#please keep your fingers crossed for my weekend productivity | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ot7always · 4 years

Text

Ignorantly, Yours

Word Count: 10.6k

Pairing: Alpha!Jimin x Omega!Reader

Genre: Wolf!AU, Best Friends to Lovers!AU; fluff, smut, angst

Warnings: dom!Jimin, sub!reader, A/B/O dynamics, heat sex, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk (including a bit of possessiveness), marking, creampie, hair pulling, degradation, praise, rough sex, multiple orgasms

Rating: 18+

Summary: You never could have expected your best friend to show up at your apartment right as you were about to go into heat, but when he did, something in you just wouldn’t let him go.

A/N: Truly, this was never supposed to be more than drabble. Which truly became a nuisance once it grew a lot and I had to go back and change a lot of things during editing. This is my first fic with some sort of supernatural element to it, and I had a lot of fun! I hope you guys enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

Reposted without the header gif and without any links or taglist. Sorry for any inconvenience if you were already looking at the first post. I will reblog with the taglist shortly.

Maybe it should have been embarrassing.

Maybe it was, 5 years ago when the habit first started.

5 years ago, when you’d had your first pre-heat. When the world had quickly become too overwhelming, your nose unused to the myriad of scents that assaulted you in your sensitivity. Your skin feeling so raw that even the clothes on your back felt uncomfortable.

It was then, in your childhood bedroom, amidst everything else, you recognized a scent that accompanied you through your life for as long as you could remember. A scent that felt like home, felt like warm days under the sun and shared laughter under blankets at midnight.

Your nose had led you to the bottom drawer of your dresser, your hands digging through the mess of fabric there until you pulled out an orange hoodie. You didn’t remember ever having it, and it looked small enough to have been from years ago – maybe even from before he presented.

But as you pulled it out of that drawer, the scent that might have been faint to you any other day filled your nostrils. A blueberry and pine scent that left you feeling calmer instantly, safer. Whether that had to do more with your friendship or his alpha status wasn’t a thought that crossed your mind. All you knew at the time was that it made everything better – he made everything better, even when he wasn’t there.

That marked the first time you laid in your bed, curling yourself around that small piece of comfort, your face shoved into the soft fabric. The peace that washed over you then was addicting, and any thought of giving up that feeling was unfathomable.

And if Jimin noticed how you were covered in his own scent when he saw you after every heat since that day, he didn’t say a thing.

You missed him a lot.

It wasn’t as though his university was that far away, and you should have grown used to it after several years of living apart for most of the year. Weekend visits were hardly enough when you’d spent more time together than apart growing up.

It definitely didn’t feel like enough when you were lying in bed, surrounded by the products of your skillful swiping over the years during Jimin’s visits. Hoodies, t-shirts – you had at least a dozen by now. All of which were tossed across your bed alongside you, your upper body already clad in one of his oversized hoodies.

When your pre-heat started affecting you yesterday, you’d already emailed your professors to tell them you wouldn’t be able to make it to class for the week. They, of course, understood – every university accommodated for their students to get a week off about every 3 months for this exact reason.

You were already overcome by exhaustion, Jimin’s scent wafting around the room lulling you into a sleepy daze.

It was common for an omega to nest amongst an alpha’s scent before their heat, though said alpha would typically be their partner.

It wasn’t something you liked to think on very often. Something like this couldn’t be that uncommon, right? After all, he was your first friend, and that went beyond being an alpha or omega. Besides, if it bothered him, wouldn’t he have already called you out for it by now? Wouldn’t he have said something when he realized that even when you’d started spending every heat with an alpha, his scent was still somewhere in there?

You tried not to worry too much about it. It didn’t matter, anyway.

Based on how you were feeling, you knew your heat would probably be here within 2 or 3 days. Which meant you should probably call someone soon to ask them to help you through it. It was normal practice to ask a friend to help you with your heat, but it was a line you’d never crossed with Jimin. Rejection was never something you dealt with well, and you were too afraid to put him, of all people, in that position. Knowing him, he would agree even if he didn’t want to.

Who, then? Namjoon? Hoseok? Both have agreed before, though the notion of crossing your room to pick up the phone you’d so foolishly left on the dresser was severely unappealing.

Instead, you let your eyes flutter shut, your face nuzzling into a blue and red scarf Jimin had forgotten at your apartment last winter. As the tranquility washed over you, your mind drifted closer and closer to sleep, warm and cozy and surrounded by Jimin’s scent.

Until the doorbell rang through your apartment.

At first you elected to ignore it, hoping whoever it was would get the hint and go away. But when it sounded out 2 more times after you hadn’t moved in several minutes, you groaned.

Wasn’t it bad etiquette to do this to someone? Surely that had to be written in a handbook somewhere.

With heavy limbs, you dragged yourself out of bed, flipping the hood up on your (well, Jimin’s) hoodie. As much as it may have been a bad idea to answer the door by yourself in pre-heat, your scent enveloped by an alpha’s would be enough to ward off unwanted advances. Though there were definitely bad people in the world, it took a truly insane person to go after an omega scented by an alpha.

When you made it to the door, you took a deep breath, preparing yourself to ream out whoever was on the other side. While you could sense someone’s presence there, every apartment was insulated, scent-wise, for protection. You didn’t know what to expect.

But of every possibility, when you opened the door, you didn’t expect to get assaulted by the very scent you’d been basking in only minutes ago. You didn’t notice how his eyes widened or how his pupils dilated when your scent hit him, too preoccupied by your body’s visceral reaction.

The full force of his scent almost had your knees buckling, your eyelids growing heavier as every single part of you instinctively yearned to curl up into him. Maybe your heat was closer than you thought.

When you were finally able to focus your eyes on him, his teeth were biting into his bottom lip, the hand holding an overnight bag clenched so hard his knuckles were white.

You didn’t give him the chance to say anything before you were stumbling forward, colliding messily with him, only focused on getting as close to him as possible.

You barely heard a mumbled ‘shit,’ not registering that he backed you into your apartment until you heard the door slam, his bag hitting the floor.

“Jimin,” you mumbled, your hands grasping at his shirt, eyes closed as you shoved your face into his neck, sighing happily when you were finally as close to the source of your happiness as possible.

But much to your discontent, he pushed you from him, keeping you an arms’ length away. The whimper you let out in response sounded pathetic even to your own ears, but every cell in your body was screaming to get as close to him as possible.

“Y/N,” he said firmly, the unusual hardness in his tone snapping you out of your daze slightly, wide eyes fixing onto his face. He audibly gulped at the glazed look in your eyes, before continuing. “You’re in heat.”

“I’m not,” you whined, trying to push against his hands, but he was stronger than you were.

“You will be,” he responded, letting out an incredulous sigh. “Fuck. I meant to surprise you but I forgot what the date was, I’m so sorry.”

“But I’m not yet,” you complained, changing tactics and instead aiming to shove your nose into the wrists near your shoulders. When your hair swished with your movement, sending a whiff of shampoo and your scent Jimin’s way, he groaned loudly.

“God, I can’t be here, I should go,” he said through gritted teeth. But when he started leaning down to pick his bag back up, you panicked.

“NO!” you yelled, launching yourself at him with your whole weight, not at all concerned about how he stumbled back in surprise. Your hands gripping onto his waist, you looked at him with wide eyes, your irises barely visible around the black of your dilated pupils. “Please don’t leave.”

His composure visibly cracked at the desperation on your face, but the sensation of your hands trembling in their grip on him brought him back to reality. “I can’t stay, I know that you know that-”

“Why?” you cried, your bottom lip trembling. The logical part of you deep inside knew you were being unreasonable, but even that part of you was a slave to instinct. All you knew was that Jimin got you through every pre-heat, and here Jimin was in front of you now. He’d never seen you like this, not ever in the last 5 years. And now that he has, nothing has ever been more unappealing than the thought of him walking out your front door.

He was very clearly taking shallow breaths, eventually bringing his own wrist to his nose to try to drown out everything else. Based on the low grunt he let out, it didn’t seem to be working very well.

“You smell like you’re going to go into heat at any moment, fuck, I can’t,” he panted, every part of him resisting the urge to grab you and scent you until there was absolutely no question whether you were his.

Except you weren’t his.

“I-I...” he stuttered, the scent of you not only clinging to him, but everywhere throughout the apartment occupying every part of his brain. “I need to go, I’ll call someone for you, Hoseok or-”

But that was definitely the wrong thing to say, because you sprung back from him as though you’ve been burned. When you looked at him as though he’d betrayed you, he knew he’d messed up.

“Why? You’re already here,” you spat out. “Don’t go,” you finished in a much weaker voice, pleading gaze fixing onto his.

A flash of pain went through him when he saw you hug yourself around the middle, as though to appear smaller. As though to protect yourself. From him.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

“I know exactly what I’m asking of you!” you wailed, the space between you feeling wider than it’s ever been.

“I can’t,” he repeated, a tinge of desperation making its way into his tone. Why was this so hard? From what he knew about omega heats and pre-heats, without a partner or relationship you shouldn’t have cared this much about which alpha stayed with you.

“Aren’t we friends? Can’t you just stay?” you begged, eyes brimming with unshed tears. Something about him trying to leave felt like a hole was being ripped through your chest, even if you’d understand why any other day.

“Of course we’re friends,” he said incredulously, a conflicted expression on his face. He knew exactly what you meant, exactly what was implied within that statement. When something like desire crossed his gaze, you felt a dash of hope bloom within you. “But...”

And it was crushed just like that. “Why don’t you want me when I want you? What’s wrong with me?” you sobbed, the tears finally spilling from your eyes as you dropped to your knees.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The smell of an omega in distress was always something that set off an alpha’s protective instinct.

But the knowledge that he was the one who caused it brought forth an ugly wrenching in his gut.

For all the required readings Jimin had done in the course of his life, nothing had ever taught him what to do when the girl you’re secretly in love with was on the floor crying because you refused to fuck her through her heat.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. God, did he want to.

But you weren’t there begging for his heart or his love or his devotion – you were begging for his body. Which wasn’t the problem. It wasn’t that he was offended. The problem was that he wanted more than this, and that right now was most definitely not the time to have that conversation.

And it’s not that he didn’t think you knew what you wanted. He knew you knew that you were asking for sex, but he also knew that was all you were asking for. Pre-heat was about preparing for sex, not romance.

As much as a heat could completely fog an omega’s brain, in pre-heat they could still make coherent decisions. It was typically a time spent preparing for heat, a time to call an alpha or to prepare for the much more painful option of suffering alone. They were typically in a perpetual state of exhaustion, bodies crying out for sleep to save up energy for their heat.

But more importantly, it was a time where omegas were at their most emotionally vulnerable, where they gave in to instinct. A time where they surrounded themselves in the things that made them feel safest, most at home.

He knew – he knew you used his scent to get through your pre-heat, but he never thought it meant that much. You were his oldest friend, and the fact that you found comfort in his scent was never something he questioned. He was an alpha, and you scented each other often – it made sense from a biology standpoint.

And – oh.

It hit him then that this was more than an alpha’s refusal to help their friend through their heat. This was more than a refusal for sex.

This was your biggest security blanket pushing you away at your most vulnerable, the person you trusted most to keep you safe leaving you when you were begging him to stay.

He really, really fucked up by coming here.

He should have checked the dates properly in the first place, and now he’d have to deal with the consequences. There was an unbelievably high chance that if he walked out that door, you’d have a breakdown, and he couldn’t just break your heart by leaving now.

Even if it ended up breaking his own. Even if you ended up thinking nothing of it, and he would never be able to erase the memory from his brain.

Because you were begging him to stay out of instinct, out of need. Not out of love. Not that he knew of, not the kind he wanted, at least.

But there was no reason to go there or question you about it, because he knew you’d say anything to make him stay, even if it wasn’t true. Not because you were a liar, but because that’s what your body would push you to do right now.

Knowing that the smell of his own panic would just set you off more, he took a couple deep breaths before falling to his knees in front of you. He had to force down the rising upset in his chest at the scent of your tears, every part of him screaming at himself for upsetting you this deeply.

“Hey,” he called out softly, his hands reaching out to gently pull your hands away from where they were hiding your face. At the sight of your red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks, his heart tugged. “Look at me.” He slipped a hand forward to cradle your head, brushing against the hair at the nape of your neck. He hoped so badly that he could be a comfort to you, even when he was the one who hurt you in the first place.

He waited almost a minute for you to look up, doing his best to calm you in that time. When you finally raised your eyes to look at him, the fear in your expression was something he’d only ever seen a few times in his life. You were an expert at putting on a brave face for the world, and seeing the uncensored pain displayed there punched him in the gut.

“Baby,” he cooed, pulling you into his arms. He carefully maneuvered your face into the crook of his neck, smiling as you melted into his hold, a content sigh leaving you. He wrapped his arms around you, face rubbing into your hair as he stopped resisting the urge to scent you. He ignored the shiver that ran down his spine at your scent that only seemed to be growing stronger.

The two of you stayed like that for several minutes, your body so limp in his grasp that he had to keep both of you upright himself. He couldn’t tell whether you were awake, goosebumps rising to the surface of his skin as your nose brushed against one of the most sensitive parts of his body.

But when he stood up, wanting to get you somewhere more comfortable than the floor, he felt every muscle in your body tense, a low whine leaving your throat. Your hands grasped onto his shirt. “Jimin-”

“Shh,” he soothed, continuing to nuzzle into you as he stood you both up. “I’m not leaving.”

“You’re not?” you repeated, muffled into his shoulder.

“I’m not.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He scratched lightly at your scalp as the other hand stroked up and down the length of your back, humming when you finally relaxed again, your arms wrapping around to tug him as close as possible. “Good girl.”

Something in him awakened when he heard the hitch of your breath at his words, but he shoved it down. He had to keep a hold of himself while he still had the chance – because once you were in heat, there would be no rest for either of you. Not when it was taking his entire focus to hold himself back right now and it was only your pre-heat.

“I’m gonna take you to your room, okay?” he asked quietly. When you nodded, he scooped you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, head lolling sleepily against his shoulder.

You were very clearly exhausted, and guilt gnawed away at him for it. The emotional ups and downs of the past half hour must have taken even more out of you – while you tended to be quiet, you were never this quiet, not with him. You seemed to be asleep, steady exhales hitting the skin of his neck.

When he entered your room, his heart skipped in his chest at the sight of his belongings strewn across your mattress, a you-sized gap in the middle where you must have been laying. He couldn’t help the pride swelling in his chest, the possessive part of him thrilled at the notion of you burying yourself in his scent.

He supposed he should be happy you were asleep. Omegas tended to be self-conscious about their nest, which was why he was surprised you agreed to let him take you here so easily. The idea that you felt comfortable enough to let him in here without a fight brought forth a feeling in his gut that felt suspiciously like butterflies.

Easing off the shoes he’d never had the chance to remove at the front door, he brought you both down into the bed, careful not to jostle your form. He laid you down together, your body atop his, heart melting at your tiny noise of content.

He had to bite back a moan when you nuzzled further into his neck, your lips brushing against his skin.

Get it together, Jimin.

He didn’t know if he would ever be relaxed enough to sleep when you were on top of him already smelling like every sinful desire he’s ever had. His cock shouldn’t have been stirring when you looked so innocent, your hands curled up ever-so-slightly under his shirt. And despite everything in his mind telling him that he would regret this, his entire body was screaming in anticipation for this entire weekend.

This wouldn’t be the first time he’s helped an omega through their heat, but everything was different because this was you. Someone he cared about, someone he loved, and he knew you loved him too, whether it was in the way he wanted or not. Heat flared in him at the thought of you wet and desperate only for him, begging to be filled. He knew you’d be out of your mind with lust, and even before seeing it he knew it would be the most beautiful sight he’s ever set eyes upon.

Get a hold of yourself, Jimin.

It was absolutely no use to contemplate these things now, especially not when the scent of his arousal might wake you up and set you off prematurely. You both needed rest – he’d be damned if he didn’t make this the best heat you’d ever had just because he was tired.

And so he wrapped his arms around your middle, willing arousal from his brain and replacing it with thoughts of sleep. Luckily, his body must have been able to sense his need for rest before the upcoming days, and sleep found him easier than anticipated.

You awoke to your back hitting your mattress, the first thing you noticed being that your body felt like it was being burned alive. But when you inhaled, the scent of pure alpha overtook all thought, brain incapable of anything other than unadulterated need, arousal shooting to your core almost instantaneously.

When your eyes shot open, fire lit within you when they immediately locked onto Jimin’s dark gaze, his body hovering over yours like he was about to pounce. When he took in the neediness in your eyes, his lip upturned in a salacious smirk, stare burning holes into you.

“Rise and shine, little wolf,” he drawled, hands locking onto your ankles and dragging you down the bed until your face was right below his.

You shivered despite yourself at the predatory expression on his face, holding back the whine that threatened to escape. You felt incapable of speaking, every intake of breath only fogging your mind further, the fire in you becoming so potent it was painful.

You couldn’t help the keening whimper that escaped when he roughly fisted a hand into the hair at the nape of your neck, yanking until your entire neck was on display. You gasped and arched into his body with want as he leaned in to inhale deeply right above your collarbone. The feral growl he let out at your scent had you shuddering, trembling hands trying desperately to pull him closer, but he didn’t relent.

“Please,” you begged, shoving your body upwards as much as possible, desperate to feel his body against your own. At the feeling of his canines brushing against the skin of your neck gently, you felt new wetness rush from you. Your desperation was only growing exponentially with every passing moment, and it felt like if you didn’t get touched soon, you would surely die.

“You smell so fucking good,” he snarled, voice raspier than you’d ever heard it before. He sounded almost pained, and it only set you off further. Everything in you ached for his touch, your cunt clenching around nothing despite Jimin not even having touched you yet. You needed it – needed to be touched, you needed him to quell the ache.

“Hurts,” you gasped out, still trying and failing to grind against his body above you.

“Aw, baby, I’m sorry,” he cooed, pressing his free palm down onto your clothed centre. His breath hitched as you started forcefully grinding against it immediately, a choked whine slipping from your lips at the sudden pressure right where you needed it most.

“Alpha...” you moaned, rutting shamelessly against his hand as you pushed further against the hand in your hair, baring more of the soft expanse of your neck. Your eyes shut as pleasure rocked your system, but it wasn’t enough. You needed more, his cock in your drenched cunt, his nails raking down your body as he utterly ravished you. You whined loudly at the thought, arousal slipping from you. It was clear he noticed when he hissed.

“Fuck, look at you. You’re dripping, so fucking desperate,” he panted, somehow sounding almost as ruined as you. “I’m gonna fuck this cunt senseless, fill you up so good you’ll never ask for anyone else again. Do you want that, little omega? Want me to make you mine?”

Any other time you might have questioned his possessive words, but any rational part of your brain was long gone. No, all that existed was you, Jimin, and your excruciating need to be filled.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cried, whimpering at the imagery he put in your head. You wanted nothing more than to be his bitch, to take his cock and his seed and his knot. “Fuck me, please.”

“You beg so nicely,” he breathed, and you keened at the praise. You gasped as he sat back and quite literally ripped the shirt from your body, following suit with the rest of your clothes. You didn’t have it in you to complain, not when he was yanking your legs apart, gaze laser-focused onto your centre. “Don't worry, baby, your alpha is gonna take care of you, okay?”

You only nodded furiously, hips bucking upward suddenly as Jimin wasted no more time, two fingers smearing through your heat before thrusting abruptly into you. You finally felt some sort of relief at being filled, but it wasn’t enough. The stretch wasn’t satisfying enough, and your desire for more only amplified. But it seemed he knew this, adding another finger wordlessly.

“God, this cunt is so fucking hungry for me,” he growled, pistoning his fingers in and out roughly before grinding the heel of his hand into your clit.

You cried out as pleasure reared on you embarrassingly quickly, but no part of you wanted to cum without his cock inside you, dragging against your sensitive walls.

“Jimin...” you moaned, arching your back as you sought to push yourself closer to the source of your pleasure. He almost groaned at the sound of his name coming so wantonly from your lips. “Want you, please.”

“Yeah? You want to get stuffed?”

The garbled response you gave was nowhere near coherent, but it didn’t take a genius to see what you wanted. When he gave a low chuckle and pulled himself from his sweatpants, you started salivating immediately. He was girthy, vein visibly spanning the underside beneath his hand as he palmed himself. The head looked almost purple, the tip leaking. You needed it inside you.

Before you even realized it yourself, you were turning over onto your front. By the time you’d planted your face down, ass up, Jimin was already growling, roughly digging his fingers into your asscheeks. As several more seconds went by without his cock in you, you arched your back further, whining as he only dug his fingertips in harder.

“Such a good little wolf,” he crooned, hissing when your arousal dripped from your pussy to the bed. “Getting yourself so nice and ready for me. You need cock that badly? Can’t wait for it?”

You could have cried when you finally felt the tip of his cock at your entrance, but you didn’t have time to do or say anything before he shoved all the way in to the hilt without warning.

You must have screamed then, but you hardly noticed anything apart from the way he set a quick pace, hardly noticed when the tears left your eyes, body swimming in relief and euphoria. Every snap of his hips brought forth a moan from your lips, fingers digging helplessly into the sheets by your head.

“Tell me how it feels,” he snarled, moving to hold your hips up when the overwhelming pleasure left you unable to do it yourself.

It was all you could do to whimper, body feeling as though it was in the clouds as your walls clamped down on Jimin’s cock. He was stretching you so well, the slight burn nothing compared to the waves of pleasure he was sending through your entire being. You took a breath to respond to him once you registered what he said, but when his cock brushed against that spot inside you, it only left you as a choked moan.

“This needy cunt just sucks me right in, huh?” he groaned when your walls clenched down on him again, as though to trap him inside you. But it made no difference to him, his thrusts only continuing, fast and precise as your walls fluttered around him, whines falling from your lips. Recalling how responsive you’d been to praise earlier, he kept talking. “Doing such a good job for me, baby,” he hummed, smirking when he felt the shuddering of your body beneath his hands. “So fucking perfect for me, taking this cock so well.”

His words shot through you like fire, and combined with the drag of him inside you, you were propelled toward your end.

“Alpha...” you whimpered, pushing back onto his cock, a particularly rough thrust pulling a shout from your lips. You were so close to slipping over the edge, the squeezing of your walls around him more and more insistent as you approached your end. “Please.” It was as though no other words existed in your vocabulary, but Jimin could read you perfectly well, as though he was made for you.

“What’s that, hm? Baby’s gonna cum?” he taunted before reaching around to rub at your clit. “Let go then, milk my cock. I want to hear you.”

The added stimulation was more than enough to propel you into your orgasm, your mouth agape as your walls clamped down on his cock. You distantly registered Jimin’s moans from above you as he held you up and fucked you through your it, the sparks of pleasure never-ending.

But while his thrusts became less harsh, they did not lower in their intensity whatsoever. And as the fog in your head receded some from your orgasm, you only felt that much more sensation as you regained your bearings.

Rather than a mindless slave to pleasure and want, with your brain partly yours again you could truly feel. Feel the cotton of the sheets where they were clenched between your fists, feel the slight strain in your knees as they dug into the mattress, feel Jimin’s fingers anchored onto your hips, as though you would float away if he let go.

You could truly feel every drag of his cock against you, every grind, and when he perfectly maneuvered to hit against your g-spot, you were left breathless once again.

But with your increased coherence, your body craved more than just cock – you wanted closeness, wanted Jimin’s body against your own, his groans in your ear, his chest against your back.

“Jimin,” you called out, voice needy but noticeably more present.

His thrusts slowed but didn’t stop. “Hm?”

Rather than attempt to formulate an answer, you blindly reached a hand in his direction and made a grabbing motion. It was accompanied by your best impression of some sort of demanding noise, but you sounded like a spoiled brat even to your own ears.

He clearly didn’t mind though, huffing a laugh at your antics before coming down to your level, pressing some of his weight into your back as he nuzzled your neck.

“This what you want, baby?” he asked, wrapping his arms snugly around your middle. It would almost be cute, if not for the snap of his hips he opted to punctuate his question with.

You could only shiver and take it as he set a slow but intense pace, his cock slowly dragging out of you before he thrusted forward quickly in one single motion. But even in its intensity it was intimate, his lips tracing nonsensical patterns into the skin of your shoulder, his moans increasing in volume as you whined your pleasure.

His pace slowly but surely built you back up toward a second release, Jimin’s thrusts growing faster as he approached his own end. It wasn’t long before your moans were increasing in volume again, hips squirming beneath Jimin’s as that pressure in your abdomen only built and built.

“Gonna cum for me again, little wolf?” he growled directly into your ear, digging his fingers in close to your scalp and pulling your face up out of the sheets. No longer muffled, your moans were loud and unabashed, your pleasure surrendered entirely to him.

“I’m gonna fill this cunt up, gonna stretch you wide, is that what you want?”

As much as you were more coherent than last time, the effect his voice had on you was visceral, eyelids fluttering shut and goosebumps raising on your skin. When you only nodded with what little movement you could make within his grasp, he growled.

“Answer me!”

“Yes, yes!” you pleaded, eager to please. “Want you to fill me up, Jimin, please.”

“Such a good girl,” he moaned in response, moving to suck bruises into your neck. The thought of being marked by him for all to see only lit a new fire within you.

But when you felt the press of his canines brushing against the sensitive part of your neck, it was as though something in you snapped. You almost squealed as the orgasm rained down on you unexpectedly, something resembling ‘Jimin’ spilling from your lips, though you paid it no mind.

You were so lost in your pleasure you hardly noticed Jimin’s gruff yell from above you as he came, only registering it as his knot started to stretch you.

He shushed you gently as you whined, warmth still spilling into you as it finished inflating. Panting breathlessly against your back, he softly cupped your face as you caught your breath.

The stretch was more overwhelming than painful, every tiny movement seeming to shift his knot inside you enough to make you gasp. You should have grown used to the feeling by this point in your life, but it managed to catch you off guard every single time. You never felt ready for the immense stretch or the soreness that lingered between waves of your heat.

After several minutes of silence, breaths finally quieting, he spoke up.

“Are you okay?” he asked, hands reaching to keep you from squirming too much under him, knowing you’d only make the discomfort worse. “Relax for me.”

You nodded in response, letting yourself release the tension from your limbs as he continued to gently nose at your neck. His scent washed over you, but in this brief limbo between waves of your heat it spurred only calmness rather than arousal.

For you, at least, the first wave was always the worst in terms of self-control and mindedness. That was why it was essential for omegas to share their heat only with someone they could trust – if not a partner, then a friend. While omegas were at their most emotionally vulnerable during pre-heat, they were at their most physically vulnerable during the heat itself. In theory, Jimin could have done whatever he wanted, and you would have begged for it.

He hummed in approval when you went still beneath him, rolling the two of you onto your side so that you were no longer supporting his weight.

“Sleepy?” he inquired softly as he watched you stifle a yawn.

You only nodded again, reaching for Jimin’s hand to make him wrap it around you more snugly, pressing yourself as close to him as possible. You shivered as his knot shifted with your movement, though it didn’t ache as much as it did initially. You felt so full, his cock still half-hard within you, release still painting your walls with nowhere to go.

You let your eyes shut, soreness and exhaustion taking up residence temporarily before the next wave. As much as a heat could feel so intense it hurt, you found that the time between each wave was truly the most difficult. It was the time where every ounce of muscle pain and sleep deprivation hit you, but it was also the time where, to put it simply, if you didn’t recharge you were fucked.

Heats were strenuous on the body, and it unfortunately wasn’t abnormal for omegas to be brought to the emergency room from dehydration and malnutrition from their heat. That was why the medical professionals tended to encourage of-age omegas to spend their heats with a trusted partner – it was just safer altogether. It was difficult to push past the fog of exhaustion to take care of yourself when you were on your own, though not impossible.

A tiny whine was the only acknowledgment you gave when you felt his knot go down enough to slip from you. You made a noise of complaint as Jimin pulled from your side, but he quickly returned to you, wiping away the mess that was now between your thighs.

“If I help you, can you sit up?”

After hearing your noise of affirmation, he pulled you up so that your back rested against the headboard, careful not to move you too quickly. But despite that, you couldn’t help the lightheaded feeling that came with the motion, reaching out to steady yourself on Jimin’s arm.

When he took in your rapid blinking and unfocused eyes, his concern grew exponentially. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Tired,” you mumbled, leaning into his touch when he moved to stroke your face.

“Let’s eat something and then we can nap, okay?”

“Mm.”

He moved away from you quickly to grab things from under your bed. One of the first things they taught omegas after presenting was that it was essential to keep a food and drink store in your room during your heat. One of the most important parts of pre-heat was not only securing a heat partner if desired, but also packing enough nutrient-rich food and drinks to last through your heat if you’re unable to leave the room.

You hadn’t realized you’d dozed off until Jimin’s hand on your shoulder startled you awake. He took your hand in his own only to wrap your fingers around an energy bar he’d opened for you.

“Eat,” he commanded, though the soft, caring tone characteristic of Jimin never left his voice.

The thought of putting in effort to do anything was unappealing, but once you started, you realized how famished you were. When you finished your first bar within moments, he handed you a second, eating some for himself at the same time.

He didn’t waste any time with handing you a Gatorade bottle once you were finished eating, ensuring you could hold it yourself before getting his own.

As much as he seemed to be in a rush, this was a better safe than sorry type of situation. While sometimes you could squeeze in some sleep between waves of your heat, it sometimes felt like one huge gamble in terms of time. You’ve had downtimes of as little as 10 minutes in the past, so you were grateful that he was hurrying you along.

When he noticed you stopped drinking, he grabbed it from you to place it on the nightstand a safe distance away from the bed.

“Do you want anything else?” he asked, shoving all of the garbage into a bag to deal with another time.

“You.”

He turned around quickly, thinking you were going into your next wave, but froze at the sight of you simply blinking up at him sleepily.

He bit down on his lip to suppress a fond smile when you reached for his hand, severely hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

He let you tug him forward, settling beside you in bed before pulling you securely into his side.

As much as you might have loved to talk or quietly cuddle, you were out like a light as soon as you laid your head down on his shoulder, face tucked securely into his neck.

The next two days went by in a blur. You never tended to remember very many specific moments from your heats besides that you felt good, and were definitely sore after. The combination of physical and mental exhaustion along with the mind-numbing desire didn’t seem to be conducive to proper brain function.

Fuck. Eat. Fuck. Eat. Nap. Rinse. Repeat.

“Kiss me,” you demanded, pulling Jimin down toward you by his shoulders.

From what you could tell, it was the last day of your heat, also making for the most coherent day. The consequences of not sating your heat on the last day were more uncomfortable than painful, and the sex almost resembled what it would any other day.

He obliged you easily, mouth meeting yours as he snapped his hips, filling you up and stretching you all in one stroke. He nipped at your lower lip as you moaned freely, arching your back to feel as much of his skin as possible.

You couldn’t help the increase in volume when he settled with his length in you, grinding his pubic bone into your clit. It seemed that Jimin was feeling similarly, both of you simply panting by each other's mouths rather than doing any sort of kissing like you’d intended.

It was only minutes before you felt the familiar tightening in your abdomen, Jimin groaning above you when he felt you clench around him. You whimpered as he sucked new bruises into the skin of your neck, a shiver making its way down your spine as he reached the soft skin below your ear.

But every part of you was screaming out for more.

“Mark me.”

Jimin froze instantly at your words, but it seemed that you weren’t properly considering the weight of your words, only urging him to continue his motions in search of your high.

A mark wasn’t permanent, but it was no small thing. More than a mark of “possession,” it was a mark of an alpha's care and loyalty, a mark of an omega’s trust. It was only something ever shared in serious relationships, and it would sometimes take partners years to reach that point.

“Jimin,” you whined when he ignored what you said. Every instinctive part of you wanted it so badly, your head subconsciously tipping back to give him easier access.

“No.”

“Jimin...”

“Don’t you know what you’re saying?”

“Please-”

“I said no,” he snarled, speeding up the snap of his hips enough that you were shifting up the bed. “Tomorrow, when this is all over,” he panted above you, teeth bared, “Then we’ll talk.”

He didn’t let you get a word in edgewise, continuously pulling himself from you fully before abruptly sheathing himself to the hilt once again.

You were left gasping for breath, swimming in sensation as your abdomen tightened, all else forgotten for the time being.

When he shifted to one side, a hand dropping to rub circles into your clit, you saw white. Your nails sharply dug into the skin of Jimin’s back where they were held, waves of pleasure battering you nonstop as he continued his thrusts.

But it was only moments later that he seated himself into you fully, warmth spilling into you as his knot inflated for the nth time since your heat began. It didn’t leave you gasping the same way as the first time, but a groan still wrenched itself from your throat at the sensation.

As soon as his body collapsed onto yours, you knew that your heat was finally over. The feeling was inexplicable, almost as though a weight had been lifted from the back of your mind.

You might have addressed the words uttered from your mouth only moments before if not for the debilitating fatigue that filled every limb and every square inch of your brain.

So, against your best judgment on any other day, you knocked right out.

When you next awoke, it wasn’t because desire ripped you from slumber, nor was it because your scent set off Jimin enough to wake you.

In fact, you were alone in your bed, immediately cringing at the sight of all the questionable stains dotting the sheets.

Good thing you had a mattress pad.

You sat up, wincing as every muscle screamed in protest. From your neck all the way to your fingertips, everything hurt. You’d probably be feeling this for days. It definitely didn’t help that the stench of sex was so strong you could feel a headache coming on.

You didn’t have time to ponder on Jimin’s whereabouts before he was coming back in through the doorway, half-dressed with water in hand.

He sent you a smile when you met eyes, but it was lost on you because as soon as he was here, every interaction over the past few days flooded your mind at once. And this time, there were no hormones to mask proper thought.

You asked – no, begged – him to stay. Even when he told you no.

You’d practically thrown a tantrum, what was wrong with you? Since when did your pre-heat make you throw respect out the window?

He wasn’t here because he wanted to stay, he was here because you forced him to. He was here because you were pathetic enough to get on the floor and beg him to stay, and Jimin, for the life of him, didn’t know how to say no to people. How could he look at you right now?

“Y/N?” he called, sounding puzzled. He must be able to smell your rising distress coming off you in waves, but you paid him no mind as you continued to recall the past few days, hating yourself more and more with every passing second.

You’d basically forced him to stay with you and fuck you for nearly four days without ever talking about it before.

It was more difficult to put together the pieces of what happened in your heat, memories mostly a blur of pleasure and then sleep.

But-

Fuck.

“Mark me.”

Your blood ran cold instantly.

Were you fucking insane? You dug your fingernails into your palms harshly to check if you were dreaming. Unluckily for you, you weren’t.

Was there any coming back from this? You couldn’t blame him if he could never look at you the same, if he never spoke to you again. Who would tell their heat partner – the first time they spent a heat together – to mark them?

It didn’t matter that you’d known each other since before you were even forming proper memories. It didn’t matter, because that wasn’t how this worked. You didn’t just ask your friends to mark you, no matter how much you loved each other.

A mark was something you shared with someone you intended to be lifelong partners with. Someone you’d dedicate your life to, someone you might want to have kids with someday.

God, what was wrong with you?

You didn’t notice his approach until a hand met your shoulder, too engrossed in staring at the floor as thoughts whirred in your head.

“What is it?” he asked, concern quickly turning into panic at finding you in this state with no explanation.

But it was as though with one touch, the floodgates broke, and angry tears started spilling from your eyes. Tears that had nothing to do with Jimin and everything to do with yourself.

He jumped back slightly in surprise, and you didn’t give him the chance to touch you again before you were furiously wiping the wetness from your face.

“God, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” he questioned frantically, hands returning to your shoulders as he angled his face to try to meet yours, but you only kept turning your head to avoid him. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself, whether to join you on the bed or continue hovering awkwardly from the bedside. “Talk to me, please-”

“Do you hate me?” you choked out, eyes fixed on a random, insignificant spot on the sheets.

That seemed to quiet him instantly. “Huh?”

“I forced you here,” you whispered, though it seemed that the words didn’t want to stop once they started, volume only rising as you carried on. “You came here to be nice and then you tried to leave and I didn’t let you. You said no so many times and I begged you to stay until you couldn’t say no anymore! I don’t even know what I was thinking, I guess I wasn’t thinking at all-”

“Hey-”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know how you must think of me right now but I wouldn’t blame you if you thought I was disgusting, I think I’m disgusting, god-”

“Hey, look at me,” he urged, prodding lightly at your chin until you raised your head enough to meet his gaze. When he saw your red eyes and miserable expression, it was as though a piece of himself broke. “I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You didn't, I remember you told me no, you ‘wanted to’ because I made you.”

“It’s not like that,” he replied, expression almost pained.

“Don’t lie to me to make me feel better,” you snarled, though it came off more broken than aggressive. “Stop trying to protect me, tell me when you’re mad at me!”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Jimin-”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

The sudden question was enough to give you pause. “You know I do.”

He took a moment to settle onto the bed beside you, stretching out an arm to invite you in to lay with him. After only a moment of hesitation, you did.

“Then trust me when I say I wanted to stay,” he said firmly, stroking calming circles into your side. “You know I don’t like lying to you.”

It was true, he didn’t. Which summoned the question – if he wanted to stay, why did he refuse so many times? Were you sure he wasn’t lying now?

No – that wasn’t Jimin. Plus, you knew him so well that you doubted he would lie to you about something this serious, not when he was such an open book. But you didn’t have long to think about it before he piped up again.

“You asked me something yesterday,” he started, and you could hear in his tone that he was treading carefully.

You tensed up immediately when you processed his words, breath quickening as you anticipated what he was about to say. Was this the part where he told you he’s not mad he stayed, but he never wanted to speak to you again? You’d relaxed enough in the past few minutes that you’d almost forgotten about what you’d said yesterday. Almost.

“Why?” he asked simply.

Why. An obscenely loaded question contained within one 3-letter word. And yet, an answer wasn’t so easy.

“I don’t know,” you stalled.

“Don’t do that,” he scolded. “Really think. I know you, and I know you’d never be that nonchalant about a mark, ever. What changed?”

“Nothing changed!”

He only turned to give you a disapproving look before leaning his head back against the headboard and shutting his eyes. It was clear that he wasn’t going to make any more conversation until you properly pondered his question and gave him a real answer.

Why?

Did you even know why?

You wished you could say it just slipped out, that there was no other reason.

Maybe any other time you’ve said something questionable or downright stupid that would fly, but not for something like this.

Even at their drunkest, people didn’t ask their friends to marry them with the full intent of following through and starting life as an actual married couple.

Just the same, an omega doesn’t just ask a friend to mark them, mate them, not even in heat. Omega heats made it a fairly common occurrence to fuck your friends (at least, a select few) while unmarked, and it wasn’t as though the desire to be marked stemmed from a heat. If it were, platonic marking would be a thing already. And sure, marking made sex feel better, but heats were sexual, and marks were... more.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? There was no easy excuse, no escaping this.

One might say an omega was a slave to instinct in their heat, but instinct didn’t come from nowhere.

The instinct to nest came from the pursuit of safety in a vulnerable time. The instinct to ‘hibernate’ came from the need to save up energy for a heat. The instinct to scent came from the desire for intimacy and comfort. The instinct to fuck came from hormonal cycles and the body’s inherent goal to breed.

The instinct to be marked as an omega? To ask for it?

The need for emotional security, to know that your feelings were returned – attraction, desire, love.

Love?

If your love for Jimin was supposed to be a secret, it wasn’t a very well-kept one. You talked every day since you were kids, knew each other's mannerisms so well you didn’t need words to communicate, gravitated toward each other in every group setting, cried together when you separated for university...

You loved him, without a doubt. It was obvious. But was it more than that? Was your body trying to tell you something that you didn’t even consider?

“I...” you started but immediately trailed off, limbs so tense you almost seemed ready to run away. This wasn’t a conversation you ever imagined could take place.

“Don’t be scared. You can tell me anything.” Were you imagining things, or did his tone sound almost... hopeful?

“I’ve never asked someone to mark me before this.”

He only hummed lowly in response. You knew that he knew this already, but it seemed that this time, he wouldn’t call you out for circling around the question.

“I’ve never met someone who I felt more for than you. Safe, comfortable, happy, loved.” You paused, taking a deep breath. “I love you a lot, you know?”

