supposed to be your night to shine. And now you’re stuck playing nurse for a clumsy fool.”
Lewis arches an eyebrow sternly. “I think you’ve bumped your head around a bit too much, darling. That’s no way to speak about yourself.”
He reaches out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear, his calloused fingertips grazing your flushed cheek with unexpected tenderness. Your breath catches in your throat at the gentle gesture.
“Missing out on some silly party is more than worth it to me if I got to meet someone as lovely as you,” Lewis continues honestly. His eyes are filled with sincerity. “The only thing I’m upset about is that you were the one who got hurt.”
You’re rendered speechless for a long moment, completely disarmed by his words. Never in a million years could you have imagined this kind of scenario playing out tonight. Is this all really happening?
Finally, you manage a weak smile, blushing furiously under his warm regard. “You’re too kind, Sir Hamilton.”
“Please, call me Lewis,” he insists with a wink. “And let me know where you’re staying, yeah? I’ll come by tomorrow to check on how you’re doing myself.”
Your eyes widen in surprise and you quickly scramble to recall the name of your hotel. “U-Um, the Lotte New York Palace,” you stammer out shyly. “But you really don’t have to do that ...”
Lewis waves off your protest easily, rising to his feet with a soothing grin. “Nonsense, it’s no trouble at all. I’ll be by with some breakfast to make sure my favorite new artist is being properly taken care of.”
With a final wink and dazzling smile, he steps aside to allow an assistant to wheel you towards the exit. Your head is still swimming, though you can’t blame it entirely on the concussion this time.
Did Lewis Hamilton, actual living legend, really just say he was coming to check on you tomorrow?
You allow yourself a tiny, bewildered smile as the night breeze washes over your heated cheeks. Somehow, despite all the mishaps, this crazy night had turned into something straight out of the kind of romantic comedy you secretly loved.
Perhaps falling on your face in front of the entire world wasn’t so disastrous after all.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#lewis hamilton#lh44#lewis hamilton imagine#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton x you#lewis hamilton fic#lewis hamilton fluff#lewis hamilton fanfic#lewis hamilton blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#lewis hamilton x y/n#mercedes#lewis hamilton one shot#lewis hamilton fanfiction#met gala
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sincerity & sonnets
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pairing: anthony bridgerton x f!reader
word count: 2.1k
summary: anthony bridgerton is blessed with many things-a warm, loving family, a well-funded lifestyle as a viscount, a beautiful wife. more notably, he is cursed with a short fuse and a sharp tongue, which might lead to his demise.
(based off of this request! to the anon who requested, I sort of wrote the argument as more of a sharp remark, but i hope it is still angsty enough for your liking! <3)
warnings: angsty->fluffy, no other warnings
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As Anthony sat at his desk, scribbling away at his numerous piles of papers stacked in front of him, he noted the unusual quietness that had fallen on his study. He first thought that he had shut the door, but one quick look at the doorway contradicted his beliefs. Anthony's eyebrows furrowed in confusion-his home was never quiet.
Between his own family, and the families of his four sisters and three brothers, his home was full of life: laughter bounding off the walls, his wife and sisters' voices chatting over tea, the stampeding footfalls of his hoard of nieces and nephews assured his ears would never grow accustomed to utter silence. Even in the rare occurrence that the house was empty save for Anthony and his beloved wife, he'd often hear her humming to herself as she attended to her own business in their home, or she would join him in his study, writing her own correspondences at the smaller desk next to his own. Which is why, now, as he sat at his desk this afternoon, the silence stunned him. Anthony frowned, lifting his pocket watch to assure himself he was not entirely losing his mind. As the gold clock stared back at him, the small hand signaled it was midday.
He chuckled to himself, his wife must have chosen to sleep in entirely too long. Y/N was a chronic night owl, often keeping Anthony awake with her bedside chatter and comments on the appearance of the night sky through the window that faced their bed. Anthony would indulge her, but would still wake before the sun. His wife, however, would not budge for several more hours. He grinned and pocketed his watch, pushing himself up from his chair to wake his sleeping beauty of a wife.
Anthony bounded up the stairs two at a time, nodding curtly at any house staff before reaching their shared bedchambers. His dark eyes peer into the empty bedroom-his wife certainly was not here. He noted the dutifully made bed, the open curtains allowing the sunlight in, and, most importantly, his wife's absence. Anthony shook his head briefly before dashing back down the stairs, nearly stumbling into one of his wife's handmaidens.
"Pardon me," he addresses the woman with a sigh, a bit breathless from the unexpected goose chase his wife has taken him on. "Do you know the whereabouts of my wife?"
The younger maid looks at Anthony almost confused, but quickly takes on a professional tone:
"The Viscountess is reading in the garden, she's only just gotten back from tea with the Dowager Viscountess and the Duchess."
Anthony nodded in thanks, hastily departing for their expansive garden, his mind racing. Seeing his wife was an afternoon ritual-she would come bounding into his study after tea with his mother and respective sisters, spouting off all of the new ladies' gossip as he listened intently, all while pretending he was entirely disinterested. He enjoyed seeing her eyes grow wide with the shock of scandal, or her smile at a sweet interaction she witnessed at the park. If you were to ask Anthony Bridgerton, there was no sight more splendid than his wife in all of her extraordinary, everyday beauty. Not that he would admit that aloud, at least not to anyone but her.
Frankly, he was missing her presence today more than he cared to admit. He spotted Y/N almost instantly, her periwinkle gown shining in the sun. She sat in a chair politely under a shady tree, the book on her lap seemingly forgotten. Her expressive eyes locked onto the treeline in the distance, her face solemn. Anthony's heart seemed to fall in his chest, the sinking realization of why his home had been so soundless for the entirety of the day. His chest felt tight as he thought of his actions last night...
-
It had been a very, very long day for Anthony. With Francesca's upcoming debut to society, his mother had been harping on Anthony for nearly a fortnight about every minute detail. His patience for his mother was infinite, but sometimes she did manage to test its limits. Atop this hurdle was the never ending stacks of paperwork littering his desk, waiting to be looked over and signed off by his barely legible scrawl. He had neglected to write Colin back for weeks-his younger brother writing about his travels in Greece. The house staff had been in and out of his study all day, the incessant knocking severing his nerves. The heavy weight of life as a viscount was falling on Anthony, making him irritable and exhausted. His dear wife had settled his discomfort around lunch, bringing his nearly-cold meal into his study to make sure he ate. She had left him with a chaste kiss and a better mood, but Anthony had returned to her worse for wear.
Dinner in their large dining room had felt unnaturally dreary, only the sound of utensils clanking against china plates filling the air, only to be stifled by his wife's chatter. Normally, Anthony would've listened attentively, enjoying hearing about trips to the modiste or how Portia Featherington had driven his wife to near madness. Today, however, her voice had him pressing his nails into his palms to aid his irritation. He sipped his wine and shuffled his food on his plate to avoid making eye contact, he would not want her to see the frustration lingering in his eyes.
"Eloise was completely beside herself, I had never seen her so embarrassed! Madame Delacroix-"
"Must you talk so incessantly?!" Anthony's voice spat out in a low growl, dripping with fierce vexation.
Y/N's eyes grew wide, looking at her husband as if he had sprouted an extra arm and slapped her with it. She said nothing, only cowering in on herself, staring down at her lap as she fidgets with her hands. After several moments of Anthony's intense silence, she lifts a shaky hand and wipes the tears forming in her eyes as she hastily made her way out of the room, attempting to put as much distance between her and Anthony as possible.
Anthony followed suit moments later, feeling angry at himself as he slammed the door of his study shut, falling asleep at his desk hours later. Y/N had slept on her side of a bed far too large for one, her eyes tender and cheeks splotchy, her mind racing. Did she truly talk too much? Had he been annoyed by her daily talks for all these months? Her mind weaved small details into a full blown breakdown, and she quickly settled on being Anthony's perfect, quiet wife as she caved to her drowsiness.
-
The wind blew his wife's curls against her shoulder as Anthony approached her in the backyard, her back still facing him. He wasn't sure she had even heard him approach, her eyes still focused on the landscape sprawled before them. Anthony shuffles nervously, his hands behind him as he stands at her side, only the wind and birds chirping aiding the suffocating silence.
"Splendid weather we're having," Anthony's voice finally spoke, awkward and fumbling into casual conversation as he sank into the chair across from him. Y/N said nothing, only blinking in the same direction she had been staring at the entire time. Anthony nodded, mostly to himself, resigning himself to her silence, it was what he deserved at the moment.
After several moments of dead silence, Y/N turned her attention back to the book perched in her lap, and Anthony sat silently, wanting to spout out his apology in a hurried, bumbling manner, but he knew his wife, she would simply nod and continue reading, allowing herself to stew in prolonged silence.
He rose quietly, leaving with a small kiss landing atop her head-a touch that burned Y/N's skin. She watched Anthony leave out of the corner of her eye, sighing heavily as his presence was back inside their home. She was a myriad of feelings: angry at Anthony for being so blatantly cruel, his words had stung and left her reeling for hours. She was sad, as much as the words had fired her up, they had torn her heart, leaving her chest heavy with dejection. Y/N was nearly bursting at the seams to just apologize-even if it wasn't her who needed to apologize-just so the awkward encounters would come to an end. She wondered if Anthony even felt remorse at all.
In his study, Anthony ran his hands through his hair for the hundredth time, attempting to focus on the business papers in front of him. His efforts were fruitless-all he could think of was the empty look on Y/N's face. He had never seen her this lifeless, like her glow had been snuffed out, and it was entirely his fault. Anthony's mind raced with a million different scenarios of how he would make this up to her, ranging from flowers to begging on hands and knees, but despite his blunders, he knew his lady well. His Viscountess had never been one for showy things or frivolous purchases, she would only want his sincerest apologies. He would do it tonight, over dinner, he decided. He only hoped when the time came, she would at least spare him a glance.
-
Hours later, at the dining room table, Anthony found himself sitting in his chair at the head of the table completely alone. The kitchen staff came and left with plates and glasses, but his wife had yet to make an appearance. Anthony's foot tapped against the floor in anxiety, his eyes shooting up to the closest staff member, nearly shouting:
"Where is the Viscountess taking her dinner?"
The head of the kitchen staff looked at Anthony wide-eyed at his outburst, replying politely:
"Viscountess Bridgerton took her dinner in the library tonight."
Anthony said nothing, rising from his seat and walking down the hallway, coming to the door of the library and knocking lightly.
"Come in."
Anthony nearly burst into a fit of tears, happy to hear her voice.
He pushed the door open, Y/N's eyes meeting his before they dropped back down to the open book in her hands. Anthony felt guilt press heavy on his chest. He settled into the plush chair opposite her, separated only by a small end table. Anthony looked over at her, his brown eyes all but practically begging her to say something to him.
"Y/N..." Anthony's voice is small and timid, trying to coax her into at least hearing him out. Y/N's voice came out a whisper, cutting him off.
"I am sorry."
Anthony furrowed his brow, that was certainly not what he was expecting to hear. He looked over at her, her gaze locked on the moonlight coming through the window, her eyes glassy with tears.
"I am sorry I have become a burden, Anthony. I did not realize I irritated you with my ramblings. I thought you wanted to hear of my daily activities. I know my day as a woman is not nearly as riveting as yours as a Viscount, but-"
"My dear, your apologies are not necessary," Anthony's voice dripped with sincerity, his eyes warm as he looked at her, ready to grovel for forgiveness. He stuck his hand out for her to take, which she did. He pulled her towards him softly, his gentle touches coaxing her into his lap. Y/N's eyes grow soft under his gaze, her limbs melting in his strong hold. "I am the one who has been a fool. I look forward to your ramblings, no matter if they hold what you consider to be valuable or not, they brighten my day. I wait most ardently for news of trips to the modiste, or my mother's ramblings over tea-" He pauses, tucking a stray curl back behind her ear, his thumb wiping away the stray tears on her cheeks.
"I don't want you to be silent. Your voice is more pleasant than any other sound," Anthony cuts himself off, sighing, before starting again. "I should not have spoken to you in such a manner. I should not have raised my voice at you. You have my word that it will never happen again, I cannot go another day surrounded by your silence, it is torture."
Y/N smiles slightly at her husband's words, his transgressions forgiven with his sincere words. His face is close enough to hers to brush her nose against his, their lips close enough to meet.
"Are you certain you were not a poet before we met, Lord Bridgerton?" Y/N's voice is a whisper, the moment feeling far too intimate for anything else.
Anthony chuckles as his hand grasps the side of her face lightly, bringing her closer, speaking before he kisses her deeply:
"Only for you, my beloved...you inspire sonnets."
-
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Yandere Harem Coworkers x New Hire Reader
Now with a part 2 <3
Good news: You landed your dream job! Bad news: Your coworkers are fucking insane.
CW: Yanderes, workplace harassment, possessiveness, implied stalking, power dynamics, dubcon touching
You hadn't expected a job like this to come so easily.
It really had been a dream job from the moment you laid eyes on the job posting, and they'd even offered you better during the interview! They'd even thrown in an extra sign on bonus! You couldn't believe your luck. You were finally going places.
Really, how could you say no?
Your interviewer was the HR manager, Leon Jacobs. He was a stern looking man, clearly in his late 40's, and didn't seem to have a single flaw in his appearance. His age showed in the beginnings of grey hairs atop his tidy, shortcut black hair, and the creases beneath his eyes. His appearance was beyond intimidating. Dark, scowling eyes picked you apart from behind his glasses as you fidgeted in your chair. Whatever nightmare of an interview you thought was coming, never happened. Instead, you were surprised when he almost immediately offered you not only the job, but an even better salary and bonus than was advertised. You were almost too stunned to speak, as he held out his hand to shake, his dark expression lifting with the slightest twitch of his lips. You took his hand shakily in agreement. In your excitement, you didn't notice the way his hand gripped yours a hair too tight, or how his touch lingered for a few moments longer than it should have. The way his gaze intently followed your figure as you walked out was also missed by you.
"We're so happy to welcome you to the team. Our team will make sure your time working here is as pleasant as possible."
Your trainer is a well respected man, Warren Pen. Warren is a huge man, easily towering over you. While he'd be otherwise intimidating at his size, his warm expression and demeanor quickly puts you at ease. How could you be afraid of him, with his warm brown eyes and bouncy red curls and gentle smile? You quickly learned that he must have a pretty high position in the company. His office alone was almost as big as your entire apartment! The office they give you is nearly as big, much to your surprise. Warren reassures you that it's not a mistake, that they just want you to be comfortable in your new position. You are so very important to the company, after all. As he helps you settle in, you're amazed by his generosity and kindness. You're too happy to question why there's such a big office space right next to his open for you, or why such a high ranking worker would be assigned to train a newbie. You're initially confused about why all your other coworkers seem to cower away from him... until you see him lose it on a poor intern. His demeanor changed from a gentle giant to a raging monster within the blink of an eye, screaming at the intern over a simple filing mistake. You find yourself suddenly on your toes around him, waiting for a verbal barrage over one of your mishaps, but it never comes.
"Don't worry, I'd never treat you like that. They deserved it. You're doing perfect."
Your department's boss is a man named Jax Wright. Jax is a charming man, and the childhood best friend of Warren. He's slim and tall, with black hair and a slightly rugged appearance. He always seems to be in a rush, hair usually rustled and a 5 o'clock shadow a constant on his face. Yet, he somehow takes time out of his busy day to visit you. Or, more accurately, he finds the time to corner you when you're alone or with Warren. You don't want to lose this dream of a job, so you don't mention the way the childhood friends always find a way to crowd around you in the more narrow hallways or the breakroom. They insist you have lunch everyday with them, why would you want to eat by yourself? You really shouldn't deny your superiors' lunch requests, y'know. You ignore the lingering touches as he leans in far closer than necessary to examine your work, hands placed possessively on your shoulders. He loves to give you overwhelming praise, even for the most minor of accomplishments. You're afraid your other coworkers will think the worst of you because of the special treatment, but they seem to be avoiding you nearly as much as they avoid Warren.
"Good job. You're exceptional as always. It's been an absolute pleasure to work with you. Keep being good and you're bound for a raise."
With the rest of the department seeming to avoid you like the plague, you start to believe that you're stuck with just the overbearing childhood friends to talk to. That is until the secretary, Jake Moor, begins to talk to you. Jake is flamboyant, to say the least. He's bright, from his beaming white smile to his wide array of cute, colorful ties he matches with his suit. He's young, in his early 20s, and his bright blonde hair only adds to his youthful appearance. He's almost too much, talking at light speed and somehow being more touchy than your boss. He always finds a reason to pull you into hugs, or rustle your hair playfully. It doesn't bother you much though, he's just being friendly, right? And you really don't want to lose one of the few friends you have in the department. He has some sort of treat for you everyday, usually a homemade meal or pastry you have to find the time to eat alone before you're coworkers steal you away to have lunch with them. His cheerful nature motivates you to stay with the company, he really is your "beacon of light". You even find yourself giggling to yourself as he sends you silly motivational cat pictures throughout your day. He's so cute you don't even question how he got your number when you never gave it to him yourself. You do find it a bit odd that he knows exactly where to go when your car breaks down one day and he gives you a ride home, but you'd told him you lived in those apartments on the east side, remember? He'd never use his position to look at confidential paperwork. Never.
"I brought you in some cookies I baked last night, and here, I even made some dog treats! I've never made them before, let me know how he likes them! How did I know you have a dog? ...you told me, remember? Silly!"
As the weeks pass, you start to become more accustomed to your coworker's odd mannerisms. They still wear on you, but the money is just so good. You need it, where else would you even go? There's no chance you'd find anything near as good, if you found anything at all. You needed this job, Jax and Warren's overbearing natures aside. At least you had Jake, who always seems to know exactly what you need whenever you need it.
You can tough it out... right?
#reader insert#yandere x reader#yandere#yandere boss#yandere coworkers#yandere harem#yandere scenarios#yandere imagines
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disarmed by desire. | luke castellan x f.r
₊˚⊹♡ luke can’t seem to get out of his head a certain someone, things become even harder when that certain someone, is an aphrodite’s daughter.
warnings: seduction, sexual tension, luke is obsessed over reader, reader’s an aphrodite’s daughter, reader has long hair (not really a warning but whatever).
reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes
pt2 here
Luke Castellan was obsessed with you.
No, not obsessed. He worshipped you.
He didn’t even know when it started. It was not one thing or situation that started it all, but little small things he witnessed that eventually lead to his confusing and strong feelings he wanted to desperately hide.
Being an Aphrodite’s daughter was no joke, nor was it falling for one of them. All of your brothers and sisters shared an unbeatable beauty. Each one of you is so different, but yet so similar. But the more you grew since your arrival to the camp when you were fifteen, the more you stood out to Luke’s eyes. The Aphrodite cabin girls were known for their charm, but you seemed different, less concerned with vanity and more with genuine connection.
The first flicker appeared during Capture the Flag. Luke wasn't actively participating, a rare occurrence for the camp's best swordsman. Instead, he leaned against a tree, nursing a minor but piercing shoulder wound himself, when she appeared. She wasn’t running across the battlefield like a fiery warrior, but holding a kid’s hand as he was a whimpering mess walking behind her, he sat down on a rock and she instantly attended his bloody knee.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t worry” her voice had said, and the little kid almost immediately stopped sobbing. “Other kids can be mean sometimes. What’s your name?”
Luke watched, spellbound, as your nimble fingers, surprisingly calloused for a daughter of Aphrodite, expertly cleaned and bandaged the wound. Sunlight kissed your hair, turning the braids into strands of melted gold. Laughter danced in your voice, calming the kid down and blending with the clash of swords.
It wasn't just your beauty, though that was undeniable. It was the tenderness in your touch, the quiet confidence radiating from you, a stark contrast to the usual flirtatiousness Luke associated with your cabin. He quickly realized you were also one of the few Aphrodite’s daughter who had the ability of influencing others with your voice; charmspeaking.
Even when your voice didn’t resonate for him, but for the little kid you were attending, he felt undeniably attracted to your sweet melody, maybe that’s why he stared so long at you too.
Then, your eyes met his. A smile bloomed on your lips. "Need some patching up yourself, brave knight?"
His breath hitched as your eyes pierced his, a blush creeping up his neck. He stammered, "No, I'm good." But the lie tasted bitter on his tongue. He wasn't just injured physically; a new wound had opened in his chest, one caused by a flirty smile and a concern genuine enough to pierce through his thick built-up walls.
Luke's attraction to you wasn't solely physical, but he'd be lying if he didn't find himself momentarily stunned by the way you carried yourself.
He couldn't help but steal glances when you wore shorter skirts or crop tops that hinted at the toned physique earned through years of training, or when the older campers organized a secret night out at the lake in which you made sure to wear the best bikini you could find. He'd catch himself mesmerized by the way sunlight would dance on the curves of your body, sending a flicker of heat through him and his own veins. There was an undeniable beauty in your perfectly applied makeup, but it only served to highlight the mischief sparkling in your eyes and the warmth etched on your smile.
It wasn't just the jealousy your beauty ignited in other girls, or the admiration you garnered from younger campers. It was the way you moved, how confidence flowed through you like liquid gold, making even the simplest actions seem captivating. One afternoon, he saw you braiding wildflowers into your hair, your fingers moving with practiced ease, and he found himself staring with parted lips, hypnotized by the delicate beauty you created.
He started finding himself drawn to her laughter, its rich melody echoing through the camp. He'd catch glimpses of her practicing archery, her form uncannily elegant even as she sent arrow after arrow into the bullseye.
She was perfect.
His mind would try to rationalize, tell him it was the warrior in you that drew him in, the way you handled a sword with both grace and ferocity. But deep down, he knew it was more than that. It was the way your beauty existed in perfect harmony with your strength, a potent combination that left him both breathless and curious.
He wouldn't admit it out loud, not even to himself, but the truth was, Luke found himself daydreaming about brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, feeling the warmth of your skin against his fingertips as he leaned it for a kiss of your sugar lips. Something as simple as that had him zoning out of every conversation and forgetting about activities in the camp. He imagined the playful glint in your eyes when you caught him staring, the teasing lilt in your voice as you challenged him to a duel.
Until, well… a true duel emerged. Summer was just starting after all, and practice needed to be done.
Steel sang beneath the afternoon sun as their practice began. The sky was painted with orange and bright yellow colors, as your darkened figures danced around the field. Luke, known throughout camp as the prodigy at sword fighting, moved with a controlled ferocity, his blade a blur of deadly grace. But his opponent today wasn't your average camper. You wielded your sword with the effortless elegance of a former ballerina, impressive to be someone who’s main skill is not fighting, he had to admit. Each parry was a pirouette, each attack a leap defying gravity.
Sparks flew as your blades clashed, but where Luke relied on brute force, you danced around him, using your agility and unexpected angles to deflect his blows. He felt a frustrated flush creep up his neck and loudly beat inside his chest, every missed strike fueling the unspoken tension swirling between you.
Sweat already glistened on your sun-kissed skin, adding a raw allure to your perfectly applied makeup. It dripped down your collarbone and hid underneath your shirt.
Luke fought with intensity, fuelled not just by the thrill of the duel, but by the desire to impress the captivating enigma before him. You, in turn, met his ferocity with playful taunts and flirtatious dodges, your laughter tinkling in his ears.
Some campers have forgotten about their own practices, drawn to the captivating spectacle between you two. Whispers swirled about Luke's unmatched skill, your surprising prowess, and the undeniable spark crackling between you.
“Look at that” Grover shook Annabeth’s arm, eyes pierced in two shadows swiftly moving around the grass, clashing their blades with resonating grunts and heavy breaths.
“Who’s that?” Percy suddenly asked, eyes wide and parted lips hypnotized by the slender figure whose hair flew around like it had its own life.
“yn, an Aphrodite’s daughter” his friend explained. “Not bad at swords at all, though. But she’s got Luke on his nerves”
Percy nodded. “Yeah, I can tell”
But Annabeth laughed. “Not that kind of nerves. Let’s just say she’s enjoying the attention Luke gives her”
The fight went on, each passing moment stretching the boundaries of skill and endurance. Your movements were a whirlwind of elegance and precision, forcing Luke to constantly adapt, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.
“Tired, hero?" you purred, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you walked around him and twirled your sword, the sunlight reflecting off its polished surface. "Perhaps a touch of Aphrodite's charm is what you need?"
Luke gritted his teeth, channeling his growing attraction into focused strikes. But despite the heat of the battle, your image kept blurring his vision - your smile, the way your hair fell around your face, how your cheeks flushed red and your glossy lips parted as you blocked his movement against you one more time. He felt his defenses crumbling, his usual stoicism replaced by a raw need to prove himself, not just as a swordsman, but as a man worthy of your attention.
“Careful, princess. Playing with fire might just burn you” he countered as he parried a particularly fierce blow, the impact sending a tremor up his arm. His voice was low enough for only you to hear.
"Oh, Luke" you laughed. “Thanks for worrying so much about me but, I know how to handle a little heat" You lunged, your blade aimed for his shoulder. He barely deflected it, the tip grazing his bicep, sending a jolt of adrenaline through him.
In a swift, mesmerizing blur, your blade danced around his, finding an opening. The clang of steel resonated as your sword disarmed him, sending his clattering to the ground. Silence descended, broken only by the ragged rasp of his breath.
He lets his knees fall to the ground, thinking you would have enough mercy for him to give him a break. But he found himself with the tip of your blade resting gently under his chin. You tapped it twice.
“Up, Castellan” you demanded. He looked up at you.
Your eyes, sparkling with both victory and amusement, held him captive. Sweat and dust smudged your face, adding a primal beauty to your already breathtaking features.
A slow smile tugged at his lips, not of defeat, but of something deeper. He lifted up his hands. "Seems I underestimated the true power of Aphrodite's daughters" he rasped, his voice husky with exertion and something else – an undeniable desire.
“Hell yes you did!” one of your sisters replied, earning a few laughs from the rest of the campers.
The small crowd erupted in cheers once the battle was determined as won by you. Luke eventually got up, sword still under his chin. He was much taller than you, to which you had to lift your own head up to fully see his face.
The roar of the crowd faded into a distant hum as Luke only focused on the heavy pounding on his chest, sword dangerously still close. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, tracing a path past the flush blooming on his cheeks.
"And it seems that our little hero falls not just to skill, but also to some… irresistible charm" you purred, amusement tugging at your lips.
Luke grinned, a touch cocky, a touch breathless. "Perhaps," he conceded, voice husky with exertion. "But I wouldn't call it defeat” he cooed as you slowly put your sword down, placing it next to you. His gaze dropped, tracing a slow path down the curve of your sweat-kissed neck, lingering on the way your shirt clung to your form. Your exposed legs shined underneath the weak sun. The air crackled with unspoken desire, the playful banter now infused with something hotter, more primal.
"Besides," he murmured, voice low and dangerous, "victors deserve their spoils, don't they?"
His words hung heavy, loaded with hidden meaning, a meaning only the two of you seemed to understand now. You felt a blush creep up your neck, surprised by the sudden shift in his usual way of being towards you. You knew he knew you flirted, that you did it with ease. But this was different. This was Luke Castellan, the stoic, the untouchable, and suddenly, he was playing your game.
"And what kind of spoils are you thinking of, big boy?" you countered, your voice barely a whisper.
Luke looked around, campers long gone, already going back to their own activities as soon as your tense situation ended.
He stepped in closer, the space between you shrinking to a charged silence. "Maybe,-" he rasped head down and still heavy breathing, "a dance with the warrior who disarmed me not just with her blade, but with her breathtaking distraction."
His eyes flickered down to your lips, the unspoken desire sparking a flame within you.
