#but just know this was amazing and I loved it so much
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american royalty | max verstappen
kennedy!reader
US GRAND PRIX (TIME SKIP)
Max was in panic mode. Little baby Luke did not want to leave his father’s side. Yeah, it was cute, but Max had to be in the car in five minutes.
“I don’t want to leave you either, baby, but papa has to go race.” Max whispered to the seven month old. It amazed y/n and Max how quickly Luke had grown.
Y/n wanted to burst into tears right then and there in Max’s driver’s room, but she held it in. She loved her boys so much.
“You should go, I don’t want you to be late.” Y/n told Max, which made him frown. “You’ll see us after.” She chuckled and grabbed Luke from Max’s arms. Instantly, the boy started to whine.
“It’s okay, Luke, papa is just going to win the race and then he’ll be back for more cuddles.” Max pressed a light kiss to his son’s head.
Y/n and Max kept your relationship very private so no one apart from their families knew about their relationship or baby Luke. When she did attend a race, she watched from Max’s driver’s room. Usually she was alone, but now she had Luke to keep her company. Before y/n could say something, Max turned to her.
“How much longer do you think you and Luke will be watching from here? Don’t get me wrong, I love you both for coming. I think it would be better if my family watches from the garage.” Max waited for you answer. He was sure y/n was going to be mad at him for even suggesting that idea, but she smiled at him.
“You read my mind.” She kissed his lips.
So without hesitation, Max grabbed her hand and together as a family, they walked in the direction of the Red Bull Garage.
When Max saw photographers start to notice y/n, he grabbed Luke from her and took off his Red Bull hat, using it to shield Luke from the cameras. They both agreed to keep their son away from the media. They quickly arrived to the garage just in time.
“Check’s wife, Carola, is here. You can sit with her so you don’t have to be alone.” Max said as he led her through the garage. “And she has kids so that’s something you both have in common!” He tried to lighten up the mood.
“We’ll be okay, won’t we?” She tickled Luke’s side, which made the boy giggle.
“Max!” His race engineer, Gianpiero, called out. “Who’s this smiley boy?” He waved to Luke.
“My son, Luke, and this is my wife, Y/n.” Max introduced her to the British man. She didn’t correct Max on the term he used for her, it felt right coming from his mouth.
“Welcome to the Red Bull family!” He smiled at y/n.
After talking for a short time, Max had to leave so he gave y/n and Luke a kiss and a hug then left. She was introduced to Carola. It didn’t take long for the two women to get along.
Halfway through the race, the camera was focused on y/n for a few seconds. She was looking at a different monitor so she didn’t even realize she was on tv.
“And we have American royalty in the paddock today. There she is, Miss Y/n Kennedy, daughter to the late JFK Jr. and his wife Carolyn. Didn’t know she was a Red Bull fan.” Crofty said.
Immediately, Twitter was having a field day.
Y/n’s phone was flooded with notifications, but she ignored them. Baby Luke and Y/n were about to witness Max win.
As predicted, Max came in first with Checo taking second place. While Carola took her kids to watch their dad on the podium, Y/n stayed behind with Luke. As much as she wanted to watch Max, she didn’t want to expose Luke to everyone.
While the Red Bull team celebrated another win, y/n looked down at her son. “I think dad would’ve loved to be here, don’t you think?” Y/n asked. “Mom on the other hand . . . She would’ve loved Max that’s for sure.”
The topic of her parents made her emotional so she stopped talking. But it was definitely clear that y/n’s parents would’ve loved Max. Even if the media painted him out to be some kind of villain, Max Verstappen was far from it.
Max quickly made his way back to his family after the podium celebrations. He was eager to show his son his trophy, but before he could do that, he was stopped by Charles.
“You’re dating THE y/n kennedy?!”
“How do you even know?” Max wondered.
“Mate, you’re trending all over twitter. The cameras showed her, but what I want to know is why didn’t you tell me? I thought we agreed to tell each other everything!”
“You agreed, I didn’t.” Max corrected him.
“Still! You’re basically important in the eyes of america now. So if you get married, does that mean you’re automatically a US citizen and you can be president?” The Ferrari driver asked.
“I’m pretty sure in order to be president you have to be born in the US— why am I still talking to you? I have to go see my family.” Max said as he ran to the Red Bull garage.
“Congratulations, mr. president!”
Of course calling Max ‘mr. president’ became an inside joke in the paddock.
When Max made it back to the garage, he saw y/n talking with several drivers, one being the only American driver, Logan. At least they were keeping his family company.
“When Max is on break, he sleeps through the night, but he wakes up several times when his dad is gone. He’s such a daddy’s boy.” Y/n explained to Logan, Lando and Oscar.
“Of course he is, I’m the best dad in the world.” Max interrupted.
“Look at you, daddy Max.” Lando joked.
“Oh god, mate. Don’t ever say that again.” Oscar said.
“Anyways . . . How’d you like the race, y/n?” Logan asked the kennedy woman. He felt so at home at the moment. He was so honored to even be talking to someone related to the president of his country.
“It was amazing. Luke and I enjoyed every minute of it. Maybe we’ll just have to come back for another race.” Y/n looked at Max with hopeful eyes. Baby Luke cooed at his father.
“We are going to Mexico next and you love Mexico . . .”
“Great, we’ll be seeing the first family back in the paddock. It was great to meet you, y/n and you too baby Luke.” Lando smiled cheekily at the mom and son.
“You know Charles just called me Mr. President and now this? What else is going to happen?” Max laughed.
“Who knows, maybe you might end up being the president?”
#formula 1#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#f1 imagine#f1 x you#max verstappen smau#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen one shot#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen#mv1 x reader#mv33 x reader#mv1#max verstappen x you#kennedy!reader#w
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I’m Not Jealous!
Lando Norris x Reader
Summary: you’re definitely not jealous of how your boyfriend and his teammate are eye-fucking each other … nope
Note: thank you to the brilliant @struggling-with-drivers for this amazing idea, I love you so much ❤️
You can’t take your eyes off Lando and Oscar as they chat animatedly in the McLaren motorhome after qualifying. The way they lean towards each other, the spark of energy crackling between them, the bright gleam in their eyes — it makes your chest tighten with a strange jealousy.
They’re so wrapped up in their conversation, casually touching each other’s arms for emphasis, that they don’t even notice you approaching. You clear your throat pointedly.
“Oh, hey babe!” Lando glances up with a warm smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s still buzzing from the adrenaline of the session, and you know how much he lives for these intense post-qualifying debriefs with his teammate.
Oscar throws you an acknowledging nod but doesn’t break his intense eye contact with Lando. “We were just going over the data from ...”
You cut him off with an impatient wave of your hand. “I don’t care about the data. Can I talk to my boyfriend for two seconds?”
Lando blinks in surprise at your curt tone but recovers quickly with a teasing grin. “Someone’s feeling jealous.” He slides an arm around your waist, pulling you against his side with a gentle squeeze.
You stiffen, hating how easily he can read you sometimes. “I am not jealous.”
“Uh huh, sure.” Lando rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Then why are you pouting like a petulant child?”
“I’m not pouting!” You protest, very much aware that your lower lip has surged into an exaggerated protrusion. You shoot Oscar a venomous glare when he fails to stifle a snort of laughter.
Lando laughs too, that bright, infectious giggle that somehow simultaneously melts and irritates you. “Aww, baby, you don’t have to be jealous of Oscar. We both have girlfriends, remember? You’re my one and only.”
He kisses your cheek with an audible smacking sound, as if to emphasize his point. But the reassurance doesn’t land — if anything, it makes you more prickly.
“Doesn’t feel like it when you two are constantly eye-fucking each other,” you grumble petulantly.
Lando blinks, his smile faltering briefly into an almost comically exaggerated expression of surprise. Then he exchanges a loaded glance with Oscar, the two of them breaking into wide grins.
“What?” You demand, feeling your cheeks flush hot with embarrassment and irritation. Did you really just say that out loud?
“Nothing, nothing,” Lando says quickly, still grinning wolfishly. “It’s just … eye-fucking, huh? Is that what you think we’re doing?”
“Well it certainly looks like it!” You retort, frantically trying to backpedal. “With all the intense staring and lingering touches and private jokes ...”
Lando’s grin stretches even wider, if that’s possible. “You’re just jealous because you want my undivided attention, aren’t you?”
Your mouth drops open, scandalized by his blunt words despite how accurate they are. “I … no!”
The protest rings pathetically hollow, even to your own ears. Lando sees right through you, as always. He cups your burning cheek, tsking softly.
“Aww, baby, you’re all needy and flustered now, aren’t you?” His tone is warm, almost purred, sending a shiver rippling through you. “It’s okay, I get it. Who could resist wanting every second of my time?”
You huff out a petulant breath, but it’s impossible to stay irritated when he’s gazing at you with such open affection. “You’re an ass.”
“Maybe.” Lando shrugs cheerfully. “But I’m your ass.” He leans in until his lips are brushing your ear, voice dropping to a hushed murmur. “And tonight, I’ll be giving you every second of my undivided attention.”
A full-body shiver races through you at the heated promise in his tone. You’re abruptly, acutely aware of Oscar watching this whole exchange with a smirk.
“Get a room, you two,” he drawls, not even trying to hide his amusement.
Lando barks out a laugh, pulling back just enough to wink roguishly at you. “Don’t mind if we do.”
“Wait, here? Now?” You squeak out, suddenly flustered all over again as he takes your hand and starts tugging you toward the back of the motorhome.
“Why not?” Lando flashes you a cheeky grin over his shoulder. “I told you, baby — I’m all yours tonight. No more sharing me with anyone else. Just you and me.”
He pauses with his hand on the doorknob to the private room, giving you a slow once-over that makes your skin prickle with delicious heat.
“And I plan to give you my complete … undivided … attention.”
The husky emphasis he puts on those last few words sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You can’t resist stealing a quick glance over at Oscar, who has the decency to look away with a badly concealed smirk.
Then Lando is hauling you through the door and slamming it shut behind you, pressing you up against it as his mouth instantly finds yours in a searing kiss. You melt against him with a breathless moan, all thoughts of jealousy evaporating like mist as his hands roam hungrily over your body.
When you finally break for air, Lando’s eyes are dark with a blazing intensity usually reserved for the racetrack. He brushes a few stray strands of hair from your flushed face with uncharacteristic tenderness.
“You have nothing to be jealous of, you know,” he murmurs gruffly. “Oscar’s my teammate, my rival, almost like a brother to me … but you’re the love of my life. You’ll always come first.”
The raw sincerity in his words steals your breath. You can only nod mutely, suddenly blinking back stupid, overwhelming tears of relief and adoration.
Lando seems to understand. He just smiles that heart-melting smile and guides you toward the small sofa, settling you onto his lap and burying his face in the crook of your neck. His arms wrap snugly around you, holding you close, making you feel deliciously secure and wanted.
“I’m sorry I got jealous and petty,” you mumble, tentatively running your fingers through his sweat-damp curls. “I know how intense your connection with Oscar is on the track. I was just being stupid ...”
“No, no.” Lando cuts you off firmly, pulling back to meet your gaze. “Your feelings are never stupid, baby. If I made you feel like you had to compete for my attention, that’s on me.”
He punctuates his words with a soft, lingering kiss that deepens into something hungrier and needier when you clutch at the back of his neck, wanting him closer, closer ...
Some indeterminable time later, you reluctantly break apart, foreheads pressed together as you both pant for breath. Lando brushes his nose against yours, his eyes practically glowing with devotion.
“I really do love you, you know,” he murmurs, almost shyly. As if he hasn’t already made that abundantly clear a million times over. “More than anything. Or anyone.”
You hum contentedly, snuggling deeper into his embrace. You can feel the steadiness of his heartbeat, a reassuring counterpoint to the pleasant ache of desire still thrumming through your veins.
“I know. And I love you too.” You pause, tracing the line of his jaw tenderly. “Even when I’m being jealous and ridiculous.”
Lando throws his head back with a rich peal of laughter that warms you all the way to your toes.
“Good thing I love you even more when you’re being jealous and ridiculous, then,” he quips, sticking his tongue out impishly.
You swat at his shoulder with a scowl that quickly melts into a reluctant grin, unable to stay annoyed in the face of his boyish charm and unabashed affection.
You know, deep down, that you really don’t have anything to be jealous of — not with the way Lando holds you close and gazes at you like you’re the only person in the world. Still, it’s reassuring having the confirmation out in the open.
You snuggle deeper into his chest, basking in the comfortable silence and closeness. Lando’s fingers idly trace patterns across your back as you breathe in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the sharp tang of adrenaline.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he murmurs eventually, breaking the peaceful quiet. There’s a rare vulnerability in his voice that makes your heart squeeze. “This life … the racing, the fame, the constant pressure … it would all be meaningless if I didn’t have you by my side.”
You tilt your head back to study his earnest expression, struck by the depth of emotion simmering in his warm multi-colored eyes. Impulsively, you reach up to cup his cheek, marveling at how easily he leans into your touch.
In these unguarded moments, it’s hard to reconcile this open, sensitive soul with the fierce, single-minded racer who commands a global spotlight. You feel extraordinarily privileged to be one of the few people who gets to see Lando like this — soft, devoted, his heart laid bare.
“You’ll never have to find out,” you whisper back fiercely. “I’m not going anywhere, Lando. I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.”
His smile is blinding, making your breath catch. Then his lips are on yours again, kiss brimming with a potent mixture of gratitude, need, and sheer adoration that steals your breath.
When you finally break apart, twin smiles of pure contentment tug at both your mouths. Lando loops his arms loosely around your waist, hands splaying across the small of your back as he simply holds you close and takes a moment to drink you in.
You watch the play of emotions flit across his expressive features — affection, longing, bone-deep satisfaction at having you here, now, anchored in his embrace. A sense of peace and belonging washes over you, chasing away any lingering shadows of jealousy or doubt.
This is where you belong. This is your heart’s home, right here in Lando’s arms, sharing his joy and success and weathering the storms alongside him. A love like this — passionate yet grounded, all-consuming yet secure — is worth fighting for.
You may occasionally get prickly twinges of irrational jealousy. You may bicker and tease and test each other’s patience to its limits. But at the end of the day, you know there’s nowhere else either of you would rather be.
Lando seems to read your mind, his grin taking on a distinctly smug edge as his fingers trace deliciously distracting patterns along your spine.
“See?” He murmurs. “Eye-fucking the teammate is all well and good … but this?” He punctuates the words by pulling you flush against him, letting you feel the undeniable evidence of his arousal. “This is what I really want. What I’ll always want, baby.”
You can’t resist rolling your eyes at his signature cockiness, even as you melt against him with a soft hum of contentment. Typical Lando — somehow managing to be both charming and infuriatingly self-satisfied at the same time.
“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble, unable to keep the goofy smile off your face. “I get it, casanova. Now shut up and kiss me already.”
His answering laugh is pure sunshine, bright and carefree. Then he’s pulling you down into another heated kiss, effectively silencing any lingering self-doubt or jealousy.
This — the two of you, tangled up in each other with no barriers or secrets, just pure affection and insatiable desire — is what true love feels like. And you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#lando norris#ln4#lando norris imagine#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris fic#lando norris fluff#lando norris fanfic#lando norris blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#lando norris x female reader#lando norris x y/n#mclaren#lando norris one shot#lando norris drabble
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Hii could u do a MV1 x reader fic where Max and the reader were in a serious longterm relationship but broke up bc he wanted kids and she didn’t,, and a few months later he’s dating Kelly and is being a girldad to P when he bumps into the reader again and realises he’s not over her 🙂↕️🙂↕️ LOOOOL I hope this request makes sense!!
Loss Of My Life - Max Verstappen x Reader
Based on – “The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived”, “Loml” – Taylor Swift
Hi!! Thank you so much for your submission! So I wanted to change it a little bit, hope that’s okay!! So I’ve changed it so that it was the reader who wanted kids and Max didn’t, the reader is also a singer In this one (almost like how big Taylor Swift is, imagine her like that sort of star!) Idk if you have people performing at races but just imagine you do lol.
based off of this TikTok video
send in your submissions!<3
Word count : 2.3k
You and Max had been together for 6 years, 6 long years that made you think you were going to be together forever, he had been there through everything with you. You had both been together at the start of your careers and the height of your careers, and it was amazing to see how far the two of you could go. You had a very successful career in the music industry, bringing out albums that each became the highest-selling albums of the year and Max had a very successful career as a Formula One driver, winning world championships. But after 6 years, you had decided that maybe it was time for something more, you loved touring, singing your music, meeting fans, traveling around the world, but you wanted something more, you wanted a life with Max.
Deciding it was finally time to tell Max how you were feeling, you had sat down with him in his Monaco apartment whilst you had some time off from touring to write some new songs for a new album. Sitting down for food, you had decided there was no better time, “how do you feel about having children?”
Max hadn’t looked up from his food, just shrugging. “Don’t feel anything about them, I don’t want them.” He had replied bluntly, and your shoulders sank. You and Max had talked about children before, of course, you had, you can’t be in such a long-term relationship and not talk about what you both want in the future, but when you had brought it up before, Max had just replied with, “maybe one day, when we’re older and have achieved what we’ve wanted” and that was an okay answer at the time, at the height of your careers you had wanted to achieve more, but now you’d done it.
You’d become the best-selling artist of the decade, sold millions of albums, done a multimillion-dollar tour, travelled the world, you had done it all, and now seemed like the right time for the both of you to have this discussion. But clearly, Max had felt different.
“Max, I want a baby, I want to settle down with you, you’re my everything. We’ve been together 6 years, there’s got to be a point where you want that too, right?” You had pleaded with him, to make him show that he wanted that with you, that it wasn’t all a waste of time being together for so long.
