#.......I wish I was better at getting attached to ocs :( | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Hackers stole 65M passwords from Tumblr in 2013.

#.......I wish I was better at getting attached to ocs :(

terraxart · 2 months

Text

Exploring my gender and sexuality through the lens of my middle aged oc, I guess Boone specifically. He'd be the one who'd struggle with the idea of "masculinity" and an internal conflict of wanting to be loved vs. not believing he deserves it do to who he is. He's the most masculine presenting of my trio, but he's the one defying most of societies established gender norms, mostly being a stay at home husband majority of the time (i mean having two other partners is already defying in itself).

I dunno there's something euphoric about writing and displaying one of my ocs, who struggled and still struggles with having to prove that he is worth something, allowing himself to being taken care of by the people that love him and returning that love in way that is his own.

#boone #terra talks #ive been getting attached to Boone for awhile mostly cause hes fear of having to present more masculine to be worth something #is my fear of having to present more feminine to be considered appealing or ya know worth anything at all #i wish I was in a better place wear I could present more masculine but i dont live in a place thats understanding like that #so the least i can is do to relieve these anxieties is to give that space to my ocs cause if I can will them to have one #maybe one day ill be comfortable enough to look at myself in the mirror again

5 notes · View notes

soft-mafia · 8 months

Text

Boom! [Buggy x Reader]

warnings: oc insert, fem reader, nsfw Buggy detaching his clenis, indecent use of devil fruit ability, smut

a/n: Oda confirmed that it does come off and Buggy uses it to annoy people often. Wish he’d annoy me with it😛also this one isn’t proof read, sorryyy. Really hope the One Piece fandom isn’t as picky and critique-y than the HxH fandom is with fics tbh🫢

Buggy’s hands roamed all over her body, her top was pulled down to where it exposed her breasts. His gloved fingers would occasionally rub over her nipples, causing her to whimper with the sensation of arousal.

The clown was sitting on his throne, legs spread out like always as she was grinding on his hard crotch. “What if someone.. walks in?” Y/n looked back behind her shoulder to look at Buggy, who had his gaze locked on her ass. “Yeah yeah..! Don’t worry about it babe.” He mumbled through a grin, clearly he wasn’t even listening to what she was saying. “Whatever..” Y/n rolled her eyes, then looked back again as she heard the sound of Buggy unbuckling his belt.

Eventually he freed his cock with a gravelly exhale, he put his hands back onto Y/n’s hips, slapping them on her body as he guided her pussy to his cock. Buggy was thick and girthy, and when his tip kissed the entrance of her pussy, slightly spreading her folds, her breath hitched and Y/n arched her back with a gasp. “Mm~!” She whimpered, Buggy tightened the grip on her hips to keep her in place.

“Atta girl..” Buggy muttered under his breath, his thumb moving down to spread her ass cheek a bit so he could get a better view of her pussy. Buggy eventually held near the base of his cock, moving it and letting the tip slide up and down her soaked cunt. Y/n let out another sweet moan. Suddenly, the feeling of Buggy’s full length and girth filling up her pussy hit Y/n like a truck— it was so sudden, and she was so full.

The sound of Buggy laughing his ass off, followed by a grainy grunt made Y/n shiver with odd arousal. “Boom! Hole in one!” Buggy laughed, he detached his own penis and rammed it into Y/n all the way.. what a bastard. Y/n held onto the arm rests of Buggy’s throne, “Nnhh~ FUCK!” She let out a strained moan. Y/n squeaked when Buggy suddenly attached his dick again, making her entire body jerk back to where she was completely sitting on his lap.

Y/n moved her legs back to where she was reverse straddling his lap as his hands went back to her hips again, making her bounce up and down as he began letting out soft grunts and groans. Y/n bounced up and down, getting a rhythm while Buggy’s hands moved up and down her body again, palming at her breasts, giving them a few good squeezes. He grinned widely, letting out a hard exhale as he felt Y/n’s breasts while watching her ride his cock like a champ. “That’s good baby..” Buggy grunted, then gave her a firm, but gentle slap to her ass “C’mon, faster, faster..” he groaned out.

“Ok.. Ughh~” Y/n groaned in pleasure as she sped up her pace, gripping onto the throne’s armrests. Buggy couldn’t get enough of watching Y/n’s ass bounce on him while she took in his full length. “Yeah that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Buggy laughed, rubbing the side of Y/n’s ass before sliding his hand back up her body and squeezing her breast again, “God look at that ass~” He said through his groans, licking his teeth with a big grin on his face. He bucked his hips upwards a few times, just to hear those sweet squeaks and moans from Y/n.

Suddenly, Buggy grabbed Y/n’s waist, tilting her forward just a little bit, holding her out as he detached his penis again— thrusting it into her at a rapid speed, one that could rival a machine. Buggy’s grunts picked up and Y/n slapped a hand over her mouth to suppress her loud, involuntary whimpers and moans. Buggy felt the burning sensation in his crotch, the tingle in his abdomen. The sensation of his dick sliding in and out of Y/n’s wet pussy, hearing those sloppy noises and her sweet sounds, he was so close. “Take it.. take it baby.” He grunted under his breath, his eyes were beginning to roll back, so he squeezed them shut, his breaths became rough and gravelly.

Buggy’s leg muscles clenched, his grip on her waist tightened. Y/n was trembling all over, her juices were practically being splattered everywhere with how fast Buggy was ramming is dick into her. “Buggy!!” Y/n let out a muffled scream against her hand, squirting against his cock. Though he was still going, he wasn’t going to stop until he got release as well.

Buggy’s abs tightened, he grit his teeth, brows furrowed “Ohhhh.. rghh- fuck.” He grunted, little beads of sweat collected on his forehead, subtly rubbing off his days old crusty clown paint. The wet noises had gotten even louder after Y/n’s release, the force of his ramming sped up even more. Y/n’s breasts were bouncing just at the sheer speed of Buggy’s thrusts. “Yes!! God- fuck yes!!” Buggy grunted through grit teeth as he buried his cock deep inside of her. Y/n gasped, his entire penis nearly disappeared into her pussy as he came into her. His thick, warm cum squeezed out since she was already filled to the brim with cum.

Y/n felt stuffed— thoroughly. Buggy’s cock remained inside of her for a few more seconds. They both were panting heavily, drenched in sweat and Y/n’s own juices. Buggy was leaned back in his throne, eyes closed contently, lips parted as he breathed out. “Ggh- Buggy! Take it out!” Y/n moaned, her legs were trembling, her whole body still felt that tingling sensation. She definitely wouldn’t be able to walk straight for the next few days.. he was still buried inside of her, hands gripping her waist.

“Huh?” Buggy’s eyes snapped open once he had came down from his high, “Oh yeah.” He mumbled before slowly sliding his cock out, to which more of his cum spilled out of her gaping pussy, attaching it back to his body, his large girth laid against him. “Uhhh~” Y/n breathed out feeling relief as she panted softly. Buggy grinned at the sight, he loved seeing his cum spilling out of her just as much as seeing it splattered all over his face. He slid a hand down to rub her ass before patting it, “You sexy thing.” He laughed before reaching over to his side table and grabbing a towel Y/n had placed there beforehand.

Once she was finished dripping he patted her down, and wiped himself off since her juices had gotten everywhere thanks to his rapid fire thrusting.

Y/n wiggled away from Buggy’s grip, straddling his thigh, her legs still trembling as she pulled her shorts up. “You’re shaking like one of those small inbred dogs.” Buggy joked, resting his arms on the arm rests. “Shut up. You didn’t even have to go that fast.” Y/n crossed her arms, then squeaked when Buggy suddenly wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to his chest. “You loved it though, huh? You were screaming and purring like a kitten.” He laughed, squishing Y/n’s face in his hand while he teased her.

“Stop..!” Y/n’s face flushed with embarrassment, “I’m sweaty, I need a bath so bad..”

“Huh? You’re fine.. you’ll dry up in a few hours.” Buggy said, shoving his cock back into his pants one handed as he held Y/n there. He was quite exhausted himself and didn’t feel like getting up and doing anything other than holding his girl on his lap. “I need a bath like, now. It’s already hot outside as it is.” Y/n held the arm that Buggy had wrapped around her waist, softly brushing her fingers over his forearm, feeling his arm hair brush back at her.

“You know you don’t need to take a bath every single time after we have sex right?” Buggy scoffed. “Says the guy who wears the same pair of boxers for a month.” Y/n snakily replied back.

“Ok- STOP bringing that up every time we discuss something. I have two pairs of boxers, I switch them out every month and they’re CLEAN. The last thing on a pirate’s mind is what boxers they wear, alright?!” Buggy exhaled out of his nose in frustration, then let out an annoyed chuckle, “Prissy bitch.” He laughed, throwing his free arm onto his armrest, getting comfortable with Y/n sitting on his lap.

Buggy was so pretty when he spoke, the way he would subtly squeeze her to emphasize his words made her flutter on the inside, and she always got lost in his eyes; his eyes were Y/n’s favorite part about him. Y/n looked at him with a grin, looking lovestruck as Buggy grumbled at her about his nasty habits. She just giggled stuck her tongue out at him, “Stinky.”

#one piece #one piece buggy #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy the clown #buggy smut #one piece x reader #one piece live action #one piece smut #buggy simp

678 notes · View notes

hana-no-seiiki · 2 months

Note

yandere fae that’s been pestering you for weeks, trying to get your name. you deny him at every turn. that is, until he has his head between your legs and you, intoxicated by the aphrodisiac that is his saliva, tell him while you’re on the precipice of an orgasm. he wins three prizes that day. the utterance of your name, the taste of your sweet essence, and the honor of fucking you.

as far as he’s concerned, you’re his now. that much is proven by how he jackrabbits into you, stretching each vowel of your name out with every thrust.

— (yandere fae oc anon)

omfg anon- are you secretly a huge writer holy shit this is fucken graphic (in the best way possible)

i don’t write smut on this blog because kids here are blind to mdni + tumblr is oddly on my dick when it comes to explicit posts in comparison to other writers/blogs, so this would have been better to send to @yoru-no-seiiki but I’ll give ya’ll this :

I think it’d be pretty funny for a trans reader / reader with a dead name to be paired with him. Like I’m pretty sure the creator of the fae myth didn’t really account the fact that people might identify better with another name so much so that it would be more powerful than their were given at birth.

or an orphan reader with no name to identify with at all. maybe raised by other mythical creatures that specifically kept them unnamed to protect them from the fae

butttt their lack of name became the very reason that the fae is so attached to the reader, to the point of fervent worship.

like it started from being a small, insignificant get together until it became something much much more (to both the fas and the reader)

whole ass that one hamilton line “i wish i could say that was the last time, i said that the last time it became a pasttime”

and whenever you wanted to create some distance between the two of you, the fae just uses their powers to either make your mind go wonky / forget, or just plain assault and break all the boundaries you set.

gaslight, girlkeep, girlboss king.

you may think one thing…

no you actually dont. you just dont.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere imagine #yandere fic #yandere oc x reader #yandere core #yandere fae #yandere male #male yandere #yandere headcannons #yandere scenarios #yandere scenario #yandere writing #yanderecore #yancore #darling core

269 notes · View notes

roosterforme · 8 months

Text

The Curveball Part 11 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: While Bob is away, Molly struggles with the silence around her. And Bob can't seem to sleep without her soft, sweet body curled up next to his. But when he mistakes someone else's interest in him for kindness, Bob could risk losing everything he loves.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, swears, pregnancy, smut, 18+

Length: 6500 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story accompanies Batting Practice!)

Check my masterlist for more! The Curveball masterlist

Thank you to @mak-32 and @teacupsandtopgun for the beautiful banners!

Molly was ridiculous. Truly pitiful. She knew it. She could admit it. She was an adult who had lived on her own for many years, but she had become so attached to Bob, she could barely handle the silence of being alone now.

The silence when Bob was here? Well that silence was delightful. It meant he was reading a book or contemplating something. It meant she had asked him a question and he was still gathering his thoughts. But the silence without Bob was actually unbearable.

She found herself making excuses to visit her sister. Or even just call her. One night she called Bradley and pretended she was very interested in the Phillies score so she had someone to talk to about something. She was sure Bradley knew the real reason for her phone call, but bless his heart for talking to her for thirty minutes anyway.

The calls from Bob were so sporadic and sudden, she kept her phone on her at work. One time she had to sneak away to the supply closet to talk to him, but it had been worth it as she stood there surrounded by antiseptic wipes and sterile syringes.

"Mo," he sighed. "I can't stand this, Honey. I can't get any sleep without you next to me."

That call had been brief, but she made sure he knew she missed him and his particular brand of silence. And his cock.

Because that was the other thing. The pregnancy hormones were outrageous. The only two things she seemed to want to do were cry and orgasm. She found herself crying all the time. Like even in the middle of Costco when she saw a brand of cheese called Floyd Farms. But it was really hard to cum without Bob. She and her toys weren't as patient and sexy as he was.

On the Monday of her anatomy ultrasound appointment, Molly cried in the car on her way to the medical complex. And she was still crying when her sister arrived to join her for the appointment. "I'm sorry," Molly said, wiping her eyes. "I shouldn't have asked you to leave work early. I could have done this by myself."

But her sister wrapped her up in a tight hug. "Do you think I'm not excited to find out if I'm getting a niece or a nephew? Please, I'd choose this over work any day of the week!"

Molly nodded as her sister led her inside. She was used to this kind of medical setting, but it was always weird being the patient and not the nurse. So she held her arm out to have blood drawn even though she could have done a better job herself, and she sat quietly while the nurse explained things she already knew. And her sister was with her the whole time, holding her hand.