“Or maybe something a little more private, as you wish” he continued.
The world seemed to shrink to the heat emanating from your body, the intoxicating scent of wildflower and victory mingled with sweat. Your pulse quickened, a blush blooming on your cheeks.
You laughed in disbelief, smoothly placing your long hair on one side of your head, bright mane elegantly falling like a cascade without you even trying. "Bold proposition, handsome" you replied, voice barely a breath, still trying to catch it. The nickname twisted Luke’s guts, in a good way, might as well have woken up something else. "But maybe you should focus on winning a proper duel before demanding rewards"
He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through you. "Challenge accepted, my lady” he whispered, stepping back and raising an eyebrow. "But know this; our next battle won't be fought with steel, but with wit, charm, and a touch of something… different"
You tilted your head to the side as he took his sword from the grass. "And this time, I won't underestimate an Aphrodite's daughter, or the power of warrior who knows how to play just as dirty as she fights"
This wasn't the playful banter you were used to, but you sure liked it. This was Luke Castellan, awakened, and the thrill of it was both terrifying and exhilarating.
"We shall see, Luke" you countered, your voice husky with a newfound nervousness as you pronounced his name. "We shall see."
As you turned to address a new opponent on the field, the memory of his voice, hot and suggestive against your ear, lingered on your skin. This wasn’t what you started, this was a dance of unspoken desires fueled by sweat, steel, and the awakening of a forbidden hunger in the heart of Luke Castellan. And you, the daughter of Aphrodite, were ready to play.
He couldn't help but watch you go, his heart brimming with a newfound determination. He admired your skill, your wit, your beauty, and most of all, the way you made him feel – breathless, excited, and utterly captivated. Your golden figure disappeared into a new crowd of campers looking for someone else to fight.
This was about to be one of the best summers ever.
pt2 here <3
I’m so delulu over this man istg
Currently reading PJ 3rd book :) Had to retake my lecture after I watched the show
ALWAYS OPEN FOR REQUESTS! <3
#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan#luke castellan smut#pjo series#pjo#luke castellan x you#aphrodite#luke x reader#luke castellan one shot#luke castellan fic#luke castellan imagine#pjo x reader#pjo x you#pjo smut#charlie bushnell#luke castellan x female reader#luke castellan x fem!reader#luke castellan x y/n#luke castellan imagines
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Dc x Dp prompt #1: Angel
I'd like to preface this by saying I'm incorporating tropes I've seen in other posts.
~~~
Jason has been a lot happier recently. His Pit Rage has been getting less and less frequent, he's cooking and coming over to the manor a lot more, and he even let Dick hug him last week without threatening bodily harm!
The rest of the batfam, while happy for him, are curious about the change. So one night at dinner they ask him what's up with him and why he's so happy recently. Surprisingly, instead of taking it the wrong way and getting mad Jason is eager to share.
Apparently, Jason has a boyfriend now. Yay!
He goes on and on about this civilian he met after stoping a cult who was trying to summon a deity and how he is this nerdy college kid who really likes space and how their civilian identies shared the same Gen Ed course so he made an effort to become friends. Turns out that nerdy space guy had caused the initial improvement in mood and his offer to go on a date to an incredibly diverse and well-stocked library had been the cherry on top.
The only thing is that Jason didn't want them stalking the guy and refered to him around the family exclusively as "Angel". Everyone thinks that's just a cute pet name he gave the guy as a way to both reference and distract the civilian from the cult ritual he was probably rescued from. Little do they know that it's actually because "Angel" was not a victim of the cult ritual but the summonee, that appeared in the form of a biblically accurate angel.
One day some supernatural entity decideds to attack Gotham and everyone is calling whoever they can think of for back-up. Batman calls Constantine, Nightwing calls Zatana, Red Robin and Robin are contacting the Justice League, and even Red Hood seems to call someone.
The situation is getting desperate. The JL is here but at most the can just slow the supernatural being down. Constantine and Zatana are still 20 minutes out and things are looking bad when another Eldritch Being spawns and seems to take down the threat in one move.
Everyone stands stunned as the being turns to them and in a booming voice exclaims "DON'T BE AFRAID. I WAS CALLED TO HELP". They all go through several emotions upon hearing those words. Where did this being come from? Is this a biblically accurate angel? Who called it here to help? Was it Zatana or maybe Constantine? Are they here yet? Upon looking around it is found that Zatana and Constantine are not here yet and the heroes get ready to engage this being carefully when a voice calls out
"Angel!"
Everyone whips their heads around to see Jason climbing over debris towards the Eldritch Being in front of them. The Batfam feels faint with a creeping realization and Superman swears he heard Batman's heart skip a beat for a second. Before anyone can ask Jason what he's doing the being shapeshifts into the much smaller form of a young fae-like creature with pointed ears, fangs, stark white hair, and vibrant green eyes floating in the air. He flys over to Jason before a flash of bright light leaves a young man deep black hair and frosty blue eyes in Jason's arms.
Jason turns to introduce his boyfriend to his family and the League only to find that Batman has fainted, a panicking JL, and a gobsmacked Zatana and Constantine have who've arrived in time to see the transformation. As Zatana and Constantine begin to freak out and prepare defensive magic Batman comes to and levels a scowl at Jason.
"Hood, I think you have some explaining to do."
#dp x dc crossover#dc x dp#dc universe#danny phantom#danny fenton#batfamily#batfam#batman#red hood#jason todd#the justice league#john constantine#zatanna#dead on main#danny x jason#dp x dc#Strega’s dc x dp prompt
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JJK men with a big-chested reader
Pairings: Nanami x reader; Geto x reader (nsfw); Yuji/Sukuna x reader; Gojo x reader
Word Count: 4,4k (she's big)
Warnings: THIS IS A FIC WITH A BIG-CHESTED READER! so if this triggers you, don't read it (especially in Sukuna's part, you might get triggered when having smaller boobs so just do me a favor and don't read it instead of leaving a sassy comment), boob play in Geto's part so nsfw, in general harassment but big old fluff from your faves, not proofread bc I have my final exam tomorrow - hope you enjoy! 🤍
Special thanks to one of my moots for letting me turn her cleavage into a cover for this fic - you look STUNNING + thank you to everyone who sent me their experiences for this!
Since I'm not big-chested myself, I'm calling all my big boobie girlies to leave me a lil review about this fic - it would literally help me so much 😭
Click here to get to the small-chested version
Nanami Kento
You sigh to yourself, too exhausted to even stand up straight anymore. Today was like a trip to hell and back. All those fucking curses, the death, the horror. You rub your tired eyes, the stinging pain in your back reminding you more than urgently that you have been up for way too long.
“You look tired, darling. Go change and get into bed with me.”
Oh, that deep voice behind you, the voice you learned to love to the moon and back. How did it even happen that a man like Nanami Kento was seeking interest in you? What was it that made a man like him even look your way? You’ve known each other for quite some time, seeing each other on missions from time to time. But when you began to work at Jujutsu High, everything changed so fast that you couldn’t keep up. And now you’re sitting here in his bedroom, watching in awe as he crawls into bed with nothing but his boxer shorts on.
You would love to get out of your uniform right now, But most importantly, you urge to take off that soaking wet bra that has been bugging you since afternoon. You have no choice, though. With a large chest like yours, it simply isn’t possible to leave the house for missions without extra support. You glance at him while he reads in his book, your gaze falling to your chest.
This isn’t exclusively about missions and you know it. Even though you’ve been together for a few months now, you were never brave enough to show Kento your breasts. Not without a bra, let alone completely naked. Just the thought of him seeing how your big breasts fall down when they slip out of their bra shells, the look on his face when he realizes that you don’t look like those large-chested models with their boobs standing like mountains. Yours definitely don’t. And you fucking hate it.
“I know that look on your face. You are uncomfortable, aren’t you?”
His soft voice rips you out of your pondering immediately. Fuck, he caught you again.
“No…I mean…Yes, kinda…”
You can’t lie into his gorgeous face, not even when the truth makes you feel so uncomfortable. Oh, how much you wished you look the way he deserves it with delicious female curves that suit his flawless appearance. But as soon as you look down, you just know how awful your boobs will look when set free. So you’ll do what you do every night: wait until Kento is asleep to finally take off your bra only to set an alarm in the morning to get up before him and put it back on.
“I always wondered why you are waiting until I sleep to take off your bra and put it back on before my alarm goes off.”
You can’t help but stare at him, mind racing while your palms start to get sweaty. Fuck, how did he even notice? No, why did you ever think he wouldn’t? Kento cares about you like none other, never pushed you to take off your shirt, never failed to ask you how you’re feeling.
“Listen, darling.”
He gets off the bed and kneels down in front of the chair you are sitting on, gently taking your hand into his.
“I just want to make sure you feel comfortable around me. Am I the reason that you don’t want to take your bra off? I can see clearly how uncomfortable it makes you feel.”
“No!”, you blurt out immediately.
Calm down your tingling nerves, this is ridiculous. You stare blankly at your hands intertwined with his.
“I mean…It has nothing to do with you, it’s me.”
“How is this about you, love? There is no reason for you to feel uncomfort-“
“I’m afraid.”
You swallow hard. Are you oversharing? Will he laugh at you for something so ridiculous? But what if he sees you naked at some point, his gaze dropping to your chest only to be greeted by your large hanging chest? You can imagine the look of disgust on his face, how he turns away from you, how-
“Hey, look at me darling. Look at me and tell me what’s wrong”
He cups your cheek gently, forces your haunted eyes to look at him, to stare into his orbs filled with sincerity. There is no way out of this, you can’t lie into his gorgeous face.
“When I take my bra of my breasts just…hang. It’s even visible through my t-shirt…”, you mumble, cheeks redder than the devil.
Thick silence hangs between both of you, his gaze still as soft as before. What is going on inside his head? Is he secretly laughing at you, does he even care about what you have to say?
“Let me make a few things clear.”
He lifts himself off the ground and pulls you up. You squint your eyes, mind racing over why on earth he made you stand up. Is he going to leave, to laugh?
“First of all: I love you just the way you are. I love your gorgeous smile, the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you carry yourself. And I love your breasts-“
“You didn’t even see them yet.”
“I don’t have to in order to know that”, he continues.
“Nothing makes me sadder than seeing you uncomfortable each and every night before going to bed. Of course, I don’t know for sure, but I imagine it to be really painful after some time. Isn’t it digging into your skin?”
Oh, you think about the countless times the sweat underneath your bra made you almost go insane, the red streaks that visibly show where the wire cut into your skin all day.
“It kinda is…”, you confirm with low voice.
“Don’t do this to yourself. I adore you just the way you are and I am dying to see you laying comfortably in your t-shirt next to me. So please, would you allow me to take it off for you?”
Your eyes widen in pure shock. Is this a bad joke, is he just teasing you? No, this is Nanami Kento. And the way he gazes at you with nothing but affection gleaming in his eyes tells you that he’s telling the true, that this is what he wants right now. But are you ready to expose yourself like this? What if he’s still disgusted after saying all those nice words?
You let your head fall against his chest, breathe in his delicious scent. A voice deep inside you tells you to stop, to just relax inside his arms. This is the man who chose you out of all people, who stood by your side no matter what. Kento proved more than once that he loves you dearly, never made you feel the slightest bit bad about yourself.
“Go ahead…”, you mutter against his chest.
His hands wander up your back gently, make shivers run down your spine until he reaches the clasp of your bra. Your heart simply stops when he unclips it through the fabric of your shirt. You fade into darkness as soon as his hands wander up to your shoulders, slide down the thick straps and pull down your bra until he finally lands on the floor.
Slowly, he takes a step back and picks it off the ground.
“You will never have to wear this again when you are home with me, okay? Not when it makes you feel so uncomfortable”, he gently speaks out.
You stare in awe while he carefully places your big bra over the chair and returns in an instant to pull you close against his chest.
“Come on, let’s go to sleep.”
“Yeah”, you mumble, body slowly but surely getting flooded by warmth.
“Going to bed sounds good…”
Geto Suguru
You feel hot but at the same time cold, turned on but at the same time scared. This is it, the moment you’ve been waiting for. At this very moment, none other than Suguru Geto is laying on top of you, kissing you so passionately that you forget how to breathe.
What an overwhelming feeling it is to call him your boyfriend for a few months now. Such a kind and loving man, always looking out for you, giving you the time you needed for this to finally happen. You couldn’t believe your own ears when whimpering that you want him, that you are ready.
But are you really ready for showing him that part of your body? The part that began too grow way too early in your life, the part you’ve always got picked on by all the other girls.
“Look, there she is! She looks like a cow ready to milk!”
“That cleavage…She’s literally begging for it, what a bitch.”
“Ew, are those pimples on your tits?”
You know you are better than that, that your big breasts just belong to you and that you should love yourself just the way you are. But with none other than Suguru laying on top of you, his hands slowly but surely coming dangerously close to your breasts…
“Wait”, you breathe out, haunted eyes making Suguru stop in his tracks in an instant.
“Did I do something wrong? If you don’t want to, we don’t-“
“No, this is great. I- … I waited so long for this. But I just wanted to let you know that…”
You swallow hard. Are you acting ridiculous, destroying the moment with your behaviour? Suguru’s chocolate brown orbs don’t show a hint of annoyance. Instead, he gently strokes your hair while waiting for you to move on.
He deserves to know it
“I might not have the nicest boobs. They are big, but not well formed like the ones of those models. I tend to sweat a lot underneath them, my skin breaks out from time to time and my nipples might be-“
“Stop that right now, (y/n).”, Suguru gently interrupts you with a grin.
But it doesn’t look like the grin of the girls who picked on you for years. No, this grin is filled with warmth and loves, fills you with what feels like confidence. After all, he said that he loves you just the way you are over and over, right? Still, he didn’t even see your boobs. What if he changes his mind?
“There is absolutely nothing, and I mean NOTHING about you that isn’t ‘nice’. I don’t care about what the chest of random models looks like, to be honest I don’t care about anyone but you. And you are everything I want, you are everything I see, you are everything I love.”
His words make you tear up in an instant, send your whole body into space. As long as you can remember, no one ever said really nice things about your breasts and therefore you. You were either insulted or sexualized. But that force of a man on top of you…He just looks into your eyes that are filled with nothing but warmth. This man means every word he says.
“Well, that’s cool”, you mutter without even thinking about your words, lost in the sheer sight of his sincere eyes.
There is no one in the world you want to show your boobs more. Like in trance, you pull up the hem of your shirt and let it fall to the floor mindlessly.
“Are you okay with me touching them?”, he purrs against your ear.
A silent whimper escapes your lips while you simply nod, whole body on fire where it touches his. Painfully slow, he lets his hands wander down your hair onto your shoulders, trace the line of your collarbones until he reaches…
Your breasts.
What an unknown feeling. But oh, what a sensation as well. You arch your back out of instinct while he massages your breasts, the feeling of his fingertips against your still skin alone simply driving you insane.
God, who would have thought you’d ever hear Geto Suguru moan against your ear by just looking, touching, squeezing your boobs? His eyes are darkened by lust, the way his heart pounds against his ribcage echoes through your very own body.
“You look absolutely gorgeous. I can’t stop looking at you, (y/n).”
You feel like flying, fainting, losing your balance. There is no doubt in the fact that this man adores you the way you are, that your constant fear of him not liking your large chest was more than unfounded.
“So…you don’t mind the way my breasts look?”, you whimper underneath his bittersweet touch.
“More than that, I adore you”, he replies in an instant. “And now, let me see you in your full glory.”
Yuji/Sukuna
You’re back feels like it might break every minute, shirt dripping in sweat in the sheer heat of the summer sun. You just want to get out of here, away from those disgusting people, back into your dorm. How stupid it was to leave Jujutsu High on your own for a little stroll through the city. Without the protection of Maki or Nobara, without any good friend who shields you from all the unwanted looks your large chest attracts. While most people think it must be a blessing, it definitely is a curse to you 80% of the time.
Just like right now.
“Come on, I just asked for one grab!”, a guy shouts after you.
Out of instinct, you pick up your pace, not even daring to turn around. What did you even do to catch his attention? You gaze down at your breasts that uncomfortably bounce up and down in the way too tight bra you are wearing today. No, you did absolutely nothing wrong. It’s just these disgusting people who seem to see nothing but the size of your chest.
“Why would you want to touch her? She looks like a cow”, the girl next to him comments along with an ugly laugh, making your heart sting in an instant.
“What a slut”, another voice mutters.
“Oh, I didn’t know you are out today! How are you, (y/n)?”
Your heart almost stops inside of your chest, hands beginning to tremble in an instant. No, not him. Not right here when these people are chasing you. If there’s someone you don’t want to hear those things about you, it’s Yuji Itadori.
“J-just…l-leave”, you stutter.
“Huh? But I just met you! Would you like to watch a movie with me?”
“Look, the cow brought her friends!”
“Do you think he’ll get in her pants today?”
“What a lucky bastard, I’d love to touch them just once…”
Yuji’s face drops in an instant when realizing their words are directed towards you.
“Hey, there’s no need to be rude”, he begins but gets stopped by uncontrollable laughter immediately.
You want to die right here on the spot, disappear from the surface of earth. As if being treated like this wasn’t enough, why does it have to be Yuji who witnesses it all?
“Step aside, loser. Let me handle that.”
Sukuna leans forward in his throne, thick anger rising inside of his chest. You, the one who caught his eye when he first saw you. You, with the immense powers. You, with a dangerous mind that could end wars. Who are these people to talk to you in this manner?
“Are you crazy? I definitely won’t let you out right now”, Yuji replies in an instant.
“You aren’t able to help her brat, now get lost!”
“I won’t let you-“
Enough.
“Now who exactly do you losers think you are, huh?”
That voice, that aura? Your mouth feels dry like the desert in an instant, eyes widen in pure shock. No, this is impossible, Yuji is in control over his body, this can’t be-
“With tits like yours, I would be jealous of someone gorgeous like her as well”, he spits at one of the girls following you.
“And you.”
With a swift motion, he grabs on of the guy’s wrists roughly. Just a little more pressure and it will snap.
“P-please. Don’t!”, you shout after him.
Urgh, why does your begging voice make his grip loosen in an instant, what is it about you that made him switch with this brat anyway?
“Were you really just trying to touch her chest? Thinking just because she has a big chest, you are allowed to touch her, to sexualize her, huh? You humans disgust me with your simple desires”, Sukuna continues.
“If it wasn’t for her unshakable character, I would kill every single one of you right on the spot. But for now-“
In the matter of seconds, all their arms hang in unhealthy directions, visibly broken by the sheer force of none other than Ryomen Sukuna.
You want to scream at him, want to run away, want to get away from this place. But on the other hand, a warmth fills your chest. Did the king of curses just stand up for you, protect you from their rude comments?
“Get going”, he barks at you.
“This was unnecessary”, you mumble.
“And give Yuji back.”
“You should be thankful, (y/n). They will worship you for the rest of your life.”
“No, they will be scared of you for the rest of their lives”, you clarify, hands still trembling.
“So what? Nobody gets away with insulting you over your perfect body. Especially not over the size of your chest. How ridiculous…”
You can’t believe your ears, eyes darting towards him in an instant while you turn redder than a tomato. Did he just say that you are…perfect?
“You didn’t mean that”, you breathe out.
“Oh god I’m so sorry (y/n). Did he hurt you?”, the familiar voice of Yuji cries out.
Calm down your tingling nerves, your pounding heart. Sukuna’s gone. Sukuna…stood up for you. Sukuna said you have a perfect body.
What?
“N-No”, you stumble.
How are you supposed to get over this?
Gojo Satoru
Finally. You sit in front of the bar, excited by the smell of alcohol and cheap perfume that hangs in the air. After working your ass off for what felt like an eternity, you decided to use your day off right. You put on the dress that fits you best, packed your purse and went into the first bar you’ve seen.
Damn, when was the last time you were out on your own? With all your friends being out of town for vacation, this definitely is new.
“Not bad”, you mutter to yourself, eyes roaming around people making out, heartfelt laughter and a group of women sipping on their cocktails.
A cocktail, exactly what you need today.
“Hey, I’d love to order something”, you speak out when the waiter finally comes cross you.
What a lucky day, they even have your favourite cocktail in store. You’re usually not the type of girl to go out on yourself, but these last months, you truly learnt how enjoyable time can be with yourself as your only company. You smile to yourself. Yeah, this is definitely something you could get used to.
“There you go”, the friendly male announces and places the glass filled with joy in front of your hungry eyes.
You gift him the sweetest smile you have before taking a sip. Oh, this tastes absolutely amazing.
“I’ve never seen a woman like you alone in a place like this.”
Your heart drops to the floor in an instant, hands holding onto your glass tightly. Ew, a man is certainly the last thing you want to hear right now with the bartender being the only exception. Instead of even looking his way, you just take another sip of your well-mixed cocktail, the music blasting out of the boxes might make him think you can’t hear him and leave.
Honestly, there aren’t many things that creep you out more than men approaching you. Since you’ve reached puberty and your breasts starting to grow bigger and bigger, it almost felt as if you weren’t a person anymore. With rare exceptions here and there, most of them only talked to you because of one thing:
Your boobs.
Is the man sitting next to you one of them?
“Hey, I’m talking to you, gorgeous.”
Your whole body tenses up in an instant, eyes darting towards him by the sound of his harsh voice.
“Excuse me, I’m not up for a talk”, you bite back.
While you did meet genuinely nice men and have some male friends, the one sitting next to you certainly is one of the other categories. God, how much you hate it, being looked down at and reduced to the size of your breasts. You can’t even count how many times you’ve got commented on them, how many men and women just shamelessly stared at your bust instead of your face while talking to you. It’s safe to say you have enough of all of this.
“A woman who presents what she has like that is up for a talk and far more than that. Why would you come here dressed like a slut if you don’t want me to talk to you?”
Your breath gets stuck in your throat, all thoughts vanish into thick air. This disgusting guy with his beard filled with crumbs and breath stinking like the cheapest beer is definitely up for no good. You, dressed like a slut? You wear a basic black dress, the only one your boobs didn’t fall out when trying it on. What the hell is this creep talking about?
“Just because my boobs are big doesn’t mean I’m a slut. Watch how you talk to me”, you bite back.
“I talk however I want to a bitch like you. Are you up to go somewhere more…private?”
The scene that lays itself out in front of Gojo’s eyes is hard to bear. He doesn’t even know the woman in the black dress sitting in front of the bar, let alone the guy sitting next to her. But just one look into your disgusted face is enough to know that something isn’t right. How you cross your arms in front of your chest, your eyes filled with horror, the way you scoop backwards with every word this man says. Are you okay? He shouldn’t let other people’s business bother him. Fuck, wasn’t he here to get his mind off saving everyone all the time? Nah, he should enjoy his evening, drink that new whiskey they offer, just relax and-
You aren’t even able to comprehend what is happening next to you. He stretches out his hand, ready to touch your breasts without consent when another pair of hands stops him mid-air.
“I think the lady said no. Don’t ya think it’s a little over the top to go into a bar and touch a woman’s boobs?”
His voice might sound playful, but your blood freezes inside of your veins by the power he radiates. Just one glance into his face tells you he is like no men you’ve ever met.
“I…She…She said she wanted it to!”, the crumble beard tries to defend himself.
“I said what? Are you out of your fucking mind!? I told you to leave me alone and you harassed me!”, you clarify in harsh tone.
Oh, how much you’d love to break his nose right now, to give him a taste of his own medicine. But the white-haired man seems to have the same plans.
“A guy like you wouldn’t end up with her anyway. That lady has class. And you, my friend, are just a disgusting pervert. Are you touching other women too without consent? Isn’t your first time, huh?”
With a swift motion, he begins to twist the man’s hand around itself. He whines out in pain in an instant, face twisted just like yours before when he talked you down.
“Let me go!”, he cries out in visible discomfort.
“This is what you get for treating a lady so badly. You can be glad she even looked your way.”
When he gifts you a sly grin, you can’t help but blush. What is it about this man that feels so different, so damn inviting? He seems like no other men you’ve met before. And the fact that he just called you lady…Why do your knees suddenly feel weak?
“Now repeat after me: I.am.sorry.for.disrespecting.you.”
“I will not apologize to a girl who’s dressed like a slut!”
A loud crack makes the already muted room go completely silent, the violent scream coming out of this man’s mouth when his wrist breaks like spaghetti echoing through the room.
“Wrong answer”, the white-haired man purrs.
“Hey, would you mind just taking the trash out?”, the barkeeper questions.
“Did you hear that, dirty boy? Let me show you the way!”
“Are you alright? I didn’t even notice he was harassing you. I’m so sorry”, the bartender speaks out towards you.
“Oh, it’s okay.”
You aren’t even able to give him a real answer, eyes glued on the white-haired man who carries your harasser out like trash.
Like in trance you get back on your feet and follow him out into the cool air of the night.
“Have a nice evening!”, he friendly shouts after the man who sprints down the streets like a coward, as fast away as possible.
“You definitely scared the shit out of him”, you comment.
“He definitely deserved it. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m used to shit like that”, you reply with a huff.
“But normally, they aren’t this disgusting.”
“I hate to hear that. You seem like a genuinely badass and nice person. You didn’t deserve his words.”
“Not as nice as my knight in shining armour who stopped him from touching my boobs.”
He lets out a heartfelt laughter, bright blue orbs set on you.
“Hey, what about me escorting you back home? I’m totally in the mood to beat up any other men who gets in your way.”
“Only if you let me join, though”, you challenge him.
“Definitely a deal. Hey, what’s your name?”
“(y/n)”
“(y/n), huh? Cool name, suits you right? My name’s Gojo Satoru. Nice to meet you.”
He stretches out his hand in front of you, inviting you to take it. You can’t help but smile at his sheer excitement. No, you just have to take his warm hand into yours and shake it.
“Let’s get you home, okay?”
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Dividers by @saradika 🤍
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a little fashion show
kinktober, day four
a/n: bro, the amount of time this idea has been in the notes app on my phone....
warnings: stiles stilinski x reader, smut, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, trying on lingerie, teasing, flashing, kissing
word count: 990
∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽
masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023
“Who was at the door?” Stiles asked as your giddy form appeared in the doorway to your room once more.
“The mailman,” you giggled, unable to contain your excitement, “and look!”
“You got a package!” not getting as revved up in the excitement as you were, he nonchalantly pointed out the parcel in your palms, “oh, cool!”
“Not just any package, only the one I’ve been waiting about a billion years to arrive,” you shut the door behind you, gazing down at the bundle in your hands with heart-shaped eyes, “you don’t mind if I just try this stuff on right now, do you? I just don’t know if I can wait till you leave.”
Discretely readjusting in his comfortable seat on your mattress, he waved a hand, “no, no, it’s fine.”
“Really? Great!” you squealed, digging your fingers into the opening of the package, “you can help me see if any of it doesn’t suit me or fit right, give you a little fashion show and everything.”
“Alright, sure,” he agreed with a soft chuckle as you disappeared behind the wide bookcase that acted as a divider in the middle of your room.
After changing into the first item, you couldn’t stop yourself from springing back out, arms raised high above your head as you sang, “tada! What do you think?”
“Wow, oh, wow,” you watched Stiles eyes grow wide as they landed on the extremely short nightgown hanging around your form, “that’s-, that’s-…”
“It’s cute, isn’t it?” you turned your back to your stunned friend to glance at yourself in the mirror, “the floral pattern especially.”
Gaze tracing your hands as they played with the tiny skirt, “y-yeah, it is,” you just barely managed to catch sight of his reflection discreetly move one of your pink pillows over his lap, “it’s good, you should definitely keep that one.”
