#I hope to god I don’t get in trouble for this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sparklingchim · 3 months ago

Text

next move; m | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 13.7k

tropes: hockeyplayer!jungkook, richgirlie!oc, college!au, fwb, brother's best friend

rating: 18+

warnings: alcohol consumption, lots of teasing, jk hooking up with someone else 🤢, oc goes a bit insane <3, smoking (ew), angry koo 😠, messy blow job, spit, cum on boobies, gagging, multiple orgasms, cum play, dick slaps on face n pussy, doggy, overstimulation, dirty talk, eating out, hair pulling, mirror sex, doggy, a few spanks, sum butt stuff, oc is addicted to shopping 🫂 (we both need help), pretends to help with uni stuff just to get dick, naughty thoughts abt jk at dinner with friends??, vulnerable oc <3, proud jk <3

summary: pov: you’ve spent so long pushing jungkook away, but now you’re the one trying to pull him back in.

a/n: i hope this feeds ur tummies well ! 😋

masterlist

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“What is wrong with you?”

These being the first words Taehyung directs at you when you enter the kitchen at 9 in the morning makes you want to claw his eyes out and head back to bed again.

“I’d fight you if I wasn’t sleepy right now,” you mutter as you shove past him to get to the coffee machine.

“No, I’m being for real,” Taehyung says, inspecting you through critical eyes.

“I’m not wearing make-up. Get over it.”

“It’s not that,” he presses. “You’ve been acting strange the past few days.”

He catches you off-guard with that. You can’t think of a lie fast enough to cover up the fact that you’ve been kinda dumped by his best friend and are no longer fuck buddies, hard times, so you blink a few times to keep your composure.

Your brain, struggling to function at this hour, lands on the most groundbreaking response: “Huh?”

“You didn’t want chicken when I asked if I should bring you some yesterday.” Taehyung crosses his arms, leaning against the counter.

“I already ate when you called,” you quickly – maybe too quickly? You don’t know – defend yourself as you watch the coffee stream into your mug.

“Right. Tell me one time – just one – where you’ve turned down chicken.” He raises an eyebrow. “By the way, I still got you some. It’s in the fridge. But I knew something was up, because you never-”

“Wait, really?” you cut him off, perking up. “You got me chicken?”

You rush to the fridge, flinging the door open. There isn’t much in there to begin with, so it’s easy to spot your beloved meal. You grab it and get it ready for the microwave.

Taehyung completely ignores your excitement over the food and continues his questioning.

“You didn’t react when I switched one of your reality tv shows for something else the other day.”

Did he? You don’t even remember that happening.

“You came home after a long day. I was just being a sweet sister,” you deflect, waving him off.

“Point is – I can tell when my baby sister is sad. And I don’t need you to feign indifference for me, because it’s okay not to be okay,” he says, gentle. “And I wish you’d come to me about whatever this is to make you feel better, because, I don’t know, I thought that’s what we’ve been doing as siblings.”

Your heart squeezes.

He just wants to comfort you. Be there for you. And it clearly pains him that you’ve been keeping this from him.

“No, yeah, I know, it’s just.” God, you hate this. Having to lie to him. “It’s honestly not that serious, Tae. I’m just being dramatic about it, you know how I am.” You try to laugh it off, but he doesn’t let it deceive him.

“It’s about a boy, isn’t it?”

You need to tweak your acting skills. And your reactions too, because why did you look away after he asked you that?

“A boy?” You stretch the word out in an exaggerated drag to make his inquisition sound ridiculous. “There’s no boy in my life.”

“If I find out Eunwoo is causing trouble, I’ll-”

“God, no.” You shake your head vehemently. “He’s fine. He’s not doing anything.”

You retrieve the chicken from the microwave and set it next to your coffee. A questionable breakfast choice, but right now, comfort food is comfort food.

“Want some?” you offer, grabbing your chopsticks.

Taehyung sighs deeply, shaking his head. His lips press into a thin line, but there’s no anger – just concern softening his features. “Wanna talk about it?” He pauses, voice dropping lower. “Who do I have to fight?”

Your stupid best friend, who walked out on me because, apparently, he doesn’t like it when I’m with other boys and was so dramatic about it, but I lowkey do understand him because I don’t like seeing him with other girls too but I can’t tell him because I don’t want him to know that I care and maybe everything is my fault but I am sad and upset and I can’t tell you anything about it because you’d hate me for it.

You keep these thoughts to yourself though and bite into a piece of chicken instead.

“Tae, no.”

“To both of my questions?”

“Mhm-hmm,” you answer with your mouth full.

His shoulders slump in defeat.

Placing your chopsticks down, you step forward and wrap your arms around him.

“You’re an amazing brother, Tae,” you mumble against his chest. “And I promise that I’m doing fine. You’d know if I wasn’t. I think I’m just getting my period soon, honestly. I’ve been hating everything and everyone lately.” You squeeze him tight. “But I love you.”

“I love you,” he replies, resting his chin on your head. “You’d come to me if you needed me, right?”

“Of course. I love to annoy you about my problems.”

You feel his chuckle rumble through his chest.

“You’re coming to dinner with us after the game, right?”

You draw you head back slightly, peering up at him.

“Define us.”

Taehyung’s brows knit together.

“Like, everyone.”

You so don’t want to see Jungkook. It’s been a week since he left you confused in your room.

Detangling yourself from Taehyung, you shoot him an unimpressed pout. “I don’t know if I’m in the mood for that many people.”

“I’m not gonna let you lock yourself up in your room, ___,” he says, a slight edge creeping into his voice. “You can bedrot another day.”

He’s right – you probably should socialise a little more. And with so many people around, you might not even notice Jungkook’s presence.

“I’ll come,” you relent defeatedly, picking up your tray with breakfast. “Good luck with the game.” You reach up on your tippy toes to ruffle his hair with your free hand, earning an exasperated groan from him.

So, when you thought you could just ignore Jungkook at dinner, you failed to consider one crucial detail – the universe lives to humble you. Because, of course, out of all the empty seats, he had to take the one right next to you. Rookie mistake. Amateur behaviour. A tragic miscalculation on your part.

Now, you’re stuck playing the world’s most intense game of Pretending He Doesn’t Exist, which, unfortunately, is pretty difficult when he’s breathing in your general direction.

“Can you guys believe that I got a C for my essay?” Seokjin announces after chomping down a big piece of meat.

“Was it the one with the ducks?” Jungkook questions.

“Yeah, I was so excited to hand it in ‘cause I had so much fun writing, and then I get a C.” Seokjin tilts his head in remorse. “I was at a Lotte World parking lot when I got the notification, and it felt like someone stole my firstborn. I hope that never happens to me, I don’t think I could go through the emotions a second time. Honestly, not even the bumper cars could distract me after that.”

“Sure you don’t wanna sign up for drama class?” Taehyung teases. “You’d be such an asset to it.”

“I’m so close to doing it.”

“Wait, you wrote an essay about ducks?” you ask.

“Not just about ducks, silly,” Seokjin explains. “I wrote an essay on whether someone would rather fight 100 duck-sized horses or 1 horse-sized duck. You know, deep stuff like answering questions if it is morally better to fight one large opponent or many small ones.”

“What would the world do without you, Jin,” Yoongi chimes in.

“I’d choose one horse-sized duck, I think,” Eunji says, who thankfully sits next to you, so you’re not completely surrounded by people who you dislike (yes, you might’ve forced her to come with you – she wanted to study in the library, but you dragged her here with the promise of showering her with your never-ending love).

“But a duck so big is scary, no?” you ponder, tapping your chopsticks against your mouth as you think.

Listening in on your conversation, Jungkook says, “The horse-sized duck would be easier.”

You frown, turning to him. “That thing would be massive, and it’s a duck. Ducks are unpredictable.”

“Okay, but 100 duck-sized horses would overwhelm you,” he argues. “You’re assuming they’re just gonna stand there like cute little ponies. What if they’re really aggressive? They’d be all over you, biting, kicking. That’s chaotic.”

“How would you manage fighting a huge duck, though? I don’t see that happening,” you scoff.

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t be hard, but at least it’s just one thing to focus on. It’s straightforward.” Jungkook leans back, dragging his gaze over your face before he says, “But of course you’d prefer the more chaotic solution.”

You raise your eyebrows. “What are you on about?”

You’re talking about ducks and horses. Or so you thought.

Jungkook shrugs. “Nothing. I just think your decision is stupid.”

His eyes don’t waver, and you don’t back down either, because what the hell? Jungkook’s picking a fight over nonsense and has the audacity to glare at you like you personally offended him. His brows are drawn tight, frustration evident in the sharpness of his expression.

As you glare back, you can’t stop your brain from taking an unexpected detour to memories in which Jungkook wore a similar expression. On top of you, a little sweaty, cheeks flushed and – oh my god, you feel the heat rush to your cheeks and swiftly turn away.

“You’re annoying,” you mumble under your breath, picking up your chopsticks again.

Where did these thoughts come from? Do you miss him? It’s been one week. You need a distraction.

"See how riveting my essay topic is?” Seokjin chimes in, pointing his chopsticks at the two of you. “A C is criminally underappreciated.”

“I don’t think anyone can get under ___ skin like Jungkook,” Taehyung chuckles, placing more meat onto your plate.

“Oh no, don’t worry, you still take the first place,” you quip.

“Don’t say that too loud. Jungkook’s too competitive.”

“He’s a mini version of you.” You turn to Jungkook when you say it, scrunching your nose to display your dismay.

“There’s nothing mini about Jungkook,” Yoongi interjects.

The boys laugh while Eunji and you choke on your food.

“Okay, gross?” Eunji coughs.

“What? Have you not seen his muscles? He’s a big guy,” Seokjin defends, eyes wide as he studies Jungkook’s physique. “That’s no secret.”

“That’s why Sooyoung wants him again,” Jimin teases with a wicked grin stretching across his face.

“Oh, fuck off.” Jungkook kicks him under the table. “I said we’re not talking about this.”

At the mention of a name that rings a bell but you can't quite place it yet – one Jungkook clearly doesn’t want brought up – you perk up. “Not talking about what?”

It’s silent next to you.

Jungkook tenses, his posture stiff, the only giveaway a rough, forced clearing of his throat.

One game. You miss one game, and apparently, all the drama unfolds without you.

“You should’ve been there, ___,” Jimin drawls, eyes twinkling with mischief. “His ex was practically his personal cheerleader.”

Your brows lift as you turn to Jungkook. “Sooyoung, huh?”

You never got the chance to meet Jungkook’s ex. He was dating her during your senior year of high school, and they broke up while you were still in school.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look at you. Instead, he focuses way too hard on his plate, shoving a piece of meat into his mouth like it’s the most interesting thing in the world and then finishing his beer in a few, big sips.

Jimin, on the other hand, is thriving on the attention. “Oh, yeah,” he hums. “Front-row seat. Didn’t take her eyes off him.”

At that, Jungkook kicks him again, harder this time. “Can you not?”

“Oh, come on, man. It was cute.”

You tilt your head, watching Jungkook’s reaction. “And you didn’t like that?”

His eyes finally flick to yours, the slight curve of his mouth betraying him. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it, I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“She waited outside the locker room for him,” Jimin continues.

You hold back a roll of your eyes. You don’t care. You don’t care at all.

“Did she?” Eunji fuels the fire with her excited question.

“She said hi. That’s it,” Jungkook mutters.

Jimin snorts at Jungkook’s reply. “Man, that’s not what I saw.”

“And you,” Jungkook directs at Jimin. “You were eye fucking her friend the entire time, so don’t act all high and mighty when you could barely keep your hands to yourself.”

“Sue me!” Jimin exclaims. “Yeah, I do think her friend’s hot, lock me up for it. I need her ig handle or something. I wanna see her again.”

“You’re both hopeless,” you comment, nails tapping against your glass.

“Hey, if she’s hot, she’s hot.” Jimin shrugs, grinning from ear to ear. “You can’t blame me for appreciating the view.”

Yoongi gives him a pointed look. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been ‘appreciating’ the view from every girl in the restaurant for the last hour.”

Jimin laughs loudly, clearly unbothered. “Guilty as charged.”

“What else is new?” Eunji asks. “Besides Seokjin thinking being unhinged will get him an A in his philosophy class, Jungkook having an over-attached ex, and Jimin being a total playboy? Anything else exciting happened this week?”

“I bought a blind box today,” you announce. “And got upset because I didn’t get the one I wanted.”

“The sonny angel figures?” Jungkook asks casually – way too casually.

His tone is so easy, so natural, that for a split second, you forget, just like he forgot. You almost answer just as effortlessly, almost fall into the usual rhythm of conversation with him. But then it hits you—the sharp, perfectly timed reminder that you’re pissed at him.

So instead, you hesitate, fingers tightening around your glass. “Yeah,” you say, a little clipped “Those.”

