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taegularities · 8 months

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colour me in: seven | jjk (m)

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

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

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wrecking you right where everything began.

Monday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile again. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“And it comes from the heart, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even now, you’re drowning in it.

Well, until you’re not.

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

Only, he seems to interpret it differently.

“Aren’t you eating anymore?”

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

Because…

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

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

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

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

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

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

You mutter, “I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

“Fridge?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but still.”

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

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

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

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

“…What did?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re mad,” you conclude.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…What?

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

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

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

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

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

…Huh.

You wait.

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

“You’re not being serious.”

“Maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you can drop it as you please?”

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

You groan.

“And if I want to—”

“It’ll just escalat—”

“Dude, I—”

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

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

“Let’s sleep over it, okay?”

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

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

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

Tuesday

You chew on your bites until the taste turns bland.

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

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

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

Perhaps he does, too.

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

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

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

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

Either hiding the discomfort between you or not feeling it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hmm…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop it.”

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blow a raspberry.

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

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

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

So untrue.

Fucking hell. He’s talking about yesterday again.

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

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

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

“I just don’t say it.”

“Oh? What else do you not say, hm?”

Taehyung dares an attempt, “Guys.”

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

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

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

But not here, not right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything.

“Nothing,” you say.

“…You wanna go?”

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

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

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

Still are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guess it’s your fault this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Press the lightest kiss against.

Immediately, you turn around. Imitate his position.

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

WEDNESDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do it. Get some rest.”

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

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

THURSDAY

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

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

So you walk faster. Then he does, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh.

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

“You should go then.”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

Wrong.

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

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

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

You look at his sculpted side profile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet, he wonders, “Are you nervous?”

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

“Well, eyes are important.”

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

You smile.

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

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

But then… there are moments when you see it.

Like now.

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

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

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

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

“Why did you stop?”

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

“Odd.”

“…Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. Well.

You feel ungrateful thinking that way, but…

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

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

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

“Yeah. Just knowing myself…”

“I’ll remind you then.”

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

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

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

He always does that. Remind you of your meds.

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

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

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

“Lemme look.”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

Your playful punch rises as if on instinct.

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure am.”

“Mhm. …My big girl?”

“Gross. Shut up.”

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

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

FRIDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because…

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

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

SATURDAY

You remember to unclench your jaw.

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

This cannot be.

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

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

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

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

No.

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

Unprofessional. Goes against the schedule.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh—”

Oh. Shit.

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

Ughhhh.

You’re terrible.

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

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

“I swear… It’s not my fault.”

It’s not an excuse; not a lie.

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

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

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

“Shit, really? What now?”

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

Only somewhat reasonable, though.

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

You blink.

Then ask, “What?”

“You called him here?”

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

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

Per—

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

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

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

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

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

As everyone is, you suppose. But.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, he murmurs, “I’m not sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would it help you?”

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

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

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

“Oh, I… Jungko—”

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

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

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

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

Oh oh. You feel bad.

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

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

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

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

That effect has not faltered; your guts still twist.

At least, for a couple minutes.

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

From afar, he’s leering at you.

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

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

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

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

You nod. “I wonder how he’ll do.”

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t usually look like that…

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

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

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

He looks different. Why does he look different?

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

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

And you, still baffled, smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lip ring.

Whose idea…

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

Juri flinches, asking, “What?”

“Is that a lip ring? You gave him a—”

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

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

“I mean. I just. It wasn’t planned.”

“Yeah, but look how amazing he looks.”

You’re seeing it, alright.

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

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

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

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

And he looks so goddamn good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You bite your lip. You know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you ask.

“Nevermind.”

“Don’t be mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Right,” is all you say.

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

And then, “Are you jealous?”

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

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

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

Okay. Jerk.

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

You know him.

He’s so annoying.

“No,” you repeat.

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

“Hmm?”

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

No.

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

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

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

Your answer is immediate and as shameless as can be.

“Yes.”

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

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

“Shut the fuck up, you just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhh. Maybe I should.”

“Maybe…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No bra.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fully in your senses.

Ugh. Fuck.

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

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

Your poor boy, enduring the wrath of it.

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

“What?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oof.

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

SUNDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. But I mean, great beverages.”

“The milkshake, too.”

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

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

“Okay. Hope that stays.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Home is too far away.

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

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

“No,” you answer.

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

The raindrops are thick, the bursting clouds aggressive.

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

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

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

You gasp when a literal newspaper flies past you.

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

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

“Not now.”

“But—”

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

Holy shit.

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck.

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

“You’ll talk to me if I do?”

“Jungkook, we’ll die here, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unbelievable.

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

“Was it, yeah? You just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. He’s mad.

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

“So you keep saying.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s it. That’s literally it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What thing?”

Ugh.

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

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

“Well? Dude, you looked…”

“What?”

“Dangerous. Like you could eat me up.”

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

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

“What, is me specifically wrong? Anyone else you’d wanna eat up or—”

“You’re really fixating on that, huh?” Jungkook snickers. His tongue pokes the inside of his right cheek in a brief pause, and then he adds, “You’ve got a point. Didn’t think it’d affect you, though.”

Slowly, but surely, he seems to grasp his own power over you. You think he’s reminiscing about yesterday’s chaos and confidence; maybe even viewing it all from your point of view.

Because his smirk, albeit subtle, is sly when he asks, “What was it like?”

“I…” You click your tongue. “You’ll take me apart if I tell you.”

“Why so?”

“Because.” A beat of silence. You swallow to wet your throat. Then. “I’d ask you to.”

“Ah…” Another understanding nod, as though you’re lecturing him on NASA’s rocket science and he’s finally grasping its meaning. “Yeah?”

“I saw you from afar,” you point into a direction arbitrarily, as if he’s still several feet from you and not mere inches, “and I wanted to,” you inhale when a finger reaches out, straight to a vein in your neck, gentle, exploring, “let you do anything with me that you wanted to.”

“Ohh.” His palm covers your neck, as if he’s coddling you. But you know what that touch will morph into, so you sneak closer to him, lean forwards. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“…Right.”

His thumb moves up and rubs under your jaw, then up your face and to your lower lip. The touch is soft and careful, as though gauging your reaction and searching for permission.

Your shaky, little exhale is nearly unnoticeable, but you know he catches it, and you know he already sees the consent in your eyes. But he still doesn’t lean in. Moves his eyes across your face, to his hand, to your neck and then all the way back to your gaze.

And then, contrasting the loving movements and affectionate gesture, he smiles. Mischief spreads in his stare, and his fingers retreat to the back of your neck, pulling you closer by a miniscule inch.

“So that’s what it was all this time? You’re on your knees for me, is that it?”

“Babe…” You look down, daring a joke. “Quite literally.”

You shuffle in your spot when he laughs quietly, hooking your fingers into the neckline of his shirt. You emphasise, “I mean it. Just… If you must know? I would’ve been okay with handing you all the control, okay? All of it.”

You’re aware you’re acting as though he doesn’t wreck your shit every other time, too. In fact, that’s probably how the two of you started out.

His absolute craze at the frat party, drunk. College nights when you’d confront him about your bullshit — weak excuses to make him press you against his dorm walls. A hand clapped over your mouth, your ass out, dick buried inside until you felt him in your guts—

You’ve always been at his mercy — but you want him to split you in half this time.

“You would’ve?” he repeats. “And now? Still want that?”

You look down again. There’s no shyness in that movement, no averting his beastly eyes — your focus lies elsewhere because you have a theory. Which proves true.

The swelling under his joggers, right there between his legs wasn’t there before.

So you gather your voice, and say, “…Yes.”

“Hmm. Why didn’t you tell me?” His fingernails dig lightly into your skin, and right in the middle of the tension, he pouts for a little moment. “I genuinely thought you were still pissed.”

“I was on my period…” You shrug your shoulders. “It was also late. I was so tired, and—”

He waits.

“I knew that you’d do it if I asked for it.”

“I would’ve.” What’s worse? The confirmation or the tickling breath against your cheek? When did he get so close? “I still would. If you want me to.”

“I just said yes,” you tug at the shirt, eliciting an amused grin as the tips of your noses collide, “you’ll keep asking and,” your heart beats at a million miles a minute, “just not kiss me, is that it?”

Your provocation proves effective just the right amount.

Because he opens his mouth, seemingly snarling — you can’t tell for sure, since his lips clash against yours within half a moment. Determined as his hand immediately flashes to the small of your back, supporting you before you fall backwards on the carpet.

And then he kisses you like a man starved. Like he’s run out of saliva, dehydrated. Seeks your tongue, tastes like earthy Matcha Latte and something you can’t quite define — something that’s so uniquely him.

Your kiss muffles his tiny sound, a mixture of a sigh and a moan, body impatient as he tries to push closer to you, though separated by your clashing knees. You understand — you, too, would let him smother you under his weight if you could.

So you pull your folded legs apart, shifting until they surround him and attempting to straddle him. But he’s plotting something else: his fingers hold your jaw, keeping you in place, and the hot, wet kiss breaks when he pulls away.

You catch a brief glimpse of glistening lips before he moves to trail down your body, leaning in to teeth at your shirt, pushing it off your shoulder and kissing your skin for a fleeting second. And when the shirt shifts back into position, his other hand works on your tits.

Grabs your shirt at its hem, lifting it over your mounds until they’re free, nipples perked, home to him. In a haze, the tip of his tongue touches the right nub, and you shiver.

More so when he whispers, “Am so hard for you, I’ll fucking combust.”

For you.

You’ll repent for how badly you want him in your mouth.

You caress his thigh, sneaking up until you reach the swelling under the fabric. You feel it immediately, firm as a rock, big and fat, so sensitive that he hisses once you touch it.

“No,” he commands, the word barely a breath, “no, no. Don’t or I’ll come like this.”

He says it against your neck. Warm and tickling. You feel goosebumps arise, your reactions slow, but your heart fast. His fingers engulf your wrist, leading your palm to his cheek; you feel the smileless dimple under your thumb when he darts out his tongue to wet his lips.

Then, you close your eyes; the pecks against your neck are exhilarating. The moving touch, down to your tits and then back up to your jaw is one of his favourite games; you move your hips against the carpet, soaked panties sticking against your pussy.

“You’re…” you start, fingers in his fluffy hair as he bites your nipple. You moan, your words shaky, “You’re— more into this today.”

“I mean… after everything you just said to me?” He chuckles, moving up, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. His mouth brushes yours.

“And I missed her.” Free hand between your thighs, he taps just over your clit; your lips part. “Too crude to say I can’t wait for her to swallow my cock?”

Well. Fuck.

If it wasn’t him, you’d cringe. But it is him, and the truth is that you’re dying for him to press himself onto you. To wrap himself around you, to wrap yourself around him.

You want him to cut you in half, want to be his little toy until you can barely stand.

“Maybe,” you tell him, “but I promise that she wants it, too.”

That’s it, that’s it.

It’s when teeth meet again, the kiss messy, your arms around his neck. He holds you by your waist, pulling you off the floor a little, readjusting his position, so you can climb onto him.

You tilt your head as far as you can, taking him in, drooling, lips and tongue moving wildly to taste all of him. His digits wander from your back to your ass, pushing between your cheeks and pressing against your clenching hole.

The gesture is short lived, but enough for you to rub against him. The urge to rip your panties and part your folds over his girth is profuse; to dampen his length and empty his balls just like this.

But he clenches his jaw, groaning. Halts your movement with a strong grip before pulling at your hair without breaking the kiss. You move your fingers up and down his arm, and then dash it upwards to bury them in his locks, too.

Only, instead of reaching his mane, your hand hits the glass table on your left; you grunt into the kiss and then move away to exclaim, “Ah, fuck.”

Jungkook must’ve heard the sound because he catches on right away, laughing. Gently, he pushes you off his lap, gets back on his knees and then up. He pulls you with him as he says, “Alright. Get on the couch before you hurt yourself.”

“Couch?”

You’re surprised; not the bed this time, is it?

Then again — Jungkook isn’t necessarily picky when it comes to this; cue flashback to bathroom adventures.

So you still listen. Wobbly legs drag you to the sofa, plumping onto it as you watch him follow. The bulge is huge, hotter than hellfire when he palms it and lets go again.

“Too damn lazy to get to the bedroom,” he declares before dropping back on his knees.

You thought he’d climb over you, push you back across the length of the couch. But instead, he seems satisfied with your helpless position, pushing back the carpet and table some to take a seat right in front of you.

You admire his patience — the outline of his cock presses against its confines. Does it not hurt? His expression doesn’t reveal any discomfort as he adjusts against the hard floor; the carpet barely provides any relief.

But the discomfort doesn’t redirect his focus, his touch heading towards you, urging you to remove your joggers at turtle’s pace. He throws them over his shoulder and onto the table, one leg of them dangling off of it.

Left in your panties, you watch his hands curl under your knees, freeing his way to where you want to ache. Lifts your legs, places them on his shoulders carefully, amused and delighted when your bent limbs drag him closer to your cunt.

His tenacious tongue peeks between his teeth, and he fondles your thighs before he reaches the hem of your panties. They bug him — separate your heat from his mouth; in this moment, a crime to him.

“Help me here real quick,” he whispers, and you raise your ass, letting him drag the underwear off of you.

It sticks to your pussy for a second, obscenely flooded with your gradually building arousal. You think he sees, because he halts for a second, eyes flitting up to you before he says, “I think this’ll be fun.”

“You promise?”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

Well…

You shrug your shoulders, but smile tellingly, eliciting a smirk that decorates his gorgeous face, closing in bit by bit. The cool air evaporates the nearer he draws, replaced by his hot breath.

And then… just to test…

He darts out his tongue, the sharp tip of it tickling your clit. Your reaction, much desired, stirs a new type of appetite in him. Because your chin trembles just once, just for a moment. Lashes flutter, and his heart skips a beat.

As he inhales, but never exhales, you question, “What?”

“Nothing,” he assures, blowing against your sex, “just. So very pretty.”

You look down at him. His shoulders look broader from here. Muscular, hair dark and silky. His lips are colourful, handsome, nose ready to bury in your pelvis. If he thinks you’re pretty, then he’s the definition of true aesthetic.

Slowly, you reach for his hair, brushing through it before you bring his head closer to you, hinting at the obvious, and say, “And you.”

“Not like you, though…”

He waits, allowing the both of you a moment of preparation.

And then… he’s kissing your pussy. Lightly at first, up and down, a hand on your inner thigh that moves closer and closer to your folds.

He sighs once before a digit parts your nether lips sticking together, and then licks a stripe between them. You whine quietly; his eyes close. He’s beautiful like this; in a minute, he’ll look at you again, mouth swollen, and you’ll wish for his touch to last and last and last…

“Please,” you only whisper, but he doesn’t answer.

Instead, his sweet kisses turn into something more. Way more wetness, way more tongue. And before you know it, he’s splitting your legs wider, pushing in to start devouring you.

Your moans are intoxicating. They’re sudden, but not surprising, voiced against the ceiling when your head falls back. The heels of your feet dig into his back, pushing him closer when his knees are already touching the couch.

The movements of his mouth are warm, a waterfall. He eats you out until he’s slurping, drenching you further. He’ll slide in effortlessly, you already know. Will bury every single inch of himself inside you, fill you up for the rest of the day.

And your high — it builds up embarrassingly fast. Perhaps because it’s been a while; or maybe because it’s Jeon Jungkook you’re dealing with. Either way, your lower stomach aches, the knot pressing against your guts.

“Kookie,” you murmur, yet again left without an answer.

He knows not to break his focus this time; knows that you’re close, recognises it in your grip around the patch of his hair. Hears it in your desperate whimpers, louder by the second. Words more unintelligible now.

Your thigh is twitching every now and then, quivering, and he takes it as a sign to keep sucking and swirling. Then flicks his wet muscle over your engorged clit, adding to your exclaims when his nimble fingers glide into you swiftly.

Too swiftly. Two of them are barely enough; and he adds a third. Your cheeks heat up, body sliding down — partly because you’re dying inside, partly because he’s pulling you towards him.

Jungkook knows how to navigate your body, how to direct you towards a rationality-breaking explosion. And he does. He does with the plethora of lustful licks, softly circling around your clit. His nose presses against it every time he shifts downwards, tasting you thoroughly.

“I’m almost—” you voice, and he hums, vibrations torture.

It’s a game to him that he’s skilled at; he understands his moves, and he never loses. Neither today as he clamps his hand onto your waist, fingers pumping in and out of you, curling and digging, massaging your favourite spot.

They turn and twist, two fingers of his free hand settling around your clit and raising it for better access.

It takes probably half a minute longer… and then… then…

Your voice grows in pitch, nearly illegal for a Sunday afternoon, but music to his ears. So genuine and sweet. Corners of your eyes glistening. He holds your legs apart as you start begging, but all he truly makes out is the eager repetition of his name.

He wishes your shirt didn’t cover your upper body; wishes he could see the heaving of your chest, the perked nipples, the sweat on your clavicles.

But for now, this is enough.

The way he sees waves of pleasure wash over you, eyes rolled back, not looking at him anymore. Your lips are dry, your tongue probably, too, and he wants to kiss it wet again.

You moan and wince and keen, body restless. The tug of his hair becomes more prominent and palpable, but the sensation makes him smile. You’re probably barely noticing, too.

That is, until your hold and breathing finally calm down. You keep riding the wave, your head turning in odd circle-ish shapes. He kisses your pussy, helping you through it, only stopping when you open your eyes.

“Well, that was…” he says, lips as swollen as you anticipated, shimmering, “a good start.”

“Every single time,” you begin, panting, shaking your head. You watch him as he gets on his feet, moving in to your mouth. “Every single time I think it can’t get better, and then I remember it’s just the fucking beginning.”

He shifts to you slowly, grazing your lips, and declares with a soft smile, “More to come, I promise. Gonna have so much fun with you.”

“Do your worst—”

One more kiss. Shorter this time, but you recognise the familiar, lingering taste immediately. Neutral, not too bad. Fills you with pride, because he never fails to guarantee that he loves it.

But you can’t wallow in it because he retreats quickly, impatient hands freeing his golden body from his clothes. The shirt falls somewhere next to the carpet, his own joggers soon discarded, landing on top of yours and sliding to the ground together.

He’s a menace when he climbs onto the couch, knees digging in and creating a shift on each side of your body. His bulge, still hidden behind his boxers, floats in front of your face; from this close, you see the droplet of precum darken a spot of the light purple cotton.

“Next stage?” he wonders above you, stroking your hair gently, as if he’s not about to explore the back of your throat. “Want or do I rather not?”

“What do you mean with not?” Your breathing is heavy as you lift your palm and engulf the imprint of his dick. He flinches, hips moving back a bit before they come back. “Get this shit off.”

He chuckles. Brings his hand to your cheek, thumb caressing it and voice clear when he says, “You’re so cute. Being demanding and all.”

But he still listens. Gets off the couch, slides his underwear off, leaves you gaping.

