#(like how he feels being photographed & posed like this)

[viperwhispered]

Hafsghdjdhhdjdjdgdh I-

I am not okay

And I'm very much not ready aaa

He's got his hair down and he's so cozy and the way he looks at you can I call those bedroom eyes I cannot even

SSR Jamil [Relaxing My Room] will be available on 11 September!

His card DUO is Ortho!

[taegularities]

meraki | jjk (m)

MERAKI (v., Greek). "to do something with soul, creativity, or love; to put something of yourself in your work." Summary: Jungkook finds you irritating; far too energetic and insistent. But his perception of you changes bit by bit, minute by minute, when he's persuaded into spending an entire night with you at places he doesn't know.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: e2l, grumpy!jk (+ photographer!jk) x sunshine!reader; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: bickering, bantering, jk is a bit rude at the beginning, flirting, tension, oc is bold and courageous, mention of someone being stoned, mention of insomnia, jk's lip rings <3, heights, not exactly e2l but more like "i find you pretty annoying" to lovers lmao, deep talks and sweet moments, one bed trope, guest appearance, jk takes pictures of pretty things, stars and sky talk <3, explicit sexual content: kissing/making out, implied pain kink? lol, fingering, manhandling, oral (f. & m. receiving), teasing, 69, spitting, one or two spanks, bit of choking, soft and hard sex, unprotected sex (oc has an iud), soft dom!jk but also glimpses of sub!jk, ofc biiiig dick!jk, doggy/riding/missionary, praises, more flirting, jk's godly body, masturbation, cum swallowing (he comes in her mouth); the lovely ending <3 ➳ word count: 26.6k <3 ➳ a/n: you guys built this fic!! 🥺 hopefully this is what we expected it to be. it's also yet another love letter to one of the gentlest men i know; happy birthday, jeon jungkook, you're the standard and i will never fall out of love with you 💕 i hope y'all enjoy it!! come and talk to me when you're done mwah <3

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

1:04AM, Her

There’s a word for how you do what you do.

A term you hold dearly in the crevices of your bright heart. Ever since you first learned its meaning two decades ago, you’ve made it your primary goal to breathe through life with it as your philosophy.

Passion, it is. A word certainly common in conversation and daily life — you’re not the only person to live by it. Doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to wallow in it.

Because there’s a fire behind your hard-working chest, lit up, pride residing next to it. It’s where you feel the most vivid light when you do what you love, blooming and blossoming. There are synonyms of it you know, and each of them are pretty as a growing garden.

You gatekeep them for now; haven’t yet found a person to share your knowledge with. Which is okay; in the meantime, you’ll keep looking. You do think everybody needs something like this in their lives.

Something that forces your body upright, sprinkling fairy dust and glimmer into your eyes. Something you can resort to in order to escape the trials of life.

For you, as odd it may seem to people, it’s your job.

You usually work late like today, surrounded by sounds and disquiet. But you enjoy it. You like stepping into the night afterwards, and you like the dark blanket above, the starlight sprinkled across the comforting blackness.

And you like it when it drizzles sometimes. The giggles of couples or groups of friends as they wade through the rain. The absolute quiet and relieving serenity.

You live for this. You enjoy people. You enjoy sensing life around you.

Tonight isn’t different. Even when you find yourself hastening by the end, wrapping up the event with a dozen chores to tackle; even when the host rushes to you, asking for help. Your shoes click-clack across the floor as you move left and right, up and down.

But by God, you never doubt these days’ worth.

1:04AM, Him

Sometimes, people don’t want to be photographed.

Jungkook learned that early on when he agreed to be a photographer at events. He’s encouraged and urged to ask people to pose; that’s his job. Waiting for them to force a smile before they can resume eating, debone their fish or work on their lobsters, beef, veggies.

They long to return to whatever they were doing, or to their conversations, mostly insignificant ones; Jungkook knows because he, involuntarily, hears too many of them. 

It’s only when they’re dancing or drinking that they open up. That’s when they’re okay with listening to him, obedient, almost as if he’s authority, staring into the lens with flushed cheeks and wide grins.

Though it’s irritating when every other person walks up to him afterwards, inquiring when they’d be receiving the photos, or, even ruder, if at all.

Today, there are a few more comfortable people around. Not as harsh, not as grim as he feels. You’re here, too, somewhere; of course you are — you got him here in the first place. Somehow, your paths often cross. You were ready for a picture immediately, drawn in by the host, smiling.

He perceived your presence just for a second, though. Doesn’t need or want any more than that. You’re too loud, too energetic anyway; he’s rather among himself, not in any photo, indulging in the job.

He loves clicking through his camera roll; it’s the people that tire him out. Working his way through the pictures he took once home gives him joy, though. Makes his fatigue feel worth it.

But God, you’re not the only one, right? So many people here are the same amount of enthusiastic, party people to the core. 

Which is why he’s happy when the night finally concludes, and he, far after midnight, stuffs his equipment back into his bag and slips into his at least somewhat chic blazer.

1:12AM, Her

You groan as your hand dives into your bag, fishing out the key that you already removed from your keychain an hour ago. Back when the man facing you approached you; he’s the last face you see when you step out of the somewhat stuffy hall.

Or so you think.

You don’t know that the night is far from over when you linger at the entrance, handing him a key that he encloses in his grip with a grateful nod and a goodbye-wave. The final interaction when you excuse yourself, breathing in the night.

It’s a hunch cooler than when you left home today; yet, the breeze feels pleasant caressing your skin. The end of August is still warm, still fairly far from fall; you regard summer nights as the best part of the season.

Sighing, you come to a halt in the middle of the pavement, studying the alley. You ponder until you remember a bus not too far from here; you need to turn left, right? Should be there. You have never been around here before, so you’re not entirely sure.

But you’ll just go with your first instinct for now. Keep walking until you detect any kind of a promising sign. You hold onto your roomy bag as you pass the rare people still around.

Some of them are faces you recognise from the party; some are strangers. One couple you spoke to just earlier even lifts a thumbs up for you, praising you for the exceptional organisation. They make you feel at ease until the road quietens.

And the place stays serene and silent until you hear the clearing of somebody’s throat. It’s not near; yet not far. Your eyes scan the area, not for long when they recognise a figure sitting on the opposite side of the narrow street.

It’s a man, clutching a heavy object with careful hands. A camera, you know it immediately. He’s hunting through the pictures he took, face slightly lit by the screen. Jutting lower lip, slowly blinking eyes.

Simple attire — dark jeans, a white shirt, and a blazer on top that hides the wide shoulders.

Constantly and undeniably handsome, albeit always grim due to the lack of a smile.

You squint to confirm it’s him you’re seeing; but when he smacks his lips in the dark of the night, nibbling at the shiny lip rings, you know you’re right. This is a habit you’ve never seen on anybody this persistently as on Jeon Jungkook.

And the one and only Jeon Jungkook must be feeling your eyes on him, because only a second later, he lifts his gaze. Instinctively, you wave a little, but Jungkook isn’t on board with your hospitality. He rolls his eyes; you don’t take it to heart, though. You’re used to this.

As he starts stuffing the camera back into his bag, you waddle over, crossing the street. Upon reaching him, you ask, “Got some good pictures tonight?”

“I’d guess so.”

His voice is as nonchalant as always, his shoulders relaxed, uncaring. To your vampire-novel-reading middle school self, he would’ve been the coolest and most mysterious riddle, waiting to be cracked. But you know how he feels about you, and that makes the situation just a little less intriguing.

Yet, you never stopped approaching him, because aside from conversations like these, you know he’s just human, too. He smiles at events whenever he gets the chance, content with the moments he captures; he likes what he does.

Photography has always been his thing; or that’s what you gathered, at least. You see the same sparkle in his eyes that you feel in yours when you work; the same joy when he fumbles with his camera, always checking, presumably changing the settings, testing it out.

You lean in a little, wondering, “Can I see?”

“Uhm…” He hesitates, lifting the strap of the camera bag higher up his shoulder. “Do you have to?”

“If I may. I brought you here, remember?”

Of course. It’s always you; you’re the one to organise this, and you’ve seen his pieces and albums before. He might not hang around you too much, always the first to tell you he has somewhere else to be, but you know he’s good. You trust him in this regard.

“You say that every time,” he argues, a tattooed hand settling on his bag, clearly reluctant.

So you click your tongue, waving your suggestion off. You try to sound as lively as ever, but your voice is more earnest as you say, “Okay, it’s fine. Don’t show me the pictures, but come on. Be a bit nice at least.

“Alright. What else? Do you need something?”

You sigh in defeat. “No. I was just going home.”

“You should go home. It’s pretty late.”

“Aren’t you going, too?”

“I am,” he responds, his voice going up at the end. “I just wanted a bit of peace before leaving.”

“Peace,” you repeat, as if trying out the word. “You can’t get it at home?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer this time. Instead, he only shifts his stare from you to the empty road ahead, exhaling a dramatically long breath before he gets into motion. You immediately react, by his side until he asks, “Are you following me?”

“Huh? Did you forget that I was literally heading this way?” He’s distracted, looking for the street signs, and you laugh at his own confusion. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

“I guess so.”

Okay, at least he’s honest, not giving himself airs. You want to see what his inner compass suggests, but then somewhat shun the thought of walking further into unknown terrain.

So you question, “You taking the bus?”

“Nope. Subway.”

“Ah. That should be this way, then,” you nod towards the direction you’re approaching, “I know the bus is, because that’s where I need to go.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

That’s it. He doesn’t respond much; only lets out the millionth sigh, following you with something you might nearly call trust. He doesn’t attempt small talk or any other kind of interaction, so you let him sink into his thoughts.

But a beat of silence later, you still ask politely, “How did you like the party?”

“Uhhh, it was okay.” For the first time in minutes, he looks at you. “The people were weird, don’t you think? But I got some good shots in.”

“Hmm… okay. I didn’t notice anything weird about the people.” You shrug your shoulders. “Talking about shots… did you drink a little?”

He whines your name as the question is a tale as old as time, complaining, “Every single time? Why is this so important to you…” He waits, shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. Seems you did, though.”

“A little,” you say, bringing your forefinger and thumb together, indicating a tiny space. “But I’m all sober and well.” Another brief pause. “Are you okay, too?”

He licks his lower lip, dimples appearing that don’t ever need a smile to emerge. Then, he throws back, “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Dunno. You always look so bored at parties. And you always go home alone.”

You don’t know if the following laugh is sarcastic or not, but you soon discover the very answer when he lifts a finger and counts, “First off, how would you know?” Another finger added to the mix. “Secondly, I’m not bored. I’m just focused. And I don’t know anybody there.”

His hand drops again, working on his bag’s strap again. Pushing it over his shoulder. He adds, “It’s a bit different for me than for you because they’re literally your clients and you know them at least a little.”

“I mean… you know me.”

“Yeah, but you’re…” He regards you from head to toe, not the softest of expressions, and you pout. You don’t ever take him seriously, but he can be hurtful sometimes. “I just don’t think we’d be good conversation partners.”

“Weird,” you challenge, “because you’re conversing with me right now, no problem. It’s also not my fault you always argue with me at every event.”

“I don’t. You approach me.”

“You do.” You lean your face closer to his, not making it very far when his palm pushes your cheek, and you, away from him. “Ugh. Okay. Seriously, though — why do you always leave alone?”

He exhales in defeat. Seems that Jeon Jungkook is too tired to take your idiocy tonight. You understand, but you’re just trying to figure out how to convince him that you’re normal, too. That he just dislikes you because you’re different from him, and nothing else.

“Hey…” he utters, out of energy.

“I mean it,” you still declare, “there are so many sweet and nice girls around. They ask about you sometimes, you know? I’ve also met many men on such pa—”

“That’s great,” he interrupts, a palm stopping you from spilling more info, “but… I don’t think I’m interested.”

“Oh.” The syllable is short, cut, harmless. That is, until it clicks in your brain, and your eyes widen, lips parting as you turn to him in shock, stating, “Oh, wait. Do you… play for the other team?”

Jungkook blinks at you. Then lowers his gaze, turning it a couple shades darker, staring at you from under his eyelids. He looks annoyed when he spits, “No, I’m not gay. And even if I was, it’d be none of your business.”

Shit.

Okay, you were sure about your assumption, but now that it turned out wrong, this sounds pretty shitty. And annoying. And awkward.

“Sorry,” you apologise, and he gives you a taunting head tilt. “Okay… different topic then? Tell me, what do you think of this dress?” You lift the hem a little, smiling; you were convinced the moment you first saw it. “Do you think I look pretty today?”

For a second, he joins; his initial gaze is still cynical, but his voice is appealing, a whisper when he leans in and asks, “Why? Do you want to be the one I go home with?”

Ah… why do the words, the way he speaks them, tickle you just right? You’re flabbergasted, seeing your reaction on the bare skin of your arms, but all he does is back away again and once again, shake his head.

You want to retort something snarky back, but you don’t get to it when he inquires a moment later again, “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

Right… you need to go home. You forgot.

“Uh… yeah.” You look around, finally detecting a sign, picturing a bus and a number. “There’s the bus, so the subway should be…” You stop; hum; then see two women waiting at the bus stop. “Should we ask someone?”

“Sure.”

With a nod, you separate from him, walking towards the bus station bench they’re sitting on, hands folded, conversing quietly. They’re surprised when they see a figure advance, but relax when they catch your smile.

You ask the questions floating in your brain, trying to explain where you live, what you need. They attempt an answer, gesture around, and barely a minute later, you’re thanking them and leaving again.

Jungkook stands there in anticipation, waiting for you to deliver good news — yet confused when you return with slumped shoulders instead of an enthusiastic, “We were right! Come!”

Okay, there aren’t too many reasons for Jungkook to dislike you; you want to say this much. But when you see him understand that this is going nowhere, you do get his frustration.

Especially as you kiss your lips, staring at him like a lost bunny, and explain, “So… the subway isn’t here.” Big eyes meet yours. “I’m not sure where it is, and they,” your thumb points to the girls behind you, “couldn’t help because they’re tourists.”

“Ah. Great,” he says, delivering a falsely cheerful smile. Hands thrown into the air. “So we’re stranded and should definitely not be here. What about the bus? Where does it go?”

“Uhm…” You scratch your head. “Not where I need to go. It’s a different one. But!” Immediately, your voice rises, trying to approach this with hope. It’s not the end of the world, after all! “Don’t worry! We’ll get home either way.”

“Just a lot later than necessary.”

“But nothing’s lost yet. Don’t you trust me?”

And — much as you thought — Jungkook only ogles back in silence, blinking once again before he walks away with a curse on his lips.

1:25AM, Her

You catch up to him fast.

“It’s not that big of a deal, I promise!” you vow, but you reckon it only makes matters worse.

Because he breathes air through his nose, like a bull, arguing, “I’m tired, though. This is wasting so much of my time. You always do.”

You stop in your tracks. He doesn’t. You sulk, “That was mean.”

“And you’re idiotic.”

“Well… shit.”

This time you tilt your head, grinding your teeth; less out of anger, more out of embarrassment. You don’t respond much else, and he doesn’t throw another insult. Instead, he opens the bag again with the velcro’s ripping sound, heaving out his SLR. 

You peek over his shoulder, confused about the timing to indulge in a passion, and ask, “What are you doing with that?”

“Looking through them,” he mutters, thumb working on the switching button, “maybe I took a picture when I came here. A sign where to find the subway.”

His reasoning elicits a sudden laugh out of you, probably unfounded to him, but very amusing to you. He throws a bewildered and somewhat warning look, and you immediately silence; still holding yourself back when he turns away again.

You wait, listen to the quiet of the night. He doesn’t seem to find any success, and the more time passes, the funnier you find his mind. Eventually, you step next to him and give up, telling him, “Hey.​ Don't be so tetchy. I'm not that bad.”

Jungkook side-eyes you, tapping the screen of the heavy Sony A9 Alpha. Inhaling the pleasant late summer air, he defends, “I'm never tetchy! But you got us lost.”

“So? You’re being dramatic. There's still Google Maps.”

That’s it. This look of his.

Jungkook must’ve gotten stuck in a decade you’ve long left, because he stares at you dumbfounded, camera still firmly in his hands. He tongues his cheek, blinks.

And then, you mock, “Guess I’m not the only idiot here, right?”

His next breath is deep, and he soon averts your eyes again. You dig, “What? If anything, then low battery might be your only excuse, you know?”

He doesn’t look at you, and you break into a grin again. Shake your head. Then fish out your phone at last, ready to type in the goal, or at least, to search the nearest subway and bus that fit your demands.

Hmmm, okay. If you need to go where you think you need to go, then the subway will really be in immediate distance to the bus. So you’ll be heading in the same direction anyway.

You open your mouth to ask for his address, prepared to type it in — but as you look at him again, you detect a deeply focused Jungkook, pursing his lips at his camera and regarding it with glitter in his eyes. You see it even from here, the sparkle.

Maybe he’s waiting for you to deliver a conclusion, because you catch him moving through older pictures in the meantime. From here, you only see glimpses. Of forests and roads, and then of waterfalls. Even some of him and his friends.

He doesn’t notice it, but his eyebrows are much more relaxed now, expression not quite as steely anymore; and his lips even twitch for a tiny second, tempted to smile. As if he forgot where he’s currently standing.

You let your arms sink, both hands holding your phone, and just gaze for a while. Then move your eyes to the side. To the sky. Remember places you’ve seen and loved in this town. Still hear his harsh tone echoing in your ears.

In hindsight, you really don’t think you've ever personally hurt or offended him. He might’ve been annoyed by something else. Perhaps he was dealing with something that he never dared to speak about; or perhaps, his perception of optimism is warped, because he clearly doesn’t wade through life with it.

You’d like to see his real self, though. The real self, because your gut feeling whispers to you that this isn’t him. Maybe there’s a kind and kindred soul hidden somewhere; maybe his smile proves far more intriguing to you than these mysterious moods of his. Once it appears, that is.

But…

He’ll probably say no. Your idea isn’t dumb, you’re certain, but he very likely will not go with it. But you want to try. Want to show him that you’re not as bad, that he can trust you; want to know what burdens him; or why he talks to you like this.

You might be the only one to wish for more time with somebody who wants to avoid you like the plague.

Yet…

You don’t want this to end just yet. 

So you drop a suggestion that surprise even you—

“…You know what? Let’s try something fun tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

He voices it with his attention only half on you, not quite taking you seriously; so you swallow to dampen your throat and speak firmer, suggesting, “You need to trust me on this, though.”

This time, he does look at you. Works on stuffing his camera back into his bag, opening his mouth to retort something, but you stop him with a shushing finger that he doesn’t look too happy about.

“Hold on, okay?” you exclaim. “Listen. Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Uh… not until the afternoon.”

“So you can sleep in.”

“I guess.”

You clap once, loudly and dramatically, watching the man in front of you flinch. You can’t say if he’s irritated, shocked or terrified of you. But he looks hilarious like this, blinking, scowling as his fingers clutch his bag tighter.

“What is it?” he asks as if you’ve lost your mind.

“Look. Let’s not leave yet. Fuck Google Maps,” you suggest, and his eyes grow wider by the second, baffled, as if you’re caging him. “Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again. Isn’t this tempting?”

In your head, it is. Not for yourself, but for him. In your mind, he thinks of you as a constant nuisance that stands in his way, hopping around like an overhyped puppy.

Or not. Maybe he has a dog at home; maybe he regards you as worse than cute puppies.

Whatever.

You look at him expectantly, like your persisting stare could help him land a decision. Instead, however, he grimaces, his voice higher when he asks, “What even are you sa—”

No, you won’t give up yet; even if the recurring interruptions make him tear his hair out. You click your tongue and then argue, “Come on! Give it a try.”

Hesitation. Or rather, a question wondering if you’re crazy. Clear rejection. Are you losing?

“We’d be together, so nothing to fear,” you try further, “and how much time is there till sunrise?” You glance at your watch. “It’s barely half past one. The sun comes up in less than five hours. And like, I know it sounds like a lot, but if you give me some time, I’ll give you reasons to smile.”

He keeps looking at you in this questioning, are-you-fully-mad-manner, but you’re absolutely serious and you need him to know. You bat your eyelashes a little, offering your best laugh, and add, “Like this? If you really want to hate me after that, then okay. If not, then… maybe we could go get coffee someday.”

You’ve spoken enough. He raises a hand, quieting you down, and then finally says it.

“You must be crazy.”

“I am,” you confirm.

“You think I’d do this, huh?”

“…Maaaybe?”

“No.”

Jungkook’s answer is stone cold and direct, and it shuts you up with a near-wince. There’s a faint line between his thick eyebrows, lips pressed together; he looks dangerous and very, very mean.

So you don’t say much for another minute, following when he walks away. You side-eye him, notice him type his destination into his phone. Surrendering, you trudge the path he chooses, soon detecting signs leading to the subway.

He can’t say anything to your presence by his side. Even if his answer remains a steadfast, boring no, you’ll have to go in this direction anyway.

More than halfway through, you venture into a conversation again, “Have you ever tried anything like this before?”

“What? The nonsense you suggested?” he asks, and you nod, catching up with his long legs, slightly slower with your heels. “No. I don’t think I need to.”

“You’re so… don’t you ever try anything new?”

“I mean, is this your definition of something new?” He gestures at your surroundings haphazardly. “Going through town in the middle of the night instead of getting some decent sleep?”

You shrug your shoulders, defending, “It’s not like I do it every day. And nothing one can do every day anyway. That's why I want you to try it.” Your voice is soft, friendly. “But you don’t have to.”

He doesn’t answer; only comes to a halt when a bus stop nears, peeking up to the sign with the number before he asks, “That yours?” You hum in confirmation. “Okay. Will you get home well? It’s late.”

“Yeah, of course,” you pout, kicking off a tiny stone with your shoe, “done it a few times.”

He stalls. You don’t know why, but you’re sure he does. You notice it in his slow movements, the brief pause, the way he looks to the subway he needs to approach and then back to you. You smile when his eyes linger on you for a moment too long, and then he tilts his head, sighs.

“Alright. Then… good night.”

And that’s it.

You tell him to sleep well in return, earning a tiny nod, and then he’s leaving you stranded, walking away. Your eyes stay on him until he’s out of sight, down the escalator to the subway and far, far away from the fun idea you conjured.

You mimic his sigh. Take the two or three steps to the bench under the bus stop; and then you wait.

At this time, public transport operates irregularly, so you’re not surprised when you’re still there minutes later. For a while, you remain alone — that is, until a stranger tumbles to you, swaying before he takes a seat on the other edge of the bench.

You don’t look at him; don’t want his attention on you. But to your discomfort, he garbles just a second later, “This the bus to…”

He gets a hiccup, pointing to the bus sign, and then mumbles the name of the station he needs to reach. You don’t understand, however, so you prod, “What?”

Slower now yet similarly slurred, he repeats his question, but this time, you understand and nod your head yes. He overshares, “It’s just that I’m drunk, so I need to be sure. Sorry for interrupting.”

Suddenly, you feel kind of sorry for him. Your shoulders relax; you observe him letting his arms dangle between his legs, sniffling, incredibly exhausted, it seems. What did the fella experience tonight?

You respond, “It’s okay. It’s really late. Get home well.”

“Thanks. You’re very nice.”

The same finger previously signalling to the sign now points at you; but he doesn’t touch you. In fact, his digits are still a good distance away, already falling when you feel a hand on your elbow out of the blue; you nearly react on intuition, getting into position to break somebody’s nose.

But when your eyes meet the other man’s, you recognise him as the same figure standing tall that abandoned you a couple minutes ago. His hand is still grasping the camera bag strap, and he looks calm, confident when he speaks—

“All good? Sorry, I left for too long, right? Let’s go.”

Your voice changes, a chuckle hidden in it when you blurt, “What?”

“You wanted to take a walk.”

And just like that, the snicker dies again. Is he being serious? It seems so; it’s the whole package, even. The nod towards an entirely different direction and the sudden fingers around your wrist, pulling you away.

“Uhm…” you start, feet moving automatically. You turn to the guy drowning in inebriation, leaving a last, “Good luck!” as you wave, smile. Then, to Jungkook, “I thought you went away. Did you want to do this after all?”

You’re cocking an eyebrow, but much at the back of Jungkook’s head, so he doesn’t see. But it seems he hears the tease in your voice, because half-annoyed, half-argumentative, he explains, “No. Just wanted to be a gentleman. I was going to leave the moment you got on the bus.”

Ah. So he was waiting, hiding somewhere? But you don’t mention it; it’d probably just rile him up more.

Yet, you challenge, “You’re lying. You were concerned and you thought my idea was fun after all.”

“Whatever you say,” he says, waving the white flag, probably just to shut you up, “don’t know if I can do this until sunrise, but I can walk with you for a bit. Get you closer to home. And I swear!”

Now he turns, shooting a stare at you over his shoulders, lightning bolts in the middle of his pupils, “If you’re lying and there’s literally nothing special on our way, I’m actually never talking to you again.”

Nothing easier than that.

“Deal!”

“Cool,” he so nonchalantly remarks, finally letting go of your arm, “which way are you heading then?”

“North-east.”

“Good. Works for me.”

The sun is nowhere near up yet; of course not. It’s 1:37AM. Around four and a half hours.

You’re hopeful. In your head, you imagine an uplifted demeanour in no time; try to guess what his smile might look like. A genuine one. Maybe sweet? Maybe cocky? You’ll find out. You will.

So you straighten your stance, clear your throat, sigh a content breath, and step into the night with the courage the stars lend you.

2:13AM, Her

The first almost forty minutes of your night pass leisurely.

Jungkook’s initial sighs cease soon as you advance into the town, walking down a busy main street. You guess the bustling area, the sounds of the traffic and the lights of the flashing cars relieve him somehow. Give him an excuse to not talk to you.

But as the occupied road ends and you reach and pass a crowded square, you’re back in calm and serene alleys. Some people are still wandering around, passing closed shops, much like you.

You attempt conversation every now and then, and Jungkook, having eventually realised that he needs to cooperate with you — he agreed to your idea after all — isn’t as mad anymore.

At some point, he breathes in the late summer breeze, and your head swerves into his direction immediately — maybe the magic of the night has finally reached his core, too. Perhaps he’s appreciating the journey you set out to embark on.

You, for one, cherish the quiet; you know at least this much. The alley must be part of the older corner of the town because the lampposts seem Victorian. They’re fancy, bent at the top, the light a comforting golden.

You do admire the beauty in the dead of night, you do — but the weirdly bruising feeling on your skin becomes uncomfortably apparent the more you walk. Your heels and the Achilles tendons ache, the ball of your feet sensitive to each step.

For a while, you hide the stupid pain successfully, not wanting the night to end; and you do love the heels. Feel just the way those old romcom’s protagonists probably felt, strutting through town with a man whose life they’d change.

But as an involuntary groan slips out of you, Jungkook’s view changes from the old buildings to your struggling self. His eyes settle on your contorted expression before they move further down to your sudden limp.

He asks, “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah! Just been walking for a while, is all.”

“Hmm,” he hums, regarding your heels with a suspicious look. “Do they hurt?”

“Nah. I’m used to them.”

“…Oookay.”

He drags the word, as if in disbelief; and you can’t lie your way through the minutes when the ache worsens, the suddenly paved path too much of a chore. You nearly trip when your heel gets caught between the stones.

Jungkook immediately reacts when you hiss; you’re nowhere near actually falling, but his arms still reflexively jolt, the camera bag swaying and hitting your hand when he catches your shoulders.

“Okay, seriously,” he spits, eyes wide, “that’s enough. You can’t walk in these.”

“I can!”

“Not!” He takes a look around, inspecting the place; it’s quiet here, not too many cars driving by at all. So he points to the edge of the pedestrian zone, instructing, “Sit down there. Let’s see.”

See what?

You blink, but oblige. His pointing finger is dominant, and his eyes urging; you flatten your dress, taking a seat at the edge. The road isn’t high, so it’s a little uncomfortable; but you’re pleasantly surprised when he appears in front of you, crouching.

Very, very baffled when he requests, “Can you take them off?”

“Sure,” you say, unbuckling the straps around your ankles before removing the shoes. You sigh; you must admit, it does feel great. “I’m honestly okay, though.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, ignores your statement; instead, asks, “May I?”

You don’t understand what he means until his hands come to a float right over your toes; he wants to check for bruises, doesn’t he? You nod curtly; something about this warms your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this side of him before.

Not that you ever had the chance to.

He doesn’t really hate you, does he?

Carefully, his fingers reach for your ankle. The touch is warm and pleasant; doesn’t hurt until he moves his thumbs to your heel. Your feet are overworked; you notice. But rather than the annoying pain, you can’t help but focus on your view.

The big, round nose, hiding the plump, parted lips. His eyes look hooded from here, strands of his hair covering them. Intrusive thoughts plead for your fingers to card through the dark mane; it looks soft, pretty.

And the gentleness he handles your skin with fills you with fondness; you like being cared for.