His breath hitched despite himself, even though he knew you didn’t mean what he wanted you to mean. “I know,” he replied, sounding almost disappointed.

“But...”

“But?” he responded, allowing that tiny thread of hope to wind around his heart one more time.

“But I don’t know what I’m feeling,” you finished, panic increasing exponentially by the end of your sentence, your body almost feeling as though it was trembling.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he rushed, bringing you closer to rub his cheek into your hair. Was it cruel of him to feel some sort of joy at your words when you were clearly scared and confused?

His scent washing over you helped calm you some, but even still, you couldn’t stop thinking. What were you feeling? Did you want something more than friendship, or was this entire situation just putting thoughts in your head? Sure, you were undeniably compatible sexually, and sure, you found him attractive, but did you want a relationship? A romantic one? But even then, how much would that really change? What did you want? Would Jimin be disgusted with you? Let you down easily? It would have to be the latter, right?

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked-”

“No,” you cut him off.

“Huh?”

“You should’ve. I can’t be stupid forever.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“I am stupid, what kind of person doesn’t know whether they...” Even despite knowing he could tell exactly what you were trying to say, the words wouldn’t come from your lips. Were you in denial? Embarrassed? Something else?

“Emotions don’t have to be straightforward.”

“I wish they were.”

He breathed a laugh at that. “Believe me, I know.”

“Jimin, be honest with me.”

“I’m always honest with you.”

“Let’s say, hypothetically, you have this friend. You’re very good friends – best friends even. You see each other as much as possible, all that. And she tells you one day she wants to talk.”

“Oh? What’s her name?”

“Uhhhhh...” you paused, pulling out the first name that came to mind. “Susan.”

He choked back a laugh, though you could still feel his chest bouncing beneath your head. “My friend Susan. Okay, go on.”

“And she tells you that something happened, and it spurred this huge train of thought that had never occurred to her before. Something that made her think about your entire relationship as friends, and made her think about herself.”

“Uh huh...”

“And she had to wonder, how much of her heart was invested in this relationship? That answer was easy – all of it. But what really had her confused was what parts of her heart were in it.”

You fidgeted nervously, but instead of saying something, Jimin only reached for one of your hands, intertwining your fingers together.

“But what really scared her the most was – how would you react? What happens when your best friend tells you that maybe your love for them extends beyond friendship?”

You took several deep breaths, trying to muster up the courage to finish the ‘story’ you’ve started. There was no backing out of this now. Your hand squeezed his hard enough that it must have hurt him, though he didn’t seem to mind.

“If she told you she thought she loved you as more than a friend, how would you respond?” you asked, trying to inject as much nonchalance into your voice as possible and failing miserably. You could feel your palms getting sweatier, and you thought your teeth might chew straight through your bottom lip. You held your breath once you heard Jimin take one of his own, preparing mentally for whatever was about to leave his lips.

“I would tell her I love her back.”

It was as though time stopped. “You... you what?”

Unwilling to let you hide your face anymore, he pulled you over so that you were straddling him, your heart filling when your eyes met his, full of honesty and understanding and... love.

“I would tell her I love her back. That if she wanted me, I was hers.”

Your eyes searched his face desperately for several seconds longer, waiting for the moment this bliss would break, the moment he took his words back, left you heartbroken before you’d even properly processed that it was his to break. But that moment never came.

“Really?” you whispered, eyes wide and screaming with vulnerability, but also wonder. The petty part of him wished he could fault you for being so oblivious, but it wasn’t your fault that you two had simply never outgrown the innocent intimacy from childhood, even after presenting.

“Really.”

“I do want it. You. I want to try. If you can be patient with me.”

“Okay. Give me a chance and I’ll make you fall in love with me for sure.”

“Oh.” As hard as you tried to purse your lips, the smile still broke its way through, eyes crinkling happily as every insecurity felt like it left at once. Was it this easy? Could happiness come so quickly in a moment, just like that?

“Oh,” he replied simply, beam splitting his face at your barely-contained joy, your expression so innocent even after all that happened the past few days.

“Oh,” you repeated, though this time the word undoubtedly seemed to harbour more weight, brows furrowing.

“Hm?”

“That’s why you said no, isn’t it? The reason you wanted to stay but tried to leave?”

The sad smile that spread across his face at that was all the answer you needed, the briefly-forgotten guilt coming back instantly.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he assured, pulling you close enough that your bodies were plastered together. “It all worked out anyway, right?”

You nodded, relaxing in his arms. If your brain wasn’t going a mile a minute right now, you were so comfortable you could’ve slept like this.

You allowed yourself several minutes to simply lay in his arms, that familiar blueberry-pine scent making you heart feel lighter and lighter.

“So,” you mumbled.

“So.”

“What changes now?”

“What do you want to change?” he replied.

“I asked first.”

He chuckled lightly. “Fine. Well...” You leaned back in confusion when he started pushing you up and off of him. “I think being able to do this is a good change.”

He leaned his face into yours, giving you a moment to back away before gently pressing his plush lips to yours.

You’d kissed already in your heat – you remembered that much. But this wasn’t a kiss that demanded your surrender, nor was it fast, or rough. It was just soft, intimate – because sometimes, emotions were easier said through actions rather than words.

You slid your hands into his hair, dragging your nails against his scalp as you deepened the kiss. His hands traced nonsensical patterns into the skin of your back, holding you close as though you’d ever want to leave. It was so easy to get lost in him, in the way he held you, touched you, kissed you, as though you were something to be cherished.

It wasn’t long before the kiss started to get more heated, though, and you couldn’t help yourself from nipping at his bottom lip. He made a low noise in response, a hand moving to grip your ass as the other winded its way into your hair.

It was when his hand made contact with your bare ass that you remembered that you were naked throughout this entire ordeal. And just as you processed that, his hand started inching its way slowly but surely between your legs.

“I think the fuck not, Park Jimin,” you gasped, breaking the kiss and throwing his hand from your body.

He burst into bright laughter at your words, eyes forming crescents that would make any person’s day better. His happiness was contagious, and you couldn’t hold back the giggles at the sound of him.

“How sore are you?” he questioned, tiny giggles still escaping him. You thought you detected a hint of concern somewhere in there, but you couldn’t blame him for being in an obscenely good mood.

“Ugh. Are you not sore at all?”

“Not really? Mostly hungry, I guess.”

“I hate you. It feels like all of my limbs want to detach from their sockets, and don’t even get me started on what it feels like between my legs. You and your dick can go die.”

Your words only set off another round of laughter from him, his grin wide as he took in your fake pout.

“Are you sure you want that? You seemed to enjoy it from where I was standing. You’re sending me mixed signals here,” he teased.

You let out a childish noise of complaint. God, was this what you were getting yourself into? You were already used to his antics by now, but now you had to deal with them while he flirted too? Someone send help.

“Pity me a bit,” you whined, giving him the best wide-eyed pout you could muster. Though, it only seemed to raise his mood even more.

“I’m sorry I broke you,” he said.

You smacked him a bit harder than you would normally. “Jiminnnnnnnnn,” you said, stringing out the word for as long as a breath would allow.

“If I made you food, would you forgive me?”

“...I’m listening.”

“What if I said I already made you food?”

“What?!” you perked up, any grudge you might have held disappearing in an instant. “What did you make?”

“Lay down and find out in 5 minutes, I’m tired,” he responded, laying down comfortably and encouraging you to do the same. You didn’t require much convincing, cuddling back into his side. This position wasn’t anything abnormal for you two, but it felt different now. Newer, more intimate.

Needless to say, 5 minutes turned into 2 hours after you’d both fell asleep.

But when Jimin placed a bowl of re-heated stir-fry in front of you 2 hours later, you would say he secured his place as fully, unequivocally yours.

#btsgoldnet #btsguild #ficswithluv #cypherwritersnet #heartsforbts #magicshopnet #mikrogalaxynet #jimin x reader #bts x reader #jimin smut #bts smut #jimin angst #bts angst #jimin fluff #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts fic

6K notes · View notes

happyselves · 3 years

Text

Budapest { Lando Norris x reader one shot }

Breaking up sucks as it is, but to be dumped in an airport where you were going to a grand prix of formula 1 was worse … It was both of your dreams and he renounced it because of insecurities toward you. Admitting a “mistake” he had made with one of your commun friends, sleeping with her. You had to think fast in that airport, either you leave and go live one of your dreams or you step out of his place and go back home and cry for weeks. The answer was quickly found. You leave him and his baggage, not turning your back, deciding to not cry for the asshole you had spent so many time building a life he had destroyed in a snap of his fingers.

However the grand prix didn’t happen how you wanted it to. You had not really thought of him, too busy with the environment around you, sharing for your favorite drivers, freely wearing his merch that you had bought because you didn’t have any reason not to know that you didn’t have someone telling you off. Your now ex used to hate when you were showing your obsession and fascination toward the young driver that was Lando Norris. The dit driver had a great start but all his effort went in vain when the Mercedes driver hit the back of his car and ruined his race, forcing him to retire.

At first you didn’t know how to react, but when you saw him on the big screen in front of you, all the sadness and frustration and all the anger and hatred toward your ex boyfriend was transferred to this. You wanted to leave right away, but you stay, to support your team because Daniel Ricciardo was still in the race. You cheered as much as you could, exhausting yourself mentally and physically but it wasn’t enough and the number 3 car was too damaged to reach the point in the head. It was a shame, but that is the hard law of this sport. After this terrible race you had no heart in celebrating the win for Ocon even if you were extremely happy for him, so you went back to your hotel and went to bed.

The next day was quiet and you spent time in the city, you didn't feel great so you just walked through the city and visited stuff … alone. This time no crowd and loud car could distract you from your own thoughts. Your ex boyfriend was all you could think about now. The memories you had together, the dog, the apartment. By leaving and not facing it you were pushing the moment and you knew it will hurt even more next time you will have to face him.

It was the evening and it was getting cooler, you get your merch hoodie out of your bag and wear it. You find a nice spot on a bench in front of the river crossing the city and you put yourself in a cocoon, your legs closed to your chest and your head on your knees, hugging yourself for comfort as you watch the sunset. The tears came on their own, you were lost in your thoughts and you didn’t notice the man sitting next to you. You were so lost that you were now hearing Lando talking to you in your brain.

“You know it’s a pretty spot to watch the sunset, but not alone,” You puff a quick laugh, even your own mind was making stuff up and you didn’t know why, but you were ready to have a full conversation with yourself. At least your brain was nice enough to create someone that looked like your favorite driver. “ That’s funny, I’m that desperate that I’m talking to myself now, great, next stop the psy,” you weren’t waiting for any response, but you got one anyway. “ Well maybe your brain isn’t making this up ?” Another sound came out of you, were you ready to have a full argument with your own self. “ It wouldn’t be the first time I’m daydreaming about a handsome man talking to me out of nowhere, but I know my luck, why do you think I got dumped just before going on vacation ? I’m nothing … “ You were resigned, the tears kept falling and the pain kept coming. “ Well then he is an idiot, to let a beautiful woman, with great taste may I have, go. This man is obviously blind.” You had a great imagination to be able to hear Lando’s voice so clearly in your head that it felt like he was just next to you.

You turn your head toward what you thought the voice was coming from and there he was, sitting next to you, looking at you with fondness. Damn you really needed help if even your blurry eyes by the wet tears could recreate his whole body and face in front of you.

At any point you thought it might be true even if you were both in the same city, the odds were too big and he would probably be in his hotel room by now enjoying some games with his mates on his computer or watching netflix.

“ That’s not fair that you create this for me, I do not deserve to have such a beautiful daydream like this, seeing him this weekend from afar was one thing but to now trick me and build this masquerade in my mind to ease my pain, that’s really new brain.” You were feeling crazy and you were trying not to sound like one, you were talking to yourself and you were scared that others will think of you as someone with less sanitary than an average human being.

Yet, your fake Lando get closer to you and start touching your arm, you didn’t even flinch when you sense his touch, you know you wouldn’t be able to feel anything because if one thing you learn is that touching isn’t a sense the brain is capable of reproduction to the perfection in your brain when you are dreaming. Then why were you feeling it, why suddenly his touch felt so reassuring and real. You blind repeatedly trying to wake yourself from this sweet dream you were living because this couldn’t be real and it was starting to feel scary.

Lando didn’t move his arm from you even if you tried to gently push him away and put some distance back between you. You weren’t certain this wasn’t reality anymore because as you took his arm, you felt him, your grip on him was real. You lock your eyes on him, focusing on every detail of this creation in your own mind. You knew the shirt he was wearing and the shorts as well, you knew how he looks after running as well so that was a normal thing, but every little detail of him only a person being super close to him could imagine, that you had never experienced and yet here everything was here in front of you. He never felt so him and so real in the flesh. Your fingers found the scruff on his chin and felt the small hair tickling your palm.

That’s where you realise … Lando Norris was in front of you, in the flesh as real as you wear. You come back right back to your senses when you see the sunset and keep drawing beautiful colors in the sky. Lando was amused by the situation, you weren’t.

“ Oh sleeping beauty is coming back from the daydream ?” Somehow he arranges a lock of hair missing on your face, putting it behind your ear. You jerk at the touch now knowing that you were imagining things. You stand up quickly and try to avoid him, walking like a lunatic in front of the bench right to left. “ You know, you are the first fan I've met that acts like this, quite refreshing. “ You stop and track and look at him, really look at him.

“ How do you know I am a fan of yours ?” If this wasn’t the dumbest question you had ever asked, you didn’t know how to be more embarassing of yourself.

“ Well at first I wasn’t really sure, then I saw you on that bench, curl up in a small little ball wearing my hoodie merch, then you basically confirm it when you thought I was a pure product of your imagination,” You were hiding your face now, you bet your cheeks were red. You were mortified to ever have thought you were this desperate that your brain could be creating him, but even more when you knew he had to witness that.

“ I’m sincerely sorry, I ruined your evening run, “ You were apologizing to him, ready to take your bag and run away from this situation, to forget everything that happened. It wasn’t the best timing for you to meet one of your idols, that’s not how you had imagined things to go if one day you would have the courage to try and meet him.

As you tried to take your bag, he stopped you and took your arm. It was like the first, but this time all you could think about was the butterflies appearing in your stomach. Lando was the only person you could dump your boyfriend for … your ex-boyfriend. Before you had time to dive in your thoughts once more he spoke to you.

“ Please don’t go, I should be the one apologizing, I let you think you were insane because I was amused and you’ve made my day to be honest. I felt less alone. “ He was brutally honest suddenly and your heart shattered even more, making your recent break up put on the second plan, focusing on the man in front of you only.

It’s true that you didn’t notice at first, but he was looking tired, not only physically but mentaly. He brings you closer to him, silently asking you to sit where you were in the beginning.

You were both smiling to each other and without any of you being able to control it you end up talking a long time on that bench, not realising it was now dark. Only when Lando’s phone buzzed did you both realise that you had been exchanging your deepest secrets to each other, telling each other's life like you were best friends finding their way back to each other. You even forgot he was a famous racing driver at some point, not caring much because you were now truly seeing the man behind the helmet and you like him even more.

You sense a sort of sadness when he picks up his phone to respond to his manager. Of course they were worrying, he told them he was gone for half an hour, not three hours. You thought he would lie about where he was, being cheeky and keeping his privacy and you were ready to take that small hit behind your head that you bring you both back into your respective life, otherwise he surprised you once more by being honest and telling his manager the truth. He was smiling at you and his eyes were glued on your face with that same fondness you thought your brain had made up earlier. He hanged up and his body turn toward you.

“ So as you can guess I have to go, but I have the feeling that if I don’t ask to come with me, it would be one of the biggest mistakes of my life, so … “ He was scared to continue, evaluating the reaction on your face, but he must have seen something in you that confirmed something in him and made him continue, “ I’m not applying anything, it’s to talk obviously, but would you like to accompany me to my hotel and maybe see each other again ? I’m leaving wednesday night, of course you can refuse I wouldn’t take it bad”

Two choices were now in front of you and you could only choose one. The first one was obviously saying no and going back to England where you are from and facing the hard reality of your ex and the second one was to push your plane ticket to next wednesday and spend time with him. There was actually nothing to think about as you simply said yes to him and followed him to his hotel that night. You didn’t do anything, only talking and even meeting the whole team. You tried your best not to fangirl like a teenager but you couldn’t help yourself showing the admiration you had for everyone of them and they already knew with the hoodie you were wearing anyway. That night was one of the best in your life, you talk all night in his room and end up falling asleep on his chest. It is the first time since you’ve been alone that you finally find peace in your sleep and truly rest and somehow you felt it was the same for him. This is why he asks you to stick around with him, even for the Pirelli test. You were not only living your dream now, but you were living it with him and it was even better. You felt lucky and you were now wondering what would have happened if you had not gone to that place and kept those grand prix tickets. You could care less, Lando made you forget all the pain this ex of yours had afflicted you for the past week. You had fun and everyone was so welcoming and nice to you, explaining everything around the paddock, you even found yourself laughing with Daniel Ricciardo at some point during the day.

The looks you send to each other on the other hand were far from being only friendly, there were something more. Your body was acting on its own and he was so receptive to it. Everyone in the garage could sense something that both of you were ignoring, but they were polite enough not to make a word of it or tease the young driver for it. You were secretly thanking them to not make this moment awkward, you were already still thinking you were in a deep dream or coma, not wanting to wake up just yet.

The day went fast and ended up in a nice dinner in his room, still talking and joking. At some point it was the second night in a row you fell asleep on him, while watching something on tv. It really wasn’t your type to trust a stranger even if this one was famous and you “ knew him “. You didn’t want to live dangerously,but for sure that difficult time ahead of you was making you enjoy the best of life without thinking about the next day.

Lando was stroking you slowly as he was finishing the movie you were watching before you found Morphee, kissing your head before turning everything off and joining you in dreamland as well.

You were sure the people at your own hotel were wondering where you were,and when the next day you finally came back to it, Lando quickly behind you, you could swear you had seen a smirk flashing on the front desk woman’s face. You hadn’t expected the man next to you to find a way and arrange the plane ticket you had to take for going home, to be weirdly the same plane as him and the seat next to him. You both didn’t really want to come back to reality and go to your respecting mundane life just yet.

The last day was as good as the day before other than that bittersweet feeling you had depe down, not wanting to let this go just yet. You didn’t know how you could enjoy this little bit of life he had show you, you were already addicted to this lifestyle, to that travel, hotel and paddock life, this crazy life of him and most important you knew how fucked you were because you realise soon enough that you were already addicted to him quite simply.

Both of you were staying quiet about your soon departure from each other and until the last moment you didn’t aboard the subject, but every good dream had a end and it’s on that parking lot when you saw the whole team leaving one by one to find their car that you realise it was the end of his fairy tale. Lando had held your hand tight the whole time, you were ready to let it go and leave this mind forever when he decided otherwise and asked you where you were going tonight now that you weren’t with your boyfriend. You hadn’t thought of that of course you hadn’t, how can you think about this when this beautiful and genuine nice man in front of you had replaced as quickly as he came in your life all your thoughts. It’s like he knew right away and didn’t let you answer, your luggage was already in the lack of his car with him and you were both driving to his place. Every woman would be afraid, why weren’t you that was the question.

“ I’m not ready to let you go, I don’t want to, “ That what he said to you as he pull his car in front of his house before adding up, “ I don’t even think I will be able to let you go ever in the rest of my life, “ You didn’t know what to say to that, you were only focusing on him, only him and the only thing you could think about right now was the close that damn gap between you two and kiss him. So you did and it was even more beautiful that the fireworks on national day, the butterflies in your stomach were moving so much that you could feel yourself flying except you were still in this car with him, his hands in your hair, messing the already messy bun you had for travelling, savoring every bit of your lips for the first time, like it was the last. When you finally pull away from each other to catch your breath, your forehead finds him.

“ I’m not going anywhere. “

MASTERLIST

265 notes · View notes

curlynerd · 3 years

Text

Just Say It

Happy gift posting day for the @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! I had two assignees, so I'm posting two fics today! My 2nd gift recipient is @deanwinchesteradjacent! She requested canon-adjacent Destiel with fluff, action, and a happy ending. I hope you like it! <3

Word Count: 7.5K Rating: T Summary: A string of violent deaths at an otherwise charming B&B was all the excuse Dean needed to drag Cas down to Florida for some fun in the sun. Things had been awkward since Cas came back from the Empty and they could finally be together, but Dean was sure that a romantic getaway was the perfect thing to help Cas get out of the training wheels stage of Angel's-First-Romance and start acting like a real couple. Just as soon as they took care of a vengeful spirit. What could possibly go wrong? Notes: Post canon, fix-it fic, oneshot, love confessions, Dean is bad at feelings, case fic, beach fic.

Also read it on AO3!

“Alright, I’m heading out.”

“Did you pack deodorant?”

“Dean…”

“Toothpaste? Mouthwash?”

“...”

“Those fancy hair products? Cuz there’s just. So. Many--”

“Dean! I’ve lived my whole life on the road. I know how to pack a damn dufflebag!”

Dean smirked, unperturbed by Sam’s whining. “Yeah but Eileen is a classy lady. She’s not gonna put up with your usual road stank.”

Sam sighed in annoyance as he readjusted the bag on his shoulder. “I’m not the one who wears his underwear three days in a row, jerk.”

“Better leave that attitude at home, bitch,” Dean said cheerfully. “It’s your anniversary, after all.”

Sam’s mouth twitched into a shy grin despite his best efforts. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be on my best behavior,” he said, letting Dean have one last bit of fun before he left. “You and Cas too. Don’t get into trouble.” He nodded in farewell before he climbed the stairs to the bunker door.

“Oh, and Sammy?”

Sam paused at the top of the stairs and turned around. Almost like he could sense what was coming, his eyebrow twitched in irritation. Dean hucked a box up to the landing, and Sam fumbled to catch it. Dean flashed a shit-eating grin as Sam read the Trojan label and fixed him with a scowl. “Make sure you wrap it before you tap it, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he walked out the door.

Dean laughed to himself as he turned back to his laptop, scrolling through news articles looking for a hunt. He was still at it an hour later when Cas came shuffling into the room still in his pajamas, two cups of coffee in hand.

“Mornin’ Sunshine,” Dean crooned cheerfully. Cas’ hair was in wild disarray, and between that and his worn, brown sweatshirt and loose pajama bottoms, he looked more like a bear stumbling out of hibernation than a guy just waking up. “Sam already left.”

Cas set a mug down in front of Dean before slumping down into the chair beside him. “I hope he and Eileen have fun this week,” he mumbled as he hunched over his coffee.

Dean smiled at how adorable Cas looked, all grumpy and sleep-ruffled. He was still an angel...somewhat. He had Grace, if only a little. So close to mortality, Cas often needed mundane human things like sleep and food. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about it. In fact, he was so irritated about the whole thing that Dean hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to invite him to sleep in his room, instead of alone. Dean chewed on his lower lip. Maybe after this case, things would change.

“Are you looking up a case?” Cas asked, tilting toward Dean’s screen.

“Uh...yeah.” With forced casualness, Dean turned the laptop so Cas could read a headline from last year: “Gruesome Death at Bed and Breakfast Leaves Locals Worried.” “Over the past forty years, there’ve been six deaths at this B&B. All either heart attacks or a brain hemorrhage. All without a scratch on ‘em. Always a couple. Always on the same night: this Friday. That sure screams ‘ghost’ to me.”

“Key West?” Cas asked as he scanned the article. “Florida? That’s quite a drive.”

Dean shrugged. His fingers tapped against the tabletop. “It is, but hell, why not? Sam gets the week off with Eileen, why can’t we have a little vacation too?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. Suspicious. He was suspicious. Was a little time off really so bad? “You haven’t taken a vacation the entire time I’ve known you.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean struggled to come up with a good excuse. “That was, ya know. Before.”

“Before,” Cas repeated stiffly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Before everything.” He gestured around his head. Before Cas told him he loved him and immediately died. Before Dean rescued him from The Empty. Before they wound up in this awkward, stilted Angel’s-First-Romance training wheels relationship Dean found them in.

That seemed to placate Cas. He nodded and took another sip of coffee. “The beach would be nice…”

Dean broke into a grin. “Better than nice! Toes in the sand, drinks with little umbrellas… That’s better than paradise.” He gave Cas’ shoulder a friendly pat. Then--because he could, couldn’t he?--Dean let his hand run along the broad expanse of Cas’ shoulder and gently cup the back of his neck.

This was okay, right? He’d held back on any sort of real PDA because of how uncomfortable Cas would act. And that was okay. He understood. Angels and intimacy...Well, angels just worked differently than humans. And it was all new to Cas! It took him over a decade to say he loved Dean. It would probably take awhile before he was ready to hold hands.

But this wasn’t very much, right? Just a light hand on the back of his neck. This was about as innocent as things got!

Except Cas went stiff under Dean, and Dean took the hint and pulled his hand away as he bit back a sigh. So much for that.

His eyes trailed back to his laptop. Hopefully this getaway would change things, help Cas loosen up and finally see that they could act even a little like a couple now. A romantic beach, warm sunshine, half-naked romps in the water, a cozy and only slightly haunted bed and breakfast…

What could go wrong?

----

Three days and one slightly terrifying highway over the ocean later, Dean and Cas pulled into a parking space for a charming bed and breakfast painted in a lovely pale--

“Lavender?” Dean balked at the decidedly dainty color of the siding. “I know they like their pastels here, but geez…”

“It’s just a paint color,” Cas said as he crossed around to the trunk and started unloading their bags. The duffle full of salt, shotguns, and various iron weapons clanked ominously. He shouldered it carefully so it wouldn’t make so much noise.

“This whole street is like friggin’ Candy Land.” Dean eyeballed the canary yellow house across the street suspiciously as they made their way to the front door.

The inside was clearly the result of a scandalous love affair between a Jimmy Buffet concert and a Hallmark store--All tacky tropical themed furniture and a dizzying array of porcelain figurines.

Dean grinned from ear to ear and elbowed Cas. At Cas’ inquisitive eyebrow, Dean nodded his head to a shelf full of long-haired, sad-eyed blonde angels. Cas rolled his eyes while Dean laughed to himself.

“Hello! Can I help you?” An older woman sat behind a small reception desk, smiling warmly at them in the glow of her ancient computer.

Dean put on his best people-pleasing smile. “Yes you can. Hi, I’m Dean, and this is my, uh…” Dean glanced over to Cas and his eyes crinkled in delight. “Cas. This is my boyfriend, Cas.” Just the word caused a giddy bubble of effervescence to float inside Dean’s chest. After all this time, they were really here. This was real.

Cas offered the receptionist a small, tight smile before turning his studious gaze to the figurines on the wall shelves. The woman furrowed her brow, so Dean charged forward with the conversation before Cas’ awkwardness put her off. If they were going to pry into the case here, they needed her to be friendly with them. “I booked a reservation for this weekend. It--Are you guys still open? It’s kinda quiet in here.” Dean glanced around the empty living space. There weren’t any other cars parked outside either.

The woman waved off his concerns. “Oh yes, it’s just the off season right now. Some weekends are like that.” She spoke a little too quickly as she clicked through her computer. Dean suspected all the news articles about bloody deaths had something to do with it. “Not hard to find your reservation. You’re our only guests tonight.” She grabbed two keys off a hook and held them out for Dean. “You’ll be in room 4, down at the end of the hallway upstairs. It’s the largest one. If you need extra towels or anything, let me know. I’m Susan.”

Sensing they were about to be dismissed, Dean swerved into a distraction. “You know, we’ve been on the road for ages. Do you have any coffee or anything like that? A little wakeup before we hit the beach?”

Susan pushed back from the desk. “Oh of course! I was about to get some for myself, actually. I’ll be right back.”

“Keep an eye out for anything suspicious, Cas,” Dean muttered as Susan disappeared down a hallway. “Anything out of place or really old. You know, haunted stuff.” Cas nodded, and Dean covertly pulled his EMF reader out of his jacket pocket and flicked it on. It was silent. They both made a pass of the room, pretending to look around.

“Here we are!” Susan said brightly, expertly holding three coffee mugs in her hands. Dean jumped a little and hastily put his device away before turning around. “I hope cream and sugar is okay.”

“Any caffeine is fine,” he assured her as he and Cas took their mugs. “So Susan, what is there to do around here? You know, other than what Yelp says. The insider’s scoop.” Dean winked as he took a sip of his coffee.

Susan smiled. “Well, if nightlife is your thing, there are some great spots within walking distance.”

Dean chuckled. “C’mon, Susan. Does this guy look like much of a dancer?” He grinned fondly at Cas as he draped his arm over his shoulders. It was ridiculous how much his stomach fluttered from the small action, but dammit, after all they’d been through to get here, Dean had earned a few butterflies. He squeezed Cas’ shoulder even though Cas didn’t really react. Dean was definitely going to have to clarify that the personal space rule didn’t apply anymore.

“Well, the restaurant down the street also does an excellent brunch,” Susan offered instead.

“Now that’s more our speed.” Maybe if the hunt went well they could actually stay the night, instead of getting the hell out of Dodge before the cops chased them down. Keep their salt and burn quiet and enjoy a nice night in. Dean tried not to get his hopes up for sharing a bed with Cas.

And he did mean sharing a bed. Things were moving so slowly between him and Cas he’d be thrilled just to spoon, nevermind anything else. Dean bit back a sigh as he swept over all of the knick-knacks and decorations, hoping for some sort of clue as to the identity of their ghost. “I’ve gotta say, I love the decor. Is all of this your collection?” Maybe a haunted object? Or a cursed one?

“Most of it.” A faint twinge of wistfulness colored Susan’s words as she looked over the porcelain figurines. “My Marcy liked to collect the angels, but that was years and years ago.”

On a high shelf was a large urn next to an oil painting of a young woman that immediately pinged Dean’s hunter’s instincts. “That’s a lovely painting over there,” he said, catching Cas’ eye meaningfully. Cas turned around to look too.

Susan’s face melted into a quiet, sad smile. “Yes, that’s my Marcy right there. A self-portrait. She was such a talented artist.”

Cas tilted his head. “She was your...wife?” he guessed.

Susan’s face crumpled. “No. No we were never…” She took a deep breath and continued in a steadier tone. “She was my business partner, but I loved her. Very much. And I knew she loved me too. So I suppose you could say we were almost together. Should have been together.” Her lower lip trembled.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what stopped you?” Dean felt bad for pressing her for information that was clearly upsetting, but people’s lives were at stake. Possibly Susan’s own.

Susan curled her hands around her mug, staring into the steaming coffee with a far off look in her eyes. “I was afraid. Of my own feelings. Of opening myself to getting hurt. So I...When Marcy needed me to be honest about how I felt I...I let her down. She got mad...We fought...She ran off. There was an accident, and...Well...” Susan took another deep breath. Her eyes were glassy with tears and heavy with regret. “Today is the anniversary of the day she died.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Dean said, injecting even more sincerity into his words even though he expected as much. Marcy was the best lead so far. Was she attacking people on the anniversary of her death? She was obviously cremated, but perhaps there was something keeping her tied here?

“Not your fault,” she said with the heaviness of one who had heard those words hundreds of times. She shook her head. “You’re not the reason she--” Susan cut herself off and swallowed down her tears. Despite her best efforts, a single tear trailed down her cheek.

“It sounds like you loved her very much,” Cas said, his voice infused with genuine sympathy.

“She was my world. I loved her more than she’ll ever know...” Again Susan fell silent, this time lost in thought.

Then, with a deep, resettling breath, she wiped at her eyes with the edge of her finger and forced a cheerful expression. “But enough of that. You’re my guests. You don’t need to hear all of that! Do you need anything while you get settled in? More towels? Recommendations for restaurants?”

Dean shook his head, “Appreciate it ma’am, but we’ll probably just grab whatever’s convenient around here.”

“Well, would you like to eat here? Usually I don’t serve dinner for guests, but since it’s only the two of you, I can cook up something if you’d like. I honestly wouldn’t mind the company.”

Sensing another opportunity to interview Susan, Dean smiled his very best ‘comforting the bereaved’ smile. “We’d like that very much, Susan. Thank you for offering.” Then, carefully timed almost like an afterthought, he added, “Oh, and what’s the wifi password?”

Upstairs their room was somewhat small but airy. The walls were a crisp, breezy blue, the linens bright white. There was even a gauzy white canopy draped around the four-poster bed. Dean grinned. One bed. Surely that was cause for some optimism about tonight.

“I dunno about you, but I’m gonna sleep like a log tonight,” he said with the most casual tone he could muster as he grabbed the weapons bag off Cas’ shoulder and deposited it on the duvet. “What about you? Think you’ll need a couple z’s?” ‘Please say yes.’

Cas eyed the bed. Something strange flickered across his face. Something heavy, even sad. Dean immediately felt like a jackass for reminding Cas about his weak Grace. “I mean, who knows how you’ll feel tonight,” Dean added hastily. He started digging through his bag for his laptop. “Get some sea air in your lungs, and you might wake right up.”

Cas pursed his lips. “I suppose so,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. He turned away from Dean and started roaming the room, looking over the artwork on the walls and the little beachy decorations on the furniture. He came to a stop.

“This looks like Susan and Marcy,” he said, letting his fingers trail along the frame of a painting over the dresser.

“Yeah?” Dean looked up from his booting laptop. It was an oil painting like the one downstairs, with a young couple in bright dresses making each other laugh in front of a backdrop of a stormy gray ocean. One was undeniably a much younger Susan. Marcy looked the same as she did in the painting downstairs.

Cas frowned a little and pulled his hand back from the frame. He glanced around the ceiling and only relaxed when he saw an air-conditioning vent gently humming nearby. Dean shrugged it off and turned back to his laptop. He set right to work searching through the local newspaper archives and breaking into the coroner’s office servers. Finding their ghost was only a matter of time.

“Got it. Marcy Daniels. Died forty-three years ago tonight.” Dean flipped his laptop around so Cas could read the news article. “Hit by a car. Right outside this house. Died before she even got to the hospital.”

Cas squinted at the screen. The photo attached to the article looked just like the woman in the paintings. “And you think she’s the ghost?”

Dean shrugged. “Seems as good a guess as any. Violent death. Susan said they were fighting right before. Probably something happened between them that left Marcy pissed off enough to stay in the veil.”

Cas nodded. “We should ask her about it.”

“Nah, she’s not gonna let us grill her about her dead partner like that. We’ll strike up a conversation at dinner. That should give us enough time to figure out what’s keeping Marcy here before she attacks tonight.”

Cas deferred to Dean’s hunting experience. “Well then what should we do until then?”

Dean grinned from ear to ear. “What do you think we should do? To the beach!”

---

Dean shut the trunk of the Impala and straightened his back, lifting his face to the breeze blowing in from the sea. He breathed in deeply. “God, smell that salt air…” he said with a wistful smile. When he turned to Cas, the angel was looking at him with fondness, warmth making his blue eyes brighter. Dean’s smile grew, and he lifted up his sunglasses to flash Cas a playful wink. Cas quickly ducked his head and started walking.

Dean bit back a groan as he followed behind him with their beach bag. What was he doing wrong? He was trying to be gentle, to give Cas enough space to adjust to the idea that they were together now on his own. After all of the crap they’d been through together, after so many things keeping them apart, he understood why Cas was struggling. Hell, he’d been squashing down his feelings for so long, Cas probably didn’t know how to let himself have this happiness.

At least, that was what Dean kept telling himself. Deep down, though, he was afraid that Cas’ feelings were changing.

“There’s a good spot,” Dean said, jogging up behind Cas and forcing down his depressing thoughts before they could meet up with his self-loathing and really cause problems. He grabbed Cas’ arm and tugged him toward an unoccupied part of the sand. The weather was a little too temperamental this time of year to attract huge crowds, but there were still plenty of people out enjoying the sunshine.

Cas let himself be led, his flip-flops flapping awkwardly over the sand. Dean laughed a little, even though his footing wasn’t much better. When they’d walked far enough away from the boardwalk, Dean unceremoniously dropped their bag and dug out a large blanket to lay out.

“Perfect,” he declared as he tipped up his sunglasses to survey his work. He plopped down on the blanket and shucked off his shirt. A quick glance up let him catch the way Cas’ eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his expression smoothed over. Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Cas, but he didn’t see because he turned around like a friggin’ Victorian lady in order to pull off his own shirt before he sat down in front of Dean, facing the ocean. Dean’s gaze swept down the broad, muscular expanse of Cas’ back, and he could barely contain the heat in his eyes and in his grin.

Only then did Cas glance over his shoulder and catch Dean’s eye. Dean bit his lip suggestively, his grin widening, but Cas’ cheeks turned lightly pink and turned his head away. He rubbed at the back of his neck. Nervous, huh? Well that was alright. Dean could lighten the mood.

He held up the bottle of sunscreen. “Alright, let’s spackle your back.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Dean,” Cas said, not turning around. His voice sounded even more gruff than usual, which was certainly saying something.

“Nonsense!” Dean was already squirting a healthy dollop of sunscreen in his palm. “You can get sunburned, same as the rest of us.”

Cas sighed heavily. His shoulders twitched, tense, but he didn’t protest when Dean slapped his hand at the middle of his back.

Dean set to work rubbing the cream into Cas’ warm skin. “See? This is nice. It’s like a mini-massage.” He made sure to move slowly, almost caressing him. His stomach fluttered with the faintest whisper of excitement. This was the closest thing he’d gotten to action in months, after all. And Cas’ back was nice. Broad and firm and far more muscular than Dean would have guessed. His heart did a little tapdance at knowing that he was allowed to freely ogle now.

“I like seeing you out of the trenchcoat,” Dean said, now using both hands to stroke up and down Cas’ skin. Cas tensed again. “I mean, you look good under all those layers,” Dean said hastily, afraid that the reminder of his waning Grace was too painful. “When did you get so beefy?” Dean slid his hands up to Cas’ shoulders and then down his thick arms. He squeezed them playfully as he shifted closer, letting his knees bump against him.

He leaned in close so he could almost whisper, “Wish I could see it somewhere other than the beach.”

Cas’ back became hard as marble. He lowered his head. “That’s enough, Dean,” he said softly. His voice trembled with some barely contained emotion Dean didn’t understand.

Disappointment rose up Dean’s throat like bile. “Seriously? I’m almost done!”

Cas twisted around, his face pulled into a scowl. His cheeks were flushed. “Dean! I’m an angel! I don’t need this!”

Dean pulled back. “What? I can’t even put sunscreen on you now?” he demanded.

Cas didn’t have an answer to that. He only glared, his eyes flickering with something Dean couldn’t quite figure out. Pain? Longing? Regret?

Knowing Dean’s penchant for screwing things up all the time, it was almost certainly the latter.

Cas breathed out a long, frustrated breath and rose to his feet. “I’m...going for a walk,” he said. He folded his arms over his bare chest.

“Cas,” Dean pleaded. What had he done wrong? Why was Cas so mad?

Cas shook his head. “Please, Dean.” With one last glance filled with that strange, heartache-inducing emotion, Cas turned and started walking down the beach alone.

Dean stared after him as he left. “What the hell?” he said under his breath. The sting of rejection quietly throbbed in his chest as he turned his gaze to the ocean. What had he done to piss Cas off? Had he really crossed a boundary, or was something else wrong? Cas had been so weird since he’d been back. Shouldn’t he be happy? Hell, telling Dean he loved him was the happiest Cas had ever been, right? That was part of his deal with The Empty!

Did he regret it? Did he change his mind? Maybe Cas really didn’t want to have Dean. Not for real. Maybe that was why Cas never told him how he felt before. He had to have known Dean loved him long before his deal with The Empty came along. Maybe there was a reason Cas hadn’t said anything about it before.

Maybe Cas knew that Dean would screw things up if they got together. Maybe he was trying to pull away from Dean, make it easier to break things off when it all came crashing down.

Dean stewed in his thoughts, his expression dark as he watched the waves. He lost track of time until a pair of children came racing past him, screaming in delight and startling him out of his thoughts. He pulled at his phone to glance at the time. Cas had been gone over half an hour. Way too long. Dean looked down the beach, almost expecting to see Cas trudging back up the beach back to him, but he didn’t see any sign of him. But Cas couldn’t have left left. Dean had the car keys! Quietly cursing, Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Cas’ number.