“I say you stop spending so much money for dust-collecting shit,” Tae comments, and you don’t even have the chance to defend yourself, because Seokjin calls him out for his own questionable spending habits.

While they bicker, you giggle at their antics, distracted for a moment. You reach to dip your dumpling into the sauce, but just as your fingers hover above the dish, you brush hands with Jungkook, who was doing the same.

You kick his hand with yours, expecting him to pull back, but he doesn’t budge.

“Do you ever stop being annoying?” you ask.

“Not when the person I’m annoying is you.”

“You gonna be like this all night?” Your hand sinks, touching the table. “I thought you were mad and would want to ignore me,” you say, much quieter now, even though everyone else is too caught up arguing whether Taehyung’s fifa pack spendings are justified.

“Weren’t you trying to do the same?”

Well, yeah. You were trying to ignore him – that was the sole reason why you even came – but you somewhere along the way, you veered off that plan, and now here you are.

“I guess you’re just too pretty for me to ignore.”

Jungkook freezes at that. You use the opportunity to nudge his hand aside and dip your food into the sauce.

“Funny, didn’t seem to be a problem when you were texting that dude next to me the other day.”

Your chewing slows. The words hit exactly where he intended, sharp and precise, a reminder of exactly why he’s pissed in the first place.

The conversation around you carries on, oblivious, but between you and Jungkook, the tension is suffocating.

You pull away completely, shifting in your seat so your legs are angled away from him and into Eunji’s direction.

Ignoring him is easier, less of a headache – and less of a heartache – than acknowledging his existence.

Later that night, you drown yourself in reality tv, letting the mindless drama fill the living room and keep your thoughts from wandering to the interactions you had with Jungkook tonight, because you really need a break from that boy.

You and Eunji had left the restaurant before the boys, her excuse being that she wanted to study, and yours being that you’d had done enough socialising for the day and it was time to go back home. Yeah, you do realise that you have a self-destructive tendency to isolate when things get difficult.

So, here you are, curled up on the couch, journaling about feelings and situations and –

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

You freeze, pen hovering above the paper as the sound of the front door code being punched in echoes from outside. The lock clicks, and the door swings open.

A familiar head of dark hair peeks inside first, followed by annoyingly familiar second one.

“You’re still up?” Taehyung asks, shrugging off his jacket and toes off his shoes.

“Tae,” you say slowly, looking at Jungkook. “Why is he here?”

“Figured we’d hang for a bit more. Play some fifa together.”

“You figured?” You turn to Tae with a deadpan expression.

Taehyung shrugs. “He looked sad.”

“I didn’t look sad,” Jungkook mutters, finally stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

“You looked all emo when everyone got up to leave,” Taehyung says.

“Whatever.” Jungkook rolls his eyes and heads towards the kitchen, like this is his house now.

You exhale through your nose, pressing your fingers to your temple. “Do we look like a halfway house for emotionally constipated men?”

Jungkook’s voice calls out from the kitchen. “I can hear you.”

“Good.”

“Please try and act civil while I go change,” Taehyung pleads, already disappearing down the hallway.

Jungkook emerges a second later, settling onto the couch, a glass of water in his hand. His tatted fingers wrap around it, long and steady, as he takes a sip. You watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs, the way his throat moves, how the tiniest droplet of water escapes before his tongue swipes it away – completely unbothered. Casual. Like he isn’t taking up too much space in your head already.

“Headache from all that beer?” you ask, trying – hoping – that you sound unaffected by whatever it is about him that’s making your stomach flip.

He exhales, tipping his head back against the couch, stretching his neck just enough to make it unfair. The angle sharpens his jaw line.

His gaze flickers to you. “Something like that.”

Jungkook looks at you. Really looks at you.

His eyes drag over your bare legs, stretched out in tiny shorts that are basically just suggestions of clothing. They hesitate on the curve of your thighs, the hem barely covering anything, before sliding up to the delicate strap of your camisole, the curve of your shoulder. His fingers tighten around the glass just enough for you to notice.

You meet his gaze, unblinking.

Jungkook’s fingers twitch.

You smirk, stretching deliberately, arching your back slightly as you reposition yourself.

And then – his eyes flick downward, landing on the open journal beside you.

You don’t think anything of it at first – until his brows furrow slightly, head tilting as he squints.

“Wait,” he mutters, leaning forward. “Did I just see my name in there?”

Your stomach drops.

Panic sets in at lightning speed.

You slam the journal shut so fast it’s borderline violent.

“Mind your business.”

Jungkook blinks, then grins, slow and smug. Oh, you hate him.

“There is literally nothing for you to see.”

“Oh, but there was something,” he muses, stretching an arm along the back of the couch like he isn’t about to drive you insane. “You wrote about me?”

You cross your arms. “What if I did?”

“Depends,” he says, just momentarily allowing his gaze to drop to your chest. “What exactly are you writing about me?”

Jungkook’s smirk deepens, eyes flicking between you and the journal.

“You’re acting awfully guilty right now,” he taunts, shifting slightly, his thigh pressing against yours.

“Because you’re being nosey.”

“No, because you’re hiding something.”

You roll your eyes, gripping the journal tighter. “You’re not that interesting.”

He hums, tilting his head. “Then lemme see.”

“Absolutely not.”

It happens so fast you barely have time to react. One second, Jungkook is sitting there, all relaxed and smug. The next, he’s lunging forward, reaching for the journal with one hand, the other bracing against the couch to trap you in place.

“Jungkook—stop!” you shriek, twisting away, holding the journal out of his reach.

But he’s relentless.

He shifts closer, practically caging you in, his body warm and solid against yours. His arm brushes your bare thigh as he reaches again, fingers grazing the cover. You twist further, laughing, but the movement only makes things worse—your back presses into the cushions, and suddenly, he’s right there, hovering over you, weight balanced between his knees and one hand pressed into the couch beside your head.

The laughter dies in your throat.

Because now it’s just you and him, tangled up, breathing the same air. His face is inches from yours, the heat of his body seeping into your skin, the scent of his cologne mixed with something distinctly him. His gaze flickers downward – just for a second – but it’s enough. Enough for you to feel the shift. Enough for the teasing to suddenly feel like something else entirely.

Jungkook swallows.

Your heart is in your throat.

His gaze drops to your lips.

You freeze.

His fingers tighten slightly where they rest near your hip. The journal is still caught between you, forgotten, and for the first time, neither of you moves to break the moment.

Until –

A door creaks open down the hallway.

You both jerk back at the same time.

Jungkook moves first, clearing his throat as he drops back onto the couch, running a hand through his hair like that’ll somehow erase the past ten seconds. You sit up just as Taehyung strolls back in, glancing between the two of you with mild suspicion.

“Did you guys kill each other yet?”

“Nearly,” you retort, fixing your hair.

Tae grabs two controllers and plops onto the couch next to Jungkook. “Why’d you scream?”

“Your idiot of a best friend is obsessed with me and tried to sneak a peek into my journal,” you huff, dramatically clutching said journal to your chest.

“Oh, boy,” Tae clicks his tongue. “She’s serious about this thing, Jk. Wouldn’t advise you to –” he waves a hand vaguely, “–poke the bear.”

Jungkook looks like he is actually considering telling Tae what he saw in your beloved journal. His lips party slightly, brows furrowing, before he shakes the thought off. Good for him. You wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining why Jungkook’s name is written in there.

Taehyung hands one of the controllers to Jungkook.

“Is this my cue to turn off my show?” you ask, lips forming a natural pout of disappointment.

“Sorry, spontaneous boys' night,” Tae says with a shrug.

“Please never say that again.”

Jungkook snorts, finally looking at you.

You raise a brow. Challenge him silently.

He just grins, popping his dimples, rolling his shoulders back like he has the upper hand.

God, you hate him.

You stay in the living room while they game – despite considering retreating to your room multiple times when Jungkook and Tae started yelling at each like an old married couple.

But you quickly realise how fun it is to mess with Jungkook, especially when he gets roasted for his lack of skills by an oblivious Taehyung. Which, judging by the way Jungkook’s jaw keeps ticking and his grip on the controller tightens, is absolutely getting to him.

“Want more snacks?” you ask sweetly as you rise to your feet, collecting the empty bowls. One slips from your grasp, landing on the carpet. You bend over to grab it, in front of Jungkook, and maybe, just maybe, you move slower than necessary. Maybe shifting your hips a little too much. Maybe giving him a view he definitely does not deserve.

Tae, completely unbothered, waves you off like a fly buzzing around his screen. “___, get out of the way,” he complains impatiently, fingers rapidly clicking on his controller. “But I’ll have some more chips, thanks.”

Jungkook, however, isn’t saying shit.

You glance over your shoulder, just in time to catch the flicker of his eyes meeting yours before he collects himself and redirects his attention back to the game.

“You good, Jungkook?” you ask innocently.

His nostrils flare. Through gritted teeth, he mutters, “Just move.”

So you do, slow and smug, your shorts sliding back over your thighs as you pad toward the kitchen.

Right as you’re reaching for the drawer, you hear Taehyung ask, “What are you gonna do about that Sooyoung girl?” Your movements slow. “You interested?”

The nosiness and urge to gossip definitely runs through your genes.

“Nah, I don’t want her back.”

When you glance back, Jungkook’s still focused on the game, but there’s something absent in the way he’s holding the controller – like he’s playing on autopilot.

“That bad, huh?”

“Just wasn’t that deep.”

You busy yourself with the drawer, fingertips grazing over the handle as you bite back the urge to comment. Just listen.

“You never really said why you two broke up.”

“No, I did tell you,” Jungkook says, easy but firm. “You just never believed me.”

“That’s because it always felt like there was more.”

“There wasn’t. We just didn’t fit.”

Didn’t fit how?

You open the drawer and grab more snacks.

“Yeah...I don’t know. You never seemed truly happy with her.”

Jungkook exhales sharply through his nose. "I wasn’t miserable," he finally says.

“You weren’t happy either.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I stayed with Sooyoung because it was easy. No drama. No real emotions involved.”

With the snacks in tow, you walk back to the living room. “That sounds really sad, Jaykay,” you say, not trying to hide that you’ve been listening to them.

He shrugs. “Maybe. But at least it didn’t mess with my head.” His gaze lingers on you. “Didn’t make me feel like I was losing my mind.”

“Fuck, no, if someone makes you feel that way – leave, immediately,” Taehyung says.

You grab a bag of chips, tearing it open as you lean against the side of the couch. “You guys done being dramatic yet?”

Taehyung glances over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes. “You’re still here?”

“I live here.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” you repat. “You were the one who happily agreed when mum and dad suggested that I move in with you. I wanted my own place!”

“Oh no, the princess didn’t get what she wanted. How dare they?” Jungkook mocks you.

You faintly remember the discussion of moving into an even bigger place, where all three of you would live together, but Jungkook denied that idea back then, saying the dorm that his athletic scholarship is providing him is good enough for him.

You scoff, shoving his shoulder as you pop another chip into your mouth. “Okay, first of all, you don’t get a say in this. Second of all, I’m not a princess.”

Jungkook tilts his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “Sure you aren’t.”

Taehyung snorts, eyes still glued to the screen. “You literally whined for two weeks straight about not having enough closet space.”

“That was a valid complaint,” you argue. “You take up, like, half of it with your stupid jerseys.”

“They’re collectibles.”

“They’re ugly.”

Jungkook laughs, finally leaning back into the couch, looking far too amused. “I see living together is going great for you two.”

“Oh, it’s fantastic,” Taehyung deadpans. “Every day is a blessing.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you mutter, but you can’t help the way your lips twitch. “I liked this conversation more when you gossiped about Jungkook’s life.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, then jerks his chin toward Jungkook. “Dude, hurry up and lose so we can switch games.”

Jungkook, who has barely been playing at all, huffs. “I’m not gonna lose on purpose.”

“You’re already playing like shit,” Taehyung points out. “What’s up with you? Did Sooyoung get into your head or what?”

“Quit mentioning her,” Jungkook grumbles, jaw tightening.

Sooyoung?

No, that is not who is on is mind.

Why would he be thinking about her when – okay, you need to calm down. It’s not that serious.

You just need to call it a night, crawl into bed, and sleep it off.

“Heading to bed,” you announce, grabbing your journal from the coffee table.

“Alright, sleep tight,” Taehyung replies.

“Night, princess.” You flick the back of Jungkook’s head for that.

“Okay, very out of character for me, but we need to stop drinking for a sec and you need to tell me why the hell you keep looking back at Jungkook?” Eunji asks you all of a sudden, voice barely carrying over the muffled bass shaking the walls of the packed frat house.

The kitchen is one of the only semi-breathable spaces in the frat house, though the counters are a war zone of spilled liquor, sticky cups, and questionably abandoned drinks. The air reeks of cheap booze and sweat, but none of that is stopping Eunji from interrogating you.

