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justauthoring · 4 months

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naturally [4b]

you fit into their little family perfectly - naturally. -> in which yuji wants his mom (a two part snippet)

a/n: yall i just finished omori for the first time and i am an emotional wreck omg also imma try to get a little christmas snippet out for this series (hopefully lol no promises)!

pairing: nanami kento x f!reader, itadori yuji x f!reader (platonic)

“So, what did you want to do tonight, Yuji-kun?”

There’s a brief pause, no more than a second, then; “watch a movie.”

It causes a small laugh to bubble out of your throat. “Watch a movie? That’s all?” His brows furrow at your words, and kneeling to reach his height properly, you offer a smile. “We have the whole apartment to ourselves. We can do anything. Are you sure you only want to watch a movie?”

Yuji pouts, and instantly the smile fades from your lips in concern. “Yuji-kun?”

His little hands twist in front of him, eyes falling to his feet as his cheeks warm, obviously embarrassed. You’re just not sure at what.

Reaching forward, you lightly brush back his pink, unruly hair, pulling it out of his face so you can see him better. Your warm touch is enough to pull his eyes on you, head tilting back up, the apples of his cheeks still a cute, rosy red, as he hesitates.

“You can tell me, Yuji-kun. It’s okay.”

His lips part, and he struggles for a moment to get the words out. The whole situation is so unlike Yuji that you’re not sure what to say or act–the boy was usually boisterous and loud and confident in every little thing that he said or did. He was the type of kid that didn’t often let others bring him down and you’re not quite sure you’ve ever seen him act so shy before.

“Watching… watching movies with you is my favourite thing.”

Oh.

The smile that curls onto your lips is hard to deny, and you feel yourself burst with warmth as his words register in your mind.

Yuji wasn’t a particularly hard kid to get along with. Despite only being five, he was easy to talk to and was nonchalant in a way that he’d usually just go with the flow without a fuss. Like every kid, he had his moments but ninety-nine percent of the time, he was easy-going in a way that made taking care of a kid you had realistically no idea how to take care of quite easy.

Yuji was all that but you still struggled to wonder what more you could do.

You didn’t want it to just be easy because it was–you wanted to connect with him in some sort of way. A way that, perhaps, a mother naturally does when she has a child. But Yuji wasn’t your child and you’d never had one, so you didn’t have that natural instinct or that natural connection. You had to earn it, and you didn’t mind that at all but you weren’t sure how.

But hearing him say that?

Saying that he had something he loved doing with you? Only you… well it was enough to make you cry.

Moving your hand to cup Yuji’s cheek, you smile brightly at the point, forcing the tears (tears of happiness) that threaten to fall back–you didn’t want to worry the poor boy after all–and nod. “Okay, Yuji-kun,” you hum, “let’s watch a movie.”

And that’s what you do.

You let him pick the first one without a fuss, a light-hearted childrens movie of course, simply happy to just be there. And as you both settle into the couch for the first movie, a plate of Yuji’s favourite food (rice with some noodles) on a tray in front of you both, the two of you sit in comfortable silence, offering some light commentary on the movie to which he does the same. When the first movie is over, you take a brief pause to clean up the dishes and tidy up and of course, Yuji helps you.

Then, as you settle down for the second movie, the movement of Yuji sinking into your side is done without words. He’s silent as he shuffles over to you on the couch, moving your arm so he can rest his head on your shoulder. You watch him with parted lips and wide eyes, until that same beaming smile from before curls onto your lips and you let yourself ease, wrapping your arm around him in return.

You both stay like that for the entire movie.

Half way through the third one, you chance a glance at the clock, seeing how late it is. Nanami said he didn’t mind keeping Yuji up later for the evening if you wanted, given he didn’t have daycare the next day and you’d promised Yuji he could stay up as late as wanted. But Nanami should be home soon and a quick glance down at Yuji tells you he’s getting sleepy even if he tries to deny it.

His head keeps drooping, falling against your side before he quickly picks it up and his eyes look heavy, threatening to fall shut any moment.

With a quiet hum, you pull Yuji’s attention on you; “do you wanna go to bed?”

His eyes fall on you, panicked; “no, wanna finish the movie.”

And despite your better judgement, you nod, agreeing. But, of course, twenty minutes later, he’s fallen asleep against you and you let out a light laugh as you pause the movie once more. You should tuck him into bed if you don’t want him to wake up with a kink in his neck the next morning, so, shifting with effort not to disrupt the small boy, you scoop him into your arms, letting his head rest against your shoulder. He stays asleep because Yuji’s always been a heavy sleeper, and so you make the short walk over to his bedroom, keeping the lights off in favour of not startling him in any way.

You’re gentle as you set him on the bed, pulling the sheets back and then tucking them securely over his small body. You pull his blanket all the way to his chin, tucking the blanket around him to make sure he doesn’t get cold throughout the night.

Once you’re satisfied, you move to leave, before pausing. Your eyes fall on him once more, taking in the peaceful expression on his face as he sleeps away, and think back to the many times you’ve watched Nanami tuck him into bed at night.

Your body moves on its own, hating the thought of Yuji going to bed thinking he isn’t loved, letting your lips press against his forehead gently as you hum out a soft; “goodnight, Yuji…”

And then, as you’re pulling away, you hear, just faintly, Yuji let out a breathless whisper of; “goodnight, mum…”

Your eyes widen, body freezing. Your gaze flickers to him, thinking he must’ve said the words half asleep, probably thinking it was his actual mother tucking him to bed, but as your eyes meet his, you’re surprised to see his eyes, albeit still tired, staring back at you with a small smile on his face.

He reaches out, grabbing your hand with his small one before pushing himself up, enough so that he can press a kiss against your forehead. “I love you,” he mumbles, voice muffled with sleep, before he lets himself fall back, still smiling as his eyes fall shut once more, his chest rising and falling with even breaths.

You stay there, stunned, for a moment more before the distinctive sound of the front door opening catches your attention, snapping you out of your stupor. You chance a quick glance Yuji’s way again, making sure he’s settled comfortably in bed and still asleep, before you’re pushing yourself up completely, slipping out of his room and letting the door shut behind you quietly.

It’s all a blur as you quickly rush to the front kitchen, where Nanami now is, shoes and jacket off, obviously having been searching for you or Yuji. His eyes fall on you with a blink as you come bounding towards him, the gentle greeting on the tip of his tongue pausing when he sees the tears in your eyes.

Instantly, concern floods his gaze.

“Love?” He calls out, panicked, rushing towards you as he glances around, as if in search for what’s wrong, hands falling on your waist as he brushes back your hair. “What happened? Are you okay? Is Yuji–”

But then you’re smiling–a bright, beaming smile that fills your entire face and leaves Nanami breathless.

“Y/N?”

You grasp his hands in your own, tightly; “he called me mom!”

Nanami’s lips part, before his eyes widen, your words processing in his mind. “Yuji?”

You nod, eagerly. “I was tucking him into bed and I know you usually kiss his forehead goodnight, so I did the same not wanting him to feel unloved going to bed. And as I was pulling away, he whispered ‘goodnight, mom’ in return. At first I thought he might’ve been half asleep, not thinking, but then his eyes were open and he leaned forward and pressed a kiss against my own forehead,” you touch the stop with your hands, dazed. “And told me he loved me.”

You realize you’re rambling, your words tampering off towards the end as you turn to meet Nanami’s eyes.

He’s smiling in that soft, gentle way you love, moving to cup your cheeks.

“That’s wonderful, love,” he whispers, “I'm so happy for you.”

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #itadori yuuji #itadori yuuji x reader

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upsidedownwithsteve · 9 months

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Simmer #5

CH5. Wake 'n' Bake | The Menu [4.9K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

“Well, you don’t know what we can find. Why don’t you come with me, little girl? On a magic carpet ride.”

The diner was quiet and the radio was louder than usual, lilting through the kitchen and between the empty tables. It was a too hot Sunday, with most of the usual clientele swapping leather booths for loungers by the community pool. Only Mr Creel sat in his usual stool by the bar, parked perfectly underneath the TV screen that was playing the same old western movie that came on every day at three o’clock. Jonathan was manning the counter, pouring the old man refills when he grumbled, whistling as he went.

Everyone else had either gone home earlier or was preparing for the night shift that started at eight that evening. The diner was too hot, the old AC barely keeping up, blowing out a whisper of cool air that you and Jonathan had taken turns standing under, watching the glass door for any signs of life out on the street.

None came.

So you’d long taken off your apron and after some internal arguing with yourself, you had plucked up the courage to push the doors to the kitchen open. There wasn’t much happening there either. Eddie was the only chef in, clock watching until there was a customer to feed or for when Argyle would arrive to take over the next shift.

And now? Well, now you think you were just annoying him. But he was allowing it, and that was something.

“And what’s that?” You asked for the fourth time.

You were hunkered down on the stool you’d dragged over to Eddie’s station, elbows on the stainless steel and your cheeks squished between your hands as you watched the boy work. He’d told you and Jonathan he’d made some lunch, and after some back and forth (Eddie argued enough until Jonathan gave in), Eddie was making some ramen.

“It’s gochujang,” Eddie mumbled back. He was too busy concentrating as he tapped a teaspoon of the red paste into the pot on the stove. He was more relaxed than you’d seen him, with no big orders to cook, he’d been humming along to the radio, his curls knotted on the top of his head to keep himself cool. He’d merely smiled when you plopped yourself down at his table. “And if you ask me what something is again, m’gonna put you in this pot too.”

You didn’t take offence, not anymore. You scrunched your face at him. “Mean,” you said. “When’s it ready? It smells real good.”

“Soon. And I’m not mean,” he grumbled back, tossing some ramen noodles into the pot that had been ready to overspill with bubbles. “You’re annoying.”

You gasped, all faux dramatics. “And he’s rude too,” you told no one. You grinned when Eddie rolled his eyes and shook his head, but when he bent over to chop up some spring onion at a scarily fast speed, you saw him smile. “Can I do anything?”

“You could get us some drinks,” Eddie suggested and he peered out of the hatch at the empty tables. Mr Creel glared back. “Seeing as you know, you’re not doing anything. At all.”

You huffed but there was a laugh under it that Eddie was beginning to recognise. He raised his brows at you as you let your sneakers slap onto the floor, hands pushed to the worktop as if getting up was an awfully exhausting thing. “I suppose I could manage that,” you told him wistfully. “If you’ll cope without my help for five minutes.”

Eddie snorted, stirring a delicious smelling broth he had simmering in another pot. He levelled you with a stare that a month ago, would’ve made your stomach churn with nerves. “I’ll try,” he played along. “I’ll tell Jim it was your fault if the kitchen burns down though.”

“Snitch. Coke?” You asked him as you made your way to the door.

“Just the one line, sweetheart, I’m driving,” Eddie smirked back.

He had an adorable habit of letting his head tilt to the side when he joked with you, as rare as it sometimes could still be. Dimples in both cheeks, stray curls over those big eyes, thick lashes that he liked to bat at you when he thought he was being real funny. It was becoming a problem.

“You’re hilarious,” you told him flatly from the other side of the hatch, shooting some soda from the gun into a glass for him. “Jonathan, coke?” You called to the other boy from across the diner, holding up an empty glass for him too.

“Shhh!” Mr Creel hissed at you, teeth bared, brows furrowed and you grimaced back, a smile that wasn’t customer service worthy but you’d long learnt to stay away from him.

“God, stop annoying the customers,” Eddie told you when you came back in holding two pints of coke, he was grinning as he ladled your lunch into a big blue bowl, letting his eyes settle on you as you passed him his drink.

“Don’t tell Jim,” you joked, but the humour in your voice fell flat as you watched Eddie bring the glass to his lips and gulp the fizz down.

His neck bobbed as he swallowed, chin tilting up and back as he led his eyes flutter close and you could help but stare at the line of his jaw, the up and down of his Adam’s apple, the push of his lips against the cup. Your mouth felt dry, your head a little empty and when he opened his eyes and put the empty glass down, you were still staring.

“What?” Eddie was staring back.

You shook your head, words unable to form. You stuttered and stammered and shrugged your shoulders, gripping tightly to your own glass. “Nothing,” you finally managed. “What?”

“What?” Eddie squinted at you.

“What?” You asked again, before you could help yourself and you realised too late that you’d asked him a question there wasn’t even an answer to. “Shit.”

The corner of the boy’s mouth lifted and he looked at you, amused, if not a little concerned. “Okay,” he drawled, sliding your lunch over to you. “Here, eat. Lack of good food must be makin’ you loopy or somethin’, christ.”

So you ate in silence, sitting across from Eddie and exchanging shy smiles as he watched you hum at each flavour, nodding at Jonathan when he slapped him on the back in thanks, taking his own bowl outside so he could smoke at the same time. It was a new kind of friendship that still made you nervous, too aware when Eddie looked at you - like, really looked at you. Eyes earnerst, watching, gauging what you liked and what you didn’t. He knew that a scrunch of your nose meant you were unsure, a little taptaptap of your feet on the stool meant you loved it.

He still made you shy, even though you spoke more. Stomach dipping and somersaulting when he called your name out of the hatch, some kind of plate made up for you, grouching good naturedly about how you needed to stop skipping meals. It made your heart jolt when he got too close, when fingers brushed as he passed you a bowl of fruit, a sandwich you could inhale between serving tables.

But then again, maybe that wasn’t nerves. Maybe that was just the crush you were telling yourself you didn’t have.

It was becoming harder to lie.

“Good?” Eddie asked like always, letting his foot kick gently against yours. He’d finished his own bowl and was watching you with a fond look on his face as you wrestled with the last few noodles.

You nodded and hummed happily, “mhmm. Could’ve done with some more salt though.”

Eddie did a double take, lips parted to argue because he knew that broth was damn perfect, before he realised you were joking. He narrowed his eyes at your grin, tried to hide his own smile when you laughed.

“Oh, she’s actin’ real cute today, huh?” He snarked but everything about him told you he thought you were hilarious. He took your empty bowl from you, poked at your shoulder with a chopstick. “The self proclaimed crybaby s’gettin’ bold.”

It was a meaner type of teasing that you’d grown used to, but still, you wrinkled your nose at the boy as your cheeks burned, head ducking down at the memories of your teary eyed encounters with certain customers. You heard Eddie laugh as he dumped the bowls in the sink, but it wasn’t a cruel sound at all. And when you lifted your chin back up from your chest, he was back on the other side of the work station, elbows on the stainless steel and leaning over to you. Close. Closer than before.

You blinked and Eddie smiled, a lazy, knowing thing, his eyes darting over your face like he was able to read you. Maybe he could. “There she is,” he murmured softly. “Shy thing.”

“Oh my god,” you tried to joke weakly, your voice a soft, embarrassed drawl. “Stop.”

It made Eddie laugh, a wide grin pushing at his cheeks until the dimples you rarely got to see appeared. You wanted to push a finger to one, to see if the tip of it would fit perfectly into the dip. You sat on your hands instead.

“What?” The boy asked. “She’s got no jokes now?” But he smiled a little softer and went back to preparing the dough for tomorrow’s rolls, not saying anything else when you leaned back over the counter to watch. If you’d looked up, taken your eyes off the way his big hands kneaded at the sticky mess, you’d have caught the boy watching you, still smiling. Awfully fond.

—————

“Hey,” you interrupted a while later, once Robin had arrived to take over you shift, once Argyle was throwing some burgers on the grill for the customers that had finally shown up. “What’re you doing tonight?”

Eddie looked a little startled as he closed over his locker, chef whites in a bundle in his bag, ready for washing. He blinked at you, pretty, pouted lips parted as he wondered where this conversation would lead. “Uhh, I- I dunno. Probably gonna go home, roll a joint and wait for another day in this shithole to start. Why?”

You wondered if Eddie could hear your heartbeat. ‘Cause it echoed in your ears, inside your head. A thud that made your mouth feel a little dry and suddenly the bravery you’d felt when asking that question melted away with the boy’s gaze on you. You weren’t sure what you’d planned to ask. Maybe if he knew of any good films to rent. Maybe if there was a nice park to explore. Maybe if he’d want to hang out—

“That sounds like a really good night,” you said instead, a nervous laugh following your words and Eddie’s brows shot up in surprise.

