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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

calculated iii, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You wanted to say that you were able to control yourself around him and not to have wild sex at school. But this is Jeon Jungkook we’re talking about. And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets. You wore that pencil skirt for a reason, after all.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; intense smut (fem reader, semi-public sex, dirty talk, nipple play, choking, m-receiving oral, gagging, pussy spanking, fingering, penetrative sex); fluff; non-idol!AU - university!AU; dom!Jungkook x sub!noona!reader, ft Jimin once again, lol

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part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

Career Week was somewhat of a nightmare.

So much running around, prepping tables, setting up presentations, helping the guests with their computers before their seminars, and you had to be dressed professionally too. Not just ‘nice’ clothes, but white dress shirt, slim black tie, tailored black vest, and matching fitted black slacks. It had to be monotone, it had to be hyper professional, and you had to wear heels.

Why had you agreed to this again?

Oh, yes, Kim Namjoon on his knees begging for help because he was overworked and they needed volunteers. And you, being far too responsible, accepted.

Not only were you also overworked, but Jeon Jungkook was staring at you across the auditorium.

In all-black – leather jacket, high-necked shirt, slim-fit jeans. Sharp jawline, tanned high cheekbones, piercing dark brown eyes, his black hair pushed back with a few strands on his forehead, revealing his clean undercut.

And he was smirking at you.

You highly doubted he was here to investigate prospective career paths. Actually, you were a hundred-and-ten percent positive that that was not the reason he was here and the soreness between your inner thighs proved it. You were willing to bet Park Jimin’s right nutsack.

Yeah, sorry Jimin, but you needed all your body parts.

For one reason, really, and that reason was staring you right now.

Who was going to hire him when he was dressed like that anyway? You certainly wouldn’t. Mostly because it was distracting. No one could work with Jeon Jungkook looking like that. You couldn’t, anyway. Well, maybe if his work was wrecking your–

Get back to your damn task, you scolded yourself.

You were setting up chairs for the cardiologist that was arriving soon. All the doctors always had tons of students listening, so the administration instructed you to pack as many seats that could be crammed into the space without causing a fire hazard. You unfolded the metal chairs, arranging them neatly, already knowing they would be an incomprehensible mess when the students left and that you would be the one cleaning up after them.

Sigh.

Come to think of it, it was all Park Jimin’s fault that you were being violently undressed by Jungkook’s eyes right now. If he had kept his trap shut and let you live in blissful ignorance, maybe you wouldn’t be trying to hide your wincing every time you bent over. You snuck a glance at Jungkook.

He cocked an eyebrow, highly amused.

Never mind, you probably still would have been accosted at Calculus I office hours, except instead of the door being closed and locked and having Jimin’s warning texts, you two probably would have been caught and expelled.

You grumbled and slid a chair into place, taking back your former thoughts and thanking Jimin in your mind. He wasn’t even here to witness your inner struggle.

Jimin probably would have found it funny.

You went back to your chairs, not addressing Jeon Jungkook’s presence anymore because if you looked at him again, you probably would have abandoned your post. And he knew it.

The next day, you already knew Jungkook would show up again. Mostly because he texted you a winking face of a semicolon and parenthesis, to which you didn’t respond, because you would probably get roped into phone sex in under twenty seconds, and you had to help this extremely riveting lawyer set up his laptop for the projector.

As in, you were ready to tape his mouth shut as he blabbed on and on about his work and how important it was to society, which it was, because defense attorneys were very important, but this guy’s laptop was a fucking hot mess of icons all over his desktop. This was a personal pet peeve of yours, as you liked to be neat and organized, with everything clearly labeled with dates. You didn’t care about most people’s personal habits, but it was annoying when you were trying to assist and the owner of said laptop was not shutting up and demanding noises of affirmation that you were listening.

If it wasn’t Jungkook demanding you to swallow his cock, you honestly couldn’t give a single shit–

You finally got his PowerPoint working and had him scroll through the slides to make sure it was the correct one. He thanked you and you realized the older man was looking at you up and down, the same way Jungkook usually did, except in this case you were not even remotely interested.

Guess everyone had the right to get a good look before they die.

You were wearing a white chiffon blouse with a black silk neck scarf, with a tight knee-length black pencil skirt, sheer tights and sleek black heels. You knew how good your ass looked in this skirt and you had worn it for a specific purpose.

“We will be letting the students in five minutes early to get settled,” you stated briskly, cutting the older man from his daydreams. “You will have forty-five minutes for your presentation, and then we’ll have a fifteen-minute question session, led by my associate, Kim Namjoon here.”

As if on cue, Namjoon appeared, cheerful smile with cute dimples, handing the lawyer a mic.

“Let’s test the microphone and the backup to make sure you don’t have any hiccups,” Namjoon instructed merrily, instantly captivating the man’s attention and diverting it from you.

You mouthed a ‘thank you’ behind the man’s back and Namjoon gave you the tiniest of nods as you excused yourself. Hmph. You knew people would notice – you were wearing makeup for once and would be around students and professionals all day, after all – but to be so shameless and gawk like that was annoying. Plus, the guy probably had a wife and kids.

You made your way to the bathroom to check your appearance. Maybe your makeup was a bit off or something. You had Jimin check you over this morning. Surprisingly, he knew a lot about cosmetics and how to look good in all lighting. Must be a dance major thing.

Ah, the door to the women’s bathroom. You hiked your skirt up a bit do you could use your damn knees to walk, because they had been suffocating for the past two hours–

Long fingers suddenly gripped your upper arm and yanked you around the corner, slamming you into a muscular body and black biker jacket. You nearly stumbled in your heels, but a second hand came to practically lift you off the floor and shove you into the wall.

“Good afternoon, noona.”

A clear, silvery voice.

You couldn’t possibly guess who it was.

“Why, fancy seeing you here, Jung–”

You were abruptly cut off by his lips crashing into yours, one hand grabbing the back of your head and disturbing your perfect bun. You whimpered, feeling him shove you into the wall again, your shoulder blades hitting the painted brick. His tongue slid into your mouth, exhaling into your throat and forcing you swallow his breath. Your hands clutched your skirt, moaning as his hard body pressed yours against the wall.

Jungkook drew back, panting a little. Looking so handsome with his slightly slicked-back hair, black strands around his right eye, chiseled jawline, silver hoops glinting in the hall light. He arched a sculpted eyebrow at you, smirking. His pink lips had a little red on them from kissing you.

“Now, you know you can’t be looking so delicious and not expect me to want to eat you up,” he purred, licking your lips. Your breathing hitched at the touch, unlocking your death grip on your skirt.

“What are you talking about?” you answered evenly despite your panties literally turning into Niagara Falls with the way he was looking at you like a carnivore at an all-meat buffet. “I have to dress like this for Career Week. Everyone has to dress professionally.”

Jungkook nodded, not believing a single word coming out of your mouth. His right hand came up, ink black tattoos against tan skin, and reached around to your bun, slowly pulling the hairpins out. Your skin tingled at the sensation of your hair gradually unravelling.

“A professional that I would hire to sit on my dick,” he mused.

You raised an eyebrow at him, your hair tumbling around your shoulders. “Subtle.”

Jungkook showed you the removed hairpins, opened his jacket, and tucked them in his inner pocket.

“I wouldn’t work for you anyway,” you added haughtily.

With each passing moment, Jungkook was becoming increasingly amused and aroused. You could tell by the way he was shoving his crotch into your thigh and by how wide his smirk was getting. The slacks he was wearing did nothing to hide his erection and you had a sneaking suspicion that he didn’t care.

“Oh? Why not?”

“I don’t know if I could trust someone younger than me to do a good job.”

He was unbuttoning your chiffon blouse now, humming. “I’m good at many things.” His dark eyes flickered to yours. “I think you would know.”

Your hands grabbed his despite him already having all the visible buttons completely open. Cold air drifted onto your heaving chest and white lace bra.

“Jungkook, we’re in a public place, again,” you hissed, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I don’t recall that being a problem,” he drawled, removing his hands from yours and squeezing your ass. “I’m beginning to think you like it.”

You sucked in a breath as his strong hands kneaded you through your skirt. Your hormones would absolutely let Jungkook rip off your clothes right here and let him fuck you, but the sliver of your brain that had any sense at all reminded you that you had to find a closed space. Jungkook slapped your ass, loudly, the sound echoing across the empty hallway. You nearly moaned, but bit your tongue, glaring at him.

“I have to get back,” you snapped. “And look presentable.”

Jungkook licked his teeth. “Hm. You have an hour before you have to appear to the public eye.”

Who the heck told him that? He smirked slyly at you as he saw your reaction.

“I could drag you to the bathroom–”

“At least give me more class than the woman’s bathroom,” you interrupted.

Jungkook looked annoyed that you had cut him off and also looked like he was going to remind you later. His fingers dug into your hips sharply and you gasped, back pressed flat against the wall. He inhaled a deep breath and began again, voice dangerously low.

“As I was saying,” he continued. “I’m going to take you into this classroom that I stole the key for.”

You frowned as Jungkook hoisted you up swiftly, princess-style, shirt still wide open. Fuck, what was he so strong for? He carried you down the hallway to the classrooms. You tried to close your shirt, but he growled at you, so you rolled your eyes and pushed the sides open, letting your bra-covered tits hang out. He seemed satisfied about this.

“Why would you steal a key?” you muttered as he deftly kicked the door open.

Jungkook slid through the door sideways. “So I could fuck you, of course.”

He dropped you and you had to catch yourself on your heels before you broke an ankle and ate shit. Half the lights turned on. You could hear him locking the door as you smoothed your skirt.

You turned to face him, saying, “You shouldn’t be a thief just because you’re horny, Jungkook.”

Jungkook turned around slowly from the now locked door. You were about to say something else, but your words died in your throat as you witnessed the overwhelming lust in his dark piercing eyes.

“I would be a thief, a murderer, and evade taxes for your body,” he snarled, advancing on you.

You pulled your blouse out of your skirt so he wouldn’t rip it, backing up into the desks. “You’ll get caught with the last one,” you said quietly, already removing your blouse and letting it fall onto a spare seat. “First two are acceptable.”

Jungkook grinned devilishly, licking his pink lips.

“Come here.”

You chewed on your lower lip, staring at his beautiful eyes, finding yourself already walking to him, heels clicking loudly in the empty room, but it didn’t matter, because he was the master now and you were the willing servant. Or slave.

Take your pick.

He smirked at your obedience, placing his hands on your shoulders, stopping you. His dark orbs lingered down your body, focusing on all his favorite spots, pressing his fingertips into your skin.

“One day,” you said quietly. “We’re going to get in trouble.”

Jungkook’s powerful dark orbs shifted upwards, capturing yours. Time slowed down. You stared into his dark brown eyes, unable to look away, your heart beating in time with his words.

“You’re already in trouble.”

Voice haunting you, teasing smirk on his lips, and perfectly in command.

“From the second you let me have my hands on you.”