Gaping at the hooked and girthy tower. Gaping at how the slit on top of his head glimmers. Gaping at the moles along the stiff length, staring at the thick veins, at the full, firm balls.

“Tongue out,” he orders; you do.

The ink-free hand pushes his dick down to you, tapping it against your tongue as you open up wide. He feels heavy, hot, the skin smooth. Your head moves forward to swallow more, but he pulls back.

Strokes himself for a couple seconds, thumb spreading the precum over his head. You drool. Watch attentively, as though you’re learning — until he eventually guides it back to you and positions it into your still gaping mouth.

Enters it slowly. Slightly salty. Then says, “Breathe. And don’t overthink it too much.”

Huh.

Well. Damn.

Because…

At times, you do worry about your expressions; about your tears when you gag around him, the coughing fits you get in the middle of it all. So that’s a surprise. Attentive.

But your mind is blank today anyway; so you nod, moving to lick the underside of the tip, and he laughs, mumbling, “Alright. Have it, babe.”

And you do.

Slowly at first, cautious as you twirl your tongue around him. You don’t notice much discomfort just yet, thankful that he’s easing you into this. A third of his length buried inside, you close your lips around him and hollow your cheeks.

Which is probably when the invisible threads holding him back finally break.

“Okay,” he says, “you got this.”

His knees move in, more inches intruding. His fingers drift to the back of your head, and you dig yours in his brawny thighs. He grows harder in your mouth, impossibly bigger the more you drag your lips along his member.

How gratifying. You’ve craved this for hours and days. What was your argument about again?

Your head drops further back when he shoves himself inside, more and more as time passes. You imitate his prior advances — hum and close your eyes. Bring a hand to the base of his cock, pumping all that you won’t be choking around.

When you gaze up at him to analyse his reactions, he leaves your mind vacant. Because his head is raised, like yours, jawline edged and acute. Mouth open until he meets your eyes.

You hope he’s seeing something just as lascivious and mind-numbing from his perspective. Maybe messy hair, laying against the softness of your shirt. Or a cock appearing out of and disappearing behind pretty lips.

Slowly blinking eyes that shut just as slowly again, and a tongue that falls out and licks along a vein whenever your head moves to the side. Allowing you a couple deep breaths.

He must be perceiving it all, too.

Because a moment later, he gnarls, like a wild animal, and states, “This won’t do—”

—Before putting both hands under your ears, holding your head and…

Ramming his cock into your mouth.

You gasp around him, taken aback and delighted at once. Feel the effect between your legs, hoping to not defile the couch too much.

Head still thrown back, falling further, you already feel the ache in the back of your neck. Your attempts of holding onto the couch prove futile because there is nothing to hold onto, armrests too far away; so you return to his thighs.

But he keeps your body steady, held at the spot between his legs. Your head is a different story: it bounces back and forth, the exhales through your nose frantic as he pounds into your throat before he slows down again.

“Good, gooood,” he drags out, observing the glistening veins as he draws back to his tip and then moves in again. “Doing very, very well. Looks so gorgeous, baby.”

You don’t know what he’s talking about — about you, his cock, the position. Everything?

He keeps up the gentler pace, allowing you a break. Allowing himself the pleasure of this very image. Pretty lips surrounding a pretty dick.

And perhaps your desperate, little moans, accompanied by rapid blinking, set a fuse loose in his brain.

Because a moment later, Jungkook dares a step further — cock already stuffing your entire mouth, he pushes in more. The fat monstrosity reaches far, your gag reflex not as much at bay anymore as before.

The view seems to spur him on, though, and you can imagine why. If you were him, you’d probably enjoy the drooling mess under him, too. Salivating all over his dick, you feel the gross drop of your spit land on your clavicle, throat constricting as he thrusts in.

And just when you’re about to tap his thighs — very reluctantly, too — to catch your breath, he pulls back, fingers immediately digging into your cheeks to straighten your neck and head. You cough, eyes teary, your breathing quick and uncontrolled.

Like a toy, he moves your head to the left, to the right, a sly smirk playing around his lips until he moves down to you, back arched. Amidst your panting, he presses a brief kiss to your mouth, slippery against the dampness.

And then he says, as casually as he shouldn’t, “You’d look so beautiful in leashes.”

“…What?”

But he ignores your mumbled inquiry, instead thumbing at your lower lip. His dark eyes flit from one facial feature to another, pink lip caught between his teeth. The firm chest rises dangerously when he breathes in.

“Should I come in your mouth?” he asks as if you’d ever say no; as if you don’t know that he’s asking because he won’t. “Huh? Shoot it all the way down your throat?”

“Do it, fucking coward.”

…And just like that, he moves back.

tumblr is cruel and the 1k block limit in the new editor won't let me post the entire thing at once lol so here's the rest in a reblog!!! <3

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #jeongguk smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #bts fic #jungkook scenario #jeon jungkook smut #thebtswritersclub #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #jungkook

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transamus · 1 month

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like I feel like a lot ov the reason transmisogyny as a concept gets so much fucking pushback on here is bc like, motherfuckers can't even unpackage their basic misogyny to begin with. For some reason it feels like feminism is treated as "completed" on here, like it's not a massive fucking issue in the real world, & as a disabled person who's isolated a lot to just the internet, I get it, it's hard to know how things work in general society, but like. Fuck yknow. Sometimes I'll see transmascs on here being just straight-up misogynistic to a trans woman, in the same way the people in that instance would treat cis women too, but completely shielded from criticism bc ov transness, in a rly similar way that cis gay men get away with a ton ov misogyny thru just their queerness. How r we supposed to meaningfully communicate the intricacies ov transmisogyny and how it DIFFERS from transphobia and misogyny to people who we can't recognize don't want to hear it, who we presuppose give a shit to begin with when they are just outright misogynistic on top ov everything else? Who think that the "trans" part is the only operative word in transmisogyny? It sucks.

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hoshifighting · 3 months

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"Seungcheol, if your mouth could stay shut for once, that would be amazing."

"You should try sitting on it sometime."

Synopsis: Where you are a Secret Agent, and on a new task, the director of your agency puts you in charge of a mission, however shared with Seungcheol, your enemy within the company.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, smut, face sitting, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, reader kicks Seungcheol once, guns, Seungcheol is such a flirty, and etc.

Since you started to work as a secret agent, you have spent eight years of your life dedicated to the operations of your enigmatic organization. Your reputation for being a relentless workaholic had earned you the respect of your colleagues, but you knew that, as a woman, you had to work even harder to prove yourself in this male-dominated field.

The mission briefing had been shrouded in secrecy, and you were accustomed to the clandestine nature of your work. The director, a stern and calculating figure, sat at the head of the table. Your heart raced as you took your usual seat, the weight of responsibility settling over your shoulders.

"Agent Y/N," the director began, his eyes piercing through the dim light, "you have proven yourself time and again as one of our top operatives. Your dedication to the mission is commendable, and your track record speaks for itself."

You nodded, acknowledging the director's words with a stoic expression. Years of covert operations had taught you to keep your emotions in check, especially in the presence of those who held your fate in their hands.

"However," the director continued, his gaze shifting to a figure standing near the door, "this mission is of utmost importance, and we've decided that you'll be working alongside Agent Seungcheol."

The tension in the room was palpable as you and Seungcheol exchanged a curt nod, acknowledging the director's decision. The history between you and Seungcheol ran deep – you had been recruited together, trained side by side, and grown up together

inside of the secretive organization. However, somewhere along the way, an unspoken rivalry had developed, and your interactions had become laced with sarcasm — a habitual defense mechanism that had become second nature to both of you.

As the director delved into the mission details, you and Seungcheol kept your gazes fixed forward, avoiding eye contact. The air was thick, because neither of you could pinpoint the exact moment the rivalry had begun, but it had become an integral part of your dynamic.

You couldn't deny Seungcheol's skills – his sharp intellect and quick reflexes complemented your own, forming an unexpectedly effective duo. But since you never liked his guts, you never asked to work with him. You liked to charge the missions alone, a bit egoistic, but sharing the mission with someone means that you needed to get along with their ideas. And when that someone is a pain on your ass, you can't help but want the mission to end as quickly as possible.

In the following days, you and Seungcheol found yourselves forced to cooperate.

The training room echoed with the sounds of combat, and you and Seungcheol faced off under the watchful eyes of the trainer, who called for a sparring match between you and Seungcheol.

Seungcheol's muscles rippled as he steady himself for the impending clash, his confidence evident in his cocky grin. You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath about the unfairness of the situation.

You exchanged a glance with Seungcheol, both knowing that this was going to be more than just a friendly sparring session. The trainer's words fueled the competitive fire that had long been smoldering between you two.

Seungcheol chuckled, flexing his muscles theatrically. "Come on, Y/N, don't hold back. I hope you've been practicing your moves."

You rolled your eyes, a smirk playing on your lips. "Oh, Seungcheol, I've been waiting for this moment."

As Seungcheol lunged towards you, you swiftly sidestepped, allowing your training to guide your instincts. With a calculated move, you delivered a precise and well-timed kick to the middle of Seungcheol's legs.

The room echoed with a sudden gasp "Fuck! My balls!"

Seungcheol crumpled to the ground, his confident grin twisted into a pained expression, cursing under his breath. A tiny tear formed at the corner of his eye, which, against his will, rolled down his cheek.

"Seriously? A kick in the balls? That's your strategy?" Seungcheol asked, holding his crotch.

"Well, it never fails." You couldn't help but chuckle, extending a hand to help him up. "Besides, it's not my fault your muscles can't protect you from everything."

Seungcheol accepted your hand, irritation in his eyes. "I'll remember this, Y/N. Just you wait."

[...]

The air was filled thick with the mingling scents of expensive perfume and cigar smoke. As you discreetly adjusted the gun holster beneath your dress, your eyes scanned the crowded party. Important figures from politics, the music industry, and CEOs adorned the lavish venue.

Seungcheol's voice crackled in your earpiece, his tone playful. "Careful, Y/N, don't trip over that fancy dress of yours."

You adjusted your black dress, the piece clinging to your body was not the best choice for this type of mission. but you had to look sophisticated, blending seamlessly into the high-profile event. Rolling your eyes, you responded with a sharp whisper "Careful Seungcheol, before I choke you with your own tie."

Perching yourself on a barstool, you observed the president's wife making her way down the grand staircase. The opulent ring on her finger immediately caught your attention. However, a quick and discreet glance told you what your sharp instincts suspected – it was a clever forgery.

As you listened to her conversation, she mentioned the gift from her husband, a gilded ring with a sparkling jewel that captured the attention of everyone in the room. But you knew better; the real ring was somewhere else.

Leaving the crowded main hall, you discreetly made your way to the backyard of the mansion. Spotting a vertical staircase, you hesitated, careful to avoid any prying eyes.

As you got up the ladder, Seungcheol's voice chimed in through your earpiece, his tone laced with a mix of amusement and disapproval. "Seriously, Y/N, could you have chosen a more discreet dress for this mission? You're practically broadcasting our presence."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, even though he couldn't see you. "Well, Seungcheol, if you can find a way for me to conceal a gun in a gown, I'm all ears."

A faint chuckle echoed in your ear as you reached the top of the stairs. "Point taken. But your dress is a bit... revealing."

Looking down, you noticed Seungcheol standing below, arms crossed, a disapproving expression on his face. A sudden gust of wind played a mischievous role, lifting the fabric of your dress and revealing a hint of your thigh through the slit.

A small sigh escaped your lips as you discreetly adjusted the fabric to regain some modesty. "I know the view is amazing, Seungcheol, but we've got a mission to complete. Focus, will you?"

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, trust me, I'm focused."

"I need you up here. We have work to do."

"Aight Ma'am."

The search for the elusive ring led you and Seungcheol through the rooms of the mansion. The tension in the air was palpable as you scoured every inch for the hidden treasure, aware that time was decreasing.

The quiet shuffle of footsteps grew louder, echoing through the opulent hallway as you and Seungcheol frantically searched for the elusive ring. The sudden realization that someone was approaching sent a jolt of urgency through both of you. Without a second thought, you grabbed Seungcheol's arm, and the two of you dashed towards the nearest hiding spot – a closet at the end of the corridor.

"You know, Y/N, it's a shame we're stuck in here. I was hoping for a front-row seat to your fashion show."

Your eyes narrowed, and you shot him a stern look. "Seungcheol, if your mouth could stay shut for once, that would be amazing."

As he investigated the cramped space, he muttered, "You should try sitting on it sometime." His quiet suggestion, delivered as if he had inadvertently let his thoughts slip, hung in the air.

"What the fuck?"

A moment of silence hung in the air before you couldn't help but scoff, a mixture of disbelief and amusement in your response. "Really, Seungcheol? Now is not the time for your innuendos."

The thought of sitting on his face was really tempting, even if he was Seungcheol, you couldn't deny the he looked hot as fuck. However, you couldn't let his teasing distract you from the pressing matter at hand.

"Why, of all people, did they choose you to work with me on this mission?" you inquired.

"They wanted to see if we could actually work together without tearing each other apart."

"Let's find that ring and get out of here before your humor gets us caught."

The realization struck you as you scanned the closet for any last-minute clues – a piece of cloth concealing a safe. Your instincts kicked in, and with no time to decipher the real passwords, you swiftly directed Seungcheol to step back.

"Move away, Seungcheol," you commanded, grabbing your gun and taking aim at the lock. A single shot echoed through the room as the lock shattered, revealing the sought-after ring nestled within the safe.

The relief was palpable as you delicately retrieved the reason of the mission. However, the sound of the gunshot had undoubtedly attracted attention. With a sense of urgency, you pocketed the ring, and both of you left the room.

Bodyguards approached, closing in on your location. Seungcheol's quick reflexes took down one, and with a swift move, you incapacitated another. The voice of your assistant buzzed in your earpiece, directing you to the parking lot where your escape awaited.

As you and Seungcheol hurried through the mansion, the route downstairs became blocked by advancing guards. A daring solution presented itself as Seungcheol seized your hand and brought you to a large window overlooking the party, with guests oblivious to the unfolding chaos.

You glanced at the dizzying drop, the pool below shimmering like a distant oasis. Fear of heights had never been an issue for you after years of high-stakes missions, but the sight still made you gulp. Seungcheol, holding your hand, assessed the situation.

"It's the only way," he declared, determination in his eyes.

The sound of approaching bodyguards left you with no other option. Taking a deep breath, you squeezed Seungcheol's hand, and together, you leaped from the window.

Gasping for air, you and Seungcheol emerged from the pool, the water cascading off your soaked bodies. Wasting no time, you and Seungcheol hurriedly left the pool, the wet clothes clinging uncomfortably to your forms.

Navigating through the concerned crowd, you and Seungcheol helped each other, the soaked clothing making every step a challenge. The glances from the partygoers intensified as more bodyguards approached, running towards the commotion. The parking lot, your salvation, beckoned in the distance.

With the sound of approaching footsteps and murmurs growing louder, you and Seungcheol quickened your pace, weaving through the gathering crowd. The black car awaited your arrival. As you reached the vehicle, wet and disheveled, you wasted no time. The doors swung open, and you both practically fell into the car, water dripping onto the leather seats.

Seungcheol revved the engine, and the car sped away from the mansion, leaving behind a confused and agitated scene. The wet clothes clung uncomfortably, but the precious ring, safely secured in your hand, provided a sense of accomplishment amid the chaos.

The car sped through the night, weaving through the city until it came to a stop at the inconspicuous hiding place behind the International Attaché Offices. The tactical team awaited, ready to secure the ring and initiate its swift return to the country, knowing it was in capable hands, and the team quickly moved to carry out their mission.

Once the ring was safely in transit, you and Seungcheol made your way to a nearby hotel. The day's events had left you both soaked, drawing more than a few curious glances as you entered. The receptionist raised an eyebrow as you approached the check-in counter, both of you dripping water onto the floor.

The news that you and Seungcheol would be sharing a room elicited a shockedreaction from you. "Really? After spending the entire day together?!"

You huffed in response, making your way to the room with a glance back at Seungcheol. The tiredness from the day's events washed over you, and as you entered the room, you couldn't help but express your exasperation.

"I hope you don't snore," you quipped, a hint of humor in your voice. "After today, I need some decent rest without any surprises."

Seungcheol chuckled, seemingly unfazed by your protests. "Don't worry, Y/N. I promise to be on my best behavior."

You emerged from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your hair, to find Seungcheol already engrossed in a conversation with the IT specialists, poring over the details of the ring's location. He glanced up at you, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Feeling more calm now, Y/N? Has the anger passed?" he inquired, seemingly unfazed by your earlier irritation.

You scoffed, a trace of annoyance lingering. "No, it hasn't. And it won't as long as you keep talking."

His grin widened. "Well, you know, I did give you a good suggestion back at the mansion. Sitting on it would keep me shut."

You chuckled, appreciating the humor in his attempt to lighten the mood. However, when the laughter subsided, you noticed the shift in Seungcheol's expression. His playful demeanor gave way to a more serious gaze, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was more to his earlier comment.

"Wait, are you serious, Seungcheol?" you asked, the curiosity evident in your voice.

He met your gaze, the playful facade replaced by a sincerity that caught you off guard. "About what I said earlier? Yeah, I was serious."

Your legs involuntarily pressed together, a strange mix of disbelief and arousal sweeping through you. The suggestion that initially seemed like harmless banter now had an unexpected effect, making your panties damp, while you tried to maintain composure.

Seungcheol, with a cocky grin, manspread in front of you, his cock showing up on his tactel shorts, so locking eyes as he casually asked, "So, what's your answer, Y/N? Feeling a bit more open-minded now?"

"Seungcheol, you must be out of your mind if you think I'd entertain that idea."

He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk playing on his lips. "Why not? We've been through a lot today. A little stress relief might do wonders."

You scoffed, trying to dismiss the newfound awareness of the situation. "Your suggestions aren't exactly what I had in mind for stress relief, Seungcheol."

He raised an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving his face. "Oh? And what did you have in mind, then?"

The unexpected turn in the conversation took you by surprise, and you hesitated for a moment. However, the playful glint in Seungcheol's eyes and the underlying sincerity in his previous words made you reconsider.

With a wry smile, you conceded, "Fine, Seungcheol. Maybe your suggestion has some merit. A little unconventional, but it's been a long day."

Seungcheol's eyes widened in surprise, his cocky demeanor momentarily replaced by genuine astonishment. "Wait, seriously? You're considering it?"

You decided to take the lead, sliding off your shorts and panties in one swift motion. "Come on, Seungcheol, no time to waste. Act before I give up."

Seungcheol, seemingly caught off guard by your bold move, grinned and chuckled. "Well, when you put it that way."

Without hesitation, he followed suit, taking off his shirt and laying on the bed, Seungcheol's silent gesture prompted you to get up, you climbed onto the bed, straddling him. When you feel the warmth of Seungcheol's breath against your wet pussy, you stop and slowly sit on his face.

You gasp, and he moans against your core, his tongue running through your folds, before sucking your clit between his lips. Seungcheol's hands grab your ass, instructing you to ride his face.