“You smoke?” He asked in disbelief.

You shrugged, leaning back against your locker as you tried not to sound completely uncool. “Kinda? Not really. I don’t like to smoke it but- but I’d sometimes, you know, bake some brownies or something. I haven’t done it in a while, but—” you wrinkled your nose. “—moving to a new city really makes you wanna just… get really fucking high.”

Eddie was laughing and nodding, beaming at you with a pink flush covering his cheeks. You watched him swallow hard and then gesture to the door. He almost couldn’t meet your eyes when he said, “d’you, uh, wanna come hang out? Smoke with me?”

It took Eddie a whole ten minutes to drive to his house. A trailer that was tucked into the back of the park you passed every day. You shot him a look when he parked up and he rolled his eyes, like he knew what you were about to say.

“You drove me all the way home that day, when you live, like, seconds away from—“

“Oh, shut up,” he told you, scrunching his face. “It was a fuckin’ tsunami that day. You weren’t walkin’ anywhere.” He nipped his fingers playfully at your knee as he bent over to snatch his rucksack from the footwell. When he sat back up, he was too close. You held your breath. “Besides, Wayne told me I had to, remember?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes then, shoving at his shoulder as he cackled. “God, you’re such a gentleman.”

He was still laughing as he jumped out the van, surprising you as he appeared at your door to open it as you busied yourself with gathering your bag and jacket. Eddie waved his hand in a dramatic gesture as you got out, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I’m gentlemanly enough to be sharing my weed with you, sweetheart, don’t put me down too much.”

It made you soften and you followed him to his front door, the trailer humming from a generator you couldn’t see. “Thank you,” you told him shyly. “For this. For the invite.” Somewhere in an ugly part of your head, was an even uglier voice that was telling you you’d made him feel bad enough that he had to invite you. That he felt sorry for you.

You told it to shut up.

But Eddie turned the key and looked back at you over his shoulder, his eyes soft. “S’alright. What’re friends for?”

You blinked, unable to help the smile that spread across your lips. Your cheeks ached with it. “We’re friends, huh?”

Eddie walked into the trailer and waited for you to follow. “I know,” he drawled dramatically. “I don’t know how it happened either.” He was grinning, an awfully pretty thing.

You didn’t know what to say, or do, for that matter. This felt close to flirting, something that made that horrible crush you had rear up in interest, it’s heart pounding. But maybe that was just your own.

“Here,” Eddie gestured to a small dining booth, a c-shaped bench around a little table. He cleared a pile of laundry from it and looked flustered as he decided where to put it. It got thrown onto an armchair in the corner. “Sit down, you want a drink?”

That’s where you sat with a can of soda, watching with a stuck laugh in your throat as Eddie upended his tiny kitchen, looking for the bag of flour he insisted he had. “I swear, it’s in here,” he told you, holding various jars of spices and cake moulds. “What the fuck?”

“You’re supposed to be a chef, Eddie.”

“I know,” the boy wailed mournfully, swearing when he dropped a whole tub of dried fruit, chocolate sprinkles and vanilla pods. “Shit, kid. Looks like you’re gonna have to be a big girl and smoke up.”

He turned, raising his eyebrows at you like a challenge. You huffed, tipping your head back so he wouldn’t see the panic in your eyes. “Fine.”

And that’s how you ended up in Eddie’s bedroom, a space filled mostly with his double bed, a glaringly personal thing that you felt like you couldn't even look at. But he blushed and spread back the unmade sheets, fluffing up his pillows before he told you to make yourself at home. So you perched on the edge and toed your sneakers off, watching as Eddie flitted around his room, kicking things under the bed as he went, pushing cook books and comics back onto his shelves. Then he plopped himself down beside you, knees almost knocking, an old tin lunch-box on his lap. He flipped the lid and grinned as he produced an already rolled joint, wagging it in front of your face.

“A chef is always prepped,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“You’re a dork,” you whispered back but you leaned into his pillows as he brought it to his lips.

A lighter flickered, a flame lighting up his face in amber just for a second or two, and then he was blowing a cloud out towards his open window. You watched Eddie’s eyes shutter closed, pretty lashes fanning over his cheeks and his lips hung open for a second or two, letting out a sigh along with blue-grey smoke. He let his shoulders drop, his head roll. Melting, like butter in the heatwave.

Then, “here, have at it, sweetheart.” Eddie handed you the joint, careful that you didn’t burn yourself on the glowing ash. He watched you take it dubiously, eyeing it with caution as you prepared yourself to bring it to your lips. You cringed a little, inhaling too sharp, too quick, coughing it all back out before you could even inhale it properly.

You were mortified, coughing into your hand as you handed the joint back to Eddie blindly, eyes tearing up, blurring him and his room. He took it quick, making sympathetic noises as he rubbed his other hand down your spine. He waited until you wiped at your eyes, until you managed to catch your breath. “You alright?”

You wanted the ground to swallow you. “Mhmm,” you managed, keeping the heels of your palms pressed to your eyes, just so you wouldn’t have to look at him. “Sorry.”

“Nah,” Eddie said quietly, voice soft. “None of that, c’mon. You want another drink?”

You ignored him, reaching for the smoke instead, insistent on showing him you weren’t a complete loser. But Eddie tsked and held it out of your reach, frowning at you with concern. You wanted to tell him you’d almost missed that stitch between his brows. “Hey, woah, slow down, yeah?” Eddie knocked a hand into your knee, a comforting touch that didn’t push either of your boundaries. Yet. “You sure you wanna smoke? I can run back to Jim’s, see if I can smuggle some flour and we can make brow—”

You shook your head emphatically, not wanting to be any sort of annoyance. “No, no, it’s fine. I can try again.”

You weren’t sure if it was the setting sun that was coming through Eddie’s window that was turning his face fuschia, or if he was suddenly blushing something furious. It took him a second or two to meet your gaze and when he did, you saw a shyness there you’d never really seen before. Eddie was blushing.

“I could, uh,” the boy cleared his throat noisily, awkward and fumbling. He gestured to the joint he still held, to you, to himself. “I could, I could help. I could help you. You know?” He frowned at himself, annoyed at his own stuttering.

You frowned too, confused. “No?” You replied, unsure. Your hands were fisted in his sheets, a nervous reaction.

“Shotgun. I could, well— I could shotgun you.”

“Oh.”

The room suddenly felt infinitely smaller. Warm and intimate, soft with the last of the sunlight, dust motes floating in the rays that came through slats of the blinds. You were on Eddie Munson’s bed. With Eddie Munson. You sucked in a breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Eddie seemed as surprised as you were at your answer but you nodded firmly, keeping your gaze on his, your chin lifted in a boldness you so rarely felt. So Eddie nodded too. “Right. Um, yeah. Just— c’mere.”

It was a clumsy thing, the way you both shuffled closer, the mattress dipping, sheets rippling. You moved until your knees knocked against Eddie’s and he was watching you so carefully, cautious enough that you felt too shy, a burning in your chest that spread up across your neck, your face. Eddie was holding the joint out to the side, the smoke being drawn to the open window and you looked back and forth between the cigarette and the boy.

“Done this before?” Eddie asked you quietly.

It was suddenly silent in the trailer, in the whole park. Fuck, Hawkins had fallen asleep, you were sure of it, because looking at Eddie this close, you couldn’t hear the way the generators hummed, you couldn’t hear the crickets or cicadas, no car engines or muffled televisions. You could hear Eddie breathe though, normal enough before it hitched a little and he had to exhale that little bit heavier - like he was nervous too.

You shook your head and swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, chasing the taste of the orange soda you’d drank at the kitchen table. “No, never like this. I— I know what to do though.” You sounded so naïve, small and a little silly, but Eddie smiled and nodded encouragingly.

“Atta’ girl,” he murmured and then he was bringing the joint back to his lips. He spoke around it, muffled. “Ready, yeah?”

You watched the way his cheeks hollowed out, how his gaze got a little heavier even though he kept looking at you. And this time, instead of blowing the smoke out to the window, he leaned in, one hand holding the joint away from you both, the other gesturing for you to come closer. You obeyed, moving forward with your heart lodged in your throat. You moved until Eddie’s fingertips met your jaw, skimming over the skin there and he tapped gently with his thumb.

His gaze was lowered, lashes fanning out over his cheeks as he leaned in closer still, eyes searching yours for some kind of hesitation, a sign that you’d maybe changed your mind. And when he found none, he coaxed you a little further until his nose bumped yours and you gasped, lips parted and waiting. The boy opened his mouth, just barely, smoke slipping from between his lips and he gently blew it into yours. You didn’t realise how his hand had fallen to your neck, fingers curling around the sides of it, the cool metal of his rings on your overheated skin and the blunt scratch of his nails in your hair.

You inhaled, a shuddering breath, shaky from how close the boy was - nothing to do with the weed. Eddie’s hand on your throat made you feel higher than anything else had before. And when there was no smoke left, when the last of it had floated up towards the ceiling and had turned into wisps in the sunlight, neither of you moved. You were still close enough that your nose bumped his when you tilted your head and you could see the freckles on the bridge of it, the tiny silver coloured scar at the end of his right brow. You wondered what Eddie could see when he looked at you, if he’d find your imperfections, if he’d find them as pretty as you did his.

You watched as his eyes looked into your own, unabashed and completely shameless, like another hit of the joint made him a bit more bold than before. Maybe it had, because you were feeling fuzzy, a warm, heavy feeling pulling you into the mattress, into Eddie.

Your forehead touched his.

His thumb was on your jaw, tucked into the space underneath your ear and it was pressed there like he meant it. Like he wanted you to feel it and god, you did. You did. His eyes wandered, flicking from yours to your lips and back again, warmer than ever, a honey colour in the setting sun. You wondered what you both must’ve looked like, sitting cross legged and knees knocking on Eddie’s unmade bed, heads bent together like you were sharing secrets, like you were going to share more.

The boy swallowed harshly, Adam’s apple bobbing and his stare on your mouth and it all made you feel so heavy and warm and lightheaded at once. You weren’t sure if it was the weed, you weren’t sure if it was Eddie.

“Your eyes are really pretty,” he whispered and he sucked in a breath when your idle hands found his bare knees through the rips in his jeans.

You played with the frayed hem, the loose threads and tried not to squirm at such a compliment. You hummed, nose wrinkling even when you smiled. “Thank you,” you replied politely and just as quiet. “Your eyes are pretty too.”

The boy turned pink, a pretty flush over the bridge of his nose that you wanted to trace with your fingertip. He tilted his head, inspecting you, eyes flicking over each of your features like he was drawing you in his head. “You shouldn’t be handing out compliments,” he mumured bashfully. “Not when I was such a dick to you.”

You shrugged, smiling as you leaned back just a little, too focused on the way Eddie’s lips moved as he spoke. The small space you put between you both gave you some air and Eddie’s hand dropped from your neck to trail down your arm. His fingers found your ring, a dainty thing on your middle finger that was so different to his own that it was comical and he played with the gold as you did with the rips in his denim.

Touching. Still touching.

“S’okay,” you told him gently. “You’ve made up for it now.”

A wry smile, a thumb brushing over the inside of your palm. “I have?”

“Oh, yeah. Free food and free weed?” You grinned when Eddie scoffed. “What more could a girl want?”

It was a rhetorical question. Eddie knew that, but still, he hummed as if he were thinking about it, his fingers dancing over your wrist now, climbing, climbing, climbing. You wished he’d cup your jaw again, warm, wide hands making you feel small and soft.

“I dunno,” he mused. “What about a d—”

Whatever Eddie was going to say was interrupted by the opening of the trailer door. A sharp noise in the quiet and it rattled off of the wall as Wayne barged his way in, arms full of pizza boxes and a giant bottle of soda. “Ed!” He yelled out in greeting, oblivious. “Grubs up, boy, come get.”

It made you spring apart, the mattress squeaking obnoxiously at the movement and you burned at the noise, at what it made it sound like you were up to. You stared wide eyed at Eddie, like a teenager caught doing something they shouldn’t and suddenly you wondered if Wayne would shout at you both for getting high.

But then Eddie was yelling back something noncommittal as he got off the bed, looking back down at you with an amused expression. He bent at the knees, shins hitting the mattress and his hands found your knees where he squeezed them reassuringly. “Hey, hey,” he smiled like he found you funny. Maybe he did. “S’all good, relax. Wayne doesn’t care.”

You sucked in a breath and willed away the weed induced panic you could feel brewing in your stomach, a knotting of nerves that Eddie managed to unravel with the way his fingers smoothed over your lower thighs. So you smiled back and nodded even though you felt like cardboard and when Eddie offered his hand to help you stand, you took it.

“Hey, Wayne,” Eddie called out into the living room. “We got a dinner guest, that alright?”

You could hear the rustle of pizza boxes being opened, the smell of basil and tomatoes wafting through the trailer. Your stomach rumbled and Eddie laughed, chuckling harder when you batted the back of your hand into his side for his lack of manners.

“You can’t just announce that!” You hissed. “That’s so rude.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and then held out his hand to the bedroom door as if to say ‘see?’ when Wayne grunted and said, “If it’s Steve, tell him I ain’t paying extra for those damn mozzarella sticks when there’s already cheese on the pi— oh, hey, kid.”

Wayne looked surprised to see you as you shuffled out of Eddie’s bedroom in your socks. The boy had his hand on the small of your back as he coaxed you forward into the main space of the trailer. “Hi,” you waved shyly, watching with a hot face as Wayne looked at you, at his nephew and back again, brows raised in interest. “Sorry I interrupted your dinner plans, I—”

“Nonsense,” Wayne said at the same time as Eddie scoffed, “shut up.”

“C’mon, now, sit and grab a plate,” the older man urged. “Hope you like Jeopardy! ‘‘cause that’s pizza night tradition.”

You smiled and nodded as Eddie slid into the breakfast nook beside you, hips nudging yours as you budged up. And as Wayne argued with the remote control, the boy loaded up your plate with pizza slices, ignoring your protests completely.

“God, you’re such a feeder,” you joked weakly, still embarrassed to be crashing the Munson pizza night.

Wayne was still frowning at the buttons when he grunted and laughed. “Yep, the boy doesn’t know how to give someone a damn hug, but he’ll make sure you never go hungry. Gotta show love one way or another, huh?”

Nobody said anything and Wayne won the battle as the channel flicked over and the voice of Alex Trebek filled the room. You couldn’t quite look at Eddie and both of you sat side by side as you ate your pizza, Eddie’s curls hiding his face from view. You wondered if he was pink again, blushing and cursing out his uncle in his head.

You wondered if you should’ve said something.

But then, as if to prove some kind of point, Eddie barely glanced at you as he picked up the last slice of pepperoni from the box, and slid it onto your plate.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson imagine #linecook!eddie

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delfiore · 8 months

Text

—LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO.

pairing: leah williamson x reader

synopsis: a collection of private moments from a relationship between two public figures.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: IMPLICIT SMUT

a/n: this fic was proudly sponsored by hozier’s entire discography and my need to get a gf

SEQUEL: DO YOU THINK I HAVE FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU?

ONE. As It Was.

As it always was, London was raining when you came home.

The pitter-patter of the rain hitting the window panes reminded you of childhood, when it was autumn and smelled like the earth, and burying yourself in the piles of dry leaves in the backyard was like swimming in the clouds.

The rain reminded you of love and hot cocoa and scented candles.

The apartment was bathed in an orange hue from the three candles placed neatly on the coffee table when you dragged your suitcase inside. You could still hear the rain when you saw the way her eyes lit up and felt her heart pressed against yours.

You let yourself smile like it was the easiest thing in the world; because it was. You were home because you were with her.

TWO. Eat Your Young.

“Babe! What d’you want for dinner?” You heard her call from the living room.

You had just finished a chapter from your book. “Eh . . . pasta?”

“We already had pasta last night, love.”

“More pasta?” You smiled sheepishly, seeing the way she rolled her eyes but went along with your idea.

To her, there was never anything she could have the heart to deny you from, especially now that she had you back after having lent you to your work for so long.

