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#being cringe-y on main?

taegularities · 8 months

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colour me in: seven | jjk (m)

Summary: At first, it's an argument that causes the unwanted, childish distance between Jungkook and you. And then… open blazers and a lip ring.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: est. rel.; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: an argument, cute couple-y things but also they're dorks n cringe sometimes, seven jk (incl the promo pics, laundromat hoodie bf koo, and drenched in the rain koo!!), fighting over food, they're a bit mean to each other, but they adore each other too, brief mention of a rough childhood, sexual tension, taeun being everything, kissing, dumb jokes, period and pms mention!!, a photoshoot!, subtle hints to the future of the main story :'); explicit sexual content: ahh.. making out, dirty talk, oral (f. & m. receiving), brief spanking, face-fcking, light choking, sweet and rough sex, dom jk, big dick jk, whipped simp jk, petnames, multiple orgasms, sex on the couch n on the floor? :'), he loves her a$$ and tiddies, multiple positions, cockwarming!!, mention of aftercare... the ending lol :D ➳ word count: 25k lmfaoo it's oneshot sized yall 😁 ➳ a/n: hi!! welcome back!! this is part of my series colour me in, but you can read it as a standalone-oneshot!! tysm for supporting me and encouraging me, guys, it means so so much. this is also unbeta'd, so pls go easy on me LOL. and since this was a piece of worrrrk.. come and talk to me about it, it makes my day fr fr <33 ➳ listen to: seven by jungkook | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

In hindsight, your argument was blissfully domestic after all. In hindsight, maybe even comedic.

You’ve seen these things on TV and read about them in novels; didn’t experience them growing up because your parents didn’t really fight over such harmless matters. They never needed to lift a finger in their ultramodern kitchen, filled with up-to-the-minute equipment to fill their table.

But Jungkook and you don’t rely on such luxuries. You do things for yourself. So, such a couple-y, casual life leads to couple-y, casual arguments. Requires it. Fighting is healthy; entangles two souls some more.

Which is exactly where you are now. Exactly what you’ve become: A true unit. Quarrelling over trivial, everyday things.

Just to end up folded in half, holding onto the very last of your sanity, biting back more inappropriate screams.

In regards of making up, you’re perhaps not that casual. Because he’s a relentless, brutal beast.

Wrecking you right where everything began.

Monday

The end of the day begins with a giant hole in the middle of your thoughts.

Your previously whirring brain tossed away all thoughts of advertisements and seasonal launches, vacant and dark until your senses shut down everything that wasn’t vital to survival.

Like the lights of the evening as your car passed the streetlamps. The tired faces on the pedestrian zone, the odd wrinkles in your skirt, or the scent wafting from the kitchen when you step out of your heels.

Your mind operates on reflexes and automatic movements; the ball of your palm rubs against your eyelid, realising too late that you’re probably smearing your eyeliner.

A sense of reality only truly returns when you hear a familiar voice call out your name, muffled through the walls between you.

You exit the bedroom with fingers scratching the nape of your neck, tiny steps floating over the floor and past the living room. On the coffee table, you register one or two dishes. Rice, too. Smells so good, but…

As you reach him in the kitchen, you halt at the threshold, eyes scurrying to the few pots and ladles in the sink. He’s diligent and fast; cleans up when dinner simmers. Minimal work left after the meal.

For a moment, you take in the cleanliness of the kitchen, and when your eyes move up to the man himself, you beam.

He’s wearing an apron – baby blue with little flowers and rainbows imprinted on it. His mom bequeathed him with one of her old ones, and he’s been boasting about it ever since.

You saw one with astronauts, moons and telescopes once; you might purchase it for him at some point, not least of all because it includes all the things the two of you love.

A tattooed hand pushes back his mane, messy and pointing in all directions the way it does after his showers. His fingers card through the fine tresses two more times before he turns towards you — an immediate smile, similar to yours, spreads across his face.

The tiny little dimples over the corners of his mouth distract you for a second until you see his hand at waist level, beckoning you into the kitchen and a greeting, sweet embrace.

Compared to the cold outside, his oversized, full-sleeve, white shirt offers a familiar warmth. He always smells the same, musky and fresh; not like cherry blossoms at all, but he reminds you of their softness.

Mixed with the scent of tonight’s meal, you inhale it all, wrapping your arms around him as your eyes close in exhaustion. If he wasn’t swaying you in his hold, you’d probably fall asleep, right there against his chest.

A kiss to your temple, and he asks, “Hungry?”

You’re not sure. You cuddle into the apron and whatever’s visible of his shirt, and mumble against him, “Not too much… to be honest, I was gonna shower and sleep.”

“Oh?” he wonders immediately, traces of disappointment in his voice. “But I made this for you.”

You smile again. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll eat, don’t you worry.” You take a deep breath, and then lift your head off his chest without letting go. “In all honesty. I saw the food outside and thought you had it delivered.”

“So you were gonna waste something you thought was restaurant food?”

You laugh. You’re sure you could see his rosy pout even if you weren’t looking straight at him.

“No. It just looks very good… I would’ve heated it up tomorrow. But since yours was a one-person-effort,” you pat his back in pride, watching as strands of his bangs fall back into his eyes, “we shall eat.”

“And it comes from the heart, too.”

“Right. It comes from the heart, too.”

You rub his back once, soon backing away. There isn’t much to do for you anymore, but you still grab a couple napkins, chopsticks and spoons as he carries some water into the living room.

The couch feels soft, true Heaven, when you sink into it. Your heartbeat slows down, your mind at ease; when you tilt your head, your neck cracks.

But clinking your glasses of water with someone who cherishes you enough to step back and forth in a kitchen for hours… It's a comfort that’s incredibly close to a peaceful night’s sleep.

And it’s worth the effort, too. Despite the conversation and your complaints about work, you can’t help but compliment dinner every other moment. Possibly another endearing habit you picked up from him.

But you slow down when fatigue returns bit by bit, your eye twitching when you feel a well-known tickling in it.

You’re careful of potential spices when you lift your thumb and rub your eye with the back of it, fighting the itch. For a moment, you stop chewing, and Jungkook only lifts his gaze to you when the movement against your eye continues, circling motions.

“Hey,” he says, grasping your wrist, pulling it down slowly, “that’s bad for the cornea.”

“Yeah, I mean. It’s not like my cornea's been nice to me, either.”

You resume chewing, swallowing the mushy remnants of the rice. Your attention falls back to the bowl of food, and your chopsticks aimlessly poke around for a second before he asks, “Why? You okay?”

“Mhm,” you say, nodding gently. “It’s just,” you point to your eyes, chopsticks dangerously close to your face, “that eye thing. It might be an infection or something. It’s so bad today that it’s hurting my head.”

You’ve complained about the issue a couple times — back when it was just an itch, you assumed it was the dusty town, perhaps even sleep deprivation. But the itch has transformed into a relentless pain, moving up your temples and across your forehead.

“Again, yeah?” Jungkook asks, following with a tender gesture of tucking your hair back. The pad of his thumb brushes over your eyebrow. “I’ll massage your head before we go to sleep.”

You sigh in relief, tired eyelids shutting briefly as you claim, “You’re the fucking best, you know?”

“Yeah.” He delivers a nonchalant, drama-esque shrug of his shoulder. Unmistakable smirk. “I guess I do know.”

The giggles from when you started dating still remain. You remember annoying the hell out of your friends back then, high school butterflies visible through your stomachs and in your bright grins.

Jungkook’s ears would redden, a smile even in your eyes. You can imagine how irritating the honeymoon phase felt to them — not that the two of you ever snapped out of it.

Even now, you’re drowning in it.

Well, until you’re not.

Because the moment he slings his arm around you, leaning back, his plate and bowl empty, you move forwards. Place your own dishes onto the table, cuddling further into him.

Only, he seems to interpret it differently.

“Aren’t you eating anymore?”

Not the message you intended to deliver. But perhaps… he’s not wrong after all.

Because…

While the evening ended on a gentle note, much needed, you’re done with today by now. Craving a warm bed, strong arms around you. A sweet, soft sleep.

And the meal is worth a thousand culinary stars, but your appetite keeps dwindling, and hadn’t he put so much effort and affection into all this, you would’ve probably headed straight to bed.

So you answer truthfully, “I can’t eat more…”

“Hmm.” He briefly points to your portion. “You just ate half of it.”

Brief silence. It must’ve gotten late, because among the quieter traffic on the main road afar, you hear a couple nightlife bugs chirping, too.

You look between the bowl and him slowly, blinking, unsure what to say. The arm around your shoulder doesn’t match his tone, so it feels a little awkward now.

You mutter, “I’m sorry.”

Because should you force yourself to scarf all of this down now, you probably won’t be able to sleep.

But Jungkook’s hums and insecure voice are making you feel bad — you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s the puppy-doe nature, a combination of forlorn, soft eyes and pouty words.

“Ah… It’ll go bad by tomorrow, but…” he starts, but you cut in—

“Fridge?”

An immediate shake of his head, a click of his tongue. “Not with that one. I mean, we could, but it’s gonna be all dry and unpalatable in the morning, y’know?”

You don’t fully have a right to be annoyed. Neither of you does. But the day’s been irksome, work a mess, paper sheets flying around — on top of that, you finished your blister pack of birth control last Friday.

The period, probably approaching tomorrow and meddling with your busy schedule, is already putting you in a sour mood.

So the current lack of a solution doesn’t help your drooping eyelids and still partly tumultuous mind.

You push yourself forward on the couch, sighing before you suggest, “Okay. Then I’ll eat.”

“Woah,” he immediately voices, dropping his arm. He attempts to pull the bowl out of your reach, but you grip it tight, swallowing a small bite of rice. “I’m not forcing you to.”

“Yeah, but still.”

Another sigh of frustration falls out of you, your full stomach crying, but you pull the bowl to you, another bite ready between your chopsticks. But a moment later, Jungkook pushes your hand down again, every rice corn falling back to its prior place, fortunately never leaving the bowl.

Unbelieving, you shoot an aghast glare at him, to which he responds, “Don’t force it. Seriously.”

A rice corn still sticks to your lower lip, and you pull it in with the tip of your tongue. You place the warm meal back onto the table, half turning to Jungkook, voicing an irritated, “Dude!”

“You don’t have to,” he assures, but he looks clearly offended. Looks away, rubs his thigh, eyeing every object on the table before he adds quieter than before, “You know… That’s happened a couple times in the last few weeks.”

“…What did?”

“I’d cook for you and you wouldn’t finish it.”

“Babe… The last few weeks have been tiring.”

“I know,” his voice grows higher at the end of the syllable, but then calms again after a sigh. “But we refrigerated a lot of stuff, some of which I shared with Joon or Tae the next day. Or threw away.”

“Nah.” The ridiculing smirk you respond with isn’t intentional. You drop it right away, but still shake your head in disbelief, defending, “You know I eat up most of the time, especially when you cook. Just today, I can’t do more than this, okay?”

He gulps. Two fingers scratch his ear, eyes once again skimming over empty plates or remnant-filled bowls. He drops his digits back to his thighs, rubbing once more, and then puffs out a breath between rounded lips before he comes to a stand.

And then, all he does is nod; shooting a simple, “Alright.”

His tone is stern. You recognise the expression — his eyes still big, but different now. Usually filled with warm sparkles, they look pissed now. Not because of his dropping lids or the missing crinkles.

Jungkook doesn’t need to move a lot of muscles to look angry; the lack of the glimmer is just enough.

His lips are shut, not parted as they usually are when he focuses on something like his art or cooking or cleaning up. He’s exhaling and inhaling deeply through his nose, hands working on the dishes, but the fall and rise of his chest…

“You’re mad,” you conclude.

He looks back at you, the corners of his mouth never moving. His tone remains flat as he tries to convince you, “No. All good.”

Straightening his back, he attempts to walk away, hiding away in the kitchen until you’ve fallen asleep. He and you don’t argue too much — the little, couple-y, casual fights aren’t quite fights at all.

But they do end with a short distance until one is ready to approach the other and communicate again. A good strategy to cool your minds. You wouldn’t wanna discuss such a thing right away.

This time, however, you don’t want him to leave.

You pull him back again, holding onto the cotton shirt, and he protests with a loud call of your name and furrowed eyebrows as you insist, “No, you are mad.”

Your hand pushes against the couch, your body lifting, and you look him in the eye with a frustrated crease between your eyebrows. “Kook, I just am not capable of finishing it right now. You’re making a bigger deal out of it than you sho—”

“Yeah. Okay,” he interrupts, feigning acceptance and understanding, “it’s fine.” You scoff; sometimes, he’s truly as moody as you. “Things are different here, it’s fine.”

…What?

The sentence nearly comes out as a whisper as he finally starts walking away, and you only register it when he’s halfway out of the room. He balances the dishes in both hands, and you follow him to the kitchen.

Ask, “What’s different? Where’s here?”

“I work, too, you know? I get tired, too.”

“Jungkook,” you try again, slamming the hand against the counter; the sound’s muffled by a bright green cleaning cloth. “What are you talking about, things are different here?”

“Just.” He doesn’t seem to wanna talk. Carefully, he places the empty stuff in the wash basin, working on finding containers to dump the leftovers in them. “I get tired from working in the city, too, but I guess I grew up differently.”

…Huh.

You wait.

Let him collect his thoughts until he tells you, “In the countryside, you work for food, so you get used to finishing dinner. I know people around here rely on supermarkets, and honestly, I do, too,” his shoulders rise as he shovels the tofu dish into a box, “and I guess that’s why it makes sense why it’s easier for you to leave leftovers.”

Wow. Some statements in this world you live in are genuinely unfair.

You understood each of his words and lectures perfectly, but you still voice a little, “Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re not being serious.”

“Maybe.”

You blink. Then blink a couple times more. Observe as he closes the boxes and puts them in the fridge with a sigh. And you feel bad, you swear, you do. But that unnecessary turn of events…

“So what, you mean we don’t work for our food, right?” you counter, a hand on your waist. “We might do less physical labour, so that must mean we don’t appreciate what we get, yeah?”

Damn. And what if there’s more to that? What if—

“Or do you think it’s because I’ve always had enough money to not worry?”

Okay. Perhaps a long shot. He didn’t say it, but what if that’s exactly what his thought process was, too?

Your inner panic, invisible on the outside, grows when he doesn’t answer, lips firmly locked as if they didn’t just spew some crisp bullshit. You fold your arms, sucking air through your nose, and then demand, “Apologise.”

And when his eyes lift to yours, you freeze. God, they’re deadly. And his ingenuine laugh even more so as he throws back, “No, you apologise. Especially for assuming things I neither said nor thought of.”

“You were rude. I’m asking you nicely to take it back.”

“As nicely as I cooked for you. World’s in balance again, I guess!”

He throws his hands up, staring at you until he’s passed you by, eyes rolling. His nonchalant, idle movements rile you up more, and you can’t help but participate further in that odd exchange.

“You douchebag,” you call out, shutting the bedroom door as you reach inside, “I’m not a snob. I’d always finish my stuff, you can even ask the cook in my old house. He loved me because I wasn’t a picky eat—”

“Listen,” he interjects again, “I know. It's fine. I’ll sleep,” he points to the bed, “because this tired me out. Just drop it.”

“So you can drop it as you please?”

“Nah, just asking you to rest,” the first word comes out louder than he anticipated, his shrug vexed and vexing. He clears his throat. “And I’m sure you’re tired of this, too.”

You groan.

“And if I want to—”

“It’ll just escalat—”

“Dude, I—”

And once more, he showcases his annoyance when he glares at you from the other side of the bed, shutting you up, blanket already lifted. You anticipate another rude remark, a way of justification or to blurt something he doesn’t mean.

But despite his recent idiocy, you don’t deem him an asshole. Not to you, at least. Which proves right as he takes a breather, one knee hitting the mattress as he finally states—

“Let’s sleep over it, okay?”

The tone still isn’t as peaceful as it could be; you know it’s a tactic to dodge a fight. You might not be on your best domestic side tomorrow yet. But his question is final and his gaze even stricter.

So you reluctantly sigh, eyes still fiery as you breathe, “Fine.”

But it’s not fine. And the turbulent week ahead, filled with chaos for you and peak comedy to others, might just be about to prove it to you.

Tuesday

You chew on your bites until the taste turns bland.

Still distracted from last night’s exchange, you barely register the tart spicy quality of your dinner; a shame because this restaurant is your favourite place to frequent with friends.

Today, you’re toying with your cutlery, catching a glimpse of your grim reflection in the spoon every now and then. Whenever Jungkook’s elbow touches yours, your heart skips a bit, bleeding as much as your eyes want to water.

With how he’s smiling at your friends, appetite never faltering, you could burst into tears — because somewhere inside, you miss him despite the constant proximity.

Perhaps he does, too.

Because you notice when he drifts closer on purpose, casually putting his hand over yours. Seemingly lost in conversations, he rubs his thumb against the soft back of your hand; but when you look at him, you can’t muster a smile just yet.

It’s your ego, your stubbornness. Pieces of you want to stay pissed. You keep your cool, but try to avert your eyes whenever possible.

And when you, obstinate as last night, pull your hand from under his, you register the defeated sigh.

But instead of starting a new topic, he retracts his fingers, putting his arm on his table as he busies his other digits with his meal. When you dare a glance, the pretty curves of his blooming lips tug upwards, listening to Taehyung’s story.

Either hiding the discomfort between you or not feeling it.

Odd, because he’s your constant centre of attention.

“Yeah, I mean. Every job is stressful, you know? But it’s wholesome, too,” Taehyung narrates. You blink the silent pining away, and focus. “Like, one of my patients is an elderly man, a lot weaker than his wife. And she always comes with him, every single time.”

“She just waits for him the entire time?” Jungkook asks.

Next to Taehyung, Eun nods; she’s probably heard the story before.

“I mean, she entertains us, is more like it,” Taehyung explains. “He’s been getting geriatric physiotherapy to regain some strength, so he needs all the motivation he can get. And those two are such… dorks. They bicker all the time.”

You smile. Reminds you of when Jungkook and you first met. Persistent, pointless rivalry.

Perhaps Eun hasn’t heard all of this after all. Because as she cuts her dinner, she asks before stuffing her mouth with a bite, “How so?”

“Like. She’ll tell him to not be a baby and take that last step during gait training.”

From your right, Jungkook’s laugh reverberates like a melody from above, sickeningly sweet and amused. “Sounds like me and you at the gym, doesn’t it?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, flicking away stray hair with his forefinger, “Yeah, only because you can lift weights that’d break my arms.”

Another chuckle from the side. Even you smile a little.

Your man is strong, alright — and you’ve always admired it, experienced it a couple dozen times.

You’ve yet to see him work out at a proper gym; the home workout sessions barely count.

Ugh. The violent heartbeat beneath your chest picks up on pace again, and you take a deep breath to calm it just a little.

“Anyway,” Taehyung continues, “then she’ll tease him how the neighbour downstairs has much more flexible legs than he does and he’ll argue how she should’ve married him… and then she tells him that she would’ve if she didn’t love his old ass so much.”

When you giggle, covering your chewing mouth behind your hand, he adds, “I swear! It’s the most standard old couple banter if I’ve ever seen one. Thought that stuff only happens on TV.”

Eun, still busy with the remnants of her meal, doesn’t look up but asks, “So they joke around like that? They don’t get mad at each other or anything?”

“They act like they do. Not a sliver of jealousy or anger in them, though. Insane… and adorable. I guess when you’re married long enough, that’s how relationships turn out. And they should, too, you know?”

Hmm…

You side-eye Jungkook for just a moment, but don’t say anything.

You don’t know what’s written in your future. No clue whether he’s a permanent presence in it, a firm part of your fate or not; you strongly hope for an eternity.

You want to picture him and you grey and old. Wrinkled hands, adorned with blue veins holding each other. Weak smiles and crinkles around his eyes, hidden behind glasses, ever-present.

If he’s your future, you hope to laugh about such fights one day. Hope to let people wonder whether you’re actually furious with each other, veiling unbridled affection behind snarky remarks.

Just… right now, you can’t laugh about it just yet. You still feel oddly offended by his words last night, and it doesn’t help when tonight seems to drift towards a similar ending.

Because as you ask for the bill at the end, Jungkook still pays. You don’t think about it too hard, letting him do, staying seated to finish your drinks.

But your exhaustion reaches a new, entirely unnecessary peak when he starts cracking his fingers. On any other day, you’d put a hand over his, reminding him not to and move on.

Today, you’re in a bad mood, and your demands come out accordingly piqued.

“Stop it.”

“Hm?” he voices, looking at you, the warm light of the restaurant reflecting in his dark brown eyes.

“This,” you point to his fingers, “stop that.”

“Why?”

“Because you know it makes me cringe. A bit annoying.”

Eun, still unaware of the tension between him and you, shrugs her shoulders, “I know that irks a lot of people, but I don’t think it’s that bad.”

“Because you do it, too,” Taehyung complains; she mocks him with a sly smirk and a quiet, Yeah, yeah. He adds, “I can’t stand it, either.”

You lift an open palm towards him, nodding, “So you understand.”

“I’ve seen you do it, too,” Eun argues with a light push against his shoulder, “multiple times!”

“But not as often as you. You start and do not stop.”

You immediately agree, “He’s just like that, too!”

To which Jungkook interjects, his voice still calm; but you still hear the growing aggravation in his voice when he starts, “Honestly, I—”

“He actually has a couple habits that are just—”

You blow a raspberry.

Your interruption triggers Jungkook. And your words, admittedly not quite the sweetest, don’t sit well with him, either, because a moment later, he’s leaning forwards again. Looking at you directly before he continues his irritating bone-cracking.

You grit your teeth and repeat, “Stop that.”

“What?” he shoots back. You flinch. “A habit you despise so much, yeah? I don’t get the same intense reaction when I do something nice for you.”

So untrue.

Fucking hell. He’s talking about yesterday again.

You exhale through your nose, possibly resembling a bull ready to attack; Taehyung and Eun shrink in front of you, grimacing at each other. You’d laugh if it wasn’t you trapped in that exasperating back and forth of exchanges.

“Oops,” Eun whispers, yet overshadowed by your words as you defend, “That’s not true.”

“Maybe,” Jungkook says, shrugging a shoulder with an outrageous smirk, “but you never get that angry when I crack them at home.”

“I just don’t say it.”

“Oh? What else do you not say, hm?”

Taehyung dares an attempt, “Guys.”

But you’re too heated, a little stupid, very ridiculous as you spit, “Like, how irritating it is that you smack your lips every other second.”

Jungkook puffs out a breath. Looks to the side, straight into Eun’s direction who sinks a little more. He curls his lower lip in, running his tongue over it, jaw clenched and sharp. If you weren’t so focused on your temper, you’d find it scorching hot.

In a harmless little fight, you’d keep annoying him until he lost it eventually, mounting you and shutting you up in the very tempting Jungkook-esque way he knows.

But not here, not right now.

Instead, he fucks you up further as he sneers, “Right.”

“Or,” you continue, “that you don’t clean up your working space after painting.”

“What?” He furrows his thick eyebrows, ignoring Taehyung’s call of Jungkook’s name. “I mean. You have all your documents scattered on the desk. I might need it, too, y’know?”

“Why don’t you say it then?” you ask, tilting your head with one cocked eyebrow of yours.

“‘Cause I wanna let you work? ‘Cause it’s important for me that you’re able to focus?” He looks away again, tutting; his shoulder moves with his deriding laugh as he mumbles, “The fuck, really.”

Somewhere inside, you feel bad. You know his words are true. But you can’t tell him yet; so you just glare at him.

As silence finally falls upon you, Eun moves towards the table again, glancing between the two of you as she wonders, “What’s wrong with you guys?”

Everything.

“Nothing,” you say.

“…You wanna go?”

You wait. Jungkook doesn’t answer. Looks to the ground. When you don’t respond either, his eyes lift to yours, still big but not as enthusiastic as usual. Intimidating even.

You stay still, so he only voices, “Uh-huh.”

And the couple, enduring your awkward moment, lets you go gladly. You pack up, finishing your drink, and when you leave your table, you notice just how many people were staring at you.

Still are.

You really embarrassed yourself in front of a crowd, huh?

As the daughter of rich parents, owning a huge ass clothing brand, this isn’t something you should’ve done. But you pray and hope that you won’t wake up to a headline, or that journalists won’t interpret your little feud as a reason to break up or some nonsense like that.

Trouble in Heaven, they’d call it. Predictable little cockroaches.

You trudge past the customers with a deep breath in; Jungkook doesn’t seem to care much, because he walks ahead, hands in the pockets of his linen cotton slacks. Doesn’t look around.

Only bids Taehyung and Eun goodbye; tells you to buckle up when the two of you get in your car; curses once or twice when he misses the green light by a second.

