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chaikachi · 1 year

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Treasure is a Rosegarden Song

HEAR ME OUT OKAY. I've known for a while it could be sort of linked back to them, but it felt easier to brush it off as a general whole team reunion song... Until today's new episode.

⚠ SPOILERS AHEAD, YE HAVE BEEN WARNED ⚠

We got a very big win today with the Bees, they even got a whole new song that Casey has confirmed is bmblb part 2 (check her twitter, i'm not linking it lol). Which... really makes you wonder if they'd have that many Bees songs back to back, right? An argument can surely be made for it being a song about Yang and Ruby as that's the first reunion in Ultimatum that we see, but the lyrics don't really imply a sisterly bond. It could be Renora as the other couple that had a hint of a reunion that scene... but they didn't have a proper one. We got it and their confession in the following episode.

Which leaves the only other focused relationship dynamic in that moment: Ruby and Oscar

And why would it be an RG song? Well, they're the only 'pair' that got separated in v8 that didn't end the volume together. The teams were split down the middle with very clear foils:

Yang to Blake Ren to Nora Weiss to Jaune Ruby to Oscar (Also Ruby to Yang but this ain't about them)

But when Atlas fell, Ren and Nora were together in Vacuo. The bees made it to Ever After. Jaune and Weiss did too... but Oscar and Ruby? They're the only ones that are still apart. And this song is one about absence of another and awaiting a reunion. So lets dive into the lyrics proper, shall we?

Night and day, I've waited

For starters, the sun and moon symbolism that's been thrown around for them since their introductions. Yes, the Bees also have a celestial union going on, but again please bare with me.

All alone in crowded rooms I'm incomplete, my life is paused When you're not here

This is the longest portion of the analysis as the line "all alone in crowded rooms" is so heavy.

It gets tricky when we can't see Oscar's state rn (i will come back to him in a minute tho), but we do know Ruby's. We know that she is preoccupied with a lot of things. She's weighed down by Penny's death, by the internalized expectations she has to be just like Summer, this perfect hero from a fairytale, and is alone in her burdens as a leader. Romance is likely the last thing on her mind. But she is feeling loneliness, isolation, and left behind. We can see that in all past volume examples quite literally (like the above photo, the dance, Brunswick farms, her team not wanting to explore Atlas after their first mission, etc.), but it's really being driven home in recent episodes between the Blacksmith (Carpenter?) and Ruby's reaction to the Bees.

"You're doing this all alone?"

Also just... the way they're all positioned in this scene is so intentional. Yang and Blake are together and they are warm by the fire. Weiss is drinking some piping tea and smiling at them. And Ruby is sitting alone at a table with an empty chair, draped in a teal/green cloth, furthest from the fire. Remember the song "Cold" and how it's used as a metaphor for loss, loneliness, and grief throughout the show? Yeahhhh.

Recognizing Ruby is alone in crowded rooms begs the question of who in the cast makes her not feel that way. Well, anyone that's spent any amount of time looking at RG knows their entire dynamic is built on relating to and respecting each other for their similar positions. That out of everyone, Oscar has been the one to see through Ruby's mask and got her to actually open up about her grief. On the opposite side, Ruby helps Oscar in much the same ways he does her. By constantly watching his back, standing up for him, and reassuring him that despite the merge he is his own person... but he is also someone familiar with this feeling.

By virtue of being an Oz, he's already alienated. He joined the party late and doesn't know everyone as well as the others. He's also the youngest of the bunch and that's a lot of pressure that Ruby is familiar with.

So out of every pairing in the cast, these two are the ones that feel the most alone in crowded rooms and, by extension, less alone when they are together.

Though I walk this world I am nowhere to be found Every thought's of you And for now, you're not around

The singer here is saying that they don't feel present or grounded because of the absence of someone else. Their thoughts are with the person they are missing... but the wording about 'walking this world' is so specific when RG is the only pair split between worlds.

If this is from Oscar's POV, then he isn't found on Remnant. He's found in Ever After because that's where Ruby, and therefore his thoughts, are. The reverse POV also works, but in Ruby being very prioritized with the state they left Remnant in and her team consistently trying to pull her back to what's happening right in front of them.

But that's alright I'll be just fine I'm not concerned With sands of time

Sands of time is another very specific wording choice. Hourglass being associated with time is a give-in... but knowing what we know now it could be a lot of things. The Ever After is messy with time; we're seeing that firsthand with Jaune. But with Ruby and Oscar being the only ones still separated, there is an anticipation and a 'waiting' happening.

Beyond sands of time, Oscar - who has clock gears as a constant motif for his character design - is surrounded by sand as far as the eye can see in the deserts of Vacuo.

If forever comes and goes, I won't pay it no mind

Oscar is Oscar, do not misconstrue me here. But who, out of everyone in the cast aside from Salem, is most familiar with the concept of 'forever'? The one currently merging with a man who's lived a thousand lifetimes.

Hour after hour, I spend Dreaming that your voice will wake My slumbering ear Numb and lost I wander with No place to go, just aimless 'til You reappear

This is much like the earlier verse talking about loss and being directionless without their light to guide them. This song has some parallels to a few others, but for now I want to talk about Sky is Falling, which we know is an Oscar song:

Our world, lost without a soul Losing all control, not getting closer Every day is just another dose of torture (Torture) Now we pay the cost, the race is lost This nightmare's our real life

This can easily be linked back to wanting to wake from a bad dream and feeling lost without a (smaller more honest) soul being present. Later in that same song:

Lost all my hopes and dreams

Being numb and lost without hope. Ruby being the embodiment of hope.

Watch my life flash by in scenes And it seems there's no soul on the video screen

I am aggressively reminded of Arkos and Jaune watching Pyrrha's training video on a loop. Would bet actual money Oscar is doing the same of Ruby's broadcast back in Vacuo... because he was the only big name in the cast that wasn't shown watching that video when it went live.

Cold soaked as I'm standin' in rain Feelin' nothin' but pain until I see you again

Once again tying into feeling lost without the other.

Back to Treasure:

'Til you come in view I keep watch with these sore eyes Looking through the tears As the days creep slowly by

Emphasis on seeing each other again which can also be linked to the above stanza from Sky is Falling as well as Until the End with rain and tears being almost synonymous. (Until the End and Treasure have SO many parallels that I can't talk about all of them here without it becoming a whole separate post. Maybe later tho!)

Nothing's gonna shake my faith I know you're coming back real soon to my embrace

The emphasis on embrace when RG was the only pair that didn't get a hug.

Though time goes by so slow I'm never letting go I won't give up, if I spend my life I know

The time motif again followed by "I won't give up" paralleled to Ruby's line in her broadcast where she says "Even if Atlas falls, you can't give up."

"Atlas" also meaning Ruby. "You" being Oscar and the rest of the people still fighting. Oscar, who took up her mantle of leadership in a way through his costume change and actions in v6 after Ruby stepped into Oz's role.

And then lastly, the song's namesake:

'Cause the treasure of my life Is being by your side

Treasure, by definition, has two different meanings.

noun 1. a quantity of precious metals, gems, or other valuable objects. verb 1. keep carefully (a valuable or valued item).

The song at face value is talking about treasure as the verb. The act of treasuring or cherishing something precious. But much like some other double meanings in this song, a very strong argument can be made for the noun definition as well.

Ruby, who's first name literally means 'precious red gemstone'. Ruby, who's eyes are Silver and how that has tied into Rosegarden since their very first meeting. Oscar, who's eyes glow Gold with his own magic. Who's first name can also be easily associated with the colour by way of the award show statues of the same name.

If those are symbolisms associated with Oscar and Ruby, while Yang and Blake get a song called bmblb for being the same colour as bees and having a confession in a garden... then I think there is no other duo that the song Treasure can be about.

#rwby #ruby rose #oscar pine #rosegarden #rosepine #meta #analysis #rwby analysis #treasure #song analysis #parallels #i'm sorry if this is messy #it's late and brain is moving very fast #rwby v9 #rwby spoilers #rwby v9 spoilers

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joelsgreys · 2 months

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flutter

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner.

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair.

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?”

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten.

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home.

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains.

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

#tw pregnancy #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x pregnant reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #fic: snapshots

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amisunderstoodgoddess · 8 months

Text

The Hunt

(final part here)

Rating: Explicit +18

Summary: When the creature you fear so much manages to escape containment, will he show you any mercy or take you without any regret?

Author's note: I intend to make this story with just two chapters. This is the first, the second will soon be available. Hope you like it!

English is not my first language.

'ALERT: Specimen 375-6 is out of containment.

It's not training. All search and capture units were activated.

ALERT: Specimen 375-6 out of containment.'

You swallow hard as you read the warning message on your phone, the words falling over your body like a truck of bricks.

He had escaped.

The creature you knew and didn't know.

It was yet another top-secret government item, another non-human biological material captured and kept for research.

He stands out from the others, of course.

With his height, intimidating physique, and obvious intelligence, but you never actually approached his cell, only catching brief glimpses from afar as you did your job collecting and saving data from the scientists' research in the system.

But you always felt something strange in the rare moments you needed to approach the cell block he was in.

He kept to the back, using the shadows to stay hidden. And yet there was one thing that caught your attention, regardless of how dark the place was.

His eyes.

Two orange spheres, standing out like beacons in the night.

He remained basically the same every time you entered that part of the building. Sitting on the floor with his legs half bent and his wrists firmly restrained by chains resting on his knees, you couldn't make out the color of his scaly skin or his features in general, but the color of those eyes shone like neon lights in the darkness of the cell.

He looked at you, every time.

It was disturbingly intense. There were no blinking eyelids or shifting gazes, he stared at you with unwavering focus from the moment you entered the lab until the moment you left. His eyes…they shone with intelligence and superiority. Like he's just there because he wants to be there, not because he was captured. He owned everything he laid eyes on. The rational part of your brain screamed, 'Look away! Run away!' but those eyes seemed to want to capture your soul with each encounter.

All your co-workers had noticed the strange fixation that the creature seemed to have on you, but you always denied it, diverting the subject while saying it was just their imagination.

Deep down you knew it wasn't.

You saw the way his unsettling gaze settled on your form, felt the shiver run down your spine at his gaze and yet - even now, you could still feel that warm buzz inside at the memory of his burning gaze locked on you.

You could admit that it wasn't healthy to feel any level of curiosity towards a murderous monster who was obsessed with you. It was scary.

Your only consolation was that he was tightly contained with the best technologies the government could dispose of.

But he always seemed very calm to you, as if he were above all that. In a confident and almost arrogant way, in the way that only people who have a coldly calculated plan are.

Now he was free.

And you had a horrible feeling that you knew exactly who he was going after.

You quickly walk down the street towards your house. Your heart beats fast, the gentle breeze brushes your warm skin and your loose hair. The canopy of trees above and the few lights along the main path cast their shadow in the opposite direction as you walk faster and faster.

At the end of the street, your eyes notice movement, something large and slow, moving behind a row of parked cars. It's not completely unusual for pedestrians to be out so late - after all, you're here, right? - but your stomach drops a little, very consciously. Something instinctive warning you that it is smart to be afraid.

By the time your trajectory takes you past the line of dark vehicles, the street is once again empty and you allow the hairs on the back of your neck to rise with relief. It was probably just some insomniac suburbanite, taking out the trash or smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk.

Rows of closed windows stare at you blankly as you pass by, colonial houses with sagging porches and overgrown backyards, the residents of the peaceful neighborhood sleeping soundly within the comfort of their homes.

A noise breaks the silence: a loud, prolonged rumble, followed by an inhuman whine, an undeniably animal sound.

There's a single lamp behind you that puts an enormous silhouette into sharp relief, but you can still easily see his solid, dangerous structure.

Your knees threaten to give way, your throat burns as you try to take a deep breath, fear leaves you numb and clumsy in exactly the least desired way at the moment. You don't think, not really, you just act. Getting to the house across the street is like running a marathon, and raising your fists to knock on the door, swing the doorknob, requires a huge effort against the adrenaline that makes your hands shake uncontrollably. "Please help me!", your voice is hoarse, your throat is tight, it's not loud enough, no matter how much you want to scream - it's like you're trapped in a nightmare where no one can hear your screams for help. "Let me in, please, I-"

The door swings open under the weight of your fists, and you almost fall to your knees at the abrupt movement. You don't have time to think, to weigh whether this would be the smartest choice compared to the others, you don't know if he's clinging to your back or if there's still a safe distance between the two of you -

You just enter.

---

The realization of the terrible mistake you made dawns on you in the space of a few minutes of panting breaths.

The living room is empty, strangely enough, not that you really have time to think about it. A staircase appears in your field of vision, and your panicked animal brain sends you toward it, taking two steps at a time, crossing a long landing and climbing to a second floor, holding on to the railing like a wooden board salvation. "Someone please!" You manage to scream, "Please, someone! I'm being followed, call the police!"

The police couldn't help you, and if you were thinking clearly you would know that. No one, not even the army, could help you against this thing.

Yet there is no voice responding, no shuffling human movement, no clicking light. And then you see the paint cans, the tarp, the door off its hinges and against the opposite wall.

This house is under construction.

Nobody. No lights. Without help.

Spinning on your heel, you stagger back toward the stairs. But there is no more time. The door you left ajar in your moment of despair lets in a pale beam of moonlight through the unfinished wooden floor of the foyer, and you watch in mute horror as a shape fills it - huge, so tall that he has to lower his head past the doorframe, a brick wall of an alien assassin wearing a metallic mask. The soulless black holes of the visor, poor excuses for eyes, stare back at you.

Alone, in an empty and unfamiliar house. Your heart pounds in your chest, bile rising in your throat - you're trapped.

You know it. And he knows it too.

The creature walks with slow and determined steps towards the end of the stairs. You briefly, wildly consider waiting until he reaches the landing and then throwing yourself off the balcony. You can survive.

The thought makes you feel like a panicked rat, chewing on its own leg to get out of the trap.

Of course there's also the possibility that you'll break every bone in your body and die from sheer stupidity - which may be preferable to death by those sharp claws on his massive hands, but at least the latter you'll be able to escape. If you can keep your wits and your legs under you, you might be able to outwit the Predator. Evade the trap.

You almost want to laugh at your own delusions of salvation.

Your unsteady feet drag back without your eyes leaving him, but with every slow step you take back he takes one towards the stairs. The silver rays of the moon bathing his reptilian-looking skin, highlighting his entire body dyed in a singular tone of obsidian, with some lighter variations on the abdomen and in some internal points. Thick, long tendrils of 'hair' flow around the mask and over his broad shoulders, adorned with gold and silver metal beads. One of his hands - oh, huge and with long, sharp black claws - seems to want to reach out towards you, but the creature holds back for some reason, preferring to continue with the strange war of glances.

It seems that in his escape from the laboratory he recovered some of his things: in addition to the mask, he wore the wrist gauntlets, the net that covered his body, the strange piece of cloth wrapped around his hips decorated with bones and skulls, and the metallic protectors on the shins. The metallic chestplate and combi-stick weren't visible, you can't tell if he managed to recover it or not.

Regardless, he was infinitely more frightening now that you can see him outside of containment; big and broad, a solid wall of defined muscles. But it was his posture that unnerved you. The roll of his shoulders, the tension in his arms. The almost imperceptible flex of his calf muscles, as if he was preparing to jump - just waiting for a movement from you to attack.

He reaches out, this time to his own face, grabbing the metal there. Air pressure is released when the metal mask is removed.

You hold your breath.

His face was lighter than the rest of his body, a slightly grayish tone with some black streaks mixing with the dreadlock-like hair on his head, a few black barbs framing the sides of his face and along his elongated forehead. There were, of course, those flaming eyes you already knew. Instead of lips, he had four folded jaws with long teeth at the tip of each of them. Inside those jaws, you could see more of his teeth, smaller but more numerous and frighteningly sharp.

He moved his jaws as he climbed the stairs with purposeful slowness, his massive size making the stairs creak, strange clicks and rumbles emerging from his mouth.

You gasped in response to his face, shaky and scared, your backward steps continuing until your back hit the wall.

End of the line.

If you ran you would have to turn your back on him, and you couldn't do that. Never turn your back on a predator, everyone knew this rule.

It was as if you were in a horror movie or a nightmare, where you could only watch without any reaction as the monster approached. The predatory way he approached awakened the primitive instinct to flee, but your legs were shaking too much for that.

You pushed yourself further against the wall, even though there was no longer any space. It looked like he wouldn't stop walking, that he would simply knock you into the wall, but at the last second he pinned you against him and ice-cold wood at your back.

The air was knocked from you, hands flat against his chest instinctively as a way to get some distance. Even under the net, his skin was clearly much warmer and firmer than your own, smooth in some places and textured in others, the latter matching the gray patterns that spread across his extremities. He smelled mostly of moss and damp, like a forest after rain. But there was also a muffled current of pheromones, a slightly peppery scent that hit you like a tsunami.

In fact now that you felt it, it felt heavier and heavier by the second, as if he was exhaling on purpose. With each inhale, that smell seemed to make you a little more relaxed, a little more dizzy.

It took a few seconds for you to realize that he was even closer, hovering above you, his breath hot and wet, stirring your strands of hair. A gasp left your throat as his sharp jaws dove down, digging his nose or whatever it was into your hair to press into your neck - though you didn't know if that sound had been out of terror or something else. All you knew was that when he backed away, another low, animalistic growl resonated from deep in his chest, long and continuous and it took you a few awkward seconds to realize he was...purring? Purring like a cat? It was bizarre, but your own body began to uncoil, as if some force tied behind you sternum had pulled your back with him.

Your breathing is now labored for what seems like an entirely different reason. You can increasingly smell that intoxicating scent in the air and that, plus the mesmerizing purr, is making your eyes roll back slightly, a blurry haze taking over your thoughts. You can feel his sharp claws as they dig into your shirt and you, in turn, can't control the shudder in your body in response.

His scent is doing something to you, something that definitely shouldn't be happening. There's an overwhelming pressure blooming in your core, the beginnings of a dull ache that makes you clench your thighs to ease the tension. The saliva in your mouth comes down with difficulty as you swallow and lick your lips, stretching your neck to look into his eyes - god, you could barely reach the line below his chest with your head. What's happening with you? He is not human, he is not human. This is wrong.

"..." His jaws click and move, strange sounds fill the room with deep growls and hisses; he was talking, but you couldn't understand him. His eyes roam your face as he speaks his strange language, and his thumb gently wipes away a tear you hadn't even noticed falling from your eye.

You open your mouth to question, to scream for help, to beg for mercy, for anything...but nothing comes out.

His breath is hot as he bends his body until he's almost face to face with you, all predatory expression and clicking jaws, almost drooling on your skin. And then, as he forcing the words out of his depths, he says, “Mate.” He declares to you, slowly and gravely in a way that no human sound could ever be, but a little more understandable now.

You look at him in shock, not expecting a deep, English word to come out of his alien mouth. His inhuman eyes are bright enough that you clearly see the orange flames in the dim light of the night, slashed down the center with black, almost feline pupils that threaten to drag you inside.

Mate.

What the hell?

You blink slowly, the low rumble persisting as he purrs under your attention and you can tell he's trying very hard to appear less threatening to you. You bite your lip against a hysterical and completely untimely laugh that wants to escape, the tension of fear finally channeling into something different (something manic and traumatized) when he presses his broad forehead to yours in a frighteningly intimate gesture, tilting his head even further to rub your cheeks with those sharp jaws, snorting into your hair and sniffing at your neck.

The drag of the deadly fangs against your skin is exhilarating, in the worst way and you fear what is to come, a very animal and very instinctive part rooted in the most unconscious corner of your being, knows exactly what this creature is wanting from you. And the worst part, the most disturbing and embarrassing part of this realization, is that you don't know if you want to resist. Not with the way his scent and purrs are making your legs shaky and your mind fuzzy.

You're shaking, but it's not just from fear and perhaps the creature knows this, because he pulls back a little until he looks into your eyes - something very carnal and very primal vibrating almost visibly beneath that reptilian skin.

He slowly looks away from yours to fiddle with something on his wrist, and you feel like you can breathe once again without the oppressive weight of the orange orbs on you. He clicks the object on his arm for a few moments and then pulls a small metal disk out of it. It's no bigger than a small cell phone chip, and he balanced it on his fingertips.

Curious, you lean in a little. You just want to take a look at what he's doing; but before you even know what's happening, the giant puts his hand around your throat and pulls you towards him. You scream at the hostile action and try to fight him, but of course it's no use. With his strong hand, he can easily subdue you and move your head to the side, pressing the metal thing against the skin just behind your ear in a quick, burning blow.

You don't have time to react, much less to understand how he did that at that speed.

You just feel the effect.

It burns, like you're being branded, and you scream. Your whole head hurts, and for a second you wonder if he hit you against the wall in the process. It's a wrong and distorted feeling, like someone is tuning a radio inside your head, you hear screams and white noise echoing inside; so loud that you have to cover your ears with your hands, but that does little to decrease to the cacophony inside your mind.