You hadn’t thought that his blush could have gotten any worse, but evidently, as you soon pranced out clad in the next thing, it very much could.
“What about this one?” you innocently observed the lingerie set in the long mirror, turning a bit to see how the high-waisted, black underwear hugged your bottom, “do you think it fits alright?”
Looking like a broken PlayStation 2 game you’d have to pull out and blow on, Stiles simply hummed, “huh?”
“I just feel like if I jump around or bend over in this, the girls are just gonna spill out,” your nose crinkled as your fingertips ghosted over the cups of the matching bra.
“I mean,” he blinked hazily, “you could test it out, if you want.”
Obliging twice, jumping gently in place, the squint to your eye didn’t fade away as not only you observed how your boobs jiggled in the cups, “hm, I don’t know, maybe one of the ones that has a different cut then this one…”
Peeping through the shy slivers of the bookcase, you bit down on your smirk as you watched the trouble you’d stirred up on the other side. As you slid off the black number, daringly arching your back and purposefully sticking your butt out far enough for him to catch a glimpse, you spotted how a string of your want clung to the panties as you dragged the down your legs.
If this last one wasn’t gonna do the trick, make the guy you’d had a crush on forever fess up and make a move, then you didn’t know what would.
Pink, skimpy and sheer, your pebbly nipples weren’t the only thing on full display as the see-through thong also made your puffy pussylips no secret to anyone.
Your pace as you returned to the mirror was purposefully slow, not looking to Stiles even once as you felt your desperation for him soak the pretty garments.
“T-that-, yeah,” his fluttering eyes were trained on your bare bottom, “that’s nice.”
“Yeah?” you still didn’t dare to look at him, “you think so?”
“Mhm,” he nearly groaned.
Grazing your touch ever so lightly over the elastic edges, you uttered, “you really think it’s pretty?”
“Y-yeah…”
“Stiles,” you sucked in a deep breath and gathered up the courage through the pumping adrenalin of being so exposed before your crush, “can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” flowed from his lips nearly instantly.
“Would you have sex with me?”
The room was dead silent a moment before Stiles choked, “what?”
“Would you fuck me?” you rephrased, still not looking back at him in the refection.
“Would I-… I’m sorry, what?”
“Would you fuck me?” gnawing at your bottom lips, you finally turned to face him, “because I kinda really like you, like a lot,” your feet slowly carried you closer to where he sat, “and I don’t know, I’m sorry, am I being too forward? Is this too much? Do you not like me in that way? Because I totally get it if you do, I’m really sorry for everything. I thought you’d picked up on the hints I’ve been dropping for a while now and that you-”
“I do like you!” he rushed to cut off your concern, “I-I-, yes,” seizing your hand in his as he emphasized, “yes.”
“Yes or yes?” you asked, eyes flickering to the pillow hiding his own excitement.
“Yes,” he nodded, swiftly tugging you down in his lap before you could withdraw your proposal.
An airy whimper escaped your lips as he then kissed you, your whole body feeling like puddy in his grasp. Drawing back a moment from his long-awaited pecks, you found yourself offering bashfully, “you know, I could also just give you a handjob or blow you or something if you’re not-”
Using his leverage, he suddenly flung you down against the mattress, effectively cutting your suggestion off as he scurried to hover above you, an earnest grin adorning his lips as he then exclaimed “oh my god, just shut up and let me screw my best friend.”
© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble
#lea’s writing#kinktober 2023#stiles stilinski smut#stiles stilinksi x reader#stiles stilinksi imagine#teen wolf smut#teen wolf imagine#dylan o'brian x reader#dylan o'brian imagine#stiles x reader#stiles x y/n#stiles smut#dylan obrien fanfic#dylan o'brien smut#dylan o’brien fanfiction#dylan o’brien smut#dylan o’brien imagine#dylan o'brien imagine#stiles stilinksi fanfiction
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Potter
Slytherin boys (separate) x fem! Potter!reader
Slytherin boys: Draco Malfoy, Mattheo Riddle, Theodore Nott, Lorenzo Berkshire, and Blaise Zabini.
Warnings: forbidden romance?, swearing, smoking, alcohol, partying, horny teens, probably incorrect body shots.
Note: got back into Harry Potter and fell into the Slytherin boy rabbithole hole💚
Backstory:
You used to be very close to your twin brother. But your relationship changed for the worst during your first year at Hogwarts.
While Harry had been sorted into Griffindor, you had been sorted into Slytherin.
The both of you had tried to keep your relationship intact, but the rivalry between your two houses made it practically impossible.
By fourth year, you and Harry were practically strangers, and uninvolved with each other’s lives…
Draco Malfoy
In fourth year, Draco decided to ask you out to the Yule Ball. Mainly to piss off Harry.
He swaggered up to you in the courtyard and asked you very loudly in front of a lot of people, including Harry, of course!
“Heard you didn’t have a date for the ball, Potter.” He said with a smirk, “You want to be my date?”
You eyed him suspiciously before answering, “Sure, why not Malfoy.”
Didn’t expect for you to actually accept.
Low key freaking out internally.
Thought you’d just tell him to piss off.
He’s very smug about it on the outside tho.
Especially when he sees Harry fuming on the side lines with Ron and Hermione.
He then escorts you to class like the gentleman he was taught to be.
“Don’t get an ideas Malfoy. I’m only going with you to piss off my brother.” You told him as you entered potions.
“Same here, Potter.” He rolls his eyes a bit.
Glad you have the same idea but also a bit disappointed that you’re only using him.
But he’s also using you so-
When it came time for the ball, Draco was waiting for you by the stairs. Mattheo and Blaise were waiting with him.
He couldn’t lie, he was a tad nervous. Fixing his hair every 2.5 seconds to the annoyance of his friends.
“Does my hair look good?” He asked for the billionth time.
“Your hair is fine mate! Why do you even care so much it’s just Potter.” Mattheo rolled his eyes at the blond.
“It’s not about her!” Draco hissed, “..I just want to look good!” He answered semi confidently.
A few moments later you appeared and began walking down the stairs.
Draco looked at you in awe. You looked stunning all dolled up, your hair was curled and pinned up in an intricate hairdo, and the dark green dress you were wearing fitted you perfectly.
You glanced at Draco every few steps as you descended the stairs, admiring him from afar. You couldn’t lie, he looked dashing in his suit.
Blaise and Mattheo snickered behind him, shoving him forward to make him help you down the stairs.
“You look nice.” Draco said awkwardly.
“Thank you, you don’t look half bad yourself.” You responded, taking his hand as you walked down the rest of the steps.
“You cleaned up nice, Potter.” Mattheo teased.
“Shut it, Riddle.” You rolled your eyes at him.
Draco escorted you to the punch table to have a drink before you had your first dance.
When you started dancing you were both very stiff and awkward, but as the night went on you became much more natural with each other.
You and Draco went on to have a nice evening. Making show of your “relationship” by calling each other by your first names and dancing together for the majority of the evening.
When the ball finally ended, you and Draco returned to the Slytherin common room together.
“I actually enjoyed myself tonight Draco.” You admitted with a smile.
“I did to, Y/n. We should do it more often.” He smirked.
You rolled your eyes, “In your dreams, Draco.” You chuckled before to go to your dorm.
Leaving him standing in the common room, with his heart beating a few beats faster…
Mattheo Riddle
FORBIDDEN ROMANCE OMG
You both kept your distance from each other for a long while.
You didn’t want to associate with the son of the man who killed your parents.
And Mattheo didn’t give a crap about you.
You only began to associate with each other in fifth year when you became friends with Lorenzo.
Which lead to you being included into the Slytherin gang.
You decided to put your differences aside for the sake of your friend.
You’re not super close with many of them, Mattheo included.
But you have a sort of playful relationship.
You guys banter SO MUCH!
Whether it’s insulting each other or sometimes being flirty.
Harry is SIDE EYEING y’all from across the great hall.
You find Mattheo insufferable in a weird endearing way.
Sixth year hit and you’ve decided to start living it up by attending parties with the gang.
Ravenclaw had beat Hufflepuff in quidditch which made the perfect excuse to throw a party.
You and Pansy had spent the evening getting ready together in your dorm.
“We look hot~” you commented while admiring her and yourself in your full body mirror.
“We do~ Now let’s go-“ Pansy grabbed your hand and dragged you out of the dorm.
Once at the party, you had a drink to ease your nerves before you decided to join the growing circle of people playing spin the bottle. Many of your friends were sat, including Lorenzo, Mattheo, and Theo.
You sat yourself beside Lorenzo, “What are we spinning the bottle for?” You asked, almost yelling over the music.
“Body shots!” Lorenzo smirked at you playfully.
“Fun!” You grinned.
Eventually Mattheo’s turn came and the bottle landed on you. Gasps and ooos filled the circle, making you scoff. Mattheo only grinned as he grabbed the bottle of fire whiskey and a shot glass.
Ron and Hermione had to hold back Harry from causing a scene.
“C’mere, Y/n~” Mattheo smirked, motioning you over.
You rolled your eyes and walked over to him, all while he unbuttoned his shirt.
You got on your knees in front of him, squeezing your thighs together as you cunt throbbed at the sight of his bare chest.
Mattheo smirked down, “Ready?” Once you nodded he poured the alcohol down his bare torso.
You didn’t hesitate to begin licking all of the liquor off his torso, savouring the way the fire whiskey burned down your throat.
Mattheo couldn’t stop himself from getting hard at the sight of you on your knees for him staring up at him with lusty half lidded eyes. It made him feel things he knew he shouldn’t feel towards.
The crowd wooed and whistled as you finished licking his chest having made sure to not miss a drop.
“Thanks for the shot, Matty~” you purred, winking at him, your cheeks equally as red as his.
You got up from your knees and returned to your spot beside Lorenzo. Once sat, you took a deep breath to calm yourself down.
You hadn’t expected to have gotten so turned on. It felt so wrong to be attracted to Mattheo.. but you couldn’t help yourself when all you could think about was his dark lustful gaze…
Theodore Nott
You and Theodore became friends in first year.
Theodore was a bit of a loner, like yourself so you got along right away.
Because of this, you always paired up together in your classes.
Especially in potions which you both excel at. Unlike your brother, you inherited your mother’s potions skills.
You guys have definitely have bonded over dead moms/parents.
In fifth year you both became more acquainted with Draco and his gang.
It brought you guys out of your shells.
And further ruined your relationship with your brother but you didn’t really care.
You had Theo by your side and that’s all that mattered.
Although you’re “just friends” there’s definitely feelings at play.
Seeing everyone around you get into relationships made you yearn for one yourself.
Since you’re so close with Theo already you couldn’t help but think about being with him.
He’s such a pretty boy, with his hazel eyes, dirty blond hair and Italian accent.
Theodore had a little thing for you phase in third year.
He considers it a phase but the feelings never truly left.
The both of you are way to afraid to confess to each other in fear of ruining your friendship and of the retaliation from your families.
It was a Friday night and the gang had decided to sneak out of the castle to go swimming in the Black Lake.
Somehow the whole gang managed to bypass Filch and Mrs. Norris, even though the lot of you were giggling loudly at each other.
Once out of the main doors, you all ran to the rocky shores of the lake and spread out all of your towels.
Theo sat down and lit up a cigarette with Mattheo, while you took off your (Theo’s) shirt and your pj pants. Revealing your tiny bikini.
Mattheo wolf whistled at you, “Looking good Potter~” he teased.
“Fuck off Riddle-“ you said playfully and rolled your eyes at him.
“Shut it.” Theo muttered to Mattheo as he took a drag of his cigarette.
Mattheo looked at him, a grin spreading on his face, “What was that, Theo? You jealous or something? Don’t like me talking to your girl?”
“I’m not.” Theo denied as he watched you get into the water with Lorenzo, Pansy, and Draco.
He avoided Mattheo’s gaze to look at you and the others in the water.
Theo clenched his jaw as he observed you and Draco play in the water. Jealousy bubbled in the pit of his stomach.
“Sure you are.” Mattheo scoffed unconvinced.
“Fuck off-“ Theo shoved Mattheo lightly.
He took another deep drag of his cigarette in an attempt to ease his nerves.
“Theo!” You called from the water, “Stop smoking and get in the water!” You grinned joyfully at him.
Theo could feel his heart skip a beat at your radiant smile.
“Theo come on!” You called out again.
“Alright alright, bella-“ He chuckled before putting out his cigarette and getting up.
He took off his shirt and jogged towards the water.
You giggled and grabbed his arm to pull him the rest of the way.
There was no way he could let Draco have you…
Lorenzo Berkshire
Lorenzo has prided himself in his academics.
He has good grades in all of his classes.
Except in history of magic. He’s actually failing the class.
Look it isn’t his fault! Professor Binns is just such a bore.
Seeing as Lorenzo was failing, Professor Binns assigned you, Y/n Potter as his tutor.
Lorenzo was pretty happy about having a cute girl tutoring him.
You’ve intrigued him since first year but he’s never had the chance to talk to you.
But now he sees you twice a week for tutoring.
And honestly you don’t get much tutoring done.
Lorenzo is just so engaging and interesting that you just forget about what you’re there to do.
“Merlin, Lorenzo! We need to focus!” You giggled as you realized how much time you spent conversing.
“Oops!” He giggled.
You found yourself easily charmed by the boy. He was very refreshing to hang out with.
He wasn’t like the other Slytherins who gave you the cold shoulder and looked at you sideways.
Exams were in a week and Lorenzo desperately needed your tutoring if he wanted to pass history of magic.
You both decided to increase the amount of tutoring you’d be doing per week in preparation.
It was the day before exams started and your last day of tutoring.
You made the plan to study in his dorm instead of the library as you found the latter to busy. Lorenzo made sure to kick out his roommates and clean up his area in preparation.
You met up in his dorm after class and wasted no time in taking out all of your notes and textbooks out.
“Ok, Lorenzo.” You said sternly. “No more funny business we need to focus.” You sat on his bed.
He sat in front of you, nodding in agreement, “I really need to pass this exam or my dad will kill me.” He said and got his own notes out.
“Alright. I’m going to quiz you on some stuff. Look over your notes and tell me when you’re ready.” You instructed as you organized a few papers.
Lorenzo nodded and began looking over his notes, desperately trying to not get distracted at the thought that you, a cute girl was in his dorm and sitting on his bed.
“Okay I think I’m ready.” He announces after a few minutes and put his notes to the side.
“Okay… question one..” you began.
You quizzed Lorenzo for the next half hour. He was truly trying his best. What motivated him the most was the praise you gave him after each right answer.
“Good job!” “Atta boy!” “You’re doing great!” “That’s right!”
Every single one gave him butterflies.
Eventually he managed to get all of them right.
“You got every single question right!” You exclaimed with a big grin, “ Well done! I’m sure you’re going to pass!”
“You really think?” He smiled shyly.
“Of course!” You said reassuringly.
You checked your watch, you had finished your quizzing just on time.
You began to pack up your stuff, ready to head back to your dorm to do some studying of your own.
“Thank you, for all of the tutoring.” Lorenzo thanked as he helped you.
“It’s no problem at all, you’re fun to tutor.” You admit shyly, “Good luck on your exam.” You bided him before leaving.
Lorenzo watched you leave, making a note to himself to ask you out on a date after exams..
Blaise Zabini
You and Blaise got paired up for a project in potions once.
You both weren’t thrilled because you didn’t really get along.
At least you weren’t paired up with Seamus.
And in a way it worked out well for Blaise because he didn’t have to partner up with any of his idiot friends and have to do all of the work.
You did so well on the project together that Professor Slughorn decided to continue paring you guys up.
Hanging out with Blaise was now unavoidable.
Your interactions went from uninterested, cold and limited to being much more frequent and nicer.
Being much friendlier to each other also helped you work even better together.
“Hey, Zabini? How do you cut these roots again?” You asked quietly, glancing over at him.
“Oh you cut them in half and then..” he leaned over to help you.
You couldn’t help but be shy about the close proximity between you two.
He was close enough that you could smell his piney aftershave and his minty breath.
Not to mention his voice was so deep and smooth as he talked.
You snapped quickly out of it and focused back on what he was saying.
“Oh right. Thanks.” You thanked him and proceeded to cut the ingredient as he instructed.
“S’no prob.” He said, hesitating before leaving your side.
Since you were already doing so much work together, it was easier to just study together as well.
This resulted in you two spending more time together.
The library became you main hangout spot.
Away from his annoying friends who always burst into his dorm asking stupid questions just for the sake of bothering you two.
“Do you understand what question 8 means? I completely forgot what Professor Bins said about it.” Blaise asked, furrowing his brows with a sigh.
“Uh let me see..” you leaned over to read his parchment.
While you muttered the question to yourself, Blaise couldn’t help but stare at your focused face.
You looked cute, bitting your cheeks as you played with a strand of your curly hair. He could tell you had just washed it because you smelled strongly of lavender.
“Um I just wrote down this…” you sat up and grabbed your parchment.
You guys only considered yourselves acquaintances.
Yeah you found each other attractive.
You’re both attractive people after all and you were just acknowledging the obvious ok?
You two truly were oblivious idiots who couldn’t realize you had crushes on each other.
You were headed to what you thought would be another ordinary potions class.
You sat down beside Blaise and took out all your supplies, ready for whatever Professor Slughorn was going to make you guys brew.
After a bit of waiting, Slughorn began his lesson. “Today, we will be learning about Amortentia. Can anyone tell me what this potion does?”
Hermione shot up her hand eager to answer.
“Yes, Miss Granger?” Slughorn picked her.
“It’s a love potion sir.” She answered
“Corrected, ten points for Griffindor!” Professor Slughorn grinned.
He went on about the lesson, talking about the potion’s history and the risk involved with brewing it and its results.
“Now that we’re done with the lesson, I invite you all to come up and smell this batch of Amortentia I brewed just for this class.” Slughorn said enthusiastically.
You watched as your classmates went up and smelled the potion.
It was amusing seeing how many answered with a stutter and returned to their seats with reddened cheeks.
Finally it was your turn and you had no idea what you would smell.
You leaned down to take a deep inhale of the potion and the overhwhelming sent of Pine and mint flooded your senses.
“And what do you smell Miss Potter?” Your Professor asked.
You hesitated before speaking, “Pine and mint sir.” You answered.
Then the realization hit you and your eyes grew wide.
You smelled Blaise.
You blushed in embarrassment and kept your head down as you walked back to your desk.
“Who did you smell?” Blaise asked you curiously.
Before you could give him a half assed answer you were interrupted.
“Mr Zabini! Your turn!” Professor Slughorn announced.
Blaise got up from his seat and approached the potion.
It took a few smells for him to realize what he was smelling wasn’t your scent lingering on him. The potion itself smelled like lavender.
The gears in his head began to turn and it all began to fit. He smelled your shampoo.
He felt his cheeks heat up a bit from embarrassment and he quickly glanced at you.
Class was going to be very interesting…
#slytherin boys x reader#harry potter x reader#draco malfoy x reader#draco x reader#mattheo riddle x reader#theodore nott x reader#lorenzo berkshire x reader#blaise x reader#blaise zabini x reader#slytherin boys x you#draco x you#mattheo riddle x you#theodore nott x you#lorenzo berkshire x you#blaise zabini x you#potter!reader
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The Ball
(Image is NOT mine, it’s from Kate Kotova’s YouTube Community.)
Astarion x F!reader
Word count: A LOOOTTT
First time writing so please give any constructive criticism. Tell me if Astarion is out of character or whatnot. Here I wanted him to be pretty frustrated so he’s rougher than usual. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS.
Summary: You were getting ready for a ball until Astarion randomly fucks you into oblivion.
Warnings: use of gross words, cervix fucking, VERY rough sex, extreme discomfort, neediness, blood, ruined makeup, anger, cnc, pain, tears, ripping of clothing, weird inconsistent pov, scent, breeding kink, cringe writing, past trauma, voyerism, harsh choking, lots of eye rolling, short sentences, regret
——————-
The edge of the drawer dug into your ribs harshly and the pain was becoming intolerable. Your palms flat against the waxed wood, pushing against the weight behind you. You winced when the figure behind pressed harder into you, being far from comfortable. It was like talking to a brick wall when you opened your mouth to speak. He was stuck in a deep trance involving your scent, and the unsteady beating of your heart. All he could hear was the hammering of the pulse and you smelled and looked absolutely amazing. Beyond amazing. Astounding. The way your dress fitted you perfectly. Breasts threaten to burst out of the dress, almost overflowing from the top. Your cleavage being the most prominent part of your whole get up, other than the accessories. The dress was white with laces on the rim surrounding your breasts, and on the end of your clothing as well. The outfit shimmered and was made to stand out from the others in the ball. The jewelry was what really stole the show though, dangle earrings, waist chain over the fancy fabric, bracelet, and a pearled necklace. You were adorned head to toe, your beauty would stun the crowd. Yet Astarion has you here, secured in his grip. It’s like he didn’t want anyone to see you in such a glamorous outfit. Someone could steal you away. It has been a while since Astarion initiated such intimate touching. With his view on sex tainted, you withheld from being inappropriate in any way. Worried about scaring him away, or reminding him of anything unpleasant. You stuck to loving words and affections that he so eagerly accepted and appreciated. The man was madly in love, and you, yourself. You showered him in so much care that it perplexed him. He only imagined or dreamed of being looked out for during years of hell, and never thought that it would actually come to fruition.
His nose and lips firmly pressed against your neck, providing soft kisses here and there. Cold breath sends shivers through your body. It was like a chilly winter breeze, making your hair stand. The kisses were sloppy, leaving small trails of saliva up and down your throat. You had an expensive perfume on, a bitter flavor to the tongue that he did not seem to mind. Too engrossed in this moment to care, wanting to feel and taste more. Maybe he liked the combination of the perfume and the flavor of your skin. Grabbing the arm that was locked around your waist, you squeeze, giving him a small warning to stop. The ball had already started, he promised to take you out dancing and flaunt your beauty to everyone there and show that you were his. It appears he regretted this decision. You were excited to sway and spin, to be close to him and your companions. You longed to see the others and the others wanted to see you too. You wanted to see the lights and the decorations. To see just how fancy the place was.
“I want to greet everyone.” You say, with his arms still locked around you. You tried excusing yourself to not remind him of ugly recollections. Trying not to have him cringe in disgust at any possible moment. Even with all of his confessions, he still held 200 years of secrets and uncomfortable experience that he was not willing to share. His coldness migrated behind your ear, hearing his sharp inhale. Very touchy this evening. What has him so worked up? Was he okay?
“They will see you soon enough, my love. Be patient.” He assured whilst rubbing his face against you, groaning, trying to lock in all of your musk mixed with perfume. He was ravenous. Mouth agape. A strong hand traced your left arm all the way up to your shoulder, and flipped the few wisps of your hair to the other side. Kisses now traced your jaw. Lips dry and chapped, moisture gone from the smooches. You could see the white curls come into view. Body flush against yours like a mold. Pale hands gripping your waist harshly and angling them to have the curve of your ass on his groin. “You look like an absolute treat tonight.” You could feel how each roughened finger dug deep to the point of almost hurting. Oh how you loved this. You missed his touch. Whether it be soft or hard, you still managed to enjoy yourself. Every movement made warmth course through you. Unexpectedly, he pricked your skin with one singular fang and licked the sweet red bead that came out with a sigh. Driving him crazy. Cool tongue teasing the sharp pain.
You grabbed the curls and ripped his lips off you.
“How about you be patient?” Your grip was firm, hurting his sensitive scalp. He hissed and even dared to flashed his fangs at you.
“You are hurting me.” You say bitterly. He presses less of his weight against you, letting you finally breathe better. But still being sandwiched between him and the drawer caused a sting.
“Still hurting me…”
He reluctantly pulls back, not much, but enough to keep the edge of the drawer from biting at your skin.
“I am starving—“ Words nothing but a whisper.
“I can tell.”
“Well be a dear, and give me just one bite?” He asked with honeyed words and puppy eyes.
“It’s never just one bite with you, Star.”
His hands roamed your body through your white dress, pawing at your breast, then down in between your thighs. The dress being an annoying obstacle.
“Oh how I missed you.” He sighs. You giggle at his words while you twirl a strand in your finger. It has not been long at all. He was quite literally in the other room while you did your makeup. And before that, both of you organized and planned your outfits for the day of the party together. You look over your shoulder with a smirk and a raised brow.
“Star, I was simply getting ready for the ball. I won’t take much longer.” You take a glimpse at his attire. All white, matching yours. The turtle neck, the colors, the swirls and patterns of his suit were all beautiful. Just like him. The shoulder pads that pronounced his shoulders. And his broad chest. You wanted to run your hands up and down his muscular figure but he firmly held you locked in place. He leaned into you again, though not as hard as before, your back arching to accommodate his body. Grinding on your bum. Noticing just how steel hard he was, your knees shook and your heels almost gave out.
“One bite? It won’t take long, love.” The man was hungry despite being fed the day before.
“Yes.” He immediately dives in and pierces your jugular. Fangs cause a sharp sting that makes you flinch. He will feed, then the two of you can finally go to the ball. Not wanting to suck you dry, he took shallow gulps. A moan rumbled from his chest and it vibrated through you. Astarion looked so hot with his composure uncharacteristically broken. The blood dribbling from the puncture being the sweetest he's ever savored. It was like some form of drug. Astarion’s favorite medicine. Faint whines of his satisfaction adding to the wetness below. You could see his brows knit together in concentration from the corner of your eye. Savoring you. He continued to rub your cunt through your dress while your hips circled to increase the pace that was set. He was too distracted to notice the teasingly slow speed of his fingers. Or maybe not. Perhaps he was deliberately trying to drive you insane. The friction of your panties and dress mixed with his talented digits made your clit throb. Your hand pushed his down, trying to create more traction to satisfy your need. Your hips still managed to gyrate even under his hold, rubbing right up on his erection. You moved faster against him, earning a whine from your vampire's throat. The hard rod pressed to your bum had you yearning for more. He kept moaning. Large pale hands traveled up to the very start of your dress and roughly pulled down, ripping the clothing and bra with it. The initial sound of the rippage filling the room with its sheer force. You shrieked as your tits suddenly jumped out of its confinements. Bouncing from its vicious release. Soft and supple skin, round and pretty nipples. Your outfit is in complete tatters.
“Astarion!” You shouted. Visibly upset. Such a beautiful dress put to waste. You waited months for this dress to be tailored, for its patterns and shimmers to be suited into it. So happy to try it on, so happy the way it hugged your curves when you got your hands on it. You attempted to turn to scold the ever living shit out of him but he held you in place with his strength. “Ugh!” You leered down at the irreversible mess and felt your face grow hot with rage. Then you looked into the mirror at the sight. Your nipples out in the open. How you wished to see him behind you, to see the dark and lustful red eyes looking deep into yours. What's gotten him so wild? Shifting his gaze towards your tits through the mirror, he moaned at the view of you. Quickly moving his palms onto your plump flesh; his big hands dwarfing both mounds. Astarion squeezed and played to his heart's desire and all you did was watch. Pliant skin caving and yielding. You were angry, livid, exasperated but… when was the last time he’s sought you out to touch you so sensually? When was the last time he felt okay with pleasure? You would put your anger aside, albeit begrudgingly, for this rare occasion. You were gonna give him hell afterwards though. Have him pay for the dress AGAIN and some complaining. It felt amazing, having him play, grope, and gently dig his fingers in. Savoring you. Passionately massaging them. You were upset. So upset. But you loved the touch. He was disorganized and chaotic which was so uncommon of him. Eventually, once you’ve calmed, your hands combine with his large ones, joining in on the fun. Then you realized something. The door to the room was open. Your head swirled to its direction and you were able to hear the distant chatter. Terror took a hold of you.