Even when he shakes his head; pulling you out of your daydream. You take a breath, and then inquire, “You don’t have a problem with touching feet?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s just feet. Besides,” he stops for a second, detecting something at the back of your foot, shaking his head, “Mom used to work as a nurse. Tough job. I massaged hers sometimes.”

Ah… a loving son, a family person. You smile.

“And I thought you have a foot kink,” you tease.

“Shut up.”

“Found anything?”

“Yeah actually. Do you know how wounded your skin is here? Were you wearing new shoes?”

You gulp with a thin-lipped smile, wondering if he’ll kill you now if you tell him. You look to some random spot on your right before you admit, “Yes.”

“God, you…” He clicks his tongue. Puts your foot on the ground cautiously, reaching for his bag. He rummages through it until he pulls out a bandage, holding it in front of you. “You’re lucky.”

You chuckle, relieved and flattered. “I guess I am.”

He puffs out a laugh, but stops it right away, calling your name under his breath before he says, “God, you’re crazy. Be careful. And admit it when you’re hurt. Why didn’t you?”

Well… you didn’t want the night to end—

“I…”

You hesitate.

He works on your other foot just the same, a tender thumb running over your ankle, probably used to the soothing touch. It distracts you. And when he stops and you don’t answer, he puts his arm on his angled leg, staring up at you in anticipation.

“Yes?” he prods.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think you’d care.” Nonchalantly yet pouting, you nibble at your lower lip. “And if I’d told you they’re hurting, you might’ve suggested ending the night.”

He cocks an eyebrow as if agreeing to the most self-explanatory statement ever, nodding as he confirms, “Damn right I would’ve. We should end the night right now if you can’t walk. Not in these, at least.”

Your chest is hot, your stomach twisting a little. Jungkook really does bother; if not due to a connection he shares with you, then simply because he cares for people. Never, you have never experienced him like this before.

With a tilt of your head and a batting of your eyelashes, you suggest, “And if I was barefoot?”

Which he reacts to with a roll of his eyes. “The night isn’t that warm. Don’t do this to yourself. The ground’s dirty, too.”

You take a look at the dark grey pavement upon his argument, much as if the night could allow you to detect any of the dirt he speaks of. Once more, you hum, pretending to contemplate what to do; and when you pick up your heels, suggesting to follow your idea either way, the back of his hand gives your knee the lightest of hits.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Watch.”

He does. Watches you place your spacious, black bag on your lap, opening the zip. Observes as your hand dips in, pulling out one pair of sneakers and replacing them with your treacherous heels. He keeps ogling when you put them on, mouth widening bit by bit.

He doesn’t speak until you’re done, socks picked out of the shoes, pulled over your feet, laces tied. You keep smiling, content with the moment, only dropping the grin when you see his puzzled expression.

“What?” you question.

“You had them with you and… Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

Your answer comes without hesitation; whatever timidity he elicited a moment ago slowly fades again. You clear your throat, back to who you are, and dauntlessly admit, “It was sweet. How you took care of me, I mean. I didn’t think you ever would.”

“But you could’ve at least worn them sooner and avoided the hurt?!”

“Well, it didn’t hurt then…”

“You’re…”

Jungkook uprights himself, towering above you. You put a flat palm onto the pavement, wanting to heave yourself up, but soon see a hand in front of your face. He’s offering it; and you’re quick to take it.

Warm and soft; gentle.

As he pulls you up, you land closer to his body than calculated; his face isn’t too far from yours… much nearer than it has ever been. He leans back; looks to the side; blinks. Clears his throat. Lets go off your hand way too late.

The breath you held escapes in a sudden blow. You swallow.

And when you’ve processed the strange moment, you feel the change in your stance. You’re standing taller now; your feet feel heavenly in your Nikes. Dusting off the front of your dress and your ass, you wait for him to say something.

But he keeps standing there on the road, in the middle of a parking space, hands on his hips. He’s judging you; you understand. Your mindset isn’t for everybody. You might seem crazy, alright.

Yet, he doesn’t scold you again. The up and down of his irked voice doesn’t appear this time when he speaks again; instead, his chin nods towards your legs, and he questions, “So you just carry around shoes with you?”

“I need to,” you say, matter-of-factly, “I can’t ride the motorcycle in heels. And!” Jungkook’s mouth opens, but you’re quick to explain. “Before you ask. No, I didn’t hide my bike anywhere. It needs some fixing, so my co-worker took it because he knows someone who’ll do it. And because he owes me a favour.”

“Right… how unfortunate.” He pauses; runs his tatted digits through the hair you longed to touch minutes ago. They look so silky, it makes you sick. His eyes settle on you, intrigued before he adds, “So, you have a bike, huh?”

“Yeah… why?”

“No reason. I do, too.”

“Mmmh,” you voice, nodding to the road ahead to suggest moving. He follows, trudging next to you again. “You didn’t use it today?”

“No…” He pats the camera bag. “Didn’t want to harm my equipment.”

You hum approvingly, fingers entangling in front of your body. You inch closer to his arm, nudging his shoulder with yours before you flash a sugary smile and say, “Thank you. For caring even a little, you know? Even if you’re always like that, it’s nice to see you like this for once.”

“I’m usually like this,” is what he, however, merely answers, accompanied by air quotes.

But you know you’ve gotten through to him at least a little. Melted bits of the frozen parts of his heart that feel so vexed by you on other nights. In truth, you think, there’s nothing but a delicate organ pumping behind his ribcage.

He’s not a robot; Jeon Jungkook is undeniably humane. If anything, then more than most people you have ever met.

And it shows when he looks away, barely able to hide his smile. You see it even from here — that the gesture does something to his eyes. Nearly squints them shut, makes them smaller, more joyful.

You inhale, proud of yourself. Watch as he toys with his lip rings before he asks eventually, “What do you mean owing you a favour, by the way?”

He sounds almost offended. You think he’ll ask about that favour, reprimand you for giving away your bike tonight of all nights. Tell you off for dragging him here, doing something big enough to entrust an entire motorcycle to somebody.

But instead, he continues with a question you never foresaw, “Are you in a quarrel with them? Am I not your arch-enemy?”

You burst into laughter immediately, covering your mouth as the other palm touches his arm. There’s a bulging bicep under his blazer, but you’ll focus on that later.

Right now, you’re fairly occupied by the satisfied eyes; he doesn’t really expect an answer. He wanted to make you laugh… Why does that set something loose in your brain?

“Oh… are you jealous? What if I told you it’s somebody else who occupies my mind at night and not you?” you wonder, wiggling your eyebrows.

“Don’t do this to me. I’ll find your co-worker and fight them for your enemyship. Word of honour.”

“It’s enmity. And stop flirting with me,” you tell him, moving towards him again, shoulder hitting shoulder. “Or is it something else with arch-enemies?”

This time, he doesn’t veil his grin. It’s bright, pretty, reminiscent of the light shed on you underneath the lampposts. And his pupils; whenever you see them clearly enough, you recognise the sky in them. Borrowed stars inside.

You shake your head a second later, winding down from your fit of laughter, and tell him, “You’re not my arch-enemy. Arch-enemies don’t exist, and you know you aren’t one. You just…” You stall, your voice quieter now. “You just regard me as one.”

He throws you an indecipherable look. Hints of joking, shreds of seriousness, you think. His gaze drifts back to the path again, regarding a passing group of three friends briefly. His hands slide into the pockets of his jacket, and he sniffles once before he utters—

“No, I don't.”

Ah. Ah.

Why do your eyebrows relax the way they do? And your shoulders; already in ease, yet they seem to fall in relief. You peer at him wordlessly; he doesn’t demand an answer, fully aware you’re looking at him.

And you don’t ask what you’ve been to him ever since he saw you at the first party probably a year ago; what irked him, what delighted him. If he thought about you at all.

Instead, you look at the neon words in the next street, asking, “Are you hungry?”

2:19AM, Him

You’re irritating to the core.

You always have been. But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit you amused him a little. No matter how much you’ve been wasting his time, you allowed a smile in this ill-lit night. Nobody else at the party did — so in some sense, you’ve already won, and somehow, he’s even grateful.

Grateful that you’re optimistic about the world at least. Glad that you suggested fetching food. Endeared by the way you thanked him for his care. Surprised that you ride a motorcycle! Relieved that you have good humour.

Even though his own humour and smile dissipate after you enter one of the few open stores still providing late night snacks. The girl behind the counter looks tired, but straightens a little when the two of you flash a polite smile.

She greets with a sweet, “Hi!” but Jungkook sees the lethargy in her drooping eyes immediately. Poor girl.

But you’re as enthusiastic as ever; maybe a little more now, maybe observing the same as him. You put your hands on the counter like a child — the image is somewhat cute. But what comes out of your mouth is not.

“Uhm… Could I have a portion of cheese tteokbokki, please? And then… A half and half corndog for my husband.”

Your… what now?

Excuse me?

Jungkook throws an immediate and scorching look your way, utterly surprised. When you meet his eyes, his thick eyebrows are closer than anybody’s ever seen. He huffs your suggestion away, and then corrects, “I’m not her husband. And I’ll take the chicken wrap.”

You chuckle, leaning into him, shielding your mouth with a hand as you warn, “They’re not usually very good at this store. Trust me.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Right. He does. After the disaster of finding the damn bus and the deception caused by your shoes, he won’t trust you very easily anymore. His opinion clearly differs from yours, so he’ll bank on his gut feeling.

Satisfied when you shrug, as if to indicate, “If you say so,” he walks over to the window seats with you in tow, looking out to the peaceful streets. Once seated, he turns towards you, peering until you notice and ask far too purely, “What?”

“Not even your boyfriend, no… Jumped straight to making me your husband, huh?”

The lift of your shoulders brushes his concerns aside; your eyes are incredibly innocent and even somehow playful when you say, “I thought it’d be fun.”

“Was it really?”

“Well, your reaction was funny, at least.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes in disbelief. You’re courageous, he must admit. Social anxiety must fear you — is that how you live life? Unabashed, spirited, not a sheer care for anything that won’t actually hurt you.

He doesn’t know if you’re insane or if he’s jealous.

But he still reiterates, “You’re crazy. And it was embarrassing.”

“I mean,” you say, moving on your chair, folding your fingers on top of the counter but still looking at him, “it was embarrassing because you made it. It’s honestly whatever.” You blow a raspberry, and then take a swing again, “Why is it awkward anyway? We’ll never be here together again.”

He whispers a hushed, “Thankfully,” and you tap the counter with a click of your tongue. He gets it; you live differently. That’s fine. As long as you don’t pull him into your mischief, it’s fine.

Right?

He’s right, isn’t he? He knows that in his personal opinion he is; yet, he can’t help but feel that sting, suddenly deeming himself as boring. You’re never bored, are you?

Anyway…

“Even if you do something like this again,” he tells you, “at least tell me.”

“I mean, that would kinda prevent your genuine reactions from happening, but… if it makes you happy.” You grin at him, and he scoffs; wants to say something before the girl calls for you. “Food is ready.”

A couple seconds later, the two of you have settled back into place; at the sight of the snack, Jungkook salivates. He didn’t realise how hungry he actually was. The buzz and fuzz of a party makes one forget such an essential thing fast.

Or maybe, he was just immersed in his work.

The chicken smells good, at least. Or are these your tteokbokki? He can’t quite discern the scent right now; his mind is fogged by his appetite. Silently, he unwraps his food, swallowing before he digs into the wrap.

So far, so good… seems edible. He keeps chewing; swallows some more. But as the taste starts to sink in and he realises the sogginess of the wrap, the lack of proper sauces and the dryness as well as the blandness of the chicken…

He pauses. Where… are the flavours?

Slowing down, he glances at his meal. Inspects it as if he’s holding an entirely new recipe in his hands. A look of realisation creeps upon his face, unaware of your gaze, and he soon hears an amused snicker from the side.

You don’t say much when your eyes align. Only, “And?”

He knows he’s already lost when his expression changes, cringing; when he can’t answer right away, only gaping at you in confusion. Still thinking about where this recipe went wrong.

He answers, “It’s fine…”

But you catch his obvious lie; he sees it in the way you smile so devilishly. Cocking an eyebrow, enjoying another bite of your snack without ever averting your eyes. Then, you put the tiny wooden fork back into the dish, propping your cheek on your fist.

You wait; he doesn’t know what for. For him to eat again? Maybe; because you soon ask, “Do you want something else?”

“Nah.” His answer is instant this time. “I can do this. I’m an omnivore.”

“Ah, yeah. An omnivore friend right here.” You laugh, curious when he takes another bite. And then, “Jungkook, it’s okay to admit…”

But he won’t listen. Only makes a disapproving sound, stuffing his mouth with another horrendous bite. Shit; he can’t confess that you were right. That you were actually right this time.

Suddenly, he’s craving a cup of ramyeon.

But he should keep eating. Wash it down with his drink, empty the soda. And he’s almost halfway through when he notices a movement from your direction, like you’re playing with your food.

Only, he realises that you are not; rather separating the tteokbokki in two halves before shoving the porcelain dish towards him. He shakes his head, but you persist, “Take it, man.”

It does look good…

But… are you going to use the satisfaction his defeat may give you? Probably. But fuck… Fuck it.

Reluctantly, he lets the wrap fall onto the small plate, gulping down the remainder of what he just bit off, and then, accepts your generosity with a nod. And… whether it’s because of the disappointment the wrap brought or the late hunger…

Jungkook thinks he’s levitating above clouds, floating towards the sun.

It’s good. Very damn good.

And when you ask again this time, “Should we get another?” his nod comes promptly, chest risen in satisfaction as he states, “That’d be great.”

“Alright. Be right back.”

“Nah,” he says, lifting an arm as if to protect you. Mid-action, you halt, sliding back up onto your seat. “Stay here. I’ll get it… All good.”

So he does; enjoys the look of surprise when his other hand even carries dessert, four pieces of matcha mochi ice cream. He says, “This is for you.”

You gasp. He can’t deny that it’s sweet — the elation, the big eyes, the palms coming together in delight. How you look between the food and him, suddenly wiggling your feet.

“You seem to like it,” he notes, and you nod feverishly, telling him that, “Yes! Been craving it since we came in. Thank you!”

“Oh. You should’ve told me earlier! We could’ve gotten it. No worries.”

“It’s okay. I wanted to see if my dessert stomach still allowed anything. Didn’t disappoint me today.”

Jungkook gets to his own tteokbokki, halving it in the middle the way you did, pushing it towards you. It’s weird to think about it like this, but — considering how long the two of you have known each other, you might almost look like… friends.

And you don’t feel quite like an enemy either. You’re even… kind of nice. Friendly; harmless.

“I’m glad,” Jungkook responds, only looking towards the entrance when another group of three friends, two girls, a guy, enter. Then back to you, “Sorry. You were right. This,” he points to the poor, sad wrap, “was shit.”

“See? My first instinct almost never lies. And I know this store from other places… the wraps are never good.”

“Sure, but… your first instinct isn’t always right, though, is it? You did get us lost, so it was wrong at least once.”

“Hm… was it, though?”

Jungkook regards you in confusion as you put another piece on your tongue, working on the chewy thing as he asks, “What do you mean? We had no clue where we w—”

“Yeah, I mean. I agree. But… I don’t think it was that wrong. Because—”

You lick your lips clean off the tteokbokki sauce, smacking them. You look child-like, but pretty when you indulge in your element, uncaring about everything, just living. Maybe it’s not that bad that you’re bold.

And maybe, just maybe, he can power through this night easily after all; especially if you keep saying things that soothe his chest, things like—

“Because my first instinct brought me to you.”

2:49AM, Him

The temperatures are falling as the night proceeds, and the second portion of the mochi ice cream adds to the pleasant chill.

Jungkook wonders how you’re doing; your dress is skimpier than his jeans, and your arms bare. But your stance and your speech are still inconspicuous, skin free of goosebumps, your walk elegant, leisurely.

Judging from your occasional hums and your ceaseless optimism, you’re enjoying this journey. It almost makes him feel bad; guilty about how adamantly he refused all this just an hour ago.

It hasn’t been too bad. Sure, you’re bold and intrepid, and yeah, in some ways he is, too — but his courage stems from other motivations. From adrenaline-loaded activities or joyful, temporary pains. Like his tattoos; his motorcycle; the summer he bungee-jumped for the first time.

You’re a different kind of daring; you challenge your limits in crowds and consider life a respectful joke. You don’t ever hurt anyone, he doesn’t think — you just go and see how far you can push yourself.

Perhaps in some sense, the two of you complement each other while simultaneously seeming to be cut from the same wood. Perhaps you’re different, but then again, not so much.

You’re quiet; you weren’t until you left the snack bar. As for now, however, you seem distracted, swallowing heaps of your dessert as you scan the surroundings you’ve led the two into. You’re somewhat unfazed by it, yet peering as though you’ve been here before.

Which, in retrospect, makes sense. You’ve been wanting to show him places you enjoy after all.

When the silence extends, Jungkook, along with the chirping of the nightlife, breaks it with a, “You know what?”

Your head swerves to his side, the wooden fork in your mouth. The pure gaze you give him throws him off guard for a moment — it’s somewhat sweet. But as he regains himself, he says, “I didn’t think we’d get to a housing scheme here. The main street is super close, but the vibe is so different.”

“I know. It’s a little scary at night when you’re alone. Gives very Desperate Housewives, doesn’t it? Secrets veiled behind shut curtains.” You draw closer, imitating a spooky gesture. “But I liked coming here when I was younger.”

Bingo. He thought so.

“Ah… why?”

“My friend lived here,” you explain with a tilt towards a random direction; he doubts the friend lived in just the house you gestured to, “she’s long moved out of course, but we’d play on these streets back then. Most of the neighbours knew me, too!”

Jungkook tsks, hauling his own bite out of the cup, and you add, “No, seriously! We could just knock at anybody’s door here, and they’d let me in.”

“Not if they moved out, too. A lot of time has passed.”

You bob your head. “Time has passed indeed. It does so pretty fast.”

“Doesn’t it?”

You seem to get into overdrive, gearing up; he didn’t think this topic would rev you up like this, but it appears you have a somewhat firm and fond opinion about the passing of time. Jungkook recognises the sentiment before you speak — the light of the lampposts reflects in your eyes like glitter.

Only, he doesn’t foresee what you say next, your tone teasing through the joy you display—

“Yeah! Like. Do you remember when I told you to not get the wrap and you still di—”

“Shut up.”

The roll of his eyes isn’t anything new; but the faint feeling that accompanies it, something akin to amusement, certainly is.

“Okay, but. Seriously,” you start again, sly smirk falling, voice neutralising the mock, “it felt different here. Because like, you know, where I live, it gets crowded. I’m not too far from the city centre, so… this place always felt really peaceful to me. Jieun and I played together a lot.”

Jungkook frowns.

“Jieun?”

“Hm? Oh. The friend I spoke about? She’s pretty cool.”

“Ah… Right, right.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, the end of your small fork tapping the bottom of the nearly finished cup, “you know another way to know that time passes really fast?” You pause for effect, then add, “It’s been ages since we saw each other for the first time.”

“Right. At a party, too, right? When was that anyway?”

“Hmm… Like.” You ponder, blinking, looking up to the sky. “Like two years ago?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen; if you’d asked him, he would’ve estimated a year tops. If he digs in his memory thoroughly enough, he could probably even remember what you wore that day; what you looked like.

It doesn’t feel like two years. You’re right — time truly does pass like the wind.

“Wow,” he exclaims, “it’s been this long since you started pestering me?”

“Shut up,” it’s your turn to blurt, your body swaying towards him until you push him to the side of the vacant road. “I didn’t even come near you most of the time.”

“I know, I know. You were fun to look at, though. Seemed to enjoy yourself every single time.”

Shit, why did he say that? Shouldn’t he hold onto the image he fostered; the one that’s permanently irked by you, throwing snarky remarks throughout the night?

And…

Didn’t this just break the banter, the frenemyship — frenmity? — the two of you have going on? Was it too nice? It’ll probably surprise you. Then again, is he a damn child? Why would he worry about such things? Question his own kindness?

Why would he hold onto his ego and deny you his humane side when you’ve been nothing but lovely to him all night?

The young adult rivalry is over, Jeon Jungkook. Look at her and fucking admit that you’re the arrogant one.

But funnily enough, you don’t seem to notice anyway.

“Hmmm, I do love my job,” you answer, “I have a lot of fun organising stuff. Doing something good for other people, right? See them enjoy it. I mean, of course there are days when things don’t go as planned, but.”

You lift a shoulder, indulging in the final remnants of your chewy mochi and the melted matcha ice cream inside.

“I know. It happens to me, too.”

“Really? How?”

Jungkook waves towards the sky, lists, “Heavy rain, lots of traffic, too spontaneous, issues with the camera… etcetera. Anything can happen.”

“Yeah — I get it. But yeah, I do love doing this. I meet a lot of nice people, too. And I guess that makes me feel very… blessed? It puts things into perspective.”

“How so?”

“Like, it makes you see that most people aren’t bad.”

Huh. Odd. Not that he’d ever deem the entire globe vile, putting a standardised label that he can impossibly prove. But as far as he has seen… too many people aren’t good either.

“Really?” he asks. “That’s a lucky thing to experience.”

You look genuinely surprised, turning towards him when you ask, “You don’t?”

“Uhm — rarely. I do enjoy photography. Always have.” His mind zooms into a glinting memory from the past, and his shoulders and voice rise when he recalls, “Y’know… My dad got me one of those yellow disposable Kodak cameras when I was a kid. I loved it so much.”

You nod; if he didn’t know better, he’d almost say you look… delighted. Actually interested.

“And events and weddings,” he continues, “they’re beautiful to capture. It’s probably the lights and the pretty people. And just… the memories?”

This time, he looks away, straight to the road; if he hadn’t, he’d know that your gaze is definitely fond now. No doubt about it. You listen in closely.

It’s the first time he’s talking to you like this, or to anyone — or for this long, for that matter. Most of your conversations were fleeting, fiery, a petulant back and forth that — he now realises — could’ve been something else, something better, too.

“But then it just sucks when so many of them can’t appreciate it properly,” he explains, raising his hands to emphasise, tone galled. “I mean, I look at my camera and I see a tool to create art. It’s… nothing I take for granted. Just think about it.”

The ball of fire in his chest grows; he feels it warm up, gassed-up. “A thing that can hold onto moments in absolute high definition, so that you can still remember them years later? The 18th century couldn’t have imagined. They needed to commit everything to memory just like that.”

“Wow, Jungkook… You really do love this, too.”

His arms fall to the side. He inhales the fresh flurry of air. Rethinks his passion for his job and says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”

“…But?”

He knows what’s missing.

“I love the art, but I hate the clients. The event hosts. Not you, but the one even above you.”

Jungkook reckons this was a confession that long sat on his tongue unmentioned. Of course he thought about it; is always reminded when he attends these functions, standing at the back, at the front, left and right, unnoticed and taken for granted.

But now that it’s out and that he’s finally verbalised it to somebody… it definitely liberates something in his head.

You see his issue with these gatherings; he knows you do because he’s figured out this much. You’re filled with enough empathy, sympathy, every grand word ending on the same syllable to acknowledge his disappointment.

But you’re filled with humour and absurdity, too, evident in the answer you provide to diffuse the tension.

“So, that’s why you’re always in a foul mood.”

“Shu—”

“Shut up, yeah, yeah.” You giggle, but then halt for a moment, toying with the rim of your paper cup, “But you know, I think art is worth something even if just one person appreciates it. If it helps in any way… I’m always impressed. And I always appreciate it when I call you and you come despite finding me so annoying.”

One corner of your lips lifts, the smile humble and light; sends a pang of guilt through him. Have you always been so nice?

“Also, I do see the pictures almost every single time,” you add, “and you’re so good at this. At the job itself and the editing afterwards. Honestly.” 

“…You think?”

Damn.

Jungkook would probably not bask in this hobby, continue his job if he wasn’t proficient in what he does. He’s known about his prowess ever since he was young.

But praises do offer a sense of magical warmth, don’t they? He doesn’t think any creative mind ever sickens of such unexpected support. And the way you say it… makes him want to never lay down his camera.

“Of course, yes,” you confirm, “not to shoot up your ego, but… you once sent a set of pictures where I found one of me. Don’t know if you even noticed? I was wearing that lilac dress and curls, I still remember — and—”

Stuck on the mention of your clothing, he immediately attaches a detail to the memory, “Sleeveless dress. Long silver earrings, right?”

“Oh… right…”

Right.

He won’t mention that he looked at that picture for just a second longer than at the others that night. Noticed for the first time how pretty you were. Not too deep of a thought, a twelve second stare, but… you wore this vibrant smile on that picture, and in some way, he did hope you’d see it, too.

It seems you did. He feels satisfied, proud even.

“Right,” you repeat, your defences somehow down, “uhm. I printed the picture. Still have it somewhere.”

Jungkook has already often wondered what people do with the pictures; put them in albums? Frame them and pin them over their couch? Right now, he also wonders — do you look at it a lot?

And this again begs the question — when you do, does your decision to book a vendor like him fill you with pride? Like your choice was right?

“That’s so nice,” he says.

“All that to say,” you inhale, “that I think you’re really fucking skilled.”

Woah. You weren’t quite certain if your consolation would bring him any solace, but you’ve done far more than that. You’ve shown him that you see what he does — and isn’t this what every artist craves? To be seen?

The tension buzzes between him and you like electricity; he doesn’t know if it’s just him lighting up or if you’re feeling a kindred link, too. But it’s somewhat intense in this moment of walking under the stars, surrounded by quietude and absolute pose.

So much so that he’s soon submerged by an odd urge to make the intensity wane, “Hey, does this feel to you like… a cliché chick flick kinda dialogue?”

You know…

The moment when two find an empty street in the middle of the night, realising that a conversation with each other isn’t the end of the world after all?

That type of thing?

But he doesn’t say any of it.

“Yeah? Maybe. But it’s also true,” you argue, “I’m an honest person and I don’t think I’d say anything I didn’t mean.”

“Ah, yeah?” Jungkook voices, taking the emptied out ice cream cup and throwing it into the bin on the side of the road, along with his own.

“Mhm, one hundred percent,” he hears you say, followed by a light, quiet smacking noise.

He doesn’t see what you’re doing until he arrives back where you stand; watches you lick the sticky rest off the pad of your thumb, smiling when you stare up at him again. It’s a mundane gesture; he’s done it ever since he was a kid.

But somehow, he can’t stop looking.

Might be the way your lips curve when you do it, or how your eyes smile when your mouth does. The authenticity you portray is rare; perhaps he just confused it with madness until now.

Seconds pass, and with that, your smile does, too. As it fades and drops, replaced by a curious expression and big eyes, you soon mutter, “What?”

There’s no response to that, really. He doesn’t know either.

He doesn’t understand how you turned out to be so right. How it’s such an ultimate truth that a serene night brings out a dreamy alter ego, hitherto undetected. Jungkook has never felt like much of a romantic, but right now, he thinks he’s on a different plane of reality.

This doesn’t feel like Earth; and the town doesn’t feel like the one he struts through during the day.

So maybe it’s not that wayward or groundless for him to lean in. To bend a bit more. Further and further until you laugh nervously; he knows you’re preparing to crack another joke, but you remain silent as he approaches.

Gauges your reaction. Will you run? You aren’t.

Instead, you gulp; let your pupils fall to his piercings, just when his own gaze moves to your lips. His right hand, tattooed, led by its own will, reaches for your cheek until he’s cupping it; and suddenly, his mouth parts — what’s happening? — and then—

And then, a vehicle roars from afar.

Both of you hear the motorcycle before you even see the blinding white light; he grips your arm, probably too harshly, dodging the street with you and jumping onto the pedestrian walk.

One must be crazy to still drive through the city at this hour. Right?

You pant, mixed with insane chuckles of relief, “Shit. We almost died.”

“We didn’t,” he refutes, “we had plenty of time.”

“Oh no,” you stretch the last word, eyes squinting. An accusing forefinger points at him before you deduce, “We almost died because you like me. Of all things!”

“I do not. You just looked kinda cute.”

Jungkook might’ve attempted an indifferent answer, but instead, he steered into an excuse that you do not accept at all. Your smirk is telling and satisfied, and if he wasn’t trying to prove a point, your Cheshire Cat grin would’ve made him laugh, too.

“But you did almost kiss me,” you persist.

Ugh, you’re bold. Laughing like it means nothing; no embarrassment, no shy restraint in you. Which is probably not too bad; somehow even charming. Explains the rosy dust on his cheeks at least. He feels it in the heat, can’t believe he almost kissed you just now.

Why does he feel like a hormonal adolescent? It’s not like he’s never kissed anybody.

You’re still enclosed by pure delight, nudging his arm repeatedly, annoyingly. And when he doesn’t answer, choosing reticence instead, you nearly shriek, as if he confirmed all you just said.

His instinctive hand slaps up to your mouth, covering it, shushing you. You’re still smiling, working on removing his palm, but before your nonsense can proceed, a sudden light flickers in the corner of Jungkook’s eye.

