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#smut
zibermuda · a month ago
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high end | jjk
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→ summary: jungkook is a best-selling erotica novelist living in a lavish neighborhood. He spends his days cruising on yachts, tasting the world’s most expensive wines, and fucking bar-staff. But, as soon as you move in next door with your fruity cocktails, tight bikinis, and odd philosophies, his hobbies shift. To put it plainly; you're sex on legs and he wants to write about you in his upcoming novel. But first, he has to get to know you inside and out. 
→ genre: smut, fluff, angst (erotica-novelist!jk, architect!reader)
→ words: 13,050
→ warnings: unprotected sex, orgy, semi-public sex, semi-public petting, semi-public fingering, ice play, nipple play, bondage, licking, biting, fingering, drooling, spanking, finger sucking, hair pulling, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, use of sex toys, multiple orgasms, pussy eating, dick sucking, throat fucking, crying, gagging, high drug use, drinking, swearing
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masterlist || request
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Let's get one thing straightened out; rich people love to do rich people shit. Whether it be deep-throating oysters in the coastal towns of France, raiding designer stores, or pretending to relate to the lower class, they do it and they do it often.
Jeon Jungkook is guilty of most of the above. At 25 years of age, he lives in a multi million-dollar house situated in the privacy and luxury of the Hills. His neighbors live just as lavishly; some actors, some dentists, and some wealthy by marriage. Their problems seem bizarre to the average person, but respectfully, problems are problems. If you're feeling off about something — even if you're standing in your ten-acre garden and can't seem to decide where to build your own personal water park — you still have a problem.
Jungkook has a problem of his own, but we'll get to that in a moment.
How the fuck did he get so rich and where do I sign up? You might be thinking to yourself. He writes about the intimate and explicit details of sex. Each of his novels revolve around a successful individual dealing with life’s obstacles and ultimately leaving their imprint on the world. The sex scenes are a by-product of the power play. There's a lot of power in sex, there's a lot of love in his heart for life and its obstacles, and there's a lot of money in publishing well-written (debatable), fantasy-driven erotica novels. 
To say he was born with a silver spoon sticking out of both of his ears would be a bit of an overstatement, but not too far from the truth. His parents are the masterminds behind a multi billion-dollar tech company that develops security software. From day one, they drove the tech-fantasy into their sons head, and even though they persuaded him to graduate college with a Bachelor of Advanced Computer Science, things took a different turn once he stepped foot into the real world; he grew a little too cocky with his qualifications, social status, and good looks, and so spent his time entertaining a rowdy bunch of people, partying, having insane amounts of sex, drinking whatever was handed to him, snorting blow off bars, and everything else the champagne life entails.
And then, like most young people, he was inspired by a short-lived summer romance. She was an aspiring solicitor, beautiful, confident, and determined, but her determination made her use people like dental floss. She bat her eyelashes a thousand times, said anything to grow her network, and lied like it was a 9-5 job. But, as much as it hurt him, he never grew to hate her. There was something about her — maybe it was the way she could tame every doubt in his mind, or the way she built herself from the ground up — that made it clear that she knew the world was hers. She was the inspiration behind his first novel. Similar to how musicians write an array of emotional lyrics and dedicate music videos to ex-lovers, he too found a way to tell stories. The difference is that he never writes out of spite. No matter how many chapters of heartbreak he could write, he believes it to be wholly unproductive. He sees the good and the fun in others or he doesn’t see at all.
He knew many fine publishers through his parents, so it wasn’t long before he was an official published author with a new network of literate friends. His novel was a quick success thanks to his advertising team. They worked their ass to the bone to gain a cult following for him. Posters were on bus-stops, library walls, retirement home notice boards, and even on the ‘Do Not Feed the Ducks’ signs at parks. If the ducks and the elderly weren’t already into sexy, but also kind of odd novels, they sure as hell are now.
He was crowned the king of erotica just a week after his first publication.
The average Joe appreciates a little sex every now and then, but this isn't a story about average Joe’s. It's about filthy rich savages who can't get enough of it; in every position, at every time of the day, at every setting. They put rabbits to shame. For all intents and purposes, Jungkook is one of these rabbit-shaming savages. He loves dubious, sweat-inducing, vulgar sex with loose women; MILFS, teachers, models, lawyers, doctors, bartenders, and even the neighbor living in the colonial mansion opposite from him. She's forty-three years old, freshly divorced, and had been a fan of his writing since the very first publication, so she thought 'what the hell? I'll just knock on his door, crack open a bottle of wine, and gush about how much I love his work. Maybe I can work on my game, too.' She came for conversation, but never thought that he'd be spelling it out with his tongue between her thighs.
When it comes to conversing with him, there's often tension, whether sexual or just plain enlightening, and a tipping point. He always says the right things to aid out unlikely confidence within people; a type of confidence that makes a person say what they truly mean and want. He likes to ask unlikely questions and do unlikely things, sex aside.
Back to his problem, though; writers block. He’s lacking very specific inspiration, but this is where you come into play. He was curious about you from the very moment he saw you chatting with the driver of the movers truck. You'd been standing outside your new house with your summer dress and broad-rimmed hat, and he'd been curiously scoping out his new neighbor from his window. It's not uncommon for him to feel such curiosity toward a successful person, nor is it rare for him to adapt and characterize them for his novels. Only the devil knows what kind of woman you are. Maybe you’re a teacher of fine arts, a model, a marine, a police officer, maybe you married into wealth, or even a decoy sent by the FBI. He learned many years ago to not judge a person by their cover.
It was only yesterday that he saw you standing on your driveway with a shadow cast over half of your face, and if he hadn’t been preoccupied with avoiding various voicemails and bickering with his lawyer over the phone, he would’ve introduced himself. Today, though, he plans on doing just that. In fact, he’s already half-way down the stairs with a free schedule and the brighter side of your face clear in his mind.
The staircase banisters are glass panes adorned with silver hand-railings, and each step is a thick, hand-cut slab of grey marble. The steps cascade from the second floor to the kitchen, where contemporary wine racks have been built underneath. Stocked on the racks are hundreds of bottles of imported red wine, white wine, and limited edition champagne taken from events and given to him as gifts. Most, if not all, are purely decorative. He prefers whiskey.
Bright, white spotlights are tucked underneath floating wall dividers to brighten up the home and most, if not all, of the walls have been coated in a light grey paint. A theme of dark wood runs true to his home; dark counter tops, coffee tables, and sculptures. His home is very much an open plan, quite like himself.
Money has never been an issue for him, but it’d be foolish to say that wealth is what got him here in the first place. He has always been smart, has always known the right people, and has always been ambitious to the core. You could give him nothing but an empty bottle, and he’d soon be the best-selling bottle maker in the country.
Jungkook takes a few moments to pick out an expensive bottle of wine — a house-warming gift, if you will — before heading outside. The sky is a pretty shade of blue and almost void of clouds, except for a single cloud spread across the sky like a stroke of white paint. He knocks on your door three times and checks his Rolex after waiting an excess of fifteen seconds. Almost a minute passes before the front door swings open to reveal your shadow-free face. You have light, complementary makeup and a small smile adorning it. If he were younger and a little more naive, he’d drop to his knees.
It’s 4:48PM on a Sunday, yet you have a half-empty, strawberry cocktail in your hand. It’s 4:48PM, yet he has an expensive bottle of wine in his. He already likes you.
“Hello.” You say with those strawberry stained lips. Something about you suggests that you’re a little bit introverted, but it’s definitely not the cloud-white bikini and black, sheer cover-up wrapped around your figure. “I don’t suppose you’re the pool man?” 
“No, but I can take a look if you’d like.” He smiles a true Hollywood smile. “Your neighbor. To the right.”
His home is the biggest in the neighborhood. Many of the other homes are half the size, but just as lavish, including your own.
“Y/N.” You offer out your hand for him to shake and he does so without hesitation. “Architecture is my forte, but that’s not usually the first thing people guess.”
He tells you his name and you repeat it back in a way that makes him raise his eyebrows ever so slightly. And, as you invite him inside, you size him up; from his broad shoulders, slim waist, to his surprisingly perky ass. What is it with men and winning the genetic jackpot for good asses and eyelashes?
You’re not the only one, though. He’s already taken note of your half-naked body, ring-less fingers, and the dimples in your lower back. Your house smells like clean laundry and fresh paint, and an array of gin, brandy, vodka, and whiskey bottles sit on a silver platter on your marbled kitchen counter, right next to a bouquet of deep pink Dahlias. He places the wine bottle nearby, slightly defeated by the wrong choice of drink.
You’re not a wine-drinker, he notes. Cocktails are your best friend.
"Thank you.” You say, genuinely, as you inspect the brand and age of the wine. It looks expensive and by the looks of him, it has to be. “You really didn’t have to bring me anything.”
“I would’ve brought you a pie, but I can’t bake to save a life.” He humors. “You’ll get one, though, just not from me.”
The sun is far too warm to keep the conversation strictly inside. Summer has always been your favorite time of the year.
“What do you do, by the way? I don’t think I asked.” You inquire as you step past the large, glass sliding doors and wander around the great length of your swimming pool. Sundays are the only days where you have the time to lounge around in a bikini and drink cocktails before 5PM, so you make the most of it.
“I’m an author.” Even for someone like him, he’s never seen such a huge personal pool. Are you coaching the Olympic swimming team or something? He can just about picture you lounging on an inflatable pool float, skin wet and glistening in the light.
"What kind of stuff do you write?" You ask with your drink in one hand and his full-attention in the other. "Let me guess.. Science fiction? Business advice?"
His tan skin, wavy hair, and aura yells — practically screams — ‘leisure’, so he could easily be mistaken for a businessman with a habit of visiting the Bahamas every weekend. That’s not far from the truth, to be fair. He isn’t one to shy away from self-indulgence.
"Erotica." There’s no hidden shame behind his confession, nor is their a flicker of embarrassment. He owns it, just like he owns that white, button-up shirt and that dark, ruffled hair. He’s physically fit, too, thanks to his interest in recreational boxing and high intensity training.
"Erotica?" You repeat, way-off, but entirely captivated by this strange man. “So, you’re addicted to sex?”
Cheeky, he notes.
You tap your finger against your glass and drink in everything about him. The longer you look, the shyer you feel. What’s that about? You’ve never been one to shy away from a hot, single neighbor; that is if he’s actually single and not just a cocky husband of a woman who deserves a whole lot better. There’s something very intimidating about him. He carries himself like nothing in this world could bother him or make him stutter over his words.
He likes that you asked that. It gives him incentive to ask you the same thing. “Aren’t you?”
“We’re living in the hills, Mr. Author.” Your laugh strokes his ears like soft velvet. “I’m sure everybody around here is in some sort of sex ring.”
He touches the bottom of his chin and your eyes linger there for a few moments. His face is perfectly symmetrical; sharp jaw, deep brown eyes, pretty pink lips. A small mole sits directly under his bottom lip, too. “You free Thursday evening, Y/N?”
“Could be.”
“Could be.” He repeats, amused. “A friend of mine opened up a bar down on boulevard. Real fancy shit. They serve $1,000 diamond cocktails and everything else pretentious. I’d like to take you.”
“Sounds fun.” You agree without much hesitation. “I get home from work at 7.”
And that’s how Jeon Jungkook meets you for the first time. He doesn’t stay for too long, though, because he prefers to pace himself. Too much of a good thing isn’t good for anybody. You’ve only spoken to him for twenty-five minutes, but he’s already so intrigued. You’re two years his senior, graduated college twice; first with a Bachelor’s Degree in Architecture, and the second time with a Master’s in Architecture. You love what you do, but you hate where you work, even though it’s one of the best studios in the city. Interior and spacial designs interest you the most, but your boss compresses what you’re allowed to do out of fear that you might be better than he is. Jungkook can already tell that you’re better than a lot of people, especially your boss.
“I won’t be mad if you pour that wine down the sink, honestly.” He wanders past your front door and eyes the way you ever so slightly lean your hip against the door frame. “I mean it.”
You laugh, knowing damn well that that very thought crossed your mind just moments before. “See you Thursday, Mr. Author.”
He heads back home, but catches you again from the same window he’d seen you from yesterday. He observes, slightly hypnotized, as you bend over to place a cocktail glass on the concrete nearby the pool. The sheer fabric of your beach kimono rides up your lower back, revealing the curve of your ass and the white bikini thong clinging to your skin. And then he notices his own novel in your hands. The coloring of the front cover suggests that it’s one of his older novels. He then wonders if you already knew who he was and are just a really convincing actress. You didn’t, really, but his novel was stuffed into a box of books that you had just started to unpack. You recall a friend gifting you the erotica novel for your 25th birthday, but you never even read the blurb. It’s been gathering dust at the back of shelves for two years, but now you just have to know what it’s all about. 
Not expecting much, you flick through a few chapters until you land on a random sex scene. You drink in every word like it’s a new cocktail flavor, tasting the incredibly lewd descriptions of wall sex shifting to wet, shower sex. The way he describes each scene has your imagination firing up like an old truck. You can picture each water droplet sliding down the two bodies, the hand print left on the main character’s thigh, and the thick, misty air in the bathroom. A little warm in the face, you flip the novel and peer at the image of Jungkook printed just above the blurb. He’s wearing that same Hollywood smile.
What have you gotten yourself into?
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Monday rolls around far too quickly. You bid farewell to your bikinis and cocktails until next Sunday, and head to work with armfuls of files.
Your boss, David Woods; a man with a passion for development and architecture; ushers you to his large office before you can even make it to your desk. He’s tall and lean; at-least 6′1; with a short quiff that he feels the need to gel back. His hands are abnormally large and disproportionate to his body. Pressed suits, solid-colored ties, shiny shoes, and white button-ups are all that he wears in fear that he could be mistaken for anything other than a rich man.
A dark oak desk sits toward the further end of the room, closest to a blue-grey wall and a painting of something dark and abstract. There are countless awards for god-knows-what lined up on his bookshelves, and a prayer plant is sat on the left side of his desk in a tall, gold vase. If it weren’t for that plant doing regular plant things, the air in here would reek of death.
He takes a seat at his black leather chair and places his big hands on the desk, grinning wickedly at you. The gold light fixtures match the thin, gold necklace that’s half-tucked beneath his button-up.
“A little birdie told me that you’re planning to open up your own studio.” He interrogates. Woods has never been one to mind his business, let alone speak to another human being without a condescending tone. “When was that? Sometime this year?”
“A little birdie?” You’re not afraid to call him out on his blatant dishonesty. “You look through my laptop when I’m at lunch.”
“The company’s laptop.” He corrects. He’s amused by your boldness, but if you squint, you can see the irritation behind his pale blue eyes. “You know how I feel about my people taking clients from The Woods. It’s not good for business.”
No, he’s not talking about literal tree-dominated land, although he does a good job at making people feel as if they’re lost in such a place. The Woods is quite literally him and anything he owns. Once you step foot into the building, you’re in The Woods territory. There’s a difference between being proud of what you’ve made for yourself and being an overbearing asshole who thinks he has a say in everyone and everything.
“I’m just trying to help you out, Y/N. You know that’s all I’ve ever done for you.” He says as condescending as ever. “I just don’t think you’re ready to be your own boss.”
“I’ve been ready for a while.” There’s no reason for you to say this out loud, because, well, both of you are already aware of it. You’re his best. You draw in clients like no other, have a network exceeding 500 professionals, and are a complete realist. You could run five successful studios, but with the right investors, you could run one of the best in the country. “If it’s clients that you’re worried about, don’t. I won’t steal from you.”
“Oh, but you’ve been stealing from me since I let you in these doors.”
Loyalty is a big thing for Woods, but he holds it against people to an extreme extent. He interferes with personal lives, often ordering people to cut ties with others he holds a grudge against or because they don’t ‘fit his vibe.’ If you have an ugly pet, he’ll refer you to the nearest pet sanctuary. If your wife or husband is an under-performer, has one too many blemishes on their skin, or can’t bear a child, he’ll introduce you to somebody he deems worthy.
You leave his office with a plunging feeling in the pit of your stomach and a need for fresh air.
The receptionist greets you as you walk past and toward the revolving doors. She’s a woman in her mid twenties with a noticeable French accent. Light highlights run through her shoulder-length, brown hair. She’s fond of wearing sneakers to work as it makes the train commute a lot more comfortable for her feet, she likes ice-cream scented candles, cats — that’s evident by the few cat hairs stuck to the sleeve of her blouse —, and keeping up with local gossip. She’s good at her job, reliable, and always greets people with a warm smile, even Woods. She’s no-doubt the glue that holds this place together and prevents people from strangling each-other to death.
“Long day?” Mylène, the French receptionist, asks even though lunchtime has yet to hit.
“You could say that.”
“11:11AM.” She says like it means anything to you. “That’s an angel number. I’ll make a wish for you.”
“Thanks.” You step outside for a breath of fresh air. The summers breeze greets you like an old friend.
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From Monday to Thursday, you work and you work and you work. You have countless meetings with new and old clients, draw up elaborate designs, revise old designs, and visit various construction sites. Your desk grows littered with pens, pencils, cuts of fabric and woods, and random slithers of wallpaper prints. During your lunch breaks, you often grab a coffee with old college friends and colleagues, making the effort to really nourish relationships.
Jungkook works, too, but in the most unique way. He meets new characters at various events, leaves an impression on everyone he speaks to, and has sex with three bartenders all in the same night. He gets unconventionally drunk, smokes weed with his cousin on his dad’s side (it’s their thing), wakes up with nothing but a suspicion of what happened the night before, and then sits down at his computer with a throbbing head and very little clothing on. Funnily enough, he thinks up the majority of his novel plots in less than sober states. He writes about a character very similar to you, focusing on her work ethic, her devil of a boss, her love for cocktails, and her sex appeal. He has no coherent plot for this novel, but he knows that ideas are likely to come to mind the more time he spends with you. None of this chaos is new to him. I told you he does very unlikely things.
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Thursday rolls around faster than usual and you find yourself sitting at a bar with Jeon Jungkook at 8:48PM. He’s wearing a black button-up shirt with a slight satin finish, rolled at the sleeves, black dress pants and shoes, and a Rolex around his wrist. His well built chest strains slightly against his shirt, as do his biceps. You’ve come straight from work in a deep blue pencil dress. There’s not a single casual tee or distressed jean in sight, only high heels, neutral colored ties, gorgeous dresses, and styled hair.
Soft, white down-lights shine from the ceiling above the bar table, illuminating whatever vibrant drink the bartender has served to a customer. Pleasant jazz hums from cleverly hidden speakers. The atmosphere couldn’t get any more intimate. You often find yourself at bars like these after a shit day at work with a drink in both hands. There are specific things that make a shit day, but your boss is always the garlic and onions behind recipes like those.
Jungkook orders a scotch on the rocks and takes the first gulp like a parched man. You order yourself a strawberry-mint gin and tonic.
“What got you into writing?” Is your first question of the night. “I’ve heard that the industry is hard to get into. A friend of mine was rejected dozens of times and told that her plots were all wrong.”
He ponders carefully before settling on an answer. “Life and its shit. I’ve been rejected before, but that’s just how it is out there. Wouldn't it be boring to be right all the time?”
You chuckle at the notion. “My boss begs to differ.”
Writing — putting your thoughts out into the world for crass feedback — isn’t an easy thing to do. It’s often praised as brave; to open yourself up to such interactions with people who should have zero impact on your self-worth because, they’re, well, complete strangers with a different set of values, literary interests, interpretation skills, and are often just doing their job as a well-paid shit-stirrer.
A handful of people get a kick out of sharing anonymous, hateful comments. Jungkook deals with those kind of comments every day of his life, but if there’s one thing that he’s learned by being in the public eye, it’s that opinions aren’t facts. It’s important to take them and then let them go. Hell, you even have the power to build your own foundation with the bricks people throw at you. His life is his. Your life is yours. It’d be a very big mistake to see your life in eyes that aren’t yours.
People are always going to be cunts with zero regard for other people’s feelings. The difference is that you and him know the difference between being a decent human being and being that. That’s something to take pride in.
“Sure, but how do you deal with criticism?” You ask, intrigued by his extraordinary life. He’s so young for the empire he’s amassed. Sure, he’s two years your junior, but he could teach you a thing or two. “Do you rewrite or try somewhere else?”
He swirls the whiskey in his glass and watches as it glisten beneath the lights. Amusement is written all over his face, but there’s something foreign wavering in his eyes. “I deal with it by sitting in my mansion and not changing a fucking thing about myself.”
“Touché, but wealth isn’t everything.” You challenge. “A lot of people learn to love the money, but hate themselves.”
“I don’t hate myself.” He says and you believe him. “Not always. I try to hate the choices I make instead of hating myself for making them.”
"Smart. You’re your own best friend.”
“I’m never going to know somebody as well as I know myself, so why not? I am my own mind. I know what I’m thinking at most times of the day.”
He makes an interesting point, but you can’t help but challenge it further. “Then again.. you see yourself, but you also don’t see yourself. There are some things that I know about you that you don’t know about yourself. For instance..”
He holds his glass with a limp wrist, listening attentively. “Enlighten me.”
“Well.. I’m sitting in front of you and I can observe the expressions that your face makes during our conversation. You don’t always realize that you’re making them, but you can’t carry a little mirror with you and check what your face is doing all the time. Wouldn’t that be weird?”
“I’ve never thought about that before.” He says with a smile. “You’re a bit strange, aren’t you?”
His answer disappoints you slightly, but you don’t bother verbalizing it. He can tell you feel this way by the slight lowering of your eyebrows. Only, you don’t realize yourself that you've taken on this expression. Funny, he thinks to himself. Ignorance was bliss.
You both discuss your the past few riveting days that you’ve had; you speak about your boss in the kindest way possible, and he speaks about the people he recently met in only good tones and smiles. He doesn’t ever poke fun at another persons flaw, or their dress choice, or their intellect. He could sell anyone any product, no matter how shit it actually is, with that talent. You find yourself laughing and cringing like he’s an old school friend. It’s a nice feeling.
“What’s the worst thing you’ve done?” You dare to ask with your straw poking at your bottom lip. You’re on your third gin and tonic.
“The worst thing?” He repeats, amused by your formidable question. He could list a few things that’d shift the mood, but he isn’t ready for you to meet the skeletons in his closet, to evaluate the bad decisions he’s made, or to sympathize with the people he’s hurt.
“Yeah, you know-” You take a sip from your drink before returning it to the bar. You’re in a prying mood. There’s something about him, maybe it’s the way he looks at you with those big brown eyes, that makes you want to try your luck. “The naughtiest.” 
The naughtiest? He thinks to himself. Maybe it was when he bent his lawyer over her desk and showed her what 'taking it from the back' really meant, or when he fucked a prestigious critic for a better review on his novel. He's been everywhere, done a little bit of everything, and a little bit of everyone. To choose just one naughty thing would take a weeks worth of contemplation, but then, something of value comes to mind and he leans closer to whisper it into your ear; something so filthy that it makes your breath catch in your throat and your posture improve.
As he speaks lowly, his breath tickles your neck, sending goosebumps down the length of your arms. If you were slightly more sober, and some may argue — smart —, you’d recognize them as warning signs.
“And then..” His voice is intoxicating and has you hooked on every syllable that falls from his lips. He smells like a delicious mix of whiskey, vanilla, and pine. And, during the most telling part of his confession, he runs his palm from your knee to your upper thigh, taking the fabric of your dress with him.
You definitely took him as the promiscuous type, but this is far beyond anything you’ve ever heard before. When he pulls away, your skin is engulfed in an arousing heat. A warm flush had been crawling it's way up your neck, but has well and truly settled between your thighs. "That's pretty naughty."
“Think so?” His confident tone arouses you more. You’re wet. That’s clear to the both of you. “I like the way you’re looking at me.”
You’re way too lost in his eyes and consumed by the feeling of his fingers tracing small circles against your thigh. Your eyes are probably begging for something, a portion of your bottom lip is probably caught between your teeth, and your chest is probably rising and falling quite quickly. “What way?”
“That way.” His eyes flick to your mouth, and then, just like that, his lips are on yours. He kisses you slowly at first, gently sliding his tongue against your own and relishing in the warmth and wetness of your mouth. He craves you; from your bashful smile to every inch of your body that always seems to be wrapped tightly in designer. He wonders what sounds you’ll make when he fucks you, whether or not you prefer to go slow and make love, how wet you’ll get you with just his fingers, and if your panties are thin and lacy and riding up your ass.
He hates wondering, so he takes you home. You unzip your dress and let it fall to the hardwood floor, and he pours himself a whiskey on the rocks. His curious eyes roam all over your skin, from your hardened nipples to your bare thighs, as he guides your lower back against the kitchen counter. Every touch against your skin makes you shudder, whether it be the pads of his fingers or the grey marble of the countertop.
“Look at you. Fuck..” He says, mostly to himself, as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. Your eyes flutter shut at his touch. 
He runs his palm up the curve of your ass and hooks his fingers underneath the band of your panties, tugging it tight against your pussy. The feeling of your skin burns into his memory, and as he looks at your face, really looks at it, he knows he hit the jackpot; your face is as beautiful as your voice, your voice is as beautiful as your mind, and your mind is as beautiful as your body. To him, you’re fucking faultless. He knows he’ll be on his knees for you before the night is over.
The ice sitting in his glass glistens beneath the kitchen light and it gives him an intriguing idea. He wants to see you come undone, to make you so stimulated that you can’t pinpoint where the feeling is coming from. He takes an ice cube between his lips and presses it against the side of your neck. You gasp at the feeling of the ice running against your skin; so cold that it almost stings. Your fingers grasp at the fabric of his button-up as he drags the ice past your collarbone and down to your nipple, pressing it firm against the bud until your back arches away from the counter. A thin sheen of water maps out exactly where his lips have been.
Just like he knew he would, he sinks to his knees and tugs your panties down your thighs and off at the feet. The ice melts in his mouth. His lips are still cold and wet as he presses a hard kiss against your pussy, and the feeling draws a startled gasp from your chest. He spreads your folds with his fingers and teasingly drags his tongue against your pussy hole. His nose digs against your clit as he licks into you. His own saliva coats his chin, and at one point, drools from your pussy to the hardwood flooring.
“Right there.. Like that. Fuck!” You sigh as he alternates between sucking and licking your clit, and curling two fingers inside of you. He touches you right, really making the effort to listen to the sounds you make and taking note of the way you squirm against his mouth.
He licks your pussy and digs his fingers into your ass until your moans double in volume and your breathing turns rapid, and then he stands to steal your breath again with a deep kiss. You fumble with the buttons of his button-up as he fervently kisses you. The pace of the kiss is erratic and you find it difficult to keep up. He bites and sucks on your tongue until your lips are swollen.
His body is dreamy and something you’ve been curious about ever since he turned up in that tight, black button-up; wide shoulders, slim waist, defined abdomen and pecs, and small nipples that harden slightly as you run your hands over his skin. You tug on the zipper of his pants and reach beneath for his cock. It’s stiff and warm in your hand.
He lifts your leg and wraps your thigh snug around his bare waist, eager to feel you. A relieved sigh falls from both of your mouths as he sinks into you. He pulls your hips flush against his own, delving deeper and filling you up until he can’t any more. You feel so warm and wet wrapped around him. It couldn’t be any better.
“You feel so good.” He praises and he means every word. “So fucking good..”
Similarly to the first kiss you shared, he starts off gentle and slow, but is quick to lose himself in the moment and set a quick pace. His pecs and abdomen flex as he bucks his hips against yours over and over again. The sex has you in a trance. Moans drool from your lips, your nails rake across the back of his neck, and your head grows increasingly dizzy. Your lower back digs firmly into the counter top as he fucks you against it, and profanities fall from his tongue in arousing moans. You can’t imagine your night getting any better.
The sex migrates from the kitchen counter, to the doors of the pantry, and finally to the nearby couch. He sinks onto, almost into, the couch as you straddle his lap. Nothing else is running through his mind aside from you; the feeling of your wrapped tightly around him, the sight of your parted lips and low eyes, the sound of your pretty whines and stuttering breath, and the bounce in your tits as you sit on his cock over and over again.
“Oh my.. god. Oh my-” You chant in desperate whispers. “Fuck..”
He reaches for your tits, squeezing the flesh and pinching your nipples between his fingers. Your skin is delicate beneath his touch; he almost feels like he could break you at any moment, but you’re proving to be a bigger girl than he made you out to be.
You come twice that night; once on his cock and the other on his tongue. You’re breathless when it ends and it takes you many, many more moments spent in his arms before you can gather your thoughts and clothing.
Jungkook has had enough sex in his life to understand that sex is never perfect and that’s a very normal and human thing. Sometimes it takes a few different touches and manoeuvres to turn somebody on, and other times it’s a walk in the (water) park. Sometimes he’ll laugh while he’s balls deep in somebody because one of them made a funny noise. He might miss their mouth and accidentally kiss their chin. He might come too early or too late, lose his erection halfway through because a bizarre thought crossed his mind, or even fall asleep before he can take his pants off because he’s had a little too much to drink. Sometimes sex is boring, or silent, or just an itch that needs to be scratched. But he saw no fault in the sex he just had with you. His mind didn’t wander, but his hands definitely did. He liked everything about it; from the sounds you made to the way you slipped your tongue into his mouth. He still sees zero faults in you.
You head home with a slight wobble in your step. The sex was something that you never knew you’d been craving. It relieved a good handful of your pent-up stress and gave back some confidence that you’d been missing. Your sex life wasn’t dead before tonight, it was just put on hold for a few weeks while you get your shit together at work. Woods has been hinting at letting you work with a really huge client for some time now and you feel the need to give him a very compelling reason to. Sex with no strings attached is easy to find, but good sex with no strings attached isn’t. You know you’ve hit the jackpot with this one.
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Woods hands you the client on Friday morning. Just like that. He strides to your desk and slaps down a file full of various sketches, building plans, and contact details. You flip through the pages with an abundance of enthusiasm as he glares down at you. He wants you to stay at the studio and he’s hoping that this will buy your confidence. That’s what this is.
“Don’t disappoint me.” Is all that he says.
You meet with those clients on the very same day, introducing yourself and chatting about various design ideas over coffee at a nearby cafe. They’re a married couple in their late fifties and as rich as ever. They carry themselves well and decide on a budget in the millions. They want to build a retirement home for themselves; somewhere secluded and surrounded by gorgeous scenery, open plan, modern, lots of light, white and elegant decor.
“Plants.” The man adds as you’re taking notes on an iPad. He’s handsome; short, dark hair, well-built figure, pretty brown eyes, and a soothing voice. “Lots of house plants. They make the air better.”
“Actually..” The woman adds as the meeting comes to an end. She’s as attractive as her husband; pretty eyes, shiny black hair, and delicate fingers. “We’re heading to a literature event tonight and the venue is exactly in the style we’re looking for. Why not come? It’s a nice excuse to get you out of the office, isn’t it?”
You accept with a smile. Who are you to turn down free champagne during a weekday? You’re not much of a reader, not because you don’t like to read, but because you rarely have the time. Regardless, you put on your nicest dress and your nicest heels, and adorn your face with pretty makeup. 
The venue is stunning; high ceilings with expensive chandeliers, white Victorian walls, indoor ivory hanging from aged wooden beams, huge windows that allow the sunlight to pass through. It really is beautiful here. The other guests are dressed to the nines; shawls, glistening dresses, designer ties and suits, and priceless shoes. As you’re looking around and sipping on a glass of complementary champagne, somebody all too familiar catches your eye. He notices you just moments after and comes bounding over with a handsome smile on his face.
“Fancy seeing you here.” Jeon Jungkook, your neighbor and the man you had literal sex with the other day, joins you by the table of champagne glasses. A huge chocolate fountain and a few vases full of white flowers are sat on the table, too.
“What are you doing here?” You ask, a bit taken aback by how good he looks; black blazer over a tight high-neck sweater, black dress pants, and shiny shoes. His hair is styled neatly and pushed off to one side.
“I was invited-” He quirks an eyebrow. “-to the author’s events because, believe it or not, I’m an author. Why are you here?”
“Right.” You breathe out all of your tense energy in one, long sigh. With little conviction, you gesture toward the middle-aged couple who are enjoying champagne with a slightly younger woman. “Those are my clients. They want a home in a similar style to this. They didn’t have to invite me, but it’s nice that they did. Could’ve just googled this place or visited later in the week..”
“My parents?” He asks, unaffected.
“Your parents?”
He points two limp fingers in the direction of the same couple and you can’t help but remember the feeling of them between your thighs. “The pretentious looking couple, yeah, my parents. I was so sure you were the type to read through my Wikipedia page and draw up my family tree.”
Small world, you think to yourself. It seems like every rich person knows all the other rich people in this world. They all meet at some point, buying and selling parts of themselves in the good name of business. The world makes the strangest connections sometimes.
“If you ever feel nervous, just remember this.” He says. “Their son writes sex novels, so nothing can really disappoint them any more than that. You’ll give them what they want, though. I’ve seen some of your work.”
“They don’t support you?”
“They do. My mom tells people that I write about science and the order of the universe, though. She’s still holding out hope that I’ll suddenly want to work at their company. My dad doesn’t really care.. as long as I don’t overdose on some yacht in Cancun.”
Jungkook’s eyes drag from your exposed neck and arms, to the curve of your ass. Your glittery dress is as amazing as everyone else's, maybe even better. The soft skin of your back is exposed and a delicate string of jewels runs down your spine. “You look nice, by the way. Really nice.”
The opportunity for mingling comes to a close once a young man — about the same age as Jungkook — steps up to the mic that’s been set up at the front and center of the venue. He’s wearing round glasses and a black, fitted suit. The guests take their seats at their allocated tables. It comes as no surprise to you that Jungkook is seated at the same table as parents. You sit at the table behind with a few other rich women draped in designer. The eldest woman sat around the table taps your shoulder and compliments your dress.
“Stunning.” She says and you smile.
“Thanks for coming everyone. I’d like to start us off with a passage from my latest self-help book.” The young man with the glasses begins after tapping the mic with two fingers. He’s not nervous, just eager to change at least one person’s outlook. “If somebody doesn’t bring anything positive into your life, let them go. You’ll feel bad and question whether you’ve done the right thing, but just give it some time. Don’t check up on somebody who doesn’t check up on you. Don’t try to keep in contact. Stop associating things, music, and people with that person.”
“Maybe they said something mean and you said something back or vice versa, but in reality, it just doesn’t matter. You were both upset. You’re not defined by a petty argument. People in this world kill each-other, steal, abuse power, and assault the most vulnerable. You’re not a bad person for being upset and saying something hurtful, and that rings true if you feel any ounce of regret. It happened and you can’t change it. Sure, you might’ve had some awesome times and genuinely have love for that person, but if they continuously make you doubt your worth, intellect, choices, values, invade your privacy, and lash out at you for being somebody other than who they want you to be, let them go. You don’t even owe them an explanation or a goodbye. Don’t apologize when it isn’t your fault. Don’t apologize for mistakes that you didn’t make. Don’t waste time reflecting on shit that just isn’t worth it. This world is full of people who you will love and who will love you. Don’t settle. You lose part of yourself when you do.”
And then he nods to the crowd and returns to his seat. An older woman takes his place and introduces a passage from her own novel.
“Lessons in love hurt.” She says. “If there was a class for love, nobody would turn up. We’re not lab rats and we’d all prefer to learn without pain. I don’t ever remember feeling like I’d spend life alone after a math class, do you?” 
Despite Jungkook being the most famous author here, he doesn’t get up to speak at all during the night. All he does is listen to the others and clap once they finish reciting their bit. When the event ends and all the rich people have shaken all the other rich people’s hands, he offers to take you somewhere where they serve a lot more than champagne, and you accept without a hesitating thought.
He drives a black camaro and it smells exactly like his aftershave. You don’t bother to ask him where he’s taking you because you trust that he’ll show you a good time. He drives for fifteen minutes down a busy road before turning a corner and continuing down a narrow driveway toward a federal colonial house. The driveway widens five times it’s previous size, making room for at-least twenty decent sized vehicles. He parks among nine other cars and walks toward the large front door with your hand in his; just in case you trip in the dark with those heels on.
Dim, alternating colors of light emit from each of the windows; floor to ceiling on the first floor, and half the size on the second. A huge lawn surrounds the property and is dimly illuminated by outdoor solar lights that are impaled into the soil. Loud, electropop music booms from the walls of the building. You can practically see them shaking in tune with the bass.
“Where is this?” You ask over the volume. Bunches of balloons are fastened around an assortment of topiary bay trees.
“A happy house.” He lets himself in like he’s been here one hundred times before. He has. This is the one place that he won’t ever outgrow. People do every type of drug here, party for three days in a row, and have boatloads of sex. The police don’t bother intervening because too many celebrities are fond of this place and come often. If offered enough money, even the law can turn a blind eye. “You get very happy here, if you know what I mean.”
The air is thicker inside the building and more difficult to breathe in. It doesn’t feel like a home at all. You can smell weed, sweat, sex, and alcohol. The flickering lights illuminate parts of people’s faces and bodies. They’re chatting quietly, touching each-other through and beneath their clothing, smoking cigarettes, and exchanging saliva in the hallway. Some have multicolored hair, streaks of neon paint smeared on their face, missing shirts, cocaine melted into their upper lip, and a light sheen of sweat adorning their skin.
Jungkook takes no notice. He guides you past the bodies in the hallway and toward what looks like a pumped-up, party-haven living room. Two couches sit opposite from one another and in-between a table that’s littered with empty glasses and glow sticks. It’s hard to see much else.
“I was wondering when I’d see you again.” An older woman comes out of nowhere and engulfs Jungkook in a tight hug. She’s wearing a turquoise jumpsuit, lots of jewellery on her wrists and fingers, and bright pink lipstick. The flickering lights make it difficult to make out the true dimensions of her face, but you can tell that she’s very beautiful. She has yellow neon paint smeared down her neck and arms.
“Huifang, Y/N.” Jungkook takes the joint that she offers him and lights it between his lips. The smoke rises to the ceiling and changes color in tune with the lights. “She’s designing my parent’s old people home.”
The woman steps forward and you expect her reach for a hug, but she cups your face and presses a hard kiss against your lips instead. You’re wide eyed when she pulls away, but her smile doesn’t falter. This is definitely a happy house.
“She’s very friendly.. Ever since the divorce.” Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in the light as he laughs. It’s a playful gesture that Huifang returns by nudging his arm.
“Wow.. Yeah.” You pat your lips and check your fingers for her bright pink lipstick.
Somewhere along the flashing lines, Jungkook vanishes beneath the lights and Huifang pulls you down on the the nearest couch. You’ve never been so bewildered in your life. There’s so much going on that you don’t understand, but the three glasses of champagne that you had previously are doing their bit at calming your nerves.
“You’re free here.” She says. “You can do anything around these people; take every kind of drug, have sex on the tables, commit fraud in the hallway. Nobody fucking cares here and I love living this way.”
She points a manicured finger toward two people sat on a dining table chair. Balloons are tied to the legs of the nearby table and confetti litters the floor. A woman, about the same age as Huifang, has the straps of her dress at her hips. She’s hungrily kissing a man whose lap she’s occupied. The flickering lights make what their doing seem slightly more private, but they’re still definitely having sex. There are other people slumped against the wall, some are on the couch, some are cutting up cocaine on the table, some are walking past the couch and into the back garden, where sex is also definitely being had. It all seems very normal here. It’s like a frat party on steroids and Viagra.
“You and I are from the same spaceship. I can tell.” Huifang says, but doesn’t elaborate until she lights a cigarette between her lips and takes a long drag. “Ambitious as hell when shown a little faith.”
“I wasn’t always like this.” She gestures to her styled hair and the expensive rings on her fingers. “I was dirt poor when I had my son and couldn’t even afford to send him to school with lunch like all the other kids. Selfish, right? I got pregnant when I knew I couldn’t take of my own kid. And then it got even harder; I couldn’t afford to pay for his bus tickets when the school fees starting increasing. Something to do with expensive development in the area. That’s when I knew I was in real shit. I thought about pulling him out and teaching him a thing or two around the dinner table, but what the hell do I know? I dropped out of high school to raise him. I couldn’t teach him half the things a decent school could. All I could do was work unstable jobs.”
In the time it takes her to preface her story, her cigarette burns out completely. She takes a new cigarette from the pocket of her turquoise jumpsuit and lights it between her small, pink lips. “Anyways..” She says with a cloud of smoke chasing each syllable. The lights make her dark eyes look like they’re shifting colors.
“I met him during my shift at a bar when I was thirty-two and he was twenty-one. I couldn’t believe how smart and handsome he was. He spoke like he knew the answers to everything.” She doesn’t point to any man, but you know for certain that she’s referring to Jungkook. “He was interested in my life, so I told him everything. I told him how my parents would frown at me for living how I lived. They were rich, but I didn’t want to live off money I didn’t earn. They didn’t understand and scolded me for being selfish. My son wasn’t ever a depressed or spoiled child and he knew the value of money from a very early age. I guess that’s one thing I could teach him.”
“He wrote about me, you know?” She admits. “It’s a complete autobiography, really. He’s a talented writer, always describing things that others wouldn’t have thought to. And he gave me 100% of the profits he made from it. I refused at first, but he insisted that I deserved it.”
You’re so engulfed in her story that you don’t notice when Jungkook takes a seat next to you until his fingers push your hair away from your neck. His hand is smeared in pink neon paint, which is now glowing in a section of your hair. In his other hand is a clear drink. He offers it to you and you smell it; vodka and lemonade. Classy.
“Having fun?” He leans close to your neck so you can hear him over the booming music. “She’s funny, isn’t she?”
“You could say that.”
He watches as you take a leisurely sip of your drink. Your lips are slightly wet and glisten beneath the flashing lights. “Can I ask you something?”
You give him a playful look, the same one you’ve been giving him most of the night, and he responds by placing a hand on your thigh. The silk is smooth against his palm, but so is your skin as he reaches underneath the skirt of your dress. Huifang isn’t sitting next to you when you look for her.
“What’s the worst thing you’ve done?” Jungkook coos against your neck as his fingers dance against your skin. They inch higher and higher as each second passes. The music grows louder.
You’ve had plenty of sex with ex-boyfriends at questionable places, but you haven’t been touched so publicly before, nor have you been so aroused that you’d even allow somebody’s hand to reach any further than your knee.
Your heart slams against your rib cage and you swallow hard. You can’t find the strength to recite your response in anything other than a quiet whisper. You’re no stranger to sex, but you feel like a virgin again. “The worst?”
He can’t hear you. His hand vanishes beneath your dress, now delving beneath the fabric of your panties and running against your wet skin. You sigh at his touch.
The music and chatter has dimmed around you and the only thing your ears listen for is his voice. “The naughtiest.”
Completely void of shame, he eases two fingers into your pussy until his palm is flush against your clit. You instinctively reach for his inner thigh and dig your nails into the fabric of his pants. He moves, slowly pumping his fingers and rubbing his palm firmly against your clit. You’re hazy and light-headed, completely drunk on his touch.
He takes your earlobe between his teeth before pressing a gentle kiss against the sore skin. “I think I can guess.”
You bite back a moan into a whimper that only he hears. Your pussy aches around his fingers and you instinctively push your hips closer toward his touch. He presses a hard kiss against your neck and drags his paint-covered hand from your neck down to your breasts. A trail of neon pink paint vanishes beneath your bra, where he has your nipple between his fingers.
Arousal drools down his skin as he increases the speed of his fingers. Your hips move on their own, circling and following the rhythm of his fingers. A fire grows between your thighs and you have to really, really focus to not drop your drink on the floor and smash the glass.
“That’s pretty naughty.” You can hear the amusement in his voice.
That’s the worst thing you’ve ever done.
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On Saturday, you work yourself to the bone. Jungkook crosses your mind when you’re alone in your bedroom, but you fall asleep before you can do anything about it. On Sunday, though, you just can’t fall asleep. The thought of his touch and the insanely perverted thing you did in that house full of people lingers in your mind. Things like that would usually repulse you, but you can’t help but ache for it again.
Shamelessly, you touch yourself. You run the tip of your vibrator up and down your pussy, spreading your lips and slicking up the toy. You picture the shower scene you had read in his novel; the hand-print on the woman’s thigh, the slapping sounds of wet sex, and the heavy water flowing from the faucet. You picture his fingers rubbing hard against your clit and easing deep into you, just how he had done on Friday night. You picture the dimples in his lower back as he dips in-between your thighs, his wide shoulders, toned abdomen, his voice in your ear. 

A whine falls from your mouth as you delve deeper into your imagination. His sex, his moans, the furrow in his eyebrows when he concentrates on fucking you well, the kisses that he likes to press against your neck. Your back arches off the bed as you draw yourself closer to your climax. You can barely contain yourself. Moans and gasps fill your bedroom. You grasp at the sheets and think of him when you come.
Jungkook sleeps with two women and writes more of his novel; the one inspired by you. His writers block is well and truly being replaced with something far more productive.
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From Monday to Friday, David Woods invites you into his office before you reach your desk in the morning and before you step outside at the end of each day, demanding updates on the rich couple you’re working for. They may be Jungkook’s parents, but they’re your clients. You’re smart enough to know that it’s always best to leave personal-life far, far away from work-life.
“Well?” Woods always begins with.
“Well what?” You always finish with. “They’re happy with how things are progressing.”
Every second of every day, you feel Woods’ ghost looming over your shoulder and yelling ‘don’t fuck this up! make me look good and make me lots of money! more, more, more money!’
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Sunday is supposed to be the day that you can dedicate to yourself and to your peace of mind, but you find it increasingly hard to wind down. No matter how delicious your cocktail is, how warm the summers night is, or how pretty the pool looks as the water glistens beneath the moonlight, you just can’t seem to settle your thoughts.
“Rough day?” A familiar voice calls from his second story home. You don’t need to lift your head to know that Jungkook is hanging out of his window with a glass of whiskey in hand and a handsome smile on his face.
“You have no idea.” You call back, making no effort to meet his gaze. You’re wearing a short summery dress and he likes the look of it.
“Well.” He lifts his glass like he’s making a toast to God himself. “I’d like to have an idea.” 
He invites you over and you hesitantly accept the glass of red wine he pours for you. A gin and tonic would’ve been nice, but he’s keen on you tasting this exclusive bottle of wine. You take a tiny sip and are pleasantly surprised. It’s not vinegary like all the other wines you’ve tasted. It’s floral and soft on your throat.
You tell him everything about your ordeals at work; from the first time you met your boss, to the time he told you not to wear a particular color because it ‘washes you out’, and now to his constant breathing down your neck. You want to leave and create your own business as soon as you can, but you can’t leave a client before construction work begins. You’ll look like a fucking idiot.
It feels good to vent and it feels even better to vent to someone who holds zero judgement toward you. The conversation shifts and you ask about Huifang. He tells you that her son recently received a scholarship for university.
“What’s your favorite color?” Jungkook asks as he refills your wine glass for the third time that night.
“Why do you ask?”
He’s amused at your sudden defensiveness. Is it that bad? “Trying to get to know you.”
“I don’t have one.” You say without giving it a single thought. It’s such a simple question, but you don’t want to answer it. There’s something much more intimate about telling somebody your favorite color than, for example, drawing them a labelled diagram of your vagina and asshole. You don’t want to be that kind of intimate. Not now.
“Fine.” He says, smile not faltering. “Mine’s blue.”
You decide to ask him a question of your own; one that you’ve been meaning to ask since that night at the bar. “Nothing in this world bothers you, does it?”
“Things bother me.” He admits. “But I see no point in hanging onto things that I can’t change.”
When midnight strikes, you announce your departure. You pick up the bottle of red wine and make a rightful request. “Mind if I take this? It’s better than I thought.”
“Help yourself.”
You leave and he rolls himself a tight joint. His personal phone rings from the kitchen counter and he picks up after five rings.
“Yes?” He asks, wholly uninterested.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” A pretty female voice murmurs through the receiver. “I’m a few hours behind, so I’m sorry for calling you so late at night.”
His joint hangs loosely from the side of his mouth, the filter growing slightly damp. It crosses his mind that this woman behind the phone may be his first love, but that thought leaves his mind as quickly as it comes. He changed his phone number multiple times to avoid a handful of others, so how could it be? “Who is this?”
“You forgot me already?” Her laugh rings in his ears like a high school bell. It is her. Only she has that laugh. It’s beautiful, but also sort of villainous. “How long has it been? three years?”
“I don’t keep track of time anymore.”
“Because you’re so rich, right? Nothing really matters to you anymore. You can do whatever you want.” He can picture her rolling her eyes so clearly in his mind. That was something she often did when she disapproved. “Money is a nice feeling.”
He doesn’t say anything, too taken aback by the exact same person who used him up like a favorite lipstick three years back. He doesn’t understand why she called him.
“I read your novel, by the way. The one about me.” She cuts the silence with a softer tone. “You made me look a lot better than I’ve been. Why?”
He lights the tip of the joint with an old, silver lighter and inhales the smoke deeply into his lungs. The smoke chases his response and then vanishes into the air. “No hard feelings, right? We agreed on that.”
“Did you mean it?” She switches the topic at the very moment he notices the lights to your bedroom flick on. “When you said you’d always love me? Wait for me?”
“I meant it then.” He admits, his vision and mind softening. He checked out of the conversation just moments before. “But that was then.”
And then he hangs up, eyes on the gentle light emitting from your home. Unbeknownst to him, his heart isn’t stuck in the radio waves that momentarily connected him to his past, it’s in that bottle of wine you took, in your hands, in his future.
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You work like you always do. Jungkook crosses your mind, but it’s far too often for your liking. It concerns you how he easily he can creep into your mind while you’re sitting at your desk, waiting in line for a coffee, or driving home. You always look at his house before pulling up to your own. This isn’t seeming like a no-strings-attached arrangement anymore and that bothers you.
Jungkook is presented with countless opportunities, but he doesn’t sleep with anyone during the time spent away from you. He touches himself to the thought of you a few times; a clear picture of your face in his mind as he runs his fingers over his skin. He can’t help it, but he doesn’t quite know why. He wonders what you get up to at work and if your boss has backed off yet. He hates wondering.
You don’t speak for almost three weeks and that irks him. He writes a lot of his novel in that time, but it’s not enough to ease his mind. He wants to see you, to listen to you ramble about your life, to see that bashful smile. He calls you on a Tuesday night, but you don’t answer. He calls you on a Friday night and you answer after six rings.
“Where have you been?”
“Working.” You hate the effect that his voice has on you. “Where have you been?”
“Working. Wanna hang out?” He asks because he wants to touch you and you agree because you want to touch him, too.
For a change, he knocks on your door and you have sex in your house. The sex is just as good and dirty as it had been the last time, maybe even better; he pulls your hair, pushes his fingers in your mouth, and slaps your ass as he fucks you from behind. He makes you come twice, makes you say his name, and ties your wrists with your own panties. You lick his cock from the base to the tip and coat his skin with your saliva. You hollow your cheeks, swirl your tongue, and run your tongue along his slit, and he fucks your throat until tears prick at the corner of your eyes. The both of you let completely loose and crumble beneath each-other’s touch, but when all is said and done, you immediately start searching for your clothes.
“Are you avoiding me?” He asks as he watches you step back into your panties. He’s laying back on your bed, naked, with a hand resting under his head.
This is where he had his heart broken for the first time; not with his dick out, although, that does come to mind whenever he reminisces, but after being avoided for a period of time. He remembers what his ex said to him; ‘I’m moving away. Away from this fucking city. I’ll call you.’ And then he let her. He let her glance at him only once, get on that flight, and leave his heart on the runway. But he’s not a total idiot. He picked it up and shoved it back into his chest where it should’ve stayed and where healing only comes with time. Even after publishing his first novel, he still felt alone. Money, fame, and sex isn’t everything. He was missing a kind of company where he was allowed to be flawed. And then he met you. You let him say the wrong things, drink too much on a night out, have messy and imperfect sex, and express dissatisfaction even toward his wealthy lifestyle.
You hesitate before answering. Have you been avoiding him? You couldn’t say. You’ve definitely been running from thoughts of him. “No, why?”
“Don’t know. Maybe you’re not.” He doesn’t pull his eyes away from your frantic movements. “I like spending time with you, so it sucks that I can’t see you more often.”
To you, he’s just another contact in your phone book. To him, you’re just company that he’s very fond of. That’s what you’ve convinced yourselves, at-least. Maybe you were both raised the same way; taught to not put yourself in risky situations unless they’ll bring you success and fortune. Emotions are messy and complicated, and feelings of heartbreak aren’t worth the trouble. Sex is fun, but falling in-love isn’t. You go from occasionally thinking about a person, to becoming a vessel for their entire existence. You’ll no longer put yourself first and that can be a dangerous thing. After sex, you can just get up and leave. But, when you’re in-love, it stays with you no matter how far you run.
“I’ve just been busy.” You say. It’s not a lie. “You know how it gets.”
“Yeah, I do.” He grins at you and you feel a huge wave of guilt wash over you. Why is he such a nice fucking guy? Why do you never want to see that smile leave his face?
You can’t hold it in much longer, so you just let it all out. You need to make sense of this. “This is just a friendship, right? We’re clearly friends, but then there’s all of this sex. Really good sex, don’t get me wrong..”
Jungkook knows that he has love for you, but he’s not in-love with you. He could be, though, and that’s something that intrigues him. If you would just look into his eyes a little differently and let him see past the shades of your iris’, he knows that he could fall in-love. Seeing you stand in front of him, now, with nothing on but panties and his shirt makes him wonder. He’s seen what’s beneath, but he hasn’t seen much of what’s even deeper. You don’t talk when you don’t want to. You don’t let yourself be wholly vulnerable around him.
