#Angled Wardrobes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anqelrafe · 11 days ago

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— ୨ৎ how diva!reader fixed rafe's wardrobe.

synopsis: ever since you've met rafe, you've felt like he needed a wardrobe revamp. of course, you weren't gonna say anything about it cause rafe is...rafe; but now, as his girlfriend, you've got every right to take him on a shopping spree —with his money of course. author's note: first work with diva, I'm so so excited...definitely wish this wasn't written in a free period but wtv. content warnings: fluff! a tiny bit suggestive but no smut.

“sweetheart, i wanna go home.” rafe groaned dramatically, trailing behind you as you piled more clothes into his arms. “and we will” you hum, picking up white linen button up from the racks and adding it into the pile. “when we're done.” you turn around to face him, looking over the hefty stack of new additions to his wardrobe, swapping or getting rid of certain articles of clothing.

“christ.” he mumbled in disbelief, shifting the load into a neater pile, staring wide eyed at the variety of clothing you picked out. “i mean, it’s not like i don’t appreciate it.” he said quickly as your face twisted into an expression that told him to tread lightly. “but do i really...need all of this?” you roll your eyes, pressing your glossed lips into a thin line as you place a hand on your hip. “ray, you dress like a depressed frat boy. it's sad. I don't get it; you have money. yet, you dress like...that.”

“so?” he responds flatly, almost immediately, only to be met with a glare from you. “a'ight, a'ight.” he mumbled in defeat. “i'll shut up.” he sighed, watching you add two pairs of jeans to the stack. with a satisfied grin, you add a few more items to the already abundant pile before nodding to the changing room. “now go,” you commanded, shooing him away with your hand. “try them on so i can say i told you so.”

“you're so demanding.” he huffed, taking a step away from you. “do i look like a ken doll to you, baby?” however, he still made his way to the dressing room, entering inside and closing the door behind him.

as soon as the door closed behind him, he couldn't help but grimace at the mess of clothes that was in his arms. he loved you, very much. but he wasn't the type to go shopping like some housewife. rafe was a simple, very simple, man—a fact that he liked to remind himself in moments like this. with a groan, he set all of the clothes down on the changing booth bench, glancing down at himself before pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it onto the bench.

a few moments later, he had changed into the first outfit, standing in front of the large mirror that was plastered on the wall. he looked himself up and down, turning to examine his reflection at different angles. he looked…different, but he couldn't deny the fact that you definitely had good taste. the light blue long sleeved button up hugged his muscular frame nicely, accentuating his broad shoulders and torso while the white linen pants fit him like a glove everywhere.

he pulled open the curtain, revealing his new outfit to you. “i feel like a private school teacher.” his voice was deadpanned, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the door frame. you looked up from your phone, eyes trailing over his body in approval before your face twisted into a satisfied smile. "a hot private school teacher.” you countered back with raised eyebrows, walking over to him.

“so you like the outfit, yeah?” he hummed simply, watching as you stood in front of him, tilting your head to the side to look at him better. “hmm.” you hummed, pursing your lips in thought as your fingers slid across the buttons of his shirt.

he raised an eyebrow at your thoughtful expression, watching the way your fingers trailed along his frame, grazing his shoulders and across his chest in slow, careful movements. rafe cleared his throat softly. “what? you don't like it?�� he asked, watching you with a mixture of amusement and anticipation.

“no, i like it.” you replied almost immediately, your fingers sliding up to trace the length of his collarbone before finally meeting his gaze. your eyes scanned over him intensely, taking in every inch of his new outfit. “it just needs accessories...a watch, maybe. but you've got plenty of those at home so we don't need to get any.”

a soft chuckle escaped his lips at your response, his arms uncrossing to rest on your hips as he leaned against the wall. “that I do.” he murmured, nodding in agreement. it was a common occurrence; the fact that you liked to dress him as if he were a doll. it was annoying at times, but he let you do whatever you wanted anyways. as long as it made you happy and kept you off his ass, he didn't care. he was a good boyfriend, after all.

he glanced over the pile of clothing that sat on the benches of the changing room, letting out a short breath of air before turning back to you. “'m gonna try the rest of these clothes on, you go pick yourself out somethin”

“i don't need any new clothes.” you said matter of factly, reaching to straighten a few wrinkles on his shirt as an excuse to touch him. “i have plenty. and i don't see anything i like.”

he let out a sigh, gently grabbing your hands and pulling them away from his chest, his fingers lightly gripping your wrists. “sweetheart,” he started, his voice patient but stern and leaving no room for argument, “i said to go pick somethin for yourself. cause we're not leaving til you do. ‘m not gonna get all these clothes without you getting anything for yourself. and stop the ‘i don't see anything’ bullshit. you see something you like every time we go into a store like this.”

you were about to protest, but the look in rafe's eyes and the firmness in his voice stopped you. for the most part, rafe always catered to your wishes and desires, doing whatever you asked of him. you knew that, and he knew that. he wasn't one to go against you. but when he wanted something, or rather, demanded something, you knew better than to argue.

once you nodded in reluctant compliance, his grip gently loosened on your wrists. "okay,” he drawled, a slight twinge of satisfaction in his voice. “now go. be back here in a couple minutes.” he let go of you completely, nudging you in the direction of the aisles of clothing. “go find yourself something pretty. specifically something that'll make tits look good.”

you rolled your eyes, fighting the urge to flip him off, knowing that it would only spur his nasty ass on more. you opened your mouth to protest, already knowing what his selection would consist of, but he cut you off before you could speak. “ah ah ah,” he tutted, pressing his index finger against your pouty glossed lips. “c'mon, just go do it, baby.”

he raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for a response from you. when you pressed your lips together in a frustrated pout and murmured an “okay”, he smirked at your compliance, a soft victorious chuckle leaving his lips. “good girl.” he hummed deeply, removing his finger from your mouth before giving your ass a gentle pat. “now go.”

the next hour is spent with rafe trying on the rest of the clothes you picked out, getting your very necessary opinion on them while you wandered the store and grabbed anything that caught your eye. you both ended up walking out with six bags a piece—all of which he payed for with the swipe of his card.

taglist 🪽: @bunbun-3 @drewscoquette @untitled10351 @rafesweetie @meetmebehindthemallrafe @supercutelovergirl @drewswife @plaidcowboy @missquantic @rafesdiorperfume @minitarayummy @this-one-weeb @akobx @mystianqel @lacebambidoll @dolletebun @amterasuu @milamilkie

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wandaslovey · 2 months ago

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ᴍʀꜱ. ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴏꜰꜰ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴡ

➺ dom!wandanat x sub!fem!reader

word count ~ 7k

authors note: i’m so excited to share this with you guys - this was so much fun to write! i’m planning on writing the first few parts as chapters where one will pick up right after the other and then once i get to a certain point i’ll do random time skips within the same au. oh also! i’m starting a tag list, so comment below if you’d like to be included on the next chapter! enjoy loves! 💕 as usual, this is not proofread.

content warning(s): legal age gap (w=30, n=33, r=23), natasha and wanda being two hot intimidating lawyers (except natasha kinda steals this show in this part, especially in the beginning. don’t worry though, wanda will have her time to shine!), conversation about kinkery and reader knows very little

if you’d like to read the drabble that inspired this series, click here

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you stand in front of the mirror, adjusting your white button-up blouse for the 10th time. you huff, frustrated that your wardrobe just wouldn’t cooperate with you this morning. as you look yourself over in the mirror—the rest of your outfit consisting of a mid-thigh black pencil skirt, some black nylons and black combat boots—you couldn’t help but wonder if your attire was okay for the interview.

the interview…you can’t believe you landed an interview at thee M.R. law firm. you knew how unqualified you were for the position, so you felt extra pressure to compensate somehow with your appearance.

you turn to the side in the mirror, first left and then right, scrutinizing yourself at every angle. you readjust the pieces of hair framing your face that you pulled out of your bun, before deciding you’d done all you could to look your best.

you glance at the clock on your nightstand in the reflection of the mirror, seeing it was time to go. you grab your knock-off brand purse and slip out of your apartment. when you walk down the stairs and open the door to the outside, the noise from the city fills your ears. the sounds of cars, horns, sirens, music and people all blended together, creating a sort of hum all new-yorkers were familiar with. you step out onto the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding some tourists that were taking a picture in front of the trendy restaurant you lived by. you hail a cab, quickly sliding into the backseat and telling the driver your destination.

now that you were settled in your seat with only the taxi drivers quiet music to distract you, the nerves you’d been attempting to snub out suddenly hit you full force. there was no way you could do this. you were sure you were just wasting your own time and the poor person who had to interview you. you knew your 6 months working as a receptionist at a dentist office nowhere near qualified you to manage things at M.R. law. you mentally curse yourself, thinking you must’ve been half asleep and entirely too desperate when you sent in your application at this place. you needed a job though—urgently. with your roommate moving back home, and no one else taking her place, you were stuck with paying the rent on your own. on top of that, you were still paying back loans for school. you knew you should cut your losses, leave new york and transfer to a much more affordable school, but you really wanted to stay as much as you could help it.

every stoplight you hit along the 20 minute drive only makes you more nervous. the fluttery feeling in your stomach turns into full blown pterodactyls by the time the driver has pulled up to the very tall M.R. building. you pass some folded up cash to the driver, mumbling out a quiet ‘thank you,’ and then step out of the car. you stare up at the intimidating building, the lettering of “maximoff-romanoff law” taunting you—daring you to step inside. you let out a stubborn exhale, squaring your shoulders and walking in with a confidence as fake as grape flavored candy.

you stride over to the front desk, noticing that the only employees in sight are all women.

