#maybe if they have enough angst i can draw them just like hoe i draw gungoo
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it had been months — sebastian stan
sebastian stan x fem!reader
word count: 4,401 words
summery: it had been nine months since you and your first real long term boyfriend broke up. but as they say, time makes the heart grow fonder ... and it also made the lust build up.
warnings: angst, smut, thigh riding, cheating, kind of a breeding kink at the end, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)
a/n: i have never actually posted a whole thing on here before, so i hope this goes well. i know my writing can improve, but it’s pretty good i would say. enjoy!
It had been months since you had broken up with your long-term boyfriend. Your first long-term boyfriend you had since you arrived to the Hollywood scene. Nine months, to be exact. The same amount of time it would have been to carry a child. A hypothetical child. The same hypothetical child that ruined your relationship in the first place.
“You don’t want kids?” Sebastian questioned as soon as you entered the shared apartment. The topic of children came up at dinner with your shared friends. You, offhandedly said: “God, no,” with a laugh, not giving it a second thought. Not till now.
“Not really,” you said as you unzipped your heeled boots. “I never really have, not since I was younger.”
“Never?” He asked, heart starting to beat heavier.
You looked up to him, concerned when you saw his face. It was the same face he had on every time you guys got in a face, mixed with disappointment, maybe even hurt. You smiled, trying to lighten the situation.
“Maybe not never,” you said, putting your shoes away. “But not at least for ten years, maybe even longer. I mean, I am only twenty-two. I would like a good life without children before bringing them into the mix.”
Your warm smile and calm demeanor did nothing to elevate the tension, something inside you saying it did the exact opposite. He looked serious and upset, a combination you never saw much.
“In ten years I’ll be almost fifty,” Sebastian states.
“So? Guys never really stop shooting out good rounds. All my parts will still be intact by that time too.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is it?” You were confused. Why was he acting like this?
“I shouldn’t be old enough to be the kid’s grandfather.”
Anger started to bubble up as well. This tone that he had made you pissed off. He was talking like you were stupid like you didn’t get what he was saying. The brassiness you had in general not helping your temper.
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you started dating someone sixteen years younger than you,” you shot back.
Then the yelling started. Something that could have been a deep, meaningful conversation (one that frankly should have been had way before this point) turned into a full-blown fight. You both started going in at each other, picking at old scabs that you knew would hurt. That was the point, after all, you just wanted to hurt each other. Because you were mad and upset, you guessed, but by the end of it, you weren’t even sure.
The fighting ended two hours later, you sat, slumped on the couch, huffing. You tried to catch your breath from all the yelling. Your throat was hoarse, your cheeks sticky from dried tears.
“It seems like we’re not gonna work out then,” you said, numb.
“Seems so.”
And you left that night, grabbing nothing but your phone before making your way to your closest friend’s house.
After that, you cried for two months straight. You really thought that Sebastian was endgame. That you would be together forever. That you would be happy. Ever since you caught sight of him at your first audition, you felt that he was the one. Then the universe laughed maniacally as it showed you just how fucking wrong you were.
In the past nine months, you had seen him approximately sixteen times, most being in passing, a few being at parties, and one time being at a coffee shop that you both loved. You started to frequent it less after the breakup, too scared to bump into him. Little did you know, he was doing the same thing. The day you two saw each other was both of your first times in three months.
It was all stupid small talk until it wavered, forced laughs and fake smiles fading as the reality of the situation simmered in.
“Look, y/n—”
“Don’t,” you interrupted. You knew what he was going to say, and you didn’t want to hear it. You simply couldn’t. “It was nice seeing you again, Sebastian. I hope you have a good life.” You took a few steps before turning back around for a moment. He looked at you like he was expecting you to run into his arms and make everything go back to normal. “And I really hope you meet a girl that can give you what you need.”
He tried to reach out to you, but you wouldn’t let him. You simply walked away and left him, alone. That was the last time you had spoken to him.
It was five months after the breakup until you let your friends talk you into going out again. And that night you had run into none other than the Timothee Chalamet. Numbers were exchanged then the next thing you knew, you were naked in his hotel room. After that, you went through a bit of a “hoe stage.” Every two weeks you were on a cover of TMZ, E!, or any other celebrity gossip magazine that existed with a “possible new thing.” The people ranged from Tom Holland to Madison Beer, and no one knew what was true or not. After the first few batches came out, you stopped giving a shit. You were allowed to rebound with whomever or however you wanted to, and you were taking full advantage of that.
You were so busy juggling so many people that you hadn’t even thought about Sebastian. Not till right now. Your eyes catch his from across the ballroom that you’re currently in. Your pulse quickens rapidly, you feel like you might even faint. If it wasn’t for Timothee’s hand on your waist, you were sure you would have collapsed on the spot. You watched as Sebastian’s jaw clenched just like it did whenever you did something he disapproved of. Just like it did every time he gave into himself and read one of those stupid gossip sights and saw you all over whatever arm candy you had chosen for the week.
“I’ll be right back, okay babe?” Timothee said, kissing you on the cheek. He waited for you to nod before making his way to one of his friends.
You don’t know what to do and those beautiful blue eyes you fell in love with all that time ago refuse to leave yours. You feel like you want to cry, or scream, or throw up, but you know that you shouldn’t actually do any of those things. You’d draw attention and you don’t want any more people talking about you.
Luckily, one of your best friends, Elizabeth, pulls you into a tight hug and brings you back to earth. Her body feels warm and it makes you feel safe, the smell of her strawberry shampoo bringing you comfort.
“I know,” she said before you spoke. “I saw. Are you okay? I’ll leave with you right now if you want to.”
It takes you a minute to process everything, and even though you’re running everything through your mind, nothing really sinks in.
“I’ll be fine,” you say with conviction, though you don’t know if it’s true at all. “Leaving wouldn’t accomplish anything.” You stop talking for a minute before smiling at Elizabeth. “Now, let’s go give the people what they want and take some pictures together.”
It had been two hours and the event was finally coming to a close. No more than forty-five minutes and the place would be cleared out. With that knowledge, you went to go take advantage of the free bar stocked up with expensive liquor. After schmoozing with people you did not even want to interact with, you deserve it.
“Two shots of tequila and a rum and coke, please,” you say to the rather cute bartender, shoulders slumping.
As soon as the two shot glasses were in front of you, you downed them. It burned like hell and you could only imagine the ungodly face you made. You tried to chase it with the rum and coke, but it didn’t help much. You heard a gruff voice beside you order something, one that was very familiar. When you heard a chuckle, you knew for sure who was right next to you. You froze again, that same dizzy, sick feeling coming back. You turned your head slowly to see those big blue eyes for the second time tonight, your heart surely beating loud enough that anyone in a mile radius could hear it.
“You look beautiful tonight, y/n,” Sebastian said, leaning against the bar, facing you.
“You do too,” you blurt out. Face turning red after you realized that you’re fucking stupid. “I mean, you look—shit. You look very nice, Seb—Sebastian.”
You’re so flustered and red, you want to simply sink into the floor. For a moment, you wonder why he isn’t acting the same way. It could be that he had already had some to drink or maybe he was just better at controlling his emotion. And the thought that makes dread flow through you is that maybe he is just over you.
“Are you going to an after-party?” He asks, sipping from his glass.
“I don’t think so,” you say. You were supposed to go to one with Timothee, where you were finally going to announce that you two had become official, but now you just want to go home. “Are you?”
“Probably not,” he said simply. “I’ll just have a few more of these back home and go to bed.”
“Drinking alone is no fun,” you say, hinting. You know what you are trying to get across but you don’t know why. It’s like your mouth was moving before your brain could understand what you were doing.
“It’s not ideal,” he said. “But I really don’t have a date to drink with, unlike you.” He pointed towards Timothee talking to a director you hastily met.
“He’s not my date,” you shot out. “I mean, he is, but we’re not like, dating.” Why the fuck are you talking!?!?
“It’s none of my business,” Sebastian said. He didn’t sound mean, he sounded like he was trying to comfort you.
“I know … but we’re not … if you were wondering.”
He chuckled, placing a hand on your elbow. “It was nice to see you again, y/n.”
He turned to start walking away but you called after him, making him turn back around. “Wait!” Once he was facing you, you felt like you were in a movie. “I could go for a drink.”
Sebastian smiled but his eyes dismissed you. “What are you doing, sugar?” He warned.
“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “But don’t shut me down.”
With a shared smile, he took your hand and you both left the party. On the car ride back to his apartment (that used to be your apartment), you thought briefly about how you would explain this to Timothee in the morning. Then you turned off your phone so you didn’t have to feel guilty if he decided to text you. Neither of you spoke much on the way. His hand never left its place on your thigh before you were finally there.
When he opened the door, you stumbled lightly into the apartment. Sebastian caught you by wrapping his arm around your waist. He lightly sat you down on the chair by the entrance (the same one you had sat at nine months ago). Once he had closed the door and put his things down, he came back to you to help slip off your heels.
“Are you already drunk?” He chuckled.
“No, just a wee bit tipsy.”
“Your ‘wee bit’ is usually a lotta bit.”
“Not this time, I really mean just a wee wee bit.” You suddenly burst out laughing at the fact you just said wee wee, giving away the fact that you are indeed close to being drunk.
“Maybe you don’t need anymore to drink,” Sebastian said.
“C’mon, Sebby, take that stick out of your ass,” you say, making him laugh. It makes you feel lighter like you weren’t fucking shit up again. Like you weren’t making a mistake you would regret in the morning.
You watched as he made his way into the kitchen, pouring both of you a glass of red wine. Your favorite and most expensive red wine, the one that you had left at the apartment after the breakup. You wondered if it was the same bottle, or if he had done the same thing he was doing with you with another girl. When he came back, he handed you the glass which you placed down on the coffee table, realizing you were still in a designer white dress that you didn’t own.
“Shit,” you muttered after your realization.
“What is it?”
“This isn’t my dress.”
His eyes wandered down your figure as he thought. “You can take that off and I can hang it up for you. I’m sure there’s something here you can wear.”
You nodded before he was walking towards the bedroom, the one you once shared. You followed after him through the small hall. You looked around the room, noticing how boring it looked now. None of your decorations you had were up anymore, but the small mural you once painted in the middle of the night was still in full view. Did he think about you every time he saw it? If he did, why didn’t he just paint over it?
Sebastian placed one of his shirts (that was your favorite one to wear) and a pair of shorts you had thought you lost on the bed.
“Well, you can get changed in here,” he stated before going for the door.
“Actually,” you called out, stopping him from leaving. “Can you unzip me please?”
He paused for a moment before nodding, slowly making his way back to you. The room went silent as he softly collected your hair and moved it to one side. Heat started to rise through your body at the close proximity he held. His hands grazed your shoulders momentarily before he steadily unzipped the expensive dress. You caught his eyes in the mirror in front of you, your cheeks immediately burning red. He finished unzipping the dress before helping you slide it off your arms. You had to cover your breasts with your arm since you hadn’t worn a bra. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen your body before, he knew his way around there better than you did, but not covering yourself just felt inappropriate. But, to be fair, the entire situation felt inappropriate. The dress fell to a pool around your feet, leaving you in nothing but a pair of lace black underwear, ones that Sebastian had bought for you one month before you broke up. You stepped out of the dress, eyes never leaving his. He bent down to pick it up, blue orbs never leaving your eyes.
“I’ll go lay this on the guest bed,” Sebastian said plainly before leaving the room and closing the door.
Your heart was beating out of your chest as you let your arm fall. Even though you hadn’t even had a conversation with Sebastian in six months, being in that moment felt more intimate than anytime you had sex with Timothee—or anyone, for that matter. You pulled on the worn-out gray tee shirt that vaguely had ‘Coca-Cola’ printed across it before going out to the living room where you found Sebastian sipping on his wine, now dress in an old tee and grey sweatpants.
The next hour felt like a blur, it was filled with giggles and stupid comments. By the end of it, the wine bottle was empty and you two were officially wine drunk. Now, you were slumped on the couch (the one that you picked out), leaning towards Sebastian, hand dancing along the cushion space between you two.
“Have you realized we never had a goodbye?” You ask, breaking the silence.
“What do you mean?” He asked, not wanting his guess to what you were talking about to be right.
“I mean, we had a fight and I left then we were done. There were no ‘this is for the best’ speeches or attempts at a goodbye kiss. One day there was an us and the next it was … nothing.” You looked up at him, an innocent yet quizzical look on your soft features.
“We don’t have to talk about this,” he said.
Not this shit again. “I know,” you said, “we don’t have to talk about anything. We’re not together anymore. We don’t even need to acknowledge each other’s existence anymore. But tonight, you did, and now we’re on your couch.”
“I don’t—” he started, but you wouldn’t let him finish.
“We don’t have to talk about it then. But, I do have another question. Did you ever fuck anyone here?” The words flowed out before you could think any longer, nothing but courage and alcohol running through your body.
“What?”
“It’s pretty self-explanatory, Sebastian. I just want to know if you ever fucked someone in my—our—this place.”
His eyes bore into yours as he spoke, voice sharp and clear. “No, y/n, I have never fucked anyone in this place. No one but you.”
That answer made you happy. This place, your place, was still pure. No random hookups had tramped through the place where you lived.
“Good,” you accidentally said out loud, making him upset.
“Why does it even matter? It’s not like you weren’t fucking those young things you were all over in public.” He started to get angry at the thought. “Who are you to question me about my sex life after you broke up with me then pranced around tabloid covers for months with different people each week?”
“Because this was our house, I just want to know it wasn’t tainted by blonde bitches with names you didn’t even remember in the fucking morning.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but you’re the only blonde bitch I’ve fucked.”
Suddenly, your hand was moving and your palm was connecting with his face. It shocked both of you, making you both freeze in place. It took ten seconds before Sebastian grabbed the wrist you hit him with, yanking it so you were closer to him. So close you could feel his breath on your face.
“Slap me again and see what fucking happens, I dare you,” he spit out.
Then your heart was in your ass as your stomach erupted with butterflies and your panties soaked with arousal.
It was almost like you lost all control over your body as you smashed your lips against his. Your hands went to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer and tugging at the hair there. The intentional scruff on his face was harsh against your smooth skin, but it only elevated your pleasure. Sebastian’s hands went around the sides of your neck, one kind of cupping your face while the other was closer to the back to pull you closer. You felt like you needed to get closer to him, get as close as possible. You needed every single inch of him over every single part of yourself. Your leg swung, straddling him.
Without thinking, you rutted yourself against his thigh, a guttural moan coming from your lips as you did. It’s not like you hadn’t been touched in a while, you just got fucked a few days ago, but you hadn’t experienced something as hot as this in so long. It was rushed and needed, you felt like you would die if he stopped. Your hips absent-mindedly grinded down against his thigh again.
“Fuck, ride my thigh baby,” he ordered. You listened, slipping into your old ways. You continued to rut against his thigh as you kissed. He knew you were getting close by the moans you were letting out into the kiss. He pulled away from your lips, watching as you were losing yourself. “I want you to cum for me, sugar.”
Your hips slowed as your mind raced a mile a minute. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you cum from just his thigh. What would that do to his already inflated ego? It sounded like bullshit to give into him.
“No,” you mumbled out, your hips threatening to halt their movement.
“No?” He repeated.
You sat there for a minute, silent as his eyes frantically studied your face to see what the point was. He wondered if you wanted to stop, he would understand completely, but he knew that wasn’t what it was by the way you keep clenching your thighs together. Sebastian smirked as he realized what was really happening. He grabbed your hips and started to push you down on his thigh. The problem was that you wanted to cum, but you didn’t want to cum for him. Too bad he was determined on it.
You moaned loudly as he started to drag your hips. You were inching so close, the fact that you didn’t want to give in to the feeling made it feel like it was only becoming stronger. Your hands grabbed his old t-shirt as you frantically moved your hips back and forth. Your nose scrunched and your eyes shut tight, your mouth letting out a whisper of “oh fuck”s on a loop.
“That’s it,” you heard Sebastian say even though his voice sounded like it was miles away. “Cum like a good girl.”
Suddenly, all the pressure that was building up deep within your tummy snapped and you were on cloud 9. Your heat pulsed as you road out your orgasm, Sebastian's hands helping you immensely. It took a good minute of pants as you caught your breath before you opened your eyes and came back to reality.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” you muttered to him when you finally made eye contact again.
“I know,” he smirked. “Now be a good girl, sugar, and take off your pants.”
You questioned arguing with him more, but you decided not to. You wanted him, you wanted him so fucking bad. You stood up and pulled down your shorts, doing a little spin so Sebastian could marvel at how wonderful you looked.
“As beautiful as those look on you, darling, they’d look better on the floor.”
You playfully rolled your eyes as you stripped out of the underwear as well, leaving you in nothing but an old grey t-shirt. You went back to your place on Sebastian’s lap, pulling him in for another passionate kiss. You felt like you were melting into him entirely as everything snapped back into place. Your hands roamed lower, palming him through his grey sweats. You smirked to yourself at the realization of how hard he was already and at the fact he wasn’t wearing boxers. He lifted his hips to help you pull down his pants. Just as you were getting ready to place his member in the place you wanted him the most, he halts your movement by grabbing your wrist.
“Shit, I don’t have a condom, y/n,” he warned. You frowned, upset that he had stopped you.
“I don’t care.”
“But you still have that IUD in, right?”
You grimaced because no, you did not. Your five years had run out two months ago and you hadn’t gotten around to making an appointment for a new one. You shook your head slowly side to side before he sighed. He went to pull you off of him but you stopped him by holding onto his shoulders
“I don’t care,” you repeated.
“Y/n, you know why can’t.”
“Why not?”
He looked at you in disbelief. “Besides the fact you could get pregnant?”
“I don’t care,” you said one more time. “I want you.”
He looked into your eyes, trying his best to decipher your intentions.
“Y/n …”
“Get me pregnant, Sebby,” you said, meaning it too. “I want you, I want your kids. Fuck, I want us back. I don’t care if that means kids and a white picket fence. I just want you.”
“Are you sure?”
In response, you slowly leaned down and your lips touched. It was nothing like the kisses you had shared preferably, it was slow and soft. He pulled you closer, finally letting you lower yourself down on him. You both let out loud moans as you sink down on his member.
It was like you had forgotten what making love felt like, probably because you did. In the past nine months since you had split, you hadn’t made love with anyone once. It was all just meaningless sex or hot fucking, but there was no love behind it. You didn’t love Timothee, you hadn’t loved any of your flings. Maybe it was because you never stopped loving Sebastian—you were almost sure it was because of that.
You moved up and down whilst Sebastian thrust up into you. The room was filled with moans, grunts, and praises from both ends. He started to kiss your neck as his thumb started to rub your clit. The multiple amounts of stimulation only brought you closer to your climax.
“I’m gonna, fuck—I’m close.”
“I know, babygirl,” he cooed. “Look at me.” You looked into his blue orbs, feeling your climax inching ever so closer. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” you whined out as your hips moved faster. “Cum inside me, Sebastian. Get me—fuck, god—put a fucking baby in me.”
With your confirmation, he flipped you on your back, thrusting harder. The hand that wasn’t toying with your clit interlaced with yours. Your grip on each other squeezed harder as you neared your finishes. You wrapped your legs around him as his hips started to stutter.
“Cum with me, baby,” Sebastian groaned.
You finally let the coil that built inside of you snap with his permission. Moments later, he busted inside of you, making you both yell out. He collapsed on top of you, trying his best not to crush you under his weight. You both panted for minutes before you finally spoke up.
“I love you,” you said. He lifted his head, looking into his eyes. “I never stopped.
“Neither did I,” Sebastian said. “Did you mean it, you want to have kids?”
“I want to do anything if it means I can be with you. Anything.”
#Sebastian Stan#sebastian stan smut#marvel smut#marvel men smut#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan x y/n#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes#fanfic#tfatws
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fountain of fantasies ⇾ jjk. [M]
⟶ from the eros universe; you do not need to read eros to read this one shot
𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ god!jungkook x curvy!reader (f.)
𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ s2l, greek mythology au, circa. 1800 au, historical au, light fluff, angst, smut, pwp, filth, 18+
𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ you rather be engaging in heart racing activities than in heart breaking ones
𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 15.6k
𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ dom!jungkook, bigdick!jungkook, buff!jungkook, winged!jungkook, longhair!jungkook, ponytail!jungkook, sub!reader, slightly insecure!reader, shy!reader, mentions and consumption of alcohol, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it folks), rough sex, playful-ish sex, semi-public sex, fountain sex, dirty talk, creampie, multiple orgasms, slight degradation, overstimulation, exhibition, a lil voyeurism, praise kink, anal, edging, squirting, choking, hair pulling, bodyworshipping, a lil motorboating, a lil begging, water play, a lil spit play, a lil breast play, ass play, a fountain of filth :)
𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ i’m too much of a hoe for greek god guk not to turn this into a mini-series...
⤜ banner by ↠ @thebannershop (thank you dearie~)
⤜ beta’d by ↠ @moonmintrails (my soulmate~)
⤜ le playlist ↠
Plump plum juices leak from your violet stained lips. You watch the storm rage through the balcony windows. Flashes of lightning, streaks of raindrops and the wall-rattling thunder only stares back at you. The noise of the world around you would be just the perfect cover for all the sounds he draws out of you. Teeth sinking into the fruit’s flesh, you take another bite and fix your stockings. Topless, you lean back in your plush seat and cross your legs.
You know he’s not coming. It’s been a week since his last visit, a week of staying up late only to fall asleep and wake up to a new toy. You glance at your bed. The collection of gifts under it do not compensate for his absence. You don’t want the ruby dildos or golden anal plugs. You can live without the silver tit-clamps and sapphire pearled whips. It’s him you won’t do without.
But tonight would be a perfect night of fun. You swallow your bite before taking another one as your mind circles every dirty thought you’ve been wanting to entertain for the last seven days. Staring out the rain stained windows, the one that appeals to you the most for tonight would be on that balcony, where it started all those months ago. The thought of being drenched in rainwater while he bends you over the railing makes you squeeze your crossed legs together. And the fluttering flap of his wings as they shake out the storm prickles your skin with goosebumps. Wet hands tangled in your wet hair. Loud moans blended in the loud thunder.
An urgent knock raps on your door. You sit up, letting out a shaky breath from the remnants of that fantasy. As you set your plum down by some grapes on the side table, you shoot to your feet to grab your robe.
“Bunny,” Mary, your sister, whispers from the other side.
The little childhood nickname brings a smile to your face. The two of you would play Wonderland in the garden as children and Mary would have you, Bunny, guide her down the right path. Now, she only ever calls you that when she’s nervous and struggling to admit it.
Tying the robe around your waist, you eagerly let her in. “What is it, Mary?” You smile as she rushes past you.
She doesn’t take a moment to properly greet you, darting to your little library instead. “Do you have that book about Mount Olympus?” She asks. Her freshly painted nails scrape over the spines of each book as you part your lips to reply. “Oh! Here it is!”
Returning to your seat, you watch your older sister skim through the pages. “Why the sudden interest in Greek gods?”
“Michael mentioned something about Hera and I just wanted to- I knew it!”
Chewing on another bite, you raise a brow at her. “I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear that tomorrow,” you chuckle around your food.
Mary pauses. Her eyes, previously gleaming with excitement, diminish into indifference. She clears her throat and shuts the book. “Mama says to never correct a man.”