“Why wouldn’t we be friends?” He realizes how that sounds as soon as he says it. You’re just trying to draw the lines and he’s really fucking awful at coloring within them.
“Okay. Let’s agree on friends.. Just to be clear.” You hold out your hand like you’re offering him a life-changing deal. It may not be life-changing, but it’s definitely a one-way deal. How can he refuse? If he does, he’ll lose you completely. If he agrees, he’ll lose you in the way he wants you, but you’ll still be around.
This has happened before, something similar at-least. He should’ve seen it coming, but he gets so lost in your eyes and lost in the way your voice envelopes all of his senses. This is how his life will continue to be; others will do great things and he will be the messenger. Willingly, of course. There’s something quite intriguing about being the pawn in another person’s self-discovery plan. Besides, he’s not leaving empty handed; he gets another plot for his next novel. He gets to feel whatever pain he feels and he’ll make millions out of it. People will do just about anything to succeed in this world, whether it be playing the devil or the fool. Both warrant profit and a status of some kind. 
He wants to ask if you’re sure, but who is he to question your choices? He doesn’t know what goes on in your head, what’s best for you, or how you truly feel about him. Some may say that he deserves to know, but he doesn’t. Nobody in this world is entitled to your thoughts, your body, or your time, no matter what they’ve done for you.
His expression shifts to one of amusement — like he’s saying ‘well played’ — as he takes your hand and shakes on it. You’re one hell of a woman, the most intriguing one he’s even met. There are layers to you that are never-ending, depths that are too dark for him to see in. And, until you hand him a torch bright enough, he’ll appreciate the things that you do decide to show him. “Friends, whatever you want.”
No matter how much it hurts, nobody can force what isn’t meant to be. Maybe time will change the story, but for now, everything is how it’s supposed to be. He won’t force any of his feelings onto you and that’s what will make him a good friend. You’ll just look at each-other, exactly how you’re doing right now, with tight lips. You’ll share the warmth of each-other’s palms and bathe in the silence until somebody picks up their pride and makes the easier decision.
Just because two people love each-other, even in the most platonic way, it doesn’t mean that they’re meant to be together. For some, pain is pleasure. For others, pain is pain, and they have a habit of letting it go along with the person who sparked the feeling. Life is a cycle of giving and receiving pain, but it’s also a cycle of giving and receiving love. Without pain, nobody would know love, and vice versa. 
But, before he can pull his eyes away from yours and be the one to leave, to make that easy decision, you give him that very look; the look that makes him fall in-love with you.
“Purple.” You say, holding onto his hand like it’s keeping you afloat. You feel like you might lose him forever if you let go, like you might drown in the most painful way. You don’t want him to leave. “That’s my favorite color.”
He doesn’t say a word, far too afraid of missing one of yours.
“Not a hickey-colored purple, more like a lilac.” Your eyes are wide and desperate. To be friends isn’t what you want, even if it’s what you said. You know that you’ll never feel what he makes you feel with any other person. Maybe he’ll break your heart into a million pieces, or maybe you’ll break his, but you wouldn’t want anyone else to do it. You’ll never trust somebody like you trust him and that’s important to you. “I didn’t like wine until you poured me some, daises spark up my allergies, my parents have been separated for nine years, but can’t be bothered to divide their assets, so, technically, they’re still married. My friends and I have a Sex and the City marathon every Christmas..”
What happens that same night is unlike anything either of you have ever experienced before. Shut off from others and believing that you are the only two people awake in this big, messy world right now, you allow yourselves to fall completely, deeply, and unconditionally in-love with each-other. There’s nowhere else that you’d rather be than in his arms, sharing what seems like pointless things about yourself; your experience in college, what you were like when you were a kid, your favorite foods, your favorite music, your worst habits. You laugh, you cry, you run your fingers through his hair and kiss him tenderly. You tell him that you love him because you know that you do, and he tells you that he loves you because it’s impossible for him not to.
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You succeed in your own studio because that’s what you put your mind, body, and soul towards. You rarely question your identity, femininity, and self-worth, but when you do, you take a step back and take a long look at the empire you’ve amassed for yourself. You cry when you need to, you scream at the ocean when things bottle up, you have the filthiest sex with Jungkook and let him kiss every inch of your skin when you want to be touched, and you allow yourself to be wholly vulnerable with the people that love you. You take a look at the kind friends you’ve made, the supportive clients, investors, and even those who despise you in silence.
And, on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, you take a good look at a newspaper article displayed behind the window of a news agency: David Woods, former CEO of Woods Architecture Studio, is under fire for subjecting his employees to bizarre company policies, underpaying, and failing to provide adequate training and feedback opportunities to female employees.
The article displayed on the following newspaper makes you smile just as wide: Jeon Jungkook, author and new-found owner of a whiskey distillery, sold more than one million copies of his new novel in the first seven days, and has achieved the title of Best Selling Author for the third year in a row.
You might be thinking to yourself: did he ever write that odd, sex-filled erotica novel about me? The answer is yes. You just read it.
Thanks for reading!
taglist — @zeharilisharaban @ayumimegami @philostuff @carolsummerlove @piaesthetic @viokook @bangtan-serendipity @kookie-monsteur @codeinebelle @jeon-ggukkie @prdshobi @kookoo-kachoo @goldenlilyz @chiminies-noona @callmeyourstarrynight @minbinwhore @jiminxjimout @rjsmochii @waves-and-woods @dayjeons @hip-hop-phile @preciouschimine @kookiesdoe @min-nicoleee @jungc0ck @kuuuuroo @boraength @vantesday @shrimpmsg @bbydoejk @syazkook @bts-junseagull @tae165 @bangtanforeverxxx7 @cupidguk​ @lilacrosebud​ @lovrboyjk​ @busansonenonly @marcoazz2
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arlerted · a month ago
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thinkin’ bout letting izu fuck you full <3
wc: 1.8k 
tw: breeding, mating press, mentions of tummy bulge, slight size kink
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More. God, you need it. He’s fucking into you, as Deku does, cock dipping into your tight cunt and sending you into bliss. It should be filthy, you want it to be absolutely fucking filthy. He drives you crazy, hips twitching and whimpering over you as he fucks you to another orgasm, your head rolling back on the mattress as you neared a delirious high. 
Deku’s a whiner, so needy when he fucks your hole with an intensity you can only attribute to him. He holds your gaze, brows knitted together as small whimpers and praises tumble from his lips. He fucks slow and deep, with so much purpose and you find yourself becoming overwhelmingly irritated with the rub of the condom. Still, Izuku manages to fuck you like he means it, fuck you like he wants to breed you.
“Feel so fucking g-good.” He stutters out, sweat collecting on his brow as he dips down to kiss at your collarbone. 
Deku holds one of your knees to the mattress so he can get as deep as possible, so he can feel as much as he can through the latex of the condom that keeps him from painting your insides white. That’s what you really want though, as he takes one of your nipples between his soft lips and moans around it, voice trembling across the swell of your breast, you mind races with the possibility of letting him fill you up. 
You’re delirious, absolutely out of your mind as he pumps you with the stretch of his dick, heavy between your legs. Izuku can make you cum so easily. It’s astonishing how quickly he manages to melt you entirely, making you malleable for the sweet boy as he whines at the feel of your cunt fluttering around him. 
“‘Zuku m’close…” You gasp out beneath him, hands grabbing at his shoulders. 
“Y-yeah? Y’gonna cum for me?” He breathes out. 
It should sound dominating, but it doesn’t, because Izuku is so fucking needy for you. God, you were convinced that if he weren’t biting a pretty bruise into the side of your neck that he’d be begging for it.
He pulls away from the side of your neck, placing an open mouthed kiss on your lips as his tongue dips into the space there, dancing across the surface of your tongue as you do your best to kiss him back. Izuku’s broken moans and praises are breathed into your mouth, sending shivers down your spine and straight to your weeping cunt. 
“Izu, ‘zu, take the condom off.” You mouth against him. 
“Huh?” He pulls away from you, green eyes blown wide with lust, with the tone of your voice that drips from your lips like honey. 
“C-come inside.” You whine out, fingernails digging into his shoulders, head rolling to the side so you can look at him through wet lashes. 
Izuku’s hips slow slightly and you whimper for him, back arching to keep the friction going. You’re so needy for him, you fucking need him to fill you up now, but Izuku is hesitant. His thrusts go from intense and heavy to slow and sensual, dragging against you as he splits you open, painfully slowly. 
It’s not the he doesn’t want it, in fact, he fucking craves it, but he knows that if he took the condom off and felt you directly against his cock, that he wouldn’t be able to control himself. He’d fuck you until you were a cross-eye’d, melted puddle beneath his fingers. He’d fuck you until he could see the bulge left from his cum, until you were stuffed so full of him that there was no way you wouldn’t end up swollen with his children.
“Are you sure?” You nod fervently. “If I come inside I will get you pregnant.” His words aren’t spoken dirtily, in fact, they’re quietly whispered and laced with a concern that’s characteristic of him. 
Fuck, he didn’t even know how he sounded right now, voice low and cracking with a concern of restraint. He’s just that certain, that confident in his ability to fuck a baby into you. Izuku would learn though, when you spasmed around him at the words, cunt fluttering as an orgasm washed over you and you squirmed beneath his scarred fingers. 
Izuku went slack jawed, eyes wide as you came around his cock just from the mere thought of him fucking his kids into you. If he had any semblance of self restraint left, it was going out the window as he watched you ride out your orgasm on his cock. He actually almost felt sad for you, that you didn’t get to come around him raw, that he didn’t get to fuck his cum into you while you did. But he would, fuck, he would. 
You were asking so nicely, trembling beneath him as you clawed feebly at his shoulders, keened for him with your voice, your body, and the way your cunt soaked him in your release. How could he not give you what you asked for?
“Fuck, okay.” He speaks quickly, pulling out, brows knitting together at the way you whine as he pulls the condom off of him with a satisfying snap. His hands tremble, it's the only indication besides the waver in his voice that shows just how badly he needs you, as you whine for him to plug you back up. 
“Shhh, don’t worry.” He coos in your ear, pushing his length back into you with a broken whimper. “I got you, m’gonna fill you up.” 
“Please please please.” You babble, head shaking side to side before you arch your back off the bed at the sensation of his skin against yours, the way his pelvis hits your clit as he buries himself as deep as he can go. 
“G-gonna give you what you need, yeah?” He asks, beginning to thrust in you. 
It’s entirely too much for him. Your cunt is so much hotter like this, practically burning him in its need to be coated in his cum. Suddenly, he feels chatty, wants to tell you just how badly he wants to give you his kids, pump you full of them. 
Izuku hikes your legs up and you squeal, letting him manhandle you with an unfamiliar aggressiveness as he puts you into a mating press. He’s so deep that you can feel in in your throat, voice catching as his thick cock hits your cervix with each thrust. His grip on your ankles is vice-like, hands digging small crescent shapes into the pretty skin there, tilting his head to kiss along your calf as if that would make this moment any less filthy than it is. 
“Want me to get you pregnant?” He asks, voice low, humming along the skin of your leg as his skin slaps against your own. 
You nod deliriously, arms hooked under your knees to help him get deeper. You can’t get enough of this feeling. 
“Fuck, okay, gonna get you fucking pregnant.” Izuku murmurs, voice low and gravelly. “Gonna fuck my kid into you, make you fucking mine. You want that? Want me to make you a fucking mommy?” 
His mouth is so filthy that you can’t help but want to taste it. You lean forward, tears crowding your waterline as you murmur a yes against his lips before you let him invade your mouth, swallowing his little grunts and whimpers as he gets closer to his high. 
“Gonna look so pretty swollen with my kid, huh?” Izuku pulls away from you, pressing your legs down further with his body. 
“Mhm, gonna be a mommy. Wanna have your baby, wanna be full.” You babble, too fucked out to think about the consequences of this. “Please ‘zuku, fill me up. Gimme it, gimme it.” 
God, you’re fucking crying for it. Izuku was close now, cock pulling against your walls. You can feel the thick vein that runs along the underside of it rubbing against you and the way his cock pulses with every achingly deep thrust. He’s ruining you, fucking into you at a brutual pace that has you swearing your pelvis will be bruised in the morning. 
You can feel the weight of him between your legs and across your chest, heavy and full on your body. It squeezes the air from your lungs with each thrust, has you gasping as you climb ever closer to another high on his cock. Izuku’s making your head spin, the weight of him pushing on your chest. You let the light-headedness overtake you, give into the full feeling that he gives you as his pace picks up. 
Izuku’s hips are sputtering, his cheeks painted a bright crimson as his eyebrows knit together. And then his head is falling forward, a low groan vibrating through his chest and you feel it across the underside of your thighs where he has you pinned before it turns into a whimper that sends chills running down your spine and has you spasming around him. 
He takes your cheeks between his fingers, lifting his gaze to yours and exposing his red and glistening face to you, green eyes clouded with a heavy coating of lust. Fuck, its hot as he fills you up, scalding your insides as you feel him bury himself in your cunt with a few shaky thrusts, kissing your cervix as he pumps you full of him. 
“God, fuck. Take it, yeah– fucking take it.” He chokes out, voice breaking at the end with the weight of his orgasm and the way your cunt milks him for everything he has.
He swears that he sees stars, swears that he’s found god in your cunt, the sweat that sticks his body to yours as he fills your womb with him. And your orgasm hits you with a blinding force as his ends, a sharp squeal melting into a low gasp as your voice escapes you, going stupid beneath him. Izuku whines through your orgasm and you can feel yourself gushing around him, feel the slip and slide of his cum and yours as he fucks it deeper into you while your hips struggle to writhe under his weight. 
There’s no escape from this feeling, no time to breathe as your orgasm washes over you in waves that send a broken mumble of his name from your lips, hands coming to grab his ass and push him deeper into you. Izuku whimpers at your eagerness to take him, at the way he can feel your hips struggle to squirm as your legs quiver under his weight. 
“Oh god…” You breathe out, half delirious as his cock stays seated inside of you while he pants over you. 
Izuku wants to stay there, buried inside of you where he can feel his cum flooding your cunt. He wants to keep you plugged up so that when he pulls out there’s no fucking way you aren’t pregnant.
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introloves · 26 days ago
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𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑.
anon: country boy wakatoshi drives a big ugly old truck that he is perpetually “fixing up” but he opens the door for you and holds your hand to help you get in and out. and he drives you guys out to a field in the middle of nowhere to fuck you in the backseat where no one can hear
country boy! ushijima + dominant! ushijima + mutual pinning + tension + awkward flirting + fluff + fuckin in the backseat + creampie + size difference + size kink + mouth stuffing (fingers) + oral fixation (f! receiving) + squirting + summer vibes + f! reader
— word count; approx 3.5k
— lots of characterization and dialogue attributed to my ushijima anon. <3
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‘gentle, be gentle.’
its repeated over and over again in wakatoshis head, eyes pinned to the roads he's taken over and over within the last couple of summer nights- a spot that after hours of grueling work brings him the most comfort. he doesn't really know why those words are like a singular loop in his head. it's not like he expects anything to happen, but when wakatoshi sees the gleam of your thighs underneath the dress you're wearing, he can all but hope.
he needs that reminder while you sway only a couple inches next to him, hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles are white- you look beautiful, even more so than usual.
the singular thought seems to overtake any and all other feelings and wants for the night. he thinks it might be a mistake, dangerous to have you seated in the dusty and… cracked seats of his truck, but you only smile and look at him with a soft gaze. he can't help but think that there’s ways this night could progress and to have you like he wants- like he wants you.
the roads are bumpy and by the time you two get there and wakatoshi thinks that he needs to check the suspension in his truck, still thinking as he parks. he realizes how shabby the spot is when you're here with him and that has a hot blush crawl up his neck.
it’s a space overrun by tall grass- a creek somewhere in the distance- usually the superficial things don’t really bother him, but now with you sitting there and he thinks that compared to how pretty you are, it overshadows any and all places he could possibly think to bring you.
he’s scared to turn and look at you, leaning forward to turn off his truck, unaware of a lingering and wanting gaze pinned to the muscled stretching over his arms- biceps curling, veins running up and down, all the way to his hands.
thick hands scarred and calloused from the work he does. they've turned rough and heavy- everything about him looked proportional to his height, but his hands stood out just a bit more and you couldn't really get enough of the sight.
you stare, and keep staring, even when he finally turns to look at you, face unmoving except for a hint of blush painting his cheeks. from the heat or just the situation that seems to grow more and more heavy may be the cause of it, you're not too sure.
either way, there seems to be a weight to the already muggy air you breathe, it takes what feels like minutes before he even says anything- clearing his throat with a grumble.
he apologises, of course he does. he's always been the gentleman; words just a tiny bit quieter- voice rolling deep with bass and something a little rougher. you know he says something about the scenery being too ugly, but you can’t really focus on his words.
it's easy to respond to a man so kind, so big but gentle and respectful with an almost instinctual lean towards him. hand placed over his bicep to let him know it's okay-
you weren't playing coy, anything but that, but the touch makes him go rigid. wakatoshi wants to ask you to not be so casual, but he doesn't want to come off creepy and he wouldn’t know where to start.
wondering what you would think if he told you the singular touch of your arm against him had him sweating, swallowing back the slowly bubbling lust threatening to tip over with each passing second. all he can do is lay back, legs spreading out to make himself comfortable; in his mind, shifting to lessen the tension- limbs still achy from the day, hazel eyes tracing the dirty spots on the roof of his truck before finally peering back at you.
ushijima knows his strength and stature is daunting- built for hard labor, honed to do dirty work all day, so he tries to make himself as welcoming as his imposing personality can, nothing more than the painted picture of a gentleman while he looks at you.
you had the decency to act shy, flustered at the scene unfolding before you. the reality weighing in at having such a big man sitting next to you so casually, and you nearly felt ill for responding to him with a twisting heat between your legs. trying to speak up, wanting to start conversation but not finding any thoughts, not ones that you could say out loud anyways.
“it’s hot.” he mumbles, sighing heavily through his nose before passing a rough hand up to push hair from his forehead- undercut on complete display in this angle.
“it is, but it’s nice- at least there’s a breeze.” you respond, worrying at your lower lip, nibbling on it to keep you from embarrassing yourself.
“yeah, at least there’s a breeze.”
wakatoshi doesn’t mean to be so curt and short, it’s just that you make him nervous- warmth always settling right under his navel when you come around to his house, full of bright smiles and food for him, knowing he works all day long. using this act of kindness under the guise of being a friendly neighbor- but really…
you just loved seeing him when he was all sweaty, and on lucky days- you’d even caught him shirtless, shoving whatever food you’d made for him in his general direction and hightailing it out of the vicinity to go back home and touch yourself to the image.
he sighs heavily, and it makes you feel a little guilty. he should be at home and resting- farm work is extensive and always needed and now you’ve pulled him away from precious time that could be spent recuperating that fatigue, not that he minds- but you wouldn’t know that.
“are you tired?” you question sweetly, still looking over at him with a smile. he catches the way you bite down onto your lip, wondering just how improper it’d be of him to ask you straight up if him fucking you would be a bad idea, but he holds back- swallows down any complex about being too forward, because he needs to know if you want this just as bad as he does.
“no- not with you here, it’s the opposite… the opposite.” he finalizes his words by turning towards you. lumbering form slowly straightening up in the worn seat he’s sat on, leather crackling beneath thick thighs.
there’s something insinuated between his words. you can actually catch up on it, and it brings forth an almost nervous smile, cheeks warm and neck nearly on fire with the way he says it.
“it’s the opposite for me too…” you reply, soft and still so kind. in another world maybe you’d act just a bit more coy and shy, but it’s nearly too much and you ache beneath the pretty summer dress you’ve thrown on.
“mm, is it?” wakatoshi questions, eyes finally letting themselves look at you- eyebrows furrowed, wondering if this is a game you’re playing. that somehow you’ve read his mind and are hinting at all the naughty things he wants so desperately to do to you.
but there’s no way that’s the case, and instead he lets himself long for you openly.
“what does that mean?” his voice is just a tinge heavier- once more adjusting himself in his seat to let himself get comfortable, eyebrow quirked up as a smile plays on his lips.
he’s straightforward and calculating for the most part, now he just wants to hear it come straight from your pretty lips.
if what he saw from your swaying form was correct, you were also feeling the pulsating heat of pure lust curling between your legs, just like him.
the question sends you into a babbling mess, once more going shy, but pulling through for the need to know if he’s also as desperate as you.
“well, it-it's a little improper… i’m not sure if i should say what i'm thinking.”
you confess, hands wandering down to lay against your thighs, playing with the edges of your dress to keep yourself from looking at him.
he didn’t know how he could stop himself now that the singular thought of you being needy like he is has made a home in his mind.
wakatoshi is usually so calculating and perfected in everything that he does, but this once, with the prospect of having something so sweet like you all to himself so within reach- he grabs at you.
the first touch of his warm palm against the exposed skin you’ve presented him with thanks to your fidgeting hands makes you look at him, and you know that there’s nothing but heavy lust behind his eyes.
“tell me.” ushijima near growls, no room for questioning or self doubt.
“i want you.”
it’s all he needs.
finally. finally with the confirmation that his horniness isn’t alone in the beat up truck he’s brought you here in, he lets his other hand wander up to your neck, so small compared to him- slowly sliding up until he’s pressing an index finger and thumb to either side of your face, not knowing how to treat something so soft with gentleness.
“tell me more.” he whispers before giving you the chance, statement completely rhetorical because his mouth is on yours in mere seconds.
he’s all you’ve wanted and hoped for. rough hands moving you into his lap without a care for anything in his vicinity, fitting you like you belong against him like this with each pass of his tongue against yours- growling at the warmth pulsating right over his own heavy cock.
gentle hands find purchase against his shirt when things get too heavy, holding you around the waist and slowly starting to push and pull your mass to grind tightly over his jeans. only grounded back to reality because you’ve started to mewl so nice and high- airy and shaky with each pull.
this was never going to end in just kissing and heavy grinding, so once more- wakatoshi silently apologizes to your integrity, deadset on fucking you right here and now.
“pretty girl.” ushijima speaks, equally breathless when you pull away and he’s met with the textbook definition of desperate.
eyes wide and wet, lips swollen, a singular string of spit still connecting the two of you, watching when you respond with a shake at the compliment, thighs squeezing around him.
“i need you.”
words spoken with such ease have you dizzy once more and you simply nod, unable to do anything else but nod.
his hand reaches for the door handle of his truck- the other splayed over your back when he swings a leg out, keeping you pressed sweetly, protectively, to his towering form, cradling you while he moves the both of you to his back seat.
its criminal- he thinks very quickly, that he’s going to fuck such a pretty little thing in the back of his old, dirtied, beat up truck.
but there doesn’t seem to be any complaint coming from you, watching intently at the skin slowly being revealed to him when he sets you down and your dress starts rising up, bunching at your waist like a present slowly unraveling itself all for him.
he can't begin to describe the feeling that overcomes him the second your panties peek from between thighs that have not left his hands. you're glistening- his breathing catches immediately in his throat while looking down at the patch of wetness clinging onto your panties, hands gripping your thighs with enthusiasm and little self restraint at the sight.
he grunts, it's all he can do because his cock is now straining so hard against his jeans- and he knows that if he isn’t buried to the hilt inside of you within the next couple of minutes, he’d break you in a flurry of pent up energy to try and get to your undeniably pretty pussy.
ushijima can’t bring his eyes up farther than the swell of your cunt, fingers precise in their movements, come down to hook against the hem of your soaked underwear, pulling it to the side- temptation itself crawling up his neck to lean down and have a taste, but the incessant throbbing he feels is what drives him now.
with no words uttered, wakatoshi thumbs up your cunt, an intense glare pinning your body into the seats- it feels suffocating, thighs so tempted to just squeeze around his arm twitch at the first touch, but with the way he looks like an animal starved- you know that wouldn't go down well.
“are you going to give this to me?” he asks out of nowhere, still feeling your slit up, no pressure behind his ministrations, thumb caressing everything revealed to him. he waits for the simple nod- or whisper, or even slow and desperate swirl of hips- detonating you want this as much as he does, and the second you whine out a pretty little,
“yes- yes, please.”
he swears he can see stars.
there’s no time that comes between the two of you once those words tumble out of your pouting mouth- finally letting his hands move to grasp at your hips. crowding you, leaning his big body to loom over as he lets your thighs settle on either side of him.
grasping down between the two of you to quickly unclasp his belt. the sound of metal hitting metal only further accentuating your need- body squirming beneath him in the most tempting wiggle, fumbling with the buttons of his bottoms and finally, finally pushing his underwear down.
you can't see him, but you can feel the weight of his cock finally land onto your pussy and it's nearly criminal how dizzy feeling him like this makes you. hands coming up to grab at his arms- open mouth sobbing. patience waning with the need that strikes you right in the middle of your chest. now it's your turn to act frenzied.
you want him, wanted him from the second your eyes laid on him and now his dicks drooling over your cunt.
it's so easy to fit your arms up and over his shoulders, clinging and grasping at him with fervor- pulling him onto your mass even closer, almost like you want to drown in his everything.
it draws a chuckle from deep in his chest, short lived because he wants you like you want him, letting himself sink down to press his face to your heated cheek- breathing in your scent, occupying himself while he moves his hips in a fluid motion to find your hole- not leaving any space between the two of you, and sinking inside so tight every centimeter he breeches tugs on the skin of his dick.
teeth gnash against one another when he’s stretching you out, knuckles pressed on either side of your head sink down further, crackling leather seats protesting as he brings himself down to his forearms.
“fuck- pretty little pussy.” he groans, coughed out as he bottoms out- unable to compare this moment to anything he’s ever experienced.
your keens bring him down lower, sweet and whiny just like he knew they would be, taking every little second his cock slides out of you to leave a sloppy, near opened mouth kiss to your lips- seconds away from drooling down onto your open mouth, panting out syllables that vaguely sound like his name, too twisted in pure pleasure to be really sure that its whats uttered.
“u-ushijima.” you cry, plead with him to do something about the burn encompassing your cunt, stretched full, knowing this was the outcome for this whole ordeal- but you still blink away the tears and dig your nails into his shoulders.
there’s an overwhelming need to ruin you and he can't place the want or where it comes from, only follow it head first with the first brutalizing thrust- echoing out in the backseats of his truck, squelching from such a tight cunt sticky and wet as it receives him, and seconds too late he recalls the way his name sounds, another need to hear it properly takes place and once more wakatoshi follows it like a lead.
rising to ease the pressure of his form off your chest, a strong, tanned hand settles so easily on the delicate skin of your neck- finally finding rhythm to each heavy push inside.
“say my name- properly.” he grits out, fighting the very clench of you.
there’s little resistance when he says something with such conviction- push behind every consonant, growled lowly right to your face. hand squeezing just right, thighs jumping- clamping down on his hips in response.
“wakatoshi!”
a sharp thrill passes through him at how well you respond- he’s not well versed in all this, didn’t know that squeezing such a pretty little thing like you between his body and the cracked seats of his beat up truck would feel this good, and now he knows it’s not something he’s ever going to give up.
he watches your back come up and off the seats- chest pressing up against him, just barely able to move and squirm with the way his cock drags in and out of your walls, it’s nearly too much, suffocating and heavy inside, you know you’re going to cum too quick.
“please- please!”
you clung to him so easy, hands gripping at the muscles in his shoulders and biceps- burying your face into his neck in a desperate attempt to quiet embarrassing mewls.
you just couldn’t help it with how good he fucked you, listening to every squelch his big cock brings out, panting helplessly against his thick neck- it’s too much, he’s too big- but you only want more and more.
the simple action of you whining like that has ushijima realize very quickly that he can’t take not seeing you.
“no hiding.”
it’s a harsh statement- grunted out, wanting to let you know that he wants to see you come undone.
hand searching for your neck once again to press you down, unceremoniously shoving two thick fingers into your mouth, pressing down to watch you drool and pant over them. eyes glazed over and so very pliant for him, pinning you right where he wants you.
the simple act is what brings you to a teary orgasm, wailing sharply against his digits- whole body shuddering, twisting under a man that’s kept you down so good, eyes rolling back while every ridge and vein passes past the tight clutch of the pussy he’s still fucking into the shape of his massive cock.
huffing breaths leave him while your thighs twist and squeeze, while you squirt and messy his thighs, cock already gleaming with arousal slickened now in the prettiest mess he’s ever seen-
there’s no time wasted before frantic thrusts reach their crescendo- swinging down onto you, balls heavy with so much cum, swollen and pained in need to find release inside your tight cunt only further accentuate the mess you’ve made with messy slaps down onto your ass, pretty dress thoroughly wet at the hem.
groans sound nearly pained, hips lose their tempo and ushijima stills inside with a final heavy thrust that sends you skirting up the seats, enunciated with sharp wails that come from you while pump after pump of cum floods your cunt- eyes wide and teary while you look up at him, lips wobbling around his fingers still knuckle deep inside your pretty mouth.
his body trembles, slow thrusts ensure that every inch his cock is stuffed inside rubs that heavy cum into your puffy walls, gaze still pinned with lidded eyes down onto your own watery ones.
it’s funny how backwards things have become- wakatoshi smiles in realization that he’s just dumped a heavy load into your tight pussy- not even tried to woo you, falling for him as easily as he did with you.
“it’s hot.” is all he mumbles, words still shaky, vision still blurry at the edges while he looks down at you, slowly retreating thick fingers from your lips to let you gasp and speak.
“yeah- it’s hot.” is all that tumbles past a swollen mouth, giggling and starstruck. humming- listening to the mid summer bugs chirping, sweat pooling against your back, dress sticking to you every which way, but you’re comfortable and so fucked out you couldn’t do anything to lessen the heat of his own body even if you wanted to.
he leans down, tongue licking up a stray string of drool from your chin before licking into your open mouth, not able to curve the need to have you all- wanting so badly to consume your whole body in his very being, but he knows you need to rest even a little.
“you’re mine now, yes?” ushijima questions- and all you can do is nod, clench around his softening cock and squirm once more.
“yeah- ‘m yours wakatoshi.” you respond back in earnest, clipped words coming from him feel comforting, knowing he only speaks with truth and honesty, silently smiling while he pushes kisses down against your jaw-
excited to finally have something soft and pretty and so so cute to love and protect.
3K notes · View notes
noteguk · 18 days ago
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white lies | jjk | m
— summary; in which Jungkook lies his way out of and into trouble. But he can’t tell white lies when it comes to you. 
— contents and warnings; smut, fluff, very minor angst, poor attempts at humor, athlete!jungkook x reader, childhood best friends, fake dating, idiots to lovers, far too many movie references, a tiny bit of jealousy, jk is a football/soccer player, mentions of alcohol and drugs, the catastrophic event that is a frat party, jk is kind of a himbo, so much sexual tension, mutual pining, a lot of touching, dirty talk, fingering, grinding, jk has a big dick, praise, body worship if you squint, unprotected sex (don’t.), pulling out, very mild possessiveness, mid-sex confessions, the L word…, Jungkook wants to fuck you in his team jacket because his tastes are very singular and you wouldn’t understand it 
— words; 13,3k
— author’s notes; I know what you’re thinking… and yes, every bad movie mentioned is real. Also, this is a self-aware cliche and 100% self indulgent. Have fun!
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When people first found out that you and Jungkook were friends, you received a very predictable, repetitive sequence of reactions.
First came disbelief. It was the most comprehensible one, at least from your perspective, taking into consideration that you and Jungkook were completely different people. He was loud (sometimes too loud) and outgoing, probably knew at least ninety percent of the campus population by name and city of origin. Jungkook was warm, friendly, the type of guy that you’d confess all your worries to if given enough time. You, on the other hand, was more on the “colder” side — you weren’t as inviting with strangers, and didn't mind going through moments of awkward silence. Jungkook was a talker and you were a listener; he was a daydreamer and you were a brute realist: maybe that was why your friendship worked so well. But most people couldn’t really get it. 
Second came the questions — the doubts, the sideway glances, even a few bitter comments if you were unlucky enough. Jungkook had kind of a reputation when it came to sleeping around, so most people jumped to the conclusion that either you were his favorite plaything (which might have been the most offensive thing you’ve ever heard) or that you were simply the rare one he had friendzoned because he didn’t want to fuck you (a big runner-up to that prize). Eventually, though, you settled their anguishes simply by saying that you knew each other ever since you were kids. 
Which took you to the final phase: relief and acceptance. The ones who saw you as a threat instantly relaxed, and the ones who couldn’t understand why he would “waste his time” with “someone like you” quickly understood that it was a deep, innocent connection that he was just “too sweet to let go.” Obviously, that didn’t make you feel any better. 
Truth was, it was kind of hard being friends with Jungkook. Mostly because the boy casted a light so strong that it was almost impossible not to stay in his shadow, but also because you always felt like you had to justify your existence every time he chose you instead of anyone else. You were the person he ran to hug once his team won; you were the one he ditched other people for, just to hang out with you. It made you insecure. And, yeah, there was also the fact that you had been madly in love with him for some time now, but that was unimportant. 
Well, until he asked you to be his (fake) girlfriend, that was. 
Jungkook, bless his heart, was never one of the brightest when it came to real-life situations. He could ace a test with no issue, but, when it came to reading the room, he was a lost cause — something a bit paradoxical when you realized how social he was, but, well, people probably thought his cluelessness was adorable. And that might also be the reason why he never caught onto your pathetic crush, but that was a different topic. 
“Why the fuck would I do something like that?” You munched on your chips, eyes flickering over the TV screen. The two of you had made the terrible decision to hatewatch all the bad shark-themed movies you could find, and now you were suffering the brain-smoothing consequences. “Sounds like the dumbest plan in the world. And I don’t understand what you’d get out of that.” 
He whined, throwing his head back against the couch. Jungkook had been trying to convince you for half a movie now, and he was running out of arguments. “I told you already,” he stressed, eyes locked to the white ceiling. With the living room completely immersed in shadows, the shades of blue and yellow from the television reflected off his face like a prism. “The boys have been teasing me because I could never hold a date.” 
“And? That’s your problem.” You looked at him, meeting his desperate stare. “And, honestly, why did you even lie about it? It’s true, you know it.” 
“You’re cruel.” Jungkook tugged the bag of chips off your hands, ignoring your complaints. “I have my reasons.” 
You laughed. “Yeah, what is it again? Waiting for the right person?” You teased, watching as his frown only deepened, his cheeks puffed out as he angrily chewed. “Come on, Cinderella, snap out of that fairy tale. Have you stopped to think how many nice girls you let go because of that stupid mindset?”
“It’s not stupid,” he murmured, clearly irritated. 
With a sigh, you shrugged. “Fine. It’s not.” You yanked the bag of chips away from him, slightly sad that it was almost finished. Unfortunately, your marathon had made you eat a lot more junk food than your body could probably handle, but that was a problem for the future you. Present you really wanted more chips. “I’m just bitter.” 
“We can agree on that.” He smirked, a devilish glint in his eyes that prepared you for the worst. “What was it that those guys called you in high school?”
You pointed at him. “Don’t,” you warned. 
But his smirk only grew, morphing into a full-blown (dazzling) smile. “Ice queen?” Jungkook tried. 
You rolled your eyes, sinking into the couch. “It’s a dumb nickname, shut up,” you groaned, trying to focus on the shitstorm that unreveled on the television. There was a priest trying to exorcise the ghost of a demon shark, and that was a thousand times more interesting than recalling the nightmare that was high school. “It got even worse when Frozen came out.” 
“Still gets to you, though.” Jungkook poked you on the shoulder, allowing himself one last laugh at your distress before striking once again. “So… wanna help me?” 
Yeah, like that would have magically changed, you thought. “I already said no.”
Jungkook leaned forward, pressing his forehead against his palms. He was in anguish, but you couldn’t feel that sorry when he had caused that himself. “But I already told them we were dating,” he whined, defeated. 
“Again, sounds like a you problem,” you said, throwing the empty bag of chips on the coffee table. “Just say that you panicked and made some shit up. Own up to it, you’re already a grown up.” 
Jungkook shook his head. “I can’t, they’ll never believe me again.” 
You sighed, crossing your arms. “Dragging this out won’t make it any better. You should tell them the truth,” you said, pausing for an instant. “Actually, I can’t see this ending well in, like, any possible scenario. Even Doctor Strange had better odds in Infinity War.” 
The fact that you liked Jungkook was the key point that he didn’t have access to, but that was very clear inside your head. Even in the best possible outcome, in which no one doubted a single thing and everything magically went back to normal, you’d still have to live with that weight inside your chest. Sounds pretty fucking painful to pretend to be someone’s girlfriend when you were almost considering selling your soul to turn that into a real situation. And then to be done with it like it wasn’t nothing more than a business transaction, or a platonic favor for a good friend... that would just suck, to put it lightly. 
Sadly, Jungkook wouldn’t give up so easily. “What if we, like, only do it tomorrow night?” He pressed on, turning to take a better look at you. He always looked so breathtaking, his gorgeous big eyes just staring at you like a cute dog pleading for a piece of meat. You could sense yourself starting to fold, and that was always a bad sign. “Just for a few of my friends to see us together, show that it’s the truth, and then I can just say that we didn’t work out and decided to stay friends.” 
“But it’s not the truth,” you stressed, turning your head back to the television. You were starting to get pissed at the fact that you’d have to watch that movie again to try and make sense of what was happening. But you were also sad because you were both considering his request and suffering in advance because of its unavoidable consequences. “I don’t wanna be just another name in your list of conquests, Jungkook.”
Correction: you didn’t want to pretend to be one. You were fine with trying something out (for real) with Jungkook, even if you didn’t get a fairy tale ending. You just didn’t want to play with your own emotions — and probably induce some emotional trauma — because your best friend couldn’t own up to the fact that he lied about something (again). 
And, yet, it was getting to you. Just like a vipers’ venom, it had started to spread inside your body, corroding the walls you had built up for yourself. Your therapist would rip you to shreds if she knew you were thinking like that, but maybe ignoring the only chance you’d have with Jungkook — real or not — would be the foolish decision there. 
Besides, it couldn’t be that bad, could it? You could push your pride aside and help a friend during a time of need… and who knows, maybe get a couple kisses along the way? And just for one night? You could do that… 
Back in the present, Jungkook was just now digesting your previous claim. “What? You’d never be just that,” he guaranteed, an expression of bewilderment plastered all over his obnoxiously handsome face. Every day was a new test from God, and you were failing miserably. “You’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you.” 
Ouch. That was a low hit. And worse? You knew that he didn’t say that with any malicious intent to manipulate you or anything — he genuinely meant it. Jungkook was such a sweetheart when it came to you, he’d stay up to help you with your projects; volunteer to take you out on an adventure when you were feeling down, even if he had to face the consequences of skipping practice later. He had done so much for you, and you couldn’t even push your feelings aside one time to help him out. 
Your high school insecurities were starting to erupt, and you were thinking that maybe those dumb nicknames were right. Maybe you were kind of a cold-hearted bitch. Especially when your best friend/love of your life was pouting and begging you to help him and all you could do was to mock him. 
Beside you, Jungkook deflated like the saddest balloon in the world, a long sigh leaving his lips. “You know what? You’re right, this is stupid,” he admitted, running one hand through his hair. You always wanted to do the same, it was so soft and puffy that you could get lost in it. Also, there was something about the tattoos on his arms, the veins of his hand, that just made you lose your mind. “I should just own up to it.” 
Took you a couple seconds for your rational brain to catch up to your horny one, but it eventually did. “It’s okay, I’ll do it,” you told him. “Just one night.”
“Really?” Jungkook’s eyes widened like a kid’s during Christmas morning, a beautiful smile overtaking his features. He jumped in your direction and, before you could even react, his strong arms were wrapping around you, pulling you into a warm hug. You were so fucked. “You’re the best! I owe you big time.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll remember that.” You placed your hand on his forehead and pushed him away, ignoring both his whiny complaints and the quickening of your heartbeat. “Now back to our shark exorcism.” 
Jungkook’s teammates didn’t get why the two of you were still friends. 
As Jimin, the world’s most competitive striker once said, some things are so obvious that you just can’t ignore them unless you have a secret agenda. When it came to that specific subject, the obvious thing would be that Jungkook had an earth-shattering crush on you, and his secret agenda was the fact that he was too blind to see that it was mutual, so he decided to repress it until it asphyxiated him. 
His teammates tried to warn him over and over again that you, in fact, were all heart eyes and chuckles when he came around, Namjoon even got close to creating an entire PowerPoint presentation about it, but all of it fell on deaf ears. Jungkook, in his blissful ignorance, just wouldn’t hear it. From where he was standing, there was just no conceivable way that his laughable childhood crush had any chance of being mutual. 
Jungkook didn’t know much about psychology, though, because, if he did, he might have faced those emotions head-first instead of avoiding them until they started presenting themselves in different, slightly destructive ways. When you repress something, it doesn’t really go away, it just settles somewhere else, like squeezing a handful of slime. No matter how much he tried to get a hold of it, it still slipped between his fingers — made him cancel dates last minute to spend the night with you, convinced him to do the dumbest things just to make you happy. 
And, now, in a weird projection of a personal fantasy, he was pretending to be your boyfriend. 
In his defense, it wasn’t a machiavellian plan he had meticulously constructed: it just kind of happened. Jungkook wasn’t exactly a poster child when it came to being teased — after all, he was used to be being the best at practically everything — and, when his teammates all ganged up on him during their break, claiming that he just couldn’t get a girlfriend even if he tried, both his annoyance and the practice-induced exhaustion made him say that he was already dating someone. 
“Yeah, right,” Hoseok had mocked, pressing a towel against his sweaty forehead. The changing room thankfully had a great ventilation system, combined with large windows, otherwise they would’ve died from the heat and the smell already. “Just say that you can’t take a joke and move on, Jeon. No need to lie about it.” 
Taehyung barged in before Jungkook could get a word out. “Besides, we know there’s only one person that can fit inside your heart,” he said, watching as Jungkook’s eye twitched. “How’s ___ doing, by the way?” 
“She’s fine,” he answered, monotone. 
“Yeah? Are you gonna ask her out or what?” Jimin teased, his voice coming from beyond a row of lockers. “Or are we free to do that?” 
In typical animal planet fashion, the locker room exploded in a roar of laughs and fragmented provocations, every guy trying to speak louder than the other. Jungkook felt himself shrink, his frown deepening as his heartbeat quickened. There was something burning at his insides, a mixture of shame and jealousy, and that was exactly what pushed those idiotic words out of his mouth. 
“Actually,” he started speaking when the thunderous laughter diminished, turning around to place his bag back in his locker. “I’m dating ___.” 
It was almost amazing how fast the room morphed into a crypt — the thick silence hitting Jungkook right in the face, weighing down and turning into guilt and worry inside his stomach. He was unable to look back and face his friends, instead pretending to be extremely interested in his bag’s zipper. 
Why did he always do that? Why couldn’t he tell the truth for once in his life? 
“That seems even harder to believe,” Taehyung was the first one to speak, the one brave soul that verbalized what they all were thinking. Simply as that, life returned to the locker room, and so did the sounds of his teammates laughing at him. “Just yesterday you were acting all nervous around her.” 
Jungkook slammed his locker door shut, turning around with a determined expression. “Well, yeah, because I was planning to ask her to be my girlfriend,” he had never constructed a lie so fast before, but, even then, Taehyung didn’t look like he was buying it. “I’m serious.” 
Which was probably the least trust-worthy thing he could say. 
“Prove it, then.” Hoseok smiled, crossing his arms. “Call her right now.”
“I’ll do you better,” Jungkook didn’t hesitate — a terrible sign, he realized one heartbeat too late; it was never good when his mouth decided to take the lead, allowing for the words to flow out of him before they could be filtered by his logical brain. But Jungkook was competitive, both in the field and in his personal life, and he couldn’t stand the humiliation that came from both losing an argument and being caught in a lie. As ironic as that was. “I’ll take her to Saturday’s party and you can all see it with your own eyes.” 
Jungkook was just buying himself some time, hoping that his charms would be enough to sweep you into his miraculous scheme before his teammates could realize something was off. Hoseok, of course, did not know that, but his expression showed that he wasn’t all too convinced either. “Sounds great,” he lowered his voice, looking at his friend up and down. “See you there, Jeon.” 
Jungkook left the locker room with a crown of victory hovering over his head and a bright, prideful smile — one which shrunk and shrunk as his day progressed and he realized that there was no way in hell that you’d accept to be swept into his personal melodrama. 
He had enough time between that conversation and the night at your place to go through all the stages of grief. In denial he found himself running from those cyclical thoughts, ignoring that it had happened in the first place — maybe it was all a big misunderstanding and his friends would let that situation go; maybe he didn’t have to sacrifice his friendship with you just to avoid being wrong about something. In anger, came anxiety, frustration at himself for being so dumb and impulsive, allowing for his ego to step in the way and shield him from reason. That one he suffocated with extra gym time and a consequential terrible cramp in his shoulder. 
Soon enough came bargain and Jungkook was thinking that, if he were to be very lucky, he could convince his friends that you happened to be way too sick to go to the party that night, and that, weirdly enough, you two broke up the very next day and you didn’t want to talk about it ever. Maybe he could go through all that in secret, use all his brain power to construct an elaborate, moviesque plan to get him out of the ditch he had dug himself and no one would ever know of his dirty lies. 
It was all for nothing, however — the depression stage materialized soon after, in the middle of his advanced calculus class, and Jungkook was practically imploding over the fact that he had managed to ruin everything between you two, and also between him and the rest of his team. That was it: not only would he lose his best friend (and perhaps the love of his life) but he would also lose trust and respect in the field. 
Acceptance only reached him when Jungkook was on his way to your place, and he came to terms with the idea that he was already in deep shit, so he should at least try and change that. He would ask you to pretend to be his girlfriend for a bit — even if he was positive you’d laugh until you were out of breath and never let him forget about it — under the possibility that perhaps, you’d say yes. 
Which, surprisingly, you did. 
Now, Jungkook wasn’t particularly emotional when it came to most things — even in the field, he managed to control that side of him well — but there was something intense bubbling up in his stomach as he made his way back to his dorm after the movie was over; a laugh that hung somewhere between maniacal and desperate that he couldn’t hold back. That could be bad, really bad. Especially considering that he didn’t have the slightest clue how he would hold himself back from just vomiting out a fervent love confession the second that you kissed him. 
Because that was supposed to happen, right? In a relationship, pretend one or not, people should kiss. He should act like your boyfriend, perhaps a fantasy that he had way too often, and still spare enough brain matter to remind himself that it was all fake. And that it was also all his fault. 
As established, Jungkook was the president of the company of putting himself in extremely uncomfortable situations. And, when the night of the party arrived, he decided to screw himself even further by lending you his team jacket. 
It was because it was cold, he tried to brainwash himself. It was because you were cold, because the night was cold, and not because he liked the view of you in it in the slightest. Or maybe because it was a bomb pumping his thorax full of pride and possessiveness; because it was making him believe, even for a second, that you two were part of a chimerical alternative universe in which you were together. Not at all. It was strictly business — the neighborly job of a worried best friend, at most. 
“Is this really necessary?” you spoke his doubts out loud, tugging at the sides of his large jacket. 
Jungkook managed to keep his cool, eyes darting around the peaceful streets. You two were close to the party, he could already listen to the repetitive beat echoing through the cool breeze, and every step he took amplified his anticipation by tenfold. “It speaks for itself,” he told you, his hand firm on your waist. You were wearing a sleeveless top and a skirt in the same color, and there was a stripe of exposed skin in between the two that Jungkook’s hand brushed against sometimes. He felt like he was a virgin again, hyper-aware of your body and completely unsure what to do with himself. “Besides, you look good wearing it.”
You rolled your eyes. “I look stupid.”
Jungkook glimpsed at you, a sleazy smile growing on his lips. “You look like my girlfriend.”
You snorted. “Oh, so I look super stupid,” you corrected, looking away. 
“Funny,” Jungkook answered, monotone. His smile melted away — there was no way in hell it was mutual, he thought, his friends were just fucking him over, trying to see him embarrass himself. “I hope you act better than you tell jokes.” 
“It’s probably as good as the effects in Birdemic,” you said. 
Jungkook shook his head — he had conflicting emotions when it came to that movie, considering that it was so awful that he laughed to the point of choking on his popcorn. You, being the empathic friend you were, brought up his near-death experience as often as you could. “At least that movie was funny, your poor acting will just be sad,” he threw back. 
“Thanks.” You giggled, making his heart leap inside his chest. Jungkook wanted to beat his head against the asphalt until that shy spirit of his middle school past left his body completely. “I’ll let you do the talking.” 
Jungkook nodded, allowing his gaze to navigate around the neighborhood — there were a handful of strangers in the streets with the two of you, but it was a shortcut to the frat house that not many people knew of. It brought along a peculiar sentiment of intimacy; the way your features were covered by the pale yellow of the light poles making him want to dive in and kiss you until he couldn’t even breathe. The realization that he could actually do that, under the excuse of a fake relationship, was one that almost knocked him out. 
“Just to be sure, by the way,” Jungkook started. “You’re okay with me, like, touching you like you were my girlfriend, right?”
You looked at him for a moment, measuring his expression. “Yeah, that’s part of it,” you told him. “I’m guessing you are okay with it as well?” 
“Fine by me.” Jungkook cleared his throat. The frat was literally just around the corner, buzzing into the night with a generic beat and the joyful yelps of hundreds of strangers. He usually enjoyed that cacophony of sounds, but, that time, it was like the screams from hell. “Just a couple hours, okay? Then you’re free.” 
“It’s fine,” you told him. “How bad can it be?” 
Short answer: bad. Long answer: bad, but with a twist. 
Jungkook looked around the party like he was a kid lost in the supermarket, his eyebrows furrowed as he searched for his teammates (which that whole spectacle was supposed to be for). You felt like a piece of a puzzle thrown in the wrong box, leaning against his toned body as he tried to think of what to do. 
“So…” You cleared your throat, trying to make yourself heard through the loud beating of the song. Jungkook followed your voice, leaning in closer. Maybe your heart skipped at that, but no one had to know. “What’s the plan, captain?”
Jungkook clicked his tongue. You two were leaning against one of the walls of the large living room, in a somewhat calm corner of the party. “I don’t know, I’m not feeling like being interrogated right now,” he said. “I think it’s better if we wait for the guys to get a bit more drunk so they don't think too much about it.” He sighed, looking around for a bit longer. “We could stay here for a while, just sit down and talk. What do you think?”
“Sounds good.” You breathed out. “I’m taking any chance to rest my feet at this point.” 
The ancient gods of the frat parties seemed to be on your side, because it didn’t take much longer than a couple minutes to find a sofa that 1) was unoccupied and 2) didn’t look like it had any suspicious fluids on it. You settled by Jungkook’s side, a breath of relief escaping your chest as you felt the pressure on your calves subside considerably — all you wanted was to go back in time and kill whoever thought high heels were a good idea. 
However, you relaxed way too early. 
You had to hold back a surprised gasp when Jungkook abruptly tugged your legs onto his lap, one hand finding the curvature of your waist instantly. 
“This feels... intimate,” your voice sounded stiff when you spoke up, pushing your skirt down. 
“Yeah, that’s the point.” His eyes roamed around the room for exactly two seconds before they widened just slightly, then snapped back at you. “Okay, two things.” Jungkook placed one arm on the couch behind you, murmuring as he leaned in. He had that scheming expression on his face that had been plaguing you ever since middle school, when he first discovered pranks, and you didn’t think that was a good sign. “First: Yoongi, Jin and Namjoon are here, and they’re looking— shh, don’t look! Dumbass.” 
“Sorry. You’re the dumbass,” you said. It was hard not to look when you felt as if you were under a microscope, watched closely by his meat-headed friends. Still, you tried to keep your composure. “And the second?” 
He exhaled, the hand that was on your waist traveling to touch your cheek. You wondered if he could feel how hot your skin had become. “It’s kind of the time that you have to commit to being my fake girlfriend,” Jungkook warned, stare oscillating towards your mouth. “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?” 
Suddenly, you felt like you were right back in high school, about to have your first kiss and not having a single clue about how to do it. “O-Okay,” you whispered. 
Jungkook didn’t waste any time. Before you could think about something to try and break the ice, his mouth was on yours, silencing you and turning your thoughts into white noise. He kissed you softly, much slower than you had expected, giving you time to adapt to the tender movement of his lips caressing yours. 
You sighed, gradually remembering how to move your limbs. Your hands rested on his broad shoulders as he leaned his head to the side, opening his mouth just slightly and deepening the kiss. No matter how many times you had fantasized about that moment, it could never compare to the way his tongue slipped inside your mouth, nor the small grunt he let out against your lips. Kissing Jungkook felt like heaven and you had completely forgotten about your fake dating situation until he decided to pull back just a bit. 
“Fuck, you’re a good kisser,” he mumbled, nose bumping against yours. 
You let out a breathy laugh. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
“I’m not surprised.” His hand slithered down to your hips, his warm palm sending shockwaves through your body. You felt like you were in danger from the way he was speaking, his body moving closer to yours. “I knew you would be.” 
Jungkook didn’t even give you time to process his words before he was kissing you again — sloppier, hungrier this time. Again and again, he chose to throw gasoline into the flame of your desire, and what could you do but to melt under his touches, to kiss him just as eagerly. 
Faithlessly, you were trying to convince yourself that it was all an act, that he was just playing it up because he knew his friends were watching. But his hand just felt so firm on your hips, pulling you closer as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, fingers digging into the soft sea of his hair. It seemed so real when he moaned softly against your mouth, biting on your lower lip before tracing kisses down your jaw, towards your neck. 
Or maybe you were just so deep inside your own illusions that you didn’t want to believe that it was all for show. 
