#and that combination is breathtaking
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i watched suzume two days ago and literally still cannot stop thinking about it. an absolute masterpiece
#best...#i cried.#suzume#makoto shinkai#i liked it more than your name and weathering with you combined#text#anime#i listented to the ost before watching it and even without context... its so breathtaking
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A Review of The Mystery Tarot (2nd Edition) + Gravity Falls Oracle Deck (Divinimation) by Quarter Press
I don’t talk about it on this blog much, but I’ve been into real life supernatural / occult stuff pretty much from birth, thanks to my coming from a family that’s delved into it for generations. Plus a few spooky personal experiences of my own, some even at a cabin deep in the woods growing up. Go figure that Gravity Falls would end up being my favorite show of all time, right?
As such, I’ve been into Tarot and Oracle decks and readings for years now. So imagine my reaction to finding out that there was not only a Gravity Falls Tarot deck, but also an Oracle deck. After some voracious nerdsweating and my purse mysteriously opening up and money floating out of it, a mere few days later these beauts showed up on my porch:
I will leave a longer review below the cut, but long story short: I’m impressed not only as a huge fan of the show, but also as a dedicated reader who owns more than twenty different decks and - already - this Tarot deck is my favorite so far. It also is the best Tarot deck I’ve ever owned in terms of cardstock quality (comparable to the Ostara Tarot, but thankfully without the unfortunate silver gilding stickiness that can lead to rips).
The Oracle deck is also a fantastic deck that shines because of its balance of light and dark options for interpretation, layered meanings, and useful system of objects+locations+characters that evoke a similar feel to Lenormand.
My fear with pop culture decks / decks based off of media is that they tend to be quickly churned cash grabs made by people with little to no understanding of Tarot or card reading. I did not find that to be the case at all with these. Each card makes perfect sense, and the meaning behind the the Tarot cards helps expand upon the Rider-Waite-Smith system with extra layers of depth for someone that understands Gravity Falls’ plot and characters.
Divinimation: Gravity Falls - Details and Review
The Divinimation: Gravity Falls Deck is an Oracle deck of 45 cards. Unlike Tarot, Oracle decks are not restricted to any one system. Most Oracle decks are the size of Tarot decks or larger, but this one is a bit smaller. Not a flaw, as I like smaller decks (ah, good old little lady baby hands of mine), but here are some other Oracle decks for comparison:
The deck is split into three types of cards: locations, objects, and characters. Locations are mindsets or information around a current situation. Objects are solutions or areas of caution. Characters are aspects of yourself or your own feelings in a situation. Here are what the cards look like:
As an example reading, say you were wondering about how your day will go, then drew Grunkle Ford (Driven, Intelligent, Geeky), Contained Rift (Passageway, Fluidity, World Changing), and The Town (More Than Meets the Eye, Full of Characters). You could read the answer as, in my interpretation: “You will be suspecting that there’s more to a situation in your life today than you can see at first glance. It’s something that will change your plans, but you will feel smart and capable enough to not only see it coming ahead of time, but will tackle it head-on with ease.” Plus, you will probably get girls to start talking to you finally.
In my TL;DR version of the review above, I also mentioned that this Oracle deck has a good balance of light and dark. Oracle decks can tend to lean too fluffy, as we call it in the card reading world, so when a deck comes forward that has a balance of both positive and negative, I’m always a happy camper. Life is made of shadows and light, right? So I like decks that reflect this.
I would also say this decks leans Lenormand-ish, both because of the size and the way you can string the cards together into a cohesive message. And like the Tarot deck, the attention to detail is wonderful (e.g the only card in the deck that has red spatters instead of blue is Bill’s Throne Room; very fitting).
So far the test readings I have done with this deck have been accurate. For example, I pulled McGucket (Misunderstood, No Memory, Sweet) when I asked a question related to a family member with memory problems, and Mabel (Boundless Imagination, Romantic, Energetic) came out when I was answering someone’s question where their romantic partner was involved. As much as I love doing readings, I’m always open minded to them being wrong or the whole art potentially being accurate on occasion by mere chance. Indulging in the supernatural is a process of experimentation and seeing what happens without expectations, after all. But the above felt a little... haunting? Delightfully haunting, though. Like Smile Dip.
Overall, this is a solid deck for people who love the show, love Oracle decks with a thoughtful system to them, or who want to get into cartomancy but might not want to invest the months to years of study it takes to learn Tarot. Also, the shipping for both of these decks was lightning fast. You can purchase this deck where I bought it here: https://www.etsy.com/listing/1081940645/divinimation-the-gravity-falls-mystery
The Mystery Tarot - Details and Review
The Mystery Tarot is a Rider-Waite-Smith system based 78 card Tarot deck, with one extra surprise card of the creator, Chris. It comes in a standard sized box with a magnetic flap. Its design resembles Ford’s journals from the show.
My version is the second edition, hence why there’s a two on the spine and Gideon on the inner cover (once again, an example of fantastic attention to detail - Gideon had Journal 2 in the show):
The back of the cards are designs that evoke the portal blueprints in Ford’s journals, complete with red and black pen, and a central shape that resembles an eye (is Billy C watching our Tarot readings?). The cardstock is glossy and perfect thickness for regular everyday shuffling, which was a relief to me, as indie decks can sometimes lean fragile or easily ripped/worn.
The edges of the second edition came with a gorgeous metallic silver foil, as shown here. Note, it looks a little gold in my picture because of the orange lighting I had, but in daylight it’s a bright silver:
For comparison, the size of the deck in-box is comparable to the indie deck The Spacious Tarot, and the mass market deck Ethereal Visions Tarot:
Like the Rider-Waite-Smith system, it has four different suits: the Axes (Swords), 8-Ball Canes (Wands), Zodiacs (Pentacles), and Pitt Colas (Cups).
The Axes / Swords are the suit of the mind, air, and knowledge. For example, Ford and Dipper are perfect characters that resemble the meaning of this suit.
The 8-Ball Canes / Wands are the suit of willpower/motivations, fire, and passion. Bill Cipher is a perfect Wands suit character (also the upright triangle is the alchemical symbol for fire, cool fun fact).
The Zodiacs / Pentacles are the suit of the material world, earth, and money/work. Stan to a T; even his name means ‘a stone clearing’.
The Pitt Colas / Cups are the suit of emotions, water, and creativity/imagination. Mabel is a great character that represents the Cups suit.
As for individual cards, there are three I picked out that perfectly illustrate what I meant earlier by saying that the layers of depth in this deck are outstanding. First up, I chose the Ten of Wands:
The Ten of Wands is a card about the heavy things we carry, burdens, too much weight on your shoulders, being taken for granted, duty, etc. On the surface level, Stan is holding far too many wands physically in the image, so it makes sense when reading it superficially. But when you take into account his character - someone who was burdened with the guilt over his brother’s college rejection, and pushed Ford into the portal where he got lost for thirty years and worked that long to get him back - oof, the deeper meaning is incredible. And kinda hurts, ouch.
He also is a character that keeps secrets so that he can continue his work unimpeded, even from those he loves, and it weighs heavily on him until it comes to a crux and nearly crushes him in Not What He Seems. His brother doesn’t even thank him for saving him right away, hence the being taken for granted part. And he has had a hard life where poverty and running from the law have been a constant; it’s a miracle Stan never broke under all that pressure. Heavy is the head that wears the fez, indeed.
Speaking of pressure, here’s the Ace of Wands, another great example of detailed meaning in this deck. This Ace can be about finding a new path or passion, a new beginning, being bold or brave, a moment of great change, or a breakthrough.
It could be read as Ford’s being lost in the portal as an opportunity (accidentally) given from him to Stan as a new path to follow in life. It could be that Ford’s return from the portal is a new beginning for Ford himself, or a new beginning in their sibling relationship. It could represent Stan being bold and taking a risk in opening the portal again despite Ford’s warnings.
It could also reflect the moment Stan got all the journals (”Finally, I have them all...”) as a breakthrough. It could also literally represent Ford’s return as a pivotal turning point in the plot. All are perfect Gravity Falls versions of the meaning of the Ace of Wands.
Lastly:
The Ace of Swords is a card about realizing a truth, seeing something with clarity for the first time, or a new idea. The fact that this is the box in the woods that Dipper uses to find Journal 3 is perfect symbolism for this card.
Not only does the journal confirm his suspicions about the town being more than it seems, but it also sends him down new paths of inquiry: who is the author of this mysterious journal, and what happened to him? This is not only the inciting incident of the mystery plot of the show, but also for Dipper’s own character arc.
Like I said: the layers of depth in this deck are awesome, and I applaud the creator for it. It is very obvious that they did their homework both with Gravity Falls and with the Rider-Waite-Smith system in general to make this.
This is perfect for any fan of Gravity Falls who wants to get into Tarot, as the references can help them learn it for the first time. There are some cards that switch names (i.e The Cipher instead of The Devil), but like I said: anyone familiar with the show will understand what the changes are because the characters chosen for each card were done so with perfect understanding of their meanings. This deck is also great for experienced Tarot readers who love the show.
This is where I bought my deck, if you’re interested in purchasing your own: https://www.etsy.com/listing/1081932811/second-printing-the-mystery-tarot-a?click_key=1fb71a9069c59b6c868da3f7aba920d7362e32f7%3A1081932811&click_sum=c0758b1b&ref=shop_home_recs_1&frs=1&crt=1
#themysterytarot#divinimation#gravity falls#seriously the layers of meaning in the Tarot deck are breathtaking#and this was not a paid review it's just the nerding out potential of two of my favorite things combined was irresistable#so I wrote like an essay because why not
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Date Night Distractions
“Stop squirming or I’m going to pull out,” he growls into my ear. I whine softly, feeling my pussy clench down around his cock inside of me as I reluctantly keep still. He huffs softly against my neck and grabs the TV remote off the couch, turning up the volume on whatever inane movie is playing.
When he’d suggested we stream a movie for date night, I did not think I’d end up naked, seated on his lap, locked in his arms, and cockwarming him for the entire two hour long film. I checked out of the movie an hour ago, focusing only on the feeling of his long, hard cock filling my pussy so perfectly. But no matter how much I squirmed, begged, and wriggled around on his lap, he refused to fuck me or do anything other than lightly kiss my shoulder and stroke my arms.
Not even a few minutes later, I’m impatiently rocking my hips against him, feeling his hard cock brush up against my g-spot with every move. Small, breathless moans are escaping between my parted lips as I melt against him, eyes closing in pleasure and leaning the back of my head on his shoulder, letting my legs splay open on either side.
“You really can’t follow directions tonight, huh, darling?” He murmurs.
“Please, daddy, please I want you to fuck me,” I whimper, turning my neck to stare up at him beggingly.
“Nope, not until the movie is over,” he says mockingly, “Be good and maybe I’ll give you something to tide you over.” His fingers trail down my stomach, brushing softly against my pussy before retracting again. I whine and beg him, “Please, please, please touch me, daddy.”
He laughs softly in my ear, “You are such a perfect little whore. Can’t even keep your composure throughout a movie with daddy’s cock in your desperate little pussy.”
I can feel my pussy clenching around him at his words, and I know I’m dripping. His fingers brush lightly against my stomach again and he runs them down towards my pussy. I’m gasping and panting in anticipation, wanting him to do something, do anything to make the burning need inside of me go away for a little.
His fingers come to where we’re joined, collecting some of my wetness before he pulls them away and licks my essence off his fingers. “Fuck, darling, you always taste so sweet,” his voice is growly and I feel his cock jerk inside of me slightly. I whimper, the praise making me even hotter and wetter.
He fingers come back down to the apex of my thighs and he flicks my clit with the lightest touch. My back arches and I let out a broken moan and rock against him. The sharp pleasure shocks my system, making my head spin and lights flash in my vision.
“Good girl, you like that huh?” He murmurs softly as his fingers rub my clit softly without stopping. “Ah, fuck, yes, please daddy, it feels so good,” my voice is breathless and pitchy with pleasure. His doesn’t stop moving his fingers, stroking my clit in tight circles with varying speed and pressure, pushing my body closer and closer toward orgasm.
“Such a pretty girl, I can feel your tight pussy clenching around my cock. Fuck, you’re perfect, darling,” his praise is delivered with soft groans and growls as he plays with my body. I whine wordlessly, feeling my body moments away from shattering in a breathtaking orgasm.
“Come on, darling, cum all over my cock and on my fingers,” he murmurs, moving his fingers faster and harder against my pulsing clit. I moan as I feel the orgasm burning through my body, my pussy bearing down on his cock and pulsing rhythmically. I ride the wave of pleasure and hear his whispered praise in my ear, the combination of everything making me feel so warm and so loved.
“Good girl, just like that, cumming for me. So, so pretty when you fall apart, that’s it, that feels good huh?” He hums softly in my ear in approval, “Look at how drippy you are, darling, all that’s for me.”
My mind is spinning, thoughts floating away as the orgasm fades, leaving the most delicious, bone-settling haze and fullness. But he doesn’t stop playing with my clit, and slowly, the warmth fades and is replaced with a burning overstimulation that makes me cry out and squirm, my legs closing to protect my clit.
“Please, daddy, please it’s too much! I need a break!”
He laughs darkly in my ear. “Oh no, darling, no you don’t. You can take it, I know you can. Such a drippy little mess for me, your perfect pussy is so good around my cock.” His rips my legs apart, one hand holding me down while the other continues its assault on my clit.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my legs shaking as a second orgasm starts to build despite the overstimulation wracking my body. He’s merciless as he strums my clit effortlessly, the fullness of his cock combined with the relentless pleasure forcing my orgasm out of me. Stars light up in my vision and tears well up in my eyes as the painful pleasure makes my body go rigid and my pussy clench.
“Fuck, you’re so lovely when you fall apart like this. Good girl, keep cumming for daddy,” his voice seems to float around me, wrapping me up in an all-encompassing cloud of unbearable pleasure. I’m keening softly, letting out whimpering sobs as my body is pushed to its capacity.
“No more, please, no more,” my voice is small and desperate, my legs shaking and trying to close. I’m too cum-drunk to fight back properly and his fingers continue to brutalize me, pushing me toward another peak.
“One more, darling. I know you can do it, pretty girl, come on, let me feel your perfect little pussy fall apart one more time,” he coaxes me, the gentle words a shocking juxtaposition to his rough fingers and hard cock inside of me. He rolls my clit between his fingers and I whine.
Before long, a third orgasm crests inside of me, and I feel my pussy tighten around him again. This time, the pleasure is overwhelming and nerve-fraying. I’m incoherent as I moan and beg, babbling from overstimulation. He plays my body like an instrument and I feel my orgasm erupt, my pussy gushing around his cock, squirting my release.
“Good girl, perfect girl, squirt for daddy. That’s it, baby,” he kisses my neck as his fingers finally slow and stop their assault on my pulsing jewel. He pulls my boneless body off his cock, the feeling of it leaving my body making me whine softly with loss despite how thoroughly decimated I feel. My pussy is achingly empty as he wraps me up in his arms, pulling me close into his chest.
“You did so well, darling. So perfect for me,” he says, kissing the top of my head. I whimper softly and look up at his with bleary eyes, feeling his praise and love surround me. We sit together like this for a few moments, the room aglow with the TV screen still playing whatever stupid movie he’d put on to begin with. I’d almost drifted off in his arms when I feel him shift.
“Come on, darling. We have another thirty minutes left of the movie,” he purrs, smiling deviously at me. And so, I find myself seated on his cock again, my overstimulated pussy pulsing around his hardness, stuffed full, and head hazy with pleasure.
#nsft concept#overstim kink#cl1t torture#soft sub#praise#dom/sub#praise k!nk#dirty talk#desperate#c0ckwarming
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4k celebration
congrats on 4k love - your writing is absolutely worth all of the hype and even more!!! i adore your work and so look forward to even more people discovering it.
i was hoping to request a lewis fic?? i’m such a slut for a good enemies to lovers situation, so maybe along the lines of reader is a fair bit younger than lewis, but there’s been all of this tension btwn them and it all boils over one night (smuttyyyyy) 🥴
we made up.
LH x fem!rival reader - 4k celebration
in which you can never just bite your tongue
eeeeek i love this request! thank u sm anon for ur sweet words, ur so lovely i hope i’ve done this justice for you! writing for lewis terrified me so this might not be my best work but we move! more lewis requests to come, let me know what you think <3
songs to set the mood: stargirl interlude by the weekend & lana del rey
warnings: 18+!! minors go away!! smut, swearing, degradation, praise, dom!lewis, some switch!reader, implied age gap, slightly inexperienced reader, enemies to lovers, blink n you’ll miss it size kink
2.6k words
you hide admiration with a scowl, curling into yourself, as far away as you can get from him. the couch seems to get smaller and smaller with every overly intelligent, carefully thought out word he says. each sentence seems to be coated in a thick layer of i don’t give a fuck. you don’t know how he’s so good a toeing the line.
after six years in f1, you still couldn’t work out why you didn’t like lewis hamilton.
maybe it was his cool confidence, the way he never lacked composure, while you were called an unhinged, delusional woman by every incel on twitter for so much as breathing. maybe it was his sky high stack of trophies, championships, podiums, wins. you weren’t even halfway close to touching his records. maybe it was the way he was diabolically, inhumanly gorgeous, a truly breathtaking creature. you paled in every single way compared to lewis, so how could you even begin to like him?
it was silly, really, pathetic even, feeling such childish disdain just because he was better than you. he was older, more refined, iconic in every single way that you weren’t. perhaps you’d get there one day, but you simply weren’t there yet.
you’re sat beside him in the press conference, sharing the couch with him, alex, lando, charles and max. it wasn’t the worst combination in the world, but anytime you had to sit in front of a gaggle of hawk-eyed journos and a million cameras with lewis, something unfortunate usually happened. never by design, but you just weren’t very good at saving face in front of the mercedes driver.
“do you think the podium is a possibility this weekend?” someone from autosport whose name you can’t remember asks.
“i’m hoping so, just need to keep the mercs behind us again, but i don’t think that will be that hard.” you respond, without even a sliver of a filter. the material of the sofa shifts as lewis tenses up beside you, inhaling sharply at your blatant disrespect. somewhere beside you, lando sniggers, and max is rolling his eyes.
it was no secret that you didn’t have the softest spot in the world for sir lewis.
“that’s assuming your car makes it to the end of the race.” lewis clears his throat, speaking with confident conviction. you turn you head to glare at him, painfully unable to take what you give. alex slaps his hand over his mouth.
“at least my car isn’t so bad that i’d rather go and learn the alphabet down at ferrari.” you scoff. you avoid the eyes of your comms officer, because if looks could kill, you’d be six feet under already.
“i think we’ll leave it there.” tom clarkson suggests, and you stand from the panel and storm away on trembling legs with a terrible ache throbbing between them.
there’s something about the pettiness, the reasonless back and fourth you two always seem to partake in that leaves you in need of a cold shower.
-
turns out, you have to apologise.
you spend the better part of an hour being bollocked by your press team, who, for some reason, don’t find it particularly amusing that you’d somehow managed to insult the lewis hamilton, ferrari, and mercedes in the span of two sentences.
so, there you were, begrudgingly trailing towards lewis’s hotel room. it’s on the top floor, because of course it is, it’s him. he oozes expensive exclusively, naturally above the rest. you twist your rings nervously, increasingly terrified of being in a confined space alone with the gorgeous brit. your knuckles rap gently against the wood of his door, intentionally weakly. you pray he won’t hear you and that you can just disappear back into the elevator and into your room, to pathetically let you hands wander between your clenched thighs.
but god laughs, and the door swings open. lewis seems startled by your presence, just for a moment though, leaning cooly against the doorframe. his lips pull into a faint smile. two things alarm you. first of all, he’s shirtless, bare from the waist up, a plethora of delicious tattoos on display for you to feast your eyes on. secondly, and somehow even worse, he’s panting, clearly just back from a work out in the gym. he glistens with sweat, and your mind goes blank, apologetic words die on your tongue.
“something to say, angel, or are you just here to stare?” lewis teases, the words rolling off his tongue smoothly. you pray for the ground to gape open, swallow you hole, suck you into hot lava.
“well, i was gonna apologise but i don’t think you deserve it.” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest accusingly.
“didn’t think you knew how to apologise.” lewis grins sarcastically, mocking you.
“has anyone told you how arrogant you are?” you bite back, eyes narrowing.
“why don’t you come in here and i’ll show you just how arrogant i can be?” his voice has dropped a few octaves, seductive and low.
the proposition, the suggestion behind his words makes you fold immediately. you’d wondered for far too long about what he was like behind closed doors and under thick bedsheets, and if you had the chance at finding out, you’d be imbecilic not to take it.
you shove his muscled chest, pushing him back into his room. his hands find your waist, pulling harshly at the material of your loose t-shirt. he’s watching you intently, mesmerised by the angry flush on your cheeks tinging you pink. your eyes convey hunger, matching his, and you’re forcing him down to sit at the foot of his bed.
“why are you such an asshole?” you hiss, slotting your knees on either side of his so that you’re straddling him.
“probably the same reason you’re such a little bitch.” lewis growls, tugging you forward harshly on his lap. you feel his work out shorts ride up on his thighs, the material sensitive on your skin.
your pupils blow wide at his words, and you’re kissing him hard, teeth and tongues clashing messily. his lips are so soft, pillowy as they brush aggressively with your own and you lick wetly into his awaiting mouth. he’s addictive, minty, and you fall against his bare chest as he leans back into the mattress.
“i think you need to be taught some manners.” lewis grunts, flipping your bodies over like you’re nothing, and slotting against your body like a missing piece.
“i think the same could be said about you.” you breathe, sliding your hand under the waistband of his shorts. he chuckles quietly, the rumble reverberating through your own chest, cracking you open.
“try your best.” he whispers. your eyes roll back.
truth is, you’re not the most experienced person in the world. yes, you’re in your mid twenties, but a long term relationship with the worlds biggest loser and dedicating your life to a career in a boys club meant that you didn’t have the time to develop broadest set of skills. you didn’t have the luxury of letting loose in a nightclub with a stranger because if that information got into the wrong hands, you’d be slut-shamed off the face of the earth. so now, you found yourself a little bit lost under a literal sex god.
as if he can hear your thoughts, lewis pulls back.
“what’s the matter? do you want me to stop?” he’s softer than he ever has been with you, melting away in your hands, but you draw him back in, tightening your grip on the band of his shorts.
“no, no, i just…” the words die on your tongue. something in your eyes gives him all the information that he needs.
“do what feels right, good.” his nose brushes your jaw, kissing over it and you settle back into the moment.
“teach me a lesson.” you whisper, empowered in his hands, and he springs back into action, his demeanour slipping right back into what it had been.
“is that why you’re so bad in interviews? just want me to fuck some respect into you?” his lips tug amusedly when you nod rapidly up at him.
an experimental roll of his hips makes you keen, hand slipping into his braids and pulling hard. his eyes fall shut, lips parting to let out a soft groan, his eyebrows pinching from the rough pleasure. your fingers graze over the skin of his toned belly, finding sensitive skin that makes him shiver.
“you distracted, lew?” you taunt, with the only intention of riling him up.
his eyes snap open, hard and lacking any sort of warmth, and he tears your hands from where they rest on his firm body, swiftly pinning them above your head with one hand. he plants himself on one knee, balancing himself so that he can fiddle with the button of your shorts. he makes quick work of removing them, forcing the zipper down and skilfully manoeuvring them with just the one hand.
once they’re gone, along with the lace of your underwear, he forces your thighs apart, and slides his fingers along the seam of your cunt, slicking them up. you’re soaked and he momentarily falters, but he doesn’t let himself get too visibly affected.
“fuck, you’re so wet. been thinking about me, angel?” he teases mercilessly, as he rocks the first thick digit into you, twisting and curling until he finds the spot that makes you buck your hips.
“nothing to say now, hm?” lewis tuts, wetting his lips. the feeling of you squeezing so tight around just one of his fingers makes him choke out a moan. you can feel his hot breath fanning over your face, your eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of him filling you up.
“more.” you breathe, stuttering over just one word. he revels in how he’s managed to reduce you to this so quickly.
“you sure you can take it, angel? so fucking tight.”
“make me.” you plead, parting your strained thighs even wider for him.
he lets go of your hands, snaking down your body to get himself closer to where you’re dripping already.
“keep them there.” lewis orders, and you grip tightly onto the pillows to exercise restraint.
lewis presses his forearm over the plush of your belly, holding you down as he adds a second finger, watching in awe as it slips so effortlessly into your pussy. you’re mewling, fighting to buck your hips but the firm press of his muscled arm keeps you in place.
“so pretty for me, angel, soaking my fingers.” he notes, entranced at how responsive you are for him.
“want you inside of me, lew.” you whine, knuckles paper white where you’re fighting off the urge to reach down and touch him.
“wait.” he snarls, ramming his fingers even harder, grinding against the soft spot buried deep. “you’re gonna cum like this first.”
with that, he removes the barricade of his arm, bringing his spare hand to your clit, the pad of his thumb drawing calloused circles into the bud. you lose it, grinding down on his fingers like a woman possessed.
“that’s it, sweetie, fuck yourself for me.” lewis encourages, voice gravelly and low.
sparks shoot down your spine, nothing but white behind your eyelids as he lights you on fire. you can’t warn him, the words lost to the tense air of the room as you barrel towards your first release. he eases you through it, not letting up even a little bit, but it pays off when you can’t help but writhe against the cream of the bedspread.
“god.” you croak, flopping limp as he pulls out, crawling over you.
“learned your lesson?”
“not quite.” you flash an exhausted grin, abandoning your grasp on the pillows to slide them down his thick frame.
you trace the lion adorning his shoulder, the compass, each piece driving you further into utter delirium. your hands graze his waist, snaking around his abdomen until you reach the cross, tracing it until you reach words that keep him going.
still i rise the cursive reads, and he shivers as you rake your nails over it.
“fuck me.” you purr. your hands slide under his shorts once more, gripping at the curve of his ass. you push the material down over his thighs, and he happily kicks them away, his inked hands roughly spreading you even wider.
“desperate little thing, bet you go home after every race and fuck yourself silly wishing it was me, hm?” he adjusts himself between your legs, his thick cock nudging against you entrance, drenching himself in the mess he’d made.
you gasp out a moan as he slides deep, taking his sweet time. you can’t even comprehend his words, totally consumed by the brutally enticing stretch of him, your thighs shaking at the delectable intrusion. he hisses at the sensation of your tight warmth, his head falling to rest in the crook of your neck. lewis licks over the sensitive skin, trailing open mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. you feel the sharp graze of his teeth, gentle nips making you shudder on his cock.
“don’t leave a mark.” you choke, and lewis seems to get it, so he skims his teeth lower, sucking purple just over your heart.
you clamp down around him, allured by the tweak of pain, and it seems to spark something in him, his hips rolling into yours experimentally.
“you feel so fucking good.” lewis pants, his breath warm and wet on your neck.
“need you to move.” you plead, turning your head to capture his lips in an urgent kiss.
he pulls out, slamming back into you roughly, your tummy twisting with anticipation. lewis finds a rhythm that suits you both, hips hitting yours with every thrust, each one leaving you full and spent.
“gonna make sure you feel me for days.” he promises, yanking your legs over his hips. as he does, he hits deeper and you yelp, stars in your eyes. “when you sit in the car tomorrow, you’re gonna feel me and remember how to be a good fucking girl, not an attention seeking brat.”
you ramble his name, eyes flooding with tears of overstimulation, dumbfounded at how he seems to hit a new spot with every slide of his cock. he’s digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs, pulling your hips impossibly closer to his as he drives into you, as if he wants to become a part of you, moulded for an eternity. with the way your stomach knots, butterflies and adrenaline coursing through you, you’d comply; you’d let him do whatever he wanted to him anytime he wanted.
“‘m so close.” you whine, pulling on every part of him your hands can reach. a refreshed sense of determination builds in his eyes and he presses hard on your navel.
“so deep, can see it.” lewis slurs, eyes fixed on your belly.
those five words make you unravel, sending you hurtling over the edge. he can’t help but fuck you through it, hammering home while you spasm around him so tight that he struggles to move.