Immediately, he seeks out the source, soon finding a room in the house left to him lighting up. You woke somebody, it seems. A silhouette becomes clearer, its edges more refined with every second, and just before the owner of the place can shove the curtains aside, you grip Jungkook’s hand.

Within a moment, he finds himself tugged away by you, running, nearly stumbling over his own feet. You blurt, “Better get away before they kill us.”

As you leave the tranquil settlement behind, Jungkook still hears a voice from an open window, cursing the younger generation as they do; and then, out of the damn blue, a fucking dog barks.

When you turn over your shoulder, mouth dropping open, Jungkook knows you’re thinking the same as him — this happens outside of cinematic universes, too?

It takes a minute until you’ve reached another road again; one of the kind he’s more familiar with. The city type. The two of you come to a halt near some pole, and you let his hand go, leaning against it.

For a moment, you work on catching your breath, Jungkook’s hands settling on his thighs. And then, when your eyes meet, you burst into a fit of laughter, followed by a playful wiggle of his eyebrows to which you respond, “Don’t act innocent. This is your fault.”

“What? You were lau—”

“Because of you! Oh, I know you want me so bad.”

You’re jesting, of course. Swaying your head, poking his chest, a brat straight out of some TV show. But what you can do, he’s been perfecting for years.

So he answers in kind, “And if I did?”

Only for you to utter something that not even his brain can compute.

“If you did? Then… I think I’d let you.”

“Ah… Yeah? Why?”

“Because— I think you’re just half as bad.”

His snicker is half amused, half flattered. He purses his lips, nodding, and then declares, “You’re just a quarter as bad. But guess I’ve gotten so tired that I’ve started doing weird shit.”

You click your tongue, puffing out a breath, instantly reacting when he only flicks your chin and then walks away. Your startled expression prevails, a distance between him and you established, but just as he puts his hands in his jeans, he hears you finally follow.

“Hey,” you voice from behind, tapping his arm, “are you really tired?”

“I was kidding, but. Honestly? A little.”

“…Hmm. You know, my friend lives in an apartment nearby. Jieun? Didn’t move too far from her old home. We could stop there.”

Jungkook’s left eyebrow leaps up, surprised by the suggestion; the idea doesn’t sound too bad. But…

“Wasn’t the deal to go around for a whole night, though?”

“Ohhh. Are you starting to like it?”

You’re observant, he’ll give you that.

“I’m just saying,” he adds, “and also, would she just let a stranger in?”

“Oh, she’s very civilised and hospitable. She wouldn’t mind, and she’s known me for ages. She trusts me.” Maybe you detect the hesitation in his eyes and the twitch of the corner of his lips, because you immediately carry on, “We can just stay for an hour and then go.”

“Would she be awake, even?”

“She’s a night owl. I know that.”

“Uhm…” 

He ponders. In some way, he’s kind of liking the breeze, the quiet side of this town. But… would Jieun find that weird? Then again, can he say no? You’re ogling at him with these hopeful eyes; maybe you need the rest, after all.

“Okay,” he says; he even thinks you jump a bit in joy, nodding.

“Okay! You’ll like her. We can leave with newfound energy afterwards. Okay, cool.”

That’s all you need to lead the way. You look around a little, making sure you’re approaching the right direction, and when you find your confidence again, you march ahead.

Your walk is energetic, not too idle anymore, your beam as dashing and fervid as ever. Jungkook knows his way around editing programs; he’s added wings to pictures before or removed unwelcome passersby on an otherwise great photo.

He even understands how to surround a body or silhouette with a glow; but he’s never seen it around an actual person outside of all these graphics editors before.

Your body is so clearly encircled by it.

Bedazzling.

Screw the 18th century. Even in these modern times of advancement, Jungkook doesn’t think he needs a camera to commit you to memory.

3:25AM, Her

You avert your eyes from the phone and turn towards Jungkook, reaching him where he’s planted firmly in front of the apartment complex. He’s been waiting, back settled against the wall, and as you near, his eyebrows rise in question.

Your friend didn’t respond until now — but just as you foretold, she’s still awake at this ungodly hour.

“Okay. She’s home, but,” you explain, already ringing the bell to her apartment, “she said she’d be leaving soon. Sounds like she’s in a rush. Typos and all.”

Jungkook waits until the buzzing sound of the opening door ceases and you’ve stepped inside, leading him up the stairs, and then wonders again with big eyes, “And she’ll just let us stay? Alone at her apartment?”

You wave his concerns off with a hand’s gesture, “She trusts me, dude. I’ve done this a couple times.”

“What for?”

Hm… you dive back into the old days. Some new, some old. What were they again? They’re mostly blurred, but some of them are carved in your core memory.

“Oh, just…” you reminisce. “If I wanted to meet guys and wouldn’t want to bring them home back when I was still with my parents? Or when I’d need a night to sober up. They would’ve killed me if I’d come home drunk. And Jieun moved out early.”

“How old is… Jieun anyway?”

Old. Not really, but you like to vex her to the point of a pout. She’s patient, but she’s also an incredibly close friend — you allow yourself to be a brat with her and she allows herself to roll her eyes.

“Early 90s kid?” you guess. “A little older than us.”

‘93, as far as you remember.

“Ah. Damn,” he voices; you don’t know why.

“Okay.” You climb the last steps to the second floor, halting in front of a white door with a copper number six on top of it. Knock thrice. “Here goes.”

She might’ve been getting ready close to the door, working on her shoes or questing for her keys. Because she opens mere three seconds later, with a radiant smile on her face able to melt hearts, and a comfortable attire that’s, however, not comfortable enough to wear at home.

A thin sweatshirt and a bun, loose strands framing her pretty face, and shorts that are definitely meant to be worn outside. She won’t be here for long. And you’re focused on this very fact and her hurry so much that you nearly don’t register how shy Jungkook gets.

His voice is somewhat smaller than before when he looks at her; your eyes shift to him, and he’s blinking before he finally breaks and mutters, “Oh. Hi.”

“Hey!” she retorts; she looks so sweet saying it. You understand his perplexity. “Date?”

“Nah. Just a friend,” you answer, which, yet again — very confusing — makes him hum in question. If he started regarding himself as your date all of a sudden, you swear…

You smile.

“Just a friend,” you repeat.

“Fabulous. So you’re not walking around alone, at least,” Jieun concludes, letting you in. In the living room, a hand on her kitchen island, she points through an open door, “Okay, so, the guest room bed is made. Use blankets on it, if you want to rest.”

Her finger shifts to signal to the entrance you came through, imitates a pulling motion, “Don’t worry about locking the door whenever you leave. Also got some leftover food in the fridge, but there’s also cup ramyeon and some frozen pizza in the freezer. Sorry… I need to go shop—”

But you interrupt, shaking your head, “Oh, no worries, really. We just ate, so we’ll just stay here for a little, work off the food coma and leave. Won’t damage anything.”

“I know you won’t, baby.”

She moves to fetch her purse from the couch, and Jungkook uses the moment to whisper in your ear, “Where is she going anyway?”

You don’t know; you shrug your shoulders, pursing your lower lip, but echo his question a moment later, louder than him, “Where are you going anyway?”

Previously cramming in her purse, checking it for content, she looks at you again, telling you, “Ah… Jongsuk is having a bad night and wants me to come over.” Regarding Jungkook, she adds, “My boyfriend. He’s an insomniac and got stoned tonight, too, and just—”

Jieun blows a raspberry, raising a hand for a whatever gesture, and Jungkook mumbles, “Oof. Sounds…”

“Yeah… I know. In any case. Make yourself comfortable, okay?”

“Yes. Thank you so much.”

“Thanks, Jieun,” you repeat.

She nods once more, waving her tiny hand and flashes one last smile before she’s out the door and has left you in full silence. You shuffle your feet for just a second before you look at him again; he still looks somewhat in a daze.

So you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

Nothing, right… that’s what they all say after seeing Lee Jieun for the first time. You try not to think too hard about the teeny tiny sting in your enormous, delicate heart. Only let him know, “Don’t worry too much. What could happen? She does trust me.”

You take a couple steps towards the bedroom she offered you, and you hear him follow. Look at the neatly made bed, a thought occurring; but you don’t entertain it yet. Only add, “Besides, she owes me.”

He chuckles. “That’s how you live your life, huh?”

“It’s alright. We’ll just be here for an hour. She’s known me all her life, so nothing to doubt here. And also, think about it,” the tip of your forefinger taps against your temple, “even if something did happen or went missing, she’d know where to find me and whom to report.”

He waits, ogles at you. Then presses his lips together, nods as if you made all the sense in the world, and lifts a shoulder — agreeing, “If you say so. Then uhm — let’s lay down for a bit?”

“Sure! I’ll just sleep in her room, so you can have your privacy here.”

“Mhm. Okay.”

You stand at the door frame for a moment, feet unmoving.

He’s already turned away. And you regret not walking away when you watch him unabashedly take off the blazer and provide a glimpse to his snatched waist as inked fingers scratch his back briefly, shirt moving up. But then it’s covering his skin again.

Flawless back; pretty golden. A little further up, and you’re sure you would’ve seen strong shoulder blades, too. He’s worn fancy dress shirts at luxurious events before — you know many would kill for his built, because you’ve seen his bicep flex before.

You forget where you are for a second, but when he opts to turn, eyes on you for just a heartbeat, you stir. Blurt out an awkward apology, and then leave. Wish him a good night, barely waiting for one back before you close the door.

You laugh quietly at yourself.

Her room is just next door; you already mentally prepare for a nap. Meanwhile, Jungkook plumps onto the bed, groaning when the comfort hits, and works on getting used to the ceiling, if only briskly.

He only notices how much his head is spinning when he closes his eyes, ready to doze off. Should he set an alarm? He doesn’t want to still be here by the time Jieun returns. Maybe he should tell you, too.

But his body won’t move.

Yet, in the time he’s failed to make up his mind, he suddenly hears a knock at the door again. Must be you — must be telepathy.

He tells you to enter, and you do with a shy demeanour; only thirty seconds must have passed, right? A minute, tops. He looks at you in wonder, and you explain, “She uh— locked her room. No clue where the keys are. Guess that’s why she specifically pointed out the guest room.”

You nibble your lip, getting no answer back. He looks just as much out of ideas as you, and you still refuse to bring back the thought from before; yet, you ask, “What do we do now?”

“Well…” He looks around, though there is not much to take in. “I can sleep on the couch?”

“…The couch is too small.”

“Okay. Then I’ll just sleep on the floor.” He’s already working on getting up, no hesitation, scratching through his now messy hair, feet moving on the fluffy carpet. “I’ll take one of those pillows, though. Carpet should be good eno— what are you doing?”

You’ve charged towards the bed, climbed past him until you’re sitting behind him, facing his back and his craning neck. You say, “I’m not giving you that pillow.”

“Why?”

“You can’t sleep on the floor.”

“…Why not?”

You throw an unbelieving look, as if it’s obvious. Your flat hand gestures towards the carpet vaguely, and you argue, “It’s uncomfortable.”

“Listen, I should. This or the couch, nothing else left.” It’s crazy to you how he doesn’t even consider the bed instead of giving it up for you. “It’s just an hour. Don’t worry about it.” He stretches a hand towards you, curling his fingers in a grabby motion. “Come on. Gimme that.”

You’re astonished — beyond pleased about the fact that he cares like this. That he’s so… mindful and humble. You give up; he won’t falter and you know.

“Okay… then take this blanket, too.”

He grabs the second one that Jieun provided, head bowing a little as he says, “Thank you.”

The proceeding minutes you spend preparing for bed, slightly discomforted by your dress, pass in half-awkward, half-comfortable silence. He lays down on his unusual spot, and you cuddle into the blanket on your light, soft side.

As the rustling of blankets and sheets subsides, it gives way to the sound of the ticking clock; you focus on it, count the clicks like sheep.

But sleep doesn’t quite fall upon you yet, and you guess Jungkook feels similar when he calls your name and asks, “What does she owe you?”

Your head moves towards his voice, even though he can’t see you. “Huh?”

“Jieun. What does she owe you? And your coworker.”

“Oh. Uh. Honestly, just kindness.”

You can already see it — doe eyes rolling at another one of your cryptic answers. You know people don’t fathom your thoughts very well, and some feel annoyed by your dreamy outlook of the world. You don’t mind, but you wonder what he’s thinking.

But all he responds with is, “What?”

“Well, just. They’ve known me for ages. I’ve been there for Jieun for so long, and Jongin has always been so incredibly nice to me. Picked me up when I was dead drunk once and brought me home. Got me medicine and everything. And I’ve lent him some comfort over the years, too.”

It hasn’t been too long, so you remember. You’ve been good friends with him ever since you started your job; a steady part of your team. He and you have got each other’s back.

“These two are friends,” you say, “and I think kindness is the most we can give our loved ones.”

Jungkook hesitates. Have you bored him to sleep? Or is he pondering your words, thinking of you as weird? Maybe not—

Because he actually converses, asking, “You think? Doesn’t that mean we’re just kind to them then, so they can be kind to you in return?”

“I mean… yes and no. Owing might be the wrong word. I’m not nice to others to get something back. I’m like this because I want to be and because the world can be shitty and it’s important to be nice, and in return, I want people to be nice to me, too. It’s not an eye to eye kind of thing, it’s just about. Spreading affection in relationships. It’s what they’re here for.”

“…Hm. Is this why you’re never rude to me? Even when I deserve it,” he asks, registering a hum. “You know… you think really… uniquely.”

This is a nice way to phrase it at least. People like you; you’re good with them. But sometimes, they can be mean, too. Not that you mind. It’s natural — people occur in all types and shapes.

“But is it unique, though? Isn’t it a given?” you question.

“Yeah, probably, I just— never thought of it this deeply.”

“Mmmh. So is me thinking uniquely a compliment? I can’t say.” 

He laughs, and you join immediately, exclaiming an, “I’m serious!” in the middle of it all. Jungkook’s snicker is authentic, so you enjoy hearing it; but you like his answer even better.

“Maybe. I just… I feel like a lot of people try to be different these days. Or play a role to be perceived a certain way? But I think you’re genuine — you actually mean the things you say without any hidden intention to make people forcefully like you, right?”

An intention? Oddly phrased. You think, though… that what he said was nice.

Still, you confirm, “I don’t try to be anyone for people to like me.”

“I didn’t say otherwise! This is actually just what I meant. Besides, people like you anyway because you’re you.” As if he’s reading your mind. “That’s what I was saying.”

You hum, blinking at the ceiling and the little modern light hanging there, the beam off. The darkness pleasant. You conjure another question and ask, “So you think me being me is a good thing?”

You always considered it was. You like being you. But Jungkook didn’t like whatever makes up your personality — has this changed? Apparently.

“Of course,” he surprisingly answers, “it’s always a good thing. And just because I disagree with some of your characteristics, it doesn’t mean everybody will.” Oh. Well. But wait— “Or maybe, I’m just a moaner.”

Well.

“That you are,” you verify.

“Damn.”

“But, but— you’re kind, too, you know? Not everyone says the things you just said.”

“Maybe.”

“So…” you stall, rethinking his prior words. “Do you still disagree with all those characteristics of mine?”

Another joyous sound tumbles out of him, much in the form of a breather than a laugh; hushed, but you still hear it clearly. Perhaps you’re being a little awkward; but in all honesty, you hope he’s just finding it amusing, somewhat cute.

“I mean — you’re too blunt. But brave, like, I could never. The thing you did at the shop? Never. But this isn’t bad. And you aren’t bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His voice is a whisper. Reminds you of a feeling akin to temptation; your mind automatically imagines the susurrating sound near your ear, exhaling the very syllable he just did. Frankly, you’re absolutely tortured by the knowledge of him being this close.

That you could probably touch his face if you rolled over to the edge of the bed, letting your arm dangle, seeking his skin. That he’s in the same room, talking to you this gently, saying things that a girl doesn’t hear too often these days anymore.

There it is. The intrusive thought from before… prevailing.

And you’re tortured by it. But mostly, by the image of him standing in front of you between the houses just a little time ago, staring at you, pupils flitting back and forth between your eyes and your lips. How he neared you. How he almost kissed you.

You might’ve joked about it then, but deep down, and especially now, you’re intrigued by the idea. Of the fantasy of a what if — what if he’d actually kissed you?

Taking a deep breath, you look to the side, staring at the door and call, “Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Is it uncomfortable down there?”

“Uh… a little.”

You shuffle at your spot, turning to the side. “Just thinking. What good does it do if we don’t rest well? What are we here for?”

“…What are you talking about?”

Pause. Quietude. You close your eyes, then open them again.

You’re never shy; so you don’t deem it an advantage for yourself to turn timid now either. You tell him, “Come up. I know you want to. I know I want you to.”

He doesn’t say anything; you bite your tongue. Maybe it was a mistake. But then his voice chimes again, wondering, “Are you sure?”

Your answer is immediate.

“Of course. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay… okay.”

As he starts to move, you gulp. You make place on the bed, moving to your previous side, pushing the blanket aside in case he wants to slip under it, too. The motions of his silhouette seem uncertain as he makes his way up to you, as if he’s uncomfortable with it.

“I… Was I wrong…? Do you not want to?” you make sure.

“What?” you hear him say; see his head shake. “Ah, that’s not it. Just want to make sure you’re really okay with it. I’m not the type of guy to…”

“I know. It’s fine. I don’t think you are.”

“Okay.” The mattress bulges where he lays down before it evens out again. He emits a couple groaning sounds, probably glad to give his back something proper. You turn to him just when he says, “Honestly… that’s a little better, yeah.”

“Thought so. Are you tired?”

“Definitely.”

“But you’re not sleeping.”

“Because you’re talking.”

Wrong. There was enough silence for him to nod off before. He was the one who started the conversation at all; you were ready to turn and toss and rest eventually.

When you don’t respond, his head turns on his pillow, too; in the darkness that you got used to, you see his eyes twinkle. Both of you know that you’re looking at each other. And he’s kind of close — closer than you thought. 

And… if you’re not wrong, he just inched nearer only a nanomoment ago. He repeats in a whisper, once more accusing, “You’re talking, that’s why.”

“That’s really why, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“The only reason there really is?”

“What else could there be?”

You smile, brazen, letting out the courage you’ve gathered, “Well, I know what else it is for me.”

“Yeah?”

Daring a step further, you graze his shirt featherlightly; you don’t know whether he notices. Not until he moves his hand, fingers ghosting near yours.

Waiting until you reveal with sheer, sudden heart palpitations, “I… I want you to kiss me. You do, too, don’t you?”

He inhales, but doesn’t exhale. What does it mean? You don’t know.

You don’t know what it is until you hear the smile in his words, gentle yet tantalising when he says, “…I do.”

“Good. Good. Then kiss me.”

And the rest proceeds without hesitation and without another plea.

His body moves as if on its own accord; he seems possessed, or controlled by a puppeteer. Warm lips lock with yours before you can draw another breath.

They feel soft, full, like tiny pillows, a contrast to the metal of his piercings. And they move gently, so carefully, like he’s still scared of crossing a line despite your permission. But when you lean into him, hoping for more proximity, he blossoms a little. Initiates more.

Oh, he, too, has been waiting for this, hasn't he?

A hand, nearly as warm as his kiss, slithers up to your face, holding you closer to him. The bangs that so often cover his forehead are tickling yours now, his head tilting to give his cute nose more space.

And with that, he deepens the kiss, too. Dares a step further, separating your lips with his, trying things out. He gauges your reaction as the tip of his tongue sneaks its way into the mix, and the moment you do the same, he dives in properly.

Kisses you just a little harder, tasting you, sighing into the movements as if all the weight of the world has dropped off his shoulders. As if he’s relieved, calmed down, resting for the first time tonight.

Yet, at the same time, he’s firing himself up — moving over your body slowly, holding onto your mouth to his best abilities, as if you’d disperse if he let go for too long. As if you’d change your mind.

He cages you in to keep you underneath, not touching your face anymore but shoving his fingers into your already tousled hair. If you were still in your right mind, you’d recognise how insane this situation is. Your younger self would’ve never predicted such a moment to ever become part of your life.

But it is… it is so clearly being played into your hard drive; somehow, you already know it’ll remain stuck in your memory: the way he’s kissing you, so thirsty, so insatiable. How he’s sighing, relaxed, yet sporting an audible heartbeat against your chest.

He uses moments of switching sides to breathe but continues right away; the keenness drives you crazy. You touch his shoulders and then wrap your arms around him firmly, making him hasten closer until he’s nearly falling onto you.

What in the heavenly make out sessions is this…

It’s nasty, yet sweet. Followed by quick breaths; it takes merely a minute until you feel his lower body grinding into you, his jeans tight around his crotch all of a sudden. And the second you realise he’s hardening beneath them, your body reacts.

Reacts so effectively.

Your lower tummy tickles, dampness pooling below as he pushes into you again, harder this time. You moan, enticed by your goosebumps and the heavy bulge. Solid enough for you to crave him within a moment’s notice.

And it only worsens threefold when he whispers, “Fuck… Somebody really knows how to kiss, huh?”

“You’re talking. What was this—” He so rudely interrupts with another peck, and you laugh into it. “Yeah, this…”

Your last word dissipates like candle smoke; you don’t even know why you bother to speak. Your voice is barely perceptible when his teeth remove the short sleeve of your dress, kissing your shoulder and then down to your cleavage.

It’s easy to remove your dress; it’s light, summer-y — but he doesn’t bare you just yet. Plays around at the mounds of your tits until he pushes the neck of the dress down a bit, asking, “May I take it off?”

Oh, if you could count the times you’ve imagined his veiny hands removing this damn dress just in the last fifteen minutes…

“Of course,” you permit, “do I look like I’d reject you?”

“Mmmh.” The hum is proud, satisfied, vocalised amidst another kiss to your clavicles. “Just making sure.”

Soft, warm hands trail up your leg, leaving a path of another set of goosebumps. You want him to stay right there on your thigh, knead the flesh, press into it, showcase the lust he feels in the beguiling pain.

But instead, he pushes up your dress, fingers ghosting over your ass — and when he doesn’t find your panties but only bare skin, he stops kissing you. Looks at you. Makes out the string of your thong a second later — in the dark, you discern the way his lips round in captivation.

He’s loving this.

He tugs at the string and lets it snap back into place; you gasp even though it doesn’t hurt, but it drives you mad when he states, “Wow. Very intriguing.”

Leaving it at this for just now, he kisses you again, tongues mingling once more before he releases a sharp, nearly aggressive hiss and mumbles, “Holy fuck. I can’t stop.”

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you guarantee.

“Good. Good, good, good.”

The dress surrounds your waist now, stopping below your breasts, and Jungkook journeys down to drag his lips around the spots he hasn’t touched yet. As if he’s trying to familiarise himself with all of you, working towards the goal of memorising you entirely.

His teeth scrape at your pelvis just lightly, seemingly contemplating whether he wants to destroy these panties or not — but then decides against it. You wouldn’t mind; you’re not showing anybody anything of you tonight but him.

And you’re already such a mess; breathing so irregularly, letting out his name and quiet sighs. He should know he could do basically anything. That you’re ready for him.

But instead, he only curses again, sucking at your skin harshly, nails digging into your hips. And then, from below, you hear him say, “Want you to suck my dick so bad.” He moves up, fingertips on your cheek, rubbing himself against your underwear, and questions, “Will you suck my dick, baby?”

Oh, he didn’t just…

Oh, the way the pet name screws with your head is irreversible. You feel sick at the mention, breathing out hard, about to get up at the speed of light to swallow him fully; to the hilt.

But you won’t give him the satisfaction yet; you’ve gotten used to the darkness, and seeing the hazy insanity in his eyes spurs you on to play with him a bit more. So you lift your body, giving him hope, but then say, “I have a better idea.”

“Ah? Where are you going?”

“Wait.”

He quietens. Falls to the side and onto his back as he watches whatever you’re trying to do unfold. You look back at him for just a blink of an eye, but you immediately perceive the hand cupping his clothed dick, moving a bit, up and down.

“Okay. Should work on this first,” you say, straddling him backwards.

You hike up your dress more, baring your back to him, and you instantly hear the breath he releases. Feel the palm touching your spine, grazing it; you imagine huge eyes ogling at you like he’s reached nirvana. You so hope he’s looking at you like this.

“My God…” he only mutters, however, proving your point when he opts to get up. But you turn as much as you can, a flat hand pushing him down again, to which he complains, “What?”

“I told you to wait, silly. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You sure? You’re being pretty mean right now.”

“I’m not being mean. You’re just not patient,” you laugh. “Give me a second and I’ll wreck your world, ‘kay?”

“Ah?”

“Mhm.”

“That I wanna se— oh. Oh.”

Exactly.

Once you’re done pulling off the dress, you shift back, enough for your pussy to align with his gorgeous face. Jungkook instinctively grabs your ass to pull you lower, and you chuckle at the restless gesture.

But you need to focus; and as best and tidily as you can, you unbutton his jeans, zipping them open until you detect his shorts. He raises his hips to help you, and you bite your lower lip, crazed by the sight that awaits you once the jeans are halfway down.

The bulge is big indeed. The imprint is insane; the light from outside allows glimpses, and you salivate, bowing your head to kiss him above his underwear, feeling him stir. And he imitates, blowing against your wetness, his finger — middle one? — curling around the string digging between your ass cheeks.

When he frees your pussy, you feel it. It hits the air in the room coldly, a contrast to his hot breath. A second more and you might drip into his tantalising mouth, just how you’re drooling over the cock you finally set free.

It springs out, veiny under your touch. Hard. Thick and long. Everything good, a fucking ideal package. You scold him, “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

“Huh? I wasn’t hiding.”

“Now I realise just how mean you are, man,” you say, shaking your head, spitting onto the slit before wiping it off again with the tip of your tongue. He swears again. “Could’ve had this make me hoarse so long ago.”

“Fuck,” he replicates, “stop talking, or I’ll fuck this mouth of yours. You want to be hoarse so bad, then try me.”

“Is this a threat? You really think I won’t let you? Stay right there, little—” You look again. “Big man. You can do whatever you want, but wait a second, alright?”

“Nah. You’re not the only one teasing. You brat,” Jungkook whispers sharply, delivering a smack to your ass; you gasp. “I just…”

You don’t know what he just — you only know that he’s attaching his mouth to your cunt right away, thong pushed aside, diving in with a tongue so eager. You squint your eyes shut, lips parting, calling his name as he holds you there roughly.

He soon wraps his arms around your hips, like a belt, lips intense as he kisses you even wetter. The sounds he eludes are dirty, sinful; and the feeling of his piercings doesn’t add to your sanity. 

You decide to not let this distract you; he’s competitive, you realised, but you are, too. So you lean in, lips wrapping around the tip. Your right hand enfolds his cock, pumping him, tracing every firm vein that protrudes. He’s so pretty all around.

“Shit,” you whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear; only continue to work your tongue around the head, setting the nerves alight as he’s doing for you.

You kiss down the shaft, licking and humming to create a sort of vibration. And then, you take him in as much as you can. Despite being large, barely fitting, soon hitting your throat, you try. Hollow your cheeks, bop your head, gifting him your attention.

But it’s hard. So hard because—

God, he’s lapping you up so good.

So hungry. Out to kill you as he releases the prior belt, bringing two fingers to your pussy and thrusting them into you slowly. Mouth and digits; both at once. Thumb against the clenching hole between your ass.

He’s distracted every now and then, much like you, but he still maintains a steady pace. Cruel… so cruel. Those damn fingers propelling into you, harder sometimes before they slow down again. Curling to hit you just right, massaging the rough, walnutty spot.

Oh, Jungkook knows… knows exactly what to do.

They don’t make men like him anymore.

Your ass clenches when his skills exceed your expectations and he rubs your insides particularly well, mouth just right above your clit as the tongue circles around it. It’s nearly overwhelming; you could cry with this mouthful of dick impaling your throat.

He feels so good on you. So good in you. You want all of you filled, not just your mouth. So you soon let go with a plop, a string of saliva so lewdly connecting your mouth and his member, and you wipe your mouth.

Tell him, “This should be enough.”

And he agrees immediately, smacking his lips, as if licking up the remnants of his food, “Fuck yes. Enough.”

You want to get into the next position, put in some work, but what you don’t expect is that Jungkook is already planning a step ahead. Tapping your ass with his big manly palm, pushing you off of him until you’re crawling on all fours.

Submitted to him. And you don’t mind a bit — just for now, just for him, you’ll give into this because you’ve been craving it. It’s okay; you vow to yourself that in a while, you’ll wreck his shit just as much.

On your elbows and knees, you hear him shifting, the mattress dipping, his knees nearing you and closing your legs in. The palm covering the right side of your ass causes it to jiggle, and when you push your butt towards his pelvis, he praises, “The way you know what to do without me needing to tell you. How convenient.”

“Well,” you breathe out, “it’s not my first rodeo. But do make it the best… okay?”

“No pressure at all, huh? I’ll try my best.”