Your eyes parted just slightly, trying to find his friends amongst the crowd of strangers. It was extremely hard to think when Jungkook was sucking and licking his way down your neck, his hand squeezing your thighs. Apparently they were nowhere in sight, though, for those obviously bright orange jackets had left your field of vision. 
“Jungkook,” you called, surprised at how firm your voice came out. The boy only hummed against your flesh, not paying much attention to what you were saying. “I think they already left.” 
Still, it didn’t seem like he was willing to stop. Jungkook mumbled against your neck, his voice so low that you almost didn’t catch his words past the loud music. “Yeah, but someone else can be watching.” 
You didn’t know who, though, and you didn’t really care. You were more worried about the small bites he was placing on your skin, the soft sucking of his mouth that left you pressing your legs together, begging for relief. “Um, okay, but there’s a minor emergency,” you told him. 
That managed to get his attention, for the boy pulled back so he could look at you. “What is it?” He asked, worried. 
You shifted around on the couch, your legs still thrown over his lap. You noticed something hard poking against your skin, which gave you enough momentum to admit out loud that, “I’m, like, soaking wet right now,” you said. “My neck is super sensitive and I’m really trying to hold back here.” 
Jungkook froze, blinking a few times and your words settled in his mind. He would never understand how you could be so shy in one second, and then just throw that bomb on his lap like it wouldn’t make his dick rock hard in record time. “Fuck, how can you just say that so naturally?” He cursed. 
“Sorry.” You bit your lip. Jungkook had to fight the urge to kiss you again. “I’m just being honest.” 
How ironic was it that, while Jungkook lied his way through life, you had no problem throwing those random truths right at his face? The opposites do attract, after all. 
He cleared his throat, unsure if he should pull away or not. “Want me to stop?” 
“I don’t know,” you admitted, “I think this is getting weird.” 
Maybe it would be the perfect time for the world to just open up and eat him whole, considering that Jungkook had never felt so embarrassed in his life. “Weird how?” He asked. 
“Weird like… weird.” Self-expression under moments of extreme sexual pressure really wasn’t your forte. You broke eye contact, flustered, instead choosing to look at the cluttered coffee table by your side. Jungkook’s hand was still on your body and you liked his touch far too much for your own well-being. “Maybe it would be better if we just went home.” 
“Right now?” Jungkook whined. Sometimes he still acted like the kid you knew, all puffy cheeks and demands for attention; for things to happen the way he wanted. You, being the simp that you were, were his number one enabler. “One more hour, please? We’ve been here for so little time, I just wanna cover all my bases.” 
His pouty lips and needy voice was a Molotov cocktail thrown directly in your heart. “Fine.” You puffed out. 
“Thank you!” Jungkook beamed, leaning in to place a kiss on your lips. The action was so automatic, so unthought, that neither of you reacted to it for a second. “Um… why do you say we try the backyard? Jimin said he’d try some new barbecue technique or whatever, so maybe they’re outside.” 
“And after that we leave?” You asked. He nodded. “And you do the talking?” 
“I’ll try my best,” Jungkook agreed.
You sighed. “Okay. I need some fresh air anyways.” 
Back in middle school, you had a very eccentric world history teacher. You clearly remember one afternoon that she simply walked in and asked the class what was the worst type of torturing they could ever imagine a human could endure — which ended up being a great opening line to a very interesting class about the medieval times and the ways of the inquisition, but also something that plagued you for a long time. That night, when you returned home, you dove into the rabbit hole about the topic and (much to the horror of your parents) discovered a thing or two about torture methods. 
The key point, it seemed, wasn’t even about the actual physical act, but about the horrendous expectation that came from it. Psychological torture could break a person apart before someone even laid a finger on them. You knew that already, but you had never truly witnessed it until that night. 
“Well, guess I have to take back what I said,” Hoseok started, his speech slightly slurred by the alcohol. Jungkook was right, they were a lot less intense after a few drinks, and apparently weren’t questioning a lot either. “I didn’t think you two would ever end up together after so many years of bullshit, but here we are.”
“Cheers to that, brother,” Jimin barged in, raising his cup. 
Jungkook chuckled behind you. “You guys have no fucking faith in me.” 
As a typical former theater kid, you were naturally dramatic. But you weren’t kidding when you said that pretending to be Jungkook’s girlfriend might be a newfound method of psychological torture — especially when he made you sit on his lap, his head resting on your shoulder and strong arms wrapped tightly around you. It was because there were no more chairs left in the backyard, and he wanted to play the gentleman/possessive boyfriend and didn’t allow you to stand up. But justificatives were fruitless when you could feel him getting harder by the minute. 
“It’s not about faith, you just fucked me up,” Taehyung said. He was the least inebriated one out of the group, but that didn’t mean much. “I owe Yoongi like fifty bucks now, thanks, man.” 
Jungkook was probably going to say something equally ludicrous in return, but your  curiosity made you act quicker. “Why?” You asked. 
Taehyung clicked his tongue, leaning back against his chair — it was the type that folded in half, and you were thinking he would flip over any second now if he continued with those harsh movements. “Ah. No biggie. He was one of the few people who believed your boyfriend here when he said you two were together.” 
You giggled, trying to keep yourself composed. Unlike Jungkook, you were not very skilled when it came to making up lies at the spot, so you ended up deflecting a little. “Yeah, it was a bit… sudden. So I understand the surprise.” 
Hoseok yawned, throwing his head back. “Nah, not really a surprise.”
You blinked. “What do you mean?”
Jungkook narrowed his eyes, shifting a little behind you. You felt him tense up, which probably wasn’t a good sign. “Yeah, what do you mean?” He echoed. 
“I mean… that it wasn’t a surprise,” Hoseok repeated, raising his eyebrows in a quiet mockery, as if you had just questioned the color of the sky. “Yoongi was sure Jungkook had finally gotten the balls to confess to you. I, myself, didn’t think it was that likely.” 
Wait, what? Suddenly you felt like you were the one being lied to, and all of them were in it together, building this huge prank around that story just to humiliate you. There was no way Hoseok was serious about that, not when the booze was probably melting his brain. 
Before you could continue to think about that, however, Jungkook spoke up. “Man, you guys suck.” He laughed. “I told you I’d do it someday and you never believed it.” 
Ah. That was it. Jungkook had lied about it just like he had done countless times in the past. 
You deflated a little, a sting of pain inside your chest as the conversation continued to unravel around you. Right then and there, you felt like the stupidest person alive, with no right to complain about the consequences you knew would come from that idea. Even if you had almost convinced yourself otherwise, what probably happened was that Jungkook got cornered some time in the past about some other girl, and ended up telling his friends that he liked you instead, just to get out of that situation. Like some of his lies, it snowballed, and it took you to where you two were now. 
It was hard not to feel hurt, even if you still believed you were a bit at fault for agreeing to his moronic plan. You knew you’d end up like this, suffering over someone who didn’t see you the same way, and you still fell headfirst into that trap. Maybe you were the bad guy in that situation, maybe you were the creepy one for taking advantage of his situation just to feel his body against yours, just to kiss him and pretend that it was all true. Maybe you had no room to judge. 
If you concentrated really hard, you could probably pinpoint the exact moment in which you realized that you were head over heels for your best friend. It wasn’t as glamorous as you’d like, just a dirty thought catalyzed by your teen hormones that unleashed an avalanche — it had happened back in the dark, desolate lands of high school, when you were cheering for Jungkook during one of his games. It was an important one, from what you could remember, his brain buzzing with the tension of his senior year and the promise of a fantastic victory. As always, you were there for him: front row, face painted with the colors of your high school, and cheering him on. 
He smiled at you, like he always did, but there was something odd about it. Like a lightning crossing the sky, one simple (yet fatal) intrusive thought popped up inside your head: he’s hot. 
It was all downhill from there. As much as you tried to wave those ideas away, they kept growing and multiplying, finding new ways to justify themselves — not only was Jungkook hot, suddenly, but you also realized that he would be an amazing boyfriend. He was sweet, kind, funny, determined, a bit ditzy sometimes but nothing you couldn’t deal with. He heard you complain about your problems when needed, but also felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with you. There were so many shared interests between you two that you were positive that you could talk forever and never run out of topics to discuss. Jungkook was a walking minefield and you just stepped right on it. 
And there you were, stumbling your way down into hell as your lives progressed, and Jungkook got into the same college as you. As predicted, he quickly grew to be the campus’ new star player: a great attacking midfielder, with the number 10 plastered on his shirt and a heart-stopping smile on his face. How on earth could you fight that temptation? It was like a re-enactment of Eve and the snake in the garden of eden. Only the snake had amazing thunder thighs that looked even better with his team’s shorts. 
You always asked yourself if Jungkook knew what he was doing when he used his shirt to dry the sweat on his forehead, leaving his glistening abs in full display; or maybe when he hugged and swirled you around after they won a game. Part of you wanted to believe that he liked you back, even if you couldn’t really see it. Most of you believed that he was just his personality and nothing else. 
“Hey,” he breathed out, voice husky against your ear. You thanked his oversized jacket for concealing the goosebumps on your arms. “You good?” 
Just on the brink of a meltdown, no biggie. “Yeah, I’m okay.” 
He hummed, nuzzling his face against your neck. “Just a little bit longer, alright?” He placed a tiny kiss there, but it was powerful enough to make you whimper quietly. No one seemed to notice, but you didn’t know why Jungkook did that when you had just told him that your neck was sensitive. “They seem convinced.” 
Maybe “they” should have you included as well, because you had to actively remind yourself that you two were just acting, that he didn’t see you that way. Nevermind the pool of wetness between your legs, nevermind the way your body was on edge with his strong arms pulling you closer; his chiseled abs pressed tightly against your back. Nevermind Jungkook’s sweet smell or the gentle touches of his lips against your skin. It was all fake, dollar store material. It was just a matter of time before your ride became a pumpkin and the dream was over. 
At the same time, you could tell that Jungkook was being affected as well — you could feel the outline of his hard cock poking against your ass when you pressed down on his lap; noticed the tense movements of his arms as they held onto your body. And when Jungkook spoke, with his head placed on your shoulder and a solemn expression on his face, you could tell that he got just a bit choked up every time you shifted around, brushing your ass against his erection. 
The human brain is amazing when it comes to searching for any reason to prove our own theories, however, and that was why you weren’t taking any of those signs seriously — cognitive bias was a thing, and you weren’t falling for its tricks. If there are people out there that believe that the earth is flat, even with a ridiculous amount of evidence against it, you couldn’t trust yourself in believing that you had enough proof to think that Jungkook was interested in you. Maybe your argument was equivalent to “well, I can’t see gravity so it doesn’t exist”, and you didn’t even know it.
So you decided to take it easy, to aim towards the side of caution, as the night progressed into the deeper levels of Dante’s Inferno. By the time that Jungkook decided that you two had accomplished your goal and it was time to get you home, you almost cried in relief. 
You two drove in almost complete silence, only sparsely commenting on a few occurrences of the night. There was a thick blanket of tension hanging between the two of you, a bitter taste in the back of your throat that you couldn’t ignore. It had been a fun night, yeah, but it was done with. Time to burst that bubble and crash back into reality. 
Thankfully or not, depending where you stood, Jungkook didn’t seem to be as worried about those details. He was ridiculously cheerful, beyond proud of his skills, and a little over the moon about the fact that he had been with you the entire night, acting out things he never thought would come true.
“There you go, all done,“ he exclaimed, victorious, the second you two walked into your apartment. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?” 
You scoffed, leaning against the wall so you could remove your shoes. “It wasn’t good either,” you said, monotone. You were physically, emotionally and psychologically exhausted, and you seriously didn’t want to look at his annoyingly pretty face for another second. “Have fun telling them about our instantaneous breakup.” 
At that, Jungkook visibly tensed up. “Ha. Yeah…”
You sighed, beyond pissed off (and heartbroken) at that point. You weren’t Jungkook, weren’t built to lie your way through life, to pretend as if the feelings inside your chest were not your own. “By the way — fuck, I hate high heels,” you complained, throwing your shoes on the floor with a bit more force than necessary. Jungkook flinched a little, distracted. “By the way, what did Hoseok mean by that?”
He blinked, swallowing dry. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck — think of something. “By what?”
You raised one eyebrow. “Saying that you’d never have the guts to confess or whatever.” 
The worst part was that Jungkook could see in your downcast eyes that you had no idea what you were asking him. You seriously couldn’t tell that he had feelings for you — or, if you did, you simply couldn’t believe it. Or maybe you just despised him on a level in which a crush would be preposterous to even consider. “Ah.” He clicked his tongue. Think, you dumbass! Come up with something! “That.” 
You were getting a little choked up now. There was no way you couldn’t notice the trademarked signals of Jungkook buying himself some time, trying to come up with something inside that evil head of his. Maybe you had been right thinking that he had mentioned your name randomly one day, just to save his ass, and now he was dealing with the backlash of his actions. “Yeah, what was it about?” You pressed on. 
Jungkook chuckled, nervous. “Man… I was really hoping you’d forget that.” 
You took a step closer to him, anticipating what was to come. If he was going to hurt you, you wished he would just do it quickly, without dragging it out so much. “Just tell me, Jungkook.” 
And he was trying. Kind of. Jungkook was looking at you like his brain was frying, the Widow’s blue screen reflecting off his widened eyes. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, stare falling to the floor. “I can’t lie to you about that.”
You scoffed, venom running up your throat. That was priceless. “You tell white lies almost every day, why is this so different?” 
“Because it’s not a white lie.” 
You furrowed your eyebrows and narrowed your eyes, taking another step towards him. “Why are you thinking about lying to me, in the first place?” You asked. “Even if… even if it will hurt me. I deserve to know.” 
“Uhh…” he hesitated, rubbing the back of his head. “Because the truth kind of sucks and it can fuck everything up. And I don’t wanna do that.” 
Apparently you were right about your previous theory, then. Jungkook didn’t see you the same way, after all. And that was fine (it wasn’t), but he couldn’t even grow a pair and tell you straight on. “So you would rather avoid it?” You didn’t relent, motivated by your frustration, your hurt, that sickly feeling of betrayal — everything at once. “That has been kind of a running theme with you, hasn’t it?” You stared at him, but Jungkook could only avert his eyes from your burning gaze, instead looking at his feet. “Fine. Don’t tell me if you don’t want to, but quit dragging me into these bullshit lies of yours. I’m tired.”
“No one has ever cancelled a date with me,” he blurted out.
You hesitated, blinking a few times as you digested his words. “What?”
He breathed out. “No one has ever cancelled a date with me. It was all me,” Jungkook confessed. “I lied to you about that because I wanted to spend more time with you. And I didn’t care about anyone else.”
“Wh—“
Overwhelmed by a random wave of courage, his gaze snapped up at you. “I like when you watch my practice and bring me stuff, and I like when you invite me to those dumb movie marathons and make me watch the most disgusting shit,” Jungkook continued, his words falling incoherently from his mouth. You could only stare, flabbergasted, as he spilled months — years — of secrets all at once. “And I like watching you study, and I love seeing you laugh, I love spending time with you, and Hoseok is fucking tired of hearing me talk about it and do nothing.”
“I... don’t understand what you’re saying,” you told him. 
“I told the guys that we were dating because you were literally the only person that popped in my mind, and the only person I actually wanted to be with,” he just went on, not paying attention to your previous comment. Jungkook was a little on edge now, a bit breathless and wide-eyed. He’s nervous, you realized. It had been a long time since you saw him like that. “And this was the best night I’ve had in a while, just because you were there and I— I’m fucking everything up, I told you I would.”
“Jungkook,” you called softly, feeling as if every inhale was an olympic sport. Your heart was beating so fast inside your chest that you were afraid of having a syncope before you could hear the words you needed so badly. “Just tell me what you want to say.” 
He cleared his throat, shifting the weight from one leg to the other. “I’m like… how do I put this…?” Jungkook paused, took a deep breath, and dropped the bomb. “I’ve been kind of in love with you ever since we were like eight, yeah.” 
Record scratch. Freeze frame. “You what?” 
Jungkook chuckled. “Yep… awkward,” he said. “Sorry.” 
It hasn’t settled in just yet, which explained why you didn’t start screaming at him. “And you have the guts to tell me that I drop things naturally?” You asked. “Are you serious? You better not be fucking with me right now.”
He raised one hand and placed it on his chest. “I’m not, promise.” 
And then it hit you like a ton of bricks. “Jeon Jungkook!” You screeched, both hands flying to hold onto his shirt, rocking him back and forth with the strength of a thousand men. “I’m gonna make you swallow my fist!”
Jungkook was dumbfounded, ten times more confused than when you tried to explain to him the plot of the Velocipastor — which really wasn’t that hard, it was just a pastor who was also a dinosaur shifter. But his brain wasn’t good at following those types of unpredictable plots, and that counted your burst of anger. “That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting at all,” he murmured, voice flat with disbelief. 
But it was your turn to ramble incoherently. “You’re an idiot! You’re even worse than I thought!” You were still speaking loudly, letting all that frustration wash out of you, giving place to relief. “You made me go through all this fucking night, kissing you and pretending to be your girlfriend, while you actually like me? You prick!” 
You punched his chest — his stupid, muscular, rock-hard chest. “Ouch!” He whined, but you doubted it actually hurt. 
“I was almost crying because of how hard it was to suppress my own feelings for you,” you told him, pulling on his shirt once again. You wanted to take it off, wanted to kiss him until he was all that you could think about. But you also wanted to dropkick him straight to the deepest circle of hell. “And you like me back? Idiot!” 
“Wait, wait, what?” Jungkook’s eyebrows shot up, a perfect picture of his surprise. “For real?”
“For real.” Your shoulders slumped, the anger that possessed your body left you as quickly as it had arrived. “I’m in love with you too, you smooth-brained asshole. Ever since high school.” 
He blinked, dumbfounded. “I had no idea.” 
“Didn’t I tell you that speaking the truth is always the better option? You never listen.” You tugged on his shirt one more time, for dramatic effect. “Dumbass.” 
“You’re the dumbass. And no, I don’t think I do,” his voice was flat, mind navigating miles away from your place. “___?”
“What?” You barked. 
“How mad are you?” 
You groaned. “Pretty mad, why?”
It was his turn to take a step towards you, the heat that emanated off his body now surrounding you. “Because I’m gonna kiss you right now and I’d greatly appreciate it if you didn’t bite my face off.”
You sighed, relaxing against his torso. Jungkook’s hands came up to rest on your waist, guiding you closer to him. “I’ll try my best,” you told him, “go ahead.” 
Maybe all those foolish love songs and melodramatic romantic poets were onto something, because you swore you saw fireworks when Jungkook finally moved in, crashing his lips on yours. Yes, you had kissed him already that night, but there was no way those two situations could be comparable, not when you felt much lighter now that the secret was out, and that you knew what he felt when he pulled you closer, when he sighed against your mouth and caressed your lower back. 
Long years of friendship granted you the knowledge that Jungkook was tender with some things, rough with others — he was gentle with kids, with his other friends, with you; he was hard around the edges when it came to his matches (being especially fiery around championships), people he didn’t like, and goals he wanted to reach. As he kissed you, you could notice him trying to figure out which approach to take with you: his lips were soft on yours, tongue slowly exploring your mouth, but his hands were harsh, groping your ass as he pushed you up against the nearest wall, a growl vibrating inside his chest. 
Maybe it was a bit evil to push his buttons when you knew he was so dangerously close to snapping, but you weren’t in the right frame of mind — or, rather, you weren’t in any frame of mind at all. So, knowing very well that Jungkook was the most competitive person you knew, you pulled away from the kiss to say, “Come on, why don’t you kiss me like you mean it?” 
Which might have been the dumbest final words you could’ve uttered. 
You were graced with just a couple seconds of hesitation from his part — frustration and desire flashing inside his hooded eyes — before he was crashing his mouth onto yours once again. Jungkook didn’t say anything, because he didn’t need to: the messy, sensual kiss he gave you was more than enough to make you shut up. Just according to the keikaku, of course. 
His hands were in the back of your tights before you could think, pulling you up and pinning you against the wall. You moaned against his lips, a shaky exhale leaving your mouth when he rolled his center against yours — cock hard and heavy inside his pants, brushing against your covered heat. Jungkook did it two, three, four times, slowly grinding against you like he couldn’t hold himself back any further, groaning at the feeling. 
When he pulled away, you were almost seeing entire constellations forming in your vision, your breath labored and mind dizzy with desire. “Fuck,” he cursed, resting his forehead on yours. “Want you so fucking bad.” 
“Want you too,” you told him. “Bedroom?” 
He pulled back so he could look at you better. “Sure?” 
You nodded. “Sure.” Leaning in, you placed a timid kiss on his lips. “Want you to fuck me, Jungkook.” 
After all those years, that was all that he needed to hear. He was quick to pull you away from the wall, hands holding your body up and your legs wrapped around his waist. Jungkook knew your apartment like the back of his hand, but he still kept his eyes open as he walked towards your bedroom, your lips mindlessly attacking his thick neck. You had dreamed about doing that so many times and you could say with confidence that you weren’t disappointed by the shuddering breaths he let out, or the small grunts he gifted you every time you sucked his skin just right. By the time that Jungkook placed you on your bed, crawling over you, you were so wet that it was almost embarrassing. 
He looked at you like he was hypnotized, his hands roaming up your legs, slowly spreading them so he could place himself in between. With the action, your skirt rolled up, exposing your underwear. “Shit, I thought about doing this so many times,” Jungkook murmured, almost as if he was talking to himself. “I can’t believe it’s real.” 
“You’re so sappy.” You giggled, but you couldn’t deny that his low voice was getting to you. You shivered when his palms met the exposed skin of your waist, pausing in the space between your skirt and your sleeveless top. Jungkook was deep in thought, his gaze flickering all over your body. “What is it?” You asked. 
“You look so fucking hot in this.” He pulled on the large piece of clothing, his tongue coming out to lick his lips. “Wanna fuck you with the jacket on. Just the jacket.” 
You almost choked on your saliva — well that was something you weren’t expecting at all. “Seriously?” You raised one eyebrow, teasing him. “You have that much of a hard-on for sports?” 
Jungkook didn’t seem to be in the mood for jokes, though, because he gave you a serious answer. “No, I have that much of a hard-on for you.” He dipped in so he could nestle his face on the curve of your neck, humming as he inhaled your scent. Once again, you were faced with the contrast of his soft lips against your skin, but the rough tug of his hands on your skirt. “Wanna fuck my girl with only my jacket on, what’s so wrong about that?” 
You whimpered when he licked on your sensitive spot, trying to push your legs together, but being stopped by his presence between them. Jungkook successfully pulled your skirt out of you, throwing it somewhere on the floor. “Since when are you this possessive?” You asked. 
He moved back, hands progressing to your tube top and sliding it down. It seemed as if the world had conspired in his favor, because it was just so easy to leave you only with his team clothes on, the elastic material leaving your body quick enough. “I’m not possessive,” he responded, only half there. His brain was trying to understand the vision of you before his eyes, only with your panties and his jacket. Jungkook could feel his cock throbbing inside his pants, begging for relief, and he just knew that sight would plague him forever. “Wanna make sure that you know you’re mine, though. I’ve thought about this for too long.” 
As you fumbled for something to say, he dove back in, his mouth attacking your breasts with no time. Your back arched, fingers tangling in his messy hair as he sucked and licked your nipples, his strong hands squeezing your tits every time you moaned out. It was almost humiliating how reactive you were, with your shallow breaths and broken calls of his name, but Jungkook was fucking loving it, and he just wanted more of it. 
You melted under his touches as he pulled himself closer to you, his mouth tracing its way back to your clavicles, then your neck. Much to your dismay, his hands were still on your breasts, playing with your erect nipples as he finally found that one spot that made you yelp. 
“W-Wait,” you stammered, “my neck is sensitive.”
Jungkook knew that already. In fact, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since you mentioned it back at the party; his cock stiff inside his pants at the memory alone. “I noticed,” he groaned, the vibrations of his voice spreading throughout your skin. One of his hands slithered between your bodies, hastily pulling your underwear to the side so his fingers could plunge between your folds. At the sensation of your arousal, Jungkook growled, pressing his erection against your thigh. “Holy fuck. You’re soaked.”
“I told you,” you said, feeling like your brain was about to melt and drip out of your ears. It was hard to concentrate when he was making out with your neck like that, sucking and biting the skin before liking the same spot he had just attacked. Still, the sudden plunging of his finger inside your pussy caught your attention in an instant. “J-Jungkook, I’m—” 
How shameful was it that you couldn’t even finish a damn sentence? Lust was getting the best of you, pushing your rationalizations aside and filling your lungs with desire. Jungkook soon added a second finger inside you, stretching you wide as he continued to fuck you. It was a fantastic sensation — his hand was much larger than yours, and you were sure you’d be able to cum like that if it kept it up for long enough. 
Jungkook moaned against your neck, pulling his head back so he could take a look at you. His cock throbbed at the sight of your dazed-out face, your parted lips looking so dangerously inviting to him, “Tell me what you want,” he asked, diving in to kiss you. He sucked on your tongue, making you whine as he pulled back. “I’ll give you whatever you want.” 
“Want you,” you said, nails digging into his shoulder blades. 
Jungkook liked the sharp pain that came from it, raising the speed of his fingers just a bit. “I’m right here.”
“No,” you whimpered, blinking back the tears of frustration that covered your irises. God, Jungkook couldn’t even believe you were all his. “Want your cock inside me, please.” 
Listening to you saying that was like experiencing a choir of angels singing directly to him. Jungkook had waited far too long to get you alone like that, so beautiful and pliant beneath him, and there was no way in hell he would deny you your request. 
So he got moving, his hand flying to the back of his shirt, which he tugged off with one swift motion. Your eyes fell to his toned chest, roaming his sweaty skin as he moved onto his belt. “Take those off.” He signaled with his head towards your panties. 
You nodded, sliding your underwear down and throwing it to the side. Even with his jacket still on — which, you admitted, it was both objectively and subjectively hot — you felt extremely exposed, thighs closing just slightly when Jungkook took his pants and boxers off. 
“Keep them open,” he warned, his stare stuck to your glistening folds, and you did. His face was one of sheer lust, tongue coming out to wet his lips as he placed himself back in place. “Wanna see you cum on my fingers,” he breathed, “but I’m too hard. Need to be inside you right now.” 
Your attention flickered downwards, pulled by the small collision of his cock against your clit. You winced at the feeling, but one of his large hands kept you in place as he moved closer to your heat. The constant drumming of your pulse was all that you could hear for a second, heart skipping a beat when you fully noticed his size. 
Would it be weird to say that Jungkook had a pretty dick? Because he did. And a big one too, which made you second guess your own limits for a moment. 
As if he was reading your mind, his cockhead pressed against your pussy, so warm and wet that Jungkook swore he was about to lose his mind — or what was left of it. There was nothing more that he wanted then to nestle himself in your heat, bury himself deep inside you until you were the only thing he could think about. “Shit, look at you,” he murmured, brushing his tip against your entrance. Your figure twitched under him, a soft gasp leaving your mouth at the feeling. “Bet I could slide right in.” 
He was hypnotized by the squelching sounds of your pussy, the way your opening fluttered around his crown as he slowly started to press himself into you. He wanted to do it slowly so he could pay attention to every detail of you, every small exclamation of pleasure that dripped like honey from your lips. 
The world around you two was getting smaller and hotter by the minute, suffocating you and pulling the air out of your lungs. Your eyelashes fluttered as Jungkook’s cock slid inside you, just the tip at first, your back arching as your walls clenched around him, almost as if your body was rejecting his size. “You’re so big,” you whined, burry eyes fighting to focus on his face. 
Jungkook, however, wasn’t looking at you, but at the way his member sank between your folds, diving into your wet heat. “Yeah?” He breathed out, jaw clenching. It was taking everything inside him not to start pounding into you. “I’m sure you can take it, don’t you think?” 
You nodded, and it took a moment for your words to catch up to you. “Y-Yes,” you said. 
Jungkook was more than halfway inside you now, and his mind was more than halfway gone, thrown out of the window and into the gelid nocturnal winds. The way you were wrapping around him should be illegal; you were so perfect that jungkook was sure he could never find a drug that would get him so high. “That’s it, be greedy for me,” he groaned, “take everything.” 
He went as deep as he could, his cock almost brushing against your cervix and your cunt throbbing against him. Maybe he had died and was in paradise, because there was no way he could be feeling so good. 
“Move, please,” you asked meekly. 
Lucky you, he was more than happy to comply. 
Jungkook tilted his hips back, until just his tip was still inside you, only to bottom out again, feeling as your cunt throbbed around him. He did this with unbearable patience at first, allowing your body to get accustomed to his cock splitting you open before he started to pick up the pace. Most of his self control had already burned out, though, at it wasn’t long before he was fucking you fast, rough; groaning at the way your tits jumped every time he shived his length back inside you. 
Once again, he felt like a virgin — you were too much, it seemed. Everything about you got him searching for the stars, wishing for more and moaning out every time your cunt squeezed around him. You were so fucking wet, he thought, so tight and warm, that he wasn’t even thinking about cumming, just about how wished to keep fucking you forever. At the same time, Jungkook was sure that he wouldn’t last long, not when you were looking at him like that, calling his name again and again until it silenced all his thoughts. 
Your breath hitched when his cock brushed against your sensitive spot. “Right there, right there,” you sobbed, nails scratching the skin of his arms. Jungkook caught onto your request straight away, keeping the same angle until you were a babbling mess under him. “Oh m-my god, yeah,” you cried out. “S-So good.”
“Fuck, that’s tight,” Jungkook cursed, his hands digging into your thighs, shoving them up for him so he could reach deeper, fuck you harder. He couldn’t stop moaning, gasping, producing the most beautiful sounds for you. “S-Shit, you’re just pulling my cock in. Your pussy feels amazing.” If given enough time, he could go crazy staring at the way in which his cock disappeared between your folds, only to come back dripping with your arousal, and then slamming back in. “You’re just so fucking hot,” he couldn’t help but say it out loud. “Play with your tits for me.” 
You didn’t have the guts to deny him, your hands palming your tits, squeezing the soft flesh. You whimpered at the feeling, eyes closing in bliss as he continued to fuck you. 
“That’s it, so good for me,” Jungkook praised, hips losing their rhythm for a second. His cock was already throbbing, orgasm threatening to hit him any time now. He needed you to cum first, though. “Your pussy too. Come on.” 
That time, you hesitated a little, a broken sob falling from your lips as you found his gaze. However, you couldn’t deny it — you wanted to be good for him, to get his praises again and again until that was all that you could hear. So you followed his command, two fingers, sinking into your wetness before trailing back to your clit. 
A rush of pleasure ran through your veins, pussy clenching around his cock as your moments grew desperate, needy for more. You were bordering on delirious by that point, your mind unable to focus on one thing, instead jumping between all the stimulation you were getting — your hand squeezing your breast; your fingers rubbing your clit; Jungkook’s cock drilling inside you. “T-Too much,” you cried. 
God, but that’s exactly what he wanted. Jungkook wanted to see that pretty, overwhelmed face of yours, wanted to show you that every minute of waiting had been worth it. “Yeah? But you can take it for me, can’t you?” He moaned under his breath, starting to get lost in his own pleasure. You were getting tighter by the second, which was a dangerous thing. “You can cream my cock if I ask you to, right?”
“Y-yeah,” you stammered. “I’ll do anything f-for you.” 
Jungkook sighed at your words, cock throbbing inside you. “Good girl, just like that,” he husked. “Such a good girl.” 
Tears started to prickle your eyes, and you didn’t know if it was because of how overwhelmed you were, or because your emotions were just now starting to tip over. “J-Jungkook,” you called his name, for a moment not knowing if you would follow it up with something else. His eyes found your own, dazed ones, and his heart skipped a beat at how beautiful and his you looked at that moment. “Love y-you.” 
Years of fantasizing about that confession could’ve never prepared the two of you for such an honest, unexpected moment. Jungkook felt his soul reach levels of happiness which he had never experienced before, mouth only able to say one thing in return. “Love you too.” He pressed his forehead against yours, movements becoming more sloppy, desperate. The new angle was an amazing discovery, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you, which tore a loud cry from you. “Holy shit,” he moaned. “You’re getting so fucking t-tight around my cock.” 
“Close,” you breathed out, letting go of his previous requests and just taking your hands to his face instead. Jungkook stared at you like he could see the entire universe in your eyes, his hot breaths hitting your face in gentle waves. “K-Kiss me, please.” 
There was no need to repeat yourself. Jungkook crashed his mouth against yours, trapping you in a kiss that felt both like too much and too little at the same. You barely had any time to dive into the caress of his lips on yours before your high washed over you — walls spasming around his length as you dove into bliss; moaning into the kiss and holding to his broad shoulders. 
He broke the kiss right after, a stuttering, failed breath leaving his chest. “L-Love you,” he choked out, “so much.” Jungkook gasped. He was so close, but, at the same time, he didn’t want to let go just yet. It felt too good — having you was too perfect. “Can’t b-believe you’re mine.” 
You smiled at his state, one hand brushing the sweaty hair away from his forehead. “Love you too,” you said back. You could say it again and again, without ever getting tired. After so many years swallowing it down, nothing felt so free. “It’s okay, you can let go.” 
Jungkook nodded, only mildly aware of his own actions. With all the force within him, he pushed himself away from you, pulling out from your heat. Soon, his hand wrapped around his cock, using your arousal to pump himself towards his much-needed release. “Shit,” he choked up, throwing his head back. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna—” 
Jungkook grunted as he finally reached his high; cock throbbing in his hands. His cum splattered all over your belly, a few white ropes hitting the underside of your tits as well; dripping down to your mound and pelvis as his movements started to slow down. Even then, so fucked-out and overwhelmed, Jungkook looked like a god you’d be more than happy to worship. 
“Fuck,” he heaved, hooded eyes trailing over your form. By some miracle, probably the work of some mysterious sports god, his jacket remained untouched. “That looks so hot.” 
You smiled, taking a glimpse at your body. “And messy.” 
He let out a breathy, tired laugh. “Yeah. Gonna clean you up, just give me a second. I almost blacked out here.” 
Playfully, you kicked the side of his thigh. “You better,” you told him. “And don’t be so melodramatic.” 
“Rude.” He leaned in, placing a kiss on your lips. You still felt like you were dreaming, trapped in an alternate reality. If that was the case, you didn’t want to wake up. “Next time I’ll cum in your mouth so you’ll learn some manners.” 
Next time. Those words fell like a stone inside your stomach. It was pretty much impossible to mask your lovesick gaze now. “Yeah, bold of you to believe it’ll change a thing.” You pushed him off you, signaling towards the bathroom. “Go, be a good boy and go get me a towel.” 
Jungkook rolled his eyes, but did as you said, leaving the bed soon after. “I liked you better when you were pretending to be my fake girlfriend,” he spoke from the corridor. “You were more polite.”
“I was acting,” you said. “This is what you’re gonna get.” 
He laughed, appearing back in the room. “Ah, well, I guess I made my choice years ago.” 
That managed to shut you up real fast, heart hammering against your ribcage as Jungkook started cleaning you up. His movements were tender on your skin, feather-like touches that moved up your abdomen, to your breasts, then back between your legs. During all that, a familiar, comfortable silence fell between you two — one that you had grown used to; so empty and yet so full. 
After he was done, Jungkook discarded the towel, returning to his rightful place next to you. Like it was your second nature, you curled yourself up next to him, head resting on his chest and his arm wrapping around your waist. 
The world was perfect for exactly thirty seconds before he decided to ruin it. “So…” Jungkook started, a mischievous smirk already curling on his lips, “you like like me.” 
You scoffed, propping your chin on his chest and meeting his gaze. Jungkook was too cute and too hot for his own good, and his post-sex state managed to incorporate both elements in a hazardous combination. “Yes. And you like like me back.” You remarked. “Did you seriously have to go through all these steps instead of just, I don’t know, telling me?” 
He threw his head back, eyes closing in sheer desperation. “I didn’t know!” 
“Everyone knew!” You exclaimed back, flabbergasted. You couldn’t believe that all those years of shared distress could’ve been solved with the most basic common sense. “Do you think I watch your games because I like them? I tell you all the time I hate sports! Dumbass!” 
Jungkook flinched when you slapped the top of his head lightly, forging pain. “Ouch! You’re the dumbass. And I thought you were kidding.” He pouted, eyes drifting off towards a corner of the room. You could tell he was thinking, so you gave him his time. “But now that you mention it…”
You rolled your eyes, laying back down. “Yeah, that’s not so hard to—”
“I cannot stand body horror.” 
“What?” You shrieked, sitting up at lightning speed. That managed to be the most unexpected thing Jungkook had told you that night — scratcher that: ever. “You told me you loved watching body horror with me.” 
He shook his head, an expression of disgust on his face as he was reminded of every horror movie he had ever watched. “I almost puke watching it. I just pretend I enjoy it because it makes you happy.” 
For a moment, your mouth hung open, mind working a million miles per hour to make sense of his admission. Thinking back to it, you had noticed how frequently Jungkook went to the bathroom while watching Tusk; about how many times he coughed and turned his head away from the Human Centipede. “Oh my god.” Your shoulders slumped, your voice was a frail little thing, filled by disbelief. You couldn’t call him dumb when you had acted just the same. “We’re both idiots.”
Jungkook laughed as you returned to your previous position, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Yeah, I think that’s the only possible conclusion.”
2K notes · View notes
weepingvoidpenguin · 2 months ago
Text
Unfortunately Yours
Summary: When you and Bucky successfully infiltrate a HYDRA auction, you’re told to stay another day due to max capacity on the jet. But how are you going to survive a night alone with this insufferable Super Soldier? Especially considering the miniscule size of the room and the obvious dilemma presented; who gets the bed?
Warning: S M U T , the smuttiest thing I’ve ever written, language, spit kink, daddy kink, ptsd symptoms, slight voyeurism, slight exhibitionism, hate-s e x, rough, more like enemies-to-lovers kind of thing, gagging, m!receiving, f!receiving, lots of receiving lol, 18+, M
Word Count: 10.6K (Whhhyyyyy)
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   Your body burned with exhaustion and the sheer weight of your extremities felt enough to drag you to the floor and mirror a coma with the length of your hibernation. You no longer had the minimal strength required to pick up your feet properly which resulted in the sound of shuffling to fill the small, and by small you meant miniscule, room you’d been assigned to. 
   Well, you and Bucky had been assigned to.
   You’d both played your parts well enough over the course of the last few hours. You’d sauntered into the ran-shacked looking bar with Bucky’s arm tossed lazily over your shoulder, his distaste for the assignment evident on his face, but he’d cleared it away the second his foot crossed the threshold. He pulled you in tighter to his body and raised his chin into the air, emitting the energy of a man not to be trifled with. You’d portrayed your role as a damsel just as, if not more, convincing as Barnes’ opposite. Your shoulders hunched over and your steps were small and quivering, the wig on your head a tool used to curtain the hair in your face. 
   You were the lamb to this White Wolf.
   Word had traveled through the dark and twisted grapevine that a certain showing of sorts took place tonight and a high-ranking target was rumored to be amongst its audience. You and Barnes were on the first flight to Germany within minutes.
   Bucky had pulled you through the crowd moving along to the thundering music in the background and halted at the edge of the bar. His grip on your shoulder tightened once he’d caught the man’s attention and you winced, his fingers digging a little too deep for your liking.
   The bartender scanned you over and took in your frame, making you feel smaller than you had already displayed yourself to be. It took him a while to conclude but when he took in Bucky’s domineering gaze, a look as if to say Deny me, I dare you, he nodded once and wrote something down on a napkin, sliding it over to Bucky.
   Scum. All of them. 
   You nearly blew your cover trying to throw Bucky a look but you refrained from the hellfire clawing its way out of you. You had to be perfectly in control, emotions and beliefs aside. You were a damsel and you had to make certain they believed that. You knew they were watching; they always were.
   “Relax,” Bucky hissed, pulling you under his arm and bringing his lips to your ear.
   “When you pretend you’re the one being put up for auction, then you can tell me to relax,” you muttered, never looking up from the ground.
   “I have been.” When you paused your movement, he pulled away to scan the room, “Nothing’s gonna happen to you. I promise.” He led you backstage and turned the corner to a dimly lit hallway, barren of any decoration in sharp contrast to every other section of the building, “Besides, once they realize how insufferable you are, they’ll be begging me to take you back,”
   He opened an iron door and pushed you into the room, sending you tumbling down onto the carpet. He tsked, stepping over you and not looking back after shutting the door behind himself. You counted thirteen pairs of feet and judging by the way some of them were turned towards you, they had to be watching. You observed your hands for a second, counting slowly until you figured you’d stalled long enough and sent your trembling gaze to the exit. Bucky let out a low chuckle and clasped his hand around your upper arm, launching you back onto your feet and twisting your body to face him.
   Oh, darling, German fluently escaped his tongue and you nearly rolled your eyes at the condescending tone settled in his words, You know better than that, don’t you?
   His hold tightened and you winced, holding back the whimper in your throat. If you saw any hint of a bruise forming on your arm, you would give him hell later . . . and possibly even if you didn’t.
   You bit your tongue and let him lead you towards a leather chair before he pulled you swiftly down onto his lap where his hand remained on your thigh, brushing the inside softly. Had you not been so annoyed, you’d have been humiliated at all the stares devouring the scene unfolding before them. 
   Good girl, he drawled and pressed your back flat up against his chest where he could put you on display.
   You knew you should’ve been annoyed, or at least settled so into your role as his temporary whore-for-sale that the sensation coming alive between your thighs shouldn’t have made an appearance. But sometimes, the way Bucky brought his voice down real low and cooed an insult or jest your way just had an affect that your body would not deny. It kept you awake a lot.
   Instead, you swallowed hard and let yourself be splayed against him. You ignored the scent of sandalwood in his cologne.
   Your body trembled from the cold breeze floating around in the room and you shifted in Bucky’s lap to block everyone’s sight from the way your chest reacted to the change in temperature.
   Don’t be shy, he murmured and removed your arms from your breasts, letting the thin, practically see-through fabric show you to the world.
   “Buc-” You started, your panic creeping through the cracks at the cheshire sneers sent your way, but at the first sign of your discomfort, he retracted his hands and twisted you around gently, throwing your legs over the side of the chair and spreading them but forcing your upper half to face him. Effectively, cutting your chest off from their line of sight.
   You trembled out a sigh and he grabbed your face tightly, drawing your eyes to his. He examined you, his hardened gaze shouting words he couldn’t currently say. But you understood. He could be a jerk, but he wasn’t a bad man.
   Your body instinctively leaned into him for warmth as another breeze engulfed you, resulting in a shiver that made its way up your spine. “Are they still looking?” you inquired and he gripped your neck with a ferocity that made you squirm in his lap. Fuck.
   He pulled your ear to his lips and licked the helix. You whimpered. “No,” he whispered, running his thumb along your jawline, “But if you don’t quit fucking squirming you’re gonna have a problem, Doll,”
   You opened your mouth in question when you felt a sudden twitch on your backside and you swallowed. Hard. He never broke eye contact with you, instead choosing to raise a brow in mocking. Your chest heaved up and down and how you could feel his breath grazing on your cheek almost had you rubbing your legs together for some form of desperate friction. No, you had to keep yourself composed, keep the act going. But he’d seen it. All of it.
   You nod your head and slowed your breathing down until he released his grip around your throat and turned his attention towards the dim stage. You leaned back into him and followed suit, making sure to keep your attention downcast and appear disheveled. 
   “There,” Bucky whispered after a few minutes and you lifted your head only to find the man you had come all this way for walking straight towards you.
   Like a moth to a flame.
   “How much?” The older man inquired, his grotesque gaze settled on your spread legs.
   Bucky looked up at the balding man as if this was the first time he’d noticed his presence, “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” 
   The man lifted his brow, or what would’ve been, and smiled wickedly, “I’ll give you double your price if you give her to me now,” he offered, his eyes slithering up to the apex of your thighs and this time you didn’t have to fake the shiver running up your spine. 
   A small smirk formed on Bucky’s face and he waved his hand dismissively at him, “Get in line,”
   The old man sneered but Bucky was right, most everyone had their attention fixated on what was happening currently and it was apparent there was, indeed, a line. 
   Bucky rested his gloved hand on your upper thigh and gripped tight, whether to refrain from hitting the guy or just to touch you, he wasn’t sure but he couldn’t keep you away when the man said, “I’ll give you four times the asking price but I want her now,” 
   Bucky’s grip on your thigh tightened and you squeaked at the pain, jumping slightly in his lap. “How about I give her to you for free for ten minutes and you tell me if you can handle her,”
   You jerked your head towards Bucky and furrowed your brows. Free? Dick. You nearly scoffed.
   The man gripped onto your calf and you shifted to kick his hand away when Bucky’s own shot out and and ripped his off of you, “Don’t touch my stuff,” he spit and the man let out a yell but that only spurred Bucky on and he tightened his fist, “Until terms are agreed upon, she remains mine to do with as I please. Understood?”
   The man nodded hastily and Bucky threw you off his lap when he stood up. “Anyone else?” Bucky shouted to the room, daring others to test his limits when it came to you. After a few moments of silence Bucky scoffed, “I didn’t fucking think so,”
   Bucky’s grip on the man remained and he stared down at the hunched figure, “Now, you,” he addressed and the room remained silent. This was allowed here. 
   Normally, merchandise couldn’t be touched until it was purchased. No buying before the auction, no discussing what you’re offering, no negotiating but most importantly don’t try to steal from anyone. These are criminals and that being said, they handle things amongst themselves. They know the rules and the risks they take breaking them.
   So, when Bucky drags the poor bastard away, you follow right behind him. Not a protest to be heard. Bucky throws open the door we entered through and finds the nearest room before chucking the HYDRA agent inside and locking the door behind you. 
   The room was brightly lit, with all four walls a dull cream color and dark brown couches strewn casually about. There’s no real order to this place. All cement corners and LED bulbs. Pure business. 
   “Let ‘em know,” Bucky orders and you turn around to argue only to find the man pulling a gun out of his jacket pocket.
   You jerk suddenly and kick Bucky square in the stomach, launching him towards one of the couches just as a shot rings out. You blanch at the sound, the noise filling your head and drowning everything else out. You hear yelling but you can’t make out the words, only the panic intermingled within them. Your hand reaches out around you and you grip the small button lined into your thin clothing, pressing it four times how you’d been instructed.
   Everything moved slowly and people began filing into the room. How did they get here so fast? No. It wasn’t possible, they were a quarter mile down the road, there was no way they were your backup. 
   Hands began flying in the air and you were picked up and dropped multiple times, each time landing harder than the last. You tried to blink back the spinning but the blows landing on your face and torso made it all the worse. 
   Instinctively, you threw your hands up to protect your face and fought to find some footing to help. Bucky was good but he wasn’t a God, he would need help. When the first blow met your forearms you reached out to grasp the hand and used your other to drive your fist right into the person’s nose. The bone crunched under your blow.
   You took a hit, then another when you managed to analyze the enemy’s fight pattern and waited until he left himself open before driving your knee into his rib cage. He bent over in pain and you grabbed him by the hair, hearing another crack when you shoved your elbow upwards against his nose. 
   You heard a shout and whipped your head over to see Bucky on his back, a looming figure with a gun aimed straight towards him. You galvanized towards them and threw yourself in the air, using your weight to kick him off of Bucky when another shot rang out. 
   Bucky shot up and crushed the gun with his metal arm. You scoured the room for the familiar HYDRA agent but found him nowhere. You shot out of the room, knocking into an opposing wall as you turned the corner and ducked when the sound of a bullet whizzed past you. 
   This is not going good. You had lost your target and rummaged through room after room until you’d become lost. Fuck. Where the hell did he run off to? You winced after breaking out into a sprint but pressed on, not allowing yourself to slow down. There was no way you were going to fail this mission, especially after coming so close to success.
   Sweat trailed down your face and your muscles screamed at you to halt, their exhaustion beginning to wear you down. Your breathing grew rapid and your vision blurred and just as you went to lean on a wall to rest, your shoulder exploded out in pain and you collapsed with a cry.
   “Dirty whore,” the HYDRA man seethed, a cane raised over his head. He brought it down and you spun to the side, feeling the air breeze past your ear.
   Your hand latched onto the cane and you shoved it into his gut, pushing him away. SHIELD wanted this guy alive, so alive they would receive him. That didn’t mean he had to come in one piece though. 
   You tore the walker out of his hand just as he tumbled onto his ass. You stood up, grunting along the way and hovered over his body, fear sprawled along his features. 
   “You can either stay still or get beat with your own cane, it’s your choice,” you offered, aching to bring the walker down onto his face. “Please test me. Please.” You begged.
   His gaze shifted between you and the weapon and he brought his trembling hands up in defeat. He must’ve been an agent of some Intelligence branch because his fighting abilities were evidently subpar at best.
   You sighed, sad to see the opportunity go but brought the cane down none the less. “That’s unfortunate,”
   You turned your attention to the sound of running coming around the corner and moved to drag and hide your captive in a nearby closet only to roll your eyes when Bucky came ‘round. You tossed the cane back and forth between your hands and smiled proudly towards the agent on the floor.
   “Look who I caught,” you toyed and were met with a grunt.
   “Only because you let him get away,” he retorted, pulling the balding man up to his feet.
   Everything began to slow and the hellfire you’d kept under mounds of ice had finally melted through its freezing cage. “What?”
   He turned his back towards you and trudged the hesitant man behind him towards the exit.
   “I said,” you hollered, not caring how the halls carried your echo, “What?”
   “I heard what you said,” he called back to you, not bothering to turn around.
   And there you were left, frozen and dumbfounded for five solid minutes before you could pull yourself together enough to stomp your way back towards the rendezvous point. You remained hazy for the most part while debriefing. You tried to recount everything but the way your anger engulfed you in its flame obscured your memory so you kept it short. 
   It was quickly brought up that SHIELD captured more HYDRA agents than expected and were gonna be at max capacity so you and Bucky had to stay at a base a few miles down the road. You grumbled in compliance but Bucky didn’t respond, not even a godforsaken grunt.
   What SHIELD had failed to mention though, was that this bunker was clearly meant for one. It barely counted as a room. There was a small bathroom in the corner just big enough for a shower and toilet. No sink. And a small counter with just enough space for a stove, microwave and radio. If you were to lay down vertically or horizontally you’d nearly be touching wall each way. Not to mention the singular bed.
   And that’s how you got to where you were now. Miniscule room. Exhausted body. Drained mind. Patience long gone. 
   You huffed and dropped your bag in front of the entrance before walking to the bathroom and turning to slam the door closed. You turned the faucet on and ripped the wig off, discarding your clothes in a pile before stepping into the shower. The warm water was nice and welcoming but your body already felt aflame so you twisted the knob and held your breath when the cold stream trickled down your body. It was difficult to breathe at first, but your body soon adjusted to the temperature and you began wiping the muck off your skin with the bar of soap supplied. But that’s all the was supplied. Clearly, this place was meant to be a quick pit stop. 
   You sat on the hard floor as the water streamed onto your body. You could nearly fall asleep to its rhythm; It was only when your head hit the wall that you realized you were so you begrudgingly stood up and shut off the water. You grabbed the only towel in the bathroom and pat yourself dry, noticing just then that you left your clothes outside.
   You let out a long sigh and twisted open the doorknob to find Bucky toying with the radio on the counter; not even purposefully, just looking for something to do while he waited. 
   You opened your mouth to ask him to hand you your bag but after what he said to you earlier you’d sooner eat hot coals than ask him to do anything for you. You stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped neatly around your chest and you bent over to open your bag. The shuffling on the radio stopped. 
   “You could’ve at least left me some warm water,” he grumbled and you rolled your eyes.
   You searched in your bag for the fresh clothes residing there only to turn around when you found them and have the bathroom door shut in your face. 
   “Are you fucking kidding me?” You shouted, pounding your fist against the door.
   You could hear the water running and you groaned, pounding harder. The door opened for a split second and you were hit in the face with the clothes you’d left inside only for it to instantly be slammed shut again.
   You punched the door with all the frustration built up over the past few hours and felt the wood crack with your force. Why did this man have to be incredibly baffling? You were not nearly paid enough to deal with such an unbearable partner. He would have you bald from stress before you knew it. 
   You spent the next few minutes grumbling to yourself after you changed and scribbled your frustration onto a small notebook you took with you everywhere. It was only when you heard the water shut off did you remember something. You still had the only towel. A villainous smirk tugged at your lips and you placed the folded towel on the edge of the bed, away from the door.
   Then you heard the creak. “I will walk out naked if you don’t give me the towel,” Bucky threatened.
   You shrugged despite him not being able to see you from your position on the bed, “I’ll just laugh at your dick,” 
   “You weren’t laughing earlier,” he shot back.
   Oh. So he did remember. Good. You thought he’d gotten amnesia within the past few hours, maybe he was just too ashamed to mention it.
   “Too disgusted to insult. Plus, I was playing a character,”
   “Fine,” he responded and quickly came into view, haughtily sauntering over to your side and you shouted.
   “Dear God!” You held the towel up to block your sight of his barren body. It was disgusting. He was all wet, hair dripping onto his muscled torso, water gleaming off his taut skin, 5 o’clock shadow drenched and straight out of a wet dream. Jesus.
   “Prude,” he commented, snatching the towel from your grasp and wrapping it around himself. 
   “Respectable,” you corrected, crossing your arms and shoving him away. “You get the floor,”
   He lifted his duffle off the ground and rummaged through it. “Then I get the blanket,”
   “You get fuck all,” you stated, flipping off the lamp beside you and snuggling into the warm cot.
   When the shuffling stopped and the bathroom light was shut off, you shut your eyes and let the wear of the day grab at you, lulling you into the beginning of slumber. That is, until the blanket was hauled from around you, damn near throwing you onto the floor. You shouted out and caught yourself last minute. 
