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another-stark-sub · 3 years

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“Are you in love with him?” - Tony Stark Imagine

Notes: I wrote and editted this in two hours instead of going over my notes. Was gonna be spicy fluffy but it just turned into fluffy, and one of the lines/paragraphs (smth like that i dont remember how long that segment was) is based on/inspired by a fanfic on ao3 I bookmarked. I think it’s debt-free, but I could be wrong. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and I’m so sorry im not on here more oftennnnn

- - -

“Of course I am. He’s Tony Stark.” You sighed, a weight finally lifted off your chest. “Who isn’t in love with him?”

Bruce blinked a few times, the confusion evident on his face. “Then, why don’t you tell him?”

You scoffed. These geniuses think they know everything, but they couldn’t see what was glaringly obvious to you. “He’s Tony Stark.”

The perplexed expression didn’t disappear from your friend’s expression. So, you explained further, “It’s already a privilege, beyond that really, to be talking to you, to any Avenger. To work with any of you is an honor, and to be friends with you” -you laughed- “it shouldn’t even be possible for someone like me.”

“Don’t say that. You’re amazing, too.”

You tried to find any tick, any clue that he was lying. But Bruce seemed to really believe this. “I know I’m amazing.” You shrugged. “I’m great. I love and I care deeply, and I have a stable job. I have a place for myself, and I take care of myself.” You clicked your tongue. “However, you all, all you Avengers… Forget out of my league, more like off planet.

“And Tony? He said it himself. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Add superhero, figurehead, public figure, ex-CEO, and savior of the universe. Bruce, I have confidence in myself, but Tony is something else entirely. No one is worthy of him or his affections unless they’re a god or another Avenger.”

It was hard to keep up with the statistical analysis you were trying to run. The literal one on your hologram and the one keeping your view of Tony in check. So, defeated, you sighed and leaned back in your chair.

Bruce closed his own work and stood across the lab bench. “Weirdly enough, I’m sure none of us Avengers think that way.” After a few taps of his pen against his palm, he added, “Aren’t there fans making posts about you, too? Tony showed me the, uh, Instagram videos.”

You laughed. “Fan edits don’t make an Avenger. Saving the world does.”

He shrugged. “You help us save the world.”

“From inside Avengers Tower on a computer.” You took a deep breath. “Look, Bruce, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But, I’m not telling him.” You shrugged and brought your statistical analysis back up.

You knew your own worth. You were worthy of an amazing partner and person. Tony Stark, though, was easy beyond that. You had accepted it soon after you realized your own feelings, and while they haven’t dwindled, you knew it was for the best.

~ - ~

Tony had never resorted to this before. It was never a question of his ability to code. In the past, it was because he didn’t need a program or an AI to do it for him. He could always tell if someone was into him. He knew when Pepper was into him. The moment Rhodey gazed at him back in their MIT days. Every single reporter and heiress and model he slept with, he knew when their thoughts turned sexual or romantic.

You, though. With you, he couldn’t fucking tell, and he knew it was because of his own feelings. Tony felt intensely for people before. Pepper, Rhodey, that one reporter all those years ago. However, with you, it wasn’t just that fluttery feeling in his gut or the immediate smile he can’t seem to stop when he sees you. It was the comfort he felt when he heard your voice or the softness he could feel in his heart when he saw a picture of you.

It was like his entire life was full of panic, never resting, never stopping. But when you entered his life with a gentle smile and a quick wit, it felt like he could finally breathe.

It was addicting.

“Sir, I have the calculations.”

“Hit me.”

“Speech diagnostics of you and of Ms. (Y/l/n) are similar. Whenever you speak of her, 79.4% is positive and 18.8% is neutral. Ms. (Y/l/n) has 78.9% positive and 17.2% neutral dialogue regarding you. When she speaks of you, her heartrate increases by 4.6%, and similarly, yours increases by 4.1%. When speaking to each other, heartrate initially increases by 7%.”

Tony nodded. “How does this compare to other Avengers? I gush about Banner like a teenager.”

“Well, sir, while you and Ms. (Y/l/n) have high positive dialogue about other Avengers, all of them have at least a 10% decrease compared to each other. And heartrate varies depending on the topic of conversation.”

Tony snapped his fingers. “Am I excluding all non-super friends? Include any agents, co-workers. Pep isn’t an Avenger after all.”

Friday took two seconds and responded. “You and Ms. (Y/l/n) have a significant difference in speech diagnostics when talking about or to each other compared to any other Avenger, co-worker, and friend.”

When Tony remained quiet, Friday added, “Do you want me to repeat the results?”

“You don’t need to, Friday.”

“But you’re not doing anything with the new information. Would you like me to save these findings?”

“Friday,” Tony warned.

There was silence as the love-wrecked scientist pressed his fist between his brows. Data and cold hard facts said yes, but was it right?

“Sir?”

“Yes, Fri?”

“Would you like me to play examples for you?”

He blinked. “Examples?”

“Yes. Of you and her talking about each other positively.”

It was an invasion of privacy. Tony shouldn’t.

“Play examples.”

Before his rational mind could tell Friday no.

“Are you in love with him?”

Tony’s eyes widened. This was too private. It might not even be about him.”Friday-”

“Of course I am.”

“-stop playback.”

“He’s Tony Sta-”

“Playback stopped.”

Tony scrambled. “What? No, wait, go back. Play it.” Screw rational. You knew he was a narcissist. You wouldn’t expect him to hear that and stop.

“He’s Tony Stark. Who isn’t in love with him?”

“Then, why don’t you tell him?”

“... He’s Tony Stark.”

Tony started to fiddle with something on his desk. “What does that mean?”

Friday answered, “Dr. Banner asked her if she loved you, and she said yes. This means that she’s in love with you.”

Why did he program Friday like this? “I know that. I mean, those two lines. Why does me being Tony Stark stop her from saying something?” Was it the attention? Did you want some sort of normal life away from cameras and international gossip? Maybe it was the Avenging. Having a partner who was always out risking death wasn’t ideal.

Sure, you could be in love with him. But you couldn’t be with him.

“Maybe you should ask her.”

There were celebrities who were able to live normal lives. Some paid to have prosthetics for going outside of moved to a remote country to get out of the spotlight. He thrived off attention, but he could give that up. Avenging, he couldn’t give that up, but maybe he could cut back. Take a mission a month instead of one a week. Or maybe take more digital missions. He wasn’t just Iron Man after all. He was a genius, could hack into the Pentagon if he really wanted to.

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I could talk to her.”

~ - ~

The moment you put your bag down on your lab table, Tony said, “You’re gonna be mad.”

You narrowed your brows. “What did you do?” You pressed your palm to your chest. “Oh my god, Peter overwrote my data, didn’t he? Ugh, I know he said he’s great at managing holograms, but really, Tone, you should’ve given him a tutorial before giving him access.” You brought up your holograms to check your data and analysis.

“That’s not it.” Tony stood next to you as you looked through your files. “I did something that invaded your privacy.”

You tilted your head. Closing the holograms, you took a deep breath and slowly asked, “How?”

Tony flashed an embarrassed grin before sighing. “You’re gonna be shocked, too, so prepare yourself.”

You did not know where this was going at all. What horrible thing could Tony have done? Steeling yourself, you took a deep breath and nodded at him to continue.

Tony cleared his throat. “Usually, I can tell when someone has feelings for me. People are obvious about it, but you? You aren’t. So, I had Friday do some analysis on our speech patterns. Me, being in love with you, was one of my controls. You and your dialogue regarding me was the main variable.

“Long story short, I accessed some audio of you and Bruce talking, and you said that you loved me but could never tell me.” He glanced at you. “So that’s why I need to apologize.”

Your expression didn’t change. No, that wasn’t it. You, at first, looked confused. Now, there was just nothing. No expression. No wrinkled brow in anger of flushed cheeks in embarrassment. Nothing.

Tony blinked. “You can shout at me now. If you were confused about when to shout at me.”

You licked your lips before taking a deep breath. “Ok, that was a lot.” You pursed your lips then opened it. But, you couldn’t really think of anything to say. You didn’t even know how to feel. “So you know that I” -you pointed at yourself and then at him- “and that I didn’t wanna tell you.” You shook your head. “Wait, do you know why I didn’t want to tell you?”

A broken scoff left Tony’s lips. “Yeah. I’m a mess.”

It was your turn to scoff. “Wait, you’re a mess? That’s why you think I don’t want to tell you?”

“Among other reasons?”

Other reasons?

You crossed your arms. “Ok, what other reasons?”

Tony looked offended. Still, he listed, “I’m surrounded by cameras, and everyone wants some privacy. Can’t get it if you’re with me. Then, there’s the Iron Man of it all. I went into a wormhole with a nuke. That was also all over the news. Then, there’s the whole daddy issues thing. I’m working on it, but it takes a while-”

He rambled on and on, listing reason after reason, and with each one, you felt tears well up in your eyes. It was a weird mix of heartbreaking, confusing, and enraging. The emotions built up slowly with each word that left his mouth, overwhelming you to the point that you couldn’t even say how it happened.

But, as Tony paced and talked so horribly about himself, you somehow ended up in front of him with your hands on his cheeks.

You only realized it when Tony stopped talking and when his breath touched your lips. “What?” he asked.

You didn’t answer. You kissed him instead.

It was a hard press of your lips against his. It was short, and it wasn’t much.

But by the way Tony gripped the back of your neck and pulled you back for another kiss, you’d think it was his first kiss. You knew it wasn’t. Not just because you knew he had kissed all sorts of people before you, but because he somehow knew how to make you gasp and melt into him.

While one hand kept you steady, the other trailed down your back and pulled you closer to him. His lips moved fluidly against yours, pushing and pulling, and everytime he moved back, you chased his lips to continue the kiss, because the softness, the passion, the fact it was finally happening, was all too good. You didn’t want it to stop.

Your hands started to move. For someone so rich, his t-shirt was rough when you twisted it between your fingers and pulled it to you. Slowly, you trailed your fingers along the side of his neck. You rubbed your thumb along his pulse point, a reminder that this was indeed real. You were kissing Tony Stark, and- He was pulling away again.

Desperate, you leaned forward, reached around to hold onto his shoulder, and kissed the side of his neck.

He let out a breathy laugh, and before you could suck on his skin, his stubble scratched your cheek.

You looked up at him and giggled when his nose bumped into yours. When your giggles turned into a smile, he kissed you again, a soft and short kiss, before leaning his forehead against yours.

His thumbs rubbed circles into your waist as you lightly scratched the back of his neck. He didn’t say anything. In fact, he seemed busy gazing at you.

“Speechless, Stark?” you teased.

He laughed. For a few seconds, he just gazed at you, seeming to prove your point. Tony’s hand began to wander, from stroking your cheek to pushing back your hair. “More confused.”

Remembering why you interrupted him, you brought your hands to his cheeks again and held him there so he couldn’t look away from you. “You are amazing, Tony. That’s the reason I didn’t want to tell you.” You shrugged. “You’re too good for me.”

His fidgeting stopped. “Well, that’s not true.”

“Tony, you’re an Avenger.”

“Technically, you are also an Avenger.”

“You’re a genius.”

“Who can’t cook scrambled eggs.”

“You literally saved the universe.”

“After producing weapons of mass destruction for decades.”

You glared at him.

He glared back. Then, he fought back. “I don’t plan on retiring.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.”

“I have severe PTSD, anxiety, maybe ADHD, all mixed with trauma galore.”

“And I will learn to help you.”

“I couldn’t give you a normal life.”

“I’d rather have you anyway.”

He opened his mouth, but you instead told him, “I’d rather have you than anything. As long as, well, for as long as you’ll have me.”

He raised his eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Positive.”

Tony shook his head with a smile. “Cause, I’d rather have you for, well, how does til you get tired of me sound?”

You laughed. “Won’t happen. But, sure.” You kissed him again.You would’ve kept going, but there was something to settle first. “By the way, Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Is Friday recording right now?”

“Friday records everything. It’s in the contract.”

Friday added, “I record everything that happens in the tower.”

“Ok.” You could work with that. “I’ll forgive you for the invasion of privacy.”

Tony beamed, and you couldn’t help your own smile when he did. Still, you continued, “On one condition.” Your own smile turned devious. “I want evidence that Star Spangled Banner took my ice cream.”

Tony burst out laughing. He kissed you again, a deep kiss, and when he was done, he mumbled, “God, I love you,” against your lips.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark imagine #tony stark oneshot #tony stark #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #mcu oneshot #tony stark fluff #im so sorry im not on here oftennnnnnnnnnnn #dentla schools too busy and i dont wike it #thats not true i do like it its just busy and stressful and doesnt give me time to write #and smut takes me longer to write than fluff #so i can only write fluff rnnnnnn #anyway i miss you all #love you all #hope the universe treats you welllll

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years

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Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

#ask #my terrible headcanons #elros #elrond #maglor #elwing #earendil #feanorians #niphredilien #yellow feathered faerie #putting your old url in the tags for archival purposes #post nyanyannya askbox clearout #ironically it turned out almost as long as the songfic that clogged up my askbox in the first place #and it is DONE #fuck this took forever to write #stayed up late just to get it out the door so i don't have to think about it any more #this is a long ramble and i'm pretty sure the end is just me repeating myself ad nausem sorry #i'll admit to a certain pro-feanorian bias in my interpretation #but i also don't want elros and elrond to just. live in a neverending horrorshow for decades #the silm's cruel enough we don't need that #narratively i feel like elrond being All Of The Elves is a good mirror for elros being All Of The Humans #but it didn't really fit the angle i was going for #bleck #let's see how many followers i lose for this

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1kook · 4 years

Text

youtube & use lube

part 7 of my netflix and chill collection!

summary: You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. warnings: smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous: domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3 word count: 8.7k

notes: finally…. 7 parts later and we get ~✨💓sub kook💓✨~ this was honestly my fave to write I think because I was obSESSEDDD with his softness and yn leading hehe /.\ also yeah we time jumped 6 months bc uhmmm 😎 story progression also here’s [ THE KOOK U SHOULD IMAGINE FOR THIS 😡 ] also if see a typo ummm no u didn't .

let me know what u think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

Despite what past experiences may dictate, Jungkook’s body is actually quite resilient. It’s due in part to his obnoxiously healthy lifestyle; avocado breakfasts, gym rat tendencies, and a normal person’s circadian rhythm (you could never relate). He lives the life health professionals can only dream of writing down in their notes, so careful of his well-being that it’s almost annoying. Of all the habits you help him break, the rituals he sometimes forgets, his health is never one and it’s actually one he ropes you into quite often. The ladder accident last summer had truly been an odd occurrence, and for a while after, you doubt anything else will ever happen to him.

And then winter comes.

Now, Jungkook, with all his superior bodily systems and strict lifestyle, is still not immune to the common cold. So when he comes down with a stuffy nose, a saggy frame, you’re not too surprised. It’s right after New Year’s, which you had spent it at one of Taehyung’s classic overcrowded parties this year, shivering on a rooftop as he kissed you silly under the fireworks, so one of you was bound to get sick. And you were sick for Halloween, so it’s only the universe’s way of leveling the playing field when he gets sick after New Years.

What does surprise you is when he doesn’t bounce back right away. Usually, Jungkook’s high caliber immune system has him in tip top shape about two days later. But this time around, it takes a while. In fact, it takes longer than usual, and you don’t realize until you’re coming over on a Friday night, met with an unusual silence at the Jeon household.

As you slowly grew accustomed to your life out of school, you and Jungkook accepted that you didn’t really have time to be glued to each other’s hips at all hours of the day. It was only natural that sometimes you had too much work, were too tired, or were just not in the mood to visit each other. That was fine, and you’ve come to quite appreciate this new routine, because it only made your heart flutter faster than before when you did see him next. You don’t have to see each other everyday, and that was fine; it was part of growing up together (and growing old together, your sappy heart says).

But today, this separation ends up being your downfall. Jungkook first showed signs of a cold on Monday, and now it was Friday and you hadn’t heard from him in two days. You’re beginning to suspect he’s come down with something severe— maybe that strain of the flu that he forgot to get vaccinated for this year —or even worse, dead.

Luckily, Jungkook isn’t dead, just sadly slumped across the end of his bed, nose a bright red and hair a tangled mess. “Oh no,” you frown, but there’s not an ounce of distress in your voice, because boy, was he cute.

He groans at the sight of you. “Don’t look at me,” he whimpers, hands fisting the sheets. “I’m ugly.”

You bite down on a smile, hang your bag on the hook behind his bedroom door. He’s barely making an effort to stay on the bed, clinging to the side with such powerless hands. “Absolutely hideous,” you play along, arms wrapping around his middle. Registering your touch, your support, he immediately releases what little grip he had and almost sends the two of you tumbling to the ground. “My poor baby,” you croon, manhandling him back into the comfort of his sheets.

Perhaps the reason you believed Jungkook was so immune was because, well, he never let you see him sick.

He was picky about his presentation to the world, always wanting to show his best side. And well, you were in that world. Hell, you were probably the main person he wanted to show off for (not to toot your own horn), so he avidly avoided showing you his unpleasant sides. Even in college, when you had been practically stuck to his side, he had always made a big deal of pushing you away when he was sick, calling off dates and hiding away at his house.

You sort of knew why. Namjoon had told you once that Jungkook when drunk was the equivalent of a needy, whiny baby. You could attest to that because wine drunk Jungkook and vodka drunk Jungkook were quite the experiences to haul home. And apparently Jungkook when sick was more or less the same. He was all doe eyes and pouty lips, magnified by his weakened appearance. He was adorable.

He’s wearing a lot of layers, but it’s still winter so you don’t think too much of it. Dark long sleeve sweatshirt, the front tucked into some cute brown and black checkered pants. You see it as just some casual at home attire until you reach for his covers, hand brushing his hair from his face, only to find it ice cold.

“Oh, you’re freezing, honey,” you frown, for real this time. Jungkook whimpers, snuggles into the sheets you pull up to his chin. He dozes off soon after, pouty lips chapped to hell and back. You reach for your chapstick, deciding to get one good use of it on your own lips before contaminating it with Jungkook’s sick germs. Even in his sleep he’s a good boy, rolling his lips together after you’ve applied it on him.

With Jungkook knocked out, you pad back downstairs and into his kitchen. You can more or less infer that he’s come down with something a little more intense than a cold. His skin was cold, and his nose was runny, but, oddly enough, he wasn’t sweating. You decide to consult a professional.

“The little gremlin is sick?” Doyeon repeats, a comforting buzz in your ear as you get to work making Jungkook your famous Get Better Soon Soup, idly waiting for the water to boil over. You confirm. Doyeon, legend that she was, accidentally sat an entire physiology class one semester (and passed), so this is the closest you’ll get to a doctor friend. “Hm,” she says, “what’re his symptoms?”

You press your phone between your ear and shoulder, clattering around Jungkook’s kitchen for ingredients. “Runny nose and colder than your ass that one time you passed out in the snow,” you supply. “Oh, but not sweating.”

Doyeon hums over the line, tells you to give her a second, and disappears. “WebMD is saying fever, but you said he’s not sweating?” You confirm again. “Throw him in front of the heater and make him sweat then. He has to burn it out somehow.”

“I can’t do that,” you sigh, pausing when you hear some vague sound from around the house. It’s not Jungkook, so you return to your call. Anyway, Jungkook’s house is, like, perfect. Always warm when need be and always cold as well. You don’t even think he knows what a space heater is. “He’s sick sick. Like, can barely hold himself up sick.”

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

Anyway, Jungkook probably has a fever, except it’s weird because he’s not sweating it out. He wakes up about an hour later, but this time he’s more self aware. He eats his soup and takes the medicine you offer him. Afterwards, he can’t go back to sleep so he huffily asks for his iPad and begins watching some weirdly specific YouTube videos you don’t think you’ve ever seen him watch before.

You have absolutely no idea what he’s watching, some niche videos of guys in Singapore turning random forest areas into underwater pools? You don’t know. Jungkook seems interested, though, for all of ten minutes until he falls asleep again.

He’s still cold, poor baby, nose like an ice cube that just won’t melt. You find a heating pad you left over in his closet and place it on his chest. Your thought process is that if his heart, the source of all energy, was warm, then certainly the rest of him will warm up soon enough. Yeah, you missed the last three seasons of Grey’s Anatomy; you were a little rusty.

So with Jungkook fast asleep and nothing else to do, you assume the age-old, patriarchal task of cleaning around the house.

His house was usually neat and tidy, mostly as a result of Jungkook’s virgo manifestations, but even those varied. His living room tended to be spotless, but his personal office was a different story. But with him having been out of it this past week, the entire house is littered in tiny garbage that would make Normal Jungkook burst a blood vessel.

There’s a pile of Reese’s wrappers in the downstairs bathroom, on the sink next to his toothbrush. The sight makes you sad, because your poor boy must have been struggling if he was eating candy in the bathroom, where he… uses the bathroom. And then that thought makes you even sadder, thinking back to all the times he was sick and alone, fending for himself out of his weird embarrassment of showing normal body functions.

You had thought he was cute when you first arrived— he still was —but he was also so weak and frail, bulky muscles rendered useless by whatever bacteria was attacking his body, making him sleepy and in pain for god knows how long. With a resolute nod, you sweep all the wrappers into the trash and decide to do your very best at helping Jungkook get through this sickness and bounce back better than ever.

