#it’s why they spend so much time on the couch- because the blankets
Text
Small victories
Masterlist
Cw: loss of autonomy, creepy/intimate whumper, whumpee forced to deceive caretaker in future, faerie deal, implied cold whump, whumper controlling what whumpee wears, non con kissing and touching, non con drugging, fear, emotional whump
——
Kimmi awoke to their shoulders being shaken.
“Hey wake up! Something came up that I need to talk to you about.” He sat on the bed, leaning over them.
They pulled the covers away, and gave him a tired glare, through bleary eyes.
“This is urgent. My sister is coming to stay here for a couple weeks. She’ll be here in the morning.”
Their tired anger turned to tired surprise. They’d heard about Mentari, the golden child with beautiful yellow magic. The oldest sibling, the protector.
“What’s this have to do with me?”
“I’m moving you out of the guest room. That, and, I want to make sure of something. Pack up your stuff and go put it in my room, I’ll clean in here.” He pulled the blankets off them and shoved them in a basket.
They shivered, the shorts and blouse not nearly enough to protect from the freezing air inside the house. Just another way of tormenting them. Keeping the house freezing while making them wear minimal clothing. They quickly shifted off the bed, and went to pack up everything.
Ceran put all the blankets and pillow covers in a basket before spraying the room with something they couldn’t smell. He kept cleaning even after they had taken all their stuff out, scrubbing the floor and taking an especially long time working on the drains and mattress.
Anywhere that might collect someone’s scent.
——
Kimmi took their bags to the other room. Ceran’s room. They were grateful that he had gone and picked a bunch of their stuff up from their dormitory, although they disliked the thought of him going through their things. At least they still had their own clothes, even if they could only wear the stuff he got for them.
They stopped in the doorway. They’d read too much fanfiction to not realize the implications.. but him? Their shoulders ticked thinking about being next to him while so vulnerable. Then and there they made up their mind to never read a ‘there was only one bed’ fanfic ever again.
Maybe they could convince him to let them sleep in that big cushy chair in the corner.
——
“Okay, now for the conversation we need to have. You can’t tell Mentari anything about what’s going on.” Ceran pinched the bridge of his nose, sitting on the bed.
“Why not? Isn’t she a vampire too?” They sat in the chair, trying to figure out what he was implying, while faced away from them.
“She has.. ‘different ideas’ on stuff like keeping blood bags… she gets it from our father. Now, I’m going to give you a command not to tell her, but I also want to make sure you agree no to, I don’t want you finding a way around the command.”
“Different ideas?” Maybe she would help them! They couldn’t imagine anyone related to this guy being a good person- but from the way he talked about her…
“She’s a protector… she used to like, put fallen baby birds back into their nests and rescue cats from trees.. regular low grade superhero stuff.”
“Superhero? That’s just.. regular nice person things?”
“She had a costume. And a moniker.” He smiled a bit at the memory, though Kimmi couldn’t see that.
“Oh. So you want me to agree not to say anything?”
He turned around. “I want you to use your vow ability, and promise not to do anything to allow her to find out. I’m willing to make some concessions for this.
“I want you to be willing to follow the order so go ahead. What would it take for you to behave?”
“I- I want you to.. vow not to hurt me the entire time she’s here. I- it’d be more convincing, if I could tell her you promised not to hurt me.”
“Nice argument. Okay, I’ll accept that. Outside of feeding of course. I’ll even promise to make my bite as painless as possible. Anything else?” He could always wait until after she left to dole out any punishment they incurred.
Emboldened, they went on. “I want to wear my own clothes. It’s freezing in this place and the shorts and shirts with wide necklines aren’t helping. At least while she’s here.”
“Fair enough. So these conditions, and you won’t try and find a way to circumvent my commands?”
“I- yeah..” they would always try to get around commands. A simple yes answer was vague enough that it didn’t change that. But also, any leniency was worth it.
They continued, “if you want we can put the deal in writing.. gives both a solid idea of what both of us are agreeing to.” And gives them a reference for how to get around the promise and the commands.
He got them a blank sheet of paper and a pen, and they set upon the task of lining out a faerie deal.
——
Kimmi sat curled up in the chair, trying to go back to sleep. They brushed their fingers over their wrist, hating how foreign it felt to not have the cuffs in place. They shouldn’t be used to being in restraints.
They pulled the blanket tighter when footsteps approached. He was finished with cleaning the house. Maybe they could pretend to already be asleep. The door opened quietly.
“Maybe you’d have an easier time sleeping if you laid on the bed. I don’t think that chair is a great place to sleep.”
Well that failed. “I’m alright over here.”
“What, don’t want to sleep next me?” He leaned against the arm of the chair, pressing his back to their own.
He felt their shoulders jerk, a reaction he’d come to realize was a sort of muscle spasm, something they couldn’t control. They’d said it was often caused by stress. Specifically they’d said physiological stress, like the cold or extreme emotions. He didn’t mind it at all. It was just another way for them to show how his torments got to them.
They tensed, trying to shrink into themself. “I think it would be easier for me to sleep in the chair.”
“Well I think you should sleep on the bed.” He carded fingers through their hair, enjoying how their breath quickened.
He couldn’t hurt them. The worst thing he could do right now is command them, so why were they so scared? They suppressed a sob, thinking of the possibility that vampires were immune to the effects of faerie deals.
Out of nowhere, a weight settled on their lap. He traced a feather light touch at their jawline, now sitting in front of them. Closing their eyes, they turned their head away, tucking their face into the cushion.
“What makes you think you can get away with contradicting me? Is it that deal? Do you think you’re safe just because I can’t hurt you?”
The fact that it worked on him should have been a relief. But they had an awful feeling that he had something worse in mind than just hurting them. The tears were already falling when he tilted their head into a kiss. The venom washed through them, the bitter raspberry taste making them feel sick and useless.
He picked them up and carried them to the bed. They were weeping quietly as he pulled the blankets over their shoulders, making sure to wreath every movement in gentleness. He pressed a kiss to their forehead.
“Okay. I’ll play along, for now.” He switched to the most genuine sounding comforting voice he could manage. “Don’t worry, you’ll be perfectly safe for as long as the deal is in effect. I can’t do anything at all to make you upset, uncomfortable, or afraid.”
He ruffled their hair one more time before he got up and left the room. He heard their quiet sobs even from downstairs.
——
Taglist: @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpsday @whumpycries @pigeonwhumps @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @sola-whumping @greenwhump
#ceran and his faerie#creepy/intimate whumper#non con touching tw#non con touching and kissing#non con kissing tw#non con drugging#hehehe I really just wanted to make it so that Ceran couldn’t hurt them#just because I knew it’d make him have to be more creative#also kimmi is so cold all the time#it’s why they spend so much time on the couch- because the blankets
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i love your writings so much! i need you to write about könig with maid!reader like i need air and water. könig who needs someone to take care of his house while he‘s gone, returning from his deployment only to find reader huddled up in a soft blanket on the couch, the house smelling of freshly baked cinnamon bread and lavender while she sleeps peacefully. he‘s so touch starved and the domesticity makes his heart and cock stir, he‘s never had any woman cook for him since his Oma passed away. poor reader is oblivious to her boss‘s infatuation until she‘s not, he‘s so awkward around her she thinks he just doesn‘t wanna be disturbed, but she doesn‘t know he uses her conditioner to stroke his cock every night, and now he can‘t help but get a raging boner everytime she passes by and he smells her hair :((((
Banner picture credit: @661ave
possession
noun
the state of having, owning, or controlling something.
Word count: 7 k
Tags/warnings: 18+ only DARK FIC. Perv!König masturbating to thoughts of you + your stolen panties. Jealous & possessive behaviour. Dubious consent to having unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, size kink, breeding kink, implied age difference. Some fluff if you squint.
A/N: First of all, I'm sorry if you expected something sweet & fluffy anon… This thing just came out of me. Also, @gremlingottoosilly wrote the best thing EVER for this trope so please if you haven’t read it yet go give it a read (dark content there too though so be warned!)
He’s good at repairing things. He prides himself in that.
And he keeps his house neat and clean: that’s not a problem. His papers are in order, his office is in order. His home is in order too, and so is his whole life – love life included because there is none.
He always ensured he’s not dependent on anyone, he never seeked a mother from a partner. Just for self-reliance's sake, he knows how to do his own laundry and meal prep for weeks. He learned to fold his t-shirts with an orderliness fit for the military when he was ten years old, just so that no one would have the chance to say he needed a wife.
He always vacuums the entire house before deployment, does the dishes, takes out the trash. And he doesn’t hate house chores… but he doesn’t like them either. His house is a sad, lifeless, gloomy place to spend time in. It’s big enough for a family, it has everything he needs to host a night for friends, but he doesn’t have any.
Family, or friends, that is.
When he hears that his co-worker – the one with a frigid wife and five unruly kids – hired a maid to do the cleaning in the house, he pauses to think. He doesn’t have a chaos in his home, but he’s got enough money to make life a tad easier. Besides, it’s only expected of a man of his position to hire an assistant of some sort, is it not?
It’s just that he didn’t expect housemaids to be this… cute.
There are quite a few applications, and he’s a sick bastard for choosing the maid solely based on the picture attached to the CV. He told himself it was also because it looked like this lady needed the money the most. He's a generous man, so why not help a woman in need?
Another thing he didn’t expect is how his house would start to smell so nice and look so cozy. It’s the small details, the tiny little things that make his chest burn. The way she uses softener on his shirts and folds not only his shirts but his boxers, too, or places a scented candle on the table when the weather turns cold. It’s clearly for his delight because it’s not one of those overly sweet apple or caramel things but something fresh, maybe spruce or fir.
She even bakes for him on the days when he comes back. The fact that a beautiful young woman bakes for him stirs something unwanted and long-forgotten in his chest. The sweet scent of home baked buns makes his cock stir, too. His place has never seen a woman’s touch, no one has ever baked anything here…
And he certainly doesn’t expect to find his maid sleeping on his sofa when he arrives home one evening.
She stirs immediately, and apologizes profusely for making herself at home like this. She starts to stutter and explain how she’s had a busy week and difficulty with sleeping, how she simply dozed off while waiting for the rolls to bake in the oven.
He stops her in the middle of her flustered excuses: she can take a nap here any time, it’s not like the furniture is going to wear and tear from use anytime soon. He’s barely even home, so it’s good that someone enjoys the sofa, right? She can use his bed too if she wants. More convenient that way, ja?
He realizes he went a little too far when she looks at him like he just offered to fuck her on the kitchen table. Which he has thought about, to be honest, for a good long while now. In fact, he’s thought about it ever since she started in this position a month ago.
It's her fault for being so unsuspecting and lovely, and she's playing with fire when she takes more dangerous liberties by showering at his house. He finds a women’s conditioner bottle in the bathroom and once, he even catches her doing her laundry here too. There’s a pair of women’s underwear in the pile of clothes she politely informs he’d have to fold himself this time because she’s in a hurry to catch her bus.
He’s far more intrigued by the innocent, blush pink strings greeting him from amidst his black and dark green clothes than by the fact that his maid is breaking the rules. Other employers would give her a warning or simply say she no longer has to come and work here ever again. Showering at his place, washing her clothes in his washing machine and taking a nap on his sofa border on violating the terms of their agreement, but he couldn’t care less. He would carve a hole in his chest if that would make her happy.
When he finds out she’s busy because she has to work two jobs, he raises her pay, despite the fact that she’s sometimes late and at times, leaves a little too early. She does her job well enough, so there’s no reason to complain. He would simply like it if they saw each other more... Which is ridiculous, he knows, because the point of having a maid is that she cleans his house when he’s away.
It just feels so nice to arrive home now that she's here. He’s never looked forward to getting back to his bleak modern mansion, but now he’s pining for his leaves like a young recruit who's got a girl waiting for him back home.
Even if she’s not there when he gets back, he can savour her lingering scent. He sniffs the dark woolen spread she might’ve slept under just moments ago, he eats whatever freshly baked goodies she has made for him. He sleeps with her underwear tucked under his pillow, and reaches for them before sleep. Or then he grabs them in the morning when he wakes up, already hard.
It’s nice to have an unhurried fap at home than to relieve his needs in some small grey room of a boring military base. It's far more enjoyable to stroke his cock with her tiny, cute underwear spread over his face. Sometimes he wraps it around his cock and jerks himself off to a quick, groan-filled release, adoring the way his cum stains her blushing strings.
His showers last for about 15 minutes nowadays.
It’s unheard of for a soldier, and he read somewhere that lonely and depressed people take longer showers because the warm water is supposed to make up for the lack of human touch and intimacy, and that may very well be true… But he also wants to take his sweet time stroking himself while using her conditioner as lube.
Coconut or peach, vanilla or argan oil, he lathers it all over his cock and imagines her hot, wet pussy. His hand is too calloused to give him any illusions of softness, but the mind-numbingly sweet scent takes him immediately back to her. Her eyes, her soft smile. The dreamy sway of her hips, the elegance of her wrists as she moves some item out of the way to sweep or scrub or clean a surface.
He faps with slick urgency, wondering if her eyes would go wide if she saw his cock. He wonders if she’s noisy in bed – is she a screamer, or a moaner? Would she claw at his back or simply cling to him if he fucked her?
And god, how he would fuck her…
Slowly at first, draw moans out of that soft mouth until she begs him to fuck her hard. He would drag her shirt up and her bra down until her breasts are exposed, then watch how they bounce as he starts to fuck her with purpose. She begins to tighten around him, looking so fucking desperate as her cunt starts to throb and pull him in. The first moan of surrender is needy and tight when she cums around his shaft…
He never gets any further than that because his cock spills with a violent jerk. He cums, long and hard across the tiles. Loads and loads of hot seed go to waste as he groans loudly, not giving a shit about making so much noise. Feeling hollow and deprived for not being able to shoot his cum inside her and then stay there, snug and safe and warm inside her cunt, he allows himself just one single sob.
He just wants to know how it would feel to cover her whole body with his as he slowly pumps the last drops into her. Sigh afterwards, breathe together, hold her close... Search for her eyes, check if she's in rapture too. Watch her come down from it while still squeezing him down there. Perhaps she’d give him a pleased giggle and a cute, weary smile.
"Scheisse–"
He leans on the wall, knowing that he's lonely, filthy, sick and obsessed. He lives in a dream world, and the thick conditioner takes ages to wash off. The withdrawal phase is worse every time he indulges in his dark fantasies and then has to live without her for weeks and weeks.
She's just his maid, a hired employee. She’s just an innocent woman with her whole future ahead of her.
He's just a colonel at a notorious private military company… He's just an old, horny, depraved soldier. Calloused, fucked up, depressed. Girls like her don't want anything to do with a man like him.
…
She asks if he wants his house decorated for Christmas.
She asks it with bright eyes and such a lovely smile that he tells her he doesn't own such junk, but he can pay her if she goes to choose him some and then comes back to decorate his place. Their unusual agreement gets more unusual still as she nods with shining eyes, then goes to the city to choose his Christmas decorations for him. He even lets her use his car, which is unheard of.
Soon, his windows are filled with lights and there are mistletoes hanging from the ceiling. She puts fancy little elves in the window, places Christmas flowers and candles everywhere she possibly can. He walks around the house with a coffee mug in his hand, suddenly awkward and shy when watching his maid put up the most sophisticated, elegant and adorable Christmas decorations he has ever had or seen.
Is this what a home should look like…? Warm, and light, and pretty, filled with cozy, useless things?
But it's not the items she got him that make a home, no. Home now equals rich, home-cooked meals, or the mouthwatering scent of cinnamon rolls greeting him at the door. Home is a cute girl, returning his obsessive stare with a small smile and telling him to stay safe before he leaves to kill people. Home is a woman who's the perfect wife material, so fuckable and sweet, who's fussing over the fact that he doesn't even have a Christmas tree.
He gets it before her next visit – meaning, her next shift – and decorates it himself. It looks clumsy and uneven and a bit sparse, but she compliments him on it when she arrives. The looks she gives him are so warm and playful that he starts to have some hope – hell, a full surge of it – and he also starts to miss his hood. He's feeling awkward as it is around her, he doesn't need to be blushing in front of his suddenly flirtatious maid... Men don’t fucking blush when a woman flirts with them; they fuck them until their knees give in.
With no small amount of hidden guilt, he finally confronts her with her underwear, telling her she forgot something and that he found these in his laundry pile. Taking sick satisfaction from seeing how she's the one who's flustered now, he forgives her for washing laundry in his place. He's a merciful man, after all.
There's still some cum on the lace as he returns her possession to her, and he hopes he's just imagining the shock in her eyes when she takes them back. It's his way of saying that he likes her a lot, but the flirting ends immediately, the playful smiles stop, and he knows he fucked up big time. The warm, lively woman is gone, she suddenly resembles an ice sculpture who's about to flee his apartment at any given moment, and he could hit himself in the head with a big metal bat.
What the fuck was he even thinking? That a woman would appreciate it if he returned her panties covered in old, dried cum?
He's a fucked up pervert, and he has lived in a dream world, and now reality awaits.
He shuts down and shuts up after that, keeps the connection pure, pristine and professional. She's just here to do her job.
The holidays approach, and he's sulking, knowing that he won't see her again in at least six weeks. He'll have to make do without a maid, and he'll have to numb his whole soul to get through yet another lonely Christmas.
Well, not lonely: this time he spends it with the decorations she got him. They can keep him company during the lonely masturbation sessions. They can watch him live on takeout food and remind him what a horny, sad loser he is.
So his last attempt, his last minor sin is that he gets her a Christmas present. She's about to leave, hurrying to some place where she's loved and cherished, or then about to get fucked because she has her hair and make-up done. The jealousy creeps up his spine like a viper as he watches her get all dolled up.
She's so very grateful to him for allowing her to get ready here and use his bathroom, and he plays the generous, kind gentleman while gritting his teeth, trying to ignore another demanding erection telling him to dick her down and make her stay down. Make her bake for him and sit on his knee as he squeezes her tits and watches her stare turn dumb. Tell her to douse the lights and light the candles, tell her to undress in front of that stupid Christmas tree, order her to lie down on the mat and spread her pretty legs for him…
She's standing at the door, a cute girl turned into a seductive goddess, while he's about to enter into another lonely brain fog. She grabs her coat and grants him one of those warmer smiles as he walks to her with an envelope in hand.
"I got you something... Merry Christmas."
"Aw… You shouldn't have…"
She accepts his gift delicately with both hands, clearly surprised and pleased. When she opens the gift, she laughs and then covers her mouth with her hand. It's a gift card to Victoria's Secret, and with a relatively large sum on it, too.
"Oh god... Ahah, okay. I like your humour," she laughs again, then gives him a wink and an exceptionally gorgeous smile. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
He's fully aware that he sounds like an ominous, threatening robot. His voice has an effect on women; most flee, some get curious. She's one of the few who don't know what's good for them at all.
He never had a gift with females, and even with his position, experience and age, he still feels like he’s trying to court a breathtaking alien species whose native language he can’t quite understand or speak. The silence stretches on, and her smile slowly fades, making him perfectly aware of the fact that he should say or do something assertive, something charming, instead of just standing here, looming over her. When the playful stare then turns into a helpless, pitying one, the kind his mother used to wear when she discovered he had been bullied again at school, his hands start to go numb.
Jerk off and kill, those are the only things he ever was good for…
"Mm... I'm afraid I have nothing for you," she says apologetically.
Ach so… She’s ashamed for not getting him a present.
Well, shit. Fuck.
"Don't worry about it."
"No, I mean… I thought about it. You're the kindest employer I've ever had. I really appreciate it... and I love working for you."
"That’s nice to hear."
"I just didn't know what to get you. I don't know what you like."
He's trying to ignore the pull of his chest, the sick burning in his loins. His cock is stirring just from the way she's looking at him. Inviting, adoring, waiting.
"You already got me Christmas decorations."
"Yeah, but… You paid for them."
"Aber... You baked for me. No one's ever–"
He shuts his mouth before making a complete fool of himself.
"Well, I'm glad you liked my buns," she laughs, then bites her lip, realizing what she just said could be taken in many ways.
"I truly did."
She guides her stare to the floor and smiles, and the electricity between them… it just can't be only a fabric of his imagination.
"Take care of yourself. Ok?" He says, then swallows a lump in his throat, but it never quite goes down. She’s still waiting for something; the tension between them is petrifying.
"I will," she says, her voice a bit frail, and far too sweet. "You too. Take care."
She gives her last smile to him; it’s sad and somewhat disappointed as she turns around and reaches for the door.
"Wait," he calls, purely from the hard instinct that tells him to fucking do something about this heavy, sickening tension. She immediately turns with hope in her eyes.
"Yes?"
"I… Ah, glückliches neues Jahr."
"...What does that mean?"
"It means 'Happy New Year'."
"Oh," she laughs, "I thought it was something naughty…"
Shit.
Shit.
Shit…
"Ich möchte deine Muschi lecken."
She freezes with her hand still on the doorknob. That fucking sentence was so dark it left little or nothing to the imagination... It was thick enough to make it clear that he’s not a kind, generous employer, nor is he a gentleman.
"What's that?" She asks, her pretty voice barely a whisper.
"Something naughty."
Her hand lets go, it falls to the side. She even tilts her head before her voice turns thick and suggestive too.
"Really…?"
"Yes."
"Well don't be shy. Tell me what it means."
Playful, naughty, dirty.
She wants to fuck. She wants to fuck.
Is this a filthy dream or is this really happening?
"I want to lick your pussy."
There's an intake of air, just a soft gasp. Batting of long, dark lashes, just before the stars in her eyes start to shine in full.
"Oh," she breathes. "Is that so?"
"Ja."
It wouldn't be the first time someone offers him cunt just out of spontaneous pity. It wouldn’t be the first time he accepts it. A man like him takes whatever he can get.
Pity is apparently what's happening now, because his maid starts to undress.
With a victorious shine in her eyes, she drops her coat to the floor, then unbuttons her jeans. Takes away her shirt and bra with shaky hands while maintaining that seductive, downright filthy eye contact. More and more of her skin is exposed as she quickly strips in front of him, finally slipping out of her black, see-through underwear while he's trying not to shake from dark urges and lust.
When she's naked, flush and bare, her fingers start to slide up her thigh. The other hand is pressed against her side as if shy. She’s either offering him a Christmas present in the most elegant way, or then she’s concerned about getting licked and fucked sore. It's like throwing a dog a meaty bone and then putting the hound in a loose chain, just an inch away from the mouthwatering sight and scent. She steals one look at his erection, currently trying to rip its way through his pants. The gross tent is pointed at her, and she knows it: she knows she has him on a leash, but only barely.
"Go ahead then," she whispers.
He falls straight to his knees, and presses his whole face against her softly trimmed hair. When he opens his mouth, she shudders, clearly not ready for someone this starved trying to devour her whole.
She doesn't know she's about to sleep with the devil… If she knew, she would be out the door by now.
It's too late now: he engulfs her, locks her in place by wrapping his arms around her hips.
Mein.
Mein.
Mein…
He could rub his face in her sweet cunt forever, but that won't do: she said he could lick her, so that’s what he’s going to do. After a few bites and nibs, after inhaling the sweet scent of her and squeezing her long and hard in his embrace, he finally rises and carries her to his den. There’s only loneliness there in his bedroom, just stale sweat and old musk staining the sheets, but she softens on the linens when he goes down on her.
Her pussy is already throbbing and wet when he gives her the first, fat lick. Next up, soft little laps to make her thighs drift apart. Some long, teasing circles on her clit, and she starts to sigh - he’s not an expert, but he knows she won’t find a more enthusiastic cunt licker in this city. Or this whole country… Perhaps the entire world.
And she's not a screamer, she’s a moaner. She also whimpers a lot. He switches between giving fast attention to her clit, then slow tongue fucking to her hole. The scent of pussy fills his room: they only talk to each other through moans and whines and groans. He breathes into her like a panting dog: she whimpers under torture like she actually likes it, and likes him. Like she actually prefers his bed to any other place in this world.
He fucks her with his mouth, sloppy and hungry; he could french kiss her pussy forever like this. He could spend every evening licking her to ruin.
"Just like that… Just like that… Don't stop…"
He's as hard as can be; he's about to lose his fucking mind. If she doesn't cum soon, he might just die from having to listen to those unhinged cries.
To help her out – because he's a generous, generous man – he slips a finger inside, earning another spill of filthy moans.
"Oh god ohgod oh fuck–!"
She sounds dumb and helpless as he eats her out like she’s his last meal. His chin is drenched and his cock is hard as the poor girl leaks all over her ass and on his bedding. He adds another finger, starts to fuck her slow and steady. She's more than prepared for his cock, and when he starts to do the alphabet on her clit, she whimpers, whines, and finally, screams.
The feel-good hormones flood his brain when she cums. He kisses her through it and slows down the torture gradually, gives her some space to pulse and throb and leak against his chin.
Women need a lot of stimulation; that’s what he has learned. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and he doesn’t want to ruin the explosion by overriding her senses. When he rises from a job well done, he sees how some of her makeup is ruined.
Yeah. Fuck... A screamer, a moaner, and a crier.
And he's only about to fuck her…
"Das war gut. Good pussy," he mutters and licks his lips, high above his pretty little prize.
"Oh–oh god…"
Poor thing is so flushed, desperate and helpless; she jerks as he taps her clit with his cock, whines when he forces the fat, leaking tip into her folds.