“hi, i’m here for an 11 o’clock interview,” you tell one of the women behind the desk. she offers you a polite smile, giving you instructions to head into the elevator and up to the 8th floor. you nod your head, thanking her and make your way to your doomsday interview.

as the elevator doors shut behind you, you find yourself all alone in the small space. there was no background music to distract you now. you stare at the floor, noticing a slight glint to the black tiles you were standing on. you listen to the beeps counting up each floor, your eyes dragging up the stainless steel panel when the number reads 8 and the final beep sounds. the doors open and you’re immediately greeted with the sight of more women pacing around the place. some seemed to be in a rush while others were leisurely walking across the floor while chatting with a co-worker. you walk over to the front desk again, repeating what you had told the other kind lady downstairs. she gestures for you to take a seat on the couch in the waiting area, letting you know someone will grab you in a few minutes.

you take a seat on the black leather couch, figuring this piece of furniture probably costed more than the rent for your apartment. you cross your legs, interlocking your fingers together at your knee. you glance around the office, taking in the decor. it was very tasteful, some touches of greenery that went nicely with the black and dark woodsy vibe this floor was going for. you try your best to ignore the bile rising in your throat and the pterodactyls still swarming in your stomach. it was a good thing you didn’t eat breakfast this morning.

as two minutes turns into ten, and then fifteen, you can’t help but feel the urge to just get up and leave. you felt so out of place here; you couldn’t imagine working at this place with all these women who were so obviously out of your league.

just as you were settling on the idea of ditching this interview, you hear clacking footsteps making their way over to you. you didn’t dare look up yet, pretending to be very interested in the tiny hole in your pantyhose just above your knee.

“miss (y/l/n)?” the most heavenly, sultry voice calls out to you. your eyes slowly trail along the tile, up the woman’s legs covered in black slacks, her blouse and matching black suit jacket, and then finally her face. it was her.

thee mrs. romanoff.

mrs. romanoff was the person who was going to interview you? you couldn’t believe your eyes, or the situation. you clear your throat, realizing you had yet to acknowledge her calling out to you.

“yeah, that’s me,” you reply, standing on slightly wobbly legs. you watch as mrs. romanoff’s eyes slowly take in your appearance, her eyes lingering on your frame. you feel a little scrutinized, wondering if you really did mess up with what you were wearing.

“follow me.” she turns and leads the way. you stumble a bit as you follow behind her, not expecting her to have as long of a stride as she does.

“you’ll have to forgive me for the wait—we had a couple meetings run over this morning,” she talks to you over her shoulder, slowing her walk a little when she notices you’re not directly behind her like she thought.

“oh, no worries. i didn’t mind the wait.” that was technically a lie, but it wasn’t the wait that bothered you as much as the fact that you were left alone with your thoughts a little too long.

she rounds a corner at the end of the hall, pausing and gesturing for you to enter in one of the two doors that were side by side on the wall to the right. you walk through the doorframe, stepping into what you assumed was her personal office.

“have a seat, miss (y/l/n),” she says in a low voice, walking from behind you and around her desk to sit in her chair. you sit in one of the two chairs across from her, your heart thudding violently in your chest from being in such close proximity to her.

you adjust your seating position three times before finally settling in place, forcing yourself to sit still. mrs. romanoff humors you, remaining silent and patient through your nervous fidgeting.

“so, i have to say i was a little surprised to see your application come through to my desk,” she starts and you immediately feel your cheeks grow hot, the feeling of being in a place you don’t belong filling your whole body with dread.

she pauses, and you realize she was waiting for you to respond. right. this was supposed to be where you attempt to prove yourself adequate to work in this position.

“yes, um… well, admittedly i myself did think it was a stretch to apply here, but then i figured, i’m a fast learner, i’m very thorough in all i do and i enjoy learning new things. i thought i’d try my hand at something i haven’t done before.” you rattle off an answer that while it was true, it was also something you rehearsed 20 times in the mirror while getting ready before you got here. you were almost positive the slight robotic edge in your voice was noticeable.

mrs. romanoff hums in acknowledgment, nodding slightly at your rehearsed answer. “how well can you handle multi-tasking in a fast paced environment?” her lack of acknowledging your first answer puts a damper on your already fake confidence. you shift in your seat again, finding it harder to maintain eye contact with the sea of green that was her eyes.

“i would say i fare pretty well. i’m usually very good at managing stressful situations.” that was a complete lie—but most people bullshit their way through interviews, don’t they?

“usually?” she echoes, tilting her head to the side. she purses her lips, half attempting to hide a small smirk. she easily picked up on all your nervous antics the moment she saw you. you averting her gaze, walking unsteadily, fidgeting in your seat and the cute rose-y blush currently coloring your cheeks.

you clear your throat, interlocking your hands together in your lap. you notice they’ve already started to feel damp with sweat. “yeah, yeah most of the time i’d say so.”

“well, miss…” she glances down at what appeared to be your application and resume sitting in front of her on the desk. “(y/n)..you don’t sound very sure of yourself.” she sits upright in her chair, crossing her arms and leaning over the desk. your heart beats impossibly faster, the feeling of intimidation settling deep into your bones.

“no, i mean, i am sure—totally 100%.” you try to laugh, but it comes out sounding as nervous as you feel.

“okay, if that’s how you’d like to proceed…” she trails off, looking down at the papers in front of her again. you didn’t know what she meant, but your eyes fall desperately to the same papers she was looking at, as if they could provide some sort of answer to you. “what are your greatest strengths and weaknesses?”

you internally breath a sigh of relief. this was another answer you’d rehearsed in the mirror, it just needed to sound less robotic this time. “i’d say my greatest strengths are, i’m very punctual—i’m always on time if not early—um, i do all things thoroughly, as i mentioned before…i’m very reliable��hardly sick or need time off for family things, and i enjoy a good challenge. my greatest weakness is that i like to be very organized and sometimes i can spend a little too much time completing a certain project before moving onto the next.” you exhale after you finish talking, your eyes flicking across her face to try and get a sense of how she’s taking in your answer.

as you speak, you can’t help but notice that she was watching you so meticulously. it seemed that she was taking in not only your words, but your facial expressions, hand gestures and body language.

she looks at you for a moment as if she’s thinking hard on something. without taking her eyes off of you, she presses a button on her desk, the small ding from an intercom sounding. “joan, please track down mrs. maximoff and have her come into my office right away.”

your heartbeat now thrums loudly in your ears, your breath picking up its pace. you were not only going to be in the presence of mrs. romanoff but now mrs. maximoff too? never in your life had you seen such a powerful couple—and that was only in photos and billboards you’d seen around the city!

“is everything okay?” you ask nervously, feeling the permanent blush on your cheeks travel to the tips of your ears.

“everything’s fine, (y/n),” she gives you a smile but it was anything but reassuring. in fact, there was something about the expression that felt more intimidating with how devastatingly beautiful she was.

she grabs a pen and starts writing something on the paper. whatever it was was brief, but you couldn’t see clearly from your seat.

a quiet knock comes from the door and your posture becomes rigid as you hear who you assume to be mrs. maximoff entering the room.