You stuff your mouth with a big bite and avoid your sister’s gaze. There’s lots you have to say about your mother’s philosophy on love, but you know better than to voice those opinions.
Mary continues talking, despite knowing your reservations about your mother. She holds the book to her chest and tentatively sits on your bed. “Mama wants me to talk to you about something.”
Slowly chewing, you glance at her. You already know where this is going. It’s another desperate attempt on your mother’s part to make sure you don’t wear the dress he had gifted you. She knows full well how much it reveals and how well it’s designed. You don’t care for your mother’s opinion though; you haven’t for months. It’s Mary’s opinion on the subject that matters to you.
“But, I told her that I don’t want to lie to you.” She takes a moment to sigh then meets your gaze once more. “You’ll look gorgeous in that dress, Bunny,” she smiles. “And I have the perfect shoes for them too.”
A laugh bubbles out of your throat and you almost choke on your food. Mary laughs at your struggling state. “Oh, can we get ready for your party together?” You ask, perking up in your seat once you properly swallow your food.
Mary’s excited gaze wavers. She glances back at the book before hesitantly nodding. “Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing…”
You give her a pointed look. Flopping down on the bed, Mary groans and stares up at the ceiling. “What do you think of Michael?” You part your lips to reply, but she continues, “I mean I know he’s from a good family, and can take care of me, and he’s so handsome.”
You bite your lip at the last comment. Michael is not exactly your type of heartthrob. But, then again, your senses have been obscured by a god, so now not a single person can look as handsome, as beautiful, as heavenly as your Eros.
“But, he says and does things I’m not exactly…” She trails off. “And I think his previous courtship with Linette ended horribly.”
Her half-sentence rings some warning in your gut. However, by the way she avoids eye contact to stare at your crystal chandelier, you decide not to address it. “What makes you think so?” you ask instead.
“Well, that’s what he told me.”
Resisting the urge to scoff, you simply quirk a brow. Mary may be a couple of years older, but she still hasn’t grown out of her naive tendencies. You’re about to tell her that everything will be okay when you catch a familiar silhouette on your balcony.
He’s here.
Mary shoots up off your bed. You fear for a second that she may have seen him, but then she asks, “So? What do you think?”
Gulping, you take a moment to collect your thoughts. Erasing the fact that he’s finally here from your mind, you try to remain focused on your sister. You want the best for her. You want her to be excited about who she marries and for the life she will spend with that person. And that’s why it takes you a world of restraint not to tell her that if she isn’t a hundred percent sure about marrying Michael, then maybe she shouldn’t.
“Do you love him, Mary?” You ask. “And I don’t mean that ‘nobility’ love. I mean that, ‘makes you cry just thinking about losing him’ love.”
Mary hesitates.Your eyes flicker to the balcony where he continues to stand. Inhaling deeply, you silently ask him to wait just a second longer.
“I think I do,” she smiles.
Your heart shatters at her phrasing. I think. Where is the room for thinking when true love is at your door? You want to tell her that there shouldn’t be any of this ‘thinking’ nonsense. You either do or you don’t, you want to say. But her smile is so pure and eyes light up just enough that you don’t have the heart to take it all away. Besides, maybe she really does love him.
“Then, I think he’s perfect for you.”
Mary grabs the book and jumps to her feet. “Let’s meet in my room at seven,” she smiles, ruffling through your hair on her way to the door. “Have a good night, Bunny.”
“You too,” you smile as she shuts the door with a wink. The gesture is unusual but you suppose she’s just excited about the party tomorrow. You’re not exactly sure why she did it and with a winged god at your door, you can’t find it in you to care for too long.
Darting to the balcony, you pull open the doors to be greeted by empty winds and heavy raindrops. Those wings are gone, balcony vacant of anything but despair. Not even a gift replaces his presence. You hold your tears back and swallow the growing lump in your throat. Your time is not one of his toys, nor is it free. You’ve run out of patience. You’re empty of reason, thriving on broken feelings.
Shakily sighing, you bury the hurt in your voice and whisper, “if you can’t stay, don’t come at all.”
Sparkling diamonds, glasses, and wine circle the ballroom. Sipping on your drink, you take in the gleaming marble floors and the arches of the grand windows. The Barbury Estate is twice the size of yours. You want to believe that your mother’s delight in Mary’s proposal has more to do with her happiness than the fact that her fiancé is riddled with more wealth than he knows what to do with. But, you know that your mother has a special bond with money. It’s the same relationship she has with social standards. Her philosophy is simple; the more, the better. Now, if only your mother felt that way about you.
No, wait. This night is not about you. An evening lost in a grand room of people only appeals to you when the occasion for such torture is your sister’s engagement party. Your chest swells with pride as you watch Mary dance with her fiancé. Michael Barbury is not exactly what you would call ‘prince charming.’ His jokes border on racism and thoughts are somewhat insipid, but he makes Mary happy. That’s all that matters to you. Her relapse in judgement last night does worry you. But you know that she’ll be happy with Michael. With Eros gone, you wonder how soon you’ll find a love like that too.
Mary’s graceful giggles cut you out of your trance. You blink once, twice until your senses fully return to you. Even the smallest thought of him throws you out of your consciousness. Settling your eyes back on your sister, watching as she basks in Michael’s unwavering attention and dotting devotion, you’re greeted with a sense of comfort. The guilt of not speaking your truth disappears and the fear of never finding love dissipates to the back of your mind.
“Miss (Y/N)?” Lee Kyon asks, waving his hand in front of you.
Right, you forgot he was there. Turning to face him once more, you flash Kyon a somewhat kind smile. “Yes, Mr. Lee?”
He furrows his brows. “Is everything alright?”
Perhaps everything would be alright if your mother didn’t constantly feel the need to set you up with the first poor man that accidently looks your way. Yes, you’re well aware of your mother’s behaviour and the fact that Kyon has no real interest in getting to know you. Judging by the way he continues to loop back to the same dull topic about the history of wine, you can tell that he is merely trying to keep the conversation short enough to be polite, but not long enough to be courting you.
It’s not as though you care for his company either. Kyon has half of Michael’s intelligence. Even though you were only half-listening to his rant, you already pick out the few historical inaccuracies in his unprompted explanation. Of course, the worst thing you can do to a man is attack his wits and pride; that’s what your mother tells you anyway. It’s what worried Mary last night too. And you’ve tested that theory enough to know how true it is and how fun it can be. Watching them grapple for the right words, flare their nostrils in frustration and demand you apologize will always be just as humorous as when they try to “teach” you about language or art or, in Kyon’s case, history.
Biting back a sigh, you nod and silently pray for a way out of this boring conversation and into something a bit more exciting.
Clearing his throat, Kyon searches for a way to fill the silence. He then half-heartedly mutters, “You look darling this evening.”
Glancing down at your dress, your face heats up. The tiger lily-peach layers of satin and tulle fall down to your ankles. The pleated skirt mirrors the petals of a flower. Cleavage on display, the long flowy sleeves fall off your shoulders. Finished with a green ribbon around your waist and gleaming pink jewels, this is possibly the best dress he has gifted you.
Your Eros left it, no wait- he’s not yours anymore. A friend left it hanging in your closet one morning after another passionate night in his embrace. It was a beautiful surprise to be woken up to and a manageable struggle to explain how it came into your possession. You can’t help but find it a bit ironic how your mother is desperate to set you up with the first man she sees, but hesitant to dress you up for the occasion. He must have known, must have felt your frustration towards your mistreatment.
It takes everything in you to fight off the smile playing on your lips. You glance back up at Kyon, parting your lips to thank him when he continues, “And how brave of you to wear such a dress.”
You pause. “Brave?”
Kyon smiles and nods.
Is he really telling you what you think he is? Is he really undermining your confidence, undermining the beauty you know you have by commending your ‘bravery?’ No, you mustn’t judge too quickly. Perhaps he’s admiring your choice to go against expectations of covering up with a shawl.
You swallow back your initial assumptions, and decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Mr. Lee?”
“Well,” Kyon starts. He looks off to the side and raises both his brows before looking to you once more. His hazel eyes scan your figure, jaw clenching as he clears his throat. “A dress like this is traditionally worn by a woman that looks more like…” he trails off, eyes wandering as well. “Like Miss (L/N).”
A stinging chorus of hushed laughter strikes your pride. Your gut boils with shame and humiliation as your eyes bounce between the partygoers near you. You hadn’t realized they were eavesdropping. As a desperate attempt to ignore their maliciously amused looks, you follow Kyon’s gaze to Mary. Chewing on your lip, you ignore the urge to roll your eyes. This isn’t the first time someone has compared you to her, and you know very well that it won’t be the last. Even the utter disrespect of referring to you by your first name and your sister by your last name further displays their lack of recognition for you. In their eyes, you will forever remain as Miss (Y/N), the spinster-destined sister of Miss (L/N). And though you are certain that the twinge of pain and anger festering in your chest is for Kyon, you can’t help but be a little annoyed with your sister as well.
But then she laughs, smiling so bright and wide. She looks up at Michael and rests her chin on his bicep, reveling in his attention and embrace. You realize, in her moment of happiness, that you can’t find it in you to hold this grudge against her. Your love for her is greater than your pride. Besides, she plays no part in your insecurities. And, you decide as you turn back to Kyon, neither will this privileged upperclassman.
“How brave,” you sigh with a single shouldered shrug.
“What is, Miss (Y/N)?”
“How brave of you to believe anyone cares for your opinion.”
Kyon chokes on his drink. The partygoers, previously humoured by your embarrassment, relish in your courage to upstage Kyon. Gasping a giggle, you step back to avoid being spit on. He glares at you as he wipes his chin. You don’t hesitate to return that hard, hateful look in his eye. Raising a challenging brow, you dare him to attempt to embarrass you again.
He takes one step towards you, looking as though he’s about to grab at your arm when his stride is redirected. Kyon walks away without another word. You stare after him in confusion as he mutters an apology under his breath.
You’re not sure what caused this sudden change in his angry course, but you’re all too happy to be rid of him to dwell on the thought of his motives much longer. He must’ve known how offensive his words were. True, most people compare you to your sister, but at least they have the decency to do it behind your back. You rather be physically absent from a conversation like that. It makes it easier to ignore and avoid the negativity.
Confidence restored, you feel comfortable in your skin again. The dress is a perfect fit, the struggle to breath nowhere to be found, and sits well on your frame- despite what others think. However, you have very little time to revel in your victory as your mother stalks towards you.
“What have you done?” she hisses over your shoulder. Before you even have a chance to look back at her, she drags you by your arm to the edge of the room. “What did you say this time?”
A heavy sigh pushes past your lips as you clasp your hands before you and reply, “He insulted me.”
Your mother quirks a brow. “And?” She questions as if waiting for a more substantial argument.
“And?” You echo in confusion. “And he insulted me. I don’t see why that’s not enough of a reason to insult him back.”
She shakes her head and inhales deeply. You brace yourself for the disparaging rant you know is coming. Nothing good ever comes from a head shake and heavy sigh. But, instead of her usual ‘stay in your place’ harangue, your mother cuts to the chase this time. “Do you realize that might just be your only chance for happiness?”
Suppressing a dry chuckle, you lower your gaze to the floor. You know your mother is well aware of how her question sounds; you know she doesn’t care. Still, you ask, “Is that really what happiness looks like, mother?”
She falls silent. After a beat, you dare to peek up at her. Those once hard eyes soften as her gaze locks on Mary and Michael, locks on how they gaze upon one another with such adoration. Blinking repeatedly, she turns to you and sighs, “Yes, to some people that,” she pauses to glance at Kyon, “is what happiness looks like.”
A wicked pang of sad, lonely anger twists in your chest then tumbles to the pit of your stomach. Your gaze falls to the ground and heart shatters with that last shred of hope that your mother perhaps did want the best for you. Up until now, you truly believed that in some twisted way, she was just looking out for you, making sure you have someone by your side long after she’s gone. Her words now and that shameless look that matches that shameless confession only point to the painfully obvious fact you have tried so hard to ignore. Your mother’s need to make you look a certain way and throw you at any breathing man has never been for your well-being, but rather the well-being of her reputation.
“Go to Mr. Lee, (Y/N),” she orders. “Offer to freshen his drink, wipe down his shirt, and then apologize. Beg for his forgiveness if you have to; just make this right.”
With a deep breath, you trail your eyes back up and try to collect yourself. Your eyes flicker between the exit and where Kyon stands.Your mother clears her throat, drawing your attention back on her.
“Have I made myself clear?”
“Crystal.”
She returns to her friends, that gleeful smile plastered on her face once more. Your eyes fall back on Kyon with every intention of following through your mother’s orders. However, he only greets your gaze with malice. A wave of nausea overwhelms you.
With a shake of your head, you tear yourself away from his threatening demeanour and turn towards the exit. You just need to get out of his line of sight, out of that pretentious atmosphere. Something within you can’t seem to stop telling you that one more moment near that passive-aggressive punk will only make you feel worse. So, you lengthen your strides out of the ballroom and down the hall to put as much distance between you and them.
The pressure of their expectations suffocates you like no corset ever has. All you can think is how desperately you need some fresh air. It takes you a moment, but you navigate your way around the manor well enough to find the back entrance.
Cold air engulfs you the moment you step outside. A relieved giggle slips past your lips and you throw your head back to relish in the cool spring breeze. The sky reflects a swirl of silvery indigo. It lures you into its constellations and wonders with every other glance. Lowering your gaze, you scan the garden before you. A cobblestone path leads all the way down to a hedged maze. You can never resist a good garden. In fact, you had helped design the one back home. You hope that when your husband-to-be comes along, he’d have a garden too and maybe you can design it together.
Realizing you can maybe hold on to a few more moments of peace if they can’t find you, you decide to follow the path and hide away within the walls of the maze. You’re halfway down the cobblestone trail when you sense a strong pull dragging your soul closer to the hedges. Picking up your pace, you follow that tug faster, soon weaving through the maze like you’ve been through it before. It’s not long before you reach the centre.
It’s a large clearing, decorated with a variety of blooming flowers. In the middle stands a grand marble fountain. Three tiered, the fountain sprouts fresh water through the mouths of singing angels. A little smile plays on your lips as you click-clack your way towards it. The tranquil rush of the stream calms your previously erratic heart. You take a seat on the edge and stare down at the pool. It’s empty of floating flowers or little fish like the one you have at home, but still beautiful all the same.
“Miss (L/N).”
Your eyes well up the moment his sweet voice greets your ears. A shaky breath escapes you and you turn to find him. Did he not hear your words last night? Does he not care? Or is he here to stay this time?
Sitting atop the hedges of the garden maze and out of the moon’s light, he looks just as heavenly as always. Most details of his beauty are hidden, but you can make out his long hair and the way it’s pulled back into a ponytail, leaving loose, short strands to frame his face. And those soft wings are out, spread wide behind him as he stares back at you. Shirtless, he smirks.
You can’t help the smile stretching upon your lips at the sight of him. It’s an uncontrollable reflex, as is the wetness of your core when he’s around. He usually doesn’t arrive this early when he does show up. How long has he been there?
Clearing your throat, however, you subside the urge to smile upon his presence. “Mr. Jeon.” His name leaves your lips in a trembling breath as your heart’s aflush with desire. You have to remind yourself that you’re upset with his disappearances.
A sweet smile takes over his features. “I’ve upset you,” he notes.
Is this a joke to him? How many nights does he expect you to wait around for a maybe? You both know your time is worth more than that. And though you want to tell him that he’s done more than upset you, that he’s disappointed you, you confess something else instead. “I’ve missed you.”
“You know I miss you too,” he replies.
You resist the urge to scoff. “Are you working tonight?”
He shakes his head. “I just got off actually.”
Without me? You mentally scold yourself for your dirty thought. You can’t even hold onto your anger for more than thirty seconds without having the urge to spread your legs for him. “Lucky me,” you sarcastically reply.
“Do you like the dress?”
“I’d like it more with the gift from last night,” you glare at him. “If there was a gift from last night, that is.”
Hopping off the edge, his wings fan out to guide him down before you with ease. Your face falls as he stands in the moonlight. Thick mud coats his muscular body and those once white wings are stained with dirt and grim. His sharp face is scratched with little scabs as well. He looks like he fell from the sky.
“Jungkook,” you whisper as you reach out to caress his wounded cheek.
But Jungkook can’t be any less interested in his current state. His attention does not waver off you. Those kind eyes of his scan your frame, lingering around your breasts. “It looks even better than I imagined.”
You feel as though you have to ask him if this really is a joke to him this time. He leaves you for a week with very little behind and returns only to be caked in mud and peppered with wounds and has the audacity to pretend it’s not an issue. Now, you’re upset.
You blink back your tears, quietly asking, “What happened?”
Maybe it was the hurt in your tone or the worry flashing in your eyes but his usually cocky demeanor trembles just enough to comfort you. “It’s just been a long night, baby. I missed a couple of shots and it took a little more effort than usual to fix everything.”
Fidgeting fingers trail up the exposed side of his thick thigh under the stained toga-like skirt he wears. He shudders under your touch as your hands make their way up to his buff chest where they stay. You inhale deeply to settle your erratic heart. The earthy grim of the mud invades your senses. He doesn’t even smell like himself anymore.
Knitting your brows together, you ask, “Are you hurt?”
Jungkook’s entire expression softens. Shaking his head, he goes to cradle your body closer to his but stops before his hands reach your waist. You can feel his desire though, to touch and be touched. It’s raw and real, and purely Jungkook. This shared desire the two of you have roots deep within your souls. It breaks your heart to think that he’s not yours anymore, and maybe you made that decision rashly, in a moment of anger. But, you both know it’s not how you feel right now.
“I need to know your schedule,” you say in a quiet voice. He tongues his cheek, erupting your heart with a surge of want. You ignore the feeling long enough to continue, “I can’t just sit and wait, Jungkook.”
He stares down at you, eyes unreadable. You can tell that he’s mulling over your words, but have no clue how he feels about them. Finally, he cups your cheeks, staining them with dirt, and says “I need you to trust me when I say that I’m doing my best to get to you as quickly as I can, darling.”
Your heart cannot deny him when his gaze reflects such sincerity and honesty. Every ounce of trust, of belief is in him and only him. And maybe you are being selfish, but to be stranded without an explanation is heartbreaking. You know he knows that, or at least feels it in you when you think of him and pray.
“Just tell me I’m yours again,” he whispers, “and I’ll prove to you how much I’ve missed you too.”
Is that why he’s here? He’s afraid of losing you? Biting your lip, you can’t help but lean into his touch. It was mean of you to punish him like this and make him think that you were really upset with him when in actuality, all you wanted was a little more attention. You give him an innocent look through your lashes. He does his best not to swoon, but you know him well enough now to know that the little quiver in his lips means he’s on the verge of getting on his knees.
“No man of mine is this dirty,” you smirk, echoing the words of your first encounter.
Jungkook smiles and this time you have to keep yourself from swooning at the sight of his dimples. “I thought that’s exactly how you like them,” he purrs as he walks you back towards the fountain.
Heat rushes to your face. The marble edge of the fountain hits the bend of your knees but you refuse to sit down with Jungkook only inches away. His hands may still be on your face, rubbing that dirt into your cheeks, but his body is still too far away from yours. You move to take a step forward, desperate to have your body against his. However, Jungkook is quicker, most likely having read your mind, and moves back before you can even get half a step in.
Your eyes harden at the action. Pushing his hands off your face, you quirk a brow.
“I don’t want to ruin your dress.”
“A dress like this is meant to be ruined.”
He smirks. You can tell by the amusement dancing in his eyes that he’s enjoying the sight of you this needy and possessive. He decides to further test the limits of your composure, asking, “Don’t you have a party to get back to?”
He’s teasing. The mockery riddled in his features is enough of a hint, but the playful tone in his voice is still something you bask in. Taking a seat on the edge of the fountain, you let out a deep sigh and look up to the clouds. “A flight back home might do us both some good,” you suggest instead. “It’s not like there’s anything waiting for me at the party anyways.”
“Not even your sister?”
You shake your head.
“Mother?”
Face folding, you suppress the urge to groan and whisper, “Oh, gods no.”
Jungkook chuckles as he circles around the fountain. He dips his hand in the clear water, before asking, “What about Lee Kyon?”
Now, what would Jeon Jungkook know of Lee Kyon? A quick scan of his features doesn’t let you in on much besides the fact that he’s trying to draw a reaction out of you. However, what reaction is he hoping for? Is he looking for an explanation? He knows all about your mother’s habits and your relationships, or lack thereof, with mortal men. You never even have to say it; Jungkook knows there’s no one else for you but him.
“Mr. Lee is fragile,” you sigh.
His wings twitch. He likes what he hears. You curl in your lips to keep from smiling. Could he, Eros the god of love, lust and desire, really be jealous of an imbecile? Setting your visual tastes aside for a moment, you and Jungkook both know that Kyon, bless him, knows less than the very fountain you’re sitting on… The very fountain Jungkook is climbing into.
“What are you doing?” You ask, shooting to your feet as Jungkook makes himself comfortable. A giggle tumbles out of you, even though you tried to bite it back, at the sight of him washing himself like a bird.
Jungkook stops for a moment, that playful gaze meeting yours. This one look is enough for you to know he’s heard, and he’s most likely still hearing your thoughts. You wish you could dip in and out of his mind too. It might put an end to all the guessing on your end.
Continuing to splash his torso clean, he replies, “You’re sending me some mixed messages, baby. I thought you didn’t like me dirty.”
He has a point. Making your way over to him, you sit by his submerged frame on the edge of the fountain. Jungkook rubs his lips as he watches your jeweled fingers trace the curves of your cleavage. Your hand stops in the centre, just above the tied strings of your corset. You begin unlacing it when Jungkook tsks. Snapping your gaze to his, you wait for further instructions.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to get in with you.”
“So, get in.”
You move to unlace your corset once more, but Jungkook grabs onto your wrist. Catching his darkening gaze, you furrow your brows at his tilting head. He’s gesturing for you to get in, but won’t let you take off your dress. He can’t serious think you’d get in wearing it the water is filthy with his-
Glancing at the clear water, your thoughts are overtaken by confusion. You expected it to be tinted a dark brown from all the mud but it only reflects the marble bowl of the fountain, Jungkook’s legs, and that growing erection between them. You probably should question him on when he took that skirt off and why the water is so clean even after he went into it with layers of dirt coating his skin, but the heat between your legs is slowly growing more and more insufferable.
Your eyes flicker back to Jungkook’s to find him already staring at you, a smirk painted on his handsome face. He pushes his tongue against his cheek once more, knowing how much you love that move, then quirks a cocky brow. Kicking off your heels, you lift your dress enough to dip each stocking covered foot into the fountain. You hiss at the sensation of the soggy socks against your feet, but power through knowing how much Jungkook loves the way they look on you.
Your dress puffs up to the surface and you have to push it down and back to put as little space between you and Jungkook. “Your hair’s filthy,” you pout as you finally straddle his lap.
Jungkook lets out a little sigh. You first think it’s because his cock stands right in front of your pussy, but soon realize how wrong you are. His dazed gaze wanders over your features, unsure where to stop and what to admire first. Those large hands instinctively find your thick thighs. He rubs and massages them as you untie his hair and wet your hands enough to wash some of the dirt away. You tilt his head back and lick your lips. It’s a habit you have when concentrating. Jungkook knows it well.