Before leaving his bathroom, you ransack his cabinets, deciding he probably keeps most of his antibiotics here. It’s a spot you never really snoop around, because Jungkook always keeps a fully stocked basket in his closet filled with your typical necessities— from conditioner to pads to nail polish remover, he kept it all. And furthermore, you always tended to use his upstairs bathroom anyway, so that’s where your toothbrush and the like were kept. There was really no need for you to ever look through the downstairs bathroom’s cabinet. So the downstairs bathroom cabinet is practically the other side of the world to you, a culture shock so strong it has you plopping down in front of it to thoroughly sift through.

He’s got a disgusting amount of hair products, none of which you actually think you’ve ever seen him use, and a maniacal amount of tooth stuff. Now, you were quite possibly the biggest proponent for dental care, but this was ridiculous. Four packs of floss on reserve, and about three cases of those dental picks. A whole family pack of toothbrushes and one of those cute little cases for his retainer you’ve seen a few times.

So overwhelmed with his ungodly stash of dental hygiene utilities, you almost miss the pretty pink tube hidden in the very back corner.

You’re thinking it’s some makeup primer you left before that he mistook for moisturizer, probably dumped it with all his other things, only to find out you are very, very wrong.

Sensation Warming Lubricant: NOW! in strawberry flavor

You blink.

Lubricant? Jungkook was using lubricant? Strawberry, sensation warming lubricant?!

Somewhere in your mind you had convinced yourself that Jungkook was a simple man, a lotion at his bedside drawer type of man. He had you for the last one and half year, and you two fucked like rabbits, so you hardly doubt he was jacking it alone these days. And even if he was, why on earth was he so specific about the type of lube he uses?

You turn the bottle around, eyes scanning for an expiration date or something of the like, only to find that the copyright symbol was under this current year. The year that had just started, like, two weeks ago.

Oh, so this was new.

You turn it over, eyes scanning over the warnings like it’ll tell you something about your boyfriend you don’t know yet, some other hidden secret that he’s maybe held from you. Granted, owning lube isn’t really a big deal, but the fact he’s got it so hidden away (not really, it was casually sitting beside his sunscreen) was definitely something to zero in on.

Strawberry flavored, you read again, warming, stimulating, edible? Forget his weirdly extensive floss collection, you had stumbled upon something amazing in here, the goddamn Hope Diamond among snooping girlfriend finds. You’ll confront him about this later, you decide, when he’s back to normal and not whiningly calling your name from upstairs. You pocket it for now, tucking it into your cardigan pockets for said later interrogation, and bound up the stairs to him again.

He’s sitting up in bed like a very angry and confused toddler, brows furrowed sharply like he’s mad. Actually, he just can’t see, the light from the hallway blinding him, so you shut the door and flick on his bedside lamp for him instead. “Hi, honey,” you coo, sitting down on the edge beside him. He’s still waking up, leaning a little too heavily into your palm when you cup his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible,” he rasps out, but he’s definitely looking better than before. You don’t know if you imagine it, but there’s this slowly accumulating sweat that forms along the base of his neck. “Please don’t leave again,” he says softly, droopy eyes glassy.

Something shoots straight to your heart— an arrow from Cupid himself! —that makes you stroke his cheek tenderly until his eyelids are fluttering shut again. “I won’t,” you promise, feeling around for his iPad. He doesn’t seem like he’ll fall back asleep, sitting up with more strength than he had that morning.

You end up climbing behind him, let him be the little spoon you know he secretly craves to be, as he watches his weird YouTube videos again. His body is so warm against yours, but his skin is still so cold. If what Doyeon had said was true, it’s no wonder he’s kept the same sickness all week. The rhythmic sound of machetes hacking at the earth and water trickling through bamboo pipes grows on you, makes you fall into a sense of comfort behind him, arms tracing circles over his chest.

It’s a mindless habit, one you actually do a lot. Most of the time, it’s when he’s at his desk and stressed out, your masseuse hands making an appearance to soothe the muscles in his neck and chest from being hunched over for so long. Even now, your fingers unconsciously press into the fabric over his pecks, tickle up his sternum until he’s melting against you.

It takes one quiet whimper from him to let you know exactly how he’s feeling. “Everything alright?” you inquire, halting your movements over his chest. Jungkook nods shakily, head lolling forward. The nape of his neck calls to you, whispers for a kiss that you tenderly bestow upon it. It makes Jungkook jolt, another pretty sound leaving his lips at the press of your warm lips against his sensitive neck.

“No more,” he mumbles, rolls his head around until it’s resting against your shoulder, giving you a clear view down his chest. You slide your hands back up from where they’d gone stiff just around his ribs, let them palm over his pecs. Jungkook’s hips buck, a minuscule movement you almost miss.

His heart thunders like the inside of a horse race track beneath your palm, breath picking up just from the simple motion of your hands on his chest. It’s on the fourth circle around his pecs that you feel your pinky briefly catch on something. “Poor thing,” you sigh, running the pad of your pointer finger over the hardened nipple that peaks beneath his sweatshirt. “Is this what was bothering you?”

A shaky exhale in response, hands tightly clutching at his iPad and beloved YouTube video genre. “N-No,” he denies, but you chance a peak at his face, where his lips are bitten a rosy pink color, its slightly muted sister rushing down his cheeks, over his neck.

You press the lightest of kisses to the side of his neck, and he shivers. “Need me to take care of you?” you purr, trail your hands down his chest towards where the hem of his sweater sits. You run your finger over it twice, before moving to slip your hand beneath. Your fingers brush along his abs, contracted tightly at your touch, and slowly make their way back up his chest.

Fingers find his pebbled nipples, a gasp escaping his lips. “Does this feel good?” you ask softly, pinching the swollen nubs between your fingers. Jungkook groans, body arching just the slightest as you rub his nipples, tug and twist them until he’s a whining mess. “Need you to tell me, honey,” you encourage, lips ghosting over his neck.

The second kiss has him flinching as well, head rapidly turning the other way as you slowly kiss over his neck. “___, please,” he pants, knuckles pale on the sides of the iPad. You're afraid it’ll snap, if not from his grip then from the way he pushes at it, like he’s breaking a wooden board over his knee. It’s still on YouTube, playing another video from the same collection, volume competing with Jungkook’s tiny sounds.

Pressing your lips to his neck, you kiss along it slowly, reveling in the lovely noises that Jungkook produces the more you rub his nipples, lower body squirming animatedly before you. Your kisses grow wet for a short period, suck purple blossoms across his skin until Jungkook is quivering like a leaf. “E-Enough,” he begs, voice a wobbly mess that is so light and airy.

You grin, giving his rockhard nipples one last flick before sliding your hands down his chest, over his stomach to toy with the elastic of his pants. He inhales sharply, iPad nearly snapped in half mid video. Ready to play with him some more (and slightly afraid for the future of his tablet), you reach out a hand to move it away, set it off to the side.

But Jungkook doesn’t release it. In fact, he clings to the damn piece of tech tighter than before. “Hmm?” you murmur, bottom lip brushing against his neck once more. “Not letting go, sweetheart?”

He shakes his head, soft crown of curls bouncing from the movement. “Can’t, can’t,” he shivers. His knees shift back and forth, move between being casually spread and flush together. Like he’s hiding something, using the iPad and the videos on screen as cover. You tug at his wrist and Jungkook shakes his head again.

You change tactics, hand sliding around his wrist instead. The other travels up, up, up, comes curling around the base of his neck. Jungkook whimpers, tilts his head back for you cutely at the first brush of your fingers against his Adam’s apple. “Thought you were my good boy?” you ask, eyes zeroed in on the tremble of his lower lip.

Jungkook exhales shakily, a rather torn expression crossing his features. “I am,” he insists, fingers still tight “I am your good boy.”

You smile, stroking the front of his neck softly as you lean down to press a kiss against his cheek. “You are, aren’t you?” He whimpers. “Then let go, honey,” you murmur, hand on his wrist giving another experimental tug. Still, his grip remains solid. “Jungkook,” you snap, “let go.”

“Y-You’ll laugh,” he cries, yet his grip slowly weakens. It’s with a swift tug that the iPad tumbles to his side, presses against his hip, and shows you the raging hard-on that stirs beneath the front of his cotton pants. Pressed nearly beside your ear, Jungkook shivers.

Ever so slowly, your hands return to their place around his waist. “Why would I laugh, sweetheart?” you mumble, marveling at the way his cock twitches and jumps beneath his pants before you can even touch it. His shirt is hiked up just above his abs, your hands tenderly stroking over the skin beneath his navel, but it’s got Jungkook writhing. “Hips up for me,” you instruct.

He shakes even when he pushes himself up, knees wobbling as you slip your hands beneath his waistband and tug them down his thighs. Afterwards, his legs flop forward flatly, spread out with his beautiful swollen cock on display against his hip.

You trap it at the base and Jungkook mewls, hands fisting the sheets now that his beloved iPad has been snatched away. It’s still playing his videos, interrupting his saccharine moans with corny ads every few minutes. A hand snaps up to join, opposite of yours, until your fingers are entwined around his dick. How romantic, you think, discreetly rolling your hips back against the mattress. “Gonna help me make you cum?” you ask instead, give him a light squeeze that makes him jolt.

“Uh huh,” he responds, feathery.

You reward him with a kiss to his cheek, reaching up to brush away the hair that’s begun sticking to his forehead. In the very back of your head you recognize this as being good for his fever, but the rest of you is more concerned with the pretty pout on his lips. “Hold tight for me,” you smile, releasing his cock to press your finger against the very tip of his cock where a pearly drop of precum has begun forming. “So pretty, Jungkookie,” you praise, teasing the length of your finger over the slit on his head. It has that juicy droplet coating your finger, gliding seamlessly over and over again.

The simple touch makes him buck, has him blindly wrapping an arm around your bent knee that was pressed to his side this whole time. He squeezes around you rather weakly, the majority of his strength going to holding his cock tightly like you’d instructed. He’s such a good boy for you, trying his absolute best, even when you’re very obviously overwhelming him.

You roll the flat side of your finger over him, his mushroom tip slowly growing more and more slick as he produces more precum. It’s shiny, fits perfectly between your clasped fingers when you squeeze around his head. Jungkook’s breath turns labored.

He’s always so well kept down there, skin so smooth and free of hairs, and you know he does it because he wants to impress you. “So pretty, baby,” you hum, acknowledging his efforts. Your praise makes Jungkook moan, suddenly fucking up into his hand. It’s accidental, because he hisses at the drag of his dry palm around his relatively dry dick immediately.

“Hurts, hurts,” he whimpers prettily, lower lip caught between his teeth.

You frown, slide your wet fingers down the base of his cock until they’re wrapping around his and Jungkook’s little gasps even out. “I’m sorry, baby, you gotta be patie—“

Something presses against your hip, something distinctly hard that you had hastily picked up from his bathroom cabinet earlier, and a whole new door opens before your eyes. “Hold still for me,” you tell him quickly as you release your grip around his cock. Jungkook wails at the separation, but you’re more concerned with wrestling the tube out of your pocket with one hand. It’s heavy in your palm, turning over until that big fat label on front comes into view again.

Jungkook explodes at the sight. “Wh— Where did you find that?” he stammers, cheeks ablaze. “I-I don’t know where that came fro—“

You ignore him, hold the bottle of lubricant over his stomach as you uncap it, a gooey pink substance spilling over into your hands the moment the lid pops off. Jungkook is still rambling away about the origins of the bottle, as if you care. You set the bottle on his tummy, the cold plastic makes him shiver. But you know what’s not cold? The warming lube in your hands that only takes three rubs of your palms to activate.

You latch down like a crazed animal around his cock. With both your hands fighting to grip at his cock, you’re pressed closer against Jungkook, lips against the shell of his ear.

The initial touch makes him sob, back arching and legs kicking at the sheets piled at the foot of the bed as your slick hands track the lube over his dick. “No!” he cries, hands wildly reaching out to grab whatever he can as you slowly get to work pulling him off. “I-I can’t, __, I can’t.”

“You can,” you coo, watching the translucent pink substance coat his cock, join his sticky precum.

Maybe you get overexcited in your efforts, forget Jungkook is the way he is right now because he was still a little weak from his fever, but you go crazy on stroking his cock. One hand lingers around the base, squeezing and rolling over his balls, palm pressing against the hardened sac and squeezing there too. The other focuses at the tip, does most of the actual stroking over his cock. His head is leaking precum now, every stroke and squeeze making him shudder and push out another drop, until it’s mixing with the lube to form a sticky sweet substance that you wanna lick at so bad.

So you do.

You release one hand to curiously bring it up to your face, turning it over and around as you examine the stickiness on your fingers, the fat drop that unintentionally drips onto the front of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. He sobs at the sight of your lips around your fingers, squirms and bucks into the hand still on his cock until he’s embarrassingly coming. “I’m sorry,” he wails, hands fisting the sheets, fucking into your hand like a virgin. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to.”

You draw your hand away, watching in slow motion the cum that just spurted from his cock come dribbling down the slowly softening length now. “Oh, sweetheart,” you croon, hands on his tummy. The bottle of lube slips to the side, meets the still playing iPad at his hip. It’s sticky and gross to touch him like this, especially when you know Jungkook hates being unnecessarily dirty, but you can’t stop yourself from softly caressing him, soothe him after such a hard-hitting orgasm.

Honestly you had thought he would hold up a little more, let you get in a few more strokes, but he must’ve been more sensitive than you thought. “I’m sorry,” he cries again, head lolling to the side to meet your gaze with watery eyes.

You tilt his head to the side, angle him just right for you to bestow your first kiss of the night against his little pout. Jungkook hiccups, melts against you as you slowly guide him through the kiss. He’s sloppy and shy, moves nothing like your normal Jungkook, and that fact alone has you slipping your tongue past his lips. He doesn’t fight back, just lets you play with him and sighs all delicately against your mouth.

There’s something about this, his soft and submissive attitude, that has you pulling away to look at him. Big brown eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, and plush lips that call your name. And yet.

“Open,” you murmur, hypnotized by the way that tiny mouth moves.

“Huh?” Jungkook flushes, but he’s so good, he’s your good boy, and does so anyway. Lower lip quivers as he parts his lips, stuttering exhales creeping through as you purse your lips, let the saliva collect on your mouth, before rudely spitting into his. He flinches, whimpers softly, and swallows. He looks at you with these expectant eyes, like he wants to hear how much of a good boy he is, so you do exactly that.

You brush his bangs away lovingly. “Aren’t you just so good for me,” you purr, revel in the way his eyes flutter shut at your touch, like you could never hurt him, and you won’t.

As sweet as the moment is, there’s a raging fire in your core begging to be stroked, and your hyperfixation on Jungkook’s mouth lets you know there’s only one way to chase the feeling. “Up,” you tell Jungkook, who whimpers sadly when you finally escape from behind him.

But you don’t get too far, settling beside him on the bed until you’re looking at the damage you’ve caused from the front. His skin is sticky in some places, pink sheen of the lube decorating him from your incessant touching. Pants around his thighs, shirt against his chest. His face is flushed, all the way down to his chest and up to his ears, so rosy and pink all for you. He shies away under your gaze, drops his head to his chin bashfully.

You grin, shuffle forward to turn those pretty eyes back towards you. “Messy little thing,” you tease, slotting your mouths together again. Jungkook moans this time, lazily kissing you back. His lips move in slow motion, trembling hands reaching for your face to cup, your name falling from his lips when you pull away slightly. “Need you to help me out now,” you murmur, hand on his jaw. “Can you do that, honey?” Jungkook nods hurriedly, eyes foggy and on your mouth. “Lay back.”

He does so, rushes to lay against the pillows until he’s flat on his back. You get to work on your clothes, shed your cardigan and languidly tug your top over your head in the way you know makes your breasts bounce. Beneath you, Jungkook whines at the sight. “You too,” you remind him, wiggling out of your jeans. At your instruction, he begins fumbling with his clothes, pants and underwear haphazardly thrown over the edge of the bed.

By the time you’re naked, you’re met with a rather amusing sight.

In his haste to take his clothing off, Jungkook seems to have gotten himself tangled in his long sleeves, shirt awkwardly bunched up around his wrists and twisted over some. You chuckle. “Help please,” he asks so politely, shaking his arms back and forth above his head. But you’re genuinely confused as to what he did, because one of the sleeves wraps around the other, pins the bulk of the fabric to his skin, and then the other wraps around that. A mess you don’t bother dissecting, simply climbing over him. He complains, of course, soft huffs you wave off.

“Don’t need them anyway,” you shrug, can’t help the lovesick look you send him when you brush his hair away for the umpteenth time. Jungkook leans into the touch sweetly, rosy cheek pressed against your palm. “Lemme see your pretty little tongue,” you order, pussy clenching when he does as told and rolls his tongue out for you, tip pressed against his bottom lip. “Good boy.”

A soft whimper, and then you’re shuffling over him, pretty doe eyes watching with amazement when you finally hover over his face. “For me?” he asks so softly, so sweetly.

It’s a question you’ve heard him utter countless times before in similar settings, always with a cocky grin and mean eyes, ready to send you to hell and back with his tongue or his cock. But it’s different now, big shiny eyes looking at you like you’re the greatest thing to ever happen in his life, so pliant and demure beneath your touch like he lived to serve you.

“All for you,” you assure him, get comfortable, and slowly lower your pussy over his face. His eyes flutter shut immediately, pink tongue ready for you by the time your dripping cunt nears his face.

You can’t help the moan that tears itself from your throat, a soft cry as he begins lapping against your folds. He’s so tender, so careful. It drives you crazy. Hands above his head squirming as you slowly grind your pussy over his face, more mindful than usual because he was so delicate tonight, like a baby bird that shivers with the simplest touch.

His tongue is smooth, circles around your clit. He nudges your bundle of nerves back and forth a few times, sends an initial wave of tingles down your spine, before taking it between puckered lips. His slurps it into his mouth, where it’s so hot and wet, it makes your grind stutter. “Oh,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “P-Perfect,” you mumble.

The praise makes his features twist up cutely, mouth desperate to get more out of you. “You like that?” you gasp, holding his head still as he runs his tongue along your folds. Jungkook nods, eyes glazed over as he messily begins eating you out. “Like when I tell you you’re a good boy, Jungkookie?”

He lets out a broken whine, the vibrations shooting up your spine and making you shiver. Tongue pressed in at your entrance, prods gently like it’s his first time (it’s not) and he’s gauging your reactions. “Oh baby,” you shudder, fingers tightening in his curls.

He looks like an angel beneath you like this, halo of curls artfully splayed across the sheets, arms knotted above his head. Big pretty eyes that make you want to lay down and be his bitch instead, their power just so strong even when he’s whining and whimpering against your pussy like this. His tongue dips into your cunt, makes you buck against him by accident. “I’m sorry, angel,” you breathe, so caught up in your thoughts that the name just slips. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks flush a pretty pink, arms tug at their makeshift restraints. But his brain is scattered, torn between releasing himself, eating you out, and being shy.

He settles soon enough, ends up just sticking his tongue out flat for you to grind against, using the grip in his curls to drag your pussy over his face. His scalp feels warm, sweat clinging to his hairline. He sighs endearingly against you, and it’s that final puff of warm air against your folds that has you coming, cum dripping over his lips and chin sinfully.

When you finish, you quickly get off of him, lay down beside him. Jungkook is panting softly, tongue peeking out to taste the cum that splattered against the corner of his lips. “You were so good for me,” you praise, idly dragging your finger across his skin, collecting your cum on the tip.

Jungkook looks at you with a heavy gaze, knotted wrists slowly returning to rest over his abdomen. “Can you… Can you call me that again?” he asks hesitantly, so shy and polite.

“Hm?” you ask. “Angel?” His lips part, an awfully aroused look crossing his features. You smile, press your cum loaded finger against his lips and he opens, sucks around your finger and moans. “My pretty little angel,” you purr, slowly thrusting your finger in and out of his mouth. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning over to kiss him again, swallowing his cries in your desperate need to taste yourself on his tongue. Jungkook is more active this time around, daringly challenging your tongue with his before ultimately giving up, languidly following the pace you set for the kiss. You pull off with a pop, leave him dazed and trailing after your mouth cutely.

You pat his cheek once, offer him a tender smile, before moving to get up and clean up. Jungkook whines at your departure, and it’s only once you’ve sat up that you realize why.

Half hard cock at his hip, fattening slowly but surely. Instantly, it’s like the post-orgasm fatigue is yanked away, pussy throbbing at the sight of your angel and his cock, swelling from eating you out and kissing. He was too good to be true.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you sigh dramatically, shifting onto your knees at his hip to look at him. Something pokes your leg; it’s the stupid iPad playing his dorky YouTube videos that you click off and chuck to the other side of the bed. You had had enough of that by now.

He’s not at full mast yet, and he’s not getting there quick enough for your liking. So you take matters into your own hands. (Besides, what was stopping you tonight? Certainly not this soft, pliant Jungkook.)

Kneeling between his legs, you reach for the forgotten bottle of lube, squirt a fat glob into your hands, then decide that isn’t enough and squirt it directly onto your chest. Jungkook watches with wide eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “What— What’re you doing?” he stammers, can’t even sit up with his hands held together. “__, y-you don’t have—“

Squeezing your breasts together, you slip his cock between the crevice, watch as his angry head comes out on the other side so easily, so slippery. Oh, this was gonna be post-work, shower-time, spank bank material for months.

