#time to bury myself i feel so sick
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diavolo doodles, he is finishing his work really quick so he can spend more time with mc >_<
#obey me#obey me diavolo#fanart#xavi art#time to bury myself i feel so sick#and col#d#and rigging#sobs
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I've literally been going to at least one funeral of someone close to me every year since 2016 this is unsustainable! Do I make friends so quickly because I fear they'll leave so soon? I have like five hundred pounds of stuff from people that died and I can't get rid of it because I can't get new stuff with them. I'm so tired of being used to grief. When do I get to grieve for myself!
#i feel like im still waiting to bury the old body i had but the holes i dig keep getting filled with other people#can i not have a year without mourning#or at least a year where the only one i mourn is myself?#ive had to stop taking time off for it because id never get back#the funeral is saturday and im literally leaving a party before it and going back afterwards#im so tired!#its been a year since i finished therapy and it feels like forever and yesterday#who knew this was going to keep happening!#i cant go back because my therapist left when i did#im not even sure that its therapy i need and not just the ear of someone who isnt in grief#every year theres some horrific thing that only ever happens to other people but its my other people#and i leave and i cook and clean and get bloodstains out of the bag of clothing the hospital sends back#god i guess this is where all these weeks went. into here.#this sucks#the only thing i was able to make was a painting of the vulture that i brought in to the clinic#and im supposed to be doing an oil portrait for the funeral#i already gave them my easels and frames to display the pictures#tomorrow im spending all day making his favorite cookies before i leave for the party friday#im so sick of being the one to handle it#all of ny grieving is on a two month delay so everyone else has someone they can rely on#its not fair#im not supposed to lose this many people already
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Bucky x Reader : He holds you in a metal chokehold while fucking you from behind. (smut, choking)
He is sick with conflict, possessive emotions fester in him while he molds his front to your back, his cock nudges around your ass cheeks, to your sleek mound until he gasps as he guides his sticky cockhead glides through your delicate folds. He doesn’t say anything as he slips inside you, burying himself to the hilt. There is a certain satisfaction in pounding you from behind as the metal arm tightens around your nape, holding you close to him. Your walls are squelching around as you hear him murmur his voice as sweet and rich as honey. And his lusty grin when he says curses in Russian, it is sinful—and pleasurable, drawing a muffled scream from your throat as he starts to thrust more rapidly, setting a demanding rhythm.
Your sexual attraction to him has been heightened beyond measure, as much as you try to hide it, the lust is getting greater than any other feeling or emotion. Every part of him is heightened to you now...his voice included—you can’t help it as your body reacts to the stimulation, head spinning as you barely get a sip of oxygen despite your gasping.
It’s the closest thing to magic for him—teeth dragging against your neck, living marks, his consciousness vanishing and deforming itself into something primal, there is a delicious animal fire in his gaze which he is glad that you can’t see.
He flexes his human fingers and tries to fight the urge to stop rubbing your clit—but then his fingers slithers over your chest, warm digits immediately finding your breasts and he starts to massage them for his own pleasure. It is a possessive gesture, and he feels a little bit possessive—but he needs to keep his fingers on your clit, rubbing, pinching the sensitive bud between his fingers. So he does. He imagines the sinful sight each time he buries the length of his cock all the way inside you, shaft slick and wet and glistening when he pulls it out, only to slam himself back inside.
You grip his metal arm which is gutting your vocal chords, and all you manage is a small gasp. When he loosens his grip, the rush of blood and oxygen to the brain results in an explosion of dopamine, followed by a shamelessly loud moan from your lips.
“That’s it, doll—you like this?” His voice is warm and low. Intimate.
You catch sight of him from your peripheral vision, his eyes closed, his lips are silent, but he chatters with his fingertips, with the way his hand massages your clit, the way he fucks you. And you thought that he chose that position, because he is embarrassed from fulfilling your idea, but he is not—he wants to disguise from you how much he is enjoying himself. His expression is dreamy, floating. Soaked in pleasure—breathless, possessed, lost in the volcanic eruptions of fever, lust and delight. Your pussy cradles around his dick as he pounds into you from behind. It is an igniting feeling to have so much control over your body.
“I love you, but I want you all to myself”
His hand closes around your neck again, slowly cutting into your skin while cutting off oxygen. It is more painful than lethal, but more erotic than painful. His growls erupt from his chest, the primal noise flooding your senses, making your insides clench around his length. Your back arches as you feel an orgasm approaching, letting out a desperate moan, because you’re powerless…utterly at his mercy and that’s what makes you cum—his voice sends shudders through your body, reacting in all the right ways to the words.
“Bucky-”
The moment you say his name, he is lost. Can’t control himself. You are his. Nobody else's. With that thought on his brain he let himself go. Frantically, he slams into you and you meet every thrust head-on, human fingers gripping your hip so tightly that phantom bruises appear.
#metal arm kink fr#bucky smut#bucky x reader#bucky barnes smut#bucky x you#bucky x female reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes imagine
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Since your requests are open I'll help myself 😋 Gojo's wife starts to have morning sicknesses, so she suspects that she's pregnant. She takes a test and finds out that she actually is pregnant. Would u please write gojo's reaction when his wife tells his that he's gonna be a daddy? 🥺💕 thanks you, please feed us with your delicious writing!!!
Also if you're not feeling well then please ignore this. Take care! Mwah^•^♡
weight — gojo satoru x f!reader
a/n: I hope you like this, luv 🥺💕 thank you so much for your kind words and take care of yourself as well! many kisses and hugs 🫶
“shoko, I need a place to hide!” you say, bursting into the infirmary. you take the small moment of shock that shoko is in to take a much needed breath.
“what did you do this time?”
you wordlessly raise the pregnancy test with slightly shaky hands and upon seeing it, shoko drops the poor sandwich she was eating. you close the door behind you before sitting down next her.
she smiles, “nice, I am going to be an aunt,” then she looks at you confused, “why are you hiding though?”
“I need time to figure out how I will tell him or more like—“ you look at the ceiling, “face him. he will probably figure everything out with his six eyes, but I don’t know how he will react,” you wrap your arms around yourself and shoko sighs.
“you guys didn’t talk about it yet?” she stands up and goes to get you a warm drink.
you gently rock yourself, “satoru already…has so much on his shoulders,” you bury your face in your arms, “I don’t want to add to that.”
she places the mug in front of you, “you do know that he got into this relationship willingly, right? you didn’t hold him at gunpoint or anything…or did you?”
you lightly punch her shoulders, but you take the mug, muttering a small thanks, “if anyone was held at gunpoint then it would be me.”
shoko chuckles and pats your head, “you need to be able to face him, y/n. he will find out anyway, and personally, I think you should have faith in his reaction more than that,” you lock eyes, “you know him more than anyone else, after all.”
your gaze falls to your drink. its surface is so still until you softly blow and it ripples, calm the chaos.
what if you don’t know satoru as much as you thought? what if having a kid will scare him away? as the strongest, your husband has so much on his mind 24/7. will he be able to handle a baby as well?
while a part of you tells you that your husband is no coward nor is he so fragile, the other can’t help but think that perhaps this love story of 12 years will reach its end, a very tragic end even.
with the creation of a new life, ends a lifetime of feelings and events.
you snap out of your thoughts when you notice shoko shooing you into the closet room.
you hear the door open and you have a guess who it is. he makes himself known anyway, “shoko, have you seen y/n?”
shoko quirks an eyebrow and gojo huffs, “okay, fine, I know she is here, but is she mad at me? did I do something?”
you have a feeling that he is looking directly at your eyes even through the closet’s door as he speaks, “y/n, I will take you out anywhere. I don’t know what I did, but let me make it up to you. I hate when you’re upset with me, sweets.”
he is frowning lightly as he stares at the closet with hope. shoko sighs before walking out of the room, but not without patting his shoulder.
the door closes and satoru speaks up again, “can you please come out so we can at least talk about it?”
he hears your sigh and beams when you finally get out of the room, “there is my pretty girl.”
he has a flower bouquet in hand and he is looking at you so intently, but you don’t think he noticed the life growing inside of you now. he is far too focused on making you forgive him for whatever he did. you take a deep breath and look him in the eyes.
your hand moves and finally rests on your stomach.
his brows furrow lightly before his eyes widen. satoru’s breath hitches just like it did during your wedding. he places the bouquet aside before looking quickly between your eyes and stomach, “you are…”
you grip your own hands, nodding. tears start forming in your eyes till they finally fall and cries are what he sees now. your knees give out on you and you fall to the ground, now sobbing.
you are looking at the ground as you cry and hug yourself tighter, bracing yourself for whatever is coming.
satoru, almost instantly, finds himself on his knees in front of you.
his arms, like it’s second nature, pull you close into a warm and secure hug, “hey, hey,” he pats your back, a little clumsily, “if you don’t want it then it’s fine. you know I care about you the most,” his voice shakes a bit, “don’t cry please, you’re breaking my heart—“
“I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry,” you repeat a mantra of the same phrase as you pull him even closer. satoru cups your face and the moment you’re met with the pair of blue eyes you love so much, you break down more, “I know you—probably don’t want it but—“
he tilts his head, utterly confused and maybe even offended, “what are you talking about? of course, I want it!”
the room is silent for a moment as you process what he says. it’s like a massive weight has been lifted off your shoulders. you let out a shaky breath as you look down at your hands.
satoru rests his forehead on your own. his voice is soft and barely above a whisper as he speaks, “it’s our baby.”
the content smile on his face is almost unreal, “why in the world would you think that I wouldn’t want it anyway?” and somehow the pout on his face assures you even more.
your arms wrap themselves around his torso and you rest your head on his shoulder, “it’s just—I thought it would be burdening you with yet another responsibility. you have the world on top of your shoulders. how am I better than anyone if I weigh down even if it’s a different type of weight.”
“is it a weight for you?” he asks, voice hushed.
“of course not! I want—“ you answer immediately.
“there is your answer,” he chuckles and you look at his face once again.
you notice that he is tearing up. your satoru is tearing up, and the blindfold isn’t there to hide it nor are the glasses.
his eyes never leave yours as he says, with no waver on his voice, “I would pick you over everything else, every single time and in every single universe, silly girl.”
“you should know that already,” he flicks your forehead but the smile never leaves his face.
a soft laugh tumbles out of his lips as he pulls you in for a big bear hug, his form completely engulfing your own.
he fills tears stain his shirt, but he can only focus on your smile he feels on his skin and the fact that he voice out loud, “I will be a dad,” he sighs with contentment.
“and it’s all because of you,” he raises your face and nuzzles your noses together making you giggle, “we're going to be parents, you sweet pretty thing.”
satoru’s lips find themselves on your own in one very sweet and loving kiss. it’s soft, light, and gentle. yet it conveys all the words that he can’t get out at the moment.
when you pull away slightly, he quickly pulls you back for another, “I love you so much.”
he places a hand on your stomach, “and you too.”
“but don’t think I will share mama with you,” he sticks his tongue out at it, “she is mine!”
the baby is not even out of the womb, and yet he is already bickering with it.
you laugh and your chest feel so light. you kiss his cheek and his pout turns into a grin almost immediately. you hum, “infinity and beyond?”
his hand holds your own and he caresses your ring, “infinity and beyond.”
taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @jisbizarre @kunikida-simp @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02
copyright © tender-rosiey
do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported
#gojo satoru x reader#gojo imagine#jjk x reader#gojou satoru x reader#jjk imagines#gojo x reader#gojou satoru x you#jjk gojo x you#jjk gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo x you#gojo fluff#jjk fanfic#jjk x you#jjk gojo x y/n#jjk x y/n#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru imagine
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no nut november - nov 01
didn't even make it past the first day. they didn't even try.
(let's pretend i didn't get sick and that this was posted on november 1st 🥲)
bokuto & bully!osamu
word count: 255 & 295
cw: fem!reader, unprotected sex, pussy slapping, name calling, bullying, minors dni
bokuto
there was no way bokuto would go a whole month without busting his load, let alone inside you.
he failed as soon as the clock struck midnight
the two of you got drunk at a halloween party and barely made it to an empty bedroom before ripping off each other's costumes.
"bo, you're ripping my dress," your whines quickly turned into gasps of pleasure when bokuto's warm mouth latched on your breast.
“can’t help myself, birdie,” he says when you’re finally bare in front of him. “been wanting this all night.”
the second bokuto feels the warmth of your cunt around his cock, he forgets all about the stupid bet he spoke about with his friends just a few hours ago.
"so you have to go the whole month without busting a nut," one of his friends said over a beer. "no jerking off and you absolutely can't fuck your girl."
bokuto remembered the idea sounded fun, a test of his endurance even but the look on akaashi's face told him he was full of it
"there's no way you'd last a day, let alone a month," he said to which bokuto immediately took offense.
"i could totally last a month!" he huffed but the second he saw you in your angel costume, his only mission in life was to bury his cock so deep inside you he can't think.
once the post-nut clarity hits, bo realizes he has to let his friends know he lost and he immediately gets roasted in the group chat.
bully!osamu
lol there's no way osamu could hold out that long
suna brought it up a few days ago with a knowing glance in osamu’s direction
osamu doesn’t like to lose bets and almost thought about going through with it but why should he be deprived of life’s pleasures?
then again he could make you suffer too, bring you to the end and never deliver
osamu tried it, the thought of teasing you was too much fun for him
but when he finally had you under him, fingers against your clit, that you're whining starts
"there ya go bitchin' again," he says, slapping your cunt to reprimand you as if he isn't rock hard in his sweats at this very moment.
"samu!" you cry, staring up at him with those stupid doe eyes, welling up with tears because he's just being so mean to you
there's only one thing that stops you when you're like this, and osamu's more than happy to give it to you
"ya want dick that badly? is that it?" he says pulling his cock out, sliding it against your cunt
your cries stop when he finally sinks himself into you, both of you gasping
and samu isn't one to hold back, not with you at least, fucking you hard and deep until your cumming around him in no time (all those thoughts of edging you leave his head)
for a brief moment, osamu actually thinks about not cumming in you (or on you) and taking part in the stupid bet but then he feels your legs wrap around his waist he quickly decides it's not worth it, flooding your cunt with his seed
it isn't until halfway through the month osamu finally tells everyone he lost on the first day 🥴
©sugawarassoulmate 2023 all rights reserved - please do not repost/translate my work on other platforms!
#haikyuu smut#haikyu smut#osamu smut#bokuto smut#bokuto x reader#osamu x reader#miya osamu smut#bokuto koutarou smut#no nut november 🍑#bully!osamu#🥀#🥀bokuto#🥀osamu
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Voicemails After the Breakup (Haikyuu!! Headcanons)
*GIFs not mine*
A/N: I pity the fools who ignore this a/n bc WARNING, these are hcs without those stupid bullet points bc I have suddenly emotionally decided that they fucking suck. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoy the light angst, for all those survivors who are still vibing in this fandom. Enjoy!
Word count: 1968
Tooru Oikawa:
“I’m totally and completely over you.”
That’s how the message starts.
Part of you wonders if you missed something, or accidentally skipped ahead. It’s so immediate, like Oikawa could barely wait for the beep before tearing into you. Like he needed to spit poison the second he had the chance.
And it’s one of those biting remarks that he wants to let fester—for a while, evidently; he doesn’t say anything else for another five minutes.
All that follows is a loud thud, like he’s thrown the phone away from him. And then footsteps, like he’s pacing, pacing, pacing back and forth, trying to think of more scathing words by burning holes into his carpet.
You hit a point where you think you should delete the message, maybe try and not care about whatever else he may or may not say after waiting for so long. You nibble on your nails and tug at the snarls in your hair. You pick four pieces of lint off your sweatshirt and seventeen more off the blanket draped over your lap, and you know how many there are because you line them up and count them afterwards as you wait, anxious, listening to your ex-boyfriend’s panting.
But a small rustle stirs at that five-minute mark, right against your ear. And a sniffle.
“Fine.” Oikawa’s voice cracks. “You win.”
You suck in a breath.
“What do you wanna hear? That I miss you?” He sniffles again, then scoffs bitterly. “That I miss you so fucking much I can’t sleep at night? That my bed is so fucking cold now I can’t even stomach sleeping in it? That every girl I see I automatically compare to you because I have to—I just fucking have to, all because she’s not you. And it makes me sick.”
His chuckle is sour and crackles harshly into your eardrum. “Am I stroking your ego enough, sweetheart? Because you win. You fucking win.
“I want you back.”
He sighs, and it sounds like he’s rubbing his forehead.
“I need you back.”
More beats pass in the silence. More sniffles, too, but stretched out, like he’s trying to steady his breathing.
You don’t think it’s helping him any. As you wipe the cuffs of your sweatshirt underneath your eyes, his voice returns, thoroughly raw and wounded. It squeaks out of him, barely above a whisper. His voice is so loud and tender, like he’s cradling the phone against his cheek.
Your hand against his warm cheek, curled over that pink skin, fingertips inches away from brushing through those soft strands, wiping tears. That’s what you wish it was.
“I didn’t know…”
A shaky breath. You hold yours in return.
“I didn’t know anything could hurt this bad.”
He swallows thickly.
“Those last few moments after you left—I thought that would be the worst of it. When you just walked out. And I keep seeing you do it, over and over and over, in my head like I can’t help but torture myself with it.