“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he suddenly purrs. His voice is thick, saturated with lust and adoration. “Honestly, you don’t have to do anything, darling, just let me look at you for a little bit.”
You freeze, hands half tangled in his mud slick hair, and gaze back down at him. Dipping your head down, your lips catch his. You’re obsessed with the lack of hesitation between the two of you. Never has Jungkook thought twice about taking you as his when the two of you are this close. No matter how long he’s gone or how upset you may feel about that, when you find each other again, it’s almost like he never left. Your souls rapture in harmony and bodies tangle indefinitely. Eternity lies in the palms of your hands every second you're together.
“I’ve got to clean your hair,” you mutter against his lips. He only hums before kissing you again. Inhaling sharply, you let him have another sip of your breath before pulling away completely. And you realize, as you glance at his wings, that they could probably use a good scrub down too before the two of you indulge in the good fun you’ve been dying to have all week.
Before you can vocalize this, however, Jungkook is already readjusting your shared position. He tucks his wings tight behind him and shifts the two of you around so that the stream of the fountain washes down his back. “Hurry,” he orders. There’s very little room for negotiation in his tone. His appetite for a fun night is growing too and you can’t help but smile at the eagerness you’ve triggered.
Sticking your tongue out, you hook it under his chin and tilt his head back. Jungkook continues to gaze down at you as he gives into your gesture. “That’s hot,” he mutters.
This is new. He never talks this much when things start to heat up. Most of the time, you’re tossed looks and expected to decipher his mood, but you’re all too caught up in how gorgeous he is, you can barely understand what he means. Everything is always based on feelings and going with your instincts. But this time, Jungkook’s more vocal. It’s almost as if he’s thinking out loud.
His wings twitch again. You snap your gaze from his hair to his eyes and find he’s raising a brow. Didn’t you wish you could hear his thoughts too? Could this be his way of granting it to you?
“You know what I like most about you?” He asks as you continue to wash the mud from his hair. Grazing your nails through his scalp, you hum in reply. “You’re incredibly intelligent.”
Your fingers shudder against his head. The guilt of last night returns. Your sister should be with someone who isn’t afraid of her intelligence either. You should’ve told her not to follow through with this, not to marry Michael.
Jungkook’s hands trail up to your ass, gripping onto the plump flesh. The harsh gesture snaps you back into the moment. You jump a bit and let out a little squeal as your gaze meets his. “I much rather you don’t think of other men when you’re with me,” he groans.
Fighting off the proud smile tempting your lips, you nod. “Sorry; it won’t happen again.”
“Better not,” he mutters and that smile finally settles on your lips. “And don’t worry about your sister. She’ll be fine.”
A part of you wants to question him more about how he knows that, but the death grip he has on your ass and the way he’s looking at you does not leave much room for a sexless conversation. You rather your family stay out of conversations like this with Jungkook. His desire to be the only one in your thoughts makes a bit more sense to you now.
Smiling, Jungkook inhales deeply through his nose. “You figure things out faster than most people,” he says.
You kiss the little freckle under his lip to let him know you’re done cleaning his hair. “You spend too much time in my head,” you tease. Instead of in my… The rest of the sentence twirls in your mind for him to find it.
As you move to clean his right wing he chuckles and continues, “I’m serious, baby.” He kisses your neck as you stand on your knees and reach for his wing to properly clean it off. “Your mind amazes me. That’s why I spend so much time there.”
Barriers of the mind fall. They were trembling before but now, with every whispered thought Jungkook voices, you can feel those walls of distance crumble around your inseparable bodies. You’ve always melded perfectly physically and stroked the other’s spirit by caressing your souls, but mental barriers have always halted any real conversation between you and Jungkook. He’s always been able to know your next move, your every thought because of his immortality. And to have the chance to do the same only makes you feel that much closer to him. For this reason, you hope he doesn’t regret opening up to you and giving you a little peek inside his mind.
Your physical senses shock you back to the moment. His fingers soften their grip on your ass, rubbing it instead and your pussy reactively clenches at that pet name you love so much. Unsteadily inhaling deeply, you move to clean his other wing in silence. You decide you won’t talk this time. Your mind is open to him if he’s looking for your opinion, but tonight you just want to hear his thoughts and be the one tossing unreadable looks.
Jungkook chuckles against your neck, rolling his shoulders back as you brush your fingers through his wings. His lips trail down to your collarbone. He kisses his way down to your breasts and buries his face between them. Breathing in your scent, he sighs happily and mutters, “This is my favourite thing.”
Your breasts? By the way his hands always settle on your ass and the fact that his first hand-delivered toy was an anal plug, you always just assumed that his favourite feature of yours must be your ass. But you suppose if your breasts-
“Actually, I was talking about the way you smell.”
“It’s called soap,” you tease, earning yourself a light spank. He then bites on your right tit, sucking on the skin just because he can. You giggle and settle yourself back on his lap. Your ass, plush and plump, all but melts over his muscular thighs.
Jungkook stares at you. His brown eyes are vacant and lost in thought. He quiets under your gaze, only just shifting to pull you closer than you already are. Your pussy frames the length of his cock and you find it increasingly hard to stay still. Trying to read that dazed expression on his face, you wonder what happened with his devotion to thinking out loud.
Licking his lips, Jungkook finally breaks the silence. “Twenty-three.” He leans towards you turning the two of you back around so his back is against the fountain’s edge again. “I want you in twenty-three different ways, but I don’t think we have time to do all of them.”
You swallow thickly. Grinding your hips into his, you rub your needy pussy against his throbbing erection. Jungkook’s eyes slightly roll back and he has to hold your hips down only to look at you properly again. “Can we make time?” You ask. The desperate cry for more is evident in your voice and you know that, by the quirk of his brow and the shudder of his wings, he’s having trouble saying no.
“I wish,” he confesses. “My favourite ones take time.”
His fingers dig into your ass again, hinting at what his favourite positions might be. It’s no surprise that it has to do with your ass, you’re just worried that he’s going to ask for more than you’re ready for. Yes, you may have gotten used to anal plugs over time since he knows how to prep you for them, but his cock is an entirely different game. You are constantly reminded of how those other toys really are just toys because his cock is that uncomparable.
Jungkook relaxes back against the marble wall and watches you as you salivate over the size of his cock. He doesn’t need to read your mind to know you're terrified of whatever pain may come with it but excited because you’re just that much of a whore for him.
“You know you don’t have to do it. I have lots of other favourites,” he smirks.
As your thoughts trail off, he bucks his hips into yours. You breathe moan and clutch onto his shoulders. Every little movement makes you ache for more. A week without a single bit of sexual stimulation, even by yourself, is too long. He never told you that you couldn’t play around alone anymore, but when you have him, why the hell would you play with yourself? You know he’s going to come every night, or at least you hope he is. And the truth is, one he must already know judging by the pleased look in his eyes, even if he had told you he wasn’t coming, you still wouldn’t have touched yourself. Nothing can compare to his touch; you don’t need to try anything else to know this.
A shaky breath escapes Jungkook at your next mental confession. You don't think you were ever really mad at him. You just knew that acting out would get him to come tonight. Jungkook scoffs, looking up at the darkening sky as you wrap your arms around his neck.
Are you even really sorry? His eyes dart to yours as if wanting to see for himself if your thoughts are true. You don't know if you can answer this question with his eyes on you like that. But, that conclusion seems to be enough of an answer for him.
He shakes his head and wraps his arms around your waist. Pouting, he asks, “Do you know how worried I was?”
You mirror his expression, drawing a pout in your features as well, and press your chest against his. His breath hitches and body melts into yours, betraying his intentions. Noticing his struggle to stay upset with you, you pepper wet kisses under his chin and along his jawline.
Jungkook can’t resist you for much longer. He whimpers as his hips grind into yours. Bending at your every touch, he unravels beneath you. A giddy smile breaks your pouty features and it’s only then that he seems to realize how much he’s let himself go in front of you. His grip on your hips hardens. As you kiss up his face, you find his lust-stuck eyes dark with dominance. He hates being vulnerable to your touch this much.
“No, baby,” he rasps. You quirk a brow. “I hate how drunk you get off the power.”
A proud smirk twitches on the corner of your lips, confirming his words. You’ve barely had taste for the power he’s accusing you of getting drunk off of. However, the fact that you’re able to control him so well with such a small dose fills your heart with pride.
“You’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“I am?”
There’s a certain cocky pitch in your tone that rings sharply to his ears. His brows twitch, wings flutter, and gaze wavers. He may have been able to look past your exaggerations of dismissal and the way you tease him, but to speak to him with very little regard for his power unleashes something primal within him. You can always tell you’ve really pissed him off when he pouts, clenches his jaw, and breathes so steadily, you can barely hear him.
Jungkook watches you carefully. “One week without my dick and suddenly you think you own it?”
“Don’t I?”
A sharp smack lands on your ass. The slow draft of the water does not slow his hands down. In fact, it only increases the sting and accuracy. You gasp and fall forward against him only to be spanked again. Another moan leaves you, this time with your lips hovering over his. Exchanging breathes, a dangerous thought occurs to you. Your lips are over his. What’s to stop you from spit-
He growls. You tremble against him. The purely thunderous rumble in his chest rattles your soul. “I fucking dare you,” he hisses.
Though you want to heed his warning, you can’t help but notice how he keeps his mouth open despite his disapproval. You gather what you have in your mouth and pause for a moment, knowing that he knows what you’re about to do. His mouth remains open. You drop the wad of spit it without a second thought.
Jungkook swallows it almost immediately. “You’re going to regret that,” he breathes.
“I highly doubt that,” you smirk.
The cocky persona you seemed to have picked up from him crumbles when his middle finger pushes between your cheeks and circles your tightest hole. His words about his favourite ways to fuck you return to you in distant echoes. You arch your back and push your ass into his hand. His finger threatens to slip in.
“You’re barely ready,” he scoffs.
Do you harbour reservations based on fears that he just might be too big to fit in your ass? Of course you do; he’s huge. A fact of which he can’t help but always smirk at when you point it out. But, you’re hungry for him and you know that he would never do anything to hurt you. Letting out a shaky breath, you affirm, “I can take it.”
“You aren’t wet enough.”
“Then, change that.”
The continuous authority that drips in your tone has tested his patience for the last time. Reaching a hand out of the fountain, Jungkook grabs for something on the ground. You try to lean over him and sneak a peek at what he’s looking for, but the friction of your clit against his length has you shuddering back in place.
A little smile breaks Jungkook’s previously callous expression. He pecks your neck and laughs quietly against your skin as he mutters, “You’re adorable.”
Heat rushes down to your core instead of your face at the little praise. You lean down to press a gentle kiss to his lips when you catch a glimpse of something gold in your peripherals. Glancing up, you find him clutching onto his bow. Before you have the chance to ask what he’s planning, Jungkook only just drops the tip of his bow in to break the surface of the water. A misty rose gold tints the clarity. Little flicks of sparkling gold twinkle back at you as you watch the fountain filter the essence all around you.
You cautiously meet gaze. He always confirms new things with you before acting on anything, no matter how mad or horny he is. His rash decision to spike the fountain with an unknown substance chills your blood for a second. You start to shift back from him a bit when he breaks the silence.
“It’s just a lubricant,” he quickly explains. A relieved breath, you didn’t realize you were holding, leaves you. Shifting back against him, you nudge your nose against his. “Sex is a bit different underwater, baby, and I don’t have time to get you as ready as you need to be.”
A gentle nibble on his lip is all it takes for the rush of the fountain to be the only sound in the silence that settles upon you. His hands guide your hips against his, the fiction much smoother now with that hint of lubrication swirling around. You run a hand through his hand and tug his head back to be greeted with the sweet rumble of his laughter. You can’t help but giggle with him as you place soft kisses along the side of his neck.
Jungkook quietly moans in little whines and breathless gasps. Every shudder of his wings and furrow of his brows makes you want to rip your dress off and be just as naked and against him. But, then again, there’s something powerful to the taste of being fully clothed and still destroying a man’s composure. You barely have to do anything and Jungkook bends to your every will. You can now understand why he believes you’re so drunk on power, but the truth is you always had this power. He knows this, most likely wanting you to realize it too if he’s the one that suggested you stay clothed. The only difference now is that he’s openly displaying the ways you unravel him rather than keeping it to himself.
“Do you see what I mean now?” He asks in a breathless whisper. You trail your kiss up to his cheek and moan against it as he continues, “You’re so smart and beautiful and precious.”
Jungkook pauses, stilling your hips and pulling his face away from yours to look into your eyes. He parts his lips to speak but his words keep falling short somehow.
His words so far have already ignited an untamable fire not only between your legs, but within your bones as well. He is drenched in every part of you. Shifting to a softer touch, you untangle your fingers from his damp hair and cup his cheeks the same way he had done to you not too long ago. “Go on,” you tease, tossing him a playful look.
He doesn’t smile, doesn’t even smirk. His eyes, though hinted with amusement, continue to be lost in some sort of trance. He knows you’re curious, but keeps this little bit of thought to himself. Lifting your hips, he hovers your entrance over his erection and finally smirks.
“Beg a little,” he orders. Though his voice barely carries to the other side of the fountain, the authority in his tone is still as clear and hard as it always is.
Your power trip must have really messed with him if he’s having you beg without giving you a good reason to. An annoyed sigh fans against your collarbone as your body continues to hover over his. “Don’t play,” he rasps, “You know that’s not it. I can hear the truth before the lie, darling.”
That’s an unfair advantage but one you don’t mind too much if it means he talks to you like this all the time. He’s right too. You know that’s not what’s got him eager to hear you beg. It’s the way you beg that’s got him eager to fuck you. Clenching around emptiness, needy to be filled and ruined, you whine a tiny “please,” then a string of profanities as his tip strokes its way to your entrance from your clit.
“Again.”
Back arched, breasts against his bare chest, and hands clutched onto his biceps, you place your lips on the shell of his ear and blow a gentle breeze against it. “Please,” you mewl.
Jungkook’s hands tremble and he all but drops you on his cock. Pussy in an instant stretch, with very little room to adjust, you cry out in his ear. Though your voice may be broken and pitchy, Jungkook doesn’t flinch. When it comes to you, the usual results never qualify. You are one of a kind, as unique as him.
His muscles flex under your palms. Hands finding their place on your ass again, Jungkook guides your thrusts. He can practically feel your weakening body with every bounce and grind against him. You know he can. He shows it in every tightening grip on your ass and grunt in his moans.
The knot in your stomach is already twisting, conspiring against your better judgement on how long you think you can last. You’ve never been able to outlast him, cumming twice before he finally reaches his first orgasm of the night. He’s just so big and hits those right places way before the rest of him can catch up. How he manages to brush up against your softest spots within the first three thrusts will always be beyond your comprehension. He’s just that good.
The choked moan that leaves him resembles a chuckle. A frustrated whine escapes you. Is he still listening to your thoughts? It’s not like you’re thinking anything he already hasn’t heard you say, or rather scream, but it still somewhat embrassasses you to know that he will always hear how whipped you are for him.
“Tell me,” you plead with your lips pressed just under his ear. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
The sparkling water around you begins to splash out of the fountain bowl as Jungkook speeds up the pace of your bounces. Deciding your ass seems to be too much of a distraction to him, you pause mid-thrust and move his hands up to your hips. A shuddering gasp escapes him as you carry on with the bounces at his same pace. Your ass claps in and out of the water, thrashing water all around the ground.
Jungkook digs his short nails into the flesh of your hips, growling every time you whine at his tightening grip. Forehead against his, you catch his gaze and offer an innocent one. “I’m-” he cuts himself off, realizing how breathless and dazed he sounds. You nuzzle your face into his as a silent attempt to encourage him to continue. “Kiss me,” he begs.
If you weren’t stuffed full of his cock and extremely enchanted by the way he pretends to sound composed, you would’ve refused to kiss him and insisted that he finish that sentence. And that knot in the pit of your gut only tightens with the grip of your pussy. Pressing your lips against his, you slip your tongue in and let him swallow your moans.
The moment his tongue tackles yours, your legs quake. Thrusts hesitating, your body begins to spasm against his. Your hands grapple at his shoulder just to ensure you stay a float as your threatening orgasm continues to build.
“Jungk-” You break the kiss to tell him, to ask as he has taught you over and over again.
But Jungkook only latches his lips onto yours once more. You gulp down a moan or two of his before he hisses against your lips, “Just fucking cum. Now, kiss me.”
You may have been drunk off power not too long ago, but as you kiss him again, you realize that he is drunk off you. And that’s all it takes for your ograsm to finally rush over you. Jungkook lifts his hips up to meet your stuttering ones. Your lips fall off his. Face buried in the crook of his neck, you cry out his name and cream all over his cock.
“I’m thinking you’re such a good girl for cumming like this,” he suddenly whispers as you ride out your orgasm. Even with your ears ringing and mind shuddering from the second wave of cum gushing all over his hard, huge cock, you can still hear every dirty praise clearly. “My whore got herself off so well.”
The whine that escapes you from his words alone is borderline pornographic. Jungkook even feels it, arching his back so his chest collides with yours as well. “You’re so sexy,” he whimpers as you babble fountain water by his shoulder from exhaustion.
Wet, wet, wet; everything is wet. You’re both drenched in lube tinted waters, cum, and your desires. You can’t revel in it though, as the skirts of your dress float the surface and corset clings to your chest all too tightly. You can barely find it in you to breathe, let alone tell him that you need a quick break.
“No,” he groans, settling you on his thighs. Circling his hips into yours, Jungkook grips onto the nape of your neck to peel you off him.
Your heart stumbles as your mind races to figure out what you’ve done that was so wrong, he’s wanting to stop the night here. “I’m sorr-”
“You don’t need a break,” he sighs between moans. He sits himself up, his wings extending only to drape over the lip of the fountain’s bowl. All movements underwater cease as he digs his fingers into the bust of your corset. In one swift motion, Jungkook tears the first few laces apart, instantly sending a full batch of oxygen to your lungs.
Gasping, you gaze down at your torn dress before glaring at him. Maybe with just a wet dress, you could have explained your way out of whatever mess this is going to get you in when you attempt to return to the party. However, a torn dress will not be that easy to explain. You want to glare at him and tell him off but he shoves his face between your now exposed breasts and moans before you’re able to.
He moves your hands up his shoulders so your arms drape over them, then settles them on his favourite place; your ass. Two of his fingers push between your cheeks and stroke your hole. His touch there is much smoother than before and you suspect that it must be the bow-tipped lube.
You moan quietly, resting your chin atop his damp head as he kisses and bites at your breasts. Your pussy still hasn’t recovered from your orgasm seconds ago. In fact, truth be told, your entire body is having trouble recuperating after cumming that hard in a week. But you want more of him and he still hasn’t filled you of his godly load yet. And with his fingers circling around your asshole, you can’t deny him the second ride he’s patiently waiting for.
A slow grind of hips into hips is a good start, you tell yourself. You’ve never really had to deal with this before, since Jungkook would usually just keep pounding into you despite the fact that he knows your limbs are exhausted from one orgasm already. Clenching your jaw, you start to bounce again, ass clapping against his thighs in suppressed thumps underwater. The overstimulated pleasure brings tears to your eyes. You cry out his name and hold onto his wings.
He groans against your right breast from the contact. You’re about to apologize, knowing his wings are sensitive, when he shoves his fingers into your tightest hole. You freeze and throw your head back from how easily he slipped in and how fucking good it feels. Jungkook scissors his fingers within you, peeking a glance up from between your breasts.
“Are you okay, baby?” he slurs. He licks up the valley of your breasts, holding your gaze shamelessly.
“Mhm,” you mewl.
Resuming your thrusts, you feel your tears run down your face freely. You don’t even have it in you to wipe them away. Your hands, instead, centre around his back. You scratch at it for a bit until you feel him add a finger. Moans tumble into his wet hair as your fingers trail up the length of his spine.
Jungkook stiffens. A choked groan tears from his throat and he hides his face further into your breasts. They bounce around his cheeks with each hop on his cock. Too consumed by your own overstimulated pleasure to dwell much thought on his movements, or lack thereof, you mindlessly repeat the action. You stroke his spine once more and then you hear it.
He sobs a moan.
You still your hips, looking down at him. As you run a hand through his hair, you’re about to ask if he’s okay when the whooshing flutter of wings obscures your vision. One second, you’re straddling his lap with his fingers in your ass. The next, you’re the one submerged in the water with him hovering over you. Wings fully extended, face stained with tears, Jungkook makes sure your arms are resting over his shoulders like before then takes up a deadly speed of thrusts into you.
His speed defies the laws of physics, hips moving much faster than they should underwater. Half the fountain is on the ground from the force of his movement. All you can do is sob with him as your body becomes his only source of pleasure.
What’s gotten into him? He doesn’t even have an interest in your ass anymore, hands locked in a death-like grip on your hips. In a moment of pure animalistic pleasure, you just wish you knew what’s running through his head.
“You,” he growls in a pout. “You’re all I think about, you fucking whore. You’re all I can ever think about.” He swallows thickly before continuing, “You can’t go one second without thinking of me and now all I can hear is your voice. All the time; it’s you, you, you.”
You don’t know if you should apologize or cum from the simple confession alone. His voice, his words, his entire fucking attitude has you aching to cum all over again.
Jungkook stumbles over his chuckles. “You just love seeing me like this, huh? You love seeing me worship you, baby?”
Worship. Does he want you to cum that badly that he’s willing to lie? You both know he doesn’t worshi-
A sharp thrust derails your thoughts. Your eyes roll back as you moan out his name.
“You’re my goddess,” he confesses. “You’re my only goddess.”
He repeats the phrase over and over again until that’s all that rings in your ear, in your heart, in your soul. His release paints your tightening walls. The knots within your gut have unraveled long ago and it’s only when your blurred vision somewhat clears and convulsing body trickles into tremors do you realize that you’ve both cum together to the words he’s still repeating.
Voice a tiny, gruff whisper, Jungkook whispers, “My goddess.”
He’s serious. He must be. He truly worships you. The tears in his eyes, the break in his voice, the truth is clear and just as starkly bare as he is between your legs. His eyes suddenly flash with worry, almost as if he’s recognized what he’s said. He meant what he said, you realize, but he never meant to say it.
Jungkook gingerly pulls out of you as you try to seat yourself up. You pull your legs into your chest and watch him take a seat beside you. He leans his head back against the rim of the fountain and gazes up at the sky. You follow his gaze, noticing it’s gotten much darker out, the silver stream of stars piercing an indigo backdrop no more. A midnight black cloaks the world above you, a crescent moon lighting up your night and an array of stars twinkling down at you. Though your mind is still foggy from your recent orgasms, body still shuddering, you can’t help but think about his words. What makes him think you belong up there, amongst true gods and goddesses?
His wings twitch as they tuck themselves behind him. You know that combination well. He’s hiding something. Usually, you don’t ask, knowing he will only deflect the topic and shower you with attention and praises instead. But, his spoken thoughts are now looping around your mind, begging to be answered.
“Jungkook,” you mutter, shifting closer to him. Face still stained with tears, he forces himself to look at you. The questions are on the tip of your tongue; what, why, when? However, as you part your lips all you can bring yourself to say is, “I didn’t hear anything.”
You’re my goddess.
The words return with ten times the force they previously held. It’s almost like denying their existence is just as blasphemous as saying them. You swallow thickly and try to extract the words from your mind, but it's too late. They are as entrenched in your bones as your affection for him is. There is no undoing what has been done.
