#she CHOKES through saying she loves him and he's like 'quite right too'.

[humanpurposes]

I Have Always Been A Storm, Part 1

Read the full chapter on AO3 // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Floris Baratheon

In the year 128AC, Floris Baratheon weds Aemond Taragryen, a daughter and a son both driven to duty, now bound to each other when the realm is on the brink of war. Floris is enamoured by the Prince, but love is something she can only hope will bloom once her vows have been said before the eyes of the Seven- AU where Aemond and Floris marry before the Dance of the Dragons.

Warnings: 18+, smut, pregnancy, arranged marriage, canon divergence, angst, possibly quite a lot of angst, hurt/comfort

A/n: Surprise!! It's the Florismond fic no one asked for :) Planning on this being a 3 part mini series.

“A terrible coincidence,” my husband says.

Head bowed, he kneels before me where I sit on the end of our bed. Thunder and lightning rage beyond the windows but he has brought the storm inside with him. The rainwater that has drenched his hair and his riding leathers soak through my nightgown. I keep my jaw tight and my teeth pressed together to stop myself from shivering.

He has discarded his gloves to hold my hands in his, leaving a trail of kisses and tears on my skin. He circles the pad of his thumb over my fingertips, over the callouses left by my years of devotion to the harp. His hands are calloused too, from his sword, from the reins on Vhagar’s saddle.

He lifts his chin to look at me. I scarcely recognise him. My husband is a proud young man, always poised, never loud, often cold and stoic, gentle around the right people, his mother, his sister, me.

His single eye is glistening and glassy, the blue of his iris vibrant despite his distress. His breaths are laboured, his lips parted. I see nothing but hopelessness in him, but even like this, I wonder if the gods will ever manage to create a person quite so beautiful as Aemond Targaryen.

I slip a hand out of his grasp and, as gently as I can, pull on the eyepatch that covers the left side of his face. He lets me do it, as he has done many times before. A burst of lighting catches in the uneven edges of his sapphire eye. The twisted flesh that frames it is red, I wonder if it is hurting him.

I asked him once, why he was so reluctant to display this part of himself, why he wanted to hide it from me when we were first married.

His reply was always that he did not wish to frighten me.

What reason would I have to fear a scar? I’ve seen plenty of blood in my life, hunts, tourneys, accidents in the training yard. I see my own blood every moon. How could I fear my own husband?

He’s stuttering, sobbing, choking on his words. “I didn’t– I– I tried to stop her– but I was so– I just wanted him to…”

Heat rises behind my eyes. My skin is cold, my limbs frozen, but the shock is starting to wear off. I cannot listen to any more or I will surely break. 

I hush him, curling my whole body over his head. If he sees my face he will think I fear him, he will think I am horrified by him. I run a hand over his damp hair and he rests his face against the swell of my stomach.

Before he left, only a matter of days ago, after he had kissed my lips sore and stolen all the air from my lungs, he had come down to his knees to kiss my belly. By Maester Orwlye’s estimation, I only have a month left of my term. By tradition, I should be in confinement, but Aemond had ordered against it. He could not bear the thought of being apart from me, and I him. He has his own books and correspondences with Maesters across the continent. In Dorne, expectant mothers are encouraged to exercise as much as they can, to breathe fresh air and feel the sun on their skin. This would be best for our child, Aemond decided, rather than keeping me a dark bedchamber with only midwives and septas for company. 

Queen Alicent had said from the start that Aemond would make for a devoted husband, that he has always been a man of duty.

An awful sense of dread runs through my blood.

I should be glad that he has returned to me, and I am, I am .

“I wanted the boy to fear me. I did not imagine that I might…”

What can I say to him? What can I do to ease his suffering when I cannot stand the feeling of his body so close to mine? 

I am bound to him, through vows, through witnesses. I have given him my body and he has given me his. I carry his blood in my womb, my child as much as it is his. Most irreversibly of all, my heart is twined with his. I love him, and yet...

When he places a palm against my stomach, over the space where our babe grows, all I can think is that this is the hand of a kinslayer. Whatever fate the gods have for him now is my fate also. If he has cursed himself, then I too am cursed.

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General taglist: @randomdragonfires @theoneeyedprince @targaryenrealnessdarling @jamespotterismydaddy @tsujifreya @blackswxnn

#my fics #florismond #floris x aemond #floris baratheon x aemond targaryen #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fic #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #floris baratheon #aemond targaryen smut #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fic #asoiaf fanfic

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Revenge, a Dish Served Colder than Snow || Young!Coriolanus Snow x Reader

GIF by @kvtnisseverdeen and divider by @firefly-graphics

A/n: I'd just like to say that this is not book or movie accurate whatsoever. Finnick is not even alive yet when Coriolanus was in his early 20s. I just really wanted to include him in this because he's hot and I love him. Also, lets just imagine he has been gone long enough that the next hunger games was about to happen.

Warnings: choking, swearing if there are others lmk

Wc:

P.t 1 P.t 2

Coriolanus Snow Masterlist

Previous

“Go fuck yourself Coriolanus,” You sneer at him as you turn around but was stopped when his hand takes a hold of your arm. “The fuck did you just say to me?” He scrunches his eyebrows, fury in his blue eyes. You shake off his grip, staring at him square on. “I said, to go fuck yourself. Or, if you find her, go fuck Lucy Gray!” You rage, spinning around and walking out of the bathroom.

Coryo stands there in utter disbelief at what had just happened moments earlier. The image of you causing a scene infront of everybody and that tribute from district 4, his hands roaming around your body shamelessly. He felt pure rage coursing through his veins as he slams his fist against the wall.

~

Coriolanus watched with curious eyes once he saw you enter the room. He hadn't seen you for a couple weeks after that day he came back and moaned out Lucy Gray's name while fucking you. Even under that masquerade mask, Snow could tell it was you.

His eyebrow quirks up when he notices a man by your side. "Who is that?" He points to the mysterious man beside you as Livia looks over to where he was pointing. A chuckle leaves her lips, "Jealous, snow?" She swirls the alcohol in her flute before taking a sip.

"That right there beside your dear y/n is none other than Finnick Odair," Livia wets her lips. "A tribute. From district 4," She continues as Coriolanus' eyes follow the two of you, Finnick's hand resting far too low on your back for his liking.

"What is a fucking tribute doing with her then?" He scoffs, leaning forward on his seat. "Has your time as peacekeeper in district 12 forgotten how much power Y/n has?" She looks at him as if he was an idiot. "She just vouched for him, convinced her daddy to let him stay with her." Liv shrugs.

Coriolanus lets out a scoff, "Are you jealous of a district boy? He is pretty handsome don't you think. A strong competitor for sure," She says before standing up and leaving Snow in his thoughts. A few minutes later, he gets up from where he was sitting and manoeuvres his body across the crowd of elitist members and other wealthy people of Panem.

"What are you doing here with him?" Snow pops a grape into his mouth as you pause your actions and look to him by your side. Of course he was going to be here. "And why do you care? Coriolanus?" You chastise, "Do not. Call me that," He mutters at you, a stern expression on his face as you smirk.

"Well, if you must know. I took a liking to the tribute and let's just say, gotten quite comfortable with each other," A smile makes it to your lips as you could see Snow visibly annoyed. "He's a fucking tribute-" "Oh isn't that rich coming from you, Snow?" You let out a laugh as you face him. "That's exactly what I thought when I questioned your intentions with Lucy-" "Y/n, don't" "And there you were. Moaning her fucking name while inside me!"

You harshly say as a couple people around pause to look at you both. Coriolanus could tell you had drunk a bit more than you could handle. "Y/n, let's talk somewhere else," He takes your hands, ready to pull you away. You yank his grip off of you.

"No! I'm not done!" Snow runs a hand down his face at your loud outburst. "I never knew that you could stoop so fucking low you know. First it was cheating so that your precious tribute would win, and then you go chase her in her district and-" You couldn't finish your sentence as Coriolanus lurches towards him, hand gripping the base of your neck as your look at him in horror.

He squeezes it enough to make you shut up and gasp slightly for air. The people around you gasp at what had just happened. "Shut the fuck up. Shut your mouth before I do something I will regret," He spat, his hand squeezing as he shakes you."Get off of her!" Finnick shouts, pulling Snow away from you as you hold onto him, your hand touching your neck.

You then push Finnick away before doing something that further fueled the fire inside Coriolanus. You bowed. Just like her. Exactly like how Lucy Gray bowed at the reaping ceremony. A few stifled laughs could be heard throughout the room as Coriolanus looks horrified. He gulps, loosening his tie as you smirk at him

Coriolanus quickly leaves the room, breathing heavily as he runs his hands through his hair. He didn’t know what took over him. But he saw red the second you mentioned Lucy Gray. He swore he never intended to harm you. But he couldn’t help it.

His pent up emotions from the past couple of weeks needing diffusing. And you were pretty darn good at pushing specific buttons within him. Coriolanus caught glimpse of your figure entering the bathroom, he follows you whilst looking around, making sure no one was around.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, tears brimming your eyes as you study your neck, already bruising from his iron like grip. You were horrified, shocked, and most of all hurt, by Coriolanus. He never once touched you with such violence and he always reassured you that he would never hurt you and here you were. Crying in the bathroom stalls.

Even after the events that occurred when he came back, you couldn’t stop thinking about Coryo. You just couldn’t help yourself. He was your first everything. You lean your hands on the counter as you drop your head, tears cascading down your cheeks.

Coriolanus immediately heard your cries the minute he’s close to the bathroom door. He pauses. Leans his ear against the door and lets out sigh before entering. His entrance caught you by surprise as you stumble back upon seeing his tall figure.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you.” He says, sadness and guilt laced in his tone as he looks at you in sympathy, his eyes flickering your neck where he caused damage. You refused to meet his eyes as you turn your head to the side.

“But you should know better than to publicly humiliate me infront of everyone-“ A loud scoff emits your lips as you turn to him. “Go fuck yourself Coriolanus,” You sneer at him as you turn around but was stopped when his hand takes a hold of your arm. “The fuck did you just say to me?” He scrunches his eyebrows, fury in his blue eyes. You shake off his grip, staring at him square on. “I said, to go fuck yourself. Or, if you find her, go fuck Lucy Gray!” You rage, spinning around and walking out of the bathroom.

Coryo stands there in utter disbelief at what had just happened moments earlier. The image of you causing a scene infront of everybody and that tribute from district 4, his hands roaming around your body shamelessly. He felt pure rage coursing through his veins as he slams his fist against the wall.

Before you walk through the door, you stop and turn to face him. His expression angry, his hands were bawled up into fists, the wall beside him had a whole where he punctured it with his hand. “Don’t ever try talking to me again, Coriolanus. I mean it. Or I’ll do something you’ll regret.” You conclude before turning back around and walking away.

Coriolanus Snow knew without a doubt that you were capable of so many things that would hurt him, and his reputation. And he did not need further damage. So he listened. Regret seeped into him every single day as he left you alone. He would always watch you from afar though, he loved you, there was no denying.

What occurred that day with Lucy Gray was a mistake, a mistake he wished he could take back more than anything.

Taglist: @valenftcrush @ghostlycrystobalove @esquivelbianca @duds31 @threeinchminimum @shadowsepiphany @novacaneformybrain @crazylokonugget @unclecrunkle @darkqweenn @marihoneywk @beckinator7 @stelleduarte @1950schick @celineandtulips

#fanfiction #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow fanfiction #lucy gray x coriolanus #the hunger games #hunger games the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas imagine #tbosas #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth x reader #president snow #coriolanus snow angst #young president snow

[taegularities]

colour me in: redraft | jjk (m)

Summary: The calm is more appreciated after a storm. Life with Jungkook proves to you that sometimes, joy can, in fact, overshadow grief. Yet, not without confronting and removing all hurdles standing in your way once and for all.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some tame angst, sooo much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: new relationshippppp, so much hugging and kissing, yoongi!! tae!!, tears, abandonment issues, talk about social anxiety (just briefly and nothing serious!), jungkook drops a big question :'), a surprise in the middle, a surprise near the end, and then a SURPRISE at the end lol, many surprises, they're so crazy for each other it's gross; explicit sexual content: okay – kook is wearing a chain.. this vibe :'), making out, showering together, shower sex, spanking, biting, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, mouth/face f*cking, mirrorssss, he likes her ass and tiddies, tears, choking, v brief ass stuff, rough and soft sex, dom and big cawk jk, vocal jk, multiple orgasms, they're simps; ALSO YEAH THE ENDING :') ➳ word count: 25.3k ➳ a/n: so when i said this chapter would be shorter… welp lol. but i still think it introduces the next arc really well. i kinda love the ending!! .. and the next part will be </3 :'''') as always beta'd by my lovely @missgeniality 🤍 i hope you guys like this one a lot. worked my ass off for this fr :') if you do, please do support the chapter and interact with me, too, it makes my day <3 ➳ listen to: i need u by yaeow | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER

Monday morning’s breakfast is awkward. Or at least, the very first minute of it.

The hands of your watch drift to 9 AM; you should’ve expected you wouldn’t be occupying the dining table alone. Your parents, sipping the last of their coffee, aren’t that much of a surprise after all.

You breathe a quiet breath of relief when their eyes dart towards your timid forms at the threshold, then back to the table. And a moment later, they’re pushing their chairs back across the marble floor before they clear the path to breakfast for the two of you.

Your father acknowledges you with a brief, polite nod on his way out, even flashing a similarly quick smile. Ingenuine, because his glance, fleeting when directed to you, is as disappointed as your Mom’s behind him.

Today, you understand. Somewhere in the depths of your recovering mind, you feel upset about shitfacing yourself so thoroughly, too.

You haven’t seen your mother in over two days. Jungkook’s post-showcase confessions brought you to Eun, and the next morning you barely scanned your room before you left for her place again.

Guess the momentary encounter in the hallway doesn’t quite count; you could hardly crack your eyes open. Combined with half the dozen naps you took in your locked room the very next day, you won’t exactly expect pride from her right now.

Until now, as she advances towards your body, you didn’t consider much of her side; you stayed focused on the other occurrences passing after sunset. Moments whose scent your sheets still carry.

As your mother comes to a stand, you prepare your vocal cords, breathing in to explain yourself until you realise that she isn’t looking at you at all. Her eyes are firmly glued to Jungkook’s face, devoid of enmity for once.

Instead, she flattens her dress, sighing through her red-tinted lips before she nods towards him and simply says, “Thank you.”

And that’s it. A little breathtaking, entirely new.

You’re dumbfounded when she leaves; Jungkook doesn’t manage a single word. You imagine that if you’re baffled, he’s probably rethinking her words to assure he didn’t hallucinate them.

But neither of you did. And the silence lingering for a couple more seconds proves the depth of reality; not that you’ll change your mind about leaving your place. But the hint of appreciation, shot directly at him is a pleasant first nevertheless.

Breakfast is patient but fast. The quiet atmosphere doesn’t derive from the night before or what your mother just left you with, but from the emotional fatigue slowly dropping off your shoulders.

Jungkook lets you feast in peace, a soft palm rubbing over the back of your hand every now and then to assure you’re okay. And you are. You’re getting used to these changes.

To this alternative to whatever you feared before. A chance to erase all words and start on a blank page; a white canvas, waiting for vibrant colours instead of monochrome gloom.

Yet, despite the tranquillity last night, still present in the air and in your aching limbs, you don’t understand the sincerity of all the confessions he uttered until you leave.

Because breathing in your car isn’t as suffocating as it was the last few weeks. Back when you’d navigate through the town alone, the passenger seat empty. Or when you plucked up the courage and drove to the showcase numbly.

Or when the pain pierced through your chest; when your drunk ass thought the world would  remain blue forever.

All of it is gone when you buckle up, shifting in your seat as you announce, “Okay. Let’s finally get you home.”

The engine roars for a moment, the car trembling, but you only register the knot in your throat when he says, “Feels so unfair of me. Having my girl drive me around so much.”

You don’t miss the endearment; neither the way your heart skips a beat.

Incapable of a proper reaction, you clear your throat and stutter, all at once and oddly in succession until you settle on a weak, “Why unfair?”

“Because. You do it a lot.”

You really do not. The night the museum closed and you dropped him off at your place was one of a few times; besides, he’s operated your vehicle more than enough before, too.

But you don’t contradict him, instead lightly suggest, “Well, you can drive if you want.”

You’re relieved when he joins your smile, dimples ever-so-sweet and genuine as he promises, “It’s fine. I’ll just stare at you.”

The shudder along your spine is delightful — relentless, he keeps your nerves alight. Perhaps he’s back to the self you knew pre-broken-hearts, playful and teasing, but the effect of his words curses through your veins hotter than ever.

“That’s creepy,” you still retort; you’ll gladly keep fighting this sweet, awkward battle against compliments for life, unaware how to handle them. “And it makes me nervous.”

“Sorry.”

Jungkook laughs, the back of two fingers reaching to your cheek to graze it featherlightly. Maybe he feels the heat beneath your skin, enhanced through his touch.

By now, you’ve spent a year with him — as a party fling, a class frenemy and a blue flower. But each second ticking away brings a new wave of soft, shy speechlessness. New honeymoon emotions.

The certainty of his reciprocated feelings, the fact that you’re finally on the same page, makes you rethink his tender confessions and touches differently. Makes you navigate the relationship differently.

His eyes drift back to the quiet, narrow street, surrounded by houses and blooming gardens. Probably as tired of the idyllic utopia as you, he doesn’t spare the suburban setting any more attention.

He only lets a flat hand rub against his thighs, nipping at his clothing as he says, “God, I can’t wait to get out of these damn joggers.”

Right. While not a main focus, you did find the special attire at breakfast today quite amusing.

“Did you even get to shower since picking me up?” you ask.

“Yeah. When you were napping again yesterday. Just gotta wash my hair later tonight.”

Hmm. You spent half your day knocked out; Jungkook could’ve circled the world and you wouldn’t have known.

“Oh. Good.”

The road proceeds straight, emptier near the suburbs. You allow a reckless glance before tackling busy streets; his eyes meet yours in curiosity, hair even messier than the night he met you in front of the bar.

When he left his apartment in joggers and an old shirt, mane untamed and no extra clothing at hand, he probably didn’t expect to abandon his place for so long. It gives you solace that he doesn’t regret it.

You drop the million memories of yesterday’s sunset burning into your eyes and everything that introduced it. The drunk words and the begging.

And then drop everything that followed afterwards; more pleading, more touching, more confessions that were in no way uttered through inebriate but not quite through sobriety either.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

You drop all the remembrances to focus on the moment; just to make sure that it’s real. So you ask, “Why didn’t you wash your hair there, too?”

For a moment, you see a flicker in his eyes, short-lived and quick; and his answer shoots out even more rapidly, “Just so.”

He emphasises his admission with a shrug of his shoulder, but it’s not nearly as convincing as he anticipates. Not buying a word, you push again, “C’mon.”

“I swear.”

“I’m curious now, though.”

There’s a momentary drop of silence before Jungkook hums, thinking as though he’s crafting a plausible excuse. Then, he says, “I didn’t wanna be away for too long.”

“…Why?”

“Why would I want to be?”

Ah…

Hmm. Well, maybe that’s enough for now.

Maybe he’s still not used to laying his secrets open. Maybe you need to practise patience, too, and stop digging like that.

You know that’s not all there is, but you certainly understand that it’s not a lie after all. Despite the pause and the obvious way his brain racked for a reason, his tone is genuine. You’ve experienced his insecurities before — that’s not what it was this time.

So you focus on the steering wheel instead, turning it left and away from the truck you drove way too close to. Your distraction might kill you — right there, next to you, clearing his throat and sitting up.

“Oh,” he says, segueing, and you let him, “wait, I forgot. Could we stop by at Yoongi’s for a sec? I wanted to see how he’s been doing.”

An abrupt change in topics, but not too abstract. As someone merely acquainted with the man, you’ve been collecting info on his state from Jimin; of course Jungkook would drop by personally.

You take a look at your digital watch; it’s barely ten and you don’t need to get away before 10:45. Taehyung agreed to meet with you to accompany you to your new potential flat again, so you should have time for a detour.

But.

“Is he…” you start, “gonna be okay with me being there?”

“Why?”

“I mean, just ‘cause… You know. We weren’t the closest for a while.”

Jungkook’s forehead wrinkles in new perplexion, muttering a few words. It takes a couple seconds — but eventually, he figures out that you’re not referring to Yoongi and yourself, and his expression changes immediately.

To subtle pain, you’d guess, like he doesn’t want to relive the memory. Like it never happened; like you weren’t two pieces of the same shattered heart this entire time.

But then he sighs, a hand wandering to your thigh. He kneads it softly, as a reminder to himself and to you that the past isn’t transpiring right now; that you’ve finally breathed and waded through it.

His optimism is encouraging when he says, “Nah. He thinks you’re cool.”

“I guess,” you mumble. You tap the steering wheel nervously, lips in a thin line before you add a hushed, “And if not, that’s alright, isn’t it? Like, hey, as long as you like me? Yeah, I shouldn’t overthink it…”

Jungkook releases air through his nose. You perceive a subtle shake of his head, as if to scold you, hear him say earnestly but gently, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t just like you.”

And whether casual or not, his words engulf your body immediately, like a soothing warm touch across your chest, yet effectively freezing your beating heart in place.

You can’t pinpoint whether the weight of his own words ever affects him as much as it affects you, or whether harbouring these emotions has become a familiar habit to him. At least to you, his tone is conversational and promising, perhaps even subliminally reassuring.

“At the very least,” he continues, “he’ll never disapprove of you the way Jimin disapproves of me.”

Which… snaps you back into reality for a second.

Your friend’s name is connected to more than mere dislike for the man next to you; currently, you think of dark nights and lamp-lit streets. After-midnight shenanigans and near tears in your own car, driven by the man who broke and mended your heart.

It reminds you of a blurry picture; two guys standing near an entrance, the older of them patting the other’s shoulder; smiling at him.

You do wonder if it was a fabrication of your mind.

“Forget Jimin,” you tell Jungkook, speech broken when you take another left and resumed when broader streets start. “Also. He did say he’s growing fond of you.”

“Because you like me. I still need to prove my worth to him.”

You tut.

“Kook, you don’t need to do anything. He’ll come around eventually. Just be you.”

“It’s fine, honestly.” He leans in, nudging your elbow, echoing you with a teasing undertone as he says, “As long as you like me.”

You love it when the initial nature of your relationship breaks through the mist of newfound passion; when you find the foundation of what you were, remembering how you landed here.

Which is why you bite back a laugh the moment you suppress a sassy, teasing remark, as if on reflex. One steer shy from pulling into a parking lot, you breathe out. If you halted here now, you’d kiss him, you’re sure.

But you merely laugh, squinting your eyes as you say, “You’re okay.”

Yoongi’s apartment, now inhabited by only one instead of two people, lies a couple miles from the campus. Jungkook guides you through the streets, jumping from one harmless topic to another — you reach his friend’s place a lot faster than you expected.

The building stands at a quiet place, surrounded by mid-high trees that give the grey colour of the complex a bit of liveliness. You walk to the entrance laughing about something stupid, a subtle nudge of his shoulder here, you pushing against his arm there.

But despite the familiarity and whatever occurred last weekend, it’s still odd jumping into the girlfriend role just yet. The word itself won’t even roll off your tongue very easily so far because you can’t believe a thing about this new reality.

So your hand dangles next to his awkwardly. Your thoughts keep drifting, registering half his sentence at times. What-if situations of gentle kisses and upcoming nights spent together tighten your chest.

Jungkook’s speech is clear and fluent, so you don’t know what your impact on him is exactly. At least he’s made sure you do have one on him — but you still wish you had a map through his mind to understand every thought he houses for you. Every emotion.

On the way up you feel a little dizzy; whether it’s due to the circular shape of the staircase or his proximity, you don’t know. You only realise that something’s still bothering you when you’re halfway up, coming to a halt with one foot on the next step.

“Okay, seriously,” you say, and he turns to you immediately, puzzled as he drops to the same level as you. Close to you.

“What?”

“You said you didn’t wanna leave,” you repeat, still stuck on the hair washing and staying longer thought, “why not?”

The answer could be simple. Could be rooted in emotions and the confessions you later uttered — but there must be something more. You saw it in the brief feeling flashing across his eyes, sitting in the passenger’s seat with silence sealing his lips.

Maybe something happened… because something always happens.

“You’re still thinking about that?” Jungkook questions, eyes wide in disbelief; lips pouting.

“No secrets, right?”

This seems to snap him out of all mysteries, last night’s conversation travelling to the forefront of his mind. But something about your curiosity amuses him. He wraps the fingers of his left hand around the staircase reeling, head dropping with a delicate smile.

His hair hides his eyes, but you know they’re sparkling; voice a mild drizzle when he starts, “It’s…” He draws in, inked digits touching your elbow before moving up your arm absentmindedly. “Don’t worry so much. It’s nothing harmful at all.”

You wait. Let his thumb graze your neck, up to your chin.

He sighs, almost exasperated in a way. “You speak in your sleep, you know?”

Wait. What?

You blink, thoughts disoriented. The staircase is dimly lit, but you recognise the slight upward curve of his lips; more empathetic than teasing.

So you still do?

“Huh?” you make.

“I think you dreamed of waking up a couple times? You hadn’t, though, and it’d always be something about being alone again.”

Again.

The word reverberates through your mind, dragging and stretching. Didn’t you once read that a broken heart is akin to serious rehab, accompanied by withdrawal symptoms and slowly healing scars?

You guess your heart was hurting more than you already knew.

“Okay,” you say, nodding when he does, thumb lifting your head when you drop it. You swallow thickly. “What did I say exactly?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know anymore. Something about me leaving. And I was scared of waking you up while gone ‘cause you’d actually think I’d left.”

You hum. Allow yourself a moment to process the info; you seek out fragments of your dreams, but you draw a blank. You feel guilty about his concerns, yet relieved. Vulnerable. And somewhat reassured.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.

Your voice is barely above a whisper — less because of the conversation. More because of the touch on your cheek. It’s soft against your skin, and you shiver. The flutter in your chest is only just bearable.

That’s the thing about falling in love. It’s sweet — so much sometimes that it twists your guts. You’re in so deep, you could hurl.

“Nah. You don’t need to worry about this anymore, okay?” he murmurs.

His eyes dig into yours. Dark and shiny through his healthy tresses, livelier than ever. Sincere. 

You, on the other hand, must look unconvinced without intending to, because his mouth aligns with yours soon after.

He exhales, tilting his head, and says, “Look,” leans in, leaves a featherlight kiss against your cheek, right next to his thumb, “I mean it.”

Guess being with him comes with occasional mental blackouts. And regular arrhythmia. The palpitations behind your ribs are almost ridiculous; instead of gripping your own chest, you grasp his shirt immediately.

Lightly, as if you could collapse without this anchor.

He lets you pull him closer just a little, whispering as if someone could hear, “What’s wrong?”

Vulnerability hidden, you blink again, and joke, “Nothing. Just thought you were gonna kiss me.”

Jungkook smiles. His nose brushes against yours, toying a bit, and his bunny teeth make him look somewhat younger when he voices, “You want me to kiss you?”

“I always do.”

Your grin is playful, but your heart is pounding in your chest. Who would’ve thought the journey from a car to an apartment could be so long, so thrilling?

His snicker is gentle and canorous, knees careful against yours. Your heartbeat accelerates some more, rose-tinted lips opting towards their goal. You part your mouth, ready with a deep breath.

But the two of you are always subject to disturbances — so you’re disappointed but not surprised when you hear rushed steps on top of the staircase, strolling down and crossing your path just when Jungkook backs away.

The stranger passes by you with initial surprise in his eyes, not expecting you, but soon gets over it and drops his gaze again. And once he’s gone, Jungkook winks, a hand on your back pushing you forward gently.

“Later,” he says.

You know as you ascend the stairs.

Know that with the ease with which you handle your feelings for each other, you’ll strive towards a future where you won’t be haunted by dreams of being alone. Where you won’t fear his departure, and where his kisses won’t be interrupted by this cruel world.

The building reminds you of when you’d frequent the dorm you used to know. The walls and hallways are similarly built, narrow and somewhat cheap. They look like most buildings from the inside do, honestly, but you like the pleasant illusion the nostalgia brings.

Even the bathrooms are located near the end of the hallways; Jungkook once told you that Tae and Yoongi have their own kitchen, unlike him back when he still housed his dorm. But there’s a communal bathroom here, too; allegedly one reason why Tae moved out.

The only thing that separates this place from Jungkook’s old dorm is the subtle difference in scent. Not pure testosterone.

You smile.

The mood doesn’t match with what you felt back in June at all.

Back when you stomped to Jungkook’s dorm, furious about yet another insignificant issue, you didn’t think your fingers would ever be brushing his like they are now. Or when you escaped the rain and entered the building’s warmth, your umbrella leaving behind a trail of raindrops.

Your relationships, your priorities, your emotions. Your universe changed faster than the seasons.

As you walk past a random door, Jungkook cranes his neck, staring as if he could x-ray-glare a hole into it and glance at what lays behind it. Perhaps he’s thinking back, too.

You don’t know about all the things he experienced throughout the years there. Part of your heart stings because you remember you weren’t the only girl who ever frequented his place.