You blink perplexed. “Out of character for you?” you ask back, eyeing the way she pulls back the cup you were just mixing a drink in. “I think that is very true to your character – very you. I’d be out of character for me to stop us from drinking.” You snatch back your cup.

“Did I say that?” She’s lost in her mind for a moment. “I don’t even remember. Am I that drunk already? I don’t wanna wake up hungover tomorrow.” She laments. “I still got this assignment due, and I wanted to get most of it done tomorrow, but – oh my god. Do not distract me from the question I just asked you.” She stares at you with sharp eyes. “Why do you keep looking back at Jungkook?”

“Am I?”

She huffs. “You don’t get to play this game with me, ___.” She pokes your tummy. “Answer me.”

You fully turn to her, abandoning the cup with the godawful alcohol mix – yes, it’s your creation, no, you’ve never had any talent for mixing drinks.

“I might have to tell you something.”

Her eyes widen. Immediately. Mouth opening in an unbelievable expression of pure, unfiltered drama. One that belongs in a reality show confession booth.

“Shut up. You did not – did you? Oh my god, shut up!”

“We might have hooked up for, like, a good few months.”

Her palm flies to cover her mouth. “Behind Taehyung’s back?” she whisper shouts.

“Well, obviously.” You point to yourself. “You think I’d be alive if he knew? You think he’d be alive if Tae knew?”

“You whore!”

“For Jungkook? Kinda,” you admit defeatedly.

You take a glimpse into his direction. Eunji shoves you on the shoulder for that.

“Don’t make it obvious!” she exclaims. “But you need to tell me everything. Right now.”

You sigh, leaning against the counter.

“The first time we hooked up was before I enrolled in uni. It was the summer before when Tae and Jungkook spontaneously visited and-“

“Okay, I need you to stop,” Eunji interrupts, fingers massaging her temples. “The summer before uni?” she repeats, exasperated. “You’ve been keeping it a secret since summer? I need more booze before you continue.”

“I’m sorry for not telling you, but we didn’t want anyone to know. He’d be pissed if he knew I told you.”

“No, don’t be sorry. I get it, I really do. I just didn’t expect this at all.” After pouring something inside her cup, she takes big gulps from it.

“I mean, what was I supposed to do? He’s hot, he’s pretty, and I’ve had a crush on him since, like, forever. I had to give in when he showed interest. What’s a girl gonna do?”

“How have you been able to keep it from Taehyung? They’re with each other 24/7.”

“He comes over when I know Tae’s gonna be out for a while. Or the other way around,” you reply, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “You can make anything work if you really want to, and I really wanted Jungkook.”

Still do, if you’re being honest.

You pause, then wave it off dramatically. “But that’s ancient history. We’re totally over that weird situationship.”

“What?!” Another shocked gasp escapes her. “Why?!”

“I don’t even know, to be honest. He just – we fucked, and then he...I dunno.” You grab your cup and down the rest of your drink, grimacing at the taste of whatever you concocted. “He got mad at me for texting Eunwoo after we had sex. I didn't even think he’d be all sensitive about it, especially since, you know, he’s with other girls too. But he got so pissed and we argued. And guess what?!” You throw your arms out, face dramatically incredulous. “He just leaves me in bed! Like, straight up walks out, saying stupid shit like I sleep around and only text him when I’m bored. Acting like we’re some exclusive thing, which we’re not! How dare he get so upset?” you argue theatrically, voice rising in pitch. “I’ve got better shit to do than this,” you mimic in Jungkook’s deep voice, eyes rolling for extra effect. “He’s so annoying.”

Eunji scrutinizes you for a brief moment before coming to her conclusion.

“Oh, he wants you bad.”

“Huh?” Your brows furrow. “He left me.”

“Because he wants you two to be exclusive and you don't. Why should he stay?”

Why should he stay?

You stare at Eunji, her words settling over you like an unwanted truth.

“He did ask me to be exclusive before,” you admit, twirling the empty cup in your hands. “But I always thought it would be a bad idea. Because being exclusive is so much more serious, and I want to be anything but serious with him. We don’t work that way. I can’t have that happening and risking Tae finding out. It would ruin everything.”

Eunji gives you a long, unimpressed look. “But being exclusive friends with benefits doesn’t have to mean more. It could just stay that way. Why do you always make things complicated?”

You huff, frustration bubbling up. “I don’t know.” You drop your forehead against her shoulder.

She pats your back like you’re a lost puppy.

“You’re and idiot, babe.”

“I know.”

“You also like him.”

You groan into her shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Just saying,” she singsongs.

It’s only now that you realise just how much you needed this – to talk to someone. To get all these tangled thoughts out of your head instead of letting them fester in silence. You’ve spent so much time convincing yourself that none of it mattered, brushing it off like it was nothing, but saying it out loud makes it real. And weirdly, that feels... good. Cathartic, even. Like exhaling after holding your breath for too long.

“Do you think I should-“ You start to lift your head, but Eunji pushes you back down with a firm hand.

��Everything will be fine, ___,” she babbles, patting your head a little too aggressively. “Just, you know, don’t be too sad.”

“What are you on about?”

“Just stay here for a sec.”

“Eunji.” You force yourself out of her grasp.

She’s looking somewhere past you, eyes flickering toward the living room, but when she realizes you’ve caught on, she quickly averts her gaze. Too quickly. Suspiciously.

You turn around, scanning the area to find what she doesn’t want you to see.

Your tummy churns in an instant when you see it.

Jungkook.

Heading up the stairs.

With Nayeon.

Even in the hazy lighting of the party, he stands out – broad shoulders wrapped in a dark, well-fitted tee, his silver chain glinting against his collarbone. He moves effortlessly, the easy confidence in his stride something you know all too well. His hand rests low on Nayeon’s back, fingertips grazing the thin fabric of her dress as she leans into him, whispering something into his ear.

Your throat tightens.

Eunji shifts beside you, watching your reaction carefully. “Hey, maybe it’s not-“

“I’m gonna throw up.”

The words leave your mouth before you can even think. You grab Eunji’s cup and down the last of her drink, but the alcohol does nothing to wash away the bitter taste in your mouth.

Your eyes scan the room frantically. “Wasn’t Eunwoo somewhere here too?” You rise onto your toes, searching the sea of bodies. “I think I just need to get my mind off things.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” Eunji immediately cuts in, grabbing your wrist before you can make any rash decisions. “We are not doing this.”

“Doing what?”

She levels you with a look. “You are not about to make a dumbass decision just to get back at Jungkook. Not on my watch.”

“I really, really hate him right now.”

“I know,” she soothes. “But no petty comebacks for situations where we absolutely do not need to make fools of ourselves, yeah?”

Your brain is screaming at you to make Jungkook feel just as shitty as you do, to do something reckless and distracting, but deep down, you know Eunji’s right.

You steal another glance at the staircase. They’re gone.

The realization sinks in, and suddenly, the air in the frat house feels suffocating. The bass of the music thrums in your chest, the chatter around you blurring into an overwhelming hum.

“I need air,” you mutter, pushing past Eunji before she can stop you.

She sighs but doesn’t follow. She knows you need a moment alone.

You slip through the crowd, weaving your way toward the back door. The night air hits you instantly, cool against your heated skin, but it does little to settle the storm raging in your chest.

Leaning against the railing of the porch, you inhale deeply, forcing your nerves to settle.

This is fine.

“Can you promise you won’t puke on me?”

“I mean, I can, but I don’t know if I can keep the promise.”

You spotted Chanyeol with another guy—Jackson, you think—smoking and went over to chat with them. It wasn’t until they finished their joint that curiosity got the best of you. One thing led to another, and Jackson went inside to roll you one. Now, all three of you are standing outside, two pairs of curious eyes fixed on you.

“She’ll be fine,” Jackson says as he exhales a slow stream of smoke, watching it curl into the night air.

Chanyeol eyes you warily as he sparks up your joint. “I don’t know how much you drank tonight, but please tell me if you feel sick.” He holds it out for you.

You hesitate for half a second before taking it between your fingers. It feels weird, unnatural. “So I just…?”

“Inhale, but not too hard. Hold it for a second, then let it out,” Chanyeol instructs.

You follow his guidance, pulling in a slow drag. The taste is harsher than you expected, earthy and a little burnt, making you cough almost instantly.

“Classic first hit,” Jackson says, but it’s not as reassuring as he thinks. “Give it a sec.”

“How do you feel?” Chanyeol asks, watching you closely.

“Feels very icky,” you tell him, nose scrunched up. “But I’m feeling okay.”

“Yo, Jackson!” some dude yells from the back. Jackson disappears, leaving Chanyeol and you alone.

“You sure you’re fine?”

The night air feels heavier now, the music from inside muffled like you’re hearing it through a wall. Your fingers tingle slightly, warmth spreading through your limbs. You shift on your feet, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your body moves.

You blink at him. “I think my brain is moving slower than my body.”

He laughs. “Yeah, that happens. Just ride it out.”

You exhale, watching the smoke swirl in front of you.

“The fuck?”

Your head snaps toward the voice.

Jungkook stands a few feet away, brows furrowed, looking like he just walked into some kind of crime scene. His eyes flick between you and the joint in your fingers, then to Chanyeol, before settling back on you.

For some reason, your eyes wander to his hands. He’s probably touched so many things tonight, so many body parts. Did he wash them?

“The hell you’re doing?” Jungkook asks, walking towards you.

“Uhm, having fun?” you try, watching his frown deepen.

“This is not something you do, ___.” Jungkook directs his glare at Chanyeol. “Why the fuck would you give this to her?”

“Fuck, Jungkook, if you wanna be angry be angry elsewhere,” Chanyeol says, rolling his eyes.

“You fuck off,” Jungkook counters.

“As if you have never smoked.” Chanyeol raises his brows.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Trying to maintain a squeaky-clean image for those scouts who might be watching?”

“Mind your fucking business.”

“Jungkook, you’re being rude.” You turn to him, pointing a finger at his broad chest. “You’ve been going around, having fun yourself but can’t let other people have fun. That’s not nice of you.”

You stare up at him, a sullen pout on your mouth before pulling another slow drag and trying hard to not cough, but a small cough slips out anyway.

“Get that shit away, ___,” Jungkook demands, unimpressed by the smoke surrounding his face.

“Why do you care? Lemme have fun.”

“This shit fucks with your head.”

My brain’s already fucked, you think. Thanks a lot.

“It’s just weed?”

“Taehyung will lose his mind.”

“Is Tae with us now?”

Jungkook arches his brow.

“Oh, you wouldn’t.”

“Stop right now or I’ll call him.”

You hold his gaze, daring him. “You’re bluffing.”

Jungkook pulls his phone out of his pocket without hesitation, thumb hovering over the screen. “Try me.”

You wait, staring at Jungkook’s screen until he actually calls Taehyung.

Before the call can connect, you groan and shove the joint into Chanyeol’s hand. “God, fine, I’m done.”

He hangs up before Taehyung can answer.

You glare at him, but he only tilts his head toward the house. “Let’s get you some water.”

He guides you towards the house with his hand splayed across your side. At first, you shy away from his touch, mind racing with thoughts you’d rather not acknowledge. But as the night air presses cool against your skin, you let yourself relax, leaning into him slightly as you walk up the stairs.

“You’re so mean, you know that?” you huff.

“I’m just looking out for you,” he replies, in a softer tone than before.

“You didn’t have to be mean with Chanyeol. It wasn’t his weed. Chanyeol was actually very kind, made sure I was feeling okay-“

Jungkook stops at the threshold of the house.

“I’m gonna have a little chat with Jackson.”

“How do you know-“

His hand slips from your waist. He turns, leaving you standing on the porch, and disappears in the crowd.

Because that’s just easy for him – leaving you.

Why should he stay?

You don’t care.

And if you keep telling yourself that, maybe – just maybe – you’ll start to believe it.

Flash forward a week, and you can now say –proudly, with your full chest – that you do care.

You’ve never not cared. Pretended? Yes. But gotten over it? Not even close.

Which is why it’s not surprising that you find yourself at yet another party, drink in hand, scanning the room without meaning to. Or maybe you do mean to. Maybe you want to see him. Maybe you want him to see you. Maybe you want him to know that he didn’t get to you. Even though he did.

You’re sunk into the couch, surrounded by your friend group, half-listening as they go on about today’s hockey practice – boy gossip, oh how you love it.

“Coach told him he’s probably getting benched next game,” Jimin says, shaking his head as he leans back against the couch. “Too many penalties last match. Dumbass just keeps throwing hits for no reason.”

“That’s what happens when you let your ego get ahead of you,” Jin chimes in, stretching his legs out. “Coach is tired of his shit. And honestly? Fair.”

