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oftenderweapons · 11 months

Text

In Your Calvin's | JJK

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x reader (nicknamed Candy)

Wordcount: 9.6k

Genre: smut, fluff, pwp, established relationship

Rating: 18+ Minors, do not interact

Synopsis: Being Jeon Jeongguk's girlfriend is a great honour, but it comes with great responsibilities. When the commercial celebrating your boyfriend (very secret boyfriend) starts playing on everyone's and their mother's phones, it's time you face what it means to be loved by the most wanted idol of them all.

Warnings: Jealousy and general possessiveness. Swearing. Powerplay, switch!reader, switch!jk. Masochist!jk (?). Marking (hickey, writing on body with a pen), hair pulling (male receiving), edging (male receiving), spanking (male and female receiving). Teasing. Mild degradation. Dry humping. A very mild boobjob. Breast worship. Unprotected foreplay, oral sex (female receiving; brief male receiving), unprotected sex (be smarter, kids), rough sex. Mentions of cockring.

One last thing: 1. this was edited at 3am, please bear with me. 2. Sidenote: I try to be as neutral as possible with the way I describe the girls' appearance, however I wanted to specify that in this fic, I mention Candy having long, straight hair (and huge badonkers, but that's kinda canon by now LOL). It's just a brief mention, absolutely nothing major and holds no relevance to the fic, you might not even notice it; but still, I wanted to make sure I thought about my curly haired goddesses, and short haired queens, (or a combo of both heart eyes) and that I apologise for making this fic just a pinch less immersive for you. (Is this the right moment to apologise to small boobs princesses too? ily sisters, itty bitty titty committee 5evah)

Here's my masterlist, lemme just disappear very quickly. Enjoy 💜✨

You knew Jeongguk had a gig with Calvin Klein. You've known it for months. You've seen him cut calories and hit the gym and dehydrate for a couple days before the shoot because he explained to you how muscle definition works, and crucial to showing a great slab of abs is being basically as dry as a breadstick, to the point of being cranky because you have drunk three glasses of water in the last forty-eight hours.

Which all means, you knew his stomach would be quite surely showing.

And yet your world still stops once you're merrily sitting on your train back home and his half undressed form appears on the screen on your phone.

At first you slam your phone shut, mostly because you're used to hiding your boyfriend away and that's the reaction you usually have when you open one of his flirty pics from your chat.

Next, you realise you weren't on your private chat, and you weren't even looking at pictures in your phone gallery.

You were absentmindedly scrolling. On Instagram.

You unlock your phone again, and right there you're confronted with the very naked truth.

Jeongguk. Is basically naked. On your phone. And it's for the entire world to see.

Your brain slows down, as if the earth axis is tipping over a little in the opposite way.

Something inside you snaps around the third time the video plays in front of your unseeing eyes. To anyone looking at you, you could be just an obsessed fan taking a close look at the fine piece of art, but your eyes are unfocused, your mind too deep in thought to register any stimulus from the external world.

The vibration from the phone awakens you from your state of trance.

“Candy, baby,” says the adorable lover boy calling you. “Have you seen it already?”

Your lips are sealed, and you can't quite bring yourself to speak, you don't know why.

“I'm on my way back home.” You say, and the words feel like cracking a glow stick in your chest.

“But did you see it?” His voice isn't as bright now.

“I'm coming home.” You repeat.

He's silent for a few seconds, and you can hear him sigh. “Okay.”

“He's so insanely hot,” you overhear a girl sitting across from you comment.

“I want to run my palms down the sides of his waist,” says her friend.

You stare at them and you know you must look like a woman possessed right now, but you still allow yourself to incinerate them with a glare, as if your eyes could turn into flamethrowers.

“Candy?”

“I'll be home in ten.” And you close the call.

On the way back home, you hear more people talk. More girls fawn. More women zoom in.

On the escalator, you notice a woman fanning herself while staring at the screen. Another one even crosses herself as the ad from your boyfriend reruns on her phone screen.

Every step on your way home is utter agony, and once you step over the threshold, you're not sure what you're going to do.

Jeongguk is in the kitchen in a sleeveless top, tattoos out, piercings glowing in the gentle light of the living room. And his hair is fluffy, which means he's probably just done blow drying it after taking a shower.

The fact that the scent of his body lotion is still sharp gives you further indication of how recent that shower must be.

“Hey,” he says, turning towards you with a bunny grin, which immediately dims once he sees your expression. “Oh. Bad day?”

You bite your lip and stare at him a fair bit. Then, a bit more.

“Candy, love.”

You don't know what to do with him. Is he yours? Is he really yours?

How come you come home to him making dinner, and being freshly showered, and being so domestic? How come you're living in his apartment, knowing his pass code, having an ID card for his apartment complex and his studio at HYBE? How come he gives you a copy of his schedule and talks about you over the phone on his weekly call to his grandmother and brings you to his parents' house? How come you go on trips together and you're the emergency contact to his fur babies and you make love two to four times a week? How come he's brought you to the town he grew up in and loved you down in the place where he lost his virginity because, "I wish it had been you since the very first time"?

Who is this man?

Is he Jungkook from Bangtan Sonyeondan? Or is he Jeon Jeongguk, your very own quiet, shy, reserved lover boy?

“You're scaring me,” he whispers, putting down his wooden spoon and taking a few steps to stand in front of you.

“Why me?” you ask, staring at his collarbones, too scared to look into his eyes.

“What do you mean?” he asks back, sheepish.

This time your eyes meet his. “Why me? Of all the women out there, why me?” You look down, taking in just how average you feel, every imperfection magnified in your eyes, now that you have so many people you're comparing yourself with, and competing with.

“Candy—” He starts.

“Everyone, everyone out there is literally foaming at the mouth at that commercial, and I'm here? I come home to you? I make love to you almost every night?” You pause and laugh bitterly at him. “I'm a fucking fraud.”

He shakes his head and moves closer, grabbing your wrists. “A fraud, you say?” He tuts in disappointment, places your hands on his waist. “You're not a fraud, ____, you're my soulmate.” He leaves your hands once he feels them clutch at his narrow waist.

Possessiveness hits you all of a sudden, and it is only mildly ebbed by his hands landing at the top of your ass.

“I love you, and I make love to you because it's a fucking dream. You're a fucking dream, and I'm so upset that you don't see it.”

You're jealous. You're simply jealous. It's human and it's healthy to be moderately jealous. After all the comments you heard and read, it's fair to be jealous.

“I reckon you saw the commercial.”

“I saw the commercial and everyone's reaction to it,” you comment, slightly acidic.

Jeongguk bends to place a kiss below your earlobe. “Are you angry?”

No. Not just anger.

Your hands mimic his and crawl to his lower back, toying with the hemline of his underwear. “I'm not mad.” I'm disgustingly jealous and I don't like them having more of what's mine. They already have too much, they've always wanted too much and you always give it to them and I'm furious that it's not mine alone.

Jeongguk wears a mischievous smile as he makes you take several small steps back, the back of your legs hitting the kitchen counter. “Do you like it?”

You click your tongue and shake your head. “No.”

The reply startles him, and he feels his mood dim. Did he—

“I'm not a jealous person, but this… God, this hits a new level,” you finally admit. “They already drool over you quite enough, and now they even have a video of you shirtless. How would I not be jealous!? Half the girls would have snapped your neck. If Yoongi ever did this, Kitten would have his balls dangling from her Mercedes keychain. I don't even know how Lace and Princess are handling their boyfriends naked on everyone's phone. If I were Tae I would seek political asylum in Greenland. Or maybe Tibet.” You take a large mouthful of oxygen before you launch yourself in another tirade.

“Everyone's talking about grabbing your waist, licking your abs, tugging at your hair and shit and hi! I'm here! I'm the girlfriend! Sorry I exist! WHAT THE FUCK!?”

Jeongguk laughs and lowers himself to your chest, kissing where your heartbeat echoes like a crazed war drum.

“It's not fun!” you complain, significantly agitated.

“Mh.” He hums as he moves aside the hem of your shirt, meeting the soft, smooth skin of your chest. “It was supposed to come out on your birthday, that's why's a bit more racy,” he explains more patiently. “But they decided to release it early.” He kisses a tender spot and your left knee tingles a little. “It was supposed to be a slightly too public boudoir shoot. But secretly it was just yours.” Jeongguk finds the cup of your bra and stares up at you as his fingers reach the hem and slide the fabric aside. “I was thinking of you when I made it.”

And once his mouth wraps around your nipple, your right knee starts tingling too.

“Must admit I had to push the limits a lot to finally make you jealous,” he purrs once he is done with the licking, sucking motion of his mouth around your tender flesh. “But I'm sorry I crossed the line.”

What line? You think, your brain already hazy. No sharp line exists in the world you’re currently in. Just the loving, plush hills of Jeongguk's lips, the slippery slopes of his waistline, the sinuous curves of his hip bones leading you to his pelvis, and the soft curls of his luscious dark locks. No crossed borders, only gentle waves licking the shore, water and land embracing one the other.

“Remind me who's the boss here, Candy,” he says, and you know he's playing you right now. “Remind me where I belong.” His mouth is at your ear as he whispers, “Show me who owns me.”

The tingles are spreading as his fingers grab at your ass, his lips connecting with your jaw. “Talk to me, Candy.”

You’re not sure you can articulate words at this moment. Talking isn’t as easy as everyone makes it seem.

His eyes connect with yours and he can tell you’re staring at his lips by the poetic detail of your lashes lowered over your cheekbone.

It makes him chuckle, very gently, that he has all these details of you he adores, and that you have the audacity of asking him why he picked you, and why he keeps choosing you over and over.

He loves you, his family loves you, his dogs love you. This is the way it’s supposed to be.

His finger reaches underneath your chin, forcing your eyes to actually meet his. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he purrs, and as your lashes dart up, he shakes his head a little, loving the way you arch up a fraction, as if pulled towards him. “There she is, beautiful.”

You feel completely neutralised. Disarmed. All the storms brewing over you a minute ago are forgotten as soon as his sweet smile shines like sunlight above you.

His hand combs your hair back, cupping your cheek and landing a kiss on your temple. “Are you feeling better?”

You nod.

“What mood are we in?” You’ve asked him this question thousands of times since the two of you became serious, ever since he opened up about feeling too closed off to make a relationship work; and now, the fact that it was such a solid, valid ritual in your dynamics made it natural for him to ask too. “You need to talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I’m better. I…”

“Tell me what you want.”

You stare at him, at his shoulders, at his biceps, you trace his tattoo with your fingertip, and he looks closely at your finger, at it drawing swirls and circles on his skin.

“Pick me up,” you say softly.

And he does, immediately. His biceps flex and he grunts a little, not at the weight, but just because he knows the sound can make your toes curl, and he likes that a lot. His hands are wrapped around the back of your thighs, then they adjust to your bottom.

“Next? Counter? Bed? Shower?”

You kiss him. Impatient, and needy, you kiss him.

He opens up for you without hesitation, moaning at the sweet invasion of your tongue in his mouth. God, he loves it. It makes him melt, to feel your tongue slip against his, moving wet and sloppy, your lips plush and hot pressed up against him. He loves kissing you. Actually, he loves making out with you. He’s pretty sure he could come of that alone, and he tries to remind himself you have to give that a try. Another day.

He places you onto the counter because he fears his knees might give out on him. And once he has you there it means his hands can roam all over you and grab your chest and toy with—

“No touching,” you snap at him, gripping his wrists and pulling his hands behind his back.

His eyes go wide at the shift in pace, but he obeys. He also feels like he's awakening from a dream only to find out reality can be so much better.

You dig your hands in his hair and he hisses a little as you tug gently, but still roughly. You think of all the people who wish they could do just so as you stare into his eyes, seeing just how turned on he gets as you manhandle him.

You lean towards him and you notice him trying to kiss you, but you tug at his hair harder, holding him in place as the heat of your exhale fans over his parted lips and his chin.

“You want me to own you?” you ask him, watching his muscles twitch as he fights the urge to grab you and put you in place.

He nods. “Do me all the things no one else can.” He has a roguish smile as he adds, “Do me everything they won't ever, ever do to me.” And he is god of deception when he finally tips you over the edge. “Do me everything I want just from you, and you alone.”