When the alien releases you, you kneel on the ground, still writhing in discomfort and pain from the chaos in your head – and then, suddenly, everything stops. You're panting, your fingers covering your ears and your head between your knees, but when the noise quiets, you slowly look up. And although you are dizzy and a little disoriented, the presence of the creature hovering ominously above you is clear.

“W-what was that?” you mumble between quick breaths. "What the hell did you do to me!?"

The alien blinks slowly and tilts his head, jaws clicking before he responds. "Now we can talk."

Your eyes widen at the strange sound (but fluid and articulate, very different from just a few minutes ago), your stomach tightens and you pull your knees closer to your chest. “W-what?”

“It’s a translator,” he says. His voice is still very dark and booming, but his growls and clicks have somehow turned into words you can understand. “This allows your little ooman brain to understand my language.”

You swallow hard and feel the blood drain from your body. He was scary when you couldn't understand him, but he was even scarier when he could talk.

“Get up, little ooman,” he murmurs. “We should get to my ship. I don’t want to spend any more time on this miserable planet.”

You can't believe what you're hearing, everything is happening so fast. With shaky legs, you gape at him. “I…I don’t understand.”

The moment is interrupted by something when the alien turns his head towards the window of the house, the various dreads tubes rattling with the movement and his jaws opening in a low trill while a long, forked tongue at the tip comes out of his deadly-looking mouth. You gasp at the sight, but he doesn't look at you, using his own body in front of yours, as if he was instinctively hiding and protecting you from something you cannot see, feel or hear. The burgundy appendage is long and glistens with the moisture of his alien saliva, along its length there are some quivers and small barbs. He slowly waves the thing in the air, almost as if he's proving something. And then you understand.

He's smelling it.

Maybe he's even more snake-like than you thought, after all, catching scent particles in the air with his tongue.

The air is positively thick with eager anticipation, he's alert and ready and you feel it.

You don't have time to think about it too much, though. Because soon he is looking at you again, although there is no longer any sign of malice and hunger in his posture now. The way he lifts his colossal body until he's completely erect, swelling the already prominent muscles to appear more menacing, only speaks of a creature with a purpose.

"Oomans here. They must have some kind of tracker." He growls once more and clicks that gauntlet again, making you jerk back with a new wave of fear.

"Y-yes, all the containment units are after you now. It's only a matter of time before they find you and try to arrest you again. Y-you should go." You respond quietly and slowly, trying to make him understand every word.

"My ship is nearby." He grumbles sullenly. You try to control the wave of curiosity that the word 'ship' evokes in you. Seriously, how many humans have had the opportunity to see one up close? But of course you don't say anything, if you got out of this situation with your life it would be good enough. You would forget about this bizarre encounter and go on with your peaceful and boring life as if you had received the greatest gift of all.

But then he continues.

“You…” He covers your body with his once again, cornering you against the wall. Your eyes widen as he wraps a thick arm around your waist, pulling you into him. "You belong to me now, ooman. You'll come along."

You feel like you didn't get it right. “T-to space?”

He doesn't seem to want to entertain this conversation anymore and just grunts again.

It's like all the red flags go up in your mind at once.

"N-no! No, I can't, that's...I can't!"

But he doesn't listen to you, and you can't predict the sharp sting on your neck. It doesn't hurt like it used to, but he cradles your head with huge fingers almost tenderly as a sickening sensation wracks your body and makes you stagger. You feel weak, your body giving out as you babble out things that even you don't understand. Everything is getting dark and your little fingers are scratching his arms looking for support, your breathing is coming with difficulty and your eyes are unfocused.

"It's okay, mate, just give in...I'll take care of you..." He purrs, but you can barely hear him, your senses are fuzzy and lethargic and you know you're going to pass out.

The last thing you see before the darkness swallows you and the unknown can wrap its tentacles around you, are orange flames above you. Hot, consuming and scary.

And then there is nothing but emptiness.

5K notes · View notes

taegularities · 9 months

Text

colour me in: seven | jjk (m)

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

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

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wrecking you right where everything began.

Monday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile again. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“And it comes from the heart, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even now, you’re drowning in it.

Well, until you’re not.

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

Only, he seems to interpret it differently.

“Aren’t you eating anymore?”

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

Because…

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

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

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

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

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

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

You mutter, “I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

“Fridge?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but still.”

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

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

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

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

“…What did?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re mad,” you conclude.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…What?

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

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

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

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

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

…Huh.

You wait.

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

“You’re not being serious.”

“Maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you can drop it as you please?”

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

You groan.

“And if I want to—”

“It’ll just escalat—”

“Dude, I—”

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

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

“Let’s sleep over it, okay?”

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

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

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

Tuesday

You chew on your bites until the taste turns bland.

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

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

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

Perhaps he does, too.

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

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

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

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

Either hiding the discomfort between you or not feeling it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hmm…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop it.”

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blow a raspberry.

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

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

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

So untrue.

Fucking hell. He’s talking about yesterday again.

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

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

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

“I just don’t say it.”

“Oh? What else do you not say, hm?”

Taehyung dares an attempt, “Guys.”

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

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

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

But not here, not right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything.

“Nothing,” you say.

“…You wanna go?”

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

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

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

Still are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guess it’s your fault this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Press the lightest kiss against.

Immediately, you turn around. Imitate his position.

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

WEDNESDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do it. Get some rest.”

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

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

THURSDAY

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

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

So you walk faster. Then he does, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh.

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

“You should go then.”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

Wrong.

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

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

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

You look at his sculpted side profile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet, he wonders, “Are you nervous?”

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

“Well, eyes are important.”

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

You smile.

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

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

But then… there are moments when you see it.

Like now.

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

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

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

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

“Why did you stop?”

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

“Odd.”

“…Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. Well.

You feel ungrateful thinking that way, but…

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

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

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

“Yeah. Just knowing myself…”

“I’ll remind you then.”

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

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

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

He always does that. Remind you of your meds.

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

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

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

“Lemme look.”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

Your playful punch rises as if on instinct.

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure am.”

“Mhm. …My big girl?”

“Gross. Shut up.”

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

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

FRIDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because…

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

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

SATURDAY

You remember to unclench your jaw.

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

This cannot be.

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

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

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

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

No.

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

Unprofessional. Goes against the schedule.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh—”

Oh. Shit.

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

Ughhhh.

You’re terrible.

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

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

“I swear… It’s not my fault.”

It’s not an excuse; not a lie.

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

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

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

“Shit, really? What now?”

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

Only somewhat reasonable, though.

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

You blink.

Then ask, “What?”

“You called him here?”

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

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

Per—

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

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

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

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

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

As everyone is, you suppose. But.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, he murmurs, “I’m not sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would it help you?”

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

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

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

“Oh, I… Jungko—”

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

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

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

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

Oh oh. You feel bad.

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

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

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

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

That effect has not faltered; your guts still twist.

At least, for a couple minutes.

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

From afar, he’s leering at you.

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

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

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

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

You nod. “I wonder how he’ll do.”

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t usually look like that…

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

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

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

He looks different. Why does he look different?

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

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

And you, still baffled, smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lip ring.

Whose idea…

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

Juri flinches, asking, “What?”

“Is that a lip ring? You gave him a—”

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

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

“I mean. I just. It wasn’t planned.”

“Yeah, but look how amazing he looks.”

You’re seeing it, alright.

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

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

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

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

And he looks so goddamn good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You bite your lip. You know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you ask.

“Nevermind.”

“Don’t be mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Right,” is all you say.

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

And then, “Are you jealous?”

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

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

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

Okay. Jerk.

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

You know him.

He’s so annoying.

“No,” you repeat.

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

“Hmm?”

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

No.

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

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

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

Your answer is immediate and as shameless as can be.

“Yes.”

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

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

“Shut the fuck up, you just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhh. Maybe I should.”

“Maybe…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No bra.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fully in your senses.

Ugh. Fuck.

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

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

Your poor boy, enduring the wrath of it.

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

“What?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oof.

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

SUNDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. But I mean, great beverages.”

“The milkshake, too.”

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

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

“Okay. Hope that stays.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Home is too far away.

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

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

“No,” you answer.

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

The raindrops are thick, the bursting clouds aggressive.

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

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

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

You gasp when a literal newspaper flies past you.

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

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

“Not now.”

“But—”

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

Holy shit.

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck.

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

“You’ll talk to me if I do?”

“Jungkook, we’ll die here, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unbelievable.

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

“Was it, yeah? You just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. He’s mad.

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

“So you keep saying.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s it. That’s literally it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What thing?”

Ugh.

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

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

“Well? Dude, you looked…”

“What?”

“Dangerous. Like you could eat me up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why so?”

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

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

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

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

“Anything.”

“…Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He waits.

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

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

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

Your provocation proves effective just the right amount.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. Fuck.

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

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

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

That’s it, that’s it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Couch?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You promise?”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

Well…

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

And then… just to test…

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

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

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

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

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

“Not like you, though…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But for now, this is enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do your worst—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tongue out,” he orders; you do.

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

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

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

Huh.

Well. Damn.

Because…

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

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

And you do.

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

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

“Okay,” he says, “you got this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He must be perceiving it all, too.

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

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

Ramming his cock into your mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…What?”

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

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

“Do it, fucking coward.”

…And just like that, he moves back.

tumblr is cruel and the 1k block limit in the new editor won't let me post the entire thing at once lol so here's the rest in a reblog!!! <3

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #jeongguk smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #bts fic #jungkook scenario #jeon jungkook smut #thebtswritersclub #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #jungkook

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brain-rot-central · 4 months

Text

Pegging Your Vampire Boyfriend: A Beginner's Guide

A/N: This is exactly what you think it is. Kudos to @kittenintheden & Shaurbox for teasing this pegging idea with me over a month ago. It hasn't left my head since.

Rating: E, a very hard E Words: 5.3k Pairing: Spawn!Astarion/Fem!Reader Warnings: 18+, pegging, bdsm- soft!Dom Tav & sub!Astarion, bottom!Astarion, praise kink, ear play, size kink if you squint, inappropriate use of magical scrolls, oral sex - fellatio, anal fingering, anal sex, trauma mention, intimacy issues, verbalized consent, blood warning

Summary: Astarion has been on the receiving end before, but not since he's gotten with you. Wanting to try it again, he propositions you in a rather intimate way.

“Darling?”

A soft, questioning voice calls out from the living quarters of your shared home.

“I'm in the kitchen, love,” you respond. You're standing before the countertop, fileting a roast of beef into smaller portions for easier storage.

Wisps of bergamot fill your senses as the inquisitor reveals himself, arms wrapping gently around your waist. His nose dips into the crook of your neck, cool lips planting chaste kisses upon your skin.

“Oh, that smells divine,” he comments. Of course it does - it's a blood-soaked slab of beef. You laugh and lean your head into his, carefully slicing another steak from the meat. He covers the hand holding your knife and brings it carefully to his face, tongue lolling out to drag across the flat of the blade. He sighs in contentment as the blood soaks into his tongue, lavishing the flavor.

You wince as he releases the grip on your hand, gently placing the knife off to the side. I’ll need a new one, now, you comment to yourself.

“Is there something you needed, Astarion?” you ask him.

He hums low in his throat. “Hmm, yes, there was something I wanted to ask you.” He peels himself away from your back and stands straight. His hands are still on your hips and you feel his forehead fall against your back.

In a whisper, he asks, “How do you feel… about taking the reins?”

You turn your head to the side, cocking an eyebrow as you ask, “What do you mean? I was on top last time.”

Astarion laughs against your back, a puff of cool air passing over your clothed skin. “I know, love,” he begins. “I mean to suggest that… you play the part of me. And I… well, you.”

It takes your brain a few seconds to interpret his words, but once it finally comes together, you feel a blush beginning to creep up your chest.

“Oh!” you exclaim, now with full understanding. “A-are you sure? I'm not opposed to it, but I have to admit… I've never done it before.”

Astarion chuckles lightly, tightening his grip around your waist, placing soft kisses along the side of your neck. “Neither have I, my dear.”

You peel yourself out of his embrace, turning your whole body toward him. A scowl lines your face; you know of his history.

“Well, I-” he stammers. “I've been with men, yes; laid on my back a number of times for them.” Astarion casts his eyes to the floor before continuing, “I have never done… this, though. With a woman.”

Expression softening from his explanation, you turn your body again toward the counter, moving yourself over to the sink to begin washing your hands. “Are you sure you want to explore this?” you ask, concern evident. “That it won't bring back… memories?”

He leans against the opposite end of the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “There's no way to truly know unless we try,” he explains. “Though, I must admit, it's been on my mind incessantly, as of late.”

It's your turn to laugh, grabbing a hand towel to dry your hands. “Really?” you ask. “You've been thinking about me fucking you?”

Astarion scoffs, a scowl forming on his face. “Must you be so vulgar?”

You smile, moving toward him to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “I'd be your first?”

He sighs with an eye roll before saying, “Proverbially speaking, yes, you would be my first.” Astarion's hand comes up to hold your chin fast as he captures your lips in a chaste kiss. “My second first.”

You hum in satisfaction, wrapping your arms around his waist. He releases your chin and you rest your head against his chest. “So, how do we do this?” you inquire. “I wouldn't even know the first place to start.”

Leaning his cheek against the side of your forehead, he replies, “Not to worry, I've taken care of that already.”

“Astarion!” you exclaim, lifting your head from his chest.

He smiles as he meets your gaze. “I already told you I've been thinking about it!”

You lightly tap on his chest in a scolding manner before asking, “How did you know I'd even be okay with this idea?”

“I didn't,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders. “But even if you weren't, I'd still have something to play with later.”

Your face burns at his bold admission, images of him sinking said something into himself flooding your vision. You've never thought of him in that way before, but you quickly admit to yourself just how much it excites you.

“Hello?” Astarion asks innocently, waving his hand over your face. “Are you still with me? Have I given you too much to think about?”

“You're terrible,” you tease, peeling yourself from his embrace in a huff once again. Your face is as red as hot coals, head swimming. “When did you want to try this?”

Astarion cocks his head to one side in thought. “I was thinking tonight?” he answers. “Or sometime soon. Whatever works for you, love.”

Nodding your head in agreement, you say, “Alright, then. Tonight it is.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Evening has fallen and you're fresh from the bath. You walk out into your shared bedroom, bathrobe wrapped snugly around your form as you dry your hair with a towel. Astarion bathed earlier as you cleaned the kitchen, telling you he would use the opportunity to prepare for your night ahead.

“Ah, there you are!” he exclaims in joy. “I've been waiting for you.” Dipping down into the drawer of the end table next to the bed, Astarion says, “There are a couple options we can choose from, darling.”

Astarion is dressed in nothing but his ruffled white shirt with the front laces undone, and his favorite pair of baby-blue and gold underwear. The hem of the shirt covers his underwear, giving off the illusion of wearing nothing underneath.

Standing up straight, he's now holding a tube of rolled parchment in one hand and a phallic toy in the other. “We have a scroll of Mystical Phallus,” Astarion explains, “or, your more traditional approach.”

You smirk as you run the towel through your damp hair, letting your bathrobe fall to the floor. Lifting your chin toward the direction of the parchment, you ask, “What's the deal with the scroll?”

Astarion clears his throat as the robe falls off your form, eyes quickly roaming over your newly exposed skin. He turns to place the toy back in the drawer, returning to meet your gaze before saying, “The shopkeeper explained it as ‘granting the caster a temporary phallus that's as close to the real thing.’ Not quite sure to what level it goes, but I'll admit - I am curious.”

“Alright, let's go with that one, then,” you decide, walking over to take the scroll from his hand.

You're not too familiar with magic, being a soldier and all, but you've used scrolls before. Opening the paper tube, you're relieved to find that the spell is a rather simple one.

As you recite the incantation etched within the scroll, a faint blue light envelops the room for a mere moment. The light fades, the scroll disintegrating, and you can't help but notice an unfamiliar heaviness between your thighs that wasn't there before.

“Oh,” Astarion comments, shifting his weight onto one hip, accompanied by a hand. “Well, that's rather generous.”

Looking down, your eyes drink in the source of your discomfort. Glowing blue, and well endowed, lay a cock. Your cock, at least for tonight. It juts up proudly in the air from between your thighs, seeming like an extension of your clitoris. Other parts, thankfully, have remained unchanged.

“...Oh,” is all you manage, continuing to survey the mystical length. “This… this is mine?”

Astarion walks over, lowering himself onto his knees in front of you. “It would appear as such,” he states. “And my, oh my, how beautiful it is.”

You scowl, meeting his gaze. You're suddenly uncomfortable, his eyes flitting between yours and your newly summoned appendage. “I don't know what to do, Astarion,” you admit in a hushed tone.

He chuckles lightly. “Touch it, love,” he says, reassuringly. “Don’t be afraid. It's your cock.”

Nodding your head, you bring a hand up hesitantly to brush over your new addition. “Ah!” you exclaim in shock, your fingertips passing over the bulbous tip. A familiar pulling sensation in your groin begins to stir as you bend slightly inward.

Astarion, looking up at you with wide eyes, asks, “So? How does it feel?”

You can feel everything, as if this has always been part of your anatomy. Each feathered touch sends sparks of electricity up and through you, snagging behind a peculiar spot in your lower stomach.

“Real, Astarion,” you sigh in disbelief, giving yourself a few more tentative touches along the shaft. “I feel like this is my cock.”

“Do you, now?” he quips in a sultry tone. “Is it okay if I do this, then?”

Your mind barely has time to register what he might be implying before Astarion drags the flat of his tongue up the underside of your ethereal summon. Your vision blanks from the sensation, nearly toppling over had Astarion not been bracing you.

“Wh-what was that?” you yell, nearly breathless.

Concern outlining his face, Astarion asks from below you, “Too much? We can stop, if you want.”

You shake your head in disagreement. “N-no,” you respond. “No, that's not it.” Placing a hand on his head, you brush his fallen curls out of his eyes, meeting them with yours. “If this is even remotely close to how you feel when it's me doing this,” you explain, “then I appreciate the level of self-control you maintain over yourself.”

Astarion hums in satisfaction, placing a quick kiss along your shaft before rising to his feet. “It's a lot, I'll admit,” he tells you. Your length jumps in response, and he smiles. “Especially how you suck my cock.”

You're barely able to respond before Astarion’s kissing you; soft, but passionate. His hands grab hold of your hips, drawing you in closer until your centers meet. You moan into his mouth as he repeats the motion a few times, your jaw going slack under his ministrations.

His arousal is evident through the fabric of his undergarments, though not quite there just yet. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you roll your hips into his with vigor, a bolt of pleasure pulling behind your pubic bone. He groans, tangling his tongue with yours, and begins walking you back until you hit the wall behind you.

Astarion asks, “Do you want me to do that to you, darling?” breathily, breaking the kiss. A hand winds in your hair, pulling your head to the side as he licks a stripe up the side of your neck.

You shudder under his touch, grinding your length against his clothed erection again, searching for friction. “O-oooh-nly,” you groan, “i-if you want.”

Astarion pulls himself back entirely, tapping a finger lightly on your chest. “Ah-ah-ah,” he chides, “I asked you. I already know what I want.”

You close your eyes in frustration, hips involuntarily lurching forward in an attempt to catch more contact. You feel how heavy your cock is - painfully hard between your legs, desperate for release. It throbs in time with your clit, and you feel the wetness of your arousal beginning to gather at the apex of your thighs.

“Y-yes, please,” you gasp, thighs rubbing together in a hopeless quest for relief.

Satisfied, Astarion plants a kiss along your jaw, placing his hands on either side of your shoulders. “Good girl,” he purrs as he begins to kneel again. Tracing a line of kisses down your body, starting between the valley of your breasts, his hands move down to cup each within his palms.

Rolling the sensitive peaks of your nipples between his fingertips, your body jerks again, cock brushing ever so lightly against his chest as he continues kissing down the plane of your abdomen. Astarion, now sitting on his heels, braces his hands against your thighs.

He looks up to meet your eyes through full lashes. “Please tell me to stop if it becomes too much,” he tells you, genuine concern lacing his tone.

You hum in agreement, a hand coming up to tangle within the silver locks atop his head. Watching as he closes his eyes, Astarion licks again at the underside of your cock, base to tip. You shudder as his hand wraps delicately around your shaft, peeling the foreskin back. He takes a few tentative passes with his tongue along your frenulum, meeting your eyes momentarily to gauge your reaction.

Your hips buck and stutter under his tongue, a string of pleasured gasps and guttural moans slipping past your lips. The hand in his hair tightens as he takes the head of you past his lips, suckling softly on the sensitive gland.

It takes a world of restraint not to shove the rest of yourself into the inviting cavern of his mouth. Astarion must know this, however, as the hand still planted on your thigh moves to your hip, holding you still. He doesn’t leave you wanting for long, passing as much of your length into his mouth as he can manage, his hand following you down to the base. He flattens his tongue on the way back up, hollowing out his cheeks as he reaches the tip, only to do it all over again.

Knees growing weak, you push your back into the wall behind you to hold yourself steady. The hand in his hair slips, pads of your fingers passing just over the tip of his ear. Astarion moans at the faint touch, the vibration shooting up through your cock and spreading like wildfire throughout your abdomen. You perform the same motion again, and Astarion begins craning his head into your touch.