And when you’re at home, sighing as the night approaches its end, you shake your head. Unbelievable whatever transpired back at that place. And you thought you were warming up to each other again.

Guess it’s your fault this time.

Which is why you hum when he calls your name, watching you put on your nightwear; bed ready while you still need to take off your makeup.

His question baffles you; more so with the slightly irate tone.

“Will you still give me a good night’s kiss or?”

You roll your eyes. Don’t say anything; grab your skincare products before you get to work.

He sighs once more; you see the shake of his head before you disappear into the bathroom, hear him say, “Whatever.”

But when you come out with a light rosy scent on your skin and jump under your blanket, you still shift towards his slowly drifting body. His arm under his head, eyes closed, lower lip pouting that you target carefully and—

Press the lightest kiss against.

Immediately, you turn around. Imitate his position.

He doesn’t reach out to you as he usually does, pulling you into his arms. But you still feel the petal-soft brush of tender fingers against your arm before the touch retracts again — and eventually, you fall asleep.

WEDNESDAY

The only reason Jungkook accompanied you to the laundromat is because your clothes gathered into a huge mountain. Neglecting your responsibilities at home, you brought two bags, and he insisted on helping you out.

It's late afternoon. Work tired you out, dinner is still pending; you don’t want to be here. And the place is empty; a yawning void. Just you, alone with your tank-top and grey-blue zip up hoodie clad, messy-haired boyfriend.

The retro plastic laundromat seats tired him out, so he’s standing at the far back. His eyes follow the tossing and turning of the clothes in the washing machine, and sometimes, they trail back to you.

And you — you’re sitting in a corner, arms folded, still uncertain whether you should wait for an apology or opt for one yourself.

The distance is childish. You’re way more mature than that.

But your fight is childish, too, and you guess sometimes, even healthy couples fall back into kindergarten routines.

Once the clothes are done and dry, the journey back home approaching, he helps you out. Tramps to you, mutters a little, “Gimme. I’ll take this.”

The bag strap drags his hoodie off his shoulder a little, revealing the flowery tattoo. He doesn’t fix it; lost in thoughts and silent until home. As if he wants to say something, but doesn’t.

In the apartment, he asks, “Dinner or takeout?”

And you, learning and indisputably craving his affection in any shape or form, answer, “We can make dinner.”

“I’ll do it. Get some rest.”

You sigh in relief. There’s solace in your gratitude — today was arduous, much like the preceding days of this week. You bide your time until he’s done, and then help him set the table and clean the kitchen.

The evening passes without any hostility, but ends without many gestures of fondness, too.

THURSDAY

“You don’t need to come, too. I bet you’ve other stuff to do.”

Jungkook adjusts to your steps. He snatched a jacket way too insufficient for the frosty weather, but he won’t hurry if you don’t. Doesn’t stray from your side.

So you walk faster. Then he does, too.

He rubs his nose, shrugs a shoulder and responds, “I’ve nothing much to do today, really.”

“Yeah, but,” you pull at the sleeves of his jacket, urging him to rush through the wind, “you’ll get bored. And I’m a big girl.”

“I know that. But it’ll be fine. Wanna make sure you’re okay, too.”

He nudges your elbow. You can’t pinpoint whether he’s daring an attempt to set things right or is genuinely concerned. Or both. In some way, the tension between you lingers, and you can’t shake off the awkward feeling just yet.

So you only nod, holding off an answer for a moment. Staring ahead, you listen to the soft sounds of the city, blinded by headlights soon passing you by. A bit longer and the first snow will fall.

The consoling feeling of winter days draws closer, feels warm despite the frigid wind. Hot chocolatesque. There’s just something about wool shawls and warm jackets and old, animated Christmas movies.

One thing you miss about living in your parents’ big, fancy house in your very old neighbourhood is the chimney. The soft yellow and orange of the crackling fire, melting the cold over your skin.

Sometimes you’d sit on the fleecy white carpet, protected by a thick, warm turtleneck sweater, watching the dancing flames.

You wonder again — if Jungkook and you are truly written in the stars as one, will you move into a bigger place one day? Save money and expand the comfort of the current apartment, investing in even more soothing walls with a couple little additions.

Not the lush, exaggerated luxury you grew up with. Not necessarily anything snobby.

But casual, domestic things, like a fire side you can sit in front of, drinking tea, slow dancing and giggling in the dark. Lit by the chimney fire; familiarity.

You sigh.

“It’s been long since I went to the dentist, too,” Jungkook then says, and you hum. That’s sudden.

“You should go then.”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes darting from your face to your hands. You unintentionally bury them in the pockets of your jacket the moment he reaches out for you; and when he understands that you didn’t notice, he curls his fingers into fists. “Maybe I can get an appointment now? Do they take walk-ins?”

You furrow your eyebrows. “I don’t know.” Then, upon realisation, you laugh a little and say, “I’m not going to the dentist.”

“What?”

“What?” You stare back with eyes as big as his. “Optometrist, Koo.”

His raised eyelids are nothing new. He’s attentive when it comes to you; recognises, notices and remembers every little thing. But you guess he truly has been tired, too.

And you feel bad for not considering it as much as he considered it. The reason he cooked for you in the first place, right?

You press your lips into a line, stare down to a puddle on the ground; an aftermath of the rain.

“Oh,” he makes, “why did I think we were going to— Sorry. My bad.”

In actuality, you did wonder if he knew. He didn’t ask questions when you told him you were leaving; simply announced he was going with. You were pulling socks over your ankles as his rushing form scurried across the room.

You guessed he’d figured it out. But the fact that he was ready to accompany you without a certain clue where you were heading makes you a little giddy.

Clearing your throat, you clarify, “No worries. It’s about that pain in my eyes. Remember?”

You wouldn’t be mad if he didn’t. Preceding your fight by perhaps a couple minutes, you don’t think the tiny statement still holds any relevance to him anymore.

Right?

Wrong.

“Yeah,” he answers, “yeah, of course. You thought it was an infection.”

“Mhm,” you hum, ignoring the butterfly wing slamming against your insides, “I’m so sure it’s an infection.” You click your tongue. “Itch first, and now it gives me migraines.”

“Yeah, you told me… But. It’s nothing serious, I just know.”

You look at his sculpted side profile.

You know him. Jungkook doesn’t actually know, of course — that’s not why he’s saying that he does.

But because hope is better than pure uncertainty; and he likes trying to manifest. He believes in little miracles like this. Knocks on wood a lot, tries not to voice potential disasters in case they might actually roll around.

So you take the reassurance. Walk to the clinic in silence. Attempt more small talk in the waiting room until they drench your corneas in those odd, blinding eye drops, dilating your pupils.

The brief, quick tests follow; the assistant is young and gentle, and you try your best to be a good patient. She seems to enjoy your temporarily formal behaviour, perfected in the years you grew to be a reputable heir.

You drop it once you’re in the waiting room again, awaiting the final consultation and results.

Jungkook is a restless companion. No matter how irritating, you’re used to the constant swaying and the movements of his legs. One might think he is anxious for you, eyes locking on the head doc’s office door every now and then.

Yet, he wonders, “Are you nervous?”

“Nervous?” you repeat, breathing out a tiny, amused laugh. “Nah. He’s really nice. And it’s just some eye stuff.”

“Well, eyes are important.”

The words come out quickly, but the last syllable dies gradually.

You smile.

Jungkook sometimes reminisces about a time when he’d hide from relatives or eat lunch at the back of class back in elementary school. He tires out the term introvertness, and you repeatedly retort with a certain ambivertness.

At times, he’s loud, flirty, annoying and confident — gives you a hard time believing that he ever averted a girl’s gaze or hid behind his cousins.

But then… there are moments when you see it.

Like now.

The puffy cheeks, the youthful pout, the big, big eyes flashing to the ground. Unsure what to say, unsure what you’re thinking of him.

Until he gulps, keeping his voice quiet and low as he continues, “Have you ever had a private optometrist?”

Huh. Not a question you expected. You guess starting the week with a discussion about wealth makes him think of such things these days.

“Yeah,” you say, shifting in your seat. You can still not see him clearly; his features are blurry, and you squint. “When I was younger. Big, bright places and top notch equipment.”

“Why did you stop?”

“I mean… It's not like usually used equipment, like here, is any worse than theirs. Also, same reason as why I went to a public college. Normalcy, I guess.”

“Odd.”

“…Why?”

“Because,” he draws a sharp breath, staring ahead. “Despite all the normalcy, you’re as extraordinary as can get. Money or not.”

A heartbeat passes. Among the sounds of the quiet chatter around you and the ads in the TV at lowest volume, your breath mingles with the hushed noises like a whisper.

His slowly blinking eyes are genuine, your reflection in his dark brown orbs clear. White dots sparkle like constellations in the sky, bright and plenty. It’s nice that they remind you of the sentimentality in his heart after every single serious or dumb, big or small fight.

For a moment, you keep looking. Your fingers twitch, urging to reach out, but as they start moving off your knee, you hear a call of your name.

Jungkook leans back, clearing his throat, smiles at you as you get to your feet and meet the doctor’s stare, kindly gesturing inside the examination room.

A couple more tests, a friendly conversation, more orders from his side before he gives you a diagnosis and a prescription.

And when you head out, Jungkook’s still sitting right where you left him. One leg restless again, leaning forwards, arms on his thighs and hands intertwined. His head is hanging between his shoulders; even from afar, you see his lashes move, eyes slowly blinking.

You can’t quite explain it, but you love this point of view — when you can see his parted lips, the lower one pillowy, partly hidden behind his button nose. Cheeks round. You truly do love this watching-from-above-angle.

Even though it clearly suggests he’s bored out of his mind. Beyond done with this place, but still here, waiting for you.

You clutch the strap of your bag again, sighing, and then move towards him with light steps. The back of your fingers reaches out then, brushing against his temple a tiny moment before he detects your shoes and looks up.

“Oh. That was fast,” he says; his eyes are drooping. He had a long morning in the attic. “What did he say?”

He gets off the seat, moving his stiff neck and cracking it a little, hand flashing up to his shoulder. You explain, “I need eye drops. Two to three times a day.”

“Ah. Then we could get them right now.”

You nod, allowing a little smile, telling him as you head out, “My eyes are okay, though. Somehow, my vision has improved, too.”

Jungkook’s lips form an excited Oh, but when he sees your expression, he says, “But you seem bummed about it.”

Ah. Well.

You feel ungrateful thinking that way, but…

“In some way?” you admit. “I’d rather have an infection that can be fixed with antibiotics and won’t come back so easily instead of… you know. Having to constantly rely on eye drops. It just sounds so permanent.”

Another deep sigh; you’re exhausted as well. “And I’ll have to remember to use them.”

“Hmm,” he voices, holding the door open for you. He zips his jacket close as you step out; an immediate breath cloud forming when he exhales. “Set an alarm, yeah?”

“Yeah. Just knowing myself…”

“I’ll remind you then.”

The suggestion is immediate, albeit accompanied by a seemingly nonchalant shrug of his shoulder; jacket’s sleeves adorably pulled over his hands.

“Once in the morning. You set an alarm for lunch and then I remind you again when you take your birth control pill at night. Yeah?”

The bitter feeling of the fight vanishes a little; you try to ignore the residual awkwardness, apologies probably still due. But right now, your conversation follows a different path, so you settle on a soft, little, “Thank you, Kook.”

He always does that. Remind you of your meds.

Your vitamins, your pills, that one nose spray hydrating your nose flora to prevent your mucosa from drying out or whatever your ENT doc told you. He did last night, too.

He always does — even if it means forgetting about his own responsibilities.

You blink a couple times, rubbing your eyelids before you admit, “Still hurts. Can barely see… and the streetlamps are so bright?”

“Lemme look.”

He stops in his tracks and you follow; his hand catches your wrist, pulling your fingers away from your eyes, and you turn to him slowly. You’re still attempting to clear your vision, so he orders, “Stop blinking.”

And once you do, he moves in. Takes your face in his already warm hands, staring, squinting, humming. He looks focused, and you raise your eyebrows, waiting for a conclusion until he finally mutters, “Damn.”

“What?”

He seems impressed. Looks a bit longer. You repeat, “What? Are they red? Swollen or something?”

“Nah,” he lets your face go, already stepping back as if dodging your proximity. “But,” he starts; you stare like a puppy, only breaking when he adds, “they’re pretty as fuck.”

Your playful punch rises as if on instinct.

One part of your relationship that never changed was your bicker, starting with annoyance and morphing into frisky, flirty remarks. You consider it the foundation of what makes the two of you a unit.

You grit your teeth, but can’t bite back the smile.

“Dude,” you scold, and he covers his arm instinctively, evading the punch looming over him.

But you don’t deliver it after all, dropping your hand, shaking your head instead. You say, “If you hadn’t helped me survive today, I’d—”

You steer towards him, attempting another scare, and he plays along with a flinch just before he starts laughing again. Hums and nods emphasise his words when he agrees, “You survived like a true champ. A big girl, you said, right?”

“Sure am.”

“Mhm. …My big girl?”

“Gross. Shut up.”

The atmosphere will stay odd for a while. That’s okay, you guess. At least it allows for a bit of amusement, hard to hide as you smile a little, bite your lip.

You lower your head, veiling your beam behind your hair, but you know he sees. Matches your smile — perhaps even a bit brighter than your own.

FRIDAY

The fast approaching weekend usually eases a week’s tension. But considering the mounting workload you tackled today and the endless Saturday you’ll be dealing with very soon, your muscles don’t relax just yet.

Imprisoned behind the bars of work, your thoughts circle around the schedule for tomorrow. In that sense, you come home late and can’t quite bother with the stress that spread throughout the first half of the week.

Jungkook already scarfed down tonight’s dinner, comfortably laying in bed and balancing the laptop on his stomach. From the sound of it, he’s watching videos of various genres.

Sitting on the living room couch and indulging in a short story for just a bit, you hear the enthusiastic voices of chefs rattling down recipes every now and then. It’s a hobby of his, but you can’t help but feel bad.

He studies those YouTube videos to improve his cooking skills, and you, ungratefully, leave the rest of his effort in the goddamn fridge. You sigh.

If you had the energy and will to talk it out, you’d do it now. You couldn’t all day.

He was still asleep when you left, and after work, you went to a brief dinner with a coworker to dash through details for tomorrow. Looking at the plan, you hope for at least a sliver of fun amidst the photoshoot chaos.

When you returned home, Jungkook was gaming right where you’re sitting now. You showered, only to find him back in the bedroom, with his eyes glued to said laptop. And now, as you approach the bed to end the night, he walks past you with falling eyelids.

He rubs them with the back of his tattooed hand, a tired pout on his face contradicting the seemingly badass image that the ink usually gives him. Hard shell, soft core and all.

“Be right ba—,” Jungkook’s hazy voice informs, last syllable broken by a yawn. “Go to bed, okay?”

His palm moves across your upper arm as he passes you by, and you nod, steering towards the inviting, warm mattress. Its surface melts with your body when you drop. God, you’re exhausted; can barely think.

You don’t think it’ll take you particularly long to drift away; and just when your consciousness slips, you feel an arm around you.

A soft hug, enveloping you. He drops his face to yours, lips gently pressing against your cheek for a moment before he adjusts the blanket over the two of you.

A current of warmth courses through your veins, and you draw a deep, long breath of affection when he cuddles into you. He must be thinking you’re asleep but slowly falling out of dreams, because he pulls you in and rubs your arm.

An effective tactic he usually wields to help you fall asleep.

He puts a leg gently over yours, his body so close to yours that you feel bits of the combustion of your heart.

Because…

Despite your stupid feud, you’re kind of happy that he’s joined you under the thin blanket, pressing more featherlight kisses against your scalp. Sighs against it.

And you can’t withhold the smile when he brushes over your clothed tummy and whispers, “My feisty little girl.”

SATURDAY

You remember to unclench your jaw.

The stress hardens your muscles. Your limbs are stiff, eyes unblinking until they dry out. Fingers wrapped around your phone, you hold the device firmly, shutting out the telling vibrations of notifications.

This cannot be.

There are a hundred fires burning around you. Erupted chaos causes panic, and in the middle of it are you, clueless and vexed beyond measure.

It’s one thing cancelling a shoot a couple days before it takes place — and another thing to call sick at the very last moment. You didn’t think the model would ditch you like this… but now that he has, you can’t figure out how to replace the missing piece of the shoot.

Your troubled co-workers call out a dozen names, but you don’t say a word, gazing around with a crease between your eyebrows.

This whole thing needs to be out in the open by Friday, and the photographers and editors need time. So, postponing this to Monday and the release of the ads to another weekend won’t work, right?

No.

You’re at the headquarters of this brand. And you’re one of the organisers of this shoot and project. Every single shop will need to postpone if you do.

Unprofessional. Goes against the schedule.

The complaints are still on full blast when you see a calm movement from the corner of your eye. You move your head to the left, peeking through the glass door, and on the other side awaits—

A wide-eyed man, staring inside, observing the tumult like he’s stepped into the jungle. He’s wearing a white shirt, tucked into jeans, long bangs hanging into his eyes and enhancing the sweet gaze so wonderfully.

Pieces of your stress melts — but you still can’t figure out why he’s standing there.

You walk to the door automatically, throwing a tiny smile when he detects you among the staff. A big hand waves in tiny, and you open to let him in.

“Hey,” you greet, pushing back to where you stood before. He follows. “What are you doing here?”

As you come to a stand, he puts a hand on your waist lightly, drawing close to press a kiss to your temple. Then, he responds, “Picking you up?”

“Wh—”

Oh. Shit.

You were going to go out and celebrate the end of the stressful week. He’d suggested it last weekend because he already knew how hectic today would be.

Ughhhh.

You’re terrible.

Jungkook realises your forgetfulness the moment your expression changes into a guilty one. His curious, innocent look drops with his eyebrows, and he sighs when you say, “I’m sorry, Kook.”

When he stares down at his shoes, you feel a wave of shame; the noise around you fades for just a second as he half sullenly, half disappointedly asks, “Really?”

“I swear… It’s not my fault.”

It’s not an excuse; not a lie.

He looks disheartened; knowing him, stupid argument or not, he was probably looking forward to this. Fuck, you feel bad.

Despite his obvious drop in mood, he doesn’t say anything much. Instead, he nods and assures, “It’s fine. What happened?”

You look around again. From afar, you see a coworker approach. She looks hopeful and you take the crumbs, but you still explain, “Everything should be done by now. We got most of the pictures, but… one of the guys bailed on us.”

“Shit, really? What now?”

You shrug your shoulders, once again racking your brain for a solution. People here are counting on you, but it’s not you who brings the very first somewhat reasonable suggestion of today.

Only somewhat reasonable, though.

Because the coworker approaching ogles at Jungkook like a pirate at a treasure, pupils big and wondering as she suddenly says, “Hold. Did you come up with that?”

You blink.

Then ask, “What?”

“You called him here?”

“What?” you repeat, a confused, little parrott.

She rolls her eyes, “He,” she points at Jungkook with a thumb, “is not allowed in here. Usually. So I assumed you called him as a replacement.” She tilts her head. “And he’s freaking perfect!”

Per—

What? No, no, no. That’s absolutely nothing you planned or permitted.

“No?” Instinctively, you take a step to the side, right in front of his broad shoulders as if to protect him from harm. You argue, “He’s not a model. He’s an artist.”

From behind, you hear, “I’m just an artist.”

“Yeah, but,” she throws back, “you’re art, too. I won’t lie.”

Another step back until your back almost touches his chest. His fingertips graze your hip, as a warning before you stumble over his feet. You can imagine the subtle rosy dust on his cheek; he’s fond of compliments.

As everyone is, you suppose. But.

“Hey, careful,” you tell her, disguising it as a joke, but feeling the lightest burn in your stomach when he laughs at her words.

She raises her pretty lips to a prettier smile, nodding in reassurance as she promises, “Yes, I know he’s taken.”

Another quiet chuckle from behind you, and you cock an eyebrow before he changes the topic and admits, “Seriously, I’m not a model at all and barely know what these things are like…”

To which she waves off his concerns and explains, “Oh, you just need to look good. We’d put some make up and clothes on you, a few pics and we’re done.”

Sounds easy enough. A bit like an insult to actual models, kind of putting those to shame who ran across stages for years to study, internalise and perfect their movements.

But you don’t correct her because you’re desperate, too. And right now, this sounds the easiest.

Still, he murmurs, “I’m not sure.”

“I understand if not,” she says. Her tone changes, fragments of frustration in it. “It’s just that we’re running out of options.”

Once more, you play out the upcoming week mentally. Postponing the last shoot. Postponing the release. Postponing the seasonal launch.

None of this is your fault, but you’d still be the one to get all the wary looks.

As if on cue, Jungkook squeezes your hip, and you look at him with worry painted across your face. You know he sees it immediately, but he still asks, “Is it that bad?”

You nibble at your lip, putting a hand over his as you say, “Yeah. We do need someone.”

“Is that allowed? Can I just replace a guy?”

“I’m technically the boss here, so you’d just need my permission,” you take a breath and then click your tongue, “I mean, usually we’d just reschedule, but we don’t have the time and those shoots already take hours. And in your case, we’d do all the paperwork, contract stuff later.”

“Would it help you?”

He’s considerate. Even in a stressful moment like this, the gentle tone, the deep care makes you weak. The answer’s already clear, but you still tell him, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Again, it… might take up to two hours or so.”

“But it’d help you, babe, wouldn’t it? Unless you don’t want me to. Then I won’t.”

You don’t have a single problem with this; in fact, you’d be happy to put him in front of a camera. His genuine thoughtfulness liquefies you — you’re a puddle at this point.

“Oh, I… Jungko—”

Juri intrudes, “I’m sorry,” carefully, she inches closer, nodding over her shoulder, “Just wanna say that we have a lot of designers in our team. They do logos and make the posters and all. Maybe, if they saw you — because the country already knows you as her artistic man from newspapers — they could teach you some digital art stuff.”

“I…” Jungkook starts. He’s probably thinking the same — which he confirms when he adds, “I’m not sure how me modelling for you might relate to artistic stuff. But I already know a lot about digital art.”

Yeah, exactly. Of course he does; what else did he wade through college for throughout these years?

“But,” she lifts a finger, infinite force in one word already, “have you ever tried expensive equipment and all?”

Oh oh. You feel bad.

Is that the group of society you represent? Maybe you guys are a little pretentious after all, dealing and seducing with money.

But he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t dare to challenge her when he steps next to you and says, “I can do it, but not for that digital art offer.” He puts a hand on your back, rubbing lightly and briefly, “For her.”

You fold your arms under your chest; less to show dominance, but more to press against the butterflies. There’s a type of nausea falling in love elicits, deep in your stomach where everything appears so surreal and beautiful that it makes you oddly sick.

The first time your pupils took on their heart shape was the first moment Jungkook practised that effect on you; made you realise what inevitable emotions he was pulling you into.

That effect has not faltered; your guts still twist.

At least, for a couple minutes.

Because the second your coworker-vultures attack him and drag him to the back room, something changes. Nervousness, you guess. You know the clothes that are awaiting him, but stepping out of makeup and into the spotlight leaves you gasping for air.

From afar, he’s leering at you.

Wearing a snow white shirt, tucked into his pants, priorly tousled hair still messy but styled in curls. Yes, you might know your collection — but you didn’t think it’d fit him like second skin.

Why did you doubt it, though? Jungkook could wear a trash bag and still compete against Adonis.

For a moment, he stands still, entangling his fingers, looking around. Then, he’s smiling in uncertainty, awkwardly putting his hands on his tiny waist, waiting for directions.

Juri tip-toes towards you, as if you’re filming a scene in a drama. She pulls the clipboard to her chest, one digit pointing to your struggling man before she says, “He’s adorable.”

You nod. “I wonder how he’ll do.”

“Well, yeah,” she murmurs, half distracted; but then she averts her eyes from him, looking from your nervous lips up to your furrowed eyebrows before she assures, “Worst case scenario, we’ll postpone. End of story. At least we tried.”

“Hmm… Well, let’s hope it won’t be that case.”

Which, you soon realise, it certainly isn’t.

A couple professional suggestions by the director and Jungkook gets into position. The initial movements of his hands and body are a little strange and awkward, and you can’t help but want to pull him from this chaos and wrap him in a fuzzy blanket.

But the seemingly feigned adorable stance soon shifts into something unexpectedly dangerous when he raises his chin. Thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, he relaxes his body, lips suddenly forming a tempting, slight pout.

He doesn’t usually look like that…

“Wow,” you whisper, faintly registering Juri’s fascinated nod from the side.

This is still a harmless pose, you think; one the director dared him to do. But you’re surprised by the sudden confidence, the way Jungkook doesn’t fumble or stutter or question anything.