“I heard he almost fought Yoongi in the locker room,” Taehyung adds, arching a brow as he takes a sip of his drink. “Over something stupid too, like warm-up drills.”

“Swear to God, that guy needs to chill,” Jimin scoffs. “He’s got all the talent, but he plays like he’s trying to prove something every damn game.”

When Taehyung gets up to grab himself another drink, you catch him by the sleeve.

“Can you get me one too, please?” You hand him your empty cup.

Taehyung eyes the cup. “You’ve been drinking a bit more lately.”

“It’s just my second drink?”

His sharp eyes linger on you for a moment before he reluctantly takes your cup and walks off. He hasn’t missed the shift in your behaviour these past few weeks. You try to hide it, but there’s only so much you can do.

“Could say the same thing about Jungkook, though,” Jin says.

Jin’s words linger in the air, but you don’t dare react.

“Jungkook’s always been like that,” Jimin says, tipping his drink back. “Plays like he’s got something to prove, but I guess he kinda does. He wants to go pro, so it’s not like he can afford to slack off.”

It’s stupid, silly even, how easily his name can unravel you. How even when he’s not here, he’s everywhere.

“Isn’t your dad gonna come to the next game?” Jimin directs at you.

You shrug. “Maybe? I dunno.”

Given that your dad is an NHL executive, former team owner, he tries to find time in his busy schedule to attend the hockey games. The boys probably see him more than you do.

“Where is Jungkook anyway?” Hobi asks. “Is he gonna come over at all?”

Dear god, you hope, pray, he won’t.

You can’t live through seeing him disappear with another girl upstairs. You don’t have Eunji with you today to keep you from doing reckless decisions.

“He’d be all over Nayeon anyway. Doubt he’d even remember we exist,” Jin chuckles, unknowingly ruining the rest of your night.

The sound of their laughter grates against your nerves. The more you sit here, the more unbearable it becomes. The thought of him, of her, of what they could be doing, poisons your mind until you can’t take it anymore.

Taehyung returns, pressing a fresh drink into your hand. He barely gets a word in before his gaze sharpens. “You okay?”

You nod stiffly. “Yeah.”

“Liar.”

His voice is quiet enough that no one else hears, but it makes your stomach flip. He knows you too well. And if you sit here any longer, he’s going to drag the truth out of you, whether you like it or not.

So you stand abruptly, mumbling something about fresh air before slipping through the crowd, out into the cool night. The moment you’re alone, you let out a breath, pressing your fingers to your temples. It doesn’t help. Nothing does.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you pull out your phone, scroll down to the name you should ignore, and press call.

Jungkook answers on the second ring.

“Did you call me on accident?”

You ignore his question, your fingers tightening around your phone as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. Instead, you ask, “Are you gonna come to the party?”

“No, I have some assignments to do,” he answers, hesitantly. “Why’d you ask?”

“Are you sure?” Your eyes close, waiting for the confirmation that you won’t have to see things (Jungkook and a girl that isn’t you) that you don’t want to see (him hooking up with someone that isn’t you).

“Yeah, positive.” There’s a pause, and then he adds, “Is there something you don’t want me to see? Or—wait, are you just making sure I won’t be around to ruin your night?” Jungkook laughs and you realise how you’ve missed that sound. “It’s your lucky day. You won’t see my face poking around in the crowd. You can have fun.”

You frown at the nonsense he’s saying. He couldn’t be more off.

“No, you don’t get it.”

“What am I not getting?”

You stare into the night sky, the stars blurred by the city lights. You consider hanging up, letting the moment pass, but then you remember what Eunji told you. Talk to him. Get the discomfort out of the way.

“You know I’m not an insecure person.” You cross one arm over your body, rubbing your bare skin against the rising cold. “Like, I’m confident in who I am. I don’t compare myself to others because, y’know, I don’t care enough about stuff like that.”

“Yeah, of course I know that. You’re a confident girl. Have always been.”

“But you know what makes me go crazy?”

“What?”

“Seeing you with someone else.” The words slip out before you can catch them, but now that they’re out in the open, you can’t take them back. You don’t want to. Or – I dunno if it’s just that. I want you to want me. And you don’t. Which I get, I’ve been a bit shitty, so you deserve to want someone that isn’t like me, but – it just makes me go a bit insane, because I thought you did want me again the other night. At my place.” Your voice drops on the last sentence, barely above a whisper. “But then I see you with Nayeon and you just don’t care.”

You take a break, trying to organise your thoughts, but it’s fruitless because it’s just a tangled mess up there.

“Eunji said to talk with you but still give us a bit time, but oh my god I just want it to be okay between us again. I’m feeling so confused, and I don’t even really know what’s going on, but all I know is that I want things to be like before. When you still wanted me, and I wanted you and everything was good, easy,” you say, exhaling a helpless breath. “Do you think that’s possible?”

It’s silent for a beat. You don’t blame him – you couldn’t recite half the stuff that just poured out of your mouth.

“Fuck, ___.” He sounds a bit helpless himself.

Jungkook sighs on the other end, and you hear the faint rustle of fabric, like he’s shifting, maybe running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to say to that,” he finally admits.

“Say anything,” you murmur.

“What do you want me to do, ___?” His voice is quieter now, more controlled, but there’s something simmering beneath the surface. “Stop seeing other people? Pretend like none of this ever happened? Or do you just want me to tell you that, yeah, I still want you?”

Your breath hitches. “Do you?”

“I thought I made that obvious,” he mutters. “But every time I think we’re on the same page, you pull away and act difficult. So, forgive me if I stopped trying to figure you out.”

“I don’t mean to act difficult.”

“Then why do you?”

You don’t have an answer. Or maybe you do, but you’re scared to say it.

Jungkook waits, but when you don’t respond, he lets out a dry laugh. “You know what’s funny? I wasn’t even gonna go to the party tonight. But now I kinda want to.”

“Why?”

“Maybe I wanna see what happens when you have to look me in the eyes.” His voice is lower now, rougher. “Because talking like this? It’s too easy for you.”

“No, don’t come.” You think of the worst-case scenario – arguing with Jungkook, him getting frustrated, turning to Nayeon because she’s easier, likes her more than you. And you couldn’t stand seeing that.

“Or maybe do, if you want,” you add, voice quieter. “I think I’m gonna leave anyway. Wanna go home.” Avoiding situations – your strong suit.

“How much have you had to drink?”

You stare at the untouched drink in your hand before lifting it to your lips. The sweetness hits first, masking the barely-there burn of alcohol (thanks, Tae). “Starting my third drink now.”

“I can walk you home,” he offers.

“It’s not a long walk to my place. You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” A rustle of movement on the other end before he adds, “On my way right now.”

“I’ll wait at the front for you.”

You weave your way back inside the house to find Taehyung, who’s still in the living room chatting with one of his teammates.

“Gonna go home, Tae,” you say, your voice cutting through their conversation. He glances up, distracted for a moment, before raising an eyebrow. “Also, here–” You hand him the drink he made for you. “This is not fun to drink at all.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at your sassy comment but takes the cup from your hand. “Learn how to enjoy a party without getting drunk.”

“You tell me to get out of my room more, and when I do, this is what you say? Pick a side,” you grumble.

“Why do you wanna go home?” His fingers adjust the top of your strapless dress absentmindedly as he asks. “You okay?”

“Eh, just a bit bored.”

“We’re gonna play truth or dare in a bit,” Taehyung’s friend pipes up, raising his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner. “Maybe you should stick around.”

“I think I’ll skip,” you say. “But please do me a favour and fill me in on all the drama I’ll be missing out on.”

He winks at you. “Will do.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Taehyung says, stepping towards you.

You know he won’t allow you to go home by yourself, so you opt for telling him the truth. “Jungkook’s coming to take me home.”

“Jungkook?” he asks, surprised. “Did you call him?”

“Yeah, I asked him. Didn’t wanna annoy you. Go have fun doing...” You glance over at Jimin and Hobi, who are holding an impromptu drinking competition. Hobi’s attempting to chug straight from a bottle of something clearly too strong for him, while Jimin’s pretending to be the host of a weird, offbeat game show. “...whatever that is,” you finish, trying to hold back a laugh.

“You really can’t leave those two alone for a second, can you?” Taehyung lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Tell Jungkook to swing by here once he drops you off.”

“He didn’t sound like he was in the mood to stop by, but I'll tell him.”

“Text me when you get home, yeah?” he says over his shoulder, already walking back toward Jimin and a very much unconscious Hobi, who’s sprawled out on the couch looking like he’s had one too many rounds.

Jungkook finds you almost immediately. You barely have time to register his presence before he’s already slipping his zip hoodie over your shoulders, his hands smoothing over the fabric like he’s tucking you in for the night.

“You should’ve waited inside,” he mutters, fingers lingering at the collar like he’s seriously considering zipping it up for you too.

You swat his hands away, glancing around quickly. “Jungkook, don’t – everyone’s watching.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Who’s watching?”

You look over your shoulder. “I dunno. People.”

Jungkook huffs a laugh, stepping closer. “Right. Because me making sure you don’t freeze to death is so scandalous,” he jokes. “But smoking weed the other day was okay to do outside? With all the people there?”

“As a friend you’re supposed to forget my mess-ups, not remind me of them.” You huff, faintly remembering when you tried weed for the first time. You did puke that night. Luckily not on Chanyeol. “You didn’t have to come,” you grumble, even as you tug the hoodie tighter around yourself, his warmth and the faint scent of his detergent wrapping around you like a second skin.

“I know,” he says, tilting his head. “But I wanted to.”

And then, because he’s annoying, he reaches up and tugs the hood over your head, effectively swallowing half your face in fabric.

You let out a muffled noise of protest, pushing it back down immediately. “Stop that.”

Jungkook just grins, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he starts walking. “You look cute like that, though.”

You glare at him but fall into step beside him anyway, the hoodie still draped around you like it belongs there. The night air nips at your skin, but his warmth lingers, and you swear he notices the way you pull the sleeves over your hands like it’s yours.

“So…” His voice is quieter now. “What you said on the phone earlier.”

Your stomach twists. “What about it?”

“I just—” He starts, then pauses. “I don’t know what you want from me, ___. One second, you’re pushing me away, and the next, you’re telling me you can’t stand seeing me with someone else. You –” He falters, his voice catching slightly. “Do you even know what you want?”

“I know that you ruined me for other boys, for one,” you say, sighing deeply before you continue. “I want things to be like before,” you reply. “When everything wasn’t so…” You gesture vaguely. “Complicated. I don’t like this. And I don’t like how I feel when I see you with –” You cut yourself off before the name can leave your lips. He knows anyway.

Jungkook watches you carefully, hands still stuffed into his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. “I wasn’t trying to rub anything in your face,” he says after a pause. “I didn’t think it’d… affect you.”

“Well, it did,” you say, a little too fast, a little too defensive. “And I hate that it did, because it’s not like I have a right to be mad about it.”

Jungkook tilts his head. “Don’t you?”

That stops you in your tracks.

Because – do you? You don’t know what this is, don’t know what you want from him except for more. More of his attention, more of his time, more of him. But not all of him, right? Because that would mean–

“God,” you mumble, rubbing your hands down your face. “Why are you making me say things?”

Jungkook chuckles, nudging your side. “You called me, remember?”

You groan. “Worst decision I’ve ever made.”

“Harsh.”

“Accurate.”

Jungkook lets out a short laugh, but then he’s quiet for a beat before he says, “Look, I don’t wanna play games. If you want me, then say it.”

You swallow. “I do.”

“But we don’t want each other like that,” he adds.

“Yeah, no.” You chew on your lip, pulling his hoodie tighter around yourself. “I just… don’t want to see you with other people. And I don’t want to pretend that it doesn’t bother me.”

“I don’t wanna see you with anyone else either.” Jungkook exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You want to keep fucking but be exclusive.”

You wince. “Could you not say it like that?”

“What, say it like the truth?”

You purse your lips, staring at him. “Is it a no?”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, he sighs. “It’s not a no. I’ve been asking you for this, and you always pushed me away.”

“You know am not good with serious conversations. I like it when things are easy.” You cross your arms, trying to shield yourself, but your eyes can’t help but flicker towards him. “I don’t mean to push you away,” you admit. “I just– I get scared.”

His lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that. And then – without a word – he reaches out, pulling the hoodie up so the zipper meets your chin, like he’s tucking you in.

Your heart trips over itself. “What are you doing?”

He grins, hands still lingering near your collar. “Making sure you don’t run away before you finish talking.”

“I wouldn’t run,” you protest.

Jungkook raises a brow.

“…Okay, maybe I would,” you mutter.

His grin softens into something fonder. “Well, you didn’t,” he says simply. “You’re talking to me now.” His thumb brushes over the fabric near your shoulder. “And I know that’s not easy for you.”

Your face grows hot. You roll your eyes, looking away. “Okay, don’t be nice about it.”