You gasped as his nails dug into your skin, scratching down your collarbones, leaving red marks. He snapped the straps of your bra, hard, and you whined, eyes pleading for him to take it off. His palms pressed into the lace cups, squeezing them roughly. Tongue dancing in between his lips as he felt your nipples harden, barely covered by the lace.

“You’re so dirty, noona,” he purred, lowering his palms and pinching your nipples through the thin fabric, smirking at your wanton moan. “Wearing such slutty underwear under these professional clothes.”

You whimpered as he tugged on them. “No one’s going to see them but you, Jungkook.”

He clamped your nipples between his thumbs and knuckles, dragging you to him. You sank your teeth into your lower lip, pussy throbbing as you collided with his firm chest. His breath was scorching hot against your skin, making you shiver.

“What if someone finds out? Some idiot like a perverted old man staring at your ass in this skirt?”

You snorted. “I’ll rip his head off.”

Jungkook snickered, flicking your nipples with your answer. “You wouldn’t let me do it for you?”

Your hips rolled into his, hands on his waist to keep yourself up as he played with you. “I’ll reattach it for you so you can do the same.”

He laughed, almost a little too jovially for the part he was playing, but then he was back, tipping his head close to yours, blowing soft air onto your lips. You frowned, glaring at him for the lack of kiss.

“If possible, you’re even hotter dressed like this,” Jungkook murmured, his forehead against yours. “So prim and proper, even with a cute gag tied around your neck,” he added, playing with the ends of your neck scarf. “You could be a CEO, and I could be the janitor fucking you on your penthouse-floor desk.” He was undoing your scarf now, teasing it apart, making you breathless. “Maybe fuck you against the window so everyone can see how good I make you feel, noona.”

“Give yourself a little more credit than a janitor,” you muttered, stiffening as Jungkook ran his fingertips over your throat, nails grazing your skin.

“True, I would rather be your secretary so I can follow you around and stare at your ass in this skirt,” he chuckled, lacing his fingers around your neck. Thumb under your ear, the other four fingers under your other ear. You made eye contact with him. He looked almost bored, one of his eyebrows raised, but he was watching you, predatory and attentive.

“I know what I’m doing.”

His whisper was so soft that you barely heard it, but the words were there.

His grip tightened around your throat.

You gasped, feeling the blood flow thinning, hazing your mind. Jungkook watched your expression, reaching around with the hand that was holding your scarf, unclasping your lace bra. You could feel it fall down your arms, but your thoughts were rapidly being clouded by lightheadedness and lust, Jungkook smirking at you as he lifted the silk scarf into your vision.

“J… Jungkook…” you choked out.

The mole underneath his lower lip winked at you as he grinned, brushing the silk against your hard, abused nipples, touch so light, and yet it made your whine, wanting more stimulation but unable to ask because you knew he was toying with you.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook taunted. “Not intense enough for my naughty noona?”

He choked you harder and you couldn’t respond, eyes rolling back into your head as black spots danced in your vision, the sensation intensifying but still not enough, not enough, and you shoved your hips into his repeatedly, whimpering, hands clutching his black shirt, nails digging into his abs.

“So needy for me,” he breathed, feathery touches of silk against your nipples. “Are you only mine?”

He leaned forward, loosening his grip a little. The blood violently rushed back into your head and all you could hear Jungkook’s cruel whisper of your name, tearing a moan from your lips, a raspy yes, yes, fuck, Jungkook, I’m only yours.

He chuckled darkly.

Then he forced you to your knees, tits bouncing uncomfortably as you slid on your heels, knees hitting the tile floor. You clutched his clothed legs, panting, brain only half-functioning due to the lack of blood and the relentless teasing. You lifted your head back up to look at him, panting hard.

Jungkook cracked his neck sharply, a harsh pop. “I want to believe you, noona, but you’re dressed so fucking sexy that I can’t.” His dark eyes bore into you, tearing you up, and you were dripping onto your inner thighs. He emphasized his words with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Letting other people fantasize about this body that belongs to me isn’t acceptable.”

His hands reached down, fingers of his right hand playing with the button of his pants, tattoos dancing with his movement. He smirked as you watched him, eyes darting from his face to his hands. Shit, you were nearly drooling with anticipation. You swallowed as he teased the button free.

“You gonna show me that you remember who you belong to?”

You nodded quickly, maybe too quickly, but it was doomed now anyway because Jungkook was lowering the zipper, pushing down his pants and underwear, past his muscular thighs. It was obvious this was getting him off as much as it was getting you off, because he was rock-hard, leaking, tip already a dark red. Jungkook grabbed the back of your head and shoved his hips into your cheek, smearing his pre-cum onto your skin, all the way up to your cheekbone. He hissed, using his hand to press the head against your temple, nearly into your hair.

Fuck, he was so fucking close to your mouth, but he wasn’t letting you have it.

Damnnit.

Your tongue snaked out and softly licked his balls, eyes on his face, watching him tip his head back and moan. You licked more, creeping your head closer, pressing your lips against his hot skin. He was letting you do it, holding his cock out of the way as you wrapped your lips around his balls and sucked, pushing them around with your tongue, pleading noises in your throat, begging him for his cock as you bobbed your head up and down under his hips.

Jungkook’s dark eyes shifted down to you, triumphant grin on his lips.

“You want to swallow my cock, noona?” he teased, smacking it against your face, leaving a string of pre-cum connecting your cheek to his cock. You narrowed your eyes at him, as if to say, no fucking shit, you punk ass bitch, and he chuckled deep in his chest. He looked past your head, down your back.

“Such a nice ass.”

You smacked his leg, aware that he was doing it on purpose to piss you off. He smirked knowingly, placing his palm on your forehead and pushing you off his balls.

“Swallow it all and don’t choke,” Jungkook snarled, shoving his cock into your open mouth.

Your eyes widened at the sudden intrusion, relaxing your throat muscles as Jungkook forcefully pushed into your lips, sighing with satisfaction as he buried himself to the hilt, his strong fingers tangled in your hair.

“Fuck, so good,” he moaned, making his cock throb into the roof of your mouth. You whined, hands on his hips, waiting for him to let you move. “Your throat feels so fucking good, noona. If only they knew how good you are, how perfectly slutty you are for me.” He snickered, releasing his hand, glaring down into your eyes.

“But they’re never going to know, because you’ll never service another cock ever again.”

You whimpered, nails digging into his thighs.

He ticked his chin at you. “Go on, noona. Show me how much you love my cock.”

You began to move, pressing your tongue against the bottom as you slid up and down his length, moaning at his taste. So good. You generated more saliva and ran it all over the head, sucking hard. He inhaled sharply as you teased the sensitive underside, tongue against the opening.

“That’s it,” Jungkook breathed. “Give it to me like you mean it.”

You gripped his thighs and began to bob your head back and forth, ramming the head into the back of your throat and squeezing it before arching your neck so it ran across the roof of your mouth and then back down so it hit your throat again. Was this going to make you hoarse? Probably, but you didn’t a single shit, because Jungkook moaning for you and telling you how good you were was much more important. The pace was slow at first, but you went faster and faster, tighter, your breasts bouncing with every movement, eyes closed to savor his taste and steel your concentration of not gagging because Jungkook was so big, so thick, so perfectly rough, and your tongue could feel him throbbing inside your mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled above you, nearly feral with desire. “Fuck, I’m going to cum down that perfect throat of yours, noona.”

His thighs tensed under your hands and you knew he was close. You increased the intensity, neck straining, already aching with how fast you were going.

“Drink it all and don’t fucking waste it.”

Jungkook grabbed you by your hair and thrusted his hips into your face, moaning lustfully as he shot into your mouth, hot creamy strings into your throat. You swallowed fast to avoid choking, gulping loudly as he gave you more, more, fuck it was so delicious that you gasped, swirling your tongue around his jerking cock and lapping it all up. Whimpering, you wrapped your lips around the head and milked it dry, rubbing your lips against the skin where the head and length connected.

“You’re so fucking good,” Jungkook sighed, running his fingers through your hair, pulling it away from your face. “So messy and dirty. I love it, noona.” He pressed your mouth down his entire length and held you there.

Your name drifted out of his lips, a sweet exhale.

He kept you there. You felt some of your spit drip down your chin and hit your breasts. You flinched at the coldness, still holding onto his hips. Jungkook finally looked down at you, chest heaving, panting. He looked like he wanted to say something. You shot him a questioning look, unable to respond, mouth still full of his cock.

He released your head, untangling his fingers from your hair. You drew your mouth back, rubbing your jaw and throat a little. Jungkook had a strange expression, lips parted, brows furrowed, the muscles in his neck tensed. He seemed a bit spaced out. You tilted your head.

Something felt off.

You stood up with as much grace as you could, knees aching, heels snapping to the tile floor. He still wasn’t looking at you. You backed up, to the desks, finding a study one.

“Jungkook.”

You smacked the wood loudly with your flat palm.

He whipped his head towards you, dark eyes flashing. Perfect. You smirked, placing your hands on your pencil skirt. Sank your fingers in, gripping the fabric. Jungkook’s voracious eyes watched your movement, each hike revealing more and more of your legs. A slow smirk formed on his lips. You yanked your skirt all the way up to your waist, revealing your white lace panties and sheer pantyhose, black fabric bunched around your waist.

Jungkook reached down and pulled his pants up, raising his eyebrows as he walked over, lower lip in between his teeth as he grinned at you.

“That’s a dangerous position to be in, noona,” he purred. “You know I love fucking you on a desk.”

You bounced your ass up onto the table, closing your legs, knees together. Placed your hands on your lap, pushing your tits together. Jungkook licked his lips, the predatory glint back in his eye. You kept your tone stern, with a hint if disapproval.

“Really? Because for a second there, I was beginning to think you lost your nerve.”

The menace in his eyes made your shiver with anticipation. You could tell Jungkook liked it too, your word selection, your tone, your defiance. He shrugged out of his leather jacket, and it fell to the floor with an oppressive thump. You sucked in a tight breath. The shirt was short sleeved, exposing his tattooed right forearm and his equally beautiful tanned left one. Some of his long black hair was falling down, brushing against his right cheekbone.

His eyes were so dark that you felt like they were devouring you.

Jungkook placed his large hands on your knees and vehemently shoved them apart, spreading your legs wide. He gave you a cold, expressionless stare as he placed a hand on your stomach, putting you onto your elbows, hips tipped up towards him. You were embarrassingly wet, juices soaked into your inner thighs, lace panties already molded to your soaked folds, the sheer pantyhose doing nothing to protect you from him and his hungry eyes. His voice was icy, making your pussy throb with need.

“Noona, if you close your legs, I’m going to punish you,” Jungkook warned.

Part of you wanted to know what the punishment was, but the other part of you really wanted to orgasm, so kept your snide remark to yourself and simply nodded.

Jungkook removed his hands from your knees and placed them on your shuddering breasts. Fuck. You hadn’t realized you were so horny until Jungkook touched you. A pained whimper strained in your throat.

The side of his lips curved upwards.

“Does my dirty, slutty noona want to be fucked?” His nails sank down, digging into your skin. “Do you want to be used by me, your tight little pussy stretched out and pleading for more?” Jungkook leaned forward, breathing into your face, growling whisper against your lips. He pinched your nipples and you moaned, wanting to kiss him, but knowing he wasn’t going to let you. He chuckled darkly, seeing your desperation.