Some of his softness shines through the moment the photographer gives a thumbs up, a tattooed hand cracking the fingers of the others. Doe eyes back, he leans forwards as if he could peek at the pictures like that, asking cautiously, “That okay?”

He looks different. Why does he look different?

“That was great! Perfect start. I promise the rest is just as easy,” the team encourages him, asking him to monitor the pictures they just took.

Jungkook walks to the strangers in slow steps, chest behind the tight, white top heaving once. On his way, he looks up to you instinctively, throwing the same thumbs up at you with a questioning gaze.

And you, still baffled, smile.

Watch as he converses with the people, his grin wide when he likes what he sees — an instant confidence boost, though you still see the nervousness in his stance. Where was any of it when they clicked the photos?

As if a demon possessed him for just a minute. Dual and dangerous.

Then again, he’s not very different in your daily life. A celestial soul on some days, catering to your every whim, never letting your feet touch the ground.

And a beast on others, inhaling your sounds like a starving incubus, never heaving your body off the mattress.

The duality doesn’t disappear with this very first outfit.

When some music starts playing and they tell him to move freely, filming the sequences for the ads, your eyeballs nearly fall out of your eyes. And you finally realise why he looks so different now.

Because the moment his thumb touches his lower lip, mimicking a wiping motion (much like he does after kissing you sometimes), you see the silver-plated jewellery glimmering from all the way from the set.

Lip ring.

Whose idea…

“What did you do back there?” you ask, near-panicking, your heart dropping into your panties.

Juri flinches, asking, “What?”

“Is that a lip ring? You gave him a—”

You puff out a breath; it’s immensely difficult to be mad at him like this. He’s been looking…

“Shouldn’t we have?” her tiny voice asks; her body shrinks a little.

“I mean. I just. It wasn’t planned.”

“Yeah, but look how amazing he looks.”

You’re seeing it, alright.

The subtle touches, the light tugging at his shirt. Movements just right. He looks all serious, like a beast, hotter than motherfucking hell. Transports your saliva into your windpipe with each look he sports.

Until you actually feel yourself choking and gagging once he leaves and comes back for the next shoot twenty minutes later.

Because why on Earth did they omit the shirt under the grey blazer?

You’re close to dashing to costume and makeup, confronting them to ask why they chose to toy with your sanity like this. Because… the lip ring is still there. His hair is suddenly slicked back. Fingers adorned with rings.

And he looks so goddamn good.

Maybe it’s your fault. You told them you trusted them, and that they were supposed to do as they pleased. And they are… they so are.

All of him, like a strong magnet, pulls you in, but you keep your feet firmly on your spot, cementing yourself in place. There’s something incredibly attractive about the way he presents himself — new, talented.

You’re fidgety, a sexually frustrated observer when he touches his jacket, pulling it open just a little. The inked hand is veiny; you see it from here, too. The light gesture allows glimpses of his chest.

Small, perked, brown nipples. Lines and ripples of his abs firm. Ending in his V-line, hidden behind the peeking underwear and blue, baggy jeans.

Heavy chains are already menacing when he shuts his eyelids and parts his lips. Worse when he leans forwards, hazy eyes staring into the camera as if he’s about to devour the camerawoman.

Jeon Jungkook is a hazardous danger to society. The world will want him — and he’ll only want you.

Fuck.

You’re drooling. Drowning in your own puddle. Crossing your legs.

And when they tell him to sit, ordering to open the button of his jeans and push it down his hips just a bit, the little yous in your brain wreak havoc.

A fire starts in the organised office of your mind, red sirens blaring, and you look at Juri as you ask, “Why is he naked?! Why’s the blazer off his shoulder?!!”

“Because,” she defends, hiding behind the clipboard; it’s not her fault. That’s what the other model would’ve done, too. “Underwear ads!”

You’re aware. You just didn’t think it’d be Jungkook ending up in this position. Perhaps you didn’t think it through; didn’t know what it’d do to you.

But his effect pools in your lower stomach; so intense, you might cry.

“What the fuck,” you mumble when he takes the jacket off, sitting up and improvising all of a sudden. A hand covers his mouth, the blazer thrown over his shoulder. “What’s the point of holding it? He’s not even wearing it.”

“Because,” she starts again, “we’re focusing on the underwear.” Where’s the focus on the underwear? You can barely see it. Are people plotting against you? “It’s okay.” She pats your shoulder. “No one’s gonna touch him, love.”

You bite your lip. You know.

You aren’t distressed because you’re mad. But because knowing that everybody will crave him and nobody will get him turns you on more.

The fact that you’re the only one he’ll look at with those starry eyes; with the hunger in his gaze. The only one he’ll press into your bed, lips close to your ears, whispering endearments and filthy, little promises.

This man wants you, and you can barely handle that truth.

New thoughts and ideas form in your mind, too wild and desperate to be occurring right in this moment. So you mentally whoosh them away, holding on for the rest of the neverending shoot until a round of genuine applause sounds around the big set.

God. Okay. Hours of torture later, and he’s done.

A shy bow. No. This monster might convince anyone else, but you know he’s not as innocent as he gives himself.

He jogs over to you, says quietly enough for only you to hear, “Don’t tell them, but that was great.” You can imagine. He backs away, looks down to his defined abs, “I need to change. And then we can head home, they said.”

You blink, perplexed and still out of words. Which he struggles to interpret, looking over his shoulder and then back to you. Unsure, he adds, “Unless you need to wrap things up.”

When a random shout echoes through the room, you awake, inhaling deeply before you tell him, “No, I. I mean, yeah, we’ll wrap things up, but that shouldn’t take too long. Should be mostly done when you are.”

He nods. Waves, and then steers towards the others, shaking hands and exchanging smiles. Short convos. Then, to the back room.

You’re too out of your mind and tired to chat much with staff. You go through the next steps, talk about waiting for the editor to be done with the photos, list the leftover things on your to-do list before the winter launch.

And that’s it. You meet Jungkook at the exit to the hallway, relieved when the end of the day approaches. On your way back home, you converse lightly, though he stops when you yawn one too many times.

He lets you rest as you pass shops and traffic lights, and holds your hand when you get off the vehicle. Drags you up the stairs; the climb is arduous. And then allows you to get ready for your slumber in peace.

The second the back of your head collides with the cold pillow, your eyes drop shut. The world spins behind your tired eyelids, adjusting to the darkness and the silence.

A sigh of relief pushes out of your mouth; a profound sense of tranquillity calms your lit nerves. Jungkook, next to you, seems just as exhausted because the yawn as soon as he slips under the covers is long and tear-inducing.

He’s blinking away the dampness of fatigue when you look over to him; you haven’t talked much since you arrived home, but Jungkook uses the moment to say, “I had a lot more fun than I expected to have.”

You’re so incredibly thankful for his last-minute rescue. But you can’t help but think of the muscles and expressions an hour prior. The seductive gaze, the lip accessory, the ring-clad fingers.

Perhaps it’s because of the time of the month, but you feel vexed by how affected you feel.

You control your tone, though the word still sounds monotone when you say, “Good.”

Catching upon it immediately, he shifts slowly, sniffling and head propping up on his hand before he asks, “Did you not like it?”

“Oh no, I mean,” you start, “you were amazing. I just didn’t know they’d send you out naked for the world to see. Thought the plan was to close a couple buttons.”

“The stylists told me. I think it was a spontaneous change because—”

You glance at him when he hesitates. A sly smile spreads across his features, just a little guilty yet amused as he watches your curiosity grow.

“What?” you ask.

“Nevermind.”

“Don’t be mean.”

“It’s nothing!” he exclaims. “We just thought it’d look cool. I thought you’d like it, too, actually.”

You did. That’s the issue. You liked it enough for it to burn into your mind, and now you can’t shake the image anymore.

No matter how many times you’ve seen him butt naked, buried inside you without a gap between your skin — something about his confidence and eyes stirred an unknown level of desire in you.

But you can’t tell him. Because the thing you want won’t be possible right now. You keep your thoughts veiled.

Instead, you unleash your annoyance because God, you hate him for being so hot.

“Right,” is all you say.

“Hey, don’t worry. Even if they ask, I’m not doing this again.”

“Might make you famous, though,” you mumble.

He snorts, fingers sneaking to your tummy, “So what? That’s not my profession. I didn’t study to become a model. Will work on my actual efforts.”

“Okay.”

The single word forces a sigh out of him, and he shakes his head, tapping his fingers against your stomach as he whispers your name thrice. Like he’s scolding you.

And then, “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you spit without hesitation, “of whom?”

You’re not. And you know that just for the moment, he won’t believe you. Which is fine. You’ll tell him the truth once your period’s over for the month.

“Of people who might see me and like what they see.”

Okay. Jerk.

At this point, he is doing it on purpose. You see it in the cocky smile and the jesting tone and the way his fingertips draw circles over your shirt, itching to sneak underneath the fabric.

You know him.

He’s so annoying.

“No,” you repeat.

“You sure? Huh?” Fuck, not that sulky voice. You close your eyes, but he raises your chin, making your head move. “Look at me, angel.”

“Hmm?”

“You said no, but you do look a little fiery,” he tells you. Yeah, if he knew that the real reason doesn’t lie in envy or whatever the world thinks of him. “What? My girl is jealous of people I won’t even perceive?”

No.

But she does feel the tickling, flattering lust pooling in her lower stomach, Jeon, thank you very much.

“Jungkook,” you start, although breathier when he moves closer, towards your neck. “Don’t be annoying.”

Which triggers a slightly mocking tone; he tuts before he says, “Baby bails on our date today. Will fight me in a restaurant. And then I’m annoying?”

Your answer is immediate and as shameless as can be.

“Yes.”

And it makes him laugh. Hot and sudden against your skin, his breath makes you shiver more than the relentless cold outside ever could.

“Not gonna lie,” he begins, “that brat behaviour isn’t too terrible.”

“Shut the fuck up, you just—”

He just what? You don’t know. Your sentence floats between you when his nose raises your chin, freeing the path to your neck before he’s nuzzling it slowly.

You feel goosebumps at the back of your neck, hair standing up, tingles across your body where you didn’t deem them possible. Under the blanket, your legs shift, and he hurries to move one of his between yours.

Hand still on your shirt, he places a barely-there, soft kiss to your neck; his fine tresses tickle your face and you crumble.

You have long forgotten your unfinished sentence, but he hasn’t. Asks, “What?”

You bury your nails into his arm, intrigued by the little hiss followed by a subtle laugh. Growing in volume when you say, “I kinda hate you right now.”

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, stretching the second word, “I hate you, too. Absolutely loathe you.”

You silence. Hold onto him when he French kisses between your neck and shoulder. And then breathe, “Then go away.”

“Mhh. Maybe I should.”

“Maybe…”

And then, out of the blue, his teeth dig into your neck like a gentle vampire, stopping immediately when you wince desperately. A hot tongue soothes the bite, a strong hand pushing you down by your shoulder again when your body lifts off the bed just a bit.

He keeps you in place, moving to your jaw. And when you whimper in lust and want, navigating his leg closer to your core, he curses, “Fucking hell, babe.”

Then, he’s inhaling, fingers wandering from your shoulder to your wrist as lips finally clash.

His body moves half onto yours, slowly gauging your reaction to the kiss as if he’s still expecting the burst of cumulated emotions. But when you give into his gesture, granting him your tongue, his face moves further against yours.

Undecided fingers let your wrist go, getting ahold of a patch of your hair. You hold his arms again until you wrap yours around him, fingers on the nape of his neck as you pull him in.

You tilt your heads in unison, deepening the kiss, drinking him up. Let him open your lips with his, keeping them like that, tips of your tongues playing with each other.

His touch drops to your waist and down to your pyjamas, pushing them down a little, grazing your panties. But then, his teasing palm floats up again and settles over one of your tits, squeezing once and drawing a telling moan out of you.

No bra.

He loves your little habits. You live through them casually, never noticing how badly they empty his mind.

Seems your head is blanking just as much at his touches; because you look delirious, lost, breathing in and out heavily. Jungkook basks in the expression, pushing a hand to your neck.

And only when he presses in gently, trapping you in place, do you seem to wake.

Eyes shoot open, and you inhale deeply, as if saved from drowning; remember every bit of today. The lines of his abs. The lip ring. The jewellery on his fingers.

You could ask for him to go on, to wreck you thoroughly. But of all arguments stopping you from doing so, there’s one damn reason that asks to prevent the mess.

Fucking period. Would create a literal bloody chaos. And you’re exhausted.

The thing is — if you asked him, you know he’d give it to you.

He’s reckless and careless. But you can’t risk the state of your sheets and the state of your mind. You have more work to do tomorrow; also, if you continued now, you’d be tired and immobile tomorrow, you know — and you need to be awake for this.

Fully in your senses.

Ugh. Fuck.

And the last damn day of the red waterfall, too. Thinking about it, perhaps that’s the reason for your agitation this week.

In hindsight, you know you’re never bitchy like that — he didn’t give you the nickname of an angel for nothing, right? Fuck PMS. Fuck mood swings.

Your poor boy, enduring the wrath of it.

But maybe you need to act pissed just a bit longer because—

“What?” he asks.

It’s not the time. So you stop him, pushing him away lightly. Shake your head, calling forth a crease between your eyebrows, turning away just a bit.

He falls back, once again keeping his upper body up by his arm. Inquires, “I— are you still mad?”

Truthfully, you answer flatly, “I’m on my period.”

“So?” he answers, laughing until he sees your lips, pressed into a serious line. “I’m not scared of some blood.”

You knew it. He’d give in if you told him to.

But what you want can’t be received during this time of the month. What you want requires unhinged chaos, carelessness, breathlessness. Craze of many minutes, hours.

You want more than a short, cautious session that asks you to peek at the sheets and the towel you’d get every now and then. You want to fucking lose yourself in hi—

“Let’s not,” you answer, your tone nonchalant, “Just. Let’s go to sleep, alright?”

He murmurs your name, trying again; but when you turn on your belly, giving a last sign to end the night, you hear him groan quietly.

You grimace when his head falls onto the pillow with an angry thump, movements under the blanket agitated as he scolds, “My God. Alright. You wanna be pissed for an entire week, then be pissed. I can’t do more than that.”

Oof.

If he only knew. And something in you tells you that he will very soon.

SUNDAY

Too lazy to work through the preparation process in the kitchen, Jungkook and you quietly decide to spend lunch outside.

The café nearby is a place you’ve wanted to visit for quite some time now. And despite the flaky, dry sandwiches they served, you’re glad time passed quickly, the awkward conversations between you coming to an end.

When you return from the bathroom, the sky above looks grey. Desolate. The weather forecast predicted a surprisingly pleasant late fall day, but the approaching rain is obvious. Which, you anticipated more than the weather forecast did, really.

That’s why an umbrella is leaning against the leg of the table, and you grab it as you watch Jungkook fumble with his wallet, stuffing it into his back pocket.

He gulps down the last sip of his Matcha Latte, dimples above the corner of his lips as he smacks the taste away. Then, he gets to his feet, asks, “Ready to go?”

Absent-mindedly, you nod, glancing to the sky and then back to him again. He looks sweet and domestic; but you can’t quite take him seriously. Not necessarily because of the fight anymore.

It’s been far too many days to still dwell.

But because of the damn lip ring, the open jacket, the gelled back hair. His destructive expressions. Like he could devour you whole.

Jungkook doesn’t stay angry for a long time, you’ve noticed. He always tells you how his temper used to be worse as a teenager, but how he’s learned to control himself.

Agonies of childhood, relationships and friendships taught him patience. And you notice. You truly notice.

Because he hands you your purse sweetly, immediately stretching his palm towards you. A slight smile spreads across his face, and you respond with a weak one of yours. Take his hand and let him lead you home.

You’ll walk the short distance; it shouldn’t take longer than seven or eight minutes.

And as you approach home, the hand holding yours mimics the motions of the one gripping the umbrella — he brings both arms into swing, somewhat euphoric but casual when he says, “The food was so dry there.”

It’s odd, talking to him like that after several days again. But you nod slowly, and agree, “I know. But at least we know where not to go anymore.”

“Yeah. But I mean, great beverages.”

“The milkshake, too.”

He tugs you a little closer, elbows soon touching, “I still think you should’ve gotten something warmer. You get a cold fast,” he looks up with squinted eyes, “and it’s already chilly today.”

You squeeze his hand as a thank you; Jungkook cares for you in little, subtle ways, and you’d lie if you said you didn’t think of it every now and then. You answer, “I feel fine, though.”

“Okay. Hope that stays.”

His palm, soft in yours, shifts until he’s intertwining his fingers with yours, attempting a stronger grip. You lift your eyes from the ground to his face for a second, meeting a gentle smile, and feel more pieces of your heart split.

They wander through your body, along your arm and straight into his chest, merging with his own organ. If you could, you’d push him against one of the unlit lamp posts, parted lips opting for his, breathing into his mouth.

He infested your thoughts and stuck with you, no way to escape the moment you first fell for him. And somehow, he managed to keep this effect intact, digging deeper into your mind and making himself home every damn second of the day.

The desire you’ve been feeling doesn’t just stem from lip rings and talent behind the camera. But you also keep realising that you’re truly this man’s, and that this man is truly yours.

A hard truth to fathom when you’re the subject of interest to one unique Jeon Jungkook.

But you want all of him. Want him over you, around you, taking all of what no other guy will ever be allowed to touch. Want him to show you once again where you belong and that you’re in this for as long as his affection is aligned with yours.

Fuck. Home is too far away.

So you look away from him. Which he interprets in an entirely wrong way.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, an inquiry out of nowhere that has your eyebrows kissing.

“No,” you answer.

“You barely talk to me. And,” he halts to wipe away a raindrop. Guess the clouds are gathering. “And I miss you.”

Your ribs might break. He keeps doing this to you.

“I’m not mad, Kook. Was just PMS-ing before,” you try again, adding a nickname for good measure.

“You sure?”

Jungkook is a free-spirited soul, careless to a healthy degree most of the time. There are only a few things that break his composure; familial insecurities, shitty pasts — and then there’s you.

Topping his list of priorities, you’re the only aspect in his current life that pushes him into spirals of overthinking.

And right now, he’s in the middle one, requiring a thousand reassurances. You want to answer. You really do.

But the distraction from above proves too strong the second you open your mouth. In the middle of your walk, the clouds explode, roaring for a moment before a downpour suddenly showers onto you.

The raindrops are thick, the bursting clouds aggressive.

Instinctively, Jungkook opens the umbrella, hastily working on it, and once under it, your steps pick up on pace. You wrap an arm around your body, closing the jacket, hooking your other arm with his and pushing the two of you forward.

“Shit,” you say; you look up, but can barely see anything. Only hear the thunder.

The wind grows colder, grazing the skin of your face incessantly. Despite the umbrella, the merciless rain wets your cheeks, singular drops flying towards you. Jungkook’s hair covers his face, and he shakes them off his eyes.

You gasp when a literal newspaper flies past you.

“Come on,” you encourage, already shivering. “We can talk about it at home, okay?”

But surprisingly, incredibly lost in his own head, he doesn’t give in. He adjusts to your pace, holding the umbrella in a strong grip, sighs and argues, “We can talk about it anytime.”

“Not now.”

“But—”

“Kook, right now’s not the time for this.”

Holy shit.

This man is a phenomenon. And you wish he wasn’t serious, but you know that he is. A full-on simp-y fool, no matter what.

“You’ve avoided me all week,” he yells over the sounds of the rain, sniffling, looking at the storm ahead, “we won’t die. It’s just rain.”

“It’s a thunderstorm, you idiot!” you exclaim back, moving straight forward and past running passengers. You should be home soon. “And in a minute we won’t be able to see shit.”

Jungkook must be made of cement. Broad shoulders, a well-trained body and willpower seem to combat the storm when he suddenly halts in his steps.

Immediately, you grab the umbrella, keeping it from nearly flying away; and when you remain the only presence under it, you ogle back. Watch him stand there in his red-white jacket, getting soaked by Mother Nature.

What the fuck.

You rush back, grabbing his wrist, pulling him forward as much as you can as you reprimand, “What the hell are you doing? Come on.”

“You’ll talk to me if I do?”

“Jungkook, we’ll die here, I—”

You flinch and gasp when another strong wind blows, once and for all ripping the umbrella off your hand and making it fly a couple feet from you. You watch it break through the fog of rain, mouth wide open with a dozen curses on your tongue.

“Fuck,” you exclaim, gritting your teeth, “I will. Just please, okay?!”

He’s so annoying. The way he looks at you, breathing hard, white shirt drenched and sticking to his body. You tug at his arm, forcing him to run when you do.

It takes you two entire minutes, wordless as you wish them to be, to reach his street and apartment. You tremble in the hallways, rushing up the stairs, and eventually take a seconds-long breath when you step into the flat.

It’s cold. So cold — and you had your jacket protecting your shirt. Your jeans and hair are soaked, your socks a sponge, soaked in a couple millilitres of water.

But it’s relieving when you take the jacket and your jeans off, pulling out the oversized, wrinkled shirt from under your pants, covering half your thighs. Jungkook slips out of his boots and rushes for a towel, approaching your heaving form at the door to dry your hair.

You quiver for a couple more minutes, fearing an approaching cold after all. But once settled on the couch, indulging in the comfort of thick joggers and a fresh cotton shirt, you sigh.

The silence still holding on only breaks when you drop your head back on the couch. A warm hand sneaks to your cheek, and when you open your eyes, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“Warming up…” You lean into the touch, though still irritated by his behaviour before. “Thought it’d rain, but that was a surprise.”

“Yeah.” A pause. And then, “Was a little romantic, too.”

Unbelievable.

You roll your eyes at him, head tilting, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. Perhaps he’s joking. The goofy smile suggests that he is.

“Was it, yeah? You just—”

You click your tongue. Think back to him nearly offering his soul to Zeus just a couple minutes ago. Standing in the heavy rain as if he was the lead character in The Notebook.

“Don’t be mad now. I’m kidding,” he says. His voice isn’t as soft anymore; frustrated when he tries again, “Talk to me. What’s the problem?”

“Seriously? I told you there’s nothing.”

“Nah, cut that bullshit. You haven’t talked to me or properly touched me all week. I’m trying my fucking best.”

“I know. This isn’t what it’s about,” you defend, shaking your head, getting to your feet, “but about that insane little stunt out there.”

And the fact that he’s been driving you crazy. The week’s distress mixed with whatever he made you feel yesterday; today’s insanity further adding to it.

When he doesn’t speak, you sigh, waving it off, and opt to walk away. But all in vain.

You make it two steps away from the couch before he flashes up, too; filmesque, you gasp at the strong grip around your elbow, getting a tiny second to process the situation before he’s twirled you around.

He probably didn’t intend it, but you nearly clash against him, stupidly losing your balance and stumbling over his and your own feet. You put a hand to your temples, fearing the worst — what if you fall and clash against the corner of your glass table?

But no. In slow motion, he keeps you in his firm hold, preventing the fall, but still letting you gently drop onto the fluffy, white carpet. Your investment. You’re happy about it now because it caught you the way the wooden floor wouldn’t.

Your movements towards the grounds are slow — or at least that’s what they feel like. But when he appears above you, pinning your wrists to the carpet hard, he’s breathless; and you think that maybe the fall didn’t happen as slowly after all.

“Okay,” he says through gritted teeth. From down here, his jaw looks as sharp as a ship’s deck, the Adam’s apple bobbing when he challenges, “You’re gonna fucking tell me what’s going on.”

Oh. He’s mad.

His eyes are burning, jaw flexed. Defined chest rising in anger.

There’s nothing going on. At least nothing that warrants another fight.

But you don’t tell him that just yet. Instead, all your perplexed mind and tongue manage is, “What?”

“I forgave you. We were both shitty that day, you know? But I still did forgive you, and you’re still being like that.” His knuckles must be paling, because his grip is iron hard. “Why?”

“I—”

“I’ll apologise if that’s what you want. I did, actually. I’m sorry, okay? There. But this is just,” fingers squeeze your wrists, and you hiss, “ridiculous.”

Your following grimace, lips twitching, eyes squinting, go through to him immediately. The hold doesn’t hurt or bother you too much, but the leg between your knees does. Jungkook wouldn’t wound you; he knows his limits.

But perhaps he thinks he’s going overboard when he loosens his fingers, pressing his palms against your skin, rubbing to soothe the missing pain.

He doesn’t quite move away, though, still stubborn when you assure once again, “I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“So you keep saying.”

“I’m not,” you tell him, heart racing at the proximity. You close your legs around his knee, irritated by the barrier. “I promise.”

He doesn’t give your gesture much attention just yet; doesn’t know that his body over yours is exactly what you’ve been craving. But he does understand the sincerity in your voice. Finally.