Max had got frustrated, standing up, pacing around, not understanding how you didn’t understand that he was still at the height of his career, and settling down would only set him back. “I’m winning world championships Y/N, I can’t have kids doing that, my attention is on my career, not kids.” You had sat there, shoulders sagged, not saying anything, letting Max carry on telling you just exactly why he wouldn’t have kids with you. You just sat there, knowing that this was it, Max had chosen his career over you.
You had moved out of Max’s Monaco apartment, you had focused back on your career, you had left Max, or more like he had left you. After your conversation, you had understood where Max’s priorities were, and he had made it clear that it was not you. So, you had both left, you had cried for days, the last 6 years replaying in your mind over and over again. You remembered going to the races all around the world, each time you had gone, you had practically been treated like royalty, everyone from the engineers, the team principals, the drivers, and the fans, all wanting to meet you, wanting a photo with you, to shake your hand. But none of that had mattered, because all you wanted to do was to be with Max, and you had been, you had been the first one to run up to him when he won any race, he had kissed you with such force you had forgotten there was anyone around you, you had both forgotten you were both in the public eye with reputations to uphold, none of that had mattered.
Now, all of that was gone, everywhere you went you were asked questions about Max; what had happened? Were you now going to bring out a break-up album? Had Max cheated on you? So many ridiculous questions that you completely ignored. You had blocked it out, wanting to move on, but having an ex as big as Max Verstappen, you would never get away from his name.
Not long after you had gotten a call from one of yours and Max’s friends, Daniel, an old teammate and friend of Max who you had become close with throughout your relationship with Max. Daniel was one of your closest friends, and the split between you and Max had put tension on your friendship, Daniel knew if he had taken sides with you, the tension on the grid would be at an all-time high, and you couldn’t have that happen with Daniel, and so you had kept your distance between yourself and all of yours and Max’s mutual F1 friends.
But Daniel was the first one to call, and you had answered. “Y/N, hey, I’m sorry for not calling earlier, but everyone here misses you, you must know that. Why don’t you come to the next race, as my guest, of course, just to see everyone, you won’t have to see Max if you’re at my team paddock area, I promise, I know how much you loved the races.”
After giving it some thought and telling him that you would consider it, you received a second call asking you to perform at the race. You decided to accept and would perform some of your new songs there before going to stay with Daniel until he had to leave to go race.
And now, today was the day, anxiety was coursing through your blood as you stood at the back of the stage, waiting for your queue to go on. You had seen the news stories, the gossip that Max had gotten a new girlfriend, just months after your split. You couldn’t do that, your new boyfriend was your songs, they had helped you get your emotions out about the split, they had been your healer, instead, Max had found his healing in a new woman.
“And I don't even want you back, I just want to know
If rusting my sparkling summer was the goal
And I don't miss what we had, but could someone give
A message to the smallest man who ever lived?
Were you sent by someone who wanted me dead?
Did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?”
Singing a song that everyone knew was about Max was dangerous, but you had made the decision to do it nevertheless. You thought that if he was going to start dating someone else so soon after you, you should express your feelings, and you should do it somewhere where most people knew him.
“Were you writing a book? Were you a sleeper cell spy?
In fifty years, will all this be declassified?
And you'll confess why you did it
And I'll say, "Good riddance"
'Cause it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden
I would've died for your sins
Instead, I just died inside
And you deserve prison, but you won't get time”
As you marched down the platform, your dancers trailed after you in the style of a marching band. You turned to face the audience and noticed the racers and their families cheering you on, and then you noticed him. You could see him well; he was staring at you. You sang the song's lyrics with all of your intensity, making eye contact with him even if you didn't want to.
With his arm over her shoulders, a woman who you could have assumed was his new girlfriend was standing next to him. She definitely was a lover of the song and sang along with it, but she didn't seem to care that you were singing about her boyfriend at the time. However, she was holding a small child in her arms who was waving and yelling your name. As you performed, your heart fell; his girlfriend had a child? Reluctant to reveal that it had knocked you, you waved to the little girl. The young girl screamed and jumped, screaming that you had waved at her. She then rushed out and grabbed Max, who smiled at her before turning to face you again while wearing a guilty expression.
Walking off the stage, you took your earpieces out, taking water from one of the workers next to you, thanking them. Daniel had been waiting for you behind the stage, with a sad look on his face, as he began walking next to you as you rushed to your backstage area to get changed into different clothes before the race started. “You never told me his new girlfriend had a kid, Dan.”
Daniel just nodded, trying to keep up with you and your security. “I knew it would upset you, Y/N, I knew how much you wanted kids with Max, I didn’t know how to tell you.”
You stood still, the rest of your team standing still with you, not knowing what to do. You had turned to them, “can you just give us a minute?” The team nodded, standing away, but still needing to be close.
Daniel stood opposite you, “how can he do that Dan? Six years and for what? Now he’s a stepdad all of a sudden and he’s fine with it? We broke up because he didn’t want children, but clearly what he meant was he didn’t want children with me.”
Dan was about to reply, but your name was screamed as you turned your head to where the voice had come from. It was the same little girl you had waved to when you performed, the same little girl who had jumped into Max’s arms when you had done so, the same one who had wrapped her hands around his neck as he bounced her up and down along to the music.
“Y/N! Y/N” She had ran over to you, wearing a shirt with your album on. You knelt down to her, changing expressions from the one you had worn with Daniel, to now your stage expression, a façade you knew all too well.
Kneeling to her height, she hugged you, her reaction like many of the fans you met. “Hi, what’s your name?” You had asked her, but she still jumped up and down. Behind her, Max’s girlfriend smiled and took photos of you and the little girl.
“Penelope, but mummy and Maxie call me P.” You swallowed at the mention of Max, fighting back tears knowing the little girl now had a nickname for him. “That’s a beautiful name, Penelope, you look beautiful.” The little girl giggled, and you stood back up, making eye contact with her mother, Max’s new girlfriend.
The woman held out her hand, smiling at you. “Hi, I’m Kelly, I’m a huge fan.” You shook her hand, smiling slightly, not knowing what to say to the woman who now had everything you had wanted.
“Nice to meet you,” you smiled, looking at Daniel who just looked anywhere else but the scene before him, unable to cope with the awkwardness of the interaction. Kelly had turned her head, seeing Max in the distance, waving him over. “Babe, come and see, P just met Y/N.”
Max had looked over at you all, breathing heavily as he looked at your face, whilst you just looked at Daniel, who had wide eyes. “I’m really sorry, I-I’ve got to go.” You began walking away, rather quickly that almost looked like running. Your team was unsure of what to do as you tried to get away from Max.
“Y/N!” You heard you name called as you got as far away as you could, you knew the voice from anywhere and you spun around, anger now coursing through your veins. “What Max? Go and play happy little families with Kelly, since clearly you’ve had a complete change of heart and you’re now ready to be a dad.” You scoffed, but he grabbed your arm as you went to walk away again.
“It’s not what you think,” he tried to tell you, but your voice became choked up. “Right, it isn’t the fact that just months after ending our six-year relationship due to YOU not wanting children with you, you find someone else. And you didn’t just find someone else, you found someone else where you have to step up and become a father figure.” You told him, “I wish you all the best with your new family Max, I really do.”
Max took off the baseball cap off his head that he was wearing, pushing a hand through his hair. “I never wanted this, Y/N, I’m sorry. If I could take it all back, I would. I would never of said what I said to you, I would take everything back, just to be with you again, you were my everything and you still are.”
You couldn’t breathe, he had practically still professed his love for you still, whilst still being with Kelly. “You lost that chance, Max. I wanted you, all of you, all the good, all the bad. But you didn’t want me, and you lost me.”
“I want you back. No matter what you think I have with Kelly, I don’t, I will never have with anyone what I had with you. I have no excuse that it took all of this to make me realise, but I’m still human, and human make mistakes, and I made the mistake of loosing you, because of my selfishness.” Max practically pleaded with you, but you just shook your head.
“We almost had it all.”
“And I'll still see it until I die
You're the loss of my life”
#formula one imagine#f1 smut#f1 imagine#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen#max verstappen imagine#taylor swift#formula 1#formula one x reader#angst#mv1#mv1 x reader#max verstappen smut#f1 x reader#the smallest man who ever lived
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HATE THAT I LOVE YOU || part 4
mean!ryomen sukuna x fem!reader
It's already a part of Sukuna's personality to be mean, always throwing insults at every person he finds annoying here and there. And you were no exception. You ran after him like a lovesick puppy, happily smiling at his rejections, confessing to him multiple times how much you like him, and Sukuna wanted so much to strangle you for your persistence.
But when you stopped showing interest, maybe... just maybe, Sukuna didn't like the sound of it.
contents: sukuna x reader, soft!reader, mean!sukuna, hurt/slight angst, modern college AU, jealous sukuna, sukuna and yuji are siblings
warning: cursing, suggestive
previous chapter — next chapter
***
“YOU SAID WHAT?!”
Sukuna let out an ‘ow’ when Yuji landed a smack on the back of his head. He glared at his brother, smacking his hands away as well.
“I told her not to get ideas. Tsk.”
Another smack. Earning another glare from Sukuna. Sukuna raised his hand to hit Yuji, in which the latter blocked with a pillow.
Yuji cannot believe how dumb his brother is. For someone as mean and cold as him, Yuji's shocked by how he can be so stupid when it comes to the girl he likes.
But then, Sukuna doesn't even admit to himself if he likes you anyways.
And that's just all Yuji can think of. Dumb, dumb, and dumb. His brother. His own brother.
“Be honest with me.” Yuji sat upright, hands on his knees as he looked at Sukuna. “You like her.”
It wasn't even a question, but more of a declaration. He is clearly stating the things that Sukuna can't see with his own eyes, and he wants to help before it's too late.
“It's so obvious,” He added. “You look at her differently now.”
Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his eyes showing curiosity about what he meant. “How?”
“Like you want her attention. Everytime she looks away, you're always peeking a glance at her– AND DON'T EVEN DENY IT!” Yuji smacked his brother's head once again, seeing how Sukuna was about to protest.
This time, Sukuna stayed silent, recalling back to when he started showing some signs to her.
He can't even deny it anymore.
Everyday, his eyes tried to search for the girl who used to wait for him to come to school every morning, and it hurt a little when he didn't see you anywhere you should be. When you walk across the hallway, he'd sometimes expect you to interrupt a conversation that he's having with Suguru like you used to, and ask if Sukuna can spare you a bit of your time, but you don't. And it's irritating him so much.
How long can his fake hatred go on?
It was just another day at campus, and isn't he just so lucky that he happens to sit beside you during free time? Everyone was at the field, the basketball team playing at the court as nearly half the population of the school watched and gawked over the MVP player with the number 7 and the name Gojo on his jersey. Everyone's eyes were on him, even yours.
You watched the player, whose last name was Gojo, dunk the ball and successfully shoot them down the ring as everyone cheered. You stared in awe, somehow amazed at how talented that player was.
Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna was side-eyeing your reaction, watching the way you try to contain your gasps every time that Gojo guy scores. He rolls his eyes at the blue eyed guy, who was smugly bumping fists with his teammates, sending flying kisses over the girls. He can't believe you were also being swayed by a man like him.
“What's good about him?”
“What? Are you talking to me?”
“What?” Sukuna was taken back when you turned to him with a confused face. He didn't mean to let his thoughts slip, but here he is now, there's not turning back, is there? Besides, he wants to know your answer nonetheless. “I said, what's so good about him? Do you like him or something?” He said with faked annoyance.
You chuckled, shrugging your shoulders. “He’s really handsome.”
Sukuna’s shoulder tensed, thank the gods you weren't looking when his mouth fell open upon your answer. And you don't even look like you're kidding, which baffles him even more as he watches your eyes follow the white haired figure of a man that he's starting to loathe now. You just have no idea how you finally have this effect on him, and it's not even funny.
“You're pathetic.” He muttered, but you still heard him, earning a frown from you. You moved away from him, keeping one seat apart.
•
Sukuna is just the unluckiest man ever. It's your finals week, so technically, either none or only two teachers would attend class because all of them would be busy manipulating the grading sheets. So now, he finds himself seated again beside you, for a random reason that the seat next to yours was the first thing he saw and immediately sat down to it, watching another game of that blue eyed man who you seem to have heart eyes on.
It was unbelievable, how you're smiling at a man that's not Sukuna. And in Sukuna's eyes, that man was hideous to even be looked upon by a beauty like you. He just can't understand what's so great about blue eyes and white hair, when that guy only looks like a grandfather with six wives.
“He's hideous.” He commented, talking to you. “He's no good. I bet he still pisses his pants when he sleeps.”
“You're being mean, Sukuna.”
“Why do you like him so much, brat?”
“I never said I liked him.”
“You look like you do.”
He almost rolled his eyes when Gojo Satoru blew a kiss in your direction, making you flustered in your seat.
“Fucking hell.”
Each passing second and all Sukuna wanted to do was strangle the basketball player by the neck. His face was turning red, and his jealousy would be evident to everyone's eyes. He wanted to thank the gods again when he finally heard the bell rang, and you went back to your classes.
•
Sukuna groaned as your hands pressed against his chest, pampering kisses to his lips and neck while his hands were all over your body, tracing your curves with desire. His breath hitches, your eyes looking at him with lust and adoration. Sukuna held your flustered cheeks, your eyes glistening with emotions that he couldn't fathom. His thumb rubbed circles on your lower lip, pulling you against his lap, his lip an inch closer to yours.
Sukuna’s eyes almost rolled back when his name slipped from your mouth in a whimper, shooting jolts of vibration all over his warm body. He cursed before he found himself almost crashing his lips into yours.
Almost.
Sukuna woke up from his nap, his forehead and neck glistening with sweat. He looked down at his pants and cursed under his breath. He was in an empty classroom, the sun almost setting and the school was empty. He didn't realise how he had fallen asleep. And he can't believe he was dreaming about you.
He let out an exasperated sigh, heading to the parking lot to where his car was at. Only to stop at his tracks before he could even leave the building after he heard a sobbed coming from a room.
He looked to his left, his eyes furrowing at the sound. It might've been a ghost playing with his ears, but for some reason, his feet moved by itself.
The door of the room was swung open, seeing no one but a shadow of a girl. He heard her sobbed again, and this time, the sound was all too familiar. He peeked inside, a familiar back of a girl was sitting by the floor with glass shattered right in front of her. It only took him a few seconds to realise that it was you.
“Y/N?” He hurried right next to you, kneeling down as he pulls you away from the shattered mess. He found your wounded knee, bleeding with a piece of glass sinking on your skin. He almost winced at the sight.
Sukuna scooped you up in his arms, setting you down on a table as he stood between your legs. Your tears were streaming down on his face, and he doesn't know how he's supposed to stop you from crying as the pain was etched on your face.
“I'll try to remove it. Just shut up.” He didn't even ask how it happened, only worrying about how he's going to remove the piece of glass on her knee.
He took one deep breath, his fingers holding onto the glass as he tried to pull it back. But stopped when he heard you cry.
“It hurts. It hurts…” You breathed heavily, your nails digging into his shoulders.
Sukuna looked at you, his jaw clenching as blood leaked out. “I know, baby. I know.”
He wraps an arm around your waist and patted your back slowly in an attempt to calm you down, while his other hand caressed the back of your wounded knee. Sukuna looks around the room, thinking of ways on how to distract you from the pain, but finds no solution to it.
Only a stupid idea flashed in his mind. A stupid, yet might be a little helpful. But stupid, nonetheless.
For once, Sukuna felt nervous, looking down at her crying state and wounded knee. It was one way or another.
“You'll be fine. Why are you so weak?” He groaned, hiding his worry. “I'll pull it off fast. Is that okay?”
You looked worried, but nodded. “Please, just put it away.”
“It'll be really painful…” He sighs, reaching for your chin as he makes you look at him. He coughs awkwardly, “Think of happy thoughts, perhaps? In a count of three.”
“One.”
“Two…”
Before you knew it, Sukuna crashed his lips into yours, the same time as he pulled off the sharp glass on your knee. You gasped into his lips from both the shock and the pain. You felt the pain tingling from your wound, but with his lips against yours, it became hard to concentrate.
It wasn't even at the count of three.
***
LOLLLL i think im back? ill try to add a taglist next time, you guys are too many, so comment down if you want to be added 😭 ANWAYSS, I LOVE YOU ALL, THANK YOU FOR WAITING, and please don't hate me for the short update. I'M TRYING.
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk x reader#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x reader#gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu sukuna#sukuna ryomen#sukuna#jjk ryomen#ryomen x reader#jujutsu kaisen ryomen#jjk angst#jujustsu kaisen au#jujutsu kaisen angst#jjk x y/n#jjk x fem!reader#jjk x you#satoru gojo#jujutsu satoru
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Batboys and
how they talk about you
Bonus fic as a thank you for allowing my jason fic to do well 💋
Dick Grayson-
, who talks about you like a goddess walking the earth, loves you more than words. The type to talk about you so much that people doubt your real
“My girlfriend is so sweet, guys. Today we went to that one library I like. Guys, have I told you even her favorite book is adorable?”
It doesn’t help that he tends to get caught up in certain details, completely ignoring other ones. No one knew your name until a week into dating.
Jason: “If you asked me before, I would’ve never believed him; weve all gone a little insane, but now that Ive seen proof, I'm happy for him. He gets to be well-dick, and she gets to smile and nod, but I swear she enjoys it. They’re weird together.”
Tim: “We love Dick. A lot, but we were looking at a wonderful facility that has an in-patient gym in the beginning. But the way he looks at her, I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually did miracles.”