...And heard a familiar ringtone coming out of their bag.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean growled as he hung up. He stood up, but he still couldn’t see Cas. Had something happened? What if he’d gone in the water? What if he’d gotten pulled out to sea by a riptide? Despite knowing Cas didn’t even know how to swim, worry dripped ice cold down Dean’s spine, and before he knew it he was walking down the beach along the path Cas had taken.

“Cas!” he called out, but he didn’t see him. Dean started walking faster. He scanned the beach for a familiar dark head of hair and the bright orange swim trunks Dean had picked out for him. “CAS!” He was beginning to fear the worst.

“You lookin’ for someone?” a concerned voice called out. Dean whipped his head around to a small family sitting underneath an umbrella.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, my buddy Cas.” Dean jogged over to them. “You see him walk by? Kinda beefy, kinda dorky. Dark hair, orange trunks, about yea high.” He held his palm flat about eye level.

The woman who spoke nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I saw him walking back toward town, though.” She pointed over her shoulder.

Dean furrowed his brow. Did Cas walk back on his own? Irritation flared in his chest as he forced a cordial smile and thanked the woman before jogging back the way he came. He didn’t see any sign of Cas back at their blanket either.

Dean scowled. Maybe he had walked back. Running off without a word was infuriatingly in-character for him. Dean cursed under his breath as he hastily packed up their things and started stomping up the beach toward the car.

What was even such a big deal? If Cas supposedly loved him so much, was rubbing his back that bad? Dean was trying to give him space, he really was, but the way Cas was acting, it was like he didn’t even like Dean, nevermind love him!

The thought clenched tight around Dean’s heart as he drove back to the bed and breakfast. Maybe he didn’t anymore. Maybe Cas was getting sick of him. Twelve years in each other’s lives, it was bound to happen eventually.

Maybe what angels considered love and what humans considered love was just different.

Dark thoughts still swirled in Dean’s head as he returned to the bed and breakfast and marched up the stairs.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Dean charged into their room, anger burning hot as his glare zeroed in on the angel sitting in a chair. “You can’t just go running off like that! You left your phone behind!”

Cas carefully closed the book he was reading. He was fully clothed again. “It’s not a long walk back here. I assumed you’d know where I’d gone.”

“I was worried sick about you! What if you went in the ocean and something happened?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t do that. You know I can’t swim.”

“You can’t just go stomping off whenever you get mad!”

Cas closed his eyes. “I’m not mad,” he said, though the growl in his voice suggested otherwise.

“Like hell you’re not!” Dean shot back. “So what is it? I can’t touch you now? It’s freakin’ sunscreen, Cas. Is it really that big of a deal?”

Cas’ eyes flew open. “Yes!” he said, deeply pained. “Dean, does it really matter so little to you that you’re okay with just ignoring it?”

Dean was brought up short. “Does what matter?”

“Me!” Cas plastered his hand over his chest. He almost looked like he could cry. “I told you how I felt and you insist on acting like nothing happened!”

Dean blinked. “What? That’s...that’s not true, Cas!”

“Dean! You didn’t say anything! Not once since you brought me back, have you said anything about the fact that I love you! And you may think that by ignoring it and trying to force things back the way they were before that you can lock up that Pandora’s Box again, but you can’t! I can’t. I can’t…”

Dean took a step forward, his expression darkening with confusion. “Cas, what’re you talking about?” He didn’t understand. Why did Cas look so hurt? So heartbroken? Cas loved him. Dean loved Cas. So why wasn’t he happy? What had Dean done wrong? “Cas, I--”

Cold mist curled up from Dean’s mouth.

They both went tense and still as they noticed just how cold the room had gotten. The lamp on the bedside table flickered.

“Shit,” Dean muttered under his breath. His eyes darted to the open dufflebag on their bed with all of their weapons.

He made a move for it, but a figure flickered into being in front of him. She was wearing a torn, bloody sundress. Her long, straw-colored hair was plastered to the half of her gaunt face where it was smashed in, blood staining it crimson. The ghost took a step toward Dean. Thick, dark blood dripped from her head but never reached the floor.

“Marcy,” Dean breathed. Guess she didn’t need to wait for nightfall after all.

“Coward,” the ghost menaced as she took another step closer. Dean carefully backed up. “Can’t even say it. Even when you’re hurting him. Coward!”

Dean’s eyes flickered to Cas, who was edging toward their weapons bag. He tried to make the movement quick, but the ghost noticed. With a vicious growl she flung out her hand and Cas went flying into the far wall.

“Don’t worry,” the ghost said to Cas, and the venom in her voice dropped into twisted sympathy. “I’ll take your pain away soon.”

Cas struggled to his feet as the ghost rounded on Dean again. Her outstretched hand aimed directly at Dean’s head, fingers curled into a wicked claw. But before she could touch him, Cas made another attempt at the duffle. She shrieked in fury and sent it spinning through the air toward the window. A single iron poker tumbled out of the open zipper as it flipped over and smashed against the glass, shattering it. The bag tumbled to the ground below.

Cas lurched for the poker. “Dean!” he called as he tossed it through the air, directly through the ghost. She howled and dissipated into smoke while Dean barely managed to close his fingers around the weapon. Cas and Dean stood back to back as they circled the room, Dean holding the iron poker at the ready.

“Salt,” Dean barked. “We need salt!” Except all of theirs was now two stories below. Dean silently cursed. “The kitchen! Go! I’m right behind you!”

Cas nodded and made for the door. The lights were flickering again. He and Dean narrowly made it into the hallway when their bedroom door slammed shut behind them. They raced for the stairs and nearly collided with Susan.

“Cas, Dean, what’s going on?” Her eyes were panicked, taking in the cut on Cas’ temple and the iron poker in Dean’s grip. Mist followed her words out of her mouth.

“Look out!” Dean reached for Susan, but he was flung backward by an invisible force. Marcy flickered into existence over him again. “Salt, Susan! We need salt!” he cried out before the ghost clamped its cold hand around his throat. Dean scrambled from his poker, but it had fallen just out of reach. His other hand grappled with Marcy’s, trying to pull it away.

He couldn’t see with the ghost pinning him down, but he was pretty sure he heard Susan’s footsteps racing away. Good. Even if she didn’t come back, at least she was somewhere safer. Black dots started to swim in Dean’s vision.

“Hey! Marcy!” A ceramic angel went flying through the air and smashed into a framed photo on the wall next to them, shattering the glass. Marcy snarled and whipped her head around. Her grip on Dean’s neck loosened a little, and Dean sucked in as many painful gasps as he could get.

“This is what you’re about, huh?” Cas goaded. He stood next to an accent table full of figurines, another ceramic angel in his hand, fat load of good that would do against a ghost. “Exacting revenge against shitty lovers?” Dean stretched his arm until his muscles strained. He could barely feel the length of the iron rod brush against his fingertips. If Cas could keep stalling for just a little longer... “I think anger has clouded your judgement.” Cas’ lips twisted into a bitter smirk. “You have no reason to attack Dean. Can’t you tell? He doesn’t love me.”

The statement caught Dean completely off-guard. His hand stilled as he gaped at Cas. “What?” he rasped around the ghostly hand on his throat. Didn’t love him!?

The ghost growled at Cas. She raised her arm as if to psychically toss him toward the stairway, but right at that moment, Susan barreled up the stairs, a blue canister of salt in her hand.

“I have the salt!” she said, and with panic and desperation in her eyes she blindly flung the open canister at Dean and the ghost. Salt flung in a wide arc and rained down on Marcy, who screamed and disappeared instantly.

Dean rolled onto his side, coughing weakly as he grabbed onto the iron poker and clutched it against his chest. Cas ran to him, only stopping to grab the canister of salt. He hastily drew a circle around them, draining the last of the salt on their protection ring. “Susan, get in the circle!” he commanded as he knelt beside Dean.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean choked out between gasps for air. His head was spinning. Cas’ hand on his shoulder helped a lot, but when Dean asked his question Cas quickly yanked it away. “How could you think that?” he said, genuinely confused.

“What’s going on? Why did that...that thing look like my Marcy?!” Susan nearly flung herself into the circle with them. She clutched at her chest, casting her terrified gaze around the room.

“Her ghost,” Cas said, though he didn’t take his eyes off Dean. His brow furrowed. “Dean, you haven’t--”

“Ghost?!” Susan screeched. “Then what the hell are we doing standing here?!”

“Salt repels ghosts,” Cas replied with way more patience than Dean would have had. “She can’t come into the circle.”

“What’s going on?” Susan’s eyes went huge, her face going pale. “She...She killed those people last year, didn’t she? How do we stop her?”

“Usually burn her remains, if anything is left,” Cas said, “but she was cremated, wasn’t she? So something else is tethering her here. Perhaps a locket? Something she cherishes.”

Susan frowned, panicked eyes darting around in front of her as she mulled it over. “Her painting,” she said with a gasp. “The one in your room. She finished it right before our argument! Right before she ran out into the street and was hit by the car. It was precious to her. She put her everything into it, tried to use it to confess her love for me, and I...I was too much of a coward to say it back. That’s why we fought.”

Cas and Dean’s eyes met, and they both nodded. Dean grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, poker still clutched to his chest. “Susan, stay here. Whatever happens, don’t leave the circle. Cas, I’ll keep her busy. You burn the painting.”

As one unit Cas and Dean left the salt circle.

Immediately the hallway burst into chaos. Doors slammed shut everywhere. The knick-knacks and travel guides on the accent table went flying through the air. The lights flickered until their bulbs burst, leaving only the light of the window at the far end to help them see.

They ran.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean demanded, because a deadly ghost hunt seemed as good a time as any to have this conversation. Some things were too damn important to wait for downtime.

“Because you don’t!” Cas snapped. He threw himself at the shut door of their room, but it was supernaturally sealed. He grunted and tried again. Marcy appeared at his side, a ghostly hand reaching for his chest, a snarl on her lips.

“Cas, of course I love you, you idiot!” Dean swung at Marcy, forcing her to disappear again. Cas slammed himself against the unmoving door. “How could you think I don’t?”

“Dean, I died--” Cas slammed into the door again. His eyes glowed faintly with his weakened Grace. “Telling you how I felt. And you said--” Another crash; the door cracked ominously. “Nothing about it since I’ve been back!”

Marcy flickered into being next to them again. Dean knocked her away with the poker.

“I thought you knew! I thought you didn’t love me and that’s why you never said anything!”

“I told you!” With one final crash, Cas burst through the door and into the room, Dean hot on his heels. They ran for the dresser. “I told you the one thing I wanted, I couldn’t have! That thing was you, Dean!” Cas yanked the painting off the wall and threw it on the ground, shattering its glass and exposing the paper.

Marcy screamed in fury and appeared in front of him. She flung him at the dresser just as Dean dispersed her with a forceful swing. He flipped the poker in his hand, readying himself to strike again while Cas scrambled to his feet, lighter freed from his pocket and held at the ready.

“Because of the Empty!” Dean insisted. Marcy’s form materialized again, and Dean raised his weapon as she approached. “You couldn’t have me because of the deal with the Empty!”

Cas fumbled with the lighter. “I can’t have you because. You. Don’t. Love me!” It finally lit. Cas threw it onto the painting, sending it up in flames.

Marcy howled in agony as her body sparked and burned. She raised her head skyward as if to escape from the rising flames, but in a flash of heat and bright orange light, she was gone, and Cas and Dean were left standing alone in the room.

They stared at each other in the sudden, violent silence. Cas’ face was a mask of frustration and pain.

“Dean, I’ve been back for months. Months. And you have said nothing about how you feel. Do not lie to me now because you feel sorry for me.” With one last heartbroken glare, Cas stomped out of the room, leaving Dean behind to stamp out the flaming remains of the painting.

Once Dean didn’t need to worry about burning the house down, he went looking for Cas. He found him outside, loading up their scattered weapons into the trunk of the Impala.

He looked shattered. His face was crumpled with pain, his eyes dull, deep furrows in his brow. It brought Dean up short. Guilt welled up so intense that Dean almost couldn’t say anything at all. Except, well, that had gotten him into this situation in the first place.

“I thought you knew,” Dean called across the distance between them. Cas stopped and turned to look at him. The bitterness in his eyes made Dean’s stomach churn. “I thought you knew,” he said again. He took a step toward Cas. “For years I thought you knew. But, you know, you’re an angel. I thought you didn’t...I thought you couldn’t…” He trailed off. Cas’ forehead was furrowed in confusion, but he was at least listening, so Dean swallowed down his discomfort and barreled forward. “I thought angels couldn’t fall in love. Except...then you died telling me you did. Telling me that the reason you couldn’t even tell me how you felt was because being happy would trigger your deal and…” He shrugged.

“You thought I was deliberately keeping us apart?”

“Because if you told me you felt the same, then we’d be together and you’d be happy and you’d die.”

The bitterness had faded from Cas’ eyes, replaced with something that Dean was loath to acknowledge looked a little bit like pity mixed with profound frustration. “So when I came back, you thought there wasn’t anything left to talk about?”

Dean scratched the back of his neck and took another step forward. “Yeah well…What else was there to say? You said you, you know, loved me. And I thought you knew that I, you know…” He trailed off.

“Dean.” Dean had never heard Cas sound so pained just saying his name. “You.” Cas scrubbed at his face. His mouth twitched as he struggled to find words for all the ways Dean had screwed up. Was continuing to screw up.

“The hoops that you jump through to avoid talking about your feelings astound me,” Cas finally said. He dropped his hand with a sigh of defeat, and Dean’s heart sank. This was it. The death rattles of a relationship that hadn’t even really started. Dean never had what he truly wanted, and he never would.

Dean ducked his head, unable to look Cas in the eye. “Right. Yeah. That’s me, alright.” He swallowed around the hard lump in his throat. The long drive back to Kansas was going to be awful.

“Say it,” Cas said softly. His words were a command, but when Dean looked up in surprise, his eyes were pleading. “Please,” he breathed, almost like he didn’t deserve to even ask, and something inside Dean cracked.

“I love you, Cas.” One step, two steps, he crossed the distance between them and threw his arms around Cas’ shoulders, clinging to him the way he wished he could have before the Empty took Cas away. “It’s you, Cas. It can only be you. It’s only been you for years. I promise.”

Cas’ next breath stuttered in his lungs. His arms wound tightly around Dean, desperate. “Dean,” he sighed, this time like a prayer.

“I’m right here, buddy.” Dean held him tightly, the way he should have when he first got Cas back from the Empty. The way Dean wanted to all these months when he thought...Well, when he was an idiot. “You can have me, you know. You already have me.”

Cas pulled back enough to look Dean in the eye. His eyes were glassy. Dean’s didn’t exactly feel dry either. ‘I wonder if I can kiss him,’ Dean thought, milliseconds before Cas did just that.

Cas’ lips were warm against his own, and Dean gasped softly as his hand wound through Cas’ thick hair to cradle the back of his head. His kiss was eager, if not clumsy, and Dean smiled a little as he let Cas take the lead anyway. When they finally pulled apart, Cas’ normally pale lips were flushed pink, and Dean’s soft smile morphed into a huge, affectionate grin.

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice surprisingly husky after a largely innocent kiss.

Cas smiled back. “Hello, Dean,” he said, and Dean couldn’t help it. He laughed. God, how he loved this angel.

“So whadya say, Cas?” Dean said when his laughter quieted. “Ready to get the hell outta Dodge?”

Cas’ hands slid down Dean’s back until they were resting on his hips. “Actually…” His gaze turned wistfully in the direction of the distant beach. “I had a different idea.”

---

“You sure this is okay, Cas?”

“Dean…”

“Cuz I mean, I want to respect your boundaries.”

“Dean!”

“And I totally understand if I’m crossing a line here.”

Cas twisted around and gave Dean and his closed bottle of sunscreen a baleful look. Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “If I get sunburned, you can get your own room tonight.”

“You’re probably not even going to sleep anyway,” Dean shot back.

“I’ll sleep just to spite you.” Cas scowled, but Dean could see the corners of his lips twitching playfully. With a rush of affection, Dean shifted so that Cas’ bare back was pressed against his chest and Dean could rest his chin on Cas’ shoulder. Cas went stiff against his body, but it only lasted a second before he practically melted into Dean’s hold. Dean wrapped his arms around him as he watched the waves.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dean said with a sigh.

“Yes,” Cas breathed, but he wasn’t looking at the sea.

Heat rushed to Dean’s cheeks. He cleared his throat and kept his gaze solidly on the ocean. “You’re such a sap,” he grumbled weakly.

“You’ll get used to it.” Dean could see Cas’ smirk in the corner of his eye. Dean tightened his embrace.

“I dunno if I ever will,” he said quietly, a soft smile on his lips as he finally got to hold his angel.

#starrynightdeancas gift exchange #userstarry #deanwinchesteradjacent #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfiction #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #castiel #katie writes things #long post

98 notes · View notes

theblvckvenus · 3 years

Text

In the Library

Summary: Henry comes home from filming earlier than you’d anticipated. He decides to show you how much attentions he’s missed giving you and you don’t make it out of the library.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader, Henry Cavill x Fem Reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, choking, rough, dubcon, sub/dom

18+ ONLY

You were settled in the study, book rested against your thighs in the curled position you sat in. Henry was out of London, filming all weekend and you’d been bored on your own. All of yesterday you’d spent curled up in his t shirt, ordering food and bingeing Netflix. Too much lazing, you’d resolved to do a mildly productive activity this afternoon and taken advantage of the varied book collection of Henry’s.

There was a sound of the front door shutting, causing you to shift in panic, slamming the book shut. Who the hell was that? You clutched onto the book as footsteps padded through the house ending by the study door that was left open. Crouching up onto your toes in the seat you lifted the book as the door creaked open. As a figure entered you launched the book in it’s direction, it thudding against the wall behind Henry as he stood in the entrance to the room.

His face turned in disbelief to look at the mangled paperback on the floor before returning to you with a disappointed look. “That’s how you greet me?” There was a mild hint of laughter in his voice, but mainly he was shocked from the missile you’d just aimed at him.

“You aren’t supposed to be back till Monday.” You gasped, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you stood from your position on the chair.

“It is Monday, little love.” He replied with a patient smile, arms crossing across his large chest. As he watched you, you felt his eyes glance quickly over your frame, in a satin robe that left your legs exposed to the warm air of the house.

“Did my silly little baby get the days mixed up?” He asked drawing you into his hold as he spoke. You rested your head against his chest, nodding against the material of his shirt as your arms slipped around his chest.

“Missed you.” Was the response whispered into the material of his sweater. Your cheeks had turned a light shade of pink, blushing at your own absentmindedness.

Henry chuckled, large hands sliding down to your lower back as he held you “Maybe Daddy needs to wake his silly little baby up? Seems she’s not been paying attention to anything whilst I was gone.”

Raising your head in surprise, you gave him a puzzled look for just a second before your body was pushed against the bookshelf beside it. He had your face crushed into the wooden shelving, back to his large frame as you reeled from the surprise of the action.

“Do you want Daddy to teach you that lesson little one?” His voice remained patient, large hand on your shoulders keeping you pinned in position as he awaited the reply.

You nodded, breathing a soft yes into the wood at your mouth. It wasn’t loud enough for Henry to hear but the motion of your head told him what he needed to know.

“Good girl.” He muttered, large foot stepping between yours and kicking them apart so you were stood in a wide stance before him. You turned your jaw slightly to watch him but barely had the chance to before his whole body was pressed against yours, pinning you harder into the bookshelves.

“No y/n. You face forward until I say so. Look at those pretty books you like to get so lost in.” He growled, hard chest keeping your head forward. Your cheek stunk in an almost painful sensation against the spine of the books but the anticipation soothed the feeling.

“Yes, sir.” The only response that would make this easier for you. You could already feel the wetness between your legs, eyes closing as you waited for his next move.

The pressure of Henry was gone from your back and next thing you felt was a rough slap against your ass. “Lift that robe for me. Let’s me see what Daddy left behind.” He said quietly, kneeling down as you obliged him.

You held the material in your fingers exposing your bare ass to him, causing a quiet groan to come from his mouth. Henry knelt between you legs now, his large shoulders shoving in between your thighs to give him prime access. His teeth hooked through the material of your panties, slipping them down to fall around your ankles.

“Fucking soaking for me babygirl. Why did I ever leave you?” He whispered into your thigh, biting the sensitive skin as you whined quietly. Henry kissed up from that spot to rest his mouth at your entrance. He angled his jaw upwards, leaning up to press a deep kiss to your heat, his tongue sliding between your lips.

As he tasted you his hands moved back up to smack your ass again, the sensation making you jump. He seized the opportunity asyour legs widened in surprise, forcing his tongue further in to explore your entrance, licking and sucking as you mewed appreciatively. His upper lip trapped your clit in his mouth smoothering it with sloppy kisses that had your legs quaking beside him.

Moments later Henry sat back and you could hear him licking the sweetness from his lips before he stood back up to full height. “What do you say babygirl?”

“Thank you Sir.” You whimpered into the bookcase, the structure causing the sound to echo back at him.

Henry hand snaked around your waist undoing the tie of the robe and pulling it roughly from your shoulders. The patient man who had entered the library was gone now and you could tell he was hungry for you. As you stood completely naked before him Henry let out a deep sound, closer to a growl then something a man would make.

One hand undid his own trousers and his other lifted your arms to hold the shelves beside you. You were greatful for the guidance, knowing you’d be needing the support later on.

Henry’s hand moved his tip forward past your cheeks to rest at your entrance. His stature left you mismatched in height and you lifted yourself onto tip toes so he could slide into you. Next moment Henry was filling your insides, the feeling almost causing you drop back down onto your heels.

“Let daddy help you, little one.” He said quietly his own feet finding purchase under yours, letting you stand on them so you were comfortable. Next he was sliding back out of you, before sinking quickly back in. Henry found an easy rhythm, each motion as deep as he could force himself, biting and kissing along your bare back and shoulders to distract from the feeling.

You rewarded his actions with soft moans that only caused his hips to move faster. The added pressure caused you to bite down on the wooden shelf, muffling your cries from him, head knocking the books each time he filled you.

Henry continued slamming into you but his hand closed around your hair, pulling back till your forehead was rested beneath his chin. Your spine curved beneath him but you felt no discomfort at the position, to preoccupied with his member pummelling into you.

“Good girl, y/n. Going to take every last drop daddy gives you. He enunciated the words with a sharp tug of your hair drawing a choked sound from your lips.

Each of his thrusts pushed your hips into the frame of the book case, the feeling inside your heat as if you were splitting apart. There was no room to move, no way of escaping the massive presence within you. That realisation alone had your stomach contracting, nails clawing at the books as you struggled against the feeling.

Henry spotted the desperate movements you were making, holding deep within you as your hips squirmed atop his larger one. He was waiting for you to ask him. “Please, please Henry.” You managed to gasp out, feeling every vein against your inner walls, the curve of his large dick sending spasms down your thighs. “Please sir can I?”

“Not yet.” He grunted against your ear releasing the pressure of your hair and hooking an arm round your neck to drag you backwards towards the middle of the library. “You’re going to wait till daddy’s emptied into you and then you can come. Teach you a lesson about throwing things at me.”

You whimpered at his response, completely powerless in his arms as his large forearm at your throat kept you impaled in place. For a moment Henry kept the short, sharp thrusting movements into your heat, back pressed to his chest.

Henry wasn’t ready to finish with you yet however and just as you were about to give in to yourself he pulled out, flipping you round to face him.

“Not yet baby, not till you have my permission.” He growled lifting you by you waist into his arms laying your back down on the rug of the library floor. As soon as you were safely placed beneath him, his body was atop yours again, hooking your legs over his shoulder as he pushed in. The change in position left you winded, gazing up into his blue eyes.

One large hand moved to your neck, squeezing your throat as he regained the same rhythm, slamming hard to you. Your eyes were searching his as you begged with each new thrust for permission. It only took a few more deep strokes before his jaw clenched and you felt the hot seed spurting out against your cevix. Henry cotinued his thrusts, your inner walls miking the liquid out of him until he was completely done.

With that feeling he grunted a quiet yes that had your stomach tightening as you finally relaxed into the orgasm. His elbow nudged pressure down onto your soft stomach, intensifying the feeling as you spasmed against the rug. Your orgasm was coupled by loud cries of pleasure that echoed around the library.

Both of you were left breathless in the aftermath, your nails still clenched around the muscle of his arm. You relaxed your grip stretching out beneath, exhaling heavily as he pulled out of you.

Henry sat back on his knees, hands on your shoulders as he helped you sit up. You offered him a shy smile, reaching for the robe strewn out on the floor to lay it back over your shoulders.

“Now I don’t have to worry about anything else thrown at me will I little miss?” he asked with a chuckle, letting you reclothe yourself as he stood.

You nodded, pulling yourself up to stand infront of him, tucking a strand behind your ear with a light laugh. “Never again Henry, I promise.”

#blvckvenus #theblvckvenus #Henry cavill #Henry Cavill x reader #Henry Cavill x fem reader #Henry Cavill smut #Heny Cavill fic #smut #sub/dom #fluff #Henry Cavill x You #Henry Cavill x female reader #theblvckvenus writes

441 notes · View notes

lsvdw-blog · 3 years

Text

Not a Minute More: Part I

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings; Rating: Minor angst at the end; General

Premise: Ethan and MC are living in a honeymoon bliss and going about their normal routine. Then something happens that rocks Ethan to his core and threatens to change his life.

Author’s Note: New series comin' at ya! This is my first time writing fluff, so please excuse me if it's cringey 😅 Thank you to @choiceskatie for pre-reading!! I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading 💖

~ Monday, 7:00am ~

“Good morning, handsome.”

Serena walks up to an omelette-making Ethan, wraps her arms around his waist, and places a gentle kiss on his shoulder blade.

Ethan places one hand over hers, a smile spreading across his face, while the other wields a spatula.

He plates the omelette, turns the stove off, and turns in Serena’s arms to face her. He tightly envelops her, placing a sweet kiss on her lips.

“Good morning, indeed,” he smiles.

“Mmm, that’s my line,” she says, her hands moving leisurely up his bare chest, and her eyes trailing hungrily over his gym-honed physique.

Ethan lets out a hearty chuckle, turning slightly to grab their breakfast.

“As much as I’d love to take you back to bed," he gives her a quick peck, "you have a big day ahead of you, so,” he hands her a plate, “actual protein.”

“Buzzkill,” Serena pouts as she takes the ham, cheese, and veggie omelette from him. Ethan shakes his head in amusement and places one hand on her lower back to guide her towards the dining room table.

“For now, but in 10 hours…” he raises an eyebrow and smirks at her.

“10 hours and not a minute more,” she responds, sitting down, and giving him a stern look.

He laughs again. Something he’s been doing a lot more of since she came into his life. “Yes, baby.”

That seems to please Serena as she smiles and does a little wiggle in her chair, cutting into her omelette.

His apartment overlooks the glittering Charles River and the towering Boston skyline — a view people would kill for. But he’s not paying attention. His eyes are trained on the woman next to him. His t-shirt falls to her mid-thighs, her midnight hair tied at the nape of her neck, and the dainty gold necklace she never takes off is brilliant in the early morning glow. Serena shifts slightly and the faint smell of sunscreen wafts towards him.

“SPF on the face is important!” He grins at the memory.

She spends most of her time at Ethan's place nowadays. It's more private, compared to her shared apartment, and there's more space for them to sprawl out and be a couple. They cook dinner together, with Ethan learning to make her favorite dishes and incessantly asking her to taste test to ensure he gets the flavor right. They've made loading the dishwasher and walking Jenner into a two person job. He's even caught her stashing away some of his clothes in her overnight bag before: "I'm borrowing them!"

On the off nights when she insists on staying at her place to catch up on laundry or spend time with her friends, Ethan goes home to a dark and unwelcoming apartment. There is no source of laughter, light, or warmth. He never noticed it before, but now, Serena is his source of all of that, and more. Home is wherever she is.

How did I get so lucky?

“Why aren’t you eating?” Her head is tilted to the side and her brows are slightly furrowed.

Her question brings him out of his trance. He stares at her for a beat, his azure eyes filled with adoration. “Just admiring the view.”

Serena rolls her eyes and goes to playfully smack his arm, but he catches it. Interlaces their fingers and brings it to his lips. Her eyes soften as they gaze at each other.

“I could get used to mornings like this, you know," he rumbles.

"Yeah?"

He nods his head. "Yeah. I love spending them with you."

"The feeling is mutual, Dr. Ramsey." She leans in, stopping a hair's breadth away from his lips. "But I gotta get ready for my big day now," she says with a glint in her eye.

Ethan tries, and fails, to catch her lips with his own as she leans away and gets up from the table. "You're such a tease."

"Am I? Or are you just getting slow in your old age?" She playfully retorts.

Ethan stands abruptly from the table, chasing after her. Serena squeals in surprise and takes off towards the ensuite.

~ 7:40am ~

Ethan is leaning against the doorframe, arms and feet crossed, admiring Serena as she applies the finishing touches to her makeup.

"How many times are you going to stare at me today?" Serena questions.

He pushes off the doorframe and walks over to her. "As many times as you'll allow Rookie."

He hugs her waist. "Are you ready for today?"

Serena sighs and leans back into him. "I'm a little nervous. If testing doesn't go well today, we'll have to start from scratch. All our work, gone."

For the past few months, Serena has been consulting on a classified research project headed by scientists and engineers at Harvard University. The team was incredibly impressed with her capabilities, shown in saving Dr. Banerji's life and being the 2nd youngest member of the renowned Edenbrook Diagnostics Team, and liked that she provided a younger perspective. They brought her on and Ethan makes the 15 minute detour to drop her off three times a week.

"You all are ready. It will go great."

She locks eyes with him in the mirror. "Thank you, E."

~ 8:15am ~

Ethan puts the car in park, turns on his hazards, and turns to look at her.

"I can't wait to hear all about how today was an absolute success. You don't need it, but good luck." He squeezes her hand.

She nods. "Only 8 hours and 45 minutes left."

"And not a minute more," he smiles at her before leaning in to kiss her.

Ethan pulls away first, not wanting her to be late, but Serena continues to go back in for more soft kisses. After the sixth one, she finally pulls away smiling. She opens the car door, swings her legs out, and walks through the secured entrance.

~ 11:00am ~

The Diagnostics Team currently has no patients, so Ethan's morning is mundane, filled with meetings and endless paperwork. He itches to call Serena to break up the monotony, but knows she won't have her phone on her until lunch: no cell phones allowed in the lab. He settles on sending her a quick text — it'll be waiting for her. He pulls up their messaging thread, sends the text, and his eyes wander upward to see the remnants of their last conversation.

She had gotten, and dressed, Jenner in a new bow tie. She then blew up Ethan's phone with photos of Jenner, photos of her and Jenner, and even a few where she was wearing one of Ethan's bow ties to match.

"Look, we're twins!!"

Ethan re-scrolls through all of the photos and can't help the smile that lights up his face at how excited she gets about a small accessory for his dog. God, I love her.

There it is again, Ethan thinks. The 3 words and 8 letters that he never thought he'd feel, let alone want to voice. This feeling has become overwhelming in the past few weeks. He's reminded of it whenever he inhales the lingering scent of her perfume in the office, when he finds one of her forgotten face products at his place, the small moments they share when she sneaks away to visit him, "just because." It consumes him and makes his heart swell.

But he knows she's been extremely stressed with project duties, on top of handling the Diagnostics Team and regular patients. It just doesn't seem right to blurt it out when she's juggling so many things. But if all goes well, her portion of the project ends on Thursday and she'll be back to her normal workload. That's why he's been secretly making romantic plans for this weekend, not only to celebrate her success, but to also finally tell her how he feels. He wants the first time he utters those words to her to be special. Magical. Extraordinary. Just like her.

Just then, his pager beeps and he's pulled out of his second Serena trance of the day. He sets his phone down on the table, pulls out his pager, and is met with a message from Dr. Delarosa, asking for a consult. Just as he exits through the door, his phone lights up with a photo of Serena and her incoming call.

~ 2:15pm ~

The consultation with Ines turned into admitting the patient under the Diagnostics Team and the rest of the afternoon was spent running through possible diagnoses. Before he knew it, it had been over 3 hours and Ethan hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning. He can't help but think how much easier this case would be with Serena here and her perspective. Not only does her presence help keep him calm, but she always comes up with suggestions that would inevitably lead to the correct diagnosis. He throws his glasses on the table and pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.

He begins to stand, wanting to make his way to his desk, intending to call Serena on the off chance she picks up. However, before he's even able to reach his full height, Dr. Banerji walks in.

"My boy, are you busy?"

"No. Am I needed somewhere?"

Naveen looks at him for a beat too long, causing Ethan's confusion to spike. Naveen walks to the center table and switches on the TV. There, panning around the screen is an aerial view of the Harvard University lab complex, surrounded by police cars and SWAT members, as well as multiple aircraft. In bold letters, scrolling endlessly across the bottom of the screen is: Possible attack at Harvard University labs. On lockdown.

Ethan gawks at the screen with wide eyes and his pulse immediately picks up.