Jungkook sobs, loud and unfiltered at the sight, expression torn as he watches you slowly work your tightened breasts down his quickly hardening member. “T-Too much, too much,” he cries, squirming and bucking beneath you. “I-I’ll come—”

“Don’t,” you snap, stilling your moments to flick your eyes back to him. His head is rolled back, jaw strained, but when he manages to lift it up and look down at you, there’s tears that streak his cute face, trails that glisten when the lowlight of the lamp hits him just right. “Don’t fucking come yet, Jungkook.”

He sniffles weakly, more tears spilling from his eyes. “But I— it feels,” he blubbers, knotted hands reaching down for the base of his cock. You slap it away. “___, please,” he wails, face flushed from all his conflicting emotions.

Ignoring his cries, you get back to work, moving your upper body to and fro to simulate the thrusting motion he is too weak to do himself. He whimpers pitifully, more tears leaving his eyes when you lean down and spit on the head of his cock when it emerges next, make it join the rest of the ungodly fluids painting your chest. Honestly, you’re certain it’s that damned strawberry flavored, sensation warming, edible lube that makes this experience so enjoyable, so mind-blowing.

Jungkook seems to agree, stuttering out a messy whine. “Feels weird,” he snivels, only to be cut off when you release him from in between your tits. Immediately, he begins lamenting the loss.

Slowly, you ease him back in. You’re beginning to understand the intensity of that damned warming lube, because with each glide of his cock between your breasts, it’s like a tingle of nerves sparks within you, insides folding in on themselves as they channel all their energy to that one area of hastily spread lube. It feels so good and wet and messy, Jungkook’s whiny sniffles only fueling the experience. His cock twitches dangerously, and you flash him a glare. “Jungkook,” you warn.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, thrashing back and forth as if that makes it any easier. “I just— I want,” he chokes, hips bucking into the suction you’ve created between your boobs. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out, let his tip brush against it on the next thrust. Jungkook curses, a feral groan escaping his lips. “Wanna fuck,” he seethes, “now.”

It’s but a slight peek into his regular personality, his normal mannerisms. But something about it now annoys you. In fact, it pisses you off, seeing him be so complacent and sweet just to try and overthrow you at the last second. And it’s with this same train of thought that you release him, climb over him like a crazed sex demon, and press your hand to his throat.

“You're supposed to be good,” you spit, scowl turned on him and it immediately has Jungkook drawing back with his tail tucked, falling into line as he should. “You’re supposed to be my angel tonight, remember?”

Jungkook nods, big round eyes looking at you like you’re insane, but the cock that presses against your ass tells you that he likes it. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, shrinking back into the mattress. Sticky hands around his throat, probably make him warm and tingly, but all you can think about is those pretty eyes. Sensing your wavering emotions, he takes advantage by tilting his chin forward for you cutely, pink lips trembling as he silently asks for a kiss.

You release him.

“Stupid angel,” you huff, mouth against his. “Gonna make me mad if you don’t act right,” you remind him, pushing his sweaty curls away from his face. He whimpers against your mouth, let’s you play with his hair as you calm down. He’s a blushing mess beneath you, every inch of him flushed and warm and sweaty.

You shift back and are met with his still rock hard member against your ass. You touch him appreciatively, reaching back to stroke him with a half-assed grip. It makes him moan nonetheless, pulling away from your lips to mewl against your shoulder. “Wanna fuck?” you hum, curling your hand over the tip like he likes, watching his head roll back against his pillow at the sensation. Jungkook groans, doesn’t seem to hear you now. You try again. “Wanna fuck my pussy, baby?”

“Yes,” he gasps this time, jolts when you press the tip of your finger against the slit on his head, plug his cock from releasing any more precum. “Please, please,” he begs, the hands on his chest straining against the shirt he still hasn’t managed to shake off.

One last kiss is delivered to him, a chaste one against his pout that makes him whine. “Whatever you want,” you purr, line him up.

Your hands are still sticky with the lube and so is his cock. Everything is sticky; his cock, you folds, your tits, his neck. It’s a big sticky, slippery mess, but you can’t even be annoyed because everything feels so good. Your tits tingle from whatever they put in that damn lube, nipples rock hard and extra swollen today, like if you don’t touch them you’ll die. You sink back into Jungkook’s throbbing cock, and the second his cock spreads the lube along your walls, you’re jolting because it just feels so damn good.

You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube.

His cock pushes past your folds, fits snugly inside of you just like it belongs. It still feels like the first time, feels like your first day where he was so perfect and sweet. Part of you wonders what would have become of you two if he had reacted like this that day, soft and whiny, when you first prepositioned him. Maybe the sexual aspect of your relationship would be entirely different today, maybe you’d be one the always leading.

But… you’re not sure if you’d want that. Leading is fun— hell, you’re certain this moment will be what you get engraved on your tombstone —but you were a pillow princess at heart with occasional dominant tendencies. You drool over this moment now, but if he asks for this again tomorrow you might actually bend over and die. It was a lot of work, keeping the energy going, and you find yourself having this newfound sense of respect for Jungkook as his cock slips past your folds.

Anyway, when you sit on his cock, fingers teasingly tightening around his throat, Jungkook’s eyes are weirdly focused on your tits. He’s been doing that a lot lately, losing his mind by just staring at your tits. On some occasions he puts them in his mouth, gets possessed by some titty loving monster and sucks on them until you’re trembling. It’s fine because it’s quite frankly a huge ego boost, but something him now makes you want to pick at him for it.

“They’re yours to taste, angel,” you hum, slowly rolling your hips over his fat cock. Jungkook whimpers, softly ruts up into your heat the next time you press down. “Tell me what you want,” you exhale, a breathy moan.

He doesn’t say anything, just drops his mouth open for you with a trembling lower lip. Tongue peeks out, eyes glazed over in his lust, looking every bit like those hentai ads he hates so much. But you fulfill his wishes, help him sit up until he’s flush against your chest. His awkwardly bound hands get squished in the middle, and he says, “m-my hands...”

“I’ve got you,” you soothe, undo his self-made restraints and toss them to the side. Immediately, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him to latch his lips around your breasts. “S-Slow down,” you whine, hands on his biceps as he sucks your tit into his mouth, twirls his tongue around your nipple. He’s good with his tongue even when he’s sick.

He pulls off with a pop, ragged breathing only making you more sensitive as it fans over the thin layer of saliva he leaves on your tits. “Tastes like strawberries,” he groans wondrously, head against your chest. You use the lull to get back to fucking yourself on him, but Jungkook’s got other plans. He rolls the two of you over, pins you beneath him with his hot and sweaty body. “I’m sorry,” he moans as he begins jackhammering his thrusts into you.

Your back arches, legs thrown around his waist as the sudden change of events. “Fffuck,” you heave, “harder, angel— gotta fuck like you mean it.”

Jungkook shudders, hands looped around the small of your back. His cock rams into you over and over, each glide of it against the walls of your pussy making you unravel in his arms. His lips latch around your other boob, suck and suck like he’s expecting something to come out.

That’s when it hits you.

“N-Nothing there,” you tell him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. His lashes are wet, eyes pinching tighter at your reminder. He pulls away almost to protest, but then you’re guiding him up to your face, hot breath mingling with yours. “Nothing there because you haven’t given me a baby yet,” you murmur darkly, watch the emotions flood his features as you tap into that taboo kink of his.

He chokes, grinds his cock into you and holds it there. “I-I didn’t,” he sniffs, “we never— you never said,” he whines, “...you wanted one.”

You cup his face in his hands, feel slightly mean for the pride you get from his tear stricken appearance. “I do,” you purr, lazily kissing him. “Want one if it’s from you. Don’t you?” He nods like an antsy puppy, quivering against you as he slowly and shallowly ruts into you. “Don’t you wanna see me like that, angel?” you egg on, hands looping behind his neck, idly playing with stray waves and curls. “Tummy so big and swollen because you did something bad, because you couldn’t pull out.”

Jungkook sobs, pulls you impossibly closer until the head of his cock is missing your cervix repeatedly. One of your legs is pressed nearly to your chest, hip tight from the force in which he holds you. “I-I want,” he agrees, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

You smirk evilly, kissing the corner of his mouth gently as he slowly picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Then fuck me hard, Jungkookie,” you demand, “fuck me full of your cum.”

Jungkook nods with a sniffle against your shoulder, fingers tightening against your skin as he slowly but surely begins nailing you into the mattress. He’s a good boy, always, because he does exactly what you tell him to. Uses those bulky muscles to hold you down, makes it impossible for you to move as he pistons his hips, cock sheathing itself inside your cunt.

Every drag makes you unconsciously clench, the raw feeling consuming your thoughts. His cock is so big and wet today, certainly due to that stupid lube from beneath his cabinet. Your entire pussy feels like it’s on ecstasy, stupidly geeked up by that lube, and you’re sure Jungkook’s cock feels the same. It makes the glide so much better, so much easier, each ram of his cock feeling so easy. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, nails digging down his spine. Jungkook is a sobbing, sniffling mess against the crook of your neck, absolute gibberish falling from his lips.

But you’re no better, tongue seemingly set on a chaotic rampage to validate every single one of his fantasies. “Gonna fuck me while I’m pregnant?” you pant against his ear, fingers tugging at his hair. He doesn’t offer more than a strained cry, thrusts momentarily falling out of rhythm. “You would like that, huh? Fucking me when you’re not supposed to. You’re so bad, Kook-ah,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Only pretend to be an angel but really you’re just a dirty, little pervert.”

He wails loudly, slams his hips so hard into you that it makes you sob as well. “N-No,” he blubbers, tears against your skin. “I’m good— I’m a good boy,” he stresses, fingers bruising their prints into your skin.

He presses so close, cock practically making your stomach bulge, but neither of you see. “Dirty angel,” you spit, yank his hair back roughly until he’s forced to look at you with that watery gaze. “So horny you’re willing to get me pregnant.”

Jungkook cries out, snaps his cock into you like he’s trying to break you in half. “No,” he heaves, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto yours. “I-I-I’d do it right,” he defends weakly, hips losing their demonic pace as his orgasm sneaks up on him. “Ma— Marry first… then, b— ba— bab—“

You swallow his words with your lips, kiss him like you’re on the verge of death in a desperate attempt to hide your tears from him. They paint your cheeks in stark strokes, trail down your skin and make everything blurry, but so does your orgasm.

You come first, heart and body trembling at his unexpectedly sweet words, as you become a whimpering, teary mess beneath him. Jungkook follows, cries out your name one last time as he busts inside of you.

Sticky and gross, he falls onto the pillow beside you. Poor baby is so tired, curls covering half of his face, but lips cutely puckered against the pillow. He’s sweaty as hell though, which you now vaguely remember was your original goal with all of this so you count this as a success.

You think he’s fallen asleep, sitting up slowly and reaching for that t-shirt that bound him together earlier to clean up. He shudders when you run it against his skin, obviously still overwhelmed. You shift around the bed in search of today’s MVP. “Where’s the lube?” you mutter to yourself.

Jungkook groans. “YouTube?” he asks, voice dry as all hell.

“No, honey, the lube we used,” you respond, running your hands over the sheets for any signs of the pink bottle.

“Want YouTube,” he mumbles, lets you swaddle him up in the blanket again. You roll your eyes and reach for the forgotten iPad that had long since tumbled to the floor. When it turns on, that same video from before is on pause so you don’t bother changing it as you hand it back to Jungkook. “Nice,” he murmurs, “underground water slide.”

You snort. “Weirdo.” He glares cutely, eyes barely open at this point. “Watch your YouTube.”

“Use your lube,” he sasses back softly, nonsensically, and then rather anticlimactically passes out.

There’s something soft in your chest, something so big and overwhelming, that has you bending over his sleeping figure, mouth brushing against his. “Hurry and get better, angel,” you whisper, wish on it with all your heart.

To no one’s surprise, you get sick two days later. Doyeon laughs and laughs for hours about it, tells you that’s what you get for using sex as medicine. But Jungkook’s back to normal, which means he stays over and coddles you to death.

“Hurry and get better,” he says, spoon feeding you your famous Get Better Soon Soup that you passed on to him. “I have a question to ask you.”

There’s a little black box in his downstairs bathroom cabinet that you swear you’ve never seen, but Jungkook knows you’re lying.

It fits perfectly.

epilogue

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

#bangtanhq #networkbangtan #goldenclosetnet #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jjk♡#jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #mine

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euphoricsunflowers · 3 years

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monsta x giving you a lap dance

a/n: thank you for being patient with me while my writing has slowed down while i try to take care of mental health!! please enjoy and i hope you have a wonderful day my loves!!

a/n: sn, kh, and ck gifs are @hyunubear’s, mh, hw, and jh gifs are @imnameimss’s, and the wh gif is mine!!

word count: 0.5k

content: this isn’t supper subby but you read the title you know what this is, lots of touching and teasing but that’s about it!! not smut only suggestive!!

son hyunwoo/shownu:

shownu is definitely the best at it immediately, he’s just too good of a dancer and, though he is awkwardly charming irl, when he’s dancing he’s just pure charm. i don’t think he’d be super verbally flirty during it but he might feel you up a bit if you’re into that. you can do pretty much whatever you want, if you want to touch him or tease him with your words a little, he’ll either do that cute little smile or not really think much of it because he’s just so concentrated.

lee hoseok/wonho:

wonho is an amazing dancer too, but i think he’d be much more shy but in the sweetest and, oddly, the most seductive way. he’s out here smiling all cutely while he’s dancing all up on you, but he might be too nervous to really do too much. but also, for as someone as bashful as him, he also really enjoys teasing. you’ll see that cute little smile grow if you complain that you can’t kiss him </3

lee minhyuk:

mr lee minhyuk would definitely be out here, possibly tipsy, dancing all up on you, touching you shamelessly, taking your hands and placing them in his waist because he wants you to touch him too, teasing you with a ghost of a kiss lingering on your skin as he grinds against you. grab his ass a little, tease him with your fingertips, he loves it all.

yoo kihyun:

kihyun would definitely get flustered and would be so awkward the whole time until he finally figures it out and gets really into it, noticing the little things that make you shift in your seat and doing them more, teasing so very intentionally until you go mad, and keeping that sultry look in his eyes. he’ll smirk if you complain about the teasing, maybe he’ll even tell you not to touch him while he gives the dance (but you don’t really have to listen, he’d prefer if you didn’t actually).

chae hyungwon:

hyungwon i could oddly see being weirdly into it, moving his body perfectly fluidly to the music and smirking like ever so slightly as you just take in his presence and watch him with those hungry eyes he loves so much, he loves it when you want him so badly you can’t control yourself.

lee jooheon:

jooheon would legitimately be out here giving the most oddly endearing lap dances know to man like maybe he’s a little clumsy and he’s not the best at it but he’s just charming and so sweet yet so provocative that he’s just mesmerizing. and once he finds a comfortable rhythm, he gets really into it, and he goes from almost cutesy to deadly.

im changkyun/i.m:

changkyun isn’t even giving a legitimate lap dance he just plops himself down on your lap and he just kinda moves to the beat of the music as he gives a little strip tease, keeping eye contact, intense but soft energy with his low voice murmuring how much he wants you. he’s a tease through and through, and he’ll definitely make you want him more than anything.

—

taglist: @lovingonrepeat @neosincity @sub-hoshi-enthusiast @maknaeronix @multidreams-and-desires @hobilluvvr @vanillaknj @yr-domxfantasies @treasure-hwa @fleurshopsub @rubyscloud9 @silencefavarchive @nct99 @bigkpopstan @monstaxdirtywonk @domreaderrecs and always feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist <3

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theregoesmylurkerstatus · 3 years

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So... I have a lot of thoughts on the finale. I've deliberately kept my mouth shut, more or less, on the campaign overall because I'm a firm believer that you can't pass judgement -- at least not complete judgement -- on stories until they're over and done with.

Well, it's done! Kind of crazy. I've been watching Critical Role with almost insane consistency, viewing almost every single episode live, with maybe five-ish exceptions, since episode 19, and I've been blogging it for, what, two and a half years?

It's a weird feeling. It's been such a constant thing for me that I'm always gonna have love for it and remember with a lot of fondness.

...Which is in spite of the fact that I can now comfortably say I'm pretty eh on the ending. I know not being positive about something most of us have loved a lot for a very long time can sting a bit, but I personally think it also stings when people relentlessly crow over how good they think it is or want it to be, to the point where you feel you can't voice your absolutely valid upsets or dissatisfactions. So, here goes, if anyone's interested! I'd be curious to see other opinions, too!

I actually drafted a post talking about my overall frustrations with the campaign a whole two weeks ago, and then scrapped most of it when 140 blew me out of the water. I was really touched, and really happy. I hadn't expected it, but it shockingly felt right, you know?

Unfortunately 141 robbed me of most of that satisfaction and brought me right back to neutral.

The blanket statement you have to make, of course, is that you can’t criticise this as a DnD game, and you can’t be mad at the cast for playing it in a way they think is best for them. They’re the players, Matt’s the DM, and in the end it makes no sense for them to try to make themselves act how they think the audience wants them to, and I’m sure most of the audience wouldn’t like the result anyway.

That said, there is an audience. And that’s where I see this clash coming in. As a DnD game, as long as the players and DM have all enjoyed it and been satisfied, it’s a successful game! But for us, it’s not a DnD game. For us, we’re watching a story be written in real time through the medium of an RPG. And while as a DnD game you can’t fault it, as a piece of media, I completely get why the way things have gone has sat weirdly for a lot of people.

It's not satisfying to see so many character hooks dealt with so quickly or left as an offscreen "and then you do it." If they don't want to keep playing to dive into it, absolutely, but for us who have been watching this as a story with all these character elements get so built up, it's a huge anti-climax.

Which is a lot of what this campaign has been, really.

Oh, Nott’s cursed! But through a really cool character moment that problem is completely taken care of with no consequences we see. Yay, I want her to be Veth and that was an iconic move from Jester! Still, it kind of feels like this was built up to be a big problem and at the first success it was let go... Caleb's got a really intense frightening past he tries to hide, I wonder how the Mighty Nein will respond? Oh, they found out, but it's not a difficult revelation for anyone. Looks like it's easy for them to move past it and forgive. Yeah, that's healthiest for the characters, but huh, kinda undercuts it as a storyline or point of interest. Oooh, Avantika’s back! Ah, they’ve killed her and grabbed the eye again. I mean I don’t want them to die or for Uk’otoa to be free, but I’m starting to feel like that’s not much of a threat anyway. The Traveler’s been kidnapped! Nah he hasn’t, he tried to save Jester so he was let go with no further issue, and also he wasn’t actually in any danger anyway. Oh... Cool. So... Why should I care or be worried?

And these are just the biggest ones I remember being kind of let down by. I wanted to see them STRUGGLE for the successes to have meaning. To my view, threats of failure -- real failure -- really decreased the more the campaign went on, with a few exceptions.

Because don't get me wrong, we've definitely had struggles, and those have made for some of the best moments! Molly’s death, Yasha’s kidnapping, Yeza’s imprisonment. When failures that were threatened are allowed to occur, it’s far more gratifying when it’s followed by success, because you understand that that success was actually necessary. It shows us that what they do really means something.

Honestly, that's why the final battle really shut me up, because nothing makes you quite feel stakes and failure like having two PCs die, and having a resurrection ritual fail -- AND knowing that failure would be delivered on, had it not been for a seemingly miraculous roll of the dice to turn it around. One of the greatest failure's -- Molly's death -- made the success of his resurrection put a lot of my other issues to rest immediately, because to be honest? Molly's resurrection was the biggest success of the campaign, exactly because it was originally the biggest failure.

But this episode, we got to see the other side of making threats and successes feel disappointing -- when you get the impression that success was robbed from you. Again, their characters, their choices, but to have them roll an intervention to get Molly's soul, to convince Molly to come back with his own possessions they've so loved, after so long and so many struggles... only to apparently not get Molly at all?

Changed, of course. Memories, maybe he'd never get them back, though that seems inconsistent to how the initial resurrection was played and Matt's hints. It even makes sense that not having his memories and being a bit different, he might forge a new identity, but insisting Molly was a different person entirely after such a supposed hard won success to get Molly back, especially after what his death meant to the audience and potentially healing that old wound? It robs the narrative of a LOT of catharsis, at least for me and I know many others.

Trent, too, I'm very up and down on. He was so built up -- and what fun that build up had -- and I very much disagreed with the idea that the best story would be dealing with him offscreen.

It's true that you don’t need to explicitly address, confront, or explore every big aspect of character's story hooks and background ties for PCs to move past them and grow healthily. But that does not make it a satisfying viewing experience. People quietly healing in real life is healthy. People quietly healing in an explosive fantasy setting is frustrating for the audience.

What on earth is the point of a story if you don’t get to SEE THE ESTABLISHED CONFLICTS go anywhere? A lot of the characters got distant, quiet resolutions, if that, to everything we wanted to see.