“Star. Stop. They will see.” Your concerns meant nothing to him though even when you pushed. He was too lost in you to even care. A huff was his only response. His fangs soon left you and he raised his head to nip at your ear. The blood from the wound seeped into your pearled necklace.
“I am being serious.” He grabbed your face, the skin indenting in his strong grip, and turned it enough to give you a searing kiss. The smooch was slippery from the gloss and the lipstick stained him, mixing with the blood he took from you. You sighed at the way his lips pressed upon yours. He parted his lips and snaked his tongue in your mouth, drawing an obscene moan as you unhinged your jaw for him. The blend of lipstick, gloss, blood, and the perfume he kissed off was rather tart. You opened your eyes and looked into the mirror. You looked so lewd. Both of you panted into the kiss. His left hand still played with your breast. His right hand grabbed yours and placed it flat against the wood, fingers interlocking. Astarion abandoned your mouth and licked long strides up your neck, cleaning the remaining blood then proceeded to give more pecks to it.
“What is this all about, Star?”
“I simply crave you little love. Is that so bad?”
“You ruined my dress. It was so glamorous…I waited months for this you damned bastard.”
“I’ll have another one made, my treasure.” He did not seem phased by your anger. The glam clothing was being pulled and balled up, enough to show your plush thighs. Wearing stockings and lingerie underneath. You half expected to fuck, just not so early.
“My, my. What’s this all about, dear?” He repeated your question from earlier as nimble fingers ran along the stockings. You blushed deeply at his words. Hands fixed on your butt. Delicately rubbing.
“Astarion, the door. Least close the door.” He pushed your face against the drawer, and raised the rest of your dress, showing your pretty ass. The fabric laid right above your hips. He slapped it hard. Another one came after that with full force. The sting was so intense tears began to form. No, you were not going to cry with how much effort you put into your makeup. He grumbled at your request.
“Not a chance. Where else will I get my warmth from? Karlach? Lae’zel?” He tsked. Red marks adorned your bum now from the manhandling. Blood rushing and heating the stinging flesh.
The warmth radiating onto his icy palms pleased him as it made a nice contrast. “You know, It gets quite cold being undead, darling.” Pouting as he feigned sadness.
“I will still be here once you come back. It's just mere feets away! Plus I'm sure Karlach wouldn't mind sharing her never ending heat.”
“Ah, but that would be no fun. Truthfully, the possible thrill of being caught excites me to no end…and I believe it does the very same to you too, darling.” He said, slipping the panties to the side to expose you. “I can tell just by your heartbeat.” He murmured. You purred when his rough thumb slithered up and down your wet slit. You sway your waist to taunt his desire. Without warning, he soon rooted two digits deep inside to prepare you to fuck hard. The sudden intrusion caused you to bite your lip. He grazed and memorized each ridge of your soggy cunt, especially the spongy part. You grinded in tandem to his fingers but it wasn’t enough.
“Then please, hurry up.” you whimper. He hummed.
“Since you asked nicely.” He caressed the bud halfheartedly. Swiftly he lost interest then pulled his fingers out. You could hear the belt buckle and his pants unfasten.
He slid all the way into your gummy walls with a loud hiss. You felt incredibly full, so stretched out and already worn from his dick. Cunt squeezing and contracting, trying to adjust to the fullness. You were so overwhelmed that it made you dizzy. Your pussy ravenously swallowed his thick dick which was not helping with your lightheadedness. The tip of his cock snuggling your cervix, causing your knees to weaken.Good thing he was holding you up. There was an impossibly deep, deep want inside your walls that set you ablaze. The feeling so intense your legs wobbled more. The desire was gut wrenching, so powerful and desperately needed his cock. He was fully sheathed but it was not enough. You needed him to move, drag and stroke himself along slick walls. Your clit throbbed. Placing your fingers onto the bundle of nerves you spun quick circles that briefly had your eyes roll. You couldn’t wait anymore and began to throw yourself back on him, forcing a garbled moan out of him. Both of you needed to get this over with fast. Cursing yourself for falling into your own desires as easily as he did. All he had to do was close the door but no. He loves risks and this situation made his dick painfully hard for him. What is pleasure without a little pain? You imagined him saying. He observed you like a hawk, watching you fuck yourself. Hearing him gulp then heave faster. His mouth was open, curls misplaced (from his usual hairdo), and brows knitted together again… A deafening laughter came from the halls when you began to panic. You stopped to peer at the cracked open door. He tightly grabbed onto your waist and pressed his thumbs into your back dimples, treating them as thumb holders. The first thrust was hard. You were caught off guard when your body lunged forward, causing objects to fall from the desk you leaned on. The laughing paused. Then the next one was even harder. He barely even started and tears began to sting in your eyes. His hair now falling towards his face, ruining his perfect pomade. Each movement he made, his locks swiftly followed. You felt the way his cock hauled to and fro. He knew how tight and warm you were but it always left him in shambles. Your walls clenched, subduing his bulging veins, and molding his dick on each thrust. He wanted to cum. He wanted to be deeper. He wanted to be one with you. Anxiety was through the roof but, thankfully, the people accompanying the halls continued with their conversation. All your attention was on the door where all the sounds originated from. The pace changed as you tried to listen for any footsteps.
Then all of a sudden he trembled and went stiff. He placed his chest against you for leverage. Lowering his head, listening how each breath was a struggle for him. You could see his wet curls in your peripheral vision. You turned your head to look.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You asked with genuine fear in your heart. Endless questions began to flood in your head. What if he didn’t want it? What if he regretted this decision? What if a bad memory was prompted? Was he disgusted by the thoughts of long ago?
“I’m close.” He choked out, “I need you to come first.” You found yourself relieved that he wasn’t uncomfortable. He was far from it. He withheld his own pleasure though, choosing to serve you before anything else. Being used to lifelong servitude and to pleasing others, it was only natural to him. This was going to change eventually. Astarion was walking on a thin line and quickly losing his balance. It took all his will and power just not to cum deep in your womb. He was right on the edge, so close all he needed was a push. You whined and wiggled your hips.
“Do not move.” He ordered, cock violently twitching inside you and mouth pulled into a snarl.
“Just cum!” You could see his head shake from the corner of your vision, “please!” You lifted your face from the drawer and held onto the wood the best you could. Your hips snapped back into him. He threw his head back and groaned loudly as if it pained him.
“Please, please, please, please!” You continued to beg. He was seconds from bursting just from your pleading. Your manicured nails drove deep marks on the drawer and the mirror began to shake back and forth. Your rapid breath fogged up the reflection in front of you and blocked the view. You kept going faster. Your earrings swayed back and forth with all the movement, along with your long necklace that was repeatedly bumping against your breasts. His whole body weight was on you now, ceasing your thrusts, and he placed himself deep inside. The drawer was back to painfully jabbing at you and it kept you from breathing properly. And whatever air trapped in your lungs was forced out of you when he rammed into you one last time. His cockhead glued to your cervix when he blew his fat load into you. His eyes went wide. Hair completely down. He looked like he was dying and ascending at the same time then damn near screamed.
He leaned back to give your aching bones some rest with a sweaty forehead against your shoulder. He was groaning even past his orgasm. You reached up to caress him.
“My star. I really wanted to go to the ball.” You sigh. He held onto your breasts again and pinched your nipples. “Are you not done?” Your makeup was ruined and so was your dress. You didn’t even get to cum either. But that was okay, as long as he relished in himself for once.
“Not quite. I’m sorry, darling. I’m sure there’s a spare dress.” He lifted his head and applied soft kisses to your cheeks
“Star, I really liked this dress.”
“I am sorry, my treasure.”
“This occasion was important to me.”
“I’m sorry…” It’s not often he would apologize. “Please, one more…” He sounded so weak and shattered. His head against your back just huffing and puffing. He held onto your waist, lovingly running with thick fingers down your exposed skin. Your skin was squishy compared to his rough finger pads. He was still hard and deep within you, his tip still cuddling your cervix. Another sigh escaped your lips, and you felt your clit throb again. Still unsatisfied. Your eyebrows arched upwards at the sensation. He wanted more and so did you. He felt so good just being seated inside you with his cum seeping out of you, most likely staining his pants and traveling down his balls. You could feel the stretch his thick dick provided to your abused walls. The same familiar feeling of want was still coiled up within, you needed release so badly. You wanted him to fuck it out of you. You bit your lip and looked into the mirror. Pretending to see his own reflection standing behind you. The thought of it made you clamp down on him and you both moaned. You turned your head and looked into his cat-like eyes. His broken voice did not match the way he was glaring at you. Seeming possessive.
Astarion pressed your back against his chest and your lips instinctively pressed on his jaw when he did so. When he pulled out, you could feel his cum spill between your thighs. Must’ve been very pent up. He moved his hand up towards the torn dress that was clinging to your hips, and tried to pass it down your legs, but the waist chain kept it from doing so. He ripped the pearled chain, and the beads fell onto the floor with the dress itself. The torn material was a tripping hazard that pooled around your feet. You didn’t even try to express your anger since he wouldn’t have acknowledged it. The only clothing you had on was the lace panties, the stockings, the jewelry, and your high heels. The vampire behind you was still completely clothed. You could still sense his icy coolness even through the layers of his attire. Your slim hand went down to begin playing with your clit.
His arm wrapped around your waist as the other slid his dick back inside you. Your pussy welcomed him hungrily. Your other hand grabbed onto his strong forearm as he began his thrusts. You kissed his jaw and cheeks, staining them a nice red with the remaining pigment you had on your lips. Astarion shut his eyes for a brief moment, cherishing in your care. He felt overwhelmed with love and lust. He had no idea how to express it. You were the best thing that’s happened to him. Finally someone who would put him first. Providing him soft affection and kind words even when he thought he didn’t deserve it. Being treated so kindly angered him in a way. The way you kissed him was so gentle compared to the way he was fucking you. Astarion felt guilty for rutting into you so harshly, but he couldn’t contain what he was feeling. Whatever that feeling was.
He looked down to watch as you played with yourself. Seeing your hand movements down between your breasts. Each thrust had them bounce. Your mascara ran down your flushed cheeks as your lipstick smeared against your chin and nose. Your eyeshadow and liner was smudged as well. It was all a mess and he loved it. He loved this. He loved you. Something so beautiful ravaged by him. Astarion kept going and wouldn’t stop; he couldn't. Not with the way your walls eagerly swallowed him. How it would squeeze down on him everytime he pulled back, asking him not to leave. You were velvety, tight, and wet. Feeling every ridge and every flutter. Felt your legs shake and wobble. He sensed how you would progressively compress on him the closer you got. Barely even able to shove himself fully into you. The tip kept hitting that perfect spot, the spot that had your eyes rolling and he kept striking and beating it devastatingly fast. You stopped kissing him, having a hard time breathing through the vicious motions. You can’t think. Everything was a blur and you felt dizzy. Your pretty nails dug into his forearm without a care in the world. The sound of your hips meeting was far too loud, anyone with ears would be able to listen. You tried your best to stay quiet, but the hits Astarion kept giving was blowing your cover. The slapping was loud, the way the desk rumbled was loud, the way the mirror shook was loud and each time it trembled it would hit the wall. You hoped the music was deafening enough to muffle everything while he was giving you a throrough fuck. Completely surrendering yourself to him. Taking him so well. Your hair was all over your face now, whisps sticking to sweat, to tears, and to gloss. The edge of the drawer was pinching the hand that was between your legs and it hurt, squishing your arm. Astarion began to lean forwards now which made it even worse making your nails dig deeper into his sleeved arm to brace yourself. He was never this rough before. One hand came up and moved your hair out of the way to smooch you.
“Good pet.” He whispered rasply. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. He bended further into you. Not only did the drawer now hurt your arm but it went back to crushing your ribs. You were on your tippy toes from the positioning and positive that your heels were breaking. Your fingers rubbed quick circles on your clit while he plowed through you, which had a sob escape you. You’ve been trying to keep quiet. Despite the other ruckus the both of you have been doing, the last thing you wanted was someone hearing you delighting yourself in such a publicly debauched way. He himself wasn’t holding back though. Anyone would be able to hear him panting. You were doing this to him. It all felt so wrong but it only further encouraged the throbbing in your core. He let a long, pained groan go while baring his teeth. The sharp fangs gleamed in the light as he slowly glided his tongue over them. He was frustrated and wanted this to last longer.
“Gonna cum again?” You tease.
“Yes.” His eyes were wide now as he slammed in. He looked crazed. Like a rabid animal chasing his own high. White silver hair framing his sculpted features. Red orbs peering through the strands. He was actually enjoying himself. Actually enjoying sex without the weight of his past bearing down on him. That realization made you gush. Eyes rolling as you felt his (previous) cum and wetness drip down your ankles.
“Yeah?” You coo.
“Yes.”
“Then do it. Fuck your child into me. Do it. Fuck me.” You said through gritted teeth. You didn’t mean for it to sound like a command and it made your heart drop the second those words left your mouth. You could only hope at the moment that he was okay with it. You were going to apologize until he jerked your hair back and forced your face upwards. Unleashing something primal the second you finished that sentence. He wanted you to bear his child even if it was an impossible feat. Astarion hates kids but the thought drove him mad and he was willing to give you everything you desired. He kept pulling until you were able to look into his red eyes. Towering over you. You could see just how deranged he appeared. Consumed by passion. The insatiable hunger that radiated off his cold body was intoxicating. Your back was impossibly arched now and you felt like you were gonna snap in half. Even more so whenever he bucked his hips. The severe pain on your arm made you abandon your needy clit.
“Yeah? Like that, darling? Huh? Just like that?” You couldn’t say a word. Not one. The ache in your ribs, back, scalp and neck was intolerable but you needed him to cum. To not care about anything else but his own pleasure. You could feel his dick pummeling through your guts and mistreating your cervix. Somehow you were still reaching your high.
“This is what you want? Huh? Yes? No? Tell me.” He spoke but it didn’t mean anything. All words lost their meaning. Astarion was fucking your brains out. The heels broke under his ministrations. He was wrecking everything. Your vision went blurry from the tears, they kept spilling and wouldn’t stop. You were going to cum crying. You were gonna cum just like this.
“So cockdumb you can’t even answer me?” The eye contact was driving you both crazy. The view he had was so fucking hot you wouldn’t believe it. His cum stained balls smacking your clit with each hit. You grounded your cunt against him just to grind your clit against his balls and you rolled your hips for more. Finally your bundle of nerves was getting the attention it deserved. Your mouth was open, spilling silent cries when your eyes moved to the back of your head. No longer able to stare into his blown pupils. He gruffed in anger and grabbed you by the throat instead of your hair.
“Look at me.” He told you as his hand squeezed ruthlessly. You listened. “There you go, my sweet little treat. You’re taking me so well.” Astarion smiled down at you villainously, teeth white and shiny. Silver hair all over the place. Eyes manic. He was fucking mental. Juices flowed down as you came, If his pants were not ruined before, it was ruined now. You came looking deep into his soul, violently trembling and jolting in snapped heels. You needed to scream but couldn't because of the choking. Mouth opened and closed for air. The tear soaked makeup slightly burned when it slipped into your eyes. Veins pulsing the best it could despite the blockade Astarion’s ivory hands gave. Your head was hurting and thumping and your palms laid on what was in front for any form of support. Once again your nails worked itself into the wooden drawer leaving behind more horrible marks in its wake.
Astarion fucked your beaten pussy past your orgasm. Back being all sorts of blown out. Your walls were milking his dick and balls, begging for his seed to flood your womb and hoping to knock you up. It made him grip your throat even tighter. Your Adam’s apple tried bobbing up and down to swallow up any breath you could seek. In his point of view your face was a light scarlet because of the lack of oxygen, with a vein protruding from your forehead. Him mistreating you, and you letting him sent shivers up his spine. He let go once your vision almost faded and blurred, then brutally drove his fangs into your neck. You gasped for air when he unclasped, somewhat because of the sudden pain and mostly because of the choking. Having large amounts of air fill your lungs helped you regain vision. The mirror was no longer foggy and you could get a good view of the situation. You were in tatters. Hair. Makeup. Outfit. Embarrassment creeped in with just how fucked out and shameless you seemed. Is this what you really looked like? Or was the mirror playing tricks? Is this what Astarion has been seeing this whole time? How depraved and disgusting. He loved the view though. Your jewelry, tits, and locks kept moving with the thrusts. But with the aggressive and speedy drinking, your sight would blur up in no time. And with your desperate breathing, the mirror would soon fog up again. The tang in your blood was sweeter than before and his fangs pushed further in to drain you better. Astarion was properly feeding this time and didn’t hold back in greedily sucking you up. Every muscle was sore and you were surely going to pass out. Then the taste of euphoria in your blood made him burst. Abruptly grabbing onto your breast, his yell was muffled since his teeth were still latched. He jerked with each rope of cum he shot into you. The tip probing and nuzzling your spent cervix. You let out a long moan when he started filling you to the brim a second time.
“Fuck. I'm sorry…” Astarion wiped your tears away when he came to his senses. Heavy pants mixing together. Your body was in horrible pain and limp but you felt joy in bringing him pleasure. He nuzzled you while skimming his fingers on the dark bruises kindly. “I’m so sorry darling. I don’t know what possessed me. I’ll make it up to you… what do you want to eat? I’ll bring food to you.” The marks on your neck began to show and he felt intense regret. How could he lose himself like this? How could he treat you this way? To someone he loved and appreciated so vastly? “Please forgive me, my love.” He said, fear in his trembling voice. He fucked up badly.
“Gods…” he whispered. You slumped onto the desk. Astarion was going to be hellbent on compensating you for the harm he had done.
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Well, yes, but—“
“Then it’s okay.”
“No. It is not okay. I am truly sorry. Do not try to validate my actions. I am so sorry about the ball, darling.”
“Yeah, you’re an asshole for tearing my dress and for breaking your promise to take me dancing.” You admitted as he embraced you. “But you can make it up to me by buying me a new dress. AND by giving me lots of cuddles. If you’re up for it.” You offer.
“Of course, my treasure, how could I say no?”
#astarion#astarion ancunin#baldur's gate 3#bg3#bg3 tav#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#astarion x you#smut#astarion x reader smut#astarion smut
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idk if u are taking requests but I thought about “jjk men reacting to a s/o with tramp stamp” … if u did it would be nice …
JJK men reacting to tramp stamp
A/N: Hello, thanks for your request, I hope you like it <3 well here the reader is not necessarily s/o but reader and jjk men have feelings for each other.
Warning: hmm kinda smut ❤️🔥 ??
Gojo Satoru : At Prom Party.
It was prom party that night at Jujutsu High, teachers were also allowed to attend, and you were one of the new teachers who joined this year. So your secret admirer and co-worker Gojo Satoru seized the opportunity and found it fit to invite you to go to prom with him, as two young and beautiful teachers. Since all of you live in Jujutsu High dormitory, you were already in the middle of the party ground, and no need for Gojo to pick you up from your room.
Satoru mingled through the prom, wearing am expensive and elegant black suit, he was searching for you and then found you with your girl students, all of you dressed in cute dresses. Satoru's eyes widened. He wasn't used to you wearing dresses, you've always been clad in your teaching uniform or something sporty. His heart skipped a beat when he saw you in a sleek low-back dress, you looked really stunning and sexy, outshining everyone there. He took a moment to admire you from afar, then started walking towards but boy stopped mid way when you suddenly turned around to greet Itadori, the intricate design of the tramp stamp tattoo that's briefly visible above the edge of your dress caught Gojo's eyes and took his breath away. For a split second, his expression flickered with surprise. His gaze lingering on your lower back, trying to see the details of your tattoo, but soon you turned again and he's left with replaying that hidden and unexpected glimpse of rebellion in his mind. He'd walk over to you and try to stay composed.
Each time you turn around or something he tried to peek without appearing like a creep, but he desperately wanted to see it up close and maybe trace it with his long fingers. Even though he was surprised, he actually liked it and it made you look even more badass and he loves that. You'd notice how he was acting really awkward and weird, you thought he hated the party or something but truth is he couldn't stop thinking and envisioning his hands tracing your inked lower back so delicately, admiring and taking into the details of that tramp stamp of yours.
You'd ask him if he's okay and he'll just blurt it out . He was so done and wanted to see it real bad.
" I noticed you've got a tattoo! I didn't know you're into tattoos "
"Oh this one?" you'd say and turn around giving him a better and clear display.
He'd gulp. His heart hammering against his ribcage at the beautiful sight, the tattoo, your well defined back, the way the dress was looking gorgeous from behind, he couldn't help but fall deep for you, he found you more and more irresistible.
"Wow I wanna touch it– holy shit sorry, I'm not a pervert!!! " he started explaining when he realized he voiced his deepest desires.
But you'd cut him off with a visible smirk,
" Of course, but let's keep it after the party, shall we ? "
He took the hint and realized that you've got something for him as well, and now he can't wait when the party's over so he can get what he's been thinking about for the whole night.
Suguru Geto : At Tattoo Shop
Your friend Geto started a new project and opened his own tattoo and piercing shop. So you and your group of friends, Satoru and Shoko thought about paying him a visit and support him. The shop screams Geto, it's literally his vibe, black and grey wallpaper, and electric guitar hanging on the wall, the scent of his cologne taking over the whole space, making it more inviting. You've always liked the way he smells tho.
Suguru got really happy when you arrived, he appreciated your support for his business, but more importantly cuz you were there. Shoko was getting a new piercing and you thought about getting a small design right under your collarbone.
He was too excited to tattoo you and maybe exchange eye contact in the process. It didn't take too long for him to get the tattoo done, the design was really small and Geto is a pro.
" So what do you think?" he asked nervously, handing you a mirror.
" Oh wow I love it Suguru, you're really good at this, good job! you never disappoint"
" You took it like a champ tho! you didn't even flinch for a first time getting tattoed, especially that area is pretty sensitive " he said proudly
you giggled and said,
" Oh actually it's not my first tattoo "
" What ? and how come we don't know about that? " asked Shoko
" Um because it's hidden!"
" Care to show us miss ? Come on don't be shy now" she added,
" Ugh fine " you rolled your eyes and smiled,
You lifted your shirt a bit and slightly pushed done your pants only to show your lower back, and a beautiful tramp stamp tattoo came to display. Geto's eyes were fixated in your lower back, your soft skin and how it was decorated with a breathtaking design that made your back even more attractive. His breath hitched up in his throat, feeling more drawn to you, but at the same time jealous because someone else got to touch you there and tattoo you. He wished it was him, taking his time to design your lower back and give you that pretty pain.
" A- a tramp stamp?" he stuttered,
" Yeah I got it 2 months ago, if I knew you're planning to open up a tattoo shop I would've waited so you can tattoo me "
" Oh shoot Suguru, unlucky " teased Gojo knowing about the obvious spark between both of you.
Suguru glared at his friend, getting really upset, because he desperately wanted to be the one to ink you and not anyone else. But he couldn't help how warm the atmosphere was getting, you looked very hot.
" I'm getting more tattoos though, but now I know I'll come to you to ink me " you said wanting his hands to be on you in any possible way.
Suguru's pupils expanded, a smirk appeared on his face. He got more excited and now he can't wait for his next session with you.
" Any specific spots ? "
" I like hidden spots more " you smiled,
" Alright Shoko I guess we don't fit here anymore " exclaimed Gojo wrapping his arm around Shoko's shoulder pulling her outside with him so he can give his best friend some privacy with you.
You spent the rest of the evening, in Geto's shop, just the two of you, discussing tattoos, exchanging your mutual likings, and choosing the perfect spot that he'll ink.
You spent the rest of the evening talking about your mutual passion for tattoos, chosing what spot you'll decorate next and maybe showing him once again that beautiful tattoo, for inspiration purposes.
Choso Kamo : At The Beach
Choso's heart pounded out of hos chest as he watched the sunrise with you, it was your second date together after you officially started dating. He thought that watching the sunrise together at the beach is romantic, and man wanted to act romantic just for you. Poor baby was doing his best.
" I love this place " you said as you rested your head on his shoulder.
The water was inviting, sparkling in the sun rays, the gentle waves creating a therapeutic sound.
" Yeah, a calm place for both of us " he said, hesitantly pressing a kiss on top of your head.
He was still shy around you, very careful with his moves even though you were chill and cool around him. Trying to not rush things to not make you uncomfortable in any way.
" Should we swim ? " you suggest out of the blue with a big excited smile on your face.
" Swim? Now ? I think the water is cold now!"
" I like it cold, it's refreshing. Don't you think " you answered, your eyes shining with happiness.
" I– "
But before he could say anything, you already stripped out of your clothes, living you in your bikini. You knew you can't resist the water, so you wore your bikini in case you decided to swim.
" I came prepared " you laughed and started running to the water.
Choso froze. He didn't know how to act. He didn't expect you to easily take off your clothes, in front of him like that, his cheeks turned red like cherries. But what made him more flustered is the tattoo that was clearly visible on your lower back. Choso gasped, his heart almost jumping out of his throat. Your figure, your inked skin made it hard for him to breathe or function and now he's all red, awkward not knowing what his next move is. But he took his time to stare at your back, since he's your boyfriend and he kinda felt that he has the green light to look at you as much as he wants.
" Aren't you coming? " you asked, as you started playing with water.
He smiled at your cute behavior and built up the courage, taking off his clothes and joined you in the water. You were pretty aware that he noticed your tattoo, it was meant for him to see it and you patiently waited for him to say something. You hugged him while both of you were in the water, his hands wrapped around your waist.
" Your back.. it's so pretty ! " he whispered
" Hmm, come again? " you teased
" T-the t-tattoo on your back, it looks so p-pretty on you! I didn't know you have it " he stuttered,
" Oh thank you, I keep it hidden most of the time only for y– " you said with a shy smile.
" me, only for me to see it " he interrupted growing more confident.
" Yes Choso only for you to see it "
It turned him on, and he felt proud that you're his girlfriend and that he gets to see and touch that tattoo as much as he wants. Without hesitation this time, he crushed your lips together, taking you into a deep wet kiss, while the waves made you sway.
" And only for me to touch it " he mumbled into the kiss.
Ryomen Sukuna : One Night Stand
You've liked Sukuna for so long, but didn't have the courage to confess or even start a conversation with him, so you've always watched him from a distance completely unaware that he's actually obsessed with you. He wanted to have you so bad, he's always seen you as an innocent human being so he was very careful with the way he'd approach you, worried that he might scare you away.
One night, you went to a party to celebrate one of your friends birthday and to your luck, Sukuna was there. You didn't notice he was there, till he offered you a drink and invited you to dance with him. Both of you living the dream that you desired for months.
The sexual tension was so strong between both of you, and none of you could wait any second longer. So you left the party early to be together, under each other's touch. He took you back to his place, and all what you can do is making out, you wanted this for many months and now you can't let this opportunity to taste him slide from between your fingers. That make out session, eventually led to sex. And now both of you stripping out of your clothes. You knew Sukuna is dominant, his appearance, his attitude, his everything screams dominance and you couldn't help but submit to him.
" And now turn around princess can you do that for me ? " he said in his deep voice, sending shivers down your spine.
You did as he said, waiting for his next move. But he didn't do anything. All what you can feel is his veiny hands around your waists.
" Sukuna? " you started and looked back.
You can see his eyes fixated on your arched lower back. His eyes darkening full of admiration and lust.
" A tattoo? " he asked,
" Y-yea ? " you were confused and worried thinking that he changed his mind and didn't wanna make love to you.