You watch him intently, then tug at his hair so that his head is angled upwards, throat vulnerable and exposed.

He's staring at you with a mischievous glint in his expression, a walking temptation, and you can almost hear him say it, 'come on, do it'. And you do it.

You bend forward and sink your teeth in his flesh, the tender skin caving in as your bite marks him softly before your cheeks move into a suctioning motion that you know will turn into a bruise. It just pleases you so.

“Take a step back,” you order as soon as you're happy with the hickey. “Take off your shirt.”

And he winks before he does. You watch the plain of his chest, the valley in between his pectorals leading you down to his navel.

“I hope you're wearing your Calvin's,” you tease with a cocked eyebrow.

He smirks. “Always in my Calvin's.”

You snicker and shake your head. “Take off your pants.”

His forehead scrunches up in surprise, but he eventually obeys.

He's standing in a pair of socks and his white boxer briefs. At least he didn't lie, they are Calvin Klein.

“Do you want—”

“The Calvin's stay on,” you sentence, then you descend from the counter. “Head over to the bedroom. I'll come over in a minute.”

He stares at you, flabbergasted.

“Oh, and I almost forgot: don't touch yourself. Settle down, hands on the headboard and wait pretty.”

He blinks, unsure of where this is going to end or where it came from, but so blazingly grateful for it.

“Okay.”

You give him a quick once-over as you stand in front of each other. His abs are toned and defined, but now less alarmingly than the days before the shoot. His thighs are strong and you love how the material from the boxers wraps around them comfortably and smoothly.

You dare stare at his crotch, at the way the fabric traces the curve of his length, so perfectly long and so perfectly thick.

You allow your fingertips to trace the curve of his spine, so lightly that it causes him to close his eyes, his head inched to the side as he shivers in pleasure.

“Can I be rough with you?” you ask him, your hand reaching the small of his back and cupping the curve of his ass.

He moves his hands on you the exact same way you did. “Maybe I like pain,” he suggests, and from the collection of tattoos and piercings, but mostly from the supercut of memories of him getting bitten, spanked and scratched by you, you’re reminded that you’re not dealing with the edited version of him he has promoted publicly.

This is your boyfriend. Jeongguk. Your Jeongguk.

You sink your nails into the flesh of his ass, and he hisses but smiles, pulling you closer, swaying his hips to tease your crotch with his. “Go get ready, babyboy,” you croon.

He hums invitingly and kisses your neck, trying to get you to move with him, but you’ve made up your mind already.

“Go,” you repeat.

He pouts and grabs your hips. “Come on, what are you trying to do?” he asks, his brow furrowed, his eyes dark and wide and imploring for you to just follow him and spare him whatever cruel surprise you want to use against him.

You grab his wrists, making him unclasp his hands. “Go and you’ll find out.”

He hesitates and then he faces away, still reluctant, turning around a couple times on his way, checking if you’re following him — perhaps, maybe, hopefully…

Yet, you don’t move, not until he turns the corner to the bedroom. And then you make your way over, slow, unbothered.

And you close the door on him.

You head to the bathroom, wash up quickly, and equally quickly you cover yourself in his favourite lotion, taking special care of your neck and chest. Once properly buttered up and covered in nothing but pretty Calvin undies and his favourite Calvin jeans jacket, you’re ready to attack. But you stare at yourself in the mirror, and you feel like there’s still something you could do to give him a heart attack…

Oh, that, you think. And you get to work.

Apparently he has behaved, as you find him lounging in bed, with his boxers still on, his hands laced behind the crown of his head, a fine slab of abs in full glow from the dark amber hue coming from his led lights.

“Are we on a sunset gold kinda vibe— Holy shit.” He didn’t manage to sound as cool and aloof as he’d tried to be once his eyes landed on you.

He wished he could take a picture of you and spread it across town, just so he could stare at it while waiting for a bus, or hanging out at Hongdae with his friends, and excitedly point at it while tipsy to holler “that’s my fucking girlfriend, that fine piece of ass fucking owns me”.

He wished he could put you on an album cover and fill it with all the insane stuff you do to his heart and his mind and his body. How his heartbeat does a little hiccup thing when he sees you first thing in the morning, and how he’s spent every wish on fallen eyelashes over you, and making you happy, and building you a house and having fireworks for your wedding night, and having all his fans seeing just how incredibly fantastic you are to him, how you make him so happy and deliriously smitten and barely coherent when it comes to talking about you, and just… He just wants everyone to love you half as much as he does.

And maybe for you to be only ever in love with him, so he doesn’t risk anyone thirsting for you enough to steal you from him.

“What were you saying about golden lights?” you ask, climbing on the bed, your hand modestly holding the lapels of his jeans jacket together — it’s not time to destroy him yet.

“I— I…” He tries to sit up, but you push him back where he belongs with a well-placed hand pressed to the middle of his chest.

“Put on the red lights, love.” You grin devilishly, watching his doe eyes glimmer with wonder and disbelief.

“Have I ever told you I am one lucky motherfucker?” he says, staring at your neck, at your face, at your hand, his palms already moving to your hips as you straddle him.

“I just know it.” You sit on your throne — his lap —, stretch to the end table to grab the remote to switch the lights to red, and once the deal is settled, you let the jacket open. “I mean. I’m the luckiest because I have these, but considering you profit from them… You know…” You let your breasts show.

“I know…” he says, entirely mesmerised. God, he is so easy, you think, watching his eyes scan your chest like a cat playing catch with a laser light. You mix your standard level of charm with a slow grind of your hips, so slow and gentle that it’s straight up teasing, torture at its blandest level.

“You make it so hard to think,” he speaks with a strangled voice, trying to make you move the way he wants, but you grab his hands with the excuse of lacing your fingers with his, only to drag them back by the sides of his head.

“I didn’t know I could turn your brain into mush just like this,” you reply, feeling your folds moisten in an attempt to ease the sliding of your crotch against his length. Too bad both of you are still clad in your underwear and, according to your plans, would stay that way for quite a while, as long as possible. “You’re so whipped.”

“I am,” he purrs, and tries to get away with moving his hands back to your hips, but before he can dig his digits in the soft of your flesh, you tut.

“You’d better not touch that ass, Jeon. Keep your hands to yourself if you want my hands on you,” you threaten. “Just to remind you who’s in charge, sweetheart.”

His eyes go wide and he moves his palms back behind his head as soon as you finish your remark. “Yes, miss.”

“Good boy,” you praise him, and you visibly notice him holding back from smiling at the praise. “Did you see my little mark?” you ask. “Call it a slog

an of sorts. A vision statement.” You shrug and push back the lapels, hoping for the lights not being too low for him to see.

It has taken a while for your handy work to happen, mostly because it can be absurdly tricky writing in reverse, but thankfully you’re quite prone to graphic arts.

Jeongguk rises a little, getting closer to where he can recognise dark scribbles on your chest. Unusual dark scribbles.

“Is that… Tattooed?” he asks, and his eyes go wide as he meets your face.

You cackle at him, leaning over and licking his lips, sucking his lower one, then travelling along his jaw, nibbling at his earlobe in a way that makes his hips jolt against you, buckling. “I can't have that tattooed, can I? Unless the world knows and it gets a little too permanent.”

He frowns, not at the way he loses contact with your warm crotch, but because of the unwelcome realisation of what it means to not belong to you entirely. “I'm so sorry,” he sighs, trying to hold you, but stopping his hands before he can touch you.

He goes back to his assigned position and begs you with his eyes.

“Oh, no. Don't worry, it's okay.” To keep him distracted, you get back to a soft roll of your pelvis against his, and he seems to oppose, but it only lasts for maybe five seconds.

His wound-up exhale convinces you to reward him further, lowering your chest so that it drags against his as you keep grinding on him.

“Jeongguk, baby,” you murmur fondly.

“So unfair… That I don’t get you like a girlfriend like anyone else…” He speaks, his focus spotty and frail.

“What do you mean, love?” you egg him on.

“All the public stuff… All the PDA and the grand gestures. The stuff that makes it official, you know.” His eyes are glassy and fleeting as he speaks, and it really feels as if speaking were like making a necklace except he can’t quite line up the beads the right way and he can’t manage to get the string inside the hole and it takes a very long time for the words to finally turn into meaning and it’s all so frustrating.

“I don’t care,” you reassure him, and this time you’re not unaffected either, the sentence stumbling out of you before you can even fully register the meaning you were trying to convey. “Can you read the tattoo, Guk?”

His eyelids lift through great effort, and in slow motion. You stop moving to help him focus on the writing, and he grunts at the interruption. He does not like that at all, and having you so close, so soft, so hot and wet for him is making his instinct vibrate with need to be inside you, move inside you, and then finally find his release in the welcoming darkness of your womb.

“I—” He’s really trying so hard, god bless his heart, but he’s so unfocused and his vision is blurry and he needs to blink for a bunch of seconds before he manages to spell the message, and then compute it, and then smirk wildly before he bucks his hips up against you, letting you know that you’d better move on him.

“What is it, Jeongguk? Mind sharing with the class?” you bait him with a cheshire grin.

“Not sharing any of this,” he growls, and you can feel his arms jolt at the urgency to wrap around you, press you to his front and shove you underneath him, so that he can finally move as hard and as fast as he knows the both of you need.

“Oh, don’t be a greedy little boy! Don’t you want to test how it feels to say it?” you tease him further, ready to push him to his breaking point. After all, that is what you’re always trying to do, get as far as it needs to make him go wild on you, barely coherent and entirely animalistic.

“You want me to say it, don’t you?” he provokes you, feeling just how much the humiliation will further send you soaring over him.

“I do,” you admit.

He bites his lip and you look at him, you study the shape of his lips, the glint in his eyes, the dark shimmering of his lovely ebony locks, and the way his chest heaves with effort and arousal. “These tits own Jeon Jeongguk,” he speaks, his gaze piercing yours, holding you accountable for the undoing he knows will follow.

“That’s right, isn’t it?” Your smile is sardonic, evilly pleased with his admission of submission, with him confirming, with conviction, that he is indeed entirely enslaved to his fascination for your chest, that he is so deeply enticed by it that just a silly part of you can guarantee you his unflinching devotion.

“You know it’s right,” he grunts as your movements resume. And at this point, he knows this is going to take a while, and it will most surely turn out vicious.

“Just checking in on you, making sure you haven’t found a better pair—”

“Don’t you dare talk to them like this. Not in front of me,” he hisses with a passion, and you chuckle at how chivalrously he defends your breasts from your own ill assumptions.

“That’s so gallant of you,” you reply, your hands pulling his hair back, your tone fond and just vaguely lined with mocking. “Let them repay you for your kindness,” you suggest, as you start crawling down his body, your breasts landing heavily on his lap.

“Really…?” he asks, first distracted and then extremely alert as he connects the dots. “With my boxers on?” He says with a frown.

You shrug and smirk. “Maybe we’ll get rid of them later…” You sprinkle some kisses on his abdomen, your chest dragging against his sensitive parts.

He frowns at the weight of them, so welcome, and yet deceiving as the fabric is hindering him from fully enjoying the act. “Please, off,” he huffs, tutting and fussing a little, but you decide to reward his patience with your nails tracing patterns against his chest, your fingertips drawing his areolae, your eyes hungry on his lost, bewildered state.

“Not yet, love… Be patient with me,” you reassure him, tracing the rift in between the crests of his hips, one side, then the others, ricocheting between the bones on the two sides. “I’m going to make it so good to you,” you promise him, placing kisses all around the underrated perfection of his belly button — a huge ‘fuck you’ to the people salivating over him and never, ever knowing how such a minuscule inch of his body has you so irreversibly whipped.

“Candy… Mh, love—” His voice has grown unbearably raspy and airy, so light it feels almost incorporeal, if it weren’t for the velvet smoothness of his skin underneath your lips, like marble that has finally received the breath of life, your boy an ineffable Galatea.

“If you knew, Guk, if only—” kiss— “you knew—” kiss— “how sexy, and erotic, and exciting and poetic you look right now, baby. You look like art.”

“Lemme touch you, I need you, I need—” he gasps and you’re almost expecting him to release a groan before he comes, way too early, much earlier than planned. But fortunately he doesn’t, he holds back stoically and cants his hips away. “For fuck’s sake,” he whispers, an arm covering his eyes. “I need a second if you need me to hold back.”