“I never knew it would get so much fucking worse.”
He whimpers a little, and your heart constricts unbearably. You tear at the damn thing buried underneath your sweatshirt, massaging the skin like it can soothe that phantom ache.
Oikawa must hate you. Maybe he hates you like you hate him: not because of the breakup, but because you can go for weeks without seeing him, holding him, kissing him, and everything still hurts like that last time.
“Thing is, I could’ve sworn you weren’t always in my life. It’s been two years. Only two years. And yet I can’t remember a damn thing before us. It feels like it was always us. Some fog, and then you, and then everything afterwards. Everything that was us.”
“And I hate that we had it so good, YN. I really do. Because missing you has been the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
The frustration in his voice is familiar, a sickening sense of deja vu around it, and you latch a hand over your mouth at how vividly the image comes to you: Oikawa tearing his fingers through his hair, teeth gritted, cheeks flushed and shiny. Like when he lost a game, but different somehow.
Like this was something he didn’t even know he could lose.
He’s crumbling in a way he doesn’t know how to stop. That ugly part about having something wonderful and new—the moment it’s gone, what the hell are you supposed to do then?
“I just—Goddamnit, I can’t stand how badly it hurts anymore. I can’t,” he cries, desperate and aching, like his hand is fisting at his heart. You can hear the breath hitching in his throat, the hiccuping breaths after his sobs. You can hear every tear, feel it against your own cheeks, a soreness building at the front of your skull.
Too many tears. Your body is screaming at you, too many fucking tears.
But it’s him and he was yours and you were his.
Were.
You were his.
You had no idea how much that single thought could make your entire chest throb.
Oikawa inhales, and it makes your heart race against the thick wall caging it in, squeezing against it.
“I need to see you.”
He says the thought like it’s just slapped him across the face.
“I need to go see you, I—I have to.”
He mumbles to himself unsteadily, like he’s rocking back and forth. Debating, really, what he’s supposed to do, if he should do it at all, if it’s right after everything.
You should probably think he’s wrong.
You probably shouldn’t be curled over your phone, eyes wide, mouth open, not making a fucking peep. Waiting to hear what he’s going to do.
Maybe—just maybe—you shouldn’t be telling yourself that as the voicemail counts down to its final seconds, if he decides he’s not going to go to you, that you’ll definitely be going to him.
“I can’t just sit here. I can’t stay in here, without you. This isn’t right, I—”
Your breath hitches when you hear the frantic jingle of keys.
Then the sound of a door slamming.
His footsteps racing down his apartment’s stairwell.
A car engine revving.
“I need to see you.”
And the voicemail ends.
_________________________
Satori Tendou:
The message begins with a scoff of utter disbelief.
“Is that what we’re doing now?”
He pauses, almost like he thinks you’re going to respond.
“Heard from someone that I suddenly have syphilis. Yesterday, I had herpes though, so I guess I’m gonna have a tough week.”
A rustle like he’d shaking his head, like he can’t fucking believe it.
“And sure, okay, I figured that’s fine. You can say all that shit, and it won’t really stick because everyone knows it was us and that it’s you and you’re hurt.”
He sighs.
“But I saw it, sweetheart. I saw it.” The phone whines like he’s adjusting it against his face, and his voice is suddenly lower, darker.
“You don’t get to have it both ways, you know. You can’t spread all that shit—all those rumors about how shitty everything was and how we didn’t have anything going for us—and then turn around two days later wearing my sweatshirt. And you don’t get to wear that necklace I gave you for our anniversary and then run away from me the second you see me. That’s just not fair—you’re not playing fair anymore.”
Something swishes around like loose clothing, and a large huff greets your ear from what must be Tendou collapsing into a seat. When his little sounds become quieter, that relentless humming and the excitable clicks of his tongue against his teeth, you figure he must have put the phone on speaker and balanced it on his knee like he always did. Mid-conversation with Ushiwaka, he always used to spin his phone with those long fingers, or bounce the damn thing up and down against his frantic leg.
And the voicemail came through late last night, one of those dead hours where the only ones awake were Tendou, his scrambling thoughts, and the moths flitting back and forth outside his glowing window. He was always awake, always thinking, always doing something.
When you’d first broken up, after one long, wrenching fight where you’d both lost your voices and the frustration welled so high you just couldn’t breathe anymore, you’d been thankful for the idea of sleeping soundly for the first time in months.
You’d been wrong. You weren’t even sleeping anymore; just long, slow blinks where your phone screen would magically turn from 3:45 a.m. to 7:25 a.m., and in five minutes you’d have to get up and slug your way through another day.
Tendou had been the same. Those naturally wide eyes sagged under the pressure, and the curve of his spine had deepened like he’d been hauling the lack of sleep everywhere he went.
He must be sitting at his window now, at this moment in his message, pale skin aglow with wispy tendrils of moon. And he’s calling you. And he saw everything you’d done.
“Not fair. Not fair at all,” he whines, teasing. Always, always teasing, and if you hadn’t heard the slight cripple in his voice on the last word, you’d have gone on thinking he viewed it as one big joke.
You’re sure he heard the same thing you had—that he couldn’t keep acting like it was all fun and games. His usual, cat-like smile surely fell into a pert little frown, pale lips twisting like he’d sucked on a lemon.
No fun, no fun, no fun, he must have been thinking.
“Ya see, I thought we had a little deal,” Tendou drawls. “You’d talk smack and start dressing all pretty just to spite me, and then–and then I’d go ahead and delete all your pictures and put your name as ‘Bitch’ in my phone. And in, like, two weeks, we’d just be two ships, whoosh, whoosh, passing each other on the high seas of life, ya know?”
He breathes a ghost of a laugh.
“But, sweetheart, you look like shit.” He chuckles for real this time, and it’s disgustingly hollow. “I’m not even kidding. Like someone ran you over three times every morning—it’s horrible, really.”
You curl into yourself even further, and you’re smiling, grinning, lips peeling with how much you’ve cried and how little water you’ve drank after. You hate him; God, you hate how he can make you laugh and cry at the same time.
“But that’s okay, I’ll give you a pass just this once. I haven’t deleted your pictures yet, so I botched my end of the deal, too.” Tendou tsks his tongue.
“I won’t go easy on you, though. Here–here, how’s about this: for every day you stop wearing my clothes—because they look horrible on you, sweetheart; really, you’re painful to watch—I’ll delete one of your pictures, eh? That means, in about–uhhdivideby365daysinayearignoringleapyearbullshit–ah, seven years, I’ll have held up my end. S’that good with you?”
You lean your head back, letting the tears flood your hair as he chuckles to himself.
“Fuck it,” he says after a pause. Hopeless. Breathless. “Fuck it.” He must be gnawing on that pale lower lip, biting and nibbling until it bleeds. Because he lets something go to sigh again, and he must have smacked his head against the wall, and then you think he sniffled.
“I still want you. I’ve always wanted you. And I’m tired of missing you and wanting you. Doing both hurts too much.”
Tendou soughs.
“So I’m still your Chicken Tendy, baby. Always. And I’ll be here when you're ready, syphilis and all.”
#haikyuu x reader#oikawa x reader#tendou x reader#tendou satori x reader#oikawa tooru x reader#haikyuu!! x reader#haikyu x reader#satori x reader#oikawa tooru#tendou satori#satori tendou#tooru oikawa#haikyuu x reader angst#haikyuu headcanons
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I feel like Poly!marauders are sooo caring so maybe a dynamic where the reader is like an overly-insependent person and is not used to this kind of care and affection. Maybe it is reader’s first relationship so they have a hard time with the concept of leaning to others for support. Thank you in advance love!
Lmao this came wayyy too easily because I've definitely done all of these things! Thanks for requesting lovely <3
modern au
poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words
"Where you headed off to, gorgeous?" Sirius looks up from his laptop as you step into your shoes.
"Grocery store," you say. "I'm thinking of making souffle tonight, would you want some?"
"Yeah, that sounds great." He grins at you in that way of his, and you know he knows your knees just went wobbly. "Want a lift?"
"Thanks, but the bus goes almost directly there."
Remus looks up from his book with eyebrows already furrowed in disapproval. "It's nearly dark out, love. You shouldn't be walking around by yourself this late."
You roll your eyes. Men. "I can handle myself, been doing it for years," you say as reassuringly as you can, slipping out the door before either of them can argue with you further. "I'll be back soon!"
You keep a hand close to the rape alarm attached to your bag as you maneuver your way through the shadowy streets. You've been tired since you woke up that morning, so a ride would have been nice, sure, but you don't want to become one of those girlfriends who relies on her boyfriends for everything. That was your biggest concern with getting into a relationship: losing the sense of self-reliance you've cultivated over your life. You don't need help from anyone, even if the big, strong men think you do. You huff a laugh to yourself.
The grocery shopping goes quick, soon you're back at your own front door. Sirius and Remus are almost exactly as you left them, both curled up on the couch, but now James is home from the gym. You know this, because he apprehends you as soon as you walk through the door, hair wet from the shower and dripping on your paper grocery bags as he attempts to take them from you.
"I've got them," you laugh, dodging him.
James gives chase. "You're carrying three! Let me take a couple."
"I can handle it." You kick at his ankle playfully, sniffling.
He pauses, and you take the opportunity to whisk the bags into the kitchen, setting them on the counter victoriously. "You feeling alright, sweetheart?" he asks.
"Yeah." You wave him off. "It's just chilly outside. Go relax, I'm about to start dinner."
James pouts but goes, flopping dramatically over the side of the couch. His head lands in Sirius' lap, and the other boy starts combing his fingers through the tangles of James' wet hair absentmindedly. Satisfied, you start setting out the ingredients you'll need, but a moment later Remus materializes beside you.
"You've been running around all day," he says. "Let me make dinner. You go relax."
"I don't mind," you say, slightly affronted. "I can handle dinner."
"Baby," Sirius pipes up, turning to look at you over the couch, "just let him do it. Take a—" he stops as you sneeze. "Are you sick?"
"No," you sniffle. "I don't think so."
Before you can move away, Remus has a hand on your forehead. "You're warm!" he says, in the same tone as one might say You're killing people and burying them in our backyard! A bit dramatic, in your opinion.
"Oh," you say, covering your face with your elbow as you sneeze again.
"Aw, angel," James says, your sole ally as Remus and Sirius look at you accusingly, as though they suspect you've been keeping this from them on purpose. Which....to be fair, isn't outside the realm of possibility. "Come sit with us, let us take care of you."
"Go," Remus says, moving his hand to the back of your neck and pursing his lips at whatever he feels there. "I'll make dinner, and some tea for you, yeah?"
You shake your head. "That's alright, I can—"
"Don't say you can handle it."
You huff, but it's clear you're not going to win this one. You go to the couch, where James accepts you with eager arms.
"Our poor girl," he coos, kissing every inch of your cheek sloppily. "Fuck, you are warm. You just need to take some time to rest, yeah?"
You sniffle grouchily, but Sirius pokes at your side, eliciting an unwilling snicker. "You could stand to let us help you out every now and then," he says, already seeming less upset with you. You suspect you have your illness to thank for that.
"I can take care of myself," you argue, but the fight is going out of you as you finally give into the cold you maybe sort of knew was coming on all day.
"We know you can, dove," Remus chimes in from the kitchen. "And that's what you've always done, but letting us take care of you sometimes isn't going to suddenly make you helpless, either." He shoots you a knowing look, too perceptive for his own good. And yours, apparently.
You sneeze again, jerking away from James so you don't spray on him. You feel disgusting, and pathetically vulnerable. Is this what they want you to succumb to? "I don't want to get too used to this," you say, voice small as you sniffle, wiping your nose on your sleeve, "and forget how to manage without your help."
Each of your boyfriends, even Remus, softens like butter in the sun.
"Baby." Sirius wraps an arm around you, looking at you with eyes so soft you feel like you could cry. "You won't forget. You're tough, and that's not gonna change just because you let us do some things for you, yeah?"
You look at your lap, contemplating. He's not not making sense. The idea of accepting help is so unfamiliar to you, it feels like a betrayal of your core values. But you love Sirius, and Remus, and James, and if what they want is to help you, maybe you can try to let them. Some of the time, at least.
Sirius curls a finger under your jaw, his thumb resting on your chin as he tilts your face up to his. He must see the concession in your eyes, because he smiles softly. It's almost an apology, and you know that he's aware of how difficult this is for you to give up.
"You're gonna have to get used to this, sweet thing," he says lightly, pressing a kiss to your overwarm forehead. "Because we're not letting you go."
#poly!marauders#poly!marauders x reader#poly!marauders x y/n#poly!marauders x you#poly!marauders fluff#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders scenario#marauders#the marauders#marauders era#marauders fanfiction#marauders fanfic#marauders fic#marauders drabble#marauders fandom#james potter#james potter x reader#sirius black#sirius black x reader#remus lupin#remus lupin x reader
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SOFT.
disclaimer: smut smut smut smut smut smut thats all im gonna say^_^ m!receiving, f!receiving, soft!dom matt x sub!reader lowkey
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
my favourite part of the day was always at noon when matt got back home after filming his daily content with his brothers, my prepared dinner on the dining table for us as he practically swings the door open and pulls me into a tired hug and kisses me everywhere. most of the time we mainly chilled in bed either scrolling on our phones or watching movies, but tonight felt so different.
usually when i was alone in the house, i would crave for matt's presence and it always made me feel turned on, but ever since i had been dating him i could never get off by myself which always made me feel a desire for his touch. it seemed so insane on how desperate i was for him, practically begging for him to come home just so i could keep sane.
"hi baby." matt whispers in my ear, making me jump as i didnt hear him come inside. i immediately wrap my arms around his neck before he held me in his arms like a baby. "miss me?"
i bury my face into his neck before responding with a small nod, making him laugh as he kisses the top of my head before walking over to the table, attempting to place me down onto the chair but failed.
"come on, you need to eat." he sighs, stroking the back of my head while he sits down in his chair, now placing me onto his lap as he looked up at me.
i shake my head in response, leaning my head against his shoulder. "i don't want the food, i want you."
"not yet, eat dinner first and then we can." he says, pressing a small kiss onto the tip of my nose. "i promise."
"okay." i sigh, slowly getting off him as i sat down in my own chair next to him, listening to him as he spoke about his eventual day whilst i try to quickly shove all this food down my mouth.
"slow down! you're going to be sick baby." matt laughs, holding onto my hand as he places my fork down onto the plate, his other hand slowly drifting to my thigh. "i know you're excited, but take your time."
"please matt..." i groan, leaning my head back as i let out a frustrated sigh. "i can't wait any longer!"
"yes you can, just take your time and we can go to the bedroom as soon as you are finished." he says, his cold rings pressed against my skin before i nod. "good girl." he whispers, planting a soft kiss onto my cheek as i resume back to eating, crossing my legs under the table to avoid the tingling sensation in between my thighs.
"alright baby, come on." matt giggles before holding his arms out as i practically pounced onto him. he began to walk to the bedroom while i was mid way kissing him all over his neck, sucking gently as he released a heavy groan from his mouth.
he practically threw me onto the bed when he swung open the door, quickly stripping himself as i done the same, laying my head on the pillow as he lowered himself between me, his cold hands held my thighs as he pushed my legs open. i felt myself whine while his index finger dragged agonisingly slow against my folds, almost making me scream.
"matt, please!" i begged, my back arching off the bed as i held a fistful of the bedsheets. "oh my- fuck! i can't handle it..."
"patience." he whispered, a huge smirk plastered on his face before he swiped his tongue against my clit, the sudden motion making me moan loudly and jolt upwards.
he began to laugh at me, slowly bringing his mouth down fully as he flicked his tongue slowly, beginning to pick up the pace as he looked up to me, my facial expressions contorting while my eyes rolled to the back of my head. i let go of the sheets, instead grabbing onto matt's fluffy hair, pulling him to get closer as he could before crying out at the pleasure. i felt my whole body radiate with sexual frustration, almost needing more.
"matt!" i groan, trying to speak but no words or sentences would form. "i- need more! please!"
"like this?" he questions, shoving his index and middle finger into me without warning making me struggle to breathe. "so needy, but such a good girl. hm?"
i nod in response, feeling my stomach tighten as everything throbbed, i didn't know how much longer i could hold off. my orgasm began to build up, his mouth sucking harshly on my clit, his fingers moving at rapid speeds inside of me, and the view of him grinding against the edge of the bed was enough for me. both of my hands flew to his head, pushing him closer before i finally finished, soaking his face and fingers as i felt him smile against my skin. i released my grip as i flopped backwards exhaustedly into the pillows, matt rising as his hands caressed my lower back.
"you alright, sweetheart?" he asks innocently, a devilish smirk displaying on his face as he peers down to look at me. instead, i only turn around to face him, impulsively jumping onto him as i held him back, placing myself between his knees while i press small kisses onto his cock, making him squirm as he bites his cheek.
his head dropped as i lowered my mouth onto his cock, hearing him let out a soft moan before looking down to me, putting his hand against my cheek as he winces at the sensation. his droopy eyes became desperate, wanting way more than he could ever desire. the further down i went, the more it began to hit the back of my throat repeatedly almost making me gag. a couple tears rolled down my cheek as i squeezed on his thigh trying not to choke as i fastened my pace. his moans became more needy as he thrusted upwards, somehow reaching deeper down my throat, until i felt his warm liquid shoot inside my mouth, almost overflowing. once he managed to stop, i slowly took it out from my mouth before swallowing his semen and beginning to cough.