   “Barnes!” You yelled, steadying yourself and reaching over the edge to grab the blanket back. Your hand fisted at the faux fur and you pulled with all your might to no avail. 
   He swatted you away as though you were a pesky fly and reached over to turn the light of the lamp on. You glowered at him and stood, wrapping the blanket around your arm and pulling upwards. Your arm strained to its capacity but the man on the floor didn’t budge. Only turned his back to you and shut his eyes. You reached over yourself and flipped the switch of the lamp, once again immersing yourself in the comforting darkness. 
   Bucky stiffened and opened his eyes then turned and froze you in your spot with his stare. He reached around and lit the lamp, slowly retracting his arm and daring you to turn it off again. So you did.
   He yanked the blanket from your grasp and threw you back onto the bed, bringing light into the room. “Light stays on,” he growled.
   “No! You’ve had your goddamn way since you stepped foot into this room. Light goes off and I get the blanket!” You shouted, not concerned about anyone else hearing considering the room was soundproof.
   “No. You get the bed so I get the blanket. Tell me how that doesn’t make sense,” he countered.
   You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting that it did, in fact, make sense. The floor here was wooden and clearly uncomfortable, plus he hadn’t even argued about the bed situation. 
   You retreated, “Fine, light still goes off,”
   “No,” 
   “Yes,” 
   Silence fell between the two of you but you weren’t budging. Barnes had faced plenty of monsters, he could handle the dark. 
   “I need the noise to fall asleep,” he admitted and it was then you could hear the slight hum the bulb emitted.
   You didn’t speak for a while but reared back and pulled out your phone, “What do you want to listen to?” You scrolled through a few sounds you had stored on your phone, “We’ve got: nature sounds, frequencies, guided meditations, etc. You name it, but I’m not sleeping with this forsaken light on,”
   Bucky studied you, his expression changing a mile a minute but the one of indifference conquered, “Rain,” 
   You nodded once and selected the audio, placing the phone face up on the nightstand and turning the light off for the last time. Hopefully. You hunkered down into the thin mattress and reached down, grasping at the thick blanket. When you pulled, there was some give. He’d let you get just enough needed to cover your body if you laid at the very edge and your hand hovered in the air when you laid your arm over the side.
   Minutes flew by with your eyes shut and the exhaustion slithered over your body but your mind ran wild with the events from earlier. You tried not to get angry or sad or . . . bothered. Your breathing deepened when you began to succumb to your body’s fatigue and you drifted inch by inch into the welcoming void lulling your name.
   You didn’t hear when he shifted, only managed to register the faint tracing of his fingertips on your hand before finally giving out.
   You weren’t sure what time it was when you opened your eyes for the first time that night. This regularly happened. You’d wake up multiple times during the night to shift positions or throw off the sheets, no matter how insignificant the desire, your body always found a way to wake you for it.
   You opened your eyes slowly to a hazy vision and blinked at the sitting figure on the floor, “Bucky?” You croaked, bringing a hand up to wipe at your face, “What time is it?”
   “It’s almost one, go back to sleep,”
   “What are you doing?” You persisted, ignoring his demand and sitting up slowly, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
   “Couldn’t,” 
   A heartbeat. Then another. And another. He didn’t care to elaborate.
   “Do you want the bed?” You offered, stretching yourself out and already placing yourself down on the floor, “It’s too hot up there, anyway,”
   His attention turned to you for the first time but you’d already began closing your eyes, not really having the energy to argue with him. You could hear shuffling from his spot and the ground disappeared below you, strong hands grasping your body and lifting you up to place you gently back onto the cot.
   “I prefer the floor,” he insisted, wrapping the blanket around you, “Besides, you’re a horrendous liar,”
   You didn’t hold back the singular chuckle, your haze still enveloping you. “Then why aren’t you sleeping?”
   He sat at the foot of the bed, his hand hovering over your leg in hesitation, “It’s complicated.” He dropped his hand to his side.
   “Isn’t the rain helping?” you mumbled, your sight now adjusting to the dark.
   “Yes,”
   “Then what?” 
   “I just . . . don’t want to wake you,”
   “Well, I’m already awake if that makes you feel better,” you jeered, a small smile forming on your lips.
   “It doesn’t,”
   “Nothing does,” you retorted, the inevitable annoyance you always felt when conversing with him already made its way up into your tone.
   He scoffed and stood from the bed, placing himself in the same spot on the floor with his head leaned up against the wall and his arm resting on his perched knee. 
   “Oh, so now you can’t handle a little attitude,” your tone came out incredulous, “You didn’t have any issues earlier when you blamed me for that guy’s escape. Which, he didn’t even get to do, might I add,”
   “I was projecting,” he replied, gaze still focused on the door opposite to him.
   You blinked, “Are you so tired that you’re actually admitting to being a dick?”
   “I know I can be a dick, but you threw yourself straight into the line of fire twice today. So I don’t really give a shit if I was mean to you,”
   “I only did that because you almost got shot twice today. Don’t take your anger out on me for your incompetence. Just say ‘thank you’ and move on already,”
   “Incompetence?” His head jerked in your direction. “What was incompetent was that you couldn’t keep yourself composed,”
   You sat up. “What in the hell are you talking about? My behavior is what got our target to basically give himself up to us! It was me that trapped him, not you!” His composure tensed and you crossed your arms over your chest, “You’re just mad your dick got hard so if anything you’re the one who couldn’t keep their compos-” His hand was wrapped around your throat and you were pinned to the mattress before you could finish your sentence.
   “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed at you, his face mere inches from yours.
   “Why?” You spoke hoarsely around his tightening grip, “Does the Big Bad Wolf not like that he was turned on? Who’s the prude now?”
   “Turned on?” He spat, his free hand resting by your head to cage you in, “You think what you did earlier turned me on?”
   You grasped at the hand around your throat and pried slightly to speak, “Fight me or fuck me, Barnes. But stop lying to yourself, it’s getting old,”
   The room seemed to freeze over and Bucky paused. His hesitation was enough to elicit the fire from earlier and your legs squirmed a little underneath him. God, you hoped he chose the latter.
   Then his lips crashed against yours. 
   You squeaked at the sudden onslaught but threw your arms around his shoulders and pulled him in tighter against you. He dropped when you intertwined your legs, his full weight pressing against you deliciously. You ground up against him, your core aching from the previous hours and the small friction elicited a moan from the both of you. 
   “So impatient,” he scolded, bringing the hand from around your throat down to your hips and pressing you into the bed. “What a whore,”
   His breath danced along your cheek and you mewled at his words. Gods, he was going to be the death of you. Or the beginning. 
   You breathed in deeply, his sandalwood scent intoxicating you in a manner that alcohol never could. When you drank, you were just drunk. But when you took a sip from the tall glass that was Bucky, it brought you to life. Your body sang melodies wherever you were plastered against each other and your skin burned with need.
   Touch me, your body screamed, touch me.
   “Fuck off,” you groaned and Bucky jerked your head to the side, exposing your neck for him to scavenge.
   The goosebumps that danced across your skin when he ran his warm tongue up from the curve of your neck to the bottom of your ear brought an arrogant smirk onto Bucky’s face. You ran your fingers through his hair and tugged when he reached a particularly sensitive spot that had your legs shaking when he kissed it sloppily. 
   Your mouth hung open in silent pleasure and your breaths were short and rapid, your body betraying all forms of control you previously had over yourself. The hand that wasn’t residing in his hair trailed down his muscled arm and you gripped at the brawn this man possessed. His skin reminisced lightly of silk despite the rough texture of his hands. 
  The same hands that now made its way into your hair and tugged at the strands at the base of your neck, jolting your chin higher into the air. Your grip tightened around his biceps and the strength they emitted sent a pool rushing to your core. You continued hunting until you found the hem of his black, cotton shirt and you made your way up his taut abdomen. You let out a sigh and he jumped lightly at the sensation of your cool fingertips across his scorching skin. It was a nice contrast for him. 
   You gripped at the shirt and hastily ripped the cotton upward. Bucky broke away from his descent down to your chest to let you remove the fabric and you’d suddenly wished you’d turned the lights on first. He mimicked your action and tossed your shirt in a deserted corner of the room to potentially be abandoned. You gasped when the cold air of the room grazed upon the perked mounds of your breasts. 
   His lips returned to their spot on the dip of your neck and his tongue slithered down in between your breasts. Your breath hitched when his wet muscle made its way up to the apex of your chest. His right hand mirrored his tongue and swirled around your nipple, his teeth pulling eagerly every so often and you hissed at the delectable pain. Your eyes devoured the scene unfolding on your chest and you reached over to flick the light on, desperate for a clearer image.
   Bucky halted and his metal arm reached over to switch the light back off but you swatted his hand away and he backed up lightly, his irritation evident on his face.
   “I want to watch,” you grumbled and shifted up to bring your lips back up to his. He let you. He pushed back lightly with his own lips and leaned in sync with your movements. He parted his mouth slightly and you followed suit, letting him lead his way into yours with the same muscle he’d just had flicking across your breasts.
   The light went off.
   You pushed him away and shot towards the switch but metal met your wrist firmly enough to keep you in place. “Bucky.” You wrestled against his hold and turned your full attention back to the figure hovering above, “I want to see you,” 
   Despite the darkness, you noticed his mouth twitch but his grip on your wrist remained solid. You sprawled back onto the bed and wrapped your free hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down onto you, pressing his surprisingly soft lips onto yours. You broke apart, his lips a hair’s breadth away from your own. “I want to see you,” 
   He didn’t move, only scanned your face over a few times and you brought him back down into a kiss. This one wasn’t like before. This one was warm, soft, patient. A ballet compared to its previous mosh pit. He danced along with you, an admission hidden somewhere in his tenderness.
   You hadn’t realized you’d been freed of his hold until you were wrapping that arm over his shoulder and the sound of a light humming began.
   “Fucker,” you jeered and the previous gentleness dissipated.
   “Shut up,” he ordered, pinning you back onto the bed and resumed his ministration on your breasts.
   The moan slipped past your lips at the sight and your chest heaved upwards, desperate for more stimulation. You licked your lips at how his mouth encased your nipple, his tongue flicking against the perked skin and you dropped your head back, shutting your eyes. You centered all of your attention anywhere that his bare skin touched your body and rubbed your aching clit against his v-line. 
   Your chest was pressed against the mattress before you could register what happened and the hard smack that met your ass evoked a yelp. Bucky pressed fully against your backside and he ground his dick down into your ass. He groaned at the sensation and you raised your ass onto him. You yelped again when Bucky ripped your leggings down and smacked the exposed skin on your ass.
   “Try something like that again and I’ll gag you around my cock ‘til you’re crying,” he growled, “Understood?”
   You nodded, wide-eyed and a mewling mess from the threatening promise of this God. 
   “Good girl,” he cooed, rubbing at the raw skin. “Now stay still for Daddy,”
  Bucky’s hand lingered on your reddening ass and the mattress dipped when he shifted to your side. He traced gentle circles onto your backside and pressed his lips on your shoulder blade, the butterfly kisses making their way down towards your spine and then lower. Your breathing grew uneven from the sheer amount of restraint you displayed. Your grip on the edge of the bed tightened when his tongue dragged from the point where your thigh and ass met all the way up to the bottom of your spine.
   “Fuck,” You shuddered, white-knuckling the blanket beneath you.
   Your skin blazed when you were met with another harsh slap. You mewled at the sensation, loving the fire that spread across your flesh and relaxed when his metal hand cooled the area. 
   Then his teeth bit into the cooling flesh and you jerked away despite yourself. Bucky tsked lowly and you chuckled at the hint of fear sprouting in your chest; you did not want to see whatever sinister expression resided on his face. 
   A strong hand gripped the roots of your hair and hauled you up. You followed his direction and knelt onto the ground between Bucky’s sprawled out legs, settling in your new position.
   “Oh, Doll,” he chastised, “you were so close,”
   “That shouldn’t count,” you retorted while Bucky pulled the blanket off the bed and lifted you up with his metal arm, shoving the barrier between your knees and the hard ground.
   “But it does.” His hands dove into his underwear and sprung his cock out onto your lips. “Now get to work,”
   Your eyes widened at the sight before you and you had to physically hold back from gulping. You were ashamed to admit your mouth watered in anticipation. You lifted your hands from his sculpted thighs and wrapped them around his length, enveloping just the tip past your parted lips. Bucky sighed and twitched in your mouth.
   You welcomed him in fully, or as much as you could anyway, and got straight to work, not bothering to act abashed at your desire. Your tongue swirled around his tip and you leaned into him until he hit the back of your mouth but you continued on, gagging around him when he’d gotten inside your throat. Bucky groaned when your throat tightened around him and he threw his head back, using his flesh hand to guide you up and down his shaft, showing you what he liked and didn’t. 
   “Fuck, Doll,” he groaned, “Just how I imagined your mouth would feel,”
   You pulled off him to comment when he shoved you all the way down to the hilt and you threw your hands up onto his thighs to hold yourself back. He used his metal arm to hold himself up and thrusted up into your salivating mouth desperately. He continuously hit the back of your throat and thick saliva coated his cock. Just as he promised, tears prickled at the corners of your eyes and he didn’t stop until your cheeks were drenched in the liquid.
   You let your jaw hang open, your tongue no longer swiveling around meticulous spots that you knew would make his legs buckle. No, you let him have the reigns. Let him fuck your mouth ‘til your throat grew bruised and jaw ached with fatigue. You committed his cries of pleasure to memory, the sounds euphoric to your ears. 
   He lifted his head and stared down at you with half-closed eyes. He was in heaven and you knew it. He watched you, how the tears trailed down, how your hands gripped at his thighs, how you stuck out your tongue just as you’d made it to the base of his cock to lick his balls in the most intoxicating way. Fuck. You were the intoxicating one. You brought out this side of him. This carnal desire that became him until he’d had to step out of the room just to compose himself. And he didn’t like being out of control. That’s why he always kept you at an arm’s distance.
   But now, watching as you sat between him with your mouth agape like the good girl that you were for him, he knew he’d never deny himself this pleasure again. Especially since you were so fucking good at it.
   He groaned, pulling you off his cock and grabbed tightly at your cheeks, nearly pinching your mouth together. “Tongue out.” He growled, waiting for your compliance.
   Your jaw ached with exhaustion but you managed to stick out the wet muscle as he pulled you closer into him and watched when he parted his lips above you, letting the saliva trail down from his mouth into yours. 
   “Swallow,” he ordered.
   But it was already done, and you left your mouth hanging open for more.
   “Jesus fucking Christ,” Bucky grumbled, putting his face right up against yours and feeding you once again; this time with a sloppy kiss that coated both your mouths in saliva.
   He brought you up from the floor and tossed you onto the bed before settling between your legs. The excitement in your eyes grew and he indulged in every minute of it. Bucky’s hand trailed down from your lower abdomen right above your pubic bone and pressed his palm into your neglected clit. The cry you let out was the unholiest thing he’d ever heard. 
   He slid his finger under the waistband of your underwear and flitted his gaze back up to your eyes, “Can I?”
   You nodded eagerly, dumbfounded that he would even ask and fought the temptation to grab your phone from the nightstand and record everything that was about to unfold. 
   At the first nod, Bucky slid your underwear down your legs and made a show of bringing the material up to his face. Your own went red hot and you hid behind your hands, poking through every millisecond to shamefully watch. He threw the panties into his open duffel and you squirmed in anticipation.
   “Remember the rules?” Bucky asked, brow lifted and already descending to your inner thigh.
   You nodded again.
   “I need to hear it, Doll,” he mumbled, kissing the inner part of your thigh, each placement closer and closer to where you needed him most.
   “Yes,” you whimpered out, “I remember the rules,”
   Bucky wanted to dive right in, he really did, but the way you sprawled yourself out so vulnerable for him, it incited a new pace that he wanted to follow. So, he did. He looked at you for a few moments, watched how the anticipation danced in your eyes, how your legs shook in wait and how you were already so goddamn wet for him.
   “This all for me?” he teased, mesmerized at your desire for him.
   You dropped a hand down to your side, near where his hands were wrapped around your thighs to keep you in place - and against his face. He cocked his head to the side, waiting for your answer.
   You nodded sheepishly and when he lifted an eyebrow in mock confusion you said, “You. Just you,”
   Like music to his ears. Just him. You weren’t for anyone else. He thought he felt his heart palpitate.
   He lowered himself down to your core and kissed your lip, drawing a desperate plea from you. You couldn’t wait anymore, couldn’t deal with the teasing. You were wet enough, needy enough, ready enough to take him, all of him. You’d been ready damn near the moment you first laid eyes on his arrogant smirk.
   “Buck - please,” you cried, drawling out the final word.
   The first kiss placed upon your soaked cunt erupted a sigh of relief and you laid back on the pillow, your eyes closed and mind gone with the sensation of those sloppy kisses blessing your needs. He flattened his tongue on your lips and licked upwards, stopping when your hips twitched into his mouth.
   “Sorry!” You apologized, fighting the desire to grind into his wet muscle. He’d just gotten started and you certainly didn’t want it to end so soon.
   He lifted his gaze up to you and you bit into your fist at the view, using the extremity to hold back your moans. He flicked his attention down again and repeated his motion, lapping at your fluids ‘til his beard was soaked in it. He shook his head into your cunt and his nose rubbed along your clit. The mewling that left your mouth urged him on and when you felt his muscle prodding at your entrance you threw your head back.
   “Please, Bucky.” You begged, bringing a hand up to tease your nipple.
   He prodded some more, his tongue gliding up from your clit and back down to your entrance, poking through enough to frustrate you. He wanted you to break for him. To lose all composure and control and just let him. He wanted you to submit to him but it wasn’t just that, it was more that he wanted to destroy you for any future experience you may have without him. He wanted you to come back to him, to need him, to beg for him and leave you with the understanding that nothing - no one - could compare to him. He wanted you. To himself. 
   So, when he could no longer refrain and had to use his metal arm to hold your hips down from squirming beneath him, he slipped two thick, rough fingers into your begging cunt. And the sound you emitted caused that carnal instinct to claw at the barriers caging it in.
   Your hand shot down, tangling itself into his hair and pushing him harder against you. He allowed it. Your thighs held him in place, crushing him with your soft skin and he groaned at the warmth you gave off. You pulled your hand away from your mouth and grabbed at his metal one resting on your pubic bone, pulling it up to your chest and wrapping his fingers on the sensitive bud for him to tease. He slowly retracted from your chest and brought it back down onto your hips and you huffed in annoyance. You looked down at Bucky but his eyes were shut, completely engrossed in the feast before him. You bucked when his fingers glazed across that sensitive spot inside your velvety walls.
   “There!” You cried, your fist tightening in his hair when the all-too-familiar wave of ecstasy began to pool together, waiting for its release.
   Bucky complied, dragging the pads of his fingers up against that spot over and over again. Your legs caged him in tighter as his tongue swirled over the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves and you cried out at the way your body tensed.
   “Fuck,” you cried, your hands desperately grasping onto Bucky’s metal wrist and tugging at the roots of his hair. Bucky’s groan of pleasure was what tipped you over the edge.
   You gasped when the pool building released, your body shaking with euphoria and the flood crashed down onto you. And apparently, onto Bucky as well. He pulled his mouth away but continued rubbing at your clit when warm liquid squirted onto his face and his expression of surprise mirrored your own.
   When Bucky looked up at you, your face burned with embarrassment and you threw your head back, using your hand to cover your countenance. Not to mention the sight of him with your juices all over his mouth was one of the hottest things you’d ever witnessed.
   Bucky chuckled at your sheepish apology and removed your hand from your face, bringing his soaked mouth up to yours and having you taste yourself. You devoured each other, your arms wrapped tightly around the other, pulling so fiercely at the innate desire to become one in shared pleasure. He could feel his pride swell at your hidden confession. You’d never squirted before and he was lucky enough to be the one to give you that experience for the first time. 
   You clawed at him, divulging in the warmth his body radiated and intoxicating yourself in everything that was Bucky. You couldn’t get enough of it, of him. It was nearly too much.
   His hand trailed up to your gaping mouth and he inserted his fingers, “Clean them,” he ordered.
   Your hand gripped his wrist and pulled his fingers deeper into your mouth, never breaking eye contact with him, loving the way he ate up everything he was seeing. You noticed the way he swallowed.
   He retracted his hand and wrapped it gently behind your head so you were resting on him. He brought his full weight down onto your body and a warmth emanated in your chest when he brought his lips up against your forehead, each kiss closer and closer to your lips until they met their destination. When you parted your mouth against his, it wasn’t merely an action of carnal desire, it was like you were exchanging life forces. Merging and meeting in a manner that had your body exploding and crying out for more of the faint familiarity. Like seeing an old friend for the first time in years.
   Bucky looked down between your bodies at where you were about to connect before staring back up at you, taking you in as if he would never have this opportunity again. His thumb brushed your cheek and came to a rest on your bottom lip. “Ready?”
   You chuckled, “Fuck me,”
   He shoved inside in one clean motion and a breath of pleasure slid past both of your lips.
   “Fuck,” he groaned, his hand tightening slightly around your neck and he pulled out slowly then shot back inside and you moaned.
   You were still so sensitive from your previous climax that every brush against your clit sent you into a whirlwind of pleasure, the sensations shooting through every nerve in your body. 
   “Bucky,” you whined when his pace quickened and the sheer force of his thrusts drove you deeper into euphoria.
   He filled you just right, his girth and length impressive and you wondered why you hadn’t tried to screw him earlier. He slid past your tight walls, each thrust causing the room to echo with the sounds of skin slapping and moans of ecstasy. 
   He kept his actions controlled, not wanting to build up to something so intense just for it to fall short and end fast. No. Despite how good you felt wrapped around his aching and swollen cock, despite how warm and welcoming you were, how you spread yourself out for him to consume, he had to leash himself. This was going to be just as good for you as it was for him. 
   He kissed you one last time before gripping the back of your knees and bringing your thighs up to your chest, a shout of praise falling off your lips. He was drunk on the sight of his cock going in and out of your cunt and he threw his head back with a groan.
   “What a fucking pretty pussy,” he breathed out and you whimpered, biting your lip at the welcome profanities.
   At this angle, he was fucking against your g-spot and using his pubic bone to rub against your clit and watching the thin layer of sweat sheen off his skin was all too much to keep yourself put together. His eyebrows scrunched together and you caught him taking in your form, watching how your pleasure displayed itself on your face for him to bear witness to. Only him.
   He growled at the intrusion of thoughts that came to him. He pictured someone else in his position, someone else witnessing you so vulnerable and open to them, someone else fucking you and making you beg for them. It disgusted him. He brought his torso down and latched his teeth to your neck, biting down hard enough to have you tearing up.
   “Mine,” he growled into your ear and lulled his head forward when you tightened around him.
   A sinister smirk came to his face and he licked the shell of your ear, your breathy moans feeding him, “You like that?” He asked, pistoling further into your cunt and you shouted at the increase of pace, “You like when I tell you who you belong to?”
   Your mouth hung agape and the one arm wrapped around his shoulder pulled him closer to you, your desperation for his warmth taking control. “Fuck . . . off,” you hissed between breaths.
   He pulled out and yanked you up by your hair, twisting you around and pressing your torso into the wall but keeping your ass propped up for him to admire. You hissed at the pain when a sharp smack met your ass and your hands gripped at the wall for any way to ground yourself and prevent from becoming putty in his hands.
   Another hard smack met your ass and you lurched forward to get away from the sting. Bucky kept your head pinned to the cement, his hand holding your cheek from scraping the wall but applying a pressure that had your tongue lolling out of your mouth. 
   You moaned at the intrusion in your pussy and he plummeted in and out, a mix of your grunts and groans bouncing around the room. His pace constantly changed. One second it was fast, the next it was slow but filling, going so far as to hit your cervix a few times and leave you a crying mess under his hold. Your shoulder scraped along the wall and you fought to push away only to have your chest slammed harder against the cement.
   You brought a hand out, reaching behind yourself and grasping for Bucky’s hip, pushing him deeper into you when he slowed. Your nails dug into his flesh and the sound of his hiss shot straight to your core. 
   “What a goddamn whore,” he spat, bringing his teeth down onto your neck and you gripped at his hair.
   You laughed at his statement, “You’re the one that can’t get enough of this pussy. Why so desperate to claim it? Afraid I'll fuck someone else?” Bucky pulled you back and slammed you against the wall with vigor, causing you to flinch
   He stopped his thrusts altogether, “My patience only goes so far, Doll,” he threatened, tugging at your hair and you bit back a cry, “Choose your words wisely,”
   You nodded hastily, the rough texture of the wall digging into your cheek and splitting skin. You wriggled up against him to continue moving but he retracted completely and flipped you over so he was laying on the bed and you were straddling him.
   “Move,” he ordered, his hands digging bruises into your waist.
   You leaned over, pressing your chest against his to lift your hips up and down on him but he pushed you back up and held your arms behind your back to keep you in place. You whimpered but the cry quieted when you rubbed your clit against him and your pussy clenched at the friction. You moaned out a breathy fuck and swiveled your hips around his, noting how much deeper he filled you in this position.
   “Buck-” you huffed, eyes glued to the glistening abs beneath you. “I’m gonna cum,”
   “Already?” He jeered, an eyebrow raised in amusement.
   You’d lost all energy to sneer at him, your focus solely on how the sensation grew and began pooling in your cunt. “Cock . . . so good,” you breathed out, barely able to keep yourself from melting into him.
   “What was that, Doll?” He stilled your movements and you groaned in annoyance.
   You wriggled in his hold and you could tell by the furrow of his brow that he was fighting to keep control as well. You leaned over him, your lips hovering over his, “Mine,”
   His grip flew to the back of your neck and he crashed your lips onto his, giving you full reign again. You bounced your hips on his dick, slamming down vigorously and rubbing your clit in effect. It didn’t take long for your climax to build again.
   “’M gonna . . .” you whispered and Bucky placed you back up, gripping your hips and swiveling you around how you were earlier.
   “Cum, Doll,” he allowed, “Cum all over this cock,”
   You cried out, your toes curling as the dam in your core snapped and your climax washed over you. You hadn’t realized your fingers were intertwined with Bucky's until you came back down from your high, your chest heaving for breath.
   He sat up slowly and pressed his lips against your neck. “You’re beautiful,”
   Your body tensed at his words and you pulled away to give him a look of confusion. But he didn’t take his statement back, only slipped his hands around your back and gently placed you onto the bed, hovering over you.
   He moved with caution, like his gentleness might scare you off if he touched you too tenderly or stared too long in admiration. But he couldn’t help it, he did admire you.
   He spread your legs open and nestled between them, pushing into you slowly until your hips met and you both breathed out. His movements weren’t nearly as brutal as they were earlier, these thrusts were slow and deep and full of intention. He brought his torso down onto yours and you wrapped your legs around his waist, bringing him closer to you.
   He ran his hand, the only one he allowed himself to touch you affectionately with, through your hair and stared down at you, waiting. His gaze shifted between your lips to your eyes and he ran his thumb delicately along your mouth.
   You looked at him then, really looked at him with fresh eyes and your heart leapt into your throat at the realization. “Kiss me,” you whispered and he lowered himself onto your lips, setting off an explosion in your chest.
   “I’m yours,” he whispered, not able to bring himself to look at you, “I’ve been yours,”
   You opened your mouth to respond but he silenced you with a deep thrust and a moan erupted instead. He quickened his pace, watching where you connected and pushed deeper and harder, your cries of pleasure driving him. He had to fuck you, he couldn’t love you, he couldn’t make love to you, just fuck. That’s it. He couldn’t allow himself to replay your look of shock at his confession, though the scene would surely be on loop for the next few days until he could get over it. Just fuck. Nothing more. Not with that look of disbelief on your face.
   He held himself up with his forearms but you pressed him against you and wrapped your legs tighter around him. “Harder,” you whispered and he complied.
   He groaned when your tits bounced and brought his mouth to a nipple, the faint taste of sweat lingering on your skin. You brought his metal hand up to your chest and made him grip the flesh there but he pulled it back and placed it beside your head instead.
   “Bucky,” you whimpered and grabbed his hand again, bringing his open palm up to your lips and placing delicate kisses on the metal. “You can feel with it, right?”
   He nodded, hesitance sprawled on his face.
   “Then touch me,” you urged, bringing the hand down between your bodies and pressing the cold metal against your clit, “Feel me,”
   His brows furrowed slightly but the look of your certainty forced him to dismiss his own perceptions of his body; or rather, that arm. And when he began rubbing circles into your bundle of nerves the expression on your face made him hate it a little less. Only a little.
   You stared up at him, his pace growing erratic and sloppy and you knew he was close. “You wanna cum?” 
   He nodded, his hot breath coming out haggard and strained. You placed your hand on his cheek and brought him up to your kiss.
   “Then cum,” 
   He shook his head, “You first,” he swirled his finger around your swollen clit and you gasped at the force of his thrust.
   Your body tensed and you centered all your focus on his ministrations, “A little more pressure,” you directed and he quickly found a pressure that had you wobbling in the knees. “Close,” you murmured, gripping Bucky’s side and bringing your lips up to his neck to pepper the skin there.
   He groaned and judging by the way his dick twitched inside you, you knew he wasn’t far behind. 
   “Bucky,” you whispered, pulling his attention towards you and his gaze brought you closer to the edge, “I’m yours,”
   He blinked and his pace faltered for half a beat. He examined your facial expression, like he didn’t believe the words you’d spoken. Not like he couldn’t believe them, but like you’d said them just to appease him. 
   You placed your forehead against his, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath to center yourself in the haze of this fucking. “Yours,” you repeated, all the emotion residing in your chest poured into the singular word. 
   And then he was back to drilling you into the mattress, a new vigor fueling his thrusts. You cried out and Bucky pressed his sweaty torso flat against your own and it felt like the essence, the being, in your chest intermingled with his own and all the climaxes you’d previously experienced couldn’t hold a match to the flame, the intensity, the rawness of the one that washed over the both of you in that moment.
   Bucky moaned out, his hips bucking into yours and you rode out both of your highs. The sensation consuming and overwhelming and welcome on both ends as it flooded through your bodies, meeting at your point of contact.
   His arms flexed above you with the ferocity of his climax and the display had you writhing beneath him, already desperate for more.
   “Buck,” you whispered when his breathing evened out after he collapsed onto you.
   He didn’t respond, afraid it had all been a dream, a trick, despite still being inside you. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to shatter the perfection of this moment. What if you’d only said that to get him to finish faster? What if you’d only fed him what he wanted to hear? What if-
   “Buck,” you repeated, pulling him from his daze and he lifted his head only slightly. You gripped his chin lightly and forced him to look you in the eye. “You’re . . . mine?”
   He wanted to shake his head, to tell you that he got caught up in the moment but instead he said, “Yours,” because he knew anything else would be a lie and he was tired of lying.
   You studied him and nodded, “Yours,” you stated, already rolling your eyes from the smirk forming on his face, “Unfortunately,”
   He brought your face to his and planted a tender kiss on your lips. He started shifting his position and grabbed the underwear he’d been wearing earlier before pulling out and using the cloth to clean the mess pooling out of you. But not before taking a mental picture, of course. 
   After a few minutes of laying together, his hand playing with a few strands of hair, you felt the warm welcome of sleep beginning to drag you into its embrace. You opened your eyes groggily and looked up at Bucky who was already looking down at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
   “I know about your night terrors,” you whispered and his actions halted momentarily before returning to brush through your hair, “I hear you sometimes. And I understand why you don’t want to go to sleep but,” you sat up slowly and placed the thick blanket down on the floor, dragging the pillow down with you and patting the open space beside you, “you should rest. I’ll be here to calm you or stay up with you. Whichever one you need,”
   He didn’t move at first, his ears drowning out any thought he could have while processing what you’d said. He’d stayed silent so long you’d thought you’d crossed a line.
   “I can always sleep on the bed if you’d prefer, though,”
   Bucky shook himself from his thoughts and edged closer to the floor, slowly descending into the available space and wrapping the blanket around the both of you as much as he could. “No,” he said, “I want you here,”
   You hummed in response and snuggled into his waiting arms, lightly wrapping your own around him, making sure to kiss the part of himself he hated the most before fatigue swept you up into its clutches. Bucky followed soon after. 
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duskholland · a month ago
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Taunt (Richkid!Tom Smut)
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summary ↠ your relationship with tom is like playing a game of cat and mouse. he’s certain it’ll end with the two of you getting together, you aren’t so sure. — richkids au. warnings ↠ rich people shenanigans, golf, alcohol, jealousy, harry holland is used as a plot device, a fwb arrangement that becomes more, y/n has commitment issues but she is loved, angst with a happy end, hard smut. this fic is nsfw—minors do not interact !! extended smut warnings below the cut. word count ↠ 14.8k. a/n ↠ this was inspired by two amazing golf!tom fics I read last year— a golf lesson by @hollandcrush​ and the game by @allegra-writes​ :) both of those fics were exceptional and I have not been able to stop thinking about them since, so please go read both of those! thank you mabel and allegra for introducing me to the sinful side of golf... :) + some ppl get their friends birthday cards, but my gift to the lovely @sinisterspidey​ for her birthday is this golf!tom smutfic lmfao. chloe !! you have probably forgotten, but when I first conceptualised this (,,in december,,,) you were really helpful with some golf tips. sooo, thank you a) for helping me write this, b) for showing me the beautiful and hot world that is golf!tom, and c) for being a wonderful friend <3  ++ I had the idea for the smut section and constructed this whole elaborate plot just so I could enable myself... worth it? idk lmfao but it was fun !! please pay attention to the warnings !!
*:·゚✧*:·゚✧ *:·゚✧*:·゚✧ *:·゚✧*:·゚✧
smut warnings ↠ unprotected sex including: dom!tom (incl soft + mean), y/n is a brat and gets punished for it, minor sir kink, public sex (unseen + uninterrupted: anxious readers do not fear), a highly inappropriate use of a golf club (incl stimulation but no penetration), degradation, choking, finger sucking, biting, spitting, fingering, oral (both receiving), edging and orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, squirting, cumshot. please practice safe sex irl! condoms protect against STIs as well as unplanned pregnancy !!!
✧ *:・゚Taunt・゚:*✧
Tom’s mouth is warm against you, his persistent lips meeting with yours over and over again until all you can think about is him; all you care about is him.
“God….” he murmurs, deep voice vibrating against your lips. He brings a hand to cup the side of your face, and you feel yourself gasp as the cool metal of his signet rings brushes up against your cheek. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, darling. Even when you’ve pissed me off beyond belief.”
A smirk flickers out across your face. You disconnect from the heated embrace of Tom’s lips and sit back, your posture straightening as you take in the breathtaking sight before you.
Tom looks very handsome today, even when his eyes carry nothing but frustration. Wrapped in a tight black t-shirt and a pair of green slacks, his outfit is accompanied by the bright silver pop of his Rolex, rings and chain. There’s a glow to his cheeks that goes beyond the angered flush—he’s almost sparkling with the type of freshness only achievable by a good workout regime and an abundance of free wealth. His poise is further emphasised by the determined way his hair is styled from his face, his messy curls tamed into solemn waves.  He is gorgeous, even more so than you, and you think his beauty far eclipses anything that’s expected from a country club brunch.
“I didn’t do anything,” you say finally, teasingly running your fingers through his hair. Tom rolls his eyes and reaches up to quickly catch your hands.
“Don’t mess up my hair,” he mutters, squeezing your fingers in his, “do you know how long it took me to get it all flat at the back?”
You manage a shrug. “It looks cute when it’s loose, though,” you whine. He looks softer with his chestnut curls bouncing over his forehead—with it all slicked back, he seems hard, brittle. And Tom isn’t brittle—even if the facade says otherwise.
Tom’s jaw twitches minutely. “I like it loose too,” he says, “but it doesn’t really fit in here, does it?” He tosses a hand into the air, gesturing at the decadent room around you. “Business casual at the club, darling.”
A small snort slips past your lips.
Forest Hills Country Club is the most desirable club in London, and anyone who’s anyone finds themselves a regular at the sprawling estate. You’re currently attending the Saturday morning brunch—though you and Tom have escaped the party and stowed away in an empty secondary living room distant from the party. Even several rooms away, you’re able to hear the celebrations—ears catching the popping of bottles, the light music of the string quartet, and the warbling laughs of the elite clientele. You aren’t upset that you’re missing it. You always go to brunch, but you don’t often get the opportunity to hang around Tom so discreetly. When he’d stalked across the room and pried you off the arm of your date, you’d been pleased.
You’d only come with someone else to get his attention. It’d worked, like always, and now you have exactly what you want: Tom, feeding you attention, cradling your face and kissing your lips.
“God,” Tom mutters. He glides his hands around your waist, briefly skimming his warm palms against the swell of your breasts before moving them back to your face. “You’re so bloody hot…”
You’re sitting on a cabinet, and as Tom nuzzles his face against the column of your neck, the hands on your hips jerk you closer to the edge. Your thighs fall open, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as your hand reaches up to bury in the chestnut mane. Tom steps closer to you, briefly pausing the kisses to your neck as he groans very softly when contact is made between the hard outline of his cock and the front of your crotch. Your dress has risen up in the ten minutes you’ve spent making out with the man, but it works to your advantage as it means you’re able to grind closer to Tom and receive the lightest, most tantalising amount of pleasure to your aching cunt.
“Tom,” you whimper, voice twisting as you feel him suckle on the sensitive part of your neck.
“Hmm?”
“Are you— are you going to fuck me?”
Tom chuckles against your neck. “I don’t know…” he teases. “In here, with the party down the hall? Seems a little risky, darling.”
“I like risk,” you say, “we’ve done worse. Do you remember the sauna?
There’s a brief intermission as Tom laps his tongue across the base of your neck. “I suppose,” he drawls, employing the deep, husky tones of his lower register. His voice has you squirming against the counter he’d so unscrupulously tossed you up against when he’d tugged you into the room. “We’d have to be very quiet, though…”
“I can do that,” you say immediately. Everything feels so hot— so tender, so wet. There’s a tightness in the pit of your stomach, pulsing, teasing, pulsing. “C’mon, Tom… live a little.”
He flexes a neat brow. “Well, if you put it that way…” Tom’s eyes drift away from your face, tilting down to the other side of your neck. You feel a sinking sensation in the pit of your stomach as his expression drops. “Wait— what the fuck is that?” Tom pulls back suddenly, his face immediately clouding over. Whatever atmosphere of suspense you’d been constructing shatters easily. He jabs with his index finger, the angry fingertip digging into the spot where your right collarbone joins with your neck. He’s highlighting a hickey, straining obviously against your skin. A hickey left by another man. “Are you taking the piss right now?”
When you’d thought about the possibility of Tom finding the mark, part of you had leaned into it whilst the other had tried to run. It isn’t the first time he—nor you—have been met with such a visible reminder that nothing between you is exclusive. You’ve peeled off his shirt before to find scratches running the length of his back. Part of you feels like a dick for instructing the guy to suck right there, in a spot so prominent it was only a matter of time before Tom found it, but another part… Well, you will admit that it feels sort of good to have him staring at you so viciously. In a muddled, fucked-up way, it’s quite nice to know that he cares.
You try to bite back the smile of victory as you see him flare up at you, his eyebrows pulling together as his eyes simmer with anger.
“That’s a hickey, Tom,” you say annoyingly.
“I know what it bloody is.”
You tilt your head to the side. “Then what’s the issue?”
“You told me you were done with him,” he mutters. “What was his name, fucking… Jack?”
Your tongue skims across your lower lip. “I am done with Jack. Haven’t seen him in months.”
Tom growls. Again, he presses his thumb to the site of the bruised hickey. Your skin is still sensitive, and you hiss as you inhale.
“You are such a brat,” he states. “Who was it, then?”
You shrug. “Don’t know,” you say, craning your neck as you watch Tom continue to press his thumb over the mark. He’s quick with it, almost as if he’s trying to rub it away.
“Can’t have been a good shag then.” Tom glances up at you, raising a brow. “Was it?” You hesitate. The silence tells Tom all he has to hear. “I knew it. Why do you keep doing this?”
“Doing what…?”
His stare hardens. Tom’s hands move away from your hips as he steps back, placing enough distance between you so he’s able to cross his arms across his chest. As he settles in a position he seems comfortable in, you can’t stop your eyes from flittering between the bright glinting of his watch and the bulges of his biceps.
“Fucking around with men who can’t satisfy you.”
You have to bite your lip. Tom sets himself up so easily it’s almost cruel. “See, I would stop, but you quite enjoy my company, Tom, and I’d feel mean denying you my presence.”
Tom stills. You watch his cheeks bloom with frustration, catch the way he flexes his fingers. A beautifully irritated groan slips past his lips, then he’s moving towards you.
“I am nothing like those pathetic men you entertain yourself with, darling, and you know that as well as I do.”
He’s right. He’s right, and both of you know it. Tom truly is nothing like the men you keep falling back to, keep chasing in the hopes that they’ll glut the deep vacancy his absence causes during the times you’re apart.
When nobody else does, he cares. Tom cares that you’re wasting your nights with people who know your family name instead of your own, understands that the self-destructive tendencies you construct are there because you’re scared, paralysed, terrified of allowing yourself to love someone. He knows that he’s the only person who’s ever come close to breaking you open. He knows you’re fond of him, and you know that he returns the sentiments of fear and adoration you feel every time you look at him.
And you… You just don’t know how to process that. You’ve been burnt by love before, have let people in only to watch as they’ve broken promises and left your trust in tatters. It’s been a long time since you’ve indulged in anything beyond a light dalliance, being selective with who you let touch your heart. It isn’t that you don’t want to be loved. You do. You want to be adored, to be cherished—sometimes yearn for it so badly your chest aches. Yet, it’s easier to keep those thoughts to yourself. Your heart is a delicate ware, and you hide it behind layers of snark and nonchalance. Only someone truly persistent would be able to reach it, which brings you to the root of your problem…
Tom’s hands wrap around your waist again, heavy and firm. As his fingers dig into the skin above your hips, he jerks you closer, so you’re standing just in front of him. His lips move over yours, hot and heavy, parting open when you slip your tongue into his mouth and moan at the taste of bubbly champagne.
“You piss me off so much,” he spits, his voice hard against your lips. “It’s like you make every decision with the intention of trying to annoy me.”
You do.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you say, “I’m this annoying with everyone.”
Tom suddenly pulls away from your lips, leaving them wetter than before. Both of his hands go to your cheeks, and the rings wrapped around his middle and pinky fingers sting against your skin. He’s so close to you that the tip of his nose strains against yours.
“You are not annoying,” he says seriously. “You are spectacular.” He kisses you again, this time softer. His lips linger over yours as he adds, “and so bloody hot, even when you’re acting like a nightmare.”
Your lips fade into a smile. He softens you. He makes your passion melt and malleable and then reshapes it into something more manageable—something gentler, pink instead of red, warm instead of boiling.
“You always try so hard,” you say. You lift your hands to the collar of his shirt, letting your fingertips slip beneath the stiff fabric and coast behind his neck. “Doesn’t it ever get tiring, being so persistent?”
Tom chuckles. “Sometimes,” he admits. His fingers stroke over your hair before he drops his head, nuzzling his face against the side of your neck. As his lips and tongue pulse across the side of your throat, he continues to speak, “it’ll be worth it, though. Eventually.”
The gelled strands of his hair are stiff beneath your fingers. You enjoy unpicking them, coaxing the softer curls of his chestnut strands away from the hardness.
“How come?”
Tom sighs. His hot breath bursts across your neck.
“You push, and push, and push. It’s like you want to see how far you can go before I decide I’ve had enough,” he mutters. His teeth are cold against your neck, the sharp tips teasing at your skin. “Guess what, darling?” You stay quiet, distracted by the lingering pressure of his mouth. Tom tuts, then digs his teeth into the column of your neck. The sharp bite of pain brings a wave of pleasure to the primal heat between your legs. “I said, guess what, sweetheart?”
Your voice catches. “What?”
Tom smoothes his tongue across the site of the bite. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs. “I’m not. I know you only do this because you’re scared, because you want to pretend that this is a game that you can quit at any moment. And it is a game… it is.” He pauses to press a gentle kiss over the love bite. “But we both know that the only way this ends is with you and me, getting together. It ends with us being in love and being happy. But, and I’ll be honest here, Y/N: I’m getting pretty fucking pissed that you keep stringing this out, darling. So please— please—knock it off. I’m tired.”
He sees straight through you. You can’t decide if it’s horrifying or thrilling. When he looks up at you with eyes so understanding, it’s as if he can read your heart, you settle on terrifying.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tom sighs. He takes a few steps back, and you notice that your skin feels cold without him.
“I’m going back to the party,” he comments, murmuring in a way that draws a shiver down your spine. “You should ditch your date. He’s a twat.”
You rub your fingertips over your arms, trying to draw a flame to the loneliness that unfurls over your skin. “You barely know him,” you murmur.
Tom rolls his eyes. “I know you, Y/N,” he adds. “He’s not right for you.”
You spin a ring around your finger as you avoid his gaze. “Okay.”
He clasps his hands together. “I need to go,” he says, “I have to find my date.”
Your eyes snap up to Tom’s. “Your date?”
He nods. You watch as he tucks his hands into the deep pockets of his suit trousers, his shoulders dropping. “You’re not the only one who needs a partner for these things,” he mutters. Tom pauses to reach for his half-drunk glass of champagne, and you observe the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows the rest of the pearlescent liquid. His pink tongue coasts his lips directly afterwards. “And, seeing as you have a habit of declining my invitations, I made my own arrangement.” He pauses, eyes narrowing slightly. “Is that okay, darling?”
Well, you can’t exactly admit how distastefully his revelation lies in your chest without exposing yourself as a hypocrite, can you?
“Do whatever you want, Tom. I know I do.”
Something like pain flashes across his face, but it’s quickly smoothed away when he reaches up to tuck an unruly strand of hair back into place.
“Alright,” Tom says curtly. “Goodbye, Y/N.”
“Bye, Tom.”
For a moment, you think he’s going to approach you again; has that far-away haze resting in his eyes that usually prefaces vulnerability. He doesn’t, though. You stay still as Tom retreats to the end of the room, your heart seizing as he doesn’t try to look back.
With the heavy close of the door, Tom leaves you alone. At your sides, your hands curl into fists. It’s undeniable that the emotion hanging in your chest is nothing short of misery.
*:·゚✧*:·゚✧ *:·゚✧*:·゚✧ *:·゚✧
You don’t see him for a while. It’s nothing unfamiliar.
There are only a few times that you usually meet with Tom. Despite being busy people, your paths routinely cross during tennis practice on Tuesdays, brunches on Saturdays, and a plethora of other, semi-frequent activities at various points during the week. The next to hit your calendar is the fortnightly golf expedition that brings together your family with his. Usually, you’d skip it, but you decide you want to go this week.
After loading your car with a set of golf clubs that barely get to see the light of day, you shoot off a text to your cousin, letting him know that you’re on your way. You go golfing with him and your uncle, accompanying Tom, his twin brothers and his father on the course. Sometimes other friends tag along, but you tend to stick close to Tom or his brother Harry. Harry’s usually very funny. He gets flustered whenever you’re around.
Whilst you’re a competent golfer, you aren’t really keen on it. Maybe you should be better, given the hours you’ve sunk into wandering the course, but you’ve always preferred things that are more immediate, more thrilling. Nothing sounds attractive about chasing a ball around a field for several hours—the only thing that attracts you is the lure of the company.
One of the reasons you’ve decided to tag along today is because you’re restless. Even as you drive through London’s outskirts, you’re unable to sit still in your seat. Your fingernails drum over the leather of the steering wheel, tapping persistently until you drive yourself mad.
Nothing has felt right since last weekend’s brunch—nothing has felt right since Tom swept from the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Stuck alone in that room, you’d found yourself pondering the events until you’d become overwhelmed and had to ditch the party. By the time you’d next checked your phone, it was to a peeved text from your date and two concerned messages from Tom. Both had made you feel worse.  
Utterly unrelated to anything that had happened, you’d spent the rest of the day severing every hookup arrangement you’d constructed with other men. Your decision had definitely had nothing to do with the sudden, sickening realisation that each one of your lovers wore a bed of brown curls… You just… You just didn’t find them interesting anymore. You couldn’t ever focus when you were with anyone else, couldn’t find the soaring highs of pleasure you get when you’re with him. They didn’t touch your lips with the same consideration as Tom, didn’t roll their hips with the right amount of gusto. They weren't him.
Fine. Fine. Tom had gotten under your skin. He always does.
Maybe he has a point, anyway. Maybe you are destined to end up together—or, at the very least, are supposed to bridge this gap between infuriating acquaintances and something more.
You’ve long since thought you’re two sides of the same coin. The evidence presents itself everywhere: in the way you have the same favourite type of champagne, and your ability to act as an unbeatable set of doubles during tennis. The way he’s hot when you’re cold, and vice versa. He’s snarky and brash, and so are you, but it fits in a way that’s soft. Nothing about your relationship is abrasive, even when it’s so obviously clear that both of you are sharp. Tom softens you…
…But he also infuriates you. Your annoyance swells to a peak as you make the turning into the country club, your fingers flexing around the leather of the steering wheel.
Who does he think he is, calling you out like that? Speaking about your future? Implying you’ll end up together despite the way your actions suggest anything but?
Tom thinks that he knows everything, thinks he has you nailed down because he’s taken the time to learn the intricate workings of your brain. He has some nerve acting like he understands you—regardless of whether or not he’s aware of how scarily close he seems to know you.
Now, are you sincerely furious? No, perhaps not. But if you think about your last encounter for long enough, it gives you an edge worth pursuing. You love infuriating Tom, thrive off the way the vein in his neck strains against the reddening patches of his skin when you get under his skin. The way his jaw firms as his eyes harden makes you shudder, ignites a heat in the pit of your stomach that demands attention. You crave the fierce placement of his hands on your hips, the spat words of degradation that he laces with equal parts affection and spite. When you push him far enough, he slips into a dominant headspace so obscene you find the memories following you into dreams.
You concoct a plan—a way to push Tom, just a little further, just to see if he can take it. You pull stunts all the time, but nothing as brazen as the scheme you draw up as you drive to the golf course. You tell yourself it’s to get back at him for questioning your judgement, but maybe it’s to see—to check—to disprove the other things he’d said. To challenge his assertion that he’ll still be waiting for you to throw in the towel and let him— what? Love you?
Your chest tightens.
Running on auto-pilot, you find yourself pulling into the car park of the country club, just a few minutes late for the game. Still mulling things over, you’re a little dazed as you clamber from your car, stretching out the tired muscles in your arms and shoulders as your feet make contact with the gravel. The air is plump with the sweet scent of honeysuckle, and you enjoy letting your eyes flutter around the light flowers and deep bushes that line the perimeter of the car park.
Amidst the buzzing bees and crunching gravel, you hear someone call out your name.
“Alright, Y/N?”
Your eyes lift, and as an eager smile spreads across your lips, you find yourself ruffling your hair. It’s Harry, Tom’s younger brother. Dressed in a pair of grey golf shorts and a white polo shirt, his cheeks are a violent shade of red. His flush contrasts the dark, rusted shade of his hair.
“Hi, Harry,” you return. You reach back into your car and haul out your golf clubs. As you stand up and lock your car, you find the boy standing a lot closer to you than he had been before. Your smile becomes perplexed. “Are you okay?”
Harry nods his head quickly. He holds out his hands, an eager grin strapped across his face.
“Can I help you with those?” he asks, tilting his head towards your golf clubs.
“Sure,” you reply. Your back feels a thousand times lighter as he reaches out and shoulders your heavy bag of clubs. Stepping forward, you press a hand to his shoulder as you peck his cheek. “Thanks, Harry.”
The man emits a broken noise, husked suspiciously low. “No— no problem, love.”
Part of you feels bad for writing Harry into your ploy, but he’s just so easy. It’s obvious how flustered he is already as you agree to walk with him to the golf course, his cheeks continuing to burn a bright, visceral red. You try to ease his nerves by making light conversation, asking about his week, learning that he’s been busy working with Tom. The two of them own and run a film studio just on the outskirts of London.
By the time you join the rest of your group, the tension between you has eased, and your mood has brightened. It’s a beautiful day out on the course, with the slopes of the green doused in that wonderfully bright, early-July glow. It’s hot beneath the sun, and you find yourself grateful that you’d opted for a short black skort and a small white t-shirt. Accessorising even in the face of sport, you have a pair of sunglasses perched on the bridge of your nose and a gold necklace hanging from around your neck.
“Ahh… The stragglers are finally here. Thanks for joining us at last, Y/N, Harry.”
You scowl playfully as you look at Sam, Harry’s twin. He’s resting back against a golf bag, wearing a pair of chequered trousers and a flat cap. He flashes you a smile before pushing forward, his hand briefly skating over your waist as his lips meet with your cheek.
“Piss off, Sam,” Harry mutters. He high fives his brother with enough force to have the clash ringing through the air.
You find yourself looking around the group. There’s a few of you, mostly men, but your cousin Theo has brought his girlfriend, Annabeth. It’s whilst you’re reacquainting yourself with both of them that you feel Tom’s presence behind you, his shadow enveloping you before you feel him. His hands slip around your waist as you’re talking with Theo and Annabeth, and you lean into his side as he steps up behind you.
“Ahh, Tom,” Theo says, eyeing the man at your side with intrigue in his eyes, “nice seeing you again, chap.”
Tom hums. He rests his chin on your shoulder as he steps a little closer to you. “Pleasure as always,” he murmurs. After pausing for a moment, he moves away from you, allowing you to turn and finally look at him. You feel your breath leave your lungs as you take in the sight of him, glistening beneath the sun.