You want to react, bring a laugh straight out of your throat, but Jungkook is faster. The reaction comes alright, but not as you wanted it to. But rather in a high-pitched moan, arms quivering when he fists his cock, guiding it to your leaking cunt, and rubs the tip between your pussy folds.

You reckon he’s testing out how eager you already are; you contemplate on telling him. On pleading, on saying something that might drive him to action. You don’t mention a single word, though; only let your ass speak once more, steering towards him until he gets the message.

He must have.

Because he clicks his tongue as if to admonish you for your shortage of patience, though only briefly before he surrenders to the itch you cause. Scratching without hesitation now, he finally helps you lose your damn panties and then dips himself into you slowly.

Of course; with a length like his, there’s no way you’d be able to survive a quick push. Jungkook knows to be cautious, penetrating you sweetly; an oxymoron in a moment like this. Your fingers digging into the sheets reveal as much; there’s not much going on yet, but you’re already holding onto the soundness of your mind so desperately.

“Shit, what the fuck,” you murmur, your turn to let out profanities; you’re sure this isn’t your last. “You scared of something, Jeon? I’m… I have an IUD.”

“Scared? No. You’re not an idiot, right?” he whispers. “You would’ve told me if you couldn’t do it like this. Much rather…” He breathes heavily between his words. “I’m taking you in, y’know? Enjoying — fuck — how wet and warm you are… Gonna wreck you raw, though, no p-problem.”

No, your foul words were certainly not the last for tonight; his dick is just halfway through when he stops and another tumbles out of you. He drags the thickness back, then inside again.

Your walls are occupied to their last inch, and you know you could take all of him if you just gave yourself some time — but somehow, his care turns you on even more.

Goddamn, he’s good. All of him — his dick, his voice, his mouth, his touch. He’s so— nnghh…

You have never witnessed his fingers do much more than take the pictures you love. Whenever he operates the button with his forefinger, flexing the inked crown above his knuckle, you already know the man has a talent unmatched.

But right now… right now you have an entirely different perception of these same digits.

Like, when he leans in a bit, still deep inside you, undoing your bra in a smooth motion. Or when he caresses your back, along your spine, contradicting the touch with a harsher, harder jab now.

And shit, when he pulls your ass cheeks apart, digging in further, fucking through your seeping hole until he’s covered in slick, too. It must look so good to him; incredibly memorable.

Your whimpers are quiet and gentle, matching the way he fucks you, only rising in volume when he decides to push another inch in. You behave; you whine softly; that is until all of a sudden, he pulls back most of his cock and shoots back in, colliding with your ass with a slapping sound.

Yelping, you hold the sheets until your fingers hurt, and he bolts forwards, a hand slamming your mouth shut and muffling your mewls. Way too close to your ear, he says, “Sh sh sh… my God. Jieun has neighbours, babe — don’t spoil her reputation.”

He proceeds to kiss the skin under your ear, taking your arms captive until they’re pinned to your back. Fingers intertwine messily, holding your limbs in place, and as he frees your mouth again, you laugh — it’s all you can do to not feel too weirded out by the mention of Jieun’s name right now.

You tell him, “Use my panties then.”

“Your panties, huh? Do you want me to?” You nod, but he’s not obliging enough to give into your wishes. Teasing you to no end. “Nah. I’ll just…”

Jungkook doesn’t finish the sentence; what he does is much more alluring, nearly forcing tears of lust to your waterline. He grabs the back of your neck, urging you to look at him, and just as you register his face close to yours, he kisses you again.

Your body immediately blossoms. You breathe as much as the kiss allows, yielding to his tongue. Let him push you down and into the mattress, imprisoning you under him. And he kisses you… kisses you… kisses you more…

Basks in your dimmed moans as he hits from behind again, hard. Sheathes himself inside you thoroughly and with impact; he’s enjoying the fact that you want to yell, but need to restrain yourself at this time of the night.

Because he’s right. You don’t want Lee Jieun to earn looks in the morning because of you.

As if provoking you, he blatantly asks, “You good?”

“Yes— yes!”

“Mhm…”

He’s out of breath; can barely emit another word. But he doesn’t waste any moment at all; kisses your neck, bites your earlobe. Pushes his hands under your body to get ahold of your tits. Fucks you into space, lifting one of your hands to your face, entangling his fingers with yours.

You shift up and down the mattress, just a little; the position, with him on you, doesn’t allow too many extreme movements, and you’re more than fine with it. There’s something about him going unhinged on you like this.

But… it does awaken the need to retaliate, too.

So you use the opportunity when he decides to pause, running out of energy, gasping for breath. He leaves you empty and yearning, pulling back and sitting up, and judging from the touch on your tummy, you assume he wants to flip you on your spot.

Instead, however, you turn on your own accord, both palms that he held captive minutes ago shoving at him. He produces a strange sound as he falls backwards, landing on the mattress and onto the pillow with big eyes that almost don’t fit his Greek God-esque physique.

Goodness, the damp dark hair. The abs. The pecs. The nipples…

You might dribble onto his sweaty, shiny skin. And you don’t veil your innermost thoughts this time, straddling him as you say, “My turn. Need to ride you so bad.”

He visibly relaxes; leads his fingers to your hips, thumb drawing patterns on them. His tongue darts out to play with the lip rings, and he eyes you up and down. He’s taking you in for the first time properly, just as you are him.

Just as your eyes drifted over his muscular body, he now makes stops along the journey — your pussy on the length of his cock. The tits and the perked nipples. The ruined hair, sticking to your collarbones.

You wonder how he likes what he sees.

Probably enough if he can respond with something like, “I won’t stop you.”

Good to know.

So you take a comfortable seat on top of him, still keeping him down, lining up your sex with his. When you welcome him in again this time, you do so fully. No slow torture, no waiting. You claim your throne until your ass hits his hardened balls.

He says, not quite expecting an answer, so you don’t give one, “You’ll kill me today, right?”

And then you start. Put in all the effort you can gather. He feels heavenly inside you, the perfectly curved length moving just the way it needs to. His groans and calls of your names sound promising, telling; you suppose you’re doing a good enough job if his eyes roll back like this.

The hands on your hips push into your flesh more, and when you remove one and bring it to your mouth, sucking his forefinger with your eyes set on him, he loses his shit. Starts pumping up from below, meeting your up-and-down ministrations.

“Shi— what— do you think,” he attempts, stagnant breathing, “you’re doing…”

But he’s grunting in ardour, so you don’t stop; don’t let him take over fully just yet. No — you roll your hips, bend your back, catch a patch of his hair and then angle your body to crash your lips onto his. 

The kiss weakens his defences. For a moment, you do feel his nails bruising your skin, but another second later, his touch is as soft as a feather. He’s so ultimately at your mercy that he lets you trace his abs and kiss his pecs.

Lets you get into a crouch, your palms settling below his chest for support. And then… then you navigate north and south, repeatedly, fucking him into you with vigour. He throws his head back, but then looks at you again, blinking fast before his eyes squint shut once more.

“The fuck are you—” he tries, but you start circling his cock again, moving in eight-curves, seeking support in his biceps.

“What?” you voice. “Not good?”

“You fucking— kidding me?” His lower lip trembles when he parts his mouth. You see it even with the lights dimmed. “This is such… a good fucking pussy. I was an idiot to push you aside.”

You’re too dazed to really pout, but you do hear the undertone; ask to clarify, “You’re just saying that f-for… getting my pussy, huh?”

“What— no. Fuck no. Look at me.” His hand reaches out, fingers poking into your cheeks, and he pulls you down to him, makes you meet his eyes. You slow down. “I wouldn’t just do this for any pussy— I… not with you. I don’t just. I don’t just go home with anybody. ‘Kay?”

His words bloom in your chest like a bouquet of flowers. In such a vulgar moment, you shouldn’t be feeling like this, but you can’t help but acknowledge the warmth spreading throughout your body. Burning up your already aflame muscles.

You want to know more; so you query sneakily, “What does this mean?”

“What it means?” he echoes, words blurry, as if drunk. “That you’re beautiful. And… honestly, kind of cool. So annoying but so fucking funny and— hot—”

“I am? Look at this,” you say, still moving but tired; touching his face, his cheeks, his sweet nose, “look at you…”

“No.” He grits his teeth. You don’t know what comes over him, but he’s inhaling way too deeply, lightly aggressive again as he retorts, “Look at fucking you.”

And with that, he gets what he desired earlier; flips you over, climbing over you. With your shield lowered, you didn’t expect this, and now you’re right where you began. And for some reason, the sharp jaw, the furrowed eyebrows, the starved look hits you even harder than before.

The many inches he sports fell out as he took over, but as he plunges into you again with embarrassing ease, something feels different. How he looks at you. How he touches you, pushing your hair back, kissing your lips with such softness.

And how he holds you when you finally see the stars you waited for, his face in your neck, his thumb on your cheek, his palm on your jaw. Kissing your shoulder, delighted as you seek an anchor in his back, tightening around him impossibly as he fucks you through your high and your broken moans.

“Jungkook—” you repeat over and over, and in return, he mutters constant, “I know, I know.”

Again and again and again until his sounds become more uncurbed. Only syllables, rumbling, his chest vibrating against yours until he lifts himself up and retracts his cock.

His pupils shake as he jerks himself off, and you know what he’s seeking, quickly getting to your knees, helping out. You replace his hand with yours, sticking out your tongue before you engulf his dick rapidly.

In surprise, he lets out, “Oh, fff—”

Shit, how he sounds. And how wicked he feels in your mouth, tasting like you, tasting like him. Wet and slippery, his balls hard when you cup them. And then— a mere moment later, he’s shooting ropes of white down your throat.

You’ll never get used to the feeling. You didn’t with your exes, didn’t with any other guy you’ve been with. It’s sudden, your gag reflex kicking, but you don’t want to stop until he has.

Sticky and hot, you let him; look up to him. His jaw glimmers due to the sheen of sweat, and he holds your hand to keep himself upright. Nearly growls when he’s done, and then calms down bit by bit. Pulls out of you. Plumps back onto his ass.

Catches his breath; and once the two of you have relieved your burning lungs, you with your legs under your butt, you look at each other again. A sudden laugh. He lets his head drop onto his shoulder, and then shakes it before getting back on his knees, nearing your joyous form.

The last kiss of the night is endlessly more chaste. No tongue, no making out. Just a couple pecks, a hand around the nape of your neck, noses grazing. Once, twice. And then, he’s smiling again.

You tell him, “Can’t believe this actually happened.”

“Crazy… right?”

“Crazy, yeah. We…” You gulp. “We can leave it right here, though. Guess we were both riled up.”

He nods, humming, looking to the side. “We could. But we don’t have to. It felt too good to forget, you know?”

You gleam and glow; if you could, you’d curl your fingers into fists, screeching like an excited high schooler in her room, acknowledged by a crush. But you only press your lips together, corners twitching up, cheeks hot.

Then, you say, “You know what… I might just agree.”

“Good.” Another one of his stares to the side, through the door of the room. “You think we should very quickly and very harmlessly use Jieun’s shower? She probably wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t think she would. But she’d certainly know what happened.”

“Least of our concerns,” he argues, getting up stark naked. He pats your thigh and then tugs at your arm, adding, “We’ll be tidy. And then we can rest a bit and leave. Am too fired up anyway.”

You know things might change again once you’ve slipped into your clothes and walked out into the night air. Perhaps the passion was reserved for this very room, actually a result of unbridled lust and tension.

But you think it’s okay. It’s okay as you giggle in the shower, flirting and bantering.

Because even if you part from Jeon Jungkook and all this as just a saccharine memory, you’re ready to seize just a little more of this stolen moment before reality sets back in.

5:12AM, Him

Whether it’s the numbers glowing on his digital watch or the fact that the two of you didn’t rest as much as you’d anticipated after all, he doesn’t know.

The residual heat of the past hour has warmed his body and relaxed his muscles; your touches still haunt him, crawling over his skin and sitting on his knees, tempting them to buckle. And your voice, your sounds… like a ghost in his mind.

And you urging him to climb the nearby hill with you, surprisingly steep, doesn’t help. He doesn’t know why you’d choose such a place at such an hour. The occasional forest around you is dark, chirping, and the road is empty.

Perhaps you feel secure in the presence of another; in this sense, it’s even flattering that you trust him this much.

But he’ll admit that his still wobbly condition and this stop of the night are slowly bringing him to his limits. The blazer, at least, is already hanging over his arm, giving him more space to breathe.

You’re piloting the way, careful, navigating with the help of the light beaming from the occasional street lamps. Jungkook sighs in a half-complaint when the road doesn’t end, nobody around far and wide.

You’re similarly out of breath when you turn to look over your shoulder, barely for a moment before you continue to escort him further up. Then, you encourage, “Come on! We just rested. How are you already tired?”

“Woman. We’ve been walking for a pretty long time.”

“Uhmmm,” you exclaim, swaying when you pull your hair over your left shoulder, “tell me something. What’s your sleep schedule usually like?”

Well, shit.

Jungkook can already tell what you’re referring to, but the counterargument already sits ready in his brain, just in case. Yet, he hesitates. Studies his surroundings to make sure he knows the way back, stalling on purpose, and when you ask, “And?”

He answers, “Uh. Late. I slept at 7AM just last week.”

“What?!” Your voice is high-pitched, in disbelief, and whatever point you wanted to make is stuck in your throat upon the revelation he divulged. “Holy shit, Jungkook.”

“Yeah, but like,” he immediately works on justifying, making use of the comeback he’d already thought out, “I don’t walk around town, you know? I spend these nights eating or singing or—”

“Woah. You sing?”

“Yes, but. I will not sing to you now.”

He catches up with you in one long step, regarding your countenance. Even in the dim light and the pitch dark, he recognises the roll of your eyes, as if to say, “I wasn’t even going to ask.”

But instead of vocalising that very overt thought, your answer comes as smoothly as silk, “It’s fine. You sang to me plenty tonight.”

Jungkook nearly chokes on his spit, disguising his surprise as in the hike reasoned exhaustion. His mind needs a moment to fix itself, but when the balance is restored again, he wisecracks, “You’re one to talk. May I remind you of what you sounded like earlier?”

“You can. But I do remember myself, thank you.”

Damn it. You’re a step ahead all the time. He can’t even outsmart you the way he wants to.

“Way to diss me. You’re hardcore,” he complains, “and here I thought you were kind and sweet and all of that.”

Jungkook nearly retracts his statement, because you throw such a perplexed and disbelieving stare back that he shrinks, reprimanded, “Can’t I be both? A woman can certainly be both, man.”

“Of course,” he agrees, hands up as if he’s being arrested, “of course. You’re both, for sure.”

He anticipates more scolding and scowls, but it seems you’re satisfied with the response he gives. You grant him a pleased, lopsided smirk that resembles his own, and then sigh into the night air, long and deep before your breath morphs into—

A mixture of a gasp and a shriek.

“Wh—” Jungkook blurts, barely registering the movement scurrying from the left side of the forest into the trees right of him. “The fuck.”

And just as fast as your gasp appeared, it diminishes, too, turning into a throaty laugh. Jungkook listens in to the echo of the rustles, still seeing the bushes move; whether because of the animal that just flit past or the breeze, he can’t say.

His eyebrows shoot up when he looks at you, coming down from the quiet chuckle, and he only realises that your elated joy stems from the way he’s standing right now.

He must’ve instinctively dashed forward, an arm in front of your body, shielding it with his. It was just a squirrel, and in all honesty, it is the two of you who are trespassing, disturbing the forest life with your presence at such a time.

Yet, his reaction must’ve been immediate enough to protect you from whatever loomed in the dark, and you seem to like it for some reason. Because as he clears his throat and lets his arm sink, all you comment is a fascinated, content, “Wow.”

“Uh… all good.”

“Yes. All good indeed.”

Your voice is tinged with a combination of gratification and tease, as if you’re one utterance away from adding a little, “My knight in shining armour.”

Instead, you bite your tongue and look around; Jungkook sees what you perceive a mere moment later. The surroundings clear, the forest less dense; on the left side, a vast opening appears, a wide path ending in a… cliff?

And behind that, the town.

If there was a soundtrack to his life, he’d probably hear violins playing right now. Reminiscent of the wind, perhaps accompanied by piano keys that sound like the softly glimmering stars above.

The picture is breathtaking. Not that he hasn’t been at such a spot before — he grew up in a big, mountainous city.

But since he didn’t expect for the hill’s peak to allow such art, he’s a little more overwhelmed than he expected to be.

From behind, he hears you say, “In any case. Let’s rest here?”

“Uh-huh.”

It’s hard to avert his eyes. All night long, he’s only felt like this once; this marks the second time.

Gratefully, he walks up to where you’re making yourself comfortable, flattening your dress and settling your bag on your lap. You pull a thin, short cardigan out of it, slipping into it. It’s certainly cooler up here.

And then, you pat the spot next to you, and he lets himself fall with a sigh; it’s been a long night, and despite the restful-not-restful hour you spent at Jieun’s, it feels as though he’s truly easing up just now.

Jungkook puffs out a breath and takes another look. Properly this time, blinking as if this could help his eyes focus better. Gorgeous. He can see the river from here, flowing through the town in curves, like a snake.

He can’t see the entire city, but most of it; it goes up and down. Skyscrapers and then cosy houses like the ones before again. Mountains far away and the lights of the amusement park somewhere in the east. They’re the brightest of them all.

“Wait,” he says; you oblige, waiting, watching as he heaves the camera out of his bag.

He only registers you from his side vision, but he thinks you’re wearing a smile; confirmed when you breathe to speak again, and his eyes drift to you, immediately decoding the pride in your sparkling pupils.

Why do you look proud? Then again, he guesses he would, too, if he showed you something that he loved and you enjoyed it, too.

Thinking about it, he kind of wants to do it someday.

He pulls at his lower lip, releasing it soon, blinking again as if to release the thought. Instead, he listens as you ask, “You’ve never been here before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hidden spot then.”

“It’s beautiful. Look there,” he points to a spot that you carefully follow, even squinting an eye shut; it makes him smile. “That’s the ferris wheel in the amusement park. Can you see? Wait.”

The camera comes to use when he points the lens at the direction he signalled towards, nimble hands working on zooming in. The picture unfocuses before the lights of the amusement park flicker again.

It’s late, he thinks; then again, the summer is coming to an end, the last nights used to keep such attractions open late. September will bring forth grey clouds again, leaving behind the prior season’s heat. Raining down on him, forcing the leather jacket out of his closet.

He likes it that way.

No offence to the summer whatsoever; but he likes the fresh gust dishevelling his soft hair. Likes it when the rain patters against the window glass so softly. He sleeps better that way, too.

Barely sitting for a moment, Jungkook already gets to his feet, nearing the edge until he’s kneeling on the ground. The distance has only faded by a couple feet, not much of a difference. But the feeling of the city nearing still persists somehow, tickling his mind just right.

He doesn’t know how long he squats there against the backdrop of the luminescent sea, but when he comes back to you, you’re still sporting that excited smile, eyebrows high. Your eyes fall to the camera, humming when he says, “Look. There.”

He magnifies the picture, every spot of it good enough to pin against the living room wall. Carefully, he hands you the camera; surprising, because he regards this pricey piece of plastic as sacred. You probably don’t know how big of a deal it is that he lets you handle it.

If you did, you’d never let him live it down.

You scoot closer, your temple now nearly touching his. You stare with an interest he hasn’t witnessed too often before. People do not care much about pictures of scenery; in the age of media, how could they anyway? When every stock picture is already memorised and used to the point of insignificance?

But you — your mouth parts as you switch around, taking in details.

“Good?” he asks.

“Beautiful,” you sincerely mutter, returning the camera to him. You hold it like a kitten; perhaps you do know what the gesture meant. “This is exactly why I wanted us to come here.”

The moment is so serene, like balm, and he nods along with your words, calmly conversing. So it takes a heartbeat to truly untangle your words in his mind and tie them with the meaning your intention conveys.

He assumed you were just showing him random spots of the town, to allow him a glimpse into your mind and to crack your true nature. All this time, he thought you wanted to lead him to bright spaces to lighten up his perception of you.

But what you’re doing instead is turn the spotlight towards him and what he loves.

“You… did it for me?” he asks.

You, casually, as if the thoughtful act doesn’t flood him with serotonin, reply, “Yeah. To capture a couple pretty pictures. You really do love it, so.”

“I do… wow, thanks.” He pauses. Looks down to the buttons on his camera, to his hands; then back to you. “You thought of it all, right? The nice places and the short rest at Jieun’s. Now this.”

“Hmm, tried as much as possible so spontaneously.”

“Thank you. Really.”

You return his gratitude with a polite nod, leaning away until you touch the backrest of the bench. Jungkook indulges in some more that nature offers, toying with the settings, zooming in just to observe sights from a closer point.

He doesn’t notice when you sigh or when you zone off; or when your thoughts shift back to the minutes and hours of the night. He doesn’t notice; and in return, you don’t know that he’s still thinking about the intention that brought him here; that you were attentive enough to truly show that some people appreciate art.

There aren’t only fleeting nights and then forgotten memories. Because this… this right here is a core memory.

Because of you.

Are you thinking the same? Are you proud that his enmity has faded, replaced by a tender smile? Satisfied that your efforts were worth it after all — a goal reached that you set for yourself earlier tonight.

Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again.

But…

He’d love to talk to you again.

However, your mind hasn’t quite drifted in this direction; in truth, he honestly can’t analyse or interpret you at all, because the question you pose next is far from what he’d been thinking about.

“Talking about pretty… uhm. Did you think Jieun was pretty?”

Jungkook blinks. One eyebrow cocks up; the camera drops back onto his lap. He flashes you a squinted look, a confused laugh erupting before he asks back, “What?”

“Ah, don’t lie. She’s very pretty.”

“Sure? She is.”

He’s nearly forgotten what she looked like. But beauty is still perceived and remembered — he guesses he found her good-looking.

“And she’s everyone’s type,” you prod, “what do you think, though? If she didn’t have a boyfriend, could you imagine liking her?”

Jungkook thinks about it. Not because he wants to, but because you seem to have found an odd interest in whatever attracts him; maybe your questions are leading up to something. So he’ll play along.

“Hmm… Maybe,” he answers.

“So she is your type.”

Or maybe, you’re trying to get something out of him that you want to hear specifically. You seem so shy about it all of a sudden; not necessarily an adjective he’d assign to you.

And coming from you of all people, he somehow does not find the topic interesting. It’s weird; he doesn’t want to talk about it; he doesn’t care about Jieun, either.

So he shrugs his shoulders indifferently, lifting his camera up again. He points it at you, eternalising your surprised expression just when you open your mouth to leave out a shocked, “Hey!”

“That’s what you get for asking such strange stuff.”

“It’s not strange! I’m just small-talking.”

“You do not small-talk.”

“It could be a deeper conversation if you just admitted it.”

He chuckles, turning his body towards you, half his leg on the bench, “Admit what?”

“The type thing!”

“Sure. I don’t just have one type, though, you know?”

The dispute brought your bodies a little closer, your face far enough for him to still identify his surroundings, but near enough for him to see your eyes twinkling. The light is dancing in them. And it’s much easier to focus on it when you silence like this.

Just for a second.

Because you breathe in again ten seconds later, lightly slapping the thigh resting on the bench. The touch is cursory, tiny, nothing to overthink about — but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to linger.

In some way, it still does.

You ask, “Okay? What are your types then?”

“Different girls.” This time, only one shoulder shoots up. His eyes match his pensive hum. “Whoever suits me. Pretty girls but also nice girls. Especially nice girls.”

“Alright, be honest,” you begin, mimicking his position until your leg lifts onto the bench, knee nearly touching his. You’re warming up now. Finally spitting the true question soon, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Cute.

But he’s not giving in this easily.

He smirks; he feels the dimple on one side of his lopsided smile the moment you look at it. You’re distracted enough — so he uses the mental absence to attack you with yet another picture.

For a couple blinks, you’re startled — but as he reacts to his own nonsense with a content chortle, proud of his prank, you sigh. His shoulders rise with his sneering joy, head low as he inspects the picture just taken on his camera.

He zooms into your face, mouth open and eyes wide. You do look so pretty, he thinks — better even since you washed most of your make up off. Yet, he can’t contain himself when he shows you the screen, telling you, “You look alright.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes and your gaze to the view; your giggles start quietly, and then mix with his. Before—

They soon become part of a bad harmony as more voices join your very own night. Somebody is nearing. Jungkook hears the laughter already, but the road is curved and dark; so he can’t see them yet.

You might not have expected this, because you push closer to Jungkook on reflex; just at the same time as him. He didn’t know he had it in him to always stay so alert around you. Ready to throw himself at intruders.

Crazy.

But once the voices grow in volume, the two of you are soon met with a couple walking past. They’re in love, because amidst their titter, there’s another lewd sound. Or maybe, not too bad; playful kisses?

Yes.

The guy — he’s smooching his girl’s cheek, releasing with a, “Mwah” each time. Your initial surprise soon fades and turns into delight; Jungkook sees it in the way your smile returns. And in the furrowed yet amused eyebrows…

When the couple spots the two of you, they gasp; the girl’s hand immediately bolts to her chest, as if she just encountered a wild boar. But she catches herself soon, apologising, “Oh. Sorry. We’re sorry.”

You respond with an, “It’s okay!” Jungkook shakes his head politely to shrink their worries. They’ve walked away as soon as they came, but he still hears the woman’s scolding, effect lessened by the still occurring belly laugh, “I told you to calm yourself—”

As the world quietens again, Jungkook huffs, tilting his head as he deduces, “So late and yet… Not much of a hidden spot after all.”

“It feels like an ancient hill to me. I don’t often meet others here.” You breathe in the wind, then tongue your cheek. “They probably didn’t even notice where they were going. People in love never do.”

“I guess so.”

He guesses so.

It’s been a while since he fell in love.

Your head bobs once more before you lose yourself in the skyline, sucking in more of the crisp air that’ll grace you in the upcoming months. Fall is upon the town. He inbreathes the peace, too.

His hands operate on their own; one last time, he lifts it towards you, peeks through the lens again, adjusting the focus until the object clicks again. You’re not looking at him; he caught your side profile, this time not out of mock or tease.

He means it. And you seem to know.

Because when you look at him this time, you’re not mad or irritated.

Only look at him softly, a smile that truly matches the heights you took him on.

READ BELOW!!

the fic isn't over yet – as always, tumblr has a 1k block limit that makes our lives harder than necessary lmao. read the last scene and the remaining 3k words of meraki here 🥰

[harrysfolklore]

did you see that video of tom holland pushing the paparazzi off zendaya? Yeah I thinking about something similar but with Charles Leclerc x famous!reader

something short and sweet bc i'm not posting a new fic this week but i hope you enjoy it!

The flash of cameras was something you were used to, but tonight felt different. As you stepped out of the car at the prestigious event, Charles' hand firmly in yours, the crowd of paparazzi seemed more aggressive than usual. The combination of an A-list actress and a Formula 1 star had created a media frenzy.

"YN! Over here!" "Charles! This way!" "Are you two official?" "YN, how does it feel dating a racing driver?" "Charles, what's it like dating a Hollywood star?"

The shouting was overwhelming, and despite your years of experience handling red carpets, you felt yourself tense as the photographers pressed closer, their cameras mere inches from your face.

"Stay close to me," Charles murmured, his thumb stroking reassuringly over your knuckles.

"I'm used to this," you whispered back, trying to maintain your composed smile.

"I know, but this is crazy even for me."

You felt Charles' grip on your hand tighten protectively as one particularly aggressive photographer pushed forward, nearly causing you to stumble in your heels.

"Watch it!" Charles snapped, his accent thickening with anger as he steadied you. In an instant, his demeanor changed from polite to protective. He moved swiftly, positioning himself between you and the crowd.

"Back off," he said firmly. "I said back off! You're being too aggressive."

His arm wrapped securely around your waist, creating a barrier between you and the chaos. "That's enough. We'll pose for photos, but give us space."

"Charles, it's okay," you tried to soothe him, though you appreciated his protection.

"No, it's not okay," he responded, his jaw clenched. "They don't get to push you around just because you're a public figure."

The authority in his voice made several photographers take a step back. You could feel the tenseness in his body as he guided you through the crowd.

"Almost there," he assured you quietly. "Just a few more steps."

"YN! One more shot!" "Charles! Look this way!" "Are you living together?"

"Just ignore them," you whispered to Charles, sensing his growing irritation.

As you finally reached the relative safety of the venue's entrance, Charles's posture relaxed slightly, but his protective hold remained. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, completely ignoring the renewed frenzy of camera flashes the gesture triggered.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, his green eyes scanning your face with concern. "I've never seen them this aggressive."

"I'm fine," you assured him, straightening his tie affectionately. "I'm used to it, remember? Though I have to admit, having my own personal bodyguard is nice."

He smiled softly, but his eyes remained serious. "Nobody gets to treat you like that," he said, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. "Not even if they have cameras. I don't care if it's part of the job."

"My hero," you teased, trying to lighten his mood.