"Wait–"
"I will fuck you now."
"Sir… Please, could we use a condom? Please…"
She's still calling him sir like she's at work. Like he's her superior, or worse yet, an officer, a colonel she's not supposed to flirt with, let alone spread her weak little legs for.
"Hm. I don't have any."
"I do," she's panting heavy on the bed, clearly reluctant to get away from his cock, too weak to get up after his thigh-shaking treatment. It would give him a year’s worth of confidence to witness her in this state, if she would only let him finish the job. Right here, right now. Dip it in raw and blow a load inside that sweet, aching cunt. She might just end up with his child...
But the moment is ruined: he hates condoms, and he hates it that she has them with her. Jealousy starts to eat his mind like there's a can of worms poured inside his brain.
Who does she carry condoms for? Does she get fucked often...?
How many does she have, one, two, three? A whole pack?
She rises to get the darned piece of plastic, and the thick thunder in his head is making him seriously consider locking her up and throwing away the key. Women shouldn't be running around like that, hungry and desperate for a dick. She should stay at home, his home, and go crazy when he returns from war. The rage is the only thing keeping his cock from growing soft.
"It's too small," he laments when the condom is finally in place but barely reaches the base of his shaft. It's going to roll off if he fucks her like he intended to… Good, long, deep and hard.
She bites her lip as she stares at the sad little wrapping trying to render his cock harmless. Surely she can see how stupid and useless this is… Either he gets her a morning after pill tomorrow or then he pulls out, but the condom has to fucking go.
"It's… okay," she swallows. "It's okay. Let's just… If you're clean?"
"I am."
He doesn't tell her he hasn't had a woman in months. Almost over a year.
And he’s clean; he keeps everything…in ordnung.
He rolls the cursed plastic off, and his cock immediately bounces back up: hard, demanding and ready. He throws the condom away, just somewhere, anywhere, as long as it's out of his sight. Wasting no time, he's back at her cunt, and bullies himself in.
"Ah ja… Das ist schön… Sehr schön."
Nothing compares to the feel of a real cunt, hugging him tight. And fuck… He can actually fit fully inside her. He fits like a glove.
"Oh ja. Das ist... I'm not going to pull out. It's not an option. Ok?"
It's not a warning, it's a simple, honest statement. She looks at him with a fearful, desperate stare as his balls arrive to press against her flesh. Yes... nothing beats a wet pussy and a frightened stare.
"Ok…"
"It's better this way," he promises, wondering if it would make him a bad person if he disposed of her condoms first thing in the morning. "Ja?"
"Yes," she sighs. "Feels so good…"
The tightness in his chest falls down, all the way to his stomach and forms a bittersweet knot there. Why does she keep looking at him like that…? He's not hurting her, she's not exactly afraid, it's something else that's making her give him those dumb doe eyes.
"You're pretty," he rasps while trying not to start a complete fuckfest in every meaning of the word.
"O‐oh…?"
"Ja… It's illegal to be that pretty. Someone might want to fuck you..."
"Please do," she almost chokes on the words while looking up at him. "Please…"
If this is a dream, it’s the best dream he’s ever had. She's so perfect, far more needy and helpless than he ever imagined. He moves before he drives them both to madness.
"I'll fuck you, Liebling. As many times as you want. As hard as you want."
He can't remember when was the last time he sounded so soft. Or reassuring... He can't remember the last time a woman was so responsive to his cock. But he fucks her. He fucks his own sorrow into oblivion, too. He pauses only to take a good look at her and remind himself that he’s truly inside the sweetest pussy he’s ever had.
He even whispers lies to her ear about how she doesn't have to worry: he'll get her a plan B after this. The girl turns a bit wild now that it's somewhat safe to be fucked by an animal. She lets him lick and bite her breasts, and thoroughly abuse her cunt. At some point she grabs his face with both hands and kisses him, hungry and sweet. Squeals into his mouth as his balls slap against her ass, hugs him like a drowning person when he picks up the pace and starts to lose himself in her pussy. The feel of a woman's hands around his middle is a sensation he's forgotten completely.
"You like that?" He starts to talk nonsense between her sloppy kisses, pleased with his own soft voice, with her, with everything in his life right now. "You like my cock? Hm?"
"Yes… Oh fuck, I'm…"
Fuck, she's about to cum again... He's in heaven, no, he's somewhere near Eden. She suddenly goes still, and sinks her nails in his back, just before a cry cuts through the air. It reminds him of the aftermath of a grenade detonating; her moans pierce the air, and he can’t get enough of it. He wants to swim in those screams.
He was supposed to make love to her for hours, but it's crystal clear now that this won’t be a long session. He's a selfish asshole for chasing his own peak next by fucking her through her second orgasm like a rabid dog.
"Oh das ist sehr schön, das ist gut… Ach für–scheisse—"
He sounds a bit too pathetic, and quickly buries his face into her neck to escape her lovely, adoring stare. He fucks himself into a big, fat, blinding explosion, he can barely hear the thundering roar that meets her sweaty neck.
She's scared silent by his despair, poor little thing. And he just fapped this morning… But the orgasm compares to the first time he came, it's violent, abrupt and rough. Sadly, the descent is too heady, and too quick. Nuzzling deeper into her hair, he tries to listen to her heartbeat but only hears his own beastlike panting.
"Ok… Ok. I guess we both really needed that, huh?"
She's laughing and out of breath as she gathers their pieces and constructs some kind of a new reality out of them. He rumbles in agreement and refuses to pull out – now that he's inside her, he'll never fucking leave.
"Will you stay? For the night…?"
His question is met by complete silence. She just breathes, then buries her fingers in his hair. He feels like melting chocolate; for the first time in his life, he's somewhat relaxed and content.
"I… I'd really like to but… I can't. I have a party to attend.”
She gives him a quick kiss on the head, then ruffles his hair. She fucking pets him while he’s plunging into some deep recess with the raw, post-nut clarity.
She just needed a fuck… She just needed some cock. And a gift card, so she can buy nice things for the men she allows to lick her to ruin. Fuck… She's even worse than him.
“I'm sorry..."
"It's ok," he hears himself say. She’s too fucking gentle as she drags her fingertips across his scalp. Her other hand comes to trace his jawline, and her thighs hug his waist so good that he would have no trouble making love to her again. Just start another round with a slow roll of hips. Fuck her until they're both sweaty and crying, fuck her full of his cum and chain her to the bed, for safekeeping as he goes and gets himself a beer in between the sessions.
For some reason, he can't quite bring himself to act on this wish. Not when she just cried from how good he was, not when she's petting him like he's a good dog who's earned his rest.
He gives himself a minute before pulling out, and she leaves his bed in silence, tiptoeing into the bathroom in a hurry. Trust a maid to not want to stain the floor with cum when she just scrubbed everything clean…
She takes a quick shower and fixes her makeup, then picks her clothes from the floor. His heart is hammering in his chest, but his breaths remain even as he watches her get dressed. He even offers her a ride to the party, which she accepts with apologetic gratitude. It’s held at someone's home: a house party is a sight he has only ever seen from outside.
She gives him an uneasy, distant smile and a quick kiss before thanking him for the evening and the ride. Then she half walks, half runs across the pavement and up towards the door to be let in by her already drunken friends. Some man embraces her, and the white rage inside his skull is telling him to grab a gun, rise from the car and start a good old mass shooting. Instead, he guides his stare to the asphalt and drives off.
He goes home and has a beer, the rage and longing giving his insides a good stab every five or ten minutes. He watches some TV, then mulls over whether to sleep on the couch because her scent is still on the sheets.
It starts to rain outside, and reality kicks in. When it rains, it pours… He decides he actually hates Christmas, and he also can't stand the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Too tired to dump them in the trash, his feet carry him to the bed, cold and soiled and wrinkled from past love that never was.
The clock is only half past ten, and the doorbell rings just before he takes his shirt off. For the umptieth time this day, his heart starts to race, reminding him that it's not wars that are cruel, but women.
When he opens the door, she's standing there in the rain. Utterly soaked, dripping wet, sad like a stray cat, lower lip trembling from cold.
"Sir?" she declares, "I'm afraid to fall in love."
There’s a spread of wings inside his chest, catching wind like a soaring eagle. It’s a fell swoop and a heady high at the same time, a burning pain right there over his heart as he looks at her, lonely and sad and so adorably lost. Beautiful and wet, like a trampled little flower after a summer storm. She's perfect, just perfect.
And has she walked all the way back here…? There’s no sign of a taxi, no sounds of a car or a bus, and she looks like she's wetter than a wet dog.
"You’re afraid to fall in love…?"
She nods, then bursts into tears. Her tiny shoulders rise and fall with sobs, the rain makes long, wet strings of her hair. He takes a step and tries to pull her in, but she won't come. Stubborn, incredible little thing…
"Liebling... Me too."
"Really?” she raises her sad stare to meet him while trying to wipe her ruined mascara in the midst of falling rain. “You seem like the kind of man who fears nothing..."
"Oh I fear a lot of things."
"Like what?"
"Like… flying, for example."
"But you fly all the time?"
"Exactly."
She's sniffling and pouting and sobbing, like a princess who always got everything she wanted. He wonders if she's the kind of girl who would've laughed at him in high school, or looked him down her nose. If she would've joined the bullies and been the one to say she’d never sleep with a freak like him…
"Let's get you inside. Hmm? You must be cold."
She won’t come, no matter how hard he tries to coax her to come inside his dry, warm house. The rain falls in mats behind her as the city sleeps, vibrant and vigilant. He thought he already broke his heart to the point it couldn’t get more broken anymore, but the look she gives him as he tries to pull her inside is making it burst and shatter into pieces again.
If she's a princess, she must be a battered, broken one.
"Come on. I'll give you a bath," he tries to entice her. "And then we’ll tuck you in. That sound gut?"
"Yes," her shoulders drop as she finally accepts his asylum. "Thank you, sir…"
"And don't call me sir unless you want to make me hard."
She breaks into a fragile, shy smile while looking down at the tips of her drenched ballerinas. Then she allows him to drag her in.
He helps her out of her coat and hangs it to dry while his pretty little kitten gets out of her clothes for the second time this evening. A strong, powerful possessiveness settles in his chest as he guides her to the bathroom and draws her a bath. Then he pulls her shivering, naked body against him so that she wouldn’t feel cold while they wait for the tub to fill with water.
What happens next is soft and gentle, the kind of unhurried exploration he never had time to do because the few females he was with were always in a hurry to get away from him and his needs.
This pretty thing just eases herself into the bath. A timid but trusting little creature, who allows him to study her body like it’s already a possession for him to play with. She lets him rub her tits and tease her clit, caress her neck and face and waist. She does so with patience, love and hope. He’s been extremely tender and extremely slow with her; perhaps that’s why she doesn’t run away from him.
"You're too good for me," she whispers when his hand comes to rest on her stomach, just below her tits.
"...What?"
He barely hears what she’s saying, he can hardly hear her speaking at all because he’s there in the water with her, submerged in the hot, soothing liquid, even if he’s crouching next to the tub in reality.
"Oh please... You're everything a woman could want," she complains softly.
"What do you mean.”
She sighs and looks up to the ceiling, as if begging for help. Then she starts to list things.
"You're… Rich? And powerful, and strong. Kind and considerate. Mysterious... With a great body and a big dick, and still wanting to go down on a woman... It's insane."
He tries to remember how to breathe, but she’s not done yet.
"I'm sorry but… No one's ever eaten me out like that. You must be so experienced."
Her praise eclipses everything, even the thoughts of wanting to kill everyone who's had a taste of her.
So, the boys she's been with don't know how to please her… Stupid arschlochs don't understand what true devotion means. Even a fucker like him knows it's better to make a woman cry out of pleasure than out of fear. Although he always had a talent to do the latter…
And he's not experienced, he's just fucking horny. He just likes to eat pussy.
But that's not something she has to know. Better to have her keep the illusion that he's a dream catch, a rich cosmopolitan of some sort. What a joke…
"You’re literally perfect," she moans from the bath like the princess that she is. "How are you even single?"
"I'm not… right in the head, I guess."
"Well, neither am I."
He can’t look at her. Not when she’s open and trustful and sweet like this. But her hand comes to rest over his, under the water, under the safety of the surface.
"No one is."
"No. Wirklich, I’m a bit sick. Always was. I jerked off to your…" He leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid, risking a look into her eyes.
"I know," she smiles. "I don't mind… Actually I think that's hot."
"Liebling…"
"I think I’ve had enough now. Can we go to bed…?"
"Of course."
She giggles when he lifts her from the water, smiles as he dries him with his towel like she's a wet little kitten he rescued from rain. And perhaps he did... She caresses his chin when he carries her to bed, and reaches for him as he accompanies her under the sad, steel-blue sheets.
He doesn’t need to fuck her, not right now. It’s enough that she’s here: soft, trapped, and tame. His, just his.
Not another lonely Christmas for him ever again…
And she latches herself onto him like he’s the saviour she’s been waiting for all her life. Poor thing doesn’t know that he may be rich and powerful and strong, but he’s not kind. He’s not considerate, and he’s not perfect. He’s her worst nightmare, he's everything a woman would despise.
He’s single because no one ever stayed. No one stayed after they saw who he really was... Some even had to flee the country.
But he knows she’ll stay. He’ll make sure that this cute one never leaves. No, this one is not safe from him, even if she tried to escape him to space.
"Are you still afraid?"
He caresses her head, pressed against his chest. She’s unsuspecting and lovely, the perfect woman, hugs him so tight and sighs from simple, lamblike happiness.
"No," she smiles softly. "Not at all... I know you'll treat me right."
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18+
Eddie Munson x f! reader, best friend! Eddie, friends to lovers, mentions of bodily injury, mentions of masturbation (m), oral sex(m)
Summary: Eddie hurts his dick and as his best friend, you decide to help him ease his pain.
WC: 3K
A/N: I am so tickled by the idea of Eddie wrecking his cock and balls on accident so I had to write about it and wedge in some spice as well. Enjoy!
When Eddie had told you he wasn't feeling well enough to hangout tonight he should have realized that someone like you, caring and loyal almost to a fault, would take it upon themselves to help in any way they could, showing up at his trailer a few hours later with dinner and a zipper pouch full of medicine he might need.
"Ding dong, I'm here to take care of you, Munson", you'd gleamed at him playfully.
It was no secret that he didn't take the best care of himself whenever he was under the weather. Eddie was known for skipping his meds and spending most of the day swathed in a cocoon made of blankets, emerging hours later to pad into the kitchenette where he'd nibble at cold, leftover takeout before weakly traipsing back to bed.
So, when you showed up at his front door with your arms wound around a thermos full of homemade chicken soup and a Tupperware container warm with baked salmon, he should have felt happy. He should have felt grateful for the trouble you'd gone through just to make sure that he ate well and was looked after while he was on his own but instead, all he felt was the sharp, piercing sting of guilt.
The thing was, Eddie wasn't really sick.
He wasn't running a fever like he'd claimed over the phone. He'd purposely hidden the real reason why he couldn't come over to your place and watch a movie like the two of you had planned because well, he was embarrassed.
The truth was, Eddie couldn't come hangout because his dick and balls were killing him.
It had happened last night.
He'd been spread out on the couch while Wayne was away, dressed only in a pair of boxers snug around his hips with a movie playing on TV to keep him entertained throughout the night.
As usual, a blunt was held between his plush lips for most of the evening too, a bottle of jack by his feet which he'd pick up and gulp from time to time.
The combination of alcohol and the weed served a particular purpose that night – helping to make the tooth achingly bad acting in Zombie Lake more tolerable, a movie he'd picked solely for the gratuitous nudity.
Forty minutes of naked, unsuspecting women wading in zombie infested waters later and he was more than a little strung out at that point, rendered blissfully languid while he lay slumped against the couch.
Eddie had picked that moment to reach for the whiskey with his bloodshot, half lidded eyes still plastered on the TV screen, missing twice before he managed to pick it up with light fingers.
Bringing the three quarters full bottle up to his lips for another swig, that was when the booze slipped out of his loose grip, too high to react quickly enough and catch it before it was too late.
With his thighs spread far apart, the full weight of the bottle landed directly on his crotch, the pain shooting from between his legs like daggers, enough to make him feel like the air had been kicked right out of his lungs.
The carpet and couch soaked up most of the spilled whiskey, the nearly empty bottle lying on its side on the floor while Eddie couldn't do much but cup both hands over his junk and curl into himself, trying to grunt, groan and hiss through the pain as tears brewed in his eyes.
Now, it's almost been a full 24 hours since the incident happened but his dick's still super sore from the impact. And to make matters worse his balls are blue in more ways than one.
See, Eddie's got the kind of sex drive that had him jacking off at least twice a day to keep himself sane but now thanks to his injury, he's already feeling pent up, unable to tug his swollen cock and give himself that much needed release.
So, though your outfit isn't provocative, it's still you, his best friend whom he's harbored less than platonic feelings for so of course your denim shorts and your tank top are making him want to act up, the swirling desire at the base of his stomach burning even hotter with the way you're taking care of him, showing him a level of concern no one else has before.
It isn't fair, he thinks, having to sit across from you on the couch while he tries to fight off the growing ache in his cock, tries to will his sore member soft for the sake of your friendship as well as curbing his own pain.
You're yet to notice his dilemma though, rummaging through your bag while Eddie tries not to let the scent of your body wash trigger flashes of you sitting in your bath tub with your bare tits above water, all wet and soapy with your nipples all hard and the bubbles trailing between your cleavage and–
"Shit", he hisses when a twinge of pain flares as his dick starts to twitch in his sweats.
"Everything okay, Eds?", you look up from your bag when you hear it but he's quick to wipe the grimace from his face, faking his best smile at you.
"All good. So, what are we doing next?"
He's relieved when he watches your soft smile slowly return to your face, the kind that reaches your eyes and curves your lips in that way that makes him want to reach out and cup your cheek, running his thumb over your soft skin before he tells you how pretty he thinks you are.
"How about casual sex?", you ask, all chipper.
"…what?"
In an instant Eddie's whole body alternates between flashes of frigid cold and scorching hot. Had he heard you right? were you…offering? fuck, his dick is throbbing so bad in his sweats right now.
You dive your hand back into your bag, pulling out a VHS tape and holding it out for Eddie to see.
"Figured a comedy would be for the best", you waved the tape in his gawking face, his stomach somersaulting when he reads the title.
Of all the movies you could have picked, you just had to go pick the one called Casual Sex? didn't you?
"Plus, I know how much you like Lea Thompson so I figured this would be a good pick", you smiled sweetly at him, tapping a finger over the actress pictured on the cover.
Another sharp prick of guilt and another dull ache radiates in Eddie's crotch because his mind's being especially cruel to him right now, dredging up unwanted memories of the time he wore out a copy of Howard the Duck by beating his meat to Lea Thompson's scenes all day and night.
"Uh, got anything else?", he croaks, clearing his throat when you narrow your eyes at him a little suspiciously.
After a little back and forth, the two of you end up watching The Thing to Eddie's relief. Nothing there that might trigger a boner except the couple of times you squealed adorably when Kurt Russell popped up on screen, kicking your feet and hugging your knees to your chest, inadvertently making your cleavage more noticeable over the neckline of your tank top.
Eddie's able to ignore it for the most part, that was until you offered to help clean up a little once the movie was over, bending over in your denim shorts to gather the empty soda cans sitting on the table in front of the couch.
Despite the alarm bells echoing in his head, he can't seem to help it, eyes trailing up the back of your smooth, bare thighs, settling on your ass and the way he can just about make out a peek of your cheeks now that your shorts have ridden up high.
Oh shit.
Up until now you'd been pretty pert all night but when you turn around, you're instantly startled by the look on Eddie's face, all twisted up and pinched as he presses a cushion into his lap and begins to wince.
"Eddie, what's wrong?", you set the cans aside, dropping back down on to the couch beside him.
Yet another flash of pain courses through him when he catches sight of the way your breasts bounce in your tank top when you take a seat. Jesus, this wasn't going to be easy, was it?
Eddie tries to mask it but you can read the pain there easily, especially when you're so close to him now, close enough that your shoulder brushes against his bicep.
"Eddie please, you can tell me. What's wrong?"
If there was a way out of this without having to admit the truth, without having to tell you how he'd given a whole new meaning to the term whiskey dick, he couldn't seem to find it, feeling helpless as he crumbles under the weight of your concerned, round-eyed stare.
"I lied, okay? I'm not sick, I just…"
Insides twisting, he has to squeeze his eyes shut the moment he sees the confusion register on your face, the way your eyebrows draw together and your eyes narrow. It's too much for him to handle and it all comes flooding out at once.
"I dropped a bottle of whiskey on my dick last night and now the damn thing's killing me because you look so– uh. Fuck. You look so…like, this and it's just– it's a lot"
Daring to open his eyes again, he finds that your own eyes have gone understandably wide, your lips slightly parted too and he hates himself for thinking how badly he'd like to slip his fingers between them and watch you suck.
"Oh. So like, is it– are you hurt badly?", you break the silence after a few seconds of processing his word vomit, blinking up at Eddie like you're fascinated to learn more about his injured cock.
"I mean, I don't think it's anything I need to go to hospital over but yeah. Hurts a lot", he replies a little sheepishly, a side of Eddie you don't see very often because he's far and away from the shy type that's for sure.
"Like when you get hard?", you tilt your head to the side curiously.
Eddie blinks back at you when you say it, clearly taken aback by how casually you're treating this whole situation after how hard he'd tried to hide it but he manages to answer you with a slow nod.
He shivers next when suddenly you drop your gaze to the cushion he's got pressed over his aching boner. "Hm… it’s probably not going to go away anytime soon either, huh? we should do something about that", you suggest thoughtfully.
In that moment, all he can do is look at you in disbelief, sweat beading at his temple and his fingers trembling on top of the cushion. This couldn't really be happening, could it? His best friend since, forever, offering to get him off?
Eyes drifting up to his once more, you lean a little closer, voice dropping down to a whisper. "I could help you", you offer, tentatively placing your hand on Eddie's knee. "Only if you want me to."
Adams apple bobbing, it hurts Eddie when he swallows, finding his throat's turned dry and tight in the last few seconds.
"Seriously? you'd actually do that? um, are you sure?"
You bite back a laugh because the look on his face is nothing short of adorable, all wide eyed and eager like a puppy awaiting a treat.
"Well, you could sit here with your bruised dick and keep whimpering like a baby or you could let me make you feel better. What's it going to be, Eds?", you quirk up an eyebrow at him at the same time the corner of your mouth picks up into a playful smirk.
"The second one please", he answers quickly, his cheeks flooding with so much color you kind of want to pinch them and tease him about how cute he looks right now.
"Thought so."
Smiling, you pick yourself up off the couch, carefully lowering yourself to kneel between Eddie's legs when you place your hands on his knees and gently encourage him to spread them apart.
He's quick to help you when you reach for the waistband of his sweatpants next, carefully pulling both it and his boxers down to finally free his cock.
For both of you, it's surreal being in this position – Eddie with his cock out, all hard and throbbing for you and you wedged perfectly between his legs like a puzzle piece he'd been searching for all his life.
You have to take a few seconds to admire it; the way the length of him blushes red and curves up towards his belly, the way the many veins wrap around his thickness and the dark, wiry thatch of hair at his base, untrimmed and full. Just how you'd always imagined based on how wild Eddie kept the hair on his head.
Eyes trailing lower, you have to resist the urge to palm his balls to keep from possible hurting him. You want to feel the weight of them in your hand though because you can't help but think they look so full and that makes you feel sorry for Eddie and how he'd had to deal with that discomfort all day.
The thought has you pushing your lips out into a sympathetic little pout, hand reaching out to finally touch him. Gently, you use your fingers to pull back his soft foreskin, leaning forward and parting your lips to delicately kitten lick at his red, leaking tip, keeping your eyes fixed on his face for any signs of discomfort.
You're pleased to find none, chest blooming with pride as you watch complete bliss wash over Eddie's face, swirling your tongue gently and collecting beads of precum when you hear him sigh and moan with relief.
"Oh my god, that's – that's really fucking good. Please keep going", he whines unabashedly because that persistent ache that's been troubling him since last night is being soothed so fucking well by your eager tongue. At this point he doesn't even care what kind of sounds you might pull out of him, desperate to feel more of your touch.
"Don't think I'm gonna last long", he gulps when you blink up at him with your pretty lips wrapped around his tip. "Your mouth feels too good."
His words make your confidence rise like steadily billowing smoke. "You don't need to", you tell him truthfully. "I just want to make you feel better", pressing a sweet kiss to the top of his smooth head, loving the way his breath stutters when you do it and the feeling of his sticky precum coating your lips in a shiny film. Like he's marking you..
As you continue, you refrain from using your hands while you pleasure him, keeping them pressed flat against his inner thighs, using only your mouth to kiss and lick up and down his rigid shaft as your nose nudges against it softly, returning to suckle at his tip from time to time.
It's easy to tell how badly Eddie must have needed this because he's unravelling so quickly under your touch as he throws his head back against the couch, his hands balled into fists by his sides while he whimpers about how well you're doing.
He's so pretty like this with his neck bared to you but you miss his gaze, removing your swelling lips from his cock to coax him back. "Don't hold back with me, Teddie. Tell me what you need and I'll give it to you", you coo earnestly.