You were supposed to be halfway across the world filming your new movie. It was only because of the writer’s strike, an unforeseen event, that gave you back to her. You had flown back from a shoot to be there for her in the days after she ruptured her ACL and when she had her surgery, but she found herself missing you the moment you left for work again.

Music played softly from the speaker on the kitchen counter as you chopped the cherry tomatoes while she boiled the noodles since that was the only thing you were okay with her doing without burning the entire building down.

“Remember to let the water boil first,” you said without turning around.

“I did,” she whined, her words trailing longer than necessary if she was telling the truth.

You stopped chopping and glanced behind your shoulder with a deadpan. “Leah.”

The water was clearly not bubbling, and yet the poor rigatoni noodles were already dunked in the pot.

“I’m sorry, I forgot again,” the girl smiled sheepishly.

You rolled your eyes at her and shook your head as she sidled up behind you with her arms around your waist.

You could never grow tired of being held in her arms like this, the warmth created by her chest pressing up against your back, and the anticipation of her timid kisses against your neck. The knife in your hand had long been set down in fear of injury by your trembling hands. Your footballer always liked to tease you until you had no choice but to submit.

“Am I forgiven?” Her voice was husky in your ear.

You were quick to regain your composure before you turned around. “Depends on if those noodles are edible or not.”

“Or we could just ditch dinner and eat each other instead.”

“Cute,” you grinned and pressed your lips against hers. You heard the slightest whimper when you gathered her bottom lip with your teeth and lightly tugged on it. “Needs some seasoning. Otherwise, good enough.”

“That’s what I meant, obviously.”

In the end, the pasta was long forgotten, and you had to order a pizza instead because, by the time she was done, you could barely walk to the other side of the kitchen.

THREE. I, Carrion (Icarian).

You had always been uncomfortable with silence. It was why you brought your speaker everywhere, why you preferred the city over the countryside, why you always felt the need to fill the silence in a room with conversation where there were other people. To you, silence meant a weapon, a way of waging war without actually doing it—the cowardice of dishonesty. So any chance you had to snuff out a glimpse of it, you did. Most of the time, though, the only war waged was the one you did to yourself in your mind.

But whenever you are with her, none of those threats present themselves. She has made silence enjoyable and something you wish you had learned to appreciate earlier, not fear it.

She had put on a movie for the both of you to watch on the couch. You usually felt the need to provide commentary were you with friends, but you were content with enjoying the movie in silence, occasionally looking over to your blonde lover to admire her on the other end of the couch. Your left leg was currently stretched across the cushions, as Leah gave you a foot massage whilst watching the movie.

Sometimes she didn’t feel real, like it was all a sick and twisted dream waiting to drop you on your head when you wake up. But it never did, because every time you reached for her, she was always there; even when you were timezones apart, she would find a way to be there for you in spirit.

“Babe, watch the movie. I like this one,” she spoke, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“I feel like it should be me giving you a foot massage,” you said, lifting your chin towards her healing knee.

“Nah. You were the one sitting on a 12-hour flight to get back here,” she put pressure in the center of your foot.

With your arm on the backrest, you lifted it to brush the tips of your fingers against her hair, inching closer toward the skin on her neck. She noticed, of course, and sent a cheeky grin your way.

Your lover smiled and laughed like a child does. You loved it whenever she showed her teeth when she smiled, stripping down the front of the stoic and reliable captain of European champions that she had to be. You hated that she always lifted others up, yet put so much pressure on herself. You wished that she would be selfish sometimes, for when you weren’t there to pick up the pieces.

You never fared well, being away from her for long, which was why when she pulled you towards her and closed the distance between the two of you on the couch, you obliged.

“I love you,” she whispered after pressing a slow kiss on your lips.

With a lovesick sigh, you caressed her cheek and repeated her words. You loved the way her blue eyes narrowed watching you when you were so close to her face. The movie was running on the TV, but the only one you wanted to watch was her. You’d have to rewind it later.

FOUR. To Someone From A Warm Climate (Uiscefhuaraithe).

There was a simplicity in all of it. This aspect of your life that, amidst the chaos and complications and unfairness in the world, was just that. Love. It was simple, it was sweet, it was yours.

It reminded you of a quote you read once: “He is half of my soul, as the poets say.” If anyone asked you why you loved her, you wouldn’t be able to answer. It would simply be that because she was she, and you were you.

Maybe Zeus never intended for soulmates to find each other. He was the one who split them up in the first place because he knew they would be impossible to part if the two halves merged.

She is half of your soul, as the poets say.

There was something so transcending about loving someone, and having it reciprocated. Every part of it; the good, the bad, the ugly. But you wanted all of it. You wanted to experience everything with her, because she was half of your soul, and it was the only way you could ever feel close to whole again before Zeus split you into two.

Your lover was panting quietly on top of you, her golden hair falling over her face like a lion’s mane. Her eyes fluttered close, her lips parted, her skin was hot to the touch. You watched, seeing the slightest shift in her face as she pulled your legs to her chest, the friction of her rocking slowly turning palpable as it fell into a rhythm. You would hold onto her, your fingers pressing down to create temporary craters into her skin, treading lightly, not wanting to disturb her pleasure, like a lone astronaut exploring a rogue planet.

You sighed contentedly hearing her quiet whines, an indication of an impending release. Your lover has never been loud, like she was saving everything she was feeling for you like everything would only be contained in these four walls, only for the both of you to share.

At some point, she had mumbled something and leaned down to flip you on your front. Even while her movements were restricted by her healing knee, she still liked to be as rough as she could, and you liked it, when she was always so sweet and gentle out of bed. It made you feel wanted, the way she pinned you to the bed and pressed herself against you, the way she intertwined your fingers and coaxed you through your high and kissed you until your lips were bruised and pulsating.

She made you feel wanted, even after you both had given each other euphoria, her frantic kisses to your skin always managed to elicit short giggles out of you. You would whisper in her ear after she had rolled over, the bedsheet warm and damp where she lay, holding her lean body close to yours, just like before Zeus had split you in half.

You are half of her soul, as the poets say, and unless a primordial god physically grabbed you by the waist and tore you away from your soulmate, you would stay here, one moment after another, until infinity. After that, you’d wake up the next morning and do it all over again.

FIVE. Wasteland, Baby!

Your lover was a light sleeper. You had discovered that within the first few months of dating. The way she stirred awake was not dissimilar to how a fussy baby wakes up at the slightest of noises. Usually, she would be quite grumpy as well.

Your circadian rhythm looked more like arrhythmia with the jet lag you were experiencing, in addition to the irregular hours you slept due to having to adjust for filming. Which was why you were in the living room, reading, so your tossing and turning wouldn’t disturb her sleep.

Once again, whenever you were with her, the silence didn’t bother you. Not when you were bathed in her scent wearing her sweater and the premise of her resting a room away from you.

It was around two in the morning when you heard the bedroom door open and close, and the sound of quiet feet shuffling on the floor.

“Hey, you. Why are you awake?” You asked gently, extending a hand out to her.

“I woke up to use the bathroom and you weren’t there,” her bottom lip jutted out like it always did when she wanted your attention.

You stifled a giggle and a coo at how adorable a 26-year-old woman could be. “I just thought I’d leave you be since I couldn’t sleep.”

Without prompting, your lover made herself comfortable on the couch and snuggled into your side. “You’re wearing my jumper.”

You continued reading with one hand while the other rested on her head, and stroking it lightly. “Yeah, found it lying around.” You placed a short kiss on her hair.

“I love this, Y/N,” she said, her words nearly unintelligible from mumbling into the fabric of your sweatshirt. “I made a Pinterest board the other day for our future home.”

“Ooh, tell me more.”

“I’d like to live in the countryside somewhere, with like a farm. It’ll be a cottage with vines all over the walls and everything, wooden kitchen set, a sunroom.”

“I can see that,” you said, “what about the city? You ever dreamed of living in New York? Paris? Hong Kong?”

“I’d feel like a fish out of water. I can barely stomach London. You’d been to all those places.”

You have, but nowhere felt like home unless you were with her. You could make a home in Antarctica if she was there with you.

“All of them are overrated anyway.” You hummed. “I like it wherever I’m with you.”

Her nose crinkled whenever you’d say cheesy stuff like that. You never knew how much those words made her heart skip a beat, as she buried her face in your neck.

“I realized as I said it,” you scrunched your face too.

“Working with Wes Anderson made you a sap now, hasn’t it?” She quite enjoyed this side of you. “It’s fine. I like it.”

Sleep found her again shortly after. In the morning, she woke with a sore back, but her heart was full, realizing she had been tangled in your arms all night.

SIX. Swan Upon Leda.

To know pain; the kind of pain that cuts through your flesh and leaves you bleeding dry. A stinging sensation that soon turns into agonizing hellfire and the knowing that there are several more spirals of hell still waiting to make you bleed. It was to witness someone who was half of your soul be in pain whilst you were powerless against the evil, and all you could do was pray that it would spare your soulmate and take you instead.

Your hand clasped around hers like iron chains, rubbing her back soothingly, as if the warmth from the back might manifest in her front and assuage the pain. She lay on the bathroom floor, her breathing slow and hard, like she was grappling with the evil that, by the looks of it, was winning. Clutching the heating pad to her stomach, her only lifeline, she curled away from you and into herself even further.

“Love, let’s move you to the bedroom where you can lay comfortably, yeah?” You asked gently.

She huffed and grunted. “Can’t move. Hurts.”

Your lover, your Lioness, Queen of Europe, falling apart by an invisible evil, immobilizing her like a wounded deer. The coldness of the tiles couldn’t have helped, but she couldn’t move.

Spare her. Give me the pain instead.

You leaned down, lowering yourself slowly to the cold, until you were flat on the floor too. Gently, you pulled her to turn to face you. Your Lioness was clenching her jaw, a vein splitting her forehead from how hard she was trying to pretend it didn’t bother her.

And it stung even more when she let out a choked sob.

Then she said with a trembling sigh, “Don’t want you to see me like this.”

Her face was stained with streaks of silent tears, a sign of the raging battle she had to endure for years finally getting the best of her. But the evil had never seen the best of her; she reserved it all for you.

“Oh, baby.” Your hand came up to cup her face, the frame that held the entire world.

It didn’t matter that your lover was curled up on the bathroom floor, she was still your bravest girl, your strongest soldier, and your fiercest Lioness.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” you said sincerely, “and I’m not leaving you, not now, not ever.”

Your lover beamed tearfully like sunshine in the rain and clung herself onto you.

Young love was the thing of fairytales. You would never claim to have it all figured out, but if what you had wasn’t love, you didn’t know the half of anything.

SEVEN. Like Real People Do.

As serious as your lover made herself out to be, she was the biggest goof on the planet the moment a drop of alcohol entered her system. Never acted out of line, never said anything that she’d regret in the morning, just the rowdiest thing that considered waving her arms in the air while wobbling back and forth dancing. It made a spectacular scene to watch, especially whenever she was with her best friend, whom you had to thank for bringing her into your life.

Even the people in her life who knew her as responsible and trustworthy would be concerned at this entirely different side to her, to which you only waved them off with a laugh, and said, “She’ll be fine.”

She would always be because she always had you to take care of her.

“Water, babe?” She knew to listen to you and chugged the whole thing in one breath.

“Come dance with me?” She offered when the DJ slowed the music.

She looked too good not to, so you took her hand and followed her to the dance floor. Once there, she wrapped her arms around your waist and pressed a kiss on your forehead. “Come closer. You smell so good.”

You laughed. “Creep.”

“This is our song,” she chuckled.

The familiar melody elicited distant memories of shy ‘hello’s and stolen glances, her best friend pushing her towards you, and her keeping your number on the phone all night until she finally gathered the courage to press on it.

It was the first song on every playlist you sent each other, like a stamp, a greeting, a confession.

It was the song that played when it was just the two of you alone after she became her country’s pride and joy.

“I remember,” you said, brushing a strand of her hair back from her blue eyes, dazed ones that looked at you like you held the world in your hands. “I thought you’d be more confident, just from seeing how you are on the pitch. It was very endearing.”

“I was nervous, okay?” She groaned, laughing quietly. “I didn’t wanna embarrass myself in front of a movie star.”

“I’m glad you asked me to dance, even though—”

“I’m shit at dancing, yeah.”

You giggled, and bumped her nose. “I feel so lucky to have you in my life.”

She was swaying you back and forth, humming to the song gently, a far cry from the first time you had asked her to dance, and she panicked and said her legs were made for football and not dancing.

“I’m still shit at dancing,” she chuckled.

“I don’t care,” you shook your head. “I still love you.”

“Even if I’ve got two left feet?”

“Mmhm.”

She grinned and kissed you, inhaling deeply. “I can feel Alex taking pictures of us—Yup, her phone is out and it’s pointing at us. Very subtle, Alex.” You laughed when you turned around to see your lover already flipping the bird at her best friend.

“We do have her to thank for getting us to meet.”

“That’s ‘cause she beat me to it first. I would have found a way to you.”

“You didn’t even know me then, babe.”

“Yeah, but I’d still find my way to you.” She was giggling because you had pulled a face. “What? It’s true.”

Leah loved deeply, and boldly. You made her feel special like she was the only person in the world. You also made her feel ordinary, like she wasn’t the face of a nation and only any other stranger walking down the street. Inside the little bubble you were both in, you were just Leah and Y/N, two people in love.

The song had come to its end, and yet she still hadn’t let you go. Three little words sat on the tip of both of your tongues. You pressed a kiss to her lips first. She kissed you back, on the lips, then on the neck softly.

I love you.

What you didn’t know was that she planned to make you a promise of forever, with a ring hidden in a drawer waiting at home.

Simple. Sweet. Ours.

EIGHT. De Selby (Part 1).

“Lee?”

“Hm?”

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

“Mate, honestly like—“

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson imagines #leah williamson #arsenal wfc #england wnt #lionesses #leah williamson x you #leah williamson angst #woso x reader #woso imagines #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso #fifa wwc 2023 #engwnt #woso imagine

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yok00k · 4 months

Text

LOVE.

pairing: pinkcoquette/Sanriolover!oc x bf!jk

genre: fluff, smut

“Sippin' bubbly, feelin' lovely”

Synopsis: you wanted to try the “pink coquette core” on your boyfriend and your poor sleepy dog

warnings: brief SMUT at the end, oc is desperate, clingy, and be waking everyone up @ midnight in the name of coquette core💀, too much love in the air, mention of jk only in his sweatpants, dirty thoughts, (pink bow should have its own warning too imo)

Author’s note: this is my very first work/drabble ^o^ I was mainly inspired by these outta pocket ‘coquette core’ videos on tiktok and it made me think about my man jungkook and my son bam (this is unedited & will probably stay that way, I just write for my own sanity)

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆

Pleaseeee my kookie? I promise it will be quick” I desperately pleaded to him as I straddled him on the couch. I showered his entire head with plenty of my sweet kisses, trying to convince him to do a foolish video that’s quite trending today. The only response I got are his arms snaking around my lower waist while he continues to watch his tv show, Bloodhound.

Early this morning, I was scrolling on my ‘for you’ page and saw a bunch of pretty and pleasing coquette videos. Essentially, pink bows were wrapped around the daintiest [and most random] stuffs including ramen cup noodles, lip oil, or even a rose toy. Do I get the pattern of the coquette trend? Absolutely not. But one certain thing I’m sure of is that I will wrap a tiny baby pink bow around my boyfriend. And it will happen no matter what it takes.

Since offering him with plenty of affection doesn’t seem to work, I had to go down with my last technique. “I will grant you three wishes if you let me do it” I whispered softly to his ear. Immediately, he grabbed the remote to pause the show that he was so focused on .

“Anything?” Jungkook eagerly asked, two round, shining dark eyes gaze upon me as they search for assurance in my words. “Anything” I guarantee, kissing his pretty nose before getting off his lap.

―୨୧⋆ ˚

“koo stay still” I complained while giggling at the sight of him attempting to awkwardly stand still with a flimsy ribbon flimsy bow that looped around his torso and veiny arms.

‘How cute’ I thought.