Except, we did get to see Trent. It was a really fun, inventive battle, from opening to conclusion, but much like Travelercon, much like Nott's/Veth's problem with the hag, these were things that the audience in general wanted to see be really dug into and explored, and every single one of them got, in my opinion, quickly tidied up instead. Trent got beaten in the first and only proper battle they had with him, which, after all his build up, is pretty disappointing for a villain many of us wanted to see be a big deal. It really just felt like they were trying to tidy up to get on with the epilogue, which is not what a lot of us were looking for with Trent especially.

And that's how most of their endings felt to me. It didn't feel like any of them had reached a comfortable conclusion. Literally all of them, bar Veth and Caduceus, continued on their character journey threads, without each other and very quickly. Meeting Yasha's tribe and Vandran, Caleb finally openly debating changing time for his parents, Trent and Zeenoth's trials and the changing of the guard at the Assembly... All were things it would have been so fun to have all the PCs react to and explore together, and instead they were fleeting encounters in the latter half of a seven hour finale.

Is all this, from Molly not really coming back to Trent being a finale side plot to the Nein continuing on their individual journeys, potentially realistic to how these fantastical things might go down in real life? Sure! But that's not necessarily a good thing.

Stories THRIVE on conflict and resolution. That’s what makes them FUN! Conflict isn’t nearly so fun in real life and resolutions are often frustrating question marks, so no, past a certain point I don’t WANT stories to be realistic. I want stories to be SATISFYING.

And campaign 2 has fallen far short of the mark.

I haven’t spoken... Basically a word of this for most of the campaign, because as I said I’m a firm believer that you can’t necessarily judge something until it’s over, and because I ALSO firmly believe that being negative WHILE trying to enjoy something is counterproductive. I have had no interest in spoiling or naysaying the fun of the campaign for anyone, least of all myself.

But it's done now, and all I can say is... I really have had fun. I love the characters. I love their relationships. I’m pretty okay with where they’ve ended up. I’m not mad, really, and I’m still going to think of this campaign with a lot of affection. But it hasn’t been a satisfying story, even though for a week following episode 140 I thought, despite all the brushed over story threads, it might be.

So... to try and reclaim some of that satisfaction for myself, I might ignore some aspects of the finale proper. Namely Kingsley specifically. Taliesin's choice -- but to me, it's pretty clear that who we saw at the end of 140 was Molly, and the tags on my posts will reflect that, just as my 141 tags will be for both Kingsley and Molly, for clarity's sake. I personally want to believe Molly did come back, however others might want to interpret it. The victory in 140 that meant so much to me is hollow otherwise, and it just kind of hurts that we would lose Molly after everything. I was okay with him being dead -- I'm not so okay with his resurrection being stolen.

Kingsley will always be canon, but Molly is what I choose to acknowledge. I get if you don't like that take, and that's okay! I didn't care for canon's in the end. That's the good thing about storytelling, is that no one can stop you from making your own versions.

For the people who are hopefully hyped for campaign 3, heck yeah have fun! I’m on the fence. My investment, which... I think I can objectively say was pretty substantive as this blog will attest, doesn't feel rewarded, so I’m not convinced I can faithfully keep up for over three years all over again with a strong possibility that I will once again be left disappointed. It's been a huge chunk of my life, and... yeah!

I’ll take a break, probably, view (and liveblog, if people want!) campaign 1 when I’ve had a mental stretch and vacation, and then... I might start campaign 3. I definitely won’t be able to put the same time in it I did campaign 2 (my first love no matter what), knowing that it’s likely to not be so vindicated, in the end.

I swear I’m actually writing this in fairly good humour, but I totally get its always disappointing when the people you come to for fandom enjoyment just aren't sharing your fun. Honestly I’m half tempted to write all those frigging AUs I have sitting around! But I wanted to say my piece, and try and logically outline why this ending has been lacklustre for so many people, ultimately myself included.

Episode 140 felt right because it felt like a natural conclusion -- these disparate people coming together and finally being whole, finally soothing the hurt that MADE them so long ago. Episode 141 spat on that sentiment -- they all scattered to the winds, not as happy people to live out their dreams, but as confused people chasing up loose threads towards an unknown future, with the friend they thought returned still lost to them, ultimately.

It doesn't feel like the ending we should have gotten for the Mighty Nine, who were finally, finally all together. Until they weren't. So to me? I choose to acknowledge that they were, even if I have to force it to happen post-epilogue in my head.

#critical role #cr spoilers #c2e141 #c2e140 #ramblings #long post #first time i've used that tag but i figure people should be able to block this if they want to!#molly #kingsley #trent ikithon #the mighty nein

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quirklessidiot · 4 years

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Title: filthy rich [1/3] Pairing: millionare!sakusa kiyoomi x y/n [filthy capitalist au] Genre: romance, major angst ahead ,fluff, yandere!au-ish

Synopsis: Your luck had just run out when you realized that you flirted with danger. [400 followers special]

Warnings: language and none...yet….[although i will put a trigger warning that is a controlling, abusive, and kind of a yandere relationship] Notes:

Happy 460 followers i- look, i know i promised a long kita fanfic but i got more inspired to finish this and write this one because djjdjdjd ,,, anyways this was originally a kpop fanfic i wrote years ago and i switched it up to an omi fanfic. I don’t condone this type of relationship, if ya see this shit on your partner, please run (i beg of you)

also eheh the remaining two requests will be posted soon so uwu

next || series masterlist || taglist

“Hey Y/N.”

You look up from your medical textbook to find your aunt standing there with an expensive freshly pressed suit on her hand wrapped in plastic, you had been living with her along with her two younger kids in Tokyo after your parents decided to become humanitarian doctors. Wanting to explore and get out of your comfort zone, you ended up living in the big city along with your mother’s closest friend.

“Oh, hey obaasan.” you greeted, “What’s up?”

“Ah, you see, Shoyo is out now and no one will be able to deliver the suit to Sakusa-san, would you mind doing me a favor and delivering it for me?”

You shut your textbook and stood up from your chair, “Sure, uh- could I have his address?” you ask as you took the suit in plastic carefully from her hands, not wanting to damage something that cost as expensive as your tuition in med school. After saying goodbye to your aunt and carefully placing the suit at the back of your car, you drove your way to the upstate part of the city.

Your second hand car stood out like a sore thumb in the lane of expensive and flashy cars, you wanted to waltz in and out of here quickly. Following your aunt’s instruction’s, you march up to the front desk to hand the suit over to the receptionist, “I’m here to drop the laundry for Sakusa-sa-”

Before you could even finish your sentence, she snatched it away from your grasp. You narrow your eyes at her rather uncouth attitude, “Oh, cool...thanks…” you murmur, not wanting to cause a scene or pick a fight with the rude woman, you made a b-line towards the exit. Away from the judging and prying eyes of the people who were very much above you in terms of class and wealth.

The moment you step out though, you watch in horror as your car is being towed away, “Hey!” you exclaimed, hurriedly going to the worker who was writing something down on his clipboard, “Hey, wait! Please, excuse me?”

The worker turned to you with a questioning gaze as you immediately started to explain that you were in and out of the place and that you were just delivering some laundry but all you got was a shake in the head and the words, “It’s not up to me, that guy called us in.” He points his ballpen towards the man in a suit and paired with a surgical white mask on the phone, “...The parking here is for residents only and clearly you’re not one of them.”

Your eyes almost widened at his explanation, just what was wrong with people who lived here?

You fumingly grab the piece of paper he hands to you and stuff it in your pocket as you march up to the stranger on the phone, “Hey, excuse me!” you proclaimed, there were a few on-lookers but you ignored them, you were seeing red with the treatment you’ve been receiving here. The raven-haired stranger ignores you, still on his phone so you call him out again and when you do, the darkest pair of obsidian eyes are on you.

You clenched your fists tightly as the quote ‘eat the rich’ comes into your head.

“There must be some mistake.” You began slowly, trying to put your anger at bay because you didn’t want the whole thing to escalate in public, “I’m in and out here, all i did was deliver and I didn't know-”

“Your ignorance doesn’t excuse you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ignorance of the law excuses no one.” He simply states, “Also the car was on the way in my space and not even a parking spot.”

You let out a loud, sardonic laugh, “I’d be gone in two minutes if you waited.”

“You would’ve wasted my two minutes.”

You clenched your fist tightly and as you were about to bite back on his snide remark, the receptionist from before intervenes, “Excuse me, he’s right. You aren’t allowed to park here.” she tries to look professional but you know she’s just siding with this idiot since he had the money.

“Right.” you nod, “You know what, fuck it, this blows. All I did was my job and I have to be shitted on because I don’t have money like Mr.fancy-pants over here.” You bellowed,your glare was intense as you turned around, stomping away before you would do anything you’d regret.

The stranger’s eyes towards you do not waver though, how interesting, he thought.

You never wanted to return to that place again, not only did you lose a lot of money to pay your toll fee for your car but you needed to buy a bunch of new books for the new semester. You groan out loud as you also realize that you needed to do a grocery run since all you had were empty packets of instant Ramen and water in your apartment.

Chunking the cue cards to the side, you made your way to the convenience store, the city was definitely alive tonight and amidst that, you look absolutely dead tired. Your eye bags were getting thicker, a few zits had popped out, and you had grown thin in an unhealthy way because of your food consumption.

Man, being in med school and being dumb wasn’t a very good combination.

Your thoughts are interrupted when your aunt calls you again and says you have to do deliveries tonight, “You remember Sakusa-san?” your aunt says on the other line.

You couldn’t help but grimace at the mention of the man and the memories of where he lived.

Man, did this Sakusa-san needed new neighbors.

“What does he need a suit for in this unholy hour?” You mentally groaned.

“He needs it for laundry, you can have the money when you pick it up.”

Your ears immediately perk up at the mention of cash, you decided to take public transportation since you didn’t want to risk getting your car toll away by that Sakusa guy’s wretched fancy-pants neighbor. Grocery shopping could wait another time, “Stupid rich people.” You muttered under your breath as you pushed open the entrance to find the same man who you despised, sitting there with a laundry basket next to him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You mumbled, sucking in a deep breath, you say, “Sakusa-san?”

“So I was right.” he says, pulling down his mask to reveal his sharp features, “You were the one who delivered my suit that day. It’s usually a young boy with a bike.”

Boy, this man was definitely at his prime, he was probably a good few years older than you and you bet he had the ladies swinging left and right with that face. Too bad he had a shitty attitude though.

“Well, that doesn’t give you an excuse to tow my car away.” you deadpan.

“How much do I owe you for the unfortunate accident then?” his tone was rich and low but you detected no remorse in it, it was as if waving huge chunks of money would help tremendously. The asshole couldn’t even properly say sorry to you because of the hard time you had to go through that time.

“None,” you scoffed, “Just hand me your laundry and pay the fee, we’ll call it even.”

The raven-haired man tilts his head and carefully hands you the laundry bag along with a wad of cash, your eyes immediately widen out of character, “Woah, wait-”

“For the troubles.” He simply replies, “Goodnight.”

You later found out that his full name was Sakusa Kiyoomi and not only was he rich, he was filthy rich. The man used to be a big volleyball player back or something when he was in high school and college but instead of becoming a pro player, he had inherited the family business.

“Huh, so he was a capitalist.” You stare at his picture at the morning paper which was coincidentally an article about him. You decided to forget about it, expecting to not see him after that night since Hinata had no classes or practices these upcoming weeks yet weirdly enough, he started to ask for you to pick up his laundry instead.

So you both fell into a strange routine, you’d pick up his laundry and return it the next day. He was also there to pick up his things and you no longer needed to talk to the rude receptionist. You were suspicious of him yet you decided to just overlook it, he gave good tips and he wasn’t as rude as the first time you met him, in fact, he made small conversations now and you sort of got to know the man.

You had a weird dynamic but strangely enough, it worked.

“L/N-san.”

“Good evening,” You greeted per usual, holding out your hand yet his eyes squinted at the bandage on your hand.

“What happened.” the raven-haired man asked, his gaze zeroing on the wound that you got in one of your classes.

“I’m a med student...I cut myself instead of the cadaver in class.” you shrug nonchalantly as you wiggle your fingers, “It’s alright though, I’m not going to stain your suit that you keep putting back to the laundry for some odd reason.”

“You got hurt.”

“Happens to the best of us.”

Sakusa mutters something incoherent under his breath before saying, “I’ll take you to your car.”

“Woah there-”

The man ignores you as he walks ahead of you, this was certainly getting out of character, even for him who always asked for you, “Open it.” He orders as he points to the car door, you begrudgingly obliged and did as he said. He places the laundry inside and turns to you to give you his usual pay, “Take care of yourself next time, L/N-san.”

The very next day, your aunt hands you an expensive package of ointments on your doorstep. Your brows are furrowed together in confusion as she says that they’re from the millionaire himself. You pointedly look at the package in front of you, completely lost as to why someone like him would send something like this to the person who he wasn’t exactly close with.

“Y/N-saaaaan…” Hinata drowns, you snap your gaze from your notes to the young orange-haired boy, “I’ve got news!”

You had stopped working for your aunt since you found a job at your university’s library, not only were the hours more lax but they even minus some of the tuition as long as you worked there. It was definitely a win-win situation for you.

“What’s up, orange?” You asked.

“Remember Sakusa-san?”

You hum a reply, “What about him?”

“I think he likes you.”

You almost choke on your saliva when you heard that, this little brat, why you ought to-

“He looked really disappointed when I said that you didn’t work for us anymore.” Hinata explains, cutting your thoughts short,

“Right.” You drawl, shaking your head, “Maybe you were just hard to look at, that’s why.”

“Hey!” He clenched his fists together and pouted at your tone, “I don’t even know why he likes you!”

You feel a vein pop in his forehead as you hear his insult, you proceeded to chunk a pillow to his direction in which he successfully dodged, “Get your facts straight and I assure you, he doesn’t like me.” you grumbled, returning to your books.

Ultimately, you thought that you’d never see Sakusa Kiyoomi ever again. It was fairly obvious that outside your job, someone of high caliber as him was someone you’d never see again yet you're immediately thrown off guard when you find him standing there around your campus.

Your eyes widen in surprise, well what do you know? it was the devil himself.

“Sakusa-san.”

“L/N-san.”

Man, you may not have seen him for a month or two but despite wearing the mask, you could tell that e still sported the same blank and basic bitch face behind it. Hinata was wrong in all ways, this guy wouldn’t like you, he’d probably deem you too low class for him, “What a surprise, it’s been a while.” You stiffly bowed down.

“You’re acting weird.”

You raise your gaze to meet his and you could see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

“You’re most likely a guest in the university.” You mumbled, scratching your head, “People might come at me if I treated you as casually as before.”

Sakusa raises his brow, “That’s funny coming from someone who was this close to punching me during our first meeting.”

“You were being a dick that time.”

“How you have guts to say that to my face amazes me every time.”

“Oh yeah?” You chortled, amused by his statement, “I’m starting to think you’ve taken a liking on me.”

“Was it not obvious when I kept asking for you from Hinata-san?”

You immediately choke on the coffee you were sipping, burning your tongue in the process, “Okay what the hell, sakusa-san-” you said in between coughs.

Your freeze up when you look at him dead in the eye, his eyes crinkling, was he smiling behind the mask? No way, the Sakusa Kiyoomi was smiling at you? He pulls down his mask and bends down, making you retract your steps and your cheeks flush to a brightly red color, “You’re turning red.” he points out loud and that makes you turn even redder.

“You’re acting weird.”

“You were getting dense.”

“How was I supposed to know...to know that…” You try to stutter out, completely embarrassed.

“To know what?”

“You know what.” You grumbled, standing up a bit straighter and ignoring his teasing tone, “I’m not interested in you.”

“Your red cheeks say otherwise.”

“It’s the cold weather.” You harshly replied, looking away again, trying to avoid his gaze, “I’m not interested in a boyfriend, a flirting partner, or whatever that is. So good day!”

You immediately stomp away, leaving Sakusa Kiyoomi with an amused smirk. How entertaining and adorable, you looked like a bunny. His cute bunny.

A few days had passed from that little interaction and you wanted to hurl yourself out the window whenever you thought about it. Sakusa Kiyoomi? The filthy rich capitalist Sakusa Kiyoomi? Interested in you? What kind of k-drama was this?

You tried to avoid going out much in the campus, Apparently he was around after he donated half a million to the medicine department.

You immediately groaned out loud at the thought, there was in no way that all this was possible!

“L/N-san.”

You immediately jump on the spot and drop your keys, “Holy fucking-” You pause, biting back your tongue, there he stood sporting a casual attire instead of a business suit and his usual face mask, “Sakusa-san?”

“Kiyoomi.” He smoothly corrects.

“Nice. Very nice.” You dryly replied, “Heard you donated half a million and some new equipment to our department. Sweet.”

“You don’t look that happy.”

“I mean you basically confessed that you were interested then decided to donate to my department only.” You narrow your eyes suspiciously, “You remind me of a sugar daddy.”

“Well,” He shrugged, “You didn’t exactly deny that you wanted one.”

Your brain immediately short-circuits as you try to stutter out a reply, Sakusa looked like he’d been having a field day. Gone was the fiery girl he met a few months ago, he really knew what to say to reduce you to a stuttering mess.

“I’m kidding, L/N-san.” he deadpanned when he realized that you weren’t giving him a straight answer since your mind was jumbled up, “It was purely coincidental, we’ve been eyeing certain medicine departments and yours was performing top-notch. It doesn’t mean that I’m any less interested in taking you out.”

“You do know I’m poor right…” You sweatdrop, “I could easily take advantage of you-”

“One date, L/N-san…” he says, ignoring your very weak argument, “Just one then I’ll let you go.”

You don’t know why but you ended up saying yes that day.

You didn’t know what to expect on your first date and you had your fingers cross the whole time that he wouldn’t take you to an expensive michelin star restaurant since you didn’t have the clothes for the place.

Thankfully, the date was more casual than you expected, it was in his home and he had cooked the meal himself.

“You’re looking oddly relieved.”

“I can’t function well in expensive restaurants.” You sweatdrop, covering your awkwardness with a laugh. You’ve never gone on dates before, the idea of being intimate with someone had made you feel awkward and bothered.

“I’m not a big fan of public areas so I assure you we're not going on those anytime soon.”

“Well aren’t you getting confident.” You raise a brow, teasing him a bit as you start to pick on the beef with your chopsticks.

“Call it a gut feeling, L/N-san.”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“You asked me to call you Kiyoomi and well,” you turn red once again, “Well it would be awkward if you were all formal with me.”

You saw the small twinkle in his eyes, “Y/N.” your name rolls out of his tongue smoothly and you feel your heart hammering on your chest, “I like that, Y/N…”

It was in that little moment that you realized that you liked it when he called your name.

The dinner went by without a hitch, Sakusa Kiyoomi was not the same arrogant man that the media portrayed him to be. He was quiet, understanding, and soft. Completely the opposite of the first day you met him. He urged you to talk more about yourself, saying how boring and open his life was since the media tailed him a lot.

“Why Tokyo?”

“Why not?” You shrug, swishing the wine before taking a small sip, “It’s a great place, it’s new, and I had someone I knew here. My mom and Obaasan were good friends so I was allowed to move here on my own.”

“Are you coming back to your country if you’re done with your studies?”

You were silent for a moment, “I don’t think so. I wanna be like my parents.”

“A humanitarian doctor, huh?”

“Yeah.” You smile, “A humanitarian doctor. How about you? What’s your story?”

“Nothing interesting.” He glazed, “I’m an open book, Y/N.”

“Open book?” You tilt your head to the side, “You’re usually painted as an asshole by the media…”

“But you don’t believe it.”

“You kinda were when we first met.”

For the first time, you hear his soft chuckle and your heart starts beating fast. You liked that sound, you wanted to hear something like that again, “You always know how to amuse me, Y/N.” he shakes his head, “And for the record, just because I’m not comfortable with touches, public places and whatnot does not make me an asshole...I just am a very private person with interests…”

“What’s your interest now?”

“You.” He replied nonchalantly, making you look away..

“Stop.”

“What?”

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Flirting with me with a straight face like you mean it!” You choke out, turning red.

“Because I do mean it, Y/N.” He shrugs. “I am interested in you.”

It seemed like that little date you had turned out more successful than you thought, one date led to another and another. This went on for a few months until he asked you to be his partner one night at a very random place, you usually pictured Sakusa Kiyoomi to be the smooth type you were, after all, always the stuttering mess between you two but when he asks you to be his officially, outside the public restroom of all places with his ear tips turning red, your reduced to a heaping pile of giggles.

With men like him, you didn’t exactly expect anything more than the dates.

You should’ve known better that he was too good to be true.

general taglist for the next part is open aye

#sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi headcanons #sakusa kiyoomi imagines #sakusa angst #sakusa kiyoomi angst #haikyuu yandere #sakusa x reader #sakusa imagines #yandere!sakusa #yandere warning!!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyu!! fanfics #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #📝📝.Filthy rich series #hostclub.adulting

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years

Note

do not mind me I am just here thinking about Jake being the little spoon with Amy while also being the big spoon with Mac and creating the perfect Peraltiago cuddle sandwich

(I do mind you very much anon because I had never thought about that before and oh my god do I need it now)

The sound of Mac's favourite new tv show echoes quietly from the bedroom when Amy steps out of the bathroom in a towel, and as stressed out as she still is after that hot shower she just enjoyed, the sight of Mac and Jake cuddling on her side of the bed is enough to make her shoulders relax, no matter what they've just put behind them. They're here now, safe and sound, Mac's eyes closed shut and his pacifier bobbing away, Jake's hand absent-mindedly stroking over his head, the other one wrapped around his middle to hold him close while he stares at the television screen across the room with hazy eyes.