As you began to ride, the room filled with the wet sounds, the arousal from your dripping pussy, now was glistening on his face, Seungcheol's eyes were attentive, watching your reactions, to see if he was eating you out like you deserve.

"Fuck, it's so good Seungcheol-ah…" Your legs trrembled around his face, and he answered with a long hum.

You still stopped from releasing your weight on him, Seungcheol sensing this, wrapped his arms around your waist, your cunt pressed to his tongue now. His tongue swirls around your clit as you squirm holding his hair making his eyes close in pleasure. He begins to suck your bud with more precision, your clit becoming more and more sensitive and the vibrations of his groans against your pussy made your orgasm finally hit you, your legs closing around his ears.

As you released yourself from Seungcheol, sitting on his side. He ran his thumb across his wet chin, a subtle gesture that seemed to convey a sense of satisfaction. With eyes closed, he sensually sucked on his thumb, his gaze met yours, a satisfied look played on his face.

"Is there something more I can do for you?" He asks, caressing your legs.

A teasing smile played on your lips as you whispered in his ear, your words laced with playful suggestion. His response was a low, involuntary moan, his lips bitten in response to the subtle teasing.

Seungcheol, catching on to the direction of the conversation, asked, "Is that what you want?" Your nod was all the confirmation he needed.

With a swift movement, he got up, freeing himself from his shorts, revealing there was nothing underneath. His cock lays on his belly, big and proud, the precum already making his tip shiny.

You positioned yourself, laying your face on the bed and lifting your ass up, glancing back at Seungcheol from over your shoulder. The suggestive pose seemed to elicit a reaction from him.

With a swift motion, he slapped your ass, a grin playing on his lips. "You're naughty,"

He positioned himself, before slamming his dick all inside of you, the veiny cock was stretching your walls, while he hummed how good your pussy was tightening around him.

"Fuck, I don't even know why we've been buckering like two idiots, you're so hot." He says before his hips start to pick up pace.

The room became a symphony of moans as you mumbled something about how good it felt, your face pressed into the mattress. Seungcheol's hands firmly held onto your body, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he skillfully hit the g'spot.

Seungcheol moaned, expressing the pleasure of the moment. "You feel so good around me, you lil' slut" he muttered.

In response, you announced that you were on the brink of another climax. "I'm cumming again," you whispered.

He eagerly asked, "Yeah?" And with that affirmation, he sped up his hips, sending you into a convulsive release, spasming on the bed.

As you tightened and then relaxed around him, prompting Seungcheol to release. A primal moan escaped him, and he threw his head back, while he pumped his dick, his cum spreading on your ass. Your body collapsed on the bed, the duvet now soft against your skin. Seungcheol laid by your side.

Seungcheol's fingers gently brushed through your hair, a tender gesture that contrasted with the all-the-time-bickering. He leaned in, kissing you with a fiery intensity that left you momentarily breathless, your senses overwhelmed.

As you came back to the present, Seungcheol, a teasing glint in his eyes, asked with a smirk, "Did I knock you out with that kiss, Y/N? Or was it something else?"

"Hmm… I'll kick your balls again" You threatened tiredly.

"No! You won't!" He covers himself and you chuckle closing your eyes.

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soapsbaby · 11 months

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Silly Spicy Call of Duty headcanons

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, König, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, John Price, Valeria Garza, all x reader Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI) Themes: All NSFW but very lighthearted, nothing particularly triggering but ask to tag! Word count: 750ish

These are just silly little headcanons about them, PLEASE if you have any like these send them to me i had such a blast writing them lol!!

Ghost

Sometimes his mask slips a little and he looks goofy as hell, you have to do your best to not laugh into his face because you know he won’t let that slide.

Uses British lingo sometimes. Has called your pussy a “fanny” before. Got mad when that made you giggle.

Once got so frustrated with trying to figure out how to operate one of your vibrators that he broke it. Was very apologetic and immediately ordered you another one afterwards.

Soap

He is clumsy as hell. Every time you have tried to fuck in a position that is anywhere near athletic, something goes wrong. It’s a miracle neither of you have broken your necks trying to get it on in the shower. He will always take the fall though, protecting you with everything he has and curling himself around you even if it means he will end up bruised or bleeding.

Makes a lot of typos when sexting, never notices. Called you “baby gorilla” once (you will never let him live that down).

Gets offended when you call him “Soap” in the bedroom. You know my name, what are you calling me that for? Dummy.

König

He doesn’t usually wear his balaclava under his mask when you have sex since it gets too sweaty but since his mask is pretty loose he will sometimes have to pft-ppf-tpftt when it gets stuck in his mouth. Has almost choked on his mask before.

Gets so flustered that he will just start sputtering nonsense. Has on several occasions been so out of it that he has messed up the nicknames you use for each other. “yes show me that I am your little babygirl, wait- no, you are… I am your boy… you’re… Wait, I’m sorry”. Not a gender or kink thing, which would of course be alright with you, just him being a dummy.

Is a bit of a crier and drooler sometimes which wouldn't be a problem except for the fact that he will sometimes accidentally waterboard himself in his mask and not tell you.

Gaz

Has called you mommy once and was mortified. Neither of you have really spoken about it but sometimes you will drop little hints around him to get him flustered.

Likes when you suck him off while he is playing video games but then gets too into the game and genuinely can’t help but get annoyed when he loses because you distract him.

Cpt Price

Is oblivious to any signs that you want him. Will go into Dad story telling mode and completely ignore the effect he is having on you until you grab him by the shirt and just tell him to fuck you.

Has a sex playlist called "sensual" with just the most cliché sex songs on it possible. Can unironically have sex to "Careless Whisper" and “Let’s get it on”.

Has given you rug burn with his beard before. 0/10 very unpleasant experience (you’d do it again, though).

Alejandro

Will say things that could be interpreted as sexist in the moment and then immediately get apologetic. Who’s my good slut? I mean… If you want to be. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to… Are you okay with that? Okay. Cool.

Will fuck you in uniform because he knows you’re into that and then get distracted by things he finds in his pockets like shopping receipts.

Doesn’t care whether or not you understand him, he will speak Spanish to you.

Rudy

Gets tormented by you with new pet names every day. mí amor, I don't know what a Zaddy is. I don’t even know if that’s a good thing.

In the beginning of your relationship he was completely oblivious to most kinks. If you ever expressed anything out of the ordinary to you, he’d raise his eyebrows in confusion and say something like “what? why would anyone want that?” but was always open to trying anything. Now he is probably even more of a deviant than you are.

Valeria

Has this roleplay thing going on where you are a traitor to her cause and she discovers it and gets to “punish” you. You find it a little silly but it gets her super riled up so you play along.

Secretly loves to bottom and to be taken care of by you but would never tell you (you know anyway). Thinks she is being very good at hiding it (she is not).

#call of duty imagine #call of duty x reader #oh lord there's gonna be so many tags on this help #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #könig x reader #konig x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #rodolfo parra x reader #valeria garza x reader #captain price x reader #cod fanfiction #cod x reader #ari writes

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bimbobaggins69 · 11 months

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dial-a-thrill (part 2)

Phone sex operator!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you finally meet up with Eddie, the phone sex operator you’ve been spending your nights talking to.

⚠️warnings: smut 18+ mdni, very light angst, Eddie is in love love, pierced!eddie, reader is insecure due to her last relationship, a few uses of y/n but mostly nicknames (baby, sweet girl, angel etc.), reader gets high for the first time, dom/sub dynamics, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, first penetrative orgasm, the smallest daddy kink (mentioned once), creampie.

notes: thank you to my babes @lofaewrites @corrodedcorpses @mysticmunson @dearest-readers @inkluvs & @take-everything-you-can for all your help with beta reading <3

wc: 14.2k

“Would you like to maybe meet up sometime?”

Those eight words took residence in your brain the whole week, hardly being able to focus at work with the thought of finally meeting Eddie. Your nerves were jangled to say the least and you were nervous he wouldn’t like you or feel the same connection in person, or what if you didn’t like him? No that didn’t seem like the plausible outcome, you knew you’d like him. So your nerves continued to eat at you.

You had talked to him almost every night, after he gave you his personal home phone number. But even he with his calming voice and sweet words couldn’t mellow your mind

Finally when Saturday night rolled around, you were a mess of butterflies and sweaty palms. Your one saving grace was your best friend Lauren insisting she help you get ready, you hadn’t gone on a date in more than six months, said date being with your boyfriend at the time, so this was a completely new set of feelings. This almost felt like a blind date, which had never been your forte. Your mom tried to set you up on loads of them with the sons of men she worked with, you’d always tell her it felt too impersonal to not know a guy beforehand.

But Eddie was the exception, although in a way you did somewhat know him, the thought still did nothing to ease the fluttering in your abdomen.

“Alright” Lauren says with a clap of her perfectly manicured hands. “You go get in the shower, make sure you shave! And I’ll pick out your outfit.” She commands as she waves you off.

Lauren had been your best friend since grade school, and although she is now in a fully committed relationship, she had her fair share of dates before she met Paul. You could trust that she’d have you looking close to perfection when she was done.

While in the shower you exfoliate, wash and shave. Once your hair and body had been completely rinsed of your strawberries and cream body wash and rose petal shampoo and conditioner, you step out and cloth your body with your pink robe.

You make your way back into your room after wrapping your hair in a towel—

Eyes catching on the very revealing outfit that was layered out across the foot of your full size bed.

You scrunch your face up in distaste for the garments, Lauren notices and rolls her eyes with a sigh—

“you’re going to a bar y/n, not church okay? This is a perfectly acceptable look for the occasion.” You couldn’t disagree with her there.

“I know Laur, I just- I don’t know if I can pull that look off.” You say as you cross your arms over your chest.

“What are you talking about? Those legs and boobs were meant to be shown off.” She says as if it was common knowledge.

“Plus, these are all your clothes, if you didn't think you could pull them off then why do you have them?” She asks with a shrug of her shoulders as she sits down in the green tufted vintage chair opposite your bed.

“I bought them because I was working up the guts to eventually wear them someday.” You say in an almost defensive tone

“And what better time than now? C'mon, you’re meeting some guy you met on a phone sex hotline, if that doesn’t call for the sexy revealing outfit in the back of your closet you’ve been working up the guts to wear, then I don’t know what does.” She huffs out a laugh.

“Ya’ know what, you’re right!” You say with confidence.

“Damn right I am.” Lauren says back, making you both fall into a fit of laughter,

“thanks babe, I can always count on you to make me feel better.” You say with complete admiration for your best friend.

“Yeah, you owe me lunch. Now, try this shit on.” Lauren says with no real malice behind her words.

You left your apartment in the city at about 6:05pm making it into hawkins by 6:30pm.

You decide to roll down your windows as soon as you pass the ‘welcome to Hawkins’ sign, it had been a beautiful spring day and as the sun was setting the sky illuminated a pinky orange hue. The town smelled like hints of cow manure and fresh grass clippings. You could tell this was one of those small towns where everyone knew you and your business, that was something you were grateful you never had to worry about in the city.

You made it to Rips bar on the east side of Hawkins with five minutes to spare before Eddie and his band were to be on stage, the plan was for you to watch him play as he does every Saturday, and after you’d maybe play a couple rounds of pool before getting a bite to eat.

You didn’t mind the idea, and after learning that Eddie was in a band you were pretty excited to see him in his element, it also gave you some time to get a couple drinks into you before the initial meeting.

Before you turn off the ignition, you flip down the visor to inspect your makeup in the mirror, winged eyeliner still intact and red lipstick not yet smudged. You play with your voluminous curls, as you try to perfect the hair framing your face.

Stepping out of your red Acura legend, your platform Mary janes crunch on the rocky gravel of the parking lot while making your way into the bar.

You run your fingers down your black pleated skirt to smooth out any wrinkles that may have formed during your drive, adjust your white strapless corset top, almost making a split decision to grab the knitted cardigan in your back seat to hide the amount of cleavage you were presenting, but Lauren’s voice rings out in your head, the way she screeched “you’re a hot ass bitch!” At you, as you admired yourself in the mirror before leaving.

The recent memory making you chuckle as you grab the big golden handle attached to an even bigger red door. Swinging it open you’re hit with the different scents of cigarettes and leather.

you pull the white thigh high socks you almost protested against wearing, higher up your plush thighs before making your way inside.

The bar sits at the back, pool tables to the left surrounded by booths. The jukebox on the far left wall catches your eye, before you see a figure walk out onto the stage that sits front and center.

His long wavy brown hair flows beautifully past his shoulders, his guitar hangs off the side of his body, black ripped jeans, bullet belt, and a sepultura band tee that you only notice because your older brother is also a fan. His leather jacket hugs his biceps perfectly and his feet are adorned with high top Adidas.

You make your way over to the bar and take a seat on the round black leather chair, spinning around to continue ogling the man you hope is your date.

His whole being made the room feel almost unbearably hot, your mouth began to water as you fought against the need to clench your thighs.

The rest of the band struts on stage, settling in front of their respective instruments.

Eddie had told you all the members names and what they played:

Jeff on rhythm guitar

Grant on bass

And Gareth on drums

So that only leaves the man standing in front of the mic with his guitar now pulled closer to his chest to be Eddie.

He was fucking hot.

As you came to this revelation you had noticed a group of girls gather at the front of the stage, all of them eye fucking each member of the band.

It makes your stomach feel queasy, so you turn in your seat and order a Jack and coke from the very nice bartender, as an aide to calm your nerves and as a distraction, for now.

As the band starts playing, you recognize the song almost immediately—

Megalomania by Black Sabbath.

Eddie begins to sing into his microphone while simultaneously strumming his guitar.

I hide myself inside the shadows of shame

The silent symphonies were playing their game

My body echoed to the dreams of my soul

It started something that I could not control

Where can I run to now, the joke is on me

No sympathizing God, it’s insanity, yeah..

You sway in your seat to the music, singing along as you sip from your drink. Your eyes catch on the silver that decorate his fingers, your thoughts going to some really filthy places.

Eddie keeps his eyes closed for majority of the song, his playing must be full on muscle memory by now. Once he finally opens them, they scan the whole bar, finally falling on you.

They don’t leave yours, as the song crescendos to an end. You swallow harshly as all of his attention now seems to be on you, he looks over your frame with a shy smile before he sends you a wink.

The whole display makes your heart swoon. You could be any woman in this bar but his eyes chose yours.

That has to count for something.

Eddie’s eyes catch yours a few more times, and as you’re on your second drink you’ve gained a newfound confidence.

You wave to him with a wiggle of your fingers as you take the straw between your plump red lips, seductively taking a sip while never breaking eye contact.

Once the band's set is finished a younger man walks over to the jukebox and before you know it, shot in the dark by Ozzy is being played loudly throughout the bar.

Eddie and his band mates begin packing their equipment up, but as Eddie is putting his guitar away in its case, one of the girls from the front row walks up to him, she’s all big smiles and flirty touches.

He begins talking with her, you can hear her loud laughs even over the music. It makes your eyes roll and leaves a permanent scowl on your face.

The display makes your stomach turn. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe, Eddie didn’t really feel the way he said he did. Maybe, you should just get up and go home.

But before you know it the girl is headed to a booth that is now occupied by her friends.

Eddie’s eyes are back on yours, he's noticed you watching him out of his periphery, since the girl walked up to him.

He shoots you a knowing smirk, as he heads towards the exit with the rest of his band, you assume they’re going to put the instruments away, so you turn in your seat and begin to down the second jack and coke you’d been babysitting.

About 8 minutes pass and you’re convinced he took one look at you and left, your eyes begin to burn at the thought.

That is until you hear the deep rasp of your name being called behind you as he taps you on the shoulder, you swivel around in your seat to find the colporate.

Your eyes meet a set of beautiful brown doe ones, you stare into them for a second before he’s calling your name again.

“You’re y/n, right?” He asks, now not so sure he has the right person.

“Y-yeah, im y/n.” Your confidence wavers as Eddie stands before you.

Wow, he’s even more beautiful up close.

You both continue to keep eye contact as if breaking it would end your air supply.

But before you can continue to make a bigger fool out of yourself, you are hopping off the bar stool.

Eddie doesn’t miss the way your tits bounce as you do.

Now he was able to take you all in, and boy did he do just that. His eyes roamed your body from head to toe.

You hold out a hand for him to shake, accompanied by the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

He slid his calloused, ringed hand into yours and lightly shook it, never once breaking eye contact while shooting you a toothy smile, showcasing his pearly whites.

“Let’s sit.” He suggests, as he gestures to the bar stools.

Now seated, Eddie waves a hand to get the bartender's attention.

“How many of those have you had?” Eddie asks, closer to your ear in an almost whisper.

“Oh, um this is my second one.” You timidly respond.

“Okay, I think that’s enough for tonight, I want you to be coherent during our date, alright?” Eddie says in an almost commanding tone that makes your face heat up and an ache form in your belly.

“Two waters.” He says to the bartender as he holds up two of his ringed fingers.

Fuck, those rings were really doing it for you.

The bartender puts the waters Eddie ordered on little napkins and scoots them in front of you both, the condensation already leaving the napkin wet, you continue studying it before Eddie breaks the silence.

“So, how’d you like the show?” He asks sheepishly, as his right thumb circles the rim of his glass, you could only assume it was out of nervousness, or at least you hoped.

“I loved it, you guys are really good!” You beam, “got quite the fan base too.” You chuckle, Eddie can read the jealousy in your eyes, from a mile away.

“You jealous, baby?” He teases, making you roll your eyes at his cocky words.

“Yeah right.” Is all you say back before you take a sip of your water.

He chuckles before he speaks again.

“Can I be honest with you?” He says while trying to catch your eye, as you continue to observe the drink in front of you.

“Sure.” You say as your heart begins to race, your eyes finally meet his as you slightly turn to him in your chair.

“You’re not what I expected.” He says with a side smile

Ouch

“I’m sorry I didn’t live up to your expectations.” You snap with a slump of your shoulders.

“Whoa whoa, princess” he put his hands up in defense, “you exceeded my expectations.” He says with a wide smile, moving in closer to your exposed ear “you’re fucking gorgeous.” He whispers

“And this little outfit,” he tsks “is this for me?”

“Maybe.” You reply shyly, as you bite your lip.

You and Eddie sit at the bar a little longer; chatting, flirting and getting to know each other.

You find out he’s been at his hotline job for almost a year, he enjoys playing dnd in his spare time and he was raised by his uncle who he still has a great relationship with.

You also learn all the basics: his favorite color is red, his favorite food is Chinese and pizza, he’s a cat person and he collects vinyl records and comic books. You’re pleased to find out he’s essentially a nerd, like you.

You were even able ask him the ever daunting question of ‘what made you pick up a phone sex gig?’, which to that Eddie answered ‘eh, I knew it’d be easy money and I’d get to do what I do best, which is talk.’ That got him a very pleasing chortle out of you.

You both continue talking about your common interests of comics, horror movies and music for a bit longer, until he orders you both a beer and suggests moving to the pool tables, as they’re now empty along with the majority of the bar.