“Oh,” you reply in surprise, lifting yourself off him. “Are you alright?”

“Just give me some quiet for a second, Candy, don’t you dare even speak.” Jeongguk’s chest is rising and falling in wide movements, enticing and captivating.

Finally he removes his arm from his eyes, but he barely makes eye contact.

“Guk?” You ask, worried.

“Just— I’m trying to keep it cool here, love.” He wiggles his body a little, trying to get his boxers to fit a bit less tightly around him. “We should be smarter about this, you know?” His hands clench as he stops himself from reaching for you. “We should get a cockring for next time.”

You ogle him, then smile excitedly. “Really?” you chirp.

“Totally,” he concedes. He smiles even bigger at your smile. “Don’t tell me you bought one already.”

“Uhm… No,” you admit with a pout.

“Dammit. It would have been weird, but I wouldn’t even have complained about it since it would pretty much save my ass right now.” He licks his lips, stares at you some more, and he groans and throws his head back at the renewed flare of arousal after he’d just managed to tone it down a notch.

“I’m so sorry, bunny.”

“I’m alright,” he admits, his tone defeated.

“Is this the right moment to suggest I ride your face?” you say, your grin now sardonic, almost drunk on him and the sight of his body shutting down for you, malfunctioning at the mere touch of you.

He stares at you, wide eyed, nodding energetically, like a kid being asked if they want to visit Disneyland. “Guess it took a half naked commercial to get you to finally ask for it like you own it.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Careful or I can keep going with torturing you. I’m liking it anyway.”

“No no no, come over here,” he says with a stern and determined expression on his face, his hands reaching for the back of your thighs. “I’ve been waiting. Get comfy,” he encourages you, and after some manoeuvring you settle on top of him.

He nods to himself, his nose nuzzling against the crotch of your panties, his mouth opening so he can feel your heat with his tongue, trying to get as close as possible.

Unsatisfied, his fingers reach to slip your panties to the side, but you slap at his hand.

“Nope. You wanted the Calvin’s, and we’re keeping the Calvin’s,” you scold him.

He frowns. “No, you were the one wanting them,” he argues. “Keep them on, you said.”

“Whatever.” You arch an eyebrow at him, but you also know he’s right and this decision has come to bite you in the ass. “Imagine how good it will feel once we take them off… And it feels a bit kinky to keep them on. Like… Like we’re having a quickie and everyone out there is waiting for model Jeongguk to come out anytime now, but once he does, well, he looks freshly fucked and everyone can’t stop talking about it— Oh, that!” you moan, your musings interrupted by Jeongguk trying to get bits of you in his mouth.

You’re thankful for the brazilian cut panties giving him plenty of stuff to work with even with the underwear still on.

“Stop me if it’s lewd but, dammit, I love the smell of you.” He drags his face side to side, basking in the damp, salty scent of your arousal. “I don’t even know what it is about it, but I like it so much.”

“Keep doing whatever you’re doing,” you comment, your voice breathy.

“Do you want me to keep talking?” he asks, and you just rub yourself against his chin, his mouth, and his words come out muffled. At some point you think you might have hurt his nose, so you ease the pressure a little, but he grabs handfuls of your butt and keeps you snug to his face, parts his lips wider as if he were really trying to eat you.

He parts from his designed heaven only long enough to announce, “I’m pushing ‘em to the side, fuck it.” And you’re barely coherent, and he’s speaking with that intimate lisp of his, his accent heavy, like he can’t pay too much attention to words anyway.

You don’t oppose.

In seconds, his tongue is tipping inside you, slippery, and so hot, and you moan without even noticing it. Everything is soaked, his chest is covered in perspiration, and so are your thighs.

You dare look down, and his eyes are closed as he is filling all his other senses with the sensation of you.

You bask in the sight of him, one forearm draped against the headboard of the bed, your other hand reaching down, to his fluffy hair currently tickling your inner thigh. You grab it, careful to be right between gentle and aggressive, in that way he finds so pleasant and sexy.

He opens his eyes suddenly, and the moment he finds your eyes already connected with his face, he finds himself more eager to give you just what you need to plunge into oblivion.

He gives you lush, slow licks, from your centre to your most sensitive spot, he takes his time, and moves into more sinuous motions, drawing curve after curve on his way up. He is unrushed, patient, and eloquent. He is luxuriant, explorative, curious.

He loves what he’s doing, and he loves you and he’s showing it, top to bottom, and all the way up again.

“Guk,” you breathe out, and it’s almost a hiccup.

“Yes, I know,” he murmurs against the bend of your inner thigh, right at the fold to your crotch. It’s so private, so sacred. It’s heartbreakingly yours and his and no one else’s. You’re in a shared space where nobody else can tell what you and him know.

“Please,” you manage to say.

He rearranges his arm so he can move two fingers along the seam between your legs, and then they’re inside, and he’s moving them right, rubbing them against the back wall of your entrance.

As you tip your body forward, he moans with his mouth to your clitoris, happy with the new angle, and once you start grinding against him, climbing your way to your climax, he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t go faster, he doesn’t add pressure. He does not change one single thing, and you’re so grateful for the way he has come to understand you, your body, your tells.

“Just right,” you encourage him. “You’re so damn perfect, love— Oh, there.”

That’s the last thing you can remember saying before he sets you off like fireworks. You don’t take much into consideration after that. All is fair, unless he’s holding you back.

You grind, hump, moan, thrash just a little as you get too sensitive and fold in two, your forehead pressed to your wrist on the headboard

as you shake your head ‘no’ but can’t bring yourself to stop from feeling everything he wants you to take.

When you manage to recover, you whisper, “Okay, gimme a second.” And you try to unstraddle his face, but he holds you there, and simply avoids touching your sensitive parts, removing his fingers from inside you.

“Are you alright, Candy?”

You nod and take some large breaths.

He moves your panties back in place, then kisses your mound softly, affectionate, innocent even.

“Can I do anything for you now, love?” He asks with a reverent, caring note in his voice.

You shake your head, still recovering. “Can I lay on top of you?”

“Sure thing,” he says, unlatching from you and leaving some room for you to realign with him, face to face, torso to torso, hip to hip, calf to calf.

He’s still hard as marble, and the gentle grind of your pelvis against his causes him to groan softly.

You press your lips to his to distract him.

The jeans jacket you’re still wearing gives him something to ground himself, his focus aimed entirely at the feeling of the fabric underneath his fingers instead of the humid warmth of your crotch pressed against his.

Just then, you bring your heels underneath your ass, rising to your knees as you swiftly remove your upper garment.

The way his focus moves immediately to your breasts makes you cackle a little, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“Candy, you’ll have to get that tattooed.”

“Nah, too dangerous. They might tell on you.”

He frowns. “You’re right,” he still agrees. Too dangerous. You’re dangerous to him too, and there are not many chances of him keeping some form of dignity if he could at any time see a tattoo calling him out for his undying liaison with your chest.

He catches your wrists, making you lose your balance so that your torso collapses onto his. And he keeps you there, wraps you up in his arms.

“Still jealous, love?” he asks you.

“More than ever,” you admit, and you look into his eyes, recognising the feeling pooling in them.

“I'm only yours,” he swears, kissing the side of your head, whatever he can reach, and it's so tender, so innocent, so magical. “What can I do for you?” he whispers, flirting with you.

You wrap your hands around his forearms and bring them up above his head. “No. I want to do things for you.”

You press your lips to his gingerly, then start to kiss down, tracking his throat and moving further downwards, to his chest, stopping where his heart thumps against the petals of your lips.

“Beats so hard for me,” you comment lightly. “Do I make your heart race, love?”

“You do, Candy,” his reply is strained, as if it hurt to speak at that moment.

“But I—” You let your nails tickle the flat of his waist, the elastic band around his hips— “I also make your dick hard, don't I?”

He moans eloquently, then chuckles at your teasing. “You so do,” he admits, embarrassed but also excited, and so so thankful for having found you.

You grab the waistband of his underwear with your teeth, letting it slap against his skin with a dry snap. “Grab a pen from your bedside, will you?”

You look up just in time to catch his eyes flickering open, his expression coming to life slowly. “What?” he asks, confused.

“A pen, from your drawer,” you repeat.

“Oh.” He had been too unfocused and he hadn’t realised you were talking to him, as if the words were just sound with no meaning; however, now he’s paid attention, so he stretches to the side, exposing the slender twist of his waist to your reverent mouth. You kiss him there, his body contracting as your lips attack his ticklish spot.

“You’re a menace,” he complains, giving you the side eye, but also offering you a boyish, loving smirk.

“And yet, you love me.”

“You’re lucky,” he says, right before you nip at his skin in reprimand. “Okay, I am the lucky one,” he concedes, returning to you with a pen in his hand. “You want this one?” he asks.

You nod and stretch for it, then peck the mole beside his navel and make your way down.

His underwear by now is bitterly persona non grata, still you make yourself okay with it and simply move the elastic down, exposing his hipbone more fully.

“What you gonna do?” he muses, propping himself up and staring at you bent over his pelvis. You look at him and prepare the pen, staring in his eyes as you suck at your bottom lip, torturing it a little as you think.

“Are you gonna mark me? Sign me up?” he asks, a mocking grin on his face.

You move the pen away and loll your tongue out, drawing a thick stripe following the shape of him in his boxers.

He immediately drops his cocky act and arches up, sensitive, holding on barely.

“You think you’re so smart, huh?” you scold him provokingly. “Remember where this is all coming from,” you remind him threateningly.

He gasps as your mouth sucks his tip through the fabric, your nails tracing the indentations of his quads.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You’ve got me.”

You nod to yourself. “I do,” you say, patronising just in the slightest. And because you can you rise, remove yourself from the way, and pull at his hipbone, trying to flip him around.

He’s alarmed, but he follows your lead. You straddle the back of his thighs, bend down, and move his underwear down, the elastic stuck under the fold of his ass, further emphasising it. It looks plump and delicious, and for a moment you’re caught admiring him.

He’s twisting his neck to try and see what you’re doing, filled with wonder at the way your hair tumbles over, and he’s mesmerised by the shine of it, the softness of the tips, like a brush, whispering at his skin.

You pick the right spot, then settle down, folded over his glute. His skin is hot against your touch and when you finally bring the pen to his flesh, you hope it won’t fail, despite the perspiration and the soft surface.

Shamelessly, you draw the words like an inscription on a stone.

Poetic, and dirty. Just the way you like it. However, you don’t give him the benefit of knowledge.

You lean back, watch your little handywork with a surging of pride and love and confidence. You smack it, just because you can, not hard, not soft either, just sweet enough that it doesn’t feel like a violation doing it without asking his permission first.

His muscles squeeze, and his breath catches.

Because I can, your brain keeps telling you, over and over, like a mantra. You’re allowed to. He’s yours and you’re the only one allowed to.

“You’re getting confident with this,” he comments, and suddenly your eyes are meeting.

He looks like something you would paint. Something you would dream of, and then wake up and sketch down in the middle of the night, caught by some sort of frenzy, some urgency mixed with an impending fear of forgetting, of losing it. Losing him.

“I’m gonna draw you.”

He doesn’t connect the words for a bunch of seconds. Not until you’re standing up and running out of the room and he asks himself, why, why the fuck is she leaving?

“Candy?” he calls, unsure.

He tries to see what in the world you’ve written on his ass, but you’re making your way back in the room, tablet in hand, and your steps are bouncy and your tits follow the movement so his attention is divided.

“What— Where—?” He’s confused.

And then you’re perched on the armchair at the corner of the room, and the light from your tablet reflects on your face, and you look spirited, caught by some urgency he can’t quite find a name for.

“Candy, for the love of—”

“Just a bunch of minutes. A quick sketch, no more.”

He’s been patient. He’s been understanding. He’s let you tease him, and he’s let you touch him, lick him, suck him. He still has your taste all over his face and chin and he still feels the phantom touch of your breasts against his crotch and all he wants is to feel you on him, around him, against him.

“Please,” he whines.

“Just a minute.”

He swells. Frowns. Thrusts his hips against the mattress.