“you called for me?” mrs. maximoff asks as she walks the length from the door to mrs. romanoff’s side. she walks around your chair and stands next to her wife, placing her palm flat against the desktop and leaning some of her weight on it.

“yes, i wanted you to meet our new interviewee,” she smiles with her lips and gestures to you in your seat. you look between the two beautiful, impeccably dressed women, feeling extremely small and insignificant. mrs. maximoff turns to look at you for the first time, a warm smile gracing her features.

“hi,” she offers simply, extending her hand to shake yours. you sit forward, reaching your arm out to shake her hand across the desk. her hand was incredibly soft and a little cold to the touch, but you wouldn’t expect anything less since the office was kept at such a cool temperature.

“mrs. maximoff is going to sit in on the rest of our interview. is that okay with you?” mrs. romanoff asks, her eyes daring you to object.

you quickly shake your head from side to side, shifting once again in your chair. “no, no that’s perfectly fine,” you reply easily, though you were feeling anything but fine. you notice mrs. maximoff giving her wife a curious glance but she doesn’t otherwise question it.

“let’s move over to the couches so we’re a little more comfortable,” mrs. romanoff stands up and heads over to the long olive green velvet sofa. you follow suit, except you take a seat in the smaller sofa, designed for only one person. mrs. maximoff sits closest to you on the long couch, brushing some of her pretty brown hair behind her shoulder. you watch as she glances back at her wife, mrs. romanoff giving her a certain look that you weren’t sure what it meant.

“so, (y/n), tells us what your career goals are,” mrs. romanoff proceeds with the interview as if the interruption never happened. you find yourself even more nervous to respond now that there were two, hot, older women sitting before you.

“umm…for now i really just need something steady that will simultaneously be giving me good work and life experience.. long term though, i’d like to become a therapist once i finish my masters program.” you bite your tongue once you finish your sentence, realizing this is not the sort of job where you tell your interviewers you’d like to pursue something that has nothing to do with their company.

“what appeals to you about becoming a therapist?” mrs. maximoff chimes in, tilting her head to the side curiously, just like mrs. romanoff had done earlier in the interview.

you lean back in your chair, a little surprised at her interest in your reply. “well, it’s a cliche answer, but i’m very passionate about helping people. it’s impossible to go through this life without getting seriously hurt and dealing with trauma. the vast majority of us have no idea how to cope or process through our experiences, so just knowing what i know, i’d like to try and be of some help for those who need it.”

the two lawyers look at you thoughtfully, mrs. maximoff nodding her head as you speak.

“that’s a very admirable passion. are you currently enrolled in a masters program?” she asks, crossing one of her legs over the other as she gets more comfortable in her seat.

“i am,” you reply with a shy smile. you never wanted to come across as bragging about your education, so you always sought to speak about it in the most humble way.

“you like school?” mrs. romanoff chimes in, leaning forward as she speaks.

your smile turns a bit rueful as you reply. “yes..i do. i know so many young people my age loathe school and all the hard work that needs to be put in, but…i love everything about it. i love taking notes, making flashcards, studying, taking tests, everything about it, i just love. i know it sounds a little crazy.” you laugh once, suddenly feeling more relaxed as you speak about something so genuinely. you feel a little more surprise again as you hear mrs. romanoff chuckle with you, nodding her head towards her brunette wife.

“sounds like somebody i know. this one here was a school addict. i had to practically pry textbooks out her hands just so we could do anything other than study,” she chuckles again, mrs. maximoff joining in with her.

“i won’t apologize for being so pointed about my studies. we both got straight A’s, didn’t we?” she jokes light-heartedly and you find yourself smiling warmly at their light banter.

mrs. maximoff turns back to face you, a smile still touching her lips. “what else do you do aside from school?” her question makes your face fall slightly as you now had to admit you were technically unemployed. you knew that didn’t look good for potential employers.

“right now, not a whole lot. just keeping busy with my studies,” you respond vaguely to which they both hum in response.

the pair of them continue asking you questions, except they become progressively more personal until they don’t attain to work or working at this position at all.

“do you like living alone? or do you prefer living with others?” was one of the questions mrs. romanoff asks you after you had explained you were currently without a roommate.

even though it was strange, you find that the more you talk about yourself, the more relaxed you feel. mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff both noticed it too. they could see more of your personality showing through as the nerves slowly but surely dissipated.

it had been near 40 minutes by the time mrs. romanoff checked her watch and noticed the time. she looked at her wife, mrs. maximoff seeming to sense her eyes on her as she automatically looked to the side. they shared a look, one of them nodding to the other before turning back to face you.

“well, we’ve kept you here much longer than was intended—i apologize for that.” mrs. romanoff says as she stands, mrs. maximoff following suit. you stand also, smoothing your skirt back over your legs. as you stand so closely to them now, you notice how they were both taller than you by a few inches, making you feel small again like you had earlier.

“it’s no big deal. i’m in no rush,” you smile shyly as you look up at the two of them. you extend your arm out, shaking both of their hands before getting ready to leave. they both give your hand a gentle squeeze and when mrs. romanoff shakes your hand, she grasps on longer than her wife, holding your gaze with a certain intensity.

“we’ll be in touch, miss (y/n),” she says smoothly, calling you out by your first name, and for some reason the combination between her voice and her eye contact made your knees feel weak.

you swallow thickly, nodding your head and thanking them both for the interview before turning away. mrs. maximoff leads you to the door to exit and walks you all the way out to the elevators. you pace the short distance in somewhat comfortable silence. when you turn to face her to say your final goodbye, your surprised to see mrs. romanoff behind her. she was following so quietly that you didn’t notice her presence.

“bye! thank you again,” you smile, stepping into the elevator once the doors open. the two women stand side by side of each other, giving you a near identical smile which portrayed some sort of knowing behind it, almost like they were expecting something.

“it was a pleasure meeting you miss (y/l/n),” mrs. maximoff calls out to you as the elevator doors slide closed.

you exhale a breath you didn’t now you were holding, slumping back against the elevator walls.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

that evening, you cook up a box of mac n cheese, too lazy to try and find the ingredients to make anything else. not to mention, your mind was still a little bit jumbled after your interview with thee lesbian power couple.

mrs. romanoff’s words kept echoing in your head.

”we’ll be in touch” she’d said. but didn’t your interview totally blow? especially at the end. it wasn’t so much an interview but rather more like a conversation where people try to get to know each other better. maybe they were looking for a personality hire? you really doubted that though.

you eat your mac n cheese while staring blankly at the wall, thinking over the whole exchange with mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff. as you mindlessly feed yourself spoonfuls of your dinner, you realize you didn’t even know their first names. you remembered you had once seen them on a billboard somewhere but didn’t remember exactly what they were. mrs. romanoff’s first name was natalie or something similar? you were at a loss with mrs. maximoff. you decide to google them to put your curiosities to rest.

pulling out your phone, you google their names and the law firm. after doing just a little bit of digging, you see their full names: natasha romanoff and wanda maximoff. ah, so you were close with mrs. romanoff’s name. you wonder if they only go by their last names at the office. it definitely seemed like their vibe to have things be so professional.

as you go throughout the rest of your evening, showering and getting ready for bed, you continue thinking about them. the longer your mind lingers on them, the less “professionally” you think about them. you couldn’t help but notice how utterly beautiful they both were. they both carried themselves with a confidence that anyone would find intimidating. there was something so forceful about their presences, but not necessarily in a bad way. it seemed like natasha—mrs.romanoff—was a little more rough around the edges, but you could see she easily held a soft spot for her wife and life partner. mrs. maximoff gave off a much more approachable vibe, but she was still intimidating in her own way.

as your mind continues wandering, you find yourself becoming more tired before you finally drift off to sleep, your brain fatigued from all your analytical thinking.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

the first thing you notice when you wake up is the light shining through your thin curtains. you blink a few times, slowly adjusting to the light. you blindly reach over to your nightstand, unplugging your phone from the charger. as you unlock your phone, you notice a missed call from an unknown number nearly two hours ago. you shoot up into a sitting position in your bed, suddenly feeling much more awake. it was just passed 10 am. was the unknown number a call back about your interview?

your fingers furiously swipe on your phone, quickly googling the number for M.R. law. you breath a sigh of relief when you cross reference the digits in your phone and the number online, realizing it was just a random unknown caller. you let your body fall back limply on the bed, your leg dangling off the side as you clutch your phone to your chest. that would’ve been humiliating if they called offering you the job and you didn’t pick up the phone.

as you go about your morning leisurely—not having any classes this day—you try to push the two hot lawyers out of your mind. there was no point in dwelling on them if you’d never hear from them again.

you leave your face bare of makeup, not intending on leaving the apartment and you opt for wearing comfy clothes—or “frumpy” clothes as you called them—instead of something nice.

you head into the kitchen, pouring yourself a bowl of frosted flakes cereal. you let it sit there for a few minutes to soak up the milk, as soggy cereal was your favorite. you’d argue with anyone who claimed crunchy cereal was best. as you wait, you power up your laptop, intent on working on some homework.

you’re munching on your cereal, blue-light filtered glasses adorning your nose as you work on your computer screen. you were mid-bite when you hear your phone buzzing on the counter next to you. you glance down at your phone and frown slightly when you notice it looks to be the same unknown number from earlier.

you continue chewing your bite, raising the phone to your ear as you accept the call.