Damian: “At least I believed him at the start. He was smitten and absolutely whipped. I thought it was just like Dick. I don’t know why I, of all people, was the only one that caught it.
Bruce: Yeah, I knew she was real. Why would I ruin everyone’s fun? I mean, Dick is a bit. Aloof sometimes… I'm not exactly surprised; he’s not exactly amazing socially sometimes, but with her, he’s extra awkward, and I watched him flirt with men and women. But look, as long as he’s happy, we’re happy for him.”
Dick is a completely drunken idiot, with so much training thrown out the window.
(Can you tell I'm not a fan of a playboy dick😞 im sorry i love a good love stuck man)
Jason Todd-
, who is extremely protective of his peace, sometimes acts as if you’re fragile. He was the type to invite you to a family game night where he called a family meeting an hour beforehand, forcing everyone to be on their best behavior. Needless to say, it was awkward, but one uno round later, he realized you fit in just fine.
“I knew my girl would win. She's a gangster.”
boast when you absolutely dominate everyone playing in the game. You never quite beat the cheating allegations.
Dick: "I don’t know how he did it, but he found someone who brings out a side of him I haven’t seen in years. No one is that good at uno; naturally, at least, I think she’s a meta. I'm not saying that non-metas aren’t good at uno.”
Tim: "You know how in movies the girl animals just have lashes, and how the boy is always darker and the girl will be like a lighter color? It's like she was made for him. I'm glad he found his anamorphic girl, Wolf. But, can I be honest? I think Alfred was telling her our cards.”
Damian: "I'm glad Jaybird is happy. He’s definitely earned it. Even if she cheats at UNO, they’re perfect for each other. Hell, the cheating is what makes them perfect for each other.”
Bruce: "I'm glad to see Jason happy. The sparkling in his eyes, the boyish smile, is the same joy I saw after he hit me with a car iron and ran off, giggling. I like her.”
Bruce Wayne-
is proud to show you off publicly. He’s not one to spoil someone, but sometimes he can’t help but pick up trinkets for you. Sometimes you’d wake up to keychains, jewelry, or even clothes somewhere in your shared room.
He tried so hard to be there for you and protect you from his line of work. Some nights, he wouldn’t come to bed at all to avoid waking you. Some nights, if you worried too much, he would send Dick out in the Batman costume so he could be by your side.
"Shh, baby, its ok... Tonight, I'm staying with you, okay? I love you; do you know that? And I know sometimes the risk scares you, but I’ll always be here for you.”
Dick: "It's nice knowing Bruce isn’t constantly brooding about it. Well, I knew that fact already, but this is different. I only see a light in his eyes when he’s doing stuff he absolutely loves. Like when he talks to his parents tombs and we pretend we don’t see him.”
Jason: "i think that man would come back from the dead more dramatically than I did for this woman. And I waged like 3 wars.”
Tim: “Sometimes I see them sitting in the library together in silence. All they do is enjoy each other’s presence. Its adorable”
Damian: “Dads earned it. And when I say he’s earned it, I mean he’s earned it!”
Bruce isn’t the easiest to be with, but he always makes up for it.
#dc x reader#jason todd x reader#nightwing imagine#red hood#red hood x reader#dick grayson x reader#bruce wayne x reader#batman x reader#dc imagine#self indulgence at its finest
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People don't give Penelope enough props for the absolute BRAVERY it took in asking Colin for a kiss!!! I am tired of the rancid takes of 'oh, it makes her look pathetic-' no. Penelope asking for that kiss is VITAL in her growth, and pivotal to Polin's love story. Some flowers for Colin, first, for having put in years of work into their relationship so that Penelope trusts Colin to the point where she would even dare to ask it of him, but flowers to Penelope for asking. She trusts him and she's familiar with him and she KNOWS she's safe with him, and she took a leap of faith. So much of Penelope's arc is hiding what she wants and who she is, melding into the shadows, putting on a front. She doesn't confide in much of ANYONE. Not even Eloise knew about her love for Colin, or her existence as Lady Whistledown. Penelope keeps so much close to the chest.
Which makes it such an amazing moment when she opens up with Colin. When she reveals what she desires, and when he responds with 'If you want this, I'll give it to you'. So in that scene, when she's heartbroken and sad, after she has written of her own humiliation in Lady Whistledown to circulate amongst the ton, adding her own name to her list of bullies, when she thinks she is well and firmly on the shelf, and Colin comes to check on her, and he won't allow her to think badly of herself, and he even goes so far as to bribe her maid to have a moment with her, she opens her heart up enough to ask him for what she wants.
And that is beautiful. It deserves props and recognition. To ask for what we want as women is radical, and I'm frankly sick and tired of people thinking she's 'pathetic' for it. Penelope is brave in this scene. She is brave and vulnerable and Colin is there to tell her that is okay. That it should be rewarded. That he will catch her and he is there and she is right to trust him. He is the safety net as she tumbles and steps into the unknown.
Penelope Featherington looked the man that she loves in the eye, and she asked him to kiss her. How many of us would have the iron spine necessary for that? Sure, maybe she thinks she's hit rock bottom, but she could have swallowed her truth as she so often did. She chose not to. Penelope Featherington, who only ever voiced her opinions on a page, anonymously, stood before him with nothing to protect her heart, bare-faced, and told Colin Bridgerton she wanted him to kiss her. That she wanted to be loved.
And he did. He did and it was lovely. It was a fantastic kiss, and in that moment, you can tell that she *was* loved. Is loved. He held her like she was starlight, precious, delicately grasping her chin, brushing her cheek; he pecked her once and then went in for more. That kiss had desire and longing and tenderness in it. It was gentle and wholehearted. It was them learning each other, the both of them flaying away another layer for the other to keep. Penelope asked him for what she wanted and she got it. And it was ultimately the catalyst for all her desires to come to fruition.
I feel like we as women are told we must be passive so often: don't be too loud, don't ask them out, don't look 'desperate'. But fuck that: Penelope is an active participant in her love story. She asks Colin for what she wants and he provides it for her eagerly. That kiss made him realize that what he felt for her was far more than just friendship, and it started with 'Would you kiss me, Colin?' and ended with him outrunning HORSES to catch up with Penelope so he could, on his knees, profess how much he wants her and how he can't stop dreaming of their kiss. She toppled that first domino. May we all be so courageous. May we all be so bold. May we all be so loved.
Penelope put her own love story into motion with that kiss. We should fucking applaud her.
#polin#penelope featherington#colin bridgerton#bridgerton#i will hear NO first kiss slander not a fucking iota of it
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Propaganda
Eartha Kitt (Anna Lucasta, St. Louis Blues)—My friend and I have a saying: NOBODY is Eartha Kitt. A thousand have tried, and they've all come up empty and will continue to do so. Everyone knows her for something: from "Santa Baby" to Yzma in Emperor's New Groove to Catwoman to making Lady Bird Johnson cry for the Vietnam War. She was a master of comedy and sex, an extremely vocal activist, and she aged like fine wine... I honestly don't know what I can say about her that hasn't already been said, so I'll stick to linking all my propaganda. Like what else do you want from me. She was iconic at everything she ever did. Literally name another. How can anyone even think of her and not want to absolutely drown?
Audrey Hepburn (My Fair Lady, Sabrina, Roman Holiday)—I know people nowadays are probably sick of seeing her with all the beauty and fashion merch around that depicts her and/or Marilyn Monroe but she is considered a classic Hollywood beauty for a reason. Ironically in her day she was more of the alternative beauty when compared to many of her contemporaries. She always came off with such elegance and grace, and she was so charming. Apparently she was a delight to work with considering how many of her co-stars had wonderful things to say about her. Outside of her beauty and acting ability she was immensely kind. She helped raise funds for the Dutch resistance during WWII by putting on underground dance performances as well as volunteering at hospitals and other small things to help the resistance. During her Hollywood career and later years she worked with UNICEF a lot. Just an all around beautiful person both inside and out.
We are in the quarterfinals of the Hot & Vintage Movie Women Tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Propaganda is not my own and is on a submission basis. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.
[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]
Eartha Kitt:
"A hot vintage woman who was not just known for her voice, beauty, poise, and presence, but also her unapologetic ways of speaking about how she was mistreated in the show business as a girl who grew up on cotton fields in South Carolina in the 1930s through the 1940s coming to Broadway first and then Hollywood."
"Have you watched her sing?? Have you seen her face?? Have you heard her talk?? How could you not fall instantly in love. She makes me incoherent with how hot she is."
"She can ACT she can SING she can speak FOUR LANGUAGES she is a GODDESS!!! Although she is (rightfully) remembered for her singing, TV appearances (Catwoman my beloved), and later film roles, her early appearances in film are no less impressive or noteworthy!! She’s an amazing actress with so much charisma in every role. She was also blacklisted from Hollywood for 10 years for criticizing the Johnson administration/Vietnam War, so. Iconic. Also Orson Welles apparently called her “the most exciting woman in the world.”
"She had such a stunning, remarkable appearance, like she could tear you to shreds with just a glance- but the most undeniable part of her hotness was her voice, and it makes sense that it's what most people nowadays know her for. Nothing encapsulates the sheer magnetism of her singing better than this clip of her and Nat King Cole in St. Louis Blues, she pops in at 2:49. Also I know it's post-1970 but her song that was cut from Emperor's New Groove is likely to make you feel Feelings."
"Even with as racist as Hollywood was in the 1950s and 60s, Eartha Kitt STILL managed to have a thriving career. She also once had a threesome with Paul Newman and James Dean, and called out LBJ over the Vietnam War so hard that it made First Lady Johnson cry. Eartha Kitt was talented, sexy, and a total badass activist."
Audrey Hepburn:
"She may be a wispy, thin little thing, but when you see that girl, you know you're really in the presence of something. In that league there's only ever been Garbo, and the other Hepburn, and maybe Bergman. It's a rare quality, but boy, do you know when you've found it." - Billy Wilder
Raised money for the resistance in nazi occupied Hungary. Became a humanitarian after retiring. Two very sexy things to do! [editor's note: not Hungary; Audrey was involved with the Dutch resistance. Source.]
"It’s as if she dropped out of the sky into the ’50s, half wood-nymph, half princess, and then disappeared in her golden coach, wearing her glass slippers and leaving no footprints." - Molly Haskell
"All I want for Christmas is to make another movie with Audrey Hepburn." - Cary Grant
where to begin......... i wont her so bad. i literally dont know what to say.
My dude. The big doe eyes, the cheekbones, the voice. The flawless way she carried herself. She was never in a movie where she wasn't drop dead gorgeous. Oh, also the fact she raised funds against the Nazis doing BALLET and she won the Presidential Medal of Freedom for her humanitarian work.
Growing up, Audrey Hepburn desperately wanting to be a professional ballerina, but she was starved during WWII and couldn't pursue her dream due to the effects of malnourishment. After she was cast in Roman Holiday, she skyrocketed to fame, and appeared in classics like My Fair Lady and Breakfast at Tiffany's. She's gorgeous, and mixes humor and class in all of her performances. After the majority of her acting career came to close, she became a UNICEF ambassador.
youtube
No one could wear clothes in this era like she could. She was every major designer's favorite star and as such her films are time capsules of high fashion at the time. But beyond that, she had such an elegance in her screen presence that belied a broad range of ability. From a naive princess, to a confused widow, to a loving and mischievous daughter, she could play it all.
Look at that woman's neck. Don't you want to bite it?
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Shep. Shep... SHEP....
Oh my god, wonderful thing to wake up to tbh, THIS, THIS PART THIS AAAA AAAAA IT'S SO GREAT
I want to speak about some things here!!!
I can't even see his face but your Xisuma is SO PRETTY, I knew you were going to give him long hair I JUST KNEW IT
love how Doc needs to lean on X to get on his knees because you know HE DOESN'T HAVE HIS OTHER ARM NEEDED FOR BALANCE??
Looks a lot like Etho getting a flashback (left corner) because he's not covered in thirium and also the colouring is different, not sure to what this flashback could refer to, but I'm gussing last life (maybe his final death in last life? Since this situation is also very death-like)
Absolutely LOVE this panel, I really like how in the entirety of this comic the lines that divide panels are always messy/electric/chaotic because that's what's happening in the comic: chaos. But in this panel when Etho connects with Doc, It's peaceful, It's not an agressive action - It's actually the opposite, It's a peaceful, desperate, last cry for help before Doc shuts Etho down
Now that's an interesting panel, I love Etho's talking being wavy, fading in and out, and all over the place - it's probably meant to represent his thoughts and it does a really good job with it! Every one of these sentences sound heartbreaking in context "I'm so scared" especially gets to me, for no reason actually, maybe because I'm surrounded by death lately irl and it just makes me think about those topics more- how terrifying it actually can be when you think about it
There's a lot of scenes in this panel, I noticed they are actually drawn in chronological order, they go from top left corner (Etho opening his eyes for the first time and seeing Doc and X) and go clockwise (to the panel of Bdubs' death in last life and Etho's hands shaking) get it? CLOCKwise because Bdubs really likes clo- *gets shot*
Also just wanted to point how CRAZY it is when you realise that the first thing Etho saw when he was created was Xisuma on his right and Doc standing on his left a little further away, and the last thing he sees before shutting down is almost the same scene but slightly different and more chaotic! That's some crazy detail-
also not that important detail but Doc started saying "Xisuma" in this panel but was cut off on the "Xis" part when he snapped back into his senses and decided to do something instead of just. standing there 🧍♂️
SO YEAH I'M SO SORRY RIP TO YOUR INBOX GHGHGHHGHGHJFSJDFS JMGJ THIS IS SO LONG
but uhhh I just needed to get it out it's been like 4 months since the last part so now I'm going feral 👍
There's probably a lot of things I wanted to say that I forgot here sooooooo Idk prepare for more i guess--
Anyways have a nice day Shep you're amazing <3!
RAHHHH thank you so much!!! THIS WAS A DELIGHT TO WAKE UP TO!!! I had too many thoughts so I just kinda doodled and rambled a bit :3 hope this is helpful!! And I absolutely LOVE these breakdowns, y’all are so very welcome to tear stuff apart whenever it’s kinda everything to me >:3 BUT YES IM SO GLAD YOU ARE GOING CRAZY!!! I’m so happy I finally get to share my insanity sfjbdfgkndbn
(Featuring a version of the interfacing page without all of the overlays so you can see everything clearly!)
#dbhc ask#dbhc#dbhc theories#ask#1-marigold-1#HITTING IT OUT OF THE PARK YET AGAIN MAY#the shepherd#my sona#ARHARUAWURRR I’m fine#I’m so#eheheuheheheheheeee#dbhc doc#dbhc xisuma#dbhc etho#destruction
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Batboys : Traits they wouldn’t tolerate and traits they’d be attracted to
TW: some curse words here and there
Batboys x so!reader request here
- Traits they would not tolerate :
Dick Grayson
I think a trait he would absolutely despise is dishonesty cause like come on you NEED honesty in a relationship
Being aggressive is another trait cause he’s not Jason you know
One that’s similar to dishonesty but worse -> disloyalty
Jason Todd
Greedy. Man will be like cherish what you have you little bitch
LAZY. God this man would dump your ass immediately cause have you seen what he does EVERYDAY?
Self-centred!! Don’t be a pick me bestie
Tim Drake
I have a strong feeling he would also hate it if you were self-centred cause have you met Tim??
Vulgar. I think you’ll just scare this poor little bat away
Surly. Don’t act like a bitch now bestie
Damian Wayne
Slovenly. He gets it you’re your own person but tidy up once in a while yeah?
Selfish. Come one girly it doesn’t hurt to care about others every now and then
Impulsive. you have your brain for a reason love, use it
- Traits they would be attracted to :
Dick Grayson
CHARISMATIC. I mean he is too, you’d be a great match!
Confident. He is a confident fucker, imagine you and him, both confident fuckers. Again great match!
C O N G E N I A L . You’d be the exact same persons, he finds it hot.
Jason Todd
Accepting. Jason is still insecure about himself, so the fact that you accept him as he is means the world to him.
Insightful. Showing him that you have a deep understanding of what he’s telling you warms his heart.
Exuberant. He’s not, like at all but it makes him happy seeing you all excited about something.
Tim Drake
Calm. He’s a quiet human being, so you being a calm person as well makes him happy.
Driven. Oh he loves that. He works like a dog day and night, so you being the same as him is amazing.
Understanding. Makes him feel appreciated, something that Bruce is not doing (cough cough).
Damian Wayne
Tolerant. Cause let’s be honest, he does not tolerate a single person.
Intelligent. He believes he is a very intelligent person, so you and him would thrive.
Competent. Oh yea Damian loves a smart and successful person.
[I loved this so much. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REQUEST ANON!]
#dc x reader#dc universe#dceu#dcu#dc comics#batfamily#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson fanfiction#jason todd x reader#jason todd fanfiction#damian wayne x reader#damian wayne fanfiction#tim drake x reader#tim drake fanfiction
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So kiss me. | joost klein x fem!reader
Summary: Getting ready for a Halloween party with Joost is not easy, especially when he can’t stop kissing you.
Warnings: Pure fluff, kissing, a couple swear words.
A/N: I just really miss Halloween… requests are very much open!!!!
— now playing! ♫ kiss me | sixpence none the richer —
“Stop fussing.” You said, spreading white face paint onto joost’s cheeks.
His eyes squeezed shut, as he held onto your thighs for dear life. “It’s cold.”
“I’m almost done, promise.” You reassure him, gently patting his chest with your other hand.
His mouth drops before letting out a soft laugh, “You just started, leugenaar!” — and liar you were.
He attempted to lay down onto his bed before you snatched him back up, giving him a peck on the lips.