While trying to capture videos and a couple of photos of him, I can’t help but to flash a grin. Small things like this really make my heart so full. Spending a solid quality time with him, even if it’s doing something nonsense is a memory I will forever value.

“So cute” I mumbled, staring at my phone as I went through the images I took seconds ago.

After a minute or two, Jungkook, who’s still standing, took a loud, deep breath.

“baby are we done yet?” he whined. “Oh my bad kookie” I rushed to turn off my phone to finally give my undivided attention to him. The ribbon tied around him got unfasten by me. Finally, he can breathe freely again.

―୨୧⋆ ˚

It was midnight when out of nowhere, another light bulb popped out of my brain on what (or who) to use the notorious pink decoration for. And in this case, I won’t be able to sleep unless I accomplish the sudden idea. Somehow, I managed to escape from Jungkook’s arms securely holding onto my waist. I quickly grab two pink short strips and head to the living room. The entire apartment was filled by silence and darkness therefore I turned the mini lampshade in the corner, causing Bam to wake up and immediately have his guards up. When he recognized that it was just me, he put his head down on the floor while holding a gaze on me as if he’s questioning ‘why is she bothering me at this hour?’

“I’m sorry for waking you up this hour bammie, mama just needs to do something real quick ok?” I gently explained to the Doberman. It didn’t take me so much time to delicately tie a not-so-tight bow around his both ears. What took time was taking good pictures of him for the reasons that he’s moving too much and doesn't know what on earth is going on.

“Look at mami bam” I whispered, snapping my fingers to get his attention to look in the camera. The poor dog keeps moving his head, figuring out the thing around his ears are for.

“Baby what are you doing?” an abrupt voice spoke behind me.

Shit. Turning my body around, I got a glance at the half lidded eyes filled with pure curiosity. As I examined his tall and muscular physique, I also didn’t fail to notice that he was only wearing a pair of baggy sweatpants. And when I say only, I meant only so don’t ask me for any color of something.

The things that my mind urges me to do.

―୨୧⋆ ˚

I dropped my knees in front of him, left hand wrapped in his upper leg while the other hand softly palmed his growing tent. I looked into his eyes as I gave his clothed cock few pecks, teasing him. Instantly he gave me a nod before throwing his head back, gesturing to me to keep on going.

I wasted no time and pulled down his sweatpants till an angry, hard cock that slapped his bottom abdomen was released from being suffocated. It’s too pretty, so desperate to be touched. Using my small grip, I wrapped my hand around his shaft, directing it right to my drooling mouth. I gifted his pink mushroom tip kitty licks, then proceeded to gradually bob my head up and down greedily to his cock as if he’s my last meal.

“mmh.. so good baby” jungkook shamelessly groans, the cold room is filled with nothing but dirty, loud moans. The noises motivated me to go on and also to do the best I can to make him feel good.

―୨୧⋆ ˚

“___, you still with me?” he asked again, bringing me out in reality from the filthy thoughts that've been going around the back of my head.

“yeah.. I was just trying the ribbon on Bam” I responded breathlessly as my gaze returned to his beautiful eyes. I just smiled, as if I wasn’t imagining an obscene scene with him a few seconds ago. “let’s go to sleep” I announced as I got up from the ground.

and before we sleep, I made sure to turn my little cute scenario into reality.

#jungkook x reader #jungkookxreader #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkooksmut #hello kitty #jungkook fanfiction #jk smut

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sluttyminghao · 11 months

Text

gamers do it better | c.sc x j.ww

♡ pairing: choi seungcheol x jeon wonwoo x female!reader ♡ genre: smut ♡ w.c.: 2k ♡ this fic contains: messy gamers wonwoo and cheol, mention of mutual pining/longing over years, cockwarming, blowjob, mentions of fucking/multiple rounds, degradation (whore, slut), praise, and probably other stuff I've missed ♡ a/n: the brainrot is real...anyways enjoy! thank you to @idyllic-ghost for proof reading and giving tips on how to be More Feral <3

reblogs and feedback are much appreciated!

Living with two men had seemed like a great idea initially until you moved in with them. You were constantly cleaning up after them, making sure they ate proper meals besides drinking energy drinks, and scolding them to go outside for just 10 minutes a day to enjoy the warmth of the sun.

You had lived with Seungcheol and Wonwoo for a number of years. At first, it was because you all took the same Biology class together in college and it was convenient for you to commute together at the same time, but even after your classes finished, you found yourself emotionally attached to these men and couldn't bear to part with them, and the feeling was mutual.

The last 12 months or so had been…more challenging than the last few years. There had been some longing glances from the two men, especially if you had walked around the apartment in just a sports bra and spandex shorts. The occasional graze or touch over your exposed skin had also been noted, and made your heart rate quicken, but nothing had ever been initiated.

Many nights you went into your room and your hands wandered to lower places while thinking about how they’d treat you, how they’d bend you into a pretzel and fill you with cum. But it all dissipated when you went back out to the kitchen and found plates and food littering the kitchen bench. Typical men.

It was a warm summer evening, the sun still peaking over the horizon and bathing your kitchen and living area in a golden glow that took your breath away. As you stood over the stove, contemplating your life choices over the bubbling water with noodles, you hear a sudden shout coming from one of your roommate's rooms, sparking interest.

Normally, Wonwoo is a very quiet and reserved person. He makes small talk with you if you eat a meal together, but apart from that remains either in his room gaming or leaves home before you wake and comes back after you fall asleep. Even still, he pays the bills on time and is extremely good-looking, so you can’t ask for more than that.

Turning the stove off, you place the wooden spoon down and pad to Wonwoo’s room, the door closed as per usual. You rap on the door quickly, and a small mumble of a ‘come in’ can be heard from inside, so you turn the handle and squint against the bright light emitting from his screen computer.

“Are you okay? I heard you scream.”

“Oh, I’m fine, that was Seungcheol who screamed because he’s a little bitch.”

Your eyes drift across to the fluffy-haired man sitting next to him, who's staring at Wonwoo, shocked. He shoves Wonwoo’s shoulder and rolls his eyes, before turning around to face you with an unimpressed look on his stunning features. Seungcheol was stunning in his own way; fluffy black locks he’d permed a few weeks ago, bare-faced and the sweetest smile around.

“I am not a little bitch! He purposefully gave me a jumpscare!” He pouts as you chuckle and Wonwoo follows suit, only for him to immediately switch up and jump from his spot on the bed, stalking towards you until you’ve stepped back as far as you can go, aka hitting the wall with your back.

“You think it’s funny?”

“I-” Your justification is cut off by Seungcheol dragging his fingers up your exposed arm, goosebumps raising in their path. You can feel your heart pounding against your ribcage as he places a hand next to your head, and your palms grow sweaty. He grins and beckons Wonwoo to come over, who’s been watching the interaction intently ever since Seungcheol had backed you against the wall.

Everything about this interaction is like your dreams coming to life right in front of your eyes, the only thing that would place the cherry on top of the cake would be if they actually did bend you like a pretzel and have their way with you.

You feel small as both men stand in front of you, their eyes drinking you in as if they haven't had lingering stares on you before (which they definitely have). You don’t try to stop them as they let their hands roam your figure, fingers fiddling with loose fabric before eventually pulling your clothing off piece by piece until you’re left in nothing but your white cotton underwear.

“Don’t you look so cute like this?” Seungcheol comments, his calloused fingers tracing your nipples and causing them to harden. He smirks as he watches them pebble up, not wasting any time dipping his head down to capture one between his lips, letting the bud roll over his tongue lewdly.

A moan escapes your lips, which is quickly swallowed by Wonwoo who shoves his tongue down your throat messily. Their free hands are roaming untouched parts of your body, and while there’s a nagging in the back of your mind about how you shouldn't be doing this with your roommates, there’s a louder voice yelling at you in your brain for not doing this sooner.

“Look how easily you’re giving yourself up for us, already soaking through your panties,” Wonwoo mumbles against your lips as his thick fingers glide over the cotton, the wet spot undeniable as he presses his fingers against it and watches smugly as you keen at the pleasure.

You can only gasp as Seungcheol pulls himself off your nipple and attaches himself to your neck instead, sucking a bruise into the flesh that will be purple within a couple of hours. Wonwoo glances over at his screen and curses, before heading back to his seat, leaving you and Seungcheol in a confused and lustful state.

“I didn’t realize my next game was about to start, why don’t you be a doll and come and sit on my cock? It’s aching just thinking about being sheathed inside that perfect cunt of yours.”

You feel the wet spot grow larger at his filthy words.

When you don’t move from your spot, Seungcheol takes it upon himself to drag you by your hand to where Wonwoo is sitting and readjusting his headset to prepare for his game. With a small groan, Seungcheol rips your panties off your body, mumbling something about buying you some more later, before positioning you over Wonwoo.

A low whistle escapes Wonwoo’s throat at the sight of your dripping cunt, and feels his cock straining tightly against his sweats. He can’t take it anymore and quickly shoves his sweats and boxers down to pool at his ankles, letting his cock spring up to attention. Your eyes widen at the sight, pre cum beading on the fat mushroom head, a prominent vein trailing down the shaft and his balls twitching in anticipation.

He chuckles but doesn't say a word as he grips your waist to pull you over his cock, and lets the tip slide against your clit, a garbled whine escaping your lips at the feeling. He grins and taps the head of his cock against your clit teasingly multiple times, and with each teasing pass you feel your whines grow louder and needier. In a moment of lust, you feel Wonwoo’s lips come up to nibble on your jaw, sending a variety of feelings through your body.

“W-wonu…please…need you,” your breathing is shaky and your words are slurred, the teasing from both men going to your head and sending you into a frenzy. If you didn’t cum soon you think you might just have to grab your vibrator to finish the job.

Luckily, it doesn't come to that, and your hand comes to rest on his shoulders as he finally guides his cock into you after teasing you mercilessly, the pressure of his cock finally filling you up makes your head swim and your thighs shake.

“O-oh fuck…” your voice trails off and you feel Wonwoo twitch inside of you as he finally bottoms out, a low groan filling your ears as your cunt squeezes around him like a vice. Seungcheol is losing his mind standing next to you, his own cock straining against his basketball shorts.

As you grow accustomed to Wonwoo’s size, you rotate your hips and begin the process of bouncing up and down. When his large hand comes to rest on your hips and grip tightly, you halt all motion and bring your head up to stare into Wonwoo’s lust-filled eyes.

“I didn’t say to move, did I? I just want you to sit on my lap and be a good little slut, and maybe once I’m done with my game you'll be rewarded.” His voice is short as he refocuses his attention on the game, delving right in and becoming immersed in the content.

You whimper as you clench helplessly around his cock, your fingers digging into his flesh through his shirt as he keeps you in place, despite still playing his game. You can’t even see him but you’re sure he’s smirking even while smashing the keyboard quickly.

“In the meantime, why don’t you be a good whore for me and help me out, hm?” Seungcheol’s husky voice has grown deeper and makes you clench, causing Wonwoo to chuckle. Your eyes open and you can see Seungcheol standing in front of you, thick cock in his hand pumping slowly.

As if on instinct, you open your mouth for him to place his cock inside, and you’re immediately met with the salty taste of his precum. You moan softly and start bobbing your head to take more of him in, which has his head falling back and one of his hands entangling in your hair, tugging on the strands harshly.

The sounds filling the room are lewd; the wet sounds of your mouth bobbing quickly over Seungcheol’s cock and how your cunt is still filled with Wonwoo’s cock, the occasional clench of your pussy sending a wave of arousal flooding down his cock and creating a puddle of slick on his chair.

“Your mouth is like heaven, sweetheart, been waiting for y-years to do this,” Seungcheol praises you as his hips stutter when you deepthroat him particularly well. The grip he has on your hair is beginning to sting, but you couldn't care less when the arousal in your abdomen is beginning to grow by the second.

“Son of a bitch!”

The loud profanity has you jerking off Seungcheol’s cock abruptly and looking at Wonwoo with concern. You can hear Seungcheol groan in annoyance and move your head back to his cock, where you teasingly take the tip into your mouth and suck lightly.

“Ya lose your game, big shot?” Seungcheol teases Wonwoo, who quickly whips his head around to stare the older down. He removes his headset and raises the middle finger to Seungcheol, who reciprocates quickly before focusing his attention back on you.

“Like you can play any better, especially with a slut in your lap.”

The degradation has you clenching around Wonwoo’s cock and moaning around Seungcheol’s, simultaneously making them throw their heads back and groan. You grin to yourself and make the effort to grind against Wonwoo and deepthroat Seungcheol before you’re pulled off both of them and shoved onto the bed.

You don’t have any time to react as they both crawl up next to you, Seungcheol now taking position between your legs and Wonwoo stroking his cock and tapping the fat head against your lips.

“Are you gonna show us just how much of a slut you can be?”

You lick your lips and spread your legs, inviting both of them to do as they please. It’s going to be a long, long night for all three of you.

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#sluttyhao fics #sluttyhao smut #svthub #kpop smut #seventeen smut #wonwoo smut #seungcheol smut #seventeen x reader #kpop fics #wonwoo x reader #seungcheol x reader

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suashii · 7 months

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꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ 𝑅𝐸𝒢𝒰𝐿𝒜𝑅 𝐸𝒩𝒞𝒪𝒰𝒩𝒯𝐸𝑅𝒮

info ⭑ bakugo katsuki x reader ﾉ 1.6k wc ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff

the first time bakugo sees you, his new neighbor, is from his balcony. the squeak that accompanies your door sliding open catches his attention and your distant voice holds it. you’re on the phone, too preoccupied with your conversation to notice him sitting a few feet away. he watches you from afar, takes note of how you playfully roll your eyes and the way you throw your hand out in disbelief. you’re animated and energized, a shining light against the dark canvas that is the night sky.

bakugo isn’t sure how much time passes before he decides to head back inside. he comes to the realization that it’s strange to watch someone you haven’t even met so intently. so, he stands and picks up his plate of half-eaten noodles, readying to call it a night. whether it’s the scrape of his chair or the feel of his eyes on you, bakugo isn’t sure, but something makes you turn to face his direction. instead of the scowl or scoff he expects of someone who has just found out they were being stared at, you smile at him. you even wave, too.

his lips part in surprise at your kindness, your warmth. bakugo can’t say he knows or has encountered many people who offer a smile while they’re taking a call. deku maybe, but that’s beside the point. before he forgets and makes an ass of himself, he slowly raises his arm, two fingers sticking out to return your wave.

you smile wider.

the image sticks to his eyelids as he lays in bed and waits for sleep to overtake him.

the next time he sees you, it’s on the balcony again. this time you’re able to introduce yourself.

“sorry,” you apologize after giving him your name. you’re sitting in a chair you dragged out from your unit. the singular piece of furniture looks out of place outside. katsuki figures you haven’t had the time to decorate the space appropriately. “i would have done this that first night but my mom was talking my ear off. moving and all.”

bakugo distinctly recalls what it was like when he moved into his first apartment; nothing he did went unchecked by mitsuki. she was practically breathing down his neck throughout the entire process. if he wasn’t grateful for the help, the memories would have sent an unpleasant chill down his spine.