When he moves closer, pupils melting to fluid gems, you let out an intentional, teeny tiny moan that you’re sure he confuses for a relieved sigh. He moves his palms onto the carpet, caging you in; you keep your wrists where they are, but dig your nails into your skin.

You want to kiss him so badly. You miss him so much.

“Then tell me what’s wrong, angel,” he demands again, quieter and softer this time.

“I don’t know.”

With the fury evaporating bit by bit, his eyes look bigger and rounder again. The desperation of the week gathers in them and his expression, shooting all the way down to his tongue; and when he whispers to you next, your heart collapses, “Please?”

He’s sweet… so utterly oblivious to your true thoughts.

But you couldn’t feel more embarrassed about the pictures you’ve been painting and the words ghosting in that mind of yours. He’d do all of it, no questions asked. But… fuck.

“This is so dumb,” you answer, fingertips dragging down the carpet and then up to his waist, “like… you’ll laugh.”

The touch encourages him. His arms are shaking now, holding him up in this position for too long, and the wandering fingers along his sides and chest must weaken him like his lines affect you.

“That’s a good thing,” he answers, closer than ever when he balances his weight on his arms now, forearms touching the carpet. “I’d rather laugh than fight.”

But the closeness remains for mere seconds before he pulls back again, sitting up with a groan. Hands on his thighs, he lets himself fall on bended knees. He watches your still helpless body on the floor until you work on getting off the carpet, letting him pull you up when he offers a hand.

You ruffle through your hair, legs folding. Your pout is more directed towards yourself than anyone else; you totally realise you didn’t need to confuse him the way you did. Stupid period.

“Listen, I just…” you start, scraping your scalp.

His knees bump against your legs when he drifts closer; there’s something about the two of you sitting on your living room carpet like this.

“It’s just that I want to be able to walk tomorrow.”

And that’s it. That’s literally it.

He halts. His hand was moving up, probably to touch your face, your hair, anything soft to ease the mood. But he cancels the tender gesture, fingers falling back to his knee when he absorbs your words.

Silences with cocked eyebrows. Processes the way you lick your lips and look away, tugging at his wide shirt. And then, once he’s understood, he tsks. Chuckles.

And you, immediately on guard, push lightly against his shoulder, unsurprised when he doesn’t buckle, and defend, “Told you you’d laugh!”

“No, but,” he says, sweet crinkles around his eyes, head tilting and bunny teeth giving way to the prettiest smile in existence, “what are you talking about, hm?”

He knows. If only his feigned innocence was as sweet as his grin, too.

Still, you opt to clarify, “That thing you did yesterday.”

“What thing?”

Ugh.

“The whole modelling thing!” you exclaim, raising your hands. His beam reaches up to his eyes; his occasional giggles are killing you. “Stop. Do you have any clue what you looked like?”

He has the audacity to shrug. “They let me see the pics on their cameras. They’ll come out well.”

“Well? Dude, you looked…”

“What?”

“Dangerous. Like you could eat me up.”

Eat me up might be accurate. It’s the description floating through your little mind since yesterday.

“Ah,” he says, nodding smugly. You know he’s about to tease you. Because— “You specifically, yeah? I was just doing what they told me to.”

“What, is me specifically wrong? Anyone else you’d wanna eat up or—”

“You’re really fixating on that, huh?” Jungkook snickers. His tongue pokes the inside of his right cheek in a brief pause, and then he adds, “You’ve got a point. Didn’t think it’d affect you, though.”

Slowly, but surely, he seems to grasp his own power over you. You think he’s reminiscing about yesterday’s chaos and confidence; maybe even viewing it all from your point of view.

Because his smirk, albeit subtle, is sly when he asks, “What was it like?”

“I…” You click your tongue. “You’ll take me apart if I tell you.”

“Why so?”

“Because.” A beat of silence. You swallow to wet your throat. Then. “I’d ask you to.”

“Ah…” Another understanding nod, as though you’re lecturing him on NASA’s rocket science and he’s finally grasping its meaning. “Yeah?”

“I saw you from afar,” you point into a direction arbitrarily, as if he’s still several feet from you and not mere inches, “and I wanted to,” you inhale when a finger reaches out, straight to a vein in your neck, gentle, exploring, “let you do anything with me that you wanted to.”

“Ohh.” His palm covers your neck, as if he’s coddling you. But you know what that touch will morph into, so you sneak closer to him, lean forwards. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“…Right.”

His thumb moves up and rubs under your jaw, then up your face and to your lower lip. The touch is soft and careful, as though gauging your reaction and searching for permission.

Your shaky, little exhale is nearly unnoticeable, but you know he catches it, and you know he already sees the consent in your eyes. But he still doesn’t lean in. Moves his eyes across your face, to his hand, to your neck and then all the way back to your gaze.

And then, contrasting the loving movements and affectionate gesture, he smiles. Mischief spreads in his stare, and his fingers retreat to the back of your neck, pulling you closer by a miniscule inch.

“So that’s what it was all this time? You’re on your knees for me, is that it?”

“Babe…” You look down, daring a joke. “Quite literally.”

You shuffle in your spot when he laughs quietly, hooking your fingers into the neckline of his shirt. You emphasise, “I mean it. Just… If you must know? I would’ve been okay with handing you all the control, okay? All of it.”

You’re aware you’re acting as though he doesn’t wreck your shit every other time, too. In fact, that’s probably how the two of you started out.

His absolute craze at the frat party, drunk. College nights when you’d confront him about your bullshit — weak excuses to make him press you against his dorm walls. A hand clapped over your mouth, your ass out, dick buried inside until you felt him in your guts—

You’ve always been at his mercy — but you want him to split you in half this time.

“You would’ve?” he repeats. “And now? Still want that?”

You look down again. There’s no shyness in that movement, no averting his beastly eyes — your focus lies elsewhere because you have a theory. Which proves true.

The swelling under his joggers, right there between his legs wasn’t there before.

So you gather your voice, and say, “…Yes.”

“Hmm. Why didn’t you tell me?” His fingernails dig lightly into your skin, and right in the middle of the tension, he pouts for a little moment. “I genuinely thought you were still pissed.”

“I was on my period…” You shrug your shoulders. “It was also late. I was so tired, and—”

He waits.

“I knew that you’d do it if I asked for it.”

“I would’ve.” What’s worse? The confirmation or the tickling breath against your cheek? When did he get so close? “I still would. If you want me to.”

“I just said yes,” you tug at the shirt, eliciting an amused grin as the tips of your noses collide, “you’ll keep asking and,” your heart beats at a million miles a minute, “just not kiss me, is that it?”

Your provocation proves effective just the right amount.

Because he opens his mouth, seemingly snarling — you can’t tell for sure, since his lips clash against yours within half a moment. Determined as his hand immediately flashes to the small of your back, supporting you before you fall backwards on the carpet.

And then he kisses you like a man starved. Like he’s run out of saliva, dehydrated. Seeks your tongue, tastes like earthy Matcha Latte and something you can’t quite define — something that’s so uniquely him.

Your kiss muffles his tiny sound, a mixture of a sigh and a moan, body impatient as he tries to push closer to you, though separated by your clashing knees. You understand — you, too, would let him smother you under his weight if you could.

So you pull your folded legs apart, shifting until they surround him and attempting to straddle him. But he’s plotting something else: his fingers hold your jaw, keeping you in place, and the hot, wet kiss breaks when he pulls away.

You catch a brief glimpse of glistening lips before he moves to trail down your body, leaning in to teeth at your shirt, pushing it off your shoulder and kissing your skin for a fleeting second. And when the shirt shifts back into position, his other hand works on your tits.

Grabs your shirt at its hem, lifting it over your mounds until they’re free, nipples perked, home to him. In a haze, the tip of his tongue touches the right nub, and you shiver.

More so when he whispers, “Am so hard for you, I’ll fucking combust.”

For you.

You’ll repent for how badly you want him in your mouth.

You caress his thigh, sneaking up until you reach the swelling under the fabric. You feel it immediately, firm as a rock, big and fat, so sensitive that he hisses once you touch it.

“No,” he commands, the word barely a breath, “no, no. Don’t or I’ll come like this.”

He says it against your neck. Warm and tickling. You feel goosebumps arise, your reactions slow, but your heart fast. His fingers engulf your wrist, leading your palm to his cheek; you feel the smileless dimple under your thumb when he darts out his tongue to wet his lips.

Then, you close your eyes; the pecks against your neck are exhilarating. The moving touch, down to your tits and then back up to your jaw is one of his favourite games; you move your hips against the carpet, soaked panties sticking against your pussy.

“You’re…” you start, fingers in his fluffy hair as he bites your nipple. You moan, your words shaky, “You’re— more into this today.”

“I mean… after everything you just said to me?” He chuckles, moving up, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. His mouth brushes yours.

“And I missed her.” Free hand between your thighs, he taps just over your clit; your lips part. “Too crude to say I can’t wait for her to swallow my cock?”

Well. Fuck.

If it wasn’t him, you’d cringe. But it is him, and the truth is that you’re dying for him to press himself onto you. To wrap himself around you, to wrap yourself around him.

You want him to cut you in half, want to be his little toy until you can barely stand.

“Maybe,” you tell him, “but I promise that she wants it, too.”

That’s it, that’s it.

It’s when teeth meet again, the kiss messy, your arms around his neck. He holds you by your waist, pulling you off the floor a little, readjusting his position, so you can climb onto him.

You tilt your head as far as you can, taking him in, drooling, lips and tongue moving wildly to taste all of him. His digits wander from your back to your ass, pushing between your cheeks and pressing against your clenching hole.

The gesture is short lived, but enough for you to rub against him. The urge to rip your panties and part your folds over his girth is profuse; to dampen his length and empty his balls just like this.

But he clenches his jaw, groaning. Halts your movement with a strong grip before pulling at your hair without breaking the kiss. You move your fingers up and down his arm, and then dash it upwards to bury them in his locks, too.

Only, instead of reaching his mane, your hand hits the glass table on your left; you grunt into the kiss and then move away to exclaim, “Ah, fuck.”

Jungkook must’ve heard the sound because he catches on right away, laughing. Gently, he pushes you off his lap, gets back on his knees and then up. He pulls you with him as he says, “Alright. Get on the couch before you hurt yourself.”

“Couch?”

You’re surprised; not the bed this time, is it?

Then again — Jungkook isn’t necessarily picky when it comes to this; cue flashback to bathroom adventures.

So you still listen. Wobbly legs drag you to the sofa, plumping onto it as you watch him follow. The bulge is huge, hotter than hellfire when he palms it and lets go again.

“Too damn lazy to get to the bedroom,” he declares before dropping back on his knees.

You thought he’d climb over you, push you back across the length of the couch. But instead, he seems satisfied with your helpless position, pushing back the carpet and table some to take a seat right in front of you.

You admire his patience — the outline of his cock presses against its confines. Does it not hurt? His expression doesn’t reveal any discomfort as he adjusts against the hard floor; the carpet barely provides any relief.

But the discomfort doesn’t redirect his focus, his touch heading towards you, urging you to remove your joggers at turtle’s pace. He throws them over his shoulder and onto the table, one leg of them dangling off of it.

Left in your panties, you watch his hands curl under your knees, freeing his way to where you want to ache. Lifts your legs, places them on his shoulders carefully, amused and delighted when your bent limbs drag him closer to your cunt.

His tenacious tongue peeks between his teeth, and he fondles your thighs before he reaches the hem of your panties. They bug him — separate your heat from his mouth; in this moment, a crime to him.

“Help me here real quick,” he whispers, and you raise your ass, letting him drag the underwear off of you.

It sticks to your pussy for a second, obscenely flooded with your gradually building arousal. You think he sees, because he halts for a second, eyes flitting up to you before he says, “I think this’ll be fun.”

“You promise?”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

Well…

You shrug your shoulders, but smile tellingly, eliciting a smirk that decorates his gorgeous face, closing in bit by bit. The cool air evaporates the nearer he draws, replaced by his hot breath.

And then… just to test…

He darts out his tongue, the sharp tip of it tickling your clit. Your reaction, much desired, stirs a new type of appetite in him. Because your chin trembles just once, just for a moment. Lashes flutter, and his heart skips a beat.

As he inhales, but never exhales, you question, “What?”

“Nothing,” he assures, blowing against your sex, “just. So very pretty.”

You look down at him. His shoulders look broader from here. Muscular, hair dark and silky. His lips are colourful, handsome, nose ready to bury in your pelvis. If he thinks you’re pretty, then he’s the definition of true aesthetic.

Slowly, you reach for his hair, brushing through it before you bring his head closer to you, hinting at the obvious, and say, “And you.”

“Not like you, though…”

He waits, allowing the both of you a moment of preparation.

And then… he’s kissing your pussy. Lightly at first, up and down, a hand on your inner thigh that moves closer and closer to your folds.

He sighs once before a digit parts your nether lips sticking together, and then licks a stripe between them. You whine quietly; his eyes close. He’s beautiful like this; in a minute, he’ll look at you again, mouth swollen, and you’ll wish for his touch to last and last and last…

“Please,” you only whisper, but he doesn’t answer.

Instead, his sweet kisses turn into something more. Way more wetness, way more tongue. And before you know it, he’s splitting your legs wider, pushing in to start devouring you.

Your moans are intoxicating. They’re sudden, but not surprising, voiced against the ceiling when your head falls back. The heels of your feet dig into his back, pushing him closer when his knees are already touching the couch.

The movements of his mouth are warm, a waterfall. He eats you out until he’s slurping, drenching you further. He’ll slide in effortlessly, you already know. Will bury every single inch of himself inside you, fill you up for the rest of the day.

And your high — it builds up embarrassingly fast. Perhaps because it’s been a while; or maybe because it’s Jeon Jungkook you’re dealing with. Either way, your lower stomach aches, the knot pressing against your guts.

“Kookie,” you murmur, yet again left without an answer.

He knows not to break his focus this time; knows that you’re close, recognises it in your grip around the patch of his hair. Hears it in your desperate whimpers, louder by the second. Words more unintelligible now.

Your thigh is twitching every now and then, quivering, and he takes it as a sign to keep sucking and swirling. Then flicks his wet muscle over your engorged clit, adding to your exclaims when his nimble fingers glide into you swiftly.

Too swiftly. Two of them are barely enough; and he adds a third. Your cheeks heat up, body sliding down — partly because you’re dying inside, partly because he’s pulling you towards him.

Jungkook knows how to navigate your body, how to direct you towards a rationality-breaking explosion. And he does. He does with the plethora of lustful licks, softly circling around your clit. His nose presses against it every time he shifts downwards, tasting you thoroughly.

“I’m almost—” you voice, and he hums, vibrations torture.

It’s a game to him that he’s skilled at; he understands his moves, and he never loses. Neither today as he clamps his hand onto your waist, fingers pumping in and out of you, curling and digging, massaging your favourite spot.

They turn and twist, two fingers of his free hand settling around your clit and raising it for better access.

It takes probably half a minute longer… and then… then…

Your voice grows in pitch, nearly illegal for a Sunday afternoon, but music to his ears. So genuine and sweet. Corners of your eyes glistening. He holds your legs apart as you start begging, but all he truly makes out is the eager repetition of his name.

He wishes your shirt didn’t cover your upper body; wishes he could see the heaving of your chest, the perked nipples, the sweat on your clavicles.

But for now, this is enough.

The way he sees waves of pleasure wash over you, eyes rolled back, not looking at him anymore. Your lips are dry, your tongue probably, too, and he wants to kiss it wet again.

You moan and wince and keen, body restless. The tug of his hair becomes more prominent and palpable, but the sensation makes him smile. You’re probably barely noticing, too.

That is, until your hold and breathing finally calm down. You keep riding the wave, your head turning in odd circle-ish shapes. He kisses your pussy, helping you through it, only stopping when you open your eyes.

“Well, that was…” he says, lips as swollen as you anticipated, shimmering, “a good start.”

“Every single time,” you begin, panting, shaking your head. You watch him as he gets on his feet, moving in to your mouth. “Every single time I think it can’t get better, and then I remember it’s just the fucking beginning.”

He shifts to you slowly, grazing your lips, and declares with a soft smile, “More to come, I promise. Gonna have so much fun with you.”

“Do your worst—”

One more kiss. Shorter this time, but you recognise the familiar, lingering taste immediately. Neutral, not too bad. Fills you with pride, because he never fails to guarantee that he loves it.

But you can’t wallow in it because he retreats quickly, impatient hands freeing his golden body from his clothes. The shirt falls somewhere next to the carpet, his own joggers soon discarded, landing on top of yours and sliding to the ground together.

He’s a menace when he climbs onto the couch, knees digging in and creating a shift on each side of your body. His bulge, still hidden behind his boxers, floats in front of your face; from this close, you see the droplet of precum darken a spot of the light purple cotton.

“Next stage?” he wonders above you, stroking your hair gently, as if he’s not about to explore the back of your throat. “Want or do I rather not?”

“What do you mean with not?” Your breathing is heavy as you lift your palm and engulf the imprint of his dick. He flinches, hips moving back a bit before they come back. “Get this shit off.”

He chuckles. Brings his hand to your cheek, thumb caressing it and voice clear when he says, “You’re so cute. Being demanding and all.”

But he still listens. Gets off the couch, slides his underwear off, leaves you gaping.

Gaping at the hooked and girthy tower. Gaping at how the slit on top of his head glimmers. Gaping at the moles along the stiff length, staring at the thick veins, at the full, firm balls.

“Tongue out,” he orders; you do.

The ink-free hand pushes his dick down to you, tapping it against your tongue as you open up wide. He feels heavy, hot, the skin smooth. Your head moves forward to swallow more, but he pulls back.

Strokes himself for a couple seconds, thumb spreading the precum over his head. You drool. Watch attentively, as though you’re learning — until he eventually guides it back to you and positions it into your still gaping mouth.

Enters it slowly. Slightly salty. Then says, “Breathe. And don’t overthink it too much.”

Huh.

Well. Damn.

Because…

At times, you do worry about your expressions; about your tears when you gag around him, the coughing fits you get in the middle of it all. So that’s a surprise. Attentive.

But your mind is blank today anyway; so you nod, moving to lick the underside of the tip, and he laughs, mumbling, “Alright. Have it, babe.”

And you do.

Slowly at first, cautious as you twirl your tongue around him. You don’t notice much discomfort just yet, thankful that he’s easing you into this. A third of his length buried inside, you close your lips around him and hollow your cheeks.

Which is probably when the invisible threads holding him back finally break.

“Okay,” he says, “you got this.”

His knees move in, more inches intruding. His fingers drift to the back of your head, and you dig yours in his brawny thighs. He grows harder in your mouth, impossibly bigger the more you drag your lips along his member.

How gratifying. You’ve craved this for hours and days. What was your argument about again?

Your head drops further back when he shoves himself inside, more and more as time passes. You imitate his prior advances — hum and close your eyes. Bring a hand to the base of his cock, pumping all that you won’t be choking around.

When you gaze up at him to analyse his reactions, he leaves your mind vacant. Because his head is raised, like yours, jawline edged and acute. Mouth open until he meets your eyes.

You hope he’s seeing something just as lascivious and mind-numbing from his perspective. Maybe messy hair, laying against the softness of your shirt. Or a cock appearing out of and disappearing behind pretty lips.

Slowly blinking eyes that shut just as slowly again, and a tongue that falls out and licks along a vein whenever your head moves to the side. Allowing you a couple deep breaths.

He must be perceiving it all, too.

Because a moment later, he gnarls, like a wild animal, and states, “This won’t do—”

—Before putting both hands under your ears, holding your head and…

Ramming his cock into your mouth.

You gasp around him, taken aback and delighted at once. Feel the effect between your legs, hoping to not defile the couch too much.

Head still thrown back, falling further, you already feel the ache in the back of your neck. Your attempts of holding onto the couch prove futile because there is nothing to hold onto, armrests too far away; so you return to his thighs.

But he keeps your body steady, held at the spot between his legs. Your head is a different story: it bounces back and forth, the exhales through your nose frantic as he pounds into your throat before he slows down again.

“Good, gooood,” he drags out, observing the glistening veins as he draws back to his tip and then moves in again. “Doing very, very well. Looks so gorgeous, baby.”

You don’t know what he’s talking about — about you, his cock, the position. Everything?

He keeps up the gentler pace, allowing you a break. Allowing himself the pleasure of this very image. Pretty lips surrounding a pretty dick.

And perhaps your desperate, little moans, accompanied by rapid blinking, set a fuse loose in his brain.

Because a moment later, Jungkook dares a step further — cock already stuffing your entire mouth, he pushes in more. The fat monstrosity reaches far, your gag reflex not as much at bay anymore as before.

The view seems to spur him on, though, and you can imagine why. If you were him, you’d probably enjoy the drooling mess under him, too. Salivating all over his dick, you feel the gross drop of your spit land on your clavicle, throat constricting as he thrusts in.

And just when you’re about to tap his thighs — very reluctantly, too — to catch your breath, he pulls back, fingers immediately digging into your cheeks to straighten your neck and head. You cough, eyes teary, your breathing quick and uncontrolled.

Like a toy, he moves your head to the left, to the right, a sly smirk playing around his lips until he moves down to you, back arched. Amidst your panting, he presses a brief kiss to your mouth, slippery against the dampness.

And then he says, as casually as he shouldn’t, “You’d look so beautiful in leashes.”

“…What?”

But he ignores your mumbled inquiry, instead thumbing at your lower lip. His dark eyes flit from one facial feature to another, pink lip caught between his teeth. The firm chest rises dangerously when he breathes in.

“Should I come in your mouth?” he asks as if you’d ever say no; as if you don’t know that he’s asking because he won’t. “Huh? Shoot it all the way down your throat?”

“Do it, fucking coward.”

…And just like that, he moves back.

tumblr is cruel and the 1k block limit in the new editor won't let me post the entire thing at once lol so here's the rest in a reblog!!! <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 fic #jungkook scenario #jeon jungkook smut #thebtswritersclub #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #jungkook

4K notes · View notes

catiuskaa · 3 months

Text

need you to [Lee] Know.

SUMMARY: minho loves you: to him, it’s as clear as water. Its only after he finds out that you’re starting to doubt it—he needs you to know just how much.

REQUESTED! here by an anonnie. I hope you like it, pookie, ‘cause I had fun doing this! <3

CW: slight hurt/comfort if you squint, but it’s just fluffy fluffy lino being really down bad and not knowing how to grasp it tbh which just gives me my serotonin dosis for the rest of the month lol

WC: 1.2k

A/N: also omfg kats posting two requests on the same day? that’s right baby, look at me go! 🤩🤩🤩

[🔅★🌼★🔅]

Minho was not the type to show his affection.

He comes off more like a shy kitten that slowly gets used to you, your sweet smell and how soft your touch feels, and then slowly opens up.

“But, uh… can I be real with you for a sec?”

It’s a feminine voice with a strong accent. He can hear it comming from your room, and the slight glitchiness of it makes it obvious that it’s a phone call set on speaker.

“Sure.” He can almost see you shrug, but he just closes the main door as soft as he can, pleading for the cats to stay silent for a little bit longer.

Minho can’t exactly place together why he’s overhearing your phone call. He knows who you’re calling, he can recognize Chan’s sister by her tone. But still, he keeps quiet, gently placing his bag down and silently taking his shoes off.

“I just— and don’t get me wrong, but, your boyfriend kinda seems… bored of you.”

What? Minho has to hold back a scoff, remaining as still as a statue next to the front door. He’s waiting for you to deny it.

“You think so?”

And then, he frowns, because you didn’t. Instead, your tone sounded hesitant. Dubious.

As if you weren’t sure if Minho loved you.

“You say he keeps cancelling your plans together. He has stopped making time for you. Like, girl, you can’t remember when was the last time he told you he loved you.”

Hannah pauses, and that only makes it worse, because it lets every word sink in.

“I uh, well. I ain’t gonna say that he should throw flowers at you every single second, but, uh, you know.”

He can only hear you groan loudly, almost picturing that cute motion you usually did when he meaningly teased you, taking your hair and covering your face with it.

“Can’t say anything for sure with him,” Hannah adds. “But, just by what you’re saying…”

Minho’s heart clenches tightly in his chest. He doesn’t want to keep hearing this... this nonsense. God, he loves you. And you… can’t see it? Frowning, he starts walking to your room, but his movements end in a halt, his hand just above the doorknob, threatening to grasp it and fully open the door.

“Girl, it’s gotta be late down there. Sorry this whole call was about me.” Your chuckle comes off slightly dry. “I’ll talk to you later, ‘kay? Go get some good sleep.” Your tone just screams how bad you’re feeling, and it just makes his chest swell with guilt that slowly creeps up his body.

Maybe he had been taking you for granted?

He opens the door as soon as you press the red button, sighing loudly after ending the call. When you see him, you jump in your place, startled by his presence, and you stand up awkwardly.