It's not like she wasn't grateful, because she was. But she whispered, "I miss Bob," when the ultrasound technician was washing her hands. Molly rubbed her hands along her round belly and looked at her sister. "I love you so much, but I wish Bob was here."

"I know," she replied with a small smile. "I wish I could swap places with him for the day. How hard could it be to navigate a Super Hornet and interpret radar imagining while trying not to barf?"

Molly laughed, already feeling better as they got started. And when it was time to find out the sex of the baby, Molly's sister made the tech pause for a minute until she was sure she was getting a video on her phone.

"Okay, I'm ready," she said, giving a thumbs up, and then Molly smiled for the phone camera.

"Miss you, Bob. Or should I say, Daddy. Ready to find out if you're going to have a son or a daughter?"

Then she nodded to the tech who brought the images up on the monitor, and as soon as she said, "It's a boy," Molly felt like everything made perfect sense. She just lounged there on the table while her sister freaked out and nearly dropped her phone. But all Molly could picture was a tiny version of Bob with glasses, immaculate manners, and tidy hair. Yes, it made sense.

"Calm down, or I'll name him Everett!" she told her sister as a big smile broke out on her face. It felt nice for her to be the calm one right now as her sister cried into the camera, gushing about having a nephew.

But now it was almost midnight, and Molly was waiting up, expecting a call from Bob. She had promised him she'd email him as soon as she found out what they were having, but she held off, knowing this call was supposed to be happening. Just as she was dozing off on the couch with an opened bag of gummy bears on her chest, her phone started ringing.

It was a FaceTime call. "Bob?!" she practically screamed when she answered it. And then his handsome face was there, bathed in sunlight.

"Honey! Did you have your appointment today?" His eyes were eager, examining Molly's face as she smiled at him.

"Yes, I did, Cowboy Bob."

His eyes went slightly wider, and Molly could read the anticipation there. "Well?" he asked, pressing his lips together.

She didn't want to make him wait any longer. "We're having a boy."

His eyes welled with tears as he bumped his glasses up onto his forehead and wiped at his eyes. "A boy?" he asked softly. "Molly, really? A boy?"

"Were you hoping for a girl?" she asked with a grin. There was no way Bob would survive having a daughter like Molly, if that's what would have ended up happening.

"Not really," he replied, openly crying. "It didn't really matter. But now that I know it's a boy, I just-" He shook his head for a few seconds. "I just can't wait, Mo."

She popped a gummy bear into her mouth as her baby boy kicked her in the spleen. "How's your deployment, Daddy? I must say, it's a real treat getting to see your sexy face right now."

Bob smiled and adjusted his glasses, looking around at wherever he was standing. "It's boring. And I can't sleep at all. I've been up at night just thinking about you and our son. I miss sleeping with you. Wrapping my arms around you. I miss our bedroom. I know it's silly."

"It's not!" she insisted, sitting up a little straighter. "I miss the way you smell and your voice and the taste of your cum."

"Mo," he groaned in a warning tone.

"What?" she whined. "I do! And I miss the way you'd put your hands on my bump."

He looked at her reverently. "I love you. Both of you. But I need to go get ready to get up in the air, okay?"

Well now she felt like she was going to cry for sure. "You'll call me again soon?"

"The first moment I'm allowed to, I'll call you again, Mo."

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

Bob was a week into his deployment when he gave up and left his bunk in the middle of the night. His roommate didn't snore, so sleeping shouldn't have been an issue, but without Molly's warmth next to him, it just wasn't happening. The lounge had decent coffee, and it was quiet. There was a shelf lined with books. He'd go there and see if it made him sleepy.

When he walked in wearing his gray sweatpants and an old gym shirt, he felt eyes on him right away. He turned to his left to see a woman around his age look up from her book to smile at him. "Hi," she whispered, and he knew she must have been talking to him. There was nobody else around.

"Hi." Bob returned her smile and went to investigate the bookshelf. Didn't they know he wasn't going to want to read about US naval history right now? He ran his fingers along all the spines until he found a well worn mystery novel. That might hit the spot.

So he settled down on the chair across from the woman, and when he opened the book, she said, "I read that one last week."

"Oh," he replied, glancing at the cover again before meeting her eyes. "Any good?"

She just shrugged and said, "Passable. But almost everything else in here is the history of the navy part seven thousand, or something equivalent."

Bob laughed and leaned across the table. "I'm Bob. Bob Floyd," he said, extending his hand.

"Annamarie Clarke. It's nice to meet you, Bob."

He nodded and had every intention of just opening the book on his lap, but when Annamarie asked him what he was doing awake at two in the morning ship time, he ended up setting the book aside. She was nice and soft spoken and kind of mousy. She was the type of woman he would have asked out before he met Molly. But right now she was just someone who was willing to talk to him, and maybe that was exactly what he needed.

"This is my first deployment in about a year," he told her after a few minutes of talking. "And I wasn't expecting it. Which is silly, I know. But... I have a lot going on at home."

"Sounds heavy," she replied with a soft smile. "Wanna talk about it?"

Bob leaned back in his chair and pictured Molly and her bump and her silver barbells and her smile. He wanted to tell Annamarie everything, because he knew it would feel good to talk about Molly and the baby. But it also felt too sacred in a way, so he just simply said, "Maybe another time." And then he cleared his throat and asked her why she was awake so late.

Her voice was oddly soothing to him as she told him about her home in Virginia. They compared the Pacific Fleet to the Atlantic Fleet. She made Bob laugh so many times, he lost count. He finally felt himself yawning, and he stood the same time she did.

In another time, he would have thought she was sweet. He would have been a stuttering, blushing mess in her presence. She would have either laughed at him or thought he was adorable. He might have asked her to hang out again. But he had Molly now, and there was no going back from that. He didn't blush and stutter like he used to, especially not around another woman. The only one who could bring that out in him was his girlfriend when she was whispering in his ear about something she wanted to do to him. She was the only sweet thing he wanted in his life.

So he told Annamarie goodnight as they paused in the doorway together, and he intended for that to be it.

But she squeezed his hand gently and said, "Maybe I'll see you again, Bob." And then he turned one way down the hallway, and she turned the other.

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

Molly was trying to straighten up the condo on her day off, but the smell of the bleach cleaner in the bathroom was making her gag. She hadn't been eating well, and this morning she hadn't eaten at all. Making food after her shift at the hospital was way too much work. If she didn't have time to stop at her sister and Bradley's place, then she just munched on whatever snacks she could find.

When her phone vibrated in the pocket of her sweatpants, she was sitting on the floor outside the bathroom trying to force herself to go back in there. "Shit," she gasped when she saw that Bob's mom was calling her.

She cleared her throat and answered with a simple, "Hi!" Then she felt like an idiot until she heard the friendly voice on the other end of the call.

"Molly! Are you home, sweetheart?"

"Yes!" she answered, still too chipper for her liking. She cleared her throat again. "Just trying to clean the bathroom and make lunch."

"Well don't. Rachel and I are about to head to the city to see you. I'm sure you must be exhausted after work every day, and I made dozens of meals that can go in the freezer so you don't have to make lunch, okay?"

"Okay," Molly said before pressing her lips together to keep from crying. She was being mommed. She missed being mommed. She loved it when her sister mommed her, but this was just as good.

"And don't open any cleaning supplies. I'll do that when I get there."

Now a tear really did leak down her cheek. "Too late. It's making me nauseous."

"We're in the car now. Crack open a window in a different room, and we'll see you soon."

Three hours later, Molly was eating a homemade meal while Rachel talked a mile a minute. The condo was spotlessly clean, and Bob's mom was taking the trash out to the dumpster.

"I want to say thank you again, but I'm afraid I'll start crying," Molly whispered when Rachel took her empty plate to the dishwasher.

"Nah, you already thanked us a dozen times. My mom wants to help. I mean, so do I. It's hard when Bob is deployed, but it must be miserable for you. Being pregnant on top of everything."

Molly nodded and twisted her fingers together, trying to keep her voice calm. "I miss him so much, it physically hurts. Like sometimes it's hard to breathe. And it's too quiet here without him."

Rachel smiled sympathetically. "Bob doesn't make much noise though."

Molly licked her lips and closed her eyes. "He's quiet. So when he decides to talk about something, it's always worth listening to. And he's been the sweetest man in the world, especially since I told him I was pregnant."

Rachel kind of shrugged. "Listen, I know this isn't the 1800s, but are you and Bob going to get married?"

Molly's eyes went wide. "I-" She slammed her mouth shut, unsure about what she wanted to say here.

But Rachel continued on, undeterred. "It's just that, Bob seems like the type who'd want that. And I'm not trying to call him a prude or anything, but he's pretty conservative when it comes to his personal life. I just thought he would have taken you to the store to get a ring the same day." She seemed to rethink what she had just said. "I'm sorry, I'm overstepping. I'm just surprised you're not married to my baby brother right now."

Molly kept thinking about it. There were times when Bob promised her forever where she really thought about marrying him. She already knew he'd be so good at being a husband, but marriage seemed like something else Molly would probably just fail at over time. But that wildflower meadow filled her mind again. Bob holding their son surrounded by daisies, poppies and violets. Bob sneezing but insisting he was fine. Okay, yes. She wanted it.

But then Bob's mom walked back in, and Molly started to wonder why Bob hadn't asked her to pick out a ring by now. Maybe his family was wrong, and he wasn't completely sold on her. Sure, she'd told him she didn't want to get married yet, but now she was surprised he hadn't insisted that's what he wanted to do. And he hadn't brought it up again.

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

"So where do you live, Bob? I know you're stationed out of Top Gun. Do you live in Coronado?" Annamarie asked, playing with the loose ends of her hair. It was the second night Bob had ventured to the lounge, and she was there again. He tried to fall asleep for the past few nights without leaving his bed, and he'd been mostly successful, but he'd finished his book and came to pick a new one. He was surprised to see her when he walked in, and he wondered if she had been here every night.

"How well do you know San Diego?" he asked, thinking about his condo. Thinking about all of Molly's stuff everywhere in their condo. "I live in Hillcrest."

"I know it well enough," she replied with a soft smile, leaning a little closer to him. "And Top Gun is just impressive. You must have some amazing credentials under your belt."

He shrugged. "I'm just a weapons systems officer," he muttered. "I'm actually a little out of my wheelhouse, because the pilot I'm used to flying with isn't here. It's been a bit of an adjustment. And I'm missing my place back in Hillcrest. A lot. I'm still having such a hard time sleeping here."

She trailed her fingers down along her neck and asked, "What's your place like?"

"Oh, I have a condo. I bought it two years ago. It felt huge at first, but my girlfriend moved in a few months ago. Now I might have to sell it."

Her expression fell and her shoulders sagged. "You have a girlfriend?" she asked, her tone flat as she pouted. But her pout didn't light him up inside the way Molly's did. It didn't really phase him at all.

"Yeah. Molly. She's something else," he said with a laugh. "We're going to have a son. He's due in March."

"Oh," she said, nodding slightly. "That's great, congratulations."

"I think the reason I can't sleep is because I miss her so much," Bob said quietly, looking at his hands. "She's a spitfire. Honestly, she's a bit of a handful. But I'm just so used to her now. Even though she's wild." Bob closed his mouth. He'd lost himself there thinking about her.

Annamarie was quiet for a few seconds before she asked, "You trust her?"

"Yes," Bob said right away as he met her eyes. He did. He trusted Molly. Even though she said she didn't want to get married to him. Even though sometimes she shied away from the topic of forever.

"Even though she's wild?" she asked, echoing his words with an edge of sarcasm.

He thought about how Molly's face lit up when she saw him. And the way she'd call his name through a crowd of people, seemingly delighted to be with him. Bob was sure she was only wild for him now.

Annamarie must have mistaken his silence for hesitation. "Do you think you'll ask her to marry you?" she asked, leaning closer across the small table.

Bob would have asked already, but Molly had shut that idea down cold. "I don't know that she'd say yes."

She touched his hand again. "Then maybe she's not the one for you."

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

Molly thought she was doing alright. She was having a pretty good day. Nothing to be concerned about over here. Nope. She wasn't missing Bob to the point of devastation. Not at all. Just a completely normal day where she went to work and came home only to get changed and hear a knock on the door while she was on the verge of tears.

"Coming!" she called out, stretching her back where she was starting to feel really sore. If she could just stop thinking about Bob all the time, then maybe the ache would go away.

As she reached for the knob, she hoped it was Phoenix. She'd been stopping over randomly, but she usually texted first. But when she saw a kid who couldn't have been older than eighteen standing there holding a bouquet of gas station flowers, she erupted into tears.

"Uh, are you Molly?" he asked, holding the flowers out and looking a little concerned.

"Yes," she said, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands.

"Then these are for you. From some guy named Bob."

She held them in her hands like they were the most delicate and beautiful things in the world. "How did he do this?" she marvelled, taking in the sight of each bloom through her tears.

The kid shrugged. "He gave me a hundred bucks a few weeks ago to make sure I brought them here today." And then he walked away, leaving Molly to kick the door closed before reading the card that was tucked between two stems.

Molly,

It's been exactly six months since the first time I told you I love you. And I have loved you every day since then. I can't be there in person, but I wanted to make sure you knew I was thinking about you. I'll get you more gas station flowers as soon as I get home. I love you so much.

Bob

She went to the bedroom and threw some random things in a tote bag. Then she made sure everything was turned off before she locked the door behind her. Molly's hands were shaking as she drove through familiar neighborhoods until she pulled up in front of her sister's house. It was late now, and she was sure Ev would be in bed. So she texted and called her sister's phone. When she got no response, and she knew she couldn't stand the isolating silence for one more minute, she got out of the car and let herself in the front door.