“hello?” you ask, your voice mumbled a bit as you still had some food in your mouth.

“good morning, miss (y/n),” you hear a warm, velvety voice greet you. after almost an hour interview with her yesterday, you’d recognize this distinct voice anywhere.

“mrs. romanoff?” you just about choke on your food as you swallow, your body tensing slightly as you feel much more alert.

“that would be correct.” you hear her chuckle softly into the phone, your tone laced with obvious surprise she must have found endearing.

“i’m so sorry! i think i missed your call earlier? i didn’t recognize the number- i had no idea it was you, i’m sorry!” you apologize quickly, thinking that if she was actually calling to offer you the job, you might have just ruined it.

“don’t worry about it. i would be surprised if you recognized it given that this is my personal number,” her voice was low and warm. it was entirely too enticing.

“oh.. umm, right. well, good morning,” you stumble slightly over your words, unsure what else to say to her.

“are you normally a late riser?” she asks with humor in her voice.

“what? oh no, not normally no. i just don’t have classes today,” you explain, a little embarrassed at her having called you out on your sleeping habits.

“i see. well, we just wanted to call and ask if you’d meet us for a coffee,” her question came out as more of a statement and you were left wondering why on earth she would want to go out for coffee with you and…wait.. did she say we?

“we?” the words echo aloud from your mind.

“yes. my wife and i,” she reiterates calmly. you look around your small excuse for a kitchen as if the reasoning behind her posing this question was written on the walls.

“like today?” you ask stupidly. of course she meant today.

“yes - today. can you meet us in 15? we’re going on lunch break. i’ll text you the address.” your eyes zip to the digital numbers plastered on the microwave. you only had 15 minutes to try and look presentable, get a cab and meet them.

“ummm..yeah. yeah sure,” you nod your head as if she could see you through the phone. you quickly hop off the stool you were sitting on, walking briskly to the bathroom with the phone still held firmly to your ear.

“perfect. we’ll see you soon.” she hangs up and you all but toss your phone on the bathroom counter, staring down at the device as if it’s offended you. you quickly snap out of it, only having 5 or so minutes to un-hobo yourself. you quickly apply some concealer on your dark spots, powder on a little blush and brush on a coat of mascara in record time. in your haste, you stumble from the bathroom to your closet, trying to find something to quickly throw on. you grab a simple white baby tee, putting it on and then aggressively stepping into some loose light wash jeans. grabbing your belongings, you half jog out the door, nearly slipping down the last two stairs of your apartment.

you quickly get a cab, thanking whatever higher power there is in your head that there was very little delay in one driving by. as the taxi driver takes you to the address you gave him, you sit forward in your seat, gathering your hair in a pony tail near the top of your head. you secure it with an elastic you always keep around your wrist and pull some pieces out to frame your face. you glance in the cab rear view mirror, seeing you looked fairly presentable. you exhale shakily, sitting back in your seat as the same nerves you felt yesterday on the way to your interview were coming back now.

what was this about? i mean, you knew it wasn’t normal to meet with potential employees for coffee. it was especially suspicious because it was mrs. romanoff *and* her wife.

your thoughts are interrupted as the taxi slows to a crawl and he pulls up to the coffee shop. you’d never been to this one before, granted there were hundreds of shops all over the city so there were probably many you hadn’t gone to. your heart leaps in your chest as you see both mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff waiting outside for you.

you pass the driver the money, thank him and slip out of the car. as you step onto the sidewalk, mrs. maximoff greets you with the same warm smile she’d given you when you first met. mrs. romanoff smiles too, though it’s not as wide as her wife’s.

“hello again, (y/n).” your heart skips a beat as you hear mrs. maximoff use your first name for the first time. mrs. romanoff had been calling you by your first name since you’d stepped foot into her office. you liked the way your name fell from both of their tongues.

“hi, good to see you both again,” you smile despite your nerves, making eye contact with both of them in a polite manner.

“shall we?” mrs. romanoff suggests as she opens the door for you, her wife placing a gentle hand on the small of your back to usher you inside. you inhale shakily, the unexpected contact surprising you in a pleasant way.

as the three of you file in behind the small line of people waiting to order, your eyes skim the menu, even though you already knew exactly what you wanted.

“cute outfit,” mrs. romanoff murmurs from behind you. you could hear what sounded to be amusement in her tone but you weren’t sure.

you turn to the side to face her, her being on your left and mrs. maximoff on your right just a half-step behind you. “thank you. i threw it on—literally. i was wearing something a lot less presentable when you first called.” you glance down at both of their outfits. the duality between yours and their outfits was almost laughable. they looked impeccably fashionable and you were just in street clothes.

wanda chuckles lightly at your comment. “what were you wearing before?” she asks.

“just an oversized tee and some biker shorts,” you shrug, crossing your arms casually over your chest. you always felt more comfortable when you had your arms wrapped around yourself.

as the line moves and you’re next, mrs. romanoff quickly stands in front of you, her body moving between you and the counter. “what’ll you have?” she gives you an expectant look, ready to give your order.

“an iced mocha?” you ask a little shyly, her show of putting herself between you and the cash register did something to you for some reason.

she nods, and turns to the barista, repeating your order along with hers and her wife’s. you’re about to protest, wanting to tell her she doesn’t have to pay for you, but you feel mrs. maximoff’s hand return to the small of your back, swiftly maneuvering you away from the line and over to the small cluster of tables.

you sit down in a chair she pulled out for you and you scoot yourself in as mrs. maximoff settles in her own seat across from you.

“you really don’t have to pay for me, you know,” you pipe gently, glancing over at mrs. romanoff who was standing at the counter waiting for the drinks before you turn back to mrs. maximoff.

“of course not, we want to. plus, neither her nor i would ever allow you to pay for yourself even if you insisted,” she smiles winsomely, her eyes gleaming with something warm and bright.

mrs. romanoff returns with all three coffees, somehow handling all three and setting them down in a graceful manner.

“thank you,” you give mrs. romanoff a gentle smile as your fingers interlock around the cup and you drag it closer to you.

they both take a sip from their coffees—which were both hot—before mrs. romanoff clears her throat, her eyes narrowing in on you as she leans forward on the table.

“so, i imagine you’re wondering why we asked you here.” she throws a glance at her wife who was already looking at her speak.

“it may have been on my mind…” you trail off, sounding as innocent as possible.

mrs. romanoff smiles knowingly, her eyes appraising you in a way that made you squirm slightly in your seat.

“it’s not about the job, as i’m sure you might have figured, but rather about offering a different type of position,” she begins. your brow furrows in confusion. what did she mean?

“a different position? like a cleaning job or something?” you immediately go to thinking about jobs that require little to no experience, figuring that might be all they’d have to offer given your background.

they both laugh at your guess, mrs. romanoff being the one to shake her head no.

“no, not a cleaning job,” she pauses, seeming to measure your expression before continuing. “(y/n), have you ever heard the term bdsm?”

your face goes blank and you look from mrs. romanoff to her wife who appeared to be watching you just as carefully.

“um…i think so? i’ve heard the term a few times before.” your legs feel like they’ve turned to jelly, an unfamiliar pit settling into your lower tummy at the abrupt shift in the topic of conversation.

“what do you know about it?” mrs. maximoff chimes in, tilting her head to the side which causes some of her neatly curled hair to fall forward.

you look between the two of them, unconsciously shrinking further down into your seat. this was such a taboo subject to talk about it public; you found yourself already growing warm from just the thought of this discussion.

“well, it’s..sex stuff…right? like being tied down and whipped?” you speak hesitantly in a small voice, throwing quick glances at the strangers littered across the coffee shop.