"you done so good." he pants, now laying with his back against the bed as i grab his boxers and assist him with putting them back on. "god im so tired!" he groans, lifting his hips up to help me as he sits up again.
"i know baby, let me put my clothes on and we can chill for the rest of the night." i say, his eyes lighting up before he nodded, now getting underneath the covers as he watched me intently.
MASTERLIST
a/n: screaming crying throwing up. writing this made me literally giggle and blush like crazy i hope u enjoy this:3 STAWWP I NEED TO WRITE MORE SMUT BC THIS SHIT IS SO FUN TO WRITE usually when i used to read some fics i cringed so bad but theres some really good ones on here now so like🤗 yeeees also back at work for a whole 7 days no break so i might not post for awhile unless i get last minute ideas or post some drafts LOVE U ALL
#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo#matt x reader#chris x reader#nick x reader#matt smut#chris smut#smut#sturniolo x reader
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Hiii !!
I really love your writings and i was wondering if i could request something :3? Zayne is sick and he's hiding it because he doesn't want to anyone to know and since he's a doctor, he thinks he can treat himself. But of course mc sees whats happening and they're taking care of zayne! Take your time if you accept this one :33 but its okay if you dont !
𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐊-𝐔𝐏!
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: you taking care of a sick zayne !
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: fluff, zayne’s embarrassed about being sick, reader feels like they did something wrong, you end up taking care of zayne
𝐀/𝐍: this was such a cute request omg
lately, you’ve noticed that zayne has becoming a little distant. it makes you wonder, did i do something wrong?
i mean, who can blame you? whenever he doesn’t go to work he stays cooped up in his bedroom. for when he does, he’s instantly rushing to get out of your sight. it’s almost like he’s hiding something from you, but you don’t know what.
today, you’re determined to figure out what’s going on. you’re not letting him sneak away so easily this time.
you sit down on the couch awaiting his arrival. as soon as he comes home, you’re sure he’s just going to mutter a quick hi and dash to the bedroom.
over the past few days you’ve been a bit stressed about what’s going on. so, you tried a few searches but nothing seems to give you an answer.
why is my boyfriend ignoring me?
how to tell if your boyfriend is mad at you
reasons your boyfriend may be ignoring you
groaning as you shut your phone off, you hear the sound of his keys inserting into the lock and twisting. you shoot up from the couch, prepared to start interrogating the man.
when he enters the house, his immediately starts taking off his glasses, hanging his coat on the rack. he doesn’t even seem to notice the intense stare you’re giving him.
when he turns around, he jumps slightly. he wasn’t expecting you to be so close to him. now he sees you are, he grows a bit panicked. and you can tell he is.
“what’s going on with you?” you question, eyebrows furrowing with your crossed arms waiting for a response.
he chuckles, shaking his head. “there is nothing wrong, y/n. now, i really need to get to the room. there’s things i have to do.”
there it is. he’s trying to escape from you, again. you know damn well he doesn’t have to do anything, he’s just trying to get away from you!
“no you don’t! tell me now, why have you been avoiding me? is there something wrong? did i do something to upset you?” you’re throwing millions of questions at him at a time, and he only has the mental capacity to answer one.
“no, you didn’t do anything wrong. i just really need to go.” he replies, trying to head off before you grab his arm.
“please, if i did something just tell me. i’ve been worried sick about what’s going on, and you won’t let me know.”
he sighs, seeing your clear upset expression. he doesn’t want you feeling this way, but, he also wants to avoid any embarrassment from what he’s about to admit.
“fine. i’m…sick.” he admits, closing his eyes nervously so he can avoid seeing whatever type of reaction you have.
you can only gasp. there’s no way he was trying to hide the fact he was sick, you can only think, why?
“seriously? why didn’t you tell me? is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”
“i didn’t want to take the risk of getting you ill. the reason why i’ve been going to work less is because i’m actually going to appointments. i’m a doctor myself, so i was a bit humiliated to tell you about what i was feeling.” he admits, swallowing the lump in his throat.
“and for the reason you refuse to come out of your room?” you ask, demanding an answer.
“to be honest, i thought i’d be able to take care of myself.”
you instantly throw your arms around his neck, burying your face into his chest as you look up at him. “don’t ever do that again. okay? i’ll take care of you. no matter what happens.” you state, dragging him to your bedroom.
“that won’t be necessary. believe me, i don’t want you to waste any time trying to tend to someone who was too careless on avoiding getting sick.”
“and believe me, i won’t be leaving you alone like this anytime soon.” you retort, laying him down on the bed.
you bring out your phone, searching up, how do i take care of my sick boyfriend?
seeing the results, you immediately snatch the pillows from under his head and start fluffing them. he watches you with amusement, not understanding what you’re trying to accomplish, but he appreciates it.
“do you feel hot or cold?” you ask, needing this information to take on your next steps of helping him feel comfortable.
“cold.” hearing his answer, you immediately rush downstairs, preparing him some water and heating up something warm to place below his feet in order to warm him up.
after what seems to be around fifteen minutes, he hears your feet rushing upstairs to the room. he chuckles, wondering what type of mischief you caused while being downstairs.
when you open the door, he sees you cooked him his favorite meal along with numerous warm items to help him stay toasty.
“y/n, you didn’t have to do all of this.” he softly mutters, watching you prepare everything to help him recover.
“yes i did! it says this may help you recover fast!” he can only smile at your determination, feeling incredibly lucky on how he was able to fall in love with you before anyone else.
after a few minutes, he’s sighing in content.
“everything feels great. unfortunately, there’s only one thing i don’t have that would certainly help me get better way faster.” you perk up, wondering what crucial thing zayne needs in order to make him feel better.
“what is it?”
“you next to me.” hearing his answer, you giggle, sliding into the bed right next to him, laying your head on his chest as he sticks an arm around you.
“you do realize you have a high chance of catching what i have, right?”
“yeah, but it’ll be worth it. as long as you’re here with me.”
#love and deep space#love and deepspace#love and deepspace x reader#love and deepspace x you#zayne love and deepspace#zayne x you#zayne x reader#zayne#zayne fluff#zayne x y/n#dr zayne#lads#lnds#꒰ঌ zayne works
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desperately need him to tell me to be silent
fool me twice
pairing: joel miller x f!smuggler!reader
word count: 2.7k
warnings: eighteen+ content, piv, mean!joel (more frustrated than anything), dirty talk, public sex-ish, small mentions of hair pulling and biting, thigh riding, orgasm denial, established enemy’s with benefits.
note: yeahh you didn’t ask for this but i couldn’t help myself because i’m addicted to this man and i need him in every way possible!! special thanks to my darling @psychedelic-ink for beta reading this ilysm bby.
part of this world but you don't have to read it to enjoy this!
You could play dumb, tell yourself lies, and wonder how you ended up with your back to a dirty building's brick, out past curfew, playing a game of innocence with a man who can read bullshit from a mile away.
A fact everyone knew.
Or comes to learn if you decide to test that scowl and glint of cruelty in his eyes that many mistake for miserableness.
Facts you’ve come to learn from your own foolishness—and the countless times your boss has sent you to deal with a fuckup he made. Because who’s going to mess up such a pretty face. His words, when you had told him to do it himself. But his cowardice won out, and you had to grit your teeth and refrain from familiarizing your fist with his jaw.
Smuggling, stealing, and scavenging were preferable to cleaning up shit or burning corpses until the stench of burnt hair and skin embedded in your own flesh lingered far beyond any crevices murky bucket water could clean.
And besides the few assholes you had to deal with, the job wasn’t bad.
Joel could be put on that asshole list. He was definitely on Robert’s. But to be fair, if you too had gotten a handful of blackened eyes and bruised ribs from Joel, you’d send a lackey to do your job to cover your ass for having screwed the man over once again.
Unlike the other assholes he sent you to deal with, dealing with Joel was more of a pleasure than an inconvenience.
Even if he could read through your bullshit. Maybe that’s why you liked him so much. Why these meetings went so easy, you could lie through your teeth and he could decipher the truth through your smirk and tone so easily that you barely had to try to be believable because you knew he already knew the truth.
But that didn’t mean you still didn’t try to come up with your best lie. to prod at that scowl until it thinned out, his jaw clenched, sick of your shit before the game even started.
Playing dumb had no room between the two of you because there was a lack of it. Not when his chest is pressed to yours, pushing you further into the wall, making your lungs gasp for the air he’s forcing out of you.
“You gonna keep me here all night, or are you gonna make this easy for both of us?” His tone stern, rigid, threatening.
And you’d be scared if you couldn’t feel the hardness of his cock pressing into your inner thigh. If the two of you weren’t used to this. This little game—the play before the third act—that has curses and nails digging into each other's skin.
You once attempted to retrace the events that led to this situation that the two of you frequently found yourselves in—touches and grazes that only occurred during these meetups. Your eyes avoided each other in crowds and on the street when you weren’t in this alley. When you weren’t making a show of threats and being pissed off.
The anger was always real for Joel, though. Always truly pissed off at Robert’s need to be a slime ball. The anger never faltered, even when he was buried deep inside of you. You paid the price, that would usually be a punch, a bruise, with a hard fuck and not being able to sit down the next day without wincing.
And in the sickest, filthiest way, you loved it. But that is what this world creates—ways to survive and sustain. To cover up the ugly with something that stings and burns with safety and life. A reminder that what you’re doing isn’t as bad as what's beyond the walls. You can still feel bad, hurt, and fuck because you're alive and not growing fungus.
“It wasn’t–”
The tight grab of your jaw, his fingers digging into your heated skin, make your words die on your tongue. “No matter how many times you repeat it, don’t mean I’m gonna believe it. What did Robert do with the battery? Bullshit me and you’ll regret it.”
“That a promise?” Your smirk lasts all of a few seconds before you’re wincing from the marks he’s leaving against the skin of your jaw. A silent threat. A look of rage in his eyes; a fire you know you won't be able to extinguish no matter how many jokes and lies you tell tonight. “He sold it to someone else.”
“Who?”
“Ahh, I don’t know.” Your nails dig into his wrist as you try to pry it from your aching jaw. His brows raise a warning that this is your last chance. “I swear.”
There’s a low growl in the back of his throat as he releases you, but he makes no move to remove his closeness. His chest still stealing your air. There’s a slight look of anguish laced in his curses and lowered brows. It makes you feel bad, and it's annoying.
Robert was a piece of shit, but it wasn’t your fault he fucked up this deal. So why should you feel bad? Take on those feelings when it wasn’t your deal to begin with. It’s not as if you and Joel were anything but warm bodies to take things out on. He didn’t need your pity, and you didn’t have the energy to give it to him.
What you did have the energy for, though, was making the inside of your thigh unbearably hot. That heat trailing up your body and embedding itself in the ache between your legs that housed your desire for Joel.
It’s why you don’t think twice about rocking your hips forward at the right angle so the seam of your jeans rubs against the top of his thigh, giving you the friction your throbbing pussy needs—your own thigh rubbing along his hard cock.
The shudder your body gives from the motion, the repetition of it, makes your insides melt even more when Joel’s glare burns a hole through you. He makes no move to stop you. Just watches you, eyes flashing between your lips and the way your hips move against him.
“Joel,” you whine. The noise is more of a demand than a plea for him to touch you. To get to the best part of your night before FEDRA catches you coming on his thigh and the two of you get locked up.
“What? You don’t need me to get you off; if you want it, take it.” His palms splay outward and bracket around your head as he puts them on the dirty brick, encasing you completely now. Shielding you from the darkness around you, all you can smell is him—musky, burnt coal, wood—in the same breath as all you can feel is his weight on you.
“Joel.” Your hips stutter to a stop. You refuse to beg him; you didn’t beg. Neither before nor after the world went to shit. You were not going to start now, even if the outcome would be in your favor.
Was this your punishment for the fuckup? “Are you really punishing me right now?” You want to laugh, want to berate him, and feed him more bullshit so he can’t see the disappointment that’s slowly seeping into your chest.
He doesn’t answer, just pushes his leg up and moves it along the crotch of your jeans. "Go ahead,” his mouth comes closer to yours. "Take what you want, isn't that what you do anyway? You take and take,” his movements match his words. "And there's no consequence," he says, as your nails dig into his shirt and your hips move involuntarily after each drag and pull. “Not for you, why would there be? You’re just the messenger.” His teeth bite at the skin of your chin, causing you to whimper.
You let out a soft cry when his fingers dig into your hair, pulling the strands so your neck is on display for him. So he can bite and lick the sensitive skin with roughness, “So take what you want. Do your job.”
The closer you get to coming, the harder he pushes up against you. The more your legs shake from the stance and strain, the more your knuckles and fingers burn from gripping the fabric of his shirt. His mouth is everywhere but on yours, where you dumbly wish it was. Where you refuse to beg him to go.
But you don’t need them to get there. To tumble over that precipice and see stars behind your lids. All you need is more, just a little bit more, and you’ll be com–
Your body feels cold and stilted in time when he pulls away. Leaving your hips to follow nothing but air, your whimpers and moans turned into puffs of agitation. Whines swallowed down your dried throat.
Joel doesn't give you a chance to reprimand or lament the orgasm you were about to have. To gather yourself enough to jab him with a brash comment covering up your need. His hand on your forearm squeezes and maneuvers you so your back is to him instead of the wall. His weight encases you once more, your cheek pressing into the cold brick. The tip of his boot kicks at your feet to spread your legs; your body moves on instinct and desire as your back bows and you push your ass out to him.
The drag of your jeans and underwear feels chafed and tight just below your ass, where Joel lets them rest. Where he’s too impatient to push them further down, giving himself enough room for him to push inside of you.
His fingers brush against your ass as he pulls himself from his jeans, wrapping a hand around his cock to bring it to where you’re soaked and pounding for him. Where all your heat is concentrated from how badly you want this.
Your nail beds scrape against the caked-on dirt of the building as the tip of his cock crests your entrance. A moan rips through the back of your throat, loud and raw, as your walls stretch and burn to accommodate his girth.
Your chest heaves harder as Joel's hand moves to cover your mouth, eyes screwed shut as he bottoms out. Nudging at the part of you that has you squirming against him, your thighs scraping against the building.
And when he delivers the first thrust, hard and slow, those delirious black stars line your vision. Pleasure shooting through your spine in a way that has desperate and pathetic noises falling from your lips and to the rough skin of the palm encasing them.
"Since you’re so good at keepin’ things quiet for Robert.” He grunts against your ear, venom poisoning the words so they sound harsh and heavy-handed. “Let’s see how quiet you can be for me," his hips snap against your ass. Jostling your body against the brick and back onto his cock as he fucks you hard and unrelentingly.
Your mewls against his palm are louder than they should be. Your teeth sink into your lip in an attempt to muffle more of your noises. Your insides are already burning with pleasure from the gasps he's eliciting with each rough drag of his cock. That you crave. That only Joel feeds to you without remorse or mercy because it’s what you both need.
He’s tired of getting screwed over by the world, and you’re tired of putting on your tough act, of not being able to be weak because you’ll be preyed upon by the monsters this world has created.
Joel’s breath is hot and heavy against your ear; the two of you screwed if anyone were to look down here. If a lone soldier were to shine his light and find his prisoners for the night, but neither of you seem to care. You never do, not when you’re both feeding off each other like your own sick versions of the clickers outside the wall. Taking and tearing each other down until you’re spent, panting, and covered in the others mess.
He makes you delirious. Weak. Heady. All things you’re not allowed to be, to feel, in this place.
You’d happily let Robert fuck over Joel a million times if it meant you’d end up with his cock in you, his mouth on your skin, filthy words and threats etched in bites and licks, all completely consuming you. Turning you into a moaning mess barely able to stand, his arm wrapping around your midsection to keep you in place. To keep your ass pressed to his pelvis so he can continue his hard strokes.
Building up your climax again. Bringing you back to that precipice ten times more earth-shattering than before.
There will be marks on your cheek in the light of the day tomorrow. Stings from the reminder of being stretched. Marks on your skin that will be missed by the blind eye but will make a jolt of electricity burn through you when your fingers absentmindedly move across them.
“D’you enjoy it?” He asks, “Paying what’s owed to me with your body?” You can taste copper against your tongue from the bites your lower lip is taking. Your head nods in the confirmation you can’t give with the moans trapped behind your bloodied lip.
Joel hums and groans into the skin just below your ear. His forehead pressed into your temple. His words tighten that coil inside you the more he speaks, the more your wetness coats the inside of your thighs from the way he drags his hardness out, only to push it back in even harder. “Christ you’re so filthy. My filthy fuckin’ girl.”
His girl.
Only in these moments.
Only with heat against you—from within you.
And when this is over, you’ll go back to being the girl who works for the guy he can’t stand. The thief. The smuggler.
He’ll go back to the remnants of his life, and you to yours, until you meet in this trash-filled alleyway again. He’ll grunt dirty words and sing praises into your skin as your body takes all he’s willing to give.
If you think about it deeply enough, it might make your chest hurt. Might make something out of nothing. But you refuse to do that because, fuck, you love being his girl, if only for a little while. As pitiful as it sounds.