“fucking addicted to this pussy.” lewis groans, burying himself as deep as he can go.
you’re utterly enchanted as you watch him reach his release, gnawing at your bottom lip when his part in a moan, allowing gentle puffs of air to escape. his long eyelashes rest delicately over his cheeks as his eyes fall shut, your name spilling out of his mouth like a needy prayer.
you’re warm from the inside out, flushed and full when he settles, pressing his body weight into you completely.
-
two weeks later, you’re in japan, bored senseless in yet another press conference. lewis sits further down the couch, and you have to cross your legs every time he speaks. no one seems to notice, except him, of course.
when it’s your turn to speak, and you’re asked all about your little spat with sir lewis back in australia, you shrug, smirking.
“we made up.”
-
oof
-
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colour me in: redraft | jjk (m)
Summary: The calm is more appreciated after a storm.
Life with Jungkook proves to you that sometimes, joy can, in fact, overshadow grief. Yet, not without confronting and removing all hurdles standing in your way once and for all.
➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader
➳ rating: 18+
➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some tame angst, sooo much fluff, smut
➳ warnings: new relationshippppp, so much hugging and kissing, yoongi!! tae!!, tears, abandonment issues, talk about social anxiety (just briefly and nothing serious!), jungkook drops a big question :'), a surprise in the middle, a surprise near the end, and then a SURPRISE at the end lol, many surprises, they're so crazy for each other it's gross; explicit sexual content: okay – kook is wearing a chain.. this vibe :'), making out, showering together, shower sex, spanking, biting, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, mouth/face f*cking, mirrorssss, he likes her ass and tiddies, tears, choking, v brief ass stuff, rough and soft sex, dom and big cawk jk, vocal jk, multiple orgasms, they're simps; ALSO YEAH THE ENDING :')
➳ word count: 25.3k
➳ a/n: so when i said this chapter would be shorter… welp lol. but i still think it introduces the next arc really well. i kinda love the ending!! .. and the next part will be </3 :'''') as always beta'd by my lovely @missgeniality 🤍 i hope you guys like this one a lot. worked my ass off for this fr :') if you do, please do support the chapter and interact with me, too, it makes my day <3
➳ listen to: i need u by yaeow | full collaborative playlist 🤍
SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST
MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER
Monday morning’s breakfast is awkward. Or at least, the very first minute of it.
The hands of your watch drift to 9 AM; you should’ve expected you wouldn’t be occupying the dining table alone. Your parents, sipping the last of their coffee, aren’t that much of a surprise after all.
You breathe a quiet breath of relief when their eyes dart towards your timid forms at the threshold, then back to the table. And a moment later, they’re pushing their chairs back across the marble floor before they clear the path to breakfast for the two of you.
Your father acknowledges you with a brief, polite nod on his way out, even flashing a similarly quick smile. Ingenuine, because his glance, fleeting when directed to you, is as disappointed as your Mom’s behind him.
Today, you understand. Somewhere in the depths of your recovering mind, you feel upset about shitfacing yourself so thoroughly, too.
You haven’t seen your mother in over two days. Jungkook’s post-showcase confessions brought you to Eun, and the next morning you barely scanned your room before you left for her place again.
Guess the momentary encounter in the hallway doesn’t quite count; you could hardly crack your eyes open. Combined with half the dozen naps you took in your locked room the very next day, you won’t exactly expect pride from her right now.
Until now, as she advances towards your body, you didn’t consider much of her side; you stayed focused on the other occurrences passing after sunset. Moments whose scent your sheets still carry.
As your mother comes to a stand, you prepare your vocal cords, breathing in to explain yourself until you realise that she isn’t looking at you at all. Her eyes are firmly glued to Jungkook’s face, devoid of enmity for once.
Instead, she flattens her dress, sighing through her red-tinted lips before she nods towards him and simply says, “Thank you.”
And that’s it. A little breathtaking, entirely new.
You’re dumbfounded when she leaves; Jungkook doesn’t manage a single word. You imagine that if you’re baffled, he’s probably rethinking her words to assure he didn’t hallucinate them.
But neither of you did. And the silence lingering for a couple more seconds proves the depth of reality; not that you’ll change your mind about leaving your place. But the hint of appreciation, shot directly at him is a pleasant first nevertheless.
Breakfast is patient but fast. The quiet atmosphere doesn’t derive from the night before or what your mother just left you with, but from the emotional fatigue slowly dropping off your shoulders.
Jungkook lets you feast in peace, a soft palm rubbing over the back of your hand every now and then to assure you’re okay. And you are. You’re getting used to these changes.
To this alternative to whatever you feared before. A chance to erase all words and start on a blank page; a white canvas, waiting for vibrant colours instead of monochrome gloom.
Yet, despite the tranquillity last night, still present in the air and in your aching limbs, you don’t understand the sincerity of all the confessions he uttered until you leave.
Because breathing in your car isn’t as suffocating as it was the last few weeks. Back when you’d navigate through the town alone, the passenger seat empty. Or when you plucked up the courage and drove to the showcase numbly.
Or when the pain pierced through your chest; when your drunk ass thought the world would remain blue forever.
All of it is gone when you buckle up, shifting in your seat as you announce, “Okay. Let’s finally get you home.”
The engine roars for a moment, the car trembling, but you only register the knot in your throat when he says, “Feels so unfair of me. Having my girl drive me around so much.”
You don’t miss the endearment; neither the way your heart skips a beat.
Incapable of a proper reaction, you clear your throat and stutter, all at once and oddly in succession until you settle on a weak, “Why unfair?”
“Because. You do it a lot.”
You really do not. The night the museum closed and you dropped him off at your place was one of a few times; besides, he’s operated your vehicle more than enough before, too.
But you don’t contradict him, instead lightly suggest, “Well, you can drive if you want.”
You’re relieved when he joins your smile, dimples ever-so-sweet and genuine as he promises, “It’s fine. I’ll just stare at you.”
The shudder along your spine is delightful — relentless, he keeps your nerves alight. Perhaps he’s back to the self you knew pre-broken-hearts, playful and teasing, but the effect of his words curses through your veins hotter than ever.
“That’s creepy,” you still retort; you’ll gladly keep fighting this sweet, awkward battle against compliments for life, unaware how to handle them. “And it makes me nervous.”
“Sorry.”
Jungkook laughs, the back of two fingers reaching to your cheek to graze it featherlightly. Maybe he feels the heat beneath your skin, enhanced through his touch.
By now, you’ve spent a year with him — as a party fling, a class frenemy and a blue flower. But each second ticking away brings a new wave of soft, shy speechlessness. New honeymoon emotions.
The certainty of his reciprocated feelings, the fact that you’re finally on the same page, makes you rethink his tender confessions and touches differently. Makes you navigate the relationship differently.
His eyes drift back to the quiet, narrow street, surrounded by houses and blooming gardens. Probably as tired of the idyllic utopia as you, he doesn’t spare the suburban setting any more attention.
He only lets a flat hand rub against his thighs, nipping at his clothing as he says, “God, I can’t wait to get out of these damn joggers.”
Right. While not a main focus, you did find the special attire at breakfast today quite amusing.
“Did you even get to shower since picking me up?” you ask.
“Yeah. When you were napping again yesterday. Just gotta wash my hair later tonight.”
Hmm. You spent half your day knocked out; Jungkook could’ve circled the world and you wouldn’t have known.
“Oh. Good.”
The road proceeds straight, emptier near the suburbs. You allow a reckless glance before tackling busy streets; his eyes meet yours in curiosity, hair even messier than the night he met you in front of the bar.
When he left his apartment in joggers and an old shirt, mane untamed and no extra clothing at hand, he probably didn’t expect to abandon his place for so long. It gives you solace that he doesn’t regret it.
You drop the million memories of yesterday’s sunset burning into your eyes and everything that introduced it. The drunk words and the begging.
And then drop everything that followed afterwards; more pleading, more touching, more confessions that were in no way uttered through inebriate but not quite through sobriety either.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
You drop all the remembrances to focus on the moment; just to make sure that it’s real. So you ask, “Why didn’t you wash your hair there, too?”
For a moment, you see a flicker in his eyes, short-lived and quick; and his answer shoots out even more rapidly, “Just so.”
He emphasises his admission with a shrug of his shoulder, but it’s not nearly as convincing as he anticipates. Not buying a word, you push again, “C’mon.”
“I swear.”
“I’m curious now, though.”
There’s a momentary drop of silence before Jungkook hums, thinking as though he’s crafting a plausible excuse. Then, he says, “I didn’t wanna be away for too long.”
“…Why?”
“Why would I want to be?”
Ah…
Hmm. Well, maybe that’s enough for now.
Maybe he’s still not used to laying his secrets open. Maybe you need to practise patience, too, and stop digging like that.
You know that’s not all there is, but you certainly understand that it’s not a lie after all. Despite the pause and the obvious way his brain racked for a reason, his tone is genuine. You’ve experienced his insecurities before — that’s not what it was this time.
So you focus on the steering wheel instead, turning it left and away from the truck you drove way too close to. Your distraction might kill you — right there, next to you, clearing his throat and sitting up.
“Oh,” he says, segueing, and you let him, “wait, I forgot. Could we stop by at Yoongi’s for a sec? I wanted to see how he’s been doing.”
An abrupt change in topics, but not too abstract. As someone merely acquainted with the man, you’ve been collecting info on his state from Jimin; of course Jungkook would drop by personally.
You take a look at your digital watch; it’s barely ten and you don’t need to get away before 10:45. Taehyung agreed to meet with you to accompany you to your new potential flat again, so you should have time for a detour.
But.
“Is he…” you start, “gonna be okay with me being there?”
“Why?”
“I mean, just ‘cause… You know. We weren’t the closest for a while.”
Jungkook’s forehead wrinkles in new perplexion, muttering a few words. It takes a couple seconds — but eventually, he figures out that you’re not referring to Yoongi and yourself, and his expression changes immediately.
To subtle pain, you’d guess, like he doesn’t want to relive the memory. Like it never happened; like you weren’t two pieces of the same shattered heart this entire time.
But then he sighs, a hand wandering to your thigh. He kneads it softly, as a reminder to himself and to you that the past isn’t transpiring right now; that you’ve finally breathed and waded through it.
His optimism is encouraging when he says, “Nah. He thinks you’re cool.”
“I guess,” you mumble. You tap the steering wheel nervously, lips in a thin line before you add a hushed, “And if not, that’s alright, isn’t it? Like, hey, as long as you like me? Yeah, I shouldn’t overthink it…”
Jungkook releases air through his nose. You perceive a subtle shake of his head, as if to scold you, hear him say earnestly but gently, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t just like you.”
And whether casual or not, his words engulf your body immediately, like a soothing warm touch across your chest, yet effectively freezing your beating heart in place.
You can’t pinpoint whether the weight of his own words ever affects him as much as it affects you, or whether harbouring these emotions has become a familiar habit to him. At least to you, his tone is conversational and promising, perhaps even subliminally reassuring.
“At the very least,” he continues, “he’ll never disapprove of you the way Jimin disapproves of me.”
Which… snaps you back into reality for a second.
Your friend’s name is connected to more than mere dislike for the man next to you; currently, you think of dark nights and lamp-lit streets. After-midnight shenanigans and near tears in your own car, driven by the man who broke and mended your heart.
It reminds you of a blurry picture; two guys standing near an entrance, the older of them patting the other’s shoulder; smiling at him.
You do wonder if it was a fabrication of your mind.
“Forget Jimin,” you tell Jungkook, speech broken when you take another left and resumed when broader streets start. “Also. He did say he’s growing fond of you.”
“Because you like me. I still need to prove my worth to him.”
You tut.
“Kook, you don’t need to do anything. He’ll come around eventually. Just be you.”
“It’s fine, honestly.” He leans in, nudging your elbow, echoing you with a teasing undertone as he says, “As long as you like me.”
You love it when the initial nature of your relationship breaks through the mist of newfound passion; when you find the foundation of what you were, remembering how you landed here.
Which is why you bite back a laugh the moment you suppress a sassy, teasing remark, as if on reflex. One steer shy from pulling into a parking lot, you breathe out. If you halted here now, you’d kiss him, you’re sure.
But you merely laugh, squinting your eyes as you say, “You’re okay.”
Yoongi’s apartment, now inhabited by only one instead of two people, lies a couple miles from the campus. Jungkook guides you through the streets, jumping from one harmless topic to another — you reach his friend’s place a lot faster than you expected.
The building stands at a quiet place, surrounded by mid-high trees that give the grey colour of the complex a bit of liveliness. You walk to the entrance laughing about something stupid, a subtle nudge of his shoulder here, you pushing against his arm there.
But despite the familiarity and whatever occurred last weekend, it’s still odd jumping into the girlfriend role just yet. The word itself won’t even roll off your tongue very easily so far because you can’t believe a thing about this new reality.
So your hand dangles next to his awkwardly. Your thoughts keep drifting, registering half his sentence at times. What-if situations of gentle kisses and upcoming nights spent together tighten your chest.
Jungkook’s speech is clear and fluent, so you don’t know what your impact on him is exactly. At least he’s made sure you do have one on him — but you still wish you had a map through his mind to understand every thought he houses for you. Every emotion.
On the way up you feel a little dizzy; whether it’s due to the circular shape of the staircase or his proximity, you don’t know. You only realise that something’s still bothering you when you’re halfway up, coming to a halt with one foot on the next step.
“Okay, seriously,” you say, and he turns to you immediately, puzzled as he drops to the same level as you. Close to you.
“What?”
“You said you didn’t wanna leave,” you repeat, still stuck on the hair washing and staying longer thought, “why not?”
The answer could be simple. Could be rooted in emotions and the confessions you later uttered — but there must be something more. You saw it in the brief feeling flashing across his eyes, sitting in the passenger’s seat with silence sealing his lips.
Maybe something happened… because something always happens.
“You’re still thinking about that?” Jungkook questions, eyes wide in disbelief; lips pouting.
“No secrets, right?”
This seems to snap him out of all mysteries, last night’s conversation travelling to the forefront of his mind. But something about your curiosity amuses him. He wraps the fingers of his left hand around the staircase reeling, head dropping with a delicate smile.
His hair hides his eyes, but you know they’re sparkling; voice a mild drizzle when he starts, “It’s…” He draws in, inked digits touching your elbow before moving up your arm absentmindedly. “Don’t worry so much. It’s nothing harmful at all.”
You wait. Let his thumb graze your neck, up to your chin.
He sighs, almost exasperated in a way. “You speak in your sleep, you know?”
Wait. What?
You blink, thoughts disoriented. The staircase is dimly lit, but you recognise the slight upward curve of his lips; more empathetic than teasing.
So you still do?
“Huh?” you make.
“I think you dreamed of waking up a couple times? You hadn’t, though, and it’d always be something about being alone again.”
Again.
The word reverberates through your mind, dragging and stretching. Didn’t you once read that a broken heart is akin to serious rehab, accompanied by withdrawal symptoms and slowly healing scars?
You guess your heart was hurting more than you already knew.
“Okay,” you say, nodding when he does, thumb lifting your head when you drop it. You swallow thickly. “What did I say exactly?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know anymore. Something about me leaving. And I was scared of waking you up while gone ‘cause you’d actually think I’d left.”
You hum. Allow yourself a moment to process the info; you seek out fragments of your dreams, but you draw a blank. You feel guilty about his concerns, yet relieved. Vulnerable. And somewhat reassured.
“I’m sorry,” you finally say.
Your voice is barely above a whisper — less because of the conversation. More because of the touch on your cheek. It’s soft against your skin, and you shiver. The flutter in your chest is only just bearable.
That’s the thing about falling in love. It’s sweet — so much sometimes that it twists your guts. You’re in so deep, you could hurl.
“Nah. You don’t need to worry about this anymore, okay?” he murmurs.
His eyes dig into yours. Dark and shiny through his healthy tresses, livelier than ever. Sincere.
You, on the other hand, must look unconvinced without intending to, because his mouth aligns with yours soon after.
He exhales, tilting his head, and says, “Look,” leans in, leaves a featherlight kiss against your cheek, right next to his thumb, “I mean it.”
Guess being with him comes with occasional mental blackouts. And regular arrhythmia. The palpitations behind your ribs are almost ridiculous; instead of gripping your own chest, you grasp his shirt immediately.
Lightly, as if you could collapse without this anchor.
He lets you pull him closer just a little, whispering as if someone could hear, “What’s wrong?”
Vulnerability hidden, you blink again, and joke, “Nothing. Just thought you were gonna kiss me.”
Jungkook smiles. His nose brushes against yours, toying a bit, and his bunny teeth make him look somewhat younger when he voices, “You want me to kiss you?”
“I always do.”
Your grin is playful, but your heart is pounding in your chest. Who would’ve thought the journey from a car to an apartment could be so long, so thrilling?
His snicker is gentle and canorous, knees careful against yours. Your heartbeat accelerates some more, rose-tinted lips opting towards their goal. You part your mouth, ready with a deep breath.
But the two of you are always subject to disturbances — so you’re disappointed but not surprised when you hear rushed steps on top of the staircase, strolling down and crossing your path just when Jungkook backs away.
The stranger passes by you with initial surprise in his eyes, not expecting you, but soon gets over it and drops his gaze again. And once he’s gone, Jungkook winks, a hand on your back pushing you forward gently.
“Later,” he says.
You know as you ascend the stairs.
Know that with the ease with which you handle your feelings for each other, you’ll strive towards a future where you won’t be haunted by dreams of being alone. Where you won’t fear his departure, and where his kisses won’t be interrupted by this cruel world.
The building reminds you of when you’d frequent the dorm you used to know. The walls and hallways are similarly built, narrow and somewhat cheap. They look like most buildings from the inside do, honestly, but you like the pleasant illusion the nostalgia brings.
Even the bathrooms are located near the end of the hallways; Jungkook once told you that Tae and Yoongi have their own kitchen, unlike him back when he still housed his dorm. But there’s a communal bathroom here, too; allegedly one reason why Tae moved out.
The only thing that separates this place from Jungkook’s old dorm is the subtle difference in scent. Not pure testosterone.
You smile.
The mood doesn’t match with what you felt back in June at all.
Back when you stomped to Jungkook’s dorm, furious about yet another insignificant issue, you didn’t think your fingers would ever be brushing his like they are now. Or when you escaped the rain and entered the building’s warmth, your umbrella leaving behind a trail of raindrops.
Your relationships, your priorities, your emotions. Your universe changed faster than the seasons.
As you walk past a random door, Jungkook cranes his neck, staring as if he could x-ray-glare a hole into it and glance at what lays behind it. Perhaps he’s thinking back, too.
You don’t know about all the things he experienced throughout the years there. Part of your heart stings because you remember you weren’t the only girl who ever frequented his place.
But you still left an impression — if the current status of your relationship isn’t proof of it, then the sudden touch along the back of your hand certainly is. A thumb following a vein blindly, opting to grasp your palm into his, yet retracting when you finally come to a stand.
The digit caressing your skin lifts to the door, and his knuckles knock three times, rhythmically. Your chest constricts as you jump back into the moment, probably half as nervous as you’d be if you met Jungkook’s parents.
A moment stretches as you wait for Yoongi to open, allowing yourself just another spiralling thought as you imagine actually daring a meeting with Jungkook’s parents. It’s too early to think about it, isn’t it?
It’s just.
Since yesterday, you’ve created a dozen different scenarios in your head, ranging from a civil, calm conversation with his father to a full snap. Half of you wants to know his genuine thoughts on his son’s sorrows; the other half wants to rage and then bolt away.
Ugh.
When the door swings open, your hand flashes to Jungkook’s. A startled instinct, even though nothing about the action was surprising or scary. But he doesn’t mind — of course he doesn’t.
His eyes rush to yours for a second, warm and somewhat thrilled, his smile permanent. And then he looks back at his friend, quietly squeezing your palm, the shy smile soft as he greets, “You’re walking without clutches, huh?”
Yoongi doesn’t respond right away. He looks from Jungkook to you and back. His gaze isn’t very telling, but you find amusement in it. If you weren’t so ridiculously and inexplicably nervous about his upcoming statement, you’d laugh.
Intently, he grants a peek at your entwined hands, and when he looks at the two of you again, he starts…
Smiling.
Gummies all out, a tiny laugh thrown in between before he says, “Ohoho. You’re here, too?”
The smile turns into a sly grin, a hand clutching the frame of the door. You guess he’s not as balanced after all. Possibly just abandoned his clutches for the short way from the couch to the door.
“I can totally go,” you tell him, the teasing tone missing; soft and small instead.
“Why in the world would you?” Yoongi steps aside carefully, nodding the two of you inside. You oblige, hearing his voice behind you jest, “Now, would you look at that. Did I do that?”
Jungkook automatically drops on the chair at the tiny dining table, like he’s arrived home, and you follow; make yourself comfortable on the seat next to him. There are three chairs, as though carefully chosen for the pair of friends who used to live together and a guest.
Next to you, Jungkook huffs, leaning back as he watches his friend plop onto the chair in front of him, and asks, “How would you’ve done that?”
“Well, you guys gathered at the hospital because of me.”
Right. Good point.
If he just knew how that night played out. Actually, you think he just might, yet not quite aware of its severity.
“Not because of you,” Jungkook promises, “I just charmed her again.”
You laugh. So does Yoongi.
He isn’t irritated or taken aback by the younger’s boldness; in truth, he seems entertained. Arms crossed, eyes small and grin wide. He half mocks, “The young ones are charming for sure these days.”
“Spoken like a true Grandpa,” Jungkook remarks. You press your lips into a thin line, but with a faint smile. You only listen; you’re in the territory of two friends who spend their time roasting each other. You’re not on that level yet, so you observe. “But I had to.”
“You had to, huh?” you joke. Okay, observation broken. Your body tilts towards him. “You didn’t need any of your charm for… this. But still good to know.”
Because you would’ve been putty in his hands, no matter what — charm or not.
"Can confirm," Yoongi agrees, nodding towards his friend, "that he was also a proper mess the last couple weeks. Very out of character."
Your eyes roll to the side to catch a glimpse of him, but the moment you detect the rosy dust on Jungkook's cheeks, you avert your gaze immediately.
Admittedly, the guilt in the middle of your chest is undeniable. But there's comfort in knowing you were never the only half who was deeply, perpetually falling.
Yoongi scratches his temple, doesn't meet your eyes; possibly shy when it comes to conversations like these. But he sounds warm and gentle when he says, "I'm really glad you guys are back."
You’re similarly timid, feeling strange. As if someone’s congratulating you on a fresh marriage. Or maybe that’s just the emotion you want, need to feel.
You say, “Thanks.” And then, ever-so-terrible with compliments, add a little, “Let’s say it was you. Double thank you to the man of the hour.”
Yoongi pulls a grimace hitherto unseen; it doesn’t faze Jungkook, but the Joker-esque grin and wide-eyed nod have you bursting into laughter. His friends are pleasant, you think.
If there was a way to lure Jimin in and convince him of this group’s collective appeal, you wouldn’t hesitate. There’s only a limited time you want him to play the petty, protective friend.
“So, how have you been?” Jungkook eventually asks.
Yoongi rubs the corner of his eye, stretching his injured leg under the table, “Never better. The bank is surviving without me. Besides, I haven’t gotten around to making some music in a while.”
“Tae did tell me you were enjoying your days off.”
Jungkook reacts with a tiny chuckle, but your eyes widen. You let him finish his sentence, and then spit, “Wait, wait. You make music?”
“Oh, I mean… I’m not any good,” he explains, wiggling a hand, a little startled as if he forgot you didn’t know yet. “I just. Make a few beats every now and then and write my own bars and stuff.”
“Wait, rap?” You stare between the boys, to and fro, only a little offended that you didn’t know you had a brooding future musician in your midst. “Can I hea—”
“No.” The answer is immediate. You pout. “Before you ask, I am way too much of a coward.”
“He’s amazing,” Jungkook intrudes.
And you whine, “Unfair, Yoongi.”
He imitates your expression, leaning back, copying your stance, and answers in the same childlike tone, “Warm up to me first! I’ll show it to you one day.”
“One day I’m gon’st hear it,” you declare, overly dramatic with your chin up, “you have my taste in music, you know? I know I’ll like it.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“I can try.”
Yoongi blows a raspberry. You’re not sure what you expected; maybe subtle hostility. But the sense of casual camaraderie is refreshing; lounging comfortably in his living room was a picture far from your mind until now, and you think he enjoys the unforeseen gathering, too.
Because after a moment of stillness, a faint smile touches his lips, his voice back to normal and deep as he remarks, “It’s nice that you guys came. I get bored here a lot.”
Right. You kept wondering.
You don’t dive into the matter immediately, instead drenching your voice in a teasing lilt, “Even though Jimin visits you?”
“Shut up.” Mock exasperation rolls his eyes as Jungkook appreciates your joke, one foot pressing against yours under the table. “No. It’s just been lonely since Tae moved out. It’s a two people thing with two bedrooms.”
He shrugs his shoulders, attention fully on you. Jungkook either doesn’t have much to say or doesn’t want to interrupt. Only listens.
“Living here alone feels like I’m wasting space and money,” Yoongi finishes.
Curiosity piqued, you probe, “What did Tae say when he left?”
“He offered to let me move in with him. But that’d be pointless.”
“Why so?”
“He’s awesome for offering, but I think he wanted his own place, you know? Why would I intrude then? But I did tell him I’d look for another place.”
“Have you been?” you ask. You still remember how happy Taehyung looked last time you met him alone.
How he spoke so highly of a life on his own, gladly interrupted by the occasional visits Eun granted him. Yoongi, you think, would probably benefit from acquiring his own place, too — one that doesn’t remind him that someone left him behind, inhabiting a vacant space thought for two.
“Every now and then,” Yoongi admits. “Will think about it some more once my leg’s healed.”
You nod in understanding, a thoughtful hum escaping your lips. Yoongi soon leans forward, naked arms on top of the table, and delves into a discussion about the rising costs of rent.
He outlines the challenges of finding the right place in the bustling city, and explains his worries about the empty space in a too-large apartment. And you listen intently.
But as minutes pass, you can’t help but notice the contemplative silence Jungkook has fallen into.
It’s always the same with him — thoughts you can’t read, questions you need to postpone.
Because you do glance over at him, observe the distracted furrow of his brow, the distant look in his eyes. You understand he’s once again lost in unknown thoughts, and you sense how jumbled his mind must be.
But you still decide to hold off for the moment, out of respect for the ongoing conversation. You don’t focus on addressing his apparent preoccupation until it keeps going until later, way after you’ve bid Yoongi goodbye.
“Why do you seem so reserved?” you ask in the car, his home your new destination.
It must be around quarter past ten; you should still be able to meet Tae within half an hour. Yet, despite the brooding rush, you can’t help but wanna drag out the ride, finish this conversation.
“Hm?” he voices.
Did he not hear you? Maybe.
You sigh, seeking an available parking spot. You’ve already turned into his street, way past the park, halting close to his entrance. The engine dies, sudden silence inside the vehicle.
“Okay,” you turn towards him, forearm against the wheel. “You’re a lot less enthusiastic now. What’s up?”
He looks distracted. Drags his teeth over his full, pink lower lip hard enough for you to repeat, “Hey. What’s wrong?”
“Uh.” Cue big boba eyes flitting to you. “I was just. Thinking about something.”
“Wanna share?”
“Yeah. Yeah, uhm. I swear I’m not trying to be mysterious, just. Not sure how to phrase it.”
He’s easing himself into this whole thing. The entire opening up act and being fearless with his feelings. So you don’t push him, but encourage, “Try. If not now, then maybe later, though?”
“No, no. Now is fine.” He frees his eyes off the dark bangs when he shakes his head a little, preparing to voice his hidden thoughts. Then, he breathes, “Yeah, so…”
One more second.
And.
“What if you dropped your plans of moving into that apartment?”
Oh. What?
Does he mean what you think he means…
There are only two options, right? And you choose to go with the one that would embarrass you less if it turned out wrong.
“Should I… do you think I should stay with my family?” you ask, your voice cautious.
But when his hands shoot up, immediately denying your assumption with round eyes, you breathe out through your nose. Relieved when he clarifies, “No, not at all. I mean, it’s up to you, but that’s not what I meant.”
So then…
“So you’re saying—”
He interrupts, rushing before he can back down, “Move in with me. And Yoongi could take the apartment you were considering.”
Fuck.