“Do you want to be a slave for Jungkookie’s cock, noona?”

Fuuuuuuuck.

Your heart was beating so fast that your breathing was coming out in little gasps as he twisted your nipples harshly, rubbing the tips with his thumb. Your legs shook, threatening to close because the lack of friction was killing you.

“Y-yes, Jungkook, fuck yes.”

He yanked on your nipples and slapped them, making you hiss with pain, flinching as the sting shot up your chest. Jungkook reached into his back pocket and produced the silk neck scarf.

“Keep quiet for me noona or everyone will know how much of a slut you are for me.”

And then he shoved your own scarf into your parted lips, gagging you. Not a second too soon, because, without warning, Jungkook immediately spanked your barely clothed clit. You yelped around the silk, thighs quivering. He gripped one of your thighs, digging his nails into it, tearing the sheer pantyhose a little.

“Don’t move and take it,” he snarled.

Your back arched as Jungkook began to slap your pussy, hard, unforgiving, loud, and making you wetter and wetter, so much so his hand was slipping a little with each smack. You screamed around the scarf, hips trembling as they rose to meet each hit, flaring pain in between your thighs but so, so good. He clenched his jaw, dark eyes on your quickly reddening pussy lips that were sucking your panties deeper and deeper into your slit.

“Fuck,” he growled. “Fuck, you’re so hot and so fucking perfect for me.”

He removed his hand from your thigh and ripped the center seam of your pantyhose apart.

You started, eyes widening as you watched him tear through it, yelling at him through the scarf. You still needed to wear those! The small tears were one thing, but a full-on giant rip at the crotch was not going to be comfortable to wear for the rest of the day.

Jungkook smirked, raising a hand to his ear. “What’s that? Can’t hear you.”

You glared at him and was about to remove the scarf from your mouth to scold him, but his smirk turned into a roguish grin.

“Hm? Slap you harder and abuse your clit?”

You paled.

“My pleasure.”

You threw you head back as Jungkook mercilessly spanked your now only lace-covered clit, impossibly fast, towering over you and hooking his arm under your back, dragging you to him, arching your spine more, more, so your tits were straight up, bouncing right in his face as he changed from smacking your clit to rubbing it just as fast, rougher, so intense you were hoarsely wailing into the gag.

All of a sudden, your orgasm violently rammed into you, pleasure racking your entire body, amplified by stinging pain. Your pussy clenched around nothing, wetly squelching as Jungkook breathed hotly down on your nipples, still rubbing you through your orgasm, not letting up. You shook your head furiously, trying to tell him it was too much, that you were too sensitive, but you didn’t lift your hands to stop him, only spreading your fingers against the table, palms flat as your hips raised to his fingers.

You felt his hair brush against your nipples as he licked your cleavage, smirking up at your face.

“One more and then I’ll fuck you the way I want to, noona.”

Your legs were losing feeling from how hard you were locking them in place as you felt Jungkook pry your lace panties out of your pussy, shoving them to one side. Oh shit. You moaned as you felt him shove two fingers into you, eyes squeezing shut as he added a third, scissoring them as he smiled cruelly at you, eagerly watching your reaction.

“Such a greedy pussy, sucking in my fingers like this,” Jungkook drawled, your walls clenching around them, feeling every callus and every joint, all the way to his knuckles. “All mine, my beautiful, slutty noona.”

You would have asked Jungkook what the time was if your brain could still function, but your brain timed itself out, because Jungkook was thrusting his fingers into you now, filling you up, and feeding your need and desperation, assaulting your pussy with pleasure. The pain of your stinging, puffy lips rubbing against his hand added to the ecstasy, heightening it, your moaning now unintelligible behind the silk scarf that was saturated with your saliva. The sound was obscene, sloppy smacking sounds of your drenched hole getting pounded into the desk.

You threw your head back and choked out his name around the makeshift gag, throbbing pussy clamping down on his fingers. Thick, viscous liquid gushed out onto his palm, the back of his hand, dripping down to his wrist. It was so intense that your entire body jerked up into Jungkook’s face, hitting him with your tits.

If Jungkook was mad about it, he didn’t show it. He wrenched his slick fingers out and you whined, watching him with glazed eyes as licked them off, ferally growling at your taste. He released your back from his arm and you slid down, laying against the desk, panting.

“You taste extra delicious today, noona,” he chuckled. “Candy always tastes better in cute packaging.”

You barely had time to register that Jungkook had just compared you to a fucking convenience store snack before he yanked down his pants again, whipping out a foil packet and ripping it open. Less than a second and the condom was on, and then Jungkook shoved his cock into you, a startled gasp dying in your very over-used throat.

Jungkook moaned your name above you, softly and lustfully, pulling your hips closer to him so he was all the way inside you. You clenched around his length and he sighed, small smirk on his pink lips, eyelids fluttering.

“You’re going to kill me one day with how perfectly tight you are for me,” he mumbled.

Your eyes found his and he grinned, looking down at you through his lashes, his hair obscuring half his face.

Fuck, you could stare at him all day.

Jungkook placed your legs around his waist, finally letting them rest from the forced spreading. He roughly jerked his hips into yours and you whimpered, nails clawing into the desk. His fingers dug into your hips and he set his jaw, beginning a hard, fast pace, slapping your hips together, fucking you into the desk. It scraped noisily into the floor, but neither of you cared, you abused pussy lips rubbing against his crotch every time his hips met yours, carried to new heights of pain and pleasure, loving every second, every moment of Jungkook using you to chase his own orgasm, his cock swelling and dragging against your tight walls. So much. So full.

You could never be satisfied with another cock.

“Fuck.”

Jungkook hissed, grip on your hips tightening, bruising you with his fingertips.

“Fuck, noona, I love you.”

Your heart stopped.

And then your orgasm crashed down, overtaking you completely, your head smacking the desk and seeing stars, clenching around Jungkook’s cock and pulsating violently around his length, soaking his thighs with your juices, scent so strong you were sure whatever class that was going to use this lecture hall next was going to smell your cum splattering to the floor.

Jungkook gritted his teeth and rammed his hips into you, dragging you down to meet every thrust, intensifying your orgasm, ripping your pantyhose even more. Once, twice, three times, and he groaned, shuddering as he spilled into the condom, cock shivering inside you as he came. You could feel how much it was, pressing against your walls.

His long hair was all over his face, black strands clinging to his tan skin, sweat dripping off his chin, pink lips quivering, dark eyes roaming over your fucked-out form. Panting hard, matching your heavy, grating breaths behind your now saliva-drenched neck scarf. After a long moment, Jungkook reached down and held onto the condom, slowly pulling out of you.

Holy fuck.

You reached up with a shaking hand, pulling the silk out of your mouth. It came out in a long strip of fabric, smacking against your cheek as your removed it from your lips.

Holy.

Fuck.

You sat up, your body screaming at you, seeing Jungkook breathing hard, tying up the condom.

“Did you just tell me you love me?”

Jungkook’s ears turned bright red. He chewed on his lip, biting it hard before facing you. Dark brown eyes suddenly vulnerable, scared. It was the most uncharacteristic expression you had ever witnessed on Jeon Jungkook’s chiseled, handsome face.

“Uh… yeah.”

There was a moment where you realized both you two were mostly naked in a random classroom, clothes thrown everywhere, having made a mess once again.

“Sorry,” Jungkook added quickly. “It slipped out.”

You blinked at him. “Why are you apologizing?”

He rubbed his nose, looking away.

“Well… aren’t you just fucking me because you like to be dominated?”

You frowned. “No, I’m fucking you because I’m in love with you.”

You saw Jungkook freeze. He turned his head robotically, eyes wide and doe-like. “R-really?”

You looked down to notice that your heels were on the tile floor. When had you lost those? You grumbled, trying to straighten out your panties and the remains of your pantyhose. It was doomed. You shrugged, dangling your legs over the edge of the desk as you looked back at Jungkook and his surprised expression. You raised an eyebrow.

“Are you really that much of an idiot?” you muttered, your own cheeks burning, letting out a puff of annoyed air. “Yes, I love you. Why else would I tolerate you staring at me like I’m some kind of zoo animal? Why else would I risk getting in trouble by running around like this? Why else would I let you fuck me at school, in the middle of the damn day, again?”

Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck. “Erm… because I’m hot?”

You rubbed your forehead and sighed exasperatedly, standing up, instantly wincing. Jungkook took a step forward to catch you, but he almost tripped on his pants down his ankles. You caught yourself against the desk and raised a hand, shaking your head.

“Pack your damn dick,” you muttered. You yanked your tights down your legs, removing them and balling them up. They were useless now anyway. You found your bra and put it back on as you eyed your chiffon blouse. Good thing it wasn’t ripped. It only took you a moment to slip it back on, rebuttoning it and tucking it into your skirt. You pulled your pencil skirt back down, straightening it, thighs immediately sticking together from your own fluids.

Yup, still no more comfortable than yanking your pants back on after a session with Jungkook.

You noticed him putting his leather jacket back on and picking up the condom wrapper. He took the silk scarf from the table and shoved it in his back pocket. You went back to him to gather your shoes, but he knelt down, holding out your black heels as if you were Cinderella.

“I can just–”

“Step.”

His tone was sharp and you immediately obeyed, raising your foot and stepping into your shoe. First one, then the other. Jungkook stood back up, exhaling a little. You looked up at him. His chocolate eyes flitted about tensely. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Do you… uh…”

You cut him off. “Jungkook, if you cheat on me, I will personally castrate you with a spoon.”

He cringed. “Ouch.”

You took the used condom and the wrapper bits from him, shoving them into your balled-up pantyhose. You marched towards the door confidently, pain shooting throughout your body with every step. Jungkook called after you.

“Your hairpins.”

You turned your head back a little.

“You can drop them off at my apartment later.”

And then you unlocked the door and stepped out of the classroom.

Park Jimin waved at you, grinning. Plump lips curved into a mischievous smile, wearing a denim jacket and jeans. You almost jumped seeing him standing there. What the fuck is with this guy’s timing? He eyed your hand holding your ruined pantyhose and you put it behind your back, glaring at him.

“I told Namjoon you had a lady emergency.” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows at you before holding up your phone and black purse, the belongings you had left in the back room. “You took longer than you should have.”

You felt your ears burn. “Shit. I need to get back.”

“To Jungkook, yeah,” Jimin chimed teasingly, making you glower at him.

Of course. Jungkook had turned Jimin into his scout for your escapades. Fantastic. You suddenly felt a strong presence behind you. The door had opened and Jungkook’s arm snaked around your waist, yanking you possessively to his side. He placed his chin on top of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair.

“You wanna go on a date, noona?” Jungkook purred, his free hand playing with the ends of your disheveled hair.

You pursed your lips. “I have to get back and help Namjoon.”