"Isn't Serena at Harvard labs today?"

~~~~~~

Disclaimer: I know Ethan starts his day and gets to the hospital at an ungodly hour, but let's ignore that bc I am my MC is not a morning person 😅

#ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #playchoices #ethan ramsey fanfiction #ethan ramsey fic #ethan ramsey open heart #choices open heart #open heart #open heart fic #choices stories you play

106 notes · View notes

bellakitse · 3 years

Text

abrázame muy fuerte amor

“I’ve heard this before,” he questions, getting a gentle nod in return from his boyfriend. “You’ve played it a few times in the past,” he continues as the song picks up.

“It’s our song,” he tells him, chuckling softly when TK looks at him in surprise.

Carlos has a song he considers his and TK’s, only it’s in Spanish. He translates it for TK, leaving him in awe of the love Carlos feels for him.

Written for Day Three of Tarlos Corazonados Weekend- Love Languages @tarlos-valentine

There are just too many things to count TK Strand loves about Carlos Reyes and being with him. He loves how kind and caring he is with everyone around him, from TK to his crew, to his parents, to strangers on the street. He loves how attentive he is, shooting him a text just because he thought about him. Or how he’ll carry one of his APD hoodies in his car on the off chance TK might get cold and knows he enjoys wearing his clothes more than his own. He loves how affectionate he is, always quick to embrace TK, never making him feel his touch is unwanted or a bother. Instead, Carlos matches him touch for touch, kiss for kiss, each and every time. But most of all, he loves that Carlos just makes time to be with him. It doesn’t have to be a big production; he just makes sure TK knows he wants him around. Like now, with TK sitting on the kitchen counter staring at him lovingly while he prepares their dinner.

He teases TK about being spoiled as he doesn’t lift a finger to help but quickly shakes his head, walking over to kiss him in place when TK starts to get down and assist. He chuckles, joking about not wanting to deal with a kitchen fire on their night off, kissing TK again when he pouts in response.

So TK sits, watching the dance Carlos does around his kitchen as he chops veggies and stirs the sauce. In the background, music plays softly from speakers, some songs he knows, some he’s never heard before as Carlos has a wide and varied taste in music on his collection of playlists.

A song starts to play, the words begin low. He doesn’t know what they are, as the song is in Spanish, but he knows it’s familiar. Looking over at Carlos, he finds him looking back at him with a soft smile on his face.

“I’ve heard this before,” he questions, getting a gentle nod in return from his boyfriend. “You’ve played it a few times in the past,” he continues as the song picks up. The vocalist sings with so much emotion that even though TK doesn’t understand, he knows the song is about love. It’s powerful enough to cross language barriers.

“Who is it?”

“Juan Gabriel,” Carlos answers with a smile. “El Divo de Juarez they used to call him. I grew up listening to his songs, all about a love like no other love. Mom would play him while she cooked, and we would dance to his more lively songs.”

TK smiles at the picture that springs in his head of little Carlos dancing with his mother. “And this song in particular? You play it the most,” he asks, eyebrows raising in surprise when Carlos blushes at his question.

“Abrázame muy fuerte,” Carlos starts to say, and TK can’t help but smile. He loves when Carlos speaks in his native tongue. “It means ‘hold me very close.’”

TK nods, tilting his head to the side. “And – it’s special to you?” he questions, wondering if maybe it represents something in Carlos’ past.

Carlos’ face goes rosy again, but there is a sweet smile on his lips that makes TK’s heart flutter. “It’s our song,” he tells him, chuckling softly when TK looks at him in surprise. “I mean – it’s the song that makes me think about you every time I listen to it. So it’s kind of become our song in my head.”

TK takes in a deep breath as the love he sees in Carlos’ eyes threatens to steal it. “I’ve never had a song with anyone,” he admits quietly, his heart singing happily at the possibility of having one now.

“You can have this one with me if you want,” Carlos tells him, a hint of nervousness in his voice, and TK aches at the vulnerability he sees in his beautiful brown eyes.

“I would love that baby,” he answers gently, getting a pleased smile in return. “But will you tell me what it says? I want to know why this song reminds you of us.”

Carlos turns towards the stove, bringing the heat of the sauce to a simmer. He wipes his hands on a clean rag, and TK can see they tremble slightly. He holds his breath for a second as Carlos crosses the small distance between them. He parts his knees so Carlos can step between them, closing his eyes for a moment when he leans in to give him a gentle kiss.

Taking his phone, Carlos starts the song again to the low intro. “When you’re with me, is when I say,” Carlos starts translating, his voice just above a whisper, his eyes locked on TK. “That this – has been worth everything, everything I’ve suffered.”

TK can’t help the gasp he lets out at the first verse. He reaches blindly for Carlos’ shirt, curling his fingers around it to steady himself. Carlos smiles understandingly, swallowing audibly before continuing.

“I don’t know if it’s a dream or reality,” Carlos frowns for a moment, almost to himself, before the expression clears. “But when I’m with you, is when I can say, this love I feel is because you have earned it.”

“Carlos – “ TK whispers unevenly, feeling his eyes sting at the words, but more so at how strongly he knows Carlos believes them. His expression is wide open for TK to see all he feels for him.

The song continues to play, and Carlos continues to transform it for TK.

“I’m telling you, love, I have awakened again crying from happiness,” Carlos reaches up, cupping his face, his thumb drawing small circles over his cheekbone to comfort him. “By your side is when I feel like I’m living. Nothing is as it was yesterday.”

TK nods rapidly as he agrees, a wet shaky sound escaping his throat. “Yes, Carlos, yes, it’s the same for me.”

Carlos closes his eyes as the most beautiful smile takes over his face. He leans in, pressing his forehead to TK’s as the music picks up and the violins get louder. TK goes to grip his biceps, trying to pull him closer still, his heart in his throat from all the love he feels for Carlos and that he feels given back to him. His whole life, he has searched for this; it takes his breath away to know he’s finally found it.

“Hold me, because time passes and it never forgives,” Carlos whispers in the space between their mouths. “It has caused me pain.”

TK moves, pressing kisses to Carlos’ eyelids as he continues to translate their song. That’s what it is now. The words he previously didn’t understand, now spoken from Carlos’ lips, mean everything to him.

“Hold me, because time is awful and a very cruel friend. Hold me, because time is gold if you’re with me,” Carlos breathes out, now shaking slightly as his voice thickens with emotion. “Hold me close, very close, closer than ever,” he whispers, stumbling over some of it, and TK does precisely that. He holds Carlos close, tighter than he ever has, until his trembling starts to subside.

“I want to stay this way forever,” Carlos tells him when he pulls back to look at him, and TK realizes it’s both the next verse of the song and what Carlos truly means. “I’ll take advantage while you’re here to thank you for every moment of our life.”

TK shakes his head. It’s him who should be thanking Carlos. For sticking by him when any sane person would have cut and run. For never giving up on him – on them. For loving him more fiercely than anyone ever has.

“I am going to love you forever,” TK vows, the tears he’s been holding back since Carlos started translating breaking through. “Forever.”

Carlos smiles even as his own tears fall. “When you look up at the sky,” he says, his smile growing, it’s the sweetest smile TK has ever received. “For every star you see, know it’s an ‘I love you.’”

“Oh,” TK says softly, the love behind the line overwhelming him again.

Carlos gives him a gentle nod. The song continues for a moment before he picks up again on the translation.

“Hold me very close, love,” he tells him, almost pleading. “Keep me like this by your side.”

“Forever,” TK repeats once more, getting yet another adoring look from Carlos. He’s no longer tearful. He’s calm and steady, TK’s safe place as always.

“I appreciate everything you’ve given me,” Carlos continues, pressing his forehead against TK’s again. “I want to be with you every day, in one way or another.”

He doesn’t keep going as the song starts to come to an end. Instead, they stay quiet in their own little world, basking in their love and this moment that has cemented it.

“Hold me very close, love,” Carlos whispers to him as the last line of the song plays out, and TK nods, pulling him closer.

That’s precisely what TK intends to do for the rest of his life. He’s going to hold on to this beautiful, wonderful man who decided to love him out of all people, and he’s going to keep him forever.

He kisses him slow and sweet, smiling at the lovely sigh Carlos lets out as a result.

Pulling back to look into his eyes, his smile grows at the bashful expression he finds there. “I love our song,” he tells Carlos softly, biting down on his lip before he asks. “Play it again?”

The smile he gets in return is more beautiful than the last, and the song starts to play once more.

#911 lone star #tarlos #911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #tarlosvalentine21 #tk x carlos #my writing #the sappiest thing I have ever written

114 notes · View notes

bookishofalder · 3 years

Text

Celebrity Swingers Club

Request: @bbarton -hi!! could i request adam driver x reader <3 they are dating and one night they go out or something and someone starts hitting on the reader aggressively and he gets very protective and jealous :)

A/N: Honestly the idea for this stemmed from a random and hilarious conversation I was having with my friend the other day. I wanted to keep this one light and silly, so I hope it makes you smile! 🥰

Warnings: Dash of SMUT, language.

Adam was missing you today, even though he’d seen you mere hours ago, wrapped in his arms in bed at the hotel. And you were on set today as well, even. But this happened towards the end of filming, for a lot of actors. The inevitable mixture of melancholy, pride, restlessness and exhaustion. It was exacerbated by being on location, though he had to admit of all the locations he’d been to for a film, he had little to complain about here in Hawaii.

But nearing the end of filming meant that time became more constrained, and you and he saw less of one another. He supposed it was part of the honeymoon phase, after all, you’d only been married about 5 months before production started on this latest project.

Today, he just wanted to see you, even if just for a short while.

So when they called lunch, he was quick to depart the set and make a beeline for the cafe, where he had two orders of lunch preordered for pickup. He thanked the staff, having a brief conversation with the cafe crew about how much he had to bribe them for the recipe to his favourite meal (seriously, it was one of the best dishes he’d ever encountered, but they wouldn’t give it up!). With a laugh and a shrug of defeat, he said his goodbyes and started toward the makeup trailers.

He figured you’d be working with your assistant to tidy up from the morning, as many fake injuries were needed for the scenes they were filming. You complained that these left your workstations a disaster. But he knew you loved creating the wounds, a macabre alternative to the glamour or ‘regular’ looks you specialized in. It had been alarming the first time he’d walked in on you in the bedroom you shared at home to find you looking at horrifically graphic photos and making notes.

As he approached your trailer, your assistant, Bailey, was making her way hurriedly down the steps. Adam greeted her with a wide grin. “Hey Bailey, sneaking away?”

“Sneaking away is accurate, Carter is in there,” She replied, her lips set in a thin line, “Seriously, I know he means well, but he really is a bit much.”

Adam nodded in understanding, as he too found the young actor a little...obnoxious. And while Adam had no illusions to his idiosyncrasies and perpetual ‘asshole’ persona; he still made a point of not falling into conversation with Carter. It was tiring, as the kid would speak non-stop, jumping from topic to topic so quickly it gave his listeners whiplash, and when he’d finish, he’d merely take a breath and launch into another speech unless he was cut off.

But he was a good enough kid and a great actor. Someone that, professionally, Adam was happy to work with. Just like Bailey, however, he had his limits when it came to patience in dealing with Carter offset. And Adam knew his wife all too well, he knew you were in the trailer, abandoned by Bailey, being an absolute gem to the kid. Letting him talk your ear off while you no doubt worked to get your station fully tidied before being called to set after lunch for touch-ups.

“Well, I’d better go rescue her, I’ll see you later.” He sighed, and Bailey gave him a sympathetic, knowing smiling before running off.

You kept your trailer especially cool, which Adam had always appreciated. You said it was for your art, but he also knew you did it for him, as he always ran a lot warmer than most. Stepping inside, he first turned left toward the dining area and set the food boxes down on the table. When he glanced around and didn’t see you in the main room, he made his way to the door that led into the meeting room, which had a large sink that you used for cleaning off your palettes and brushes. The door was halfway cracked and as Adam stepped up, he heard Carter’s voice.

“Honestly, totally no big deal, (y/n). Married, single, divorced-whatever,” Adam was right at the door now, looking in he saw your back, shoulders rigid in a way that he knew meant you were uncomfortable, and pointedly washing off a palette with determined vigour. “You’re fit, and I’m an honest person, so I just wanted to put it out there. You could even ask Adam if you-“

Leaning against the door frame, Adam slid the pocket door the rest of the way open, his eyes focused on Carter. “Ask Adam what?” His voice low, he was trying to control his temper-he didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

Carter had broken off the moment he saw Adam in the doorway, mouth slightly open in surprise. “Oh, hey Adam!” He quickly rearranged his expression to a more pleasant one.

But when you spun around and Adam saw the genuine relief flush across your face, his heart rate increased. He crossed his arms, inwardly happy that he was still wearing only a t-shirt, his muscles flexing slightly.

“Ask me what, Carter.”

The kids’ eyes widened, “I was, well, I mean I was saying to (y/n)-“

Adam cut him off again, “My wife. You were saying to my wife.” Out of the corner of his eye, Adam could see you biting back a smile.

Carter stuttered, “Yes! Of course, I was saying-to your wife-that I’d be down for a, you know,” He shrugged, though his tense posture and wide eyes gave away how utterly not calm he was, “Some fun, Hollywood style, uh, fun.”

At this, Adam frowned with confusion, glancing between Carter and you, and you rolled your eyes, “He means sex. You know, like how all celebrities are here for a good time, so we can swap partners and have sex parties and all that fun stuff we do on weekends.”

Adam’s eyes snapped to Carter, who visibly paled. Gulping he watched as Adam stepped away from the door and into the room, his eyes narrowed. “You asked my wife to fuck? Are you kidding me?” Moving nearer to you, Adam pointed at the door, “Get the fuck out of here, stay the fuck away from my wife, and expect a call from my manager.”

Though his voice had been quiet, the message and severity of his words were all too clear to Carter, who uttered a quick apology before running out of the trailer at full speed. When the door slammed closed behind him, you burst out laughing, peals of giggles that brought a smile to Adam’s face despite his anger.

“Oh god, that poor kid actually thought we had like, celebrity swingers clubs,” You broke down in another fit of giggles, one hand clutching your stomach, and Adam couldn’t help but join in.

After a few minutes, he stepped closer to you and pulled you into his arms, where you rested your head on his chest, your arms snaking around his waist. It hadn’t been the first time he’d encountered someone unabashedly hitting on you, though this was the most unique proposition he thinks you'd been offered.

“That was the first time that one could interpret that I was included in the deal,” He considered aloud, causing you to laugh loudly again. “I’m not sure if I should be more, or less, offended.”

“Carter is a gullible fantasist. I’d put money down that someone told him there was a sex club he was missing out on.”

“If that’s the case,” Adam replied, pulling back slightly to look down at you, “Then whoever told him that is going to get a piece of my mind when I find out who they are. I fucking hate when men hit on you.”

Your gaze softened, a small hand reaching up to stroke his jaw in a soothing motion that always seemed to work on him. “I know, babe,” You whispered, your hand sliding from his jaw to grab the back of his neck, pulling him closer. With your mouth a breath away from his, you added, “I missed you today.” And then your lips pressed to his.

Without hesitation, Adam deepened the kiss, his blood rushing as your mouth opened for him and then he was licking into you, tasting you. A small moan escaped you as you pressed yourself against him, returning his fervour. One of the things he adored about you was the energy that you saved just for him. Every kiss, every touch, they were always fire, always intense and needy. You kissed him like it was the first time, every time, no matter how tired you might be, how hard you might have worked that day.

He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours, each of you panting. “I love you, sweet girl.”

“Love you too, big.” You murmured, your lips wrapping seductively around the nickname you had for him. He smiled, reaching his hands up to cup your face, thumbs stroking the soft skin.

“I brought lunch, by the way.”

You pulled back further, leaning around him to look toward the dining table. Eyes lighting up upon seeing the take out containers that held your favourite meal, you glanced between Adam and the food a few times.

“Seeing you get all jealous worked me up,” Your words were thoughtful, brows furrowed in mock consideration, “I think we have time for a quickie before we ea-AH!”

You shrieked a giggle as Adam lifted you up, pressing his lips to yours before seating you on the table. He reached toward the door and quickly shut it, turning the lock, before looking back down at you.

With a dark look in his eyes, he stepped between your legs, hands gripping your shoulders gently, “Might need to leave a mark or two, remind everyone who you belong to.” And then his lips were on your collarbone, biting possessively before his tongue would lave out to soothe the mark. Your hands found his hair, fingers carding through the raven locks as you moaned in delight.

“All yours, big.” You sighed, and Adam smiled against the skin of your chest, his hands dropping to your hips so that he could ease your leggings off and bring your bodies together.

The food would go cold, but the trailer had a microwave. And really, neither of you were all that hungry at the moment, anyway.

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

#reader insert #fanfic #adam driver x reader #adam driver #adam driver x you #angst #adam driver fanfiction #just for fun #requested #love

120 notes · View notes

tobesolonely · 4 years

Text

braided

a/n: hello everyone, this is my first ever piece of work im posting on here!! i’m a lil nervous to post it, but the idea came to me while i was taking a shower and i really wanted to write it so here it is <333 the concept is kinda personal to me as a Black woman but i really wanted to share my feelings and also make it a lil fluffy (kinda?? hopefully?) anyway please enjoy and leave feedback i would really appreciate it!

word count: ~1k

warnings: none! a lil fluffy <33

my ko-fi! thank you :)

“Still up for the farmer’s market tomorrow, darling? We should get there early before the crowds form.” Harry suggests, walking back into his bathroom to finish up his extensive, nightly skincare routine.

You look up from your phone, about to voice your confirmation when you suddenly remember what you have planned for tomorrow. You made an appointment with your hair braider nearly two weeks ago but she was so booked with summer starting that tomorrow was the soonest appointment you could get. “I can’t,” you sigh, locking your phone and setting it down next to you on Harry’s bed. “I’m getting my hair done tomorrow at eleven.”

Harry pokes his head out of his bathroom, face gleaming from the serum he just rubbed all over it. “S’no problem darling, farmer’s market doesn’t close ‘til one. We’ll make it.”

At this statement, you can’t help but to throw your head back and laugh. Harry’s certainty that your hair would be done within two hours, given your hairstylist was actually ready for you by 11, was laughable. Yours and Harry’s relationship was still fairly new and since he had never been in a relationship with a Black woman, he was still learning all about your hair-- what hair products work best, why you can’t just use his shampoo when you run out of the bottle you keep in his shower, why you don’t just wake up, run your fingers through your hair, and waltz out the door, why you don’t wash your hair every day, and so much more. However, he did not know how long it took for protective styles to be installed in your hair, and he certainly wouldn’t guess it’s an all-day affair.

“Heyyyyy,” he drawls, walking over to his bed and flopping next to you. “Yeh laughin’ at me? What’s so funny?” Harry has a genuine look of confusion on his face, poking you in your side.

You pull your body up from your lounging position and turn to face him, crossing your legs. “It’s just,” you start. “I think we’d do best to go to the farmer’s market next weekend. It’s just that my hair will take more than a couple hours, s’all.”

At this information, Harry's eyes widen. He looks at your hair, still obviously very confused. “More than a couple of hours? How? What are yeh gettin’ done to it?” The fact that your hair could take so long to do is just beyond him. He doesn’t understand at all and you giggle at his genuine curiosity.

“I’m getting box braids done. They’re a protective style, so that means you won’t have to wait 45 minutes for me to do my hair every time we go somewhere now!” He laughs at this, causing you to poke his dimple.

“I’ve seen those before! They look like they hurt. Do they hurt?” Harry is still extremely curious seeing as you haven’t explained anything to him. “Where are yeh goin’ to get them done? Can I come?”

You laugh again, amazed at how invested in your hair Harry is. “It kinda hurts a little if she installs them too tight but if she doesn’t, it’s fine,” you pause for a little bit, wondering if you should allow Harry to come with you. You didn’t want to just invite him to sit there tomorrow and take up space, especially because it might be a busy day. Also, your boyfriend, as you were slowly learning from the five months you’ve been together, could get extremely restless when he got bored. “I’m afraid you’ll be bored if you tag along.”

Harry shakes his head, getting up from the bed to turn off the overhead light. “None o’ that, lovie. You know I’m never bored when I’m with yeh. Would love to go and see what the process is like if ya don’t mind me being there.”

Your heart swells at the fact that Harry wants to put in the effort to understand more about your hair. As a Black woman, your hair was one part of you that you’ve struggled to love your entire life and are still learning to love. The way you care for your hair and all the work that goes into it is not something you talk about with everyone, not even all of your girlfriends. “I’ll text my stylist tomorrow morning and make sure it won’t be a problem to have an extra body there.”

Harry climbs back into bed and pulls back the covers, snuggling up to you. “Can’t wait.”

⋆⋆⋆

“Harry please c’mon, you know I don’t like being late for things!” You call up the steps of his flat, looking at the time on your phone that read 10:47 a.m.

“‘M comin’, lovie,” he yells down at you. “Lookin’ for my book. Yeh seen it?”

You think for a moment before remembering you saw it on the floor of the bathroom last, assuming he left it there after his bath last night. “Bathroom. I’m gonna wait in your car, okay?” Harry tells you again that he’s coming and you grab his keys from the counter, make sure you have your braiding hair, and go outside. He comes out shortly after, sunglasses on and hood up.

“Sorry, love. I’ll get us there, don’t worry,” he grabs your hand and places a kiss to it. “How do I get there?”

You direct Harry to your hair shop and get there quicker than you anticipated, not realizing that Harry’s place was a little closer to it than yours. He parks the car and scrambles out, quickly walking around to your side to open the door for you. “C’mon babe, didn’t mean to make you late. It’s a few past 11.” His urgency is so cute that you don’t tell him that your hairstylist most likely isn’t even ready for you yet.

Upon walking in, your hairstylist greets you and Harry excitedly. “Hey, girl! Have a seat, I’m almost done with her.” You and Harry look at the client she has in her chair, seeing she’s also getting box braids and isn’t even halfway done.

“See,” you lean over and whisper. “I told you it would be best to go to the farmer’s market next weekend.”

#harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles one shot #harry styles concept #boyfriend harry #fine line #solo harry #please let me know what you think #<3 #braided

605 notes · View notes

speirstookmysoul · 3 years

Text

love songs to a stranger - eugene roe x fem!reader

Hello darlings! You are all looking gorgeous today!

We have a Gene Roe fic today. I am surprised at how productive I have been. Two fics on the same weekend? Wild.

Rating: NC-18.

Word Count: 3.6k

Content Warning: 18+ Content below the cut. Minors please do no interact.

All depictions are based on the actors’ portrayals as shown in the 2001 HBO miniseries. No disrespect is meant to the real people who served during World War II that these portrayals are based upon.

These men (and women) are truly the greatest heroes ever known. I thank each and every one of them for their service and their bravery.

Paris was a beautiful city. His sisters would be jealous that he’d seen Paris before them and would likely badger him for details if he ever wrote home about it.

‘The City of Love’, they had once sighed over a book with pictures of the city that their grandmère had bought for them with thoughts of marriage and a romantic honeymoon to France in their heads when Eugene came home for lunch. His parents had exchanged fond looks with each other, his brothers had gagged, and Eugene had simply shook his head at his sisters, taking his simple bread and cheese sandwich and leaving to go back to work.

He arrived in Paris with a group of three more from Easy on a 48-hour weekend pass and went his own way while they wandered off after they had secured hotel rooms. Eugene wandered through the streets of Paris for hours, taking everything in from the hustle and bustle of the cafes to people wandering the streets. Whenever he came across street performers or beggars, Eugene gave them money. He spent the day like that, wandering to and fro through the city as the cloudy skies and daylight gave way to dusk and street lamps unlit from blackout orders.

He was walking along the path, looking at the shadow of Notre-Dame across the canal when he bumped into someone. His hands shot out to steady who he had run into, and he heard a something clatter to the ground. Eugene met your surprised face with his own and looked down at his feet the same time you did, seeing a handbag on the ground.

“I’m terribly sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” You were saying as you regained your balance, stooping down to pick up your bag. Eugene found himself doing the same; your hand ghosted over his when he had your bag in his hand.

He offered it to you with a smile. “Pardon. I was not looking where I was goin’.”

You smiled, shoulders shaking with a laugh as you both stood up. You took back your handbag, hanging the strap on your elbow. You wore a grey-blue skirt and jacket, a garrison cap placed neatly on your head in between carefully pinned curls. The red cross on the cap and the patch on your left shoulder told him you were in the Red Cross’s Motor Corps.

He realized he was being impolite by staring and decided to give you his name. “Eugene Roe.” He said, offering to shake your hand. You smiled accepting his offer. You smiled like you knew how and when the world was going to end and gave him your name.

He wasn’t sure what happened, or why, but something in his mind clicked as he talked to you and Eugene found himself sitting with you on that stone ledge with Notre-Dame de Paris looming across the canal. Eugene found himself smiling and laughing more than he had in a long time. It was easy to talk to you; your eyes invited him in to speak without fail about anything and everything that came across his mind in a way that hadn’t happened since before Camp Toccoa and the smile you gave him a pulse of excitement.

When the skies turned black, Eugene offered to escort you back to your hotel. On the way back, still you two talked, never running out of things to talk about. The trees, the birds, the water, the streets. It was when you arrived at your hotel that he realized it was the same one he was staying in too. He walked up the stairs with you, smiling and laughing until you reached your room on the floor below his. He stood a respectful distance back as you unlocked the door.

Eugene exchanged goodbyes with you, a heaviness in his heart that he recognized. He was four steps away when you called out to him. With your door halfway open, you stood in the doorway looking down the hall at him. You invited him inside for a nightcap. The bite you took of your lip told him that it wasn’t about a drink before bedtime.

Gene went into your room with you, the door closing behind you before you went about pouring two glasses of brandy. His hand grazed over your fingers when you handed him the second glass. Maybe it was the brandy, maybe it was what he had been feeling all night. Whatever it was, it led Gene to pressing his lips to your gently, the taste of brandy on your mouth. The glasses were set down on the dresser, and you kissed him again, deeper and longer than the small peck on the lips Gene had dared.

It was a slow heat burning between you. You kissed him so sweetly, so gently. Your hands pulled at his tie, loosening it slowly as you played with the buttons of his shirt. Eugene had been slowly gathering your skirt up, exposing your legs slowly. His fingers occasionally brushed against your stockings, and the elastic suspenders on your thighs. When he felt the smooth sensation of your skin, he drew back, finding your lipstick smeared from his kisses.

“Do you want to stop?” You asked.

Eugene smiled, shaking his head. “No. No. I want to continue.” He emphasised this by pulling you against his hips, where his cock was starting to press against his pants. You let out a shaky breath, head falling against his shoulder as you rocked into him. Eugene bit his lip. “I need to go back to my room for a condom.”

You nodded. You kissed him again, chastely. Eugene lingered, kissing you again. You laughed against his mouth, shoving at his shoulders. “Go!”

You walked him to the door while biting your lip. Your lipstick left red stains on your teeth. Eugene was sure his mouth was stained similarly. He gave a mock salute as he went out the door and proceeded to hurry to his room on the floor above yours. He managed to avoid anyone going into his room, retrieving the tin that was issued to every soldier. He slipped it into his pocket and hurried back to your room. He counted his blessings when he stepped onto your floor again; he had run into no one on his way down or on his way back to your door.

Eugene knocked on the door, shifting uncomfortably. The door opened, your head peeking around it. Your hair was unpinned and freshly brushed out; it was longer than the pinned curls had let on, falling past your shoulder and you’d removed your lipstick.

You smiled when you saw him, opening the door for him to step through. He saw your dress hanging up on the door to the bathroom with your bra and knickers draped over the top of the door beside it, and your shoes set out by the bed. He took off his jacket, draping it over the lone chair in the room. He turned and found you standing by the closed door in just your slip. Eugene held his hand out to you and you practically skipped towards him, taking his hand in yours. He tugged you towards him, catching you when you lost your balance for a moment. You were laughing and smiling, and Eugene had to smile too.

He peppered kisses to your face, light feather touches that made both of you smile when you tried to return his kisses, only for him to kiss another spot. He noticed a silver cross hanging from your neck on a delicate silver chain. Eugene ran his finger over the cross, feeling the outline with his fingertip. You took his hand in yours, your nails tracing a relaxing pattern into his palm as you smiled up at him. You kissed the palm of his left hand, and then kissed his finger tips. Heat curled through Eugene as he felt himself melt into you. He pressed a kiss to where your pulse beat against your neck, listened to your sigh and felt your nails gently scratch at his scalp. He groaned, eyelids fluttering as he kissed up your neck to capture your lips into another kiss.

His hands wound through your hair, fingers curling as he tilted your head back. You leaned against him, relying on him to keep you on your feet as you swayed. He swayed with you, a hand leaving your hair to grasp your hip. You sighed breaking away for air, but didn’t go far. He felt the heat of your breath against his face. Eugene turned his head to kiss you again, enticing you into a deeper kiss of dancing tongues and wet gasps for air.

He felt you loosening the knot on his tie, using it to pull him closer to your height.

You still swayed, like you were dancing to the rhythm of unheard music. Or maybe it was blood rushing, hearting pounding that you swayed to. That had it be it, Eugene decided, when he fell into swaying with you, letting you lead him in a near dance as he stepped back and you stepped forward; the rhythm matched that of his heart and the blood rushing veins as he slowly pulled your slip up and over your head letting the silk fall to the floor as he felt the edge of your bed on the backs his knees. Eugene sat down, pulling you to stand between his legs.

He pressed a kiss to your belly, sighing as he felt your hands run through his hair. Eugene looked up at you, pulling you further until you sat astride his lap. He kissed you again, a warmth settling into his bones as you rocked your hips, sighing into your mouth. He gathered your slip in his hands, the silk feeling like water as he raised it slowly exposing more of your skin. The silk went over your head, your hair tickling his face and Eugene pressed a kiss to the top of each breast.

You moaned, clutching the back of his head as he licked the curve of your breast. You pulled his shirt from his trousers, reaching where your body was pressed against his to get the last of the buttons undone. His shirt joined your slip on the floor. Gene laid back with you over him, hands drifting from your hips to squeeze your thighs. You shifted to balance your weight above him on an elbow, your hand drifting down to touch him through his trousers.

Eugene couldn’t help the moan that left his throat at the feeling of your fingers tracing him. You kissed him and his hand tangled in your hair, turning messy. You sighed, pulling at his belt buckle and then making a frustrated noise, pulling away to sit on his thighs. Eugene watched through hazy eyes as you undid the buckle and worked at the buttons on his trousers. It didn’t sit right with him, that you were doing the work of undressing him, so Eugene sat up. He wrapped an arm around your waist when you nearly lost your balance. He kissed you again, rolling so you laid on your back next to him. Eugene’s feet touched the floor as he pulled off his pants.

He caught the movement of your thighs parting, and he watched, trailing his up from your calf to the dense curls that laid between your legs. He shifted to his side, curling a hand under your thigh and looking up at you, licking his lip. You bit yours, breath rushing out as you realized what he wanted to do. At your nod, Eugene pressed a kiss to your stomach, sliding off the bed and onto his knees, kissing up your thigh. When your legs opened to accommodate his presence there, he traced a finger over your sex, feeling the wetness of your curls.

Eugene groaned, pressing past the hair and touching your sex properly. You breathed out a sigh, legs spreading more as he touched you carefully, pressing kisses to your thigh as he got shuffled closer. You let out a low moan when his tongue first touched you. His hand trailed up your thigh, over your hip, drawing circling patterns similar to what his tongue did. As you got closer, and more vocal, your hand took his. Eugene eased you into your orgasm, licking you gently and leaving your sex with a parting kiss.

He didn’t rejoin you on the bed, instead dug into the pocket of his trousers for the tin of condoms. He grunted as he rolled the protection on, unable to help the buck of his hips into his own hand.

“Eugene.” He turned to look at you, finding you smiling at him with your legs still spread. You crooked a finger at him. “Come here.”

Eugene took the invitation, crawling over you as you adjusted so you were lying back against the pillow and settling himself between your legs. One curled around his, your heel hooking on his calf. You pulled him down into a kiss, mewling at the taste of yourself on his lips and the wetness that was drying on his face. Your fingers played with the hair at the back of his neck and Gene moaned into your mouth, slipping his hand between the two of you, gripping his cock as he sought to catch against you. He eased himself in, shoulders shaking as you sighed, head falling back and your lips leaving his.

It was like the rocking of a ship on a calm sea, a slow epp and flow of hips rocking to and fro. You mewled, unable to decide where to place your hands. You touched his hair, his shoulders, his arms as you panted with him. You were warm and so soft, the world outside this hotel room was gone from his mind. He didn’t think of the war, his only thought was you and how you felt, how you reacted when he licked at the skin below your jaw. Electrifying tingles and warm buzzes spread through Gene’s body as he rocked gently into you.

Eugene pressed a kiss to your shoulder, moaning against your skin. You breathed out an airy moan, hands running through his hair as your head pressed back into the pillow, back arching. He rubbed circles into your hips with his thumbs, kissing across your chest. A keen came out of you as you slumped into the bed, letting out little sighs as Eugene kept going, seeking out his own pleasure. He increased his pace, pulling up your leg by the knee to give himself more room. When Eugene came, he pressed his face between your neck and the pillow, muffling his moan, open mouthed and teeth dragging on your skin. He shook as he pumped his hips against you, barely catching himself from collapsing on top of you.

You sighed, smoothing back his hair and running a hand up and down his sweat-slicked back. Eugene shifted, his arm going numb from how he had it pressed into the bed. You moaned in protest, burying your face against his neck. He smiled, kissing the top of your head as he shifted off of you, settling on his side. Gene took off the condom, grunting as he dropped it into the wastebin beside the bed.

He watched as you got up, stretching as you went. Eugene took you in from the only mirror in the room. He couldn’t see much in the dark cast of the room, only seeing the shadowed figure of you in the mirror. You came back to lay down beside him and Eugene rolled onto his side, wrapping an arm around you. He sighed as you settled into a comfortable position. You were tracing patterns on his back as he fell asleep.

He woke up the next morning to the sound of running water and violins playing down in the streets. Sunlight was coming through the curtains and the sheets were drawn up to his chest; he’d been tucked in. Eugene blinked, rubbing his eyes as he swung his legs over the side, sitting on the edge of the bed with the bedsheet around his waist. His clothes had been folded and placed neatly on a chair with his boots next to it. Eugene blinked, remembering what happened last night and flushing. The bathroom door opened and you came out, wearing your slip and underthings, drying your hair with a towel. You stopped in the doorway, smiling at him.

“You’re awake.” Eugene nodded. “I’ve got the water running if you want a bath.”

He did. He stood up, stretching, discarding the sheet. You bit your lip as he walked past with his stack of clothes in hand, stopping him to press a kiss to his cheek. Eugene took a moment to breathe in the smell of soup and what must have been your perfume.

When Eugene came out from his bath dressed and his hair combed, you had pinned up your hair and were dressed with your shoes on. You were struggling with the clasp of your necklace.

“Let me.” He stepped up behind you, carefully taking the necklace from you. It was an old-style clasp, shaped like a fish-hook on one end. You moved your hair out of the way as he secured the necklace around your neck. Eugene rested his hands on your shoulders. “There.”

You turned, looking up at him through your lashes. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

You both went about finishing dressing. He had finished putting on his service jacket and cleared his throat to get your attention. Gene smiled, rubbing at the back of his neck. “About last night,” he said, “my father said that I should buy a lady dinner first.”

“I think we’re well past that point, Mr. Roe.” You teased, placing your cap on your head neatly.

Eugene grinned, offering you his arm. “How does breakfast sound then?”

“Lead the way.” You hook your hand on his elbow.

After having breakfast at a cafe, Gene again found himself spending time with you. He walked through Paris with your hand on his elbow and you pressed into his side. From the outside looking out, the pair of you must have given off the appearance of long-time sweethearts instead of two people who had just met the previous day.

He spent the whole day with you, and the whole night again too, once he went back to his room for a moment. There was no sex this time, when he laid in the too small bed that was meant for one person with you, your legs entangled with his. He pressed kisses to your face and hands, smiling back at you until you both fell asleep.

You had a small bag with you; he’d watched you pack it last night before he’d left to collect his things. Eugene carried your bag and his down to the train station. He waited with you until your train arrived and began accepting passengers. You hesitated next to him, pulling a notebook out of your pocket and a pencil, scribbling something down. You tore the page out, folding it up and offering it to him as he handed over your bag.

“In case you want to write.” You smiled softly. There was a fond look on your face, and Eugene was sure he had the same expression.

He took the paper, taking your hand. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles and grinned when you did. Eugene stood there as you boarded and still stood there until the train rolled away. He saw you waving out of a window and waved back.

“Hey Doc! Where’ve you been? Ain’t seen you since we arrived in Paris!”

“You get distracted by a dame?” They teased.

Eugene didn’t answer, simply smiling to himself while they talked amongst themselves, trying to guess where he’d been for the past two days. Eugene looked at the paper you’d given him; it had your rank, your first, middle, and last name, and where you were stationed. He wrote a letter to you, following the trend from the previous two days. He wrote about everything and nothing.

After finishing that letter, Eugene then found himself writing a letter to his mother. That he’d met a girl in Europe and thought he’d fallen in love. His mother would be over the moon, he knew, sharing it with her friends from church. His sisters would no doubt write several letters to him demanding details, both being romantics at heart, one in her early twenties with a baby and the other a seventeen year old. Eugene didn’t get to read any letters from his family or see if there was a reply from you when the next round of mail came through; he was living day to day, moment by moment in the frozen hell of Bastogne.

In Foy, when the ambulances and jeeps were able to make it out to the line to transport the wounded, he heard a familiar voice; one he didn’t know he’d missed hearing until then.

“Need a lift?”

He turned and saw a familiar face hopping out of the driver’s seat of an ambulance; there was a smile that seemed to know how the world would end. Eugene couldn’t help himself; in the cold, in the aftermath of violence outside Foy, he laughed and grinned.

“It’d be kind of yo’, ma’am.” He smiled.

You grinned, eyes glittering. “Climb in and hang tight. I tend to go fast.”

----------------

tagging: @tvserie-s-world, @i-reblog-fics-i-like, @lightsabove, @saritanotserena, @desertblessingoceancurse25

#eugene roe #eugene doc roe #eugene roe x reader #eugene doc roe x reader #gene roe #gene roe x reader #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers x reader #hbo war

87 notes · View notes

joonie-beanie · 4 years

Text

Of Nudes And Praise

Pairing: Asmodeus x Reader

Word Count: 6,071

Preview: You've been feeling...needy...and decide to ask Asmodeus for some help.

And by that, you mean if he can spare you any toys.

However, when the Avatar of Lust is involved, you tend to get more than what you bargained for.

** Please note that this is a cross-posting **

This chapter was originally posted on 3/8/20 as a part of my “Devil Doms” series on AO3.

When you’d first arrived in the Devildom—overwhelmed with the new situation and all you had to learn—you’d accidentally forgotten about some important, basic tasks.

Like doing laundry.

You hadn’t thought to ask about cleaning your clothes until 2 weeks in, when you’d had nothing to wear but a pair of pajamas. Thankfully, at that point you’d been comfortable enough around Mammon to ask him if they had a place to do their laundry (which of course they did), and you’d spent the entire weekend washing and folding clothes.

And then, when you started to break out, you’d remembered that skin care was a thing too. Asmodeus had been kind enough to give you some products to use, and you were always grateful for all of the boy’s hospitality.

Now, months later, you’ve mostly remembered all the little things you should be doing. Except…

Your fingers reach between your legs, pressing at your aching clit. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten off, and ever since the realization struck you a few days ago, you’ve only managed to work yourself up.

“C’mon,” you hiss, biting your lip as you lean forward, your forearm resting on the vanity in your bathroom. The room is humid from your shower—fog coating the mirror in front of you, but even so you can see the look of desperation on your face.

You really need to cum. Just once. Once is all you need, really. Just enough so you can clear your head. Then, you bet you’ll be fine.

“Come on!” you huff, your hand still working between your legs, but you know it’s no use. With a sigh, you give up—head hanging in defeat. You’ve never been good at getting off without a trusty toy, and at this point you’re just starting to rub yourself raw.

Frowning, a little disgruntled, you stand tall and run a hand through your damp hair. There’s an unsatisfied ache in your gut, and you try your best to ignore it as you return to your bedroom and rummage around for clean clothes to wear. However, the more you attempt to ignore it, the more you crave release, and it doesn’t take long for you to break down.

Pulling on a hoodie and a pair of leggings, you exit your room—making your way to the one person you’re sure will help.

…one way or another.

Knock Knock

“Oh, who could it be~!” A sing-song voice calls from the other side of the door, and you’re tempted to roll your eyes.

“It’s me!” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips as you hear footfalls getting closer. After a few seconds, the door is opened, and you find Asmo grinning back at you.

“Oh, my dear~ This is an unexpected, albeit welcome visit. What can I do for you?”

Without waiting for your response, he turns on his heel and strides back into his room. You assume that’s his way of inviting you in, and you step inside—closing the door behind you. For a moment, you simply watch him. He’s dressed only in a robe—makeup sprawled across his vanity, and his hair pinned on his head thanks to a butterfly clip. From the look of it, he’s going out tonight—which doesn’t surprise you in the least.