“i get it,” he nods.

talking to you is different than looking from afar, the blonde thinks. even though the two of you have never spoken before this moment, you regard him so casually—like he’s a friend you’ve known for years. it’s refreshing yet strange, being seen as a neighbor before a hero, though he doesn’t mind the change of scenery.

the rest of your conversation borders on mundane—you ask when bakugo moved into the building, about his hobbies, and if he has any coffee shop recommendations near the neighborhood. they’re questions he usually wouldn’t bother answering but something about you compels him to reply. maybe it’s the way it looks like you’re hanging on his every word. or maybe it’s because, despite the fact that you’re the one asking the questions, you’re still a present part of the conversation. it doesn’t feel as though it’s one-sided, like an interview he gets nothing out of. your giggles at his muttered sarcasm and the comments you add—little details about how your apartment is coming together and what you usually order from the café—draws bakugo into your bubble and keeps him there.

talking to you isn’t a chore, in fact, katsuki actually enjoys it. the sound of your voice isn’t irritating like nails against a chalkboard—it’s pleasant, addicting, like the gentle hum of his favorite song. your stare doesn’t bother him because, for some reason unbeknownst to him, it feels like you see past his outer shell, past the image the world has created for him.

you don’t know him now, but bakugo doesn’t mind it being a possibility. a little part of him longs for it.

that longing for a connection isn’t far out of reach. your balconies have become an assembly area of sorts. given his line of work, katsuki can only spend evenings and seldom weekends out under the moon or sun, but you seem to have caught on to the loose pattern that is his schedule. whenever he’s there, so are you.

sometimes you’re working on your laptop, fingers furiously tapping away at the keyboard until you hear the slightly squeaky gliding of bakugo’s door. the contents of your screen are easily forgotten in favor of focusing on your blonde neighbor instead. talking to him means you’ll lose sleep over finishing your report later than intended, but bakugo is much more interesting than the spreadsheet of numbers you’ve been staring at for the past hour.

other times, you’re taking down laundry you hung on the line earlier when the same noise catches your attention. you can’t help but stop what you’re doing and inquire about his day—the good, the bad, the boring, the exciting. (an odd habit arises from it; you ask him to rate his day on a scale of one to ten whenever he joins you outside.) by the time you remember what you were doing before katsuki’s arrival, the sheets you had set out to dry are wrinkled and creased in your arms.

every moment, no matter how short and seemingly insignificant, floods bakugo in a sea of inexplicable joy.

today is no different.

like every night, bakugo kicks off his boots before entering his apartment. after a quick shower and a change of clothes, his feet instinctively carry him to the living room where the door leading to his balcony, leading to you, is. a cool breeze pushes into the unit as he drags the sliding door open and steps out. goosebumps raise on his arms—not because of the evening air, but because he hasn’t even sat down yet and your eyes are already on him.

“hey there, superhero,” you greet him, and he can hear the smile in your voice. there’s a click as the door closes and a grunt as katsuki tosses himself into the lone chair on his balcony. yours has two now, situated on either side of a small table. you’re sitting in the one facing him, a cup of instant noodles cradled in your hands.

“hey.” he returns your hello. it’s audibly less enthusiastic, but he’s glad to see you—even if that sight is you manipulating a pair of chopsticks to best fit the bunch of noodles hanging from them in your mouth.

your wrist stops rotating once you’ve found the prefect positioning. before you take the bite, you ask bakugo, “rate the day?”

all things considered, bakugo had a favorable day. nothing had gone wrong, everyone at the agency was on top of their game, he even had a notable villain takedown. despite it all, the day lacked a sense of excitement. nothing got his blood pumping like has had hoped it would. but now that he’s here in your presence, everything feels right. “…eight.”

“wow!” you cover your mouth upon realizing that you still have food in it. you sheepishly swallow the mouthful before clearing your throat. bakugo’s chin rests in his palm as he grins at your outburst. it’s infectious, causes the corners of your lips to curl into a small smile. “that’s a jump from the rest of the week.”

it is. the days before this one had been mediocre at best. but nights spent with you always give his days an extra point on the rating scale. that, bakugo thinks, isn’t something you need to know. not now, at least.

his eyes fall down to the styrofoam cup in your hands. every time he’s met with you for the past week, the same budget-friendly meal has appeared. “that all you eat?” he questions.

you snort at his observation. he’s got a good eye, you’ve come to learn, remembers details about you that even you find yourself forgetting. you set the cheap dish down on your table and smile. “other than knowing how to operate a rice cooker, i’m even worse than a novice in the kitchen.”

you’re a strange one, smiling while admitting a weakness, the blonde thinks. “you seem oddly happy about that.”

“eh,” you shrug, “it kind of sucks burning everything i touch. but, i happen to know someone who’s planning on helping me fix that.”

you’re still smiling, but this one is different than the others katsuki has had the pleasure of seeing. it isn’t like those delighted ones you wear when you recount the best parts of your day or the admirable ones you sport when you listen to his. there’s something hidden behind this one that he can’t quite put his finger on. knowingness? flirtation?

if the latter was the case, bakugo would have a problem—one he isn’t entitled to, but, nevertheless, a problem. he may not be entitled to it, but the green-eyed monster isn’t something he can so easily conceal, even if he has no business feeling jealous. he crosses his arms at the thought of someone else holding your interest. “and who is that?”

“oh, come on genius.” your heart thumps against your ribcage, hard and heavy. it’s been a few weeks since you moved in to the apartment beside bakugo’s but your first, hushed interaction has stuck with you. the seedling of attraction in your chest when you first met his eye has long since bloomed into an embarrassingly large, vibrant flower. “you think i forgot about that yakisoba you were eating that first night out here? i’m talking about you.”

there’s a fluttering in katsuki’s chest, like his heart started floating while simultaneously skipping a beat. he discreetly pats his sternum to calm the frantic organ sheltered behind it but the action is useless when you’re staring at him so intently, a hypnotizing glint of hope sparkling in your eyes.

“so, superhero, teach me how to cook?"

hihi~ sua here :3 ! thank you for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! much love from me to you ❤︎

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: my hero academia #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugo x you #mha x you #bakugo drabble #mha drabbles #bakugo fluff #mha fluff #bnha fluff #mha scenarios #mha imagines #bnha scenarios #bnha imagines

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snobgoblin · 2 years

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her girlfriend is a demon hunter idk what you expected my man

galaxy brain prompt tbh tysm @euos-the-cat

#gorillaz #ppg #the powerpuff girls #noobles #bubbles x noodle #she said VIBE CHECk #chemical x #noodle gorillaz #bubbles ppg #him ppg #snoobgoobles

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riaki · 5 months

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after party | satoru gojo x reader

gojo wanted to help you prepare a friendsgiving dinner, but he's a little tired n a lot tipsy.

cw: non curse au, everyones alive, shoko typical smoking, drinking, you’re married to gojo wc: 3.3k

this was supposed to be short but it just spiraled n i kind of hate it b i technically posted on the 23rd so it counts !! not proofread!

business dinners with satoru are exhausting, to say the least—you start the day early to the scent of coffee through a filter and a fresh breeze through your open window, sending your husband off to work with a hug and a kiss—maybe a promise of more if he pulls the 'five more minutes!' on you.

this one is special, though; old friends from freely youthful highschool days gathered around your dinner table on the mats of your living room floor catching up over cans of beer cold with condensation, the sound of can tabs popping and the fizzling of bubbly spirits over tables of warm food in tin containers.

geto, the tall man with dark hair and gauges, talks about how his two daughters are adjusting to city life, occasionally interrupted by cheerful brightness never dampened by adult years from haibara, an apprenticing entrepeneur under nanami who's got a thing for girls with big appetites. shoko and utahime are having a drinking contest, and mei mei's too occupied with her phone; checking stocks as her tacky nails click against the glass screen.

satoru can't cook. there's a reason why he always buys takeout when you're too busy to provide or you've already gone to sleep— he should be the picture perfect husband, because you deserve that and everything more. his only (self-perceived) flaws are his lack of alcohol tolerance and his inability to master the frying pan.

you always tell him he doesn't have to be a michelin chef— but with the way he's constantly sneaking a chocolate graham cracker from your muji snack bag or snagging the sour gummy between your teeth from your lips, he feels like he should compensate. so on this special november evening, when the hum of the city life outside your balcony gets drowned out by the cheerful mirth of a warm dinner table, he had decided to help you.

the warm kitchen had become a foodstained disaster— but with tearful round eyes and a hand tugging on your shirt, you'd resigned to helping him conquer the task of simple packaged noodles and soft-boiled eggs. he'd cut his finger— even the most capable teacher found his shortcomings against a blunt kitchen knife. needless to say you'd peppered it with kisses before wrapping a rainbow hello kitty bandaid around it.

and that brings you to the present: the result of your extensively hard work; a few soggy noodles collected at the bottom of porcelain bowls painted red on the insides in a lukewarm puddle of soup, full stomachs and a loose and welcoming atmosphere. you wouldn't trade it for the world.

you're fishing a pickled radish slice out of your bowl when satoru leans over, removing the arm that was snaked around your shoulder to drape himself on your lap, lying down on the floor with his knees propped up and his soft cloud-white hair sprawled over your thighs. geto makes a distasteful face when satoru's black socks brush against his leg. across the table, shoko knocks shoulders with utahime as she lights a cigarette; the latter's face flushes as smoke drifts past her lightly flushed face into the open window city night air overhead.

"hey, you. what's up?" you asked softly, chuckling to yourself as you set your chopsticks atop the rim of your bowl, leaning back on your arms to look down at him. he adjusts himself a little, wiggling on your lap as you caught a whiff of his beer breath and scrunch your nose.

"hiii, baby," he drawls, giggling a little to himself. his smooth, usually playful voice took on that deep tone he used whenever he was being serious, and it sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, so you hugged him closer and ran a hand through his soft white hair, brushing your fingers against the black cloth of his blindfold. "what'cha doing?"

"i was eating. you put too much pepper in the broth, 'toru." you smiled softly, tracing the line of his jaw slowly with one finger in the way you knew he liked so much; it was obvious from the way he sighed contentedly and tilted his head into your palm. whether it be from that unfathomably sweet smile or the tender way you held his face in your delicate hands, that was up to him to ponder. next to you, haibara makes a joke— something about mei mei's stocks, and she quips a snarky retort that has him laughing raucously while nanami makes a face.

"i tried!" he protests, almost a whine as he sighs; a hand sneaks up to lift the edge of his blindfold up so his eyes meet yours, and you're left breathless. it catches you off guard every time— those endless pools of swirling blue that stare straight through you, sifting through your thoughts like a scholar annotating an open book, all heart-shaped sticky notes and bright highlighters when it came to thinking about him.

"not hard enough, clearly. but it's okay; we'll do better next time."

he just frowns again at that, sticking out his lower lip in a little pout that makes your heart squeeze. your stomach is full with noodles and broth; you don't think you could stomach another bite if you tried, and you're not one to drink especially if everyone else is. so, you let yourself indulge a little— snake a hand on the back of satoru's neck and tilt him up until he's sitting halfway up and you can easily meet his lips in a kiss.

he reciprocates immediately, hungry like he was waiting for you; you notice that he hasn't eaten much of his food yet, so maybe he was. or maybe he knows how bad it is. either way, his tongue darts out from his parted lips to flick against your own for a moment, before he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip and draws out a teasing whine that you have to stifle because "we have company, 'toru," you have to breath as a reminder. he just laughs breathily against your lips, tasting like bitter beer and buttery vanilla as he shifts to practically sit on top of you, hands on your shoulders as his thumbs brush over your collarbone where the edge of your shirt fails to cover tantalizing skin; he's taller and eventually ends up bringing the both of you toppling down onto the mats.

your back hits the floor and a little gasp leaves your winded lungs— but satoru eagerly catches it with his lips and swallows it, like he's intent on getting drunken off his ass from you (as if he wasn't already tipsy) when he smashes his swollen lips to yours again. your hair is splayed out against the tatami mats like you're trapped in some marine watercolor painting, and for a split second satoru thinks if mermaids were real you'd be the most angelic he'd ever seen as his calloused fingers curl into the strands.

you're about to hook a leg around his waist when a shout catches your ear and you part lips with a gasp, sucking in greedy breaths as satoru promptly sits on your stomach. you let out a stuffed oomph from his weight, and watch as he slides his blindfold back on to look over at the rest of the table who're staring at the two of you like they're watching some forbidden steamy movie scene that's meant to be shielded from children's eyes.

“don’t kiss him while he’s drunk. it’s like rewarding a brat for bad behavior,” shoko says. you sit up with much effort, straining under satoru’s weight as you reach up to grab his shoulders. you miss, but he takes your hands and pulls you up, wrapping his arms around you to keep you from falling back down as you rest your head on his shoulder. utahime has her arms lazily draped over shoko; you assume she’s drunk from that, but if you were to inspect her for long enough you’d notice her can of beer was almost completely full.

“oh, i guess you’re right.” you remarked, frowning a little and biting the inside of your cheek as you pull away from satoru and glance at him. all of the sudden he looks like he’s ready to keel over; the shadows beneath his eyes are reinforced by the alcohol in his system and it looks like he’ll need to tape his eyes open lest he passes out right on top of you. you want to avoid that, so you gently push him off, sighing to yourself.

“don’t listen to her, sweetheart. you can kiss me all you want,” he smirks, a flash of pearly white teeth that would’ve been on your neck a moment ago if not for the interruption. you just shake your head with a breathless laugh, giving him a quick flick to the forehead. before you can pull away, though— he catches your hand, bringing your wrist to his glossy pink lips and giving your pulse a quick peck. “no, she has a point.” you hummed. overhead, the light flickers a little; a moth that had flown in through the window danced about the bulb. the faint sound of car horns filters through the window along with the breeze, recycled laughter and lively chatter from bars a few stories down carried in the cool wind.

you mill about for another twenty minutes or so, content to just listen in as old friends shared anecdotes and funny stories from separate paths of life; you soon learned that nanami was planning on moving to malaysia, and shoko was due to renew her medical license this year. the beer cans built up, mixed in with crumpled napkins that had penned doodles on the rough surface and paper chopstick wrappers. somewhere along the line, satoru had fallen asleep— you had to push his unfinished ramen bowl out of the way before he knocked his head against the wooden table and spilt his meal. you frowned a little at the sight of it— you knew he'd complain about his soaked noodles and limp seaweed sheets later on. you found yourself slinging one of your jackets over his shoulders, fingers lingering over his neck, where the scratchy hair of his undercut met soft warm skin.

soon enough, dishes are piling up in the sink and calling your name; the kids see themselves home via train station, spouting something about a late night pit stop in sendai for the mochi that 'our teacher likes so much'. you consider asking them to bring some back for satoru, but you decide you'll enjoy a laugh when he tells you about how he went to school the next morning to find out for himself, and the stab of hurt that will pierce his full heart in two when he hears the news. even then, you have to shush them as they show themselves out; you can tell from the way satoru's eyebrows knit together beneath his blindfold and the pinch of his jaw that he doesn't appreciate the noise, no matter how blacked out.

the conversation dies down a little, and soon enough, everyone takes their leave one by one. it's only when you settle back down after cleaning up the bowls and putting away the cups that satoru stirs, waking up with a mumble and a huff. his hair is a disheveled mess, and there are sleep lines on his face, but he's still handsome as ever.

"baby?" his voice is hoarse with sleep and dehydration. there's a dull ache between his eyes, feeling like he'd just ran a circle around the world. you answer from the kitchen, calling his name. it's late; past midnight now. the window's still open and satoru's can of beer is still on the table, almost completely empty.

"how long did i sleep? shit, did everyone go home? 'm sorry," he groans, standing up and stretching his arms out. his shirt rides up on his shoulders, exposing the arch of his hip just above the edge of his pants. "don't worry, 'toru." you hummed, washing your hands in the sink as you look over at him. he just nods, grabbing the can and crumpling it in his hands before tossing it in the trash.