You didn’t expect your heart to jump up to your throat like that. It’s a day full of brief heart failures. You barely know how to react anymore.
You stare. Then stare a bit more. And eventually, you simply ask, “Really?”
“Yeah, I mean…” He gulps, averting your gaze all of a sudden before it lands back on yours. You chuckle quietly, unprompted, and it boosts his confidence. “You stayed at mine for days and it worked. It could… you know— keep working.”
The suggestion lingers like a fresh breeze, grazing your cheeks and twirling around you like a soothing force. He beams — though subtle, he seems to interpret the simultaneous rise of your eyebrows and your lips immediately.
Still, he inquires, “I don’t know… too soon?”
Technically yes. But then again, no. Because he’s right — you’ve already experienced a piece of heaven, tasted the bliss of domesticity with Jeon Jungkook.
“You really are serious about this, yeah?”
“Only if you want me to be,” he counters, less tense than before, but a hand rubbing in nervous circles over his knee, “if not, then I was absolutely joking.”
An awkward, little chortle fills the small space of the car; you shake your head, teeth out and smile bright. There’s sweetness in knowing that his affection is real. That the thought of shared future pains, joys and days — that it’s all actually become so unbelievably real.
The car is cool in the shadow, but you feel a strange heat coursing through your body. At the end of the street, you see the sunlight brighten the moment he laughs. Fitting.
The crinkly eye smile softens when he reaches for your hand, pulling it off the wheel and wrapping it in his. There’s an automatic reaction in your chest, a constant racing when he says, “I mean it, though.”
Brief pause. He looks down to your fingers.
“I think I got used to having you there. And then, at Yoongi’s I had this… I don’t know, overwhelming urge to tell you. That,” his teeth worry his lip, releasing it softly, “I want you next to me for as long as possible.”
You understand.
He means every minute that society and norms don’t force you out of the house. At nights and in the mornings, on off days and holidays. To fall asleep next to his presence, to wake up on the same mattress, too.
And the longing is undeniable; you know that it is. But you’re already swamped with decisions as it is — could you call off the apartment right here, right now? Rethink all you discussed with the landlord, Taehyung or yourself?
Life decisions are harder than that, and despite all the wants infiltrating your body, you can’t dive into this without a couple more following thoughts.
You keep gazing into his smouldering eyes, more intense when he looks up. Let their effect send a thrill down your spin, a surge of yearning through your veins.
And then, you acknowledge the need for prudence. You savour the moment, let the anticipation built, and flash a sultry smile to ensure that, yes, if not now, then one damn day, I’ll be yours entirely.
“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything to work more than this,” you admit, “but I need to—”
You halt. Words come hard to you these days; and the two of you are sensitive. It’s not easy to reunite after weeks of overthinking and distance; and you don’t want to provide more reasons to overthink.
But you forget that as sensitive as Jungkook is, he’s just as understanding and gentle, too.
Because he says, “You need to think. And I know you can’t just pack your things and move over, I just— I wanted it out there.”
“I know. I know.”
“And I,” he continues, “I actually thought you were gonna say no right away since you’re getting out of your childhood home just now, so naturally, you would wanna be alone for a while and—”
You lean forward, pulling your hands out of his grip. His eyes shoot down, baffled and confused, but you don’t give him a second to think or speak. In a moment’s notice, his cheeks are squished between your palms, his bunny face now akin to a duck.
“I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone all my life,” you tell him; Jungkook eyebrows furrow in empathy and worry, but you smile, “I don’t wanna be anymore.”
His expression and voice are dorky when he speaks, first words incomprehensible. You let go, watching the red splotches on his cheek, and he repeats, “Is that a yes?”
“It’s… I don’t know. A to be continued.”
“I’ll live with that.”
You don’t know if it’s the electrifying prospect of a life together or the confidence he follows his statement up with, but the insanity burns wild in your head. Untamed and dizzying.
“And I’ll wait for however long.”
“I didn’t even ask, I’m sorry… but are you starting work later today?”
You stand in the middle of Taehyung’s living room, a hand over your eyes to protect them from the bright sunlight. He’s busy piling the saucers and the cups, and you wait as he drags a vocal in thought.
“No, no. I’m off today.” He stands, and you automatically walk the short distance to the kitchen, lingering at the door frame. “Need the afternoon for an appointment at the doc. So yeah.”
“Oh. Everything okay?”
He doesn’t speak yet, dishes in the wash basin too loud. They clink and rattle; the moment you’ll move to an apartment by yourself, you’ll have to wash them yourself, too.
Maybe you can make your place as aesthetically pleasing and beige as Taehyung did. You don’t know — you couldn’t imagine much today nor discuss further details about the contract and rent and general house rules.
The landlord bailed on you last second. And Taehyung sacrificed over an hour that he could’ve spent keeping Eun company between her morning lessons.
You apologised the second you entered his apartment instead, thankful for the invitation to tea, yet harbouring guilt for wasting his time. But Taehyung proved incredibly kind, waving off your concerns immediately.
He asked, playfully offended, “So you’re saying a tea party with me is a waste of time?” And then he laughed, immediately shaking his head, “Nah. It’s fine. Am glad someone finally prefers tea over coffee, too.”
So now you’re here.
“Yeah, just a check up,” Taehyung answers, “vamps drew my blood and will tell me today if it’s good or not.”
“Interesting way to refer to doctors,” you admit, backing away when he leads you to the exit. You need to be at work in forty minutes tops. “Good then.”
He hands you your blazer, silent for a moment before he says, “Talking about feeling unwell.” You look up, arm halfway through the blazer’s sleeve. “What were you doing getting shitfaced like that?”
“Uhm…”
Word travels fast. Your cheeks heat up, fingers curling into fists. You smack your lips, letting out a tiny laugh, and ask, “Eun told you, huh?”
“Mhm. Scolded her for taking you to the bar and leaving you alone.”
You sigh.
You should’ve guessed that she’d tattle. And of course you might appear like the helpless, heartbroken girl, seeking comfort in alcohol, dark clubs and blue neon lights. It’s a little embarrassing, actually.
“Kook was there, though,” you defend.
“I know. I called when he was still at your place.”
Huh? What else did he do when you were asleep? Painted a Louvre-ripe masterpiece, probably.
Taehyung decodes the dozen questions in your stare, tumbling until his back leans against the wall. He explains, “We just talked for a sec. He sounded worried, so I didn’t prod too much. Just don’t do these things anymore, okay?”
Huh…
You can imagine it well. Partly because you remember the way he looked at you that night: distressed beyond belief, giving you soft orders, insisting on help everywhere — the car, the shower, the bed.
But also because you know him.
And you don’t think you needed to see him in those very moments to know he must’ve brushed through his silky hair. Must’ve looked through your room, gaze stopping over your sleeping figure.
Voice strained on the phone, yawning, shaking his head because he must have been a little mad at you, but comforted that you were resting, too.
You remember the tone of his voice, soft as a piano tune but saddened nonetheless.
”What did you drink? You’re… in such a bad state.”
You shake the words off. God, he was there for you more than you’ll ever know.
You say, “That’s nice, though, Tae… I didn’t think you’d ever get so worried about me.”
“Hey. You’re still my friend,” he promises.
He’s possibly been the only person throughout this entire ordeal to not be pissed at you or annoyed by you. You never doubted that he still liked you.
“I might not know you inside out like Eun or Jungkook do, but you’re part of this group. So naturally, you’re important, too.”
You push your hands into the pockets of the blazer, gripping the car keys inside. Bashfully, you smile. His sincerity pumps warmth through you; it’s crazy how good belonging somewhere, to someone, can actually feel.
It’s refreshing. New.
“Wow,” you murmur, shuffling your feet, “thank you.”
“You’re glowing, you know. That’s nice.”
“Am I?”
He nods. “I can’t wait to see him glow either. A couple weeks were a couple too long.”
Those couple weeks felt like someone ripped out the hands of time, keeping them from moving. Your brain aged faster in that time, deep in a bottomless abyss. You don’t want to experience it again.
And you don’t want to imagine Jungkook in the same pit again. Looking for you, but bumping against walls, painted with his past that made him stumble back instead of pulling him forwards.
Your eyes trail down the hallway, looking at the small paintings and decorations on the wall. You take in the furniture, inhale the pleasant colours. Imagine his living room in its entirety, the sunlight seeping through the windows. Curtains pushed aside.
Your apartment could be like this, too.
But.
“Tae,” you begin. You wrap your fingers around your rattling car key; lick your lips. “Do you think I’d like it here?”
“Hmmm,” he voices, gazing down as if he could look past the parquet floor and to where your potential apartment stands nearly empty. “Yeah. I mean, I like to think so, because I’m very happy here.”
He stops abruptly, the tone of the last syllable not matching a sentence’s end. You wait as he smiles a little, creating a thought, “But you could be happy somewhere else, too. Happier even.”
His words hang in the air, a sense of both possibility and uncertainty tangible. You were wanting to venture into this new chapter of your life with hope, but also with trepidation.
Suburban areas are nice, but you opted for the heart of the city — the vibrant tapestry of dreams and opportunities. You didn’t expect the journey to be fraught with sudden doubts.
The best thing, however, is that doubts and dilemmas never seemed this… tempting.
You tell him, “There’s always a place that makes people happier, for everyone.”
“Yeah,” he said, voice tinged with wisdom. “Only, some people already know of it, and some keep searching for it.”
“And I am—”
You pause, anticipating for him to finish the sentence; he responds, “You gotta know.” There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, support and acknowledgment hiding right behind — matching his words, “I’d be bummed if you didn’t become my neighbour, but. Also just happy you guys are happy.”
Too kind for this world.
In your endearment, you laugh, suddenly stepping forward for a brief, thankful hug. A silent gesture of gratitude for his friendship, no matter how shallow or new.
The people you surround yourself with offer endless reassurance, and you’re lacking the words to express your appreciation.
“Thank you, Tae. Eun’s right when she praises your constant respect for other people, you know?”
Taehyung, maybe a little perplexed, brings a hand to your back, patting gently as he states, “No worries. The worst is over.”
You hope so. God, you genuinely hope so.
You pull back, tucking your hair behind your ear and bid him goodbye with one last nod. Taehyung closes the door behind you with a humorous thumbs up, and you grin before it’s silent in the hallway again.
There’s a tiny window outside, overlooking the street down there and the cars flitting by. The area isn’t as peaceful as Jungkook’s — more lively and noisy. You can see the city’s river if you look far enough.
And as you step closer to the glass, you envision your own apartment again. You imagine the soft glow of the lamp before you go to sleep. The comfortable couch you want to plant in the back of the living room, curling up with work or your laptop or a cup of hot chocolate.
You picture the view of the city as you step to your open window, glancing out as the steam of your beverage swirls in the evening air. Contemplating the world outside.
But then you start rethinking Jungkook’s words, too. The idea of belonging and happiness, of domesticity and what could be.
And at last, you visualise what it’d be like if you didn’t see any of this — the lively street, the river in the distance. Wonder how you’d feel if the horizon looked different.
If you stared out and saw a different canvas instead.
The changes in your life are drastic in some way, but Jungkook always stays the same.
Your house lies quiet most of the time; as days pass, you frequent your room, then drop by in the living room, greeting the staff, grabbing dinner and retracting back to your beloved bed.
Jungkook’s apartment, baby-sized compared to your place, allows a much livelier atmosphere. Maybe because you don’t need to yell for him to hear you from another room. Or maybe because it’s just the two of you.
Perhaps even because you find solace in the couch, in the smaller smart TV in front of it, the glass table, the carpet, the homely furniture in general. The scent reminds you of wood, but you connect it with him, too.
It’s different from the room you grew up in. Different from the luxurious chimney and marble you’ve seen all your life. And you must admit that you enjoy it a lot more, too.
One of the few reasons why your mood changes from exhausted to merry the moment you knock at his door on Thursday. He was expecting you, because when he opens, he beckons you inside immediately, pulling you in and planting a generous kiss on your cheek.
A smooching sound accompanies it, his foot closing the door as he suggests, “Dinner first or TV?”
“Shoes.” You laugh. You slip out of your thin jacket before tackling your snickers quickly, your clothes suddenly itchy and uncomfortable. “Shoes first, and then shower? Can I?”
“Yeah, of course.”
It’s not the first time that you’d be doing it. But there’s still something new and pure about this new chapter of your life; one that comes with polite questions and reinventing reality, apparently.
Redrafting life as you knew it and striving towards something better.
“I knew it, actually,” he says, forefinger wiggling, “I put a fresh towel on the washing machine. Also had a handful of your shirts here, so there’s one of those on the towel, too. And my joggers… Sorry, you left none of those, uhm—”
He’s started walking ahead, scratching behind his ear, but when he notices you not following, he looks over his shoulder. Blinks at you, staring into his living room and back, innocent voice unsure, “Come?”
“Yeah. Yeah, just— you didn’t have t—”
“I know,” he interrupts, breathing a sigh in faux frustration, “I know I never have to. But I figured you’d wanna shower.”
“…Thank you, Kook.”
You wish you could say more; express your gratitude the way you want to. At least your body is jubilating, craving the hot steam of the shower. Starving further for some peace when you step into the bathroom and detect the neatly placed clothing.
Jungkook halts at the door, gripping its frame, a little shy as if you didn’t breathe each other in for the last couple of weeks and months. He’s looking at you, waiting for something, and when you raise an eyebrow in curiosity, he snaps out of whatever daydream he was in.
“Oh. Right,” he mumbles, cheeks flushed, “sorry. I’ll leave. Can heat up the food. Or, or do you wanna order in?”
“Anything’s fine.” He nods. Opts to walk away, big hand flattening his hair at the back. It takes a moment for your heart to riot as you watch him leave, immediately babbling, “Actually. I was—”
Returning within a moment, he looks alarmed. Less so when you point a thumb to the shower and suggest, “Do you wanna join?”
“You in the shower?”
No, doofus. Join to watch the washing machine unsoil your sweaty clothes.
You clear your throat. “Yeah?”
“I uhm… Is that okay?”
Goddamn. Redrafting life as you knew it, you said.
You just didn’t expect the two of you to still tip-toe around each other. Seems you still have a lot of adjusting to do.
You try to break the ice.
“Acting like I’ve never seen you naked.”
“No, I know,” he responds, “I was just thinking that you…”
You can’t quite decrypt what he’s trying to say, but you do perceive the flash of concern in his eyes. It’s a tiny glimpse, barely there; but you see it. And you think about it.
Try to understand, let moments pass — until you’ve grasped his thinking.
The night he helped you clean up was the last time you stood under a showerhead together; maybe he thinks you’re still connecting it to the night’s trauma or borderline dangerous intoxication. And perhaps you’re wrong.
But you still take a breath, and then segue, “Already took a shower, didn’t you?”
You know he did. He’s addicted to cleanliness, sensitive to scents; he hoards diffusers, skin care products and new underwear like a treasure. And showering is always the first thing he goes for, a beeline to the bathroom after work out sessions and intense summer days.
You follow up with, “It’s okay, if you did. I’ll just go alone and hurry to dinner, then?”
“No, no… No, it’s fine.” He starts his sentence fast, but slows down halfway through, awkwardly. “Of course I can join. What’s some extra refreshment, right?”
“That’s the reason, huh?” you mock, laughing when he shrugs his shoulder. “Keep acting like you’re not the biggest simp around.”
Your confidence boosts his own, too. The signature smile is soft, lips curved gorgeously, but the subtone of his words is teasing, and even a little cocky.
“Of course. I know, I know.”
“Come then.”
You offer a stretched hand, curling your fingers in and outwards, and he places his warm palm into it like a key to a lock. Albeit tense and nervous, your body feels good next to his. The telltale awkward signs of a new relationship don’t deter you from indulging in its sweetness.
So you’re not surprised at how quickly you undress, throwing each other’s clothes at the back of the washing machine and planting kisses whenever one of you bares their shoulder. Eyeing each other from bottom to top.
You think you ogle for a moment too long, though — and how could you not with the freaking silver chain dangling from his neck?
An exciting evening lies ahead, you can already tell.
It’s fresher now outside, and all of Jungkook’s windows are open. Despite the cosiness of the bathroom, you rush under the hot shower stream.
Only, it’s not as boiling as you’d like it to be. Jungkook starts and finishes his showers ice cold, so you screech when you meet water from the Antarctic. You jump on your spot, arms around your torso.
And when you allow yourself one single glance at him amidst the breathlessness, you notice that the asshole is doing it on purpose. Same old. Rouses core memories.
Jungkook wipes over your hair and your face, drenching them thoroughly. You only realise he’s smudged your mascara when he starts rubbing underneath your eyes gently, managing to get some of it off.
“Fuck,” you curse, “I forgot about that. Should I take it off first?”
The intention is to slip out, use one of his cleansing skin products and get the mess out of your face before stepping back to him. But you don’t make it far anyway; he yanks you back before your foot can even touch the mat.
And then, the moment passes in a blur.
Tense body back against his, he tugs you close. Holds both your wrists in front of your breasts, leaning in without a warning, and then — connects his dripping lips with yours.
If there was any space to gasp, you would. Instead, your fingers instantly dig into your hand, sharp nails scarring the skin. You move your fists, trying to touch him, but he holds you in place firmly.
That is, until his digits relax, trailing up your shoulder to your neck, jaw and then to your cheeks. Face in your grip, you let him control the pace. You find an anchor in his bicep, holding on; kissing isn’t enough.
You wish he could eat you up. Wish the tongue finally touching yours, swirling around it, was everywhere on your skin at once.
You feel a slight twitch underneath, right against your body; ready to devour, hopefully soon to explode. But Jungkook gasps for air when his lungs give out, allowing a break, backing away with your face still between his hands.
And then, he utters something surprising — something you didn’t expect in the heat of the moment at all.
“I was meaning to tell you something.”
“…Oh?”
“I’m uh. I’ve been meaning to tell you for days. I just never quite got around to it and we were so busy and tired all the time and—”
“What is it?” you break in, heart pounding at an unnatural speed. “I’m here now, so…?”
For a second, you expect this to take a whole different turn.
The database in your brain empties the moment you scour it for an answer, preparing yourself for molten knees and dissolving hearts. Or maybe, it’s already clarifying to liquid, jumping out of your chest and flowing down the drain along with the water.
But he doesn’t say what you anticipate. Though, what he does admit has your nerves glowing neon white anyway.
“So— the first night of my showcase. On my birthday?” he starts. You feel the muscles of your face change, and he sees it, immediately assuring, “No, no. Don’t worry. I was just gonna say that a guy came to me by the end of it? And—”
He lets all of it sound like an unsure question. But you think you know where it’s going — you hold your breath under the already suffocating water.
“And?” you prod.
“And turned out Namjoon invited him, and he’s kiiiinda a big shot in the art business? Like, he’s a gallery collector, he said. He’d invest in my art and acquire it and have it showcased in bigger museums for more recogni— I know!”
Your mouth and eyes opened halfway through his quick explanation, fingers back in fists, pressing against his solid chest and then moving up to hook in his silver chain. You’re restless in the congested space, suppressing the high pitched sounds.
He puts his hands on your hips, snickering in joy as he says, “Be careful before you slip.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Thankfully I’m not, angel,” he shakes his head, bangs sticking to his forehead, “not this time, at least.”
You raise a hand to his pec, tapping against it, “Wait. So just so I understood correctly — they’re gonna put up your stuff there for an even bigger audience to see, yeah?”
“I mean, the gallery is definitely far bigger than the exhibition I participated in.”
“Oh my god, Jungkook, the exhibition already had a shit ton of visitors!”
He nods, proving a point.
You feel an electric current in your blood. Pride, that’s what it’s called, too. You sling your arms around his neck recklessly, nearly falling, but you can’t be bothered as you exclaim, “This is so— I don’t even know how to react, Kook!”
And who could convince a big-shot art connoisseur so quickly after graduation anyway? Jungkook’s god given talents are never praised for nothing — you knew it. Fucking knew it.
Won’t make it anywhere, your ass.
“That’s so fucking awesome.” You stare, out of breath all of a sudden. God, if there was a way to express your delight. “When is it happening? Are you selling the one you showcased?”
“I don’t know yet. And no. That’s too… personal to me.” You blink, nodding. Still overwhelmed with how his pieces made you feel — of course they’d hit even harder for the artist himself. “He wants something in a similar style, though. I’ll make something new for him.”
“What’s it gonna be?”
It’s a simple question. You swear it’s nothing too deep.
But Jungkook’s gaze changes. An amused, delighted expression replaces a neutral one, head tilting to the side just a little. His lips, already slightly swollen from the kiss, move up, eyes kind and sugary.
If you only knew how your small details affect him, too. How you looking at him like this, expectant eyes split wide, innocent and gentle, shoots an arrow to his heart.
You just don’t know.
He brushes the hair sticking to your cheek back and tells you, “You’ll see. I’ve been working on it these days, but. Will show it to you when it’s done.”
You can’t even be mad. If it was up to you, you’d probably wait for the big day, too — can’t spoil the surprise, need to cry tears of pride and joy in public.
So all you say, deep from the heart, is, “You’re the fucking coolest person I know.”
“Nah—”
“The coolest.”
“Funny,” he retorts, as bad at compliments as you; throws them back like a boomerang, “thought the same when I met you at the party last year.”
“…Gross.” That’s what you say. But you still shake your head; overwhelmed, smile plastered to your face and cheeks hurting. “God, Kook.”
And that’s all.
You keep holding his stare, finally too tired of the distance to endure any longer — and then lean in. You stop a couple inches away, watch his head angle more, mouth steering towards yours. The smile is mutual, fingers seeking a spot to settle on on each other’s bodies.
Your heart monitor would be wilding right now — the effect of your lips meeting clear as day behind your ribs. And this time, you don’t stop.
The push against his chest is immediate, his feet slowly tumbling backwards. His tongue burns hot against yours, your lower lip fitting perfectly in the gap between his lips. There’s a sharp hiss when his back finally touches the tiles, mouth open but not leaving yours.
Teeth soon clash, and you opt for more of his taste, well aware that you just cannot kiss more than you already are. His hands move up and down, never settling, both your lips harsh and impatient. Your tongues keep moving in patterns, thirst never quenched.
You break the kiss solely for oxygen purposes, but he uses the moment to let his palm wander from your face to your hair, grabbing a patch. One hand pushes against the small of your back, though soon dropping to your ass, fingers between your ass cheeks, teasing the clenching hole.
Fuck.
The moan isn’t intended, but very welcome — you love the sound of it as much as he does, followed by his own. An automatic reaction. His hips indulge in the tiniest movements, length jerking against your body; no more than an inch of his fingertip pushing into your ass.
“Fuck, Jungkook,” you breathe, eyebrows furrowing, mewling against the corner of his lips. “More, now, please.”
It’s an attempt. Of course he won’t act that fast — you know him well enough. He’s been a soft gentleman often enough; but after holding back the past few days, missing it for weeks, you know it won't be easy on him either.
One of you will be on the brink of tears soon; until now, it’s usually been you.
You take a deep breath, agitated when he laughs. He retracts his hand, smoothing back his chaotic mane before leaning in for another peck. And that’s all it remains — interrupted immediately, saliva mixing with the shower water.
“I’m so fucking crazy for you,” he confesses; the shiver doesn’t hesitate crawling down your spine — neither does Jungkook, peppering your neck with kisses.
His actions are smooth — you let him do anything. Like, explore every little spot of your skin. From the softness of your face, down to the flesh of your ass, echoing hard when a flat hand slaps it out of nowhere.
You propel forwards, barely aware of your surroundings. The shower raining onto you is the only indicator of where you still are.
So when he turns you carefully, 180 until your back touches the tiles, you don’t realise his intentions for a moment. Only when he changes his approach, digging your shoulders hard into the wall, knocking you out of breath.
“Are you trying to—” you ask, but he interjects right away.
“Don’t question it this time, okay?” His face inches close again, teeth suddenly pulling and nibbling at your lip. “Just let us do. Lemme do, yeah?”
His chest presses against your tits before he backs away and palms your mounds, squeezing nearly painfully.
For only a heartbeat, though — he doesn’t stall further. Because another second passes before you’re turned in his grip, chest not touching his anymore, but the wall now. From behind you, he grasps your hips, dragging you back just a couple inches; enough to sneak his hand through.
“But whenever things get too much, you…”
You nod. Promise, “Will tell you. I will.”
“Good.” His cock pokes between your ass, and he spreads its cheeks. Lets the hardness rest between them, sliding up and down. “Gonna make you feel so good, though. Wanna make you feel so fucking good.”
Wow… wow, f—
Not that you were ever interested in it before, but…
Part of you wants him to shove it in anywhere. Wherever the fuck he wants. You’d endure all hour-long foreplay and pleas and tears for him.
And perhaps he’s thinking the same. Perhaps you even spoke it out loud — you wouldn’t be surprised if you did. But you choke on your spit when he says, “Missing the sex toys. Like… What do you think of new ones, hm? Someday, maybe. Like— like an anal pl—”
“Please,” you beg, “I’ll do fucking anything for you.”
Break in conversation. Then, “Holy shit.” He chuckles. Fuck — his voice is deeper now, isn’t it? “You’re being whiny. I thought you’re a badass business woman, but you’re so whiny.”
“Because— I can breathe when I work.”
“Ohh. And now,” he whispers, close to your ear, hand moving. Up and further up, stopping around your throat, as if he’s testing your statement. As if he could tell him anything about the state of your lungs. “Now we’re not as focused, right?”
“No thinking when I suck your dick.”
“Dammit. Really don’t wanna wait to fuck you numb.”
You’re shamelessly jittery, patience out the window. “Don’t then. Get to it now.”
“Nope. I know you’re not ready yet. And I’m not either… so—”
He steps closer, forcing your body further forward until your cheek is squished against the wall. His fingers leave your throat to find another target; something far more south, a lot more dangerous.
One small circle drawn around your clit, you gasp, hearing him ask, “You think you can come with just my fingers?”
“I don’t know. I honestly think I need—”
He chuckles, and you can’t help but laugh, too. You’re hilarious sometimes.
“You think you’re so smart. But we can still try, though.” He says it casually, as if the two of you don’t exactly know that he’s perfectly capable of pulling through. But his voice still softens when you don’t answer, “Hey. You wanna try, sweetheart?”
“Yes. Anything,” you convince him, “anything, Kook.”
“Good girl. The best, always.”
His touch vanishes. You let out a mildly confused sound, observing with an unfocused vision how he opens the shower door a little. He reaches for the towel on the washing machine, drying his fingers, other hand moving the shower head until it’s mostly wetting his own back.
It’s a tiny detail, really. You only told him once how action around the clit might become uncomfortable with hands priorly washed or wet, and it seems he remembered.
Your eyes shut when he returns to your bundle of nerves, massaging gently, skilled. It starts slow at first; you feel the hot wetness build in and around your entrance, the line between the shower water and your arousal fading.
Jungkook’s movements, calculated and systematic, only spur your body on. He’s always known what he’s doing; has analysed and explored what you want. How you want it.
It’s true heaven to you: the way he kisses your cheek. The way he draws moans out of you, the motions around your swollen bud rhythmic. Your back and limbs tingle; you don’t know what to do with yourself.
And when you can’t stand still anymore, Jungkook orders, “Stop that. You’ll break my jaw.”
“Sorry.”
Your apology is timid, tiny; he laughs. “You cutie… you’re adorable even in moments like these.”
You throw your head against his shoulder as if to oppose him, opening your eyes, looking straight into his eyes. Your eyebrows are kissing, tension between them, mouth agape.
And he adds, “Or maybe not.”
He lifts you up a bit, dragging your body along the wall — you didn’t even notice that you slid down this much, angled, ass darting out like this. But you also don’t mind the arm that rounds your torso, just underneath your tits, keeping you steady when he takes it up a notch and—
“Oh my god,” you squeak when he pushes two fingers in. “Yes, yes, please—”
The incoherent, random requests are his favourite. Most of the time, he knows better than you what you’re pleading for. Which is why he doesn’t stop this time; probably more in the mood to please you than tease you.
From this position, he can’t reach knuckles deep, but just enough to brush the walnutty spot inside. And to your surprise, the orgasm builds up fast; the first quiver takes over your knees, but you understand that this is nothing compared to what’s to come.