" Fuck! and I thought you were innocent huh ? "
" Why? innocent girls can't have a tramp stamp? " you said teasingly,
" Damn, and I thought you can't get any hotter.. that's so rebellious of you princes, and I enjoy handling rebellious ones " he smirked and pushed you down even more.
His tattooed hands roaming your lower back, tracing your tattoo with his nails, that poking feeling making you jump slightly but he kept you still, you can feel his breath and lips on your skin, kissing your tattooed skin, making your heart race and head spin.
" Imma enjoy this pretty view while I make you scream my name "
To say the less, he gave you the best night of your life.
#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk men x reader#gojo satoru smut#geto suguru smut#choso kamo smut#ryomen sukuna smut#sukuna smut#gojo smut#choso smut#geto smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#gojo x reader#geto x reader#choso x reader#sukuna x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk imagines#jjk headcanons#gojo headcanons#geto headcanons#choso headcanons#sukuna headcanons#jjk x y/n#jjk ff#jjk gojo#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen masterlist#jujutsu kaisen headcanons
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colour me in: translucent | jjk (m)
Summary: And whenever the world seems to fall apart and your thoughts cast a shadow over your heart, he rushes to lift you to your feet. Conjoining your hearts and souls, again and again and again.
➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader
➳ rating: 18+
➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some healthy angst, so much fluff, smut
➳ warnings: y’all. So. Much. Fluff, talk about stars, talk about his hometown, mention of a wedding 😁, 1 nara mention, a guest appearance!!, and another guest appearance…, daddy issues mention, oc has a tummy ache :(, banter, conversation with her mom, badass oc, their friends <3, moving and work stress, overworking, kook panics in this one, oc does too, tears and tears and tea–, abandonment issues, overthinking!!!, they communicate too late bc they’re scared, pregnancy scare, mention of throwing up, kissing and hand holding <3, petnames, insecurities/slight envy; explicit sexual content: diving right into the smut as the chapter starts 🤭, tie around oc’s neck ha ha, oral (f. receiving) (over panties and without 🥲), fingering, brief masturbation (m.), making out, jk takes the backseat and oc drives for a while <3, bit of choking, they’re half clothed for a bit, tiddie and butt love, tears, flirting, big dick jk, soft dom jk, emotions omg 😷, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, squirting, he unloads in her mouth 😄, and yeah, maybe more but i forgot – lmk if you notice smth! also… THE 👏 EN 👏 DING 🚨🚨🚨
➳ word count: 35.8k 💀
➳ a/n: here it is… after a long ass fight with tumblr and my tears, it’s here! i don’t have much to say this time except that this chapter means the world to me. and i hope you love it just as much. shoutout to @missgeniality for betaing parts of this and helping me with difficult scenes, i truly struggled!! <3 if you guys enjoy this one, let me know and don’t be shy to reach out!! love you and let’s dive in 🥺
➳ listen to: say you won't let go by james arthur | full collaborative playlist 🤍
SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST
MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER
The whispers cease the moment your door closes.
The whispers of the world, of all traffic, of all passersby, of all echoes. And those in your head, susurrating since you left the glass building and its conference hall.
They dim the moment you drop your palm off the door; your heart is still a nervous mess as you take your shoes off, watch him take his shoes off. He places them neatly in the shoe cabinet, jacket hung on one of the coat hooks.
Right here, you’re surrounded by a tranquil, quiet dome. Not as subdued as the emotions the outer world elicits; just an arena that feels perpetually warm, sepia and still.
And amidst that warmth, there’s yearning. You feel it in every nerve of your body, burning through your limbs. Stunning sentiments pull at your soul, making it heavy; and your heart floats, perpetually above the clouds.
As he rubs his cheek with a soft hand — you know, because you were holding it just two minutes ago, clutching it in the car for dear life —, you take a step forward, your mouth open, but not quite capable of saying all that’s weighing on your tongue.
They’re good things; amazing things. And he hasn’t yet gathered all his thoughts either to truly voice what he’s been hiding since you left the chaos. Only opting for the living room, painfully slowly, as if he’s waiting to face you again.
And maybe… maybe he really is. And maybe he doesn’t need to talk at all.
Because he stops the moment you speak, tenderly calling, “Jungkook.”
It’s all he needs. Combined with the lightest touch to his elbow, a hint of your voice is all he needs. He wants to keep hearing his name. Again and again and again. And today, announcing it to the world, you promised that you’ll be doing just that.
Shit. What have you done to his heart? He wants to ask questions that neither of you has an answer to; or, not one that can be verbalised. One that could explain this euphoria.
So he doesn’t say anything at all.
Instead, he stumbles as he turns back to you again, taking a deep breath before his head tilts. The unbounded amount of want is swimming in his tired eyes, and you barely manage a hushed, “Should we—” before his fingers flutter and he—
Dashes straight toward you. One large step, both hands jacking up to take your face captive. He raises your head, eyes closing, mouth parting an inch before it’s locked with yours.
If he hadn’t started, you would have.
The same thumb always caressing your skin pulls your lower lip down. An unfaltering habit, tender whenever he spirals. You trip backwards, with him in tow, immediately gripping his arms with a wild, accelerating heartbeat.
Your soul was already awake, lit up from today’s events; but he dunks it in a brighter shine — and now it flushes pink.
For a while, your kiss’ sounds are all that echo off the wall, mixing with your sighs. He starts gently, head angled, diving deeper.
Every now and then, he tugs at your lip ever-so-slightly, teeth and tongue dragging over it. The wet muscle is soft against yours, and you let your touch drop down to his waist to hold him closer.
But there’s not that much time to dissolve into him right here, against your entrance door, because Jungkook backs away before you can bid your sanity adieu. Maybe that’s for later.
Maybe you need to be okay with his breath grazing your skin for now, for the words he murmurs so close to your lips, “You’re crazy for this. Absolutely crazy.”
You are. Both okay with this, and incredibly crazy.
There’s never been more certainty in your actions or your intentions than whatever you do with him. For him — if that deems you crazy, then you absolutely are.
Heated from the kiss, Jungkook steps away, but not without entangling your fingers with his. On the way to the bedroom, you ignore everything that doesn’t entail him.
Like, the humming of the fridge. Or the sound of the traffic outside, audible through the tilted window. And the buzzing of your phone; it’s been doing that for a while now.
Of course it is.
But you don’t hesitate to deposit it on your bedside table mere seconds later; you barely manage to put it there, nearly watching it slide down as Jungkook pulls you back. You clash against his body, and the tongue once again mingling with yours only enhances your disorientation.
God, you’re a lost cause. Nothing else to expect with his palm holding your jaw, arm slung around you, kissing you senseless.
Time slows down; the sensation turns electric. His motions are rhythmic, fingers brushing your neck. And despite the bitterness he must have felt at the conference, he tastes so , so sweet.
Heady desire growing, you grip the back of his head, pushing it closer. You’re insatiable. Yearning for more of his damp, soft lips, hysterical when he lets out a craving, small moan.
“Do you have any idea,” he starts, giving your neck no more than a handful of teasing pecks, “what that did to me?”
He moves back until you plummet into the mattress; your eyes follow when he leans in and falls to his knees. Placing a hand at the nape of your neck, tenderly moving your face a bit closer to his.
“Without a warning, too,” he continues, “what, were you planning to drive me mad for so long?”
Not the angry kind of mad. His smile and the fondness in his eyes reveal that much. No — the mad that a lover is.
“Did it work?” you ask, and he flashes his teeth, beloved crinkles around his eyes.
“Did it? What do you think?” He kisses your nose; then, the apple of your cheek. “You didn’t notice any of it today? Or any other time before that?”
“I wanted to… I want everyone to know. I was going to tell you when you came home, but… I wanted to say it in front of everybody. That,” you touch the collar of his blazer, rubbing it between your fingertips, “I’m done with their games. I don’t care anymore, Jungkook.”
“I know… You don’t care.” His hand leaves the nape of your neck, caressing your face. “But you care about me, yes? You care so much.”
It’s not really a question. It’s a statement, a reassurance to himself. A mantra, as if he needs to repeat it and let it reverberate in his mind until he’s grasped its meaning.
“I do,” you whisper, peeling the blazer off his shoulder by only a few inches, “and I want to stay. Can I… just stay here?”
“You’re crazy,” he echoes once more, emphasising his words with a shake of his head, “to think I’ll let you go again. You’ll see.”
Although he still establishes a brief, temporary distance between the two of you right after; you’re reluctant to stop feeling his warmth when he stands. He towers over you, and you muster utmost courage to not faint.
Because the sight is one to behold.
How he removes the blazer in a swift movement, discarding it on top of the table at the wall. He rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, but only one side, glancing at you throughout the ordeal.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask.
“Why is your mouth open like that?”
“Do this exactly in front of a mirror, and… and you’ll know why.”
He smirks. “Right. And stare at yourself in the mirror for longer than a second, and you’ll know why, too.”
God, this guy…
And he actually doesn’t stop.
His pupils keep wandering; to your eyes, to your lips, to your heaving chest. To how you close your legs when he loosens his tie with tattooed fingers, lettered knuckles on full display. He opens a single button of his dress shirt; enough to reveal a patch of golden skin.
The tie dangles off his neck, doing wonders to your mind, and you resist the urge to grab it and pull him down to you. But you don’t need to; you only get to cherish the sight for another second.
Because right after, he pulls it over his head, baring the highly kissable mole on his neck before—
“What are you doing?” you wonder, eyes wide, and probably filled with anticipation as he puts the tie around your neck. “I’m…”
“Looks a lot better on you.”
One more shake of his head. You subtly catch a jerk behind his pants, and your gaze drops instantly. Behind the dark slacks, he’s already waiting for you, and the thought leaves you frothing at the mouth.
“You’re not looking bad yourself…” you say, drifting off, barely looking into his face as your hand reaches out. “May I?”
“What, baby?”
“Just…”
You move forward, a palm to his thigh, and close your eyes before placing a kiss to the growing bulge. It twitches under your lips, and you drag your mouth lightly over his dick’s outline.
“Should’ve known,” Jungkook breathes, affected straight away, “but somehow, this is worse than your hand.”
“Really?”
He clicks his tongue when you do it again, unfazed by the layer between you as you give his clothed cock an open-mouthed kiss. Two of his fingers settle underneath your chin, and he raises your head in order to meet your gaze.
Then, he pushes you back a little, within a second back to one knee; then the other. He cocks an eyebrow as if to reprimand you, but then gulps down a chuckle as he says, “Really. But wait a bit more.”
You need to wait, because he prioritises your pleasure. One demand you’re ready to give into.
So, so prepared, when he asks politely, “Open your slacks?” You do. The way he drags his hands over your thigh and up to your hips, starting to discard your pants, is arguably less polite. “Here we go. Raise your ass.”
You help him out as best as you can. But he attaches his lips to your naked thigh the moment it comes into view, scattering kisses over your hot skin as he casts it off of you entirely.
You raise your feet a bit above the ground, and he uses the moment to separate your legs. Doesn’t even bother taking off your panties first; casually making himself at home between your limbs.
Light-headed, you open your eyelids halfway to glance at the blurry ceiling light; you never noticed when you closed them. Maybe when the sweetness spread over your thighs’ skin.
Maybe he’s as dizzy as you — only, when your whirling stare descends to his face, he’s smirking. And for a second, you don’t understand why. Puzzled, you keep looking, observing the tempting lick over his lips; the deep exhale; the barely-there blinking.
And then he says, “Never thought about it. But you should wear light-coloured panties more often.”
“…Why?”
But you soon get why.
Because you feel the arousal behind the fabric. How it glues your pussy to it, the damp spot probably growing. It’s visible — that’s what he’s liking so much.
He can see all of the desire you harbour for him, showcased so blatantly. And despite the embarrassment, watching his face flush in that rosy dust boosts your ego, too.
Your face burns.
“You’ve been like that for…” he starts, shrugging his shoulders in curiosity, “how long now?”
“Long enough. And I dare you to do something about it.”
Because fuck, he talks too much. In hindsight, only really when you need him to shut up; deliberately.
“Oh god,” he exclaims, dramatic as ever; as he raises a hand, you nearly think he’ll place it on his chest for further effect, but he only touches your knee, “now if you’re daring me, I’ll have to.”
“Mhm. I’m sure you’re not a sore lo—”
“Yeah, yeah.”
It’s a rude interruption, and the sudden push of his fingertip against your clit is ruder. It’s a momentary touch, fleeting, as opposed to the slow and calculated way that he buries his face in your panties. Eyes glued to yours for a moment.
And then…
Then, you relish the first taste of Heaven — as does he, you suppose.
Because the satisfied sigh is outrageous, hot against your covered folds. He licks over the damp stain, only the tip of his tongue; thoroughly salivated, because you feel the wetness seeping through the clothing.
There’s no moment between the start of his action and your immediate, ”Fuck.”
And to him, your reaction sets just the tone for a woozy night to come. He nods between your legs, gelled back strands tickling, hums so sweetly. You adjust on your seat, though the subtle change affects nothing; only drives you wilder as you shift deeper into his face.
His tongue is painting circles over your clit. Drawing out sensations, and you don’t understand how… there’s underwear between him and you. A barrier, aching to be removed, so how is he doing this, howishedoingit—
“No! Oh god—”
You can’t decipher why you voiced the rejection; you don’t want him to leave. Frustrated when he does, mouth open, waiting for you to speak up until you do, “Sorry. Sorry, I don’t fucking know…”
“Babe…” He shakes his head… He’s doing so much of this today. But one of the loose strands keeps moving so gorgeously over his forehead, so if it was up to you, he could keep doing it. “Don’t scare me like that.”
“Sorry…”
“Nah.” He says it when you press your lips together, hot and bothered as he licks another stripe along your cunt. “Didn’t mean it that way. Open that pretty mouth. Do scream, yeah?”
You could melt into the ground. Or into the sheets; he always knows what to say. No matter what the situation. A verbal monster once, a graceful poet another time.
They say, get you a man who can do both. But he can do all million things known to humankind and the book of romance.
His mouth works deeper into where you ache. Tongue action expanded, he returns to the panties, seeking one of your nether lips to tease it, pull at it. He’s ruining your garment, making it stick to your pussy.
Pries your legs open when he comes back to the clit, and then drops down to the overflowing sex again. The sensual gestures are toying with your nerves, and you still can’t figure out how. Leaves you waiting, yearning, craving the lack of a blockade in between.
And once the uncomfortable, wet cotton of your panties rubs against the inside of your folds, you finally speak up, “Why are you—”
“Sorry,” he interjects, aware of his bestiality. You see it in his stupid wicked smile. “I know. This is just…” Big eyes stare back down, albeit hazier than before; his finger touches the drenched patch for a second. “So good to look at.”
“You’re the worst.”
“Of course.”
Shit, he’s so cheeky. If you had the strength, you’d wipe that bubbly smile off his face; not good for your heart. Would smooch it away. But fret not — you’ll get your chance, too.
For now, you need to grant him this win. Not least of all, because it feels so good for you, too.
So you don’t defy him when he suddenly moves in more. Hooks a finger into your panties and slides them aside, letting them snap back against the juncture between your pussy and leg. And then, you guess the actual fun starts.
Because he throws one carnal look at you before his arms wander under your legs. You can barely gather your thoughts before he digs in again, properly this time. Lips directly attaching to your skin, he starts diligent work on soiling your body.
And god, does he do it well…
So experienced. Aware. Studied you and your body well enough — because the agonisingly slow tease isn’t random. He knows how much you hate it; knows how much you love it.
How it builds anticipation, and how it grows your desire.
He’s a little fuck, but maybe that’s why he never fails to break you this hard. You know he’s enjoying this — delighted when your eyebrows furrow, close to weeping as he breathes against your pussy.
Even though a man starved, he takes his time. For a second. Then another. And then parts your folds with his fingers, whispering, “Would you say that’s better?”
Like he’s at some meeting. Goddamn.
You blink, responding, “I don’t know. Better than the panties, worse than…” His finger slips in mid-speech, just halfway through when you manage a breathy, “this.”
“I… Shit, you’re… hot as fuck.”
Right.
Even you’re turned on by how your head tips back again, eyes rolling inward when he diminishes the distance and kisses your cunt. Nobody else is going to raise your confidence like he does.
“Mmmh,” he voices as the make out session intensifies, smacking noises sounding from below. He lifts his lips by a mere inch, only to mumble, “So hot. So fucking good.”
And that’s it — back to business.
“Nnnghkook…”
The arms he dropped under your legs sling around them, hooking in, and somehow, he’s able to reach to your back like that. Raises your legs in the process, pulling you in. Deeper in your heat, big button nose against your pelvis.
Your right hand attempts to grip his hair before you threaten to fall backwards, failing miserably. You immediately place both your palms back on the bed, because you doubt you can trust that damned left arm to hold you upright — quivering like this.
The tip of your tongue touches the arch of your upper lip, and then you tilt your head, warning him, “Fuck… if you don’t fuck my brains out today, Jungkook…”
Brains? Plural? Acting as though even one’s present in your head right now.
Jungkook chuckles, licking you dry; the little sound combined with the sinful ordeal is a delightful one. Contrary, but gifting the moment some reality. Some tenderness. You’re having fun.
He stops to throw the escaping strands back again — all in vain, of course — and brings his hand to your ass, moving you over the bed until you’re off the edge. You yelp, close to falling, but he holds you carefully.
Ass half dangling, he throws your legs over broad shoulders, kissing your thigh before he promises, “Don’t worry at all. Won’t leave a single thought in either of our heads.”
You wince when he bites the flesh of your leg, and then proceeds to advance his soft lips to the tender ache. He collects saliva on his tongue, probably ready to dive in again; moves in at least, tickling your pelvis with his breath.
His nose takes a deep breath, inhaling you, dizzy from your scent. And his thumb — it floats over your clit, preparing for more insanity. But when the position elicits some discomfort, you say, “Put me on the bed. Can I… bed properly.”
Fragments of sentences. They make him smile.
“Sure,” he says rather calmly; you’re anything but.
It’s not normal. Watching a guy like Jeon Jungkook push his hair back with his jaw on full display; tongue darting out.
He signals his approval once more as he pats your thigh, and you make quick work at weakly turning around and crawling onto the bed. You’re still trembling as you get on all fours, very conscious of what you’re doing.
Casually, you say, “I’ll get the lube, too.”
Of course you know what might follow. What will follow. He never stops raving, daydreaming, bragging about your ass — walking past you in the kitchen, just to grapple a handful and to innocently claim, “What? I love your butt.”
But before he strikes this time, you’re only barely able to grab the lube out of the drawer, placing it next to the pillow instead of handing it back to him. Because… because before you know it—
There’s already a finger to your pussy.
“Shit,” you curse, “you and your impatience.”
“Do you want me to wait?” he asks, as purely as the butt-love-statements as his touch retracts. Mellow voice; only a flutter of his lashes is missing, really. “I can wait.”
No, he can’t. Liar.
“No,” you repeat, readily letting your upper body fall. You bring your fingertips back to your ass, tracing it down until met with your arousal. “Don’t do this to me now.”
You know his answer before he utters it, “Don’t you do this to me now.” You hear a click of his tongue; a poised beam plays around your lips. “Alright. But.”
He snatches your legs from under your body until you’re flat on your tummy; you grunt just a bit. Not expecting the soft, little, “Do tell me if I do too much.”
As if…
He knows his limits. But the constant, caring pleads still always grip your heart; so you nod.
“Okay.”
Simultaneous with a fond slap, that word is the last verbal sign of his presence that you receive for a while. Whatever follows is a pure testing of limitations; of jumbling up your senses.
Because the moment Jungkook lifts your ass to his face, his tongue is already out. Experimental at first, of course, patient. He takes a second for languid kisses and soft necking, fingers exploring the inside of your thigh as if to soothe your restlessness.
And it helps. Your limbs shake a bit less, your mind focused on where his touches go. Fingertips near your folds. Lips kissing around your pussy. Then, repeating the same brush of his hands as before, but on your other leg, moving inward.
Despite the first taste he already got, he’s suddenly changed his tactic; and you’re greedy. Mewling in tiny, quiet sounds, barely realising that they’re coming out of you. You repeat his name over and over, but it never quite tumbles out in its entirety.
So you keep it at moaning, eyes closed, so infinitely relaxed.
He moves back, gently asking, “All good?”
“So far… do more, please.”
It’s what he always waits for. You know. Jungkook has a fetish for your pleas, and the tiniest fragment of your beseeching voice is usually enough for him.
Like now.
Encouraged, he pushes your shirt up to your tits, halting right under them. He touches your naked stomach, brushing your belly button, grazing a palm over your lower back and straight to your ass.
The tongue ghosting around your sex finally dares a step forward. Gets a little taste of what’s to come. Circles around your folds, then to your nub; spit gathered on the tip, never too hard, oh-so-mildly — and maybe that’s what makes it even worse.
The lack of any force. How pleasant it feels. And you let him know — respond with a desperate, unheard sound, goosebumps sprawling over your skin.
Jungkook discerns it as a signal to go on; to do more. His nose buries between your ass, pushing his tongue in a little further, alternating between licking and kissing and collecting spit. Your lust shoots to the sky; you twist and move, but he holds you in place with a single hand.
And when he disappears, you regret it immediately. You hear him say, “Hey, hey… Don’t you want me to fuck your brains out, sweetheart? Isn’t that what you said?”
“Mmhyes, yes, please.”
“…Then stop moving.” His nails are harsh against your waist, and you whimper. “The more you behave now,” he leaves a kiss on your butt, loosening his grip around your waist, “the harder I’ll go later.”
“…Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”
He chuckles. What an ass; leaving you physically and mentally covetting, and then enjoying your reactions.
“Are you okay with this?” he asks, biting a little, stroking your hips, holding onto your ass cheeks.
“Mhm.” It’s all you can voice at this point. You don’t have any power over your body; can’t lift it off the mattress. “Love it.”
“Perfect.”
And then, everything seems to happen faster.
Arousal and orgasm have already built from his advances, and he gives you the rest when he starts drawing circles around your pussy again. Heightens your senses, slurps and drinks you up. Every single time it feels like he’s learned something new; you swoon at the attention to detail.
What might he be looking like right now?
Perhaps he’s biting his lip. Maybe his eyebrows are furrowed, usually tell-tale signs of either him enjoying his meal or him enjoying his meal.
“Shit,” you mumble, but you don’t think he hears it — too busy sucking at your folds, adding a finger to the mix.
Sometimes, the licks are generous, wide-tongued; sometimes, he focuses on each part individually. The insides, the clit; how you sound, how you wind.
There’s truly an utter craze you feel for this man; no matter which hazy or soft or delicate situation, he fits you like a missing puzzle piece. Like a match made in Heaven. Knows what he’s doing.
Because he knows you. Because he studies you. Observes you.
Sex is only one instance of his attentiveness.
And perhaps that’s the whipped thought that pushes you over the edge eventually. Maybe that’s why the moment passes so quickly and explosions blind you all of a sudden. Why your face glows so hot, sweat collecting over your upper lip.
It must be.
Because as he stimulates you for another minute, your sensitive cunt submits, the knot in your lower stomach unwinding. He unties it fully, eliciting a stirring feeling that makes your pussy flutter.
“Holy shit…”
You only register your voice when the peeping in your ear stops. Your voice is still damped, the world around you vanishing a bit; except for him. Always except for him.
And.
You also notice that your fingers are hurting. Did you dig them into the sheets too hard? Tug too hard? You don’t know… but their pads are almost numb.
Jungkook’s mouth is still there, though lighter now, and his finger is slightly slapping your cunt, encouraging you to keep letting go. Catching you on his tongue.
And then… it’s over. You remain quiet.
You’ll be a mess for the foreseeable future; or at least, the upcoming one or two minutes. Your back and neck are already covered in a sheen of sweat; it’s so unbearably hot, as opposed to the recklessly approaching cold outside.
Remaining like this, you let him kiss your body through your orgasm, delicately soothing the pain his fingers caused across your ass. Hovering above the small of your back, he asks, “Can you move?”
“Not yet. But…” You scan the spot next to the pillow until you find the lube, throwing it back to him at last. “I can watch.”
No objection. So you turn around.
When you finally meet his gaze again, having started missing it, he’s already unbuckling his pants. Right there, towering above you, looking directly at you. Jaw chiselled, lips swollen.
You decide to spur him on; bring the tie between your covered tits before gentle fingers grasp them deftly. Rolling your digits around their outline before squeezing them. There’s an instant reaction: The hard bite of his lip, the rushed discarding of his clothes.
And fuck, he’s beautiful. So pretty how he despairs bit by bit, only letting his pants make it to his knees before his cock has sprung out. A true monster, bloodshot like this, further growing as it twitches and jerks… blue veins wanting to be licked.
But it’s lube-day, and neither of you can wait.
So you let him make a fist around his thickness, stroking it and momentarily letting out a groan. His chest seems to deflate, shoulders dropping as he jerks himself off once more, squirts some lube into his palm, and returns to his intentions.
“Good,” you praise, watching his cheeks grow rosier, “wish you could go all out.”
“I can’t.”
You know. You know, because he’s storing all his patience for what’s to come. With and for you.
Breath stagnating, you watch a drop of sweat trail down between his tanned pecs and then into his shirt; fabric sticking to his skin. He doesn’t notice it, dazy as hell, wiping his tip clear of the precum. Every damn time you’re in disbelief when his cock grows in size, firmer and rock hard.
So many veins adorning it as it rises to his belly button; you’re sure you’ll feel them against your walls, too. You get on wobbly knees, hair already a mess, both of you still in your soaked white dress shirts.
Jungkook’s mane is falling apart much as yours, messier now, but soaking him in so much more sex appeal. There are no boundaries to his beauty; it transcends your understanding.
Enough of watching, you mentally capitulate a minute later. Too many moans and clipped vocals fill the room, whiny once, deep later; so you float up once your body allows, targeting his cock straight-forwardly.
You only deliver one surprise kiss, helping him out as you drag your tongue along the tiny slit. He reacts, caught off guard, voicing, “Oh—”
But against his possible expectations, you don’t continue. Instead, you drag your hand along his cock only twice — up and down, feeling the smooth skin, the slippery lube, the hardness underneath.
And then, you order, “Sit. Please.”
“What?”
“Here,” you point to the headboard, on your knees, kissing his sides and up his chest until you reach the open button. “Sit down for me.”
He pauses. Waits for a moment, touching your cheek when your face aligns with his. And when you keep your begging, soft gaze intact, he huffs out a broken laugh, and states, “Not sure if I can trust you to not kill me. But…” A kiss to your left eyebrow. “Anything for you.”
And whatever happens next, passes by fast.
How he obliges, dick dangling in front of his body, waiting for ruin. How he hisses a little when the sweat-drenched back touches the cold headboard. And how you adjust your body, soon sitting in reverse, facing the closet.
Floating over his cock, straddling him, spreading your pussy with your fingers. He stutters behind you, grasping for words, but silences when you move and wiggle your ass a little, only dropping a few inches until your cock can prod your entrance.
And that’s all you do. Multiple times. Practising restraint, focusing on the closet, blinking rapidly. Perhaps you’re more patient this time, because from behind, you hear another sharp hiss, and then a somewhat agitated, but endlessly turned on, “The hell are you doing to me?”
“Nothing,” you promise; the jest costs you all your energy, “what are you talking about?”
“You’re so funny, aren’t you?”
His words are accentuated by sudden grabs of your ass. One or two pinches. You should’ve known. But despite his impatience, he never forces you down onto his cock. Lets you do.
“I’m not trying to be,” you argue, aligning yourself with him gradually. Preparing yourself mentally and physically. Leaking to no end. “You’re just delusional.”
“Must be. Too good to be real.”