But you still left an impression — if the current status of your relationship isn’t proof of it, then the sudden touch along the back of your hand certainly is. A thumb following a vein blindly, opting to grasp your palm into his, yet retracting when you finally come to a stand.

The digit caressing your skin lifts to the door, and his knuckles knock three times, rhythmically. Your chest constricts as you jump back into the moment, probably half as nervous as you’d be if you met Jungkook’s parents.

A moment stretches as you wait for Yoongi to open, allowing yourself just another spiralling thought as you imagine actually daring a meeting with Jungkook’s parents. It’s too early to think about it, isn’t it?

It’s just.

Since yesterday, you’ve created a dozen different scenarios in your head, ranging from a civil, calm conversation with his father to a full snap. Half of you wants to know his genuine thoughts on his son’s sorrows; the other half wants to rage and then bolt away.

Ugh.

When the door swings open, your hand flashes to Jungkook’s. A startled instinct, even though nothing about the action was surprising or scary. But he doesn’t mind — of course he doesn’t.

His eyes rush to yours for a second, warm and somewhat thrilled, his smile permanent. And then he looks back at his friend, quietly squeezing your palm, the shy smile soft as he greets, “You’re walking without clutches, huh?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away. He looks from Jungkook to you and back. His gaze isn’t very telling, but you find amusement in it. If you weren’t so ridiculously and inexplicably nervous about his upcoming statement, you’d laugh.

Intently, he grants a peek at your entwined hands, and when he looks at the two of you again, he starts…

Smiling.

Gummies all out, a tiny laugh thrown in between before he says, “Ohoho. You’re here, too?”

The smile turns into a sly grin, a hand clutching the frame of the door. You guess he’s not as balanced after all. Possibly just abandoned his clutches for the short way from the couch to the door.

“I can totally go,” you tell him, the teasing tone missing; soft and small instead.

“Why in the world would you?” Yoongi steps aside carefully, nodding the two of you inside. You oblige, hearing his voice behind you jest, “Now, would you look at that. Did I do that?”

Jungkook automatically drops on the chair at the tiny dining table, like he’s arrived home, and you follow; make yourself comfortable on the seat next to him. There are three chairs, as though carefully chosen for the pair of friends who used to live together and a guest.

Next to you, Jungkook huffs, leaning back as he watches his friend plop onto the chair in front of him, and asks, “How would you’ve done that?”

“Well, you guys gathered at the hospital because of me.”

Right. Good point.

If he just knew how that night played out. Actually, you think he just might, yet not quite aware of its severity.

“Not because of you,” Jungkook promises, “I just charmed her again.”

You laugh. So does Yoongi.

He isn’t irritated or taken aback by the younger’s boldness; in truth, he seems entertained. Arms crossed, eyes small and grin wide. He half mocks, “The young ones are charming for sure these days.”

“Spoken like a true Grandpa,” Jungkook remarks. You press your lips into a thin line, but with a faint smile. You only listen; you’re in the territory of two friends who spend their time roasting each other. You’re not on that level yet, so you observe. “But I had to.”

“You had to, huh?” you joke. Okay, observation broken. Your body tilts towards him. “You didn’t need any of your charm for… this. But still good to know.”

Because you would’ve been putty in his hands, no matter what — charm or not.

"Can confirm," Yoongi agrees, nodding towards his friend, "that he was also a proper mess the last couple weeks. Very out of character."

Your eyes roll to the side to catch a glimpse of him, but the moment you detect the rosy dust on Jungkook's cheeks, you avert your gaze immediately.

Admittedly, the guilt in the middle of your chest is undeniable. But there's comfort in knowing you were never the only half who was deeply, perpetually falling.

Yoongi scratches his temple, doesn't meet your eyes; possibly shy when it comes to conversations like these. But he sounds warm and gentle when he says, "I'm really glad you guys are back."

You’re similarly timid, feeling strange. As if someone’s congratulating you on a fresh marriage. Or maybe that’s just the emotion you want, need to feel.

You say, “Thanks.” And then, ever-so-terrible with compliments, add a little, “Let’s say it was you. Double thank you to the man of the hour.”

Yoongi pulls a grimace hitherto unseen; it doesn’t faze Jungkook, but the Joker-esque grin and wide-eyed nod have you bursting into laughter. His friends are pleasant, you think.

If there was a way to lure Jimin in and convince him of this group’s collective appeal, you wouldn’t hesitate. There’s only a limited time you want him to play the petty, protective friend.

“So, how have you been?” Jungkook eventually asks.

Yoongi rubs the corner of his eye, stretching his injured leg under the table, “Never better. The bank is surviving without me. Besides, I haven’t gotten around to making some music in a while.”

“Tae did tell me you were enjoying your days off.”

Jungkook reacts with a tiny chuckle, but your eyes widen. You let him finish his sentence, and then spit, “Wait, wait. You make music?”

“Oh, I mean… I’m not any good,” he explains, wiggling a hand, a little startled as if he forgot you didn’t know yet. “I just. Make a few beats every now and then and write my own bars and stuff.”

“Wait, rap?” You stare between the boys, to and fro, only a little offended that you didn’t know you had a brooding future musician in your midst. “Can I hea—”

“No.” The answer is immediate. You pout. “Before you ask, I am way too much of a coward.”

“He’s amazing,” Jungkook intrudes.

And you whine, “Unfair, Yoongi.”

He imitates your expression, leaning back, copying your stance, and answers in the same childlike tone, “Warm up to me first! I’ll show it to you one day.”

“One day I’m gon’st hear it,” you declare, overly dramatic with your chin up, “you have my taste in music, you know? I know I’ll like it.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I can try.”

Yoongi blows a raspberry. You’re not sure what you expected; maybe subtle hostility. But the sense of casual camaraderie is refreshing; lounging comfortably in his living room was a picture far from your mind until now, and you think he enjoys the unforeseen gathering, too.

Because after a moment of stillness, a faint smile touches his lips, his voice back to normal and deep as he remarks, “It’s nice that you guys came. I get bored here a lot.”

Right. You kept wondering.

You don’t dive into the matter immediately, instead drenching your voice in a teasing lilt, “Even though Jimin visits you?”

“Shut up.” Mock exasperation rolls his eyes as Jungkook appreciates your joke, one foot pressing against yours under the table. “No. It’s just been lonely since Tae moved out. It’s a two people thing with two bedrooms.”

He shrugs his shoulders, attention fully on you. Jungkook either doesn’t have much to say or doesn’t want to interrupt. Only listens.

“Living here alone feels like I’m wasting space and money,” Yoongi finishes.

Curiosity piqued, you probe, “What did Tae say when he left?”

“He offered to let me move in with him. But that’d be pointless.”

“Why so?”

“He’s awesome for offering, but I think he wanted his own place, you know? Why would I intrude then? But I did tell him I’d look for another place.”

“Have you been?” you ask. You still remember how happy Taehyung looked last time you met him alone.

How he spoke so highly of a life on his own, gladly interrupted by the occasional visits Eun granted him. Yoongi, you think, would probably benefit from acquiring his own place, too — one that doesn’t remind him that someone left him behind, inhabiting a vacant space thought for two.

“Every now and then,” Yoongi admits. “Will think about it some more once my leg’s healed.”

You nod in understanding, a thoughtful hum escaping your lips. Yoongi soon leans forward, naked arms on top of the table, and delves into a discussion about the rising costs of rent.

He outlines the challenges of finding the right place in the bustling city, and explains his worries about the empty space in a too-large apartment. And you listen intently.

But as minutes pass, you can’t help but notice the contemplative silence Jungkook has fallen into.

It’s always the same with him — thoughts you can’t read, questions you need to postpone.

Because you do glance over at him, observe the distracted furrow of his brow, the distant look in his eyes. You understand he’s once again lost in unknown thoughts, and you sense how jumbled his mind must be.

But you still decide to hold off for the moment, out of respect for the ongoing conversation. You don’t focus on addressing his apparent preoccupation until it keeps going until later, way after you’ve bid Yoongi goodbye.

“Why do you seem so reserved?” you ask in the car, his home your new destination.

It must be around quarter past ten; you should still be able to meet Tae within half an hour. Yet, despite the brooding rush, you can’t help but wanna drag out the ride, finish this conversation.

“Hm?” he voices.

Did he not hear you? Maybe.

You sigh, seeking an available parking spot. You’ve already turned into his street, way past the park, halting close to his entrance. The engine dies, sudden silence inside the vehicle.

“Okay,” you turn towards him, forearm against the wheel. “You’re a lot less enthusiastic now. What’s up?”

He looks distracted. Drags his teeth over his full, pink lower lip hard enough for you to repeat, “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Uh.” Cue big boba eyes flitting to you. “I was just. Thinking about something.”

“Wanna share?”

“Yeah. Yeah, uhm. I swear I’m not trying to be mysterious, just. Not sure how to phrase it.”

He’s easing himself into this whole thing. The entire opening up act and being fearless with his feelings. So you don’t push him, but encourage, “Try. If not now, then maybe later, though?”

“No, no. Now is fine.” He frees his eyes off the dark bangs when he shakes his head a little, preparing to voice his hidden thoughts. Then, he breathes, “Yeah, so…”

One more second.

And.

“What if you dropped your plans of moving into that apartment?”

Oh. What?

Does he mean what you think he means…

There are only two options, right? And you choose to go with the one that would embarrass you less if it turned out wrong.

“Should I… do you think I should stay with my family?” you ask, your voice cautious.

But when his hands shoot up, immediately denying your assumption with round eyes, you breathe out through your nose. Relieved when he clarifies, “No, not at all. I mean, it’s up to you, but that’s not what I meant.”

So then…

“So you’re saying—”

He interrupts, rushing before he can back down, “Move in with me. And Yoongi could take the apartment you were considering.”

Fuck. 

You didn’t expect your heart to jump up to your throat like that. It’s a day full of brief heart failures. You barely know how to react anymore.

You stare. Then stare a bit more. And eventually, you simply ask, “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean…” He gulps, averting your gaze all of a sudden before it lands back on yours. You chuckle quietly, unprompted, and it boosts his confidence. “You stayed at mine for days and it worked. It could… you know— keep working.”

The suggestion lingers like a fresh breeze, grazing your cheeks and twirling around you like a soothing force. He beams — though subtle, he seems to interpret the simultaneous rise of your eyebrows and your lips immediately.

Still, he inquires, “I don’t know… too soon?”

Technically yes. But then again, no. Because he’s right — you’ve already experienced a piece of heaven, tasted the bliss of domesticity with Jeon Jungkook.

“You really are serious about this, yeah?”

“Only if you want me to be,” he counters, less tense than before, but a hand rubbing in nervous circles over his knee, “if not, then I was absolutely joking.”

An awkward, little chortle fills the small space of the car; you shake your head, teeth out and smile bright. There’s sweetness in knowing that his affection is real. That the thought of shared future pains, joys and days — that it’s all actually become so unbelievably real.

The car is cool in the shadow, but you feel a strange heat coursing through your body. At the end of the street, you see the sunlight brighten the moment he laughs. Fitting.

The crinkly eye smile softens when he reaches for your hand, pulling it off the wheel and wrapping it in his. There’s an automatic reaction in your chest, a constant racing when he says, “I mean it, though.”

Brief pause. He looks down to your fingers.

“I think I got used to having you there. And then, at Yoongi’s I had this… I don’t know, overwhelming urge to tell you. That,” his teeth worry his lip, releasing it softly, “I want you next to me for as long as possible.”

You understand.

He means every minute that society and norms don’t force you out of the house. At nights and in the mornings, on off days and holidays. To fall asleep next to his presence, to wake up on the same mattress, too.

And the longing is undeniable; you know that it is. But you’re already swamped with decisions as it is — could you call off the apartment right here, right now? Rethink all you discussed with the landlord, Taehyung or yourself?

Life decisions are harder than that, and despite all the wants infiltrating your body, you can’t dive into this without a couple more following thoughts.

You keep gazing into his smouldering eyes, more intense when he looks up. Let their effect send a thrill down your spin, a surge of yearning through your veins. 

And then, you acknowledge the need for prudence. You savour the moment, let the anticipation built, and flash a sultry smile to ensure that, yes, if not now, then one damn day, I’ll be yours entirely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything to work more than this,” you admit, “but I need to—”

You halt. Words come hard to you these days; and the two of you are sensitive. It’s not easy to reunite after weeks of overthinking and distance; and you don’t want to provide more reasons to overthink.

But you forget that as sensitive as Jungkook is, he’s just as understanding and gentle, too.

Because he says, “You need to think. And I know you can’t just pack your things and move over, I just— I wanted it out there.”

“I know. I know.”

“And I,” he continues, “I actually thought you were gonna say no right away since you’re getting out of your childhood home just now, so naturally, you would wanna be alone for a while and—”

You lean forward, pulling your hands out of his grip. His eyes shoot down, baffled and confused, but you don’t give him a second to think or speak. In a moment’s notice, his cheeks are squished between your palms, his bunny face now akin to a duck.

“I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone all my life,” you tell him; Jungkook eyebrows furrow in empathy and worry, but you smile, “I don’t wanna be anymore.”

His expression and voice are dorky when he speaks, first words incomprehensible. You let go, watching the red splotches on his cheek, and he repeats, “Is that a yes?”

“It’s… I don’t know. A to be continued.”

“I’ll live with that.”

You don’t know if it’s the electrifying prospect of a life together or the confidence he follows his statement up with, but the insanity burns wild in your head. Untamed and dizzying.

“And I’ll wait for however long.”

“I didn’t even ask, I’m sorry… but are you starting work later today?”

You stand in the middle of Taehyung’s living room, a hand over your eyes to protect them from the bright sunlight. He’s busy piling the saucers and the cups, and you wait as he drags a vocal in thought.

“No, no. I’m off today.” He stands, and you automatically walk the short distance to the kitchen, lingering at the door frame. “Need the afternoon for an appointment at the doc. So yeah.”

“Oh. Everything okay?”

He doesn’t speak yet, dishes in the wash basin too loud. They clink and rattle; the moment you’ll move to an apartment by yourself, you’ll have to wash them yourself, too.

Maybe you can make your place as aesthetically pleasing and beige as Taehyung did. You don’t know — you couldn’t imagine much today nor discuss further details about the contract and rent and general house rules.

The landlord bailed on you last second. And Taehyung sacrificed over an hour that he could’ve spent keeping Eun company between her morning lessons.

You apologised the second you entered his apartment instead, thankful for the invitation to tea, yet harbouring guilt for wasting his time. But Taehyung proved incredibly kind, waving off your concerns immediately.

He asked, playfully offended, “So you’re saying a tea party with me is a waste of time?” And then he laughed, immediately shaking his head, “Nah. It’s fine. Am glad someone finally prefers tea over coffee, too.”

So now you’re here.

“Yeah, just a check up,” Taehyung answers, “vamps drew my blood and will tell me today if it’s good or not.”

“Interesting way to refer to doctors,” you admit, backing away when he leads you to the exit. You need to be at work in forty minutes tops. “Good then.”

He hands you your blazer, silent for a moment before he says, “Talking about feeling unwell.” You look up, arm halfway through the blazer’s sleeve. “What were you doing getting shitfaced like that?”

“Uhm…”

Word travels fast. Your cheeks heat up, fingers curling into fists. You smack your lips, letting out a tiny laugh, and ask, “Eun told you, huh?”

“Mhm. Scolded her for taking you to the bar and leaving you alone.”

You sigh.

You should’ve guessed that she’d tattle. And of course you might appear like the helpless, heartbroken girl, seeking comfort in alcohol, dark clubs and blue neon lights. It’s a little embarrassing, actually.

“Kook was there, though,” you defend.

“I know. I called when he was still at your place.”

Huh? What else did he do when you were asleep? Painted a Louvre-ripe masterpiece, probably.

Taehyung decodes the dozen questions in your stare, tumbling until his back leans against the wall. He explains, “We just talked for a sec. He sounded worried, so I didn’t prod too much. Just don’t do these things anymore, okay?”

Huh…

You can imagine it well. Partly because you remember the way he looked at you that night: distressed beyond belief, giving you soft orders, insisting on help everywhere — the car, the shower, the bed.

But also because you know him.

And you don’t think you needed to see him in those very moments to know he must’ve brushed through his silky hair. Must’ve looked through your room, gaze stopping over your sleeping figure.

Voice strained on the phone, yawning, shaking his head because he must have been a little mad at you, but comforted that you were resting, too.

You remember the tone of his voice, soft as a piano tune but saddened nonetheless.

”What did you drink? You’re… in such a bad state.”

You shake the words off. God, he was there for you more than you’ll ever know.

You say, “That’s nice, though, Tae… I didn’t think you’d ever get so worried about me.”

“Hey. You’re still my friend,” he promises.

He’s possibly been the only person throughout this entire ordeal to not be pissed at you or annoyed by you. You never doubted that he still liked you.

“I might not know you inside out like Eun or Jungkook do, but you’re part of this group. So naturally, you’re important, too.”

You push your hands into the pockets of the blazer, gripping the car keys inside. Bashfully, you smile. His sincerity pumps warmth through you; it’s crazy how good belonging somewhere, to someone, can actually feel.

It’s refreshing. New. 

“Wow,” you murmur, shuffling your feet, “thank you.”

“You’re glowing, you know. That’s nice.”

“Am I?”

He nods. “I can’t wait to see him glow either. A couple weeks were a couple too long.”

Those couple weeks felt like someone ripped out the hands of time, keeping them from moving. Your brain aged faster in that time, deep in a bottomless abyss. You don’t want to experience it again.

And you don’t want to imagine Jungkook in the same pit again. Looking for you, but bumping against walls, painted with his past that made him stumble back instead of pulling him forwards.

Your eyes trail down the hallway, looking at the small paintings and decorations on the wall. You take in the furniture, inhale the pleasant colours. Imagine his living room in its entirety, the sunlight seeping through the windows. Curtains pushed aside.

Your apartment could be like this, too.

But.

“Tae,” you begin. You wrap your fingers around your rattling car key; lick your lips. “Do you think I’d like it here?”

“Hmmm,” he voices, gazing down as if he could look past the parquet floor and to where your potential apartment stands nearly empty. “Yeah. I mean, I like to think so, because I’m very happy here.”

He stops abruptly, the tone of the last syllable not matching a sentence’s end. You wait as he smiles a little, creating a thought, “But you could be happy somewhere else, too. Happier even.”

His words hang in the air, a sense of both possibility and uncertainty tangible. You were wanting to venture into this new chapter of your life with hope, but also with trepidation.

Suburban areas are nice, but you opted for the heart of the city — the vibrant tapestry of dreams and opportunities. You didn’t expect the journey to be fraught with sudden doubts.

The best thing, however, is that doubts and dilemmas never seemed this… tempting.

You tell him, “There’s always a place that makes people happier, for everyone.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice tinged with wisdom. “Only, some people already know of it, and some keep searching for it.”

“And I am—”

You pause, anticipating for him to finish the sentence; he responds, “You gotta know.” There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, support and acknowledgment hiding right behind — matching his words, “I’d be bummed if you didn’t become my neighbour, but. Also just happy you guys are happy.”

Too kind for this world.

In your endearment, you laugh, suddenly stepping forward for a brief, thankful hug. A silent gesture of gratitude for his friendship, no matter how shallow or new.

The people you surround yourself with offer endless reassurance, and you’re lacking the words to express your appreciation.

“Thank you, Tae. Eun’s right when she praises your constant respect for other people, you know?”

Taehyung, maybe a little perplexed, brings a hand to your back, patting gently as he states, “No worries. The worst is over.”

You hope so. God, you genuinely hope so.

You pull back, tucking your hair behind your ear and bid him goodbye with one last nod. Taehyung closes the door behind you with a humorous thumbs up, and you grin before it’s silent in the hallway again.

There’s a tiny window outside, overlooking the street down there and the cars flitting by. The area isn’t as peaceful as Jungkook’s — more lively and noisy. You can see the city’s river if you look far enough.

And as you step closer to the glass, you envision your own apartment again. You imagine the soft glow of the lamp before you go to sleep. The comfortable couch you want to plant in the back of the living room, curling up with work or your laptop or a cup of hot chocolate.

You picture the view of the city as you step to your open window, glancing out as the steam of your beverage swirls in the evening air. Contemplating the world outside.

But then you start rethinking Jungkook’s words, too. The idea of belonging and happiness, of domesticity and what could be.

And at last, you visualise what it’d be like if you didn’t see any of this — the lively street, the river in the distance. Wonder how you’d feel if the horizon looked different.

If you stared out and saw a different canvas instead.

The changes in your life are drastic in some way, but Jungkook always stays the same.

Your house lies quiet most of the time; as days pass, you frequent your room, then drop by in the living room, greeting the staff, grabbing dinner and retracting back to your beloved bed.

Jungkook’s apartment, baby-sized compared to your place, allows a much livelier atmosphere. Maybe because you don’t need to yell for him to hear you from another room. Or maybe because it’s just the two of you.

Perhaps even because you find solace in the couch, in the smaller smart TV in front of it, the glass table, the carpet, the homely furniture in general. The scent reminds you of wood, but you connect it with him, too.

It’s different from the room you grew up in. Different from the luxurious chimney and marble you’ve seen all your life.  And you must admit that you enjoy it a lot more, too.

One of the few reasons why your mood changes from exhausted to merry the moment you knock at his door on Thursday. He was expecting you, because when he opens, he beckons you inside immediately, pulling you in and planting a generous kiss on your cheek.

A smooching sound accompanies it, his foot closing the door as he suggests, “Dinner first or TV?”

“Shoes.” You laugh. You slip out of your thin jacket before tackling your snickers quickly, your clothes suddenly itchy and uncomfortable. “Shoes first, and then shower? Can I?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s not the first time that you’d be doing it. But there’s still something new and pure about this new chapter of your life; one that comes with polite questions and reinventing reality, apparently.

Redrafting life as you knew it and striving towards something better.

“I knew it, actually,” he says, forefinger wiggling, “I put a fresh towel on the washing machine. Also had a handful of your shirts here, so there’s one of those on the towel, too. And my joggers… Sorry, you left none of those, uhm—”

He’s started walking ahead, scratching behind his ear, but when he notices you not following, he looks over his shoulder. Blinks at you, staring into his living room and back, innocent voice unsure, “Come?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just— you didn’t have t—”

“I know,” he interrupts, breathing a sigh in faux frustration, “I know I never have to. But I figured you’d wanna shower.”

“…Thank you, Kook.”

You wish you could say more; express your gratitude the way you want to. At least your body is jubilating, craving the hot steam of the shower. Starving further for some peace when you step into the bathroom and detect the neatly placed clothing.

Jungkook halts at the door, gripping its frame, a little shy as if you didn’t breathe each other in for the last couple of weeks and months. He’s looking at you, waiting for something, and when you raise an eyebrow in curiosity, he snaps out of whatever daydream he was in.

“Oh. Right,” he mumbles, cheeks flushed, “sorry. I’ll leave. Can heat up the food. Or, or do you wanna order in?”

“Anything’s fine.” He nods. Opts to walk away, big hand flattening his hair at the back. It takes a moment for your heart to riot as you watch him leave, immediately babbling, “Actually. I was—”

Returning within a moment, he looks alarmed. Less so when you point a thumb to the shower and suggest, “Do you wanna join?”

“You in the shower?”

No, doofus. Join to watch the washing machine unsoil your sweaty clothes.

You clear your throat. “Yeah?”

“I uhm… Is that okay?”

Goddamn. Redrafting life as you knew it, you said.

You just didn’t expect the two of you to still tip-toe around each other. Seems you still have a lot of adjusting to do.

You try to break the ice.

“Acting like I’ve never seen you naked.”

“No, I know,” he responds, “I was just thinking that you…”

You can’t quite decrypt what he’s trying to say, but you do perceive the flash of concern in his eyes. It’s a tiny glimpse, barely there; but you see it. And you think about it.

Try to understand, let moments pass — until you’ve grasped his thinking.

The night he helped you clean up was the last time you stood under a showerhead together; maybe he thinks you’re still connecting it to the night’s trauma or borderline dangerous intoxication. And perhaps you’re wrong.

But you still take a breath, and then segue, “Already took a shower, didn’t you?”

You know he did. He’s addicted to cleanliness, sensitive to scents; he hoards diffusers, skin care products and new underwear like a treasure. And showering is always the first thing he goes for, a beeline to the bathroom after work out sessions and intense summer days.

You follow up with, “It’s okay, if you did. I’ll just go alone and hurry to dinner, then?”

“No, no… No, it’s fine.” He starts his sentence fast, but slows down halfway through, awkwardly. “Of course I can join. What’s some extra refreshment, right?”

“That’s the reason, huh?” you mock, laughing when he shrugs his shoulder. “Keep acting like you’re not the biggest simp around.”

Your confidence boosts his own, too. The signature smile is soft, lips curved gorgeously, but the subtone of his words is teasing, and even a little cocky.

“Of course. I know, I know.”

“Come then.”

You offer a stretched hand, curling your fingers in and outwards, and he places his warm palm into it like a key to a lock. Albeit tense and nervous, your body feels good next to his. The telltale awkward signs of a new relationship don’t deter you from indulging in its sweetness.

So you’re not surprised at how quickly you undress, throwing each other’s clothes at the back of the washing machine and planting kisses whenever one of you bares their shoulder. Eyeing each other from bottom to top.

You think you ogle for a moment too long, though — and how could you not with the freaking silver chain dangling from his neck?

An exciting evening lies ahead, you can already tell.

It’s fresher now outside, and all of Jungkook’s windows are open. Despite the cosiness of the bathroom, you rush under the hot shower stream.

Only, it’s not as boiling as you’d like it to be. Jungkook starts and finishes his showers ice cold, so you screech when you meet water from the Antarctic. You jump on your spot, arms around your torso.

And when you allow yourself one single glance at him amidst the breathlessness, you notice that the asshole is doing it on purpose. Same old. Rouses core memories.

Jungkook wipes over your hair and your face, drenching them thoroughly. You only realise he’s smudged your mascara when he starts rubbing underneath your eyes gently, managing to get some of it off.

“Fuck,” you curse, “I forgot about that. Should I take it off first?”

The intention is to slip out, use one of his cleansing skin products and get the mess out of your face before stepping back to him. But you don’t make it far anyway; he yanks you back before your foot can even touch the mat.

And then, the moment passes in a blur.

Tense body back against his, he tugs you close. Holds both your wrists in front of your breasts, leaning in without a warning, and then — connects his dripping lips with yours.

If there was any space to gasp, you would. Instead, your fingers instantly dig into your hand, sharp nails scarring the skin. You move your fists, trying to touch him, but he holds you in place firmly.

That is, until his digits relax, trailing up your shoulder to your neck, jaw and then to your cheeks. Face in your grip, you let him control the pace. You find an anchor in his bicep, holding on; kissing isn’t enough.

You wish he could eat you up. Wish the tongue finally touching yours, swirling around it, was everywhere on your skin at once.

You feel a slight twitch underneath, right against your body; ready to devour, hopefully soon to explode. But Jungkook gasps for air when his lungs give out, allowing a break, backing away with your face still between his hands.

And then, he utters something surprising — something you didn’t expect in the heat of the moment at all.

“I was meaning to tell you something.”

“…Oh?”

“I’m uh. I’ve been meaning to tell you for days. I just never quite got around to it and we were so busy and tired all the time and—”

“What is it?” you break in, heart pounding at an unnatural speed. “I’m here now, so…?”

For a second, you expect this to take a whole different turn.

The database in your brain empties the moment you scour it for an answer, preparing yourself for molten knees and dissolving hearts. Or maybe, it’s already clarifying to liquid, jumping out of your chest and flowing down the drain along with the water.

But he doesn’t say what you anticipate. Though, what he does admit has your nerves glowing neon white anyway.

“So— the first night of my showcase. On my birthday?” he starts. You feel the muscles of your face change, and he sees it, immediately assuring, “No, no. Don’t worry. I was just gonna say that a guy came to me by the end of it? And—” 

He lets all of it sound like an unsure question. But you think you know where it’s going — you hold your breath under the already suffocating water.

“And?” you prod.

“And turned out Namjoon invited him, and he’s kiiiinda a big shot in the art business? Like, he’s a gallery collector, he said. He’d invest in my art and acquire it and have it showcased in bigger museums for more recogni— I know!”

Your mouth and eyes opened halfway through his quick explanation, fingers back in fists, pressing against his solid chest and then moving up to hook in his silver chain. You’re restless in the congested space, suppressing the high pitched sounds.

He puts his hands on your hips, snickering in joy as he says, “Be careful before you slip.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Thankfully I’m not, angel,” he shakes his head, bangs sticking to his forehead, “not this time, at least.”

You raise a hand to his pec, tapping against it, “Wait. So just so I understood correctly — they’re gonna put up your stuff there for an even bigger audience to see, yeah?”

“I mean, the gallery is definitely far bigger than the exhibition I participated in.”

“Oh my god, Jungkook, the exhibition already had a shit ton of visitors!”

He nods, proving a point.

You feel an electric current in your blood. Pride, that’s what it’s called, too. You sling your arms around his neck recklessly, nearly falling, but you can’t be bothered as you exclaim, “This is so— I don’t even know how to react, Kook!”

And who could convince a big-shot art connoisseur so quickly after graduation anyway? Jungkook’s god given talents are never praised for nothing — you knew it. Fucking knew it.