Her hands were shaking, and she realized she had been holding the flowers continuously since that kid gave them to her. She looked around the dimly lit living room, and a second later, everything was illuminated. Bradley was standing at the top of the steps in his boxer shorts, holding a baseball bat like he was a power hitter.

"I'm sorry. It's just me," she said pitifully. He looked even more relieved and even more annoyed as he lowered the bat. Molly supposed it was a nice sentiment about her brother-in-law that he was ready to take someone's head off before he'd let anything happen to his family.

He grunted and turned back to the bedroom, and Molly could hear him say, "Your sister's here." A minute later, Molly was enveloped in a mom hug.

"I can't," Molly whispered. "I can't stay there alone another night. I hate being away from Bob. You know what he did? He got the guy from the gas station to deliver the flowers to me today, because it's the six month anniversary of the first time he said he loved me."

"Oh, Molly," her sister whispered, kissing her forehead.

"He set this shit up before he left!" she wailed. "I don't even know what he's doing today, because I haven't talked to him in a week. A week! And now I interrupted you having sex, and I can tell Bradley's mad at me."

"He's not mad at you, Molly. He just thought you were a burglar or something."

"I'm sorry," she moaned, holding the flowers tight as her sister rested a hand on her belly.

"Stop apologizing. You can stay with us until Bob gets back."

Molly tried to shake her head, but she was led upstairs. She wasn't exactly sure what her sister and Bradley said to each other, but a moment later, Bradley kissed her on the forehead before he went down the hallway alone.

"Come on," her sister coaxed, and Molly climbed into bed with her. "You've been alone for too long. It's not good for you."

Molly dozed off to the sound of her sister's voice and soft breathing, clutching one gas station flower as she fell into the best sleep she'd had since Bob left.

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

Bob was anxious to FaceTime with Molly. It had been two weeks since he heard her voice. Now it was a few days after Halloween, and he managed to log into his email for long enough that he saw a photo of her with her sister, Bradley, and Everett, standing in front of an enormous inflatable pumpkin. They looked like they were dressed as a ragtag baseball team. He scrolled down in his email to find more photos of Molly.

It appeared that she was no longer staying at the condo, which had him really concerned. But then he saw a photo of how big her baby bump had gotten. And then there was a photo of her and Everett wearing 3-D glasses and making faces. And then there was a photo of Molly completely naked and pleasuring herself.

Bob nearly dropped his phone on the metal grating of the midship deck. She was going to be the death of him. If he didn't die from lack of sleep, he would die falling overboard after his phone. Either way, it would be mostly her fault, because he couldn't stop thinking about her. His body was aching for her hands to touch him. When the wind blew, it felt like her fingers in his hair, and for a second his heart leapt.

He was lovesick. That had to be it. He never thought this was a real ailment before, but even his heart seemed to be beating to the rhythm of her name. He could picture her when he closed his eyes. He simply missed her to the point of sickness.

And the baby. Bob missed cradling her belly in his hands until he felt a kick. He missed the way Molly would walk around talking to the unborn child about her day at work, as if it was an adult. He missed the ultrasound photos that he's put in chronological order on the refrigerator. He thought up baby names all day long. He had two countdowns going: one to the day he could see Molly again, and one to the due date in March.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his back. "There you are." He turned to see Annamarie looking him up and down. "You look nice in your flight suit."

Bob swallowed hard. He nearly forgot he was about to fly a mission. He wondered briefly if Annamarie had come out here to find him. "Thanks," he murmured, suddenly sick to his stomach over the thought of how many times Annamarie had touched him. It was innocuous. She knew about Molly and the baby. And Bob was just Bob. Nothing special. She'd provided him some comfort late at night when he was too lonely to go to sleep. That was all.

But, sometimes she looked at him like she wanted to keep touching him. And he should have said something by now, but it would have been embarrassing. He was misreading the cues. He was just overly sensitive without Molly here to accept all of his love and feelings.

He loaded into the Super Hornet and got to work. This is why he was here. This is what he was good at. This mission should exhaust his brain enough for him to fall asleep.

But when he landed back on deck as the sun was setting, he knew he didn't stand a chance. His mind drifted, wondering where his girlfriend was. Wondering if the baby was okay. He was only fooling himself when he thought he'd be able to sleep. So he finished reading another book from the lounge and decided to return it. There were only a handful of nights left now. He'd make this his last visit to the lounge.

When he walked in, it was just Annamarie as usual. He was going to put the book away and tell her goodnight. He was going to tell her he didn't want her to touch him, and he was going to say goodnight. But then she met him halfway, and her hands were warm on his chest through his undershirt. And her lips met his, somehow soothing him and making everything worse at the same time.

Bob jumped back instantly. "No," he gasped. "No. I was supposed to tell you not to touch me. Why did you do that?"

She took a step closer to him as he wiped at his lips with his fingertips. "I think there's definitely something here," she whispered, gesturing between their bodies. "Right?"

"No," he gasped again, ready to cry now. He looked down at the gray sweatpants Molly got for him and his undershirt which was a little stretched out from her wearing it over the bump last month. "You're going to ruin everything."

Now Annamarie rolled her eyes. "Why did you keep coming here to see me if you didn't want to take this back to one of our bunks?"

Bob was going to throw up. This sort of thing had never happened to him, and he wasn't even remotely prepared for it. "That's the farthest thing from my mind, Annamarie. You must know by now that I'm absolutely dying to get back home to my Molly and the baby. I'm lonely for them."

"It was worth a try," she whispered bitterly. "You're sweet. You're too good for her."

As she walked out of the lounge, Bob cradled his face in his hands. What was he going to do? If Molly wouldn't hear him out and accept his apology, what the hell was he supposed to do?

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

Molly got into, well, a lot of bad habits while she stayed with her sister and Bradley. She ate all the Halloween candy. She accidentally got Everett asking for a pet. She didn't clean up after she did arts and crafts with her nephew. But perhaps the worst habit was the fact that she would sneak across the hallway and slide into Ev's bed for about a half hour each night after Bradley and her sister went to their room.

"Hi, Aunt Molly," Ev whispered, lifting up the covers so she could climb in next to him. "Uncle Bob comes back tomorrow. Are you excited?"

She kissed his cheek and squeezed him as tight as she could with her belly in the way. "Ev, I'm so excited! I can't wait! I can't wait!" She was trying to be quiet, but she was overjoyed. The only contact she had with him in the last ten days was an eight paragraph email gushing about how much he loved her and wanted to be with her forever. She received it last night and read it so many times, it felt like she was floating on a cloud.

"I missed Uncle Bob, too," Everett said. "I'm happy he'll be back in time to come to my adoption day."

God, this kid was so excited to be officially related to Bradley, it was almost comical. "At least someone thinks he's cool," she muttered. But she didn't mean it. Bradley had welcomed her here as much as her sister had. In his own way. Even his teasing had nothing behind it anymore. She had worn him down. He not only loved her now, he also liked her.

"Ev? Do you think I'll be a good mom?" she asked softly, holding her breath for his answer. Kids were so honest, there was a chance this might hurt.

"You already are," he said through a yawn.

She rubbed her belly and asked, "What do you mean?"

Ev snuggled in a little more against her. "You always take care of me and love me. You like, do the same stuff my mom does, but actually in a funner way. And you were there before my dad got here. You already do all the mom stuff."

Molly cried herself to sleep in a twin bed with her nephew, but her heart was full. And the next morning, she was up and ready to go before anyone else.

"What the hell is happening?" Bradley asked when he walked into the kitchen to see Molly making breakfast. "Is this the Twilight Zone?"

She rolled her eyes. "If it was the Twilight Zone, I wouldn't tell you it was. And besides, everything would be in black and white."

"You're so annoying," he said, patting her on the head as he went to pour some coffee. "You're finally leaving today, right? Back to being Bob's problem instead of mine?"

"Har, har, har," she said, flipping some pancakes that looked slightly inedible. "You should be thanking me right now. How many times did I take Everett out so you could fuck my sister?" she asked, glaring at him. "Hmm?"

"Yeah," he conceded with a grin. "That was pretty nice of you."

"I'll send you my Amazon wish list. My birthday is in a few weeks."

He shook his head and walked away, but not even the turd-in-law could dampen her mood. Her body was thrumming, just knowing she'd have Bob's cock in her before the end of the day. And the baby was kicking like he knew he'd get to hear his dad again soon.

But being back on the dock again later that morning made her more anxious than she anticipated. She could remember the sick feeling inside when she said goodbye to Bob. She needed to touch him right now. He would take all of the icky feelings away. And then he'd make her feel so good.

She was wearing a little dress that showed off her bump. Her makeup looked perfect. She'd switched the silver barbells for the ones with the glasses charms. The plan was to take Bob home, suck his dick as many times as he wanted, fuck him in their bed, and then take him to her sister's for dinner. The perfect day. She was about to have the perfect day.

But then she saw him. And oh, he looked terrible. Suddenly that eight paragraph email was pressing down on her like a weight. Like a warning. Like an ending instead of a beginning.

"Bob?" she called out, shuffling forward to meet him. He didn't look happy. Why wasn't he happy? There was a woman glaring at Molly from the other side of the ramp like she wanted to physically hurt her. And Bob looked upset. "Bob?"

"Molly," he sighed, his face looking devastated. But she needed him, so she cautiously wrapped her arms around his neck. "Mo, Honey." His face was buried against her neck, and finally she felt whole again.

"We missed you so much," she whispered, kissing his jaw and raking her fingers through his hair. "Bobby, I love you."

He was crying.

"What's wrong?" she asked, pulling away from him and holding his face in her hands. His pretty greenish-blue eyes met hers, and she waited for him to speak. Because this was the silence she could deal with. She could probably deal with anything now that he was here.

"Molly, I love you more than anything," he said, letting his big hand rest softly on her bump. "I don't want anything or anyone besides the three of us." His voice was shaking as he cried.

"You're scaring me, Bob. What is going on?" she demanded, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

"A woman kissed me a few days ago."

Molly gasped as her stomach lurched. "Who? Why?"

"Another officer," he said miserably, and Molly knew she was going to be sick. "I couldn't sleep at all, because I missed you so much. She was kind to me. Or that's what I thought. All I did was talk about you and the baby. I didn't think I was encouraging her."

Molly squeezed her eyes shut tight as tears leaked out. That's why the woman was glaring at her. "Are you leaving me?"

"Mo!" he gasped so loudly that her eyes snapped open. His hands were on her back, pulling her closer until there was no room between them. "Never! I told you I want forever. I want forever!"

"I don't understand," she said. He was acting like he didn't want to let her go, like he was afraid she was the one who was going to run away.

He kissed her forehead over and over before he said, "She was making me uncomfortable after a while. I was getting ready to tell her. And then she kissed me. And it meant nothing to me, Molly. Nothing. I just want you."

"Did you kiss her back?" she asked, needing to know.

"Of course not," he swore.

"And it was just one kiss?"

"It only lasted a second," he said. "Then I reminded her that I'm in love with you."

Molly sighed deeply. "She made you feel uncomfortable?"

"Not at first. But later on, yes. Nothing like this has ever happened to me. Women don't do this kind of thing to guys like me."

"Guys like you?" she asked softly. "You mean perfect men? Bob, you're exactly the kind of guy this sort of thing happens to, because you're the kind of guy every girl wants."

He was breathing deeply, pressing more kisses to her forehead. "Molly. Can you forgive me? Please tell me you can forgive me for not saying something to her sooner. Or I won't be able to live with myself."

She examined his face. He looked distraught and sick. The dark circles under his eyes let her know he was telling the truth about not getting enough sleep. He was holding onto her so tight, it almost hurt. But it was so obvious that he was telling her the truth. It was plain to see that this was eating him up inside.

"I can forgive you."

Molly ran her fingers along his cheeks, wiping away his tears and kissing his lips softly. He chased her for another kiss and another. Bob devoured her and made her feel whole again. "I can't lose you. Ever," he whispered against her lips. "You're the love of my life."

"Bob," she gasped before kissing him silly. She kind of hoped that the other woman was watching, but she kind of didn't care at all. She didn't belong here with them. She didn't belong where Molly was.

"You know, I think maybe the gray sweatpants were too powerful," Molly mused as she wrapped her arms around him. "You really have no idea how attractive you are, do you?"

Bob just shrugged. "It doesn't matter. There's only you."

She kissed him as she wrapped her hands around his biceps. He was husband material. She knew that. She'd known it all along. "That's very flattering, Coach Cute Glasses."

"It's the truth." His lips found hers again, and Molly let herself enjoy the feel of him. But then he said, "Molly, it might help if I was wearing a wedding band in the future."

"Oh," she gasped. It was like he could read her mind. But she wasn't fully prepared for another overwhelming conversation right now, so she laced her fingers with his and led him to her car.

"Will you let me spend the rest of the day showing you how much I missed you, Honey?"

"You better."