-*-

They've all had a pretty hard and frankly scary week. Amy'd already warned Jake that she would probably not be home much to help out at all, gearing up for a major meeting and discussion panel with several higher-ups she was trying very hard not to panic about, and she was more than relieved that Jake had taken it all in stride even when daycare called in as well, to tell them that Mac's usual two days a week would have to be cancelled due to another outbreak.

And then Mac had gotten sick anyway, so sick that Jake lost his nights to sitting up with him as well, as Amy tiptoed in and helped as much as she could - she'd gotten maybe 3 or 4 hours of sleep a night, barely able to make herself presentable for work in the mornings, but she could tell from Jake's haggard looks every morning as she kissed him goodbye for the day that he'd gotten even less.

It was enough to make that week one of the few she underscored with a harsh black line in her monthly planner, but she added a red line underneath on thursday, when Jake called her at work - something he rarely ever did, sticking to texts she could choose to ignore until later if she was too busy - to tell her he wasn't taking any more chances and bringing Mac to the ER after the morning had brought another intense round of throwing up, 5 blown out diapers in under 10 minutes and a fever that made the super-smart kid thermometer she got them blast out a rather terrifying warning beep.

Seeing her baby with an IV in his arm as she raced into the ER after giving Holt the quickest explanation she could, quietly sniffling and sucking on a freeze pop Jake was holding for him while also hugging him in his lap, told her he made the right call before the pediatrician coming over to speak to her ever could.

-*-

"He needs more fluids than he could drink right now." Jake explained what the doctor had already said when she came over to kiss both him and Mac on their foreheads, a tired sigh from the both of them in response. "But his fever is already down from the medicine they gave him."

They were allowed to take him home for the night, luckily, after his fever had gone down some more and the nurses had made sure he'd kept at least one meal in, with another big bag of medicine and 'What To Do If...' instructional booklets Jake was reading out loud for her as she drove them home. Jake was holding onto Mac's foot in his car seat like a lifeline, even as his little buddy dozed on and off from the stress of the ER and so many foreign people around him, lifted him into his arms more carefully than ever to carry him up the stairs to their apartment, and Amy knew he was not going to just put him down into his crib-converted toddler bed, nor would Mac let him, the way he clung onto his shoulders with a sad little whine in his throat from the exhaustion of the past days.

So she'd switched on the bedroom tv for some comfort - screen time rules be damned in this case - while Jake got Mac into some fresh pjs, took him just long enough so that Jake could get into sweats as well, and promised to take over for him after her shower so he could jump in, too.

-*-

But she doesn't believe he's going to take her up on that offer as she sees them side by side on the bed now, Mac's back pressed firmly against Jake's chest as he curls around the little guy.

Everyone likes to be the little spoon. It makes you feel safe.

Mac is fast asleep now, as safe as he could ever be. On a normal day, she'd probably think about lifting him out of Jake's arms to put him to bed in his own room, but she'd rather sleep there herself than to break up their little bubble of quiet.

"You know you can turn it off once he's asleep." She whispers instead after getting her own PJs on, climbing onto the free side of the bed carefully.

"Beep and Boop are gonna explain why we need to recycle next." Jake mumbles as an answer when she leans over his side, strokes through his messy hair as she reaches for the remote on the bedside table.

"Your wife should not need to explain why you need to take the chance to sleep when you can after this week." She presses a kiss to his temple as the screen switches off.

"I feel like I've forgotten how to do that." Jake sighs, and she can see the exhaustion on his face, the lines around his mouth and bags under his eyes that actually make him look his age for once. "What if Mac wakes up again? I don't think he ate enough, and-"

"If he wakes up, you'll wake up. You always do." She says in the most soothing voice she can muster, her hand not stilling in his hair as she watches his eyelids flicker. "And even if you don't, I'm still here to wake up too."

Everyone likes to be the little spoon. It makes you feel safe.

She slides up to him without moving her hand from his nape, nestles against his back as he sighs once more, deeper and calmer than before. One of his hands lets go of Mac and settles on her thigh instead, wrapped around his hip to really stay close.

"I'm gonna call in sick tomorrow. Holt will understand." She mumbles against his shoulder where her head rests, her fingertips scratching along the very edge of his hairline as her other arm comes around his waist, finds his hand on Mac's tummy to interlock their fingers against his soft, even breaths.

"Love you." Jake mumbles in reply, and his voice is halfway into dreamland, she can tell from its cadence alone, but she still answers.

"Love you too."

She spends a moment longer awake, feeling the steady breathing of the two most important people in her world under her hands, before her eyes fall closed as well.

-*-

None of them have moved even an inch when she blinks awake first in the morning, and Jake growls in his sleep when she twists around to reach for her cellphone on the bedside table, so she's quick to settle back against him once she's sent off a sick-call text to Holt and receives, weirdly enough, a thumbs up emoji as a reply and nothing else.

There's a much more expected follow up of "Dear Amy, I hope you and your family will feel better soon. Give Jake my best. Sincerely, Deputy Comissioner Raymond Holt" when she wakes up again a few hours later, and Jake makes no noise in his sleep this time, when she sneaks around to the side of the bed were Mac is smiling at her wide awake. She lifts him out of Jake's hug as only she ever could without waking him, and they share a lazy, tummy-friendly breakfast before Jake pats into the kitchen with his eyes half-closed and hugs them both from behind before getting himself a massive cup of coffee.

"Did you sleep okay?" She asks with a smile as the cup lifts into the air as he downs it.

"You never sleep badly as the little spoon, Ames." He grins softly before kissing her, Mac's hand slapping onto his cheek from her lap to keep them from completely getting lost in their kiss.

"But I did dream about Beep and Boop making me sit through an exam about recycling and I completely failed."

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #my writing #ficlet #fic #mac peralta

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bobathots · 3 years

Text

smokescreen

i wrote the first draft of this in a lust-fueled haze in less than 24 hours a few weeks ago and then i watched a movie where tem was just absolutely off the rails h word and my brain went “haha smoking kink go brrrrr again” so literally this is just an excuse for boba to smoke. @jon favreau give him a cigarette u coward mob boss! boba/female reader. smut 18+ ~10k tags: pwp, smoking, oral sex, shotgunning, at one point u give boba a blowjob while he smokes also on ao3

He wasn’t expecting anyone — or at least, he wasn’t expecting you , that much was clear from his body language. You weren’t even sure it was him until you got close enough to see the dim streetlamp cast a familiar shadow across his face, until you could make out his staple leather jacket wrapped around his form. The tip of his cigarette stood out cherry-red in the evening light, hanging loosely between his index and middle finger. He tensed and turned his head as you approached.

“Boba!” You kept your voice light and even; you didn’t know how to talk to the man at work, much less in a situation like this. You hadn’t exactly expected to come across him in the middle of the night, in a dark alley situated neighborhoods away from where you both worked. But, then again, it wasn’t as if this was part of your normal schedule.

He dipped his head toward you in greeting, then brought his hand up to his face to take a drag from his cigarette. Your gaze remained transfixed on the motion, how he rested his index finger on his tip lip while his hand remained splayed, as if he was trying to hide the action. You spoke before you could think, the words tumbling out of your mouth, “I didn’t know you smoked.”

His inhale sounded like a sigh. Dropping his hand back to his side, he courteously turned his head away from you and exhaled billows of ash-grey smoke from his mouth. “Meant to keep it that way, too.” Oh. You winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

He shook his head as if to waive away your concerns. “Don’t. I’m the one smoking outside in public.”

“At midnight,” you added, knowing that he probably chose this time and place specifically for privacy. Privacy that you were now infringing upon.

“...At midnight,” he echoed, the beginnings of a wry smirk on his lips.

The conversation died out there, but you remained standing next to him, casting your gaze out onto the buildings. Distantly, you could make out drunken conversations from the surrounding busy streets so filled with nightlife, mixed with the occasional prickle of Boba puffing his cigarette. A cool breeze swept through the leaves and across your skin, causing goosebumps to pimple out in response. You hugged yourself tightly, palms wrapped around your bare arms, as if you could chase away the evening chill.

“Speaking of midnight —” You glanced back at Boba; he pinched the end of his cigarette between thumb and forefinger and dropped it to the ground, crushing it underfoot with his heel, “— you shouldn’t be out alone this late.”

“It’s not so bad in this part of town.” It felt weird having your boss express concern for you, as subtle as it was, even if it was in his nature to take care of his own , as he put it. You figured you were more like a blimp on his radar; it wasn’t like you were a crucial employee. You hardly ever needed to interact with him at work. “The streets are always lit,” you continued, “and always crowded.”

“Right. Which is why you decided to go down a dark alley in the middle of the night.”

Heat rose to your face. “Because I thought I saw you!”

He let out a sound which might have been a chuckle — god, it was so hard to tell with him — and he pushed off the building he had been leaning against. “Let me walk you home, then. An apology for causing you to make a stupid decision.”

You can’t tell if he’s being mean on purpose, but regardless, you didn’t want to impose on him. “Boba, it’s okay, there’s no —”

“Start walking,” he ordered. His voice was stern, commanding; the tone he took when giving instructions at work, and that meant there was no room for argument, no wiggle room to barter or bargain. The words yes, sir sat on your tongue, burgeoning with desire, but you swallowed them down back to the pit of your stomach where they belonged.

Another breeze blew in. You shivered, both from the temperature and from Boba’s intense presence, but finally nodded in acquiescence. “It’s not far,” you assured him, turning to walk back the way you came. “Maybe like five minutes or so.” Then, something heavy and warm draped itself over your shoulders and you paused, turning back once more to look at Boba.

A now jacket-less Boba.

“I...oh. Um. Thanks?”

“Don’t mention it.” He kept walking the direction you set out, leaving you to play catch-up. You took a moment to slide your arms through the sleeves, and it thrilled you to find out just how much extra fabric hung past your hands. Even bunching it up at the wrists caused it to slide down from how loose the jacket sat on your body, so you simply clutched the hems in your palms to keep the fabric from slipping over your fingertips. The rest of it draped over you, his frame much larger than yours, and you felt weirdly protected in his jacket. It smelled like leather and faintly of cigarette smoke, but most importantly it smelled like him, a scent you had no other words for. It was the same smell that lingered in his office long after he’d left, something masculine and oddly comforting. Wearing your boss’ jacket was like being wrapped in a second-hand hug, and you were ashamed to admit how much you liked the idea.

You had to do a little jog to catch up to Boba. Maybe it was the night air, or maybe it was the fact that you had genuine one-on-one time with the man you’d been admiring for so long, but you were suddenly emboldened to nose into his personal life. “So...am I allowed to ask why you don’t smoke with the others?” The “others” you referred to were a sizable group of Boba’s underlings that you often noticed smoking together by the backdoor.

“Not a social smoker.”

You wouldn’t call Boba a social anything , to be honest. “Okay, so why not in your office? I mean, you spend a lot of time alone there anyway.” You would have remembered if he kept an ashtray or a pack of cigarettes anywhere visible, and his office never smelled like smoke.

Silence stretched out between you. You thought maybe he was done with your invasive line of questioning — after all, this was the first “real” conversation you had had with him that didn’t involve work-related topics — but he spoke up after an elongated pause.

“It’s a nasty habit I can’t kick. I try not to indulge if I can help it.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Boba almost sounded embarrassed at having a vice. “My turn to ask a question.”

“Hm?”

“There a reason you’re leading me through back alleys instead of taking the main streets?” He cast a sidelong glance at you, and even with the glint from the streetlamps you couldn’t place whatever subtle emotion danced in his gaze.

“Oh, uhm. It’s just a faster shortcut,” you said, hesitating despite your honesty. “I...normally don’t feel safe enough to do this at night, but…” The implied since you’re here hung heavy in the air between you. You drew his jacket tighter around your body, relishing in the shield it provided against the chilly evening air.

Seemingly satisfied with your explanation, Boba lapsed into silence beside you. You lead him around a corner and stopped at the base of a sloping hill, turning to face him. “Um, the house I’m renting is just up the road from here,” you started, nerves sitting at the base of your chest. The thought of Boba — your boss , who you were crushing on hard — knowing where you lived? It was almost too much to bear, because you were certain you’d do something stupid like invite him in for a drink, which would naturally lead to you into shamelessly begging him to do unspeakable things to you. You couldn’t.

Instead, you shrugged off his jacket, internally mourning the loss of warmth and security it radiated. “Thanks again. And thanks for walking me home.”

Boba acknowledged you with a slight dip of his head as he pulled his jacket back around his own shoulders. You gave him what you hoped was a natural and normal smile that didn’t let your nervousness show, and turned to walk up the long sidewalk that led to your ramshackle house.

His gaze burned on your back the entire time, only letting up when you unlocked the door and stepped inside the safety of your home.

The second time had to have been a coincidence, an alignment of your schedules, because you found him at the exact same spot at the exact same time a week later. The only difference was that this time, he was grinding out a cigarette and raising a zippo to light another in the same moment.

You never took him for a chainsmoker.

“Boba —”

“What did I say about walking alone at night?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, necessarily, but neither was it condescending or patronizing. It was almost concerned, if you could call it that.

“I only have the same excuses as last time,” you admitted. He made that noise again, the little huff you’d taken to mean he’s amused, and your chest did a funny little skip in response.

“Means I’m responsible for walking you home again, then.”

“I - no! Not if it’s some sort of imposition. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“I’m sure of that, kid. But,” he paused to inhale, and deeply: his chest visibly expanded to fill out whatever room was left in his leather jacket, and he held it there for a beat, savoring the burn, before he breathed out in one fell swoop. “I’d like to see you safe with my own eyes.”

The white smoke obscured his gaze for just that moment, and all you could see was the bright burning end of his cigarette like a wine stain on a white tablecloth, like a gunshot wound through a white shirt.

You swallowed thickly. “Y-yeah, okay. Thanks, Boba.”

Something like gratitude settled over your shoulders, but there was also something else there, something you didn’t know how to describe. It meant enough to your lovesick heart to know that he cared , at least in some capacity, about your well-being. Enough to walk you home twice .

Even when Boba looked away, gaze on some distant point down the alley, you couldn’t keep your eyes from him. He looked so good , so imposing at all times, and the cigarette only helped add to his appeal. He was every bit like an intimidating mob boss, like he might decide to put his cigarette out on some thug’s eye for mouthing off — and you were only a little ashamed to say that the mental picture made you want to squirm.

At the same time, you could tell there was a different edge to him tonight. Something more coiled and tense, like he had a bundle of energy he needed to burn off and burning a cigarette was the closest he could come.

If he had been savoring it that first night, he was flat out devouring it now. It was aggressive, in a way; how he’d barely let his lungs take in a full breath of oxygen before he filled them with nicotine and tar again.

“You smoke?”

His voice startled you from your thoughts, bringing you clear back to the current moment. “N-no. Why?”

“You keep staring. Made me wonder if you wanted a puff.” He had caught you red-handed in your shameless oogling, and you supposed you should’ve felt embarrassed, but you were too enraptured with the way he spoke with his cigarette hanging from his lips, how the smoke leaked out in little wisps with every word. Deftly, he thumbed the filter to flick ash from the butt and immediately brought it back to his lips again. Your eyes followed every movement. “But it’s a good thing. Don’t start.”

“I hadn’t planned on it,” you said, which was the truth — the truth that existed before you knew Boba was a smoker, anyway. It wasn’t like you had a craving to smoke for smoking’s sake. Instead, you wanted to taste from the same filter that sat in Boba’s mouth, imagining it stained with the imprint of his lips; you wanted to inhale the same smoke that he exhaled and pretend that you were sharing breaths like lovers, or fuckbuddies; you wanted to kiss him and taste the nicotine on his tongue —

— but he was your boss, and a good deal older than you, and he’d never be interested in the first place. Instead, you had resigned yourself to watching him in the act with the hopes that you didn’t give off creepy vibes and that he’d fire you. It’d be best if you could turn your mind away from more unsavory thoughts, you decided. You would rather be a friend to him than someone he cast aside. You figured his stress came from the current negotiations between him and a potential business partner, but said partner was well-established in this area and, to the best of your knowledge, kept raising their “prices.” You didn’t know much about it because it simply wasn’t your job to know, but word did get around. “Are the talks not going well?”

He let out a derisive snort. “Hardly.” He exhaled and smoke escaped through his nostrils, giving him the momentary impression of a dragon. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“It’s just…” You paused to search for the right words. “You seem very stressed. I thought it might be because of that.”

Boba grunted in response. He held his little nub of a cigarette between forefinger and thumb as the smoldering end continued to eat away at the filter. For a moment, it seemed like he was honestly considering trying to finish it off, but then he breathed out a quiet sigh and tossed the butt to the ground.

“....So it’s a stress thing, then, huh? The reason you smoke?”

Boba crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his full weight against the building behind him. “Supposed to be,” he answered. “But then I got addicted.”

“You picked up smoking to cope with stress?” You couldn’t keep the incredulity out of your voice if you tried. Your response to stress was just to cry, something arguably way healthier than what Boba was currently doing.

He breathed in deep, then out, and caught the tail-end of a worrisome cough as he exhaled. “Stress used to make me angry,” he explained, taking a moment to clear his throat. “When I was younger, I picked a lot of unnecessary fights, broke a lot of bones.”

“Yours?”

“And others’.” You didn’t miss the uneven slant of his mouth, the slight grin he wore at the admission, as if he was proud . “But it was a dangerous outlet, so I found something else.”

“Like smoking is any less dangerous,” you pointed out.

“A cigarette kills slower than a bullet, kid. And besides, you’re...what, half my age? Maybe more?” He lifted himself off the building and beckoned you to follow him with a jerk of his head. “I’ve been smoking longer than you’ve been alive. There weren’t many other options beside violence or drugs when I was younger.” “Oh. I’m...I’m sorry,” you said lamely, not really knowing how else to respond. “Don’t be.”

He was leading you home, you realized with a start, both amazed and terrified that he remembered the route you showed him exactly once. As you walked, you stayed close to his side; the evening was no less chilly, and even though you were wearing a thin windbreaker of your own, you were still cold. Boba radiated body heat, and you tried to soak up some of his without being in direct contact with him.

“You don’t look stressed,” you offered after a minute of companionable silence.

He turned to look at you fully, an obvious cue to continue, but his unwavering attention made you nervous, and you started to blabber. “I-I mean, like… just in case you were worried that you were projecting the wrong image. Whenever I see you on base I just think you look so cool and intimidating, so even if these talks are stressing you out, it doesn’t show, and you still look as powerful and scary as ever, and so —”

“Thanks.” His voice made you shut up instantly , though there was no harshness or anger behind his tone. You were glad that he stopped your rambling; you were certain that if you had continued, you would’ve said something you couldn’t come back from.

You stopped at the same place last time, at the base of the hill, and turned to Boba with a slight smile. “Well, thanks again —”

“No, kid.” His hand fell to the small of your back, so big and solid and warm , and for a moment your brain short circuited as you tried to process the contact. “I said I wanted to see you safe with my own eyes. I’ll walk you to your door.”

“Uhh, y-yeah, okay. Yeah. Good. Sounds good to me.” To your surprise, as you started walking again, Boba’s hand remained a constant on your back. Were he any closer, you could pretend he had his arm slung around your waist as if he were a lover, or your boyfriend, your partner — but, desperately, you attempted to put a stop to those thoughts. They were all fantasies, anyway, unreachable things that you were never meant to hope for.

You stopped in front of your house steps. They were shoddy and showed more tear than wear, and the building clearly needed some love and care. It was, however, home , for the foreseeable future.

“Um, this is me,” you said awkwardly. Boba’s hand finally fell from your back, unfortunately not stopping anywhere on the way down, and he glanced up to take in the state of the building. You couldn’t tell if he was impressed or not — his expression was virtually unreadable — and you didn’t want to imagine what he was thinking, or what information he could extrapolate about you based on your residence. “I wanted to say thanks for walking me home. Again.”

“You shouldn’t be walking alone in the first place,” he said in lieu of acceptance, his brows furrowing ever-so-slightly.

“I know, I know, just —” You shuffled awkwardly, half-wanting him to leave, half-wanting to invite him to stay. “Thanks.” You hoped it was obvious that you weren’t just thanking him for seeing you home, but for sharing pieces of himself with you, for allowing you to see the bits of himself he never showed at work.

For a moment, his eyes seemed to look you over, top-to-bottom. He dipped his chin slightly in response. “Get some rest, kid.”

And then he was gone, the phantom touch of his hand hot and heavy on your back.

You formed a ritual together after that.

You’d meet him at the same place every week, always around midnight, and he’d smoke while you had an easy conversation. He smoked depending on his mood: sometimes, it was just one cigarette, enjoyed slowly, the stick held between his fingers more often than his mouth. Other times, he’d smoke multiple in quick succession, never more than three, but always with a sense of quiet urgency, like he wanted to finish them as fast as possible. He’d usually smoke them down to nothing, too, leaving barely anything left to count as litter.