Won’t make it anywhere, your ass.

“That’s so fucking awesome.” You stare, out of breath all of a sudden. God, if there was a way to express your delight. “When is it happening? Are you selling the one you showcased?”

“I don’t know yet. And no. That’s too… personal to me.” You blink, nodding. Still overwhelmed with how his pieces made you feel — of course they’d hit even harder for the artist himself. “He wants something in a similar style, though. I’ll make something new for him.”

“What’s it gonna be?”

It’s a simple question. You swear it’s nothing too deep.

But Jungkook’s gaze changes. An amused, delighted expression replaces a neutral one, head tilting to the side just a little. His lips, already slightly swollen from the kiss, move up, eyes kind and sugary.

If you only knew how your small details affect him, too. How you looking at him like this, expectant eyes split wide, innocent and gentle, shoots an arrow to his heart.

You just don’t know.

He brushes the hair sticking to your cheek back and tells you, “You’ll see. I’ve been working on it these days, but. Will show it to you when it’s done.”

You can’t even be mad. If it was up to you, you’d probably wait for the big day, too — can’t spoil the surprise, need to cry tears of pride and joy in public.

So all you say, deep from the heart, is, “You’re the fucking coolest person I know.”

“Nah—”

“The coolest.”

“Funny,” he retorts, as bad at compliments as you; throws them back like a boomerang, “thought the same when I met you at the party last year.”

“…Gross.” That’s what you say. But you still shake your head; overwhelmed, smile plastered to your face and cheeks hurting. “God, Kook.”

And that’s all.

You keep holding his stare, finally too tired of the distance to endure any longer — and then lean in. You stop a couple inches away, watch his head angle more, mouth steering towards yours. The smile is mutual, fingers seeking a spot to settle on on each other’s bodies.

Your heart monitor would be wilding right now — the effect of your lips meeting clear as day behind your ribs. And this time, you don’t stop.

The push against his chest is immediate, his feet slowly tumbling backwards. His tongue burns hot against yours, your lower lip fitting perfectly in the gap between his lips. There’s a sharp hiss when his back finally touches the tiles, mouth open but not leaving yours.

Teeth soon clash, and you opt for more of his taste, well aware that you just cannot kiss more than you already are. His hands move up and down, never settling, both your lips harsh and impatient. Your tongues keep moving in patterns, thirst never quenched.

You break the kiss solely for oxygen purposes, but he uses the moment to let his palm wander from your face to your hair, grabbing a patch. One hand pushes against the small of your back, though soon dropping to your ass, fingers between your ass cheeks, teasing the clenching hole.

Fuck.

The moan isn’t intended, but very welcome — you love the sound of it as much as he does, followed by his own. An automatic reaction. His hips indulge in the tiniest movements, length jerking against your body; no more than an inch of his fingertip pushing into your ass.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you breathe, eyebrows furrowing, mewling against the corner of his lips. “More, now, please.”

It’s an attempt. Of course he won’t act that fast — you know him well enough. He’s been a soft gentleman often enough; but after holding back the past few days, missing it for weeks, you know it won't be easy on him either.

One of you will be on the brink of tears soon; until now, it’s usually been you.

You take a deep breath, agitated when he laughs. He retracts his hand, smoothing back his chaotic mane before leaning in for another peck. And that’s all it remains — interrupted immediately, saliva mixing with the shower water.

“I’m so fucking crazy for you,” he confesses; the shiver doesn’t hesitate crawling down your spine — neither does Jungkook, peppering your neck with kisses.

His actions are smooth — you let him do anything. Like, explore every little spot of your skin. From the softness of your face, down to the flesh of your ass, echoing hard when a flat hand slaps it out of nowhere.

You propel forwards, barely aware of your surroundings. The shower raining onto you is the only indicator of where you still are.

So when he turns you carefully, 180 until your back touches the tiles, you don’t realise his intentions for a moment. Only when he changes his approach, digging your shoulders hard into the wall, knocking you out of breath.

“Are you trying to—” you ask, but he interjects right away.

“Don’t question it this time, okay?” His face inches close again, teeth suddenly pulling and nibbling at your lip. “Just let us do. Lemme do, yeah?”

His chest presses against your tits before he backs away and palms your mounds, squeezing nearly painfully.

For only a heartbeat, though — he doesn’t stall further. Because another second passes before you’re turned in his grip, chest not touching his anymore, but the wall now. From behind you, he grasps your hips, dragging you back just a couple inches; enough to sneak his hand through.

“But whenever things get too much, you…”

You nod. Promise, “Will tell you. I will.”

“Good.” His cock pokes between your ass, and he spreads its cheeks. Lets the hardness rest between them, sliding up and down. “Gonna make you feel so good, though. Wanna make you feel so fucking good.”

Wow… wow, f—

Not that you were ever interested in it before, but…

Part of you wants him to shove it in anywhere. Wherever the fuck he wants. You’d endure all hour-long foreplay and pleas and tears for him.

And perhaps he’s thinking the same. Perhaps you even spoke it out loud — you wouldn’t be surprised if you did. But you choke on your spit when he says, “Missing the sex toys. Like… What do you think of new ones, hm? Someday, maybe. Like— like an anal pl—”

“Please,” you beg, “I’ll do fucking anything for you.”

Break in conversation. Then, “Holy shit.” He chuckles. Fuck — his voice is deeper now, isn’t it? “You’re being whiny. I thought you’re a badass business woman, but you’re so whiny.”

“Because— I can breathe when I work.”

“Ohh. And now,” he whispers, close to your ear, hand moving. Up and further up, stopping around your throat, as if he’s testing your statement. As if he could tell him anything about the state of your lungs. “Now we’re not as focused, right?”

“No thinking when I suck your dick.”

“Dammit. Really don’t wanna wait to fuck you numb.”

You’re shamelessly jittery, patience out the window. “Don’t then. Get to it now.”

“Nope. I know you’re not ready yet. And I’m not either… so—”

He steps closer, forcing your body further forward until your cheek is squished against the wall. His fingers leave your throat to find another target; something far more south, a lot more dangerous.

One small circle drawn around your clit, you gasp, hearing him ask, “You think you can come with just my fingers?”

“I don’t know. I honestly think I need—”

He chuckles, and you can’t help but laugh, too. You’re hilarious sometimes.

“You think you’re so smart. But we can still try, though.” He says it casually, as if the two of you don’t exactly know that he’s perfectly capable of pulling through. But his voice still softens when you don’t answer, “Hey. You wanna try, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Anything,” you convince him, “anything, Kook.”

“Good girl. The best, always.”

His touch vanishes. You let out a mildly confused sound, observing with an unfocused vision how he opens the shower door a little. He reaches for the towel on the washing machine, drying his fingers, other hand moving the shower head until it’s mostly wetting his own back.

It’s a tiny detail, really. You only told him once how action around the clit might become uncomfortable with hands priorly washed or wet, and it seems he remembered.

Your eyes shut when he returns to your bundle of nerves, massaging gently, skilled. It starts slow at first; you feel the hot wetness build in and around your entrance, the line between the shower water and your arousal fading.

Jungkook’s movements, calculated and systematic, only spur your body on. He’s always known what he’s doing; has analysed and explored what you want. How you want it.

It’s true heaven to you: the way he kisses your cheek. The way he draws moans out of you, the motions around your swollen bud rhythmic. Your back and limbs tingle; you don’t know what to do with yourself.

And when you can’t stand still anymore, Jungkook orders, “Stop that. You’ll break my jaw.”

“Sorry.”

Your apology is timid, tiny; he laughs. “You cutie… you’re adorable even in moments like these.”

You throw your head against his shoulder as if to oppose him, opening your eyes, looking straight into his eyes. Your eyebrows are kissing, tension between them, mouth agape.

And he adds, “Or maybe not.”

He lifts you up a bit, dragging your body along the wall — you didn’t even notice that you slid down this much, angled, ass darting out like this. But you also don’t mind the arm that rounds your torso, just underneath your tits, keeping you steady when he takes it up a notch and—

“Oh my god,” you squeak when he pushes two fingers in. “Yes, yes, please—”

The incoherent, random requests are his favourite. Most of the time, he knows better than you what you’re pleading for. Which is why he doesn’t stop this time; probably more in the mood to please you than tease you.

From this position, he can’t reach knuckles deep, but just enough to brush the walnutty spot inside. And to your surprise, the orgasm builds up fast; the first quiver takes over your knees, but you understand that this is nothing compared to what’s to come.

You press your hands to the wall, holding onto remnants of your sanity when he kisses your neck, and along your damp shoulders. His mouth is hot against your pulse, wet hair tickling under your jaw. He bites lightly; soothes the fleeting sting with his tongue. Vampiristic.

Like a sensual massage, well thought out, pornographic.

And then he picks up on pace. Whispers, “That’s right— we got this—”

He starts pumping into you; relishes your incomprehensible curses. The thumb over your clit and the impatience of his fingers inside are a dichotomy, and you don’t know what to focus on. Which is why you stop thinking altogether.

Jungkook takes a sharp breath, quiet whistling sounds included, and then groans into your ear when you do. He keeps his motions up diligently, fingers a bit deeper with each time your ass moves back an inch.

As an aid, he shifts his arm, too, pushing forward, palm pressing against your clit now.

And when you come, you melt. Nearly collapsing, you keep moving, on edge, every spot of your body in tremor. You can barely breathe; you’ve been nestled in the heat of the shower for way too long.

He notices your tremble in an instant, encourages, “Got it. Got you. Keep going, baby, c’mon.”

The peak is blissful; you don’t want to ever fall off the edge again. Want to remain in this starry, gorgeous ache. Your eyes could stay in the back of your head; the world may keep fading. And you don’t need to know where you are.

All you know is that your voice sounds odd, high when you pant, “Don’t go away yet.”

“I’m right here. Right here, got you,” he repeats, holding you upright.

Jungkook knows — knows how to get you from lowest lows to your highest highs. Today was as pleasant as a day at work can be; but if he’s ready to do all this to you on any other, worse day, too, you might never encounter grief again.

He scatters kisses all over your jaw when you’re done — busies himself as you catch your breath, swallowing, eyes closed. Once you’ve caught yourself enough to utter fragments of sentences at least, you tell him, “Something not human about you, Jeon.”

“Oh. Are we back to surnames now?” He cackles, soothing motions along your arms. “Are we gonna shake hands, too, once we’re done? Bow and say thank you?”

You shake your head, though the stupid smile doesn’t wait to spread on your face.

“You’re dumb,” you say.

“You make me dumb.”

He drops his touch, brushing your pussy again — maybe as a test. But you’re sensitive and vulnerable, closing your legs and opening your mouth in response. He’s sly; uses the moment to push two fingers in right away, pressing your tongue down.

And you, as challenge-accepting as ever, start sucking, tasting some of yourself. You wrap your hand around his, moving your head, chest still heaving from the exhaustion. Your eyes close slowly enough for him to see them roll back, a reaction to the images your brain creates.

Like, the thought of the member currently poking you replacing those digits. The prospect of emptying him entirely.

“Fuuuuck— wish my brain could take a picture of this and save it forever,” he says, voice strained.

You open your mouth, licking a strip along his finger, past the tattoo. “What’d you do with it?”

“Would… would bring it to the forefront of my mind,” Jungkook begins, reclaiming his hand and dragging it down to your waist, “and use it whenever you’re away.”

“Hmmm… and then?”

“Would just…”

He doesn’t continue. Only shakes his head, lifting his shoulders, stance desperate and wanting; maybe he’s even a little out of his mind.

You egg him on, “Show me if you can’t say it.”

It’s a surprise that he obliges, but then again, it’s not. You always forget just how weak he is — that his heart sits right there in your palms, his body a magnet to yours.

So you’re endlessly pleased when your eyes flit down to a hand around his dick. Stroking slowly, its head hard against your pelvis. And you manage to watch a tiny second longer until the floor beckons you towards it, down to your knees.

It’s uncomfortable immediately; slick and odd. But you’re distracted by your dry tongue, thirsting, ridiculously hypnotised by the cock dangling in front of you. And then his thighs… muscular and thick. You reach out to them, holding them, steering forwards.

Despite his delicate frailty, you don’t fare any better. Ready to bruise your knees like an obedient doll, eyes wide when you look up at him. You grip him softly, urging him to remove his hand, stroking in his stead.

You pass all pleasantries and hesitations, and dive in immediately — leading your mouth to the tip before wrapping your lips around it delicately. Determined, you let only a second pass, eager as you start moving right away.

Bobbing your head, you take him in as much as your gag reflex allows. He’s too big — it’s impossible to ever swallow him fully. But no matter how greedy you are, that’s it.

You don’t give into it all the way just yet.

Instead, you back away after another lick. Straighten your body, drawing in and repositioning until you can push your tits together around the stiffness.

His groan tumbles out of him broken, choked, a hand against the wall. His abs are rippling, bicep bulged, nipples tiny and perked. Dark brown. Eyes hazy.

You want to do so many fucking things to him — want to mount him. Pull his head back by his long strands. Want, need to kiss him, rub yourself on him, back and forth along his cock until his moans become uncontrolled. Sticky white cum sprayed over his tummy.

Your nails in your skin, yearning for more — that’s one of your billion thoughts.

Instead, you summarise your wants, whispering a single, simple, fucked out, “I…” You gulp down the knot. Shiver at your position, craving the hot water a little now. Then command, “Fuck my mouth.”

His eyes threaten to fall out of his head; like they always do. He knows it’s a constant reaction, too, it seems, because, “God. I’ll never get used to you saying this.”

“You better, though.”

“Right. Right…”

He caresses your face, pushes your hair back. Perhaps he’s had enough of the pace; because he soon reaches for your arms, compliant deer kicked out of his head as he forces your wrists up and crosses them against the wall.

One hand is all he needs to hold them in their place. One hand gripping them hard, disabling any movement of your arms.

You let out a strange, obscene sound, finding utter liking in this gesture.

But despite your pleasure, he still eases you into the process, the heart tattoo grazing your cheek. A touch so soft that you think he’s praising you, wordlessly and gently. Making sure you’re absolutely okay with whatever he does to you.

And you confirm it with another blink, stretching out your tongue, ready. Holding his gaze. Mesmerised and frustrated, he says, “You’ll kill me with the way you look at me.”

Jungkook fuels your confidence with vigour each time, eloquent through scorching heat, too. Because you don’t think you’ve ever smiled this self-assured before you knew him; or been certain about your power over others.

You used to be far more insecure than that, feigning ignorance and carelessness, but reevaluating your decisions every step of the way. Months ago, you could’ve never predicted such a shift in conviction towards yourself.

So it’s new to you, but invigorating at the same time, the grin you sport, the words you utter, “Killing you isn’t my intention,” when he doesn’t, you move your head towards the leaking head of his cock, awaiting destruction, “wanna make you feel more alive than ever.”

The breath tumbling out of his mouth is ragged, pinky finger twitching a tiny bit when you wrap your lips around the tip and then let it go with a plop again; like it’s a lollipop to you.

Your knees move closer to his feet, and he stretches his one hand to your shoulder, making sure you don’t get hurt on the slippery ground. But you’re far too distracted to appreciate the gesture just yet, even though you feel the faint tickling along your limbs.

“I got it,” Jungkook then says, back in charge, hands back on the protruding, thick veins.

He moves his hips forward, testing. You roll out your tongue once more, closing your eyes. Try to make more room in your mouth, despite knowing it’s a thing of impossibility. And to your chagrin, it takes only a few more seconds for you to be full already.

Taking in as much as your throat allows, you gag when you reach your limit, letting out a tiny cough, salivating. You still can’t move your arms; his fingers are like chains around your wrists.

“That enough?” he asks. “I’ll stop here, okay?”

You nod. Wait. When he doesn’t move, you start pulling back, and then push forward again immediately. Your tongue is drenched in absolute filth; the spit trails down your chin, and you wish it was his.

But that’s not the point of it all — you’re not supposed to comfortably bop your head back and forth, are you? Despite the daily softness between the two of you, you want to be used. Want all his greed.

And he knows. Asks, “What do you need?”

Of course you can’t speak. He’s aware of that; stares down at you as you breathe heavily around him, mouth stuffed to the brim. Cheeks aching from the circumference.

You moan around him, parting your lips, moving your tongue from under his dick to swirl it around it a little. You move back, tasting the liquid minimally dripping out of his slit. Fuck, you want all of it, in thick, sickening ropes, in loads and buckets.

“Won’t even back away to speak,” he teases, words contradictory, because he won’t allow you to take a break either. Shoves himself inside again; you’re embarrassed that you only manage half of his length. “The dedication is hotter than it should be—”

Full, coherent sentences. How?

But even his string of thought breaks when he starts in earnest. Filling up your mouth once more, as much as he can and then a bit more for good measure. You adjust to his movements, suck down immediately.

You don’t care about the loss of voice later; you want to eat him up entirely.

His strokes grow harder by the second, rock hard inside you. You move your head until the head pokes against the inside of your cheek, and the tight wetness affects him, his knees buckling by one single inch.

“Easy…” he whispers, shaking his head, water drops landing on your face. “Fuck. Wanna have you hanging off the bed one day. Wanna see my cock ram your throat…”

Easy, he said. He’s definitely not being easy on you, though. Not with these admissions. Not with his motions.

The thrusts aren’t just hard, but deliberate and controlled, too. Your head keeps pushing back, lightly touching the wall. You’re far over sucking his dick, way too obedient and submissive to define it like that.

No, you’re being fucked. Gagging and choking around him, sucking in the spit whenever only his tip remains inside, sounds lewd and specific. Coming from the back of your throat, wet, hot and bothered.

God, you wish you were strong enough to take him all the way down to the base, licking at his balls, feeling his twitching dick thumping at the very far back. But you guess this is more than enough for him, too.

Because he holds your wrists harder, a rope around them, digging into your skin. The free hand wipes your hair away again, your body sweat-soaked while the shower water still trickles down his back.

He holds you there; then reaches for your nipple; pinches it hard over your heavily heaving chest, pleased when you open your eyes and look up at him. Waterline damp — the dangling chain might just be one of the reasons for that.

“Bit more,” he mumbles, and you think he’ll surrender right there, inside your mouth.

Which is why you sit up straighter, more determined, licking at the underside of his cock when he drags it out a little. His balls hang in your face and you reach for them, tongueing, hungry, not wanting him to move away now.

He doesn’t. Not yet. Relief courses through you, swallowing around his thickness again. Rolling your eyes back, hearing subtle “Doing well, so well, angel”s, ignoring the pain in your arms as he holds them upright.

You hollow your cheeks when he buries himself in deep, struggling when he stops right there. He doesn’t move; your eyes well up harder. All air enters and escapes through your nose, and you’re shaking, holding his stare as he keeps his cock in place, absolutely still.

That is, until you can barely breathe anymore, nails digging into your palms, arms trying to escape. He doesn’t say a word yet, only lets your hands drop. Your shoulders crack a bit, and you shake your arms, filling up your lungs, your palms next to his feet.

His cock is covered in your spit when you look again; your gaping mouth and chin similarly drenched.

And only when your head stops spinning, does he hold his hands towards you, urging you to take them as he says, “Sorry, baby. You did so well, I…”

You grip his fingers feebly, getting up on weak knees. Instead of holding onto your hands, he soon wraps an arm around your body, pulling you up before he asks, “Less next time?”

“No,” the word comes out as a squeak, throat already affected, “I’ll always tap if I feel it’s too much. I promi— promise.”

“Good,” he praises, a kiss to your damp forehead. He turns the water off. “That’s all I want, baby. Look at me.”

You’re already exhausted, staring down, fatigue fuelled by the hot water. Your eyes flutter open as you meet his gaze, and he puts a hand to your cheek, thumb on your swollen lower lip.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he compliments; his hand must be heating up under your touch, “did you know? So sweet and stunning. It makes me sick.”

“Thought I was the only one. You…” He looks at you, and you hold him tight, smiling about your joke in advance. “You have such an effect on me, it makes me wanna throw up.”

Right. So in love, it makes your stomach turn.

“Please don’t,” he pleads, conjuring a tender eye smile. The wide grin is unreal. “And let’s get out of here. We can’t keep standing here.”

“Waste of water.”

“Yes, waste of water. That, too. And I should have some lube in the bedroom.”

Of course he’s as impatient as you — although you’re almost a hundred percent sure you could do without that stuff easily. The insides of your thighs are slippery, and you’re certain the shower wasn’t the sole reason for that.

Your legs feel weird, your body heavy when you finally get out. The cosy bathroom is filled with steam and heat, but at least you can breathe easier here than under the piping hot water.

The mirror is fogged up; you glance into it to check your state, but recognise nothing but your vague form. You wipe a stripe the size of your hand along it as you walk past, halting at the door. And when you look back, Jungkook is making quick, brief work on picking up the clothes you haphazardly threw to the side before.

“You don’t wanna do this later?” you ask, still fond.

It’s just him cleaning up the floor, but… you enjoy watching him do mundane things. You might never be able to explain why, but you do.

“Just throwing them into the washing machine. Will turn it on later,” he answers.

He straightens his body with a sigh when he’s done, sniffling as he usually does. His eyes are hidden behind his long hair, so he lifts both his hands to brush the soaked tresses back. The muscles of his arms are mountainous and firm. Tattoos ending at his shoulder.

He’s indescribably pretty like that. Looking up, lips parted, jaw chiselled.

You observe him for a bit longer, gaze trailing down his body. Small nipples, broad and sculpted pecs, six painfully visible rectangles of abs. Cock still mostly awake.

Fuck.

Crossing your legs, you bite your lips, one hand on the door handle. You take in the domesticity. The moment might be subtle and casual, but something about it is incredibly homely.

How you speak to each other, and how his washing machine is cleaning both your clothes. It’s the little things, isn’t it?

Your eyes are fond when you say, “Whenever it does happen… I can already imagine all of it clearly.”

“Hm?” He blinks at you. “All of what, baby?”

“Of being here with you. All the time.” His motions stop. He drops his arms, a strand falling back into his face, but he doesn’t care. Glances at you for a couple seconds until you smile and nod towards the door. “Let’s go.”

But it seems he changed his mind in this split second that you turn to the exit.

Because all of a sudden, just as he did before, he tugs you back. And just like before, you land against the wall, having him staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time. His voice is a whisper, enchanting, “Okay… you know what. Forget it.”

“Huh?”

“Fuck lube, okay?” His eyes are glued to your lips. Then to your pupils. He looks lost. “We can manage. Don’t need the bedroom… just you. Want you right now.”

“Jungko—”

You don’t anticipate it — so it draws a small moan out of you when his fingers suddenly graze between your legs, digging in for just a moment. Fingering you for a split second as you gasp — and then they disappear again.

He moves in to kiss your cheek. Just a peck first. Then his lips open against your neck, hand moving up your body and pushing your tit up. His tongue soon joins the fun, darting through his parted lips, sucking your tits hard. Biting, groaning, moaning.

“Jungkook.” You push your touch through his hair as he kisses his way further down, nibbling at your sides, and you whine, “Don’t wanna wait, Kook…”

His eyes are closed and his voice hushed, raspy and deep as he says between kisses, “I’ll be gone for a moment, baby. You’ll barely notice, I promise.”

Strange how he means distanced from your kiss, not from your body. Strange how you miss each other while in the same room, but not melted into each other.

You’re losing your mind. Throwing your head back, ruining your hair against the tiles. Eyes droopy and hazy, mind turning in various directions as you relish each touch and peck. Your body relaxes; all the weight of the world off your shoulders.

Jungkook fondles your body, caresses all of you, planting kisses on your tummy, your waist, your pelvis. Continues to tug at the flesh of your thighs with his lips. It feels like a massage, not painful but gentle. Careful as he hoists up one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder. 

And then… he starts.

His tongue flashes out to your clit. Parts your folds. It’s difficult from this position, but his pointy wet muscle paints patterns over your pussy. And you reel.

Jungkook truly is an artist. Knows to make you mewl, turns your breaths laboured. You move your hips, guiding his face closer with your hand in his hair, slowly riding it. The French kisses, the brush against your thighs… he’s…

God.

“God,” you echo, “I love this, I—”

He’s feasting. Letting out alluring sounds, spurring you on, and you almost topple over the edge. But Jungkook knows what he’s doing — leaves you yearning, moving away and up to you.

When he said he’d be gone for a moment, he truly meant it.

Your lip quivers when he looks at you, ordering a soft, “You’ll come together with me.” He raises your chin. “Okay? You and I together. Always.”

Must be a hidden message. He’s not just talking about sex anymore, is he? But him and you in one bubble, separated from the world. Nothing but you, you and you.

You barely wait another second. Instead, you immediately lurch forwards, initiating a kiss beyond sinful from the start. Teeth clashing, tongues feral. For a couple seconds you breathe into each other, letting out odd noises, his hand pulling your leg back up again and pinning it against the wall.

You’re on your tippy toes when his cock teases your entrance, his lips soon on your shoulder again. Cold chain brushing your skin. He’s sucking harshly, guiding his dick inside with determination. Sheer impatience is palpable in his touch and audible in his sounds.

The head of his dick parts your folds, diving in; and you let out a moan so lustful that he grows downright desperate against your shoulder. Standing here like this is hard, too; so he puts his palms on your ass, commands—

“Jump once.”

“What?”

“Jump,” he repeats, “I’ll hold you. Want you, please.”

“Okay…” you mumble. You put your hands on his broad shoulder, readying yourself, “Okay.”

And then you do — immediately wrapping your legs around him. And he lets you fall slowly, body pressed against yours, so you’re sandwiched between him and the wall; so he can guide his hardness back to your cunt.

You drop onto it slowly, carefully. Impaling yourself on him, inch by inch penetrating your insides. The more you take in, the deeper the crease between your eyebrows. And when he’s bottomed out, you feel like… yourself again?

Because what moment is more intimate than this? What moment allows you to crawl out of your shell more than this?

Even if in a crude sense, this is yet another definition of home. And every definition can be traced back to him.

“You feeling alright?” he asks, and you nod immediately.

“Is a bit weird, but…” you hold onto him, one hand moving to his face. You don’t finish your sentence; only nod, exhaling against his lips.

“Can I start?”

Another nod; and then he starts pumping in. Slowly in and out; you’re firmly in place against the wall, slipping just a little. His hands engulf your ass again — his strength is mind-numbing, and his sounds loud as he splits you in two.

Your eyes shut for a mini moment, and when they crack open again, they’re met with the still mirror. It’s fogging up again, yet still clear enough to make out Jungkook’s back; the form of his body. Your thoughts tangle up.

You’ve seen him shirtless a million times before, fully bare — but it might be the first time you’re enjoying this very perspective. And the entirety of him… leaves you gasping. Butt naked, ass muscles flexing, the triangle shaped back smooth. Where do his guts even fit?

They’re a blessing, those reflections, catching the way he’s standing, ramming into you. And then you, burying your nails into his shoulder blades, expression fucked out, body moving up and down the wall. Having things done to you by him.

You’re so fucking lucky.

You mutter, “Kook…”

“Yes, baby.”

“You look so good… so…”

“Mmmh, you do, too,” the sentence starts in a clear tone, but morphs into a whisper, “just… can’t see enough of you… shit, babe—”

He leans in, parting your lips with his, your tongues touching as he delivers a rough jab just once. And that’s when things stop working for you.

Because soon enough, you’re swaying to the side, nearly falling; as his protective instincts kick in, immediately holding you, his cock jumps out. And he shakes his head, pecking your temple once, and then deducts, “Okay. This won’t do.”

“Hmmm,” you hum in agreement, weak on your legs, “bad idea for sure.”

“Hold up.”

He’s quick to turn you around, thoroughly in charge of your body tonight — you’re fully under his mercy. Ready to kneel and bend for him. And Jungkook, understanding your boundaries, gives you all you need — knows what to do, knows when to stop.

And you keep handing over control; more so when he pushes you over the sink, stating, “Okay. Looks easier.” A pause. “Looks so much fucking better, too.”

Wish you could see. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re tense.

He leans down to kiss your back. His dick pokes between your ass cheeks again, slipping down and further down until it makes itself home between your nether lips again.

It falls into it in one fell swoop, swiftly, as if it’s no effort at all — guess it never is.

And god, does the position feel heavenly.

Balls deep inside; the first angle that allows full unhinged, animalistic mode.

But he still starts out slow; with long strokes and a hand in your hair. You tumble backwards a little, urging him to move too, lifting your ass higher and pushing your legs together for maximal effect.

Allowing more tightness for him; more friction for you.

“I… missed fucking you so much,” he says between thrusts. “You feel unreal.”

You guess you do. He does, too. Maybe the two of you need a reminder that this is all too real; perhaps a tantalising equivalent to a wake-up-pinch.

So you suggest, “Fuck me harder, Kook.”

“Hmm… want that?”

“Been waiting so fucking long.”

And while a lover of patience and anticipation — who is he to reject your wishes after the entire ordeal occurring in this room? The two of you have dragged out this moment plenty.

So he listens fast; soon using your neck as leverage as his inked fingers wrap it smoothly. Agreeing, “It’d be my literal pleasure, babe.”

God, he’s a dumbass — but you can’t physically react. Too caught up in something else; storing the laughter and jokes for later.

Because he picks up on pace, not too much right away; but enough for his hips to slap against your ass. Enough for you to be catapulted forwards with a whine, cheek pressing to the glass.