If you had it in you, you’d laugh. But the approaching sins and the image of his affected expressions fog your brain. Your body burns, your lower tummy tenses; your muscles feel heavy as you loom over him, and you only endure another moment.
Because soon enough, your thirst overpowers every other thought; the weight of your desire drags your body down, thankful that he’s keeping his cock upright. And then, just like that… so easily, no resistance detected, you slide down.
His tip splits you open first, eliciting an immediate sensation. New every freaking time; like the craze he fucks your mind into space with wipes your memory each time.
“Hnnngh, this is just…”
Whatever it is, there’s no word yet invented for it. So you give up right away, squinting your eye shut until you see dots and forms, breath stuck in your throat. The lack of regular inhales muddles your mind, and you feel further heat rise to your cheeks.
“Go— slow,” he pants behind you.
Of course he’s not all the way in yet. No matter how much it feels like it; you could keep going and going. Hard and monstrous, burying inside you, no end in sight.
The filling feeling catches you off guard each time; the way he leaves no room inside, causing butterflies in your stomach, wandering straight to your pussy. A ridiculously perfect phenomenon, like a key to its lock.
God. You’re overspilling.
As soon as he’s bottomed out, you relish the feeling of his skin against your ass for a moment, registering how his fingers sneak to your flesh slowly. And then, you angle your body forward, clutching the sheets before you start moving.
You keep your pace slow. Put all your intention on delicate motions, all the way up with a whimper, and then slamming back down with a gasp. The farther you go, the wetter you get. Until you’ve probably left a shimmering liquid all over his cock, gliding too damn easily.
“That’s… that’s new,” Jungkook mutters. At least that’s what you think you hear. “Gotta do it again.”
And you’re not even done with this time. But you understand — oh, you fucking understand. There’s something about not yet seeing his face but imagining all of it. How fucked out he must look. How red the apples of his cheeks must be. How sweaty his hairline is.
You grip the sheets tighter, legs closer to his, head between your shoulders. All you manage between the heavy breathing is a high-pitched, ”Jungkook—”
“Yes. Yeah, baby. This is…”
“I know. I know, keep talking.”
Which is an unfair command. He can think as much as you; you can barely comprehend letters, even less put them into actual words. But somehow, he still mutters whatever nonsense he can think of.
“Gotta do it again,” he repeats as you fasten your pace.
“Why always play such an angel, huh?” he asks as you moan and whine.
“When you’re a… a fucking demon. Literally,” he declares when you blow out breaths, letting out a crying sound.
He feels glorious inside you. Solid and gorgeous. He holds your ass cheeks in a tight grip, the strength nearly bruising when you let a hand wander back between your legs, grazing his firm balls.
When you turn around to check briefly, slowing your motions, he looks up, meets your eyes. Apparently, he wasn’t gazing at you directly at all; and you imagine there wasn’t much to see other than a bouncing mane anyway.
What he’s actually so distracted by must be…
“How’s it… it look?” you ask, circling your hips, feeling every vein, as predicted.
“It looks…”
Must be art.
Combined with his love for your ass, he must be enjoying the view; at least judging from the constant kneading and spreading. Allowing a direct, front-seat show of his cock appearing out of you, disappearing inside of you.
Glistening. Sucking him in. It must…
“Looks so fuck—ing insane from where I sit.”
The swear word is interrupted by a millisecond, breathy as hell. Allows a glimpse into how delirious he might already be, possibly faring worse than you. Impatient, seeking more.
And you do know your Jeon Jungkook well.
Because not even another breath later, his body that slid down halfway, bolts up. You feel the shift clearly; it pulls you backwards along with him. Only, you realise the movement isn’t the only source straightening you so fast.
First and foremost, it’s the freaking hand. Covered in letters and more ink, tugging at the dangling tie and following it up to the slowly unravelling knot before… abruptly snaking around your neck. Fingers right under your jaw, lifting your head.
He tugs you in until your back collides with his chest, and to your chagrin, you notice that neither of you has gotten rid of those stupid dress shirts. You won’t be able to wear them again without drifting to this memory…
Sleeve open, he wraps his arm around your body, just under your tits, and whispers, “Why… drive me mad like this?”
“H–huh?”
“So far away. Weren’t you ffffu—” The messy zero you’re drawing with your hips interrupts his string of thoughts, and he spends a second finding it again before he finishes, “Weren’t you far away long enough?”
Shit…
This isn’t just an affair. This isn’t temporary. Your brain still can’t quite understand that you’ve actually occupied this man’s heart.
That your gestures and touches aren’t a fleeting dream, but blissfully real. That you’re his, and that he’s yours.
He’s right. You were far away for too long.
So you sneak your arm back, around the back of his neck and pull him closer by his hair. His lips brush your cheek and then retreat to your ear. Nibbling for a moment. Kissing it.
You don’t know what to focus on — on the way his teeth light up your nerves, or the way his hand moves down your shirt and bra, and up your body. Soon taking your tits captive, squeezing hard, pinching your nipples.
“Move a bit,” he orders, though you don’t really have to.
His hand remains on your neck, so he pulls you forward; guess he’s sick of the shirt, too.
“You too,” you murmur.
“Yes. Patience, love.”
No. Fuck no.
Is it the nickname or his actions that empty your head this time? You don’t know. But you react.
Moaning, but it soon transitions into a yelp when he jerks up suddenly, balls deep. Your voice breaks, and you’re breathless; grateful when he unbuttons your shirt, dragging it down your shoulders.
Helping him however you can, you pull at the clothing almost aggressively, over your hand until it’s stuck there. Sporting a shirt paw, you hear Jungkook laugh behind you, peppering more kisses to your shoulder as he says, “Ah… take it easy. You’re with me tonight.”
One quick pause, and then, “You’re always with me. No rush anymore, okay? Yeah, baby?”
He aids you out of the shirt and tie with tender pecks. Thoroughly affected when you only nod so softly, eyebrows kissing. He unclasps your bra swiftly, breathing against your neck as he bares your body once and for all, putting the garment aside.
And then his forefinger moves along your neck again, only barely touching over your vocal cords; feeling your gulp before he journeys further down, back to your tits. Probably leaving scars; his nails are reckless today.
“Wanted to see those pretty tits so bad,” he says, though he doesn’t halt here — tiptoes south to your pelvis, and then to your clit. “Been thinking about this all day.”
Really?
So each of these touches consume his thoughts every damn moment of the day, too?
“You wanna see them… properly?” you wonder. You haven’t moved in a bit, lost in him, mentally tracing the lines he draws on your body. “‘Cause I wanna see you.”
“Mmmmhm. Doesn’t sound too bad.”
“Then I’ll…”
You don’t speak further; busy with your further advances. Your pussy feels lonely the moment you let him slip out. You’re terribly wobbly on your knees, your thighs visibly shaking as you turn around.
Jungkook holds a hand towards you, a safety net in case you tip over. He holds your wrist gently as you move over the mattress; never more than now are you glad that his isn’t as soft as yours back at the house.
Keeping your balance, you straddle him again, back in a similar position, albeit finally facing him now. And your eyes roll back just the moment he fills you up again.
Your legs are exhausted; the moment you start moving, you barely make it far enough, and Jungkook notices immediately, whispering, “My baby tired?”
And when you nod, he holds you tight, wrapping you in his arms, and—
“Hold– hold onto me, okay?”
You do. And then — he thrusts up once.
When your head falls, his eyelids drop a little, nose touching your jaw as he says, “I could fuck you all goddamn day.”
“Do it… you can now.” His head descends to your chest, mouth open. You’re not sure what you’re opting for, but you still call his name, “Kook…”
Repeatedly lunging in, he collects the words he needs to say, so irresistibly frenzied when he vows, “I’m yours. Okay? And… I need you to stay. Am yours, baby.”
Out of nowhere — or maybe not. Maybe these very sentiments were swimming in his eyes all the time; you could just not see them yet.
Lips a hair width apart, you opt for one single kiss, only a ghost touch. You tell him, “Promised the world. Will promise it to you… too.”
“Good.” His nails scrape your back, and you tug at his hair. A moan tumbles out of him, transforming into words as he holds your body in place, pumping into you, “Fuck, you– feel so good. Just you. So, so good.”
“Ngh, I—”
“I know, I can… can’t breathe, either.”
He kisses your shoulder, the skin flaming under his mouth. Although late, you imitate his prior gesture, peeling off his intruding shirt as smoothly and fast as you possibly can. It’s been a wall between you for too long now; you need to see those pretty tits, too.
And once the buttons open and the shirt flies, you finally bask in the toned beauty. Soaked chest, brawny, chocolate chip nipples as hard as yours. Soon pressing into you, lips thirsting for you, slamming against your mouth.
The fever rises, the temperature akin to lava. Your sounds are desperate and wanting, and you hold onto him for dear life. And before you know it, you’re not claiming your throne anymore.
Suddenly, you find yourself floating for a moment, and then sinking into the mattress, and then curling your hands into fists and him slamming into you harder, deeper, all the way in...
Fuck.
Towering over you, he spreads your legs wide, temptingly licking his thumb before it presses down onto your swollen clit. One jab. A second. Another and another and another.
“Yes. Yes, please—” you beg and yell, letting him pound you into oblivion.
The first hint of stars already grace the darkness behind your eyelids, but then Jungkook starts delivering rapid, light slaps to your nub. He’s chasing your high as much as you are; you know. The chaos unfolding doesn’t hold him back from observing your reactions.
Only focusing on his own end of pleasure when you’re done.
Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, and you cling to his arms, his hands pushing into your waist. And it takes just a moment longer. And another second. Several more shoves, the curve of his cock dragging along your walls and your sensitive spot.
Thoroughly drenched, both of you, as he drives all of him into you. Parting your legs whenever they attempt to shut again. And the universe finally expands, a million celestial bodies dying and imploding, much like you and…
Suddenly, you’re off the cliff.
Falling into a deep ocean. Or the vast night sky. You don’t know — you don’t feel real.
All you know is that your thighs and ass are wet. That you ruined yet another sheet. That Jungkook is out of breath, fucking you through your high, ensuring that you come back to him only bit by bit, so, so slowly.
Gentler now, you feel his body subside, down to you. His skin is glowing with sweat when your eyes crack open just a slit, though they instantly drop close again when he kisses you once more.
He does it only softly this time, as if he’s trying it out. Gauging your reaction. And you do reciprocate the touch, even if weakly. You’re still too gone to look at him properly, but that doesn’t deter him from casting another spell in your heart.
Because his words reach every fibre of you. Butterflies swarm your stomach as he says, “I still can't believe that you’re staying. You did this… you fucking did this—”
“Why not? Wh–why can’t you believe it?”
“Because you’re staying with me. You stayed with me. And…”
Somewhere, it stings. That he’s surprised by constant company. By someone not leaving… by someone worth all his affection glueing themselves to him. And yet, you understand.
That’s a pain the two of you share.
He stares through your gaze, as if he’s frisking for something specific. With each passing moment, it’s like he’s realising something new, yet unable to really verbalise it.
Like something’s burning on his tongue.
But all he does whisper is, “How do I ever stay away from you now, huh?”
“Don’t.” You touch his face, and he doesn’t waste a second to lean into your touch, kissing your palm. “Please just don’t.”
“Won’t be able to… And it sucks that—”
He frees your face from your stick hair strands, still moving inside you. His own tresses hang into your forehead; his thumb touches your lower lip.
“That I can’t be with you every damn second of the day. I mean…” He leans in. Pecks your eyelids; your heart bursts. “What if I can’t move an inch from you?”
You keep staring. Unable to answer. Keep looking and drinking in every emotion laid bare in his confessions. Your misty mind feels calm; not as heavy as hours ago.
And you’re woozy; so indescribably giddy when he adds, “You… you mean so much to me.”
Damn. Damndamndamn.
And you’re fucking obsessed with him. Want his kiss on you all the time; words tattooed on your brain, etched into your soul.
“Jungkook.”
“Huh— yeah?”
“Can you…” You gulp, drooling at the thought, and then spitting it out at once, “Finish in my mouth.”
“Shit,” he exclaims, though the word is more a maniac laugh than anything else, “you know exactly you— you can’t say this to me.”
You know. Because any image of his cock ramming your throat empties his head.
Once more, he mumbles, ”Damn it,” before he’s picking up on pace. You move your hands over his broad shoulders, soon curling your fingers in to hold tight — it’s what the situation suddenly requires. Because gradually, his hips slam into you faster.
The dull sound of his thighs meeting yours repeatedly is lewd, volume increasing when he starts jackhammering into you. Your rhythmic, breathless cries become irregular and broken, turning into screams, and you feel a droplet escaping the corner of your eye.
Throat dry and jaw aching from the parted mouth, you keen from the sensitive feeling inside. You’re so full. So invigorated. Holding onto him tight, so you don’t crumble.
And just as you yell out a dozen curses, Jungkook, voice raised, states, “Fuck, fuuuck, gonna come, babe, f— open your mouth—”
You do. Instantly, tongue out, choking because it’s so much harder to breathe like that. Jungkook trembles over you, lips wet; his arms threaten to give out, letting his body nearly collapse on you, but just a moment before he does, he pulls out.
Hurrying, his knees dig closer to you, cock and ass right above your face as he holds the length between strong fingers. Secured in his palm, he strokes himself over you, glancing into your hungry eyes.
“Pretty girl,” his other digits raise your head by your chin, and his body is swinging, unstable; shoulders high. “My sweet baby… You can’t just…”
Pinching your chin fondly, he digs his cock into your mouth, still pumping the base and touching his balls. You raise your head to not suffocate in the process, and he lets your chin go to grip your hair, lifting you halfway just in time before—
His load finally spills. All of it. So much of it. Hot and sticky, thick as the ropes shoot straight into your throat. You nearly gag, keeping yourself together, swallowing diligently as he empties his balls.
There’s fucking buckets of it, shit…
You close your eyes, focusing on breathing, and once he’s done, you close your lips around his cock. Still hard, although slowly softening, you lick the remnants of his arousal and whatever’s left of you. The tastes mingle, and your head spins…
And then, he pulls back. You’re beaten, gulping, smacking away the saltiness.
Still overwhelmed from the taste, you let your head fall back onto the pillow; but your fingers still seek his touch. The mattress next to you flattens again as his knees retract, and soon enough, laying down beside you.
Both of you are too done in to speak, even less to move. So you let a few minutes pass. Then, you find his fingers, entangling them with yours; waiting a bit more.
And only when your heart rate calms a bit, you stir, hearing him suggest, “Quick shower?”
You smile. The kisses aren’t over yet.
For a while longer, the profuse heat lingers.
The radiator is off, and some of the windows were open when you came home. And despite choosing to stay bare after the shower for some more, you don’t register any of the cold yet; you’re sheltered, safe and so, so warm.
Jungkook’s fingers keep trailing up and down way after you’re done, lips planting generous kisses to your scalp and face. He paves his way to the corner of your mouth and then up to your eyebrows; and when he reaches your nose again, you lift your head abruptly.
Chasing his kiss, even if for just a second, a hand on his cheek and shoulders rising. Occasional giggles and smiles, tickles and pinches keep you busy temporarily; you don’t know how much time passes, nor do you care.
You only snap out of your daydreams when his kisses gain on urgency, tongue diligent. A palm creeps dangerously close to your ass, threatening to slink to your beaten sex.
But your reaction is quicker than his sly attempt, and you say, “Wait— no. Can’t do it again.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Of course.” Damn his shoulder shrug. You tap his pelvis before you wrap a leg around his waist, teasing, “I didn’t feel the twitch at all.”
He shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. But it’s not my fault that you’re so stubbornly sexy.”
“Stubbo—” You giggle mid-sentence, imitating the shake of his head. “I hope you know I’d let you tie me down and do whatever the fuck—”
“My god. Stop saying it like that.”
“—but my body won’t let me yet. I also still stink.”
“Stink?” He shifts dramatically, burying his nose between your tits. His voice is muffled when he asks, “Do you?”
“Stop. You’re so weird,” you scold, but the word is drenched in laughter; you forcefully lift his head again. “We still need to change the sheets and the shower was quick. Do I not?”
“You kinda do. Like cherry blossoms.”
“Shut up.”
“What? Sue me for telling the truth. My girlfriend smells like cherry blossoms.”
Oh… oh?
Wait.
Your mouth shuts tight.
Did he…
The beam that spreads on your face is almost embarrassing; surprise, joy and affection conjoin, your guts twisting. You take a breath. Feel the sparkles in your own damn eyes; tender gaze directed at him.
And the freaking flutter in your heart; the temperature in your cheeks. Do these things ever stop?
The words sink in slowly; and Jungkook takes the time to ask, “What?”
“You… you haven’t called me that yet, have you?”
He’s perplexed. Guess even to him, it was a Freudian slip, because his eyes are wider than ever. He waits, thinks for a moment; then admits, “Uhm. No. I don’t think so.”
“Well, I… like the sound of it.”
“It’s… it’s true. You’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?” His eyes smile before he does; unrestrained devotion in them. “My baby?”
He says it so innocently, so sweetly that you can’t help but coo. Teasingly, you pat his cheek, telling him, “I mean I hope I am. Considering I’m moving in with you.”
“Yes. You are. Of course you are.”
“…Girlfriend.” Sheepishly, much like a teenage girl, you keep your twinkle intact, still feeling the lasting gleam on your face. You must be reminiscent of the sun and the moon. Emboldened, you start, “Then… boyfriend. Can I ask you something?”
The term elicits similar glee in him, teeth out, grin bright. He waits wordlessly with sparkling eyes, and you touch his lip, asking, “How do you feel right now? About all that?”
“I feel… I’m in disbelief. You’re moving in with me and just. Somehow, even saying it feels surreal.” He sighs, searching for words. “I’m in disbelief and crazy for you. That’s all I know.”
Falling deeper and without an end is possible. Jungkook has taught you that; still does.
“…I was so scared you wouldn’t like me doing this,” you confess.
“What? Saying yes to being with me all the time? Sounds horrible.” He laughs. “I’m happy. And I’m happy that you’re happy, too. Okay?”
“I wasn’t for a while, you know? You make me feel good. Take me by my word and give yourself credit for it.” He needs to. He might have doubted his role in everyone else’s life so far, but his value to you needs to be clear at all times. “Not just now, Kook, but, you always make me feel good. I hope you know that.”
“I do. This time, I do…” Content, you smile; until he stalls for dramatic effect, mouth open to indicate something to come. Your beam expands to exhilarated laughter when he squeezes your ass again, adding with another snicker, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t make my favourite munchkin feel good?”
“…There’s more than one?!”
Hmm��
That’s what you’d been yearning for all this time.
Because there’s something so vulnerable about your elation; the enlivened titter. About your newfound feelings. About these very first phases of a sensitive relationship. Something serene.
And the meaning behind your words keeps changing with him; carries much more weight, and makes you feel so much lighter. As if levitating on cotton clouds.
Girlfriend. Boyfriend.
Peace reigns supreme and for a while you’re hopeful enough to doubt anything could disrupt it. Even the world is quiet when you look out the window.
September isn’t yet harsh enough to cover all above pitch black, but it’s still dark grey and drab. The sky still somewhat illuminates the unruffled room through the tilted window.
But just when tranquillity reaches its peak, your phone vibrates on the bedside table; you flinch.
The screen’s shine overshadows the faded monochrome of the world. It’s unwelcome, intruding — and once you lean over, holding the blanket over your chest, you realise that the message is just as unsought.
Mom [7:12PM]: We need to talk.
Mom [7:12PM]: I’m still at Charmante for another hour and a half.
…At this time?
Did you leave her this desperate?
“What is it?” a dulcet voice asks from behind.
You hear the bed creak a little, his body cold without yours. Despising the distance, he puts a gentle hand to your shoulder, planting a kiss right next to it; when you lack his desired reaction, he asks again, “Everything okay?”
“Hm?” You barely tilt your head, eyes still glued to the words that you’ve already internalised. You cover his hand with yours. “Yeah. Just. Look.”
You hold the phone into his face; the penetrant white floodlights his skin. The warm gold shines in the glow, his lips drier than before. They move as he reads, and then, they close, giving way to a hum.
The initial silence suggests that he might be thinking the same as you — to bail. To shut the phone again, slide it to the edge of the bedside table and drop back against his chest, above his heart.
But you should know Jungkook better; he won’t discourage a familial reunion, praying for a better outcome than he ever had. He’s always spoken for your relationship with them — thinking back, he has never truly badmouthed your mother.
So you’re not too surprised when he hands you the phone back, careful to not turn your mother’s two marks blue, and suggests, “Maybe you should go.”
You sigh. You don’t want to. It’s too early for confrontation; time hasn’t passed, and the issue hasn’t yet marinated. Then again, the problem might only grow if you postpone this.
But your heart is biased, angry, refusing to oblige to her demands one more time. So you ask for yet another confirmation, “Right now? But I…”
You turn back to him, shaking your head slowly, troubled. He props his head up, eyes staring down to you as you lay flat on your back, hands folded under your breasts.
“Give yourself closure, babe.”
“I got closure.”
“No,” he strikes back, fingers lifting to your jawline. He touches it lightly, brushing it delicately, “Actual closure. To finish this. And she deserves it, too, you know? She’s still waiting there, angel.”
“Jungkook, you…” You click your tongue, gaze swerving to the unlit ceiling light and then back to him. “You’re too good.”
“I’m sorry.”
You smile, and he throws a palpitation-inducing twinkle back. You know he’s right — it must have been a shock for her after all. More or less double-crossed by her own daughter, humiliated in a public setting — her brain must be frying.
Reluctantly, you stretch your arm to the side, tapping for your phone, and roll your eyes at Jungkook playfully when you open the message to type back. His body floats down, lips planting a barely-there kiss to your collarbone.
You [7:14PM]: I’ll be there in half an hour.
“Alright then…”
Your body lifts off the mattress with the idlest of movements. The afterglow might die once you’re there, but you guess you need the confrontation–fight? Argument?—to ensure more, blissful nights.
This time, you don’t bother with your clothing as much as you did when you prepared for the press conference. You slip into the first best jeans you find, throwing a cosy pullover over your torso.
Busy with the rush, you don’t notice that Jungkook isn’t standing behind you in his usual grey joggers but in jeans, too. He’s fiddling with your car keys, stuffing his wallet into a pocket, and you stare wide-eyed, waiting for an explanation.
And once your digging stare pierces through him, he reciprocates it with similar confusion, half his hand still in the pocket as he inquires, “What?”
“What are you doing?” you ask, gesturing up and down his body.
“What do you mean?”
The back and forth of questions leaves you further bewildered, and you step closer, softly snatching the keys out of his fingers as you say, “Babe… It won’t take long.”
You don’t think he quite understands — it seems that to him, it was a given this entire time that he’d accompany you to your work building. But when it seeps through, his expression changes, more relaxed.
His head tilts, blinking slowly as he assures, “I won’t let you go alone.”
“Kook—”
“It’s honestly not a big deal. You said it won’t take long, so I’ll wait outside.” He shrugs, forefinger at the nape of his neck, scratching. “Plus, I’ll just get bored here alone.”
A warm flutter engulfs your heart. You wonder how couples spend days, months, years together without burning up every moment during their togetherness. Because you don’t think you’ll ever get over the fire he sets ablaze in your lungs — how does one get accustomed to affection like this?
You don’t know.
Maybe you don’t need to know.
Not more than what his eyes say, at least.
“What did you do all the time I wasn’t here?”
His grin is playful, but there’s tender truth in his words, “Something any guy waiting for you would do,” big brown irides meet yours, fingers fiddling, “counted the seconds until I could see you again.”
Your laugh is sudden before you ask, “Is that a quote from SpongeBob?”
And the joy holds on as you leave the apartment and rush down the flight of stairs. The short comedic journey to your car is distracting — most of reality only dawns on you when you step into the car.
Reminiscent of the last time the two of you drove over to a confrontation — just a little after his vacation; just a bit before the heartbreak.
The streets are quieter and emptier at this hour, the repose enhanced by the gentle drizzle. It’s significantly darker than when you arrived home, though it hasn’t been too long since you drove this exact way in the opposite direction. Two hours?
Maybe it’s the cloudy, almost black sky, accompanied by the hushed sound of the rain that’s amplifying your fears. Because the calming ambience from a minute ago worries you the closer you get — this once, you’d rather bask in sunshine and daydreams.
But no.
Hope is on your side; you’re done worrying, right?
As you sit up straight in your seat, Jungkook glances from you from the driver’s seat, eyes shooting to and fro between you and the street. His lips part as he operates the wheel with one hand, using the other to wrap around your fingers.
“Don’t be nervous,” he says, squeezing once before he lets go, brushing over the back of your hand and gripping the wheel again, “there’s just so much she can say. You made a decision as a full adult and she’ll have to accept it.”
“Yeah.” You follow the streetlamps and their warm radiance, redirecting your focus on the next as you pass each. “I hope so.”
The ride home was different; you were filled to the brim with energy and adrenaline. Your legs were putty, so he insisted for you to freeze on the passenger’s seat, reluctant to hand you the keys to drive.
You were waiting for the streets to end, to shut his door behind you, and to breathe and sigh through a sleepless night with him. The anticipation, combined with the aftermath of the press conference made you restless — you wouldn’t stop gnawing on your thumb.
And he didn’t interrupt your thoughts, let you flick through them until he finally looked at you at a traffic light. Raising the back of his digits to your cheek, assuring, “It’s okay, angel.”
Maybe the breathy tone and the hundred promises wrapped into one reassurance prompted your reaction at his place at all.
Jungkook turns into your work street, and you hold your breath. Your heart knocks violently against your ribcage, disabling a proper thread of thoughts. Which is a shame, because you really wanted to draw a collection of snappy remarks you could retort in there.
Instead, you merely look at the entrance far at the end of the street, unmoving as Jungkook moves into a parking lot and kills the engine. You blink; then blink some more. The gulp, you think, is audible in the small space of the car.
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks.
“No… I don’t think she’d want that.”
“Okay,” he murmurs, leaning forward to pinch your chin between two fingers. He moves your head toward him, eyes a liquid, wavy ocean at night. Affectionate. “She’s your mom. Despite everything, I know she loves you.”
“I don’t know…”
“She does. I saw it the night I picked you up and I saw it Monday morning, too. So.” The head tilt, the soft curve of his eyebrows, the care in his pupils — they’re a healing bandage around your heart. “Don’t be scared.”
He leans over the centre console armrest, still holding your face in his grasp, and presses his lips just barely, sweetly to your wrinkled forehead. You think the muscles react immediately, temples relaxing.
For a second, he lingers, and then he pulls back a fraction, looking at you from an inch-wide distance, and whispers, “Don’t be. I’ll be here all the time.”
Right — armour-clad, like a knight. You finally nod, a weight dropping off your heart. You cement his smile deeper into your mind; a coping strategy in case things escalate in there.
Once more, you squint at the entrance doors, though barely visible from here. Hand on the handle, you say, “If I’m not out in twenty minutes, call the police.”
Jungkook tsks, eyes rolling with badly hidden amusement, ordering, “Just go. Will be here.”
Yes. Breathe.
He’ll be right here when you come back. And it’ll all be over then.
The building feels sinister, empty like this. Nothing of the busy and lively mood remains; the lack of the chatter and footsteps drenches the entrance hall in gloom.
It reminds you of horror movie locations; you can’t help but hesitate as you walk in.
Especially today, the silence is unbearably odd; the press isn’t lurking anymore, isn’t swarming you anymore. You don’t want to imagine how hard it must’ve been to convince the reporters to finally leave.