Jimin waved a hand. “He’ll be fine for one day. Plus, you’re being kidnapped.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Jungkook slapped his hand over your lips, marching you in the opposite direction of Career Week, Jimin skipping behind you two, cheerfully humming.

part iv

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic

764 notes · View notes

mikkomacko · 4 years

Text

Christmas Magic 1

It was still crisp and bright outside the day the form came home. The balcony outside their apartment was littered with crunchy leaves of browns and yellows and reds, all different shades even if they all fell from the same cottonwood tree growing right outside. The one Kevin The Tenant swears needs to be cut down before it falls on the complex or its strong roots ruin the foundations. Every spring he swears it's coming down, and every spring Ophelia's pretty green eyes well with tears at the thought of her tree coming down, and yet every spring it's still there, the thick branches and leaves casting shadows on the tiny hall of their home.

They sat in the window ledge by the balcony where the tree had shaken leaves off, Harry humming quietly as he unlaced Ophelia's little brown boots, tossing them into the doorway of her room to trip over later.

"It's a carnival daddy," Ophelia spoke, voice always so soft and feathery, even when she was so unbearably excited about this carnival that her toes wiggled in her socks. "a Christmas one. Mrs. Frank said Mr. Clause might be there!"

"Mr. Clause, huh?" Harry hummed, pretending to be very thoughtful over this class trip. It really wasn't much of a big deal. The carnival was in the city, set up in the park with ice skating and music and games and lights and a Christmas parade. Mrs. Frank picked a weekday to attend so the crowd wouldn't be too rowdy for a group of four and five year olds. Harry himself was even invited to attend, like all the other class trips, because Ophelia is quite awful at going anywhere without her dad.

Ophelia nodded, her brown curls bouncing and a begging smile splitting her face. Harry smiled too, falling onto his butt on the wood floor, and admiring the beautiful girl sitting before him. He had no reason to say no and even if he did, how could he? He'd bestowed an unfathomably huge love for Christmas time in his daughter as well as a good heart and kind soul. There was nothing Ophelia could've possibly done in her whole life that would constitute a no from Harry.

"Tell you what," He climbed up from the floor, helping her down from the windowsill and leading her to the little dining table that's sat in the corner of the kitchen, right next to the bulletin that's always overflowing with pictures and doodles of their family. "I'll sign this for ya but you gotta promise me you won't have a cry if I can't go with ya, ok?"

Harry's sure he'll be able to go but he'd hate for his girl to get her hopes up and then have them cut down.

Ophelia eyed the form apprehensively, pink lips pursed to the right as she mulled over the idea of Harry not going to the carnival with her. He sighed softly and lifted Ophelia up onto the table top, hands cupping her little face.

"Ya know that whether I'm there or not you'll be perfectly safe." He whispered as if sharing the most illuminating secret ever spoken. "I'd never send ya anywhere that I wouldn't go myself and I'd never expose ya to people that would purposely hurt ya, ok?"

Ophelia blinked at him nervously, fiddling the little fingers that barely fit around Harry's thumb. "What if they accidentally hurt me?"

"Accidents happen, but I promise I'll send your card with ya and I'll always go save ya."

Her fingers stilled, one hand reaching out to fist the edge of his shirt. "Really promise?"

"Really promise."

"Okay daddy."

"Ya still wanna go?"

"Yes please."

He grinned. "Then you got it baby. I'll sign it and send it with ya Monday."

Ophelia beamed and Harry removed his hands so he could see the dimples sinking into her soft cheeks. Her hand tugged on his shirt, and her head tilted up, long eyelashes kissing her cheeks and Harry knew what was she requesting. He always knows.

"Love ya nipper." He murmured, hunching over to kiss her forehead even though it makes his back ache.

"Love ya daddy."

The leaves blew away days ago, the balcony outside their little home now weighed down with piles of snow that have Ophelia giddily smiling every time Harry carries her past the window. The hand turkeys on the fridge, one the size of Harry's palm and one the size of Ophelia's have been replaced by drawings of reindeers and Santa Claus, and Ophelia's ever growing Christmas list that will be mailed to the North Pole by the end of the week. Multicolored lights wrapped around false green garland have been tacked around all the windows of the apartment with a matching set on the mantel above the electric fireplace. A little pink stocking with her name stitched in cursive letters hangs next to the bigger blue one that's labeled with Harry's name, both of them swaying as the vent above releases warm air. The holiday advent calendar on the coffee table has six of its doors open, each one containing a different piece of SpongeBob themed candy. Yesterday Harry had gotten one of those gummy patties that only tastes good if you eat it one layer at a time. The toy nativity set that usually goes on the coffee table is missing the donkey but Harry doesn't have much time to worry about it before he's stepping on it, the donkeys pointy ears prickling the bottom of his foot.

"Bloody f-"

"Daddy!" Ophelia squeaks, eyes wide as Harry hops on one foot and rubs the bottom of the other, glaring down at the offender. He can't blame the donkey too much, after all Ophelia is the one that left him on the floor.

He huffs, returning to two feet and bending over to pick up the little barn animal. He holds it out to Ophelia, eyebrows raised expectantly and her little eyes widen, chin tucking down to hide behind the scarf around her neck. "Sorry daddy," she says shamefully, twisting her sock clad toes into the wooden floor.

Harry nods, shoulders sagging as he places the donkey among the other toy creatures. "S'ok pet just try to remember next time. Don't need ya killing daddy, huh?"

She grins, relieved that Harry's not upset with her, and skips to him, leaping up with just enough time for Harry to hook his arms around her before she goes crashing at his feet. "Don't want that 'cause then I'd have no daddy to make dinner or go on class trips with."

He chuckles, setting her on his hip and adjusting her scarf. "Speaking of class trip, let's get going. Don't want to be late." Ophelia nods eagerly, wiggling to be set down. Harry tugs his waterproof boots on, helping Ophelia tie hers because she still struggles with it no matter how many times she practices bunny ears.

Harry got Ophelia tucked into her wool coat, zipping it up to her neck and pulling her scarf out so she's not suffocating. She requests her earmuffs, watching him with stars in her eyes as he kneels down to adjust them on her head, the pink fabric getting lost in her wild mane of curls.

"Gloves daddy?"

Harry grins, nodding proudly. They've had this routine for years but it's still nice being reminded that she pays attention to him. He pulls yellow mittens over her little hands, kissing both of her fabric covered palms when he's finished. Ophelia tugs her backpack over her shoulders while Harry pulls on his own coat, buttoning it up to his chin since he hasn't got a scarf. He puts on a beanie of the same shade of pink as Ophelia’s earmuffs and some black gloves.

He unlocks the front door, peering down at Ophelia and asking, "Ready to go bubba?" She nods eagerly, latching get fingers around his gloved thumb. Harry grabs his keys off the hook, double checking that the fireplace hadn't been left on or the fridge open. When he's sure everything is settled, he pulls open the door, allowing Ophelia to hop over the edging of the door, a habit she's had ever since she started walking. He shuts and locks the door behind them, dropping his keys to his pocket.

"Right then," Ophelia bounces on her toes. "let's go have us some fun."

The entire park, covered in snow from the storm last week, has been turned into a winter wonderland. Paths lined by candy cane lights lead to all the different areas: Santa's Shopping Center lined with Christmas stores, Character Circle where you can meet Santa and other winter holiday icons, the ice skating rink, the North Pole, and Wonder Park which is basically a little pavilion that always has live music surrounded by a frosty wishing moat.

The rest of Ophelia's class really enjoys Character Circle, all of them happily sitting with Santa for photos or building a toy with the elves. Ophelia, however, was insistent on staying in Wonder Park, forcing Harry to sign her out early so she doesn't have to go to the other areas with her class. She managed to pull Harry to the front of the crowd, right next to the wishing moat and within ten feet of the band currently playing.

Harry sits her on his hip, swaying them back and forth as a girl dressed as Mrs. Clause sings a bouncy version of Jingle Bells. She follows a simple dance routine with backup dancers dressed as candy canes and Ophelia is looking at her with such fond eyes Harry wonders what she sees in the girl.

Yeah, she's got a lovely voice, soft and smooth with just a bit of rasp on drawn out notes. And she's quite a cute dancer, tripping over her black heels a couple of times, never actually falling but flushing pink with embarrassment. Also, well, she's cute. She's really cute. The kind of girl that draws more attention with her personality rather than her looks but, is still breath-taking due to the aura around her.

Harry may or may not have the same loving look in his eyes as Ophelia, only looking away to give his girl a quarter for a wish. When her set ends, Harry and Ophelia holler as if she were a Grammy winner, both of them deflating when she leaves the stage.

"Alright nipper," he puffs, bouncing Ophelia to his front so he can look at her. "what do ya say to a photo with Santa? Need to send one to Nana for her fridge."

Ophelia shrugs but the droop of her smile and shoulders tells Harry all he needs to know. He wipes under her red nose with his sleeve. "If ya take a photo we'll come back to hear more music?"

"I only want to come back if she's singing daddy."

"The girl that just sang?"

Ophelia nods, wrapping a lock of his hair around her finger. "I want to see her again. She feels magic."

"Magic?" Harry murmurs, confused as to what Ophelia means by that.

She just nods, laying her head on Harry's shoulder. He decides to just let it be, pushing his way through the crowd and towards Character Circle. His head feels a bit swirly as he walks and his stomach so full it almost hurts, and Harry wonders if that girl really was magic.

Running the pads of her pointer fingers under her eyes, y/n shakes her head in disappoinment. Every year the radio station puts on this carnival and every year she swears she'll buy waterproof mascara to keep her makeup from running down her cheeks after the snows got caught in her eyelashes. Yet every year she ends up in the restroom after every little performance, wiping mascara clumps off her frost bitten cheeks.

Y/n throws her bag over her shoulder, the bells attached to her Mrs. Clause outfit jingling. No matter how many different ways she tries to fold that darn costume, the bells always break free. Jingling with each step, she exits the restroom, ready to find her car and get home. Not that she doesn't love Christmas, it's her favorite time of year, and working the carnival was one of the best things about her job, but after hours of standing on a stage in a dress and tights (that don't do much to keep out the cold) and singing Christmas carols, she's ready to get home.

"'Scuse me?"

Y/n jumps when something taps on her arm, the scared voice immediately rising panic in her chest. And standing by her leg, shivering in the cold with tear tracks on her red cheeks stands a little girl. Y/n notices her big green eyes full of unshed tears and the way her bottom lip trembles and she realizes that something is wrong and the girl is absolutely terrified. Something hot, like a fire in her belly, stirs up and y/n ushers the girl to the side of the snow covered path, standing between her and the crowd of people.

She crouches down, not caring that the knees of her jeans are getting wet. "What's the matter sweets?"

The girls little lip trembles even more, a few tears trickling down her cheeks. Without thinking y/n reaches out to wipe her face, soaking up the tears in her gloves. "I lost my d-daddy."

Y/n coos, pushing the messy baby hairs off her face and smiling encouragingly. "Don't worry sweets, we'll find your daddy. Can you tell me the last place you saw him so we can go look for him?"

The girl blinks her doe eyes, a tear running down her cheek. She sniffles, lifting her hands up to hand y/n something. Y/n takes it from her, realizing it's a homemade identification card. She reads it over, smiling at all the little hearts on the card obviously drawn on by whoever made the card for her.