You want to tell him to say it again. To tell you you’re his girl. To bite it into your skin as he fucks you harder and faster. All that can be heard are cut-off mewls and whimpers from you, though. Words failing while pleasure coats them like honey.
He knows though, can probably tell by the pulsating grips of your walls tightening around his cock. “There ya go, take what you want. Take it from me, baby. You can have it. Come on,” it’s a gruff command on the verge of a groan. That white-hot heat at the backs of your eyelids, ready to engulf your body in that debilitating ecstasy.
His name is on the tip of your tongue as you feel it growing closer and closer, until it’s gone.
Until Joel pulls his cock out of your clenching heat and shoots rope after rope of his hot come on your ass cheek. His deep groan muffled by the nape of your neck. Curses and declarations uttered without meaning in the headiness of pleasure.
Your stomach sinks when you hear the clanging of his belt buckle, the fumbling of his fingers righting himself, and the warmth of his body gone from your back. There have been many nights where he’s finished before you, when there was a time crunch and you needed to be quick. His mouth or fingers always returning the favor, bringing you there with ease and memory of how to touch you.
When you turn around and look at him, there's a half-smirk on his face, any glints of kindness dying in the fire of the anger he still clearly feels at Robert's hands.
“Really?”
“Who’d Robert sell the battery to?”
You scowl at him, “Joel-”
“Find out.” He steps back into your space. Gives you the quickest peck to your lips before he’s pulling away. “And then I’ll repay ya.”
You swat his hands away when they try to fix your jeans, a death glare making him snort, as you right yourself and storm from the alleyway.
You were going to kill Robert.
Or at the very least beat some information out of him.
#joel miller x reader#joel miller imagine#joel miller one shot#joel miller smut#tlou fanfiction#joel miller x you#tlou smut#the last of us fic#pedro pascal fics#joel miller x y/n#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal one shot#joel miller fic#joel miller x f!reader#thots !
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I Only Touched Her Hips (But She Saw It)
☆───── ⋆⋅🐾⋅⋆ ─────☆
dogman!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, owner/pet relationship, mounting, knotting, dirty talk, creampie, nipple play, oral (f and m receiving)
Not proofread ✌️
Part 1: Stay Right Through
Title from Tell Her Tonight by Franz Ferdinand (also throwing in The Dark of The Matinèe cause I listened to it as well 💜)
☆───── ⋆⋅🐾⋅⋆ ─────☆
It’s Monday and you’ve called out of work, the lie slipping off your tongue easily.
Leon had woken you up early, face buried in your soaked cunt as he licked you through two orgasms— all before 4am. After, he flipped you over on your stomach and mounted you with a growl. The other coworker on the line completely oblivious to the fact you called in sick with your ass in the air and Leon knotting your pussy so good your cock drunk before 8am.
All morning, you’ve been stuck on his knot, shivering and milking his dick as he keeps playing with your pudgy clit.
“Mmm little owner you’re still so tight even after this whole weekend of being stretched on my cock,” he laughs as he bites another mark into your neck.
You whine, brain feeling so fuzzy as he keeps you pinned down and mounted on every surface available.
By the end of the day, Leon seems to have run out of steam. You take advantage of the break and order in takeout while you go grab a quick shower. Your cunt is puffy and sore, but you kinda like it. It feels so dirty and good that you’re actually kinda hoping after dinner that Leon will be up for another round.
You pat your cheeks, scolding yourself for being so thirsty when this can’t keep up; you literally cannot keep calling out of work so your hybrid can knot you all day. Shivering at that thought, you firmly shake your head and finish your shower. You need to make sure Leon knows he can’t just do whatever he wants, heat or no heat.
Once you’re dried off and dressed, you hear the doorbell chime. By the time you make it into the living room, Leon already has the food set out on a table in the kitchen.
“Thank you,” you smile at him, feeling soft affection bloom in your chest.
“Of course,” he walks over to you and butts his head against your arm making you giggle and ruffle his ears.
You both sit at the table, Leon digging in immediately as you pick at your food.
“Leon, we need some ground rules in regards to… intimate relations,” you cringe at yourself.
His dark blue eyes stare at you, a grin coming over his face, “You mean I shouldn’t knot your pussy so much?”
You feel a rush of heat travel through your body, making your nipples ache.
“Yes,” you deadpan, “you—we need to tone it down. I can’t miss work like this all the time.”
He nods, looking contrite, “Yes ma’am. I’m sorry about this morning. I just… you smelled so good and I just wanted a little taste. I got carried away.”
Another buzz of arousal sweeps through you, “I know, Leon. And on the weekends,” you rub your face bashfully, “I don’t mind it so much since we don’t have anywhere to be, but during the week please refrain.”
“Yeah?” you can see his tail wag excitedly, “promise I’ll be good, keep my hands to myself.”
You smile at him making him mirror you, “You’re such a good boy, Leon.”
He whines, tail thumping against his chair, hands clenching on the tabletop.
“Can I scent you?” he asks, a blush kissing his cheekbones.
“Of course, Leon. You don’t have to ask for that, okay?”
He’s nodding as he moves over to your side, “Yes, ma’am.”
You giggle as he snuffs into your neck, his rough stubble and hot breath causing goosebumps. He buries his face there and smells your skin.
“Lick?” his voice rumbles out at you.
“Mmm that’s okay too,” you murmur, feeling his rough tongue lap at the skin.
“So pretty and taste so good,” he mumbles, lapping roughly against one of the marks he left, “my owner.”
You sigh and pet his soft ears as he licks at your neck. Once you’re finished eating, you shoo Leon off to the bathroom to take his own shower while you change your bedsheets. Hot embarrassment floods your body to see the state of your bed, but the lizard part of your brain feels nothing but arousal.
Leon pads into the room, still shower damp and shakes his head gruffly flinging water drops everywhere.
“Leon!” you try to chastise but end up laughing.
He quickly moves over to you, wrapping you in his arms, whining as he chuffs against your hair.
“Don’t want you to go to bed.”
“Why?” you giggle as he noses your neck.
“It means you’ll be going to work tomorrow,” he pouts, ears drooping when he pulls away.
“Come snuggle with me,” you offer, grabbing his calloused palm and tugging him towards the bed.
“Really?” his tail wags slowly.
“You’re always welcome to snuggle with me, Leon,” you tug him close, “what kind of owner would I be?”
He snorts and shuffles you onto the bed so he can bury his face into your chest.
He nuzzles against your breasts, “Would’ve been a mean owner.”
“Yeah?” you laugh, feeling sleepy and warm with his body on top of yours, “just a mean ole owner.”
“Yeah,” he sniffs your chest pushing aside the tank top til your breasts are spilling out, hardening under his gaze and hot rough tongue, “such a mean owner.”
“Leon,” you gasp, writhing under him but not able to move.
You mewl and whine as he slowly laps at your hard buds, teasing them with his canine teeth before sucking them into his mouth. Bringing your hands up, they hesitate to push him away, but then he suckles your nipple gently and your fingers grip onto his ears as you arch up into his mouth.
He groans and continues to lathe and suck at your breasts, growling when you tug his ears.
“Sorry,” you gasp out, pulling your hands away like you were scalded.
His hands grab yours and out then back on his ears, “Like it.”
The words are mumbled into your chest as he eagerly goes back to nipping and sucking your tits. You moan when he squeezes your breasts together to suck and lick both nipples at the same time. Tugging at his ears, you press his mouth against your hard buds.
“Leon, oh good boy, such a good boy for me,” you babble as he starts to rock his hard cock against your panty clad pussy.
“Can I knot you? Please?” he gives you his best puppy dog eyes.
You’re nodding before he even finishes talking, “Yeah, yeah, want it, be a good boy and knot your owner’s pussy.”
Leon snarls and rips your panties at the seams, quickly burying his throbbing cock into your soaked pussy. Your back bows off the bed, a low needy moan slipping past your lips.
“So good,” you choke out as Leon starts up a relentless pace, rabbiting his dick into your cunt so hard it’s making your pussy gush slick.
“Gonna cum,” you scratch at his shoulders, “fuck never been this fast before.”
“Little owner’s just feeling too good,” Leon licks and sucks at the bruise on your shoulder from last night, “pussy wanting my knot, nnh, sucking me in.”
“Knot me, Leon,” you gasp as your orgasm teeters on the edge, “breed my pussy, wanna feel your knot.”
He growls and bites down on your neck, forcing his knot into your clenching hole.
“Stuff you full,” he grunts, “pussy taking my knot so easy now.”
His humps harder into your fluttering walls, leaning down to bite your nipples roughly. The band of arousal strung tight in your belly snaps.
Your nails scratch into his skin, spine arching up as you push your head into the mattress. Pussy walls suck and milk at his throbbing cock, knot snuggly keeping you plugged for the load he spurts straight into your cunt.
“Milk me, milk my cock, little owner, get every drop, need to give you my pups,” he’s growling and snarling against your breasts, shoving himself deeper into your spasming walls as he fills you with rope after rope of hot cum.
He settles down on top of you, keeping you locked together and stuffed full. Not meaning to, you fall asleep like that, softly petting his ears.
//
The next morning is a blur. Leon pouted and whined so much as you got ready, you finally caved in and decided to take him with you— only now you’re seriously rethinking the choice to bring Leon to work with you.
Your coworkers awed and oohed at him as he stood behind you, not letting anyone pet him. Waving them off with laughs, you led him to your enclosed office, shutting the door so the noise doesn’t bother him.
At first it was going well, he seemed to be content just sitting in a chair and watching you. Lunch went great; ordering from the canteen and splitting it with Leon who gave you a sloppy kiss on the cheek in thanks making you giggle.
It’s midafternoon now and only a couple of hours left in the workday, but Leon’s restless. You’re still typing away on your computer, but you can see him pace out of the corner of your eye. He walks over to you and kneels next to your knees. Your heart rate jumps in nervous excitement, but he only nuzzles your outer thigh.
“Pets, please?”
You melt, smiling sweetly down at him, “Of course. You’re doing so well, such a good boy for me today, Leon.”
After ruffling his hair and ears with both hands, you turn back to your computer and keep one hand running through his hair while you use the other to type. The work’s a little slower, but you don’t mind. You feel him shift and move around a lot more, pulling your attention back to him.
“You okay?”
He snuffs against your leg, turning those pretty blue eyes up to you, “Can I sit between your legs? Wanna be closer to you.”
You push out from your desk, giving him space to shuffle on his knees til he’s in between your legs, tucked under the desk. His rumbly growl sounds pleased as his tail wags back and forth. You hesitate, but part your legs rucking up your skirt so Leon can settle against you better.
He lays his head down on one of your thighs, shutting his eyes as you start to rub his ears. After a few minutes, your body relaxes and petting Leon falls into the background as you get back to work. You’re so engrossed in finishing up these last few emails, that it doesn’t click that a rough wet tongue is licking at your thighs until it grazes your damp panties.
You gasp, pulling out of your work daze and looking down at Leon, whose head is burrowed under your skirt as he licks your cunt through your panties.
“Leon,” you hiss down at him trying to shove his head away but he ignores you and licks your clit over and over with unerring accuracy even through your underwear.
Your hips rock against his mouth, the pleasure bubbling through your veins making the fight leave your body.
“You’re so bad, Leon,” you whisper, pulling your skirt up higher to see his flushed face and blown pupils between your thighs.
He whines but doesn’t stop sniffing and licking your panties. You part your legs as far as they can go in the chair with a sigh.
“Mmm Leon, this is wrong,” your hands tangle in his hair, not really stopping him from pulling the gusset of your panties to the side so he can lick your bare pussy.
“Then stop me, little owner,” his mouth pulls away for a moment so he can tug your underwear completely off, “I’ll stop if you really want me to.”
You whine and tug his handsome face back into your needy cunt, making him growl and lap at your clit roughly. With your panties off, you tug your skirt up until it’s bunched around your hips. Leon pushes your chair out a little from your desk so he can place your thighs over his shoulders, letting his tongue fuck deeper into your drippy hole.
“Your mouth is a sin,” you whine down at him, riding his face a little harder.
Leon grunts and buries his face deeper into your soaked folds, rough tongue fluttering into your hole as his nose and stubble scrapes against your pussy lips. He shakes his head so his nose bumps and rubs against your swollen bundle of nerves.
“Gonna cum, Leon,” you gasp, tossing your head back as you hump his mouth.
He growls, the vibrations sending you over the edge, slick coating his mouth as your orgasm shakes through your body. You yank his hair to pull him close, grinding your pussy all over his face.
“Good boy, so good,” you slur, finally letting go of him.
When you finally look down at him, Leon’s panting heavily.
“Want to—“
He shakes his head, ears flopping.
“I came,” he whispers, a blush spreading down to his neck, “when you yanked my head into you.”
You push out of your chair to kneel in front of him, pulling his spent cock from his pants.
“Let me clean you up,” you murmur, mouth eagerly licking up his cummy mess.
“Owner,” he whines, hands balled up into fists at his side, “m sensitive.”
You sigh and lap up all the sticky jizz coating his cock, tongue trailing down to lap across his knot and then softly suck his balls into your mouth. He growls softly when you finally pull away, swallowing down his salty cum.
He yanks your head up to lick eagerly into your mouth with a groan.
“Can’t wait to go home,” he mumbles against your lips, “are we leaving soon?”
You pull away to look up at the clock, “We can leave in a few minutes, Leon.”
Rubbing his ears softly, he nuzzles into your neck with a sigh.
“You’re the best owner.”
#lipglossanon#dogman!leon s kennedy smut#dogman!leon s kennedy x fem!reader smut#dogman!leon s kennedy x fem!reader#dogman!leon s kennedy#leon s kennedy x fem!reader#fem!reader#leon kennedy x reader smut#leon s kennedy smut#lipglossmasterlist
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I can't stop myself because this tiefling has taken over my damn life. Here we go again!
Romantic Rolan Headcanons
Gods, he is so unbelievably nervous when it comes to the romance aspect of dating, but he hides it behind of facade of confidence. He's master of the tower now, he has everything that his partner could possibly want; why doesn't it ever feel like enough?
In the beginning, he overcompensates in fear of messing up everything about the relationship. Lavish gifts, expensive dates, the whole nine yards with his newfound wealth he gained from the tower. It's a bit uncanny.
In all honestly, he figures his partner wants "The Master of Ramazith's Tower", not him. Rolan is a flawed creature who has piles of constant mistakes weighing on him; an utter, helpless fool. Why would anyone want that? No one has ever wanted him before, why now?
When Rolan realizes his partner seems confused and maybe put off by the facade, he thinks the worst things possible. Do they not desire him? Did he already mess things up so early into the relationship? Can he salvage this? Did they fall out of love?
In the beginning, he's not great at communication. It's horrid, even. He doesn't know how to verbalize how he's feeling. His partner would have to teach him as they sit down and talk about this facade he's put up. It will take a while, but they eventually will get his walls down.
I think his love language is complex, but in simpler terms, Quality Time is where I think he leans towards the most. Sitting with them as they read books, reading to them as they settle in bed, going on night walks if nightmares are haunting him, or something as simple as cuddling after a long day. One his absolute favorites is bathing together; the domestic intimacy of it all makes him feel loved and relaxed, especially if his lover washes his hair for him.
He's not the biggest fan of public display of affection, he gets bashful so easily. He'll outright refuse it if his partner tries. He prefers all of it to stay in the private setting. That doesn't stop his tail from winding itself around his lovers leg, though!
While it will take him some time, what ends up being one of his favorite things is eye contact. At first, he couldn't meet them in the eyes at all during vulnerable moments. It was too much. But the first time he finally holds their look properly, he's memorized. There is so much love in their stare, it makes his heart want to burst out of his chest with joy, and he's never been that flustered again.
He'll shout to the ends of Faerun that he's not cuddly but he is a liar. Every night, without fail, he'll at least a hand somewhere on his partner. By the time morning comes, their limbs are tangled with his and he has his face buried in their neck or chest.
Despite Cal being the main chef in the tower, Rolan does know how to cook! Any meal his partner wants, he will make, no question. He would love cooking even more if his partner joined and helped him out. He even has a mental list of all his partners comfort foods, so he can make them whenever they're sick or having a rough day. They wouldn't even have to ask for it, it's sitting in the kitchen already done.
He doesn't like being too vulnerable, so he's mortified when his partner has to shake him out of a nightmare for the first time. He's shaking, sweating, and apologizing. He's scared they'll see him as some weak, fragile thing. But all they do is stay up with him until his racing heart calms down and talk to him. It can be discussed in the morning.
He plans the most wonderful dates! Everything is scheduled in a timely matter every time, and he presents a gift at the beginning of the date every time. Sometimes small, sometimes extravagant if it's a special night. He gets gifts based purely on what he knows about his partner; favorite books, food, drinks, flowers, an outfit they were eyeing a few days ago, he'll get it no matter the cost.
I don't see Rolan as a man who uses a lot of pet names, but I can see him using terms along the lines of "my love" or "dearest". If his partner uses pet names with him though, he wouldn't mind it, just as long as it was in a private setting.
He has the absolute sweetest, longing stare. It can be quite obvious how much he's pining after his partner if you know what to look for. His tail gives so much away, with the way it flicks happily if they come over to kiss him. These stares hold on much longer after he gets himself comfortable with eye contact.
(NSFW Headcanons will be coming next! If you all have your own romantic headcanons for Rolan, please share! I would love to hear them!)