“Almost—” you say, drawing a couple more lines.

You’re in his arms next. “Put that down, Candy.” His face is right above yours and he’s carrying you bridal style. “Put it down,” he repeats.

You're very still. He's looking at your quick sketch, at the way it was all a rough frame and some basic lines. “You're gonna post that? Share it as some fanart instead of a live portrait?” He throws you on the bed and you clutch your tablet harder, trying to save it from any damage. He's on top of you next, grabbing the device and moving it to his drawer before he returns upon you, blocking your wrists above your head.

“Are you maybe going to draw it faceless, so you can sell it as a picture, to decorate somebody's house?” He bends to your ear and nips at the side of your neck. “Let my ass hang naked on someone else's wall?”

You feel overwhelmed and surprised by his counterattack, not really knowing how to react.

He drags his body against yours, stealing a whimper from your lips. “I think you enjoyed topping a little too much tonight.” He flips you onto your front next, and you find yourself only mildly embarrassed that he's made only one tenth of the effort it had taken you to flip him.

He slaps your ass, and it is nowhere as playful or light as the spank you'd given him. It is his turn to grab the pen.

“Let's see if you can walk the talk, Candy. If you like the taste of your own medicine,” he muses, and he bites your ass cheek, bending over to start writing, but accidentally finding himself unable to resist the urge to sink his teeth in your plush flesh.

“Since I'm not a selfish asshole, I'm gonna tell you what I'm writing. Here we go, 'This ass likes spankings from Jeon Jeongguk'. What do you say? Is it true?”

You're panting, wiggling in his hold, trying anything to see the possessed look on his face. “It's true,” you admit, breathless.

He smirks and lands one more hit on your ass. “Damn right it is,” he says confidently.

He tugs your underwear off harshly, almost angry.

Soon he's naked, and so are you, and he's slipping inside you while you're still on your front, your hips arched all the way up, cupped by his hands. “Let's make this fuck more fun than your drawing, huh?”

And when he starts, goodness, you want him to never, ever stop.

He's ruthless, and he only asks if you're alright once, after three strokes. After that, all's fair, and he's ramming inside you in a way that makes you gasp and arch further, trying to get him even deeper, to an even better angle.

You can't really look at him, since you'd risk a kink in your neck, but he doesn't care. He only cares about his handwriting on your ass, and his name on it. He only cares about the way you're gasping his name, and sometimes, when he slams in at the right moment, the impact causes too much of your breath to come out, so the whispered begging gets punctuated by moaned-out, hiccuped syllables.

He smacks your ass a few more times, his hand tingling, but the spanks seem to make you happy, so he doesn't stop, and he doesn't complain either.

“You're jealous of me, Candy,” he manages to speak, slowing down just enough so he has more of your attention. “Do you have any idea how jealous I am of you? How hard it is to feel like you want to own me half as much as I want to be yours?” He's on his knees behind you, and his thrusts grow more patient, more luscious. Richer and fuller. “Sometimes I'm scared you'll leave me, and someone else will get to have all the wonderful sex I get to have with you. Someone else will get to see your face first thing in the morning, and become a character in your cartoons, and talk about you with their granny, and bring you home for New Year's.” His face collapses close to your shoulder. “What will I do with myself, then?”

You turn your face and you finally get to see him. “Flip me around,” you order him, but your voice is fond. “I want to look you in the eyes while you fuck me like no one else has ever.”

His hair is fuzzy with his perspiration, and his face glistens with a light sheen of sweat. “Sure?” he asks, in confirmation.

“I'm sure,” you comfort him.

He's only happy once you're below him, and he's on top of you, inside you.

You clench around him, and he frowns deeply, trying to control himself. Still, he gives a sharp jab with his hips, and it steals your breath.

“Like that,” you praise him. “I want you to fuck me like that. Like no one else can.”

His eyes stay wide open, stubbornly nailed to yours as he starts moving. It's hard and slow, and it makes you see stars.

“Do you still feel like drawing?” he provokes you, “Or am I fucking you good enough?”

You hiss and bite his arm, both to keep him humble, but also, again, because you can — and nobody else does.

“Maybe I could get on top of you so you can watch my tits bounce, and maybe that will make you want to draw,” you bite back, and next thing you know you're both sat up, you're on his lap and he's bouncing you on his dick.

“Definitely feeling inspired right now,” he concedes. “Maybe I should stop and paint them.”

You push him down and he's finally with his back to the mattress, you on top. “Or maybe you could shut your mouth and get busy so I can cum.”

The slap lands almost immediately on your ass. “Dirty mouth. And a fucking divine cunt,” he speaks through gritted teeth.

He lets you lead for about thirty seconds, during which he stays occupied with your boobs, grabbing them, slapping them, pinching your nipples, and then he grabs your hips and stills them.

“Touch yourself,” he orders your roughly before he starts fucking up from below you.

It escalates quickly from there, and in less than a minute you're gone, collapsing forward, against him, and he's so thankful because he's coming too and your kegels are squeezing him just right, and he only manages to say “fucking yours” before he abandons all his inhibitions and loses himself inside you.

You come back to reality only, and you find yourself tucked in his embrace, his body above yours. You don’t know when he flipped the two of you over, but you like his weight on top of you.

“Hey,” you murmur, combing his hair away from his face.

His expression is lazy and satisfied.

Well done, you tell yourself, almost giving a pat to your own shoulder. He looks fantastically fucked, deliciously edible and perfectly yours.

“Hey you,” he replies, with the most heavenly, blissful grin on his face. No, too tired to be a grin, more like a glowy smile. It’s not fully on, it looks like those battery-operated lights when they’re almost out of energy, a bit faded, or maybe pale. Faint, feeble, dim. Soft. Muted. If his bunny smiles were jewel tones, this was the most delicate pastel pink. A powder baby blue, almost robin egg blue.

You want to wrap yourself in the hazy glow radiating from him, gentle as a sunny dawn in late May.

“So glad you got those Calvin’s,” you joke, and there it is, bunny grin, ten million watts. Apparently that makes his battery die because his head collapses to your neck and he doesn’t seem willing or ready to lift himself back up.

“So glad I made you jealous. But also sorry,” he says, truly apologetic. “I’m happy we did this. I’m happy I saw you like this.”

His lips tickle the side of your neck, and you squirm a little, but you try not to move too much. You want to be comfortable for him to rest on. You want him to stay like that on top of you forever. “I’m still maddish. But I think I can deal with it.”

“There’s more pictures coming,” he says tentatively, and he makes the effort to pick up his head to give you a helpless look, trying to protect himself already by giving you the sweetest pair of puppy eyes he’s ever used on anyone.

“Oh, I’m totally getting your ass branded,” you reply, saccharine. “I was thinking I could make those ribbons, like the ones the police use, except I put my name on it and I wrap it all around your chest, so they can’t drool all over your abs.”

He laughs, and the sound is boyish and playful, and lovely. You fall in love a tiny bit more.

“Can I see the pictures in advance?”

He hums as he thinks about it for three seconds, except he already knows how he wants to play it. “Mh…” he says some more, keeping you on your toes. “No.” He looks up, testing you. “But let’s say I hope you get that cockring ready.”

You pull your head back, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re not naked in your Calvin’s, right?”

He grins, gives you a devilish wink. “Maybe.”

You grab his cheeks and squeeze his face and he laughs so hard you can’t be possibly mad at him for even a nanosecond. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“And your tits will be it for me,” he flirts back.

You shake your head. “Brat.”

And he kisses you. Just that.

Before he hits the shower the following morning, Jeongguk inspects the damage you’ve done on him.

He’s quite happy with it. A very faint bruise on his neck. A red splotch on his abs, and another on his hip, but nothing that won’t fade within one or two days. He knows you know the drill by now.

He turns around to inspect his back, and he’s okay with it, nothing that will get him in trouble in case he needs to be shirtless or generically undressed around staff members. He drops his underwear and it’s only once he’s making his way to the shower that he notices something strange on his asscheek.

Oh, fuck. Suddenly reminded of your little handiwork with the pen the night before, he bends to the side, trying to get a better view at his ass.

He finds himself wobbling side to side, like a silly puppy chasing his tail, and that is exactly the way you find him when you enter the bathroom.

A laugh bubbles out of you and you smack his butt playfully. “Do you need help with that?” you ask, cheery.

“No,” he bites back, but he has the most innocent, pouty look on his face, and he is having fun a little. “Maybe,” he concedes, his voice young.

You wrap your arms around him and rise to your toes, propping your chin on his shoulder as you hug him from behind. “I wrote, ‘Candy’s babyboy’.”

His ears go red, just the tiniest bit. “Really?” His expression is so sweet.

“Really,” you confirm, confident, serious, and loving.

“You’re not making fun of me,” he asks, vulnerably.

“I promise I’m really, really not, Guk.” You kiss his shoulder. “You’re my babyboy. And my sexy man. And just mine, generally speaking.”

He nods, a happy, fulfilled look on his face. “Right.” He’s once more confident. Entirely adult.

“Love you,” you reassure him again, and then you kiss his shoulder, again.

He grins. There he is, your boy. “Love you too.”

Hi it's Dita, the writer, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment to keep this poor gremlin fanfic writer motivated. Bye and I LOVE YOU!!!

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook one shot #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x candy #jungkook x yn #jungkook au #bts x reader #52 hertz #bangtansorciere #btswritersclub

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theladyyavilee · 20 days

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after thinking about it all day now I am insane enough to make it into an actual post, sorry for just copypasting my own tags, but alas xD

this was in response to this post about how buck probably didn't even realize at first how close tommy and he were standing, because him and eddie always stand this close which SO FUCKING TRUE, I just spiralled a little frome there

#but do you also think that NOW the next time he DOES stand this close to eddie he will notice?#DO YOU THINK NOW THAT HE KNOWS HOW CLOSE CLOSE IS AND HOW EASY IT IS TO BRIDGE THAT DISTANCE#HE WILL ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS BE AWARE OF EDDIE BEING THIS CLOSE TOO AND HAVE A TINY PART OF HIMSELF WAITING FOR EDDIE TO REACH IN THE SAME#WAY TOMMY DID BECAUSE REALLY ISN'T THAT THE LOGICAL CONCLUSION TO EASY CLOSENESS LIKE THIS#and like *screams into hands some more* WE KNOW that eddie steps in super close next episode#we know he touches buck#and it isn't the chin it is his shoulder and hip#but really that only makes it more insane#and maybe eddie isn't thinking anything of it because they HAVE always done this THIS IS WHAT THEY DO#they have always stepped close and sought out each other's bodies and touched and just generally had a pull towards each other#but on god I cannot see a world where now buck isn't aware of it in a totally new way#do you think eddie steps close and reaches out to touch him and buck flashes back to tommy stepping close#do you think the feeling of fingers on his chin and fingers on his neck start to blur?#do you think he feels eddie's grip on his hip and for just a second he wonders if there is gonna be a pull that pulls him in unexpectedly#the way that tommy gently pulled his chin towards him? how it was both unexpected and something that he had secretly deep down been hoping#for and been TRYING to provoke by stepping closer himself by swaying closer by stepping in#do you think that for just a moment all of these things blur for buck?#and that has never happened before but HOW are you supposed to ever forget now that you have these new associations#and you have to realize that oh maybe they are not so different from what I have always had#how do you deal with that? with how suddenly suddenly something you have always had has this new meaning and you can't unsee it#but you also can't have it and you have to lock that down because with tommy it already felt like risking everything but in an exhilarting#way#but like this? oh like this the risk is TERRIFYING

the more I am thinking about this the more insane I am feeling? because then I remembered that in the stills from 7x5 we know Eddie has his hand on Buck's side from the way the fabric pulls and EDDIE NEVER TOUCHES BUCK LIKE THAT, he usually only does the shoulder grab! which by itself is insane enough

BUT

BUT THEN

we know from the 7x4 stills that even though we did not quite see it in the episode because of the use of close-ups, tommy too had his hand on Buck's side during the kiss/in the aftermath of the kiss, THE SAME HAND ON THE SAME SIDE VERY LIKELY IN THE SAME SPOT

like? WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS KNOWLEDGE OTHER THAN SCREAM?

the fact that they have eddie touch him like this specifically after tommy touched him like this, when he normally doesn't do that? making Eddie mirror Tommy's touch? FUCKING INSANITY

OF COURSE it'll blurr in buck's mind for just a second, there really is no way it doesn't, sensory memory is SO INSANELY STRONG, oh I am going fully insane over this

#9-1-1 #911 spoilers #evan buckley #eddie diaz #tommy kinard #buddie #kinkley #my meta #911 meta #I am #fully losing it over this sorry guys #also more quietly obsessed with the way Eddie holds Buck #compared to how closely tommy has pulled buck #almost a little keeping a distance #holding buck gently but at arms length #holding him in a way that really lets him look at buck #probably mostly in a way that is because he is being insistent about buck HEARING him #but there is just also a very quiet note of something else to it that has my brain whirring

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writing-intheundercroft · 4 months

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The Perfect Gift - O. Gaunt

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

Word Count: 4,129

Rating: T

Summary: Ominis overhears the girls talking about some singer, and decides to write MC a song for Christmas. Sebastian can't help but be his wingman.