The smug look on his face made you believe it would make him sit still.
He smiled once more, the smile you loved so dearly. The way his eyes disappeared beneath his cheeks, showing all of his teeth.
You continued, carefully applying the paint to the rest of his face as he sat there, staring up at you with gleaming puppy eyes.
“You’re so beautiful.” He mumbled.
You can’t help but look away after locking eyes with him. He still made you nervous, even after sitting on his lap for a while.
He hugged your waist, now pulling you towards him. You grabbed his face with one hand and made your way up to his hair.
Not even a second later he leaned to kiss you once more, and you could feel him smile once again.
“We’re going to be late Joost.” You said, pulling away and fixing his hair — which you previously ruined.
He sighed and wiped some white paint off from your face. “I can’t kiss my beautiful girlfriend? You know, we can just stay home and watch scary movies.”
You and him loved home dates better than going out to parties, since you both got overwhelmed very fast in big crowds. So that actually sounded pretty fucking amazing.
You lingered for a moment before grabbing another color beside you. “Your friends will get mad, you know how they are.”
“Fuck my friends.” He replied, which he didn’t actually mean of course. “They can survive the night without us.”
You smiled and kissed him yet again, this time a little deeper.
“Sweetheart.” He managed to get out, “I don’t want your talents to go to waste.”
You laughed, grabbing the nearest makeup brush. “I appreciate your faith in me.”
Holding onto his neck, you painted the remaining clown features onto his face.
Your focus and determination was cute to him, the way you would slightly stick out your tongue when it came to drawing a sharp line. When you would stop to admire him and plant a few kisses on his neck to avoid making a mess. It was too much for him in fact, he was so in love with you.
“I think i’m done.” You said, giving him a small hand mirror.
“Wowww.” He dragged on with an exaggerated voice, “I really love it.”
You try to fix his hair once more as he grabbed a red lipstick from your bag, “May I?”
You grin slightly, getting closer to him.
He opens the tube before inspecting it. Then he swipes it gently on your lips, making sure he’s not messing it up.
“There.” He whispered.
You carefully rub your lips together before looking at yourself. “I’m impressed.”
He then points to his cheek, asking for a kiss.
You obviously weren’t gonna deny him, even if you thought he had enough for tonight — he never had enough of your kisses.
You kissed him once.
Then twice on the other cheek.
One on his forehead just because.
And a million more all around his face.
“You’re too good to me my love.” He replied.
You wrapped your arms around him, “Hey, i’m the lucky one here.”
— And after many long kisses, you spent the rest of the night cuddled up with each other, watching horror movies and eating halloween candy.
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. . . praising the pu for the “spell” MV
[ 🧚🏼 ] wen junhui
wants to run and hide. the way you practically melted while watching the MV, the way your eyes stayed glued to the screen, how you seemed to light up whenever he came on - IT’S JUST A MUSIC VIDEO WHY ARE YOU BEING LIKE THAT. jun knows he’s good at what he’s doing, he hears that from random people all of the time, but watching you, the person he cares the most about, freak out over something as simple as a MV… it truly makes him feel so appreciated. you don’t even have to say anything, jun knows exactly how proud of him you are just by looking at your face.
[ 🧚🏼 ] kwon soonyoung
one would think hoshi would get all cocky after hearing you fawn over him, the makeup, the outfits, EVERYTHING. but no. like, for some reason whenever people praise him for his work he gets this rush of confidence, because he knows he’s hot, and looks good, but when it’s your turn to praise him, soonyoung’s reaction is all but that. he gets low key shy, and doesn’t really know what to say or do, because did you really enjoy it that much? did he really look that good in that outfit? you’re not making fun of him, right? being praised by the person you love the most just hits different.
[ 🧚🏼 ] xu minghao
„yeah, i knew you’d love it.” man is cocky, and his ego skyrockets, as if you don’t freak out over the smallest things he does on a daily basis. and he loves that - he loves how your jaw is on the floor after watching the MV like it’s the biggest masterpiece known to mankind. how you’re not able to form a coherent sentence because all you can say is „what the fuck.” how you’re looking back and forth between your computer screen and him. but he’s also a certified softy, so when you go on a rant about how beautiful, and talented he is, hao just quietly sits there, and soaks up every word like a sponge.
[ 🧚🏼 ] lee chan
okay so - chan knew he looked fucking amazing, that the makeup was perfect, and outfits cunty, and he knew you’d go crazy over the MV, like you always did, but it didn’t change the fact that throughout the whole time that you were watching the video he was nervously looking at you to see your reaction. he wants to make you proud, and he wants to show you the best side of him, thus seeing your reaction really mattered to him. and yes, he anticipated the yells, and a bunch of incoherent words (chan always found it so endearing how excited you got over the MVs), but he didn’t anticipate how it’d make him feel. the way you looked at him, the way your face screamed “i’m so proud of you” - nothing could ever beat that.
#seventeen#seventeen imagines#seventeen x you#seventeen x reader#seventeen reactions#svt reactions#seventeen kpop#seventeen fluff#svt fluff#seventeen carat#seventeen reaction#seventeen requests#wen junhui#svt#dino#svt woozi#minghao#hoshi#leechan#minghao x reader#minghao x you#minghao x y/n#hoshi imagines#hoshi scenarios#junhui fluff#performance unit#dino x you#dino x reader#dino x y/n#minghao fluff
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the "labru chapter" is the kabru chapter
this is a dungeon meshi love manifesto, but not in the way you think. sorry not sorry for the labrubait
what makes chapter 76 so amazing is kabru’s desperation has little to do with laios specifically. it’s not just about kabru being obsessed with laios and making sure he doesn't cause tragedy, either. I think this chapter emphasizes kabru's struggle with the concept of love and companionship. the point of this chapter is that every critical part of kabru collides at once and renders him useless.
(disclaimer: this post includes a lot of projection/speculation but it's to understand kabru's character arc i promise. for clearer analysis and examination of how kabru's ideologies are constructed, check out this really great post)
kabru is a lone visionary
in ch 76, kabru’s threatened by lycion exposing his true intentions to laios not only bc he wants to prevent laios from joining marcille in her destruction, but also bc laios is also from a short-lived race and kabru needs an ally in his power struggle against elves (esp when the chips are down)
but has kabru really accepted his need for allies in his plight? kabru has spent his adult life suppressing a human urge to connect meaningfully with others. he even keeps rinsha et al. at arm's length in the name of achieving his masculine hero complex/survivor's guilt goals. he's already quite disillusioned bc most adventurers don't have the same goal as he does. so he uses people and gets on their good side for systematic support. he’s well-intentioned and takes care of his party. but the idea that an ally could also protect HIM and make HIM feel safe as well doesn’t really register with him until later on in the narrative bc camaraderie and allyship, at its core, is about acknowledging intimacy. kabru struggles with intimacy sub-textually (his self-neglect and social insincerity) even though he knows how to simulate it to gain others' trust.
but he can’t crack laios, he can’t get him to listen. for lack of a better world, kabru is spoiled by the fruits of his superb perception and emotional intelligence. he also doesn’t cope well with failure (bc his goal is too valuable to ~not~ devote himself to) he puts too much value in conquering laios and when he thinks he's failed, he basically crashes out. the real problem is he still doesn’t understand his true feelings--not feelings for laios, but the root of his desire. the root of his goals and the endless search for companionship.
kabru is a strategic historian
at his core, kabru is a storyteller. he tells himself a variety of stories about his trauma and his goals, which serve as motivation and to some extent, self-protection (as shown in his conversation w mithrun). he deeply understands the role of storytelling in regards to the construction of history and drastic shifts in power.
as an utayan, he understands that the tragedy that overcame his people was not random, but resulted from elven negligence of a disenfranchised people. it is imperative for kabru to cement himself as a voice for otherwise voiceless people. in his story, he has no choice but to handle the hero, if not become the hero himself.
kabru even has a story about his pursuit of laios, mainly that laios is currently the most capable person of defeating the mage and that he must do whatever it takes to ensure laios doesn’t fuck it up. his instincts are right, sure, but at first, he places special value in laios’ capabilities that almost seems unearned… like yes he’s studied the island adventurers with frightening expertise, so it makes sense he would have a good idea about who is the most equipped to succeed. but his early suspicions of the toudens seems to complicate my perception of his knowledge by adding emotional depth and a layer of tinhattery so to speak.
canonically, kabru has been rebuffed by laios multiple times (which is so... lolll) when he's talking with his party, kabru hides behind the excuse of dungeon but he’s been trying to get his attention this whole time. to me it reads like he's got a bruised ego from being ignored and is being a hater about it (so real lol). it's funny bc kabru is usually great at taking shit from others (esp elves) if it means nobody suspects/interrogates his true intentions and he can keep the peace. so why does laios tick him off so bad? now we have to get into the psychoanalysis of it all!
kabru is a cynic
first and foremost, kabru’s cynical philosophy about humans is challenged by the touden mission. but plenty of people don’t care about the impact of their actions, so why does kabru obsess over the toudens at the start? I figured kui changed gears with kabru's characterization following his introduction, but I want to try to connect it to kabru's unresolved survivor's guilt. kabru is the sole survivor of a catastrophe caused by negligence and oversight. he criticizes the negative impact of the toudens' generosity and naïveté and confirms his cynical worldview (the road to hell is paved with best intentions), but still maintains a level-headed perspective. on the other hand, kabru's interactions with laios are tinged with irrational jealousy/resentment/desperation, even prior to kabru learning laios' character/intentions as an adventurer. I cannot emphasize enough that I am employing a neutral definition of jealousy here--it seems kabru is jealous of the freedom to not care the way laios does not care about the fate of the island. this isn't to say laios doesn't care about humans, he does, but he seems so singleminded compared to kabru esp in ch 76. kabru sees laios going to the literal end of the world to save his sister. laios gets to be human selfishly, kind-natured but ultimately self-prioritizing.
kabru correctly assesses motives (besides his own maybe). falin said she’d do anything to protect laios and marcille. laios has been socially rejected by people his whole life, and at first, he only cares about his sister and monsters. kabru has survived horror but only by accident… he doesn't agree with their pov and more importantly, it doesn’t exactly compute with him. the toudens are wholly unaware of their impact, which does not sit well with kabru at all, who understands the impact of negligence better than anyone else, esp how it ends up harming the less fortunate and extremely marginalized in society. it's reminiscent of the age-old trolley problem. while kabru has been the victim of senseless pain, I suspect kabru can’t yet make sense of senseless love. he gets to look down at their cause and call it selfish because it directly contradicts his lived experience.
kabru is an ethicist with a heroic streak
it's easy to glean that kabru wants to be the hero utaya should’ve had. while he's hardcore and intense, but not paranoid enough to do something rash. he uses violence as a means of achieving peace. he's self-aware enough to know his skill limits, which seems rational at a glance but the pressure he puts on himself suggests he views himself as inadequate until he achieves his goal. the races of humans are so split up and he sees that this is a matter of power first and foremost.
with the canaries, kabru submits to political pageantry to make a separate case for innocent people. senseless tragedy is unforgivable, but so is the "too little too late" reality of the canary system. he takes on the impossible task of rallying people together to save the dungeon. one read is that he's saving his childhood self from trauma perhaps by saving those like him… he's wishing someone did something before it got bad, wondering why nobody intervened when they had every opportunity to step in. it’s deeper than a sense of duty or fairness, this is about betrayal and retribution.
throughout his life, kabru struggles with the material inequity and limits of love. the human population is fundamentally segmented into a hierarchy due to lifespans and access to power/resources. his mother was the only one who loved him in utaya and she was ostracized because of his appearance and then she was killed due to senseless tragedy. his frustration with the elves encapsulates this idea perfectly, because he is aware of of the limits of their empathy as a long-lived race and adjusts his strategy and rhetoric accordingly. I think milsiril’s love for kabru is genuine, but still infantilizing and smothering due to the racial imbalance. this continues to inform his politics, as he views their perception of short-lived races with contempt. the worst offense is that their bigotry is nonsensical, meaning their hearts cannot be reasoned with.
dungeon meshi is a story about power and politics, yes, but genuine love and acceptance are the catalysts of change and equality. the "invisible gulf" that marcille is referring to is the inability to view other races with love and care. such is the essence of camaraderie. kabru's backstory, family history, and beliefs/motivations raise two important questions for me: who gets to be loved enough to survive, and then to thrive?
kabru is a monster
the emphasis on distinguishing between humans and monsters is quite interesting too. of all sentient beings, who qualifies as worthy of "human" treatment? who deserves empathy and acceptance? kabru seeks these answers to fix the world, but also to justify his place in it.
kabru's lack of self-worth is evident here, but what’s more interesting is he knows many humans suffer worse fates than some monsters. the dehumanization/neglect of fellow humans does not compute, if the premise is humans are superior to demi-humans/non-humans because mutual empathy and understanding. he clings to the superiority of humanity as an appeal to ethos to those in power despite what he might actually believe about himself. to kabru, the true injustice is that humans won’t even save “inferior” humans despite being the same. his unclear heritage manifests as guilt, as he feels directly responsible for his mother's suffering because he is monstrous. then here comes laios, a human who somehow can find it in himself to love monsters.
kabru doesn’t want laios to love him, per se, but laios’ love for monsters and for falin reveals life-altering possibilities for kabru: there is a world where someone could love him even if he were a monster. there is a world where somebody would go to extreme measures just to save him. kabru does not know the extent of laios' trauma but recognizes a sort of kindred spirit but inverse. taking off the ship goggles here--it has less to do with laios specifically, and more to do with what his beliefs/abilities represent for the trajectory of the world (because kabru studies how beliefs/abilities manifest into material reality, after all)
kabru is seeking the power of love
in a different story, kabru would be laios’ archnemesis. they would have a disastrous battle of opposing worldviews in their struggle for dominion. kabru has every right to want to take laios out bc while his affinity for monsters is sympathetic and even charming, it is still a natural threat… kabru has the true hero pathology. he believes he only deserves to live if he can save people for a variety of reasons/traumas. he should do whatever it takes to exterminate laios. but the expectation is subverted in chapter 76 bc we see kabru’s curiosity and ongoing quest for understanding win over his worst fears.
I feel like I’ve been projecting a lot but bear with me... a huge part of kabru’s character is him trying to figure out how to matter to people, or figuring out why people matter to others in general. it’s not to say he doesn’t matter to his friends or milsiril, but why else would he bother with all the manipulative people-pleasing? it would be less meaningful if he had ulterior motives like greed or power, but he plays into people's expectations/desires for a disastrously noble cause. he’s still actively living in his trauma as a deeply traumatized adult. it’s pure serendipity that laios can send him right back to his past and then pull him right out again. I don't think it's crazy to say kabru (correctly) projects a lot of shit on laios bc he doesn’t know how to deal with those injustices and barriers between people himself.
this is also why I believe kabru's beef with laios is as personal as it is strategic. we have to consider the trajectories of their character arcs (their big missions, respectively) in relation to one another as foils. if laios' love for falin can move mountains and do impossible things, kabru is subconsciously drawn to the magnitude of that love like a magnet. his response to cognitive dissonance is quite remarkable as well. at the root of his unbelievable capacity for understanding and curiosity is the deep wound of being unloved and unprotected. kabru does not avoid or run away from his fears, he quite literally keeps running toward them and follows it down to hell. he wants to identify the true source of his deepest wound.
to me, this omake connects his childhood curiosity to his search for love, almost as to ask “is there enough room for me to be loved?" and the same can be said for marcille's character arc/ backstory. her biracial heritage has caused her great existential pain and social isolation.
in dungeon meshi, the issues of protection and justice continue to be interpreted through love. if kabru were to go back in time and save utaya, he would’ve needed incomprehensible magic, a supernatural power to save himself, his mother, his hometown. in contrast, laios' mission to save falin is just one manifestation of the surreality of love, all of the impossibilities it permits. the touden party wade through invisible gulfs to save falin, but also each other. kabru doesn’t hate their story, he just can’t fathom it yet.
kabru is a skilled strategist and communicator. and does not listen to his heart or body until he’s absolutely forced to do it. he has insane goals and expectations for himself and will go to great measures for those goals. as cerebral and cold as he might seem, it’s critical to understand that his character arc is about love too. in my opinion, it’s almost as if he’s trying to change his reality in hopes of finding love. my favorite thing about kabru is that he has all the narrative makings of the perfect misunderstood villain who self-destructs at the end of the story. but kabru is too smart for that, too focused on the big-picture impacts and the historical trajectory of the cause. instead, kabru finds the wherewithal to stand down once he understands that laios is capable of loving humanity like he does, or that he could help him see the value in humanity at all.
to love is to understand, and then to surrender.
#dungeon meshi#kabru#kabruganda#labru#dungeon meshi meta#long post#dungeon meshi spoilers#hits post and runs away#unfortunately everything is about love to me
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Synopsis: Aventurine accidentally finds out that you work in a cafe, and this meeting leaves a very good impression.
warning: reader wears dress, but pronouns are not specified, mention of Ratio, fluff, Aventurine in love, teasing , bad english
Aventurine walked into a cafe, hoping to relax after a long day. It wasn't often that he visited such places, but he had heard a lot of positive reviews about this cafe, and it was never too late to try something new.
He took off his glasses and began to examine the interior. Almost immediately his gaze settled on a familiar face. His classmate is wearing a beautiful black dress, decorated with ruffles and bows. He didn’t expect to see you here at all, although now he understood why you were so often in a hurry to leave.
For the first time in his life, he was glad to be unnoticed. Finding an empty seat by the window, he watched as you moved between tables, taking orders and chatting pleasantly with clients.
Aventurine found himself staring at your face illuminated by the sun for too long, which made you even more ethereal in his eyes.