Jungkook laughs, bumping your forehead lightly with his. “Sorry, can’t help it. I’m proud of you.”

Your stomach flips. You shove at his chest. “Ugh. Shut up.”

He just laughs harder, catching your wrist before you can push him again. “Too late.”

You elbow him, but he catches your arm, smirking as he tugs you closer. “So that’s it?” His voice drops slightly. “You’re mine, and I’m yours, but we don’t call it anything?”

The words send a shiver down your spine. Mine.

“…Yeah,” you say. “Something like that.”

Jungkook hums, his grip on your wrist loosening but not quite letting go. His fingers brush against yours for a second before he shoves his hands back into his pockets.

“Just stay with me.” You glance at him. “Don’t leave.”

“I’ll stay. Don’t worry.”

You continue walking, the quiet hum of the streetlights and distant city noise filling the silence.

“Taehyung said he wants you to stop by at the party once you drop me off,” you tell Jungkook, letting the information hang in the air before you ask, “But hang out with me instead?”

“You know, I was doing very important things before you called.”

“You never do uni stuff and this is the day you’re deciding to do a personality rebrand?”

“What do you mean? I’m on top of my grades...Kinda.”

You huff at his response. “Then, I dunno. Wanna be nerdy together? I can help you with your assignment.”

You’re pretty sure your marketing major and fashion design minor won’t do much to help him with stats, but you’re definitely down to stick around just to be close to him.

“I don’t think you can, but being nerdy together sounds extremely intriguing, so come on.” He holds his hand out for you and drags you the other way around to his dorm.

It’s not far, just a few blocks over, but the way his fingers loosely wrap around yours makes the walk feel shorter.

Here’s how the rest of the night goes: Jungkook, the ever exemplary student, continues working on his assignment, while you – an accomplished liar who successfully deceived Jungkook into believing you would help him – pretend to help for all of five minutes before succumbing to the far more important task of online shopping for cute clothes.

It’s being nerdy together (your version).

Every so often, he glances at you, probably wondering if you’ll suddenly become useful. You do not. Instead, you kick your feet up on his bed, adding yet another item to your cart that you definitely don’t need.

Your thumb hovers over the screen, eyes locked on the top that has no business being so cute. A strapless, velvety pink crop top. The entire front is held together by a line of sparkling, rhinestone heart clasps, leaving slivers of skin exposed.

“Do you think this is cute?” You turn your phone toward Jungkook.

“Very pretty.” Jungkook nods in approval, until his eyes flick down to the price. “What the fuck, ___.”

“What?” Add to cart. “It’s cute, no?”

“You’re a terrible study partner,” he mutters, typing on his laptop.

“I never claimed to be one,” you say, scrolling past a top that you absolutely do need. “Isn't being in my presence motivating enough?”

Jungkook snorts. “Right. I’m so motivated by your commitment to retail therapy.”

“Good,” you say, adding another item to your cart. “Then I’m doing my job.”

You watch him work on his assignment, your gaze drifting to his hands resting on the keyboard. His fingers are long and lean, the veins running along his wrists just noticeable under his skin. It's like every little movement is getting your attention, and suddenly, all you can think about is how good those hands would feel on you.

“What about this,” you say, a ghost of a smirk dancing at the corner of your lips. “When you finish your task, we can look through some lingerie. You can help me pick out a few things.”

The back of Jungkook’s head hits the wall. His eyes wander to the mirror on the opposite side of the room. You catch him staring – specifically at your propped-up legs, his gaze lingering a little too close to where your dress has ridden up, just enough to reveal a peek of lace.

“Hey, no peeking,” you scold, snapping your legs shut and stretching them out flat on his bed again, smoothing your dress down for good measure. “That’s also for later, when you finish your assignment.”

Smirking, you shift on the bed, just to test him.

“Must be so hard,” you muse, pretending to stretch as your dress slides just a little higher on your thighs. “Having a mirror right there, nowhere else to look.”

He scoffs. “If I wanted to see, I wouldn’t need a mirror.”

Jungkook doesn’t break eye contact, like he’s daring you to react. And maybe you should. Maybe you should roll your eyes, call him cocky, say you wish – but your brain isn’t working fast enough to form words.

“Remember how I fucked you against it?”

In his jersey. How could you forget?

And the way Jungkook’s lips twitch, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, makes your face heat up instantly.

“When has it become so easy to make you shy?”

“I’m not.” You glare at him, but it only seems to amuse him more. His lips quirk higher, that same infuriating twitch like he’s enjoying this way too much.

You sit up straighter, leaning forward just enough so your dress pulls a little higher on your thighs, the movement slow and deliberate.

Jungkook’s eyes move to your legs, and you see that flicker of desire flash across his face. His fingers twitch, like he wants to do something – anything – but he stays still.

“Wanna have a little taste to get some motivation to finish your work?” you tease, the giddy rush that heated your body fading as you flash him a mischievous smile.

“Anything to distract me from this shit,” he replies, already pushing the laptop off his lap, the screen still filled with charts and statistics problems. Ugh.

You shift to your knees and grab the back of his neck, crashing your mouth against his. He deepens the kiss a little, his lips soft against yours, the taste of him sweet and familiar. His breath mingles with yours, warm and steady. His hand lands on your waist, fingers lightly tracing the curve of your body.

You pull back just a little, eyes fluttering open to meet his, and for a second, you both just smile at each other, breathless and giddy.

“Should’ve been doing this instead of staring at those charts,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing your cheek as he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

You laugh softly, heart fluttering, before kissing him again – this time with more confidence, more warmth. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough. His touch is gentle, but you can feel the quiet desperation behind it.

His rosy lips are swollen after a few more minutes of kissing and touching and grinding.

You slide off the bed and drop down to the floor, your hands running over his thighs, silently urging him to move closer. He shifts toward you, letting out a sharp breath when your palm him through his grey sweatpants.

You want to start of slow, want to take your time, but you’re also so needy and greedy for him, that you can’t help but tug his sweatpants down his legs, along with his briefs.

You take his semi hard dick in your hands and begin to stroke him. You let a drop of spit fall onto his cock for lubrication.

Jungkook puffs out a deep breath. You want to hear more of that.

“What happened to a little taste?” he asks, barely able to contain the moans that leave his mouth.

“Can’t help it,” you shrug, watching him grow bigger and harder in your hand.

His hand reaches for the hoodie he gave you earlier, which was carelessly thrown on his bed. He places it gently on the floor in front of you.

“Sit here,” he says, smoothing out the fabric. “Don’t want your knees to hurt.”

You shuffle your knees onto his hoodie, adjusting yourself, and continue stroking him up and down. At some point, you use both of your hands. You missed feeling his heavy cock in your hands, sitting beneath him and just playing with him.

“Spit on it, baby,” he says, voice low as he grabs his cock by the base and holds it for you to spit on. “Good girl.” He watches you with hooded eyes rub your spit all over him, mixing it with the precum leaking from his tip.

His cock is shiny, glistening with veins adoring his length. You stick out your tongue, gently swiping it over his head. Jungkook hisses when you swirl your tongue around his tip, teasing him with slow moves. He strokes himself while you play with his tip.

“Missed this view.” He pulls away his cock and starts slapping it against your tongue, the heavy feeling and wet noises immediately making you press your thighs together. “Look so pretty on your knees. Such a pretty girl.” Jungkook slides his head into your mouth. “Suck, baby.”

You close your mouth around his cock while you lock eyes with him. Slowly taking him deeper until you can’t take more. Your eyes are already watery and you didn’t even get most of him inside your mouth. You bob your head up and down in a slow, leisure pace.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he praises, threading his fingers through your hair to push it away from your face. “Relax your throat for me, yeah?”

When you do, he presses his hand on the back of your head, pushing your down on his cock and forcing you to swallow nearly half of him. Jungkook lets out a pretty moan when he feels the tightness of your throat around his cock, closing his eyes for a moment. Tears sting your eyes when he pulls you back, your hands gripping his thighs for leverage.

He lets you catch your breath before pushing you down again, moving your head in a tempo to his liking. When he shoves his cock particularly deep into you, you gag, tears rolling down your cheeks. You’re an absolute mess when he pulls out.

“What a good girl you are,” Jungkook says, his voice hoarse and low. “You just love sucking cock, don’t you?” He rubs his sticky cock against your mouth before slapping his head against it. He moves to your right cheek, smearing the mess over your skin and lightly tapping his cock. “Hm, princess?” he asks softer, almost with fake sympathy. He raises his brows in question, looking down at you like there’s just you and no one else.

“Love it so much,” you agree, moving your head along to the mess he’s making on your face.

Putting his cock back into your mouth, Jungkook leans back, watching you with pleasure etched into his expression as you move your head swiftly, twisting your hand around the part you can’t reach.

“So good,” he mutters, his tatted hand against your cheek just to feel you.

You tug your dress down and bring his cock down to your tits. You spit between the valley of your tits, using his tip to catch it and spread it across your boobs. You moan when his head brushes over your perky nipples. You circle his cock around them in small movements, breathy puffs escaping your mouth with how sensitive you are.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Jungkook fondles one breast with his hand, kneading it with his long fingers. He lets a little drop of spit fall onto your chest too, hungrily watching as you rub it against your soft skin with his cock. “Just want a mess everywhere, right?”

You nod, dragging his cock back into your mouth because you just need to taste him.

Jungkook curses under his breath when you start playing with his balls with your other hand. “Fuck, baby. Gonna cum if you keep going.”

Music to your ears.

You continue, swirling your tongue around his cock as you move up and down, trying to go as deep as you can. You can tell he doesn’t want to cum yet, but he doesn’t drag you off his cock, he’s too needy and horny.

“Cum on my tits.” You shift, jerking his cock in front of your chest.

“You want me to?”

“Please,” you beg, pushing your tits together with your arm, looking up at him with big eyes.

He moans at that sight, spurts of cum shooting across your chest. He paints your tits white with a big load. Your mouth hangs open slightly at the cum dripping from his cock. You lick his cock clean before looking down at your tits.

“You came so much.” You hold your tits in your hands. You flick your finger through some of the cum, putting it in your cum afterwards.

“Fuck, ___, please.”

You giggle at his reaction. You rub the cum into your skin with his still hard cock before it can drip down and create and even bigger mess. Your tits are all shiny from his cum when you’re done.

A shaky breath bubbles from Jungkook’s mouth when you stroke him once more, for good measure. “Pretty sure you got every drop.” He taps your elbow, motioning for you to get up. “Come here.” He pats the bed. “Get on all fours for me.”

While you get comfy on your knees on his bed, he takes off his clothes. Jungkook pushes your dress up your ass, the fabric bunched around your waist.

Jungkook slides one finger between your legs, slowly tracing your pussy through your panties.

“My dick in your mouth got you so wet, huh?” He pushes your panties aside, uttering a soft groan at the sight of your slick pussy. “So needy for me.” He bends down and you can feel his breath on your folds.

“Jungkook, please,” you whine.

“Please?” he repeats. “Such a well-mannered girl.” His tongue darts out, licking a stripe across your pussy.

You’re so incredibly sensitive, been yearning for this for so long, that you back arches immediately, thighs starting to quiver at Jungkook’s mild torture with his tongue.

Jungkook moves to your clit. He switches from little flicks to your nub and sucking on it, creating wet and filthy noises. He’s skilled with his mouth – perhaps a bit too skilled for your liking. But right now, you don’t have the energy to think too deeply about it, you’re just focused on the tingling pleasure that shoots through your tummy.

“Right there, Kook. Don’t stop.”

You watch him through the mirror – the way he is keeping your cheeks apart with his hands, face buried between your thighs, fluffy hair bouncing along with his movements. So handsome, so pretty, so yours.

“Pussy tastes so fucking good,” He mumbles, his fingers sinking deeper into your skin.

“So close. Wanna cum, Jungkook.”

Jungkook hums against you, the vibration making your breath hitch. It’s just his mouth on your pussy, but he knows his way around, knows how to make you squirm.

The pressure builds, winding tight in your core, seconds from snapping. “Jungkook,” you gasp, voice wrecked. “I’m–”

He groans into you, gripping harder, and that’s it—that’s all it takes. The tension in your body breaks all at once, pleasure hitting so hard your vision goes hazy. A choked sound spills from your lips, legs trying to squeeze shut, but he doesn’t let you. Just stays there, working you through it, dragging it out until you’re nothing but shivers and gasps, completely undone beneath him.

Only then does he pull back, breathing heavy, lips slick and swollen. He looks up at you through the mirror, something dark, almost possessive in his gaze, and swipes his thumb over his mouth like he’s savouring the taste.

You look back at him, smiling at his shiny face. His lips are covered along with his chin and his nose and a bit of his cheeks.

“This is, like, one of your best looks.”

“What, fresh out the pussy?”