Hello! My name is Ophelia Styles and if you have this card it's because I misplaced my daddy (or he misplaced me). I tend to be very scared without my daddy because I love him so much and I know he'll be scared without me too. Please call the number below and tell my daddy that I'm found and safe and not crying too much (even if I am) so that he doesn't worry. Thanks for your help!

Listed below is a phone number, one that y/n punches into her phone as fast as she can with her cold fingers. She hits call, holding the phone up to her ear as it rings. Not even two rings later does a man answer, a rushed "'ello!" coming through the speaker.

"Hi, is this Ophelia's father?"

Something like a gasp and sob leave the man's mouth, and y/n notices Ophelia inching closer to her. Her Bambi eyes are searching y/n's face for any sign of comfort so she smiles.

"You've got her? Is she ok? She hurt?" The man asks hurriedly, obviously still panicking from the disappearance of his daughter.

"She's just fine," y/n soothes. "She's found, safe, and not crying too much."

A relieved sigh comes from the other side and y/n takes that as her chance to let him know where they are. "We're over by the shops and cafe's, right next to the restrooms and concert pavilion."

"That's on the other bloody side of the park!" He squawks. "Lost her over by the Christmas characters!"

Y/n gawks, looking at Ophelia curiously. Somehow she managed to cross the whole park without getting hurt, finding solace in what's probably the busiest area of the carnival. "Oh, would you like me to take her over there or wait here?"

It's a silly question to ask because she can already hear him pushing through the crowd, definitely trying to get to Ophelia as quickly as possible.

"Could you just stay there for me? M'already on my way."

Y/n nods, forgetting that he can't see her. "Absolutely," she agrees, looking over Ophelia as she trembles and tucks her red nose into her scarf. The poor thing is freezing. "Actually would it be okay if I took her into the Cocoa Cafe? She just looks like she's freezing and it might take you a bit to get over here."

He hums, seeming to contemplate the idea. Y/n hopes he agrees because Ophelia really looks like she could use a warm drink. "May I speak with her real quick?"

Y/n hands the phone over to Ophelia, finding it funny that he even asked. Of course he can speak to his daughter, she's his baby after all. Ophelia clutches the phone in her mitten covered hand, bringing it up to her ear and murmuring a little "hi Daddy."

Y/n waits patiently for a few minutes, trying not to look like she's prying as Ophelia seems to be answering random questions about food. It's not until her green eyes meet y/n's and she says firmly, "I really like carrots daddy," that she realizes her father must have set up a series of coded questions that'll let him know if she's ok and comfortable. Y/n wonders if he's lost her a few too many times or if he's just a protective dad.

"Ok. Bye daddy."

The phone gets handed back to y/n. "We okay, sir?"

"The Cocoa Cafe you say?"

Y/n hums an affirmation.

"That sounds good. Thank you for all your help."

Warmth swirls in her gut, a lot more peaceful and welcome then the burning heat from before, and she can't help but grin at how genuinely grateful the man sounds.

They exchange good byes, y/n promising to call him if Ophelia needs anything before hanging up. She tucks her phone in her bag, looking up to be met with a warm gaze and a dimpled smile that makes her heart ache. "What do ya say we go warm up while we wait for your daddy, huh?"

Ophelia nods, reaching for y/n's hand when she climbs to her feet. She doesn't hesitate to hold her little hand in hers, swearing to keep her next to her and safe until her father gets here.

Y/n can't help but fawn over Ophelia. The girl is just so cute, especially when y/n asks if she wants extra whipped cream on her cocoa and she just looks up through her eyelashes, nodding gently with her little dimples sinking into her cheeks.

They receive their mugs of cocoa, y/n having ordered one for Ophelia's dad that has extra marshmallows because "daddy loves marshies," and she finds a booth that's fairly close to the entrance, offering to let Ophelia sit facing the door so she'll be able to see when her dad gets here. She nods at that, tip toeing in her boots to place her mug on the table next to the other two.

"Can you help me with my coat please?" She asks, holding her arms out wide to expose the zip of her jacket.

"Sure thing sweets." Y/n unzips her coat, hanging it by the hood on the edge of the booth so it can dry and won't be wrinkled. Ophelia tugs off her earmuffs, shaking out her frizzy head of curls like a lion waking up from a nap. She hands them to y/n without a word, only giving her enough time to place them on the table before she's asking for help pulling off her mittens.

The fabric is soggy and cold, making her wince as she peels them off to reveal Ophelia's angry red fingers. Y/n lies them on the table to dry, taking both of Ophelia's hands in hers and gently rubbing them back and forth. She even goes as far as blowing hot air on her little digits, smiling when she notices the smiley faces drawn on her yellow polished nails.

"My daddy does that before bed," Ophelia says, removing her hands to do the same to y/n's. "He warms my hands because they're always cold and then he presses kisses," she pecks her chapped lips against the back of y/n's hand. "like that."

Y/n, glowing from how endearing she finds Ophelia, squeezes her little hand just once and nods towards the booth. "Why don't we drink our cocoa and you can tell me more about your daddy, if you'd like?"

Ophelia nods excitedly, clambering into the booth across from y/n. She sips her hot cocoa, whipped cream sticking to her upper lip. Before y/n can suggest she wipe it off, Ophelia's launching into a story of her father stepping on a donkey every morning and that he almost uses a no-no word but she manages to stop him. And for some reason unknown to y/n, he always has Ophelia apologize for the donkey leading her to believe this is some kind of toy.

"Ophelia!"

In the blink of an eye Ophelia is standing on the booth seat, beaming the happiest smile y/n's ever seen in her life and waving towards a man that's rushing (and stumbling) to their booth.

"Daddy!" Ophelia squeals, launching herself into the air. The man leaps forward, yelping as he manages to catch her against his chest. Y/n, feeling like she's intruding on a personal moment, turns her attention to her hot chocolate, stirring the cinnamon stick around until it's blending brown into the whipped cream. She tries not to listen to the two talk, but it's hard when she can hear how utterly relieved they are to be reunited and it warms her chest more than the drink ever could. Especially when her father's voice, deep and raspy croaks out, "missed ya so much. Ya scared the life out of me Babycakes," and she can hear him sniffle when Ophelia whimpers a quiet little, "missed you daddy. Sorry for scaring you."

The people in the cafe are watching the scene with an air of confusion, one lady seeming to pick up on the fact that the man had lost his child because she's shaking her head at them. Y/n catches her eye, glaring at her until she returns to her drink.

"We got you cocoa daddy," Ophelia squirms in his arms until he sets her on the booth. "with extra marshies!"

He chuckles, a nice raspy laugh that makes y/n's stomach stir. It flips upside down when he finally looks at her, bright green eyes and dimples that he clearly passed onto his daughter. And if y/n thought the features were cute on Ophelia, she can't even describe how good they look on him (even if his eyes are a little red and puffy as if he'd been crying).

"You must be our hero!" He greets, looking between her starstruck gaze with such intensity she wants to giggle but also cry a little.

"I wouldn't say hero," y/n shrugs, trying to keep her smile from growing too big.

"No?" The man hums, sitting in the booth next to his daughter. She attaches herself to his bicep, rubbing her cheek against the fabric of his coat and y/n can't stop the little coo that leaves her lips. "Just a super star singer with pretty sweet dance moves?"

Her cheeks flush, eyes widening a bit because she'd seen them! They watched her perform, they were the ones that had cheered stupidly at the end. Despite her shyness, she shrugs and says teasingly, "I'd say a super star dancer with a pretty sweet voice."

"Think ya mixed them up," he laughs. "spent too much time out in the cold in stockings and a dress."

Y/n laughs, maybe a bit too much considering it was a mediocre joke but he's awful charming, she just can't help it. "It was a bit cold. Still trying to get feeling to my toes."

"I warmed her hands daddy." Ophelia pipes up, smiling proudly at y/n.

"You did?" He gasps excitedly.

She nods. "Just like you do! And she did it to me too because you got me gloves that stay wet daddy."

He frowns a bit guilty, pecking the top of her head in apology. "S'good thing we were lucky enough to stumble upon-" he looks at her expectingly.

"y/n,"

"y/n." She likes the way he says her name. "She saved the day, huh?"

"I came to find her daddy."

They both freeze at her words, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What's tha' love?"

"I got scared. You were going to the Grinch and my fingers were cold so I ran back here to find her. She can make the Grinch nice."

Y/n flushes at Ophelia's words. She left her father because she wanted y/n to make the Grinch a better person in her eyes. She ran away from man that's probably protected her her whole life to come back to y/n? Someone she didn't know?

Y/n sips her hot cocoa, trying not to appear too concerned as he firmly scolds Ophelia for doing such a dangerous thing. He makes a point of reminding her that it terrifies him to think he's lost her because he loves her more than anything (y/n almost tears up at that) and to just tell him next time she's scared. Ophelia, pouting, nods shamefully in a way that has y/n feeling a little guilty. She wonders how he ever manages to scold her.

"M'sorry for all the trouble." He apologizes to y/n, rubbing Ophelia's arm as if trying to tell her he's not mad just upset. "Can't thank ya enough for taking care of her and being so sweet, 'specially on the phone. Don't think it's very fun speaking with a hysterical father."

Y/n shrugs, blushing under his thanks. "It was no problem. She's really sweet and adorable. I enjoyed chatting with her."

He seems a bit surprised at her words but doesn't common on it. Instead he chuckles, shaking his head embarrassedly. "I just realized I never introduced myself. M'Harry, Ophelia's dad."

Harry. Such a simple and common name but something about it being tacked onto him feels special, unique. Y/n smiles, endeared by the feeling radiating off of him. Harry.

"Nice to meet you."

Harry returns the sentiment, thanking her for the warm drink and asking if it's alright for them to stay and warm up a bit. Y/n agrees, not able to hide her excitement. She can't help but love Ophelia and Harry, both of them creating this comforting giddiness in her chest. She can't stop blushing every time tells her something remotely sweet and complimentary, dimples sinking into his cheeks as if trying to pull her into them. Harry's handsome, so handsome it's almost unbearable, and he's charming. Enough to have her giggling like a school girl. So when he thanks her for everything again, offering to make up for it with a date on Saturday, she happily agrees, and well, who can really blame her.

#Christmas Magic #cm1 #harry styles #harry styles imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #Christmas #winter #warm #romance #dad harry #dad harry styles #single dad Harry #imagine #harry imagine

251 notes · View notes

vantaestummy · 5 years

Note

please feed my craving for minjoon expecting a baby sometime soon. jimin gets really bad morning sickness all the time & poor joonie doesn’t know what to do to help but he tries his best. his sweet minnie is so sick and nauseous all the time that he doesn’t know what to do, so he calls taegi asking them what they did when yoongi was pregnant. namjoon is a nervous partner & soon to be father.

A/N: this prompt is oh so precious! i hope you enjoy! thank you so much for requesting and reading friend! ❤︎

TW/// emeto & mpreg

WORD COUNT: 2186

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Namjoon is at his wits end.