"I'm serious, mon coeur. I know this comes with both our careers, but there's a line."

In that moment, despite the chaos around you, you couldn't help but smile. You'd dealt with aggressive paparazzi before, but having someone who instinctively moved to protect you, who prioritized your comfort over the perfect photo op - that was new.

"Thank you," you said softly, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "For having my back."

"Always," he promised, taking your hand again. "Ready to go face the slightly more civilized cameras inside?"

You laughed, squeezing his hand. "Lead the way, Leclerc."

[yzzart]

Love your Tom blyth fics an unhealthy amount!!! I’m picturing reader and Tom being all lovey dovey at the premiers but playing it off as really good bestfriends UNTIL she goes to kiss him on the cheek and in instinct he turns his head to kiss her on the lips so they just say fuck it and hard launch there and then x

"An unplanned situation."

pairing: tom blyth x actress!reader

summary: a small gesture, with a sweet intention, revealed a promising secret.

word count: 1.359!

notes: i started this request in the morning and only had the opportunity to finish it a few minutes ago, forgive me for that, anon! — i hope you like it and of course, feel free to share ideas with me!

"Y/N, look here!"

Another request, among others, screams and countless flashes, was directed to you; being, theoretically, almost impossible to identify who had demanded your image. — There were so many voices mixing, not to mention the music in the background, but, you tried your best to pay attention to most of the cameras.

However, it wasn't anything you weren't used to; something that has already been normalized in your life.— And during the premiere of The ballad of songbirds and snake it was no different, and it was splendid; simply perfect. — Not to mention, the feeling of gratitude that grew in your chest.

Cameras and cell phones captured your every movement, your poses and the way your perfectly chosen dress was valued and highlighted on your body. — And how it matched the color palette of the film. — Everything was being recorded, at the exact moment, posted and commented on all social networks.

You had the opportunity to meet, talk and take photos with some of the cast. — It was so pleasant, the company and unity that everyone developed during the filming of the film was inexplicable and so adorable; you were grateful to have worked with so many talented people. — There were some people who were absent, until now, in your eyes, but you would definitely meet them again on the carpet.

And, of course, your eyes roamed the decorated room, matching the elements of the film, and crowded in search of a specific person. — It wasn't exaggerated words to say that you were starting to feel uncomfortable because he was missed; and the cameras recorded it. — Silent questions, which would be written, formed in the minds of the presenters and photographers.

Your boyfriend had yet to appear on the red carpet; perhaps he is giving a quick and curious interview or greeting someone. — That's what was going on in your head.

You and Tom had a secret relationship, ever since you met behind the scenes, in front of the world and all the cameras that may exist in it; something that was so risky and at the same time adventurous. — And that, as incredible as it might seem, you knew how to disguise it in front of your fans; even though they gradually became suspicious with comments, interactions and behind-the-scenes photos.

They were either smart or you and Tom were too far over the line. — This question was not important or essential for the moment. — And you considered each other best friends for interviews or responses to comments; you tried your best.

And so, Rachel sent countless screenshots of tweets, which talked about or mentioned the relationship between you and Tom, to you. — It's impossible to deny how funny it was.

Persisting in continuing to look for him and for a few seconds, your eyes meet his blue and so charming irises. — Its shade of blue was a magnificent and beautiful combination; something you would never get tired of admiring. —And there was no other thing, or anyone, that could take his eyes off you.

As if the only thing that mattered at that moment was you. — And everything around him simply disappeared.

"There you are!" — Tom walked towards you, easily as there weren't so many people on the carpet, and an enthusiastic smile forming on his lips; also accompanied by cameras and intense flashes. — "And so beautiful!"

Holding a part of your long and dazzling dress so as not to hinder your steps, you met him, and without wasting any time, hugged him. — A common gesture, and not so different or strange, for the spectators; so, you thought. — Tom's arms went around your waist, holding your protectively for a little while, while your arms positioned themselves around his neck.

Tom's fragrance, which you liked so much, filled your nose; it felt so good, and you felt your eyes weaken, contaminated by it. — And the british man was aware of that.

"You look perfect, always." — The older man distanced himself, just a little, and brought his face closer to your ear, wanting only you to hear. — "The most beautiful woman that has ever crossed my eyes." — The lenses probably captured a reddish pigmentation on your cheeks and it was not part of your makeup.

You placed one of your hands on his chest, and looking directly into his eyes; that shone at you, and it wasn't just because of the influence of the lights in your direction. — Tom's gaze was sincere, and passionate, intensely fascinating you. — He conveyed what he felt most with just his eyes.

And that was one of the facts about him that you were passionate about and recognized very well.

"Oh, shut up!" — Raising your hand and resting it a little away from your mouth, you laughed a little embarrassed and looked back at the cameras; remembering that they remained there and you knew that later you would see your interaction with Tom on some social media.

Again, a thing and situation you were used to.

"Look at that camera!" — A voice mingled among others, which requested the same request, asking you to take some photos together; something that would feed news, fans and press.

At no point, minute or second, did you and Tom remain distant or apart from each other; always a few steps close, hugging each other for photos and certain looks, completely indiscreet. — Even during brief interviews, as Blyth mentioned you or your character's work, you were silently watching. — One of the interviewers even commented on how cute she thought it was.

Tom's hand was on your waist, holding and almost covering you, making a quick caress in a few seconds and one of your hands was still resting on his chest; and you continued, of course, to be the focus of the cameras.

Quickly, with the intention of changing your pose and trying something new and also to take advantage of the fact that Blyth's face was almost close to yours, you decide to place your pigmented lips on his cheeks. — Such a cute and friendly gesture, and so common. —But, automatically and hastily, Tom turned his face away at the same time, without having in mind what you were, in fact, planning. — God, it was a shock; an absurd and completely intense shock.

For the first time that night, in that place and on those cameras, your lips touched Tom's lips. — It was very quick, good and surprising; and that definitely left a cold, freezing air in your belly accompanied by a desperate feeling in your mind. — Rumor has it that smoke was coming out of his head. — It was a peck, a quick and simple kiss.

When you separated, hurriedly, your eyes met Tom's once again; who were a little wide-eyed, expressing surprise. — Looking for something to say or do, just like you. — And you watched his lips curve into an almost smile, as if he was trapping him.

Shouts of enthusiasm and some possible whistles echoed throughout the immense place, along with some looks and expressions of surprise at what had happened. — And some people were worried if they had recorded the exact moment, of course. — Your fans were probably commenting frantically about what happened.

You really didn't know what to do but at no point did you move away from your boyfriend — now, official to the public — and keep your hand on his chest; as if it were, in fact, planned.

"A nice way to reveal it, huh?" — Tom laughed, relaxed and without a feeling of discomfort or uneasiness, he still had his hand on your waist; and he still squeezed you, then leaving you with another caress. — "I think." — He didn't look at the cameras, his orbits focused only on you.

They have always focused on you, regardless of what is actually happening; and that will never change.

"A nice way to reveal." — You repeated your words, but, as an affirmation and certainty; maybe, seeing how relieved Tom was, and not showing some kind of distress, your chest calmed down and you felt safe.

And soon, you and Tom became one of the most talked about topics on social media.

[anaconamor]

photo booth kisses - jude bellingham x reader.

quick sum: sharing a cheesy kiss with your boyfriend who can’t hide his shy face away from you.

psa 🗣️: a little birthday gift from me to you 🤭🤍

“sit here,” said jude tapping his lap as you closed the red curtain from the booth. you sat on his lap your legs resting by his right side and wrapping an arm behind his shoulders. “i’ll pay!” you quickly say pulling out your card and doing so before jude.

the whole date he refused to let you pay. the food, the arcade, the gifts you won at the end. while you loved the idea of being spoiled you wanted to do something for him, well the both of you to remember the date. you had made a memory box together, which held concert tickets, small flowers he picked for you, polaroids, and other reminders from old dates.

“why did you do that?” jude frowned pulling you closer to him resting his head on top of your shoulder. “because i wanted to,” you mocked him, knowing this would make him rage inside like how you felt when he said to you. “how many did you pay for?” he asked adjusting himself and you so you fit better in the frame.

“three, one for me and one for you! and then the other can go on the fridge or my vanity,” you explained smiling like an idiot as you looked up and saw jude in the frame, cheesing harder and wanting to press kisses all over his face. “i’m putting ours in my locker. my good luck anytime i play,” jude replied kissing your shoulder as you fixed the setting and picked out a cute xoxo frames for the pictures.

“or maybe cut it in half and place it in my wallet to carry you around with me all day,” he said making you pout with joy. “you’re so cute baby,” you tell him seeing jude’s face flush in shyness, his lips in a upside down smile and face begging to be tucked into your neck. “okay get ready! these have to be perfect!” you say clapping your hands excitedly.

three. two. one.

you pose cheesing and smiling hard together, two ducks in a lake happier and more in love then ever. your face beamed with a glow that only appeared when you were with him, not to say the least with jude, his brown eyes shimmering with adoration and love towards you.

three. two. one.

the two of you did a silly face. jude posing like roadman while you stuck up a peace and sticker your tongue out. you laughed it off brushing away how silly jude indeed looked while posing. you had not noticed that it automatically took a picture of you two laughing catched off guard. which made you want to squeal at how perfect it looked.

three. two. one.

you brushed your hand against jude’s jaw, bring his face close to yours and brushed your lips together. the kiss so soft and delicate it made you want more. jude sighed in pleasure, his eyes fluttering as his hands tugged your waist, his thumb rubbing shapes against your skin. you deepen the kiss, jude’s tongue brushing against yours, he tasted like candy, so sweet and tasty.

you both pulled away at the same time, you bit your bottom lip as jude hid the tiny shy smirk in your neck. just like in the movies and tv shows you had seen growing up as a teen, but now you finally experienced it with your handsome boyfriend. who also couldn’t stop cheesing at the kiss and you.

oh he was a madly in love with you. jude was never afraid of anything, but after meeting you, he was so afraid to lose you, so used to you now in his life. you were his lucky charm and the perfect person to be sent at the most perfect time for him. like a photograph taken at the most perfect time and place. a gorgeous flower grown and standing tall between roots and roots of short and dull grass.

“why are you hiding from me?” you teased jude who rested his head still on your shoulder. “because i get shy,” jude admitted with pursed lips. “because when you look at me… all i feel is this?” he took your hand and placed it over his heart. “i love you y/n…” he pecked your lips again, hearing you murmur and i love you back and feel you smiling.

“oh hey wait! they gave us four in total!”

[mysicklove]

𝐒𝐎 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋

DAY 12: SOUNDING

With: Keigo Takami (Hawks)

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Sub! Hawks, gn! reader, sounding, HEAVY sub/dom spaces, hints of sado/masochism, mentions of anal fingering, keigo crying and twitching, cursing, pee/urine mentioned throughout

A/N: This is one of those smut fics that are heavily unrealistic (which i LOVEEEE), keigo says some cringe things at some points tho. LOL

Keigo has such a pretty face. People stop and stare at him on the street, he has been recruited by multiple modeling companies and is lusted over by teenage girls all over the world. Born to be nicknamed, “Pretty Boy”. It was cute, really, and he seemed to love the name.

But to you, he doesn't look his best when he is photographed in lewd poses, or when the media catches the way he looks at you, or even with his candid hero photos that are unbearably hot.

No, to you, Keigo looks his absolute best when he cried. Of course, not from sadness, from pleasure and pain. When his face is flushed, his eyes are hazy, and tears coat his cheeks. When he looks up at you in pure adoration, and trembles under your hold.

But that was the sadistic side of you talking. The side of you who wants to completely ruin the man. It's hard not to when he looks so pretty during it.

So, slowly you've been finding new ways to wreck him and with each one, he reacts perfectly. You've gotten addicted to it. Him, really.

Tonight you are going to try sounding. You stare at the small metal rod, and then back to your lover, who is leaning against the headboard, and trying to act like he is not completely terrified. He gulps when you peer at him, straightening his back, and trying to uphold his cocky grin.

“You're scared, aren't ya?”

He scoffs, looking away. “No. I'm the one who asked for this, why would I be scared?”

As much as you like ruining Keigo, Keigo loves being ruined. You have to keep a close eye on him because he swears he has no limits and has not used his safeword so far. Everything is on the table for him, and that sometimes worries you. You've held down your desires but he voices them and is the one to beg you for more and more.

Urethra play was not something he has tried. “Mhmm. It will be fine, we will go slow,” You reassure him despite his words. You place a comforting hand on his thigh and he sighs, smiling at you softly.

“Yeah. It'll be fine. You're right.”

Horrifying is the best word to describe what's in front of him right now. The “thin” rod is now lodged halfway into his urethra and he's panting out, thighs trembling. It doesn't exactly feel bad, but it's foreign, and the sight in front of him makes him uneasy. Nothing is supposed to go in that hole.

He's gripping onto your hand for comfort, eyes wide as saucers. “We aren't even all the way in yet, Keigo.”

He whines out at the words, resting his head on your shoulder. Sweat beads at his forehead and his face is flushed. “F-Feels so full.”

You teasingly tap on the rod, and his back arches, wings fluttering out at the strange feeling. He grips your hand and stares at you, silently pleading. “Sorry. Forgot. Let's put it all in, yeah?”

“Dont–Dont know if I can.”

You stroke the bottom of his shaft and smile at him. “Got plenty of room still. It's supposed to touch your prostate, y'know.”

Yeah, he definitely knew that. For the last couple of days, he researched the ins and outs of this. But still, he doesn't know how the hell it could go any deeper. He feels overwhelmingly stuffed even from half of it being inserted. He gulps and glances at you, but nods.

“Take a deep breath for me, Keigo. Promise it'll feel good in a bit.” You're right, and he knows it. Just like when you fingered him for the first time, it feels weird in the beginning, but now he's addicted to it. This could be a new thing to drive him mad. He sure hopes so.

He takes a deep breath, and you slowly continue to inch it in, letting gravity do the most part. The road is slippery from the lube and it goes in without much difficulty.

Keigo on the other hand is going insane. He is moaning and whining, gripping onto the sheets with such force that you are afraid he is going to rip it. You watch his arm muscles clench and unclench, and he throws his head back. “Oh. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He cries with every second it goes deeper.

You hush him, using your other hand to stroke him gently, hoping to coax it in. His squirming makes it harder, and you don't want to hurt him, so you try your best to pin his hips down beneath you so they won't jump up.

And at last, it reaches the bottom. You pull away and look up at him. Keigo is trembling, back arched pornographically, and staring at the ceiling with an open mouth. Tears drip down his cheeks, and his legs are trembling, bent, and spread wide. “All done, it's all the way in now. Shhh, just gotta get adjusted to it.”

He shakes his head and lets out a cry, “Fuck. It's weird. Feels so weird! Full–I cant–”

You lean forward to press your lips to his, cutting his frantic rambling off. “Keigo, do you want to use your safeword?” You ask, just for reassurance.

He shakes his head frantically. “No! Wait! I-I never said I didn't like it!” He pleads desperately to you, even if you haven't tried to make an effort to remove it. His mind seems to be scattered, but this is how he is when he usually tries new things in bed. Today, just a little bit more extreme, considering you haven't tried anything even close to this.

“What does it feel like, Birdie?”

He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Feels full. D-Different type of full. It's weird. And it also feels like I gotta pee a little bit. But in a good way? It's all so weird and overwhelming, Y/N!”

You gulp, watching the way his eyes move around frantically. The way his body is bright red, and he's staring at you with desperate eyes. His mouth is glossy, and his eyes are wet. This is your favorite face of Keigos. This is what you have been wanting to see.

The urges get the better of you. “I'm going to move it now Keigo.”

His eyes widen, and before he can even protest, you move it upward, slightly. His back arches again and he gasps for air. “O-Oh–Its–Fuckkkkk.”

You push it back in completely and he keens, gripping onto your hand with wide eyes. A loud, desperate whine is let out, and more tears stream down his face. He's withering under you, and you can't help but stare at his pretty physique. “Are you oka–”

“Again!” He sobs, legs moving sporadically against the sheets.

His words make you gulp. He's falling into that state again. The one where his only task is to get himself completely fucked dumb. He doesn't want to think about anything except his pleasure, and frankly, his adorable facial expression is pulling you into your very own state with him.

You lift the rod up, farther than last time, until more than half of it sticks out. He stares at it, panting loudly and waiting for you to push it back in. It makes his adrenal pulse, and his mouth begins to water.

You don't tease him too long, and abide by his wishes, pressing the full thing in until it reaches the very bottom of his cock. He moans this time, enjoying it more with every second. Tears continue to fall, but he can't pay attention to them, instead focused on the feeling of being so full. If he had a toy in the other end, he surely would have lost his mind. Next time, for sure.

You continue to bring it up and down and he gets louder and louder with each stroke, not caring for whoever hears him. He is feeling such intense pleasure, everyone should hear his cries. Or at least that is what he believes.

“So cute. We found another hole for me to abuse, yeah Keigo?” You purr, eyes traveling up his shaking body with hunger.

He nods his head frantically. “Yes. Yes! Please fuck it more, I'm begging!”

You stop for a moment, a teasing gleam in your eyes. “Want me to fuck your pee hole? How lewd, Birdie.”

But to your dismay, he isn't responding to the teasing as you hoped. Instead, just agreeing with every word, too lost in the subspace to really care for how dirty your words are. “Yes! F-Fuck my pee hole. Need it. S-So full!”

You don't mind your failed attempt, now staring fondly at the pretty boy in front of you, who is completely out of it by now. It usually takes him longer to get to this state, and it was intriguing that this little rod had such a huge effect on him.

Your pace is quicker, and you use your other hand to stroke him off. His mouth hangs open, and drool begins to bead at the corner of his mouth. Every breath is a high-pitched, airy moan. It's adorable, really.

You watch his thighs start to clench and you raise your eyebrows, knowing that he's going to cum sometime soon. When you glance back up at his face, he's staring back at you, sniffling gently, but his eyes are full of adoration.

“C-Cum? Please?” He is struggling to speak, and you can't help but take mercy on him. He was so cute not to.

“Sure, baby. You can cum,” You coo, leaning forward to kiss his abdomen. He lets out a whine in thanks and nods his head.

A couple seconds go by and his breaths become quicker, louder too. His toes begin to curl, and he grips onto the bedsheets. “N-Now!” He begs, and you quickly take out the rod for him to cum.

White liquid flies out and falls onto his stomach, and you continue to use one hand to stroke him through it all. He takes loud gasps and lets out a loud shaky moan, and then another equally loud and high in pitch. His body constricts in odd, but cute ways, and he clenches his eyes shut, causing more tears to fall down his face.

You sit and admire him, only stopping your hand movements when he lets out a broken sob at the feeling of overstimulation.

A couple seconds go by, and you hum quietly, waiting for him to talk. Depending on what he says will determine if he wants to keep going or rest. The ball is in his court.

It doesn't take him too long to decide, obviously still in the subspace, but willing to communicate.

“Wanna. I wanna. H-Hey, why did you stop?” He complains, whiny and dramatic. You raise your eyebrows at him and bark a short laugh.

You aren't even surprised at this point. So, you pick up the rod again, and he stares at it, like a dog to a bone. He grins, the smile fucked out, and lazy. “Feels, so empty. Put it back, pleaseeeee!”

When you plunge it back in, he almost cums again on the spot.

PREV POST | MASTERLIST | NEXT POST

[jaggedamethyst]

bucky barnes and his physical media

pairing: bucky x reader, use of she and girl once or twice

content: bucky is obsessed with physical media, especially photos…but he hates being in them. you try to change that.

notes: minors dni, slight smut but it’s honestly pretty tame here, some obligatory bucky angst. i don’t believe in proofreading I fear.

word count: 1.8k

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Growing up Bucky quickly gained a fondness for cameras. He loved to capture the images of those he loved--moments in time for which he could always look back on when he missed them.

He considered himself a confident guy and took said pictures at any opportunity he was given. He figured someone would always want to look at a face that perfect, if he could say so himself.

It was different, though, when the reflected images no longer were of the young man so keen on going to war. When the moment in time was one that could only elicit one of fear. He couldn’t recognize himself these days, not after being the Winter Soldier. The man was now adamant about not having memories that preserved him as he was now. Not when he was a shell of the man he’d known years ago.

If he absolutely had to take pictures, he was even more sure it would never be on a fucking phone. Not only are they the most fickle objects imaginable, he also hated the damn cloud. He wasn’t entirely prehistoric; he understood when people said that it was a way to store things…but a cloud. He’d had one too many mishaps with technology that things randomly disappearing from the cloud was not too far fetched in his mind. If he had to preserve something special to him it would absolutely be in an album. An album was tangible, and if it came to it, he could easily grab the stack of them in a hurry.

Physical media was absolutely near and dear to him. Whenever an old show was nowhere to be found, he clung to his DVD sets like a lifeline. The same could be said of his photo albums. They quickly became a way for him to reclaim some of the power he felt was lost with his mind. But taking pictures and storing them, to him, was therapeutic.

That's how he ended up with several albums on his shelf. Some were miscellaneous, ones that had yet to be sorted. Others solely for pictures of nature that he found calming to look at.

Nothing compared to the album he had of you, though.

An inadvertent smile would always creep up on his lips when his eyes met the spine of your album. Just the sight of your name sprawled in his handwriting was enough to make him feel warm inside. Inside were photos of you, some candid, others posed. He hated pictures, but for you he would at least attempt to stomach the feeling .

He flipped through the pages as he always did, feeling sort of proud he’d managed to take such great snapshots in time..and even more that he preserved them without the damn cloud.

Bucky made note to add more to this album; it wasn’t nearly as full as he’d like. With that, he swiftly closed the album—a gust of air causing one photo to fly out of the book. He grabbed the print that lay at his feet, not thinking much of it other than it would be returned to its rightful place among the other portraits of his girl.

As he flipped the picture, a heat quickly spread across the man’s cheeks. Oh. He definitely was not expecting this.

A selfie. Yes, that’s what it’s called. He’d learned that word a while ago. Somewhere in time he also learned that while people could be “in the nude,” they’d also referred to risqué photos similarly. Yes, a nude was how he would describe this one.

The man had seen many works of art in his day. Some of which were dedicated to his friend for his accomplishments in war. Others, of objects, like how Bucky would leisurely snap a photograph of a bird sitting stoic in a tree.

None of that compared to the polaroid he’d laid eyes on right now. His thoughts reeled in his mind, observing every detail. He knew it was hard to capture yourself in frame with these print cameras—no clear indication of what was in focus. But you were skillful.

The sun cascaded over your body, highlighting your skin in a way he’d never seen. He couldn’t see your face above your lips, but they curled in a way that seemed purposeful. How he’d do anything to see your eyes reflect the light of the sun that day. He slowly placed a finger on the photo, tracing the curve of your neck…your shoulder…your fingers.

No. He mentally groaned. The curl in your lips, a smirk, made sense now. You’d covered yourself where he wanted to see most. Hands crossed over your chest but your skin remained bare, teasing him. He felt so disgusted with himself even thinking this way, wanting to see more. It’s not like he hadn’t already, but in this moment the taunting imagery drove him up a wall.

He’s not sure when exactly he’d sat down on the couch or when his pants got to be pooled at his ankles. He’s even less certain of what time it is, but your footsteps approaching his door bought him back to reality. You’re off work.

The now strained fabric of his pants irritated him. Not only did your nude leave him extremely worked up, but he didn’t even finish before you got back.

Your voice resounded from the door, “Buck! I left the key, can you open up?”

“Coming!” He froze, an audible huff leaving his nostrils at the poorly timed reply.

He placed the photo in his back pocket before stalking towards the door.

With a swift swing, the door opened to your smile on the other side. Unlike the mischievous smirk that was printed in the picture in his pocket, this one was borderline affable. He let out what could only be described a a mixture between a scoff and chuckle.

You quirked a brow, “um, what's funny?” You rounded the space left by Bucky’s shoulders, making your way towards the kitchen.

“Nothing,” Bucky replied with a hint of sarcasm, “just had a bit of a weird day.”

“Really?” You turned to start the faucet, washing your hands before looking for something to drink. “You…wanna talk about it?”

The man felt his chest continue to rise and fall at an erratic pace. As the water continued to trickle he became painfully aware of the situation in his jeans at the present. Fuck it.

He reached for his pocket, quickly whipping the film towards your back.

He tried to level his voice in an attempt at asking his next question in the most nonchalant way he could muster. “Baby…what’s this?”

You craned your head away from the faucet a bit, “huh?” Grasping a towel, you slowly turned towards the sound of Bucky’s voice. “What’s wha- oh-”

An obvious shock appeared on your face but had he not looked close enough he would have missed it. The shift to an indifferent facial expression perplexed the man--even more when you replied in a chipper tone.

“Oh! I just got this new camera the other day at the store.” You moved past him, turning the corner and heading down the hall towards the junk closet you guys kept. He followed your movement with his eyes, stuck in place with pure intrigue. The distance and scrambling left your voice low to his ear. “You wanna see it? It's so cool and it wasn't too expensive!”

He moved back towards the couch, slouching a bit. “Sure, baby.”

Bucky twisted his head at the sound of you walking, no skipping, back towards the living room. “This thing is so easy to use, Buck. I feel like a pro like you.”

“I am not a pro,” he mumbled, his hand meeting his forehead.

He felt a hand on him, brushing his hair back. The nudge forcing him to lift his head to meet your eye. You’d knelt on the floor in front of him.

“I,” you planted a kiss on his cheek, “think you are amazing at taking pictures.” A pause loomed in the air, “but I wanted to do something for you…show you can be a great subject too.”

You placed a finger on his shoulder, urging him to lay back. “You should get comfortable, Buck…because this,” you gingerly plucked the photo from his grasp “is just the first installment to an amazing collection I think we will have.”

Bucky absolutely needed to work on his recollection skills—his ability to focus too. He again found himself with his pants down and no idea of how he’d come to be that way. This time, a cool breeze swept against his chest—his shirt somehow flung across the room. He absolutely did not mind, though.

The way in which you seemed to be skilled at everything truly blew his mind. With only a hand pumping him up and down, slowly at that, he’d found himself writhing against you. Whispers fell on deaf ears, as he’d quickly become overstimulated from his lack of release before.

“I- I-,” he stumbled as he usually did with you. There was no time when you were together when he didn’t feel at a loss for words. But here, with himself dripping all over your hands, your eyes looking at him expectantly, and your gentle lips grazing against his skin—he was struggling to even say more than one syllable.

You assured him, “it's okay, I know.” Simple words, but enough to make his insides tingle.

“Fuck…please,” he uttered your name. “I can’t-“

Your soft hands grasped his face again, a silent request for his eye contact.

It was so unfair, he knew that she knew that’d be his weakness. As quickly as it started, Bucky would finally finish. A feeling of euphoria and relief rushed the man, his skin prickly and glossed over with sweat.

“This is perfect,” he lowered his head a bit to see you back on your knees, this time holding your hands up. An arched brow raised on his face once more…you could be so damn elusive sometimes. At a further look, he could see you there, one eye closed. He searched between your hands, they were making L shapes in the air.

“Actually perfection,” you said with a flourish of your fingers. You leaned back, grasping your camera from the coffee table. “Now, be good James and don’t ruin my work.”

“I don’t know what you mean-“

Your finger met his skin, softly mixing in with the wetness now drenching his lower abdomen. He felt you marking a shape into the puddle—a heart?

Before he could even register, a flash. You’d taken a photo.

“Like I said, perfection.”

You left the polaroid beside the other on the coffee table, planting a kiss on the man's lips this time.

Bucky’s smile creeped up on his face, a happiness enveloping him.

“I think we need a new album.”

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

fashion photographer!gojo was undeniably the best in the industry—a fact known to everyone. if you were lucky enough to be photographed by him, you’d instantly become the most talked-about person worldwide. with just a camera, he had the ability to make anyone look flawless and utterly desirable. satoru gojo was, without a doubt, a man who understood aesthetics.

but no matter how playful, laid-back, and flirtatious people in his orbit knew him to be, the moment he encountered someone who didn’t know how to pose or thought they weren’t photogenic, he became the exact opposite of what his reputation suggested.

like his attitude toward you right now.

as a new model who had already caught the attention of fashion houses, magazines, and influential figures in fahion industry, you’d heard countless praises about your talent. yet, the cocky white-haired man staring at the large computer screen of photos he’d just taken didn’t seem to share that sentiment.

what the fuck was wrong now?

since arriving at the penthouse where the shoot was being held, you’d been excited. while you’d posed nude before, becoming the face of a famous lingerie brand was a much bigger deal. Plus, everyone involved, from the hair and makeup team to the stylists, consisted of the best professionals in the field. and, of course, satoru gojo himself.

naturally, throughout your modeling career, you’d encountered plenty of snobbish, cold people. that was just how the fashion world worked; everyone hated everyone else and thought they were better. but no one had ever looked at you with such a frosty expression from the moment he met you and said, “thank god they’re paying me well, or i’d never waste my time shooting someone with no spark.”

even though his words had deflated your mood, you’d plastered on a smile and acted professionally. causing a scene could cost you everything. as a rising name in the industry, you couldn’t risk your career—especially since anything satoru gojo said about you would be taken seriously by everyone.

judging by the current situation, it looked like he was determined to ruin you regardless.

it had been an hour and a half since the shoot began, and you were still wearing the same red lingerie set. you’d posed a million different ways on a couch with a panoramic view of tokyo, yet gojo’s face remained a picture of disdain. though, you’d caught how his gaze had lingered on your body the moment you first stepped out in the set.

it was like he wanted a piece of you.

there were rumors about him, of course. stories of him fucking with models during shoots, recording the encounters, and making the rounds in the fashion world. and it wasn’t just models—oscar-winning actors, chart-topping musicians… everyone wanted a piece of satoru gojo.