You step off the stool, platform Mary Janes sticking to the bar floor as you make your way to the tables, Eddie’s eyes are glued to the backs of your thighs and your ass in that little skirt.

You were absolutely hypnotizing and he knew keeping his hands off of you was going to be a challenge, all he wanted to do was run his fingers through your hair and pull your lips to his, rub his hands up your thighs and play with the waistband of your panties. He bet you wore some cute little lacey ones, maybe you didn’t wear any at all? That prospect made Eddie swell in his jeans, instantly.

You grab two cue sticks off the wall and hand one to Eddie, you rub the blue chalk on the tip before you pass that to him, too

Eddie removes the triangle from around the pool balls before he’s gesturing with his hand “ladies first.” He asserts, making you giggle before bending over directly in front of him, you hit the white ball with the tip of your stick making two solid balls into one of the pockets, before throwing a cocky smirk—

“guess I’m solids.” You proclaim while moving around the table to where the white ball is now sitting. You take the shot and the ball you had your sights on ricochets off the side missing the pocket by a hair.

Eddie smiles at you before taking his turn. You admire him as he bends over the table, his butt looks way too good in those black levi’s and the way his leather jacket hugs his body makes you bite your lip. You’re deep in thought before Eddie is calling your name.

“Y/n?” you respond with a huh as your cheeks heat up, “I said, let’s make this interesting?” He turns towards you, both hands placed over the top of his pool cue, he has an insatiable grin on his face that you just want to kiss right off.

“Okay, what do you have in mind?” You warely ask

“Everytime one of us makes a ball into the pocket, the other has to tell a secret.” He proposes with a sly grin.

You think about his words for a second, you didn’t have very many secrets, you were for the most part a good girl. You didn’t have any raunchy sex stories or a rebellious phase, so there wasn’t much to be revealed, but you figured Eddie had a ton so of course the smart thing to do was to agree, you would be an idiot not to.

“Okay, let’s do it!” You decide as you beam up at him, he nods his head in satisfaction before he’s moving out of your way for you to take your turn.

You make one ball into the pocket before you’re turning to him with a raise of your eyebrows, “spill, pretty boy.” You say before you could really think about your words, but before you can shy away and apologize, Eddie’s moving closer towards you with a smile on his face and a look in his eye you couldn’t quite read.

“Pretty boy, huh? That’s a new one… I like it.” He says in amusement, before he’s moving closer to you.

“My secret is, I’ve never had a real girlfriend.” He whispers closer to your ear.

“Ha-ha, yeah right! You have to tell an honest secret Eddie.” You roll your eyes as you move to grab your beer to take a sip.

“No, I’m being honest.” He says as his face slightly falls, you could tell from the look in his eyes that he was being genuine, but the confession took you completely off guard, there’s no way this sexy man never had a girlfriend. Also why was that the first secret he confessed? The whole thing made you beyond curious.

“It’s still your turn.” He says, making you file those questions away for later.

You walk back up to the table stone faced and in deep thought, you take your shot and miss before moving back to where your beer was, picking it up and taking another sip.

Eddie bends over the table, one arm stretched out at the front of the pool cue while the other grips the back, tongue out and in complete concentration.

Your eyes catch on a little silver ball-

Your breath hitches when the realization hits you.

His tongue is pierced

How have you missed that? The new information made your mind run rampant, what it would feel like to have it brush up against your tongue, your clit-

Stop

Before the thoughts could completely take over, Eddie walks around the table towards you with bouncing eyebrows.

“Tell me something good, sweetheart.” Your body almost goes slack at the nickname, god anything he calls you makes your head spin, or maybe it was these drinks? You think to yourself.

“Well, ummm, I’ve never gotten high before.” You confess, as your face grows hot.

“Is that a secret?” He asks with a squint of his eyes.

“I guess, my friends all think I got high with them once but I didn’t actually smoke it right, so I told them I was high cause I didn’t want to have to try again.” God, that’s such an embarrassing confession and you can’t believe you just said it out loud, you really are a complete loser.

“Wow princess, that’s some top secret stuff.” He howls, as you tense up at his teasing.

Eddie notices the look on your face, making his smile falter.

“Hey baby, I’m kidding!” He says moving in closer until the tips of his sneakers are touching your mary janes.

He grabs your chin, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes, they roam yours for a few seconds before he continues—

“I’m sorry, that’s a totally valid secret, okay? I didn’t mean to make fun or anything.” He says with sincerity.

“You're just a good girl, huh?” He says with a little smirk, “my good girl.” He whispers

You think for a second that he might make a move and kiss you, but instead he pulls away.

“Ya know what? Let’s get out of here, go grab some food and I don’t know, see where the night takes us.” He prescribes as he takes the pool cue out of your hands and hangs both back up on the wall.

He walks towards you and downs his beer, “you want this one too?” You ask as you motion towards the less than half full beer bottle in your hand.

He takes it from you and downs it too, before grabbing your hand and guiding you out of the establishment and into the crisp night air.

Eddie was definitely someone who was used to taking charge and that subtle dominance was making the blaze in your belly spread like wildfire.

You decide to leave your car in the parking lot of the bar, Eddie suggesting he drive you back to it when you’re ready to head home.

You agree, as he opens up the passenger door for you. Eddie takes your hand and helps you up before he places a sweet and tender kiss to the top of it, before letting it go to fall in your lap.

The van smells like cigarettes and woodsy cologne. You take a peek in the back seat before Eddie’s swinging the driver door open and hopping in.

The band's equipment takes up the majority of it, but you could see a little mattress pushed up beside one of the side windows, you wonder how many girls he’s hooked up with in the back of his van after one of his shows. You turn to look at him as he puts the key in the ignition and turns it, the engine roars to life and before you could get another thought in, the tape Eddie is playing booms through the speakers, making you jump up a foot in your seat.

Eddie quickly turns the knob down before shooting you an apologetic smile.

“So what do you feel like eating, angel?” He inquires sweetly

Angel

Well, you definitely felt like you were in heaven, being with Eddie, so it was fitting.

You and Eddie had decided on burgers, fries and milkshakes— he drove through the drive thru of his favorite burger joint, handing you the food to secure on your lap.

You weren’t sure what plans Eddie had in mind, but you were all for following his lead.

You and Eddie both sang along to rock hard ride free by Judas Priest, as he drove around Hawkins.

He’d occasionally look over at you with a sweet smile, as you mouthed the words.

Finally, after the third or fourth time and out of pure curiosity you turn to meet his eyes, he’s looking at you with a glint in those big pools of brown.

He sends you a wink before his head turns back to the road in front of him.

God, he was gonna be the death of you.

Eddie parks in front of an unfamiliar lake, the glow of the moon illuminates off the water, making what would be a pitch black area in the woods, gleam.

You begin opening the bag and taking the food out, ready to hand him his burger and fries before he turns down the music and clears his throat.

“Do you wanna sit on the hood?” He suggests, before opening his door and leaping out.

“Yeah, sure.” You nod as you grab the food and make your way out of the door that was just opened for you.

Eddie helps you up first, platforms stomping all over his front bumper as you try to catch balance on the big hunk of metal below you.

“You got it?” Eddie asks as your knee hits the hood, you pull yourself into a seating position, you now worry if Eddie caught a glimpse of anything under your skirt as you struggled. He hands you the food, before he’s easily pulling himself up onto his hood, he scoots closer to you, arms and legs touching as he leans back against the front window.

You begin to eat your fries while you stare off, eyes darting from the lake to the bright stars hovering above.

You pass Eddie his greasy food “So, you come out here a lot?” Your voice felt so soft coming out of your mouth, almost like you didn’t wanna break his daze.

“To lovers lake?” He says in surprise “yeah, I actually do.” He smiles while taking the food out of your hands.

He unwraps his burger and takes a bite as you begin to repeat, ‘lovers lake’ to yourself in your head.

“Why do they call it lovers lake?” You ask without much thought.

Eddie swallows his bite a bit abruptly before he begins to speak, “honestly, it got its name because it’s a pretty big hook up spot.” He nonchalantly says.

“Mmm” is all you give him with a tight press of your lips, you can’t help but to wonder how many of his hookups he brought to this exact spot, to fuck on that exact mattress pushed against the window and band equipment.

You knew this was part of it, you didn’t meet him in any conventional way. You both had phone sex already for Christ sake.

But you still couldn’t help the ache in your chest and the way your belly burned ablaze at the thought of him bringing you somewhere he brought someone else.

I’ve never had a girlfriend before.

But surely he’s had hookups? You assume lots of hookups, Eddie exudes sex appeal. He’s like a sex god while up on that stage, so there is no doubt in your mind he has hooked up with a number of women after his shows.

It shouldn’t matter, that was his past and it doesn't concern you. But the knowledge that he’s as experienced as he is and you haven’t even been eaten out yet makes you nervous and insecure.

“You must really like that milkshake.” Eddie laughs at the way you’re lost in thought why simultaneously downing the strawberry flavored malt.

You nod in agreement but Eddie notices the way you’re slouched with a seemingly sad look in your eyes as you continue to stare out at the lake in front of you.

“Hey, is everything okay?” He asks while moving in even closer to you and putting his hand he first wiped off onto his jeans, on your knee.

He begins to play with the fabric of your thigh high, while he awaits your answer.

“I’m fine, I’m just too in my head.” You say as Eddie takes the almost empty shake out of your hand and places the cup on the top of the van, behind you.

“Talk to me, baby.” Eddie continues rubbing at your knee, slightly working his way up to your unclothed thigh. Before snapping the fabric of your socks into your skin, making you slightly shriek with laughter.

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just nervous.” You say without looking at him.

“Nervous? Why would you be nervous?” He says it as if you shouldn’t have a care in the world, as if you were someone who should exude nothing but confidence.

If only that were true.

“Well, there’s a lot of things I haven’t done before.” You say as your eyes finally find his. “I’m not as experienced as you are, and I mean you taking me to a lake you’ve hooked up at probably multiple times, isn’t really helping.” You practically word vomit.

“Hey whoa, relax sweet girl.” He whispers while grabbing the meat of your inner thigh gently, his metal rings contrast the temperature of your skin perfectly.

His touch towards your more sensitive skin, draws goosebumps along your legs and arms. His affect on you is clear as day, even in the low light of the moon.

“I’ve never brought anyone out here. To be completely honest with you, I come out here alone to think and smoke. I’ve never hooked up with anyone here, baby. I can promise you that.” He continues—

“Now I would be lying if I said I didn’t have random hook ups in the back of the van, or in the parking lots or bathrooms of the bars I perform in.” You drop your head from his heated gaze to look down at his hand that is continuing to paw at the squishy skin of your thigh.

“Shit- look baby, just because I have some extra experience doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. I mean how else am I gonna treat you nice and make you feel good? I couldn’t do that if I didn’t have some experience, right?” He says so close to your ear you can feel his breath.

“Yeah I guess you’re right.” You nod, “I just don’t wanna be like the worst person you’ve ever been with.” You say with a somber laugh.

“Hey, you know this isn’t just about sex for me right? I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m very much looking forward to it.” he says before licking his red plump lips. “But this means so much more to me than that. I really like you sweetheart and I promise you, I will show you all the things you’ve been missing out on, okay?” He says with a deep set tone to his voice, one that could make you just fall to your knees for him.

He was oh so tempting.

“So, you’ve had plenty of hook ups but why is it you’ve never had a girlfriend?” You ask out of nothing but pure curiosity.

Eddie takes a deep breath before answering your loaded question.

“Believe it or not, I’m not too popular among the residents in this shit hole town.” His voice comes out equal parts dejected and vexed.

“What do you mean by that?” You ask as you put your hand on top of his, the one that still lays on your thigh, you lightly squeeze as an encouragement that you’re here, no matter what.

“Well, because of the way I dress and the music I listen to, oh and the fact that I play dnd.” He rolls his eyes before continuing “those are the reasons this town has labeled me a freak.” His jaw clenches slightly before he brings his chocolatey pools of brown to meet yours, the look he’s giving is so vulnerable, almost as if he’s giving you an out, a chance to run away from all the baggage his life brings.

“A freak?” You hiss as you scrunch your nose up in distaste, “and what’s so bad about that?” You ask innocently, too innocent.

“As far as I’m concerned, being different or a ‘freak’ isn't a bad thing, I mean to close minded people, maybe. But there’s a whole world out there of like minded people who like the same shit you do, just because this small town can’t value your differences doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.” You say honestly, the words pour out of you like a waterfall and just as peaceful to Eddie’s ears.

He rubs the light stubble on his chin, as if in deep thought but really he was just letting your words sink in. Nobody has ever said something like that to him; he wanted to savor them, write them down to read over later when he was alone, something to come back to when the adults of Hawkins stick their noses up at him, a reminder.

“You’re really something, you know that?” He settles for those words instead of what he really wants to say and do in this moment.

He might be in love with you, he might be in so much deeper than he thought.

“Me? No” you say with a nonchalant shake of your head, cheeks heating up under the glow of the night sky. “I’m just being honest.” You remove your hand from his, to push some of your hair behind your ear in a shy manner.

Eddie scoots even closer, his hand that was gently rubbing at your thigh, now around the small of your back, his fingers settling into the exposed flesh of your side.

He moves in closer to the ear you had just exposed to him, “don’t get shy on me now, baby.” He whispers, his voice so easily makes your thighs clench and your body stiffen all in a matter of seconds.

Eddie’s cocky, knowing laugh rings out but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. You feel embarrassed at how easily your body gives up control to him. As if you’re a puppet on a string, and him the perfect puppet master. He could make you do just about anything in this moment, more so with his husky voice pressed up against your ear. You want him to whisper the dirtiest things to you, call you his little slut. All things your ex wanted to do that you never wanted to entertain.

Eddie brings out a side of you, you never even knew existed. A side you are more than ready and willing to explore. If only with him.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute and sexy.” Eddie says while pulling out a half smoked joint he had tucked behind his other ear, he puts it between his lips before digging in his pocket for his lighter, a silver zippo with a skull in the middle.

“Mm, I don’t know about that.” You say with a laugh that shakes your shoulders.

“You need to stop selling yourself short, angel.” He says while lighting the spliff, smoke immediately bellows from his nose and mouth. God how could someone be so effortlessly sexy?

“You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for, you’re so much more y/n.” The way he says your name makes your insides twist in the best way. You’d never heard your ex talk about you like this, it was always what you could be better at, never that you were just good enough. Eddie made you feel good enough.

And in that moment you made it your goal to make him feel good enough, too.

After plenty of banter and deep conversation, Eddie hops off the hood, making his way to his side of the van. He flips down the visor retrieving something before making his way back towards you.

“So, I know you said you never smoked, but would you do me the honors of being the first person to get you high?” His eyes were hopeful but his voice was calm, as if to say no pressure without needing the words.

“I said I smoked, I just didn’t do it right.” You chuckle as you playfully roll your eyes “what the hell, why not?” You say after a quick deliberation.

“That’s the spirit, baby.” He says with a loud clap of his hands before climbing back onto his spot on the hood.

He does the same routine of pulling out his zippo and lightening and puffing with ease.

He blows the smoke up and into the crisp night sky, his neck on full display as he tilts his head back, the purplish blue veins making their appearance as they bulge ever so slightly out of alabaster skin.

You reach out and tuck his curly strand of hair behind his ear, a gentle gesture that pulls a smile from Eddie’s lips, his glossy red eyes meet yours for a second before he holds out the joint for you to take.

“You ready, beautiful?” His smile grows even wider as he notices the nervous look in your eyes.

God, you were the sweetest fucking thing.

“I guess as ready as I’ll ever be.” You retort with slight sarcasm.

“You know you can say no, right? I would never pressure you into doing something you don’t want to, okay?” His tone was so gentle and understanding, it made the nervousness that had plagued your body a second ago vanish in an instant.

“I know, but I want to, with you.” You whisper the last part, so low it would be a miracle if he heard you over the sounds of the crickets chirping off in the distance, but he did and those two words made his heart soar more than anything he’s ever experienced.

After a couple attempts of hitting the joint, you finally inhale correctly, the quick burn of the grass instantly making you cough manically. Your face grew hot at the thought of Eddie hearing you almost hock up a lung.

But there was no judgment behind his eyes, just a look that could ease even the most anxious of souls. His hand rubbed in between your shoulder blades, gently back and forth.

“You okay, baby?” You gave him a nod before bursting out into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

“What’s so funny? Huh?” Eddie inquires as he bumps his shoulder lightly into yours, he’s now laughing at your cute hyena cackle.

He thought you looked the most beautiful like this, head thrown back, laugh echoing off of the lake probably scaring off any wildlife in a 20 mile radius, eyes glossed over and watery as you wiped them away. He wanted to make you laugh like that all the time. Keep you happy and laughing, forever.

“I think I’m high!” You squeak out between laughs, Eddie can’t help but to let out a hyena cackle of his own at your revelation.

“Yeah, sweetheart I gathered that.” He says, while not breaking his gaze from you; eyes filled with complete adoration.

“Hey Eddie, can I ask you something?” Your high has brought on a whole other side to you, a bold side.

“You said people here consider you a freak, right?” You say while trying to keep your train of thought with this new feeling of brain fog settling in.

“Why don’t you move somewhere else? You’d love Indy, there’s a ton of metalheads and punks and nobody gives them shit, it’s different in the city, people are much more open minded.” It comes out much more rambley than you meant for it to.

“I guess.. I’m just too chickenshit to move somewhere where I don’t know anyone, I’m not really sure, I mean I’ve thought about leaving, it just never seemed possible.” He huffs out, slightly dejected.

“Well now you know someone.” You say before grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers together, his palms were sweaty and his rings were warm despite the light spring breeze that had you holding the hand that wasn’t in Eddie’s grasp between your thighs for warmth.

Eddie brings your interlocked hand up to his face and lightly kisses the skin on the back of yours, before he’s letting go and hopping off the hood, once again.

“So what do you want to do? The night’s still young.” He says while fixing the crotch of his jeans, like they were too tight.

“Let’s go swimming in the lake?” You suggest with way too much enthusiasm, it makes Eddie chuckle with amusement.

“That lake has to be fucking freezing, it was iced over all winter and it barely melted last month, so no thank you.” He says with a definitive wave of his hand.

He looks over to find you looking down at your feet in disappointment. You were such a brat, Eddie thought to himself, he knew exactly what you were doing with that shy little pout of your lips, he could just bite into the plump skin.

“But I do know of a heated pool we can sneak into.” He says, making your pout turn right side up into the most perfect smile.

“Yes, a heated pool sounds amazing!” You squeal

You and Eddie pull up to a big gray two story house with a bright red door, the maroon BMW in the driveway catches your eye and you wonder how Eddie knew whoever it was that lives here.

In your eagerness you didn’t wait for Eddie to open your door, instead you quickly jump out, closing it as lightly as possible behind you.

“Cmon.” Eddie whispers as he comes around the van, grabbing you by your hand and practically dragging you to the side of the house.