“those things can be a part of it, yes—if all parties discuss that’s something they like to participate in” mrs. romanoff explains and then continues. “what else have you heard about it? or is that the gist of what you know?”

you shrug, your shoulders slumped forward and your head bowed slightly to try and obscure your flushed cheeks. you suck your bottom lip into your mouth—your nervous habit.

mrs. maximoff pipes in again after noticing your bashfulness. “a lot of people have that imagery in mind when they hear the term ‘bdsm,’ so it’s understandable that that’s your impression. there is so much more to it though. really, bdsm is about exploring people’s sexual interests in a safe space. you learn about your limits, what you like, what you didn’t expect to like, and so much more.” you listen to her explanation intently, your mind immediately wandering and wondering where this conversation was going to go.

mrs. romanoff picks up off her wife’s words. “some people simply dabble in certain aspects of bdsm while others treat it more as a lifestyle—and for my wife and i, it is a lifestyle.”

you nod hesitantly as they both pause for a second, watching you digest this information. you’re unsure how to respond, feeling progressively more restless in your seat.

they both give each other a look before mrs romanoff nods and mrs. maximoff speaks.

“normally, for people who live this lifestyle, they draw up contracts between themselves and the person they want as their submissive.. now we know this is all very forward, but there’s just no other way to put it. we’d like to have you as our new submissive.”

your face turns bright red for reasons you’re not fully aware of. you weren’t quite sure what being a “submissive” all entailed, but you couldn’t wipe the imagery of being helplessly tied down and whipped from your mind. you’re silent as your brain flits through one imaginary scenario to the next. you were so clueless though, you weren’t sure if the things you were thinking up were things people actually did or if they were just shown in porn.

“me…? i just..well it’s just that..i’m-i don’t know if i would be your ideal candidate,” you stumble out, your eyes glued to the table as you avoid looking at either of them at all costs.

“on the contrary, (y/n), i singled you out almost immediately at our interview. i knew i wanted you. that’s why i had wanda join us.” her face softens as she notices your slight uneasiness. being a bit of a sadist though, she couldn’t help but find your innocence and embarrassment so incredibly gratifying. it only made her want you more.

your teeth worry into your bottom lip again as you look between one set of green eyes and then the other. “do you guys normally.. share, uhm..submissives?”

“not always, but we do like to when it’s possible,” wanda shares, a reassuring smile on her face. you purse your lips, chewing on the inside of your cheek as more questions arise in your head.

“how does that work? sharing i mean.” you knew there were people who participated in polyamorous relationships, and you had no issue with it, you just had trouble visualizing the dynamic.

natasha grins wickedly to herself, realizing now how truly innocent and unknowing you were. she suspected a little yesterday at the interview, but had no idea the true scope of your innocence. wanda also found herself undeniably more attracted to you after this conversation. her hands twitch in her lap, thinking of all the things she could do to you that you probably haven’t ever dreamed of.

“it works (y/n), trust me…” mrs. romanoff says seductively.

“we know this is all very foreign to you, sweetheart. you don’t have to say yes today, just think about it?” mrs. maximoff reaches across the table and affectionately holds onto your wrist. your stomach does a little flip-flop at the term of endearment paired with the affection.

there were so many thoughts and feelings swirling around you, but one thing stuck out above the rest. you wanted to learn more. you didn’t want to say no and close a door on something that you might enjoy.

“i want to.. i mean, um, i will think about it,” you clear your throat for the umpteenth time that day, pulling your hand back from mrs. maximoff’s light grasp. it was suddenly feeling like her hand was searing your skin.

“you want to what?” mrs. romanoff presses, her eyes looking at you with intensity again.

“i just meant that i want to learn more..about this,” you reply quietly, peeking at mrs. romanoff through your lashes. you notice her clench her jaw and flex her fingers that were resting on the table, but you weren’t sure what it meant.

“well, there’s a lot to learn, but luckily i’d say we’re both pretty good teachers,” mrs. maximoff grins more wickedly this time, her expression giving you a new glimpse into something you hadn’t seen in her until this point.

“why don’t we meet up again sometime this weekend? we can answer any questions you have—help you learn more about what we’re asking from you,” she adds, to which you surprisingly feel eager to agree to the idea. you find yourself already wanting to learn more, especially if the people who were going to educate you were two of the hottest women alive.

“yeah…let’s do that,” you nod once, your blush slowly creeping off your cheeks though a slight honey glow was still present.

you all begin to gather your things, mrs. maximoff noticing their lunch break was just about up. the three of you hardly touched your coffees, the conversation too intense to take swigs of the drinks.

the two of them walk you out of the shop, mrs. romanoff hailing down a cab for you. you turn to say goodbye to mrs. maximoff and find that she’s standing closer to you than expected.

“i look forward to seeing you again so soon, dragotsennaya veshch’,” she murmurs, reaching to give your arm an affectionate squeeze. you smile at her, unsure what she said but not caring much to know now.

you step closer to the cab after mrs. romanoff opens the door for you. before you can slip inside the car, mrs. romanoff leans down, murmuring in your ear.

“if you have any questions before the weekend that simply can’t wait, don’t hesitate to text me. you have my number.” her voice was a little rough which makes you shiver.

you nod slowly, sucking on your bottom lip again. you give mrs. maximoff a shy hand wave which she mimics with an amused grin. you sink down into the car seat, mrs. romanoff shutting the door behind you.

as the taxi drives away, you can’t help but look behind you as the two women grow smaller and smaller on the sidewalk. as the car turns a corner, the couple remain standing there until you disappear. you sigh and turn back around in your seat, resting heavily against the cushion behind you.

what just happened?

——————————

tag list:

@poppyshuman @wandamaximoffsbadgirl @xenaizogie @ashadash0904 @kittnii @hayeeonn @gh0sstss @beggingonmykneesforher @natashalover3000 @msvenablesbitch @ihartnat @leesromanova @alwaysgoodnight @lowlifejuliett @azaleavolkova @caramelcat123 @daretodream1307-blog @ctrlaltedits @sweetmissnothing @gecko1 @karmasgxrl @marvelwomenarehot0 @elle161989 @waaayoutofline @snazzysprig @simpforlizzie @just4natasha

#venturing is inevitable: series #vii #wandanat #wandanat x reader #wandanat smut #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader

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kooberryfields4ever · 4 months ago

Text

greedy

hello !! if you're seeing this again it's bc i've reuploaded it in order to make it a separate post <33 gonna start posting asks/reqs separately so i can tag the link in replies instead!!! tysm for reading!!!

wc: 5851

content warnings: detailed descriptions of insecurity surrounding weight & body image, internalised fatphobia, jungkook also gets insecure & a little toxic during an argument, jungkook is vulgar!!!!!! porn with a little bit of plot, jungkook is a munch, jungkook spanks yn a couple times, piv sex, descriptions of female anatomy, KOOBERRYFIELDS4EVER DISCOVERS A POSITION THAT IS NOT MISSIONARY!!!!!

MDNI !

He notices it in your face first, the way you’ve started to cover your chin in photos he takes of you, choosing to lean against your palm when you pose or asking him to take them from a higher angle. He chalked it up to new trends catching your fancy, never thought much of it. You look pretty, he’d compliment, and you would accept them with a sweet smile before deleting the majority of the photos he took. He had never even considered the fact that not once had you posted to your Instagram in over a month. He notices it next in your tummy, once on display with crop tops or low-rise jeans, now hidden away by baggy cargo pants, hoodies, and sweaters. He never minded. Yes, he misses being able to reach around your waist and stroke his fingers across your stomach, misses the easy access he had to your body and the intimacy of skin-to-skin contact that you’ve taken away from him. But, like his own, your style is always changing. Baggy clothes are in right now. It’s when you start to physically shy away from his touches, shrug off his hands and redirect his kisses that he senses something is really wrong. Sure, trends change, you’ll find new styles and your wardrobe will be endlessly rearranged. He’s sure you’ll find new poses for him to capture in a few weeks' time. Refusing his touch, though? No, never.

You love physical touch. Had said so yourself when Jungkook and you first started speaking, drilled it into his head that if this relationship was to go anywhere then he would have to get used to being your personal body pillow. He would joke that he hated it, would wrestle your hands away from him just to provoke a reaction from you, would sometimes place a pillow between the two of you in bed just to make you sulk so he could make it all better with a cuddle as an apology. Of course, he never really hated it – you were always warmth. Always comfort, ready to drop everything at a moment’s notice if he ever needed your touch. You’d card your hands through his hair when he was sad, scratch his scalp and kiss his head. He’d always search for you in cold beds and winter nights, and you’d always meet him with soft giggles and tangled limbs.