You lift your hand, accidentally wiping again, but only manage a trail, hand sliding down. From behind, you hear a hoarse praise, “Looks so fucking hot,” he draws a sharp breath, nearly hissing, “I promise I’ll be careful, just…”

He pulls at your hair. Shoves his cock inside rougher, face closer to you, lips to your cheek. Swallows hard enough for you to hear, and then, “Tell me if it’s too much. Am careful until I can’t be, baby.”

Until he loses control. He says it right before he drops all inhibitions and — goes feral.

You squint your eyes shut, calling out his name; the word echoes in the small room, and for just a second, you worry the neighbours might hear. And then right away, you stop caring again.

Because you want this man. Now and later and forever; want him like this, want him in any way. This isn’t just sex to you — if that’s what you wanted, you’d download an app like your freshman self used to.

No.

No matter how obscene, there’s meaning in every one of your touches; in every stroke, in every word, in every single time you lose yourself in him.

Your stomach twists as he jackhammers into you; you’re craving proximity, craving all his attention. Want all of his emotions and touches raw and merciless. Want to see him.

Although, when your shut eyes open, you only see blurry forms in the mirror moving, him behind you. He squeezes your neck; you see that much before he slides it down your body, straight to your clit, no detours.

He pushes his knee up for a second, touching the edge of the sink and balancing on one leg, but drops it again soon. The white painted, stainless steel of the sink, previously cold on your tummy, burns against your skin now. A chafing feeling.

Jungkook draws more forms against your clit, but then retracts his hand; instead, squishing your tits, indecisive where to touch. But it’s the last move he makes before he straightens his body, palms on your ass until he spanks just once and…

Pulls out again.

What?

“Look at me, sweetheart,” you register.

You pant, fingers clutching the sink and gulping down the tiredness before you manage a turn. Your eyes land on his dick first; it’s fully drenched in your arousal, so unbreakably stiff.

He whispers again, “Look at me,” but the moment you do, he doesn’t withhold your stare for too long. Instead, his hands are back on your cheeks, drawing you close, seeking your lips. His never-satisfied thirst matches yours; you want to remain here and freeze time.

With your arms around his neck, he guides you towards the washing machine, pushing the clothes further aside. He helps you get on it, but you argue immediately, “This could be dangerous, right? Shouldn’t sit here, I think… might break…”

“It’ll be okay,” he says, making himself comfortable between your legs, pushing them apart with his thighs. Two fingers hold your chin, lips ghosting over yours. “Is a cheap ass thing… want a new one anyway.”

You wonder if he’ll say that about all the furniture he’ll fuck you on. Because observing his eyes, you know that he will — will soil every inch of his apartment within, what you anticipate, a short period of time.

But unfortunately for the washing machine, you’re too weak to reject the offer.

So you hold him tight, jostling him closer to you as you ask, “Yeah?”

“Mhmmmm.” The word drowns in your moan when his cock glides back in; when will you ever get used to this? “Don’t worry… won’t break as badly as we will.”

Well, fuck.

The ridges of his cock drag just right along your walls, the angle making your mouth water. Your cunt is burning; and he still dares to ask, “Okay like that?”

“More than okay, Kook… more than—”

He always screws you numb; barely ever lets you finish your sentences. Your moans have become a constant interruption, along with the goddamn things he says, “Your pussy is so good. So, so good.”

And then he’s back making out with you, sweatier than before. His body is enticingly warm, muscles working on you. Both his and your hair sticks to the nape of the neck or your back, and you hold onto him, keening against his lips.

Then, you lean back for a second, keyed up as fuck, propping up your body with your arms. Your palms press against the back of the machine, and he inches close to explore the bare skin of your torso. His chain skims your nipples, as if on purpose; and he kisses you here, there, everywhere.

Neck, clavicles, tits, jaw.

Perspiring without an end, all of this could be gross. But instead, you feel hyped up, sexy as never before. Dizzy at the sight of his golden skin, the small beads of sweat spreading on it.

It takes one or two more minutes of this insanity until things come to an eventual end. A glorious end, that is — filled with deep moans, squealed calls of names, unrhythmic thrusts that fasten for the finale.

“I’ll come,” Jungkook states, and you shoot back up to him, holding his head against the mounds of your tits. He kisses between them, breathing irregular, words muffled, “Gonna come so hard, what the f—”

And when he does, you lose all coherent thoughts immediately. Not that you could think before — but his uncontrolled exclaims already make you wish for a whole new round. Nevermind that your pussy is wrecked and beaten.

Vocal as ever, he finishes with deep shoves, slowing down with each second. His lips remain open between your collarbones, and you feel his eyebrows draw together. Thick strings of hot cum filling you up, your cunt tightens.

And somehow, after all this, he still finds the energy to sneak his hand between your bodies, blindly seeking your clit until he finds it. Familiar circles render you breathless, even though they’re lazy — but picking up on intensity when he leans back, still breathing hard.

He looks absolutely done — still fucking the rest of him into you. But you’re moaning and groaning, and he’s far from giving up as he says, “Come with me, baby.”

Honestly, he doesn’t need to tell you. You’re already calling and blurting out random words, already limp. Wrapping your legs around his torso with the tiny remaining energy you have left, absolutely insane.

Jungkook kisses you one last time. And you let the build up in your lower tummy and pussy proceed; up and up and up to the peak — until he delivers one last stroke, cock already softening, finger on your nub diligent and…

You milk his dick in its entirety. Your pussy clenches and unclenches. Random figures swim in your vision, flashy behind your eyelids. Limbs trembling, body a mess and fingers hooking into his chain, you only notice now that you’re repeatedly whispering his name.

Winding and crying. Trying not to tug too hard, to break the jewellery, but still urging him closer, closer.

You’re shivering, surviving the vertigo, breathing stagnant. Trying to control it. Quivering like fucking crazy, not feeling your legs.

Also hating how his cum is dripping onto the damn washing machine. In your hazy mood, you laugh a little.

It takes a bit of time for the two of you to calm down, to dim the adrenaline in your nerves. Your chests rise and fall in unison, still clutching to the embrace. His skin is flushed, yours hot, skin tingling with the lingering heat of the passed passion.

And when he finally moves back, looking at you, you see half a dozen things in there. Satisfaction and vulnerability among them. Maybe even a hint of mischievousness, proud of whatever just happened; happy with the emotions it conjured.

Stars in his eyes. Contentment, composure and affection at last.

A pleasant stillness follows, the world outside the bathroom nonexistent. The aftermath of the steamy encounter lingers until you break the silence after all.

“When the hell,” you start, throat dry, “did you get so broad?”

“…What?”

“You just. You looked endless in the mirror. You’re so—”

Amused, he displays a grin as sly as you adore. He tsks and then mocks, “Stop drooling.”

“You first.”

His chuckle is throaty; a result of the constant exclaims and the absolute dehydration. You give the two of you a moment to collect saliva on your tongue, to swallow and wet your cords.

Your fingers paint an invisible, light pattern on his skin; tracing his tattoos is one of your favourite things to do. You jest, “That’s a good way to destress.”

He arches an eyebrow, then rolls his eyes — but the devotion towards you behind the gesture is irrefutable. It carries into his words, no matter how playfully mocking his tone or his sighs, “Everything for the princess.”

“So,” you pause, lips curling into a soft smile. “Is this what I’m gonna be getting for the rest of my life?”

You see it immediately. The explosion in his eyes; the burst of stars in the depths of his pupils. Clear as the night sky, fond and sweet and magical. Guess you spoke big words for sure.

“…The rest of your life, huh?” he asks.

“No?”

“Is that what you want?”

Ever-the-boomerang, you gauge his reaction, closing the distance between you. Lips barely apart, you throw back again, “Don’t you?”

You don’t need to glance through his ribs, lungs, blood and skin; you see the swelling around his heart. Emotions swimming in it in abundance. You see all of it right in his eyes.

And his voice proves it; delicate and quiet, “Baby… you make my heart drop to my stomach all the time. Do I not look at you like I want a rest of my life with you?”

Gosh. You’re too weak for this.

“Look at me like that more often,” you answer, breathing against him, eyes dancing with delight, “maybe I’ll believe you then.”

“Huh,” he makes, letting out an entertained huff, “brat. Maybe later. Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed for now, alright?”

Right. You forgot you’re still here. Snapping back into reality is always a task.

Of course it is.

Because your world is a cocoon; you don’t want to leave it just yet. And maybe, somewhere in the near future — you won’t have to anyway.

Jungkook and you don’t waste minutes doing formalities tonight. No flickering candle flames; no organised set up of your table. You dim the lights, snatching a lamp from his bedroom and rely on it along with the TV’s brightness.

You filled your plates and stomachs with a dish he’s wanted to show you for a while. It’s some special Jeon recipe — limited to him specifically, not his family. The brief cut in your relationship kept you from the meal, but watching him fiddle with the pots and cutlery was worth the wait after all.

He’s still proud of it; you’re filled to the brim, sick to the core, but the noodle-Buldak-mayo-perilla-oil-combination introduced the night just perfectly.

Your body is limp against his after dinner, bloated. A mutual agreement concluded that watching a movie might be the easiest activity you could indulge in to further destress. So you cuddle up, eyes droopy as you wait for the Netflix logo and thump to subside.

You let the username float by, though unable to suppress your giggle. Your back shakes against him, his hand halting mid-air, remote control in it, and you comment, “Letjungcook7. You’re such a dork.”

“Why?” You look back, met with raised eyebrows and round eyes. “Do you not like it?”

“I love it. Don’t you ever dare change it.”

He tuts, trademark smirk tilted; responds, “And don’t you ever change your Sunny Baudelaire icon.”

“God, she’s an iconic baby,” you groan, enthusiastic; your hands gesture to the TV, Baudelaires nowhere in sight, “I will never shut up about this show.”

“That’s why you’re not allowed to change it. Kinda cute how much you love it.”

“Jungkook,” you tug at his unoccupied arm, placing his wrist and palm over your belly button, “would you ever rewatch it with me?”

His hand rubs gently over your shirt, and then drops until his fingers are toying with your — his — jogger’s strings. “I’m a pro at rewatching. I’m down.”

You whisper a dragged celebratory word, eyes back to the screen. He’s scrolling through the genres fast, barely inhaling the titles and summaries. And when he skips three more of the stuff you’d usually settle on, you say, “Don’t think you’ll find anything on there.”

Ironically enough, he answers, “We’ve barely looked. Look. Knives Out’s second part is on there.”

“I just watched it recently. Hmm, what about that Poe movie with Christian Bale?”

On cue, he passes it three seconds later, only stopping on it for a moment before he voices, “Hmm…”

You wait. Drag out another second. Then conclude, “Okay, you’re not feeling it. Got it. Something else?”

“What about Disney?”

“What about scrolling until we fall asleep?”

The hand still busy with the strings moves up to your sides, pinching you lightly. You flinch, hard enough to nearly break his nose, overdramatic by nature. Amidst your commotion, you hear him say, “Don’t mock me. I’ll kick you from the couch.”

“I’ll just stay on the floor then.”

“Angel, I swear.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

But you’re not.

Because the bicker continues for another ten minutes, remote control snatched every now and then, ideas suggested and immediately rejected.

Jungkook admits his guilty pleasures merely a couple minutes later, and you conjure all your patience and discourse abilities to explain why you can’t watch The Notebook or Titanic anymore.

But once Dion’s soprano voice builds a nest in a lobe of your brain, you give in, half laughing, half agitated as you tackle the 90s classic — only for Jungkook to click out again.

“It’s no fun when we’re not both ready to watch it.”

“Dude…”

More scrolling, you guess.

Five more minutes pass — and eventually, Titanic deserted, you sing the songs of Coco instead. You expect Jungkook’s attention and lips to shift halfway through the movie, tracing down your neck or along your sides – a standard for a weekday movie night.

But to your surprise, he powers through it with minimal dialogue and wide, focused eyes. Palm above your ribs, moveless under your shirt and his cheek pressed against your heartbeat, you assume he’s fallen asleep by the time the credits roll.

Until – you feel warm liquid wetting your shirt, a sniffle combining with his shaky breath before you ask with your own damp eyes, “Babe— are you crying?”

His answer is delightfully unashamed and immediate, “I’ve never watched Coco without crying.”

The soft strains of the movie’s soundtrack won’t let your eyes dry either; but Jungkook seems far more into it than you. Adoration burns hot in your veins.

“You never told me that!” you exclaim.

“Because it’s not worth telling. Should be a given — these movies are made to cry to!”

You giggle through your tears. Jungkook’s mind works in miraculous ways — non-judgemental, yet probably flashing a side-eye to those who do not partake in a sob fest during Coco or Encanto.

“I honestly love how you’re not a toxic male at all, you know?” you point out; you feel a huff against your chest.

At least he’s smiling through the brief sadness, too.

You crane your neck, not quite turning around just yet, and watch him rub his cheek clean off the tears. Not that his eyes have stopped welling up, though.

For a moment, you observe, staring at the swollen, pouty lower lip. His pupils glimmer in the TV’s light, long locks brushed back; half of them tied in a tiny ponytail.

You could overthink every detail of his face. Tell him all about his everlasting elegance. Instead, you only lower your voice, soft as you say, “You look pretty even when you cry.”

“Thank you,” he returns, though fingertips still work at the liquid, and you can’t help but laugh.

You can barely believe that’s the same confident beast who was pressing you against cool tiles just an hour ago. The stark contrast baffles you.

You’re amused when you question, “It really affects you so much?”

“Everything about it!” he immediately argues. You expand your eyes. “The way Coco looks at Miguel at the end. And that freaking moment when she meets her parents at the end. Does it not affect you?”

“Oh, of course it does,” you defend, “I’m a story girl. I’ll cry reading and watching these things, for sure.”

“And then the lyrics,” he continues, in his element a hundred percent, “the thought of remembering someone even after they’re gone and far away…”

The further his sentence progresses, the more the words blur. His voice is feeble, hoarse when he gets to the final syllables. When he pauses between his rambling to draw a breath, you hear a heartbreaking shake in his inhale.

And the exhale sounds like a quiet sob.

You turn back immediately, pressing onto the pause button, remote control still in his hand. The credits darken the room as opposed to the movie’s colours before. You see a damp trail along his cheek, eyelashes wet.

Your smile vanishes as you stare a little longer. The blanket falls from your chest into your lap when you lift your arm from under it, hastily drying his tears with your thumbs. Just slightly, he leans into the touch, but his face soon falls, an attempt to hide.

You ask, “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook isn’t embarrassed of tears — you figured this out without him admitting it to you. But he’s embarrassed of the guilt he feels; acknowledging it when he speaks.

“It’d just be nice,” hands holding his face drop; you touch his chest, “to make up with the family like this. They made it look easy.”

You keep looking. Bewildered, unable to answer for seconds too long. You blink until the words sink in properly, incapable of more than, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“No, no,” he argues, shaking his head, “I mean. Who am I to tell you something like this?”

“It’s okay. Your worries are legit worries, too. Look at me,” you reassure, prompting him to meet your gaze. “You’re not a bad person. Okay? It’s… so terrible that you think you are.”

“I fucked up.”

It dawns on you once more that he firmly believes that; causes a searing sting. The process is neither a smooth nor a quick one — you know it’ll take a while for him to convince him otherwise. To drop his current beliefs about himself.

“You didn’t,” you refute, firm certainty and conviction in your voice. “That’s not how a fuck-up is defined, I promise you. And those who are actually wrong probably know, too.”

“It’d just be nice,” he starts again; the shrug of his one shoulder doesn’t distract you from the misery and self-loathing in his eyes, “if he called at least.”

“I know. I don’t know, I… do you think you could call instead?”

Jungkook’s lashes brush his skin, the apples of his cheeks not as round and squishy as usual. Yet, the sadness makes him look younger, softer.

You sigh; a warm blanket isn’t enough anymore. You need to wrap him in the comfort of the world — ideally, in his father’s care.

Jungkook opens his mouth for another argument, but then holds it in, says after another moment of contemplation, “Actually… There’s a gathering coming up. I’ll see my people there, so… I don’t know. Trying won’t hurt, right?”

“It never does.”

His eyes start unfocusing. You recognise it in the way he glues his gaze to a point on the glass table, unblinking, staring nowhere in truth. You keep your attention on him for another second, hoping he’ll look at you, even if forlorn.

But when he doesn’t, you wrap your arms around him instead. His chest is calmer against your head now, breathing as soft as the palms that find your back. He presses you into his body by mere inches; you barely notice.

Your fingers draw shapes on his arm, a subtle consoling gesture. In the background, you hear the song fade, volume lower now. The movie soon transitions to something else; you don’t pay any mind to it, drowsy and distracted in his embrace.

But then your mind wanders; to the man keeping Jungkook’s thoughts hostage. You remember the conversation the two of you had last Sunday. You recall the way your hand held his broken heart together.

You wish it was as easy as a small scar — an echo of whatever once transpired, but also a reminder that it healed.

Then, for a second, you think of your own wounds. How they still need to be cured, too. How years and time alone won’t fix issues; you need to tackle them actively — maybe at some point, the two of you can.

You laugh softly against his shirt, burying between his pecs; joking, “We’re perfect for each other. Dysfunctional families and whatnot.”

His chuckle is still a light tremble, but genuine enough for you to celebrate. His hands push a little harder into your back; your body shifts up his lap, butt half on his thigh. Eyes shut, still sniffling.

Jungkook wraps around you like a soothing force, an invisible bubble. A bandage despite carrying all bruises. You sigh in contentment, head dizzy from exhaustion; waking up just when he blurts a question again.

“You really think that, right? That I’m not a bad person.”

You crack your eyes open a slit.

You understand. Someone who overthinks needs multiple repeated reassurances — you’re the same.

So you nod against him, guaranteeing, “You’re… kind of ridiculously amazing. You’re someone who gives all those people hope who don’t believe in humanity anymore.” Pause. “And I admire you in every way. So much.”

He doesn’t respond. You wait. Further dead silence, interrupted by the soft sounds of the TV. You lick your lower lip, dropping your gaze to where your thumb rubs his wrist. Tracing a vein.

His mellow voice reverberates, a melody to your eardrums when he whispers, “We’d do this so much if you were here all the time.”

“Crying in each other’s arms, huh?”

He clicks his tongue, accompanied by the grin you’re certain graces his face, even if you can’t see. You hear it in his voice all the more, “Sure. Also, have dinner together. Shower and watch movies together. Laugh and cry.”

You smile. “I still can’t believe it, you know? That you want this… and me at all.”

“You feel that, too, yeah?” Fingertips move up your spine, between your shoulder blades and then to the nape of your neck. Tickling, grazing gently. “I promise I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t truly feel all that, though.”

“What’s all that?”

“Just.” His chest rises. Then falls. “Everything.”

One of your heartbeats freezes, you’re sure. And when it comes back alive, you think — maybe he doesn’t need the world’s comfort after all. Or his father’s care. Maybe yours is enough right now.

But then again.

You’d be damned if you kept your traumas intact. Or his. You took each other as you came long ago — as vulnerable human beings, with a whole lot of baggage. With all the injuries on your heart.

Yet, this isn’t a state you want to accept. For neither of you.

Your unwavering belief remains steadfast — that one day, things need to become… okay.

So you gulp down all the pain, lighting a candle in your chest, and say,

“It’s not over yet, baby.”

Zara keeps yelling orders around. Her voice, usually collected and tender, is agitated today. You can barely imagine how many little tasks, how many stressed phone calls must be overrunning her.

You establish a distance between your device and your ear, protecting your hearing with one eye squinting shut. And when she returns to the conversation, you exhale through the nose.

“Sorry. You were asking—”

“How’s it look?” you repeat.

“I mean, everyone’s stressed,” she responds, clearly frustrated; as if it should be obvious to you. And it is; but you’ll spiral, too, if you don’t keep your calm, at least. “A lot to do.”

“You’re sure you don’t need me to come earlier?”

“All good, love. You’re not a manager yet,” she stops her speech to mumble something to another co-worker, imaginary hands jam packed with preparations for the press conference. “But when you are, you won’t know what to do with all the stress.”

“Great outlook into a potential future.”

“I just mean you should enjoy things while they last.”

Zara isn’t the only one wandering up and down the building to assure perfection. She’s only one of the big mentors, managers to handle everything; responsible for the catering and content to be presented at the conference.

Her team stands firmly behind her, but you don’t blame her for still allowing her head to steam. Of all busy people in their blazers and slacks, however, she’s been the only one to spare some time for you.

You’re grateful for her enthusiasm and support. You smile as you ask, “Do you think I can answer everything the way I intend to?”

“I think so.”

“It’s so new to me.”

“Yeah, but you’re a natural at this stuff. And also,” she speaks slower now. The chaos behind her has calmed a little; her voice echoes off somewhere. Perhaps a restroom. “Things are looking good.”

You stop sauntering through the room, pausing in front of the bed’s corner before dropping onto it. Dragging your tongue over your lower lip, you blink, and then ask, “You’re sure?”

“We had a couple conversations over here. Made a few more phone calls, and I think you don’t need to worry about a thing. We’ll come up with something if things derail, though, okay?”

You’re uncertain, still anxious. Should this afternoon flop, you’ll be screwed.

You need it to succeed. You can’t afford misfires. Ugh.

Restless, your foot taps against the floor. You try not to think of things going astray; try to think of a smooth progress, not precarious in any way.

Yet, you ask doubtfully, “Can we do that?”

“We always can. That’s business.”

Guess she’s right. Your mother has saved you one too many times — from stupid things you did as well as from things you never needed saving from.

A rich human being’s power over the media — and frankly, the world — is unbeatable. Barely to be underestimated.

“Okay,” you mutter, “thank you.”

Despite only hearing her voice, you imagine her nod, the way she often does. You miss the warm, promising palm on your shoulder. Appreciate that she’s still here instead of dropping you to the side; leaving the call to handle more relevant issues.

No, she lingers there; you hear her breathe until she asks, “Are you bringing your man, too, by the way?”

Your man.

You straighten your back in pride, bright smile back, “Yeah! He said he’d come and support me. But he’s not home yet.”

“Oh? Well, you gotta be here in three hours. Where’d he go?”

“God knows. But don’t worry about punctuality.” You hear a hum, glancing up at the clock. Past noon. “Hey, also. My parents are definitely gonna come, right?”

“Babe,” she drags the word a little, and you can almost see her side-eyeing you, “journalists will be present. Cameras everywhere. At least your mother would never miss such a thing.”

Right. Cares about that company too much.

You remember the times she proved it to you. When you’d come home from middle school, eating some extravagant lunch while watching her talk on TV. Conversing with your staff.

“Okay. Good,” you say, happy about that very answer for once.

Outside, a door creaks. Steps echo through the hallway, a soft call of your name following as you hear the jingling of keys stop.

He sounds joyful.

You get up, phone halfway off your ear as you say, “Hey, I should go. I think that he—”

And the moment you look at the open door of the bedroom, your heart stops. For a second, you fear an intruder at his apartment, but the longer you look, the more your brain gives out.

The black-white-red jacket hugs his broad shoulders comfortably, the thin white sweater underneath it nearly transparent enough to reveal his tiny nipples. But despite his stature, it’s not his body that kills the power in your head.

It’s the—

You murmur last words into the phone, making out a goodbye that doesn’t reverberate as much anymore. She’s probably out of the restroom again; too distracted to give your mumble any attention anyway.

You place your phone where you previously sat and inhale his appearance carefully.

First off — you can see his ears. Can see most of his eyes. His forehead.

His hair is still dark, but it’s tamed. The wild locks, usually a feature you’ve gotten used to over the span of that one year, lay comfortably on his head. In fact, most of them are gone.

You feel a needle in your chest, but one of the surprising sort. Not painful at all.

“Wow,” you only say.

He reaches to the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing the hair there. “Yeah?”

You move towards his body, eyes fixated on every hair strand. Then, close enough, you state the obvious, “You cut your hair.”

“I… yeah. Is it terrible?” he asks, round eyes meeting yours. He raises his hand again, to his ear this time, scratching behind it for a second. “Not used to it at all. But I figured I’d look a little more serious as an artist like this.”

Really? Most artists you knew cared the least about a fancy appearance.

Then again, Jungkook doesn’t look fancy. He just looks different. Breathtaking, more mature, older.

His cheekbones look more chiselled now, his eyes wider. You could pass out right here, right now, and he still wouldn’t know how relentlessly he affects you.

“More serious?” you ask, less because you need an explanation. More because your mind keeps wandering, and you can’t fathom a word he’s saying.

“Just. Needed a change, I think,” he admits, “and wanted to adjust to a press conference’s typical look, too.”

“You did this for the press conference?”

“I wanted to look put together.”

Your heart dissolves and dissipates. His voice is soft as a petal, tender like the colours on his arm. The expression he sports is unsure, like he wants to hide — waiting for your opinion.

He really put thought into this. Woke up this morning and set a goal with purpose, not uttering a word to you to surprise you a couple hours later.

You don’t know what to say. You barely know what to feel, except this unbearable urge to ramble down every piece of tiny emotion he’s ever made you feel.

You want his body wrapped around you, engulfed in a blanket, head on his chest and slumbering for the rest of your life. Want to mumble little confessions, shiver when his lips touch your scalp.

Overwhelmed — that’s what you are.

“I loved the long hair,” you finally admit, “I guess I got too used to it, so I need to adjust, but. But… this is so… It… it suits you.”

You’re stumbling over your words, suggesting doubt. Not the way to go. Perhaps they shouldn’t have chosen you as one of the press conference speakers after all. 

Jungkook’s concern grows visible in his big, round pupils; expressive, a true glimpse into his heart. You feel bad because you’re not as good with words as he is, and because he seemed so happy about his choice.

You just can’t fucking express yourself — even though you’re melting inside, falling harder. And maybe he notices your awkwardness, because he tries again.

“You’re uh— sure you don’t hate it?”

“No! God, no. It’s different. You look amazing, Kook. You look like…”

He swallows. “Like what?”

“You’re so pretty, Jeon Jungkook.” You say it with genuinity this time. He closes his lips, blinking, and while he attempts to veil his relief, you still see the high rise of his chest. “You look fucking gorgeous, no matter what you do. I… I mean it.”

The answer satisfies him. His risen shoulders drop a little, tension falling off, and he fixes the already perfectly sitting collar of his jacket before he smiles. Just a little, a subtle twitch of the corners of his lips.

As soft as his response, “I always aim to reach your level, you know?”

You roll your eyes. Partly to keep them from watering because your heart is bursting. Splintering like every morning and every night; you wonder if you’ll ever get used to it.

A couple gentle words lie heavy on your tongue, pressing against the muscle to let them out; but at the prospect of actually uttering them, your guts twist. You don’t want to throw up before the meeting.

So you remove the tightness from your chest with a deep exhale, nearly until your lungs are dry, and say, “Shut up.”

Playfully, you deliver a soft push against his chest, laughing when his dramatic ass stumbles backwards. Submerged in those goddamn dimples, you immediately grab the hem of his jacket and before you know it, you’ve taken a step forward and landed in his arms.

You sneak your arms underneath the leather-ish material, not hesitating for a second before you’re squeezing his torso. He lets out a choked sound, groaning, but reacts similarly fast as you.

His heartbeat accelerates for a moment, right against your ear as you make yourself small. The sweater smells like his favourite detergent and him; musky, fresh. Your palms, flat against his back, crave deeper touch.

Nothing crude; just an afternoon on the bed behind you, limbs entwined, laughing about things that probably aren’t that funny anyway.

For a moment, the silence transcends words. You inject the blend of gratitude and affection through your touch, ensuring he understands.

But when it’s not a testament to your emotions enough, you speak against his chest, voice very likely muffled, “You didn’t have to do this for me… you just. You never have to do anything for me, but you still do.”

“I’ll do anything for you.”

Immediate and sincere. Voice unwavering.

God, you’re not his strongest soldier.

A smile tugs at your lips, and you chide, "Stop that."

"What?"

"If you keep saying these things," you continue, a frisky lilt in your voice, "I'll die. Do you want me to die?"

Jungkook chuckles. Always a soothing melody in a hushed room. He remarks, grip still wrapped around you securely, "Acting all innocent now."

You don’t understand right away what he means — but then you hear his heartbeat, picking up on pace again.

Makes you want to squash him harder. Melt into him further.

“Shut up, Jeon,” you respond with a nudge, cheek pressed against his shirt. Just a moment longer — just a couple more seconds to inhale the solacing scent.

Your heart is unguarded; he could sever it if he wanted to. He’s proven that he has the power to. Yet, you keep fuelling it, vulnerable in his warmth as you say, “You’ve no clue what you mean to me, Kookie.”

Your vivid imagination might be forcing things upon your mind that aren’t actually there, but you do think you perceive the way his entire body melts. Nearly limp, in a state so relaxed and peaceful that you have only experienced in the mornings before.

Waking him up for work, feeling weightless limbs wrapped around you, passed out.

His fingers trace patterns on your back lightly, stirring from bottom to top and back. They first stop at the small of your back, then lift off your body, hands suddenly on your shoulders.

He pushes you off him, your movements reluctant, and looks at you with profound sincerity. His voice matches his expression, gentle and adoring, “Will you tell me how much I mean to you?”