He and Jimin couldn’t have been happier when they found out Jimin was pregnant. It was a dream come true, something that albeit terrifying, was a gift.

But Jimin has been going through hell these past couple of days.

One thing that the two of them have learned, is that morning sickness has absolutely nothing to do with the morning. Apparently, it’s an all day thing, at least it is for Jimin.

Namjoon sighs for the umpteenth time that night, listening as Jimin retches over the toilet bowl with tears in his eyes. Namjoon feels awful. He can’t help but to blame himself for Jimin’s pain. It takes two to tango and frankly, Namjoon feels like this is all his fault, no matter how many times Jimin tells him that it’s not.

“I’m so sorry baby...” Namjoon sighs, his head leaning against the door as Jimin’s loud heaves echo through the cracks, the toilet water crackling as Jimin’s vomit fills the bowl.

“It’s okay Joonie...” Jimin calls out through the door, his voice hoarse but, his smile crystal clear through his words. It makes Namjoon want to cry.

Jimin gets sick every morning and every night. Throughout the day things are fine, but breakfast is hard to eat and must be very light. Dinner also doesn’t stay down for too long. Namjoon is jolted awake at least three times a night to the sound of Jimin running to the bathroom. What makes it worse is that Jimin hates feeling helpless, like a burden so, he doesn’t let Namjoon come inside the bathroom when he’s sick.

Namjoon hears the toilet flush after a few moments of silence, a good sign. Next is the sound of rushing water in the sink. Namjoon steps back as the door creaks open.

Jimin isn’t even really showing yet and still, he’s going through so much strife. His cheeks are flushed and swollen, his eyes watery and a bit red at the rims. His hands are trembling as they rest upon the barely noticeable swell of his belly.

And still, he manages to smile brightly.

“I’m okay now.” He says softly, his voice cracking and quiet.

Namjoon’s heart breaks.

He pulls Jimin into his chest, the smaller of the two already burying his face into his neck. Namjoon rubs his fingers through his hair, kissing his head and tracing circles into his back.

“I’m sorry baby. Why won’t you let me help you?” Namjoon asks, his words heightened and breaking, as if he’s on the verge of tears. Jimin intakes a shrill breath.

“I don’t want you to see me like that...” Is all he says in response. The words make Namjoon pull back, thumbing away the other’s warm tears.

“In sickness and in health, remember baby?” He says. It makes Jimin giggle tiredly.

“We’re not even married yet Joonie...”

Namjoon scoffs before kissing Jimin’s forehead lovingly. “I don’t need a piece of paper telling me that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I already know that.” He says with a dimpled grin. Jimin hums, his lips curved into a delicate smile. Namjoon then cups Jimin’s flushed cheeks. “But we need to figure something out. Morning sickness shouldn’t be this bad. Should we go see a doctor?” He asks, quizzical and yet, as serious as a heart attack. He can’t take Jimin’s suffering, knowing that there’s nothing he can do to help.

Jimin swallows thickly before escaping from Namjoon’s grasp, his hands hovering over his stomach. “It’s not that bad Joon... I can handle it, okay?”

Namjoon sighs. “Love, I know you can handle it but, you shouldn’t have to. You can’t tell me that this is normal.” He argues. He knows that Jimin is strong, that’s not something he has to prove. What he also knows, is that Jimin isn’t alone in this and he needs to stop acting like he is.

Jimin groans, his eyes screwed shut as he makes his way back to the bathroom. “I’ll be back...” He croaks out before clamping a hand to his mouth, trapping in a gag. He runs down the hall to where the restroom is. Namjoon follows him quickly.

“Jimin let me help.” Namjoon calls out but the only response he gets is a door slamming in his face, a grating retch soon to follow, along with the plopping of disturbed toilet water.

Namjoon sighs, downhearted and defeated as he thinks of what to do. Jimin doesn’t like hospitals but they might not have a choice. He doesn’t want Namjoon’s help because it makes him feel like a burden, like he’s incapable of taking care of himself. Namjoon doesn’t want that for him either but no matter how many times he explains to Jimin that this is not the case, the younger doesn’t listen.

Namjoon racks his brain for every possible solution before picking up his phone and scrolling through his contacts out of pure wonderment.

Jungkook wouldn’t be able to help. Not only is he not a carrier, but he’s single and won’t have a clue on what to do about Jimin’s morning sickness.

Hoseok and Seokjin have been together for much longer than he and Jimin, however, they don’t have kids. They probably wouldn’t know more than the common google searches (which, none of the home remedies did much to relieve Jimin of his nausea)

Namjoon then sees his parents’ contacts. He loves his mother and father but, they tend to scold or chastise him for his decisions, rather than figure out a simple compromise. Namjoon is grown now. He needs to learn how to raise his own child, not follow in his father’s footsteps per say.

Lastly, is the surname Min. Min Yoongi, and Namjoon feels like he’s struck gold. Not only is Yoongi a carrier, but he’s pregnant with his second child, and he and Taehyung are the youngest and best pair of parents Namjoon has ever known. Yoongi may be strict, but he is loving and kind. Taehyung can be the fun and playful parent, but he knows when to take matters into his own hands. When to be serious.

Namjoon presses the call button and waits for the ring.

...

Yoongi was known to give into his sweet tooth every now and then, but his first pregnancy was never this bad.

This is already his second bowl of ice cream and frankly, he deserves this shit. Raising a three year old is hard as hell. Thankfully, he’s not alone.

Yoongi crawls over to the couch, stepping over the clump of legos and stuffies scattered all over the floor. The loud squeal that greets him does make his head ache but, it also makes his heart flutter.

“Oh no! I’m dying! Yoongi-hyung help, he’s got me! I couldn’t slay the dragon!”

Taehyung falls to floor with a dramatic flare, his hands over his heart as if he’s dying from one of the most iconic killings in all of cinematic history. He lays at the foot of the couch, his eyes closed, his mouth hung open, as their three year old son, Yeonjun, crawls onto his stomach and giggling immensely.

Taehyung gasps as he reaches out a hand to his boyfriend who, is on the couch, pregnant and enjoying a bowl of ice cream.

“Hyung... I’m dying.” He wheezes, his son burying his face into the crevice of his neck.

“Oh no... you’re dying.” Yoongi deadpans as he spoons another clump of ice cream into his mouth with a small smirk. Taehyung rolls his eyes before lifting his upper half from the ground, picking up the baby on his chest and holding him up in the air, creating the illusion that he’s flying. Yeonjun squeals and babbles with delight, squeaking as Taehyung brings him to his chest and holds him close. He kisses the baby’s hair as he pulls the child further into his lap.

“I think some ice cream might bring me back to life.” Taehyung says with a beaming smile. Yoongi sighs before scooping up a clump of the sweet treat and holding it out to Taehyung who, bites it. With his fucking teeth. Yoongi frowns.

“You’re weird.” He laughs as Yeonjun copies his father, opening his mouth for a spoonful of ice cream. Yoongi shakes his head.

“Uh uh baby. You’ve had enough sweets for tonight.” Yeonjun pouts with a whine, making Taehyung do the same. Yoongi groans because he knows he’s no match for the carbon copies known as his boyfriend and son.

“Please? Just one scoop?” Taehyung asks.

“P’ease?” Yeonjun repeats. Yoongi throws his head back with a groan to cover up his own bouts of laughter.

He spoons a small scoop into Yeonjun’s mouth before scarfing down the rest himself. “There, now, no more.” He says before discarding the bowl and making room for Taehyung and the baby on the couch. He smiles as Yeonjun crawls into his lap, his lids already growing heavy.

“Someone looks sleepy.” Yoongi mumbles. Taehyung laughs.

“Being a dragon is hard work.” Taehyung says with a serious tone despite the silliness of words. Yoongi shakes his head, incredulous.

“The only kid I know who would rather be the dragon than the prince.” He says. Taehyung looks up, his eyes bright and his smile meaningful.

“He’s a special one, isn’t he?” He asks, already knowing the answer. Yoongi hums as he cards his hands through Yeonjun’s hair, lost in Taehyung’s chocolate eyes.

“Yes, he is.”

The phone rings, making Yeonjun stir and whimper in Yoongi’s hold. Taehyung sighs before picking the baby up and hoisting him into his arms.

“I’ll put him to bed. Can you get that?” He asks as he cradles the three year old. Yoongi nods before answering the phone, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Hey, hyung?”

Yoongi raises a brow. “Joon? Hey, what’s up?”

“Uhm... hey...” Namjoon sounds frazzled, nervous even. It makes a sense of worry tinge around Yoongi’s heart.

“What’s wrong Joon?”

“Uhm... okay so... As you know, Jimin is three months pregnant and... he’s sick, like, really sick and... hyung I don’t know what to do. This is so hard and if I can’t help Jimin when he’s sick how the hell am I supposed to take care of this baby?! Hyung I’m scared—”

“Woah, woah, Joon calm down. Jimin is sick?” He asks, making to stand but needing to balance himself with the armrest of the couch. Being pregnant has messed with his depth of perception.

“No, I mean yes but, not sick sick. It’s the damn morning sickness but it’s not just in the morning, it happens every single day and night.”

Yoongi sighs, a hand rested on his swollen stomach because yes, he remembers that all too well. Every pregnancy is different and the morning sickness this time around was no where near as painful as the first.

He doesn’t notice Taehyung is behind him until he feels a hand around his front, a kiss placed upon his head.

“Is everything okay?” He asks. Yoongi nods with a smile before resting his head against the younger’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Jimin is having really bad morning sickness. It sounds like it was just as bad as mine when I was pregnant with Jun.”

Taehyung hisses through clenched teeth. “Oh yeah, really bad then.”

Yoongi frowns into the phone. “Is Jimin feeling well enough for a car ride? Bring him here. I have some things I haven’t had to use since Jun was born.”

Namjoon’s cry of relief is so loud that even Taehyung can hear it.

“Thank you hyung. Thank you.”

It doesn’t take long for Namjoon and Jimin to arrive, but when they do, Jimin looks pale and delirious. Taehyung ushers him to sit on the couch as Namjoon follows Yoongi into the bathroom.

“He managed to keep the soup in his stomach on the way here but, he’s still feeling bad.” Namjoon says in a panic.

Yoongi nods as he filters through every cabinet and cupboard. In a few minutes, he has an arms full of remedies and treats.

The two walk back into the living room to find Taehyung rubbing a hand up and down Jimin’s back as he leans forward, his head in his hands. Yoongi puts the items down on the table before opening a pack of what looks like cough drops.

“Ginger pops. Suck on it and lay back.” Yoongi instructs. Jimin does as he’s told, his hearing swimmy and his stomach quivering with queasiness. Yoongi then opens a sickness patch that he places behind Jimin’s ear. “Take it easy, okay Jimin? You should feel better in a little while. Tae, can you get him a glass of water please?” Taehyung nods before running to the kitchen.

Jimin slowly nods off with a whimper as he allows the taste and scent of the ginger to overwhelm his senses, soothing his nausea.

“Thank you hyung.”