#forest-writes#rolan#bg3 rolan#holy rolan empire#rolan bg3#rolan x tav#rolan x reader#rolan brainrot#rolanites
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Across a Crowded Room
Pairing: Jungkook x reader
Strangers-to-lovers, idolverse, smut
Word count: 10.7k
Summary: Dissatisfied and uncomfortable at a party where you don’t belong, in a country where you feel like you don’t belong, you see a man looking at you from across the room. Maybe he’s what you’ve been missing.
Content: alcohol consumption, fingering, oral (f. receiving), protected sex, multiple orgasms, I guess slight exhibitionism since it all happens up against a window lmao
A/N: Ok, so I 1000000% thought I had re-posted this here already?? but Lia has informed me that I have not and since I got a nice message about it on the old blog, I figured now's as good a time as any to repost!! The start of this fic is literally the first writing I had done for over a decade. I started writing even before I had a writing blog. Then the rest of it was written... last November? ish? idk. anyway, I read this myself the other day and it's alright!
ETA: LOL, you can tell it's old because it's written in present tense LMAO
* * *
You tug self-consciously at the hem of your dress; it’s a little too short for your liking, but Hanjae likes you in K-style clothes and, once you’re there, it’ll be fine. It’s always a little nerve-wracking the thought of going to a party where you hardly know anyone, but it always turns out fine. Fun, even. Positive thinking. You sigh and inhale deeply before leaving your apartment and heading down to the car he’s sent for you.
When you first met, you were both taken with each other. He was intrigued by your foreignness and enchanted by your clumsy negotiations in a foreign culture; you were reassured by his confidence and excited by the access he had to hitherto hidden worlds of luxury and indulgence. He wasn’t rolling with Elon Musk or anything (and you’d have had nothing to do with him if he were), but he lived with an ease and security that you yearned for. Which, you suppose, is why you’re still letting him parade you around at parties like this.
It was fun at first. You liked the attention – who wouldn’t? Instead of feeling freakish and out of place, you felt interesting and cherished for your differences. You felt like they were laughing with you when you told funny, embarrassing stories of when you’d got it wrong, or how you do things back home. It felt like people were fascinated by you and you were warmed by their curiosity. You didn’t mind when they reached out to touch your tattoos or asked personal questions, because they didn’t mean any harm. Hanjae gave you a social life that you hadn’t quite managed to create for yourself in this new place and got you out of your apartment, out of your comfort zone, and you clung to that.
Recently, though, you’ve been feeling different. When you show up to parties with him and see his friends you’ve met before, they’re surprised you’re still around. They joke to your face that they would’ve expected Hanjae to have moved on by now. They ask what his parents think (but you have never been introduced to them). They’re not so charmed by you anymore. These friends barely spare you a second thought once they’ve registered their surprise and the attentions of new friends aren’t as welcome as they once were. You started feeling uncomfortable with the way Hanjae paraded you around a couple of weeks ago and now, you’re frankly sick to your stomach. When people reach out to touch you, you flinch away; you don’t tell funny, embarrassing stories because you feel like you’re being laughed at; you stay quiet, for the most part, because your Korean is still not very good and, when they correct you or laugh at your mistakes, you don’t feel like they’re doing it kindly. Standing, mute, next to Hanjae while he laughs and drinks makes you feel like an object, a trophy, an oddity. If Hanjae were a Victorian-era Englishman travelling to the ends of the Earth to ransack a foreign place and bring home stolen goods, you were the buried necklace of an Aztec noblewoman he would give to the eligible girl in the manor house whose hand he is trying to win. He is showing you off because other people are impressed, but you no longer get the feeling that he is.
You hand over your phone and lip balm to Hanjae when you meet him outside the venue; this became a habit early on, so you wouldn’t have to hold a bag and he was happy to keep them in his pockets. Now, it feels a little bit like handing over your freedom.
“Cheer up!” he says as you lean back in your seat. “This’ll be fun, won’t it?” He smiles at you and tucks your hair behind your ear. He’s not a bad guy. He really isn’t. You’re not entirely sure if he even realises what he’s doing with you, if he knows that he doesn’t really like you but the idea of you, if he knows that there’s no future with you, if he’s realised that this relationship is rapidly approaching its expiry date. He’s been extremely good to you and you owe it to him to try. However much you want it to end, you don’t want it to end badly and you don’t want to hurt him; there’s no need for that.
You walk into the party amongst a sea of black suits. You scan the crowd, looking for other women you can compare your outfit to. A terrible thing to do, you know, but your insecurity needs reassurance that you’re dressed appropriately for this event. Hanjae is already leading you over to his friends, two of whom have brought their girlfriends, who are dressed in outfits similar to yours, so that’s something at least. You greet them brightly and Hanjae hands you a drink before launching into a conversation you can’t quite follow. That’s the other thing about these parties; they’re so loud, even if everyone were speaking English, you’re not sure you’d be able to hear them properly, so you hardly stand a chance in Korean. You’ve improved dramatically and can get by in your day-to-day life, but you don’t feel like you’re good enough yet to have a proper conversation, to really talk to anyone. It’s quite a lonely feeling and another reason you’ve spent so much time with Hanjae: he speaks fluent English; although he uses it less and less often these days and he gets more impatient when you need things repeating. You suppose it must be difficult for him, too, having to use a second language so much.
You gaze around the room, looking at nothing in particular. You sip your drink and wonder what everyone else is thinking about. You barely notice the looks you get anymore – most of them are meaningless anyway and people pass their eyes over you before turning back to their friends – but out of the corner of your eye, you see someone looking at you. You don’t recognise him, but you’ve never been very good with faces and the lighting is weird here. You raise your glass and nod slightly; even if you don’t know him, it’s nice to be polite. He looks a little flustered that you’ve noticed and quickly looks away, and then back again and raises his glass a little before turning and walking away. You smile, what a cutie.
*
Your glass is empty and your feet hurt from standing still for so long, so you tell Hanjae you’re going to get another drink. He asks you to get him a whiskey, so you traipse to the bar and order. You hand the drink to Hanjae without a word and wander off; there must be somewhere to sit in this place.
The main room is cavernous and you’re worried there will be no open doors to anywhere else. There is a small group of tables in one corner, but they are all already occupied. You look around as you walk, and suddenly bump into someone.
“Oh, so-“, you start to say, but you realise it isn’t someone; it is a mirror. The whole back wall is mirrored. For a moment, you are completely disoriented and slightly embarrassed, but as you edge along the mirror, you realise that the wall doesn’t reach the other side and the room continues beyond it. As you cross behind the mirror, the din of music and voices is subdued significantly. There’s another partial wall from the other side as though the room is zig-zagging. You’re wary of going too far, but the increasing quiet is soothing. You turn another corner and there’s a bench opposite a large staircase. You immediately sit down along its length and lift your feet. You wonder what the time is and how much more of it you’ll have to kill before you can go home. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, reminding yourself that Hanjae is a good man and you are very fortunate and suffering from very glamorous problems. A few months ago, you’d have given an arm and a leg to be at a party like this. Be careful what you wish for, you think to yourself.
As you fidget on the bench, you realise you are not alone. There is a man coming down the stairs. You take your feet off the bench and try to look like you’re doing something (what? What could you be doing? There is absolutely nothing to occupy you here!); you settle for just looking awkward. You nod your head and raise a hand as he reaches the bottom.
“Are you ok?” he asks. His hesitance reminds you of someone and you realise with a flash that he is the man who was looking at you earlier.
You clear your throat.
“네. 괜찮아요. 감사합니다,” you answer falteringly, embarrassed at having been caught hiding out. You rise to leave.
“오, 정말요? ……………?”
You don’t understand the second half of what he said and you curse yourself for having answered in Korean; if you’d just spoken English and pretended you didn’t know any Korean at all, this would’ve been much simpler!
“Sorry, I didn’t understand,” you tell him. “갈게요.”
“No, wait,” he cries, with more force than he intended. “You don’t have to leave.” He gestures to the bench. “I was also looking for somewhere quiet.”
He speaks shyly and you assume he doesn’t have much practice at speaking English and don’t have the energy for locking you both into a conversation where neither of you can quite understand the other. On the other hand, it would feel rude to just walk away now. You stand, not leaving but not quite staying, both of you trapped in an awkward moment that seems to last forever.
“You can leave if you want,” he says, finally. “I am going to stay.” He sits on the bottom step and takes a sip from his drink. “It’s ok, we don’t have to talk- but I can speak English a little bit if you want.”
You slowly return to the bench and sit down. You feel like you should say something, but your mind is blank. It’s like you’ve never had a conversation before in your life; what do people say? Does he even want you to say something? Why was he staring at you earlier? In the same way that everyone else always does or was there a specific reason? You feel your hands start to sweat and you inwardly roll your eyes at yourself and tell yourself to get a grip, literally nothing is happening.
He is looking out of the window and you are staring into the corner on the opposite side; you each take glances at one another, praying the other doesn’t notice. You can still hear the music from the party, quiet in the background, and you wonder if Hanjae has noticed your absence yet; you expect not. You glance at the man opposite you and catch his eye. You both chuckle awkwardly.
“I’m ________,” you say.
“Jungkook,” he answers.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jungkook.”
“I saw you earlier; I didn’t think we’d met before.”
“No, I’m not really invited to these things,” you explain. “I just tag along with my b-,“ you stop, the word ‘boyfriend’ weighing heavily on your tongue.
“Who’s your boyfriend?”
Dammit.
“Uh, Kim Hanjae?”
“Ah… Don’t know him.”
“He’s…” How on earth did you get to this subject so quickly? Do you really want to talk about Hanjae to this random man? More to the point, does this random man want to hear about your boyfriend and how you actually don’t want him to be your boyfriend anymore? Doubtful. “He’s nice,” you finish, lamely.
“Just don’t like parties?”
Part of you wishes you had just left when you had the chance. Then you realise how ridiculously you’re behaving; hating the party because no one will talk to you and, now, as soon as someone starts, you want to leave. ‘Get a grip, girl,’ you say to yourself.
“I like parties,” you answer, “but it’s-… I’m-… This-…” You pause as you try to work out how to give an honest answer that isn’t simultaneously dumping all your crap onto him. “These are all his friends; I don’t really know anyone here.”
He nods.
“I have a different problem: everyone knows me and wants to talk to me all the time.” He laughs. “I don’t like big parties. They’re… so much… too much.”
You nod. The two of you lapse into silence again, but it’s more comfortable this time. You’ve broken the ice a little. He seems nice and you feel a pang of sympathy for him: to be a big deal at parties like this sounds exhausting, especially if you don’t even like parties to start with. No wonder he’s hiding out with you.
“It’s hard for me to talk to people at these things,” you tell him. “My Korean isn’t very good and Hanjae doesn’t like speaking English when we’re with his friends because some of them don’t speak it.”
“I think your Korean sounds good.”
You laugh; that was a sweet thing to say given that he’s heard you say all of three words.
“It’s ok, but we couldn’t have this conversation in Korean. Sorry.” You smile weakly and feel pathetic; you knew it would be a process, moving to a new country and learning the language as you go, but you weren’t prepared for how embarrassed and ashamed you would feel all the time about your failings.
“Don’t be sorry!” He grins at you. “I can try my English! But, actually, it is not very good either. Sorry.”
You laugh again. Koreans and their modesty; his English sounds just fine from where you’re sitting.
“Did you move here recently?” he asks.
“About four months ago,” you answer. “I was… looking for something new, I guess. I don’t know… I needed new horizons, new experiences.”
“And how do you think about it now you’re here?”
You wonder if he knows what a loaded question that is. You exhale with a huff. Where to begin?
“It’s been harder than I thought it would be,” you tell him. “I feel very… different. Being looked at so much is not something I was used to… I think Hanjae likes it, but it’s awkward for me. I feel like…”
“An object.”
Your eyes meet and your chest is flooded with the warmth of familiarity. He’ll understand, won’t he?
“When we met,” you start, looking away self-consciously, “he was charmed by my foreignness, y’know? And he liked how different I looked and found it cute when I made mistakes in Korean and didn’t know things. It gave him clout, y’know? Dating a foreigner? I was spoilt by it, the attention; I thought it was for me and when he bought me dresses and took me to parties to show me off, I thought it was because I was special, not just because I was foreign. I loved it at the start.
“I think the appeal is wearing off, though,” you continue, stealing a quick glance to gauge his reaction. He’s looking at you patiently, intently, concentrating, probably, on understanding what you’re saying. “He gets annoyed sometimes now when I don’t know things and-“
You tell him everything. Once you start, you find you can’t stop. You don’t know whether to be angry or sad about it, so you vacillate between the two. Jungkook listens, never interrupts; he drinks and nods and keeps looking at you with those huge brown eyes.
“I know it’s over,” you say, resolute. “I just-” you realise it as you say it, “I’m scared that I won’t have anything if I don’t have him.”
He looks at you thoughtfully for a moment.
“But you met him in Korea, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So, you still have the person who moved all the way here to start a new life; that seems like a lot to me.”
For a split second, you don’t know whether to burst into tears or fling your arms around him and give him a kiss. ‘Is he looking at me,’ you wonder ‘or staring into my soul?’. You feel seen, seen for the first time in months. You decide then and there that you would walk on hot coals for this man; he’s got you whether he wants you or not. His kindness streams out from him like rays of the sun from behind clouds. Such a bright, young thing, hiding in the dark.
“What about you?” You ask. “You’re hiding back here, too.”
“Ah.” He finishes his drink and places the glass next to him on the step. “I prefer quiet places. I like to keep things small and…-”
“Intimate?”
You blush furiously as he looks at you. That isn’t what you meant and you’re not sure how he’s taken it.
“Yeah, intimate. Big crowds are not my thing.”
“Not when they forget that you’re a person, first.”
He nods.
You stand and move to look out of the window, closer to him. He rises, too, and stands next to you. Your arm is a hair’s breadth from him; you daren’t move.
“Do you like the view?” he asks.
“Actually, I don’t really like a cityscape. I prefer country views.”
“What are the views like where you’re from?”
No one has asked you about home like that. They ask for funny differences between here and there or ask you to debunk or confirm stereotypes, but no one has really cared what you actually think. You smile, picturing in your mind’s eye cloudy, wind-swept beaches, rolling hills, pier arcades, church spires and so much green. You tell him everything. You turn your back to Seoul and, leaning against the glass, describe the house you grew up in and where your grandparents used to live; you describe the places you took holidays when you were a kid and the specific smell of the sea that isn’t the same anywhere else in the world. He’s been to your home country before, but he hasn’t been to your hometown; he asks questions and shows interest and you realise how starving you’ve been. Starved of this sort of attention – focused, interested, penetrating. You’ve had a taste and you want more and more.
You ask him about Seoul; did he grow up here? No, he tells you about Busan in the South. He speaks slowly and thoughtfully about his childhood and his dreams and moving here at such a young age, growing up so far from everything he’s ever known. He’s achieved more than he ever thought was even possible, more than he had ever dreamed, he explains; sometimes he still can’t believe it’s real.
While he talks, you study his face. He’s happy now, but you feel for the scared, little boy thrust into the industry machine before he even knew who he was. Now’s not the time, you know that, but you want to gently crack him open like a soft-boiled egg. Such depth in his eyes, so much soul. You resist the urge many times to put your hand on his arm, hold his hand for a second, reach out and physically touch him somehow. You feel connected to him in such a way that you need it to be physical for a moment, to close the circle, to just… touch.
You’re still standing by the window, deep in conversation, when a man appears from behind the wall and beckons to Jungkook. They talk quickly and Jungkook returns.
“I’m going to get a drink.”
Your heart falls.
“Do you want one?”
A wash of relief. You shrug, sure.
“Ok, wait here. I won’t be long.”
He leaves and you turn back to the window, pressing your forehead against the cool glass. You wonder what time it is, where is Hanjae, what’s he doing, is he even still here, has he noticed you’re missing, is Jungkook actually coming back? You take some deep breaths.
With no watch, no phone, and no clock in this dark, little hideaway, you have no way to tell how long Jungkook has been. One minute? Could be ten. You wonder if he’ll make it back to you; after all, he was hiding back here to avoid being grasped in the clutches of all the many, many people out there. Maybe he’s been waylaid. He’s got stuck with a chatterbox who won’t be quiet; he’s got trapped into a business conversation that he can’t leave. Maye he’s seen some friends and is having fun out there.
You sigh, knowing that if he doesn’t come back soon, you’ll have to go out there, too. Hanjae will be missing you, you tell yourself; it’s rude to abandon him completely when he’s the reason you’re even here in the first place. You take a deep, resolute breath and stand, smoothing out your dress. You bump into Jungkook as you round the corner.
“Oh,” he says as he sees you. “Are you going?”
He hands you a drink and you take it, the cold glass sending goosebumps up your arm.
“Uh, well, no, well yes, I was but I didn’t know if you were coming back.” You hope you didn’t sound accusatory.
“I’m sorry, it is hard to avoid people out there,” he replies, continuing around the corner and sitting on the bench. You follow him and he places a hand on the bench, indicating you should join. You feel bad; he shouldn’t have to apologise. You sit next to him on the bench and sip your drink.
“You can go back out there, if you want, you know; you don’t have to stay here with me,” you tell him. His eyes widen and he shakes his head.