Amidst the delicate minutes you spend standing between the bedroom and the living room, you almost forget that there’s a world outside. It’s a little more grey than before, similar to the suit you’ll be wearing in a couple hours.

You remember the prospect of an audience, the answers you’ve prepared, to questions they probably will ask. Zara told you they wouldn’t hold back — they’d phrase their inquiries friendly, but still keep the intentions devilish.

Right.

The world is still turning out there. You want it to stop for the two of you — frozen moments. But it can’t, at least not yet. Right now it’s too real; and you guess that the worst part is that in your line of business, it will keep revolving around people like you.

Whether you want it or not.

So maybe, if it truly needs to keep spinning and can’t halt for you, keeping you in the centre, you should give it something to talk about, too.

Something crisp, something new. Without a care for it, but all the care for you and the man in front of you.

Which is why you spare him another fond smile, forehead calm and your demeanour confident — and tell him, “I’ll do my best to let you know."

The audience stretches to the far back. All the rows are filled to the brim with reporters or guests. The shutter of the cameras and the flashing lights are agitating.

You look down.

Nervously tapping your feet on the stage, you shrink into yourself inch by inch. Your seat is uncomfortable, though padded, a little too warm against your ass right now. Zara notices your tick and puts a steady hand to your knee, repeating for the millionth time today, “Stop. It’ll be okay.”

“It’s just dawning on me though, Zara.”

“What is?”

You nod faintly towards the mic and the attendees, tell her, “That I was actually chosen to speak. They shouldn’t have chosen me.”

“You asked for it.”

“Yeah, but there are more important things to discuss.”

Zara’s lips form a circle; she shakes and lowers her head, sending out a beam of air that you feel on your wrist, blazer sleeves rolled up. You’ve been like that all evening.

“You can do it,” she repeats patiently, “you’re the boss’ daughter and they want your opinion. You’ll hit them hard with yours.”

You suck in a breath, leave the air in your cheeks, and then puff it out again. “I want to. I hope to, I just— never thought it’d be this nerve-wracking. Don’t wanna say anything wrong.”

The subtle shake of her head continues — or reemerges —, lips in a thin line, eyes slowly blinking, “Mh-mh. We talked about it, okay? Practised all the questions they could ask. You’ll be good.”

“You gotta promise.”

“As much as I can, babe, it’s up to y—” She takes in your falling face, holding back with a sigh when she sees the dread in your pupils. “I promise. Of course.”

She taps your knee, softly and lightly, and then says, “I’m so curious about everyone’s reactions. Like. Gosh, just look at those people.”

You understand what she means. “I know.”

Zara places a manicured thumb on her matte red lips, mumbling, “Here for entertainment. At least a third of them will add their own fantasies to the articles they’ll write. Hypotheses and manipulative, neutrally phrased thoughts. Cockroaches.”

Funny. That’s what you call them, too. A collective understanding, you see.

But.

“Shhh,” you voice, “they—”

“It’s fine. They know it, too. Like lawyers do.”

Can’t refute. Eun told you one too many times how unfair the law business usually is, and how she’ll strive to not have anyone ever manipulate her. To remain genuine.

“Yeah, but,” you still argue, “I imagined they’d be listening in all the time. Don’t they do lip reading and stuff?”

She nods, a finger still on her mouth, smiling, “Mhm. I also feel like I could say whatever, but it’ll be you they’ll focus on today.”

Your heart drops, an uncomfortable twist in your guts adding to the stress. Might have to dash to the bathroom at the very last minute. You curse, “Shit, Zara… I should fucking ru—”

“Stay. You can do this. I promise.”

“Okay,” you take another deep breath, helping your oxygen-lacking, spinning head, “okay.”

You look back to the media present, ready to survive questions; prepared to provide answers. The moderator is talking to your mother at the front, covering the mic with a hand.

They gave you around five minutes to speak, and in that time, you need to answer everything. How you do it is up to you, but the pressure to perform in a certain way, accordingly, weighs heavily on you.

But it’s alright.

You’ll just need to stay confident. Stick to your message. They’ll have things to say anyway — and you’ll make the best of them.

You stare past the lights, squinting to find him, raking your neck. His figure towers in the back, easy to detect, and once he meets your eyes — or perhaps never having averted his from you — he lifts a hand to wave in tiny motions.

Then, he drops his fingers again, entwining them in front of his body. He isn’t necessarily allowed here, but you were able to sneak him through in advance. So now he’s a couple feet from the wall, choosing to stand rather than sit, so you find him easily.

So you seek his eyes for comfort if need be.

Before you parted near the entrance, he said, “I’ll be offering a dozen thumbs up like a fool if you need me to.”

You chuckled — but maybe he meant it. Because his smile and nod undoubtedly dispel your fears; as if he can see you struggling.

The seconds drag on, and the conference begins seven minutes later. Your mother is the first to talk, outlining a general overview of what’s to come. Of Charmante’s philosophies, of its success, praising the team.

Then, she forwards to important employees like Zara, letting them ramble about launches or ideas in depth. Business strategies, partnerships, bringing across points that you usually don’t get the chance to share.

This is legit press; even though out for a loophole, they won’t follow you around or hide in the shadows. Incessant and vexing, but at least they’re allowed here.

Conversations about new collections, store openings as well as expansions and customer engagement pass in a trice, and at some point, another coworker is uttering last words to a last question.

And you realise — that you’re next.

The moderator introduces you with pride; everyone applauds, smiling at you fondly despite all the controversies. ”Controversies.” Under quote marks, as Zara pointed out, because you never committed an offence.

You stand on weak knees. Trembling when you grip the podium. It’s like the sound in the room fades, a single peeping tone overshadowing all noise. You barely blink anymore; not even the flashy white can shut your eyes.

And god, you can hear your breathing. Your damn heart. Your nose sucks in all the air available in the room, or at least in the building, and then you open your mouth to speak.

a/n: this is not a cliffhanger!! tumblr just doesn't allow to drop looong posts anymore, so here's the rest of the chapter lol, keep reading and enjoying, i love you and will see you on the other side!! and don't forget to support this chapter, folks 🥺 <3

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

[quaintii]

To be with you is all I want.

Warnings: breeding kink, slight choking, p with plot, fem!reader. Very passionate smut below! A slight spoiler of Atsv. torture, bodily harm, and blood!!! trigger warning !!!

enjoy 💖💖!!

You and Miguel have always been each other's partner in capturing anomaly's. Yet Miguel always suggested that you stay back, away from harm. But you continuously refused his request, you couldn't be inside your apartments, walking around in circles, wondering if he's fine or not. Worry runs through your bloodstream, every second, same goes for Miguel but worse. He worries every second that you'll die because of him.

In the middle of the night, you kept rustling back and forth in your bed, trying to grasp onto something. Someone. You immediately wake up and realize Miguel has gone off to a mission without even warning you about it. You are furious and quickly put on your suit and ask Lyla to find out where he is. You swing your way into a weird, black-noir universe. It looked bleak and darkly cynical. You figured that Miguel was using Spider-Man noir's backup. The atmosphere was so thick, you almost choked as you weren't adjusted to some multiverses. You caught a whiff of smoke and fire.

Your Spidey senses then took the lead and you finally found where Miguel was. You were incredibly furious with him but you couldn't think of that right now. Miguel was fighting Morlum. You've constantly heard slight whispers about him, especially from Miguel. What you can take from what you already know, Morlum has tried hijacking the multiverses and he is seeking to find the spider totems and take control of HQ. You swing your way in but your Spidey senses react too slow to a crashing wall heading your way.

Luckily, you crotch down to avoid it as best as you could. It leaves quite a big injury on you though. Your forearm now has a big open slit trailing down in blood, due to the concrete building. It was a deep cut. When Miguel felt someone else at the scene, he happened to lay eyes on you, he was worried you would severely bleed out. The blood wouldn't stop. His eyebrows furiously furrowed together and he clenched his jaw and tried his best to focus on Morlum. Spider-noir was throwing many walls towards Morlum, trying to crush him to pieces. Mush.

Miguel used his red lasso and webs to tie down Morlum's legs together, causing him to fall down. But Morlum uses his super strength to make the floor below him fall. Ensuring his legs to finally let go. The floor completely crumbles and produces a ton of dust. You wipe your dust off your suit and can seem to see anything. Your hearing is very sensitive so they start ringing as metal scratches at each other due to the collapse. You sense someone near you and before you have time to turn around and web them, they hold your back against their chest.

"Wow, you sure seem like a good piece of bait for me to use!" Morlum says enthusiastically. "You look pretty cute too..too bad I have to kill you." "NO! No, get your fucking hands off her, you fucking shitbag. She's not a part of this, let her go." Miguel yells.

Morlum holds a knife at your throat so suddenly, you shiver with terror, running through your blood. Your flight or fight turns on, and you don't look like you have an option. This man has such a strong hold onto your body, you can't even let alone, move a muscle. "You seem to be quite concerned about this woman, well that puts you to more use!" Morlum chuckles. Miguel's eyes filled with absolute trepidation. His breathing becomes rougher, he begins to hyperventilate. He can't imagine ever losing you, he can't lose another dear loved one again. He can't imagine the pain of two, let alone one. Morlum pushes the knife closer into your skin, carving a light line. Miguel's jaw clenched harder than a rock. He didn't know what to do and he didn't know where spider-noir went.

You were trembling with fear, tears swelled your eyes. You felt like this was all your fault, because you're always so stubborn and never bother to ever listen to Miguel. Your lips quiver as you bite down on your lips, hard enough to draw out blood. You felt like all of this was a dream, you hoped for it to be one. Miguel moved a few inches, trying to grab you out of his grasp. Morlum then threatened to stab you in the liver if Miguel moved any closer. Miguel's body felt like he was being stabbed with thousands of knives. Morlum would make small cuts around your body, some deep, some shallow. Miguel yells "Mierda!" with a hurtful tone, he secretly advises Lyla to send backup immediately. He was too scared to breathe, fearing he could easily lose you in a second. You both stared at each other, a wholeheartedly look within fear hiding behind it. Miguel was trying to reassure you that everything was going to be ok. "Esta bien, mi vida. Te voy a sacar de esto, te lo juro, amor. Amas quedate quieta." Miguel's expression was drowning in helplessness.

"She seems like quite a trophy, Miguel! I can see you do have quite a taste." Morlum licks your cheek and nibbles a bit at your neck. Your huge discomfort grows more and you can't stop crying. Miguel was revolted by this, clenching his knuckles till his blood went cold, white. He felt like his jaw was about to lock and break. "Don't touch her! You keep your repugnant self away from her." Miguel yelled with an immense amount of hatred. Both of your guys' Spidey senses tingle as you feel other Spidermen approaching the situation. They all work collectively to pick up a razor sharp platform, sending it straight towards Morlum's head. Before Morlum could sense what was coming towards him, you immediately tuck your head and his grip on you releases. His head was sliced off clean. Blood guzzling out of his body. Before you could fall weakly on your knees, Miguel runs towards you, carrying you in his arms bridal style. He hugs you so tightly and you both tear up together.

"I thought I almost lost you, amor. I can't ever imagine losing you, ever. You're my everything." Miguel says as he places you grabs ahold of your cheeks, wiping away the blood and tears off of your cheeks. Giving you long, passionate kisses to you. Pecks on your forehead too. The amount of reassurance made you feel more at ease and comfortable.

Miguel continues to carry you in bridal style on the way home. He opens the window to your guys' bedroom and heads to the bathroom. He keeps showering you with a lot of love and reassurance. "Mi amor, te amo, por favor nunca vuelvas a hacer eso. Mi corazón ya mero se murió. Te amo demasiado, princesa. I couldn't bear seeing you being hurt, ever. I love you so, so much." He said while holding your body from behind. You were between his thighs, you laid your head back onto his chest, hearing his heart thump loudly. The bathtub was so warm, you could stay like this with him for hours. You loved Miguel. And he loved you too.

Both of your bodies emit more heat and the warmth calmly engulfs you both. You were both now clean, Miguel got out first and dried himself off. Despite seeing him nude multiple times before, you loved seeing him like that. He then wrapped a bath towel around his lower waist. Then grabs your hand and lets the water drain. He wrapped a towel over your body. Letting you stay warm. Then he dried yours and his hair with the hairdryer. You loved how much he put focus and care into you. You would return the same back too by giving him massages, going out on walks, seeing movies, etc.

Miguel then caught your eyes wandering around his body, he slightly smirked. "Take a picture to look at me for longer, mi vida." Miguel said while sneering. "Porque? Cuando te tengo enfrente de mi, cariño. I can't ever take my eyes off of you, you're so handsome." You say while heading towards him, grabbing the back of his neck and rustling his hair. He then pushed his lips against yours. Unfolding a deep, passionate, needy kiss. Your tongue wrapped with his. The smell of skin filled your nose, your fluttering heart thumped more and more. The soft taste of his plump lips on yours, his warm embrace against your chest as both towels fall on the floor. His gentle hands reaching your body, aching to be touched. His hands roams to your neck and hair, proceeding down to your hips. You then jump onto his chest and he grabs a hold of your hips. You both try not bumping into the door and open it while still kissing.

Your mind was starting to turn dizzy and foggy. He gently placed your chest on top of the bed. Giving you pecks and small bites along your spine, making you shiver. He softly turned you around. Both of your guys' lips magnetized. Not letting go, not even for a gasp of air. Miguel positions his back against the bed frame, pulling you on his hip, holding you in a lotus position. Your chest touching him enlightens fire down your core. Your nipples perked from the amount of arousal growing down your core. "You're the most beautiful, sosphicasted, intelligent, erotic, loving woman I've ever known and loved my whole life." Miguel said with a soft tone. Whispering it in your ear. Nibbling it softly, pulling out small moans out of your mouth. "Susurro estas palabras solo para que el mundo las escuche. Tu eres mi mundo entero, mi amor." Miguel said while groaning against your neck. Your head slightly goes back, you bite your lower lips. "Miguel, please more.. I want you to touch me more." You say with a hint of desperation and begging. "No muñeca.. we have the whole night to ourselves right now. Let me cherish and worship your body.

Miguel slides his fingers across your cunt, pulling it to your face. You moan to the touch of his rough fingers on your slick wetness."Look how soaking wet you're for me, cariño. Let me put that pussy to use, si? ¿Quieres eso, amor?" Miguel said softly with admirable eyes boring into yours. You nod slowly, groaning as he picks you by the hips. He then placed the head of his cock against your entrance. Your cunt twitched at the heat emitting from his breath against your neck. He then slammed you onto his cock, reaching your cervix.

You feel your body's nerves crashing down, the pleasure makes you feel so full. You moan erotically against Miguel's chest, cursing under your breath. "F-fuck Miguel, I feel you in my stomach.. you're so big. It's t-too much f'me.." you say between pants. "I love having you like this muñeca. I can't ever lose you, understand?" Miguel said softly. "God your body does unimaginable things to me, cariño." He cups his rough, big hands around your ass, slapping it as he begins bringing your hips and down his cock. Miguel stared at your beautiful face, saying incoherent words and the seductive expressions you would make. Your mouth being agape, gasping for air as Miguel would push every oxygen in you out of your body with a simple thrust of his cock. Your cunt spasms as Miguel grabs your throat softly. "Look at me, amor. I wanna see your pretty face getting fucked." Miguel said with a lustful tone. His eyes never let go of yours. You tried your best to not roll your eyes to the back of your head and kept eye contact with him.

More fire enlightened deep inside your core when Miguel's cock twitched when you reached for his neck, nibbling on it, leaving hickies. Miguel returning the same for you. Both of you are groaning and moaning, loudly. Not having a care of who could hear the both of you. The pleasure was towering over your body and your cunt uncontrollably spasms when Miguel said, "Cum around my cock for me, amorcito. Do it. Make me cum. I want my babies inside of your gorgeous body. M-mierda.." As you ride your orgasm out, Miguel's pace fastens, leaving you with tremendous overstimulation that leaves your throat choking out screams and wails for him to stop. A few more thrusts and he finally pumps his seed inside of you. Small droplets of tears leave your eyes, Miguel wipes them away by kissing them. "You did good f'me, baby. I love you so much." "I love you so much more than you could even imagine, Miguel. Te amo cariño."

Miguel finally pulls out of you, leaving your cunt clenching around nothing. Miguel then grabs a couple of small towels to clean you up. He then gave you your loungewear as he clothed himself with his boxers and shorts. You tie up your hair into a messy bun, then turn to lay beside Miguel. His arm hugging around your body, pulling you close. His chest against your face, both of you easily fall asleep.

:33 hai guys this took me Abt 1 hr n a half to do! This was really fun to do, please send more requests! Love u all ! <3

#spiderman 2099 smut #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #romantic #smut #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 Miguel

[hopelesslyromanticshark]

Hey, could you please do a Percy x daughter of Dionysus headcannons pls?

⋆⭒˚.⋆ percy jackson x daughter of dionysus! reader hcs

content: percy jackson x daughter of dionysus! reader hcs warning: language, i think sexual references??? idk, mentions of death and grief author's note: i might as well just do all the greek gods daughters x percy jackson at this point. look, i love percy, really i do, but where are the leo requests??? the jason requests??? frank??? luke?? guys, save me from drowning in percy requests

the princess of camp half blood has arrived

even before she started dating percy she was little miss popular

shes like that one friend with like no shame or embarrassment, which in turn makes you have no shame or embarrassment and then somehow you guys are apart of a flash mob.

idk how else to explain it, like all inhibitions are gone

actually, it's like being drunk but still being able to think and what not

she, like her father, had a 'revolt against authority' habit.

lets not forget that dionysus got put in charge of camp half blood bc he was pissing off his own father

also, when new campers come and are like mr. d this and mr.d that, she just goes 'the d stands for dad' and walks away

its her funniest bit

she's actually pretty close with her father, but you wouldn't guess it from the way they yell at each other

"OUT OF ALL THE GUYS AT THIS GODS FORSAKEN CAMP?? PETER JOHNSON??"

"YOU KNOW HIS NAME, DEADBEAT. AND AT LEAST HE'S HOT!"

"I DON'T CARE IF HE'S A DAMN MODEL-"

that's love right there

when no one was looking - and i mean literally no one, if you see this, it's the last thing you see - they had their heartfelt moments

"here. it was the deepest back wine bottle i could find. im assuming that makes it the oldest."

"did i ever mention you're my favorite daughter? by far better than all those other ones...and i'm not just saying that because of the wine."

"I know, dad."

when castor died, one of her baby brothers, the first person she went sobbing to was her dad, dragging pollux with her as they both needed their dad in that moment

then she went running to percy, who held her like she would slip away.

percy found healthy ways for her to get her grief out, having found a secluded part of the woods and just letting her grow and kill and grow and kill those plants over and over again.

she'd later take pollux out there, help him the way percy helped her.

following what happened with castor, mr. d approached percy when his daughter wasn't around.

"look, i know we don't get along and you are quite literally the biggest pain in my ass but...i'm willing to be, er, civil. for her."

"you know what? i can look past the years of slander for her, too," percy replied, shaking mr. d's outstretched hand. mr. d rolled his eyes and went to make a smart comment before closing his mouth.

"and you'll look out for her?"

"with every inch of me."

"good."

as much as she loved her cabin, when she hung out with percy it was always in his cabin.

his bed was softer he'd say, but he actually just considered it neutral ground.

to go into the dionysus cabin would be asking to get choked out by vines.

though, the more percy thought about it, the more she was worth it.

his favorite thing to do with her tho is just explore new york

like i mentioned earlier, girly has no shame and will do a cartwheel on the sidewalk if you so much as think about it

it feels like he's seeing the city for the first time all over again, this time through her eyes

and the world was pretty beautiful through her eyes, percy was learning quickly

tho, not even close to as beautiful as her

cheeky bastard

but he’s YOUR cheeky bastard so you put up with his ass

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo fandom #percy jackson x reader

[shmpxx]

THIS IS JUST TRAINING — g.s

⛤ gojo satoru x fem! reader

Perverted gojo is just teaching you some things.

cw. smut. oral (m. receiving). corruption. masturbation. toy usage. inexperienced reader. pussyjob. fingering. petnames (angel, sweetheart, baby) public sex. dirty talk. pervert gojo. age gap. 18+!

wc: 1.2k

Gojo was your superior since you were the youngest out of the sorcerer teachings in the school. You still needed a little help to get around and Gojo would be gladly to help you if you asked for it. In return you would have to do everything he says, if he needed a cup of coffee or deliver his messages for him and let him know if anything, like you were his little apprentice. You didn’t mind even when you had a crush of him and he knew that, who wouldn’t? how could he not take advantage of that? He had all the power that he could do whatever he pleased since your quite naive.

He saw you as someone who had no idea what she was getting herself into, being utterly perverted when he had asked “have you ever masturbated before?” You became flustered and nodded yes looking down to avoid his gaze, fiddling with your top and he just smirks at your reaction. “What do you do? Does it feel good?” “I use my fingers…but I don’t think I’m doing it right..” how pure you are this tempts him even more, exciting him, leaving him with a shit grin on his face. “Probably because your fingers are too small, I would love to help you with that, think of it as training” “training?”

His two fingers shoved deep into your hole and you let out a choked sound, his fingers reached farther than your fingers ever did and it was a stretch. You were bent over on a desk and you were on the tip of your toes when his fingers curled and rubbed at the right spot that made you let out a whine. “Wow your pussy is so tight around my fingers” he says steadily bringing his fingers in and out of your hole. “Ah! Gojo..mpffh please” he leans down to you and hums “please? You want me to go faster?” And you nod with a whimper. You moan when he starts thrusting his fingers faster, rubbing at your walls. His thumb strokes your clit when he reaches back inside. Your ass desperately moving against his fingers for more when your clit starts to ache and your lower stomach builds up a knotting sensation. “Wait-ah! Gojo I feel something!” You gasp

“Y’er about to orgasm sweetheart” it was a strange feeling. You’ve done it before but you never reached an big O that Gojo is bringing you.

Your pussy making beautiful sounds and your walls sucking in his fingers. Gojo turns his fingers, his palm facing upwards and his fingers reaching deeper. You covered your mouth refusing to let out any more high pitched moans when you would put it as you’re about to explode. “Aw sweet angel” he coos, his fingers repeatedly shoving inside you knowingly you were gonna cream over his fingers and you did, your cunt tightens fascinatingly around his digits and he smiles watching you tremble and the electrifying feeling coursing through your body. “Now you know what a intense orgasm feels like yeah?”

Gojo becoming more and more disgusting and indulged with you, he was shaped like the devil on your shoulder when he would have naughty conversations with you that you try to hold with him without getting embarrassed. “Do we have to talk about it now? It’s just-“ “but i wanna know how good it felt? It felt good didn’t it?” You flustered self couldn’t answer but nod your head yes “see you don’t have to do it yourself from now but anyway..have you ever tried a toy?”

He would love to watch you sit and struggle to hold a vibrator to your own clit he had bought you and wanted to be entertained to see you pleasure yourself and correct you on certain things like “press it harder” or “hold it higher” when you can’t take it wanting to close your legs he would frown having to spread your legs back open for him to see clearly “come on..you have to keep them open for me to see, how else am I supposed to know y’er doing it right baby?” He wants to see your pretty clit twitch and every angle he can get of your open cunt.

When its rush hour on a subway train he would make sure you were squeezed between the doors behind your back and against his chest, his arms on each side so people aren’t crushing you and he reaches under your skirt to push your panties to the side and slips his cock right between your folds and through your thighs. You would gasp and Gojo would press his finger at your lips to quiet you “things like this don’t just happen behind closed doors, you have to learn how to keep quiet, you don’t want people to see you doing such indecent acts in public do you?” his cock is rubbing your clit and the outside of your wet cunt and you started to soak his dick from each drag on your clit turning puffy. You would grit your teeth and your fingers dig into his shirt. He would smile of course, like always. In your thoughts he was just evil, his tip nudging your clit and spreading your folds, you can feel his veins on his girth swiping across your core. He’s going faster until your creaming over his cock.

He sees how far you can take him into your mouth. His fingers under your chin and making you look up at him with tears coming down your face when you struggle to not gag awfully with his cock down your throat. He’s just teaching you how to take big dick in your mouth, how to focus on the tip importantly and keep your hands wrapped around his cock at all times, make sure your not using teeth. Your drooling from your lips because he hasn’t given you a break, his dick just settling on the top of your tongue while also slowly thrusting his hips in your mouth.

“Use your tongue more..lick around it-just like that..fuck y’er so pretty with my dick in your mouth” he’s caressing your cheek and wiping your tears with his thumb. “Wrap your lips now” he tells you and you do it. His hand on your cheek now travels to the back of your neck to motion you to bob your head on it. You follow through with his rhythm beginning to do it on your own but your hands fall to his thighs, more tears begin to stream down your face and your heavily breathing through your nose for air. cum shoots down your tongue and Gojo squeezes your cheeks with his large hand looking down at you. “Don’t wanna waste it now, swallow it”

Gojo finally rewarding you with his cock, your laid on the mattress on your chest and your legs hang off the bed and hips in the air. You were too embarrassed to look behind you yet you were too impatient and whiny, trying to press your leg’s together and your hips messily wigging and squirming waiting for Gojo to bottom you out. “You want my cock that badly? Y’er so adorable” his hand gliding down your back sending you shivers. “Remember this is just training”

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk gojo #gojou satoru x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo saturo

[hysteria-things]

helloo!! if you don't mind(and if you have time), can you please make a matt smut inspired by the song She's so Nice by Pink Guy ??

It can be a chris smut too if you want !!

this man quite literally made me go BARK BARK BARK

SHE'S SO NICE

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!matt x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: EDIT: i forgot to put one so i’m just gonna say doing the deed with matt sturniolo

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUTTY SMUT SMUT, big tits reader, cheating (don’t do that!), marking, titty fucking, mouth fucking, hair gripping, p in v, degradation, choking, stomach bulge, ROUGHHH

ASSUME YOU'RE ON THE PILL!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 705

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: request for @skadltmf and anon! these two felt right to combine :)

i hope i did okay??? ngl this one was hard to do LOL

as somebody with big tatas this made me giggle and kick my feet a lot🤭 (my back hurts all the time)

hickeys ran from your neck down to the top of your breasts, the things matt worships the most about you.

you think having double d’s are the worst, but he is by far mesmerized by them.

you squirm and whine underneath his grip as he sucks one last mark into your skin. he lifts his head to admire your naked body, roaming his hands along your curves. he approaches your breasts and starts to squeeze them.

you whine again. “matt.”

“what?” he asks, finally releasing his hard dick from his underwear. you feel his knees on the bed as he hovers over you. “what do you want?”

you lift yourself onto your elbows and look at him through hooded eyes. “i—” you pause when matt starts to stroke himself while throwing his head back with a moan.

you don’t have time to blink when he aligns himself to your tits and starts thrusting into them. his hands push them together to make them squeeze around him.

your mouth hangs open as you watch himself use your chest to get off. “i fucking love these tits, man.” he groans.

the arousal between your legs starts to drip onto the sheets below you because of how pathetically wet you are. he grunts as he goes faster, but pulls away before he can release.

he grips your hair which makes you whimper. he lifts your head slightly so you can look into his eyes. his tip grazes against your lips. “open your mouth.”

you don’t have a chance to open all the way when he’s already pushing himself slowly inside. matt lets out a sigh of relief when he feels the warmth consuming his dick.

the grip on your hair stays when he starts to rut his hips forward. your eyes start to water when he reaches the back of your throat, the gulping and gagging sounds cause him to let out a breathy laugh. “look at you; choking on another man’s cock. such a fucking slut.”

you moan around him, his fist on your hair tightening. he starts to bob your head to match his rhythm, drool dribbling down your chin.

“shit.” he breathes, taking himself out of your mouth and smearing his cum all over your tits.

“matt.” you repeat in the same whiny tone as before. “he’s going to be here soon.”

“good.” he grips your throat, pushing his still-hard erection into your dripping hole. “he can walk in and see how much of a whore his girlfriend is, yeah?”

he starts pounding into you immediately, causing you to cry out. your mascara starts to run down your face.

it feels like you don’t have time to breathe by how each thrust knocks the air out of your lungs. “p-please, go harder.”

he releases his hand from your neck and grabs the back of your knees, pushing them further apart so he can go deeper. “your boyfriend has no idea what he’s missing out on. fuck, you’re so tight.”

you’re clenching so hard around his cock that he can’t even pull out all the way. instead, it makes him push further into your pussy.

your eyes cross, the bulge in your abdomen showing as clear as day. “feel how deep i am inside your tummy? you were made to be fucked by me. such a good slut for me.”

“cum—” you blab, your tongue starting to stick out. “gonna cum for you.”

matt’s eyes are fixated on the way your tits bounce aggressively at how hard he’s railing into you. he grabs your throat again. “look at me.”

your eyes flutter to his, and he grins. “there you go.” he says as you feel him paint your walls white.

you twitch, seeing stars as your face scrunches with pleasure when your orgasm hits you like a train. “cumming… cumming…”

“i know baby, i know,” he says, now doing tiny thrusts to make sure you take it all.

he slowly pulls out of you, wincing at the sudden emptiness. he sits up, looking at your painted white tits and pussy that’s leaking both his and your release. he smiles proudly.

“i should leave you like this so your boyfriend knows what a real orgasm looks like.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss

#matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic #✎ ⤾ haleigh’s requests!