You press your hands to the wall, holding onto remnants of your sanity when he kisses your neck, and along your damp shoulders. His mouth is hot against your pulse, wet hair tickling under your jaw. He bites lightly; soothes the fleeting sting with his tongue. Vampiristic.
Like a sensual massage, well thought out, pornographic.
And then he picks up on pace. Whispers, “That’s right— we got this—”
He starts pumping into you; relishes your incomprehensible curses. The thumb over your clit and the impatience of his fingers inside are a dichotomy, and you don’t know what to focus on. Which is why you stop thinking altogether.
Jungkook takes a sharp breath, quiet whistling sounds included, and then groans into your ear when you do. He keeps his motions up diligently, fingers a bit deeper with each time your ass moves back an inch.
As an aid, he shifts his arm, too, pushing forward, palm pressing against your clit now.
And when you come, you melt. Nearly collapsing, you keep moving, on edge, every spot of your body in tremor. You can barely breathe; you’ve been nestled in the heat of the shower for way too long.
He notices your tremble in an instant, encourages, “Got it. Got you. Keep going, baby, c’mon.”
The peak is blissful; you don’t want to ever fall off the edge again. Want to remain in this starry, gorgeous ache. Your eyes could stay in the back of your head; the world may keep fading. And you don’t need to know where you are.
All you know is that your voice sounds odd, high when you pant, “Don’t go away yet.”
“I’m right here. Right here, got you,” he repeats, holding you upright.
Jungkook knows — knows how to get you from lowest lows to your highest highs. Today was as pleasant as a day at work can be; but if he’s ready to do all this to you on any other, worse day, too, you might never encounter grief again.
He scatters kisses all over your jaw when you’re done — busies himself as you catch your breath, swallowing, eyes closed. Once you’ve caught yourself enough to utter fragments of sentences at least, you tell him, “Something not human about you, Jeon.”
“Oh. Are we back to surnames now?” He cackles, soothing motions along your arms. “Are we gonna shake hands, too, once we’re done? Bow and say thank you?”
You shake your head, though the stupid smile doesn’t wait to spread on your face.
“You’re dumb,” you say.
“You make me dumb.”
He drops his touch, brushing your pussy again — maybe as a test. But you’re sensitive and vulnerable, closing your legs and opening your mouth in response. He’s sly; uses the moment to push two fingers in right away, pressing your tongue down.
And you, as challenge-accepting as ever, start sucking, tasting some of yourself. You wrap your hand around his, moving your head, chest still heaving from the exhaustion. Your eyes close slowly enough for him to see them roll back, a reaction to the images your brain creates.
Like, the thought of the member currently poking you replacing those digits. The prospect of emptying him entirely.
“Fuuuuck— wish my brain could take a picture of this and save it forever,” he says, voice strained.
You open your mouth, licking a strip along his finger, past the tattoo. “What’d you do with it?”
“Would… would bring it to the forefront of my mind,” Jungkook begins, reclaiming his hand and dragging it down to your waist, “and use it whenever you’re away.”
“Hmmm… and then?”
“Would just…”
He doesn’t continue. Only shakes his head, lifting his shoulders, stance desperate and wanting; maybe he’s even a little out of his mind.
You egg him on, “Show me if you can’t say it.”
It’s a surprise that he obliges, but then again, it’s not. You always forget just how weak he is — that his heart sits right there in your palms, his body a magnet to yours.
So you’re endlessly pleased when your eyes flit down to a hand around his dick. Stroking slowly, its head hard against your pelvis. And you manage to watch a tiny second longer until the floor beckons you towards it, down to your knees.
It’s uncomfortable immediately; slick and odd. But you’re distracted by your dry tongue, thirsting, ridiculously hypnotised by the cock dangling in front of you. And then his thighs… muscular and thick. You reach out to them, holding them, steering forwards.
Despite his delicate frailty, you don’t fare any better. Ready to bruise your knees like an obedient doll, eyes wide when you look up at him. You grip him softly, urging him to remove his hand, stroking in his stead.
You pass all pleasantries and hesitations, and dive in immediately — leading your mouth to the tip before wrapping your lips around it delicately. Determined, you let only a second pass, eager as you start moving right away.
Bobbing your head, you take him in as much as your gag reflex allows. He’s too big — it’s impossible to ever swallow him fully. But no matter how greedy you are, that’s it.
You don’t give into it all the way just yet.
Instead, you back away after another lick. Straighten your body, drawing in and repositioning until you can push your tits together around the stiffness.
His groan tumbles out of him broken, choked, a hand against the wall. His abs are rippling, bicep bulged, nipples tiny and perked. Dark brown. Eyes hazy.
You want to do so many fucking things to him — want to mount him. Pull his head back by his long strands. Want, need to kiss him, rub yourself on him, back and forth along his cock until his moans become uncontrolled. Sticky white cum sprayed over his tummy.
Your nails in your skin, yearning for more — that’s one of your billion thoughts.
Instead, you summarise your wants, whispering a single, simple, fucked out, “I…” You gulp down the knot. Shiver at your position, craving the hot water a little now. Then command, “Fuck my mouth.”
His eyes threaten to fall out of his head; like they always do. He knows it’s a constant reaction, too, it seems, because, “God. I’ll never get used to you saying this.”
“You better, though.”
“Right. Right…”
He caresses your face, pushes your hair back. Perhaps he’s had enough of the pace; because he soon reaches for your arms, compliant deer kicked out of his head as he forces your wrists up and crosses them against the wall.
One hand is all he needs to hold them in their place. One hand gripping them hard, disabling any movement of your arms.
You let out a strange, obscene sound, finding utter liking in this gesture.
But despite your pleasure, he still eases you into the process, the heart tattoo grazing your cheek. A touch so soft that you think he’s praising you, wordlessly and gently. Making sure you’re absolutely okay with whatever he does to you.
And you confirm it with another blink, stretching out your tongue, ready. Holding his gaze. Mesmerised and frustrated, he says, “You’ll kill me with the way you look at me.”
Jungkook fuels your confidence with vigour each time, eloquent through scorching heat, too. Because you don’t think you’ve ever smiled this self-assured before you knew him; or been certain about your power over others.
You used to be far more insecure than that, feigning ignorance and carelessness, but reevaluating your decisions every step of the way. Months ago, you could’ve never predicted such a shift in conviction towards yourself.
So it’s new to you, but invigorating at the same time, the grin you sport, the words you utter, “Killing you isn’t my intention,” when he doesn’t, you move your head towards the leaking head of his cock, awaiting destruction, “wanna make you feel more alive than ever.”
The breath tumbling out of his mouth is ragged, pinky finger twitching a tiny bit when you wrap your lips around the tip and then let it go with a plop again; like it’s a lollipop to you.
Your knees move closer to his feet, and he stretches his one hand to your shoulder, making sure you don’t get hurt on the slippery ground. But you’re far too distracted to appreciate the gesture just yet, even though you feel the faint tickling along your limbs.
“I got it,” Jungkook then says, back in charge, hands back on the protruding, thick veins.
He moves his hips forward, testing. You roll out your tongue once more, closing your eyes. Try to make more room in your mouth, despite knowing it’s a thing of impossibility. And to your chagrin, it takes only a few more seconds for you to be full already.
Taking in as much as your throat allows, you gag when you reach your limit, letting out a tiny cough, salivating. You still can’t move your arms; his fingers are like chains around your wrists.
“That enough?” he asks. “I’ll stop here, okay?”
You nod. Wait. When he doesn’t move, you start pulling back, and then push forward again immediately. Your tongue is drenched in absolute filth; the spit trails down your chin, and you wish it was his.
But that’s not the point of it all — you’re not supposed to comfortably bop your head back and forth, are you? Despite the daily softness between the two of you, you want to be used. Want all his greed.
And he knows. Asks, “What do you need?”
Of course you can’t speak. He’s aware of that; stares down at you as you breathe heavily around him, mouth stuffed to the brim. Cheeks aching from the circumference.
You moan around him, parting your lips, moving your tongue from under his dick to swirl it around it a little. You move back, tasting the liquid minimally dripping out of his slit. Fuck, you want all of it, in thick, sickening ropes, in loads and buckets.
“Won’t even back away to speak,” he teases, words contradictory, because he won’t allow you to take a break either. Shoves himself inside again; you’re embarrassed that you only manage half of his length. “The dedication is hotter than it should be—”
Full, coherent sentences. How?
But even his string of thought breaks when he starts in earnest. Filling up your mouth once more, as much as he can and then a bit more for good measure. You adjust to his movements, suck down immediately.
You don’t care about the loss of voice later; you want to eat him up entirely.
His strokes grow harder by the second, rock hard inside you. You move your head until the head pokes against the inside of your cheek, and the tight wetness affects him, his knees buckling by one single inch.
“Easy…” he whispers, shaking his head, water drops landing on your face. “Fuck. Wanna have you hanging off the bed one day. Wanna see my cock ram your throat…”
Easy, he said. He’s definitely not being easy on you, though. Not with these admissions. Not with his motions.
The thrusts aren’t just hard, but deliberate and controlled, too. Your head keeps pushing back, lightly touching the wall. You’re far over sucking his dick, way too obedient and submissive to define it like that.
No, you’re being fucked. Gagging and choking around him, sucking in the spit whenever only his tip remains inside, sounds lewd and specific. Coming from the back of your throat, wet, hot and bothered.
God, you wish you were strong enough to take him all the way down to the base, licking at his balls, feeling his twitching dick thumping at the very far back. But you guess this is more than enough for him, too.
Because he holds your wrists harder, a rope around them, digging into your skin. The free hand wipes your hair away again, your body sweat-soaked while the shower water still trickles down his back.
He holds you there; then reaches for your nipple; pinches it hard over your heavily heaving chest, pleased when you open your eyes and look up at him. Waterline damp — the dangling chain might just be one of the reasons for that.
“Bit more,” he mumbles, and you think he’ll surrender right there, inside your mouth.
Which is why you sit up straighter, more determined, licking at the underside of his cock when he drags it out a little. His balls hang in your face and you reach for them, tongueing, hungry, not wanting him to move away now.
He doesn’t. Not yet. Relief courses through you, swallowing around his thickness again. Rolling your eyes back, hearing subtle “Doing well, so well, angel”s, ignoring the pain in your arms as he holds them upright.
You hollow your cheeks when he buries himself in deep, struggling when he stops right there. He doesn’t move; your eyes well up harder. All air enters and escapes through your nose, and you’re shaking, holding his stare as he keeps his cock in place, absolutely still.
That is, until you can barely breathe anymore, nails digging into your palms, arms trying to escape. He doesn’t say a word yet, only lets your hands drop. Your shoulders crack a bit, and you shake your arms, filling up your lungs, your palms next to his feet.
His cock is covered in your spit when you look again; your gaping mouth and chin similarly drenched.
And only when your head stops spinning, does he hold his hands towards you, urging you to take them as he says, “Sorry, baby. You did so well, I…”
You grip his fingers feebly, getting up on weak knees. Instead of holding onto your hands, he soon wraps an arm around your body, pulling you up before he asks, “Less next time?”
“No,” the word comes out as a squeak, throat already affected, “I’ll always tap if I feel it’s too much. I promi— promise.”
“Good,” he praises, a kiss to your damp forehead. He turns the water off. “That’s all I want, baby. Look at me.”
You’re already exhausted, staring down, fatigue fuelled by the hot water. Your eyes flutter open as you meet his gaze, and he puts a hand to your cheek, thumb on your swollen lower lip.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he compliments; his hand must be heating up under your touch, “did you know? So sweet and stunning. It makes me sick.”
“Thought I was the only one. You…” He looks at you, and you hold him tight, smiling about your joke in advance. “You have such an effect on me, it makes me wanna throw up.”
Right. So in love, it makes your stomach turn.
“Please don’t,” he pleads, conjuring a tender eye smile. The wide grin is unreal. “And let’s get out of here. We can’t keep standing here.”
“Waste of water.”
“Yes, waste of water. That, too. And I should have some lube in the bedroom.”
Of course he’s as impatient as you — although you’re almost a hundred percent sure you could do without that stuff easily. The insides of your thighs are slippery, and you’re certain the shower wasn’t the sole reason for that.
Your legs feel weird, your body heavy when you finally get out. The cosy bathroom is filled with steam and heat, but at least you can breathe easier here than under the piping hot water.
The mirror is fogged up; you glance into it to check your state, but recognise nothing but your vague form. You wipe a stripe the size of your hand along it as you walk past, halting at the door. And when you look back, Jungkook is making quick, brief work on picking up the clothes you haphazardly threw to the side before.
“You don’t wanna do this later?” you ask, still fond.
It’s just him cleaning up the floor, but… you enjoy watching him do mundane things. You might never be able to explain why, but you do.
“Just throwing them into the washing machine. Will turn it on later,” he answers.
He straightens his body with a sigh when he’s done, sniffling as he usually does. His eyes are hidden behind his long hair, so he lifts both his hands to brush the soaked tresses back. The muscles of his arms are mountainous and firm. Tattoos ending at his shoulder.
He’s indescribably pretty like that. Looking up, lips parted, jaw chiselled.
You observe him for a bit longer, gaze trailing down his body. Small nipples, broad and sculpted pecs, six painfully visible rectangles of abs. Cock still mostly awake.
Fuck.
Crossing your legs, you bite your lips, one hand on the door handle. You take in the domesticity. The moment might be subtle and casual, but something about it is incredibly homely.
How you speak to each other, and how his washing machine is cleaning both your clothes. It’s the little things, isn’t it?
Your eyes are fond when you say, “Whenever it does happen… I can already imagine all of it clearly.”
“Hm?” He blinks at you. “All of what, baby?”
“Of being here with you. All the time.” His motions stop. He drops his arms, a strand falling back into his face, but he doesn’t care. Glances at you for a couple seconds until you smile and nod towards the door. “Let’s go.”
But it seems he changed his mind in this split second that you turn to the exit.
Because all of a sudden, just as he did before, he tugs you back. And just like before, you land against the wall, having him staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time. His voice is a whisper, enchanting, “Okay… you know what. Forget it.”
“Huh?”
“Fuck lube, okay?” His eyes are glued to your lips. Then to your pupils. He looks lost. “We can manage. Don’t need the bedroom… just you. Want you right now.”
“Jungko—”
You don’t anticipate it — so it draws a small moan out of you when his fingers suddenly graze between your legs, digging in for just a moment. Fingering you for a split second as you gasp — and then they disappear again.
He moves in to kiss your cheek. Just a peck first. Then his lips open against your neck, hand moving up your body and pushing your tit up. His tongue soon joins the fun, darting through his parted lips, sucking your tits hard. Biting, groaning, moaning.
“Jungkook.” You push your touch through his hair as he kisses his way further down, nibbling at your sides, and you whine, “Don’t wanna wait, Kook…”
His eyes are closed and his voice hushed, raspy and deep as he says between kisses, “I’ll be gone for a moment, baby. You’ll barely notice, I promise.”
Strange how he means distanced from your kiss, not from your body. Strange how you miss each other while in the same room, but not melted into each other.
You’re losing your mind. Throwing your head back, ruining your hair against the tiles. Eyes droopy and hazy, mind turning in various directions as you relish each touch and peck. Your body relaxes; all the weight of the world off your shoulders.
Jungkook fondles your body, caresses all of you, planting kisses on your tummy, your waist, your pelvis. Continues to tug at the flesh of your thighs with his lips. It feels like a massage, not painful but gentle. Careful as he hoists up one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder.
And then… he starts.
His tongue flashes out to your clit. Parts your folds. It’s difficult from this position, but his pointy wet muscle paints patterns over your pussy. And you reel.
Jungkook truly is an artist. Knows to make you mewl, turns your breaths laboured. You move your hips, guiding his face closer with your hand in his hair, slowly riding it. The French kisses, the brush against your thighs… he’s…
God.
“God,” you echo, “I love this, I—”
He’s feasting. Letting out alluring sounds, spurring you on, and you almost topple over the edge. But Jungkook knows what he’s doing — leaves you yearning, moving away and up to you.
When he said he’d be gone for a moment, he truly meant it.
Your lip quivers when he looks at you, ordering a soft, “You’ll come together with me.” He raises your chin. “Okay? You and I together. Always.”
Must be a hidden message. He’s not just talking about sex anymore, is he? But him and you in one bubble, separated from the world. Nothing but you, you and you.
You barely wait another second. Instead, you immediately lurch forwards, initiating a kiss beyond sinful from the start. Teeth clashing, tongues feral. For a couple seconds you breathe into each other, letting out odd noises, his hand pulling your leg back up again and pinning it against the wall.
You’re on your tippy toes when his cock teases your entrance, his lips soon on your shoulder again. Cold chain brushing your skin. He’s sucking harshly, guiding his dick inside with determination. Sheer impatience is palpable in his touch and audible in his sounds.
The head of his dick parts your folds, diving in; and you let out a moan so lustful that he grows downright desperate against your shoulder. Standing here like this is hard, too; so he puts his palms on your ass, commands—
“Jump once.”
“What?”
“Jump,” he repeats, “I’ll hold you. Want you, please.”
“Okay…” you mumble. You put your hands on his broad shoulder, readying yourself, “Okay.”
And then you do — immediately wrapping your legs around him. And he lets you fall slowly, body pressed against yours, so you’re sandwiched between him and the wall; so he can guide his hardness back to your cunt.
You drop onto it slowly, carefully. Impaling yourself on him, inch by inch penetrating your insides. The more you take in, the deeper the crease between your eyebrows. And when he’s bottomed out, you feel like… yourself again?
Because what moment is more intimate than this? What moment allows you to crawl out of your shell more than this?
Even if in a crude sense, this is yet another definition of home. And every definition can be traced back to him.
“You feeling alright?” he asks, and you nod immediately.
“Is a bit weird, but…” you hold onto him, one hand moving to his face. You don’t finish your sentence; only nod, exhaling against his lips.
“Can I start?”
Another nod; and then he starts pumping in. Slowly in and out; you’re firmly in place against the wall, slipping just a little. His hands engulf your ass again — his strength is mind-numbing, and his sounds loud as he splits you in two.
Your eyes shut for a mini moment, and when they crack open again, they’re met with the still mirror. It’s fogging up again, yet still clear enough to make out Jungkook’s back; the form of his body. Your thoughts tangle up.
You’ve seen him shirtless a million times before, fully bare — but it might be the first time you’re enjoying this very perspective. And the entirety of him… leaves you gasping. Butt naked, ass muscles flexing, the triangle shaped back smooth. Where do his guts even fit?
They’re a blessing, those reflections, catching the way he’s standing, ramming into you. And then you, burying your nails into his shoulder blades, expression fucked out, body moving up and down the wall. Having things done to you by him.
You’re so fucking lucky.
You mutter, “Kook…”
“Yes, baby.”
“You look so good… so…”
“Mmmh, you do, too,” the sentence starts in a clear tone, but morphs into a whisper, “just… can’t see enough of you… shit, babe—”
He leans in, parting your lips with his, your tongues touching as he delivers a rough jab just once. And that’s when things stop working for you.
Because soon enough, you’re swaying to the side, nearly falling; as his protective instincts kick in, immediately holding you, his cock jumps out. And he shakes his head, pecking your temple once, and then deducts, “Okay. This won’t do.”
“Hmmm,” you hum in agreement, weak on your legs, “bad idea for sure.”
“Hold up.”
He’s quick to turn you around, thoroughly in charge of your body tonight — you’re fully under his mercy. Ready to kneel and bend for him. And Jungkook, understanding your boundaries, gives you all you need — knows what to do, knows when to stop.
And you keep handing over control; more so when he pushes you over the sink, stating, “Okay. Looks easier.” A pause. “Looks so much fucking better, too.”
Wish you could see. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re tense.
He leans down to kiss your back. His dick pokes between your ass cheeks again, slipping down and further down until it makes itself home between your nether lips again.
It falls into it in one fell swoop, swiftly, as if it’s no effort at all — guess it never is.
And god, does the position feel heavenly.
Balls deep inside; the first angle that allows full unhinged, animalistic mode.
But he still starts out slow; with long strokes and a hand in your hair. You tumble backwards a little, urging him to move too, lifting your ass higher and pushing your legs together for maximal effect.
Allowing more tightness for him; more friction for you.
“I… missed fucking you so much,” he says between thrusts. “You feel unreal.”
You guess you do. He does, too. Maybe the two of you need a reminder that this is all too real; perhaps a tantalising equivalent to a wake-up-pinch.
So you suggest, “Fuck me harder, Kook.”
“Hmm… want that?”
“Been waiting so fucking long.”
And while a lover of patience and anticipation — who is he to reject your wishes after the entire ordeal occurring in this room? The two of you have dragged out this moment plenty.
So he listens fast; soon using your neck as leverage as his inked fingers wrap it smoothly. Agreeing, “It’d be my literal pleasure, babe.”
God, he’s a dumbass — but you can’t physically react. Too caught up in something else; storing the laughter and jokes for later.
Because he picks up on pace, not too much right away; but enough for his hips to slap against your ass. Enough for you to be catapulted forwards with a whine, cheek pressing to the glass.
You lift your hand, accidentally wiping again, but only manage a trail, hand sliding down. From behind, you hear a hoarse praise, “Looks so fucking hot,” he draws a sharp breath, nearly hissing, “I promise I’ll be careful, just…”
He pulls at your hair. Shoves his cock inside rougher, face closer to you, lips to your cheek. Swallows hard enough for you to hear, and then, “Tell me if it’s too much. Am careful until I can’t be, baby.”
Until he loses control. He says it right before he drops all inhibitions and — goes feral.
You squint your eyes shut, calling out his name; the word echoes in the small room, and for just a second, you worry the neighbours might hear. And then right away, you stop caring again.
Because you want this man. Now and later and forever; want him like this, want him in any way. This isn’t just sex to you — if that’s what you wanted, you’d download an app like your freshman self used to.
No.
No matter how obscene, there’s meaning in every one of your touches; in every stroke, in every word, in every single time you lose yourself in him.
Your stomach twists as he jackhammers into you; you’re craving proximity, craving all his attention. Want all of his emotions and touches raw and merciless. Want to see him.
Although, when your shut eyes open, you only see blurry forms in the mirror moving, him behind you. He squeezes your neck; you see that much before he slides it down your body, straight to your clit, no detours.
He pushes his knee up for a second, touching the edge of the sink and balancing on one leg, but drops it again soon. The white painted, stainless steel of the sink, previously cold on your tummy, burns against your skin now. A chafing feeling.
Jungkook draws more forms against your clit, but then retracts his hand; instead, squishing your tits, indecisive where to touch. But it’s the last move he makes before he straightens his body, palms on your ass until he spanks just once and…
Pulls out again.
What?
“Look at me, sweetheart,” you register.
You pant, fingers clutching the sink and gulping down the tiredness before you manage a turn. Your eyes land on his dick first; it’s fully drenched in your arousal, so unbreakably stiff.
He whispers again, “Look at me,” but the moment you do, he doesn’t withhold your stare for too long. Instead, his hands are back on your cheeks, drawing you close, seeking your lips. His never-satisfied thirst matches yours; you want to remain here and freeze time.
With your arms around his neck, he guides you towards the washing machine, pushing the clothes further aside. He helps you get on it, but you argue immediately, “This could be dangerous, right? Shouldn’t sit here, I think… might break…”
“It’ll be okay,” he says, making himself comfortable between your legs, pushing them apart with his thighs. Two fingers hold your chin, lips ghosting over yours. “Is a cheap ass thing… want a new one anyway.”
You wonder if he’ll say that about all the furniture he’ll fuck you on. Because observing his eyes, you know that he will — will soil every inch of his apartment within, what you anticipate, a short period of time.
But unfortunately for the washing machine, you’re too weak to reject the offer.
So you hold him tight, jostling him closer to you as you ask, “Yeah?”
“Mhmmmm.” The word drowns in your moan when his cock glides back in; when will you ever get used to this? “Don’t worry… won’t break as badly as we will.”
Well, fuck.
The ridges of his cock drag just right along your walls, the angle making your mouth water. Your cunt is burning; and he still dares to ask, “Okay like that?”
“More than okay, Kook… more than—”
He always screws you numb; barely ever lets you finish your sentences. Your moans have become a constant interruption, along with the goddamn things he says, “Your pussy is so good. So, so good.”
And then he’s back making out with you, sweatier than before. His body is enticingly warm, muscles working on you. Both his and your hair sticks to the nape of the neck or your back, and you hold onto him, keening against his lips.
Then, you lean back for a second, keyed up as fuck, propping up your body with your arms. Your palms press against the back of the machine, and he inches close to explore the bare skin of your torso. His chain skims your nipples, as if on purpose; and he kisses you here, there, everywhere.
Neck, clavicles, tits, jaw.
Perspiring without an end, all of this could be gross. But instead, you feel hyped up, sexy as never before. Dizzy at the sight of his golden skin, the small beads of sweat spreading on it.
It takes one or two more minutes of this insanity until things come to an eventual end. A glorious end, that is — filled with deep moans, squealed calls of names, unrhythmic thrusts that fasten for the finale.
“I’ll come,” Jungkook states, and you shoot back up to him, holding his head against the mounds of your tits. He kisses between them, breathing irregular, words muffled, “Gonna come so hard, what the f—”
And when he does, you lose all coherent thoughts immediately. Not that you could think before — but his uncontrolled exclaims already make you wish for a whole new round. Nevermind that your pussy is wrecked and beaten.
Vocal as ever, he finishes with deep shoves, slowing down with each second. His lips remain open between your collarbones, and you feel his eyebrows draw together. Thick strings of hot cum filling you up, your cunt tightens.
And somehow, after all this, he still finds the energy to sneak his hand between your bodies, blindly seeking your clit until he finds it. Familiar circles render you breathless, even though they’re lazy — but picking up on intensity when he leans back, still breathing hard.
He looks absolutely done — still fucking the rest of him into you. But you’re moaning and groaning, and he’s far from giving up as he says, “Come with me, baby.”
Honestly, he doesn’t need to tell you. You’re already calling and blurting out random words, already limp. Wrapping your legs around his torso with the tiny remaining energy you have left, absolutely insane.
Jungkook kisses you one last time. And you let the build up in your lower tummy and pussy proceed; up and up and up to the peak — until he delivers one last stroke, cock already softening, finger on your nub diligent and…
You milk his dick in its entirety. Your pussy clenches and unclenches. Random figures swim in your vision, flashy behind your eyelids. Limbs trembling, body a mess and fingers hooking into his chain, you only notice now that you’re repeatedly whispering his name.
Winding and crying. Trying not to tug too hard, to break the jewellery, but still urging him closer, closer.
You’re shivering, surviving the vertigo, breathing stagnant. Trying to control it. Quivering like fucking crazy, not feeling your legs.
Also hating how his cum is dripping onto the damn washing machine. In your hazy mood, you laugh a little.
It takes a bit of time for the two of you to calm down, to dim the adrenaline in your nerves. Your chests rise and fall in unison, still clutching to the embrace. His skin is flushed, yours hot, skin tingling with the lingering heat of the passed passion.
And when he finally moves back, looking at you, you see half a dozen things in there. Satisfaction and vulnerability among them. Maybe even a hint of mischievousness, proud of whatever just happened; happy with the emotions it conjured.
Stars in his eyes. Contentment, composure and affection at last.
A pleasant stillness follows, the world outside the bathroom nonexistent. The aftermath of the steamy encounter lingers until you break the silence after all.
“When the hell,” you start, throat dry, “did you get so broad?”
“…What?”
“You just. You looked endless in the mirror. You’re so—”
Amused, he displays a grin as sly as you adore. He tsks and then mocks, “Stop drooling.”
“You first.”
His chuckle is throaty; a result of the constant exclaims and the absolute dehydration. You give the two of you a moment to collect saliva on your tongue, to swallow and wet your cords.
Your fingers paint an invisible, light pattern on his skin; tracing his tattoos is one of your favourite things to do. You jest, “That’s a good way to destress.”
He arches an eyebrow, then rolls his eyes — but the devotion towards you behind the gesture is irrefutable. It carries into his words, no matter how playfully mocking his tone or his sighs, “Everything for the princess.”
“So,” you pause, lips curling into a soft smile. “Is this what I’m gonna be getting for the rest of my life?”
You see it immediately. The explosion in his eyes; the burst of stars in the depths of his pupils. Clear as the night sky, fond and sweet and magical. Guess you spoke big words for sure.