“Hmm, I don’t mind if you stare, Y/N—I do know I’m beautiful—but I have to get going soon, ya know?” the Avatar of Lust pipes up, staring at you through the vanity mirror. When you flush red in embarrassment, he winks.

“So, what’s on your mind?”

“I, um…,” you start, holding your arms in front of you. Your eyes scan the floor at your feet, and Asmo’s eyebrows raise in surprise. He’s never seen you quite so flustered before.

“I…was wondering if you can hook me up with some…toys?” you say, although you end in a squeak. Honestly, on your way here you had been determined to just be casual about it. After all, this is Asmo! He loves to talk about sex, and anything of the like! So there’s no reason for you to be feeling so…shy, but you can’t help yourself.

You’re basically admitting that you’re horny and need some help.

At your words, stars light up in the Avatar of Lust’s eyes.

“Ehhhhh~? So you do have those kinds of feelings?!” he speaks, surprise in his tone. You pout your lips at him, glaring a little.

“Of course I do! It’s just…I’ve finally reached the point where I need to do something about it,” you admit. You move to sit against the edge of his mattress, and Asmo’s gaze follows you through the mirror. “At first it was easy to ignore, but…now I seriously need an orgasm, if only for my own sanity.”

You laugh a little, feeling more comfortable as you talk. Asmodeus hums.

Standing, the Avatar of Lust reaches up to undo the clip in his hair—tossing the piece of plastic back onto the vanity—and then moves to join you. You shiver as his fingers crawl against the back of your neck, his grip settling on you he pulls you in—pressing a soft kiss to your heated cheek.

“You’re very cute when you’re embarrassed,” he giggles, his other hand moving to rest on the upper part of your thigh. He gives it a little squeeze, and you feel a bit of heat flare between your legs in response. Even if Asmodeus’s powers don’t work on you, that doesn’t mean you don’t feel attraction towards him. You’ve listened to his tales of passion countless times over the last few months, and while at the time they hadn’t affected you, now—if you think of the way he described his hands on a woman’s body, or the things he had made her say and feel—now…they definitely make your heart skip a beat.

“But!” he continues, disappearing from around you. You blink, eyes following him as he bustles across the room. “Lucky for you, I’ve got a few gifts from admirers set aside!”

Asmo disappears into his closet, and you hear him digging around in what you can only assume is an overwhelming amount of clothes and personal items. After a minute, he reappears, a gift box in his grasp—topped with a bow and everything.

“Do you…get a lot of gifts you just ignore?” you ask him, lifting your arms to take the box from him when he stops in front of you and holds it out.

“Mmmm, I mean, how can I possibly keep up with them all?? Sometimes they just get put aside to be used at a later date. But now they’re yours!” he says cheerily, rocking on his heels. “And don’t worry!” He swoops down to hug you tight. “I picked the items I think you would like~!”

Asmo cradles your face against his chest, and you can smell the sweet perfume on him. It’s almost intoxicating. However, before you have a chance to think to hug him back, or comment on how good he smells, once again the Avatar of Lust is gone from your side. He returns to his vanity, picking up a tube of crimson lipstick. He raises it to his lips, but doesn’t apply it. Instead, he pauses, his eyes landing on you once more—contemplative.

“Actually,” he twits the lipstick back into place, caps it, and then tosses it towards you. By some miracle, you manage to catch it, and Asmo winks at you. “Take this too. The color will look good on you. Now--!” he finally gets back to his work—immersing himself in applying makeup and dolling himself up for his night out.

“—as much as I would love to personally stay and help you, I do have plans I should probably keep, and I need to finish getting ready. Feel free to text me to let me know if you’re having fun while I’m gone though~”

He ends with another wink—that same, teasing sparkle in his eye—and you can’t help but laugh.

“Sure, we’ll see,” you say, and Asmo giggles as you show yourself to the door.

In all honesty, you never intended to text Asmo.

You’d gotten back to your room, opened up his package, and unloaded the contents—of which included: a vibrator, a tube of stimulating lube, a sheer set of pink lingerie, and a pair of fuzzy handcuffs. The items had made you flush red despite your brain trying to convince you they were all fairly normal to receive in a “hope this helps with your horniness” gift basket.

Perhaps it was just the fact that Asmodeus had given it to you that was really the issue. He was only being a good friend, but…realizing that the Avatar of Lust had given you a package of naughty things to use…it managed to light a fire in your gut.

Too needy to be shy, you had immediately grabbed the vibrator and lube. Within minutes, you managed to bring yourself to climax—Asmodeus’s name hanging on your tongue as you rode out the waves of pleasure. It only seemed right to think of him. After all, he was the Avatar of Lust. (Or, at least, that’s what you convince yourself. In reality, you’ve likely got some more intimate feelings for the demon that you still need to work out—but that sounds like a lot of work).

After cumming, you bid your time—lazing in your bed with your D.D.D, and trying to keep yourself occupied. However…it doesn’t take long for your attention to shift over to the opened package on your dresser, the rest of it’s contents still inside and waiting to be used.

Well, maybe I can have a little more fun, you think to yourself, and hop out of bed. You gingerly remove the pink lingerie from the box and inspect it. The material is completely see-through—a two-piece set. Both the tops and bottoms have a cute lettuce trim—the top looking to be off the shoulder and elastic lined, and the bottoms a little too small for comfort—a classic tie-able bikini type.

You bite your lip.

You actually want to try them on.

So—still naked from your previous round of self-love—you hurriedly pull the top over your head. It takes a minute to tie the bottoms correctly and evenly, but once you do, you step in front of your floor length mirror and give yourself a once-over.

Asmo obviously wasn’t lying when he said he had picked them with you in mind…the lingerie fits like a dream, and as embarrassed as you are, you feel very pretty.

Humming to yourself, you begin posing—surveying yourself from different angles. There are still certain areas of yourself you’re not totally confident about, but overall you feel…good.

Good enough to begin taking selfies.

You’re not exactly skilled in the art of taking lewd photos, but you’re not unfamiliar with it either. You know a few good angles.

Grabbing your D.D.D, you open the camera app and begin your photoshoot. Within the span of minutes, your camera roll is filled with dozens of new photos—ass pressed out, and tits squished together. You pout your lips as you begin scrolling through your gallery—deleting the photos that don’t piqué your interest. However, in the end you still have a handful of good pictures to choose from, and your heart begins to beat unsteadily in your chest as the idea of sending one to Asmodeus resurfaces.

He’d probably like it…, you reassure yourself, clicking on your favorite photo. Your body is sideways to the mirror—the curve of your ass accentuated, and your tits round and perky beneath the mesh lingerie.

Squashing any of your self-doubt, you open your chat with Asmo and send the photo.

Not knowing what to say, you don’t say anything. Simply…wait to see if he notices your message.

You’re about to close the app and head to Devilgram (hoping to keep yourself busy and not worry), when all of the sudden dots appear at the bottom of the chat. You immediately freeze, gaze locked onto your screen as Asmo types out his message.

Asmodeus: Ara~ Looks like you’re having fun without me. How rude of you~

Asmodeus: You do look scrumptious in that lingerie, though. I definitely picked well!

Asmodeus: If you’re willing, I’d love to see more~

You roll your eyes at his flirting, your cheeks feeling warm.

You: Maybe if you say please~

His response is immediate.

Asmodeus: Look at you, teasing me when I’m not there to put you in your place~

Again, you’re tempted to roll your eyes, but instead you dig out your next favorite photo and hit send. This time you’re facing the mirror—thighs shyly pressed together, and an arm wrapped around your torso beneath your bust line—causing your breasts to squish together.

You: I’ll tease you as much as I want to.

This time, there’s a beat of silence before he responds.

Asmodeus: Are you sure you want to do that? I am a man, you know.

Unconsciously, your legs rub together—arousal swirling in your gut.

You: I’m very sure of what I want, Asmo.

You stare at your screen, waiting for him to respond, but he doesn’t. A check mark letting you know that he’d seen your message pops up beside the bubble, and you feel your heart sink a little. Had you said something wrong?

Frowning, you stare at the chat for a little too long, hoping to see the ellipses appear at the bottom of the chat, but they don’t. Asmodeus is silent.

Sighing, you press to your feet, and head into your bathroom. You survey yourself in the mirror, wondering if perhaps your self-image is off, but shake your head. You’re sure you look cute like this, Asmodeus is probably just busy. He went out tonight to have a good time—he’s likely partying and doesn’t have time to respond.

Nodding, silently holding onto the notion that he’s likely preoccupied, you pull out a face mask and decide to pamper yourself. Really, anything that will take your mind off the Avatar of Lust and help you to not overthink the current situation.

Once the mask is in place, you heft yourself up onto the sink counter, and continue scrolling through your phone. You click into Devilgram, laughing when you swipe past a photo of Satan deadpanning at the camera. Mammon can be seen over his shoulder trying to put the moves on what looks to be an older, richer female demon.

“One day Mammon will turn into a sugar baby”, the caption reads, and your shoulders shake.

Thanks to Satan's comedic post, you actually forget about all your worries for a few minutes.

Once the face mask has started to dry out, you hop off the counter and peel the damp sheet from your face. You toss into the garbage and yawn as you head back into your bedroom. Maybe you should just sleep soon—

“Ara~?” a hand suddenly covers your eyes, an arm wrapping around you just beneath your breasts, and you gasp. The warmth of a body appears behind you—soft kisses pressing against the sensitive skin of your neck and shoulders.

“I was hoping I’d find you writhing on your bed moaning my name~ Did you decide to wait knowing I’d come?”

“A-Asmo?” you breathe, shivering in his hold as he hugs you tighter against him. You can feel something poignant and hard rub against your ass, and you stiffen—heat scorching the inside of your stomach as you realize how aroused he is at the moment.

And it’s likely all thanks to you.

“I…,” you struggle to respond, your voice shaking as he moves his hand to grip your breast—giving it a soft squeeze.

“Mmm~ you look even better in person. The lingerie fits you so well,” he purrs, tongue tracing a wet strip up your neck. Again, you gasp, your ass curving against him as you attempt to get away from the overwhelming sensation. Your neck has always been sensitive, but somehow your current lack of sight has raised the stakes ever higher.

“W-Why are you here? I thought—”

“How could I stay out knowing that you’re at home playing with yourself and looking so delicious?” he responds, not bothering to let you finish. His hand releases your breast—his fingers coasting down the front of your torso. You feel his touch brush against the edge of your lingerie bottoms, and you inhale sharply.

“Are you nervous?” he asks, noticing your reaction. His teeth nip at the lobe of your ear. “Or aroused?”

“Both,” you respond honestly, face feeling like a tomato.

Sure, you had hoped to tease Asmo and get a reaction out of him by sending your lewd selfie, but you had never expected him to abandon his night out to come and find you!

“Why are you nervous?” he questions, his hand not sinking lower. Instead, his fingers move to tug at the ties of the bikini. You feel the fabric loosen ever so slightly, but it’s clear he has no intention of undressing you until you answer him.

“I…didn’t expect this,” you tell him, biting your lip when he peppers your neck with more kisses. The soft sensation causes goosebumps to rise on your skin.

“I can stop if this isn’t what you want,” he says, breath fanning against you. You’re quick to shake your head, and Asmo giggles.

“Okay, so you don’t want me to stop then. That makes me happy~ Because I really don’t want to.”

His fingers tug a little harder at the ties to the lingerie bottoms, and you startle. As much as you want nothing more than for him to touch you—

“Are you sure I’m good enough?”

His movements halt, the world standing still.

You blink as Asmo removes his hand from atop your eyes—the Avatar of Lust gently using his hold on your hip to spin you so you’re facing him.

“What do you mean by that?” he asks seriously. Your gaze darts away, too many emotions plaguing you at once. You’re standing in front of him, practically naked—flustered beyond belief thanks to his touches—and now he’s seriously trying to embarrass you more with his question.

“Y/N.” Asmo’s hand moves to cup your cheek, and he coaxes you to look at him. There’s a perplexed look on his face, like he’s confused and frustrated at the same time.

“I just…you’re the Avatar of Lust, and you’re beautiful,” you tell him quietly, one of your hands raising to press against his own as you lean into him. “I’m sure you could have the most attractive people in the world if you wanted to. You’ve already had so many. I guess…I’m just worried I’ll be forgettable.”

You laugh a little, closing your eyes as you flash him a bitter sweet smile. You’d seriously been trying to have confidence in yourself tonight, but—

“Mmph!” You startle as his lips crash into yours—his hand leaving your hip and finding purchase in your hair instead. As Asmo tugs at your roots, he deepens the kiss—his tongue sneaking into your mouth and stealing your breath away. You’re helpless but to moan against him, the daintiest of the brothers suddenly overwhelming you with his presence.

“You have no idea—,” he speaks against your lips, taking a step forward and in turn causing you to stumble back. “—how long I’ve wanted to touch you.”

You gasp when your legs hit the edge of your bed—your knees giving out beneath you, and your body landing on the mattress unceremoniously. Immediately Asmo is kneeling over you, his lips once again finding yours.

“You’re so adorable,” he tells you, his kisses straying from your mouth—trailing across your cheek and onto your jaw. “So pretty, so cute—and you really think you’ll end up being forgettable?”

“I--,” you struggle to find your words, your brain feeling like it’s in overload. At your obvious dilemma on how to respond, Asmo pulls back, glancing at your face. You’re redder than he’s ever seen—your eyes wide, and lips parted. A twinkle appears in his gaze as a lightbulb clicks on in his brain, and he grins, one of his hands moving to rest against your waist.

“Do you not like being praised?” he asks, although his tone is teasing. “Does it embarrass you hearing that your skin is so delicate and supple—that I want to touch you all over and feel every inch of it?”

Asmo’s statement has your heart hammering against your ribs—and you instinctively raise your hands to hide your face.

“Asmo~,” you whine, and the demon giggles.

“Mmm, I think I’ve been neglecting praising you. I guess I’ll have to play catch up tonight~”

You whimper, both extremely shy and aroused at the idea. You’ve always been the type to get flustered at compliments, so the thought of being praised (and by Asmo, of all people) has your heart feeling like it may beat straight out of your chest.

“First things first though—”

You feel something soft and fuzzy secure around one of your wrists, and suddenly your hand is yanked away from your face.

“Hey!” you cry, watching as Asmo forces your arm above your head. He threads the pair of handcuffs through one of the slots on the headboard and then tugs your other hand upward—fastening the free cuff around it tightly.

All of the sudden, you can no longer hide yourself from his view.

“That’s better~,” he sings, leaning down to kiss your flustered face. “It won’t be much fun if I don’t get to see all of your delectable little reactions.”

“You’re seriously trying to kill me,” you whisper against him, and the Avatar of Lust attempts to kiss your worries away.

“Maybe just a little bit,” he admits. He leaves your lips, his head moving to nestle between your breasts. Asmo makes a contented sound as he nuzzles the squishy flesh.

“But—you can always tell me to stop. I’m not a monster who disregards safe words.”

His tongue flattens against your nipple through the thin layer of lingerie, his half-lidded honey colored eyes staring up at you.

“Stoplight colors?”

“S-Sure,” you swallow, still in disbelief that Asmo is seriously about to have his way with you. Humming in acknowledgement of your response, the Avatar of Lust finally indulges himself.

He sits back, his fingers curling under the elastic hem of your top. You watch him as he keeps the band tight along your skin—dragging the hem upwards and subsequently gathering your breasts together. The elastic catches on your hardened nipples, causing your breath to catch in your throat, and Asmodeus licks his lips at the sound.

“Look at that,” he says, his gaze trailed on your tits as the mounds finally pop free—the mesh top bunched around your upper chest. Without wasting time, Asmo captures one of your nipples with his mouth—his hand moving to fondle the other. As he sucks and squeezes, you can’t help but writhe—tiny, embarrassing sounds bubbling up in your throat.

“God, your tits are so gorgeous,” he moans, being sure to press kisses to every inch of the soft skin. “I just wanna leave marks all over them.”

Asmo takes your nipple into his mouth once more—his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud—and your chest curves into his touch. He smiles at the instinctive movement, his gaze settling on your face as he gives your nipple a small bite—watching as your eyelashes flutter, lips parting in a gasp.

“You’re just so pretty,” he speaks, one of his hands remaining on your chest while his mouth trails down your torso. He pauses to leave a few teasing kisses to your tummy, but as he does so, he suddenly freezes. He sits back slightly, blinking up at you.

“Where’s the lipstick I gave you?”

Your eyes shift to look at your dresser, and Asmodeus disappears from atop you. He quickly moves to retrieve the tube of lipstick, and your eyes sink to look at the obvious bulge trapped beneath his leather pants.

“Don’t you want to free yourself?” you ask him, motioning to his crotch. Asmo looks down at himself, and as if on cue, you see his member twitch.

“I’ve been denied a lot,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

As your mind momentarily detours to imagine what an orgasm denied, begging Asmodeus would be like, the Avatar of Lust opens the crimson colored lipstick. Within seconds, his lips are coated red, and he smiles down at you sweetly.

“When we’re done here, I want you to be able to see every place of you I’ve touched, and loved,” he says. As you flush once more at his words, Asmo leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your lips. You can feel his lipstick smear against your skin—a moan leaving you when he deepens the kiss, slotting his mouth against your own.

“Mmm, you look so good like that,” he tells you as he pulls back. The lipstick is messy on his face, but the sight only serves to arouse you.

“Touch me more,” you whisper, your hands tugging against the cuffs. You want to feel him too, but you can’t. As you pout, Asmo giggles, slinking down your body. He tracks light kisses down your sternum, his hands squishing your breasts together as he peppers the sensitive mounds with lipstick marks.

“Ahh~ I have a succubus friend who has the cutest markings,” he mumbles, once again reaching over to grab the tube of lipstick. He holds your breast with his free hand—a grin on his face. “You’d look so good with little tattoos all over you—my own personal love bug.”

Asmo presses the lipstick to your tit, drawing a perfectly shaped heart around your nipple. He then mimics the heart on your other mound—looking thoroughly satisfied with his work.

“God, you’re so fucking cute,” he breathes. You can see the hunger in his eyes—like a switch has finally been flicked in his brain. Up until now, he’s been totally content with moving slowly—teasing you—but now he looks like he’s craving more.

“You know, you can stop with the praise and just fuck me,” you tell him, hoping for a little bit of relief yourself. Not only are his words embarrassing—your heart feeling like it may explode out of your chest—but they’re arousing too. Each praise off his tongue has caused more arousal to pool between your legs, and you can feel that the skimpy lingerie bottoms are already soaked.

“Wouldn’t you like that,” Asmo grins right back, and the sparkle in his eye tells you that despite his own desires, he doesn’t intend to stop praising you anytime soon.

“Besides--,” suddenly, he reaches down, his fingers scooting beneath the hem of your bottoms and finding your womanhood. You gasp as his fingers nestle between your wet folds, gathering your arousal.

“—I think that despite your outward reactions, you get off on my praise.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. You can only stare at him, thighs shaking with need as Asmo rubs his fingers against your clit—his eyes carefully watching your reactions.

“Have I mentioned that you taste good?” he says, once again leaning down to press kisses against your torso. His mouth slowly sinks lower—his tongue licking a hot, wet strip from the edge of the lingerie panties to your navel.

“Mmm, I’m sure you taste even better here, though.” He accentuates his words by rolling your clit between his fingers, and you whine, wrists once again tugging against the cuffs.

“Please, please fuck me already, Asmo,” you beg. However, Asmo simply ignores you—moving to reapply lipstick his lips. He also pauses to draw a heart around your belly button, along with an arrow pointing down towards your most intimate area.

“There we go!” he giggles, a cute “Asmo’s <3” scribbled beside the arrow. The possessive nature has you whining even more, and the Avatar of Lust clicks his tongue.

“I promise I won’t leave you hanging~”

His fingers leave your womanhood as he scoots his way down between your legs.

“You’re leaking so much of your precious juices everywhere,” he pouts, noting how wet your bottoms have become. “But I guess I can’t complain, considering it will be so easy to put my cock into your pretty little pussy~”

“Asmo,” you try again, a shaky breath leaving you as he spreads your thighs apart. His mouth works at the supple flesh—leaving an array of kisses and bites across the skin.

“You’re shaking,” he teases, glancing up at you with a shit eating grin that honestly makes you want to kick him. You’re not exactly sure how long he’s been praising you, but it’s been too long. While he may be used to being denied, you are not, and you’re really going to lose your shit if he doesn’t put his dick in you soon.

“Please. Please fuck me,” you breathe, desperation painted clear on your face. Asmo’s fingers tug at the strings holding your bottoms in place.

“Do you admit that you’re good enough for me? That you’re beautiful, and should have never been worried?”

“Yes, yes! I’m fucking adorable and I know you want to stick your dick in me, so do it already,” you whine, your hips wiggling in his hold. He giggles.

“God, you’re so fucking precious.”

With that, he finally tugs your bottoms loose. The sheer fabric falls away, and Asmo is quick to get to work. He sits back, pulling his shirt over his head and discarding it on the floor beside your bed—his pants following soon after. As he pulls the tight leather pants down his legs, you watch his cock spring free—curving up against his stomach.

“Worth the wait?” you ask, tongue darting out to lick your lips as he kicks the fabric from around his ankles.

“Definitely,” he responds, a little breathless as he drags the head of his dick between your folds. It’s obvious that as much as he was holding himself back, he was beginning to near his breaking point as well.

Before you can think of anything more to say, Asmodeus is thrusting himself inside you. Your breath catches at the sudden stretch—but the tension held in your body is quick to melt away—a sense of satisfaction settling in your gut. This is what you’ve been waiting for.

“More.”

And the Avatar of Lust is happy to comply.

He fucks into you with just the perfect amount of roughness—enough to have your toes curling, and the bed rocking—his cock brushing up against your g-spot with every movement. The sensation quickly has you coming undone—your spine curving off the mattress and your mouth hanging open—quiet cries sneaking past your lips.

“God, just look at you,” he speaks, his hands settling on your waist as he grinds against you. You look so pretty beneath him—arms trapped above your head, and colorful kisses littering your entire body.

“A-Asmo,” you plead, wishing you could hide your face, but he only continues.

“Seriously--,” he fucks into you particularly hard, and a moan is ripped from your throat. “—If I could make you into my personal little succubus, I—ah—would.”

The idea has the already tightly wound coil in your gut winding tighter, and you find Asmo’s eyes. Your gaze is filled with lust—a mindless desire for him to make you cum—and his dick throbs.

“Fuck, you feel too good, Y/N,” he hunches over, sweat beading on his brow as his messy hair falls into his face. “You really might make me cum too soon.”

“I—mmm—just t-touch my clit. Please,” you tell him, the bundle of nerves pulsing with a need to be touched. “I’ll cum w-with you.”

“Such a good girl,” he praises, his fingers moving to press between your folds. He rubs at your clit faithfully—a side to side motion that quite literally has your legs shaking—and you quickly feel yourself coming undone.

“Oh fuck, Asmo,” you cry, your skull pressing into the mattress as your orgasm builds within you. All the while, the Avatar of Lust picks up his pace—little moans of pleasure rolling off his tongue as he fucks you.

As much as he loves to tease, he’s enthralled that he’s finally getting to take you like this. To feel your pussy clench around his dick—to see your tits bounce—to watch you struggle to find words to say. Your body is right on the brink of release, and it’s all thanks to him.

It honestly feels like a dream.

“I—I—”

Your brain feels like jello, your eyes struggling to stay open. The muscles in your lower abdomen begin to tense, and Asmodeus knows what’s coming.

“I’m right behind you, princess,” he says, biting his lip, and you can’t wait a second longer. With a high-pitched cry, you come undone.

Your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave—your pussy contracting around Asmo’s dick as you ride out your release. The sensation causes the Avatar of Lust’s pace to falter, a quiet curse leaving him as he loses himself. He fucks into you one last time—full seating himself within your heat—before he cums as well.

The next few moments are a blur—the two of you lost in your combined bliss as exhaustion replaces previous feelings of need. However, the first to speak up is you.

“Let me touch you~,” you whine, puppy eyes trained on Asmodeus as he focuses his gaze on you.

“Ara~ Still needy, I see,” he giggles, pulling his length from inside of you. You feel his seed slip from your pussy, and your face gets warm once more. Luckily, Asmo doesn’t bother teasing you. Instead, he moves to grab the key to the cuffs. Within seconds, you’re free from your restraints, and immediately you’re reaching up to hug him.

Asmo melts into the embrace, pressing a few gentle kisses to your cheek.

“Was I as good as you dreamed~?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes a little.

“I enjoyed it a lot,” you respond honestly, and Asmo presses onto his forearms, staring at you sweetly. You can’t help smiling at him, your hands raising to cup his cheeks.

“You’re cute.” You drag him into a kiss, and he grins.

“Oh? Is it my turn for praise now?”

“How about--,” you push him from atop you, and Asmo blinks in surprise—watching as you scoot to the edge of the bed and stand. Immediately, more of his cum slips from inside of you and begins dripping down your thighs, and you have to fight off another blush. Asmo snickers.

“How about—,” you try again, extending a hand to him. He takes it, allowing you to pull him to his feet. “—we take a shower, and I can tell you all about how pretty you are as we wash each other?”

“Oh, yes, you’re speaking my language!”

Not waiting for your lead, Asmo tugs you along to your bathroom. However, just before you step inside the tiled room, the demon pauses. He grins, tugging you in front of him, and facing you towards the wall. You wonder exactly what he’s doing, when he gently grabs your jaw and directs your attention to the floor length mirror you’re now stood in front of.

From head to toe, you’re littered in kisses—bright red lipstick painting your skin.

“You know,” Asmo speaks, his tone playful as he rests his head on your shoulder. “I know some witches who can probably whip up a potion that will leave you with cute little breeding marks.”

“No--,” you say, embarrassed, and head into the bathroom. Asmo pouts after you.

“Oh c’mon~ What if they only appear when you’re horny, that would be fine, right?”

“…maybe.”

Asmo giggles.

“Just wait. I’m very good as persuasion~”

And somehow…you don’t doubt that at all.

#om!#obey me #obey me smut #asmo x reader #asmo x mc #asmodeus x mc #asmodeus x reader #asmo smut #asmo fic

559 notes · View notes

gukyi · 5 years

Text

the coffee shop contract | jjk

summary: apparently, having an instagram profile with a different girl in every picture is reason enough for your friends to strike up a deal where they’ll pay you to have a relationship. well, jeon jungkook’s no good at relationships, but a fake relationship isn’t a real relationship. is it?

{fake dating!au, college!au}

pairing: jungkook x female reader genre: just fluff because i have a one-genre mindset word count: 18k warnings: alcohol consumption but no main character is overly drunk, dumb college antics, i know this is a fic but please don’t do these things in college actually a/n: yes, this story is actually based on a real instagram account my friend showed me in college. oh yeah, college? that’s a thing. i’m sorry for taking so long with this fic, i’m trying my best but college is hard. please wait patiently for me and enjoy this plotless piece of garbage!

Jeon Jungkook thinks that his college experience is overwhelmingly standard. He goes to his classes (most of the time), goes to parties on the weekends (sometimes), goofs off with his friends when he’s supposed to be studying (all of the time), and eats like shit.

(The plus side to his eating-like-shit habits is that he’s a gym junkie, which means that in theory, every time he exercises he burns off all of the shit and just leaves the energy behind. In theory.)

He operates under the assumption that he leads a very normal college life. He is but a typical student with a very small budget who detests the fact that he has to buy brand new versions of his textbooks just so he can get the online access code. He thinks he’s nothing but average.

His friends think differently.

“It’s not that weird, guys,” Jungkook insists in a group study room one day, where neither he nor his friends happen to be studying. In fact, Jungkook’s laptop is dead. He forgot his charger in his bedroom. He has no idea what he thought he would be doing when Taehyung texted and asked if he wanted to come and study with them.

They are doing anything but studying.

Taehyung has been on his phone the entire time, and the same topic of conversation that circles their friend group every now and then is at hand. “Yes it is, Jungkook,” he insists. He holds his phone up to both Jungkook and Jimin to prove a point. “Think about it. Okay, I’m scrolling back and forth on Tinder—”

“You just swiped right on some random dude,” Jungkook points out monotonously, a single eyebrow raised. Next to him, Jimin bursts into the laughter he was doing a poor job of holding in. “Why do you even have Tinder? You’re dating someone, and he’s sitting right next to you.”

“Fuck,” Taehyung mutters in exclamation, quickly pulling his phone back to try and rectify his carelessness. “Wait, never mind, he’s cute.” Jungkook shakes his head to himself. “Stop trying to distract me! I’m trying to explain something to you!”

Taehyung resumes.

“Anyway, think about it. I’m scrolling back and forth on Tinder and I see this cute guy who goes to my school named Jungkook. His pictures feature some pretty decent selfies, no workout or shirtless pics, and an awful shot of him with two hot dogs shoved into his mouth at once, courtesy of his best friend,” Taehyung explains, beaming. He even makes a point to pull up the aforementioned hot dog picture. It’s not pretty, but it’s a good conversation starter. “His bio is pretty standard, likes adventuring, hates doing required readings for class, lives off of coffee. I like the look of him.”

“Get to the point, Tae,” Jungkook says with a sigh, tossing his head back in exasperation. It’s not as if he’s in any sort of rush to move on from the conversation because he has something better to do, because he doesn’t. He just doesn’t need to be grilled like this.

“I go to look him up on Instagram, because maybe he’s the kind of guy to have his profile public for the viewing of others.” Taehyung pulls up Jungkook’s Instagram. He had forgotten about how good his aesthetic was. “Lo and behold, his profile is public! Hurrah! I can stalk him happily just to see if he really is my type. But, wait, what’s this?”

Jungkook facepalms.

Taehyung keeps going, scrolling further and further down Jungkook’s page. “It looks like every single Instagram post is with a different girl. Wait! Maybe they’re the same one—nope, they just did their hair similarly. Huh. That’s strange. Every picture features a different girl, no repeats. Now I really don’t think I want to swipe right anymore. So I go back to Tinder, and I avoid the guy by the name of Jungkook at all costs.”

Jungkook thinks that maybe he shouldn’t have come to the group study room at all. Maybe, if he leaves now under the excuse that he forgot his laptop charger, he just won’t have to come back. Ever. For the rest of his educational career.

Taehyung puts his phone down on the table with a smack, staring at Jungkook with an extremely unimpressed look on his face.

“Are you going to do this every time I tell you I went on a date and I don’t think I want to go on another one?” Jungkook frowns. Maybe he needs new friends. Maybe that would be a better solution.

“Yes, because you’re a stand-up guy who’s funny and smart and got a hot ‘bod and you can’t seem to tie down anybody for more than a couple of months, max,” Taehyung tells him pointedly. He’s always been extremely good at backhanded compliments. “Aside from us, your best friends.”

“I’m rethinking the ‘best friends’ part,” Jungkook says. He can’t believe it, but he thinks he would rather be studying.

“You wouldn’t do that to the man who paid for new Airpods for you!” Taehyung cries out, loud enough for someone in the main study room to turn around and glare at the three of them.

“You’re the one who broke them! You dropped them on the street and let some biker ride right over them!” Jungkook reminds him, eyes wide. He remembers the image vividly, Taehyung snatching his earphones out of his hands as they walked towards their favorite Korean place, watching them tumble right out of his slippery fingers and onto the pavement, and a bicyclist with those flashing red lights attached their handles coming speeding down, right over the case. It was the most tragic thing that Jungkook has ever witnessed.

“And I bought you brand new ones that were engraved with your name like a good, rich best friend would.” He may be an eclectic international student majoring in economics like half of the campus, but at least Taehyung’s self aware.

“Well, it’s not like Jungkook’s going to redo his entire Instagram feed or anything,” Jimin adds callously. Someone gets it. “He’s got this whole muted, neutral-toned aesthetic going on. He also doesn’t seem to mind the lack of commitment.”

Taehyung tuts, shaking his head. He’s still on page one of his fifty-page reading on Economic Disparities in the Post-Cold War Global Stage. He has not even picked up his highlighter. “That’s where you’re wrong, sweet Jiminie.”

“I know you guys are dating, but please never say the phrase ‘Sweet Jiminie’ in front of me ever again,” Jungkook pleads.

“I’m willing to wager that with the right incentive, Jungkook will actually make an attempt at maintaining a real, long-term, committed relationship with someone he’s genuinely interested in,” Taehyung says, a devilish glint lacing his dark brown eyes.

Jungkook hates that look. It’s the same look he had when he suggested they roll their office chairs down the hall of the dorm at three in the morning freshman year. Same look he had when he had Jungkook take sensual nudes of him to send to Jimin pre-relationship because Jungkook apparently had the photography skills of Photous, the photography god (that Taehyung is convinced exists in Greek mythology). Same look he had right before he downed five Monster drinks consecutively, which had the opposite of the intended effect and caused him to pass out in the group study room.

“No favor you could do for me would make me even consider accepting this wager,” Jungkook tells him immediately. He loves his best friend, but multiple times Taehyung has said he’d do Jungkook’s laundry and ended up turning all of his white belongings pink—his bedsheets, towels, and a couple of his favorite shirts are now all cotton candy-tinged.

Taehyung shakes his head. “I’m not talking about favors, young padawan. I am talking cash, the cold, hard kind that you can feel clenched between your closed fist.”

Taehyung comes from a family with money to burn but never does he spend it so recklessly. Except maybe when he bought five Monster drinks with the intention to drink them all like vodka shots. He shuffles around his backpack (work still forgotten) before pulling out his wallet, slapping two hundred dollars onto the table in front of them.

Jungkook, the money-starved college student he is, immediately reaches out for the stack of bills, but Taehyung nabs it from him before he can regain any semblance of personal dignity.

“Ah ah ah,” he tuts condescendingly. Jungkook shrinks back into his wheely chair as he reminds himself that while taking Taehyung’s money may have short-term benefits, he will feel long-term guilt. “Not yet, Jungkookie. First, you need to accept and complete the wager.”

Jungkook huffs. This feels like a drug deal. “Specifications,” he coughs out.

“If you actually find yourself in a committed, loving, uplifting, and completely real relationship with someone that you are mutually attracted to for longer than three months, with at least three Instagram posts of them on your page, I will give you money,” Taehyung says. This immediately crosses out Jungkook’s plan to coerce his favorite music production major (and other best friend), Min Yoongi, into helping him.

Jungkook narrows his eyes. “How much money?”

Taehyung ponders the question for a moment, checking his wallet one more time just to make sure the same amount that was in there two minutes ago is still there now. “I’ll be generous,” he says with a shrug. “Four hundred.”

Jungkook’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. Sure, he’s well aware that his best friend is one-hundred percent loaded, but four hundred dollars could finance his textbooks for the next two semesters, probably. It could buy him a new computer program and matching equipment for his average mixtape-making skills. He could send it home to his parents and they could go on a wholesale store shopping spree. They could buy him all the granola bars and multigrain crackers he could ever dream of.

“Are you serious?” Jungkook asks, gobsmacked.

Taehyung nods nonchalantly. “Yeah, why not? If you didn’t use the money, then I’d just buy some dumbass shit like more energy drinks. I’d say it’s a pretty good use of my cash.”

Jimin’s looking at Jungkook like he’d be a fool not to accept the deal. Jungkook wonders what the harm is. He succeeds, and not only does he get four hundred dollars, he also gets to be in a genuinely enjoyable relationship with someone he actually cares about. He’s in college, too, which means that it’s the perfect time to make some possibly-regrettable and extremely stupid decisions. And maybe, for once in his life, Taehyung’s right. Maybe having an Instagram feed with a different girl in each picture gives off fuckboy-let’s hook up and then I’ll never speak to you ever again vibes. Maybe he should really rethink his Instagram aesthetic.

“Choose quickly, Jungkookie, or I might come to my senses and go buy one hundred Chicken McNuggets with the money instead,” Taehyung advises.

Taehyung’s hand makes to put the two hundred dollars clenched between his fingers back in his wallet, and that’s when Jungkook impulsively shouts, “Yes! I’ll do it. Fine. Whatever.”

Taehyung cackles like the Wicked Witch of the West. Jungkook wonders if there’s a downside to this.

But to his clouded, 1AM mind, surrounded by friends that make him lose even more brain cells, it seems like the perfect decision.

“You do realize that Taehyung is basically paying you to court someone, right?” Yoongi asks over coffee the next day. It’s four in the afternoon, Jungkook’s finished with classes, Yoongi hasn’t started his homework, the both of them have ordered the most caffeinated drinks possible.

“So?” Jungkook asks as he takes another sip, shivers as he feels it run through his blood.

“So, any person you actually try and date for the next three months will find out about the deal one way or another and then feel used, and you’ll feel shitty. If you do somehow manage to date someone for the next three months successfully, they’ll find out about the money and dump your dumb ass,” Yoongi explains callously. He downs half of his coffee in a single go.

Jungkook grins. “I’m really loving the confidence that all of my friends have in me when it comes to maintaining long-term relationships. It makes me feel so great.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “You know that I’m right, Jungkook. You can’t just accept this deal and expect the person you end up dating, if you even end up dating someone, not to find out. That’s unrealistic and basically grounds for a terrible breakup rom-com.”

“I already told him that I’d do it. I want the money because I am a broke college student. It seemed like a no-brainer at the time,” Jungkook says, exasperated. He sighs into his coffee and the foam wobbles. “What am I supposed to do? Tell Taehyung that the deal’s off and let him make fun of me for the rest of recorded human history?” Jungkook whines.

“I don’t think he’ll do that.”

He definitely will. Taehyung’s gravestone will say Don’t Forget to Find Jeon Jungkook’s Grave and Laugh At Him For Me. Jungkook will spend the rest of eternity buried six feet under with random strangers laughing at him until the sun absorbs the Earth and wipes out life on the planet entirely.

“Yes he will,” says Jungkook, pouting. “What other option do I have?”

A chair screeches on the wooden floor next to him and Yoongi and suddenly, someone speaks.

“Sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping even though I definitely was, and I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to be in some sort of monetary predicament,” you say, looking at Jungkook with wide eyes. You look familiar, but Jungkook can’t place where from. Maybe one of his classes?

“Can I help you?” Jungkook asks, taken aback by your sudden brazenness. The last time Jungkook came face to face with someone so shameless was the first time he met Seokjin while at a house party in Namjoon’s apartment. Seokjin walked through the front doors blasting Who Let the Dogs Out from his iPhone and immediately declared himself king of the household before Namjoon could even say hello.

You shrug, shoulders nonchalant and unbothered. “I think I’m the one who should be asking you that question.”

Jungkook’s flabbergasted. He turns to Yoongi, who, like he does with most things that don’t directly involve him, seems to have already assumed a hands-off position. Like it’s not his problem that his best friend has just been approached by a random stranger in a coffeeshop who looks to be promising a solution to his problems. Like the Shadow Man from Disney’s Princess and the Frog. Like a mafia boss.

With a non-comforting pat on Jungkook’s back, Yoongi stands up, finishes the rest of his coffee in a single gulp, and says, “Looks like this one’s on you, ‘Kook.” He doesn’t say anything else and, five seconds later, he’s gone.

“Jungkook, right?” You ask the moment Yoongi’s out the door. You’ve fully shifted your chair to face Jungkook, and Jungkook doesn’t know where to look when your eyes are staring right at him.

“How do you know my na—”

“I’m Y/N. I hope you don’t mind me barging in on your conversation like this,” you say, not at all deterred by Jungkook’s very obvious bewilderment.

“Um—”

“See, I was just drinking my hot chocolate even though it’s still warm outside, and I overheard that you were in quite the dilemma,” you say. Even though you technically aren’t invading any of his actual personal space—you’re not touching the table, accidentally brushing your foot against his leg, leaning in aggressively close—Jungkook feels like you couldn’t be any nearer to him. Like all this overwhelming forwardness and confidence is rendering him speechless and keenly cognizant of his personal bubble. “And I’m here to propose a solution.”

“Do you go here?” Jungkook somehow manages to get out.

“Me? Yeah, I’m majoring in communications,” you tell him casually. Jungkook wonders why he’s not surprised to hear that.

“Okay…” Jungkook still doesn’t know what to say.

“In any case, in the past five minutes I’ve spent listening to you talk about how your friends said they’d pay you if you managed to date someone for more than three months, I’ve devised a foolproof solution that benefits all parties involved,” you tell him like you’re trying to get him to sign onto a business deal. Jungkook swears that there must be fine print somewhere. He just can’t tell where.

Jungkook raises his eyebrows. He’s interested. “Which is…?”

“Date me.”

If Jungkook’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when Taehyung pulled out that fat stack of cash in the group study room, they must jump right out and roll onto the wooden floor at this.

“I’m sorry, w-what?” Jungkook sputters, like he hadn’t heard you correctly even though he definitely had. He was expecting something maybe more in the realm of counselor, like tell your friends you don’t want to do the deal, if they’re really your friends they’ll honor your wishes, or maybe even on the opposite side of the spectrum, like if you run away to Norway now and change your identity they’ll never be able to find you, here I know a guy. Not date me.

Certainly not Date Me.

“Date me,” you repeat. It’s the simplest phrase. And yet, it befuddles Jungkook more than his theoretical computer science class does. “Maybe I should rephrase it. Fake date me. How’s that sound?”

Jungkook lets out something between a cough, a chuckle, and the noise a dying Canadian goose would make.

“Basically, what I’m thinking, what my vision is, is that you and I agree to fake date for two weeks past the designated period—in your case, three months. This prevents your friends from thinking that the whole relationship was all for show and so you can preserve your dignity. I, as your honorable and true girlfriend, will do any and all things necessary to make your friends believe that you are genuinely committed to our relationship. Then, your friends pay you after the three months is up, and because it takes two to tango, I get half. Sound good?” You propose. You seem to have thought of everything.

The first problem is that Jungkook doesn’t know how he’s going to maintain the facade of a real relationship with someone he 1) barely knows and 2) barely knows. The reason he doesn’t commit to anything isn’t because he’s afraid of commitment (okay, maybe he is) but because all of the dates he ever goes on are Tinder dates or hookups-post-one-night-stand. He doesn’t date people he’s already familiar with, and then it never goes further. Even if he didn’t meet you on Tinder or sleep with you after a shitty frat party, he doesn’t see how this scenario is much different.

The second problem is that, true to his college student nature, Jungkook is starved for cash. When Taehyung promised him four hundred dollars, he immediately began thinking of ways to spend each and every cent. But the prospect of him losing half of that money to someone he barely knows has him more than hesitant. How will his parents go on their wholesale store shopping spree without four hundred in cash to blow? If Jungkook wants those four hundred dollars so badly, why not put in the effort?