[little-diable]

Too Sweet - Dean Winchester (smut)

Of course I had to write something with one of Hozier's new songs. We aren't surprised, are we? Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Dean and the reader are stuck in a back-and-forth they can't escape from, until his jealousy manages to push her away from him. But Dean won't let her go, he just won't.

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f), piv, some jealousy/possessiveness, quite fluffy

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (2.3k words)

It can't be said I'm an early bird, it’s 10 o'clock before I say a word, baby, I can never tell, how do you sleep so well?

“Dean, c’mon! We have to go.” (Y/n)’s voice echoed through the Bunker, hands pressed to her sides as she called for the older Winchester brother. Annoyance was flushing through her system, already fed up with Dean not managing to get up on time, already fed up with how he went against everything she told him. “If you don’t get up, I’ll kill you in your–”

The door to his room was pushed open before (y/n) could finish her sentence, eyes staring at Dean. He wore his signature smirk, arms crossed in front of his chest to study her as he leaned against the door frame. 

“You will kill me where?” His voice still had the morning rasp to it that left her thighs trembling, unable to say something as Dean reached for her, pulling (y/n) flush against him. Her breath hitched in her chest, her heart pounding against her ribcage as if she had just finished fighting a supernatural being. “Speak when you’re asked to.”

“Fuck you!” She ripped herself free as Dean’s loud laughter clawed through him, high on the feeling of (y/n) pressed against him. Heat flushed through her as she turned from him, putting some distance between her and Dean before he could taunt her some more. 

For years, the two had been stuck in the same circle, a back and forth that never crossed any lines, just filled with teasing, bickering, and some unspoken heartbreak whenever one of them took somebody else to bed. A circle both desperately wanted to escape from, a circle both hated more than words could express, a circle neither of them managed to speak of to the other.

……

You keep tellin' me to live right, to go to bed before th​​e daylight, but then you wake up for the sunrise, you know you don't gotta pretend

She had her eyes focused on Dean, how he was leaning against the bar with a beer in his hand, with his eyes focused on the blonde woman standing close to him. Anger was flushing through (y/n)’s veins, wondering if he simply wanted to taint her, to annoy her some more after a day filled with bickering, or if he was genuinely interested in the woman who looked like all others he had chatted up in the past weeks. 

“You look lonely.” A voice spoke up, forcing her out of her thoughts. (Y/n)’s gaze found the dark eyes of a man standing close to her. For a second, she wanted to push him away, to tell him to leave her alone, but knowing that she was desperate for any kind of distraction guided her words right out of her mouth. 

“Seems like it.” He sat down next to her, and let his eyes wander over her features, while (y/n) managed to look back at Dean once again. She almost choked on her sip of beer as she found him staring at her from the bar, lips pulled into a thin line, jaw muscles ticking in anger. “What’s your name?”

“Mike, and yours?” A smile began to widen on (y/n)’s lips, urged on by the feeling of Dean’s intense gaze, knowing that he now felt the same annoyance she had felt only moments ago. (Y/n) murmured her name, but no further word managed to leave her. 

She felt him before she saw him, with goosebumps rising on her skin, with her breaths growing shallow, with her mind and her heart racing. Dean came to a halt next to (y/n), staring at Mike before his dark green eyes found hers. Without speaking another word, he cupped her cheek, leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. 

The kiss was over before she could begin to freak out, not sparing Mike, who left the two without another word, a thought. Neither Dean nor (y/n) spoke up, wide eyes staring at one another as both began to realise that they had just shared their first kiss. 

“What the fuck, Dean?” She gave him a push away, reached for her jacket and pushed past Dean before he could say something. For years she had waited for a kiss, needing to feel his lips pressed against hers, imagining feeling him close. But now, as it had happened because Dean had tried to prove something to himself and perhaps to her, she couldn’t find any enjoyment in it.

The cold night clashed against her warm face, she tried to blink her angry tears away as he called her name, catching up with (y/n) within seconds. Dean’s hand clamped down on her wrist, forcing (y/n) to a sudden halt.

“How dare you?” (Y/n) spat her words as she ripped her hand from Dean's grasp, wrapping her arms around her middle as if she were hugging herself. There was something swimming in his pupils, something that tightened her throat, that made her mouth feel dry. 

“Why are you so angry?” A scoff clawed through her, a sound so angry that Dean was close to taking a step away from her, close to flinching. For a few moments, all they did was stare at one another, eyes not daring to break contact, even as her tears resurfaced, blurring (y/n)’s vision. 

“For years I wait for you to kiss me. For years I had to watch you chat up some women who weren't me. And then you kiss me to prove some fucked up point? You kiss me to push away a man who showed some form of interest in me. And for what? For what Dean?” Her words worked like a slap, forcing him to quiet down. (Y/n) turned from him again, she began walking, took about five steps before she came to another halt. “I don’t want to see you again for a while, you can work the case on your own.” 

And for the first time since knowing Dean, she hoped that he’d chase her, that he’d force her to give in. But he didn’t, all he did was stare at her, and watch her leave. 

……

I think I'll take my whiskey neat, my coffee black, and my bed at three, you're too sweet for me

“(Y/n)?” Dean’s voice echoed through the evening, forcing her eyes from her book. It had been days since they had returned from their last hunt, forced to share an uncomfortable, quiet drive home. Ever since they had returned, they hadn’t spoken, (y/n) had kept her distance, and Dean had somehow disappeared, no longer crossing paths with her. “Can I come in?”

The hum leaving her urged Dean to step into her room. Their eyes were drawn to one another like magnets, leaving her trembling as she closed her book. Slowly Dean walked towards (y/n), sitting down next to her to pull her against his chest before she could pull away. 

“I have been stupid, so fucking stupid. Ever since I met you, I knew that I needed you, wanted you, but fuck, I knew that it was a dangerous game, and losing you was too high of a price. Seeing you with that guy did something to me, I don’t even know what. I shouldn’t have kissed you, at least not like that.” She shuffled around in Dean’s grasp, cheek no longer pressed to his chest, though eyes now fully directed at his face. “I wanted to give you time, but staying away from you is something I can’t do, something I don’t want to do.” 

“I wish you would have kissed me sooner, or in some other situation. You had no right to act like that when you’re the one talking to other women no matter where we go, Dean.” The hum leaving him drew a sigh from (y/n). Wordlessly she placed her head back down on his chest, letting the seconds blur by as he got lost in his thoughts. 

“Can I have another chance to make things right?” Dean’s hand found her chin, forcing her eyes back towards his again. All she did was nod her head, watching him dip down to softly kiss her. No longer did she feel the same anger, no longer was she annoyed at him for treating her like that, no, she was now solemnly focused on the feeling of his lips moving against hers. 

Dean pulled her into his lap without breaking the kiss, leaving both to hiss as she ground her middle against his. Their hands did impatient work, tugging on one another’s shirts, exposing her bra-clad chest to his wandering eyes. He ripped her bra from her frame, tongue finding her left nipple as his hand worked on the other, high on the sounds wrecking through (y/n). 

“This is even better than I imagined.” She wanted to comment on the fact that he had seemingly imagined a situation like this, she wanted to tell Dean that she had been held hostage by the same thoughts, but she couldn’t. (Y/n) felt his hardening cock press against her core, urged on by her need for friction. “I can’t wait to fuck you, to show you how you’ll always be mine.”

“Forever.” The single word rolling off (y/n)’s tongue left Dean groaning, flipping them around to pull her trousers from her trembling legs, panties following. His darkening eyes wandered up and down her frame while he undressed, exposing his hard cock to her hungry eyes, leaving (y/n) breathless. 

Dean spoke no other warning as he buried his face between her thighs, lapping at her arousal-covered folds, desperate to taste her. Curses rumbled through the both of them while (y/n) was high on the feeling of Dean’s tongue pushing her closer and closer to the edge, the feeling of his thumb circling her pulsing bundle with just enough pressure to leave her gasping. Dean found himself addicted to her taste, to her sounds, to the way she trembled for him only. 

“This is better than heaven, fuck, I’ll do that daily from now on.” He murmured his words against her warm skin, leaving the spots trembling as he let his gaze flicker up to her pleasure-drunken features. One of her hands found his, interlacing their fingers to squeeze his hand, telling him she was all too close. 

“Cum for me, sweetheart, show me how good I’m making you feel.” (Y/n) came with a call of his name, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted. Dean was close to reaching for his phone to film every passing second for him to watch whenever he’d be away from her. But the sight of her orgasm wrecking through her was enough to leave him frozen to the spot. 

“Dean,” (y/n) panted his name, slowly opening her eyes to stare at him. “I need you to fuck me, I can’t wait any longer.” 

Within seconds, he had them repositioned, with (y/n) back in his lap, holding onto his shoulders. He rolled a condom down his twitching cock while (y/n) caught her breath, preparing herself for another intense orgasm. Dean’s hands held her waist as she sunk down on him, foreheads pressed together to adjust, to grasp onto the sensation. 

“Oh god, Dean, you’re so big.” Her walls fluttered around him, trying to get used to his size, to the feeling of him stretching her. Dean’s raspy chuckles guided her on, urging her to move, to rock her hips against his. He supported her every movement, stabilising her as she rode him. Their sounds grew louder, more passionate as they took what they were aching for, clinging to one another like boats rocking ashore. 

He’d forever be her lighthouse, the guiding force she’d search for in times of need, while she was the boat sailing him home, allowing him to be the truest form of himself. 

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” Dean’s praises shot heat through her, forcing her fingernails into his shoulders to cling to him, trying not to pay the ache in her thighs too much of her attention. But Dean seemed to pick up on it, giving her a slight push away to force her down on the mattress. 

With their eyes holding contact he pushed back into her, groaning at the feeling. Dean fucked her as if the devil was chasing him, begging them to give in before he could get his grasp on the two lovers. Their moans ripped through them, telling them that they were close, oh so close. 

“Touch yourself, make yourself cum on my cock.” Her fingers blindly followed his command, circling her clit to push her over the edge. (Y/n) choked on Dean’s name as she came, letting her fingernails scratch at his skin to leave behind marks that wouldn’t fade for days. Dean gave it a few more thrusts before he gave in, letting go with a groan that made her clench around him once again. 

“I don’t think it’s ever been this intense for me.” (Y/n)’s confession left Dean chuckling, he parted from her to press a kiss to her lips, eyes searching hers for a second. He threw the condom away before he returned to her bed, wrapping (y/n) in his arms with his eyes glued to hers. 

“Trust me, sweetheart, it had never been like that for me as well.” 

 I take my whiskey neat, my coffee black and my bed at three, you're too sweet for me

#Dean Winchester smut #Dean Winchester imagine #hozier #Dean Winchester x reader #supernatural smut

[fizziepopangel]

HuskerDust Headcanons (romantic)

Husk says “I love you” first. It’s not a big romantic thing, but to Angel Dust it means the world.

Angel and Husk were both quite affectionate with each other. The two can often be found cuddling in one of their bedrooms. Angel loves being held, but his favorite way for them to cuddle is actually having Husk lay on top of him since he finds the pressure grounding, and he’s found that scratching the cat demon’s back between his wings or scratching behind his ears while he’s tired and comfortable results in purring.

Angel steals Husk's hat every now and again.... Sometimes he steals it solely for the purpose of putting it on Fat Nuggets to take cute pictures of him in it.... While the pictures are adorable, this has resulted in the little pig occasionally taking it upon himself to steal the hell cat's hat, resulting in the man chasing the little creature around the hotel like a madman.

Husk becomes the father figure Fat Nuggets never had and Angel absolutely goes crazy for the relationship between his pet pig and boyfriend.

Although he doesn’t show it often, Husk does sometimes get overwhelmed, causing him to eventually break down in tears. During these episodes, Angel usually holds the grumpy drunk, rubbing his back and humming “Loser Baby” until he’s calmed down enough to talk, or until he’s fallen asleep.

Angel is a sucker for romance. He buys Husk flowers, makes big plans for their anniversary, makes long and mushy posts and posts cutesy pictures on his sinstagram, and goes all out for Husk’s birthday. Husk acts annoyed, but he secretly enjoys the little romantic gestures.

Despite not being the most romantic man, he does randomly grab Angel at random points while they’re together and begin dancing with the man, even humming or singing softly under his breath when Angel points out that there’s no music.

Charlie has so many candid photos of the couple being cute. She’s making a scrapbook for them for their anniversary

After Husk showed him the song, Angel plays “A Sunday Kind of Love" whenever their anniversary lands on a Sunday and makes Husk breakfast in bed as it plays. He calls it their song. 

When Angel can, he does drag shows at one of his favorite clubs in downtown Pride. Husk goes to every one of Angel’s drag shows to watch him perform and despite his usual gruff demeanor, he cheers the loudest when his boyfriend is on stage.

After long, rough shoots in Valentino's studio, Angel usually comes back to the hotel exhausted and sore so he sits at the bar, sipping water and listening to Husk grumble about work until he falls asleep at the bar. Husk usually ends up carrying him to bed despite constantly grumbling about being "too old for this shit".

In the event that they both wanted to get married, both of these men would try to make the perfect plan to propose to the other. 

In an attempt to be romantic, Husk would begrudgingly ask Alastor to help him make a nice Italian dinner and a cake to hide the ring in. He would be an anxious wreck through the whole dinner as Angel ate as he waited for dessert and the discovery of the ring within the cake.

Angel on the other hand would go the cheesier way of dressing Fat Nuggets up in a little tux and tying a ring around his neck with a bow and having him come up to Husk as the two had dessert with a sign that reads “Will you marry my daddy?”

In true romantic comedy fashion, Angel’s proposal pig would get to Husk right as Angel nearly choked on the ring Husk put into the cake. Of course, they would both say yes.

Despite not being the romantic in their relationship, Husk is a bit of a groom-zilla. It’s not really that he cares about flowers or color schemes or any of it, he’d be happy as long as he’s with the man he loves and their an open bar so he lets Angel handle it all for the most part…. But he does think Angel deserves the best and he’d be damned if he didn’t make sure that man’s day didn’t go absolutely perfectly.

Niffty makes Angel’s wedding dress, and although he will deny it, Husk does cry when he sees Angel in it.

Husk doesn't choose the first song they dance to, but he does request later in the night that the song Frank Sinatra’s “I Could Write a Book" be played so he can ask Angel to dance to that.

Husk recites his vows to Anthony, not Angel Dust.

#fizziepop thoughts #vivziepop #hazbin hotel #hazbin headcanons #all aongs are linked for you to listen #husk hazbin hotel #huskerdust #hazbin hotel angel dust #husker x angel dust #fat nuggets #husk is fat nuggets second dad #frank sinatra #i could write a book #a sunday kind of love #etta james #loser baby #this is one of my favorite ships

[leonw4nter]

She Likes The Way It Feels When He’s Right There

ID!Leon x F!Reader

“Mom, for the last time, I don’t want to go on a date with him!” You emphasize for what seemed like the nth time that night. Inviting Hunnigan over for dinner with your mom causes regret to pool in the depths of your belly; she doesn’t need to be around to hear you and your mom argue over your love life. Work was already stressful and your mom is piling up on that tall tower of things that plague your mind. You keep your head hung low, gaze trained on a piece of quinoa on your plate with your fork poking at it as you feel your attention slipping away, making no effort to rein it back in if it means not hearing your mom ramble on about having kids and settling down with someone.

“Y/N? Y/N.” Your mom’s voice snaps you back to reality, bringing you back down to this godforsaken dinner. “Did you hear what I just said?”

You temporarily shut your eyes, fingers stiffly curling over your fork. Deep breaths, breathe in and out, don’t flip the table over like a crazy person.

“No, I didn’t. I was busy thinking about work,” you grumbled in a low voice.

“I was just saying that he makes a good amount of money, maybe a little more than you do. It’ll be greatly beneficial for you,” she urged you. You love your mom, you really do, but there's a time where she gets a little suffocating for you and still acts as if you’re 13, not 30.

“What are you suggesting, mom? My job is just fine and I don’t need a man to rely on for money or my future or anything at all!” You snap, forgetting that your friend is in the same room as you are right now. Hunnigan comfortingly places a hand at your back, causing you to jump a little bit before relaxing down and taking a forkful of your dinner even if your appetite is almost gone.

“Ma’am,” Hunnigan begins, placing her elbows on the table and interlocking her fingers together. “I think whoever Y/N should get with is entirely up to her– that is, if she wants someone in her life. You may be her mother but you don’t have control over how she lives and besides, she’s a grown woman.”

Your mom shuts up, her lips pressed into a thin, burgundy line. For the first time in what felt like forever, silence befalls over the three of you on the dining table. “I was her age once so I know what she’s going through. I’m just giving her suggestions on how to secure a stable future because that’s what I want for her–”

“Well, mom, surprise: I’m still not going to see him. I’m doing just fine and–”

“Y/N–”

“I’m seeing someone, okay? I have someone else!"

Those words shock everyone, including you, even if you’re quite literally the one who said that. Your mouth moved faster than your mind could move, spouting nonsense in desperation to cut this draining conversation. Hunnigan reaches over for a napkin, blotting her mouth and trying to keep her coughing subtle and quiet after choking on her white wine. Even while dabbing at her mouth and still making an active effort to keep her coughing at a minimum, her eyes are wide and bore right into you with heightened interest.

“Who are you seeing then?” Your mom breaks the silence.

“Leon,” you promptly answered. All of a sudden you’re self-conscious, worried that she’ll sense your fib and call you out. You want to smash that bottle of wine against your head and knock yourself unconscious and wistfully get sent into another existence, going missing until everyone forgets you ever existed. It’s too late to take that back now, you really had to name-drop instead of saying “someone from work”. This is going to be one hell of a dinner and even more one hell of a talk with Hunnigan.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“Were you being for real?” Hunnigan asked. She has her arms crossed, red glasses placed on her head amongst ebony curls.

“No… we aren’t anything. Just friends,” you regretfully admitted. You rest your head against your desk, cheek in contact with the cold surface.

Hunnigan giggles, grabbing the empty office chair beside you and scoots closer. “Really. ‘Just friends’, my ass. I see the way you look at him– heart eyes and all.”

You close your eyes and groan even louder, burying your face in your hands as you recall that fuck-up from last night. She wasn’t wrong about the heart eyes; you’ve harbored feelings towards that man for years now but you were always too much of a chicken to confess your feelings. Besides, this guy probably has someone in his heart– this fact shouldn’t hurt but it kind of does but who are you to dictate who he should love?

“You’re being so helpful right now, Ingrid. Thanks a lot,” you croaked.

“Why’d you even say his name in the first place? Could’ve gone with Patrick, he and Leon are in the same department.”

Boom. Could’ve said I was seeing Patrick instead… why’d it have to be that man with his stupidly pretty blue eyes and stupidly perfect, pink lips and his stupidly smooth voice and his stupidly charming smile…

“Well– Leon and I are friends, of course he somehow popped up in my mind first! And last night was not one of my brightest moments, okay? People make mistakes!”

Ingrid laughed like it was the funniest joke she’s ever heard, leaning back into the chair and crossing her arms.

“It’s not like your mom’s going to be content with just hearing you date someone. She’s going to ask for proof and probably ask to see him, knowing her.”

“I know! I know, it’s just… imagine going up to Leon and just saying the stupidest thing ever–”

“What stupid thing are you going to say to me?” Leon suddenly chimes in. You shoot up, almost stumbling backwards in the sheer speed you just exhibited. His sudden intrusion causes explosions of pink to burst on your cheeks, eyes to be wide.

“You look like you just saw a ghost,” he chuckles. I wish I was a ghost right now. I need to be 6 feet below ground.

“You’ll be in charge of keeping Y/N company the entire afternoon, Kennedy. I’ve got papers at my desk,” Hunnigan explains with a sly smirk. “Catch you later.” Leon throws her a thumbs up and as he turns around, she shoots you a wink. I swear, Hunnigan, I’m so going to throw hands with you!

“Don’t you have work to do?” You ask Leon.

“Nope. Finished them all yesterday,” he replied.

“Briefings?”

“Just came out of the last one earlier.”

“Training the rookies?”

“They don’t have training today.”

“Missions?”

“Won’t be in one as far as I know.”

Fuck he’s going to be with me all day… but didn’t I secretly wish for this…?

“What’s up with all the questions?” Leon asks. “You’re being weird today but then again, it’s not like you’re never weird.”

“Oh shut up.” You exclaim. Despite his joke, you remembered that part of Leon’s job includes being able to read people in terms of their body language which means that he would pick up whenever you were nervous around him. This is not my day.

“Well you’re always busy. It’s just new to see you not doing something,” you retort. You try to adjust your body language, making sure you look a lot less secretive and tense than you were earlier.

“And you’re the one busier than me this time,” he observes, tilting his head to the papers stacked on your desk. “I can help out if you want. They’re just reports right?”

“Um, yeah. I could use the help. That one’s the finished pile, the one beside it is the one that needs checking.”

“On it, ma’am.”

Shit that was kinda hot.

He takes a pencil from your mug and sets it right in front of him before taking a portion of the unfinished stack and placing it on the empty desk beside yours. He distances himself from you, brows furrowed in focus. He gets up and takes off his navy blue blazer, draping it over the back of his chair. If you think that was hot, he also proceeds to roll the sleeves of his crisp, white button-up up until his elbows, veins deliciously adorning his arms. His arms are straining against the fabric, ripples of his muscle bulging beneath. Leon, I swear to God, I’m going to get nothing done if you do my paperwork looking like an absolute snack– no, a 5-star Michelin meal that I can never, ever afford.

“Sight-seeing, I see.”

His voice snaps you from your swirl of diabolical thoughts, grounding you again.

“I wasn’t.”

“Your eyes on my hands told me otherwise.”

“Fuck off! Just do the paperwork!”

He simply smirks and chuckles to himself before really starting on the paperwork, blue eyes focused on the dark ink on paper, occasionally marking things. Lord have mercy, please, I just want to get work done.

Taking a deep breath, you take your own stack of papers and start work; it would be hypocritical if you kept urging Leon to work but you were just busy shamelessly drinking in your friend’s arms. Right. We’re just friends.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Since two people worked on the papers, you managed to get them done faster than you thought. After dropping them off at your boss’ desk, you head back to your cubicle to get your things ready before clocking out for the day. Leon had already finished getting his things together and changed into black bootcut jeans and a black leather jacket over his white long sleeves, black helmet on the nook of his arm since he rode his bike home.

“You wanna ride?” Leon asks, which causes you to raise your eyebrows and smirk. “On my bike, I meant. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Of course I know what you mean, dumbass. And as much as I want to, I brought my car to work so… I’ll pass for now. Thanks though.”

He nods, before setting his helmet aside, and helping you pack your things even if they aren’t much. “Thanks again.”

“No problem.”

You two walk out of the dark office and make your way out of the building, heading for the parking lot. Just before you get into your car, he speaks up. 

“So… you know how Valentine’s Day is highly commercialized?” he begins.

“Mhm. What about it?” you asked.

“There’s this high-end restaurant downtown and they’ve got good food at the cost of a wallet-decimating bill. They’ve got a discount for couples who dine there and… I was wondering if you’d wanna come along with me as a fake date. It’ll be easy on the pocket with the discount they’re offering.”

Your eyes widen, warmth creeping up from your back and settle at the nape of your neck. It’s not like he’s even asking you out on an actual dinner date, the man just wants to have dinner that’s easy on the pockets… even if he’s out here riding on the latest model of a Ducati but he still asked you out, instead of other women in the agency– women who have fuller hips and better hair than you do. Women who you think have a better chance of catching his eye anyways.

“That sounds nice. Um, yeah sure. I’m free. I’m assuming that this is going to be on the 14th?”

“Yep. So uh… I guess that’s a date then?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

The air turned slightly awkward, you two just standing around awkwardly with gazes either downcast or focused on something else.

“I’ll- I’ll go now, Leon. Um, bye!” you say.

“Uh, bye. Get home safe and goodnight,” he responds.

With a small nod, you get in your car and start it. Buckling your seatbelt, you pull out of your parking spot and drive home. You noticed that Leon stayed behind, making sure he got to see you leave before you catch a quick glimpse of his bike’s lights from your rear-view mirror.

You still felt kind of awkward around Leon especially with last night’s mortifying cover story but luckily his chill demeanor made you feel less on the edge. You thought about all the times he made you feel flustered: when he switched places with you on the sidewalk so he’d be the one on the outer part instead; when he ran to a convenience store to get you pads and new underwear when you bled while at work; see him interacting with one of your coworker’s kids; when he pretended to be your boyfriend when several drunk guys were trying to hit on you at a bar; the endless pet names he’d give you. Sometimes it felt like flirting but you know that Leon likes to joke with anyone; maybe you’re just looking too much into things and this is just a manifestation of your growing feelings for him. It’s hard not to fall for your best friend when he’s more than just good looks and his stupid jokes and beneath those he’s a truly brave man– probably the bravest man you’ve ever met. He’s stupidly selfless; in most situations where you’d probably run away and save yourself, he’d stay behind to finish the job at the cost of his life. He’s still standing firm at the faces of mind-bending horrors, doing this because “if no one does then who will”, as he always said. He probably has someone to fight for that’s why he’s this dedicated, even if he was forced into this kind of work. With a sigh, you turn up the volume on your radio and force all your thoughts to the back of your head; you’ll bring them out again later when you get home, accompanied with a cold beer.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“So let me get this straight: Leon asked you out for dinner?” Hunnigan’s voice comes out of your laptop.

“Yep.” you respond.

“And you two will go as a fake couple to be able to get that discount because the food is normally expensive.”

“Mhm.”

“Listen, girl. I’ve known Leon longer than you have and it’s not like he’ll just ask random women out to be his fake date.”

“He didn’t ask me to be his fake date, he just asked me to come along with him.”

“Think about it: he could’ve asked anyone. He could’ve asked me or Ashley or Shen Mei but he chose to ask you! This is something!”

“It’s nothing. Besides, I was the only one at the parking lot with him so he asked since I was the nearest.”

“Dude! He was free the whole day! He had plenty of time to look for anyone else but he chose you!”

“He wasn’t exactly free since I had him help me out with reports.”

Hunnigan lets out an exasperated sigh at the other end of the call, probably frustrated that your negative thinking is getting the best of you. The both of you stay silent for a bit, nursing your beer before taking a small sip.

“Well, regardless of whatever he thinks of me, I’m going to enjoy dinner. It wouldn’t hurt to think about it as a friendly get-together, y’know,” you speak up.

“It would hurt, Y/N. I know you; you’ll probably get home and blast your greatest heartbreak hits or something,” Hunnigan points out. You bite your lip, not even making an effort to tell her she’s wrong when she’s painfully right– you’d sulk and just berate yourself for being so pathetic with these feelings.

“You know, you should just ask Leon what you are to him. Tell him you’re not happy with all the meaningless flirting if he’s doing that with non-romantic intentions. I’m sure he’d just apologize and beat himself up over it.”

You stay silent for a little longer, thinking about Hunnigan’s words. You’re an agent, for God’s sakes– you‘re supposed to be comfortable with confronting people and you are… just not with Leon but why? What are you so afraid of? For Leon to be distant from you and your friendship fizzling out into nothing? Maybe. Just maybe.

“Yeah. You’re right. Thanks girl, that was really good advice.”

“Hey, no problem. You can always count on me with your boy problems.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Several days after that call, you managed to get out of work quite early. There wasn’t much to do since all papers that you and Leon did a few days ago were already good and there weren’t agents under your watch that were on overseas missions so you got off early. Since Leon offered to give you a ride to work on his bike, you didn’t bring your car along so you’ll commute going back home if you were to clock out earlier than him. You looked around for Leon, telling him that you were going to go home early to get yourself ready for the dinner “date” later this evening. You spotted him in the break room with a few other agents, chatting with Patrick.

“Leon, hey. I’ll be heading home now since I don’t have anything else to do. See you later.” You say with a small smile as you peeked around the door frame. Everyone turned from their conversations to look at you, then looked back at him.

“I can send you home, since I’m free too,” he offered. Though your gaze was on him, you could spot other agents with smirks on their faces.

“Yeah, Leon. We can take it from here, you can go out with Y/N. It’s Valentine’s Day too,” Shen Mei adds. She gives the agent beside her a small nudge with her elbow, shooting them a knowing look before shifting her eyes back to you.

“Are you okay with it, Y/N?” Leon asks. Though his voice sounds relaxed, you can see a hint of something that flashed in his eyes that you can’t quite put a finger on.

“Yeah. I’d like that,” you respond.

You swear you see Leon’s face light up when you say yes, instantly moving from where he was and going closer to you. “Let’s go.” he softly says. You don’t miss the ghost of his touch hovering over your waist, causing your heart to relentlessly pound against your ribcage. You bite back a small smile, chewing on the inside of your cheek and hoping that your cheeks don’t turn pink.

Now you two are in the parking lot, standing beside his bike. He hands you your own helmet while he wears his own, offering you his leather jacket, which you take anyways. Protection, he says.

“Hey, I think it’ll be a bit boring if you just head home so why don’t we do some things before dinner?” he suggested, putting his gloves on.

“What things?” You mused.

He averts his gaze for a little bit before continuing on, looking a little shy with his movements. “Maybe a visit to the park would be nice,” he offers in a small voice.

His sudden shyness makes you smile a little, a quiet giggling bubbles from your throat but you take his suggestion nevertheless.