There are a few things you’ve learnt about Tom in the year that you’ve known him. He likes dogs, he likes the colour red, he has a secret tattoo printed to the bottom of his foot. But by far the most prominent aspect of his personality, and the one hobby he seems to fall back to, over and over again, is his affinity for golf. If he isn’t playing it, you can almost guarantee he’s thinking about it, and his dedication to the art of the swinging club is reflected in how seriously he takes the game. He isn’t superstitious about much, but you’ve come to learn that he never performs as well if he isn’t wearing his lucky outfit: cap—light grey, white writing—long slacks, blue shirt, golf glove, and Rolex.
Somehow, as he stands before you in an outfit you’ve seen a thousand times before, it feels refreshing. There’s a softness in your chest that’s unfamiliar. It makes it hard to breathe.
“Hi,” you blurt out, finding yourself on the receiving end of his deep, inquisitive eyes.
Tom’s eyebrows twitch. “Hey,” he says, an edge of mirth in his voice. “You alright? I didn’t think you liked golf.”
You laugh softly. “I don’t,” you say, “but I thought it was a nice day to try and learn.” Peering around, you raise a hand over your forehead and block out the shine of the sunbeams. “Harry?” you call out, “are you still good for teaching me a thing or two?”
Still with Sam, the other twin turns around quickly. The nod of his head is so enthusiastic it draws laughs from your cousin and Annabeth.
“Harry?” Tom questions. You look back at him, noting his expression has smoothed over, the friendliness gone.
“Yes,” you reply. “I was telling him how I needed some help, and he generously volunteered to teach me.”
“Ah.” Tom’s jaw tenses. “That was nice of him.”
You tilt your head to the side. “It was.”
Annabeth interjects. “He’s a nice boy,” she compliments, “it’s so obvious he’s sweet on you, Y/N.”
You scrunch up the tip of your nose, feigning bashfulness. “I don’t know,” you drawl, maintaining eye contact with Tom, “I think he’s scared of me. I wouldn’t say it’s a crush.”
“I don’t think so,” Annabeth teases. She smiles before nudging your cousin. “Theo, can you show me the clubs again…”
Left alone with Tom, the man steps forward. You have to bite back a grunt when his hand wraps around your upper arm, and he drops his voice.
“What are you planning, eh?” he murmurs, words charged with intrigue. “You seem… different today.”
“Different?”
“Yes.” Tom nods, and using his free hand, reaches up to ruffle up his curls. The white golfing glove wrapped around his palm looks delightful as it contrasts the smooth metal of his watch. “There’s this… sparkle to you. A glow.” He narrows his eyes. “I know you’re plotting something, so I’ll come out with it now, Y/N.” He moves nearer, the tips of his teeth glinting dangerously. “Do not distract me from my game, or I won’t hesitate to make you regret it.”
A snort slips past your lips before you can stop it. “What, are you going to punish me?” you tease. “Out here, with our families around? Okay, Tom.” You smirk petulantly as you cross your arms over your chest. “I’d like to see you try.”
You love goading Tom, thrive off the way his jaw tenses as his cheeks flush. “Such a bloody brat,” he mutters. “I hope you get me to snap, darling. You’ve been frustrating me so much recently, I’d love to put you in your place.”
It’s almost unnerving how similar your wavelengths are—how quickly Tom seemed to jump onto the devious plan you’ve been concocting. It’s as if he can read your mind. Your sex life has always been fluid, usually characterised by him taking charge and muscling you into scenarios equal parts scandalous and seductive, and you suppose it’s just a testament to how strongly you’ve bonded that he can read you so well. It’s almost flattering how eager he is to oblige you, to play the role of dominant partner when your skin crawls with brattiness.
He fits with you so well it scares you. You’re trying to lean into the fear.
“Okay, Tom,” you say, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible as you shrug. “I’m just here to have a good time.” You glance behind you, noting your group has congregated around the start of the course. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Harry’s waiting for me.”
Tom releases your arm as you brush him off. The imprints of his fingers stay throbbing against your skin, even as you begin to work your way around the course.
Golf is… okay. You appreciate that Harry lingers behind with you. He offers you a few helpful pointers, and you try to take them on board. If you’re being honest, though, your attention is on his older brother.
You are very good at riling Tom up. You find it easy. All it takes is pushing your sunglasses to sit above your forehead and bending over to pick up a few golf balls, and you have him on a leash. You’re wearing your skort high on your hips, and Tom’s cheeks darken every single time you stretch over or fiddle with the hem. His eyes are equally poisonous—rippling with intense ferocity each time you brush your hand over Harry’s upper arm or lean a little bit closer to the boy. It knocks Tom off his game, to the point where he’s having to crack jokes and excuse his lack of performance with comments about a headache.
You aren’t cruel with anything that you’re doing. You know Harry’s got a soft spot for you, so you try your best not to do anything to seriously harm him. You just lean into him a bit, let him reposition your hips as he guides your swing. There’s a point where he ends up behind you, arms around you, hands resting over yours as he guides you through the swing. There’s a decent amount of space between you, but from Tom’s angle, you’re sure it looks a lot closer than it is. If the way his cheeks flame as he smashes his next shot is any indication, it does.
After about eight holes, you find yourself growing tired. As far as you’ve been pushing Tom, he’s refused to engage in the way you’ve wanted. All that’s happened is he’s ruffled up his hair, grown a little taller, and developed a stiff jaw. All that’s happened is he’s made you horny.
And you really can’t be the one on the back foot, so you change your angle. Moving your attention away from Harry, you excuse yourself and decide to partner up with Tom.
“Tom,” you whisper, leaning close to him. You’re lagging at the end of the group, everyone else waiting to take the first shot on the next hole. Tom’s crouching on the ground as he rummages through his golf bag, the metallic clubs clinking. “Tommy.”
Very slowly, he looks up at you. From beneath his lashes, Tom stares up at you. “What?” The bite to his voice makes you shudder.
“I need you,” you whine. You reach up to tug at the sleeve of his shirt. “Now.”
You watch as he bites at the inside of his cheek. He stands up, a new club in his hand. “I’m playing golf, Y/N,” he mutters, skimming his thumb over the crown of the club. “I’m busy trying to win.”
You lick your lips, letting your fingers go for a walk along his shoulder. “You’re not doing so well, though,” you taunt. Blinking innocently, you sweep your hair away from your face and subtly extend your neck. “Don’t you want to go and do something with a guarantee of success?”
Tom rolls his eyes. He’s called up to tee, but leans closer to spit into your ear before he goes. “Just because you’re an easy lay doesn’t mean I can get all the satisfaction I need from you.”
You exhale quickly, surprised by how he’s let his snarling remarks slip into public. “Shit,” you mutter, “are you actually angry?”
He raises a brow. “This is the worst performance I’ve put in all season,” he says, “it’ll ruin my average. Yes, darling. I’m mad.” Tom lets his teeth close around your earlobe as he bites. You whimper at the sharp ache. “Knock it off.”
Always the slippery charmer, Tom decides to couple his hard words with a soft kiss on your cheek. As he walks up to take his shot, you’re left aching.
Things are more desperate now—you’re more desperate. More reckless, more needy. Your earlobe throbs, and you find yourself clinging to Tom’s side.
Working slowly, you build up your teasing. It’s all very subtle—a few stray touches to Tom’s shoulders and his arms, a few light comments about his form. You change your posture so you’re taller, let your laughs roll freer. Tom always likes it when you smile, so you try your best to keep up with the group and toss in a few jovial comments. As you entertain your company, you’re constantly touching him, constantly teasing him, constantly clinging to him. You hope you’re overwhelming him as much as the scent of his cologne is overwhelming you.
With your eyes on the prize, you throw everything you have into teasing Tom until he breaks. You want a hole in one—it just isn’t the type that everyone else around you is striving for—and, eventually, you win. It’s hard to tell what it is that finally pushes him over the edge, but somewhere between reapplying your lipstick and letting your fingers tug at the curls sprouting from the root of his neck, Tom finally bends.
When he steps up to take a shot at the 11th hole, Tom smacks the ball with so much force the air around you lights up with the shocking sound of metal on plastic. You gasp slightly from the suddenness of it. The flex of his bulging biceps is obscene, but that pales in comparison to the stunned realisation that Tom’s hit the ball in the wrong direction entirely. You watch the white object soar through the air, careening to the far left of the course before becoming lost in the thicket of trees and bushes that line the route. There’s no doubt in your mind that it was purposeful.
“Oh no,” Tom mutters monotonously. “That was so far out.” He pauses, voice flat as he turns to look at you. His eyes are aflame. “Y/N,” he calls out, loud enough for everyone to hear, “could you please come with me? I think I’ll need another set of eyes to find that ball… It’s gone right into the shrubbery.”
A soft pout sprawls across your lips. “Ahh,” you say. “That’s a shame, Tom. You’re usually so good at golf.”
His lips press into a firm line. “Well, I’ve been a little bit off my game today.”
You nod understandingly. “I’m sure you’ll be better next time.”
Tom’s mouth twitches. Before he can snarl out whatever remark he has curled on the tip of his tongue, his father interjects. “Tom, just leave it. We have a hundred balls here.”
Tom shakes his head. “That was my lucky ball,” he reasons, “I need it. You lot can keep going around the course… We’ll rejoin when we’ve found it. It just might take us a while to find it…”
A round of hums and agreements flies around the group. No one seems to find anything suspicious, not even when Tom hurriedly tosses his golf bag over his shoulder and grabs your hand. You have just enough time to give Harry your bag before you’re being pulled behind Tom, his actions pointed, forceful. He leads you up the nearest hill, towards the thicket of trees that line the course.
“You’ve done it now, Y/N,” he mutters. His hand is so hot against yours. “Congratulations. You’ve bloody won.”
Relief swells in your chest. “What did I win?” you ask.
Tom is striding ahead so quickly that you find yourself almost tripping over your feet as you try to keep up with him. “My full and undivided attention,” he spits. His eyes are almost black as he twists around to look at you. “I’m not sure you’ll like it.”
“I don’t know,” you drawl, “I think that’s exactly what I wanted.”
Exhaling, Tom continues to lead the way. He’s quiet for a while, silent as he drags you up the hill, only slowing when he nears the top. He stops suddenly, releasing an unsteady sound as you crash into him. “Sorry, love,” he mutters. His voice is softer, and as he glances back at you, the fire in his eyes dampens. “You are in a rough mood today, right?” he checks. He’s open, willing to listen to the boundaries that both of you know have to be set before you engage in any sort of intimate activity.
“Yes,” you plead, “you can do whatever you want to me.”
Tom slips both of his hands into yours, thumbs brushing over the back of your hands. “Anything?”
You nod. “Anything.”
“Come up here, then,” he murmurs, continuing to lead you up the hill. “You owe me for absolutely decimating my average. I got— fucking bogeys. God.” Tom shudders. “I’m almost as bad as Harry.”
You reach the top of the slope and step closer to kiss his cheek. You’re equal parts guilty and endeared that you’d had such an effect on him. “Let me make it up to you?”
Tom just scoffs. “Unless you can pretend to be me and somehow complete the rest of the holes with an eagle or two, that’s bloody impossible,” he says, spouting more golf jargon that makes your head hurt. “No,” he adds, “but I know what you can do. It’s the least you can do, actually, for teasing me like a little attention whore all day.” When you suck in a breath, he nods. “Yeah, princess. I know what you are.”
You swallow dryly. You feel hot, pulsing with energy as neediness tingles in the tips of your fingers. “I couldn’t help it,” you whine, “you looked so good, Tom.”
“Get down,” he mutters. “Get on your knees, Y/N.”
Flames roar across you. “W- What?”
Tom flexes a brow. “You heard me.” He steps closer. “Get. On. Your. Knees.”
“...Right here?”
He surveys the course. “Over there,” he clarifies.
Tom leads you to an abandoned sand bunker. You’ve merged with the practice course, separated from the main holes by a thick line of trees and bushes. The practice holes are closed today, and there isn’t another soul around. Even if the course wasn’t deserted, the bunker is angled in such a way that you could be on your knees in front of Tom and you’d be completely hidden from view. The only angle anyone could see you from is if they’re approaching from behind, but you trust Tom enough to keep an eye out.
With this knowledge under your belt, you find yourself smirking.
“And what if I don’t want to, Tom?” You cross your arms over your chest as you rock back on your feet. “Who said I wanted to do anything for you, hm?”
He reaches out towards you without a second thought, and his gloved hand wraps around your throat. You can just about make out the glint of his Rolex, wrapped around tan skin before you become distracted by the way his fingers squeeze the sides of your neck. The pressure is delicious.
“Do you really want to keep this up?” he challenges. “Really?”
The contact on your throat makes your cunt tingle, and you absently release a high whine. You would push back, but Tom’s already red, already grunting. You’ve already gone as far as you can go.
You shake your head. He hums.
“I didn’t think so.” Suddenly, he releases your throat and moves his hands to your shoulders, pushing you until your knees yield. You sink into the sandy bunker, grunting when grains of sand dig into the sensitive bumps of your knees. “Shit.” Tom’s hand shifts to your cheek, and he tilts your head up so you can meet his eyes. “You look so fucking pretty down there, on your knees for me, where you should be. Where I know you love to be. That’s right, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve been acting out. Because you’ve missed me.”
You tilt your head to the side, chasing the curve of Tom’s thumb. When you envelop his fingertip with your lips, he’s quick to plug your mouth with it.
“Yeah,” he mutters. He gently starts to thrust his finger into your mouth, slow, controlled. “You fucking missed me.”
He stops his movements and drags his finger from your mouth, wiping it dry on the side of your cheek. Before you can complain, Tom’s unbuckling the front of his trousers and tugging on his boxers, replacing the emptiness in your mouth with his cock, full-mast and weeping. You’ve barely got enough time to part your lips before he’s fucking past your lips. Roughly, Tom pushes his crown then his sheath all the way into the hot heat of your mouth until you have the curls of his pubes brushing up against the tip of your nose.
You moan softly, drawing a hearty moan from the man above you. With both of his hands moving to grab the back of your head, he starts to guide you, harshly pulling you back and forth along his shaft. He’s messy with it, rough, persevering even when you gag. He knows you like it rough.
“That’s it,” he mutters. “Take it. There you go. Oh, fuck yeah.”
With shaky hands, you reach up and rest your palms on his thighs. You can feel the thick muscles flexing and shaking every time you go deeper, responding when you slow, when you pick up speed. When you teasingly pull back and kitten-lick across his tip, Tom’s legs tense again, only to relax when he pushes your head back down and fills your mouth completely.
“Don’t fucking test me,” he says, voice gruff. “You think you have any space left to bargain after the stunt you pulled out there? God.” He’s flushed, fingers jagged in your hair. “Prancing around in that ridiculous skirt, doing everything you could to drive me up the bloody wall.” Tom tugs at your hair until you whine. “Shit, you looked so good…” He pauses, giving you an up and down glance. “You look better now, though. On your knees, in the middle of this golf course where anyone could see you, sucking my cock like the greedy little slut you are.”
He thrusts into your mouth particularly harshly, and you find yourself pulling back, desperate for air. Tom lets you slip back, watches through amused, half-closed eyes as you pant for breath, your chin slick with spit, lips inflamed. You run your tongue around your lips, failing to clean up the mess, and Tom smoothes both of his hands around to the front of your face, his glove stiff like leather, his other palm soft.
“Open,” he says, drumming his thumbs across your lower lip. He wrenches your mouth open, bending over until his face is suspended above yours. When he purses his lips, you open your mouth wider, extending your tongue in time for him to spit into your open mouth. As his spittle seeps across your tongue, you try to stop yourself from melting. It’s warm and wet, tastes of mint and him.
Tom raises a brow.
“Thank you,” you say immediately, voice hoarse, throat scratchy. “Thank you, sir.”
He moans softly before guiding himself back into your mouth. “Good girl… Pretty girl.” Hands back in your hair, Tom pushes you quickly, thrusting with more purpose. “Oh fuck,” he mutters. “Shit. Such a hot mouth, ‘m gonna blow it if you keep that up.”
You hum around his shaft. Just when Tom’s starting to buck against you, you loosen your jaw and go deeper, and then, he peaks.
Looking above you, the moment Tom spins into climax is a sight that sticks in your memory. He looks so majestic as he unravels, his mouth falling open as his head falls back. Whilst his hands fist at your hair, he continues to thrust into your mouth, his cock pulsing as he cums across your tongue. You swallow around him, continuing to suck, even as it gets messy, drawing it out for him until he moans and pulls away.
“Oh fuck, “ Tom pants. “Christ.” His eyes are bright, glassy. He blinks as if he’s dazed, then gazes down at you adoringly.
“Good?” you ask, slowly becoming aware of the numbness in your knees.
“Fucking spectacular,” Tom corrects. His hand skims over the side of your face. “Get up,” he asks, then gives your cheek a light tap before stepping back and providing you with some space to rise to your feet. A soft grunt slips past your lips as you stand up, your legs aching. There are grains of hot sand straining against the tender skin of your kneecaps, gritty and pulsing, their imprints aching even after you dust them off.
“Ow,” you mutter, staring down at the dimples pressed into your knees.
Tom reaches out and wraps a heavy hand around the top of your arm. When you look back at him, you see that he’s tucked his cock back into his trousers. The tips of his teeth flash as he reels you closer.
“Gimme a kiss, darling,” he coos. When he’s lingering in front of you, he puckers up his lips dramatically, staring at you insistently until you step forward to plant a kiss on his mouth. Tom hums against your lips, and you let his tongue slip into your mouth when you feel the wet tip press up against your lips. He groans as your tongue mingle, and you find your fingers weaving into his hair.
“Can you taste yourself on me?” you whisper against his lips. When Tom moans, you feel him kiss you with more strength. With one hand resting on your cheek, the other grabs at your waist, fingers squeezing at your skin until you whimper.
“Shit,” Tom moans. He pulls back from you to pant against your mouth. There’s a beautifully bright flush resting over his cheeks, and he looks exceptionally gorgeous doused in the light from the sun. “Come with me, right now…”
His hand is strong as he weaves it in yours and starts to jerk you across the course, pausing only to reach down and grab his sets of clubs. The heavy bag jingles over Tom’s back, brushing up against your side as he tugs you over the green.
“Ow,” you say again, feeling the heavy bag colliding with your side.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, glancing back to shoot you an inquiring smirk. He raises a brow. “Actually, I don’t know why I’m apologising,” he adds. “I know you like getting knocked around.”
The velvet tones to his voice bring on a fresh wave of heat, and you feel the space between your legs pulse as you stumble after him. “Shut up, Tom,” you whine.
He glances back at you. “Am I wrong?”
The bite of your lip is all the confirmation that he needs.
Tom takes you across the course, away from the groups of people dotted around the green. You can’t see anyone you recognise and conclude that your group must have moved on to a few holes up. You briefly wonder if they’ll find your absence strange, but that thought fades as the man holding your arm pulls you into a small golf shack.
It’s just a storage shed, made up of white painted planks and housing a few cabinets and a lawnmower. The door is rickety and creaks as Tom slams it shut behind you. You barely get a second to take in the lack of decoration before he’s holding your waist and pushing you up to sit on top of the cabinet, your thighs falling open around his waist as he slots his lips against yours again.
He makes out hungrily with you for a while, the coarse leather of his glove brushing up around the side of your face as he holds you in place. Tom’s lips are hard, bruising and fierce as they devour your mouth. His hold on your face isn’t as angry as it’d been as he’d thrust his cock down your throat, but his actions are still riddled with frustration so prevalent it makes you squirm. By the time he pulls away, you’re panting, soft whimpers slipping past your lips every time he squeezes your waist particularly harshly.
“Shit,” Tom murmurs. One of his hands slips down to rest against your thigh. “I can feel you shaking, baby…” He looks up to meet your eyes, a cocky dominance pooling in his gaze as he smirks. “Whining like a little bitch in heat.”
Your eyes widen. A stark pang of humiliation rolls down your spine, curling uncomfortably between your legs and manifesting itself as arousal.
“Tommy,” you complain, voice cracking slightly, “don’t say that.”
He shifts his hand up to press against the crotch of your skort. Even with the layer of material, the pressure of his fingers nudging up against your slit makes you moan. He catches the eager sound with his lips as he kisses you again.
“What?” he murmurs, “are you telling me if I take a look between your legs right now, I won’t find you wet?” Tom’s teeth catch at the curve of your lower lip. “I don’t think that’d be right, princess.” He continues to gently pad his fingers across the front of your centre. “I think I know you a lot better than you think.”
You can’t stop the soft moans from pouring past your lips, especially when Tom moves the hand away from your thigh and tucks it beneath the top of your skirt. He wriggles his fingers down, clumsily working against the silky fabric before he manages to cup your cunt, bare against his palm, hot, pulsing, tender.
“Tom, oh my— shit,” you splutter, trying not to let your moans split into your words. Your skort doesn’t give much room to work, but Tom’s able to curl his fingers down to your entrance, dip the tips in the pool of your arousal, then spread your heat to your clit. He’s moaning against your neck as he teases your bud with his fingers.
“Aww.” Tom separates from your neck to kiss the bottom of your jaw. “You’re so wet, lovie. Still shaking. You’re so silly.”
He’s teasing you, fingertips light, skimming away from your centre when you try to buck down against them. “Please don’t tease me,” you whimper.
Tom laughs easily. “You underestimate me,” he coos, “do you really think I’m going to give you anything you want after the stunt you pulled out there? Thought you’d have learnt some fucking manners when I fucked your throat raw back where anyone could see you... I guess not.” Finally, his fingers connect with your clit properly, hot and eager as they stroke across the bud. It’s engorged and sensitive, and the stimulation has you grabbing handfuls of his back as you scramble to get a hold of yourself. “No, baby. You don’t get to cum. I don’t even think I’ll fuck you.”
Your breath hitches. “No,” you whine, “please, Tom.”
He’s still stroking your clit, still coaxing you closer to an edge that now feels so far away.
“No.” When Tom adds his lips to your neck, it drives you mad. Your arousal drips from your hole, your cunt fluttering around nothing. You curl your hands around Tom’s biceps, continuing to moan as you feel him toy with your clit, fingers unceasingly trailing over your lips and your bud, stimulating you just how you like it.
“Tom,” you add, feeling the heat suddenly twist, “‘m gonna cum.”
He stills his fingers. The whine you emit draws a chuckle past his lips.
“Finish the job yourself, then, if you want it so badly,” he purrs. Tom keeps his fingertips by your clit, pulling back to look at you questioningly. “Go on,” he urges, “get yourself off on my fingers like the needy little slut you are.”
Part of you wants to argue with him, but you find your brattiness fading as your hips instinctively buck down against his fingertips. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper.
It’s humiliating to sit them, grinding down on his fingers, on the receiving end of a very hard stare from Tom who watches you like you’re some kind of spectacle. It takes a while for you to build up to the edge again—Tom wasn’t messing around when he said you’d be working solo. He’s there only as a passive observer, his fingers drenched in your juices and providing you with the perfect board to rut down against. He spits degrading comments into your ear as you hump against his hand, only seems to shy away from actually touching you. If you thought you were good at teasing, he’s truly something else.
Eventually, you find the edge, but when you vocalise that you’re close, he’s quick to pull his hand away completely. Tom pushes his fingers into your mouth before you can complain, eager to plug your desperate pleads as you shift from side to side, craving contact with your bud.
“There you are,” he murmurs, “suck my fingers. That’s it. It’s okay.” His other hand strokes below your eye, and you wonder what he thinks of the desperate tears that pool in your orbs. “I haven’t even done anything, baby.” He moves the hand from your cheek and rests the back of his hand against your forehead. “Shit,” he adds. “You’re burning up.”
Tom looks away from you for a moment. The devious smirk he has on his face makes you shudder.
“Stay still,” he continues, “I have an idea.”
When he pulls away from you, leaving your mouth empty, you struggle to pant for breath. “Tommy,” you say quickly, “I’m sorry. I— I shouldn’t have teased you. I’m sorry. Please… Please don’t leave me like this. Don’t you… Don’t you want to fuck me?” You watch through heavy eyes as Tom crouches and starts to rummage through his golf bag.
“Should’ve thought about the consequences of your actions before you decided to throw my game,” he returns, voice light, teasing. The sounds of the clinking golf clubs make you shudder. “I do want to fuck you,” he adds, “but you’re barking mad if you think I’m giving you anything you want right now. I’m not pleasing you, I’m playing with you. I’m punishing you.”
You emit a light moan. Your legs are shaking, arousal hot and thick as it lines your slit. You bite at your lips as you try to regain your composure. “How are you going to do that when we’re out in the middle of nowhere?” Usually, punishment with Tom involves handcuffs and blindfolds. All you have in the shed is a lawnmower and a bunch of rusty tools.
This fact doesn’t seem to perturb Tom—he just smirks as he glances back at you. “Modern problems involve creative solutions,” he mutters. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll have a good time. You’ll probably enjoy it too. It’s just about as deranged as I know you usually enjoy.”
A fond smile twists across your lips. “Did you know that you can be really elusive sometimes?”
Tom hums. “Just adds to the charm.”
“Makes sense. You are a very charming man.”
You can only see the side of his face from where you’re sitting, but you’re fairly sure his cheeks develop a rosy flush. You catch him biting at his lip until it’s faded, and the cuteness of the interaction brings a smile to your face.
Tom clears his throat. “Here we go…” He pulls a long club from the top of his bag. As the handle extends, revealing inch after inch of glistening metal, you find your eyes widening.
Are they always that long…?
“Don’t look so panicked,” Tom adds, expression softening. He stands up and moves over to you, gloved hand skimming across the thin metal handle. He pauses, tauntingly pressing the bulbous head of the club up against your cheek. It’s an iron, so one side is slightly curved, the other flat. You whimper at the sensation of cool metal to your skin. “It’s new,” he explains. “Never touched anything, never even seen daylight.” The expression that webs itself across his face is so scandalous it makes you squirm. “It still needs to be broken in.”
You find yourself gulping. You look between the club and Tom before letting your lips settle into a confused pout. “If you think for even one second you’re going to put that in me—”
Tom dissolves into a barking laugh before you can finish your sentence. “No, no, no, sweetheart. No. Don’t be silly.” He brings the head of the iron to your lips, silencing you with the heavy metal. Tom smirks as the tip wobbles your lower lip. “I wouldn’t ever put anything in you… I’m just going to have some fun. Is that okay?”
When he moves the head away from your lips, you glance down at the metal, then look back up to inspect the dark expression hanging over Tom’s face. He looks so handsome, with his jaw sharp and his eyes focused.
“Yeah,” you say breathlessly. “That’s okay.”
“Mhmm? Are you sure?” Tom reaches up to cup your cheek, peering into your eyes inquiringly. “Tell me what our system is again, yeah?”
It’s hard to maintain your focus, especially when he moves the head of the iron to roll up and down your thigh. “Green means keep going, orange means take a break, red means stop.”
“Good job, darling.” Tom looks between your legs. His hands press your thighs apart, and he gently guides the club until the head is nestled against your crotch. You cry out at the pressure. You’re sensitive from the edge, your clit still throbbing, and even the sensation of cold metal against your covered bud makes you shiver. “You’re so sensitive, aren’t you?” he teases. “I wonder how long you’ll last before you lose it.”
You’re breathing heavily. “Not long.”
Tom gently grinds the club against you, and you can’t stop yourself from bucking down against the pressure. It isn’t comfortable—it’s hard, cold. But it’s something, and you find yourself chasing the stimulation no matter how blunt the contact is.
“Tell me what it feels like.”
You swallow to line your throat. “Cold,” you say, “I’m really— really hot, and it feels so cold. So good. Like ice.”
Tom hums. He surprises you by suddenly pushing the club into your hand. His deft fingers move between your legs, separating your thighs even further before he grabs the front of your skort. With a quick tug, he manages to rip through the silky material, parting the shorts and revealing the fact that you’d opted against panties. As the cool air of the shed wafts across your flushed centre, you have to bite your lip to stifle a moan.
“That’s so much better,” he announces. Tom continues to widen the slit until you’re fully on display, and he pushes the material away from your slit completely.
“Tom,” you manage, “that was my favourite skort.”
He very quickly presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll get you a new one,” he promises, “sorry.”
You melt. “It’s— okay.” You find yourself distracted as he plucks the club from your shaking hand, then watch through heady eyes as he shamelessly admires the sight of your cunt, open and hot, undoubtedly wet and lined with arousal that he’d drawn from you.
“Keep these apart,” he instructs, tapping at your inner thigh with a hand. He meets your eyes and raises a brow. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Good, love. Good…” He squeezes your thigh. “If you’re good for me, maybe I’ll rethink fucking you…”
You nod your head quickly. You feel hot, everywhere, arousal crawling over your skin. It’s wet between your legs, fuzzy in your chest, fervent in your brain.
“Please, please—” Your breath hitches, words failing as Tom separates your pussy lips with two of his fingers. You shuffle so your legs are wider, only getting an inkling of what he intends to do when he’s halfway through the action. With wide eyes, you watch as he brings the flat side of the iron up to nestle between your folds, resting it gently over the front of your cunt, head pressing against your clit.
It’s so cold. The metal is harsh, bites up against your tender skin. The contact draws a loud, whimpering whine from your mouth, and that makes Tom coo.
“Fuck,” he mutters, looking at the spot between your legs. His eyes are dark as he testingly shifts the club from side to side, gently, gently teasing your bud with aching pressure. It’s so metallic and so chilly that a part of you wonders if the temperature is enough to riddle you completely numb to all sensations. Luckily for you, Tom brings it away from your centre after only about ten seconds, your slick sticking to the bottom of the club. “You made it messy, princess. Clean it up for me, yeah?” Tom brings it up towards your face. When you stick out your tongue, he nudges it forward.
“Careful,” you warn, moving back slightly when he comes in a little too strong. “Please don’t knock my teeth out.”
A gentle blush tickles at his cheeks. “Sorry,” he mutters, voice dipping and becoming slightly bashful. “I’ll be careful.”
“Thank you.”
With the hand not holding the golf club, Tom reaches to your thigh and gives your skin a gentle tap. It’s soft enough to remind you that he’s still Tom, he still cares for you, he still prioritises your well-being. You don’t hesitate to lean forward and wrap your lips around the wide head of the metal.
It’s a tight fit. The club isn’t too large, but it’s heavy, and the shape is awkward. It becomes a lot easier when Tom passes you the handle, and you’re able to angle it in a way that works. After a few attempts, the head fits completely into your mouth, and you moan as the tang of metal rubs up against your tongue.
“There you go,” he soothes. “I know how much you enjoy having something in your mouth, baby. Doing so good for me, princess. So good…” Tom steps back. He tugs at your hips and coaxes you down from the cabinet, hands supporting your shaky legs as you struggle to stand. “Stay right there,” he adds, “I want to have some fun.”
It turns out fun involves Tom’s hands and mouth roaming around your cunt, driving you closer to the edge, over and over again, just to pull away when you’re squirming. On his knees, he edges you repeatedly, alternating between fucking your cunt with his tongue and swirling the tip of it around your clit. When he decides to change things up, he crooks his fingers into you, starting with his one, then moving to two, then three, curling up against your g-spot and stroking until it feels like you’re gushing arousal.
As he pulls you apart, you’re forced to stay still against the counter, holding the club in your mouth. It acts almost like a ball gag, allowing spit to pool around the bulbous head before it drips down your chin. The burn of humiliation only spurs you on, encourages you to grind down against Tom’s fingers with more fervour, even when the tactic only ends up backfiring as he jerks the orgasm away from you before you’re able to spill into it.
It feels endless, uncontrollable. You lose count of the number of times Tom pushes you to the edge only to teasingly jerk it away from you. He dangles the precipice of pleasure in front of you so cruelly that it brings you to tears. They flow down your cheeks, muddying your mascara, leaving your face a convoluted mess of tears, spit, and sweat.
“Shit,” Tom whispers, looking up at you from beneath his lashes, “you’re so beautiful.”
After what must be at least twenty minutes, he finally pulls away from you, standing up but keeping three of his fingers wedged inside your entrance. They’re still, and you find yourself clenching desperately around them. Tom smirks as he reaches up and gently removes the club from your mouth, releasing your lips from the stretch and causing you to exhale. His eyes are dark as he stares at its head.
“You got it nice and wet for me, baby, well done.” The praise has your ears perking, hopefulness flooding the cavity in your chest. Tom tilts his head to the side. “And… I suppose you took your punishment well enough. Maybe I will let you cum, or maybe I’ll fuck you. What do you want more?”
Numbly aware that it’s a trick question, you find yourself relying on your gut instinct.
“I want you to fuck me,” you say, words desperately falling together. “Need you to fill me up, Tommy.” You find your cunt clenching around his fingers. “I need you so badly.”
And he smiles, then redirects his hands to his trousers. “Well,” Tom says, glancing back at you, “I can’t ever really say no to you.”
When he steps forward and finally sheaths himself inside you, part of your soul ascends heavenwards. Tom’s quick to spin you around and take you from behind as your hands sprawl out across the countertop, fingers curling into fists. He fucks you hard and fast, both hands on your hips as he pulls you back to meet his thrusts. The feeling of him pressing you open is indescribably good, only growing better when he angles himself right and knocks the tip of his cock against your g-spot.
Your composure is quick to slip. It doesn’t take long until you’re squirming against the counter, tears flowing down your cheeks as you fail to comprehend how good it feels to finally have him buried to the hilt. Things only get better when he starts to instruct you.
“Reach down and touch your clit for me, darling… That’s it. Shit.” He breaks off to chuckle. “You just got so tight for me. Such a wet, tight cocksleeve.” His voice is thick, hanging heavy with lust. “You’re such a gorgeous sight right now, such a wreck for me… I think I want to feel you cumming around me.”
You sob with relief. “Please,” you beg. Your fingers are light over your clit, trying desperately to avoid pushing yourself over the edge too soon. It’s so hard to keep yourself controlled when he’s pounding into you so well. “Please, Tommy, please.”
“Okay,” he groans, “you can cum. C’mon, good girl. Let go.”
You spin into it before you can get a proper hold on yourself, cumming with a broken cry of his name. Your fingertips catch at your palms, squeezing hard, but not even that can stop you from dissolving. Pleasure pours over you in unforeseen waves, pulling you down into the darkness as you curse and repeatedly spit his name. Tom does a good job of holding you in place and keeping your hips against the cabinet, but even he finds himself slipping.
You’re still climaxing when you feel him release too, shooting his load into your pulsing passage with an exhalation of your name. His desperation spurs you on, has you continuing to play with your bud even as it starts to ache, even when Tom pulls out from you. You’ve still got your hand on your cunt as Tom spins you around and kisses you messily. His arm curls between you, and he replaces your hand with his own, fingertips coarse against the sensitive rise of your bud.
“Still needy?” he murmurs, voice dark, rich.
You nod your head. You feel insatiable. Even with his cum beginning to drip from your clenching hole, you need more. “Not enough,” you ramble. Your lips are so sore from the biting, but the ache puts you further on edge. “More, Tom. Please.”
Tom nods. “Stay still,” he says, and pushes you back against the counter. This time you’re facing him, able to watch as he sinks to a kneel between your legs and pushes your thighs aside. “I’ll give you enough.”
He doesn’t give you any warning before burying his face in your centre, barely giving himself enough time to part your lips with his fingers before his tongue is clumsily knocking against your clit. You cry out loudly, your hands squeezing around the side of the cabinet as Tom curls his fingers back inside you. Your cunt is wet from arousal and his cum, and the noises he draws from you as he pistons the slender curves of his digits into you are nothing short of obscene.
“Oh my— fuck,” you whimper, words tumbling together. You can barely stay still, have to rely on Tom’s sharp elbows jabbing your thighs apart to stop your legs from clamping around his head. “Holy shit, Tom. It’s— it’s so much.”
He moans into your front, vibrations curling across every part of you. The contrast in textures against your clit drives you crazy—to go from his fingers, to the club, to the warm, wet expanse of his tongue has your eyes rolling—but it’s nowhere near as sensitive as your walls feel now, still recovering from the earth-shattering orgasm a few moments prior. As he continues to stroke three fingers up against your back wall, he suckles and teases your clit, sloppily enveloping the bud and toying with it.
You just can’t keep still. Your legs feel like jelly, your hands hot and slippery. You’re hot and cold, taut and relaxed, merely floating behind him as Tom tugs you towards the precipice of a high so blinding you can see it from a mile off. Everything is so slick, and you’re certain both his hand and his face must be drenched from your heat..
“C’mon, princess,” he urges, mouth briefly disconnecting from your heat. He stares up at you, cheeks flushed, eyes blown wide. “Let go f’me, pretty girl. I know you want to spill. I can feel you fucking trembling. Don’t hold back. Cum.”
His mouth is back on your bud, just in time with a particularly powerful stroke of his fingers, and you feel everything go rigid. Time stops, and the tightening of the coil in your stomach syncs with the overwhelming sensation of something building. Overwhelmed and panting, you toss your head back, your knuckles losing blood as you squeeze at the handle of the club and cum—hard.
Everything blurs out—sight, scent, audio. Nothing matters but the stroke of his fingers and the warmth of his mouth, and you let the pleasure roll over you until you’re numb to it. Amidst the frenzy, you feel something release, something wet, plentiful. You can’t find the drive to think about it, too focused on grinding down against Tom, but when it clears and he pulls away with an unfamiliar expression on his face, you find yourself wondering what just happened.
“Holy— shit,” Tom mutters. You watch him sit back, then take in the way his hands seem to glisten. He looks at his fingers as he parts his index and middle, watching your arousal stick between them. “That was probably the hottest thing you’ve ever done.”
“What— what did I do..?” you pant, dazed, spinning. You feel like you’re floating, have to move both hands back to grip the side of the counter as you struggle to recover.
Tom stands up. He briefly sucks off his fingers before wrapping his arms around your waist, supporting you effortlessly as he hums.
“You squirted,” he says, voice curving around the word. As your eyes widen, he chuckles. “Took me by surprise.”
“Oh my god,” you say. You feel hot again, but for an entirely different reason. “I’m sorry—”
His eyes widen. “No, no, no.” Tom shakes his head, coy smile on his face. “It was so hot. Don’t apologise.” He nudges his lips against the tip of your nose.
A relieved laugh slips past your lips. The guilt softens. “Okay,” you say, “if you say so…”
Tom nods. He very gently peels away from you, excusing himself only to crouch by his bag and rummage through it before pulling out a small packet of tissues. Sheepishly, he offers them to you.
“For you,” he adds.
“Thank you.”
Smiling shyly, you start to shakily clean yourself up, your body humming with unrivalled bliss. The warmth only multiplies when Tom comes nearer and wraps you in another hug, his hands gentle, his golf glove gone. His shoulders are soft against your face, and you bask in the closeness. You feel good, you feel grounded. You feel safe.
“I’ll take you home, darling,” Tom whispers, a few minutes into your hug.
Slowly, you peel yourself away from his shoulder, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “But— what about the rest of the game?”
He looks you up and down, a mischievous look on his face. “I don’t think you’ll be able to walk straight, let alone drive, Y/N,” he points out. “It would be irresponsible for me to leave you unattended.”
You chuckle as you finally muster up enough strength to stand tall. You run your hands across the front of your outfit, smoothing out the creases. Your skort feels strange with the tear down the front of it, and you find yourself thankful that the wind is calm today.
“That makes me sound like I’m a child,” you say, dodging the suggestion with a smile. “I can look after myself.”
Tom falters. He moves his hands to your shoulders and squeezes gently. “I know, love,” he says, voice softer, a lot more careful. “I just think it might be nice if you let me look after you this time. That was… a lot, and you deserve to come down from it properly. I can pour you a bath, make you some food. Get you anything you need.” Tom chews on his lower lip as he adds, “and, shit, I know you don’t like it when I overwhelm you, but I really want to be here for you this time—”
His eyes are so pretty.
“Okay,” you say suddenly. “I… I would really like that, Tom.” It slips out before you can challenge it, but you can’t force yourself to be mad about it. Maybe it’s just because your legs are so weak you fear you’ll need him to carry you, or perhaps it’s the softness to his smile that convinces you. Either way, you know it’s what’s right. You know his arms are what you need.
“Oh.” Tom blinks a few times before his face splits into a smile so genuine it almost knocks you off your feet. “Oh. Okay, then.”
“Is that okay?” you check, unsteadily following Tom as he walks across the shed to grab his golf bag. He offers you a hand that you gratefully accept, and with his golf bag slung around his shoulders, he lets you lean into his side.
“Yeah. Of course it is,” he mutters. Tom pauses to kiss the side of your head. “I just didn’t think you’d say yes.”
You hum. “Neither did I,” you admit. You stay still as Tom drops your fingers and pulls open the shed door. Ahead of you, he walks out onto the course and waits for you, his hand stretched towards you again.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he promises. His eyes are lighter than usual, glowing almost gold.
“You don’t need to,” you say, voice catching. “You just need to be you, and that’ll be enough.”
His lips fold into a soft smile. “You’re glowing again,” he mumbles. “Like earlier. Are you sure you’re okay?”
You chuckle softly. “Yeah,” you say. You reach out and take Tom’s hand. “I’m great.”
“Huh.” Tom rubs his thumb over the back of your palm. “You’re adorable.”
You scrunch up the tip of your nose, shying away from the smile on his face. “Stop,” you whine, “I’ll melt.”
Tom squeezes your hand. “What if I want you to melt?”
You pause. “Then you’ll probably get exactly what you want.”
He smiles. He glows. He tugs you from the shed and into the sun, then kisses you very softly. “Good,” he mutters, warm against your lips. “I’d like that very much.”
*:·゚✧*:·゚✧ *:·゚✧*:·゚✧ *:·゚✧
A week later, you find yourself drifting across the lower level of the country club, an elegant gown twirling around your feet. You’re at a soirée, attached to a few of your friends as you enjoy cocktails out on the terrace. As the light evening breeze curls around your face, you find yourself shifting from side to side, unable to focus, eager eyes scouring the patio and the surrounding area.
You haven’t seen him yet, but you know that Tom’s here. He’d whispered it to you last week as you’d parted, then followed up the fact with a kiss. Just thinking about the encounter draws a warmth to your face and has you biting at your lip as you recall the events from after the course.
True to his word, Tom had taken you home. He’d cuddled you. Played with your hair. Brought you refreshments and tucked you into bed with a kiss on your forehead. When you’d invited him in beside you, Tom had wrapped himself around you and coaxed you to sleep.
It’d shown you a new side to him—one you’d known was sure to exist, but you’d never had the pleasure of meeting before. You’ve discovered that Tom is really good at being domestic—has already memorised the way you take your tea and the layout of the cupboards in your kitchen. He looks just as good in sweats as he does in a suit, and being casual draws out his silly sense of humour. You’ve learned that Tom likes to kiss your forehead, enjoys snuggling his face into the crook of your neck. He’s cute, and he’s generous, and he’s considerate, and—
He’s standing across the terrace right now, arm wrapped around the shoulder of somebody else. The sadness that pools in your stomach is so overwhelming that you almost burst into tears, right in the middle of the soirée.
Is this… Is this how it felt for him to see you in the arms of another?
Is it conceited to assume he feels even half the things for you that you find yourself feeling towards him?
Why does it hurt so much?
You know why it hurts.
Your breath catches in the back of your throat.
The game isn’t fun anymore.
Putting your glass down on a nearby table, you make a sharp turn and begin to walk towards the exit of the event. Your heart hurts. It shatters and it breaks, and small shards seem to twist further into your chest until it hurts so much it’s almost overwhelming.
The worst part is that the ache is all your own making. You’re the one who constantly shies away from defining your relationship—you’re the one who insists you aren’t official. You’re the one who has kept Tom so far removed from your heart that you’ve now managed to tangle yourself up in such a heartbreaking predicament. Tom is not the problem—Tom has never been the problem. You are.
“Y/N— Y/N!”
You falter as you hear him. He catches up to you easily, dodging the crowd that had slowed you down. When his hand connects with your arm, you go still. Tom almost crashes into your back.
“Oh— shit,” he mutters. “Careful.”
You bite at your lower lip so hard it brings tears to your eyes. “Sorry,” you say. You shake off his arm. “I need to go, Tom, can you— can you please move?”
He walks around you instead, reaching out as if to shield you with an arm around your shoulder. You duck away, trying to dodge his eyes and failing.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice confused. “Did something happen?”
Your breath hitches. You manage a hapless shrug. “I guess,” you say, “it doesn’t matter. I’m just… being stupid. It’s fine.”
Tom frowns. He takes a moment to look at you, then at the scene around you both. His expression shifts.
“Wait— was it—?” He falls quiet. He looks at you, waiting, and you manage a small nod. You can’t vocalise the problem without acknowledging your change of heart, but he seems to understand enough. Tom’s expression shatters. “I— I forgot she was coming with me,” he explains. “We made the plans after the brunch last week, and I forgot to cancel them. She only reminded me this morning, by which point it would’ve been really unfair for me to let her down.” His voice is strained, honest. When he reaches out and takes your hands, there’s honesty in the contact too. “I’m sorry, Y/N. It doesn’t mean anything… It was just a favour for a friend.”
You exhale. You feel better, but even that relief comes with guilt that tells you that you shouldn’t, because, “you didn’t do anything wrong. You can take whoever you want to events, Tom.” You manage a brittle smile. “Go back to the party. It’s fine. I don’t… I don’t care.”
His expression morphs into one of disbelieving sadness. “Come with me,” he pleads, “come dance with me.”
You shake your head. “Enjoy yourself,” you say, then you drop his hands. You turn and slip away again, and this time, you’re able to lose him in the crowd.
Wandering listlessly, you end up on the golf course again. There’s a steep hill right at the crown of the course, and you find yourself returning to the slope whenever you need to clear your head. You manage to climb all the way up, even shrouded in silk and heels and enough jewellery to sink a small boat. When you reach the top, you lie down in the grass, relaxing into the cool blades, thinking, unravelling.
You’re alone in your thoughts for only five minutes before you’re joined. Tom drops to the ground beside you, sitting cross-legged, then offers you a soft smile and an arm.
“C’mere,” he coaxes.
The dam breaks. Exhausted, you crawl into his lap. With your face buried in his neck, Tom rubs his hand over your back, soothing you as tears stream down the side of his skin, only to be absorbed by the crisp collar of his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” you say, hushed against his neck. Tom kisses at the top of your head. “I’m sorry for being so stupid.”
He cradles you closer. “Y/N,” he coos, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You squeeze your eyes closed. Forcing yourself away from the easy home you’d found in his neck, you bring your eyes up to Tom’s. There’s quiet acceptance in the brown shade, a patient understanding.
“You… have never been anything other than nice to me,” you mutter, “and all I’ve ever done is run away from you.”
He brings a hand to your cheek. “To be fair,” he reasons, “you were always honest about what you wanted.”
“Still.” You pull a face. “It’s just stupid. I’m… I’m tired, Tom.” You glance down, eyes attaching to his tie. “You deserve more than someone who makes you jump through a thousand hoops because they’re scared of opening up.”
He’s quiet for a few moments, his thumb padding over your cheek in circles.
“Did you ever consider that I like jumping through hoops? Love it, even?” Tom manages a lopsided smile. It stretches wider when you stare up at him, wide-eyed. “Everyone I meet is boring, Y/N. You’re the only person I know that challenges me. Vexes me, inspires me. And I know… I know who you are, and I like who you are. I appreciate your concern, I do, but I can make my own decisions.” His eyes soften. “What I want is you, in any way, shape or form you’re willing to share with me. You’re the kind of person worth waiting for.”
And shit. Shit. How are you supposed to guard your heart when he’s saying things like that?
You tilt your head to the side, eyes falling over the side of Tom’s face. It’s chiselled beneath the moonlight, the sharp line of his nose and jaw dusted in bright silver. His eyes are ghostly, light brown, but warm.
“I’m scared,” you admit, eyes dropping to the bump of his chin. His eyes are too prying, too honest, too much. Small steps. You need to take things in small steps. “I want to be with you, Tom,” you utter, “but what if I’m a bad girlfriend? What if we stop playing the game and you realise I’m boring, or you hate me, or—”
He presses his lips to yours very lightly, halting your words.
“—I haven’t done this in a long time,” you finish, and then you can breathe.
Tom stretches up to you, using his free hand to take your chin between two fingers and tilt your face towards him. He coaxes your eyes back to his, padding his thumb over the side of your jaw when your gaze locks.
“Neither have I,” he admits. “I’m scared as well.” Tom licks his lips. His mouth glimmers beneath the moon. “I think that it’ll be worth it, though.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. We fit together so well it’s startling.” Tom’s voice drops, and you see the rosy blush coast across his cheeks before he even adds, “you do know, right? You know how much I adore you?”
Your heart feels weak. You feel weak. You try not to run from it.
You take a breath. “I know that I love you,” you whisper, “and I hope you feel the same way.”
Tom’s lips twitch. He leans forward and kisses you, drawing a hand to your hip and letting his warm palm envelop your waist as he draws you closer, his other hand steady on your face. With your bodies connecting as your lips unite, you feel something in your heart shift. He has you, you know that now—has his hand on your face, the other on your waist, and his heart, wrapped so snugly around yours that it’s hard to tell where his ends and yours starts. It’s a passionate mess of aching, burgeoning love, and it’s beautiful.
His lips fall away. The tip of Tom’s nose nuzzles up against yours.
“I do,” he says, voice gentle. “I love you, and I want to make you happy for a very long time. Will you let me?”
Your lips move before you can think, before you can allow fear to cloud your decisions.
“I would love that,” you reply.
Tom hums. He kisses you again, then again, then again. And it’s perfect.
*:·゚✧*:·゚✧ 
*:·゚✧*:·゚✧ *:·゚✧
*:·゚✧*:·゚✧ *:·゚✧*:·゚✧
*:·゚✧*:·゚✧ *:·゚✧*:·゚✧ *:·゚✧
!!!!!!! thank you so much for reading !!!!!!! 
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nyctophilla-nightmares · a month ago
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❧Public places they'll fuck you in❧
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Warnings- mentions of nsfw and sex,slight degradation.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
↬ Characters- kaeya,childe, zhongli, diluc,xiao ,scaramouche
Masterlist
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✿Kaeya↴
So as always I am pretty sure that we all know that this needy, horny, cocky ass man would fuck you almost ANYWHERE ANYTIME ANYDAY when ever he feels like it,
So the most common places would be - his office, the library at the knights of favonious, jean's office, a public bathroom.
So be prepared when you would get pinned up against a wall and pounded into straight out the blue-
"N-nng~!" S-slow down-!"
Ah yes another normal day for the Calvary captain as he pounds into your body, which is pinned against the huge rack of books as they rock just as your body with every harsh thrusts he makes.
"Ah~! Quiet now love~ wouldn't want anyone to hear your pathetic whines now would we~?"
His hushed voice coos in your ears as his thrusts become violent,hitting all the right spots.
"G-gah~!-"
Orgasming from the intense pleasure you let out a high pitched moan which kaeya Barely manages to cut off as he, himself shoots his cum inside after just how hard you were clenching around him.
"Oh you little slut look at all the mess you've created on the floor"
Gesturing at the small pool of white liquid that had formed after dripping down both you legs.
"Better get cleaning slut~"
✿childe↴
Oh I am so sure that he would literly rail you against a tree if you're both in the middle of travelling and he gets horny, or even behind a building
But the most common place would be the fatui tent if you happend to be his partner, or a public bathroom.
"Awww~! Is poor kitty gonna cry from so much cum~?
Mocking your shaking form that had been drowned by oversimluation. oh how utterly miserable you felt right now being pressed up against a tree in the middle of a forest which is likely to be filled with hilichurls, adventures and various travellers whom can walk in on your fucked up form anytime.
"Why-! are you crying now huh? Isn't this what you wanted~! You were just begging to cum a few minutes ago and now you're crying- what a whore can't even live up to her own words~!"
Once agian degrading you as he rocks your body with every thursts making your eyes roll back as endless tears fell out your eyes.
✿zhongli ↴
Ok I doubts that fucking you in public is a common thing for him because unlike kaeya we all know that this is a respectful man who would fukin cherish you and treat your body as the most finest art in all of teyvat
So him railing you in public will be really rare but he would probably only do that if you had been teasing him the whole day
So for starters the most common places would be his office in the wangshuu funeral parlour.
"Quiet down women-!"
His hushed deep voice half yells in your ears as he continues his violent thurst in you making the wooden table underneath rock violently as all the objects and document scrolls are long gone fallen off.
Truly this was all your fault, afterall it was you whom had come up with the idea of trying to tease him all day, thinking that giving slight touches on his body brushing your body against his was going to completely unnoticed thinking that brushing his thighs with your hands will not affect him at all.
Now look at yourself, your pathetic little figure sprawled down across his hard wooden desk as your cheek is pressed down on the harsh wood,ass up.
As he uses your body all to his liking, oversimulating you to no end.
"Filthy women, quiet down your pathetic whimpers and let me use you as the object you are"
✿diluc↴
Similar to zhongli''s him fucking you in public places will be really rare
But of course you being the horny slut you are you would try to tease him only to him railed against a wall
The most common places would be of course the tavern.
"You whore of a women!"
Exclaiming between harsh and violent thursts as diluc continues to endlessly rut in you even after cumming serval times.
There you were being pressed up against the wall of thw back room in the tavern where mostly the wine barrels are stored.
Your legs up his shoulders as he supports your half fainted form up, abusing your pussy over and over again
"You utter whore!- you dare try to make such moves on me in public and now pass out after I put you in your place!"