So why now, does it seem, that you no longer want him? Why is he met with a cold shoulder when he reaches for you at night? Why is the bathroom door always locked when you shower, when you used to gladly leave it wide open for him? Why do you refuse to eat meals with him, refuse his snacks, refuse to accompany him to the corner store when he wants something quick to eat? He paces the bedroom – ever the overthinker – and questions himself endlessly. The thought of losing you quite frankly makes him sick. He has to sit down, hang his head in his hands. Think. He doesn’t notice the front door opening and shutting, nor the gentle patter of your feet as you make your way through the apartment. Doesn’t hear you greet Bam in the living room with soft coos and gentle pets. He curses inwardly. His mouth is dry. He needs a drink.

When he opens the bedroom door, he’s met with you in a hoodie and leggings. He frowns, can’t help it, his head hurts and the way you immediately curl in on yourself doesn’t help. He sighs, brushing past you with a shake of his head and beelines to the kitchen. He can’t think properly, his mind is absolutely reeling. Feeling unbelievably nauseous, he downs a glass of water in an attempt to stave off the feeling of utter dread in his stomach threatening to release itself from his throat.

“Are you upset with me?” Comes your soft voice from behind him, and his head throbs. Why haven’t you wrapped your arms around his waist, yet? Why are you not massaging his shoulders, kissing his back? He turns to you, places the glass down on the counter beside him, meets your eyes. You look tired, sad even. Jungkook sighs.

“When were you planning on breaking up with me?” He asks abruptly, and you raise your eyebrows in genuine surprise, shaking your head in disbelief.

“What? Where did that even come from?” You fire back, feeling a certain anger rumble in your stomach at the accusation.

“You clearly don’t wanna be with me anymore, so when were you planning on ending it?” He’s surprised at his own combativeness; his hands are shaking when he crosses them against his chest. “Wanted to wait it out a bit? See if the feelings came back?”

“Jungkook, I literally have no idea what you’re talking about,” you deadpan, furrowing your eyebrows, “what did I do wrong?”

“There’s someone else, right?” He scoffs, and the look of utter horror on your face makes his stomach drop. What is wrong with him? The neurons in his brain are firing all the wrong ways, making him say all the wrong things and feel all the wrong emotions. He’s not angry, never was, never could be – never at you. He’s scared, terrified even.

“Fuck you.” You spit. Jungkook’s never heard such venom in your voice before. Your lip wobbles, a telltale sign of what’s next and he curses himself when a tear slides down your cheek. You dot it away with the sleeve of your hoodie quickly, trying to save face, but Jungkook’s already crowding your space and wrapping his arms around you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He whispers into your hair, rubbing your back and pulling you close to his chest. His heart breaks when you push him away, but he refuses to let you go. “Please, I’m sorry,” he begs, his hand instinctively slipping under your hoodie for the contact he’s been craving so badly, “I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.” I’m scared, he leaves out. He kisses your head, and you flinch when his fingers run over your waist.

“There’s nobody else, but…” You whisper, gently pushing his hand away from your waist. Jungkook stills, doesn’t mean to move his hand away but does anyway. Takes a step back, in fact. “But, I don’t look good. I’ve been stress eating, and my clothes don’t fit me right, and you barely touch me anymore, and-”

“What?” Is all he can muster, not sure if his face is reading as total disgust, anger, sadness. You’re not sure, either, it seems. You meet his eyes, you look disappointed. “No. Nope.” You gasp when he takes your hand, questioning him when he drags you down the hallway to your shared bedroom. He doesn’t answer when you call his name, doesn’t say a word as he makes you stand in front of your mirrored wardrobe and stands behind you. He’s not even sure himself what he’s doing.

“Jungkook, stop it...” You pout, turning your head to avoid looking at yourself in the mirror. This feels like some kind of sick torture technique, you never thought Jungkook could be this cruel.

“No, stop,” he orders, though quietly, his hand reaching around you to grasp your chin and turn your head back towards the mirror, “you don’t see what I see?”

“You’re not being nice.”

“What do you mean I don’t touch you anymore?” He avoids your accusation, has an end goal in mind now and will see it through or die trying. He keeps one hand on your chin, the other sliding over the fabric of your hoodie. He doesn’t want to push you too far but can’t help himself. He hears you sigh; watches the way your eyes avoid the mirror like the plague, like seeing yourself is that agonising. He sighs too. “You never want me to.” He adds on, hopes it’ll coax an answer from you, that maybe you’ll see his side of things.

“Because I don’t want you to feel how big I’ve gotten,” you say, frustration lacing your tone, finding his eyes in the mirror, “I don’t look as nice anymore.” You frown, unable to stop the tears as they slip down your cheeks. “The last time we had sex you wanted me to keep the covers on.”

He frowns too, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder. “You thought I didn’t want to see you? That’s what this is all about?” He releases your chin finally in favour of holding your waist with both of his hands, growing bolder and trailing his touch down to the hem of your hoodie. He sighs when you nod, never known you to be so fragile, so easily convinced. He sees the confliction on your face when his fingers slip under the fabric, wants nothing more than to kiss it away.

“I want you literally all of the time,” he continues, placing a kiss on your neck, grinning when you tilt your head away from him to give better access, “like all of the fucking time. Think about you when I’m at work, when I’m eating, when I’m gaming, I dunno.” He’s fishing for answers, groaning happily against the skin of your neck when, for the first time in weeks, you let him brush his fingers over the much beloved skin of your belly. He doesn’t like your silence, wishes desperately that you would say something, anything, but the look on your face tells him you’re untrusting of his words. Funny. Jungkook truly believes the sun shines out of your ass, but you can’t even believe he finds you beautiful.

“Think about you when I’m in the shower, when I’m brushing my teeth, when I’m doing anything. Wish you’d at least touch me, even if you don’t want me to touch you.” He groans, frustrated at himself for having interpreted all of the signs so wrong. That’s all he seems to be doing today. “You know how much I missed this? Missed running my hands over you, touching your skin, cuddling you? I wake up rock-hard most mornings, and you’re already out of bed, away from me. I never wanna push you too far, and you haven’t been in the mood. Would never push your boundaries.”

“Yeah, except now.” You whisper, and he chuckles. Maybe you’re being serious, he can’t tell, but he likes that you smile too. Likes the sound of your voice.

“Yeah. But it’s okay, right?” He grips your waist, lowering his lips to the sliver of skin he can reach with your hoodie on, the junction where your neck meets your shoulder. “You are the most gorgeous person I know; I thought you knew that. I genuinely couldn’t fathom you believing anything else. I’m so sorry,” he whispers into your skin, kissing back up to your pulse point and nosing your ear, “you’re perfect. Can I take this off? Please?” He practically whimpers, closing his eyes as he rests his forehead against your temple. He’s pathetic and hard, he knows you can feel it from behind you. Wants to press himself closer, but doesn’t want to push you.

Your hesitation is obvious, silence thickening the room. He doesn’t watch you now, wants you to see yourself, wants you to make the decision. His hands don’t roam. They sit firmly on your waist, an encouraging weight but nothing more. You think for what feels like forever before turning your face to him, resting your forehead against his own. His eyes open to find yours. They’re sad; his are pleading. He watches you nod so slowly, you’re still unsure but you know he wants this.

He really does. He can feel himself practically drooling when he turns back to the mirror, slipping his hands out from under your hoodie to grasp it. He takes his time, nudges you to look too as he lifts the fabric up over your stomach slowly. His eyes boring into your skin when your navel comes into view, then it’s the skin surrounding your stomach, your soft waist. Your bra finally comes into view, and Jungkook practically growls in your ear, decides to hold a brief intermission so that he can grab one of your tits and run his thumb over where your nipple should be. The fabric is too thick to tell, but you let out a hitched breath anyway and he smiles. He pulls away for only a second to slip the hoodie fully off of your torso, immediately finding your waist and pulling you back into him.

“Look at you, prettiest in the world,” he purrs, can’t help himself when he rolls his hips into the hollow of your back. His hands are gentle when they explore, fingers tiptoeing over your flesh and indenting it softly.