The third problem is that Jungkook is a phenomenally terrible actor. When he was in grade school and everybody had to participate in the class play on why smoking is bad for you, Jungkook’s role was Kid In The Background Sitting On A Chair Reading A Book. He was on stage for a total of two minutes as the main character was peer pressured into smoking, and he never set foot on it again.

So, if Jungkook were to arrange this into a five-paragraph essay with Times New Roman size twelve font, he’d have a pretty good argument for why your proposal is probably not a good idea.

But then, Jungkook is reminded of a few key things that keep him from declining right off the bat.

First, he’s already said yes. Which means that, if he wants those four hundred dollars, he’s going to have to go through with Taehyung’s deal.

Second, going through with Taehyung’s deal and keeping the four hundred dollars all to himself will require lots of effort on his part. He will have to keep going on dates until he finds someone he clicks with, and then he will have to keep going on dates with that specific person for the next three months and develop a meaningful relationship.

Third, Yoongi’s right, as he usually is. Even if Jungkook establishes a relationship, the deal will always be in the back of his mind, and the truth will eventually come out. This may lead to Jungkook’s first genuine heartbreak—if he’s committed to the relationship—and Jungkook isn’t mentally prepared for that either.

And somehow, as Jungkook makes it through the labyrinth that is his mind, he comes to the overarching conclusion that maybe accepting your proposal isn’t such a bad idea after all. If you already know about the money, you’re willing to help him dupe his friends, and you don’t really care about splitting up in three and a half months, then the only thing that Jungkook is losing is two hundred dollars. And while that may be a lot, he’ll still have two hundred of his own to console him.

Despite the lack of communication between the two of you, surrounded by the white noise of the ambient coffee shop, you don’t appear at all deterred by Jungkook’s radio silence. You’ve put the deal down on the table and are waiting for Jungkook to either pick it up or push it off.

“You get half?” He asks, just for clarification. It’s difficult to miss the fact that you are, essentially, halving the benefits he’s reaping from accepting Taehyung’s deal.

You nod. “Yup. But in return, any dates we go on I will pay for my share, so you don’t have to worry about that. I will also be a loving and doting girlfriend you gets you coffee, croissants, and Dunkin’ whenever you ask, and even sometimes when you don’t. So I think that it evens out.”

“You’re sure about this?” Jungkook asks.

You laugh, cracking a smile that shows off your teeth and fills out your cheeks. Jungkook looks right at you, and maybe he doesn’t feel anything right now, but he thinks he might be able to find a friend in this along the way. “I’m the one who suggested it, aren’t I?”

Jungkook sits resolutely. He just prays that neither Taehyung nor Jimin ever find out about this. If they do, he really will have to escape to Norway and change his identity.

“Okay,” Jungkook says, his eyes staring firmly into yours. “I’m in.”

Seeing as the both of you are college students with the most updated technology at your fingertips, you pull out your laptop and situate it between the both of you. You’ve shifted tables so now that you can face your future fake-boyfriend, and Jungkook feels more and more like he’s signing up for some shady website in the hope that it’ll give him the answers to his problem set. Immediately, you share a Google Doc with him.

“What should we call it?” You ask, cursor hovering over the Untitled document.

“The contract?” Jungkook suggests weakly. He was never good at titles.

“The Coffee Shop Contract,” you add on, typing it dutifully into the bar. “Sounds official.”

“It’s official because there’s money involved,” Jungkook points out. You wouldn’t be writing up this formal contract if you weren’t reaping any financial benefits so long as you both honor it.

“Maybe it’s just because we don’t know each other yet, but you seem like the type of guy to swindle me out of promised cash,” you observe, albeit somewhat inaccurately.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? I’m untrustworthy?” Jungkook asks, only a little offended.

You purse your lips into a thin smile. “My friends make fun of you because you’ve got a different girl in every single one of your Instagram posts. Can you blame me?”

Jungkook tosses his head back, exasperated. “It’s not that weird!” He exclaims.

“It’s kinda weird.”

You type up a brief outline of the requirements. It looks like this:

The Coffee Shop Contract

Signatories Jungkook and Y/N.

This contract entails a fake relationship between the signatories of Jungkook and Y/N.

This fake relationship shall last no less than three months and one week and no longer than three months and two weeks.

Both parties involved shall do any and all things possible to ensure that this fake relationship appears as realistic as possible.

Both parties will pay for their share of any and all outings made together.

Three Instagram posts on Jungkook’s account must be made throughout the duration of the relationship.

Should this fake relationship be successful, Jungkook shall give half of his payment to Y/N as compensation for her efforts.

No falling in love with each other.

No one can know.

Signatures: _______________________ and __________________________

“What was the reason you needed to type up a whole contract? I thought we had already discussed all of this,” Jungkook asks when you’re finished, eyeing the document on the screen. It looks much too official for his liking. Jungkook, if he could, would probably write his essays on a series of Post-It Notes—specifically the accordion-style ones, because those bring more joy into Jungkook’s life than he cares to admit.

“This solidifies it,” you inform him sternly, fingertips moving quickly across your keyboard. “So that way if either of us breaks the rules, the deal’s off.”

Jungkook frowns slightly, tilting his head. “What if we both break the rules?”

“Well then,” you tell him firmly, resolutely, putting your hand on top of his. Jungkook jumps slightly at the touch, but your palm is warm and it wraps around his with determination. “I suppose that we go down together, or we don’t go down at all.”

When Jungkook’s alarm goes off at ten o’clock that Sunday, the first person to say anything is Taehyung. He comes stumbling out of his bedroom in their two-bed one-bath off-campus apartment, hair disheveled and still wrapped up in the hoodie he’s been wearing for the past forty-eight hours.

“Jungkook?” He asks hazily, voice muffled and thick from sleep and the retainers still in his mouth. “What are you doing up?”

Jungkook looks up from where he was mid-washing his mouth out post-teeth brush, and stares at Taehyung’s reflection in the mirror. The fluorescent light of their bathroom illuminates his undereye bags and the hickey he seems to have acquired in the past 12 hours extremely well.

“Huh?” He asks, mouth only slightly full.

“What are you doing up? Didn’t you get back at like, four last night?” Taehyung asks. He must faintly recall the door slamming shut as Jungkook stumbled back, the alcohol from whatever parties he ended up slowly making its way out of his system. Jungkook does not over-drink… but he also doesn’t under-drink. He was with Jimin the whole time, though, who was flat out hammered, and when Jungkook wrapped an arm around his waist and insisted he drop him back off at his apartment across the street from his and Taehyung’s, Jimin told Jungkook that he was very nice and attractive but that he had a boyfriend.

Jungkook wonders if Jimin’s going to wake up before three this afternoon.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. He splashes his face for good measure before slapping on some of the lotion they have on the edge of the sink that he always mistakes for soap. His mother told him that furiously smacking skincare into your face wakes you up and depuffs your eyes. So he does it. “I’m meeting someone for brunch.”

Taehyung slaps himself in the face.

“Don’t tell me Jeon Jungkook is awake at ten in the morning to meet someone for brunch,” Taehyung says, even though that’s exactly what Jungkook is telling him.

“I am,” says Jungkook.

“Who?” Taehyung demands to know, leaning against the doorframe. While his body may be falling asleep, his mind sure still runs a mile a minute.

“Uh, some girl,” Jungkook says, trying to make it sound as nonchalant as possible. Jungkook accepted Taehyung’s deal a week ago, and you had told him to only start mentioning ‘a girl’ after time had passed to keep Taehyung less suspicious. So you had texted him last night while he was four vodka shots into the night, saying that you should meet up for brunch the next day, and Jungkook, the dumbass he is, said yes without realizing the time you had suggested.

And now he is paying the price in bags.

Eye bags.

“A girl?” Taehyung asks, immediately more awake. “Did you meet her last night?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jungkook lies.

Taehyung scoffs. “Did she give you that?” He points to Jungkook’s neck.

“Yeah,” Jungkook lies again.

“Wow, what a ladies’ man, huh?” Taehyung asks, giving Jungkook a good punch in the shoulder before he pulls his hoodie right over his head, tugs on the drawstrings for the South Park effect, and trots back to bed.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair before his eyes focus back on the hickey on his neck. He can’t remember a damn thing about who gave it to him. For all he knows, it could have been Jimin. Jimin has, for the record, mistaken Jungkook for Taehyung quite a few times when drunk, though clearly he was able to distinguish between the two of them last night. He grabs Taehyung’s concealer (which is two shades darker than his skin tone) from the cabinet behind the mirror, tries his best to hide it, and prays that you won’t make fun of him when you meet up.

“The fuck is on your neck?” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth when Jungkook appears at the corner table of the brunch place. He was late, as per usual, but only because Jimin came knocking on the door and Jungkook had to direct him to Taehyung’s room before he collapsed face-first on their couch and stayed there for the next two days.

“Uh,” Jungkook says.

“Is that a hickey? Are you attempting to conceal a hickey with concealer that is literally two shades darker than you?” You ask, squinting as you lean in.

“Uh,” Jungkook says again. He sits down, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“I ordered us orange juice already,” you tell him. “But it seems like you had a lot of fun last night. Care to tell me anything about it?”

Jungkook picks up the menu to keep his hands busy and give himself an excuse not to meet your eyes. The french toast looks good, and is less expensive than the avocado toast for some strange reason. Classic brunch problems. “I mean, it’s not really that important—”

“Hey,” you say, leaning over and snapping your fingers in front of his face to get his attention. “I’m your fake girlfriend now. I’m obligated to be interested in what activities you get up to when I’m not with you. So, what did you do last night?”

Jungkook figures that since he walked in here five minutes late with mismatched concealer poorly hiding a hickey, you have a right to know what the hell happened last night. If he even remembers what happened last night.

“I went out around ten with my roommate’s boyfriend,” Jungkook begins, because that part he knows happened.

“Wait, your roommate’s boyfriend? Why not your roommate, too?” You interrupt, though it’s a valid question.

“Well, Taehyung’s not really a partier. I mean, he met his boyfriend, Jimin, at a party, but he doesn’t really like going out and getting drunk that much, and he’s also a damn lightweight so you really can’t take him anywhere unless you want hin clinging to your side the whole night,” Jungkook explains.

“How did they meet?” You ask, not out of obligation but because you’re genuinely interested. Which is nice, Jungkook realizes, that you actually want to keep listening to him talk instead of disregarding him in favor of the menu. Jungkook can’t really think of many dates where both he and the person he was with weren’t asking questions just for the sake of asking questions. But you seem to have a different approach. “If he’s not a partier.”

“That’s actually a funny story,” Jungkook begins, already laughing. “Taehyung hates parties but that night he was determined to go to one because this cute boy he saw on Tinder was going to be there. And so he dragged me out to this party at eleven at night to try and find this boy, but then gets roped into a game of beer pong with said boy, so, mission accomplished. Except, because Taehyung’s a lightweight and a terrible shot, he misses entirely and bonks the shorter kid next to the cute boy on the head.”

“Let me guess,” you finish. “That was Jimin?”

Jungkook nods. “Only Taehyung would end up falling in love with the best friend of the boy he thirsted over on Tinder.”

“Can I ask who the cute boy is?” You raise your eyebrows.

“Oh, that’s Hoseok. We’re actually all really good friends now,” Jungkook says, because that’s just how the cookie crumbles. “His boyfriend is a really close friend of mine.”

“Wait, are you talking about Jung Hoseok?” You ask, eyes wide. Jungkook nods. “My friend’s in the dance group he leads. He’s dating this guy named Yoongi, right? She says they’re super cute together, and that he drops into practice all the time to say hello, and Hoseok makes him dance with them.”

Jungkook nearly bursts into laughter in the middle of this crowded restaurant at the image of Yoongi trying to hip-hop choreography that Hoseok creates. He loves Yoongi, but he’s got the coordination of a baby giraffe and two left feet. Which is exactly why he sticks to music production, the less physical of two musical evils. “Yeah, he was with me in the coffee place when we first started talking.”

“That was him? No way,” you say, shocked.

Jungkook has to say that he’s equally as surprised. You seemed familiar, but Jungkook assumed that it was because you had the same class or something. What he wasn’t expecting was this labyrinth of mutual acquaintanceships that draws a path between you and him.

“I guess we’re closer than you think,” Jungkook says with a shrug. The waiter comes over to ask for their orders, and Jungkook, because he’s reckless and you’re grinning at him with a smile wider than the sun, orders the avocado toast.

You nod, handing your menu to the waiter before he whizzes off. “Isn’t it funny how that works?”

After the second time you go out to a restaurant—this one a relatively nice but not upscale pizza place—Taehyung wants to meet you.

It’s not so much wants.

It’s more like demands.

“Two dates, Jungkook!” Taehyung screeches at the same time the first kernel in their microwave popcorn bag pops, making Jungkook wince. “You’ve been on two entirely separate dates with the same person, and I haven’t met them yet!”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Jungkook says awkwardly, avoiding Taehyung’s gaze so as not to watch him go bug-eyed right in front of Jungkook’s nonexistent salad as he slowly waits for their microwave to implode and burn their entire apartment complex down. “it’s just two dates.”

“Which is two more than you normally go on,” Taehyung insists, holding up two fingers just in case Jungkook was unsure as to what number he’s been saying repeatedly as the popcorn pops. “Perspective, Jungkook! This is a big deal for you!”

“You act like I’ve never been on a date before when I, in fact, have,” Jungkook deadpans with a frown. He tries not to flinch when the popcorn surprises him with the last few kernels.

“Yeah,” Taehyung says like a white girl in a Netflix original movie, opening up their shoddy microwave to a steaming (and slightly overcooked) bag of dollar store popcorn. “But when was the last time you went on two dates with the same person?”

Jungkook opens his mouth to respond when he realizes he can’t give an answer without incriminating himself. It’s definitely been a while.

Taehyung picks up on the nanosecond of silence and Jungkook’s fish gape immediately, cackling as he tears open the popcorn and a quarter of the pieces go flying across their tiny counter island, still sticky in some places where Taehyung forgot to wipe up the juice from the watermelon he was cutting (sans cutting board) last night at two in the morning.

“Perspective! Matters!” Taehyung says, interjecting each word with a piece of popcorn in his mouth. Jungkook reaches over to take some for himself, just happy knowing that the microwave hasn’t caused his tragic demise and he can put off death-by-microwave for another day.

“You’re an Economics and Fine Arts double major, perspective is all you care about,” Jungkook says, cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk preparing for winter. “I think you’re being dramatic.”

“I think that two dates is a record,” Taehyung tells him pointedly.

“How noncommittal do you think I am?” Jungkook asks, shocked. He’s been in committed, long-term relationships. In high school. And nowadays in college, the definition of long-term has become so distant from what it used to be that three weeks is pretty much long-term at this point.

“Very,” Taehyung says. He tilts the popcorn bag into his mouth and finishes it, and Jungkook is both horrified and impressed, because the bag was still a quarter-full when Taehyung decided it would be a good time to chug carbohydrates covered in butter. “I gotta meet them, Jungkook. I’m your best friend. I have to!”

Jungkook narrows his eyes. “You do not have to meet her. In fact, you shouldn’t even be involved in my existent or nonexistent dating life at all. You have a boyfriend.”

“Excuse me, I am still your best friend despite already having met the man I’m going to marry and adopt three dogs and a giant iguana with, and therefore I’m allowed to want to meet her. We should do something fun,” Taehyung says, before his eyes light up in the same way they did before Taehyung once suggested they take an extremely pricey Uber out into the suburbs just so they could go to the biggest wholesale store in the area and buy as many sixty-brownie packs as possible.

The same way they did before Taehyung thought it was a good idea to pay Jungkook money to get himself into a committed relationship, and the same way they did when Jungkook agreed.

“Oh my God, we should go play laser tag! That’s so much fun!” Taehyung begins to jump up and down in the middle of their apartment like an eight-year-old boy at an amusement park for his birthday, and Jungkook has reason to be worried he’ll fall right through the floorboards and into the apartment below.

Jungkook couldn’t think of a worse group outing for you to meet his friends. While Taehyung definitely sucks at laser tag (Jungkook always wins), a furiously competitive, glow-in-the-dark, shriek-inducing, friendship-ending activity may very well be the last thing Jungkook wants to do with you while you meet his friends. He wants you to like them. He wants them to like you. Laser tag doesn’t promise either of those things. Laser tag, in fact, actively promotes immediate dislike.

“Absolutely not. There’s no way I’m introducing you to her in a laser tag setting,” Jungkook immediately rejects Taehyung’s suggestion. Taehyung frowns, probably trying to think of some other equally as infuriating activity for the four of you to do together. Jungkook racks his brain, trying to think of something else that appeases Taehyung’s desire for physical competition while also minimizing the potential for disaster (which is very high whenever Taehyung is involved). “How about… mini golf?”

Taehyung breaks out into a devilish grin, and Jungkook wonders if mini-golf was an even worse suggestion.

“Mini-golf?” You ask as you arrive at the mini-golf place, a little outside location far away from the hubbub of the city but close enough to not require an overpriced Uber.

“It was this or laser tag,” Jungkook says, whipping his head around to see if Taehyung and Jimin have arrived yet. He can’t seem to see Taehyung’s faded teal hair nor Jimin’s pink, which would otherwise be easy to spot because whenever they walk anywhere, Gen Z’ers stop them on the street to remind them that they look like Cosmo and Wanda from The Fairly OddParents.

“Laser tag!” You exclaim, punching Jungkook in the shoulder for emphasis. “That would have been such a good idea! Mini-golf is so overdone, I would have loved to go to laser tag.”

Jungkook pouts. He can’t believe he already royally fucked up the first meeting between his fake girlfriend and his best friend (and his best friend’s equally-as-chaotic just not-as-loud boyfriend) because you and Taehyung wanted to play laser tag and Jungkook was the dumbass who thought that mini-golf would be a better idea. Maybe Jungkook should just try to get knocked in the head with a mini-golf ball going at one hundred miles an hour like it did in Avril Lavigne’s VMA-deserving music video Girlfriend, fall on the ground and roll into a Porta Potty, and then wake up with no recollection of any of the day’s events.

You notice Jungkook’s pout immediately as you hand over eight dollars so he isn’t paying for the both of you, and pat him on the back. “But I still like mini-golf. It could be worse. We could be at a Kidz Bop concert right now.”

Jungkook supposes that there’s always a silver lining.

The silver lining vanishes the moment he hears a preteen boy who’s on hole eight shout, “Oh my God, it’s Cosmo and Wanda!”

“That would be the other half of our party,” Jungkook says with a grimace, staring distantly into the void as Taehyung and Jimin clamber onto the course. Taehyung carelessly gives the poor teenager in the booth a twenty, does not take his change, and picks up a golf club that is nowhere near the right size for his nearly-six-feet-tall figure. Maybe if Jungkook makes eye contact with the supermassive black hole that Taehyung is convinced actually exists at the center of the Milky Way galaxy, he’ll just get sucked right in and lose all the matter in his body so he doesn’t have to deal with this shit for the next two hours.

“I’m Taehyung,” Taehyung introduces himself aggressively, holding out an enormous hand for you to shake. You do so hesitantly but firmly, trying not to break eye contact with Taehyung, a task you will soon find to be quite difficult, as Taehyung can keep his eyes open for over five minutes straight. “And unfortunately, my charming personality and extreme good looks have already attracted a mate. This is my soon-to-be husband, Jimin.”

Jimin waves respectfully, pink hair bouncing.

“They’re not engaged,” Jungkook says, feeling the need to elaborate because Jungkook’s known Taehyung since before freshman year of college, and sometimes even he can’t tell when he’s kidding.

“Real shame, but I actually have my eye on the only natural-hair-colored college-aged super buff guy in the group,” you say, nudging Jungkook’s side with a wink. Jungkook thinks he might vomit at your description of him.

“Kook’s a real looker, but he flakes on us all the time. I’m impressed you even managed to get him to come with us,” Taehyung jokes, but the comment nonetheless makes Jungkook’s mouth open in indignation.

“I’m the only mutuality between all of us,” he re-emphasizes, “I’m the one who organized the whole thing!”

Taehyung leans in to whisper into your ear, but Taehyung’s whisper is normal people’s regular outside voice, so Jungkook can hear every word. “Truthfully, I wanted to go play laser tag.”

You nod enthusiastically. “So did I! Jungkook just mentioned it and I wish we had gone there instead. We’ll have to go sometime. Just a warning: I’ll crush you.”

“I accept your challenge,” Taehyung says with a firm nod.

Jungkook coughs loud enough to interrupt the both of you and even attract the attention of the next family who’s come up to pay. He feels bad for them—they’re going to be stuck behind the four of you for the rest of this hellhole of a mini-golf game.

“Are we here to play some mini-golf, or what?” Jungkook asks, tiny golf pencil and paper stuffed into his back pocket to record scores, because Jungkook came here to win, and winning is what he will do.

Jungkook does not win.

He actually loses by one point. A singular value. A sole divisor.

He’s pissed, but also impressed.

Taehyung comes in dead last, as he normally does even when he’s playing mini-golf with a club that’s actually the right size, but the gap between him and Jimin’s third place is significantly larger considering his club is meant for someone who’s about a foot shorter than he is. Even so, he seems to give no shits whatsoever about his abysmal performance, and is instead spending most of his time post-mini-golf game high-fiving the shit out of you.

“You beat him! I can’t believe it! I don’t think Jungkook’s ever lost a game of anything in his entire life!” Taehyung exclaims, making Jungkook wince. It was down to the wire the entire game with you and Jungkook neck-and-neck, Jimin a fair few points behind the both of you, and Taehyung hardly in the same ballpark. And on the last hole, Jungkook overshot the curve and his ball jumped the hole while yours sailed in, leaving him to wallow in his second-place pity.

“Just doing my job,” you say with a flip of the nonexistent hair next to your left shoulder. Your hair is nowhere near your hand whatsoever. “He was the one who suggested mini-golf before he knew what a pro I was.”

“It was one point,” Jungkook reminds you, fuming. “If my golf ball hadn’t skipped the hole we’d be tied,” he says, consoling himself more than anyone else.

“But it did, and now you owe me dinner because you lost and I won,” you tease as you walk out of the mini-golf place, sipping on overpriced sodas from the generic mini-golf diner.

“That was not part of the deal whatsoever,” Jungkook says with a frown. “I never agreed to that. We never said anything about dinner. What the fuck.”

You laugh, tilting your head back as you chuckle, Sprite fizzing in your hand. Taehyung insisted nobody get straws, and now you all have disposable open (and full) cups of soda in your hands as you make the treacherous journey back to your campus. “Fine. How about we go out to get some bubble tea after this?”

Jungkook likes the sound of that. He’s been craving some taro tea recently.

“Deal,” he says with a nod, and the two of you shake hands to seal it.

Jungkook finds that he’s actually really looking forward to getting bubble tea with you post-mini-golf game. He’s spent so much time with you and the rest of his friends (however many there are) that you haven’t gone out alone, just the two of you, in a while. Jungkook misses that.

You get along so well together.

Jimin grabs your attention with a question about Hoseok, since the two of you happen to be connected through his dance group, giving Taehyung just enough time to swoop in and wrap an arm around Jungkook’s shoulder, Dr. Pepper spilling onto the asphalt beneath them.

“Damn, she really knows how to keep up with you,” Taehyung says, quieter than he’s ever spoken before.

“Are you implying that I’m difficult to keep up with?” Jungkook immediately retorts.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “No, you dumbass. I’m saying that you’ve never been on a date with someone who meshes so well with your own personality. No wonder you guys have been on two dates.”

“I can’t believe you think I’m this one-date-wonder kind of guy.”

“You guys go really well with each other,” Taehyung says, and that sort of out-of-the-blue, genuinely complimentary statement makes Jungkook narrow his eyes in suspicion. “Seriously, I’m not just saying that. I think you guys make a cute couple.”

Jimin says something funny and you laugh again, giggles breaking out into the air as you slowly make your way towards campus. You’re not looking at Jungkook, but Jungkook is looking at you, and he thinks that maybe even if this is all just one big ploy, he might still get a really, really wonderful friend out of this.

Taehyung pinches Jungkook’s cheek before turning his chin to face you. “I think that she’s someone you might want to hold onto.”

For once in his life, Jungkook has to agree.

Jungkook is running late.

This is no rare occurrence by any means, as Jungkook frequently shows up five minutes late to class with nothing but his half-charged laptop and an eraser-less mechanical pencil, which leaves fantastic impressions on both his classmates and his professors.

But Jungkook hit snooze on his phone four times, and now he’s got ten minutes to get his shit together and get to his Metropolitan Nature class before he gets chewed out by his professor for being late three times already this month.

He makes a few quick sacrifices. First, he’s not getting changed out of his pajamas, so this is what his Metropolitan Nature professor is getting, whether she likes it or not. Second, he doesn’t have time to use the bathroom so he’s just going to wipe his face with one of Taehyung’s makeup-removing wipes and pee after class. Third, there is no way in hell he’s making himself any sort of breakfast, not even grabbing a granola bar or anything, so he’ll just suffer until later, when he isn’t a debilitating mess of a human being and has time to stuff an apple into his mouth.

And then, as he’s scrambling to get his backpack and make it to class on time (five minutes to go!), there’s a knock on his door.

Jungkook almost doesn’t answer. Instead, he grabs the nearest object to him—which happens to be their television remote—and holds it out in front of him like a weapon, waiting for the burglar on the other side to bust the door down, realize that Jungkook and Taehyung’s shared apartment has absolutely nothing valuable inside of it, and turn around to rob someone else.

There’s another knock on his door. Jungkook decides that it’s probably not a burglar, but he keeps the remote in his hand just in case and opens the door.

On the other side is, much to his surprise, you, with a steaming cup of what he assumes is coffee and a little paper bag in your hand.

“Oh, geez, what’s up?” Jungkook says, quickly trying to fix the mop on his head known as hair, to little avail.

“Why are you holding the TV remote?” You ask instead of greeting him back like a normal person.

“Oh, uh, just making sure you aren’t a robber or murderer or anything,” Jungkook says. There’s too long of an awkward silence that falls between the two of you, and in that time frame, Jungkook tosses the TV remote behind him and listens as it lands with a thud on the rug by the couch.

“O…kay…,” you say nervously. “I got you breakfast.”

Jungkook’s mouth drops open and he’s too sleep-deprived to shut it again. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I told you that I would,” you remind him. “It’s a croissant and hot chocolate, because I wasn’t sure what your coffee order was. Here.” You don’t give him the chance to respond, instead shoving the cup and paper bag into his hands very ungracefully.

“Oh, wow, I—I don’t know what to say,” Jungkook says, very obviously floored at your random generosity. He knows that this was what you discussed but he didn’t realize that it would actually be put into practice.

“A simple ‘thank you’ would probably suffice!” Taehyung calls from his bedroom, clearly having overheard your entire conversation thus far.

“Fuck off!” Jungkook shouts back, and he hears Taehyung cackle.

You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward slightly.

“Oh, yeah, thank you,” Jungkook says, still flabbergasted. “Seriously, I—I really can’t thank you enough. This was super nice of you.” God, who still uses the word super? Jungkook has to go before he embarrasses himself further.

“No problem,” you tell him with a shrug. “Just doing the girlfriend thing.” It’s a good thing Taehyung’s in the other room, because he can’t see you wink.

“I really appreciate it, Y/N. This was so thoughtful of you.” Jungkook doesn’t know how else to express his immense gratitude for this simple act, mostly because no one’s ever spontaneously brought him food at such an opportune time before. He missed you, is what it is. He didn’t realize it until you showed up at his door, and now he’s speechless and looks like an absolute fool, all because he missed you.

Weird.

“It was no big deal, really,” you tell him. “You headed to class? Let’s walk together.”

Jungkook’s already late but he decides that he would much rather walk than sprint, because that means he gets to savor the taste of blazing hot chocolate and a warm croissant, all while spending more time with you.

When Jungkook was thirteen, a brand new go-kart arena opened up in their town. It had flashing neon lights and a giant sign and an arcade with actual prizes to be won in exchange for tickets. There was no sight more glorious to Jungkook’s freshly-teenaged self.

His best friend at the time invited him out the day after it opened, and Jungkook was so excited that he said yes before thinking about anything else. He had never been go-karting. He couldn’t remember the last time he went to an arcade. He wanted to win ten thousand tickets to get a remote-control car.

But he had no money because he realized that he was only getting paid for mowing his neighbor’s lawns at the end of the week, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to pay for anything.

In desperation, Jungkook begged his older brother for some cash, promising that he would pay him back as soon as possible. Jeonghyun agreed (albeit begrudgingly) and Jungkook went on his merry way, having a grand old time at the brand new go-kart place with an arcade and winning one thousand tickets, which was enough to get him five of his favorite candy bars.

Jungkook fully intended on giving some of them to his older brother as a thank you, but he ended up eating all of them on the way home, and then Jeonghyun doubled the amount that Jungkook owed him, and it took Jungkook a month to repay him.

Jungkook discovered then that owing people is the worst feeling in the entire world, a sentiment he’s maintained ever since. It makes him an extremely reliable person whenever he borrows anything, which is already rare to begin with.

Jungkook owes you more than just some hot chocolate and a croissant. You’ve saved his ass on numerous occasions, getting along well with Taehyung and Jimin and suggesting that you’re interested in him, striking up a deal that will save him from the wrath of Taehyung, giving him breakfast (free of charge!) on a day where he definitely wasn’t planning on eating anything. He feels like hot chocolate and a croissant just doesn’t cut it.

In the end, Jungkook knocks on your door at seven in the evening with a paper bag filled with various Chinese takeout dishes. He never knows what to get whenever he gets Chinese food, so he gets a little bit of everything and, inevitably, eats all of it. He’s hoping that this is sufficient enough repayment, because you certainly deserve it.

You open the door drowsily, mumbling something that sounds like “Who is it?” under your breath, when you see Jungkook and your eyes light up.

“I brought Chinese food,” Jungkook supplies helpfully, holding up the bag as if the scent that’s wafting through the air isn’t proof enough.

Your mouth drops open, just like his did. “Oh my God, you’re my hero. I was just about to make myself some shitty instant ramen for dinner, but this is so much better.”

“Just returning the favor, I guess,” Jungkook says with a shrug. “It was really nice of you to drop by this morning.”

“It was really nice of you to bring Chinese food tonight,” you respond as Jungkook hands over the paper bag. You let it sit on your palms, too heavy to be held by the top of it. “You just saved me from my fourth instant ramen dinner of the week.”

Jungkook laughs. He and Taehyung were like that during their freshman year, boiling water in their kettle at four in the morning to burn the insides of their mouths out with the fire noodles. Fond memories. You grin at him, Chinese takeout resting securely in your palms, and gaze at each other for a few more seconds before Jungkook coughs to end the silence.

“Aren’t you coming inside?” You ask, stepping away from the door to usher him in.

“Oh, no, the takeout was just a thank you for this morning,” Jungkook says, shaking his head and his hand as he takes a step away from the door. His stomach grumbles.

Exposed.

“Don’t think I can’t hear the whale coming from your belly,” you say, eyes narrowing as you point at his torso. “Come on, you paid for this thing, you might as well get your fair share. There’s no way I’ll be able to eat all of this myself.”

“No, it’s alright, seriously—” His stomach growls at him, like it’s personally offended that Jungkook’s rejecting the Chinese food.

You frown at him, raising a single, unimpressed eyebrow. “Come on, you dumbass. It’s getting cold.”

Jungkook relents, though it probably wouldn’t have taken much more to wear him down anyway, and walks inside your apartment. He slips off his sneakers and joins you as you set the food down on the coffee table in front of your couch, fabric worn and pillows sunken in. It looks delightfully comfortable.

“Sorry it’s kind of a mess in here,” you say as you grab plates from your kitchenette. “You caught me off guard—I just got out of the shower, too.”

Your apartment is cleaner than his and Taehyung’s looks on days where they actually try to tidy up. Jungkook wishes he had those capabilities, but when he’s presented with the options of cleaning up or taking a nap, he will invariably choose the latter. And the clothes you’re wearing, even if you insist that they’re your nasty lounge clothes from high school, Jungkook couldn’t care less about. You look nice.

You always look nice.

Once you’re all settled, you tear open the stapled paper bag to reveal the glory hidden inside. Jungkook gets one whiff of the scent and nearly passes out, huffing it in like an Expo marker. He was a little worried that he hadn’t gotten enough, but as you begin to take each box of rice and biodegradable container of noodles and vegetables and soup and everything in between, he realizes he had nothing to stress over.

“Oh my God, we’re gonna have so many leftovers,” you say excitedly, eyeing all of the dishes as you break apart your wooden chopsticks. Every smell imaginable fills your apartment, and it makes Jungkook’s mouth water and his stomach rumble. “This cost way more than the hot chocolate and croissant, definitely. Let me Venmo you back half.”

Jungkook shakes his head defiantly, taking the rice out of your reach as punishment. “Absolutely not. I won’t let you pay me back a single cent.”

“What? That’s not in the contract,” you say with a frown, making to pull it up on your phone just as proof.

“Who cares about the contract?” Jungkook says, snatching your phone right from your slippery fingers and placing it on the end table next to him. “I’m just doing the boyfriend thing.”

You attack the mountain of food in front of you like an all-you-can-eat buffet, taking a handful of noodles here and a couple pieces of broccoli there, a few dumplings and a bit of soy sauce, a spoonful of rice, some of the wonton soup. Your plates are filled to the brim with helpings from every single container, too excited to save any one dish for another day.

“God, this is just what I needed,” you say with a pleased sigh, tossing your head back.

“Long day?” Jungkook asks before he puts a chopstick-ful of rice in his mouth.

“The longest. I don’t know if I told you this, but my Communications 316 professor is absolutely incompetent. He has no idea what he’s talking about, confuses himself half the time, and doesn’t listen to the TA. It’s ridiculous. I might as well teach the damn class,” you say, clearly exasperated.

“Sounds awful,” Jungkook comments with a wince. If he ever had a professor like that he would just drop the class and change majors, but you don’t seem to be taking as dramatic an approach. Maybe Jungkook’s just a chronic over-reactor.

“It is. Never take Comm 316, you’ll actually want to jump into a black hole. What are you majoring in, again?”

“Physics,” Jungkook tells you over a mouthful of food.

“Wow, that’s amazing,” you say, and for once in his lifetime, Jungkook knows that there’s someone out there genuinely impressed by his choice of study. Normally he gets much more sarcastic comments, or the person he’s chatting with will just say “Flex” before changing the topic. “Do you wanna do engineering, astrophysics, or theoretical stuff?”

“Not sure yet,” he tells you, “but I’m thinking more astrophysics. I think space is really cool.”

“Astrophysics, holy shit! That’s like, the coolest thing you could probably ever major in. Meanwhile, I’m probably gonna end up being the personal assistant to some Instagram-famous fifteen-year-old.”

Jungkook refuses to let you put down your major. He’s a shitty conversationalist and an even worse public speaker. Jungkook thinks anybody who pursues an avenue like Communication could probably debate his ass into next month. “Hey, those fifteen-year-olds make bank, so I see no issue with that.”

You laugh, nodding. Jungkook leans over the table to help himself to another couple of dumplings, looking back at you as you smile at him, a single grain of rice stuck on the corner of your lips. In the warm evening light of your apartment, the soothing noises of ambulances and honking cars below you, Jungkook decides to remember this moment. Save it forever.

“Let’s take a photo,” Jungkook suggests, even though he’s already taking his phone out of his back pocket. “This is too good not to remember.”

“Right now?” You ask, caught off-guard. “I just stuffed my face with Chinese food, I’m wearing a t-shirt I got when I was in tenth grade, and we’re in my grody apartment. Are you sure?”

Jungkook’s already setting up the phone stand, stacking empty biodegradable Chinese takeout boxes to create the optimal angle. “I gotta get three Instagram posts in, remember?” He says. Because that’s obviously the only reason he wants to take a photo of the two of you, right here, right now.

Obviously.

You’re still hesitant, but Jungkook sets up the self-timer on his phone and leans back into the couch, pulling you in next to him. “Just relax,” he tells you. “You look wonderful.”

The first few pictures are classics—back straight, head up, chin down, hair fixed. Jungkook lets his phone click like a photobooth, making sure the camera gets every one of his angles. Then, the two of you start to get a bit more playful, coming up with creative (or uncreative) poses—peace signs, finger guns, winking faces. You drape your body over his legs and get a few of you looking like perpendicular line segments, a couple of you cuddling, one of you squishing his cheeks.

“Okay, last one,” Jungkook says, setting his phone up. He expects it to just be a relatively normal one, your bodies close to each other but not aggressively so, but a second before the camera shutter clicks you plant your lips on his cheek, making him smile as he gasps. His phone snaps the last photo, and it takes everything in Jungkook’s power not to immediately look at the final shot.

“What was that for?” Jungkook asks, fingers tracing over where your lips pressed against his cheek.

“Just ‘cause,” you say nonchalantly, beginning to gather up your leftovers. “I didn’t know you had a scar on your cheek.”

“I got it when I was little,” Jungkook says, finger lingering on top of it.

“It’s cute,” you tell him, standing up to pack away the leftovers in your fridge and toss out anything you completely devoured. “You’re cute sometimes, you know that, Jungkook?”

Jungkook’s speechless. He stands in the middle of your apartment like a fish out of water, eyes wide as they watch you flitter around your kitchenette. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if there is anything to say.

“This was a lot of fun,” you tell him when you bid your goodbyes, leaning against the doorframe of your apartment. “Thanks for bringing me Chinese.”

“Thanks for inviting me in to eat it with you,” Jungkook says back. “We should do this again sometime.”

“You mean like a date?” You ask, eyebrows raised. “What do you think we are, boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Jungkook laughs. “My mistake. We can have a friend dinner, if you want.”

You grin. “Hmm, I think I like boyfriend and girlfriend better, don’t you think?” You ask.

Jungkook pretends to ponder the question, like he doesn’t already know the answer. “Me too.”

The entire way home, Jungkook’s cheek tingles.

Jungkook (10:18AM): hey what r u doing rn??

You (10:18AM): i’m about to go to this volunteering thing at the animal shelter !!!

Jungkook (10:18AM): wow really?? that sounds like fun

You (10:18AM): yeah i’m really excited !! You (10:19AM): are you an animal person jungkook

Jungkook stares at his phone distantly. He was secretly hoping you’d be free, because it’s a Saturday and he’s got nothing planned the entire day. He could do work, sure, but that’s a Sunday problem. And he just wanted to do something with you. Sue him.

Jungkook (10:19AM): yeah i love animals Jungkook (10:19AM): except iguanas fuck those guys

You: (10:20AM): do i wanna know????

Jungkook (10:20AM): in high school my brother got an iguana and it ate my school id so i couldn’t buy lunch for the whole year

You (10:20AM): i’ll ask later You (10:20AM): but my volunteering thing isn’t until 10:30 do you wanna come?

It’s not that Jungkook’s heart skips a beat, but it skips half of one.

Jungkook (10:21AM): are you sure?? i don’t want to be a bother

You (10:21AM): no come !!! it’ll be so much fun !!! we’re just holding an outdoor adoption fair for the day so we get to spend time with animals and encourage people to adopt them it’ll be lots of fun!! You (10:22AM): please come i’ll be so lonely without you :(

You don’t need to say another word. In fact, you pretty much had Jungkook sold the moment you told him what you were doing. He’s already halfway out the door of his apartment by the time he texts you back.

Jungkook (10:23AM): i’m on my way!!

He gets to your apartment in record time, too excited to spend time with you to be ashamed of the desperation that’s radiating off of him. Jungkook’s not socially starved, nor does he not have other friends he could pass the time with. But he’s been friends with Taehyung, Jimin, and Yoongi ever since he set foot on campus for the first time, which means that he’s spent more time with them the past few years than he has in the past couple of months with you, because that is how math works. And Jungkook hates math, but he knows that he would much rather spend the day with you than anybody else.

He knocks on your door, only slightly out of breath, to find that you haven’t even put on your shoes yet.

“You got here quick,” you comment. “Did you run?”

“I didn’t work out this morning,” Jungkook lies like a liar. It’s by no means a good excuse, he just didn’t want you to think he ran all the way just to be with you. He wants to retain some shred of dignity, especially after losing most of it when he agreed to a deal where he would date someone for three months in exchange for money.

“Sure thing, Batman,” you say. “I’m almost ready, just give me a second.”

Jungkook waits patiently in your doorway, catching his breath and trying to wipe away the sweat that’s slowly beginning to collect on his forehead in a futile attempt to make him seem as cool and natural and not-at-all-excited as possible. It doesn’t seem to be working very well.

Whatever. Jungkook supposes that there are much worse things than having you think he just wants to spend time with you this afternoon. After all, he really does.

On the way there, you tell Jungkook all about the cat that your family had when you were growing up. His name was Pickle and he frequently brought your family stolen flowers from neighbors’ gardens, which was both extremely endearing and also rage-inducing. He also exclusively ate cat food that was the combination of meat and vegetables, which made you believe for a solid three years that all mammals were omnivores. They were, in fact, not.

“I haven’t had a cat since he died when I was thirteen, holy shit I want one so bad,” you say as you arrive at the park right by the shelter, where the adoption fair is being held. “Thanks for coming, by the way. You didn’t have to. You probably have lots of Physics work to do.”

“I wanted to,” Jungkook says instantly, refusing to let you believe otherwise. “I did. That’s why I texted you.”

“To come to the adoption fair?” You ask, waving hello to another one of the volunteers. You must be here often.

“No,” Jungkook says, faltering slightly. “To, uh, well—to hang out with you, actually.” God, he sounds like he’s twelve. Hang out? To hang out with you? The same way that preteens do because they’re too old for the word playdate? For God’s sake. You’re college students, friends (hopefully, because if not then Jungkook has completely misread this situation), and fake lovers. And Jungkook chooses the phrase hang out to describe time spent with you.

“Oh,” you say, more to yourself than to him. Your brows furrow slightly, like you’re pondering something too insignificant to say aloud. Jungkook knows that feeling. “Well, I’m glad you texted me, then.”

Jungkook’s glad, too.

The animal shelter staff, despite his unannounced arrival, are absolutely thrilled that Jungkook’s volunteered to help alongside you. They tell him that he’s got an extremely friendly and marketable face, and will be good for talking to prospective adopters because he’s, by default, extremely charming.

“I can vouch for that,” you mutter into his ear before another worker asks you to help out with some of the dogs. Jungkook stands there, your words ringing in his ears, as the instructions the shelter coordinator tells him fly right over his ear. Charming, huh?