Jimin falls asleep with ease, a peaceful look on his face, his nausea now dissipated. Namjoon stays by his side all night. Before the two leave the next morning, Yoongi and Taehyung both pack a bag full of remedies for them to take home.

Both Namjoon and Jimin have never been so thankful to have such good friends.

And when Namjoon gets home, the text he receives makes his eyes water.

from: Min Yoongi

and joon? ur doing great

———————————

A/N: this one was long lmao, i know. thank you for everything you guys! ❤︎

#bts sickfic #sick bts #sickfic #bts emeto #emeto #sick #sick!jimin #caretaker!namjoon #caretaker!taegi #caretaker!yoongi #caretaker!taehyung #mpreg #my fic

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naberiie · 7 years

Text

First Meeting

for @kaminoanbat, who has a beautiful, incredible, wonderful OC named Tiamat and (bc kaminoanbat is so sweet and amazing) let me design a girlfriend for her - two cute girls who love cooking? and spoiling clone troopers? truly Iconic(tm) ❤❤❤

Coruscanti air couldn’t exactly be called fresh, whether in the morning or evening or late night or anytime in between, but it always carried a humming undercurrent of pure, unchecked energy that seeped into every neon light, every littered alley, every glittering panel on the Senate building. It was a city-planet of a billion wandering souls, their lives thrumming and crashing together no matter the hour of the day, no matter the level. It was a natural resource seeping up through the very duracrete under their feet.

And as the forest-green Twi’lek woman stood outside of the bare restaurant - her restaurant - one hand on her hip and a data pad in the other, she was fit to burst from it.

A speeder raced around the corner, making her long gray linen robe snap in the sudden breeze. Noori smoothed it down, hardly even bothered, though she did cast the retreating speeder a quick glare out of habit. Her lekku, twined together under the deep ochre scarf wrapped three times about her head and tied off under her neck, smarted in the trail of fumes. Though I suppose it could get old rather fast.

Her bright gold eyes drifted to the storefront again, and she grinned so wide her cheeks started to hurt. Not yet! She’d been busy since arriving planetside two months ago. And now - and now she had a restaurant of her very own. In a good neighborhood, on a moderate level, next to a busy pedestrian area - wide windows, modest floor plan, an even larger kitchen. It was a dream come true. Now she was finally Head Chef.

Even at this early hour, the streets were still fill of beings already rushing about their day - a few families bustling off sleepy children to school, men and women and others in their finest attire, a patrol of the Corsuscanti guards. She nodded to them as they passed, a quick smile always on her lips for any clone trooper she came across. They were, of course, almost entirely the reason for her moving to Coruscant. Ever since she and Yari had hosted General Skywalker’s men, had prepared food and drink for them, seen their smiles of wonder and realized that no one had done this for them before, the idea had settled in the back of her mind until she hadn’t been able to hold it back anymore.

Yari had loved it, because he was Yari. The feast had been his idea, originally. And when Noori blurted out that she wanted to move to Coruscant to do this for more troopers, to cook for and spoil as many as she possibly could, he had smiled and loaned her enough money to purchase a flight to the Capital of the Republic. Her fingers traced the edge of the data pad - and then some.

“Good morning!”

Noori jumped and glanced over her shoulder, worried for a moment someone she knew had spotted her, but she needn’t have worried.

It was directed at the troopers who had just passed her on the street. They’d stopped about fifteen feet from her, their broad shoulders blocking whoever had just greeted them. Curiosity ebbed into Noori’s mind and she stepped forward slightly, peering around one of them to see their cheery greeter.

A bright red Togrutan woman, her heavily scarred face dimpled prettily with a large smile, was standing before them, her hands outstretched. Two sweets wrapped in plastic shone in the morning sun in her palms. “Here, these are for you!” She said, her voice carrying over to Noori like smoke on a breeze. “They’re chocolate and berry flavored, I think,” she laughed as the troopers thanked her and each plucked one from her palms. She waved a hand in front of her eyes, dull grey and unfocused, and giggled. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m wrong.”

Whatever had scarred the Togrutan’s face had also taken most of her right montral and clipped off most of her left lekku, tearing a large, jagged swath across her face. Though the scars were long-faded now, the nub of her montral smoothed over, Noori still winced at the thought of losing one of her own lekku. The Togruta carried a cane under her arm, and was nothing but smiles and little giggles and snorts as she talked to the two troopers. One had taken off his helmet and was trying the sweet as Noori watched, confirming it to be chocolate and berry - but the other was simply staring down at his in wonder, cupping the wrapped sweet in both hands like a baby bird.

Noori’s heart swelled. This was why she had moved to Coruscant. For moments like this. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the Togruta - who was, Noori thought, very pretty and obviously a sweetheart, look how happy she made them - hoping that the glare of her restaurant’s windows masked her blatant eavesdropping.

The Togruta smiled once more and gave the troopers a little bow, flipping her cane out from underneath her arm, wishing them a good day. They thanked her profusely - the one still hadn’t made a move to unwrap his yet - and walked away, their shoulders pressed back and their laughter echoing off of the surrounding buildings. The Togruta waved goodbye and started off, a haze of a smile still on her full lips.

It didn’t take long for Noori to catch up to her - on the left, she didn’t want to startle her. “Excuse me, miss?” She called out while she was still a few steps behind.

The Togruta turned, cocking her head and narrowing her eyes in confusion, like she was trying to pull Noori out of the hazy gray backdrop of the city. For a half-second, Noori wished she hadn’t settled on the gray robe today - and then she stopped, a little breathless. “Hi - hey - I’m sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to let you know that I saw what you did for those troopers back there.” She rushed on, her tongue tripping over her words, “It make me really happy, and I know they loved it, too. I just - I just wanted to know - what’s your name?”

The Togruta blinked, then a slow smile spread over her lips and Noori’s stomach did a backflip. “Tiamat,” she said, her voice low and soft and very, very pretty. “My name is Tiamat.”

#naberiie writes fanfic #oc tiamat #oc noori #sw ocs #kaminoanbat #GAYS IN SPACE #whats better than this #cooking gals being cooking pals #I LOVE THEM A LOT AND THEYRE BOTH CHARMING NERDS #this is what i do when u give me free range in ur aus and ocs #i throw ficlets @ u #ficlet #drabble

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dahcyst · 7 years

Text

A Flower for the Bee [Chapter 1]

[AO3 link here : http://archiveofourown.org/works/9238850/chapters/20952428 ]

I’ve started this right by the end of the first season, craving for Otayuri soooo much -and I’m still! But right when I started this, well...Voltron season 2 was released...Sorry, I’m stuck in the middle of the 7th chapter for now, so I’m uploading the stuff here and someday I’ll get some motivation back to write the next chapters ! XD

"I fucking don't care!"

"Yuri, please, don't be such a kid..."

"I'm going home, don't even dare bother me till tomorrow."

The young boy's next movement was simple : his feet kicked hard in the large door of the skating rink, and Yuri only had the time to hear Victor's sigh before the awful bang that resonated in the hall. It's been several months since Victor had returned to Russia, since he was back on the ice, since the day he, Yuri, had got this first place, this gold medal, at the last Grand Prix.

He was going to turn sixteen the day after, and somehow it was already getting on his nerves. Victor probably never got that problem himself, his performances always going along with his body frame. Victor probably didn't have to really deal with what he was and what he was getting to be.

And Yuri was in that state, teenage suddenly hitting hard on him in a way he knew that would be, somehow. But there was a difference between knowing things and experiencing them, living them. He could feel his own heartbeat, strong, heavy in his ribcage as he was walking down the corridor to the changing room. Even after so much time out of Russia, stuck in Japan with that other Yuuri, Victor was still the same: tactless, rude, unable to understand others feelings toward themselves.

It was ice skating only to Victor. Thanks god, the guy had found another weirdo thinking the same way as him, even though he was living in another country. It appeared that Victor wasn't back by himself in the end: Yuuri had asked him to leave so they could both work on ice and impress each other through their performance. Well, it was certainly a way to show their...affection? Yuri winced at the idea. He never really got what was the real bond between those two and somehow he wasn't sure if he wanted to exactly know. It was way easier to think "I'm too young to get it".

The door of the changing room banged closed behing him as all his thoughts wre making their way in his mind. Young. That was the main problem here, and Yuri sighed deeply. Sixteen years old. At school, most of the students were prety excited when their birthday was coming. Especially sixteen, seventeen and so on. It meant becoming an adult, with adult's privilege. With adult responsabilities. With an adult mind.

It actually wasn't the worst part, Yuri had to admit. He'd always been smarter and more mature than the average of his age, from far. Maybe it was also the reason of his loneliness. He knew how of a jerk he was to people his age.

But he quite didn't care that much. Being alone was also a part of that life full of training everyday, full of ice skating everyday, full of everything but human beings. He had never really looked for others to come in his life and instead focused on his carreer as a skater. It worked pretty well, and as long as he could use his body the way he needed, everything would be fine.

Yuri pulled on the hem of his sweatshirt in silnce. Overthinking was one of his bad habit but he couldn't help and once again he was at it, his main problem he had to face until now.

His body.

He knew that it had to happen one day. He was growing up pretty fast these months compare with what he hoped. His body was changing little by little. His knees, his elbows, his back were being pretty painful most of the time and his flexibility tended to fade day after day. He hated that. He hated watching himself being that weak and unable to do anything against his biological clock. He wasn't even mentionning all that disgusting sexual thing that sometimes had to wake him up in the middle of the night, leaving him panting in his bed, tangled with his sheets.

It hurt so much to be stuck in that body, in that state.

When he left the changing room, his bag hanging on his shoudler, there was no one left. The dim liht from a door far in the corridor was the only prove that soeone was still in, probably Victor or Yakov. He'd spent too much time under that shower, switching from hot to cold water until his skin was burning on both positions and his mind was unable to think properly anymore. It would do, for a moment, at least until he coud get home, right on time for dinner.

It was snowing, and he sighed again. The wind was so cold, biting his face, and he tried to hide his chin, his cheeks and nose in his thick scarf to only let his eyes burn due to the coldness of the outside. In the pocket of his coat, he tip of his fingers were playing a little with the shape of his cellphone. The plastic frame was being pretty cold too, he didn't have to take his gloves off to know it.

It was already dark outside. Day after day, the steam coming out of his breathing felt thicker and thicker and he couldn't help thinking back about how winter in Japan last year had been pretty sweet compare with Russia's. His nose was red all the time, his cheeks burning under the bite of the cold.

"I'm home," he softly said while pushing the door of the house.

He knew that nobody would answer him, and he sighed. Again. Somehow, he was feeling like his life had lately been full of sighs and silences. His grandfather was for a few time with an old friend of his, helping after the decease of the old wife of the even elder other man. At first, his grandfather had refused to go, not wanting to let the boy alone, but Yuri could picture the need of the man to go and see his old friend, to keep company, to comfort, to talk and everything that the situation involved. So he almost forced him to leave the place for as long as necessary -and after all, as he reminded him, he'd been in Japan without even saying a word to anyone, only to find Victor and he was barely fifteen when he did.