You bring a hand up to his face and wipe away the stray tears. He melts into you almost immediately. Maybe it’s best if you return to the party now. You can make up some excuse as to why you’re drenched and torn on your way there. Jungkook’s state is all but worrying and you feel as though you shouldn’t be witnessing this.
“I’m not done with you yet,” he finally says. His voice has regained composure and tone controlled. No more does he choke on his words or laughter. The authority he indirectly bestowed upon you has been returned to him.
You should tell him you’re done, that he shouldn’t say things he doesn’t mean to. You should tell him that he shouldn’t play with your feelings or your heart like this. But, again, the words wither away the moment you part your lips to voice them. And, instead, you ask, “How do you want me?”
Jungkook smirks. His hands snake around your hips and lift you up onto his lap. Back to his chest, you make yourself comfortable, leaning into him. He pushes the excess fabric of your dress aside just to get you as close as possible. Then, you feel it against your ass, pushing its way between your cheeks. His erection is just as hard as when you started. It’s no wonder why he’s not done with you yet. You suppose he didn’t just confess something he can’t take back only to still leave with a full hard-on.
“I thought you didn’t hear anything,” he whispers in your ear as his hands cup the underside of your thighs.
You nervously look at him over your shoulder. “I didn’t.”
He chews on your earlobe, warm tongue caressing your jaw. “I should stop thinking about it,” he whimpers against your skin. “I should stop thinking about you.”
I’m not a goddess, you want to tell him. But, by the way he sucks in a sharp breath, you can tell he’s heard and isn’t impressed. He opens his mouth to say something, maybe to scold you for degrading yourself, or to correct you. The words never arrive.
Jungkook shakily exhales. No more trips into his thoughts it would seem. He remains silent as he spreads your legs and swiftly lifts you up. You expect another harsh round into your pussy but his tip shoves its way through your asshole instead. Throwing your head back, you try to suppress your scream by holding your breath.
It doesn’t hurt as much as it usually does during the first initial thrust of a toy. Whatever he tinted the water with must be the result of a smooth entrance, and a deliciously blissful stretch. You let out a breath you held, along with a loud, high-pitched squeal. Jungkook folds you up well, holding the bend of each knee into your chest as he continues to slowly lower you onto him.
Once you finally take him all in, you settle your entire body back into him. Shuddering breaths, drifting eyes, you hold him deep within you and try not to completely lose yourself in a fit of moans and pleads. You don’t even know what you’d be begging for, just that a string of “pleases” will leave you.
Are you getting bigger, you mentally ask.
He chuckles and shakes his head as his nose nuzzles into your cheeks. He can’t get enough. Inhaling you deeply, you realize that he can’t get enough of you. He even said so in so many words. And you don’t have much of a problem with that considering you can’t ever get enough of him either. You’ve consumed all of his thoughts it would seem and he’s even lost himself to you so much so that he’s declared you his one and only god-
“Fuck!”
The stream of the fountain rushes down on your clit. He holds you straight beneath it as his hips move up and down against your ass. You’re at his total mercy, every thought of ever being in control a complete joke. You rest your head against his shoulders, trembling hands placed over his as a desperate attempt to control yourself.
Your first water wave induced orgasm hits you within seconds. You don’t know for sure, but you’re all but certain that you’re cumming. Your eyes have been screwed shut for a while, and body shaking since this endeavor in the fountain began. Only when you try to close your legs do you confirm that you indeed came.
Jungkook keeps them open though. He ignores your pathetic scratches on his knuckles as you try to explain to him that it’s all just too fucking much for you to take. “Just let me cum,” he tries to soothe between little hushes and murmurs about how good you’re taking his cock.
But then your second orgasm from the fountain hits and you can’t stop squirming in his hold. He keeps you folded and under the water’s subjection nonetheless, somehow even cooling the temperature down. As you shiver under the cold rush, Jungkook positions you higher against him so that the water pours into you instead. You realize, pussy clean of his cum now, that you’re getting fucked by a fountain; a fountain that he controls. And you fucking love it.
Then, there’s the fullness of your ass. Every inch of you is his. If you’re his goddess, he must know that he’s your god. Your one and only.
“Careful,” he warns against your thoughts.
You have an assful of his cock in you, getting off more times than you can both count in a fountain that does not belong to either of you; when have the two of you ever been careful? In fact, your recklessness is what brought you together. Had he not seen you on your balcony every night, he might not be here at all. Carelessness runs in your veins, laced in your tone as you cry out, “You’re my god!”
The clouds rumble above you. The heavens can warn all they want. Interrupting sexual endeavors would do them more harm than it would do you.
“If you want to cum, you’ll behave,” Jungkook hisses. His thrusts suddenly snap into something primal.
Your body bounces every time, water rushing down your clit once more. This time you feel your orgasm build, and fast. Toes curling, eyes rolling to the back of your head, you hold onto every twisting, clenching knot at the pit of your stomach.
“Ask!”
“Please?”
A particular ram into your ass lets you know that half-hearted plea won’t get you very far. He doesn’t deign to repeat himself. Instead, he lets his harsh movements and bone-rattling growls speak for him.
“Please let me cum, Jungkook, please.”
“Again.”
“Please, please, please, Jungkook.”
He doesn’t say it. But you feel it. You feel the approval in the form of a gentle kiss against your ear. Hips a craze, rolling against the wave, you clench your jaw and try to channel all your pleasure in a high-pitched moan rather than the cry your lungs are desperate to let out. Your cum gushes then, juices squirt seconds later. Entire body on fire, under the scrutiny of the stream as you try and fail to recollect yourself. You’re shattered, ruined, obliterated by his cock and this fountain of fantasies.
“That’s a good girl,” he coos. “That’s my good girl.”
His. His. Gods, the things you would do to be his always, not just under the cover of the night. Jungkook releases your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist as he grounds your ass over his hips. Load after load shoots within you, making your giggle and shake with ecstasy at the filling sensation of being stuffed so well.
“Ah-yah, baby,” he groans in a scowl against your jawline. “You’ve got the tightest little hole for me, hmm? If you weren’t so exhausted, I’d have us do this all over again.”
Exhaustion. Yes, that’s what you’re feeling. With your mind foggy and broken from the countless orgasms he’s sent through you, you can barely find it in you to breathe, let alone think to go for another round. Your body’s only excuse for staying afloat is the winged god behind you. He clutches onto you as if his only reason for surviving is you. And judging by his previous confession, that very well might be the case.
Jungkook rests back against the fountain’s edge once he’s done. Gasping for air, he continues to hold onto you, kissing your shoulder mindlessly. “I never really know how much I miss you until I have you,” he whispers. His teeth graze your supple skin.
Body limp, you can’t find it in you to reply. All you can think is after he pulls out, he’s going to fly back to Gods know where and leave you to hobble back to the party alone. After all, isn’t that how every night ends? You two share a passionate few moments, both have out of body experiences when orgasming, then you fall asleep and he sneaks away. What’s to say this night won’t be any different?
“I thought I told you to trust me?”
“I do.”
He scoffs. You don’t blame him. Your words are hardly convincing. It has nothing to do with the fact that you just came five or six different times. It’s the lack of commitment in your tone that tips him off. You hear it too. You really do trust him. He’s just let you down too many times to count.
“What more do I need to do? I’m with you every chance I get.”
Exhaustion. It’s not a physical one, not the one you’re still recovering from. It’s one of the mind. He’s exhausted with this back and forth. You are too. This isn’t exactly what you thought your first relationship would look like.
He pauses, body freezing beneath you.
Oh, right. He’s in your mind. He heard that. Is that not what this is, though? Isn’t this a relationship?
“Say it.”
“What?”
“Say it,” You repeat, looking at him over your shoulder.
Jungkook starts to soften in you. You’ve really set him off now. He lifts you up and off his cock, sitting you on his thigh and ignoring the way you hiss and whine at the discomfort. You turn to glare at him over your shoulder only to find him already glaring at you.
“Do you want me to come back?”
Is he threatening you? “Do I have to remind you who came here begging-”
“You lied!” He cuts you off with a shout.
“You knew that, though. You knew I was lying,” you point out, a pout starting to overtake your features. “You came because you missed me.”
“That’s never been a secret.”
“Say it then, Jungkook. Say this is a relationship.”
He falls silent. His once annoyed eyes can’t even meet yours.
“I know you’re jealous of Lee Ky-”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffs. Shaking his head, he forces himself to meet your gaze.
Sad tears vary drastically from blissful ones. Tears of bliss soothe the pleasure and make it bearable. Tears of sadness sting your eyes, pierce your heart and shed any part of you that can make such a situation bearable. Sad tears only remind you of your pain.
Your eyes sting with despair as he regards you with such frustration. Emptying your mind, discarding all thoughts, you ask, “Are you coming tomorrow?”
Jungkook sighs, but not a beat of hesitance affects his answer. “Of course.”
You raise a brow. See?
“Fine. This is a relationship,” he mutters. “What does that change?”
Nothing. It hasn’t changed a thing. You don’t even feel any different, any better. Maybe it’s because you forced it out of him? You don’t know. The tears only fall faster though, and you can’t bear to look at him. Your heart’s conflicted, shattered and replaced all at once because, though he is the cause of your tears, his presence is also the only thing soothing them. You wrap your arms around his neck and rest your temple over his.
You can at least relish in his company for a few moments longer. And his scent, that intoxicating waft of creamy coconut and sweet peony orchards returns now that all that mud and grime has been washed off. The scent is comforting enough for you to relax in his arms and forget your pain for a second.
“That’s not what I smell like,” he whispers. You tilt your head away to get a better look at him. A little smirk tugs on the corner of his lip as he says, “It’s what you smell like.”
Impossible. He’s always smelled like at the end of every night. You’d cuddle into his chest and inhale a breathful of the tropical scent. How could that be what you smell like if he reeks of it? The knowing look in his eyes is enough of a hint for you to realize you know the answer. He’s dripping with your essence every night because he spent the night in you. You wonder if you smell like him too.
He sighs, circling his arms lazily around your waist. He deeply inhales your skin, smiling against it, but doesn’t answer your mentally posed question. Damp hair clinging to the sides of your faces, you settle in the other’s company. One of his hands rises from the water and wipes away your tears. As you sniffle, he whispers, “I promise I’m-”
“Doing the best you can,” you croak, finishing his sentence with him.
Yes, yes. You’ve heard it all before. You don’t think he’s lying, your Eros is no liar. You do believe that he is, in fact, doing the best he can. But if his best is only a few hours every night, you’re not sure you can accept that. And, yet, you also can’t find it in you to truly, with all your heart, reject it as well.
He needs to prove his devotion to you in another way. A risky thought then tiptoes into your mind. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you take a deep breath and ask, “Could you do me a tiny favour?”
Jungkook’s hesitant to meet your gaze. He glances at you through his peripherals, otherwise keeping his gaze locked on your breasts. Whether he’s trying to distract himself or not, you still push them out a bit in hopes that they will grant you the “yes” you’re hoping to hear.
He nods.
With a little kiss upon his cheek, you stroke his shoulder with the soft tips of your fingers and ask, “Would you please escort me to my sister’s wedding?”
He turns his head away from you. Staring across at the other side of the garden, Jungkook withdraws from you. His hands fall off your frame as he heavily sighs. You press yourself against him, trying to regain his attention but he only shakes his head.
“Acting cute won’t make this any easier,” he grumbles.
You huff and slouch against him. “How about just the rehearsal dinner?” You try to negotiate. When he rolls his eyes, you quickly add, “I’ll be stuck with Kyon and honestly I don’t think I handle another minute of his incorrect reilieration about history.”
Jungkook snaps his head towards you at the mention of another man. You cock a brow to which he only scoffs at. “You’re being obnoxious,” he seethes. “And unbelievably selfish.”
“So?” you question before you can stop yourself. His words sting, slicing through your confidence all too easily. There isn’t much room for thinking and even if there was, he would be listening to them anyways. So, you might as well say what you want out loud. “Was it not selfish of you to make me wait-”
“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath. “I’m not going to repeat myself, (Y/N). You can’t keep telling me that you trust me only to keep bringing this up. I was busy. You had to wait. It didn’t kill you.”
Your tears have returned. He rolls his eyes at the sight. Whatever remnants of your heart you thought you had has been obliviated. “You make me feel so loved,” you whisper as your hands retract from his body.
Jungkook’s expression disarms all hostility. His eyes reflect regret but you’ve heard, seen all you need to.
“But why do you only make me feel this way when we’re naked?”
“You’re not naked,” he’s quick to reply.
It’s your turn to scoff. How can a god be this dense? “Aren’t I, though? Tell me, Jeon Jungkook, whose thoughts are open for the other to hear? Who is the one waiting, praying for the other’s attention? Who has been bare since first glance on the stupid balcony you left last night?”
Before he couldn’t meet your eye out of disinterest, but now he avoids your gaze out of guilt. Yes, you’ve been obnoxious, selfish, maybe even a little entitled. However, you’ve had a god to yourself for months. You’ve had endless moments of ecstasy that only end in soft cuddles and whispered sweet nothings into the night. Is wanting that attention when the sun hasn’t set yet too much to ask?
Jungkook parts his lips to reply when his eyes suddenly shoot up. He sits up, almost knocking you off his lap and snaps his head towards the very pathway you came from.
“(Y/N)!”
You gasp upon hearing your mother’s voice. The clicks of her heels draw further towards you and before you can look at Jungkook and ask what you should do, what you should say, you’re thrown into the fountain.
Ice cold waves engulf you as you inhale a good chunk of the fountain. Your lungs burn from the accidental intake of water. You only just get your hands under you and sit yourself up and out of the water as quickly as you can. Familiar shouts ring in the distance. Coughing up the fountain, you push your hair back and look around the garden.
Your mother is staring at you in utter shock, screaming at you to come out but refusing to help you herself. As you try to lift yourself up, you find the water has returned to its usual clarity and that Jungkook is nowhere to be found. He seriously left you to almost drown in the fountain by yourself? He’d be lucky to get more than a kiss from your tomorrow night. You can’t believe he has the audacity to yell at you then let you there like that. In a fit of anger, you send a lashing string after lashing string of profanities to him in the form of a prayer.
“Miss (L/N)!”
Your blood chills. Hands on the lip of the fountain, you turn towards his voice. Fully dressed in a dark blue suit, his wings nowhere to be found, and dry hair pulled back a neat ponytail, Jungkook rushes over to you. His strong hands settle on your waist before he effortlessly scoops you out.
All you can do is stare. Mouth agape, eyes vacant, you try to figure out why the hell he made himself all presentable and left you looking like a mess. You want to whisper your profanities and swear that he will never touch your ass for leaving you in such a mess, but all you can find yourself saying is, “Mr. Jeon.”
His eyes shoot to the sky as your mother rushes towards you. Nothing is making sense and you only wish you can read his mind to know what to do next.
“Goodness, (Y/N),” your mother hisses as she rushes towards you. “Cover yourself!”
Looking down at your bust, you gasp. Oh, right, he tore it. Crossing your arms over your chest, you look up at him and glare. But Jungkook only takes off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. It’s only when you feel your mother’s arms around you do you realize that you’re shivering.
“What have you done to yourself now?” she whispers in your ear.
Her eyes then settle on Jungkook. That look graces her face. That look of assessment. She’s scanning the unknown god up and down, looking for signs of wealth, status, and reliability. It doesn’t take her long to innocently smile and fall victim to his beauty, “Thank you kindly, Mr. Jeon.”
He bows his head then turns to you and says, “I told you not to sit on the edge.” Jungkook fakes a polished chuckle. He shakes his head at you when your eyes narrow at him. “I told her, Mrs. (L/N), I told her the marble is slippery. But, Miss (L/N) just had to get a better look at those flowers.”
You glance back at the fountain with your mother, finding an array of tiger lilies floating in the bowl. All this trouble to explain why you’re wet? You look back at him cautiously and wonder what the end of this conversation is meant to look like.
“Yes, she loves flowers,” your mother sighs. She then sets her sights on Jungkook once more and asks, “Jeon… I’m not sure I know of the Jeons. Are you from out of town?”
Jungkook charms your mother instantly with that kind, toothy smile of his. He nods and compliments her quick wits, to which she laughs, then explains, “I’m visiting for the wedding.”
The wedding? Does that mean?
“Miss (L/N) invited me. I’m rather glad to have run into you, Mrs. (L/N) as I was hoping to ask permission to escort your daughter to the wedding.”
One of your hands, previously covering your right breast, shoots up to cover your mouth out of utter shock. Did he orchestrate all this just to agree to your favour? You hope you haven’t guilted him into it. You’ve done that to get him here and admit to your relationship; you already regret doing that. You just hope he’s acting on his own accord right now.
Jungkook shoots you a wink as your mother fixes the jacket so that your uncovered breast is concealed once more. Sighing of relief, you offer him a grateful smile.
“Are you sure?” Your mother suddenly asks, looking back to Jungkook. “(Y/N) is the one you want to escort?”
He glances at you and smiles. “Miss (L/N) the one and only thing I’m always sure about.”
Your mother raises a brow at you. She smells something fishy, knows something is off about this entire encounter. You watch her carefully as she looks between you and Jungkook. And when you expect her to refuse, to lecture you in front of him, your mother adopts an opposite approach. She smiles upon the two of you and shifts you closer to Jungkook.
“I would be delighted to have you escort my daughter, Mr. Jeon,” she beams. “Do you mind walking (Y/N) to the carriages? I cannot let her go back and drip all over the Barbury’s rugs.”
Jungkook offers you his elbow, returning your mother’s smile. “It would be my pleasure.”
You stumble towards Jungkook, your mother practically pushing you into him. With a shaky hand, you take his arm and let him guide you out of the maze. After a turn or two within the tall hedges, you part your lips to ask him what he thinks he’s doing.
However, Jungkook fills the silence before you can. “I’ll buy you an entire bouquet of lilies, darling. Just promise me to never fall into a fountain again,” he laughs, exaggerating the volume of his voice.
This time, you pick up on his hints and realize that your mother must still be close by if he’s still putting up such an act. “I promise it won’t happen again, Mr. Jeon,” you innocently reply.
A smirk, you know is real, graces his features. He walks you around the manor and to the front of the house before breaking out of this noble character of his. “I think she bought it. Your mother is a very suspicious woman.”
You scoff. “That’s just one of many titles she holds,” you mumble under your breath. As you walk towards your family’s carriage, you can’t help but ask, “Why did you do that?”
Jungkook stops you before the door and takes both your hands in his. Those amused eyes linger around your exposed breasts. He chuckles a bit at the way you arch your back to keep them there, making you giggle along with him.
“Are you happy?”
You pause. Is that why he did this? To make you happy?
“Are you?”
He gives you a pointed look. “Answer the question, (Y/N).”
“Are you just doing this to make me happy, Jungkook?” You ask instead. “Because I will go back to her and tell her that we were both in that fountain and-”
“So what if I am?” He cuts you off. “I want you to be happy, (Y/N). Why is that so wrong?”
It’s not. There’s nothing wrong with him wanting you to be happy. But you want him to be happy with his decision. You’ve forced him into admitting things and meeting you. You don’t want to force him into this too. You want him to want to take you, to want to be with you. That is what true happiness is to you. It’s Jungkook unconditionally wanting you the way you unconditionally want him.
Jungkook cups your face. Leaning his forehead against yours, he whispers, “I’m sorry I make you think I don’t want you just as much as you want me.” His nose brushes against yours, hitching your breath as he presses himself against you and continues in a breathy whisper, “Watching you cry breaks me in ways I can’t describe. And being the reason for your tears just destroys me, (Y/N). I’ll do anything to see you smile again.”
Then, he presses his lips upon yours, reaching for the carriage door behind you. When he pulls away, he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, ushering you into your seat. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, baby,” he smiles.
You’ve misjudged him for the third time tonight. Thinking he doesn’t care for you, thinking he left you, and thinking he doesn’t want you. All you can do now is pray that he forgives you for all the curses you’ve hurled his way.
He chuckles and places kisses on both your hands. “It was very amusing actually.”
You nod. “I’m sure.” But, you’re still sorry.
With one last round of kisses over your knuckles, Jungkook promises, “I won’t be late.”
“I’ll be waiting regardless,” you immediately reply.
The next three words are on the tip of your tongue. He can almost hear them, judging by the twitch of his brows. You don’t have a chance to say them though as he clears his throat and shuts the door. You watch him from the window, shakily exhaling.
Jungkook calls the coachmen. The carriage jerks forward. The lasting image of his smirk, those sweet eyes and that muscular frame is all you try to see. However, in seconds, he’s pulled from view. The only memory you have of him remains with that sacrilegious confession in a fountain of fantasies.
note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.
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Slow Burn: Book I - Part 7
The Lunch - Small Thank You’s
Pairing: Chris Evans x Famous!Reader
Summary: You and Chris get to know each other better over a flirty friendly lunch.
Warnings: Fluff, spinkle of Angst, Profanity, phonetic spelling of words said in a Boston accent because I needed a laugh
Notes: Hey loves! Hope you all are well! It’s been a while— praying I didn’t forget how to write too bad and y’all enjoy this installment lol. Little FYI: I’m basing the reader’s music off of that of Banks and SZA. Before you dive in, set the mood with the moodboard + music specially curated to go with this part! Read the previous part here.
The GPS said the drive from the museum to the restaurant would be… well, you were distracted from that bit of information. Not that it would matter. Chris keeps making turns against the suggested route, citing that this was “his city” and that he’s a “real Boston boy”.
What you do know is that the talking and laughing with Chris made the car ride seem all too short. Pointing out familiar streets and landmarks, he lit up telling you his childhood stories laced within the city. Pardon, his city. The glint in his eyes and excitement in his voice sent tiny sparks up your spine, but you did your best to ignore it.
Chris tried to guess where you had the two of you going for lunch. You, however, wouldn’t give in to his guesses. Eventually, you arrive at a market of sorts, a culture clash of small businesses and patrons. It’s in an area Chris is familiar with, but he never thought much of coming to.
“I thought we were going to a restaurant?” Chris inquires, not seeing a food establishment from his spot in the driver’s seat.
You puff out your jaw, squint your eyes, and proceed with your best ‘Godfather’-like impersonation as you tell Chris,“I thought you would’ve learned to stop asking me questions by now, hm.”
“That... was horrible.” Chris’ deadpan causes you to giggle in response.
“I know! Now c’mon; I’m starved!” You draw out as you reach to let yourself out of the car.
“Woah, woah, hold on,” Chris stops you with a gentle hand on your arm. You questioningly look over your shoulder at him. He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car. Settling back into your seat with a huff of delighted shock, you realize what he’s doing.
Chris jogs to your door, the returning drizzle giving him a sense of urgency. He opens the door for you then offers his upturned, open hand for you to choose to take. You hesitate for a millisecond before obliging, delicately placing your smaller hand in his large palm.
You’re unsure of the last time anyone was this... chivalrous to you. Trying not to dwell on it too long, you give him a soft-spoken ‘thank you’. Chris responds with an equally soft ‘of course’. You both find it difficult to meet each other's eyes, missing the shy smile the other is sporting.
“Lead the way,” Chris gently prompts with a hand extended in the market's direction.