Realistically, there are plenty of ways that Jungkook could be spending his free Saturday that would be appealing to most, if not all, college students. He could be lazing around in bed, sleeping in until two in the afternoon, and never getting out from under the covers. He could be marathoning his favorite TV show or a new K-drama that Taehyung’s obsessed with, finishing the whole series in a single day. He could go out for brunch like any good college student would, go to an overpriced café and take aesthetically pleasing photos to post online, spend the whole day online shopping.

But instead, he’s standing in the sun surrounded by prospective owners and a whole bunch of pets, watching as you play with a few of the puppies in the pen as people ask you questions, and Jungkook decides that there’s really nothing else that he would rather be doing than this.

Here’s the thing: animals are cute, but you with animals is cuter.

Jungkook comes to this conclusion relatively early in the day, after staring at you unabashedly as you play with the puppies, pick up cats for people to hold, and encourage prospective owners to consider older animals in the shelter because they give just as much love and joy as the babies. He is, admittedly, not doing the thing he came here to do (volunteer), but hardly anyone is paying attention to him and he is, in turn, paying attention to you. And you’re doing your work, so does it really matter if he’s not doing his?

In the end, Jungkook actually does begin to contribute something of substance to the event, but only because the coordinator assigned him to the animal registration table for people adopting pets, which means he doesn’t get a free pass to watch you play with puppies for the rest of the day.

Jungkook volunteers, he swears, but he doesn’t do it that often, which makes participating in this even feel that much better. He can’t help but smile and congratulate the brand new owners on their new best friend(s), happily filling in the official papers and watching as each animal goes to their forever home. It’s humbling, and it makes him happy, and Jungkook doesn’t think he could get that sort of feeling if he just stayed at home watching Netflix.

The day ends up being a success. At least, that’s what the coordinator tells him, because over half of the pets available got adopted in that single afternoon, which seems to be quite the accomplishment. The good news is that even though Jungkook was objectively less than helpful, the coordinator isn’t shouting at him because everything turned out well anyway. So that’s always a plus.

“We’re gonna start packing up, folks,” the coordinator says into her megaphone as the day winds down. “Animals first, equipment second!”

“Jungkook, come over here! Quick!”

For a second, Jungkook thinks you’re in pain, but it’s enough of a second for him to turn to the sound of your voice and dash over, responsibilities (as per usual) forgotten.

And then it turns out that you’re nowhere near injured, or hurt, or anything even resembling endangerment of your wellbeing.

Instead, what he sees is this:

You, waiting in the middle of the park, grass tickling your ankles. You, grinning as you meet his eyes from where he stands a few feet away from you. You, with your t-shirt from the rescue center and plain jeans on.

You, with a kitten in your arms, mewling softly as you stroke its back.

“Are we allowed to adopt now that the fair is over?” Jungkook jokes as he comes over to you. It’s when he’s right by your side that he notices something different about the cat, at the exact same time you point it out—

“She’s only got three-legs!” You say, overwhelmed with affection and completely endeared. “Look at her! She’s only got three legs,” you say, motioning for Jungkook to come closer.

“Do you know what happened?” Jungkook asks, leaning down to hold his fingers out for the kitten to sniff. She does so dutifully, pressing her little pink nose up against Jungkook’s fingertips before deeming him a satisfactory human being. Instinctively, Jungkook begins to rub at her cheek.

“No, only that they found her with something on her leg and it had to be amputated when they brought her to the shelter,” you say, bottom lip coming out in a pout as you look down at her.

Jungkook grins. “What’s her name?”

“Miracle,” you tell him.

Fitting name.

“Isn’t she adorable?” You ask, holding Miracle close to you as she clings to your chest. It’s clear that the both of you have already latched on to each other.

Jungkook nods, because how could he ever disagree? You’re standing in the middle of the local park as the afternoon draws to a close and the evening light sets in. It’s a little chillier now that the sun is going down, but it casts a hazy glow over your surroundings. And you’re just waiting there, a kitten in your hands and a smile on your face, and Jungkook can’t resist.

He can’t resist the way you look, how you could possibly look like this. He can’t resist as he pulls out his phone, not-so-subtly pulling up the camera so he can snap a few quick shots. Because pictures like this deserve to be remembered forever.

You don’t notice until the fifth picture in, when Miracle begins to meow, drawing your attention away from her and up to Jungkook.

“Oh my God, hey!” You shout softly, trying not to frighten Miracle or attract the attention of any of the other volunteers who are very obviously doing more work than you two at the current moment. “How could you snipe me like that? I’ve got cat fur and dog slobber all over me, I probably look like trash.”

“You don’t,” Jungkook insists, but he pulls his phone out of your reach anyway. Just in case. “You look fine.”

“Fine does not equate to picture-worthy,” you hiss, but you’re laughing.

“I’m a photographer, Y/N,” Jungkook says, patting himself on the back. “If I need a work a little magic, then I will.”

You scoff. “Sorry that my sweaty ass isn’t up to par with your Instagram standards,” you joke, making Jungkook chuckle. You put Miracle back into the pen she was waiting in throughout the fair, beginning to wrap up. “But at least you finally have two pictures of the same girl on your Instagram page.”

Jungkook chuckles again, but this one isn’t as real.

He had forgotten about Instagram entirely.

“Jungkook, your fucking phone alarm keeps going off!”

Jungkook’s in the bathroom, halfway through the latest John Mulaney Netflix comedy special, doing his goddamn business.

“It’s for my laundry!” He shouts back. He needs to go and pick it up at the laundromat around the corner before someone steals one sock from every pair and leaves him, hypothetically, sock-less. “Can you just turn it off?”

“Fine!”

Jungkook thinks that’s the end of the conversation, so he unpauses the comedy special and laughs as John Mulaney tells anecdotes about his youth. And then, two seconds later, there’s banging on the bathroom door.

“Jeon Jungkook!” Taehyung shrieks, accompanying every syllable with an equally as impactful thump on the door. “Open this door!”

“I’m on the goddamn toilet!” Jungkook shouts back. What does a locked bathroom door mean to Taehyung? Doesn’t he know what the hell Jungkook’s doing in here? “Give me a second!”

“We have to talk, right now!” Taehyung yells. Their neighbors are probably calling down noise complaints at this very moment.

“What the fuck,” Jungkook mutters, closing out of the Netflix app on his phone and hurrying himself up. He finishes up his goddamn business, laments the cutting short of the comedy special, washes his hands, and opens the door.

The moment it cracks open even a sliver, Taehyung is crashing into the bathroom, holding up Jungkook’s phone like it just murdered his entire nuclear and extended family. Jungkook nearly stumbles back into the shower at the force of everything, before Taehyung dangles his own goddamn phone right in front of his face.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Uh…” Jungkook says, a little frightened and a lot confused, “the time?”

“Not that, you dumbass!” Taehyung says. “Your lockscreen!”

“What about it?” Jungkook asks, desperately trying to scramble for his phone back. And while Taehyung may have the upper hand and the element of surprise, Jungkook is swole and swift, and he manages to rip it out of Taehyung’s grasp before long.

“It’s of Y/N! Are you serious!” In hindsight, maybe Jungkook shouldn’t have taken his phone out of Taehyung’s hands, because now both of them are smacking Jungkook’s shoulders repeatedly like the worst cuckoo clock ever.

Jungkook pushes Taehyung off of him and gains his bearings. “So? We’re dating.”

Fake dating. Minor detail.

“Yeah,” Taehyung says like a popular white girl in a teenage movie. “But you’ve never set a photo of someone as your lockscreen before! Or ever!”

“She’s cute, what do you mean?” Jungkook says defensively. Taehyung is reading way too into this.

Taehyung frowns. “I’ve known you since before we started college, and in that time not once have I ever seen your phone background be of a picture of a girl, or anybody, you were romantically interested in. Ever. I’m pretty sure you’d set your lockscreen as Hyuna before you’d set it to a picture of a girl you like. Let alone one with a three-legged kitten!”

“First of all, I love Hyuna, so fuck you,” Jungkook says pointedly. He’d die for her, full stop. If Hyuna told Jungkook to abandon his twenty-first century life and live as a hermit for the rest of his life, he’d do it without question. “Second of all, is it really that big of a deal? We’re just dating. It seemed like a natural segue.”

“Wow,” Taehyung says, taking another step back from Jungkook. He looks him up and down like a doctor inspecting the body for wounds, hands on his hips. Then he says, “I can’t believe you’re actually starting to fall for somebody.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to tell Taehyung he’s being overdramatic and ridiculous (as he usually is), but something stops him. There’s no way he could be falling for you. Absolutely not. You’re just friends, and after these three months are over you’re just going to go back to being friends. Friends who are, collectively, four hundred dollars wealthier. It seems like a good deal. It’s also fake in every sense of the word.

There’s no way that the feeling are real.

How could they be?

Min Yoongi does not want to make a big deal out of his and Hoseok’s first anniversary. Jung Hoseok wants to hire a plane to write JHS ♡ MYG in the sky.

Naturally, they have a house party.

It’s half an excuse to celebrate the first of what Jungkook is probably correct to assume is many, many more anniversaries, and half an excuse to throw a party that involves alcohol but does not involve frat boys. Which are two criteria that Jungkook heavily considers when figuring out plans for the night.

Because it goes without saying, Jungkook invites you as his plus one. If he didn’t, Taehyung would probably accuse Jungkook of trying to fake date for money (which he obviously isn’t already doing), and then steal his manga collection and sell it on the streets, in that order. These are things that Jungkook definitely does not want. Also, you know Hoseok, which means that by the transitive property in Jungkook’s eighth grade geometry class, you know Yoongi. And that basically rounds out Jungkook’s friend group.

By the time you and Jungkook arrive at Hoseok’s apartment just a couple of blocks off of campus, he can already hear the bass thumping through the floorboards outside. Hoseok and Yoongi have good music taste, for sure, but there is no way either of them would willingly set the volume that high. Which means that—

“Jungkook!” Taehyung shouts, already buzzed, as the two of you step inside Hoseok’s apartment. He wraps an arm around Jungkook’s shoulder, nursing a nearly-empty glass of red wine. Jungkook is right to assume this is definitely not his first glass. Taehyung waves hello to you as well, doing his rounds as per usual, before fluttering off to cling onto someone else.

Hoseok’s house party looks less like a party and more like a house. The lights are dim (courtesy of Yoongi), hors d'oeuvres are set out on the counter island (courtesy of Seokjin), and only their closest friends (plus guests) are here (courtesy of Hoseok). The only thing that might elicit any sort of party vibe is the booming bass that rings throughout the room as music plays from their television (courtesy of, you guessed it, Taehyung).

“Hey, Jungkook!” Hoseok shouts from where he’s lingering around the kitchen island, popping an olive into his mouth. He waves the both of you over to where he and Yoongi are standing, drinking their tasteful wine and eating their tasteful tapas. “You’re the girlfriend, right?” Hoseok asks, pointing to you with a smile.

“That’s me,” you say, nodding. “Hoseok and Yoongi, right? I recognize you from—”

“From the pictures,” Jungkook interjects. You look to Jungkook with a puzzled expression, and he raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes unhelpfully. “I showed some to you, remember?” He says, trying to be natural.

“Oh, yeah,” you say, catching on. Changing the topic, you turn to Hoseok and say, “You direct a dance group, right Hoseok?”

“Yeah! You’ve heard of it?” Hoseok says, eyes lighting up. He’s always happy to talk about the things he loves (dance, chemistry, and Yoongi).

“My friend is in it,” you tell him. “Do you know Chungha?”

“Oh my God, yes!” Hoseok exclaims excitedly. “I think that when I graduate, I’m gonna make her the leader. She’s so talented.”

“Learned from the best,” Yoongi adds in softly, blushing. Hoseok responds by pressing a kiss to Yoongi’s cheek, grabbing another olive to go as he heads off to greet other guests.

With Hoseok out of the picture, Yoongi’s disposition morphs almost instantly. In the blink of an eye, he goes from humbled, in-love boyfriend, to jaded, suspicious college student.

Jungkook opens his mouth to explain to Yoongi before his friend reads him like a board book, but Yoongi beats him to it.

“Let me guess,” Yoongi says, eyes narrowed as he stares the both of you down. Unlike Jungkook, who’s already caving into himself under the weight of Yoongi’s gaze, you’re holding onto his arm firmly, looking at Yoongi with a stern glare. “You asked her to pose as your girlfriend so you can get the cash?”

“Well,” Jungkook says, because technically Yoongi’s wrong. He didn’t ask. You did. And you’re splitting the cash, so that solves that issue. “Not really,” he says, like a kid trying to get out of punishment for something he very clearly did.

Yoongi frowns. He turns to you. “Please tell me that you’re getting compensated for hanging out with my dumbass friend.”

“Hey!” Jungkook cries indignantly.

“Yes,” you assure Yoongi. “I am. But thanks for the concern.” Just then, Hoseok calls you over to introduce you to a couple of his friends from his dance group, and you wave goodbye to Jungkook and Yoongi before scurrying off.

Yoongi looks at Jungkook, and Jungkook feels fucking transparent under his sharp gaze. He grimaces. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?

“Yes,” Jungkook insists, taking some offense to what Yoongi’s insinuating. He’s got everything under control, thank you very much. The guidelines to your arrangement were laid out very clearly in a Google Doc, electronically signed by the both of you. You’re getting along well. Jungkook hopes that you’ll be still friends after all of this is over, because he likes spending time with you. Go figure. “I’m fine, Yoongi. You don’t need to worry.”

Yoongi looks skeptical, but he drops the subject anyway. “If you say so,” he says. “I just don’t want you to expect something you aren’t getting.”

“What do you mean?”

Jimin finds Jungkook, in that instant, and drags him to participate in karaoke with you, him, and Taehyung. As he’s getting pulled away from the conversation. Jungkook looks at Yoongi desperately for a response. Yoongi doesn’t answer.

Two rounds of early 2000’s karaoke and several voice cracks later, you end up next to Jungkook’s side as the party rages around you. Well, not necessarily rages. More like continues.

“What did Yoongi say to you?” You ask, leaning in to whisper into Jungkook’s ear.

“Oh, he was just making sure that I knew what I was doing,” Jungkook says. It’s not not the truth.

“And do you?” You ask, eyebrows raised as you look up at him.

Jungkook falters.

He thinks he does.

“Taehyung, did you drink this whole bottle—god damnit,” Seokjin’s voice echoes throughout the apartment as Taehyung happily bounces out of the kitchen, even more tipsy than he was when he slung his arm around Jungkook as he and you walked into Hoseok’s apartment. He’s not flat out intoxicated yet, but he’s certainly getting there. Hopefully, Jimin has the sense to keep more alcohol out of his hands.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung coos happily as he peppers platonic kisses all over Jungkook’s cheek. This is natural. “Don’t forget about the deal, alright? I still have the four hundred dollars if you manage to date for that long.” He singsongs his words. In Taehyung’s stupor, he seems to have forgotten that you are still standing right next to Jungkook, watching as his best friend plops wet smooches on the side of Jungkook’s face 1) like it’s nobody’s business and 2) like he doesn’t already have a boyfriend he does this regularly with anyway.

Jungkook turns to you, eyes wide, but you pat his shoulder and calm him down.

It’s fine, you mouth to him. I already know.

Obviously, Jungkook’s mind supplies unhelpfully. That’s why you’re here. Because you already know about the deal. And the money. Obviously.

“You know what,” Taehyung says, finger pointed. “I’ve never seen you kiss Y/N,” he continues, and Jungkook already doesn’t like the direction Taehyung’s headed in. “You guys should do it.”

“Should we, though?” Jungkook say, looking hesitant.

“I know you, Jungkook,” Taehyung says accusingly, “I know that you would start fake dating something just so you could get the cash. Prove that you aren’t.”

Jungkook frowns. “You know you actually have no power or right to make us kiss, so—”

Before Jungkook can continue, you flip him around to face you and pull him in close, hands on his neck as you plant your lips on his. Jungkook nearly stumbles back from the shock of it all, but you keep your grip tight and slowly, his hands find his way to to your waist. Distantly, he can register Taehyung (and probably everyone else in the room) shouting, but all he feels is your lips on his and his heart on fire. It’s by no means a super majestic, romantic, movie-worthy kiss, but Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat and he instantly relaxes at your touch, and that’s never happened to him before.

When you part, it feels like Jungkook’s heart is about to beat right out of his chest.

Taehyung seems perfectly satisfied, and has already moved on to pressing up against Jimin in an effort to upstage the both of you. He will definitely succeed in his endeavors, mostly because Taehyung and Jimin are a thing, and Jungkook and you, well.

You turn to Jungkook, cheeks warm from both the rush and the embarrassment, and you grin. Jungkook takes one look at you, and his heart starts to race. He maybe wants to do that again. Actually, he knows that he wants to do that again.

Fuck.

You (3:23PM): hey are you busy rn?

Jungkook (3:23PM): no Jungkook (3:23PM): what’s up?

You (3:23PM): do you wanna go out and get acai bowls? You (3:23PM): i feel like we gotta talk about some stuff

Jungkook (3:24PM): yeah Jungkook (3:24PM): right now?

You (3:24PM): sure You (3:24PM): meet in 15?

Jungkook (3:25PM): okay!

Jungkook is nervous.

Granted, Jungkook gets nervous when he’s spontaneously offered a baby to be held and he doesn’t know what to do because he doesn’t frequently hold babies, but still. He’s nervous.

He’s sitting in the acai bowl place with his hands in his pockets, palms sweating. Logically, he should take his hands out of his pockets to remedy this, but if he does that then he’s just going to rub his sweaty hands through his obnoxiously long hair until you get there, and he doesn’t want to pour his heart out to you with sweaty hair.

So he sits on the high stools by the counters against the windows with sweaty hands and a nervous blink, watching to see when you’ll walk in.

It occurs to him then that if all goes well, you might actually end up holding hands after all of this is over, and for God’s sake he cannot have sweaty hands, so he gets up and grabs about fifteen napkins from the dispenser to the suspicious glare of the underpaid teenage worker behind the cash register, rubbing his palms profusely on them.

It is then, as Jungkook stands looking simultaneously like a fish in water and like he just walked out of middle school PE, that the bell above the door rings and you walk in, hands in the pockets of your hoodie and your backpack resting on your shoulders.

“Hey,” you say softly, standing next to him as you stare up at the menu board. Jungkook’s come here before with you, and he’s already memorized your order.

“Hey,” Jungkook replies, weirdly out of breath.

“What are you getting?” You ask. Jungkook hates how neither of you know how to start the conversation.

“Oh, just, uh, my usual, I guess,” Jungkook says with a shrug. He has been here a total of one other time (with you), and he didn’t really like what he got last time, but now it’s been established as his ‘usual’ and he’s in too deep to change it now.

You end up back where Jungkook was sitting before, next to the giant glass window that overlooks the busy street. Jungkook sets his acai bowl down on the counter, turns to face you, and takes a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“I—”

“I think I like you,” you blurt out first, words tumbling out of your mouth like an avalanche. You’re staring at Jungkook, biting down on your lip nervously, and Jungkook sputters. “I’m just gonna tell you up front. I think I have a crush on you. No, I know that I do.”

“I—” Jungkook says again, floundering. “I don’t—”

“I’m really sorry,” you say, turning back to look at the strawberries in your bowl. “I think it’s been building up slowly for a while, but ever since that night at Hoseok’s house I just… I realized, you know?”

Jungkook’s silent.

“And I knew that I had to tell you because we’ve been really clear about all of the terms of this… agreement and I wasn’t going to hide this from you either,” you’re rambling now, words practically bouncing on top of each other. “I’m really sorry, Jungkook. It’s okay if you’re angry or something, I know that this wasn’t part of the contract because you kind of have to find a new partner since we both made it clear that this relationship wasn’t inherently romantic even though I made it into one anyway. Just say the word and we can call this thing off. I’m sorry.”

You stare down into your acai bowl like it just set the curve for your least favorite class. Jungkook sits there, acai bowl untouched, words processing.

“Do you… want to say anything?” You ask, nervous again.

“Don’t apologize,” Jungkook says. His hands are all sweaty again, but he barely pays them any attention. “I don’t care. Fuck the contract, honestly. It’s a Google Docs.” You’re gazing at him with wide-eyes, shocked that he’s even opened his mouth. “I’m really glad that you and I are doing this together. I probably would have never even met you if it weren’t for you interrupting me and Yoongi at the coffee place.”

You grin.

Jungkook realizes, then, that he’s been waiting too long to do this.

“Honestly, I—” He says before chuckling, sweaty hand scratching at the nape of his neck, “I was gonna tell you something too. But you beat me to it.”

“Hmm?” You ask, looking at him.

“I think I like you, too,” Jungkook says, and his heart seems to finally settle. “No, I know I do. You’re right—it’s been a long time coming, but the party at Hoseok’s just… I realized. I needed you to know that, too. You deserved to know that this is reciprocated.” Jungkook gets a burst of confidence (probably from the cool air that rushes through the room whenever someone opens the door), and takes your hands in his own. They’re sweaty, and Jungkook feels like he just ran a marathon, but it feels almost like they belong. Like this moment was meant to be.

“We may have started this thing because of my dumbass friends, but I want to continue it with you,” Jungkook says. He’s six lectures behind in his differential equations class, he hasn’t done the readings for his Korean-American history course since the beginning of the semester, his diet has mostly consisted of midnight ramen and chocolate chip granola bars, but he has never felt lighter. “I like you a lot, Y/N.”

“Oh, thank God,” you say dramatically, heaving a sigh. “Because I like you a lot, too.”

Naturally, it’s smooth sailing from there. At least one aspect of Jungkook’s life is working out for him. His differential equations lectures, history readings, and diet are still works in progress.

“So, can I delete the Google Drive document?” You ask, pulling out your phone. “I don’t think we need it anymore, do we?”

“Unless you still want to reference it for instructions on how to be a good significant other,” Jungkook jokes. He still hasn’t touched his acai bowl. He definitely needs to come clean and order something else next time. “My standards are pretty high.”

“Hey! I exceed all of those standards on a regular basis, don’t I? I bought you hot chocolate and a croissant that one day. And I’m good with your friends. Isn’t that, like, what all guys want in a relationship?”

Jungkook pouts. It kind of is, but truth be told you exceed his standards just by existing. “No,” he insists. “Sometimes they just want to be little spoon but everybody makes fun of them.”

“Aw, do you want to be little spoon?” You ask, totally endeared. You press a kiss to his cheek and it makes his skin turn cherry red. “You can be little spoon. I think that I’m a great cuddler.”

“We’ll have to test that theory,” Jungkook says with an eyebrow raise.

“Hmm, I like the sound of that,” you say, leaning into him. Jungkook lets his body be enveloped by your warmth, basking in it, before you jump up, something else popping into your head. “Oh! We should probably tell your friends to call off the deal, don’t you think?” You say. “This isn’t really about the money anymore, is it. I’d feel bad.”

Jungkook has half a mind to tell you that Taehyung would probably bathe in one hundred dollar bills if their apartment had a bath, so four hundred dollars is practically pocket change in his eyes, but you’re right. As usual, you’re right. Curse you and your good-hearted nature.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Jungkook concedes easily. You could probably tell him to change his major to English and he would listen to you. “I’ll tell them tomorrow.”

“Oh God, they’re gonna roast us so hard for making a deal,” you say, face-palming. This is true, but Jungkook’s friends will get over it. Jimin’s a hopeless romantic and Taehyung will just be overwhelmingly thrilled that Jungkook actually managed to hold down a relationship.

“They’ll get over it,” Jungkook says. He presses a kiss to your forehead and lets his heart flutter.

“You think anything’s gonna change?” You ask, resting your head on his shoulder.

Jungkook pauses for a second. Wonders if there’s something to fear. And he decides that he couldn’t care less about that. “Even if it does, I don’t care. As long as we’re together.”

“We’ve been summoned,” Taehyung says as he and Jimin arrive at the group study room Jungkook booked specifically for this occasion.

“By who?” Jungkook asks, scrunching up his nose in disgust. “Because it wasn’t me.”

“No, you’re right,” Taehyung says, collapsing on the chair across from Jungkook. “It was this angry gremlin with hair that looks like a wet mop. Let’s see… what what his name again?”

If there wasn’t a massive table separating them, Jungkook would throw hands at this very instant.

“The fact that you called both of us here frightens me greatly,” Jimin says as he takes a seat next to Taehyung, their hands interlacing almost instantly. “Either you’re about to tell us you’re dropping out or that Taehyung’s cheating on me with you.”

Jungkook frowns. “Why the fuck would I ever date Taehyung?”

Taehyung gasps. “What do you mean? I’m a catch. Admit it, Jungkookie, you’d date me in a heartbeat.”

“I would literally rather have Jimin vomit into my own mouth,” Jungkook deadpans. Jimin nearly actually pukes at the mention of such an action, and Jungkook decides that even the pure thought of that makes him want to cannonball into a volcano. “But I’m not cheating on either one of you with the other one, and I’m not about to drop out.”

“Oh, thank God,” Taehyung says dramatically, like he says everything else. “I thought that we would lose our resident Buff Boy who eats all of my leftovers at meals. I was worried there for a second.”

“I hate you,” Jungkook tells Taehyung genuinely.

“If you’re not dropping out, then why did you call us here?” Jimin asks curiously. “To study? Taehyung doesn’t even know where his backpack is.”

“You lost your backpack?” Jungkook says, in awe. He knew Taehyung was careless, but he didn’t think he was that careless. Maybe he really has lost all fucks. Which does not bode well for him, considering he has to write a thesis in order to graduate.

“I just don’t know where it is right now, alright?” Taehyung says, ashamed. He very well should be. What kind of college student loses their backpack? “Why did you ask us here?” He changes the topic so as not to be subject to any more shaming.

“Uh, to talk about the whole deal thing,” Jungkook says awkwardly. He has no idea how he’s going to go about this. He walked into this group study room about as prepared as Taehyung is when he walks into his first round of midterms.

“Ah, yes,” Taehyung nods sneakily. “Honestly, Jungkook, I’m impressed that you and Y/N have even been going on for this long. Does she know about it?”

Jimin smacks Taehyung in the side. “Obviously not, otherwise they wouldn’t still be dating. Have some faith in our Jungkookie for not betraying this deal to her.”

“Actually—”

“Oh, yeah,” Taehyung says with a laugh. “If she knew about this, she’d absolutely break up with you.”

“I’m. Aware.” Jungkook says stiffly.

“You’ve exceeded all expectations, Jungkook,” Taehyung says happily. “You got a girlfriend and you managed to maintain a relationship for nearly three months all without mentioning the deal to her.”

“Your faith in me is overwhelming.” Jungkook frowns.

“We’re very impressed with you, you know? She seems really nice, too. I thought you’d, like, resort to Tinder dates just so you could get the money,” Jimin adds on.

“Oh, speaking of money, since Jungkook’s doing such a good job, how about we…” Taehyung pauses for dramatic effect, which is something he does so frequently that it just makes every one of his sentences overdramatic, “raise the stakes?” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows just as an add-on to the proposition.

“Seriously, Tae? Don’t waste your money on something like this—”

“But you’re doing so well! Why wouldn’t you want more money?”

The nagging college student part of his brain tells him to just cave and accept the money, because a higher payment means more money for the both of you, which is… tempting. Jungkook is, still at heart, a desperate and money-starved college student.

But he knows he can’t. Not because it would be a waste of Taehyung’s resources, but because neither of you need the money anymore. What for? You’re already dating.

“Because—”

“Even I would accept it, and I’m an international student,” Taehyung says with a laugh. “Y/N doesn’t even need to know!”

Something in Jungkook snaps.

“You know what, you guys?” Jungkook says, standing up from his seat angrily, hands slamming onto the table. “No. I don’t want your money, and I don’t want you guys to raise the stakes or whatever. This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be paid to date someone.”

“But what does it matter if she doesn’t know?” Taehyung asks, a single eyebrow raised in confusion.

“It matters because I care about her! For fuck’s sake, that’s why it matters,” Jungkook says, running a hand through his hair out of exasperation. “It matters because it’s about the principle. I care about her, and I don’t need any sort of incentive to date her. I just want to.”

“But—” Taehyung says again.

“She knows, you dumbass!” Jungkook shouts. “She’s well aware that there was money on the line. We started dating because we came up with this—this agreement to split the money once the three months were over. But then we both realized we actually wanted to date each other for, you know, an actual relationship, and we decided to get rid of the deal. Which is why I called you guys over here. To tell you that I don’t wanna do it anymore. I’m out.”

“Seriously, Jungkook?” Jimin says. “You started fake-dating someone for money and then you fell for her?”

“She is really nice,” Jungkook insists. “You said it yourself, Jimin. I care about her.”

“Wow,” Taehyung says, speechless, for once in his life. “I never knew you actually went through with all of this. I didn’t even think you’d manage to do it at all. You had me fooled.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with a sigh. “Me too. The fact that you guys even thought this deal was a good idea at the time is just… it’s ridiculous. I was dumb, too, for accepting it. But I don’t wanna do it anymore.”

“Okay,” Taehyung says with a simple nod. He’s holding Jimin’s hand, which means all this talk about romance and dating is making him sappy. “We don’t have to do it anymore. I’m sorry for being so obnoxious about it. We’ll call it off.”

Jimin raises his hand, almost like he’s scared to say something. “I know we’re calling this off, but since Y/N knows about this whole deal in the first place, I feel like we should do something to make it up to her. You know, because she got roped into this thing.”

“I think that’ll be nice. Something meaningful, too. Not just money,” Taehyung adds.

Jungkook grins. He knows exactly what to get.

When Jungkook knocks on your door the next afternoon, he can barely hold his grin in.

“Jungkook?” You say when you open the door to see him, holding a nicely-wrapped but suspicious-looking box in both of his hands.

“Hi, Y/N,” Jungkook says happily.

“I don’t like that look on your face,” you immediately say as you usher him inside. “You’re scaring me. You text me are you at your place rn? and when I say yes, I receive no further information.”

Jungkook just smiles. “I have a present for you.”

“I can see that. Can I ask why?”

“Because you’re my girlfriend.”

You squint your eyes. “Is that a good enough reason?”

“I think so. It’s also from Taehyung and Jimin, but don’t give them most of the credit. It’s mine. I got this for you. Because you are my girlfriend and I am your boyfriend.”

“O...kay,” you say hesitantly, hands held out as Jungkook places the box in your palms. You sink under its weight, clearly surprised at how heavy it is for a simple box. “If this is a prank, I’m breaking up with you.”

“Please don’t break up with me. I think I might love you,” Jungkook says, smile so wide it’s beginning to hurt his cheeks.

You pause, hand on the top of the box about to open it, and look up at him. Your face is impossibly soft, and Jungkook wishes that you could stay like that for longer, just so he can etch it into his memory. Remember it when he’s sad. “You think you might love me?”

“I think so,” Jungkook says honestly, because it’s true. He’s not sure yet, but he knows he’s on his way. “I think I do.”

“I—” You say, soft grin lacing your features. “I think so, too.”

“Open it!” Jungkook insists, giving your wrist a squeeze as encouragement. “I promise it’s not a prank. But even if it was, please don’t break up with me.”

“You are never this happy, which makes me exceedingly stressed,” you say, hands tentatively beginning to take the lid off of the box. “Why are there holes in the side of this thing? Is something about to squirt out at me?”

“No,” Jungkook says. “It’s nice, I swear.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“You’re my girlfriend,” Jungkook says. “You deserve it. You wanted it, too. I got exactly what you wanted.”

Before you even have the lid off of the box, you hear a sound.

Meow.

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #bts fake dating au #w: the coffee shop contract

5K notes · View notes

toomanystoriessolittletime · 4 years

Text

Sugar Bunny 2/3

Summary: Meeting August Walker, CEO one of the most successfull real estate agencys in the states in a coffee shop of all places, turned into one of the best things that could have happened to you. You became his sugar bunny and against all your willpower you fell in love with him. Oh if only everything would be so easy, and if only August was really only a CEO of a company…

Pairing: August Walker / Reader

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings: Smut (dirty talk; unprotected sex, anal play), Angst

Masterlist

previous chapter

2 years later

“August we can’t. It’s my first day at the new job.” You wiggled out of his arms.

A lot had changed in the last couple of years. He still was your sugar daddy and took care of you, but he was around more often and this unspoken affection had grown between you two.

“I only need 15 minutes.” He hummed as you finally sat on the bed. Looking over your shoulder you saw him pouting at you. The soft sunrise diving his handsome face in pink light.

“You never need only 15 minutes.” You winked at him, getting up from the bed.

“And this is your office. Since our leading interior designer is about to leave the company, you will spend most of your time with her in here.” Robert from HR explained to you.

Sitting down at your new desk you smiled.

“Thank you so much. I’m gonna get settled in.”

“You’re welcome. If you have any questions just drop me a message.”

“Will do.”

He was about to walk out when he turned around again.

“Oh, before I forget, Boss wants to see you.”

Looking up, you nodded and when Robert was out, you dialed August’ number.

“Hey Bunny.” His deep voice welcomed you.

“Hey. Do you have any idea why the boss wants to see me?” You asked.

“Well he didn’t get the blowjob he wanted this morning…”

“You’re unbelievable.” You huffed, rolling your eyes.

“Stop rolling your eyes or I will make sure you remember what the consequences are.” He growled.

“Yes, Sir.” You whispered back.

“Good girl. Well, come see me when you have time. I’d like to take you to one of the estates we are going to sell in the next few weeks.”

“Only me?”

“Only you. You are going to be the new leading interior designer. Have to get to know you better, don’t you think?”

“I think you probably know me very well already.” You grinned. “When are you leaving for New York?”

“After dinner. Be in my office in an hour so we can leave?”

“First day, and already taking time off.”

“You’re with the boss. You have to be a good girl for him or he will be disappointed.” You could see August’ grin in front of you.

“Well then boss. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“This is breathtaking.” You said in awe, leaning with your back against August’s chest as you stood at the balcony of the master bedroom. You could overlook the whole estate, even the small lake.

“It should be. It’s around 15 million.” August said. His arms crossed in front of you, his nose in your hair. “How would you change it?” He asked.

“I would tear down all the walls downstairs, make it more open. Only the most expensive materials, marble or hardwood floors. I have to see the floor plan first.”

“Sounds good. Do it.”

“What?” You turned in his arms.

“Take this as your first project. The house should be sold by the end of the year, so you have around 2 months before we have to put it on the market.”

“You’re serious?”

“Of course I am. I trust you.” He said.

“You do?”

“Bunny…” He smiled, one of his hands brushing your cheek.

“You have no idea what you mean to me.” August leaned down, kissing you softly at first, but it grew more demanding until both of you had to part for some air. “Take your clothes off.” He whispered.

Without arguing, you pushed your skirt down and pulled off your top, leaving you in only the white sheer underwear he had seen you put on this morning. He pulled his shirt off.

“I want you to ride me…” He hummed, pulling his pants down. “Right here.”

He sat down on the balcony, reaching for your hands. Sucking your bottom lip in, you smiled, taking his hand.

“But first lemme get a taste.”

He leaned back, motioned for you to stand over his head. He kissed up your thighs and the thin lace over your pussy. Looking down you saw him look up at you, as you felt his fingers pulling your panties down. As you stepped out of it, he grinned up at you, his eyes on you as his skilled tongue got to work. Your hands flew into this soft hair, holding on as he ate you out. You noticed that he loved to be in charge, but sometimes… Sometimes August Walker wanted to just please you.

“Tell me what you want bunny?” He whispered.

“I…” You sighed. “I want to cum on your tongue. And…”

“And?”

“And I want your finger in….” You bit your lip and felt him smirk against you, one of his hands sneaking up your ass, one of his fingers massaging your other hole.

“You want my finger in your ass, bunny?” He asked. You nodded, moaning when his finger slowly pushed in.

“Oh my god….” You whimpered. His lips closed around your clit, sucking. He knew exactly what he had to do to make you fall apart.

“Yes… Just like that…” You moaned looking into his eyes. His finger pushed deeper and that was your undoing. With a cry of his name you came, holding on to him, struggling to keep yourself standing.

“What a cute little bunny you are…” He hummed. His tongue licking up your juices, until you felt him pull you down to straddle his lap. You were still in your high, barely aware of how painfully hard he must have been, when he made you sit down on his cock, earning a cry from your lips.

“Fuck. So wet.” He groaned, while you fell down on top of him.

“Fuck me August.” You whispered against his ear, your arms crossing behind his neck. You felt his hands on your ass as he began to thrust into you.

“You have to come to visit me in New York next weekend…” He groaned, thrusting faster. You nodded, not even arguing.

“I want you to be mine.” He growled, slapping your ass.

“I am yours.” You whimpered. One of his hands spread your cheeks, one of his fingers pushing into your ass as his thrusts got harder.

“Fuck.” You moaned. With all strength you pulled your head up so you could look at him.

“Harder.” You pleaded. Kissing him he swallowed your moans, pumping into you like a machine while his finger was buried deep in your ass.

“I’m gonna….” You sighed, leaning your forehead against his as your orgasam took your body over, melting into August.

He followed you only seconds later, buried deep inside of you as he spilled his seed. You looked at him, the words I love you on the tip of your tongue, instead you kissed him, before you could say them.

“You’re so fucking perfect. More than I ever dreamed of.” He whispered against your lips.

Almost two months had gone by since the day he first showed you this house. He was stunned with your plans and gave you his okay to do whatever you wanted. He had been gone for almost a month, but would be back this evening.

“What are you doing?” He asked. He was on the phone while you were about to open the house for the last inspection. You wanted it to be perfect when you showed the end product August tomorrow.

“Just checking the house so it’s ready for you tomorrow.” You smiled.

“I saw the pictures, it’s gorgeous.” He said.

“You only say that because you want to get into my panties.”

“Is it working?”

“Hmm… I bet it would be if I would be wearing some.” You grinned, hearing him curse.

“You’re picking me up from the airport, so I can fuck you on the side of the road?”

“Sounds perfect.” You said, moving deeper into the house and frowning as you heard voices. “August, I think someone’s here. I didn’t see a car or anything…”

“What? Get out of there.” He said. Looking around she could see guns stored around the room.

“There are guns all around here. August, I…”

“Get out of there, bunny. I’m gonna send someone.”

You could hear him talking to someone on the plane as you were about to turn around, you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“And who do we have here?” A man asked and you screamed, letting your phone fall to the ground.

Tied up to a chair, you didn’t know how much time had passed until you woke up. You didn’t know what had happened. You only knew that your head hurt, and that August would have to explain a whole fucking lot.

One of the guys joked about Walker now sending whores to secure a deal. He had slapped you across the face when you had dared to ask if they were talking about August Walker.

“Who else did you think we’re talking about, slut. He’s our biggest business partner.”

You jumped when the door was shut with a bang. Looking up you could see a furious August walk in.

“What the fuck is going on in here?” He asked looking around the room, until he found your eyes.

“We got your whore. Not sure what to do with her. She seems a little feisty.”

“Did you lay a hand on her?” He asked, already walking over to you.

“No boss.” One of the guys said. August kneeled down in front of you, his fingers tilting your chin up. You turned your head away from him, too angry to look at him.

“Did they hurt you?” He asked quietly.

“Take these handcuffs off of me.” You whispered, feeling hurt and cheated. The gentleness of how his fingers opened the fetter, nearly brought tears to your eyes.

“Are you okay bunny?” He asked, when he freed you. Finally you looked at him, your eyes hard.

“Fuck you, August.” You growled quietly before you pushed yourself up and pushed him away. You weren’t even out of the door, when you felt his hand on your wrist. Turning around you slapped his cheek, catching him by surprise.

“You lied to me. From the beginning. What are you? A mob boss?” You asked, tears running down your cheeks.

“I can explain…” He said, taking a step towards you. You took a step back.

“What can you explain? The weapons? Your employees assuming you send me as a whore?” You screamed and he looked at you like you had slapped him again.

“I’m….” He began. You shook your head.

“You should have told me from the beginning.” You looked up at him. “Because I desperately searched for a reason not to fall in love with you, and that would have helped.” Silent tears ran over your cheek.

“Bunny…” He pleaded.

“I’ll grab my stuff when you’re gone for Europe next week.” You said, looking up at him. Unshed tears were in his eyes.

“If you just would have to be honest with me…” You shook your head, looking for one last time at him, before you turned around and went to your car.

He had called you hundreds of times in the next few days. You had ignored him every single time. After a couple of days the tears had stopped. You had put the last of your cash in a hotel room and you hadn’t left it. Until today. You knew August would be away, because there was a meeting with a company in Madrid he couldn’t miss.

Opening the door of the place you had called home for the last years you felt like crying again. Everything seemed to be the same. But it wasn’t. Walking in you saw the flowers on the kitchen counter. A huge arrangement of sunflowers. Your favorites.

Sitting down in front of it you sighed. He really had been too perfect to be true. Grabbing the letter that was propped up in front of the flowers, you let your thumb brush over the envelope that only read your name.

Bunny,

I should have told you. I know I should have, but I’m a coward. I didn’t want to lose the best thing that ever happened to me. You are not only beautiful, you are the most intelligent and caring woman I have ever met. You are only 24 years old and you are so much more grown up than I ever will be.

I am no mob boss. I started out with a dream. And when the dream came true I wanted more. More money. More power. More… I don’t even know.

But then I met you. You are so much better than I ever could be. And that’s why I have to let you go.

This penthouse is officially yours, and I signed over all the company rights to you. You are now the CEO of Walker Real Estates.

I tried to reach you, to tell you this in person, but you didn’t pick up the phone. I probably wouldn’t have either. I was working with the FBI for a long time to give them the real mastermind behind every weapon deal in the States. For my help I will only have to serve 10 years in prison, instead of a lifetime.

Just do me one favor. Be happy. You will never have to think about money ever again. That’s the least I could do for you.

I never told you that, at least not when you were awake, but…. I love you, bunny. And I always will.

I hope one day you can forgive me

August

Even after reading the letter three times, seeing the contracts and reading your name in them you still couldn’t believe it.

Looking up at the sunflowers, you sobbed.

You fell asleep in the middle of the king size bed you shared with August, hugging his favorite sweater.

#fanfiction #fanfic #august walker #august walker x reader #henry cavill #august walker smut #august walker au #sugar daddy august walker

220 notes · View notes

yoon-bug · 4 years

Text

The IKEA Test (M) | KSJ

pairing: seokjin x reader

genre: established relationship au || smut, fluff

word count: 9.1k

summary: One review on IKEA’s website called the BRIMNES bed frame the leading cause of divorce due to its difficult assembly. You and Seokjin had laughed when you read it. Now, you weren’t so sure.