You giggle. “Yeah,” you mutter, swiping your finger over the tip of his nose to clean him.

“I could have my face buried down there forever. I don’t think you realise how good you taste.” You feel his finger spreading your folds. “But I know my girl is very needy, so she wants cock, hm?”

You sigh, melting into his touch when you feel him slap his dick against your pussy instead. “You know me so well.”

The dick slaps are so wet, and your haze-filled mind craves nothing more than for him to shove his cock inside you, raw and deep, filling you the way you need – no barriers, no hesitation.

But Jungkook is actually able to still form sensible thoughts through the horny haze and grabs a condom from his nightstand.

He doesn’t tease you much before he enters you, just slowly, inch by inch, sliding his cock inside you.

“You good, baby?”

“Uh-huh, you can move.”

You gasp, the feeling almost overwhelming but exactly what you wanted. His hands grip your hips, pulling you back toward him as he starts a steady pace from behind, each thrust making your head spin.

“Missed this pussy,” Jungkook rasps, sneaking one hand down to your ass to spank it, eliciting a surprised moan from you. “So tight, so perfect.” He grabs a handful of your ass. “So mine.”

He fucks you rough, doesn’t give you any chance to think of anything but him. Your hands are clutching at his covers, holding the fabric tightly in your palms.

You feel him spit down on your ass. He rubs his finger over your puckered hole, making you whine and bite your lip at the feeling.

“Oh, Jungkook.” He slides his thumb inside, just the tip of his finger, and yet it feels like so much more, the pleasure intensifying.

“You’re such a slut for me, aren’t you?” he asks, not stopping his relentless pace. “Love getting all your holes filled. So, so dirty.” Contempt is dripping from his voice, and you can’t help but have your pussy throbbing at that.

“Just for you,” you breathe. “Just you, Jungkook.”

“That’s, right.” He pushes his thumb a bit deeper, making your fingers tighten around Jungkook’s sheets. “You’re my girl.”

Your heart is racing, pulse pounding in your ears, and all you can do is nod, your body responding to him without thought, your need for him overwhelming.

With his other hand he tugs at your hair, wrapping it around his hand and creating a makeshift ponytail.

“Look at how pretty you look.”

You turn your head to the mirror. Your back is fully arched, and Jungkook’s all over your, his muscled and tatted body towering over you with his cock deeply buried inside your pussy.

He withdraws his thumb from your hole, delivering another spank to your ass.

“Make me go fucking crazy,” he mumbles, wrapping his hand around your tummy and pulling you up against his chest.

“Kook,” you mumble, resting your head in the crook of his neck. You don’t know what you want, only that you’re feeling this irresistible pull to him, like you want to be even closer to him.

He lets your hair go, moving his hand to your tits and squeezing them.

“Cum with me,” he whispers into your ear, immediately sending shivers down your spine. “Look at yourself when you cum, baby. Want you to see how pretty you are.”

When he sneaks his hand that was wrapped around your tummy down between your legs and starts flicking his fingers over your clit, it’s officially over for you.

You still try to keep your eyes open like Jungkook told you so as you teeter off the edge, your climax consuming you. You watch him come undone too, his brows knitted together, and bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You’re weak on your knees, but Jungkook keeps you firm to his chest, not letting fall as he thrusts into you in a slower, sloppier pace. He peppers your neck and shoulders with little kisses, and you giggle a little, delirious on your high. Your hand reaches for his bicep and you squeeze it.

His skin is hot under your touch, muscles flexing as he holds you up, keeping you steady against him. The slow drag of his movements sends waves of overstimulation through your body, but you don’t pull away.

“I know, baby.” Jungkook hums against your shoulder, his lips still ghosting over your skin, pressing lazy kisses between heavy breaths. “Still with me?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing, as his fingers brush down your sides.

You nod, melting further into him, body pliant against his.

Jungkook pulls out. You whine at the loss. He tosses the condom on the floor – you're too spent to tell him how gross that is – and shifts on the bed, lying down together with you.

His arm drapes over your waist, pulling you close, your body naturally moulding into his like it’s second nature. His skin is still warm, his breaths deep and steady as he settles beside you.

You glance down on yourself – you’re a mess. Panties still on, just pulled to the side like he liked, dress bunched around your waist, evidence of him all over you.

“Can I take a shower before I leave?”

“Sure.”

You wait.

You look up at Jungkook. “You’re not gonna ask if you can join me?”

“I thought that was clear?”

You smile. “Good.”

“Hey – will you now tell me what you wrote in your journal about me?”

“I know we’re back to being friends with benefits, but please know your place.”

“It was worth a try.”

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missdynamighttt · 4 months ago

Text

so.. giving bf! katsuki his girlfriend bill and he pays.. WAY too much tax.

it started as a joke.

you sat on the couch, scribbling away at a piece of paper while katsuki was busy scrolling through his phone. when you were done, you slid it across the table to him with a smug grin.

KATSUKI BAKUGO - GIRLFRIEND BILL

• snacks (your girl gotta eat, and no, your portion does not count as mine even if i eat it): 500

• unlimited cuddles package (its like a warm cozy prison): 1,000

• tummy tax (you hog my tummy all the damn time, rent is due.): 3,000

• sex damages (broken furniture, excessive laundry, my LEGS, my BACK, my SANITY): 5,000

• miscellaneous (for anything i want because you love me): 8,000

TOTAL: 17,500

DUE DATE: NOW. PAY UP 💜

you leaned back, arms crossed. “you owe me, boyfie.”

katsuki stared at the paper, then at you. his eyebrow twitched. “the fuck is this?”

“since you love spending money on me, i figured i’d make it official,” you teased. “just the essentials. cuddles, snacks, emotional labor fees, suffering damages—”

he snorted, shaking his head. “suffering damages?”

“i am dating you.”

he clicked his tongue but didn’t argue. instead, he grabbed the paper, pulled out a pen, and started writing.

you blinked. “uh… what are you doing?”

“fixing your shitty math.”

you leaned over to look—only for your jaw to drop when you saw him doubling the charges and adding even more things to the bill.

• snacks (you always say you don’t want any, then eat mine)

• spa days (so you don’t stress out)

• hair and nails (because i know you like getting them done)

• shopping sprees (you never ask, but i see you eyein’ shit)

• being the best damn thing in my life (consider as future investment. i’m keepin’ you forever, dumbass)

your eyes trailed down the list, heart pounding. meanwhile, katsuki was casually typing on his phone.

a notification buzzed on yours. you glanced down—and nearly choked.

Deposit: 50,000 from katsuki bakugo

you gawked at the absurd number. “katsuki—what the hell?”

he grinned, crossing his arms. “what? you think i don’t know what you deserve?”

your face burned, your heart doing somersaults as you stared at him in disbelief, acting like he didn’t just casually triple your joke bill. "katsuki, this was supposed to be a joke.”

he leaned back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “not to me. i’d pay more if it meant spoilin’ my girl the way she deserves.”

you swallowed hard, heart pounding. “you—you can’t just—”

“too late,” he interrupted, tugging you onto his lap. “the hell kinda cheapskate boyfriend you think i am?”

you stared at the new total, eyes wide. “katsuki—this is, like, a small fortune.”

he just smirked. “yeah? guess you’re worth it.”

your face burned.

"just shut up and take my money, sweets," his lips brushed against your ear. "tell you what—how ‘bout i add another big... tip?"

but before you could react, he was already throwing you over his shoulder, carrying you straight to the bedroom.

you had a feeling he wasn’t talking about money anymore.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ been feeling burnt out lately lmao😵‍💫 didnt include any money symbols so yall dont have to go through the trouble of converting it😭 thank god my husband is rich >< trying to clear my bazillion drafts, hope you guys enjoy this💜

5K notes · View notes

urdreamydoodles · 5 months ago

Text

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

Marvel Comics Characters Receiving a Dirty Picture from You in Public

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios

God, I love Marvel Comics...

Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man

Peter has been through a lot. He’s fought villains, lost people he’s loved, and carried the weight of responsibility since he was a kid. But nothing—not Venom, not Doctor Octopus, not the Green Goblin—has ever hit him as hard as opening his phone and seeing you.

He’s perched upside-down on a fire escape, mid-stakeout with Daredevil, when his phone buzzes. He barely glances at it at first, assuming it’s an update from MJ or the Bugle. But then—his Spidey-Sense misfires. His stomach drops. And suddenly, he’s scrambling so fast that he almost falls off the fire escape.

“...Parker?” Matt’s voice is suspicious, brow furrowing beneath the red mask. Peter clutches his phone like a lifeline, heat rushing to his face, his entire body going rigid. “Uh—nope! Nothing’s wrong! Totally fine! Just, uh—gotta—go!” Before Matt can say another word, Peter web-slings away, heart pounding.

Later, in his apartment, he stares at the image, biting his lip so hard he might draw blood. Then, fumbling with his phone, he types back: You cannot just drop this on me in the middle of a mission. I almost DIED. You’re gonna make it up to me. In person. Immediately.

Tony Stark aka. Iron Man

Tony Stark is always the one making people flustered. He’s the king of inappropriate timing, the grandmaster of chaos. So when you flip the game on him? When you send him something completely indecent while he’s in the middle of a live press conference? Oh, he is in trouble.

He’s mid-sentence, standing in front of a sea of reporters, when his phone vibrates. He glances at it without thinking, because hey, it might be about stock prices or another alien invasion. But no. No, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.

He visibly freezes. Blinks. Blanches. Then—his brain blue screens. The entire room stares as Tony suddenly cuts off mid-sentence, clears his throat, and forces a smirk that’s absolutely not covering up a crisis. “Uh—ladies and gentlemen, I think that’s enough questions for today.”

The moment he’s offstage, he stumbles into the nearest private room, yanks at his tie, and pulls out his phone like it holds the meaning of life. He types back immediately: Oh, now you’ve done it, sweetheart. I hope you’re home right now, because I’m on my way, and I’m bringing consequences.

Steve Rogers aka. Captain America

Steve is not a prude. He’s been around, he’s seen things. But there’s something about you—about the way you know exactly how to knock the breath from his lungs—that makes him feel like a kid again.

He’s in the middle of a strategy meeting with Sam and Bucky, his shield leaning against the table, when his phone vibrates. He checks it without thinking, eyes flicking down—and then every muscle in his body tenses. His grip on the phone tightens. His ears burn red.

“You good, Rogers?” Bucky gives him a knowing smirk, because he immediately recognizes that look—Steve flustered beyond belief. Steve clears his throat, hard, locking his phone like it’s offended him. “Fine,” he says, voice a little too even. “Let’s, uh—let’s keep going.”

But later, when he’s alone, he exhales deeply, pressing a hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, with slow deliberation, he types: I hope you know what you just started. Because I don’t break my promises, sweetheart. And I promise—you’re not leaving that bed when I get there.

Thor Odinson aka. God of Thunder

Thor has seen battles, has waged wars across the cosmos, has faced monsters and gods. But when his phone pings—when he sees the absolute sin that you’ve just sent him—he forgets how to breathe.

He is in the middle of the Avengers’ common room, laughing boisterously with Bruce and Natasha, when he pulls out his phone. He expects something simple—a text from his brother, perhaps, or a message from Jane. But instead? Instead, he sees you.

The entire room feels it when Thor’s laughter stops. There is a moment—just a beat of silence—before the lights flicker. The air crackles with static electricity. His fingers twitch around the phone, and then, in a low, very serious voice, he mutters, “By the Norns…”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, but Thor abruptly stands, clearing his throat. “I must depart. Urgently.” Bruce frowns. “What? Why?” Thor barely offers an explanation before storming out of the room, typing furiously: You dare tempt the God of Thunder? Very well, little one. You shall learn what it means to summon a storm.

Loki Laufeyson aka. God of Mischief

Loki is the undisputed master of control. He is calm, composed, always one step ahead of everyone else. But when you send him something so shameless, so brazen, in the middle of an important diplomatic event in Asgard—he nearly drops his goblet of wine.

He’s reclining on his throne, listening to some dull ambassador drone on about trade negotiations, when his phone vibrates. He lifts it lazily, expecting nothing of importance—until he sees you.

His entire body goes rigid. His grip tightens around the goblet, the silver denting beneath his fingers. His green eyes darken, and for the first time in centuries, he feels his pulse stutter. The ambassador keeps talking, oblivious, but Loki? Loki is seething.

Later, in his chambers, he lounges on his bed, turning the phone over in his fingers before smirking. Then, with slow, careful precision, he types: You dare tease the God of Mischief? Oh, darling, you are in such trouble. And you know how much I enjoy trouble.

Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye

Clint Barton is used to chaos. He’s fought alien invasions, taken down crime syndicates, and, most impressively, lived in a house with three dogs and somehow survived. But nothing—not the Avengers, not S.H.I.E.L.D., not even Kate Bishop’s endless sarcasm—could have prepared him for this.