“A-ah-” he gasps, pulling himself off of you. “Darling, if you keep doing that, I-”

His mouth falls open in a delicate pant, eyes flitting closed as he works his spittle over your length with his hand. You continue toying with the outer shell of his ear, intrigued at this new discovery, and he rests his forehead against your hip.

“I never knew you had such sensitive ears,” you comment as you look down, watching him rub his thighs together as his hips buck up and down into the air.

With a drawn out groan, Astarion explains, “I’m an elf, my love. We all have sensitive ears.”

“Noted,” you respond, shakily bringing a hand down to join him along your shaft. You softly peel off his touch, lacing your fingers together. “I-I think I want to try something else, now,” you admit.

Smiling, Astarion slowly rises to his feet, cradling your jaw within his hand. His lips, swollen and soft from his prior activity, find yours; his kiss is desperate - hungry. “What do you have in mind?” he questions between quickly stolen breaths.

A fire swells within your core, and you're suddenly met with the same raging intensity and desire displayed in Astarion's kiss.

Hand tangling within his mess of moonlit curls once again, you pull Astarion’s head back, exposing the marble column of his throat. He groans when you drag the flat of your tongue over the apple of his throat, hips jerking into yours.

“I want to try fucking you,” you whisper into his skin, grinding your conjured length against his concealed erection to punctuate your intent. The coiling in your core winds tighter, but not enough to snap just yet.

As his weight presses into you, his hands grip your biceps for stability. Another roll of his hips and he sighs, dropping his head down to catch your eyes. “Are you sure?” he questions, breathless. “Because I'd really like that.”

With a nod of your head, your hands travel up under the hem of his shirt to settle on strong, narrow hips. Your lips meet again, the kiss just as ravenous as before, and begin walking you both toward the bed. When Astarion’s knees hit the edge of the bed, he gently falls back, with you quickly closing the distance above him.

“You needn’t worry about preparation,” he reveals as you lavish attention on his neck. “I took care of that earlier.”

He shudders beneath you as you mouth his scars. “Isn’t that part of this whole process?” you ask while hooking your hands into the waistband of his underwear, slowly tugging them down.

Astarion lifts his hips up and laughs, providing enough space for you to slide the cotton fabric down and off his form. “It is, but I figured it was gracious enough of you to entertain this idea,” he explains. “Prep for this is… well, intimate.” He averts your gaze for a brief moment, drawing a large breath in before continuing, “I would understand if it didn’t appeal to you.”

Removing yourself from his reach, you sit back over your legs. His face shifts uneasily at your sudden withdrawal. “Astarion,” you begin to tell him, “I’m not ashamed of your body. I want to explore this as a couple.” He’s drawn his legs together in a likely attempt at covering himself. You place a hand atop one knee, rubbing soft circles as you say reassuringly, “All of it, together. So, please. Let me?”

Astarion sits up with a smile, and rests his forehead over yours. “If you keep being this nice to me, I may just return the favor,” he says, light-heartedly.

“You already do, Astarion,” you tell him with a laugh. “Always the gentleman.”

His kiss is a quick peck over your lips as he tells you, “There's a bottle of oil in the bedside drawer. Grab it, and I'll show you what to do.”

You nod, sliding off the mattress and doing as instructed. Astarion moves himself higher into the center of the bed, sinking into the comforter and pillows. The bed dips below him as you climb back on, bottle of viscous liquid in hand.

“Pour some into one palm and rub your hands together, love,” he instructs. “This helps warm the oil.”

Popping the stopper off the bottle, you pour the cool, thick, opaque fluid out into your hand. You reapply the cork, placing it face up on top of the bedside drawer, rubbing the palms of your hands together. It takes a bit, but inevitably your body heat begins to seep into the oil.

Astarion lay before you, eyes beginning to hood over as he follows your hands. His legs fall silently open as his breath hitches for a mere moment. “Good,” he says encouragingly, his voice an octave lower. “Now, come here. Between my legs.”

You move in closer and note how the hem of his shirt is obscuring his cock from view. You can just make it out, though - it pushes against the fabric of the shirt, tenting it slightly and you swear you see a small darkened spot right where the tip of his cock lay hidden. Looking up, your eyes drink in how his collar has fallen to one side, sliding down and off his right shoulder, exposing his collar bone. Astarion normally wears this shirt with the sleeves rolled up tight, yet today, he's chosen to wear them loose.

His hands, half covered by the cuffs of his sleeves, envelop yours in a gentle embrace as he guides your slickened fingers to his core. Astarion stills for a moment, and you look up to find him staring back at you.

There's an expression on his face that you’re not immediately familiar with - it's not fear, excitement, or lust, really. Yet, the longer you study him, recognition begins to dawn over you.

It's the same look you've given him countless times before on this very bed, having thrown caution to the wind as you entwine the very fabric of your souls together.

Astarion is… submitting himself. To you.

Something majorly delicate, knowing his past.

You know of what he was forced to endure while being compelled into submission.

The barrage of lovers who cared not for the person below them; who saw him only as a means to an end. A quick pump, a cheap lay, a tool to scratch a nagging itch.

“Some people refer to the moment of climax as ‘a little death,’” he’d once told you. That was before you knew just how many he'd lead to their actual deaths.

True to form, Astarion's words are often double-edged blades. His mind dances constantly on the edge of pleasure and shame. You see it in his face, now. He’s standing on that precipice, knowing not whether to jump head first or step back.

You swallow thickly and stare back at him, unblinking, before saying, “You can always tell me if it becomes too much, and I will stop.” You pause for a brief moment before adding, “Pleasure is my only intent, Astarion.”

A smile graces his lips as he welcomes your fingers to make first contact with his entrance. “Oh, my dear,” he says with a sigh, “I’ve never doubted that about you.”

Leaning over him as you press the pads of two fingers teasingly against his tight ring of muscle, you kiss him. Astarion groans softly into your mouth, his hands coming up to cup either side of your face as he arches into the kiss. He’s grinding down lightly into your fingers, meeting each of your chaste touches against him.

“How many should I start with?” you ask softly, breaking the kiss for a brief moment.

“Two,” he answers, voice but a whisper against your lips. “Whichever ones you want.”

Humming into his mouth, you begin pushing your fingers into his entrance. Astarion’s breath hitches as you breach the perimeter, shoving his head back against the pillows. He instinctively tries closing his legs around you, though you hold one open with your free hand.

You still your movements, giving him a chance to adjust to the intrusion. “Is it alright?” you ask him.

Astarion nods his head as he moves a hand under his shirt to toy with a nipple. “Yes,” he huffs out. “I'm more than fine, love.”

Emboldened to the task at hand, you move, gently pushing and pulling your fingers within him. You feel his muscles contract around you and you briefly wonder if this is what he feels when he's inside of you. The thought sends a bolt of pleasure to your cunt, reverberating as a twitch of your cock.

You look down to watch your fingers as they work him open, and finally see his cock laying against the plane of his abdomen. Compared to the pallor of the rest of him, his length is flushed pink and red, and you can make out the labored beating of his undead heart as his cock thumps softly against his stomach. Pre-fluid seeps from his tip, gathering in a small puddle just below his navel. Bending down, you catch a small rivulet rolling off his hip with your tongue, tracing it back to the source. Astarion shudders under you, threading his free hand through your hair as he pushes down onto your fingers.

You're beginning to understand that this isn't too different from your usual sexual encounters with one another. It's truly just a mirroring of your typical positions. Out of curiosity, you curl your fingers upward in one particular pass, and his entire body spasms beneath you.

“Fuck, darling, yes… You've found it,” Astarion groans out, labored. The grip in your hair tightens and he begins fucking himself in earnest on your fingers, a string of moans falling from his lips as he passes that same spot over and over again.

Your cunt aches and your cock throbs watching the scene before you. To see him unraveling before you, submitting himself to the pleasure of the moment is intoxicating. His legs have fallen open again and you watch, diligently, at how easily your fingers glide in and out of his core.

“I- I need more,” Astarion suddenly chokes out. You meet his gaze and through lust-hooded eyes, he says, “Please… let me ride you.”

He's pleading, you notice. Begging. Your eyes travel down his form again, drinking in the wanton display of him splitting himself open over your fingers. Your cunt throbs; you think of nothing else in that moment but pulling out your fingers and replacing them with your cock.

To hear the delicious whines, the sobs, the cries that would surely tumble freely from Astarion's lips as he came undone around you. You want this, just as much as he does.

Pulling your hand free from his entrance, Astarion sobs as you crash your lips into his. “I'd love that,” you tell him, honestly.

Astarion begins to sit up, concentrating on never breaking the kiss you share as he aids you both in switching positions. You lay back, him straddling your lap mere moments later. He grinds his taint against your conjured appendage, your shafts brushing, and he cries out in a gentle moan against your lips. He breaks the kiss, reaching for the bottle of oil on the bedside table, dribbling some onto your cock.

With a few languid strokes of your mystical length to spread the oil and he lines himself up over you. Your eyes meet and you hiss through clenched teeth as your tip kisses his entrance, feeling the pressure slide over your glans as he slowly begins to take you.

“A-ahh,” Astarion pants from above you, still holding your cock steady in one hand. You sigh as you feel yourself push past the first ring of muscle, throwing your head back against the pillows. Your hands grip at his thighs as the sensation threatens to overwhelm you, fingertips likely to leave bruises that will be gone come morning.

Once he feels confident that you're nestled far enough inside, he releases his hold on your shaft, resting the palms of his hands against your lower stomach. He continues to slowly take you further in, words in a language you're unfamiliar with spilling from his mouth, until he's flush against your thighs.

Both of you freeze in that moment - you struggle to control your ragged breathing as he flutters around you, Astarion taking a moment to adjust to this foreign, but not unpleasant, sensation.

“H-how do I feel?” he asks in a hushed voice.

Truthfully? He feels… astounding. Tight, wet, and warmer than you would have thought for a vampire. When he lifts his hips, you feel the air being pulled out of your lungs. His walls drag deliciously along your shaft, and a nagging pull starts to build behind your navel.

Your mouth drops open in a silent gasp as your eyes meet his through hooded lids. “A-amazing,” you pant out. “You feel so good, Astarion.”

He moans above you, his head falling to one side as he rolls his hips over your cock. His shirt hangs off one shoulder, the hem obscuring his cock again from view. Though, you feel its weight slap against your stomach with each lift and drop of his hips.

Astarion’s voice comes out strained when he says, “Tell me again… please.”

You feel your cock twitch within him; he clenches around you as he locks eyes with you, waiting patiently for a response. Strands of sweat-soaked hair stick to his face, and on one particular stroke of his hips, you brush up against that place inside of him that forces his vision to blur at the edges. His mouth begins to salivate.

“Please, please, please,” he begs impatiently, voice an octave higher now. He's practically sobbing, spearing himself over your cock so each roll is angled to hit his prostate. You meet his thrusts from below, coil winding tighter within your abdomen as his walls continue to massage your cock.

You're not going to last much longer.

“You're so good for me, Astarion,” you say, obliging him. “You're being such a good boy.”

Astarion's mouth drops open as he bows his head forward, his entire body dipping down over you as a shudder passes through him. “Yes,” he whines, rocking back on your hips with renewed vigor. You feel his cock lay flat against your abdomen in this new position. It drags over your stomach, pre-fluid dripping from his tip and onto your skin providing an easier surface.

I am! And beautiful - not enough people mention that.

His words from long ago echo in your mind as you drink in his expression. He's gorgeous above you; handsome to begin with, but as he slips further toward toppling over the Cliff's edge, his beauty is quickly becoming amplified as he continues to lose composure.

“You’re beautiful like this,” you coo to him, lifting a hand from his thigh to rub over an ear.

Astarion's body is wracked by yet another tremor as he cries, “Darling, if you don’t-, I will-, I'm going-!” His head nestles into the hand toying with his ear and his hips pump erratically over your cock, having lost his prior rhythm.

You suck in a sharp breath, jaw clenched as Astarion becomes impossibly tighter around your shaft, and you groan. You're so close, so very close that all you need is one more thing to push yourself over the edge.

“Let go, Astarion,” you say, somehow finding the rhythm in his desperate rutting. The sound of skin slapping roughly fills the room as your hips meet his on his downstroke. You wrap a hand around the outline of his cock tenting his shirt, and jerk him in tempo with your thrusts.

He’s sobbing, loud and unabashedly. With one particular pass of your fingers over the outer tip of his ear, Astarion suddenly unwinds. He yells his pleasure above you, collapsing onto your chest as wave after wave overcomes him. You feel his spend seep into the fabric of his shirt and onto the skin of your abdomen in a small warm pool.

It doesn't take long for the involuntary spasming of his core over your cock to send you spiraling into your own completion. Moans slip freely past your lips and you feel your folds become soaked, drippinh down the cleft of your ass as your relief washes over you. You bury your face against Astarion's hair, breathing in his soft silver curls and the signature cologne you know so well.

As you both begin to come down off your highs, you wrap your arms around his back and hold him tightly against your chest. You feel the spell of the phallus lift, Astarion whimpering softly as it vanishes from within him. You both lay on the bed, panting, trying to catch your breath for what feels like ages.

Astarion is first to lift up his head and say, “That… that was amazing.”

“Mm,” you hum in agreement. You can barely open your eyes as fatigue begins to set in.

Taking a finger, Astarion traces circles absentmindedly into your skin as he rests his head back down over your chest. “Darling?” he asks softly. “May I tell you something?”

Sleep almost has its claws in you when you jolt back awake, forcing your eyes to snap open and find Astarion. “Hmm?” you groan in question.

With a quick huff, Astarion says, “I just wanted to thank you for doing this with me.” He places a quick peck below your jawbone before adding, “It was really nice.”

You sigh audibly, and say “It was, we should do this again.” Your eyelids are impossibly heavy; sleep is threatening to claim you and will do so in mere moments. “I love you,” you manage to mumble out before slipping gently out of consciousness.

Astarion smiles into your skin as he says, “I love you, too,”

I love this, he thinks.

I love us.

#astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #astarion x female oc #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic #bg3 #fanfiction #writing

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winterarmyy · 4 months

Text

Kiss It Better

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: In which the reader refused to let Bucky go down on her lately because she's embarrassed of the chafing marks on her inner thighs.

Pairing: avenger!bucky x female!reader

Words: 3.2k++

Warnings: 18+ contents, no minors allowed, nsfw, cunnilingus, cum eating, soft fluff, not much of angst but there's sprinkles of feels, body insecurities, bucky is in love and in heat tbh, i think he is particularly unhinged and filthy in this one but hey, you tell me. idk if i need to remind y'all about this but english is not my first language so my grammar are prolly fucked. Anyway--

Inspiration: Guess who felt a little soft and decided to wear a skirt to work? Yup, that would be me. No, because I commute to work (or basically anywhere) and there is quite a distance of walking in between the journey. Note that your girl here walk fast asf (basically running at this point). And because them inner thighs ain't got no gap between them, so i got myself some blisters/chafing :') then i fell into a self-deprecating despair for the whole day and it hurts whenever i walk, at that time i just want Bucky to kiss it better. Fast forward a few days later, here we are.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

She could feel it. His burning gaze following her every move. Observing, calculating. And she knew that must not show any signs of discomfort; not on her face nor from the slightest jolts of her hips. She must not gave him a reason to question her.

She can't.

So she continue walking around their room, back and forth from the bathroom to the wardrobe, as if every step she took was followed by a burning sensation on her skin. She momentarily stood in front of the row of clothes hanging on the rack, her back facing the bed where Bucky had been sprawling on since she went in for a shower.

Honestly, she was standing there suspiciously 'too long', as if she was choosing an outfit for a date night, when clearly she was just getting ready for bed. When she realized that, she quickly pulled out a clean set of pyjamas and walk back into the bathroom.

Bucky's eagle eyes followed her figure, disappearing behind the locked door. His lips pursed as his cogs of thoughts spins around, trying to find answer a question that his lover keeps avoiding but it was useless.

He can't think straight. Especially when he was undeniably famished. He had not got a taste of her his sweet pussy for about 2 weeks now and he was quite literally about lose his fucking mind.

When his sweetgirl refuses to go further than kissing and making out, of course he obliged. She has every right to 'no' and he respects her wishes. Then it happened again the next day. And the next. Then again, and again.

Normally, people would've assumed that maybe she was on her period, and she is not comfortable having any sexual intimacy when menstruating. But, Bucky can tell that, that was not it. Because first of all, it was way too early for that time of the month, he knows her schedule.l very well. Second of all, he would've smell the blood if she was on her period.

Most of his senses are enhanced after all.

So, why was she avoiding it?

Bucky's is completely fine if sex was not something she wanted to do, but not even letting him eat her out? Now that's concerning. At least for him.

Because he needs her. He needs to suck on that needy little clit of hers, make it wet and swollen. He needs to lap on that sweet juices when she cums on his tongue.

Fuck. He's getting all work up now, thinking about it.

He swore that if this keeps going on, one of these days he might just spread his legs and fuck his fist on their bed while she's tied on a chair on the other side of the room. Maybe forcing her; seducing her, to watch his desperate cock become wet and messy would give her a clue of what he is feeling now.

Absolutely needy and deprived of that pretty little cunt of hers.

He was quite distracted with the filfthy thoughts until he heard the clicking sound of the bathroom door unlocked.

As she walked towards the bed, Bucky felt like his lungs stopped providing oxygen through his body, "Pretty." His eyes sparkled affection as the voice in his head echoed his thoughts. It wasn't that he have not seen her in those pyjamas before, he had. Many times in fact. The very same lavender set with tiny little cartoon cats printed all over the fabric.

The same ones that she wore when she came rushing to his side on one of those sleepless night. The time when she hold him close, distracting him away from the nightmare by asking the most random question of "You know, Bucky... These cats supposedly have the same expression, except for one. Do want to try and find it?"

He found it. It was near the hem of her right sleeve. And by that time, his nightmare was no where near his mind, the next thing he knew, he fell right back to sleep with her in his arms. It was his favourite pair of pyjamas that she ever worn. Nothing compares.

A loving smile unconsciously appeared on his face when his lady threw a sweet smile at him as she walked toward the bed, "My baby's so pretty." He thought.

The grin on his lips lasted, but not for long. Especially when he saw the tiny frown on her face, the faltered steps and when he heard that brief sound of a painful hiss slipped out of her lips.

So the moment she sat down on her side of the bed, Bucky already had his hands on her. Arms instantaneously wrapped around her waist, before effortlessly pulling her back onto his sturdy chest.

She giggled gleefully from his sudden rush of affection and that surely managed to trigger a chuckle out of Bucky. He hums and proceed to purr in crook of her neck, "What's wrong, baby?"

She could feel his throat rumbling at the back of her neck, "Did he notice it?". Her heart beat ever so slightly picked up its' pace but she planned to act like opposite of it, "Hmm? What do mean 'what's wrong'?" She asked.

Bucky can hear the change tempo coming from within her ribcage, he knew something was wrong, "I just want to know how are you feeling." He pressed a long and tender kiss on the shoulder.

The warmth of his breath tickled her skin, "Now? Hmm. I feel very loved." She smiled dreamily as she closes her eyes.

Bucky left out a brief laugh at her response, this cheeky little bunny, "That's true, but how are you really feeling, hmm? Like physically?" He urges softly.

She thought about it for awhile; contemplating whether she should just tell him the truth or proceed to act like she okay. Well, she chose the latter, "Hmmm physically. In this position? Very comfy." She wiggled her body back into him, closing the non-existent gap between their bodies and gripping Bucky's arms around her a little tight.

Though her plushy ass was rubbing against his crotch just nicely, but the former winter soldier was not going to let that distract him from his mission. He needs to know what she's hiding behind that sweet smile, "Doll..." his voice was stern and she knew he was not having it.

His calling was only met with silence when she didn't reply verbally. Since she was looking down, Bucky cannot see the frown on face and the wobbling worries in her eyes. But he did picked up on the anxiousness of her heart; beating faster by the second.

"I..." her voice cracked at the first word she said, and Bucky knew he fucked up. He swiftly maneuvered her body to sit on his lap, facing him. His metal hand craddled her soft cheek, and his flesh ones gently caresses her back, "Hey hey hey, doll, what's wrong? Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pressure you." His voice was laced with panic.

When she only had her gaze down, Bucky tenderly coaxed her, "Bunny, look at me." His hand guided her by the chin and when they made eye contact, he apologized again, "I'm sorry. I just want you to feel better. Forgive me." He leaned in a planted a kiss on her forehead. Then, her nose. And her cheeks, all over her face, muttering his words of apology.

She felt bad that Bucky apologized for something that was clearly not his fault. She's the problem in this situation. Her negativity, her insecurity was what drove her away from Bucky for the past 2 weeks. She knew that. And she knew it wasn't fair to him.

Knowing Bucky, he's probably blaming himself for her actions. And she didn't want that. She decided to tell him the truth, "I just..." Anxiety runs through her veins when she thought about it again. Would she be able to handle it if Bucky reacted negatively to her truth? Probably, not. "Just... promise that you won't be disgusted by it... Or get the ick from it."

Bucky frowned in confusion, "I don't even know what 'get the ick' means but I promise." He swore.