Eddie makes a big show of jumping up onto the gate, he turns back to grab your hand to hoist you up but instead you flip the latch up and the side gate swings open. The look on Eddie’s face is priceless as he jumps down from his awkward position.

“Are you training to be a gargoyle?” You huff out a laugh trying not to be loud enough for the occupants of the big house to hear.

“Ha-ha” he mocks, but you could tell he wanted to laugh along. A smile broke out across his reddened cheeks. You wanted to pinch them and give them all the kisses but the sight in front of you broke you from that trance. Eddie was removing his leather jacket and pulling his band tee over his head, the tattoos that graced his torso up to his chest, neck and arms now on full display now.

They were beautiful, he was beautiful. There wasn’t an inch of skin left visible and fuck did that make you throb.

He begins toeing off his shoes and removing his jeans before he’s left standing in a pair of red plaid boxer shorts.

You swallow hard when you notice the tattoo above his lower stomach, the words “choking hazard” written in what looks to be the same font as those warning labels.

“You gonna go swimming in your outfit, baby?” Eddie taunts.

You shake your head before you start removing your platforms and thigh highs. The buzz must still be present in your body because the insecurities you would normally feel in this moment are null and void.

You remove your skirt, leaving you in a pair of white lace panties that match the corset top too perfectly. You had no choice but to go swimming in the top since you weren’t wearing a bra underneath, but at this moment you didn't care.

Either this weed made you far less uptight or Eddie brought out your adventurous side, either way you were gonna enjoy it and live in this moment with him.

You stalk up to where Eddie is sitting, his feet already dipped into the pool as he swings them back and forth. He wanted to give you privacy, didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable with him watching you as you undress, which you thought was sweet.

You put your foot onto the first step to get a feel for the temperature and once you realize it’s perfect and warm, you bring your other foot in to join.

You continue on to the second, gaining Eddie’s attention now. He looks over and his eyes fall to your ass and the practically nonexistent panties you’re wearing, you turn around to face him and he can see the outline of your pussy making him swallow harshly. You look like an angel, he wanted nothing more than to corrupt. He stands up onto the step, he’s facing you while letting his eyes shamelessly roam your body.

A devious smile twists upon his lips, but before you can take a step back, Eddie is grabbing you by the waist and pushing you both into the deep water of the pool. You gasp as you come back up for air still in shock from the look in his eyes and his sudden actions. The smell of chlorine, now heavily stuck in your nose from the intake of chemical water.

Eddie swims up to you laughing, the devious smile now replaced with a smug one. You splash him while paddling away with hysterical laughter, you totally forgot that you were in someone else’s pool therefore not holding back the laughs and screams of Eddie's name as he swam towards you like the shark from jaws.

“Eddie please stop!” You cry out as you grab the side of the pool, your laughter making you too weak to keep yourself afloat.

Eddie finally grabs you, maneuvering your legs around his hips while he holds you by the backs of your thighs. He’s able to stand in the almost 6 foot deep end of the pool, water still hitting underneath his chin while you now willingly wrap your arms around his neck, palms placed flat onto the exposed skin of his back.

“Shhh, you gotta be quiet, baby.” He whispers seductively into your ear, it makes a shiver run down your spine. You can feel his hardness as it lines up perfectly with your core. Eddie’s hands move higher up, now grabbing two handfuls of your ass, making you buck your hips into his.

You moan into his neck as his hard cock catches against your barely covered clit. “Fuck.” Eddie growls into your ear while you continue to buck your hips.

Eddie begins to push your ass forcefully against him. He picks his head up from where it’s placed on your shoulder, to look at your face.

Your brows are furrow as an “o” shape settles on your beautiful lips. Eddie moves in closer but as you notice and before you could even begin moving in to meet him, a light from the back porch is turned on, making you and Eddie freeze in place.

A head pops out of the sliding door, a guy who looks to be around you and Eddie’s age, begins to shout—

“What the fuck?! What are you doing in my pool?” The guy with what you had to admit was a beautiful head of hair, shouts. Eddie hops up onto the ledge and pulls you out before rushing over to grab all of the clothes that sit scattered around the concrete.

“Run!” Eddie hisses at you, while picking up the last garment.

The guy's voice gets louder as you and Eddie begin to run; he shoves open the gate as you both make your way into the dimly lit street. You hear some shuffling behind you and can only assume the owner has begun chasing after you both, only making you run faster and your adrenaline skyrocket.

You both jump into the van with preparations to take off, but when you look out the window and observe your surroundings you notice you weren’t being followed, there was no one out on the street, but you and Eddie.

Once you both caught your breath and let your rapid pulses mellow out, you couldn’t hold it in; your hyena cackles were back and in full force as you began laughing so hard you had to hold your stomach from the dull pain.

Eddie couldn’t hold it in either, he throws his head back as he hysterically laughs at the events of the night. The fact that you both had to run in the street in your underwear was what had you wiping the tears from your eyes. It was one of those laughs that was good for the soul.

Once the laughing died down, your eyes were full of tears and your cheeks sore, an almost tense silence fell upon Eddie’s van. To someone else it would look as if you and Eddie were playing a round of who could stare the longest without blinking, but in reality the come down from the adrenaline and the tension from the pool had caught up and you and Eddie weren’t going to let another opportunity slip through your fingers.

Eddie’s eyes caught your lips first before doing a couple more glancing shifts from eyes to lips; you matched him by gawking at his full plump set, his tongue swiping over his bottom one, the tongue ring you forgot about now at the forefront of your mind, again.

You would do anything to feel it up against yours; up against any part of you to be perfectly honest.

You make the first move, throwing your patience out the barely cracked window; you move in closer, to Eddie’s surprise.

He slowly moves in to meet you, his patience must’ve left with yours because he grabs the back of your head, ringed fingers taking agency in the nape of hair on your neck. He pulls you in; lips clashing and tongues dancing together in a harmonized manner.

The silver ball against his tongue continues to roll against yours. Although he’s rough with his lips his tongue is gentle and precise, you’ve never kissed anyone and it feel this sensual and downright erotic.

Before you can overthink your next move, you climb into his lap, straddling his hips; your knees resting on each side of his tan leather bucket seats. The kiss grows more heated, his strong hands move across your body. One hand holds tightly onto your hip while the other explores your skin, once he gets to the fabric of your white panties, Eddie pulls the tiny elastic fabric, letting it pop back into your flesh making you groan out in pleasure.

“Mmm, did you like that sweet girl?” Eddie purrs into your ear, making you swiftly nod your head to confirm his suspicions.

“Fuck, you like a little bit of pain, baby?” He asks as if he’s ready to haul you over his middle console and spank your ass black and blue.

Is that what he’s into?

The thought made your body heat up like a furnace fire, you’ve never done anything like that before all of your sexual experiences had been vanilla at best, so the idea of Eddie inflicting pain on you for his own sexual gratification lit a match under your ass, you wanted to experience it all with Eddie. You wanted to use him as your own personal guinea pig, find out exactly what it is that was missing in your last relationship, what made you tick, what made you cum.

Eddie breaks the kiss leaving you to whimper at the loss “do you wanna head back to my place?” He inquires while reading your face for any signs of uneasiness at his admission.

“Yes, please.” You whisper into his lips, voice dripping with desperation. Eddie couldn’t help but twitch in his pants because of it.

The drive to Eddie’s apartment was unnerving, not only because of the very unpredictable sex you were about to have, but because Eddie was swerving in and out of lanes like a madman. His one hand effortlessly held the wheel while the other possessively grabbed at your thigh, your skirt right back in its rightful place.

Although Eddie’s grip on you could’ve made you melt into your seat, you couldn’t help but wish he would keep both hands on the wheel if he was going to drive like hell-for-leather.

Finally he pulls into a sparse car park, bringing the van to a full stop. You could’ve swung the door open and fell to your knees kissing the floor, beyond grateful to get to your destination in one piece. Your tight grip on the door handle falters and you move to make a bee line out of the death trap.

“Oh c'mon, I don’t drive that bad.” Eddie chuckles at your less than thrilled face. He puts his arm around your shoulders, leading you up some stairs and to a dingy white door.

Once you step through the threshold and into the very decently sized apartment, the smell of pumpkin hits your nose. You look around at all of the metal memorabilia displayed around his home; from the band posters to the vinyls and tapes, to the array of band tees laying around. You slip off your shoes before you make your way deeper into the living room, and just as you suspected a half burned through pumpkin candle sits on a large speaker/stereo combo that holds a large stack of tapes—

A vast collection of metal: exodus, metal church, massacre, sodom, venom and overkill just to name a few.

Eddie haphazardly throws his keys into a rusty dish near his entryway and stalks up behind you as you continue to take in the decor. His hands fall on your hips, as he rubs over the fabric of your skirt, inching down closer and closer to your exposed thighs.

Resting his chin on your bare shoulder, Eddie whispers tauntingly, “something catch your eye, angel?”

You take in a shaky breath before you’re able to answer, “just looking at your tapes, you’ve got quite the collection.” You smile as you turn around, now facing the object of your desire.

“Mm, see anything you like? I can put one in, just for you.” He whispers suggestively.

His hands make way under your skirt, slowly sliding up until their back on your ass, almost mirroring the same position you were in when you got caught in that guy with the nice hairs, pool.

“I see a lot of things I like.” You whisper back as you bat your lashes up at Eddie, “oh you meant put a tape in, I thought we were talking about something else.” You giggle at the way Eddie’s eyes widen a bit and snorts out a loud howl of laughter, his head tipping back at the suggestive joke.

“Oh, so little miss good girl can crack some naughty jokes? I didn’t think you’d catch that.” He presumes while rubbing at his hairless chin, as if stroking an imaginary beard.

“I said I wasn’t as experienced, I never said I was a virgin.” You challenge with a raise of your eyebrows, this was a side of you that you felt comfortable with around Eddie, the playful flirting. Although Eddie was much better at it, it was still fun to play along.

“Mm, I distinctly remember you telling me you’re a virgin at having your pussy eaten though, am I right?” Eddie practically growls into your ear, his warm breath tickling your neck and causing a herd of goosebumps to raise on your skin.

His crude words nearly make a whimper slip out of your mouth, you gracefully swallow it back down not wanting Eddie in on the effect he was having over your body, but judging by the changes on your skin and the slight chill you weren’t able to compose, Eddie was very much aware of said effect. His sly grin were the unspoken words you needed to egg on all those pretty noises he’d heard for the first time on the hotline, the ones Eddie couldn’t go to sleep without dreaming of, the ones he couldn’t even jerk off without thinking about.

“Isn’t that what you told me? No one’s ever showed your little pussy what it’s been missing.” He tsks before continuing “that’s a real shame baby, but I’d be damn happy to show your sweet peach how it’s supposed to be eaten, cause I do it really well.” His cocky boyish grin is making you flood your panties and the dirty words aren’t doing anything to help.

You’re stunned into silence, you had given Eddie all of your sexy flirty material. You were at your proverbial limit. You had run out of characters.

He was a phone sex operator, of course you couldn’t keep up with his dirty talk, this was just like another normal working night for him.

Eddie grabbed at your chin, gently tilting your head up towards his, he could tell you had checked out and were now in your head, something Eddie noticed that you do a lot.

“Hey, baby. You okay?” The concern in his voice made you snap out of whatever foggy daze you were in.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine, just you’re really good at that, too good, if I’m being honest.” You light heartedly confess with a titter.

“Do you not like it? Should I tone it down?” You could tell by the rasp in his voice that he was nervous, the last thing he’d want is to overstep or make you feel uncomfortable.

You realized in that moment that reassurance was key with Eddie, he needed you to be more vocal, let him know what you like and dislike, and he’d do the rest.

That sentiment finally made your shoulders drop, the tension and nervousness dissipating from your body in an instant, you could trust him, give yourself to him in a way you never felt comfortable doing with anyone else.

“No, I meant it in a good way. I really like it, Eddie.” You purred up at him with a shy smile.

He beamed down at you with a look you could only describe as complete adoration.

His hands continued roaming your hips, thighs and ass, before he spoke up again.

“Lay your pretty ass on the couch, let me take care of you baby.” He asserts with a harsh slap to your barely covered behind.

The moan you’ve tried so hard to conceal finally found its way out, making Eddie release a breathy laugh into your neck.

“I knew you’d like that,” Eddie shook his head in utter disbelief “now get on the couch princess, I don’t wanna have to punish you, okay?” His assertive voice grew soft, as if trying to scale your reaction to his little game.

You practically pounced on the couch, not having to be told twice. You were a ready and willing participant in whatever game Eddie wanted to play with you, as long as he continued touching and talking to you, you’d do just about anything he wanted.

You laid back on the black leather couch, your head touching the cracked armrest. Eddie stalked up like a predator to prey. “Nope,” he said with a pop of the p, “I want you like this..” he manhandles you into position. Your head on the lower backrest of the couch, your ass slightly hanging off the cushion as he lifts your legs up while simultaneously pulling them apart.

Your skirt now hiked up to your belly and your white panties on full display, along with the quarter sized wet spot in the middle of your center.

“Stay right there.” Eddie commands with a wag of his finger.

He saunters over to the stereo, grabbing for a cassette to slip on, most likely to hide your wails and moans that he’s going to gladly pull from you.

He doesn’t ask you what tape you want, again. Choosing one he knows will conceal your cries of pleasure.

You continue to do your best by holding yourself in place, not wanting to move and disobey what Eddie had asked of you.

It takes you a while to place what song he’s chosen to play, and in that moment you couldn’t be anymore grateful that you have an older metalhead sibling.

Dragon time by Saint Vitus booms through the speakers. The slow melodic voice, heavy shreds of the guitar and overall trippy work of the instruments was the perfect soundtrack for fucking.

Eddie wastes no time, before you can even comprehend what’s going on; he’s kneeling in front of you, face so close to your dripping wet pussy.

He makes quick work of pulling your panties off of your body, like he’s unwrapping the gift he’s been waiting ages for on Christmas morning.

His eagerness makes you giggle.

Eddie flashes you a warning look, as if to say “be quiet or I’ll make you be quiet.” You got the message loud and clear. He grabs at your thighs, once again pulling them back; your knees now resting on the leather of the backrest above your head, your pussy open and on full display like a beautiful painting just for him.

“Wow,” Eddie whispers to himself in complete and utter fascination, “you’re a fucking dream.” He utters again, while moving in closer to your glistening cunt.

He nudges your clit with the tip of his nose, making you whimper at the swift shock to your bundle of nerves.

Eddie smiles up at you through his lashes, offering you a cocky grin before he sticks his tongue out and kitten licks at your clit, the silver ball on his tongue adding the most perfect friction. His eyes never leave yours as he gently gives it a few more flicks.

The whole thing was so intimate, yet downright filthy. You loved it, loved everything Eddie was willing to give you.

“Fuck!” You groan, as his lips gently wrap around your sensitive nub and begins suckling. It felt like heaven, you couldn’t help but throw your head back in complete ecstasy.

Eddie continued lapping at your pussy while occasionally sucking or fucking you with his tongue.

He was right, he’s really fucking good at this.

Once Eddie slipped two fingers in and curled them up, you were a goner. Your body shaking and writhing as he sucked your clit while fucking you on his heavily ringed and tattooed digits. His left hand slowly rubbed up and down on your right thigh, while continually repeating how tight you were for him.

As you were cumming the hardest you’ve ever come, Eddie slipped his drenched pruney fingers from your sopping hole and grabbed both thighs hiking them up higher. He continued to suck on your clit, but this time it was with more pressure as he shook his head back and forth, for what you could only assume was for maximum pleasure.

“Holy shit! I’m cumming so hard!” You shouted over the music still playing in the background, “please don’t stop!” You began repeating to yourself like a prayer.

Once your body stopped shaking and your moans died down, Eddie popped his head up from between your thighs. He assed your face before asking “how was that?” As if your screams and cries weren’t enough of an answer.

“That was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You say with a serious yet fucked out face, Eddie snorts at your words while letting go of your legs, they softly fall to the floor and you’re convinced if you tried to use them in any capacity, they would completely fail you.

“Do you need help, baby?” Eddie sweetly asks while holding out his hand for you to take.

You tentatively place your smaller hand in his, pulling yourself up on shaky legs. You flush with embarrassment when you feel a combination of Eddie’s spit and your juices spill down your inner thighs.

Eddie swiftly throws you over his shoulder, as if you weigh nothing, practically skipping off to what you presume was his bedroom, “Eddie, I could’ve walked!” You yelp.

“Well, your legs were shaky and what better way to thank you for letting me eat your sweet pussy, than to escort you straight to my bed, hmm?” He grunts as he slaps your exposed ass before lightly throwing you down onto his black silky sheets.

Eddie begins removing his leather jacket, harshly placing it over his brown wooden desk chair that was off to the side, then he makes quick work at removing his band shirt, haphazardly tossing it somewhere in the mess of his room, to be dealt with later. His tattoos once again capture your full attention, but this time you didn’t shy away from letting your eyes roam, you let them venture from his chest and arms to the “choking hazard” that made your heart race in your chest; you needed him, you needed him like the hot needs the sun.

As Eddie moves in closer, you notice the only thing left on his body are his damp red boxer shorts, your eyes selfishly roam his body, again. Finally meeting his chocolate brown orbs, as he hovers over you. A shaky breath is released from your mouth, a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding in.

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks, sensing your nervousness. You nod as your doe eyes stare up at him, Eddie could’ve exploded; both heart and another organ, at the look you were giving him, so sweet and innocent, he fucking loved it.

“Yeah, it’s more than okay.” You reassure with a whisper, while studying Eddie’s face; his dark glazed over yet caring eyes, the light freckles on his nose and his beautiful swollen, kiss bitten lips.

He moves in closer rubbing his nose against yours, you close the gap for a second time tonight by bringing your lips to his in a hungry, lust filled kiss.

Eddie sucks on your bottom lip before his tongue makes entrance into your mouth. It’s sloppy and messy and spit filled and the pleasure of it goes straight between your legs. So much so, you cannot contain the desperate moans and whimpers that slip out, especially as Eddie begins to rub his rapidly growing cock against your very exposed pussy.

“You sound so pretty for me, baby.” Eddie whispers into your neck, “don’t stop making those noises okay? If I’m making you feel good I need to know, I don’t give a fuck how loud you get, understand?” He says as you both now realize the tape has stopped playing in the living room.

“Okay.” You shyly whisper back before biting at your tender, bottom lip.

Before Eddie has the chance to kiss you again, you speak up; still rather shyly. “Can I um, can I ask you a question?” Your voice is almost as low as the humming of the refrigerator in his kitchen, but thankfully Eddie hears you.

“You can ask me anything, sweet girl.” He says in a tone almost as low as yours.

“This is stupid but um have you ever gotten t-tested before?” You stutter out as your chest warms with embarrassment.

“Like for std’s?” Eddie says louder this time, almost in mild disbelief that you’d bring that up in the middle of what was happening, as that’s a question you usually ask beforehand.

You nod your head, feeling slight mortification while looking at everything in the room but Eddie.