Mildly busy, the market is livened by business people, college students, housewives and househusbands alike. Store fronts of small businesses ranging from sustainable fashion to high-end housewares line the long cobble stone path, accented by fairy lights for added whimsy. Chris curiously takes in the sights from beneath a low baseball cap and hoodie. He’s sure to not let his eyes linger too long for fear of locking with anyone.
Meanwhile, you’re walking with purpose, leaving a distracted Chris behind. He catches up when he notices you turn a corner in his periphery. When he follows the path you took, he finds you by a green, white, and red beaded archway.
You pause and look up at Chris, a playful grin on your lips that makes his heart skip a beat. He’s looking down at you, brows raised with utter anticipation. You think this might be your favorite expression on him. You pull back and step through the beaded entrance, Chris following suit closely behind you.
“Woah…” It was almost as if that small act of stepping over the threshold transported you both to Sicily. The faint notes of Italian standards play in the background as Chris gawks at the charming restaurant.
The mostly occupied dining area is quaint, housing about 10 tables max, including a couple of booths. The walls are decorated with floor-to-ceiling built-in shelves of libations from Italy. The alcohol display is interrupted by creeping vert vines that add that little bit of spice to the space.
As a waiter walked by, Chris breathed in deeply, the warm aroma of marinara sauce, freshly baked bread and Italian spices filled his nose and lungs.
“How’d you manage to find the one Italian restaurant in the greater Boston area I’ve never been to, much less heard of?”
“Hmmm… must not be as much of a Boston boy as you think,” you say with a wink, and Chris scoffs through his lopsided smirk.
“There she is!” a bellowing voice familiar to you draws yours and Chris’ attention away from each other. Chris looks on as the short, husky man pulls you in for a cheek-to-cheek kiss. “It’s been too long! Mi sei mancata la faccia!”
“Charlie, you know I have no idea what you’re saying, but I like the way you say it!” You share a laugh with your Uber driver-turned-friend. “And what do you mean ‘it’s been too long’! I was just here last week.”
“5 days ago to be exact. 5 days since you, ya castmates… most importantly ya directah,” Charlie stresses lustfully in his strong Boston accent, “have swarmed Ma’s restaurant. Whassup with that, huh?”
“The real question here is what’s up with your crush on Sonya, huh?” you tease him. Charlie’s smitteness with your director has not gone unnoticed.You can practically see the hearts forming in his eyes at this moment.
“I doan know what ya tawkin about.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
“Enough abowut it! Let’s get ya seated and you can tell me who’s ya new friend,” Charlie says, motioning to Chris.
When you’re seated in a corner booth by a rainy window, you introduce the two men.“ This is Chris, my, uh…um…” You hadn’t really thought about what to call your relationship with Chris. It’s been… rocky up until this point, and while you’ve been friendly, you’re certainly not friends. Not yet, at least.
Chris notices and understands your hesitance, a small part of him hoping it’s because you don’t want to friend-zone him. “It’s alright, don’t worry your pretty, little head about it,” he teases you, earning him an eye roll. “We’re… acquaintances, right?”
“Right! Acquaintances… I guess?” It didn’t feel right, a little too impersonal, but you’ll roll with it for now.
“‘Acquaintances’?” Charlie sizes Chris up, a comical sight considering the dramatically different statues of the two men. He tilts his head and squints at Chris’ face, his expression melting from intimidation to inquisition. Chris tenses, knowing the look he’s being given all to well. “Been here before, Chris? You look mighty familiah…”
“Umm… no... I don’t… don’t believe so,” Chris answers almost timidly. The avoidant gaze into the plastic covered menu, the heated cheeks that shone the same color as a tomato— you know that look all too well. You decide to do what you hoped someone would do for you.
“He’s just got one of those faces! But um, I’m ready to order if you are?” you try to deflect. Charlie doesn’t think much of it and takes down your meal decisions, but that small act means the world to Chris. He mouths ‘thank you’ from across the booth, and you smile and tip your head in a slight nod, sure he would’ve done the same for you.
You order your usual, spaghetti with vegan meatballs, and a glass of the house white wine. Chris has what you’re having except he’s ordered a “tonic”, which you learned the hard way the other night is Bostonian for soda. Charlie is back promptly with your drinks and breadsticks and ensures that your food will arrive shortly with a small smirk on his face that you don’t think too much of.
It’s quiet at your table for quite some time. Both you and Chris take small sips from your glasses, nibble at the garlic-y bread, look out the window and around the restaurant. As you do so, you run through a list of conversation starters in your head but you’ve deemed them all too dumb, too boring or too invasive. Why the hell do I care so much? You glance up at Chris and wonder if he’s going through the same irrational inner turmoil you are. Maybe he’s not, or maybe he’s overcome his when he finally breaks the silence.
“So, um… how long have you been a vegan?”
“Um… how long have we been shooting this movie? My character— she’s very, uh… power to the people— and plants,” You chuckle out. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try myself. Go a little method,” you say with a shrug.
Chris waves his breadstick at you as he asks, “You believe in all that method stuff?”
“I don’t know… I’m really new to this whole acting thing, but I guess I just like the idea of really connecting with this character in every way I can. She reminds me so much of myself at that age.”
“How so?” Chris presses on.
“She’s… sure. She’s sure of herself… of her judgements and decisions. She’s sure of her hand in her own success. And that breeds this really un-fuck-with-able confidence in her that if I had an ounce of, it’d be over for you hoes,” you end with a slow nod and look off into the distance.
Chris laughs at your dramatics, but it dawns on him what you’ve shared. “Wait… you’re telling me that’s not you now? I mean, I know I’ve only known you a short time, but you seem pretty un-fuck-with-ably confident to me.”
“Ha! Guess I’m a better actress than I thought,” you mutter. Chris knows it’s meant to be a joke, but watching as you fiddled with the rings on your finger, his chest tightened. A look of sympathy must’ve shown on his face, because you start to wish you hadn’t said anything at all. Did I just overshare? God, I thought I outgrew that.
To save you from your minor embarrassment is Charlie with the same smirk from earlier. He gently places the order in the center of your table, and you finally understand what his face was trying to give away earlier.
“We’re, uh… runnin’ low on plates...” is Charlie’s half-baked explanation. “Buon appetito!” he offers before hastily leaving.
Sat between you and Chris was the meal you ordered, yes, but on the single largest plate you think you’ve ever seen. One plate of spaghetti for two people— two practical strangers— to share. The embarrassment just won’t stop, will it?
Elbow perched on the table, your hand acts as a visor of sorts on your forehead as you massage away the headache forming at your temple. You can’t see Chris, just hear him chuckling and breathing out an “oh man…” under his breath. His fork comes into view as he twirls the pasta onto it. You peek under your hand up at him.
“What? Not gonna just look at it!” Chris insists. “Now, let’s see what this vegan meatball is about… DAMN! That tastes legit!” You giggled at his enthusiasm and felt your tension melt away.
You began to dig in as well. It was fine, normal even, for a few moments. You could almost forget you’re sharing one big ass plate of pasta with one of Hollywood’s most sought after stars at a hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant. Yep, very normal. As long as I keep from oversharing the rest of this afternoon, everything should be fine… you thought to yourself.
“Tell me… how are you liking Boston?” Chris asks.
“It’s fine.”
“‘Fine’?! Just fine.”
“It’s great Chris, no need to get your panties in a twist. But, ya know… It’s just not…”
“Home? Yeah, I get that. Where’s home for you?”
“Um… well I guess home has never been a single place for me. It’s with people I love, as cheesy as that sounds. Home is where my heart is…” you trail off as you remember you shouldn’t share too much.
“And your heart is with family, friends… a boyfriend…?” Chris slips in.
“What is this? 20 questions?” You quip as you sip on your white wine.
“Maybe... if you want. You can ask me something.”
“Hmm… Ok…” You ponder over what to ask him as you twirl your pasta around your fork. “What is… mm no. How about… nah, wait.” Chris huffs impatiently as he awaits your first question. “Ok! I got it!”
“Alright, lay it on me.” Your breath hitches at his word choice and you hope doesn’t notice. Why’d he have to say it like that?! You clear your throat and ask your question.
“What’s your favorite song of mine?”
“Really? That’s your question? So conceited…”
You giggle before explaining, “Well, I only ask ‘cos a little Scottie told me he saw you, and I quote, ‘full on rocking out’ to one of my songs. I’m just curious which one it was.” You sip on your straw and peer up at Chris, watching for his reaction.
Chris groans, covering his face while sinking down the booth seat. You can’t hear too much of what he's saying behind his hands and over your laughter, but it sounds like he’s cursing Scott’s name. When he finally restores some gumption, he places his hands on his napkin, eyes fixated on his fingertips picking at the dampened corners. Teeth sunk into your bottom lip, you try your best to bite back your amusement to not further Chris’s obvious embarrassment.
“Ok…” Chris sighs out, “ I’ll admit it! I’m man enough to own up to it,” he shrugs. “Yes, I was ‘full on rocking out’ to your music. You’re amazing at what you do.”
Your face heats up, not expecting the compliment. You don’t know what to say. It’s not like you’ve never heard it before. In fact you’ve heard it a lot the past couple of years, you’d thought you’d become numb to it. Yet, for some reason, sitting across from Chris, his eyes looking tenderly into yours, the compliment you’ve heard a million times before just… hits different. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
You clear your throat and break eye contact with Chris. “You still haven’t answered my question, though...”
“Right! Hold on…” Chris says as he fishes his phone from his front pocket. He scrolls through his music app to find the playlist he’s made of his favorite songs of yours. Your cheeks burn even more intensely as you watch. “‘Gemini Feed’ is my favorite to dance to; hands down! But I also really love ‘Drew Barrymore’; it’s fun… but sad, ya know? What am I saying; of course you know; it’s your song!”
You giggle in somewhat disbelief of watching Chris motherfucking Evans geek out over your songs!
“Well… this is a rare opportunity I have, to talk to the artist herself, that is. So, I have to ask, how did that song come about? From personal experience, I suppose?”
“Yeah… um, gosh. You want the full or abridged version of the story?”
“Full! Are you kidding me?!”
“Ok, ok! Well, it was right before my album was set to come out, and my boyfriend-at-the-time dumped me,” you laugh lightly at the now-funny memory. “After weeks of heated arguments and projecting his career insecurities on to me, he picked his final fight with me about how I was “acting too famous for him” and just ended things.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah... It completely caught me off guard. I couldn’t think straight in the studio that day, so I ended the session earlier and went to a party, per my best friend-slash-manager’s coercion. She’s a bad influence.”
“I like her style! Did the party help?” Chris asked.
“Well, it was on the higher-end of house parties, and I just wasn’t used to being around such an expensive lifestyle yet. But guess who was there because why wouldn’t he be?,” you exhale and roll your eyes as you reminisce.
Chris leaned in with intrigue. “The Ex?”
“Mm-hm. In my standard walk-in-the-party-scan of the room, I spot him. I should've known because that party was very much his scene, but what I wouldn't have guessed is that he'd be there with some other woman.”
“What?!”
You nod your head as you proceed to spill the tea to Chris. “This dude is there with another woman, after being out of a relationship for all of 8 hours. I think the worst part is that she looked nothing like me. Like, imagine the complete opposite of me to the hottest power, that was who was hanging all over that idiot.”
“He is a total idiot for letting you go.” You don’t know what to say to Chris’ statement and quite honestly forgot where you were, what you were talking about… “What happened next?”
“Right! We locked eyes for a moment and there wasn’t anything from him. No emotion at all. Like, he didn’t care that our relationship just ended. But then I had the thought that maybe we’d been over for a while and I had just been too distracted to realize and accept the party was over.”
“Jimi peeped what was up and got me out of there. I hoped that we could go home so that I could cry on her shoulder all night. Instead, she dragged me to a real house party. I so badly wanted to pity myself, but the energy there was too infectious to not enjoy; it felt like a 90s movie!”
“The next day, I went through my crazy ass camera roll, and I couldn’t help but... smile… and laugh! Then I thought about him, and how stupid he made me feel, and I don’t know… I kinda put all these weird, conflicting emotions into this one song, and felt better afterwards. Like I was turning a page.”
Chris didn’t immediately say anything, taking in the very personal story you shared. The somewhat unfortunate event that fueled his favorite lyrics. He looked at you carefully and quietly. However kind he looked in this moment, it didn't matter much to the creeping thoughts in your mind.
The silence made you self-conscious. You took inventory of your physical, how your face was hot, how your chest felt tight. Your left hand had somehow migrated into Chris’ right hand in the middle of the table. “I, uh— my bad…” you start as you take back your hand.
Chris quickly grabs your hand before it gets too far. “Thank you for sharing that story with me... and your music with the world. Your confidence in your vulnerability is really fucking inspiring. Thank you. Seriously, thank you,” he gives your hand a gentle squeeze for emphasis. He’s looking at you with a boyish smile and tilted head that makes you break down and smile at him, too.
“Thank you,” you return, just barely above a whisper.
——————————————————————————
You and Chris spent the rest of your time at L'amore Della Madre exchanging stories of love lost and life wins, sharing loud laughs and silent signs of admiration. To anyone on the outside looking in, it may have seemed like two had known each other longer than you actually have.
“I gotta say, I don’t like this,” Charlie whispers to you. He pulled you aside for a moment to say your goodbyes, while Chris waited for you outside. “Mostly becahse it was supposed to be my jahb to set you up with a nice Italian boy, but you’ve brought your own,” he says with a smirk.
“Oh, no! It’s not like that! Chris and I aren’t— wait… how’d you know he’s part Italian?“
“I have my sources… which may be the wait staff who are big fans of the guy. Here this is from them,” Charlie hands you a to-go box.”It’s tiramisu… for two,” he winks.
“Oh my god! I told you, we--”
“Will thank me at your wedding!” Charlie says as he waves you out of the door to the sidewalk where Chris is waiting.
“Wedding? Who’s getting married?” Chris asks.
You let out a sigh and shake your head. “Nobody. Want dessert?”
You and Chris small talk and walk and eat tiramisu on your way to the car. It was nice. It was normal. It felt… real. You didn’t realize how much you needed and missed small, yet meaningful moments like this until right now.
The pair of you stop in front of a pet shop window and watch the puppies play together for a moment. You pointed out a pair of snuggled up puppies to Chris. “Hey, they kinda look like us!”
Chris chuckles when he looks, “They do!” A chocolate brown puppy and a tannish-white one lie peacefully in one another’s presence without a care for the world on the other side of the glass. The tannish-white one starts to lick and nudge at the chocolate brown one, eliciting what you made out to be a sleepy smile from the brown pup. You don’t know why, but witnessing such intimacy causes you and Chris to straighten, fidgeting and giggling nervously.
“I had fun today.”
“As did I. You’re better company than I thought you’d be,” you joke.
“Uh… thanks?” He answers reluctantly, causing you to giggle. “Maybe we could… hang out again sometime…?”
“Maybe we could.”
“Cool.”
“Cool.” There’s a beat of silence as you and Chris hold each other’s gaze. “So… you wanna take my number down?” you prompt him.
“Right! Right. Yeah, I should probably do that…” Chris stammers as he pulls out his phone. You take it from him, replacing it with your phone. You put in your number along with taking a silly picture for your contact, and he does the same.
Chris laughs at your shared child-like humor, and you revel in the moment. It was nice. It was normal. It was the first time you’d felt unmistakably connected with someone without feeling anxious of their motives or what the world thought of it in a very long time.
Time moved slowly when you were with Chris, it seemed to good to real life. But just like that, a flash snaps you and Chris out of your daze and back to reality.
You both look in the direction of the camera flash to find a young woman trying to pretend she didn’t just take a picture of the two of you. Chris turns back to you but doesn’t meet your eyes. Instead his head is hung low as he says “I really… hate that shit.”
“Preaching to the choir.” Chris looks up to your face, your gaze steady in the general direction of the perpetrator. “Makes me feel like an animal in a cage.” You say.
This is why Chris doesn’t mind celebrity companionship. You get it. You understand this strange aspect of his life that not many other people truly do. You also get the value of normalcy and privacy… and leaving when the party’s over.
“Let’s get out of here.” You say coldly and walk in the direction of the car.
Chris was baffled, to say the least. This was usually the part where you talk about how “fans” will cross invisible boundaries just because they know your face and name. However, you seemed uninterested in trauma bonding.
You were already buckled in when Chris caught up to you in the car. The energy the entire drive to your sister’s brownstone was… off. Nothing like it was earlier in the day. A simple flash changed your mood, and Chris was aching for it to go back to before. But no joke, or crank of the radio volume seemed to work.
When Chris pulls up to the curb, you immediately hop out, mumbling a final thank you to him.
“Hey,” Chris grabs your wrist gently, halting you, “You get kinda used to it. Ya know... after a while,” he says hoping you’d find comfort in his words.
You look down at where his hand was wrapped around your wrist. “Yeah… that’s what I'm afraid of... but thanks anyway.” Taking back your wrist from Chris, you turn to walk to the front door.
Chris is calling after you. He doesn't want to be emotionally intrusive, but he hopes you'll give him a chance to understand you. Help you. Comfort you. If only she'd turn around. You can't bear to look back at Chris. It will only remind you of everything good today, and why you can't have it.
Part 8 coming soon! What’d you think?
#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans imagine#chris evans x female reader#chris evans x reader#chris evans x y/n#chris evans fluff#chris evans x black reader#chris evans x you#chris evans one shot#slow burn series
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Put Me In a Movie
Keanu Reeves x reader (A/n- More smut cause I’m a hoe)
Summary Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
Warnings- SMUT/NSFW, angst
Chapter 12- Why Wait For The Best When I Can Have You?
Chicago
Filming was back in full swing, and Y/n and Keanu had just slunk back into some semblance of normalcy. Things between them had grown comfortable again, the media hype from a couple weeks prior had just started to dwindle; the circulation of the pictures slowed while the rumors were starting to lose traction. The fact that they’d kept public appearances to a bare minimum; take out runs at most had helped too. And even when they’d landed in Chicago, via private jet, Y/n and Keanu had made sure to look extra platonic, space between them, no long stares and even getting into the car on different sides.
But behind closed doors things were different.
Once again, they'd settled, at least for a while, preferring to pretend that their relationship wasn't a mess as they enjoyed each other. They were both too stubborn to bring up their unresolved issues anyway, and whenever they hit a bump, it always seemed easier to bury the hurt beneath lust, easier to hurt in silence than heal together.
“You’re really gonna leave?” Y/n pouted playfully as Keanu slid out of the bed. Pushing up on her arms, she relaxed against the pillows shoved to the headboard, fiddling with the white sheets pulled up to barely guard her modesty as Y/n kept her eyes on him. Her lustrous gaze slowly roved the length of Keanu’s unclad form; skin dusted with light freckles barely responding to age, strong muscles prominent in his thighs and arms, though not excessively pronounced and the way ones his shoulders flexed when he stretched had her pulling her lower lip between her teeth. His nude being was perfectly enticing, and with him in her bedroom, Y/n couldn’t even imagine wanting to be with another, far less one her age. Keanu was perfection, he was better than others his age, a fine specimen of a man. Everything about him, down to the slight limp in his gait was enough to have her rubbing her silky legs together. “Don't you wanna stay over?”
“We have an early start tomorrow,” Keanu chuckled, not turning as he sifted through his haphazardly discarded clothes, picking things apart and presumably looking for his boxers, probably intent on showering back at his own suite. “And we both know what happens if I stay.”
Without responding and opting to try a new tactic, determined to get her way, Y/n huffed, a little too loudly for her despondence to be real, sliding down the pillows before flipping onto her stomach. In the process, the sheets shifted, by then leaving her mostly exposed as she propped herself on an elbow, reaching for the half empty wine glass on the nightstand. “Suit yourself,” bringing the remainder of red to her parted lips, Y/n crooked her legs, tangling them at the ankles, swaying them gently to draw Keanu’s attention when he turned.
Her smooth legs were exposed enticingly and the sheets were gathered at her thighs, accounting for the gentle though pronounced slope of her ass. The dip at her back and the contour of her full breasts, accentuated by her stomach pressed into the mattress was more inviting than it should have been and as Keanu put a pause in his searching to turn and face Y/n, he fought the urge to caress her deliciously exposed skin, starting from the lowest point of her back, tips of his fingers feather light as he traced her spine, all the way up to her neck. Her sex-stirred hair was strewn over her shoulders and brushing her soft skin. He could shift that hair away, closing his fingers around the back of Y/n’s delicate neck, squeezing just enough to elicit a soft moan from plump, wine stained lips.
To Keanu, she wasn’t just some young woman, a girl of twenty-two, Y/n was much, much more. A demi-goddess perhaps, who’s body he continuously wanted to explore. He reveled in the feel of her, all supple skin and with the sweetest tinge of new ripeness. He adored that her body was learning to mold his, that by then, they physically fit perfectly. Keanu adored what she was, and maybe it was selfish, but also what she gave him;
Because, despite everything, Y/n made him feel young again.
Whether they were together, bodies in unison or just laying, sated by each other’s presence, Keanu found it easy to feel as if a decade or two of his years had been knocked off. In those moments, he wasn’t fifty-something and worrying about the inevitable end, instead, he was thirty again, tasting the nectar of a pretty girl with fixated fascination on being tainted by someone too soon jaded.
As his eyes scanned her scantily covered body, Keanu found that that just the thought was enough to rouse a reaction and without much more reason, he was tossing his clothes to the floor, sauntering over and soon sitting on the bed next to Y/n. “I know what you’re doing,” his fingers quickly skimmed her back, soon enough reaching to move her hair away, leaning forward as he whispered huskily into her ear, “What if I told you it was working?”
Y/n groaned quietly when Keanu nipped her lobe, teasingly tugging on her stud earring as he continued to toy with the back of her neck, “I’d ask you what you were going to do about it.” Y/n took one final drag from the wine, reaching over to set the glass down as Keanu urged her into a sitting position, chuckling when she still guarded her modestly coyly, as if he hadn't had his face buried there just half hour earlier.
“Come ‘ere and let me show you,” his words were lost on her lips as Keanu crawled into the bed and Y/n shifted to make room. Their lips moved perfectly in tandem and when Keanu was slouched against the cushioned headboard, he pulled Y/n to straddle his lap. Her thighs were stretched over his and the sheets slid down her body, revealing succulent breasts and gathering at their waists. At a frustratingly leisured pace, Y/n ground on Keanu’s hardened member, teasing him and swallowing up his groans, just as one of his hands journeyed the length of her side, palming her boob eagerly. His wet, aggressive kisses traveled downwards, his trimmed beard burning her skin pleasurably.
Burying his face in her neck, as he ran his tongue up her pulse before nibbling on her soft skin, Keanu found that his scent had lingered on her skin from their earlier session. It was hot. Like he’d subliminally marked Y/n as his own, he’d stay on her skin, and in her mind, long after he’d left that room. She was his.
Her breath caught when Keanu’s free hand slipped between their bodies, pointer and middle fingers taunting her cilt, the swollen nub craving more attention than offered. “Ke…..” she moaned, lacing her fingers in his hair, pressing his face into the crook of her neck, “More….”
“Patience,” he mumbled, feeling her wetness dribbling onto his cock, awaking the instant urge to flip them over and drive Y/n into the mattress. But Keanu didn’t want that, not really, he was in the mood for something slightly different. “I wanna have you like this, right here in my lap, like a good girl.” Y/n whined pleadingly, rocking her hips impatiently, nails grazing his scalp and digging into his shoulders, physically holding herself back. “Can you do that?” He rubbed a little harder, his effect showing in the way her back arched, “Can you take care of me baby?”