A/N: @darch7995 sent me a song and I had to write something fluffy and happy for Ominis! Listen to the audio HERE. Merry Christmas!

Ominis Gaunt was rarely stopped in his tracks, but once he’d heard the low warbling coming from the gramophone, he halted, holding his hands to his ears. He hated the insinuation that his blindness enhanced his other senses, but he did have impeccable hearing, and the song emitting from the sun room next to the Charms classroom had his ears ringing.

“Isn’t he just so dreamy?” Poppy sighed.

“Clarence Warbeck is my favorite singer of all time.” Leonora Everleigh declared. “I would listen to him all day if I could.”

Ominis rolled his milky blue eyes, ready to walk into the warm, sunlit room to say something snarky, until he heard her voice.

“I think he’s quite the romantic,” she said. His dear friend had a lilt in her voice towards the end of her sentence, as if she hadn’t finished her thought.

“You mean easy on the eyes?” Leonora teased.

She let out a laugh that had Ominis shivering, stumbling behind the column to avoid them seeing him.

“I just think music is quite lovely.” she mused. “And a song? I think that’s the sweetest gift a person could ever give.”

Ominis bit his bottom lip as he blushed. That was valuable information, he thought, especially with the holidays approaching. The wheels started spinning in his mind as he imagined a song, especially one about her–

“Oh, hi Ominis!”

He blinked, turning towards the voice. His friend had seen him, and now he had nowhere to hide.

“Hello, ladies.” Ominis said smoothly.

“Come to take a nap in the light?” Poppy said kindly. He blushed again; clearly his napping habits were quite public knowledge at this point.

“Come over,” his friend beckoned him closer. “We can sit on the cushions, if you’d like.”

“If you insist,” he stuttered.

Ominis awkwardly scampered over to the sound of her voice, settling down on the various plush cushions that were set on the floor. He felt her sit down next to him, tucking her feet under herself as he splayed out on the floor. One of the many cats that lived in the DADA tower slid against the two of them, purring.

“Comfortable?” she asked softly, the sound of the music dulled by her voice.

“Very,” Ominis hummed. He settled onto the cushions, his head falling into her lap. She continued her conversation with the girls as he drifted into a light sleep, the crooning of Clarence Warbeck filling the background noise.

Ominis and Sebastian sat at the Slytherin table in the great hall; with the holidays quickly approaching, most students were busy packing their trunks for the journey home. The Hogwarts Express was departing Hogsmeade station for the holidays the next morning, but per usual, Ominis and Sebastian were spending the holiday at the castle. As Professor Ronen decorated the Christmas tree, the boys sat at the table, loitering before dinner.

“And honestly, I took that quite personally. So I don’t think I should have gotten a detention for setting Leander on fire, he was the one who was in my way…Ominis, are you paying any attention to me?” Sebastian asked, eyebrows quirked.

Ominis rolled his unseeing eyes, waving off his best friend. “Yes, yes, something about nearly giving Leander Prewett third degree burns because he looked at you funny in potions again.” he said lazily, waving his wand again. His eyebrows were furrowed as he waved his wand again. His dictation quill scratched out a few words on the parchment in front of him.

“What are you doing?” Sebastian asked, narrowing his eyes at the many pages in front of his friend.

“Nothing,” Ominis said hastily, snatching his pages together before Sebastian could get his grubby hands on them.

“Why so secretive?” Sebastian asked, clearly intrigued by the change in Ominis’s attitude.

“It’s none of your business,” Ominis sniffed. “Back off.”

From the blond’s biting tone, Sebastian knew it was in his best interests not to press. However, his best interests were rarely ever actually on his mind. Lurching forward, Sebastian snatched a piece of parchment from Ominis’s hands, taking glee in how the blond panicked.

“Each year I ask for many different things–”

“Sebastian stop,” Ominis panted. “It’s not funny.”

“But now I know what my heart–”

“Sebastian!” Ominis screeched, nearly ripping the parchment from his best friend’s hands. “Stop it, I’m begging you.”

“What in Merlin’s name are you writing?” Sebastian laughed, watching as his normally impenetrable friend reddened, pushing the wrinkled parchment into his bookbag. “Is that a poem?”

Ominis’s face was bright red. “It’s a song, if you want to know so bad.” he scowled.

Sebastian’s face softened. “I didn’t know you were back at the old piano again.”

It wasn’t common knowledge that Ominis was an accomplished pianist. Mrs. Gaunt had insisted every child in the Gaunt family mastered an instrument, and he’d spent most of his childhood dreading piano lessons. Despite his initial disdain, Ominis had taken quite well to the instrument, and it became a hobby. Once he was at Hogwarts, he’d slip into the music room every now and then, practicing his rusty skills whenever he was under duress.

“It’s for a gift,” Ominis mumbled.

“Pardon?” Sebastian asked, now grinning. He had an idea of Ominis’s motivation, but wanted to hear the words from the boy himself.

“It is a Christmas gift,” Ominis hissed. “For her. Are you happy, Sebastian?”

“Blissful.” Sebastian leaned into the table, tucking his chin in hand. “This is rich–you’re writing a song for a girl.” he crooned. “How sweet, Omi. What gave you the idea?”

Ominis gave him a rude hand gesture, sparking laughter from the brunette. “I overheard her talking with Poppy and Leonora about that singer–Clarence Warbeck–and how they loved his songs.”

“Right, the prat who sings all those cheesy love songs the girls are obsessed with.” Sebastian noted. “Isn’t he doing a show in London over the holiday break?”

Ominis gave him a dry look. “Precisely. His lyrics are…uninspired, to say the least. And I was already thinking of what to give her for the holidays–you know she’s impossible to shop for. The girl has every piece of clothing known to mankind, every potion, book, broom at her disposal. I thought to myself, she deserves a song. You know, something actually personalized to her.” he said sheepishly.

“Well, I think it’s very kindhearted of you.” Sebastian said smugly. “Are you admitting it then?”

“Admitting what?” Ominis feigned indifference.

“Your crush on her.”

“Could you be any louder, Sebastian?” Ominis hissed. His hands flew to his temples as his best friend chortled next to him. “I just–”

“Just writing her a lovely, romantic song for the holidays.” Sebastian snorted. “Oh come on, I’m just teasing you. I think it’s great; you never play the piano, so it must mean something special.”

Ominis felt his face flush; despite his disdain for Sebastian in the moment, his best friend was right. Ominis had minimal experience with the fairer sex. The concept of romance was lost on the Gaunts, choosing to pair their children in arranged matches to bring honor to the bloodline. He’d never even imagined the idea of dating someone until she’d arrived at Hogwarts. Their friendship had gotten off to a rocky start, thanks to the freckled heathen sitting next to him, but the events of their fifth year had only drawn them closer to one another. What had started as an admiration for her bravery turned into a funny twist in his stomach whenever he heard her laughing. As of late, it had gotten so unbearable, Ominis had turned into a blushing mess whenever she sat next to him in class.

“Speak of the devil–she’s coming in.” Sebastian murmured. “Hide your sheets, then.”

Ominis heard her footsteps draw closer and closer as he hurriedly shoved his parchment back into his school bag.

“Hello you two,” she said sweetly, standing next to them. Ominis could smell her perfume wafting towards him, still smelling like the sweet scent of strawberries in the dead of winter. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” both boys said in unison.

Despite his blindness, Ominis could almost sense the arch of her brow. “Alright, weirdos.” she chuckled. “I have good and bad news.”

“Do tell,” Sebastian said.

“Good news, Leonora’s mother surprised us with tickets to Clarence Warbeck’s show in London!” she said gleefully. “I was going to stay in the castle for the holidays, but Leonora’s parents decided to surprise her early so she could bring friends, and she invited me to join!”

“O-oh.” Ominis said, feeling his heart crack in half. “So you’ll be gone, then?”

“Yes, well that’s the bad news, you see. I know it’s such late notice, but I hope the two of you won’t be cross with me,” she said wistfully. “It’s just such a good opportunity, and I’ve never been to a real show before–”

“Of course we’re not mad,” Ominis interjected. “If it makes you happy, we’ll be happy for you.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you understand,” she sighed in relief. “I am going to miss you over the holidays, I hope you know that.”

Ominis pursed his lips. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sebastian chuckled. “I’m positively bereft you’re leaving us.”

Despite his inner turmoil, Ominis knew she was excited for the opportunity to visit London. It was silly of him to write the song, he thought; he was no great wordsmith, nor half the performer that Clarence Warbeck was. He felt a pit of jealousy in his stomach as he pictured her singing and cheering for him in a crowd, waiting for his autograph at the side door to the theater–

He was broken out of his thoughts at the feeling of her kissing his cheek.

“Don’t miss me too much, Ominis.” she said kindly.

“I’ll be counting down the days until you’re back,” he said softly. Realizing just how lovesick he sounded, he quickly covered with a cough. “Can’t forgive you for leaving me with this one,” he elbowed Sebastian, who yelped in return.

She gave a sparkling laugh, which brought warmth to his cheeks once more. “I’ll try to see you before I leave tomorrow.” she promised, her voice getting further and further away as he heard her walk towards the door.

The boys were silent until they heard the door properly shut.

“Lots of talk, use of the word we,” Sebastian noted. “When you’re the one supposedly preparing a love song for her.”

“Shove off,” Ominis mumbled. “I knew it was a stupid idea.”

“Don’t say that,” Sebastian assured him. “You can give it to her when she’s back.”

Ominis knew he was right, but he was rather hoping to give her his song over the holidays. He’d already spent so much time planning his confession, and her leaving for the holiday was a major setback. Ominis wasn’t sure he could muster up the confidence to play his music for her again, let alone with a castle full of other students who might walk in on them.

“Whatever,” Ominis sighed.

It had been a few days since the train had departed for London, taking her to London and far, far away from Hogwarts for the holidays. Ominis had since retreated to the music room nearly every night, wishing to be alone. It was late, and Ominis was seated at the piano again. His long, lithe fingers softly danced across the keys, playing the tune he’d written for her song. Under his breath, he mumbled the lyrics; deep down, he didn’t really want to be alone, but she had been the only company he’d desired. He imagined her, standing at the Clarence Warbeck show, swaying to the lame lyrics with her girlfriends, and it made his piano strokes a bit heavier and angrier than he’d wanted them to be.

He was so lost in thought, he hardly noticed the sound of skittering feet approaching the music room. It wasn’t until the door burst open that he stumbled over the keys, lifting his wand to identify the intruder.

“Sebastian? What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” Ominis barked.

“She’s–Ominis, they–show got canceled–she’s here,” Sebastian rambled, panting for air.

“What are you even talking about?”

Sebastian took a big gulp of air. “The Clarence Warbeck show got canceled,” he breathed. “She caught the train back to Hogsmeade instead.”

Ominis blinked at his best friend. “She’s here?” he said, voice strained.

“Do you have your song written?” Sebastian demanded.

“Er, yes–I was just finishing the melody.” Ominis admitted.

“That settles it–you have a song to deliver then, Ominis.” Sebastian said proudly. “I can grab her, if you like–”

“Are you insane?” Ominis gaped. “It’s not–I’m not ready!” he panicked.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “There’s a piano, you have your lyrics, what aren’t you ready for?” he asked.