You sigh…
In less than a day, they’ll have today’s highlights printed in newspapers and posted; feasting. Big, bold headlines will narrate the words you uttered; of course they will. With your family relishing a local celebrity status, the media would be damned if it didn’t make any profit out of you.
For the first time, however… you don’t care. You inhale.
And as you walk past the glass walls and up the stairs, clutching your work keys, you don’t feel the overwhelming urge to run away from this place anymore.
You’ve liked your job since you started, no doubt, despite your initial worries and fears. But the thought of losing against the world, or of losing him terrified you. Maybe you were too naive to fight those who wished you harm mere months ago, freshly out of college.
But now that you realise that you won’t be roaming these hallways in a couple weeks, that you have dropped the mic in a way they won’t be able to pick it up to hurt you again, you feel relieved.
Feel a sense of responsibility. Like an adult.
Okay.
She told you she’d wait in an unoccupied office on the first floor — you usually frequent it with Zara, sifting through theories and changes. You wonder why your mother didn’t settle on her own office — then again, you imagine it must hurt to suffer defeat in the very room where she’s supposed to reign.
As you reach the room, your fist lifts to the door. Though you soon realise that it might be entirely unnecessary, judging the slight gap and the soft noise from within. So you gently push the ajar door open, met with a tired figure behind an imposing desk.
She’s lost in thought, but as you enter, her gaze slowly ascends, her posture reclining. And you see it immediately.
The usually cold eyes, now brimming with disappointment and sorrow.
Her eyes flit, as you assume unintentionally, into a corner. She dodges a simple greeting when you mumble a timid, “Hi,” and you drop the formalities right away. Don’t even attempt to sit — stand there, towering in front of her, not intending to stay long anyway.
And it seems her thoughts and intentions align, because she refuses to beat around the bush, a weary voice asking, “Why did you do that?”
“Mmh… You’re asking like I shouldn’t have.”
“Because you shouldn’t have.” Typical. Her point of view will always be her only truth. You listen on, but can’t help but tense. “Your father and I built this for you, and we intended to forward it to you. You know that.”
You don’t like that tone; you never have. It always ran over your spine as a shiver, weakening your knees. Even today, you’re conditioned to buckle just a bit. You exhale.
“Mom, have you ever heard yourself speak? You’ve never even remotely tried giving me anything else that way,” you complain, leaning to clutch the chair with one hand, the other gesturing around the room. “You built this stupid empire for yourself and kept it intact for me, so I can continue your work.”
You huff out a mocking breath, shaking your head just a little. “You never even asked me. You just told me to do it all.”
Her voice is sharper when she responds, “We didn’t hand it to you to make you suffer, for god’s sake.” She’s irritated, eyebrows deeply furrowed. “Christ, you were supposed to have a good future.”
“Yes, and I will! I’m happier than I have been all summer. Do you even have any idea what happened during that time?!”
You pause. She doesn’t answer, clearly sorting out a hundred answers.
Because a lot happened — most of it a direct effect of her or the media’s bullshit. Of course she won’t be able to pick out just one single thing.
So you explain, “Did you even understand that Jungkook broke up with me because of the thing you pulled with that dumb journalist?” You spit the word like a curse, grimacing. “And that he avoided me because he thought he was ruining me?”
You try to make it sound as ridiculous as you can muster, wondering if the realisation is dawning on her.
“Did you even notice how I didn’t come out of my room for da—”
“Just why,” she interrupts, eyes shutting tight in disbelief and agitation, palms toward the ceiling, “would you jeopardise your life and emotions because of him?”
Jeopardise. Holy fuck.
She has a whack understanding of villainhood.
“Because he’s important to me! You can’t even imagine how hurtful it is to only be talking about work to you. You never ask me if I eat or sleep enough. You didn’t even give me a graduation present. He did! But you wouldn’t know!”
You think back to the lamp in your room, the one she has never seen — remember the dark ceiling, the aurora and stars projected to it. The touches that followed.
“He’s unbelievably important to me, Mom. Okay?”
“You’ve been with him for just a while.”
You grit your teeth. It’s like talking to a wall; a daycare child would catch the sentiment better than her.
“Yeah,” you say, scoffing, “and it makes me embarrassed for you, because I’ve known you my entire life and you never cared this much. Like, fuck, even Dad did.”
Her jaw clenches as you swear, nostrils close to flaring as you concede more pain, “Jungkook actually makes me feel human.” There’s a sting in your eyes. You blink it away. “I’ve been feeling like a person, which just… made me understand that—”
You gulp, your throat tied and your head heavier now. You wait, shrugging. Then—
“That I can receive affection, too.”
Your friends are your first memory of care; barring them, you only had a faint idea of what devotion entailed. Learning what it means to be genuinely important to someone had been on your bucket list — this year, you ticked it off.
“I just hate that he had to glue me together first for me to understand.”
Because she broke you first. The contrast couldn’t be more crystal clear.
She doesn’t dig your monologue. Her countenance fills with different shades of ridicule and embarrassment, shreds of anger thrown into the mix. Filed nails tap against an open folder, the other hand rubbing her forehead.
“You sound ridiculous,” she derides, “you can’t throw your future away because of love. It won’t pay your bills.”
“I’m gonna be a manager, though. I’ll pay my fucking bills. And Jungkook is working his way up, too.” Your latter statement gains a sceptical stare, followed by a skyrocketing eyebrow. It satisfies you. “He is. He’s getting his own part at an exhibition. We’ll be fine.”
She frowns, mouth already agape as she psyches herself up for another answer, and you already roll your eyes, prepared to interrupt.
“You—”
“You were so grateful last weekend,” you argue.
“Because you almost killed yourself!”
“No! If you’re so worried, then call! You could’ve called and asked where I was like mothers do. Made sure I was well and not drunk out of my mind!”
“Stop it,” she stands, her voice as damaging as a serrated knife. You flinch as she charges for you, and you breathe out, ready for a slap — but her body halts in front of yours. “How do you expect to run from this just by switching to another company? Novaura’s still mine, too.”
No…
You hold your breath. Straighten your back, hands sweaty as your nails dig in. She’s been predictable half her life; not always quite vile. But you know what she’ll say next, and you know it’ll be the most odious thing she’s ever uttered.
“And I could keep you here if I wanted to. They’d throw you out if I told them, too.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, and you blink, scorning, “You’re serious?”
A breath of laughter escapes your chest, and you shake your head in disbelief. You’re done.
You press your lips into a thin line before smacking them, nodding in faux agreement before you say, “Okay. Go ahead. But if you do, I won’t shut up this time. Today, I was being nice. I praised you, and none of my nice talk was actually deserved.”
Choosing your words carefully, you pronounce every syllable as if explaining molecular biology. She listens, not spitting an answer immediately.
So you challenge further, “You want to throw me out? Do it. It’s your reputation. I didn’t say anything wrong at the conference today, because it’s my right to choose the career I want. You’d be abandoning your own daughter if you pulled this through.”
You have her attention. Her lips stay sealed.
“And when they ask me,” you continue, eyes now fiery; you’re so done. So, so done. “I will let them know that you did it out of spite. Try finding an excuse why you did when we’re there. I won’t be at any disadvantage.”
You press into your palms one more time, relaxing your jaw, and opt to turn and walk away. Hurling one more glare towards her, you spit, “I have a degree, just a reminder.”
And that should be it.
Pride unfurls across your chest, warm in your stomach as you take long strides out of her office. You hear the quiet call of your name, suddenly desperate. But now that you’ve said your part of the truth, you don’t turn around anymore.
Only shut the door behind you hard; shutting all she’d hoped for with it.
Despite the satisfaction still bubbling in your stomach, you can’t shake the clump in your throat and the anxiety in your heart. The post-fight adrenaline pumps through your veins, and your fingers shake.
There’s discomfort in deserting your own mother; the irrational fears were to be expected. You didn’t do anything wrong, you know, you know. But your organ still thumps like drums, and you lift a hand to your chest. A vain attempt to calm your breathing.
And then… something miraculous happens.
The brisky gust of the evening brushes your cheeks; the bright lights of the city contribute to your sudden peace. They’re a reminder that the world is far wider than this damn building. Than her.
But more than anything, your worries dissipate when the strolling figure grows in your sight. As you walk the short distance to your car, you feel your heart lighten — your forehead and temples relax.
He has his hands on his waist, chin slightly raised as if watching the stars that hide in the city sky anyway. His steps are small, and his eyebrows calm. He looks serene.
And once his hands slide into his open jacket’s pockets, he looks down the street again, surprised when you’re mere steps apart.
“Ah,” he voices, one palm already out as he stretches it toward you, “barely fifteen minutes. I was about to come in.”
Deep sigh in, you let his arm pull you in his embrace, swiftly wrapped around your torso. He smells like fresh clothes, after-rain, and vibrant, like the lights in the sky.
Your arms sling around his body with an urgency, and you muffle your voice against his chest as you ask, “Already?”
“Already?” he repeats, though dragging the word more than you did. His arm squeezes you once as his other hand escapes his pocket, too, stroking your head. “Those weren’t days? I swear I felt myself ageing in there.”
Your fist thumps against his chest lightly, and you giggle against his sweater. “Don’t be so dramatic.” Eyes slowly unfocusing, you rub the zipper teeth of his jacket between your fingers, softly mumbling, “Thank you for being here. You’re the best.”
You feel a movement over your head; he’s lowering his chin to your hair, still caressing your head as if lulling you into sleep. And it’s working — you feel drowsier by the second.
But then, his chest rumbles as he hums, cautious as he asks, “Are you okay?”
Are you?
You’re about to start a new life where you desire, with whom you desire. Finding permanent residency in his presence the way he finds it in your thoughts.
A few more steps, and you can make yourself home. Not in those rooms, but in him. Because that’s what he is.
A blanket, a radiator, the comforting voice that soothes and heals. Worshipping you within the same four walls every single day.
You’re not just okay — you’re craving.
Leaving his warmth and scent, you lean back and look at him. His eyes are as big as you’re used to, awaiting an answer, genuinely curious. Your heart threatens to burst; the sting is painfully sweet.
“Yeah,” you answer, touching the purple sweater, “I promise I am.”
Because. Because that’s all you ever wanted.
It’s over. You’re going home — you are home.
You can’t remember whether it was your fingers clawing into Jungkook’s shirt or his hand brushing through your hair that kept you in the sheets twenty minutes longer than anticipated.
The plan was to snooze once and get into a routine with divided work. One prepares breakfast, the other makes the bed and cleans up before leaving the apartment.
But it seems that so far, your routine has consisted of lazy mornings. Tired hums. Quiet, hushed and slightly hoarse good mornings and entangled limbs.
You pressed between his shoulder blades as he strokes your head, planting kisses on your temple and your forehead.
“Slept well?” he asked today. Another peck in between. Then, drowsy and sighing, “Is the mattress okay, by the way? I like the firmer ones better since they’re good for your back, but I know you had a softer one, so if you need…”
“No, not at all,” you promised, warm and safe under the covers. “This is perfect.”
No… the softness wasn’t needed. Your muscles were so relaxed, you were sinking into the bed anyway. Sleeping a dent into it. At peace as his nails gently scraped over your scalp, massaging and caressing.
He could’ve lulled you into sleep like that; and his voice served as soft, white background noise. The words he used. The honey sweet tone. The past tense in what you had, and what you have now.
If you hadn’t been so lethargic, you would’ve floated through your chores. But when the clock ticked too dangerously fast and brought your working hours sickeningly close, you decided to eat out instead.
You always fool around at breakfast too much — stretching it longer than it needs to be. A café was, surprisingly, the smarter, more time-efficient option.
And a great opportunity and excuse to explore the places near you. Jungkook promised there was an amazing bakery nearby, and you trudged along, tummy rumbling, now that you weren’t in bed with him and satiated anymore.
“You’re sure you’ll be at home by the evening?”
You gather the remaining crumbs of your pastry with the pad of your thumb, waiting for Jungkook to slurp the last of his coffee. He nods, soon answering, “Mhm. I won’t be at work for long. Might come home before you do, actually.”
“Okay,” you suckle at your thumb, shoulders relaxing as you stare at the drizzle outside. The day started out grey. “And then tomorrow, I’ll be off work by the afternoon, so I should be able to bring more things over from the house.”
Tired from the morning, your eyes remain on the customers trudging in and out of the café. They shake the water drops off their umbrellas, or sigh at the prospect of stepping out into the rain again.
Their expressions aren’t quite dispirited, but… perhaps a little dim.
You raise a side of your lips in empathy, and then continue, “And then on Saturday, I’m getting the truck to the house, for the rest of my stuff.”
“Babe,” Jungkook interrupts, pausing to smack the coffee’s taste away. His hand slides over the table, wrapping his fingers around three of yours. “Let me come with you tomorrow. You’re already doing too much.”
“Absolutely not. I won’t drag you there unless I absolutely have to. Besides,” your voice is soft when you lean forward, raising your entangled digits to your lower lip. “You’ve been busy plenty, too.”
And it’s true.
He’s been taking care of the apartment and cooking dinner these days. Organising documents with you, so you have whatever needed to change your address and whatnot. Doing small purchases for the household and vacating some of the closet to make place for your stuff.
Two weeks have passed since the press conference — and Jungkook has been a pillar of strength and sanity as much as you have been his. You communicate each night, regulating finances, dividing roles and sharing comfort.
You don’t think you’ve ever witnessed or felt a relationship as symbiotic as this one… and you’re just starting out.
His thumb brushes over your fingers, still reassuring you, much as you expected, “I honestly don’t mind.”
“It’s okay,” you argue, “we still have a lot more to do. Save your energy for that. I’d still love these deco vines for the living room, remember? Let’s get them together.”
Your words are breathy, as if you’re being reborn. A breeze of refreshment — and he feels it, too. There’s something about the thought of simplicity livening up your bustling days.
Mundane tasks, like shopping for casual things together.
Groceries. Decoration. Plants.
With all the planning of switching work and homes, the two of you have been incredibly breathless. You even told him about a meeting at your new place today, a discussion about trivial matters, general know-how and preparation you need to do.
The sliver of stress is visible in your eyes — you’ll be seeing the other managers today. And you’re nervous about it, unsure what vibe the meeting might set.
But despite the stress, you’ve been as bright as Venus in the night sky. He understands. If anyone does, then him.
Because the idea of strolling through Ikea's tableware department is balm to his mind. Your laughter sounding through its hallways, half your body leaning over the shopping cart, because you surely seem like the type to do so.
His voice is as gentle as the mizzle outside when he promises, “We’ll get anything you want.”
“Really?” Your smile is radiant, cheeks glowing as you press the lightest kiss to one of his knuckles. “Sounds good to me.”
Time passing has always been a bummer. Despite the quiet noise in the café, the clock ticks as if in a deafening volume, a reminder that you need to let this hand go soon.
Sometimes, you do worry. About the attachment, and the healthy obsession with him. And on the other side, about every moment he worships you, and every second he misses you.
How there’s discomfort in being apart, even if for mere hours. Maybe that’s why he holds you so tight at night. Or why you’re constantly itching to get home.
Perhaps there’s a lingering fear that your time separated brought, a sneaking anxiety of being dragged apart again.
Yet, instead of dwelling in improbable what-ifs, you breathe in the air of the room, direct your senses away from the clock and toward the increasing patter of rain against the window panes.
You squeeze the fingers around you harder, delving into one last soft conversation as you ask, “You’re at lunch with Joon later, right?”
“Yeah, he promised me burgers today.”
“What for again?”
“Because I’m his favourite staff member?” Jungkook lifts your hand to your mouth when you open it, shushing you with your own fingers. “Don’t say it. I am his favourite staff member.”
“‘Kay. Understandable.”
“You know…” He shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly, but the soft drop of his gaze, fingers fiddling and toying with yours betrays him. He’s still so delicate around you. “If you want, you can join.”
“Oh. Mmmh,” you think for a moment, but then click your tongue, insisting, “it’d be weird, I think. Dunno if he’d want it.”
“I would want it.”
He always does.
Yearning. Obsession. A humane way of falling in love.
You feel like a person. No matter how odd the phrase might sound in your head, the painful truth behind it is undeniable. You feel like a person.
“Okay,” you reply, slowly reclaiming your hand, reluctantly preparing to leave. “I’ll see if I find time and energy during my lunch break.” You halt, unblinking, before you look back at him with squinting, uncertain eyes. “Totes Bag Street, was it?”
The sudden, choking laugh erupting out of Jungkook is a surprise. If his coffee cup wasn’t empty yet, he’d still be sipping, probably ruining the white, silky shirt you’re sporting today.
You actually mean it, don’t you?
His trademark laugh is high-pitched, melodious, though a little more controlled in the public space, but the flashing of his teeth and his dimples implies genuine joy.
You already know: the lighthearted banter has become a hallmark of your connection. Doesn’t get old. Heartwarming — albeit right now, very confusing to you.
So you cock an eyebrow, questioning, “What?”
“Babe,” he simply mutters, hands coming together in a mock prayer. “Shit, you’re so fucking cute.”
He lowers his head between his shoulders, torso shaking, and you pull his palms apart again to dig with another, ”Hey. What?”
“Boats Track Street. Not Totes Bag Street,” he corrects, endeared by your wide eyes. The back of two of his fingers grazes your temple, and then down your face, before playfully pinching your chin. “You’re so cute. And a dummy. I mean it.”
“You’re a dummy,” you reply, forcing your face back and out of his grip. “Besides, that’s a pretty stupid name.”
“To be fair… I agree.”
A hesitant smile spreading on your face, your gaze wanders to the clock at the opposite wall again. The beam drops a little, giving way to a small sigh.
“It’s okay. I’ll probably be busy anyway… will join you guys another time.” You shove the chair back, getting off with a fatigued groan and a hand rubbing your tummy. “And I feel a bit weird today, too. Shouldn’t have eaten before bed because I’m feeling the effects right now.”
“Ahhh, I told you. No worries. I’ll make you something light tonight. And some peppermint tea.” His hands wave you goodbye, making a begone motion. “Go for now. The longer you stay, the worse the next hours will be for me.”
“Dork. You must survive.”
You huff, eyes rolling at the dramatics, and push your bag behind your body before you lean into him. A hand on his cheek, you watch his eyes close, setting your lips onto his.
The two-second long goodbye peck remains just that before his fingers, pushing against the nape of your neck, tug you in again.
Against your lips, he mutters, “Eat, okay? Call if your stomach bothers you. Anytime. And don’t be nervous. You’ll have fun.”
And before you can answer, he kisses you again.
Once, and then twice more. Your guts somersault, even when he finally lets you go. Your lungs feel dry all of a sudden.
All you have left in you is to nod. For your wobbly legs to step away. Looking back a few more times until the door opens, the bell chiming, your transparent flower umbrella spreading over your head.
Jungkook watches as your careful steps wander away, your head never lowered like every other passerby’s. They’re hiding from the rain, but you’re staring up, observing the movement of the clouds before your focus falls on the road — and a minute later, you disappear out of his sight.
His chest and muscles relax, a quiet laughter still tumbling out as he repeats, “Totes Bag Street.”
The sky may be colourless. The people might look into the world dimly.
But despite the rain tapping against the window, no inch of you is painted in a dismal, drab grey. You’re the brilliant, gleaming sun.
The location of your new job isn’t as fancy as the area around Charmante. The building certainly isn’t made of reflecting glass throughout.
There’s wood and actual walls; not every door opens with a chip, but a key, and the luxuries are limited. Compared to your old building, this one is humble, but it still oozes wealth and success — guess that’s what a subsidiary looks like.
The meeting room for today is somewhere on the third floor. Your mind races as you fix your clothes in the elevator, throwing regular glances into the mirror to guarantee that your hair sits as perfectly as three seconds prior.
You breathe deeply, exhale through a rounded mouth. Whether it’s this meeting or something you ate, your stomach does not feel great.
As the nerves start kicking in, you think of Jungkook’s hand in yours and the everlasting smile. You use him as your safe place; close your eyes for those few seconds that the elevator floats up.
And it works. Feels like an oasis, calm and lovely.
That is, until the bell pings, forcing your eyes open. You stare up at the number, nearly stepping out until you realise that — you’re not on the third, but on the second floor. Were you supposed to halt here?
No. And there’s nobody outside, waiting.
Until, someone is.
Rushed steps move to the elevator, a nice but stressed voice urging, “Ah! Keep the doors open, I’m coming!”
Strange. Oddly familiar voice.
You can’t say why, but you already prepare a polite smile, trying not to let the ticking seconds stress you out. Rationally, you know you’re not late, but the time passing messes with your nerves.
And it seems it doesn’t get better when the figure finally rushes in, pressing the already lit number 3 before he says, “Good. Just in time.” Looks back at you, delighted as if he expected you somewhere around, and adds, “Ah! Hello!
It takes a moment. Then another.
One more until you figure out who he is, why you feel like hurling and how maybe, just maybe, he might be heading to the same room as you — as another new manager of Novaura.
You blow a raspberry at the boxes in your backseat.
Deciding to at least take your favourite box up with you, you leave the rest here for now; you don’t want to bug Jungkook yet. You can heave it all upstairs on the weekend, in peace.
It’s only moderately heavy — but with both your hands busy, the task is a hassle. You secure it under your arm as you close the door of your vehicle with your hip, clutching the phone previously tucked between your cheek and shoulder.
You straighten your head, reflexively looking up to Jungkook’s apartment window. To your apartment window. Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue just yet.
Somehow managing to open the entrance door, you sigh into the phone, giving Taehyung a relieved, “I’m finally back home.”
“Mmmh,” Taehyung voices, and you imagine his full lips in a line, tiny nods serious, “how’s it feel? Knowing that this is where you’re gonna be for the foreseeable future?”
“It feels… quiet.”
“What, he bore you to death like that?”
You giggle, taking deep breaths as you ascend the staircase; though slightly irritated by the slowly and constantly slipping box. You heave it back up.
“Absolutely. You’ve no idea, really.”
Taehyung laughs, but your joke doesn’t stick for long. You feel bad immediately — even in a playful tone, your heart knows nothing for Jungkook but praise. You guess that’s how kindness affects people.
And your brain stays mean, prolonging your pout — because it conjures pictures of a crooked smile, wrinkles around tender eyes, a tilted head as shoulders rise when the laughter reaches its peak…
A sting jabs your chest.
The longing is unbearable, and you’re barely another level from the apartment. He’s waiting for you on the other side of that flat’s door, and you know his pupils will widen in his dark brown eyes the moment they fall on you.
“No, that feels horrible to say,” you correct, shaking your head. You pause in the middle of the staircase for a moment, gaze fixated on a dirty spot before you shake your head once more. “You know Jungkook. If he’s not joy personified, then I don’t know.”
And it’s true — despite his own demons, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone spread this much comfort.
“I just meant that my mind’s been quiet. And a lot more peaceful. Not a hundred worries whirling around anymore,” you tell him, your steps upward slower now.
“Just ninety-nine, huh?”
You smile. “Maybe. But he’s not one of them.”
Dull background noise interrupts your thoughts; Taehyung doesn’t respond to you, but reprimands Yoongi in a distant mumble. He’s been doing it since he called, covering his phone to argue with his friend.
Apparently, Yoongi had been with him for hours before you picked up Taehyung’s call; they’ve been settling the rest of the arrangements, scurrying through paperwork. The apartment you considered is entirely their adventure now, but you aided in anything they needed.
Which basically just meant clearing things with the landlord and then answering his new tenant’s million questions.
As in — how were you thinking of decorating it? Why were you going to take it? Did you calculate monthly costs including rent, water and gas? You didn’t mind, because Yoongi might be one of the most polite people you have ever met.
But it seems he’s reluctant to return to his dorm’s lonely walls, too.
Because Taehyung values alone-time, and Yoongi hasn’t granted it for hours. You feel kinda bad for Yoongi. And while the younger man attempts his hardest to maintain the gentle tone, you hear the exhaustion in his voice.
“I’ll drive you home after this, ‘kay?” he tells Yoongi; you snicker at the groan that returns. “You got this, bro.” Attention back to you, a murmur of your name. “Anyway. Everything should be good now.”
“I’m glad. That was… quite something.”
A euphemism, really. The handful of visits weren’t fun; not to mention the stuff you had to get over with for your own move. And then all those calls. You needed minutes upon minutes of preparation for each of them. One hell of a businesswoman, you are.
“No, say it as it is. ‘Cause it knocked me the fuck out. You guys really had to drag me into this.”
You feel guilty about making Taehyung your spokesman here; but as an already residing individual of the building, he was a great support in this matter.
“We— love you,” you tell him, inhaling deeply between your words. You rub the dirt off your soles on the welcoming mat and hold the box tight, not opening the door yet. “Tell your forehead to feel kissed.”
“Nah. You’re gonna upset Eun.”
“Why? Eun and I are more in love then the two of you might ever be. She’ll choose my side.”
“Ha. Fair. Whatever.” His voice doesn’t carry an ounce of solemnity. Once again, you imagine him pulling a face, waving your statement off. “Enjoy your life. Your voice has been echo-y forever. Also, don’t forget to talk to Jungkook about what we discussed.”
Ah… yeah. There’s more than just one thing you need to clear, actually.
“Aye, aye, Captain,” you confirm, though arguing, “I’m surprised you haven’t done it yet.”
“You do it. I know he’ll like hearing it from you better.” He pauses to answer his friend; you don’t even know what he said. “Okay. I’ll go grappling with Yoongi then.”
“Good luck.”
“Buy me sushi.”
One last laugh before you cut the call.
The clicking sound of your keys turning in the lock is music to your ears and balm to your feet. You skip the threshold with a relieved release of air; the apartment smells like diffusers, so warm compared to the declining temperatures outside.
You don’t hear a movement until you get to your knees, seating the box next to the shoe cabinet. As you start working on your jacket, you register a shuffle from the living room, but no voice — Jungkook said he’d be home before you. Perhaps he’s painting; or gaming.
A short text message during lunch assured him he could start dinner without you; deep down, however, you understood he wouldn’t listen anyway. And the obvious lack of aromatic scents wafting from the living room proves it.
You don’t enjoy eating alone — and he knows.
Clearing your throat, you announce your arrival, bent as you take your shoes off and rub your aching heels for a moment. You wish you could float. Offer them reprieve.
Stumbling in the anteroom, you wait for a greeting, but it seems he didn’t hear or notice you. You lick your lips, standing straight, and then speak into the hallway—
“I swear I don’t have a foot fetish,” a short pause — nothing, “but can you massage my feet again today?” You wait. Not a word comes back. So you joke, “Actually, just massage my whole body? I don’t mind. Need some hands-on relaxation.”
Subjectively, you think you’re hilarious. You giggle on your way to the living room, cheerful despite the jam-packed day — but your laughter ebbs down soon. Because he’s standing in the middle of the room, lips pressed into a tiny smile, head lowered, hands in his pockets.
And right in front of him, a timid woman in a coat. Blinking at you.
Your eyes dodge her gaze immediately. It’s an impolite reflex, heart pounding as you watch Jungkook’s hand lift to his forehead, hiding behind his bangs as he rubs. When he looks at you again, there’s an equal amount of worry and amusement in his expression.
“Shit,” you mumble, another mishap, and you continue cursing internally. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And then, “I’m sorry.”
She looks like him. Same sweet aura, short hair, big eyes.
Her right digits are wrapped around the fingers of her other hand, mouth shut tight, though smiling. She knows less what to say than you, and the moment stretches and stretches and does not end and—
“Hi,” you finally murmur, bowing slightly before you cringe. Too much? Not enough? You clear your throat again, and then introduce yourself quietly. “You must be Mrs. Jeon. I… I didn’t know you’d be here or I would’ve come earlier! I’m very sorry.”