She let out a short laugh at his comment, causing him to smile along. Seeing how loving his gaze was, it gave her the strength to confess. She started with explaining how she had been busy at work this month. With launch of the new product, and her being one of th product manager, she was obligated to visit the branches around New York.

Bucky listened to words attentively, at first he thought maybe she was trying to say that she's been stressed lately. But then she started to explained about how she had been wearing skirts to work most of the days, because it was one of the their campaign's rules and Bucky does not think that 'stress' was what this would conclude to.

Nevertheless, he didn't lose his attention.

"But basically what I'm trying to say is..." She took a deep breath before continuing, "It's just... My inner thighs are chafed..." her voice was barely audible at the end of the sentence but Bucky caught it perfectly.

He thought about it for awhile before asking, "So, you mean to say that you got blisters on your inner thighs?" He wanted to confirm that his understanding was accurate.

She looked down in shame as she nodded to his question.

Bucky responded by pulling her closer, and kissed her forehead, "Aww doll. Is this why you've been avoiding me? Because it hurts? Why didn't you tell me earlier? I could've helped you. I mean I could help apply some meds or--"

Horrified at the idea of him seeing marks; the literal reminder of how fat she is caused her to blurt, "No!" She pushed Bucky away, eyes widen in horrid.

"No?" Bucky frowned quizzically at her intense reaction.

Realizing what she just had just done, she composed herself, and spoke, "It's... it's not a pretty sight. And I don't want to show it to you. Plus, if my thighs are a little thinner than they are now. Then, this wouldn't happen. If only these thighs are not like... fucking fat as they are we wouldn't have to go through this. And you wouldn't need to hear all this. You wouldn't---"

Bucky knew that once she was in the state of insecurity, she self-deprecate herself like she was less worthy than the goddesss that she is. So, instead of arguing with her, he simply intercepted her rambling, "Show me."

She stopped the seemingly endless word-vomit, and titled her head to the side, "Huh? No. Bucky I just said--"

Bucky grabbed her by the waist and effortlessly lifted her off his lap and onto the bed, caging her below him, "And I said... Show. Me." His tone was more like an order rather than a request.

She didn't dare to defy him, when his gaze was as rigid as they were now, so pulled her pants off; slowly, reluctantly. When the pants was at the last inches before it's completely off, Bucky took control and quite literally ripped it off from her.

The sudden action resulted to her body needing to hide itself from his darken eyes. Her thighs clammed together as a whine slipped from her lips. The friction of her wounds brushing against each other was burning her delicate skin.

Bucky quickly softens when he heard her pained voice, he pushed himself off from her and kneeled on the bed before her. "Doll, please..." His hands gently squeezes the side of her thighs as he pleads, "...Let me see."

Slowly spreading her thighs apart, Bucky's eyes are now focusing on the red marks on her skin. His thumbs absentmindedly traces the area around the broken skin. He was so concentrated that he didn't say a word. And that only triggered her insecurity that she started to rambled something about how she will start going in a diet and she'll add more intense leg workout in her routine.

But her voice was only a muffled strings of incoherent sounds in Bucky's ears when he finally processed everything that happened from 2 weeks ago until now.

The realization hit him like a high speed train with a broken break system. Did she really turned him down because of this? Did she really starve him out because of this? Bucky let out a growl of disapproval when he abruptly pulled her by her calves, forcing her hips to lift from the bed. She yelped in surprised but she saw the look on his face, "You..." he rasped.

Bucky placed her legs on his shoulders, letting it daggle on his back as he palmed sides of her thighs. He then, proceed to leave trails of kiss on her inner thigh, avoiding the irritating wounds on her skin, "You deprived me of my sweet little pussy because you think this..." he flattened his tongue and nibble on her softness of her inner thighs, "...would turn me off? That these thick, soft thighs that I love so much would bother me?"

He planted a delicate kiss on the marks before, "Well, guess what bunny?. You're absolute wrong. In fact, it's quite the opposite." His lips travelled upwards until it found her core. Bucky's nose flared at the scent of her arousal, "And oh my sweet babydoll, I'm going to eat your pussy until understand that. Then, I'm gonna do it some more because I am fucking starving." He pressed a firm kiss on her clothed pussy, causing the cotton to soak the juices that leaks from her hole.

"Look at that. Does your needy pussy wants some pampering too, hmm?" She could see the lust dripping down his ocean blues; the same ones that were usually bright but now were now noticeably darker.

Bucky's finger traces the slit of her pussy, rubbing her over the fabric of her panties, making patch of wetness spread even more. "Yeah? Does she want me to kiss it better? Make her feel good?"

She moaned softly to his touch, "Please."

That was all it took for Bucky to rip her panties apart as if it was made out of paper. "Fuck, there she is. My sweet pussy." He brought his fingers over, widened the folds of her pussy. Even with minimal lighting, it was enough to show him the glistening pink flesh of leaking cunt, twitching and needing his tongue to explore her insides.

He was hungry of course, just simply looking at her pussy had made his mouth water and impossible for him to resist the urge of putting his mouth on the pretty little thing. "Hmm,," a sharp cry escaped from her lips as he blew on her little twitching nub. There was this glint in his eyes as he watched her try to buck up, cunt helplessly clenching around nothing.

Before she could beg for him, Bucky's tongue dipped in between folds. Pointed at first, from the entrance of her pussy up to her clit. The tip of his tongue swirl around the aching nub. A breath caught in her throat when Bucky repeat the same move but this time he flattened his tongue.

And then he does it again and again.

Bucky, is generally the larger man compared to anyone. He is tall and beefy. But he is especially big when he's in between her legs, gently devouring her wet pussy. Slow and long licks were his favorite, it allowed him to savor the taste of her. Always so sweet and he couldn't get enough of it.

With every flick Bucky's tongue assulting to her swollen bud, she couldn’t help but pull on sheets behind her, needy moans leaves her lips every time he explored her, teases her. Her body cannot stay still when the pleasure was taking her higher. But it was not a problem for Bucky to control. Whenever she tries to close her thighs together, he stopped her. He didn't want to irritate her wounds or cause any pain, so he kept pushing her thigh open as he nuzzle his face into her pussy.

"Ahhh fuck ,, that feels so good, Bucky!" She moaned his name as the overwhelming feeling of his wet and soft tongue gliding and rubbing on her core, guiding her to heaven.

And the salacious squelching noises to fill the room as Bucky laps and sucks on her clit. She was so wet that he could just shove his fingers up in her hole but he didn't. He won't. After so many days not tasting her, he want to only use his mouth.

Though the man barely spoke during these times, he’d much rather keep his mouth occupied with drinking up her juices or suckling on her cute little clit. But when he does. Fuck. Does he spill the most unholy things.

Bucky momentarily detached himself from her and rasped, "Gonna cum, babydoll? Come on, give it to me. Let me drink and lick your cum after." His metal fingers quickly finds her clit, swiftly started to deliciously rub it; just the way he knew she liked it. It felt so good that her tongued lolled out her mouth out of pure pleasure.

"Yeah, bunny. You're gonna let me clean you up with tongue so nice, so that you can make the same mess again and again. Cum in mouth, babydoll. Cum for me"

He delved right back where is mouth belongs, licking her clit into his mouth just to wrap his lips around the pretty pink bundle of nerves sucking it harshly. She whined needily her hips started to move on its own accord, searching for more friction of his tongue, “ahh ahh! hmmmm,, s-so fucking good! ahhh,, So close!” she was seeing stars in her hazy vision from how good and dirty she felt.

Bucky's eyes almost rolled back when let out a groan of satisaction against her spread out cunt; he can feel that she was going to cum and want her to do it with his mouth latched on her.

And cum she did, moments after she couldn’t help but squeal as her back arched from the bed, grinding herself on his tongue. Bucky growled at the streams of cream squirting out of her throbbing cunt right into his mouth, down to his throat.

So sweet and warm and addictive.

While her whole body was still shaking from the aftermath of the mindblowing orgasm, Bucky continued to lick and lap on her leaking pussy, slurping and suckling every bit of cream she had blessed him with.

Yet he was still hungry.

She mewled when Bucky started to suck on her clit again and when she looked over at him, he momentarily pulled away, "oh doll, did you forget? I'm not going to stop any time soon. So just lay there, look pretty for me and let me enjoy this sweet little pussy."

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Have you ever gotten your inner thighs chafed? Anyway, thanks for spending your time to reading my work! Leave your thoughts behind, I'd love to read them ♡

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky smut #bucky fluff #avenger!bucky #bucky x reader smut

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dumplingsjinson · 1 year

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List of random dialogue prompts

“I was never a morning person, but then I started waking up to your face and you know… Maybe mornings aren’t that bad, after all.”

“Why are you mad?” “I’m not mad, I just think you can choose better people to kiss.”

“I fucking hate you.” “No you don’t. Take that back right now.”

“You know I’d do anything to have you stay by my side, right? Anything.”

“Oh, fuck. Do that again.”

“You look stupid as all hell right now.”

“I want to believe you, but I don’t know if I can.”

“You’ve given me so many reasons to walk away.” “Then why don’t you walk away? It’s not like I’m keeping you hostage here.” “You still don’t get it, do you? It’s because I love you.”

“…Damn it all to hell, if I don’t get to have you tonight then I’m never going to be able to have you.”

“Let me call you mine, just for tonight.”

“I think you and I make an amazingly stupid pair.” “I know! Our two brain cells combined together make for quality entertainment and a unique kind of stupidity.”

“I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

“Oh God, yes, right there— oh my God, just like that, please don’t stop.” “…Can you stop that? You’re making it sound like we’re in a porno and now I’m highly uncomfortable.”

“Bet you they don’t make you sound like that, do they?”

“Fuck, you’re such a wreck, and because of me, too.”

“Can you stop moaning? I’m trying to help you relax but you’re making it hard for me to concentrate.” “Sorry, your hands just work a little too good.” “I’m going to pay for a masseuse next time if you keep doing this.”

“You are driving me insane and I’m this close to losing my shit because of you.”

“Is hating me your only personality trait?”

“Never scare me like that again!”

“Oh, don’t worry. I have every plan to make you submit to me.”

“I’m not even gonna lie, I’m just so fucking obsessed with you.”

“That could be us.” “That is us.”

“Was it worth it?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you— slow down, you’ll get what you want soon enough.”

“I want you to remember every single second of this.”

“Bet you they can’t make you feel the way I do.” “Bet’s on.” “Wait, what? That was not my intention—”

“Hm, but I think I like having you spread out like this. Such a gorgeous sight.”

“Come and get your fix.”

“…You’re an addiction I never want to quit.”

“I had nothing to live for, but then you came into my life. So thank you.”

“Why’d you— why’d you do that?” “B-Because I promised you I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

“I swear if we get caught then I’m actually going to kill you.”

“You think I wanted this to happen?!”

“Just when I was about to give up…”

“I trusted you with my life.” “Well, I’m sorry but you’re clearly very gullible.”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel the same as I do, then I’ll leave you alone.”

“You know, maybe you should bet on something else the next time instead of betting on someone’s fucking feelings.”

“You’re such a dork.” “Yeah, no wonder you’re so in love with me.”

“Does me doing all these things not account for anything?” “I never asked you to do those things for me, though, did I?”

“You nearly foiled our plan, you idiot!”

“I… I think I’m happy.” “You think? So you’re not one hundred percent certain?”

“Who’s laughing now?” “…Clearly not you. You’re crying, dear God.”

“I’m tired of being on the sidelines.”

“You actually came back.”

“Christ on a fucking bike, I could kiss you right now.”

“That was a bold move.”

“We’re going to be late, all because you couldn’t stop scrolling through that damn phone of yours while taking your damn sweet time to shit!”

“Kinda sucks that I can only have you like this.”

“I fell in love, so hard, and so fast, but a part of me knew it wasn’t going to last.”

“Your heart’s always on your sleeve.” “Only around you, because you’re the only one who knows me so well. Too well, in fact.”

(pt. 2) | (pt. 3)

#long post #dialogue prompts #random dialogue prompts #otp prompts #fluff prompts #angst prompts #smut prompts #prompts #romantic prompts #romance prompts #47 is PERSONAL HAHA (it’s me lmfao I’m the shitter 🫡🫡)#suggestive prompts #writing prompts #i had this list in the drafts for sooooo long lmfao

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pucksandpower · 7 months

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What Happens in Vegas

Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!Reader

Summary: the morning after the Las Vegas Grand Prix, you wake up with one new wedding ring and zero clue about what happened … or who your husband is

You wake up with a pounding headache, the sunlight filtering through the curtains feeling like daggers in your eyes. Groaning, you roll over and glance at the clock on the nightstand.

12:37 pm.

Far later than you would normally sleep, but given the circumstances, not entirely surprising.

The night before was the Las Vegas Grand Prix and things had gotten a little out of hand afterwards. Okay, more like a lot out of hand.

The details are fuzzy but you vaguely recall dancing on a table at some point and did someone get pushed into the hotel fountain?

Ugh. You make a mental note to apologize to whoever ended up taking an unexpected late-night swim last night.

Sitting up slowly, you rub your temples, trying to ease the jackhammer currently going off in your head. Getting blackout drunk maybe wasn’t the most professional move, but hey, what happens in Vegas and all that.

You stumble into the bathroom, turning on the faucet and splashing some cold water on your face. As you reach for a towel, the glint of metal on your left hand makes you pause.

No. It can’t be.

But there it is, a simple gold band around your ring finger.

A wedding ring.

Your wedding ring, apparently.

“What the hell?” You mutter, staring at your reflection in disbelief.

You rack your brain, trying desperately to remember what happened last night. But it’s no use, the details are lost in an alcohol-induced haze.

You married someone last night. In Vegas. While ridiculously drunk.

This is bad. Really bad.

Your career, your reputation, everything is on the line here. Who knows what kind of scandal this could cause if word got out? You need to figure out who you married and do damage control, fast.

Taking a deep breath, you try to calm the rising panic. Freaking out won’t solve anything right now. You need answers and sitting here panicking won’t get you any. Time to do some investigating.

You quickly throw on some clothes and head downstairs to the hotel lobby. The drivers had agreed to meet for brunch today before getting thoroughly wasted last night. Maybe one of them knows something.

As you step out of the elevator, you immediately spot a group of your friends chatting in the lobby. Max, Charles, Lando … the usual suspects.

Lando is the first to spot you. “Well good morning, Mrs. Lando Norris,” he says with a cheeky grin.

You freeze. No way. There’s no way you married Lando. The kid is like a little brother to you. An obnoxious, hyperactive little brother. But Lando just laughs at your stunned expression.

“Kidding! You should see your face right now,” he giggles. Little punk. But at least that rules out Lando as your surprise husband.

You roll your eyes and shove Lando playfully before turning to the others. “So, crazy night last night, huh?” You say, aiming for nonchalance.

Max shrugs. “I mean, it’s Vegas. Things do tend to get wild.”

“Right, wild,” you echo. Time to cut to the chase. “So wild that I ended up getting married apparently.”

You hold up your left hand, wedding ring glinting in the light. The others stare at it then at each other, puzzled.

“Wait, you actually got married last night?” Charles asks incredulously.

You throw your hands up in exasperation. “Yes! And I have no idea who I married. Come on mates, you must remember something from last night that can help me figure this out.”

But their faces are blank, everyone shaking their heads. Useless, the whole lot of them.

You turn to Max, who averts his eyes, looking uncomfortable.

“Max, come on. You always know everything that happens on these nights out. Help me out here,” you plead.

Max shuffles his feet, not meeting your gaze. “I mean, it was pretty crazy. I was very drunk too,” he mumbles.

You sigh in frustration. Clearly you’re not getting anywhere with this group. You need to try someone else, someone who maybe left the party early last night.

You recall Fernando complaining about the horrible music at one point. Bingo.

“Alright, I gotta go see if I can find someone who can get me answers,” you announce. “You drunkards are no help.”

As you turn to leave, Charles calls after you, “Let us know if you find out who the unlucky guy is!” This earns snickers from Lando and Max.

You shake your head and head out to find Fernando. That Spaniard better have some useful information or there will be hell to pay.

One thing is certain, you will get to the bottom of this. You need to find out who this mystery husband is, sort out this mess, and most importantly, get this ring off your finger before the media catches wind of your drunken Vegas wedding.

This is going to be one hell of a day.

***

After leaving the unhelpful group in the lobby, you set out to find Fernando. The Spaniard has always had a keen eye for details. If anyone saw what happened last night, it would be him.

You find Fernando sitting alone at a table in the closest coffee shop, sipping an espresso. He looks irritatingly fresh-faced and put together given the wild night you all had.

“Well good morning, chiquita,” he says with a smirk as you plop down across from him. “You look like you had quite the night.”

You scowl at him. “No thanks to you. Leaving the party early again, I see.”

Fernando shrugs. “What can I say? I’m getting too old for these Vegas nights out with you crazy kids.”

You roll your eyes dramatically. “Oh yes, grandpa, you’re soooo old at 42. Anyway, I need your help figuring something out.”

You hold up your left hand, the wedding ring glinting under the lights. “Any idea how this might have ended up on my finger last night?”

Fernando raises an eyebrow, looking far too amused. “Well well, our little Y/N got married in Vegas. Who’s the lucky man?”

You huff in annoyance. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out! I don’t remember anything from last night. But I woke up this morning hungover as hell with this on my hand.” You waggle your finger for emphasis.

Fernando sits back, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, interesting. And you say you remember nothing?”

“Nothing!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up. “Everything after the third tequila shot is a total blank. Please tell me you saw something that can help me out here.”

You give Fernando your best pleading puppy dog eyes but the Spanish driver just shakes his head.

“Sadly, I did not witness this alleged wedding. I turned in early, unlike you wild youths.”

You groan and let your head fall to the table. “This is bad, Fernando. Really bad. I could lose my seat over this if the team finds out I pulled a stunt like this. I need to figure out who I married!"

Fernando pats your head condescendingly. “There there, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. Your secret is safe with me.”

You peer up at him suspiciously. “Just how secret is this? The smirk on your face makes me think you know something.”

The smirk widens. “Maybe I know something, maybe I don’t. But I’m not going to spoil the surprise for you.”

“Nando!” You smack his arm as he laughs. “This isn’t funny! Just tell me who I married!”

“Nope,” he says, popping the P obnoxiously. “It is too entertaining watching you squirm.”

You let out a frustrated growl. “You’re the worst. I don’t know why I bothered asking you for help.”

“Because you love me, that’s why,” Fernando says with a cheeky wink.

You can’t help but smile a bit at that. You’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for the menace.

“Ugh fine, keep your secrets,” you concede. “I’ll figure this out without your help.”

You start to stand up but Fernando stops you. “Leaving so soon? Stay, have some breakfast with me. You’re going to need your energy today.”

Your stomach rumbles at the mention of food so you sink back down into your seat. “I guess I could eat something while I plot my next move.”

A waiter comes by and you order a massive plate of food to soak up the alcohol still swimming in your system. As you tuck into your meal, you notice Fernando watching you from across the table, looking thoughtful.

“You know,” he says. “Whoever you ended up marrying ... they are a very lucky man. Underneath this hungover mess, you have a good heart. Don’t be too hard on yourself over one wild night, eh?”

You pause mid-bite, touched by his sincerity. “Thanks, Nando. That really means a lot coming from you.”

He smiles and squeezes your hand briefly before returning to his coffee. The playful twinkle returns to his eye. “Even if you did get married like an idiot last night.”

You snort. “Wow, thanks. Way to ruin the moment there.”

Fernando shrugs, unrepentant. “What can I say? I live to annoy you, little sister.”

You finish up your meal, feeling slightly better with some food in you. As frustrating as that encounter was, at least you can count on Fernando to keep this quiet. Time to go gather more clues.

You stand and point an accusatory finger at Fernando. “This isn’t over. I will get to the bottom of this mystery marriage!”

Fernando just smiles enigmatically. “I have no doubt. Good luck, Mrs. Whatever Your New Last Name Is.”

You stick your tongue out at him maturely and flounce away. That man is infuriating. But the quest continues. Time to find the next driver on your interrogation list.

***

You decide to try your luck with Daniel next. The Aussie partied hard but he’s also a notorious gossip. Maybe he caught wind of something that can point you in the right direction.

You find Daniel lounging by the pool, sunglasses on, basking in the Vegas sun like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

So unfair.

“Hello there, sunshine,” he drawls as you walk up. “Don’t you look fresh as a daisy this fine day.”

You glare at him from behind your own sunglasses. “Stuff it, Ricciardo. I’m only here because I need information from you.”

Daniel gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “You wound me! Here I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” you roll your eyes. “When you’re not being a pain in my ass.”

“A pain in that fine ass of yours? Perish the thought!”

You smack him lightly upside the head and he chuckles. “Alright alright, what do you need from old mate Daniel?”

You plop down in the lounge chair next to him and hold up your left hand. “I need you to tell me anything you know or can remember about how this got on my finger last night.”

Daniel lets out a low whistle. “Well tickle me pink and call me Sheila, Y/N’s gone and got herself hitched in Vegas!”