✿Xiao↴
Ah yes of course the emo boi with anger issues
Oh I can totally picture him railing you on the wangshuu inn' s top floor, pressed up against a wall if not the wooden railing itself
He would probably be letting out all his anger out on you after coming form a frustrating killing spree of deamons only to be now get teased by you.
So ofc he'll be fed up and fuck you right then in there.
"P-pleas-! s-slow dow~!"
Being harshly cut off by your own very orgasm as Xiao keeps pounding into you as if he's some animal.
"Don't fucking talk whore, just moan out and let everyone know what slut you are-!"
Exclaiming between animalistic thrusts,xiao makes the wooden wall behind you rattle.
Poor you, just happend to be there when he was frustrated and thought that rilling him up was a good idea.
Now your overused and oversimulated body is pinned up against the wooden wall of the terrase at wangshuu inn as the cold air keeps on shivering your half naked body.
Stuck between the wall with your legs pushed up your chest as Xiao finds home between your legs, specifically focused on abusing your cunt.
"Pathetic whore who's only good for toying around with-!"
✿scaramouche↴
Similar to childe's the only public places I can picture him ruining you up in is
The fatui tent,like just imagine your his partner and one night when all of you are camping up in inazuma's forest after given the quest of taking baal's genosis.
You just so happend to run out of few tents and ofc scaramouche offers to share his with yours only to screw you up.
"Aren't you a slut-! Making such lewd expression to your superior-!"
Scaramouche mocked as he slams into you repeatedly taking utter joy im every single expression that decorates your features as he ruins your insides.
"M-more~!"
Wrapping your legs around his waist, as you stare up at him with your fucked out face, saliva dripping down your chin and tongue lolling out, pleading for more.
Completely bewitched by your expression, scaramouche wastes no time in thursting up like a literal animal making you orgasm once more.
"Oh you fucking whore I'll make sure you don't walk for days!-"
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👀 i did not proof read this bez i thought i might delete it if i did, but enjoy the fukin food simps ✋
Edit- can we all just please talk about THESE tho-
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Edit-2 holy hell did this just hit 1k-
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amimimi · a month ago
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✿ : annoying sex habits; pillars
synopsis: annoying (?) things that come up when you have sex with your respective hashira
pairings: tomioka giyuu x f!reader, shinazugawa sanemi x f!reader, rengoku kyojuro x f!reader, uzui tengen x f!reader, iguro obanai x f!reader, himejima gyomei x f!reader
warnings: minors dni, explicit smut, rough sex, cursing, no beta
notes: slander, just slander. and crack. i apologize for spelling/grammatical errors !
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GIYUU:
awkwardly quiet from start to finish
like damn, mf, not even a grunt? A GASP? 😭
his breathing doesn’t even pick up
he’s just silently hovering above, swiftly thrusting into you
even when he cums—NOTHING!!
LIKE CAN YOU AT LEAST SIGH??
and to top it off, after he cums he just sorta rolls over and pets you on the head? like he wants to smooth your hair back but he’s too afraid to commit??? like he wasn’t all up in your guts like two seconds ago?? ✋😐
you genuinely have no clue if he’s enjoying himself or not
you have to sit him down and admit to him that you feel a lil insecure because he doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself
giyuu feels TERRIBLE because he loves you deeply and is affected by you sm but he just can’t stand hearing himself moaning
his moans are kinda high-pitched, almost keening, and it’s so embarrassing to him
to YOU, giyuu, not to us 😫
“i...sound...weird” is all he says, frowning in the complete opposite direction from you
he slipped up once tho and y’all weren’t even having sex
you were straddling his lap, both fully clothed, kissing each other fervently, after he’d return to his estate after a very long mission
he was already feeling a little frayed from not seeing you for so long
so that with the way your grinding down against his bulging cock, mewling and moaning as you plant sloppy kisses against his mouth, his cheeks, the neck; sighing “missed you, missed you so much” into his ear
he starts to feel himself unravel at a rate that concerns him, you feel so good and sound so sweet —it’s all too much for him
his breathing kinda stutters, but you’re too engrossed to notice
giyuu is like “nope, nuh uh, absolutely not” as he tries to gather himself together, blinking away the white spots in his vision
but then you drag your crotch against his clothed cock so good, so deliciously that he can’t help the shaky, high pitched moan that escapes from his lips
you glance up at him in shock while he shuts his eyes and hangs his head in shame
“wait...wait, giyuu did you—”
“stop”
“no wait! that was so hot!”
almost kicks you out of his room 😭
like i’m sorry, it’d take a while for him to actually let loose but at least he’s sorta sighing into your ear now? 😅
SANEMI:
talks a huge f*cking game about how big his cock is and how he’s gonna tear your sh*t up
bitch...we weren’t being LITERAL
he’s actually thrusting into you like he wants to square up with your cervix
LIKE BRO RELAX???
i do think sanemi enjoys rougher sex but sometimes i think it’s a lil performative
i also think he feels that he needs to overcompensate bc he thinks he’s not as experienced
y’all he canonically has a pet rhinoceros beetle,,,he ain’t as big and bad as he seems💀
also he doesn’t know how to be truly intimate with anyone but we can get into that later
BUT ANYWAYS!
no foreplay, just dives into the pussy
literally throws you onto the bed, sucks at you neck for a bit and then all of sudden you hear a “hpwuah! 💦”
and you sit up like “ikyfl” just to see he’s spat onto the shaft of his cock, pumping his fist along his shaft to spread the saliva
babe that’s when you should’ve sat up and left 😟
HIS COCK IS TOO FCKIN THICK AND BIG TO BE DOIN STUPID SH*T LIKE THAT
between the lack of foreplay and the way he’s just slamming his hips into yours...you are in PAINNN
and he keeps grunting shit like “yeah, you like that? gonna tear your f* ckin uterus into half” WHAT?(???$;@3&:
you slam your fists against his chest and choke out a “sanemi, stop”
he stills instantly, panting as his facial expression morphs into one of confusion and concern
“what’s wrong?” he asks gruffly, gently placing his hand on your arm and giving you a tiny squeeze there
once you tell him that he’s hurting you way more than you’d like, he’d feel bad almost immediately
sanemi sits back, his shoulders tense with shame and he gives a terse, “sorry “
willing to learn but y’all might argue here and there bc he refuses to believe that he isn’t the pussy destroyer he claims to be
KYOJURO
okay he’s actually got the mechanics down
has no problem pleasuring you/making you cum
HOWEVER!
HE’S LIKE MFIN DRILL SERGEANT
like y’all can’t have sex leisurely 😭
and it’s not so much a sexual thing as it is that kyojuro just wants you to be the best version of yourself possible,,,in every aspect of your life 😐
it starts off as like kyojuro being like “ONE MORE ROUND!” and you thought it was hot that his stamina was through the roof
but then it quickly turns into “omg WHEN DOES THIS END?!’cc”
you’ve been bouncing on his cock FOR GOD KNOWS HOW LONG trying to get him to cum
but you’re tiring quickly, your thighs burning as they tremble against kyojuro’s waist
you’re place your hands on his lower stomach for SOME sort of stability as your hips stutter
kyojuro feels you tremble against him and from the way you’re panting, he knows it’s from exhaustion
he has his hands on your waist to help you keep balance, but he isn’t assisting you 💀he wants you to work for it
you’re sweaty af, struggling to lift your hips off his cock as you pout up at him
“i-i’m getting tired, kyojuro—”
“you are? but it’s only been sixteen minutes?” he smiles up at you, face flushed as his hair spills around the pillow.
“i’m not fit like you” you pant, face screwed up as your calves begin to cramp up.
kyojuro’s face falls slightly “ah, don’t say that! you’re just as fit! here, let’s try for ten more minutes, i believe in you! 🏋️ 😃”
and he looks up at you so earnestly,,,you’re like “godDAMNIT”
he holds both of your hands in his to keep you balanced and he literally starts shouting encouragements at you jskziwkuss
shouts a variation of like “try harder!” and “7 more minutes! you can do this!”
MF, NO I CAN’T 🧎🏾‍♀️😭
you know when you’re doing an intense workout and you get so tired your life flashes before your eyes? YEAH,,,YOU ARE DYINGGGG RN
of course you don’t complete the full 10 minutes but kyojuro doesn’t get on your ass completely about it
he just flips your listless body over and adjusts himself before he starts slowly thrusting into you
“don’t worry, my love! all that matters is that you tried! i’m sure you can do it next time!” he beams down at your whimpering form, before kissing your forehead
he’s cute but LIKE WHY DOES SEX HAVE TO BE A MFIN WORKOUT?? ✋😭
you have to tell him that you’re down to workout with him (RIP to you 💀) OUTSIDE the bedroom but you want sex with him to be slow paced and intimate...not him yelling at you like he’s your coach
he’ll ease up immediately, don’t worry!
OBANAI
mf said “the snake stays ON during sex! 😤💯”
jk
no i’m not
obanai is like “can kaburamaru stay in the room? 😐”
and you’re like “i—um, that would be cool but i feel like he’d be uncomfortable”
and he’s like “omg ur right...i wouldn’t want to watch him have sex either i guess 😕”
so y’all have to PLAN AHEAD TO FIND A BABYSITTER FOR HIS SNAKE IF YALL WANNA— 🤦🏾‍♀️
obanai thinks of kaburamaru as a friend, not so much as a pet so he’s feel guilty for “abandoning” him because he has a S/O now
that’s his mfin bestie 😌
okay real talk, obanai loves you, he is bewitched, body and soul—
maybe a bit TOO much because he’ll literally cum during foreplay and then pass out right after 🙁
HKSHDIDJEI HE CAN’T HELP IT!!
he tries to continue after cumming, but it’s like he’s been drugged
his eyes are struggling to stay open, barely holding himself up as he keeps slurring on his words, like omg baby,,,just sleep, it’s okay
he tries tries tries to make you cum before he finishes, BUT EVERYTHING YOU DO GETS HIS COCK ROCKHARD
obanai was laying between your legs, lip suctioned around your clit, dragging his tongue over the little nub
all while he’s languidly thrusting two fingers in and out your slick pussy
and baby his head game is *CHEF KISS*
you’re mewling and whining, grinding your hips against his face as he laps his tongue up and down your folds
the sounds your making, the taste of your cunt, the way he can feel you throbbing against his mouth—it has HIM trembling and whimpering
he’s unconsciously rutting his hips against the mattress, squeezing his eyes shut as he attempts to control himself
but then you make this sound that’s caught between a whimper and grunt, and it catches so prettily in the back of your throat—
he blows his load, unbeknownst to you, as gasps against your heat
he literally knocks out between your legs, with his mouth smushed against your pussy 💀
TENGEN
not a single f*cking thing
look at that man and tell me he doesn’t give you the best pipe of your life
okay wait actually there maybe ONE THING ☝️
he talks wayyyy too fucking much during sex
and it’s mostly outlandish sh*t
okay, when he asked “whose pussy is this? 😩” it was all fine and dandy BUT THEN HE TAKES IT UP A NOTCH—
“you’d die by this dick, huh 😏”
my pride won’t let me say yes, but yes...i would 🧎🏾‍♀️
like he says the most strange sh*t ever and it draws you out of the sex head space to be like “...WAIT WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?”
he does it on purpose though 💀
he’s lining himself up to your entrance and he looks up at you smirking and is all like “im gonna make you a single mother”
AYOO???? 😭
BITCH.WHAT.THE.FUCK??!!
you literally shoot up, scrunching your legs up to your chest
while he laughs at your horrified look
BRO DON’T PLAY LIKE THAT 😭
that and i feel like he’s so fckin heavy handed omg
slaps your ass while you’re riding him and your whole skeleton rattles for like 5 minutes after 😭
yeah other than that...there is no way he’d be bad at sex
GYOMEI
very...very...gentle
he’s genuinely afraid of hurting you during sex
like he’s so MASSIVE and he’s convinced there is no way you can take all of him
he feels the way your pussy barely accommodates two of his fingers and he’s like “hm maybe not...🥲”
when he’s fingering you, he just barely squirms his fingers around while he winces in fear that he’s hurting you
you tell him “gyomei, go harder”
and he’s like “no”
!;&;&/&/7,$;7)/)/
and you’re like “but i barely feel you moving?”
and he’s like “trust me this is for your own good”
YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE!
when he finally finally agrees to f*ck you with his cock, the whole process takes almost three hours because he takes his time lubing you up and stretching you out with his fingers
it takes him the whole last hour to actually bottom out just from out how slow he’s easing into you
and everytime your breath catches in your throat, he slides his cock from out of your pussy and he’s like “ahh, i knew this was a bad idea!”
and then y’all have to start all over again
he can barely feel you squeeze around his cock from just how you’re stretched around him and he starts to freak out
you have to assure him that he’s not hurting you so he doesn’t pull out again
he’s so sweet tho 🥺
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introloves · a month ago
Jax my sweetie! Haven’t you heard? It’s sundress and no panties season!! Who do you think would feel their s/o’s up while they’re out having a cute picnic in the park?
ohh,, the list for this is long...
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› bokuto, meian, atsumu, oikawa, hinata-
unashamedly wanders his heavy hand down to your ass- fingers playing with the cute little sundress you're wearing, smiles at you when you squeak and try to pry his thick hands from your form. you don't want to flash the people walking behind the two of you, but wearing a pretty little number like that, for him- has him insatiable. doesn't take long for him to take you further away from wandering eyes and fucking you against a tree, one hand holding onto your face so you don't go bumping it against the tree and the other laying against the curve of your spine, sundress bunched up and used as leverage to bring you back onto his thick cock over and over, watching your pretty, shaking hands press helplessly on the tree to get more, more, more. knees knocking against one another while you’re nearly suspended with each thrust- so pretty and desperate, all spurred on by the sight of you in a simple little dress. 
› aone, aran, suna, osamu, kageyama-
can't really articulate what it does to him seeing you in something so pretty, fitting for the hot temperatures while you're sitting outside- happily sipping on cold drinks in the shade. he doesn’t even know you’ve opted for no panties, not until you uncross your legs and reach over for more food- and he slowly feels his world tilt on its axis. it takes no time for him to reach over the food, knocking things out of the way in order to land his hands on you- tugging your body closer, fingers digging into the softness of your body, letting himself tug and pinch and grab at the dress you’ve adorned yourself in. asking you with little humor, ‘what were you thinking, hm?’ before flipping your body over and sliding a thick and heavy cock into your cunt- the same one he caught glimpses of mere seconds ago- puts your body into a pretty little arch, both hands on your ass, grabbing and pushing you down at the same time so he can see his monstrous cock slide in and out of you. mewls and cries coming from your muffled mouth already drooling onto the picnic blanket only spurring him on.
› iwaizumi, ushijima, gao, kyoutani-
doesn't even let you walk out the door- fucks you on the floor of your living room. lets swung up over his shoulders so he can see your body jiggle underneath the dress slowly hitching up your tummy with the way he’s fucked you into a mating press, dead set on cumming inside your tight little cunt so he can see every load run down your legs when he finally does let you walk out of the house. he’s not even undressed, cock tugged out of the waistband of his pants- letting you cream and make a mess of his own clothes with every thrust that meets your wet cunt, chuckling once he’s finally spent after furiously fucking you down onto the floor- small little apologies for ‘acting like an animal’ that are just empty words and its not like you mind- too fucked out and shaking to care. 
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noteguk · a month ago
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bad romance | jjk | m
[ ! ] this is part of the bad influence collection. This part cannot be read as a stand-alone.
— summary; in which the two of you finally make it official. 
— contents and warnings; gross fluff, a bit of angst, smut, badboy!jungkook x goodgirl!reader, enemies to lovers, honestly emotionally constipated idiots to lovers, so much mutual pining, cinematic parallels, cute dates, a spark of jealousy/possiveness (mostly playful), the return of car sex, dirty talk, breast play, dom!jk x sub!reader, fingering, spitting, oral (female receiving), cum eating, semi-clothed sex, unprotected sex (don’t be dumb!!), a fuckton of praise kink bc jk is going through it, another glimpse into the demon that lives inside the oc lol, begging, mentions of marking (hickeys), creampie, cockwarming (you already know), jk is whipped and he’s not even hiding it anymore, it’s official ladies!!! 
— words; 18,4k
— author’s notes; here we are, champs!!! The moments of glory 😭 There are a lot of things being wrapped up in here so we can move onto the more interesting stuff, but there are also some points that will be brought up further down the line, so don’t worry! Everything will be explored in its rightful moment. Have fun at the eye of the hurricane y’all 🤠 
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There are some things we experience throughout life that, as simple as they may seem at first glance, stick with us forever, like bubblegum on the bottom of a shoe. As a young kid, you were first introduced to optical illusions after spending the day at your friend’s house — and, even after so many years, you still recalled your amazement and confusion; your expectant yelps and annoyed glances at his computer screen. Considering your age, it was normal to be bewildered at the notion that your senses and perceptions, which once seemed so concrete, could fool you just as easily as anything else. 
Mayhaps you were a few thousand years late in your genius discovery, taking into account that ancient philosophers had already discussed and established all that; perhaps your young brain wasn’t all that smart to construct those notions with such complexity. But the point wasn’t that: it was that the world in front of you was a matter of perspective, of finding the truth behind the curtain of your own interpretation. Sometimes you thought that two lines were the same size when they were not; that dots seemed to be moving when they were still; that two completely different shades of grey were actually the same all along. And you had to adapt to that. 
Life went on and, in a way, you always kept that in the back of your head — not about bright-colored illusions on a computer screen, of course, but about people. No matter how much you think you know someone, you never know their full truth (after all, most people barely know themselves, so perhaps it’s a bit too conceited to believe that you know another individual). It’s nothing new to claim that people can surprise you, either positively or negatively and, in your head, trying to predict that was the smallest resemblance of control you could achieve. So you learned to read them as well as you could and never ever created expectations. To you, trust issues were a tiny price to pay for staying one step ahead from a heartbreak. 
That being said, even the best of strategists still make mistakes — apparently no one ever learned not to invade Russia during the winter — and even the strongest walls can still show cracks in its foundation. Ironically, you had predicted it all, followed your life to the most minimal details, but could not avoid the large, powerful wave that hit your fortress head-first, knocking most of your preconceived notions down the moment you found someone that you couldn’t read. 
In a way, Jungkook was the most confusing optical illusion that you had ever come across. 
The thrilling and unforeseen ups and downs of your situationship with Jungkook were often hard to follow, but you still tried your best to do so. From the start he was inconsistent — hot and cold, harsh and tender; always left you seeking for more at the same time you tried to push him away. Every time you’d attempt to read him, imagine the thoughts that unfolded behind his dark eyes, you’d fall flat on your face. Every time you thought you were starting to understand him, he’d hit you with a curveball that would throw you in a loop. It was strange how you thought that you knew him so well, probably better than most people, and yet not well at all. 
In usual unpredictable fashion, Jungkook had called you earlier that day, right after you had just finished washing the dishes, with a proposal you never saw coming. It was a peaceful, chilly morning and, besides the sharp sound of your phone ringing, only the faint chirping of birds could be heard coming from the half-open window. Yongsun was sitting on the couch, her focus swimming in the ink of her newest thriller novel, and she didn’t notice the way your eyes widened when you picked up the phone and heard what he had to say. 
“Morning, princess,” Jungkook greeted, jumping straight to the point. “Are you free? Wanna go out with you.” 
“Today?” You asked, leaning your lower back against the cool counter. His choice of words was peculiar: go out. He had never used that before or, at least, not with such a casual tone. 
“Yeah,” he agreed promptly. “If you have plans we can try another day. But it’s sunny and I didn’t wanna miss my shot.” 
You cleared your throat, glimpsing out the window as if to check that it was, in fact, sunny. Your brain was out of excuses and the silence coming from the other side of the line was too loud, so you had no choice but to give in to the wills of your heart. “Hm. Yeah, sure,” you told him. “We can go out today.” 
“Great,” Jungkook beamed. “I’ll pick you up at one, baby. See you.”
And that was it. Before you could think about asking more details about his plans, the line was cut and you were left staring at your phone screen like an absolute idiot, trying to digest what just had happened. Go out. What a weird thing to say. It sounded like a date. 
Yongsun perked her head up like a meerkat, turning around on the couch so she could get a better look at you. “So…” she started, a smile already curling up on her lips. Her book was practically forgotten now, laying beside her, the page that she had been reading now flimsily marked by one of her perfectly manicured fingers. “I’m guessing you have plans.” 
“I might have,” you responded nonchalantly, locking your phone and placing it on the counter. When was the last time Jungkook asked you out? Even when he took you out for lunch or something, the request was always laced with second intentions. That sounded so odd. “Why?” 
She shrugged. Yongsun had been particularly interested in your romantic affairs ever since that night at Hoseok’s party, teasing you at every chance she got. She was curious, that much you knew, but you guessed that she was also a bit worried about all those secrets. Regardless, if that was the case, her cheerful tone did not let it show. “Oh, nothing, I just think it’s cute that you’re going out with the mystery man.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Has he asked for your hand in marriage yet?” 
You rolled your eyes. “It’s not like that,” you guaranteed. 
“Keep lying to yourself, girl,” she sang, waving her hand in a sign of dismissal. Yongsun had a strong tendency to romanticize things, and you were the opposite: one of your biggest flaws was that you over-rationalized things, found excuses and justifications where there were none. At that moment, both things were taking place, and her voice was like a demon whispering inside your head, making you consider her perspective. “Is he coming to pick you up?” Her smile only grew as you nodded. “Fantastic.” 
Like she had found what she had been searching for, Yongsun plopped back on the couch and returned to her book. Unbeknownst to her, you knew exactly what she was inferring — your gaze already navigating towards the large window across from you, and the open view it gave to the street below your apartment complex. If she wanted to, she could figure out who it was just by looking down and catching a glimpse of him. 
Strangely enough, the idea didn’t bother you as much as it once had. 
~
Part of you believed that, when Yongsun went to her spiritual retreat/cult, she ended up being cursed with a hundred years of bad luck. Besides being ten times more clumsy than usual, she was having more difficulty in class and almost every single time she tried to shower, the hot water would run out halfway through. That morning, she also was unlucky enough to be knocked out on the couch (courtesy of her post-lunch sleepiness) at the exact moment that Jungkook picked you up, missing one of her two chances of catching a glimpse of him. 
About one hour and a half later, her messages arrived in a furious and merciless wave, so constant that you had to silence your phone, turning the screen around and against your thigh so her flood of complaints and curses wouldn’t distract you from the beautiful scenery that blossomed all around the car. At the annoying rush of dinging sounds, however, Jungkook glimpsed at you, eyebrows furrowed. “What’s that about?” He asked, the previous subject long forgotten. 
You shook your head, gazing out of the window. The tall trees passed in a dazzling blur, expanding as far as your eyes could see. “Nothing much,” you told him, voice mingling with the vague tune playing in his car, and the tender gushing of the fresh wind. “Yongsun is having a bad day, that’s all.” 
“Don’t you wanna see if she’s, like, about to die or something?” 
You breathed out, thinking for a moment. “Hmm… not really. She’ll be fine.” 
Jungkook laughed. “What a terrible friend you are.” 
You leaned your head on your palm, elbow supported on the car door, staring him up and down. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” he admitted, “I just thought it could be funny to see her losing her mind.”
“Yongsun rarely loses her mind,” you counter-argumented. That was more of a Jisoo thing, honestly. You were about to say that when a little demon landed on your shoulder, reaching forward and whispering an evil idea to you. Usually it was Jungkook that wanted to stir up some shit when things were too calm between you two, but, that day, you felt like switching the roles in the name of karma. “But if you’re so curious about my messages… you know who texted me earlier today?” 
He glanced at you, curious. “Who?”
It was getting hard not to smile. “Jimin,” you said, noticing how his hands tightened around the wheel for a millisecond. If you weren’t looking for it, you would’ve never noticed it. “He asked me out on a date.” 
Okay, half truth: it wasn’t that same day, it was two days before. But it was much more dramatic to put it that way. 
“And?” Jungkook pressed on. 
You couldn’t hold it anymore, laughing at his serious expression. “And I’m telling you that because I knew you’d be fuming, you dumbass.” You pushed his shoulder playfully. “You know I don’t like him like that.” 
“Ha.” He said, flat. “I’m not fuming.”
“Aw come on.” You smiled. You were staring at him now, following the kaleidoscopic bursts of sunlight on his face as he focused on the road before him. The sun dripped amongst the leaves, mingling with the shadows of his features and dancing in his long black hair as it swirled in the faint breeze. Jungkook had mentioned he was thinking about dyeing it, but you liked the way it looked now. You’d like it anyway. “Don’t clench your jaw, that’s bad for your teeth,” you teased, tapping on his chin. “Told him I’m not interested, though. I had said that before, but I guess he was trying again.” You breathed out. “So I said that I was already seeing someone else. That worked.”
That comment managed to relax him straight away. “You just wanted to see me jealous? What for?” 
“Payback,” you claimed, triumphant. “Though that is kind of toxic behavior so it ends here. I just needed it for karmic balance.” 
“The fuck?” he asked. “Payback for what?”
You pouted. “Oh, you’re so innocent, aren’t you?” you teased him, doing the unspeakable and reaching out to pinch his cheek. Jungkook slapped your hand away before you managed to do that, but you still counted his annoyance as a victory. “I can see the halo over your head and everything… the birds are chirping… the purest soul around.”
Jungkook groaned, pushing his body back against the driver’s seat. “Shut up, my god,” he complained. One of his hands left the wheel and landed on the inside of your thigh; the warmness of his skin shooting fireworks inside your chest. “I asked you a question.” 
With a playful hum hanging on the tip of your tongue, you turned around, one arm leaning on the center console. “Wait, you thought I wouldn’t notice you trying to make me jealous that one day in the library?” You asked, watching as the hamster inside Jungkook’s head started running on its wheel, trying to find the memory he was looking for. “The one that Jisoo asked you two to shut up.”
His eyebrows shot up at the realization. “Ah. Yeah. That was funny.” He laughed, glimpsing at you. That road seemed to be endless, with only Jungkook’s car in it. You didn’t remember when was the last time you saw someone else around, but it was a rather peaceful moment. Just the two of you against the world. “Didn’t know it had worked.”
“I never said that.”
“It wouldn’t be a payback if it hadn’t.” He smirked, cocky, squeezing your inner thigh. Touché. “She was my lab partner. That’s it. I don't even remember her name.” 
You made a tisk sound. “And you were leading her on… how cruel.”
Jungkook raised his hand from your thigh, pointing a finger at you. “It wasn’t like that, I’m naturally flirty.” 
“No, you’re naturally irritating,” you corrected, grabbing his hand and putting it back in place. He squeezed your flesh once again, humming at your words. “Shameless, also. Nasty most of the time—” 
He scoffed. “You flatter me, princess.”
“—But not flirty,” you completed.
“Come on, baby, I’m totally flirty,” he wouldn’t relent so easily, especially when his ego was dangerously close to getting bruised. “I flirted with you.” 
You crossed your arms, looking him up and down. “You called me names and fucked me in a church.” 
“Right? And you don’t call that being flirty? It clearly worked,” Jungkook threw back, not an ounce of self-awareness in his arrogant tone. “Also, don’t mention the church thing as if you didn’t beg me to do it.”
“Not the point.” 
“Exactly the point,” he pressed on, stealing a glance at your irritated expression. It wasn’t for real, of course — most times when you two argued now, it was more of a playful thing than a serious back and forth. Jungkook couldn’t pinpoint when that change had occurred, but it was nice. “You’re equally irritating, shameless, and nasty. Sometimes more than me. You just confuse people about it.” 
“I’m not!” you said, knowing very well that you were lying. 
Jungkook sneered at your words. “Yeah, sure. If that helps you feel better, I can roleplay.” He paused. “Actually, I can do that in different contexts too.” 
You poked his cheek, completely ignoring his last comment. It wasn’t the time to unpack that. “You got jealous though,” you teased. 
He frowned. “Change the subject now.” 
Considering you had already gotten your desired reaction, you decided to give him a (temporary) break. “Fine.” You sighed, sitting back. The breeze coming from outside was a gentle caress on your face, bringing the faint smell of flowers. “So… where are we going, exactly?” 
“It’s, like, the fifth time you’re asking,” Jungkook groaned. 
“And you still haven’t answered,” you said. “I’ll keep asking unless you do, you know that.” 
He breathed out, finally cracking. Jungkook looked at his watch, realizing that the two of you would reach your destination rather soon, anyways, so he could stop with the suspense for now. “I wanna take you on a proper date. I’m tired of sneaking around.” He cleared his throat, eyes glued to the road. He suddenly felt very nervous. “It’s like… four cities away from campus, near the beach. No one you know will see us, probably. Is that alright?”
Out of the possible reactions he has conjured in his head, he didn’t expect you to burst out laughing. “I love that you ask me that when we’re already two hours deep into this road trip,” you teased. “But yeah. Sounds great, actually. I can’t believe you have good ideas every once in a while.” 
Jungkook frowned. “You’re really asking for me to turn this car around, aren’t you?”
“Not at all,” you beamed. “You’re trapped with me for the rest of the day now.” 
Once upon a time, that would sound like a nightmare to you — months back, when the two of you barely talked, and you prayed that he would text you a sleazy excuse and not show up to any future tutoring sessions. Months back, when you were still in denial that there was a person underneath all that trouble, all those sly smirks and witty, bitter remarks. 
Weeks back when you still pretended you weren’t in love with him. 
Ever since you (finally) accepted the fact that you had zero control over your emotions towards Jungkook, things had become both easier and harder to deal with. It was easy being with him — just playing with his hair and listening to him talk; kissing him; driving and talking about nothing. But it was a war inside your head: now every shared laughter hurt a bit more, every touch left you a little on edge. The falling-for-the-bad-boy fiasco was embarrassing in itself, but falling for someone who didn’t feel the same would be absolutely dreadful. Especially now that you couldn’t remember how your life was before he had showed up and turned it upside down. 
As if he was reading your mind, Jungkook responded, “That doesn’t sound so bad at all, princess.” 
~
Jungkook parked his car near a very beautiful square, which was a sharp difference considering the places the two of you used to frequent — or, rather, hide in. In your mind, it was surreal that you were actually on a date with the boy, being shamelessly out-there about a scenario that once terrified you so deeply. Honestly, the chances that you’d run into someone you knew (several cities away from campus, with summer break just around the corner and finals piling up) were slim, but not zero. 
However, you couldn’t care about it when Jungkook opened your door and took your hand in his. “You know what’s fucking insane?” He asked abruptly, pressing you against the side of the vehicle. His palm was warm against yours, just like the world around you. You never really liked summer that much, but you were starting to change your mind. “We’ve done so much, but we never just walked around holding hands.” 
You chuckled — putting it like that, yeah, the two of you were doing everything backwards. “Guess we never had the chance,” you said. “But there’s a first time for everything.” 
He breathed out, leaning in to place a kiss on your lips. You once thought that doing that in public would be horrendous, but now, all you could feel were the butterflies in your stomach. “Hopefully,” he said. “Now, let’s go. I wanna show you around.” 
Just like all-things-Jungkook, he still managed to surprise you after so long. Even with his tough exterior and cold stares, he ended up being a big advocate for public displays of affection. Jungkook could not let go of you even if his life depended on it, it seemed — always touching you in some way, playing with your fingers; or with his arm around your shoulders; a gentle kiss against your temple as you walked down the streets. If you stopped and thought about it, traveling through the land of memories, you could see some stark signs that his love language might be leaning more towards physical touch. You just thought it was something he did during intimate moments, and not all the time. 
Frankly, you weren’t complaining, but you were taking some time to get used to it.  During your previous relationship — a five-months-long catastrophe in your final year of high school — you realized that you weren’t super keen on being all touchy-feely, which was the spark for a few immature arguments back in the day. Years passed and you were more open when it came to Jungkook now, but there was still something that held you back a little, that didn’t let you relax all the way when he pulled you into a random hug, or stopped in the middle of his sentence so he could steal a kiss from your lips. 
Also like all-things-Jungkook, you guessed it was just a matter of time before you got used to it. 
~
About two hours after you two had arrived at that city, you managed to drag Jungkook towards a big, absurdly old-looking bookstore, ignoring his complaints as your eyes darted over the books in its interior. 
“It looks so cool, don’t you think?” You asked, finding his reflection on the glass. It was a funny contrast between the two of you — the pastel tones of your blouse and skirt battling against the dark shades of his pants, his boots, his tattoos. It just wasn’t worse because Jungkook had miraculously chosen a white shirt that day, otherwise you’d think that the two of you were from completely different worlds. “I bet they have some super old stuff.” 
Jungkook sighed. “You wanna go in, don’t you?” He asked, traces of annoyance at the back of his tone. 
“I might,” you said, turning your head to look at him. Lucky you (and unlucky Jungkook), you already had your puppy eyes locked and loaded. “Will you hate me?”
He sighed heavily, his bored stare flickering between your face and the dust accumulating inside the store. You didn’t even know the sacrifices he made for you. “Impossible,” Jungkook responded, “go before I change my mind.” 
You smooched his cheek. “Thank you!” 
Okay, maybe you were getting used to those public displays of affection already. 
The place smelled musty, as expected, and there was a thick layer of dust floating in the air; an allergy ready to strike. Against what it’s great exterior showed, the inside of the store was actually really small and packed with books, with you and Jungkook almost knocking a few piles over every time you turned a corner — nothing but another optical illusion to add to your list. 
Surprisingly enough, Jungkook didn’t complain as much as you had expected — instead limiting himself to a few grunts and scoffs as he looked through the endless lines of old, decaying books. Most of the time he kept it to himself, always maintaining you in his peripheral vision as you jumped from one story to the other. 
At some point, his arms wrapped around you, chest flushed against your back as he placed his head on your shoulder, looking down at the book in your hands. Jungkook smelled of coffee and cigarettes, his warmth was all that you could feel. “That looks old and boring,” he complained, nuzzling his nose against your neck. You hoped he didn’t feel the goosebumps spreading through your skin. “Want me to get it for you?” 
“No, I was just looking,” you told him, leaning back against his chest automatically. “I already have this book back at home, it’s really nice. I just never saw the first edition before. I don’t need another one.” 
Jungkook hummed, one hand reaching to turn it around so he could look at the cover — Clockwork Orange. He had heard that name before somewhere, probably another literature quiz he copied the answers for in high school. “You sure? Because it’s the third time you’re picking it up,” he said. You sighed, probably conjuring an excuse inside your mind, but he knew you better than that. He didn’t let you finish, tugging it away from your hands. “I’m getting it for you. And don’t whine about it.” 
You opened your mouth to argue, but you realized you were going to whine about it. In the end, Jungkook bought you that book, which earned him both another kiss on the cheek and a very annoyed look from you. He couldn’t understand you sometimes. 
“I think you’d like it, actually. It’ll fuel your anarchist spirit,” you told him when the two of you were already back on the sidewalks, your wandering eyes peeking at the bag in your hands. “Give it a shot one of these days.” 
Jungkook scoffed. “I don’t remember when was the last time I read for fun.” He paused. “Or ever.” 
“Doesn’t mean you can’t start doing it now. Summer is long, you’ll get bored eventually,” you counter-argumented, but he didn’t seem like he was going to crack. You pouted, pressing your shoulder against his. “Please? For me?”
Now, that was kind of a low hit. But it worked. “You’re pushing my limits here, princess,” he warned. 
But you weren’t relenting. “Please? It’s not even that long anyways.”
Jungkook didn’t know what it was, but he was especially pliant when it came to your requests that day (lie: he knew exactly why). “Fine,” he groaned. “But I’ll complain the entire time.”
You smiled. “Deal.” 
After walking around the town some more, the two of you eventually settled in a small diner near the beachside. The place was adorable, in typical 50’s style, and you two were one of the few people there — saved for three loud-speaking old men, and an overly-energetic family of five. Jungkook knew you liked to sit by the window, so he found the perfect spot in no time, which you appreciated endlessly. 
Subjects came and went, your food gradually vanished from your plates and, before you could tell, the day was showing signs of ending. Golden hour had arrived, bleeding past the widows and onto the diner’s floor; the buzzing of the town seemed to diminish considerably before rush hour. 
At some point, though, you noticed that Jungkook got distracted, his stare faltering and his mouth falling shut, lips pressed against one another. He was pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he always did when he was trapped deep inside his mind. You reached out, placing your hands over his. “Jungkook,” you called, squeezing his fingers. He blinked his way back into reality, meeting your eyes straight away. With the bright sun coming from the dusty window, his irises had decayed into a clearer shade of brown. “What are you thinking about? You look constipated.” 
He scoffed. “You look constipated most of the time and I don’t comment about it.”
“You do, thought.” You stared at him. “And don’t avoid my question.” 
With a sigh, he leaned back against his seat, gaze flickering to your hands. Jungkook moved his around until your fingers were intertwined. “It’s like…” he hesitated, “Wish we could do this stuff back on campus. Go out or whatever.” He cleared his throat. “Like, out.”
There were traces of hurt in his tone that made you deflate, your heart skipping inside your chest. You had been thinking about it for some time, in different degrees of seriousness: about making it public, about not caring so much about what others thought. It was easier said than done, however, and the effects of your accumulated cowardice were corroding you like kerosene from the inside. “Yeah, I was thinking about that too,” you admitted, looking down at your hands. You knew the dark patterns on his skin by memory, your fingers so used to trailing it. You were never into tattoos before you met him. “We could tell them, you know,” 
He blinked, taken aback. “Who?”
You shrugged, still unable to meet his stare. “Everyone, anyone. I don’t know.” 
“You’re cool with that?” He asked, hesitant. 
You sighed, looking out of the window. Mental barriers can feel so physical sometimes, how strange. “It’s not that I’m… cool with it,” you told him. That would take a bit more adaptation. “I’m just tired of hiding.” 
Jungkook nodded. It was reassuring to know that you were on the same page on that, even if he had reached it a few months back. “Yeah, I get it,” he said, then found his thoughts coming to a sudden halt, hitting something else. There was a little bug of anxiety crawling in his insides for months now, biting down on his insecurities. He had never had trouble keeping secrets (in his mind, people didn’t need to know jackshit about his personal life), but, in a way, he had the hardest time keeping them from you. Especially when they could hurt you too. 
“What is it?” you asked, because he knew you would. “You’re distracted again.” 
Putting everything into perspective, his so-called secret wasn’t that bad, but, in his head, it was apocalypse-inducing. Jungkook hadn’t had the guts to tell you about his roommate's new discovery, fearing that you would lash out at him for being unable to keep it under the covers or, worse, fearing that you would blame him, accusing him of doing it on purpose to hurt you. He had created that tricky situation himself: if he had told you straight away, maybe it wouldn’t look so suspicious. But now that so long had passed, it was likely that you’d see that as an admission of his guilt. 
Once again: Jungkook was never the type to overthink, to assume the worst possible scenario when it came to such simple, mundane things. But when it came to the idea of losing you, he couldn’t help it. 
Still, he tried, deciding that your earlier comment about making it public was the closer he’d ever get to an opening. “There’s something you should probably know,” he started, fighting against the knot in his throat. “Just… don’t get pissed.” 
You frowned. “What is it?”  
And here goes nothing, he thought. “Taehyung knows.” 
You hesitated. Jungkook could practically see the cogs in your head turning, synapses working to make sense of that new, random piece of information. As previously stated, he expected you to start yelling at him, maybe accusing him of betraying your trust, but, instead, what came out of your mouth was a soft-spoken question. “You... told him? When?”
Jungkook shifted around on his seat, catching a glimpse of the happy family by your side — three overly-energetic kids fighting for the pack of sauce, and their parents trying to figure that battle out and end it with the least possible casualties. “Not exactly,” he admitted, looking back at you. “He kind of figured it out by himself. Back at the party. And I couldn’t lie about it, he knows me too well.” 
You nodded slowly, licking your lips. It was weird: how Jungkook could predict you extremely well at times and, at others, he completely missed the mark — which, thinking about it, was what had made him grow so interested in you. Maybe he wasn’t the only optical illusion around. “And… how did that turn out?” you wanted to know.
A puff of air left his nostrils as he recalled that fateful night. “He was in shock for like a week. It was pretty funny, actually, he wouldn't stop talking about it,” Jungkook told you. He had endured weeks of his roommate's meltdowns, floating between the need to talk to you, and the absolute horror of doing so. Taehyung had never been super at ease with you — he thought you were way too intense about stuff — and, after everything clicked in his head and he recalled the fact that you had tied Jungkook up, he didn’t want anything to do with you. Especially considering that he knew something he shouldn’t. “But he’s chill about it. I already made sure that he’s not gonna tell anyone. I don’t think anyone would believe him either.” 
In a way, Jungkook himself couldn’t believe it sometimes. Looking across the table now, watching as the orange sun caressed your cheeks, he was once again reminded of how different the two of you were. You were full of soft, round edges and pretty smiles; delicate fingers that seemed so unlike his own, calloused ones. He didn’t know why you were still around, didn’t know how he had gotten so lucky for so long. 
At his words, though, you frowned. “Tell me you didn’t threaten him with physical violence.”
“Okay.” Jungkook smirked. He had just pressed Taehyung against the wall, no biggie. He’d recover. “I won’t tell you.” 
You rolled your eyes. “Funny.” 
“I’m hilarious, actually. You just don’t appreciate me enough.” 
“Try giving me something to appreciate, then.” You paused, realizing your mistake the exact time that a glint of mischievousness appeared in his eyes. You raised one finger, slightly desperate. “Actually, no, shut up. Don’t say it. There are families in this diner.” 
Jungkook groaned. “Come on, baby, there is no way you can just say that and not expect a dirty joke.”
“It was my fault for creating expectations, sorry.” You decided to shut yourself up with a large gulp of your drink. The sweet taste had just entered your mouth when you recalled something else. “Hm!” You exclaimed, rushing to swallow your milkshake. “I have some good news, by the way.”
Jungkook raised his eyebrows. “Shoot.”
“I’m entering a new research project,” when you first spoke those words out loud, you were already expecting the expression of confusion and disgust that covered his face. You raised one hand, stopping him. “Spare me your comments, that’s only half of it.”
He leaned his head to the side. “And the part that interests me is...?”
You cleared your throat — suddenly, it felt a bit harder to speak. “Well... remember how you said that it would be hard to stay away for the entirety of summer break?” You recalled. Jungkook almost flinched at the memory — it was something he had confessed by mistake, provoked by the peaceful afterglow of his orgasm, and the gentle caresses of your fingers in his hair. You weren’t supposed to actually take that seriously, how embarrassing. “I’ll have to spend at least three to four extra weeks here, because I have to compile and organize a lot of data. Maybe more if I need to.” 
Actually, it was nice that you took that seriously — he changed his mind. 
“That’s… almost a month,” he mumbled, struggling to make sense of that new, fantastic piece of information. 
You nodded, taking another slip. Most of it had melted already, but it was still good. “Yeah, it’s a good amount of time, don’t you think?” 
It’s a fucking dream come true. “Sounds like it.”
You looked down at your milkshake, already almost at the bottom of the cup. The straw swirled around the cream once, twice, your distracted gaze mingling with the hum that fell from your throat. “After that I’m going home, though,” you told him, unaware that his heart had just decided to give him a free trial of arrhythmia. Talk about emotional rollercoasters. “And I’ll probably come back one week before class starts.”  
One month with you, almost two months apart — felt like both an amazing and a horrible deal, like Jungkook was about to sign a contract and sell his soul to the devil. Fame and riches during life, but eternal damnation in death. “I could visit you,” he offered, hopeful. 
You waved your hand, disregarding his words with a gentle smile on your face. “Don’t be silly, my hometown is like five hours away. And that’s during a good traffic day.” 
Jungkook would make the trip every single day if you asked him to. But he didn’t want to push. “Yeah,” he deflated. “That’s silly.” 
“Besides,” you continued, “I don’t think we’re in the meet the parents stage yet.” 
Yet? Wait, were you in any stage at all? Jungkook found himself a little dumbfounded at your comment, trying his best to fit it into reality. “I’m great with parents,” he blurted out, finding the disbelief in your semblance. He thought it would be better to change the subject before he fucked up big time. “You’re not bullshitting me about that summer thing, are you? I’ll have you all to myself for that long?” 
“Yeah, Yongsun will leave soon after the first week. She’s spending the summer at her rich aunt’s house.” And she actually asked you to go along, but you denied. Half because of the research project, half because of him. But he didn’t need to know that. “So you can come over whenever.” 
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Sleep over?”
Yes, please. “If you want.” You shrugged, nonchalant. The Oscars were missing out on your acting skills. “And you, are you planning on visiting your parents during summer?”
You wondered if it was a good idea to bring that up. Jungkook had mentioned that he didn’t have the best relationship with his family — they didn’t hate each other, but didn’t get along super well either. Like pieces of different puzzles thrown together, trying to fit. Regardless of how much you tried to get to know that part of his life, he usually changed the topic before you could do so, avoidant. You didn’t even think he’d answer that question. 
Jungkook cleared his throat. “Maybe. I’m thinking sometime around the end of summer break. I did that last time and it worked,” he said. “I’ll probably spend that middle part with Taehyung. He’s loaded and his house has a guest bedroom.” 
“Sounds like a plan.” You smiled. “I'm actually amazing with parents too.” 
Jungkook caught onto your provocation instantly — smirk already curling up on his lips — but his answer was an honest one. “Oh, no, I’m sure about it.” He scoffed. “Are you kidding me? I can see you all bonding already. They’ll make me an orphan and adopt you instead.” 
“Don’t be so dramatic,” you said. “And I hope you have fun with Taehyung. It’s nice that you two are so close — and for so long too. Not everyone has a friendship like that.” 
Frowning, he thought about what you said. Jungkook had never stopped to see it like that, Taehyung was always such a constant person in his life that he almost took him for granted. “Yeah, it’s crazy…” he drifted off. “He knows me better than I know myself sometimes. It’s weird.” 
You squeezed his hand before his mind could wander too far away from that diner. “Well, now you know how I feel when I’m with you.” You smiled. “Sometimes you tell me things that are so accurate that it scares me.” 
A puff of air escaped his nose, stare oscillating to your intertwined fingers. “I just pay attention, that’s all,” he mumbled. 
“I know you do,” you told him, tilting your head to the side. Your hand was so warm and soft in his that he never wanted to let it go. “Kook?”
He glanced up. “Yeah, baby?” 
“Just remembered something,” you started. “What was the place you wanted to take me to?”
Took him a couple seconds to shuffle around in his mind for that piece of information. Jungkook was so enthralled by your presence that he had frankly forgotten his previous plans for the day. At the realization, though, he looked out of the dusty diner window, eyes following the silhouettes of the strangers outside. “Ah, yeah, it’s almost time,” he said. “I’m glad you asked. Let’s go.” 
The food had already been paid for, so the two of you were outside in no time. The temperature had dropped a little ever since you walked into the diner, courtesy of the scorching sun going down, but there was still a nice warm atmosphere surrounding your bodies. There was a faint buzzing of cicadas in the distance and the air smelled sweet, a mixture of ten different food places at once. 
“You look cute,” he said abruptly, steps slowing down. “Wanna kiss you.” 
You giggled. “Thank you, and you can just kiss me, you know? No need to warn me.” 
Jungkook clicked his tongue, changing his direction without saying another word. Lucky for him, there was an alleyway right ahead, so all he had to do was to turn the corner to have you pressed against the wall. 
“Is this where you wanted to take me?” You teased, head leaning to the side as he caged your body with his. Your wandering hands slid up the sides of his arms, fingers tracing the black ink on his skin. “Doesn’t seem very romantic.”
He hummed, large hands landing on your hips. “Needed to make a quick stop.” He leaned in, lips brushing like feathers against yours. Your breath hitched in expectation, heartbeat thundering inside your chest. “Give me a minute.” 
Kissing Jungkook was pure muscle memory at that point. You didn’t even have to think when his lips met yours, hands flying to his shoulders as his strong arms wrapped around your waist; his large figure pressing you against the brick wall. It was almost poetic how you two had become so accustomed to each other’s mannerisms, like the fact that you knew he’d lean his head to the right side before he did, or that he would take one hand to cup your cheek, thumb grazing your skin. He sighed against the kiss, a pleased hum erupting from his chest as he placed his tongue inside your mouth. 
You pushed him away with a silly smile on your face, his nose bumping on yours. “Don’t make a scene, we’re in public.”
Jungkook smirked, taking in everything about you. He could’ve never guessed the two of you would get that far, but, at that moment, he couldn’t be more thankful for it. “Shut up, princess, that’s the good part about it,” he said before diving back in. 
The first step to solving a problem is acknowledging you have one — and you had already come to terms with the fact that your blockage when it came to what other people thought of you wasn’t only ruining the great moments you had (or could have had) with Jungkook, but it was also holding you back in general. 
If you stopped to think about it, you knew why that happened: you were projecting. It was easier to place your own insecurities and setbacks onto others, because then you could blame an external force for your own losses. It had never been about telling others, it was about admitting to yourself that maybe you had lost control over key parts in your life, maybe you were crazy about a person that you once saw as the lowest of the low. And that he was good to you, that he was one of the best things that had ever happened to you. 
The whole Taehyung fiasco was more of a pleasant outcome than a traumatic one — much to yours and Jungkook’s surprise. It was a shift in your foundation, a crack in the base of your preconceived notions that made you take a step back and analyze your situation all over again. Against what your chaotic, reptile brain had predicted, the world didn’t end when someone found out about you and Jungkook — actually, it stayed exactly the same. You didn’t know if it was just because you had not been directly exposed to it, or if it was because it was someone you didn’t have that much contact with, but it was just… fine. You were fine. 
That small spark catalyzed a flame of bravery inside your chest: maybe one day you could tell your friends, family, and to hell about what they thought about it. Because you liked (loved) Jungkook and that was enough. Because when he looked at you like he was looking like then, nothing else mattered. Because things would be fine.  
“Thank you for today,” you spoke, leaning onto the wooden fence that surrounded the pier. The sunset was a big pink and red bruise on the sky, painting the calm waves with deep shades of orange. The smell of the sea was overwhelming, cleaning you from the inside out. Jungkook had planned to take you there at sunset, and his timing had been perfect. “I loved it. Really.” 
Stil, you felt paralyzed, like you couldn’t really act out your desires. You wanted to tell everyone (which, on itself, was already a big jump from where you were a few months back), you wanted to kiss him openly and tell him that you loved him, and you wanted everything to be simple, easy, happy — fine. And maybe it would be. But the abysmal fall that you could take if everything went down the drain prevented you from taking that leap of faith. 
Being with Jungkook was easy, but falling for him clearly was not. 
“Me too,” he responded, eyes lost in the horizon. “It’s always nice being with you, especially when you don’t annoy me every five seconds.”
You scoffed. “Took the words straight out of my mouth.”  
He smiled, looking at you. “Why are you so quiet, by the way?” 
Uneasy, you shrugged. Jungkook had shot you right in the chest and was looking at you with gunpowder on his fingers, asking you what happened — why you were acting that way, so mild-mannered when you could barely keep your mouth shut before all that. Truth was, you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to talk like before without completely ruining it. Without speaking too much, and ending up confessing about those annoying butterflies that were madly hitting the walls of your stomach. 
“Just enjoying the view,” you said. 
He hummed, pulling you closer. “So am I.” 
But he was still looking at you. 
You thought that Jungkook felt the same — perhaps not as strongly, not as deeply, but he did. You didn’t miss the way that he held you, the worried messages he sent you when you vanished for a few days, absorbed by your own world and its ephemeral worries. You thought that accepting your feelings would be the hardest part, but it didn’t even come close to the horror of sharing them, of speaking that truth into the universe and dealing with the consequences of it. So you didn’t. 
And yet you had to say something.
As his arm tightened around you, you melted into his embrace, your head placed snugly against his broad chest. Jungkook’s heartbeat was slow against your ear, calming you down and mingling with the crashing of the waves. “Kook?” You called, voice soft like a whisper. 
He placed a kiss on the top of your head. “Mmh?”
You angled your head up, meeting his gaze. There was a warm sensation on your cheeks that you couldn’t get rid of. “I really like you, you know,” you said. 
Those words left you with much more ease than you had expected — not broken, mumbled or hidden. Just a clear, diaphanous truth dripping from your lips and curling around the air. It hit Jungkook right in the heart, wrapping around his soul and nestling inside his chest. 
He didn’t think he needed to respond, because he thought that it was quite obvious he felt the same, but he did it regardless. “I really like you too, baby.” He placed a kiss on your lips. If he could, he would never stop kissing you, but there was something he needed to ask. “Can I take you somewhere else tonight?”
It wasn’t that. But he’d manage it eventually. 
“As long as you don’t kill me and throw my body in a ditch, sure,” you joked.  
He smiled. “Don’t worry, that’s, like, third date material.” Jungkook kissed you again, unable to hold himself back. You giggled against his lips, the sound so pretty that he almost wanted to curse at the sunset for even trying to be more divine than you. He leaned back. “But for real. Can I?” 
You nodded, nose brushing against his. “Yeah, sure.”
“We should get back, then,” he said. “We have a few hours ahead of us.” 
There are some things we experience throughout life that, as simple as they may seem at first glance, stick with us forever, like bubblegum on the bottom of a shoe. 
Back in high school, Jungkook had a special difficulty when it came to maths — not because he didn’t get it, but because he didn’t practice. He snoozed through most of his classes, cheated his way to the end of the year, and didn’t bother opening his book. His mathematics knowledge was a polychromatic blurr at the dark corners of his head, a car zooming past too fast for him to actually read the license plate. In the middle of it all, however, there was one specific question that never left him alone. 
It was a simple logic problem — so simple, in fact, that his impulsive brain underestimated it. The question was direct, one of many alternatives that he should classify as true or false: a triangle has two sides, it said. Jungkook rolled his eyes, chuckled to himself, and kept reading the test after he had marked it as false. 