“Sounds like a plan,” you say.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

The afternoon was fun; you two went to the park and took nice pictures of the view, though you noticed that Leon’s pictures were mainly of you but you didn’t mind it. You also suggested having ice cream and going to an empty playground, the sight of two adults on the swings and having the time of their lives both silly and wholesome. Of course, he sent you home safe and made sure to come back in 2 hours to pick you up for dinner. This time, he said that he’ll be using his car so that the wind won’t ruin your clothes. Immediately, you dashed to your room and picked out a dress and heels that you’ll wear for the dinner while also planning the make-up look you’re going for and figuring out what hairstyle you’ll be doing. An hour later, you shower and get dressed; the dress you chose hugged your body well, which made you feel a little more confident in yourself. You got your hair styled and your make-up done, opting to do it a little different than you usually do. After getting ready, you sent pictures of yourself to Hunnigan. In response, she sent so many voice messages of encouragement where she’s practically screaming. After a few minutes of waiting, Leon calls to let you know that he’s waiting outside.

You walk out and see him leaning on the hood of his car, an elegant arrangement of flowers on one hand.

“Hey,” you softly say. He turns around and faces you, taking a hand out of his trouser’s pocket. It’s as if his eyes have the moon and stars on them, his face lighting up when he sees you. He lets go of a breath he didn’t know he held, a subtle pinkness dusting his cheeks as he places a hand on your waist and leads you to the passenger side of the car. He walks over to his side and opens up the door, taking his time in staring at you for a little more.

“You’re gorgeous,” he mutters in a low voice that’s something else entirely, his words coming out with a slight rasp.

Now it’s your turn to feel flustered; why wear blusher on your cheeks when you have Leon to keep a blush on your cheeks all night long?

“Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself, you know.”

He turns his attention to the steering wheel before he remembers to give you the bouquet, that dorky smile of his completing his look.

“Here, got you these. Just because this isn’t an actual date doesn’t mean I won’t put effort into it.”

Here we go again with another game of “is he into me or am I just looking into things too much?”.

“Thanks. These look really pretty,” you observe. You noticed that the flowers didn’t make you sneeze or cause your face to itch, much to your surprise.

“I remembered how you have allergies to flowers so I got ones that didn’t trigger an allergic reaction so I’m glad that turned out well.”

Oh. Oh.

Oh boy were you in deep. Leon Scott Kennedy, he’s really more than just a pretty face and dad jokes. He even remembers the little things. Gosh, I’m in deep.

“That’s… that’s really thoughtful of you, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. So… shall we?”

“We shall.”

He starts the car and drives you two to the restaurant he talked about. During the entire ride, you noticed how his eyes wouldn’t stop flitting from the road and to you. You joked about keeping his eyes in front of him and how they can take their time admiring you during red lights or when you finally get to the dinner. You two sat in comfortable silence, sweet music coming from the radio filling in for the stillness inside the car. He stops at a red light, fingers drumming on the sleek leather of the steering wheel.

“Can I be honest with you, Y/N?” he suddenly asks.

You nod, turning your head to face him. “What is it?”

“I don’t want this to be a dinner between coworkers or friends.”

His words yank the breath from your chest, the inside of your mouth feeling a little parched. You can hear the thundering of your heart in your ears, drowning out the song on the radio.

“Huh?”

“Does this seem fake to you?”

“Yes– well, no– I mean–”

“I’m going to say it now while we’re not there yet: all this isn’t just for a discount.”

You go silent, thoughts disappearing and trying to piece things together. What does he mean by “does this seem fake” and “all this isn’t just for a discount”?

“What are you trying to tell me, Leon?”

“I heard you and Hunnigan days ago. You like me. I overheard you talking to her about your mom wanting you to see someone and then you blurting out that you were seeing me as a way to escape being set-up with some dude.”

Shit! He heard! I’m going to dive head-first into a cement-mixer right now. Argrhaghrag–

“I knew and heard that, that’s why I didn’t press any further.”

Didn’t press any further? Didn’t press with– Oh. He didn’t press any further when he suddenly piped in with his “what stupid thing are you going to tell me?” question because he already heard all the context he needed. He was just polite by not telling me he heard Every. Single. Thing.

“Listen, Leon. I’m so sorry– I was not thinking when I suddenly blurted that, I hope you don’t feel harassed or anything–”

“I like you, Y/N. That’s why I asked you, you specifically. I could’ve gone to dinner with anyone else but I didn’t.”

He runs a hand through brown locks, soft strands sifted through slender fingers.

“I asked you to dinner under the guise of wanting to take advantage of this day’s commercialization but I lied. There isn’t even a discount, actually. I just want dinner with you. The food really is great but I don’t think it’ll taste as great as eating it with someone I love.”

And to think that you didn’t expect him to ever like you.

“I don’t just want us to be friends, Y/N. Unless you think otherwise, then I’ll respect it.”

You two just sit there in total silence, some 80s romantic song serving as background music for whatever magical moment is happening right now. Leon looks a little more anxious now, sapphires shifting between your eyes and lips.

“I feel the same way too, Leon, and I don’t just want this to be a fake dinner– not ever. I just didn’t think that you’d actually get feelings for me when there’s all those other women in the office,” you shyly admit.

“I’m in love with you and you only, Y/N. They’re not you.”

Those words set off a reaction similar to a factory reset in your mind and suddenly, you don’t have a single thought and you’re not thinking before moving. You lean in from the passenger seat and with a silent prayer that his windows are tinted (highly likely they are), your hand finds its way into his blazer. You bunch the fabric up and draw him in for a kiss, shutting your eyes. You feel him tense up a little bit before he relaxes into your touch, a calloused hand reaching to cup your cheek. The soft smack of lips can be heard inside the car before you pull away, half-lidded eyes staring straight into inky pupils that swallowed all the blue in his eyes. Your gaze is downcast, admiring the glossy smear of your pink lip gloss on his lips.

“I bet I look real good with your kiss,” he rasps with a small smirk.

“I bet you’ll look better without these later,” you hinted while eyeing his suit, giving him a wink.

“Oh?”

This was not how you thought your dinner night would play out but you didn’t mind.

NOTE - Finally done with 3/4 Valentine's fics!!! Personally, I don't think anyone's getting me anything for Valentine's Day but a girlie can continue to dream :') I finally got to see my grades and I'm really happy with how it turned out-- all my grades (except for one subject-- WHICH IS NOT MATH surprisingly) went up by several percent so I hope I get to do the same thing this quarter!!!! Anyways, that's it and thank you for reading this fic!!!!! I <;333333 U

The dividers are made by @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

#leon kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x y/n #fluff #leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy fluff #biohazard #resident evil x reader #rebhfun #infinite darkness #resident evil leon #resident evil: infinite darkness

[moonstruckme]

Just Remus Lupin who has a crybaby girlfriend that overthinks everything.

Thanks for requesting!

modern au

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 872 words

You knock on the door, and Remus reminds himself for the third time this week that he really needs to get you a copy of the key. He groans, rolling his neck as he stands from the reading position that had gotten uncomfortable at some point while he wasn’t paying attention, an apology on the tip of his tongue as he opens the door. 

“Sorry, dove, I keep forgetting—hey.” You’re biting down on your bottom lip, face red and eyes glassy. “Sweetheart,” the endearment comes out slow and heavy-hearted, “what’s happened?” 

It’s like you were waiting for permission. You crumple, mouth twisting awfully as a quiet whine tears from the back of your throat. Remus coos, stepping outside to wrap you up in his arms. You’re ready for him, and your arms come around his neck, your sniffles wet and pitiful next to his ear. 

“I thought you were just meeting up with Marcy,” he murmurs, a question embedded in the statement. 

“I was,” you choke out. “She’s mad at me.” 

Remus’ heart contracts painfully. He pets the back of your head. “Come here, love, come inside.” He starts walking backwards in the door, and you follow. “Do you want a cup of tea?” 

“No thank you,” you warble. 

He closes the door behind you, guiding you into a seat at the table. “I’ll make us hot chocolate, then.” 

This is somewhat routine. You’re a sensitive thing, with a delicate spirit. You feel what others feel keenly, and it’s not rare for small things throughout your day to work you into a tizzy for reasons Remus can’t always wrap his head around. A warm drink usually helps. 

“So,” he says cautiously, the gurgling of the kettle cutting through the quiet of his flat, “did you and Marcy have a fight?” 

You shake your head, sniffling. Remus makes a mental note to bring you some tissues. “No, I don’t think so.” Your voice is weak and broken up by little breaths as you try to calm yourself. “She just—” Your lip wobbles, and you bite down on it cruelly. “I could tell she was irritated with me,” you say miserably. 

Remus feels his brow pinch in sympathy. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. What did she say?” 

“It’s not—she wasn’t mean.” You palm some wetness away from your cheeks. “It was just her tone.” 

He hums, mixing the hot chocolate in two mugs. “What was her tone like?” 

You shake your head, more tears slipping past your lashes. “She just seemed so annoyed with me,” you weep, covering your mouth with your hand to muffle the sounds. “I think I talked for too long.” 

“Wait, dove,” Remus tucks a box of tissues under his arm as he brings over the mugs, setting yours in front of you, “you think she was cross with you because you talked too much?” 

You nod heartbrokenly, reaching for the tissues. “I was telling a story, and I could tell by the end that she was getting irritated so I stopped, but then when I asked if she was free to hang out again next week—” you hiccup out a tiny sob “—she just said ‘we’ll see’.” 

“Darling,” there’s a bit of relieved laughter in Remus’ tone, but you look up at him, crestfallen, and he shoves it right back down where it belongs, “I don’t know if she was quite so upset as you think, sweetheart. Maybe she just said that because she wasn’t sure if she’d be free next week.” 

You shake your head, sniffling. “Rem, you weren’t there. She looked so—so done with me.” A fresh wave of tears falls, and Remus decides to take matters into his own hands, leaning across the table to thumb them away. You lean into his touch, love-deprived. “I don’t think she’s going to want to be friends anymore,” you barely murmur. Your tone is heavy with resignation. 

Remus makes a soft, pitying sound. “I’m sure she still wants to be friends,” he says quietly, stroking at your damp cheek. “Even if she was upset, I doubt it’s enough that—”

Your phone chimes, and he goes quiet, both your eyes flying to where it sits face-down on the table. 

“Who is it?” 

You turn it over, an exhale rattling out of you. “It’s Marcy.” 

Remus retracts his hand, picking up his hot chocolate to take a sip. “And what did she say?” he asks, already smug. 

Your face is tensed with anxiety as you open the message, but then it slackens. “She wants…she’s free to meet up again on Tuesday.” 

Remus doesn’t try to suppress his grin. He shakes his head at you, taking a long, satisfied sip of his hot chocolate. “What did I tell you?” 

“I…I’m sorry,” you say slowly, clearly struggling to switch gears. He doesn’t rush you, half enjoying his front-row seat to your realization. “I thought…wow.” You sniffle, looking at Remus through your lashes, sheepish. “I’m sorry I came home and ugly cried to you. I thought she was really upset.” 

He chuckles, reaching across the table to thumb a residual tear from your jaw. “That’s alright, dove. And you don’t ugly cry.” He chucks you gently under the chin. “You could never be capable of ugliness.” 

#remus lupin #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x self insert #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin hurt/comfort #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin scenario #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin one shot #marauders #the marauders #marauders fandom #marauders fanfiction #marauders x reader #hp marauders

[peachyloveswriting]

What would Vash, Wolfwood, and Knives do about sick reader? Like reader knew they had been getting sick for a few days but saying stuff like "I sneezed from the dusty sand" or "I choked on my spit. I wasn't coughing. " they keep coming up with stuff to say till they have a fever and collapse.

YES. MORE FOR KNIVES. I actually really enjoy writing for knives. He's such a complicated character to get right because he hates humans and more often than not the reader is portrayed as human. His feelings are so contradictory but I love it.

You're Only Human (After all)

SUMMARY: Vash, Wolfwood, and Naï, find out that you've been hiding a sickness from them. The outcome feels like a nightmare come true.

NOTES: Vash and knives parts are very long. There's a shit ton of angst but there's also hurt/comfort. I'd say it took me 16 hrs total from start to finish and that's partially because a huge part of Kives original part got deleted and yeah... I couldn't remember some of it. Enjoy tho lol.

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

Vash

Setting up camp for the night was no easy task, getting up to gather what everyone needs to sleep comfortably while helping Meryl set up her own tent. Yours always comes last and before you can even finish Roberto is asking you to help him cook. You never stop working and seize every opportunity to stay on your feet, the restlessness that comes with stagnancy kills you. Through constantly throwing yourself into work is painful and tiring, it's been even more so than usual.

"Hey kid. Come and help with this roast."

You ignore Roberto's request, too tired to even think straight much less give a coherent thought, only curling further into the backseat of the truck. In the back of your throat has settled an itch, one that's not quite there but prominent enough to make you force down a cough. It bubbles up suddenly, making you gasp for air in-between coughs. Your throat burns in pain and tenses as it stops.

Soft foot steps pad up to the open door. Meryl peeks in at you with worry before she fixes herself right. "Uh... Sorry if I'm bothering you but could you help me with my tent again?" She clasps her hands together, eagerly waiting for your answer.

Nick watches from the outside of his own tent, gazing at your still form while his hands blindly settle the cross firmly into the sand. He doesn't decide to speak until Meryl extends a hand to tap you. "I'll do it." He offers.

Meryl turns to look at him with a disgruntled smile. "Thanks?" He scoffs. "Yup. Don't mention it. And close the door while you're at it."

Meryl looks at your limp form, not wanting to close any limbs in the door she checks just to be sure before she carefully closes the door. Just before walking away she takes one last peek inside to see if she disturbed you but you haven't moved an inch. Taking a deep breath she turns to stand beside Nick while he puts her tent together.

The night carried on and with it came Vash. To everyone else the night went on as usual but to Vash, a part of him was missing. When he looked for your tent he was sad to find that it hadn't been set up at all. This only worried the blonde further. His stomach would churn with unease the further he looked around. There was no sign on you anywhere. Just as he was about to peek around the truck, a soft finger tapped his shoulder. He turned to find Meryl gazing up at him.

"If you're looking for them..." She points to the truck. "They've been there all evening."

Hia gaze follows her pointed finger to the backseat of the truck. Offering her thanks, he rushes over to the truck and pulls open the door. You lay curled up on the farthest side away from him, your face hidden and tucked away in your arms. Face softening, Vash climbs into the empty space by your feel and closes the door behind him, ensuring privacy.

"Mayfly?" He leans over curiously, his hand slipping under your chin to lift your face into view. You grimace, your head swimming in agony and dizziness. "Are you okay?" His cries crease in concern.

Lazily, you lift a hand to swat him away. Setting your head back on your arms he lifts the back of his hand to your forehead. "You feel hot. Maybe you should get out of the car. Get some fresh air." His hand brushes over your head in a soothing manner.

"I'm fine." He smiles at your half-hearted grumble.

"If you say so..." Swiftly grabbing your shoulder, Vash scoops you up into his arms with ease and scoots to press his back to the door. He spreads his legs and leans back just enough for you to lay comfortably on his chest. You're just lethargic enough that you flop against him, no resistance whatsoever.

He stayed with you until the morning, upset when he kept waking up to you practicing choking in your sleep. Every time he raises a hand to your forehead it burns his skin. You were certainly running a fever of some kind or at the very least sick, he's never seen you so lethargic before. You've always stayed on your feet, working yourself to the brink, till' your legs won't carry you anymore. This might just be one of those spells but you never left the truck. Even when he got out to help everyone pack up you didn't move.

When everyone gathered inside the truck, you didn't move, allowing yourself to get shoved around to make room for Wolfwood and Vash. As Vash climbed in, he scowled at the priest who shoved you about as if you were some object he could just discard. Gently scooping you far enough to slide in. he laid you back down in his lap and held you close, allowing you to get some rather comfortable rest. Hours later, you woke up in a daze. The heat consuming you from head to toe is unbearable, breathing comes harshly.

You can see legs moving through the sand below you as you wake up but very quickly realize they're not yours. You begin to feel hands under each of your knees and your body pressed against another. Below you, Vash's coat flaps into view, the edges of it tugging about with each step.

You groan, dizzy from the heat and disoriented. Your head is reeling about, begging to go back to sleep and crying at the same time. Every part of you aches and your throat feels like it's been grated like fine cheese.

"You're awake!" Vash turns his head to look at you nuzzled into his shoulder. Swallowing harshly, you lift your head to glance at him. "Where are we?"

You cringe at the sound of your own voice, sounding like a decrepit frog that smokes cigarettes. It feels like you haven't drank in forever and your stomach rumbles angrily. Suddenly Vash jumps to keep you up on his back, you whine at the sudden jolt and dig your hands into the chest of his shirt. He grimaces at your painful response.

"You okay?" Forcing yourself to right yourself, you begin to wriggle in his hold. "M' fine. Put me down."

Vash's brows creased with worry. "Are you sure? You've-"

Pushing from his hold you fall into the scorching sands. Hissing in pain, you jump to your feet jostling your brain into a wave of vertigo. Your hand shoots out to find purchase while your vision grows dark. Tingles flood your body as a low dull pain pulses in your head. Two arms scoop you up into security, keeping you from falling back into the hot sands. "Whoa!"

Vash steadies you as you lean against him limply for help. "Slow down. You're not well." His hands move to your shoulders. A long drawn out couch slips from your lips. You shake away from his hole to walk towards the group, they're way ahead of you occasionally glancing back to stop and wait. "I'm fine."

You trudge forward at your own discretion and Vash follows closely behind. "Let me carry you Mayfly." A hand comes to rest at the small of your back. Beneath you, your legs shake horribly, threatening to lose your balance. It's hard just to push forward in the sand without wincing from the sore ache that settles into your bones. "I'll be fine, Vash."

The desert becomes distant, a cold covering your whole body like ice. "I'm..." The sky began to darken, blotting out the light from the suns and the sand beneath you.

"oh!" Slipping forward, Vash stretches an arm over your chest to stop your falling body from collapsing in the sand. The over exertion is obvious and your body makes it hard to deny. Vash can see it clearly, the bleary look in your eyes as he scoops your bridal style in his arms. Gazing down at you with an unreadable expression, he shakes his head. "How long has this been going on?"

You roll your head into his chest, shielding your eyes from the suns. Breathing in to speak you choke out a cough, you can hardly catch a breath in-between. When you finish, your head falls back softly. "A few weeks ago." You mumble weakly.

A frown settles upon his lips as he looks ahead at the horizon, the glare on his shades stops you from seeing his eyes. Those are always a dead give away for how he's feeling. Those shades work wonders for him.

Taking a shaky breath, you relax in Vash's arms. "Don't worry. I'll take you to a doctor. You should rest until then."

You shake your head. "Won't you get tired of carrying me?"

He looks back down at you smiling softly. The smile reaches up to his eyes, softening his gaze and wrinkling the corners of his eyes. "I will. It's okay, I'm supposed to take care of you Mayfly. Just rest." His voice is so soft he's almost whispering. It makes a heat swirl in your chest as you close your eyes.

"I'm sorry Vash."

He chuckles. "It's alright my love."

Wolfwood

Sweat beads along your forehead as you follow the giant wandering cross in front of you. Your wavering pace slows you down even more the longer you push forward. It's so far away now. When was the last time you even had water? God, you can't remember. Trudging through the sands makes the ache in your already sore leg grow worse, you can barely lift your feet from the ground.

Breathing is a labor, it burns your lungs with each breath you take, the longer you go without calling for Nick's help the more dire this starts to become. The dull ache in your head is pounding with the intensity of the suns and your body grows weaker. You regret lying to Nick before he ran out of gas, you knew them you should have said something but the situation was bad enough. You thought saying something then would only cause more worry to settle in Nick's mind and you didn't want to burden him.

Suddenly, searing hot pain blossoms on your exposed skin and sand hugs your body as it lands. Your mind is foggy and blank, you watch Nick grow smaller in the distance not even bothering to look back at you. You rasp his name but your throat doesn't allow you to call any louder than a simple talking tone. After traveling with Nick everywhere, you never thought it would end like this, laying in the sand pathetically sick because of your irrational fear and Inability to ask for help.

Suddenly, in the distance. The space between you and Nick closes in. He runs towards you, tossing the cross all about on his back. Distantly you can hear him call your name for the first time ever, he's only ever called you by silly nicknames. You don't give much care to mutter a response and sink into the sand.

Panic squeezes in Nick's chest and he drops his cross beside him to tend to you. Grabbing your shoulders he turns you over and sits you up in his lap. "C'mon. Don't fall asleep." He begs.

You cough up a laugh. The concern in his face grows even more severe with your seeming obliviousness to the situation. "I'm fine..." You want to shrug him off so bad but even moving feels like hell.

Heart pounding in his chest, Nick swallows harshly "You haven't been fine since we got stranded, have you?" The back of his hand feels freezing as he presses it to your forehead. You grimace with discomfort and whine. "I'm not stupid." Carefully, he stands with you in his arms.

As he turns to walk away you spot his cross on the ground. "Your cross..." Nick acknowledges it with a hum. His face is stern, pointedly staring straight again with his lips pressed into a thin line. "I'll get it back later. You need medical attention first."

You smile. "So you're saying you care?"

His grip on you begins to tighten. *Of course I do! Don't fucking scare me like that again." He growls.

"Sure." Sleep tugs your eyes closed, pulling at your weight the less conscious you become. Nick glares down at you, squeezing you tighter against him. He feels your body grow limp in his arms, heart dropping to his stomach.

"What did I say? Don't fall asleep." You're jostled awake with a groan. "Just let me sleep. Please."

"And if you don't wake up again?" He's become eerily nonchalant. "What then?" The edge in his voice shakes with worry, tracing the thoughts of what might unfold after your death. His chest aches at the thought of losing you and he won't say it but he's scared of losing you. "It'll kill me..."

Nick will never admit it but you do more for him then he lets on. Your company alone could last him a lifetime, your smile, it could make him happy forever. Everything about you fixes everything bad about him and he's not ready to give that up. Especially not over some silly illness. Hearing his words and understanding what he means, you coo quietly and rest your hand over his heart. Your touch quells his fraying nerves.

"I drag you down Nico." Your heart weighs heavy in your chest. "It might be better if you leave me behind."

Stomach clenching wearily, Nick grunts. "No." Venoms laces his tongue. "You idiot. I love you too much to do that." You gaze at him in surprise. "Don't look at me like that. I said what I said. You should just be quiet and conserve your energy."

Hesitant, you gaze at him for a few moments longer before letting your head rest carefully against his chest. "I'll get you help. Just hang in there."

Millions Knives

Sitting beside Naï, he plays the piano. Quietly, you watch his fingers dance over the keys as they belt out a dramatic yet familiar melody. It strikes the soul as misunderstood, you know it well. Many times has Naï played this song in your presence. You've heard everything he plays, as his words command you stay by his side under his watchful eye. Many of his followers take this as a sign of mistrust, a show that the human race will never take his attention. Naï has said to you before: "Hear me and believe my word. My trust in you is not misguided, I only wish to protect you from those who wish to harm you."

Despite hating humans, Naï knows his fair share about the ways they operate. He understands the delicacy of your body and handles it with immense measure and meticulous care. He keeps you near to prevent his followers from making a move to take your life. For him, he even strives to understand more about you, to protect you. His care for you and your well-being runs deep, although Naï doesn't quite understand why it's you he's so careful about, he understands that you make him feel something.

Naï, even in his own strange way, shows that he cares for you. He appreciates the company you keep him and he's not foreign with thanking you. Just the same your appreciation runs deep, he offers you friendship, safety, food, and a place to lay your head at night. Above all else, his friendship and company you find the most rewarding, to know so much about him is to see under his facade. Knowing that underneath all of those sharp blades, a gentle, and caring man resides. Only sparing himself to his closet confidants.

Beautifully, the keys fade into an epilogue, an ending to the story it once opened with. You find that as you watch with a smile your lungs begin to burn. A cough tries to bubble its way past your lips, it takes your breath away and chokes you on the way out. Turning away to cover your mouth, you find it hard to catch your breath and tears blur your vision. The melody that had once carried through the room now falls silent in the stead of your sputtering.

Worry tingles in Naï's chest as you gasp for air beside him, he's unsure of what to do or what this is. His knowledge might be expansive but he still has so much to learn, about sickness, potential threats, the many causes of death. His lack of awareness makes his heart quell with concern and his mind reel is fear.

"Are you alright?" His voice carries through the harmonious room. Tentatively his hand hovers over your back.

You wipe the tears from your eyes to see his angelic face clearly. "It's okay Naï, just choked on my spit."

Cautiously, he looks you over with care checking for abnormalities along your external appearance. Your eyes are dark and lightly sunken, despite noticing this fast Naï goes along with your word and nods in earnest. You feel scrutinized under his gaze, like he's judging every part of you without ever saying a word.

"Choked?" He queries. "Is this choking, dangerous?" His brows crease with worry.

"Well..." Recalling gasping for air, the onslaught of coughing as it keeps you from breathing in deep enough to catch your breath makes you choose your next words with ease. "Yes. It can be, depending on the circumstances. But it can also be prevented"

Intensely focused, Naï nods. "How can this be prevented?" His absolute attention is always divulged onto you anytime you talk, it's endearing, the way he listens to every detail. Nothing you've said has ever been forgotten by him, he remembers everything, making it a point to bring it up when useful later on. It tells you that he cares about what you have to say, knowing that makes your heart soar.

"Drinking a glass of water, or anything of likeness, then there's the heimlich. You should ask Con'rad about that if you want to understand it." Although many of the things that Naï knows about humans have been acquired through you, there are many things you can't find the energy to explain. Best someone else with more knowledge explains it to avoid any confusion.

"I'll go visit him then." Naï stands. "Come. I'll escort you to the room." Gently, you hold his outstretched hand, letting it guide you to your feet. He holds it gingerly as he pulls you alongside him. His hand is soft and warm, inhumanely so, you find comfort in his warmth.

The more time chugs along the more you begin to realize you've fallen I'll, coughing spells out of nowhere, extreme fatigue, loss of appetite. The coughing grows worse with intensity, burning your sore throat, your body wastes energy faster, and waking up in the morning becomes a difficult task. For longer times you would lay in bed seeking the comfort of your companion, Naï, despite hiding your growing illness from him. He's buying into what you told him, though it won't last for very long. If he's really that worried he'll seek the knowledge of Con'rad once again.

He knows your habits even down to the smallest details, including your sleep schedule. Though sleep is the only time he lets you spend alone, that's only in his room, the only ones allowed inside are you and him. As far as his knowledge goes, since you last went in about a day ago, no one has bothered to enter. Not even Naï himself would go to see you. He figured you only needed a little alone time before you might come out again to grace him with your company. The time rolled around for you to come out but the door never opened, Naï waited in anticipation, trying to stace off the minutes to spare you time.

The paranoia got to him before you could.

The whole time you've been inside he's only let the door out of his sight once, for only a short amount of time. Very few people would dare enter knowing what punishment would await them if he ever found out but just the thought of someone going in and hurting you... It makes his blood boil. He paces just outside with worry and frustration beginning to build just beneath the surface. He has to know you're okay, he has to hear you speak... No. No, he needs something more... He has to see you physically. Otherwise, he might just lose his mind wondering what awaits him inside.

Eager to finally see your face again, to hear your voice and feel your touch, he pushes the door open. Eyes scouring the darkness for your form he finally spots you laying still beneath the covers of his bed, you make no sound as the door closes and you stay still even as he says your name. In his chest, his heart begins to pound wildly, sending the rest of his body into a frenzy of feelings.

He rushes to the bedside, a singular blade extending to turn the lights on. The darkness cowers away at the flick of a switch and your form is revealed amongst his mattress. Almost stripped bare of your clothes you lay unmoving, almost as if the life from inside you has been drained. Chest straining, Naï climbs over top of your body lowering his head to your chest, your skin feels cold against his ear as he listens for a heartbeat.

Just underneath your delicate skin beats the rhythm of your life, it beats on even as you lay utterly still. Naï can feel his shoulders relax, the sound of your heart telling him that you're indeed still alive, but as he pulls away to further examine you he knows something's not quite right. it makes his stomach churn with unease. Your skin tone seems off, like something's not quite the same as it was before.

As softly as he can, Naï shakes your body. After the first movement he expects you to come to life with a groan but you don't move. If your heart is still beating, why won't you wake up?

"My flower, wake up. You've slept long enough. I need your company by my side." He shakes you harder this time. "Petal, wake up. I demand it." He tries to sound like he normally does when addressing everyone else but he can't seem to find it in himself to truly yell at you, to demand something of you. Especially not when you're stripped of your freedom at this moment.

Naï's throat tightens, his brows creasing with worry and fear. He's so confused, you usually wake up when he calls for you but now he's got nothing. It scares him, knowing just how fragile you really are, it aside now that he rushes you to Con'rad.

Before he parts to the lab, he envelopes your exposed body in his cloak and carries you in his arms. Nothing like this takes more than the blink of an eye, Con'rad barely even has time to process his master's sudden appearance. Everything is thrust at him at once, the fear and confusion that riddles Naï's face when he presents you to Con'rad, how he begs for him to find out what's wrong, to fix you.

Con'rad frowns at your unconscious body as he takes you from his master's arms. "Careful! Don't hurt them." Naï warns.