Lifting his cloudy head to look down at you, it's Eddie's turn to surprise you when he brings one hand up to brush back a few strands of hair that'd gotten stuck to your damp cheek, a brief moment of tenderness that makes the butterflies resting in the depths of your stomach wake and beat their wings.
"Could you go a little lower?", he asks you, chest heaving and lips slightly pink from biting.
"Want me to lick your balls?", you try to clarify.
That makes him chuckle, a sweet, airy sound that makes you feel like there's sunlight spilling through the spaces between your ribs, filling up your whole chest with pleasant warmth.
"When d'you start talking like this, huh? Y' got such a dirty mouth on you, sweetheart", he teases you lightly, pulling his hand back so you can get back to working him.
You simply smile against his shaft in reply, feigning coy and innocence while trailing kisses lower and lower until you reach the seam of his balls. Placing your warm tongue flat against it, you draw it up slowly, wetting his heated skin before pressing more kisses against his sack, giggling when the hair there starts to tickle your lips.
"Think you can handle it if I take you in my throat? I'll go slow, I promise", you speak up from between his legs.
Given how often he's pumped his cock to the very thought of you throating him, Eddie nearly trips over himself trying to find the words to answer.
"Holy shit, yes please", he manages to let out with a strained groan.
That's all you needed to hear before you're taking him into your mouth again, bobbing up and down a few times slowly, careful not to let your teeth scrape his sensitive skin before you bob deeper and let him reach the back of your throat, triggering your gag reflex and making your throat close around him nice and tight.
"Baby– baby, fuck I'm going to cum", he gasps, hips jerking, eyes squeezing shut.
And that's all the warning he can manage to give you before he's spilling down your throat, thick, creamy ropes of it which you swallow down eagerly and as best as you can.
Most of it slides down the warm, wet contracting walls of your throat but you realize just how pent-up Eddie must have been when your cheeks puff out a little with a generous amount of his cum that you couldn't manage to gulp down fast enough, pulling off of Eddie's softening cock with a mouthful of spend sitting warm on your tongue, coating the insides of your cheeks.
Sitting there on your knees while Eddie pants and recuperates, a deeply curious part of you has you swishing his cum in your mouth, savoring the distinct, tangy taste of him before you part your lips and let him look inside.
Exhausted but entirely amazed, he gawks at you and the viscous mess of spit and semen in your mouth, tempted to stick his own tongue in there and taste himself on you before you press your swollen lips back together and promptly swallow, a beaming smile breaking out on your face.
"See? told you I'd take care of you."
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The four times you fell asleep on Ghost and the one time Ghost fell asleep on you - one.
simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader
word count: 2,542
synopsis: Throughout your time as a Task Force 141 operator, you fell asleep on your Lieutenant in random circumstances. What happens when he is the one to fall asleep on you?
notes: hope you enjoy this, it was initially meant to be max 500 words but I got carried away
reader's callsign is Bambi (she/her)
find it on ao3 part one part two part three part four part five
masterlist
one.
In hindsight, the day shouldn't have been so draining; it had been an average day spent on base, involving physical training, shooting, and paperwork. You had endured much worse during missions where you could barely get some shut-eye between watches, but that was not the case.
The problem, the literal root of your heartaches was a cat, your sister's cat. You had been more than happy to take care of it when she so kindly asked under the pretence of having to spend a few nights out of town. You had been even happier when you went shopping for cat supplies with her - perhaps excited at the thought of having a furry cuddling partner. And you intentionally kept it a secret from your teammates, scared that they would drop by uninvited to help you take care of it when all you wanted was the creature's undivided attention.
The previous day, the first day she'd spent under your care was perfect: she, for the cat was a female, spent hours cuddled up on the couch, sleeping like there was no tomorrow. But when the night came, the little beast came to life. Scratch that, beast was an understatement - it was the spawn of Satan that had been racing through your bedroom, jumping on the windows, and left hanging on the curtains. The demon that kept butting his head against your door, and that launched violent attacks against your blanket until your alarm rang.
So that was why the plain day at the base was more draining than it should have been. You went on with training, the shooting session was average, and the paperwork had you dozing on your desk. Letting out a small sigh, you forced your eyes to stay open as you scanned the last mission’s report for any grammatical mistakes- which proved to be a tedious task, especially because you’d eaten not too long ago and your eyes became heavier each breath.
At the sound of another yawn, Ghost lifted his head from his own paperwork, glancing in your direction. He noticed with a frown your exhausted face and the way you blearily rubbed your eyes in an attempt to make the sleep go away. What was that kept you up last night? Or should he ask- who? He quickly shook his head at the thought, discarding it like a crumpled piece of paper thrown in the bin. He’d known you long enough to notice your mood shifts and he would know, he had to know, if you started seeing someone. Not that he had something against it - he wouldn’t be the one to pry into your personal life like that. After all, it was Johnny’s job who, in turn, would share the information with him.
But that did not mean he could not try to ensure you felt good enough in his presence - the team’s presence - to not feel the need of finding another someone. After all, it would only get you distracted and unprepared for the missions to come.
His reasoning was sound in his head, and when he saw you had given up, propping your head against a stack of papers while mindlessly glaring at your extended hand, he got up from his desk. He made sure the screeching of the chair was loud enough to alert you something was going on, and he suppressed a grimace under his mask when he saw you slowly turn to face him, eyes glossy with sleep. At that moment, glancing at you, he thought you were the perfect embodiment of the expression: no thoughts, head empty, and, as much as it amused him, he knew he had at least to get you out of the office.
"Come on, let's go."
Scrunching your eyes before blinking, you looked up at his massive figure that was currently towering above your desk. If you'd been more alert, you would have noticed a small sparkle in his eyes, but your efforts were put into battling off the waves of sleep that just kept coming. Your mind could not form a coherent thought: what was the time, did the lieutenant finish his paperwork already, where did he want to go-
The internal questions continued and you ended up yawning loudly again, closing your eyes for a couple of minutes. You just needed to rest them for a while and then you'd be fresh, prime, and proper to finish your day on base. Yet your brief rest was interrupted when you heard, or rather, felt, a hot breath across your face. As you opened your eyes, you realized Ghost had crouched down in front of your desk, his masked face being centimetres apart from yours. His eyes still had that tiny sparkle you noticed this time, and involuntarily you began staring at his amber orbs and blonde eyelashes. Countless times you studied his eyes fervently, trying to get a glimpse of the man behind the mask - so much that you began to be aware of every crease and crinkle that would form around them, depending on his mood. At the time being, there seemed to be no such lines, or perhaps you were too tired to actually notice them-
"You can finish this report tomorrow, Sergeant. Let's go!"
He gently nudged you with his arm, waiting for any reaction. When he didn't receive one, he rolled his eyes and groaned, he actually groaned, which made you perk your ears in disbelief:
"I'm up, I'm up!", you shot up and out of the chair, too surprised by his loud reaction. But you couldn't see his face anymore as he was already heading towards the door, back turned to you, left hand silently gesturing you to follow.
The walk to the lounging area was silent, with Simon walking in front and you trailing dutifully behind him. The silence was not uncomfortable though, which was not unusual: he was one of the very few people with whom you could sit in a room for hours and don't feel the need to fill the space with words. There was no explanation for it; it all came naturally and you were smart enough not to question it, knowing that the lieutenant could be difficult with people when he wanted to.
"Look who decided to show up! Ghost, Bambi - how kind of you to join us!"
You shook your head at Soap’s loud greeting, trying your best to hide your smile as you plopped down on the sofa, next to Ghost. Captain Price was already seated in his designated armchair, leafing through what seemed to be a handbook, while Gaz was lounging on the other sofa, next to Soap. As usual, other members of the task force would come and go, bidding silent greetings, and at that moment, the comfort and familiarity of the atmosphere made you sigh softly as you propped your head on your hand while leaning against the armrest.
"Sleepless night, Y/N?"
Price did not look up from his book as he asked the question, but you knew he must have been watching you throughout the day, taking note of the sleepy state you'd often found yourself in. You also knew that he would have stepped in the moment he considered you pushed yourself too far, but for the time being, you were just satisfied that you managed to get through the day.
"Who's keeping you up at night, Bambi?", Soap quickly chimed in, a signature smirk plastered on his face. A smirk that widened even more when he noticed Ghost rolling his eyes, next to you. "Is there someone we should know about?"
"You're shameless, Johnny", you spat back at him, straightening yourself in an attempt to seem more collected. "...and even if there was someone, you think I'd throw them to the wolves?"
Gaz chuckled loudly at the remark, while Price was trying to hide his grin behind the pages. At that moment, Simon was glad the balaclava was hiding his features - the smirk he was sporting could rival Soap's.
"My sister left town for a couple of days", you eventually resumed, running a hand through your hair, "and asked me to take care of her cat-"
As expected, protests and offended remarks could be heard from both Soap and Gaz, the men demanding why they were not told of this earlier. They could have helped-
"The only help I'd get from you would consist of you two laying to sleep with her on the couch. But here's the catch, the beast only sleeps in the daytime - but when the night comes, she transforms into this dark demon which runs around the house and attacks my feet when I try to sleep!"
"Never had a cat before, Y/N? When you were a kid?"
You shook your head at Price's question, frowning when you notice his sympathetic expression:
"You need to keep them busy throughout the day, and then leave enough food for them at night. As a last resort, locking them in the bathroom is a good solution, but you need to first remove everything from the shelves."
"Or we could come in and babysit the baby!", Gaz kept pushing, an innocent smile gracing his features. "Sure, you had a rough night, but how hard can it possibly be, to take care of a creature whose routine mainly consists of eating and sleeping?"
"Well, it's only three more days. I'll manage somehow..."
As the conversation shifted to another topic you were too tired to understand fully, you laid your head against the wall, letting your body sink into the couch. There it was again, that soft hum that lulled you to sleep- not that you would actually fall asleep in the lounging area. No, you would just rest your eyes for a couple of minutes, before heading towards your car and riding back home to the little creature that must have been expecting you.
***
At first, Ghost did not seem to notice the shift of weight on his right arm. He was too busy scrolling on his phone, searching for articles about cats and their nocturnal habits. It wasn't until the room was too quiet for his liking that he looked up from his phone, his eyes meeting Soap's as his teammate was silently pointing to his right - in your direction.
He slowly turned his head towards you, his eyes widening almost comically behind his mask. You were the dead weight on his shoulder, soundly asleep, your left cheek squished against his arm. Of all the days, it was that specific day that he opted for a plain black t-shirt after training, and he was definitely overthinking his choice. Your skin felt soft and warm against his, enough to short-wire all the working circuits in his brain, prompting him to freeze and stare at you. The complete implications of this gesture would hit him later, when he would be lying in bed, unable to sleep, but for the time being, he could solely focus on the facts at hand: you were there, next to him, leaning against him, sleeping peacefully.
And he only wanted to keep an eye on you and kill anyone who had the slightest intention of waking you up.
"Where's that camera when you need it!", Soap quietly grumbled as he got up and started fumbling on one of the shelves, ignoring the daggers Ghost was shooting at him through his eyes.
"Top shelf, Soap - you put it there the last time you used it!", Price whispered with a sigh of mild frustration.
"Guys, be quiet, let the girl get some rest!", Gaz hissed as well before Soap joined him back on the couch, a dusty Polaroid camera in his hands:
"Alright, this one's for the books! Come on, give us a big smile, L.T.!"
He might have been unable to move, but his gaze spoke volumes- a true death glare though and through, quickly captured by Soap through the lenses and printed on the small Polaroid photo sheet.
Gaz leaned over Soap's shoulder to see the result and even Price scooted his armchair a bit closer, a small grin dancing his lips. The picture was proudly placed on the wooden panel, next to one depicting the Captain sleeping just as soundly in the very same armchair he was currently sitting in. And in the meantime, Ghost could only feign indifference, letting his signature eye roll showcase his opinion about the situation.
He could not explain, could not even place a finger on or identify the warm and comforting sensation he was feeling in his chest. He was so used to the cold and dull feeling that had taken residence in there- yet there it was, a glimmer of hope, a ray of sun on a cold autumn day.
You felt safe in his presence, safe enough to put yourself in a vulnerable position in his proximity.
And he would do anything to keep things that way.
***
Bonus scene:
Letting out a small whimper, you stretched your limbs while keeping your eyes closed. You could not figure out how you got home or why your pillow was sporting a distinct smell of cigarette smoke, sweat and cologne, but your semi-conscious mind was too busy keeping you asleep that you did not seem to care.
Wait...
That scent was familiar. You were in its presence on an almost daily basis that you could tell it in your sleep. Well, not literally, considering that your mind was still trying to piece it out- why was your pillow smelling like Ghost?
You jerked yourself awake with a start, your groggy mind taking a couple of moments to process the fact that you were actually not in your bed, but in the lounging room at the base. And your pillow was not really your pillow, but actually, Ghost's shoulder and your cheek was fully squished against it.
"Look who's up, Sleeping Beauty herself..."
From your current position, his voice felt like a deep rumble, vibrating through your body and resonating in your bones in an unsettling manner. With a herculean effort, you managed to prop yourself against the other side of the couch, blearily blinking the sleep from your eyes. A faint blush spread across your cheeks, warmth radiating through your face as embarrassment tinged your features. It took all you had not to cover your face in your hands.
"I’m so sorry, L.T. - I really didn’t mean to-"
"It’s alright, Bambi. No harm done."
The lack of your weight against him made him feel empty in a way he struggled to define. He tried to brush it away by rising from the couch and making a show of rolling his shoulder in front of you, calmly watching your embarrassed figure through his thick eyelashes. Your cheeks were already sporting an uncharacteristic rosy hue and your renowned doe eyes were widened, a glimmer of sheepishness and self-consciousness reflecting in them. He would never admit it to anyone, but he secretly adored the fact that he was one of the few people who could coax such a reaction from you.
"Although next time you might want to do it in a room without Soap. It’s likely that the entire base will learn of it by tomorrow."
A/N: wrote this on a whim, not proofread so it may contain grammatical errors (and more)
updates won't be regular as I'm a college student with a full-time job
Hope you enjoyed it :)
#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost x you#simon ghost riley#ghost x you#ghost mw2#cod ghost#task force 141#simon ghost riley imagine#ghost imagine#simon riley fluff#ghost fluff#call of duty imagine
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Brainrotting again because I'm sad
Imagine Nerd Scara but he's the perverted loser nobody likes
Nerdy! Scara who observes you from afar, always peeking over those comically large notebooks he has all the time just to get a look at you.
Nerdy! Scara who can't work up the courage to talk to you directly. He lights up with joy when he's paired with you for a project.
Nerdy! Scara who insists the project is done at your house because his house is a mess (it actually is) and totally not because he wants to go through your stuff. Absolutely not!
Nerdy! Scara who takes the opportunity to snoop around when you have to go to the bathroom. He rummages through your clothes, specifically your panties drawer and pockets a few of his favourites for himself.
Nerdy! Scara who shamelessly moans your name in the privacy of his own room later that day, rutting his leaky cock into one of the underwear he stole borrowed from you.
Nerdy! Scara who continues to invite himself over to your house, claiming he just wants to spend time with you. You always wonder why something goes missing everytime he visits...
Nerdy! Scara who steals your belongings and forms a collection of them, keeping them in a box hidden under his bed. His favourites are definitely the pieces of clothes and perfumes.
Nerdy! Scara who gets touchier the more time he gets to be around you. Practically groping you everywhere, kneading your chest like stress balls especially.
Nerdy! Scara who drools at the sight of you in anything remotely revealing. He can feel himself getting hard when you wear shorts that hug the curve of your ass and crop tops that accentuate your perfect tits.
Nerdy! Scara who has wet dreams about you every other night. He often finds himself drenched in sweat and cum when he wakes up.
Nerdy! Scara who is so weak and pathetic, he can't stand up for himself when he gets bullied for being a nerd. He adores it when you step in for him and send them off. He can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks (and dick) as he sees the scowl directed towards the bullies on your face.
Nerdy! Scara who wants to show you just how much he appreciates you for being by his side. On one of his surprise visits, he corners you against the wall and insists that he get a chance to repay you. His hands are already in your pants by then.
Nerdy! Scara who fucks you so desperately, eager to hear the moans and whimpers that spill from your mouth, making him groan in return.
Nerdy! Scara who has surprising stamina. He pounds you for what feels like (and probably is) hours till your legs can't support you anymore.
Nerdy! Scara who clumsily tries to give you aftercare, but it's the thought that counts, right?
Nerdy! Scara who absolutely loves getting to wrap you in a warm blanket as you both sit on the couch, watching a movie as he feeds you leftovers from your fridge.
Nerdy! Scara who showers you with kisses and affection, unable to stop showing you all the love he can. You swear you can feel something hard poking your thigh as his lips suddenly crash into yours once more...
#ig that's basically scummy Scara#but idk#smut#genshin smut#x reader smut#genshin impact smut#genshin impact x reader smut#✧･ﾟ:* meena's memos! ✧･ﾟ:*#scaramouche smut#scaramouche x reader#scara x reader#scara smut#scaramouche x reader smut
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— sleepover
pairing: e-1610!miles x fem!reader
contains: fluffff! jeff and rio being realistic parents, miles being stubborn per usual
summary: miles’ parents finally agreed to letting the two of you have a sleepover, on one condition. however, miles was never the best at following directions. wc: 1,630
New york. The city that never sleeps.
The faint murmuring of bustling cars and the habitual honking of horns seeped through the tight seal of the shut apartment window; ironic in the way it somehow lulled you. An imperfect melody you welcomed—also the same one deemed a nuisance by those foreign to the chaos that naturally assimilated to comfort the longer you remained in Brooklyn. It usually helped you slip into a slumber with ease—but now— was succeeding in its attempt of doing the exact opposite.
And when you heard Miles expel a weighted, disgruntled sigh; you were led to believe the two of you had more in common with each other apart from the fact that you both lived here.
After weeks and weeks of begging, and endless explanations as to why exactly he needed his girlfriend to sleep over when they wouldn’t even get to utilize the time spent together because they were supposed to be asleep, Miles had finally convinced his mom and dad to let the two of you have a sleepover.
Fun, right?
Yeah, well you thought it’d be. Until his mom insisted the two of you bring your pillows and blankets and fantasies of your life as a matured couple to the living room and sleep out there. Six feet away from each other. You guys were practically social distancing like it was 2019 all over again.
The curt reasoning she offered included something about her not wanting the two of you in his room alone at night; not that she thought her son would actually be dumb enough to do anything along those lines with her in the house. You loved Mama Rio, but even if you didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. This was her house, and that meant you had to follow her rules. The fact that you were even able to come over as much as you did was a blessing in itself, so you took everything else in stride.
Miles let you take the couch of course, and he was currently sprawled out on his back on the floor, a pillow tucked beneath his head as he studied the minuscule cracks in the ceiling as if they truly interested him. Scrolling through his instagram timeline had gotten old fairly quickly, and at 1:00AM in the morning, neither of you were really motivated enough for conversation.
You were more than grateful to spend a night with your boyfriend, but this wasn’t necessarily how you expected it to go. Whenever you guys would hang out during normal hours of the day, you’d always end up in his embrace, curled and cuddled into each other comfortably. Whatever movie or tv-show you’d put on in the background begging for the same attention you’d give each other. After growing used to such a routine, that was really the only way you could fall asleep at his house.
But alas, holding your pillow close to you instead of him would have to suffice, you decided, as you let your eyes close once again.
“Baby?” Miles called out into the darkness, lip chewed in anticipation.
Silence.
He’d said only a word but you knew better than to engage. A conversation would end up with the two of you in trouble in the morning, so you pretended to be asleep.
“I know you’re awake. I counted exactly three seconds between your last two breaths and when you’re asleep it slows down to five.”
You stifled a laugh, ultimately blowing your cover. “Okay, now that’s just creepy.”
“People who are asleep don’t laugh!” he quipped.
A smile snuck onto your lips and you hadn’t the heart to reprimand it, lids peeling back open to stare up at the same ceiling he was.
“Yes, Miles?”
“Can you not fall asleep either, or have I become an insomniac all of a sudden?” The question came with a sigh, long arms spread to their full wingspan as he tried to count how many full rotations the ceiling fan made in a minute. That was how bored he was.
You sighed disappointedly, toying with the frayed tassels on your blanket. A moue on your face. “No, I can’t fall asleep either.”
“I think I know why.” he sung the last word in suggestion, hands absentmindedly drumming against his abdomen.
“Miles,” you warned, letting your head fall to the side so you could stare at the top of his head and address him directly. “Your mom gave very specific instructions, and personally, I would like to return home to mine with my head still on my shoulders.” grumbling your response, you shoved down the urge to invite him up there with you like your mind was telling you to.
He propped himself up on an elbow at that, eyes immediately making contact with yours. Your first mistake was not looking away, because those pretty pools of hazel were already starting to convince you and he hadn’t even opened his mouth yet.
“But how is that fair?” he complained, sounding exasperated. “We take naps together all the time when you’re here, I just wanna cuddle with you.” he sulked, as if you were the one who’d come up with the rule. Never in a million years would you submit the both of you to this kind of torture. You loved falling asleep in his arms.
You rolled your eyes at him, “Well, yeah. But that’s during the day, when she can check on us anytime she wants to. I don’t think your mom wants us that close to each other at night for,” The last part of your sentence faded to a jumbled murmur as your gaze traveled back to the ceiling. “…obvious reasons.”
He impishly raised a brow as if he didn’t know what you were referring to, chin resting in the palm of his hand. With only the faded lights of the city to illuminate the living room, the cheeky smile on his face went unnoticed, though you could hear it in the tone of his voice, loud and clear.
“And what reasons are those?” Miles asked, feigning innocence. His long lashes blinking at you.
Hand smacking to your forehead, you recited a silent prayer, a plea for strength. It was beginning to look like you weren’t going to get yourself out of this. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
His hand gestured to the air, plainly. “Well obviously. But still, we’re not dumb. That’s why I always take you to the roof when we—“
“Miles Gonzalo Morales do not finish that sentence!”
He snorted at the squeak of your voice and you used your pillow to hide your heated face.
“This is not going to help us fall asleep.” your irritated statement was muffled from the fabric of the pillowcase.
He hummed. “Exactly, meaning there’s only one thing left to try.” Slow to catch on, you didn’t realize what he meant until you felt the couch dip from the weight of his knee.
A hand trickled up the exposed skin of your thigh and it stopped when it met your sleep-shorts clad hip, the pillow snatched from your face and tossed onto the floor where he previously resided just a second ago.
“What are you—?”
He hovered over you, one hand pressed into the cushion beside your waist to hold himself up. Your question fell short when he swiftly parted your legs with his other hand and comfortably slotted his body between your thighs. A relieved sigh escaped him, his cheek nuzzling into the soft of your chest when he laid on top of you. His favorite way to cuddle.
“Shhh, trying to sleep.” murmuring a dismissive answer to your query, he let his eyes flutter to a close and snaked his arms around your waist, forearms cradling the curve of your back.
Contrary to the fight you were putting up just a minute ago— your arm curled over the expanse of his shoulders, fingers idly twirling at the baby curls that dusted the nape of his neck, something you always did to help him fall asleep faster. He let out a low, satisfied sound and relaxed into you completely, his hold on you tightening. While a part of you wanted to protest, an even bigger part wanted to remain under him like this. His weight was comforting; made you feel secure in the way a weighted blanket did.
“Your mom is not going to be happy with us.” you reminded him, stretching your other arm down enough to grab your blanket and pull it up over the two of you.
“It’s worth it. I’ll happily take the blame,” he drawled sleepily, snuggling in closer to the kiss that grazed his forehead. “I love you…” The laggard pace to his words let you know he was already dozing off, and you smiled, fatigue finally catching up with you too.
“I love you, Miles.”
— extra scene
Jeff stood in silence, arms folded over his broad chest and lips puckered awkwardly. Rio occupied the space next to him, hands perched on her wide hips, fingers tapping against them and her jaw clenched in disapproval. Her expression was everything but amused at the scene in front of them. He stole a tactful glance at his wife every two seconds, silently trying to gauge how irritated she was without having to ask her.
Sometime during the night you and Miles had switched places, and now his lanky legs were draped over the arm of the small couch and you were on top of him, clung to his body like a wet T-shirt, face barely visible seeing as it was nestled into the crook of his neck. With his mouth hanging slack as he loftily snored, Rio felt her eye almost twitch while she stared down at her stubborn son, who seemed to have magically teleported from his assigned spot on the floor and into yours instead.
“Well, I coulda told’ya that would happen.” Jeff said quietly with a laid-back shrug, to which Rio responded with a back-handed swat to his chest.
“Ow!”
Through her aggravation she still kept her voice low as to not wake the two of you, eyes narrowed at her husband. “I am going to strangle this boy, Jeff. Dios ayudame. ¡Tu hijo nunca escucha! (God help me, your son never listens!)” she griped, gesturing towards Miles’ arm that was loosely circled around your waist. She tramped down the hall, hands tossed up in defeat while she grumbled something incoherent under her breath.
Lips downturned into an offended frown, Jeff coddled his chest with his palm and followed after her, voice kicked up an octave like a nagging child. “Why is he only my son when he does something you don’t like? We made him together!”
- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms!
likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated 💗
#junie’s works ᥫ᭡#across the spiderverse#1610 miles morales#miles morales#earth 1610 miles morales x reader#miles morales fanfiction#miles morales fluff#miles morales x black!reader#miles morales x fem!reader#miles morales x you#across the spiderverse fanfiction
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better than letting go | nagi seishiro x reader
✩ accidental sugar daddy nagi
✩ pro-player!nagi, roommates au, angst to fluff, heavy pining, miscommunication
"just go live with nagi," reo says offhandedly, "if you clean up after him, he'll let you stay there forever."
you open your mouth to refute the suggestion, because reo knows how you feel about nagi, knows you couldn't possibly stay in an enclosed space with him hours on day on end without jumping him... but before you do, nagi himself interrupts.
"i'm okay with that," he replies in his usual laid-back voice.
you glare at him because you think he sounds more excited about the cleaning part.
"you're going to be homeless," reo shrugs, "why not?"
you return your glare at reo, "why can't you just house me in one of your billion-dollar properties."
"then i'd have to ask my old man for permission," he waves you off like the asshole he is, "no thanks."
"what's wrong with living with me?" nagi wonders, and you hate him for acting like he wants to live with you so badly.
"look, just clean nagi's dirty underwear for the next year while you finish your degree and you won't have to worry about a thing," reo explains, as if there aren't other factors like your five-year infatuation with nagi, and maybe the fact that nagi lives like he doesn't know what a vacuum does.
you sigh, thinking about the end of your lease and the astronomical increase in rent incoming, and how much you don't want to work your stupid part-time job, and give in.
of course it's not that bad. all you had to do was keep your feelings to yourself.
"nagi," you hiss, "nagi, wake up, you're going to be late!"
he only stirs, covers tucked under his chin, as if he's hiding from you. you inch the door wider, stepping into his room hesitantly. he doesn't even make a move.
"nagi," you whine, crouching at the side of his bed.
he makes a sound of acknowledgment but keeps his eyes closed, so you sit cross-legged on the floor, watching his sleeping form. he's so cute like this, you think, yearning.
it's been a week since you moved in with nagi. in a lot of ways, he's exactly what you thought he would be like in private: he's rarely home, and when he is, he's quiet.
you thought he would spend more time in his room, under the covers, but you realize quickly he's furnished his couch with the coziest throw and likes to curl under there when he is home.
it makes your heart warm when you come home to see nagi, his toes sticking out from underneath the blanket, waiting for you to eat dinner.
"...what time is it?" you hear him mumble.
your heart skips a beat when he opens his eyes, groggy with sleep, and touches your arm. you sigh shakily.
"too late," you smile softly at him, "i'll prep your pre-workout so you can take it with you, okay?"
"thanks," he tells you, his voice raspy.
he smiles back at you and reaches out, poking you in the forehead. when you feel his fingers touch your skin, you think you'll drop dead right there.
"are you gonna move out after you graduate?" reo asks, nine months into your arrangement.
you've been avoiding even thinking about it. you're busy with graduation, you justify to yourself, you don't have time to look for a new place yet.
"hm?" you hum innocently, "i dunno. haven't had time to think about it."
"nagi asked me 'bout it," he mentions casually, and you freeze. is he counting the days down until you leave?
you and nagi have settled into a daily routine: you wake him up, he goes to practice, you study after class, and when he comes back late at night, he hangs out with you for an hour before he has to sleep. mostly, you and nagi sit on either end of the couch, sharing the cozy throw, and read manga.
it's lulled you into a false sense of security, you think.
"oh," is all you manage to say. maybe he finds you bothersome? maybe he wants his own space back?
reo hits you over the head, lightly. "what's that face for? it's been going good living with nagi, right?"
and it was. it was everything you had dreamed of, and it shocked you how well you got along with nagi. you think of how, in early mornings when both of you (mostly you) are rushing out the door, bumping hips in the kitchen, even then it seems like you were working together.
"yep," you reply, sipping your iced coffee, "too good."
reo takes a bite of his food, and suggests, "maybe you two should just keep living together. you can split rent or something."
"can't rely on nagi forever," you protest.
"why not?" he says, just like he did when he had first suggested this whole thing, "isn't that what you want?"
you kick him under the table, angry that he was bringing your feelings up now. yes, you want to scream, it is. but nothing has changed between you and nagi, nothing at all.
you're always trying to keep your feelings in check: when he peers over your shoulder as you're cooking, the warmth of his body hot asgainst yours. or how adorable he looks when he comes out of the shower, his shaggy hair falling over his eyes, his face shiny. those are the times your feelings want to burst.
"just talk to nagi about it," reo nudges. you're not sure if he's talking about the housing or the feelings.
you're curled up with nagi on the couch when you muster the courage to say anything. your legs are touching his under the blanket, and you feel as if that might connect you to him.
there's a month left until you graduate, which is absolutely not enough time for you to find a place to live, but you were scared. you hear the victory sounds of nagi's mobile game, so you decide now's better than never.
"so," you start, and his gaze drifts over to you, "i haven't really found a new place to live yet."
it's quiet. "s'okay," nagi mumbles, not even looking up from his phone, "you can move out whenever."
well, at least that answers your question on whether or not he wants you to move out. at least he wasn't pushing you out the door, you tell yourself.
you don't know what else to say. do you want me to leave so badly? you want to ask. can't i stay with you? you think, desperate. but those words don't leave your mouth.
"are you coming to my graduation?" you ask lightly, and regret it when you realize that you've opened yourself up again.
he shrugs. "dunno my prac schedule yet, but reo's going right?" he replies, as if reo could replace him.
you feel cold despite the blanket, and sink deeper into the couch, feeling drained. from the corner of your eye, you see nagi tapping away at his phone, signaling to you that he's still deep in his game. you take your legs away, knowing he wouldn't even notice.
"yep," you say and awkwardly crawl out of your warm spot on the couch. "i'm gonna go to bed first, nagi."
"g'night," he replies, finally looking up as you pass him with your head bowed. he watches you walk back to your room, and doesn't take his eyes off of you until you close the door behind you.
you eventually begged reo to find you an empty unit in one of his father's rental properties.
he had been insistent you just talk to nagi, as if he knew something you didn't, but you had to explain that you did, and nagi had no objections to you moving out, and you weren't going to wait until he shoved you out the door to move on.
it has been so awkward since that small conversation you'd had with nagi. maybe it was you, feeling out of place, like you had reached a point of no return.
waking him up in the mornings were now rushed, gently pushing him awake and scurrying off before he was fully awake. leaving his pre-workout on the counter instead of handing it to him. sitting at the kitchen table under the guise of studying instead of curling up on the couch with him.
it's not that he'd changed, you knew, it's that you couldn't keep playing pretend with your feelings anymore.
you hear the front door click as nagi walks into the apartment.
"hey," he says, pushing open the door to your room, "i'm home."
you turn from your position at the front of your closet, where you were just about to take out your suitcase. "oh, hey," you reply lamely, "welcome home."
he hovers, something he's never really done, as if he knows you have something to say, as if he had something to say. the words were stuck in your throat.
"reo told me you're moving out," nagi finally tells you.
traitor, you curse at reo. "uh, yeah," you smile tightly, "i didn't want to keep bothering you, so..."
"you're not bothering me," he replies, maybe a little too quickly, but you don't notice.
there's another silence. what else can you say?
"you don't have to leave," nagi continues, "i don't mind if you stay here."
but do you want me to stay? you want to ask. the way he says it so casually, as if it didn't matter whether you stayed or not, only solidified your decision to be away from him. at least then you could just be his friend without delusions of sharing a life with him so intimately.
"nah," you try to keep your voice steady, "it's probably better this way."
"i like living with you, though," nagi shuffles his hair uncomfortably as he says it.
you laugh, maybe a little bitterly, "because i cook and clean for you?"
"no," he says quickly, looking flustered, "no, i just like it when you're here."
but why? you want to scream. your heart pounds, because you feel like you're close to something, but at the same time it feels so far. sometimes you're convinced that he knows about your feelings, that sometimes you two are talking about them even though the topic is unrelated.
"it was nice," you settle on saying, as if it wasn't life changing, "but i can afford living on my own now."
"i don't want you to leave," nagi almost sounds like he's whining, and your heart skips another beat.
"why not?" you say, frustrated, breathless, "we can't just keep living together forever."
"what if i want to?" he says, and you feel like the conversation has become out of control.
your mind is racing. what is happening right now, you try to breathe through your nose. what is he talking about right now, you try to ask yourself.
"nagi—" you stop yourself, trying to get a grip, "what are you saying?"
you're looking at him now and you're surprised by the determination in his eyes. it's what he looks like when he's really focused, like he is when he plays soccer.
"i want to live with you forever," he declares, sounding defiant, as if that wasn't what you wanted.
but you're not sure what it means. you only know that five years is a long time to be holding onto your feelings.
"i don't understand," you mumble, staring at the floor, quieter than before, "i love you, nagi. not as a friend. so no, i can't just live with you forever."
you feel him before you see him, his body towering over you. when you look up, he's pouting. he puts his hand on top of your head, gentle, warm.
"why do you look so sad," he wonders, as if he hadn't heard what you just said, "that's why i want to live with you forever, dummy."
you wake up to nagi wrapped around you.
"sei," you groan, turning in his arms to look at his sleeping face, "you're heavy."
he mutters, groggy, incoherent, and you can't help but press a kiss to his nose. his hair is falling all over his face, but your eyes memorize every slope. he squeezes you harder.
"why are you awake so early," he mutters, nudging your chest with his head, "it's my day off."
you soothe your hand down his bare back, feeling the tight muscles underneath your fingers. he works so hard, and his days off are so rare. you wiggle some more, to loosen his arms.
"i know," you smile, "but let me go make breakfast, kay? i'm hungry."
he shakes his head and whines. "no," he refuses, "just go back to sleep."
you relax, unable to tell him no. mornings with nagi often go like this, except that you usually have enough self-control to get him up. but sometimes, you remember what it was like wanting him so bad, that now you remind yourself to enjoy it.
as a partner, nagi is clingy, vulnerable. but he's also determined, and sometimes, the intensity with which he wants you catches you off guard.
"y/n," he calls, his breath hot against your neck, "i'm happy you're here."
you close your eyes, nodding. "me, too."
#blue lock x reader#nagi seishiro x reader#nagi x reader#bllk x reader#yoi's crops 🌱#from: nagi seishiro 🎀
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why do we have hands?
alt title: why do we have hands? (aventurine's version)
a/n: that one meme thingy idk how to describe it but hopefully u get the reference 🤞 uh there is like a good 40 days plus(?) until MY MAN COMES HOME live laugh love aventurine ,, also might possibly make dr ratio's version of this idk hes growing on me okay ,, who r we kidding I AM DOWN BAD FOR HIM AS WELL
why do we have hands? there are many reasons.
to pat the aventurine.
when aventurine is not at work or he doesn’t feel like gambling for the day, his usual frivolous and fairly confident persona slips away. instead, he turns into this lazy cat-like person with the way he curls up beside you on the couch, head on your lap and face buried in your stomach. he doesn’t say much (how can he? he’s literally in dreamland right now). however, he asks you of one thing; please do not stop running your fingers through his hair. it doesn’t matter if he’s already snoring away, never take your hands off his head. you need to use your phone with two hands? well, too bad ‘cause now you have to type with one hand for the next three hours.
to hold the aventurine.
aventurine has to travel a lot for his work. typically, his business trips would lasts between four days or two weeks. but this one is just taking too much of his time. it has been four months, two weeks, six days and seventeen hours since he last saw you. the phone calls and texts doesn’t do your presence any justice. aventurine’s pretty sure he’s slowly going insane and another minute without you will might as well be his 13th reason. so what does he do the moment he kicks down the door of your shared home? drags you to bed and drops all of his weight on you. he sighs and relaxes, the tension leaving his body when he feels you wrap your arms around him.
to cherish the aventurine.
with no work on his itinerary, aventurine wakes up early and gets out of bed before you. he then sneaks away to the kitchen after fixing the blanket around you and leaving a lingering kiss on your forehead. an hour later, as he’s waiting for the coffee, he feels your cheek against his shoulder, soft voice of yours mumbling a morning greeting. a nice breakfast is already set up on the table. as he’s pouring the coffee to your respective mugs, aventurine hums in content as you went to peck his cheek in gratitude (“thanks for breakfast.”)
to forfeit all mortal possessions to aventurine.
it’s either he’s really skilled in gambling or he’s just got an insane amount of luck but aventurine tends to win most poker games he participates in. that being said, his bank account is loaded. he doesn’t have to worry about spending too much, he can practically buy you anything you’d want without looking at the price tags. but when it comes to you buying him something, aventurine becomes speechless. he just stares and stands, not knowing what to do or say, as you hand him a trinket you bought after it reminded you of him. this happens every time you come home from an errand. it has reached the point where he has to tell you that yes, he likes and appreciates all the gifts you give, but please stop spending your money because he’s the one who should be spoiling you and not the other way around.
likes and reblogs are appreciated! masterlist
#tim writes.#hsr x reader#hsr#honkai star rail fluff#honkai x reader#honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail aventurine#aventurine x you#aventurine#hsr aventurine#aventurine x reader#aventurine honkai star rail#hsr x you#aventurine fluff
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Can I request a chan smut where you’re dating and he’s a virgin and has never done anything sexual before so you guys take it slow. You start off with giving him a handjob from the back and kissing his neck as well sometimes even light choking to see if he likes it and he becomes a sub and he cums hard. -🦋
thank you so much for your request, hope you like this! 🦋, i added you to the anon list!
part 2, kinda 🤓
cw: chan’s kind of insecure ; talking about virginity ; virgin!bang chan ; kinda sub!bang chan ; soft-dom!reader ; corruption kink (reader) if you reeaaaally squint ; a soft handjob ; cum eating ; ♡
“Are you sure you don’t mind me wearing your pajamas?” Chan stands there, in the middle of your bedroom, with your pink, fluffy pajama bottoms and an oversized white t-shirt in his hands.
It’s two a.m. - the two of you fell asleep on your couch while watching a movie together, with your legs entangled under the blanket and Chan’s head on your shoulder. When you eventually woke up, you absolutely refused to let him drive back home this late - he was still pretty sleepy, and it wouldn’t be safe for him to drive in such conditions, so it only made sense he stayed the night at your place.
The problem is - it’s the first time he sleeps over, and of course he doesn’t have any spare clothes he could possibly wear to sleep. The only option available therefore are - your pink, fluffy pajamas.
“Of course I don’t mind,” you giggle, kissing the tip of his nose. “You can change here, I’ll just grab my pajamas and go change in the bathroom,” you tell him, and then disappear out of the room.
You still haven’t slept together - in that way.
Mainly because with college and work you really don’t have that much free time to spend together, sadly; but also because, well, Chan’s a virgin. You were beyond shocked when he confessed it to you because he’s hot - like, really hot. You couldn’t believe it honestly, how is it possible? You’ve wanted to jump his bones since he asked you out! Not that there’s something wrong with being a virgin, of course, you just found it surprising since he’s attractive and really fucking hot.
So, to sum it up, you’ve been taking it real slow. The furthest you’ve gone so far is dry humping, and you’ve touched each other over the clothes, but that’s it. You still haven’t seen him naked and neither has he. Chan knows he shouldn’t, but he feels extremely self-conscious about his virginity because he really wants to have sex with you and touch you and experience all of his firsts with you, but what if he’s just… bad at it? What if his lack of experience won’t make it pleasurable or even enjoyable for you? What if his dick is not enough for you - what if it’s too short? Or not thick enough? What if he won’t find your g-spot or your clit? What if, what if, what if…
Chan shakes his head, beginning to pull his jeans down his legs. Why is he even thinking about this? It’s not like you’re gonna have sex tonight, there’s no point for him to worry about all of this stuff right now. You’re just going to sleep together - like, innocently sleeping, lying next-to-each-other-with-your-eyes-closed sleeping. He chuckles to himself as he puts the pajamas on, feeling kind of silly.
A knock on your door. Then, your sweet voice.
“Are you dressed? Can I come in?”
He puts the t-shirt on in a literal second. “Yeah, yeah, I’m… I’m decent. You can come in,” he mumbles, cheeks turning pink as he looks at himself in the mirror, dressed in your clothes.
When you come back inside the room, his breath hitches because how can someone be so beautiful? You’re not wearing any make-up, your hair is not styled and you’re wearing nothing but your oversized pajamas and fluffy socks, but Chan has never felt more in love with you than right now. The thought of you being so comfortable around him to show yourself like this makes his heart swell up in his chest.
“Wow, they look good on you,” you giggle, looking at him, pointing at the pajama bottoms. “Actually, they look better on you. You should keep ‘em.”
“I, uh… they’re… they’re pretty comfy. And fluffy too.”
“You’re so cute,” you peck his cheek, “come on, let’s go to bed.”
It’s an innocent thing to say, you intended for it to be innocent, so why is Chan’s heart beating so fast inside his chest as he slips under the covers next to you. It’s the furthest he’s ever been with a woman - with anyone, actually. It’s soft, it’s intimate, it’s… domestic. He kinda wants to do it again and again and again. It feels nice, you laying next to him with your head on his chest, fingers intertwined with his.
“I’m happy you’re staying the night,” you murmur quietly, circling his waist with your arm.
He chuckles. “’T’s not like you gave me any choice.”
You giggle as well. “Oops, my bad,” you lift your head to peck his lips. Chan kisses you back, pecking your lips two, three, four, five times until he eventually runs his tongue over your lower lip, deepening the kiss. He cups your cheek with his hand, brushing it using his thumb as you practically suck each other’s faces off until you pull away, leaving him kinda confused. “Let’s… let’s sleep now. Want to cuddle?”
Chan blinks, lips still puffy and swollen from the intense make-out session. “Oh, uhm… yeah, sure. Sure,” he stutters a bit, still kind of overwhelmed by the way your lips felt on his.
Chan panics as soon as he realizes he’s the big spoon because, well, he has a problem, let’s call it that.
As soon as you snuggle closer to his body and your ass brushes his cock, you feel it. Chan’s cock. Rock hard. His whole body freezes and his breath hitches - you can clearly hear his heartbeat, so loud in his chest. He’s so fucking embarrassed, he feels mortified. It’s the first time he sleeps at your place and his fucking dick isn’t cooperating. Why isn’t it cooperating?
Think of something ugly, Chan thinks to himself, hoping to get his cock to soften. It doesn’t.
It just sits there - perfectly hard, balls kind of tightening from time to time as he swallows the lump in his throat. Maybe you’re already asleep. It’s highly unlikely, he knows it, but hey, you never know. But you’re not, because he feels you fidgeting with the hem of your t-shirt. Peachy. You’re gonna think he’s a complete loser and won’t want to sleep with him, like, ever. At the speed of light, he tosses and turns on his other side, thinking it’d be less embarrassing this way, but clearly - he’s not the best at thinking under pressure, let’s face it.
But then you turn on your side as well, and you’re now the big spoon. “Why’d you move? I was so comfy,” you whisper in the still of the night, and Chan shivers when you place a kiss on his nape, your nose brushes his hair softly. And then you hug him, circling his waist with your arm, and he tenses under your touch, breath hitching.
“Was… was it because of… this?” With the tip of your fingers, you brush the outline of his clothed cock over the fabric of his pajamas. He’s… very hard.
Chan nearly chokes. “Oh, God,” he mumbles, burying his face in the pillow out of embarrassment. “‘M sorry.”
“Oh, it’s okay, Channie,” you place a kiss on his shoulder, over his t-shirt. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. God, you’re so cute,” you bite your lip, feeling him twitch under your touch.
“I, uh… it’s because we, uh, kissed. And also because you were… pressed against me,” he mumbles, “I’m sorry,” he repeats.
“Don’t be,” you nuzzle his shirt, breathing in his the scent of his skin. “I mean, I could… help, if you want.”
When you palm and squeeze his erection over his clothes, Chan feels like he could cum from that only. Your touch is delicate and foreign, and it makes him twitch in anticipation. “Yeah, I… I mean, uh, only… only if you want to.”
And of course you want to.
Leaving soft pecks on Chan’s shoulders and arms, you slowly allow your hand to slip past the waistband of Chan’s pajamas, deciding to tease him over his boxers for a bit before touching him properly. His cock is hard under your touch, and even though you can’t see it, you’re sure it’s a nice cock - at least, it feels nice. It’s not super long - above average, you’d say, but it’s thick and heavy. You really can’t believe you’re having the privilege of being the first person who’s about to wrap their hand around it - besides Chan, naturally.
“Does it feel nice?” you ask him, cupping his balls, and Chris whimpers, shutting his eyes.
“Mh, yeah, it… it does,” he whines, breathing faster. “Feels really good.”
You’re touching him over his boxers and he’s squirming already, thinking it can’t possibly get better than this - until it does, until your hand finally slips inside his boxers too and you touch him, wrapping your fingers around his length. His cock is hot and heavy, and it’s twitching, yearning to be stimulated more.
“Is this better?” You tease, already knowing the answer.
Chan muffles an embarrassing sound in your pillow when you swipe your thumb over his sensitive tip. “S-So much better. Your hand feels so good. God, ‘m not… ‘m not gonna last long,” he mumbles, embarrassed. He feels as if his whole body was on fire, and he’s pretty sure he’s red in the face, blushing like crazy until it reaches the tips of his ears.
“Don’t worry about that,” you kiss his bicep, “tonight’s about you. Just relax, baby.”
You entangle your legs together under the covers, starting to move your hand up and down his length slowly, listening carefully to every single sound that escapes his mouth. It’s heavy breaths at first, which then turn into soft, almost inaudible whimpers when you focus on the tip, gripping the pillow tighter as he clenches his teeth.
You want to make this first experience even more pleasurable for him, though, since it’s his first time receiving a handjob. Chan whines when you remove your hand from his boxers, already missing the warm feeling of your hand on his cock, he’s addicted already. And then, he feels your fingers tap on his mouth. “Spit, baby. Make my fingers wet,” you whisper in his ear, and he shivers. He nods, not fully understanding what’s going on, but he still does what you asked him to do, and before you know it, his saliva is coating your fingers and palm. “Good boy,” you praise him, and Chan blushes even more.
When you touch him again, it feels entirely different. It’s much wetter, and your hand slides up and down his length effortlessly, which causes Chan to turn into a whimpering mess under your touch. “Oh, God,” he whines with his eyes squeezed shut. With a trembling hand, he hooks his finger in the waistband of his underwear, and pulls it down the curve of his ass, freeing his cock and balls.
“Mhh, much better now, yeah?” You bite on his earlobe, then lick the sensitive spot behind his ear, the one that has his toe curling. “Shh, listen,” you say, allowing him to fully focus on the slick sound your hand is making each time it pumps his hard cock. It’s dirty, it’s obscene, and Chan absolutely loves it.
“Ba-Baby,” Chan whimpers, his fingernails digging in your mattress as he feels suddenly much closer to finding his release.
“Been wanting to touch you for so long, Channie,” you confess, kissing his neck from behind. He gets goosebumps. “Was always scared to overstep your boundaries, though. Scared to pressure you into something.”
Chan shakes his head as a no. “You’re not. I want this, I’ve wanted this, too. Was embarrassed, tho,” he admits.
“Why?”
It’s pretty funny, how you’re having this heartfelt conversation while you’re jerking him off.
“‘Cause I’m inexperienced. Thought it’d… dunno, turn you off?”
A mixture of his own spit and pre-cum is dribbling onto his whole shaft, coating his pubic hair and balls as well. It’s incredibly hot, you wish you could lick him clean. Maybe later.
“Oh, Channie. I’m with you because I like you. I don’t care if you’re inexperienced, my sweet baby.”
“Yeah?” Chan asks, sounding pained. He’s close, so close.
You nod against his skin. “Yeah, I… I think I might love you, actually.”
“Oh, fuck. Baby, baby… I’m so- close, fuck,” he pants, abdomen clenching, whole body shaking, ready to orgasm. “I might love you, too, baby. Wanna- wanna experience everything with you, baby. Wan’… wan’ you to take my virginity, wan’ you to be my first.”
“Channie-“ you clench your thighs together.
“‘M about to fucking cum, baby. ‘M-“
He quickly flips to rest on his back, so that he wouldn’t stain your sheets with his release. Always so thoughtful, your Chan. He even lifts his t-shirt, exposing his abs and torso, and this time watches carefully the movements of your hand on his cock as you pump him faster.
“Cum for me, Channie.”
With a high-pitched sound, he spills his seed all over himself, hiding his face in his hands as you milk him dry, making sure he gives you everything. He cums so intensely that his body just won’t stop shaking, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to catch his breath. You let go of his limp cock, not wanting to overstimulate him.
“You were so good to me, Channie,” you murmur, kissing his temple tenderly. “Did you like it?”
Chan takes a deep breath, and then he finally removes his hands from his face and looks at you. “Like it? My soul just left my body, I think,” he chuckles, but he’s still embarrassed. “’t was so good, really.”
“‘M happy you enjoyed it. Now let’s get you cleaned up.”
With a towel or some tissues, Chan thinks, and he’s about to turn the light on to grab some from your nightstand when he feels you shift under the covers. Then, your hot tongue on his skin, starting to lick him clean.
“Oh. Oh.”