“hey, want me to touch up your blush?” the makeup artist approached, pulling you out of your anxious thoughts. you nodded, smiling as she quickly reapplied the color to your cheeks. noticing your troubled expression, she reassured you that she’d worked with gojo many times before and that he was only acting this way because of stress.

when she finished, your eyes drifted back to the man standing by the large computer screen, scrutinizing the photos. he was discussing options with his assistant, but it was as if he could feel your gaze on him. his icy blue eyes left the screen and landed on you—still sitting on the couch in nothing but a red bra and thong.

your cheeks burned under his intense stare. the disgust you’d been expecting wasn’t there. instead, he looked at you the same way he had when you first walked in wearing the lingerie set, his expression downright ravenous.

while still looking at you, he said something to his assistant, grabbed the camera he’d placed on the table, and clapped his hands loudly.

“alright, everybody! break’s over. back to work.”

he positioned himself slightly in front of you but kept some distance. leaning down slightly, he said, “grab the back of the couch with your arms and look at the camera. not with empty eyes—look like you’re begging whoever’s behind the lens to fuck you right now. got it?”

was he supposed to be the one behind the lens in this scenario?

your body hummed with nervous excitement as you nodded. following his instructions, you wrapped your hands around the back of the couch. one foot rested on the ground while the other was propped on the cushion. your gaze fixed on the camera, eyes brimming with desire, imagining how you’d look at someone you desperately wanted to fuck you.

with each flash of the camera, you shifted the angle of your head but kept your expression the same. for the first time, gojo shot multiple frames without cursing or saying, “this is awful.”

as you added a personal touch to the pose, sliding one hand from the back of the couch to the strap of your bra, a sharp, irritated voice stopped you.

“did i tell you to touch the strap?”

you immediately withdrew your hand, frustration bubbling over. no one deserved to be treated like this.

“excuse me?” your questioning tone cut through the silence of the set, making everyone freeze.

“what did you just say?” gojo stood to his full height, his expression unreadable.

“i said excuse me. why are you being so rude and unreasonable? posing is my job, not yours.”

a tense silence filled the luxurious penthouse. everyone’s eyes darted between you and gojo, convinced this was the end of your career.

it didn’t matter to you in that moment. being new to the industry didn’t mean you deserved to be humiliated.

gojo’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening as he stared at you. his voice boomed across the set, “everyone out. don’t come back until i call you.”

no one moved, paralyzed by the anger radiating off him.

“did i fucking stutter? get out!” his voice grew louder, sending everyone scurrying out of the penthouse. the door slammed shut behind the last person, leaving you alone with him.

the tension was suffocating. you hadn’t fully processed what you’d said—your frustration had taken over. there were still photos to be taken in the bedroom and kitchen, yet here you were, stuck on this damn couch.

gojo stepped closer, his imposing presence making you shrink slightly. his sharp gaze locked onto yours as he demanded, “do you even know who i am?”

“y-yes.”

“then how the fuck do you think you have the right to question me?”

“i just—”

“just what?” he tossed his expensive camera onto the couch beside you and leaned down, gripping the back of the couch on either side of you. his piercing blue eyes bore into yours as he spoke, voice low and dangerous.

“i’ve worked in this industry for 15 years. even the highest-paid supermodels wouldn’t dare talk back to me. as a photographer, i decide how you’ll look. you’ll move the way i want, wear what i want.” his gaze dropped to your cleavage, accentuated by the red lace of your bra. one of his hands drifted to the delicate fabric, his fingers brushing over the lace. “you’re new, so maybe you’re eager to ruin your career. one word from me could make you the most talked-about name in the industry—or its biggest failure.” his fingers grazed your nipple through the fabric, drawing an involuntary gasp from your lips.

so, he did want to touch you.

“you think i’m untalented, and that bothers me,” you said boldly, letting your thoughts spill out.

for the first time today, a genuine smile crossed gojo’s face. he seemed to enjoy the fact that you sought his approval. “prove it.”

“prove what?” goosebumps rose on your skin as his fingers trailed to the exposed flesh of your chest.

“prove to me that you’re talented. show me you deserve to be the woman i photograph.” his hands continued their teasing exploration, both over the fabric and the bare skin beneath.

you didn’t need to prove yourself to anyone. countless industry professionals had already told you that you belonged in front of the camera. but there was something about this arrogant, white-haired man with those mesmerizing blue eyes that made you want to rise to the challenge—not because you doubted yourself, but because you wanted to see the look on his face when you proved him wrong.

“do you enjoy taking nude photos?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

he chuckled darkly. “i take the best ones, baby.”

“perfect, then.” you shoved his body away slightly and walked to the large windows overlooking tokyo. pressing your back and left leg against the glass, you said, “go ahead. start shooting.”

intrigued, gojo grabbed his camera and positioned himself at a distance.

you gave him exactly what he wanted. each pose radiated the desire and submission he’d demanded, as though you were begging to be taken against that glass. the shutter clicked rapidly, capturing every movement.

despite some shots blurring with the motion, gojo didn’t tell you to stop. not once.

your poses grew increasingly erotic, as seductive as you could possibly make them. after all, this was a lingerie brand. anyone who bought a lacy set like this would probably strut around their house wearing it, striking sexy poses just for fun.

your hands moved to the clasp of your bra, and with a sly grin, you unhooked it. gojo’s finger froze on the shutter button. he lifted his head from behind the camera, his hungry eyes fixed on you as if silently begging you to take the damn thing off already.

“don’t you want me to keep going?” you teased, hesitating before sliding the straps off your shoulders.

“don’t you dare stop!” his tone was husky, almost growling.

you tossed your bra aside, exposing your breasts. your fingers found your nipples, teasing and pinching them until waves of throbbing heat pulsed through your core. tilting your head back, you let out a moan.

“keep going, baby. you’re perfect,” gojo encouraged as his camera flashed relentlessly. you continued to torment your sensitive nipples, wishing more than anything that he would drop everything, pin you against the glass, and fuck you right here with all of tokyo watching.

your hands trailed to the edges of your red lacy thong, playing with the fabric while keeping your eyes locked on the camera, filled with lust and desperation. gojo’s voice rarely interrupted, only breaking the silence to mutter short curses or to comment when he found a particularly good angle.

you liked it. you wanted to prove to him just how much you craved him.

you pulled away from the glass you had been leaning against, lowering yourself to the floor. slowly and deliberately, you began crawling toward gojo with a sly intent. your movements were never rushed, maintaining the same unhurried pace until you reached him.

“fuck, take it off, baby. let me see that sweet pussy,” he muttered, his voice thick with need as he kept snapping photos. every glance you threw his way, full of desperate longing, seemed to make his finger press the shutter even faster.

“of course,” you murmured, now on all fours with your ass arched high in the air. slowly, you laid flat on the cold floor, your legs spread wide, and gojo immediately moved between them, positioning himself for the perfect shot.

his voice came again, commanding yet low, “play with your nipples again. like it’s my fingers teasing them, like i’m the one taking care of you.”

you obeyed, your hands returning to your needy, sensitive nipples. your head fell back, and you closed your eyes, moaning loudly as you followed his instructions.

gojo’s camera clicked incessantly. his own arousal was evident as he captured every moment. “you want my fingers, don’t you? maybe even my mouth. you’d love for me to use my tongue, wouldn’t you, baby?”

his filthy words made you moan even more “yes.”

“now take off your panties, baby. let me see that wet, swollen pussy.”

god, he was good at giving orders.

your hands finally slid to the waistband of your thong. you pulled the delicate fabric down slowly, making sure to maintain eye contact with the lens. every second, every movement was for him—and for his camera.

raising your legs into the air, you peeled the thong off completely, letting it dangle from your ankles before biting your lip and releasing a soft moan.

“stop teasing and get rid of it already,” gojo growled impatiently.

you chuckled softly, finally sliding the thong off and tossing it in his direction. to your surprise, he caught it effortlessly. while one hand remained steady on the camera, the other brought the lacy fabric to his face. he inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of your arousal.

“so sweet,” he murmured under his breath. he knelt down further between your legs, angling himself perfectly to capture the view of your dripping folds.

wasting no time, you spread your lips, showing him just how wet you were.

gojo adjusted the camera slightly, letting out a sharp curse. “touch yourself. show me how badly you want to prove yourself.”

“please, just touch me…” you begged, unable to hold back any longer. his touch was the only thing you craved.

“you can count on me ruining you the next time we meet,” he said darkly. “but for now, touch yourself and let me capture every second of that needy pussy throbbing.”

and so you did. your fingers glided over your slick walls, circling your clit before plunging inside. as you moved, all you could think about was how it would feel to have the world’s most famous photographer doing this to you instead. gojo didn’t miss a single moment. you had no idea how his camera hadn’t run out of storage, but he kept shooting until you reached your climax.

that day, you went on to complete the planned shoots in the kitchen and bedroom, wearing the other lingerie sets required. you posed exactly as gojo instructed, and not once did you hear a single word of disapproval.

when the shoot ended, the two of you were still alone in the luxurious penthouse. “good job, new girl,” gojo said, pulling out his phone to call the crew back. you got dressed and waited for the others to return so you could say goodbye.

once the team arrived, you thanked everyone and apologized for earlier. then, you turned to gojo. his face was blank, unreadable.

“i hope this is the last time i see you, new girl. but know this—if we meet again, i won’t be this calm.”

you said nothing, offering only a small smile that showed you understood exactly what he meant. then, you left the penthouse and headed to the car waiting for you downstairs.

about a month later, as you walked through shibuya to grab a coffee, you spotted a massive billboard featuring one of the photos gojo had taken of you. when the lingerie brand said they loved the shoot and wanted to sign a long-term contract with you, you felt like you could burst with happiness.

as you waited for your coffee at the café, your phone buzzed with a message. the number was unfamiliar, but you knew immediately who it was.

𓉘13:15𓉝 unknown number: heard you’ll be walking paris fashion week. also heard you’ve got a magazine shoot coming up.

𓉘13:15𓉝 unknown number: funny coincidence, looks like i’m the one shooting that.

𓉘13:15𓉝 unknown number: after the shoot, you’re coming to my hotel, and i’ll deal with you personally for that time you stood up to me in front of everyone.

biting the inside of your cheek, you slipped your phone back into your coat pocket, a small smile tugging at your lips.

fashion photographer!gojo was definitely the cockiest and most arrogant guy you’d ever met, but he was always the best at what he did. no one could rival his professionalism. he knew exactly how to elevate his subject and make them look absolutely stunning.

a little note: it’s been a scenario swirling around in my head for about a week now. it’s a bit long... but i hope you’ll like it

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

[lacydollette]

PLEASE I BEG YOU <3 Drew x Journalist Reader. Got this idea based off just seeing Drew having a short interview by a girl at the Newport beach event who was a bit nervous and asked him a question twice. Maybe you can base it off that. Reader is not the most confident, a bit shy snd awkward sometimes. She messes up for her short interview with him and feels so embarressed but Drew found it adorable since it just shows that she's human and ''real'' in a sense. Maybe Drew tries to lock eyes with her throughout the event, from him being on stage, standing in the audience listening to others, but she is like ¨''Ain't no way. It's just a coincidence ''.......but you know....he tries further to make contact

a/n BIG YES!! I saw that interview too and it was just too cute not to write about, so this request definitely came in handy. So thank you.

warnings actor!drew x journalist!reader, reader is kinda awkward, drew being a sweetheart as usual, reader is in her mid 20’s, stangers to lovers kinda trope

The crowd buzzed with excitement as you stood near the edge of the red carpet, clutching your microphone and a notepad filled with carefully prepared questions. The premiere of Outer Banks Season 4 was a major event, and the energy was incredibly high. The cast was expected to arrive any minute, and you felt your nerves getting the best of you at the thought of meeting Drew Starkey. Your Drew Starkey. Well, not exactly yours, but you'd been a fan for years, and he'd long since occupied a special place in your heart as your celebrity crush.

Taking a deep breath, you repeated your questions silently, hoping it would calm you. But just as you started to relax, you spotted him. Drew Starkey, looking effortlessly handsome and radiating that natural charm that seemed to captivate everyone around him. He was posing for photographers, his smile warm and his energy unmatched. He felt good—excited, proud, and ready to talk about the new season. But he was also looking forward to something else tonight: connecting with people who genuinely loved the show. Sometimes, he missed that raw, unscripted connection during events like this.

'Come on, y/n. You can do this',

you reminded yourself. You usually felt so confident in these situations, but Drew seemed to have a unique effect on you, making you feel like a nervous wreck. Your cheeks were already heating up, and your heart beat faster as you raised a hand and gave him a small wave once he was finished with photos.

Drew spotted you and smiled, giving a nod before making his way over. There was something different about you. Drew grinned to himself, charmed by your genuine energy. Your mind raced, and you frantically tried to remember your opening question, but it seemed to have vanished as soon as he was close enough to hear you.

"Uh, hi! Drew... Starkey..." you stammered, mentally kicking yourself as your cheeks flushed even redder. Drew had to hold back a chuckle as you stammered. "Sorry, I—I mean, obviously you're Drew. So, uh, how—how does it feel to, um, be here?"

A small smile played on Drew's lips as he tilted his head, clearly amused and a little charmed. "It feels pretty amazing," he answered gently, giving you his full attention. "I think you might be the first person to be nervous to talk to me tonight, though."

You felt yourself relax, if only a bit. He didn't seem to mind your awkwardness, and his laid-back attitude made it easier for you to laugh at yourself. "I don't usually get this flustered," you admitted, "but, uh, meeting your favorite actor is a little... intimidating."

Drew's eyebrows lifted slightly. Favorite actor? He felt a warmth spread through him, more flattered than he'd expected, his blue eyes sparkling with adoration. "Well, now you're just making me feel special," he teased gently, leaning just a touch closer. "But don't worry, I'm not here to judge. Actually, it's refreshing to meet someone who isn't just asking the same scripted questions."

You couldn't help but smile at his words. He was down-to-earth and easygoing, making you feel at ease despite your earlier awkwardness. It almost felt like you were old friends catching up rather than journalist and actor.

"Okay," you said, determined to pull it together. "So, if you could sum up Season 4 in just three words, what would they be?" Drew thought for a moment, letting his mind go back to the season they'd just wrapped. "Adventurous, intense... and wild," he said, grinning. "I think the fans are going to love it."

You nodded, managing to regain some of your confidence. "Thank you, Drew. And just so you know, Outer Banks fans will always be here for every wild ride you give us." The way you said it, with that sincerity, had him smiling from ear to ear. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, meeting your eyes. "It's good to know there are people who care about the story as much as we do."

As he moved on, Drew felt lighter, the encounter lingering in his thoughts. There was something refreshing about you—authentic, unpolished, and kind. It was exactly the kind of conversation that reminded him why he loved doing what he did.

While he walked further away from you, you couldn't help but replay the interview with Drew in your mind as you drifted through the rest of the event. You had been a little starstruck, sure, but he'd been so warm and kind that it had made you feel strangely comfortable, almost like you'd got to know each other for more than just a few brief minutes.

And just like you had trouble forgetting about your encounter, Drew couldn't shake the memory of you either—the way your cheeks flushed, the slight tremble in your voice. Drew couldn't quite explain it, but there was something that pulled him back toward you, something he hadn't felt with anyone in a long time.

When he stepped up onto the stage with the rest of the Outer Banks cast, ready for the Q&A session, his gaze instinctively drifted back into the crowd, scanning the audience. Then he found you, standing off to the side with your notepad tucked under your arm, looking just as captivated as before. You were listening attentively to the panel, your attention fully on the cast—Drew was as charismatic as ever, grinning and laughing alongside his colleagues.

But several times, you could have sworn he was looking directly at you, but you brushed it off, refusing to entertain the thought that he might actually be looking at you. He's just scanning the crowd, you thought. There's no way he'd be singling me out.

Yet, each glance felt so intentional, his gaze warm and lingering. Each time you looked his way, Drew caught himself holding your gaze just a little longer than he should, his eyes following you with a subtle, warm curiosity, until you had to look away before you got lost in his eyes again. Still, you convinced yourself that you were being silly. There was no reason that Drew Starkey was staring at you.

But Drew was. He could see the way you tried to hide your reactions, the way you would quickly look away whenever your eyes met, almost as if you were embarrassed by the attention. He thought it was adorable. The more he saw you, the more he knew he wanted to get to know you better.

His gaze followed you even as he answered the crowd's questions, and the small, knowing smile he wore didn't go unnoticed by his co stars, who exchanged teasing glances with each other. They could sense something different about Drew's mood tonight.

After the Q&A ended, Drew made his way through the post-panel mingling, still keeping an eye out for you while you hung back. A couple of times, he seemed to be moving in your direction, and your heart thudded loudly. But then, just as quickly, someone would pull him away for a quick photo or handshake. You shook your head, convincing yourself it was nothing, just your own wishful thinking.

Eventually, you decided to call it a night, making your way out of the bustling venue with a small, satisfied smile. Meeting Drew had been more than you'd expected, a little moment you'd treasure, even if he'd likely never think of you again.

When Drew finally broke away, he glanced back to where you'd been standing, but you were gone, and his heart sank a little. He hadn't even gotten your last name or which media outlet you were with. All he knew was your first name and that undeniable connection he'd felt. Drew had plenty of interactions with fans and journalists over the years, but there was something about you that was different, something he wasn't ready to let go of so easily. There had to be a way to reach out to you again, and he was determined to find it.

He could already picture himself talking to his publicist, describing you—the journalist with the kind smile, the one who didn't ask the usual questions. He would find you, he decided. He wasn't about to let this connection slip through his fingers.

The morning after the premiere, you arrived at work feeling the usual post-event exhaustion. Meeting Drew had been the highlight of your night, and although you'd convinced yourself he was just being friendly, your mind kept replaying the way his eyes had seemed to find yours in the crowd. But now, back in the real world, it was just a fun memory you'd carry with you as you returned to your daily routine.

You set down your coffee, flipped open your laptop, and began your morning tasks: drafting a few responses, diving into some research for your next article and sorting through emails. The office was buzzing as usual, your coworkers catching up on coffee breaks and deadlines. Just another ordinary day—until your eyes caught an email with an unknown addressee.

The message was short and to the point:

Hi y/n,

Drew's Team had a couple of follow-up questions about last night's interview. Would you mind getting in touch with us? The number is below if it's easier for you to reach us directly.

Your heart skipped as you read the last line over and over, your eyes glued to the phone number listed at the bottom of the email. Your hands trembled slightly, your mind racing with possibilities. You felt a small jolt of anxiety—had you messed up somehow? You told yourself to stay calm, to stay professional—but something told you this was more than just a follow-up. You quickly picked up your phone, dialing the number as you took a sip of coffee to calm your nerves.

The line rang a couple of times before a familiar voice answered on the other end, smooth and unmistakably warm. "Hello? Y/n? This is Drew." You choked, your coffee going down the wrong way as you coughed in shock, barely managing to keep your composure. Drew? You hadn't expected this at all.

"Y/n? Are you okay?" he asked, a gentle laugh in his voice that only made your face heat up more. "Y-yes! I'm fine," you stammered, quickly setting your coffee aside as you tried to regain your composure. "Sorry, I just—didn't realize it would be you answering."

Drew chuckled, sounding completely at ease. "Sorry about the surprise. I wasn't sure how to reach out to you and if you'd even pick up if you knew it was me," he teased lightly. "I just wanted to follow up about our conversation last night. And, well...I'm still around today, so I hoped we could grab a coffee later?"

Your heart raced, unable to believe this was happening. You managed to swallow back your surprise and keep your voice steady, even as a smile tugged at your lips. "I... I'd like that," you replied softly, realizing this conversation could lead to more than you'd ever imagined.

[elllisaaa]

FOCUS ON ME - J. WONWOO

KINKTOBER DAY 12 - BONGAGE + MIRRORS

SUMMARY : you wanted to be more confident about your body and having a boudoir photoshoot seemed to be a good option. you just didn't plan that having the photographer tying you up would excite you that much.

-> pairing : photographer!wonwoo x fem!reader

-> words count : 2.2k

-> genre : smut

-> warnings : bondage (obviously), mirror sex (obviously too), mentions of body insecurities, boudoir photoshoot, lingerie, praise kink, body worship, begging, fingering

+ the way i'm depicting wonwoo does not represent him, it's only a work of fiction

-> 18+ content bellow, minors DNI

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> masterlist | svt masterlist | kinktober 2024

You had always struggled with your body image. Being raised by an almond mother and surrounded by people who constantly commented on your weight and appearance didn’t help either. However, you tried to get your confidence back, it was a long path, but you could feel that you were getting there. In everyday life, it was easy to be sure of yourself, but when it came to being intimate with someone else, it was still complicated. And you had enough of asking your hook ups to turn off the light, or of keeping your clothes because you couldn’t bear to see yourself in the nude. It was over, and you had decided to take big measures. 

“- So… How do you want to do that ? I’m sorry, this is a first for me.”

Wonwoo smiled at you gently despite your initial awkwardness. He was a friend of your best friend, and even if you had crossed paths with him at some hangouts, you had no idea that he was studying photography. So when you told her about your project and that she gave you Wonwoo’s number, you thought that it was perfect. Though, now that you were really about to do it, you felt a little shy. Mostly because of these insecurities that had been eating you up for years, and also maybe a little because you didn’t remember that Wonwoo was that handsome. 

“- Don’t worry, it’s gonna be fine. The bathroom is right there if you want to change, we can start whenever you’re ready. And if you feel uncomfortable at any moment, tell me, okay ?

- Okay, thank you.”

He smiled at you again, his eyes crinkling at the corner behind the frame of his glasses. You went to his bathroom to change into the lingerie set you had brought with you, taking a deep breath as you looked at yourself in the mirror. The black lace of your panties and corset were complimenting the tone of your skin perfectly, underlining your curves. You knew that you were objectively very pretty, but you still had trouble admitting it, really seeing it. And the fact that Wonwoo looked so good in his simple black pants and white tee shirt didn’t help you relax either. 

As you walked back into the room in only your underwear, Wonwoo turned to look at you, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the mostly nude state of your body. You had warned him that you wanted to do a boudoir photoshoot, but he wasn’t prepared to see you like that. He tried to not make it obvious as he pretended to be busy setting up his camera. You could already feel your cheeks grow red as you walked to the set he had prepared according to the inspiration pics you had sent to him, the fluffy white plaid laid on the floor ready to welcome you. 

“- You can get comfortable and I’ll let you tell me if you want to do a pose or something in particular, if that’s fine with you.

- Yes, that’s perfect.

- Oh, and Y/N ?

- Yeah ?

- Don’t stress, it’s gonna be alright.”

His reassuring smile and words did ease your nerves as you sat down on the blanket on the floor. In the meantime, Wonwoo had started to play some sensual music to put you in the mood. As he walked over to his camera, you decided to start out with something soft, only slightly suggestive. 

“- Okay, let’s go. If you want to take a break or to stop at any moment, just tell me.

- Yeah, thank you.”

How careful and cautious he was made you feel at ease, and as the shoot went on, you let yourself forget about what made you anxious in the first place. Your poses got more and more sensual as time went on, getting more and more confident. 

“- Perfect, you’re doing so good Y/N.”

Your cheeks were dusted in a slight shade of pink everytime Wonwoo praised you, even more so because you were now bending over, showing off the arch of your back and the curve of your ass, your eyes boring into the camera lasciviously. Wonwoo had the excuse of his camera to check you out shamelessly, but as you got bolder, it also got harder for him to hide how affected he was by the show you were putting on. 

“- Wonwoo ?”

He snapped out of his daze as you called out for him, detaching himself from his camera to really look at you, and he gulped down loudly as he tried to not let his eyes wander down. He knew why you wanted to do that, he knew about your motives, and the last thing he wanted was to make you feel uncomfortable. 

“- Yeah ? 

- I had… Something else in mind. 

- Yes, of course. Tell me.”

Without any other words, you stood up and went to get something from your bag. When you turned to him again, you were holding some red ropes that left little to his imagination as to what you wanted to use them for. Wonwoo looked at the ropes in between your hands for a moment, speechless. He pushed his glasses up on his nose to try and give himself some composure. 

“- Do you… Do you need any help putting that on ?

- Yes, please.”

You started to make some of the knots yourself, and you showed Wonwoo which ones he needed to make, until your arms were tied behind your back, and your chest was covered in the red ropes to underline the shape of your breasts. Everytime his fingers brushed against your bare skin, you shivered, and you couldn’t help how much seeing him focused on tying the knots through the reflection of the mirror had turned you on. You looked at the final result and you nodded at him with a satisfied smile. 

“- It’s perfect, thank you…

- You’re welcome.”

You went to kneel down in front of the camera again, showing your tied arms and your back to Wonwoo as you turned your head back to look directly into the lens. And he had to mentally stop himself from looking at you for too long as he adjusted the angle to take the perfect shot. It was as if this had sparked up your confidence even more, and you got even bolder and seductive in your poses. It was also getting harder for Wonwoo to concentrate on his camera and not on the way he could figure out the outline of your nipples from underneath the thin material of your corset. 

“- Wonwoo ?”

Your name coming out of his mouth made it even more complicated for him to not pop a boner, but he still perked up from behind the camera to look you in the eyes.

“- Yeah ?

- Could you… Take some closer shots, if you don’t mind it.”

You saw him visibly swallow as he shook his head and took his camera in between his hands, stepping closer to you to take some focused shots of certain parts of your body. Now, it was impossible for him to not get hard as he had your ass in full display for him. 

“- Can I… Can I try something ? I think it would make it even better, if you don’t mind.”

Something darker was passing through his eyes, but you didn’t care as you nodded at him. You watched behind your bent back as he carefully let one of his hands come down to lend on your ass, his eyes locked with yours as if to be sure you were okay with it. But you only licked your lips as Wonwoo snapped one more photo of his big hand resting against your skin. Slowly, he let his hand travel to one of the ropes crossing over your back, grabbing it and taking a larger shot of your whole body bent over, his muscular and veiny forearm coming into the frame. 

“- Turn around.”

You hadn’t realized just how into it you were until his deep voice echoed again. You obeyed his command, leaning on your back and looking up at him. He was now kneeling in between your legs, his hands traveling up from your waist to the ropes around your breasts, tugging on them and making your breath hitch in your throat. He was still holding the camera, but it was like he forgot why you were here in the first place, not taking any more photos as his free hand roamed all around your body.

“- Tell me to stop…

- I don’t want you to, please Wonwoo…

- Fuck it.”

He didn’t let you any more time to think before he crashed his lips against yours in a messy and hungry kiss. Wonwoo discarded the camera to the side, nothing other than you crossing his mind as both of his hands went to spread your legs wider, caressing and groping the plush skin of your thighs. He couldn’t understand how you could not love your body when you literally looked like a goddess, when it was hard for him to contain himself when he saw you walk out of his bathroom almost naked. 

“- You look so fucking pretty, all tied up like this… I can’t tear my eyes away from you.”

His praises made a fire come alive in your veins, a whine escaping from your lips as he pulled you closer to him, pressing his boner against your sensitive clit. His lips derived from your lips to your neck, down to your cleavage and all over your body. Every spot he kissed was left burning, from your ankle to your inner thigh, so close yet so far away from where you needed him. Every little sound coming from your mouth only spurred him on, ignoring the raging boner that started to hurt to worship your body.

“- Wonwoo, please…

- You sound so good, baby… You need to see just how pretty you are.”

Wonwoo lifted you in his arms as if you weighed nothing, making you sit down in front of the full-length mirror of his living room, your back pressed against his chest. He spread your legs again, resting your thighs over his as his fingers finally brushed against your clothed core, making you exhale a shaky breath. He worked you up slowly, even if the dark spot on your panties were telling enough about how turned on you were. 

“- Look at yourself, look at how well you’re taking my fingers.”

His voice murmuring the words just against your ear made you moan just as loud as the feeling of two of his fingers pushing past your folds, stretching you out and gliding in your folds so easily. Your eyes bore into his through the reflection of the mirror, his gaze full of lust for you making you clench around his fingers. 

“- You’re doing so good for me, every inch of you is perfect.”