Consequently, you grew closer to him than your schedule at work would ever have allowed. Some nights, the conversation would stick to work or work-adjacent topics. Other nights, you’d talk about more personal things, like when Boba revealed how his father died and you stepped in to overshare about your own sob-story childhood — but no matter the topic, there was a general acknowledgement that your relationship had Shifted, with a capital s . The dynamic between you two was no longer strictly boss and employee, but neither was it just a friendship. It was something precarious, dangling over the edge, desperate for something to disrupt it.

And you were desperate to keep it there. Sure, Boba had gotten a little more physical with you in the sense that he always had a hand or an arm touching you as he took you home, and maybe he gave you his jacket more often than not these chilly evenings, but otherwise he was still...Boba. Still kind of hard to read, still a little emotionally closed off, and most definitely not into you. It sucked, but you had learned to be content with the crumbs you got, and it came with the added bonus of having a secret together that no one else at work knew about. It wasn’t scandalous, or taboo, but it definitely felt a little gratifying knowing that you got to see a side of the boss that most everyone else wouldn’t know existed.

Your weekly meeting was a ritual. A sacred thing.

Until it wasn’t.

One night, Boba simply wasn’t there .

His silhouette was missing . There was no figure leaning against the building, there was no cherry-red glow of cigarette embers, there was no one.

You checked your phone: just a little past midnight. Was he sick? Or busy? He had your number for work-related reasons, so surely he would have texted you if —

But why would he? It wasn’t like this was anything serious , right? It wasn’t a meeting he needed to cancel, or a failed date you could excuse your way out of. This was just… a thing . A repeated thing with a date and a time and a place, sure, but…

Nonetheless, you found yourself drawn to your phone, the screen casting a soft blue glow across your face as you waited for a notification to pop up over your messaging app. You wouldn’t call yourself a romantic, but surely expecting a courtesy message wasn’t beyond whatever little ritual you had going on, right? At least, as your employer, he could treat it like —

A hand grabbed your shoulder. On reflex, you twisted around and flailed your arm wildly, hoping to hit whatever would-be assailant in a place that would hurt.

He caught the fist you carelessly slung in one broad hand, his fingers wrapped around your wrist tight to hold it in place.

“ Boba! ” you gasped, both relieved and irritated at the same time. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

He let your hand slide from his grasp, and if you were in the right mind to pay attention, you would have noticed how he purposefully let his fingertips ghost longer on your skin, how they ran from your wrist to fingers instead of dropping away outright. “Don’t stand oblivious in an alley. At least keep moving if you’re alone.”

You slid your phone back into your front pocket. “I was waiting for you . I didn’t think you were coming.”

At that, he raised an eyebrow ever-so-slightly. “Wasn’t aware I could be late.”

And, well — he was right. This was his thing, after all, his late-night smoke break that he just happened to be so kind as to let you participate as a spectator. Of course he could change his mind, of course he wouldn’t think to let you know. It was your fault for getting attached and thinking it was something more —

“You should stop walking alone so late at night.” Boba was close , you realized. The brief panic earlier had drawn you two together and you hadn’t parted very far, your chests merely inches from each other. It was closer than you had ever been to him before, at least face-to-face, and as a consequence he spoke quieter, his voice coming out as more of a husky rumble than an actual vocalization.

“I’ll stop when you stop smoking,” you countered, your mind too focused on your proximity to Boba to filter your words properly. You were worried he might pick up the true meaning, that it was the act of Boba smoking that lured you to him each week, but instead he huffed out a chuckle.

“We’ll see about that, princess.”

Princess . That was... oh . It sounded like a proper pet name, and the realization made a rush of heat go to your face.

“P-princess?” you finally squeaked out. “Really?”

“You’re spoiled often enough,” Boba said plainly, though the hint of a grin pulling at his lips made you realize he was teasing you.

Something overwhelmingly warm and pleasant tugged at your heart, replacing practically every negative feeling you’d experienced in the past ten minutes. “I’m spoiled, huh? How am I spoiled?”

“You usually get what you want.”

You hummed at that, trying to think of something he might be referencing. He didn’t interact with you much at work, and typically it was usually the opposite in your experience. “I don’t think so,” you finally said, drawing up blanks.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Oh.

You hadn’t considered that maybe he kept up with the ritual for your sake. Maybe he didn’t smoke at the same time and at the same place on a weekly basis, but instead decided to show up because you expected him there. Because that made sense.

Guilt ate at your heart, replaced quickly by a sense of affection.

It meant he enjoyed your talks, then, right? That he at least enjoyed your company? You couldn’t think of anyone he might just hang out with other than Fennec, and even then, you couldn’t picture him going through the trouble of all of this just to talk with her.

“Boba…” Tentatively, you reached out and placed your palms against his chest, looking up at him. He smelled like leather and smoke and himself , and you were so close that if you wanted, you could… you could….

Thunder crackled sharply overhead, and you jumped back in pure surprise. Boba’s hands came to settle around your elbows, keeping you from fully peeling away.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathed. Ozone filled your nose — the threat of rain.

“Didn’t think it was supposed to storm tonight,” Boba admitted, and the change in weather made disappointment surge through your veins. You doubted he was the type to enjoy smoking while soaking wet, meaning you’d likely have to call it quits for tonight.

Unless…

“You could…” Oh, god. You already knew that the offer would be a mistake, but you swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat. “You could smoke. In my house. If you wanna.”

He regarded you quietly. “If I want, huh?”

“I-if you want,” you repeated. “But would a ‘please’ help influence your decision?”

“No.” And oh, that made your heart drop in your chest — but then he curled a finger under your chin and applied enough pressure to keep you gazing up at him. “But I want to hear one anyway.”

You couldn’t look away if you wanted to. There was something in his eyes that had you absolutely mesmerized , something burning like the smoldering end of a cigarette. God , you wanted to fucking kiss him. “Will you please come to my house?”

His lips curled into a small, self-satisfied smirk that bordered on a grin. The way he allowed you to see a flash of teeth seemed almost predatory , and it made you want to run away, or run toward him. “I’m not in the mood to get soaked,” he finally said. “Let’s go.”

You thought he would pull away from you entirely, leave you wanting and waiting, but instead his arm curled itself around your waist to pull you against the warmth of his side. The gesture was so obviously possessive that it made your heart swoon . You tentatively leaned into him, a hand braced on his chest, but he took your weight easily, as if it were nothing.

The walk to your house was usually a quick affair, a five minute walk at most . Yet, now it felt like you were getting there at a snail’s pace, your body and brain hyperaware of your surroundings, dragging the walk out into one long punishment. Boba’s hand had slipped underneath the hem of your shirt to touch bare skin and it burned with promise. His body was so warm, and so solid, and he smelled so good that you just wanted to bury your face in his chest and just breathe.

To anyone else, you would’ve looked like a typical drunk couple enjoying the evening together. You were invisible, and that knowledge made you almost giddy . He was no longer your boss and you weren’t his employee. The circumstances of your relationship didn’t matter, and for a moment you could pretend that you two were just —

Well, that you two were something together. Something with a future.

Too held up in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the pebble in your path, and you caught your foot on it and stumbled. Boba’s arms wrapped around you before you could pitch forward and he dragged you up to hold you against his chest, one strong arm braced around your middle. “Easy.”

His lips were right by your ear, so close that his voice had come out as barely more than a low rumble. You instinctively tensed in his arms, one hand resting atop his own, and turned your head back to look at him.

Christ , you were impossibly close. The angle meant that there were scant few inches separating you from him, and that a small adjustment would be enough to allow your lips to brush his, to allow you to have a taste of him that you’ve craved these past few months —

Thunder boomed overhead and you startled in his arms, enough so that you jerked away from him. You gave a nervous laugh moreso to assure him that nothing was actually wrong than anything else. The first few fat drops of rain splattered your skin, shockingly cold, and you both looked up at the sky in unison.

“We’d better hurry,” you suggested, knowing how easily torrential rain began in storms like these.

You reached for his hand this time, settling your small hand in the palm of his own, but it was Boba that pulled you along to your house with a renewed sense of urgency as rain began to darken the concrete in small splotches. The clouds threatened to open up and drench you both, but there was something a little more primal in the way he handled you, like it wasn’t just the rain on his mind.

By the time you reached the steps leading up to your door, he was practically manhandling you up them, and instead of allowing you to stop and fish your keys from your pockets, he kept himself in your space, crowding into you, forcing you back against your door. He braced an arm over your head, the other settling on your hip, and when he pressed his knee between your thighs you parted your legs willingly for him.

Boba stared at you. Water droplets dusted the shoulders of his leather jacket, shining dimly in your porch light. The same light reflected warmly in his brown eyes, eyes normally so hard and closed off, but soft for you , like he was sharing a secret, like he was barring some hidden part of himself just for you. Only you.

His thumb skimmed your bare skin where your shirt had ridden up, drawing slow and smooth circles that didn’t match the intensity of his gaze or the way your heart pounded in your chest. When he swallowed, you watched how his adam’s apple bobbed and longed to put your mouth there, to feel the motion against your lips.

“You gonna invite me inside?”

You wanted to hit him. You wanted to give him a snarky reply for all but forcing you up your stairs, or call him something that involved the words cheeky and asshole — but his breath kept ghosting tantalizingly across your lips and his damned smirk was so attractive and you felt like you had been waiting for this for literal years, desire and want and longing all bound up fit to bursting in your chest. “Only if you kiss me,” you challenged breathlessly.

Boba surged forward, hands sliding to cup your face between his broad and calloused palms, and he kissed you with more teeth than lips, something ferocious and desperate . His knee slotted itself higher between your thighs, purposefully rubbing against your center, and you moaned into his mouth, clutching desperately at his wrists. Against the awning, the spattering of rain turned quickly into a flood and for a moment you couldn’t differentiate between it and the blood rushing in your ears.

You never thought you’d find the taste of cigarettes appealing, but you did — at least, you liked them combined with whatever it was Boba tasted like. Maybe it was your attraction to him warping your senses but you couldn’t get enough. You licked into his mouth, sucked lightly on his tongue, teased his lip with your teeth — literally anything to keep him pressed against you.

His hands left your face which made the chilly air feel all the more cold against your cheeks. Instead, they ran down the length of your torso, mapping out the curves and planes of your body. You arched willingly into his hands as they reached around to your backside, sliding into the pockets of your jeans —

— only to be met with disappointment when you heard the jangle of your keys as he pulled them from your pocket. “Could’ve — asked ,” you managed between breathless kisses. Boba hummed into your mouth as he reached for the doorknob to your side. Reluctantly, he pulled away just long enough to slot the key correctly into the lock, and you busied yourself with tasting the expanse of skin on his throat that the new angle provided.

One hand still remained cupping your ass, and you squeaked when he suddenly grabbed a handful and squeezed. As he turned the doorhandle, he used his hand to pull your weight forward against him so that you wouldn’t fall backward into your house, which had the added advantage of pressing your chest to his.

“C’mon,” he murmured lowly, playfully swatting your ass. “Inside.”

You barely registered the sound of your keys hitting your tiled floor as he ushered you indoors, because the moment you both were safely inside you fell on him again, lip-to-lip, hands trying to work off his leather jacket. He took the hint and shed it quickly, letting it fall to the floor, and immediately he urged off your own shirt, breaking away from you long enough to pull the fabric up over your head.

His hands felt so big against your body like they were everywhere, his rough palms a stark contrast against your smooth skin. He thumbed just under your breastband, one hand settled on your back to keep your pelvis pressed to him as his other hand groped your chest over your bra, rough and demanding, and you whined into his mouth. The pleasure threatened to sweep your thoughts away, to turn you mindless and dumb and completely receptive to his whims. You turned your head away from his lips, trying to find the words to speak as he continued to grab handfuls of your flesh. “Boba —” you started, cutting off abruptly with a whine as he teethed at the delicate skin of your neck, each nibble a promise of a later bruise. “W-wait, Boba, I thought you came here to smoke?”

In an instant, his hands fell to his sides, leaving you completely untouched. If you weren’t keyed up and desperate, you might’ve appreciated the gesture, but now it just left you feeling frustrated and unfulfilled. He looked down at you in concern, brows slightly furrowed, but all you could focus on were his lips . They were slick with saliva, kiss-swollen, and you felt a twinge of regret that you had pulled away at all.

“....Do you not want —”

“No! No, I do, I just thought that maybe, y’know…” You gave him a sheepish grin, aware of how hot your face felt. “I thought that maybe you could...do both?”

Concern gave way to slight confusion, then he chuckled in amusement. “I should have guessed.” Boba reached back into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out his lighter and a carton of cigarettes and carefully shook one free. “You have a thing for smoking, huh?”

“No!” It was a gut-response to deny; smoking was gross . It was yucky . It did awful things to people’s bodies and it stained clothes and fingers and yet — “Or at least, I didn’t,” you amended, voice softening. “Not until I saw you that night.”

He paused, lighter halfway to his mouth. The cigarette dangled attractively from his lips. “You should have better taste.”

You choked on nothing. “Wh — you should have better stress relievers!” “Are you offering?”

That made you stop, heat rising to your face at the implication. Sure, you wanted him — but the thought of being his little toy , someone he came to when he needed a quick fuck to ease his frustrations — you liked the thought of it a little too much. Boba was smirking at you, but he seemed to understand to leave well enough alone, at least for now.

There was a flash of light, steel hitting flint, and then the familiar smell of smoke filled the air, more potent in your tiny house. He motioned his head toward your couch as he breathed out a mouthful of smoke. “Go sit.”

The command was almost unneeded; Boba practically steered you there himself, hot on your heels, his hand right back on your lower back like it belonged there. You settled yourself on the cushions, half expecting him to sit beside you, or maybe cover your body with his own — but when he sunk to his knees in front of you, nerves bubbled up in your stomach.

“Oh, Boba, I’ve never...No one has...gone down on me before.”

He grunted, deft fingertips already at the button of your jeans. “Don’t see how that impacts me.” You raised your hips to help as he tugged at the hem of one pantleg, and he slid your jeans off in one smooth movement. He placed your legs over his shoulders and jerked you forward so your ass was off the couch, hips suspended in midair by his arms hooked underneath your thighs. It left you trapped and pinned in place, your back slouched awkwardly against the back of the couch. He puffed on his cigarette before transferring it between his first two fingers, the burning tip pointed away from you as he gripped your thigh. Smoke escaped his mouth as he spoke, “Unless you want me to stop?”

You shook your head, and whatever nervous thoughts you had about tasting or smelling weird, or not looking the way he expected, or not being groomed the way he liked instantly left as Boba ran the flat of his tongue against your clothed cunt, so hot even through the fabric of your panties, and you jerked your hips both in surprise and want .

“Be still ,” he growled, so close that you felt his breath against your center. “I don’t want to burn you.”

“You won’t,” you breathed. You trusted him not to even accidentally harm you, like accident wasn’t a word in his vocabulary. Instead, you felt his arms clamp down on you harder, giving you even less potential wiggle room than before.

A moment later, his mouth was on you, his tongue licking broad stripes against your panties. It felt good even without direct contact; you had never had someone’s mouth on you before, and it had been a long time since you had anything but your hand to pleasure yourself with.

“You’re already so wet.” He turned his attention to your inner thighs, and pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to your heated skin. His free hand rubbed you through your panties, spreading your slick into the fabric, and you moaned . “Is it because of me, or are you just excited?”

“You. It’s you.” He hooked his thumb under the edges of your panties and pulled the fabric away from your crotch, exposing your heated core. Your breath came in short puffs as he finally touched you, skin against skin, his thumb dipping into your folds to collect your slick on his fingertip. “I’ve — thought about this for so long.” “About me eating you out?” You were so wet; you could see how your juices glistened on his thumb as he brought it to his mouth, letting his tongue loll out lewdly as he licked your taste clean from his finger. You whined at that sight alone and imagined his tongue tasting you for real, imagined how wet and hot it would feel against your bare cunt. He brought that same hand down onto the meat of your thigh, slapping you light enough to get your attention but not enough to leave a lasting sting. “I asked you a question, princess.”

“About this,” you repeated, as if it clarified anything. “About you. About — Boba, please —” You tried arching your hips off the couch to tempt him, tried to explain without words what you wanted as your voice died off into a needy whine.

His hand returned to your cunt, fingertips grazing over your clit through your panties. They were so soaked with his spit and your slick that it was barely a barrier at all, made translucent by all the fluids. “Don’t make me guess what you want,” he said. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

Frustrated, you groaned and covered your face with your hands. “It’s embarrassing to say it.”

“It’s embarrassing, huh?” Boba teased the edge of your underwear, flicking it against your skin as a reminder that his fingers were right there , that you could have what you were desperate for if you only asked. “Is it embarrassing if I say that I love how you taste?”

“Boba….” you whined weakly.

“I want to taste more of you,” he murmured, voice growing husky. He nosed against your clothed mound, breath fanning hotly against your core. “I want to bury my tongue in your little cunt and take everything from you. I want you to come undone on my mouth, princess.” He pressed an oddly-sweet kiss to your thigh, his lips lingering on your skin. “But I can’t unless you tell me what you want.”

You felt hot and extremely bothered by the casual way he said those things, how he just uttered his desires as if they were nothing. It wasn’t embarrassing to ask him to eat you out, but you found it embarrassing that you wanted it. You swallowed thickly, and when you finally looked out from under your hands you found Boba looking up at you through hooded eyes, just waiting. Watching.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please eat me out.”

“ That ’s it." In a blatant show of strength he ripped your panties right from your hips, tearing the cloth with one strong pull. You didn’t even have time to articulate a response, because a second later his mouth was on your bare pussy, his tongue eagerly lapping up the liquid that glistened on your folds.

“ Boba! ” You jerked hard in his grasp but he pinned you down with his hands alone, his grip on your thighs so tight you knew that there would be ten marks in the shape of his fingers the next morning. He was relentless, lapping and slurping at your cunt like a man starved, and the sounds were so lewd and so pornographic that you’d have found them gross were you not so aroused.

You wanted to snap your thighs closed and rut against his mouth so bad , but his hold on you was unforgiving. He kept you spread and held in place, completely at his mercy as he licked and sucked and devoured you. Little gasps and moans kept escaping your lips, mixed in with mindless repetitions of Boba and please and yes, yes, like that. This was the loudest you had ever been; months of pent-up desire and sexual frustration had you quickly approaching an orgasm, vastly helped by Boba’s skillful tongue. The urge sat heavy in your gut and only grew with each passing second until you were frantically trying to grind into him, hips moving minutely in his iron grip.

And then he began to pull away. Your hand shot out to grab the back of his head to hold him in place, a desperate whine leaving your throat. “No! No, Boba, please, I’m so close, please —”

“Shhh.” He turned his head to place a soft kiss to your inner thigh. “Relax, princess. I’m not going anywhere.” His assurances were enough to cause you to let go, and he rewarded you by peppering more gentle kisses to your slicked skin. “You got an ashtray?”

You had to think through the haze of want that clouded your thoughts. “A... huh? Why?”

“Don’t want to burn you.” He motioned toward the cone of ash on his cigarette, which had been steadily burning the whole time his mouth was on you. Carefully, he unwound his arms from around you and you slumped, boneless, back into the couch. “Unless you want me to use the carpet?”

“N-no, god, my landlord would kill me.” You spotted an old mug sitting on the endtable right next to the couch and reached for it, almost spilling the scant liquid left inside as you haphazardly handed it to Boba. “Use this.”

Sitting back on his haunches, he flicked the excess into the mug and then brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. You watched the fabric of his shirt stretch across his chest as he breathed in, how his shoulders seemed to broaden with the action. When he exhaled, he blew from the side of his mouth, keeping the smoke from reaching your face.

Which was considerate and all, but… “ Boba .” You stretched your lower half toward him in need, letting your thighs fall open. “Please?”

“You invited me here to smoke,” he reminded, even as his free hand slid up to brush tantalizingly close to your slit. “You gonna make me waste a cigarette?”

“N-no, but…” Tears pricked the back of your eyes; you had been so close , and the longer you went without his mouth on you the more you worried you wouldn’t get to come at all. “ Please .”

Boba flicked ash into the mug again and set it aside on the floor, out of reach of flailing arms and legs. “Spoiled little thing,” he said, so affectionate, and then he was upon you, his head back between your thighs. And, fuck, maybe you were spoiled, but it was his fault for indulging you and giving you an inch so you could take a mile. His tongue just felt so good, and without his arms pinning your legs open you rutted freely into his mouth, moans and pleas rolling off your lips anew.

Boba turned his head to the side as he took another drag from his cigarette, holding the little nub a safe ways away from your skin. He exhaled before he wrapped his mouth around you again, hotter than before, and his lips latched around your clit.

“Fuck!” Pleasure shot up through your spine and you moaned shamelessly, your eyes shutting tightly against the feelings that threatened to overwhelm you. “Fuck, fuck , Boba, please, oh my god —”

“Gonna come from my mouth alone?” His lips barely left your cunt as he spoke, his hot breath only serving to further tease you. “Wanna come for me, sweet thing?”

“ Yes ,” you hissed. “Yes, Boba, please , wanna come on your tongue —” You weren’t even wholly aware of what you were saying, just babbling mindlessly as he kept torturing your clit with attention. The urge you were chasing earlier came back full-force, leaving you teetering on the edge. “Please, please , Boba, Boba —”

“Then come,” he ordered. “Come for me.”