You shush him frantically. “Keep your voice down! The last thing I need is for this to get out.”

Looking far too delighted by the situation, Daniel leans in conspiratorially. “Right, top secret and all that. Who’s the lucky fella then?”

You sigh. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Everything after we moved on to OMNIA is a total blackout. Please tell me you know something.”

Daniel taps his chin thoughtfully. “Let me think here ... I may have some recollection of the night’s events.”

You perk up. “Yes? Go on then, tell me!”

“I do seem to remember ...” he pauses theatrically, “... that I was your very own ring bearer for the occasion!”

Your face falls. “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?”

Daniel grins cheekily. “What can I say, it was a beautiful ceremony. I was truly honored to be part of it.”

You smack his arm. “You’re no help at all! Come on, I’m desperate here.”

Daniel laughs and puts up his hands. “Alright, alright, I’m just having a bit of fun with ya. Truth is, I was as pissed as the rest of you lot last night. Don’t remember much myself.”

You sigh. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

Daniel must take pity on your crestfallen face because he places a hand on your shoulder. “Chin up, Y/N. So you got a little wild in Vegas, it happens. I’m sure you’ll get it all sorted out.”

You nod but can’t keep the worry from your face. “I know, it’s just ... this could really screw things up if anyone finds out. I don’t even know who I married!”

“Well then it’s a good thing you’ve got the Honey Badger on the case!” He proclaims cheerfully. “I may not have the details but I’ll sniff around and ask some questions on the down low.”

You smile gratefully. “I appreciate that. Hopefully someone around here knows something.”

Daniel pops to his feet and offers you a hand. “Too right! Now come on, up you get. Let’s go scrounge up some greasy food and hair of the dog for that hangover, eh?”

You let Daniel pull you to your feet, feeling bolstered by his positivity.

As you head towards the sports bar in search of a burger and fries, Daniel slings an arm around your shoulder. “Cheer up! This’ll make for one hell of a story someday. It might even become a Grill The Grid trivia question.”

Despite everything, you have to laugh. Trust Daniel to look for the bright side.

But you still can’t ignore the uneasy feeling in your stomach. You married someone last night. For real. It’s not just some random hookup you can laugh off. There’s a living, breathing person out there who you pledged your life to and you don’t even know their name.

What kind of person did drunk Y/N choose as a life partner? Are they worried about this too? Or are they some opportunistic sleaze looking to take advantage of you?

You shake your head, realizing Daniel is watching you with a quizzical look. No use speculating. Just keep searching for answers, one driver at a time.

***

After saying goodbye to Daniel, you set off in search of Lewis. As the life of every party, surely he has to know the details of your wild night.

You eventually track him down just outside the hotel, walking his beloved bulldog. Lewis grins when he sees you approaching.

“Ah the bride awakens at last! We were wondering when you’d emerge,” he says with a chuckle.

You roll your eyes. “News sure travels fast. I’m guessing Nando blabbed?”

Lewis shakes his head. “When you have an impromptu wedding in the middle of a rager in Vegas, people are going to talk.”

You wince, dreading how far word of this has already spread. But that’s a problem for later. Right now, you need information.

“About that ...” you say. “I don’t suppose you happen to know who I ended up marrying last night?”

Lewis’ grin widens. “Now what kind of best man would I be if I spilled the beans?”

You stare at him in shock. “Best man? You were there?”

“But of course!” Lewis declares. “Had to lend my impeccable fashion sense for your dress. Pulled some strings with a stylist I know and got you all hooked up last minute.”

Your mind is reeling. You got married in an actual wedding dress? This just gets worse and worse.

You wrack your brain trying to picture it. But you have zero memory of any dress. Lewis must read the confusion on your face.

“Don’t worry, I had it safely delivered to your room after you started taking it off in the middle of the club. Though I’m guessing you were in no state to keep track of it,” he chuckles.

You shake your head, still stunned. “I didn’t see any dress in my room. What did you do with it?”

Lewis taps his chin. “You know, I did pop in this morning to check on you but you were still passed out cold. So I had the dress boxed up and sent off to be preserved and framed as a gift.”

He crouches down to scratch Roscoe behind the ears. “That’s from me and this good boy right here. Couldn’t let such a work of art go to waste!”

You’re touched in spite of yourself. “That’s really sweet, thank you. But I would really rather just know who I married right now.”

Lewis stands back up and wags his finger. “Ah ah ah, where’s the fun in that? This is the most entertainment we’ve had all season!”

You groan as Lewis laughs. “Come on, Lew. Have mercy and put me out of my misery here.”

But Lewis just zips his mouth. “My lips are sealed! Don’t you worry though, he’s a great guy. You’ve got my stamp of approval.”

You cross your arms in frustration. Of course Lewis would drag this out like a sitcom. But his clue gives you pause.

“He’s a great guy,” Lewis said. So your mystery spouse is someone Lewis personally knows and actually approves of. That narrows it down a bit.

Lewis gives you an apologetic smile and checks his watch. “I’d best be off. But don’t worry, you’ll figure this out!” He tosses a wink over his shoulder as he saunters away with Roscoe in tow.

You watch them go, mind spinning.

Lewis doesn’t just compliment anyone. So apparently drunk Y/N didn’t marry a total disaster. That’s something at least.

You absently twist the wedding band around your finger. You wish you could remember anything about him, about what happened between you.

Did you have a beautiful ceremony? Exchange heartfelt vows? Share a magical first dance as spouses?

You shake your head ruefully. If so, what a shame not to remember any of it. Here’s hoping that this “great guy” turns out to be someone who can make you fall in love all over again ...

***

You decide on a new approach — find the person who actually married you and your husband last night. Whoever officiated the ceremony must know the identity of your mystery groom.

The only problem is, you have no idea who that could be. It’s not like Vegas chapels employ actual priests or judges to perform marriages. It was probably just some random person licensed to perform marriages.

You start making the rounds of the chapels on the Strip, showing your ring and asking if anyone remembers you coming in during the night. But you have no luck — most of the chapels you try to check in with aren’t even open yet, catering to the drunk impulsive crowd that comes out after dark.

After hours of fruitless searching, you plop down on a bench in front of the Venetian, racking your brain for what to try next.

A group of women in matching Bride Tribe shirts walk by, laughing and chatting in that way only tipsy daytime bachelorettes can.

One of them pauses as they pass and calls out to you. “Hey hun, you look down. Guy trouble?” She gestures to your ring.

You debate waving her off but then reconsider. Maybe a bachelorette party would know their way around the Vegas wedding scene.

“Yeah, you could say that,” you reply. “I’m trying to find the person who married me last night but it was a bit of a ... wild impromptu thing. I don’t even know where it happened.”

The women gasp excitedly. “Oh my god, a drunk Vegas wedding? That’s epic!” Says the one in the rhinestoned Bride To Be sash.

“Epic disaster more like,” you mutter but can’t help smiling. Their enthusiasm is infectious.

The bride puts her arm around you. “Don’t worry sweetie, we’ll help you sort this out! I know all the best chapels.” She turns to her posse. “Ladies, let’s help her track down her mystery hubby!”

You find yourself swept up in the bachelorettes’ mission to assist you. After barraging you with questions about the wedding (“Please tell me you at least had a cute dress?” “Oooh was it Elvis themed?”), they decide that the most likely chapel was The Little Vegas Wedding Chapel off the north end of the Strip.

You all pile into their pink party bus and soon pull up at the aforementioned chapel. The receptionist greets you with a smile. “Welcome ladies! Who’s the lucky bride today?”

The girls nudge you forward. You clear your throat awkwardly. “Well actually, I’m trying to find out if I was a bride here last night.” You show her your ring. “I don’t remember much but I know I got married. I was hoping you might have a record?”

The receptionist types away on her computer, then frowns. “Hmm doesn’t look like we had any late night weddings yesterday. Our last was at 10 pm.”

You sigh but thank her anyway. So much for that idea. At least the bachelorettes are still upbeat as you climb back on their bus.

“No luck there but it was still a fun adventure!” The bride-to-be seems to have all the enthusiasm in the world.

You nod, grateful for their attempts to help. As the bus starts moving, the bride gasps.

“Wait, girls, I think I know where we need to go!” She turns to you excitedly. “There’s this little all-night chapel down on Fremont Street. Our friend Val got married there on a total whim a few years ago and she said it was fabulous!”

A chorus of squeals greets this news. You aren’t sure this is a solid lead, but hey, it’s not like you have any better ideas.

“Alright, let’s give it a shot!”

Twenty minutes later you’re climbing out of the bus in front of a small chapel with a neon 24 Hour Weddings sign. Taking a deep breath, you push through the door into the kitschy Vegas-themed space.

At the front counter is an older man in an Elvis costume that must be at least a size too small. Bingo. You hurry over and show him your ring.

“By any chance did you marry me and some guy last night?”

The Elvis impersonator peers at you for a moment before his face lights up in recognition. “Well slap me sideways, you’re the lovely lady I helped get hitched last night! What a shindig that was!”

Your heart leaps. Finally a lead! “Yes that was me! Do you by chance have a record of who I married?”

Elvis frowns. “You mean you don’t remember the young fella? He was real handsome, said some mighty sweet vows if I recall correctly.”

You shake your head in frustration. So close and yet so far.

Elvis pats your arm. “No worries darling, old Elvis remembers. I gotcha hitched to ...”

You lean forward eagerly as Elvis taps his chin, racking his memory.

“Now let’s see ... young fella you married. He was oh ... a bit taller than you I’d say. Had one of them European accents — German, Swedish, or somethin’ like that. Brown hair I think. A pretty good lookin’ chap. Dressed real sharp too.”

Your heart sinks as Elvis delivers the extremely vague description. Brown hair and a little over your height? Well that only narrows it down to about half of the paddock!

You groan and smack your forehead in frustration. So close! Elvis gives you an apologetic look.

“Aw shucks, wish I could tell ya more little lady. But I was croonin’ so many love songs last night that all you couples started to blend together.”

You force a smile, knowing he did try his best. “That’s alright, I appreciate you checking for me.”

Back outside, you fill in the eager bachelorettes on Elvis’ less than helpful clues. Their excitement deflates a bit.

“Dang, that could be like, anyone!” One says, voicing your thoughts exactly.

The bride-to-be squeezes your shoulder. “Don’t worry hun, we’ll keep thinking! Your mystery man is out there somewhere.”

You give her a grateful hug. “Thanks ladies, for all your help today. I should probably get back to my hotel and keep investigating.”

The gaggle of girls walks you back to the bus, firing off more wild theories about your potential groom.

“Oooh what if it’s that sexy Spanish driver … Alfonso?” Suggests the bridesmaid named Amy.

“It’s Alonso,” you correct with a laugh. She may be way off but you appreciate the enthusiasm.

As you say goodbye to your new friends, your mind is spinning once again. So Elvis confirmed this wedding really happened, though his clues weren’t particularly enlightening.

But he did say one thing — whoever you married gave sweet vows. So apparently in your drunken state, you picked someone who could be sincere and romantic.

That has to count for something, right?

You glance down at the wedding ring on your finger, the physical reminder of the huge secret you’re unraveling. Did you really promise to spend your life with someone here of all places? And do they plan on holding you to that promise?

Your gut twists with anxiety but also a trace of curiosity. Who is this mystery man who can make drunken Elvis shed a sentimental tear?

Whoever he is, you’re going to find him.

***

Exhausted after a day of fruitless searching, you decide to head back to your hotel to regroup. You slump down onto one of the plush couches in the crowded lobby, mind still spinning over the bizarre situation you’ve found yourself in.

Who exactly did you end up pledging eternal devotion to in your drunken stupor last night? So far your quest to unravel this mystery marriage has led nowhere.

But you can’t rest yet. You need answers.

As you sit there contemplating your next move, your phone starts blowing up with Twitter notifications. You blink in surprise. Must be big news dropping for this much activity.

You open the app and nearly swallow your tongue when you see the top trending hashtag: #Y/NMaxWedding.

Your stomach drops to your feet.

No no no, this cannot be happening!

But with a sense of impending doom, you click on the hashtag. Immediately you see the bombshell that has sent your world into a tailspin.

It’s a tweet from a fan account, featuring photos they somehow obtained of a Clark County Nevada marriage certificate between you ... and Max Verstappen. Your teammate.

You stare slack-jawed at the images of the official document signed by you and Max as spouses, clear as day. Your drunken Vegas escapade isn’t a secret anymore. It’s public record, blasted all over social media.

Numb with shock, you scroll through countless tweets analyzing, freaking out over, and cracking jokes about you and Max’s surprise nuptials. Some fans are outraged. Others seem delighted at this bombshell gossip.

You groan, head in your hands. This is an absolute disaster. What was merely a drunken mistake is now immortalized online. There’s no hiding it or hoping it will blow over quietly.

You married Max freaking Verstappen in Vegas. The sometimes arrogant and standoffish but always crazy talented driver you’re teammates with. No wonder he was acting so squirrelly this morning when you asked about the wedding.

Some logical part of your brain knows you need to talk to Max, start figuring out what to do for damage control. But the overwhelmed emotional side just wants to crawl under a rock and hide.

In a daze, you make your way up to your suite. Once inside, you toss your phone onto the bed, not even bothering to read the likely hundreds of texts blowing it up. You are in no state of mind to talk to your manager or team right now.

Collapsing onto the couch, you stare blankly at the wall, feeling numb. Despite all your investigating, a part of you still hoped that maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe the ring and certificate were just part of some elaborate prank.

But there’s no denying it now. You’re well and truly married to Max Verstappen.

A hysterical laugh bubbles out of you. Of all the drivers, of course you had end up with him. Max, your fiercest rival, constantly pushing you to be better. The teammate who drives you crazy but also loves to compete with you and rile you up.

God, your friends are never going to let you live this down. Married to Max. It’s like some cheesy fanfiction brought to life.

You glance over at your silent phone. The logical part of your brain knows you need to call him. You’re going to have to talk about this and figure out what the hell to do next.

But the overwhelmed part wants to put that conversation off indefinitely. You need time to process the bombshell that just upended your life before you can face Max.

Your inner debate is interrupted by a knock at your door. You freeze. No doubt it’s the Red Bull PR team come to scold you or paparazzi looking for a comment on your no-longer-a-secret marriage. Well you have nothing to say to them!

“Go away!” You yell but the knocking persists. With an irritated huff, you wrench open the door, fully prepared to give whoever’s there a piece of your mind.

Instead, you come face to face with the person you least expected but probably most needed to see. Max stands in your doorway, sheepish and awkward.

For several tense beats, you just stare at each other, the weight of this life-altering moment hanging between you.

Finally Max breaks the silence. “So ... quite a day, huh?” He gives an uneasy chuckle.

You continue gaping at him, stunned into silence. Max shuffles his feet, not quite meeting your eyes.

“Can I uh, come in? I think maybe we should talk.”

Wordlessly, you step aside and let him enter the suite. Max perches on the edge of an armchair while you sink onto the couch. More tense silence.

Max clears his throat. “So I’m guessing you’ve seen it?”

You nod mutely. Max sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Look, Y/N ... I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. But I woke up just as confused as you this morning. Wasn’t totally sure it was even real.”

He hesitates then continues softly. “You were pretty out of it last night. We all were. Getting hitched was obviously crazy but I guess it seemed fun in the moment.”

You shake your head, finding your voice at last. “This goes way beyond fun, Max! We’re married! Actually married!" Your voice edges up hysterically on the last word.

“Yes it was a ... crazy night,” Max laughs nervously.

You scoff bitterly. “That’s putting it mildly. I’d say a drunken Vegas wedding to my teammate counts as more than just crazy!"

Max winces at your tone. “Look Y/N, I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. But we were all wasted last night. I didn’t even remember at first—”

You cut him off sharply. “Well I don’t remember any of it! As far as I’m concerned, this so-called marriage never even happened.”

You begin pacing. “We need to get this annulled immediately before things get worse. It was clearly an idiotic mistake.”

Max frowns, looking hurt. “Whoa, no need to be so harsh. It may have been drunken impulse but ... maybe it was also fate.”

You stop pacing and stare at him incredulously. “Fate? Are you insane?”

He stands and steps towards you. “Hear me out. We’ve been teammates for years now. Maybe deep down we both wanted this.”

Your jaw drops open. Max keeps going.

“I know it’s crazy but what if this marriage was meant to be? We owe it to ourselves to give this a real shot before bailing.”

You gaze at him in disbelief. Is he seriously suggesting ...

“Give this a real shot?” You repeat faintly.

Max takes your hands earnestly. “Yes! We’ve always made a great team on track. Just imagine how great we would be together off track too.”

You open your mouth to argue but Max presses on. “Plus, my children need a mother.”

You yank your hands back in shock. “Children? You have kids?”

“Well, not human kids,” Max admits sheepishly. “But my cats, Jimmy and Sassy! They need a maternal influence.”

Your head spins as you try to keep up with Max’s ramblings. Is he pranking you right now?

He fixes you with his most charming smile. “Come on, wifey. Just give it a chance! We’re clearly compatible if drunk us wanted to get married.”

You stare at him like he sprouted a second head. Max gazes back hopefully. His smile really is kind of adorable ...

No! Snap out of it! This is crazy.

But he does raise some valid points. And backing out now would cause an even bigger scandal ...

You slump down onto the couch with a groan. “Fine! We’ll stay married for now. But we explain to the team it was just drunken foolishness.”

Max pumps his fist. “Yes! See, we’re already compromising with each other. It’s like we’re meant to be husband and wife!”

That finally breaks through your haze of shock. Oh god ... you have to tell Christian Horner that you married Max Verstappen.

***

You take a deep breath as you stand outside Christian’s hotel suite, arm raised to knock. “Ready for this?” You ask Max.

He grimaces. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Might as well get it over with.”

You steel your nerves and rap sharply on the door. After a moment, it swings open to reveal Christian mid-yawn.

“Y/N, Max, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He asks curiously.

You shuffle your feet, not sure how to start. “Uh, hey Christian. Max and I have something we need to discuss with you. Mind if we come in for a minute?”

Christian narrows his eyes but steps aside to let you both in. “What’s this about? I just got off a conference call with the factory team in Milton Keynes and I was finally planning to try my luck with the slots downstairs.”

You perch awkwardly on the edge of an armchair while Max stands next to you stiffly.

How do you even begin to break this kind of news to your boss?

“So Christian, funny story ...” you start lamely.

Max jumps in, deciding to just rip the bandaid off. “We got married last night.”

Christian’s eyes widen comically. For a long moment he just looks between you two like you each have three heads. Then he throws his head back and laughs heartily.

“Good one guys, you almost had me there! Trying to pull one over on your poor old team principal, very funny,” he chuckles, wiping his eyes.

You give a weak smile. “No uh, we’re actually being serious. We got married for real last night.”

Max nods. “It just sort of ... happened.”

Christian collapses onto the sectional, looking between you in shock. “This would be a great time for you to stop with the prank.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” Max says solemnly. “We were drunk and it was all really quite fast ...”

“No no, this must be some kind of joke!" Christian protests, though he’s starting to look uncertain. He grabs his phone off the coffee table. “Let me just check online, there’s no way ...”

His voice trails off as he scans his phone screen, eyes going wide at the headlines. With a low groan, he collapses back into his armchair.

“It’s true? You two actually ...” He drags a hand down his face. “Please tell me this is all some elaborate hoax the internet cooked up. Please tell me that two other people named Max Verstappen and Y/N Y/L/N happened to get married in Vegas last night.”

You shake your head helplessly.

Christian drops his head into his hands with a groan. “Unbelievable. Two of my drivers running off and eloping in Vegas! The media is going to have an absolute field day with this.”

He fixes you both with a stern glare. “Do either of you have any idea the position this puts the team in? The scandal it could cause?”

You hang your head, properly chastised. Max speaks up tentatively. “We’re really sorry, Christian, it was incredibly stupid of us. But it’s done now so we just have to deal with it.”

Christian sighs heavily. “You’re not wrong. The last thing we need is more media drama so we will have to get out in front of this.”

He pauses, regarding you both shrewdly. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll pursue an annulment right away and we can pretend this never happened?”

You glance at Max, who takes your hand and shakes his head. “We’ve talked it over and want to make this work. It happened for a reason.”

Christian makes a strangled noise. “Make this work? You plan on staying married??” His voice rises in pitch, verging on hysterical.

“We want to try,” you confirm, squeezing Max’s hand.

Christian looks desperately between you two once more before his eyes roll back and he slumps over in a dead faint.

You and Max rush over in concern. “Christian!" Max taps his face urgently. “C’mon, wake up!”

After a few tense moments, Christian’s eyes flutter open. “Wha ... what happened?” He mumbles.

“You passed out when we told you we’re staying married,” you explain sheepishly.

Christian groans, covering his face with his arm. “God help me, this is a nightmare ...”

You have to bite back an inappropriate laugh. Seeing your usually unflappable team principal so flustered would be funny if the situation wasn’t so serious.

Max helps Christian sit up and hands him a glass of water. “Sorry for springing this on you. But we’re going to make the best of it.”

Christian fixes Max with a weary look. “Just promise me no more reckless surprises from you two.”