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

Baby boy Floyd! The next chapter may be the last one! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls and everyone who bugged me to make Molly and Bob a thing

PART 12

@theamuz

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@katiedid-3

@bradshawsbitch

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@callsign-magnolia

@t-nd-rfoot

@wkndwlff

@eddiemunsonreader

@wintercap89

@the-fever-of-mankind

@yanna-banana

@lovingperfectionsblog

@daisydont-lie

@sappy-seresin

@birdy-bat-writes

@cutelittlefakejourneys

@cottagecori

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@sotalife

@novastories

@xoxabs88xox

@rileyanntoinette

@mannsachds

@midnightmagpiemama

@greatszu

@zetasaturno99

@lovingrobertfloyd

@chicomonks

@taytaylala12

@captain-fandomwriter58

@grxcisxhy-wp

@hobireasns

@wolfquake23

@ohgodnotagainn

@toobouquet

@paintlavillered

@seitmai

@tigermoon3

@noonenuts

@amiets2

#bob floyd imagine #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd fic #robert floyd fanfiction #robert floyd x oc #bob floyd x oc #bob floyd smut #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #the curveball #batting practice

360 notes · View notes

alphabetboyluvr · 10 months

Text

throttle - jjk | four

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - smut, a lil dirty talk over text, titwank, lil spit, lil degradation, lots of praise <3, handjob, showers, vaginal sex, (1) reference to you up?, jungkook cums 3 times in this one, the oc.... does not. CURIOUS. jaykay is soooo smitten :( Busan is proposed!! oh how our throttle couple luv busan <3, the angst is about to go from a 2 to a 6, jk is the pied piper, jk and cc play the desperation olympics, and they both lose!! namjoon is the worst (calls the oc a sket (twice!))

word count - 10.8k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

"Look what the cat dragged in," you smile, all big and bashful as soon as you see him.

It's been a little while; too long, you think. Different schedules and busy personal lives have kept you apart - but none of the distance ever matters. It always melts away with one flash of his pearly smile, which he often tries (and fails) to contain around you.

"I wish," he groans, flopping onto your sofa. You're on the floor, typing away on your laptop, indifferent to the way he just lets himself into your apartment. It's been this way for a while now. "Haven't been near pussy in ages."

You gag, as if he's your brother or something. "Shut the fuck up, Yoongi."

He's dressed down in a pair of jeans and a shirt two sizes too big for him, but you can smell his laundry detergent from where you're sat. He's made an effort.

"You started it," he snorts, eyes not on you, but on your television. It's playing some muted drama that neither of you care for. He knows this, even when he asks you, "Whatcha watching?"

"Dunno," you hum, as predicted. "Just had it on for company."

Yoongi nods, understanding the desire.

He does it too; leaves the television running just so that he doesn't have to be alone with his thoughts.

Things are better these days. He's not as scared as he once was. It's been a couple of weeks, and after all, time heals. Eases. Pacifies.

Yoongi asks what you're doing, and pretends to be shocked when you tell him you're stalking.

"Who is it this time?"

"Just a guy."

"It's never 'just a guy'."

It's morbid, the curiosity that Yoongi forces himself to endure. It's like your nails have a grasp around his heart, and with every beat of it, they sink further into the muscle. The more attached he becomes, the deeper the pain runs.

You don't realise quite how profoundly his blood turns green. He's good at feigning indifference; good at pretending like it is just a crush.

And so he asks questions because he wants to hurt himself a little bit more. Wants his heart to ache. Wants to feel the discomfort he so closely associates with love. It's reached a point where he thinks love has to hurt, otherwise, it's not real.

"Since when has a guy ever been more than just a guy," you toy back. None of your past lovers have ever lasted too long. You doubt Jungkook will, either. Just the way the cookie crumbles.

"Since you fall in love at the drop of a hat," Yoongi smiles. His eyes are slightly clouded, the sombre vapour of burnt-out desire smoking in them.

"I've never been in love," you retort a little too quickly.

It's not a lie, but it makes way for the admittance of something else instead: you just love the attention that comes with men fawning after you.

And so you let Yoongi think that you have the capacity within you to love, because you fear that the love he has for you is conditional; transactional.

You just have to trust that the intentions behind acts of love are pure. You have to trust.

This issue with trust is that it's earned, not owed; and nobody has ever earned your trust. Never. Serpents lie beneath roses, and you'll be damned if you pick one either way, 'cause if it ain't a fang, it's a thorn that'll get you instead.

"Anyways," you hum, not wanting to dwell on the topic. All of your searches of Jungkook's name have garnered minimal results, nothing of which you can be sure relates to him. Now, you need a distraction and Yoongi is as good as any. Your knees click as you stretch out, and Yoongi winces at the sound, before you plonk yourself down on the sofa next to him. "What shall we order for dinner?"

There's a howl of wind sneaking between the cracks in your window panes; a stark reminder that winter is still here, and it's still as bitter as ever. Like the river you walk across on a near-daily basis, your heart will take a while to thaw.

But as with all seasons, winter will mollify; and perhaps so will the ice chains that wrap themselves around your warmest muscle. Maybe. The way Jungkook hugs around your chest when he takes you from behind already has the ice weeping in the dark of night. You think it's just some kind of placebo effect. Best not to get carried away with sensation.

Yoongi says something, but you're not listening. All you can hear is the soft splatter of water dripping from the ice; right down onto the chime that's oscillating in your stomach again. Fuck.

Across the street from your apartment complex sits a black SsangYong. It lurks in the shadows; silent, sinister, stalking.

A curt snap echoes through the car, as Namjoon breaks a Pepero stick in half, much to Jungkook's annoyance.

That's literally not how you eat them, he seethes internally. His nostrils are a little flared, and his eyes are hard as they stare out the window and across to the stairs that lead up to your entryway. It has a plain end for a reason.

Namjoon knows this, obviously. Doesn't care. Can sense the way it's getting under Jungkook's skin, so he does it again.

"No point in us being here," Jungkook eventually huffs, channelling his disdain into something - anything - that isn't how fucking annoying Namjoon is. It's been nearly an hour.

"Whoever owns that heap of shit has to come out, soon," Namjoon says of the Mini parked outside of your apartment block. He mutters under his breath for what must be the millionth time, "Fuckin' Ajumma's car."

"It's a John Cooper Works," Jungkook says a little flippantly. He's not impressed, not by any means, but he knows it isn't something to turn his nose up at. Might look like the kind of thing his mother would have loved, but it packs a punch. Limited edition, factory-grade. One of only two thousand. A mean little beast that'd give his Pony a run for its money, even with the mods.

"Okay? Tell Mr John Cooper that it's still an Ajumma's car," Namjoon shrugs. He doesn't give a shit about imports. They're all weak in comparison to the homegrown beauties he likes to drive. Jungkook could argue for days that he's wrong, but Namjoon simply wouldn't bother to listen - so what was the point? "Anyways," he continues, snapping another chocolate coated stick. It's about now that Jungkook wishes Peperos would have sharp ends so that he could stick them in his ears. "Either the fucker who drives it comes out now, or he says inside and carries on railing the sket until the sun comes up. Doesn't matter which. We've got a car to keep tabs on."

"You don't know he's fucking her-"

"We've both seen her," Namjoon scoffs, mouth half full, a little biscuit dust puffing out from his plump lips. "He's screwing the absolute fuck out of her."

"What does that even mean?" Jungkook's nose really is upturned, now. "You're just being vulgar for the sake-"

"Oh, give over. What was the first thing you said about her?"

"I-"

"Prissy bitch," Namjoon imitates. "Stick up her ass - pretty good ass though."

It almost makes Jungkook laugh, because while his former self isn't wrong (he thinks your ass is a gift from the Gods), he knows that it's your tits he could worship all day long.

If it were him in your apartment, he knows he'd be doing just that. Praising you; Worshipping, devoting, revering. He's never believed in God, not really. Never prays, never looks to the sky and mumbles words of desperation; but when he's beneath you, he finds himself beseeching. Imploring the man in the sky to let him feel the way that he feels when he's inside of you forever. Sometimes he wonders if you must be what heaven feels like. Knows he'd sacrafice himself for it. For you.

In theory, at least. Fears if he tells Namjoon this, he'll have to experience it in practise. He's not ready to, not yet. Just in case he's wrong, and he really does lose the closest thing to heaven that he's ever known.

"I just think we're going to an awful lot of effort for this," he deflects. "The more we know about this girl, the more variables we have to consider, and the less likely it is that we can actually get this shit done."

"We knew less last time," Namjoon says without skipping a beat. He knows this game better than most. Knows that it's imperative that they resolve the mess they made in the gas station as quickly as possible. "And look at where that got us - beating up some fuckin' dude who didn't have a clue what was going on."

"You didn't have to go so hard on him."

"I did. You know I did."

Silence resumes, and remains that way until Namjoon whacks Jungkook on his chest with the back of his hand a few hours later. His attention is diverted from his phone, which drops to his laps as his neck almost snaps to look in the direction of your apartment.

You're laughing as you walk down the stairs from your entryway. Jungkook thinks he can hear you.

He can't. He just remembers. Know the way it almost sounds like you're hiccuping when you start struggling to draw more air into your lungs, too happy to focus on keeping yourself alive.

Your body leans into the guy you're with, and there's an ease to the way you are together, one that has Jungkook feeling all uneasy. He adjusts in his seat - earns himself a hiss from Namjoon for being 'distracting' - and tries to focus on anything but the way you pull the guy in for a hug. It's not necessarily anything more than platonic, but it's not the hug of a stranger, either.

"It's him," Namjoon's voice is low, barely a vibration between his lips. "Guy from the gas station. Sket is shitting where she eats." He laughs. "Un-fucking-believable."

Jungkook says nothing. It's a little hard to speak with the weight of the world crashing down on your lungs, though.

Instead he simply nods, and reaches for his phone.

꾹: i gotta see you.

꾹: think i'm going crazy without you.

You don't reply until you're inside, clearing up the remains of the food you'd shared with Yoongi.

You: i'm not a therapist :/

꾹: please.

You: my place or yours?

꾹: mine.

When Namjoon asks who Jungkook is texting, he lies.

"Just Jin. Says if we have a visual on the driver, we're good to go."

"Good to go?" The question is asked an octave or so higher than Namjoon's usual deep drawl, surprised at such an instruction. "Thought we had to tail?"

Jungkook shrugs. "Change of plan. Says Kang ain't around to report to, so it doesn't matter what we do."

His lies will catch up with him eventually, but not today.

Today, Jungkook gets to pretend like everything is okay for just a little while longer. He's lucky that Jin trusts him enough to get the job done. He won't ask questions, will just know that whatever reason Jungkook had to lie will be worth it in the long run. He's a good worker, part of the team. He'd never intentionally sabotage them.

Or at least, he was a good worker. Was part of the team. Was never one to sabotage. Was one to play by the rules, and always win.

But Jungkook is playing games with trick dice, now. Rolling doubles every single time. He's gonna be the first to reach the exit line, but he's gonna reach it alone.

"Alright," Namjoon sighs, starting the engine up. The lights from his headlamps flare in front of the vehicle, flooding the desolate road. It's always quiet around these parts after it hits midnight.

A little off the beaten track, your place is on the backstreets; somewhere inconspicuous. Somewhere easily hidden. Concealed. The daughter of a politician disguised in breadline poverty.

Jungkook kind of hates that he knows where you live.

Not because he doesn't want to know, but because you haven't shown him. You've always gone back to his. He wouldn't suggest anything else, for fear of being caught without reason down around your side of town. There are only so many times he can lie about late-night boxing sessions without someone catching on.

"What a waste of an evening," Namjoon huffs a little more. He's a smart guy, smarter than Jungkook and probably every other fucker who congregates at Old Kang's place, but he's credulous to an absolute fault when it comes to the fuckers he runs the streets with. Would never betray a single one of them - not even Jungkook.

"It was past your bedtime, like, three hours ago. Consider yourself lucky that you got to stay out and play for this long," Jungkook ribs.

See, Namjoon's partner doesn't like him staying out so late. They worry. Blow up his phone, not to control, but out of concern. They've seen the dark side of the business that the boys are caught up in, and don't want that darkness to stain the colours of the man they love.

It's a mean jibe, and between close friends, it would have been funny -but the pair of them haven't laughed together in weeks.

Not since Jungkook fucked Namjoon's younger sister.

He hadn't meant for it to go as far as it had, but she was keen and he was horny. What's a boy to do?

They'd been in the same year group at school, so it's not like it was the most absurd pairing in the world. Never been friends, not really, but knew each other well enough that they always managed to strike up a conversation after a few drinks.

She was always hanging around the bars the boy went to, and Jungkook had been letting his hair down; one last night of freedom before he had to knuckle down and start the job Kang was assigning them.

He'll never admit it, but your assumptions about him on the first night you met were right. The KNJ on his phone was a FWB turned far too clingy: Kim Naejeon.

Needless to say, Namjoon hasn't exactly been Jungkook's biggest fan since he found out. Such is life.

Jungkook's phone buzzes in his lap, and he's relieved to see two little c's on the screen where the message ID is.

You: time?

꾹: just on my way home.

꾹: lemme send a taxi to yours.

Sat on your floor again, laptop open with your last search - jungkook, daegu, pony - on screen, you find yourself deafened by the chime in your stomach. It rings like the theme to a studio ghibli film, all pompous and ridiculous, and warm and lovely.

You sound like a banshee, squeaking with badly handled excitement. The shrill noise that escapes your lips as you throw your phone onto the sofa is borderline psychotic.

You never get like this over a boy.

You don't actually think you've ever squealed over a boy before, but one small act of chivalry - the bare minimum - has you doing somersaults.

It's funny, because it's not like he's the first guy to ever suggest sending a taxi your way. Unlike all of Yoongi's offers, though, you accept. You play it all cool and coy by simply sending him through your address, not like he needs it.

꾹: on its way.

꾹: i can't wait to see you.

You're not really sure how to deal with such a declaration. It's needy and pathetic and if it were any other boy, it would have you throwing up in your mouth - but it's not just any boy. It's him.

You: someone's a little desperate.

You don't have it in you to play nice, even if your grin is wider than the river behind your apartment block. Jungkook doesn't expect any less. In fact, he smiles when the message comes through - and quickly stiffens his cheeks again, not wanting Namjoon to make a comment.

꾹: desperate?

꾹: i'm not sure this is a game you want to play, CC.

Oh, how wrong he is.

You: i love games.