Ominis began wringing his hands. “But it has to be romantic,” he wheezed. “And this isn’t romantic at all. For Merlin’s sake, I’m wearing pajamas!”

Sebastian was quiet for a few moments; Ominis could tell the cogs were moving in his best friend’s head. The brunette snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it!” he said gleefully. “The perfect idea.” He could hear Sebastian’s boots scuffling around him, muttering under his breath.

“What are you doing?” Ominis asked curiously.

“Candles.” Sebastian said simply, muttering a conjuration charm. “You’ll need a lot of candles, girls love them.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you know that,” Ominis scowled, standing up and raising his wand. He could sense Sebastian conjuring dozens candles, setting them around the piano.

“And you–you should change into something a little nicer.” Sebastian tutted. “Not that your pajamas aren’t cute and all, but you’ll want to look your best.”

“I know that,” Ominis rolled his eyes. However, he couldn’t contain the flutter of excitement in his stomach. “Are you suggesting I change now?”

“Run down to the dungeons, I’ll take care of the room.” Sebastian assured him. “Ambiance, by Sebastian Sallow.” he joked.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Ominis said earnestly.

“Get fewer girls, that’s for sure.” The brunette snorted.

“Don’t start.” Ominis warned him, backing up towards the door.

“Is that any way to treat your personal elf?” He didn’t need sight to know there was a smug grin stretched across Sebastian’s face. “Go on, get prettied up. I’ll be here, getting everything prepared.”

“I know you can’t see yourself, but you look quite dashing.” Sebastian hummed. He adjusted Ominis’s tie, the blonde slapping his hands away in return. “Don’t be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” Ominis lied. “What’s to be nervous about?”

“I dunno–the fact that it’s nearly midnight and you’re about to host your first solo concert to the girl you’re in love with.” Sebastian hummed. “I know I had some mistletoe around here somewhere…”

“Hello?” A feminine voice called out. “Is anyone there?”

Ominis slapped Sebastian’s arm. “She’s here!” He hissed. “Get out!”

Sebastian yelped in response; Ominis straightened his waistcoat as he heard his best friend stumble across the music room, his boots clacking against the stairs.

“Ominis, are you in there?” Her voice sounded nearer, about to turn the corner into the room.

He gulped, twirling his wand rather anxiously at his side. “I am,” he choked out. “Do come in.”

He could hear her delicate footsteps as she walked into the music room; first quickly, and then stopping in her tracks. It felt like eons before her feet picked up again, taking slow deliberate steps towards him in the corner, next to the piano.

“Sebastian sent me an owl, saying it was rather time-sensitive.” she said hesitantly. “That it was an emergency.”

“That twat,” Ominis grumbled. “It’s not an emergency, per say, but I did want you to meet me here.”

“So no one is dying, gravely wounded, or in need of protection?”

“Did he say that was the issue?” Ominis choked.

She snorted. “Rather implied it was a life or death matter.”

Ominis scolded Sebastian in his head, rolling his eyes. He’d have to set him straight later on.

“I wanted to ask you to come meet me here,” Ominis chewed on his lower lip. “Because I knew you were quite disappointed when the Clarence Warbeck show was canceled.”

“Oh, right.” she said quickly. “Yeah, Leonora was a bit upset over it, and I didn’t really have any other reason to be in London, so I caught the train home.”

“Well, with that being the case, I thought this was a good time to give you your Christmas present.” Ominis swallowed thickly.

“Omi, I thought we weren’t doing presents,” she said, her voice slightly panicked. “I haven’t gotten you anything–”

“This,” Ominis interjected, pointing his wand towards the piano. “This is the present.”

She paused, clearly confused. “The piano? The one that’s always here in the music room? I mean, thanks Ominis, but I doubt we can steal the school piano–”

“No,” Ominis groaned. He tugged her hand towards the bench, gesturing for her to sit next to him. “This is the present. Me–er, rather, a song for you.”

There was a pregnant pause as she slowly slid into the bench next to him. Her shoulder bumped into his, and he could feel the ends of her braid tickling his skin. They’d never sat so closely before–not under the pretense of anything other than a friendly afternoon nap in the corridor.

“You wrote a song for me?” she asked, her voice suddenly small and subdued. “Ominis, I didn’t even know that you could play the piano.”

Ominis set his wand down on the piano’s ledge with shaky hands. “I did–I do play the piano. I learned when I was younger,” he admitted, his fingers finding the ivory keys. “I’m actually quite good, if I do say so myself. Sebastian tells me I am too.”

“You’ve played for Sebastian, but not me?” she scoffed, a playful tone returning to her voice.

Ominis began playing the tune he’d written, the one he’d memorized in a matter of days just for her. “I only share this with people I love,” he said softly. Realizing what he’d just said, he coughed quickly to cover his blunder. “Like my friends. Anne, Sebastian, and now you.”

She rested her chin on Ominis’s shoulder. “Well, go on then. Let me hear it.”

“And you won’t make fun of me if I’m a lousy singer?” Ominis asked, feeling the back of his neck heating up.

“I would never,” she reassured him.

Ominis began singing; he could hear her breath catch as his voice echoed in the room. The words tumbled out of his mouth as his fingers danced across the keys. Despite not having his wand in hand, he started to feel more confident as his tune went on, his voice only cracking slightly when he felt her soft hand on his leg.

So just please fall in love with me, this Christmas

There’s nothing else that I would need, this Christmas

Won’t be wrapped under a tree, I wish that this would last forever,

So kiss me on this cold December night;

They call it the season of giving; I’m here, yours for the taking

I’m here, I’m yours

The notes trailed off, Ominis’s fingers lifting from the keys. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands; in his nervousness, he clenched his fists in his lap.

“I tried to copy Warbeck’s style,” he gulped. “Since you like him so much. I overheard you talking with the girls last week, that you thought a song was the sweetest gift a person could give.”

“You listened to me,” she murmured.

Ominis squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to articulate his feelings. “I…I’m always listening to you. I want to make you happy.” he wrung his hands together.

“Ominis, this is…the song…” she trailed off.

“Do you hate it?” he asked nervously.

She threw her arms around him; he yelped as she squeezed him tight.

“How could one hate a song so beautiful? This is my favorite Christmas gift I’ve ever received, the most perfect gift.” she gasped. “No one has ever written me a song before.”

Ominis sighed in relief, blushing as he found the courage to wrap his arms around her waist, hugging her in return. “I’m glad you liked it.” he murmured into her shoulder.

She pulled away, pressing her small, warm hands against his cheeks. “Liked it? Ominis, I loved it!” she exclaimed. “I never knew you had such talent. You need to play more often for me.”

Ominis smiled as he pressed her forehead against hers. “Well, now that you know, I’d be happy to play for you whenever you’d like.”

Her warm hands left his cheeks, falling to hold his hands. There was a brief pause; he could tell she was chewing on her lower lip.

“The lyrics,” she murmured. “You…you mean them, right? They’re not just lyrics?”

Ominis took in a sharp breath as her fingers entwined with his. “Well, Mr. Warbeck is quite forward with his feelings in all of his songs, so I thought I should do the same.” he whispered. “I wanted it to be romantic, and all I could think of wanting this Christmas was you.” he confessed.

“I thought so,” she mused. “So you would like me to kiss you?”

Ominis blinked rapidly, his cheeks burning hot. “Only if–” he started to say, quickly cut off by her lips pressing against his.

She smiled against his lips, and Ominis melted into her touch. His hands cradled her face while she held onto his forearms, keeping him close. He whined softly as she pulled away, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Only what?” she asked.

“If you mean it, truly.” Ominis fought the smile that tugged on the corner of his lips. “I hope you do. Or I guess in this case, did.”

She laughed; the melodic sound of her giggles rivaled even the sweetest of songs. Her chin dropped to his shoulder again, and she nuzzled closer.

“You didn’t need to write a song to capture my heart, Ominis.” she breathed. “It’s been yours for a while now.”

Ominis went slack jawed. “What?”

“Why do you think I caught the first train back to Hogwarts?” she nudged him with her nose. “I wanted to be back here, to spend Christmas with you, Ominis.”

“But the show–Clarence Warbeck–”

“He’s a good singer,” she laughed. “But he’s not you.”

Ominis surged forward, and she yelped when he pressed his lips against her face, slightly missing her lips. No matter; she chuckled again, angling her face to meet him perfectly. One of Ominis’s hands tugged her closer at the waist, the other trailing up to her soft, strawberry scented hair.

“I love you,” he admitted, rubbing the tip of his nose against hers.

Just as she was about to open her mouth in response, the two heard a cough from the rafters. They jolted apart, Ominis nearly falling off the bench to maintain a proper distance from her in case it was a professor.

It wasn’t–he could hear a familiar voice huffing at them.

“Can I come down now?”

Ominis furrowed his eyebrows. “Sebastian, what the bloody hell are you still doing here?” he gasped.

“Well you didn’t give me much time to get down from the rafters,” Sebastian complained. “I was trying to hang the mistletoe for you two.”

“Get out!” Ominis groaned, while she laughed next to him on the piano bench.

Ominis could hear Sebastian’s snickering, and the familiar beat of his steps as he ran out of the music room. He groaned, his head falling against her shoulder.

“So embarrassing.” he muttered into the fabric of her shirt. “I can’t believe he heard the song.”

“Not at all,” she cooed. “Wouldn’t quite be a moment between us without Sebastian interrupting, would it?” she pressed a soft kiss against his hair. “Play the song for me again?”

“Only if I get to kiss you more.” Ominis whispered.

“That can be arranged,” she said coyly, tilting his chin up towards her. She adoringly pressed kisses against his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and then finally his lips again. Pulling away, she leaned her head on his shoulder once more, sighing happily as his fingers started dancing across the keys again.

“Happy Christmas, Ominis. I love you too.”

Those four words were music to Ominis’s ears. He played the song for her over and over again, his voice more confident every time he repeated the lyrics. The fourth time he repeated, she stopped him, kissing him breathless.

“Saw the mistletoe,” she whispered against his lips, slithering her arms around his waist. “He managed to hang it after all.”

Grinning into her kiss once more, Ominis reminded himself to thank Sebastian.

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt fan fiction #pianist ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt x oc #had to do a happy ominis piece somehow

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norrisleclercf1 · 8 months

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Nando/Carlos is 😍😍😍

Have you listened/seen the interview with Nando where they at some point talk about having a family, and he is kind of sad not having that? So you think Carlos/female would bring it up some time during a quite date night, that they want to give Nando the family,with kids and everything - and how would Nando react? 😊

A/N: I never once thought about Fernando and Carlos together but now I can't unsee it. They're oddly perfect for each other

You knew it was the one thing he really wanted, but racing was his life. His back was broad as he leaned over your niece playing with her. She would be staying with you three for a couple of days. Carlos was in love with her, loving the way she was attached to Fernando the most.

She gurgles a mess of sounds, Fernando nodding along as he helps her play with her little blocks. "Yeah, that's it." He kissed her head as she smacks her hands. "Help me with dinner?" Carlos asks, poking your side. Smiling you turn around nodding as you take one last glimpse of your husband and niece.

It's silent for a little bit, the sound of Bluey soon fills the room making Carlos and you giggle. "Do you think?" You start but Carlos just turns, nodding his head. "I'm ready, I'll always be ready for you two. But it's you that needs to be ready." "I think I am." Carlos smiles.

"What are you two doing?" Fernando asks, voice high pitched as he bounces your niece who giggles. "Fuck, give me the baby." Carlos groans taking the sweet girl from him. "What? I didn't do anything wrong." Shocked, but Carlos wouldn't admit that his own metaphorical ovaries were bursting at the sight of Fernando and the baby.

"Fernando, Carlos and I have been talking." His face falls, straightening up, clearing his throat. "Okay, about what?" You can tell he was growing anxious, he kept fiddling with his facial hair. "Do you want to start a family? We can move back to Spain and have children. With us?" Fernando stops, you can see everything run through his head trying to find the words.

"Yes, god yes. I'll always say yes." He bursts pulling you into him, hugging you. "Carlos had to take the baby away from you because," "You looked fucking good and like what is it fans call him?" Calros asks, unable to find the word. "A DILF?" You laugh, Carlos nodding at that.