“Minho!” You say in a squirm. He can’t help but cringe slightly.

“No.” His tone sounds childish, like a petty toddler who didn’t want to eat the carrots in their lunch.

You frown slowly, the slightly wary grimace melting on your face, allowing a soft confusion to step in.

“No what?” You mutter.

He walks to you slowly, and grabs your hand, taking it to his chest, pressing it flat against his clothed skin, over his heart. You can feel his heartbeat, a not-too-slow rhythm: thump, thump, thump.

“Call me by a pet name. Any pet name.” He says, his tone equally firm and soft. “Call me by a pet name and say you love me.”

He’s serious, but god, so fucking nervous. His brain is slowly melting away because he’s so bad with words and he isn’t sure any action could be enough. He’s already blushing.

“I, huh… I love you, jagi.” You mumble, still confused.

And even if you don’t say it as fondly as always, or if your smile isn’t beaming like how it usually did, you can feel his heartbeat quickening.

“You can feel it, right?” His eyes are soft and worried.

Oh, God. You just know you’ve gotta be pouting. It’s hard to react with words, and the only thing you can fathom doing is linking your arms behind his nape and sinking your face on the crook of his neck.

“Min, I’m so sorry.”

“N-no, kitten.” He mumbles, hugging you tightly too. “I am the one who’s sorry.”

He breathes in, drowning in your soft fragrance. Home. It’s you, it’s warm, and he loves it.

He loves you.

So, he says it. He has to say it. He can’t not say it.

“I love you.”

And it feels so good to let it out that he chuckles. He has to say it again. “I love you.” And again. “God, I love you.” Just once more. “I love you so much.” He’s giggling like a fool, but he’s a fool in love, and that makes him blush even more. “I can’t not love you. Not loving you would turn everyday into Mondays. Like, I can get it tattoed if you want me to. I just. I love you so much that ‘I love you’ can’t even—.”

You move from his shoulder, now facing him, and you cradle his face, pulling him in a kiss that’s so sweet that threatens to give both of you type 1 diabetes.

“Y-you’re crying.” Minho mumbles, softly brushing the stray tears away with his thumb.

“It’s your fault, silly.” You sniff, giggling too. “How can you say stuff like that?”

Your heart is beating like crazy, the butterflies in your stomach are multiplying by seconds and in your cheeks glistens a bright and deep shade of pink.

You want to say it too. But in his own way.

So, you take his hand and settle it on your chest. Right above your heart.

It’s a rapid thump thump thump that Minho feels right away. He can’t help but smile widely.

“I super-mega-love you.” He teases, picking you up in between his arms.

You’re laughing, squirming in his hold.

“Lee Minho! Put me down!”

But he just grips your body tighter to his, and walking as if you weighted nothing, heading towards your bed, plopping you down there.

“Good girl.” He snickers, and you blush even further. Minho takes your chin tenderly and pecks your lips. For a moment, certain kind of idea flashes through his head, but he just kissed you again, following his previous thought.

He opens your closet with a toothy grin, and halfly eyes the window before picking up a random shirt, a grey hoodie that used to be his, a dark skirt and your thigh-high socks, going as far as to the suspenders for you.

He then turns to face you, his eyes glowing. He can’t wait to see you all dolled up. Minho feels like a teenager, and he loves it.

“You have twenty minutes.”

You blink at him, and you can’t help but smile, confused.

“I’m taking your cute ass to a date.”

It may not be an instant fix to the struggles to your relationship, but as you two walk down the beach, looking for colourful rocks that match each other’s eye colour, you know that he’s worth fighting for.

Regarding Minho, he happily hums to himself, eyes glued to your figure as you cackle and run in the beach, as you look behind you and giggle at the prints your boots leave in the humid sand.

He smiles, running towards you, tackling you and holding you in his arms.

He’s not letting go anytime soon.

~Kats, who always struggles to choose a picture for the fics because istg lino looks good in every single moment!!

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cupid-styles · 1 month

Text

casual

partially based on casual by chappell roan and a lil bit of sad personal experience hehe

word count: 2k

content warnings: angst (no happy ending), references to smut, alcohol, harry being a douche, not ramadan friendly

main masterlist | talk to me

. . .

From: H (12:47 a.m.)

Come over?

To: H (12:50 a.m.)

Give me 15

From: H (12:52 a.m.)

. . .

It’s not unusual for her nights to look like this. Or her early mornings, rather.

It wasn’t always this way. When she first met Harry, she wanted nothing to do with him romantically or intimately. She’d heard about his reputation — it wasn’t anything bad as long as you were looking for the same thing. He was an expert in bed and the friends that slept with him always provided rave reviews. Ever excited rumblings of, “oh my God, he’s so caring! He made me finish twice before he even took his cock out” and “he’s the perfect one night stand — seriously, I’ve never had anyone better.”

But Y/N didn’t care for that.

She was a serial monogamous, always bumping around from one lengthy relationship to the next. In hindsight, she supposes she wasn’t any better than Harry, who earned his notoriety from a series — a long series — of casual hookups.

If you needed a rebound, you went to Harry.

If you were going through a dry spell, you went to Harry.

If you were just horny and needed someone to go home with at the end of the night (and he hadn’t miraculously already found somebody else yet), you went to Harry.

And Y/N never planned to sleep with him. Ever, really. He was a fine friend, someone who mixed well with their mutual friends, but they hardly exchanged conversation except for the occasional nicetie. She had his phone number from when he planned Rachel’s surprise birthday party last year and they were friends on Venmo, passing back the same $20 every month for drinks or a shared Uber.

That was the extent of their friendship.

Until a few months back, when Y/N was down in the dumps. She’d been seeing this girl, Samantha, for a month or two, assuming that they were headed straight towards a happy, exclusive relationship — only to discover that Samantha was sleeping with and seeing just about 10 other people on the side. And it only came out because Samantha happened to contract chlamydia from one of her sexual partners, so she’d been forced to tell Y/N for the sake of her health.

Y/N's friends, Rachel, Maeve, and Len gave her time to wallow. They offered it to her on a silver platter, even, offering multiple girls nights out (and in), providing Y/N all the space she needed to cry and complain and talk about how hurt she felt.

But then… a week of moping turned into two, which turned into three, which eventually turned into a month and a half. Her friends were exhausted from watching her spiral into sadness, so they did the only thing they knew: They sat her down and told her she needed to rebound. Fast.

“And who the hell am I supposed to rebound with?” Y/N asked through a sniffle. The only thing that made this whole thing worse was her friends staging an intervention for her because she was being annoyingly sad about her not-really-breakup-but-felt-like-a-breakup. “See, that’s the best part of being friends with a man whore,” Maeve replied eagerly. Len and Rachel sat on either side of her with bright eyes, nodding excitedly. “Harry! He already said he’s down and everything!” “Wait— you already asked him?” “We just put the idea in his head. Don’t worry, men are stupid,” Len quickly waved her off, “But he’s going out with everyone tonight. We’ll feed you a few shots to get you just buzzy enough, and then send you off to your night in heaven. You won’t even remember that girl’s name by the time Harry’s done with you!” Y/N cringed. “Hasn’t, like… everyone slept with him though?” Maeve shrugged. “Yeah, but he’s clean. He gets regular testing and uses condoms. Really, Y/N, it’s sort of a rite of passage at this point. But you should do it only if you’re comfortable— don’t let us force you into it.” Y/N swallowed tightly. She had to admit, the thought of a rebound sounded… appealing. She’d swiped through dating apps looking for one, but she was too scared that a one night stand would end in her bloody murder. And it helped that Harry already knew what he was doing, and— wait, was she crazy or was she actually starting to consider this? “Alright, fine,” she replied with a shaky exhale, “Let’s do this.”

That was four months ago.

And what was supposed to be an evening of stupid, lusty, casual sex turned into Y/N falling hard. It wasn’t her fault, though — no, not when he panted breathy promises into her mouth in the back of the Uber, mumblings of “just tonight, you know that, right?”. She’d replied just how she’d rehearsed it in her brain hours prior: “yes, yeah, I know— just tonight. Just for tonight.”

"Just for tonight" shifted into Harry asking her to stay until the morning for breakfast and shower sex. Then, the following weekend, he texted her the ever classy you still awake? at just past midnight. She was indeed up, doing nothing but rotting on her couch and watching a documentary about the deep sea — and her hookup with Harry had been good, really good, and she wasn’t going to turn down another night of orgasms.

As he wrapped a condom around his dick and pressed messy kisses down her neck, he whispered the same hurried sentiments from the weekend before: “didn’t see anyone I wanted tonight and we were good, yeah? It was good. So just… just one more night, okay? That’s fine, right?”

Foolishly, with flittering eyelashes and her nails scraping down her back as he pushed inside, she nodded and echoed his words. Just one more night, that’s fine.

It didn’t take long for their friends to catch on when Harry would leave the bar an hour early without looking for someone to take home. Or, when they’d both be out and, like magnets slowly being pulled towards one another, they’d end up kissing on the street as they waited for an Uber to take them back to Harry’s place.

The guys hounded Harry about it, asking if Y/N was finally the one to tie him down.

“Nah,” he’d reply with a shake of his head, “She’s a good girl. Too good for me.”

When Y/N’s friends demanded to know every last detail, she shrugged.

"I'm not really sure. It's... good, I think."

They only responded with small, tight smiles.

. . .

“Your mom texted me today. She invited us to come see them this weekend.”

Harry doesn’t reply — or rather, he makes an unassuming humming noise — as he gets out of Y/N’s bed, untangling his naked form from her sheets. He hunts down his briefs and pulls them on before stretching his arms out.

“Did you eat dinner?” he asks, grabbing her tee-shirt off the floor and tossing it to her. She sits up, tightening the sheet around her chest. She shakes her head as she clutches the fabric of her shirt in her hands and watches him scroll on his phone.

“No. I thought we could get something.”

Harry hums again, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers. Swallowing, Y/N puts her shirt back on. She’s not sure why, but she always feels oddly vulnerable once they’ve finished hooking up. When she’s still naked and he’s already moved onto the next thing, like having plans with the guys or taking a shower before he heads home. She'd even purchased his favorite body wash and shampoo when he started sticking around a bit longer, but he'd never even mentioned it or uttered a thank you.

“Yeah, maybe,” he finally replies. He locks his phone and places it back on the ledge of the TV stand in her bedroom. The simple act makes her heart jump — usually, he’ll stuff his phone in his pocket as he’s leaving. Maybe he was planning on staying the night. “So listen, I know I took you to dinner at my parents’ place that one time, but I don’t really feel comfortable with you talking to my mom.”

Y/N furrows her brows in confusion. “She texted me, H. I don’t, like, regularly reach out to her.”

“Right, but it just makes this whole thing feel way more serious than it is.” he says, sitting back down on the bed. He maintains a steady distance between them and it makes a small lump form in Y/N’s throat.

“Okay,” she murmurs slowly, “That’s fine, I get it. But… we never really talked about what this is.”

Harry glances up with wide, confused eyes. “We’ve said it a million times, Y/N. This is casual. Completely and totally casual sex.”

An ugly, involuntary chortle leaves her chest. He raises his eyebrows.

“We’ve been fucking for four months. That’s not really casual.”

“Yes, it is. It’s friends with benefits.”

“Sure, maybe, but that’s if you explicitly outline that you’re just having sex. No feelings involved.”

“We did that.”

“When?”

“At the beginning,” Harry responds. He seems frustrated now, but it feels as though he’s recalling a memory that Y/N was never even around for. “Remember? I told you, it was all just for tonight type shit. Nothing real.”

“Then why the fuck did you take me to your parents’ house two months ago?” Y/N demands, anger rising in her chest, “And why am I your date to all of your stupid, boring work events? And why the hell are you at my house like four times a week, and why do you have a drawer full of my clothes at your place?”

“Y/N—”

“This isn’t fucking casual, Harry. This is dating. You’re dating me and you don't even realize it.”

“I would know if I was dating you, but I never asked you to be my girlfriend. I don’t want a girlfriend, you know that.”

She groans and shakes her head, ignoring the way her jaw already aches from clenching it so hard. She grabs a clear pair of underwear from her drawer and quickly slips them on. Harry’s silent the entire time.

Suddenly, she whips around and faces him. “Have you been fucking other people?”

A wrinkle forms between his brows. He shakes his head.

“No. I wouldn’t do that, and it’s unsafe.”

“Right,” she murmurs, placing her hands on her hips, “So piece it together, Harry. Neither of us are sleeping with other people. We’re exclusively seeing one another.”

“You’re just making this out to be way more of a thing than it is—”

“Oh, fuck off!” she exclaims, “You have a key to my house! That’s pretty serious!”

“I didn’t ask you for that!” he fires back as he stands up from the bed. They’re in a stand-off now, staring at one another with angry eyes. She snorts and shakes her head in disbelief.

“My friends were so fucking right about you. You’re such an asshole. You know Maeve called me a loser for thinking you were a good guy?”

Harry rolls his eyes as he grabs his phone and sweater, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

They don’t exchange any other words as he leaves her room. She sits back down on the edge of the mattress, listening as he stuffs his feet in his sneakers and slams the front door shut. She doesn’t even notice that tears are lining her eyes and falling onto the apples of her cheeks.

. . .

It’s barely 48 hours later when Y/N’s watching a YouTube video as she stands in the bathroom, doing her nighttime routine.

Like four months prior, when she hoped Harry would be a good rebound for her heartbreak, she's been moping around in self-hatred and sadness. She's in awe of how cruel and oblivious he's being, but more than that, she can't believe she actually believed he had real feelings for her. Ones that extended beyond sex.

She’s brushing her teeth when she notices a text notification come down, redirecting her attention from the influencer vlog to read the name of the sender. She taps on it to see a familiar initial.

From: H (10:32 p.m.)

Sorry for what I said. Can I come over?

723 notes · View notes

deanbrainrotwritings · 4 months

Text

— CHRISTMAS LOVE

SUMMARY : dean ate something he shouldn’t have eaten, but in the meantime, there’s something to ease the ache until it can be fixed. not that it’s a problem… per se..

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), handjob, cum eating, cum kissing, p in v, aphrodisiac chocolate cookies

WORD COUNT : 2.3k

A/N : jimin song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — aphrodisiac. yup, I thought I hated Christmas, but actually it’s not so bad if it's centred around Dean. ✨mental illness✨ XXX

Everything was fine for the last forty minutes or so.

Dean helped his girlfriend set up the television in their bedroom—his bedroom that he partially convinced her to stay in permanently—put the snacks together, while stealing some chocolate-peppermint thumbprint cookies Charlie brought over earlier today, as his girlfriend stayed in his room to choose a Christmas movie.

He knew it would be about the Grinch. She was pretty Grinch-y sometimes around Christmas, but just like the Grinch, Dean got her to change her mind about Christmas being the most awful holiday.

But Christmas definitely couldn’t beat Halloween—it’s their number one, favourite holiday.

But… back to the main point, Dean couldn’t relax. He tried everything, imagined his go-to turn offs when he’s unbearably horny: Sam in lingerie, Cas in lingerie, hell—even Charlie in lingerie. He’d cringed at the thought of them, completely disgusted as his mind made it like a film without his permission, but their faces and bodies ended up transforming into the woman currently laying in his arms.

Nothing worked, not reliving being in Hell, not the memory of having the Mark—nothing made his dick soft. Mostly because after every single bad day, he went to her.

It was her he buried himself into, her lips that kissed away tears, her caresses that healed up his wounds… you see? His mind is going straight to it like there’s no other path to take. He usually doesn’t mind, and neither does she, but this is supposed to be a wholesome moment. Just her and him watching a movie together, that’s all that he wanted to do for her today.

Unfortunately, his dick had other ideas.

She’s not even fully clothed, which makes it even worse for him. She’s wearing nothing beneath the blue flannel she borrowed from him—no underwear, no bra, just some fluffy Christmas socks on her feet. Just the thought of it made his cock twitch. He bit his lip to hold back a moan.

It wasn’t her fault she was practically naked. Sometimes he was way too hot and she’d end up uncomfortably sweaty in the middle of the night. Her solution: wear nothing but Dean’s shirt. It was great, Dean could smother her and be wrapped around her without her trying to get away, but right now, it ain’t that great.

Right now, Dean knows that with one move from either one of them and she’d know what was up: yup, his dick.

Still, he was squirming too much for it to go unnoticed. And he shoved food into his mouth to pretend the chips, and the brownies, and everything else he ate were making him moan. Unlike her, he was wearing his t-shirt, some boxers, and socks to combat the cold of his concrete room. But now, he was flushed, and hot, and completely uncomfortable.

“Dean,” she scolded, turning aggressively onto her back to gaze up at him. “What’s up? You can’t sit still—which is normal, but not this much…” she trailed off, immediately identifying the blush on his cheeks and the glaze of lust in his green eyes. “Woah, what’s that for?” She teased, poking his cheek.

He grabbed her hand quickly before she could pull it away and kissed her palm. “Nothin’,” he brushed off, but his heart was pounding hard in his chest, and his hand tightened around her wrist as his mind told him over and over: dammit, just touch her.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” she said playfully, biting her lip. Subtly, she moved her hand away from her stomach and brushed her hand up his crotch experimentally. Dean groaned softly, eyes fluttering shut. “Ah, a boner,” she said casually, then squeezed his cock over his boxers.

“You do know we’re watching the Grinch and not a porno right?” She continued to taunt with a grin on her face. He whined softly, opening his eyes to glare down at her. She batted her lashes at him innocently, but he knew she meant well.

“You think I don’t know that?” He asked breathily. His eyes softened when she sneaked her hand inside the stretchy waistband of his briefs and brushed her fingertips along the length of his cock. “God… I… please,” he moaned, leaning over her to bury his face in her neck.

“I’ve got you,” she told him quietly, pulling her hand out to hook her fingers over the waistband of his boxers and lower them down his thighs. He cursed softly, and allowed her to push his chest so he could lie down on his back. She straddled his thighs and smiled down at him hotly, lifting her hand up to her mouth to leave her palm slick in saliva before wrapping it around him.

“Fuck, yes,” he whispered, clutching her thighs.

Warm and heavy in her hand, she squeezed his shaft gently and held eye contact with him as she stroked up and down. He smoothed his hands up her thighs, grasping her hips beneath his warm flannel. He attempted to bring her forward, and she did move forward, and slid her hand up beneath his shirt to lift it.

“Come like this, yeah?” She asked, starting to twist her hand up and down his cock. He whined, a cute pout drawing his lips downwards.

“Is this… are you not turned on?” Dean questioned breathily, slightly surprised by her proposition. He didn’t try to convince her otherwise and kept his hands still on her hips.

“I am…” she smiled, then dropped her gaze down to his cock, watching the swift slide upwards and downwards of her hand over his excitement, “but I wanna finish the movie.” He bit his lip, his eyes flickering down to her hand moving quick and steady, his precum aiding each stroke. “Then… we can have fun.”

He hummed thoughtfully, “I’m sorry…” He’d like to apologise to her fully for ruining the night, but he gave into the pleasure of her soft hand wrapped around his cock, letting the heat of his arousal and the spark of his orgasm take over his body.

“No, I’m good with this,” she smiled sweetly, ignoring the throb of her clit and flood of arousal between her legs.

She worshipped him quietly, focused on touching his freckled skin with his shirt shoved up his chest. As he throws his head back, blushing red, vocalising the pleasure that’s painted across his stunning face.

She faintly remembers what Dean looked like when he was younger. He’s much older now, still so beautiful—always. His face is not smooth, stubble covers his jaw, wrinkles enhance the beauty of his eyes, and always those goddamn lashes of his, curled upwards naturally.

He’s covered from head to toe in freckles, cute freckles, some light, others dark. Sometimes they make patterns, triangles, a trail that fades, some of them overlap. He thinks it makes him look dirty, dusty, but he’s always had a heart-stopping beauty that no one could match. Effortless beauty no one could achieve.

He’s much softer than before, but the faint cut of his abs remained. There were scars, too, ones Cas didn’t heal because Dean didn’t ask, but Cas comes through sometimes and does a full sweep. Eventually, she finds new scars, new scratches, new marks. Then, they disappear and she memorises him all over again.

“Touch yourself,” Dean requested breathlessly, squirming and digging his blunt nails into the flesh of her hips. Lashes fluttered against his cheekbones as he opened his eyes.

“Touch myself?” She repeated with a gentle laugh, lifting her hand up to his face. He instantly leaned into her touch and slid one of his hands to the small of her back to bring her closer. “Baby, I only wanna touch you,” she whispered enticingly, cupping his jaw to brush her thumb across his lip.

Up and down, she continued to give him pleasure, knowing he was close as he throbbed in her hand, as his muscles twitched with every passing second. His breath hitched and she squeezed him, moving her hand faster, then lowered her hand away from his face to use both hands on his cock.

Hands wet with his precum, she made a ring with her finger to massage the frenulum and spread the sticky arousal dribbling out of the slit of his cockhead with her thumb.

She licked her lips at the sight and smirked, “come for me, Dean.” It was hot that she had this much control over him. His body hardened and he called out her name as he spilled hot release over her hand and his stomach.

Curses spilled from his mouth and he seized her mischievous hands when she refused to stop. “You’re still hard,” she murmured, stunned, but he was too pleased with the release to pay attention to her words.

“You’re mean,” Dean complained breathily, eyes opening lazily.

“It’s a gift you’ll open later tonight,” she promised in a joking manner, taking her hands out from his loving grasp. “You’re still hard, by the way,” she repeated curiously, gripping his still erect cock at the base.

“Fuck… what?” He asked, bewildered, watching her move back and lean down to lick his cum off his stomach. He whimpered quietly, his cock red and pretty in her hand still, one hundred percent still aroused.

The fact that she was licking his cum off his tummy didn’t help at all. The warm, wet muscle flicked smoothly across his soft skin, gathering his tangy, creamy cum. Occasionally, her teeth would graze his skin, setting his nerves alight, and she’d suck until marks painted his body. Then, she wrapped her lips around the head of his cock and sucked it clean with a pleased moan.

He grunted and threw his head back into the pillow again. He blindly made contact with her hair, buried his fingers carefully into her silky locks and tugged her upwards. She went to him without resistance and kissed him as he waited for her slick lips.

The kiss was wet and erotic. He could taste his cum, felt some of it against her tongue, unswallowed. He took it with a moan of pleasure, licking across her tongue in gratitude. He moved her hair out of the way subconsciously, pressing her closer to him, impossibly close.

He got a hold of her hip again and smoothed his hand up the curve of her back, lifting the flannel. She hummed inquisitively, pulling away momentarily before locking lips with Dean again to run her tongue along the roof of his mouth then to taste the unique peppermint on his tongue that was definitely not from any teeth-brushing.

She pulled away and blinked down at him, silently intrigued as he caught his breath. “Am I cursed?” He wondered out loud, bringing her hips down onto his cock needily. They moaned in unison. “Oh, fuck… did we piss a witch off?” He whined, grinding his hips up into her wet folds. “Rowena,” he growled, wondering if he’d done something to piss off the Scottish red-head or if she'd done just to fuck with him.

“Hey, slow down…” she gasped, unbuttoning Dean’s flannel from her body at last. “Did you eat those cookies Charlie brought?” She inquired, slowing down the roll of her hips.

“Uh… yeah,” he replied, his tone puzzled. He opened his eyes, peeking up at the now-open flannel exposing her naked body to his dirty gaze.

“Dean, oh my God,” she giggled, halting the movement of her hips. He frowned. “How many?”

“I dunno, four.” He shrugged. Trying to regain her focus, he took his cock in his hand and found her clit with the soft head by pushing it up and down through her folds. She moaned softly, thighs shaking.

“Yeah, this is not going away anytime soon,” she said quietly, squirming when he held her hip and nudged her forward.

“What do you mean?” He asked, his brows furrowing in bemusement. “What do cookies have to do wi-”

“They’re aphrodisiacs,” she interrupted him, shrugging his flannel off her shoulders before throwing it beside him. He gazed up at her, adorably dumbfounded. “Well, at least the chocolate is.”

“What?! Why would she-? Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, sitting up higher on the bed, carding his fingers through his honey hair, making it messy and sexy.

“I… forgot. I was hanging out with Charlie and Stevie… I’m sorry,” she gave him an apologetic smile, but amusement glimmered in her eyes, which made him smile, too.

“No.. babe, it’s okay, I’m just really horny…” he trailed off, then took her arms and tugged her towards him with a big smile on his face.

“We can call Cas,” she offered with a laugh, giving him a sweet kiss when he brought her closer and nuzzled his nose against hers.

“Why don’t we test this out, first?” He asked, sneaking his hand between her legs to circle his fingertips over her entrance. Her arousal drenched his fingers and he hummed, pleased with the copious slickness that coated her pussy.