warnings: dom!seokjin, sub!reader, sir kink, use of slut/whore, dirty talk, spanking, but spanking with a belt 😳, impact play, oral (f receiving), orgasm control, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, fingering, unprotected sex, hair pulling, IKEA-induced frustration, non-sexual talk of pegs and holes, seokjin ultimately being Best Boyfriend Material™

notes: inspired by how I’ve never felt more grateful to be single than when I had to assemble some IKEA furniture. I promise I’m not getting commission from IKEA for product placement.

When you had told Hoseok that you wouldn’t be able to hang out this weekend because you and Seokjin had plans to assemble your new bed frame, he had laughed at you and said that it was nice to have known the pair of you as a couple.

You had taken his joke in stride and laughed with him, knowing that for any couple to truly go the distance, they would need to pass the IKEA test: make it through an IKEA store and assemble an IKEA product without breaking up.

You and Seokjin had passed the first part of the IKEA test with flying colors. You both had easily agreed to purchase the BRIMNES storage bed, liking how the drawers underneath the bed would help you maximize the space in your bedroom. Although, your easy decision might have more to do with the fact that you had simply ordered your bed frame online rather than spending a whole afternoon in IKEA.

All that was left was for you to actually assemble the bed frame. Surely the two of you could do that.

Or so you had thought.

But now, you were only moments away from ripping up the all but useless instructions to shreds before doing the same to your boyfriend.

“Why are you working on the drawers?” you asked through clenched teeth, the instruction booklet crinkling in your hands as your grip on it grew even tighter. “That’s the literal last step!”

“I think the last step is to break this bed in properly,” Seokjin teased.

“There’s not going to be a bed to break in if we don’t follow the instructions,” you snapped, your frustration growing when he only shrugged. “We’re supposed to start with the bed rails.”

He nodded his head in that wishy-washy way that drove you crazy, the way that said you might be right but that ultimately it didn’t matter.

“We’re gonna have to put the drawers together eventually. Might as well just do it now. And it’s so much easier than dealing with all of this.” He gestured to the stacks of wood laid on the floor around your bedroom.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. You then forced yourself to loosen your grip on the instructions.

Earlier, the two of you had just barely managed to avoid an argument when you had insisted on counting and sorting all of the screws, bolts, and pegs before starting to actually assemble anything over Seokjin’s objections that you could just do so as you went. Disagreeing with him about the drawers would only heighten tensions even further.

It was just a bed frame. No need to start a fight over a bed frame.

“Fine,” you agreed stiffly and as much as it pained you, you flipped to the last pages of the instruction booklet.

But as you started to read through the instructions for the drawers — or rather look at the pictures of instructions since there were no words — Seokjin continued to move ahead and try to assemble them without waiting for you to finish doing so.

“Can you just wait until I finish reading the instructions?” you asked, but your tone had it coming out as a demand rather than a question. Hearing how it sounded, you tacked on a quick, “Please.”

He looked up at you with a raised eyebrow at how forced your “please” was and you gave him a tight smile in return.

“Why don’t you read the instructions and then tell me what to do,” he suggested. “I know how much you love to do that.”

His own eyes widened at the passive-aggressive remark that had slipped out and he paused his attempt to shove a wooden peg into one of the holes to look at you nervously. It seemed both of you realized that you were coming close to failing the IKEA test and you hadn’t even started to assemble the bulk of the bed frame.

Trying to push through the awkward tension, you cleared your throat and set down the instructions in front of you. You then reached for a drawer front and its corresponding bolts that needed to be inserted into the holes on the back. Following your lead, he returned to his own drawer.

“Why did we have to get such a difficult bed anyway? There are so many pieces,” he whined.

“Well, it’s too late to do anything about it now,” you sighed, internally agreeing with him. If you had known it would be so complicated, you might have just settled for a regular bed frame and put plastic storage bins underneath it.

As you stuck the final bolt into the back of the drawer face, you let yourself revel in the accomplishment you felt from completing such a small task. With so much still left ahead of you, every win mattered.

You glanced over at Seokjin as you leaned forward to grab the drawer’s side panel from the pile in front of you and froze when you saw him trying to shove a peg into the hole where the bolt belonged.

“Stop. You’re putting a peg into a screw hole,” you told him, reaching out to correct him only for him to move the drawer face away from your grasp.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he grinned, but otherwise ignored you as he continued to try and push the small wooden piece into the wrong hole.

“I’m serious. You’re gonna break something,” you said, but it only seemed to urge him on.

“What am I gonna break? The hole?” he scoffed and you grabbed the instructions to show him the diagram, pointing to where the drawing clearly showed a bolt was supposed to go into the hole where he was currently trying to shove the peg.

“Just look!”

With a roll of his eyes so exaggerated that you were surprised they didn’t fall out of his head, he finally looked at the page in front of him, continuing to mindlessly try and insert the peg into the hole as he did so. His brow furrowed as he looked over the diagram and you could see the realization dawn on him that you were right.

“Oh.”

Unfortunately, just as he saw that he was doing it incorrectly, the peg finally slipped into the hole.

“Shit,” he muttered. He quickly tried to remove it, only to find that it was stuck.

“Seokjin!” you cried and it took every ounce of self-control to keep yourself from wadding up the instructions and throwing them (along with the drawer face in front of you) at his head.

“It’s fine. It’s fine,” he assured you, his voice tense as he continued to unsuccessfully pull on the peg. Clearly, things were not fine.

“It’s not fine! We can’t just buy a replacement part if you break the drawer!” you snapped. He grumbled something under his breath and you decided it was easier to ignore it altogether. You stood up and walked over to the toolbox that was sitting on your dresser, rifling through it until you found the pliers you were looking for.

“Here,” you said, your tone icy as you thrust them out for him to take. “Use these.”

“I don’t need pliers,” he waved you off and your grip on them grew tighter. He stubbornly continued to tug on the peg, now trying to twist it and hope it would loosen. “Don’t worry. You know that I’m an expert at pulling out.”

His playful words were undercut by both the frustration on his face and the way he let go of the peg to run an aggravated hand through his shaggy hair.

“Can’t you ever take anything seriously?” you asked, your voice rising in volume and your patience on the verge of snapping.

“Can’t you stop taking everything seriously?” he bit back, his own patience seeming to run almost as thin. “It’s just a fucking bed frame.”

“Exactly. It’s just a bed frame and I can’t even trust you to do that.” You crossed your arms over your chest in displeasure. “I didn’t sign up to be your nanny.”

“Are you sure about that? Because you seem to really get off on being so controlling.” Your jaw dropped at the insult. “I mean, can you stop being so uptight for five minutes or will you collapse the moment you pull that stick out of your ass?”

Your grip on the pliers still in your hand was now so tight that your fingers were starting to hurt.

“Oh, I’m sorry—” you began with narrowed eyes, only to be cut off when he gave a dramatic gasp.

“You know how to say sorry?!”

“—I’m sorry that I’m too busy being the only adult in the relationship to have any sort of fun,” you continued, raising your voice to be heard over him. “If it wasn’t for that stick up my ass, then there would be no one to make sure that our rent wasn’t late or that our bills were getting paid or that we weren’t investing our money in some multi-level marketing scheme!”

“Hey! How was I supposed to know that Complete Citchen Classics wasn’t a legitimate company?” he asked, acting like you had taken a low blow.

You tossed your hands up in exasperation.

“Fucking Google! That’s how you were supposed to know. Or maybe it’s that they spelled ‘kitchen’ with a ‘c’!”

Pride seemingly wounded from being reminded of how easily he had almost been conned, he went back to forcefully trying to pull out the peg with a scowl.

“Will you just use the pliers?!” you shouted, shaking them furiously in your hand.

“I don’t need — Oh. Oops.”

His eyes moved back and forth from the broken wooden piece in his fingers to the hole where the other half of the broken piece was still stuck — only now there was no longer anything sticking out for you to get a grip on to remove the piece.

It was strange. It was like all of your emotions and frustrations had melted away into pure white. You had never felt this sense of calm before. But as you watched him try to use his nails to pull what was left of the wooden piece from the hole, you realized that it wasn’t calmness.

It was anger so intense that it eclipsed even your own ability to comprehend it.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!" you yelled.

He at least had the decency to look embarrassed, but it did little to soothe your temper. In fact, you felt like if you were in the same room as him any longer then you might have an aneurysm.

“For fuck’s sake, I should have just assembled it myself!” you snapped as you stormed out of the bedroom, throwing the pliers back in the toolbox as you passed it.

The empty IKEA boxes in the living room only stoked your furor the second you caught sight of them. You hurried out of the apartment, grabbing your purse and keys as you went before slamming the door behind you as loudly as you could.

You ended up at your neighborhood movie theatre, mindlessly scrolling through the automated kiosk in front of you to find the movie with the longest running time. You sighed in relief when you saw that there was one that was almost three hours long. From the picture of the movie poster on the screen, it seemed to be some sort of action epic.

Perfect. Maybe watching a bunch of cars and planes exploding for the next three hours would be the perfect outlet for your anger. Satisfied with your decision, you bought a ticket for the showing that was about to start.

You paused as you began to put away your credit card. After a moment, you bought a second ticket for the next showing as well. Six hours of some dumb action movie should be enough to get Seokjin’s idiocy off your mind.

That and the largest tub of popcorn they sold at the concessions stand. You frowned at the long line, knowing you would miss the beginning of the movie, before realizing that you would just catch it during the second showing.

When you finally did quietly slip into the theatre and your seat, you almost immediately found yourself grateful for the mindlessness of the plot. It fully satisfied your need for something that didn’t require you to think any deeper than wondering how the nameless hero would escape capture yet again.

And when the film ended and the next showing began, the thin plot allowed you the opportunity to reflect back on your argument with Seokjin with a cooler head.

It was rare for the two of you to fight, although that was more due to his easygoing nature rather than how harmonious you were as a couple.

You knew you were difficult to be in a relationship with. You were as strong-willed and assertive in your personal life as you were in your professional life. And while your ambitious nature and need for perfection had led to you graduating law school at the top of your class and now one of the leading junior associates at your law firm, it hadn’t been great for your past relationships.

Your exes tended to share the same reasons for why they were breaking up with you: you were too high-strung, you didn’t know how to let loose, you obsessed over every little thing.

Which was why when Seokjin came along, you were surprised by just how well the two of you seemed to fit. He was your exact opposite, but that was what seemed to work.

He was almost never bothered by all the things about you that had driven away other men. When you were too serious, he would crack a cheesy joke. When you needed something to be done a certain way, he let you do it. When you grew frustrated, he was there to calm you.

As you continued down this train of thought, you could feel guilt to bubble up in the pit of your stomach. For all of the times that he had accommodated your demands, could you say the same about yourself? How often were you the one willing to compromise?

Would it really have killed you to just have been more patient with Seokjin, to have tried to explain things more calmly? You ignored the petty voice in the back of your head screaming “yes”. While you still thought that you were right about how to assemble the bed, there had been no need to lose your temper. He was right; it was just a bed frame.

Your thoughts turned to what he could have done once you stormed out. Was he pissed at you? Was he going to try and put the bed together on his own to spite you? Was he happy you were gone? Was he finally starting to rethink whether he could handle spending the rest of his life with someone so controlling?

Your sense of guilt only grew when you came to the conclusion that none of those hypotheticals were probably true. He was probably waiting patiently at home for you and would reassure you that things were fine the moment you stepped through the door. The thought made your heart ache. You didn’t deserve him.

But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t try and hang onto him.

By the time the end credits began to roll, you decided that you were ready to return home with your tail tucked beneath your legs. And if you decided to stop on the way home and pick up dinner from Seokjin’s favorite restaurant to help sweeten your apology then who could blame you.

As you inserted your keys into the lock of the front door, you couldn’t help but think that even the sound of the lock turning was remorseful to your ears. Your guilty conscience was really eating away at you. But as you opened the door and entered the apartment, you froze in shock.

The living room that had been filled with IKEA boxes when you left was now surprisingly empty. It was as spotless as it had been before the bed frame from hell had arrived. It was amazing what just that alone did for easing your anxiety about your fight with Seokjin.

Shaking away your awe, you entered the apartment and softly shut the door behind you. You were slipping off your shoes and hanging up your purse when you noticed something else that was missing — your boyfriend. You set the bag of takeaway on the kitchen counter and that’s when you heard the faint sound of him humming coming from further into the apartment.

Slowly, you made your way towards the bedroom and once you were standing in the open doorway, you gasped in surprise at the sight before you.

Where you had left stacks of wooden furniture pieces and piles of screws and bolts around the room, there was now a fully-assembled bed frame, complete with the mattress placed on top and an almost perfectly made bed as Seokjin placed the final remaining pillow at the head of it.

He looked over his shoulder at the sound of your gasp and gave you an unbothered smile.

“Hey, you’re back,” he greeted as he gave the duvet one last tug to straighten it before standing fully and placing his hands on his waist, looking at the sight of the fully-assembled bed frame and perfectly made bed with pride.

“The bed…” you trailed off, walking towards him to stand at his side.

“Yeah! It looks great, doesn’t it?”

You could only nod dumbly, your mouth still hanging open slightly in disbelief.

“But…the drawer front? The broken peg?”

He turned to you with a mischievous grin before reaching out to grab onto your hips and tug you close. Your hands instinctively came up to rest on his biceps as you continued to stare in wonder at the bed.

“Well, you see, I happen to have this really, really smart girlfriend and she suggested a pair of pliers. It took some digging, but I was able to pull out the peg.” You turned your head away from the bed to look up at him with an amused smile. “In fact, she’s so smart she made us count out all the pieces beforehand so that we knew there were a couple of extra pegs.”

You giggled softly.

“Wow, she sounds like a real catch,” you teased in return and his grin grew wider.

“Oh, you can’t even imagine.”

You shook your head in disbelief before smiling back at him, your affection for him written clearly across your features.

“I can’t believe you put this whole thing together by yourself,” you said and he threw his head back with a characteristically loud laugh.

“Oh, I didn’t,” he finally replied, the humor still present in his voice, and your brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Huh?”

“I just hired someone from TaskRabbit to do it for us. We should have just done that from the beginning,” he told you and this time it was your turn to laugh.

You were sure there were stars in your eyes as you looked up at him, there always were when he managed to take you by surprise. You brought your hand up to fondly brush his hair from his forehead.

“Who knew my boyfriend was so smart?” you grinned and he laughed in return.

“Shh. Don’t tell anyone. It’s our secret,” he whispered.

He then leaned forward to give you a gentle kiss and you smiled against his lips. But when he pulled back, your small smile turned slightly sad as you thought back on the things you had said to him in the heat of the moment and how, even despite your argument, Seokjin had welcomed you back home with open arms and his usual smile.

“I’m sorry for getting so mad,” you said. “You were right. It was just a bed frame. There was no need to lose my temper.”

“I’m sorry, too. I should have listened to you.”

You gave him a small shake of your head, wordlessly assuring him that it was fine.

“I need to stop obsessing over every little thing,” you sighed. “I need to let things go.”

But then he reminded you all over again why you loved him when he just shrugged with a good-natured smile.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. You can obsess over the little things. That’s who you are.”

“But you—”

“And I’ll get over it because that’s who I am,” he interrupted and you felt your heart bursting with love for him at his words. His expression then turned slightly more serious, wanting you to know he was sincere in what he said next.

“What you think of as ‘obsessing over the little things,’ I just see as part of how driven you are. I love that you don’t settle for taking shortcuts and or letting things that are done half-assed slide,” he explained. “I love it because I’m the opposite. I love that being around you means that I can be who I am because you’re always there to make sure that we do better when we’re together.”

His words meant so much to you that you could feel the way your eyes were prickling with the threat of tears. Always observant, he gave you a sweet kiss before any tears could fully form. When he pulled away, the smile you loved so much was on his lips.

“If all of that means we have a fight when we’re doing what must literally be the most frustrating task on the planet, then I think it’s worth it.”

You raked your fingers through his hair lovingly. You really had found not just the perfect man, but the perfect man for you.

“I love you,” you said and he smiled at you.

“I love you, too,” he replied before bringing his plush lips down to meet yours. He then tugged you even closer as you buried your hands deeply into his soft hair. The kiss grew more heated as he parted your lips with his tongue to slide against yours, causing you to moan softly into his mouth.

You were so lost in his soft lips that you almost missed the way his hand was snaking up your body to gently but firmly wrap his fingers around your throat — almost. He broke the kiss and his hold on you kept you from instinctively trying to close the gap.

When your eyelids fluttered open, you couldn’t help but rub your legs together at the look on his face. Gone was your playful and always understanding boyfriend. In his place was a man who expected absolute submission and had zero patience for any form of disobedience.

“I know you’re sorry,” he started, his voice low and you were sure that your pupils must have been blown wide with how turned on you already were. “But you know that I can’t let you get away with talking to me like that in here, baby girl.”

“Yes, sir,” you breathed out. When he gave your throat a slow squeeze, you let out a small whimper.

“What’s your safeword, baby?” he asked and the question alone had you ready to cream your underwear. If you didn’t know where this night was going before, you sure did now.

“Strawberry,” you whispered and he gave you an approving smile.

“Good girl,” he said and just that simple praise over something so small was enough to have your chest swelling with pride. But any remaining trace of gentleness on his features quickly disappeared along with his next words. “Strip.”

He stepped back from you to watch and you made quick work of pulling off your shirt, your bra not far behind. Your jeans and underwear joined the small pile of clothing off to the side so that you were standing completely bare in front of him. You clasped your hands behind your back and dropped your chin to your chest, your stance radiating the submission that Seokjin expected in the bedroom.

You could feel his eyes raking over your nude figure and you quickly snuffed out the urge to lift your gaze to meet his. Doing so would break one of his rules and when it came to the bedroom, you followed his every order — without question.

The silence between you stretched on as he continued to look at you without making a move. Every second that passed had the wetness between your legs growing to the point that you were sure your inner thighs would be shining when you finally parted them. Your nipples had hardened from a combination of the room’s cool temperature and the way Seokjin was staring at you.

Fuck. You were so turned on and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

“Turn around,” he ordered. “Hands on the bed.”

You immediately did as you were told. You turned your back to him and leaned forward to place your hands on the mattress. Even through the haze of your arousal, you couldn’t help but note how good the new bed frame looked. You would have to make sure to tell Seokjin.

Of course, now was not the time to do so. You were brought fully back to the moment when you heard him slowly approaching you. You were sure you made quite the sight for him with the way your back arched, presenting your ass to him perfectly.

His footsteps came to a stop right behind you. Your fingers gripped onto the duvet tightly in anticipation of his next move. After what felt like an eternity, but couldn’t have been longer than a minute, you heard him shifting. It took every ounce of your self-control to keep from glancing over your shoulder to see what he was doing. You couldn’t help but slightly jump when you felt him finally drag a fingertip down the back of your thigh and you realized that he had knelt down behind you. He let out a dark chuckle at your reaction.

“Open.”

You followed his one-word command and widened your stance, exposing your pussy to him fully. From the sudden chill on your inner thighs, you knew that your earlier assumption about how wet you were was correct. And it was something that Seokjin easily caught now that he was eye-level with your most intimate parts.

“Damn, you’re dripping already,” he remarked and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “I’ve barely even laid a finger on you and you’re already this wet.”

Suddenly, his thumbs were on either side of your folds and spreading them apart to give him an even better view of your wetness straight from the source.

“I wonder what they would say,” he mused, his tone so casual that it was like you were having a discussion over Sunday brunch and he wasn’t only a foot away from having his face buried in your pussy.

“All those men who get so scared of you in the courtroom, all those men at your law firm, all those men who were too insecure to be in a relationship with you. What would they say if they could see you like this — bent over and begging to take your punishment?”

Your breathing sped up and your walls fluttered around nothing at his words and from his chuckle, neither escaped him. The small puff of air he let out hit your slick folds and you bit back a gasp.

“They all think of you as this strong-headed woman who always needs to be in control. They don’t know that all it takes is a firm hand to turn you into such a needy slut.” As if to emphasize his point, he shifted one of his thumbs to brush lightly against your clit and you couldn’t hold back your soft whimper at the sensation.

But just that barely perceptible noise was enough to break one of his rules — remain silent unless spoken to. Your punishment came swiftly when his light touch on your clit was replaced by his fingers roughly pinching it. You gripped tightly onto the duvet and bit down on your lip to keep from letting out another sound.

After a few moments, he pinched your clit even harder, testing your obedience. Seemingly satisfied when you remained quiet, he let go. You exhaled with relief as you felt the blood rushing back to the small bundle of nerves, along with another sharp wave of arousal.

“See? A firm hand.”

Nothing escaped Seokjin’s eye.

Both of his hands fell away from your folds and you heard him stand up, followed by the telltale sound of his belt buckle as he undid it. The fwip-fwip of his belt sliding through the belt loops of his jeans had your breathing speeding up.

You knew what was coming.

Once it was free, you could hear the way the leather stretched as he toyed with it, folding it over in his hands. And then he brought the strip of leather right up to the globes of your ass and just held it there.

“How many do you think you deserve, baby girl?” he finally asked, but it was very clearly a question that he already had the answer to.

“However many you think I’ve earned, sir,” you replied, your voice rough with both disuse and desire.

He rewarded your answer by trailing the belt down your ass to brush over the sodden folds of your cunt and your eyes fluttered shut at the stimulation. You wanted so badly to join him in rubbing against the belt but stayed motionless. After giving you just the barest taste of pleasure, he dragged the belt back up to your ass and you felt your face heat at the slick trail of your arousal left in its wake.

“I think twenty should do the trick,” he said and your eyes widened. While twenty wasn’t an unheard-of number when it came to his punishments, it was certainly more than you were expecting. You wondered if his pride was still wounded from you having brought up the pyramid scheme. “Do you think you can take it like a good little slut?”

“Yes, sir,” you murmured breathlessly. He began to gently but firmly swat the belt against your ass, preparing your skin for the punishment that was imminent.

“Get on the bed. Hands and knees.”

You released your death grip on the duvet to do as he ordered and you gave your hands a quick shake as you climbed onto the bed to help encourage the circulation back into your fingers before you bent back over onto your hands. Once you were in position, he gave your ass another few slightly harder smacks.

“I’ll even count them for you,” he offered, like he was doing you a favor when in actuality, you knew that he was the one truly enjoyed being able to count each and every strike.

“Thank you, sir.”

The belt paused its swatting and fell away from your skin, the wordless signal that he was about to begin.

And then the room was filled with a loud crack! as he brought the belt back down on your left asscheek. You sharply inhaled and squeezed your eyes shut at the pain, but refrained from letting out any further noise that would have invited Seokjin’s ire.

“One,” he counted as he ran the palm of his free hand against the smarting skin to soothe it and you took a deep breath.

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?” Your voice was clear, making sure he heard every word.

Your other cheek was next and you bit down hard on your lip when the smack came.

“Two.”

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?”

When the third crack! came, you couldn’t help but jerk your hips away.

“Three.”

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?”

The smacks continued and with each one, your reactions grew less controlled as you warred between pain, arousal, the instinct to avoid the cause of the pain, the hunger for the pleasure that followed the pain, and the burning desire to be good for Seokjin. After each and every one, he would rub the reddening skin to prepare you for the next.

“Ten.”

By this point, his free hand was holding onto your waist to keep you from writhing away from the belt. Every hit hurt so good and your head was spinning from the white-hot arousal that had been clouding your mind from the first smack.

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?” you asked through clenched teeth as tears began to blur your vision.

The next one was particularly harsh and you were unable to hold back a whimper. As soon as it left you, you wanted to kick yourself for breaking his rule so easily. You were better than that. You were better for him than that.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to add another one for that,” he sighed, the disappointment clear in his tone and dropped your head as you felt a tear escape the corner of your eye. You wanted to be good for him. “Good little sluts take their punishment quietly. Disobedient whores don’t. Which one are you going to be, baby girl?”

“I’ll be a good little slut, sir,” you quickly answered, sniffling softly with shame. “I’m sorry, sir. M-may I please have another?”

Unable to see him, you missed his satisfied grin at your eager submission. You could be as strong-willed as you wanted in your relationship and he would always go along with it because he knew that in the bedroom, he had your total and complete submission.

Crack!

“Twelve.”

The tears continued to fall and your pussy continued to drip.

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?”

When you reached sixteen, your hands gave out beneath you and you fell to your elbows. You were panting heavily and sweat was beading your temples. It looked like you had just finished running a marathon.

Crack!

“Seventeen.”

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?” you asked through your tears. Only four more. You could handle four more. Your ass felt like it was on fire. You could only imagine how red it had turned and you wondered if any marks would be left behind. God, you hoped so.

Crack!

It took everything in you to hold in your scream as the belt landed on the as of yet untouched backs of your upper thighs.

“Eighteen.”

“T-thank you, sir. Please may I have another?” you whimpered.

The next two came in quick succession, one on each cheek, rushing you onto the last smack before you could register the pain between nineteen and twenty. And when the final crack! came, it was the most brutal one yet.

“Your last one, baby girl,” he told you before bringing the belt down and you could hear how slightly winded he sounded. It seemed he was more affected than he would have you believe.

Crack!

You couldn’t hold back a cry as the leather came down with a hard smack where your ass met your upper thighs, and consequently, right across your soaked folds.

“Twenty-one,” you heard through the pain and even as distracted as you were by your painfully stinging skin, your response was automatic.

“T-thank you, sir. P-please m-may I have another?” you sobbed, burying your tear-stained face in the duvet.

“Shhh, baby girl,” he said, his voice fractionally softer as he rubbed your lower back. “You took your punishment so well.”

“B-but I was bad. I broke the rule,” you sniffled through your tears, remembering the way you had cried out at the last hit. “I’m sorry, sir.”

He looked down at your prostrated form and grinned at how well-behaved you were for him. He had been planning to be merciful and let that last one slide.

“Are you asking for another one, baby girl?”

You eagerly nodded your head against the mattress.

“G-good little sluts take their punishment quietly. I’ll be good for you, sir. I p-promise,” you pleaded and he felt like the luckiest man on earth to have you on your knees and begging him to be spanked.

Crack!

The hit left you breathless and you were thankful because in doing so, it also left you silent.

“Twenty-two.”

You heard him drop the belt to the floor, signaling that your punishment was truly over.

“Th-thank you, sir,” you whimpered.

“You’re such a good little slut,” he told you as he soothed the tender and heated skin of your ass with both of his hands. “Always such a good girl for me.”

You preened beneath him at the praise.

“Do you know what good little sluts get?” he asked and hope flared in your chest. One of his hands slowly began to trail down your asscheek, his thumb rubbing soft circles against your skin as he did so. “They get rewarded.”

He emphasized his words by swiping his thumb in one long stroke from your clit to your entrance and you gasped as you clutched the duvet between your fingers. After being so on edge during your punishment, that one drop of pleasure had the walls of your pussy clenching tightly around nothing.

“Well, baby girl?” he asked and you could feel his breath right against your soaked folds. “Are you ready for your reward?”

He moved his hands to the backs of your thighs and pushed them further apart, granting him better access to your cunt.

“Yes, sir,” you answered, and then suddenly his pillowy lips were wrapped around your clit, giving the swollen bundle of nerves a harsh suck that had you seeing stars. Your resulting moan complied with Seokjin’s second rule — silence unless spoken to during your punishments and anything but silence during your rewards.

His tongue flicked against your clit before he gave your folds a long lick from top to bottom, dipping inside your entrance as he went. And then his lips were back on your clit, the obscene sucking sound filling your bedroom and turning you on further.

You began to instinctively rock your hips back and forth to meet his heavenly tongue but were held in place by the tight grip he had on your thighs. As usual, you were at the mercy of his generosity.

But from the way he alternated perfectly between harsh sucks and light flicks, he seemed to be in a very generous mood and it wasn’t long before you were on the verge of your climax.

“P-please sir, can I come?” you asked breathlessly and you hoped that tonight his generosity extended to your orgasms. It would be far from the first time that he had brought you right to the edge only to leave you hanging.

He hummed around your clit, pleased that you remembered to ask — although really, how could you ever forget? The first and only time that you had come without his permission, he had forced out so many orgasms from you that you were afraid your clit was going to go numb forever from the excruciating pleasure. You had been sure to never let it happen again.

“Come, baby girl,” he said and the words were like music to your ears.

The knot that had slowly been tightening since before the first hit of his belt to your ass rapidly untwisted and overwhelming pleasure coursed through your body. Your toes curled into the soles of your feet and your eyes screwed tightly shut as you moaned loudly. The empty walls of your cunt spasmed and Seokjin had a front-row seat to the sight. He continued to flick your clit with his tongue, milking your orgasm for all it was worth.

Finally, when the pleasure began to recede and the ability to speak came back to you, you remembered your manners.

“Th-thank you, sir,” you panted.

But he ignored you and went right back to sucking your clit, somehow managing to do so even harsher than before. The oversensitivity was immediate and you tried to pull your hips away from his lips with a cry, but the moment he felt you trying to wiggle away, his hold on your thighs grew tighter and you were sure his fingers would leave bruises.

“Please, sir,” you cried, burying your face back into the duvet.

Your plea fell on deaf ears because he continued to torment your clit with his sinful lips and tongue. Soon, the oversensitivity began to be eclipsed by a bubbling sense of pleasure in the pit of your stomach. Behind your eyelids, your eyes rolled backward. Seokjin’s grip on you was no longer to keep you from pulling away, but was now to keep you from grinding back onto his face.

He released one of your thighs and dragged his fingertips upwards until they were at the top of your left asscheek. He then scratched his blunt fingernails down your reddened and tender skin. You screamed and the pleasure was so intense and immediate It was like he had physically dragged you right to the precipe of your next orgasm.

“P-please let me come, sir,” you begged, your voice nothing but a high-pitched whine. “Pl-please, sir. Please!”

“Come.”

The tension in your body snapped and you moaned loudly at the intense pleasure that was now blinding your vision. You could feel the way your walls were fluttering helplessly as you came. Seokjin’s hold on your thighs was the only thing keeping you from collapsing onto your stomach. He continued to lick at your clit, but he was doing so much gentler than earlier. These were licks intended to help you through your orgasm rather than prepare you for your next one.

As you eventually came down from your high, his tongue against your pussy slowed until it stopped altogether. He then placed a kiss to the cheek of your ass, relishing your sharp inhale of pain at the sensation.

You opened your mouth to thank him, but found that the words wouldn’t leave you until you cleared your throat.

“Thank you, sir,” you whispered, turning your head to the side to rest your cheek and temple on the mattress as your breathing slowly began to return to something resembling normal.

“You’re welcome, baby girl,” he said. Your eyelids fluttered open and from the corner of your eye, you could see him standing up behind you.

You flinched away from him when you felt him trace a finger over your swollen clit and through your slick folds. He gave you a gentle but firm swat to one of your asscheeks in response to your movement. You sharply inhaled, but otherwise stayed perfectly still and silent.

“You have no idea how good you look like this, with your ass red and your cum dripping down your thighs,” he mused. “And you’re all mine.”

Suddenly and without warning, he sank two fingers deep into your pussy and you cried out loudly at the intrusion. You turned your head back to bury your face into the mattress as your fingernails scratched uselessly at the duvet. He then began to lazily pump his fingers in and out of you and your arousal began to build all over again.

It was only encouraged along when he curled his fingers expertly to rub right against the spot along your walls that he was intimately familiar with. Before the pleasure could grow too much, he slid his fingers out of you fully and you mewled pathetically at the loss.

But your disappointment was shortlived because only a few moments later, you felt both of his hands grab tightly onto your hips and yank your lower-half backward to meet his crotch. You tried to jerk away from him with a pained gasp when the aching skin of your ass rubbed against the rough fabric of his jeans.

He was quick to shush you gently and slowly pulled your hips back into him, taking his time to ease you into the sensation. After letting you settle into the stinging pain, he ground his crotch against your ass and even through the sharp hiss you let out, you were still able to recognize the feeling of his hard cock through the denim.

“You feel that, baby girl?” he asked, his voice sounding slightly tense as he continued to grind against you and you whimpered in response. “Feel how hard I am for you?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathed and he shifted his hold on you so that he was now rubbing his cock right up against your once-again aching cunt, making you moan softly.

“Do you think you’ve earned my cock yet?” Another thrust of his hips and another moan from your lips.

“Yes, sir. Please, sir,” you moaned.

“I think so, too. You’ve been a good girl for me,” he agreed and your heart soared at his words. He let go of your hips and then you heard the sound of his zipper. After a few more moments, one hand was back on your hip, holding you still as he used the other to guide the fat head of his cock to your cunt. “You took your punishment well and you made sure to ask for permission before coming. You’re always such a good little slut.”

He slid his cock along your drenched folds, leisurely circling the head around your clit and you gave another loud moan into the mattress before he dragged it back to your entrance. Very slowly, he inserted the bulbous tip of his cock until it was just barely inside of your warm and silky walls.

He gave you just a moment to grow accustomed to the stretch before he buried his thick cock fully into your depths with one smooth thrust that speared apart your walls and had you wailing beneath him. He groaned behind you and his grip tightened on your hips. With his thighs pressed right against your ass, you could still feel the rough fabric of his jeans and it only heightened your pleasure to know that he was still fully dressed while you were a naked mess before him.

“Th-thank you, sir,” you gasped, tears forming again in the corner of your eyes at the stretch and he chuckled.

“Such a good little slut,” he groaned, unable to completely hide how affected he was by the way your cunt was clenching around him. He then withdrew his length until only the head of his cock was left inside of you before entering you with another hard thrust that had you sliding an inch or two forward on the bed.

He easily tugged you back into him. He then released one of your hips and buried his free hand in your hair, wrapping his fist around your strands and yanking them so that you were forced back onto your hands, your head pulled back until the base your skull was pressed between your shoulders.

Now that you were in his desired position, he began a punishing rhythm. His cock pounded into you with each thrust and you keened loudly every time his cock split you apart. He was burying himself so deeply that you could practically feel him in the back of your throat. You were tempted to drop your head forward, only for him to sharply tug your hair to keep you from doing so every time you tried.

The bedroom was filled with the wet sounds of his fat cock sliding in and out your dripping pussy, the slapping of skin against skin, and your loud and high-pitched moans as he managed to hit every single spot inside your cunt perfectly.

“Just remember, baby girl,” he warned, his pace not faltering once as he spoke. “You might be the boss outside of the bedroom, but who do you answer to in here?”

“Y-you, sir,” you answered without hesitation through your pleasure. With every thrust, his hips slammed into your tender ass and the stinging pain it caused helped push you closer and closer toward your third orgasm of the night.

“Who owns this pussy?” he asked.

“You do, sir,” you whimpered, the possessive question causing your cunt to clench hard around him.

“Louder,” he hissed, giving your hair another harsh yank and a particularly brutal thrust.

“You! My pussy is yours!” you screamed and he suddenly let go of your hair to bring the palm of his hand down hard against your ass. But you knew that this spank wasn’t to punish you — it was to satisfy him.

With nothing left to keep you up, you collapsed forward once again, your fingers clutching desperately onto the duvet as your nipples rubbed back and forth against the fabric as he continued to pound into you.

“That’s right,” he groaned. “Your pussy is mine. You’re my little slut. You’re only good for me, aren’t you?”

“O-only you,” you gasped and your answer was enough to earn you your next reward because his fingers were suddenly on your clit. It was so sudden and combined so perfectly with the sensation of his cock dragging along your walls, that you found your orgasm almost thrust upon you.

The only thing keeping you from tumbling right over the edge and headfirst into pure white-hot pleasure were Seokjin’s rules that were ingrained into you.

“C-coming! P-please, sir!” you screamed.

“Come,” he grunted and you wailed.

Ecstacy rushed through your body and your vision turned white beath your tightly-shut eyelids. Your pussy began to spasm hard around his cock as his pace never faltered. Your earlier orgasms were nowhere near as strong as this one — they never were when you weren’t coming around him.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he groaned, but even his words were only an afterthought on the edge of your consciousness as your body jerked wildly beneath him and he removed his fingers from your clit to wrap both hands around your hips so that he could continue to pound into you uninterrupted.

His thrusts were beginning to turn wild, the rhythm growing rushed, a sign that he was close.

“Fuck, your pussy’s perfect, baby girl,” he panted as you continued to clench around him, your orgasm still coursing through your body. “You’re so good for me. Only good for me. Love it when you come. Fucking perfect.”

His mouth was running, his tight control slipping just slightly as his own orgasm was in sight. After another few rough thrusts later, the aftershocks of your climax still had your walls spasming around him torturously for each one, he slid out of you. No longer supporting your hips, your lower body collapsed as well, your stomach falling to rest on your thighs. The wet sound of his own hand pumping his cock filled the room and it was soon followed by a loud groan and you felt him coming across the heated skin of your ass and lower back in spurts.

You heard him panting heavily and it matched your own breathing, which you were still struggling to regulate as your orgasm subsided. You slowly opened your eyes as the world righted itself and your racing heart finally began to slow down so that it no longer felt like it was about to jump out of your chest.

If you had had the energy, you would have jumped when you felt Seokjin’s finger trailing through the streaks of his cum across your skin. He let out a low whistle as he did so.

“Damn, you look good like this,” he hummed. You turned your head to the side to rest your cheek on the mattress and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him pulling his shirt over his head before you felt him using it to gently and carefully wipe away his cum. “I told you I was an expert at pulling out.”

His call back to his dumb joke from your earlier fight made you smile and you couldn’t hold in an exhausted giggle. Once your skin was fully cleaned, he dropped his shirt to the floor to join the other articles of discarded clothing before leaning down and pressing two soft kisses to your ass — one on each cheek.

You smiled at the gesture before he climbed onto the bed and dropped onto his back, his knees hanging off the side of the bed and his feet planted on the floor. He then tightly pulled you into his side, his arm slung securely across your shoulders. You buried your face in the side of his neck, the sweaty strands of his growing hair brushing against your nose and you happily sighed as you deeply breathed in his scent.

“I fucking love you,” he said, releasing his own sigh of contentment as his fingers traced imaginary patterns on your upper arm. “You’re a queen among women.”

You laughed at the compliment that was characteristically Seokjin.

“I love you, too,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his neck as you curled up tighter into his side. Your thumb rubbed slow circles on his skin where your hand rested on his firm chest.

A peaceful silence settled over the two of you as you enjoyed the shared intimacy between you. But as your thoughts began to wander, a frown formed on your lips.

“We didn’t pass the IKEA test,” you pouted, breaking the stillness of the moment.

“What are you talking about?” he asked through a yawn. “The bed’s assembled and we’re still together. We passed.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t assemble it,” you insisted and he blew a raspberry in response.

“That’s a technicality.”

“But—”

“Just go with it,” he said, cutting you off before you could continue to argue and you closed your mouth.

“Ok. We passed the test,” you conceded with a smile and he gave your shoulders an affectionate squeeze.

As you nuzzled your face into his neck, your nose twitched at the way his lengthy strands ticked your face.

“Your hair’s getting long,” you mused and he sighed at the observation.

“I know. I need to cut it,” he said and your reply was immediate, the demand clear in your tone.

“Don’t you dare touch it,” you told him and he let out an amused huff.

“Yes, boss.”

#seokjin smut #seokjin fluff #seokjin fanfic #seokjin x reader #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fanfic #mine #the ikea test

980 notes · View notes