#bang chan smut#bangchan smut#bang chan hard thoughts#bang chan hard hours#bangchan hard thoughts#bangchan hard hours#stray kids smut#skz smut#stray kids hard thoughts#stray kids hard hours#skz hard thoughts#skz hard hours#bang chan x reader#bangchan x reader#bangchan fanfic#bang chan fanfic#bang chan fanfiction#stray kids fanfic#bang chan drabbles#📨: 🦋 anon
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"Our first kiss was here." Satoru speaks while walking by your hand, stopping in front of one of the Jujutsu High entrances, decorated with big wood doors and high trees. You remember it, a specially hot day of summer, right before entering work, some years ago.
"I was so nervous, and the kiss was so messy..." Satoru frowns at your words, turning to face you. Your hand is still caged on his big one, and he takes the glasses away to look directly into your eyes.
"Messy? I remember it was really cute." He sits on a near bench, pulling you to sit on his lap. You feel your cheeks heating up as he starts to speak. "You were so cute that day... Well, you're always cute." Your laugh makes him smile, his hands running up and down your hips, his breath tickling your nape and his heart racing as much as yours. Spring is about to arrive, and the mountains are vivid green, decorated with explosions of pink and lavender. A sweet breeze takes away the hotness of the sun and plays with Satoru's white hair. He sighs.
"That day I wanted to say so many things to you, but still I was unable. I wanted to take your hands on this exact bench and just let everything escape. Lucky you today we have plenty of time, and I have way more things to say." His voice makes you turn towards him with curiosity, and he smiles, taking a hand to your cheek while the other keeps you balanced by your hips. "I wanted to tell you how much I liked you. How adorable is whenever you can't find a spot to leave your bicycle when you arrive, how cute you look when you apply chapstick quickly before entering work. I wanted to let you know that I could see you sleep for hours and that when you wake up, dressed in golden sun rays by my side, I feel the luckiest man alive. Because, from everyone in the world, you decided to share it with me. And you can't even imagine how big that is, love. You chose me. You always let me know the reason why you cry, and you let me calm you and assure you until I can see your smile again. You open yourself for me, you trust me and I keep that as a treasure. I'm able to hold you on your best days, but also on your worsts." Satoru kisses your shoulder before speaking again. "I could hear you speak about that novel you're reading for hours if that means you're gonna speak passionately about something you enjoy, and I will carry you to bed again and again, every single day you fall asleep watching a movie or playing a game on the couch. I will leave the blanket on your side when we sleep because I know you can't fall asleep if you're cold, and I will always keep an extra sugar cube on my pocket because you like your coffee sweet." your eyes feel teary, and he takes the first tear away with his thumb. The way he looks at you is so pure, so full of love and admiration, you can't take your eyes away from him. You take air. Your feelings feel way too big for your chest, and pressing your lips to his, you try to tell him everything you can't reach with words. How much you love him, how grateful you are, how lucky you feel to be able to spend your life with him. He kisses you back, hungrily, desperately, making you feel that he understood you and that he feels the same. He parts shortly, caressing your hips back, before standing up. "Let's go home, love. I still have a lot of things to say, a lot of things to show and a lot of things to do to you. "
#no inspo no quality no good writing BUT#crumbs#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk fluff#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo fluff#satoru x reader#satoru x you#satoru fluff#gojo satoru fluff#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x reader#satoru gojo fluff#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo x you#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#jjk x y/n
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Luke Hughes
4. "where's my goodnight kiss?"
luke hughes x fem!reader | request post
you have no intent to speak to luke anymore today. he’s been purposely causing arguments and bickering throughout the entire day. from when you bought him the wrong brand of toothpaste to you accidentally sitting in his spot on the couch, he’s found a problem with it.
now, you grab a pillow and a blanket from your shared bed, preparing to spend a long night on the couch.
“where are you going?” luke questions from his spot in the bed. his brows are furrowed as he examines you holding your favorite blanket and pillow clad in your pajamas.
“to sleep.” you simply state.
“and where are you planning to sleep?” he inquires.
you roll your eyes. “on the couch.”
his jaw clenches. he’s aware of the grouchy attitude that he’s been sporting, but every time he begins to apologize, you do something to annoy him once again. it’s not your fault, you could have stepped on the wrong floorboard and he would have freaked.
“why?” he whines, his voice suddenly small.
you stare at him, contorting your face in an annoyed manner. “because you’ve been an asshole to me all day and i’m not sleeping next to you right now.”
he sits there dumbfounded. he tries to figure out what to say next, how he could use his charm to get you to stay, but he has no idea.
you turn around, b-lining towards the couch— which seems like the most comfortable thing right now.
“wait,” his voice causes you to stop in your tracks. “where’s my goodnight kiss?”
you want to ignore him. you want to just slam the door and leave him alone, but his voice sounds so adorable. not to mention his cute, messy curls.
“you’re not serious, right?” you ask, letting out a laugh in disbelief. but luke doesn’t laugh, he only frowns, putting on the cutest face he can muster up.
hesitantly, you drop your blanket and pillow and walk over to him. you climbing on the bed and lean into his lips. the kiss is barely a kiss— it’s more of a peck—eliciting a whine from luke as he wants more.
you giggle as he swiftly flips you over and begins spreading kisses on your face and neck. finally, he pulls back, “i’m sorry for being a jerk. i’m so stressed right now with hockey, which is barely an excuse.” you look at him, urging him to continue. “you deserve so much better of an apology, but i promise i will make it up to you.“
“well,” you start, “you can begin by scratching my back.” you grin causing him to laugh.
“whatever you want, darling.”
#nora’s writings 💐#luke hughes#luke hughes x reader#luke hughes blurb#luke hughes imagine#new jersey devils
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giving ellie a hoodie full of kisses ୨ৎ
summary: you paint a hoodie with kisses for ellie, and the gesture flusters her.
content: nothing much, just ellie being shy
notes: answer to this req!! i'm trying a new format of posts. sometimes i see people do not quite hcs but also not quite a normal, paragraph-formatted fic. its this in between of bullet points????? idk lemme know if yall like it
(wc 0.6 k)
after spending an hour on painting your lips and pressing them to the cloth of the hoodie you'd gotten for ellie, you sat back and examined your work
you had to admit: the hoodie looked beautiful. but! you did not!!!! your lips were stained red from the paint, your back hurt from hunching over to kiss the hoodie, and you'd probably ingested about an ounce of red40!!! (i know red 40 is in food but let me be silly)
after washing the paint that had gotten on your skin off in the sink, you ironed the sweatshirt to seal the paint in (don't ask me how that works bc idk i just saw it on tiktok like 10 mins ago)
and now we wait for ellie to come home!!
when she finally comes in, she throws her keys on the table near the door and toes her dusty, disintegrating, been-to-bethlehem-and-back converse, bc have you seen them. one day she's gonna take a step and they're gonna turn into a cloud of dust i swear
anyway you're sitting on the couch with your phone in your lap, the painted sweatshirt folded into a square with the kisses hidden inside. she walks towards you and gives you a lil kissy kiss on the forehead like hiiii
you get all smiley because you're excited for her to see the sweatshirt and she gets all suspish.... like what's so funny....
sooooooo.... you tell her you made her something and unfold the hoodie and hold it up to your body so she can see the full thing. and she would soooo get all beet red, like, "...you made this for me?"
and you're like "yes of course do you like it queen" then she gets over the like flusteredness (????(actually i revoke my ???? bc i just made that a word)) and gets so happi like yayyy!!!!
then she looks all confused at your lips and is like "is that why your lips look so severely chapped and red?"
and you get mad so you take away kiss privileges so she does the only reasonable thing which is putting you in a headlock to force kiss you
would definitely immediately put it on and go look in the mirror at her with it on. she'll start geeking and thank you and all that jazz
she would wear that shit 24/7. sleeping working showering shitting ANYWHERE best believe she has that hoodie on. and you tell her its been like 2 weeks of her wearing it nonstop so she needs to wash it but she refuses bc she doesn't want the kisses to start fading. u wash it anyway bc its dirty and she cold shoulders you for about 30 mins before she sees some dumb reel she just has to show you (me fr).
i feel like she's a hot sleeper--like she gets too hot at night to wear the hoodie but she still wants it so she'll just hold it as a baby blanket of sorts and Whatnot.
wait very unrelated but does anyone have a baby blanket that they've had for so long its like basically just threads thats so funny
but overall she loves it. she likes to kiss the kiss prints you made on the sweatshirt bc it's "like kissing you."
there was one time she couldn't find it for like 2 days (because you'd washed it since she never does) and she tried to act all nonchalant and unaffected like she wasn't about to start tweaking and like twitching
then you gave it to her all calm because it was literally just in the wash and she was like "what😨😨😨 where did you find it😨😨😨" and you just tell her it was in the wash and shes like "oh that makes sense"
pls im so sorry. before i say anything i would like to formally apologize to the anon who submitted the ask for this bc this is so shit. you ask me for a product and this is how i repay you!! shame on me. please dilly dally on over to my asks and ask me something else so i can actually, i don't know, do a good job!! this ask was cute tho u ate with that
@picklesarenice69
wow i very strongly dislike this format so much this is the first and last time i will be doing this!!! i’m only posting this bc its been like a week since i last posted and the citizens will soon revolt, which the city's defenses cannot afford!! we're about to run out of wheat like times are getting tough. maybe i should just try just headcanons 🤔
can you tell i was fighting demons to not make this my normal vocab and format. like just look at this sentence and how it progresses: "when she finally comes in, she throws her keys on the table near the door and toes her dusty, disintegrating, been-to-bethlehem-and-back converse, bc have you seen them." the way that sentence progresses is just the silly demons taking over and also my coping mechanism for grimacing at how much i didnt mesh with this format
like i just couldnt take myself seriously. "yes of course do you like it queen" HELLO??? WHY DID I TYPE THAT but i will not be fixing and/or deleting it bc its making me giggle
dont get me wrong some of you ladies chew it up but i am made for unreasonably long and time consuming fics!!! i’m getting heated too bc not only is this so short and quick to do but it also takes less focus and brain power and ofc i had to make things hard for myself and hate it!!! i’m soooooooooooo silly
click here!! oh and here too!! ˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶
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edit: wait i would like to clarify that i just hate this because perhaps i’m not used to it. if you guys like this maybe i'll do more bc i follow the clout always 💯
#mystellenia 𐑂°‧₊#ellie#ellie tlou#tlou ellie#ellie the last of us#ellie x reader#ellie x you#ellie x y/n#ellie williams#ellie williams tlou#ellie williams the last of us#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams x female reader#ellie williams x y/n#ellie williams x you#ellie williams fic#ellie williams fluff#abby anderson#abby tlou#abby the last of us#abby x reader#abby anderson x reader#abby x y/n#abby x you#tlou#the last of us#the last of us x reader#the last of us x y/n#tlou x reader#the last of us x female reader
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colour me in: blooming | jjk (m)
Summary: You're the flower blossoming in Jungkook's living room, no matter how relentless the rain. And you're the sun he tirelessly orbits — warm as a home.
➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader
➳ rating: 18+
➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; hints of angst, fluff overload, suggestive
➳ warnings: full jk pov!, fluff fluff fluff, but also crying, bits of insecurities, mommy and daddy issues, their friendddsss <3, oc's favourite blanket smells like him <3, his feelings for her are consuming him in a gorgeous way 🥺, grocery shopping 🍏 and then a housewarming party, jk chocolate chip nips appreciation (oc pinches them lol), horniness, implied sex + implied boner, sexual tension, flirting and teasing and bickering, yearning, convos about their relationship/life, cooking together hehe, jk is so… jk, kissing/making out, the ending ♡
➳ word count: 15.6k
➳ a/n: domesticity is my favourite city and i never wanna leave lol. i've genuinely been enjoying fluff more than i ever thought i would. this chapter made me so damn happy and i hope it has the same effect on you guys, too <3 let me know how you liked it; feedback is always appreciated 🥺 also, there are lil sub-headings to avoid confusion with the timeline!! enjoy!! 🤍
➳ a/n2: even though i am a tiny bit late… happy birthday @jkaxl. love you so much, axelle <3
➳ listen to: daylight by taylor swift (ty anon <3) | full collaborative playlist 🤍
SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST
MASTERLIST | WIPs
”Are you happy?”
“I’m… I’m adjusting to it all. It’s new. But so far I feel— relieved.”
“Okay.” He pauses. “I’m sorry I didn’t encourage that feeling earlier. But… you know. You found your way on your own, and somehow, I find that just as remarkable. If not so much more.”
“Thank you.”
Silence breaks the dialogue, but there are still shreds of unspoken words he’s not letting out yet. Right on the tip of his tongue, resting quietly; so you wait. Let your weary gaze slump to your lap, blinking until you hear a rustle and a—
“Do you want to come over sometime?”
You don’t know.
So you respond in just that uncertainty, “Maybe at some point? When it’s… not so overwhelming anymore.”
“I understand. Hey,” another break in his speech, “I’m proud of you.”
Your heart suspends for a fraction of a moment, but you feel the seething, searing pain. Fresh, clumping up your throat.
“…Thank you.”
THE SUNDAY AFTER THE PRESS CONFERENCE
When Jungkook locks the door, the apartment is quiet, but the living room light still glowing.
Still fired up and hot, the cool back of his hand pats his warm neck and cheek. Your name threatens to tumble off his tongue, but an oddly calm feeling advises against it. And as he carries his bag into the living room, setting it down next to a big flower pot you so wanted, he sees why.
Because you’re curled up on the couch, temple against the back of it, legs pulled in. Your favourite blanket — that you swear constantly smells like him — is draped half over you, falling off one of your shoulders.
You’re sound asleep.
Jungkook recognises the pout even from afar; lets his eyes drift from your face to the hand peeking out of the blanket. Brushing a piece of paper that is holding on for dear life, attempting not to slip off your lap.
What if he never moved? If he kept staring?
Back in college, one of his dearest professors used to say, “You know it’s art when even blinking feels like a waste of time. You don’t want to spend a second not looking at it.”
That very semester is still a major component of Jungkook’s memory. Ever since, he’s seen a handful and a dozen and a hundred pieces that matched the words once uttered.
Just, never as much as today.
The sky has obscured since he left two hours ago — he wonders how fast that time passed for you. Either way, he reckons you didn’t rest until your body forced you to. Because it’s not anywhere near bedtime; but the changes in your life constantly add to your exhaustion.
He wanted to help. He did all morning before you sent him away, arguing that, “You’re already doing too much. And you hate paperwork anyway!”
To which he expressed, “But I don’t hate you or having you here!”
“Just go!” You reached to his left nipple, poking it, and he, wearing a frisky smirk, instinctively threw a protective hand over it. “The muscles demand your attention desperately. Just don’t look at other girls’ butts, ‘kay?”
He chuckled.
You made it sound like a life-altering goodbye to a year-long journey instead of a brief trip to the gym. He nodded solemnly, nearly saluting as he agreed, “You’re right. Gonna make sure I’m able to crush you extra hard.”
But it seems you crushed and knocked yourself out well enough. And that after he sent out various emails with you, drafting and crafting a battle plan, googling salient issues and their solutions, and writing down lists of everything still left to do before you can actually move in.
The two of you are lucky the landlord is laid-back. Usually, they don’t let anyone move in so quickly; demand a couple months. And you’ll already be settling here officially the very next.
Not that it makes any difference.
You already spend your dusks and dawns here, clinging, reluctant to go home. And he won’t tell you to; he’d be a fool to. Plus, he hates his bed cold.
Jungkook’s steps are slow, muscles painful to the touch. He sweeps his tresses back as he nears your slumbering, balled up form, soon pressing a hand into the arm of the couch. Suppressing a groan, he leans in; frees your closed eye from a lock before he plants a kiss next to it.
You stir with the softest flutter of your eyelashes, just a teeny tiny bit.
God. You tilt his world off its axis.
“Baby,” he whispers.
It must be pulling you out of the remnants of your doze, because your muscles awaken, corners of your lips twitching. The movement of your legs finally pushes the paper off the blanket, and Jungkook hurries to catch it before it can drift to the floor; places it on the table.
He kneels; and for the briefest, smallest moments, you flinch when your pupils eventually align with his. Then, relaxation floods you anew, and you grip the blanket, sliding it back over you — only for it to glide down again.
You smile — a tired beam, accompanied by a sigh. Not quite wide, because you’re not fully there yet, but still so genuine. Stretching a little, you murmur, “You’re back.”
“And you’re still working,” he scolds, albeit cushioning his words by bringing a fingertip to your jaw. Flicking affectionately, softly. “Did you eat?”
“Mhmmm. But it’s—” Your hand taps for something, moving under the blanket; and a second later, you’re lighting up your phone, squinting at it. “It’s not late. Gonna eat with you again. I’m not that tired anymore.”
As if on cue, you yawn, tears of weariness collecting. You interrupt it with a gentle snicker and promise, “I mean it.”
The lopsided smile emerges on his features quickly. The drowsy, vulnerable tone in your voice caresses his heart like a gust… but the meaning behind it doesn’t pass by him so fast.
“Don’t overwork yourself, okay?” he repeats for the fifth time today alone; it’s become a constant habit. A reminder, like clockwork. “The body knows when you do.”
“No. I feel great.”
“Just. Be nice to yourself, munchkin.”
“I am,” you defend, attempting to stress the verb, but not quite getting there, “I am. Don’t worry so much.”
An impossible demand; but how would he explain it to you?
Despite the shake of his head, he still gives in, “Okay. I’ll shower and be back in a sec, yeah?”
He waits for your confirmation until you hum in unintelligible agreement, moving back in to plant a kiss on your forehead. Rushes to the shower, washes off today’s effort.
Wet hair strands pushed back, he finds you shuffling and organising the papers you read and filled in today, placing them neatly in the middle of the table. You look more awake now, delivering a content smile before heading to the kitchen with him.
Only, your mind might not be entirely unfogged yet — because your movements are slow. Different from how he handles the stir fry that the two of you cooked for lunch together.
You were proud of your creation — told Jungkook how you’re still far from the skills he possesses, but not bad to start with and improving every day. Seasoning better, understanding how to cut faster without hurting yourself in the process.
It’s lovely, watching the contentment spread in your eyes.
Yet, Jungkook always makes sure to stand close to your back, hands lifted, persistently ready to salvage the situation if need be.
But right now, judging from your clearly burdened brain, he bestowed a relatively simple task upon you. And you look so cute doing it — bun all messy, shoulders slumped, sporting (after stealing) his joggers since they’re so ridiculously comfortable, so get your own.
He side-eyes you every now and then, forbearing a chuckle; but when your lower lip juts in concentration, he can’t help but sling an arm around your waist. The jug containing the iced tea shakes, and you hold the glass carefully, voicing a little, “Oh— I… Kook.”
You’re wide-eyed and caught off guard; blinking when he tilts his head and leaves a kiss under your ear.
You raise your shoulder at the tickling sensation, and when you call his name again, your voice is reprimanding. But he could pick out the endearment even in his sleep.
That’s how it goes every hour of the day; sweet and new ever since you started frequenting his place even more often than before.
Something has occurred since the press conference. Two days only — but the universe has changed. Maybe it has expanded faster than ever and birthed a couple billion more stars, made even the nights brighter. He doesn’t know.
All he does recognise is that unnamed, newfound feeling spreading in his chest, and he’s been unblurring it. Bit by bit. Letting it take on a form that will soon consume him. He’s sure.
And soon, there’ll be a fitting word and definition matching this phenomenon, too.
It’s triggered by even the smallest things.
Like by the sound of your steps when you walk through the apartment. Or by the way you hum your favourite song all the time, unconsciously; then singing the line you hold dearest to your heart before resuming to the hum.
Trust in me when I say…
Or even… by how you’re facing him an hour later, satiated and cross-legged on the bed as you finish up today’s work.
You’ll have to notify the bank and whatnot of your move soon, so you need to brainstorm the relevant institutions that the new address and information will go to. It shouldn’t take too long; you’re diligent, so you’ll just be noting down all numbers next to the places you need to contact and then crash.
Jungkook soon takes over that task, lips moving as he reads the words, writes them down. And amidst the end-of-the-day chore, you crane your neck to read, and tell him, “You have such pretty handwriting.”
“So do you. I didn’t know you made circles over your lower case I’s,” he looks closer to where you scribbled, tapping the pen against a letter, “and awwh. The curves of the T’s!”
You giggle before you add, “I’ve heard a pretty handwriting symbolises inner beauty, by the way.”
“Ohh, so we’re both beautiful.”
“No doubt. We need to take more pictures… we look great together.”
That’s what’s been filling the hours of these days, too, Jungkook supposes. The airy, light atmosphere within the four walls he’s come to share with you. Laughter and shared glances, despite the stack awaiting you — because it signifies far more than paperwork.
Which is why it surprises him when a subtle switch occurs, suddenly and unannounced.
When he looks at your fingers lifting a paper, he can’t say what you’re seeing, but your ardour falters a little. Crooning dying, expression not matching the smile on the pictures you spoke of.
Delicately, you trace the edges of the document before putting it back down, aligning it with the rest of the pile. Pushing the whole thing to the side, you sigh, and he, a silent observer up to this moment, asks, “What’s wrong?”
“Hm?”
“You’re thinking about something. And I don’t like it when you’re quiet like this.”
“Oh… It’s nothing.” The shrug is subtle and unconvincing, and the tight shutting of your lips so telling to him. He senses the tension before you finally reveal, “Dad called today. And…” He waits; another shrug. “It’s nothing. He just asked how I was holding up. And that he’s sorry things had to escalate on Friday.”
Ah. Odd.
Jungkook would never say it to you: Because he has never been one to talk families down, sever a bond by voicing his opinion, even if the relationship’s already hanging by a thread. No… he’d never say it to you.
But.
There’s a dull realisation in the back of his mind; and it evokes quiet anger in him. That… there was always a potential anchor inhabiting the same house as you, but never serving as one.
Hidden behind your mother’s back, letting it all pass — probably for you to build character.
Jungkook has always assumed that his dad did just that, too. Throwing him into the world without support, letting a seemingly irresponsible teenager, and then young adult, experience hardships in order to learn how to deal with them.
In contrast to your father, his dad wouldn’t apologise to him… yet, in the end, morally and emotionally, both your families fucked up big time.
“Oh…”
You nod, elaborating, “He wanted to know if I was going to visit him. But I need a bit of time.”
Right… thinking about it, you haven’t seen your father in a while. And your mother hasn’t blown up your phone since Friday evening — when you came out of the glass building, with equally glassy yet hopeful eyes.
You truly must have let off steam in there for her to back away.
“Is that why you were saying you’ll be rushing to the house after work?”
Because as far as he recalls, you’ve been talking about gathering your stuff immediately after working hours — or on Saturday mornings. Never any other time. Because you know they won’t be at home then.
“Yeah,” you confirm, “I feel horrible neglecting him like that, because he seems to be glad that I’m happy, but…”
Your lips point downward; you clear your throat, but it doesn’t hide the tremble in your voice, “I just wish he’d defended me sometimes. Dunno. Maybe he did and I just don’t know about it? And it never worked? It’s what I like to think.”
God…
“Because,” you continue your vent, “he was strict but not like her, and… Sometimes he did recognise bullshit when he saw it. I’d hear them talk and he wouldn’t always see eye to eye with her. But a bit more open support would’ve been cool, you know?”
Shit, how it angers Jungkook.
The knot in your throat; how you avert his gaze; the looming tears. It all angers him.
He moves his hand to your knee, keeping his voice and heart steady for you. Simply uttering, “Baby…”
“And… and then today he suddenly seemed… I don’t know.” You take a deep breath, shaking your head. Your blinking fastens, and you vehemently dodge Jungkook’s eyes. “I dunno how casually he said it, but he told me he was proud.”
The way you emphasise the word… as if it’s a stranger to you, like you’re trying it out…
Jungkook sighs, heart and chest heavy, muttering so kindly—
“Oh, sweetheart… Ah, come here—”
His palm shoves the papers aside some more, uncaring, and brings you closer to his body. Yearning for your embrace, he shifts with you until your legs wrap around each other. Fingers slither to your chin to raise it, and then pinch your cheek adoringly.
The bedroom light falls into your sparkling eyes, shiny with the dampness. You’re not crying, but you sniffle for a moment.
“Of course he is,” he whispers, keeping your face upright, “what’s there not to be proud of? You’re so fucking cool.”
“…You think?”
“Of course I do,” he repeats, “you’re so inspiring and smart and funny and awesome. I’m the proudest of you, in fact.”
The heat increases beneath his palms as your cheek smoulders, pupils promptly softening. As if the outline of your irises is blurring, relinquishing the harder, unwanted emotions.
“I could probably live with just that,” you respond, managing a tender laugh and mixing it with your sniffles. “But…”
But perhaps, the heavy heart won’t get entirely lighter just yet. And Jungkook’s turns half blue at the same time as yours.
“I wish my mom could react the same way instead of being so… stubborn. I mean, it’s a good thing that I want to stand on my own two feet! And aside from work — she also saw me in the summer, and she knew how I felt without you. She sees how I feel now with you, too, and yet.”
You puff out some air, as if you’d been dying to rant; and he imitates the release of a quiet breath, but for wholly other reasons.
Because…
Along with the melancholy drenching your voice, the guilt shoots an arrow to his heart. Guilty about this damn summer; about the days he nearly gave up on you. If he could encase your fractured soul in a quick cure…
“I’m sorry she keeps hurting you, baby. And… I’m sorry you cried. Being sad over a loser like me was the last thing you needed, so…”
He’s half joking; lifting the corner of his lips. You seem to know, too, because you match his smile — still pledging, “Being sad sucked, but… you’re right here now and. I do need you.”