"Well, I figured I already was with you two. My babies." He teases pinching both your cheeks. You niece squeals, practically flinging herself out of Carlos's arms to Fernando. "Now, let me get some practice in. Yes that's right little one, you'll have a cousin. Mhm." Fernando baby talks, heading back to the living room.

"Yeah, he's going to be killing us." You mummer but Carlos smiles. "But, he'll look fucking hot." You burst into laughter going back to cooking dinner. "If you could, you'd be the pregnant one wouldn't you?" "In a fucking heartbeat, babes."

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dizzycoffee · 2 months

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Oh my gosh I love your writing!!! After reading the Vox x Angel Reader I was just "Wow so cute!"

And then I got this idea from it

What if Vox just can't do anything anymore or just say a simple "No" to (Female Angel)Reader without them using there puppy eyes on him ALL of the time even at times they don't do it intentionally

Like we just act a cute puppy once we are getting yelled at we just give our owners a sad puppy eye look and make them do what we want XDD

— Vox / Angel!Fem!Reader; Headcanons Part 2

KSGDHG thank you sm !!! this dynamic is honestly so much fun to write !

for the first post, click here !

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･ HEADCANONS ･*:.｡..｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

While Vox is still a bit hesitant to put a label in the relationship, the two of you definitely act like you're in a romantic one

A committed one at that, seeing as how you made it very clear you have no interest in anyone but him

He, on the other hand, makes it clear by the way he never refuses your requests

Usually, he's quite compliant when it comes to you asking for physical things

If you asked for anything, he'll gladly fulfill your needs

You're thirsty? Here's a water. You're cold? He's brought a blanket with him. You're tired? Please, lie down and he'll turn the lights down to make it easier to rest

There are two main instances in which hesitates with your requests...

Vox pulled the blanket over you, smiling to himself as he watched you yawn. "Go ahead and sleep, angel," he whispered. As he began to move away, your hand reached for his. Your touch left him buffering for a second, turning his head to look over at your pleading look. Despite the now darkened room, your eyes still shined amidst the darkness. "Can you stay with me?" you asked in a soft tone. Swallowing thickly, Vox felt himself hesitate for a moment. He obliged, slithering into bed next to you. Naturally, your wings wrapped themselves around him.

When in comes to more emotional / intimate requests, he finds himself a bit reluctant

Not because he doesn't want to— no no, he LOVES to cuddle you and all

It sort of comes back to his inferiority complex and how he doesn't want to end up corrupting you

He loves you, so much he's scared to hurt you in any way

He can't unsee how your hands feel so soft against his claws, the way your angelic wings warm his cold and stiff body

He feels he isn't meant to be loved by an angel like you...

You, on the other hand, don't particularly care whether he's an overlord, a demon, etc.

You don't necessarily hate his hesitance, because you understand that he's still struggling to come to terms that this whole relationship is okay

But you don't fully tolerate it, especially when all you want to do is kiss him

You developed this specific habit for him whenever he starts to hesitate or begin to think negatively

Vox cleared his throat, "You want... more kisses?" You held back a sigh, understanding that he was beginning to overthink things. You looked up at him, letting your eyes widen as your brows twitched into an expression that left him flustered. You pout your lips as you say, "Please, Voxy? For me?" It didn't take more than a second for his lips to be attached onto yours.

Emotional intimacy aside, he also hesitates to fulfill your requests whenever you visit while he works

The way he hardly gets any work done whenever you visit during work hours,,,

A soft hum left his lips as he kissed you, his claws gently caressing your cheek. He couldn't get over this overwhelming warm feeling you gave him. Your hands gently tugged at his shoulders as you peppered his lips with your kisses, his own hands running down to your hips to pull you further into his lap. "Vox?! We have a meeting!" The two of you jump, eyes flashing towards the locked door of Vox's office. "Fucking Val..." Vox mumbled before turning to you. "Sorry, angel. We'll have to cut the visit sho—" "But you promised we'd be together all day..." Like a switch, your previously flustered expression flipped to give him the puppy-eyes. He inhaled sharply, claws beginning to dig into your side. "I'm busy!" Vox yelled back out to Valentino. Ignoring the groans and complaints from behind the door, the two of you returned to your longing kisses.

#vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel vox x reader #vox headcanons #vox x reader #vox x y/n #vox x you

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worriedvision · 2 months

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You're related to his foster parents - Wriothesley

Angst, spoilers for Wriothesleys story. Reader doesn't know they are the biological child of Wriothesleys foster parents, and they have always wanted to know who their parents were.

In this fic, think of the foster parents and you looking the same.

"Are you sure you want to know who your biological family are?" Neuvillette asks you, clearly hesitant. "Your parents were...not parent material."

You thought nothing of it when Neuvillette said that, assuming your parents were perhaps thieves that chose the wrong house. Perhaps even deadbests that left you at an orphanage.

When you met Wriothesley, you always felt attached to him. When you start dating, you felt like he filled a missing hole in your soul. He understood you wished to find your biological family, hell he was curious at times himself!

Once you discovered Neuvillette had something that could help you find out about your parents, you jump at the chance - Wriothesley reassuring you it would go well.

Unfortunately, you should have listened to Neuvillette's clear warning, as you open the letter to see your parents there.

The people that took in Wriothesley, as well as quite a few other children, just to sell to the highest bidder.

"Why did I not live with them?" You ask Neuvillette, him taking a deep breath.

"They sold you as well, you just happened to be sold to an orphanage that took in the children they were lucky enough to bid the highest with." Neuvillette explains.

"...Thanks, Monsieur Neuvillette." You sigh. "This answered my questions."

Once you get back to your boyfriend, you still hadn't realised how much of a mistake telling him who your parents were would have been. You vented about your family, how your parents turned out to be terrible people. It was only after noting his silence that you looked at him, only to see a cold glare.

"I can't unsee them now." Wriothesley grumbles. "You look like both of them."

"Honey, I'm not-"

"Please leave." Wriothesley stands up, turning so he could stop looking at you. "I know I'll hurt you if I keep looking at you."

"But I'm not them! I was sold when I was a toddler!"

Seeing Wriothesley shake with a simmering rage, you realise he was furious. Furious that you were related to those two horrible humans beings who sold off their foster kids. He didn't seem to care all that much about you also being sold off, only considering the fact you were blood related to his foster parents and you also got their features.

You don't even realise you're getting dragged out by a couple of guards until you find yourself in the elevator, taking you back to the surface.

#gender neutral reader #genshin impact imagines #angst #wriothesley x gender neutral reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley

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noneorother · 3 months

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There's a *puppet* show going on in the magic shop, and it looks awfully familiar...

(Insert unhealthy number of rewatches here) The magic shop in S2 is a real jewel box. There's so much symbolism and so many easter eggs, it starts to make your head spin. But I found something really weird going on with the puppets (or should I say angels) in the background...

Here's 1941 : you can see on the left what looks like closed red curtains, and a coatrack with puppets behind Crowley here.

Where am I going with this? Well, don't those puppets look familiar?

For my money, they really look like silly versions of Crowley and Aziraphale, with a few other familiar puppets hiding on the other side of the rack.

Now here's that exact same shot in the present. The red curtain falls away to reveal: An extremely symmetrical arrangement of truly weird puppets. The puppet in the glass case near the back is the same.*

It probably just looks like a creepy display, with our familiar Aziraphale and Crowley puppets, until I do this:

To me at least, this arrangement really looks like a depiction of a synaxis of the hosts of bodiless powers (i.e. angels) before Jesus. If you study European art history, you can't escape medieval religious iconography. It's kind of a big deal. I've put this example of Mary flanked by the nine ranks of Angels from a Cathedral in Exeter above, but you can find 100 examples of this kind of eerily symmetrical and hierarchical ranking of angels with god, Jesus, Mary etc... Before I break it down, you have to know that in the medieval period, and especially in religious art and iconography, the relative size and position of figures is WAY more important than realism or accuracy.

Obviously the costumes don't match one to one, but you get enough of a vibe that once you start seeing it you can't UNSEE it. The relationships of position and size here are fascinating to me. For one, what the hell are two Crowleys doing in a host arrangement in present day? He's not even an angel. In the second row we have archangels Gabriel, the flopsy twins Uriel and Michael, and a slightly larger Saraqael head in the center. Is Saraqael actually more important here? Technically Jim is still an archangel, so he gets the mirror of the Gabriel position, but as a sad clown wearing a tartan blanket. We also have two tiny dolls (not puppets) with star name tags, one keeled over wearing brown, and one sitting up and smiling, wearing blue. I've named them tentatively Adam & Jesus for now, because that's the vibe I'm getting, but who knows. Here's the usual position of the Jesus in a synaxis for comparison.

In the lowest row, we bizarrely have arguably the most powerful angel, The Metatron (shown here with a dark floppy overcoat hiding the fact the doll has no body) and what I can only imagine is Maggie with blonde hair and blue eyes? What? Now, the doll I'm calling God in the middle for the large size, and the fact their head is always cut off above the framing in the shot. God is clearly looming large over the rest of the host, but is in a lower hierarchy (with Muriel, Crowley & Aziraphale being fairly low ranking at this point in the show) and also has NO HANDS, a clown face and BLOOD SMEARS on their overalls. Yikes. If you take a look at the top-down shot of the dolls, you can see how they had to completely redo the god-doll's hair. This is a specific vintage English doll called "Bimbo the clown". You can see the original hair always has a fringe, and the yarn locks are usually much bigger. Compare with the new hair in the top view of the present-day shop.

Hey. Does that hair style look familiar to anyone?

Look. I don't want to go claiming something THIS insane from one doll's hairstyle in a background shot. I'm not trying to convince you this is irrefutable proof that there's some sort of storyline where Nina is actually God. But it's interesting they took the trouble to re-make the doll's hair (and costume) to look like Nina's, even when it is almost never seen, much less noticed. The fact that the god-doll is also a clown got me thinking of the Gabriel and Jim dolls, and that maybe there's another doll in the shop that should double with Bimbo? *Here's the only other doll with a name card in the magic shop in either time, the one in the glass case :

Even though we barely see it, we can tell it's wearing the same outfit as the 1941 magician. Why? If this one is the equivalent of the real god, and not the sad clown version, and if it's locked up in a box somewhere, unable to free themselves, is that why we haven't heard from them in season 2....? So many questions. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Thanks to @kimberleyjean and @embracing-the-ineffable for additional pictures.

#good omens meta #good omens 2 #art director talks good omens #go season 2 #good omens season two #go meta #good omens season 2 #good omens prime #go2 #crowley x aziraphale #good omens 1941 #1941 minisode #good omens #good omens analysis

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haveyouseenthisskeleton · 2 months

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S/O and skeleton are secretly dating but haven't told Skeleton's brother yet. Until one day, S/O comes to Skeleton's house and says that they forgot their underwear and give them to him, right in front of his brother. Reaction of their brother?

Undertale Sans - He does the dramatic slow turn towards Papyrus, completely in shock. You're dating someone and you don't even tell your big brother? Oh shame on you. Shame on your cow. You're getting a hundred years of teasing as a punishment. Papyrus refuses to meet his eyes. He KNOWS what will happen the second he will.

Undertale Papyrus - Today is Papyrus' day. Well, every day is Papyrus day but this particular day is the day of his absolute triumph over the tyranny of Sans' terrible jokes and puns as the universe had finally given him the power to retaliate by making Sans blush to hell with a single stare. He is going to abuse that power and flush Sans for weeks, not leaving him one second of peace anymore. Papyrus knows and he wants Sans to know he knows by any means possible.

Underswap Sans - He's in shock, he thinks. He suspected his brother was in love because Honey was not exactly hiding it, but this? This is a thing no big brother wants to know. Honey is devastated and won't stop apologizing but Blue is frozen. He thinks he hasn't blinked in the last hour, just staring at his brother in disbelief. What.

Underswap Papyrus - He's not that shocked actually. Blue is a charmer and he had a few partners already, some weirder than others. He just assumes it's another weird one lol. No big deal. He still tells his brother he will make sure he doesn't lose his underwear again by writing his name on them just to see Blue brutally flush. Little revenge, you know.