“Huh?” She murmured, preoccupied with his adept fingers as they found her clit and began drawing slow circles. She nibbled gently on his jaw and kissed her way down his neck.

“Why else would Charlie make them?” Dean inquired, bending one knee to gently nudge her behind and silently guide her over to his cock. She pulled away from his throat to consider his question as he lined his cock up with her entrance.

“Well, she did say-” She started thoughtfully, sinking down on his cock.

“Exactly,” Dean cut her off, enjoying the stretch of her walls around his cock. Dean gazed up at her lustfully, slid his hands up her thighs, and flattened one hand up her stomach. “Lean back, bend your knees,” he instructed, then bit his lip.

She raised a brow at him, but did as he asked. She bent her knees and he hooked his arms beneath, wrapping them around to grip the top of her knees, spreading her legs open for a clear view of his cock inside her.

“Sorry about the movie,” he chuckled, lifting his hips upwards.

“I guess it’s fair,” she smiled at him, leaning back with her arms behind her, between his legs, “since I forgot to tell you about the cookies.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s somethin’ to be sorry for.”

taglist

@rominaszh @livingdeadmak @lanassmarty @murdockscumsock @zepskies @candy-coated-misery0731 @stxrgazer03 @epsilonsagittarii @lyarr24 @spnfamily-j2 @globetrotter28 @deansbbyx @lickmybawls @jackles010378 @winchstrdean @deanwinchestersgirl87 @the-achievementhunter @deanfreakingwinchester @k-slla @madzzz0797 @laylaackles @fanfic-n-tabulous @kristophalis

main masterlist

dean winchester masterlist

kinkmas2023 masterlist

do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

#12daysofspnkinkmas2023 #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x female!reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x you #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x female!reader

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

Note

could I request shy!reader with eddie where he is super protective over her during school? like he has NO problems telling people off if they make a comment to her/make her feel uncomfortable!

Eddie found you in the library, head bent, eyes a little unfocused as you scanned each line, pages fluttering in the quiet when you turned them. Mrs Scott was already frowning at him when he walked past the main desk, the librarian unused to seeing the boy between the stacks of books.

Eddie waved, smiling brightly as he tried to convince the woman he wasn’t here to cause trouble. He walked a little faster towards you, grinning when he realised you still hadn’t noticed him. So he laughed a little when you jumped at his touch, his face buried in your neck as he leaned over the back of your chair.

“Jesus, Eddie, you scared me,” you whispered, voice a hiss but you softened when you leaned back into him, his chest a solid warmth behind you.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, his hands squeezing at your shoulders. “Hi.”

You warmed under his gaze, those eyes shining at you, all fond and familiar. Putting your bookmark between the pages, you pushed the novel to the side, cheek to your shoulder so you could press a kiss to the top of Eddie’s hand, a surprising bout of affection from you considering you were in school, but Eddie took it without comment, not wanting to embarrass you.

“Why aren’t you at lunch, huh?” He sat down in the chair next to you, knees bumping and eyes concerned. “Been lookin’ for you.”

You shrugged, unwillingly to meet Eddie’s gaze cause he could read you like the story you’d just paused. “I’m not hungry,” you lied.

The boy frowned, picking up your hand to hold it in his, fingertips running over your knuckles, the dainty, gold rings on each finger, a pretty contrast to his own.

“You feelin’ okay? I can take you home, if you want.”

You melted into him at the sentiment, wanting nothing more than to skip the rest of your classes, wondering if you could convince Eddie to do the same and let you spend the day in his bed. You like the afternoons when it was quiet, the days that were lazy and long and you could stay against Eddie’s chest.

You shook your head, disappointed. “No, it’s okay! I’m fine,” you tried to convince yourself and him. “I have a calc test next period.”

Eddie didn’t seem to believe you. Well, he knew you had a calc test, he believed that part. Just not when you said you were fine. You looked small, tired, curled in on yourself as you thumbed the pages of your book. So the boy waited, one arm slung around the back of your chair now, his hand making trails up and down your spine and he kept going until you softened, shoulders coming down from where they sat at your ears, putty against him.

He was gentle when he asked, careful about it. “Sweetheart? Are those girls still bothering you? Jenny Deegan? And whatsherface, her friend— the one with the ponytail.”

You cringed, hating how Eddie knew. Bothering was an understatement, but at the age you were, the idea of being “bullied” seemed mortifying. Besides, you weren’t sure what these girls were doing could be classed as such. Girls were mean in a different way, vicious, nasty, unsatisfied until there were tears in your eyes.

There was no being pushed to the ground at lunchtime, no stupid signs pinned to your back or childish name calling. No, mean girls liked to give compliments to your face, superficial and mocking, hardly waiting to burst out laughing when you turned away, too embarrassed to respond properly.

They liked to spread rumours, write things on the bathroom wall and they liked to pout when you blinked back tears, scathing, patronising, cruel.

You sniffed, shoving your face back into your book. “What? No.”

A lie. It tasted bitter in your tongue.

Eddie frowned. “Babe, you gotta tell them to fuck off,” he said, voice kinder than his words. “Huh? I know you hate confrontation, but I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

Your lip wobbled.

“Want me to scare them off?” Eddie pushed his nose to your cheek, whispering when Mrs Scott glared over in your direction. “I can get a bible or somethin’, come to school in black robes and start chanting at them, talk real loud about blood sacrifices, yeah?”

You snorted at the mental image your boyfriend painted, lips quirking upwards and Eddie beamed at the sight. “Like you have a bible,” you told him, your voice still soft, softer still when you turned to press your face to Eddie’s chest.

His arms came up around you, one hand curling into the hair at the nape of your neck. “I’d source one,” he shot back. “For you, I’d write out my own damn religion. Somethin’ scary enough that those bitches leave you alone.”

Normally you’d frown upon name calling, but there was something about Eddie’s sharp words that soothed the ache inside you. You kissed the skin above the collar of his T-shirt, eyes blinking back the tears Eddie made sure never fell.

“Yeah?” You asked weakly. God, you were tired.

“Yeah, babe,” Eddie agreed, a kiss pushed soft to your cheek in confirmation. “Ain’t no one making my girl cry.”

…

#Eddie munson #Eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #Eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie baby blurb

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hollytoshaw · 27 days

Note

Can you do a smau where harry and y/n are just horny for each other all over social media and everyone makes fun of them

thank you for this anon. love this idea!!! hope you enjoy xxx

down bad | harry lewis

summary: y/n & harry being obsessed with eachother across social media

face claim: dua lipa

a/n: made this quite quickly so its a bit short but I hope its decent. keep sending in requests i love making these xxx

y/n_username posted a photo!

liked by wroetoshaw & 540,204 others! y/n_username who likes my new mug? tagged: wroetoshaw

taliamar BYE

freyanightingale too funny

chrismd10 where do i buy one? for research purposes...

wroetoshaw so true

r0sielewis i feel sick

faithlouiseak i need one that says slut for ethan asap

geenelly you make me die

sidemanxfan LMAO I NEED THIS

harryxlewisfan y/n too real telling the world she's a slut for her mans

w2slover need a relationship like theirs

ynharryfan oh ffs harry control your missus

y/n l/n posted a youtube video!

y/n_username posted a photo!

liked by wroetoshaw & 540,204 others! y/n_username maldives with my personal photographer xxx tagged: wroetoshaw

taliamar so pretty!!!

faithlouiseak so gorg babe

freyanightingale i'm in love with you

wroetoshaw so fit

wroetoshaw sit on my face

wroetoshaw like actually ↳ y/n_username time and place? ↳ tobjizzle aye whats going on

sidemanxfan HARRY'S COMMENT???? ↳ sidemanxfan2 Y/N'S REPLY????

harryxlewisfan the horniest mf's ever

w2slover acc dying at this interraction

ynharryfan i know they're laughing in the maldives rn ↳ sidemanxfan2 or shagging

behzingagram i cant believe my eyes

y/n_username posted an instagram story

wroetoshaw posted a photo!

liked by callux and 810,560 others wroetoshaw i've got the world's fittest girlfriend, that's all i've gotta say. see ya. tagged y/n_username

zerkaa simp

y/n_username 💙💙💙

miniminter cringe

chrismd10 i thought i was your fit girlfriend?

sidemanxfan HARRY???

harryxlewisfan 2 years of no posting and this is what he posts...so down bad

w2slover i mean look at y/n who can blame him???

ynharryfan not a day goes by where i'm not jel of what these two have omg

y/n_username posted a photo

liked by ksi & 639,348 others! y/n_username just a collection of my fave harry pics that i'd thought i'd share because i've got the FITTEST man??? like just look at his face. i'm so in love pls come home from ur sidemen shoot soon tagged wroetoshaw

taliamar get a room

freyanightingale lmao simp y/n

chrismd10 i love these pics also

wroetoshaw so true omw home now

sidemanxfan y/n speaking facts

harryxlewisfan these two make me sick hahaha

w2slover did y/n mean to post these on her main account

ynharryfan oh ffs harry control your missus again

a/n!: thanks for reading sorry it's really short but hope its okay xoxo

#w2s #wroetoshaw #w2s x reader #harry wroetoshaw #harry lewis #harry w2s #sidemen #w2s fic #w2s imagine #wroetoshaw imagine #wroetoshaw oneshot #hollytoshaw #chris md #arthurtv #sidemen x reader #anon

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choccy-milky · 27 days

Text

bruh i need to vent about a rude comment i got on my recent chap and also about clora, cuz its something thats been on my mind for a while now. it has spoilers to my most recent chap tho so im putting it below

so in my most recent chap clora gets hit by the killing curse but thanks to seb sacrificing himself for her, it doesn’t work/she survives. and I got a rly rude comment about how that’s super cringe and that clora is a "shoe horning of every possible manifestation of Mary-Sueism I have ever seen." theyre dropping my fic after almost 500k words bc apparently THAT’S where they draw the line and that "just somehow pulling it out the bag and surviving a killing curse from the power of love. In simpler terms, it’s absolutely cringe worthy" and "forgive me if I rolled an eye at the yet again invincible nature of Clora Clemons-the-one-eighth-Veela-extraordinaire"

BUT LIKE LMAO TELL ME U DIDN’T READ/WATCH HARRY POTTER WITHOUT TELLING ME. that’s literally what happens to harry??but its only cringe when it happens to our "mary-sue" clora? like yeah sure love magic might be a bit cringe but IM LITERALLY JUST PULLING FROM THE SOURCE MATERIAL. of all the things to take issue with in my fic and interpretations, theyre taking issue with something that’s canon BAHAHA.

and since im on the topic of clora being mary sue can I just say I hate the misogyny/internalized misogyny that i've seen some people (NOT A LOT, THANKFULLY) treat her with. like i get it, im not pale and blonde and as conventionally pretty as clora is, but even if I was, is that a reason to hate me?? and does being beautiful and well-liked = mary sue? bc as far as I know, mary sue is a chara who is just naturally amazing at everything and doesnt need to try hard and theyre just inexplicably great for no reason (like mc in the base game BAHHAA) if anything the mary sue in MY fic is seb LMAO (but hes a boy so its ok). like clora has worked hard and studied magic all her life due to being a squib and wanting to make up for not being able to DO it. she isnt good at flying, seb is still better at her than duelling, shes really short sighted when it comes to doing/thinking whats best for others and can be a huge idiot.... and like. the only guys that have even shown interest in clora on a real scale have been seb and leander (and then lawley for blackmail purposes, and also bc he hates seb) so its not like literally everyone is falling over themselves for her?? like her interactions with the main cast of boys (ominis, garreth, amit) theyre all indifferent to her LMAO but still, the fact that shes pretty and guys here and there might look at her and go o shes cute! doesnt make her a mary sue SORRy thats just called being attractive idk its just annoying that ppl automatically see a nice kind beautiful female character without any VISIBLE flaws and go SHES TOO PERFECT!! MARY SUE!! WAH IM JEALOUS! and like I get it bc when I was younger I probs would have been annoyed by clora as well due to my own insecurities and internalized misogyny but hey, how about u just realize that’s ur own problem and your own jealousy, and not a real one HAHAH anyway ive since evolved bc I used to be a ‘not like other girls’ type girl back in highschool. trying to be super tomboy-y bc I thought being feminine was cringe and too basic but now ive embraced it and love girly things and dresses and charas like clora who are still strong and showcase their strengths and weaknesses in subtler ways, and I want to smooch her and make out with her. get behind me clora ill protect you🤺🤺🤺

#choccytalky #finally using that tag #tho its more like CHOCCYRANTY holy this is so long BHAHAHA #also one more thing idk why ppl think its ok to give unsolicited criticism to fanfic writers. like these are stories we're writing for US #and for free like u dont have to rudely declare how unhappy you are with it and that youre stopping. like what do u want me to do #do u want a refund?? BYE!! JUST GO!! like. i also wouldnt want unsolicited criticism or critiques on my visual/drawn art #and ppl understand that. so whys it so hard to understand ppl ALSO dont want it on their writing? both take effort #and giving actual valid criticism is a skill (which is why it was literally a CLASS when i was in uni)#i need a drink #and by that i mean COKE ZERO BABYYYYYYY #AND MORE DRAGONS DOGMA 2

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syd-vixious · 11 months

Text

“I Need a Big Boy!!”

now

(Picture credit to @akavendeta on twitter)

Pairing: König x gn!reader; “Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader; König x gn!reader x Simon “Ghost” Riley

Warnings: Groping, language, strong men being strong (not proofread)

2nd Person POV

A/N: Hey everyone! I’m so, SO sorry that this took so long. I’ve been having a lot of stuff going on and haven’t gotten the chance to finish this. Sorry if this sucks too. Also I was thinking about instead of doing just the biggest, sweetest boy, I figure I’d add the other big boy. This is definitely gonna be cringe but whatever, I need to get this out of my brain. My apologies if there’s any spelling mistakes, it’s been a minute since I’ve written anything lol. Also this is going based off of my personal headcannons for these guys, which I do plan on posting in the future. For now just a heads up König is Pansexual and goes by he/him pronouns. Simon is Bi and goes by both he/him and they/them pronouns. Obviously they’re in a poly! relationship with the reader. I’m going to try my best with making it gender neutral and not have it just be non-binary!afab!reader, which is fine on my end but I’m trying to be as inclusive as possible.

Anyway, enough of my ranting, I hope you enjoy!

(Btw italicized words is anyone thinking unless it’s in quotations.)

It’s been about two weeks since your partners have come home from deployment. Simon was out running errands for the house while König was getting the kitchen set up for dinner. Thankful for both of them letting you relax on your day off, you were watching the most recent episode of SNL that you missed last weekend on the sofa in the main living area. The episode had Keke Palmer as the host and SZA as the musical guest. After watching the episode for about 20 minutes, SZA and the other actors that were a part of the SNL crew began singing a song about wanting a “big boy,” or “big girl,” for the holidays. A brilliant idea popped up in your mind while you were reaching for your phone during the commercial break.

If I recall my bluetooth speaker should still be in the kitchen from this morning. Hm, let me check.

You went to the settings on your phone to see of the speaker was on to connect, even though it was on the charger.

It was.

You smirked, hitting the button to connect your phone to the speaker. König was still preparing everything when he heard the noise from the device.

“Schatz?”

Shit... “Yeah..?”

“Were you connecting to the speaker?”

You quickly turned down the volume on your phone in case it accidentally played anything. “Uh no, why?”

“It just made an odd.. boodoop noise? I guess you could call it...? I’m not really sure.”

You smiled softly at the curiosity in his voice, even though he couldn’t see your face from the other room, “It just makes that noise sometimes when it’s charging, babe.”

He shrugged and continued prepping any veggies that he wanted to add to dinner.

You sighed in relief and quickly pulled up Youtube on your phone and found the video within typing the artist’s name in the search bar. You turned your volume back up and began playing the song.

He jumped from the sudden song playing on the device, startled by the heavy beat it was erupting.

“Uhh... Schatz...?” He asked as he heard voices and heavy bass coming from the speaker.

You walked into the kitchen on the beat of the song singing out loud, “It’s cuffing season and now we got a reason,

To get a big boy,

I need a big boy,

Gimme a big boy!~”

You slowly made your way towards him while pointing at him whenever you lip-synced “big boy.”

Meanwhile König froze and looked at you with wide eyes. You could begin to see red spread across his face as he started to get flustered. “(Y-y/n)... w-what’s happening...?”

You smirked and continued “singing” the song,

“It’s cuffing season and all the girls are leaving to get a big boy, I need a big boy, gimme a big boy.~”

You couldn’t really remember the rest of the lyrics but kept on dancing as you made your way to him on the other side of the kitchen. He was flustered and began stammering, “W-What’s all this about..?”

You pulled a cheshire cat grin and simply hugged him, resting your head on his torso with your arms around his slutty waist. “Just singin’ about one of my big boys is all,” you slowly slid your hands down to grab his ass, causing him to yelp and jump slightly in your arms.

You could hear his heartbeat racing, it began pumping even faster when you two heard the front door open, signaling Simon was home. “Ohhh Siiii.~” You sang from the kitchen.

He heard you call and walked into the kitchen, not really paying any mind to the music, until you pointed it out...

“It’s cuffing season and everyone is leaving to get a big boy, I need a big boy, give me a big boy.~”

Needless to say he was confused, “how and where did they find a song like this?” he thought to himself as you sauntered over to him, once again wrapping your hands around his waist and slowly moving them down. He glanced up at König for some sort of answer, but the gentle giant only shrugged, red still tinting his cheeks.

“Love, have you been drinking? Are you horny? If so, it’ll have to wait because we haven’t even had dinner yet.” He asked, pulling off his face mask from running to the store earlier.

You sighed and smirked a little, pinching one of Simon’s cheeks, “No, it’s just a song that I heard on a show and it reminded me of you guys.”

He quickly snatched your hands off his ass, “Oi!”

He quickly picked you up and placed you on an empty part of the island countertop. He leaned over to your ear, “Love, you better watch it, or you’re just gonna have to watch us eat dessert tonight...”

#simon riley x reader #könig x reader x simon #konig x reader #könig x ghost x reader #cod x gn!reader #cod x reader #call of duty mwii

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topguncortez · 9 months

Text

For Her Hand | Jake x Shy!Reader

Opposites Attract Masterlist | Main Masterlist

synopsis: Jake has a very important dinner with a very important man, even though he's already ask a very important question.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: none, fluff:)

Jake was sweating.

He probably had sweat stains on the underarms of his dress shirt, and he was now worried that he was going to have to use the bathroom before James got here. Tonight was the night that Jake was going to ask for Y/N’s hand in marriage. . . even though he already proposed.

Jake knew it was soon, hell they had only been dating for four months and living together for one, but she was his one and only. Y/N was the only person Jake saw himself with for the rest of his life. Every night he dreamt of the life they would have together, the names of their children, what they would look like, the big house he would build her, and the garden that she would spend hours out in.

Jake hadn’t always had a good reputation when it came to women, and it was pretty well known. Throughout the academy and flight school, it wasn’t uncommon to see Jake leave with a new woman. There was a part of him who had spent years searching for the person to fill the void in his heart that had been festering from years of striving for his father’s attention and love. And Y/N was the person who filled it in a very healthy way.

When James first heard about Jake’s and Y/N’s relationship, he was not thrilled. He had seen flyboys like Jake before. He knew what they got up to on postings and detachments, and didn’t want his daughter to join the club of broken hearts. He had also seen and heard the broken cries of their partners when an officer walks off the ship and hands them a neatly folded flag. James felt ill every time he thought about his daughter being in that position.

But then he saw how they interacted with each other at the Naval ball, and Vice Admiral James “Hercules” Parker was proven wrong. He could see the love that Jake had for his daughter. And even though nothing was promised in their line of work, James knew he couldn’t stand in the way of true love.

Jake wiped his hands on his pants for what seemed like the thousandth time that hour as he looked around the restaurant for James. He felt like dinner was a more professional way to ask to marry his daughter than doing it over drinks at the Hard Deck or a round of golf, or blurting out in the middle of a meeting (like Coyote had done with Warlock). What made his nerves stay somewhat at bay was that Jake was kind of doing this all backward. He had already proposed to Y/N when he came home from his last deployment and she had said yes. Blame it on the heat of the moment and being a hairsbreadth away from death, but Jake couldn’t wait any longer without making her his forever.

“Jacob,” James said as he walked to the table. Jake stood up and greeted James with a handshake, “Missing Thursday night football for this.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Jake said and took another drink of his water. James eyed him suspiciously, seeing the young man's hands shake, as a waiter walked to the table.

“Anything to drink for you two, tonight?” The waiter asked.

“Top-shelf whiskey,” James nodded, “Make that two, neat.”

“Oh, I’m good with water,” Jake said. The waiter nodded and went to go get their drinks, “Sorry, I’m just a bit nervous.”

“I can see that,” James said, “Didn’t think that the ‘Hangman’ could get nervous,” Jake cringed at the way James said his callsign as if it were some sort of dig. Some sort of pass to let Jake know that he wasn’t good enough for his daughter, “What’s on your mind son?”

“I uh,” Jake scratched the back of his neck, trying to gather his thoughts, “I love you, daughter,” James nodded, “A-and I did this whole thing backward and I apologize for it. My dad drilled into my head that you always ask for permission first before you do anything with another man’s daughter. But sir-”

“James,”

Jake nodded, “James, I don’t ever want to see a day where your daughter is not by my side. When I thought I wasn’t going to make it back to her. . . well, it was the worst thing ever. I had to make a promise to her when I got back on solid ground, and I did. And now, I gotta make it right. If you would please grant me the blessing, I would love to marry your daughter.”

James looked at him for a moment, the silence becoming so thick between the two men. Jake felt a cold sweat go down his spine, but then he saw a smile break out across James’ face, “I knew this would come sooner or later. I was hoping for later, but,” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black ring box, “She used to wear this around the house as a little girl. It was my mother’s.”

James placed the box on the table and Jake gingerly picked it up. Inside sat a beautiful diamond attached to a silver band. The diamond had to be nearly three carats and had smaller diamonds around it. Jake looked up at James, tears brimming his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask-”

James shook his head, cutting Jake off, “I did the same thing nearly thirty years ago,” James chuckled, “I lost my wingman and almost burned in myself. The moment I got home to Clara, I told her that I could not go back up into the sky without knowing I was going to have her forever. Then she dragged me to the courthouse that same day,” James shook his head with a smile, “I knew this moment was coming at some point in time, when 'dad' stopped being the only man in her life. The only man she looks at with those eyes. No dad is ever ready for that day, and one day, hopefully, you'll have the same experience."

Jake could only imagine the day he would have a little girl and hoped she’d look like Y/N. He could see it now, a beautiful daughter that had her mother’s beautiful eyes and smile, and her personality. If she was born with Jake’s. . . lord help them all, she was going to be a firecracker.

“Does this mean that I. . .”

“You have my blessing to marry my daughter.”

— — —

After dinner was over, Jake probably broke every traffic law to get home to Y/N. He smiled as he noticed the lights in the backyard were on and the sound of her giggle was in the air. He could hear the small barks of the German shepherd puppy he had gotten her as a companion for when he’s gone on deployments. Jake grabbed the bouquet of pink carnations and basically skipped to the backyard.

“Bring it back, Steve!” Y/N called as the puppy hustled his way back to his owner, “Good boy!” Steve’s attention turned the second that the gate to the backyard was opened. Even for a puppy, his barks were still loud, startling Y/N. She turned around, seeing Jake standing there with a goofy grin on his face.

“What are you-”

“Marry me,” Jake said, cutting her off.

Y/N giggled, “Sweetheart, I already said yes. Did you hit your-”

“Nope,” Jake shook his head and walked over to where she was kneeling on the ground. Steve growled a bit as Jake got close to his mother, “Hey, I was the one who adopted you and let you chew on the seatbelts in my truck.” Steve gave Jake a look, before trotting off into the backyard, “Animals.”

“Be nice,” Y/N playfully scolded, and sat down in the grass, “How did dinner go?”

“Went great,” Jake said, sitting down next to her and pulling her into his lap, “He gave me his blessing and gave me this,” Jake pulled out the ring from his pocket.

Y/N gasped, “My nana’s ring! Oh my god, I thought I lost that!”

“Your dad kept it and gave it to me,” Jake said. He grabbed Y/N’s hand and took off the fifteen-dollar ring he bought at Target that was slowly starting to turn green, “Now, we can make it official,” Y/N turned her head to look at him, “What do you say, Mrs. Seresin?”

Y/N smiled and turned in his lap so she was straddling him, “I think you should’ve told him I’m already Mrs. Seresin, but. . .” She tilted her head back and forth, “Baby steps.”