The double-entendre isn't lost on him, but any ability to not let you affect him is. Blood pumps around his body faster. Harder. It rushes, almost, with a single destination in mind. Makes him adjust ever so slightly in his seat, his spare hand coming to rest between his legs. He used to think he had self-control, but you're constantly surprising him.

He's learnt more about himself since he met you than he has in years. Realised that he isn't maybe who he thinks he is. Doesn't dwell on it, though, 'cause he enjoys the way it feels when the crotch of his trousers gets tighter.

꾹: i only like them when i win.

You: i only ever win.

꾹:we'll see about that tonight.

You: oh?

꾹: see who really is the desperate one.

You: its you :) x

The taxi arrives far faster than you expect, but Jungkook is pleased when he checks the app and sees the car en-route to his. He takes a note of the number plate and the registered driver. Doesn't trust the drivers around here. They're too fast without enough skill, he always thinks. Has lost count of the number of busses he's seen rear-end asshole taxi drivers. Luckily the roads are dead at this time of night, but he'll be damned if anything happens to you.

꾹: sure about that?

꾹: i know a few ways to get you a little desperate.

You: you don't know shit.

꾹: i know you get a little desperate when my hand is round your throat.

You: bullshit.

꾹: i know you get incredibly desperate when my fingers are in your mouth.

You: your fingers have never been in my mouth.

It's a lie. Of course it is. It's kinda become rare for the two of you to fuck without them being in your mouth at some point or another, whether it's to clean them off or just to give him a visual of just how devoted you look when he does it. He loves it and so do you.

꾹: no?

Jungkook almost ignores Namjoon as he asks, "what are you smiling at?", only to tell him that it's none of his business, lowering the brightness of his screen and clicking through into his camera roll.

He's a visual guy. Likes the things he can see. Tangible stuff. The photo that comes through to your phone has you flustered.

It's just the lower half of your face, and Jungkook's distinctive, tattooed hands in your mouth. There's a sheen to your lips. His fingers, too.

It's alarming how quickly you've become so comfortable with him. You barely know the guy. Shame that the alarm bells are always muted by the chime in your stomach.

You: must be some other girl ;)

꾹: told you already, CC.

꾹: i'm not interested in any other girls.

꾹: i only wanna see you.

When a picture of your legs, crossed and poised prettily in the back of the taxi, comes through to his phone, he's pleased. You're wearing tights. It's one of his favourite things a girl can wear - though he's not really sure why. He just loves how soft they are, how smooth they feel against his skin. Has him thinking about running his hands up and down them, and the way he knows you'll be looking all smug when he does so.

You: i'll see u soon x

You: desperate ;)

Jungkook thinks about locking his phone. Thinks about leaving you hanging. Thinks about the fact it will probably put you on edge a little if he doesn't reply - but he's weak. Knows that not replying will just put him on edge instead.

꾹: will it make you feel better if i admit it?

You: yes.

꾹: fine.

꾹: been thinking about you since the moment you left my apartment last.

꾹: impossible not to when my fucking pillows smell like you.

꾹: think about you when i smell gasoline at kangs.

꾹: think about you when i stop at red lights.

꾹: also think about how fucking wet you were the last time we stopped at one.

꾹: i'm at a red light right now.

꾹: god, i gotta fuck you.

You: told you you were desperate :)

꾹: i am.

You: how do you want me tonight?

꾹: naked.

You: that goes without saying, no?

꾹: naked and begging.

You: i don't beg.

You: not for any man.

꾹: c'mon, CC. a little reciprocation goes a long way.

꾹: you got me on my metaphorical knees.

꾹: be nice of you to get on yours.

You roll your eyes as the taxi rolls to a stop downtown, just by Jungkooks place. It parks on the wrong side of the street, but you pay it no notice. Chalk it up to a GPS error on the app.

You: i'm pulling up to yours now. you home yet?

꾹: not yet. be about 5. let yourself in. code is 0901.

There's a casual intimacy to the way in which Jungkook trusts you with his door code. It's an act of convenience, not anything to read too much into, but you're a creature of habit. Assumptions are your bread and butter. If there are conclusions to be jumped to, you're getting your pole vault out. Setting a new PB. Going for the world record.

So no, it doesn't have to mean anything. You know it probably doesn't - but you indulge in the 'what if' just for the hell of it.

His apartment is cold, the ondol off, one of the windows cracked open ever so slightly to let the air out. Winters are dry round these parts, and Jungkook has an odd paranoia around developing black mould in his apartment. It's not unwarranted - he's pretty sure his last place made him sick because of it. Knows for certain that it made his mother weaker before she passed. Refuses to let history ever repeat itself.

You're unaware of this, though, and slide the window shut. It's the height of winter, and he knows damn well if he's gonna get lucky tonight that it's gotta be a little bit warmer in his apartment.

You take a moment to refamiliarise yourself with his place. There's not much. A little furniture, some prints you recognise from the market downtown up on his wall. There are no personal artifacts, though. No more clues as to who Jungkook really is. You'll have him naked tonight, granted, but you won't have him naked. He won't be vulnerable; laid bare.

But you're not exactly gonna complain when you have him bare in the other sense.

In fact, you think you much prefer it this way. It'll be easier to let him go when the time inevitably comes.

You toss your coat on his desk chair and your shoes are kicked beneath it, not caring much for neatness. The rest of your clothes follow suit, and then you're waiting, all desperate and pliant, just like he asked for.

Though you're not one to beg, you're aware of how nicely he had requested - and how hot and bothered he had gotten you en-route to his place.

There's a thrum in your chest, and it beats to the same harmonious melody that the chime in your stomach produces.

Back straight, feathers smoothed, you're a songbird waiting for someone to hear your call. It only takes a few moments, the beep of Jungkook's keypad echoing through the door as he punches in the code adding a new layer to your song.

"Hey," he calls through, his voice muffled slightly through the sliding partition doors. The glass is frosted, but you can make out his silhouette as he kicks his shoes off by the door. "Just been on a job. Emergency at an office building downtown. Some bad wires. Tripped."

The lies roll off his tongue like butter in a hot pan. They sizzle. Spit. Burn you and scar you with the portrayal of a man who isn't who he pretends to be.

Thing is, Jungkook is exactly who he pretends to be.

He really does get too hot in the night, and genuinely does find videos of kids falling over far funnier than he knows he should. His hair sticks up on end when he wakes up, and he loves his car more than life itself. The way he winces after taking shots, and his dimples, which form in moments of contemplation beneath his cheeks, are entirely natural to him.

None of it - none of him - is a lie. At his core, Jungkook is the idea in your head; the yellow of midafternoon sun before it sets.

He's the amber light that flashes before fading into red.

That's his issue, though. Inevitably, he will always, unavoidably, turn red.

Jungkook likes to tell himself he's not a bad person. He just does bad things, occasionally. But don't we all?

Yeah, the voice in his head would rationalise. But bad things are sneakily not paying for plastic carrier bags at supermarket self-checkouts, or failing to tell a friend they have food stuck in their teeth. Not petty violent crimes and conspiracy to-

"Took your time," you flirt.

It takes him longer than he'd like to get from his kitchen and to where you are, his laces proving to be a bit of a bitch when he's in a hurry. He's dressed down, a pair of light wash jeans clinging to his thighs for dear life, a baggy grey sweater hiding that itty bitty waist of his.

You find yourself smiling, his presence bringing more than just the promise of satisfied desire.

It's dangerous how you can't hear anything other than the chime in your stomach whenever you see him. Might deafen you one day. Or maybe you'll hear it so often that it will just fade into white noise. Not a favourable outcome, not by any stretch of the imagination.

"Holy fuckin' shit."

You tilt your head and feign confusion, as if you don't know why he's salivating like a dog being offered a bone. You're on your knees, as requested, palms flat on the tops of your thighs; not naked, but you may as well be. A lace red set leaves little to the imagination, one of his flannel shirts draped over your shoulders to keep you warm - but also 'cause he seems like the kind of guy to eat that shit up.

So while you're right where he wanted you, as he struggles to form a coherent sentence, he's exactly where you wanted him.

Finally, he finds a few words.

"Desperation looks good on you, CC."

Arrogant son of a bitch, you think, but there's a grin on your lips that you just can't hide.

"Mmm," you flirt, not caring to drag things out. You want him so badly that hard to get seems like a dumb idea. "Maybe - but I think you'll find I look better on your dick."

His shoulders pull up towards his ears, head dropping as a small laugh vibrates in his throat at the boldness of such a statement.

"You're not wrong - but I like this," he says, closing the space between you. His voice is soft, as one of his hands cups your cheek and angles your jaw upwards so that you're looking directly at him. His thumb traces your bottom lip, and - almost like you've been conditioned - your lips part for it to rest on your tongue. "I like this a lot."

Your lips close around it, tongue massaging his thumb as you slowly suck on it.

It's gentle, and warm, and - fuck - he's spent so long thinking about the way your mouth feels but it never compares to actually experiencing it. Your lips vibrate as you hum, satisfied with the effect you seem to be having on him.

His lips are parted, eyes void of all thoughts, as if you've bewitched him. Maybe you have. He wouldn't put it past you. There's something dark behind your eyes, something he doesn't quite understand. Something he knows better than to let himself study for too long.

Jungkook's room is dark, the glow of his fairy lights dousing him in soft reservoirs of gold. The light from his kitchen pours in behind him, his back to the clouded screen door, a halo circling around his darling blonde waves. Your eyes must be betraying you, you think, 'cause there's no way a man this heavenly exists. It's impossible.

"Bet you're wet, aren't you?" he toys, voice low, a teasing grin on those pretty pink lips of his. He may look like an angel, but there's a pair of horns hidden beneath his curls.

There's no hesitation as you nod, vocalisations cut short thanks to his thumb remaining snug between your lips. Why lie? He wants you desperate, so he's getting exactly that. You think he deserves it. Think he always makes you feel good, so why not indulge him in this little fantasy? You can play desperate, if he really wants.

"Show me," he says so quietly it's almost a whisper; almost as if he doesn't believe he's asking you to do such a thing for him. It's not like it would be the most outlandish exchange the pair of you have had together, but the vulnerability is never easy.

Never easy to ask for, never easy to give. Especially not when Jungkook is harbouring secrets that he knows would shatter the fortress walls he's built up around the pair of you.

You're unaware of this as your hand creeps between your thighs, to where a mess is pooling in your panties.

It annoys you just how eager you are for him. You wish you weren't; wish he had to work for it. The tips of your fingers push against your entrance, but it's all just for show - you've been wet since the moment he first messaged you that evening.

You let your eyes fall to his crotch. It's strained, the pale denim doing an awful job at hiding how hard he is. He's been plump the entire journey home, but now that he's here - now that you're looking like that - he's solid.

He watches you, the way you move, the slight heave of your chest, and knows that you're down just as bad as he is. You wouldn't be on your knees if you weren't. In fact, you wouldn't be here, full stop.

You reach for his belt and set about getting to work immediately. His jeans are pushed to midway down his thighs, boxers following suit. The way his cock springs out of them, all fat and proud, has you salivating.

And so it's only fair that you take it in your mouth as soon as you can.

He reaches behind you and tweaks at the clasp of your bra. It loosens almost instantly, and you hum in approval of how easily he managed to do that. You let the straps slide down your arms, his cock still in your mouth as you toss it to the side.

"Between them," he instructs.

It's tempting to just do as he says. Irresistible, almost. You want him between your tits just as much as he wants to be there, but you want him more vocal. Want him begging. It's his own fault for getting you into such a submissive position. It's a flaw, the way you need to level the playing field, but one that he never fails to deliver on.

"C'mon, CC," he whispers, voice dulcet, trapped in his throat as he suppresses a moan. "Put my cock between your tits."

Your hands fall from the backs of his thighs to play with your breasts, your nipples hard and eager for him. Vibrating around his mouth as you moan, you're pleased with the grip he has on your hair. It tightens, and when he speaks, you're convinced his voice could make you cum alone, "I'm not gonna ask you again."

His cock takes a few more strokes of your hot mouth before you withdraw, stiff and flushed in front of you. He encourages you up so that you're sat on your knees, ass up instead of resting on your ankles as it had been. There's a string of your slick running from your heels to your pussy, the mess desperately seeping from you. Jungkook can't see it, isn't aware of it, so before you do anything, you dip two of your fingers between your folds to gather it up. He watches with laboured breaths.

You don't drop contact with his eyes, not even when they're trained on your fingers. He watches as you hold them up, glittering from the reflection of his fairy lights, before your tongue licks them clean. His cock jerks, the visual stimulation building his need to come undone by tenfold.

There's a little bit of your slickness still on your fingers when you pump his cock, once, twice, three times.

"Sorry, baby," you toy with the term of endearment, the groan he exhales when you say it confirming that you need to call him sweet nothings more often. "Where did you want your cock, again?"

He's been avoiding touching your chest, not wanting to take control of the situation, but your shoulders roll back just a little, your soft mounds his for the taking. His grip drops from your hair, the tips of his fingers ghosting your chest. He runs them delicately across your stiff nipples, his touch so minimal that you feel yourself leak, pussy throbbing, desperate for more.

Resting perfectly between his index finger and thumb, your nipples are pulled ever so slightly, before he finally indulges himself and cups your tits like he so desperately wants to. He holds them together and wobbles them, obsessed with how soft they are. He edges closer, the tip of his cock nudging against your cleavage. There's a small trail of precum leaking from his tip, the sheen now coating your skin. "Right there."

Spit gathers and pools in your mouth, lips pouting as you let it drip onto your tits. Jungkook groans, his hips pushing his cock further onto your chest. You hold your tits apart, his leaking crown kissing your sternum before you angle him upwards. The soft, pillowy cushions press around his thick shaft, keeping him firmly in place.