He saw how you habitually covered mouth with your palm, laughing at the client’s words. What a pity that from his place he could not clearly hear your laughter.
As you finished your conversation with the client, your eyes met neon purple irises, you couldn't be more unlucky than you were today.
You stared at the blonde in shock, he was the last person you expected to see in this place. This is a rather inconspicuous cafe, and Aventurine could afford much more luxurious places.
He often visited casinos and other unpleasant places, but despite this, you and he had a good relationship, you would even dare to call you friends. But he was still a big tease, and this situation would give him more reasons to not let you live in peace.
Aventurine couldn't help but laugh when he saw your soft expression change to one of confusion. He playfully looked at your approaching figure, twirling a poker chip in his hand.
"The reviews didn't lie, this place really is a real find."
He leaned back on the couch and stared at you with his piercing violet eyes. You could never stop admiring them.
“Aventurine, what are you doing here? Have you lost all your money gambling, that’s why you came here?”
You asked jokingly, placing your hands on your hips. There seemed to be no limit to his balance sheet, with purchases and many parties worth several million, if not more.
Hearing the question, Aventurine raised his eyebrows and a mischievous grin spread across his face. The teasing tone in his voice was obvious.
“Oh, don’t make me laugh, [name]. Of course, I'm here for the atmosphere and amazing service."
He waved his hand in front of him, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Aventurine couldn't help but feel awe at the sight.
Aventurine looked around the cafe, as if pondering his next words. When he turned back to you, his expression became more serious.
“Maybe there is a special service for good clients like me?.”
Aventurine winked, his smile never faltered.
You rolled your eyes playfully and placed the menu right in front of him. As attractive as Aventurine was, his cocky demeanor was damn annoying.
He was also a well-known playboy, so you were clearly not the first or last person he flirted with, although now he was rarely seen among girls. When you asked him about it, he simply said he was "bored." Even Ratio noticed this, although your blue-haired friend was not distinguished by the desire to delve into Aventurine’s love affairs.
"Better place an order or I'll report the harassment to security guard."
Aventurine laughed lightheartedly and waved his hand as if it didn't matter.
"Relax, honey, it's just a joke. I would never force you to do something against your will."
He rested his cheek on his palm and looked at you mysteriously. Another problem with being friends with Aventurine, you never know what he's thinking, but you really didn't have time to deal with that at work. Fortunately, there were almost no visitors.
"Would you like me to pick you up after work?"
You tilted your head, looking at the blonde questioningly. A spectacle that will not leave anyone indifferent, Aventurin is sure.
"B-but why?"
"Why not? We could visit a couple of nice places. Like a shopping center that recently opened or a park, even that museum you were talking about!"
Your cheeks burned when Aventurine said about the museum. It just slipped out of your mouth during the conversation; to be honest, you didn't think he was even listening to you at that moment.
“You can’t stand museums, you called them temples of boredom and dust, if I remember correctly.”
Aventurine shrugged, remembering how he was hit by your mutual friend Ratio with a very heavy book when he said this in front of him.. The blonde scratched the back of his head and his face softened as he looked up again.
“I really don’t understand what’s interesting about naked bodies or stones, but for your sake I’m willing to endure it.”
You could feel your cheeks burning, and Aventurine saw it too, but didn’t show it. Your hands played with the sleeve of your uniform to clear your thoughts a little, why did Aventurine even have to be so cute? You tucked your hair behind your ear and took a deep breath.
"At six. I finish at six today."
Aventurine blinked several times, processing the new information. Suddenly the biggest smile you had ever seen appeared on his face. He stood up from his seat and took your hand, squeezing it gently.
“Great! Until evening then? I need to buy tickets, I don’t want unnecessary delays to spoil the mood!”
Aventurine continued to wave even when he was outside the door. The poor guy almost fell on his back, running into a random passerby.
You laughed softly and shook your head, then your gaze shifted to the menu, which he hadn't even touched. The chip landed on the table with a loud thud, and he was so excited that he forgot his favorite chip.
You twirled the chip between your fingers, not noticing that you were looking at it for too long, until the bell above the door rang, signaling a new client.
Can you return the chip later during your...date?
#hsr x reader#aventurine x reader#honkai star rail x reader#female reader#aventurine#hsr#aventurine fluff
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Fem reader with billie! She does another vaniety fair interview and they ask her if she's in a relationship and she talks about being in a relationship with a woman for the first time (us)❤️
the same interview
Billie Eilish x fem!reader
summary – billie talks about you in her interview.
warnings – fluffy
word count – 369.
a/n – Thank you for the request and sorry for the delay 😅 I intended to follow the entire interview but gave up halfway hahah
English is not my first language so there may be some errors.
–––
Sitting in the chair and watching Billie prepare for the interview, you feel happy to be accompanying her this time. You've been in a relationship for exactly one year, and whenever you can, you accompany Billie to her interviews. This is one you managed to attend. The same interview she does every year for Vanity Fair.
"This thing is huge." Billie says, holding the clapperboard. "Doing this again." she sings, smiling, and taps the top of the clapperboard.
Smiling softly at her when she glances at you, you blow her a kiss, which she pretends to catch in the air and places her hand on her heart, smiling at you.
What's your name?
"My name is Billie Eilish," She says, smiling at the camera. "October 18, 2024."
How old are you?
"Twenty-two."
How many Instagram followers do you have?
"One hundred and nineteen million Instagram followers."
–––
Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend now?
"Yes, I do, actually." She says, slightly embarrassed and with a huge smile on her face. "I am so excited and happy about it. I mean, it's my first official relationship with a girl, and we're out to the public, and man, she's amazing. Have you seen her? She's like the most beautiful girl in the world." She says, looking from the camera to you, and you just smile emotionally and mostly happy because Billie makes you the happiest person. "And I got her, all by myself." She says passionately. "At the moment, she is the most important person to me, she is my world now. I love you, baby."
"I love you too." You say softly to her, but you know she heard. Billie smiles and turns to continue the interview.
–––
When the interview ends, Billie gets up from the chair, and you practically jump from yours to run into her arms, hugging her and pressing your lips against hers in a kiss full of love.
"I love you. God, I love you so much, Billie. You literally make me the happiest person in the world." You tell her, looking into her eyes.
"The same, princess, I love you so much." Billie says, leaving one last kiss on your lips before you both leave.
#wlw#billie eilish#billie eilish x reader#billie eilish imagine#billie eilish fanfic#billie eilish fic#billie eilish x fem!reader#billie eilish x you#celebrity imagine#gxg
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TIME | knj
pairing: fiancé!namjoon x oc
genre: smut
word count: 13.0k
summary: namjoon makes your dream come true in a much better way than you ever wanted.
pinterest board: divine | playlist: time | taglist: join
warnings: basic relationship fears, oc is heartbroken in the beginning, fight, minor violence, oc has daddy issues (like the writer), namjoon and oc smoke (like the writer as well <3), family sickness, punishment, spanking, choking, hair pulling, a mention of throat fucking and squirting, namjoon has an obsession with oc's boobies, dirty talk, use of a blindfold during intercourse, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, handjob, multiple orgasms, raw sex, namjoon talks her through it, praise kink
note: i will cherish this work until the day i die. i will carry it in my heart and never, ever forget it. this might be my best piece and i don't think i'll ever write anything as good as this. i love namjoon with all my heart and i want to thank him for inspiring me to write this. if he weren't such an amazing person, such a dear person to me and if he never released cbtm, this work wouldn't be here and i wouldn't brim with so many warm emotions. i gotta tell you guys—while writing the smut, this was the first time i wasn't affected by it in a way that i normally am because i found so much beauty in their relationship. enjoy this, my loves. let me know what you think. i love you. <3
The orange light in the hotel room causes bile to rise in your throat. It exudes a zephyr of mockery, such profound air of scorn, and you feel it thumping upon its reflection on the bare skin of your arms. You want to pinch it—make it hurt somehow, cause it the same agony that’s poisoning your system through and through because in all truth, that’s all you’re left to do.
The Eiffel tower out beyond your window, blanketed in a soft layer of snow, has begun to twinkle. The perception of how long you’ve waited for your fiancé to come back that even such a monumental structure, your dream, has descended to its sleep full of blinding light beckons gooseflesh to mar your skin and it doesn’t go away. Not when your sight blurs, unfocuses, and the stars that have latched themselves to the tower enlarge into bulbs with softened edges, a myriad of bokeh that seem to have a slither of pity for you, lessening their grandness as the falling snow thickens. Not when both of your waterlines become rivulets of tears that heat your cold cheeks, despite the burning bushes of fury that incinerate your lungs.
Just one more hour and the twigs of flames will perforate the chambers of your heart and sweep it clean of any emotions, any feelings, any understanding for the man that took you to Paris and left you all alone in the hotel room he paid for. You thought he took you here to give you the experience of seeing something new as you’ve never been to Europe and you’ve shared with him on several occasions that it’s always been your dream to see the Eiffel tower. Especially at night when it glimmers with such pretty, pretty stars. But considering he brought you here under the pretense of doing business, you carry nothing but contempt for the strange iron structure. So much for dreaming, so much for putting trust in a man.
There will always be the other woman. It doesn’t matter if it’s in the form of a female, of alcohol, of ignorance. In this case, the mistress is Namjoon’s company and you should’ve known you’ll have her haunting your back for the rest of the trajectory of your secret relationship with him, with Mr. President.
You should’ve seen it coming the moment she created a realm for you to soften, privately, in and fall in love with him until your ears turned red, the petals of roses. A realm between an ordinary employee and her boss. Between the walls of unknowing people—the way he would lean in to hear you talk because in comparison to his large stature and broad proportions, made even more prominent by his short hair, you were a mere stone on the ground, an ametrine—split in half with a tendril of yellow—but a stone regardless, fearing the tip of his lacquered dress shoes stomping on you until you’re left crumbled in the dying grass, the jagged pieces of you consoled by the ruthless wind.
You were terribly afraid of him. Briefly, but ardently. A true personification of desire, whenever you had to look up into his eyes. Whenever a whiff of his oriental cologne tickled your nostrils. Whenever the allure of secrecy between you two heightened. All because he was a powerful man, on the cusp of saving you from the lowest of the dirt. Saving you and digging you back inside, left to your own decay.
Left to. That’s the wisp of tendency in your relationship. The wisp of force that drove you to give your yes to him. The wisp of the engagement ring encased around the fourth finger on your left hand. Left to—because you’d been single for so long and your mother pined after grandchildren and Namjoon was there, a knight in shining armor, dressed in suit and tie underneath, at the very age and position to settle down. Left to—because the special attention he gave you grazed your fear of him, gently, and helped it blossom into a bush of hyacinths growing in your lungs.
It’s how you found out you were in a severe destitute of a fatherly figure in your life.
Because Namjoon paid your bills. Put food on your mother’s table. In the form of a generous paycheck, overtime pay—even though you always clocked out at five, and odd bonuses that rose in monetary value the more he spent time with you. You’ve told him to stop, asked for fairness among his employees, even though nobody liked you there and would do quite the opposite if they ever happened to be in your shoes. But Namjoon never agreed to your offer. No, he stroked your hair and told you to save that money for your mother. And because you never heard that come out of man’s mouth, you nodded, meekly. Listened. The fear of him stroking the violet petals of hyacinths in you because as of now, he owned you. Owned your life. Owned the comfort of your mother.
All because you made the faux pas and took off your heels when you thought your presentation was done and nobody answered when you asked if anyone had any questions left. Except for that one employee who didn’t have, evidently, a sense of decency and suddenly remembered he had a groundbreaking question to ask you in regards to the matter of your presentation, when everyone else, including Namjoon, was gathering their possessions and rising to their feet.
He had noticed your nylon-clad feet, your swollen little toes, the way you rolled the ball of your foot on the carpet to alleviate yourself of the pain. And he changed the decades-old policy of dress code the next day. Forbade all women to wear high heels. Flat shoes only—loafers, ballet shoes. Incorporated bonuses that appeared in their bank accounts that very day, demanding an instant payment.
He paid for every woman’s shoes in his company, including you.
You never had to go through the torment of wearing heels again, no matter how pretty they seemed to you.
And then it was easy—languid and smooth, the innocent eye contact from across the room, the constant attention, the brushing of hands when walking past each other. And then you ran into him everywhere. He was always alone, which caused you to suspect he was single, so you smiled a little more and found it the easiest thing in the world, conversing with him about everything and nothing. Put a lot more care into the clothes you wore and the daily choice of your perfumes. Not forcing yourself and not being in control of it at the same time, something in the very middle. Something so natural that allowed you to turn your brain off for a moment and let yourself be led by your instincts.
Then, your mother got sick and you lost your smile. Spent all your free time with her, taking care of her and you never ran into Namjoon again.
Which is why he began to call you into his office behind the pretense that he needs something from you. And perhaps he did. He needed to be a friend for you. And you needed it just the same.
He helped you cope with the gravity of a burden regarding a sickly parent and you became his.
And you gave more of yourself to him with every fleeting touch, every secret invitation to his office in broad daylight when he had meetings to attend to but wanted to get to know you instead, get to know your dreams because he has the money and the power to make them come true. Tenderly, despite the potency, the violence of his instrument. And tenderly, he always treated you. Tenderly, he held you steady as you made it a regular thing between you and him to sit on his lap. Not straddling him, but sideways—like a little girl sitting on the lap of her father. Tenderly, he led you through new parts of your life with poetic advice and viewpoints, meeting you outside of work, intertwining his fingers with yours and reassuring you. And tenderly, he became the stable male figure you invariably needed and never knew you did.
And tenderness is what you need right now. In this shadowed hotel room, with only your arms to wrap around your torso and a ring on your left fourth finger, a ghost of his presence, ever so lingering, but not quite here. And you clutch at your dress, scrape your fingernails along the side of your ribs, etching the words that he said to your slowly awakening form in the late afternoon before he left.
“I won’t be long. I just have some business to attend to. I’ll be back in an hour.”
It has been more than an hour and you wonder if he’s going to miss the twinkling of the tower. It’s your first night here. You had dinner after you landed, napped, didn’t even walk around the poetry-woven city and Namjoon chose his work. You showered for him, wore the long black dress you saved up the little of your last two paychecks for and he’s not here to see it.
You feel so betrayed. He found work in your spare time, the time saved only for you both, the time that should’ve been saved for the romance part of your relationship. All he knows is work and so do you—as the entirety of your hours spent together have been solely work-related. This vacation should have been anything but.
You sigh, hand ready at the zipper at the back of your dress. Once he comes home, he’ll be tired. Too tired to take a walk and immerse himself in the European beauty, so you should save this dress for a better occasion, one which he’s present for. Whenever that is. If that ever comes, at all.
The squeak of the zipper going down is interrupted when you hear the lock make a sing-song melody, a signal that someone is coming in. Your breath quivers. A twist of events you didn’t expect, but you don’t get your hopes up. You know your fiancé well enough not to expect him to be full of life and elation after a work meeting. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, but you let it slide past every time, aware that if he didn’t work so hard, your mother wouldn’t have the comfort she has. And neither would you.
That doesn’t mean you’ll let it slide past this time. Not when he reserved his special time for you, for you both.
Namjoon emerges out of the soft-toned yellow hall with a hand behind his back. You rise from the bed, facing him. Notice his sagged, broad shoulders, the sweat that lines his forehead and the narrow thin line that his lips are pursed in. A petulant, gray aura swathes him, despite the vibrancy of the colors of the hotel room and when he comes in, it’s almost like he absorbs them. His brows quirk at the sight of you, nearly relieved to see you dressed and waiting for him, but that expression falters once he takes in the mirror of you. The same wrinkle on your forehead stamps itself onto his and the sag of his coat-clad shoulders deepens. He stops at the edge of the bed, in front of you. Remains silent. And when you give him a few more seconds to speak and he doesn’t, your fists clench at your sides, against the linen puffiness of your dress.
“An hour, huh?”
He sighs and lowers his gaze. But not onto the ground. No, he lowers it onto your dress, swallowing dryly at the accentuation of your waist and the bunched up fabric at the hips cascading down, clothing you in the prosaic night of Paris, not the poetic, not the lively. He missed it.
“You look so beautiful in this dress,” Namjoon comments and you scoff. If that’s his way of apologizing for leaving you for almost four hours, you don’t really understand it. It merely adds fuel to the flames of the indignation underneath that fucking dress.
“Do you know what time it is?” you bite, your fingers instinctively grabbing onto the fabric of your garment for some kind of stability as your blood boils. Abruptly, his eyes flick to the window and when you follow his gaze, you discover the tower dressed similarly as you. Shrouded, entirely, in the night, clouds drifting past in place of the twinkles. Your blood is scorching hot and even though you didn’t expect him to take you to it, your stomach still drops at the disappointment that you missed the thing you looked forward to for weeks, knowing it won’t be the same tomorrow or the day after that. Your eyes prick with tears and you hate them. Don’t want to cry. Don’t want to be a spoiled brat, in fact. Not when you grew up the way you did—dreamless, poor and independent. But you can’t stop the words from rushing out. “I can see you wearing that watch that costs more than the house I grew up in and I know your habit of checking the time often, so tell me. Why didn’t you text me? Why didn’t you pick up my calls? Why did you bring me here in the first place if you knew you had business?”
Mouth ends rounding ever so slightly, at last he shows what he’s been hiding behind his back. A bouquet of fresh, violet chrysanthemums and baby’s breath of the same muted tones. A symbol of thoughtfulness and care. The oxymoron makes you seethe and you grit your teeth.