“…The rest of your life, huh?” he asks.
“No?”
“Is that what you want?”
Ever-the-boomerang, you gauge his reaction, closing the distance between you. Lips barely apart, you throw back again, “Don’t you?”
You don’t need to glance through his ribs, lungs, blood and skin; you see the swelling around his heart. Emotions swimming in it in abundance. You see all of it right in his eyes.
And his voice proves it; delicate and quiet, “Baby… you make my heart drop to my stomach all the time. Do I not look at you like I want a rest of my life with you?”
Gosh. You’re too weak for this.
“Look at me like that more often,” you answer, breathing against him, eyes dancing with delight, “maybe I’ll believe you then.”
“Huh,” he makes, letting out an entertained huff, “brat. Maybe later. Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed for now, alright?”
Right. You forgot you’re still here. Snapping back into reality is always a task.
Of course it is.
Because your world is a cocoon; you don’t want to leave it just yet. And maybe, somewhere in the near future — you won’t have to anyway.
Jungkook and you don’t waste minutes doing formalities tonight. No flickering candle flames; no organised set up of your table. You dim the lights, snatching a lamp from his bedroom and rely on it along with the TV’s brightness.
You filled your plates and stomachs with a dish he’s wanted to show you for a while. It’s some special Jeon recipe — limited to him specifically, not his family. The brief cut in your relationship kept you from the meal, but watching him fiddle with the pots and cutlery was worth the wait after all.
He’s still proud of it; you’re filled to the brim, sick to the core, but the noodle-Buldak-mayo-perilla-oil-combination introduced the night just perfectly.
Your body is limp against his after dinner, bloated. A mutual agreement concluded that watching a movie might be the easiest activity you could indulge in to further destress. So you cuddle up, eyes droopy as you wait for the Netflix logo and thump to subside.
You let the username float by, though unable to suppress your giggle. Your back shakes against him, his hand halting mid-air, remote control in it, and you comment, “Letjungcook7. You’re such a dork.”
“Why?” You look back, met with raised eyebrows and round eyes. “Do you not like it?”
“I love it. Don’t you ever dare change it.”
He tuts, trademark smirk tilted; responds, “And don’t you ever change your Sunny Baudelaire icon.”
“God, she’s an iconic baby,” you groan, enthusiastic; your hands gesture to the TV, Baudelaires nowhere in sight, “I will never shut up about this show.”
“That’s why you’re not allowed to change it. Kinda cute how much you love it.”
“Jungkook,” you tug at his unoccupied arm, placing his wrist and palm over your belly button, “would you ever rewatch it with me?”
His hand rubs gently over your shirt, and then drops until his fingers are toying with your — his — jogger’s strings. “I’m a pro at rewatching. I’m down.”
You whisper a dragged celebratory word, eyes back to the screen. He’s scrolling through the genres fast, barely inhaling the titles and summaries. And when he skips three more of the stuff you’d usually settle on, you say, “Don’t think you’ll find anything on there.”
Ironically enough, he answers, “We’ve barely looked. Look. Knives Out’s second part is on there.”
“I just watched it recently. Hmm, what about that Poe movie with Christian Bale?”
On cue, he passes it three seconds later, only stopping on it for a moment before he voices, “Hmm…”
You wait. Drag out another second. Then conclude, “Okay, you’re not feeling it. Got it. Something else?”
“What about Disney?”
“What about scrolling until we fall asleep?”
The hand still busy with the strings moves up to your sides, pinching you lightly. You flinch, hard enough to nearly break his nose, overdramatic by nature. Amidst your commotion, you hear him say, “Don’t mock me. I’ll kick you from the couch.”
“I’ll just stay on the floor then.”
“Angel, I swear.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry.”
But you’re not.
Because the bicker continues for another ten minutes, remote control snatched every now and then, ideas suggested and immediately rejected.
Jungkook admits his guilty pleasures merely a couple minutes later, and you conjure all your patience and discourse abilities to explain why you can’t watch The Notebook or Titanic anymore.
But once Dion’s soprano voice builds a nest in a lobe of your brain, you give in, half laughing, half agitated as you tackle the 90s classic — only for Jungkook to click out again.
“It’s no fun when we’re not both ready to watch it.”
“Dude…”
More scrolling, you guess.
Five more minutes pass — and eventually, Titanic deserted, you sing the songs of Coco instead. You expect Jungkook’s attention and lips to shift halfway through the movie, tracing down your neck or along your sides – a standard for a weekday movie night.
But to your surprise, he powers through it with minimal dialogue and wide, focused eyes. Palm above your ribs, moveless under your shirt and his cheek pressed against your heartbeat, you assume he’s fallen asleep by the time the credits roll.
Until – you feel warm liquid wetting your shirt, a sniffle combining with his shaky breath before you ask with your own damp eyes, “Babe— are you crying?”
His answer is delightfully unashamed and immediate, “I’ve never watched Coco without crying.”
The soft strains of the movie’s soundtrack won’t let your eyes dry either; but Jungkook seems far more into it than you. Adoration burns hot in your veins.
“You never told me that!” you exclaim.
“Because it’s not worth telling. Should be a given — these movies are made to cry to!”
You giggle through your tears. Jungkook’s mind works in miraculous ways — non-judgemental, yet probably flashing a side-eye to those who do not partake in a sob fest during Coco or Encanto.
“I honestly love how you’re not a toxic male at all, you know?” you point out; you feel a huff against your chest.
At least he’s smiling through the brief sadness, too.
You crane your neck, not quite turning around just yet, and watch him rub his cheek clean off the tears. Not that his eyes have stopped welling up, though.
For a moment, you observe, staring at the swollen, pouty lower lip. His pupils glimmer in the TV’s light, long locks brushed back; half of them tied in a tiny ponytail.
You could overthink every detail of his face. Tell him all about his everlasting elegance. Instead, you only lower your voice, soft as you say, “You look pretty even when you cry.”
“Thank you,” he returns, though fingertips still work at the liquid, and you can’t help but laugh.
You can barely believe that’s the same confident beast who was pressing you against cool tiles just an hour ago. The stark contrast baffles you.
You’re amused when you question, “It really affects you so much?”
“Everything about it!” he immediately argues. You expand your eyes. “The way Coco looks at Miguel at the end. And that freaking moment when she meets her parents at the end. Does it not affect you?”
“Oh, of course it does,” you defend, “I’m a story girl. I’ll cry reading and watching these things, for sure.”
“And then the lyrics,” he continues, in his element a hundred percent, “the thought of remembering someone even after they’re gone and far away…”
The further his sentence progresses, the more the words blur. His voice is feeble, hoarse when he gets to the final syllables. When he pauses between his rambling to draw a breath, you hear a heartbreaking shake in his inhale.
And the exhale sounds like a quiet sob.
You turn back immediately, pressing onto the pause button, remote control still in his hand. The credits darken the room as opposed to the movie’s colours before. You see a damp trail along his cheek, eyelashes wet.
Your smile vanishes as you stare a little longer. The blanket falls from your chest into your lap when you lift your arm from under it, hastily drying his tears with your thumbs. Just slightly, he leans into the touch, but his face soon falls, an attempt to hide.
You ask, “What’s wrong?”
Jungkook isn’t embarrassed of tears — you figured this out without him admitting it to you. But he’s embarrassed of the guilt he feels; acknowledging it when he speaks.
“It’d just be nice,” hands holding his face drop; you touch his chest, “to make up with the family like this. They made it look easy.”
You keep looking. Bewildered, unable to answer for seconds too long. You blink until the words sink in properly, incapable of more than, “I’m sorry, baby.”
“No, no,” he argues, shaking his head, “I mean. Who am I to tell you something like this?”
“It’s okay. Your worries are legit worries, too. Look at me,” you reassure, prompting him to meet your gaze. “You’re not a bad person. Okay? It’s… so terrible that you think you are.”
“I fucked up.”
It dawns on you once more that he firmly believes that; causes a searing sting. The process is neither a smooth nor a quick one — you know it’ll take a while for him to convince him otherwise. To drop his current beliefs about himself.
“You didn’t,” you refute, firm certainty and conviction in your voice. “That’s not how a fuck-up is defined, I promise you. And those who are actually wrong probably know, too.”
“It’d just be nice,” he starts again; the shrug of his one shoulder doesn’t distract you from the misery and self-loathing in his eyes, “if he called at least.”
“I know. I don’t know, I… do you think you could call instead?”
Jungkook’s lashes brush his skin, the apples of his cheeks not as round and squishy as usual. Yet, the sadness makes him look younger, softer.
You sigh; a warm blanket isn’t enough anymore. You need to wrap him in the comfort of the world — ideally, in his father’s care.
Jungkook opens his mouth for another argument, but then holds it in, says after another moment of contemplation, “Actually… There’s a gathering coming up. I’ll see my people there, so… I don’t know. Trying won’t hurt, right?”
“It never does.”
His eyes start unfocusing. You recognise it in the way he glues his gaze to a point on the glass table, unblinking, staring nowhere in truth. You keep your attention on him for another second, hoping he’ll look at you, even if forlorn.
But when he doesn’t, you wrap your arms around him instead. His chest is calmer against your head now, breathing as soft as the palms that find your back. He presses you into his body by mere inches; you barely notice.
Your fingers draw shapes on his arm, a subtle consoling gesture. In the background, you hear the song fade, volume lower now. The movie soon transitions to something else; you don’t pay any mind to it, drowsy and distracted in his embrace.
But then your mind wanders; to the man keeping Jungkook’s thoughts hostage. You remember the conversation the two of you had last Sunday. You recall the way your hand held his broken heart together.
You wish it was as easy as a small scar — an echo of whatever once transpired, but also a reminder that it healed.
Then, for a second, you think of your own wounds. How they still need to be cured, too. How years and time alone won’t fix issues; you need to tackle them actively — maybe at some point, the two of you can.
You laugh softly against his shirt, burying between his pecs; joking, “We’re perfect for each other. Dysfunctional families and whatnot.”
His chuckle is still a light tremble, but genuine enough for you to celebrate. His hands push a little harder into your back; your body shifts up his lap, butt half on his thigh. Eyes shut, still sniffling.
Jungkook wraps around you like a soothing force, an invisible bubble. A bandage despite carrying all bruises. You sigh in contentment, head dizzy from exhaustion; waking up just when he blurts a question again.
“You really think that, right? That I’m not a bad person.”
You crack your eyes open a slit.
You understand. Someone who overthinks needs multiple repeated reassurances — you’re the same.
So you nod against him, guaranteeing, “You’re… kind of ridiculously amazing. You’re someone who gives all those people hope who don’t believe in humanity anymore.” Pause. “And I admire you in every way. So much.”
He doesn’t respond. You wait. Further dead silence, interrupted by the soft sounds of the TV. You lick your lower lip, dropping your gaze to where your thumb rubs his wrist. Tracing a vein.
His mellow voice reverberates, a melody to your eardrums when he whispers, “We’d do this so much if you were here all the time.”
“Crying in each other’s arms, huh?”
He clicks his tongue, accompanied by the grin you’re certain graces his face, even if you can’t see. You hear it in his voice all the more, “Sure. Also, have dinner together. Shower and watch movies together. Laugh and cry.”
You smile. “I still can’t believe it, you know? That you want this… and me at all.”
“You feel that, too, yeah?” Fingertips move up your spine, between your shoulder blades and then to the nape of your neck. Tickling, grazing gently. “I promise I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t truly feel all that, though.”
“What’s all that?”
“Just.” His chest rises. Then falls. “Everything.”
One of your heartbeats freezes, you’re sure. And when it comes back alive, you think — maybe he doesn’t need the world’s comfort after all. Or his father’s care. Maybe yours is enough right now.
But then again.
You’d be damned if you kept your traumas intact. Or his. You took each other as you came long ago — as vulnerable human beings, with a whole lot of baggage. With all the injuries on your heart.
Yet, this isn’t a state you want to accept. For neither of you.
Your unwavering belief remains steadfast — that one day, things need to become… okay.
So you gulp down all the pain, lighting a candle in your chest, and say,
“It’s not over yet, baby.”
Zara keeps yelling orders around. Her voice, usually collected and tender, is agitated today. You can barely imagine how many little tasks, how many stressed phone calls must be overrunning her.
You establish a distance between your device and your ear, protecting your hearing with one eye squinting shut. And when she returns to the conversation, you exhale through the nose.
“Sorry. You were asking—”
“How’s it look?” you repeat.
“I mean, everyone’s stressed,” she responds, clearly frustrated; as if it should be obvious to you. And it is; but you’ll spiral, too, if you don’t keep your calm, at least. “A lot to do.”
“You’re sure you don’t need me to come earlier?”
“All good, love. You’re not a manager yet,” she stops her speech to mumble something to another co-worker, imaginary hands jam packed with preparations for the press conference. “But when you are, you won’t know what to do with all the stress.”
“Great outlook into a potential future.”
“I just mean you should enjoy things while they last.”
Zara isn’t the only one wandering up and down the building to assure perfection. She’s only one of the big mentors, managers to handle everything; responsible for the catering and content to be presented at the conference.
Her team stands firmly behind her, but you don’t blame her for still allowing her head to steam. Of all busy people in their blazers and slacks, however, she’s been the only one to spare some time for you.
You’re grateful for her enthusiasm and support. You smile as you ask, “Do you think I can answer everything the way I intend to?”
“I think so.”
“It’s so new to me.”
“Yeah, but you’re a natural at this stuff. And also,” she speaks slower now. The chaos behind her has calmed a little; her voice echoes off somewhere. Perhaps a restroom. “Things are looking good.”
You stop sauntering through the room, pausing in front of the bed’s corner before dropping onto it. Dragging your tongue over your lower lip, you blink, and then ask, “You’re sure?”
“We had a couple conversations over here. Made a few more phone calls, and I think you don’t need to worry about a thing. We’ll come up with something if things derail, though, okay?”
You’re uncertain, still anxious. Should this afternoon flop, you’ll be screwed.
You need it to succeed. You can’t afford misfires. Ugh.
Restless, your foot taps against the floor. You try not to think of things going astray; try to think of a smooth progress, not precarious in any way.
Yet, you ask doubtfully, “Can we do that?”
“We always can. That’s business.”
Guess she’s right. Your mother has saved you one too many times — from stupid things you did as well as from things you never needed saving from.
A rich human being’s power over the media — and frankly, the world — is unbeatable. Barely to be underestimated.
“Okay,” you mutter, “thank you.”
Despite only hearing her voice, you imagine her nod, the way she often does. You miss the warm, promising palm on your shoulder. Appreciate that she’s still here instead of dropping you to the side; leaving the call to handle more relevant issues.
No, she lingers there; you hear her breathe until she asks, “Are you bringing your man, too, by the way?”
Your man.
You straighten your back in pride, bright smile back, “Yeah! He said he’d come and support me. But he’s not home yet.”
“Oh? Well, you gotta be here in three hours. Where’d he go?”
“God knows. But don’t worry about punctuality.” You hear a hum, glancing up at the clock. Past noon. “Hey, also. My parents are definitely gonna come, right?”
“Babe,” she drags the word a little, and you can almost see her side-eyeing you, “journalists will be present. Cameras everywhere. At least your mother would never miss such a thing.”
Right. Cares about that company too much.
You remember the times she proved it to you. When you’d come home from middle school, eating some extravagant lunch while watching her talk on TV. Conversing with your staff.
“Okay. Good,” you say, happy about that very answer for once.
Outside, a door creaks. Steps echo through the hallway, a soft call of your name following as you hear the jingling of keys stop.
He sounds joyful.
You get up, phone halfway off your ear as you say, “Hey, I should go. I think that he—”
And the moment you look at the open door of the bedroom, your heart stops. For a second, you fear an intruder at his apartment, but the longer you look, the more your brain gives out.
The black-white-red jacket hugs his broad shoulders comfortably, the thin white sweater underneath it nearly transparent enough to reveal his tiny nipples. But despite his stature, it’s not his body that kills the power in your head.
It’s the—
You murmur last words into the phone, making out a goodbye that doesn’t reverberate as much anymore. She’s probably out of the restroom again; too distracted to give your mumble any attention anyway.
You place your phone where you previously sat and inhale his appearance carefully.
First off — you can see his ears. Can see most of his eyes. His forehead.
His hair is still dark, but it’s tamed. The wild locks, usually a feature you’ve gotten used to over the span of that one year, lay comfortably on his head. In fact, most of them are gone.
You feel a needle in your chest, but one of the surprising sort. Not painful at all.
“Wow,” you only say.
He reaches to the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing the hair there. “Yeah?”
You move towards his body, eyes fixated on every hair strand. Then, close enough, you state the obvious, “You cut your hair.”
“I… yeah. Is it terrible?” he asks, round eyes meeting yours. He raises his hand again, to his ear this time, scratching behind it for a second. “Not used to it at all. But I figured I’d look a little more serious as an artist like this.”
Really? Most artists you knew cared the least about a fancy appearance.
Then again, Jungkook doesn’t look fancy. He just looks different. Breathtaking, more mature, older.
His cheekbones look more chiselled now, his eyes wider. You could pass out right here, right now, and he still wouldn’t know how relentlessly he affects you.
“More serious?” you ask, less because you need an explanation. More because your mind keeps wandering, and you can’t fathom a word he’s saying.
“Just. Needed a change, I think,” he admits, “and wanted to adjust to a press conference’s typical look, too.”
“You did this for the press conference?”
“I wanted to look put together.”
Your heart dissolves and dissipates. His voice is soft as a petal, tender like the colours on his arm. The expression he sports is unsure, like he wants to hide — waiting for your opinion.
He really put thought into this. Woke up this morning and set a goal with purpose, not uttering a word to you to surprise you a couple hours later.
You don’t know what to say. You barely know what to feel, except this unbearable urge to ramble down every piece of tiny emotion he’s ever made you feel.
You want his body wrapped around you, engulfed in a blanket, head on his chest and slumbering for the rest of your life. Want to mumble little confessions, shiver when his lips touch your scalp.
Overwhelmed — that’s what you are.
“I loved the long hair,” you finally admit, “I guess I got too used to it, so I need to adjust, but. But… this is so… It… it suits you.”
You’re stumbling over your words, suggesting doubt. Not the way to go. Perhaps they shouldn’t have chosen you as one of the press conference speakers after all.
Jungkook’s concern grows visible in his big, round pupils; expressive, a true glimpse into his heart. You feel bad because you’re not as good with words as he is, and because he seemed so happy about his choice.
You just can’t fucking express yourself — even though you’re melting inside, falling harder. And maybe he notices your awkwardness, because he tries again.
“You’re uh— sure you don’t hate it?”
“No! God, no. It’s different. You look amazing, Kook. You look like…”
He swallows. “Like what?”
“You’re so pretty, Jeon Jungkook.” You say it with genuinity this time. He closes his lips, blinking, and while he attempts to veil his relief, you still see the high rise of his chest. “You look fucking gorgeous, no matter what you do. I… I mean it.”
The answer satisfies him. His risen shoulders drop a little, tension falling off, and he fixes the already perfectly sitting collar of his jacket before he smiles. Just a little, a subtle twitch of the corners of his lips.
As soft as his response, “I always aim to reach your level, you know?”
You roll your eyes. Partly to keep them from watering because your heart is bursting. Splintering like every morning and every night; you wonder if you’ll ever get used to it.
A couple gentle words lie heavy on your tongue, pressing against the muscle to let them out; but at the prospect of actually uttering them, your guts twist. You don’t want to throw up before the meeting.
So you remove the tightness from your chest with a deep exhale, nearly until your lungs are dry, and say, “Shut up.”
Playfully, you deliver a soft push against his chest, laughing when his dramatic ass stumbles backwards. Submerged in those goddamn dimples, you immediately grab the hem of his jacket and before you know it, you’ve taken a step forward and landed in his arms.
You sneak your arms underneath the leather-ish material, not hesitating for a second before you’re squeezing his torso. He lets out a choked sound, groaning, but reacts similarly fast as you.
His heartbeat accelerates for a moment, right against your ear as you make yourself small. The sweater smells like his favourite detergent and him; musky, fresh. Your palms, flat against his back, crave deeper touch.
Nothing crude; just an afternoon on the bed behind you, limbs entwined, laughing about things that probably aren’t that funny anyway.
For a moment, the silence transcends words. You inject the blend of gratitude and affection through your touch, ensuring he understands.
But when it’s not a testament to your emotions enough, you speak against his chest, voice very likely muffled, “You didn’t have to do this for me… you just. You never have to do anything for me, but you still do.”
“I’ll do anything for you.”
Immediate and sincere. Voice unwavering.
God, you’re not his strongest soldier.
A smile tugs at your lips, and you chide, "Stop that."
"What?"
"If you keep saying these things," you continue, a frisky lilt in your voice, "I'll die. Do you want me to die?"
Jungkook chuckles. Always a soothing melody in a hushed room. He remarks, grip still wrapped around you securely, "Acting all innocent now."
You don’t understand right away what he means — but then you hear his heartbeat, picking up on pace again.
Makes you want to squash him harder. Melt into him further.
“Shut up, Jeon,” you respond with a nudge, cheek pressed against his shirt. Just a moment longer — just a couple more seconds to inhale the solacing scent.
Your heart is unguarded; he could sever it if he wanted to. He’s proven that he has the power to. Yet, you keep fuelling it, vulnerable in his warmth as you say, “You’ve no clue what you mean to me, Kookie.”
Your vivid imagination might be forcing things upon your mind that aren’t actually there, but you do think you perceive the way his entire body melts. Nearly limp, in a state so relaxed and peaceful that you have only experienced in the mornings before.
Waking him up for work, feeling weightless limbs wrapped around you, passed out.
His fingers trace patterns on your back lightly, stirring from bottom to top and back. They first stop at the small of your back, then lift off your body, hands suddenly on your shoulders.
He pushes you off him, your movements reluctant, and looks at you with profound sincerity. His voice matches his expression, gentle and adoring, “Will you tell me how much I mean to you?”
Amidst the delicate minutes you spend standing between the bedroom and the living room, you almost forget that there’s a world outside. It’s a little more grey than before, similar to the suit you’ll be wearing in a couple hours.
You remember the prospect of an audience, the answers you’ve prepared, to questions they probably will ask. Zara told you they wouldn’t hold back — they’d phrase their inquiries friendly, but still keep the intentions devilish.
Right.
The world is still turning out there. You want it to stop for the two of you — frozen moments. But it can’t, at least not yet. Right now it’s too real; and you guess that the worst part is that in your line of business, it will keep revolving around people like you.
Whether you want it or not.
So maybe, if it truly needs to keep spinning and can’t halt for you, keeping you in the centre, you should give it something to talk about, too.
Something crisp, something new. Without a care for it, but all the care for you and the man in front of you.
Which is why you spare him another fond smile, forehead calm and your demeanour confident — and tell him, “I’ll do my best to let you know."
The audience stretches to the far back. All the rows are filled to the brim with reporters or guests. The shutter of the cameras and the flashing lights are agitating.
You look down.
Nervously tapping your feet on the stage, you shrink into yourself inch by inch. Your seat is uncomfortable, though padded, a little too warm against your ass right now. Zara notices your tick and puts a steady hand to your knee, repeating for the millionth time today, “Stop. It’ll be okay.”
“It’s just dawning on me though, Zara.”
“What is?”
You nod faintly towards the mic and the attendees, tell her, “That I was actually chosen to speak. They shouldn’t have chosen me.”
“You asked for it.”
“Yeah, but there are more important things to discuss.”
Zara’s lips form a circle; she shakes and lowers her head, sending out a beam of air that you feel on your wrist, blazer sleeves rolled up. You’ve been like that all evening.
“You can do it,” she repeats patiently, “you’re the boss’ daughter and they want your opinion. You’ll hit them hard with yours.”
You suck in a breath, leave the air in your cheeks, and then puff it out again. “I want to. I hope to, I just— never thought it’d be this nerve-wracking. Don’t wanna say anything wrong.”
The subtle shake of her head continues — or reemerges —, lips in a thin line, eyes slowly blinking, “Mh-mh. We talked about it, okay? Practised all the questions they could ask. You’ll be good.”
“You gotta promise.”
“As much as I can, babe, it’s up to y—” She takes in your falling face, holding back with a sigh when she sees the dread in your pupils. “I promise. Of course.”
She taps your knee, softly and lightly, and then says, “I’m so curious about everyone’s reactions. Like. Gosh, just look at those people.”
You understand what she means. “I know.”
Zara places a manicured thumb on her matte red lips, mumbling, “Here for entertainment. At least a third of them will add their own fantasies to the articles they’ll write. Hypotheses and manipulative, neutrally phrased thoughts. Cockroaches.”
Funny. That’s what you call them, too. A collective understanding, you see.
But.
“Shhh,” you voice, “they—”
“It’s fine. They know it, too. Like lawyers do.”
Can’t refute. Eun told you one too many times how unfair the law business usually is, and how she’ll strive to not have anyone ever manipulate her. To remain genuine.
“Yeah, but,” you still argue, “I imagined they’d be listening in all the time. Don’t they do lip reading and stuff?”
She nods, a finger still on her mouth, smiling, “Mhm. I also feel like I could say whatever, but it’ll be you they’ll focus on today.”
Your heart drops, an uncomfortable twist in your guts adding to the stress. Might have to dash to the bathroom at the very last minute. You curse, “Shit, Zara… I should fucking ru—”
“Stay. You can do this. I promise.”
“Okay,” you take another deep breath, helping your oxygen-lacking, spinning head, “okay.”
You look back to the media present, ready to survive questions; prepared to provide answers. The moderator is talking to your mother at the front, covering the mic with a hand.
They gave you around five minutes to speak, and in that time, you need to answer everything. How you do it is up to you, but the pressure to perform in a certain way, accordingly, weighs heavily on you.
But it’s alright.
You’ll just need to stay confident. Stick to your message. They’ll have things to say anyway — and you’ll make the best of them.
You stare past the lights, squinting to find him, raking your neck. His figure towers in the back, easy to detect, and once he meets your eyes — or perhaps never having averted his from you — he lifts a hand to wave in tiny motions.
Then, he drops his fingers again, entwining them in front of his body. He isn’t necessarily allowed here, but you were able to sneak him through in advance. So now he’s a couple feet from the wall, choosing to stand rather than sit, so you find him easily.
So you seek his eyes for comfort if need be.
Before you parted near the entrance, he said, “I’ll be offering a dozen thumbs up like a fool if you need me to.”
You chuckled — but maybe he meant it. Because his smile and nod undoubtedly dispel your fears; as if he can see you struggling.
The seconds drag on, and the conference begins seven minutes later. Your mother is the first to talk, outlining a general overview of what’s to come. Of Charmante’s philosophies, of its success, praising the team.
Then, she forwards to important employees like Zara, letting them ramble about launches or ideas in depth. Business strategies, partnerships, bringing across points that you usually don’t get the chance to share.
This is legit press; even though out for a loophole, they won’t follow you around or hide in the shadows. Incessant and vexing, but at least they’re allowed here.
Conversations about new collections, store openings as well as expansions and customer engagement pass in a trice, and at some point, another coworker is uttering last words to a last question.
And you realise — that you’re next.
The moderator introduces you with pride; everyone applauds, smiling at you fondly despite all the controversies. ”Controversies.” Under quote marks, as Zara pointed out, because you never committed an offence.
You stand on weak knees. Trembling when you grip the podium. It’s like the sound in the room fades, a single peeping tone overshadowing all noise. You barely blink anymore; not even the flashy white can shut your eyes.