"That's it, baby," he mewls as you spit again, this time onto the head of his cock. You drop your gaze and lower your head, tongue flat as it licks the tip, spreading your spit. His hips are jerking against you, his foreskin nestled in place, cock tugging against itself.

"Look at me," he says quietly, as dulcet as the atmosphere in his room. Your eyes meet his, as your hands firmly jiggle your cleavage. His mouth hangs ajar, brows knotted in such a way you think he looks like his mind is all tangled up. You're not wrong - he can't think straight like this. All he can think about is how much he wants to fuck you in every single capacity he can. "That's it."

You grin, but try to hide it. "You like my tits, huh?"

Jungkook wants to roll his eyes, and almost does - but then you spit again, the pace of your jiggling hands quickening, and he finds himself doubling over.

"Fuck," he whines, completely undignified. Any strong, stable demeanour he has feigned is lost as his cock gets slippery, covered in your spit, being massaged by your tits. "Spit."

The momentum is retained, but it's getting sloppier. There's limited friction, your spit acting as the perfect lube for him to fuck your tits. He doesn't really know what to do with himself, how to withhold himself from spilling onto your chest, but he's all hot and bothered. He isn't gonna last long.

"Bed," he husks, pulling away from you, not even registering the fact he's helping you up. He just kind of does it, his mind entirely on where he wants to be. "On your back."

You do as you're told, your bare back hitting his freshly laundered duvet as your head nestles into his mountain of pillows. His legs straddle either side of your chest, movements frantic as he traps his cock between your tits once more. He's in control, the pace entirely set by him, his large hands gripping the flesh of your chest like he normally does your waist.

"Shit," he hisses. "Fuckin' love your tits."

Your hands grip his ass, encouraging his movements, before one of them roams to toy with your clit. The change in your moans is noticed by Jungkook, who glances back to check you're doing what he thinks you are. Suspicions confirmed, he laughs. "Dirty bitch," he keens. "Love being owned by my cock, don't you?"

You pause, and Jungkook notices a look in your eyes. It's one he knows well; one he enjoys. Nonetheless, one that panics him when he's in such a compromising position, because it looks like you've just been challenged.

With a pathetic, pouty mewl, you push your fingers into yourself. It's quick, your fingers pumping frantically to build enough slickness on them to wipe the smirk off Jungkooks face.

The hand that's still on his ass squeezes, your nails indenting him ever so slightly. He hisses, a lopsided grin on his lips as he continues to fuck your chest - until the feeling of your soaked fingers stroking his taint has him stuttering.

You apply a little pressure, the pump of his cock slow between your tits. His breaths are laboured. It almost sounds like he gasping for air, unable to concentrate on anything but the sensation of you.

Brows furrowed, eyes wide, you pout. "Thought I was being owned by your cock, baby?" You tease him, and are met with him cursing you out, a saccharine smile on his lips.

"Fucking hate you," he laughs, abs shuddering as your fingers trails further up. They're stroking, caressing, toying - and they don't stop. Not until they reach the tight muscle of his that you're just dying to penetrate. He's silent now. Doesn't want to tell you that he wants it, but fuck it, he does. He pulls back, eyes on yours. There's a hint of a nod, but you're not gonna do anything too daring unless he explicitly asks for it.

Your soaked finger presses against him, cautious not to take it too far. You're still learning each other; what you both like, and you aren't sure where his limits lie.

"Yes? No?" you question, eyes earnest. His ass has never been explicitly discussed between the pair of you, but he also never ruled it out, either.

He's quiet, but smiles when he shakes his head. "Not yet, C. Another time, though."

"I'll hold you to that," you tease, curious about his desires. You wanna know all the ways you can get him off, and you think you'll be willing to do almost anything. In fact, you know you will. All he has to do is say the word, and your tongue will be wherever he wants it.

His eyes roll back, and so do his hips. "And I'll hold you to the offer."

It's a rarity, he's found, for girls to be so bold. He's always had to be the one to initiate his own pleasure, or to just finish quicker than he'd like because his partner was already done. He likes this about you. Likes that you like to fuck. Likes that you apparently, for whatever reason, seem to especially like fucking him.

It's thoughts like these - something about luck, fate - that plague his mind as he pushes his cock between your tits again. It's fast, and it's sloppy, and it's wet, and soon enough, he isn't thinking at all. All he can do is feel - your warmth, your softness - and then all he can feel is how fucking good it is to be with you.

When he comes, he comes hard. It hits your throat, coating you in everything he is. A moan catches in his throat, eyes closed, hands pushing your tits so tight together that it fucking hurts - but he's shaking, and you know that his orgasm has him unable to realise just how strong his grip is.

It's not till he looks down at you, all breathless and blushed that he realises. There's a sheen on your chest, and he knows better than to dirty you all over again - but he's a creature of habit. His grip loosens, chest heaving as his hands begin to stroke at your tits. They fill his palms, overspill blooming between his spread fingers as he gently remedies them of his strength. It's unintentional, though not minded, how he spreads his cum as he does so.

You try and keep a straight face, but it's impossible, and then you're both laughing. It echoes around his room like the missing instrument to the song in your stomach. You aren't really sure why you're laughing. Nor is he. You're just happy. The pair of you remain this way for a moment or so, casually enamoured with how easy things are; how easy they could be.

"C'mon, CC," he speaks fondly, but spanks your titty for the fun of it regardless. "Let's get you cleaned up."

There's a tender nature to the way Jungkook moves your body. So docile, he's a world away from the version of himself that you'd just had in his bed.

This Jungkook - the one gently pulling your hair back so it doesn't get too wet while you wait for the shower to fully heat up - is so well mannered that you couldn't imagine him cursing, let alone calling you a bitch during sex.

Something about it, about him, has you feeling far more infatuated than you should be at this stage.

You're not ready for all this. Not prepared for the way you're feeling. It scares you. Gets you wanting to grab the towel and make a swift exit - but then he kisses your neck, hands on your hips, chest pressed into your back, and you realise that there's no place you'd rather be.

He reaches out to check the temperature of the water that's steaming into his bathroom, and decides it's just right. It's not that the water is particularly hot, just that his bathroom is bloody freezing.

Your reflection in his mirror is a vision of beauty; eyes trained on him, skin tainted by what would have been his legacy. Part of him doesn't want to wash it away. Just wants to marvel at you. Study the way your skin dimples and bumps when you're cold; then remembers that you can't cum when you're cold, so you probably aren't enjoying this as much as he is. He lifts the showerhead from its holder, and lets the water pour over you, and you alone.

The warmth has your shoulders easing almost instantly, and Jungkook feels a little guilty for having kept you cold so selfishly.

He's quiet as he rinses himself from you, contemplative dimples perching themselves beneath his cheeks. He barely utters a word for the entire shower; just peppers your shoulders in kisses.

It's not till you turn to face him, taking the showerhead from his hand and begin rinsing his body that he finally speaks up.

He takes a moment to study you first; watch the way your eyes glaze over his body, following the trajectory of the water, making sure you don't miss a single inch of his skin. Your lashes are dark, hiding your eyes from him, and he doesn't like it. Instinctively, his hands cup your jaw, bringing your eyes to his.

"Thank you."

His lips are on yours, soft, no pressure - and then they're not. They're trailing down your neck instead, as if he can't decide which part of you he wants to devour.

'All of you' is the correct answer, but he eats for pleasure, not for sustenance.

Easily, he could have you for everything that you are within a few seconds - but he wants to savour you. Wants to hear the way your breath hitches as his tongue flicks against your earlobe; feel your fingers dig into his scalp as he paws at your round ass. He wants the memory of your body in his hands, 'cause he fears you're like sand, and that his grasp won't be able to keep hold of you forever.

His bathroom is cramped, more like a wetroom, and the same grey tiles are on the walls that are on the floor. Shower attached to the sink, it's the standard for one-room apartments around these parts.

Yours is the same - but you do have the added luxury of boujie conditioners and loofas to soften the blow.

Jungkook has a 2-in-1 body wash and shampoo combo, and doesn't see the point in fancy scrubs when the labour of his job leaves his hands all rough anyway.

In your right mind, you'd moan about it. Tell him that he's such a boy, or that next time, he's coming to yours for a shower - but you're distracted by the hardness of his cock against your stomach and his hands cupping at your chest while he kisses you. The stream of water makes it borderline impossible to open your eyes, so you revel in the way it feels to be overwhelmed by everything he is.

"Again?" You mumble into his lips, to which you're met with a nod.

You slip your rings off and hear them clink against the porcelain of his sink, praying that your aim is correct and they won't end up down the drain. He hums a small purr of confusion, questioning your actions, and then groans an 'oh' into your mouth when your hand clasps around the base of his cock.

"Gentle," he reminds you, still sensitive but desperate for you once more.

His lips leave yours, head tilting back as he revels in your touch. Neither of you speak, but there's really not much to say. You'd just be making noise for the sake of it.

Regardless, there's a weight in your chest, clamping down on your lungs, that makes talking seem impossible. Might be trepidation. Might be nothing at all - but it sure does feel like something.

You marvel at the column of his thick neck as it stretches back, and think how pretty it would look covered in purple and pink, the bruise of your intimacy staining his skin just like it has done your heart.

Your movements pause when you realise you're thinking about your fucking heart. You're not sappy. You don't attribute sex to love, and the idea of even falling in love has you wanting to run for the hills.

It's been said before that the heart is just a muscle. It has no real bearing on your emotions, nor your amatory exploits.

But when the thoughts of your feelings cloud your mind with dainty pink vapours, all sparkly and strawberry scented, you can't help but feel like you're in danger.

In your chest, you can feel your heart ache.

So yeah, it is just a muscle, but muscles get worn out.

Jungkook notices your hesitation. He casts his eyes down to check you're okay. His crown rests against the wet tiles, water-saturated hair stuck to his face, lashes damp and lips all pouty. The man is a vision. Naked, bare, vulnerable. Yours for the taking, or so it seems. His eyes are heavy-lidded, deep brown; sweet as chocolate, sinful as straight whisky.

"You good?" He asks quietly, only for you to nod and pick the pace up again. His eyes stay on yours as a laboured grunt escapes his lips, brows pinching together. The way you feel around him is so good. Not too tight, just the way he likes it. Fingers all dainty, nails painted red, it's a sight he thinks about when he's alone more than he cares to admit. He's thick and hot in your grasp, working his foreskin up and down his shaft.

There are goosebumps on your skin, body positioned just out of the shower stream because you wanted to look at him; watch as you wound him up, just to make him unravel again. He pulls you closer, hands cupping your jaw as he kisses you, until you're beneath the water again.

His tongue is in your mouth as his hand drops to meet yours. So much larger than your own, his fingers clasp around yours and joins the effort, speeding up. He doesn't say anything else, but he's struggling to kiss you, now. His lips are ajar, resting against yours, little purrs of satisfaction finding a home on your tongue.

"Yeah?" You encourage a little breathlessly, as if you're the one moments away from ruin. "That's it, Kook."

He nods, as the hand that isn't on yours tangles in the back of your hair to keep you close. His hand works to increase the pace, making it a little rougher. There's a wetness between your legs that isn't from the shower, but you're too focused on him - on making him feel good, on being what he needs - to bother doing anything about it. He'll return the favour later, you're sure. He always does.

His grip on your hand loosens, leaving it up to you to finish the job. It only takes a second or two, and then you're milking him, thick white cum desecrating your hand and spurting into your stomach. There's not much, most of it spent on your chest earlier. He shudders, one of his legs a little more so than the other, his moans lost in the pitter-patter of the shower until they become nothing more than hot, heavy breaths.

And then, because quite frankly he doesn't know how to articulate how good, how fucking precious, how god damn infuriatingly beautiful you are, he kisses you again. Though his tongue is soft as it strokes against yours, his piercing is hard - much like his cock which is still firm against your stomach. He encourages your arms up and around his neck, hugging tightly. Your chest presses to his, nipples hard, tits pillowy and soft, and Jungkook swears he'll risk it all for you.

Thinks it would be worth it.

He'd do this wherever with you; in his crappy apartment, in a hotel he'll pay far too much for, in a derelict motel that hides you both when it inevitably becomes time to run.

Thing is, he knows you now. Knows you'll never run with him. Knows that when you find out, he'll never get to do this ever again. It makes him want to cry. Makes him wanna get on his knees and beg for forgiveness before you even know you're mad at him.

You don't forgive. You don't forget, either. You wouldn't be working in a shitty GS25 if you did. He knows this. Knows that as soon as the truth is out, so is he.

And so Jungkook lies. "Come to Busan with me."

Your noses are nestled together, and you can feel his words against your lips. The shower keeps on pouring, but it won't cleanse him of his sins. The water still runs red, even if you can't see it.

"Busan?"

He nods, steals a kiss, and begins to build upon the weak foundations he's formed. "I gotta go visit home. Been putting it off. Think it'll be more bearable with you there."

You kiss him back. Partially because you want to, but mainly because you don't know what the fuck to say. Your heart rate has doubled. Trebled. In fact, you're not sure it's beating anymore.

Family isn't a subject either of you has divulged in, not really. You fear that him opening up requires reciprocation, and that's just not something you're willing to give. Not to him, nor anyone else for that matter.

"When?" You finally murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek before pulling away to slip your rings back onto your fingers.

He doesn't want you to meet his family. Doesn't want you anywhere near them - but when the time comes, he needs you to know why he ended up here. Needs you to know that everything he's done, rightfully or wrongfully, has been for them.

Doing right by them means doing wrong by you, but he didn't know you when all this started.