It’s so easy for you to tinge his entire being in a bright pink. Because somewhere in the depths of his mind, he admits that he wanted to hear this. That he wants you to need him as much as he needs you.
“And I’m right here to stay,” he promises. “Even if she doesn’t. Okay?”
“Yeah… yeah. But maybe someday she can be proud, too.”
It’s fucking you up more than he thought. Probably more than you thought.
“I’m sure,” he guarantees, “some people accept their mindsets as the only truth, angel, but one day she’ll come around.” You only nod. So he adds, “I’ll fix this with you.”
“Fix it?”
“The issues you deal with. And the ones I deal with. You and I together, okay?”
Your motions are slow. The nod is barely one; maybe because his hands refuse to establish yet another distance to your skin. And maybe because you’ve tired yourself out once and for all. The slight slouch is telling; your body needs some rest.
Enough with the papers.
“You know… somehow, this excites me,” he says. The grin emerging confuses you for a while; the flicker in your eyes is as delightful as the moment. “Pulling out all the stops and making things better with you, I mean. I wouldn’t wanna do it with anyone else.”
And he’d know. Because if he’d been comfortable enough, he would’ve long ago; he had the chance to. Yet, the courage never surfaced — until with you.
His touch drops from your face to the side of your neck, shaking you gently before he says, “You excite me all the time.”
Shouldn’t be news to you — bearing his unceasing kisses and everlasting words in mind, his bliss is difficult to miss. There’s barely any containing it around you.
And maybe you know what he means; because judging from your dreamy smile, you can’t seem to muster any self-control either. Feeling the joy bubbling, growing, simmering in the middle of your stomach until it explodes and you—
Wrap your arms around his neck abruptly. Attacking him until balance abandons him, falling back onto the bed before you land on top of him. The hug is crushing, your body pushing into his with every sliver of fondness you can summon.
He could say something. Blurt more admissions dipped in honey. But he doesn’t question it; doesn’t comment on it. Only relishes the silence and your warm cheek against his chest, cuddling in.
And sighs in contentment.
A WEEK LATER
You’re messing up the structured system he established for himself.
The groceries are scattered in the cart; instead of playing Tetris with them, as he usually does, you’re piling them up randomly, unaware of the mess.
Jungkook doesn’t have the heart to tell you that the pack of eggs isn’t supposed to be balancing on top of other products like this. Because holy shit, you are buzzing. Not because you don’t know how to grocery shop, but because of the conversation this morning.
”I've got a whole list in my head. We’ll need a shit ton to make this work tonight.”
You were taming your hair as you listened; watching your reflection follow your movements — and as he readied himself for the day, Jungkook watched from afar.
You’d decided that for now, a week was enough to mourn the loss of whatever familial bonds could’ve been. Just last night you told him that starting this new life means an opportunity to gradually leave your sorrow behind, even if it takes some time.
And in celebration of the new arc you’re so joyfully approaching, you’d decided to host a housewarming of some sorts.
Jungkook’s friends already know his place; but the pronoun has changed. This time, you want them to step into your apartment, too.
Securing a hair strand with a clip, you asked, “Do we have it all here?”
“Not everything. Gotta go grocery shopping later.”
“Ohhh…”
Your fingers floated to the edge of the wash basin. You held it in your grip, leaning over it a little, staring into your own eyes quietly. He checked with another step closer to the bathroom, glimpsing at the expression in the mirror.
Calm, but thinking.
“What is it?” he asked, pulling his jeans’ zipper close.
“Uhh. Do you need help?”
“You should rest. You’re already doing so m—”
“No, no, I mean…” You let the sink go, folding your fingers. Inhaling for just a moment when your eyes fell on his bare torso. “I want to go grocery shopping with you. It’s Saturday and I have nothing to do until tonight. So… Please don’t go without me?”
The big eyes and saccharine question went straight to his heart; like one of Cupid’s pointy, sharp arrows targeting the exact middle of the organ. What else could he have done other than breaking into a breathy laugh — wide grin building a lively start to the morning.
“Of course. I’ll wait until you’re ready then.”
You raised a triumphant, tight fist, and he shook his head in delight. Diminished the distance between your bodies, a hand pressing into the back of your head before pulling you to his lips and placing a kiss to your forehead. Right before—
“Hey— ouch?”
It didn’t hurt; but he still felt the fingers pinching his tiny nipples — and heard your cheeky, “Why are they always hard? And why are you always shirtless, Jeon?”
He didn’t argue that changing into outdoor clothes didn’t count. Instead, the bright golden light you cast in his mind distracted him, taking him back.
You’d said that to him before; everything has changed since then.
“Why are you smiling like this?” you ask, holding a pack of four yellow apples in one hand, red ones in the other.
“Hm?” Jungkook rubs a hand over his cheek, feeling the glee in his countenance before flattening the dimples. “It’s nothing. I’m just liking how much fun you’re having.”
“I am! But most of all because I can’t wait to cook with you today.”
Your words instantly conjure pictures of a potential evening; idyllic ones mixing with utter chaos. Rushing and cutting and serving — but for one of the very first times together. Only milestones ahead.
A higher pitched gushing threatens to fall out of Jungkook, right here in the fruit aisle. But instead, you raise your hands again, asking, “Which ones?”
“Hmmm… neither. Let’s get the green ones.”
You let your arms fall, a finger pointing towards him, and say, “Ohhh. Good call.”
And then you proceed to complicate the cart labyrinth again. What a savagery. Jungkook waits until you’ve turned around and works on reorganising again, following his system. Then, he thinks — this could be draining, but it’s not.
Because you keep each other entertained. And neither of you bothers about the gapes you receive.
Not when he leans over the cart, shoving it in teeny tiny steps; continuing when he realises it makes you laugh.
Or, when you cheer once you find something the two of you like that nobody else enjoys; accompanied by exclaimed Ohhhhs and Haaas. And not as you argue when you find something to disagree about.
It seems that you do not dig dates, and he, the friendly omnivore, takes playful offence in that. He teases you across half the supermarket until you turn the tables, picking up an eggplant and interrupting him with a,
“Look! This is you.”
The roll of his eyes only veils his amusement a little, he’s sure. Because your enthusiasm remains steady, including the impish pull of his beige Supreme beanie over his eyes and a kiss to his cheek that paints the spot in a rosy dust.
Pointing to a glass of honey, Jungkook soon fights back, “And this is you.”
“…This is way too sweet and I do not know how to counter it.”
“Romance tends to make people speechless, darling.”
Your expression resembles an ellipsis; whether you’re out of answers or overwhelmingly affected by the selection of his words, he doesn’t know. He knows he’d short circuit if you ever said that to him.
“Fair,” is what you settle on, though, “wouldn’t I know what brain outages your romantic ass causes.”
You’re the model definition of a cheesy, movie-esque couple. Taehyung and Eun differ from the nature the two of you showcase; they already threatened to bring paper bags in case Jungkook and you overdo it tonight.
Can’t blame them. The world is certainly pink-tinted when you bicker and jest at the register; or when you hurry through an Ikea — courtesy of your last minute plan to buy plants — to make it home and cook in time.
Just this morning, you were daydreaming about the concept of furniture retailers and how such shops allow building a home with the most special person.
And then, as if wanting to clarify your sentiments, you turned in the car, facing him as you struggled with the belt, just to say, “Which is you for me. I’m building a home with you.”
Jungkook’s legs still melt into a puddle whenever he remembers the softness in your words, and the puppy gaze you threw as you finally leaned back in your seat.
Which is why it’s such a shame that the clock is ticking so relentlessly.
Because your initial elation turns into disapproval only for today as you wade through the labyrinthine, time-consuming design the store is so popular for. Trying to keep up with Jungkook’s pace and hastening across the rooms.
And even then, neither of your laughter ceases; you turn the most stressful situations into deep solace. The pressure soon gives way to a calm satisfaction the moment your apartment door opens.
You set up the few plants you brought; some under the window, some on the desk in the bedroom, right next to the Beauty and the Beast rose, and a jade plant in the living room. For good luck, you said.
And then, after resting for five minutes and abandoning all further breaks, you start work in the kitchen. Which proves as cooperative as he thought — that is, until you get into a friendly argument about whether to do the dishes now or later.
“One of us keeps cooking. The other washes up what we don’t need anymore,” Jungkook explains, repeating it over and over.
To which you keep defending, “Or. One cooks one dish. The other handles the second. And we finish cooking faster and then do the dishes together.”
His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, and he whines, “It won’t make much of a difference!”
“Well, if it doesn’t, then we could do either!”
“BUT… it might get crowded if we work at the stove at the same time, babe—”
“You just don’t trust me with th—”
“Keep yelling at me like that, and—” Jungkook interjects, and you wince a tiny bit; but he continues a mere, barely lasting moment later, “and I swear I’ll kiss you.”
Beat of silence. Your eyebrows are still furrowed. And then, amidst the agitation, you erupt into laughter. Blend it with the chortle he can’t suppress, either.
To Jungkook, the sound is akin to a song — and he could spin the record all day long.
Spoiler warning — you do not kiss. But the lively chuckles and free-spirited conversations dye the atmosphere and flavour it. Its sweetness feels like a feathery kiss, too.
And whether it’s that very unlimited sense of familiarity, gradually growing, or your unwavering teamwork at last — you’re surprised when the late afternoon transforms into an early evening, a dimly blue, cloudy sky already changing into different shades of grey.
Time passed fast; but the hour-hand on the clock still hasn’t quite moved to where you’re waiting for it to settle. Because back in the living room, you’re still an hour early. Your guests are invited for around six, but you can’t say when they’ll actually show up.
Seems you wrapped up work at a convenient time. Better now than late.
You kiss your teeth in the middle of the room, scanning it for something to do. It’s clean; pretty. Plants set up, table wiped, cushions neatly set on the couch. So you remark, “We were so stressed, I didn’t think we’d be finished already.”
Jungkook, already plummeting onto the far end of the couch, pats the spot next to him, saying, “That’s good. Gives us a bit of time to relax. Anything you wanna do?”
But you don’t sit down yet. You watch your manspreading boyfriend lean back, big inked hand wrapping around the remote control. You look at the open button of his shirt, and the singular hair strands; the side parting. The mole under his lips and the big eyes.
He just doesn’t notice it until the lack of a response continues.
“Huh?” he voices again, finger stopping over the power button before his eyes flit back to you.
You look deep in emotions and distracted; if he could guess, then even… ferociously yearning. He waits with a dancing heart until you admit boldly, “There’s plenty I can think of that I wanna do right now.”
You fold your hands behind your back, chest out a little, legs crossing. You curl your lower lip in, nibbling at it. It affects him, and you know. He sucks in air, a hand on his thigh. Blinking at you, and then poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue.
He leaves out a puff of a tiny laugh, shaking his head a bit. Nearly succumbing to the thought that…
Perhaps there’s an activity you can indulge in before they come, right—
Wrong.
Jungkook, no matter how tempted, throws another glance at the clock, and argues, “Stop thinking of eggplants. They’ll probably be here soon, so your smooth-talking is not allowed to work!”
Your body relaxes, back in its prior position; you pout for a second. “Fine. Then I’ll get dressed before anything else.”
Jungkook sighs in relief — close. Way too close. Tonight might just stretch his jeans if you keep this up; his blood is already abandoning his brain and putting its attention elsewhere.
But you’re well-mannered in the company of guests, right?
Only one way to find out — an hour to go.
Jungkook heaves his body off the couch merely ten minutes later.
And maybe even that was too early.
Maybe he should’ve waited for you to trudge out of the bedroom; or should’ve gotten his clothes and changed somewhere else. Because when he follows your steps to find a new attire for himself, too, you’re sitting at the very edge of the bed, dress already on.
It’s not too posh; rather casual. A green cotton one, pulled up to your hip because you’re dragging transparent tights over your legs. A patch of your thighs is still visible; part of your ass on display where your panties don’t reach. Skin far too empty without his kiss on it.
He doesn’t know how you do it; but within a moment, you elicit a plethora of emotions in him. Burning desire; comfortable warmth; cosy affection. You look so cuddled in in that autumn dress.
Pretty. So gorgeous; you’ll drive him insane.
But the craze doesn’t manifest in hunger this time, but gathers in a single breath, let out in a sigh. Which… makes you recoil. Your hand briefly bolts to your chest, eyes rolling, head shaking. You murmur a quiet, “Babe…” before resuming the task.
Jungkook watches as you lift your body to pull your tights over your ass and the dress back into place, and then reaches out a palm to you; urging yours to settle in it.
Still trapped in a cube of daydreams, he tugs you in until your grace radiates toward him, and then tells you—
“My baby is the prettiest ever. Ever, ever.”
You take his fawning with glowing cheeks, smile so unbelievably worth being alive as you answer, “Your baby isn’t sure if she deserves this so suddenly, but… thankful either way.”
Your voice is an endearing mix of soft and enthusiastic. The combination that breathes life into a room. You’re so…
“God,” he says, squeezing your hand, lifting his other fingers to touch the hem of your dress. Fixing it albeit already perfectly sitting. Then looks up; eyes dropping to your lips. “Maybe you were right. Want to kiss you stupid right now.”
And he would; he wouldn’t hesitate if you didn’t move a palm to his face, pressing a thumb to his plush mouth. Telling him, “Nope, too late. The make up wasn’t easy to do. And dark lipstick is hard to remove.”
Fuck, not when he’s kissing it off…
“I…” Gulp. “Fine, princess.” He removes your hand from his face, towing you back into the living room. “Then, what do we do now? Movie?”
“Nah… It’s so hard to stop watching. Gonna kick them out again if we start now. What about… hm.”
Your eyes dart across the room, and Jungkook takes the moment to suggest, “Or we could have some soju already? Or wine, beer, whatever?”
“Or…”
You wait. Jungkook follows your gaze to the back of the room, surprised when it falls on a peeking canvas behind another big plant pot. Oh — that’s still there. He never took it out, and neither did you. Protecting his privacy, probably.
But perhaps it’s lighting a bulb over your head, because you soon ask, “Or. Wanna give me a house tour?”
“A house tour? Don’t you know every corner already?”
“Yeah but,” you shrug, rounding the couch with him in tow, “I wasn’t always here. You organised the place the way you wanted to when you moved in, so you’d know it better. Like…” You point to the turned painting, “What’s that?”
“That’s… Remember the drawing I had in my notebook? Of Gureum?”
Quite a while ago. You visited him for the first time in Namjoon’s studio back then; recalled it at the exhibit, too. Crazy how sentiments have changed. From a silly play-pretend game to damaged souls to this…
You nod.
“Yeah so,” he continues, “I painted him on a bigger surface.”
Your eyes shoot open, genuine interest in them. “Oh? Can I see?”
“Of course.”
It’s not his best work, honestly; but it is close to his heart. A piece he still wants to improve and feature in his own exhibit once it rolls around. The colouring process will be interesting; it’s barely an outline yet.
But you seem to perceive it with utter fascination and sheer joy. Because the moment Jungkook heaves the canvas up, turning it for you to see, your chin drops. You gasp, mumbling under your breath, “You’re kidding!”
“…Do you like it?”
“It’s so cute! This is…” You lean in, taking in every detail; commenting on it. “He’s a fluffball! Oh my god, the tongue peeking out. He looks so happy.” When you look up into his eyes, Jungkook’s heart does a thing; and his cheeks the other thing. “You painted him from memory?”
“Mmh, maybe a couple details? But I got most of him from a picture my aunt sent me a while ago. He’s been looking much older these days and I wanted to capture him before he ages even more. Made me miss him so much.”
“Awwh, Kook…” You pout. “I really want to meet him one day.”
He looks at you with something knowing and so telling in his gaze; he feels it unveil through his own stare. The knowledge he possesses about something, and that you don’t.
You might notice hints of it, but you don’t question it. Listening when he responds, “You will. He really is a fluffball and remembers me even after months and years of distance.”
“I love him already.” You lift, straightening your back. Watching as Jungkook sets the painting back before you add, “Okay. House tour. What else?”
“Hmm. Let’s see. Come.” He leads you the short way to the cupboard, and you follow in tiny steps, like an explorer running from one treasure to another. So exhilirated. So fucking cute. “Look, these— and don’t laugh, these are precious to me.”
“Laugh?”
“…These,” he opens the cupboard doors, reaching to the far back, behind some decoration; and pulls out a deck of cards. “Are my Yu-Gi-Oh cards. I used to collect them long ago, but I’m never throwing them away. Also—”
Your lips are parted, your eyes focused. Eyebrows shooting up gently, delighted when he takes out another small object from the back.
“My Jiraiya figure that I got for my tenth birthday.”
“Holy shit… I really never bothered looking in hidden corners.” Yeah… but now that you are, you’re making this place your own, too. No, it already is yours, the way he is. He swoons at the thought. “This is so cool. Why would I laugh?!”
“Ah… Were you a Naruto fan?”
You tilt your head. “A little. More into Detective Conan, though.”
Jungkook wonders… How foolish might his smile be looking right now?
“You… keep surprising me, angel,” he says — and you seem to like the praise.
Because you light up, forefinger touching his chest as you reiterate, “See? The house tour wasn’t a bad idea at all! Look at us tracking back the path of our souls, too.”
Jungkook can’t help but chuckle. You’re a breath of fresh air to be around; so incredibly tender when you’re yourself. After all those weeks, you’re finally back to who he used to know. Not as sad anymore.
Never sick of the hand-holding, he grips your palm again, voice hushed when he orders, “Follow me, quick!” The mysterious journey leads you to the closet next; back to the quiet bedroom as he playfully shushes you. “I haven’t worn them in a long time, so you won’t know, but… Look, because the secret's out.”
You crane your neck to see what he’s referring to. And when you do, you coo and laugh straight away. Endlessly enraptured when he claims, “Wahh. They were my super-favourites.”
Iron Man socks. Obviously worn a hundred times; so, so him.
His bunny teeth flash in all their glory when he smiles, dimples out and corners of his eyes crinkly. He feels you hold his hand tighter, and you pick the most supportive tone when you say, “You need to start wearing them again! It’s so sweet when you’re geeky.”
“Maybe you’re right.” He stuffs them back, though not to the very bottom anymore; places them on top for easy access. And then, he continues, “Okay. One more thing for the glorious house tour, and we’re done. It’s another important sight, actually.”
“Ah. Oh?”
Barely a couple seconds later, you’re back to where the trip started. Following suit when he kneels near the table; swift beam spreading over your face when he clears his throat and narrates, “This… Is where I painted on you. Not on another medium, but I painted on you. Remember?”
You must. He rarely abandons paper and his usual colours like that; but you were the most marvellous masterpiece he ever covered. The most outstanding canvas he’s ever drawn on…
“I do.”
Your gaze falls sideways; are you remembering the same heart on your waist that he does? And how he touched it; smeared it under the shower water. How your back pressed into his chest, unknown what feelings you truly harboured, but never failing to showcase his own care to you.
The kisses on your shoulder. The whispers in your ears. The plea for you to stay.
“Of course I do. It was so calming,” you add, “and so beautiful.” You touch the soft carpet, plucking at its tiny fibres. “You consider it a sight at Jeon manor?”
He snickers at your choice of words, but then inhales, and very sternly says, “Yeah. We also had sex here, so it’s forever tainted. I remember it felt… like… we should do it ag—”
“Now it’s you saying these things!” You move a fist to his bicep, pushing against it lightly. “Be serious. Be romantic! It’s not the time to make me want you.”
“Oof, hey… For the record, I was being romantic! And also, I only want you more when you’re being sweet,” he rubs the spot you grazed; he barely felt it, “but seriously. I still remember everything I felt for you. And how crazy you drove me… and how vulnerable you were.”
You’re still stroking the fur of the carpet as you look into his eyes; and he sees a molten puddle in yours. Only one side of your lips lifts, but the softness in your voice is genuine, “I think I still am. Just a lot safer than before.”
“…Good. Me too.”
And that’s all.
That’s all his mind comes up with, because all the words and infatuation are locked in his heart, moving to his fingertips when he inches closer. He raises them to your chin. Knees near yours and close the yawning distance until your lips are a whisker away.
Funny — how his strong chest holds a feeble heart. Bursting and aching, full and yearning.
If he could, he’d stay here with you forever, just like that.
But. The two of you have a party to host.
And the suddenly ringing phone reminds you of it. Makes you flinch until your noses and foreheads touch, and you laugh, rubbing them as you tap the couch for the device. The two of you lean against the sofa, cosy on the carpet as you pick up.
He hears Eun’s voice announce through the phone, “We’re all here. Just a warning, because you better not be naked.”
You shoot a glance toward Jungkook. He snorts, and you start, “Why would we…”
“‘Cause we’re early for once. Taehyung didn’t need as much time with his hair today. So be prepared.”
Jungkook nods in confirmation. Taehyung usually needs to be told an earlier time when invited to an event or get-together.
There are sounds in the background, and he readies himself to register another voice. But not a second later, the doorbell chimes. Guess the two of you will have to wait with the bare devotion.
Because for now, it’s time to indulge the gang. Let them stream in with vibrant greetings, wrapped gifts, endless booze and sweets as irresistible as you.
Jimin is the only guest coming in a little later, rushing straight from his shift. And Jungkook recognises quickly that he’s not Jimin’s first pick for conversation after a timid handshake and parting of ways.
There’s no enmity between them; Jungkook reckons it’s more the awkwardness from the Blue Night still lingering between Jimin and him. Maybe even some leftover guilt about how he used to perceive the younger man.
At least, it’s strange when he, eventually, does take a seat on the couch, separated from Jungkook only by a healing Yoongi. You’re busy talking to Eun, and Taehyung has escaped to the bathroom. Yoongi maintains a healthy atmosphere with casual talks and soft jokes.
But even if somewhat reluctantly, it seems that Jimin is at least trying when he leans back on the couch, enabling a better view to Jungkook as he asks, “Did you paint that one?”
Jungkook follows the finger pointing at the wall next to the window; nothing too out of the ordinary. Just colourful flowers. It’s okay. Better this than nothing to warm up to each other.
Turning on the couch, Jungkook waves a hand in denial as he explains, “Ah, no, no. She bought it because she thought it’s cute.”
“But you could paint that, too,” Yoongi argues, followed by Jungkook’s shy, “I guess.”
“Ohh, okay, okay. Well, since we’re talking about it. Even if you didn’t paint it,” Jimin says, “been wanting to tell you that I loved your exhibit stuff. Uhm, Eun showed me pictures. Hope that’s okay.”
That’s surprising. Jungkook considers himself gifted in this sense, but— having someone actually boast about his work for him makes him feel… accomplished? Appreciated.
No wonder you hold your friends in such high regard.
“Yeah! Of course. Thank you, Jimin.”
“It’s a pretty place, by the way.”
Yoongi wiggles a finger back and forth with an agreeing nod, snacking away, a quiet listener for the time being. There’s something amusing about it; makes Jungkook smile as he tells Jimin, “Thanks. And I’m glad you could come. Can imagine work’s a lot, so…”
“Yeah. No worries. Everything for our girl.”
Jungkook hums as the chat dies and the awkwardness returns. And then, he remembers—
Speaking of — where are you again? Still in the kitchen? Seems so. Or at least, moving away from it bit by bit.
Immersed in a conversation, holding the frame of the living room door, at the threshold to the anteroom. You’re discussing something with Eun, your expression focused. He can’t really make out your words because of those exchanged between Jimin and Yoongi, but…
A moment later, you do look at him. And then away again immediately — as if he caught you. A motion of your hand waves whatever cryptic topic off; and intrigued, Jungkook comes to a stand.
In vain — because Taehyung returns the same moment, babbling about whatever Yoongi just said. And you use the opportunity to march into the room, asking Jungkook to help you set the table for dinner.
To his chagrin, most of them offer to help momentarily. Taehyung swarms around you, insisting on plating, making it impossible for Jungkook to find a moment to ask what your conversation was about. And eventually, he gives up — if it’s important, you’ll tell him.
So for now, he relishes the evening your friends grant the two of you. They compliment the food, narrate short and long stories, watching Jungkook and you unwrap the gifts — board games from Jimin, cutting boards and wine from Yoongi, a stylish, modern thermostat from Taehyung and Eun.
The ecstasy overflows, the screeches probably making your neighbours think of you unhinged. Wine spills on the table; curses exchange; laughing turns into crying.
If anything other than this life is considered good, then Jungkook doesn’t crave that goodness. The unbridled chuckles, and your never-dropping smile are beyond everything twinkling and gorgeous already.
And he’s happy, too. Elated when you cover your mouth when you laugh; and overjoyed when you stand at the window after dinner, leaning forward. Breathing in the autumn air.
Jungkook follows once things wind down and the guests agree upon an appropriate volume. He mimics your stance, lower arms on the windowsill and hands hanging relaxed.
His fingers graze the withering flowers in the window box. They’re slowly dying by the hands of the approaching cold, and the rain keeps overwatering them. Yet… they still let it hurt them, holding on for as long as possible.
So in love with the shower.
It’s almost a bit tragic.
Jungkook refocuses, turning to you and asks, “What are you doing?”
Your head moves to the side, and you kill the remaining distance between you. Step close until you’re nearly nudging his elbow.