“I ran around the city trying to find one flower shop that was still open. I bought the first flowers that reminded me of you.” He pushes them your way, trying to get you to take them and you do, the wrapper rustling as your hands touch and electricity zaps you. Damn it. “Purple, your favorite color.”
The audacity this man has, walking over that one word of apology, avoiding it. He takes your anger to another level and the fact that it seems to be endless makes you even angrier. Enough to want to hit him with the flowers.
And you do.
The flowers hover in the air in slow motion before their petals scatter around his troubled shoulders and the ruffled bed, where you sat so restlessly. Namjoon raises his arms in defense and you don’t stop, not until he grabs your arms and stills you.
He calls you by your name, his hold on you deathly, and he shakes you, just once, in effort to bring some sense into you. “Calm down.”
The stems from the chrysanthemums lay crooked on the floor between your bare feet and his black dress shoes. Ruined, devastated. Just like your dream. Some snapped in half, never to be whole again. Just like your heart.
“You think some flowers are gonna bring my dream back, huh?” you snap, raising your voice, quivering in his grasp. You push at his chest, trying to get out of his clutches, but to no avail. You remain firm and unmoving in his hold. He doesn’t even budge. And once again you feel like a stone—an amethyst this time. Bigger, stronger, yet it still pales in comparison to the mountain that Namjoon is. You give very little fuck about that, however. “You knew it was my dream to see the Eiffel Tower at night. You brought me here knowing that, so I’m asking you once again why. Why did you bring me here when you knew you weren’t gonna make that dream come true for me?”
He sucks in a breath and it looks as though he’s hanging by the edge of his composure. A thick vein bulges on his forehead and he clenches his jaw, his mouth a small button on his face. Anger. A mirror of you. But it’s not directed towards you—not at all.
Namjoon withdraws and steps away, taking off his coat and his jacket, slinging his outerwear onto the edge of the bed. And as you simmer in the middle of the tense silence, he casually rolls his sleeves upwards, focusing his gaze, momentarily, on the action before he bores it into yours. The other sleeve gets the same treatment meanwhile he keeps the boiling temperature of your fury at a fixed degree with that stare. You want to boil over and so does he, but he doesn’t let that happen.
The tiniest wisp of lust curls in your bloodstream, steamed by the heat, creating something dangerous. Oh, he’s playing with fire and he shouldn’t.
All forest fires end catastrophically. The ruined flowers are enough proof of that, and yet it’s just the beginning.
Namjoon loosens his tie a little bit, tipping his chin, and you can’t help but to ogle the slender material, his long fingers as they hook over the knot and pull it down. They way he’s asserting his dominance—the way he’s making you wait, making you tremble all fucking over by the silence and the slowness of his motions, by his stance and the clenched jaw. You hate the way it’s working; hate, with all your crumbling, stony being the pressure of your craving to get on your knees.
Your tremor causes your fallen strap to tickle your arm and it snaps you out of the indecent daze, head swiveling to it, hand fixing it right away. You tug your dress down so it doesn’t slip down again, your plunging sweetheart neckline exposing your full breasts.
“Why don’t you ask me what the business was about?” Namjoon challenges and it causes your head to swivel back to him, facing him. He’s sunk his hands into the pockets of his black dress pants, anticipation and tension hanging heavily in the stuffed air.
You raise your brows. Fuck if you care about it. “Do I look like I give a fuck? I don’t wanna hear it.”
Namjoon drops his gaze onto the ground, the clench of his jaw tightening enough that a dimple appears on the side of his cheek. For some reason you can’t really explain it aches and you don’t want to look at him anymore. You edge around him, the soles of your feet stepping on the violet petals and when you’re side by side, he stops you with one hand.
“You’re gonna want to hear this,” he murmurs, his hold on you softening once your movement is halted.
You roll your eyes, untangling your arm from it. “Too bad I don’t.”
Namjoon sighs, deeply. “I’m telling you this one last time. You’re gonna sit on this fucking bed like the nice girl I know you are and you’re gonna listen to me.”
A pulse sneaks to your sensitive parts and you furrow your brows, not liking the words he chose, not liking the way they made you feel. A half of you is torn, though. A half of you forces your body to do as he says, liking it very much. Too fucking much. “You don’t get to talk to me like this. It’s unfair.”
“Sit.”
That half of you wins. That easily.
You sit on the bed and cross your leg over the knee, obnoxiously dangling your shin back and forth. The hem of your dress flutters, gains momentum when Namjoon opens the balcony door, letting the winter air in. Then, he moves over to stand a foot away from you, the stems crunching beneath his feet, his hand fishing out his pack of cigarettes and pulling one out, popping it into his mouth. Yellow, almost brownish butt. Golden Marlboros. Typical.
Your own parts in dismay. “You’re gonna set the fire alarm off.”
“You’re gonna get rained on, then. Look pretty in that soaking dress with the petals and all.” He lights up his addiction and the flow of your fire changes its course. Burns differently now. Burns lustfully. “You think I didn’t tell them to turn it off when we arrived? You were too sleepy. Barely knew where we were.”
Flying while drifting through dreamland does that to you. Why it is a surprise to you that Mr. President made such a demand is beyond you. What’s more, it annoys you. His power, his influence. While it once sparked fear, you’re glad it’s lukewarm to you now.
Sucking deeply, he puffs out the smoke, its tendrils curling around his eyes that he narrows to protect them from the sting. Your fingers, instinctively, play with your engagement ring. You’ve always loved the way he smoked. Especially in his office. Especially the way it never smelled. His attention to detail, his thoughtfulness perpetually mesmerized you. You wonder where it’s gone at the cusp of the realization of your dream.
“I fought tooth and nail to get a deal. To make a connection. For you.”
You scowl at him, pull your wandering fingers away from your engagement ring. What the fuck does he mean by that?
“For me?”
“Yes, for you. For your mother.”
You grip the edge of the mattress at the mention of your mother, left behind on her sick bed while you’re fussy about your mindless dream. A jolt of guilt runs down your body and your scowl smoothens. You don’t think the madness disappears from your eyes. Not entirely.
“I risked having some very powerful people knowing about us because I wanted you to have a stable place here. There’s a five star hotel that has shares in Korea. I wanted to become their partner. Get you in there. Get you another source of income. Get you a house here. For your mother. For our children. Have you commute here whenever you’d like,” Namjoon breathes out, moving his busy hand with each word, the smoke clouding the air. He takes a drag, holding the cigarette. “Come to think of it, you’d get to see this.” He points behind himself at the Eiffel Tower with his thumb. “For a week straight if you’d like. Splurge on dresses, shoes and croissants and whatnot. Have not one care in the world. You make the call and we fly.”
From Korea to Paris. Whenever you’d like. Namjoon is the CEO of a five star hotel he built with his own hands. You’re the marketing manager, but you oversee almost everything you find time for. From banquets to room beddings, only because you enjoy it. It’s the main reason why you’re so disliked. You’re favored. And if there’s conflict of interest, there’s only one person who wins in the eyes and the final say of the CEO.
Namjoon’s hidden thoughtfulness opens in the shadows of the room and you’re stupefied.
He wanted to partner with another five star hotel in Paris.
For you. For your mother. For your future. For your comfort.
For your dream.
For your children.
Your mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.
How would you possibly handle having your job times two? You already have enough on your plate. Have wished, multiple times, that there was more of you cloned, who could do each job that you have to do each day. Doing that twice would be difficult, agonizingly so, but knowing your own work ethic, you’d make it manageable. You’d make do. Not for yourself, per say—but for your mother and your future children.
Your heart constricts. Constricts so tightly that you let out a pained breath, overcome by his plan for the future, by the actions he’s willing to do for it. By the very raw fact that he spent three hours trying to make that happen—make that come true for you.
“Namjoon, I—”
“They said no, though. No matter how hard I pushed, no matter what I was willing to risk, to sacrifice. They said no. So I made a quick phone call and forbade them from ever entering our hotel.”
Our hotel.
You almost sob, touched by him, but a gust of the icy breath of winter seizes you and you visibly shudder. Namjoon takes a last drag of his addiction and, putting it out on the ashtray on the confined balcony, he closes its door. But the freshness grazes you still, grazes you with the allure of this too-good-to-be-true fantasy and while it feels nice momentarily—the futile, brand new dream—you settle on the contentment that it will never come true.
And that’s okay. You were brought up having nothing. Having someone like Namjoon intertwined with your future doesn’t change it. You don’t need to have everything. It’s enough that you’re in Paris just for the prolonged weekend, even though you didn’t get to see the sparkling Eiffel Tower up close on your first night here. That was the only dream you ever had and you can die peacefully now. Knowing the reason behind his late arrival, it doesn’t disappoint you anymore that your dream was altered. As a matter of fact, you don’t consider it ruined any longer. Not when Namjoon tried his hardest to create a beautiful future for you and your closest. You regret being mad at him, regret hitting him with the flowers and you brim with the wish to gather them, fix them, and put the little what’s left of them in a vase. Cherish them like he cherishes you. Cherish him.
Namjoon crouches at your feet, cradling your ankle. “Your mom would’ve had a house right next to ours. Our kids would visit her everyday and vice versa. The air would’ve done her good here. The change of scenery. It would’ve prolonged her life. She’d be happy.”
You nod, believing him, your heart untouched by the weakening fire, tender, squeezing. A mist of liquid emotion pools at your eyes. “You spent three hours trying to make that become a reality.”
It’s not a question, but rather an expression of your procession of his goodness. Of his selflessness. And all over again, you’re reminded of the way you grew close in your relation because of your poor mother, of the way you bonded. And in place of the fire, it’s love that blooms those hyacinths in your lungs back to life.
Your mother would’ve loved Paris. Because you know how much she loved listening to you talk about your dream when she was healthy and you were a young schoolgirl, you’re certain she would’ve fallen in love with the stark difference that lines these history-wrought streets.
Namjoon focuses his gaze on your bare foot, fondling his thumbs over your silky skin. Your declaration of his actions loosened the heft on his shoulders and he relaxes, leaning his temple against your knee, fleetingly. When he speaks, he looks up at you. A certain light, covered in pity, flickers in his eyes. “I didn’t do it on purpose. It just took that long and I had no idea. And when I checked the time once it was over, I googled when they turn off the lights. Knew I had some time to spare, so to fix my mistake for taking so long, I ran through these streets, trying to make it up to you. I thought I’d make it in time, but you let out your frustration on me, which is understandable. I was in such a hurry that I forgot to text you. I’m sorry.”
The coolness of the growing flower buds in you fills you with such gentleness that it’s not relief that you feel upon hearing his explanation and apology. It’s love. A profound, sinking capacity of love for the man beneath you taking on the likeness of the stone that certain energies and events of life invariably minimalized you into.
He’s the stone and you’re the mountain.
And when you bolster his face in your hands, Namjoon releases a breath at the touch and you find that relief streaming in him, seeping color back into his cheeks. You’ll paint them redder. Feel obligated to do so.
“I’m sorry for hitting you. You left me alone for so long and I had so many bad thoughts,” you say, internally cringing at your neediness and you would regret uttering your admission had he not rubbed your legs in such a reassuring manner that it revitalizes your body, guiding briskness into your veins.
“I’m sorry that I missed it,” Namjoon says, subduedly, his hands warm like the fire that burned in you, giving you back your heat that you’re lacking. He kisses the top of your knee and your breath is but a vine of poison ivy inside your throat. Such tenderness, such healing gentleness, such pity that permeates your skin. He truly is regretful that he messed up and you want to weep. He doesn’t have to be, not anymore. “What kinda bad thoughts?”
You feel your heart rotate on its axis and you stifle back your tears, taking a deep breath to be able to talk. “I thought you chose work over me. Thought your business had nothing to do with me. Thought you left me here all alone for selfish reasons.”
Namjoon coos, a softened emotion screwing his face—eyes enlarging and a slight pout forming on his face. A leeway for your tears to spurt onto your cheeks, unabashedly, with nothing holding them back any longer. He cups your face, like you did, and he sweeps back that rivulet with his thumb. “I didn’t, baby. I didn’t. And I’m here. I’m here with you.”
You nod and it’s all that you’re left to do because it’s the truth. He’s here. He’s come back. And he’s sorrowful that he let those thoughts plague your brain with such a small mistake.
“Don’t go anywhere again,” you beg, hushedly, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry you worked so hard for nothing.”
It’s the last straw for Namjoon because he straightens his form, guides you to stand up and he sets you down on his lap, pushing your legs onto the bed—holding you as if he were holding a child.
And that’s precisely what you need at the moment.
“It’s not over. Pick a place and we’ll go there. Start over. With you present this time. What are you dreaming of these days?”
Your heart swells. Nothing has been flooding your dreamland as much as Paris was. Even that seemed unrealistic, let alone a much different place. It overcomes you and, peculiarly, stops you from crying. You feel like a spoiled girl getting what she wanted after she had a meltdown and, internally, you blame Namjoon for it. He spoils you. Exudes such overtones of fatherliness that makes a way for it to happen. Most naturally.
“Paris has always been my dream. No other city,” you say and Namjoon clicks his tongue. A smile widens your mouth, liking the way he senses your custom of modesty, liking the way he dislikes it. You laugh, softly, through your nose. “I’ll think of something.”
“That’s my nice girl.”
Taken aback, you clutch the side of his neck. Namjoon is bathed in the orange light and it no longer causes bile to lodge in your esophagus. No, it sparks up something else. Something very rapid, spreading throughout your body. The energy shifts and it’s you who clicks their tongue. “What did I tell you about talking to me like that?”
You move your hand to the middle of his throat, tightening your hold around his Adam’s apple, tipping his chin. Namjoon grins, hums, wraps his fingers around your wrist.
“What did I tell you about choking me, hm?”
A flashback flickers across your vision. One of the last time you were intimate in bed and he was rocking your shit in missionary, using your throat as a leverage. You mirrored him, as you usually do in these endeavors, and choked the air out of him, making him come prematurely. Namjoon scolded you until your ears turned red and refused to make you come. You had to bring yourself over that edge and you managed to squirt your love and your enjoyment of fucking with him all over his body. Namjoon made sure to feed you your elated essence, but he also made it very hard for you to swallow, telling you to hold it as he drilled your throat, making it trickle down the corners of your mouth.
The memory effortlessly brings back the pulse in your sensitive parts and you begin to crave the repetition of that filthy rendezvous. Badly.
And so you squeeze his throat.
Namjoon squeaks your name. You laugh, ferally.
That is until he pins you down. Hand on your throat this time, the other holding down both of your wrist, the petals sticking to the silk of his pants-clad knees on either side of you. You didn’t even catch the movement as he did it, his strength overbearing and so incomparable to yours. But you don’t feel like the amethyst. No, you feel like a mountain connected to another, to him. Two peaks staring at each other, grinning, your laughter unfaltering, even though it’s you who’s squeaking now.
Elated, giddy, aroused, equal, your tears sunk deeply within your skin, giving life to your rhapsody, giving it the body it needs in order to come out.
You love it when he’s like this. And you love that he’s come back to you.
Of course you have the means to prolong it, to tease it out of him.
“I don’t really care when it turns me on this much,” you rasp, your smile glinting in the dimmed light, arching your back until your chest kisses his. Just once. “When it turns you on this much.”
Truth, the epitome of pleasure. The corners of your mouth widen, all over again.
You can’t help it.
Namjoon cocks a brow, his mouth ends following the same directions, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. “Oh, so you don’t need to be reminded?” He mimics your intonation, angling his head.
You shake yours, eyes dipping to his clefts, teeth instinctively finding your bottom lip, biting down. You feel the heaviness of his stare and it urges you to bite down harder, the tension quickening your blood circulation. And it isn’t until you meet his adoring gaze that it stops, for a mere second, scattering tingles down every vein. And Namjoon resumes the flow by pressing a chaste kiss down onto your lips, lingering there.
“I know you’re a nice girl and that you didn’t mean it, but I have to spank you for it, anyway. Do you understand?” He whispers against those pillows, each movement of his mouth brushing against yours, making you needy for more.
You make a face. “But I did mean it. Meant it with everything in me.”
Namjoon laughs, endearingly. “No, you didn’t, baby. Not when you know what I’m capable of doing to you. Or not doing to you.”
You smirk, catching onto his game. He’ll disagree until you grow so frustrated that you burst, disobeying him to the point that he has to tame you. He wants to get you to the lowest point, because the lower you dig, the bigger treasure you find—the more you stimulate the brain, the chemistry, the bigger the pleasure. Namjoon is an intelligent man; knows what the fuck he’s doing and you’re so transfixed by it that you’ll let yourself be led into his little trap that he watches over. Just to please him because ultimately, you’ll be pleased beyond measure.
You tip your chin and trace his lips with your own. “No, I did, because I love how whiny you get. Makes me wanna bruise my knees for you, take all of you down my throat until it hurts to speak.”
Namjoon is so awestruck by your words that his mouth parts as he gawks down at you and he moans. There it is. That’s precisely what you wanted.
“You know,” he starts, pausing to swallow. “I had different plans with you in terms of this. Good fucking plans. But you just ruined them.”
The precipice of what that could be hangs over your clavicles and suddenly you brim with the need to know what it was. What his smart, business brain came up with. And not only that—you want it to happen, your curiosity piqued, blaming the choice of words he used, the work-tinged colors he splattered them with.
“What plans?”
He straightens, setting your hands free. “Take off your dress.”
You’re taken aback. “Namjoon.” You stress his name. “What plans?”
“No, I’m not telling you. You’re gonna take off this dress and you’re gonna take what I give you.”
You frown. Your curiosity won’t let up. “Namjoon, please.”
The pretty word curls his mouth. Perhaps, you’ve softened his stubbornness. You surely hope so, but to no avail.