And god, you can hear your breathing. Your damn heart. Your nose sucks in all the air available in the room, or at least in the building, and then you open your mouth to speak.
a/n: this is not a cliffhanger!! tumblr just doesn't allow to drop looong posts anymore, so here's the rest of the chapter lol, keep reading and enjoying, i love you and will see you on the other side!! and don't forget to support this chapter, folks 🥺 <3
#jungkook smut#jungkook fluff#bts smut#bts fluff#jeongguk smut#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#bts x reader#bts x you#bts imagines#bts fics#jungkook scenario#jeon jungkook smut#thebtswritersclub#jungkook fic#jungkook imagines#bts angst#jungkook angst#jungkook
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multi-tasker- charles leclerc
charles leclerc x mclaren admin!actress!reader
masterlist
y/n l/n
liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 874,837
y/n l/n when I'm forced to hangout with my mclarens boy
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username lando and oscar are basically her child and ig charles is there father
username landos smile
username Oscar's smile🥰
username MCLAREN ADMIN
oscarpiastri you did this for what?
username we need more red carpet looks
username love that y/n is an actress and mclarens admin
landonorris thank god this wasnt on mclaren acc
username gold digger
username she makes more money than all of them combined
username shes using them for fame
username shes literally mclarens admin...
username may I add on.. an actress...
username pause- you telling me this acc is charles gf? charles gf is admin? for mclaren?
username girl it's been know for like more than a month
y/n l/n
y/n l/n my love and my child got pole 1-2 (oscar disappeared with his gf🤭)
view 3,637 comments
username this is so cute
username can we talk about the emoji🤨
username um oscar?honey?
username yall need a dog?
username beautiful breathtaking hot angelic gorgeous pretty cute adorable alluring elegant lovely
username somebody sedate me
username AHSSJDJSKSKS
landonorris that sleeping photo was not necessary
charles_leclerc mon amour
logansargeant where's my charger y/n? i know you have it
y/n l/n I go to ur house one time, and I get accused.. over a charger
username SHDJEJ IM ACTUALLY GOING FERAL
username this so cute. now post on mclaren now.
y/n l/n aggressive much
mclaren
liked by y/n l/n, landonorris, and 343,263
mclaren papayas twin
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username FINALLY SOME OSC AND LAN CONTENT
landonorris if you post one more picture of me sleeping y/n
username I'm not breathing okay. oscar is just
username yall
y/n l/n these photo are amazing wonder who took them🤧
username what a beautiful day to be alive
username lando is the next world champion
username i'm obsessed with them
landonorris why would you do this
mclaren why not
landonorris WHY WOULD U
mclaren WHY NOT
y/n l/n
liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen, and 8,876,833
y/nleclerc I'm a multi tasker
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username what the actual fuck
username IAYEHXJWBWB
username the fuck
username MOTHER IS A MOTHER
carlossainz55 brother has game
username THEY ARE MARRIED?!?!
username um.. ok.. so
landonorris I have another sibling🤧
lilymhe charles she still mine
charles_leclerc did you put a ring in it
alex_albon he got you there babe
lilymhe no but I put the baby in her
charles_leclerc hm she was yelling my name not yours
username oh-
y/nleclerc STOP
username yall are paying for my therapy
oscarpiastri I'm suprised lando didnt spoil it
username I need my inhaler
username WHAT
username mother is mothering
username that should be me
danielriccardo mini f1 driver
lewishamilton roscoe is excited!
username oh my gee
username speechless
logansargeant mamma mia
maxverstappen p wants to be the first to meet the baby
mclaren
mclaren The mini driver, Adelina Leclerc L/N has arrived! Big congratulations to y/n and charles! (she'll be back guys, shes spending her time with her little one!)
*comments have been disabled*
y/nleclerc
liked by landonorris, pierregasly, and 10,125,564
y/nleclerc baby adelina is well loved❤
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lewishamilton roscoe misses his best friend 🤍
username tearing up ngl
kimkardashian a cute baby!
camilamendes I miss lina
username I need a baby now
pierregasly she bit my finger
vanessamorgan playdate soon
username I'm too young. I'm too young.
username I live for dad charles
taylorswift shes def going on tour with me!!
username shes so cuteee
landonorris I'm the godfather guys🤫
username all these celebrities in the comments
badgirlriri we need a playdate soon
charles_leclerc
liked by y/nleclerc, danielriccardo, and 2,988,134
charles_leclerc our baby is a year old❤
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landonorris shes growing up too fast💔
pierregasly I need more time with her
danielriccardo I'll teach her to walk
ivancornejoo shes grown up so fast, bring her to on set next time
oscarpiastri bring her for a drive!
alex_albon lily wants to babysit
maxverstappen p wants a playdate
*comments are limited*
#f1 one shot#f1 social media au#formula one imagine#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x you#carlos sainz#landonorris#lewis hamilton#max verstappen#pierre gasly#oscar piastri#formula one social media au#charles leclerc social media au#charles leclerc instagram au#charles leclerc imagine
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hiii!! can i suggest some hotch x bau!wife!reader where reader is pregnant and she doesnt know, but at work she goes on about how she doesnt know whats wrong with her lately and spencer suggests that she might be pregnant and then she find out that she is!!
I love your writing sm btw😚😚😚
i think i might finally have enough time to write whole blurbs again :'))
--
"No flamin' hot for you today, Mrs. Hotchner?" Derek eyes your bag of plain cheetos where they lay open on your desk, and you grimace at his phrasing.
"God, no," You groan, "Don't make me sick."
"You love those things," His brows furrow, and he leans on the edge of your desk with one hand, his thick fingers splayed out over the wood, "I'm pretty sure your tongue is permanently stained red by now."
"I like them when I'm not in the middle of some weird stomach bug," You admit, "I woke up sick. I don't know what did it, but it was probably something Jack brought home."
Derek pointedly removes his hand from your desk, but he's kind enough not to tell you that he thinks you're contagious.
"Feel better, mama." He offers with something that you're sure is supposed to be a sympathetic smile, but looks a little more like a wince. Emily isn't so easily scared off, though, and she continues munching on the carrot sticks she'd brought for a snack.
"You look tired," She comments, and you almost want to take offense, "You were up all night with your stomach thing?"
"No, just when my alarm went off," You hum, swallowing a bite of your sandwich and trying not to heave at the texture, "It was nice enough to let me sleep, but-" Your sentence is cut off with a well-timed yawn, "I feel like I've been awake for days."
"Probably just your period," Penelope hums softly, trying and failing to keep your menstrual cycle a secret, which isn't surprising considering her track record with secrets. Everyone is kind enough to ignore the information she revealed, but when you shake your head and grumble, 'I'm late.', Spencer snaps to attention.
"You've missed a menstrual cycle, you're feeling extreme fatigue, and you're experiencing morning sickness?" Spencer verifies, and it's only with his discerning brain that you feel a weight sink in your stomach - preferably not your unborn baby.
"Oh my god," You breathe, your hand coming subconsciously up to your stomach, "Oh my- oh my god! Aaron, Aaron!"
Aaron rushes out of his office with the combined urgency of boss and husband, his eyes locking on you sharp with concern.
The air between you is thick as the members of your team grin up at Hotch, leaving you the silence to cheer, "I'm pregnant!"
His eyes are no longer viciously worried, their sharp edge melting into something far softer. His lips part, barely enough to let air through, until they crack and curve upwards in a dazzling smile that the bullpen doesn't often get to see.
"You took a test?" He confirms, but when you shake your head, he dims slightly.
"Reid said I am," You offer, and his zeal is back. You're sure he wishes he could wrap you up in a truly breathtaking embrace, complete with kiss far too passionate for your work environment, but you'll save it until you're at home, away from prying eyes and phone cameras. Regardless, you can feel his exhilaration from where you stand, and you're already planning out a nursery in your mind.
"He's probably more trustworthy than the plastic stick," Derek claps Reid on the back, and the doctor looks like the wind was knocked out of him. They're both smiling, though, and you feel JJ's hand on your shoulder, squeezing happily.
"Congratulations," Rossi pats Aaron on the shoulder, much gentler than Reid had been subjected to, "But a word of advice, Hotch? Don't have any more. If I have to split my inheritance another way, it won't be worth killing me over."
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner scenario#aaron hotchner oneshot#aaron hotchner one-shot#aaron hotchner one shot#aaron hotchner headcanons#aaron hotchner headcanon#aaron hotchner hc#aaron hotchner hcs#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner dialogue#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction
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what pet names (if any) do you think the svt members would use? ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
this is such a cute ask ahh!! sorry it took literal ages to get to, i’ve had the worst case of writer’s block and i’m slowly working through my reqs!
-
Pet names seventeen would call you
—
SEUNGCHEOL
doll. you’re his world and he’d spoil you to no end. every thing you’d want would become yours and you’d never have to lift a finger. he’d dote on you so much and all he’d expect in return is your love, you’d be his lovely doll.
“look at what i got, doll. you like it? do you think it’s pretty? it’s for you”
JEONGHAN
angel. of course, the angel needs his twin flame. you’d be his angel and his partner in crime. you both have your mischievous, devilish streaks too, so the nickname would be perfect. to him you’re angelic and could do no wrong, even when you’ve baked a cake but won’t let him touch it yet.
“angel, you’re being so mean. just one look? i promise i won’t take a bite”
JOSHUA
love. simple and sweet. he prefers to use ‘love’ because it’s exactly what he feels for you and he wants you to know it, remember it all the time. you’re his love and he wants to shower you in it as much as he can.
“mm, i’ll be there in 10. of course, love, i’ll pick it up for you, i love you, too”
JUN
beautiful. jun is in awe of you. you’re breathtaking to him and he’s going to make sure you know it. he’d call you beautiful so often it becomes a nickname for you. neither of you realise when it happens until you’re being called beautiful for the 5th time in the day.
“there’s a fresh towel on the bed for you, beautiful. you don’t need to find a new one”
SOONYOUNG
babe. simple but sweet. he also uses your name often, he says it softly and gently, like it’s his favorite word. he’ll still follow up with a ‘babe’, though. and if he’s within arm’s distance of you he’s definitely punctuating his sentence with a squeeze of your hand or waist.
“babe, we can do the laundry later, it’s so warm in bed, stay just 5 more minutes? please…”
WONWOO
pretty. to wonwoo, you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen. it comes so naturally to him, especially when you are the embodiment of the word in his eyes. you could be sat on the couch flicking through apps mindlessly when you’ll hear him call for you. whether it’s to ask for help or just for the sake of having your attention on him.
“want to play a couple of games later, pretty? or watch a movie? what are you feeling?”
JIHOON
your name. jihoon has a way with words, he pours meaning into every single one he speaks. so to him nothing comes close to the love and meaning he puts into saying your name. it would be tender and loving and it would be yours.
“do they fit well, does it pinch at your ankle? they’re very pretty, ____. i’ll get them for you”
MINGHAO
gorgeous. an almost sensual nickname that rolls off his tongue so easily. it shows just how lucky he feels to have you and it makes your cheeks heat up every time you hear it. he particularly loves seeing you flustered when he springs it on you when you least expect it.
“you’re at lunch with your friends today, right? need me to drop you and pick you up after, gorgeous?”
MINGYU
baby. a classic name for a hopeless romantic. something about you being his baby makes him melt and he just can’t get enough of saying it. you feel so cherished when he uses it and he loves the rush of warmth and pride he gets calling you it. often comes with a sudden back hug, maybe even a pout if he’s wanting your attention.
“please, baby, can we watch just one more episode. it’s only 2am… baby…”
SEOKMIN
buttercup. this is SO seokmin. you’re delicate and pretty like a flower to him. and combined with the fact that he’d love being called sunshine or honey? you both are so sunny and bright together.
“i found them! i found the keys, oh my god they were under the cabinet, buttercup. can you believe that?”
SEUNGKWAN
my sweetheart. seungkwan would use ‘my’ a lot, he would love the intimacy as well as the slight possessiveness that comes with the word. my love, my darling, etc. he’d be a sucker for calling you his and showing you off to everyone that way.
“you’re always the most beautiful in the room. let me introduce you to everyone, my sweetheart, hm?”
VERNON
babe. also keeps it simple. he’s more about subtle affection and wants his actions to speak louder than his words. a soft ‘babe’ accompanied by a gentle tap on your knee to wake you up when you doze off on the sofa, another call while he wordlessly points out something on his phone. he’s all about showing, not telling.
“babe, how many eggs should i put in for two ramen packs?”
CHAN
darling. he’s so affectionate with you it’s unbelievable. while he isn’t one for over the top romance, his affection comes through in so many other ways. when he wordlessly refills glasses of water for you throughout the day or throws a towel in the dryer so it’s nice and warm for you after your shower.
“i’ll tidy up, darling. you get ready for bed, yeah?”
#seventeen fluff#seventeen imagines#seventeen x reader#seventeen#seventeen scenarios#svt fluff#seventeen drabbles#svt drabbles#svt imagines#svt x reader#seventeen au#mingyu fluff#wonwoo fluff#joshua fluff#seungcheol x reader#wonwoo x reader#mingyu x reader#joshua x reader#svt scenarios#seungcheol imagines#jeonghan x reader#hoshi x reader#dino x reader#seungkwan x reader#jun x reader#seokmin x reader#minghao x reader#vernon x reader#woozi x reader#boorines
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yeah most games would lose so much atmosphere without music but something about rain world really gets to me. moments like exiting the tunnel into shoreline and being greeted by the coast, falling into subterranean as deep energy plays, the both unsettling and beautiful tracks through shaded citadel. these moments would be nothing without the music
#rhyn rambles#entering the general system bus in 5p always gets me#random gods combined with the chaotic /everything/ is just breathtaking
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⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ ACE OF SPADES
part two. | rich boy aven masterlist.
synopsis. ⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ your first date with rich boy aventurine is more fun than you initially expected, who knows where things will go from there // ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱ ♡
cw. fluff, slightly suggestive, rich boy au, reader wears a dress, flirty aventurine, a/n. this will have a part two if you can't tell, fem! reader ♡
you turn your face to the left and let your visual perception take in the luxurious casino you've been invited in— undeniably, your first reaction was dedicated to the chimes of whistles of various slot machines announcing wins and losses, in combined action with racketing noises of their shafts being pulled.
your jaw parts and your eyes grow, it felt surreal to stand here with an expensive dress hugging your body tight, a small gift from your date, nothing more, nothing less. rich boy aventurine slowly slides his palm over the back of your hand to lure your thoughts back to himself as he intertwines his fingers with your own.
you stiffen, it didn't take a genius to notice that you were slightly nervous about your first date with the infamous gambler. if only he would've picked a better place to get to know each other— alas, in a way it was exactly what you've expected.
well yes, aventurine choose the probably, most unromantic spot for a first date— but, you got a dress as a gift, together with an embellished necklace and a free entry to a luxurious, private casino.
so, did you really mind? hmm, not really. in fact, it was quite unique and exciting to be here, you also felt safe by his side, and especially intrigued to get to know more about his, quote on quote, playground.
men, or how people called them here; high rollers in pretentious suits, glide like sharks over the soft tumble of the dice. it's all very crowded and distracting, needless to say it was interesting to witness, but you notice how your heart was thumping faster, that's when you began to feel yourself getting difficulties to breathe evenly.
snugly pressed against aventurine, you walk past the shrill murmur of crowds and bells of roulette wheels as the gambler spins you towards his chest, his hand carrying on to hold yours gently, "are you okay? you look a little nervous," he says nonchalantly, although his handsome voice told you a different story, an affectionate perception, "our table is right there, we can take a seat and talk if you want. "
your gaze slowly shifts to where aventurine was pointing his head towards as you look at a large table right next to the exclusive sight of exquisite gold and silver fountains and statuaries. this must've cost a fortune, you were certain that this area alone was the most breathtaking one.
you awkwardly glare up at him, your breathing picking up on tempo, "of course, but..." your last note was drawn out as aventurine cocks a curious brow at you, "would it be okay to excuse myself for a bit?"
you continue shortly, fists balled, "it's a little stuffy here, you see, i'd love to take some fresh air without bothering you about it,"
in all honesty, the air was, well, utterly despicable. the lofty mixture of overpriced cologne and sweat penetrated your nostrils to the point where it began to ache and scratch your brain.
despite the fact that everything was overwhelming in its entirety.
being embarrassed by your human reactions might be an imprecise wording and false emotion to feel, you shouldn't feel bad about this. although you felt awkward and uneasy to ask aventurine if you could take a swift breather outside.
what if he found you to be boring now? or even worse, ungrateful when it was him who made it possible for you to see something like this in the first place.
a high class casino that could never be visited by the ordinary.
he looks at you through his glasses and you could swear his eyes had a mellow glow, a tender glimmer of serenity as his lips carve into a handsome smile, "oh of course, lets go right away so you won't get nauseous," he utters out, his stomach sitting heavy with lead and eagerness to look out for you.
you freeze for a second, "uh, wait, i really don't want to ruin this night for you," and sigh, letting your gaze wander around everywhere but his direction before tapping out a nervous rhythm against the soft marble on the floor.
all aventurine does was laugh airily, "you're adorable,"
"you're not ruining anything, in fact, you really couldn't, even if you tried,"
ugh, everything about you is just so pretty, you're sweet and angelic and he's glad he's bought this dress for you, it fits you like a second skin— aventurine takes note of your beauty, he stores it into the most important places in his brain so he could dream about you later.
memorize how this dress looks on you. closer and closer.
"but here, take my jacket, okay? it's rather cold," he flips his jacket down his shoulders before draping it over your own before suddenly closing the distance from his lips to your ear— silent, there's a voice next to your skin, it's deep, handsome and smoking hot. barely above an octave as it holds a teasing verge to it, "i wouldn't want you to catch a cold, yeah?"
you hum in agreement as you rest your hands above his clothed chest, butterflies storm through your belly and settle heavily inside as aventurine wraps one arm around your waist, his breath wafting around your lovely lips.
you felt the need to kiss him, and so did he, feel the same towards you. for a moment, you two linger feeling each others warmth a little longer, relishing in your precious attempts to getting to know each other better. it's slightly awkward, you could tell that aventurine noticed how your eyes were fighting the urge to keep admiring him.
yet, he's not complaining— he could never, not when you're so cute, and your touch on him was consistently warm, your trace firm but confident, content and safe.
he hopes you will enjoy yourself tonight, and maybe, only maybe, you will invite him over to your place later.
©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify
#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#aventurine x reader#hsr x you#honkai star rail x you#aventurine x you#hsr drabbles#honkai star rail drabbles
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Avocado Allergy
Summary: Max and his girlfriend are learnign to understand each other's love language
Warnings: mentions of an ex cheating, slight mentions of emotional abuse and manipulation as well as love bombing, but there is also a whole lotta fluff to make up for it
Wordcount: 2.1k
🏎Masterlist🏎
______________________
It’s quiet. A drastic change to the noise that happened mere hours earlier.
But Max relishes in that. After feeling like he is on top of the world with a first place trophy in his hands, he loves feeling grounded again. Especially through her.
(Y/N) head lays on his lap while she reads. Both sitting on the couch that the hotel room offers. Upon checking in they joked about trying not to think about what that piece of furniture has already seen.
Max massages her scalp, concentrating on how her eyes move from line to line, taking in the words that will lead her to a whole story eventually.
In this moment, Max feels at peace.
A peace he never thought he would reach.
A peace, where his thoughts are not full of self-deprecation.
A peace, where he feels enough. Secure. Without a worry.
He presses a kiss to his girlfriend’s forehead. “Will you read to me?” His soft voice cuts pleasantly through the silence. (Y/N) smiles and nods, clears her throat and starts to read the words on the pages in front of her out loud.
A peace, they both thought they would never be able to reach. And yet, they are still here. Basking in each other’s presence like it’s their form of ambrosia. Like it’s the only way that makes them invincible to what the world has against them in its pocket.
To get there, to this point, a whole process of understanding each other had to take place first.
It all started during the early days of their relationship.
“I’ll take you out for dinner tonight. Do you want to go for a shopping trip with Victoria for a new dress? You can take my credit card with you.” Max offers as he appears next to his girlfriend on the sofa.
Confused, she takes her eyes off the article she was reading in some magazine that had been laid out on the coffee table. “Is there a special occasion we go out for?”
(Y/N) thinks for herself a few moments. There is not an anniversary approaching. Neither is any of their birthdays. Or a big accomplishment.
So the question is: What did Max do? What will he be apologizing for?
“No reason except for me wanting to have an amazing date night with my even more amazing girlfriend. I just want us to have a good time.” This makes her even more suspicious.
“Oh,” (Y/N) answers, “Sounds like a good idea. But I don’t feel like going out shopping today.”
In reality, she does not want to get a special dress for a night out, just to get told that he cheated on her or that he totaled her car or something similar in that dress. The young woman does not want such negative energy clinging to a piece of fabric that is supposed to be special.
Max presses a kiss to her cheek before getting up again. “No problem, whatever you put on, you’ll be the most beautiful woman. I love you!” Off he goes, probably doing some Max-Verstappen-stuff.
His compliments and love exclamation in combination makes (Y/N) even more nervous for the upcoming dinner. He must have fucked up royally.
Several horror scenarios are going through her mind over and over again while (Y/N) is getting ready.
Did he actually cheat? Would she take him back after a confession like that?
Or maybe he hates her family and wants to tell her that he doesn’t want to spend any more time with them. That she has to decide between him and her family. Can she make that decision again? Would she make the right one this time?
“You look breathtaking.” Max’s eyes begin to sparkle, similar to the eyes of a child upon entering a toy store.
Can this face, the one of a man admiring the current love of his life like she is the most beautiful sight he has ever been blessed enough to put his eyes on, belong to the same person, that will isolate her from her family and friends? That cheats on her and acts like it was her fault for not being there for him 24/7?
For an average person the answer is simple: No, Max is the guy who nearly brought her bridal style to the emergency room because of her period cramps. He is the same one that ran to the store and back in record time to get some ice for the toe she stubbed on a chair leg.
For (Y/N) the answer is also just as simple: Maybe. Because her previous boyfriend also had a pretty face and said I love you. He also went to expensive restaurants and extravagant short trips with her. He took (Y/N) out for designer shopping trips, making her whole family say that she made the right decision by falling in love with that guy.
The same guy, who cheated on her with a close friend and got her some unimportant, but apparently expensive purse. That man, that followed her to the bathroom, giving her compliment after compliment, to make up for all the dates he canceled.
Maybe, they are not the same to the naked eye. But no one really knows what broods under the skin of any person, right?
“What’s going through your pretty head?” Max asks, putting his hand on her thigh while using the other one for the steering wheel. (Y/N) tries to shake his concern off, simply answering with “Oh, nothing much. Just something about work, you know?” But this man never lets up until he gets to the bottom of a problem. “Tell me about it. If it’s bothering you, it can’t be nothing.”
“Why are you taking me out for dinner? What did you do to try and make up for it? Is it in a public space because I can’t make a scene there?” If he wouldn’t have to watch the road, Max would have gotten whiplash by how fast he looked at his girlfriend. “Um, no? I really just want to take you out because you deserve an amazing night out. I genuinely just want to give you a memorable night. But I can turn around and we order something in. I don’t wanna pressure you into doing anything. I know that we can have just as much of a fun night on our couch watching that one show you have been raving about.”
It takes a few minutes for (Y/N) to comprehend what he said. “So, you will not tell me something bad you did? You actually take me out for no reason, no ulterior motive here?” Max caresses her thigh with his hand. “My only motive is wanting to spend some quality time with you.”
And so they did. The couple has a really romantic evening, sharing jokes and laughs over food and candle light, tugged away in a private corner of Max’s chosen restaurant.
This was the first, but unfortunately not the last time (Y/N) has accused the Dutch of having done something horrible.
Whenever he does a grand gesture, gifting her a very nice bracelet or bringing her to a place she has dreamed to see, it is followed by her asking what kind of crime against their relationship code he committed.
It’s starting to take a strain on both of them. “I don’t know what to do”, he vents to his mother over the telephone. “I love her and only her, but (Y/N) somehow has this twisted image of me that I cheated on her or have done something else wrong and want to apologize for that by taking her on vacation or so. I feel like she doesn’t trust me at all!”
The frustration is detectable in his voice. His mother feels bad for her son. “Have you asked her why she suspects something is off? Maybe you gave her a reason for not having her whole trust?” Max thinks about it. He has never really asked. He doesn’t know why.
“I think I’m losing him.” (Y/N) cries to her best friend. They both sit on her couch in her best friend’s apartment. “I’m accusing him of all these things I know that he would never do to me. But whenever he gifts me something expensive I immediately think of my ex and how he did that too, followed by him telling me he totaled my car or made out with some other woman at a party the night before again.”
Her friend looks at (Y/N) with sympathy. “He love bombed you and distorted your whole love map by doing that. You need to tell Max what he did to you. And you both need to work on understanding what the other person needs in order to feel comfortable in the relationship.”
Having been pep talked to, both find the other person in their shared four walls as soon as possible. They sit down and talk about what they need. They open up to each other and try to find compromises.
Later that night, they lie together in bed, cuddled up while some random movie plays in the background to fill the silence. “I have never felt so safe in a relationship than I do ever since we got together” (Y/N) mumbles, drawing shapes and numbers on his arm with her fingers. “I have never been able to be so true to myself while being romantically involved with someone else.”
Max’s heart starts hurting again. While (Y/N) told him about how much her previous boyfriend manipulated her over and over again, trying to win her over with both grand gestures and verbal threats. He gets it, her getting upset over him trying to be the best boyfriend by reading every wish from her lips.
They both learn to understand each other’s love languages. Max loves to spend quality time and by bringing his girlfriend everywhere with him where she could be present, may it be a simple interview where she sits in the background or the big vacation he had planned for the two. (Y/N) is more a lover of the small gestures. A flower there, holding the edge of a table when the other retrieves the fork that has fallen down during dinner here.
Rediscovering how they can love their soulmate best, it feels like diving into a new part of their relationship. They start to feel a deeper connection, a new level to finding each other. It gets to a point where (Y/N) confidently can say she knows Max like the back of her hand. She is better versed in his voice and tone indication than in her favorite songs.
They are out eating at a nice restaurant with a few of the drivers and their partners. It is a nice evening after the intense race weekend they just endured.
“Can I have some of yours?” Max refers to the pasta dish (Y/N) ordered. “Of course”, she smiles and pushes her plate towards him. Max takes a good bite from it, praising his girlfriend’s choice for her dinner. “Can I try yours?” She asks, eyeing his burger. “No.” Max answers shortly after having already taken a bite of his dish.
Lando chokes on his sip of water he just tried to drink. “No? But she just let you try her food. Why don’t you share?” But Max continues to chew his bite, taking his sweet time before answering.
“Do you want me to kill my girlfriend? Because it’s a sure way to do so by letting her have a bite of my burger, since it has avocado on it and she is allergic to that.”
(Y/N) just melts immediately at that. She mentioned her allergy to avocados once in passing to Max while he was making them sandwiches. But he still remembered it, even after it never had come up ever since.
Maybe it’s really not the big things that make you fall in love with a person. Maybe it’s the attention, the eye for the little things, that can make the greater difference.
And maybe this attention is what led to Max not proposing to her in front of a ferris wheel under the light of fireworks but rather in the kitchen of their shared home over a home cooked meal, asking for her hand in marriage on one knee while being shrouded in solitude.
#max verstappen image#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fanfic#reader insert#x reader#x fem!reader#max verstappen x fem!reader
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Ok hear me out noble Tav spoiling Astarion everytime they go out
"let me spoil you babygirl"
Oh, hells to the yeah! Astarion would have a field day!
Spoils
"You heard me, Astarion, buy anything you want, I have it covered", you repeated yourself as the vampire looked at you with wide eyes, his mouth had fallen open.
You had taken Astarion into the city, to the district where the best of the tailors in their city had set up their shops. This plan had formed in your head a long time ago when you still had been adventuring. Back then you had sworn yourself that once all this was done you would treat your vampiric partner to the biggest shopping spree.
You were a noble, you could afford it! Gold had never been an issue for you for as long as you lived. So why not use it to give the man you loved and who for so long had barely anything more than the clothes on his back a gift?
"You're insane, darling", Astarion replied when he regained some of his wits.
"No, love, just insanely rich", you replied with a shit-eating grin to which the vampire only rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his index and thumb.
But Astarion still kept standing with you in front of one of the many tailor's shops - showing no intention to go inside. In fact, he looked a little uncomfortable. It was plain obvious that he didn't know what to do in this situation - he wasn't used to being treated like this. And it broke your heart a little.
You would make him get used to it though.
"Come on, Astarion, go in, take a look around. Try on whatever you want and pick all the stuff you want - it'll be my treat", you tried again and observed the vampire as his eyes wandered to the shop door and he pursed his lips deep in thought. Good, at least he seemed inclined to the idea now.
"If it maked you feel better you can pick out something for me to, love", you added with a smile.
Astarion's gaze snapped back to yours, one of his eyebrows lifted and grin spread over his face: "I thought this was about you spoiling me, darling?"