You and Max raise your right hands in unison. “We promise!”

Taking a deep breath, Christian straightens his shirt and smooths his hair, regaining his composure. “Right. Well this is certainly an unexpected development. But the show must go on.”

He adopts his usual businesslike tone. “We’ll need to draft a press release announcing this immediately and get ahead of the media cycle. No commenting publicly until we strategize.”

You both nod obediently. Christian checks his watch. “I needed to get our PR team on the phone five minutes ago. You two, order room service and lay low until you hear from me.”

He ushers you politely but firmly out the door. As it shuts behind you, you turn to Max with wide eyes. “Well ... that could’ve gone worse?”

Max winces. “I thought Christian was going to burst a blood vessel at first. But it seems he’s taking it in stride.”

You both burst into slightly hysterical laughter, the stress melting away.

Looks like you have a marriage to figure out how to actually make work.

***

One year later

You take a deep breath as you knock on the door to Christian’s office, Max by your side. It’s time to break some more big news to your team principal.

“Come in!” Christian calls.

You enter to find him sitting at his desk surrounded by the usual organized chaos of strategy plans and data analysis.

He looks up, blinking in surprise. “Y/N, Max, what brings you by?”

You glance at Max, who gives you an encouraging nod and tentative smile. Turning back to Christian, you clasp your hands together nervously.

“Hey Christian. So, remember last year in Vegas when we promised no more reckless surprises?”

Christian’s eyes narrow warily. “Yeeesss ...” he draws out.

You look at Max again who blurts out, “Well we have another surprise coming your way. You’re going to be a grandpa!”

Christian’s jaw drops. His gaze darts down to your still flat midsection then back up to your nodding, beaming faces.

“You ... you’re ...” Christian stammers, looking like all the blood has drained from his face.

You take pity and confirm it for him. “Pregnant, yes. Surprise!” You add with an awkward chuckle.

For a few long moments Christian just sits there, mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a fish. Then, his eyes roll back and he topples forward, head thunking down on his desk.

You and Max rush forward. “Uh no, I think we broke him again,” Max winces, gently shaking Christian’s shoulder.

After a few tense seconds, Christian stirs with a groan. “Oww, my head ...”

“You passed out when we told you about the baby,” you explain sheepishly.

Christian blinks blearily up at you both hovering over him anxiously. “The baby ... so it’s really true then?”

You place a hand on your stomach. “Yep! There’s going to be a little Verstappen running around in around seven and a half months.”

Despite his obvious shock, Christian manages a weak smile. “Well how about that ... we’re expanding the Red Bull family.”

Max claps him on the back. “I know it seems a bit crazy but we’re thrilled.” He squeezes your hand and smiles softly.

Christian lets out a long breath, straightening his rumpled shirt. “Well, I appreciate you both coming to me first this time. We’ll need to strategize how to share the happy news.”

You can’t resist teasing him gently. “Don’t worry, we’ll do our best to avoid making you faint again in the future.”

Christian levels a stern finger at you both. “See that you do. My heart can only take so much.” But his mock glare melts into a warm smile.

You exchange a grin with Max.

It turns out that sometimes what happens in Vegas doesn’t stay in Vegas … but neither of you is going to complain about that.

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enwoso · 7 days

Text

IN PLAIN SIGHT — alessia russo

as promised and by very popular demand!! not even gonna lie i kinda love how this turned out:)

mainly just fluff but a little suggestive;)

navigation

being on england camp was something you always loved, being able to represent your country at the highest level was something you could only dream of when you were growing up, wanting nothing more than to follow in your big sisters footsteps.

being surrounded by your friends, your older sister leah all while being able to play the sport that you loved was something that never felt real.

"and then keira said- your not even listenin'!" leah huffed throwing her arms up in the air as you glanced from your phone placing it face down on your sisters bed as she turned to face you.

"i was!" you smiled sweetly in your defence, hoping leah would buy it and carry on with what ever she had been talking about as in reality you hadn't the simplest idea of what she had been talking about for the past twenty minutes.

"mhm, you looked it too!" leah sassed as your rolled your eyes at your older sister's dramatics. "anyways who you textin' with such a cheesy grin on your little face" she asked as your smile dropped a little. "don't think i didn't notice"

"i- uh just a friend" you stutter as leah raised an eyebrow clearly not satisfied with your answer but you weren't ready to tell her the truth of who you were actually texting out of pure fear of her reaction.

"and does said friend have a name?" leah smiled as she moved to sit next to you on her bed as your brain worked fast to try and figure out a way out of answering the question.

"oh it's just an old school friend, i don't-"

"yeah i remember your school friends which one?" you could tell leah didn't believe a single word that was coming from your mouth as she was sat with a look that you knew and seen quite a few time when you were growing up as she was trying to squeeze the actual truth from you but you were giving her no luck.

"um i don't think you met this one, anyways it's getting late i should probably get back to my room, busy day of training tomorrow" you rambled out quickly getting up from leah's bed as quickly as you could before she had the chance to bombard you with anymore questions saying a quick goodbye to your sister as you left.

walking down the corridor of st george's park in direction of a certain someone's room instead of your own, looking over your shoulder every so often to make sure that none of of the england girls where around to see your movements.

three knocks on the door in the same pattern you always did, as a few seconds passed before the door opened, alessia stood with a soft smile on her face as she let you in quickly shutting the door behind her.

"hi love" she mumbled into your hair as you wrapped your arms around her waist mumbling a hello against her as she lifted you up and walked from the doorway to her bed, lying down on it as all you could hear was her heart beating against her chest drowning out the sound of the tv playing a series that alessia had clearly been watching to pass time.

"m’sorry it took me so long to come, i was with leah" you said quietly moving so that the two of you were more comfy.

the blonde shaking her head, "it's okay, i knew that's where you'd be - so actually i was expecting you to be longer!" she assured you as you laughed a little at the last part knowing that leah loved to talk, your older sister always having something to say or comment on.

not always the shy angel that some thought she was - that being only reserved for those she wasn't as comfortable around.

as for you and alessia, nobody knew about your relationship. everyone saw the two of you as best friends and while you were to the outside, behind closed doors and away from prying eyes it had blossomed into something more meaningful, the two of you wrapped up in your own little love bubble.

you'd know alessia for a while having grown up with her and a lot of the current england squad in the youth teams all together however it wasn't until the world cup when you both admitted your feelings to each other a few weeks later after the heartbreak of the final, you finally after years of dancing around the bush asked alessia to be your girlfriend.

the two of you had been together now for seven months. and with each day that passed you were more and more scared of your older sisters reaction to you dating alessia.

you had grown bored of the series alessia was watching your fingers trailing up and down the blondes arm in hope you would peel her attention from the tv screen and onto you instead.

at first you were having no look until you felt a slight shiver from the girl, her face turning to look at you a sheepish smile appearing on your face. “hi”

“hi” she breathed out her face inches away from touching yours. the blonde looking into your blue orbs, deciding if she was going to make the move or if she was waiting for you to, seconds later bringing her hand up to your face, cupping your cheek and using her thumb to run across your cheekbones, pulling you that little bit closer to her.

you allowing alessia to pull you, your faces stopping that mere millimetre away from each other, alessia’s hand remaining in its place. taking in being able to feel your soft skin under her finger tips again.

your lips barely grazing, but you could feel your breath mixing together.

“please” you whimpered, unable to stop the begging tone from the slowness of the build up as it was killing you. “what?” alessia innocently asked as you rolled your eyes.

you could feel alessia’s lips graze yours as you moved that little bit closer, your lips now ever so slightly touching.

“just kiss me-“ you breathed out, alessia nodding and moving her head forward allowing your lips to connect properly. you both taking a deep breath at the familiar tingles from your connection.

your hand resting on the blondes thigh, squeezing it slightly as the blonde let out a small moan, finally getting the sound you’d been craving.

alessia ran her hand that was previously on your cheek to the back of your neck, “i love you” alessia moaned into the kiss, her breath hitching as she felt your tongue come out and graze her bottom lip. alessia bringing her own out to touch yours, you squeezing alessia’s thigh in response.

“i love you so much” you whispered against her lips, as you felt alessia pull lightly on the back of your hair. “wish i could stay with you tonight” you added as you both pulled away to regain your breath.

“someone would definitely get suspicious then, love” she smiled softly, her pupils dilated as she looked at you so in love.

you frowned for a split second, before moving to straddle the blonde as her hands quickly found your waist you the one this time to rest your hands on her neck.

leaning in ever so slightly, “we better make good use of the time we have together then!” you whispered, alessia seeing a change in your eyes, they were darker as you continued leaning in trailing kissing from her jawline down to her neck.

finding the skin of her neck between your lips as you kissed her neck with a little more pressure, your teeth nipping slightly at the skin. knowing exactly where and how she liked to be kissed, as alessia’s grip on your waist tightened as small whines fell from her lips.

“i- fuck, babe, no marks please” she cursed under her breath, as you hummed against her skin, however you knew you couldn’t make any promises to the blonde.

sitting down with georgia and ella while you ate breakfast conversating over small things as well as the next matches that were in a few days time.

“less is late down today?" georgia said out of the blue, your eyebrows raising a little, "she's probably still doin' her hair- y'know what she's like!" ella rolled her eyes as you nodded a long agreeing with the two of them.

you’d left alessia’s room early this morning after falling asleep in her room last night, not wanting to have to explain to any of your teammates why you’d be in there when they came to knock on for the blonde.

doing your usual routine of kissing her forehead, mumbling an ‘i love you’ and sending her a text message for when she woke up so she knew where you’d be before leaving to your own room to get ready.

your shrugged your shoulders as you put another spoonful of your breakfast into your mouth and the topic changed once again.

"so in ireland we need to go and try-" you were in the middle of a new topic of things you may have time to see and do in your short trip to ireland for the next match when all of a sudden milk is being sprayed from ella’s mouth and all of you.

"ELLA! what the fuck man!" you groan loudly looking down at your now soaking wet training jumper. "ay language!" you heard leah yell over from another table rolling your eyes you turned back to ella and georgia who were both sat opposite you as milk dripped down your face.

"what was that for?" you ask, moving quickly to take your jumper off, leaving you in your training top. you look up to georgia and ella who are both sending gawk eyes at whoever is stood behind you.

"what- oh hey lessi" you gave her a small smile as she stood stone faced behind you, wincing as you realised why she had that look on her face.

a hickey that you’d given her from last night had formed on her neck all red and purple, you could tell she’d try to put concealer over it however it wasn’t enough to cover it.

“oo um, you sleep well?” you cringed sending the blonde a sorry look as you watched the ella and georgia burst out laughing the two nearly on the verge of crying with laughter, you not totally understanding what was so funny.

“less- if you ask, the kitchen staff they may be able to give you a whisk!” ella joked in between her loud laughs with georgia, a few of the girls around the room looking over to your table with confused looks as alessia scoffed walking away in the direction of the where the food was being served to get her own breakfast.

you felt yourself sink further into the chair, unsure of how the next few minutes were going to go, georgia and ella finally beginning to stop laughing. “so you and less huh?” georgia wiggled her eyebrows.

“um- wait how do you know?” you asked, pushing the rest of your breakfast around with your spoon.

“well one you’ve just confirmed our suspicions and two it was pretty obvious mate” georgia pointed out as they both began to list out interactions they had noted between you and the blonde.

it ranging from little looks they’d noticed to the small touches and how you would act around each other when you both thought nobody was watching you.

“and from then, the whole team realised you were both together” ella finished as you hummed along, alessia now sat down next to you eating her own breakfast, your ears perking up at the sound of the words ‘whole team’

did that mean leah already knew too?

“what do you mean whole team?” you said calmly however you could feel your heart racing. alessia sensing your panic as she placed her hand on your knee to reassure you.

“well everyone had their suspicions, even leah” ella shrugged as your eyes widen but you were also wondering why she had never brought it up to you.

“um, i’ll be back” you shot up out your seat, rushing off towards your sister before they had a chance to ask where you were going.

the three watching as you rushed off in direction of type sisters table.

“le, can i talk to you?” you said quickly, startling your sister at your presence as she sat with keira, beth, millie and mary.

“yeah, what’s wrong?” she smiled turning to face you as you stood to the side of her, leah’s arm rest in on the back of the chair, noticing your panicked state.

“in private” you mumbled, your eyes flicking towards the two girls leah was sat with. your sister nodded as she began to stand up, telling the two girls she would be back in a minute as you both began to walk outside of the canteen.

“what’s wrong, why you all nervous?” leah asked, worried look growing on her face with each passing second as you both stood in the hallway of st george’s park. you fidgeting with the rings in your fingers as your tried to find you words.

“so, do you um- know about me” you trailed off, stumbling over your words as leah smiled to herself nodding knowing now exactly what you were going to say.

“about you and alessia being in a relationship? she finished your sentence for you, you head snapping up at your sisters words as you shyly nodded biting your top lip to stop the big grin from appearing on your face as you still were unsure of her initial reaction.

“of course, you two are not very discreet y’know- basically in plain sight!” leah laughed a little to herself as your smile slowly started to grow.

“but you do know that you live with me and i’ve heard quite a few of your conversations with each other over the past few months!” leah pointed out as you face frozefor a minute, your cheeks starting to go all hot and probably red as your brain replayed a few of yours and alessia’s conversation, some definitely not what you want your older sister to be over hearing.

“how come you never told me?” leah asked as you shrugged, you knew why but you weren’t sure if you were ready to admit that out loud to your older sister.

you sighed, “just didn’t know how you were gonna react, i guess”

“your so stupid at times, along as your happy i don’t care who your dating!” leah laughed as she pulled you in for a hug as you rolled your eyes at her harmless insult.

“sorry for not telling you” you smiled as leah nodded her hand waving backwards dismissing your comment.

“but if alessia ever breaks your heart, i will not hesitate to make her life a living hell!” leah said in her serious tone, her face dropping to that scary glare she did all too easily as she rambled on about giving alessia the talk later on.

you groaning as you rolled your eyes at your older sister protectiveness, nudging her a little as you both walked back into the canteen.

“hey! i’m just looking out for my baby sister!”

(pretend it’s you and less!)

y/nwilliamson

liked by keirawalsh and 732,549 others

y/nwilliamson forgot to mention🩷 @alessia

comments —

ellatoone and they thought we didn’t know🙄😅

1h 194 likes reply

leahwilliamson happy for you both but i was being serious about my last part - i’m watching you russo!

1h 327 likes reply

-> alessia 🫡

-> y/nwilliamson stop acting all tough! your a big softie!!

keirawalsh is this the hard launch?

1h 110 likes reply

-> y/nwilliamson something like that🤔

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candylix · 1 month

Text

a functioning member of society | han jisung

Pairing • Jisung x GN!Reader

A/N • This takes place during the events of another series called one little lie. This can be read as a stand-alone fic, but some parts will make more sense with the context of one little lie. (The reader is not the same person as in oll!)

Summary • Jisung is sick at home... or at least, that's what he tells his boss. Really, he just wants to sleep in and hang out with his cute neighbor across the hall. However, less time working means more time fighting the thoughts in his brain.

Genre • smut (with feelings!)

WC • 3k

Content • no pronouns used but the reader does have a vagina, making out, fingering, oral (reader receiving), jisung has issues

Jisung shot up from his bed. He looked at the digital clock on his bedside table; it was 12:54.

He was late.

He had everything planned for today. He woke up early and called in sick to work, just so he could stay home. He was going to sleep in until 11, eat breakfast, make himself look good, and then pay his neighbor a visit across the hall. You invited him over to 'hang out' at noon, and he didn't want to miss it. Unfortunately, he forgot to set his alarm, and he hoped you wouldn't think he's the worst fling ever.

He scrambled to change out of his pajamas.

He might kill himself if he ruined this, like he'd done so many times with so many people in the past. There's only so much a dumb joke and a cute smile can resolve.

You moved in a few months ago, and ever since then, he'd been looking for excuses to see you more. You were gorgeous, fun, smart, and to be honest, way out of his league. He didn't know how he did it, but his boyish charm captivated you enough to have a one night stand. Which turned into a two night stand, and then you just started having casual sex every once in a while.

Maybe one day he'd want something more, and he could certainly see himself falling for you in the future. You were, quite honestly, a perfect match for him. You actually liked his personality instead of just tolerating it, and you were respectful of his boundaries when he avoided more personal questions. The sex was good, but your friendship was better, and for now, this was enough. Whether or not his feelings would grow, he liked to live in the moment- and in this particular moment, he was very late.

He knocked on your door, and when you didn't answer fast enough, he knocked again. Were you ignoring him? Did you get tired of waiting and leave?

He finally heard the door unlocking, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

He stood leaning one hand against the door frame, trying his best to look cool, calm, and collected. Unbeknownst to him, his messy hair stood up on end and his shirt was half-buttoned and half-collared, and when you finally opened the door, he gave the impression that he just woke up.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," you said, and your fingers combed through his hair, smoothing it down to look more presentable.

"I wasn't sleeping... I was just sick." He faked a cough, a purposefully unconvincing performance.

"Ew, go home then," you laughed. You lightly shoved him, and he dramatically staggered back.

"How dare you! Do you know how hard it was for me to get here?" he asked, knowing full well his door was three feet behind him. "I had to climb uphill, both ways, in the snow, barefoot, just to see you."

You looked down. He was wearing pink fuzzy slippers.

"Just get in here," you said, and opened the door wider to let him in.

You barely had time to close the door before he pulled your face towards his own. His lips met yours, and he pressed himself into your body. He couldn't keep his hands to himself, and you felt the ghost of his fingertips all over your back, until they finally found purchase in your hair. His tongue slipped over your soft lips, asking for entrance, and you gladly parted them for him.

Your back met the door as he pinned you against it. You cupped his cheeks, melting deeper into the kiss, and soft moans passed between his lips. He rolled his hips into yours, hungry for as much contact as possible.

Suddenly, you heard something. It sounded like... creepy carnival music.

He pulled away from the kiss.

"Sorry, that's my phone. My friend is calling me," he said, no attempt to turn it off or indication of how ridiculous this situation was. Knowing him, this was probably in his top 10 most normal things to happen while making out.

"What... why is that that ringtone?"

"One day he pissed me off and I changed his ringtone, and then I just never put it back," he explained. "He hates it, but I kind of find it endearing now, like my nightmare clown friend is calling."

The music continued to play, creepy music box melody haunting the room while sinister laughter faded in and out. You couldn't believe this is the man you invited over.

"Aren't you gonna pick up?"

He took his phone out of his pocket, and threw it across the room, landing on your couch and bouncing across the cushions.

"But it's so far..." he said, weakly raising his arm out towards the couch, as if the phone was barely out of reach.

He cupped your face, and went in for another kiss, but you struggled to kiss back. The music completely killed the vibe. You tried to get back into the mood, your hand finding its way into his hair, but his phone was too distracting.

It's only when his hand reached between your thighs that you're finally able to forget about it. You don't know when it stopped, because your mind was consumed with his tongue in your mouth and his hand on your cunt. It clouded over with thoughts of Jisung and his body, and it wasn't until he picked you up and carried you half way to your room that you came back to reality.

His mouth was still pressed against yours when he laid you down on your bed. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, not wanting him to go. You were too addicted to the taste of his tongue, and when he broke away for air, you chased his lips back onto your own. You could tell he felt it too, with the way the hard bulge in his pants pressed against you when he leaned further in.

He was finally able to part from you, and he peppered kisses over your nose, cheeks, chin, where ever he could reach. He lowered himself down your body, kissing you over your clothing, until his head reached your crotch. He wasted no time pulling down your pants. He licked your core over the wet spot in your underwear, savoring the taste of your arousal for him.

Maybe you would've been like this for just anybody, wet and excited for a touch, but he wanted to think this was especially for him. He didn't care if you fucked other people- that would be hypocritical, considering he'd fuck anyone that asked- but he did look forward to seeing you the most, and he hoped you at least felt that way too.

He nestled deeper into your clothed cunt, nose pressed into you, just to stall until you couldn't take it anymore. You whimpered his name, asking for him to do anything, to please touch you, and the sound of you begging for him was like a sweet melody that he never wanted to stop listening to. You liked him, you wanted him, you needed him.

"You're that desperate for me, huh?"

He finally gave in, and pulled your underwear down your legs, stuffing it into his pocket.

If there was one thing Jisung liked, it was the way you reacted when he licked up your folds, lapping up your juices and seeing you squirm. Both his heart and his dick throbbed seeing you get this worked up because of him.

Words could be deceitful. He was painfully aware of this. His thoughts haunted him when he was alone.

But when your fingers combed through his hair, pushing his face closer to your core, those thoughts vanished. He knew, at least right now, you wanted him here. Words could deceive, but actions under the influence of pure pleasure didn't lie.

He inserted one finger, slowly pumping in and out while his tongue flicked over your clit. He licked and sucked, tongue poking down into your hole, savoring the way his name spilled out of your lips. You rocked into his face, needing every inch of him on your pussy, and he happily obliged. He licked a long stripe up your cunt, making you gasp, and he pulled out his finger to tease your entrance. You were soaking wet, and by the way you clenched around the empty space where he once was, he could tell you were desperate for more.