“Yes,” Y/n hissed, barely hanging onto her senses enough to tease, “I thought you liked control.”
Chuckling quietly, Keanu slowed his fingers, causing her to groan despondently, “Oh sweetheart,” he peppered feverish kisses to skin, “I’m always in control.”
Y/n barely had a moment to laugh breathlessly before Keanu was removing his fingers, turning her in his lap so he’d be facing her back, pressing her to his chest, "Come on," he urged, sucking on the soft, warm skin behind her hair, "I want to be inside you.
Clumsily, Y/n shoved the sheets away, taking Keanu's girth in her small hand, the other pressed into his strong thigh as she lined him up with her entrance. "Uhh," Y/n's head lolled back lifelessly as he filled her to brim, stretching her tight walls as his swollen head reached her end.
Her legs were spread wide, knees sunk into the bed and her hands steadied herself on Keanu's knees as she rolled her hips slowly. Ordinarily, the position might have been comfortable; he was propped up by an elbow, though still trying to hold Y/n to him as he fondled her breasts, rolling pebbled nipples between his fingers, eliciting lewd sounds, mostly caught in her throat. Her hair fell messily over her shoulders, some of it in her face, exertion prompting strands to stick to her skin.
From behind, Y/n painted the perfect image of sensuous beauty, all spread out in his lap, the curves of her waist defined and her skin almost glowing in the yellow light washing the room from above. Her movements were drawn on and languid, barely quickening upon Keanu’s request, and for a while, he let her carry on, enjoying the show. Though, as usual need for total control and the desire to have Y/n writhing under him eventually overtook, and in a few hustled movements he was changing their position, ending with Y/n face down at the foot of the bed, and him on top of her, his weight supported by an arm next to her head. “See what I told you?” His husky chuckle was hot on her ear as his hurried touch slid down to her hip, keeping her in place, “I’m always in control.”
A breathless noise, possibly a soft laugh, escaped Y/n’s agape lips, immediately morphing to a hollowed sound as Keanu reentered, his shaft buried deep in her drenched, longing heat. His trusts were rougher, more of what she was used to when they were together. After all, Keanu didn’t make love, you couldn’t make love to someone you didn’t love, he fucked.
Y/n yelped between loud, broken breaths, clutching fistfuls of the stark white duvet in paled knuckles, her noises muffled by the fabric. Keanu’s deep grunts in her ear were enough to wean her to the cusp of gratification, “Keanu!” She sang his name, not caring who heard from where, desperate for impending release.
“Do it,” he growled, carnal and gravely, “Milk my fucking cock with your tight little cunt.” And when Y/n came, walls convulsing, squeezing his length as she spilled out around him, eventually causing him to spurt bursts of release as he rode out both their highs.
When he pulled out, Keanu rolled off of Y/n, immediately gathering her sated, limbless form in his arms. Heavy pants still dominated their drenched chests and though Y/n knew that they’d soon have to get out of bed for a shower, she could feel her eyes slipping shut, her body weighed down with everything they’d done that night.
Her head laid over his heart, her mind soothed by the sound of it’s beating, slowly regularizing as quiet time passed. Keanu absently traced circles into her back, while Y/n just laid there, “Does this mean you’re staying?” She smirked.
“Darling,” he craned his head to kiss the crown of her head, not seeing how she closed her eyes in contentment, “There’s no place I’d rather be.”
The next morning had come quickly, meeting Y/n wrapped up in Keanu’s arms, both awakening at the crack of dawn, lazily going through the motions of getting ready to get to set. Keanu had surprisingly suggested that they take the same car to the studio. It was probably just so he could feel her up in the back seat, but Y/n didn’t let the thought damper her mood, she was still basking in the high from the night before; he’d stayed. They showered together and then they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms and even if he hadn’t professed it, there was a renewed affection in Keanu’s grasp.
Even when they’d gone to work, there was an intangible closeness between them, shared in lingering looks and private smiles. For the first time in a while, Y/n felt good about being with him, it wasn’t burdensome or painful. Instead, it was light and free, she was happy to just walk beside him, to just exist in his orbit; that was what love was supposed to be. Fulfilling, hopeful and rejuvenating.
The desire to let the words slip by hung heavy on the tip of Y/n’s tongue, but she couldn’t risk where they were by pushing him. Thankfully, restraint came easier when Jackson yelled “Action,” for the first time early that morning. The cameras started rolling and Y/n submerged herself into the scene, letting her personal life scuttle to the back seat.
The scene was scripted to be intense, and had been one of the few that Y/n actually had to learn a bit of hand on hand and gun play for. Though, it wasn’t half as much as what was expected of Keanu, who seemed to be in his element right then and there. Action, it was what he knew, what he adored; the movement, the precision and the grace. Nearly thirty years in the business had equipped him with knowledge on a thing or two about expert foot play and choreographed fighting, so much so that he seemed almost fluid as he moved.
Out of the corner of her eye, as Y/n tried to keep her head above water and make it through the scene, she watched, but mostly admired, they way Keanu so easily navigated his way through the rehearsed fight, making it seem real even without the effects of editing and camera tricks. His form, his stance, his everything, was absolutely perfect.
Though, perfection could never account for human error.
And it didn’t matter how great you were, all it took was one misstep for things to go south. No one knew who’s fault it was when the whole thing unfolded in a flash. A couple of real strained grunts, maybe a shove that was a bit too rough, and finally, a swear word, erupting from where Keanu was standing.
Keanu’s screen partner, a young stuntman, stepped away immediately, sure as to not crowd him, but still kind enough to offer a hand to help him up. Before Jackson could even pierce the tension with the signatory “Cut!” Everyone before the cameras had broken character, panicked mummers running through them and worried expressions pinching faces. Cast mates quickly gathered around him and somehow, Y/n had managed to weave through the throng, getting closest to Keanu, just as he was using one hand to dust himself off, the other cradling a bloody gash at the side of his forehead.
Streaks of deep red streamed down the side of his face, probably clouding his visions and seeping past his lips, “What the fuck?” Y/n’s whisper was below her breath, just as she was reaching up to move his hand away, “We should get you to the medics,” a deep frown roused a prominent ‘v’ between her furrowed brows.
“It’s fine,” he tried to reassure her first, before raising a hand, urging everyone to get back to regularly scheduled programming, “I’m fine everyone.”
Scoffing, Y/n rolled her eyes at Keanu’s ever-existent modesty, still giving his wound some examination. It was deep, and because he’d been moving around so much, the blood showed no signs of slowing. “Come on,” with fingers enclosed around his bicep, Y/n urged him away, ignoring everything and everyone around them, intent on getting him checked by their small onsite medical team, “You might need stitches.”
The walk to the trailer, which housed medical supplies and a few nurses, was quiet and uneventful. Keanu had shaken off her grasp, opting to walk a couple international paces behind her, but as usual, Y/n had ignored it. She wasn’t trying to start a fight when he was bleeding all over himself. Even as they’d attended to him, an NP closing up the gash with a local numbing agent and about four or five stitches, Y/n had stayed, seated about three feet away, holding his jacket on her lap and eyeing him worriedly.
She’d never been good when it came to medical emergencies; blood freaked her out and illness made her uncomfortable. Worst yet, she was particularly squeamish at the gorier stuff. But somehow, seeing Keanu hurt had flipped a different switch, the blood didn’t make her want to run and his visible pain didn’t tighten her chest with fear, instead, she was overwhelmed with crushing worry. Y/n didn’t want Keanu to be hurt or uncomfortable, she wanted to take it away, see that he was okay and not leave his side until all was well. Y/n longed to take care of him, protect him.
When they was finished, the trio of nurses left, offering them some privacy and recommending that Keanu ice the area just around the bandaged cut, to combat any swelling. They even left a little blue ice pack out, along with paper towels for clean up. And the minute they had left, Y/n had reached for the pack before Keanu could, taking the initiative to stand between his knees, pressing it to his face gently, her warm, soothing touch on his cheek combating the coldness on his forehead
“You don’t need to do this,” Keanu protested quietly after a few minutes. “I’m serious Y/n,” he reared his head back .
“So am I,” she didn't look at him, continuing her ministrations, only stopping when he took hold of her wrist, pushing it away, “You’re hurt,” she pressed.
“I know,” he grumbled, avoiding her gaze, casting his whisky orbs up towards the stark white metal ceiling, “But I don’t need you to……” The words escaped him, or maybe he just didn’t want to say them, knowing he’d risk hurting her again.
But Y/n wouldn’t back down; he was fine before, and then, all of a sudden, Keanu seemed stand-offish, like her touch was poison and that he didn’t need her at all. Like they’d been back in Los Angeles. “Don’t need me to what?” They weren’t going to let it fly that time, not when he’d just stomped all over her mood when all she wanted to do was help him, care for him the way he’d deserved it.
“To…..” he sighed, shaking his head, “To smother me-”
“Smother you?” Y/n spat incredulously, “I’m smothering you?” She took a few steps backwards, “So I guess you’d just prefer that I not care at all, right?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Keanu sighed, exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose, rolling his eyes as he lowered his stare to the closed door, “It’s just…...anyone could walk in here, you really want someone to see us like this?” Hastily, he gestured between him with his free hand, and Y/n could feel her anger bubbling, triumphing the hurt that came with his reluctance to be with her openly, "We talked about this."
Tears gathered in her eyes, stinging and threatening to spill over, "No, you talked about this!" She accused, shaking her head and roughly swiping at her eyes, "You made that decision. You're the one ashamed of me," the admission broke her inside. Keanu didn't want to be seen with her. He didn't want people knowing that she was the woman in his bed or the who he called first thing in the morning. He didn't want to claim her, kiss her in public or even hold her hand.
Perhaps he simply didn't want her.
"I am not ashamed of you," with quivering lips and bleary eyes, Y/n continued, the lump in her throat thick and persistent, the emotion caught there burning, "I don't care about what people say about us, what they think. I just care about you. I want you to be happy. I care about what you think. I love you!"
Three little words, they'd just found their way out, in an outburst driven by heartache. For a moment, the air seemed quiet and heavy, charged with possibility. He would either say it, or not. There were other options, of course, they were limitless, but right then, they were the only two that mattered.
Y/n held her breath, hope and expectation drying her tears for a solid minute. Keanu glanced at her with something she thought was comfortingly familiar, and he looked as if he were about to speak, tell Y/n what she was longing to hear.
Perhaps this was all he needed.
Perhaps he'd say it back.
But nothing came, and as quickly as the moment was ignited, it was snuffed out. And that was it, the little twig in her chest snapped, the sharp pain of unrequited love piercing her heart, its jagged edges excruciating and breath stealing. "Y/n I-"
"Go to hell, Keanu," the tears were gone and suddenly, her stare was worryingly blank as Y/n tossed the ice pack to his chest, proceeding to turn on her heel and stalk out of the trailer, slamming the door behind her.
Her trained stoicism didn't hold up for much longer though, because by the time Y/n was secured in her own trailer, she was sobbing loudly, back pressed to the locked door and chest heaving heavily as she slid to the carpeted floor. Burying her face in her hands, barely noticing how her freed hair uncomfortably curtained her wet cheeks, Y/n resisted the urge to just scream.
Love wasn't like that. It was supposed to hurt or make you feel like you were dying with each breath. But it did, and still, despite everything, Y/n still wanted him, to love him, to be his. Though her heart felt like it had been wrenched out, she knew herself well enough to know that as always, she'd take him back if he wanted her to. She'd adore him in the privacy of her mind if it meant keeping him in her arms.
Perhaps Keanu couldn't change.
Perhaps that love would be the death of her.
*******
Tagging- @harrisongslimited @paanchu786 @thesadvampire @fanficsrusz @fickensteinn @ladyreapermc @babygirltaina @septimaseverina @snatchedbylele @omg-imagine @21stcenturyyfoxx @magnificentclodpiebanana @allie1804-fan @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves
#keanu reeves#keanu reeves x reader#keanu reeves x you#john wick x reader#keanu reeves fanfic#ff#fanfic#john wick x you#john wick fanfic#put me in a movie#chapter 12#angst#lana del rey#keanu reeves fanfiction#fanfiction
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Darkness Falls Within
Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers x Winter Soldier, Stucky
Words: 1608
Warnings: Depression, angst, loneliness
A/N: Hello friends! I was listening to music (shocker!) and heard this song and it immediately spoke to me and I came up with a angsty Stucky fic. It’s based on “Waking Up Beside You” by Stabbing Westward and you’ll find the lyrics are bold and italicized. Also there is a picture in the pic by @0-ves-0. I tried to reach out for permission but they haven’t been active since 2017. I’m still giving credit to them anyway for all their creativity! I hope you all enjoy!
Huffing out a breath, Steve looks down at the mattress, an unfamiliar chill running down his spine. The sheets are still crumpled, a sign he hadn’t been alone in bed before he’d left, but the body that’d been there was gone. Left without a trace like a thief in the night, taking with it the last piece of sanity he was clinging to. Once again asking himself what the fuck he had done wrong. Why wasn’t he worth staying for?
I've been alone for so long
Forgotten by the world forgotten to myself
Your effervescent eyes have awakened me
And brushed the dust away
But I knew you'd never stay
Steve left the apartment, the memories too fresh and he felt the walls were closing in on him. It’d been a month. He was pretty sure Bucky wasn’t coming back, no word from Sam or Clint, all leads on his whereabouts going cold. If the Winter Soldier didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t, but Steve couldn’t let it go. He ached for his return.
Their last night together played on repeat in his mind as he walked the lonely streets, the midnight hour’s close at hand. He recalls the moans he made as Bucky entered him, making love at a steady pace, Steve chanting Bucky’s name like a prayer. It was intoxicating, all consuming. Neither one of them could get enough of each other, Steve thinking he’d finally have his forever, Bucky by his side and in his bed. In that final night together, he never thought it would all be a memory, fading like so much of his past.
So I memorized the color of your eyes
As I lost myself inside you
I memorized the way our legs entwined
As I drifted off beside you
Bucky was everywhere Steve looked. A glance through a window saw familiar blue eyes staring back at him. Every male brunette carried his signature smile and cleft chin. Sometimes he thought he could smell him, his scent filling his lungs like a lifeline, giving him oxygen to breathe. There was no escaping his mind, he was falling into an abyss with no hope of rescue, Bucky the only cure for his insanity.
I miss, God I miss
Waking up beside you
Two months had passed, all traces of Bucky gone. Steve lay in the bed, curled in a ball, his eyes red as the tears fell to the pillow. The bed smelled of must and stale sex, the sheets never changed after Bucky left.
Steve really should’ve known, could’ve placed a bet on it, really. Bucky was a creature of habit. No amount of passion and love confessions would ever change him. How many times had Bucky left his side? Too many to count, so he really has no one to blame but himself. The Winter Soldier would never let Bucky be happy. He’d just continue to take and take, until there was nothing left of the man Steve was desperately in love with. He’d take until Bucky Barnes was no more.
At night I cling to you I'm so afraid
Afraid the day will come
And I'll wake up and find you gone
But you promise that you'd not abandon me
And kissed my fears away
But I woke up to that day
Maybe it was paranoia, the hairs on his neck always standing up, feeling eyes watching his every move. His stomach would sink when he walked through the streets of Brooklyn alone, looking around thinking he’d catch a glimpse of Bucky, but it wasn’t meant to be. No matter how much he tried to reason with himself, his brain wouldn’t shut off and let reality sink in. The love of his life was gone, only God knows when and if, he’d return.
Hydra could reach out and grab him, hold him captive for all eternity and he’d just let it happen. It was better to feel something, even pain, than nothing at all. Steve was empty without Bucky, there was nothingness inside practically seeping from his pores. The only thing that could light the spark had fallen off the face of the earth leaving Steve dead and dying a little more each day.
But I had memorized the way our eyes would meet
Reflected in the bathroom mirror
And I memorized your naked silhouette
As you slowly brushed your hair
Standing at the bathroom sink, he looked in the mirror, not recognizing the man staring back at him.
“You look like shit.”
Steve nods at the reflection behind him in the mirror, the blue eyes piercing into his soul, seeing all his secrets.
“You’re supposed to be taking better care of yourself.”
Steve shrugs and looks down at the bowl, the running water creeping up, threaten to spill over.
“Why Steve? Why can’t you just let me go? Move on with your life...be happy?”
Steve closes his eyes, his subconscious fucking with his reality.
“I was happy with you…,” he whispers.
He feels familiar rough lips kiss his cheek, a single tear escaping his eye and falling down his face.
“The soldier isn’t meant to be happy.”
His eyes open and he turns around, alone in the room just like he’d been, water now flowing from the sink to the floor. Steve’s knees give out and he crumbles to the ground, sitting on the water-logged floor. He brings his knees to his chest and begins to rock back and forth, crying like he had so many times before, the pain becoming more and more unbearable as time goes on. Nothing he does dulls the pain and he’s resigned himself to knowing this is how he will spend the rest of his life, broken and alone. Captain America brought to ruin by one James Buchanan Barnes.
I miss, God I miss
Waking up beside you
The Soldier stands in the room, staring down at the bed, watching the blond sleep. A pull in his body wants to reach out and touch the man, his fingers start to gravitate towards him, but he hesitates and pulls back. No! This is not him. Soldat can never have nice things and he knows deep inside this is something nice. Something he wants to covet and keep all to himself.
The voice deep within him is begging him to stay, “this is our home, our bed...our Steve.” He shakes his head. Steve. My mission. My…
I've been alone for so long
I forgot how much it hurts
To wake up so alone
Soldat creeps through the apartment, his flesh fingers touching some of the odds and ends the Captain has laid out. It feels familiar, like he belongs here in this place, but it’s not his home. It can’t be. The Soldier doesn’t have a home. He has a base and cold. Soldat only feels cold. So why, looking around this place, does he feel warm? And why is that voice screaming at him, telling him to let the bad go and climb into bed with the mission?
A picture on a shelf draws his attention, the Soldat stopping in his tracks.
(Credit to @0-ves-0)
He stares at it, his steel blue eyes starting to soften. He knows one of them, his mission. His hair is darker than it is now and the clean-shaven man he has encountered has grown a beard, but he knows it’s the Captain. Why else would the picture be here in his apartment if it wasn’t him?
What draws Soldat in is the face of the other man. The man staring back at him in the picture frame shares the same face as him, except with more emotion. The two men look happy. Soldat isn’t meant to be happy, so why is the voice in his head screaming at him? And why is he compelled to listen? Why does he feel like he belongs here? And why wasn’t he paying attention enough to hear the mission walk into the room and stop dead in his tracks?
But I memorized how warm your body felt
As you lay half asleep beside me
And I memorized the way the sunlight filled the room
And played upon your body
“Bucky?” Steve’s pinching himself, a silent prayer being said so he won’t wake from his dream.
“Soldat.” He replies and draws his gun, pointing it in his direction.
“Bucky, you know me...please…,” Steve begs and steps forward.
“I…,”
Steve smiles hoping for a change in Bucky’s demeanor. He watches as the Soldat lowers his gun and drops his shoulders. He moves closer to his love and can see the moment when the recognition and memories come flooding back.
“Steve…,” Bucky drops to his knees.
The Captain hurries over and scoops him up, wrapping his arms around him.
“Bucky.”
“Stevie...oh, God…”
“Shhh… it’s okay...you’re home.” Steve rocks him back and forth, tears falling from his eyes as he holds the man.
“I couldn’t...I tried…he wouldn’t let me go.” Bucky tries to explain.
“It doesn’t matter now...I’ve got you and I’m never letting you go.”
“Soldat isn’t meant to be happy…,” Bucky begins to explain, “...but I had to come here, had to try to get him to see...I don’t want to be him anymore, Stevie...I’m so empty without you.”
“My world was dark without you.” Steve pulls them down to the floor, their bodies now laying side by side. “Just promise me you’ll never leave again. Please Bucky? Promise me you’ll fight through whatever life throws our way.
“I promise.”
The Soldat’s smile is concealed by the grip of Steve’s body around him.
I miss, God I miss
Waking up beside you
Forever Tags:
@caplanreads @the-real-kellymonster @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @kruscht @v-2bucky @palaiasaurus64 @breezy1415 @amandaoftherosemire @sarahp879 @supernaturaldean67 @averyrogers83 @winters-beauty @scarlettsoldier @lovely-geek @titty-teetee @suz-123 @malfoysqueen14 @callmebucky-doll @ronnie248-blog @alyssaj23 @drakelover78 @thisismysecrethappyplace @geeksareunique @childishhoebinoo @thesassmisstress @brieannakeogh @peaceinourtime82 @theoneanna @leosandbuckysgirl @coal000 @the-goddess-of-mischief @mychemicalimagines @thirsty-hoes-central @awkwardfangirl2014 @strangenerdsstuff @sea040561 @marvelobsessedteen @capnbuck-tiltheend-oftheline @thefandomplace @collette04 @nishanki1 @notyourtypicalrose @jamielea81 @onebatch--twobatch @courtmr @emelody @miraclesoflove @kcd15 @clarysthing @crist1216 @yknott81 @babypink224221 @xxloki81xx @death-unbecomes-you @ellaprime68 @littlemarvelfics @thatfanficstuff @hotoffthepressfics @chuuulip @dj-lowkey @shield-agent78 @unlikelygalaxygiver @viarogers @dtftheavengers @firstangeldragonranch @southernbell91 @lancetuckershairgel
#stucky#Steve Rogers x James Barnes#Steve Rogers x Winter Soldier#Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes#Steve Rogers#Bucky Barnes#James Barnes#James Bucky Barnes#the winter soldier#song fic#waking up beside you#stabbing westward#marvel#marvel characters#angst#depression#lonliness
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forgoing oxygen
commission for the wonderful @shoto-todoloki-a-hoe
word count: 1.5k
warnings: smut, angst, hurt and comfort, begging, aged up
pairing: Inasa Yoarashi x Reader (gender neutral)
Everything is fine. Really. It is.
Both of you are alive, Yoarashi reasons with himself, staring down at his shaking hands. The villains are in police custody, and the thought is both enraging and reassuring. He’s not sure he could still hold the title of hero, knowing they were still out there somewhere. The thought of vengeance is a bitter one, but Yoarashi can’t lie to himself. If they had escaped- If they had succeeded- He breathes out through his nose, closing his eyes, and his hands into fists. There weren’t any other injuries, and there hadn’t been any casu- Yoarashi has to forcibly uncurl a hand so he can cover his mouth, still breathing deeply through his nose, and try furiously not to finish that particular thought.
Everything is fine.
It’s not.
When the police are finished with taking your statement, and you walk out into the waiting area, Yoarashi worries that he’ll be too hands on, that he’s too clingy and eager for the feeling of you in his arms. When he spies your tired expression and glassy eyes, he decides that doesn’t matter. You’re open with him, you always are, and when he reaches out for you, you come to him willingly. Your pulse is strong against his palm, when he pulls you close, hand careful around the back of your neck. You’re warm and breathing, but he can still feel the way your fingertips slid out of his grasp, cold and- A small noise of pain escapes him as his arms encircle you, clutching you tightly to his chest.
“If you need space-” he tries, because Yoarashi has always felt so strongly - he half recalls something about someone being so small, they only had enough room for one emotion, but.. But Yoarashi is tall, he’s big, and a single emotion has always filled him up to bursting. He’s too big, too old for this tantrum of panic, but all he can do is move with the tide of it or drown.