Didn't know that you're the type to point out every trash cat you see, or that you make up little songs to soundtrack almost everything you do (regardless of the fact you're tone-deaf). He didn't know that you drank peach tea like it's water, or that you'd somehow taste a little bit like it too. He didn't know that you'd become his favourite flavour, or that the scent of your perfume would have him hugging his fucking pillows for days after you slept over.

He didn't know.

Didn't fuckin' know.

And now he does. And it's tearing him apart.

He's a good liar, though, so you don't notice just how cut up he is when he shrugs and twists the shower tap off. He reaches around for the towel and begins to wrap you up when he says, "Next weekend?"

When he's like this - voice soft, skin bare, tucking the top of the towel over against your chest - it's like you've got the upper hand. There's no battle being fought between the pair of you, and yet you don't feel like equals. Feels like the balls in your court. You just don't realise you're playing different games.

There's pitter-patter beneath your feet and a chime in your stomach. You shuffle between his feet, his arms wrapped around you, lips pressing a kiss against your hair.

"I'll have to check the rota," you say, but you know you'll just ask Yoongi to swap shifts if you are scheduled on. "But I haven't been to Busan in a while. I'd like to come."

His eyes are hot as he presses them shut, chin resting on your head. You think the stutter in his chest is just a hiccup, so you smile. Without the sound of the shower, he can hear his phone buzzing, vibrating on his desk in the next room over.

"Gotta get that," he says, squeezing you before loosening his grip and reaching for a small towel that barely covers his ass. The air is cold against his skin as he opens the bathroom door. Steam gushes out of the room, and so does the hazy, cum-drunk atmosphere the pair of you had created. You miss it the second your skin begins to pebble, goosebumps chilling you, the hair on your arms stood up on end. Almost like someone's walking over your grave.

Maybe just leading you to an early one. Either, or.

You hear him as he mumbles on the phone - "Jin. Yeah? What's up? Cool, can do." - but ignore it. Steam has fogged up the mirror, creating a cloudy canvas for you to do your worst upon. It's childish, yes, but nothing stops you from drawing a little something on there to remind him of you next time he showers.

An uneasy weight sits on your chest when you look at what you've done. It's nothing bad, but part of you thinks you'll regret it - but that part of you is silent when he calls through for you.

When you emerge a few moments later, you're casual as you ask him who was on the other end of the line. He says 'a friend,' and then clarifies that it's 'one of the boys' because he doesn't want you to think the worst. It's an answer you accept.

Dropping the towel, you're unbothered by his eyes as you spend a few moments naked. You're just reaching for his shirt, but the way you move, how your muscles flex above your bones, but the soft flesh of your curves moves without your control has him feeling all kinds of fucked up. He's never wanted anyone more; never known that it was possible to feel such a way.

He tells himself it's just hormones. He's fucking empty, entirely spent on you. That's gotta be the reason. Some kind of primal desire type thing.

Even he's shocked when he begins to talk.

"You can't ever leave."

It's barely a whisper, his voice small, though the weight of his words is so incredibly large.

"Need you here forever."

It's the way that Jungkook talks in such certain terms that has the chime in your stomach ringing again.

You're sure he must have broken a thousand hearts with words like that. You wonder if there are still girls across the city pining after him, thinking about the way his breath feels on their skin as he fucks himself into them. Wonder if the fondness in his eyes is because of you, or because he's just riding a post-climax endorphin high.

"You don't mean that," you tell him, because you don't believe he does.

He shakes his head. Senses the challenge in your voice, and smiles. "You think I'm lying?"

"Think you haven't reached post-nut clarity, yet."

"You'll have to fuck me again, then. Third time lucky."

The third time comes in the morning.

It's still dark outside, Jungkook waking you with dainty kisses along your shoulders, his hands pawing at your tits.

"Morning," he husks into your neck when your hand goes to join his on your chest. "Dreamt about you."

"You are so full of shit," you laugh.

Truth be told, he didn't really sleep. Looked at you for far too long. It's borderline creepy, he thinks, how utterly obsessed he is. Part of him doesn't understand it, but the rest of him does.

You're forbidden.

He can't help but want you.

Jungkook may be Adam, but you're no Eve. You're that damn snake. Or maybe you're the fruit. He doesn't know at this point; just knows that he's eaten it, and he's pretty sure it's poisonous.

"Am not," he grins, riding that poison high. "What did you dream about?"

He's repulsed he's even asking such a thing.

"Can't remember," you pout, turning to face him. Dreams always elude you. It's frustrating, but at least you're not having nightmares. "What about you? What were we doing? Where did we go?"

Just like him, the fact you're asking him questions like that has you wanting to die.

"Busan."

It's not a lie this time. He isn't looking at you, though, so you half think it is.

He's just focused on the hand of his that's toying with your hair, pushing strands away from your face. The only reason he isn't looking at you is because he's embarrassed.

"Busan?" You ask, reminded of his proposition from the night before.

"Mhmm," he nods, his hair no doubt tangling against the pillow. "You 'n' me."

Again, you don't know if it's a lie, but oh what a beautiful one it would be.

"We were on the beach," he continues. "Not really doing much. Just sort of existing."

You laugh, eyes fond but away from his. You're looking at his hair now, too, playing with it. Mirroring his actions. Reciprocating. "Existing?"

"Existing," he says, refusing to clarify. You're distracted when you notice the way his smile brightens. No longer contemplative, he's got a dimple that only comes out when he's beaming all big and bashfully. "I like existing with you."

And so exist you do, in his bed for the next hour and a half. There's no talk of any substance and yet you're chattering for the entire time. He barely even kisses you. Just wants to hear you talk. Wants to hear your perspective on the world, and all the assumptions you make about it.

Jungkook's duvet is shitty quality. The heat it traps is minimal, but you'd take a morning beneath his sheets in the height of winter over being back at your place any day.

It's thoughts like these that make your feet itchy. Makes you wanna run. Bolt. Head for the hills and never look back - but you're locked in place by his arm over your torso. Faint light pours in through the clouded glass of his window panes, curtains apparently too much of a luxury despite the holes in the wall where a rail once sat, and you study the dark ink marking his skin.

There's a story to be told from reading his arms, but you haven't figured that out yet. No google search of his name could ever match the lore embedded in his skin. The tips of your glossy red nails trace the lines in awe, wondering how many people have had this luxury before you.

You wonder who sat by his side during the tattoo appointments, and who laughed with fondness as he winced in pain. Whose hand did he hold? Whose suggestions did he listen to for placements? It plagues your mind like a disease, turning the rubies in your veins to emeralds.

Who are you, you think to yourself. And why am I feeling like this?

It's only a matter of a time - a few languid movements and a couple affirmations later - until he's fucking himself into you again. Predictable, really. Money would be wasted on a fortune teller, and yet you want to go and see one anyway just to confirm whether or not you get to keep him forever.

Lazy and slow, the sex is just an accompaniment to the way he's kissing you. His cock is thick and deep as it fills you, but his hips are sluggish and tepid.

It's almost laughable that the sex is an afterthought.

By its basic definition Jungkook is fucking you - but he's fucked you enough times for you to know how likes to conduct his lays. Quick, fast, to the point. Finish line in his sights.

This doesn't feel like that.

It doesn't feel like that at all.

Even the way his kisses you as his cock stiffens and pulses, unloading itself into you isn't familiar. It's short, his stamina not back up to his usual performance, but it's so deep you think it might be fatal. Any chance you had of getting your heart out of this alive? Yeah. Good luck.

He groans into your mouth, tells you how good you feel, and presses his lips so tightly shut that it's almost as if he's scared he'll never kiss you again.

It's interesting, the way that Jungkook doesn't make you cum. Sure, the sex is good. You've enjoyed it all - but you're currently on 3-0. You chalk it up to a lack of realisation. Innocent inconsideration.

See, his words may betray him, but he's trying to be better. Trying not to drag you further into the web of lies he's woven around the pair of you. Issue is, you've mistaken it for silk. You're comfortable. Enjoy where you are.

He thinks it doesn't count; thinks that if he's the only one who finishes, then you won't be falling for him in the way that he hears girls do. Jimin had ribbed him for it after he'd fucked Naejeon; told him that the reason she was so into him was to do with the oxytocin cocktail that had flooded her bloodstream. It's not like it was news to Jungkook. He'd always known it was a thing, he'd just never really seen the impact of it quite so severely.

The way he see's it, the less you cum, the less you care. It's flawed logic, and it leaves him feeling guilty, which is why he blurts out dumb shit about wanting you around forever. Might be true, might not be. Maybe he's the one confusing hormones for heartfelt honesty.

But as you watch him tear himself away from the bed and head towards the shower, you realise that none of it matters.

You've been hearing bells since the moment you met him.

They're so loud they drown out the bullshit.

"You coming, C?" He calls through, as the shower begins to splutter into action in the next room over. He appears in the doorway, a tattooed hand cupping his balls and covering his modesty. His eyes are soft, grin lopsided as the sun rises.

It's beyond your choice as you move towards the sound of his voice, like he's some kind of pied piper.

You know he's taken over you.

Yet still, you follow the sound of the pipe.

And whether you like it or not, you know you'll let him drag you to the river, just for him to watch you drown.

────────────

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

275 notes · View notes

pumpkinsplots · 9 months

Text

Writeblr Intro

Hello, writeblr! I finally caved and got tumblr, mostly because I love rambling about my wips and hearing other people ramble about theirs and all of that lovely stuff, so this seemed like a great platform to do that. With that being said, I plan on posting about my wips and ocs, as well as art related to those things, so if that interests you at all, I’d love to see you stick around. Also feel free to call me either Pumpkin or Maria, it’s entirely up to you!

About my writing

I’ve found that I really enjoy writing in a variety of genres, so hopefully at least one of my wips will tickle your fancy. Though I’d say a common thing for me is that I really like to world build, so my wips tend to be sci-fi, fantasy, or magical realism of some variety. Anything where I can put my own spin on the setting is something I’m bound to enjoy writing about.

I write in third person, usually with multiple povs, and I really enjoy character driven stories.

I often like to have a wide variety of ages in the cast, and if I had to pick a favorite trope it would be found family, so that’s usually present to some degree in my stuff.

Tonally, I always include light-hearted moments here and there, even if the wip is very bleak. It provides some levity, and I think it makes the painful stuff hit a lot harder. This is probably partially why I put some thought into each character’s sense of humor.

Most of my wips are geared towards older teens and adults, but I’ll get more into content warnings when I talk about each individually, because it really varies.

I’m one of those writers that kills off a lot of characters, so this is your warning not to get attached /j

I’m demisexual, so at least one character being on the ace spectrum is like a requirement for me at this point.

I’m a plantser, and pretty bad at staying motivated to actually finish first drafts.

About my wips

Falling Up

Falling Up is a sci-if story set in the future where Earth is a utopia where inhabitants experience little to no hardships throughout their lives. The deceased are replaced with AI created to replicate them, and everything is automated to the point where people no longer need to work to make a living. This lack of struggle results in dull, perfect lives and skewed morals. The people crave entertainment, even if it means making others suffer for it. Quasdom, a miniature man made planet initially intended to be used to separate deviants from the rest of the perfect society, is used as a catalyst for entertainment. The people of Quasdom believe that those on Earth are superior to them, and that Earth is a place where any wish can come true. This leads to the tourney, a death game between groups of ten on Quasdom, being viewed similarly to winning the lottery. The winning team gets to go to Earth, after all. Being chosen for the tourney is the luckiest thing that can happen to you. There’s no hard feelings between participants, death is completely painless, and the afterlife will welcome any participants to a better life than they previously had. There’s nothing to fear, so smile and put on a show.

A large cast and lots of character deaths

An exploration of why we get so attached to fictional characters, and how fiction can have an impact on reality

Probably going to be a trilogy

Content warnings include language, some unsettling themes, depictions of mental health issues, and generally things that are more psychological. Despite it being a death game, there’s no gore, like at all. The people on Earth may be desensitized, but they aren’t accustomed to seeing blood, so the tourney is designed with that in mind

Facade

Facade is set in a world where the living world and the spirit world coexist. Due to some actions by the main antagonist, about 20 years prior to the current story, spirits started getting aggressive and sort of going haywire. They possess any person they can, turning the individual into an uncontrollable killing machine. The best defense to this was the invention of a certain kind of mask that prevents possession, and masks quickly became widespread. Since there’s no known way to reverse spiritual possession, the only solution is to kill those that are unfortunate enough to meet that fate. A group led by an anonymous vigilante known as K9 seek to find a way to reverse possession. Many enemies are made along the way, and there are countless obstacles to face.

Its setting is based on Singapore and set in the 90s, though there are many creative liberties taken

The wip is currently pretty no plot just vibes

Themes about individuality vs equality

Content warnings include language and some sexual content

Facade: After Dark

While Facade is currently no plot just vibes, developing the characters led to me thinking of the plot for a prequel. Is it a self-indulgent novella about two of the characters I love? Yes, absolutely. In summary, it’s a romance novella about the the relationship of Leijing and Iris, and their struggles in navigating the wild world of Facade. They have vastly different upbringings and experiences, but their differences bring them together in more ways than one.

I have so much backstory for this pre-established couple and I couldn’t think of a good way to incorporate it into the main story without cutting a bunch of it, so boom it’s a prequel now

I’ve found that working on a wip that’s more low stakes and simple is really fun—I tend to get stressed about my more ambitious plots, so this wip is a great change of pace

Leijing is demisexual with little interest in anything sex related and Iris is an omnisexual sex worker, and the story explores how a world obsessed with all things sex can effect both more sex-negative and sex-positive people

Content warnings include language, explicit sexual content, and potentially triggering subject matters. This is my only wip where it’s strictly 18+!