Underfell Sans - Red stares in disbelief, as his brother smooches his human. That's absolutely disgusting. He can't stop staring at the bag with the underwear. Disgusting, really. He has to snap his attention back at his brother as he starts to chuckle. Red gives him a dark stare. "WHAT IS IT BROTHER? JEALOUS MY BIG BONE IS MORE EFFICIENT THAN YOURS? DON'T BE, YOU'LL BE AS TALENTED AS I AM. ... EVENTUALLY." Red gasps, offended. Now he's not disgusted, he's mad!

Underfell Papyrus - He opens the door and screams "FINALLY MY BROTHER IS NOT A VIRGIN ANYMORE" before Red jumps on his back and starts to beat him up to make him shut up. Edge can't stop laughing hysterically at his misery, not feeling remorse for even one second. That's revenge for his endless teasing the first time he dated someone.

Horrortale Sans - .... He closes his eyes and begs his brain to forget what he just witnessed. Ironically, that's one of the few things he can't unsee. Like, never. Every time he sees his brother, he sees his underwear. This is a nightmare. Why does the universe hate him so much? Willow is wondering why his brother is looking at him in complete silence like a rabbit stuck in the lights of a car. It's going to happen a lot in the next few days.

Horrortale Papyrus - He says nothing when it happens, but is quick to escape the house. He runs to Toriel's house and tells her everything lol. He needs someone to fangirl with and Toriel has always been good for that. When Oak and his human get out of the house, he can only stare, confused, as Willow and Toriel are more or less hiding behind the bushes despite being ridiculously tall, spying on him.

Swapfell Sans - He rolls his eyes at Rus, annoyed. It's not the first time it has happened and it certainly won't be the last. He has pity for this new human who will have their heart broken eventually like the twenty or so before.

Swapfell Papyrus - Rus chokes on what he was drinking, then slowly turns to his brother, who is bright purple. Nox is very secretive about his relationships and he for sure didn't expect that to occur. Rus is never letting him hear the end of this after that accident. Nox knows his peace is over forever.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He lost his inferior jaw, quite literally. Coffee is embarrassed, but actually not that shy anymore. WHAT?! What the hell happened? He has the best spying tools on the continent and he didn't see his brother was in a relationship. How blind he is? He's questioning all his skills right now. Also what the hell, his brother is in a relationship! That's terrible!

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Coffee says nothing, trying to not let the thoughts win. But they won anyway and he suddenly screams "wait, does that mean you didn't wear underwear when you got home? how did you not notice????" before blushing furiously when Wine looks his way and teleporting out of panic into his room to hide in his wardrobe in shame lol.

#undertale #underswap #underfell #horrortale #swapfell #fellswap gold #sans #papyrus #undertale ask blog #undertale asks #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons

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fallingdownhell · 11 months

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Hello. I don't know if you take requests but if you don't please ignore this. If you do can you please make a fic with Vanitas and Noè (separately) when reader wakes up after a hot night with them and she sees the scars that she left on his back with her nails. Because she feels bad she cuts her nails short but she loved them long. The boys know that and they notice. How are they comforting reader? And how fast are they noticing? Before another night or only after some hours? How do they take the initiative? (I don't know if this makes any sense. If there are spelling errors I'm sorry. English is not my first language.) Anyway I love your work and your writing. Sorry for the long ask. Again you can ignore it if you don't like this idea. P.S.-Please make it a scenario and not headcanons. (Again. Sorry for the inconvenience and I hope I didn't annoy you. Have a good day.) 🤗

You're good, no need to apologize for anything.

I quite like your request, even though I had a bit of a difficult time making it a scenario rather than headcanons, but I think it turned out okay. Hope you think so as well!

Also, you kept referring to reader as 'she' in your ask, so I went ahead and made this with a female reader in mind. Hope that is okay with you

Characters: Vanitas; Noé

Content: female reader (she/her pronouns); established relationship; suggestive but nothing explicit; use of nicknames (princess, good girl)

Word count: 1,9k words

Hope you enjoy and thank you for your request!<3

Vanitas

You wished you had the ability to turn back time..

Then you could go back a few hours and unsee this image, so the guilt you were feeling right now would stop eating away at you. But as things were right now, you couldn't seem to take your eyes off of your boyfriends back, naked as he stood in the kitchen of your home, making coffee for the both of you.

More specifically, you couldn't tear your eyes away from the scratch marks your nails left all over his back, some even on his upper arm.

You felt incredibly bad for doing this to him, thinking that it must have hurt him quite bad. Why didn't he say anything to you? You MUST have hurt him with this. Why didn't he tell you to stop? Did he not notice? No, he must have. But then... why?

You just couldn't wrap your head around this while also feeling the guilt and shame for doing it. You were so deep in your thoughts you hadn't noticed that you started nipping on your nails. When you did finally notice though, was when an idea came into your mind...

"Here..", your boyfriend, who was now suddenly standing in front of you, said as he held the coffee mug in front of your face. You thanked him as you took it from him, taking a sip to let the bitterness wake you up.

Vanitas sat down next to you on the couch, making himself comfortable then pulled you into his lap. You noticed that he still wasn't wearing a shirt, all his scars caused by you perfectly visible.

Maybe this idea wasn't so bad after all, even though you really weren't happy with it..

Vanitas, who noticed a while ago how deep in thought you seemed to be today, leanded forward a bit to place a gentle kiss onto your shoulder.

"What's the matter, princess? Can't get last night out of your head?"

You just know he had a smirk on his lips even though you couldn't see him right now. You thought about just telling him, but something in you kept you from doing so.

"Kinda, yes..", you admitted instead, giving him a half-truth. He seemed to be satisfied with your answer, leaving you alone after this, enjoying the morning in your presence.

After he left for the day, you pondered a bit more about wether you should really cut your nails or not. You quite liked your long nails and didn't want to part from them, but if the price was hurting Vanitas when you two were getting intimate... that wasn't something you were willing to give up.

So, with a heavy heart, you went into the bathroom and got the scissors, getting to work.

It was hard for you, watching yourself cut them to a much shorter length, but you kept telling yourself over and over that it had to be done. After all, you didn't want to be responsible of hurting him during such a vulnerable time, you didn't want him to just remember a bad time with you every time you got intimate.

After you were done cutting your nails, you decided to put some colour on them if you were already in the process, so why not make them look pretty, at least.

In the end, you were quite satisfied with your end results, even though it felt quite unusual now. Grabbing and holding things now felt entirely different to you, even though you only shortened your nails a bit.

Oh well, nothing you wouldn't get used to within a few days..

That day, when Vanitas returned to your home, you were waiting for him, sitting in the living room and reading a book while waiting. As you heard the door, you abandoned the book and went to greet him.

"Hey, welcome back!", you said, going in for a hug. But as it seemed, Vanitas had differents plans. Instead of induldging you with your affection, he altered your course, pulling you into a kiss that became heated rather quickly.

You were surprised by the turn of events but were quick to melt into his touch, grabbing onto his shoulders as you put one leg around his waist.

At that, your boyfriend deepened the kiss, holding your face in place with both of his hands. You sighed into the kiss, the sound getting swallowed by him.

One of your hands then went into his hair, gripping him tight. You felt your nails scrap against his skin there, but as they were quite shorter now, they shouldn't hurt him anymore.

Vanitas broke off the kiss, breathing heavily. "Something feels different..", he said but then immediately attacked your neck with kisses and bites so that you didn't have a chance to think about his words.

Then, the next second, you were suddenly lifted up from the ground and carried over to the bedroom, where your back hit the mattress. Only a second after, Vanitas was above you, having already gotten rid of his coat and shirt, leaving his upper body bare.

He looked down at you for a few moments, his expression serious but still loving when looking at you, before he dove down onto your neck again.

A surprised yelp escaped your mouth and you gripped onto his shoulders at the sudden feeling, but the action only made him retract from you again.

Confused, you wanted to ask him what was wrong, but before you had the chance to do so, he suddenly grabbed one of your hands, holding it in front of his face.

"Why did you cut your nails?", he asked, sounding almost offended at the realization.

"...because they were too long."

"I thought you liked them that way."

"I do, but.. I was hurting you.."

After confessing to it, you turned your head to the side, not wanting to see his reaction. It took Vanitas a few seconds, but when he connected the dots in his head, he couldn't help the smile that formed on his lips.

"Oh baby..", he said, leaning down to you, taking your chin in his hand, making you look at him. "You didn't have to do that. I quite like it when you scratch all over my back. It's like you're marking your territory, just as I'm doing to you right now."

He latched onto your neck again, sucking a dark, purple spot where his lips connected with your skin.

"Now, promise me that you'll never cut them this short again. You're taking away one of my biggest pleasures from me."

He made you look at him again, and you could clearly tell just how serious he was about this. He actually did enjoy it when you scratch him up..

Not being able to answer, you simply nod and he smiles down at you. "Good girl", he says as he dives down again. Seems like this night is far from over...

Noé

Now this man.. he is absolutely obsessed with you. He is so whipped for you, he would do anything that you ask of him, no questions whatsoever from his side.

If someone were to ask him what he likes most about you, he would look at them with the most straight, neutral expression before saying "Everything", like it's the most obvious answer in the entire universe.

And he means it, he likes everything about you. He has no specific preferences or anything, he just wants you and him to be comfortable with each other, at all times. That also includes when the two of you are getting intimate with each other.

He doesn't have any strong dislikes, he's open to try pretty much anything with you, but he'll tell you when he feels uncomfortable with something. And obviously, he expects you to do the same with him, as well. After all, he wouldn't want to be the reason why you felt unwell around him, especially during such a time.

He noticed early on, when you started getting intimate with each other, that you had a habit of scratching him a bit. He honestly didn't mind it too much. Sure, it hurt a bit, but it wasn't unbearable and he soon found that he actually kinda liked it. It felt like you were putting your claim on him this way, so he wore those scars proudly.

And since your lovemaking was quite regular, he never was without a mark from you, which he quite enjoyed, even though they were usually hidden from sight and only he knew they were there in the first place.

That was until about a week ago. He started to notice that every time you were gripping onto him tightly, boring your nails into his skin, you soon willed yourself to loosen your grip on him.

At first he tried not to think anything of it. Even as the old scars started to fade but no new ones were coming to replace them, he kept his mouth shut, thinking that this was probably just some sort of weird phase and everything would go back to normal soon enough.

But today, when things were getting heated between the two of you again, and he noticed that your grip on him felt different from usual, he finally put a hold to things.

After confirming his suspicion that, indeed, you had cut your nails, he made you sit with him and explain your reason for doing so. It took some time and persuasion from him, but eventually, you let up and told him about how you felt.

How you felt guilty and bad ever since you first saw the scratches you left on his back. How you felt bad for hurting him and that you figured he just never said anything because he didn't want to hurt your own feelings. That he would rather suffer through this than to see you hurt from his words.

To be perfectly honest, Noé was quite disappointed. Not with you, but with himself. It seemed he wasn't communicating with you enough. He failed to tell you how much he came to enjoy you marking him up this way.

So, he was making up on that now, telling and reassuring you that you were not hurting him at all, and that he actually liked when you did that.

At first, you didn't believe him, thinking that he was only saying this to make you feel better about yourself. Maybe you should have just believed him..

Because somehow, your persistance in not believing him made some sort of switch flip inside him, making him feel like he had to prove it to you in some other way then..

That night, he ravaged you like he never had before. Every time you tried to loosen your grip on him, he grabbed you hands, held them in place and told you, commanded you, to dig your nails in, that he can take it and that he WANTS you to do it.

The next morning, you are littered in his own marks all over your body but you were beyond satisfied. This was the best night you had ever had with him. Not to say that you were unsatisfied with him, but maybe you should push him like that more often if that was his reaction to it..

After that, you were convinced of his arguments and you let your nails grow back again.

Once they were back to there original lenght, Noé took it upon himself to kiss each and every knuckle on your hands, keeping eye contact with you the entire time

"Prepare yourself, princess. We have a lot to catch up on.."

#vanitas no carte #vanitas no carte x reader #vanitas no carte scenarios #vanitas no carte x reader scenarios #noé archiviste x reader #noé archiviste #noé vanitas no carte #noé x reader #noé scenario #noé x reader scenario #vanitas x reader #vanitas x reader scenario

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