It might have been his voice, it might have been because his teeth skimmed your clit, but you came and you came hard . You think you screamed, or blacked out, or screamed and then blacked out — and when you finally relaxed, body no long tight and taut, you opened bleary eyes to find Boba’s face still buried between your legs, his tongue lapping at your sensitive pussy in slow, languid movements.

“Boba,” you whimpered, pushing at him weakly. “‘S’too much, please …”

He peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses on the heated skin of your inner thighs as he pulled away, settling back on his knees. To your embarrassment, his mouth and chin shined with your juices; he turned his head to wipe himself clean on the sleeve of his shoulder and replaced his cigarette back between his lips. It was evident he’d enjoyed himself, too, because there was a sizable bulge tenting the fabric of his jeans.

“Hey.” You stretched a leg out, brushing a toe across the top of a clothed thigh. “It’s not fair you’re still dressed. Take off your shirt.”

He exhaled slowly, smoke drifting lazily upward from his mouth. “Take off your bra if you want it to be fair.”

You had completely forgotten that you were still wearing it, and you realized how ridiculous you must look: stripped nude with your bare pussy on display, but still wearing your fucking bra. It wasn’t even cute .

Sitting up, you hesitantly reached behind yourself and unclipped your bra. You let the straps slide down your shoulders but left the cups covering your chest, suddenly very acutely aware of everything: the couch beneath your bare thighs, the drying slick on your skin, Boba’s warm eyes focused intensely on you .

“Don’t get shy on me, now.” Gentle and slow, he reached a hand up and helped ease your bra the rest of the way off your chest. He palmed your bare breast, pebbling your nipple underneath his thumb. “Beautiful.”

You flushed at the compliment but gently pushed his hand away. “Your turn. Fair’s fair.”

He extended his cigarette out to you as he stood up from his knees, and you didn’t miss the quiet noise of exertion he made at the effort. “Hold this.” It was burned down to almost nothing, wasted, but as you took it from his fingers you remembered how often you’d imagined holding the filter between your lips, how often you dreamed of tasting him second-hand.

“Want to try?” He must’ve caught you staring; when you glanced back at him, he was bare-chested, and you marveled at the power that flexed underneath his skin, at the tattoos that spanned his chest and upper arms. You’d have to ask about them later.

“I thought you didn’t want me to start?”

“You’re an adult. I’m saying the offer’s there, if you want.”

You considered it — you really did — but then you thought about how sweeter it would taste coming from his mouth, and you passed it back to him.

“I...can we try something?

The end of it burned red-hot as he inhaled. “What?”

Your earlier shyness came back, your nerves sitting heavy in your chest. “What if...you kissed me, right? But with your mouth full of smoke? And then...y’know….” You wrung your hands in your lap as your confidence died out.

But Boba merely chuckled and took a seat on the couch next to you, the cushions dipping under his weight. “You won’t like it,” he warned.

“I don’t care.” Half-surprised he agreed, and half-giddy with desire, you crawled loose-limbed into his space, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth as you settled into him. “If it’s from you, I don’t care.”

You had tucked yourself into his side, but Boba hauled you into his lap instead, swinging your legs across his own. His clothed erection pressed into your hip and you had half a mind to ask if he wanted his pants off, too — but then he grabbed your chin between one large hand and held you in place as he puffed from his cigarette. His lips ghosted across your own, soft and tentative, and then he kissed you for real.

Unlike before, this was gentle and sweet, the slow molding of his mouth to yours, until he urged your lips to part. On instinct, you inhaled, and the smoke that entered your lungs was hot and spicy . You coughed once against his mouth before you had the chance to turn away. Your lungs and throat burned and tears quickly filled your eyes as you coughed away the sensation.

“I told you,” came Boba’s smug reply, and you narrowed your leaking eyes in a glare even as small coughs wracked your body. Gently, he smoothed his hand up and down your spine. “Wanna try again?”

“So you can —” you stopped, coughing, “— laugh at me?”

“Not laughing.” He wiped away some spittle on the side of your mouth. “It’ll be easier if you just hold it in your mouth. Don’t breathe it in.”

You nodded. After he took another drag from his cigarette, well and truly burning it to the filter, he kissed you again. This time, when you felt smoke fill your mouth, you fought off the urge to inhale. It almost tasted sweet beneath the bitter burn. You forced yourself to breathe out, the smoke pouring from between your connected mouths, but despite your best efforts you ended up inhaling a little anyway. You pulled away and coughed to clear your throat.

“Better?

You shook your head. “Not really,” you said sheepishly. “At least I know there’s one fantasy I don’t want to try again.

Boba extinguished the nub of his cigarette between forefinger and thumb and tossed it to the mug he left on the floor. “You fantasized about this?”

“Well, duh.” You sunk down against his chest, resting your head on his shoulder as he drew you close. “What else am I supposed to think about at work?”

It was a tease, mostly, but Boba pinched the soft skin of your thigh. “Naughty thing,” he admonished. “I pay you to fantasize, huh?”

“You occupy my thoughts even when I’m off the clock,” you admitted. As you shifted a bit in his lap, his erection pressed into your side, and you remembered another worktime fantasy and spoke before Boba had a chance to reply to your honesty. “Hey, you brought a whole pack with you, right?”

He huffed out a chuckle. “You trying to give me lung cancer?”

“No! No, no, just —” You squirmed. “Do you maybe want a blowjob? While you smoke?”

He answered you by reaching into his back pocket to pull out his lighter and cigarette carton. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“W-well, I mean, I thought you might like it. It’s supposed to be every man’s fantasy, right? A good blowjob and a smoke?” You eased yourself onto your knees before him as he lit up another cigarette, smoothing your hand over his broad thighs.

“Never considered it before,” he said as he began to undo his belt, “but I won’t say no.”

Your deft fingers helped undo the button on his jeans, and you pulled the waistband down just far enough to free his aching cock. “Oh, fuck ,” you breathed. He was big . Bigger than anyone else you’d taken, and you felt a phantom twinge of pain in your jaw just imagining him in your mouth.

“Like what you see?” Boba grinned down at you, his freshly-lit cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. Oh, he knew he was big. He knew it, and he knew you liked it.

You wrapped your hand around him and almost moaned when you realized you were barely able to touch your thumb to your middle finger around his girth. “Holy fuck , Boba.” You had never wanted to suck a dick as badly as you did now, even if you were questioning how any of it would fit in your mouth. Would he even fit in your cunt? If things escalated to that point, would you be able to take him, or would he just split you in half?

You subconsciously squeezed your thighs together and leaned in, pressing kisses up along his shaft. He smelled good , like musk, like Boba , the scent that you could never name. You parted your lips and dragged the tip of your tongue along his shaft, feather-light, stopping to take his leaking head into your mouth. He tasted salty on your tongue and you braced your hands on his thighs as you leaned in farther, relaxing your throat as his girth stretched you mouth impossibly wide. Already, it was almost too much, your jaw threatening to ache, and you worried you’d have to give him a handjob instead.

“‘Atta girl,” Boba praised, and oh if that didn’t make you feel like you could do anything . He ran a hand through your hair and settled a palm on the top of your head — not pulling, not pushing, but a comforting weight that held promise. Potential.

You pulled off his cock, tilting your head to look up at him through your lashes. “You can be mean,” you breathed, cognizant of how his hand tightened in your hair. “It’s okay.”

Boba hummed low in his throat, as if he were considering it. “Some other time,” he promised. “You have to learn to take me. I can’t break you on the first day.”

His words made you whimper automatically with want as your brain immediately filled in the gaps. Boba exhaled a mouthful of smoke around his cigarette and applied a little pressure to the top of your head, encouraging you to bend down again. “C’mon, princess. Take me into your mouth.”

You held his gaze for as long as you could manage as you wrapped your lips around his cock again, sinking down on his length. Despite his size, you wanted to take him deep in your throat and feel his jeans rub against your chin. You tried to relax as much as possible as you sunk lower but he was just too much , and you ended up gagging audibly.

He gave a sharp tug on your hair, pulling you off his cock. “Go easy ,” he stressed. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Spit dribbled down your chin. “I want to take all of you,” you whined.

Boba’s hand cupped your jaw, his thumb smearing your saliva across your lips. “Be patient. I’m not a small man.”

“You make it sound like I’ll get another chance to do this.”

“You will. If you want.” Ash fell from the end of his cigarette and onto the cushion below, but in that moment you couldn’t care less about your stupid couch. “I’d like to have fun with you again.”

You hid your grin behind kisses as you peppered them along his shaft. “Okay,” you finally said. “Okay, I’ll go easy.” Boba made it sound like you’d have all the time in the world later to train your throat to take his cock — and hopefully there’d be time to train other things, as well.

No longer focused on deepthroating his entire cock, you worked on fitting as much as you could comfortably handle into his mouth and settled into a rhythm as you sucked and licked. You stroked the rest of his shaft with your hand, aided smoothly by your excessive saliva that drooled down his length.

You took a chance to look up at Boba, and found him with his eyes closed, an arm thrown over the back of your couch. The cigarette bobbled in his mouth as he inhaled around it. “ There you go,” he murmured, smoke trailing from his lips. “Just like that. Easy.”

You swallowed around him and his hand tightened in your hair. The taste in your mouth grew saltier with each passing second as his precum leaked from the tip of his cock and mingled with your spit. Boba groaned above you, something guttural and almost primal , and you felt the ache between your own legs grow in response.

“Want my cum, princess?”

Grateful for the chance to give your aching jaw a break, you lifted from his cock and licked a broad stripe up from where your hand had been. “ Yes ,” you plead. “Yes, please, will you come in my mouth?”

“Gonna swallow me, huh?” At your enthusiastic nod, he grinned. “Good girl. My good girl. Scoot back.”

He moved to stand up from the couch and you realized at once what he intended to do as you shifted backwards, sitting pretty on your knees. He towered over you in this position and you couldn’t take your gaze away from him; at this angle, he seemed larger than life, intimidating and scary and huge , and the cherry-red of his cigarette burned brighter than ever.

Boba cupped your jaw in his hand, tugging at your bottom lip. “Open your mouth.” You whined and clutched at the fabric of his pants as you obediently parted your lips, moving your head so that the tip of his cock was pointed at your mouth.

He fisted his cock in one hand, jerking himself hard and fast, and with the other he gripped the back of your hair and held you in place. “Gonna come, princess. Stick your tongue out for me.”

You stretched your tongue out of your mouth as far as it would go, lips parted wide, and stared longingly up at him. Each of his exhales contained a mouthful of smoke, and it gave him the impression of standing in a translucent cloud, the tip of his cigarette standing out amongst the white.

He grunted something unintelligible and you felt something warm and thick land on your cheek. The next one hit your upper lip, and Boba drew you forward so that the head of his cock sat on the tip of your tongue. The rest of his cum landed hot and salty on your tastebuds.

Boba jerked himself from base to tip, coaxing out whatever droplets he could give you. “You look so good,” he murmured, voice husky. “Good girl. Swallow.”

You obeyed, opening your mouth wide after to show him. His thumb came up and helped guide the mess he left on your face into your waiting mouth, where you sucked his tongue clean each time.

“You did so well,” he praised, and even though your jaw ached and there was a dull throb between your legs, you beamed . You pressed your face into his clothed thigh and sighed happily as he rested a hand in your hair, stroking down the strands he’d mussed earlier. He took his cigarette from his mouth and tapped the ashes off into what you hoped was the mug.

A sort of quiet peace settled over you, and even though you were completely nude and it was late and you kind of wanted to invite Boba to stay the night (or forever), you were content to just sit there on your knees as he ran his fingers through your hair.

Besides. He told you there would be a next time — there was no reason to rush.

#boba fett #boba fett x reader #star wars #writing #this is extremely vanilla #i am surprised at how vanilla it is #i mean. theres some other stuff i would have written that wouldve immediately made it not vanilla #but no one ele would be into it but me #and i want my stuff to be read <3 #also i did say its a modern mob au but u can disregard that if u want #theres not like. any actual backstory or plot i just needed a way to have boba smoke actual cigarettes instead of Space Cigarettes #wtf is a death stick. its a cigarette #also i personally dont smoke so if any of the desc seem off like abt taste let me know LMAO im going off of second hand knowledge

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sinner-as-saint · 4 years

Text

My Favorite Kind Of Night - 2.

Camboy!Bucky x CEO!Reader

Part 2 of this series

Run-through: On Friday nights, you are punctual to your virtual meet-up with your favorite camboy over a streaming platform, for your private stream session. You’ve known him for a couple of months now. He goes by the alias of ‘Winter Soldier’ on the platform, which is perfect for the kind of man he is; brawny and drop dead gorgeous. Over the past few months, he has become your favorite kind of night. And secretly, you became his as well. You two get closer over time, and things get interesting when your real, professional lives gets intertwined.

Themes throughout the series: sex worker!bucky, smut, phone sex, fluff, language, dirty talk

James Buchanan Barnes walked into your office not even a minute after your assistant walked out. And you took one look at him and your jaw almost dropped to the floor.

He was tall, broad and very muscular. Blue eyes which made your knees weak even though you were sitting down. His button down shirt seemed so damn tight around his biceps that you feared they might rip at the seams anytime now. Well-groomed beard and a man bun – very few men could pull off this look, but he did so perfectly. You could tell he had long dark brown hair; tied up in a bun which made him look so manly and strong and still boyish at the same time. His facial hair made him look mature and wise and yet, he had a playful smile.

You immediately liked his overall demeanor. And you liked it even more when he flashed that million dollar smile at you. Also, there was something about him which felt weirdly familiar.

“Good morning, Ma’am.” He spoke in a deep voice. Like the kind of voice you know you’d never get tired of. Just the right in between smooth and gruff.

Oh fuck. You gave him your best smile. “Good morning, Mr. Barnes. Please have a seat.”

You had to constantly remind yourself not to stare dreamily at him all throughout the interview. But God damn, James Buchanan Barnes was one fine specimen.

Better than Bucky? Your conscience asked and your eyes widened. Shit. You hadn’t thought about Bucky for even a second since James walked into your office. This man really had you under his spell, huh?

You asked him all the same questions you asked the other candidates, and his replies were well thought out. He was well spoken and carried himself with the right amount of confidence and ease. You could already see him fitting in just right with the rest of your staff. And he was perfectly qualified for the job as well.

You gave him another smile and spoke up, “Very well then, Mr. Barnes. We’ll be delighted to have you here with us. You may start as from tomorrow, is that alright with you?”

He gave you a bright smile back. “Of course, tomorrow’s perfect.” He stood up to leave and you shamelessly admired his back and of course, instinctively your eyes dropped to his lovely butt.

Oh damn. Was there anything about this man which wasn’t perfect?

Before he walked out, he turned around to face you again. “Have a nice day,” he spoke, catching you off guard, he added almost playfully, “Ma’am.”

“You too, Mr. Barnes.” Your voice sounded raspy and dry – mainly because he made you so nervous with just one look.

After James Barnes left your office, you leaned back in your seat with a goofy smile on your face. There was this weird sense of familiarity which lingered around even after he left. There was something about him which made it seem like you had met him before. Had you come across him at a party before? Or seen him on a magazine cover because God knows he belonged on one with all that beauty. You couldn’t put a finger on it.

Regardless, he occupied your thoughts for quite a while. Around an hour later, your phone buzzed while you were typing an email. You checked and saw that it was an incoming call from Bucky. Oh?

You held your phone with nervous, shaky hands. Streams, chats and texting were one thing, but calling? He had never heard your voice and this made you nervous. Fuck it.

You answered the call. “Hello?”

You heard a deep voice groan on the other hand. “Fuck… your voice just had to be as beautiful as the rest of you, huh?” Bucky spoke in that smooth, velvety and playful voice of his. You noticed he sounded a little different on call than he did on video.

You found your face getting hot, your toes curling in your Louboutins and your body getting tingly at the sound of his voice. “But you haven’t seen all of me yet.” You obviously hadn’t shown him your face yet. Which was so bizarre that neither of you knew each other’s name, nor what the other looked like, yet here you were – shamelessly flirting.

He chuckled, and it sent chills down your back and caused the butterflies in your stomach to go crazy. “I don’t have to. I know all of you is beautiful.” He paused. “Also I should tell you, that photo of yours is making it hard for me to go about my day in peace.” He paused again. “Pun intended.”

You laughed and leaned back in your seat. You felt much better now that you heard from him. You had been moody all morning given he hadn’t texted you. But just hearing his voice set your mood straight.

You two talked for about half an hour, carefully avoiding asking any personal questions about each other because you weren’t there yet and neither of you were sure what this… situation was nor where it would go so you both decided to just enjoy it and go with the flow. For now.

Your assistant walked into your office and motioned frantically to her watch – meaning you were a little late to a meeting. So you wrapped up the call with Bucky in the next minute.

“I gotta go. Duty calls.” You sighed, standing up and picking up your laptop.

He groaned again. “Time flies whenever I talk to you.”

You giggled. “Same here, Bucky.”

For the rest of the day, your thoughts kept bouncing back and forth from that flirty phone call with Bucky to thoughts of James Buchanan Barnes. Ah, what a pleasant dilemma it is having two hotties occupying your thoughts.

When you thought of James, your body tingled. The way he walked towards your desk; how he towered over you and how you liked it. How he looked at you with those intense blue-gray eyes, and how his voice carried this tone of comfort but also seriousness when he talked to you.

And when you thought of Bucky, you had more or less the same reaction. You had the shape of his body memorized. His voice when he talked to you on the phone, how he explicitly told you all the things he’d do to you. How goofy he was on text and how equally shameless on call.

Ugh stop. Bucky was a lovely distraction. He pleased you sexually despite being however many miles away and you paid him for it. That’s it. Right? And James was… well, your soon to be employee. You shouldn’t be thinking about him like that.

Oh goodness… what a mess. A hot mess.

Bucky was a happy man when he left your office building and got in a cab, making his way to his apartment. He still could feel how nervous he was when he first entered your office. Mainly because of the interview but also because he had opened his favorite girl’s message right before he stepped into his new boss’ office.

That photo messed with him in the best ways possible. Thank God he was a man who had mastered control, so when he did step inside your office, he didn’t do so with a hard on in his pants.

When Bucky saw his new boss, his jaw almost dropped to the floor but he caught himself before he slipped. And gave you his best smile. The interview went well, he gazed at you whenever you looked away.

Good thing he got the job, which means this wouldn’t be the last time he saw his boss. There was a warmth radiating off the classy, elegant woman behind the desk, one which felt familiar weirdly. But he couldn’t place his finger on it.

As soon as he got home, he decided to call his favorite girl right away. And the minute he heard the lovely voice, all thoughts of his very gorgeous boss left his head temporarily. And he immediately wished it was Friday night already, where he could spend time and pleasure his favorite girl.

When he got off the call. He smiled at the thought of the woman whom he had been flirting shamelessly with for the past days. Then he thought about his boss. What a perfect little mess, being torn between two obviously beautiful women – not knowing who to daydream about the most.

---

Tuesday morning as you stepped into the elevator to go up to your floor, you sensed someone getting into the metal box along with you. You turned your face to the side and met with the prettiest stormy-blue eyes you had ever seen.

Your new office manager – James Barnes. Fucking hell.

“Good morning, Mr. Barnes. Ready for your first day?” you spoke, trying to act like you weren’t hot and bothered as you took in his appearance. The same well-groomed beard and slightly messy man bun. Dark blue button down shirt; which accentuated his eyes, grey tie and black slacks. His suit jacket folded over his arm. He looked good.

Better than good actually, he looked freaking hot. And you always were a sucker for men who knew how to dress properly.

He gave you a big smile. “Good morning, boss.” You chuckled at what he called you. “I am actually, and I promise not to let you down.” He spoke with a promise in his voice.

And you liked his confidence. His stance and demeanor screamed confidence, but not arrogance. Not one bit. “I’m certain you won’t.”

The rest of the elevator ride was spent in silence, both of you sensing the tension in between you two. You couldn’t tell if it was just a thing you had with elevators, or was it being inside a closed space with James which made you feel all hot and bothered.

On your way to the top, a couple of people entered the space as well. And in order to make room for them, James inched closer to you. And you could feel the smirk on his face as he did.

Lucky for you, he would work on the same floor as you. So you parted ways right outside his cabin.

“See you around, Mr. Barnes.”

“See you around, Ma’am.”

This time, the playfulness in his voice was hard to miss.

Your phone buzzed as soon as you sat at your desk, signaling you had a message from Bucky.

Bucky: I hope you’re missing me. Because I am.

You giggled and replied right away.

You: Always am, soldier. Gotta go though, duty calls again.

Bucky: Are you bored of me already? Damn, and here I thought you liked me :(

You shook your head at his message, smiling.

You: I do! I promise we’ll talk tonight.

Bucky: Okay, doll. I’ll wait.

You placed your phone down and got to work. There was a lot to be done today. Bucky lingered in the back of your head, but so did James. And you had to push aside thoughts of both men and get to work seriously.

You were going about your morning just fine, free of thoughts of both gorgeous guys for some hours, when a knock at your door caught your attention.

“Come in.” you called. And in walked one of the most perfect man you had ever seen – James. “Oh, hi. How have you been so far?”

He walked over to your desk with two coffee cups and handed you one. You smiled and motioned for him to take a seat. “Great actually. I love it here. I was getting coffee and met up with your assistant. Then she mentioned your constant need for caffeine so I thought I should get you some.”