Lights Out

Sunlight is the essence of life. Without it, the world would wither away. However, a dangerous new life form of unknown origin festers in the light. With long, elegant glimmering limbs, high intelligence, picturesque precision, and a craving for flesh, these organisms pose a major threat to humanity. But for some odd reason, these creatures refuse to step into any area where the sun doesn’t touch. Much of humanity takes to the shadows, building elaborate underground tunnels for civilizations and doing what humans do best—using their resources and ingenuity to adapt.

Has two protagonists that butt heads but start to develop a father daughter dynamic. A young adult girl who’s from the underground and unknowingly part of a cult, and an older man with one leg who’s so stubborn he’d rather fight and die than flee to the darkness

Lots of creepy cult imagery and themes about religious trauma

So much banter of course

Content warnings include language, disturbing imagery, and gore

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading! Asks, comments, tag games, and messages are always appreciated, and I’d love to hear about your wips as well!

#writeblr #writeblr intro #writing #writeblr introduction #creative writing #writers of tumblr #new writeblr #writer #writeblr search #new to writeblr #writers on tumblr

212 notes · View notes

marleyybluu · 7 months

Note

Would you be okay writing some bestfriends brother!rio smut? :)

Don Julio

Best friends brother!Rio x f!black!OC (Honey)

Word count: 1.1k

Content warning: literally nothing, just swearing and hangovers lol, Honey is 21 and Rio is 26 (just testing a little age gap😗)

A/N: I just want to apologize to you anon because this request has been sitting in my inbox, collecting dust because I had no idea how to even come up with anything but here we are bitch.

decided to do OC because... I'm loving the OC streak that I'm on right now.

also, OC is written as a black woman in mind, I don't describe her in detail just yet.

There will be a part 2 yall don't worry

(Not my gif)

And that damn Don Julio made me a fool for you…

•• ••

Sunday mornings were for soaking in the regrets of Saturday night events, they were for dealing with pounding hangovers and lounging on the couch to recover. At least that's how most of her Sundays went and this one was no different. Light snores left her lips while the heat of the morning sun beamed on her bare back warming up her skin. She groaned as the heat became too much, suddenly she wished she hadn't been so drunk last night, she would've been able to close the curtains. She pulled the covers over her body and smiled, that felt better. She readjusted herself, getting in a more comfortable position, she sighed her eyes opening just for a millisecond but, in that quick time, she noticed something off.

Her room was blue... well no it wasn't, her room was actually Sage green. There were posters on her wall of old movies and her favourite artists, this wall didn't have any. Her eyes blew wide open when she realized the lack of softness in her pillow, well it wasn't a pillow at all it was someone's chest—slowlyrisingand falling with sleep. She sighed, of course, she had to start her Sunday in a stranger's bed. Honey sat up slowly, sleep very apparent in her bones as she stretched and her joints cracked, her head felt heavy and her eyes narrowed as she squinted away the bright light of the sun's beams. She groaned tossing the covers off of her legs, her lower half scantily clad, she laughed to herself and shook her head.

Her feet met the cold floor, she grabbed a shirt, she could only assume it was his, oh well-- he wouldn't mind would he?

Honey stumbled through the halls looking for a bathroom, her bladder full of last night's drinks and after pushing every door open she was finally successful in finding a bathroom. She closed the door for privacy while she handled her business as if this man hadn't seen every inch of her business the night before. Once she was done she wiped and flushed, washed her hands and splashed a bit of cold water on her face waking herself up and hoping to stay awake long enough to get home safely. She opened the door and flicked off the light making her way back to the room.

As she walked down the hall she noticed a wall of photos in her peripheral, she was curious and decided to take a quick look at the photos. She smiled at a family picture, two adults and two young children-- a boy with a bowl cut and a little girl with pigtails. Her head tilted. "Kinda looks like Cherry when she was a kid." Honey quietly said to herself. Her eyes scanned the wall, another picture of the children catching her attention, the boy doing bunny ears behind his sister while she cried. It looked... familiar. As if she'd seen it before. And, again, the little girl looked like Cherry. Cherry was Honey's best friend since kindergarten, you couldn't see one without the other, they were attached at the hip. Cherry did have an older brother, Christopher but everyone called him Rio, and if Honey remembered correctly... he did have a... bowl cut when they were younger.

Her heart dropped at the realization, she gasped softly. "No... no, no, no."

She quickly walked back to the room, she stood behind the wall taking in a deep breath before she leered past it to poke her head into the door frame. The not-so-mysterious man was now lying on his side, facing her, eyes still closed. Honey covered her mouth in utter shock, there was no way this was happening. Her eyes fell to the floor, their clothes mixed and scattered all over the boards along with an empty bottle of Don Julio 1942. She had to get the fuck out before he woke up, she quietly thanked God that Cherry was always at her man's house otherwise this would've been a very awkward morning. She tiptoed back inside the room, bending down to scoop up her pants, her top, her bra and her panties... sigh... where were her panties?

Honey shuffled around looking on top of his dresser, inside the drawers and under the bed. She couldn't find them, she'd have to leave them. She pulled on her pants and swapped his shirt for her own, she was putting her faux locs in a quick bun when suddenly her phone rang at a violently loud volume, it even vibrated against the wood of his nightstand.

"Shit! Shut up!" She whined through gritted teeth, in an attempt to quickly grab the phone she tripped over the empty bottle of tequila, just her luck. The loud thud caused a stirring in the bed, Rio groaned and yawned carefully sitting up. He shielded his eyes from the sunlight and shook his head, he had a pounding headache. "What the fuuuck." He grunted at the phone. Eventually, it stopped, and he blindly picked it up to see who it was. A missed call from his little sister, Cherry, but the longer he stared at the screen he noticed a picture of her and her best friend. His eyes popped, his lips parted slightly.

"Honey..." He called out unsurely and with the slight hope that she wasn't in the house.

"...Yeah?" She answered from the floor. "Oh... shit."

"Yup."

Honey got off the floor, stood on her feet and smiled sheepishly. "Hi..."

"Hi..." He returned. Rio scanned the room, his eyes widening at the empty bottle of Tequila, his hands covering his eyes. But even though this was not an ideal situation, his seeming frustration or maybe regret made her feel a way.

She'd always had a crush on Rio, but being her best friend's older brother, it was an unspoken rule that he was off limits. So, Honey just admired him from afar. God, he was... something. He was handsome. So fine. And the older he got, the better. He'd gotten taller, facial hair had grown in but those pretty brown eyes remained the same along with that charming smirk he always had. Then came the haircut and the tattoos and... oof! It levelled him up.

Rio cleared his throat, Honey blinked a few times realizing she'd been caught in her trance. "Sorry... I- sorry." Though she didn't know what she was apologizing for. She grabbed her phone and the rest of her stuff and dashed downstairs. Rio shook his head, "Wait." He mumbled still dazed with sleep and a wicked hangover.

"Honey-"

The front door slammed. Honey fumbled with her car keys, and as bad as driving intoxicated is— she quietly hoped she didn't drive here completely sober. Intentionally pulling up to fuck Cherry's brother? She would never let herself live it down. Fuck.

Her car started, the heavy engine rumbling and vibrating the walls of the Martínez house. Her tires screeched getting herself the fuck out of there.

Once she got home she slumped onto the couch, she checked her phone. Seven missed calls from Cherry, and a slew of text messages asking if she was okay, if she needed someone to talk to. Honey squinted trying to remember what happened, what would have her friend in a panic state. What did she do?

A hesitant finger hovered over her name in the call log, Honey tapped it and the phone rang only once before Cherry picked up. "Honey!? Bitch! Where were you? Are you okay?"

"I'm- Cher, I'm fine. I'm sorry if I scared you. But what... did I say?"

Cherry said, "You called me, you were crying about Julien," Her ex. "And then you left me a voice note like an hour later slurring your words, and then you were talking to someone else but— were you with him last night?"

She threw her head back on the cushion of the couch. "No, I wasn't with him I was with... someone else. Fuck. Look, I need some coffee in my system, my head is killing me. I'll call you tonight, and again I'm sorry for scaring you."

Also sorry for sleeping with your brother.

"It's fine, I'm just glad you're safe and... home?"

"Yes, home, I am home." She said nervously. "Okay, well, I'll talk to you later then. Love you."

"Love you too... bye."

The call ended, she tossed her phone on the couch. She had to at least try and remember what happened last night.

If you liked this fic free to like this fic, likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated.

peace and love, see you in the next one 🤙🏾

🏷: @darqchilddaydreamz @rio-reid-whoreee @skyesthebomb @bigenergy777 @realhotgurlshit @lovedlover

#rio x black!OC #rio x reader #rio #goodgirls #rio fanfic #marleysfanfictions #marleywrites #good girls rio #rio good girls

110 notes · View notes

ahundredtimesover · 29 days

Note

WOOWEEE i’m still processing the new chapter 🥹 i just wanna stress that there’s multiple realities, guys. jk wanting to respect oc by upholding her wishes to grow, but also feeling abandoned by her choices despite him baring his emotions and desire to have her close by. then you have oc feeling the burden of her family ties/debt with the jeon family and wanting to find out who she is away from her current role, but she’s emotionally attached to jk and it’s blurring with her own goals. not only that, we see jk’s codependency on oc and how that could make her feel more chained down. ultimately she’s always needed by someone, but when has she put her needs first?

as mentioned, this is all so deeply rooted. they need to spend time away from each other to grow. jk is probably going to retreat/relapse to his past behaviors or maybe he’ll also be working on himself so that he can be a better partner for oc … my guts say former because ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i’m an angst enthusiast.

ALSO i see lots of ppl saying UGH JUST STAY AND DATE, and while yes … this is a fic, this is a slice of life too. yall realize it is super inappropriate to have a secret relationship with your boss? granted all of my bosses have been old balding dudes and not jk, still … it’s the principle 😭 oc and jk having this “separation” period is good (i’m sleeping on the highway) and needed for their character development. i’m sure theyre gunna meet again and the tension is gunna be so high and they will do the boom boom pow💥🤯😏 without feeling that guilt/weird power dynamic!! 🫶🏼

mimi, you’re so awesome and i love this fic so much. YOUR BRAIN IS SO BEAUTIFUL, MUAH!!!!!!! 💋 you did not disappoint with the make out scene … cuz man if they can get like that on their first kiss … WE ARE NOT READY (i am🤲🏼)!! pls take care of yourself as always and hope you have a lovely day

Hi, anon. I took a break from doing my readings bc this just... this just made me smile and it appeased me (as did a lot of other readers' asks and comments) 🥹🥹 especially considering the other asks claiming how the characters are so dumb and stupid, or that they can just date while OC's in the company or date after she resigns. I would like to copy-paste your first paragraph to everything now hahaha (bc oh god the immense joy of a writer when someone accurately says what I was trying to show is insane and that's what I'm feeling!) 😭😭

Like, you couldn't have said it any better. All those things you mentioned can co-exist, and part of the characters' respective stories is learning that those realities can indeed co-exist. Which is why they're as burdened by their choices as they are (and we'll see more of this in ch12). I'd like for you to park that second paragraph bc... I wrote this entire series with the plan for season 2 so whatever happens at the end of this season, know that more will happen and you kind of raised some points already. 👀👀

And with the boss/asst. thing - YES. The power dynamic goes beyond their roles bc their pasts are intertwined as well. Mr. Ri pointed it out to JK - did he want OC to feel indebted to him, too? There are just so many complications. It's always been about needing to feel free for OC. What that freedom means is something she has yet to explore. Even the question of happiness is something she's figuring out.

BUT THANK YOU, like, really. 🥹🥹 It's always tricky and draining to write super long stories like this bc I need to make sure that the characters and storylines are consistent, and knowing that what I intended comes across (most of the time) is truly worth all the stress of writing this one hahaha I hope you're well and I hope to hear from you and your wonderful mind again! 💕💕💕

#mimianswers #fic: iwyts #let me smooch u anon

23 notes · View notes

artbygem · 3 months

Text

Bunny | COD Fanfic | Prologue! 💀🖤

"You're my property now. Bunny."

I'm just your average girl really, though I just so happen to be friends with John Mactavish.. But not just friends, more like friends with benefits. It worked for us and that's all that mattered. I put in an application for a position that changed my life forever and I wouldn't have it any other way!

Bravo 3-6, going dark..

| DISCLAIMER | I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS, ONLY MY OC AND ANY ADDITIONAL STORY ARCS THAT AREN'T LINKED TO THE CALL OF DUTY FRANCHISE! |

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

Sergeant Gemma Miles AKA Widow. It still sounds weird to me. I wanted to make our country proud and join the SAS force. I admired one of their members and that was John Price. I guess we better slow down and not get ahead of ourselves here! I haven't even put an application through or even looked into it more despite wanting to change my career and do something good for the world.

"Is there really no way I can convince you to stay a little longer?" I pout as I try and beg the blue-eyed Scotsman standing in front of me. "I wish I could darlin' but I need to pack for deployment tomorrow. You will 'ave to wait to behave and wait a wee while before I can tend to her needs again." Johnny winks at me which I ain't going to lie, it does make my knees weak but then again it's probably her that's controlling my feelings after what we had just done. "But you know 7 months is a long time for her to wait" I continue to pout as I clench the bed sheets to my chest. I watch as John gathers his belongings before doing up his belt.

He chuckles before leaning across the bed, closing the gap between our faces. "You can do it, princess" His face lights up with his beautiful smile before leaning in more to kiss me. DTR? I don't even know myself, I mean I do. We're best friends but we're also friends with benefits because it works out better for us. No strings attached.

*COMING SOON!*

26 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

rebecca2002sworld

Amo il sesso e le donne

allproducts81

Untitled

freecssandgeeks

tired of leorio erasure

rodendylan

Teenage Wasteland

allproducts81

Untitled