He pushed his finger back into you, a second finger joining this time. His thrusts were faster, and he loved the way you moaned in pleasure when he curled his fingers. Your bucking became more frantic, and he met your desire by sucking on your clit.

You could feel your orgasm building up as his fingers rubbed into you harder. He forced them into you, completely filling you up until he reached his knuckles, before pulling them out and pushing them back in again. You twitched wildly in pleasure, and he had to hold you down with his free arm just to keep licking your folds and circling your clit.

You were trapped under him, unable to grind into his face at the extreme pleasure you were feeling, and he gave you no respite either. He inserted a third finger into you, stretching your walls while he kept pumping into you, and when he pressed a sensitive bundle of nerves, you could feel your climax coming quicker. You barely had time to think before it came gushing out of you, a loud moan of Jisung's name being the only warning he got before his fingers were drenched in your cum.

He pulled out his fingers and replaced them with his tongue, lapping up your juices from inside and out. Not a single drop went to waste.

All he wanted was to pleasure you. Maybe if he made you feel good every time he came over, you'd keep calling him. Maybe you wouldn't get tired of him, like so many others did when they stopped finding his jokes charming for seemingly no reason at all. At least with you, he knew how you liked to be touched.

He didn't want to feel like his friendship was transactional, but how could he not. Everyone found him annoying eventually. It was inevitable.

He didn't want this to end. He was scared. When you caught your breath, would you expect him to go?

"Jisung," you called, snapping him out of a spiral you didn't know he was having. You patted the bed next to you, and he hesitantly climbed in.

Why was it that the more time he spent with you, the worse his thoughts became? It was like his brain couldn't accept a reality where you enjoyed his company, even though you were the one that invited him over in the first place. It made up excuses to explain how this could be happening; you probably just liked sex and he was the only one available, or you just felt sorry for him and somehow this was all you could think of.

You cupped his cheek, looking into his eyes to bring him back to earth. He pushed those thoughts aside as best as he could, and snuggled into your arms.

"Are you alright?" you asked. "You looked a bit distracted right now."

"Oh, uh, just thinking about how sexy you are.

He wanted you to smile, forget about your concern, but a look he can't quite place flashed across your face. It went away just as quickly, but he can't help but read into it.

Was that pity? Disappointment? Worry?

Was there a difference?

He wished he could open up to you, especially after something as vulnerable as sex, but he didn't know how to break down that barrier that kept his anxieties to himself.

"How was I?" he asked softly, and as if he was afraid of being genuine, he added "Was that the best sex you've ever had or what?"

"You were amazing," you said, and a bit of tension eased up in Jisung's body.

"Avoiding the second question, I see."

"Maybe if you used this," you said, and your fingers move to trace the bulge in his pants.

A sudden rush of nerves washed over his body, and he realized just how hard he was. He was so distracted by his own turmoil that he didn't even notice the way his cock throbbed in his boxers.

"I will if you promise to invite me over again," he said, winking at you.

"Of course I will, you don't even have ask," you said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. It wasn't obvious to him.

His heart beat in his chest. Maybe, just this once, he'd believe it.

His body reacts on its own, leaning in to kiss you. It was soft and sweet, an unspoken 'thank you' that he wasn't prepared for.

It's over just as quickly as it began, breaking away to snuggle into your chest.

And then his stomach growled. He didn't eat breakfast because he slept in, and he didn't eat lunch because he was late. He hoped you didn't hear it, but he knew you had to have. Maybe you had some granola bars he could snack on. He could check in the fridge, maybe you could eat together in the living room, make a fun moment out of it...

The living room. Where his phone was. Because he threw it there when he got a call.

He should probably see what Minho needed... but he was so warm and cozy. He didn't want to leave the bed, and he definitely didn't want to leave you. But he really should.

"Hey, remember when my clown friend called?"

You winced, remembering the creepy music that almost completely ruined the mood.

"No, I don't remember. I'm choosing not to."

"You don't remember this?" he asked, before singing the ringtone, followed by menacing laughter, cut off when you covered his mouth to get him to stop.

His creepy laughter turned into giggles as he tried to pry your hands off his face.

He finally did, holding both your wrists in his hands.

"Should I go call him back? The circus might be in trouble..." he said, and then sunk his head deeper into the mattress, "but it's so nice here..."

"You probably should," you replied, and Jisung groaned.

"Ugh, fine."

He pushed himself up, leaving the comfort of your bed and the warmth of your body. He walked out of your room, turning his head repeatedly to give you his sad puppy dog eyes. You shooed him away, and he finally left for the living room. His phone was still on the couch, face down and waiting for him to rescue it.

One new voicemail. Press 1 to play.

"Jisung, call me back ASAP. It's an emergency."

"Oh, shit."

He called Minho back, and he immediately picked up.

"Oh thank god," Minho sighed.

"What happened!?"

"Ok... don't laugh."

Of course, as soon as he heard what Minho had done, Jisung erupted into a full body laugh.

He hadn't noticed you enter the living room, but you couldn't help but be curious after what you heard.

"Yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can," Jisung said, and he heard Minho sigh in relief. "But I wouldn't worry about her. Trust me, I've known her waaaaay longer than you. She'll be fine."

The conversation didn't last much longer, Jisung promising to be there 'as soon as he finished some important documents', and hanging up.

"Are you leaving?" you ask. "I was going to get you some food."

The way you looked at him, sad to see him possibly go... maybe he should've felt his heart break seeing you like that, but instead his heart swelled. You didn't want him to leave, you didn't just want him for sex and nothing else.

"Well... if you're offering food..." he said, and your face lit up. You body language was expressive, and he noticed it every time.

He knew words could be deceiving, but your actions always told the truth. He would always have thoughts about how people perceive him, if they really liked him or not, if they would leave if he became 'too much'... but with you, he wanted to trust you. He chose to trust you, even if his brain screamed the opposite.

"Nah, I'd stay regardless," he said, "he thinks I'm at work anyway, so I can spend more time here, if you want."

"That's why I invited you over, isn't it?"

If only he could express the warm tingly sensation that ran through his body when he heard those words. He felt butterflies in his stomach, something he hadn't experienced since high school.

He was going to ignore what that could possibly mean for him.

Time passed, you enjoyed your time together, but he thought it was finally time to go rescue his friends. You walked him to the door, and hugged him goodbye.

You pulled away, and that's when you see it.

"Is that my underwear in your pocket?"

"Huh?" he looked to his pocket, and sure enough, white fabric was spilling out. "Oh... whoops! How did that get there? Must've crawled in when I wasn't looking." He pulled it out and shoved it into your hand.

"You know what? Keep it. You obviously want it more than me," you said, stuffing it right back into his pocket.

He was definitely going to use that later.

"If you say so," he said. He turned to leave, but you grabbed his arm to say one more thing.

"Just... when you're done, please wash it and give it back."

He gasped, and his hand clasped his chest in mock offense.

"I would never do something so uncouth-"

"Jisung. Wash it. It was expensive and I want it back."

"Ok, ok, I will," he said, and smirked. "You want me back here that bad, huh?"

You roll your eyes.

"You're lucky you're cute."

He finally left your apartment, and when the door closed behind him, he felt twice as light as when he came in.

taglist: (using the same taglist as one little lie since it's a spinoff, hope you all don't mind!)

@loeyscock @0325tiny @5starlee @miupow @mapofthemazeinthemirror @sadrosessing @luminouskalopsia @minghaosimp @curiousgworge @azuna-sz @piscesrising01 @g-bbzz @extrhotjne @nabi-tokoshi@kpopsstuffs

@weareapackofstrays @jabmastersupriseee @neko-squidblog @lurking-coconut @kiaralynn3838

@chanssmiles @linos-kitten @jehhskz @stanskzot8 @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @ell0thebell

@hinalara @kaicreech @lazybean246 @idoughnutreadsmut @aeliuss

@the-ninth-moon @poody1608

#stray kids x reader #stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader smut #stray kids smut #han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #han jisung #jisung smut #jisung x reader #jisung x reader smut #han smut #han x reader #han x reader smut

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 3 months

Note

OH BIG BRAIN IDEA-

Reverse Puss In Boots panic attack scene with Reader calming Dogday down from a panic attack, 'cause this case it's the dog that needs comforting-

"[Y/n]! Come quickly! Something's wrong with Dogday!"

Pausing in your repairs of Kissy's arm, you made sure to cut the thread before giving her an apologetic look. Fortunately, she seemed to understand that you needed to heed Poppy's call right away, and so you followed the little doll into the next room over.

There, Dogday was resting...although at this moment he was very much doing the opposite.

He was slumped against the wall, out of the makeshift dogbed you and Kissy put together for him, a hand clutching his chest--but it kept heaving, rapidly rising and falling with each labored breath.

His white pupils were completely gone, not a shred of light to be found within his sockets, and that was very alarming.

Did he see something?

Did an intruder try to get in?

While Poppy couldn't guarantee any place in the factory was safe, she did mention this area was a good place to hunker down, rest, and plan your next move against the Prototype.

But if that's the case...then what was going on with him?

You needed to find out fast.

"Dogday...what's wrong..??!"

Even though he could hear you and see you kneeling in front of him, concern written all over your face, he simply couldn't answer. He couldn't even keep his focus on you, as a whirlwind of terror and panic clouded his mind.

The only thing he could do was paw at his chest, unable to make sense of why his heart refused to stop pounding, as though it was trying to break free.

Or maybe..

It was a little Smiling Critter who stowed away inside him, trying to get out....

The more he thought about it, the worse he felt.

"I don't know what happened.." Poppy murmured to you, shaking her head. "I swear he was fine a second ago! Y-You think his organs might be shutting down? Or his hunger is-?"

"No, I know exactly what's wrong." You calmly answered, much to her bewilderment.

But before she could question you further, you moved over to Dogday's side before hugging him around the torso, squishing your cheek against his chest the moment he took his paws off of it.

And you simply waited.

The little doll had no idea how this was helping him, although she soon realized his breaths were finally starting to slow. His white pupils flickered back to life, looking down and seeing you embrace him without any regard to your own safety.

Somehow..you provided him with such a comforting weight that drowned out his panicked thoughts.

One of his trembling paws eventually came to rest atop your head, and he slowly began to pet you much like a human would pet a dog: gentle, ensuring he wasn't too rough.

After a few more moments passed, you felt his breaths even out to the point where his chest wasn't heaving like before, and he placed his paw on your back.

Finally, he spoke.

"A-Angel...thank you..I..don't know what happened.."

"It's okay." You sat up to look at him, seeing the tears threatening to spill from his sockets. "You were just having a panic attack. But it's over..you did great."

"Is..that what it was?" He murmured, confused.

"That's all it was. Do you remember what led to it?"

"...'m not sure. I was..just thinking about Catnap, and the Prototype, and suddenly I felt this strange tightness in my chest. Thought somethin' was wrong with my lungs...a-and then the room just started spinning. Next thing I knew, I...I-I couldn't breathe. I couldn't talk to Poppy or you, angel. Thought one of those wretched things was trying to eat me from the inside out. B-But..that was just all in my head, right? I'm not...nothing was-?"

"I made sure none snuck inside when I was fixing you up. You're safe from them." Taking one of his paws into your hands, you smiled, seeing Kissy walk into the room. "Catnap and the Prototype have been on all of our minds lately, and it's been...a stressful few hours."

"...I didn't mean to scare you all..usually it's me who calms people down, ya know?" He sighed quietly, still feeling guilty. "You sure I'm not going to slow you down? Because if I have another attack...i-it could be at the worst time, and then-"

"Then I'll help you through it. I made a promise to get you all out of here, and I'm sticking by that." You reassured.

Dogday looked surprised, but he relaxed his shoulders in relief, tail wagging along the floor. "Thank you, angel.."

He had his doubts before, about whether saving him from the Playhouse was more trouble than it's worth.

But now he knows you're in this for the long run, ready to help guide him out of the darkness.

#clanask #poppy playtime x reader #ppt x reader #poppy playtime dogday #poppy playtime poppy #kissy missy #dogday x reader #angst #hurt/comfort #tw panic attack

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stevesbipanic · 1 year

Text

Eddie sometimes went quiet.

Wayne noticed it after Eddie moved in. He didn't do it as much when he was little and Mary would bring him round, but here he was at ten years old completely silent. When Eddie was little Wayne assumed the boy was just shy, but now that he lived with Eddie he knew that sometimes a whole week would pass with not a peep from the young boy. M

The doctor said it might be a trauma response, might just be something he would do from time to time, either way, Eddie Munson, one of the loudest and dramatic kids Wayne had ever met would still be him, just nonverbal. They worked with a notebook but sometimes Eddie would get frustrated he wasn't being answered fast enough and they were running out of paper.

It was Wayne's buddy from work that presented a solution. "Have you tried sign language? My son was born deaf and Susan and I went to night classes so we could talk to the kid." So that's exactly what Wayne did, he moved his shifts to the day and spent his nights at the school learning to talk to his boy. On his days off he'd show Eddie what he'd learnt and slowly they were able to bridge the gap that the silence presented.

The silent days didn't stop as he grew older, his teachers didn't really understand and sometimes he'd end up in detention with a note saying he was being disrespectful. His friends understood though and enthusiastically asked Eddie to teach them sign language, they'd use it even when Eddie was happily chatting with them, they liked that they shared a 'secret' language from the bullies.

He hadn't had any silent days since Vecna, which Eddie thought was a miracle in itself given the circumstances. However, he woke up a couple months after spring break knowing what kind of day it was going to be. He felt frustrated with himself, he was supposed to be hanging out with Steve and Robin today and was worried with how they'd take it, especially Steve. They'd been dancing around each other's feelings lately and he didn't want to ruin everything before it even started. Resigned he grabbed a notebook and pen and headed to Family Video.

He'd spent ten minutes psyching himself up in the parking lot before heading inside, note written and ready explaining that no it wasn't anything Upside Down related, he just wouldn't be speaking today. The door's bell rings in his ear as he stops suddenly staring at the scene before him. Steve and Robin were, quite rapidly, signing at each other. Steve turns at the bell, smiling at Eddie.

"Eddie!"

Still in a bit of shock, Eddie signs on instinct, "You know sign?"

Steve has the same look of shock now, before his face breaks into an even bigger smile and signs back, "You know sign! You know sign, how, why?"

His hands are faster than his brain as he explains how he goes quiet sometimes, and Wayne and night classes and Hellfire before asking Steve how he and Robin know sign.

Steve looks bashful as he signs back, "Um, after Starcourt my hearing started to go, so Robin, ever the linguist, insisted we learn, which was actually very smart of her. I can still kinda hear but I get by mainly on lip reading."

Things started to make sense now to Eddie, how sometimes Steve seemed to just nod and smile at whatever the kids were saying, or would need things repeated to him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't you tell me about going nonverbal? Robbie has days like that too."

"Didn't want you to think I was weird."

"I like that you're weird, I like you, Eds."

Eddie blushes at what he interprets is his sign name from Steve, the letter E and the sign for love combined.

"I like you too, Stevie." Eddie signs, the letter S mixed with the sign for heart.

Eddie may still have his silent days, but now he shares them with Steve, and they can sign the things he's not allowed to say out loud, making sure they both know they're loved.

#autistic eddie munson #deaf steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #st4 #steddie #stranger things season 4 #autistic robin buckley #ficlet #fluff #nonverbal

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frankenkyle19 · 1 year

Text

Unsupervised Tablet Time

Description: Kyle is on his tablet late at night. He somehow managed to get onto a porn sight, and found himself with a hard on. But you’d help him right? The only problem was? You were asleep

warnings: smut, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, a bit of a crazed Kyle at one point, he makes the reader touch him while she’s sleeping (or so he thinks, she’s not actually asleep), Kyle crying, tooth rotting fluff. (I didn’t mean to make this as fluffy as I did, but it’s Kyle and I couldn’t resist)

word count: 3k (woooo, I think this is the longest fic I’ve ever written)

Realistically it wasn’t his fault that he stumbled across porn while watching videos on his tablet. All it took was one click, one link and bam.

He was sucked in. Completely enthralled. Eyes wide as he watched the two people move on screen, their noises muffled in his headphones as he watched, completely entranced. The way their bodies move against each other as the man rutted against the woman, thrusting into her at a harsh, unrelenting pace. Kyle had been so mesmerized by the video that he barely noticed the way his cock twitched in his pants, begging for some kind of relief.

He did finally realize though when he shifted from his criss cross applesauce position to relax more against the bed and his thigh brushed against his erection. He paused, blinking in confused curiosity as he carefully poked at his groin with his pointer finger. The sounds that were playing right into Kyle’s ears weren’t at all helping the situation. From the sound of slapping skin to the moans the girl was letting off. It sparked something inside him.

He pawed at his clothed cock with a clumsy hand, a quiet, surprised groan coming from his lips. That felt good. But not enough. He needed more. More more more.

Still though, it was late at night and he knew everyone was asleep, and even though he didn’t quite understand, he figured this isn't something you did around everyone. Even in his hazed state, he knew that he didn’t want to get caught. Maybe he should just go back to watching videos.

He turned his attention back to the tablet, frowning as he saw the video had ended, but soon enough a bunch more popped up in recommendation and he clicked on one of them, excitedly watching, eyes flicking across the screen as the video loaded.

It started out with a woman lying across a bed, stark naked. She began touching herself and Kyle mewled, reaching out and touching the screen in a desperate attempt to touch the woman. He groaned in frustration at his failed attempt, eyebrows furrowed at the growing pressure in his pants that was becoming more and more uncomfortable.

His eyes were laser focused on the girl's cunt, his tongue lolling from his mouth again. He longed to bury his face between her thighs. It was like an instinct. Or a memory…He wasn’t sure.

Soon enough there was a bit more action on the screen, a man crawling on top of her as they began to passionately make out. Kyle copied the movements of their lips, looking as if he was kissing air, which looked quite odd if anywhere were to walk in the room. He was so curious about anything and everything. Maybe a little too much at times.

It got heated fast, and Kyle’s brain struggled to keep up. The camera panned to a different angle, a closer one. The man stroked his cock a few times before lining it up with the woman’s entrance, carefully pushing it into her. It was as if Kyle was the one shoving his cock into someone’s warm heat by the way he reacted. He let out a groan, hand flying to his pants as he squeezed his dick, possibly too hard. He didn’t like his hands. Didn’t like his touch. He was too clumsy. He needed something else and he was growing frustrated.

His tablet and headphones were soon abandoned on his bed as he stood up, very determined now to get some relief. He found a lot of comfort in you, so surely you would make him feel better, right? He had no clue that he could just take care of his ‘little’ issue himself. You did everything for him, so obviously you could do this too.

So he made his way to your room, creeping as carefully as his clumsily coordinated body could. He closed the door behind him, having some sense to be quiet and not to wake the others. When he found you asleep he frowned. He didn’t want to wake you, but at the same time he needed your help so bad.

He took a seat on the edge of your bed, mouth drawn down into a pout as he thought long and hard about what he should do. He finally couldn’t stand it any longer and crawled up the bed beside you, being as quiet as possible, eyes widening every time the bed creaked. He reached under the covers for your hand and gently pulled it out, holding it in his own for a second. You were so warm. So much warmer than Kyle’s undead body, and your touch held so much comfort.

He carefully brought your hand down to the bulge in his pants, letting it rest there as he bucked up against it. A breathy whine slipped from his chapped lips as he blinked a few times, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he ground his hips up against your hand.

Once he saw that you weren’t stirring, he got a bit bolder, trying to find a way to maneuver your hand into his pants, and much to his dismay, was unable to do so. He continued to grind against your hand, cock heavy and throbbing under the confines of his sweats and boxers. He scooted away from you a bit to try and slip his pants off clumsily, clunky hands grabbing at the waistband with a heavy grunt.

Little did Kyle know you’d woken quite a bit ago. Really the moment he sat on your bed, you just pretended to be asleep to see what he would do. To say you were surprised would be an understatement. Your sweet, innocent Kyle grinding desperately against your hand in the middle of the night? While he thought you were asleep?

Your face was covered in a bright pink blush, but luckily the darkness of the room hid it from view. Not that he’d really suspect anything if he saw it anyways. The poor boy was a bit clueless.

You felt him shifting beside you, trying to shimmy out of his pants and you wanted to turn and face him, to press a kiss to his cold, but sweet undead lips. You weren’t sure what had gotten into him. He’d never acted like this before.

You nearly shouted in surprise as his broad arms wrapped around your frame, snuggling up beside your back, his now naked lower half resting against the curve of your ass. He grumbled something that you couldn’t understand before he began to carefully grind against you.

Your breathing picked up and you knew you only had two choices.

Stay here and let him get off like this

Help him

And how could you not help him? Still, you decided to wait a few more moments, because his desperate actions amused you just a bit.

It was when he buried his face against the crook of your neck and began to nip at the skin, your breath hitched.

“Mmmm-“ he groaned against your ear, unaware that the proximity and his volume could wake you, because he also wasn’t aware that you already were awake. Just sitting and biding your time.

He rutted a few more times against your ass before biting down particularly hard against your shoulder, surely leaving marks.