You smiled. “Buttering me up, huh? What did you do, Mr. Barnes? How bad did you mess up?” you joked, taking the cup from him.

He laughed. “None of that. Just wanted to see how my boss was doing.”

You giggled. You were sure that by now all your staff knew how much you relied on coffee to get through the day.

You and James had a little chat – just about the company, and work and life in this city – before he had to get back to work. And even after he left, his cologne lingered in the air. You sighed in delight thinking about him. He was easy to be around and talk to. He was magnetic.

And the way he stared into your eyes when speaking made you all tingly and warm.

----

You got home and hopped into the shower. Your thoughts were again filled with James and Bucky. You made a mental note to call Bucky later since you had promised him so earlier in the day. But then, by the time you finished showering, a naughty idea formed inside your head as you looked at the large, floor to ceiling mirror in your bathroom.

You dried yourself, but on a flimsy black thong and posed in front of the mirror. Your arm shielding your breasts barely, as you snapped audacious pictures of yourself – naked, just in your thong; which also left very little to the imagination. Once satisfied, you selected a couple and sent them to Bucky.

Then you got dressed and lounged around in your bedroom; catching up on some reading, and responding to a couple of emails, until your phone rang again. It was Bucky, so you answered with a smirk.

“Hello Bucky.” You chirped, knowing damn well why he was calling.

He sighed, groaning. “Where are you?” his voice sounded so deep and raspy. The voice of a man who’s hot and bothered.

“In my bedroom. All alone. Why?” you acted oblivious.

He groaned loudly. “Get naked, and get on your bed. Now.” he ordered. Sounding so authoritative and stern that his voice sent pleasant chills down your spine, ending in tingles right in between your bed.

Woah… well you certainly didn’t expect that. “But… but today’s not our-,”

He cut you off by growling. “I don’t care what today is, babygirl. Your photos have me rock hard and now, I just need to hear you cum for me.”

Oh.

Your heart pounded at the sound of his voice. And at his request. This was new because he had never heard you moan, or orgasm before, it was always just him on video. This suddenly felt so intimate and it made you burn with desire and excitement.

“You…” you trailed off, not knowing how to reply to that.

He chuckled, and you could tell he had that god damn smirk on his face. “You heard me, babygirl. On your bed. Now.”

You trembled at the sound of his voice. “Okay.” You murmured and smiled as you got on your bed. You put the call on loud and waited.

“Now take off everything you’re wearing. I want you naked for me.” He whispered through the phone, his voice slowly but surely pulling you under his spell.

You took off the oversized shirt, and thong – leaving you bare in your bed. The dimmed lights only added to how hot you were feeling. Now all you needed was Bucky here with you, but unfortunately, despite however much you wanted him here in your bed physically, you’d have to make do with his voice alone.

“Are you done, babygirl?” he asked.

“Yeah.” your voice was just a little shaky.

“Good girl.” He purred and you almost audibly whined. “Now think of me and touch yourself.” he exhaled loudly, which gave away that he was probably touching himself as well. “If I was there, I would kiss every inch of your body, slowly… down your neck, your collar bones, and down your breasts… I would make you squirm and whine under me.”

You gasped as your cupped your breasts and pinched and tugged at your erected nipples. You imagined how those sinfully pink lips of his would feel against your skin. Warm and soft. He heard you, and chuckled.

“Are you wet for me, babygirl?” he asked, clearly smirking on the other end.

“Yes…” you whispered, voice barely audible as your hands slowly trailed down your body.

“Hmm,” he purred. “I wish I was there with you, in your bed. I would kiss my way down your body… your thighs, your pretty little cunt. And I wouldn’t give you want you wanted until you begged for it.” He chuckled. “Come on babygirl, beg for me…”

You whined loudly and obeyed. You begged, unashamedly, wantonly. And he was going crazy on the other end at the sound of your pleas. If only he could have you actually under him, he thought.

“Please Buck…” your voice hoarse and strained as you toyed with your breasts.

He chuckled. “Okay babygirl. You may touch your wet, little cunt for me.” He spoke, just a little breathless compared to earlier.

You lied down, parting your legs gently and touched yourself; imagining it was him. Your fingers slightly toyed with your folds.

“Feel how wet you are for me, babygirl? Fuck… I wish I was there to get a taste of your sweet little cunt. I’d put your legs over my shoulders, exposing you to me.” He chuckled darkly. “And I wouldn’t stop licking and tasting and eating out that little cunt of yours, fucking you with my tongue until you’re sensitive, and crying and begging for me to stop.” He growled.

Obscene sounds escaped your lips as your two fingers slipped inside your entrance with ease given that you were dripping by now. “Bucky…” you gasped, your body hot, your chest heaving.

“Hmm,” he groaned, touching himself at the thought of you. “I’m an impatient man, babygirl.” He chuckled again. “I would be so deep in you by now. Stretching you open, fucking you raw and making you scream and cum around my big cock.” He whispered, speeding up as he stroked himself.

Your back arched off the bed again, causing the air to mercilessly hit your bare chest and causing your nipples to erect even further. The pace at which your fingers effortlessly slipped in and out of you increased – your fingers brushing against every sensitive spot inside you; making you moan out loud.

He growled and swore under his breath as he heard you moan for him. “That’s it, babygirl, fuck yourself faster…” you did just as he asked. “Fuck, I wish I had you here on my lap. I would take you over and over and over again, just fucking you relentlessly, pumping my hard cock in and out of you until your body can’t take it anymore.”

You moaned out loud, back arching off the surface of the bed as you pushed your fingers deeper inside you; knuckles deep and you still wanted more. “Buck…” you gasped, swearing and moaning all at the same time.

“I’m right here, babygirl.” He whispered as he fisted his cock and threw his head back, grunting. “Are you close? Are you so close that you can’t think of anything else, huh? All you want is my big cock, isn’t it babygirl?”

You whined in response and he smirked.

“So desperate and needy, aren’t you baby? But don’t worry, I got you.” He groaned as he stroked himself faster. “Will you be my good girl and cum for me? Yeah?” he was starting to feel a little hazy, feeling his orgasm approaching fast.

You whimpered as you sped up your fingers inside you. “Yes… please Bucky.” You moaned and begged him to grant you your release. He was right, you couldn’t think of anything else. Nothing other than a certain man with a pair of blue eyes inside an elevator.

“Fuck… I love the sounds you make, babygirl.” He sounded breathless as he stroked himself, faster… and faster. He was groaning and clenching his teeth to keep himself quiet as he thought of a certain woman he saw this morning, behind a desk, looking like an angel yet so fuckable at the same time. “Come on, babygirl. Cum for me.”

The palm of your hands rubbed against your sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again; your moans got louder and louder as you felt your body getting warmer and warmer. You thrashed around and whined.

“Cum for me…” Bucky’s voice was a whisper. “Cum for me now!” he growled and you came around your own fingers as he came all over his hand. Both of you gasping, chest heaving and heartbeats ringing in your ears.

“Oh fuck…” you groaned as you let your orgasm wash over you.

Bucky panted, then chuckled. “Well done, doll.” he sounded so calm now that he had released all that pent up tension. His gorgeous boss, and then your photos. He was just a man, he could only take so much in one day.

You giggled as you came down from the high. “Now what was that, Soldier?” you asked, playfully.

He exhaled loudly through the phone and spoke, “Well, since we’re now friends, I figured I should also benefit from the perks of our friendship. Besides, you’re not exactly making it easy for me.”

You laughed. “Maybe I should do that often then, huh?” you teased.

He chuckled. “Like I said before babygirl, you can do and have whatever you want.” He repeated.

You smiled, part of you wondered why you thought of James earlier. And you got quiet for a minute. Bucky didn’t notice, because he too was wondering why he was thinking of his boss lady while touching himself just a minute ago.

“You okay, babygirl?” Bucky asked after a while, and you found your lids starting to droop a little.

You opened your mouth to speak, but yawned instead. Bucky heard and chuckled. “Yeah, just a little sleepy. I had a long day.”

He smiled and his voice came through the phone. “Get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Okay. Good night, Buck.” you replied, picking your phone up.

“Good night, babygirl.”

He ended the call and laid down on his back. Well, well, isn’t this a lovely way to end a night?

You sighed as you laid down on your back, lying naked in your bed you thought of the day and smiled. James and Bucky were making your days much better so far.

Just as you were about to doze off, your ‘work’ phone buzzed. You picked it up from your nightstand, and checked it. It was a new number who had texted you.

-Evening ma’am, this is James Barnes. Your assistant suggested that you should have my number. Also wanted to let you know that I’ve emailed you all the necessary details regarding the new project. Which you are not obliged to check right away of course. I can wait, I’m a patient man.

You chuckled a little at his message and quickly added him to your contacts.

You: Very well, Mr. Barnes. I’ll check the email first thing in the morning.

He replied right away.

James Barnes: Alright. Good night, ma’am

You giggled, typing a reply right away.

You: Good night, Mr. Barnes

You threw both your phones aside and fell asleep feeling all tingly.

Was it because of the very steamy phone call with Bucky or was it because James – your new, very hot employee just texted you good night?

Bucky put down his ‘work’ phone and fell into bed with his personal phone in hand. He played around for a bit, checked his socials then found himself staring at the photos you sent him earlier again. He sighed, smiling to himself.

He felt all warm. But he couldn’t tell if it was because of the phone call with you or because of the thoughts of his boss lady. Either way, he was a happy man as he fell asleep that night.

Little did either of you know that the grand revelation was right around the corner…

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes au #camboy!bucky #marvel au #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes

1K notes · View notes

thiserichann · 3 years

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cinderella and the mystery of the red lipstick (smut version) - d.sc

reader x roommate!winwin

genre: smut, fluff, humor

warnings: making out, drunk sex, femdom, safe sex, a bit of soft dom! Winwin and soft dom! reader

word count: 2562

synopsis: this is another Cinderella fic, except for the fact that she left lipstick stains instead of glass slippers

prompt:

This is my (very late) entry for @neosmutcollective's Risque event.

The song it was based on was Lips by NCT 127 (although it leaned towards the demo version more)

It was also a bit upbeat because the song Cinderella by CNBLUE (the Youth With You version) has been stuck on my head for ages now.

Enjoy reading!

Love, Ellie.

(link to the full story here)

Entering the party through someone’s window is probably the most ungraceful way to enter the party. However, you had no choice. Yes, it was rude to enter someone’s party without the owner’s invite. But, in your defense, it was ruder to not invite someone to a house party at your place.

Your brother, dear Hendery Huang, was kind enough to send you on your merry way that morning when you told him that you’re coming home late for a project.

“You know what, since I love you so much, you can stay over until morning. Sounds fun, right?”

And then the bastard proceeded to throw a party that same day.

The window to your shared bedroom with Hendery was wide open. He should be glad that it was you walking in rather than a criminal.

It wasn’t a criminal offense if you’re the one breaking in at your place.

You have successfully entered your room, changing into an outfit that your family would’ve never approved of, and wore layers of makeup to hide your identity. After the makeover, you’re almost unrecognizable. Your favorite touch is that bright red lip that you ordered from a friend that morning. There had been a mix-up in the delivery, you’re supposed to get that mauve color that you always wore when you go out. It was an honest mistake on the seller’s part, but you were kind enough to not send it back and keep the color instead.

You made it out of the room without being unnoticed. It’s not like anyone knows you at all though. The crowd is usually made up of people within Hendery and his roommates’ circle, people you usually do not interact with daily. You’ve also managed to sneak past the living room and into the kitchen where all the booze is. Grabbing a red cup full of whatever alcohol was on the counter, you made your way once again to the sea of people enjoying the party.

Since you barely knew every one, you just settled on leaning against the wall and observed the rest of the party. Honestly, you couldn’t understand what the fuss was about. It’s just a bunch of people using alcohol as an excuse to doing a bunch of dumb shit.

The introvert in you kicked in, and so you decided to finish your vodka in peace, which is translated to getting drunk in your room as you watch your favorite Netflix series.

Smiling happily, you made your way out past the crowd and into the sleeping quarters, where your room is. Thankfully, the guys are nowhere to be found and you can happily sneak back to your room without getting noticed. You have failed to account for one thing though. Near the sleeping quarters is a single, communal bathroom. Just as you’re about to enter your room, outcomes Sicheng, in a daze, trying his best to stand still as he holds on to the bathroom door for support.

“You can’t go there.” He croaked, speech already slurring due to his drunken state.

“Ah, yes. Thanks.” You made zero fuss about it, knowing that staying there would expose you to Sicheng. You don’t think he will tell your brother of your current whereabouts, but you digressed, just to be safe.

He then proceeds to call your name.

“Is that you? Can you help me out here?” You grunted, knowing full well that your identity had just been revealed. The guy looked like he needed help though, so you threw all the world in and helped him go back to his room. You grabbed him by his arms, which he then wrapped around you to help him support his weight, and walked step by step towards his room.

You heard footsteps coming from the outside, and in your panic, you used the drunk man’s body to shield the view of whoever it is that’s coming that way.

“Winwin hyung, you alright back there?”

Your heartbeat raced when you heard your brother’s voice. Knowing him, he would tell your mother that her precious little daughter is not only drunk but she’s wrapped around a guy’s arms doing god-knows-what. You leaned across the wall, stretching your arm out and wrapping it around Winwin’s neck. You pulled him closer, bodies only inches apart, making it look like the two of you are making out.

“Oh, you’re busy. Alright. Have fun!” The footsteps were gone in the moment, but your position stayed the same. You turned your gaze back at Sicheng, which is now looking at you weirdly.

“Hey.” You whispered.

“Hey.”

“I would like to get out of this position now.” You whispered once again, hints of your nerves already peeking out of your voice.”

“You’re pretty.” You stayed quiet, but you’re mentally screaming inside. Your emotions are going in a frenzy and something on the back of your mind keeps on telling you to pull him closer and turn the act into reality.

But that would be weird, right? Even if you’re a bit tipsy, reason has never left your brain. It’s nagging you to do the opposite, to push him away and proceed with your evening plans. The internal conflict rendered you frozen on the spot.

His eyes were fixed on yours, and as much as you want to look away, you’re afraid that that will get you into more danger. Looking away means you’re gonna have to take your eyes off of him, and you won’t see what he’s about to do next.

He was staring, which you now realized is him waiting for you to react and do something. Pull him closer and get lost in him, or push him away and live with the rest of your lives knowing that you missed an opportunity to get with someone you never thought would be interested in you.

Something.

Your inactive irritated him, and so he leaned in closer, his lips now hovering above yours, the scent of his perfume, sweat, and alcohol made him addictive.

“What’s stopping you right now?”

You were breathless, but you know you had to answer. He’s got a bit of authoritativeness in him and you feel like refusal consequent to a punishment.

“You.”

“I can stop if you're uncomfortable,” Winwin smiles, not the perverted kind, but the sweet reassuring kind that made you melt inside. "But the way you're holding me right now tells me otherwise."

He carefully placed his hands on your hip, calculating his every move to not get slapped that evening. It worked. You didn't even pick up a fight, even as his hands glided to your back to finally seal the distance between the two of you.

"So tell me, do you want me to stop?"

You had a clear answer in your head, but no sounds come out of your mouth except small squeaks and squeals due to his touch. It took you a while to utter the following words to him.

"No. Don't stop."

"Good." That was his only response. He took your answer as a sign of your consent and pushed you back to the wall, finally claiming your lips as he does so. You moaned under him, unable to tell him about how overwhelmed you are, and that you don't know how to move and match his pace. You take a deep breath and relaxed, letting him take the lead as he hugged you closer, going deeper into the kiss. He also made sure to give attention to your neck and jaws, which leaves you to place your lips in any piece of skin that you're able to reach the moment.

Before anything fun happens though, he pulled away from you, leaving you there in confusion.

"More?"

"More." This time, it was you who initiated the kiss. Slowly, you get traces of the old Sicheng back. The shy and quiet kid from before, not the confident sex demon that he was a few minutes back.

He had the mind to open his bedroom door, which was just a few inches away from where the two of you were just standing. The idea of him having common sense made him a lot sexier. It was enough to tickle that sapiophile in you.

In a few careful steps, your back hits the bed and he was on top of you. It seems like he was uncomfortable with that idea, and so he carried you in his arms and switched the positions, leaving you on top of him. You can still tell that he was very drunk, and he might not be able to do things with full precision in that state. Again, his sense is sexy.

You took that as a sign to take over, so you pulled away to try and fix the position into something more comfortable. When you did though, you were horrified to see that your lipstick was not kiss-proof, and so he some of it smeared all across his face and neck. It didn't bother him at all though because he used his perfectly white shirt to wipe some of it off of his face.

"Well?" You were snapped back into reality and proceeded to sit on his lower torso, kissing him with the same intensity that you did earlier. He happily returned the favor, making sure to place his hands on your sensitive skin, giving you goosebumps all over.

He was the first one to take off his shirt, throwing it into the side of the bed to take some of the heat off his body. You followed the suit, discovering that you made a good call earlier by wearing something sexy underneath. It was supposed by making you feel confident as you blend in with the crowd earlier, but it was a happy coincidence that it matched with the lipstick that you had earlier.

He sat down from the bed, leaning against the bedframe, just so he can reach you better. His fingers twirled around the straps of your bra, bringing them down slowly and let them fall to your shoulders. You helped him out by unclasping the hook, removing it completely from your body. It has now joined the pile of discarded clothing below the bed.

His eyes now fall on your half-naked body, gulping down a few times before he said, "I never really took you as the type to do this." You placed a finger in his chins and scooted closer.

"Me neither." You placed a few, quick pecks on his lips, which slowly turned back into a more passionate one, tasting the aftertaste of alcohol in each other's mouth. His hand traveled upwards, cupping a boob softly. The touch sent shivers throughout your body. He started kneading it softly, matching the current pace of the kiss. In between kisses, he staring spewing out nonsense, like how beautiful you looked at that light and how soft your skin feels under his skin. This is the most talkative he's been since you first saw him, and you can't tell if it's the alcohol or he's just that noisy in bed. Nonetheless, you were elated. Every piece of flattery that he says made you blush, making you glow even more in his eyes.

But his favorite will always be your lips. He loved it when your lips left red marks on his neck. He loved it when you moan his name every time his hand would caress you. He made sure to let you know that your pretty lips would be something that he can't forget.

He takes off the rest of your clothes. Even as he dipped his fingers inside you, he made sure to claim your lips, keeping it occupied as much as he can. It's the only thing that's keeping him hooked, even when his body is telling him to shut down.

You couldn't wait any longer, and so you scooted down and took off his pants and underwear, rolling it off him as quickly as you can. You didn't wait for him to respond, taking it in your mouth instead, earning a surprised gasp from him. You can hear him whining from under you, moaning your name, and as your mouth takes all of him. It didn't take a while though, because he motioned you to stop and come closer. He was breathless after you were done with him.

He reached out for the desk rights beside his bed, feeling out the drawers before he managed to pull out a foil packet. He carelessly ripped it with his teeth and grabbed the condom inside to hand it to you. You realized that his vision must still be blurry, and so you took the liberty to unroll it in his cock and get on with it. Then, you carefully lined his dick to your entrance, lowering your body slowly, stretching you down until he was fully inside. He grabbed your hips and pushed inside further into you unexpectedly.

"Oh my god, Dong Sicheng!"

He laughed at the notion of you saying his full name in shock, but you were able to recover quickly and met his movements, which is getting quicker and harder every few minutes. Your head falls on his chest, muffling your moans with his skin as you tried your best to keep quiet and hide your presence from the rest of the people in the party. More lipstick stains scatter on his chest, but at that point, Sicheng never cared. He wasn't feeling like himself anymore. His thoughts are empty besides the image of you on top of him, riding him out to orgasm.

Winwin is now getting rougher by the second, series of moans and curses spilling from his mouth as his grip on your waist gets tighter, drilling deeper and harder into you like a madman. You also threw all care away, moans now reaching all four corners of the room, holding on to Sicheng for your damn life as you get closer to your orgasm. In one quick thrust, you started to unravel on top of him, hugging his body closer as you shiver from your orgasm. He never slowed down, because he soon let out a long, drawn-out groan, and you can feel him growing soft inside you, milking out your orgasms as much as he can.

The activity did a number on Sicheng because, in a few minutes of cuddling from under his sheets, you can already hear the quiet snores coming from his direction. You felt bad, apologetic even, that he had to pour out all of his remaining energy on you that night. You slowly pulled away from him, picking the rest of your clothes off before you bid your roommate goodbye for tonight. As much as you loved the cuddles, you'd rather be caught dead than be caught by your brother under someone's bed.

///

"Please don't let any of this get to Hendery. He would never let me see the end of it." You pleaded, placing a hand on the bridge of your nose as you recall the moments of last night.

"I think your brother knows already. He's smarter than you think, just like how you're not as innocent as he thinks."

It was the first time that he smiled today, which gave you major flashbacks of last night's rendezvous.

"I was right about one thing last night, though. I'll never be able to forget those lips.”

#neosmutcollective #neosmutsongs #nct smut #nct #wayv #wayv smut #winwin smut #winwin fluff #winwin scenarios #winwin au #dong sicheng #wayv oneshot #wayv fanfic

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