“Yeah actually, I just got tested a few weeks ago.” He says while reaching in his night stand, a crinkle from paper could be heard as he whips the results from a test he had taken exactly three weeks ago out and in front of your face. “I don’t keep it in there for times like this, cause I know that’s where your mind will go.” He says with a huff of laughter.

You laugh back, playfully swatting at his chest.

“You know me too well, already.” You quip as you shake your head in disbelief that he has read you so well in just mere hours.

“What about you?” He asks, making your smile slightly falter into something more serious.

“Yeah, I actually had to get tested after Troy cheated on me, just to be sure. Ya know?” You said with a hint of glumness to your words. “I'm clean, and I haven’t been with anyone sense, so…” you trail off, while uncomfortably shifting underneath him.

Eddie studies your face for a few second before his head moves in closer to your ear, “are you asking because you want me to fuck you raw, sweetheart?” His words alone make you whimper, a little from embarrassment but mostly just because he’d picked up on exactly what you were trying to put down.

You nod with a “mmhm” that sounded more sexual than intended.

“Want to feel every inch of my cock in that tight little pussy, don’t you?” His cocky words and smirk to match made you want to cower away while simultaneously wanting to flip him over and ride him until your legs were sore. But you did no such thing. Instead you nod your head, again. This time with a seductive bat of your lashes as you bite at your bottom lip.

“Dirty girl.” He playfully snides before taking a chunk of skin on your neck between his teeth and gently biting, before sucking and soothing with the ball of his tongue ring.

You moan out into the dim light of his bedroom, your head falls deeper into his silk sheets as your back arches, pushing your clothed breasts into Eddie’s chest. The position allows him more access to leave all the marks he so pleased.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull out once I’m inside you, angel.” Eddie growls into your neck, before biting and sucking at more of your sensitive skin.

“You don’t have to.” You exhale with the sweetest most feminine moan Eddie has heard by far.

“Oh?” He chuckles before placing a few more wet kisses along your jawline to make you squirm.

“You want me to cum inside you too, sweet girl?” He shakes his head with a tsk, “Angel's not much of an angel at all, is she?” Eddie smirks at his teasing before going back to his work of leaving wet kisses across the skin of your neck.

You continue to moan and writhe at his provoking words, the burning in your belly feels like it’s rapidly spreading, and the only thing that can put it out is him, inside you.

Eddie begins to grow slightly impatient at your lack of words; his fingers make quick work at grabbing your cheeks with a little more force than you’ve been used to, tonight. “I asked you a question, baby. Do you want me to cum inside your pussy?”

Your eyes widen while his bore down into yours as if he’s so enamored by you, like he was genuinely looking at you for the first time. Not just a girl he wanted to sleep with, no. A girl he wanted to be with, a girl he wanted to grow with.

“Say it.” He growls. His fingers tighten on your cheeks, but not hard enough to cause pain. Even if they did you wouldn’t tell Eddie to stop, this side of him was one you were curious and enthralled to see more of.

“Yes. I want you to cum inside me, Eddie.” You whimper into his lips as they hover over yours, before continuing your desperate plea. “I’m on the pill.” You finish, before grabbing the back of Eddie’s head and crashing his lips back into yours, but before you could settle into the kiss, he pulls away.

Your eyes are still half lidded from the kiss before you realize his tattooed fingers are making work at removing the clips on your white corset top.

Your best guess would be around close to 40 small clasps, but Eddie’s dexterous fingers remove them all in under minutes.

He flings the white top open after the last obstacle has been removed. Gently pulling it from around your back and throwing it to meet his shirt and jeans somewhere scrawled on the mess of his bedroom floor.

He removes his knee from its kneeling position between your legs, standing up on both socked feet to take in your form. His eyes look dark and hungry while they explore every part of you that you have so gracefully exposed to him.

“You’re so beautiful and gorgeous…just fucking perfect, sweetheart.” He coos before moving back into his previous position of hovering over you, both hands taking place on each side of your head.

His arm tattoos, protruding veins and muscles are now eye level. You take in every tattoo from a flock of bats, to an “HF” in some old English font, to the name ‘Wayne’ in a heart tattoo on his chest. There were so many; you’d have to explore them later.

“Can I see all of you?” You ask, too timidly for your own liking.

Eddie’s warmth leaves yours, again. He works quickly, thumbing his boxers down and clumsily kicking them off of his left leg.

You chuckle at his uncoordinated actions, before your breath hitches in your throat; his cock now your sole focus and you couldn’t look at anything else in this moment if you tried.

It’s fat, long and the silver jewelry on his tip makes you clench your thighs together, but also kind of terrifies you at the same time.

His head is an angry red, some beads of precum have worked its way onto the jewelry. Everything about him has you salivating.

“It’ll fit, baby.” He sighed, you were surprised at the lack of cockiness in his voice. You wondered how many women’s eyes bulged at the sight of him, for him to be so used to having to quell away worries.

Not important, you’re here now.

“With the piercing too? Will that hurt?” You scrunch your nose up at the thought of it hurting your insides. No one you’ve ever been with had piercings, hell they didn’t even have tattoos, so this was all so new.

Eddie snorts “no, I promise it won’t hurt, the whole point is to bring you extreme pleasure. That’s all I intend to do.” He admits while moving to lift your skirt up, giving him a better view of your still glistening sex. The manicured hair on top of your mound now wet and shiny, too.

“How do you want me?” He asks as his fingertips ghost over your still sensitive clit.

“Can I be on top?” You hesitantly ask, you figured the position would give your body more control, or maybe that’s just what you’re telling yourself so you feel like you have some semblance of jurisdiction.

“Yeah baby, you can be on top.” Eddie nods while licking at his lips, he pulls you up so he can lay, now mirroring your previous position.

He sits up, pulling off your last article and letting the skirt meet the same fate as the other garments.

Eddie grabs your hips with both hands, moving you closer to straddle his lap. His cock lays flat upwards towards his belly button, so big you couldn’t help but to sit on the shaft. Warm skin on skin making you and Eddie moan out, as you maneuver yourself to get comfortable.

You’re still a soaked mess from Eddie’s earlier ministrations between your thighs, making the glide against Eddie’s shaft that much more delicious. “Fuck, angel!” He groans as his jaw tightens and his head falls back in complete and utter bliss.

“I need you inside me, Eddie.” You whisper into his jaw before you begin your trek down his neck to his chest. Leaving sloppy kisses of your own.

Eddie harshly grabs your ass with one hand, fingers prodding roughly into the fleshy globe while reaching down to wrap his other hand around his cock, giving it a few slow but forceful strokes before he begins lining his tip up with your dripping hole.

Once he’s finally breached your entrance, Eddie steadily holds your hips as if to keep you from taking too much at a time. His girth is stretching you open, so much that your eyes begin to slightly water and your breathing gets ragged. You can feel the silver jewelry sliding against your walls, you can feel it as you take him inch by mouth watering inch.

“Oh my god!” You and Eddie both groan in unison, as more curses slip out of Eddie’s mouth, yours drops open in a silent moan. Everything almost too much; while simultaneously not being even close to enough.

“Holy shit, you’re so fucking tight, baby.” Eddie whimpers.

You remove your hands that were digging harshly into Eddie’s shoulders, replacing them onto his sticker littered wooden headboard. The way he continued to split you open slowly, methodically had you gripping the wood so hard your knuckles began to whiten. The action brought your chest closer to Eddie’s face, he wasted no time before he began kissing, sucking and licking at your hardened nipples, his tongue ring gliding ever so sensually over the stiffened buds.

Finally, after your slow work of sinking down onto Eddie’s cock, it’s now sheathed entirely inside of you, along with the help of Eddie’s thumb rubbing small circles into your clit.

Your whole body was buzzing, you felt high and drunk off of Eddie, not only with having him inside of you but by the sounds that were slipping out of his pretty mouth, too many “fuck, babys” and “holy shits” to keep count.

Your hands grip the headboard even tighter as you use it as leverage to help you begin bouncing up and down on Eddie’s painfully hard cock, while he begins to lose it below you.

His hands move from your hips now that you’re fully seated on him, down to your ass. Taking two handfuls, fingers grabbing so tight his nails are breaching your skin, almost like he’s afraid you’d disappear.

“Fuck yes, baby. Keep bouncing on my cock!” He growls before slapping one of the cheeks he’d been clutching for dear life. Your skin easily heats up at the force, the spank brought you more pleasure than you ever thought it would. You had decided right then that you wanted Eddie to be rougher with you.

“Please—” you begin, already too fucked out to string together a simple sentence.

“Hmm?” Eddie hums with a teasing lilt behind his words “what was that, angel? Please what? Huh?”

Your eyes begin to water again, not from the teasing but from the rapidly growing fire in the pit of your stomach, one you’ve never had the pleasure of feeling, until now.

You swallow away the spit that is now coating your tongue, before you try speaking again.

“Please, don’t be gentle. I n-need you to fuck me.” You do nothing to hide the shaky rasp in your sweet voice, Eddie can already feel you squeezing him, he knows you’re close.

So he takes matters into his own hands, regaining the control he so often enjoys.

He quickly flips you both over, deja vu of the position you’d first been in when Eddie threw you on his bed.

He makes haste work of grabbing his cock and slamming it back into you, this time giving you no warnings or slow thrusts. No, he’s giving you exactly what you so desperately begged for.

Eddie hikes your legs up by the backs of your knees. The position pushes him in deeper, so deep you can feel him in your abdomen.

“Fuck!” You whine “you’re so deep!” You can practically feel Eddie’s piercing drag against your spot, a spot you’ve only ever been able to reach once with your fingers at a time when you were particularly too horny, but it didn’t feel like this.

“I know I am, baby. I can see my dick in your belly.” He titters before he removes one hand from your leg, placing it on top of your lower stomach where his cock is protruding from, he rubs it as if he’s trying to jack himself off through your skin.

“You feel that?” He says while slowly thrusting in and out of your aching pussy. You glance down to get a better look, nodding your head with the smallest “mmhm” to follow.

He smirks at you with a wink before he’s back to the hard rough thrusts you so shamelessly begged for.

“Mmm, pussys so good princess. Can’t wait to fill her up, have her leaking my cum for hours.” He huskily groans into the skin of your neck.

His thrusts are relentless, and the fire in the pit of your stomach, returns with a vengeance.

“Oh fuck!” You wail as you feel the beginnings of a very intense orgasm, “I’m gonna—” you continue your shouts of pleasure. “Oh my god, Eddie!”

“That’s it, Angel. Cum for me.” He growls into your lips before moving in for a searing, passionate kiss.

“I’ve never—” the words die on your tongue, as the overwhelming sense of contemptment grips your body.

“No one’s ever made you cum on their cock, baby?” Eddie questions

His eyebrows are pinched as he stares into your eyes. His thrusts slow, making the semblance of a sweet release dissipate.

“No, no one’s ever made me cum but myself.” You bashfully confess.

Eddie’s thrusts come to a full stop, his eyes feel like they’re burning holes into your sockets. He clenches his jaw before shooting you a look of empathy, like he’s so sorry no one’s ever taken care of you before, but he’s here now and that's all he wants, to continue taking care of you, forever.

“Hold on to me, sweet girl.” He softly mutters “I’m gonna make you feel so good, okay?” It’s not said in a cocky, ‘I know I can make you cum’ kind of way, but more so in an ‘I’ll do anything you need to make you cum’ kind, and if he was thrusting any faster, those words would’ve been the thing to pull you under, deep into that ocean of orgasmic bliss.

You wrap your legs around Eddie’s lower back while throwing your hands around his neck, clinging on to him like some kind of koala to a tree.

Eddie smirks at your actions; fuck, if you weren’t the cutest fucking thing in the world.

His thrusts begin to pick up, gradually until they’re fast and unforgiving. He begins kissing and sucking on a spot he’s found that makes you squirm and moan.

He brings his thumb up to rub along your bottom lip, the calluses on his finger glide so smoothly on your spit soaked skin.

“Suck.” He demands into your ear, his words willing you to open up, taking the digit onto your tongue before closing. You make a little show of ‘how deep will it go?’ before finally popping off and leaving it drenched with your spittle.

He brings his saturated thumb in between your bodies and begins rubbing small gentle circles on your clit, making your body jolt at the shock of pleasure.

Your legs begin to shake and your limbs begin to tighten around Eddie, your head falls back and the words you wanna scream that are on the tip of your tongue, just won’t come out.

“That’s it, that’s it, Angel.” Eddie whispers to you with his head in the crook of your neck, “squeezing me so fucking tight, baby.” He tenderly growls, “you’re doing so good for me. Just let go, let go and cum on my cock.” He mumbles those last words before giving the spot on your neck a particularly hard suck.

His praise mixed with his pierced cock stretching you out and the attention to your neck; throws you so hard over that precipice, you’ve just been aching to fall from.

This orgasm was life changing, earth shattering, all consuming.

Once you’d fully come to, Eddie begins planting little kisses to your face and neck, repeating how good you did, and what a good girl you are for him.

“It’s my turn, baby.” Eddie whispers before he's pounding you into his mattress, deep hard strokes and filthy words.

“I’m gonna ruin your sweet little cunt for anyone else, you hear me?” He practically snarls “Tight fucking pussy, just for me.” He continues, “you ready baby? You ready for daddy’s cum?” His body stiffens before he begins groaning and babbling incoherently.

As he cums you treat his neck as he treated yours, leaving sloppy kisses and sucking little purple marks into his ivory skin.

Once his body has relaxed, you can feel his release dripping out of you and onto his silk sheets, but he makes no effort to move, his knees stay planted on the bed so as not to completely squish you while his head burrows into your breasts.

He sighs like he’s the most comfortable he’s ever been while you begin rubbing your nails gently across his scalp and playing with his brown curly strands.

The silence is comfortable for a few minutes as you both come back into your bodies from such intense climaxes.

Eddie’s body stiffens a bit as he looks up at you from between your chest.

“Can you be mine?” He timidly asks, as if a kid asking for candy.

“Yes, I’m yours Eddie.”

🏷️ list

@comfortcharactercraze @loritate7311 @elvendria @bexreadstoomuch @potayto-princess @cutiecusp @munsonsguitarpick @xlilithb @alienthings @hollster88 @aysheashea @dylpickleblog @ms1oftheboys @eddie-hero-munson @manda-panda-monium @skyfullofsong123 @jamiethebanished @bohemianrhapsody86 @marriedtoeddie @via-darling @josephquinncurl @tenderhornynihilist @ashlynnkennedy @bookshelf-dust @dumbslxtclub @yujyujj @emsgoodthinkin @variety-fangirl @briasnow-blog @rehfan @my-munson-styles @crazymasha @divadinag @mrsjellymunson @micheledawn1975

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie munson series

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corvase · 1 year

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enemies to lovers midpoint prompts

as the request stated, that ‘i am trying really hard to keep hating you‘ phase, or what i like to call the reluctant friend stage. feel free to use :)

“i think we’re friends now.” “God, don’t say that.”

“everything is just a competition for you… isn’t it?” “isn’t it for you, too?”

“h—” “don’t talk to me.”

“i’d pay good money for you to admit you tolerate me.” “tolerate being the operative word.”

“why can’t you open up to me?” “why do you want me to?”

they’re so used to hating each other sometimes the snide remarks just slip out LMAO

like “should i get you something too?” “you can get out of my fa— woah, hehe. sorry.”

“you’re still on that?” “still on that..??? STILL ON THAT?????? I CANT STAND YOU???!!!(!;!”

a whispered moment between them ; “i’m trying so hard to hate you.” “why?”

they’re trying hard to hate each other then something happens (plot) and they’re stuck together which makes it ten times harder

“be honest with me.” “but why? why would i do that?”

“stop.” “stop what?” “being so kind to me.”

remember… they hated each other a couple chapters back. what changed? why did it change? who did it start to change in first?

the moment where your character asks themselves; “when did this nuisance become so important to me?”

#y’all already know… anything w enemies to lovers is my jam #enemies to lovers prompt #friends to enemies to lovers ?#writeblr #writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing prompts #writing romance #dialogue prompts #romance prompts #romance writing prompts #imagine your otp #childhood friends to enemies to friends to lovers #enemies to lovers tropes #enemies to lovers prompts #imagine your ship #otp romance prompts #romance tropes

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crishayle · 5 months

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Part of Fortune in the houses

Part of Fortune is a point of happiness in your natal chart. It is on it that you can see where and how to look for your luck. For a more accurate interpretation of this placement, please see the sign and aspects of your Fortune.

Part of Fortune in the 1st house:

Your luck lies in your independence. If you need to make a decision, don't listen to anyone. You really attract good luck when you are in full control and accept your life. Luck turns away from you when you start to envy others or compare yourself and your successes with someone else.What is the secret of luck? In independence, focus only on your life and yourself. It is important to learn to appreciate your desires and not put them below others.

Part of Fortune in the 2nd house:

Your luck lies in finding a balance between material and spiritual values. When you focus only on one thing, you may notice how your resources are being cut off in this area.What is the secret of luck? In the ability to be content with the small and enjoy the big. Appreciate every little victory you have. Keep a balance between the material and the spiritual.Think about your career, but don't forget to text to friends and family :)

Part of Fortune in the 3rd house:

Your luck lies in communicating with other people. I don't know if you believe in fate or not, but I do. I have repeatedly met people with Fortune in the 3rd house who said that talking to other people radically changed something in their lives for the better. Simply put, share your thoughts and ideas with your friends. You will definitely find inspiration!What is the secret of luck? In communication with other people. Also, the 3rd house is responsible for thinking, so most often such people can really attract positive/negative into their lives with just the power of thought. Don't be afraid to discuss your ideas and motivate yourself more and then everything will work out :)

Part of Fortune in the 4th house:

Your luck lies in caring and kindness. Here the rule "give and get twice as much" applies. Luck can turn away from you because of greed, avarice and evil. Also a little advice from a man with Fortune in the 4th house:clean the house more often so that more things, food and money come to the house. What is the secret of luck? In generosity, care and kindness. This person always gets his good back because of the boomerang effect.

Part of Fortune in the 5th house:

Your luck lies in creativity. Stop, I know that everywhere the 5th house is associated only with creativity, but please read on. Creativity in the broadest sense of the word is the ability of a person to create something of his own. It may not be related to art. I have friends with Fortune in the 5th house who have opened their own business or those who are engaged in science. In general, these people create something unique of their own. What is the secret of luck? In creating something unique. Such people achieve success when they reveal their abilities and are not afraid to be themselves. Don't be shy, try and experiment.

Part of Fortune in the 6th house:

Your luck lies in your health. One of the coolest placements.Of course, human health needs to be looked at throughout the natal chart, but whatever you get infected with, you will recover. This is one of the indicators of strong immunity, physical endurance, successful operations, and sometimes longevity. What is the secret of luck? In human health and his ability to wait. The 6th house is responsible for discipline and patience. For such a person, success in his career or personal life may come later than he expects, but it will definitely be worth it.By the way, try to create your own ritual or good luck charm.