He’s in the middle of a debriefing with Captain America and Black Widow when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it, but boredom gets the better of him. He sneaks a glance, tilting the screen just slightly—and immediately chokes on his coffee.

“Barton?” Natasha’s voice is sharp, her suspicious gaze snapping to him. Steve looks concerned. Clint, on the other hand, is malfunctioning. He quickly locks his phone, pressing it to his thigh like it’s burning him. “Yep. All good. Just… wrong text thread. You know how it is.”

The second he’s alone, he whistles, rubbing a hand down his face before sending a text: You are absolutely trying to kill me, aren’t you? I’m a trained marksman, babe. You know I always hit my target. Hope you’re ready.

Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow

Natasha Romanoff is a professional. She’s endured psychological conditioning, trained with the deadliest assassins in the world, and can lie so well that even she forgets what’s real. But when you send her something so utterly filthy, in the middle of a high-stakes poker game with some very dangerous people—she nearly loses her composure.

She’s holding a perfect poker face, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette between her fingers (purely for effect). Then, her phone buzzes. She never checks her phone during missions, but for some reason, she does this time.

The second she sees the image, her fingers twitch. She almost fumbles her cigarette. Almost. A single slow breath is all that betrays her before she locks the screen and smirks, adjusting her sunglasses to hide the flicker of heat in her gaze.

Later, after she’s won the game (because of course she has), she finally responds: You must be very confident, sending me something like that. I hope you know what happens when I catch my prey, моя любовь (my love). Because I always catch them.

Bucky Barnes aka. Winter Soldier

Bucky is already always on edge. He spent decades being controlled, his mind fractured, his instincts constantly telling him that danger lurks around every corner. But when his phone vibrates in the middle of a mission briefing and he makes the mistake of checking it—he nearly self-destructs.

He’s sitting next to Sam Wilson, arms crossed, trying to focus on the tactical discussion. Then, out of habit, he glances at his phone. And suddenly? His enhanced heartbeat spikes. His grip on the phone tightens, metal fingers creaking.

Sam immediately notices. “Dude. You okay?” Bucky doesn’t answer. He just exhales deeply, jaw clenching, and locks his phone like it’s personally offended him. “Fine,” he mutters, but the way his throat bobs betrays him.

Later, in the privacy of his room, he leans against the wall, pressing his flesh hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, he types—slow, deliberate, full of promise: You are playing with fire, doll. And you know I don’t burn alone.

Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil

Matt has learned to control himself. He has to, considering his senses pick up everything. The heartbeat of a liar, the scent of blood, the whisper of fabric against skin. But when he puts in his earpiece during a stakeout with Elektra and hears you—sultry, teasing, wicked—his composure shatters.

Your voice is a purr, warm and full of amusement, as you describe, in explicit detail, exactly what you want to do to him. Every syllable slides into his ear like a sin, and for the first time in years, Matt Murdock forgets how to breathe.

“Murdock.” Elektra’s voice is unimpressed. “Are you even listening?” Matt clenches his jaw, forcing his expression into something neutral as he slowly removes the earpiece. “Yeah,” he lies, his voice way too tight. “Loud and clear.” But his fingers twitch, betraying him.

Later, alone in his apartment, he plays the message again. And again. Until his own heartbeat is thunderous in his ears. Then, with a slow smirk, he records his reply—his voice low, gravelly, barely more than a rasp: Angel, you have no idea what you’ve just done. And I promise—you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

Frank Castle aka. The Punisher

Frank Castle does not fluster. He’s a man who’s seen the worst of the world, a soldier who has lost everything. He does not get distracted. But when he’s sitting in the middle of a grimy bar, brooding over a whiskey, and his phone vibrates—everything stops.

He checks it absently, expecting intel from Micro or maybe a warning from Daredevil. But instead, he gets you. And just like that, his grip on the glass tightens. His jaw locks. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, because you have just sent him something so utterly indecent that he has to set his whiskey down before he crushes the glass.

The bartender notices. “You good, man?” Frank barely glances up, his fingers white-knuckled around his phone. “Fine,” he mutters, voice rough. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and downs the rest of his drink in one go.

Later, in the dead of night, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, before sending a single message: You think you’re real cute, huh? Yeah. Keep that same energy when I get home. See if you’re still smirking when I’ve got my hands on you.

Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight

Marc has lived multiple lives. A mercenary. A vigilante. A fist of vengeance. But the moment his phone vibrates in the middle of a stakeout, and he sees you—he nearly blows his own cover.

He’s perched on a rooftop, watching a weapons deal go down, his mind sharp and focused. Then, out of habit, he checks his phone. His breath hitches. His grip tightens around the device, and he has to physically restrain himself from groaning. Khonshu’s voice rumbles in his mind: "Your mortal desires are distracting, Spector." Marc grits his teeth. "Yeah, no shit."

“Something wrong?” Jake’s voice purrs from inside his head, amused. “She send you something nice, hermano?” Marc rolls his eyes, exhaling sharply before locking his phone. “Mind your damn business.” But his pulse is thundering.

Later, back at his apartment, he leans against the wall, staring at the image before typing: You have no idea what you’ve just done. Hope you’re home. Hope you’re ready.

Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch

Johnny Storm is used to attention. He thrives on it. He’s a celebrity, a hero, a walking flame. But when you send him something scandalous in the middle of a live television interview, even he isn’t ready for it.

He’s laughing, flashing his signature cocky grin at the camera, when his phone buzzes. He checks it without thinking—because hey, it might be Sue yelling at him again—but instead, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.

Johnny visibly chokes. His entire body tenses. For the first time ever, he forgets what he was saying. The interviewer blinks. “Uh… Johnny?” His brain short-circuits. His face heats—literally. The tips of his ears ignite before he clenches his fists and forces himself to not spontaneously combust on live television.

The second the interview is over, he’s sprinting to his dressing room, slamming the door shut and typing frantically: Ohhh, you are in trouble. You’re really trying to set me on fire, huh? Hope you’re home, babe, ‘cause I’m flying over. Right. Now.

Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic

Reed Richards is a genius. His mind is constantly working at speeds beyond human comprehension. But when he’s mid-lecture at a prestigious scientific conference and his phone vibrates—his brilliant mind suddenly goes blank.

He absently checks his phone, half-expecting an alert from the Baxter Building. But instead, it’s you. Wearing almost nothing.

For a solid ten seconds, he is frozen. His eyes slightly widen. His fingers twitch. And then, very slowly, he locks his phone and clears his throat. “Ah—excuse me, esteemed colleagues, but I must—um—attend to an urgent matter.”

Later, he adjusts his glasses, staring at the image with a fascinated, almost scientific appreciation. Then, with methodical precision, he types: You are a very distracting woman. I will be conducting an… in-depth study on you as soon as I return. Expect a thorough examination.

Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat

Felicia Hardy is a master of seduction. She flusters men for fun. But when she’s in the middle of a high-stakes casino heist, and you send her something utterly indecent, even she loses her composure.

She’s leaning against the bar, sipping an expensive martini, eyes locked on her mark. Then, her phone buzzes. She lazily checks it, expecting an update from her crew. But instead? Instead, she sees you.

Her eyelashes flutter. Her lips part just slightly. And for the first time in years, her poker face cracks. The bartender—oblivious—raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay, miss?” Felicia exhales, smirking as she locks her phone. “Oh, it’s better than okay.”

Later, she lounges on silk sheets, staring at the picture before purring into her phone: You really think you can tease me, kitten? Oh, sweetheart… you just made a very expensive bet. And I never lose.

Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange

Stephen Strange is not easily shaken. He’s fought cosmic horrors, bent reality, and wielded power beyond mortal comprehension. But when he’s in the middle of a magical duel with Dormammu, and you send him a sinfully explicit picture—he almost loses.

He’s mid-incantation, floating above the Sanctum’s rooftop, when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it—except something in the back of his mind tells him it’s you. He flicks his fingers, glancing at the screen—and immediately regrets it.

His spell stutters. His fingers twitch. The fabric of reality briefly warps. Wong, standing below, yells, “What the hell was that?!” Stephen clenches his jaw, locking his phone immediately before snapping his wrist and repairing the timeline. “Nothing,” he mutters. “Absolutely nothing.”

The moment the battle is over, he retreats into his study, loosening his Cloak, before typing: You dare distract the Sorcerer Supreme? You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed, darling. And I do hope you’re prepared for consequences beyond mortal comprehension.

Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner

Namor is a king. He does not answer to anyone. He has waged war against the surface world, stood against the mightiest heroes, and commands the loyalty of an entire empire. But when he is seated on his throne, discussing politics with his council, and his communicator vibrates—everything else becomes irrelevant.

He glances down, expecting a diplomatic missive. Instead, he is greeted by you—a vision of temptation, captured in a way that only he has the privilege to see. His grip on the communicator tightens, his lips parting slightly. The light of the display reflects in his dark, narrowed eyes.

The council drones on, but Namor hears nothing. His golden gauntlets flex, his knuckles tightening as his jaw sets. A slow, deliberate exhale is all that betrays his reaction. But those closest to him—his most trusted generals—see the flicker of something dangerous in his expression. A storm, barely contained.

Later, as he stands upon his balcony, overlooking the endless ocean, he types a single response: You seek to tempt a king, my love? Then be prepared for the wrath of a god. When next we meet, you will drown in my devotion.

Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider

Johnny Blaze has seen Hell—literally. He has ridden across the desolate highways of damnation, stared into the abyss, and laughed. But when he’s sitting in a biker bar, nursing a whiskey and half-listening to some guy ramble about the Devil, his phone vibrates. And when he checks it—he nearly sets the whole place on fire.

The image of you is burned into his mind, seared into his soul. He sucks in a slow breath through his teeth, his fingers tightening around the glass. His knuckles go white. Somewhere deep inside, the Spirit of Vengeance chuckles.

“Something wrong, Blaze?” One of the other bikers eyes him warily. Johnny forces a smirk, setting his whiskey down before he crushes the glass in his grip. “Nah,” he rasps, his voice a little too rough. “Just realized I got… unfinished business to take care of.”

Later, on his Hellfire-coated bike, he sends a text: You got a real bad habit of making me wanna sin, sweetheart. And I promise—I’ll make sure you repent. Over. And over.

Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom

Eddie Brock has been through hell. He’s fought monsters, been one himself, lost everything, and still kept going. But nothing—not a damn thing—could prepare him for the absolute carnage of getting that picture from you in the middle of a crowded subway.

He’s scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, Venom muttering in his head about wanting tater tots, when the image loads. For a solid five seconds, he is completely still. Then—

“Eddie.” Venom’s voice rumbles, amused. “Your mate is very… bold. We approve.” Eddie, red-faced, slams his phone against his chest like that’ll somehow erase what just happened. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, eyes darting around to make sure no one saw. A teenager across from him raises an eyebrow.

Later, when he’s alone, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. A slow, predatory grin spreads across his face as he types back: Oh, you think you’re being cute, huh? Yeah. Just wait till I get my hands on you. Hell, maybe we’ll even let Venom have a little fun, too.

T’Challa aka. Black Panther

T’Challa is a king, a warrior, a legend. His mind is a fortress, his will unshakable. But when he is seated in the royal palace of Wakanda, surrounded by dignitaries, and his Kimoyo Beads alert him to a personal message—his focus wavers.

He allows himself a discreet glance. And in that moment? His heart skips a single beat. His fingers—steady even in the heat of battle—tighten just slightly around his beads. His expression does not change. But to those who know him well—Okoye, Shuri—they notice the subtlest flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.

Shuri smirks. “Brother,” she murmurs, leaning in. “You look… distracted.” T’Challa exhales deeply, locking the message with a casual flick of his fingers. “I am merely… anticipating a conversation.”

Later, when he is alone, he reviews the picture once more, fingers grazing his jaw before he types: You are testing my patience, beloved. And you know I am a man of great discipline. But for you? I am willing to break my own rules. Expect me soon.

Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra

Elektra Natchios does not fluster. She has slit the throats of kings, danced on the edge of oblivion, and played cat-and-mouse with death itself. But when she is sharpening her sai on the rooftop of a New York high-rise and her phone buzzes—her grip falters.

The blade nicks her glove. Barely. But it happens. Her lips part in a slow, dangerous smirk as she tilts the phone toward the moonlight, drinking in the absolute audacity of your message.

“Something amusing?” A voice—a rival assassin, lurking in the shadows. Elektra does not answer. She merely tucks her phone away, standing smoothly, her stance lethal. “Yes,” she purrs. “Something… very amusing.”

Later, as she leans against the window of her penthouse, she finally sends a reply: You are so very reckless, my love. And I do enjoy breaking reckless little things.