“No, thank you!” he laughs. “That was enough. Maybe I will show my face again a bit later.”
“Good.” You spoke without thinking and are just about to regret it when he smiles at you.
“Yeah. Good.”
You place a hand down on the bench and he reaches out a finger to touch your bracelet. When you packed your whole life into one suitcase, a lot of brutal cuts had to be made and there are so many parts of your heart at home, abandoned by you, but not this one. It’s a tiny gold chain, with a tiny gold J attached.
“That’s not the letter of your name,” Jungkook says, still studying your bracelet.
“No… No, it’s from my best friend’s name,” you explain. “She gave this to me a long time ago; I like to wear it when I feel like I need her, to feel like I’ve got a little bit of her with me.” You rub your wrist, self-consciously, and wonder what she’s up to right now.
“Does it help?”
“No, not really.” You laugh, a little sad. “It reminds me that there are people in the world who love me, which is nice, but it also reminds me that those people are thousands of miles away.”
“All of them?” His penetrating eyes beam at you and you feel like no matter what answer you give, it’ll be the wrong one. You shrug.
“I thought maybe you told me a fake name before,” he admits, grinning sheepishly.
“Oh, I don’t think that would’ve ever occurred to me! Why, do you do that?”
He nods. He smiles but it’s sad, the mirth not reaching his eyes.
“Sometimes. But I wouldn’t get away with it so easily if I wore one of those, right?”
You unclasp the bracelet’s fastening and it slips off your wrist and, taking an end in each hand, hold it out to him. He looks uncertainly at you and you nod. He offers his wrist and you fix the chain in place.
“There’s no getting away from who you really are,” you tell him, knowing full well that it doesn’t matter where you go, ’cause there you’ll always be. He grins. “For tonight.”
“For tonight, I can be your best friend?”
You laugh and nod, thinking, ‘god, can he be my best friend forever?’.
“Thank you,” he says quietly, gently moving the bracelet around his wrist; you wonder what he’s thinking and take a sip of your drink.
A few minutes pass in a comfortable silence until Jungkook speaks again.
“I don’t have anything to give you.”
“What?”
“In return.” He indicates the bracelet. “I don’t have anything I can give you.” He takes off a ring and considers it. “I think they will all be too big.” He holds it out and you offer up your hand; he slips it onto your index finger and you lift your hand up, swirling the ring around so that it very nearly flies off the tip.
“Too big,” you confirm with a grin.
He pulls his sleeve up to reveal a watch and you notice the tattoos running underneath.
“I think this will not go with your dress, right?”
You nod absently, trying to make out what you’re looking at. You take the edge of his sleeve and lift it a little higher to get a better look and then become aware of what you’re doing and drop it, apologising instantly.
“That’s ok,” he says and he undoes the cuff, rolling the sleeve up to his elbow. He turns his arm slowly so you can get a good look (or as good a look as you can manage in the dark light). You nod approvingly.
“That’s why I was looking at you earlier,” he says, a little embarrassed. “I was trying to look at your tattoo.”
Well, that explains the intensity of his focus earlier. You turn so that he can see. You feel, for a second, his hand above your skin and your stomach clenches, praying he won’t touch you like everyone else does: ‘just please don’t let him touch me; please, please don’t let him touch me’. But the touch never comes. You sense his hand moving across your back and down your arm and you twist your head to see his finger, an inch above the skin, tracing the lines of your tattoo. You breathe a sigh of relief.
“What do you think?” You ask, turning your body back towards him.
“They’re very beautiful.” He looks you straight in the eyes as he answers and you’re struck again by the feeling of being seen and not merely looked at. Neither of you looks away this time. You hold the moment between yourselves, pausing time just for a second. You break the connection and look down, tracing a finger over your bracelet on his wrist. You know it’s only a coincidence that they share the same initial – it’s not exactly uncommon – but something about it feels right.
“Do you want it back?” he asks.
No, you don’t. Not yet. You feel like he’s wearing a part of you while he’s wearing it; he has accepted a part of you as a part of himself. You feel warm in the glow of that tiny, tremulous thread between you. You think, and the thought shocks you, that you would be alright he kept it forever. It’s immensely precious to you, so much so that you brought it with you thousands of miles away into your new life, but, somehow, Jungkook’s wearing it brings more to you, more comfort, more confidence, more certainty in the knowledge that there are people in the world that love you. Love is not diminished when given away, it is doubled. You suddenly wish that you did have something of his you could wear, if only for tonight.
The silence lapses and you talk, nursing your drinks, knowing that one of you will have to leave if either of you needs another. You forget the passing of time and everything outside of this little bubble. It’s the most fun you’ve had at a party for ages.
The man who appeared earlier returns and, once again, beckons to Jungkook. Jungkook stands and goes over to him and they, once again, talk quietly. Jungkook returns and the man remains.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Jungkook asks and you feel shattered all of a sudden. You had forgotten all about Hanjae, truth be told, and you are overwhelmed with guilt and shame that you’ve spent the whole night away from him, talking to another man. He isn’t my boyfriend, that’s what you wanted to say: he’s definitely not my boyfriend, or even if he is, I don’t want him to be and he won’t be for much longer! Why is Jungkook asking? Whatever bubble you were in has been popped from the inside. A part of you feels heartbroken and a part of you feels betrayed. It was just you and Jungkook; there’s no need to bring anyone else into this.
“Oh, uh, I don’t know,” you stutter in response. “Probably… somewhere…”. You have no idea where he will be; you assume that he is still here (you hope he is still here because he still has your phone), but who can say for sure?
“Do you want to leave with me?” Jungkook asks and you are stunned into momentary silence.
“What?”
“Do you want to leave with me?” he repeats. “We don’t have to go anywhere; I can take you home if you want, but would you like to leave?”
You feel like that is too many mixed messages to cope with right now so you nod dumbly and stand.
“Hanjae,” you say abruptly as your brain sputters back into gear. “He has my phone and my things.”
“Ok, shall I meet you outside? I’ll wait.”
“I’ll be quick.”
Breathless, you walk as quickly as you can back into the cavernous room, the noise building to a roar, the throng of people overwhelming. You stand on tiptoes and crane your neck, looking for anyone you recognise, cursing the organisers for the dim lighting and all men for their interminably boring black suits which make none of them stand out. You notice movement in your peripheral vision and turn to see a waving arm, beckoning you. It’s not Hanjae; it’s one of his friends.
“Where have you been?” they exclaim as you approach. “Han was looking everywhere for you; thought you must’ve disappeared! Anyway, he had to leave earlier – some work emergency – so he told me to give you these if I saw you.” He hands over your phone, lip balm, and a lipstick you’re sure isn’t yours. “He told you you can order a car if you like, but he won’t be back so you’ll have to get home on your own.”
You see that his friends clearly have no idea of entertaining you or keeping you company for the rest of the evening, which is just as well, given you were about to leave with someone else.
As you make your way outside, you look at the lipstick you were given. You try to think what might constitute a ‘work emergency’ on a Friday night; it’s not like the guy’s a doctor or fire fighter! You try not to let suspicion creep in, because Hanjae has never given you any reason to doubt his fidelity before, but then, you’ve also never considered it, because you’ve never really considered the two of you to be in an actual relationship. Maybe he hadn’t either. And if that’s the case, then there’s no need to be hurt or angered by it. But there is a niggle. There’s something crawling, digging up, trying to plant its seed in your heart. You decide if it’s going to happen at all, it will have to be tonight. As you approach the doorway, you stand to one side and dial Hanjae’s number.
“여보세요?” he answers just as you were about to give up.
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Oh. Where are you?”
“I’m still at the party.”
“Oh. Where did you go? I tried to look for you earlier; I’m not there anymore. I’ve had to come to the office.”
“Yeah, I know; I found Seongyoung and he gave me my phone.”
“Right yeah, yeah.” He sounds distracted.
“So, are you in the office now?” you ask.
“Yeah, but I can’t see you; there’s been a huge mistake and it’s going to take a long time to fix.”
“Please; it’ll be quick. I promise.”
He sighs heavily but agrees. You hang up the phone with a small weight sitting in your stomach.
You turn back to the entrance and walk out, scanning for Jungkook. There are a few dark cars sitting in front of you but you have no idea if any one of them belongs to him. You hesitate, not sure where to turn, standing awkwardly in front of drivers and security officers. A door on one of the cars opens and a hand waves; you approach and Jungkook beams up at you from inside.
“Quick!” He reaches out to grab your hand and pull you in. He speaks quickly to the driver in Korean and turns back to you. “Are you alright?”
“Um, actually, can we go somewhere?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“I… have to do something. It won’t take long, please.”
“Of course, that’s ok. Where do you want to go?”
You give him the address of Hanjae’s office building and he relays it to the driver. You sit, slightly on edge, compulsively flicking the edge of your phone case off and on, off and on. The building isn’t far and you sit in silence while Jungkook hums along to the radio. You are barely even aware of what song is playing. The driver slows and you unbuckle your seatbelt.
“Just give me like, five minutes. I’ll be quick,” you say as you open the car door.
“It’s ok; you can take as long as you like. I will wait.”
You wonder what Jungkook thinks you are doing, where he thinks you are. You wonder if he knows. Part of you assumes he does, since he seems to intuitively understand so much about you. You enter the building and approach the reception desk. The woman behind it barely looks up as she opens the barrier to let you in. You’re not sure if she recognises you from times you’ve been here before or just does not care about her job. If you had to man a reception desk in an almost entirely empty building on a Friday night, you probably wouldn’t care much either. As you call a thank you to her and walk past, the lipstick suddenly flashes into your mind. Could it be hers? You suppose it could be. It could be anyone’s. It might not have anything to do with Hanjae at all. Maybe Seongyoung handed you his girlfriend’s lipstick by mistake. Maybe not. It won’t matter soon.
You reach Hanjae’s floor and can see him in his glass-walled office: jacket and tie off, sleeves rolled up, standing and on the phone. You walk with purpose to his door and wave. He gestures for you to come in, so you stand inside the door and wait for his conversation to end.
“What’s up?” he asks, putting his phone on his desk.
“I think we need to have a conversation,” you begin, your resolve holding firm for now.
“Right now? I really don’t have time-“
“I said I’d be quick and I meant it.” If you aren’t quick, you’re not sure you’ll be able to go through with it.
“Ok then, shoot.”
You hadn’t actually planned what you were going to say. None of the words sounded right; you wanted to be clear and direct but kind at the same time; is it even possible to tell someone kindly that you don’t want them to be in your life anymore? You clench and unclench your fist and decide to rip the plaster straight off.
“I don’t think we should see each other anymore. I don’t think we should be together. I think we should end things. This is over.” The words tumble out without your being able to stop them. Hanjae’s eyebrows raise and he looks surprised.
“Oh.”
He looks a little dumb-founded but you had expected him to say more and aren’t sure what to do now. You open and close your mouth like a goldfish, waiting for something else to happen. You haven’t actually broken up with anyone before so you’re not sure how this usually goes.
“Can I ask why?”
“We’re not a good fit.” You hope that this will suffice but you know it won’t satisfy him.
“What does that mean? Don’t we have fun together? Don’t we like each other?” Ay, there’s the rub.
“Actually, I don’t really think you do, no.” You try to explain to him all the things you’ve been feeling recently; you try not to blame him for any of it because you don’t want this to turn into an argument; you tread as carefully as you can but you’re so desperate for this to be over now it’s started that you can’t stop your mouth running on and on.
“You’ve given me so much and I’m so grateful to you for that and I really value all the time we have spent together and I do think you’re a nice person and I don’t want to hurt you but… well, this is how I feel.” You feel a little breathless as you come to a stop. Hanjae doesn’t say anything for a while and you can’t read his face. You don’t know what he’s thinking and the longer the silence lasts, the sicker and sicker you feel.
“I’m sorry that you feel that my attention has been so unwelcome,” he finally answers, speaking slowly and coldly. “I don’t really know what else I could have done to show you that I value you: I buy you things, take you places, I introduced you to all of my friends, I show you off; is that not loving? You say you don’t even think I like you, but if that’s true, why would I bother to see you? Why would I waste my time with you if I didn’t? I hadn’t, until now, considered our time together a waste, but it seems as though my efforts have been just that. You’ve been feeling this way for weeks, have you? Well, why are you here, then? Why did you come tonight at all if all of my friends ignore you and all of my attention is so unwanted? If the time we spend together makes you feel so awful, why have you waited this long to say something? You disappeared very early this evening; I tried looking for you everywhere. You said you were getting a drink and then I didn’t see you again. Perhaps it’s not that my attention is unwanted but that you’ve found someone else whose attention you prefer? Were you just putting up with me for long enough to find a higher roller, someone richer, or more famous perhaps? Am I a step on your ladder to the top? You have never, until tonight, given me a reason not to trust you, but you have to admit that this is rather out of the blue and your behaviour at the party was… not very polite. You abandoned me-“
You scoff at that, unable to stop yourself. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. Hanjae raises his eyebrows and waits for you to explain yourself. You’ve no idea how. You say nothing. You’re the first to break eye contact and you look at the ground, then the window, the desk, anywhere but Hanjae’s face.
“Fine,” he says. “Have it your way. What a horrible boyfriend I was to you, to treat you to presents and dinners and parties, to be so impressed by you that I want to show you off to everyone I know, to speak English with you and help you with Korean, to help you get settled in, to give you a social life, to show you what Seoul has to offer, what I have to offer, to never treat you like-“
“A person. You didn’t treat me like a person, Hanjae. I’m not a prize to show off; I’m a person first, not an object.” Your heart is hammering in your chest and you can feel tears pricking in your eyes. How can you get him to understand?
“Oh, I objectify you?” It is his turn to scoff. “And yet I am the one who has been used.”
You don’t know what to say to that.
“No, I- it’s- we- I-“
“Whatever, you can leave now.” He turns his back on you and picks up his phone again. He turns around with the phone to his ear and nods at the door, shooing you away. You turn around and leave the office on trembling legs. As soon as you step into the lift to go back down, the tears come. You’re not even sure why you’re crying; you wanted this after all. It was just horrible. You feel sticky with sweat all over, and shaky with the stress of it. You know that Hanjae isn’t right, saying those things about you, and he was lashing out defensively, but it hurt all the same. Or maybe he is a little bit right. You said yourself that he’s given you so much, access to things and people and places you wouldn’t have had otherwise; you said yourself that you enjoyed that. Maybe you are in the wrong, at least a little bit. You both are, you suppose. You exit the lift and walk briskly out of the office, not turning to look at the receptionist on your way out in case she sees you crying. You step out of the door and hide behind a pillar, catching your breath, drying your tears and trying to put on a happy face. Leaning against the cold stone of the wall, you close your eyes and take a deep breath.
“____?”
Shit. Jungkook is right there in front of you, looking concerned.
“Are you ok? What happened?”
You shake your head and hold up your hands.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You stand up straight and give yourself a body shake. “Honestly, it’s fine.”
“Do you want me to take you home?”
You can’t think of much worse than going home to your poky apartment to spend the rest of your night miserable and alone.
“No… Can we, can we get a drink? Do you want to get a drink?”
Jungkook grimaces slightly. “Ah, that’s kind of difficult for me. I can’t really just go to a bar on a Friday night, y’know?”
Your heart sinks; of course he doesn’t want to go to a bar with you.
“We could have a drink at my house, if you want?” he offers.
Your heart rises. God, yes, please.
You drive back to Jungkook’s apartment in silence. The presence of the driver makes you feel somehow inhibited, self-conscious. You feel conspicuous, even though you’re sure the driver couldn’t care less about who you are or what you’re doing there. He’s just doing his job. You, nevertheless, don’t want to say anything yet, not until you’re alone with Jungkook. He’s scrolling on his phone, and you take the opportunity to study him more closely. His face changes with the changing light: suddenly brightly lit as you stop at traffic lights under a lamppost, then hidden in shadows. He has a kind face, open and bright, deep, soft eyes… You wanted to reach out a finger to trace his profile, the line of his lips, study him as if you were about to embark upon a masterpiece of him. Not that you would be able to capture his spirit if you tried. There’s a light in his eyes that seems to lie so deeply within them but shine so close to the surface.
You can’t work out what you’re feeling – too much, honestly. You need a minute to step back, step out of yourself – out of your life – to sort through everything that had happened. You feel a little as though you have accidentally stepped on a travelator and things are moving faster than you can keep up with. You wonder if you’ll regret any of this in the morning, if sleep will clear your mind and show your actions up as mistakes. You hope not. You think not. You catch the glint of your bracelet, still around Jungkook’s wrist and you nod to yourself. No, this – if this alone – is not a mistake.
When you arrive at Jungkook’s building, he shows you in and your mouth gapes. This was much bigger than Hanjae’s place. Wow. Just how famous was this guy? You are reminded forcefully of how little you actually know about him, whatever your feelings might be saying.
“What would you like to drink?” he asks, crouching in front of a cabinet. He opens the door to reveal all manner of spirits and liquors.
“Oh, anything,” you answer, without thinking. He laughs and you’re embarrassed by your answer but making another decision at this point feels impossible. You feel like a swan, calm on top, but flailing wildly underneath. You begin to think that maybe you should have let Jungkook take you home, so you could’ve gone to bed, or stared out of the window blankly until the sun rose. He’s too stimulating. Questions constantly rise to the surface of your mind like bubbles in boiling water: what’s his family like? What’s his favourite film? What’s his favourite food? Is he single? What’s he thinking? What does he want out of life? He’s already achieved his career dream so what’s his next dream?