“I don’t,” you whisper, voice harsh, lips parted, and Yoarashi has never heard anything better. Your hands are clenching the coat on his back, and you’re too still, but you’re alive, this is real- Yoarashi wants to cry.
“Good,” he chokes out in response, and he barely sounds like himself. He’s so quiet. Subdued. “I’m not sure I can let go of you right now.” It’s almost silent after that. The both of you have to make it home, and he doesn’t care, really, about you seeing him cry, about you seeing any of his emotions, but he doesn’t want to draw more attention your way. His attention already put you- Yoarashi presses a kiss to the crown of your head, knowing that he can’t let himself think that way. He already knows how a conversation like that would go, so he keeps his mouth shut, just holding you. It’s the longest cab ride he’s ever taken.
Walking through the front door is like a bomb going off. Slamming the door closed happens only because of paranoia (-and the door is swinging on its hinges, and the house is empty, empty, empty, the word a metronome on the inside of his skull-) and then all either of you knows is skin and breath, and the world re-orienting itself to the axis of your hearts and bodies.
“You’re alive,” Yoarashi gasps against your lips, hands trembling where he’s cradling your jaw. He backs into a wall, uncaring when he nearly trips. “You’re alive. I thought-” He can’t speak in full sentences, not with this furious need to kiss consuming the both of you, not with your stumbling steps towards the bedroom. You’re warm, and the kisses are messy and too-wild, leaving you with slick lips and burning lungs, too impatient to take the time to just breathe. Yoarashi finally pulls away, head tilting back as he gasps for air, but you’re already pulling him into the bedroom and onto the floor.
He comes with you willingly, hands growing more steady as he helps you shed clothing, too eager for more of your bare skin to think about everything that’s happened. All that matters is you’re both here, and your hands are tossing away his hat and pushing off his jacket and he’s not sure he’s ever wanted anything more than you in this moment. To have your limbs wrapped around him, your breath and voice against his ear-
“I want you, Yoarashi, please,” You beg, tugging at his trousers, thighs parting so he can kneel between them. It’s a bit of a rushed, awkward struggle, getting his clothes completely off without taking his hands from you, because he can’t let go, not right now. He manages to kick them and his underwear off, but leaves a sock behind as frustration builds.
Who the fuck cares about a sock, when- But he doesn’t let that thought finish either, just lets you surround him. Your hand strokes over the buzz of his hair as you pull his mouth back to yours, and he groans as he leans close to your naked body. His dick is aching, where it’s pressed to between you, and he feels light-headed, dizzy with desire as his teeth catch against your bottom lip. Part of him wonders if it’s because you’re both breathing each other's breath, willingly forgoing oxygen if anything else means stopping.
“This is real,” Yoarashi can’t help but gasp, voice low and rough as he breaks the kiss to lean his forehead against yours. Both of you are panting, chests heaving, and your fingers spasm against his back.
“Very real,” you say, jaw clenching. “We’ll talk about being scared later. I just want to touch you, I just want to-” Your eyes fall closed, and Yoarashi understands. Touching you helps keep his mind in the moment too, helps to cement yourselves in reality. He reaches a hand down between you to stroke and captures your mouth in another wet kiss, turning you into a trembling mess. “Yoarashi,” you say against his lips, and then your hips are rolling upwards, trying to get more friction. “I want you to fuck me, please -”
“How bad?” Yoarashi blurts out. For a moment he wants to cringe, but then his gaze focuses on your blown pupils and your parted lips and his heart rate picks up.
“You want me to beg?” You ask, a smile tugging at your lips. Yoarashi, by contrast, knows that his face and his ears are on fire, and that later you’ll be laughing, but-
“Yes,” he decides, dark eyes intent on your face. He leans over you, scrabbling at the nightstand for lube, and curses when you bite at his chest, dragging your hands down his spine.
“Please,” you whisper, as he settles back between your thighs, bottle of lube in hand. Yoarashi feels like he’s about to combust, and in any other circumstances, he’s not sure he’d be able to look you in the eye, but- You’re here. You’re here, and his pulse is echoing in his ears like someone beating on a kettle drum, and you’re starting to smile, and maybe… Maybe everything is going to be okay.
“Say it with passion,” he jokes, and then nearly crushes the bottle when you tilt your head back and beg. Yoarashi gets to work with trembling hands. The way he slicks the both of you up is a little more rushed than normal, but the ache he leaves behind only has you even more eager to have him inside you. His first shallow thrust has your breath leaving you in a rush.
“Everything al-alright?” Yoarashi asks, pausing as your reach up to curl your fingers around the back of his neck.
“Fuck me, and make it alright,” you fire back, and then you gasp when his next thrust has him nearly bottoming out. The rhythm he sets up is slow at first, but when you pull him closer, hooking your ankles together around his hips, he gets the picture. Slow is for later. You want heavy breathing, and thundering hearts, and the noise of his hips smacking into the backs of your thighs- you want noise. Movement. Life.
His cheeks are rosy still, from embarrassment, but the longer he keeps up this fast pace, fucking into you with wet, obscene noises, the more the pink fades. He’s not embarrassed, not any longer, not with you pulling him close and whispering encouragement in his ear, or your teeth nipping at his pulse. Yoarashi feels his orgasm building, hot and bright, and his rhythm falters, reaching between your bodies to stroke you.
“Fuck,” he pants, delighted when your mouth opens, ready to speak, and then you nearly shriek. Your fingernails dig into his neck as you come, and the pleasure-pain of it pushes Yoarashi over the edge after you, both of you clutching to one another and rocking through the aftershocks. You’re here. You’re alive.
Everything is fine.
This time? It’s true.
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hey ! my name is link ! i go by he / they pronouns , am 21+ & live in the cst timezone ! i’m an obnoxious aries , but i promise i’m nice for a clown . i’m excited to be here ‘cause i’m a slice of life h*e . & this here is my weirdo tommy , who i hope you’ll like a lot . under the cut , you’ll find some misc. info & wanted connections , but here’s his dossier & pinterest board , which has more information for you . feel free to like this if you’d like to plot & i’ll swing by in your ims ( or ask for discord which is honestly easier for me but it’s okay if you don’t ) !
☕ . ˚ ◝ ( kim jongin. genderfluid. he/they. ) thomas “tommy” song is a twenty-five year old gemini. the deja brew barista’s go-to order is matcha lemonade and grilled cheese. they like to listen to tempo by lizzo feat. missy elliott while they wait for their order. the employees of the deja brew think they are inconsistent but swear they’re totally versatile as well. maybe that’s why collected sketchbooks that remain empty, horror movie marathons, band tees paired with perpetually messy hair remind me of them.
misc. info : ( content warning for : emotional abuse & neglect, negative religious imagery )
they’ve always lived in the la area & don’t really see themselves leaving even if they hate it here sometimes for whatever reasons they made up in their heads
their father owns several businesses & is generally well off. he has people convinced that he’s a really good guy but in private he’s an unbearable asshole. just really nitpicky about everything & overbearing in forcing his opinions on his family
their mother was a struggling actress & the few projects she was in flopped & then she became too old by society’s standards to get work & tommy’s dad ragged on her for it, poking at her appearance / weight until she finally gave up & settled for being his assistant
not only is their dad just a dick he’s also extremely catholic which intensified his already aggressive personality. for as long as tommy can remember their dad nagged him for anything possible. they never seemed to be “enough of a man” for him which absolutely tainted the way they viewed themselves
this plays a large part into why they decided to dump the idea of being a man period. all their life they never felt comfortable with being masculine & felt like a failure any time they tried but it wasn’t until their late teens that they felt comfortable identifying as nonbinary
they also suffer from a lot of catholic guilt. their dad was that typical shitty religious guy who went on homophobic rants at random so those views affect them even now
while they consider themselves closeted & default to saying they’re straight when asked they don’t keep up with it very well. any time a pretty guy makes eye contact with them they’re gonna go for it then beat themselves up for it later
they’re a thot. they enjoy physical intimacy but don’t really believe in the idea of romantic love ( yep his dad ruined that for them too ) so they prefer to sleep around than try to get close to anyone
whatever relationships they’ve been in they probably ruined it by not being affectionate or caring enough because they never learned how to be like that with another person ( whatever feelings they and their mother shared were more out of pity than actual love )
also they might be a cheater. i haven’t fully decided if they have or not but they definitely consider it constantly when they’re dating ( if you want some kind of plot like this let’s goooo )
so basically they struggled growing up but just emotionally & mentally. they were great in school but they hated the experience & everything along with their parents caused them to become pretty anxious & introverted in their adulthood
they can & will go out but they prefer not to & they’re terrible at socializing. things can be pretty awkward with them without them meaning to. & their sense of humor is very dry so it can come off as mean ( again without meaning to )
they’re really interested in drawing & painting but they went to college for computer science & honestly it makes them pretty miserable but they’d rather suffer than deal with their dad jumping down their throat
they took a couple of years off from school to gather themselves mentally ( basically had a breakdown in the middle of a semester & their dad still drags him for it ) but are in their senior year now
they only answer to tommy. if you call them tom or thomas you’ll just get a scowl in response then ignored
basically they’re both a fake goth & art hoe. they wear black sometimes but not constantly but always refer to themselves as a goth & they buy more sketchbooks than they need ‘cause they never draw in them ( they prefer using napkins & their textbooks )
they roll up their jeans and their sleeves because they’re bisexual
dogs are some of the only things that will make them outwardly happy if you want them to lose their mind then just show them a dog or even pics / videos
they love matcha it’s their favorite flavor but they actually hate coffee despite working in a cafe. but they’re really good at making latte art & getting tips because they’re pretty & and good at flirting with customers
they’re obsessed with horror movies. they relate a lot to movie monsters for trans reasons & find them comforting even when they’re super gory. currently their favorite movie is midsommar so you can catch them going off about it a lot
they love slushies & smoothies. if it’s blended & has a lot of sugar then they fuck with it heavily. also most of the time they’re too lazy to make their own food so they use drinks a lot as meal replacements
they can’t cook worth a damn. they probably get most of their food from deja brew
they love plants a lot & keep a bunch of them at all times
they’re a hipster they love collecting vinyls & patches for their many denim jackets
they love going on drives to anywhere everywhere at random. they don’t need a destination they just wanna drive
they sleep in small four hour bursts & are pretty much always tired
they love pizza & pasta. if it’s italian they’re a stan
they’re super clumsy. probably run into things or trip five times a day
they’re secretly dramatic & gets upset when their friends / lovers don’t give them enough attention but they will never bring it up other than through playing it up
they collect band tees even for bands they don’t listen to & they don’t care if they get called out for it
wanted connections :
rooommates ( one or two )
exes ( any gender. it can be messy or friendly. i’m willing to have tommy be the issue since they can be rather uncaring & we could even do a cheating plot if you want maximum angst. also bonus points if they’re exes that are still “involved”. )
hookups / fwbs ( any gender. singular experiences or regular type things )
childhood plots for those who’ve lived in la ( childhood friends, first kisses / crushes, all that good stuff )
high school sweethearts
their first sexual experience with someone masculine. i want the awkward teen ( or early twenties whichever ) experience & it’s probably something that tommy gets ( dare i say it ? ) shy about even now
flirtationships that don’t go anywhere
maybe a regular customer that they keep flirting with & the customer thinks they actually have a thing for them but they don’t & it’s weird & awk
maybe they fuck up your drink and your muse is mad about it but they try to flirt their way out of it with either good or disastrous results
your muse is the person that has to deal with this behavior
one-sided crushes ( don’t mind who has the feelings ! )
mutual pining but they’re both idiots & have no idea
anything from this tag
party buddies. horror movie buddies. video game buddies. road trip buddies. any of these can be combined
tinder date ( it can go well or not )
literally anything you can think of i’m probably down for it
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ａｎ ａｎｄｒｏｍｅｄａ ｉｎｔｒｏ－ｐｏｓｔ
* ╰ zoey deutch ; 17 ; she/her —— wow, andromeda black sure has changed. i guess she is feeling isolated from the other slytherin members. guess you can’t really blame them. i still remember them being so independent & steely now they just seem secretive & cynical. guess being a pureblood isn’t helping matters much either. i’m hopeful though. they’ll be just fine.
you can contact me on here in those dms, or my discord is @ alex //#7484
character inspiration: sansa stark (got), astrid leong-teo (crazy rich asians), aphrodite (greek myth)
pinterest
whelve: (v) to bury something deep, to hide
she’s a warm laugh on a cold morning ; the flick of a wrist ; the gentle clink of pearls ; lipstick smudged on the lip of a glass ; an empty, echoing hall in a museum ; fresh mists of expensive perfume ; delicate fingers brushing aside wisps of hair ; pointed heels abandoned at the bottom of a staircase ; half filled decanters ; a thorn pricking an unsuspecting fingertip ; the slow build of a concerto ; the slam of a heavy door
so this is my girl, my lovely queennnnn
living the high life and hating every moment of it
she can’t find it in her to burn as fiery as bella’s strength or run as cold as cissa’s icy resilience. she is a shadow, a hazy mirror of each sister. similar and yet pale in comparison.
she has always been lukewarm, tepid, medium, her life a long and distressing line of just fine. thank u very much. even as her deepest secrets, dreams, and thoughts boil and bubble beneath the surface of a superficially perfect life.
if anyone were to care enough to ask, she is grateful for her lot in life. a smile always quick to slide into place, polished and content for the pre-destined plan. with her current family a shambles, she is afraid to even think of putting together a new family, the arranged marriage in her future is as terrifying as it is inevitable. she feels as though she will lose everything, her family name, the constant presence of her sisters, and her childhood. her hesitation and dread surely caused by a demotion in title and status after all the notoriety that comes with being a black. surely nothing else more sinister and horribly selfish.
she can’t imagine she shall ever be happy. why should she be? indoctrinated as she is, she has eyes. everything she has witnessed could never be called ideal, as much as it was framed that way. warmth never lived in her mother or father’s heart for her. she sees and knows it, even as she struggled for some glimpse of approval that never came. what is it that they see that she didn’t want them to, something weak and dissatisfied and miserable. but then maybe she simply wasn’t looking hard enough. maybe the next time she blinks she will see something new in their gaze that will assuage the building gap.
the finer things enamor her, and not just the beauty of a delicate fabrics and rich color of wine but also art, history, music. each note and brush stroke a promise that there is something out there. something even better than what she silently resents. if only she were brave enough to seek it
an escapist in all facets, andromeda consumes and absorbs the things around her like a sponge, in search of something. anything to fill a space inside her chest that only widens and yawns at her efforts. she lacks for nothing and often balks at her own greed and dissatisfaction. but “a golden cage is still a cage” each small glimmer of happiness fading the moment it comes
andromeda is an observer. her eyes opened and lips tightly sealed. she sees and dangerously pieces together her own understanding rather than swallow the bitter pill handed to her. she sees and in some cases, judges.
her friends call her dro, or they would if she had any. jkjk she has friends at varying levels of trust. she could never quite commit to complete isolation, her observations fascinating enough to draw her into the fray. her small collection of those she enjoys betraying a weakness in her incredulity. (also bring on any other nicknames that that monstrosity of a name brings to mind. she’ll most likely pretend to hate all of them)
beneath her doubt, her fear of the unknown. she is a hopeless romantic gone to rot. she is distant, as untouchable as a masterpiece in the museum that is her picture perfect life. a thing more suitable for admiration than intimacy.
there is a feeling that no matter your connection to andromeda, that no matter your efforts, there is always something hidden within that she is keeping to herself. and it’s true. there is nothing andromeda would willingly show that she didn’t want people to see.
difficult to reach, to understand. she prefers it this way. guilt and shame shoving down the better parts of her self beneath the mask she is meant to be. the her that her parents beat her into, beat into all three of them with varying success.
while it’s true she is haughty. impatient. a temperamental black. a life of pampering and promises forever ingrained in her world view. while good for her self-worth, it is probably off putting to some. there are at times promises of goodness, she can be thoughtful. intelligent. even driven to empathy when faced with tears, pain calling out to something inside her.
but if there’s anything her family’s mutilated tree has taught her, to bloom is to die. she pictures his escape and subsequent increase in happiness to be the height of abandonment, of betrayal. how dare he leave (without her). how dare he leave her wanting and missing and heartbroken. she truly misses sirius and her head spins, chest aching and eyes burning at the thought of him. yet as always, she goes to great lengths to never reveal her secrets, instead giving her true feelings no form. buried while she looks on in envy and deeply buried hope. the boy thoughtlessly laying a path towards something selfish but impossibly enticing.
while hope is not her strong suit, andromeda is (to her great chagrin and misery) capable of extreme and consuming love. love of beauty and things. love for her sisters. but also her cousin. but mostly, herself. loyalties warring in her heart and tearing at a shaky resolve. at this rate, were someone else to steal one of the splintered, scattering pieces in her chest, it would be the end. the final straw for her unhappiness to be complete.
connections:
girl gang – give her all the best friends. the nicole to her paris. soul sisters. ovaries before brovaries. hymen heroines. those hoes she lives and breathes for. i think typically this would be fellow slytherins or ppl that she met through pureblood high society connections. OPEN
ex-boyfriend/girlfriend – ew this makes me sad and emotions are hard to deAL. basically this will be all angst city. most likely andromeda would be the one to break things off since she wasnt always as skeptical of that familial pressure. depending on how their relationship was, she could regret it or be cold about it. OPEN
rival/frenemies – these two are just too similar to get along. toxic pureblood society has pitted them against each other and no one is winning. okay but if they went from enemies, to reluctant respect, to almost friends?? MAYBE EVEN FRIENDS EVENTUALLY?? i would be here for it asdlk OPEN
confidante – andromeda isn’t honest with anyone, not even herself. but this could be someone that she’s probably known for a long time who she possibly could’ve opened up to in a weak moment and now they’re bonded forever. she would feel indebted to this person for keeping her secrets and would do her best to protect them any way that she could. extra feelings if this person feels the same way and they can be sad, but also cLOSE, together. OPEN
secret school friend – maybe they were forced partners as prefects or a fateful potions class but andromeda found herself making a surprising friend in an unexpected place. she can’t help admiring their beautiful inner persistence/strength despite her reluctance and occasional snobbery. but now they’re older and she really should cut things off. for whatever reason, she just can’t let go. OPEN
banter partner – alright so this would be someone from the other side of the war that andromeda runs into all the time and they always seem to get into arguments! she’s not quite sure why they get under her skin but andromeda finds it difficult to step away from their confrontations. OPEN
muse – listennnn. this person would be someone that andromeda would just be enamored with, she would regard them very highly and make efforts to speak with them and be around them. if this person were on the other side of the war she would probably resent them a little but be unable to resist. i’ll probably just spring this on somebody tbh?? since the relationship would be based on her own tastes. but this would be someone that andromeda would admire for their appearance– sure, but also for the aura that they project.
but yes!! msg me if you’d like to plot and i’m honestly open to any connections!! her past is pretty open ended and she hasn’t quite left her family just yet so she could have loyalties all over the place
#* ∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹ ι ωαηт тσ gινє уσυ мσяє. вυт ησт єνєяутнιηg. уσυ ∂ση’т ηєє∂ єνєяутнιηg. ⊹ — { about }#incantareintro
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we're artists, baby | kth
→ synopsis ; taehyung was incredibly, unbelievably talented in any medium you could offer him. y/n ? she couldn't draw a stick figure if she tried.
→ word count ; 2011
→ genre ; fluff ?? angst if u squint ?? idk
→ pairing ; street artist!taehyung x art hoe!reader
→ a/n ; this is for my MF BOYFRIEND TAEHYUNG’S BIRTHDAY bc he's the love of my life my angel my world and he deserves nothing less than the mf best okay okay ik it's late don't BULLY me
-
There are worse things in the world, Y/n believes. Having your life turned into a Law and Order SVU would be worse, of course. Hoseok could be inviting her over to blindly set her up with another one of his endearing friends who she would much rather be good friends with.
That would definitely be worse.
Unfortunately, Y/n can't help but feel a bit self conscious. How couldn't she, when a masterpiece sat in front of her, nearly taunting her with talent she so greatly wanted to obtain yet couldn't even find in herself. She looked at the mural, an art piece by one anonymous ‘Vante’, the tagging artist that has been taking the internet by storm.
If you ask Y/n, she wasn't jealous. Not at all.
If you ask Namjoon, he could tell you about the nights where Y/n got a little bit too tipsy and poured her heart out about her insecurities and jealousy swimming for the artist she didn't know.
Y/n gazed at the piece again, wrapping her arms around herself due to the sudden chill. Cocking her head, she tried to put the piece together. Hues of yellows and golds sprouted from a detailed portrait of a young child, tall against the blacks and grays sprouting from two parent figures.
What did it mean-
“Y/n, come on we're gonna be late.” Hoseok hummed, shivering at the wind that was picking up. Nodding, Y/n comfortably grasped his hand, letting him maneuver through the large crowd around the new art piece. “You think this movie is gonna be good? People think it's gonna be shitty.” Hoseok turned towards Y/n, who seemed lost in her own thoughts.
“Earth to Y/n-”
Y/n flinched at his loud tone. “Huh- sorry.” She ducked her head sheepishly, and Hoseok hummed, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “It just- how does someone have that much talent? It isn't fair-”
“Stop- You have talent in other places. I’ve never heard someone with a voice like yours, now-” Hoseok tugged Y/n into the movie theater. “-we came here to have a good time.” Smiling brightly at Y/n, she couldn't help but mimic it, as he led her through the crowd. “I hope Aquaman is good, I just want to watch a good DC movie, you know?”
Y/n couldn't help but laugh at her friend’s distress, forgetting about her worries even if it was for a moment.
-
Yoongi was going to kill him.
Well, kill him, scold him, same thing. But Yoongi doesn't have much room to talk, so Taehyung sneaks out anyway, a backpack filled with spray paint and stencils in tow. Except this time, Jungkook was tagging along for the first time.
One day Taehyung will teach himself not to give into Jungkook’s big doe eyes, but tonight was not that night.
“Hyung- Hyung! Where are we going?” Jungkook whispered, sneaking behind Taehyung with a camera in his hands. Clicking record, the younger man pointed the camera at Taehyung, a little smile on his face as Taehyung shook his head in amusement.
“Kook-ah, I told you not to record this-”
“Hyung why do you hate me.”
A sigh escaped Taehyung’s lips, as they both boarded the last bus at twelve am, the glare of the lights messing with the camera in Jungkook’s hands. “Exclusive interview with the world’s most famous tagging artist, Vante-” Jungkook purposely shoved the camera in Taehyung’s face, causing the elder to laugh and swat him away.
“We're here-” Taehyung hummed, getting off the bus with Jungkook following closely. Approaching Los Angeles’ City Hall, Jungkook gasped.
“You can't paint here, you’ll go to jail-”
Taehyung laughed, pulling out his stencils and placing them properly just before the steps of the building, quirking his eyebrow playfully at Jungkook’s concern. “I’m not afraid of jail.” He stated simply, and Taehyung guesses that was enough for Jungkook, as the younger male found comfort in just recording his work.
It wasn't long before Taehyung was almost done, and Jungkook was actually impressed at how fast his friend could get a piece done. “Wow, hyung-”
Taehyung simply smirked, spraying ‘VANTE’ in sharp, jagged letters.
“Vante?”