Are you rambling?
How horrid. You’d feel so uncomfortable if you were her.
Only, she barely showcases any sign of displeasure or irritation. Despite striking you as an introvert, her movements soon prove confidence — the type to know what she’s saying or doing, but in a humble and gentle way.
She unfolds her fingers and lets them dangle, soon moving up to clutch the strap of her bag. Looking between Jungkook and you once, she raises her eyebrows and shakes her head, as if to promise that there’s no reason for any tension.
You sigh when she speaks, “Oh, it’s alright. I didn’t stay long and I need to go in a minute anyway.”
“Oh?”
“I was going to leave ages ago, but,” she points to her son with rolling eyes, and the man in question shrugs in faux guilt before she speaks on, “that one wanted me to see you for at least a second. I wanted to meet you properly… prepare dinner and all, but. It’s still nice to meet you.”
Her eyes are kind, taking you in; if you could guess, you’d say she’s… excited. Urging to finally speak to her son’s girlfriend.
She moves a teeny tiny bit, as if opting to offer her palm to you, or to— maybe hug you? But maybe she realises the timing, or sees your terrified expression, because she holds back for now politely.
“I see. It’s wonderful to meet you, too.” Incredible how you spoke about initiatives just this morning, rambling in the office until someone had to interrupt you for their own turn. Now, you can’t get a word out. “But, I… I am still sorry I barged in so rudely.”
She grimaces, moving closer to you with a waving motion, “You didn’t barge into your own apartment. It’s all good.”
Jungkook doesn’t interrupt much; doesn’t interfere with his own jests and statements. They mirror each other so much, though. In the way they smile, and in the way they talk.
Even the manner in which she places her hand on your arm, reassuring you, delivers the same warmth. You tense for a moment, not quite expecting the touch; but it’s motherly. Soft.
A new emotion floods your heart, but you can’t decode it. Too many thoughts streaming in, brain working overtime to come up with a full sentence without stuttering, without those dumb hesitation markers that your studies taught you to avoid.
And maybe you’ve succeeded — only, the clump in your throat, accompanied by a strange twist in your stomach builds a barrier now.
Her touch feels… good.
“Do you… would you like to sit?” you ask, voice softer by an infinite amount. “I have a variety of tea here, and you could choose one. If you…”
You want to talk. About whatever. Not the slip occurring a couple minutes ago; maybe you just finally want to know who made Jungkook the man he is today. It wasn’t necessarily his father, was he?
Somewhere, this incessant, constant comfort derived from. But.
“I’d like nothing more than that,” she admits, “but I have massage therapy in a bit, and should get going. An adult’s back.” You laugh, and she gestures towards you with an open palm. “Oh, don’t you work in an office? Take care of yourself, too.”
“Not just an office, Mom,” Jungkook interrupts, inching closer until next to you and rubbing your back, proud, “she’s a manager. She walks around a lot, so the problem are,” he nods toward your feet, “these.”
True. Just today alone, your heels made it feel like you ran a marathon. Learning about each corner and wandering around that building drained you.
“Ah… I thought so,” she says.
You blink in faint confusion until you realise. Jungkook lets out a breathy laugh, brief but telling, and his mother smiles in awkward amusement. Hell.
Your blood shoots back into your face, warming it thoroughly, and just before you can opt for another apology, she says, “You have him to take care of you. Make him spoil you! You do, don’t you?”
Her voice changes the moment she faces her son, a little strict but all in good fun; her eyes squint and he exclaims, “I do!” the moment you defend, “Oh, he does! He definitely does.”
She seems to like this. There’s a sparkle in her eyes, similar to the one you already know; perhaps she’s just as endeared as mothers–usually?–get, realising their children are happy and settling.
“We take care of each other,” you tell her then, and she responds with a content nod.
“Good. It’d be a shame if not. Taught him how to treat people.”
“He knows for sure, ma’am. I don’t think you’ll ever need to worry about that.”
You’re careful with your gestures, your smiles, your movements. Even though she’s made clear as day that she’s not to fear, you still shift your entire focus on the delivery of your words.
If you weren’t, you’d be more lax. Looking through the room, exchanging glances with Jungkook. If you weren’t so distracted, you’d notice that he’s playing with the ends of your hair.
And you’d see the way he looks at you.
With those barely blinking, calm eyes. An ocean of fondness in them, a light, lost smile around his face. As though you’re soothing him, pumping oxygen into his lungs.
You don’t see any of it; but his mother does. And you register the drift of her pupils, the minimal upward movement in her eyebrows as she shoots a glance at him — then back at you.
But when you follow her gaze to him, he’s already snapped out of it, clearing his throat.
“You should go before you’re late,” Jungkook reminds her, removing his hand from your hair, “I’ll go spoil her as you taught me, Mama.”
“You better. Pressure’s on.”
He smirks, lopsided as he slings an arm around her shoulder. She’s so much smaller than him. “Tell Dad Hi from me.”
A slight drop of his lips. He doesn’t look at her but the ground. Tell-tale signs of a distant ache, hidden behind an attempt to find a cure.
The sting is palpable, right in the middle of your heart, but it dissipates bit by bit as he smiles at you again. Genuine once more, back to where he was only five seconds ago.
You nod at her, one last, non-verbal confirmation that you feel cosy here. There’s something inarguably sweet in her instant care. How she instantly roots for your happiness. How she’s pouring all her empathy into you with a single look.
A stare that usually understands someone else’s pain; and then hopes for eternal peace for them.
She doesn’t even know you — does she? You wonder if he ever did speak about you.
“Okay then. Tell me if you need anything,” she says it to Jungkook, but promptly turns to you, promising you, “you can, too. Of course.”
“I will. Thank you so much.”
Purse lifted further up her shoulder, she starts a move toward the exit, already starting to wave you goodbye before she suddenly stops. Looks at you, and blurts, “Oh, and— has he uhhh…?”
She starts the sentence with hesitation, ending it with uncertainty and a look over her shoulder. You follow her eyes, barely catching him throwing a warning sign. His eyes are ripped open, head delivering tiny shakes, but he returns to normal the moment he catches you staring.
Okay. Something happened there that you’re not part of.
But that you’re supposed to be part of? You don’t know.
You’re curious, though. Already aware of what you’ll be pestering him with tonight.
She shuts up, letting out a short, tiny breath. Her small, sweet fingers curl just once before she releases them again, and she flattens her coat, nodding.
“I’ll leave you two alone then,” she declares.
“You should stay for dinner next time, though!” you offer.
“Of course. I’m eating with my husband after the appointment, so he’ll probably already be waiting, but. Next time for sure. And you should come, too, someday.”
Right.
It doesn’t stop. It’s permanently odd hearing someone talking about that man other than Jungkook. Shouldn’t be, because she’s the closest and dearest individual to him, sharing a home and marital bed. But…
It’s like people don’t quite feel real from stories until one actually faces them. His mom’s subtle, harmless words about her husband make him feel realer, and Jungkook’s issues with them.
But most of all you wonder — why has he never visited here? You wish he had. You wish he would sometimes. But she didn’t even suggest bringing him with her next time. Or how his father would be delighted about a visit, too.
It doesn’t seem to faze Jungkook. Or maybe it does, but he doesn’t let it show. Or — worse. Has he gotten used to it? His father’s absence, or the term that defines their relationship.
Because he nods, a soft smile as a son usually throws at his mother. Casual but loving. He says, “Won’t keep you here then.”
Jungkook kisses her head at the door, and she stuffs her hands in her coat, politely bidding you goodbye.
You watch as she approaches the staircase, still waving when she turns around one more time. You sigh in relief — she was friendly. No panic. You didn’t fuck up entirely.
And despite the last moments of gloom that the mention of her husband evoked, you hear Jungkook’s chuckle resonate once the door finally closes. His steps move toward the living room, his shoulders shaking.
You nearly slide down the closed door as you watch him, head falling back before he falls into a wholehearted laugh. You imagine deep, multiple crinkles around his eyes, mouth wide in joy.
Eyebrows kissing, you follow him inside, nearly bumping against him when you realise he’s standing in the middle of the room, body still shaking from the chortle. He’s facing the ground, and you hit his arm from the back.
“Shut up,” you only order, opting to walk away.
But he turns to you, a hand around your elbow; he can barely breathe when he assures, “Okay. Okay, I’ll stop. Sorry, I just—” He sniffles as you look at him, sulking and trying his gloating not to make you laugh, too. “What were you doing?”
“That’s not funny!”
“I’m not trying to be funny! I’m serious.”
Which he clearly isn’t. The smile is too infuriatingly wide, and the tug at your arm too affectionate. He’s amused and you hate–love?–that you are, too. You keep the act of agitation intact for another moment.
But pieces of you break, your heart a melting mess when you watch his eyes nearly close, nose scrunched up. His shoulders rise — they always do whenever his laughter increases, bunny teeth protruding and the mole under his mouth a magnet to your lips.
And when he raises his hands to your face, cradling it, and speaks, you lose it entirely.
“What were you even saying, munchkin, huh? You’re such a little idiot, you know?” he playfully scolds, squishing your cheeks; peppering kisses on your skin and your lips; barely allowing you a moment to talk.
“And you’re—” you say between tiny kisses, distracted by the childlike, muah-ish sound effects that accompany his pecks, “so mean.”
“And you are the sweetest thing to exist.” The lovingly aggressive touch vanishes from your cheek to be replaced by sudden pinches; your protests are high-pitched, and unfortunately, enhance his statement. “Okay, okay. Come on.”
He flicks your chin as if to provoke you further, but dodges all your teeny tiny rage to come when he moves past your body. Warning abandoned, his fingers tweak your ass as he targets the kitchen, and you yelp, instantly slapping a hand over your butt.
“Freshen up and let’s get to dinner. And hurry. Gotta give you hands-on relaxation later.”
“You’re the worst, I mean it.”
But his evil snicker isn’t.
He might make your hackles rise, and test your patience the way he used to so long ago. Back when you’d seek him out in a miniscule dorm room, eyebrows furrowed just to see him a bit longer after class.
You’re always baffled how your foundation still stands; after all the shattering and agony and stings that fractured your heart. Only now, you’ll be surrounded by the bicker every hour of the day.
And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Living through an odd day at work, driving around town and embarrassing yourself in front of your boyfriend’s mother makes one dizzyingly hungry, you realised. Stress didn’t let you eat properly today.
Even now, there’s something you need to reveal to him — but the moment you sit down to eat and crack the first joke, you don’t have the heart to. And then, combined with the rush still lingering from the awkward, wholesome interaction before, and the shift in mood, you soon do the worst:
Forget about the issue.
Your eyes meet the bottom of your bowl sooner than preferred, your stomach still seemingly as empty as before. Whatever magic Jungkook seasoned the dish with, you want him to sprinkle it on your tastebuds every day.
Jungkook is sipping on his water when you suddenly look up and place a hand on his bicep, shaking him for attention. A guilty Oh slips out of you as you watch droplets roll down his chin, and he tries not to choke as he puts the glass back on the table.
“Babe—”
“I’m sorry!” you exclaim, thumb wiping at the fluid dampening his chin. “Just. Can we have more? That helped with that sickness all day, and… I’m still hungry.”
Along with the lack of appetite, you assumed the stress and the constant overworking dragged the feeling of illness and stomach ache throughout the day, too. Jungkook keeps warning you about burnouts — doing a thousand things at once, you’ve been thoroughly burdened.
But honestly. Maybe it was just hunger for a real meal.
“Oh? I'm so glad it helped then! And sure,” he responds. “Go ahead, there’s enough for like four people.”
You blink. “And you?” He shakes his head, patting his full tummy, attempting another try at drinking. You argue, “I’m not eating alone, though!”
“Angel, I’ve had like two portions. I'll be full until next dinner.”
“Lame!” You shift on the couch, half of your ass holding you onto it, “And if we found ways to burn it off?”
“…Ah?”
“I mean… You like working out. So just work me out.”
“Shut up. You’re impossible.”
You’ve long given up — you’re not an ass. You would never force him to eat or not to eat, unless he hasn’t in hours. But you also need a foolproof way of amusing him.
Which, despite his very unimpressed expression, you know you did. His lips still twitch.
Sombre, his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek before he shakes his head. You pat his strong thighs, standing from the couch with a hungry groan.
“Fine. I’ll go heat up some for myself then,” you announce, but Jungkook’s shrill alarm bells ring immediately, his body jumping off his seat.
“Not the microwave.”
“Jungkook—”
“Not! The microwave. Just toss it in the pan and heat it up there.”
You tiptoe to the kitchen just a little faster, playful as he hurries after you. You spend your seconds explaining why the microwave won’t explode; how tickling you won’t change anything; how you’ll break something if he doesn’t stop.
But most of all, you spend your seconds allowing him to chase away all sorrows you carried for so goddamn long.
Shut up. You’re impossible.
His prior agitation truly wasn’t one at all.
Because despite your obvious jests, the calories lost on the couch rob you of all sanity at last. A hand in your hair, a body pushing yours down, free fingers roaming your sides and your legs, and lips never separating from yours.
He doesn’t strip you off a single piece of clothing. Doesn’t dig a hand underneath your shirt, focused on how your mouth feels, how his name rolling off your tongue sounds.
The eyes he stares into are vivid and bright, and he uses up all his power to not let them kill him. Your body wraps around his like the most tender of all embraces; he doesn’t need you bare for it, no matter how blank the thought leaves his mind.
Only needs the proximity. The tongue touching his, the nails testing his shirt’s quality.
You miss most of the movie that he suggested, eating each other up, a fist around the hem of his shirt until he nearly falls off the couch and wakes you from your dream. You giggle and joke, spending the second half of the film yawning, sipping the peppermint tea.
Jungkook uses the quiet time for whispered conversations; massages your feet as you pleaded for, repeatedly asking for your comfort.
The moments aren’t anything big, in theory. You’re not in a fantasy novel, not throwing a ring into a volcano. You’re mortal and here, surrounded by humane domesticity and drowning in casual conversations.
Yet — even though you’re not living through spectacular adventures, you’re breathing through special moments nevertheless. Because not a single second spent with him feels mundane, after all.
Sometime as the ending nears, you let your legs fall, pulled close to Jungkook by your hip. You don’t quite understand when or how he does it, but miraculously, you land half on his lap, ass barely on the couch and cheek pressed to his temple.
Jungkook pushes a hand against your thigh, heaving you up further and moving you until you’re comfortable. There’s a light groan, followed by a feathery kiss to your jaw; and you wrap an arm around his shoulder to hold on, shifting even closer.
Your touchy warmth isn’t new to Jungkook; but it seems that the changes in your lives made your inhibitions disperse. Like you broke the bars trapping you so far.
Because the increasing clinginess feels carefree; you don’t overthink your movements tonight. Even before, there was lightness in your interactions; how you’d breathe in his presence, compared to when the world intruded.
The difference was still never quite veiled.
He saw it when he called from so far away all those weeks ago, staring at the distress in your face through a device — versus when he returned to your world.
Or just recently, when you stood on that tiny stage, talking down to reporters — as opposed to when you whispered for him to get you home.
Your shoulders always dropped in relief the moment you stood in his soothing radius. And yet—
There was quiet discomfort in your eyes. And today — today he doesn’t see that usual steam frying your brain. Your smile isn’t burdened; you’re weightless, like you’re breathing.
Overwhelmed and endeared, Jungkook gulps. The pricking needle rods his heart, simultaneously flicking the wounds. He could cry.
He watches you busy your fingers with his shirt, unable to put his thoughts into a coherent string of sentences; so he only says, “You’re so cosy today.”
“Hm? I’m always cosy.”
“Mmmh… a bit more tonight.”
Your forefinger traces the outline of his pecs over his shirt, and you nod with a hum before you declare, “That’s because I’m trying to establish a healthy balance.”
“A healthy balance? How so?”
“I need to be nice, because you’re not.”
His eyes follow your finger’s slow movements, so his voice is soft, barely concerned. But his brain can’t quite compute as he asks, “I’m not nice?”
“You’ve always been mean, actually.”
He laughs. Taps your thigh rhythmically, close to your butt. “How am I mean to you?”
“Like,” you press your palm flat in the middle of his chest, looking at him. There’s a crease between your eyebrows, the slightest hint of a pout on your lips. “You ass could’ve answered when I came home. You didn’t say anything! Or did you really not hear me?”
Oh.
Ogling into your anticipating, subtly piqued eyes, he suppresses a laugh. His lips form a thin line, but the glow in his dark eyes betrays him. Your hand lifts a little, ready to spank his pecs, but you close the gap again as you grant him another chance.
“Hey, if you tell me you didn’t hear, I’ll let it slide.”
You’re well aware Jungkook graduated as the best of his year in Teasing You, and holds the degree proudly to your face every day — but you also know he’s honest.
So you’re not surprised when he admits, eyes mischievous, “I heard you.” Your slow blinking, the scolding gaze are hilarious to him; he looks unspeakably pleased. “I wanted to see what you’d do.”
Now you do slap his tits.
“And you didn’t expect me to say that shit?!” you reprimand. He wraps his arms around you, his laughter a deep, genuine emergence from his chest. “I’m an idiot, in case you didn’t know.”
“Of course. I do know,” he suddenly deadpans. Wow. That couldn’t have come any more naturally. “I know you well, baby.”
“And yet…”
He waves your concerns off, hand soon returning to your back to pull you closer. “She’s chill. I knew you were gonna amuse her right away.”
“Oh god. You planned this… Wait. You didn’t shush her when you heard the door open, right?”
He doesn’t answer. Just keeps looking at you. And then… is he…
Is he zoning out?
“Jungkook,” you call again.
“Hm?” He stares at you beguiled, as if utterly distracted by whatever. “Sorry. Can’t hear you—”
“You so can. We’re alone and I’m speaking loud and cl—”
“Nah, you’re just so pretty. I can barely focus.”
“I hate you.”
But you don’t.
He doesn’t need to spell his intentions out for you to understand. He might be testing your patience, but there’s a hidden meaning in his words that he can’t hide as well as he intends to after all.
Because you know he just wanted you to be yourself instead of playing a different role; just like he has never pretended in front of your parents. He knows you’d try extra hard for him — but he needed you to come in and receive affection as the person that you already are.
Guess whatever you blurted was the first impression he wanted to leave of you.
“So,” you start after a moment, back to tapping his chest, “do you think I did amuse her?”
“Oh, she loved it.” Of course she did. You could see the Jeon-esque endearment in her eyes the moment you stepped into the living room. Humbles you. “She’s gonna adore you, too.”
“Ah. Like you adore me.”
Jungkook’s response arrives in the form of a long, semi-damp kiss, delivered to the corner of your mouth. You grimace, torso moving backwards at his gentle force. He adds another Mmmhhh to the gesture until you’re nearly falling off his lap, pushing him away again with a giggly, “Stop!”
He leans back with a content sigh, eliminating more of the distance between you until his head almost rests against your chest. But when you speak again, he looks up into your face.
“Hey. Your mom was saying something as she was leaving. What was it again?”
“Uhh…”
His pupils roll up in thought, one shoulder already rising to shrug, but then it drops again before he voices, “Oh… Yeah…” A break in thought; then, “I figured you’d be busy with everything going on, so I was being reluctant about asking. Didn’t wanna put you in a difficult position.”
You wait. He speaks on, “But my cousin’s getting married next month, and I’m invited.”
There’s a beat of a pause, and you anticipate, already sensing a presentiment before he spits it out—
“And you are, too.”
Hold on.
Weddings. More often than not, weddings happen in big places, filled with a great number of guests. Of friends. And… of family members.
If what he’s suggesting isn’t a hallucination, it means that’d be how you’d step into the battlefield. Attempting your best to be yourself, to charm his family with whatever strategy.
Is he thinking of the same thing?
Because you’re speechless.
You close the mouth you only now notice stood agape, trying not to show the bubbling exhilaration too blatantly. That’d be your first joyful event together.
Oh god.
You might squeal; faint of nervousness. If you could, you’d press your fists to your lips and stomp your feet and twirl your hair and—
“Wait… You want me to go to a wedding with you?” you finally ask instead, keeping your voice in a normal pitch.
“Only if you feel like it.”
“And… and you?” you inquire, wide eyes looking into his wider ones. He’s nervous, too. “Do you want me to?”
“I… yeah. I do. I really, really don’t want to go without you, actually.”
Shit.
“Where is the wedding?”
“Yeah, see, that’s why I was afraid to ask. You’re so busy and your job’s so new. But we’d—” He hesitates, as if scared of rejection. Clicks his tongue, evaluating his words. “The thing is that we’d have to drive all the way down. It’s back at home.”
You need a moment. Back at home; you’re home. Meaning, it’s not here.
Meaning, it’s in his hometown. Meaning, you wouldn’t just meet his family, but walk through a place of memories and deeply rooted, nostalgic affection, too.
Which is… such a huge fucking thing.
Especially for a girlfriend.
Eun always says it doesn’t do bringing a girlfriend or boyfriend to big events such as birthday parties or weddings. It’s disadvantageous for the pictures, she claims. Who knows how the future might play out?
But Jungkook isn’t concerned with these issues. Jungkook wants you all the way down there, lurking on streets with him that he grew up on; tripped on; played on.
These are places with core remembrances. So easily expanded when more are added to them in later years; and so easily shattered when hearts break.
But a heart breaking is not an option, is it? Not anymore.
“You’re… taking me to your hometown?” you ask. You immediately realise the choice of words, and don’t hesitate as you add, “I mean. You’d be taking me home. You’d like to—”
“Is that—” he interrupts, suddenly unsure, “bad? Did it change your mind? You don’t have to, I promise.”
“No. I actually might cry.”
His expression momentarily softens, a big, clear Awwwh written in it. Gentle fingers brush your hair back, observing the vulnerability in your eyes. But shit, you mean it.
You could cry.
Because you talked about this so long ago.
Back when he was miles away, yet so deeply settled in your heart. Sneaking his way into your head, eating you up inside. When he broke off a piece of you and took it with him as he left, no relief for weeks on end.
And when he came back, he promised he’d take you with him one day.
Is that it? Is that now?
“Fuck,” you curse under a quiet laugh, confused by the burning in your eyes.
Jungkook’s hand brushes over your cheek, eyebrows slightly cocked. He might not have expected you to react with such… emotion. You hadn’t either.
“Hey,” his voice soothes, “don’t cry. It’ll be good. And if it’s not, or if you don’t want to, we can just stay here and never go again.”
You’re gonna sob. How did you deserve him?
Of course you want to go. Of course you’d make the best of it. No fibre in you wants to reject his offer.
In fact, you’re already daydreaming. Because…
How’s it gonna be? Will you see more stars there? Will his family like you? His Dad like you? And what are weddings with boyfriends like? Will you be seeing him in every flower in the hall, in every kiss the couple shares?
“No,” you say, “I’ll go. I will go because you’re too obsessed with me to leave without me.”
Jungkook chuckles immediately, but not speaking before rolling his eyes, “And you’re a brat.”
You wait a moment, smiling in unison with him, and then ask, “Honestly, I… I’d love to. Can I just still ask…” You’re curious; but you also want to keep feeling that warmth. More tranquillity from his words. “Why would you not go without me?”
He doesn’t stall.
“Because it’s such a big event, and… so far away. I don’t want to leave you here. And the thought of being at the most lovey-dovey place without my favourite person sucks.”
You’ll freaking screech.
“Jungkook!”
Half of the name is muffled when your lips drop to the crook of his neck, back uncomfortably arching and face heating up. Your ass threatens to fall back on the couch, legs still over his, and he hugs you close as he snickers again.
He shakes your body gently, trying to lift your face. Calling your name when your breath tickles his skin, asking, “Are we embarrassed?”
“No.”
But when you look at him again, your smile is wide enough to freeze your muscles in place. He shakes his head, flooded with aching joy, and makes sure again, “So you want to go, yeah? Don’t need time to think or something? It’s okay if you do.”
“As if. I really wanna go. I’m gonna make this,” you touch his collarbones, then your own, “work.”
He smiles. Grants you a short break to organise your thoughts. And while what you query next shouldn’t come as a surprise, it does introduce a delighted shift in mood.
“What am I gonna wear?”
Jungkook puffs out a breath.
You don’t notice; your focus drifts, directed to the carpet. You mentally scurry your closet, quietly trying to recall appropriate attire for weddings. Which is odd, because you should have the entire catalogue of your and every other place cemented in your mind.
“What do I wear?” you repeat, back to looking at him, barely allowing him a moment to think. “And don’t say anything would look good on me. Serious answers only.”
“You know a question like this prompts nothing but unserious answers from m—”
“Kook—”
“Okay. I mean, you have such pretty dresses. Lemme just choose one and we’re supplied.”
It’s an easy idea; fair enough. Only, you’re barely listening, earning a side-eye from Jungkook when you say, “I should buy a new one.”
Which still doesn’t deter him, though. “Cool. I’ll go with you then.”
“Or will I seem overdressed?”
“It’s a wedding, baby. Overdress like hell.”
“And… if I’m underdressed?”
“You’re still gonna be the hottest around!” he exclaims, and you flinch just a little. He’s not truly agitated, but there’s playful frustration in his voice, a grin around his lips. “Don’t worry about the dress, okay? It won’t stay on you anyway.”
Jungkook expects you to react with similar scolding, using it to hide how timidly flattered you actually are. But you’re too fired up, restless in his grip as your voice grows shriller, “I’m so. Fuck, I’m so excited!”
“I am, too. But…”
His palm moves up and down your back, one eye squinting shut as you start swaying a bit, pumped with serotonin. Like a thrilled child. You’re so…
He lowers his gaze; you might just see the heart eyes otherwise.
“Okay, hey,” he tries again, calming you as his fingers grasp your wrist. “Should we go to bed for now, though?”
You wait with your answer, relaxing your body. Stopping your elevated sounds, you draw the deepest breath in history, and then breathe out a whispery, “Yeah.”
“Yeah. Good. Oh.”
“Hm?”
“You haven’t actually been to the bedroom yet, right?”
“Oh…”
True. Since you came home, you only conversed with his mother, then rushed to take a shower as she left, still filled with prickling and nervous emotions. And then you hurried back to him, starving, eating, watching TV.
And now you’re here.
Was something different about the bedroom, though? You don’t think so.
“You’re right,” you tell him, “no, not really. Just to shower. Why?”
“Just…”
“…What?”
“Okay. Hold onto me.”
“Hold ont— oh, f—”
You gasp for air when two strong arms replace his soft hands, settling under your kneepits and around your back. He shifts dangerously on the couch, moving forward before he starts to lift with a self-motivating grunt.
“And— off we go.”
You sling your arms around his neck immediately, hiding, letting out a panicked, ”Be careful, I’m sli—”
“All good. Relax.” His arms wrap more properly around your limbs, and you dare to listen. Allowing your legs to dangle, you let him carry you calmly, breathing air through O-shaped lips. “Good girl. I won't just let you fall.”
“You better not.”
“No. Just wait.”
He looks at you with a comical grin, throwing a kiss into the air and down to you. Using your feet to kick the door open, he halts at the threshold; for a second, he looks… up.
And just when he finally enters the room, you quietly follow his gaze. The question as to what to wait for gets stuck in your throat when you realise what it is he needed you to see.
Holy shit.
the chapter isn't over yet – much to go!! tumblr just doesn't allow more than 1k blocks/paragraphs. apologies for the scrolling, but i promise it's worth it :'D here's the rest! <3
#jungkook smut#jungkook fluff#bts smut#bts fluff#jeongguk smut#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#bts x you#bts imagines#jungkook fic#bts angst#jungkook angst#jungkook
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