Con'rad can only cast him a glance before he sets you down on a table, he collects his supplies needed to check you over and watches as Naï retracts the cloak that is wrapped so tightly around your body.

To plants, a decade is only supposed to feel like a day. So why did Naï feel like it had already been years when it was only minutes. He stared at you intently, waiting for you to wake up, willing you to do something. But you didn't move at all. Naï was anxious from tip to bottom, so to quell his nerves Con'rad began explaining things to him.

"Like we discussed, humans are susceptible to many things, illness being one of them. Should a person go an extended amount of time without medication or medical attention, it can cause death. This happens to be the case with your friend. You're lucky you found them when you did Knives. I can still run this IV to get the right fluids in check. After, you can take them back to your room, the IV has to stay in until it's empty though." He eyes the bleach blond from the corner of his eyes as he tapes the IV to your arm. "Again. You're lucky. They should recover soon. But they'll need plenty of rest."

Naï steps away from the wall he had leaned on, the blades slither out from behind his back and circle you carefully until they meld into his cloak once more. Content, he carefully picks you from the table with ease, using another metal appendage to grasp the IV bag.

"Thank you." Naï bows his head to Con'rad in thanks. Before he can reply Naï is gone again just as fast as he appeared.

Returning back to the privacy of his room, Naï gently sets you at the edge of the bed where he could rest the IV bag beside you. Leaving you swaddled in his cloak, Naï climbs up the bed behind you. For a moment he's hesitant to touch you, like it's the wrong thing to do but he pushes forward. Softly laying an arm over your waist, he pulls you flush against him, his face tucked into the back of your neck. He would lay here until you woke, until then, Naï would relish in the feeling of your body against his and find comfort in your presence by his side.

He might lecture you when you wake up, or inspect you thoroughly for any other sickness, but he also might enjoy your waking company for a moment before he does anything else.

#vash imagines #vash imagine #vash x you #vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #millions knives x you #millions knives x reader #knives x reader #nicholas wolfwood x reader #nicholas d. wolfwood #trigun x reader #trigun stampede x reader

[nebulaafterdark]

Do you think you could write a Velaryon/Strong reader x aegon thing where she wants to go down on him but he’s like “I would never debase you like that but I really want to.”

I would love to 😂

Indulgence

Aegon x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI Targcest, oral (m receiving)

Aegon has Y/N exactly where he wants her. Pressed right up against his chest, their mouths meshed together in a heated exchange of lips and tongue. When suddenly she is gone, dropping abruptly to her knees, undoing his breeches.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He chuckles, passing a hand over her hair. She is a vision, the skirts of her dress fanned around her. Staring up at him with the moon and stars in her eyes.

“I’m going to put my mouth on you.”

“Hmm?” Surely she doesn’t mean-

“I want to suck your cock.”

His groans, “I could never debase you that way.”

“Please?” Y/N cups him through the material.

“Why must you test me?” Aegon hisses, feeling all the blood rush to his member.

“Because I love you. All I want is to do something kind for my lord husband.”

He half smirks.

“My Prince,” she eases him out of his small clothes, allowing his erection to spring free. “My love.”

“Sweet girl,” he curses as she takes hold of his cock stroking slowly.

“Please?”

Fuck. He is fucked. “You are a menace.”

“Don’t make me beg,” she pouts.

“Just this once.” Aegon relents, he never could say no to her.

Y/N wastes no time bringing him into her mouth. Sucking with vigor as she takes more of him, choking in her excitement.

“Slowly,” Aegon murmurs. “Slowly, my dearest love.” He has thought about her, cheeks flushed and tear streaked as he fucks her pretty throat. But such things were meant for women of the pleasure house. Not his sweet girl, certainly not his future Queen.

Y/N relishes at the feeling of his fingers in her hair, guiding her movements as she bobs up and down on his length. He is heavy against her tongue and she is certain that her jaw would eventually ache from it. The thought of which causes arousal to pool deep in her belly.

“Fuck,” Aegon pants. Her mouth is scorching hot and tight around him. “Such a good girl for me. I love you so much.”

Y/N’s hands rest against his thighs for leverage, feeling the muscles flex and release as his hips move against her. He begins to push himself a bit deeper.

“Breath through your nose.” Aegon encourages, stroking the side of her face, lovingly.

Y/N obeys, her husband is hardly ever rough with her.

“Do you like this, my love? Does it get your little cunt wet?”

Y/N hums around him, she is more than slick by now, her bundle of nerves pulsing between her thighs.

“Kostilus,” Aegon sighs. His head falling back. Please.

He is close to release. Y/N hears it in the desperate tone of his voice. Switching between their mother tongue and High Valyrian.

She redoubles her efforts, cupping his sack in her hand, loving the little noises her ministrations pull from his lips.

“I am going to come, sweetheart.” The prince warns.

The pretty thing at his feet blinks up at him, moving faster still.

“You want it in your mouth? Swallow all of my seed?”

Y/N hums her approval. Anything for him.

“You’re too good to me. Such a sweet girl.” Aegon growls, holding her head flush and spilling his release onto her waiting tongue.

Tears spring to her eyes, his cock a bit too far back in her little throat. Shooting thick ropes of come, she sputters, whining slightly.

“Hush,” Aegon purrs, resting a hand against the side of her neck. “Swallow.” He feels her muscles move as she does, drinking him down. “Thank you. Thank you, my love.”

Y/N pulls away with a pop.

Aegon tugs her up against him. Standing once more, as he thumbs away tears and any remnants of him. “You must be quite pleased with yourself.”

Y/N huffs a laugh. “Quite.”

“And now that I’ve indulged you, you’re going to indulge me.” Aegon murmurs, face alight with mischief.

“In what way, my love?” Y/N wonders, stroking hair from his temples.

“You are going to sit on my face.”

Part 2

#aegon targaryen x you #hotd smut #house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon ii #aegon targaryen smut #aegon the elder #aegon smut #aegon x you #aegon x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii smut

[daaydreamy]

The reader giving subrrys bum a slap everytime he like bends over smth to grab smth

nasty

summary: y/n loves harry’s ass. 

warnings: coarse language, smut, spanking, pain kink

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

NOTE! i combined this request with another that was quite similar, which was: “Pls write about the reader being obsessed with subrrys bum like she always wants to touch it, spank it, eat it, fuck it🤭” !

•••

Y/N loved Harry’s ass. 

What? It wasn’t her fault that Harry liked to walk around their home with nothing but a pair of boxers on, and she especially loved it when he had just gotten out of bed, stretching his arms over his head, hair still messy and pointing in all different directions, the waistband of his boxers hugging his soft hips. It also was not her fault he looked so good, so. 

He wasn’t a big fan of clothes whenever he was home, said it felt too restricting, to which Y/N replied “They’re clothes, you idiot. It’s all fabric.” with a roll of her eyes and a soft chuckle slipping past her lips. Harry had only shrugged, licking off the little bit of juice from the strawberries he had been cutting for their pancakes off of his thumb, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and some apron he bought on Amazon a little while ago that said “Kiss The Cook” on it. 

“Oi.” He furrowed his brows and had a small pout on his face once he straightened himself back up, placing a hand over his ass where Y/N had given him a light slap while he was picking up a few bits of food that fell down on the floor. She smiled at him as she grabbed a glass from one of the cupboards, kissing him on the cheek as she walked past him afterwards. 

“I’ll get the movie ready and I’ll be right there to help you, hold on!”

Harry scoffed, smiling to himself. 

Another time…

“What d’you want for dinner?” Harry asked as he mindlessly scrolled on his phone, lying on his stomach on their bed, his chin resting against his forearms. Y/N was lying the other way around, her head originally lying against his lower back, before she moved down over to rest it against his ass, claiming it was more “plush.”

“Anything you want.”

“Can you get off my arse for a second to look at food with me?”

And another time…

Harry’s tears were soaking the sheets, his hands gripping the duvet tightly, as he felt the leather of the heart-shaped crop in Y/N’s hand, anticipating what was going to happen with his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He loved it, he loved all of it, the burn, the sting, and the ache the next day. He couldn’t get enough of it, mumbling ‘more’ over and over mindlessly, like he was already fucked out of his mind when they were just barely getting started, he fucking loved it. 

“More?” Y/N teased, putting the crop down on the bed to instead just use her hands, bringing them up to knead and grope at his ass greedily, making him inhale sharply and curve his back upwards a little from the pain he got off on so badly. He moaned softly, the sound a little muffled because his face was buried in the mattress, when Y/N gave him a light swat to add another small layer of sting. 

“‘M close.” He mumbled softly, too incoherently for Y/N to understand. She leaned over a little and grasped his hair to pull him up off of the bed, her other hand still splayed against his ass, her fingers digging into the softness of it. He couldn’t help but moan once more, the ache of the strands of his hair tugging at his scalp felt like a gift, only making more heat course through his body. 

“What was that?”

“I’m close.” He said a little louder and in a clearer tone, starting to say something again before he choked on his words when she started to stroke him, making his thighs tremble. God, what a mess he was at that point, just putty that Y/N could play with for hours and hours and he would never, ever make an attempt to stop her. 

“You’re close?” She asked and he could practically hear the smile in her voice, managing to nod slightly against the tight grip she had on his hair as he let out breathy little moans and whimpers.

a/n: maybe a little more than just a slap… sorry!

🏷: @crow-i-guess, @planetflos, @harrycanyonmoonn, @bxtchboy69, @sweet-as-lilacs, @lyricalniall, @venusincleo (couldn’t tag you!), @bxbun111, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @emispleased, @goldenhrry, @cinnamongirlrry, @manifestrry, @sadqn1, @judesgfirl, @taylorsreputationsversion, @violetsandfluff, @phoebebridgersforqueen, @a-strange-familiar, @moonlightbea-33 (couldn’t tag you!), @famedrs-blog, @coochiesteak, @blahblahblah-888 (couldn’t tag you!), @milesisntdonewritingyet, @harrysgoth, @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite, @cinnamonlola, @youcan-nolonger-run, @velvetrylie, @vamprry, @ellie-luvsfics, @gorlsinmultifandoms, @littlenatilda, @straightontilmornin

#sub!harry #subrry #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x you #sub!harry x dom!reader #dom!reader #dom!y/n #sub!harry x soft dom!reader #soft dom!reader #soft dom!y/n #writing

[oh-thats-what-it-is]

Jess Mariano SMUT: The best friend and the boyfriend.

POV: Your best friend Rory always gets what she wants as the town’s golden girl. Well, you have had enough and its time you get what you want.

WARNINGS: 18+ (minors dni); cheating; rory slander; lorelai slander; p in v intercourse; dirty talk; unprotected sex; light choking - i think that is it

AUTHOR’S NOTE: wasn’t enough jess smut for me on here. Wanna fix that! first time writing anything so please be gentle. 2k+ words

You’re at Luke’s diner trying to get some work done before your exam tomorrow. The wetness inbetween your legs was proving a great distraction to the task at hand. You had to muster every ounce of concentration to listen to what Lane and Rory were saying. The three of you were finishing up your group project for school. You had all been friends for years, but recently you had found it hard to be yourself around them.

The reason for that, was standing behind the counter, serving customers with a surly look and a quippy comment if he spoke at all. Jess.

The whole town knew about him and Rory. How could they not? Stars’ Hollows’ golden girl drew attention wherever she went. Her and Dean’s romance had been the talk of the town - the stuff of young love! And she could do no wrong. Even after she dragged Dean through hell and back with her indecisiveness before ultimately bringing him to breaking point - people still loved her.

And hey - you did too. She was your best friend. But you couldn't help but roll your eyes at the way the town fawned over her. Even though it had been happening your whole lives. Rory and her busybody, try-hard mother were the apple of the town’s eyes. And you were used to it.

But you had been surprised that Jess had fallen for it. When he arrived in town, a sullen and brooding figure, you had immediately felt drawn to him. You could sense his angst. You could feel it vibrating off of him. And lets not pretend like he wasn’t a total smokeshow. He looked like a man.

If only Lorelai and Luke weren’t so close. Then you might have gotten your chance. But as fate had it, and as it always seemed to, Rory got in there first. Lorelai invited Luke and Jess over for a welcome dinner, and he instantly became smitten with Rory’s mild manner. It only took a matter of months - and a breaking of one Dean Forrestor’s heart - until they became an item.

At first it was all rosy. Rory wouldn’t shut up about it. But you could tell. Something wasn’t quite right. Two months passed and Rory would go red every time Jess was brought up, or came to sit with your group at lunch. You asked Rory - genuinely as a friend. She would just mumble and divert the subject. Lane also pressed, but there was no budging Miss Gilmore.

It was only a month ago when you cottoned on to what the problem was. You had been wearing jeans that hugged your ass, and a top that teased just enough of your cleavage to make anyone blush. You bumped into Jess in the hallway at school. As in, physically bumped into him, as he came around the corner. He grabbed onto you out of instinct to apologise.

“Oh hi Y/N. What are you….” His eyes trailed down to your chest. You didn’t notice at first. You thought he was dazed by the surprise interaction.

“Just on my way to Spanish. Señora Castilla is making us do a book report - I’m doing 100 years of Solitude.”

“Hmm” he responded. “That’s one of my favourites. Magical realism, love, scandal - “

And then you clock. His eyes are on your tits. His hand is still on you. On the small of your back.

This man is hungry. He hasn’t been laid or anything of the sort in a while. Or at least since he has been with Rory. Jess wants you. You avert your gaze.

“Jess. I have to go.”

He moved his hand lower, testing the waters. You don’t remove it. You inhaled, trying to retain your morals. You remind yourself: We’re in the middle of the hallway. At school. He is Rory’s boyfriend. Rory is my best friend.

You repeated these over and over to yourself like a mantra, willing yourself to move. After what seems like an eternity, he whispers in your ear: “My car. 10 minutes,” and sauntered away.

And that was how it began. A whole month of some of the steamiest makeout sessions, hottest sex, and best orgasms of your life. Did the secrecy turn you on? Maybe. Did you feel bad for Rory? Perhaps. But were those moments with Jess worth it? Absolutely.

You had to be careful. Not just to avoid Rory and Lane. But Luke couldn’t know either. If he did, he would have gone straight to Lorelai and it would have been a whole thing. It wasn’t worth it. So the two of you would sneak in quickies in his car, behind Miss Patty’s studio, in the AV room at school etc.

But Luke was out tonight. Doing something for Lorelai probably. Who knows. Jess had suggested the two of you take advantage of the situation. He had recently acquired his own room at Luke’s, ever since his uncle had knocked a hole in the wall for him. It wasn’t much, but you couldn’t wait to share a bed with him, and take your sweet time worshipping his body.

“Okay Y/N, we’re off. You coming?” Asked Lane.

“Nah, I have a bunch more work to do for my college application. I will see you both tomorrow?”

Rory went over to give Jess a kiss goodbye. You couldn’t help but smirk as you saw him looking at you as she kissed his cheek. The two girls waved goodbye and left the cafe.

The minute they left, Jess pounced on your table. He summoned Cesar to take over his shift and close up.

“Cmon baby” he whispered, taking care not make it look obvious to the other customers what was going on.

You and Jess went up the stairs silently but quickly. The minute you reached the top flight and opened the door into the living quarters, Jess slammed the door shut and pressed you against it.

“Do you know how bad you are? Sitting right next to my girlfriend and giving me those ‘fuck me’ eyes all night? It was all i could do not to take you on the table right there.”

His forehead was against yours, his hands cradling your face. All you could see was him. All you could feel was him.

“Such a good boy for restraining yourself,” you cooed, trying lure him into making the first move. Each time you were together, it still felt like new. A game of chicken. Who would break first? Fresh and dangerous, yet familiar and comforting all at once. “It must have been so hard for you” you said, moving your hand towards his crotch. “Show me how much you want me” you dared.

It was too much for him. He growled and leant in to kiss you with everything he had. He was messy and sloppy with need. His teeth clashed against yours. You moaned with need. Your hands wandered to your waist, dipping under your trousers, then your panties. You started playing with your clit and panting his name back into his mouth.

You were still against the door. Jess moved his hands under your shirt, finding the valley of your chest easily as you hadn’t worn a bra today.

“Fuck” he said, breaking the kiss. “You had your tits out all day baby girl? You are such a slut, wanting everyone to notice.”

Before you could begin to formulate a reply, his mouth was on your left nipple. You sighed as he sucking with such fervour. Just as you got used to the sensation enough to say something witty to him, he bit down hard. You yelped - this was a new move from him. He obviously felt emboldened by the new setting, being in his own territory and out of a car.

Jess went to your right nipple, sucking and making the most obscene slurping noise and his hand went to your other tit. It was too much. It felt too good. You started playing with your clit with even more until he finally noticed.

“That’s my job Y/N. Its not like you to be so selfish!“ he scolded. He grabbed both your wrists and pressed himself into you, letting you feel his bulge. You whimpered at the loss of your fingers inside your wet cunt and pouted at him. He brought your fingers to your mouth.

“Suck” he said, with a devious glint in his eyes. Like a fucking wet wipe, you did as he said. You were embarrassed at first, but didn’t care. You would do anything he said at this point.

When he was satisfied you had fully cleaned your fingers, he took them out your mouth and kissed you hard and hungrily on the lips.

You saw you opportunity to the turn the tables, to take power. “Jess?” You asked innocently.

“Hmm?” He responded, trailing kisses down your neck.

“The whole point of tonight is that we have a bed for once. Let’s make the most of it.” You pushed him off you and took his hand. You walked past the door to his bedroom. He stopped you and looked at you confused.

“Oh Jess. I don’t wanna be fucked in your single bed. I want to feel all of you” you whispered in his ear, guiding him to Luke’s room and king-sized bed.

His eyes widened with realisation and need. Was this a bad idea? Almost certainly. Did he care? At this point, not even wild horses could stop him from having you. He would do anything you said. And he had to admit, there was something hot about doing it somewhere he shouldn’t.

You pushed Jess onto Luke’s bed, unzipped his jeans and pulled down his boxers. His cock sprung up immediately. It was red, throbbing and angry. You couldn’t help but drool. Jess saw this and smirked. He knew what he did to you. He pulled off his shirt, knowing it would drive you crazy.

You dived onto his cock, unable to wait any longer. You took all of him in his mouth, as he held your head there. His pubic hair tickled your nose. You stayed there for as long as possible, until your eyes watered. You took your head off, wiped your mouth, and then began bobbing up and down slowly.

Jess propped himself up on his elbows, watching you like a hawk. His tongue was sticking out as he concentrated his breathing to stop himself from blowing his load. His dark curls were pressed wet against his forehead as beads of sweat started to roll down his face.

You moved to his balls, gently sucking them into your mouth while your hand moved up and down on his rock hard member. He started moaning and rocked his hips into your hands, desperate for more.

You had him right where you wanted him. You removed yourself from him completely and clambered to sit on top of him. His cock was nestled in your folds. So close to where he wanted to be. So close to where you wanted him to be. But you decided the chase was more fun. You lowered yourself down, so that your tits were pressed against his chest.

You whispered “Can Rory make you feel this way, Jess? Does she drive you wild like I do? Can she make you moan like a bitch the way I can? Has she ever made your cock this hard?” You punctuated each sentence with a nip on his ear.

“Fuck you,” he replied, grabbing your ass and turning you onto your back so that he was on top. He pushed himself into you and started fucking you with no mercy.

Your tits were bouncing with every thrust and you were whimpering with need every time he pulled out. You snaked your arms around his back, pulling him deeper into you. You didn’t want any space between you.

“You’re such a whore Y/N. Fucking your best friend’s boyfriend. I can’t believe it turns you on so much.”

You moaned at this words, unable to deny the appeal of the whole situation.

“Fuck baby, I can feel your cunt clenching around me as i say that! You are a fucking whore Y/N, squeezing me with your greedy pussy. Such a bad fucking girl.” Jess yelps, spanking your ass.

“I am a whore Jessy, your whore, only for you” you cried, embarrassed by your pathetic display. He grinned as you used the nickname you only brought out for him when you were cock drunk beyond belief. You groaned inwardly as you couldn’t believe you had given him the satisfaction of that ego boost.

You were lost completely in Jess. He moved his hand down to your core, adding a finger into your weeping pussy, and using his thumb to toy with your clit. It was bliss.

“Jessy?” You called out.

“Hmm?” He groaned in response.

“I want you to cum inside me” you begged.

His eyes widened as a wild look came over him. Without missing a beat, he swung your legs over his shoulders and bent you in two as he fucked into you harder than before. His hand moved to your throat, gently choking you. You stuck your tongue out like a dog in heat - animalistic and beyond a care as to what was normal.

The bed’s headboard was hitting the wall with every thrust from Jess’ pelvis, sure to cause a suspect dent tomorrow. But neither of you could have given a single fuck as the you both chased your highs. The sound of skin slapping, moans and gasps were obscene.

“Jess, have you seen Luke’s toolbox? We need it and he said it might be - Oh my god!”

You both froze and turned to the door. Lorelai was face to face with you and Jess butt naked on Luke’s bed. Sorry - lets rephrase that. Lorelai walked in on her daughter’s boyfriend and best friend fucking raw on Luke’s bed.

She narrowed her eyes and hissed: “Get the fuck out.”

#jess mariano #gilmore girls #milo ventimiglia #gilmore girls smut #jess mariano smut #literati #lorelai gilmore #jess x reader #jess mariano x reader #jess mariano x y/n #jess mariano imagine #jess imagine #gilmore girls imagine

[wonderlandwalker]

Gentoo Penguins | James Potter x Reader

Marauders Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: At the anniversary of a bad memory of yours, James can't quite figure out yet why you're avoiding him. But he doesn't give up easily.

Content Warnings/Tags: Angsty with a fluff ending (like everything I write), reader is Sirius' sister but it's not very obvious, crying, mentions of nudity, stubborn James, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: This one I had been working on for the past few days but finally found the right mindset to finish it! Send me a request if you think of something I can write &lt;3

It was Friday, and you hadn’t seen each other the whole week. This was caused by him having classes all week at the other side of the castle, and you just starting a new course because of which you barely had any free time.

He waited outside the classroom for your class to end. When you finally stepped out, he wouldn’t have recognized you if it wasn’t for the fact that he had your face memorized to the smallest detail by now. You looked like you had barely slept the entire week. You also looked like she had been dragged through the gardens in the courtyard.

“What the bloody hell happened to you, eh?” He asked you, and you turned your head after hearing his voice.

“Nice to see you too.” You sarcastically muttered back to him.

“Alright, I’m sorry okay? How’s your week been?” He sais, while catching up with you walking down the corridor.

“Been better, what are you doing here James?” You asked, still not looking at him.

This caught him off guard a little, not expecting you to question spending time together.

“Catching up with you, love, thought we could go do something together” He said back, while shrugging his shoulders a little. Maybe you really weren’t in the mood to spend time with him, or anyone for that matter. You turned your head towards him, and he could almost see the tension dripping from your face, your muscles strained but your eyes weak.

“I’m sorry James, but I’m really not in the mood for anything” You told him, your voice sounding choked up.

“Well, then let’s just do nothing?” He suggested. You clearly didn’t wanna argue, and instead continued walking towards your dorm, so he followed you.

You reached your dorm and walked inside, leaving the door open for him to follow after, at least that was a good sign, he thought. Lily was there too, along with Marlene. 

“I’m gonna take a shower” you muttered, walking into the bathroom.

Once you were inside, he walked over to Lily, thinking she might know what was going on.

“What’s up with her?” he asked.

She looked at him like he was growing a second head and simply called him an idiot, not telling him anything else before walking out of the room, probably on her way to the library. He looked over at Marlene, and she just rolled her eyes at him shortly, before going back to the book she was reading. So he decided to take a seat on your bed until you came back.

Not long after, you walked out of the bathroom, wearing a towel around your body and drying your hair with another one. You walked over to your wardrobe and picked something to wear. He was still watching you when you dropped the towel to get dressed. At the sudden reveal of your figure, James quickly realized he should look away, so he looked over to Marlene, who looked amused at the blush that was crawling up him. You finished getting dressed and walked over to the door, walking out while calling after yourself:

“Are you coming or not?”

Your change in demeanor startled him a little, but he quickly followed you.

“I thought we could go feed the plimpys by the lake.” He suggested once he caught up, but you didn’t seem appealed by the answer.

“I know, let’s go to the astronomy tower, it will be good, come on.” He said, tugging you forward a little.

You reached the top and settled down next to him, your knees pulled up to your chest, arms hugging your legs and your head resting on his shoulder.

He had always loved it when you played and fooled around, but he loved these moments most of all. When it was just the two of you, and you seemed so in your element when you leaned against him. The smell of your citrus shampoo lingering in the air.

You were staring at the sky and he swore, he could have looked at you forever if you let him. But after a while, he looked up to the sky with you, and let his own head lean on top of yours.

He remembered all the other times you had come up here. It was usually at the end of each year, the both of you relaxing at the thought of a warm summer to come. Sometimes you would come up here when one of you was stressing out too much, and the other lugged them along. You would be up here for hours, it usually already being deep in the night when you went back down. When he was stressed out, and you dragged him up here, he would get lost in your eyes, the way the moonlight reflected in them, it always calmed him down, and he would always be so grateful.

It wasn't until he heard you sniffle softly, your body starting to shake lightly, that he tore himself from his thought. He looked over at you, and you had closed your eyes. He tilted your chin up towards him and you opened your eyes, still avoiding his gaze. Your eyes looked glossy and dull, and it bothered him that he didn't know the reason you were crying, that he didn't know how to help. 

“Hey, darling, look at me. Please.”

You finally looked at him but it broke his heart a little. Both rage and calmness came over him at the same time. He wanted to punch whatever had caused her this sadness, but he also wanted to comfort you, make you feel better and make you forget the reason you were even sad to begin with. 

You parted your lips to start talking, but nothing came out. Wanting to give you the time you needed, he gently let your head fall back on his shoulder and took your hand in his, placing soft kisses against it in an attempt to calm you down.

After a few minutes, you started talking.

“It’s been exactly a year now.” was all you said, before closing your eyes again. And when he thought back, he started to remember the moment you were talking about. Last April, you had made plans one weekend to go to Hogsmeade, and when he went to pick you up from your dorm, he had already heard the cries before the door was even open. He knocked on it and heard Marlene telling him to go away, I knocked again and told her it was me, hoping she’d let me in so I could see what was wrong. Marlene probably knew it was a hopeless cause to get him to leave, so she told him to come in.

You were lying with your head on Marlene’s lap, crying your eyes out while she was stroking your hair. He had no idea what to do, he had never seen you this upset before. He tried to comfort you, but you didn't react to him. After a little bickering, Marlene convinced him to go away, that she could handle it, and that you didn't want to talk to anyone anyway.

After that night you had avoided him for almost a month, and when he finally managed to see you again, it seemed like part of you was still broken. He tried to ask her a few times what was wrong, but each time he did your eyes teared up and you simply told him you didn't want to talk about it. he tried asking Marlene too, but she kept telling him you would tell him when you were ready. He stopped asking after a while, not liking the way your usual smile broke down when he brought it up. 

“It was right in the middle of the great hall, everyone was looking at me. I thought they would at least have had the grace to send me a normal letter, not a howler.” You started to choke up as you were talking, and it took all of his willpower to let you continue, having the urge to pull you into him and console you. But he let you continue. 

“They disowned me right in front of the whole school, everyone heard it happen, it was so horrible.” You told me while you started to cry, clinging to him more and more. “It’s not like I was ever close to them, but it still hurt.”

He remembers when you told him childhood stories from your time in the Black household. It left you with trauma, but it was still family. You would recollect the small victories and tell him about them each time. And each time he would cheer for you, be happy for you, even though he was dying to make you see you deserved so much more. 

“Sirius was still there of course, but I couldn't talk to Regulus anymore, he avoided me for so long. I think he was just scared as well, but it still hurt.” It was quiet for a while, but he could feel that you weren't done talking, so he waited for you to continue. 

“The last time I had talked to him we got into an argument. He was upset that I was spending so much time with Sirius and with you guys, he said it would only lead to trouble. I guess he was right.”

“Hey, look at me, yeah?” James couldn't take it anymore.

“Do you remember when my mum got a bad case of dragon pox? I didn't want to talk to anyone, I shut everyone out, but you helped me through it.” He can see your eyes again through all the tears, and it prompts him to continue. “You brought me slushies in the middle of the night when I refused to leave the dorm, Merlin only knows where you even got them. You made me laugh when your tongue turned blue, it had been the first time I laughed all week.” You’re smiling now as well, and he swears his grin is gonna make his cheeks hurt. 

“You were there for me, even when I told you I wanted to be alone, you saw right through me. And I will be there for you, I will always be here for you, whenever or wherever you need me.” Your tears have stopped now and there is a sense of bliss that covers you. So James continues

“Do you remember, a couple of years ago, you got this obsession with penguins? You told me all about them. You told me about when they were first discovered, and the scientists named them ‘strange geese’. You told me a group of penguins is called a raft. You told me this one extinct species would grow up to 1,5 meters tall, now that one I didn't believe at first. But the one I remember most is the Gentoo penguin. You told me about how they are one of the few penguin species that mate for life, even when they lose each other for a while, they always find their way back in the moments that matter.” 

He tilted your chin up to meet his gaze while he spoke. “Be my Gentoo penguin.”

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