Both Jungkook and Taehyung froze, heads rising to meet a pair of eyes that stared back at them. It was a woman, maybe around Taehyung’s age, staring with a mix of awe and surprise. “Oh my god, it's you- Your work is so good! I can't believe-”
Taehyung was quick to stand up, grasping her wrists in his hands to stop her from taking a picture. “Hi, yeah-” Jungkook quickly shut off his camera, gawking at the pair. “-I'm gonna need you to keep this a secret, okay- what do you want, money?” She scoffed, pulling her hands away.
“You don't need to bribe me, I won't tell.” Her eyes shone beneath the dim streetlights. “I would, however, like to be friends with you. I want to know why-” She gestured to the piece before her.
Taehyung hummed. “I can do that.”
She smiled. “I’m Y/n.”
“Taehyung.”
-
“This is hard-”
A groan escaped Y/n’s lips as she let her head hang, canvas blank as she refused to taint it with her horrid skills. A chuckle escaped Taehyung’s lips as he stood behind her, hands setting on her shoulders as his thumbs rubbed soothing patterns into them. “Just come up with an idea, and bring it to life.” Taehyung hummed.
Y/n scoffed. “Oh, easy for you to say. You're like, the world’s most famous street artist. I can't even draw a straight line.” She groaned, putting the palate aside and setting the brush down. “It doesn't matter how hard you try to teach me. This is the third week, Tae. I’m not going to be good at art.” Y/n mumbled sadly, getting up and throwing herself on Taehyung’s bed.
“You're so dramatic.” He hummed fondly, taking her spot at the easel. Y/n whined in response, shielding her eyes with her arm as she gazed at Taehyung paint. “Maybe art isn't your thing then. But you could be talented in so many other mediums. It just, doesn't have to be something you can see.” Taehyung spoke, strokes of pink coating the canvas with ease. “Like music. Music is an art.” Taehyung finished, and Y/n sat up.
“Yoongi-hyung makes music. He's more of a producer than anything else, but he could rap really well and even carry a little tune. He's filled with musicality. He's still an artist. Or cinematography. Jungkook likes filming and editing things so that the end product is almost like a movie, or a music video. He's an artist too.” Taehyung rambled, eyes never leaving the canvas.
“You don't have to be good at the basic art itself to be an artist.”
Y/n laid in silence, pursing her lips at his words.
“Do you really think so?” Y/n asked after a moment.
Taehyung nodded, and Y/n sighed contently, shifting in his bed to face him. He smiled, that was a much better angle to paint her in.
He looked at the canvas again.
-
It wasn't too long until Y/n invited Taehyung late over the studio one night, eyes bright with promise. “Okay so, it's really rough but you said art isn't really just paint, and since I’ve seen so much of yours, I want to show you mine.” Y/n hummed, clicking a few buttons before pressing play.
“It's like, kinda a Christmas song because I wrote it recently but-”
A music box seemed to play, and Taehyung quickly closed his eyes, as he often did when Yoongi asked him his opinion on music.
A beat picked up, blending nearly perfectly with the light instrumental of the bells and music box, then a voice flowed in, soulful and sweet. Y/n gazed over at Taehyung as the song played, and she smiled fondly at his state. Eyes closed, head tilted back, a little smile on his face as his fingers danced along to the music.
“Your voice is beautiful-” Y/n ducked her head, and Taehyung smiled, wrapping her up in a hug. “-see? I told you everyone has their little talent. Why worry about something you struggle with when you have such a beautiful talent right here?” Taehyung rested his chin on Y/n’s head, ignoring her protests of ‘stop you sap’ and ‘shut up’.
“Thank you.” Y/n hummed after a few moments of silence, and they pulled away. “Don't you have a mural to put up, Tae? Don't keep your fans waiting.” Y/n hummed, smoothing his jacket over his chest.
“They can wait, I’m here with you.” Y/n flushed at Taehyung’s words, shoving him away slightly.
“Then I’ll come with you, I don't want to waste your time-”
“Ah- you can't come with me. It's supposed to be a surprise to everyone.” Taehyung hummed, smiling slightly. “Even you, Kitten.” He spoke, and Y/n sputtered at the pet name, face heating up quickly. “I knew you’d like it. Now, I’ll go. Don't follow me, I want it to be a surprise.” Taehyung smirked slightly. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, leaving Y/n in silence.
Taehyung left, and Y/n let a sigh escape her lips.
She fell. Fell hard, and Y/n doesn't think she could get out of it.
-
“Y/n, you have to get up right now-”
Y/n groaned, focus hazy as she pressed the phone to her ear. Waking up to Hoseok screaming in her ear wasn't ideal, but it wasn't like she wasn't used to it. “Hoseok? It's early-”
“Y/n get your cute ass up right now- Vante put up a new piece-”
“Okay I can wait until everyone is gone-”
“Y/n it has you in it.”
If Y/n wasn't awake, she was now. She sat up, eyes widening as she threw her blankets off and slipped on her pink Champion slides. Throwing on her white coat, she brushed her teeth and left, pulling her hoodie over her mess of hair.
“Hobi where is it?” Y/n stepped outside, ignoring the chill on her legs.
“Near the new art museum.”
Y/n hung up quickly, breaking out into a run towards the museum that wasn't too far from her house. It wasn't too long before Y/n was before the museum, out of breath, looking at the piece.
It was her, a replica of when she laid distressed on Taehyung’s bed, lips pursed and eyelashes long. Hues of tans and pinks wove to make her up, the word ‘Kitten’ written in small cursive at the corner of the piece, right beside his usual violent ‘Vante’. A choked laugh escaped her lips as Hoseok approached her, cursing as he tugged off his jacket to wrap it around her bare legs. “Hobi that's me-” Y/n whispered, as Hoseok stood up.
“Yeah, it is. You know Vante, don't you.” Hoseok hummed, and Y/n nodded. Before she could apologize for keeping him in the dark, her phone rang. ‘tae ♥︎’ her phone read, and Y/n sighed, eyes watering.
“Hello?” She answered.
“Do you like it?”
A choked sob escaped her lips, and Hoseok was quick to wrap her in his arms, ignoring the chill on his skin.
“Taehyung, why did you- It's so beautiful I don't deserve it-”
“If you didn't deserve it I wouldn't have made it.” Taehyung hummed, voice rough with lack of sleep. “I wanted to make something for my favorite girl. I figured it's a more creative way to ask you out other than just taking you out to dinner.” He muttered.
Y/n gasped. “Like, be your girlfriend ask me out?” Taehyung laughed softly.
“Like be my girlfriend ask you out, Kitten.”
Y/n sniffled, wiping her eyes. She gazed up at the piece again, and smiled widely, nearly splitting her face. She looked up at Hoseok, who smiled down at her knowingly.
“Of course I’ll be your girlfriend.”
-
masterlist
#ik this is long im sorry#kim taehyung x poc#street artist!taehyung#art hoe!reader#bts imagines#bts reactions#bts preferences#bts scenarios#bts x poc#kim namjoon#kim seokjin#min yoongi#jung hoseok#park jimin#kim taehyung#jeon jungkook#bts#bts rm#bts jin#bts suga#bts jhope#bts jimin#bts v#bts jungkook
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Ugh P.8 [Peter Parker] [Soulmate AU]
Pairing: Peter Parker x Female!Reader
Warnings: Cursing, more angst, mentions of pain etc
A/N: This still feels a little rushed to me, but also not?? I dunno. If I forgot to tag you, pls shoot me an ask or a msg! I lose track of things, esp my taglist ;-; Also- I swear I love you guys <3
Part 7, Masterlist
It took everything in him to be able to say those words to you. He wanted to let you say whatever it was you had to say, even though he was sure he didn’t want to hear it. He wanted to say he was strong enough to just be friends with you- to get to know you and learn you but not be able to love you. It would be a lie, but he didn’t have to tell you that. Still, it should be better this way, shouldn’t it? He could keep you safe from a distance. No one would suspect that you knew he was Queens hero. He also wouldn’t have to know you- so it wouldn’t hurt so much, right? He’d be fine right?
Right.
At least he thought so. After he’d spoken to you, you stopped staring at him. You stopped looking for him and you stopped trying to reach him. He wasn’t sure if this was better- it certainly didn’t feel better, but then again that might just be the pull he was feeling. Regardless of what he felt or what he thought, that pull would always be there. He would always want to be with you- he would always want just you, exactly as you were. He couldn’t say the same for you, however. He’d heard stories of people who’d had soulmates that didn’t feel the pull like they did or could ignore it. For a long time he was sure that had to be some sort of myth or something but no, it was true and he was living it. It was his reality, and he was sure it hurt more than being alone. At least when you were alone you were numb. You could shut yourself away and ignore all reminders that you were alone- but this? He’d constantly be reminded of you, especially for the remainder of his High School years. He’d always feel you there, and when he didn’t he know he’d worry.
He never imagined he’d find you, but he especially never imagined you wouldn’t want him.
Life was cruel.
You thought so too. You were so ready to tell him- so prepared to start a friendship with him, one that would blossom into something beautiful down the road. You were ready to learn him, to be around him and grow to love him more than anything. However- now he probably wasn’t ready anymore. How couldn’t he be? You’d pushed him away- so much so you damn near let him die. You’d said that this was a mistake- you hurt him. Why would he want someone like that? Why should he let you in now? You didn’t deserve it and you knew that- but it still didn’t hurt any less. He had to understand though, he had to know you were just terrified. You had only thought of the negatives that could come from this, negatives that only affected you. You didn’t think of the good that could come from this, didn’t think for one second that someone as physically strong and capable as him, would need someone like you. It wasn’t about physical strength, it was about mental strength, emotion strength. Two things he struggled with and you didn’t even have to fully know him to be able to tell. His life was going to be hard. He was going to have to lose people- most of which he wouldn’t even know. He’d have to watch people die- watch them mourn for their loved ones and scream out to the sky as if they were damning it for letting them lose their world.
He would have to see and feel so much heartache. It didn’t matter how physically strong you were, those kinds of sights tore you down from the inside out. They were the kind of things that would haunt your dreams and waking thoughts. No matter who you were, you needed someone to keep you grounded properly- someone to help you bear the weight of your world. That was what soulmates were for. That was what he needed of you. He needed someone to come home to- someone to love him when he hated himself for things far beyond his control.
You were going to need him to- there were going to be days you’d be unable to handle. You were going to want to need him- and that was the best thing about soulmates. Yes, of course you could live without them. Yes, life would go on and yes, you were fine before them- but you didn’t want to be. You wanted to need them- wanted to want them. Everyone wanted someone to share their life with, someone who would love them like no other and make their days brighter just by their very presence. Soulmates were a beautiful thing- and you’d lost it. You lost that beautiful thing by letting your own fears take ahold of it. You’d let your negative thoughts twist and turn this beautiful thing until nothing was left of it.
“Leave me alone, [Y/n]. Please. I’ve stopped hurting you- can you do the same for me?”, he’d said.
He wanted to be left alone. He didn’t want any part of you anymore- not when you hurt him so. You sighed heavily, playing with the lid of your coffee with your fingertips. You’d needed coffee desperately, and this time you made sure not to burn your tongue. He’d stopped causing you such awful pain, now it was your turn to do the same. Regardless of what you wanted, you had to just leave him be. High School went by quick, wouldn’t it? In a few years time you could be done- you could flee the state and give him the distance he probably wanted. It would hurt, and you’d think of him every day, but you would live.
This was your own fault-
“Everybody, on the ground now!”
Your head snapped up, looking to the entrance of your favorite café. It was your favorite because it was little and locally run- because it was safe. They hadn’t had any run ins with petty robbers or even rowdy customers- so what the hell was this? Who seriously wanted to rob this place? It was run by a sweet old lady and her grandson who was in College! Sometimes they barely made ends meet, but they still kept their prices reasonable and-
“You! I said get on the ground now!”, the man had his attention on you, you were the only one still sitting in your seat. Everyone else was on the ground, hands up and faces scared. There weren’t many people in here, so he probably thought this would be easy. Especially since he was only pointing a knife at you. Really though? A knife? That was only good close up- so why was everyone so petrified? Hell- his hands were shaking! He was probably more scared than they were.
You swallowed hard, staring the masked man down, “Do you really want to rob this sweet elderly lady’s café? With a small knife?”
“Don’t make me tell you again!”
“Just put the knife away and go home. Leave this place alone.”, you puffed, not the slightest bit scared of the man. He was only holding a knife, what could he possibly do? Anyone could wrestle it away from him- so why wasn’t anyone doing it? It was a small blade! It looked cheap too.
You made a mistake though. He wasn’t only carrying a knife, and his hands weren’t shaking because he was scared. It was because he was angry and frustrated. You didn’t realize this until you felt something cold and hard against your forehead. It didn’t feel familiar- it shouldn’t for anyone, yet somehow your brain still managed to register what it was.
“Get on the ground, now. Otherwise I blow your fucking brains out.”, he hissed quietly, tone very serious and threatening.
Ah. There it went- that fear that you were supposed to feel when his voice first rang out. It shot straight down your spine and pooled up deep in the pit of your gut. Before you knew it your hands were shaking- your whole body felt like it was shaking as you stared at the masked man- eyes bouncing from his mask to the gun he pointed at your skull.
“Yeah, not so tough now huh? Now get down.”, he was smirking, you could tell with the way his eyes bore into yours.
You just did as he said, shakily clambering to the floor. There were so many times that you’d told yourself you wouldn’t be one of those compliant victims. That you’d fight and fight- but your body betrayed your thoughts. Survival was the only thing on your mind, and if you had to get on the floor to live, you would. There was no fight in you- not now, not with a gun pressed against your head by a person with their finger just mere centimeters from pulling on the trigger. All it would take was one squeeze and you’d be done for. One simple little action and you’d be dead. Maybe you deserved this- especially now that all you could think of was him. You’d been so scared of his alter-ego putting you in danger- of having to constantly fear for his life and be worried, and now here you were. You had the cold barrel of a gun pressed harshly against your skull- all because of your own mouth and misjudgment.
He wasn’t going to come save you, was he?
“On your stomach, completely, and don’t even think about getting up again- or maybe I should just make an example of you? Show everyone else that I’m not playing any fucking games-”
“Please don’t..”, you whispered, unable to stop yourself. You didn’t want to die-
“Don’t talk back! On your stomach!”, he was angry again, kicking your side harshly so you’d fall to your stomach with a hiss of pain. Fear continued to course through you as he let out a dark little chuckle. It was obvious this man wasn’t here for just money. He was crazy and he wanted to prove it. He was going to kill you, wasn’t he?
Was this what you deserved?
Part 9
Ugh Tags: @leilei-draws, @i-larb-spooderman, @sarcasticvodka, @jinxstarfire, @hollandroos, @cubedtriangle, @hufflebuffpitch, @reigna-a, @spideythewebsitter, @lionfart, @iamaliceinwonderland, @sneakered-salamanders, @cerealwaterandfishsticks , @johnsonxstilinski, @incoherent-smiles, @profmmcgonagall, @thatcrazywhovian09 , @the-redthread, @nicunt, @twentyjuanpancakes, @jaib2-blog, @sleepless-trainwreck, @darlingimawriter, @tmrhollandkay, @what-the-heck-life, @spiderman-2013, @professional-holland-hoe, @clean-and-claire, @parkeretmj, @lux-jeon, @krissynovelty, @4610supersam451, @hufflepuffhopes, @heypearce , @fizzylollipop12, @autijahnerd13s-blahg, @grasshoppper, @hufflepuffhopes, @idontlooklikereginageorge, @holystilinski, @ktitens, @eziggyra, @threalme13-posts, @jswwtn, @skyfall8600 , @fleursdeau, @fearless2tobeme, @lynnamin-bun, [Wanna be tagged? Shoot an ask or msg!]
Permanent Tags: @o-brienwrites, @spidergirlwanab, @thumper-darling, @mydearestsammy , @bagginsofbagend, @sammy-holland , @cosmetologynerd , @timelord-sorcerer, @i-love-superhero, @mendes-holland, @dangerousluv1, @malumplaylist, @faithful-music, @melli-chou, @thatspidernamedmeagan, @lukescool, @spidey-mantom , @jaib2-blog, @fandom-hq, @caitlyn-blackwell , @giggle-nova, @hungoverhellhound , [Hope I didn’t forget anyone :/]
#peter parker#peter parker x you#peter parker x reader#peter parker reader insert#peter parker imagine#peter parker fic#peter parker fanfic#peter x you#peter x reader#peter fic#peter reader insert#peter#parker#spider-man x reader#spider-man x you#spider-man reader insert#spider-man imagine#spider-man fic#spider-man fanfic#spider-man fanfiction#spider-man#Spider-Man:hc#Spider-Man: Homecoming#fic#my fics#ari writes#its the babe#ugh#soulmate au
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broken record
member: kang daniel
genre: angst
summary: you no longer wanted to be daniel’s nurse whenever he experienced heartbreak.
requested: nope, but i wrote this because of hime from @hime-hana. so yeah, i guess this is dedicated to the fake hoe that keeps telling me that she loves me but doesn’t.
warning: mentions of sexual/inappropriate comments, bullying
a/n: another angst scenario. sue me. also, this is my first paragraph written scenario... pls be kind. thanks @ everyong for helping me with my little block too!!
“you’re seriously not going to listen to me?” you didn’t mean to sound demanding, but daniel just disregarded your opinion after years of friendship. and for what? some girl with big tits he had a crush on since senior year of high school?
you saw with your own two eyes how she was flirting with minhyun the other day, and not long before that, jaehwan. you didn’t have any photographic proof but you thought telling him was enough to convince him otherwise.
“no, i’m not going to listen to you. you never liked her since the beginning. you’re probably being dramatic and misjudging her,” daniel dared to roll his eyes, “she likes me too.”
a sigh escaped your lips. it hurt your pride knowing that he was taking some other girl’s side, someone he was just infatuated with. you spent more than half your life with this guy just for him to tell you that what you thought just didn’t matter suddenly because some other hot girl came around.
“you know what? fuck you, daniel. go on that date with her and have fun. get married too with ten kids. just don’t talk to me anymore.”
“you’re fucking kidding me? you’re dropping me because i'm dating someone?” daniel scoffed, “aren’t you being a little dramatic?”
“no, i’m a friend telling you that she’s not worth your fucking time.”
“then who is worth ‘my fucking time’? you? what are you? jealous?”
rolling your eyes to the other side of the room, you kept your mouth shut and looked towards another direction. god, you felt your eyes watering up, but you did your best to suck them back in.
god, you swear he’s done this a thousand times: date the wrong person and comes running back to you all heartbroken. this time was just a little different because you finally have the chance to warn him this time. but... you weren’t going to be here to pick up his pieces anymore because you were just done...
“just... fuck you,” your voice came out a little softer than you wanted it to be, “i’m not jealous, but i don’t want to see you come to me hurt and lost again especially when i can warn you this time. if you like her so much, then go ahead. i’m not going to be the one picking up your phone calls anymore.”
“i’m not going to be calling!”
you rushed out of the room before your tears started streaming down your face. this was the worst the two of you have fought. daniel was never the stubborn type either. he’s usually the one that would come to your house and ask to talk things out, but it seems like you took that for granted.
even five months laters, he never showed up at your door. he never called your phone, like he said. you two hardly ever crossed paths anymore. truth be told and sad to say, you two almost forgot about each other by the third month.
it was horrible at first though. you really waited for him to tell you that you were right, that the other girl meant nothing. he chose her over you and you tried really hard to numb your feelings. you acted mad. you were outraged that kang daniel dropped a friendship like his and yours.
all was stable after a month. you had other friends that distracted you from whatever you were feeling in the beginning. disappointment? distraught? loneliness? yearning...
“hey, honey, i haven’t seen daniel around lately. is he doing alright?” your mom asked.
you froze in place, hearing your mom mentioning someone who haven’t spoken to in months. “uh... maybe? we kind of grew apart a few months back,” you confessed while trying to make an escape to your room.
“really? kang daniel? you guys stuck together like glue since... elementary school was it?” she said before you could run off.
“yeah, well, shit happens,” you mumbled to yourself before rushing off.
elementary school was when you met kang daniel, the chubby kid a lot of kids teased and didn’t bother trying to befriend him. he had those awkward looking glasses that were too small for his face and often was the kid that teachers struggle to find a partner when being put into pairs.
you got to know him when your teacher rearranged the seating chart and you two were seated next to each other. during snack time, you saw he brought egg jellies and it was your first time seeing them.
“wow! that’s so cool. i never tried them before. i have peach jellies. do you want to trade?”
daniel had a rattled expression on his face as if he was stunned you were even talking to him. he nodded rapidly and handed you a couple of his jellies. that’s what started it all: you hanging out with daniel, holding his hand during field trips, eating with together. he was the best, sweetest, cutest, kindest person in elementary school.
thinking back on that memory had you in discomfort. everything was so simple back then unlike now. now, you guys weren’t talking because ‘love’ was far greater than friendship.
it’s hard for you to believe it, but daniel’s relationship ended up lasting longer than you anticipated. there were times you’d see them across campus holding hands with pretty smiles on their faces, even sharing short kisses. you really should be happy for him. he got what he wanted. maybe even proved you wrong.
and maybe that alone hurt you.
he was happy without you, smiling without you, living his life without you. you felt like you had a small insignificant role in his life. meanwhile in yours, he was the main. the “one that got away”?
you were stubborn and selfish, and your ego was getting in your way of apologizing to him. maybe you were the one that needed to reevaluate yourself and test whether you were even worthy of having him as a friend (not that you guys were anymore), but you didn’t. you left things unsaid and unsolved.
so did you really deserve a call from him that one saturday night?
“hello?”
you picked up a lot faster than you should’ve, but you were watching a marathon of cat videos on your phone with the lights off in your room when you got his call.
“you listen here,” daniel’s words were slurred and hard to hear. it was clear he had too much to drink and feelings harbored.
“daniel, where are you?” you were genuinely worried.
from the past, you know how insane daniel gets when he drinks a little too much. you’re pretty much the whole reason why he hasn’t died from being drunk yet.
“i... you left me,” his voice was getting softer, “you hurt me.”
“daniel, please tell me where you are,” you begged.
“so, you can leave me again?” he raised his voice slightly to present his anger.
“no, daniel, so i can run back to you like i always do.”
his side of the line was silent for a bit. you were anxious and your heart was pounding out of worry. in your head, you begged and hoped he was more in his right mind to tell you his location.
“i’m in hongdae. the usual place...”
hanging up, you rushed over quickly. you ran out to the street waving your hand like you were mental for a taxi. you imagined the worse, daniel hurting someone else, daniel breaking everything, daniel hurting himself.
you pleaded the taxi driver to go faster and when you got there, you tossed the first big bill you had in your wallet and ran out to find him. it didn’t take much time. to your surprised, daniel wasn’t throwing a tantrum. daniel wasn’t yelling at anyway. daniel wasn’t hurting himself.
he was just sitting at his table alone, probably waiting for you. you let out the biggest sigh of relief and walked over to him. your cheeks were red from the running and panicking.
daniel’s usual warm eyes were empty when he gazed over at you. you didn’t know what to say to him. your mind was drawing a blank, but you knew you were happy to see him. he was there. well and alive.
“she was cheating on me,” he mumbled, only just enough for you to hear.
and like a broken record, you told him that everything was going to be okay and your arms wrapped around him, comforting him from yet another heartbreak.
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