He turned the light on, letting his bag fall on the floor beside the old couch of the main room. The weak bulb stuck at the ceiling was moving a little due to a few wind entering the lounge while he was getting in, and the dark shadows of the fournitures were slowly dancing on the walls.

Pretty quickly, he took the first remote he found and pressed on the biggest button to turn whatever it was on. Whever it was the TV or the HiFi station, he didn't care. He just needed a noise, something, anything to fill the air and comfort him right now. It came up with the soft clap of a CD getting switched on, and the first song made him sudenly shiver, small goosebump covering his thin skin. It was playing the Symphony No. 9, 2nd Movement "Advent". Something so powerful that it made its way under his skin every time he was listening to this track, making his senses upside down. Every time, he couldn't help but let the pictures of that program he'd seen on that day.

Yuri sighed, again, and let his tired body fall on the old couch, cushions creaking under his weight.

It was Otabek's free program. Closing his eyes, Yuri tried to remember as best as he could the moces of the young man. Determination and power had been like overwhelming his body while dancing on the ice and somehow. Every time he was rewatching Otabek's performance on the DVD Yakov gave him with the full recording of the Grand Prix Final from last year.

When he was focusing on the man himself and not only his powerful body, Yuri felt a bit lost. He couldn't really get what was in Otabek's mind at that moment, when he was skating. Scowling so much, effort painted on his face and at the same time it was like everything was easy and running like water in the bed of the river, like each motion was the obviousness.

The second track started and it made him start a little. It was late, time flying so fast.

His room was stuck in darkness too, but the dim light of the street lamps allowed ran through the curtains and it was barely enough for him to find the way to his bed.

On the sheets, his hand slapped against the cold plastic frame of his laptop, closed in the middle on the bed since the morning when he left. Mumbling a little, the teenager took his phone out of his backpocket and almost jumped on the mattress, springs yelling under the sudden weight. Someday it was going to break, he swore.

Phone in hand, he pushed on the main button to light up the digital screen and pressed the easy code to give access. Since he left the ice rink, Yuri hadn't given a eye to his phone, but the amount of notifications wasn't something to really fear. The top bar of the screen was full of small icons featuring Twitter, FaceBook and Tumblr for the main part. The screen showed '148 notifications' and Yuri sighed, already sweeping them one after another. Fangirls were abusing of social medias when to him it was mostly a way to keep contact with people far way from him. Little by little, he'd lost track of them and only reguarly gave a small look at their online business when there was.

Amongst all the names he didn't even remember following, one suddenly got attractedtion and he stopped sweeping his screen with no care then pushed hard on the notification displayed with his thumb. It was a simple retweet of a picture taken during the Grand Prix and Yuri couldn't help but smile at it, even if it was a little embarrassing. Otabek was in the middle of the photograph with his thumb up, looking far from the rink he should have been more interested in as he was about to perform.

Yuri moved his thumb and index so he could enlarge the picture on his phone. Otabek wasn't at it at all and for a few seconds Yuri wondered what the young man was looking for. He was smiling softly, even on the blurr photograph he could tell from the soft dimples at the corner of his mouth. Then he remembered. Him. Otabek was looking at him, sending back his cheers from the bleachers. Yuri felt a bit curious at that memory, a soft and warm feeling filling his body as well and he couldn't help but smile too. With a strong pressure on the screen, he saved the picture in his phone. Humming softly, Yuri read the caption above the picture and bit a little his low lip. 'Thank you my friend'. Otabek didn't tag Yuri's account, didn't write his name, but Yuri knew who this was for and the warmth in his chest grew a little. But he only pressed the small heart beside, letting Otabek know that he had, at least, seen the tweet.

There was no other interesting post. Fangirls were writing comments everywhere they could and he didn't read all of them with a lot of attention. He knew it wasn't correct of him, but he wasn't one to act as if he was interested in omething when he truly wasn't.

Holding back a yawn, he simply wrote 'back from practise..............fuck' with a gloomy instant selfie in the dark of the room, only enlighted but the phone screen. Gloomy was quite the word, he told himself when he saw his own post in his Twitter timeline in a large size on his laptop screen a few minutes later.

He had nothing to do –maybe homeworks but he wasn't really in the mood. His knees still ache after the day and he was feeling like for once Victor was right about not using some moves and jumps before he's done growing up. Yuri knew that he shouldn't have yelled at Victor for such advices, but at the same time it was just the most frustrating thing ever, and he felt like...

A 'beep' made him start as he was already getting lost in his own thoughts and he went back to his screen and the Twitter notification page that indicated that blue '1'. Another 'beep' right away and he clicked on the '2' newly appeared.

Ota-bee @otabekaltin liked one of your tweets.

Ota-bee @otabekaltin : "like a princess, man"

Yuri gggled a liltle before suddenly stopping. It was a bit odd to laugh alone in the darkness of his room. There was still the sound of the music from the lounge but still, he was alone. He just smiled then, and clicked on the 'answer' link.

Yura @russiantiger : "listen to the BEE talking"

He didn't have to wait for long.

Ota-bee @otabekaltin : "Don't underestimate bees' power, you flower"

Yuri coughed at the sentence, unsure of how to take it. To be honest, he never knew how to analyze Otabek's words. Most of the time, he was making fun of him, or just clicking on the 'like' button under the few publications he'd made. But there, it was hard not to see a sexual content and Yuri spent a long moment starring at the screen, the words of Otabek especially, before letting go without replying. Not that he would reproach it to the guy, but he didn't know how to answer properly without sounding like some weirdo. Otabek was his first friend and he was already a huge mess when it came to simply write, let alone talk. The next hour was only made of a soft exchange of 'like' between the two of them on stupid retweets they were publishing. Every time Yuri was reading Otabek's name on his notification page, he was feeling like his smile would never left his face. It wasn't just because that nickname was the most ridiculous he'd ever read, and he knew it. He was big enough to understand those things, though it wasn't easy to completly figure out what he was feeling at the moment. The soft feeling wasn't gone by now, and for a moment he was scrolling down Otabek's page, watching his public timeline. Most of the time, it was his everyday life. His parent's puppy, a cat in the street (he didn't taf Yuri on this one, but there was 'I thought of you' above it and Yuri totally assumed have something to see with him, he hoped), his school, the ice rink...

That girl with that amazing smile and those dark eyes, that dark long hair. He had missed that picture, didn't know her face but for sure Otabek had taken this one. Yuri could recognize Otabek's street from all the pictures he'd seen until now, the front of his house, that tree a little farther, those red curtains behind the windows.

A 'beep' louder than the usual ones came and Yuri lifted his eyes up, raising an eyebrow at the private message twinkling. He opened with a slow motion of his mouse and stopped two seconds before eargerly clicking on the awfully stupid nickname.

Ota-bee : "Eeek sorry, wrote something weird before"

Yuri blinked, before getting back to their so small exchange. He tightened his lips into a thin line, trying not to smile too much. Otabek was always like that, saying silly things and then coming in private later to talk a little, whatever was his subject.

Yura : "It's ok"

Ota-bee : "Hard day?"

Yura : "kind of, Vic is boring"

Ota-bee : "Vic? But he's not your coach, is he?"

Yura : "He doesn't need to be my coach to be too much of a fucker"

Ota-bee : "Wow how rude ahah"

Yuri smiled, again, then gave a look at the clock in the corner f the screen. Twitter beeped again, getting his attention.

Ota-bee : "Hey flower!"

Yura : "wtf"

Ota-bee : "It's midnight! Happy birthday man"

Yuri let a second pass. Then another and another, until a full minute was gone and he barely noticed how breathless he was, teeth digging into his lower lip. Oh fuck. He was growing up, again, and it had to be Otabek the first one to remind him how time was awful. And at the same time, he couldn't help his smile to stretch from one ear to another, simply happy with the thought of his friend coming only to wish him a 'happy birthday'. He wanted to imagine Otabek smiling behing his screen while typing those few words but once again, he wasn't completly sure of what he wanted. He stared at his own fingers, softly shaking, and simply wrote "thanks".

He didn't need Otabek to care that much about it. He just wanted him to talk, to tell him about his day if he wanted to, to comment on the last photo he'd seen, the last performance he'd had, all the small things, even the most stupid.

Ota-bee : "go to bed dumbass, you looked exhausted on your pic"

Yuri frowned a little.

Yura : "hey what time is it for you?"

Ota-bee : "around 3"

Yura : "what, pm?"

Ota-bee : "na, AM, I'm not that far"

Yura : "YOU GO TO BED"

Ota-bee : "Cruel flower Yura!"

Yura : "fucking annoying bee"

Ota-bee : "gotta go man, night"

Yura : "night"

Otabek was quickly offline and Yuri didn't wait a second more before shutting the laptop off. This time, he didn't sigh, his mind too far away to properly react to everything. He pushed the laptop aside, before taking off his clothes and slide into his thick pajamas. He was cold, even after rolling his body in the sheets, despite the heater in the bedroom. It probably was because hewas so tired after that day, full of practise, full of fails, full of painful falls, and Yuri wasn't used to deal with failure. His flexibility wasn't terrible these months and it was slowly killing him. Yakov had to yell after him. He yelled, and it was actually the first time since he started skating, that someone had to do so. Ice skating was all he had –and for that reason, he never reproached Victor his behaviour and exclusivity toward their discipline, no matter how much he disliked it.

Yuri tightened the sheets tight around his shoulders, his face plunging as deep as possible in his pillow. Being alone had never been a problem untill now. He had ice skating and it was all that mattered. Because there was Victor around him everyday, but since the man had left for Japan and for Yuuri, things had slightly tended to change. At first, Yuri hadn't really got what was that feeling, Victor had always been like a father to him, always been here when he needed him to be.

But.

He never confessed anything to Victor, never treated him as he could have as a friend. Victor wasn't someone he would see as a friend actually. It was so much different. He was that paternal figure he hadn't with him. His grandfather woudln't replace the lost son, both them knew it and Yuri respected and loved the old man strong enough not to think about the loss and the dull aching in his chest. Every time he was failing to it, he made himself as busy as possible, burying in work, ice skating again and again, focusing on being the best, no matter if it made an asshole of him most of the time.

But.

He did feel lonely. And because of that, the hint of culpability was hitting him so hard, because he couldn't talk to his grandfather, to Victor, to any of those people he loved and trusted. He was alone, unable to speak, each day passing by without the possibility to say how he was feeling, how scared he was to get adult and go through life by himself.

He would never dare tell Otabek. Instead, he prefered focusing on how sweet was that feeling in his chest whenever he saw the young man's nickname on messages, comments, and various posting in his timelines. It just made him smile again and again, felt like his heart was wrapped into some soft and warm feeling again. And smile, smile again, alone in the dark gloomy room, until his only friend was offline, leaving him to his reality.

Today wasn't different, after all, and Yuri tried not to sink deeper in those dark thoughts, tried to remember that sweet feeling of shy hapiness at Otabek's clumsy words. And if it wouldn't change his world so much, it was better to imagine being liked, if not loved, by someone.

#yuri on ice #yuri plisetsky #otabek altin #otabek x yurio #fanfiction #puberty #yaoi

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