"you okay? got a headache?" you asked as he walked over to you, careful not to hit his head on the arch that connected the living room to the kitchen. when you'd first moved in with him, you had to pin a strip of bright yellow caution tape to remind him to duck his head. you smiled as you reminisced over late nights, tucked in his arms as he mused about demolishing the wall there just so he could be rid of the bruise on his temple. then again, as long as you were waiting for him to kiss it better at the end of his nine to five, he didn't mind.

he nods, and watches as an easy smile stretches across your lips; they look infuriatingly kissable under the warm glow of the hazy kitchen light, shining off the porcelain cups in the sink. he leans against the kitchen counter, cold marble feeling through the thin fabric of his shirt as you take his leftovers from the fridge and heat them up in the microwave, standing before the black glass as you watch the little plate spin inside.

there's something about moments like these; so sweet and easy with you after everyone's taken the last train home and all that's left are empty beer cans and extra bowls in the dishwasher for two people with matching rings on their fingers to take care of.

he walks up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your chin. he smiles when he feels your hand cup his cheek, and he turns his head instinctively to meet your lips in a slow, sweet kiss; a muscle memory tango between familiar lovers. when he pulls away to catch his breath, tongue swiping across his bottom lip, you're already there with your fingers, pulling his blindfold down to rest around his neck and gently rubbing the spot beside his eyes, alleviating the tension behind them. it's unspoken moments like these that he loves the most in your relationship. making a mess in your kitchen is a close second.

it's a slow, easy night after a special get-together when the microwave beeps and you take his noodles out, bringing them to the table as you sit down next to him and rest your head on his shoulder, letting him tuck you into his side as he gets a bit of breaded tonkotsu crumbs on his cheek and insists you wipe them off for him like he's some oversized baby. you wash some cherries in a green plastic bowl, competing to see who can spit the pits into the trashcan without missing. in the end, he lost the game of rock paper scissor and was resigned to pick up the missed pits on the floor.

he's still wearing your jacket like a cape and even though it's far too small for him, he insists on keeping it with him when you go out onto your balcony to finish the last of a bottle of sake together, listening to the melody of the wind in the trees that line the sidewalk and the permeating hustle and bustle of the city, even when it's so late at night it could be considered early morning.

he swipes the cold bottle from your hands, finishing the last drops from the matte glass before letting it dangle between your fingers. and you're expecting it when he catches your arm to pull you into another kiss; he tastes like peaches and wine and a little bit of soup broth. it's slow, and easy, because being with him has always felt as natural as breathing, and being with you has made it easier for him to breathe, like the iron weight on his lungs melts away in the face of your unconditional warmth and care. the cool wind blows your hair in front of your face, and he laughs that charming boyish giggle as he tucks it behind your ears and scoops you up in his arms.

"i don't like sharing you with a sake bottle," you said, pointedly looking at the glass in his hand. he just grins, looking down at you for a moment. he can almost see it again; you, in that gorgeous white wedding cloth. he was carrying you bridal style in the same way now, when you'd decided to grow old together and host special business dinners as a couple in your shared apartment.

"don't worry, love. you're sweeter than any spritz," he laughs, stepping inside again and closing the door behind him.

it's routine, and it's easy, getting ready for bed with him, laughing when he pushes his hair back with a headband, looking like a pretty little princess. you suggest him getting a mullet, and he shushes you by shoving your toothbrush on your tongue, getting a mouthful of mint. the warm water rushes over your fingers before you dry yourself off, wiping your face and putting the towel away only to be met with the equal warmth of his lips on your forehead, peppering you with kisses.

you slip into the covers, still pleasantly cold as you watch satoru sit up and take his shirt off. he lets you peel the rainbow bandaid on his finger off, tossing it in the trash before pulling you into his arms, right where you belong the closest to his heart. "don't cut yourself like that again, okay?"

"it was an accident, baby." he chuckles, and you just roll your eyes. he reaches over to ruffle your hair affectionately and makes a joke about having you suck his blood like a vampire, tooting about how sweet it would be. "besides, i don't need to be careful if you're there to patch me up, pretty. shoko has nothing on you!"

he plays with your hair as you catch him up to the conversations he'd slept away; mei mei had left early when you'd given him your jacket to envelope him in your scent, muttering something about cheap perfume and worthless soggy noodles. he likes to play with your jewelry, you notice— fiddles with the ring on your finger, cupping your hands in his palm as he tucks his face into the back of your neck.

at one point, he asks you to do his hair, so you oblige, rolling him over onto his stomach and clambering on top of his waist. you braid his white strands into cute little pigtails best as you could manage as he tells you about his dream; something about harassing nanami in malaysia and a sunset kiss under crystal clear beach water. it sounds nice, and when you're done with his hair you find it easier to just massage his shoulders and listen to the smooth droning of his voice.

soon enough, you're both warmer than the lukewarm buzz of beer in your veins, and he doesn't remember if he fell asleep first or not, but the gentle melody of your voice haunts him in his dazed sleep as he curls around you.

business dinners really are exhausting— he's left wondering how you pull it off the morning after when he's hungover and the cut on his finger is infected— clearly, the hello kitty bandaid wasn't enough to cut it. the only reasoning that he explains to you as you take your morning shower together, fingers running through your hair, is that you didn't kiss it enough. maybe that's why his soup had too much pepper and he didn't know how to cut the cucumbers.

he's still an amateur, so he'll leave the cooking to you. maybe next time he'll pretend the takeout he grabbed on his way home from school was handmade, though he doubts his friends will ever believe him, or his students after he demands they buy him kikufuku as compensation for leaving him out the night before.

ignore the ep that came out today! everyone’s alive and well. trust my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

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sunraies · 1 year

Text

Take Care of You

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings- sick reader, soft Rafe, mentions of feeling sick

Rafe comes home to find you unwell and takes care of you

I've been unwell the past couple of days and wish to have soft Rafe to look after me.

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Curled up on the couch, in his favourite hoodie, and your favourite blanket is how Rafe found you. An episode of Friends was playing in the background as you had clearly fallen asleep watching the seasons all over again.

He had been at work most of the day as you insisted he stay there even though you had called in sick. There was nothing he could do for you as you planned on sleeping it off. But the minute he'd left, you regreted it, wanting cuddles, so his hoodie was the best you could do.

You'd always been a stomach ache kinda girl, anything would upset your stomach, but this time you felt awful. Nauseous, cold, sweating, and body aches.

Rafe gently placed his hand to your forehead as he noticed the frown, from whatever you were dreaming about. You felt warm and clammy to the touch, making him suddenly feel guilty for leaving you home alone.

He glanced around, noticing you'd all been drinking water with no evidence of food. Whatever this was must have been making you feel horrible.

"Baby," He cooed softly, his thumb stroking your cheek. You stirred and gave him a small smile as you met his gorgeous blue eyes. "How does a bath and chicken noodle soup sound?"

You groaned and shook your head, pulling the blanket around yourself more. "Just wanna lay here"

"I know, but you need to have something. Let's try the bath first? Huh, baby? A nice warm bubble bath." Rafe hated seeing you sick. He would do anything to make it better.

After you shook your head again, he sighed and kissed your temple before leaving you for a little while.

He came back with his suit jacket and tie taken off, with his sleeves rolled up before he scooped you up in his arms, blanket and all. He carried you up the stairs as you buried your face into his chest.

"Rafe, I don't feel well" You sighed, feeling sorry for yourself.

"I know, baby, I know" Rafe said softly, kissing your forehead as he sat you on the closed toilet. The room smelled of lavender as he'd run you a bubble bath anyway.

He helped you undress before placing you in the tub. The warm water was comforting, as you sighed happily as you rested your head on the side.

Rafe smoothed your hair as he sat beside the tub. "Feel nice, babe"

You nodded and hummed. "Thank you, gorgeous." You smiled at him.

"I'll always take care of you, baby." He smiled back at you.

He helped you wash, gently rubbing your back with a washcloth and placing kisses on your shoulder and arms. Once you were washed, relaxed, and the water was going cold, he wrapped a towel around you before helping you to bed.

"Chicken noodle soup sounds good." You told him as he tucked the covers around you after dressing you in one of his t-shirts.

"Of course, baby." He kissed you quickly before going downstairs.

Rafe hated seeing you sick but loved looking after you. The rest of the day, he spent bringing you soup, cups of tea, water, and giving you all the cuddles you wanted as you napped.

#rafe cameron #outer banks rafe #outerbanks #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fluff #outerbanks fic #rafe cameron fic

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ramblingoak · 7 months

Text

Care Package

Papa Emeritus IV x GN Reader ~ You take care of Copia after he gets sick at the end of the tour

Warnings: Copia being dramatic while sick, fluff, sfw, 1k words, not proofread forgive me

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“I’m dying.”

Here we go. It was a good thing your back was turned because Copia would pitch a fit if he saw you rolling your eyes. You sighed and continued to pick up all of the used tissues that were littering the floor. When he let out a pitiful sigh you groaned, turning your head to glare at him.

“Copia, you’re fine.”

“No, no this is it. I can feel it.” You bit your lip to stifle the laugh that wanted to bubble out. Copia was endlessly dramatic whenever he was under the weather. “It’s near.”

“What’s near?”

“Death.”

“Oh Lucifer, you’re not going to die from a cold.” He started to respond but was immediately interrupted by a series of violent sneezes, the whole bed shaking from the force of them. You turned back to the dirty tissues, shoving them into a trash bag while he recovered. The sound of him blowing his nose filled the room and right when you were turning to check on him again a wet, balled up tissue hit you right in the face. “Son of a fuck! Copia!”

“Eh?” His adorably confused look stopped you from leaping onto the bed and strangling him, but just barely. The sight of his red, watery eyes made your irritation disappear. His face was flushed from the fever and sweaty locks of hair had fallen across his forehead. When Copia realized you were staring at him he groaned and threw his arm over his face. “You shouldn’t see me like this.”

“Like what?” You dropped the trash bag and grabbed another box of tissues, slowly walking around the bed to sit by his hip. He whined when you tugged on his arm so you could see his face. “Hey, like what?”

“Pathetic.” You cooed at him, reaching out to brush his hair back. He sighed when you placed your cool hand on his forehead. “Weak and old. Hideous.”

“Well, this is all true bu–”

“Dolcezza!” Copia’s voice broke while he whined and he was overcome with a fit of coughing. You helped turn him so he was coughing away from you, rubbing his back as they came to an end. “Ugh, why are you here?”

“Someone has to take care of you.”

“You’re going to get sick too.” He rolled back over on his back with a groan. “I don’t want you to catch this.”

“I’ll just have to risk it.” You smoothed his hair out again, giving him a soft smile when he met your eyes. “I want to take care of you, Copia.”

“Fine, fine. Twist my arm.” He managed a weak smile and you resisted the urge to lean down and kiss him. “Thank you, amore.”

“You’re welcome, Papa.” You reached towards his night stand and grabbed the damp cloth you had set there earlier. Copia let out a relieved sigh when you wiped the sweat off his face. “Now, I’m going to clean you up a bit and then you’ll need to eat something before you take any more medicine.”

“I couldn’t possib–”

“It's homemade chicken noodle soup.”

You laughed when he grabbed your hand, his eyes lighting up at your words.

“Did Secondo make it?”

“Yes, your brothers gave me a care package for you.” Copia sniffled a bit and you let him pretend it was from his cold. You got up to grab the laundry basket Terzo had given you and brought it over to the bed, setting it at Copia’s feet so you could show him everything inside. “Your ghouls also added a few things.”

“Anything good?”

“Primo gave me a salve I’m supposed to rub on your chest.” You shook her head at him when he waggled his eyebrows. Even when feverish he couldn’t help himself. “And Terzo added a book and these penis shaped hard candies for your throat.”

“Where does he find this stuff?” Copia made grabby hands for the candies and you tossed them over. He opened the bag quickly, popping one into his mouth and smiling around it. “These aren’t bad though, what book is it?”

“The Hobbit.” His eyes immediately started watering and you frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. He used to read that to me when we were kids.” Copia cleared his throat and smiled. “What did the ghouls send?”

“Um, Phantom knit you a sweater but he ran out of yarn so it’s missing a sleeve.” You held up the bright blue monstrosity that the quintessence ghoul had proudly shoved into your hands that morning. “Other than that you got some eucalyptus candles and tea, a few crossword puzzle books and Aurora is letting you borrow her box set of all the Halloween movies.”

Copia’s face lit up at the last item, both he and the ghoulette had bonded over an intense love for slasher movies. You laid the sweater over his chest and handed him the dvd’s then busied yourself putting the basket away and setting the candles around the room while you both pretended he wasn’t crying. After he blew his nose a few times you wandered back over, the book from Terzo in your hands. Copia yawned and settled back into his pillows while you fussed over him, helping him get comfortable.

“Will you read to me, amore?” You wanted to get him to eat some soup first, but rest would be good for him as well. As carefully as possible you got up on the bed and sat next to him, smiling when he scooted closer and rested his head against your thigh. “Just until I fall asleep.”

“Whatever you need, Copia. I’ll be right here.” His breath was already evening out, his body going limp as you ran your fingers through his hair. You quietly opened the book in your lap, taking a few seconds to watch him before you started to read. “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit…”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

my masterlist of fic

my archive of our own page

#my fic #my writing #papa emeritus iv x gn reader #copia x gn reader #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfiction #papa emeritus iv fanfiction #copia fanfiction #papa emeritus iv x reader #copia x reader #papa emeritus x reader

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chryblossomjjk · 2 years

Text

imagine | jjk

⇢ PAIRING: model!jk x reader

⇢ RATING/GENRE: m/18+ | established relationship, smut, fluff

⇢ WC: 7.5k

⇢ WARNINGS: literally everything don’t read this lol. dom jk, bratty sub reader, mentions of relationship issues, alcohol use, degrading, titty sucking, spanking, gentle face smacking w hand and penis, rough sex turned to luv making, fingering, blowjob, face fucking, spitting, brief pussy eating and (here’s the kicker) ass licking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (don’t u dare), creampie, snot play (kidding ew kook just wipes reader’s nose they’re in love shh), hotel bathroom sex lets goooo! jk is mean but loves reader so so much, sappy and corny at points

⇢ SUMMARY: jungkook wants nothing more than to spend your anniversary cuddled up in a fancy hotel bathroom, eating takeout and binge watching tv shows. you, on the other hand, have something more exciting in mind.

⇢ NOTES: this is my first time writing fanfic so please be gentle with me. i know the smut is not the best. i really struggled with it, definitely not a natural when it comes to writing sexi time. i kinda love every other part of this BUT the smut which sucks because it's like… 70% smut. i tried my best yall. hopefully it will get better with time! feedback is very much appreciated. i hope you enjoy it i love u bye!!

“I can’t believe she’s still with this fucking guy. He’s such a prick…” Jungkook scoffs, shaking his head a little before shoveling another bite of pad thai into his mouth.

God, he was beautiful. His skin was pink and dewy, eyes glistening as he focused on the k-drama you had been begging him to watch with you all week. Ironically, he was more into it than you were. The show playing on your laptop, which you had very cleverly propped up on the toilet in front of you, only acting as background noise for the true entertainment of the night. Him.

You felt a wave of warmth rush over you as you watched him. That sticky sweet feeling you get when you love someone. Everything felt warm, inside and out. The shimmery water surrounding you, adorn with bubbles and rose petals, was warm and floral scented. The dim light from the candles you had set up gave the hotel bathroom a warm, saturated glow. The takeout he ordered was still hot on the bamboo tray between the two of you. His fingers, wrapped around a pair of chopsticks as he ate the leftovers from your plate, were painted a fiery shade of red.

You smiled to yourself, remembering how easy it had been to manipulate him into getting a manicure with you. “I find it sooo sexy when guys paint their nails,” you had told him on a summer day last week, swirling your tongue around a popsicle before suckling on the tip, looking him dead in the eyes. The very next morning he scheduled a dual appointment at your favorite salon.

Everything felt warm and comfortable.

Feeling you watching him, Jungkook turns his attention to you. The damp ends of his blonde hair were frizzy, sticking out awkwardly around his head like a misshapen halo. He squints his doe eyes when they meet yours. There was eyeliner smudged around the outer corners, leftover from the shoot earlier in the day. He was a mess, but he never looked more angelic.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he says playfully through a mouthful of noodles. It was an obnoxious habit. Disgusting when others did it, but somehow adorable when he did. “I thought you wanted to watch this.”

“I thought you didn’t, but I’ve seen you tear up at least three times and we’re only on the fourth episode. You’re far too invested, Koo.”

“I am not,” he whines, “and they added too much cilantro, it’s making my eyes water.”

You giggle and reach your foot out, softly kicking his leg underneath the water. He levels you with a faux sniffle and pout, before reaching his tattooed arm out of the bath and grabbing the bottle of red wine on the floor next to him. He had room service deliver it while you were running the bath, knowing you would complain about the price. Even after all these years together, even though he was more than financially capable of doing so, you still felt uncomfortable with him spending money on you. That never seemed to stop him though.

“Here baby, have some more wine,” he coos, pouring the crimson liquid into your glass, filling up his own, and then placing the bottle back in its spot on the ground. His eyes crinkle again as he takes you in. This time it isn’t out of annoyance. It’s one of those smiles that reaches his pupils before it trickles down the rest of his face. “You look so beautiful right now.”