You couldn’t help but wince, shooting up into a sitting position which startled Kyle. His eyes were wide as he looked at you, slowly blinking as he tried his best to gauge your reaction. He seemed to tense, waiting for some sort of reprimanding, or even a slap. But neither came, and he relaxed a bit, his worried expression morphing into that same look of need and desperation.

You gave him a gentle smile, carefully reaching out to cup his cheek. “Oh baby, what happened to get you so worked up?” You asked, although you knew he probably couldn’t find a way to respond. He huffed, eyebrows furrowing once more as his lips turned into a pout. He so badly wanted to talk to you. To really be able to explain, but he just couldn’t, and it drove him to near insanity.

He leaned his cheek into your touch, much like a puppy rubbing up against a person for affection. You let your other hand reach up to brush through his beautiful blond curls, a quiet content sigh falling from his slightly parted lips.

He grew fidgety once more, moving around to try and get comfortable and that’s when you realized that his little issue wasn’t just going to resolve itself. He needed to find a way to take care of it, and by the looks of things, it seemed like you needed to help him.

“Kyle, I’m going to help you, okay?” You said slowly and clearly, making sure he understood you before you continued.

He perked up instantly, eyes wide and full of anticipation for what was to come. More of you. More of your touch. More more more. Help. You were going to help him.

He followed your lead as you laid him back on the bed, his limbs like deadweight as you tried to position him in the way you wanted. He tried his best to help you, always having to concentrate extra hard to move certain parts of his body. It had to do with his mind and body connection, something that had been severely damaged when he was brought back.

Once you had successfully positioned him on the bed, arms laid out at his sides and his thighs open wide, you smiled, looking down at him. He was only wearing his dark blue t-shirt, bottom half naked and quivering a bit. His body was in constant motion, never really being able to be fully still. It was always either his hands, or his legs… maybe his face, but it was guaranteed that some part of him was always in motion.

“Okay, I’m going to help you now, if you want me to stop… if you aren’t liking it, I’ll stop. You just have to use your words, okay?” He nodded with a smile, dimples appearing on his cheeks and you so badly just wanted to pinch them.

Settling in between his thighs, your hands dragged across his legs, getting him used to your touch and not just jumping right into jerking him off, not wanting to overwhelm him and potentially get a bad reaction out of him. You always had to take things slow with Kyle.

With an almost feather light touch, you carefully traced the head of his cock with your pointer finger, humming softly as you glanced up at him to see what his expression would be, truly having no idea how he’d react.

Instantly his legs were trying to buck up into the touch, wanting more. Needing more. God he needed so much more of you. All of you.

With a thick, garbled groan, he looked at you with pleading eyes, urging you to go on. To do more.

And you did just that. You gingerly wrapped your hand around his hard, leaking cock, being careful not to squeeze too much and startle him. You wanted to slowly introduce him to the pleasure and be able to build it up if he did want more.

Kyle, for the first time since he’d come back to life, felt hot. His body felt like it was on fire. A big pit of hot coals settled deep in his stomach, threatening to bubble up. A sheen of sticky sweat covered his forehead as his breathing got heavier, his scarred chest rising and falling with every stroke of your hand over his most intimate part.

“Mnrrrrggh- g-gooood.” He drawled, voice sounding more rough than usual as he panted, hands clenching and unclenching the bedsheets at his sides, not knowing what to do with his body.

“Just relax, Kyle. Let go, I’m right here.” You whispered in reassurance, wanting him to feel comfortable the whole time.

This was such an intimate action and you didn’t want to do anything to cause Kyle to react in a possibly dangerous way.

Kyle let out a quiet, desperate whine, so overwhelmed by the feeling, but also at the same time, wanting more. Like he couldn’t get enough.

Sensing this, you settled yourself more in between his legs, letting your tongue slip out and carefully swipe across his cockhead, causing him to nearly cry out at the feeling, eyes squeezing shut as he tried to make sense of the new, wonderful sensation.

You couldn’t help but smirk, carefully swiping your tongue across the tip a few more times before sinking down, lips wrapped tightly around his length as you bobbed your head a bit, stroking the rest that didn’t fit in your mouth.

Kyle was writhing on the bed, and to the naked eye, it would almost appear that he was in pain. You did worry for a second, but the way he opened his eyes and looked down at you told you he was just fine.

You sped up your hand, bobbing your head faster, the slick sound of Kyle’s cock hitting the back of your throat was driving him absolutely crazy and in an instant, you were thrown onto your back, Kyle tearing viciously at your clothes as he grunted, eyes dark and determined.

“Woah! Kyle- be careful- Hey!” You shouted as he ripped off your shirt, hands sweeping across your bare stomach before he pulled off your pajama pants as well.

Everything was happening so fast that you barely had time to think. You tried to sit up, to get Kyle to calm down, but he was so riled up that he couldn’t see reason. He attacked your neck with sloppy kisses and bites, marking you up.

He groaned in frustration as he tried to get your bra off but failed, moving on to your panties instead.

You winced as the harsh thread of fabric was ripped from you, leaving a red mark.

“Kyle! Just- slow down!”

But he wasn’t listening, not really. He had climbed on top of you, trying to position his cock at your entrance before he slid in. A loud, relieved groan leaving his lips as he nearly collapsed onto you.

He was big, and it hurt. Especially since he had given you no time to adjust before he was moving at a steady rhythm, his hips snapping against yours as he pulled you into a sloppy kiss.

Your body slowly began to adjust, letting him sink deeper into you. His thrusts didn’t have any particular rhythm to them. He just went in and out, in and out.

With every thrust of his hips, his pelvis brushed against your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you.

You had barely noticed the way Kyle had stilled, soft cries coming from his lips as he was buried against your shoulder. You frowned, thinking that obviously something was wrong, so you pushed Kyle up a bit to get a good look at his face. He was crying. Fat teardrops rolled down his pale, scared face as he looked at you.

“Kyle? Kyle hey- woah look at me, what’s wrong?” You cupped his cheek, trying to sit up a bit, but it was hard because Kyle was still on top of you, as well as inside you.

He simply just shook his head at your question, leaning closer to you, nearly suffocating. It was as if he wanted to crawl inside your body. Just wanted to be as close as humanly possible.

“Kyle-“ you urged, still very worried about the boy on top of you. His thrusts had stopped and he was just crying, seemingly trying to form words, but unable to.

“I-I l-loo-“ he sniffled a bit, a tear dripping from his chin onto your bare breast. You shivered, focusing on his words to try and understand him.

“Loooooove y-youuuu” he said, looking up at you proudly as he managed to get the words out.

You almost teared up at his confession. He was crying because he loved you? God, you’d never meet another human being as kind and selfless and just… sweet as him. He was one of a kind.

He whimpered quietly as he began to thrust into you again, and you could tell he was close by the urgency in his thrusts.

“Shhh-“ you whispered, holding him close. Making sure he felt secure and loved.

“I love you too Kyle. So much, such a good boy- fuck-“ you swallowed hard, grasping at Kyle’s back as he fucked into you, his body quivering as he pulled back a bit to look at you, seeming to ask without words if it was okay to cum. To let go.

“I’ve got you, Kyle. Go ahead baby.” You cooed, and Kyle’s face contorted in the most beautiful display of pleasure you’d ever seen, his hips stilling after one particularly hard thrust. You felt as his warm seed filled you, and you cursed silently. He hadn’t worn a condom. It’d be fine though. You hoped. You were on birth control, but you knew that didn’t always work.

You relaxed into the bed, pulling a now exhausted Kyle with you. He pulled out of you shakily and curled up beside you, face buried in the crook of your neck as he closed his eyes.

He was out like a light before you even had the chance to say another word. You got up to get cleaned up before you went to Kyle’s room, seeing the light still on.

And there, on the bed was his tablet, headphones still connected, and a random video pulled up on some porn website. How he had managed to find it astounded you, but you knew only two things.

You loved Kyle more than anyone in this world and would do everything in your power to keep him feeling safe and loved

He needed to be monitored while on his tablet from now on.

#evan peters #american horror story #evan peters icons #ahs fandom #ahs kyle spencer #kyle spencer #ahs coven #kyle spencer x reader #kyle spencer smut #kyle spencer imagine #evan peters characters #evan peters x reader #evan peters smut

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distantdarlings · 5 months

Text

CHIME IN // t. nott

RATING: R / 2.1K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Reader Insert (No gender-specific details)

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* After being assigned to an assignment together, you and Theo begin to take an interest in each other. When the two of you finally get together, an interruption occurs right in the middle of it.

+ WARNINGS - IMPLIED SMUT! Making out, language, they start to have sex but don't actually get there, gender-neutral reader, Mattheo interrupts, dirty talking, not proof-read (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Agora Hills - Doja Cat

---

It was close to midnight. That was about all you knew, though, as Theo slammed you against the wall just outside the boys’ dormitories.

He pressed his lips back against yours roughly, his tongue breaking through the barrier of your mouth quickly. You moaned against him at the sensation of him taking his full way with you.

“Ah-ah, baby, gotta stay quiet for me,” he mumbled against your lips. “You can scream for me once we’re back in my room.”

You gasped into his mouth as he slipped his hands around the curve of your ass and gripped hard.

You didn’t know what it was, but there was something about Theodore Nott that was just so intoxicating. You’d been watching him for months until today when you’d finally pursued him.

The two of you had been trying to sneak some late-night studying in the library, knowing that both of you had a huge project coming up due within the next week. As soon as you’d been paired with him for the project, you knew you had to have him. He was just so confidently sweet, and absolutely fucking gorgeous. He was just perfect.

And so, finally, tonight, you’d decided to make a move. The two of you had been huddled together side-by-side, searching through a very lengthy book on the history of the Disarming charm. The librarian was bound to come searching your area soon, so you were going as fast as possible.

His shoulders had been bumping yours, his thigh was pressed tightly against yours, his breath was hot on your neck, and his eyes were roving endlessly—up and down the pages of the book and perhaps even past it.

You weren’t exactly sure what had happened. The pulse hammering in your brain had practically beat all of the memory of the moment from your head, but you remembered him asking if you wanted to take the book back to his room, your agreeing, his eyes glancing at your lips, then the two of you were…well, here. The book had been all but forgotten back on the table at the library.

Your fingers curled into his honeyed hair, forcing him closer to you. He sighed against you, his body bracing you to the wall. His knee slipped between your thighs, his leg gently rubbing against your core. Another small moan left you.

“What if someone sees?” you gasped into him. He pressed another rough squeeze to your ass before pulling away. He grabbed your hand and began to yank you down the hall.

“We’re not supposed to be awake, remember? It’s likely nobody else is.” He gave you a sly smirk, his eyes flickering up and down your body. The way he looked at you made you feel as though you were being devoured alive. You could hardly stand it. Fuck whoever may see.

You pressed another demanding kiss to his lips, framing his face with your hands. He groaned into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist. The feeling of him holding you like he was was so refreshing. His enormous height positively dwarfed you.

“Patience, darling,” he said, pulling away again. “Back to the room.”

“I’ve no patience left, Theo,” you whined. “I’ve been waiting for months.” He began peppering rough kisses along your neck.

“Yeah, baby? Do you want me that bad? Bet this sweet thing is just dripping for me,” he growled against your flesh, cupping your core within his hand. Your eyes clenched, and your lips parted in a silent scream. You adored how dominant he was.

He pressed you to the wall again, his hand sliding behind your head to keep it from hitting the hard stone. Your lips were against his once more, biting and licking and sucking. There was something about him that made it seem impossible to let go of him. All you wanted was more, more, more.

Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer to you. His breaths were fanning over your face in short, fast huffs. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d taken a breath.

“Back to the room, darling,” he groaned against you, tearing his lips from yours. He grasped your hand tightly within his and pulled you toward his dormitory. Theo had promised all of his roommates were out for the night doing whatever, but you still felt a little nervous at the thought of one of his friends seeing the two of you. If anyone had paid attention to both of you while working on this project, they’d likely have been able to see the obvious sexual tension floating between you. Even if they hadn’t been paying attention, they could’ve seen it. Any time Theo was around, you became the definition of ‘flustered.’

As you reached the door to his dorm, you felt him swing you toward the entrance and push you through. You shuffled over the threshold, attempting to let your eyes adjust to the darkness surrounding you.

His hands gripped the sides of your face and pressed you back to his lips. Fuck, he tasted so good. Was it normal for someone to taste good? You didn’t know. You moaned into his mouth, shoving your hands against the buttons running down his shirt. Your shaking fingers made quick work of those pesky things—each one undone revealed more and more of his perfect chest.

You pressed your cold hands against his flesh, reveling in the biting groan that poured from his lips.

“Fuck, baby, on the bed,” he whispered fervently against your lips. He pushed you back against his bed. The backs of your thighs collided with the mattress, tipping your body over onto the soft comforters. You descended into mountains of green satin that smelled just like Theo. His scent overwhelmed your senses, pushing your conscience even further to the back of your mind. Your finger gripped the material of his blankets.

Your lidded eyes found his as he got to work on his clothing, the way he stood above you reminiscent of a god. Your legs parted slowly, preparing for the weight that would soon settle between them.

“You ready for me, baby?” he breathed, yanking his shirt over his shoulders. You bit your lips at the full picture of his bare abdomen glaring back at you. The hard muscle rippling over his stomach caught each glimpse of the moonlight above you. You nodded pathetically, your legs bending at the knee. You didn’t want to wait any longer. All you wanted was him.

“Say it for me,” he commanded, slipping his fingers along his belt. “I want to hear it. Tell me exactly what you want.”

“I want you, Teddy, so bad,” you whined, feeling the heat building between your thighs. “I want to feel you over me—want to feel you make me all yours.”

“All mine, baby?” he asked, smirking widely. His belt popped open, showing off the large bulge beneath his dark briefs. You gulped at the sight, bracing yourself against his bed. He was bigger than you had anticipated—bigger than anyone you’d had before, that was for sure.

He dropped himself onto the bed at your feet, pressing his muscular arms on either side of you. The added weight to the mattress tipped your body toward his as he slowly inched up the length of it. His knees slid along the slick duvet until one came to rest beneath your legs. It inched yours farther apart, claiming him a verified spot within you. Your head rolled back at the intoxicating display of dominance.

At the movement, he quickly slid his face in between your shoulder and jawline, pressing rough kisses along the flesh there. If he weren’t careful, he’d leave marks, though you figured that’s what his goal was. His teeth cut along your throat, painting you with his claim. You now belonged to him, and the whole school would know that soon. What belonged to Theodore Nott was not challenged.

“Theo, baby,” you whined. He hummed against your neck, asking what you needed. “I need you right now.”

“Yeah, sweetheart? I’ve got you,” he said, his hot breath fanning across your clothed chest. His fingers slipped down between the slit of your shirt, caressing against your pulse point. You shuddered at the feeling, barely able to take a deep breath.

“Fuck, I’ve been thinking about this for months,” he groaned, his voice nearing a growl, as he ripped your shirt apart. You couldn’t force yourself to make a comment on him tearing your uniform. All you could think about right now was feeling him within you.

He gripped the waistband of your bottoms and tore them down your legs with the same intensity as your shirt. You whined at the aggressive loss of your clothing, the cold air hitting your bare flesh like water.

Once you were bare before him, his lips quickly replaced the absence of heat along your skin. His tongue painted every part of you, starting from the bottom of your stomach to the top of your chest. His mouth was mean and aggressive, bruising you as much as he could. You gasped at his rough sex.

“Ever been with a Slytherin before?” he smirked, his fingers hooking slowly beneath the band of your underwear. You sighed aloud at the sensation.

“You’re the first,” you responded breathlessly. He chuckled darkly as he pressed a rough kiss to your hipbone when he pulled your underwear to your knees. He moaned aloud at the reveal of your entire body.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he whined, his hand slipping beneath the split of his pants. You braced yourself for what was soon to come.

The air in the room was hot and smelled of Theo. The pale light that spilled through the window in the corner illuminated the gorgeous body before you with each new inch that was revealed. His hands slid his pants down his hips. Strong legs kept yours pressed apart. Your hands reached out, begging to feel his bare flesh against yours. He laughed mockingly.

“Perfect, desperate baby….” His hands gently pressed his hot core against the inside of your thigh. You gasped sharply at the sensation, knowing he was soon to tear your body apart. Your hands tangled in the sheets, your eyes clenched shut, your lips parted, your words needy and begging. The tip of him touched against your entrance—

“I’m guessing you guys need the room to yourself?”

You and Theo screamed at the sudden words. The two of you shot up from your current positions before realizing your unfortunate nudity. Theo pushed you back down amongst the sheets and collapsed next to you. He yanked the comforters over you.

Mattheo Riddle was set comfortably in the bed just opposite Theo’s. He wore a soft gray tee shirt and unkempt hair. He was settled beneath the covers with a book in hand and a small threaded bookmark slipped between the pages. It looked as if the two of you had just interrupted a sort of peaceful moment for him.

“What the hell, man?” Theo demanded, his tone becoming quite angry. You clenched the satin blankets over you, trying to keep your head as tucked as possible. You didn’t really want Mattheo Riddle to see you like this. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you say something?”

“I’m sorry. When was I supposed to make a mention that I was here? Was that before or after you asked them if they’d ever had Slytherin dick?” he asked. Smart-ass. You giggled a bit at his comment. Theo glanced at you with an annoyed expression. You stopped, whispering a brief apology, yet unable to drop the smile on your lips. To be fair, Mattheo had made a good point. In the midst of your…movement with Theo, there hadn’t really been a good time for him to chime in.

“Whatever, man,” Theo sighed and rolled his eyes. No one spoke for a moment.

“So, did you want me to go or…?”

“Yes!” The both of you agreed aloud. The dark-haired boy nodded his head and, collecting his books and other various items, made his way toward the door.

Just before he exited, he paused and turned toward you. Theo seemed to be avoiding eye contact with him, but you looked straight at him. His dark eyes traveled over you briefly.

“Well, when you’re done with him and you’d like some real Slytherin dick—”

“Riddle, get the fuck out!” Theo shouted, sending a pillow hurtling towards him. With an evil laugh, Mattheo quickly dodged the flying object and slipped through the dormitory door. Theo groaned and pressed his fingers to his face.

“Use protection!”

*Tag List: @mypolicemanharryyy, @angelfrombeneth, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx, @thatblackthorn, @robinyx (If you would like to be added to the tag list for any future works, please comment on this post, dm me, or send me a message in my inbox. Thanks!)

#fanfiction #creative writing #fanfic #writing #reader insert #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #oneshot #slytherin #harry potter smut #gender neutral insert #theo nott #theodore nott #smut #mattheo riddle

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whumpfish · 8 months

Text

Physical Signs of Extreme Pain: Weird Edition 👽❤️‍🩹🤷‍♀️

I've made some pain reference posts over the years, but apart from passing out from pain, I haven't gotten much into the just plain weird shit the body does when it's really hurting. Time to fix that.

Fireflies: Sure, seeing spots is a thing. Black spots on the edge of your whumpee's vision, getting closer in slow pulses when they're having trouble breathing and struggling to hang onto consciousness. But when they just straight up hurt, your whumpee can get weird little floating things that flash like fireflies or tiny pieces of metallic silver confetti drifting around. In my experience, they've been linked to effort--they tend to either start or multiply fast when I stand up or otherwise try to move when I'm in unusually intense pain.

Shivering: Not because your whumpee is cold or in shock, but because their muscles are taut to the point of strain (because the body responds to pain with muscle tension), and when those muscles can't tighten further, they shake. It's the same mechanism that makes your fists shake if you're angry and clenching them past the point they can reasonably be clenched, just all over.

Teeth Chattering: No, seriously. In my experience, it mostly tends to happen as the shivering escalates, but I've had it just start up on its own when I get slammed with a spike in pain out of nowhere like cramps, or if I'm late taking a dose of my meds. I hate it because in the first place it's annoying, in the second place it's very noticeable, and in the third place I have absolutely no control over it. Clenching my teeth doesn't stop the muscles from trying to make them chatter, it just makes them (even more) sore. Also it's hard to talk, and I bite my cheek and tongue. A lot.

Ear Stuff: A ring that your whumpee feels as much as they hear. It's not a tone like a lot of tinnitus is, it's more like the pressure-changing "sound" you'll get as a plane takes off. And it feels like it's physically inside their ears, like someone has taken the world's heaviest, smallest ball-bearing and stuck it in their ear canals and it's trying to pull them down into and through the floor.

The Air Hurts: Your whumpee gets an all-over feeling like someone pressing lightly on a bruise, and the more they think about it, concentrate on it, the more their brain becomes irrationally convinced that the air has become dense around them and that's what's causing it. Because nothing is there, there is no external pressure, it's just pain signals behaving in a goofy way, and their brain is scrambling for an explanation. They might subconsciously pull their hands or other exposed skin into their clothing, or hunch over and pull everything in toward their chest to "protect" their skin from the air around them.

Have chronic or acute traumatic pain? See something missing from this post? Add on!

#whump #whump prompt #reference #writing reference #whump community #whump prompts #whump scenario #whumpee #whump tropes #writing #whumpblr #whump list #chronic pain #chronic pain whump #my life is a whump prompt

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