“I look big.” You offer back, part of you desperate to fish for Jungkook’s compliments. He frowns, spanking your hip to scold you before wrapping his arms around you to make a point.

“Wouldn’t be able to do this if you were as massive as you make yourself out to be,” he tuts, kissing the back of your head and resting his lips there, “think you’ll still look tiny sitting on my dick, too. Missed that cute little cunt of yours, pisses me off that you’ve been keeping it from me because of something so fucking trivial.” His voice is husky when he whispers the crude words into your ear, his grip on you becoming rougher but he can’t help it. It’s so infuriating that you would think Jungkook of all people could care about something like that. Makes him feel like a monster, like he’s somehow guilty of upholding this standard for you when realistically, you could look any which way and he would still love you.

He knows he can talk about his own body a bit too much, maybe conversations about his diet and workout routine made you think he was trying to convince you to be the same? Probably doesn’t help that he eats a lot of health foods during busy promotional periods and has a drawer full of supplements to keep his own weight in check. He never meant for any of that to reflect on you, though. You’re perfect in his eyes; with soft skin and ample curves, dimples in your lower back and freckles dotted across your body. He loves finding them, loves drawing the lines to connect them and kissing between the spaces. Loves when he fucks you from behind and his thumbs sit in those dimples like he imprinted them himself, makes him feel like you were truly made for him, like your body is moulded for him to touch, to kiss, to hold, to love.

He’s too busy in his own head to notice when you wrap your arms around your middle to hide yourself from him, how scared you look at the prospect of Jungkook seeing you as if he hasn’t already seen you a million times before. You elbow his hands out of the way and that catches his attention, makes him furrow his brows in annoyance. He slides his hands across your arms and catches your wrists, gripping them tightly before encouraging you to explore yourself the way he was just a second ago.

“I don’t get it.” He groans frustratedly into the back of your head, guiding your hands across your stomach, over your navel and over the skin of your lower abdomen. “Why don’t you see what I see? God, I’d give up everything to let you see yourself in my eyes. You’re like a fucking Messiah, my own little Aphrodite.”

“Aphrodite isn't a Messiah.” You respond quietly with that smartass tone of voice he loves, though slightly muted. He rolls his eyes and chuckles at your quick tongue, always itching to prove him wrong about something.

“Okay, and? The point is that I worship the fucking ground you walk, couldn’t picture a better death than in your arms...” He smirks, playing with the waistband of your leggings. “Maybe between your legs?” He laughs when you slap his forearm, but continues down the vulgar path he’s set himself on. “Would want my last breath to be with my tongue on that pretty pussy of yours, my last meal. You taste so good, always have. I know you love when I eat you out, too. Don’t you miss it?” He encourages, wants to hear you agree, wants to see the brick wall you’ve built up around yourself start to collapse. He’s kicking at the foundation as he speaks, finding the weakest spots and slotting the easiest bricks out at a time like Jenga. “You get so, so wet when I let you sit on my face. Think you know that I’d happily drown if it’s your snatch I’m drowning in. Don’t you want that, baby? Me to fuck you with my tongue?”

He reels when you respond with the softest “mhm” imaginable, gripping your hips like his life depends on it and pulling you back into his erection for some kind of relief. “Yeah?” He croaks, pushing your hair over your shoulder so he can start peppering kisses down your spine from behind. “I’ll do it, but you gotta do me a favour, m’kay?” Phase two of his master plan underway. He stands up straight, rubbing your hip gently and rests his chin on your shoulder to talk to you directly, wants to look you in the eye even if only through the mirror. You’re waiting for him to continue before you agree, leaning your head against his sweetly. “I want you to look at yourself the entire time. Not me, want you to face the mirror and see exactly what I see.”

You swallow nervously, scared to agree because that sounds like your worst nightmare. But Jungkook is so sweet, so kind and encouraging. Your eyes flutter shut when he turns his head into yours, kisses your neck gently, whispers how good he knows you can be for him against your skin. Your weakness has always been Jungkook’s gentleness. He lights fires in your gut and fans the flames with the softness of his voice, plants seeds and waters them with his delicacy. You find yourself agreeing, murmuring an “okay” and allowing Jungkook to guide you over to the bed. He’s preening, celebrating this victory by offering you a kiss on the lips as he encourages you to lie down with your head turned towards the mirror.

It’s different this way. You’re not so disgusted with yourself when you can see Jungkook in the mirror looking at you in awe. Your eyes remain on him, scanning over the broadness of his shoulders. He looks larger when he has clothes on, his t-shirt hiding away the lean frame you were once so used to. You suppose you’re still used to it, but the giddiness that bubbles in your stomach at his touch feels new. Your gaze lowers to his hands, you can see the flex of his shoulders through the fabric, how his fingers pry at the fabric of your leggings before slipping them down your legs and off your body, tossing them onto the floor carelessly. He turns his head to the mirror then, meeting your eyes with a stern face.

“Not me.” He instructs, and you begin to feel shy again. You haven’t sat with the reality of your body for so long. Against the sheets, you look frumpy. There’s a roll in your waist and a curve to your stomach now, it quite frankly makes you feel a bit sick. You’ve never been model thin, you don’t think that’d be possible with Jungkook’s feeding habits, but you’ve never been this big. Realistically, you aren’t even big. You don’t even see a problem with it on others, you know plenty of bigger people who you are even envious of. You just don’t think it looks right on you. Their bellies remain flat where yours curves above your navel, their hips are round where yours dip and flatten. Their skin is smooth and their boobs stay perky, you have cellulite and your nipples are starting to droop.

Your mind blanks when you feel Jungkook’s thumb press into your belly, using his free hand to pull off your panties and toss them onto the pile with your leggings. You don’t know how he does it, how he manages to draw you from the deepest crevices of your insecurities with his touch. You want to look at him so bad, but you don’t want to disappoint him. You want to be good. You keep your eyes on yourself, on the indent of his thumb in your abdomen, on the rise in your hips when he finally lowers his mouth to your pussy and the way your chest shakes with a hitched breath when he nudges your clit with his nose. You pull one leg back to plant your foot in the mattress, letting the other fall sideways to spread yourself open for him. He thanks you with a mumble of praise and wraps his lips around your clitoris to suck on it gently. You moan, it’s been so long since you let him touch you like this and you can feel yourself growing wetter against his tongue. He’s lying flat on his belly while he eats you out, burying his face between your legs and holding your hip. The thumb digging into your tummy is pressed deeper, like he thinks you’re going to push him away. You wouldn’t, couldn’t, so you lift your hips up into his face and whine for more.

As expected, he obliges. Dives in a little deeper and dips his tongue past your entrance, ensuring you don’t slip from his grasp. His other hand meets the fabric of your bra and you can feel the vibrations of his irritated growl in all the crevices of your pussy. It makes you whine, clenching around the muscle of his tongue as you rut into his face for more friction. He pushes at the cups haphazardly, desperate to release your boobs from their confines and play with them. You can’t control the way your eyes flutter shut, biting your lip when Jungkook’s fingers toy deftly with one of your tits, squeezing the flesh and rolling your nipple between his fingertips. You’re certain his eyes are shut too, but a sharp pinch to your breast has you letting out a surprised yelp and sitting up on your elbows to scold him. His eyes meet yours sternly, separating from your lower lips for a moment to tell you off.

“You’re really bad at following instructions.” He mumbles, coming off whinier than intended. You can’t help the giggle that leaves your throat at the sound of his voice; Jungkook has never been too good at being domineering. Never in all the time you’ve known the man has he ever truly intimidated you. He groans, feigning annoyance, but presses a kiss to your pubis before resting his forehead against your tummy. “Can you please just try?” He asks so quietly, and you swallow hard at the almost pathetic tone of voice he’s using to get you to obey. You hadn’t intended to be difficult, but you hadn’t really considered the anguish you would be in just from seeing yourself.

Watching Jungkook instead is like a Hail Mary, a saving grace between glances at your own body that bids your churning stomach time to settle at the sight. He’s so pretty, you’ve always thought this. Even now, resting against your belly with pleading eyes, Jungkook is the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen. You turn your head to the mirror again and see the hopefulness in his gaze when he lowers another kiss to your sensitive skin. His hair is a mess of black atop his head and your eyes follow the curve of his neck down to his t-shirt. You grumble quietly, vexed by the fact that he’s too covered for your liking, but continue your observation down his right arm anyway. You follow his tattoos down to his fingers and gasp when he moans into your folds and tightens his grip on your hip. You notice too, then, the way his hands fit so perfectly against you. It makes you smile. For the first time tonight, despite his tongue dipping back into your folds and his lips wrapping around your clit making you pant, you can’t take your eyes off of yourself.