Part of Fortune in the 7th house:

Your luck lies in other people.No kidding, career successes and other good things start to happen when you work in a team. Some of my friends with Fortune in the 7th house, thanks to friends, found a good house at a bargain price or had an internship at their favorite company. What is the secret of luck? People nowadays are the most important resource. Communicate more and get to know people. The 7th house in astrology also represents the soul mate. If Venus and the Moon are also in good placements in your natal chart, then Part of Fortune in the 7th house can speak of a happy marriage:)

Part of Fortune in the 8th house:

Your luck lies in the risk. You know, the case when a person doesn't need to do anything to find good luck. The catch is that he gets lucky only at the VERY LAST MOMENT. At the same time, people with placements in the 8th house feel their karma very subtly. Do not be arrogant and do not use your luck for selfish purposes.What is the secret of luck? In the ability to appreciate the gifts of fate. For example, I have a friend with Fortune in the 8th house who complained that he could not buy a new iPhone (although his current phone worked fine) and it was stolen the next day. Fortune in the 8th house is really cool (I'm a little jealous even), just always appreciate what you have and then get 2 times more.

Part of Fortune in the 9th house:

Your luck lies in curiosity. The 9th house is the ability to know the world. People with Fortune in the 9th house can successfully change their profession, get a second higher education or fly to another company for an internship. You have endless potential, so being in the comfort zone only moves luck away from you.What is the secret of luck? In change and curiosity. I understand that sometimes it's scary to leave your comfort zone, but Fortune in the 9th house even encourages mistakes. Luck seems to be trying to teach and add more life experience to a person with this placement.

Part of Fortune in the 10th house:

Your luck lies in discipline and patience. I have not yet met a single person with Fortune in the 10th house who would just be so lucky. These people achieve a successful career or a happy relationship as if climbing a mountain.What is the secret of luck? In diligence and patience. Every time the hope leaves you that all your labors are in vain, remember that you have already passed half the way and the rest is quite a bit. The 10th house is a very long time house in astrology. Yes, it takes a lot of time, but after all, luck will be with you for a long time as well. Saturn (the planet of the 10th house) is very fair!

Part of Fortune in the 11th house:

Your luck lies in the development of spiritual skills. It is very important to keep order in your head. I noticed that such people tend to attract events with words and their thoughts. It is important to maintain a balance between heart and mind.What is the secret of luck? In balance. The 11th house is actually not as crazy as many people think. As soon as a person with this placement finds inner peace and realizes what is really important to him in life, luck begins to patronize him. Listen to your heart and be friends with your mind and everything will be fine :)

Part of Fortune in the 12th house:

Your luck lies in the secret. It's like you're lucky while no one is watching. The very case when you don't need to talk about your plans and dreams to people and then everything will come true. A little more advice:listen to the signs of fate. If the other placements of Fortune achieve success through people, time, karma, self-development, then you are lucky alone.What is the secret of luck? Happiness loves silence. Don't brag and don't share your plans.Less words, more action and everything will work out :)

You can write what questions about the Part of Fortune you are concerned about. I plan to write 2 more very interesting articles about it, so wait :)

#astrology #horoscope #zodiac #astrology community #astrology signs #tumblr fyp #astro community #astrology blog #natal chart #astro observations #astrologer #astro notes #natal astrology #astro placements #astrology notes #birth chart #astrology observations #astroblr #fyp

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angelltheninth · 1 year

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Could I request Akaza, Doma, Tengen, and Muzan receiving a lap pillow and headpats from their s/o?

Sure! Such a sweet request!

Pairing: Akaza, Douma, Tengen Uzui, Muzan x Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, cuddles, flirting, playful biting, hand kisses, domestic fluff, denial of feelings

A/N: A whole range with these guys.

Akaza would resist the headpats only because he would think they're making him look vulnerable. You would need to force, or rather trick him into doing so by first kissing him and pushing his head lower, making him think he's getting a different treat and then when he has his head down you'd start giving him soft headpats. He would tell you he hates it, he would think he hates it, to distract you with biting your thighs slowly and try to distract you from the fact that he's slowly relaxing into your touch.

Douma loves affection from you in any form you're giving it. He nuzzles against your lap like a cat and pushes closer to your hands, his fangs grazing bare skin as you thread your fingers into his hair. Barely able to keep himself from flipping the tables on you and pushing you in his own lap but you insist that he needs to be taken care of sometimes too. He does a lot for the people around him so you want to pay him back with just as much affection. Will bite your hands if you get too close to his mouth.

Tengen wants nothing more then to relax after a long day while you give him headpats and a massage. You untie his ponytail carefully, his soft hair falling over his neck as he smiles and turns on his back to smile up at you. He loves your lap and thighs but your face is a lot prettier to look at. Don't be shy now, keep going, he just began to relax. He kisses the tips of his fingers and reaches up to press them against yours, a little kiss for you, for being so sweet to him all the time. Would give you a real one but he's too comfy in your lap.

Muzan is the who initiates this, walking to you and laying his head in your lap no questions asked. You already know what he wants so you begin giving him headpats right away, asking how his operations are progressing. He's the type to ask for affection silently, almost demanding it but it doesn't matter when you give it so willingly anyway. It's not a secret that he always wants you so there's no real need for words between you two anymore, you give him your love, always and forever.

#kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #akaza x reader #douma x reader #tengen uzui x reader #muzan x reader #kny x you #kny headcanons #kny imagines #kny fluff #demon slayer imagine #demon slayer headcanons #demon slayer fluff #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu no yaiba imagines #kimetsu no yaiba headcanons #kimetsu no yaiba fluff

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reve-writes · 11 months

Text

—the set-up; kaz brekker.

ʚ kaz brekker x reader | grishaverse | 1,8k words. ʚ from this request. | three times the crows plan to set you and kaz up + the one time they find out you're married. ʚ fluff; the crows are featured (incl. wesper & helnik ship); kaz's touch aversion isn't featured. ʚ a/n this has been sitting in the drafts for a bit. ive been suffering down the leon brainrot hole (honestly an excellent one to fall into). kaz calls reader schatje (i have a fic where he does this. i chose schatje because ketterdam is loosely inspired from 1500s-1700s amsterdam!). i wrote this in a goofy way honestly.

one. he smiles.

Wylan fiddles with jars and tubes filled with an assortment of chemicals—some of them tend to explode, all of them horrible smelling. He's supposed to be on guard duty and he prefers it over running around guns blazing alongside Jesper—as much as he loves the sharpshooter, gunshots give him a lot of anxiety.

He peers into the room where most of the work is happening.

You are poring over stacks of documents, eyes scanning quickly top-to-bottom to find relevant information. Kaz has his ear pressed against the front of a safe, gloved hand twisting the lock. You move around him in the cramped office space with relative ease, grabbing more files to read on the desk.

It doesn't take long for the safe to swing open.

“No safe is safe from Kaz Brekker, the safe-cracker, huh?” you comment. A light, teasing smile decorates your lips.

“Please never say that sentence again.”

To Wylan's surprise, the ever-frowning Dirtyhands smiles. Not the half-hearted hospitable smile he occasionally gives out, or the scary half-sneer half-smirk that is so intimidating it scares even Wylan sometimes. No, a genuine, amused smile. It is so unnatural that he has to look away, a hand clasped over his mouth in shock.

When he tells Jesper, the taller man mirrors his reaction, dark eyes blown wide and jaw unhinged.

“He smiled?” Jesper gives an incredulous stare as if Wylan has just told him that he is a member of the Council of Tide—which is impossible with Wylan's lack of Grisha ability, let alone tidemaking. “He smiled over that?”

Wylan nods enthusiastically.

“We are talking about the same Kaz?”

“Are there any other Kaz that we know?” Wylan sighs.

“Well, no—”

“I think we have to proceed with the plan,” Wylan ponders. Jesper blinks widely.

“The plan?”

“Nina's plan!” Wylan looks at Jesper as if he's just gotten a strike of inspiration, hand in the air, pointing at nothing in particular. “Operation Kaz and ____. Remember?”

Jesper remembers. It was so ridiculous that it remains impossible to remove from his memory to this day, even though it was mentioned in passing.

Nina, flushed red from too many drinks, suddenly shoots her hand up, flailing it limply. The founder of the idea seems to have a plan ready to set in motion.

“We are the gods of love!” She drunkenly declares, free hand moves to tap Wylan's cheeks repeatedly. “And as the benevolent gods that we are, our first mission is them.”

Nina pushes Wylan's face towards you and Kaz, sat at the bar, deep in conversation. The rest of the Crows followed suit, realising Nina's suggestion. She stumbles over drunkenly and with little-to-no care on making it look as natural or accidental as she can, "trips" over her foot and falls forward.

You take the brunt of the force, being pushed forward that you fall onto Kaz. The latter glares at Nina, hand coming to your shoulder to steady you.

“My bad.... It seems I've lost my balance,” she slurs. “Oh! Would you look at that? The two of you would make quite a pair, don't you think so, Matthias?”

Matthias raises an eyebrow, already hauling Nina with him to get back to their table.

“Poor Helvar,” says Kaz simply, nudging you to get back on the barstool.

“He doesn't seem to mind,” you retort, noting Matthias' loving gaze as he escorts Nina.

It doesn't take long before the chaos settles, leaving you and Kaz, still engaging in conversation as the last patrons leave the Crow Club.

“We would make a good pair, huh?” You tease, reaching over to brush your hand against his, leather soft under your palm. “You think so?”

Kaz looks at you pointedly, tugging your left hand towards him, fingers pressing on the small diamond adorning your ring finger. “Would I have given you this, if I didn't?”

Smooth with his words without even trying. A trait you find both annoying and endearing after all the years you've been together.

“I mean you have a lot of diamonds lying around—”

“Schatje.”

“Yes?” All train of thought immediately halts on its tracks. The petname has a hold over you that he oh-so-often uses as leverage. You pout. “Stop distracting me.”

He smiles—soft and uncharacteristic, contradictory to the harsh rasp of his voice and the rough scars on his skin. He smiles a smile he reserves only for your eyes, and you're falling for it, a hundred times over.

two. the demjin.

You don't like when Kaz gets like this—all wrung up over a waivable matter. It reminds you a lot of what he had to be before, the things he had to do and what Dirtyhands actually stood for. Not at all akin to the Kaz Brekker you know—the one who immediately comes whenever one of your crew is threatened, the one who stays up with you as you wait for the rest of your little heist crew to return, the one who goes out of his way to collect little trinkets to bring home to you.

You are hurt, shallow cuts all over your body from a little dagger scuffle with a mercenary, but you're a member of the Dregs—this, you can take. A little Heartrender magic and some bandages, you will recover in no time.

“You're back.”

Kaz stops and you look over him to find his knuckles bloodied, hair stuck out of place and clothes disheveled.

“You're alright, schatje?”

His room at the Slat isn't big contrary to popular belief. He sinks into his chair with a huge sigh. You're watching him three steps away from the edge of his bed.

“What did you do?”

He shrugs, tugging his coat off. “Business.”

“You went after them.”

“It was one part of the business.” He pulls at his gloves, shedding them into the trash—too bloodied for him to bother cleaning. “Are you sure you're alright?”

You tuck your hands into your elbows, displeasure visible across your features. “Are you?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“Kaz.”

“They deserved it,” he stubbornly says. “I had to make sure they know not to involve themselves with us. You understand. Besides, I'm alright.”

“I do understand,” you relent. It is business. The Barrell doesn't stop for poets or musicians or lovers, no, it thrives off of the back of violence, taking an eye for an eye. “I just wish that you were here when I woke up.”

His shoulders loosen and he is your Kaz again. Not the one molded by Ketterdam, birthed at its harbour. He's the man so in love that he will dry the seas for you if you say the word. Kaz takes your hands. They are warm on his skin and his heart swells.

“I am sorry, schatje.”

You kneel in front of him, leaning your elbows on his thighs to press a brief kiss on his lips. “Let's stay off business for a while.”

“Kaz?” A sound outside the door, followed by three raps. “Are you in there?”

“He is, Jesper. Give us a moment,” you reply.

You hear hushed whispers—both low voices, so you assume it's Wylan. Your suspicion is confirmed when the second voice sounds from behind the door.

“No, we—no, Jes—don't have anything urgent. We simply wanted to know if he is well. Take your time. We'll be going now.”

“Good night, Wylan,” you reply, immediately hearing fading footsteps soon after.

“Fifty kruge says they're already together,” says Jesper, out of your earshot.

Wylan rolls her eyes. “Fifty on them not dating yet.”

Jesper immediately clasps Wylan's hand with a loud “Deal!”

iii. the marketplace.

“Busybodies,” Kaz complained, walking a step behind you as you're treading through the Ketterdam food market. “They are not even hiding. In broad daylight. How have they never gotten caught before?”

“Kaz, my love.” You are trying not to laugh as you're picking and choosing fruits. “They usually do a better job on actual missions.”

They refer to your five lovely friends who have decided to tail you as you're coming down to the market. Kaz is the first to take notice—blurry figures moving erratically ten steps behind you.

“I should assign them something to do instead of... whatever it is they're currently doing.”

“They're curious.” You shrug, handing over a few slips of Kruge to the seller and leaving with your bag five apples heavier. “We've been acting suspicious lately. They'll find out soon enough.”

“I'll bet Inej finds out first.” Kaz nudges your fingers with his, taking the bag from you as he matches his step with yours. “The Wraith does a better job at spying.”

“My bet is Matthias.” An unlikely one. He's probably the least nosy out of the five.

Suddenly, you're pulled into a small nook, squuezed between buildings and he presses a kiss on your lips. One turns to two and you're smiling like a lovesick fool when he pulls away.

“We're being followed and you pull this?”

“Schatje, our pursuers are horrendously bad at this.” He shrugs, pulling away. You resume your trek through the market. “Look. They've lost us.”

iv. the marriage certificate.

“Fake IDs,” Kaz says, pointing at the towering Fjerdan. “You'll be collecting them from Anika.”

Matthias doesn't mind running errands, although he does think that he'll be better suited for physical fights other than fetching papers, but he doesn't argue. It seems he is doing more than simply fetching papers though.

“That is real?” He asks Anika, pointing at a marriage certificate she has on her desk. Marriage certificates are mundane enough not to warrant this type of reaction, but it is the name that shocks even him to the core. Kaz Brekker and you, married?

“As real as can be around here.” Anika scrambles to hide it away. “Here are your IDs. Don't tell anyone about it.”

In Matthias' defense, he doesn't end up telling just anyone. He tells Nina and Nina is the one telling everyone else. Within a week, every member of the Crows have known about it.

Wylan hands Jesper slips of fifty kruge, grumbling that this is unfair. Nina looks like spring has just arrived. Inej is probably the least reactive—but that is because she's already found out long before the others. She's the Wraith after all. Matthias is anxious. For all everyone knows, he is the one responsible for the news.

You strut into the dining room, seeing everyone gathered and raise an eyebrow.

“Why are you all here?”

“We want to ask—”

Before Nina can finish her sentence, Jesper blurts out. “You're married?”

You chuckle, shrugging. “You found out.”

“How long?”

“Kaz? Really?”

“How did that happen?”

A series of questions that you don't actually answer. You stand there, leaning on the back of one of the wooden chairs situated in the room—remorseless to your very core.

“Ask him about it.”

That ends the discussion. None of them will actually ask him about it and even if any of them actually finds the courage to, the likelihood of Kaz answering anything that's not a sarcastic remark or a threat is close to none.

“How did you find out anyway?”

Everyone points towards Matthias and to the Fjerdan's horror, Nina's pointer finger finds him, too.

You only smile, silently planning to brag to your spouse that you've won your bet.

[ ].

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #—ki writes 🍯

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whore-era · 1 year

Text

1-800-GIRLS

☁︎ modern!ellie x sex-hotline-operator!reader, very small mention of dealer!ellie ☁︎ summary: where ellie dials the wrong number and meets you instead. ☁︎ warnings: contains smut! 18+ only. top/dom!ellie, bottom/sub!reader, mentions spitplay/breathplay/overstimulation, mentions sexual interactions with men, dirty talking, guided masturbation (r!recieving), use of fem nicknames (babygirl, sweet girl, pretty girl, pup, puppy) let me know if i missed anything else pls. ☁︎ a/n: i feel like this kinda sucked bc towards the end i kinda rushed it, but i couldn't shake this idea n knew i had to write it. hope u like it bbs<3 also thank u to my bestie @elskittie for helping me figure some things out w this fic ☁︎ word count: 4,463 ☁︎ 1-800-GIRLS part 2

phone call style story — reader is in italics, ellie is in bold.

monday, 12:45am → incoming call from 307-222-4578 (jackson, WY)

thank you for calling 1-800-GIRLS, it's sugar speaking. how can i help you, hot stuff?

uhh.. i just wanted to order a pepperoni pizza..

oh yeah? you want something hot and ready? i have something hot and ready for you.

ummm..

you hear some shuffling in the background, "jess! i think you gave me the wrong number!" the person comes back on the line again.

this isn't papa tony's cheesy pizza place?

....do you want me to roleplay as papa tony's cheesy pizza place?

woah woah woah! roleplay?? who the fuck am i on the phone with?

this is sugar from 1-800-GIRLS.....a sex hotline...for you know? phone sex.

PHONE SEX?? you hear the girl's voice yell in the background, "jesse! you ass! you gave me the number to a phone sex hotline!"

"does she sound hot?"

"well yeah, but—"

hey, you do know it's $1 a minute right? you've been on the line for almost 5 minutes, babe.

HUHH?? hell no..ok thanks sugar bear, or whatever. bye!

the line clicks off, and you shrug. sitting back in your bed to continue watching your favorite netflix show. you feel your work phone vibrate again, the name flashing 'bobby', a regular who frequents the hotline.

sighing and picking up your phone and holding it to your ear, you take a bite from your sandwich as you answer your 15th call this evening, "thank you for calling 1-800-GIRLS, it's sugar speaking. how can i help you, big boy?"

tuesday, 2:12am → incoming call from 307-222-4578 (jackson, WY)

thank you for calling 1-800-GIRLS, it's sugar speaking. how can i help you tonight, cutie?

hey....sugar.. i just- er- wanted to apologize for yesterday. my buddy got your number confused with a pizza place we really wanted to try. didn't mean to sound rude last night.

it's no issue, babe. don't sweat about it.

.......

soooo.... is that the only reason why you called?

ellie didn't want to admit that she was attracted to 'sugar's' voice and that she'd been thinking about it all day during class. but also, ellie was high as a fucking kite, which gave her the courage to even dial the number again anyways.

i— uh— well— how does this whole thing work?

what thing? the hotline?

yeah..

well, you call me, we have phone sex or talk or whatever, and then you hang up. again, it's a dollar a minute.

okay, okay, i get it. so we can just talk? about anything?

yeah, if you want to.

sick.

ellie takes another drag from her joint, before speaking again.

so, do you like doing this? being an operator or whatever?

you let out a laugh, which ellie caught.

specify what you mean by 'like'?

i mean— this is your job. do you enjoy doing it?

ehh...i guess.

c'mon. you can be honest with me.

well, being a sex hotline operator has it's downsides. obviously helping old men jack off gets a little weird sometimes — they have some unusual fetishes.

oh yeah? what's been the weirdest one so far?

uhhh..i have this one regular who has me pretend i'm a ghost. apparently, having sex with ghosts is a real turn on for him.

what the fuck. seriously?

mhm, it's true.

shit, dude....i don't think i could ever do what you do. i dunno how you can do it.

well when you have college tuition and rent to worry about, the downsides don't seem all that bad.

holy shit, you're in college? how old are you anyways?