He hands you a glass and you take a sip without even looking. It’s strong, good. You follow Jungkook to the sofa and flop onto it, thankful to be sitting comfortably. He asks if the drink is ok and you just nod and take another sip. You’re torn with conflicting desires: to stare at him endlessly, to fall into his chest and listen to his heartbeat, to tell him everything, to listen to him tell you everything, to kiss him, to never kiss him, to be his best friend, to fall in love with him, to fall in love with him and love him from afar from the rest of your life. It’s exquisite, the confusion, the keenness of your muddled feelings. You wonder briefly if you are just drunk but shake the thought from your head: you haven’t had that much to drink.
You drink in silence for a while and when you’ve finished, you stand. Placing your glass on the coffee table, you wander over to the bookcase, full of not books but DVDs and figurines. You scan the titles, your eyes not really seeing. They linger on a small figurine of a tiger at the edge of a shelf. You pick it up.
“Year of the tiger?” you ask, brandishing the figure at him.
“It is.” He stands and comes closer to you, taking the tiger in his hand.
“This is me,” you tell him. 24 years old, you were born two tigers ago. You take the figure back and wiggle it in his face. He laughs.
“I’m an ox,” he says, kneeling down. He opens the door of a little cabinet and reveals figurines for each of the zodiac animals. You laugh picking them up and inspecting them. He takes the ox from the cupboard and the tiger from your hand and puts them both back on the bookshelf. Feeling silly, you move the tiger and make a sound that’s neither quite a roar nor a meow as though the tiger is talking to the ox. Jungkook laughs and responds in kind, lowing deeply as he turns the ox towards the tiger. This is the sort of nonsense you need to lift you from the deep water of your confused feelings.
You move to the window as Jungkook refills your glass. It’s probably a good view that he probably paid a lot of money for but you can’t be enamoured with so many lights and so much modern architecture. You can just barely make out the dark shape of the mountains beyond and you smile; that’s more like it. Jungkook joins you at the window. You talk quietly; you don’t want to tell him that you broke up with Hanjae, because it implies something that you don’t really want to imply, but it comes out in the course of conversation and you actually feel relieved. You don’t know what Jungkook feels about it, if anything, but he seems pleased for you. You feel like everything is so fragile, delicate, precarious. You stay talking at the window for what feels like hours (maybe it is) because you feel that to move will be to ruin the moment somehow, force a shift in the atmosphere that you don’t want.
Your eyes settle on the gold chain at his wrist and your fingers reach out for it, toying with it. Jungkook’s hand moves, into yours, his fingers dancing on your palm. You flick your eyes back to his and he’s smiling at you, shy and sweet. You let him take your hand and suddenly it’s a handshake and you’re snorting, laughing, leaning towards each other as your shoulders shake. You lean your head on his shoulder as your breath comes back and Jungkook moves his hand to waist, pulls you closer to him.
He’s still smiling when you lift your head to look at him and you’re staring back at him, wide-eyed and unsure. He pulls you closer still, his arm snaking around your waist and he kisses you without hesitation. His lips are soft but he isn’t; he’s sure and confident and he brings his thumb to your chin to gently press down, gently open your mouth and let him inside. You’re responding before you’ve had the opportunity to think. Your hands grab at the collar of his shirt and you move against him, a leg between his legs, his bottom lip between your teeth. You’re dizzied and light-headed, grateful to the cool glass at your back and Jungkook’s arms secure around you.
When he pulls back, with apparent effort, he rests his forehead on yours, nudges your nose with his and looks at you from under his thick, dark lashes.
“Honestly, I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he says, his voice hushed in the silence of the apartment, and then he barely brushes his lips against yours again, as if he just can’t help himself.
If you were confused earlier, you aren’t anymore. The world around you has faded to a fuzzy, black blur, eclipsed by the soft bloomings of want in your chest.
“I’ve wanted you to do that all night,” you whisper back, aware only as you’re saying it that it’s true. You have wanted him to do that. You want him to do it again and then a whole lot more.
He takes your face in his hands and kisses you, lightly, gently.
“I don’t usually do this,” he says, eyes alighting on yours for only a second before he’s looking at your lips again. “It’s not… This isn’t like me but…”
“I know,” you reply. “Me, too.”
“I feel…”
“Something.”
“Yeah.”
Your heart skips a beat when he looks at you and the world holds its breath; you almost feel time slow down, the seconds that it takes for his hands to fall from your face, glide down your body, and encircle you again stretch into minutes. The distance between your lips – not even inches – stretches far into the horizon. You almost feel each of the chambers of your heart squeeze, a rush of warmth heating your cheeks, your chest, your core.
And then his lips are on you and you’re like a Catherine wheel, spinning and sparking and wild. Time snaps back like an elastic band and you’re frantic now, all hands and lips and tongue.
You slip your fingers into his shirt, flicking open the buttons, running your hands over his body, soft and supple and flushed. His hands push your dress higher and higher, over the slope of your hips and he lifts you, pushing you against the glass and pushing his body into yours. You can feel the arousal pooled at your core and you can feel him straining against his trousers. You’re wet like you’ve been waiting all night for it, like you’ve been anticipating this very moment since you first laid eyes on him. You push his shirt to the floor, watching it float down like a white flag of surrender: surrendering yourself to him, he to you, to this, whatever this is or could be.
“Oh, fuck, fuck.”
Soft whispers tumble from you as Jungkook’s fingers slide past your underwear and press into your wet heat. Your cunt squeezes against them and your hips cant towards him as he presses his thumb against your clit. Your whimpering, whining, mewling barely drowns out the squelch of his fingers working inside you, arousal dripping down his hand. You’re climbing steadily to your peak, moaning against his mouth as he rolls his tongue with yours. You pull on his hair, his head tipping back, his throat exposed. He looks down at you with heavy-lidded eyes and a slack jaw. Then he grins, thrumming faster, pressing harder and you’re squirming. You let go of his hair to clutch around his shoulders, holding on hard as your own head tips back, thudding against the glass.
Jungkook brings his face close to yours and nudges your nose with his, gently guiding your attention back to him. He holds your gaze as your legs quiver and shake, as your breath hitches and you close your eyes, so, so close now.
“Look at me.” His voice is low, soft, but demanding. “I want to see you… I want you to look at me when you come.”
And you do. Your eyes don’t leave his as you fall apart in his arms, pleasure coursing through you like a lightning strike. You’ve barely finished before he’s crashing his lips into you, urgent and needy and then suddenly neither of those things. He slows. He removes his fingers from your soaking wet slip and he holds you close to him, just barely grinding his hips into you. His kiss is deep, languorous, like he’s really tasting you now. The quiet moan he makes as his tongue rolls with yours makes your heart skip a beat and you’re weak. So weak that, when he drops you, lightly, your feet returning to the floor, you almost stumble, almost fall. But he’s got you.
He pushes your dress back down, smoothing it out so he can unzip it. He finally breaks your kiss as he pulls it from your shoulders, letting it slip down your arms. You’re braless and goosebumps sprinkle all over your skin, your nipples shivering to attention. You run your hands through Jungkook’s hair as he dips his head, lowers himself to kiss your neck, your chest, to run his tongue up the underside of your breast and suck your tight little bud into his mouth. The glass at your back is cold but he is so warm in front of you.
He drops to his knees, hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulls them to the floor. You step out and he flings them away.
“I want to make you come again.”
He looks up at you and his eyes are wide, imploring, asking, seeking, searching and it’s all you can do to just nod. You’ve had one-night stands and hook-ups and situationships and even boyfriends who haven’t said that to you, who haven’t cared enough to try for one, let alone more.
He’s still looking at you when he puts his mouth on you and runs his tongue through your folds. You let your head fall back again, eyes to the ceiling. Jungkook grunts, the vibration against you a little shock. You look back down at him and he nods, swirling his tongue around your clit, and you understand: he wants you to look at him, he wants to see you and wants you to see him seeing you, as you have all evening. Because he does. See you. He sees you like no one else has. You can already feel it bubbling up within you. You can sense his soul reaching out to yours as yours reaches back to him. You think to yourself that you would probably have fallen in love with him even if he weren’t so good at—
“Oh, fuck, Jungkook. Fuck. Yes, like that.”
He’s fucking you with his fingers again with his mouth sealed around your clit, the soft plane of his tongue pressing against it, sucking and then lapping. You grab onto his hair, hard, grounding you, something, anything to tether you to this world as you feel yourself floating away.
He groans and you understand his instruction, having to drag your eyes back to his. His brows are furrowed, eyes shining bright. Looking into his eyes at this moment is like falling into an abyss. Tumbling and twisting, your body writhes with pleasure, shuddering against the window as you come again, a cry strangled in your throat, legs shaking and then you’re literally falling, sliding down the glass. Jungkook follows you down, his fingers still pressing against you as he kisses up your stomach, your chest, and then he’s holding you. You’re in his arms and he’s kissing you, your own arousal all over his lips and his tongue.
“You ok?” he asks, his voice thick and low.
You couldn’t speak. Could only take his face between your palms and kiss him again. He lifts you up into his lap, so you’re straddling him, knees either side of his hips, and you can feel him, pressing against his trousers, trapped and tensed. You sit down a little further and roll your hips over him; he groans into your mouth and his hands on your glutes squeeze tight.
“Jungkook,” you whisper and he whispers your name back. “Please.”
He lifts you from his lap and kneels up, hands working at his belt and his zip. He stands to shuck them down his legs and kicks them off. You look up at him and ask,
“Do you have…?”
He nods, crossing the room to his wallet on the sideboard by the door. You press your hands against the cool glass of the window, but rather than cooling you, it warms, too. There is heat all over you, burning around you.
Jungkook returns and falls to his knees, condom in hand. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and mumbles, rolling his eyes at himself as he stands once more to push them all the way down and off. You giggle, reaching out for him, rising on your knees as he slides the rubber over his length. He pulls you to your feet and cages you in against the window, lips capturing yours.
He bites down on your lower lip and you can feel him at your entrance. He’s rubbing his length along your slick slit and you’re whimpering, walls fluttering, heart racing. He breaks the kiss to look you in the eye as he pushes into you. A soft gasp leaves you and your hands circle tight around his biceps. You can feel him slow, his eyes watching you carefully now.
“No, don’t stop, don’t stop. It feels good. Please.”
He continues, still slowly, and, when he’s all the way in, he kisses you again, pressing his body against yours.
“Jungkook,” you breathe, but whatever you were about to say disappears into a moan as he drags his cock out and then pushes back in. He moans back and brings a hand to your breast, his thumb rubbing light circles against your pert nipple. You’re already not sure how you’re still standing and then he lowers his lips to your neck and sucks at just exactly the right spot. Your legs tremble and your cunt quivers and you feel his hot breath against your skin as he chuckles.
“You like that, huh?”
“Yes.”
He says no more and his lips return to the sweet spot on your neck. You cling to him, gripping tightly, every pass of the head of his dick against your g-spot a test of your strength, fading rapidly as you start to drown in him. He thrusts deep and slow with little grunts of effort, like he’s holding back.
“Jungkook, I—”
“Yes?”
He’s looking at you again and, up close like this, he takes your breath away.
“I want more. More. I-… I can’t stand, but I wan—oh.”
He doesn’t even let you finish before he’s grabbing you, his hands at the backs of your thighs lifting you, taking all your weight onto him. You wrap your legs around him and he moves faster now, harder, looking down at where he disappears into you. He’s more vocal, louder, as he fucks you into the window and the sound of him, his pleasure, his pleasure in you, stirs you. You’re fucked out and weak but your desire renews your force. You squeeze your walls against him and he curses.
“Shit.”
You do it again and a tiny chuckle bubbles up in his throat.
“Baby, you are dangerous. You’re—fuck, hngh—you’re going to make me come.”
He’s panting and breathy and his hair sticks to his forehead. You wrap you arms around his neck and kiss his cheek, his jaw, bite at his earlobe.
“Isn’t that the point?” you whisper.
A shudder runs through him and he growls, his grip on you tighter, even painfully tight. You pull back to look at him and his eyes are black, his jaw set, his brow furrowed. But he’s still looking at you; his eyes aren’t glazed, aren’t elsewhere, aren’t looking through you. He’s seeing you and you feel naked but not afraid, not exposed. You hold his face and kiss him and he grunts, groans; it’s open-mouthed and sloppy, your breath mingling as your tongues slide past and over each other.
He pulls away and rests his forehead on yours and his stare is so intense, from that alone you would know he was close. He’s cursing lightly, repeatedly, fucking you hard, and then he’s coming, too, with a shudder and an animal groan, guttural and low.
He lowers you both down to the floor and lays you down, kissing you lightly, almost politely, as he brushes your hair from your face. He turns away and stands, disposing of the used condom and grabbing the blanket from the sofa. You just watch him return to you, settling next to you on the floor, covering both your bodies.
You look at the window where your heat and sweat have condensed in an already fading cloud. You laugh and point it out; he laughs, too.
“It’s almost gone already,” he says, watching it shrink, disappear, self-effacing.
You hum. This is usually when you’d feel awkward, make a show of being polite, get up and go but you don’t want to leave; you want to stay right where you are and watch the sun rise with him. You want to yawn and stretch yourself like a cat before curling against him and sleeping through the morning. You want to kiss him both goodnight and good morning. You look at him looking at the window and imagine an entire life with him, spanning years and decades in a second. Your heart beats heavy in your chest and you wonder if he can feel it, if he feels it, too.
When he finally looks back at you, you know. He kisses you like you’re precious, gently traces the shapes of your face with featherlight fingers. You shiver and he pulls you closer into his warm body, pulls the blanket tighter around you.
“Y’know,” he says, pausing to kiss you again. “I’m really glad I went to that party.”
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I'm not even that sick!
Pt. 1 of my new mini fic series, our wonder kid.
This fic series is based around an ask I had a while back where the reader is the teen prodigy for both Arsenal and England, and she deals with a serious injury with the help of her mother figures and the rest of the team.
I thought now would be a good time to write this as I'm currently ill and feeling sorry for myself, so this is the result of my self-wallowing and pity party, although it might be a bit scrappy.
Let me know what you think!
"Y/N, wake up" The voice of your Dutch teammate and housemate calls out to you from down the hall.
"Ugh noooo" You whine as right on queue, your alarm on your phone starts to blare as you automatically lean over to the left side to try and reach out to shut the sound of it off to stop it from making your head pound even more than it already does.
"Y/N, are you up yet? Training starts in an hour!" The loudness of Beth makes you scrunch your face up tightly as you shove the pillow over your face. "Y/N!?" she shouts.
"M' up, m' getting up now" You respond tiredly as you try to force yourself up from the cocoon of your duvet that you're currently buried in.
Eventually, you have mustered the energy to manovoure to sit on the side of your bed in a haze as you let out a small cough, trying to ignore the blatant rough feeling in your throat.
You can't help but feel like you've been hit by a bus, which would be putting it lightly.
You've always been prone to get ill quickly but you're also incredibly stubborn to admit it, so you'll push yourself and put your health at risk.
"Y/N, are you-- Whoa kid, you don't look great at all" Beth notes when she pops her head around the door and takes in the disheveled expression that's plastered on your face.
"Gee thanks Beth" You mutter while trying to push past the aching feeling that's taken over your whole body to stand up from your bed and walk over to the wardrobe to grab out what you needed, so you could get ready.
"Are you sure you want to go in? I mean, I don't think Jonas will mind if you skip out on training if you're not up to it" The blonde frowns, worriedly.
Letting out a harsh cough that makes you wince in pain, you shake your head in disagreement, "I'll be fine to train, m' not even that sick!" You disagree quietly, pressing your fingers against your tempe to try and massage it to stop the pounding inside your head. "I just need to dose up on some tablets and I'll be good to go" You add.
Beth eyes you wearily and exhales a sigh, "Oookay then, alright if you're sure?" The blonde checks in again for you to only nod in response, leaving you to finish getting ready.
"Y/N, hurry up. Lets' go before we're late!" Beth calls out from the kitchen, taking note of the time on the clock. "What's taking her so long?" She wonders.
"I'll go and find out" Viv exhales a sigh and heads in the direction of your bedroom to find you sprawled out onto the bed fast asleep again. "Y/N... Y/N, wake up" she shakes you lightly.
Somehow, you manage to get ready and then slump back down on the bed, driifting back off to sleep without any realisation of the time ticking before you need to leave the house to go and train.
"H... Huh?" You groan as you blink your eyes open tiredly and stare at the Dutch with a confused expression. "Oh, is it time to go?" You ask.
"It's time to go" Viv frowns as she takes in the sunken expression. "Are you sure you're up for it?" She wonders.
"Yep, m' good. Lets go" You pull yourself up from the bed, ignoring how lightheaded you feel and stumble out of your bedroom while Viv glances at you confused.
"Here she is" Beth jokes as she spots you stumble down the hall.
Another harsh cough escapes your mouth as you hazily shove your trainers on, "M' ready to go now" You tell them.
"Uh, should we be concerned about that?" Viv turns to look at Beth in concern.
"Yes but Y/N's stubborn, remember?" Beth exhales a sigh.