You hook your leg over Jungkook’s shoulder, digging your heel into his lower back and rutting up into his mouth desperately. He chuckles into your heat and hooks his hand around your thigh to delve in deeper. He loves the sounds of your moans, music to his ears like a melody played staccato; your back arches off the bed but you keep your eyes on yourself in the mirror. He seems to be rewarding you now, pleased by your submission, and your mind short-circuits when his fingers join his mouth at your core. Your fingers tangle in his hair, encouraging him closer still – of course he heeds, dipping his middle finger into your hole and curling it. He doesn’t need much coercion to add another, your wetness and willingness is evident from a mile away, but Jungkook still groans in pure awe at the sight of you taking him.

Your moans devolve into a babble of his name as you draw closer to climax, clenching around him and shutting your eyes. He doesn’t punish you this time, accepts that you’ve done well enough for him, and instead watches your face as he sucks on your nub and strokes at your g-spot until you come hard around his fingers. When you finally open your eyes, your chest is heaving and Jungkook is holding up his wet digits like a trophy, bringing them to his lips to lick clean before journeying up your chest with determination.

“You saw, right? What I see?” He whispers, kissing up your happy trail slowly. You nod, but Jungkook isn’t watching – on purpose, you assume, to coax a verbal confirmation from you. His kisses travel further up, but he doesn’t ask again until he reaches your chest and presses a single kiss onto one of your nipples. “Can you tell me?”

“I saw how pretty you looked.” You respond, just to be a little difficult, but the way Jungkook deflates has you backtracking immediately. “We, I saw- I saw how pretty we looked.”

“But what about you?” He’s so genuine in his questioning, not spending as much time on your tits as he personally would’ve liked. He crawls up until he’s hovering directly over you, planting his hands on either side of your head.

“I looked good with you.” Is all you can muster up, but it seems to satisfy Jungkook as he lowers himself to meet your lips. The kiss is so slow, so gentle, and you can taste the subtle savouriness of yourself on his tongue when he guides it past your lips. Your hands wrap around the back of his neck like second nature, and he moves one of his own to your hip as the kiss grows more heated. He grunts into your mouth when he grinds himself against you, and the weight of his erection is dizzying. You swallow the noises he makes, holding him close to you and rutting your own hips into his movements.

“If I don’t fuck you in the next five minutes, I might die,” he murmurs, hand wandering across your hip and up to your waist, “no kidding. I’m too hard.” He adds when he hears you giggle, offering a final peck to his lips before pulling back a little.

“I’m right here, aren’t I?” You whisper sultrily, nuzzling your nose against his. He hums appreciatively, kissing down to your jaw with a grin. “You’re the one with all the clothes on.”

“Not how I want you, need you from behind.” He practically growls, and you swallow hard when he sits up to tug his shirt off and finally reveals what you’ve been craving so ravenously. You don’t hesitate in reaching forward to rub up and down his torso, trailing your fingers over the ridges of his pecs and abs with fascination. He chuckles and grabs your wrists, shaking his head as he stops your exploration. “I like this and all, but I need you on your stomach, like, yesterday.”

“That doesn’t feel fair, you had your fun,” you complain, scooting back on the bed while he sits on his knees above you, “and I don’t even get to touch?”

“Nope. Belly, now.” He commands, though his tone is far from domineering. He sounds desperate, and he looks it too. His body is flushed, his cheeks and shoulders tinted red as he gives your hip a spank and encourages you to turn over. You grumble a small protest but do so nonetheless, peering over your shoulder at him as you raise yourself to your hands and knees and dip your back. He tuts, placing a single hand on your ass and pushing you down until you’re flat against the mattress. He’s quick to shuck off his sweatpants and boxers, then reaches down to finally unclasp your bra. You sit up on your forearms to allow him to usher the straps off of your shoulders, leaving both of you naked on the bed.

“Eyes on the mirror, please.” He smiles down at you, reaching out for your ass cheek to give it a firm jiggle and a slap. You turn your head obediently, trained well by his consistent praise and repetitive instructions, and look at the way he positions himself over you from behind. He moves himself steadily between the small part in your legs, groaning when his tip brushes against your folds, rutting forward and sliding himself against the wetness coating your skin. You part your legs even further and reach back to take a hold of his length for him, preening at the way he drops his head and mewls. You’re desperate too at this point, so it doesn’t take long for you to guide his tip to your entrance and he’s even quicker to shove himself in.

You both moan, breaths shaking as he pushes deeper and deeper until he’s fully sheathed inside your heat. You continue to watch, endlessly awestruck by the sheer size of him compared to you – even despite your weight gain, Jungkook looks massive. When he pulls out, he’s glossy with your arousal, and when he thrusts back in you can almost feel him nudging against your tummy. Especially in this position, Jungkook feels impossibly deep. You groan when he grips your hips and you watch as his thumbs press into the dimples in your spine and he smirks, unknowingly to you because he’s been thinking about exactly this for weeks.

“I fit perfectly,” he growls, pulling you back onto his cock in order to reach deeper, “pussy was built for me, mm? You see?” You can feel the way his fingers stretch around your lower back to grip at your stomach while his thumbs stay firmly planted in those dimples, and it makes you shudder.

“Y-Yeah!” You moan, all you can do at this point is agree because he is so right. Not just your pussy, despite the fact that he fills you unimaginably well, but everything about the way your bodies interact with each other makes it obvious that you were made to be loved by him. Nobody else’s hands could fit so perfectly around you, could fill in your crevices and divots like plaster and make you feel so whole. You count your lucky stars for having Jungkook in your life to love you the way he does because you’re certain no-one else could. Even now, between sweaty skin and lewd noises, Jungkook stares down at you like he’s seen God; his lip trembles between his teeth and when he spots you looking up at him he grins and pins himself against your back. His hands leave your hips to wrap around your belly from underneath, holding your back tightly against his chest as his thrusts slow to an intimate roll.

“I love you, I love you,” he babbles into the back of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair and whimpering at the underlying notes of sweat, “I love you so much, never hide from me again.”

“Sorry. I love you.” You whisper back, breath hitching as you try to hold back your tears. This is all so intimate, it hurts. Jungkook is moving inside you like he could die tomorrow, making a home in your pussy and carving his initials into your cervix. He kisses the back of your neck breathes heavily against the shell of your ear, one of his hands trailing up to cup your tit and play with it gently.

“Gonna cum.” His hips are already picking up their pace, barely withdrawing himself from your heat in favour of grinding against your inner walls and cervix delicately. You turn your head to him and reach back to stroke his hair as encouragement, your own orgasm nearing as you feel yourself tightening around him. He nods, the silent agreement between you is enough for him to fuck you through both of your climaxes as he spills his cum into your heat and buries himself to the hilt when your walls begin to pulse around him. The noise that leaves his mouth is genuinely pathetic, but neither of you care in your post-orgasm bliss. He keeps his chest pressed tightly against your back, rolling slightly onto his side to spoon you instead of laying directly on top.

You can only handle a few minutes of cuddling like this until it all feels a bit too uncomfortable. Even Jungkook agrees, separating himself from you and leaving the bedroom in search of a wet cloth before returning with a bright smile. He’s silent as he cleans you, gentle when he wipes over your back, and then turns you to face him so he can clean between your legs and rid you of the sweat beading on your chest. He throws the cloth on the floor to meet your piles of clothes and clambers next to you in bed to cuddle you.

“Hi.” You offer him a smile and he returns an even bigger one, kissing your mouth.

“Mm, hi. Missed you.” He mumbles against your lips, gripping your ass cheek and separating from you to nuzzle your neck as he pulls you closer. “Don’t ever do that to me again, that was torture.”

“I’m sorry, I got in my head.”

“Me too. But you see it now, don’t you? How beautiful you are?”

“I do.” You wrap your own arms around him, giggling when he kisses your neck playfully before splaying himself out against your chest, holding you as close as he can.

a/n . . . 🗒️ hello !!!!!! second long post to here… i love asks and i love requests and i love making your ideas come to life in my head 🤍 this was incredibly fun & challenging to write and i’m happy to finally share with you guys !!!! your support means the world to me & i love hearing from you even if it’s criticism so please shoot me whatever you wish !!!

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