You simply shrugged and mirrored his playful grin: "Then take me up on it before I reconsider!"
And that finally convinced Astarion to get going. He entered the shop while you followed closely behind.
It only took him a few more minutes to adjust to the plan then. The moment he laid eyes upon a piece of clothing that intrigued him all hesitancy was forgotten.
What followed was a whole day of dallying and shopping. Astarion chatted amicably with the tailors who in turn complimented him profusely in just about anything he tried on and blew up his already inflated ego even more. (Although you had to agree, that he did indeed look dashing in just about anything)
You soon became nothing a but a walking clothing rack while Astarion kept piling up more stuff. "Darling, thank you dearly, you're a sweetheart", Astarion cheerfully proclaimed about every other time he threw something more onto the pile while you were barely able to see anything anymore - and it got pretty hot under all the fabric.
But you didn't mind - the joy and ease with which the your vampiric partner dashed through the shops and put together incredible and breathtaking outfits and got swooned over by everyone around was well worth it.
You happily payed for everything and in turn got treated with an outfit that Astarion took his sweet time to pick out for you. The vampire had taste, you really had to give him that. You looked incredible in what he had combined, so you happily piled it on with the other stuff - and then of course paid for it with your own money. It was the thought that counted after all.
Once on your way home, Astarion kept idly chattering, very obviously in an amazing mood from all the self-indulgence. You watched him contentedly, happy to that you had been able to give him this enjoyable experience.
At one point Astarion stopped in the middle of the road - as if he had suddenly remembered something. As you turned to him you just looked at him quizzically.
"Thank you, darling", Astarion said with a genuine smile. "I've never been this spoilt in my life. Well, in the good sense, after all."
Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon
#astarion#baldur's gate 3#astarion ancunin#fanfiction#astarion x tav#bg3 spoilers#baldur's gate iii#baldurs gate#astarion x mc#astarion x oc#astarion x you#astarion x reader#bg3#drabble
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𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐝 (GN)
Synopsis: Don't you think chocolate layered cocks are delicious? Of course, after the twins had their fair share of you coated in chocolate and syrup first ♡ CatboX
Warning— Yandere content, threesome, NSFW, the kissing part and them getting jealous is the best... GN reader
"Don't you like chocolate hm~?"
One of the twins licked your perked nipples that were coated by the syrup he poured, driving him into sucking it clean. You whined as the other lapped up the syrup that coated your sex, making sure there was nothing left on your skin. Your hands went to grip them by their hair, eyes rolled back when you suddenly jolted your hip toward the man that was lapping you clean.
"Nn-Noel! No, d-don't! Not thereee, huk-!!"
It did nothing much despite how your legs thrashed against Erickson's iron grip and hands tugging on his hair. Noel looked up to pair his eyes with yours, the blush that crept into his face identic with the twins' hair color.
"Sorry, you are just so delicious..." He mumbled out as he inserted his fingers into your hole, curling it to hit your insides. And he did hit that one spot inside you, making you arch your back while Erickson tried to keep you still.
"So eager aren't you?" Erickson teased as he abused your other nipple after having his share with the other one, sucking and licking the chocolate clean, "what do you say if we treat you with our cocks later? You can lick the chocolate clean or whatever, just be a good doll first to get your treat."
The idea of sucking them with chocolate coating it? It truly was new and foreign to you but the idea itself made your stomach churned in excitement and expectant. This did not go unnoticed by everyone.
Noel did not stop ramming your insides with his finger, instead, he started to mouth your sex, tasting your fluid combined with the chocolate, which surely was new but not unpleasant. How would it taste should you cum in his mouth and it was mixed with the syrup? That made him absentmindedly rut himself against the bed, his cock leaking pre-cum as he focused on making you cum.
Erickson too started to pump his cock with one of his hands, the other still pinching and twisting your nipple, mouth latching on your nipple.
"Gonna fill you up with our sweets and you don't get a say in this," he said as he pulled away from your chest and lined his cock in front of your lip, pouring a great amount of chocolate syrup all over it. "Open up, doll~." And that was his last warning before he shoved his cock inside your mouth directly, barely giving you the time to adjust to his size.
Perhaps Erickon's words were the one that snapped the knot in your stomach, your hands held Noel still while you came in his mouth. Noel's cock twitched as he tasted you, sweet just like the chocolate he'd been pouring all over you. Noel tried his best to not come yet despite the pre-cum that had pooled down below him. Erickson simply chuckled as he watched Noel drink you down, making sure not even a drip went to waste.
After the show was over, Noel realized how Erickson was gagging you with his length. He shot his brother a glare before Erickson shrugged, pulling out from your mouth. You gasped out for air as you coughed out violently. Noel poured more of the syrup on his brother's cock before he guided your lip to his length, "Why not have a taste of it first?"
You gave it a kitten licks all over before licking it all over. Noel watched how your thighs clenched tightly and face flushed in red and sweat. You look breathtaking, alluring him to feel you as well. Noel swallowed the lump in his throat before pining you down, his tip lined in front of your hole.
"Sorry, just gotta have my fair share and," Noel groaned mid-way as his tip slipped into you, his eyes clouded with arousal as his arms tried their best to withstand the weight that was looming above you. Noel plunged himself deeper inside you, his length felt like it was piercing you half in a delirious way. Noel tried his best to muffle his grunts while Erickson did not even bother to hide how vocal he was being, his finger combing your hair as he angled his tip however he liked.
"Fuck, you feel so good doll. Keep on sucking 'em and we'll give you all the sweets you want, that konpeito or whatever." Erickson said as he started to use your mouth as a fleshlight, his tip hitting the back of your throat every now and then. Noel on the other hand angled his tip to hit that spot of yours, making your mouth vibrate from the moan that was ellicited out of you. It simply heightened the pleasure Erickson had from using you to chase his own pleasure.
"Feeling good?" Noel asked as he took in the expressions you made. Noel had always been a sweet boy and a gentleman, always prioritizing your happiness and now, pleasure above everything else. Unable to receive any clear answer from you, he angled his cock to hit your spot again, this time faster and harder.
Erickson pulled away and pumped his cock with his palm, watching how you tried to catch the breath you've lost all this time. It didn't last long, for Noel's brutal pace itself trouble you to take even just a breather.
Moans slipped out of your mouth and he took it as a yes. Oh how beautiful you looked when your eyes were crossed, tongue lolled out. It was almost as though you were inviting him and he did not hesitate to dive in for a kiss. The two of you clashed tongues, feeling the remnants flavor lingering in each's mouth, the sweet chocolate syrup and the fruit syrup Erickson poured all over you along with the foreign taste of what you assumed to be your own body fluid.
"Love you, love you, love you so soo much."
Noel's pace grew uneven but it did not fail to make you curl your toes, his confession started to sound like a child whining and begging for you to spare him just at least a sliver of attention. But his brother did not like that, oh he just knew what to do to make sure he could get more attention out of you, just like what he's about to do.
"Look at you~ at this rate I might really waaaaannnaaaa bite that pretty tongue of yours~ what do you say?" Erickson mouthed at you before slipping his tongue into you, kissing you just as needy as his brother was. Except that he did it out of envy and not adoration.
Erickson pulled away and poured some of the chocolate syrup into his mouth, you could guess what he was about to do. He merely grinned at you before crashing his lip into yours again, the two of you sharing the same sweet syruppy taste while your body jolted from the expecting orgasm you were about to have.
"Eyes on me."
Erickson made sure that you were looking at him as you came, Noel could only frowned but he did not think much about it, he didn't want his nosy brother to ruin his orgasm. Within a few thrusts pumped into your hole, Noel painted your insides white while his head snuggled close into the crook of your neck.
There was a momentary silence before Noel broke the silence by whispering into your ear, the same phrase muttered out again.
"I love you."
Erickson could only roll his eyes before wrapping his arms all over you, the scene reminded you of how he used to cry and whined as he took Noel's toy as his own.
'I want this! I want this!'
Come to think of it again... what did Noel say to him? Noel gave the doll for him and...
'At least try not to break it okay?'
You snapped out of your thoughts when you felt someone kissing your jaw, this time it was the one with longer hair, Erickson.
"I want you, doll."
#yandere male#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere scenarios#yandere x you#yandere imagines#male yandere#yandere insert#yandere oc#yandere headcanons#yandere works#yandere smut#yandere writing#reader insert#x reader#oc#x gn reader#Erickson the Chosen#Noel the Unbent
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fill you up
ellie williams x reader
summary: no plot just smut. ellie wishing she could cum inside you when using her strap
minors do not interact, 18+ content
cw: dom!ellie, use of strap, little bit of spitting and choking, slight degrading, praise, mentions of ellie wanting to cum inside reader, rough ellie turns to soft at the end
your legs were on ellie’s shoulders as she was practically snapping you in half as she drilled into you with her strap. the sloppy wet sounds combined with your high pitched moans and her breathless curse words was pure fucking filth.
“fuck,” she groaned, loving how your face scrunched up as you struggled to keep your eyes open.
“fucking take it baby, look at me.”
you tried so hard to obey her demand but when your eyelids faltered she gripped your face between her fingers, squishing your cheeks to force you to look at her.
“i said look at me you pretty fucking slut.”
she was hitting it so deep it felt like the tip of the strap was going to hit your lungs. your legs were shaking and if it wasn’t for her holding them up, you’d be collapsing in a heap.
still holding your face she said “stick your tongue out” and you obviously did, letting her spit on it. as you swallowed, looking up at her with teary eyes, she brushed her thumb over your bottom lip muttering “so fucking pretty, baby.”
she then traced her hand down to your neck, lightly pinching either side. her pace didn’t let up and at this point you were seeing stars, the moon, the entire fucking galaxy. your moans became whiny and pathetic causing her to smirk and laugh to herself, knowing you were putty in her hands.
“you’re taking it so well for me, babe, god wish i could cum in you.” your face must have automatically given her such a pleading look because she carried on.
“wanna fill you up with cum and fuck it back into you.” the thought of it turned your insides to mush and you moaned out a little “please.”
“yeah? you want that?”
you let out another string of whiny “pleases” which made ellie feel fucking feral. she took her hand off your throat and leaned more of her weight down onto you so she could kiss you. it was messy and the slight adjustment in the angle of the strap made it hard to kiss her back but she didn’t care. she loved having you like this. a whiny, shaky mess just for her.
you couldn’t see it obviously but you could tell there would be a creamy white ring around the strap as it pounded in and out of you. your stomach tightened and your toes curled so hard it nearly gave you cramp. your hands gripped and scratched at her back as you tried to utter out that you were going to come.
“come with me, baby, let me fill you up,” she groaned. imagining her cum coating the walls inside you as she kept fucking you through your orgasm send you over the edge. your head fell forward, bumping into your leg and your hands held onto anything they could as you basically saw white.
as soon as she knew you’d come, she slowed her pace but didn’t stop, wanting to keep you feeling sensitive. you looked at her, your mouth agape, and she was looking at you like you were the most breathtaking thing she’d ever seen.
she let your legs come off her shoulders and relax a bit, still being spread wide apart though and she stopped moving the strap but kept it deep inside you. she brushed a sweaty piece of hair off of your forehead before kissing it.
“you are fucking amazing, you know that?”
all you could manage was a nod as your arms pulled her down into another kiss.
“you’re fucking amazing,” you breathed out against her lips. she peeled one of your arms off from around her so she could intertwine your hands next to your head as you continued the lazy, slow kisses.
“i’m gonna pull out now,” she mumbled and gave you a second before she slowly pulled the strap out, leaving you feeling empty. she took a moment to take the strap off and reach for a nearby towel to clean you up a bit. the brief absence of her body against yours made you let out a little sigh.
once the strap and towel were tossed to the side she was quick to snuggle back into you, laying between your legs, head buried in your neck and an arm wrapped underneath you. you hugged her close and kissed her temple, she let out a little hmm in approval. it was so comfortable and warm the way your bodies melted into one another that it didn’t take long for you both to fall asleep, completely fucked out.
#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams x you#ellie tlou#ellie williams smut#ellie smut#ellie imagine#ellie x y/n#the last of us#tlou part 2#ellie x fem reader#ellie x reader#ellie williams x female reader#lesbian
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The Ascended Devil & The Mouse
Raphael x f!Tav/Reader
⋆˙⟡♡ 18+
⋆˙⟡♡ Summary: It was the first time he had experienced being ascended, and you found him utterly breathtaking. Korilla warned you not to get close, that he could do anything to you, but you ignored her warnings.
⋆˙⟡♡ NSFW | Monster Fucking | Belly Bulge | Ascended Raphael
Ao3
Korilla observed from a distance, her eyes fixated on the sight before her. Your belly contorted with each forceful thrust of his cock, bulging with every penetration. The flush on your cheeks and the open, blissful expression on your face revealed your pleasure rather than discomfort. Your hand tightly grasped his arms, they reminded you of the texture that combined with wood and the solidity of bone. The fire from them never singing your delicate skin.
"R-Raphael!" you gasped, breathless, repeatedly uttering his name as if he were a god you worshiped. Korilla noticed how his gaze remained fixed on you, never wavering, like a wild predator dominating its prey. Raphael, in his ascended form, was an unknown entity, and she couldn't predict the final outcome. She had warned you to stay away from him, as Mephistopheles had never bestowed such a gift upon him before. Yet you defied her, approaching him and cradling his much larger face in your hands, kissing his tusk and proclaiming his beauty in this form.
She understood that one of the reasons he cherished you, his little mouse, was because you saw the beauty in him that others did not. You turned away even Haarlep, who was considered a more conventionally attractive version of Raphael. You truly loved Raphael for all that he was, even like this.
Beads of sweat formed on your skin, giving your body a radiant glow. Korilla had to admit, Raphael had excellent taste. Even the sounds of your soft moans and pleasure-filled cries, the way your body responded to his, made her envious of him, but only a tad in this moment.
It didn't take long for his pace to quicken, his large hands gripping your sides tightly, keeping you in place while he took his fill of you. His growls grew more pronounced, his hips moving with increasing speed, his testicles slapping against you forcefully. The outline of his cock was still visible through your distended belly, and she marveled at how you endured it all without screaming in agony.
"I-I want to be filled, please! I-Raphael!" Your nails dug into his infernal flesh, your legs attempting to wrap around him, but they soon went limp, falling to the sides as your vision blurred with sweat and a lust-induced haze.
Your arms fell limply above your head, your breath labored as your eyes continued to admire his exquisitely sculpted new face. Raphael was no longer just a handsome devil; he had transformed into a beautiful monster. You could feel the pulsations of his throbbing member inside you, hitting all the right spots, causing you to climax once more. This time, your eyes rolled back, a loud scream escaping your throat, and your toes curling as the waves of orgasm washed over you.
As your walls tightened around his cock, he showed no signs of slowing down. Instead, he leaned down and licked one of your sensitive nipples, his hot tongue grazing the tender bud, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. It felt as if your body was on the verge of breaking, yet you remain beneath him, never attempting to push him away. You trusted your devil more than any god, knowing he would protect you even from himself.
His large claws grazed the sides of your hips before slipping beneath you, effortlessly flipping you over onto your side. His cock angled perfectly to reach your most sensitive spots. Korilla watched intently as he wrapped his ascended hand around your fragile little neck, the claws lightly digging into your flesh. She knew it was wrong not to give you both privacy, but as soon as you removed your garments Korilla knew she’d have to stay to ensure your safety. She knew Raphael would never forgive her if she allowed him to do something reckless.
The sounds that emanated from you, the screams and moans of pleasure, served as undeniable proof that he wasn't causing you harm. But still, he was a Devil, and anything could go awry. She watched as your hand gripped his, your head falling back, your eyes fluttering shut. "C-cum for me, m-my Raphael!!"
Raphael grunted, his thrusts becoming erratic, his tail swishing back and forth, knocking over opulent vases in the process. Your screams reverberated through the house, leaving no doubt that you had reached your peak once again. Raphael nuzzled into your shoulder, his tusks and bony face scraping against your skin. Korilla was certain you would be covered in cuts, but the healing bath would soothe those wounds.
A deep growl erupted from the devil, followed by a mighty roar. His grip on you tightened as his cock pulsed, finally releasing his thick, scorching seed deep inside your unprotected womb. Your stomach appeared several months pregnant, swollen from the copious amounts of cum. Your eyes drifted down to your swollen abdomen, your shaky hand caressing it as if there were a child growing within. The thought of bearing his child had crossed your mind several times before, and this experience only fueled that dream.
Korilla watched as his cock was milked, your cunt squeezing every last drop before the ascended Rapahel collapsed to the floor beside you. Careful not to crush you, his cock still buried inside of you. A low rumble vibrated against your back, his hands loosened their grip on you, his breathing beginning to even out. His bone tail wrapped around you in a protective manner, pulling you closer to him.
He was finally asleep, and you were exhausted. Korilla left the room with a sigh, knowing no one would dare enter and interrupt either of your slumber.
#bg3#baldurs gate 3#baldurs gate#raphael bg3#bg3 raphael#tav#raphael the cambion#raphael x tav#raphael#bg3 smut#raphael smut#monster fucker
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Two For One
Summary: Why have just one when you could have both?
Word Count: 8.6k
Pairing: Ricky x Gyuvin x Reader
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Marking/Biting Kink, Size Kink, Possessiveness, Ownership Kink, Daddy Kink, Threesome
Bouncing on your heels, you wait at the front door of your friends’ apartment after knocking only a minute ago. You have arrived later than you had planned, and momentarily feel anxious that he may have forgotten your pre-organised visit. You raise your hand to knock again, but just before your fist hits the hardwood, the door swings open and you are greeted with the most breathtaking smile.
“Hi, doll!” Gyuvin smiles, that nickname drives you mental, “I wasn’t expecting you!”
Kim Gyuvin. You are friends with him too, but it wasn’t him that you were planning to visit, but his roommate.
“Gyuvin-oppa,” You beam back at him, “I’d come to see Ricky-gē, is he here?”
Gyuvin rolls his eyes at you, playfully laughing it off with a jokingly toned “What, are you not happy to see me?”
You stare at him with your cutest pout and scowl combination, knowing how easily he folds when you put it on, and that he does, as expected.
“Ricky had a last minute schedule,” Gyuvin explains, as he steps back to allow you space to enter the apartment, “He will be back in a couple of hours if you wanted to wait? I was just about to put on a movie.”
You simply smile with a nod, bowing your head slightly as you follow him inside, “That sounds nice,” You hum, “What were you going to watch?”
Gyuvin grins at you cheekily, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his head tilted slightly to the left, and you suddenly fear what you have set yourself up for. It better not be some rom-com, Gyuvin knows that you hate those, or at least, hate watching them with other people because you don’t want them to see you cry.
“Just some found-footage horror I saw while scrolling Netflix,” He replies, “Are you in?”
It has been too long since you watched a horror, they don’t particularly shake you, in the sense of thinking about them afterward, losing sleep etc, but you are easy to jump, quick to frighten, and you already anticipate how much Gyuvin is going to tease you for it the entire film.
“Of course,” You reply defiantly, “I’m not afraid.”
Gyuvin laughs as he closes the door behind you, taking his arm over your shoulders, he leads you down the hall towards his bedroom. It is not the first time that you two have watched something together, just the two of you, having been friends for a while now, it isn’t weird or uncomfortable to either of you, to get comfortable in his bed, sitting up with your backs against the wall, waiting for the opening credits to begin.
Barely ten minutes in, and a sudden jump has you screaming in fright, and sends Gyuvin into a fit of laughter, as you instinctively curl into him to protect yourself from the demon in the movie. Although he laughs, Gyuvin holds you close to him, his warmth reminding you that there is nothing to be afraid of. You breathe him in for a moment before lifting your head to watch the movie again, but this time you don’t move away from your position in his arms.
Your relationship with Gyuvin is strange, but not dissimilar to yours with Ricky too. Nothing has ever happened between you, but there has always been an inkling of desire, an unspoken, un… acted upon, attraction. You are reminded of this as you cuddle up close to him, but you don’t say a word, pretending to ignore the way that your heartbeat speeds up as your head rests against his shoulder.
“Are you sure you aren’t too scared?” He teases you, ten minutes later when you scream again, this time burying your face in his chest, “Do you want me to turn it off?”
You shake your head, but don’t look up at first, not until he lifts your chin with two fingers, forcing you to make eye contact. No longer afraid, the second that you look into his eyes, but your heart races for a whole other reason.
Before you have a chance to speak, he kisses you, and you kiss him back as if it were second nature. Desire burns in you, as his stupidly large and masculine hand cups your cheek, the other holds you by the waist, fingertips digging in hard enough to make you gasp, giving him the freedom to taste you, his tongue practically half-way down your throat. It is messy, hot, and desperate, your fingers tangling in his hair as you try to get even closer.
He guides you onto your back, and you are suddenly reminded of just how much bigger he is than you, as he fits between your legs, and you cross your ankles behind his knees.
“Babydoll,” He murmurs breathlessly, leaning back just to look at you, “You’re just so little.”
You realise from his tone, and from the darkness in his eyes that you have never seen before, that he likes that, a lot, and so do you. You feel powerless in a way that sends heat surging to your core, a pathetic whimper escaping you instead of words, as he leans down to kiss you again. This time is even hotter, the hand on your cheek now moves to your throat, and the one on your waist is now under your shirt. The skirt you are wearing has ridden up, your legs fully exposed, wrapped tightly around him as he grinds into you.
He pulls you up by your neck, to the point that you can’t breathe, but he lets go so that he can pull your shirt up over your head, and allows you to take his top off too. You don’t have time to think about whether you have seen him shirtless before, but if you had, it was never this close up, and holy fuck, he is unreal. His proportions are insane, so tall, lean and lanky, your hands are all over him as he pushes you down again and he leans in to kiss your neck.
You throw your head back into the pillow, arching your spine with a pitiful moan as he bites down, right up close to your ear. Your nails drag down his back as he makes quick work to mark you, leaving bright red indents all the way down to your shoulder, and slowly across your chest. He slips a hand under you, unfastening your bra with nimble fingers, pulling the item off you so that he can then focus attention on your breasts. His hands dwarf every part of you, and it is driving you both crazy.
“Oppa~” You cry as he sucks a mark onto your breast, “Fuck… more, I want more.”
Gyuvin chuckles before sinking his teeth into you again, “Patience, doll… you’ll get your fix, I promise.”
You whine, whimper and moan as he makes a mess of you, until he too can’t take anymore, the bulge in his pants too much to handle, and from the outline alone, you wonder if it will be too much for you, too.
Gyuvin catches you staring, and he moves up so that you can feel his hardness against your inner thigh, it is enough to get you dripping.
“You’re so big, oppa,” You pout at him, eyes wide and innocent, “Are you going to break me?”
He bites his lip, momentarily trying to hold himself back, though the temptation is too strong, you have him so close without doing anything more than putting on a little aegyo. Gyuvin is almost embarrassed about how badly you have him worked up, but when he reaches down to remove your skirt and panties and sees just how fucking wet you are, that feeling completely disappears.
“I fear I might, babydoll,” He smirks as he leans back to pull his pants down, his underwear coming off with it, “I will at least try to be gentle.”
Your jaw drops when you see what you are up against. His cock is bigger than any you have seen, thick and veiny, the length damn near comparative to your forearm, and your mouth salivates at the sight. It is going to hurt, of that you are most certain, but you want it, more than anything right now.
Both fully naked, the make out session grows hotter, with Gyuvin’s hand between your legs, toying at your entrance, the tips of his fingers slicked and he hasn’t even entered you yet.
“Already so wet?” He teases, “You make this so easy for me.”
You haven’t processed the implication of his words before he enters you with both his middle and index fingers. Long, slender, and he curves them at just the right angle to have you cry out. You grip tightly to him, whining into the kiss as you get used to the initial stretch, trying to prepare you for what is to come when his cock will be inside of you instead.
“You just turn me on so much, oppa,” You mumble when he pulls back to stare at you, scissoring his fingers to get you wetter, “Covered in your marks, so little under you, do you like it too?”
Your words awaken something in him, an animalistic demeanour that has him pull his fingers out of you, only to thrust straight in with his cock instead, as deep as he can fit, hitting your cervix and causing you to scream.
He holds still for a moment, your breathing is staggered as he leans back again to take in the sight of you, tears in your eyes as you beg your body to adjust to the sheer size of him. You have definitely never taken a cock this big, and when you glance down you see that there is still so much of him that hasn’t even entered you.
“Breathe for me, little one,” He soothes you, gently caressing your lower stomach, your hips, and down to your thighs, “Relax, it’s okay.”
You nod, gulping before you try to steady your breathing, assuring yourself that it feels good to be filled like this, although you can’t really think straight. He pulls out slowly, before thrusting into you again, and this time you see stars as he fills you up once more, his gaze never leaving yours, inspecting you, making sure that you are okay, and that you know he is holding back.
“Harder, oppa,” You whine, impatient and needy despite the burning sting, “You don’t have to be so gentle.”
He moans low in his chest as he finds a steady rhythm, one hand on your shoulder to hold you still as each thrust threatens to push you further up the bed, his other hand is balled in a fist in your hair at the base of your scalp. He leans down to kiss you again, biting at your bottom lip as your moans escalate in volume and intensity.
Gyuvin kisses along your jawline, and tugs your hair to tilt your head back to give him access to your neck. He begins marking you again, feverishly claiming and defiling you, as he continues to fuck you with a desire that is almost indescribable.
You are malleable for him, so easy to manoeuvre, he rolls over onto his back, and brings you up on top of him. He doesn’t pull out for a second, keeping you full, and him deep, as he thrusts in from under you, and you press your forehead to his as pleasure washes over you with your first orgasm, coming swiftly and without warning, you shake in his arms, cunt clenching as his moans get louder to match.
“God, just look at you,” He groans, guiding you to sit up, knees either side of his hips, “Such a good little fuck toy, so much fun to play with.”
He moves his hands to your hips to keep you stable, and finds he can reach around completely to touch his fingertips together, his hands splayed across you only feeding into his kink further. He helps you bounce on his cock, your breath catching in your throat with strangled moans each time that you take him in, and Gyuvin stares intently at the inches of his cock that don’t fit even when you can’t go down anymore.
“Feels so good,” You stutter, “You’re so strong, oppa, love it when you fuck me like this, do you like it too?”
You rest your hands on his shoulders, leaning forward a bit so that you can ride him better. This new angle has your legs shaking almost instantly, orgasm nearing much faster than you had expected. Your eyes well with tears as you try to hold it back, wanting to wait until Gyuvin is ready this time, wanting to cum when he does.
“I love it, babydoll,” He replies, “I’m close, are you going to cum again for me, too?”
Nodding furiously, your body begins to seize, answering for you without words. Your orgasm tears through you with twice the intensity of the last, as Gyuvin fucks you harder through it, though his rhythm falters as his cock twitches, his own release following just moments after yours. He fills you with his seed, the warm sensation noticeable as the last few thrusts have him leaking out of you, too full to take in anymore.
As he slows down, you collapse forward so that your head rests on his chest up by his collarbone. Your breathing is heavy and laboured, your head spinning as you try to calm down after the most intense sex you have had since you can remember. Gyuvin kisses your forehead, carding his fingers through your messy hair as he too tries to catch his breath, though he is not quite ready to pull out just yet.
“Holy shit,” He breathes, “That was incredible.”
You look up at him, eyes glassy, glazed over with the remnants of the orgasm euphoria, “So fucking good.”
Gyuvin gently guides you off him, chuckling as you whimper at the loss, suddenly feeling barren and empty without his giant cock plugging you up. You feel his cum dripping from you, but couldn’t care less about making a mess of his bed, that is the least of your worries.
“I need to shower,” He sighs, “I have to leave… like really soon, for my own schedule.”
You are reminded in that moment, of why you were there in the first place. To see Ricky, who is currently out, but surely will return soon, and you are thankful that he didn’t come home any earlier.
Gyuvin kisses you again before he gets up, and you roll over onto your back, splayed out on the bed as you listen to the water running in the shower in the next room. You wait a few minutes before getting up too, and you gather your clothes before heading to the main bathroom down the hall. You feel his cum dripping down your legs, and it makes you whimper, speeding your steps up to make it to the bathroom without leaving a mess behind.