"And she's insisting to go and train?" Viv questions as she looks at you, worriedly.
"God, Y/N looks like death" Laura remarks as she joins the three of you out in the hallway with her training bag draped over her shoulder.
"Yeah, she's not... she's not feeling so great apparently" Beth shakes her head, leading the way outside.
"Should she even be training?" Viv glances at you, sceptically.
"I don't think so but you know how stubborn she is" Beth states.
"I can hear you all, you know? M' fine!" You continue to insist even though the harshness of your throat, it felt like you had swallowed razor blades.
"Your mean when your sick" Laura mumbles, shaking her head as she climbs into the back of the car.
"Shut up, your making my head hurt" You can't help but grumble as you climb in the car. "And m' not sick!" you insist further.
"You totally are" Laura fires back, sticking her head in her phone as she can't help but smirk.
"Am not" You mumble, exhaling a sigh as you feel the cool window against the burning heat radiating from your forehead.
"Great, the kids are fighting; just a typical morning, huh?" Beth jokes with Viv as she climbs in the passenger seat of the car.
"Y/N!" You flinch and fight the urge to groan as you feel the weight of Kyra jump on your back as you're standing in the middle of the gym, trying to middle
"Jesus, Kyra. Why're you so loud?" You huff and whine, wincing at the loudness of the Aussie's voice.
"Are you okay, Y/N/N?" Alessia peers at you with compassion.
"Yeah, you don't look great at all" Vic chips in, concerned.
"God don't you guys start too" You can't help but whine and complain as you struggle to lift the weights in your hands, just as queue as you start to cough again. "M' totally fine, you're all overreacting about this" You tell them.
"Are you sure?" Alessia frowns.
"Should you even be here today?" Vic wonders.
"Seriously, you two as well?" You huff dramatically as you slowly drop the weights on the floor and lift your shirt to wipe the sweat from the top of your head. "M' fine. It's just a little cough" coughs rake through your whole body as you clutch your hand over your heart.
"Take a seat, Y/N... You just need to take it easy, alright?" Alessia gently forces you down to sit on the bench and take some deep breaths, while you're passed your bottle of water to take some small sips.
"You should probably go home" Kyra chips in as you muster the energy you have to glare at her unhelpful comment.
Training is hard to handle, several times you have to stop and take the time to take some deep breaths to stop yourself running out of breath as further harsh coughs rake through your body.
Your throat feels scratchy, your nose won't stop running, and you feel slightly feverish, but you try to push past it to carry on with the sprinting drill you are currently in the middle of.
All of the girls had recognised the telltale signs that you're sick but every time someone tries to mention it, you shut them up with a dirty scowl while you try chug water to get rid of the pain in your throat.
"Wow, you look horrible, baby England" Your Arsenal vice-captain and England captain, Leah, approaches you and pats your shoulder lightly.
It's only a simple gesture, but it makes you wince and groan in pain; your whole body aches, but you're still too stubborn to relent and give in to going home anytime soon.
You just pray you can get through the rest of training, hopefully.
"Oh, thanks, Leah. You're just as charming as Beth is" You say before coughing, while the blonde looks at you knowingly.
"And you say you're not sick, huh?" Leah raises her eyebrow. "Okay, you shouldn't even be here today. You need to go home right now" She states.
"No, m' fine, why do you guys keep making it out like it's such a big deal that I'm sick?" You can't help but whine as you wipe your nose with your hand, which makes the older blonde wrinkle her nose in slight disgust at your action. "It's just a dumb cold that'll pass" You mumble as you huff.
Leah continues to give you a further knowing look, "Really, Y/N? Really?" She asks, knowingly.
"Okay, I feel like I've been hit by a bus... And then it's reversed, and it's hit me again" You mumble quietly, hoping that the blonde didn't hear a word that you say.
"Oh, baby England. You're definitely too sick to be here" Leah takes pity on you and wraps her free arm around your shoulder; you let out another small huff and fight the urge to stop.
You try to keep your eyes from fluttering shut while you stand there and take sips of water between speaking to her.
"Listen, I care about you a lot and that's why I'm pulling rank as your vice-captain..." You're quick to cut her off with a whiny voice.
"No, Leah... No" You interject., trying to object to it.
"You're going home, you're clearly not well enough to train today" The blonde states firmly.
"No, no. M' fine to train" You try and insist, although the sound of your voice makes the blonde think different not to mention the harsh coughing either.
"Uh uh no way, nope. Your going home, baby England" Leah repeats as she gestures Beth to join in the conversation. "Beth, will you please take your sick kid home? She's being stubborn and refusing to go" the blonde chuckles.
"I'm on it, don't worry" Beth ironicically had your bags and her bags ready to go, almost like she was expecting this.
"Why? I don't need to go--" You wheeze and start to cough again, huffing as you try and ignore the looks from the two of them. "I don't need to go home!" You insist.
"C'mon kid, stop being so stubborn. Let's get you home" Beth sympathises with you as she pulls you into her arms.
"I still think you guys are overreacting about this" You grumble as you let out a sneeze and can't help but feel miserable about feeling so sick.
"Quit being stubborn, go home before I get Kim invovled in this" Leah warns, amusedly with a look that almost makes you cower and give in.
"You wouldn't" You mumble, pouting at the blonde.
"Wouldn't I?" Leah fires back, determingly.
You can't help but let out a gasp, "That's cruel. I'm literally... I'm literally fine" You try and insist although the visible bags under your eyes and runny nose say different.
"Uh huh sure I believe you, baby England" Leah can't help but chuckle amusedly as she pats you on the shoulder. "Go home and get better, see you in a few days Y/N!" she states.
"Come on kid lets' go home eh?" Beth gently leads you in the direction of the car, where Viv is already waiting to go.
"M' not even that sick" You mumbe, a barking cough rattles through your whole body as you virtually slump against the blonde as you both walk to the car. "What about Laura?" you wonder.
"Course you're not kid, of course you're not" Beth can't help but laugh in amusement as she helps you into the back of the car and fastens the seatbelt. "And Leah's gonna bring her back, don't worry kid" she reassaures you.
"I give it ten minutes before she's asleep" Viv remarks as she turns her head and see's you already trying to curl up in a ball to sleep.
"I give it five" Beth states as she climbs in the passenger seat, buckling herself in before Viv drives out the car park.
Low and behold, 5 minutes into the car trip back home and you're passed out in the back seat of the car.
"Looks like you win the bet" Viv states, glancing into the rear view mirror to see your sleeping state.
"We're in a long few days with this illness, huh?" Beth remarks, frowning as they both know exactly how it's going to play out.
"Most definitely, good job we're stocked up on medicine already" Viv remarks, knowingly.
"Our wonder kid sure is a stubborn one" Beth mumbles, shaking her head in sympathy.
© scribblesofagoonerr
#woso x reader#arsenal x reader#woso#woso fanfics#beth mead x reader#vivianne miedema x reader#meadema x reader#woso imagine#woso one shot#awfc x reader#engwnt x reader#woso fic
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Warm Shower and Soft Kisses
Peter Parker x Reader
Masterlist
Wordcount: 1.3k
Synopsis: Peter takes care of you after you after you disappear for a week.
Warnings: Fluff!!, hurt/comfort, Peter taking care of his girl, Shower with Peter, technical nudity but no smut or descriptions.
AN: Can be imagined as any Peter, gif is just tasm. Lightly edited. Also I’m currently working on two requests so stay tuned <3
A chilly breeze rushes through your room, waking you from your slumber. Your eyes flutter open and lock on your open window that’s letting in the cold November breeze. “Fuck,” you mumble as you bury yourself deeper into your duvet, far too lazy to get up and actually shut the window. You’ve been like this for almost a week now, a lethargic shell of your former self hiding in your room away from the problems of the word.
You haven’t been up more than 10 times since it all started. You refuse to move unless you have to go to the bathroom, and even then you do that begrudgingly. On top of your refusal to move unless absolutely necessary, you find yourself calling out of work most days, unable to handle the thought of dealing with people. You’re also skipping classes and ignoring everyone’s attempts to contact you.
Your biggest issue at the current moment is Peter Parker, your boyfriend. He stops by your place at least twice a day since you disappearance. Your parents always sending him away per your request. You felt horrible for pushing Peter away, but you felt so sick and the thought of being with another person exhausts you. Your whole body was aching just from you laying silently below your covers after all.
Your quiet day comes to an end just as quickly as it starts when you hear Peter slipping through your window. “Y/N?” He whispers, approaching your shaking body that’s huddled under a pile of blankets. “Baby, what’s going on? Are you sick?” You feel him peeling the blankets off you, revealing just how horrible you look. Your eyes have heavy eye bag’s despite you sleeping most of your days, and it’s clear you haven’t showered since your disappearance.
When you look up you’re met with a face of concern. “Hi,” you say meekly. Your voice feels scratchy in your throat as you speak for the first time in a few days.
“Y/N, are you okay?” Peter presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “Sweetheart…”
You give Peter a small smile before feeling suddenly embarrassed, you can’t even remember at this point the last time you brushed your teeth. A frown settles on your face as you look up at Peter once more. “I haven’t been feeling like myself lately.” You whisper.
Peter frowns, stroking your cheek. “I can help you get a shower if you’d like baby?” You nod slowly, grateful for your boyfriends offer. You place your hand in his and allow him to lift you up and out of bed. You latch onto Peters arm the moment you stand up. It’s abundantly clear just how shaky your legs feel due to the lack of use.
Peter guides your wobbling body into your bathroom, turning on the lights and fan in the process. The bright lights are overwhelming as you sit on the bathroom sink, watching as Peter starts the shower for you. “Come on pretty girl, let’s get you cleaned up.” Peter smiles as he gently kisses your cheek.
You watch as Peter strips out of his clothes before helping you out of your own. The cool air sends a shiver down your spine. You take a moment to enjoy being out of your dirty cloths as Peter leads you under the warm water.
“Better?” He asks as he gently massages your scalp while placing kisses all over your face.
“Much,” you sigh, allowing your body to relax under his touch. You wait patiently as Peter lathers up his hands with Shampoo, just wanting to feel his hands in your hair again.
“Shall we get your hair washed m’lady?” Peters asks, not really waiting for a response since his fingers are already tangling in your hair before he finishes his sentence. You let out a small moan at the sensation of his fingers giving your scalp a deep massage. Every muscle in your body seems to let go in that moment, putting you into a state of calm.
Peter pulls away from your hair momentarily, lathering conditioner onto his hands before returning to your hair. “Thank you Peter,” you whisper softly, getting on your tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek.
“Anything for my girl,” he smiles.
You allow yourself to soak up the sensation of being clean along with Peters gentle hands slowly rubbing the soap bar all over your body.
“You look so pretty right now, I hope you know that.” Peter coos, also enjoying the feeling of his hands gently lathering soap into your plush skin. He’s been worrying sick about you for essentially the last week. Since you didn’t return a single phone call and when he knocks on the door your mom always tells him you aren’t feeling well.
You’ve been on Peters mind since the day of your mini disappearance, making him feel sick and lonely without you at night. He was missing the sound of your voice, the way you giggle and laugh, your bright smile and witty jokes. He was missing every inch of you, and now that you’re finally back in his arms he wasn’t sure how he was going to handle having to go home again.
You were both so caught up in one another’s presence you only notice how long it’s been when the water starts to get cold. You both let out a small laugh, rinsing off before hopping out of the shower.
Peter helps to dry your shivering body, hoping to warm you up as quick as possible. You aid Peter in drying off as well, wanting to help him like he’s been helping you.
Peter ruffles your hair in the towel before wrapping it around you once again and making his way to your sink to grab a toothbrush. He quickly gets some toothpaste and wets the brush, helping to ease it in your mouth.
He didn’t question why you haven’t showered it brushed your teeth, rather he just silently helps you do so, sprinkling words of encouragement along the way. “You’re doing great sweetheart, you have such a pretty smile you know.” Peter says as he continues to help you brush your teeth.
Despite your exhaustion you find the energy to throw your arms around Peter, toothbrush still sticking out of your mouth. He lets out a small laugh, hugging you back and kissing all over your face.
“Come on, let’s finish brushing your teeth so I can kiss your pretty lips,” Peter urges, as he helps you finish up. Once your teeth are clean Peter makes sure to press five kisses to your lips immediately, savoring the feeling of your lips on his.
“I should probably get dressed before we keep kissing,” you tease, starting to feel like yourself again.
“Mhm, how about some warm fuzzy pajamas?” Peter offers as he leads you over to the closet. He shuffle through some options before setting on your red t-shirt and short pajama set. “This one’s my favorite on you, and I know you’ve said it’s the most comfortable.” Peter smiles as he helps you into your cloths. He shuffles through some of the cloths he left at your place, throwing on a pair of boxers before leading you over to your bed.
“Peter?” You whisper, looking up at your boyfriend as you sit on your bed.
“Yes baby?” He hums, placing a kiss to your forehead.
“Can you cuddle me? Please?” You beg, craving Peters soft touch once again.
“Anything for you love, come on, crawl under the covers.” He replies as he helps you situate. He slowly pulls the covers up and around you both, holding you in his arms tightly.
“I love you Peter,” you say softly, feeling your eyes grow heavy once more.
“I love you too Y/N,” Peter hums, kissing your forehead one last time before you fall into a deep slumber.
+++
TAGLIST
#peter parker spiderman#tasm peter#peter parker#peter parker fluff#peter parker x reader#mcu peter parker#peter parker oneshot#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker x you#peter parker imagine#peter parker x y/n#mcu peter parker x reader#tasm!peter one shot#tasm!peter x y/n#tasm!peter x you#tasm andrew garfield#tom holland#tom peter parker#andrew peter parker#andrew garfield#peter parker x plus size reader#peter parker x fem!reader#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter fluff#mcu fandom#tasm fanfiction#tasm peter x reader#tasm#tasm peter imagines#mcu peter imagines
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♡ Flowers and Laughter ♡
Nightstuck!Wally x GN!Reader
Inspired by a gorgeous drawing by @bunnyspine, AU by them as well!!
Just a lighthearted, fluffy fic <333 Enjoy neighbors!
I am writing this while sick HELPME
(Art by @bunnyspine <33 love you so much /p)
☆☆☆☆☆
"...for you."
Wally softly whispered, standing in front of you with a variety of flowers tied up together with a red ribbon. It was perfectly tied just for you with a note attached. His gaze was away from yours, but it was easy to tell that you meant a lot to him. As nervous as he was, he stood in front of you with a beautiful gift that left you in tears.
You reach out and take the sweet gift. The flowers smelt wonderful. You were fighting not to cry on the spot. Of all neighbors, you caught his attention. It made you feel special, a feeling you thought you'd never feel. And here you were, getting emotional with a beating heart. You glance at the note, which reads;
" I really think you're pretty, neighbor. So pretty that I can't stop thinking about you. You never make my heart still. It races with adoration because of you. I love you. "
Your emotions got the best of you. Tears trailed down your face. But you laughed. The air was filled with your laughter.
Your laughter.
Wally was caught off guard. He turned his head to you and saw you crying with laughter. He was confused. Did you find his confession funny? What was the deal? Unfortunately for him, your laughter was contagious, and Wally soon fell into a fit of laughter with you. You both laughed together for different reasons, but it was such a sweet moment. You clutch the flowers close to you.
The laughing continued for what felt like forever. The both of you soon calmed down, each of you collectively catching your breaths.
Wally wiped away the tear that dared to shed. "What was so funny, neighbor?" He asked, his tone filled with joy and worry.
You thought about telling him, but you had a better idea.
You gently placed the flowers and card on the ground. You took a few steps forward to Wally, smiling sweetly. Before he could say anything, you gently cup his cheek with one hand; the other tangling his hair with your fingers. Wally's face grew flushed. He smiled widely and giggled, leaning into your touch.
"Nothing, you just made me really happy," you whispered. "Because I love you, too." You lean in and press a soft kiss on Wally's forehead. A soft gasp escaped his lips, his eyes sparkling with love and adoration. You could've sworn you heard his heartbeat.
Wally became so overjoyed that he threw his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. He buried his face for one moment in your shoulder, kissing your cheek multiple times the next. His embrace slightly tightened, though, remained gentle.
"Neighbor, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear that. I love you so much," he whispered.
"I love you way more. I would've never thought you would love me back," you admitted, your arms wrapped around him with your hands in his hair.
"How could I not? You're perfect,"
That was the final string tugged. You looked at Wally for a moment before closing the gap between you two, pressing your lips against his. Wally was caught off guard for a moment but clung onto you as he kissed you back. He hummed from your fingers playing with his hair. In return, you felt his hands rub your back in a soothing rhythm. It was a sweet sensation neither of you were ready to let go. It was after a few moments that you both finally pulled away for air, the two of you gently panting but smiling like loving dorks.
Now doesn't that just make your day?
☆☆☆☆☆
OH MY GOD MY FIRST NIGHTSTUCK FANFIC LETS GOOOOOOOO
AHHH I HOPE I DID WALLY JUSTICE, THIS WAS SUCH A CUTE DRAWING THAT I JUST COULD NOT HELP MYSELF
#welcome home#welcome home au#wally darling#wally darling x reader#wally welcome home#wally darling x y/n#wh nightstuck au#nightstuck au#nightstuck wally#nightstuck wally x reader#wally darling x you#welcome home wally
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