“Just,” you nod into a haphazard direction; into the outside world, “looking at the rain. Got a bit stifling in there.”
“Yeah.” Jungkook throws a glance over his shoulder. “Also, I think they’re getting drunk.”
“Mhmmm. Except Jimin. Poor him is looking at the alcohol so longingly. Did you notice that he didn’t drink?”
“Someone has to drive them home, and Yoongi with his healing injury is out. I offered, but Jimin insisted on taking care of them and not, as he said, bothering us. Super thoughtful, really.”
You smile, nodding along before you silence. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking of; or what you’re seeing. Maybe you’re truly only revelling in the rain; contrasting it with the sunshine you radiate.
Maybe he should look for a rainbow somewhere.
In the midst of the tranquil evening, your gape strays from the drizzle with a blink. It descends to his twirling thumbs, and then moves along the length of his arm. Jungkook notices your attention from the side, but only turns to look at you when he realises what you’ve fixated on.
You gesture towards the hues and outlines on his skin, delicately touching the writhing snake as you say, “Want a tour for them, too, if you’d ever allow. I imagine it could be fun.”
“Tattoo tracing?” His lips move into an endeared smile; you look so fascinated. Like you’re seeing them for the first time. “I’d be down. I could even…” His fingers journey to yours, gently leading them to the flowers. “I can even give you a sneak peek.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Look.” He guides your touch over the dazzling orange of his tiger lily. “This is me. Tiger lilies beg for love. I’ve always sought love, too.”
Your eyes change. He knows you see it, too — the urge to never be abandoned again, all the time.
He can nearly see your heart ache. And feels his own thump a thousand miles a second. A fraction of it breaks off and jumps into your chest, making it yours; it does it all the damn time until you hold the entirety of it in the palm of your hands.
Unhurried, he steers your finger further, stopping at the blue tint; clearly hears you draw a breath when he tells you, “And this… This is my girlfriend. She’s even prettier in real life… that’s right.”
For a bit, you’re speechless. Jungkook keeps admiring you in the forget-me-nots for another second, and when you don’t speak on, he meets your eyes. You’re shaking your head, and then — slowly wrapping an arm around his, moving close, head on his shoulder.
From this angle, your cheeks are demanding to be squeezed; eyelashes kiss them softly, your lips tempting curves when you laugh. Jungkook doesn’t get enough of you… and you don’t want to make it easier for him either.
Because, “Shit,” you say, “you were right about pining more when someone’s being romantic. ‘Cause you’re making me want you so bad, in every way. Are you… still up for kissing me stupid?”
“Ahh… babe.”
“I just… You excite me, too, you know?”
“Don’t say these things while they’re here, baby,” he warns, although as tenderly as anyhow possible, “you’ll give me a heart attack, I mean it.”
“Now you know how I feel all the time!” you tease, fingers flicking raindrops into his face out of nowhere.
Jungkook recoils and squirms, taken aback, but it takes him a mere second to play along. He gathers rain in his palms, threatening to toss it into your face; bickering chaos at the open living room window until your damp hands rejoin and delicate digits interlace.
And as he looks at the sad flowers again, the reality of the moment makes him think. How the two of you used to resemble the blossoms in your window box, once enduring the incessant melancholy, too.
Much like the flowers towards the downpour, Jungkook and you reached for each other while being watered by gloom — but unlike the flowers, you’re still sprouting and thriving into something vivid and fragrant. Not beaten by the agonising shower.
The rain hurt me, but I wanted to keep fighting. Because I hoped. Because I adored.
And in the end, him and you aren’t tragic like them. You will never wither — only bloom.
An hour later, the apartment is empty.
You opened all the windows to eliminate the suffocating air; and the hot water running in the sink soothes your cold skin. What a relief to watch the clinking dishes lessen; you sigh at the small amount still left, and Jungkook catches it immediately.
“See?” he teases, loading the dishwasher. Even that seems like a task after such a day; tidying up the living room was more than enough. “Good that we did most of it during and after cooking. It’s so much even now.”
Eyes heavy, you admit, “I should learn to listen to you more.”
He clicks his tongue, skipping a response, and then, out of the blue, says, “Angel… I could get used to this.”
“To me listening to you more?”
“Yes. But no. To you being here.”
You glow up, even though you’re still facing the sink, smile a little hidden, “You need to. Because I’ll be annoying you all the time.”
“Oh, I believe you.”
You hit him with a spoon, wetting the spot a bit before handing the cutlery to him. Delivering a head tilt, he smirks. Amused before he remembers something and asks, “Hey. What were you and Eun talking about earlier?”
“Hm? When?”
“Before dinner. It looked serious.”
You halt mid-movement. Did he catch something? Maybe. But you only insist, “Nothing special. About her graduation… you know, since it’s pretty soon.”
Huh. Doesn’t seem to quite cut it.
“Mmmh. Anything else?”
You feign a thoughtful moment, as if you’ve wiped your memory clean off whatever she said to you. Then, you tell him, “Yeah. I told her how you played around with the recipe and came up with the best dinner ever. And how hot you looked doing it.”
“…You said the last bit, too?”
“No.” Jungkook blows a raspberry before comically pressing his lips into a line, eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s not my fault. I mean, do you know how attractive is it to be among people and know that this one person is still only looking at you?”
Oh, all too well…
“I would definitely know,” he chuckles. “Shit. You’ve been testing me tonight, you know?”
“…How?”
“All those compliments and ambiguous statements.” You shrug your shoulders in apparent innocence, muttering a small, ”It’s true" before he digs, “Anyway, don’t distract me. Anything else she said?”
Perhaps you’re done playing games. And perhaps you should’ve kept doing just that; because your next answer is a much greater tease.
“…I’ll tell you about it soon enough.”
Jungkook squints, organising a plate into a free spot, playfully disgruntled, “Unfair.”
“Hang in there.”
“Alright. You’re lucky I trust you.”
Your grin is gaping wide, and he attempts his best to ignore it. But when you add an evil snicker to it, regarding him with pure mirth in your eyes, he folds, “What?”
“Nothing. You’re just so cute. You’ll keep acting like you’re digging, but still always know when to respect my decisions. Maybe the bar is low? But I find trust ridiculously attractive.” You throw a longing smile at him, bringing a damp fingertip to his cheek to poke. “And to top it off… You’re so pretty, too, and I’m just… enamoured from all sides and—”
You wait and he uses the moment to wipe his cheek on his shirt. But when you don’t speak on, he spurs you on, “…And?”
“And I want you so bad.”
The plate waiting to be set into the dishwasher drops on the counter. Jungkook stares up, regarding the ceiling with a seemingly agitated look. You don’t know what’s truly whirling in him, so you warily ponder, “…What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Jungkook turns the water off, taking the cups from your hands and placing them in the sink. He shakes his palms off the liquid, and then whispers, “Okay. Later.”
The hold around your wrist is firm, and the tug firmer. Determined, he leads you out of the kitchen, slapping a hand over the light switch; your eyes are wide when you ask, “Wait, we’re not do—”
His answer is predictable; yet, you didn’t foresee it. Because—
“Bedroom. Right now.”
THE MORNING OF THE CONFESSION
Unlike you, Jungkook has considered himself a night owl ever since he entered the bustling world of college. Settling in the city was a stirring experience, and the thrill of it, along with a girlfriend, exams and newfound friends, kept him up until the sun rose again.
He enjoyed what he did, too. Loved school, so he didn’t mind the fatigued eyes during lectures. Truly one of the handful of joys that helped rid his head of the brain fog he bestowed upon himself after each long, sleepless night.
And he was an avid participant in classes despite his sheepish persona — they shook him awake, the late afternoon workouts obliterating the rest of the exhaustion. Maybe that’s why he was so reluctant to flake out for the night, too; still energised.
But while Jungkook carried the spirit of a straight-out-of-the-high-school-freshman who disliked falling asleep early, he despised waking up at the break of day just as much.
Would groan, blinking into the sun, with no one to blame for his agitation but him. No matter how deep his fascination for his studies and how quick the fading of his initial irritation — the first few minutes of every day were pure agony.
Jungkook is still a night owl. Still wants the nights to stretch, albeit for other reasons now. But his attitude towards mornings has changed.
There’s a shift in his preferences now; you moved his universe by an inch, altered it so effortlessly. Suddenly, he doesn’t regret rising with the sun next to him. He doesn’t curse the groggy feeling anymore.
There’s a silky touch he seeks every single morning that his eyes open to, lips he follows with his own blindly. You’re a permanent presence now, air and fire to his lungs, and he feels the freshness, feels the burn whenever your fingers brush his shoulders upon waking up.
He won’t need to check in at work for a few hours still; yet, sleeping in would mean losing the minutes that you’re still here before walking out the door until the evening.
He’ll sacrifice a slumber for this. Voluntarily.
And it’s crazy how none of this requires any sort of effort or pleading from your side. How all you need to do is to breathe and talk and smile and stay.
Those extra moments, no matter how fleeting, grant him a little more time on Earth with you, and he grasps it greedily. Even when you spend it teasing the hell out of him. Or, even when you wake up with scorching cheeks and endearing, high pitched complaints.
Like today.
“I still can’t believe yesterday,” you say.
“It’s okay.”
“I embarrassed myself so hard. Thinking about it, can I really show my face at the wedding? I’ll probably make things worse.”
Jungkook keeps glancing at the back of your head, the loose bun shaking with your movement. Smoothly, his fingers trace up and down your back; a gesture he started randomly and continued the moment you mumbled, “I like it… continue?”
Sat between his legs, you’ve been swaying for a while, both uneasy and amped about the approaching event. And to Jungkook, it’s as sweet as it is frustrating to see your brain fuming like that.
“Come here, baby,” he demands, content when you reverse into him. He wraps his arms around your chest, pulling you to his body, and presses a pillowy kiss to your temple. “You’re overthinking again. I promise you, we’ll make sure you have the most fun.”
“I embarrassed myself so hard,” you repeat, and Jungkook kisses his teeth.
“You’re a clown, I’ll admit,” you whine his name, and he laughs, “but I’m telling you. I know my mom and that was her I-like-you voice. Which I didn’t doubt for a second, by the way. Like, she really seems happy with how my life has turned out, and with whom. As am I. Understand?”
One more kiss to your scalp. He swings you from side to side, ignoring the ticking of the clock. In a few, you’ll be leaving the apartment, and Jungkook will need to kill the hours until he joins Namjoon at work.
He shouldn’t be missing you already; but he still holds you tighter. Tighter until you let out a little groan, a hand on his arm. He can’t read your thoughts or decipher whether his promise helped; because you don’t answer yet.
Only wait for a few seconds, allowing him to wallow in your warmth until you call, “…Jungkook.”
“Mhh?”
“Talking about life and stuff… did you always imagine yours to be like this? Just curious.”
“Like this?” he ponders, mentally intertwining every current branch of his life into one healthily growing tree. He’s liking it. “Well… I graduated. An exhibition ahead that’ll hopefully bring me a step closer to my own studio and profession.”
You hum in pride, tapping his arm as an affectionate reward. He continues, “I do what I love, have some great friends… and I get to spend my days with my favourite person? Doesn’t sound too bad to me.”
You crane your neck to look at him; your lips are so close to his, tilted into a smile that’s so unbelievably you. “You called me that last night, too.”
“Huh? Oh, that’s right. And… I mean it. Like. Now that you’re here, it’s even clearer somehow?”
“…How so?”
“Mmh… whenever I used to get home, I’d think of what to eat and of showering and going to sleep. And when I come home now, the first thing I think of is you. What we’d cook tonight. Or what we might watch or talk about. You’re…”
He feels your chest rise under his limbs; a sigh of fondness as he knows it best.
“You’re the one I want to spend all my time with.” He pauses when you look at your blanket-covered lap, hiding your twinkling eyes. “So it’s clear.”
“You always sound so hopelessly…”
You halt mid-sentence, the touch against your arm tensing — much like his own heart, jumping to the next beat with a heavy thud. You shake your head; Jungkook doesn’t get to dwell in further thoughts… still doesn’t have the words for them yet.
Or doesn’t want to admit them yet.
If he thought about them long enough and arrived at a conclusion, would you think he’s rushing your relationship? Would it scare you?
Better not find out yet.
So he lets you talk and listens, “Anyway. So, is there anything, like… more? That you want to achieve someday? Or that you think of sometimes before you go, that’s still left for me to do.”
How fitting.
Pretending to be sinking into thoughts, Jungkook hums, letting his chest vibrate against your back, and then answers truthfully, “Yeah? Maybe a couple things. We’ll see them with time when I gather the courage to tackle them.”
“Like what?”
“Hmm… am I allowed to say that already?” More simulations, teasing you with a fake distant gaze and a hissing inhale of air. “I’m not sure. You’ll know.”
“Hey! That makes me nervous.”
“No need.” You interrupt his speech with another sound of disapproval, pulling a dorky, infectious chortle out of him; his nose scrunches up. “I’m kidding. I’m talking about all the goals I have for my career. I don’t want to stop, no matter what. Keep going and keep striving for more.”
You nod; someone as hard-working as you would understand. In a sense, you’re a role model to him, too — a sentiment that you, as you have often emphasised, reciprocate.
Yet, you advise, “Just don’t overwork. Think of Icarus! We can’t always get more than more, you know? There’s happiness in satisfaction with what we have, too. But either way…” You angle your legs, pulling them close; cuddling into him more. “I’ve got your back.”
And perhaps that’s one of the gazillion traits he cherishes so much about you.
Your position at work is reputable and treasured, and you could easily push him to work harder, too. Could want him to match your career success, because it’s more or less guaranteed for you.
But you don’t. You stand by his side, prioritising his happiness and mental strength, albeit unaware of how his future might turn out. When you say you’ve got his back, he believes you.
“I know,” he says, lips in your hair, breathing you in. “Yeah… I know.”
“Hmmm… okay,” you move on, “what about me? Do you have any expectations? Certain standards and rules? I just,” you reach forward, tugging the blanket over your chest and his arm, “I feel like that’s something one should talk about. Tell me if it’s too much, though.”
“No, you’re right. But honestly? Is it… is it weird to say that you’ve kinda become a standard?”
“…I— What do you mean?”
“I just mean that… I’m never going to tell you that I expect you to be loyal and kind because it’s the bare minimum, right? Who doesn’t want all that? I know you are, so I don’t need to say it. So I don’t have any other expectations from you; these things are already the foundation of our relationship. Just. Mmh, how do I say it?”
He thinks for a moment, but you’re nodding, as if you’ve already understood. But his thoughts don’t end here; they’re just difficult to word. In his mind, they’re clear, but upon having to express them, he doesn’t quite understand the concept of language anymore.
Curses its limitations.
But then, as emotions gingerly gather to a coherent sentence at last, he tries to explain:
“Rather than adhering to any rules or standards I could have, I feel like you’re building them for me. You make me have a type, you know?” He feels you dissolve in his arms as he taps between your clavicles. “And that’s you. I don’t want anyone if I can’t have you.”
Did he go off track? Possibly. But you don’t seem to mind.
Because your voice is painfully sweet and miniscule when you speak, on the brink of losing the fight against the tremble, “But you have me. Pinky promise that you do, for a long, long time.”
Yeah… yeah, he does. And he’d be damned if he let this go.
Because if he ever did — if he ever so foolishly lost you again after combating these cruel storms, you’d still remain his standard. He’d look for you in each face passing, and in every laugh sounding.
The blueprint. And an everlasting memory.
Does it make sense? He doesn’t know.
And it doesn’t matter anyway. You’re right here.
“I’ll take your pinky promises,” he says, overjoyed as he crosses his legs over your shins, peppering more kisses onto your cheeks, the corner of your eyes, on your ear. He speaks in between your sighs and quiet laughs, “What about you? What do you want?”
“I… I don’t think I’ve ever had any expectations either, but. The wedding and—” You hesitate, as if considering dropping whatever you were going to list; and then you start anew, “The wedding made me think, and I— I just want to have so much fun with you.”
“Yeah? Tell me about it.”
“I want all the ordinary things we do to feel special because it’s us doing them. And I don’t ever want us to regret anything, so… I want us to be brave.”
“Brave? Well, you’re already the strongest and bravest person I know.”
“Braver. I want to live without restraints. And I don’t want to overthink anymore.”
Hmm…
Jungkook has seen your jumbled up thoughts before. The pain you cause to your mind sometimes, and the zoned out eyes painting pictures of what you fear the most.
He knows that feeling. Has battled one too many beasts to lessen the ache; even if it’s not always possible. Even if he seeks reassurances sometimes, too. And maybe that’s the prominent and sole reason why he never dismisses your disquiet.
Why push you away if you’re already at an impasse? Why not lead you out of the maze?
“Take it easy, okay?” he soothes, letting his grip around you fall bit by bit to search for your fingers instead. “Restraints can’t beat us.”
“Yeah! I’m hopeful.”
“You should be.” Because thinking of all you’ve fought within the span of a couple weeks… “You’re the first person to show me that there’s no reason to be scared, you know?”
“Then…” You sit up, curling your fingers around his hand, lifting it mid-air in sudden eagerness. “Just imagine how life could go, right? We could go to the ocean. Oh.” You gasp, sucking in air. “Oh my god! The Great Barrier Reef!”
“Ohhh, that’s actually a solid bucket list item. And then, bungee jumping?”
You nod zealously; lacking your fingers’ mobility required to list things, you instead knock your intertwined hands against your thigh each time to come up with something new. Like now, “Cliffs. And northern lights, too. I’ve always wanted to see them.”
Reflexively, you look up.
Stare at the glued-on stars from last night, and the now missing projection you dozed off to. An effective visual lullaby; you didn’t even stir when Jungkook turned it off, tucking you in properly. In your blanket; in him.
“Hell yes,” Jungkook confirms.
“But the first stop’s your hometown… and the wedding. I want to meet your family and be super awkward about it.”
Jungkook laughs, forehead falling forward against your head. He shakes it for a second, and then recalls, “Ah… so chickens and family awkwardness. What else?”
He didn’t expect this to work out before he asked you. Considering you’ve barely started at Novaura, he anticipated gentle rejection. But now that it’s become a certain event in the incredibly near future, his heart pounds every time you mention it.
Because…
You in a dress. You in his house. You, dominating over every single heart that’s dear to him.
And it seems you’ve already thoroughly thought about this, because your answer shoots out of you like a bullet, “Wanna dance with you. And kiss you under the lights.”
“Angel… you’re over the moon about this, aren’t you?”
“…Too obvious?”
You allow a fleeting glance back to him before your eyes fall down to his bare arm, ending in a hand clinging to yours; covered in ink, much like the rest of his right limb. He knows you’re staring at the flowers without asking.
And as if knowing, reading your soul, he doesn’t find himself surprised when you suggest, “And then… one day… What do you think? Should I get a tattoo someday, too?”
“Totally, if that’s what you want. What would you wanna get?”
“Flowers to match? I don’t know. Maybe you can draw on me. Here,” you lead his hand to your thigh, sticking there for a while until you move up to your hip. “Or here.”
He wonders how focused your thoughts are right now. Because if they are, and you’re not fixating on the changes of his skin, you probably won’t register the countless goosebumps under his tattoos.
A giddy sensation spreads throughout his body, collecting in his chest and tummy. Memories of a nearly bare body, painted in his dozen colours returning. And then, pictures of the same hues blurring, smudging.
He breathes an exhale, insane at the thought of kissing those lines. Of lips trailing up your skin, stopping at your hip, dying a pleasant death.
Fuck.
“I… I would. I’ll paint you any day.”
His words come out more airy than intended, fingers itching to pinch your chin, to move your face to his. To slide down the mattress, to kiss your lips swollen, making out with you until the sun sets…
But the world is cruel and too real; the clock still ticks until he realises that freezing in place isn’t an option right now. So he says, “As much as I hate to say this… You should get ready for work.”
You groan; there’s something sweet about your unwillingness to go. Relatable. And it sticks until the exhaustion washes away with each second. Small breakfast in, clothes on, newfound work spirit restored.
Must be a good day approaching.
And you’ve been enjoying the recent ones, he assumes. Despite being so good at what you do, there’s a clear difference in how you tackle a day at Charmante versus at Novaura.
And you confirm it when he accompanies you to the entrance, bidding you goodbye until you meet again later, “What I love most about Novaura is that they don’t feel the need to communicate everything with Mom. They’re their own independent world and trust themselves.”
“Right… You as someone equally independent will fit right in, so they’re lucky to have you there. Makes me wonder, though.” Jungkook pauses, watching you grab your jacket from the wall hook, “Are your Charmante people okay with you being at Novaura so much?”
A COUPLE DAYS LATER
“…I really don’t know if I can do this.”
Well, shit. Wasn’t he ready to strive for more, run endlessly until his feet tired? Where is the dread suddenly emerging from?
Jungkook has barely set his sketchbook down when lightning bolts head for him.
Countering his concern with kissing eyebrows, Namjoon’s full lips purse, dimples gone as he wonders, “What are you even talking about?” — Much at the same time as you utter a threatening, “Shut up,” pastry lifted, ready to throw at him.
Jungkook shies away from the table, ready to dodge your attack; returning when you place the crumbly croissant back on your plate. He presses his lips together before smacking and kissing them, finger rolling the pen over his sketches, but eyes fixated on Namjoon’s notebook.
“I’m serious. There’s so much to do until November, and I… how do I get so much done?”
“But,” Namjoon knocks against the random drawing open on the table, “you already have so much to show. And you can revamp stuff from college, too. Besides, it’s okay to try your best and be scared at the same time, Jungkook! That’s part of a growing artist’s job.”
“But, are you sure I’m a growing artist?!”
Namjoon mutters something under a breath, and you add something unintelligible to the reassuring mix. Jungkook’s worried gaze remains on the rough lines of pencil on paper, teeth repeatedly nibbling his lower lip. Baring his mole.
He closes the sketchbook, staring at the golden, imprinted letters on a dark black background. He’s filled a quarter of it already; the very piece you gifted him for his birthday almost a month ago.
In some way, opening to a blank page serves as inspiration alone. You furnished him with something so simple yet gorgeous; thoughtful engraving to use as a reminder to hold onto his efforts.
But…
Amidst the lasting zeal, he’s been racking his brain. Because. What if he immerses himself in this, spending hours tainting his fingertips in different tints — only to steer towards failure?
What if it doesn’t work out? And he ends up not amounting to much, other than trying his luck online and living on a bare minimum of a salary? Would he start tutoring young, aspiring artists?
And you…
You’re diving into a stable job, well-paid, well-known. If you end up carrying both of you on your shoulders… would you think of him as a washout? Grow frustrated and dissatisfied?
You’ve been repeatedly declaring your unswerving support, but what if you some day do realise that…
Ugh.
He stuck to this passion with the full knowledge he would never fall out of love with it; but now that he’s working for his dreams, the process seems so scary all of a sudden.
“And I’m at the wedding, too…” he says.
He leans back in his chair, moving his pupils away from the paper and instinctively up to you. More concerns threaten to tumble off the tip of his tongue, but when your eyes suddenly flicker with disappointment, his lips shut again.
You blink, unsure, before you ask, “Do you… not want to go? We could totally stay here if you need the time.”
Oh…
Hadn’t you gushed about the event day in, day out now, he would’ve maybe believed your words. And in some sense, you probably do think of the alternative as okay, as long as he profits from it.
But he sees it in your eyes. And not just in yours — he’s been as enthralled by the idea as you. Which is why…
“No,” he responds, “no. We will go.”
Because the prospect of winding down with you has been keeping him sane. Doting on you under the countryside stars, showing you all you haven’t seen before, body to body dancing with you…
He’s not missing out on that, no matter what.
And god knows you need the break, too… especially after the utter hysteria last Friday…
“Kook, think about it. You need to be absolutely sure,” you argue, genuine worry in your gaze; from his side eye, he sees Namjoon nod in confirmation.
“I am. We’ll go, baby, okay?”
You don’t avert your gaze; your mouth closes a little, but you stay unblinking, waiting for his mind to change. He knows because he sees the thoughts floating at the surface of your eyes.
Like you’re still pondering; of course you are. As someone who’s been working hard for their career, even if just for a few months, you’d know. Who’d understand if not you?
The trance lingers between the two of you, and Jungkook lifts his lips, a vow and certainty in his smile. Moment only broken when Namjoon clears his throat and encourages once more, “Give it a shot, Jungkook… Those high-profile people need to see what you’re capable of! I mean, we’re so lucky to have them coming to our exhibits.”
Namjoon gestures randomly, across the small restaurant as he says, “Say what you will about this city, but we lure in quite a few esteemed artists for sure.”
“Who says something about this city?” you ask.
“I do,” Namjoon’s voice is soothing. One thing Jungkook has learned about him is that his flowery mind never rests. Lyrical; not always easy to understand. “I love and hate it. Leaving it, living it.”
He pauses, sipping on his diet coke before smacking the taste away and ordering, “Ask me anytime if you need any help, alright? And be confident.”
“And… what if it does work?”
Your gentle laugh sounds from the opposite side of the table, the straw of your milkshake on your tongue. The rhythmic melody calms something deep in him; perhaps more because he understands your reaction.
You’re just as cute worrying about things that he knows you’d ace.
“Well,” Namjoon starts, aware that Jungkook knows; still annihilating his unease, “the guy is ready to buy your art. If it goes well, he’ll sponsor you. Then, at some point, you’ll be able to afford your own studio and grow as an artist. Ideally.”