Taehyung, who somehow managed to be great at maths studying just as much as his friend, explained to Jungkook later that he was thinking about it all wrong. It was true, because if a triangle has three sides, it is logically correct to say it has two. If it has three, it also has two. It made sense, but it fucked up his worldview forever. 
He swallowed dry, looking at you by his side. Your fingers were intertwined in his, his thumb caressing the back of your hand as you went on about the weird conversation you had in the last gas station you two stopped in. He wasn’t paying much attention, though. As the cool, blue-ish lights of the tunnel melted over your face, his mind was sent somewhere else, going back and forth like a ping-pong ball.
Following his previous, math-guided trail of thought, his earlier confession wasn’t false: if Jungkook was in love with you, he also liked you. If he had three sides, he also had two. But he still felt like was omitting the truth. 
He took your hand and moved it closer to his face. With his eyes stuck on the road, measuring the curving motion of the car, he placed a kiss against the back of your hand. Not that he could just drop that confession on your lap. You liked him, but it didn’t mean that you’d take such a thing lightly, especially if you did not feel the same — and the last thing Jungkook wanted was to scare you away when he finally got you so close. Just because you had two sides, didn’t mean that you had three. 
You were still talking — Jungkook knew that you were talking; he could hear your saccharine voice reverberating at the corners of his mind, but he couldn’t concentrate on any of the words that left you. He had never been so nervous before. 
He had been considering it for some time now — the idea of making it official — and it had been the whole point of asking you out in such a dramatic, impulsive fashion. But when you were right there, with your hand so warm against his and a ghost of a smile on your lips, he couldn’t find the right way to ask you that. 
Basically, he had done and said everything he wanted to, but his main plan (which was to ask you to be his girlfriend) was completely disregarded, pushed aside by the trepidation that grew inside his heart. If Taehyung were there, Jungkook was sure he’d be mocking him for the absolute ridiculousness of it all: it seemed that, after every insane thing Jungkook had done in his life, what has finally got him stuck, paralyzed by fear, was you. 
Vulnerability was a fire burning deep inside, scorching his pride and collapsing his foundations. It came in small, manageable waves; the gradual raising of temperature so he didn’t realize he was being boiled alive until it was too late. It scared him, really. How emotionally attached he had become to you; how he couldn’t imagine his routine without you somewhere in it. Jungkook wasn’t used to having something (or someone) for so long, never applied himself to anything worthwhile before you. 
But he was trying. He swore he was. 
Back at the pier, your confession had put him at ease, gave him an injection of courage to try one more time. Jungkook decided to take you to one of his favorite spots in the world — on top of a hill, right at the outskirts of the city, where he could see the world shining below. It was a private place, outside of the main road, and he didn’t remember any other car showing up anytime he had gone there in the past. In his mind, it was the perfect amount of peacefulness after such a long day. And maybe it would help him steady himself as well. 
You sighed. “This place is so gorgeous.” 
Jungkook nodded, eyes lost somewhere beyond the windshield. Raindrops were covering his vision, surrounding the town like a ghostly halo. It was a beautiful sight, but also melancholic in its own way. “Looks better when it’s not raining, though,” he told you. “I come here with Taehyung sometimes.” 
You giggled. “So many words to say that you’re hotboxing out here.”
“Shut up, that’s only sometimes,” Jungkook told you, pushing your shoulder playfully. “Coming up here helps me think even if I don’t hotbox.” 
“Yeah I can see why,” you agreed, eyes navigating around the foggy world beyond his windshield. Everything seemed so small from up there, so mundane and manageable. “The rain is nice too.”
He hummed. “I’ll bring you up here again once it’s not raining.” 
You nodded, heart jumping at the thought of a next time. “Thank you for showing me this place, Kook. It must be very special to you.”
He chose not to answer that second part, instead reaching out for your hand once more. Jungkook was never particularly keen on holding hands, but, that day, it seemed that he couldn’t get enough of it. Of you. “I’m happy you like it.” Once again, he kissed the back of your hand. “We can stay for as long as you want, baby.” 
And so you did. 
If a time traveler had told you months back that Jeon Jungkook — of all fucking people — would be the easiest person in the world to talk to, you would’ve probably done something to change your future, because that just couldn’t be a good sign. Still, the universe works in mysterious ways, and you learned to accept its strange peculiarities when it came to the things or people that it decided to shove into your life. Sometimes you have to let go of the wheel to enjoy the drive — figuratively of course. 
Somewhere during your mindless conversation, the two of you had moved to the backseat, under the excuse that the trip had been long, and you needed to stretch out your legs. Being in that position, with the two of you side by side and squeezed into that limited space, took you on a small trip into the past — a faint recollection in which, months ago, you were slightly drunk and pouring out your insecurities to him, convincing yourself that there was no meaning behind that shameful spectacle. 
You were kind of an idiot when it came to stuff like that, however, and you were just starting to figure that out. No amount of book smarts managed to fight against your denial and the emotional pit of despair you had faced when you thought about having actual intimate moments with Jungkook, and about what they could mean. Months ago, you had convinced yourself that it meant nothing — but, now, with that bird eye’s view, you could tell that it always meant something. 
It had always been nice to be with Jungkook, with his smug smirk and the tender touches of his hand on your face, playing with your hair, sliding down your back. It had always been fun, spontaneous, fiery — always something that broke the monotony of your routine and made you have some much-deserved fun. You had spent so long convincing yourself that Jungkook was a bad influence on you that you never even noticed all the good changes he brought into your life. 
He had just pulled away from a kiss when your phone vibrated somewhere on the front seat — and it didn’t stop. Against Jungkook’s whiny protests, you fought your way around until you grabbed the device, then collapsed back into your previous position — with his arm around your shoulder and your head against his chest; both of you sat against the door of his car, legs intertwined on the seat. 
“It’s just Yongsun asking if I’m alive,” you told him, thumbs jumping over the keys on your phone. Jungkook didn’t know why you were telling him that because he could already see your screen — and the flood of texts that came with it, asking if you’d be home for dinner — but he also wasn’t paying much attention. The whole texting moment reminded him of the earlier conversation you two had, a spark of possessiveness spreading like wildfire inside him. “I’ll drop my location and ask her to come dig up my body later.” 
“Funny,” he said, voice flat. He sounded just as distracted as he was, and your ears perked up at that. You were just about to ask him what was bothering him when he told you himself. “No Jimin?” 
You turned your head to look at him, locking your phone. Yongsun could wait a little bit longer. “No Jimin,” you told him. Jungkook’s face was expressionless, you had no clue what he was thinking about. “I told you that—“ 
“Hmmm, yeah, yeah,” he disregarded, shuffling closer to you and removing the phone from your hands, placing it on the floor beside him. His backseat wasn’t the smallest, but it was hard to accommodate both of you — so, it was clear what he wanted you to do. “Heard all that.” 
With a bit of maneuvering, you leaned closer to him, still on his side, and threw one leg over his. Your hands were on his chest now, and your skirt has moved up enough so you could feel the side of his thigh pressing against your mound. “So… what’s the issue?” You asked. 
He sighed deeply, much more dramatic than he needed to be, and nuzzled his face against your neck. “No issue,” Jungkook mumbled, pressing a light kiss against your skin — only the first one, however, because they started to get progressively harsher, needier, as he moved closer to your face. 
You chuckled at his demeanor, surprised at how firm your voice came out. “Don’t believe you.” Your eyes closed as his mouth continued to kiss its way up your neck, tongue playing with your skin, teeth teasing it just slightly. You gasped when he brushed past a particularly sensitive spot, warning a soft grunt from him. “I was just joking earlier, you know, there’s no need to be jealous.” 
“I’m not jealous, princess,” he denied, finally reaching your cheek. Jungkook pulled on your hair so you could lean your head away from him, exposing more of you, and his mouth continued its path closer to your lips. “Not right now.” 
“Not now?” You echoed, interested. 
He finally found your lips, pecking them only once before pulling away. “Mhm. Not now,” Jungkook agreed, letting go of your hair. Took him a few seconds to speak up again, his mind more focused on the way his other hand slipped between your breasts, squeezing your waist before moving on to your ass. “How can I? When you’re mine.” Jungkook groped your ass, earning a soft whimper from you. “All mine, baby.” 
“Says who?” You teased. 
There were goosebumps on your legs that Jungkook didn’t miss, his fingers nonchalantly tracing the back of your thighs, adventuring beneath your skirt. “You.” He smirked. His focus seemed to shift constantly, wanting to have all of you at once. Now, his gaze found the curvature of your neck, a pleased noise leaving his throat. “Wanna mark you up, baby. You look so pretty with hickeys.” 
You gulped. “Not th—“
“Not there, I know,” he finished, taking his hand to your neck. He didn’t press down, but the sensation of his large fingers wrapping around your throat made your heart skip a beat. If he felt it, he didn’t show any reaction. “I won’t do it. But I wanna.” 
There was something dangerous about the husky quality of his tone, the way Jungkook was looking at you like a predator stalking its prey.  You bought yourself some time by leaning your head against his arm, skin touching the cold glass of the window. The drumming of the rain was never-ending, the shapes of the droplets reflecting on his serious features. “Why do you want to do that?” You asked softly, measuring his actions. 
Something told you that Jungkook was enhancing his reactions a little just to fuck with you (roleplaying, if you will). Yet, something switched inside your brain when he spoke out again. “So people know you’re mine.” His warm palm slithered up your neck, cupping your cheek once again. “So they don’t even try to approach my girl.” 
Maybe it was time to admit that you loved when he said stuff like that, exaggerated or not. You wanted it to be true, wanted to be his girl. “Is that why you did it that time?” You asked, unable to fight back against your smile. “Since when are you that possessive?” 
Jungkook breathed out, eyes stuck to the shape of your lips; to the way his thumb grazed them once, twice, until you parted them just slightly. “Not my fault you never noticed,” he sounded like he was about to get sidetracked, as if his mind was already focusing on something else. You let him change the subject. “Can you get home late, princess?”
“Yeah, I don’t have a curfew.” You chuckled. “Why?”
“No reason.” He followed as you took his hand in yours, repositioning it until it was resting on your waist. His stare remained there for a little longer, observing the curves of your body, the way your skirt had hiked up almost completely. “Just thinking.” 
It was your turn to pull him closer, fingers intertwining in his dark locks. Jungkook leaned into your touch, turning his face around so he could place a kiss against your palm. Maybe your heart melted, but he didn’t have to know that. “You don’t do that very often,” you joked. 
He didn’t follow it. “Only about important things,” Jungkook said, the hand that was on your hips now slithering up to your waist. With his other arm still around your shoulder and pressed against the car door, there wasn’t much that he could do, but you could see it in his eyes that he wanted to touch you more, harder, to pull you closer. There was such intensity under his gaze that your stare faltered, instead following the raindrops on the window. “Look at me, princess.” He called and you did. Jungkook sighed, leaning in. “Be good for me, alright?” 
Expectant, you nodded. Your eyes fluttered shut just as his lips met yours; tongue sliding inside your mouth right away, wasting no time. You knew Jungkook enough to learn how to recognize a few signs — and when he kissed you like that, so sloppy and deep, it meant that he had a one-track mind when it came to making you feel good, and he wouldn’t tiptoe around it too much. 
The confirmation for that small hypothesis of yours didn’t take long to arrive. You shuffled closer to him, breasts pressed against his broad chest and one of your legs hooked over his, and Jungkook took that opening as his cue. The arm that was around your shoulder moved to wrap around your waist, pulling your body closer as his other hand slid beneath your skirt, quickly finding what he was looking for. 
A desperate little whimper fell from your lips as his fingers pushed your panties aside, gently brushing between your soaked folds, towards your clit. Jungkook swallowed your moans as he started pressing down on your sensitive spot, his tongue playing with yours as your hands held onto the fabric of his white shirt. You could feel the drumming of his heart beneath your fingers, the raggedy quality of his breath as he groaned against your mouth. “Cute,” he mumbled as he pulled away. “Wanna eat you out. Lie down for me.” 
There wasn’t one single reality in which you’d deny him. After a small instant of struggling and fumbling around, you got to the position he requested, your upper back leaning against the door and your legs spread out on the seat. Jungkook was seated between them, his palms slithering up your calves, finding support on your knees as he leaned down. 
“Have I ever told you how much I love these skirts?” He asked. 
You chuckled. “Only a million times.”
He flicked the fabric over, exposing your panties to him. They were white, a perfect color to see the wet mark you had left on them. “Make that a million and one.” 
One of your hands pushed his hair away from his face. “I almost can’t wear them anymore, because of these.” You pointed down. 
Yeah, he had seen those already. His cock throbbed inside his pants when he saw all the hickeys he had previously left on the insides of your thighs; most of which had already started to fade. You prohibited him from marking you anywhere people could see, and Jungkook kind of liked that a lot more — it was his private spectacle, his skin-deep reminder that you were his, again and again. “So pretty, angel,” he mumbled. “All mine.” 
You smiled fondly. “You haven’t called me that in a long time.” 
“Hmmm yeah?” Jungkook pushed his body closer to your heat, trying to find a good position on the backseat. “Don’t know why. You’re such an angel.” He kissed your thigh. “My pretty angel.” 
Gently, his tongue came out to lick those marks, teeth biting down on your skin just enough to have you gasping above him. “Don’t tease,” you said — what was supposed to be a warning sounded more like a bargain, considering how airy your voice had become. 
“Aw, then it’s no fun.” He pouted, fingers hooking on either side of your panties. One of  his hands let the elastic go, a smirk blossoming on his features as it smacked back against your hips. “What do you want, baby? Let me take care of you.”
“Your mouth,” you told him with no hesitation, “and your fingers too.”
Jungkook chuckled, leaning in so he could place a kiss against your mound. You were so on edge that even that managed to evoke a shiver from you. “My girl’s greedy tonight,” he teased, voice deep. “But whatever she wants.” He finally removed your panties, throwing it on the front seat. “That stays with me.” 
“Pervert,” you teased. 
“For you, maybe,” Jungkook responded, eyes locked on your glistening folds. He separated them just slightly, watching the way your wetness clung onto his fingers, your legs jumping in expectation. “Stay still now, princess.” 
You did as he said, nails digging to the leather of the seat as Jungkook aligned himself with your pussy, letting the saliva accumulate in his mouth. You watched in awe as he let it fall, spit mixing with your juices, dripping down all over your pussy. “Told you that you’re nasty,” you said. 
Jungkook smirked like a devil, two of his fingers spreading his spit around. “You love it. You’re worse than me.” 
You bit your lip. “I’m not.” 
“No?” He raised one eyebrow. “You don’t like it messy, princess?”
Before you could respond, two of his fingers sunk in your pussy, shoving a bit of his saliva inside as well. You shivered at the feeling, walls fluttering around him as he started moving them in and out. 
Jungkook’s smile only grew, victorious. “That’s what I thought.” He reached closer, breath hitting your pussy as he spoke out. “Stay still.” 
His mouth was on you in no time, ripping a loud moan out of you. It wasn’t a mystery that Jungkook had almost an obsession when it came to eating you out, but it always surprised you how eager he was every time he did it, just moaning and grunting against your pussy as if your taste was the best thing he had ever experienced. “F-Fuck,” you cried out, back arching off the leather seat. “Feels s-so good, Kook.” 
He lived for your stuttering, raggedy praises; lived for your taste flooding his mouth. His fingers held onto your thighs harder, keeping you in place as he continued to lap around your folds; sucking your clit and teasing your entrance with his fingers before sinking back in. Jungkook was overcome with the need to see you, so he pulled back for a second so he could meet your heavy eyes. “Be louder for me, baby,” he husked. “Wanna hear how good I make you feel.” 
You gave him one, feverish nod before he was diving back in; licking you clean like his life depended on it. “J-Jungkook,” you called out, slightly dizzy already. “You’re so good. F-Feels so good.” 
In fact, it felt too good. It wasn’t rare for Jungkook to rip your orgasm out of you earlier than expected (which always inflated his ego for days after that), but, that night, you didn’t want it to end so soon. You could already feel the telltale signs of your high approaching and, as tempting as that was, you had different needs in mind. 
“Wait, wait.” You pulled on his hair, trying to get his mouth away from you. Jungkook, however, only went harder. “K-Kook, stop.” 
At that, you got his attention. He was breathing out heavily when he pulled away, his chin covered with your wetness. “What is it?”
“I…” you hesitated, fighting through the veil of dizziness in your mind. Jungkook thought that it was adorable how you got tongue-tied when you were close to cumming. It was a rare sight — one reserved only for him. “I... wanna cum on your cock.” 
That was like a punch in the gut, knocking the air out of his lungs. Jungkook could feel his cock throbbing at the sight of you — so overwhelmed, so wet — sounding so innocent when you asked for such a lewd thing. “Yeah?” He moved quickly, pushing his body away from yours so he could tug off his shirt. It fell somewhere behind him as he placed his face on your neck, voice muffled against your skin. “It’s so fucking hard for you, baby.” He squeezed your hips. “Never wanted to be inside you so fucking much.”
“Please,” you asked again, sounding so sweet and needy that Jungkook had to hold himself back from not fucking you right away. “Want you so much it hurts.” 
He growled against your flesh. “God, I wanna see you riding my cock so fucking bad,” Jungkook cursed, pressing himself against you. You mewled when you felt his erection on the inside of your thigh; his big cock fueling your lust even more. “Sit on my lap for me, baby.” 
Part of you had already guessed he was in that mood. When Jungkook was horny, he wanted to fuck you until you were crying; drilling in and out of you so hard and deep so that he was the only thing you could think about, his name the only thing you could say. But when Jungkook was really horny (as he was that night), there was nothing else in the world that satifistied him more than to watch you fucking yourself on his cock, using him however you wanted until you were sobbing out his name, cumming all over him. 
And you weren’t going to complain about that idea either. 
With a bit more maneuvering — you had yet to figure out if you enjoyed car sex or not — you finally found yourself sitting on top of his muscular thighs, your palms sliding up his toned arms, towards his chest. It was unfair how Jungkook was hot all around, with his Greek god figure and the black ink dancing in his skin; his messy dark hair and lustful gaze. You were doomed, and he pulled you into a hungry kiss before you could stare any further. 
Jungkook’s hands slid up the sides of your body, exploring the smoothness of your skin and dragging your blouse upwards. He groaned against your lips once his palms found the expanse of your breasts, hands squeezing on the flesh. It was annoying that you still had your bra on, but there was something so amazing about the little whimper you let out, about the way your back arched, body moving closer to his touch. You were always so good for him, always ready to give him whatever it was that he asked for. Always so sensitive to his most minimal of touches. 
Soon enough, you were breathing hard against his lips, pulling away so you could speak. “I’m so wet, Kook,” you said, your voice a timid whisper. “Just fuck me, please.” 
He groaned, squeezing your covered breasts once more. “Fuck, don’t say that,” he cursed out. You were never one to speak like that often so, when you did, he felt as if he needed a moment to compose himself. “You don’t know what that does to me.” 
You blinked those pretty eyes of yours at him, seeming so innocent but being anything but. “Why not? it’s true,” you teased, taking one hand beneath your skirt. Jungkook followed the movement, mesmerized, and thought that he was about to pass out when your fingers returned to his field of vision. “Look.” You pouted. 
A deep hum dripped past his lips, his hooded eyes watching as your fingers shimmered under the pale moonlight, covered by your arousal. He could feel himself salivating at the sight, wondering why the hell he had stopped eating you out in the first place. 
Still, he maintained his cool. Jungkook’s hand wrapped around your wrist, gently guiding your fingers closer to your mouth. “Taste yourself for me, baby,” he requested. His heartbeat was out of control as he witnessed your pouty lips opening up so your fingers could slip inside, the same tongue that he had just been caressing now licking yourself clean. “That’s it. Tastes good, right?” You nodded, fingers still pressed against your tongue. After another second, Jungkook removed your digits from your mouth, but his were already taking their place. “Now mine, baby,” he egged you on. 
Of course, you did as he requested, licking and sucking on his fingers until he was satisfied. 
Jungkook smirked, looking particularly hypnotized that night. “Good girl,” he praised under his breath, a maniac gaze swimming inside his eyes as he looked up at yours. “Good girls deserve rewards.” Lethargically, he started moving his fingers in and out of your mouth, his cock throbbing inside his pants at the small whimper that came from your throat. He wanted to see you sucking him off, worshiping him until he came all over your face, inside your mouth, on your chest. But what he needed was to be deep inside your pussy. “Want my cock?”
Again, you nodded, moaning around his digits. 
“Use your words, angel,” he teased, fingers leaving your mouth once again. Lately, it was rare to witness that cocky, annoying side of his, but, once it showed up, it was just like before. “Let me hear you.” 
“Yes, please,” you asked. 
He clicked his tongue, lowering his hand. You gasped when his saliva-covered fingers found your clit, circling it slowly. “Ask one more time.” Jungkook was impassive, not reacting to the way you squirmed above him, already so sensitive. “You can do better than that, baby.” 
You could never tell if you adored or despised when he got like that. Maybe both. Probably both. “Please, Kook, I want it so bad,” you begged. Through it all, you still had your own cards up your sleeve, some small actions you knew that affected him deeply. So you made good use of them: leaning in and placing a hot kiss against his lips, your hands tugging on his hair. Jungkook groaned against your mouth, his fingers stilling on your clit when you rolled your center against his erection. “Please,” you repeated, voice airy. “Let me ride you.” 
How could he possibly say no to that? 
“Fuck. Wanna see you bounce on it, baby.” Jungkook leaned back, quickly opening his zipper. You moved away just enough so he could pull his pants and underwear down, his cock stiff against his lower abdomen. “And hold your skirt up for me.” 
You pouted. “You don’t want me to take it off?” 
Jungkook shook his head, holding you by the chin and pulling you into another heated kiss. He moaned against it once you sat right over his cock, your warm wetness spreading all over him. He pulled away. “You know I love it when you ride me with a skirt on, princess. Looks like a sexy schoolgirl.”
A thousand pecks later, and you found a chance at speaking. “Pervert,” you repeated, smiling against the kiss. “You always do stuff like this.”
He hummed. “Yeah? Like what?”
“Like… fuck me with my skirt on,” you started, kissing down his neck, “Cum inside me and make me keep it inside all day. Eat it out of me.” Jungkook grew stiff beneath you, a grunt leaving his chest as you rolled your pussy against his cock one more time. “Cum inside me two, three times in a row.” You giggled. “Do you like stuffing me that much, Kook? Why is that?” 
He was obsessed with the idea, actually, just you talking about that was enough to make him dizzy with desire. Maybe it could be all trailed back to his possessive gene, the evil, cocky part of him that wanted to see you full of him, dripping with his cum, his fingerprints all over your body. What started as a simple ego thing — playing with your limits, seeing how far you’d let him go — was now a way for him to get a hold of you, to make you his, even if it was an ephemeral, material thing. And, well, yeah, maybe it was also still an ego thing. Maybe it made him super hard thinking that you were walking around with his cum inside you, dripping down your panties and making a mess all over your pussy. 
Instead of saying all that, however, Jungkook simply threw the question right back at you, “Don’t you like it when I do all that?”
“I do,” you admitted straight away, kissing his lips once, twice, barely giving him what he wanted before pulling away. He knew that glint in your eyes, and he had learned to hate it. “Not as much as you, though.” 
Still, Jungkook wouldn’t fall for your schemes that night. Sometimes he didn’t mind so much, but, then, he wouldn’t let you take the wheel no matter what. “Liar. You love it,” he threw back, wrapping one hand around his cock, the other propping you up over it. You got the cue instantly, lowering yourself so his crown brushed against your entrance. “What, you think I forgot how wet you get when I cum inside you? When you keep it in?” He smirked at the overwhelmed expression that monopolized your face, the hand on your hips pushing you down on his cock. He knew how to put you back in place, when necessary. “Look at this, I just cleaned you up and you’re already soaked again. So messy, baby.” 
You gasped when his tip sunk past your entrance, slowly stretching you out. “K-Kook—“
“Shhh, you got this.” One hand was in your hair, guiding your head closer to him. Weak, you could only follow his pull; feeling as he placed a gentle kiss against your lips. “Slow. Deep inside for me, baby. You got this.” 
With a nod, you did as he requested, gradually sinking lower and lower until his big cock filled you to the brim. You moaned out at the feeling, your arms wrapping around his shoulders for support as you tried to get used to it. 
Jungkook was breathing heavily then, his large palms cupping your ass, every cell of his body focused on the amazing way you squeezed around him. It was impossible to consider a reality in which you were not made for him, the way you two fit together was too good to be true. “That’s it… Just like that, baby,” he said, trying to fight back his moans. “Move for me?” 
The thought of mocking him about his request (considering that Jungkook was a big advocate for cockwarming as a teasing mechanism) crossed your mind, but you brushed it off almost instantly. You couldn’t overlook the need that grew inside you, begging you to fulfill it, to roll your hips against his until you were cumming.
So you did. Took you a few attempts to set a rhythm, body moving up and down as you felt his cock sink inside of you, brushing all your sensitive spots on its way out, then all the way back in. Maybe you should’ve gotten used to it by now, but every time still felt like the first. 
“L-Like this?” You asked. 
“Faster,” Jungkook breathed out. Maybe your thighs would burn like hell after your rush of adrenaline went away, but you didn’t care too much about it then — you did what he requested, picking up the pace. “Yeah, yeah, just like that. Fuck, that’s my girl.” 
You nodded, body overflowing with pleasure as you continued to ride him. That harsh, messy pace was a blessing to him, the way your breasts bounced close to his face pulling his attention instantly. 
“Doing so well for me, princess. So fucking perfect for my cock,” Jungkook praised, eyes running all over your body as you squirmed under his touches. There was no one else in his world but you; you and the overwhelming need he had to have your tits on display. He tugged on the hem of your top. “Can I?” 
You nodded, raising your arms so Jungkook could slide that piece of clothing off easily. His hands were quick to unclasp your bra, placing it on the seat next to him as he dove in to play with your breasts. “Love your tits, baby, so soft,” his voice was a muffled groan against your skin, tongue poking out against your nipple. “Love your ass.” He squeezed your cheeks, making you roll your hips against his cock harder. “Fucking love when you ride me.” 
“K-Kook,” you sobbed, I’m—“
He growled. “Love when you call me that.” 
Of course, he loved way more than that. Jungkook was a weak man — point blank, no excuses about it. He was weak about the way your warm walls clenched around his cock; lost himself in the overwhelmed nature of your expression as you rolled your hips down on his length. The world was always so enhanced when he was with you, every sentiment and sensation amplified every time he looked at you. 
The first times you fucked, it was just that, and he was fine with that — at the time. But, back then, Jungkook never noticed those small things about you with such clarity: the small puffs of air that escaped between your lips, the way your nails dug to his neck or the way you whined out his name. He never noticed how ridiculously pretty you looked, his personal angel, just losing yourself over and over for him. He liked having you on top because he couldn’t run away from those details even if he tried, so he let them consume him. 
The sound of you giggling brought him back straight away, however, his heart fluttering inside his chest. “You’re staring,” you told him. 
Jungkook smirked. “Hmmm… am I?” His hand moved your hair away from your face, cupping your cheek. You leaned into the touch and his thumb started caressing your skin, feeling the heat beneath his palm. If he concentrated hard enough, maybe he could remember that forever. “Can you blame me? Look how pretty my girl is.” 
“Your girl?” You asked, slightly delirious at that point. 
Soon enough, if he had the guts to ask you. “Yeah, all mine,” Jungkook responded, diving into that fantasy for a second — into a parallel universe where all his problems were gone, and you two were everything left in the world. “Come here.” His hand moved to the nape of your neck. “Wanna kiss you.” 
And you did, of course, because you were always just so good for him. Jungkook leaned his head to the side, fingers pulling on your hair as you opened your mouth for him, allowing for his tongue to meet yours. Once again, he felt his stomach being filled with that tingling anticipation, lust and tenderness battling inside it, begging for his attention. He couldn’t handle it: you were too much, always had been. 
Just like that, some forsaken feelings hit him before he could avoid them, before he could push them away any further. It was always like that: when he couldn’t deal with it, not when you were consuming every cell of his body and he could not ignore the effect you had on him. 
Again and again, those words were just ringing inside his head — I love you, I love you, I love you — repeating themselves into a maniac crescendo that drowned out his own thoughts. You were all that he could see, all that he could hear and touch; you were every idea that permeated his mind at that instant, chest overflowing with devotion to a point in which he couldn’t even speak. Especially not that. Not those words.
Not when you were so blissfully ignorant above him, not when the realization made him so fucking terrified that he just wanted to crawl into a ball and hide forever. Jungkook couldn’t grasp his reasoning anymore, he had long lost it. He was made of sheer, unadulterated emotion — a fierce battle between his blossoming love and the horrifying vulnerability unraveling inside his soul, promising to break him apart. 
He could not say that. Not now. Not when there was so much at risk. Not when he couldn’t even bring himself to ask you to be his girlfriend in the first place. 
So he didn’t — instead, he continued making out with you in a faithless attempt at shutting himself up.
You whined softly against his lips, your hands losing their strength on his shoulders. Your breathing was ragged, shallow; thighs starting to shake on either side of his body. Jungkook knew those signs like no one else, was quick to grip your ass tighter, helping you move. 
“Close, baby?” He breathed out, voice raspy, sounding like sin itself. “Gonna cum for me?” 
You nodded, nose brushing against his. “Y-Yeah. Almost there.” 
“Fuck, princess, your pussy’s so tight,” Jungkook cursed, closing his eyes for a second. He was a total goner: nothing could ever compare to the high he got when he was plunged deep inside your heat, breathing the same air as you. When his heart felt so full and so empty at the same time. “You sure you don’t wanna come over? Wanna fuck you all night.”
“C-can’t,” you struggled to get out, “have class in the morning.” 
He scoffed. Some things would never change. “How boring.” 
You rolled your eyes. “Next time maybe don't t-take me out on a Sunday, dumbass.” You tried to sound harsh, but it was impossible to ignore the tight grip you had on his cock as you cried out, movements stilling for just a second before you found the strength inside you to pick the pace back up. “K-Kook,” you stuttered, hooded eyes meeting his own. He loved when you called him that, made his heart burst inside his chest — and if you called him that while you were riding him then… well, then he was a dead man. “I’m gonna—“
“Gonna cum for me?” he completed, raising his hips slightly to meet your movements. His cock felt so good inside you, his ragged breaths were all that you could focus on. “Cum all over my cock, baby, wanna feel it.” 
There was nothing in the world you wanted more than that. You could feel your pleasure building up more and more inside you, ready to snap, and you simply followed it as you tipped over the edge. Jungkook loved the way you looked, the way you clenched around him, the way you cried out his name like a prayer when your body finally gave out and you came around his hard cock. He could replay that moment in his mind forever and never get tired of it.
It was by a miracle and the strong support of his hands on your hips that you didn’t just collapse against his chest, instead managing to keep a semi-constant pace on his cock — much slower, however. “Fuck, that’s it,” he moaned under his breath, his dark eyes running all over your body, trying to absorb everything about you: the bouncing of your breasts, the shaking of your thighs, the pretty frown on your features. “So good for me, baby, you always take my cock so well. My good girl.”
You nodded, still slightly dazed-out after your orgasm. Jungkook lived for moments like that, to see how fucked-out and pretty you looked when he was done with you. It made his cock throb inside you, threatening to spill over. 
“W-Want you to cum,” you stuttered. “Inside.” 
Jungkook was almost there already, barely hanging by a thread. “God, you’re fucking perfect.” He threw his head back against the seat, black hair falling all over his forehead, sweaty and sticking onto his skin. Jungkook was an image of perdition then, so hot that you couldn’t even think about anything else for a second. “Fuck, princess,” he moaned out, “you’re gonna make me cum.” 
Lately, his mind became a dangerous place when he was that close to his high, losing its filter and threatening to make him spill everything that was brewing inside his skull. Jungkook had to hold himself back with all the force he had left, but you could see it in his hooded, fucked-out gaze that there was so much that he wanted to say, so many broken words that got lost amidst his groans and moans. 
For better or for worse, he came before he had the chance to do so. Jungkook shivered beneath you as he cock released inside you, hands holding tightly to your ass as you milked his orgasm, moaning out your name as he filled you up. He could feel his cum dripping out of you, making a mess on him; could feel the way your pussy clenched around him, and it all was a piece of paradise reserved just for him. 
Once Jungkook reached his limit, he pulled you flushed against his chest, kissing your forehead. “You’re amazing,” he said, lost in your gaze. “Stay like this for me.” 
You brushed his sweaty hair away from his face. “You don’t wanna see it?” 
“Later,” he responded. “Wanna stay like this for now.” Jungkook shoved his face on the crook of your neck, smooching your skin as a long, delighted hum vibrated in his chest. “Can I see you tomorrow, baby?” He asked, voice muffled against your skin. “I can kick Taehyung out if you wanna come over.” 
You chuckled, placing your fingers in his hair. He leaned against your touch, silently begging you to play with it. “Yeah, sure,” you agreed. “I have class until three, though. And you don’t have to kick the poor boy out. Especially considering that he already knows.” 
Jungkook sighed at your response, his hands pulling you closer by the waist. Your back arched, his toned chest pressing against yours as his mouth started to assault your neck, running over the kisses and bites he had left before. “And the day after that?” He pressed on. 
Even though you had no idea where he was trying to go with that, you still complied. “Yeah, we can figure it out.” You smiled, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of his mouth moving towards your jaw, your cheek, and then placing a kiss right on the corner of your lips. “Any day you want.” 
He smiled. “I like the way that sounds.” Leaning back, Jungkook looked at you and, just like that, all the monsters recoiled back under his bed. All his negative thoughts evanesced, and there was no doubt pestering his mind. He looked at you and he just realized that things were simple — and, all along, the two of you were just making it way harder than it should be. But he could change that now. “Baby?” He called, possessed by a newfound wave of bravery. “Can I ask you something?” 
“Yes, of course.” You nuzzled closer to him, placing a small kiss against his lips. Jungkook tried to deepen it, but you pulled away before he could manage to do so. That seemed to be a pattern between the two of you. “What is it? You got so serious all of a sudden.” 
His jaw clenched as he formulated his sentence: he had practiced a few times in his head, trying to find the best moment to let it loose, but it was ten times harder now that you were waiting for it. “Do you want to make it, you know, official?” The question left his mouth rather smoothly, much better than he had predicted. “You know. Us.” 
You blinked, shoulders falling as you digested his words. There was a fluttering in your heart that you did not miss, a sinking feeling in your stomach that left your body on edge. “Are… are you kidding?” You asked. Just to be sure. Just so you wouldn’t embarrass yourself with an overly-excited yes. 
Jungkook frowned. “Why would fucking I joke about that?” He threw back. You didn’t know. It just felt too good to be true. “No, I really fucking like you,” he went on, arms tightening around your lower body. “Want you to be mine. For real.” 
Now, Jungkook had seen basically all the expressions you could give, but he had never seen them change so fast. Your face went from disbelief to worry, to happiness and back to confusion; only to explode in a fit of laughter. “I cannot believe you.” You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, body bouncing up and down as you continued to laugh. “And is this how you ask me to be your girlfriend? Cock inside and all?” You leaned back, wiping a tear away from your cheek. “Jeon Jungkook, I swear to god… You’re so stupid.”
He smirked. “So I’m guessing that’s a yes?”
The urge to smack him across the head was overwhelming, but you held it back like a pro — you had months of practice. Instead, you placed both hands on either side of his face, keeping him in place. “See? You’re stupid,” you repeated, unable to fight the happiness in your tone. “It’s a yes, obviously.”
And you kissed him, because there was nothing else in the world to be done at that moment. 
Jungkook had to admit: he didn’t know shit about maths — and the little he did know, it was long forgotten after he had left high school. He wasn’t sure anymore, but he thought that something needed at least three sides to actually be a shape… or whatever it was that mathematicians referred to as. That’s why the triangle was the first of that weird sequence he had to memorize. And, therefore, maybe he was just too dumb to see the third side of you. 
Maybe you liked him way more than you led on. 
~
Turns out that Yongsun’s good luck had magically returned and you didn’t even know about it. 
The drive back to your place was sadly faster than you had anticipated and, about thirty minutes after you had floated your way up to cloud nine, Jungkook was parking in front of your apartment complex, putting an end to your first official date together. He kissed you goodbye (at least three times) before you got out of his car; promising once again that you’d figure out a way to see him the following day. Jungkook (in typical chaotic fashion) decided to keep your panties as a consolation prize regardless.
The front door had started making an awful creaking sound, and it signaled your arrival when you stepped into your apartment. You hummed at the delicious aroma that filled the warm atmosphere, leaning on the wall so you could remove your shoes. They collapsed against the floor, two small perturbations in that peaceful world. “Yongsun! That smells amazing, what is it?” You called out, but received no answer. Yongsun was probably distracted, as she often was when she was cooking. “I’ll be there in a second if you want some help!” 
After you went to your room and changed your clothes, you made your way to the kitchen, where you found her leaning over one large pot — spices in one hand, wooden spoon in the other — and her hair looking like it had been tied in a hurricane. The mess in the kitchen was absurd — with poorly-chopped vegetables thrown around; a dark puddle of sauce on the floor; and remnants of mustard on the back of her clothes. You had no idea how Yongsun managed to be so clumsy, but you couldn’t complain when she cooked so well. 
You crossed your arms as you arrived by her side, taking a peek inside the pot. “Hey, it smells great. What is it?” You repeated, before looking up at her. Yongsun looked awfully serious, the most you had seen during the years she had been your roommate, and that mere observation sunk like an anchor inside your stomach. “What happened?” 
In a way, you knew what had happened before she even started talking. It took you two seconds to remind yourself of the conversation you two had before you left, and another second to take a glimpse at the living room’s window, as if to check that it was still there. Yongsun liked to take breaks during cooking, walking around the place as the food boiled, and it wouldn’t surprise you if her timing had been precise enough to see something. 
Still, her following words caught you a little off guard. “You know Kim Taehyung? Last semester, I had this project with him. He talked so much we almost handed it in late.” 
You blinked — wait, had Taehyung told her something? Had he asked her something and she had just now connected the dots? “I remember that. You just never told me it was with Taehyung.”  
She hummed. “You know him?” 
You took a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions under control. There was an urge inside you to look through the window, review the possibility of Yongsun staring down the street and seeing who you were with — Jungkook hadn’t even left his car, so maybe she was going to mention something completely different. Still, you concentrated that energy into keeping your voice casual, under control. “Yeah, he’s in my ethics class. Why?” 
She nodded, finally meeting your stare. Yongsun didn’t look sad, mad, or anything in between, which confused you a little. “One time he told me about this roommate of his,” she continued casually, measuring your expressions. Of course she knew who it was. There was no way she didn’t. “Who fixed a Chevy Camaro ‘69 when he was in high school, he did it with his dad. Taehyung didn’t stop talking about how the car was super cool, and that he wanted to have a bonding experience like that with his own dad. He showed me a picture of it and everything.” 
“People talk a lot of personal stuff to you,” you deflected. Part of you wanted to tell her, you had thought about it so many times already, and yet you felt like you could barely move now, just waiting for that excruciating mystery to come to an end. 
“Happens when you study psych.” Yongsun sighed, pointing at something behind you. “Pass me the salt?” You had just grabbed it when she gave her killer shot. “Pretty sure you know who his roommate is. I think there’s only one person around campus with a car like that, and I just saw it dropping you off.” 
You laughed, dry, because that was all that your body could do at that point. It was a laugh of nervousness, of relief, of fear, of happiness. Everything and nothing at once. “Surprise, I guess,” you said, monotone. 
She elevated one eyebrow, grabbing the salt from your hands. Most people would measure it, but Yongsun had a weird sixth sense when it came to cooking, so she just threw a random amount inside the mixture before continuing. “Not a surprise, I think,” she told you. “I had my suspicions.” 
Uneasy, you nodded. You also had your suspicions that she knew who it might be, considering the comments she had dropped throughout the months; the way she had looked and talked to Jungkook back at Hoseok’s party. Nevertheless, you guessed she still hoped it was someone else. “You’re fine with that? You look like…”
Yongsun scoffed. “Fine is a strong word, honestly.” Her stare faltered, and suddenly staring at her nails seemed to be much more interesting than keeping a stable eye contact with you. She breathed out, constructing her words inside her head before looking back up. “I’m not your mom, ___. You do what you want, you go out with whoever you want.”
That wasn’t all. “But…?”
She sighed. “But, as your friend, I’m worried,” Yongsun admitted, the wooden spoon sliding between her fingers, bumping on the bottom of the pot. Her body relaxed all at once, glad that she was putting those words out. “You probably know why, maybe the same reason why you didn’t say anything to any of us. Jungkook isn’t really the best dude around and he’s just so… so much.” She shook her head. “You know the things people say about him, right? Do you really think it’s a good idea to get involved?” 
You licked your lips, taking a moment to think about your following words. You had imagined that conversation a billion times in your head, but it seemed otherwise from the way you were reacting. “I know what people say, but most of it isn’t true,” you told her. “Of course, he’s far from perfect. So am I. And I know it sounds really dumb and cliche when I say this, but he’s a really nice guy. He treats me well.” 
With a quick movement, she turned off the stove, reaching for the pot lid. “I have no doubt about that, girl. I told you that you seemed happy and I meant it,” she said. Her shoulders fell and you couldn’t really figure out what her expression meant. “___, I just… I don’t want you to get carried away by someone that isn’t worth it. You have so much ahead of you, I would hate to see you getting heartbroken or even just distracted because of him.” 
You placed one hand on her arm. “Yongsun, believe me when I say that I get it. A hundred percent,” you stressed. “We’ve both been in this… back and forth for a long time now. Exactly because I was thinking the same thing, and I was terrified I was doing something stupid that would end badly. But Jungkook’s great, really.” You breathed out. “I know it’s hard to believe that, it took me some time too. But I’m serious. There’s nothing to be worried about.” 
Against your best expectations, your small speech actually managed to settle her worries for now. Yongsun breathed out, relieved. “Good, okay,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me anything?” 
You swallowed dry. “I was worried about what you guys would say. It’s dumb, I know,” you admitted. “And I guess I was lying to myself too.”
She nodded, taking a glimpse at the pot of food. You still had no clue what it was, but, at that point, that was the smallest of your concerns. “You know I’m a black belt in karate, right?” She asked randomly. “I can kick his ass if you want.” 
You laughed, finally allowing yourself to relax. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you guaranteed. You felt much lighter now, and you could tell that she was going through the same. You didn’t know how much that secret had been killing you inside until you finally let it loose. “Thank you for understanding, Yongsun. I was afraid you and Jisoo would hate me for it.” 
She shook her head, a puff of air leaving her nose. “Honestly, girl, I don’t understand it. At all. But I trust you,” she stressed. That was probably the best scenario you could get out of that. “I can’t guarantee that Jisoo will have the same reaction, though. She hates the guy.” 
Oddly enough, having Yongsun speaking your worries out loud didn’t affect you as much as you had expected. Jisoo had been the central line that connected the web of anxiety inside your head and, yet, she seemed like a distant issue now. She was your best friend and you loved her to death, that hadn’t changed a bit, and still, your perspective had switched enough for you to notice that she was probably the least qualified person in the world to judge you for your impulsive actions. Not when you had to take care of her in Hoseok’s party because she couldn’t make her own decisions; because she was afraid of the social backlash of placing her own limits. And, ironically, you were doing the same thing when it came to her. 
You had already reached a conclusion about what to do about it. “I’ll tell her after summer break,” you shared your idea, “I think she’ll understand if I talk to her about it. Or at least she won’t be so mad about it.” 
“That might work.” Yongsun nodded, thinking for a second. “Well, it’s better than if she figures it out by herself. She’d be really upset.” 
Upset was an understatement, but whatever. “Yeah, that’d be the worst case scenario, but it won’t happen,” you were firm in your words. “I’m like a pro at sneaking around.”
Her expression was washed by disbelief. Yongsun scoffed, grabbing a towel nearby so she could remove the pot from the stove. “Girl, I disagree,” she said, walking towards the kitchen table. She was a small girl, but her cooking superpowers worked wonders when it came to transporting food around. “I’ve heard too much.”
You paused, unable to fight the smile that grew on your lips. “Oh… yeah, that was on purpose.” 
The pot almost tipped over (which would have undoubtedly been a catastrophe) when Yongsun dropped it on the table, surprised. “What?!” She exclaimed, horrified. 
You waved her worries away. “Long story,” you said. 
She shook her head, possessed by chaos. “No, girl, you’re not going to zoom past that like you didn’t just say it. It's dinner time and you’re not running away from my yakisoba.” Oh so that was what the food was. Yongsun pointed at one of the chairs while she walked towards the other. “Sit your ass down. You have months of gossip to tell me.” 
You raised one eyebrow. “During dinner?” You asked. “Are you sure?” 
She huffed. “I have a strong stomach. Go ahead, try me.” 
You shrugged, sitting down. To be fair, she didn’t know what she was asking for. “Fine. What do you want to know?” 
Spoiler: Yongsun did not have a strong stomach. 
2K notes · View notes
aphiandhephi · 14 days ago
Conversation
Y/N: *Holds a knife to Loki’s throat*
Loki:…Oh no
Y/N: You haven’t kissed me in three days and it fucking pisses me off
Loki:
Loki: SO YOU THOUGHT YOU SHOULD THREATEN MY LIFE?
Y/N, shrugging: I know it turns you on.
Loki:
2K notes · View notes
lupinbrekker · 2 months ago
Text
the allure of darkness | the darkling
The line between good and bad has blurred for her. Her every thought now is him; his gentle touch and hungry kiss, his whispered confessions in the dark. All she can think about is the both of them, stronger and more powerful than anything together.
word count: 4k
pairing: The Darkling x Sun Summoner!female reader
warnings: NSFW 18+ content, fxm unprotected sex, slight sub/dom dynamics (sub!reader), use of his real name, mentions of food and alcohol
a/n: honestly, just a couple of *lovesick* idiots getting down and dirty with a corruption arc for the reader, because what is hotter than being evil together? absolutely nothing. also, I have to say: I’m not excusing his actions, but this is *fiction* (and I do have a soft spot for the villains) so I had a bit of fun letting my mind run free with this. it’s all in good fun. p.s. this is on ao3 as a darklina fic if you’d rather read that!
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There’s few things in the world she loves more than waking up next to him — wrapped in his black silk sheets, safe in his embrace, his naked body tangled up with hers, her head on his chest. She adores the few minutes they share before they both get out of bed and get on with their daily duties, when the sun has barely risen and the palace hasn’t woken up yet; the world seemingly still and quiet, just for them. She cherishes those moments where his walls are down, where he’s comfortable with showing the most vulnerable parts of him to her. 
At the beginning of their relationship, she had to try very hard to not send everyone and everything to hell and just run around the palace looking for him like a mad woman everyday. Most of the time now, when she’s training with the other Grisha or having lunch with them at the domed hall, she’s distracted enough to not think about him too much; but any spare second that she gets, all she can think about is nighttime, longing for the sun to finally set so she can see him again, be in his arms again. 
When she does get to see him during the day, it’s somehow worse. The hours pass slowly and feel excruciatingly long, and painful, when she’s forced to watch him from afar. Watch as he discusses war matters, pacing across the room, strutting around the palace with that dignified smirk and grey slate eyes, as handsome as the devil. It takes everything in her to not run to him and kiss him hard against the wall in front of everyone.
Now, as she makes her way to his chambers to join him for dinner, she can’t help her mind from wandering to thoughts of last night. She can perfectly recall the feel of his stubble on her inner thighs, his head between her legs; his cheeks flushed and his eyes pooled with desire as he stared up at her and drove her to the edge of insanity with every lap of his skilled tongue. She hasn’t been able to think about anything else the whole day. Nadia and Marie had even pointed out that she seemed more distracted than usual. She’d tried to brush it off, but she has to admit that the prospect of someone finding out about her little encounters with the general is sort of exciting. 
She finally reaches his quarters at the end of the long hallway, knocking on his door briefly, but making her way in unannounced as always. She closes the door behind her soundlessly, to find him already waiting for her, sitting by the fireplace at a small dining table, dinner for the both of them laid out in front of him.
“Aleksander,” she speaks. She knows how much he adores hearing his name coming out of her mouth and how delicately she says it, with so much intention and so carefully, like a whispered secret. 
He turns around at the sound of her voice, and a smile spreads across his face when he sees her. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gets up from his seat, quickly crossing the room to her in long strides, and places his hands on her cheeks, pulling her to him into a hungry kiss. It’s merely the press of his lips to hers, but it’s starved and passionate, like he’s been waiting for it as much as she has. She melts into his embrace, all of the tension and the longing from the day evaporating into thin air as their bodies collide.
“I’ve been dying to see you the whole day,” he says, his eyes meeting hers in the warm lamplight of the room. “Come, sit with me.”
He takes her hand in his and guides her to sit down at the table, moving his seat so he’s next to her instead of across, his fingers still interlocked with hers. “Dinner?”
As much as she’d rather do other things than sit patiently and have her dinner, she has to admit she’s famished. Her training sessions have been so intense lately, leaving her whole body trembling with power and an immense thirst for more afterwards. “I’m starving.” she says, trying to make her underlying intentions clear through the suggestive tone of her voice.
He smiles that damned half-smirk of his, and ignoring her cheeky comment, reaches for the bottle of kvas on the table, pouring the cool, clear liquid into small glasses for the both of them. “How was training? I hear you’re making big advances.”
“I think I am. I can feel myself getting stronger. It feels good.”
“Of course it does. It’s what you were born for, Y/N. There’s no one else like you.”
She smiles. His words always seem to stir something in her, always seem to surprise her. He’s not one to give compliments for free, but he’s made sure she knows he truly means everything he always says to her. There was a time where she wouldn’t have known how to respond or maybe even believed it, but his flattery feels good. She even feels smug about it. She likes it when he praises her; even more when he’s whispering it in her ear, preferably with him on top of her, deep inside her.
“You look beautiful, by the way. This is new.” he points out, brushing his fingers against the golden embroiders of her sleeve. She is, in fact, wearing a brand new kefta made of pure black silk, embroidered with intricate curling patterns stitched with real gold thread and small black beads that glint under the light. She can recall the look on his face the first time he’d seen her wearing his color, when she first realized she loved the way he always looks at her, like she’s a ray of sunshine breaking through a stormy sky.
Everything changed between them that night in the war room, the first night they’d shared together. With every touch, every caress, every kiss and every whispered confession, he awoke something in her — something between them. Unlocked some mystical thing from the very depths of their souls that had been dormant for so very long. It felt as if everything had fallen into place and finally, finally, they were together once again, as if they’d been separated in some other lifetime and had been looking for one another this whole time. Suddenly, everything made sense. And now, it’s like he’s all over her. Like she can feel his presence everywhere, as if she carries a piece of him with her at all times. 
“I missed you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you today. About last night.” she confesses, looking at him with an eager look in her eyes, not able to keep up the banter any longer. Her mind is clouded with desire already, and the longing she’s felt the whole day overpowers anything else.
His gaze meets hers, and she’s at a loss for words as she sees his grey eyes darken in the dim light of the fire. He slowly sets down his glass of kvas, his jaw clenched tight as he turns to her. In a sudden movement, he pulls her onto his lap, smashing his lips against hers. He whispers her name into her mouth, his hands around her waist holding her in place and pulling her closer to him. 
It takes everything in her to not explode into a blazing light at his words, his touch sending a wave of surety and undiluted power through her. Exhilarating. That’s what his kiss feels like. She feels like she’s found herself, like she belongs somewhere. Next to him. She loves that feeling, and she can’t get enough of it. She’s gone her whole life feeling alone and out of place, never enough for anyone or anything, but she knows this is where she’s meant to be. In his arms.
His tongue swipes at her bottom lip, demanding entrance, and she opens her mouth, giving herself to him and allowing him to take as much from her as he wishes. She moans deeply as his tongue brushes against hers, hot and heavy in a passionate fight. His lips move down her neck, sucking over her pulse and the sweet spot under her ear. She shivers under his mouth, his strong hands moving down her back to place themselves on her bottom, squishing hard as he pulls her closer to his body. She runs her hands through his soft hair, her fingers pulling at it lightly, playing with the strands of dark hair at the nape of his neck, earning a grunt of pleasure from him. 
She can feel him growing hard and hot under her, pressing into her center, desperate to be released from his tight pants. She rolls her hips needily against his, whining at the little friction it creates against her core. It’s not nearly enough. Her fingers descend from his hair to his chest, fumbling with the metallic clasps of his kefta, eager to get him out of his clothes and on top of her as soon as possible. He removes the garment, peeling it off his body and mindlessly tossing it away to some corner of the room, his lips never leaving hers. 
He stands up from his seat harshly then, pulling her with him, her legs wrapped around his torso and his hands on her back supporting her. With one arm, he swipes everything laying on the table away, plates and dishes scattering to the floor and smashing loudly. She’s too consumed in his kiss to even acknowledge it as he sits her on top of the table, his hips hard against hers as he settles in the space between her legs. “Mine,” he grunts out into her mouth as he kisses her again, more eager and aggressive this time. 
I am yours, she thinks. As you are mine. He smirks out of nowhere into their kiss, and for a moment she thinks he might actually be able to hear her thoughts now. She wouldn’t be surprised by how strong their connection feels. 
He’s shown her what lies in the darkness, so alluring and enchanting and eye-opening, and in exchange, she’s paved a sunlit path for him, where they can stand together, stronger than ever and more powerful than anything that has ever graced the earth before their time. In such a short time, she has become his sunlight, his light in the dark, his warmth in the cold, his clarity. He aches for her, and he loves her, and he can say it now with surety because he can feel it, deep in his bones and heavy in his chest. After so many years, he can finally say he’s found his missing piece. 