Your hair is in a messy bun. You have no makeup on. You trail your gaze down to your bare breasts, nipples poking out from behind the bubbles. “You’re only saying that because my tits are out.”

He looks down at your chest and hums in agreement, not inconspicuous in the slightest...

You tut your tongue, motioning towards his torso. “I don’t know, your tits are bigger than mine these days.” It was a stretch. But not by much. He had been spending a lot more time at the gym recently, trying to grow his frame in preparation for the more provocative jobs he’s been landing.

Jungkook wasn’t going to let that slide, quickly reaching over and pinching a nipple in retaliation. The audacity. The offending hand retreats before you can swat it away.

“Ow!” You wince, jutting your bottom lip out very dramatically in an attempt to make him feel bad. He didn’t, the little brat. The faint stinging in your poor nipple was nothing compared to what your body normally endured after a night in the sheets with him. It was all welcome though. You both loved to indulge in that side of him once in a while.

He lets out one of those high pitched laughs. The one he makes after does something naughty. More of a squeal than anything else. Your favorite. So cute that you can’t bring yourself to scold him further when he spills a little wine into the bathtub.

“Don’t be a brat. Tonight is not the night.”

Hm. Touché.

As much as you would love to keep going, riling him up to the point where he couldn’t help destroy you, you decide against it… for now, atleast. You know he’s tired. This morning, his angry grumbling and fussing with the covers stirred you awake before sunrise. His photoshoot lasted longer than projected, showing up to your hotel room two hours late with a panicked look on his face. He loved his job, but it undoubtedly took a toll on him.

“I’ll be good. See?” You raise your glass, clinking it with his. “To us!”

“To us,” he agrees sternly, plump lips pulling into a grin as he nods his head with purpose. “Happy anniversary, my love.”

Just like that, it’s been four years. Four years of you. Four years with him.

You can’t help but reflect on your relationship as you sip the alcohol. It burns as it goes down your throat, but tastes so divine when it hits your tongue. Duality.

Although pure and true, your relationship with Jungkook has been far from perfect. The beginning was rocky. You had just started college and were in shambles, uncertain of what you wanted for your future. You weren’t ready for a relationship; too insecure to let him into your heart. Jungkook’s heart had always been big and accessible, however, his ego was even bigger. It came with the territory. He was just breaking into the modeling industry when you first met. He always felt like he had to prove something to the world. A bit arrogant even. These distinct differences between the two of you ignited explosive arguments, leaving you both burned and in tears.

However, even in the darkness of night there is the promise of daylight. And even when the sun sets again in the evening, it leaves behind a paradise of colors, making it known that it will come back in the morning. Underneath all the fire, was a spark. At the end of the day, despite all the bullshit, you loved each other deeply. Eventually, you learned how to manage the differences. You communicated so effectively that you had grown to love those previously unbearable qualities in one another. The relationship aged like fine wine. The flames were no longer scorching, just warm and comfortable.

Here you are, four years later. Spending your anniversary in a bathroom, with subpar takeout, because simply being together was a celebration enough.

“Well, well, well, look who's crying now. Big baby.”

You hadn’t realized you were tearing up. You say nothing.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” His tone takes a drastic turn when he notices the shift in your mood.

“Nothing, I just love you so much.”

He stares at you blankly for a moment, doe eyes larger than normal, expression unreadable. He lifted the tray out of the bath before reaching over and pausing the show playing on your laptop. Wet hand and all. You would’ve yelled at him if you weren’t so emotional.

“Come here,” he whispers. Long fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you forward until you’re positioned in his lap. Straddling him. You wrap your arms around his neck on instinct.

“I’m sorry I was late today… and I’m sorry I missed your graduation.”

You’re taken back, not really sure of what to make of his seemingly random confession. Jungkook had been invited to New York for a designer brand showcase a month prior. Easily the biggest break in his career thus far. Unfortunately, the dates overlapped with your graduation ceremony. Of course, you had been bummed out, but you would never deprive him of something that monumental. Later that night, you came home to a note on your doorstep and an apartment full of roses.

Little did you know, that very same night, Jungkook had snuck off into the bathroom during the afterparty. A picture of you in your cap and gown that your mother texted him had his vision blurry. He contemplated jumping on the next flight home. He never told you about that though.

“Koo, I understand. Your job is important to-”

“You’re important too, though. The most important.” His arms snaked their way around your waist, constricting you to his body. Face to face. Chest to chest. Nipples to nipples.

“I’m just… I’m so proud of you.” Soft, velvet, palms rub down your back, squeezing when they reach your ass. It was an innocent gesture. He was trying to reassure you. But all you could focus on was how good it felt to be touched by him.

“I love you, you know that?”

You peep a halfhearted ‘mhm’, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. The blonde really suited him. He looked so sexy. You wanted to devour him.

“I wasn’t there for you like I should’ve been in the beginning, so I really try to be there now.” The emotion behind his words was evident. Him dismissing your achievements had been a major point of contention in the early days. He’s changed a lot since then. You want to comfort him, tell him he shouldn’t feel guilty, but the way he shifts in his spot makes his pelvis rub right against your core.

The teenest tiniest moan slips past your lips.

“__, are you even listening to me?”

If you said yes, it would be a lie. His words were like the abandoned k-drama, white noise. You slide your hands to his cheeks, pressing your forehead against him, inhaling his scent. Overwhelmed by him. Maybe it was because you haven’t had sex in over a week, which was almost unheard of in your relationship. Maybe it was because you’ve never felt more loved and validated by anyone like you did him. Whatever it was, it was turning you on. Fast.

“I am baby, I just want-”

“You want what?”

“I want you.��

“Me?” His warm breath fans across your face. When he speaks, it comes out low, deep, and methodical. He licks his lips, making them glowly and pink. The tip of his tongue dragging against your own. His red nails now digging into your skin. Pupils morphing into a deep black. Pure lust. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

You feel a hard smack against your ass, water splashing over the edge of the tub upon impact. You wince, knowing that tomorrow you will have a Jungkook-shaped sore spot on your bottom. You’re in for it now. The anticipation leaves you dripping.

“I told you, not tonight,” Jungkook growls, nuzzling his head into your shoulder. “Why don’t you ever listen, huh?”

Another spank. This time even harder. It makes you grip onto his hair, knuckles paling.

“Why can’t you be good? It’s our anniversary. I wanted to be sweet with you.” He sinks his teeth into your neck, biting down and then sucking. He spanks you again, making you hold onto the edge of the tub to stop yourself from jerking forward. “Now I have to punish you.”

“I like you like this though.” You can’t help the neediness and desperation that’s laced through your voice.

“Of course you do,” he chuckles, sinfully licking over the mark he created. “You’re so dumb. Such a slut. I can’t even talk to you without you getting horny.”

“That’s not true,” you whimper.

“It’s not? Then why are you so wet?” He spreads your cheeks with both hands, middle and ring finger rubbing between your folds, collecting your wetness. He takes a few seconds to barely circle your clit. His touch is light and feathery, teasing. Fuck him and his big hands. He brings them up to your lips, tapping. “Open.”

“But they’re all soapy…”

He hums, knowing you want to be good. He’s willing to compromise. He softly smacks your cheek with an open palm, gripping your chin and moving your head side to side. “What should I do with you then? Hm?”

“I want your fingers,” you say softly, voice coming out muffled from him squeezing your cheeks together.

“Where?”

“Inside of me.”

“Where though?”

You huff and wrap your hand around his wrist and pull him off. Your fingers don’t even touch, tiny in comparison. This was what you wanted, practically begged for. However, it still drove you nuts whenever he made you wait, wanting you to articulate every little detail, get you soaked before he even touched you. “I want them in my pussy… your pussy.” You whimper, guiding his hand down to where you wanted him most. Pressing down, you move his fingers against your clit in tight circles. You moan at the contact. “There.”

He takes the hint, rubbing you just the way you like. Slow and sensual. You can’t help the obscene noise ripping through you.

Jungkook’s fingers dip further down, playing with your entrance, getting them nice and wet, before sneaking in. Moaning loudly, you roll your head back. He always filled you up so good. You can’t help but clench around his fingers, afraid he’ll pull back and leave you stranded.

He curls them, knowing exactly how to touch to have you pooling into his palm. It feels like heaven. Just when you think the gates are opening, his fingers come to a halt.

You shoot him an exasperated look.

“Get yourself off. I know you know how, slut.” Your eyebrows slant and you clench your jaw. He’s a demon. He flashes a crooked bunny smile your way, finding your angry face very adorable. Not intimidating in the slightest. “Go on.”

You place your hands on the sides of the tub, using it as leverage to lift your entire body up. You were going to cum, even if it meant he made you do all the work. Sinking back down, you start fucking yourself on his fingers. Snapping your hips up, before going all the way down to his tattooed knuckles. Your knees digging into the porcelain as you form a steady pace. You know they’re going to hurt afterwards, but it felt too fucking good to stop.

“I told you the manicure was worth it,” you mumble, somehow finding the strength to sass him. It was all part of the game. He loved the fight for dominance, even though you both knew it was something you relinquished willingly.

If asked what his favorite thing about you was, Jungkook would say your witt. He loved when you smart-mouthed him, put him in his place. You could feel his cock plumping at your words, rubbing between your cheeks with every rut of your hips.

“Shut up.” He scoots himself further down until he’s leveled with your bouncing chest, careful not to disrupt your movements. He teases your nipple with the tip of his tongue before catching it into his mouth.

“Fuck, I love it,” you whisper, transitioning to a grind. One of your hands cups the back of his head, holding him close. Your hips rotate, mirroring the swirling of his tongue. Your clit was rubbing against the plush skin of his palm.

The rosy pink bath water ripples, overflowing and splashing. You didn’t care about the mess on the bathroom floor, not when the mess between your thighs was more important.

He moans against you, sending a vibration through your sensitive, overworked, nipple. He takes the hardened bud between his teeth, tugging gently and then moving onto the other.

He starts curling his clean cut fingers with every drag of your leaking cunt, stroking your g-spot expertly, giving you more stimulation. Overstimulating you. “Please, Koo…”

“Already?”

You nod frantically. All the years spent above you, behind you, and below you made him well aware of your signs. He knew you were close. “I want you to cum. Fuck, you’re so wet,” he sighs, just as desperate as you, turned on by your pleasure. Lips still wrapped around your nipple. It makes your clit throb.

He abruptly starts thrusting his fingers into you. Your hips still as you lean your entire weight on him, bracing yourself as you reach the point of no return. He makes you cry for the second time when your orgasm hits, leaving you gasping into his ear. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably. His fingers slow, curling deliciously until he milks out every bit of your orgasm.

You turn onto your side and bury your head into his shoulder as you come down from your high. He leans his cheek against your forehead, rubbing small circles against your lower back. Completely ignoring the flushed, angry cock resting against his lower stomach. Your sweet boy. So sweet that you just couldn’t get enough.

His rough persona was already starting to fade. Not on your watch.

You look down, eyeing his pretty pink tip through the bubbles. Pinker than the water. He has the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen. It makes you salivate.

You trail your manicured nails down his chest, circling his nipple, running over his solid abdomen, and down to his cock. You rub your index finger against the slit and then stroke his head with your fingertip. “I know you’re tired but… I want more. Wanna lick it.”

He huffs out a laugh and then pecks on the top of your head. He wonders how you could be so cute, yet so naughty and dirty? You feel a tap against your ass, signaling for you to get off of him.

You wide-eye him when he stands. Droplets of water were running down his body. One gets caught in the dip of his v-line, trickling until it becomes lost in the dark patch of trimmed hair above his shaft. His thick, toned legs flexing as he steps out of the tub. You’re convinced that no matter how much time passes, you’ll still find him breathtaking.

He mumbles a little ‘be careful’ when he helps you up, watching your feet to make sure they don’t slip. Always looking out for you in small ways. It was a subconscious trait he developed as he grew to love you more than anything or anyone. He tugs you close, looking at you with so much love in his eyes. You crane your neck up, pressing your lips against his. Nothing crazy or sloppy, just a kiss. Kissing Jungkook felt like it always did, warm and comfortable.

“Alright, knees. Now.”

Asshole.

Interrupting your thoughts, yet again. You frown and look at the tile. The wet tile might you add. “But my knees-”

He grabs your hair, wrapping it around his fist and using it to force you down to your knees. The floor feels gross and cold against your shins.

“You do what I tell you, got it?” From your angle, he looks menacing. He’s peering down at you over that big nose, chest puffed out and red from exertion. The veins in his arm popping out under his inked skin as he held you with an iron grip. You have half a mind to cancel his gym membership.

His big, leaking, cock is standing right in front of you. It was almost intimidating.

You answer him with the most miniscule nod.

“Use your words.”

“I’ll listen.”

“Look at me when you talk to me.” He doesn't even give you the chance to react, yanking your hair until your face is tilted upwards.

“I’ll listen,” you peep.

“I go away for a week and you forget everything I taught you? Do I have to train you all over again?” He questions, mocking you.

“Yes, please. I don’t seem to remember,” you challenge, blinking up at him innocently, but so deviously.

“Open,” he commands. You listen, opening wide and sticking your tongue out. He bends at the waist, letting a glob of spit fall from his puckered lips and into your mouth. You swallow immediately, knowing what to do. Obviously well informed of the rules despite your protests.

“Good girl.” Releasing your hair, he brings his fingers to your lips, recalling your refusal to put them in your mouth earlier. “Again.”

He’s just as devious as you are.

You flick your hair over your shoulders dramatically, hoping he’ll pick up on your annoyance. Squinting in defiance, you take his middle and index finger in your mouth, going all the way down to his knuckles, biting a little. You slide your tongue between them, letting them hit the back of your throat before pulling away. They do taste a bit soapy, but you suppose a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

He shoves them back in before you move away entirely, making you choke. “I don’t think you’re ready for me. Gotta stretch you out first, don’t I baby?” He scissors his fingers, testing your gag reflex. Taunting you. You inhale and pinch your eyes shut, wanting to prove him wrong. You even bob your head a little, taking them in deeper. He lets out a shaky breath, clearly affected by your actions, exiting your drooling mouth.

Nimble fingers wrap around his cock, using your spit to slick himself up. He squeezes right under the crown. Both of you watch in awe as a drop of precum oozes out. He shuffles closer to you, jaw going slack as he peers down at you. It looks like he’s contemplating something. Whatever it was, he better get going because if you have to wait even lo-

You gasp as his cock swings into your cheek with a loud thud. The heaviness makes you flinch. He pauses, expecting you to reprimand him. He did just smack you with his dick. To his surprise, you don’t say anything. In fact, you appear to be even more turned on than before, fluttering your lashes at him. Asking for more.

He makes a content noise, continuing to tap the tip against your face, watching as a sticky string of precum forms. “God, you’re so whipped baby. Why do you let me treat you like this?”

It was a rhetorical question, but you answer anyway. “Because I love you.”

“You love me?” He smiles, rigid expression softening for a second, pleased with your answer. “You love my dick. It’s all you think about. I bet when I was away you all you did was sit in bed with a wet pussy. Waiting for me to come home and fuck you.”

You can’t help but wonder if that was a freudian slip. If he was still beating himself up for missing out on your graduation, mentioning it with no context or explanation. It makes your heart hurt, but that was a conversation for tomorrow morning. Tonight, you were going to do whatever you could to distract him.

Wetness touches your bottom lip. He rubs the head of his penis against you, smearing precum on your lips. He coos, mocking your compliance and submission. Sexually humiliating you is one of his favorite activities. You let him, even puckering your lips to sneak in a few kisses here and there. The light touches make him groan. “You gonna let me fuck that mouth, sweetheart?”

“Hm... I dunno.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

No answer.

“Are you going to put it in your mouth or what?” He scoffs, gnawing on his bottom lip. His right brow twitches. His forehead pulls in a bit. The irritated flicks in features already visible.

You shrug nonchalantly. Internally, you were jumping for joy. He’s so fucking easy to manipulate. Right in the palm of your hand like putty, moldable into any shape you want. Any version of him you desire.