Every word he spoke brought you closer to the edge, and even if the ropes were starting to hurt and burn your skin, you felt too good to care. His fingers moved in the perfect way to hit your sweet spot just right, over and over again until you were a moaning mess under his touch. You could clearly see the way you were getting wetter and wetter by the seconds with your underwear pulled to the side. And you felt sexy, you felt attractive, all because Wonwoo couldn’t stop telling you that you looked perfect, that you were the prettiest thing he had ever seen, that you were being a good girl, his good girl. 

“- Wonwoo, I’m close…

- Let go Y/N, cum for me.”

Your moans became more broken as you felt your orgasm wash over you, your thighs trembling and your walls clenching around his fingers. Wonwoo slowed down his pace gradually, until you were shaking from overstimulation. 

“- Look at you, look at how pretty you are.”

You did look pretty, even though you also seemed completely gone, completely fucked out. Your chest heaved up and down with your ragged breathing. 

“- Say it. 

- I’m… I’m pretty…

- Yes, you are.”

His lips were on yours again, his glasses getting fogged up by your hot breath as he devoured your mouth in a much more tender manner than before. You chuckled as you watched him wash his glasses, and his eyes were glimmering with something else than the lust that had taken over him. Then, he detached the knots one by one, massaging your sore arms once you were free. 

“- Are you okay ?

- Yeah, it was… Amazing.”

You turned around until you were able to sit on his lap, kissing him again, as you rocked your hips against his still painfully obvious boner. The relieved sigh he let out and that you swallowed in your mouth made you smile. 

“- You want me to take care of that ?

- You don’t have to.

- Yes, but I want to. Do you ?

- Fuck… Yes, I do.”

You smirked at him as you reached for his camera, getting out of his lap to put it in his hands as you crawled in between his legs, your hand squeezing his hard on over his pants and making him groan under his breath. 

“- You can take some photos. These ones are only for you, though.”

And Wonwoo fully intended to keep them all for himself, to keep you all for himself.

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my work.

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[crushpunky]

drew and actress!reader at the venice film festival

check out the drew starkey x actress!reader timeline for some background <3 also i wrote this using "y/n" as people suggested, hopefully you like it :)

Cameras flashed and fans screamed as Drew exited the limousine, his navy suit matching the precise blue of his eyes. He had dreamt of this moment his whole life, the buzz in the air and the whispers of “next big thing” and “star power” that floated into his ears. He couldn’t help but smile, taking in the lively atmosphere, before continuing towards the carpet. It was by no means his first red carpet, but the grandeur of a Venice premiere made his heart skip a beat as he continued along the carpet, stopping to take photos with his costars and fans.

The crowd’s screams came to a peak, causing Drew to look up from the photo he had been signing. There she was, exiting a sleek black car in a stunning gown: y/n. Her eyes locked on his, giving him a small wave. Drew grinned, quickly finishing his signature before nearly sprinting towards her. Once he made it to her, he nearly tackled her with a kiss to her lips, not caring that her lipstick would likely stain his own lips. How could he care about something as little as that when she was looking like that and he was feeling like this?

“Drew!” Y/n giggled, using her thumb to wipe some of the smeared lipstick in the corner of his mouth. He didn’t say a word, just pulled her into his side with another kiss to her head before leading her towards the red carpet.

“Oh I don’t think—” Y/n began, looking at the photographers as they scrambled to take photos of the famous couple. She had previously been planning on just chatting with fans for a moment before quietly ducking into the theater, not wanting to detract from the cast’s special night. Drew, however, had other ideas.

“Please?” Drew asked quietly, softly tracing his thumb along the small of y/n’s back as they posed for photos. She peered up at Drew, taking him in as he glowed underneath the setting sun. Though nobody else could see, she could tell the anticipation of the premiere, the excitement of the fans, the flash of the lights, all combined in a way that undoubtedly made his mind race. She knew Drew like the back of her hand, knew the nerves he always felt at events like these, but she also knew that he had nothing to worry about.

Drew looked down at her with a grin before slipping his hand into y/n’s. They continued down the carpet before ending in front of a sharply dressed reporter. Y/n glanced at Drew once again, asking silently if it was time for her to head into the theater, however, his firm grip on her hand told her to stay. 

“First off, congratulations on your very first Venice premiere!” The reporter said, causing Drew to smile widely, his cheeks blushing as they often did whenever he received a compliment.

“Thank you, thank you.” Drew responded.

“And to you, y/n, welcome back.” The reporter gestured to her with his microphone.

“Thank you, it’s wonderful to be back.” Y/n smiled softly as Drew squeezed her hand lightly.

“So, Drew, your performance is already being praised as ‘star-making’, how are you feeling?” The reporter asked, turning back towards Drew.

“Oh, wow— I don’t know...” Drew chuckled. “It all just seems so surreal. Amazing, but surreal. To see that people are appreciating the film is really all I could’ve asked for, so the fact that people are kind enough to say that means a lot.”

“Wonderful, truly.” The reporter grinned. “You deserve all the praise.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I’m not sure I can take all the credit.” Drew said, y/n watching intently as he spoke.

“This was definitely a group effort, between myself and Daniel, Luca, the wonderful cast and crew, the people that supported me throughout this journey, especially—” Drew looked down at y/n, pausing for a moment, his smile wide, “my beautiful wife. So many people came together for this and they all deserve praise.”

Y/n felt her heart swell, the bomb they had been holding for the past month finally dropping. She could hear the crowd erupt at his words, but she kept her eyes on Drew, the two of them grinning at each other love-drunkenly. She hadn’t even thought about how good that would feel, him calling her his wife. It was a high she had never felt, the proclamation making her feel weak in the knees.

“Wife? Did I hear that correctly?” The reporter shouted excitedly over the booming crowd.

“Yes, yes you did. This is my wonderful wife.” Drew chuckled, snaking his hand around y/n’s waist and pulling her closer.

“Wow, congratulations! That’s amazing!” The reporter practically bounced with excitement.

“Thank you.” Y/n smiled, leaning into Drew’s touch.

“I’ll let you two go, once again, congratulations!” The reporter said, directing them towards the entrance to the theater. The couple thanked him once more before heading into the screening room. Rows of people filled the theater, their eyes locked on the two of them as they entered the room.

"Love you. Proud of you.” Y/n said, pressing a kiss to Drew’s jaw before making her way to her seat behind the cast. Drew watched as she sat down, her eyes unwaveringly attached to him. Her husband. Y/n smiled back at him as the lights dimmed, the world finally prepared to see the star that was Drew Starkey.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

last set of tsumsitter ssr groovies 👀

THE TIME HAS COME

First is Pomefiore!! (Edit: The initial version of this Groovy is on the left; Rook is missing the golden Pomefiore markings on his robes. There was an update to fix this. The updated version is on the right.)

The trio is framed by a border of colorful lights, which reminds me a lot of old-fashioned movie theater signs (though not as colorful). If you look closely at the top and bottom, it seems they are posed for a candid photograph and it’s being posted to Magicam or something?? Rook and Epel look super crisp here, which I love!! I think Epel is posing with his hands held behind his back. This paired with his smile and the slight bird’s eye view of his face makes him look super cute please don’t beat me up for saying that, Epel. And Rook is being showy and familiar as usual, even putting one hand on Vil’s shoulder. Vil isn’t cringing or uncomfortable with it, which goes to show that he and Rook are truly good friends.

As for Vil, it’s rare to see him posed casually like this. Most of his cards feature him posed in very “model”-like and mature ways, so to have just one hand on hip, leaning forward slightly, and gripping his grimoire is unique for him (I mostly associate this pose with Ace, lol). His smile is quite casual too—it’s not quite the full catty smirk he has in his live2D model, it’s a lot more subtle and playful.

BahacTeHWWRVwkkwwm YHE VIL TSUM STeALS THE SHOW ThoUGH 😭 (You can tell it’s smiling despite the lack of a visible mouth) from how its eyes!! The placement of the Tsum is also funny. With Pomefiore’s peacock throne in the background, it forms sort of an angelic halo around… the sentient stuffed toy… Proof that Tsum Vil is a heavenly being/j

Next is Ignihyde!!

The Shroud brothers return to Cyberspace, that blue void with tons of ethereal floating screens, particle effects, and code www I don’t know what those three pink balls of flame are in the background, but there being three of them is a consistent theme for Ignihyde. Three pink fireballs, three Shroud brothers, three heads of Cerberus! I wish I could say more here, but I’m basically a Malleus when it comes to tech—

Idia’s pose isn’t anything we haven’t seen before (just at different angles of it, I suppose). But!! It feels different here and adding Ortho definitely adds to it. The Pokémon trainer energy of the initial art carries over to the Groovy. Idia looks like a smug, tough trainer looking down on you with a cocky grin and his face half-shadowed.

Ortho floats almost menacingly next to his big brother, his face entirely shadowed. His aura is like a phantom (fitting) or even like a Pokémon on standby waiting for the chance to fire off a Hyper Beam. This might be me overthinking things, but I wonder if the amount of light on the brothers’ faces references the original Ortho. Robo!Ortho’s face is entirely darkened because his parallel has passed on. Idia’s face is only partially shadowed because while he was close to stepping over to the “other side”, he ultimately found hope and was able to continue living, this time for himself and on his own terms.

I LIKE HoW TSUM IDIA HAS ITS OWN sCREEN TO WORK OFF OF TOO 😭 IBRO IS MAkING A sUS FACE TOO, IT’S GLEEfUL AbOUT WhAtEVRr it’S UP TO… That makes me think that it’s hard at work… I dunno, hacking something systems fnksgwiwozlapaeb Watch out, a Tsum near you might infect your computer and then bounce away happily after ruining all your programs and files.

Last but not least… Diasomnia!! THIS ONE’S MY fAVORITE OF THE SSR TSUMSITTER GROUP, WHICH I WAs NOT EXPecTING AT ALL 🤡

The violet backlight is fantastic—it adds an interesting lighting to the illustration and highlights the green flames and Silver and Sebek’s bright eyes. And speaking of Sebek and Silver, LOOK AT THEM JUST LOOK AT THEM???????? More specifically, Sebek’s arms (they look ultra meaty somehow) and Silver’s whole face(that lopsided smile??? HELLO?????)!! On either side of Malleus like that… Peak bodyguard, I REPEAT, PEAK BODYGUARD

With Lilia bringing up the rear, the three form a perfect squad to surround and to protect their liege. cbsjsbevejwlw I like that Lilia is different than Silver and Sebek; he’s hanging out upside down (as he usually does) and bears a huuuge grin, completely having fun in the moment. (… How does his hat stay on like that when he’s fighting gravity though?)

Up front and center is Malleus of course! He’s wielding his spindle staff like a king might a scepter. This with his fierce face gives the impression of a leader marching into battle with his retainers. You get a real good shot of his teeth and reptilian eyes here which I’m sure the Malleus stans are going feral for right now—and with the limelight shining down on him, he looks almost hopeful for once instead of downtrodden or gloomy.

THE TSUM MALLEUS LOOKS SO FUNKY PLACED tHERE cnsnwveuxvDFsFjqk Just. Cheekily There on Malleus’s shoulder… Because Maleficent and Diablo is a known combination, the image of those two as master and minion comes to mind. Imagine Malleus blasting you with lightning, pausing to listen to his Tsum whispering a suggestion into his ear, and then telling you the Tsum has advised that he blast you with a second strike 💀

Aaaaaah, the Tsumsitter SSR Groovies are some of the best in this game 😭 So glad they’re finally over though, it’s stressful saving rolls for what you know would be a limited event with multiple SSR banners, lol

[ramonathinks]

Picture Perfect — MDNI !!! 18+ only

yes this is a repost from my old account :)

Choso doesn’t consider himself a pervert. Not a prude either. Just the normal amount of horny. But for some reason, whenever it came to you. He couldn’t control himself.

He was an amateur photographer. Just doing something to pass the time but he grew to love it. It was a secret, but you were his muse. No matter what, he made sure to capture photos of you or with you in it, even if it was just a blur or a speck.

It helped that he took pictures for the university and you were apart of a lot of clubs, not that he was keeping track but: cheerleading, book club, track, even spending time in soup kitchens, volunteering for almost anything. You were almost too sweet.

But he was a deviant. Not that you knew. You talked to him plenty of times especially since you were always in the school newspaper. It was hard to ignore you but you were the reason he took the job. He didn’t know how to talk to you like he wanted to.

He hated himself for doing this yet here he was, using one of your photos for himself. Slowly jerking his wet cock in his hand, thinking about how you posed for him. You were taking your cheerleaders to nationals and it was the first time in 10 years. Your plump ass in a little tight skirt and your breast snug in your top, but especially the amount of stomach showing had him in a frenzy.

“Oh fuck,” His toes curled and his hand quickened the pace. “I just—” It was quick, quicker than normal. Ropes of cum on his stomach and he couldn’t help but feel guilty, you were too nice for his disgusting behavior. He hated himself.

His cock twitched a bit when he heard your voice knocking on the door, “Choso? Are you there?” Delicate and flowery sounding, he felt like scum.

“Y-yeah! In a minute.”

It took him 3 minutes to fix himself. 3 minutes of you waiting on him, felt like hell on earth. “Hi!” Your smile had his heart beating rapidly.

“Hey, sorry to keep you waiting.”

“No…No, I came unannounced. Sorry. I just wanted to see the pictures you took. Is that okay?”

Who was he to tell you no? He would kiss your feet if you told him too.

“Sure… sure, I mean, it’s you—your pictures.” He swallowed and suddenly his shirt felt tighter. “Come in.”

You stepped inside and his scent washed all over you. A gentle musk that reminded you of fresh air. You grinned and sat in his desk chair, he already had the pictures pulled up. “You do work on the weekends too?”

He froze, “Uh, yeah. Why not? Finished all my assignments so.”

You nodded in understanding. You scrolled and he grew nervous hearing the “hmm’s” and “oh’s” leaving your mouth. “You really take some great pictures.” You turned to look at him. “Especially of me. You a lover boy? You in love with me or something?” You joked, your cheeks flushed.

He swallowed harshly and ran a hand through his hair before he chuckled. You stared at him, “I know you were masturbating to my pictures, Choso.”

He froze. Completely froze. Your eyes razor sharp as you looked at him. He didn’t try to defend himself or even to deny it. He just looked down. “I—”

“If it was anyone else, I would be offended or even disgusted honestly.” With his eyes still to the floor, they lit up but he still couldn’t bare himself to look at you.

He heard an unzipping sound and he shook his head. “I think about you too, you know… your hands, so strong and big… I see how you grip your camera.” He was too scared to look up but when he did, he almost fainted.

Under your jacket, were just your bare breasts and he was scared to wonder what was under your leggings.

“It’s hard being perfect… it makes me untouchable. Nobody wants to ruin that,” You suck on your index finger as he watches. “I never thought about someone as much as you. Do’ya know how happy I was that you were the photographer?”

He bit his lips.

“I knew you liked me.” You told him, watching him.

He moved closer. He was on his knees.

He kissed you. He never made the first move but he had to kiss you. Your soft lips against his, he melted.

Moaning into the kiss. His hands grabbing at all your flesh, his mouth moving all over until he put a nipple into his mouth. Your back arched, wanting him closer as he sucked deeply. His fingers playing your other nipple, twirling and squeezing at it.

But he couldn’t stop there. He had to have you in his mouth. You were quiet, a lusty haze over your eyes as he pulled your leggings down. Revealing what he already knew: a wet mess between your thighs.

Your legs over his head as he licked between your folds. Twisting and turning his head as he inhaled in your scent and sucked on your lips, swirling his tongue over your swollen clit.

His drool and your wetness mixing in and dripping on to his chair. His whimpering soft, covered by your moans. “Choso, slow-slow,” His mouth was moving too fast, his tongue was everywhere and even his nose was making you flinch. You couldn’t keep up.

The flash didn’t register to you. But Choso kept all memories of you and this one was too perfect to forget.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Would you write a dark and toxic romance fic?

For instance, Carlos Sainz has a girlfriend. F1 has an influencer program and invites a lingerie model to a race. Carlos is highly attracted to her, basically on his knees for her. She doesn't want to get involved and pushes him away. Carlos can't stop thinking about her and wants her more every time he sees her. He starts to try and seduce the model. She secretly enjoys his touch and pet names, dirty talks and etc., but stops him every time. Under some circumstance they finally fuck, Carlos is obsessed with making her feel pleasure. After that she's avoiding him but all Carlos wants is more of her. She even prohibits the driver from braking up with his gf. Carlos obey but in exchange wants the model to be his friend with benefits

**Not dark sorry**

Lady in Red (1) || CS55

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr x fem!reader Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, oral, cheating WC: 2.7k

One || Two || Three || Four

You tried to resist him, you really did. You could honestly put a hand on your heart and swear you turned down the advances he made but he was persistent. 

“You’re riding with me, hermosa.” You jumped at the Spanish driver's voice in your ear, not realising he had managed to get so close to you without noticing. 

“I’m meant to be in Charles' car,” you replied as your heart rate crept up, like his cleverly hidden hand on your ribs.

“Plans changed, now I get you all to myself.”

Each day you found it harder to fight the urge to give into him. The nights left you tossing in an empty bed as you imagined all the filthy things he had whispered in your ear each time he passed. This promotion with F1 and Ferrari in particular needed to end soon or, so help you, the temptation would be too much.

A clap of hands drew your attention away from Carlos and the professional photographer waved you forward to the red sports car waiting for you. You were accustomed to being the envy of the men around you, you were literally paid to lure them in with your body and the lingerie you paraded. This promotion was no different, only it seemed to be working a little too well on one man in particular - a man who was in a very public relationship. 

“Gorgeous, honey!” Cristiano blew a kiss as he snapped away on his camera, capturing your poses on the hood of the car effortlessly.

It would have been a lie to say you hadn’t noticed Carlos shuffle his way through the lighting staff and makeup artists to get a better view. You noticed, and you played with fire.

Carlos tugged at the collar of his race suit as his body temperature spiked. He had never been so enthralled by a woman before and he couldn’t let you leave without taking a bite of the forbidden fruit. The way you sat on the hood of his car made his blood race and when you leaned back and spread your legs as you looked to the sky, he swore that he had found the altar to worship on his knees for. 

Carlos bit his lip and vowed to take you like that before the campaign was over. He was going to have you, he didn’t care what he had to do to make it happen - there was no price he wouldn’t pay, and everyone had a price.

Cristiano spotted Carlos edging forward, his shadow interfering with the light and snapped his fingers at the man. “You, red man, go to her.”

Carlos didn’t need any encouragement as he strode confidently to his car and looked down at your reclined position with a dark smile. “How do you want me?”

Your lips parted with an answer before you realised he was speaking to Cristiano and snapped your mouth closed but Carlos’ smirk grew. “Do you have something to say, hermosa?”

“I thought this was a lingerie shoot.”

“I can strip down for you, I have no problem with that,” he said as he reached for his collar but you caught his hand to stop him.

“I think your girlfriend would have a problem with that.”

“Then don’t think about my girlfriend.”

“Red man, baby, you’re too stiff. Relax and take a seat,” Cristiano called out, curling a finger for you to stand up. Carlos took your place on the hood and an assistant darted across the track with his helmet. “Okay, honey, turn around and do your thing.”

You inwardly cursed as you faced Carlos and saw your reflection in the tint of his visor, the bright red lace you wore matching his suit perfectly. 

“Do your thing, hermosa,” he dared from the helmet as he lifted his feet to the front bumper and spread his knees for you to step between. 

You told yourself this was just a job, that the chemistry was purely for camera, as you placed your hands on his knees and arched your back before looking over your shoulder. The sound Cristiano made was pure excitement and he snapped a few shots with encouragement to do more. 

“Fuck, you are beautiful,” Carlos groaned as your position thrust your breasts into his line of vision and he all but whimpered when you turned around. 

You didn’t have to fake the pleasure on your face when you leaned back against Carlos and tipped your head back onto his shoulder, looking up under your lashes as you bit your lip. Without needing direction, his hands found your hips and pulled you flush against his body and your hand reached up, slipping beneath the back of his helmet to tug the strands of hair you caught.

“How wet are you, hermosa?” he whispered in your ear. “I bet you are absolutely dripping for me.”

You crossed your legs as naturally as you could in the stiletto heels and felt his chest bounce with a laugh. “Don’t be shy now. We are just getting started.”

His hands burned your skin as they slowly rose up your body and you didn’t dare breathe until they reached the cup of your bra and you pushed away from the car. You were at risk of doing something very stupid if you stayed there a moment longer. “What’s next?” you asked the director, silently begging it to be something solo so you could recover from being so close to Carlos. 

But your wish was ignored.

 “Some hot laps, you’re with Carlos.”

You looked longingly at Stacy who was making her way to Charles’ car but your view was interrupted by Carlos and the arm he threw over your shoulders, turning you to the passenger door. “Ready, cariña​?”

“Carlos…” your words died out as he opened the door and gave you a look that dared you to moan his name again so you silently took your seat.

“Open your legs.”

“No!” you gasped before looking at your lap and seeing the seatbelt was nothing like ones you had worn in the past. This one had a buckle between your thighs. “Oh.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t think about it,” he chuckled as he reached for the metal clasp, a hiss of air escaping your clenched teeth when his knuckles brushed over your panties. “It is humid here, isn’t it? Very moist.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned.

“What? I am talking about the weather. Unless you know of something else that is moist?”

“Please stop saying that word.”

“How about wet? Do you like that? You can tell me what you like, I am a very good listener.”

“I would like you to please focus on driving.”

“Relax, I am good at multitasking.”

“Like having a girlfriend and still trying to get my attention?”

Carlos scoffed before closing the door and walking around to his side. “Cariña, I’m not ‘trying’ anything, I had you the moment you walked in my garage.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

The engine started with a purr and your heart skipped a beat as Carlos smirked to himself. “We’ll see about that.”

Your entire body was trembling by the time the car came to a screeching halt at the start of the track. Adrenaline flooded your body and after the thrilling speeds that Carlos had driven at the world seemed to spin too slow. You wanted that heady feeling again, it was addictive.

Carlos had barely paid attention to the track as the sounds that you made drained his brain of his blood and sent it straight to his dick. He took the turns faster so your shoulders brushed with his and he hit the chicanes harder to see your perfect tits bounce in the barely-there bra.

“Dinner, tonight,” Carlos stated as he turned the car off and reached over to the buckle and pushed it in. The plastic pressed to the juncture of your thighs and a moan escaped before you could suppress it and he grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Carlos knocked at your hotel door right on time and you checked yourself over once more before opening it. After seeing how he had reacted to the red Ferrari & I.D Sarrieri lingerie crossover set at the photoshoot, you found an equally racy dress in the same shade of rouge.

“I thought we were going out?” you asked as you saw a tray balanced in his hand.

The look he gave you was truly devilish as he dragged his eyes down your body and back up to your face. “I prefer to eat in.”

He slipped past you and hooked his shoe on the door, kicking it closed. You stared at his back as he walked deeper into your hotel room before he turned and curled a finger, beckoning you to join him in the dining room.

“Shit,” you murmured to yourself as you took a step towards him without meaning to and thought, I’m in trouble.

Carlos placed the covered tray on the table and pulled out a chair before holding his hand out for you. Against your better judgement, you placed your hand in his and let him pull you closer. His arms curled around your back as your hands settled on his shoulders as he smiled triumphantly.

“I finally have you all to myself, hermosa.”

One hand slipped down your back but you couldn’t find the energy to fight his advances as his palm caressed the swell of your ass. You were just trying to figure out how to make your lungs breathe again when his lips stole what little air you had left.

You curled your body against him as his tongue lashed across you lips and they parted on instinct as you wanted more.

“This dress is killing me,” he groaned as his hand travelled further down until he reached the hem and dragged it up over your hips. Cool air kissed your skin that was completely bare beneath the dress. “Looks like you had plans of your own.”

Your head fell back with a moan as his lips sealed over the racing pulse in your neck. “I didn’t want lines showing on the dress,” you lied, because the fantasy of this moment had crossed your mind. You just hadn’t thought about the possibility of letting it go this far in real life.

You felt his teeth graze your skin as he smiled at the lie and his hands gripped your hips before he lifted you onto the table. “What are you…”

Your words faded out as he dropped into the chair and licked his lips at the sight before him. “Eating in.”

You screwed your eyes shut knowing you were going straight to hell with a Ferrari red A pinned to your dress. You screwed your eyes shut as he kissed your left calf and placed your heel on the arm of his chair before doing the same to the right.

“Cariño,” he murmured between the kisses and bites he trailed up your thighs before he lashed his tongue through your folds. “Hmm, you are so wet for me.”

You reached for his thick, dark hair and combed your fingers through it as you gave into the temptation. You tightened your fingers in the strands and pulled him back to where you needed him most. “Hasn’t anyone told you not to talk with a mouthful?”

“Where are my manners,” he chuckled, his breath scorching on your skin. “Let me make it up to you.”

Your head thumped back on the tabletop as he completely devoured you, moaning at the taste of you on his tongue. The chandelier above you was almost as bright as the stars that danced around your vision as the man made a buffet of you. You had never had someone put so much passion into eating your pussy and it showed as your first orgasm quickly built and wracked your body with undulating waves of pleasure that he eagerly lapped at.

“You taste so fucking good, hermosa,” he praised as he lazily traced his fingers along your dripping slit and he rose to his feet. Your mind was in a haze and you smiled dumbly as you looked up at Carlos to see his lips glossy with your come.

“You are a filthy man,” you purred as he swiped his thumb over his bottom lip before licking it clean.

“We’re just getting started,” he teased as he reached over to the tray and lifted the lid. “Strawberry?”

You parted your lips as he dipped the sweet fruit in the tub of chocolate sauce but instead of giving you a taste, he drizzled the chocolate over the swell of your breasts. You didn’t care if it ruined the dress because his lips were on your skin, his fingers pulling the material down to bare your breasts before his tongue swirled around them.

“Fuck, Carlos,” you cried as he sucked your nipple to hard peaks. Your body burned for more, your back arching as your hips rolled in search of friction to ease the ache to be filled. “Fuck me, please.”

He didn’t need to be told twice as he reached into his pocket for a condom before unzipping his trousers. You were impatient, squirming on the table as he tore into the foil and rolled the sheath down his hard length. You sat up at the edge of the table and surprised him as you wrapped your hand around his cock, guiding him to your entrance as he watched on hungrily.

“Take it, cariña, take it,” he grunted deeply as he inched himself into your tight cunt until your bodies were pressed to each other. Your legs wrapped around his hips, your nails dug into his back, your teeth buried in his neck and he cried out your name as he snapped his hips forward.

Guilt ate at you as you dressed the next morning. The evidence of what you did was buried under layers of makeup and you swore it couldn’t happen again. Carlos was in a relationship, that should have been enough to stop you.

But he was persistent.

“Stop, someone might see,” you growled as you put your hand on his chest to stop him getting any closer. He had cornered you in a private room of Ferrari’s hospitality while you reapplied concealer to your neck.

“No ones going to come in here,” he chuckled as he easily brushed your hand aside and pulled you against him. “Don’t you want me to make you feel good again?”

“No,” you lied, your body betraying you as your nipples hardened in the thin bralette you had been scheduled to model. “Go.”

“Your lips say one thing but your hips say another,” he teased. “One touch, cariña, one touch and if you’re not wet for me then I’ll go. One. Touch. Deal?”

“No…”

“Why not?” he asked knowingly.

“Because…”

“Yes?”

You looked away from his darkening eyes and clenched your thighs together. “Because I want you to but you have a girlfriend, Carlos. This is wrong.”

“Then I’ll break up with her,” he offered, like it was the most obvious solution in the world, and pulled his phone from his pocket.

“What! No,” you gasped, grabbing the device. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be the reason, and this was a mistake.”

His hands went back to drawing small circles over your hips and you felt yourself relaxing before you caught yourself and pushed him away. “I’m serious, Carlos, once this promo is finished we aren’t going to see each other again.”

“Then let’s enjoy it while it lasts.” His pout had you sighing in defeat. You had already crossed the line once, did the number of times really matter after that? “I’ll make you another deal, I won’t break up with Rebecca if you have dinner with me again.”

You knew exactly what he meant and exactly what was on the menu but you lied to yourself. “Just dinner,” you clarified as his smirk grew.

“Just dinner.”

Click here for part two.

[freakyformula]

hola matilda ❤️ i really live the first night headcannon with lando 🤭 if your request is open and if it is not too much, can i please request for something similar with lewis? but maybe about their honeymoon?? thank youu

Hi, I'm glad you liked it! I don't typically do requests but your suggestion is way too good to ignore...

Honeymooners part 1

Summary: You'd been together for 5 years, you and Lewis. And finally, you tie the knot. But you've made a promise that you're scared to fulfill...

Warnings: 18+, smutty, fluffy, kinda angsty at times, mentions of miscarriage and abusive relationships, fingering, oral (both receiving).

Word count: 5,8k

"I, Lewis, take you, Y/N, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honour you all the days of my life."

"I now pronounce Lewis and Y/N, husband and wife. Sir, you may kiss the bride." The officiant smiles.