“Yeah, yeah, baby steps,” Jake smirked as he wrapped his arms around her waist and flipped them over. Y/N’s giggles filled the air as Jake pressed kisses all over her face. Her ring glittered in the moonlight.

taglist: @damrlova @shanimallina87 @phoenix1388 @mygyn @cherrycola27 @yanna-banana @seitmai @topgun-imagines @bradleybeachbabe @na-ta-sh-aa @startrekfangirl2233 @atarmychick007 @lunamoonbby @sophiaslastbraincell @bradswolfe @fandom-princess-forevermore @angelbabyange @callsignharper @dempy @lovelywiseprincess @krismdavis @eternallyvenus @dakotakazansky @pono-pura-vida @callsignartemis @starberryhorse @daggersquadphantom @gspenc @poppyalice2001 @els-marvelvsp @nyx2021 @t0kyoreveng3rs @frazie99 @spencvrr @kmc1989 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @toobouquet @malindacath @justenoughmadnesss @sagittarius-flowerchild

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 2 months

Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Daughters of Poseidon Are Bad for Productivity!

content: leo valdez x daughter of poseidon! reader fic warning: language bc i curse like a sailor author's note: live laugh love for leo valdez fr. also this one is sooooo silly goose fr like i have no idea where this thought bubble came from but kinda grateful bc it's so fun yall.

‘daughters of poseidon are bad for productivity! (looking at you, y/n!!)’ was borderline carved into a post-it note with thick black sharpie and slapped on the bulletin board inside the hephestus cabin, leo shyly shuffling past it every day. it wasn’t his fault…entirely. well, it was largely his fault. y/n had stayed the night, having accidentally missed curfew after a nap with leo and refused to deal with bloodthirsty harpies. nyssa lent her some pajamas and everyone else in the cabin was more than happy to welcome the daughter of poseidon, who thanked them with fun games and snacks well into the night.

the next morning, y/n, still feeling like she didn’t appropriately thank her hosts, offered to clean the place up a bit. admittedly, cabin 9 wasn’t exactly known for its cleanliness. soot was basically the wallpaper, scrap metal taking up most of the cabin, and tools scattered all over the place, which were worse tripping hazards then percy’s skateboard. nyssa cringed at the thought but y/n wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.

“you really don’t have to, y/n,” leo tried, grabbing the cleaning bucket from the girl, as she was beginning to struggle with it. she popped up, flipping her hair up into a high ponytail with a wide smile.

“i know! but, i want to. cabin 3 is basically sterile and i tried to clean the athena cabin once but let’s just say they are very particular about where their things go. this is fun for me, i promise,” y/n mused, pressing her lips to leo’s. he pulled back with a shrug, leaving her to her own devices.

she stared in one of the rooms off the main part of the cabin, giving the inhabitants of the cabin space to do their own thing, which was tinker and work. leo had earplugs in, as he was grinding down a massive shield that will solace had requested for capture the flag, a plan he wasn’t willing to share with leo yet, but he told leo all of this with a scary smile. maybe an hour or so had passed before he was jolted by someone, leo turning to them with a slight frown. it was nyssa, who was glaring at the boy and speaking but leo couldn’t hear a thing she said.

“what?” he asked, loudly. and nyssa started over but leo still had his earplugs in.

“what?” he repeated, his brows furrowing as he tried to read her lips. nyssa let out a frustrated noise that even leo heard before she reached up and took one of the earplugs out.

“you’ve got to get your siren of a girlfriend out of here!” nyssa all but yelled at him, huffing as she crossed her arms. leo frowned, taken aback by her tone towards y/n, who he believed to be well liked within the cabin.

“nyssa, what are you even talking about? she’s just cleaning,” argued leo, setting will’s project down and crossing his arms. nyssa was nearly blowing steam out of her ears before jerking her head over her shoulder as a nod.

“does that look like just cleaning to you?” she questioned and leo’s eyes drifted over to where his half-siblings were trying to be subtle about lingering around the door but they were clearly distracted.

most of them looked like they were in the middle of walking and just had to stop, their heads tilted and turned towards the door to the other room. leo rolled his eyes, having a feeling he knew where this was going as he shoved his way past his distracted siblings, who didn’t even seem to mind. he looked into the room, shaking his head with a small smile. y/n truly was just cleaning…while music played from a speaker. typically, for most other demigods, that wouldn’t be a problem. but, as y/n hummed along to the songs that played, one of her least favorite traits from her father subconsciously worked its magic. being so closely related to the sirens led to magical singing that could drag even the most dedicated and hardworking hephaestus children from their projects. save for leo…kinda. he could feel the ringing in his ears, feel it starting to lure at his mind, but he could shake it off, knowing it was just y/n. it also helped that she wasn’t trying, her siren-like abilities could rival charmspeak from the aphrodite cabin if she put in even half-effort.

“y/n, honey,” leo called, softly, over the music, y/n spinning around to face him with a dopey smile and a broom in her hand. her eyes caught on his siblings, her head tilting as they all seemingly jolted out of a daze, shaking their heads and slowly moving away from the doorway with frowns and mutters. y/n’s eyes instantly darted to the radio and she paled, worry filling her.

“oh! i’m so sorry! i just…got distracted,” y/n instantly apologized, shame blazing inside her and a blush settled over her cheeks. leo laughed, easily, wrapping an arm around the girl.

“it’s okay, y/n, no harm no foul,” he mused, pressing his lips to her dusty-red cheeks. the girl still shook her head, though his comforting was starting to ebb away at her shame.

“new rule on the bulletin, valdez!” nyssa called, proudly, from the main room. leo led y/n out to the main room, now his turn to flush at the post it note slapped on the board. his siblings laughed as they saw it, shoving him and joking as they went. y/n flushed once more, bashfully laughing.

“ha, ha, very funny,” leo mocked, reaching up to tear it down but was met with shouts of resistance.

“ah, you know the rules, leo, at least a week before you can request a rule change,” nyssa mused, a shining smile on her lips.

“it’s on a post-it note! that doesn’t count!” argued leo with a huff.

“it’s on the board, it counts!” one of his other siblings called and leo shot a glare into the crowd.

“whatever! you are all just jealous that i'm dating the most beautiful sirenin all of camp!” leo called, loudly, earning groans and mutterings back in response from his siblings. leo smirked, proud of himself as he wrapped his arms around y/n, who was borderline mortified. y/n looked up at him with wide eyes and permanent frown on her lips.

“you’re an idiot, valdez,” she huffed and leo smirked.

“yeah, but i'm not the idiot who caused that,” he taunted, pointing up at the post it note. y/n growled, shoving him off her before returning to her cleaning.

“you’re insufferable!”

“and you're bad for productivity!”

"go to hades!"

"only if you come with, mi amor!"

"BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP! WE GET IT YOURE IN LOVE!"

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #pjo #pjo fandom #heroes of olympus x reader #hoo #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez

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formulaa-1 · 1 year

Note

Hey! Charlec Leclerc au here, can you do one where he's dating a social worker and she's pretty low key.

Thx love

instagram au ❣️ C.L

social worker!reader x charles leclerc

Charles is completely head over heels for his girlfriend <3 but she’s pretty low-key ❤️

she has 2 accounts ! (y/npriv and y/nusername)

I put this one off for a while as o didn’t really know how to go about it with the pics and stuff and also make it obvious that she’s a social worker so it’s kinda crappy and she’s more like a volunteer but oh well I hope you enjoy anyway! <333

y/nusername

y/nusername: Last week I had the chance to help these two angels ❤️❤️Over my years of working as a social worker Iv also volunteered in different countries and it’s taught me so much about different cultures and lifestyles. Iv been able to help so many families but as much as I love my job and how rewarding it feels to help people in need, it also leaves me with a lot of anxiety’s about there welfare when I leave. But I wouldn’t change it for the world!🫶🏼🫶🏼

Liked by charles_leclerc, yourmumsuser and 79,253 others

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charles_leclerc: so proud of you mon amour.❤️

y/nusername: je t’aime mon amour🫶🏼🫶🏼

fanofleclerc: this is the first time she’s posted on her main in like 4 months!!!

user272: she’s so wholesome 🥹🥹🥹

chancy/n: she is truly an angel. I love how caring and kind she is 🥰🥰🥰

lorenzotl: ❤️❤️

charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: happy birthday 🥳to the most kind,caring and generous person I know. I’m so proud of you and what you’ve done !you truly are the love of my life mon cherie. ❤️

Liked by y/npriv, carlossainz55 and 348,272 others

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user3739: the way he didn’t tag her because he knows she prefers being low-key >>>>🥹🥹

scuderiaferrari: happy birthday y/n !🥳❤️

Liked by y/npriv

carlossainz55: happy birthday 🥳🥳

fanof16: our fave wag🥰

user279: stop🥹the🥹photos🥹of🥹them😭😭😭😭😭😭

y/npriv

y/npriv: lucky to have youuuu🫶🏼

tagged: charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc: I’m the lucky one mon amour ❤️

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leclerc_pascale: mon bébés 🥰🥰

y/npriv: je t’aime 🥰🫶🏼

#f1 instagram au #formula 1 #instagram au #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #fiction #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc ferrari #charles leclerc x you #charles lechair #charles leclerc x y/n #forza ferrari

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bebe-writes-stuff · 4 months

Note

Hey lovely!! I love your work and I was wondering if you can do a baji x reader smut with like a friends to lovers where he gets jealous when one of his friends make a move on you as a joke but he can’t take it seeing y/n all happy’ with a. Anna that’s not him and can u please include where someone walks in on them at the end and he says something about how they became a couple like someone walks in and he he’s like “ can you ye out I’m trying to help my girlfriend clean up!” I LOVE YOU SO MUCHHHHH I have read so much of ur stuff BbBbdbdbbdbd

Ima be honest, I wrote this when I was high so like, idek if this makes sense

Jealous! Baji x Reader (Smut)

Annoyed by your lack of attention, he huffed and puffed, and you still didn't say anything,

"What are you even reading that you are so invested in?" He muttered glancing at your book before pouting and setting his eyes aside.

"Huh, you don't know?" You turned to him and showed him your book cover.

Romeo and Juliet

"Ew, what the hell. Who the hell even reads that in their free time." He cringed at your sappy choice of book taste.

"Shut up will you, it's for the Drama Club. It's the annual play, other schools come and parents also come. I auditioned for fun, but I got the main role, Juliet." You explained, before someone abruptly opened the empty classroom door, it was lunch time.

"Woah, Y/n, did you actually join the annual play?!" It was Chifuyu, he was breathing and seemed...flustered.

"Oh, yeah. how'd you know?" You asked, tilting your head a little worried.

"The flyers are literally being passed out everywhere, look!" He unrolled the flyer and then slammed it on one of the desks.

You took a peek before,

"Woah.."

"Huh?-"

It was you and Ryusei Satou on the cover. You had a dagger in your hand aimed high at yourself as you knelt on your dead lover's body, Ryusei was lying on the floor with poison that fell in drops from his mouth, the tragic fate of Romeo and Juliet. On the cover, you looked just so beautiful, you looked alluring. Your eyes were magnetic, drawing people in with a combination of elegance and genuine warmth. Baji understood why you would be Juliet, no one fit better, you were beautiful both in and out, gentle, graceful, oh he could go on and on about you. He never liked to admit it, he loved you too much. But why was that asshole Ryusei, Romeo, he thought angrily.

The next couple of weeks, Baji has barely seen you. So imagine how he felt when he heard that the entire time you were with Ryusei practicing for the upcoming play. Almost as if you cheated on him, not like you were dating anyway. He didn't mean to stop, he really didn't. But when he heard your voice from outside the theater room, he stopped to listen. Even your voice made him flushed and nervous. However, he froze when he peeked in and saw how Ryusei had you in his arms as he performed dramatically. You were smiling and laughing even. You looked so happy with another guy, it broke his heart. He felt like punching him, or anyone at this point. It was now after school, Chifuyu stopped by Baji's apartment to study for upcoming exams and projects. Then he asked when he noticed how Baji seemed more angry than usual.

"Are you upset that Y/n and Ryusei are gonna kiss?" he shouldn't have said that.

"WHAT, THEY KISS?!" He shouted

"Ohh, I shouldn't have said that..."

"She can't- No- UGHH CAN SHE QUIT THAT STUPID PLAY ALREADY?" Baji groaned, throwing his books to the side before slamming his head on his desk.

"This is so stupid." He pulled onto his hair. He stopped and turned to Chifuyu, who muttered something.

"You got something to say?"

"Baji, she was gonna ask you to do the auditions with her but you turned her down for the gang, Also the play is in a couple days so I think it's too late to pull out now." He repeated himself, a little anxious.

Wait, he thought, was it that one time? Shit, he does remember when he turned down your request, you looked so sad and he promised to make it up to you, which he forgot to do. Fuck.

Now, it was Chifuyu's turn to be worried because of Baji's sudden absences. He couldn't be that affecting because of a silly play, right? C'mon that's Toman's First Division Captain, he can't be acting all childish and clingy when it comes to you, right? Wrong, he was in his room walking back and forth, whining about it.

Baji stayed home the day of the play, until he got a text from Chifuyu.

-- Holy shit, there's so many people at the school dude!"

He groaned and put his phone down, obviously people came. You were too unreal, too siren-like. He heard a knock on his door, it was his mom.

"Chifuyu told me what's been going on. I'm not here to talk to you because in truth, I think you deserve it. You had a chance and you wasted it and made her wait. And you know worst of all, YOU DIDN'T EVEN MAKE IT UP TO HER, and here you are being all childish and sad about the consequences to your own actions. If I were you, I would take my ass there and make it up to her." She scolded him, maybe it sounded harsh, but it was out of love, she was sad that he was putting himself through this.

"yeah, LIKE I KNOW HOW. AT THIS POINT, just let them be." He sighed defeated,

"Don't give me that bull. You know how Kei, I know what you've been doing." She said in a smug motherly tone.

He felt his face grow hot quickly as he glanced at the copy of the play he had read.

Stupid, he thought

He heard his mother's footsteps fade as she walked away once their conversation died out. She was right, Baji knew what to do, and he was gonna make it up to you, tonight!

Backstage, you were nervous, shaking even. You were wearing a silky and fancy long nightgown. It was a scene where you are on the balcony of your room confessing your love to the hidden Romeo as he listens to your heart-filled speech. The play was nearing its end, which meant it was closing to where you had to kiss Romeo or more specifically, Ryusei. Which you found extremely awkward. You noticed Chifuyu in the crowd earlier in the play, he was waving and cheering. However, it saddened you how Baji didn't come, he probably had another important gang meeting, you thought. It was the final scene now. You were getting ready to step on stage before you heard some ruckus in the background, before you had time to figure out. The play started and you stepped onto the stage. You talked clearly and passionately, You called out to your lover, this is when Ryusei was to step out and capture you in a breathtaking kiss after some sensual words. You waited, but no one came out. You called out again, nervously.

Suddenly, from the opposing curtain, he walked out. The stage lighting made the moment feel unreal, wait am I imagining this? Why was the one that stepped out of the curtain, it was Baji, it was really Baji. You gasped before you continued with your act. it was subtle but you glanced at Chifuyu who seemed also equally confused. Finally, the play was gonna end, the last scene was a recreation of the Flyer. Romeo and Juliets end. You stabbed yourself with Romeo's dagger as you fell onto Romeo's poisoned body. The crowd roared with 'woos" and cheers as they applauded loudly. You felt hands grip your waist, Baji whispered,

"Y/n, meet me in the costume closet after this. It's important."

What the hell was going on? you thought, first, Baji is distancing himself from you, then he shows up randomly in the play you in AND KISSES YOU. and NOW, he wants to talk to you alone after the play. But if you wanted to find out, you'd have to confront him. It was later after the show now, you were in front of the costume closet, no one was back there. You took a deep breath before entering, Baji was waiting, leaning against the wall.

"Hey Baji, what's up?"

"Keisuke, My name's Keisuke."

"Ookay...Keisuke."

He hated how awkward you seemed around him, he wanted you to laugh and smile like how you were with Ryusei. He sighed as he stood up and approached you, suddenly you were pushed against one of the walls.

"Y/n, do you hate me?" He whispered, coming in closer, leaving little space between your lips.

No, quite the opposite actually, you thought, but you couldn't say that. You just looked to the side avoiding his gaze. He gritted his teeth harshly

"Look at me damnit!" He growled as he forced you to look at him directly.

"Tch, you like this don't you?" He smirked as he toyed with you. He grabbed your face, roughly and chuckled. You glanced at his lips as you both closed in on each other, your eyes locked in an electric gaze, anticipation hung in the air like a delicate melody. The world seemed to pause as your lips met, creating an intimate universe where only the soft whispers of your breaths and the tender exchange of kisses existed. His hands delicately cradled your face, and your fingers entwined in the strands of his hair. The kiss unfolded like a choreography of emotions, starting with a tender exploration and building into a passionate crescendo. Time seemed to slow down, allowing you to savor every fleeting moment of this shared intimacy. Your breath hitched as you felt Baji placing soft kisses and even nibbling on your sensitive neck. The warmth of his lips, coupled with the gentle pressure and softness of the kisses, created the obvious tension and the sense of both of your intimacy and arousal.

"Y/n, I'm gonna fuck you now." He already had his hand in your costume.

"Fuck, your this wet because of me, you're not scared of being caught, You little slut." You whimpered as you rode his fingers,

"K-keisuke, wait- I-" You tried to formulate a sentence but your moans cut you off.

"Uh, Y/n! Baji! Are you guys here?" You gasped as you put both your hands on your mouth, controlling your moans.

"Huh?! What you want, Chifuyu! Can't you see I'm helping my girlfriend change out of her costume, go now!"

Embarrassed, Chifuyu runs out, He sighed,

"You were right... Ryusei."

"Told ya." He smirked as he knew, the only way to get Baji to make a move on you was to make him a little jealous.

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creative-caramel-coffee · 10 months

Text

Wheezy Winters

Pairings: Wandanat x R

Word count: 1.1K

Summary: you had always kept your asthma a secret… until you couldn’t.

TW: asthma, fainting, hospitals (at the compound), swear word (just the one)

A/N This is so true for me. I know I shouldn’t be but I’m low key so embarrassed to use my puffer in-front of other people, even if I need it.

You’d had asthma long before you had joined the avengers. But when they had you fill out the medical forms you left out your condition in fear of placing your job in jeopardy. Who knows what they would have done. Less missions maybe? Less training? Less work? No. You loved your job. Over the first few months you found yourself under the two resident red heads wings. Slowly the three of you painstakingly became girlfriends. Joining the red headed relationship. They were sometimes overbearing but that was ok and justified by their traumatic pasts. All was going well until one winter morning.

You woke late. The clock read fifteen minutes until 6. Steve’s morning jogs were the bane of your existence and in your haste to be ready you forgot to take your preventer. The little purple puffer was a must in the winter. With the cold air and exercise being your main triggers, you had to take it each morning of the cold months. However in case needed you always carried around the blue puffer, to be taken if you had an attack. Shouldering your mini backpack you kept with you always, much to the amusement of the team, you ran down to the compound foyer.

The team grinned at the sight of the small bag. Clint and your girls often teasing you for your attachment to the bag. But pride and shyness kept you from telling them the real reason you kept the small black pouch on you always. Tony smiled at the sight.

“Got your bag of secrets?” He asked, poking fun. You smiled along not taking it to heart, they didn’t know.

“Come on love, you can leave it with Bruce if it makes you feel better.” Natasha smiled, kissing your knuckles lightly. You blushed slightly, embarrassed by the attention.

“Uh, no. It’s fine. Let’s just go.” You choked out, not missing Wanda’s raised eyebrow.

“Alright.” Nat sighed, pulling you out into the cold. Starting off slow, you broke into a jog, falling slightly behind the team a bit, matching pace with tony. You cringed at the slight jiggling sounds coming from your backpack. Not missing Tony’s feral grin. He made some snide remark, which you ignored. Focused more on the slight tightness in your chest as you realised you forgot the most impact the part of getting ready. You quickened you pace, wanting to be near Wanda in case of an attack. Your girls always made you feel safe. Nat was too far away to catch up to. Realising your mistake when your chest began to tighten more. Wanda noticed the discomfort, slowing to run beside you. You sent her an appreciative grimace and huffed a small ‘thank you’.

“It’s alright darling… are you feeling ok? You look a little puffed?” Wanda’s worry was justified, normally you ran circles around her without so much as a strained breath. But your chest was too tight to respond. Your breathes becoming shorter and shorter. Wanda slowed again. Dizziness overtook you as you sat down heavily.

“Baby? Are you ok?” She crouched beside you as you laid on the cool concrete. Her brow furrowed at your lack of response. Your arms reaching for something you couldn’t find.

“What do you need?” Wanda asked again.

“Wands? What’s going on?” Nat asked, having come back to see whats was happening.

“Im not sure, but Y/n/n’s breathing doesn’t sound too good.” Nat placed an ear to your chest, frowning at the raspy short breathes.

“Sweetheart, whats happening? use your words baby.” Wanda cooed, stroking your knuckles with her thumb.

“Need… backpack… front… pocket.” You wheezed between short breathes. Your lungs felt like they were being popped.

Nat grabbed the bag you had dropped. Neither of them had seen what was inside before. Pulling out the small blue device Nat frowned. Wanda quickly snatched it off her.

“Y/n/n I need you to open your mouth.” Wands said softly. Your vision began to blur as you lost consciousness. Opening your mouth before passing out.

“Shit.” Wanda swore. “Nat hold her mouth open and support her head.” Wanda shook the puffer a few times before removing the cap as Nat pulled your head into her lap.

Carefully Wanda tilted the puffer up slightly, angling it down your throat as she gave two puffs into your mouth.

“Now shut her mouth and pinch her nose.” Wanda instructed

“Why?” Nat asked not moving.

“Just do it.” Wanda responded. Nat moved and did as she was asked. “We need the medicine to stay in her lungs for a bit for it to work properly” she explained.

Wanda counted to five before telling Nat to let go. Repeating the process, she administered another two puffs before placing her ear to your chest again. Satisfied with the less raspy breathes you drew.

Wanda nodded to Nat, who scooped you into her arms and the two lightly jogged back to the compound.

When the made it to the lab, they placed you on the bed. Explaining to Bruce what happened, he placed you on a low flow of oxygen through a mask.

Coming out of the blackness was hazy. You felt a warm hand brushing the hair from your face, stroking it backwards softly. Eyes flickering, you drew both girls attention.

“Oh sweetheart.” Wanda cooed at the sight of your teary eyes. “Its ok. We understand.” She read you loud thoughts of your fears. “Honey, do you know how I knew what to do?”

You slowly shook you head, peeling back the mask to respond. “No.” You rasped. Nat’s hand placed over yours as she guided the mask back to your face.

“Honey, Pietro had asthma. It did nothing to stop his place on the team. But we needed to know. We’re sorry you felt you couldn’t tell us.” She whispered, her lips grazing your knuckles again.

“Love, don’t worry about anything. I’ll be beating Clint and Tony’s asses if they give you anymore grief about the backpack. Im glad you carried it with you despite their teasing.” Nat smiled, placing a kiss on your cheek.

After a few hours of rest. Life returned to normal. The only difference, now your two girls both check each morning to make sure you had taken your puffer, before they let you out of their sight. It warmed your heart in the cold months to know they cared.

|| PART 2 ||

Master list

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shadesslut · 6 months

Note

So for the father's malice series, could you possibly make Ollie's first word to be "Dada"/"Daddy" (referring to Ethan) which is surprising since Ollie has barely been around him, and it basically warms both Y/N's and Ethan's heart <3 thank you

a father’s malice, pt. 3

(a/n: THIS WAS SUCH A CUTE IDEA THANK YOU)

Pairing: (Ex-Gf!Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader x Chad Meeks-Martin)

Content Includes: (Slight alcoholism?, self-hate, fluff, angst)

Summary: Ethan starts to turn to alcohol as a coping mechanism for his guilt and trauma with his father. Ethan also starts his job in a bookstore! :D

Masterlist

✮

His adrenaline was high, and his pupils were dilated. A part of him liked the chase, the thrill of playing cat and mouse made his hands shake in excitement. It was who he was chasing made his stomach turn.

Y/N was close to the main room where the others were. Her cheeks were stained with old and new tears.

Ethan chased her as he swerved around the beat-up furniture. She moved to the side, trying to cut him off, but she tripped. Her shoe got caught on a wooden panel on the floor, and she stumbled, letting Ethan catch up to her. His heart dropped as she tripped, not wanting to catch her.

He tackled her to the floor, and she let out a sob. She didn’t want to go out this way; alone and cold. She wanted to be held by Ethan or Chad. Not pressed between the floor and her killer.

Ethan raised the knife in the air, stilling his movements as he looked down at her. She cried, but didn’t fight back.

“Come on, Y/N.” Ethan whispered under the mask. “Don’t give up.”