His cock is angry too. Flushed and dripping. Needing to be touched. Craving you. Your mouth. Your pussy.

It jumps when you wrap your hand around it. So touch starved. Your pace is devastatingly lethargic, grip loose, not firm the way you know he loves and wants. His foreskin moves with you, rolling back and forth over his begging tip. So needy and wet. You wondered if the people next door could hear the nasty gushy noises his cock made as you jerked it.

You lean forward and lap at his slit. Airy kitten licks that provide barely any sensation to his greedy cock. One after the other. You feel his stare burning into your skin. He’s watching you, nostrils flaring as he grows impatient and agitated. You arch your back, giving him a clear view of your perky ass, before you start shaking and bouncing it. Teasing him.

“Enough, __!” He seethes, fisting your hair and bucking his hips with so much vigor that he stumbles forward. His cock shoves past your lips and down your throat. He catches himself by slamming a hand against the wall-mounted mirror in front of him, leaving a small crack in the middle. The neighbors definitely heard that one, but you were too far gone to care.

The jolt sends you falling back on your butt, landing on the fluffy area rug in front of the sink. Atleast you were comfortable now. You always win one way or another.

Your legs are now laying flat between his, knees knocked together. Trapped between Jungkook and the sleek black wood of the integrated sink behind you. You're pressed against his pelvis, the soft hairs at the base of his cock tickling your nostrils.

Initially, you gag around him. Spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin after a few dauntingly long seconds. Your chest heaves as you struggle to adjust to the sudden intrusion. There’s a natural urge to push him away. Your matching red nails digging into his thighs as you try to shove him off of you.

“You’re okay.” He doesn’t let up. Feet firmly planted on either side of you. “Breathe. You can take it.”

With tears streaming down your cheeks, you inhale and exhale through your nose, regaining your composure. Determined to be good for him.

When he touches you, it’s delicate and gentle, pushing your damp hair back. Fingers working their way through a few tangles. He cups your cheek, brushing away your stray tears. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth now, okay?”

You nod, making the tip of his cock rub against the back of your throat. Your mouth is warm and moist, like a sauna that’s sole purpose was to make him nut. The sensation makes him grunt. He brings his opposite hand down, holding your head still before taking a shallow thrust. Only giving you half of his length and then pulling back. Testing the waters.

Glancing up at him with watery eyes, you meet him halfway, hollowing your cheeks. Your throat feels raw but his cock tastes phenomenal. Clean and sugary. Not a day goes by where you don’t thank the stars for blessing you with a man who eats fairly healthy and follows a strict hygiene regimen.

Your nose is running a little. Jungkook notices before you do. His shoulders rise up with laughter, wiping it away with his big thumb. “So gross, baby. So cute.” It was gross, but you weren’t embarrassed, not with him.

Your jaw goes slack as you accept more of his cock, relaxing into the feeling. He picks up the pace, basking in view of his glossy cock dragging against your lips. You’re a vision. So beautiful to him. The disgusting wet noises your throat makes when he pulls away are deafening. He loves the way you gag when he pushes back in.

Jungkook has always been a bit quiet during sex, minus the dirty talk, of course. Never one to make obnoxious, pornographic sounds. He left that to you. You didn’t mind though. You can’t help but hum around him, loud and vulgar, when you hear his low grunts, knowing you’ve earned them.

Your hands rub at his smooth, hairless thighs, feeling the muscles underneath clench and unclench, pulling his skin taut. He made the impromptu decision to get them waxed while his nails were drying under the UV light. ‘For shoots and stuff… It’s in nowadays’ he had snapped at you when you questioned his choice. Your palms make their way behind him, gripping his ass and pulling, wanting more of his cock.

“Mhm, it’s yours, baby. Take it.” He licks his lips and nods, looking at you with hooded lustful eyes, flicking his hair away so he can watch. “Tight little mouth…”

His voice sounded fucked out, so turned on. His head rolls off to the side like he doesn’t have the strength to support it anymore. All of the energy being sucked out of him, literally and figuratively.

His hand cups the back of your head, thrusting every inch of his cock into your mouth. Holding you in place. His nose scrunches up and his brows knit together, cute dimple poking out as he bites the inside of his cheek. You hum, swaying your head from side to side.

“Stop, m’ gonna cum,” he groans, attempting to pull you off. You’re persistent though, clinging onto him, keeping him snug inside of you.

“Ah, no- stop,” he whimpers in a high pitched voice you’ve never heard before. It was so desperate it made you clench around nothing. You feel him twitch in your mouth, hips jerking away like the pleasure is too much. He’s so deep that he can feel your tongue flat against his balls, licking and drooling down them.

You pull off with a pop when you decide he’s had enough.

“Fuck you,” he says through a laugh. He reaches his hands up, running them over his face to calm himself down. “You were going to make me cum before we even fucked.”

There’s a translucent strand of spit connecting his penis to your mouth. You swallow, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. A fit of coughs erupt through your chest. Booming and rough, before fading into a string of mischievous giggles. You feel delirious and light headed. He mumbles something about how well you took him, about how you were so good. You don’t really know. You can’t really focus at the moment.

You press your cheek against Jungkook’s leg, beaming up at him. So infatuated with him. So in love. High off endorphins and serotonin.

“Stop laughing!” He shouts playfully, guiding you to your feet and pressing you against the marble countertop. He kisses your cheek before burrowing his head into your shoulder. “You’re fucking bonkers, babe.”

“Me? You fully broke the mirror!”

“Huh?”

You twist in his arms, giggling madly as you crane your neck awkwardly to look at the mirror behind you. “It’s right…,” you look around, trying to scope out the crack, pressing your fingertip to it when you find it, “here!” There’s already tiny fragments missing, exposing the wooden frame underneath. You leave a smudge on the dewy glass when you pull away.

He deadpans you, jaw dropping open like he’s just received tragic and unexpected news. The modeling definitely upped his acting capabilities, making him animated and theatrical over the most mundane things. You guess it’s somewhat justified in this situation.

Black irises flicker to you, then the mirror, then back to you. His hand clamps over his open mouth. “What the fuck, __?”

“Don’t blame me! You were the one that broke it.” You shout back, very amused by his reaction.

“Yeah, but you should’ve at least said something,” he states like it’s the most obvious and certain thing in the world. His arms are outstretched, palms facing you, looking at you like you’re missing brain cells for not comprehending his thought process. One hand drops against his side in disbelief. The other wraps around his dick, giving it a languid pump.

You roll your eyes. He’s such a boy.

“It’s not even that big of a deal,” you mumble, tucking a loose piece of hair behind his ear. He can’t stand having his hair in his face, constantly stealing your hair ties and losing them on sets, at the gym, and basically where else he goes. The wispy ones at his hairline are sticking to his clammy skin. “What are they gonna do, arrest us?” Now it’s your turn to question his logic, exaggerating your words and moving your neck around like a bobble head.

“No… but we’re going to have to pay for it.”

“Oh, whatever. I’ll pay.”

“Shut up, no you won’t,” he says sternly, twirling his index finger in a circle. “Turn around before I lose my boner.”

You do as he says, turning around to face the mirror. It’s so blurry that all you can see in it is two silhouettes amongst the condensation. Good. It saves you the embarrassment of looking at yourself. You know you look crazy and disheveled. You can already picture it in your head. Hair tangled, lips swollen, tear stained cheeks, lashes clumped together.

You bend over the counter, upper body pressing into the marble slab. It’s cool and smooth, a stark contrast to the hot, stuffy atmosphere of the bathroom. It sends a piercing shock down your spine when your nipples touch the surface. You turn your head to the side, cheeks squished.

Perking your ass up, you wait patiently for his cock. Your glistening folds are on full display for him, so enticing and sweet. He spreads your ass with both hands, catching a glimpse of your puckering hole. You’re messy there too, arousal from your pussy having trickled down throughout the night. You looked so appetizing. He’s spent countless hours of his life buried in your pussy, lapping up your juices, breathing you in with his nose smushed into your clit. Jungkook would die a happy man knowing he got to experience the taste of you.

“Kook, please hur-,” your words are cut short by a loud cry when you feel his mouth on you instead. Wet muscle tickling your clit before dragging through your entrance. It’s like he’s making out with your pussy, flat tongue dipping into you. His plump lips close after each lick, creating these soft smacking noises that send you into overdrive.

His tongue trails up, circling around your other hole. You squeal.

“I can’t take so much- I can’t ta- just fuck me already,” you cry out. You reach your hand back, searching to ground yourself, wanting to touch him. He intertwines your fingers with his, snickering as he gets back up. A sloppy, open-mouthed kiss is placed on your shoulder. They make a warm stream from the back of your neck to your tailbone. He takes his time, pressing kisses on every part of your skin. The tender moment makes you dizzy.

“I’m sorry baby, you just- I’m so fucked up right now.” He felt jittery and sensitive. Needing you as much as you needed him. “I’ll do anything you want- anything for you.”

You grind your hips back, needy for his cock. “I want you inside me. Fill me up.”

The sound of your voice has him weak. He didn’t need any more convincing, letting go of your hand and bending at the knees to align himself with your aching core. He spits on his cock, spreading it around your hungry core with the head. It wasn’t necessary, but a little extra lubrication never hurt anyone.

He grabs your ass, pulling a cheek aside, wanting to see everything. A front row seat to his favorite show. He knows he’s going to just slide right in with how drenched you were.

He stuffs himself in, catching you off guard with the lack of preparation, giving you his entire length on the first push. The arch of your back sucked his cock in so deep that you felt it in your stomach. You felt so full, so stretched. Like he was made to be inside of you. Your mouth opens wide with a silent scream, clawing at the countertop, needing to cling onto something. Anything. Your fingertips hurt as they press into the marble.

Jungkook’s eyes are locked on the way your pussy just engulfs his cock. It tries to suck him back in when he pulls away, like it doesn’t want him to leave. Like it’s your life force. If he withdraws, your body will surely wither away into a pile of little pink sparkles.

“Can you just-” he grunts, wrapping his colorful arm under your hips and lifting, making your parted thighs come together. “Yeah, like that… so tight like this.”

“Mhm, feels so good like this Koo,” you purr in agreement. The fit is more snug than before. You can feel every ridge of his shaft against your walls. Every vein. It makes your toes curl into the soft shag carpet beneath you.

Chills rush through your limbs when he starts to snap his hips into you. There’s intent behind his thrusts. Pulling all the way back, leaving only the very tip of his cock inside of you. Watching as your cunt clenchs around it. Loving how your arousal turns milky, leaving his dick so wet and creamy. Then, he plunges all the way in. You let out little ‘mmm’ noises when his hips meet yours, breasts jiggling wildly underneath you.

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” Jungkook says through gritted teeth. He slows down for a moment, smushing his pelvis flush against your ass and swiveling his hips in a circle. It’s obvious that he’s trying not to cum.

“Me either, it’s okay,” you tell him, placing your palms flat and pushing your body up. Determined to get him off, you start throwing your ass back, using all your might to work his cock in and out of you. Skin slapping against skin.

“Don’t.” He places one palm on your hip, halting your movements. The other goes to your shoulder, pushing you back down. “Lift your leg up,” he orders, pointing to the ledge of the sink, showing you exactly what he wants you to do.

This was something he did often. Whenever you two had sex, Jungkook put you in all kinds of bendy positions. He loved folding you like a pretzel while he fucked you. In his words, putting you in simple, uncomplicated positions was ‘wasted potential.’ He was hell-bent on putting your flexibility to good use.

Picking your knee up and placing it on the sink makes his cock slip out. You hear a hushed ‘fuck’ escape his lips. He’s quick to guide himself back to your drippy center. He’s so deep you feel like you’re going to vomit. Your eyes roll back, squeezing shut when you feel tears prick at the outer corners. You’ve cried way too much in the past hour…

“Stay still, let me take care of you.” You couldn’t tell if your mind was playing tricks on you. If you’re being honest, his dick usually left you dazed and confused. But his voice sounded broken. Almost like he was on the verge of falling apart.

Without warning, he rests his entire weight on you, smashing his chest to your back. The stretch was uncomfortable, but the warmth radiating off of him was overpowering.

“I want to make you feel good,” he fucking whimpers as his hand snakes between your bodies. He uses his ring and index finger to spread you open, middle finger massaging your clit. He nudges your head to the side, making room for him to nuzzle into your neck. “I want to be good for you- to you. I don’t want to miss anymore, please- don’t leave me. I’m so sorry.”

He’s plowing into you with so much force, trying to emphasize what he means. You know what he means. What was that myth again? Something about being able to feel your soulmate's pain?

You never thought it was possible to feel devastation and euphoria simultaneously, but that’s exactly how you feel at the moment.

You need to see him. You reach your trembling hand to the mirror. The fog melts under your touch. You wipe your hand back and forth until he’s visible. Even streaky and distorted, he's still absolutely gorgeous. “Jungkook, look at me.”

He lifts his head, peeking through blonde curtains to meet your eyes in the reflection. They’re dark and glassy. You see nothing but raw emotion swimming in them. Pure love. His cheeks are tinged red.

“Don’t cry, baby,” you sigh, ignoring your own words as wetness finally spills over your waterline. Crying because he’s touching you just right, bringing you closer and closer to climax, but also because you love him. So fucking much.

The pit in your stomach keeps growing. Your orgasm is approaching rapidly. You shake and convulse under him. You’ve never felt so good.

“I love you,” he groans, confession sounding heavenly in your ears as his thrusts become sloppy and hopeless. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Me too.” You turn your head, nose knocking into his as you tangle your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Kiss me, kiss me, I love you so much,” you plead, voice cracking.

He does. Lips crashing into yours, meshing together perfectly. Tongues twisting together, still tasting like one another. You sob into his mouth, tugging on his thick strands as your orgasm hits you full force. Pleasure is felt in every inch of your body, from your toes to the very tip top of your scalp.

Jungkook cums with you. Cute face scrunching up as he paints your walls in hot white. He gives you everything, thrusting into you until he’s completely empty. Cumming so much that it overflows around his cock and spills down your thigh.

A sequence of serendipitous events that leave you warm and comfortable.

Both of you are sticky with cum, sweat, tears, spit, and probably every other bodily fluid that exists. You should clean up, but neither of you make an effort to move. Too exhausted. Too peaceful.

Closing your eyes, you relish in the feeling of his chest expanding and contracting. Instead of listening to the ticks of the clock on your right, you listen to his breathing. It’s rough and sporadic at first, but as the minutes pass by, it becomes calm and even. You can feel his heartbeat against your back. You’re surrounded by him.

Light touches trail over your shoulders and down your arms until they reach your palms. He laces his fingers with yours, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. Bringing the left one to his mouth, he places exactly four kisses against it. The last kiss is longer and more meaningful than the rest. You smile to yourself. Four years ago, you would’ve never imagined that your relationship with Jungkook would look like this. Loving, happy, and healthy.

He turns your hand over, placing it against his cheek. Your sweet boy.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask him, voice hoarse. You feel him shake his head. You hum, needing to say one more thing before you drop the issue. “I just want you to know that I love you. You have no reason to feel guilty. I’d rather have you with me mentally and emotionally than physically, you know?”

He nods, placing a wet peck to your temple this time.

“Alright, get out of me. Your dick is limp and you’re sweaty.”

He lets out an airy laugh, mouth still pressed against your skin. Your grimace when he pulls out of you, cum already oozing out. Yuck.

It was alright though. You couldn’t think of a better way to end your anniversary than taking a hot shower with him. You lift yourself off the counter, bones cracking. Legs aching. Worn out and exhausted. You were excited to slip under the crisp white sheets with him, fall asleep with your head on his chest. The perfect pillow. That sounded wonderful.

Your shower was interrupted by a loud banging at the door. Jungkook looked at you confused and wide eyed, hoping out with impeccable speed as he scrambled to put a robe on. You groan, who the fuck would show up to your hotel room at 11:17 p.m.?

Hotel security. That’s who.

There had been a total of eight noise complaints. All coming from the same floor.

They weren’t too happy about the mirror either.

Needless to say, you and Jungkook spent the remainder of your anniversary in a shitty motel.

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