You clean yourself to the best of your ability, but your hair is still a mess, at least to your usual standard, and the hickeys on your neck are still visible despite every attempt to cover them. You leave the bathroom just as Gyuvin walks out into the hall, striding up to you in only a few steps, with those crazy-long legs of his. He wraps his arms over your shoulders and pulls you close to him, kissing you on the forehead once before letting you go.
“That was fun,” He chuckles, “I’ve gotta go, but I might still see you when I get back?”
You giggle at the implication, unsurprised that he is insatiable, “I’ll see you then.”
You walk with Gyuvin to the door to see him off, before retreating to the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water. It won’t be long now until Ricky is back, and you start to feel a little nervous. You aren’t sure that you want him to know that you just had sex with Gyuvin, but you can’t quite pinpoint just one reason as to why that is.
——————
Leaning back against the kitchen counter for some time, you hear the front door open, and giggle to yourself as you picture the two men passing each other on the road as one leaves and the other returns.
“Gēgē!” You call out, your voice whiny and cute just for him as you leave the kitchen and head out to the hallway, “I missed you!”
Ricky rolls his eyes, but quickly joins you, picking you up off the floor and spinning you around before placing you back down onto your feet. You gaze up at him, admiring his features, happy to be with him again. It’s not like you haven’t spoken, but a few weeks have passed since you saw him in the flesh, and you are usually inseparable best friends, so this is nice.
“I missed you, xiaomei,” He replies, his voice deep and sultry, hoarse from what you assume must have been a singing schedule, “Come around more often, okay? Don’t make me wait so long.”
“I’m sorry,” You pout at him as he tucks your hair behind your ear, “Work has been crazy, our schedules always clash.”
Ricky’s gaze narrows in, and you instantly realise what he is seeing. Red marks litter your neck, and you quickly try to readjust your hair to hide it.
“What do you want to do?” You ask in an attempt to distract him, “You’re surely tired, right?”
“A little,” He replies, as he links his arm with yours, “Should we go back to watching that weird anime we started last time you were here?”
You walk together to his bedroom, with you leaning into him a little for support, emotional more than physical, though it is a little hard to walk. Ricky puts the pillows up against the wall and gestures to you to join him while he turns the TV on and scrolls through a couple of menu screens before finding the show that you had begun to watch a little while back.
Tucked under his arm, you make yourself comfortable as the opening credits roll. You rest your hand on his chest as he absentmindedly plays with your hair. It’s nice like this, but you find your thoughts drifting to where you were only an hour or so ago. Ricky’s hands, even bigger than Gyuvin’s, are making you feel a way that you have not felt for him before, but you try to keep your cool, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable, nothing has ever happened between you, and you don’t know whether he would even want to anyway.
You glance up at him to see that he is already staring at you, and that feeling in the pit of your stomach stirs as a result of how piercing his gaze is.
“Everything okay, gē?” You ask him, “You’re not watching?”
Ricky takes a moment to respond, and you become hyper aware of your neck, the fact that he has brushed your hair off it, leaving the skin, and all the marks you so recently obtained, exposed.
“What did you do with Gyuvin?” He asks, his tone is neutral, but you know him well enough to understand the meaning, “You were here a while with him, correct?”
You begin to fluster, you are an awful liar, and you don’t want to lie to your best friend. You also worry about judgement, you don’t want him to think badly of you for what you consensually did.
“I… we… um,” You stutter, confidence falling as you know there is no way out of this, “We… watched a movie.”
You don’t convince him, that is obvious with the way that his fingers trail down your cheek and to your neck, fingertips grazing over the hickey closest to your ear, and then further down. Your skin raises in tiny goosebumps, and you feel your cheeks burning red, flushed and embarrassed to be caught out this way.
“He fucked you, didn’t he?” Ricky presses for an answer, “Don’t lie to me.”
This should be the time for you to stand up for yourself, because you can do what you want, or who you want, but the way that Ricky continues to stare has you backing down so damn easy.
“I mean…” You start, but falter again, “We did, but…”
Ricky draws in a breath sharply, his hand stopping at your shoulder, grip slowly closing to keep you there, although you had not tried to escape, nor were you really planning to. You watch as he processes the concept of you and his roommate, his other best friend, having sex, and you fear for the worst.
“I don’t know how I feel about that,” He replies, “But you should know better.”
His answer confuses you, and it is written all over your face, so you reply, “Know better about what?”
Ricky smirks just slightly, his eyes darkening before he opens his mouth, “You’re mine, kitten, and I don’t want to share.”
Your jaw drops, unsure if you heard him right, and so very stuck on the name that he called you. Kitten. The way that it makes you feel has your eyes glazing over, way ahead of yourself without even being certain that Ricky is insinuating what you hope for.
“Am I?” You ask innocently, sure that this will give you the answer you are searching for, “I didn’t know, you haven’t made me yours yet, have you?”
He moves closer to you, as if there was much space between you in the first place. You feel his breath, hot on your lips and it sends you spiralling.
“All mine,” He tells you, his tone darker than before, threatening, “I’m gonna make sure that you don’t forget it either.”
Your breath hitches as he kisses you, his kisses are harder, much more charged than Gyuvin’s were, though by the second kiss you stop comparing, your entire being now completely focused on and taken over by Ricky instead.
You are powerless under his hold, body moulding to him effortlessly, already so used to being close, and finding it even easier to be closer. He may well be the best kisser you have ever kissed, your entire body reacting as he licks into your mouth, fuck, you already want more.
His hand instinctively finds its way to your throat, gripping with light pressure in more of a warning than anything else, reminding you not to fight back or try to flee, as your fingers tangle in his hair and you wrap a leg over his.
“I’m sorry,” You mumble, as he nips your bottom lip and your mouth falls open, “I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”
He pulls you on top of him, his stare burning deep into your soul, “I’m sure you will, kitten,” He replies, “I know you’ll be good for me, as long as you do what I say.”
You involuntarily whimper as he tugs you down to kiss him again, his hand remaining clasped around your neck, keeping your breathing shallow as he kisses you over and over again. Your hands trail down his chest, feeling his muscles, lean, but defined, clear evidence of how well looked after he is. It’s hot, the tension between you is too much to bear, you are falling and fast.
“I’ll be good,” You manage to choke out, as Ricky’s free hand starts to tug your shirt upwards, “You can do whatever you want to me.”
Ricky smirks at you, and you wonder whether you are going to regret giving him that freedom. You don’t have long to ponder this though, as he lets go of your throat, allowing you to breathe in deeper.
“Strip for me,” He orders, putting his hands behind his head, “I want to see all of you, and then you can undress me too.”
You feel self-conscious, though Ricky has seen you in your swimwear before, fully naked is a whole new level. You feel inferior in comparison to him, his visuals are so breathtaking, though by the way that he looks at you, it is clear that he thinks the world of you too.
To begin undressing you sit back on your knees and slowly pull your shirt up over your head, maintaining eye contact as much as you can. It feels so impure, removing each item of clothing until you are totally bare, marks littering your skin from the encounter you had earlier, and holy fuck you can tell how much Ricky doesn’t like that.
“Gēgē,” You whine, as he holds your wrists to stop you from covering yourself up, “Want to see you too…”
He moves to sit up himself, though you are resting on his thighs, and he directs your hands to take the hem of his shirt, fists balling in the material before you tug upwards, revealing that sculpted chest of his, skin like porcelain, not a single mark or blemish to be found other than a few tiny little moles, each like the lucky stars that you see in the sky living in the city, rare but existent, and so very special.
“Is that better, kitten?” He teases you, catching you staring, “I’m still half-dressed.”
You catch the indication behind his words, and shuffle back to give yourself room to work at his jeans, fingers nimble and quick with the button and fly, grateful as he lifts his hips up for you to tear the denim down his long legs. Now in only black Versace underwear, you feel inferior again, although your black lace set is nice, it is definitely not designer.
“Much better, gē,” You nod, “You’re so…”
Trailing off as you scan his body, well aware of how much he enjoys being praised, having no problems with admiring him, it is so easy when he just looks like that.
“Handsome?” He chuckles, as he pulls you down to kiss him again, fingers knotted in your hair.
“Fēicháng shuài,” You reply, with the limited Mandarin that you have picked up from his incessant need to teach you, repeating it again in English, “So handsome.”
His free hand snakes around to your back, effortlessly unclasping your bra with two fingers, fuck that was hot, before pulling it from you, and proceeding to grab at your chest instead. You moan into his mouth, hot and heavy as you feel him begin to harden under you, shit, are you wet already too?
“Pay attention to only me,” He murmurs, pinching one of your nipples between his thumb and index finger, “I don’t want you looking at anyone else.”
He grinds up into you, yep, you’re definitely wet, and you gasp at how worked up he has you, “I won’t, gē,” You obey him, “Only you, I promise, only you.”
You cry out in shock as he quickly flips you over onto your back, climbing on top of you, he pauses momentarily to tear your panties down, “I don’t want to wait,” He purrs, “I need to claim you.”
His erection is so obvious to you now, thick and long, even through his black underwear the veins are evident, Jesus, is there anything about him that isn’t perfect? You watch in awe as he tugs his own briefs down, giving you a much better view of the cock that will be inside you in the coming moments. Not quite as thick as Gyuvin’s, but his length definitely competes, his cock curves just slightly upwards, and your eyes roll back a little as you begin to imagine just where he will hit you inside.
Before you get too far ahead of yourself, Ricky leans in to kiss your neck, biting gently at the marks left behind by his friend, deep guttural growls escape him as he is constantly reminded that you were taken by someone else. You try to reach for his cock, but you can’t get close enough, as he moves down your body, kissing your breasts, moaning over your sensitive nipples as one hand grazes over your core. You are a whimpering mess as he continues downwards, and you become aware of what he is going to do, his mouth closer and closer with each kiss to where you so desperately need it.
He starts with small licks, getting a taste for you, teasing and tantalisingly slow before diving right in. He uses his hands to hold your legs apart as they threaten to close around his head, the pleasure so intense, so quickly. It feels so fucking good, he eats you out with an ease that has you reeling, all the while still staring you down, wanting to know that you are enjoying it, as if the screams of his name aren’t enough evidence. Your back arches prettily, and he moves his hands under your ass to hold you up, the angle easier for him, and so much better for you. Sweat begins to bead on your forehead, your orgasm nearing so much faster than you had expected.
“Fuck,” You moan, your voice is strangled, choked up, “So good, holy shit that feels so fucking good.”
Ricky chuckles, and the vibrations shoot through your entire body, you don’t often curse, at least not so many times in a single sentence which Ricky finds comedic, and he pulls away for a second only to ask you, “You like it when Daddy goes down on you, don’t you kitten?”
Fuck. As if this could have been any hotter. Of course he could read your mind and go straight for the kink that has you worse than any other.
“Yes, Daddy,” You cry without missing a beat, so easily calling him the name that he so proudly gave himself, “I love it, you’re so incredible.”
Ricky hums approvingly before lowering his head, your orgasm mere seconds away, going, going, and you release with another flick of his tongue over your clit, he then moves down to lap at your arousal, not wanting to leave anything behind. You try not to pull too hard on his perfectly bleached blonde hair, but at this point it is so messy, you know that he wouldn’t care. A steady rhythmic chant of daddy, daddy, daddy leaves your lips as he only slows down when you try to pull away.
He looks up at you with glazed-over eyes and a desperation that you can’t quite comprehend. Ricky doesn’t waste a moment, moving up to kiss you, his tongue in your mouth so that you can taste yourself on him. You must seem so pathetic, with the way that you grind up into him, nails dragging up his back as you feel his cock almost at your entrance, god, you want him now.
“Daddy, please,” You whine, all but kicking your feet in impatience, this level of subspace is new to you, but Ricky seems to love it, “Fuck me, Daddy, I need you, please?”
You feel like you could burst into tears at any moment, and you are sure that Ricky can tell, as you feel him teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock, and without warning he enters you in one swift thrust. Your moans mix beautifully, Ricky’s deep and breathy, yours high-pitched and much louder, his cock stretching you out has you clinging onto him for dear life.
“Oh, kitten,” Ricky purrs, finding his rhythm so easily, thrusting into you with force, “You were made for me, weren’t you? You take my cock so perfectly.”
His gaze narrows as he awaits your answer, though there is only one that is correct, it is getting increasingly harder to find your words as the cock-drunk state you are in only becomes more apparent.
“Yes, Daddy,” You babble, your words beginning to slur, as the curvature of his cock means that with each thrust he hits the nerves inside you that have you threatening to go over the edge again, “Made for you, owned by you, only Daddy forever and ever.”
The commitment falls from your lips so easily, a promise required by the man hovering over you, one that makes him happier than he can express. He leans down to kiss you more, holding you still with fingers tangled in your now so messy hair, his pace is fast but purposeful, you feel each individual thrust with the care and poise that he means for it to.
“My kitten,” He coos, nuzzling his nose into your neck, breathing in your scent right up by your ear, “I want you to see how good you look like this.”
You aren’t quite sure what he means by this, until he pulls out of you and drags you up into a new position. Turning around, he has you face the mirrored wardrobe on the opposite wall and moves behind you, before tugging you up by your hair so that your back is against his chest. You look dazed, fucked out and cock-drunk, barely able to stay upright if it were not for his tight grip on your hair and your waist, you smile lazily at him and he lets out a deep, animalistic growl from the back of this throat.
“My Daddy,” You giggle, trying your utmost to make sense, but distracted by the feeling of his hardness against your lower back, “So sexy, want your cock again.”
Ricky releases his fingers from your hair, his hand moving around to your throat, and then upwards to cup your jawline. With his index and middle finger, he presses against your bottom lip, demanding entry. Of course you obey, willing to do whatever he asks of you, and he pulls your jaw down, sticking his fingers down your throat far enough to make your eyes water.
“Such a perfect little slut, aren’t you?” He asks, chuckling at the sound you make when he degrades you, “So desperate for Daddy, just the way he likes it.”
You wiggle your butt back into him, unable to move much more than that with the pressure he holds you to him, you hope that by being the whimpering, whiny mess that he has made you, he will give in. Your eyes well up with tears and not just from Ricky making you gag, but with a desire for him to fill you again, losing your mind from how long he has kept you empty.
He moves his hand from your waist, down to your core, his fingers grazing over your swollen clit sending shivers through your body. The whine that you emit is pathetic, pitiful, and god, does it turn him on. You spread your legs further, pressing back into him in an attempt to make your neediness even more obvious, and you are grateful when he finally obliges, pulling his fingers from your mouth to take his cock into his hand instead.
Ricky lines himself up with you after a moment of adjustment, and you watch in the reflection as he enters you again. The new angle is better than before, he hits you deeper, as if you could take any more, and the angle of his cock nudges against those nerves that have your body shaking with each and every thrust.
He holds you up with an arm over your chest, fucking into you with little care for your own sensitivity, this is about him in this moment, but in that, it is so much for you too.
“Kitten,” Ricky moans, as you clench to him with yet another orgasm, losing count now as with each descent another peak rolls through, “Daddy’s close, where do you want it?”
Your tongue is tied, so flushed and flustered it takes a moment to register, while Ricky doesn’t slow down at all, you need to think fast but your brain is mush, “In me, Daddy,” You cry, “Fill me, need it.”
Ricky pushes you forward, keeping your ass up, and he grabs your hair to lift your head so you can see the perfect arched angle he has you in as his rhythm begins to falter. He lasts not even another 30 seconds like this, before he groans with his release into you, warmth spreading inside you as he cums so much you swear it overflows, though mixed with your own arousal, you can’t quite tell what is what anymore.
He roughly pulls out of you, flipping you onto your back as you cry out in sensitivity and from the loss, but your cries are quieted as Ricky kisses you, with as much force and want as that first kiss not so long ago. You feel his cum leaking out of you, making a mess of his pristine black sheets, though neither of you mind it.
“Mine, kitten,” He murmurs breathlessly, pressing his forehead to yours and staring at you with that piercing gaze, a warning, “I’m keeping you, you’re all mine.”
A confession. One that you hadn’t expected, and one that you don’t quite understand. Butterflies flutter in your stomach, and you wonder whether you were holding back feelings for him all along. Your hands roam his body, memorising every curve and rivet, the way that his hips jut out and leave that delicious v-line that leads to his even more delectable cock. He is perfect, and he is yours as much as you are his.
“You mean it?” You ask him, “I’m really yours?”
It’s vulnerable, your uncertainty is clear in your tone, leaving you open to either become whole, or to be completely broken.
“You are,” Ricky responds, “As long as you want to be, your heart is mine.”
He kisses you again before you can respond, and you lose track of time like that, in his arms, feeling his body pressed to yours, limbs tangled, intertwined.
——————
Neither of you hear as the front door opens, too distracted by the growing desire between you, Ricky half-hard again, and you dripping wet. It isn’t until Ricky’s bedroom door opens that you realise Gyuvin has returned, when he shouts at the sight he sees, and you rush to cover yourself, though Ricky does not care.
“Home already, Gyuvin-ah?” Ricky smirks at his friend from behind you, his hands still roaming your body, finding your right breast to squeeze it in his palm, “Can’t you see we are busy?”
Gyuvin’s stare moves between the two of you, his mouth parted slightly as he tries to find his words. You are flustered, flushed, and sinfully turned on as Gyuvin watches Ricky touch you. A moan leaves your lips as Ricky pinches your nipple roughly, red and raw from the abuse he has inflicted on them, god, this is hot.
“I… but we,” Gyuvin stammers, and you can see how hard he is trying to show confidence, “I was hoping to go for round two now I’m back.”
Your jaw drops open, as you feel Ricky draw in a sharp breath. His grip tightens on you, and you know that he is angry.
“She’s mine,” He growls deeply, “You made a mess of her before, but she’s mine now.”
You whimper as Ricky pulls you back closer to him, and you feel that his cock has now reached full hardness. You try not to make it obvious as you press into him, back arching slightly in want for him.
“I think you made a mess of her too,” Gyuvin observes, his gaze flicking up from yours, into the eyes of Ricky’s, “And I don’t think she’d be opposed to my taking of her again.”
Heat surges between your thighs, as you recall the way that Gyuvin fucked you, the way that his cock stretched you out, burned your insides with a sting you can’t quite explain the feeling of. You promised Ricky, but in the state you are in right now, god, you wouldn’t say no to having him just once more.
“She’s not leaving my sight,” Ricky spits, tangling his fingers in your hair, “I said… she’s mine.”
You like that, Ricky speaking for you, maybe a little too much. You feel so pathetic, objectified, and it makes you whimper.
“I didn’t say you had to leave,” Gyuvin smirks, “You’re welcome to watch, gē.”
Ricky hisses through gritted teeth, he is shooting daggers at Gyuvin, as he confidently steps further into the room. You aren’t sure what to say or do, as the two men have their power-play, and you’re left in the middle of it. Committed to Ricky, but definitely not objecting to Gyuvin fucking you again.
“If you think I’ll let go of my kitten for even a second,” Ricky murmurs, “You’re dreaming, it’s not going to happen.”
Gyuvin chuckles as he reaches the bed, bravely kneeling on the edge of the mattress down by your feet. His stare continues to swap between you and your now-boyfriend’s, and you truly have no idea what to expect.
“That’s okay,” Gyuvin smiles sweetly as he moves closer to you, “You don’t have to let go.”
Ricky kisses your neck, in an attempt to mark his territory, though that doesn’t stop Gyuvin from finding position between your legs, where Ricky’s hand rests over your core in another protective action.
“Back. Off.” Ricky warns him, “This won’t end well for you. Get out.”
Gyuvin comes closer again, he hasn’t touched you yet, but he is close, his hand supporting his weight on the mattress next to your hip. Your breathing is staggered, from the friction that Ricky is causing, and the closeness of Gyuvin, you’re overwhelmed and nothing has ever tempted you more than this.
“Come on Ricky,” Gyuvin whines playfully, “I’m sure we could share, just once?”
You feel like you’re going insane, hips bucking reflexively into Ricky’s hand in a feeble attempt to relieve some of the pressure, eyes glassy and dazed as Gyuvin places his hand over Ricky’s to help you out. A strangled moan leaves your lips, you feel filthy, impure and broken.
“Fuck me,” You manage to stammer out, unsure which of the boys you are talking to, or if it is aimed at both, “Please, please, please, just fuck me.”
Ricky presses two fingers into you, his palm flat over your clit makes your legs shake, tears prick your eyes as the feeling isn’t enough, though it is still good, but you are losing your mind.
“You heard her, gē,” Gyuvin sneers, “Go on then, don’t be shy.”
Ricky is so tense, he hates being told what to do, but you find him repositioning, sitting up and adjusting his legs before pulling you back onto his lap, still facing Gyuvin, with your back to Ricky. He guides you up, only to force your hips down, making you take his cock in all the way, the sound you make is inhuman, a cry loud enough to probably wake the neighbours, but you are so damned far from caring.
“Daddy,” You babble, nails digging into his thighs as you try to find some sort of balance while Ricky eagerly bounces you on his cock, “Feels so good, fuck, more, more, more!”
Gyuvin is still close enough for you to feel his breathing, his hand palming at the erection growing in his grey sweats, biting his lip as he watches you.
“Good, kitten,” Ricky praises you, slapping your ass and grabbing roughly at the flesh as you drop down on his cock again, clearly proud of himself, “You’re looking jealous, Gyuvin-ah.”
You watch through teary eyes, barely able to see, just enough to make out Gyuvin beginning to undress. The harshness of Ricky’s thrusts pick up a bit more as he feels threatened by his slightly-younger roommate, while you are so cock-drunk that you are unaware.
“Just sizing her up,” Gyuvin chuckles as he kicks his underwear off, “Wondering whether she could take us both, is all.”
Your ears are ringing as another orgasm racks through your body, and you aren’t sure whether you heard Gyuvin right. Ricky pulls out of you suddenly, and flips you over to face him, though you’re still on top, and your stomach drops as you process Gyuvin’s words, and the lack of rejection from Ricky towards them.
Ricky uses the new angle to thrust up into you from underneath, your body is practically limp at this point, it is so hard to hold yourself up. When you feel the weight shift on the mattress behind you is when you give up, resting your head in the crook of Ricky’s neck, a string of incoherent words, drool and staggered breaths all that are leaving you now.
“Don’t make us wait,” Ricky replies, his tone almost too calm and collected, “Kitten’s gonna pass out completely before you get the chance, otherwise.”
You feel it, Gyuvin’s cock, as he teases the tip at your already full entrance, before he takes two fingers to help open you further, giving him just enough room to enter with a couple inches. You stop breathing completely, the sensation nothing but pain at first, and Ricky slows down to try and soothe you through it.
“Breathe, my baby cat,” Ricky coos, lifting his hand to your mouth, giving you his middle and index finger to suck on, both for your own need, and to save his neck from any further marking, “You can do it, come on, it’s okay.”
Gyuvin slowly moves in further, and you finally find your breath again to break down into full sobs. The pain is so intense, you are filled in a way that you didn’t even think was possible, but you love it. You lazily suck on Ricky’s fingers, though your mouth hangs half open now, unable to move as Gyuvin and Ricky fill you completely.
“You’re so fucking tight,” Gyuvin hisses, his teeth gritted as he pulls back before thrusting in again, still slowly, but with a little more speed, “Fuck, this feels so good I don’t know how long I’ll last.”
Ricky finds another opportunity to strike, his competitiveness and dominance always at the forefront of his mind, “It’s okay, kitten… Daddy will last as long as you need.”
Gyuvin and Ricky match their pace, finding a rhythm to fuck you in, as you lay between them in a state of being that you struggle to even describe. The feeling is amazing, in the cursed, sick, twisted way, taking two cocks at once wasn’t on your agenda for the day, but here we are, you are basically paralysed, an object for them to take from, and nothing more.
Ricky is driven wild by the feeling of his best friend’s cock against his, perhaps more than he is proud to admit, as he too struggles not to falter. He flicks his gaze between you and Gyuvin above you, and his stomach ties in knots as he sees Gyuvin staring him down.
“I knew you’d like it,” Gyuvin teases, his voice is cracked and breathy, “Feels good, fucking her tiny pussy at the same time, doesn’t it? Does my cock feel good to you Ricky?”
Your eyes roll back in your head, unable to do anything but listen to this seemingly never ending power play between the two, insults and jabs between them are constant, but even in your fucked-out state, you can see that they both like this way too much to act normal.
“Cum,” You mumble, “Daddy… Gyuvinnie… please.”
It took all your strength to utter those words, the pool of saliva on Ricky’s chest from your mouth now flows down his neck, staining the pillow under him. They have got to be close, right? How long has it been? Overstimulated is an understatement for you, unsure whether you could even get another orgasm out no matter how hard you tried.
“What’s that, kitten?” Ricky sneers at you, god, he is insatiable, “You want us to cum? To fill you up? You’d like that wouldn’t you?”
You aren’t even sure if you nodded, or said yes aloud, reality shifting you between dimensions, are you awake or asleep? You try to dig your nails into Ricky’s arm, but you can’t tell whether your hands work anymore.
“Fuck, holy fuck,” Gyuvin gasps, and with a particularly hard thrust that has you jolting forward, you feel it, “Fuck.”
Gyuvin’s cock twitches and pulsates in you as he releases, his thrusting is erratic, off beat as he fills you effortlessly, just like earlier, but this time with another cock inside you too.
“Gyuvin,” Ricky moans, and if you were more alert you would have been wide-eyed at this, at hearing him call Gyuvin’s name, and not yours, “That’s so fucking hot, I… I…”
Ricky too, releases barely moments after Gyuvin begins to slow down, you feel that same sensation, warmth spreading and filling you to overflow, cum dripping straight back out onto Ricky and he hasn’t even finished yet.
You can’t stop the tears from flowing, you are a crying, shaking mess as the two men finally come to a stop, and Gyuvin pulls out first, slow and gentle, but you still let out a sob. The room is silent other than heavy breathing from Ricky and Gyuvin, and quiet cries from you, but it is not awkward at all.
Gyuvin stares at Ricky for a moment, who quickly pipes up, “I’ve got this, Gyuvin, you go clean yourself up.”
Gyuvin laughs as he shuffles back off the bed, picking up the clothes he had thrown onto the floor a little while ago when he was just too desperate to get into you, and he makes his way toward the door before turning to face you again.
“Don’t start,” Ricky chuckles, seeing the devious grin on his best friend's face, “Get out of here, Gyuvin-ah.”
He rolls his eyes before leaving the room, closing the door behind him and leaving you and Ricky alone. You have Ricky’s fingers in your mouth again, and you are still full of his cock. Most of the pain subsided moments after Gyuvin pulled out of you, but you aren’t sure that you’ll be able to walk properly for a few days at least. You steady your breathing by focusing on Ricky’s heartbeat, and by staring up at him as he looks down at you.
“You okay?” He asks you softly, “That was… a lot.”
You nod with a soft smile, releasing his fingers and letting him brush your hair off your face. You are a mess, and you know that you look it too, desperate for a shower, but not quite ready to move just yet.
“I’m okay,” You reply, “Yeah, it was.”
Ricky leans down to kiss you, and it is not until you begin to kiss him back that you realise he was doing this to distract you, the perfect opportunity to pull out of you, leaving you empty and bare, more cum dripping out onto the bed under you. The pain spikes with the sensitivity, but decreases fast enough that by the time Ricky pulls back from the kiss, it is nothing but a dull ache, a very prominent, unwavering dull ache.
“How about I run a bath?” Ricky asks, “You’ll stay the night, won’t you?”
“A bath sounds nice,” You reply easily, “I’d love to stay, too.”
Ricky kisses your nose before he gets up, walking to his ensuite bathroom and turning the faucet in the tub to run the water. He glances back into the room to see you have rolled onto your side to watch him, you will never get sick of watching him, and he breaks out in a full smile too.
“Good,” He purrs, “You are mine after all.”
#kpop fanfic#kpop smut#ricky shen fanfic#ricky shen smut#zb1 fanfic#zb1 smut#kim gyuvin fanfic#kim gyuvin smut#ricky x reader#gyuvin x reader#kpop#fanfic#smut#zerobaseone#zb1#zerobaseone fanfic#zerobaseone smut#zb1 ricky fanfic#zb1 ricky smut#zb1 gyuvin fanfic#zb1 gyuvin smut#ricky shen#kim gyuvin
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