He gets on his feet and swivels you onto your stomach, fingers finding your zipper and dragging it down. Being manhandled like this causes butterflies to swarm not just in your tummy, but over your arms and legs as well, fluttering all over, making your head spin and again, you can’t help the smile blossoming. In the middle of winter, spring opens in you at the touch of his dominance.
Spreading his hands over your back, sinking his warmth beneath the skin, he leans in, mouth at your ear. “What word do you use when you say please?”
You know what he wants you to say, but, peculiarly, you’re in such a good mood that you crave to disobey. Just for the fun of it. Just for the pain of it.
“Pretty please?” you chirp, pursing your lips to hide the slyness of your smile. Delighted, excited.
Namjoon pulls your hair, causing your head to tip, harshly, pain shooting up your scalp. Your tongue runs over your bottom lip, moaning almost soundlessly, only to realize that he can see you. Your pleasure wasn’t private. Not at all. Never is when he’s involved.
You flick your eyes up at him, meeting his darkened stare, and you flutter your lashes at him, playing the stupid girl when you’re well educated by him in reality.
Maybe you do need to be reminded, after all. Again, for the fun of it. For the pain of it.
To distract him from his failure. Help him forget. You know how it gets to him. Deem he deserves it; deem it’s a duty of your fiancée privileges.
“Pretty please is an addition. Something to help me have a sliver of pity for you. You seem to have forgotten who I am to you.”
Oh, he’s a myriad of things.
Mountain. Stability. Dependability. A most grand picture of beauty. Of intelligence. The sun and the moon, his brain cells the planets in the universe. The second heart you’ve grown over the trajectory of your relationship. The pulse of your emotions, especially the one between your legs.
He’s everything in your life while you remain your own person.
And only Namjoon would have achieved something like that.
“No, I haven’t. You’re my husband,” you say, allure dripping in your tone, wiggling your hips, causing the fabric of your dress to ripple over your bum.
Namjoon coos, quite pleased with the title, and he pats your behind before he grabs you by your waist and pulls you to your feet—flush against his body and the rock solid situation in his pants. You sway your hips, the gasp that slips out of your mouth goes almost unnoticed by you as you’re entirely focused on his hardness. You look down to follow the movement of his hands like a cat. They drift upwards—from your ribs, over the swell of your breasts until his long fingers reach the straps of your dress and drag them down, exposing you, exposing your arousal evident on your stiffened nipples. You could blame the cool temperature hanging in the room for it, but both of you know that would be a lie. A fat lie that your husband doesn’t deserve, not when he’s so dominant, so strict and so fucking provocative, spreading tendrils of heated life in you with each subtle touch.
Subtle? Oh, Namjoon gropes your tits, rolling your nubs between his slender fingers, softly moaning behind you. And then he pinches them, coaxing your squeaks out and you feel that familiar, wet warmth pooling in your core, mingling with the throbbing sensation that intoxicates you. Enough for you to clasp your hands over his and tighten his hold, squirming against him, loving—loving terribly the sparks of pleasure coursing down your figure. Loving the feeling of dampness against your panties that’s nothing but evidence of the way your body savors his special attention.
“Husband, that’s right. Your fucking husband,” Namjoon murmurs, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, causing your head to knock back against his chest and make space for him, inviting him to continue—and he does. Places tiny little kisses down to your shoulder, where he licks the skin before he sucks it into his mouth. “But there’s something else you call me when I treat you this good. What is it? Think.”
Those kisses and his command for the wheels in your mind to quicken alone make you give in, make you submit to his craving to call you by that filthy, rightful title. Even more so when he pinches your nipples again. You whine, feeling your neediness for more taking greater highs in your system, feeling your own body yearning to scream out that name.
“Daddy,” you cry out, desperately, awfully. How well it fits him, how well he deserves to be called by something like that—how gratified you sense your body to be right now. No poetic string of verses could ever manage to do it justice.
Namjoon hums, his pleasure deepening. “That’s it. That’s a good girl. I love it when you use that brain of yours.”
You blush. A tableau unseen by Namjoon yet, for he busies himself with undressing you. Your garment gets plopped onto the mattress, your underwear along with it. A silky strip that hardly covers anything. You’re bare while he remains fully dressed and something about that turns you wild. The silkiness of his slacks, the cotton of his white shirt against your skin—such softness, such balminess, such caress for the undomesticated freedom that you profoundly feel within. You sigh at the sensation, your lingering curiosity bubbling in you, slowly rising to the tip of your tongue.
“Will you tell me now? What you planned?”
Namjoon chuckles, humorlessly. “You think you’ve earned it? No, baby.” He runs his hand down your ribs and your tummy, halting at your mound. His middle finger can nearly reach your swollenness and you quiver in response. “You’ve got spanks to take first. Maybe then I’ll tell you.”
You whine, softly, and Namjoon grabs your chin and turns your head so you can look at him. A mad, mad smile adorns his shadowed, taut face and you realize there’s pent-up frustration still swirling in him. One you will do anything to help him steam off.
Anything.
Anything for your husband.
And so, by your own whim, you lay down onto the bed, anticipating the pleasure of pain. Namjoon lets out a sound of approval and you sense the vibrations of his nearness as he props a knee on the bedding, flattening down a violet petal. He fixes your position, lifts your bum in the air, and he kisses your bare cheek with all the world’s affection, sucking the skin, nibbling on it before smoothing the pain with a swipe of his tongue.
“You’re my nice girl, aren’t you?” Namjoon questions and you nod, but that’s not good enough of an answer for him. He spanks you, harshly, coaxing a hiss out of you before the pleasure draws in and you let out a breath, turning your head, so you can have a perfect view of him. Namjoon gives you another chance to fix your mistake. “Aren’t you?”
Licking your lips, you make it your focal point to be good for him. “I’m your nice girl.”
Humming, he caresses your back to praise you. Spanks you with the same tenderness, rubbing the flesh to alleviate the faint sting. The love you carry for him grows with each brush of his calloused hand and you stifle back your needy sounds, your little whines and sobs of a small girl very seldom loved by an even smaller number of male figures in her life.
Most strangely, it heightens the experience.
“You’re my wife, aren’t you?” Namjoon purrs, his fingers sneaking to the place that yearns for him more than anywhere else, finding you bedewed, dripping as he rubs your folds��just touching you there without giving you any friction.
The touch is so nice that you can’t help but mewl most happily.
“Yes, I’m your wife, Daddy.”
Namjoon moans, the pads of his fingers sneaking over to your clit and stroking it. You arch your back, your noises rising in volume—the wetness, the pleasure in tandem. Your body begins to shudder in reaction, mimicking his motions, the pressure coiling in the lowest of your tummy.
“Good, good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. You’re my good little wife, but you were bad, weren’t you? You were a bad little wife?”
He quickens his speed, testing your focus and your mind spins again as the pressure deepens. From his words, from the very gravity of the title ‘wife’, from the very pleasure stemming from the principle of being bad, and you stutter a few times before you’re able to get out the full sentence in a perfect flow.
“I was your bad little wife.”
Namjoon growls, liking it just the same. “And what did you do?”
He slows down, stalling your climax, keeping you halfway from the edge, right where he wants—the pressure of his touch light and gentle. Letting you work your brain.
You smile up at him, from the clouds of shadows and petals you’re surrounded by. Namjoon deepens the eye contact, returning the smile. Your heart thuds in your chest.
“I choked you.”
Clefts of dimples—you, yourself, choke out a breath. Another one, too, when Namjoon spanks you hard, his fingers wet and sticky on your skin, the pain tingling all over your body, beckoning out more of your slick for him.
“That’s right, you choked me, even though I punished you for it quite severely the last time,” he rasps and spanks you again, again and again. You hiss and flatten your lips to stifle it back, grasping the bed sheets to overcome that burn—and overcome your craving for more.
You’re at a crossroad. You find yourself wanting to be bad in order to get spanked again, but at the same time you want to be good, so he tells you what he planned for you. Your fucked out brain can’t decide which side is better, but when Namjoon spanks you again—he reminds you that it doesn’t matter at all. You’re getting punished either way while the goal is to tell you.
Such a good, intelligent husband. And you tell him.
“You’re so good to me, baby,” you whisper, your knuckles white as you’re grasping the sheets with all your might. “I’m sorry for being bad. I’m sorry for choking you, but I love it when you spank me.”
Namjoon chuckles, warmly, spanking your clit once in affection, drawing out your squeaks.
Truth, the epitome of pleasure. All over again.
Close to your ear now, he kisses your cheek, his body heat enveloping you in an embrace. “My naughty little wifey loves it when Daddy punishes her. Loves to do the bad things Daddy doesn’t like just so he spanks her. That’s it, isn’t it?”
You moan out, puckering your lips against the sheets and Namjoon half-kisses your pout, humming against you. He lifts you up onto your knees with your torso upright and he cradles your face. Waits for your answer.
You’re more than happy to douse yourself in that truth.
“Yeah, I love it. I love being bad for you.”
He descends one hand to your bum while the other wraps around your waist and pulls you flush to the hardness of his body. And as he expresses to you how much he liked your words with guttural moans, he spanks you. Again and again, your head tipped back, eyes wandering in the darkened maze of his, where you lose count of how many you’ve taken.
“But you do realize that’s a big no-no, don’t you?”
You nod. “I do, Daddy.”
A hum. “Will you do it again?”
You whisk your irises up, thinking about it while already knowing the answer in your heart. “Probably.”
Namjoon laughs and kisses you, feverishly. Moves his mouth against yours, parts it, so he can slip his tongue inside. Plays a game of chase while both of your noises and his interlock and create a music that echoes around the hotel room. He adds a high-pitched tone into the song, yours, as he spanks you again, playfully this time, grabbing the flesh of your bum with both of his hands now, kneading it, drawing it closer until you feel his aroused length against your tummy.
Moans, squeaks, skin slapping and lip smacking. A song of beauty that will resonate within your body, mind and soul for days to come.
And another thing.
“God, I love you so much,” Namjoon whispers, bringing his hands to your ribs until his thumbs brush across your nipples.
That, too, will ring in your veins.
You melt. Become nothing but liquid devotion in his hands. And as he begins to focus on your neck, you roll your eyes back and resound your love back to him.
“I love you, Namjoon.”
He sighs against your collarbone, mutedly. “You love me?”
You sink your fingers into his short hair, kissing his temple. “I love you so fucking much.”
When he emerges with puffy, reddened lips, you can see it on his face that he did it again. Made you say the words he wanted to hear. And so you say it again, again and again. Each time with more intensity, with more verve, embedding it into his lips, his cheeks, jawline, his chin and his neck. All skin you can reach until you stumble upon the cotton of his shirt, at which you frown.
“Take this off. Now.”
And he listens. Loosens his tie, places it upon the petals on the bedding. Begins to unbutton his shirt. All while staring you down. And all you can do is watch him in awe, licking your lips, hungry for him, hungry for the intelligent plan he’s keeping from you.
Once he bends at the waist to get his arms out of the sleeves, you press on the matter.
“Tell me,” you say, softly, despite the tension of your curiosity. “Tell me what you planned.”
Namjoon tilts his head and light flickers across his eyes, fires of stars—the ones that twinkled on the Eiffel Tower before his arrival. You spent your entire life dreaming about seeing it when it stands right in front of you, half naked. Has been standing before your eyes for years.
Your mouth parts at the tenderness of it all and emotion bubbles within you.
Sizzles, ferociously, when Namjoon reveals his secret.
“Speeding down the road to this hotel, I saw it before my eyes. What I was going to do to you,” he starts, unbuckling his belt and sliding it off the loops. Your heart thumps, violently, against your ribcage, longing to jump onto his big palms. He pauses his motions to concentrate on his words. “I was going to apologize. Tell you what happened. And then I was going to make it up to you. Undress you, keep only the shoes on you were going to wear.” He looks over to the side, where your black YSL heels have been waiting for hours to be worn. Before he even asks if those were the ones, you nod your head and Namjoon fetches them and puts them on your feet. “I was going to have these digging into my back while I ate you out. While I would transfer us to the park before the Eiffel Tower with my words.” Securing the straps, he straightens, knees on either side of yours, and grabs his tie, smoothing it out with his thumbs. “I was going to blindfold you. Make you imagine you were there with me. No one else but us. On a blanket. Describe to you in great detail what we were doing as I’d be balls deep in you. Here but there at the same time.”
Your throat dries as you take in his words and there’s only a few words you’re capable of saying. Your eyes flick to the tie, then back up to his dark chocolate irises, wet with a glint of deep arousal, one that you feel pulsing in you just as well. You hook your arms on his hips and nod at the slender fabric in his grasp.
A man of the world’s intelligence. How attractive, how alluring. Your shadowed cloud swathes you tighter and you spill with the need to be fucked. Fucked with that smartness. That capability. All wrapped around that big cock of his.
You need it. Won’t live if he doesn’t ruin you with it.
“Do it,” you choke out, swallowing with great difficulty. “Please.”
Fingers curling around his belt loops, it doesn’t go unnoticed the way his manhood twitches in the tight confines of his slacks and the sound you let out at the sight would be embarrassing if he wasn’t so endeared by it, caressing your face with his thumb, lifting it so you pay attention to what he wants to say to you.
“Are you comfortable with me blindfolding you? We’ve never done that before.”
Even though your trust wavered merely an hour ago, it happened so it would get strengthened at this very moment. You don’t detect any no’s echoing within you, any worries or fears, anything that would cause you to stand in the way of this endeavor unfolding. It excites you, the newness, the principle of placing not just your trust, but your control, your senses and your safety in his hands. Allowing him to proceed with his would solely mean that you deepen what you already practice in your sex life, take it to another level. And these things are of great importance to Namjoon. He never disappointed you—never failed, never missed.
He takes care of you. Through and through. From the beginning to the end. Until you close your eyes, only to take it from the top the following morning.
Your trust in terms of that could never waver. It’s impossible. It’s so strong, so held steadily that it would never come across your mind, even.
And so you give him your consent.
“Yes, I am. I’m excited to do this. I want this.”
Namjoon strokes your hair, pressing a kiss onto your forehead. “All right, my love, but remember that we can stop anytime. I’ll take it off as soon as you say the word. Tell me you understand.”
And along with your consent, you give him a big smile. “I understand, baby.”
He kisses you, stealing a thousand tiny kisses more in the same lip lock. “That’s a good girl. So smart. Are you thirsty?”
You fold your hands on your lap and nod your head. The tie slung over his broad shoulder, Namjoon walks over to the mini bar, fishes out a bottle of ice cold water and opens it for you, tipping it to your mouth, encouraging you to drink.
The coldness streaming down your stomach only enlivens your arousal and it seems as though the matter is naked to the eye as Namjoon bites his lip at the sight of you, screwing the bottle shut and placing it on the bedside table. You tug at the tie, your eyes crinkling as your smile simply can’t leave your mouth alone and Namjoon hums out a laugh at your excitement.
“Ready?”
Your whole figure is fluttering, of course you’re ready—and you tell him. “Born ready.”
It prolongs his expression of lighthearted endearment. “Good. Remember to stop me when it gets too much. Close your eyes.” Obeying, the softness of the silk grazes, fondly, your eyelids as pitch-blackness encompasses you. Namjoon ties the thick wisp at the back of your head, careful not to intermingle any strands of your hair into the knot, attentive enough not to pull it too tight and not too loose either, causing you to ache for him so badly that you almost want to scream. “How does it feel?”
Uncanny. You hear his voice and, peculiarly, it’s louder in your ears, although he’s speaking in the same volume as he was before he blindfolded you. You sense something missing from you—and it’s a feeling that you detect in the pit of your stomach and at the ends of your abruptly numb fingertips.
You clench those digits, but the sensation remains. It is only when you raise them and bump into the sturdiness of his chest that you perceive what it truly is.
Groundedness is what you’re missing.
The softness of his skin brings back a sense of realness back to you. When you drift your palms up to his shoulders and hold onto them, you feel real; you feel like a person that has limbs, that has someone right there with them to look out for them because aloneness is what comes with the darkness of the sight and that is absolutely terrifying.
You cling to his neck, causing him to stumble into you, and you sigh in relief at the feeling of his weight. He goes to lift himself up, but you stop him—tightening your headlock, pressing the side of your face against his, eating that realness as you trace your lips against his cheek, run your hand across the back of his head.
He’s here with you and he’s not going anywhere. With that stability, you can walk further in this rendezvous because you’re not alone at all, despite the fact it’s what your eyesight is telling you.
“It feels really strange. I need you close. I need to feel you. To know I’m not by myself,” you whisper, sensing your chest to become lighter once the truth is out. Your naivety and excitement didn’t expect this to happen, but you’re comfortable with trying this out and feel where it takes you.
“Do you want to stop?” Namjoon asks and you can identify where he roots that question on your body. Right there upon your left collarbone, where his breath seems warmer than ever before and where he begins to scatter tiny kisses.
That thrills you—the identification of where he is, the loudness of his voice, the depth of his touch and the unusually scorching body heat he radiates as all of your other senses are heightened and you want more of it. You crave to know what it would feel like to have his tongue on your sensitive parts like this. What it would feel like to have him drilling you.
That alone makes you shiver with something beyond excitement. With something feral and undomesticated, again.
Another thing for him to tame.
Your body sings to him. To the stars. To the tower. And Namjoon can hear it, incorporating his tongue into his not so chaste kisses in response.
“No, I don’t want to stop. I want you to keep going,” you say at last, caressing the wholeness of his back, reveling in the discovery of his muscles, his shoulder blades. It feels so new, so different. You quake all over.