But she did. She went limp under his hold, and Ethan knew what he had to do. He cried with her as he swung his hand down, sinking the knife into her chest. She coughed out blood, and her hands gripped around Ethan’s wrist.

Ethan slid his knife out as he stood up shakily. He looked down at her, and a part of him wanted to take off his mask, to tell her it’s going to be okay. He didn’t do that though; he only sniffled and left her there. He heard Tara’s scream, his cue, and he glanced back at Y/N one last time.

He whispered an “I love you,” to her as he left. He didn’t know she was pregnant then, but again, it probably wouldn’t have made a difference.

—

The truth was, Ethan wasn’t doing well. Don’t get it wrong, Ethan was ecstatic to be spending time with Ollie and Y/N, but whenever he wasn’t bonding with Ollie, he was bonding with Chad’s stash of liquor. He had never been known to drink, and to be honest with himself, Ethan hated it. But it was the only way he felt good about himself.

He hated himself. And everyday he thought of it.

“Hey!”

Y/N’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked to her, apologizing under his breath. She looked concerned.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Ethan asked softly. He leaned further towards her on the couch. She had her laptop resting on her thighs.

She sighed, smiling. “Are you nervous for your interview?”

He had stayed with them for two weeks now. Chad had softened up on him a tad, but it seemed a lot to Ethan. Y/N did too, finally giving in to letting Ethan sleep in her bed. They never touched though, keeping to their sides. Only reaching out their hands towards each other. Ethan applied to hundreds of places. You know how it is, being famous for the only surviving Ghostface ever, no one really wanted him. He received a few calls, fortunately.

“A little,” Ethan answered. Y/N placed her hand on his, her warmth causing him to smile.

“You’ll be fine. I know that.” She comforted. “Do you wanna get lunch when Chad gets back?”

He shook his head as he stood up. He wiped his hands on his jeans and adjusted his shirt. “Nah, I gotta head out. Give Ollie a kiss for me.” Ethan smiled, before grabbing his wallet and walking out the door. His smile disappeared as he shut the door.

–

Ethan sighed as he swung the door open. The bell rang and he cringed, not wanting to bring attention to him. A girl at the counter welcomed him in, and her face was covered by the stack of books in her hands. Ethan shifted awkwardly.

“Uhm, I’m here for an interview.” He said, moving towards the desk she was behind.

“Oh!” She exclaimed, before dropping the stack on the counter. She had frizzy blonde hair, was short, and had glasses that were way too big for her face. Her eyes widened at the sight of Ethan. Great. Ethan thought to himself, nervous that she recognized him.

“You’re Ethan Kirsch,” She mumbled, pointing her finger at him. “I just saw you on the news,”

Ethan winced, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah,”

She didn’t respond. She only stared up at him, adjusting her glasses as she pushed them up. Ethan coughed. “I’m sorry, do you want me to-”

“Sorry! I-I’m just a fan of yours. I’m Mary.”

“‘A fan’?”

She nodded, and she waved her hand, urging him to follow her. He looked around at the bookshelves as he walked behind her. He ducked his head under a short doorway, and she stopped abruptly, causing Ethan to run into her back. She turned around and smiled brightly up at him. He looked around.

Ethan felt his chest tighten. The walls were covered with Ghostface and Stab merch, a robe was dressed on a mannequin that sat in the center of the room. Pictures of previous Ghostfaces hung on the wall, including him. She laughed nervously as she watched him take everything in.

There was a section of the room specific to his family, specific to him. He had seen the fangirls that made threads online about him, just like his brother, but he never thought he’d meet one in person.

“Yeah, I’ve made quite the collection. It took too long for merch of you and your family to be made, so I just made it myself.” She giggled. Ethan only looked at a picture of his father and sister in horror, mouth agape. “I’m sorry, but I just have to know, did you do it?”

Ethan jerked his head towards her.

“Do what?”

“You know,” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Kill Anika and Paul.”

Ethan clenched his fists. This is exactly what he wanted to escape from. He didn’t want to be constantly reminded of his sins.

“Excuse me?”

“C’mon, everyone wants to know.”

He shook his head, and her shoulders slumped. She seemed extremely disappointed, like her favorite singer had turned out to be an awful person. It was the opposite in this case. “Oh,”

He still, he only stared at her in shock, not knowing what to say or do.

“People argue that you were the one who did the bodega kills, but I don’t know. I think that one was too vanilla for you. You like to be hands-on and kill with your blade, so there’s no way you’d chase Sam and Tara around with a gun.”

“Mary, please. Whatever you believe, I’m not gonna say anything. I’m trying to move on from who I used to be.” Ethan ignored her previous statement, pleading to her that she’d drop the subject.

She adjusted her glasses. “Yeah but, you don’t have to do that here. I want you to be yourself.”

Ethan sighed at her. She really wasn’t going to let his past go was she?

“So, um, about that interview.” Ethan said. She nodded, and her hands played with the strings of her hoodie.

“Don’t worry about it, you’re hired.” She smiled, walking out of the room. Ethan sighed, knowing she was gonna be awkward to work with. He put up books onto shelves, following the chart Mary had given him. Soft music filled his ears as he worked.

He’d space out here and there. The lyrics of the song he listened to would be incoherent, the titles of the books he fixed blurred. He would hear their screams, Y/N and Chad’s. He could hear it faintly as he zoned out.

He remembers it as if it were yesterday. The way their bodies twitched as he stabbed them. The way their blood stained his robe, and even his clothes underneath.

He’d wanna hurt himself every time he thought about it. He would go to the bathroom to take a breather, and then he’d come back, starting all over.

Every so often as he worked, he’d look over his shoulder to glance at Mary, who would look away once his eyes landed on her. Yeah, this was gonna be a problem.

Ethan sat behind the desk, finished with his training as he began to clock out. He smiled brightly at his phone. A picture of Ollie glew on his screen, he wore a fluffy brown onesie, and Y/N’s smiling face was behind him as she held him up. He loved Ollie, deeply, and even though he thought he had changed, he would kill anyone for him. He loved Y/N too, sometimes he loved Chad.

Y/N

Chad & I are almost there

6:00 pm

“Is that your kid?” Mary appeared over Ethan’s shoulder.

“Jesus!” Ethan yelped, dropping his phone.

Mary grabbed his phone, zooming in on the picture. She squinted her eyes, before Ethan yanked his phone out of her hands. “Yes, that’s Ollie.” Ethan answered. Mary nodded and stepped back. It had only been a few hours of Ethan knowing Mary, and already he was uncomfortable at her presence. It was obvious she was a fan of his, another die hard fanatic that fabricated theories. The door rang, and Ethan couldn’t move around Mary fast enough. “Hey!”

Y/N smiled, holding Ollie in a green baby wrap. Her hair was up in a bun, and Ollie still wore the onesie from the picture. Chad walked in as well after her, and all Ethan wanted to do was go home with them.

“We’re closed,” Mary said in a monotone voice. She glared at Y/N, and specifically Chad.

“It’s okay they’re picking me up,” Ethan said before Chad or Y/N could reply. Ethan hunched down slightly as he greeted Ollie, making a funny face, opening his mouth in a smile. Ollie giggled and swung his arms as he stimmed. “C’mere,” Ethan said in his baby voice, giving Ollie a fat and wet kiss on Ollie’s cheek.

Y/N giggled as she watched the two, but Chad stared at Mary in dominance. She stared back.

“So you have my number right?” Mary nodded in response.

“I’ll send you your schedule.”

“Thanks,” Ethan trailed off, opening the door for Y/N. He didn’t tell them about Mary’s shrine, or her obsession with him. He couldn’t. He knew he’d feel guilty if he brought up the past, and he didn’t feel like talking about it anymore tonight.

—

Ethan hid behind a curtain as he watched Quinn chase after the others. His mask was off, and his cheeks were stained with tears. He replayed his last moments with Y/N in his head. As soon as the knife broke skin, he regretted everything he did. She was the first person to ever show Ethan love, and he hurt her like it was nothing.

His father’s voice played in his head over and over again.

“If you kill them, you’d be doing the world a favor.”

“It’s not easy what you and your sister are doing, and I need you to be perfect.”

“Richie would be proud of you.”

The night he killed Anika, his father praised him. He praised him like Ethan was Richie. And Ethan finally felt a part of the family. That was the only night he didn’t cry himself to sleep at the thought of Y/N’s near death.

Ethan’s eyes darkened, and he slid the mask back onto his head. Chad just punched Quinn, knocking her down. Ethan’s legs bounced up and down as he watched Chad lift a glass candy dispenser in the air, preparing to throw it on Quinn.

Chad had done everything for Ethan. He urged Ethan to ask Y/N out, disregarding his own feelings, and he was the one who pushed them together. He was the one who took Ethan to everything, and he always made sure to make him feel included. He was Ethan’s only friend.

He huffed as he rushed in, stabbing Chad in the side.

—

“So, you think you’ll like it?” Chad asked, mouthful of one of the tacos they had picked up on their way home.

Ethan shrugged, picking off tomatoes from his food. “Seems alright,” Y/N cut a few strawberries up, feeding Ollie small chunks as she listened.

“Your boss seems weird.” Chad stated simply. The truth was, Chad wasn’t an idiot. He had plenty of experience of reading people’s emotions from their behavior. He knew Mary most likely was attracted to Ethan, and that pissed Chad off. In a weird way, Chad only wanted Y/N and Ethan to himself. Three was enough in their relationship.

Not that they were in a relationship, of course.

Ethan nodded in agreement as he rewrapped his taco.

“These are the best tacos, I swear to god,” Y/N groaned, taking a bite.

Chad chuckled. “I’m surprised you’re not tired of them. You had them like every day when you were pregnant.” Ethan smiled awkwardly, not knowing how to react to that. It wasn’t any secret about how much Chad was there for her when Ethan…well wasn’t.

Chad noticed Ethan’s change of demeanor, and he casually rested his palm on Ethan’s knee. Ethan’s eyes widened at his hand placement, and he gulped, not knowing how to react to that.

“Dadda,”

Ethan jerked his head towards the sound. Ollie was standing in front of the couch, next to Ethan’s legs. His small hands rested on the couch cushion, and he started jumping up and down.

“Did,” Ethan’s voice suddenly became high-pitched. “Did he say that to me?”

Ollie’s eyes glimmered at Ethan, his gummy smile showing.

“He’s lookin’ at you,” Chad responded in a whisper. “He only ever calls me daddy anyway, not that I blame him…”

Y/N threw a couch cushion at Chad, who laughed as it hit him in the chest. Ollie reached for Ethan, insisting that he’d pick him up. Ethan obliged happily, and he rested Ollie in his big arms.

“Did you call me dadda?” Ethan asked, smiling at Ollie. Ollie giggled, and Ethan’s heart swooned. He’d never felt this way before in his life. Y/N stared happily at the two boys, and she glanced at Chad, who also grinned ear to ear. Maybe this could work, maybe they could be a family; all of them. Maybe they could forget about the Ethan that hurt them, maybe he was gone.

Ethan kissed Ollie’s cheek and blew a raspberry, earning a loud laugh from him. Y/N let out an involuntary choked laugh as she held back tears. Ethan stood up, sliding Ollie to sit on his hip.

“Think we should celebrate with some shots, huh?” Ethan baby-talked to Ollie as he tickled his belly. Y/N gave Chad a pointed look after Ethan spoke. Chad cleared his throat.

“Don’t you think it’s a little late?” Chad asked Ethan cautiously. “Don’t you have work in the morning?”

Ethan turned around, his smile slowly dropping. “I think I can handle one shot.”

“Eth, you’ve already had four beers,” Y/N said softly, gesturing to the empty bottles that sat on the coffee table. Ethan’s eyes followed to the table.

“Let’s just go to bed.” Chad spoke again, his tone more stern this time. Ethan rolled his eyes, and Y/N stood up next to him, adjusting her jeans.

Ethan stepped away from her. “I wanna have a shot.” She shook her head and sighed. Her fingers pressed to her temple, applying pressure. Chad stood up as well.

“Dude, just go to bed. You’ve had enough to drink.” Chad warned, rolling his sleeves up. Ethan ignored both of them, taking Ollie into the kitchen with him. Y/N sternly said his name as she followed him, Chad behind her.

Ethan grabbed a shot glass from the cabinet, and he reached his hand to the top of the fridge. His head snapped up once he realized the bottle of liquor wasn’t up there.

“I threw it out.” Chad stated as he leaned against the counter opposite of Ethan. Ethan groaned at his words.

He couldn’t take being sober anymore, even tipsy, he needed something. He needed to feel the burn of alcohol soothe down his throat. He needed to make the noises go away. He needed to stop hearing his father’s voice. He needed to forget about that day, and he needed Chad and Y/N to stop looking at him like that.

Chad cautiously walked up to him, holding his arms out to take Ollie. “Go away,” Ethan mumbled, but he wasn’t talking to Chad. The voices of his father rang in his head.

You were born to hurt people.

Chad put two hands on Ethan’s shoulders, which caused Ethan to tense.

You’re not good enough to be my son.

“Come on dude, just come to bed. We want you to come to bed.” Chad whispered to Ethan, gently rubbing his shoulders. Ollie babbled to himself, and Chad smiled at him and put his hand and the back of Ollie’s head. Ethan saw this, and he immediately reached to grab a knife from the knife block.

Chad’s eyes widened, and he stepped back.

“Get the fuck away from me!” Ethan screamed, holding the knife up at both of them. Y/N held her hands up in defense, her eyes flicking to Ollie, who started to cry. She slowly said his name and walked towards him, hoping to take Ollie from his arms.

Ethan turned the knife towards her, causing her to stop in her tracks. “Ethan, please,” she cried. While Ethan was distracted by her, Chad inched towards Ollie, finally sliding him out of Ethan’s arms. Ethan turned towards Chad, and for a split, measly second, he saw his father. He saw his father instead of Chad, and he laughed sinisterly as he held Ollie.

He couldn’t let Ollie get hurt, he made a promise. He swung the knife, cutting his father’s arm. Y/N and Ollie’s cries filled Ethan’s ears as he watched the blood seep down his arm. But it wasn’t his father’s groans he heard, it was Chad’s.

He looked back up with widened eyes. Chad clutched Ollie in his left arm, and he hissed as he looked at the fresh cut on his right. Chad looked at him in horror and anger.

Ethan’s hand shook as he slowly looked at the knife in his hand. He heard ringing in his ears as the knife fell from his hands, clattering on the floor.

“I-I…I’m sorry,” Ethan stammered. He looked at the blood splatters on the floor from the knife. His eyes started to water, and he cried along with Ollie. Chad mumbled something to Y/N, and she shakily took Ollie into her room. “Y/N wait,” Ethan begged as he tried to follow her. Chad stopped him by pushing his forearm against Ethan’s chest.

“Leave it,” Chad muttered. Ethan’s chest rose up and down as he stared at him. Chad looked like he was about to cry, but he repeatedly blinked and held back his tears.

Chad whimpered as he looked at his arm, and Ethan immediately reached for him. “Let me help,” he offered in a small voice, but Chad jerked away.

Ethan had never hated himself more than now. He thought he could change, become a different person than the one his father molded him to be. Maybe he was wrong. Was his father right? Was Ethan always going to be like this? Maybe Ethan should have stayed in jail, and he silently cursed the person who bailed him out.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a whisper as Chad picked up the knife. Chad didn’t say anything, he only glanced at Ethan before leaving him alone in the kitchen. It was mere minutes Ethan stood there, alone with the blood stains on the floor, until he finally left. And as Y/N stitched Chad’s arm, exchanging soft whispers and tears with each other, Ollie peacefully sleeping in their bed, the dresser moved back to barricade the door, Ethan went to the one place he knew he was welcome at.

(Taglist: @onlyreadz, @lloyd907, @hearts4meeks, @emitaylorsverson, @depressedseaweed, @athenalive, @b3bybunny, @aliciacat20, @whoaitsbibi, @fallinforhappiness, @Dabbin22, @leyla-1905, @sflame15-blog, @i-love-milfs2, @zerodotzer0, @ahalliwell5, @gabbylovesreading, @wishyouwere-sober, @leaveitbythewave, @itsnotino, @elltheawkward, @writinganything, @buffhoshi, @reysdriver, @asapkyndall, @champomiel)

#scream #scream 6 #scream vi #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #jack champion #ghostface x reader #ethan kirsch #chad meeks x reader #chad meeks martin #ethan landry fluff #mason gooding #chad meeks x ethan landry

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megu-meow · 10 months

Text

romeo - Gojo Satoru

gojo x fem. reader

Summary: you're upset and Satoru has to find a way to cheer you up.

Warning: suggestive at the end.

Everyone has bad days, even the Strongest. Satoru knows not everything can be as perfect as he is, but he tries to brighten the lives of the people around him. He's the type of person to mask his own feelings with his silly and playful personality, but not everyone operates like him. So he notices straight away that something is wrong with you. You're not laughing at his lame jokes like you usually do, there's a dullness to your eyes that he identifies as a product of your sadness and he notices your lack of enthusiasm as well. At first, he's mad. Not at you, he could never, but at the source of your bad mood. Who or what dared to hurt his little mochi, the lover of the Strongest?

During one of his classes, he just tells the kids to practice some sparring so that he could come up with an elaborate plan to brighten your mood and get you out of your slump. Firstly, he has to identify the source of the problem. His first thought is that he did something to upset you, but he brushes that idea away instantly. He would never do anything to make you sad, he takes pride in how amazing of a boyfriend he is. Moreover, whenever you're mad at him, you give him the silent treatment, but you were acting normally that morning - trying to hide your bad mood from him, you gave him a kiss and told him you loved him before leaving the house, so that cannot be it.

"Gojo-sensei!" he hears his name being called by Megumi. He looks in his direction, the raven-haired boy is standing by his side, staring at him with confusion written all over his face. "What is up with you today? You're unusually silent."

"There's nothing wrong with me, Megumi." he answers curtly and the kid is not convinced that he's telling the truth at all. Suddenly, Satoru remembers something and puts his bulky arm around the Fushiguro kid's shoulder, despite his efforts to dodge the side hug. "You were out on a mission with y/n yesterday, right? Did something happen that made my little mochi upset?"

Megumi cringes at the nickname and rolls his eyes, but he tries to remember everything that you said or did during the mission. You were awfully quiet, but he just thought you were simply tired. He didn't think it was a big deal, but maybe Gojo was onto something. The mission was a huge success, but you were unfazed by the great outcome, which should have alerted the raven-haired sorcerer.

"Yeah, now that you're asking, something seemed to be wrong, she was very quiet and didn't even want to celebrate our victory with us."

"Hmmm, that's not good." Satoru says, his right hand scraping his chin like he's deep in thought. "So by the time you went on your mission with her, she was already upset. Do you know what she was doing before?"

"No, she didn't mention anything about her day. Although, when we met up with her she was with Nanami-san, maybe he knows something."

"Thank you, Megumi!" he says in a chipper tone "Class is dismissed!" he shouts and he leaves the kids flabbergasted, as he teleports to the blonde sorcerer with a new found purpose.

"NANAMIN!" he exclaims, not caring that the said man is currently in the middle of a meeting with the principal.

"Gojo, this behavior of yours is unacceptable, we're in the middle of something here!" says Yaga.

"Oh, so it's the perfect time to take a break!" he says nonchalantly, and both Kento and the principal start rubbing their forehead annoyedly.

"What do you need, Gojo-san?" asks Nanami, giving into his shenanigans.

"Did you do something that could've hurt y/n yesterday?"

"ARE YOU SERIOUS GOJO SATORU?! THAT'S YOUR REASON TO INTERRUPT OUR MEETING?!" Yaga exclaims and the white-haired sorcerer mumbles the words 'ew, scary' under his breath, annoying the principal even more.

"No, Gojo-san, I just walked five minutes with her from the main building to the gate, where Megumi and Ijichi were waiting for her so that they could leave on their mission. We engaged in some small talk, but nothing out of the ordinary." said the blonde.

"Okay, that's boring. Did she tell you what she was doing before that?"

"Yes, she was out for coffee with Ieiri-san."

"Thank you, Nanamin!" Gojo said, teleporting away instantly, leaving the two infuriated sorcerers to finish their meeting.

"Shoko!" he arrives in the healer's office with a huff, the woman not even batting an eye at his sudden arrival.

"What do you need, Gojo?" she asks, without looking up from the document she was reading.

"Why is y/n upset?" upon hearing his words, Shoko slams the file in front of her shut, glaring at the desperate male standing in her office.

"She's really upset?! I told her it wasn't a big deal..."

"Shoko, tell me what happened, NOW!"

"Ok, Romeo, be patient. I need a smoke, let's go outside." she says nonchalantly as she fetches her cigarettes and lighter from the pocket of her coat, walking out slowly, without any care in the world. Trailing close behind her, like a lost puppy is Satoru, trying to get her to finally talk, but the woman enjoys keeping him on the edge, so she doesn't say a word before lighting her cigarette and taking a puff out of it.

"The barista at the cafe told her she was annoying and she took it to heart." she finally explains and Gojo is in shock. Why would anyone call you annoying? You're the nicest person he's ever met, there's not a bad bone in your body.

"Is that all?" Gojo asks, because normally this isn't something you would be this upset about.

"The guy might have told her, that no one would ever tolerate her attitude in a relationship." she adds and puts out her cigarette with an exaggerated huff of air. Gojo finally understands and thanks Shoko while he leaves in a hurry, taking long strides.

Throughout the following days, Satoru does everything he can to make you feel better. First, he gets home to you, scooping you up from the couch into his warm embrace, showering your face with kisses, claiming how much he missed you, despite seeing you just that morning. He trails behind you as you shuffle into the kitchen to make some tea, keeping his hands around your waist, softly stroking your side under your shirt. He cuddles up to you, his grip possessive and strong around you and he reminds you of how much he loves you, before falling asleep.

He prepares some tasty sandwiches for your lunch and you're surprised to find a colored drawing of the two of you holding hands with a ton of red hearts in the air around the two poorly drawn stick figures. It makes you smile for the first time since the incident and you stuff the piece of paper into your clear phone case for everyone to see. It warms your heart every time you put your phone down and you remember to kiss your boyfriend lovingly on the lips when you run into him on the training field. He can already see that you're in a better mood, but he doesn't stop there.

He speedruns all his missions of the day, getting home early so that he could prepare a scrumptious meal for the two of you to share for dinner. You're surprised to find him in the kitchen, a huge bouquet of peonies sitting on the counter, and the dinner table decorated with candles and rose petals.

"What's the occasion?" you ask curiously, your smile reaching your ears as you take in the sight in front of you. Satoru is out of his uniform jacket, the white button-up shirt from underneath covering his torso. The sleeves are rolled up, highlighting his muscled arm and a few buttons are loose on the top, showing off his prominent collar bones. His blindfold is also missing, his eyes sparkling as he looks at you in awe.

"There's no occasion, little one. I just thought I would surprise you with something nice. There's no need for special events to show my girlfriend how much I love her." he slowly walks up to you, bringing you closer as he gives you the bouquet, leaning down to kiss you on the lips.

"Thank you, 'toru! I love you!"

"Don't thank me, silly! It's what men do when they're in love." he explains like he would to a child, and his high and mighty attitude makes you giggle, a sound he was dying to hear in the last couple of days. During dinner, you laugh at his silly jokes, which he considers as the ultimate win. You are finally back to normal, there is no sign of you being upset in the first place and he pats his own shoulder as he follows you into your shared bedroom. "I'm gonna draw a nice bath for the two of us to enjoy, alright baby?" he asks and he has a mischievous smile on his face.

"That would be nice, 'toru!" you smile and he disappears into the bathroom and he gives you clear instructions to stay out until he tells you otherwise. You wait patiently for him to finish and he sprints out of there on his sock-clad feet, picking you up easily from your comfy bed and he runs back into the luxurious bathroom that is connected to the bedroom. The lights are dim, the whole space is decorated with candles and petals just like the dining table, the bath is full of hot water and bubbles, the scent of vanilla lingering around. You're left speechless, but Satoru knows how to take advantage of that: he kisses you passionately, savoring the sweet taste of your chapstick. He pulls away slowly, looking into your eyes with adoration.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me, baby. Please, don't let others make you believe otherwise. You are smart, kind, polite, and funny, no matter what anyone says. You also are the most beautiful person I've ever seen, my six eyes can be the proof of that. I will love you forever, even if you get old and wrinkly."

Your eyes swell with tears of joy, as you cup his face, bringing him closer so that you could invite him into a loving and passionate kiss, expressing how much his words and little deeds mean to you.

"Thank you, Satoru! I love you, more than anything!" you respond, leaving a small kiss on his chest, above his heart that's thumping rhythmically.

"Good. Now, can I see your titties?"

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagines #satoru gojo #gojo fluff #gojo imagine #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #jjk x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru imagine #satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader

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