19.

that's crazy. we're around the same age. i figured you were a bit older.

how 'bout you? how old are you?

21.

not bad not bad. you're way different from the clients i usually get.

yeah? how?

considering my usual clients are 40 to 60 year old men who are married with kids and have secret fetishes, i'd say you're out of my ballpark.

ellie laughs.

how do you know i'm not secretly an old, 57 year old man who's married to my wife janet with three kids? and i have a balloon fetish?

you let out a giggle, adjusting your sleep shorts as you lay back down on your bed, completely invested in your conversation with this girl.

well, how can i appease your balloon fantasies?

i'm just fuckin' with ya. definitely not a man and i have the more normal kinks and fetishes.

is that so? what are the 'normal' kinks and fetishes?

uhhhh....well i'm into bondage, i love tying girls up..i dunno, just seeing them open and vulnerable does something to me. i'm into breathplay, spitplay, overstimulation, and i'm definitely a dominant so—

all you could do was gape as the girl went on her tangent, listing off every kink she could think of. you gulped, suddenly getting a bit nervous from this topic of conversation. you were experienced in the field of phone sex, but actual sex was a totally different world you had no practice in.

so, how 'bout you sugar?

...uhhh....i'm a virgin actually.

the other girl went silent on the other side of the line.

what? but you work as a sex hotline operator.

oh yeah- but— hold on, i'm getting another call. i'll speak to you some other time.

you hung up and threw your work phone across your bed, laying your head down on your pillows. talking to men was so much easier for you, so why do you get all caught up when you talk to a girl?

it was nearly 3:30am, so you decided to turn in and call it a night, mentally preparing yourself for a busy day tomorrow.

wednesday, 11:45am

sitting next to professor adams, patiently waiting for the students to turn in their quizzes, you try to focus on the text of your 'philosophy 101' book.

you were grateful that professor adams gave you the opportunity to be his teacher's assistant for a little bit of extra cash, and you weren't complaining either. the tasks he gave you were easy for a mere $16 an hour. still, it wasn't enough to support all of your bills, so you couldn't drop the hotline gig.

"and time! everyone hand your quizzes in to my TA, regardless if you finished or not," professor announced. all the students shuffled towards the front, handing you their quizzes as you neatly put them in a small pile.

"ah shit— let me put the date on that," a girl, with a very familiar voice spoke. looking up, you're greeted with the most attractive girl you've seen in your life. she had brunette hair and green eyes, with a small scar on her right brow. was this..? no, it couldn't be. that would be insane.

handing you the paper, her hand brushes against yours. you look down at her quiz, seeing in messy, scribbled black ink the name ellie williams.

slinging her backpack on one arm, she heads out the door, "jesse! wait up for me!"

leaving you in a daze, you were completely speechless by the idea that one of your new, favorite clients from your nighttime job is actually a student at your university.

saturday, 1:45am → 1:14:34 ongoing call with 401-890-6798 (cranston, RI)

thanks, sugar. will be calling you again at the same time next week.

no problem, sir. goodnight. dream of me.

sure will, babygirl.

the line clicks as the older man hangs up, and you shudder a bit, feeling uncomfortable after having to roleplay as a ghost, again.

sighing heavily, you place your work phone on your desk and pick up your real phone, opening instagram and scrolling on your feed as you mindlessly snack on some gummy bears.

you double tap to like some of your friends pictures, wishing you were out at a party, drinking some lukewarm beer and dancing with your girls to the latest tiktok hits.

but instead you were cooped up in your apartment, dirty talking old men through their fantasies and bearing witness to their guttural groans and masturbation. it was a shame that friday and saturday nights were your busiest evenings.

taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you ponder for a moment, your finger hovering over the instagram search bar.

fuck it, you thought, typing 'ellie williams' and hitting search.

the username @_elliewilliams pops up, and bingo. it was the same girl from professor adams class.

luckily her profile was public, so you take your time carefully combing through her instagram account, mindful not to accidentally like her posts or anything.

ellie's feed consisted of smoking weed, eating out, and hanging with her friends, jesse and dina. there were only two selfies she had posted — one of her and an older gentleman and one mirror picture of her in a grey hoodie and a light brown canvas jacket that made her look so good.

the ringing from your work phone caught you off guard, causing you to jump in your chair and exit out of the instagram app. you take a look at the number, and speak of the devil, it was ellie herself. she was the only jackson number that ever contacted you.

saturday, 2:10am → incoming call from 307-222-4578 (jackson, WY)

thank you for calling 1-800-GIRLS, sugar speaking. what can i do for you, handsome?

hey, sugar. just wanted to apologize for how our last conversation went. i probably pushed a boundary or something— i'm not sure if you're supposed to talk about personal things with customers— so, i'm sorry.

you let out a soft laugh.

why is it when you call me, you're always apologizing?

'cause i'm a fuck up, that's why.

nooo, that's not true. besides, don't worry about it. your question just caught me off guard, you know? never had clients ask things about me before i guess.

ahh, gotcha. so...were you busy before i called?

you shake your head, even though she was on the phone and couldn't see you.

uh, not really. my line doesn't usually get busy until...12 midnight ish.. it slows down by like 2 am though. how about you? what are you up to this friday night?

i just got back home from a party. business was slow and it was getting boring, so i dipped.

business? what business?

ah— well—

ellie silently cursed to herself, not wanting to scare you away with her current occupation.

if i tell you what i do, promise you won't get freaked out or anything?

you're talking to a phone sex hotline operator. don't worry.

you can hear her laugh from the other end.

well, fuck it, cat's out of the bag. i deal weed on campus and shit.

ahhh. i like that. is that how you can afford the minutes you spend calling me?

yup. i can stay on the phone for hours if we wanted.

maybe you'll be my only customer.

i wouldn't complain.

speaking of customers, do you want me to save your number under a specific name or nickname or anything? since i'm assuming you're gonna be a regular?

trying to confirm if it was indeed ellie you were speaking with, you sat on the edge of your chair, anxiety building in your belly.

what nicknames do your clients usually pick?

uhhh. master, sir, king, mister, alpha— umm and daddy.

something stirred inside ellie hearing that last nickname roll off your tongue.

you could just put me down as ellie.

got it.

what do i call you? do i just keep calling you sugar?

well, you're a customer. you can call me anything you like, but, for formalities and privacy, i can only tell you my hotline nickname — sugar.

okay, okay, that makes sense. you're not really allowed to have any personal or close relationships with clients, huh?

no, not really. mostly for safety purposes.

ellie was a little disappointed to know that she wouldn't be able to get to know the girl she was talking to beyond calling on the phone. she already felt herself getting attached. your voice was alluring and enticing, and she couldn't help but want to hear it more, and possibly put a name and face to who it belonged to.

but, i could bend the rules a little if i really wanted to.

yeah? let's see about that.

saturday, 4:45 am → 2:43:03 ongoing call with ellie (jackson, WY)

oh my god! did you and your ex get caught??

you were enamored with ellie. the way she could keep a conversation going and the stories she told — you didn't wanna hang up.

no, no, no, luckily we hid behind a dumpsters before the cops could catch us. it's hilarious thinking about it now, but we were dumbass 18-year-olds back then.

you both were in fits of laughter, your belly aching and tears watering in the corners of your eye.

as you calmed down, you couldn't stop your mouth from asking a question that's been racking on your mind.

so, how long were you and your ex together?

uhhhh, about 2 years.

ohhh okay........are you seeing anyone right now?

ellie lets out a laugh, and you can hear her smile, even through the phone.

why? who's asking?

well, i was just— uhh—

i'm just fuckin' with you. nah, i'm not seein' anyone right now. single af.

okay, okay. good to know.

how 'bout you?

nope. i'm single too.

seriously?? how?

i dunno. just never found the right person i guess. also, working for this hotline has made me lose hope for relationships in general, some of these dudes call me and say all this stuff — while having a whole wife and family at home.

i think you're looking in the wrong place then. try talking to people at school or going out to parties—

can't. if i'm not doing homework or studying, i'm working and doing this. i gotta make a living somehow.

ellie couldn't help but feel bad, knowing if she could, she'd support you full time and take that weight off your shoulders.

hmm, maybe you'll meet someone who could support you and take care of your bills and stuff.

oh? where would i find that? sounds too good to be true.

maybe they're closer to you than you think.

your breath hitched in your throat, unsure of what to say next.

i— uh— i have to go. it's 5am.

oh— uh— yeah. of course. goodnight, sugar.

goodnight, ellie.

sunday, 11:37pm → incoming call from ellie (jackson, WY)

hey.

hey. where's your usual greeting?

you're not a usual customer, so i think we're past that now, ellie.

ellie's heart thumped in her chest hearing you say her name.

good. anyways, what are you up to tonight?

just studying for a quiz tomorrow morning. how about you?

smoking, just finished some homework.

what class was it for?

uhhh, just this calculus class.

you clamped your mouth shut, suppressing a gasp. it was for professor adams class.

....uhhh, i could never get calculus. it's so hard.

yeah? maybe one night i can tutor you.

i'd be a terrible student.

i think you'd be the perfect student. i can teach you, i got you.

you couldn't help but think there was another meaning behind her words, but you didn't want to jump to any conclusions. it would be embarrassing if you got her message all wrong.

what's your quiz on anyways?

energy transfer between cells, it's for biology.

i know a thing or two about that. here— why don't we do this, just explain to me what you know and we'll go from there.

okay, i can do that.

you and ellie spent the next two and a half hours talking about cell function and energy transfer and everything else in between, with her correcting you and adding in important things you missed.

alright, sugar, i think you're ready for this quiz tomorrow.

you think so?

i know so. you're such a smart girl.

there she goes again, praising you.

uh, th-thanks.

don't worry, okay? i know you'll do great.

a smile curls on your lips, flustered from all her support.

you should get some sleep, so you can be focused and ready for tomorrow.

m'kay. thank you, ellie, for all your help.

of course. always. goodnight, sugar.

goodnight, ellie.

monday, 5:32pm → 45:21 ongoing call with mister j (corpus christi, TX)

yeah, babe? you want me to fuck your tight ass?

mhm, yes mister.

c'mon. beg, sugar.

please. fuck my tight hole, mister j.

ah, hell.

you can hear his belt buckle clanging, and the soft buzz of a zipper.

what's wrong with 'ya tonight, sugar? you're bein' a real buzzkill, 'ya know that? fuckin' turnin' me off and makin' me soft.

i-i'm sorry, mister j. please, jus—

yea, yea, save it. we'll jus' try 'gain tomorrow.

the line clicks on the other end. tossing your work phone on your desk, you fall back on your bed and stuff your face in your pillow. weeping into the plush material, you let yourself fall apart and break down.

but your sobbing session is cut short as you can hear the familiar ring of your work phone.

wiping your tears, you walk over to your desk and answer.

monday, 5:45pm → 00:32 ongoing call with ellie (jackson, WY)

thanks for calling 1-800-GIRLS, it's suga-

woah, woah, woah are you crying?

e-ellie?

yeah, baby, it's me. sounds like you're crying. what's going on? talk to me.

today was just a really, really bad day and then i opened my hotline a little early and one of my first clients just lashed out on me because i wasn't responding the way he wanted me to and—

you sniffle.

— and i'm just really stressed out by everything going on in my life right now.

i'm sorry. i wish there was something i could do— someway i could comfort you or take the weight off.

i-it's fine, ellie. talking to you is making it a little better.

ellie was silent for a moment, thinking carefully and planning her next moves accordingly.

do you trust me?

....y-yea, of c-course. why?

i'm gonna help you ease the tension. okay?

okay.

first of all, where are you?

i-in my room, sitting at my desk.

okay. go lay down on your bed.

with your phone pressed to your ear, you pick up your legs and stride over to your bed, laying down on the fluffy, material of your blanket.

okay, i'm on my bed.

good. what are you wearing?

foreseeing the direction this phone call was heading in, apprehension builds in your stomach.

ellie, you really don't have to-

hey, i want to help you. if that's okay with you. if not, we could talk about something instead.

biting your lip, you fold.

i-i'm okay with it, but i-i've never— played with myself with a customer before. i don't really do anything with myself even when i'm not working anyways.

that's okay. don't think of me as a customer, think of me as a...teacher. i got you, remember?

okay.

good girl. now, what are you wearing?

uh.. a tank top and shorts.

cute. take them off.

gulping, you follow her orders, shimmying out of your top and shorts.

done?

mhm.

good. so obedient.

i want you to rub your boobs for me. rub your nipples, pull on them, just feel the skin under your hand for me, baby.

rubbing the soft skin along your breast, and tugging on your hardened nipples, you bite your lip, savoring the way your body feels under your touch.

how does it feel?

feels good.

bet it does.

ellie couldn't stop her mind from imagining you, on your bed, perfectly naked. and how she'd give everything up, just to sneak a peek.

now, i want you to just rub your hands against the sensitive parts of your body. be slow and gentle, we're not rushing anything.

as your hands drift from your neck, down to the hills of your breasts, and to the edge of your panties, ellie speaks through the line again.

doesn't it feel nice, baby?

mhm.

wish i could be there, to watch you, touching your pussy.

you instinctively clamp your thighs, feeling heat rush to your core.

alright, take your panties off. slowly.

you slowly peel the piece of material off, looking at the small, wet spot that formulated on your underwear.

okay, they're off.

such a good girl, following my every command.

you gulp, her nickname for you sending shivers up your spine.

slowly feel the skin on your legs. stroke your inner thighs, tease yourself a little.

hanging off on her every word, you let out a shaky breath, the heat in your cunt growing only bigger and bigger.

god, i wish i can be there to see this right now. bet you look so good, thighs spread apart, pussy all wet— all because of me.

i- i'm aching. i need more, ellie.

i know, baby, i know. i wish i can help you more. if it were up to me, i'd have you bent over your desk, taking you from the back. fuck.

your mind drifts to that image, of her fucking you, taking you as hers. a stream of your slick begins to leak out from your pussy. god, you wanted her so bad.

slide a finger between your pussy, baby. let me hear how wet you are.

spreading your thighs apart, the tip of your fingers slips in between the folds of your pussy lips, the slick sound of your wetness echoing throughout the room. loud enough for ellie to hear.

fuuuuuck.

you tried to speak, but it comes out sounding like a pathetic whimper. ellie's brain was going insane, she couldn't believe where she had you, writhing from her mere words.

go ahead, pretty girl. rub slow circles on your clit.

the pads of your pointer and middle finger gently rub steady, figure 8's against your hardened nub. closing your eyes, you imagined ellie, and how it was her hand instead of yours. the thought had you panting, faint breaths releasing from your parted lips.

your pussy sounds so wet, holy shit. you sound so fucking good for me. so fucking perfect.

as your fingers continue massaging on your sopping, wet clit, a pool of wetness gathers right below your ass.

how does it feel, baby?

f-feels amazing, ellie.

you let out a low whimper.

i wish you were here.

me too, pup. me too.

you can hear her heavy breaths from the other end of the phone.

i wish i could be there, kissing your neck. trailing my lips down to suck on your nipples. fuuck, wanna taste every inch of your skin. i wanna feel your pussy tighten around my fingers.

you let out another pitiful moan, only to hear ellie curse under her breath again.

rub your pussy faster for me, angel. imagine it's me, pumping my fingers in and out. would daddy's pretty girl like that?

you couldn't respond. all you could let out was these weak whines, yearning for ellie and her touch. you added a third finger, building onto the pressure and picking up the speed.

your moans sound so pretty. wonder how'd they sound when you're taking my strap. gonna have you cry out my name, yeah? isn't that right?

mhm, yes, daddy.

good. that's what daddy likes to hear, such a polite girl.

with your eyes rolling back, you could feel your orgasm building.

i-i'm gonna— ellie, i—

you gonna cum for me, puppy? huh? c'mon, rub faster, baby. i know you have a little bit more left in you.

your fingers speed up, the sound of your wetness gushing out reverberated in ellie's ear.

oh my god, daddy can i? please? can i—

arching your back, you knew you were close. the feeling was getting to be too much and you were about to fall over the edge.

look at my baby, so respectful and asking permission. come on, pretty puppy. cum for daddy. let daddy hear how good she made you feel.

that was it. letting out a penetrating moan, you rode your orgasm out and finished all over your fingers, making a mess. you were heaving, chest rapidly rising and falling.

god, i made a mess.

oh, yeah? do one more thing for me. suck your fingers clean. puppies clean up their messes.

monday, 8:57pm → 3:01:32 ongoing call with ellie (jackson, WY)

after your little self-care session with ellie, she took it upon herself to get your mind off of today's events, filling your conversation with stories and interesting topics.

oh, forgot to ask, what'd you end up getting on that biology quiz?

ughhh, i got a 65 out of 100. one of the reasons why i was so upset today.

seriously? how?

i don't know! i asked professor gonzalez and she told me that i was focusing on the wrong thi-

wait, did you just say professor gonzalez? holy shit, you're taking biology 201 with professor g? do you fucking go to school at university of wyoming? in jackson?

oh shit, you didn't mean for that to slip out.

i— uh— i have to go—

wait! sugar! please. hear me out.

you stay silent, waiting for what she had to say.

if we really do go to the same campus, please, let's meet up. i really want to see you.

.....why?

i just— i love talking to you. spending hours with you on the phone is what i look forward to when i get home. besides, i really want to take you out, on a date.

you bit your lip, unsure of what to say.

listen, if you want to see me too, meet me at the library in building B, by the comic book section. okay? tomorrow at 1pm.

....

i really hope you come.

the line clicks off, and you spend the rest of the night restless, tossing and turning, debating whether or not to see her tomorrow.

tuesday, 2:50pm

ellie eagerly checked her phone again, bouncing her knee in distress. her mind was running rampant — fuck, she's not gonna come. maybe jesse was right. maybe i was wasting my time.

looking up for the 80th time, she scans the comic book section, seeing no one else but some dude with his face buried in a wonder woman comic.

as ellie gets up from her chair, she turns her head, and she freezes.

there you were, looking like an angel who entered from the garden of eden. ellie's heart sped up, seeing her girl standing before her. you were everything she could've imagined and better.

walking slowly towards the brunette, you brush a piece of hair from your face, and smile meekly.

"hi ellie, it's me."

pls let me know how this fic was, i tried out a new writing style & read pt 2 here <3

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams tlou #the last of us #the last of us ellie #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x reader #tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams angst

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