Namjoon pulls himself upwards, nudges his nose against yours and you smile. “Okay, baby. I’m right here.” He kisses both of your eyelids, the right one first before the left one. You feel at one with your heart as it palpitates; feel as though you were inside your body. “Fuck, your eyelashes are so long that I can see them curled around the tie. You’re so fucking beautiful.”
You blush, the heat of your cheeks akin to a blanket pulled to your nose. Such coziness. You hum and try to find his lips, but he’s out of reach. You crane your neck until it hurts, giving up with a huff.
“God, don’t do that to me. That was so cute,” Namjoon husks and moans when you pull him down and kiss him at last.
It’s at this moment that you thank the God that he mentioned for writing into the Book of Life that Namjoon was to be late and miss your dream because this kiss does more than make up for it. This kiss creates new dreams that begin to swirl within you. Dreams of the Mediterranean sea, the sand and sun rays so hot that they bronze your skin. Dreams of sultry nights, black dresses and flats for all the roads you shall walk upon while following the starlight, hand in hand with Namjoon dressed in linen of the same color.
Dreams of Asia, but not where you first opened your eyes in as a newborn. The western side of Asia, the one you’ve never seen and never dreamed of until now.
Your heart enlarges and you overspill with so many emotions that they trickle out of your hidden tear ducts. Newness, possibilities—for both you and Namjoon, but mainly for him. For his happiness.
He calls your name, fearfully, but you shake your head. “What’s wrong?”
You feel his fingers sneaking over to the knot of the tie, but you stop him. “I know where we’re going next time.”
His breath of relief becomes the new cloud you rest upon. “You scared me. Don’t cry, baby.”
You fondle his wrist. “Namjoon, we’re going to Turkey.”
Silence. Then, a kiss. “Is that where you want to go?”
A nod. That’s where your soul will escape to once you lay down to sleep. “That’s the place I’m dreaming of.”
A kiss on your neck. A hum. “Then, that’s where we’ll go.” A stripe of his tongue down to your collarbones—you feel your slick drip down onto the bedding. “Do you remember where we are right now?”
An inhale of breath. “Paris.”
Namjoon sucks the supple skin above your nipple. “That’s right. We’re at the park in front of the Eiffel Tower in the middle of summer. You’re sat on my lap like this.” He manhandles you to the position he describes and you gasp, not expecting it. “My back is facing it while you have a perfect view of the twinkling lights. Can you see them?” If your memory serves you well, he’s painting a picture of reality as well and you’re so touched by it that another, secret tear rolls down your cheek.
“Yes, they’re shining so brightly. They’re so pretty, too. You’re making my dream come true. Thank you.”
Wetness against your sternum. Namjoon must be crying as well and the realization makes you sob. Makes you find his lips again and kiss him.
“I love you,” Namjoon croaks out and you break, holding onto him so tightly that you clench all of your muscles.
“I love you, Namjoon.”
A final kiss before the continuation of his depiction of the dream.
“Nobody is around. They’ve all gone to sleep. It’s just us, the Tower and the moon. You’re so beautiful, so lost in the pleasure as I’m kissing you like this.” He shows you by resuming leaving kisses along your breasts. “And when I do this—” He licks over your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. You whimper, flexing your eyelids at the sensation swarming in your core. “You make pretty sounds just like that, but I tell you to be quiet. We don’t wanna wake up those people and ruin the fun. And you’re so good that you listen, taking the pleasure so well.”
He sets you down onto the bed, moves down to your tummy, placing the rest of his kisses there.
“Then, I lay you down on the blanket. You’re naked for my eyes only and I spread your legs.” His hands follow his words, lifting your thighs and pinning them down. “I blow on your needy little pussy and you shiver so beautifully for me. I can see you shining for me, shining brighter than the lights and I give it to you.”
There you feel it. The lick of his tongue on your clit and you shudder, moan so loudly that it reverberates down your body, the pleasure unlike any other you ever had the grace to experience. You roll your body into his mouth and Namjoon moans in tandem with you, even more so when your heel digs into his shoulder blade like he dreamed of.
“I lick your clit in circles and I feel you come alive on my tongue, so I pick up the pace.”
You chase the movement as he does, reveling in it to the point that you curl your body, rising yourself to your elbows and grasping the nape of his neck, knocking your head back once he prods a finger into your heat.
“I need more of it. I need to feel you around my fingers, so I stretch you out.”
He adds another digit, fucking you diligently, and you whine out his name, squeezing his neck, your thumb pressing the spot above his Adam’s apple.
“But my baby is doing something she knows is making my cock needy for her. She’s choking me, making me so fucking hard for her, so I pin her hands down.”
He rips your hand from his neck and pushes it down onto the bedding, holding it in place with his forearm as he rounds an arm around your tummy, fingers spreading your folds apart from this angle, leaning his weight on it, freeing up space for his other hand to fuck you harder.
You plop down onto the bedding, unable to resist him. And with your submission comes your orgasm, the rope uncoiling right at the place where the pulse on his wrist thumps.
And your dreams explode across the blackness of your vision.
“And you come like this. On my tongue. Around my fingers and I go fucking crazy for you, lick up everything you gave me. So fucking crazy that I turn you around and take you like this.”
You’re glad for the way he worded this part because you don’t jump when he does swivel you and licks over the red marks over your bum. He prepared you. The coolness of the petals on your skin causes you to whimper and you move your hand in effort to grab one of them. Namjoon settles between the sides of your thighs and when he sees what you’ve found, he chuckles, taking it from you, turning you halfway and brushing it against your cheek.
You gasp, liking the heightened softness, and you purr. Seeing your reaction, Namjoon drifts it down your neck, your collarbone until he reaches the peak of your breast. And when he circles that stiffened nub—an endeavor just between you, outside of the dream—your whimpers have so much tension and opulent seductiveness to them that you feel his bare manhood twitch against the line of your bum.
It drives you to thrash your hand until you find him, too, and you wrap your hand around his thick manhood, pumping him as he stimulates your nipple like this, your position—halfway on your side, with your leg crossed, propped on the bedding, brings friction to your clit as your body moves where the pleasure wants it.
Namjoon breathes hard, groaning gutturally, and you could almost come like this.
“Fuck, Daddy, it feels so good,” you whine and it causes Namjoon to turn you fully onto your back and take that petal down to your wet clit. “Oh, my God.”
Faint, yet so nice. You tremble, feeling the petal drifting over your folds, your lips, gathering your slick over your heat. And when Namjoon rubs circles on your clit with it, the membrane of the petal so fucking slippery now that it’s coated with your wetness, his title falls from your lips like the rain that keeps those flowers alive out there in Paris.
“Keep fucking me with your wrist,” Namjoon rasps and you moan, loving to be ordered around, loving being told what to do.
You fix your mistake of neglecting him while lost in the new delight, concentrating on his equally wet tip as you tighten your hold, pumping him swiftly, his foreskin closing around him in tandem with your movement coaxing his growls out that envelop you in firelight, hotter than anything you’ve ever felt.
Even gripping him you perceive to be different and as that firelight flickers vastly across the night you see, splattering it with makeshift stars that Namjoon calls to creation with each of his deep sounds, your orgasm comes as an explosion that brings color to his art.
Purples, yellows, reds and pinks. Stars that brim with colors. Such paintwork of beauty that Namjoon strums to life on your clit and your scream gets muffled by the sheets as he turns you back onto your tummy without withdrawing his hand.
He begins to kiss your shoulder, knowing you need a minute before he can fill you up.
“My pretty girl, my wife,” he moans against your skin, marking you there. “I’m gonna fuck you with that petal on your clit. With the rest of them clinging to your beautiful body like that. Gonna fuck you nice and hard against them.” You whimper your vulgarities, so out of it—so intoxicated by the picture, looking forward to it. “You came so well on my fingers. With the petal. Fuck, I’m gonna ruin you just for that. And for the way you made me forget where we were.”
You laugh and your stomach flips, love hormones coursing in your veins like the strongest drug. And you laugh even harder when it dawns on you that you’ve also forgotten.
“I don’t remember either,” you sputter between your giggles, contagious as Namjoon laughs as well, brushing your hair back to one side to kiss your cheek.
“How are you feeling? Has it gotten too much, hm?”
He takes the time to check up on you, instead of picking up where he left off and, fuck, you dissolve, becoming one with the petals—no edges to you, only liquid affection.
You’ve gotten used to the darkness. No traces of fear or uneasiness can be found trickling in your system—as a matter of fact, you can’t wait to be fucked, can’t wait to find out how it’ll feel once he’s inside you. The way he’s talking to you, constantly touching you and making it known to you that he’s present with you doesn’t let the previous disturbing feeling to sidle up to you and you’re terribly, terribly grateful.
“I feel great. I want you inside me, baby. I’m ready.”
Namjoon growls, biting into the skin of your shoulder until you whimper, kissing the pain away. Rubs his petal-clad fingers on your clit, prolonging your noises. The pleasure begins to build up, the colors you’ve seen stacking back on top of each other and you sigh, nuzzling your face into the sheets, most comfortable.
He cradles your jaw, though. Makes you look forward. Augments the dream, resuming.
“You’re looking at the Tower and I’m holding you like this so your neck doesn’t cramp up. I’m inside you, just like you wanted.”
Namjoon merges the reality into the retelling, creating something more expanse than this world can bear and you’re awestruck. He sinks himself into your wonder, knees on either side of you as you lay flat on your tummy, your bum lifted a little, heels dangling off of the bed.
Your eyes flutter beneath the tie as his girth stretches you and the colors you see are adjacent to the picture he paints. They blossom into shapes, swirly edges that grow into flowers and cling to the Tower like the violet petals cling to your body. Namjoon pulls out and gives you a long stroke and more flowers bloom, hanging by the lights. You lose your breath, the vibrancy of the pleasure so heavenly that you lose track of time, day and space as well, floating in that dream that the reality you thought about ripped away from you once he bottoms out.
You can’t even hear yourself. Can only hear him as your senses wrap around him.
“I’m not choking you. I’m not giving you a taste of your own delicious poison; I’m just holding you like this, helping you see your dream alive in front of your eyes. I look at you and I can’t help it. You’re illuminated by those lights, yet shining brighter. Kissed by the moon so much that I get jealous. Can you see that fucker up above?”
As if he drew the planet with his finger, it appears in your vision as soon as he pulls out again and fills you in all entirety in one swift, but hard motion. And it’s now that you hear yourself scream as your clit rubs against his fingers flat against it with that collision.
“Fuck, Namjoon, I—I can’t take it. It’s too good.”
“I didn’t ask you if you could take it. I asked you something else,” he husks, moving his mouth against your neck. You feel your eyes rolling back underneath your closed eyelids and you moan, his hips picking up the speed. “You can take it and you will. Tell me, baby. Can you imagine that moon in your vision?”
It’s right there, beaming at you, but you can’t focus, not when you can feel his cock in your throat. He huffs against you, overcome just the same, resuming his circles on your clit and you’re dead.
“You’re so deep, Daddy,” you utter in one breath. “So good, fuck.”
Soaked flowers. Stars flickering more quicker. White dots joining in, along with hot flashes. You’re face to face with your orgasm.
“Focus, baby,” Namjoon scolds, voice straining nearing you closer, falling in step with you the more you clench your walls against him.
“Can’t. Gonna come.”
“Come, then,” he encourages, drilling you harder into the mattress, your clit yet again rubbing against his flat fingers. “Let go and give it to me like the nice girl you are. Come for me, baby.”
Fireworks shoot through that picture and you cling to it as you come around him. Namjoon praises you through it all, darkening those flowers that surround it and your orgasm convulses through you, lasting as long as the flying colors bursting through the night-tinged sky. And white gushes in as he loses himself in your climax, his own triggered and he stuffs you with it, fucking you through it until the bed makes such terrible sounds that he stills, letting you milk it out of him.
Panting, Namjoon swivels you halfway around while still buried inside you. “I’m gonna take off the blindfold now. Keep your eyes closed, baby.”
You listen and he flings it off, kissing you, ravagedly, whimpering into your mouth. Exhaustion seeps so deeply inside you that you can barely reciprocate the energy of the movement of his mouth and with one last peck, he lets you breathe.
When you open your eyes, it’s not the light that stings your pupils, but the exhilarated, flushed and content sight of Namjoon, his chest heaving, glistening with sweat. You blink a few times to get used to the beauty, touching him all over, spreading your love for him everywhere you can.
“That was so perfect,” you whisper, sleepily. “Thank you. Thank you for making my dream come true. For making it better than I ever dreamed of. I love you, Joonie.”
He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles—with bruised, puffy, reddened lips that make you weak.
“I love you.”
You lay like this for quite some time, stroking each other’s skin, enjoying the rest and the silence. Namjoon takes off your heels then, massaging your feet as if they were in pain and you smile down at him, fondly.
“Like hell, I’d let you wear these to the park.”
You laugh through your nose, your love for him blooming, and he carries you in the shower.
You join him on the balcony later, sharing a cigarette with him, wearing matching, thick and warm hotel bathrobes to protect you from winter’s cold. You look up at the moon as you take a drag and send your thank you to God for the contended joy that clothes your heart. Namjoon pulls you in, kissing the top of your head.
“So, Turkey next time?” he asks, inhaling your vanilla scent from your body wash that you brought along.
You sigh and life overflows from you. “In the summer. No business, just vacation. Just us. And if business does find you there, it’ll find me, too. It’ll be different this time.”
Namjoon presses his mouth against your forehead, sinks his words there. “I’d marry you right now if I could.”
Tears prick at your waterline, your throat aching. “If I pray hard enough, she’ll get better by spring,” you say, voice wobbling, speaking of your poor mother. You couldn’t get married without her—it’s the sole reason why your wedding is left in the hands of fate.
“We’ll bring her to Turkey, then. I’ll make sure to tell her to pack her hanbok and I’ll marry you there. What do you say?”
Rivulets of tears stream down your face and you look up at him, catching the same liquid lining his eyes. You nod, your mouth rounding in a pout.
“Perfect,” you whisper.
Namjoon gives you the last kiss of the night, sealing that plan shut and you believe, with everything in you, that he will bring it into reality.
You trust him.
Forever.
𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.
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#namjoon smut#namjoon x reader#namjoon x y/n#namjoon x oc#namjoon x you#btscreatorscorner#bts smut#bts imagine#namjoon imagine#namjoon scenarios#namjoon fluff#kpop smut#knj x reader#knj#kim namjoon#namjoon
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☆ Toji Fushiguro
Sucking his cock for the first time :p a short drabble
Since you told him when you first got together that you wanted to go slow, Toji reminded you that you didn’t have to do anything that you didn’t want to do. But you insisted. You insisted that you wanted to suck his cock. You insisted that he taught you how to properly take him in your mouth.
Toji sucked in a sharp breath at the view of his already flushed tip making it past your soft and pouty lips. He was way in over his head but very much so powerless to resist.
“F-fuck…” Toji mutters out shakily, knuckles white as he gripped fistfuls of the sheets beneath him. He brings one hand up to stroke against your jaw with his thumb. “Just.. start slow, just.. suck.”
When your tongue experimentally swirls around the slit of his cock to gather the beads of pre cum, he can’t help his hips from involuntary bucking. He watches as you take more of him inch by inch as your lips form a tight seal around his cock. Toji lets out a guttural groan.
“Shit yeah, just like that. Fuckkk your mouth feels amazing.”He praises gruffly as he steadies the back of your head. He watched your reactions closely before beginning to thrust slightly.
When you gag lightly around his girth he looks down at you as his brows crease in concern. “Shhh take it easy, breathe through your nose for me.” Sliding his fingers through your hair gently to ease back a little to help you adjust.
“You’re so good for me… doing fucking perfect.” Toji guides his cock out of your mouth to smear the slickness and spit on your lips. The sight out your shiny lips and gaze makes him want to burst right then and there when he slips his leaking cock back in your mouth.
His chest heaves up and down as your head bobbled eagerly, moaning around his length. “S-shit… baby. You’re a pro at this already. Sure it’s your first time?” He noticed how you relaxed your throat, he resumed the shallow thrusting of his hips. His eyes scans your flushed features, occasionally pushing your hair out your face. You were putting on a show and he loved it. He didn’t want it to stop anytime soon but fuck he felt like his balls were going to explode any minute now. He wipes the drool leaking from your messy lips with his thumb, hypnotized by you.
“F-fuckkkk baby if you keep it up just like that I’ll cum in that pretty mouth of yours.” Hips bucking with a little bit more force as you take him deeper. He’s never seen you this eager before so he definitely intended on rewarding your dedication.
He can’t hold back as you push him close to the edge, his fingers tightening in your hair. “I-I’m not gonna last- fuck.” His breaths come out in ragged warning as he locks eyes with you. It all happens so fast when Toji feels that familiar heat rushing to his cock as it twitches in your mouth. He doesn’t have time to warn you before white ropes of warm cum spurt into your waiting mouth. “S-shit…” Toji lets out a choked moan before removing himself from your mouth, holding back another groan as he watches you swallow down the liquid and smile up at him.
“You.. you little shit… where’d you learn that from huh?” He looks at you with an amused but fucked out expression.
“Mmm I’ve been doing my research, leaning a lot ya know?” You giggle as you look at him.
Toji rolls his eyes and smacks his teeth before leaning down to capture your lips with his, tasting the faint saltiness on your lips. “Think you could show me more of what you learned?”
#jjk smut#jjk drabbles#jujutsu kaisen smut#toji smut#toji jjk smut#toji fushiguro smut#toji x you#fushiguro toji smut#toji fushiguro x reader#jjk toji#toji jujutsu kaisen#toji fushiguro#toji x reader#jujutsu kaisen toji#toji drabbles#yunnys ׂׂૢ#toji fushiguro x you#fushiguro toji
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