Lewis, who had been looking at you intensely under the whole ceremony, not letting you out of his sight, licking his lips, shifting his weight between his legs, now crashes into you, giving you the sweetest kiss you'd ever received.

Your whole life flashes before your eyes and you couldn't quite work out how you got this lucky. You hear the guests cheering in the background but for now, it's just you and him. Your very own Lewis.

When you part, Lewis looks away at his parents, knowing that both his mothers would be crying, and he was right, both of them held a neatly folded tissue in their hands, wiping the edge of their eyes every few seconds. Lewis' dad, Anthony, on the other hand, stood there, proud as ever, giving you both a reassuring nod.

You're given a final blessing by the officiant, while the guests leave the church.

"Y/N, Lewis. Let's do a couple of photographs here." The photographer mentions as she helps you into the poses she wants you in and starts clicking away. You're looking you at him while he holds you, and you can't help breaking out into laughter.

"What?!" He laughs with you.

You turn away from the photographer, with him following. "You've never looked more handsome, sir." Your words make his cock twitch in his pants.

His head turns around to the photographer to check if she's at a comfortable distance before he leans down to you. "Ooooh, dear. I'm gonna make you call me sir for the rest of my life." He says, his voice shushed so the photographer won't hear.

"Good, I think I'm happy with that!" She smiles at you both and walks off with hurried steps.

"Do you think we scared her away?" Lewis looks down at your smaller figure, giving you a wide smile.

You offer Lewis a mischievous smile as an answer, him knowing that you would have scared her away in order to get some alone time with your man if he didn't.

"So, Mrs. Hamilton... How does that feel? Me calling you Hamilton?" He huffs, surprised by the way those words rolled off his tongue himself.

"I'm so happy, Lewis." You whisper as you take a step closer to him, pressing yourself against him, and him holding you in place, not breaking eye contact.

That feeling hits you again, the feeling of no one else being there with you, it's as if you're in your own bubble of love; pulsing, burning. "Shall we?" Lewis interrupts your thoughts.

"Yeah." You smile, and he grabs your hand, giving it a squeeze.

As you walk down the cathedral aisle with Lewis leading the way, you can't help but admire him. He looked stunning, dressed superbly, and his custom-made suit suited him like a glove. He must have noticed you staring because he pulls you in and places his hand on your hip.

"You okay, love?" He asks. God, that nickname made you weak. "Yeah, yeah." You try to sound confident and assuring, but the words come out weak. He nods as an answer, and when you exit the big wooden doors, the visitors toss rice and flower petals at you. Even if you were aware of the tradition, you are startled. Lewis yields and willingly stands in his spot while grains of rice wash over him.

You cover your head instinctively and Lewis seems to notice, pulling you closer. You snuggle into his armpit, smelling his cologne. The smell of his shoots a wave of delight down to the pit of your stomach, reminding you of what was to happen on your honeymoon.

You both knew that you wanted your first time to be during your honeymoon. You'd been adamant on waiting when you and Lewis first started dating and Lewis wasn't the one to push, it was the other way around, just because he knew your wishes. He would be the one to disengage whenever your makeout sessions got too heated.

You greet your families and friends warmly, all of them smiling widely and complementing you on how good you look.

"Congratulations, you both!" Your mother exclaims while wiping a tear with a tissue. Lewis shakes hands with your father and makes small talk. Your father and Lewis had a special bond, he knew Lewis was the right man for you after the first time they met, 4 years ago.

"She needs someone like you." He said at the time, and you were sure he would agree with his words now too.

"Oh, my baby!" Your father coos as he walks up to you. "You look so beautiful, but you always do." He rambles while hugging you tightly.

You direct your guests to the venue to continue the festivities. Your dad had loaned out his original Beetle he drove when your mother and he got married. It felt sentimental getting into it and driving off, knowing that your parents sat in it at some point, celebrating their marriage.

When Lewis starts the car and drives away, he maintains his hand in your hands while you fumble with his fingers nervously. This continues until Lewis grabs a hold of your hands with his bigger hand, which brings you back to a state of peace. You shoot him a look, you know he noticed but he deliberately chose not to look your way.

"It's okay, Y/N. No need to be nervous." He finally says as he languidly strokes your hands with his thumb.

You take a deep breath. Breathe. You really had no need to be nervous, but you hated being the centre of attention. Luckily, it was only for one night.

You are taken aback when you arrive at the location, which is a stunning garden that is brimming with roses and lilies and features a greenhouse in the centre of the area. You had been on a visit here a couple of months ago, but you did not recall it being quite as spectacular as it is now.

Lewis helps you out of the car, and you see the rest of the guests starting to arrive. As the guests get seated at their designated places, you take some more pictures in the garden. The day was warm, but not enough to make you sweat and the sun kept disappearing behind clouds only to come back with its warm rays.

"You're looking immaculate." Lewis whispers, making you blush. You swat him playfully, making you, him, and the photographer laugh.

The inside of the venue was beautifully decorated with fresh flowers from the garden, living candles on the tables, and string lights hanging from the roof as the only light source, making it incredibly cosy.

As both of you get seated, the wedding planner announced the schedule for the night; First, food. Then, cutting the cake, and last but not least, a toast. After that, the guests were free to party all they wanted, but you and Lewis had other plans.

The food was made by one of the best restaurants Lewis knew of, offering both vegan and meat options in the buffet.

"Do you like it?" Lewis asks, sounding genuinely concerned if you like the food or not.

"Best food I've ever had." You admit as Lewis strokes your back, his hand sliding lower and lower.

The cuisine was genuinely extraordinary, and you had to resist the impulse to overeat in order to leave room for the dessert. Dinner came and went, and the guests ate to their hearts' content, complementing the meal.

Every time you glanced over to Lewis, you catch him staring, but he would simply shrug his shoulders. "What, you can't really blame me, I'm sat next to the most beautiful woman in the world after all."

You huff, "Sweet talker...", before you lean in and give his cheek a kiss, earning a chuckle from him. He turns his head, looking straight into your eyes. You don't dare to move, you're locked in place as he leans in closer to you, your lips only a few millimeters apart. "I can't wait until tonight, sweetheart... The things I want to do to you, I can't even say out loud." His words make your stomach twist, and you almost choke on the cider you were sipping.

"I'm concidering this foreplay, Lewis. Starting off already?" You tease.

"Gotta get you ready, baby..." He coos before he closes the gap and catches your lips in a tender kiss.

"Y/N, Lewis, time to cut the cake!" The planner announces.

The cake cutter is vibrating in your hand as you hold it. All of the guests were bunching up next to your and Lewis to catch a glimpse of the precious moment. Lewis notices the way you're shaking, and places a comforting arm around your shoulder.

Lewis couldn't help smiling at you and smearing a bit of the frosting on your nose, just to have an excuse to lick it off.

The cake, a vegan coconut cake, was even better than the food. You thanked yourself for saving some space for it.

"Ladies, gentlemen. I'd like to propose a toast to my beautiful wife, Y/N..." Lewis starts. "Y/N, you are the love of my life. You renewed my faith in true love, and I feel so honoured to be your man. I will do everything in my power to make you happy. I love you." He concludes as he looks over at you with sincerity in his eyes.

You can hear the rest of the crowd murmuring in the background, but you're focused on him. You can feel yourself getting choked up and quickly grab a tissue to wipe away the tears that are threatening to ruin your makeup.

"To Y/N." Lewis raises his glass with the rest of the crowd.

"Also, Y/N and I regret to inform you that we will be leaving in a moment. We haven't told any of you but we're travelling to Italy tonight." Lewis admits, followed by protests from both of your parents, them pleading you to reconsider.

You and Lewis had a couple of destinations planned for your honeymoon, first off; Milano. After that, the Maldives, and lastly, Cancun, Mexico.

You knew they wouldn't approve of your plan to depart early, which is precisely why you had kept it a secret. However, they soon understood that they couldn't force you to change your opinion and let you go. You hurriedly snapped pictures with the visitors and bid them farewell, giving each person a hug and a kiss.

You quickly changed into a sundress that you would be travelling in and grabbed your things, your phone, lip balm, and your wallet and put them into your purse.

When you got outside, a man in a suit was waiting for you. He led you and Lewis, who was holding you tightly, to the black SUV. As soon as you got in, Lewis' hand was on your thigh, carefully pulling on it like he wanted you to move closer to him without saying so. You weren't even at the plane yet and Lewis was already seemingly desperate to have you. You spend the trip to the airport in silence, with the driver saying a few words now and again.

Lewis wasn't the one to waste the planet's resources but if he was ever going to use a private plane, it was on his wedding night. As you stepped outside, you gasped. You had no idea of his plans to travel private. As you step inside into the grand aircraft, you gasp even louder. It was luxurious, with wide seats, and was even equipped with a bed.

"I thought we'd spend our first night as newlyweds comfortable..." Lewis whispers in your ear as the flight attendants introduce themselves.

"Thank you, that will be all." Lewis cuts the flight attendants off and closes the door.

"Lewis..." You warn.

"Yeah?"

"That was rude."

"I want you all to myself, is that bad?" Lewis asks.

"You have the rest of your life to spend with me."

"That's not enough though. I want forever." He quickly counters.

You sit down in a seat. Lewis is frozen to where he is standing, staring you down, processing the situation, perhaps working out a plan for how to get you in the mood. He really was needy, you could see the lust in his eyes, and you notice the bulge in his pants that he was trying to hide.

As the plane finally takes off and you get to unfasten your seatbelts, Lewis walks over to the bed and collapses on it.

"Sweetheart, come here, I miss you already!" Lewis whines.

You groan and get up, walking over to the ridiculously large and plush bed. When you get to the edge of the bed, he sits up and before you can react, he has pulled you down on the bed with him.

He supports himself on his elbow and looks down at you, making you slightly blush. You hide your face in your hands, but Lewis is quick to grab them and give your pink cheek a kiss, making you blush even further. Sure, you were used to Lewis being touchy and sweet but this was a new level.

"Shit, love, you're gorgeous like this. Under me." He whispers as his lips brush past your ear. His movements are slow and deliberate as he moves on top of you.

"Lewis..." You moan.

"Shhh, baby, we have to be quiet, remember?" He whispers as you cover your mouth, embarrassed. He chuckles and moves his hands down your chest, to your stomach, all the way to your hips. "Fuck, can't we?" He begs.

You trusted Lewis fully, it wasn't that. But you were unsure of how being intimate with Lewis would feel like to you.

In your youth, you had a boyfriend that didn't treat you right. He would abuse you physically, mentally, financially, and sexually. You found out that you were pregnant and at the time, you were overjoyed. He was not, though. He was enraged. He wanted to get rid of it but you refused. His solution? Kick you in the stomach until you miscarried. This event made you finally break up with him and place a restraining order. But that wasn't much of a solace when you just lost a baby you so dearly wanted.

Lewis knew of all of this, and he would comfort you whenever you needed him to, and that was why initially fell for him. The first night you spent together, about 5 years ago, you had a bad dream about the continuous kicks and blows to your body and Lewis woke up from you kicking and struggling. He didn't need to know why, he just pulled you closer and held you until the struggling stopped and you went back to a comfortable slumber.

And you didn't blame him, you had agreed that you would start being intimate when you got married. And now you were a married couple, so there was nothing wrong with him wanting you, but you were unsure how to express your sexuality. This was all new to you. With your ex, you didn't really get to communicate your needs and wants, meaning the things that you liked and wanted to try were left within yourself.

You answer him with a kiss, which he enthusiastically accepts. You grab his wandering hand as it travels a little too low for your liking. "What's wrong, love?" He asks worriedly. "Nothing, just..." You start, not knowing how to explain yourself or knowing how to even word yourself correctly.

You were desperate to start your love life with Lewis. But at the same time, a single thought was plaguing your mind.

What if you end up the same way again?

Which was ridiculous, because you knew Lewis and you knew he would never treat you the same way your ex did.

Lewis seems to notice your thoughts racing out of control and gives you a lengthy kiss on your forehead. "What is going through that pretty head of yours?" He asks.

"I don't know, Lewis, guess I'm just scared."

Lewis tuts. "Babe, there's nothing to be scared of. You know I will never hurt you, or do anything you're not okay with."

"I know, Lewis." You say, pulling him into your arms. "I really want to, you know."

"I know, darling, I know." He sighs. "What do you need me to do?"

"Nothing, Lewis, you're already doing enough." You whisper as you're pulling on his beard. You feel his hands wandering all over, and you feel your core growing wetter and wetter as he strokes your thighs and hips.

"Can I feel you?" He asks, and you nod shyly. He gives you a smile and sits up on his knees. His hands move under your dress, pulling it up in the process. Your thighs and clothed heat his exposed in the process. This was nothing new, you had seen each other naked before. But it still made you nervous, which Lewis noticed. "This is nothing I haven't seen before, remember?"

His hands move up with the dress exposing you even further. You pull it off with Lewis' help, leaving you in your lace bra and panties.

"Please, Lewis..." You plead.

"What do you need, babe?"

"Need... you."

Lewis stops what he's doing and looks at you with blown eyes. "Fuck."

He invites you into a sweet kiss which quickly deepens into a messy makeout session. His tongue licks your lips, hoping you will allow him access, and you do, you open your mouth willingly. His tongue enters and explores your mouth, touching you in places you thought he'd never touch.

As his hand moves over your underwear, you lean into his soft touch. His fingers grow bolder and brush over your mound and down to your heat.

"Oh god, you're drenched." He seems surprised, as if he didn't have the biggest influence on you. His fingers find their way to each side of you, slowly pulling your underwear down and exposing you fully in the process. You instinctively clench your thighs together.

"Don't be shy, let me see you." Lewis coos, moving his hands inside your thighs, softly spreading them. When he sees your glistening pussy, his breath hitches.

"Oh, baby... So wet for me already. Can I touch you?"

You don't answer, you don't feel the need. Instead, you take his hand and steer it to your heat. You take a moment to feel the wetness yourself, with Lewis. His fingers easily slide up to your clit and down to your hole, spreading your arousal.

"Are you this desperate for me?" He asks.

"I've been needing you since forever, Lewis, I thought you knew?" You tease.

"Does that mean you're ready to...? You're sure?" He asks, his voice wavering.

"I'm 100% sure. I want to try." You say as your hand moves down from his strong chest to his stomach, feeling his strong abs with your fingertips. Your hand continues travelling down to his crotch, where his growing member is already poking through his baggy jeans.

"No, Y/N. I want our first time to be special, not on a plane." He says as he grabs your hand. "But I wouldn't mind making you feel good..." He adds suggestively while teasing your entrance.

"Please, Lewis..." You whimper, pulling his hand closer. You gasp as his finger first enters you. "Shhh, relax." Lewis tries to comfort you. It didn't hurt, but the feeling of him inside of you after all those years surprised you.

He pulls his finger out and slides it in again. He scissors and pulls on you to stretch you out for him to add another finger. When he deems you ready, he adds another finger. The feeling makes you yelp, but the pain quickly subsides and turns into something more... Primal, in lack of a better word. All the matters at that moment is him and his fingers stretching you out. He begins to work you towards your first orgasm while you relax into his touch.

You had cummed before, but not by a man, but by your own hand. You would be surprised if Lewis actually managed to make you cum.

His hands are experienced. His fingers curl up towards your G-spot, which he managed to find within seconds while his other hand is pulling and rolling your nipple between his fingertips. You feel a warmth in your stomach that could only mean one thing; You were getting close. "How did yo..." You start, but he covers your mouth, shushing you, urging you to just relax and take it.

His hand stays put over your mouth as you get closer to your release, and you start breathing heavier which Lewis notices. He leans down to you, "remember, we need to stay quiet, can you do that for me?". You nod, looking deep into his beautiful brown eyes, and they smile down at you as an answer. "Good girl." He says.

When you feel yourself creeping dangerously close to release, you pull away from his tender touch. Lewis shoots over you quicker than ever and studies your face. You're scared, he can see that much.

"What's wrong, love?"

"I-I'm not sure. I guess I'm scared of showing you how dirty I am."

Your words made his heart weep. He wanted to rip the man that made you think this apart. He had no right to do this to you, to hurt you this way.

"Sweetheart... Me making you feel good doesn't make you dirty in any way. It's just natural to want to make the other person feel good."

His reassurance makes you relax again and you open your legs for him, while he rubs circles on your hips in a desperate attempt to soothe you. "Ready?" He asks.

"Yeah..." You confirm. And when he starts stimulating your inner walls again, you close your eyes shut, while gasping for air. You're so close at this point, but not quite getting over the edge. Just when you're about to give up and kick and scream in defeat, you feel his mouth on your clit, immediately sucking itself in place. As his tongue flickers on your clit, and the fingers pump your squelching pussy, you feel yourself getting even more aroused and without you being ready for it, you cum.

Lewis has his hand on your mouth quickly, and you bite down on his finger in order to not scream your lungs out. The feeling inside of you is overwhelming, and the fact that he didn't stop made it all worse, or better, depending on how you choose to perceive things.

"Jesus, Lewis!" You whisper while sounding somewhat angry.

"What, felt good didn't it?" He teases.

"Yeah..." You admit in defeat.

When you land in Milano, you quickly get off the plane and drive towards the resort you were set to stay at. At the check-in, Lewis holds you in his arms protectively, even though he sees two guards standing at the entrance. Lewis was like that, always making sure you were safe. You get the keys to your very own small cabin and start the walk down the street of the resort.

"I'm so tired." You complain.

"I've got you..." Lewis says as he picks up up into his strong arms.

You hum contently. "My hero."

You almost drift off to sleep as he carries you down the street to your cottage. It takes a while for Lewis to find the right one, but when he does, he opens the door, with you still in his arms. How he managed, you have no idea.

"Hey, we're here." Lewis whispers to you as you are awakened from your soft slumber. He lets you down carefully and you stumble back into his arms, fatigue taking over every cell in you.

"Let's get you to bed, love." He chuckles. He helps you undress and lays you down with care. He follows soon after, pulling you close. You don't notice though, as you're already drifting off to sleep.

"Love you, Y/N." You hear him whisper. You're too drowsy to answer, so you simply let out a hum.

You're awakened by birds chirping outside your window. You reach out to the other side of the bed, only to find it empty.

"Lewis?" You call out for your man.

You look around the room for him, with no luck. You sit up in the bed, and finally see the room you and Lewis have spent your first night as a wedded couple in. You get up from the canopy bed and call out for him again. You hear a "yeah?" from the bathroom, and before you have the chance to react, Lewis appears with a panicked expression. Seeing him made your heart swell, and when he sees you're okay, he walks towards you with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Sorry love, took a shower and I didn't hear you call out at first."

He leans in and gives your forehead a morning kiss.

"I think I should shower too." You admit, feeling grimey from last nights flight, and not to mention the wedding itself.

"I wasn't finished, join me?" He pleads. You nod and follow him into the bathroom. Lewis helps you undress your tee and underwear he had helped you put on the night before. When the cool water hits your skin, you can't help but gasp. The coolness descends into your heart which is pleasant, and calming. You hear Lewis stepping inside and you turn around to face him, only to find him shining like a sun, smiling wider than you had ever seen him smile.

"What's got you in such a good mood today?" You ask.

He takes a small step closer, closing the gap and pressing himself against you. You feel his morning erection against your stomach and you take a step back to look at the spectacle. When you see his length, you cross your arms in nervousness. No way that was going to fit in you. "Lewis... That thing is never going to fit." You admit.

Lewis chuckles, "we'll make it fit."

You gulp, and reach out to touch it. You had to remind yourself that this was nothing new, you had seen and touched him before. When your fingers reach around him, he sighs contently and closes his eyes, making you look up, worried that you had done something wrong. The sudden lack of movement on your part makes him look down at you again.

"Feels so good, baby... Keep going."

And so you do. The feeling of your small hands around him drives him close faster than you can register. When his hands shoot up to yours, you stop. "Slow down, love, I'm about to cum already."

You decide to not use your hands. You give him a questioning look as you get down on your knees, never breaking eye contact. "Y/N, you don't have to-" He starts.

"But I want to." You respond before he has the chance to finish his sentence. You look down at the length and grab his member, taking his pulsing tip into your mouth. You close your lips around him, while you hear him hiss, as he grasps the handle to the shower door to steady himself.

He deserved this, he really did, everything he'd done for you... You couldn't begin to describe your gratitude towards him. You wanted to thank him and give back for what he did to you last night.

The more you take of him into your mouth, the longer the pauses between his breaths get. The profanities that exit his usually sweet-talking mouth surprise you and you look up at him with his cock in your mouth, locking eyes with him. The sight of you with him in your gape pushes him over the edge, and he quickly pulls you off him. You release him with a pop and stick your tongue out, remembering what he said the night before, you're not dirty, it's natural. You feel warm splurts of his cum landing on your face and in your mouth and Lewis groans at the sight of you taking it for him.

Lewis slides down to sits next to you, both of you out of breath, but very happy and content simultaneously.

Lewis and you finish up your shower, with Lewis helping you shampoo your hair, and insisting on scrubbing your body clean.

After breakfast, you go out to see a bit of Milano, before taking off to the next destination; The Maldives.

When you get to the airport, the private plane is already waiting for you to arrive. The flight attendants are the same as yesterday; hopefully, they were unaware of your activities the night before. When you're seated and ready, the plane takes off.

The flight is long, but you finally make it to your destination early in the morning. When you step outside on the smaller airport, the sea air hits you. You find your guide that takes you to your bungalow.

"So for how long are you planning on staying again?" He asks.

"7 days, we're honeymooning." Lewis answers.

The guide answers by nodding, and you continue your journey.

"Here we are. Your very own, private house. No neighbours closeby." The man says as you all look around.

It was in the middle of nowhere. Where the hell had Lewis taken you? But as soon as you saw the interior of the house, you change your mind. It was beautiful, and even had a pool in the back garden. This place was ideal, and calm. Perfect for you two.

When the guide leaves and you're left alone, Lewis walks up to you. "What do you think?"

"I love it, Lewis!" You try to contain your excitement as you jump up and down in his arms.

"I thought this would make you relax..." He whispers... His hand moving a strand of hair off your face, making you freeze. "So beautiful." He coos while brushing your nose with his lips.

"Lewis..." You warn, him tearing down your walls faster than you can even react. You stay like that, in what feels like the embrace of the earth, and you're being swallowed whole.

He guides you outside, towards the blue water, and you willingly follow. His shorts drop, along with his underwear. You giggle nervously as he finally tears off his tee, and walks out into the water. When he turns around to face you, he smiles, "Come on, love!" with his member swinging freely between his legs.

You're standing on the white sand, watching as he's dipping his head into the water and relishing in the warm hold of the water. The thought of skinny dipping made your insides tingle, "ah, fuck it" you whisper to yourself as you unbutton your denim shorts. Lewis won't let you out of sight as you undress, and he can feel himself growing hard.

When your toes touch the water, you are surprised by how warm it feels. The warmness completely envelops you and you melt into it. Then, you feel Lewis' arms holding you up and you collapse into his chest. "One, two, three!" He counts as he dips you under the water playfully, wetting your hair. When you make it above the surface again, you gasp for air and burst out laughing. "You fuck!" You yell as you spit out the water from your mouth.

As revenge, you splash him with your hands, and Lewis, with his sharp reflexes, avoids the incoming water.

You spend hours in the water; playing, kissing, and turning innocent touches into something else. Something more heated.

When you get up, you're both famished and exhausted. As Lewis is busy preparing dinner, you sit on the sofa overlooking the blue horizon, the indian ocean. Lewis insisted on cooking dinner himself. He knew how tired you were after travelling all night. When you get up, you walk past the large bookcase and the books in it catches your eye. Shakespeare, Tolkien, Nabokov, Fitzgerald... Impressive, you think to yourself.

"Find something you like? Maybe you can read something to me later?" Lewis asks.

"It's like a mini library... It has everything." You say absent-mindedly.

Lewis chuckles and continues cooking while you choose a book for later. Why does your mind decide on Dante? You have no idea. He does not seem like the right kind of author to decide on when you're on a honeymoon. But it felt right, and the book, Inferno, didn't let you down. It was comical; Lewis and you burst out laughing a couple of times as you got past the introduction. You must have read for 2 hours, before you dozed off, nestled up to Lewis.

He lifts your light body up and carries you to the softness of the bed, and tucks you in for the night. He spends a while just taking your beauty in. A tear escapes, and he is quick to brush it off his face. He is afraid of failing; failing you, your marriage, and your unity. You are awakened by his sobs. You are swiftly next to him to comfort him.

"I'm so sorry, love. Didn't mean to wake you up." He cries. You do not answer. You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him, pulling him down next to you. And you fall asleep like that, with Lewis snuggled into your chest and your arms around him.

The rest of your time in the Maldives is spent swimming, sun bathing (including a nasty sunburn...), lots of cuddles and kisses, and stolen glances.

But nothing happens. Both you and Lewis seem too scared to even bring it up. Sure, you touch each other and you spend each night pleasuring one another. But the next step... Never comes.

"Lewis..." You speak on the last night in your cozy bungalow, before you're departing to Mexico, your last destination. "Why haven't we done it yet?"

"What?" He asks absent-mindedly as he is scrolling away on Instagram. When you don't reply, he puts away his phone, looking up at you. He sighs and thinks of a way to say what is on his mind. "I... I want to wait for the right time, Y/N. I don't want our first time to be rushed."

"But I'm ready..." You say as you reach out for him. He takes you into his arms and holds you until you fall asleep, not letting go.

[kiwi-on-ice]

Favourite pictures of you headcannons with Ashe, Moira, Ramattra, and Lifeweaver with fem!reader

Word count: 700

Warnings: mixture of nsfw and fluff, mentions of sextapes

Notes: Surprise! A small little treat before kinktober arrives and you all get sick of me posting.

Ashe:

Lets get the horny thoughts out the way, she definitely has a few pictures of you that she keeps in the private folder of her phone.

Her favourite being a photo of you on your back against the silk sheets, hair messy and slightly sticking to your forehead. Your lingerie is half torn, bra pulled hastily down so your tits are spilling out, inner thighs parted and glistening with your arousal. But what Ashe loves the most; the red lipstick marks scattered all over your skin, painting you in beautiful salacious brushstrokes.

But she has more sfw ones too. Taped to her new motorcycle was a picture of you both, a candid shot from a bar when deadlock were celebrating a heist. Her arm was around your waist, keeping you pressed against her side. She was giving a smile to the camera, red lips illuminated, but you. Your eyes were firmly on her, gazing at her with such adoration, it gives her a fuzzy feeling in her chest whenever she sees it.

Moira:

she doesn't have a lot of photos period, she finds it unnecessary, society’s need to document everything. So the photos she does have are deemed important for her to keep.

Moira has exactly one photo of you in her lab, framed and away from any chemicals or corrosive materials. It's of the two of you at a scientific gala, her wearing a crisp suit and you wearing a form fitting dress that matched her. You’re holding on to her arm, nails gently pressing into the material of her sleeve, and she loves how relaxed your body looks against her.

You're the one who has more pictures, candids of her while she works. But when you introduced her to your polaroid camera, she's curious.

That's how she ends up with her other favourite picture, tucked away in her wallet. A polaroid of you on your back, her hand wrapped around your throat. Your neck and collarbones are littered with marks and bites, but its your eyes she loves. Despite her choking you, holding your life in her hand, your eyes are bright and excited as you gaze up past the polaroid at her.

Ramattra:

Omnics have photographic memories, incapable of forgetting something they've processed. Because of this, initially he makes fun of you humans and your petty memory cortexes, needing a physical copy to remember in detail.

It's only when you attempt to explain it, that it's not about forgetting but about remembering, of reminiscing, of the feeling the photo gives you, that he starts to understand just a little.

He demands to see your phone, to look at the many pictures you have of eachother, but one photo caught his eye. It's of you on his lap, or more specifically his thigh. The angle of the selfie only serves to exemplify the size difference, making you look so small and puny.

Printing it off, he keeps a small version of it on him at all times, gazing at it when he's alone.

Lifeweaver:

Oh this man is always taking pictures of you. Always.

His phone is always pointed at you, taking snaps of you, posed or candid. Now don't get me wrong, he's always taking pictures when you're dolled up for a date, capturing you in the best lighting to accentuate your dress and makeup. But he especially loves taking pictures of you in your pyjamas, sweatpants and a loose shirt, his hoodie underneath your messy hair. Anytime you look casual, he thinks you're the most beautiful woman on the planet.

His personal favourite of these is you watering a lily he'd bought you, wearing his hoodie that reached the middle of your thighs.

And when he actually bought a proper camera? The reels were just completely you (and the occasional flowers he likes to grow).

But god if you'd let him, he'd 100% be into recording a sextape. He just thinks you're so gorgeous, why would he not want to replay how you look in ecstasy over and over again.

Although his favourite is a teasing selfie you took while he was fucking you from behind. His hands are grasping at your tits, while you're giving a cheeky smile to the camera. He loves it so much he'd have it as is lock-screen if society didn't deem it so inappropriate.