His kisses travel down her neck and over her clavicle, kissing and licking and nipping anywhere his mouth can get a hold of. His skilled fingers make quick work of the buttons of her black kefta, undoing all the fasteners and ribbons tying the garment together, eager to feel more of her skin under his hands. 
His touch is starved, greedy, insatiable. He can’t get enough, never nearly enough. He claims what is his and so does she, feeding off of each other like ravenous creatures that have been in the dark, alone and afraid for way too long - now free and ready to succumb to each other, be one another’s, become one in the most intimate of senses; bound in mind, soul and body. Both as one. Equal. Like day and night or light and dark. Balanced, and in perfect harmony, but powerful all the same. He’d give her anything she asks of him and in this moment, she’s sure she’d do the same for him. 
“More,” she moans into his mouth. “I want more.” He smirks, his hand traveling down her body, bunching up her skirt. His hands slither under it, his fingers wiggling their way up and between her legs. His whole hand closes around her upper thigh, dangerously close to where she needs him the most, his thumb drawing slow and deliberate patterns on her skin. He draws lazy circles over the thin material of her underwear before his hand slips past it. His fingers graze her clit for just a moment before they move down to circle her entrance, spreading the wetness around. Her head is hot and fuzzy and she’s pulsating, the throbbing emptiness between her legs driving her crazy. She’s aching for him, soaking and desperate for him to fill her up. 
“Aleksander,” she whines softly once more when he dips just the tip of his finger inside her, enough to shake her whole body, her walls contracting around nothing as he teases her. Her eyes fall shut with pleasure as two of his long fingers sink inside her, brushing up against her walls, slowly, all the way up to his knuckles and pressing down into that right spot that makes her back arch. His fingers are deep inside her, moving in and out of her at a steady pace, grazing all the right places with the perfect amount of pressure.
It’s like he knows her body like the palm of his hand, knows what makes her tick, what sends her over the edge. What has her begging for him. He pumps his fingers quicker, deeper, responding to what her body is telling him; giving her what she wants, what she’s asking of him without any words. She moans, mouth hanging open, and he can feel the vibrations of the sound on her throat under his mouth. His lips close over her pulse, sucking wet kisses, his teeth nipping at her flesh, breaking through the skin and surely leaving a mark — a faint memory and reminder of their nights spent together. 
“I want you,” she says. She can’t think of anything else, she just wants him, all of him, now. Or she’ll go insane. “Please.” He slides his fingers out of her and she whines at the emptiness she feels already. He sticks them in his mouth then, basking in the flavour of her on his tongue with a happy expression.
“I want you in my bed,” he says, that damned half-smile of his appearing on his face, and goes in for another kiss, meeting her lips with fervor and lust, taking as much as he can before he picks her up again, carrying them both to his bedroom and placing her gently on his bed. The black satin sheets feel cool against her flushed body, sending a shiver down her spine as he settles between her legs once more, backing her up against the headboard, her hair spread out on his pillows. 
He helps her out of her remaining clothes in a comfortable silence and between playful kisses. Once they’re done, his hands find her breast, giving her a little squeeze before pinching her nipple lightly between his thumb and index finger, a whimper leaving her lips. One of his hands travels down her bare body, the skin prickling underneath and waking up under his touch. As his fingers dance across her abdomen, inching closer and closer to her center, his touches light as a feather, she feels that feeling of surety again. So familiar, so distinct, so perfectly him. He calls for her, like some beast howling for its mate. Like calls to like. And she responds. By throwing her head back in ecstasy from how good he’s making her feel with barely the graze of his fingers.
As much as he longs for her, he’s still a patient man, his kisses and touches slow and deliberate, each so preciously and perfectly laid in place. He always takes his time with her, to savour her, to learn every little crevice of her body, night by night; slowly, tentatively, like they both have all the time in the world. And they do. They are eternal. The thought of a forever next to him has her trembling in anticipation, her stomach doing a dozen somersaults at the prospect of multiple lifetimes of this. Of him, and his lips, and his hands, and his boyish smile that’s only reserved for her; his smokey voice and misty eyes; his softly spoken words and his smirk, and his power. 
He notices she’s squirming around, bucking up her hips, trying to draw pleasure out of nowhere to ease the throb between her legs as he takes his time undressing himself. He smirks at how desperate she is for him, catching one of her legs in his hand and wrapping it around his torso, settling himself on top of her. “Let me take care of you,” he says in a low, deep voice.
He gives himself a few tugs before he aligns with her entrance, running his tip through her wet folds and spreading her arousal around. He hisses through his teeth at the feeling and finally decides to end the teasing, slowly pushing into her, easing in slickly and filling her up inch by inch, like a perfect fit. A moan gets caught in her throat as he starts moving, thrusting into her at an excruciatingly slow rhythm, lacing his fingers with hers. She swears she’s going to lose her mind if he keeps up this slow torture. 
It’s one of those nights where he prefers to take his time with her, to discover her and listen to her body and how it responds to him. He keeps pushing into her, keeping up his tortuous pace, his hips snapping against hers as he clings desperately to her, grabbing harshly at her thighs wrapped around his middle and just about anywhere he can get his hands on. He seems to be as drunk on her as she is on him, his face buried on the crook of her neck, his teeth sinking on her flesh, a broken moan caught in his throat. Her moans have him coming undone, and she revels in the knowledge of no one being able to get a reaction like that out of him but her.
She can feel his hot breath on her neck as he pumps into her, again and again, hitting that sweet spot inside her that makes her eyes roll back and see the stars. He’s panting and groaning into her ear, eager whispers of her name leaving his lips that only manage to drive her closer and closer to the edge of insanity. His whole body is pressed against hers, she can feel every little crevice of him, every bit of skin touching, sending coursing waves of electricity through her whole body. She can barely hold the smile creeping on her face. 
“Say you’ll rule by my side. Say that you will. For me.” he whispers in her ear.
“Aleksander,” she moans at a loss for words. She can’t even make sense of what he’s telling her, her thoughts too clouded with lust and passion and pleasure and the pure desire she feels for him. 
“Say you’ll be my queen.”
“I will. I’m yours.” She would stand by his side and watch the world burn if it meant she could have him. If it meant they could be together forever.
She used to care about doing the right thing, being good. It’s what she’d always been taught. To be a good little girl — quiet and delicate, giving and polite. But the line between good and bad had blurred for her months ago. She’d blinked and suddenly, she wasn't really sure of what was right or wrong. Once she’d gotten a taste of his darkness, his power, and her power, she didn’t want anything else. Greed is the Saint she worships now. She wants more, always more, and he’s willing to give it to her. 
He’d confessed his true intentions to her under the willow tree by the lake, the moonlight illuminating his features in a beautiful glow; his hand cupping her cheek delicately, a sincere look in his eyes. In a moment of honesty, he’d told her his real name, his true identity, and had allowed himself to show her a piece of his broken soul. He’d looked so beautiful then — so human, and yet, so out of this world. 
But everything he’d told her had made so much sense to her. He’d suffered so much, seen so much, lived countless lifetimes bearing the biggest burden and doing everything he could to protect his people. She could help him. If she stood by his side, Grisha would never have to hide away anymore, they would never have to hide. They would become the most powerful creatures to ever grace the earth. Together, invincible. So she’d given in. She’d kissed him under the moonlight then as if her life depended on it. 
They are meant to be together, to rule together, and she knows that now. No one can understand her like he can, and no one can complete him like she can. The burden they carry is theirs to bear, but at least they have each other, and that is enough. 
And now as he moves his hand down between their bodies, rubbing tight and quick circles against her clit, and hits a very sensitive spot inside her, she feels it coming. Feels herself falling off the edge. Pure, undiluted power coursing through her in waves of bright electricity. The room spins, or maybe it’s her head, she’s not really sure. She’s somewhere else, with him, far away from the room. She’s never felt something like it. A connection so strong, so obvious, so tangible. So palpable, hanging in the air between them like a field of energy. At that moment, it feels like something in the universe shifts and rearranges, something that’s been off falls right back into place. 
He cums right after her with a plea of her name on his lips, and it’s evident he’s feeling the same way she is, his knuckles white, his mouth hanging open and eyes shut tight as he cums inside her. She feels the warmth of his release, warm and sticky, dripping down her inner thigh as he pulls out of her after what feels like full minutes to her, leaving her feeling physically empty but oddly more complete than before. She feels the weight of him being lifted off her as he lays down on the bed beside her, pulling her body towards him and into a tangle of arms and legs, his naked chest pressed to hers as he pecks her lips lightly. 
This is what he is. How he makes her feel. Absolutely alive. They discovered pretty quickly how his amplifying abilities heightened everything between them, and needless to say, they’ve taken full advantage of it so far. He always leaves her feeling radiant and energized, her skin prickling with electricity and an unexplainable glow that seems to never leave now. This is where she feels the safest - in his bed, with him. His darkness is alluring, it engulfs her and wraps around her like a blanket of safety. It assures her that he’s there, and he’s never leaving, and she wouldn’t trade it for a thousand suns.
“Sleep, my love.” He whispers, placing a kiss on her hair, his voice sweet and smooth like rivers of honey.
And with that, she closes her eyes, ready to be enveloped in his comforting shadows, content with his beautiful face being the last thing she sees before she drifts off into sleep; her head on his chest, feeling the steady rising and falling of his breathing, his heart beating fondly in perfect rhythm with hers. Two lost souls destined to find each other, to be together, colliding in on each other like an eclipse, and falling into perfect harmony, finally. 
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coffeecatsandcandles · 29 days ago
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𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 | 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬
Summary: You are properly welcomed to the block by your new neighbor.
Pairing: dilf!Bucky Barnes x reader
Word Count: 1.8k
Warnings: SMUT (18+), mention of divorce, riding, spanking, just a hint of switch!bucky, finger sucking
bucky barnes masterlist
In the first month of living in your new home, you immediately started noticing a change in your demeanor. You were away from your old place, living alone for the first time in years. You didn’t have your shitty ex to think about or take care of. You had nobody but yourself to depend on, and you loved every second of it.
You would sit on your porch every morning, on furniture you’d thrifted within your first week of moving in, sipping your coffee and watch the kids across the street play. It was a boy with his younger sister, both of them no older than seven. They were early birds, no doubt. You’d be up as early at 8AM on a Monday, and they’d be out there, chasing each other, play wrestling, or drawing with chalk on the driveway. You didn’t mind; seeing kids comfortable enough to play in their yards was a good sign to you. It meant the neighborhood was safe.
It wasn’t until a month after you moved in that the children actually said something to you. You were in the middle of a book your friend had recommended to you when you heard the patter of little footsteps go from across the street and straight to you. “I like your book,” you were snapped out of your imagination at the sound of a little girl’s voice. You lifted your head and were greeted by the little girl you’d been seeing play with her brother almost every day.
“Thank you,” you said, smiling, “I like your hair.”
“I’m Becca.” The girl said, her brother chasing after her from across the street.
“Becca! Daddy said we can’t talk to strangers.” The boy said, grabbing his sister’s hand and looking directly at you.
“That’s a very good rule your daddy set for you. You’re a good big brother.” You said, sensing a little hostility from the child. He seemed to warm up to you instantly, showing a shy smile.
You smiled back, setting down your book and introducing yourself to the children.
“What are you two doing over here?” You heard a man say from behind the three of you. You tried not to audibly gasp at the sight of him. He was tall and built, nearly three times your size in muscle. He had his hands on his hips and a stern look on his face, ready to scold. “You two know the rules. You stay in our yard when you play. This isn’t our yard.”
“Sorry, daddy.” They said in unison.
The man took both of his kids in his arms, lifting them up in a big hug. You wondered if he could pick you up like that. “Go back inside, breakfast is ready.” He said to his children. He set them down and kept an eye on them as they ran inside. “I’m sorry about them. They love meeting new people.”
“It’s not a problem.” You said, “They’re sweet.”
“I’m Bucky,” he said as you stood up, now noticing how much taller he is than you. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thank you,” you said, “You have wonderful children. You and your wife are very lucky.”
“I wish you’d tell her that,” he said, “I haven’t seen her since Becca was a baby.”
You tilted your head, “What?”
“Yeah, one day she just... up and left. No warning. Nothing except the divorce papers a few weeks later.”
You brought your hand to his bicep, “Oh, you poor baby,” you said, your heart hurting for him. Your words just came out, and you hoped it didn’t sound like you were mocking him. You were genuinely upset for him, having to raise two kids all by himself.
He probably hadn’t been with a woman in so long…
Bucky felt his cock twitch at your tone, surprised by your behavior and welcoming it. You had definitely just awakened something in him, though he wasn’t entirely sure what it was. “Um…” Bucky started, trying to gather his thoughts, “Sorry, again. It was nice to meet you.” He made his way back to his house and you took a deep, long breath.
Now more than ever, you were glad to have moved to this neighborhood. If not for the fresh start, then for the new eye candy across the street.
Your day went along as normal, sending emails to your colleagues, making meals, doing your dishes, budgeting for the month. You felt independent. You felt good.
That evening, you sat on the couch, a glass of wine in hand and a movie on your television. You were just about ready to check out for the night when you heard a knock at your door.
Who could be trying to see you at such a late hour?
Clad in a large t-shirt and a skimpy pair of shorts, you made your way to the door, only to be greeted by Bucky once again.
“Bucky, hi!” you said, surprised, “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Listen to me, because I’m only going to say this once.” He said, “I haven’t been with a woman in four years. I tried online dating, blind dating, all that shit, and it just didn’t work. But you-“ he traced patterns along your arms, “you just came out of nowhere.”
You could feel the goosebumps start to form on your skin as he continued to touch you, his fingers tracing over very promiscuous areas.
“You can say no if you want to, and I’ll pretend this never happened.” He said, coming closer and closer to you, your faces centimeters apart. You said nothing in response, mesmerized and in disbelief this was happening. He took your hand and placed it on the bulge in his pants. “You see what you do to me, angel? Can’t get the image of fucking you outta my head.”
Within seconds, his lips met your neck, and you threw your head back in ecstasy, eliciting a moan from you. You brought him inside immediately, hearing him mutter filthy swears under his breath at the feeling of your hand still on his cock.
“Take me right now, on the couch.” You muttered.
Bucky sighed into your mouth, hungrier than ever for a taste of you. He couldn’t get you out of his head all day, no matter how hard he tried. Imagining his hands on your frame, you moaning his name, all from a little encounter that morning. The way you pouted for him, your words ringing in his ears, “Oh, you poor baby.” Sympathy. Something he hadn’t felt in years. A sign that someone cared about him.
He stripped off his clothes, putting his throbbing hard cock on display for you. You ignored the initial shudder at the size of him, you were going to make him fit. You quickly took off your pajamas and underwear and straddled him on the couch as he brought his thumb to your hungry clit, teasing you with light, small rubs.
“Such a pretty pussy,” he said, admiring your core, “and it’s all mine.” You grinded onto his lap as he brought his hand down to forcefully smack your ass, the pain of the sting quickly being replaced with pleasure. Sick of the teasing, you brought his cock to your center, slowly taking every inch of him in then bouncing up and down. “Oh fuck, that’s it.” Bucky groaned, the feeling of your walls around him nearly bringing him to his climax, “You’re so fucking hot, bouncing on my cock like that.”
You tried to keep your composure, throwing your hair out of your face when it got in the way, but he really was hitting the right spot in you. You could barely form a sentence, you were completely dumb on his cock. Bucky took one hand on your waist and the other on your ass for leverage, watching you move up and down on his cock and replicating your movements with his hands, as if he were using you as his own personal fucktoy.
“Show me how you fuck me,” he whispered, gripping onto your skin harder and lessening his movements. He was going to make you work, but you didn’t care. You grabbed onto his shoulders, shifting your body back and forth, riding him until you were nothing but a moaning mess. You felt your insides tingle at the feeling of his hands on you, him inside you, and his hot breath against your neck. You kept riding him, as if it were your job, earning several praises and moans from him, which sounded like music to your years.
“You feel so good on my cock, baby girl.”
“Oh yeah, ride me just like that.”
“Right there, baby, right there.”
He slapped your ass yet again, the sting bringing a smile to your face this time. Your tits were at his eye level, and he brought one of your nipples to his mouth. The feeling of his warm tongue against your breast driving you absolutely wild. The moans coming out of your mouth were getting louder, more powerful. Bucky took his hand off of your waist and brought it to your lips. “Suck,” he commanded, and you brought his index and middle finger into your mouth, mimicking the movements you would make if it were his cock. “Thatta girl.” He cooed, and you were unsure if this was still actually happening. He was like a godsend, doing everything you wanted a man to do to you, touching your body like he knew every inch of it, and bringing you to that glorious edge.
You were doing everything for him and more; Bucky could completely have his way with you and you’d let him, and that was what drove him wild. You gripped onto his shoulders harder, squeezing at the feeling of your orgasm approaching. He brought the fingers that were just in your mouth down to your clit, rubbing hard circles into it as he pounded harder. “Yes, yes, yes,” you moaned with every thrust, knowing you’d snap at any given second. You hunched over, your face buried into his neck. “Cum for me, princess,” he commanded, and within seconds, you felt the coil snap, your walls clenching around him and feeling a sense of euphoria. You were seeing stars at this point, knowing that you could become addicted to something that felt that good.
“Oh god, oh shit, oh fuck-“ Bucky groaned as he pulled out of you and began to stroke himself, white, hot strings of his seed landing on your ass and lower back. You were still coming down from your high as he connected your lips with his for a long, passionate kiss. “I could get used to this,” he chuckled, massaging your ass, which was now red from where he slapped it multiple times.
You smiled in response, bringing your head to his shoulder, “Well, you know where to find me.”
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lowkeyorloki · a month ago
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Gentle
Your fellow chambermaids have often spoken about their experiences in the dark haired prince of Asgard’s sheets, but when you finally meet Loki in that way, it isn’t what you expected
fingering. 18+. reader is a virgin in this fic. enjoy!
Read the second part to this fic, ‘Harsh’ here.
~
It happens differently than you thought it would. 
It begins with a simple proposition; a brush of Loki’s fingertips on your hip in the long hallways of the palace. He catches your eye as well, his glinting with excitement. It makes your stomach jump in anticipation. 
The maids you’re walking with notice. Asta in particular seems the most interested. She is, after all, Prince Loki’s latest conquest. 
“How will he make me feel?” You ask her later in the kitchens. Your hands smell of meat as you scrub the pots and pans from tonight’s feast. Night is approaching, and you know you’re expected at Loki’s door soon. 
“Full,” Asta answers. “His fingers alone were more filling than any cock.” You flinch, the language she uses uncomfortable to you. The maids knew of your inexperience. You weren’t privy to conversations like this. 
“He leaned me over a table in the library,” Brenna says from across the kitchen. “The one by the staircase. I still get dizzy when I think about it.” She’s smiling at the memory. Smirking, more like. 
“Oh,” you answer. You wonder if Brenna was left with splinters. 
“You ought to go now,” Asta advises you. “You don’t have to know Loki intimately to remember he is lacking in patience.”
~
Loki’s room is dark and heavy. The feeling isn’t all in your head - there are three candles lit in addition to the glowing fire place. You’re shocked to see there isn’t a bead of sweat on Loki’s brow. 
He gives you a small smile as he presses you against the door, wrapping a lock of hair around his finger. Then he pulls away. 
“Here,” Loki walks over to the table by the bed and takes a goblet. He gestures for you to follow him. You obey, and he hands the cup to you. “Drink.”
“What-?” Loki’s gaze fall towards your stomach, and then travels back up your body to give you a knowing look. You feel your face burn. Of course. A potion to prevent motherhood. You tip your head back as your drink, draining the cup in its entirety. Loki watches you the whole time. A bead of liquid escapes the corner of your lips and slides down your neck. Without warning, Loki pulls you towards him and licks it. 
You gasp, dropping the goblet on the floor. Loki’s tongue is warm and wet as it travels down your neck. He scrapes his teeth over the muscle, and it makes you shake beneath him. Your hands have found Loki’s waist, and they clutch at it. Loki hums in turn. 
“What’s your name?” He asks, peppering kisses down your jawline. You tell him in a breathy voice. The prince smirks against your skin. “It suits you,” he murmurs. Loki guides you towards the bed, and you sit on the edge of it. He laughs, a charming noise, and shakes his head. “You’ll have to lay down, sweetheart,” he tells you. You swallow. That’s an awfully kind title from someone so scrutinized. 
You begin to lay back, your shoes falling from your feet, but Loki stops you once again. You begin to feel even more self conscious. You’re not good at this. You don’t know what you’re doing. 
“Take off your dress,” he commands softly. You tense. You knew this was coming - but you already feel exposed. And Loki will be the first to see you like this. 
He smiles at your uncertainty. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll go first.” 
Loki strips silently, efficiently. His beauty becomes more obvious with every garment he discards. His skin is flawless, which you don’t quite understand. You often hear Thor regaling any willing audience with tales of battles, and you’re more than certain Loki is present at them. But his skin has no scars, no marks. It’s pristine. 
You want to touch it. 
You know Loki is strong, which might be why his smallness catches you off guard. As he grows closer, you can see his muscles moving. They’re prominent, but not in the same way Thor’s are. Loki’s muscles are lithe, for movement and use. Thor’s are for decimation and show. 
You can’t help but reach out to run a hand over Loki’s milky chest. Your thumb catches his nipple, and the prince’s breath hitches. Your head shoots up, like you’ve done something wrong, but Loki says nothing. He puts his hand over yours, guiding it over his sternum and toned abdomen until it’s nestled in the coarse black curls of his groin. Your heartbeat quickens. 
Loki’s... cock is turning towards you. It doesn’t seem to be fully erect yet, but then you wouldn’t know. You marvel at it, the reddened tip and heavy balls. You swallow. 
“What do I... do to it?” You ask. Loki looks confused, just for a moment. 
“You kiss it,” he explains, pressing your hand against it. You jerk as his cock grows under your touch, but Loki’s grip keeps you with him. “Stroke it. Take it into your body, if you’ll allow me.” Loki’s brow pinches together slightly. “Darling, have you never been with a man?”
Your face burns. You want to exclaim that yes, of course you have, how dare he suggest otherwise, but Loki is the god of lies. He’ll spot yours in a heartbeat. 
“No,” you answer, looking away. This is humiliating. Even worse is the arousal growing between your legs, the wetness coating your thighs. You want this. 
“Woman?” You shake your head. No one. You’ve been with no one. “Alright.” Loki says. “There’s nothing the matter,” he tells you. Loki releases your hand, tilting your chin so you look at him. “So long as you want it, that is.”
“Yes,” your answer is immediate. Desperate, even. Loki smirks. 
“Then take off your dress,” he tells you. 
You sit up straight, reaching behind yourself to untie the lace of your bodice. Carefully, you peel the article of clothing over your head, leaving you bare aside from your soaked panties. 
Loki pulls you towards him. Your legs falls around his hips, his hardened self pressing against your clothed core. You cry out at the sensation - it feels electric. You like it. 
“Shh,” Loki shushes you, then places his mouth on the curve of your breast. You let out a small oh. Goosebumps form all over your body, and you reach up to thread your fingers through Loki’s hair. He bites down on your nipple unexpectedly, and you yelp, harshly pulling on his curls. Loki grunts, then pushes you flat on the bed.
“Careful, girl.” He says mischievously. “You don’t know what you’re getting into with that.” Excitement thrums through your body. Maybe you’ll know someday. 
Loki settles himself between your legs. You lift your hips, taking off your panties and tossing them aside. Loki sucks on the softness of your thigh in response.
“Good girl,” he praises you. You keen under the title. 
Loki looks at the juncture between your legs with an intensity. He reaches out, stroking your puffy lips to see how you’ll respond. You jump at the touch. 
“Relax,” he coaxes you. His fingers begin to slide over your slit, then circle your entrance. You whimper. “You’re fine. Your body wants this, sweet. Look.” He holds up his two fingers, shiny with your slick. You squirm. 
Without warning, Loki thrusts his index finger into you, and you let out a cry. You grip the sheets between your fingers, squeezing your eyes shut. The feeling is overwhelming. 
Loki says your name a few times, keeping his finger entirely still. You don’t move at all, or at least, you don’t think you do. Loki lays a heavy hand over your belly, moving it in soothing circles around your navel. 
“Tell me how it feels,” he says. A second finger begins prodding at your entrance. You clench. 
“I- I don’t know,” you manage. It’s new. 
“Does it hurt?” You can hear something new in Loki’s voice. Concern.
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“I...”
“I have to move it to make it feel better,” Loki tells you gently. You look at him nervously. 
“Okay.”
Loki places a small kiss on your hip, then slides another finger in. Your face contorts at it, but you will yourself to relax. Slowly, Loki’s fingers begin to move, obscene sounds filling the air. Loki was right - with each thrust of his fingers, the feeling becomes less foreign. You can feel Loki’s steady breath on your clit as well, and it all soon becomes more pleasure than pain. 
“How does it feel now?” You blink hazily. 
“Not - Not what I thought.”
“Not what you thought?” Loki asks amusedly. “You just told me you were untouched.” 
“The other maids,” you say, forgetting the possible insult of your words. Loki slows. 
“And what did they have to say?”
You freeze. You’ve offended him. Palace gossip has no place in bedsheets.
“Just that... your fingers made them full.” You stumble over your words. 
“And my fingers don’t make you feel that way?”
“No. Yes! I...” you try to straighten your thoughts. “That’s not the right word.”
“Then what is?”
“I'm not sure,” this is too new for you to describe. “They’re... long. Nimble. It’s like you already know me. I feel like you’re reaching inside my entire body, not just my... my...”
“Pussy?” Loki finishes for you. Your cheeks burn. 
“Yes.”
“Hmm,” you tilt your head, looking over Loki’s face. He’s pensive. “Sit up.” He commands suddenly. You do so with effort. Loki free hand snakes around you, resting on the small of your back to keep you steady. “Look at that, sweet.” 
Your eyes drop towards your wet sex. You whimper at the sight. You can’t even see Loki’s fingers. They’re buried to the knuckle, disappearing deep inside you. His thumb flicks over your clitoris, and you let out a breath.
“Do you want that to be my cock?” He asks you. You nod, reaching forward to clutch his shoulders. “It’s going to hurt more than my fingers. You’re so tight, sweet, and I might be too big for you.”
“Try,” you rasp, looking your prince in the eye. “We can try.”
Loki brushes a few hairs from your face, and then leans forward to press his lips against yours. His tongue is wet and heavy, massaging your own. You moan. 
“Well then,” he says, drawing his fingers out. They’re wet, and just barely tinged with blood. Loki brings them to his mouth, licking them clean. “Lay back.”
2K notes · View notes
introloves · a month ago
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— puppyboy! bokuto + ‘guard dog’! bokuto + breeding dog! bokuto + messy sex + dubcon + heavy breeding + rough sex + overstimulation + dacryphilia + lots of cum + knotting + dumbification + obscene amount of cum + sloppy kisses + f! reader
— my piece for ♡ the love club puppyboy collab ♡ !
— synopsis; there’s something off about your newly adopted ‘guard dog’.
— word count; 2.5k
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there wasn't anything on his adoption papers that would help explain his current behaviour.
you’d gotten him under the pretense that he was big and strong enough to be your guard dog, and the people at the adoption center certainly highlighted his possessive and protective nature as a good thing, but it’d taken a sharp turn over the course of the first week.
his hands were constantly on you, large body always circling around you at all times- crowding your space while his tail wagged wildly behind him. soft whines tumbling from somewhere deep in his chest the closer he got to you. bokuto was touchy and clingy which got some getting used to, and with a quick call to the adoption center- they reassured you that this was a part of the imprinting process, making sure he’d get your scent memorized to always keep you in his mind.
after that, you eased up on pushing his big head away, getting met with a large smile and heavy tail wagging so hard it nearly knocked him side to side when you let him press his nose to your neck for the first time.
after that, you’d failed to recognize this as anything problematic, and the sweet pup easily weaseled his way into your heart- letting him wrap those strong, muscled arms around you whenever he wanted.
by the second week it was too late to even try and correct his behavior, now- bokuto insisted on sleeping in your bed instead of in his room, and would not let you wander the house alone, laying with you while you took your naps- body draped over your own in a manner that was almost suffocating but refusing to move. any indication that you were about to say, ‘no’ or deny him of hugs and his puppy kisses (big slobbering tongue laving heavy strips up your neck was a near daily occurrence) would send him into a flurry of loud whining and pouty lips, it broke your heart to see him like this.
you'd simply chalked it up to him having some sort of abandonment issues, and once more- failed to recognize the biggest red flag that something wasn't quite right with your ‘guard dog’.
it was during heavier nap sessions where you didn't realize his cock swell, mouth salivating so heavy with the way your warm body felt pressed against him would send signals to his very being that you were his breeding bitch.
cuddles and touches that came so natural to him were because he wasn't bred to be a guard dog- he was bred to… breed, but you didn't know that. were not told that the way he hung off you wasnt to mark you- he’d already done that the first time he’d slobbered all over you, it was to measure you and how much prepping he’d have to do in order to fit his cock inside your tiny hole- tiny compared to him.
that the way he’d wrap arms around you and press your body to him was so he could rub his cock against your form. the twitching of it hidden with the vibration his heavy tail made with each wag- whines you’d thought that came from him just being a needy and touch starved pup really came from him thinking about fulfilling primal duties of giving you and him baby after baby- and it all finally came to a breaking point during the third week of him being home with you.
if you thought that the way he didn't let you leave his sight before was overly clingy- it was almost suffocating now.
bokuto tugged you to your shared room, insisted it was nap time, knew you'd simply overwork yourself and claimed he was being a good boy and taking care of you, but the second you laid down on your side- he was on you. wrapping you up in his body, back pressed to the front of his form- strong arms cradling you up, sighing heavily against your neck with the way his nose pressed to your pulse point.
you could hear him swallow over and over, licking his lips with every intake of air, wiggling against his hold to giggle and ask if he was thirsty, and he was- he really truly was.
“no- smell good. you smell good.”
gruff voice nearly growled with every syllable, and your eyes furrowed at the tone- maybe he was just tired or feeling unwell, but there was something there, he didn't sound the same.
and then his hands started to wander, grabbing at your tummy, wandering down to your thighs and your wiggling increased- while you laid there wondering what was wrong with him. he’d usually stop with a nudge, but now he was determined to seemingly pry your legs open.
“bo! quit it, i wanna nap.” you whispered back at him, harsh tone turned into a gasp when his large hand slotted between your thighs, side of his hand pressing against your heated cunt- your own hand coming down quick to grab at his wrist, hearing at the same time a loud whine and huff tumble out of bokouto’s mouth, tail thumping in excitement onto the bed behind the two of you.
“you smell good!” was the only thing he could respond with, shaking viscously at the smell your whole body emitted, hidden from you- but to him it was signaled you were more than ready to take a cunt full of cum, fertile and ready for him.
words failed bokuto, too dumb and focused on one thing at a time- the thought of even explaining it to you made his head hurt, and in the chase to give you what he knew you really needed, he simply hooked a large palm under one of your knees and flipped you onto your back, looking pretty and so soft underneath his shaking body.
“you need it.” was all that managed to slip out, grabbing at your clothes and pulling- the fabric unable to compete against his strength, and you felt yourself swimming in pure confusion, and lust.
it was so easy to give into his ministrations, felt like there was no reason to say no. a big puppy like him built to protect and serve was just fulfilling his duties in a different way.
letting yourself fall headfirst to his frantic grabbing- face heated when the last bit of clothes finally gave way, exposing your body to him- watching when his tongue lulled out, eyes wide while they roamed all over, committing everything he saw to memory.
nothing like the eager dog he was moments ago, now he was driven by pure hunger and instinct- sloppy movements hurried to shove frantic fingers inside your heat.
drool painting your chest while he watched himself sink into you over and over and with the way he was breathing you could only question and wonder where he knew how to do all of this.
head tossed back to the plushness of your pillows, whimpering over and over, now being reduced to the blubbering mess he usually was, already so close while he split you, stretched you to take his cock, knowing for a fact that that was coming soon.
and maybe he should have taken more time to soften your walls in preparation, but the thin line of logical thought snapped when you whined and grabbed at his wrist- telling him you were so close with a pretty cry, it had him close that panting mouth of his, swallowing and nodding once before hurriedly shoving his sweats down- revealing to you the thickest, nearly purpled, cock you've ever seen.
tossing your face to the side to breathe- eyes widened in something akin to delicious fear.
it was daunting, so thick and bobbing, already wet thanks to all the precum slowly seeping out of his dick, eyes catching his balls when you looked back at it- trying to wrestle both want and fear, wanting to have him and fearing the integrity of your cunt at the same time.
bokuto could sense the spike in adrenaline, and in an attempt to soothe you- your puppy leaned down and pressed wet kisses to your cheeks- teeth biting down lovingly on the plushness before whispering,
“you were made to take it- i was made to give it.”
and it was that small, chopped phrase- abnormally wordy for him, that had you keen once more, hands finding his arms and nodding.
it all clicked when bokuto reached a veiny hand down to his cock and leaned down to spit on his cock, pinched eyebrows highlighting eyes that bore the most intense looked he'd ever worn while he laid the heavy, thick cockhead to your hole- pushing in just enough so that his hand was allowed to move from himself to one of your thighs, immediately pushing it up to your chest with every inch sinking inside after the head popped inside, that he was never made to be a guard dog-
your puppy was made with the sole intent of bringing forth line after line of pups with his strength, his good genes meant to be passed down over and over.
virality came hand in hand with bokuto- and now it was your turn to lay there and take it.
loud squealing followed the first thrust given- squeezed out of you with how hard down he had the heaviness of your thigh pinned down to your chest, unable to register that the wetness trickling down your stretched cunt was from all the wetness he was fucking out of you.
cries mirrored by him letting fucked out pants and groans fall, watching your body jolt and squish and stretched to receive every crushing thrust, driven by the weight of his lower body. once more grabbing for the other thigh and doing the exact same thing as before- letting both thick hands lay right under your knee, knowing that this was the best position to breed you nice and full.
“b-bokuto! bokuto- please!” you wheezed, pretty little tears forming along your lashes when you couldn't take it anymore, going numb from the waist down while the weight of his body crushed you.
taking on a form you've never been put under, and he knew this- watched while you cried so pretty and nice for him, pussy rewarding the stretch with clenching, milking him more and more- plush balls only somewhat cushioning any impact, balls full of all the cum he was most definitely going to give you.
he gnashed down on his teeth, jaw flexing with the oncoming orgasm- falling prey to you, to the way you smelled, to the thought of you walking around so pretty and heavy and round with his pups, knowing he was made to do one thing and you were here to help fulfill those desires had him toss his head back and keen- nearly howling when it finally came.
there was no spurt- no delicate warmth that slowly entered your insides. it was heavy and swelling up inside of you, audible noises following the first /fountain/ of cum nearly spraying against your insides- visibly shaking with the intensity of coming undone in such a sweet little pussy.
your own back coming up and off the bed in reaction to him stretching you out with his cum, walls fighting the thickness of it all, going dizzy and nearly blacking out as his thumb reached down to ease you through the white heat, only really making you squirm and cry with the way your own orgasm followed so close.
he hadn’t moved one inch, dutifully waiting for the swell of his balls to come to a halt before even trying to move once more- and even then, even waiting for the last rivule to rest against your swollen walls, it was still too much, eyes wide and frantic while bokuto began working for another load.
he was lost, knew that the second he watched your pussy lips stretch to accommodate him like he knew it would, but he still caught wind of your crying.
blinking past the haze- he looked down at you, looked down at your beaten cunt and how strings of cum followed the rise of his hips up and off your mound, a thick ring of milky wetness painted him, right around where his knot would surely form.
it took everything in him to slow down even a little, ears prickling forward to listen to your sobs, from an overwhelming pleasure you'd never known before, reaching down to kiss the wet trails running down your cheeks away- happily whispering that it was almost over, tail once more wagging fiercely at the thought, knotting you so so close- within reach, knowing it would only take a couple more thrusts before he was coming loose.
“so close, one more- one more.”
bokuto breathily panted, figured that it was enough to sooth you- and continued on his dumb pistoning, excited himself with his own words and once more put you under the full receiving weight of his barelling hips and full, heavy, thick balls.
it was during this second wave of crushing paps of his lower body that you came undone over and over- one orgasm not enough for your body, and the way he took you only further increased the pleasure given, squirming against his hold, unable to keep your eyes open.
you came over and over again, unable to stop, unable to stop squeezing around his swelling cock- one last thrust sealing the seal when the knot of his already monstrous cock caught a sharp squeeze of your tightening cunt.
once more, bokuto held you down while you squealed, eyes widening at the way you felt every inch inside flood with cum, knot keeping it all inside- no where to go, it stayed where it was meant to go, and finally- bokuto let go of your shaking, writhing thighs- kicking around his body while you /still/ came despite the stretch.
hands no longer holding you down came up to your face to hold it, keeping it from tossing to the left and right and instead focusing your wandering eyes to nothing more than him, golden eyes shining while you laid in pure exhaustion- taking him just like he knew you would.
“puppy did good?” he questioned, not knowing your dumbed down state, trying to come back from the teetering edge of consciousness and unconsciousness- blinking through tears to look at the big creature folding itself down to look directly into your eyes.
“good- puppy did good.”
you warbled, not knowing if you can call being fucked within an inch of your life, really truly good- but you were too tired.
he knew it was time to rest now, tongue finding your wet neck and licking at it- something soothing despite his massive knot immobilizing you from the waist down.
letting yourself fall limp, a singular thought to call to the adoption center and ask them who bokuto really, truly was- was the last thing on your mind before falling prey to sleep and exchaustion, letting your big dumb dog take care of you- knwoing that no matter who he truly was, he was there to care for you.
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svgar-sword · 18 days ago
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𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧- 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠
𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: mentions of sexual activities, includes zhongli, venti, xiao, diluc, albedo
[𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭] [𝐢𝐠: 𝐬𝐯𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝] [𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝]
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i feel like zhongli wouldn't get the concept of thigh-riding
and he would respect you too much to force you to rut against him a dog, anyways
if you really, really wanted to thigh ride him he would let you
but if you didn't bring it up yourself it wouldn't appear
i feel like zhongli is more into actual sex, giving you pleasure though the various ways he could pound into you
he doesn't like to tease you or frustrate you
he would, instead, want to worship you
giving you every part of him just to hear your pleasured cries
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as much as venti would LOVE to be a little shit and tease you, he's way too impatient to
he just wants to be inside you as fast as possible
this boy is NEEDY.
he would much rather prefer to feel you wrapped around him then uselessly grinding against his thigh because, let's be honest, it's not really benefiting anyone
he's the god of freedom after all, if you wanted to be below him getting pounded, who was he to deny your wishies?
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xiao isn't very experienced in anything sexual, so it would definitely be something you would have to bring up
he would let you, always wanting to make you happy, but GODS did it fluster him
regular sex already had him flushed and shy, but seeing you above him, moving against his thigh, eyes shut tightly and pretty moans escaping your lips?
he's redder than red
is very much so enjoying the view, though
he thinks your gorgeous like this
and the fact that it was him who was making you feel so good gets him light-headed
it quickly becomes one of his favorite things, watching you get yourself off on him
the first few times he would be frozen and stiff, but eventually he would gain the courage to press his hands to your hips, pushing and guiding you along
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diluc thought he was a gentleman, at first refusing to let you rub against his thigh as you were wanting
but when he finally relented he saw the errors of his ways
gods how pretty you looked grinding into him like that
your hips moved in a sensual rhythm and you breathed your hot moans right into his ear
your hands gripping his shoulders, and squeezing when a thrust felt extra good
it made him harder than he's ever gotten, watching you grind on him like that
he especially loved when you whimpered out his name desperately, as if the stimulation was both too much and not enough
it would definitely be something he incorporated into the relationship from then on
having you thigh ride him while he's doing work
or if he just wanted to get both you and himself worked up and extra lustful
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the first time you guys experienced thigh riding was totally by mistake
you were straddling his lap as usual, as he sat on his chair
you were both facing away from eachother, the position allowing you both to get work done whilst still spending time together
you were trying to read test results from a recent experiment, but the position soon proved to be too tiring for your neck
the way you had your head made it hard to read the paper without craning your neck, something that you knew would leave it sore tommorow if you didn't do anything about it
so you decided to reposition yourself, moving your legs from around albedo's waist, to around one of his thighs
you didn't anticipate, however, how the friction would feel and you let yourself drop down
the slight rubbing instantly made you gasp out in suprise and pleasure, and you felt albedo stiffen underneath you from the sound
you thought you had messed up. that he was angry at you for disturbing his work
you were proved wrong however, when his hands dropped his marker and flew to your hips
"do that again" he commanded in a husky whisper
you followed his orders, moving your hips up again before making contact with his thigh, then you began to grind against it
the action made you drop the papers you were holding, having to grip his shoulders to keep yourself up
you let out lewd sounds as your face flushed, the way his thigh felt under you far more pleasurable then you ever could have thought
albedo quickly hardened under you, the way you were babbling and holding onto him driving him insane
he couldn't control himself anymore and quickly bent you over his desk, taking you harshly against the wood
so yeah, thigh riding was an unexpected discovery that you both really truly enjoyed
it would be something that happened whenever working at the lab went too late into the night, always devolving into you getting your guts rearranged by him
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huysmut · a month ago
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1. itch
2. blizzard
3. sound
4. caught
5. feels like summer
6. a game for two 
 01 | 02 | 03
7. room for dessert 
 01 | 02 | 02.5 | 03 | 04
8. by its cover
9. simply.cute97
10. three words
11. gravity check
12. over the edge
13. morning games 
 01 | 02 | 03
14. mr. jeon 
 01 | 02
15. stay quiet
16. movin’
17. bulls eye
18. swimming pools
19. oppa 
 01 | 02
20. cabin fever
21. take a sip
22. warm me up
23. room 109
24. dungeons and dick
25. sunny side 
01 | 02
26. steamy 
01 | 02 | 03 | 04
27. green room
28. no decency 
01 | 02
29. of skin
30. caught me
31. first time together
32. the view
33. peppermint kisses
34. mission impossible
35. gym
34. business ft. taehyung 
 01 | 02 | 03
35. chasing butterflies
36. melomaniac 
01 | 02
37. hot boy bummer
38. when it rains
39. stranded
40. netflix and chill
41. skirt chasers
42. distractions
43. late fee
44. some way, some how
45. cockblocked
46. sh.
47. cream and sugar 
 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06
48. cream and sugar: love you a latte
49. the jorts 
 01 | 02 | 03
50. savage love
51. quiet, baby
52. rough hands
53. tempo
54. deep six 
01 | 02 | 03
55. i dont mind 
01 | 02
56. cozy thief
57. come over 
01 | 02
58. overtime
59. last call
60. all the good girls go to hell
61. quarantine
62. see you around
63. crybaby 
 01 | 02 | 03
64. brother’s best friend
65. may 31
66. work it out
67. block party 
 01 | 02
68. yes, sir
69. something new
70. sour-mouthed cherry
71. the wedding date
72. blackjack
73. mind in the gutter
74. over the edge
75. banana milk
76. microwave (mis)adventures
77. peaches
78. possessed
79. jackrabbit
80. save me 
81. in your eyes 
82. golden daddy
83. tales of eros
84. bring the pain 
85. golden gills
86. pretty boy
87. tease
88. ruin the dress shirt
89. young god
90. lonely hearts club 
91. fairy of shampoo
92. bad influence collection
93. white lies
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swtbbybarnes · 23 days ago
I have a request, I'm thinking about bucky barnes joining the mile high club with his girl?? Maybe he's like 'what the hell is a mile high club?' and they're gotta kinda be quite because the rest of the avengers are also on the plane?
something new
part two!
pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader
warnings: 18+ explicit content NO MINORS, kinda public sex (in a bathroom but there’s people outside), spit kink, sex in front of a mirror (mirror kink?), pet names (sweets, doll), maybe a little bit of dumbification (i think thats what its called), unprotected sex, mini breeding kink, biting, also cute bucky at the beginning.
word count: 1,360
a/n: thank you so so much for this request lovely!! this is the first request and first bucky smut piece i’ve done so i hope you enjoy it!! reblogs and likes are appreciated!! if i’ve missed any warnings please let me know and i’ll add them!
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There’s still so much Bucky is trying to catch up on, being on ice for so long will do that to someone. It makes you smile when he comes to you with questions, or attempts to send you links to articles he thinks you would find interesting. Like one weekend when you were just staying in, watching some random movie that was on TV and the actors were making jokes about the mile high club.
“What’s that?”
You whip your head to the right, looking at Bucky with wide eyes as he innocently asks the question.
“What’s what?” You return carefully, wanting to make sure you’re understanding what he’s actually asking you.
He then grabs the remote and rewinds the movie, replaying the scene again and pointing. “The… mile high club. What is that?”
You can’t help the laugh that comes out when you are indeed correct, and your super solider boyfriend is currently asking you about having sex on an airplane.
“It’s when people have sex on an airplane Buck.” You cross your arms and pull your legs up to your chest, waiting to watch his reaction.
His mind processes it pretty quickly, eyes flashing from an oh to an oh. His mouth hangs open a bit as he turns back to the TV, the actors suddenly rushing themselves into the tiny bathroom and getting to business.
“But wouldn’t that be… uncomfortable?” He almost winces while he watches them bang a few limbs off the walls, but your mind is somewhere completely different.
“I don’t know,” you shrug, eyes still on him. They trail from his cheekbones to his jaw, which is covered in tiny dark hairs because he hasn’t wanted to shave it off quite yet. “Sometimes you just need it.”
Ever since that night, it’s the only thing Bucky could think about.
He was distracted in meetings, while he was working out with Sam, even in the shower. All he could think about was how you answered his question, that some people just need it.
He knows for damn sure that he needs you.
That’s how he got the idea for his little plan, that you would soon find out about after this mission.
Things went well, and the team got what they came for but everyone was completely exhausted after the fight and long journey. Everyone except Bucky.
Bucky who currently has his arm wrapped around you while the two of you sit in silence on the small couch on Tony’s jet, while everyone else is settling down. Minutes later he presses a kiss to your temple, whispering for you to get up with him.
“Bucky…”
His hang wraps around yours as he drags you past the rest of the team, most of who are asleep on the jet after this last mission. The silence on the jet is almost deafening, and he can probably hear your heartbeat because of how hard it’s beating.
Carefully pushing you into the small bathroom and shutting the flimsy door behind him, he looks down on you with dark eyes.
“Think you can keep quiet enough?” His vibranium arm comes up to press against your hip, moving you back so you hit the small counter. “Wanted to try something new.”
“New?” Your voice comes out quiet, barely a whisper as you try to think about what he’s getting at.
His tongue slips out to wet his bottom lip, entire body hungry for you. “Yeah, that mile high club you were talking about. Figured we could join.”
Overcome with a sudden heat between your thighs, your hands grasp the collar of his leather jacket and yank him towards you until you slam your lips against his.
His own hands almost can’t work fast enough as they begin unzipping your tactical suit, sliding it down your body and sliding your legs out one by one.
“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you.” He manages to get out between kisses, while you move your hands to unbuckle his belt. “The look on your face when you told me about this, knew you’d be into that.”
You could feel the smirk against his lips while the only things coming out of your mouth currently are whines and mumbles saying please Buck, and I need you.
As if you were nothing, he spins you around and pins your hips against the small counter while you’re suddenly face to face with yourself in the mirror.
He grinds his hips on your ass, and you can feel him through the thin material of his briefs.
“Look at you,” he hums, metal hand coming up to grab your jaw and forcing you to look into the mirror again. You can see him behind you through the dim light, as he leans forward so his lips are beside your ear. “Gotta be quiet for me doll, don’t want the rest of the team to hear how much of a slut you are for my cock.”
His words made you whimper under his touch, hands sliding your tactical suit down and helping you step out of it. Soon enough he has your turned around, bent over the edge of the counter, flesh hand between your thighs while the cool metal is wrapped around your throat.
“Buck, please.” You beg, a little too loud for his liking right now.
Vibranium clamps over your mouth as he hugs your body against his, pressing his hips against your ass. “Ah, doesn’t sound quiet to me. Do I have to dumb it down for you?”
Tapping a finger on your cheek you attempt to shake your head no, Bucky’s eyes staring at you through the mirror.
“Good.”
He doesn’t give you any time to take a breath when he moves his hand back to your throat, the words getting stuck there as he slams his hips into you, launching you forward with one large thrust.
The feeling of his cock hitting your sweet spot every single thrust, flesh hand shoving itself between your thighs while successfully finding your clit.
“God, fuckin’ squeezing me already sweets.” Bucky pants as he leans forward, thrusts not stopping anytime soon. “Fuck, know you’re close. Come on, give to me.”
The mirror in front of you starts fogging up because of how hot and hard you’re breathing, jaw hanging open which Bucky uses to his advantage.
“Bucky, oh my fucking god please!” The words come out of your voice with shaky breaths, barely audible as he turns your head to face him.
Metal fingers pry your mouth open, keeping it wide as you know exactly what he’s about to do.
Collecting a decent amount of spit in his own mouth, he quickly lets it drop into yours while letting out a groan as his thrusts become too much for the both of you.
“Want me to fill you up sweets?” He pants while attempting to keep his thrusts at a steady pace, you moving your hips back into him which causes him to let go at the feeling of being so far inside you. “Fuck, I’m all the way up in your tummy aren’t I?”
His fingers abusing your swollen clit over and over again, almost sending you over the edge and right through the thin walls of this jet.
Your hair is sticking to the side of your face because of how hot it is inside this bathroom, trying to nod your head with him. “Please! Want you to fill me up, please.”
A couple more sloppy thrusts later, heat takes over your entire body as the breath gets knocked out of your lungs.
His hips still and you feel him lean into you, teeth sinking into the skin of your shoulder as he tries to suppress the sounds coming out of his mouth right now. Feeling him coat your walls, one of your favourite feelings in the world, makes your shoulders slump and you’re suddenly able to breathe.
He lifts his head off your shoulder and carefully pulls out of you, dropping to his knees and beginning to help clean you up. Looking up at you, a smug smile on his face while he speaks.
“Definitely doing that again.”
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introloves · 2 months ago
dilf aone who adores his new sweet lil housewife. feeds him well and treats him so nicely, he's a lil fluffier now. always massaging his muscles after his hardwork, needing work done around the house or yard means him sweating around and you bringing him lemonades and sandwiches. just dilf aone who's still so sweet and gentle but now he's confident with age. he knows exactly how to treat his darling. know exactly how to show his thanks for the warm meals, cold lemonades, and relaxing massages. if he needs to fuck her on a picnic blanket she set out to keep him company while he was working on the flowerbed in the backyard to show his thanks, well! he'll do it, no issue. can't leave his baby alone.
dilf! aone + housewife! reader + dadbod! aone + sex on a picnic blanket + mentions of sweat + dirty sex (like actual dirt mentioned) + fat balls + breeding kink + creampie + big cock vs small pussy + f! reader
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he works so hard, rough palms discolored from callouses always trail over the softness of your arms so gently. he’s big and strong, soft and everything that makes your knees weak when he stands close to you. it’s a habit he’s never broken and doesn’t think he will.
big chest rising and falling while he looms over your form so prettily holding a lunchbox made for him, hands swiping on the rough material of his pants before holding your cute cheeks- leaning down to taste the food you taste tested before packing it for him. he smells good- like sweat and wood, spent all day working in the sun, so hard for his pretty wife all dolled up and standing before him.
there’s just a hint of embarrassment with how fast his big cock grows in his pants at the sight of you- swears he feels like a teenager whenever you’re around, tugging him whatever way you want, and a flurry of butterflies swirl in his tummy at the sight of you sitting down- patting a spot next to you, uncaring if he has wood shavings still clinging off his clothes or the soil still residing under his nails.
he eats the food so graciously, leans back and rubs his already soft tummy, murmuring out a ‘thank you’ before finally moving to kiss you more- lips tingling with want to show you just how much he appreciates having someone there to give him the best food he’s ever had- to appreciate how pretty and soft your body is- to indulge in the plushness of your cunt, always fighting to fit his cock.
usually those rough hands prep you well for him, but they’re dirtied with all the work he’s done to your garden- it doesn’t seem to bug you too much, the blanket laid beneath the two of you crumbled up inside shaky fists while he fits his cock inside.
it always hurts- swollen cunt barely able to take the snaps of his hips, barreling into you with a strength that nearly sends your knees crumbling completely, pretty dress pushed up over the curve of your ass so he can indulge some more and watch the veined length of him come away wet and creamy with every dig- battered cunt taking the brunt of each impact so so well, he’s thankful you’re so soft.
he’s thankful and cursing it all in the same breath, because with age it takes even longer for him to empty his swollen and reddened balls slick with your cum into that cunt he’s laid claim to with a pretty band resting on your finger.
you can’t even spell your name with the way he fucks you, blanket wet with the grass and your cum dripping down in steady streams thanks to the monstrous cock your poor cunt can’t seem to get used to- no amount of time would even be enough to shape the width of him to you, but that’s okay- your aone fucks so well and with intent, the stretch only further brings wave after wave of pleasure running down your body, back arching to welcome that hot load so heavy it takes ages to really seep down your clit and onto the blanket-
globs of it only replaced by even more, aone grunts, lays that heavy weight over you with every pump of his hips- barely heard over each wet slap of his heavy balls onto your creamed out cunt, fists planted on either side of your head- veins running up thick arms, caging you like a pretty little bunny, mounted by something so so big and near predatory- driven with a need to breed his girl.
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