“Ah… ah, really…”
”Kookie,” your voice calls; you lean over the round table, shoving the milkshake aside, “don’t worry. And in the most unlikely case that it doesn’t go as planned, know that I’ll cheer you on either way.”
“And me too,” Namjoon raises a hand.
Your finger swings to and fro between Namjoon and you, and your expression changes from empathic and soft to the sweetest, most gut-wrenching smile he’s ever seen. The apples of your cheeks lift, pupils sparkling when you vow, “We’re here for you.”
He…
He could look at you all day, blinking be damned. Could pour out his emotions every second of every minute of every hour, and it’d still not match the endless letter his heart keeps crafting for you.
Disregarding how much of a shipwreck the two of you were last Friday, his chest has still lightened ever since; an epiphany has never been sweeter.
Because…
The words he couldn’t compose into a poem before are now an ardent confession, with rhymes and a melody and infinite beauty. Roaming his mind nonstop, caught in that baby pink bubble.
When had his senses last heightened this much?
Because somehow, he still feels the damp trail of tears he cried that night. And the heart that beat against your cheek. You, frozen against him, processing his words.
If there are ways to make him fall in love harder, you’ve been presenting them all the goddamn time.
And fuck, it’s been hard focusing on anything but you.
Like, on paying. Or on upholding a conversation with Namjoon — assuring him he’d be back in the studio in a bit as he prepares to bid you goodbye for the day.
To his chagrin, the walk to your car isn’t long. It’s parked at a corner, convenient for lunch dates like these; you promised you’d join one with Joon at some point, and you did. Forty-five minutes passed too quickly. Felt like a moment.
“Namjoon is so nice!” you comment, hands in the pockets of your denim jacket.
You keep swaying back and forth, from your heels to your toes and back. Your smile and movements suggest a free spirit, but your risen shoulders and the shallow crease between your eyebrows drench you in something tense.
You’ve been like that since you suggested staying, focusing on his work.
“He’s so wise, too, really,” Jungkook responds, close to you in case your swinging moves leave you tumbling, “like, a cool mix between calm and dorky. I’ve been learning so much from him.”
“Jeon Jungkook and his love for his mentor. You will never stop talking about him.”
Jungkook shrugs, a hand to the nape of his neck, face warming, “He’s cool, what can I say?”
“Yeah.”
And once again… he sees you gulp. Unsure, pupils flickering. You usually don’t struggle maintaining eye contact. So he soon wonders, “Are you okay? I… I hope you didn’t misunderstand what I said earlier. I really do want to go to the wedding.”
“Hm?” you voice, chin lifting a bit before you dispute, “Oh. No, I believe you. If you say it’s okay, then that’s how it is.”
“What then?”
“What do you mean? Do I really seem like something’s up?”
“A little.”
“Uhm…”
You roll up your eyes as you dig into your thoughts. Scouring your brain for whatever might be meandering in the back of your mind. Hm… seems you’re not fully cognisant of the subtle change in your behaviour, either?
So maybe, it means nothing after all.
Then again. It must be something.
Because in hindsight, he didn’t only notice today, but all weekend, too—
Oh…
Maybe you’re just getting used to the new developments; maybe they’re just making you a bit bashful like him. Maybe…
Okay. Deep breath. He just needs to make it sound like a joke, nothing pushy or odd or awkward because—
“Or is it because I told you I love you? Have I scared you off already?”
He watches your breathing stop. As though flexing an x-ray stare, watching your lungs dry up, air stuck in your throat until it escapes through your nose. Honestly… he’s been feeling the same.
“No!” you answer, tone breathy, pulling a hand out of the pocket to sprightly push at his shoulder. He barely budges. “Of course not. All that does is make me want to faint.”
Jungkook chuckles, delighted when your laugh matches his own. He doesn’t always know how to take a compliment either; but you fix your speechlessness with that glow on your face. Fills his own body with fairy dust, too.
His dimples are valleys when your fingers move to his open jacket, grazing the zipper and filling the seconds with quiet tenderness. He doesn’t know what to say to you until you let the silence prolong and then giggle into it once more.
If he could just dive into your brain. But all he has are his own, messy thoughts.
And those tangled thoughts say—
“Angel… Can I kiss you?” Now his lungs are collapsing, too. Worse, so much worse when you look into his eyes, still so surprised at every sliver of affection he signs. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
No… he needs to. Needs to blossom in this breezy weather. But he won’t tell you that.
He’ll just keep looking at you. One second, two seconds — until you’ve raised your hands to the collar of his jacket to move him closer, soon sneaking your touch further up to his neck. A miniscule and wordless hint of approval, and he basks in it avidly.
Twitching palms hesitate for only the subtlest of moments before they’ve dashed up to your cheeks, cupping your face and leaning in and…
Lock.
A picture of a lock. And of its key.
The first thing to flash into his mind.
Because how do his lips fit so perfectly between yours? When you touch him like this, delicate fingers caressing his jaw, how do you feel so much like a feather? And the damn way you sigh into his mouth… how you reciprocate the kiss.
He will never tire of telling you, telling himself, that you match him just like the ocean complements the shore. And it’s baffling. How perfect this feels, and how right it feels.
You do make the ordinary extraordinary.
Like a kiss that is shared a million times a day, between so, so many people. But you’re moving your lips against his. Holding onto him, tilting your head, soaking in his warmth. Going tentatively, then a bit faster, then slow again.
For the merest moments when your mouths part, you gasp, inhaling before pushing your fingers into his hair, at the back of his head. Then back against him, seeking his tongue; such soft sounds meeting his that he swears he could cry.
Cry about the shiver down his spine and the flutter in the pit of his stomach. About the world becoming a backdrop to everything in the middle of the pavement; and about how his thoughts only revolve around your shared breaths and the feeling of your warm cheeks.
Just you.
You, you, you.
Still too far away. Why do you drive him so incredibly mad?
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He loves you. He loves you.
Under a breath and against your soft pillows, he mutters your name; so airy that he barely recognises his voice. His tongue drags over your lower lip, pecking one more time before he establishes an intruding distance between you.
Your foreheads touch for a transient bit, thumb skimming your cheek. When he opens his eyes, yours are still shut, and you’re feeble in his grip. And then, he asks, “What’s wrong?”
You swallow again. Take a breath before admitting, “You’re right. There’s something I want to ask you, and I was so stupidly… nervous about it.”
“Yeah?”
“The whole gang, they… they’ve been planning something. They paid for it and all, but they’re waiting for me to give them an answer, so they know if I need to pay them back or if they should cancel or, or—”
He interrupts your ramble with a soft, “Tell me, babe.”
“Okay,” your eyelids finally open up; your gaze is so hazy when you look at him. “It’s a trip. Four days, three nights, during the wedding week.” He hasn’t said a word when you hurry to add, “But, we can leave earlier. It’s a road trip kinda thing to the mountains and the beach and. They want us there, too.”
”Oh.”
“…Yeah.”
“I… Baby.” He moves back, shaking his head. He was careful not to ruin your hair, well aware you have half a work day ahead of you; but he still brushes a strand back. “Were you and Eun talking about that two weeks ago?”
“Yeah. And Tae also said I should be the one to ask because you’d like that. But then things happened and all the stress and…”
“But… even before that. Why were you so nervous asking me about it for so long?”
“Because,” you answer, one shrug of your shoulders, “I wanted to wait and see how you feel about the exhibition and the workload. And you already have limited time because of the wedding and I didn’t want to take away more of it.”
He can’t help but beam; why does this feel… endearing? Mirrors his own thoughts when he asked you about accompanying him to the wedding.
“We really do have the same brain, don’t we?” he asks.
“You’d think we’d learn.”
You say it lightheartedly, yet gnaw on your lips. He tongues the inside of his cheek, keeping eye contact, and then queries, “There’s something else, right?”
“Ah, just.”
You look unsure, trying to make sense of your thoughts, but your uncertainty makes him uncertain, too. So he exhales before he prods, “What? What what? Is it something bad?”
“No! Just. They’ve been wanting to do this since the summer. They never talked about it to me because you and I were… you know.” You kiss your teeth, and he uses the second to whoosh away the aching memories. “But they never cancelled for us, either.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because they’d say, and I quote, ‘Just wait.’ They knew we couldn’t stay away from each other even before we did.” You laugh. “Eun told me that day in the kitchen.”
Even before you did?
Untrue. He knew he didn’t want to live without you the moment you left his apartment, tear-soaked and heartbroken.
“Okay…” he starts, “and you were worried because?”
“Because you always get so sad when I talk about the summer. Explaining the context of the trip seemed hard to me, and I didn’t want you to feel guilty.”
Oh…
Shit, man.
“You’re… ahhh… my sweet baby.” He wants to hug you to his chest and never let go. But you’re already running out of time, lunch break nearing its end, so he only grips your shoulders. “You know that it gets better after two minutes, no? Because whatever happened, I have you now.”
He flicks your chin as he has been lately; it cheers you up. Makes you smile a bit, conjures the pout away. Adding to the effect when he says, “Don’t worry so much, my love.”
Another inhale. Then, you admit, “I’m sorry. I dragged it out.”
“It’s okay.”
“So… would you come? Do you think you could take some time off work and all? I’d understand if it’s too much.”
“Hmm… Right before the wedding, isn’t it?”
“Mid-october, yes. We could leave earlier!” you reiterate, hellbent on assuring he’s not obligated to do anything. So sweet, how you scratch your head. “They’d drive on. It’s convenient because it’s all in the same week.”
“Mountains and beach, you say.”
“If you don’t like them, we can stay at the hotel and chill together.”
Shit.
His grin widens with each heartbeat; you notice, because despite your suggestions, you sound more lively now.
And yet, it’s funny you’d question all these things like this at all. Don’t you remember damp cheeks and gentle touches?
Just days ago.
How he was still trembling when you left Eun’s complex. How he stopped you before climbing into the car, much like now, mumbling a timid, “Angel…”
And then retracting when his heart combusted. Looking into your eyes, still red, his own mind filled with nervous fear before settling on, “Nothing. Let’s go home.”
Or how you cried in the living room. How you broke down, terrified he might walk away. How his breath quivered, how his head spun, how he felt like he might throw up or faint or scare you off.
The damn sickness in his stomach until he spat the hidden words for the first time. And the pounding of his heart when you responded with a mumbled, “Kook… How.”
And… how his chest constricted at everything that followed after that. Don’t you remember?
In spite of every indication he threw your way — you still worry so much.
Funny you’d be so nervous around someone who wants to see the entire world with your hand in his.
What did you call it again? Wanting to be brave.
So fucking easy with you.
“How about…” he begins, staring into anticipating eyes, hearing a storm of cheers rumble, “going shopping before we leave?”
Your demeanour changes momentarily. The unsure girl, afraid to hurt him, soon finds her way back to her foundation. You light up, a hand over your mouth; your cheeks must be hurting.
You deliver one, short jump and then pull him back in, kissing his lips once before scattering a couple more pecks next to them. He soon finds himself pushing you towards your car, forcing you back to work, but you have a thousand things to babble about.
He’s adoring all the bright stars in your eyes — now he understands how you feel when you see the same universe in his.
It’s crazy. How effort is never required from your side for him to feel that way. How you only need to breathe and talk and smile and stay.
Stay stay stay.
The word sails and wafts through his dazy thoughts like a silent prayer. Begging and begging; pleading to allow him to pour all his love on you, although he doesn’t need to ask. You always let him anyway.
And he guesses he’s using that permission thoroughly. Maybe that’s why keeps craving and burning for more; why he’s been holding you tighter these nights.
His tiger lily pressed against your heart.
*head in hands* they are so crazy for each other, pls 😭 warmth and reassurances and support and bickering literally build the foundation of their relationship and i love them sm :') for some reason the editing process knocked me out, but i still adore this one so so much, and i hope you guys did, too!! 🥺
feedback is always so so appreciated!! you guys are literally such a freaking supportive bunch and have kept this series alive for so long and i love you to death :( here's to the first one this year!! as always, please consider leaving a like, reblog (with or without feedback!), comments and spammm my inbox with everything that's on your mind hehe <3 any kind of msg makes my day!
and nowww!!!!! moving on to cmi: palette and VACAYYYY!!! mwah mwah 🤍
#jungkook smut#jungkook fluff#bts smut#bts fluff#jeongguk smut#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#bts x you#bts imagines#jungkook fic#bts angst#jungkook angst#jungkook
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Hi can I request a lando x f!reader when she’s really sick and how lando takes care of her, like A. fluffy and comforting fic. I just found ur acc and I’m so excited for ur upcoming writings!!!!
~🎀
Thank you sm! Hope you enjoy this one, 🎀<3
Sick days and Race weekends— LN4
Lando discovers that his girlfriend got sick while he was away for a race and didn't want to worry him.
— Lando Norris x f!reader, fluff, comfort, reader has a bad case of the flu, no use of y/n
word count: ca. 1.2k
Ever since you were a kid you'd never been the type of person to get actually sick. Sure, a little cough and runny nose maybe, but nothing ever really drastic. Personally, you were pretty sure your immune system was simply a wonderful combination of good genes and growing up in the countryside.
Your parents had always told you that the fresh air and spending a lot of time outdoors with some exposure to animals had probably played some part in your never being sick as well and developed your immune system in a way people who grew up in urban areas would never have.
But when you moved to London for uni a little later in life, a huge city with tons of traffic, pollution and surprisingly little greenery, you found yourself getting sick more often than when you lived on your parent's farm surrounded by green grass, fields that stretched for miles and lots of animals. However this time you got sick. Runny nose, aching joints, pounding headache, hacking cough, fever that came and went as it pleased... The whole flu package, really.
You'd already started feeling a little off before Lando left for Austin on Wednesday and it had gradually gotten a little worse each day, but by Friday it all just hit like a wrecking ball. But you being you, decided not to say anything much about it and tell your boyfriend it was just a common cold you were dealing with back home.
He'd done so well in Qualifying on Friday and he should really be concentrating on his upcoming race and not his girlfriend's inane complaints from halfway across the globe. You didn't like worrying people. It didn't feel right plaguing someone else with your problems when surely you could somehow find a way to work it out yourself anyway.
But now it was Monday morning and you had curled up on the couch under the heaviest blanket you could find with a half empty tissue box and a giant mug of tea on the coffee table beside you a few hours ago already. You were cold and shivering like leaves in the wind on an icey autumn day like today, even with your hot drink and the warm blanket thrown across your body.
You couldn't have been more miserable. You felt like you were dying. You couldn't go to work, or leave the house because you simply felt awful and weak. So, you decided to just lay down on the couch and wait for Lando to get home.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting for the familiar sound of a key turning in the lock, you perked up a little at the sound coming from the door across the room. Lando stepped inside and shut the door behind him with a soft sigh slipping past his lips, not noticing you.
"Hey... P2!" you croaked weakly and forced a small smile onto your lips when you saw your boyfriend step into your shared flat, suitcase in hand, his coat and shoes still on as well after he just made his way through Heathrow airport and probably (definitely) went through a mini heart attack too when his luggage didn't immediately come out with everything else from the flight, like he always does when you're flying somewhere.
He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he'd actually heard you call out to him. It was the last thing he expected to hear. Reasonable response, you had to concur— after all, you were supposed to be at work. Then he turned to face the couch and saw you laying there, basically drowning under the heavy fabric of your blanket.
"Hey, hey... What's wrong? Why aren't you at work?" he asked in a voice that showed obvious signs of worry as he quickly kicked his shoes off and went over to you, feeling your forehead with his cold palm. "Jesus. You're basically on fire, baby... I thought you just had a normal cough?!"
"Didn't wanna worry you," you chuckled with an innocent smile, but before you knew it, your chuckle turned into yet another harsh cough. According to your mum, you sounded like an elephant with tuberculosis, like she told you over the phone yesterday. Harsh but true comparison, you had to admit.
Lando groaned and shook his head in an exaggerated way. "Yeah but, you should worry me when you get a fever like this!" However his expression softened to one of sympathy as he sat down beside you on the edge of the beige couch, gently stroking your forehead in an attempt to make you feel more at ease.
"Why didn't you tell me you felt this bad when we talked yesterday?" he frowned, some of his soft curls falling onto his forehead.
"You just got P2 and you sounded so happy about that on the phone, so I didn't wanna dampen the mood," you respond with a shrug.
"The only thing you've got me feeling right now is worried, baby. Come on, you can hardly talk without having a coughing fit," he sighed, putting his arm around you and planting a kiss on the crown of your head. "Have you had anything to eat?"
"Not yet," you sniffled softly and shook your head, rubbing the bridge of your nose with your index finger and thumb. It felt like there was someone playing a damn drum solo against the inside of your skull. "Didn't have the energy to make myself anything more than tea. I feel like death..."
"I know, baby, I know..." Lando sighed softly and gently stroked your cheek with his thumb as he stood up and placed his hands on his hips, looking down at you. "I'll make you some toast, okay? But first let's get you to bed... The couch isn't comfortable enough for when my girl needs to rest. It'll give you a stiff neck, sweetheart."
Lando gently looped his arm around your waist and helped you get up from the couch, a soft groan escaping your throat. He held you upright as you slowly walked over to the bedroom where your boyfriend lied you down in bed and pulled the covers over your shivering body, enveloping you in a warm sea of soft bedsheets.
"Alright..." he said with a sympathetic gaze in his hazel eyes and fluffed up your pillow a little, so you could lay down more comfortably. "I'll make you something and I'll bring you your tea in a minute too. Oh and some of that cough syrup we have as well. I know you don't like it, but I don't like it when you sound like you're gonna cough up your lungs any second. Do you want me to make you some soup later too?"
"You can make soup?" you retorted raspily and covered your mouth as another cough slipped past your chapped lips.
"Well... no... But I can make soup from the can?" Lando suggested with a sheepish grin, which caused you to smile a bit as well. It was so nice to have someone who just wanted to help and make you feel better.
"That'd be nice, thank you..." you replied softly and smiled, though you quickly covered your mouth as he leaned down to kiss you. "No! I'll get you sick too!"
"Well, I sure as hell won't let you sleep alone tonight, so whether I kiss you now or have my arm around you for seven hours tonight doesn't really make a big difference, does it?" he chuckled and gently took your hand away from your face to press a chaste kiss against your pale lips.
"Stay with me afterwards?" you hummed softly, not yet pulling away from the tender sensation of his lips on yours and your hand in his.
"I'll stay as long as you want me to," said Lando in response and gently gave your hip a pat. "But first I'll get you something to eat and your tea from the living room, yeah?"
#f1#f1 x reader#mclaren#lando norris#lando x reader#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#comfort#sick#fluff#qatarsprint2023#reader grew up on a farm#us gp 2023
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😴😴😴 (to find later)
AITA for putting sleeping pills in my boyfriend's drinks without him knowing?
I know this sounds absolutely awful, but please bear with me.
Basically, me (27 m) and my boyfriend (26 m) have been living together for around five years, meaning we usually also sleep together. Or at least we try, since my BF suffers from terrible insomnia and reoccurring nightmares so bad sometimes he wakes up into a full on anxiety attack. He does go to therapy and has prescribed sleeping pills, but he hates taking them because he's always afraid that when he does fall asleep he's just going to have nightmares, (which also just makes him avoid sleeping in general even not including his insomnia).
Usually I try to help him by staying up with him, watching his favorite show while cozied up on the couch under a bunch of blankets and with a hot coco, or we do something else that he likes and helps him relax. I really don't mind, I love him and I love spending time with him. However, it used to be that he would fall asleep at around 3-4 AM, but as time went on he started staying up longer and longer, until at a certain point I literally had to start leaving for work in the morning while he still hadn't gotten any sleep.
This was an issue for two reasons:
1. Obviously, without me there he felt even less comfortable and had an even harder time falling asleep, sometimes staying up for even 48 hours (or maybe more, I'm not sure) just to wait for me to come back home so I could help him unwind again.
2. He actually started lying to me about sleeping while I wasn't home, so that I would go to sleep normally and let him stay awake because "he wasn't tired" even though I could clearly tell he was.
That's when I started getting seriously concerned and questioning him about how much he actually sleeps, especially since I could see it was affecting him more and more both mentally and physically. He was avoidant about the topic but I pleaded with him to talk to his therapist about it, to try and find anything else to help him. Apparently his therapist just told him to keep using his sleeping pills to help with the insomnia, and if they're not working she'll look into prescribing him stronger ones. Yet despite that he still insists on not taking them and just going to bed normally even though it's clearly not working.
To clarify: as far as I'm aware, he has no negative side-effects from these sleeping pills, he's never complained about feeling any pain or feeling worse after taking them or anything like that. Literally he only doesn't want to take them because he's just that afraid of going to sleep.
That's why whenever we stay up nowadays, I always add a small dose to his cup of coco, which thankfully has a strong enough taste to cover the pills (I've tried a small bit myself and couldn't tell a difference). Since I started doing that, he's been regularly falling asleep before 2AM and even though the nightmares still sometimes wake him up or make him feel a bit tired in the morning, overall he's been doing much better.
Still, I do feel bad about putting stuff in his drinks without his knowledge even if it's for his own good. I really wonder if I should stop, but I'm really scared that if I do, he'll start spiralling again. I want to help him and be there for him but I've already tried talking about it and it never worked. So, AITA?
What are these acronyms?
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Paige bueckers × reader who loves books.
BOOKWORM | P.B X READER
authors note : i’ve been procrastinating on this big time srry if it’s not the best.
requested by : @paqerings
summery : Paige, someone who isn’t a fan of books finds herself tolerating all because of the person she’s fallen in love with.
word count : 808.
warnings : fluff that’s it
You and Paige had met at Uconn’s library on a rainy day. You being there to check out books for fun and Paige being there to find text books because she had no other choice.
A stack of books in your hand, you walked through the isles of bookshelves — looking for anything else that caught your eye. Unaware that the odd amount of books in your hand had caught Paige’s.
“Are you really going to read all those books?” The blonde questioned, disregarding the fact you were a complete stranger. Focused on finding out why there were so many books in your hand.
“Every last one” You replied, knowing that you wouldn’t be returning to the library until the pile of books in your hand were all completed.
“That’s impossible. no human is reading that many books.” Paige shrugged, finding it unbelievable that a person would optionally spend their time buried in a book.
The blonde just couldn’t understand it. What was it about books that grabbed everyones attention but hers?
Paige hated the idea of reading a book so much, she found herself on the brink of tears when having to study.
Even daring to pay classmates or bribe friends to complete reading assignments because she’d rather be out or playing basketball for fun.
“It’s definitely possible” You muttered, confusion building as you wondered why this familiar blonde was following you around all of a sudden.
It wasn’t like you didn’t know who she was. Everyone on campus knew of Paige Bueckers and admired her athletic talents.
However, you couldn’t get over the way she just talked your ear off and walked alongside you.
Disregarding any thought of you being a stranger and talking as if you two were the closest of friends. “Have you ever read a book?”
You asked, stopping in front of the mystery section — eyes drifting from book spine to book spine for something eye catching.
“No- well yes - duh. Just not a chapter book of any sort. It’s never been my thing so i’ve never tried to”
The blonde admitted, standing beside you — watching as you became fixated on the book titles.
“Well, find the right book and when you do, get back to me” You encouraged, sending the girl a short lived smile.
Picking up a final book as you headed to the front desk in order to check out.
Leaving the blonde with curiosity and confusion as she watched you walk away. Realizing she hadn’t even gotten a chance to introduce herself — let alone ask your name.
However, the blonde decided to take your advice and find a book that suited her — determined to impress you in the future.
present day —
“Can you hurry up! I wanna know what happens to Lucy Gray!”
Paige shouted, growing impatience as she sat on the couch — holding a copy of her The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes in her hands.
Finding herself obsessed with the Hunger Games book series — the blonde had managed to ‘read’ all three books from the series. And having you read the forth to complete it.
In all honesty, Paige still hadn’t read a full book on her own. Often times listening to the audio version of it or having you read a chapter to her daily.
The confusion for your love of books remained the same, however she’d grown to admire how fixated you were on them.
Growing use to how you always carried a book on you, reading whenever you could wherever you could.
Often times venturing to Barnes and Noble’s when you go book shopping. Her interest drifting to the lego sets while you walk the endless shelves of books.
“Give me a second! I’m finding a blanket”
You yelled back, picking up the throw blanket off of your girlfriends bed. Placing your reading glasses on your face as you walked down the hallway and to the living room.
“Finally! took you long enough” She muttered with a smile.
Throwing the blanket on Paige, you smiled laid beside her. The blondes head instantly becoming situated and comfortable on your shoulder.
“Oh whatever, hand me the book”
You joked, taking the story book out of her hand. Unaware of how a complete stranger who hated books turned into your girlfriend who tolerated certain ones.
You found solace in books, and being able to read them to your girlfriend — cuddled up on the couch brought you even more peace.
You nor Paige would trade this experience for anything else in the world. Often times expressing how you were both grateful for that interaction at the school’s library.
“Chapter eleven. Lucy Gray’s words stung but, on reflection, were well deserved.”
You began, Paige becoming silent as she listened to your soothing voice. Eager to hear the story being told.
#paige bueckers x reader#wlw#uconn wbb#paige bueckers#wlw x reader#paigebueckersheadcanons#paige x reader#paigebueckersfluff
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