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i-luvsang · 1 year ago

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i hate being on the verge of tears in public !!! and it’s about fucking kpop i need to get a grip!!!!!!!$;73&38&2$.!’$/$3!/‘j$€{€!{£&jhhdjdhwijwgeieiehhejeiddggdneiwiwhuwjeieuebidnejskaowhhrbdieiruruidieieiehndozi&$:$£7:)3&k$$;$&jhdhiahJh

#only feeling a little bit upset tho!!!! RJUDJDK #HAHAHA I DONT EVEN CARE #I SHOULD HAVE DONE MORE RESEARCH BEFORE GETTING MY HOPES UP LIKE THIS #HONESTLY FUCK KQ SO MUCH #OBVIOUSLY THEY SUCK BC #DUH ALL KPOP COMPANIES DO #AND I HATE THE THINGS THEY DO MOST OF THE TIME #BUT GOD #IM STILK UPSET #why did i expect anything decent god #basically since last tour i’ve planned and saved up to get vip tix!#ofc to be closer to the stage since i was in nosebleeds last time #but also because vip had hi touch and maybe even meet and greet if those are different idk whatever #and i was so so set on getting hi touch next time they toured #and now their touring and there is no hi touch or meet and greet whatsoever #and the prices are like triple compared to last time #and presale is tomorrow and i don’t even know what to do for tickets anymore #obviously i’m so so excited and lucky and privileged to be able to see them at all #as long as presale doesn’t sell out before i get anything lol #but still #i’m just having trouble getting over this part of it right now :((#and every time i think about it too hard or look at them or listen to their music i get real close to crying!!#i’m just really disappointed and i’ll probably sob about it when i get home to start getting over it lmao #anyways i don’t have any feelings about it tho!!#again i recognize this is such a spoiled thing to complain about and im sorry if its annoying to read abt!!#i so get that #i used to think i’d never even get to go to concerts at all and ik some people can’t #some people can’t even buy albums and that kind of thing so i do apologize for complaining about having money basically #i just saved up for so long and got so excited :((

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madamechrissy · 5 months ago

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Would you come with me?

Pairings: Satoru Gojo x F! reader

Summary: You have been Satoru's best friend for such a long time, and one day he asks you a really big favor- marry him. What!?!? Well, Satoru has to take a wife as he's running the Gojo corporation, and what better way to get them off his back than 'marry'? In name only, just best friends living together for a year to calm them down, sounds so perfect and uncomplicated, right!!! Well, living with Satoru Gojo makes you both question everything, is this fake marriage feeling... real? and can you just be friends after this?

CW: NSFT-MDNI- So much mutual pining and longing, not sharing feelings. This chap- kissing, fingering, masturbation, lots of jealousyy, they're idiots in love lol, teasing, TENSION, oral (f recieving) Satoru is a lil sweetie and a lil freaky ass- falls hard, ya'll both down bad. Three parts- WC this Part- 7.6k

Songs for this - Birds of a Feather // Nonsense // Suffocate

Ty for all the love on part one!?!? I hope you all enjoy this part as well! We got one more after this <3 Comments and reblogs so appreciated always!

<<<Part One - Masterlist - Final Part>>>

Part Two

One month of being ‘fake married’ to Satoru Gojo, your best friend.

“I’m nervous about this meeting, Satoru. Are you sure I’ll do alright?” You ask softly, as you both head to the elevator, a meeting that you know Satoru has been dreading himself, with the higher ups his dad usually deals with.

“You’ll do just fine, let me do the talking, you can just look all pretty.” He takes your hand as you all get into the elevator, squeezing it warmly, and you’re dying at how good that hand feels, and how good he feels, his strong arm brushing against you as you both watch the elevator doors shut.

“I don’t want to embarrass you.”

“You could never. You’ve been a perfect wife this month, I promise.” His sweet grin, just a little crooked melts you, as you exhale in relief. “I’m getting a lot done with this, I swear… I know you probably wanna get back to normal life.”

The hurt in his words immediately makes you pull back, and Satoru curses himself, taking your hand again, as you two ride up the floors, but you pull away, shaking your head. “Are you so eager for me to go?” Your voice is quiet, trying not to reveal what that makes you feel like fully.

“What!? No, not at all. I meant… if you wanted to.” Satoru’s heart breaks when he sees your dewy eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way, I meant it may not take a year, if you wanted to…”

“I’m glad it’s helping, really.” You give him a small little smile, and Satoru can barely concentrate on what he’s here for, when he wants to wrap you in his arms, to kiss you fully, not just pecks for appearances.

And god those kisses to prove you’re together make the lines blur, makes everything so confusing and jumbled for him. He’s having so much trouble remembering that it’s for show, when you all watch movies at night still, when you both have dinner together, when you’re washing dishes side by side. When you’re having coffee on his balcony in the morning.

The one thing that keeps it ‘fake’ is the separate rooms, but the amount of times Satoru has played with himself in the room next to yours has gotten insane, the number of showers he has to take so he hopes you won’t hear him. Lately, he’s backed off just a bit, for his own sanity, so it hurts less when this is over.

“Toru, wanna watch the show tonight?” You ask, wearing one of his big tee shirts, it swamps you completely, tempting him to no end, thinking of slipping it up just so…

Shit.

“Nah, sorry not tonight. I’ve got work to do.” He says, hating the little down turn of your lips.

“How late, I can wait!”

“Um… yeah I wouldn’t wait up.” You blink then, wondering have you gotten too comfortable with him? Have you been acting too much like a wife at home? You can’t help but enjoy him, enjoy your time together, are you overwhelming him with it all?

“Oh. Um, okay. Good night, then.” You smile sadly, aching to kiss him good night, knowing you shouldn’t want it, knowing you shouldn’t be desiring him right next to you, snuggling on that couch. God you’d love him in your bed even, holding you so close against him.

“Good night, sweets.” He murmurs, softly, not wanting you to think that you were the problem, no the problem is him.

He can’t stop picturing how every corner and nook in his huge home will be so very empty when you’re gone.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, not one thing, I swear you’re playing this perfectly. And I really appreciate you, yeah?” He says, but it’s not what you want to hear, because you’re not playing, not really, it’s just too fucking easy.

“Yeah, we got this.” You kiss his cheek softly, the friendly way you used to, as you all walk through the sliding doors where everyone is, all old men aside from a couple younger people scattered in seats in a row.

You tense, so he squeezes your hand, smiling at you, an upturn to pink lips as a room full of old money assesses you both, trying to reassure you. “Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, please have a seat.”

You nervously sit next to Satoru across from them now, your legs crossing as he casually leans back, one arm around the back of your seat, an ankle crossed over his knee, sunglasses right on his face. He’s so at ease, or so it seems, you are certainly learning more and more that Satoru tends to hide much of his anxiety with cracking jokes and sarcasm.

“Ah, the oldies, how goes it?”

“Ahem, oldies?” A blonde man raises a brow, and Satoru scoffs.

“You might as well be, Zenin. Old ass mentality.”

“Satoru, how is your father?” Asks an older man from another high company that works with the Gojos, Mr. Gakuganji.

“Ya really hoping he pulls through hmm? Even if so, he’s already appointed me, so don’t get too excited.” Satoru has an easy grin, fingertips brushing against your bare arm, leaning closer to you. “You’ve all met the wife?”

“Not all of us.” A pretty woman with long blue braids smiles at you. “Heard of her though, hello Mrs. Gojo. Mei Mei. Apparently so old.”

“Hello Mei Mei.” You greet with a small smile, looking at them all. “It’s going to be a pleasure to work with you all, I am sure.”

“Isn’t she just charming?” Mr. Naoya Zenin says, you feel Gojo’s fingers tighten in response.

“She is lovely.” Mei agrees, predatory smiles on both of their lips.

“Enough with the greetings, Gojo, you've made a lot of changes to this company in a quick manner.” Now Yaga, a tall imposing man that owns much of the shares of the company, speaks.

“Sure have, Yaga. Aw, mad you all got pay cuts? Poor things. Don’t worry, gave your extra to the employees.” Gojo says with a big white grin, earning the glares of everyone in the room.

“You’re not some Robin Hood.” An older man of the Kamo family says, raising a brow at Gojo, who chuckles.

“No, sure am not, I’m still rich and so are you all, just a little more evened out, wouldn’t you say, sweetheart?” He looks to you, tilting down his glasses, and you take a breath, putting a hand on his thigh, silently supporting him.

“Employees are going to work harder and stay longer with better pay and better conditions, and cutting just a bit off the top accomplishes that.” You say, voice strong and clear as a bell, making Satoru so proud he can’t stand it, smiling big at you as the room collectively grumbles.

“You’re not the only one with interest in this company. What does your father think of this?” One of the older men asks.

“It’s my company already, it’s about to be official soon. So don’t worry.” Satoru says with ease. “Also, my wife was talking.”

“Your wife is certainly… hmm, very pretty, but a commoner.” Naoya says, earning Gojo standing up, chair screeching back.

“The fuck you say!?”

“Satoru…” You lean forward, touching his arm, looking at his furious stance as the room shifts.

“How is she a commoner? You’d be lucky to lick the ground she fucking walks on ya know that?”

“She’s clearly not a commoner, but… she’s not “rich" is what he means. She has no concept of wealth.” Mei says, and Naoya stands now as well, glaring right over at Satoru.

“She’s rich now, she’s my fucking wife.” The words feel so real from his infuriated voice that you can’t even separate it anymore, if this is some act you will just play right into it, even if it hurts. Him defending you is raw, you feel his fury next to him, trying to calm him and failing.

“It’s fine, baby.” You murmur, and hearing it, this little pet name from you? He immediately looks down, seeing your eyes wide with worry, he sighs now, sitting next to you, exhaling when you brush a hand up and down his back, then you look at the room. “I was not rich, no.”

“Your family was cut off for this sort of behavior. Is that what you want again, want for your children?” Mr. Gakuganji asks, a tired voice breaking through.

“I know better than anyone in this room what it’s like to live on a normal, even low income. Would you not welcome the insight, or are you so above caring about the people who line your pockets?” You demand softly, raising a brow, Satoru watches now as you proceed to wreck them.

He watches you debate them, raising each of them this point and that, and watches them all falter under a pretty little thing like you, usually soft spoken and sweet, but you have no problem decimating a room of them like it’s nothing. You smile so pretty at them all, bat your lashes and they land argument after argument, bouncing off what Gojo says.

Gojo is chuckling after about twenty minutes, as they seem to really think he couldn’t fuck them all if he felt like it. “What you’re forgetting, is I’m the highest up there is here.”

“Your father-”

“My father trusts me to take over. Plain and simple, are there going to be any problems? Millions not enough for you all, need golden toilets for your asses?” You barely hold in the snort of laughter, eyes bright as you watch him continue to disgruntle the room, until they finally let up.

Naoya walks up to you, eyeing you up and down as Satoru is talking to Yaga, who seems to be one of the more laid back of them all, his hands in his pockets, light brown eyes lit up. You tense at his gaze, feeling it like a slimy, disgusting touch, making you almost sick. You’re trembling as his eyes dissect you.

“Conveniently, he gets a bride the moment everyone pushes him.” He says with a nasty smirk, brushing a tendril of your hair back. “Don’t buy it.”

“Well, we’ve been in love forever, I assure you.” You say quietly, he hums to himself, when Mei walks over, and damn this woman just saunters, truly, hands on her curved hips.

“It’s so odd indeed, out of a list of so many eligible ladies. Was it true love, I wonder?” She taps her chin curiously, Satoru sees you then, coming by your side immediately, and arm around your waist.

Is he being a protective best friend or…

More.

Is this all just for show, as he pulls you to his side so possessively, making your pulse race, your body reacting as you look up at his face, and he’s scowling at the both of them. “Everything alright, sweets?”

“Yes, they were wishing us the best, weren’t you both?” You say, earning Naoya’s glare and Mei’s smirk.

“Indeed we were, we’ll see you at the auction I imagine?” Mei says, eyeing Satoru now.

“We’ll be there, of course. But for now, hmm…” He tilts your chin up, kissing you in a room full of people who want to hurt him, and hurt you, a protectiveness he’s always had for you becoming so intense it’s hard for him to function, he’d literally take down anyone and everyone that would dare say one thing to you even.

Your lips are sweet, so sweet, as you lean up and kiss him, wrapping an arm around his waist, and that same electricity sparks, even with all their seedy eyes on the two of you. He pulls back, looking at your lips, as you look into his eyes, already dilated and dark, when he clears his throat, smirking up at the shocked gazes.

“Are we all done here?” He asks, and then proceeds to take you out of that room, you finally catch a breath in the elevator, and Satoru grins at you, cupping your face with his big hands, bending down.

“Holy shit.” You murmur, earning his chuckle.

“You were amazing! How dumb am I telling you - look pretty and let me talk- shit I think it was the opposite?”

“No way…”

“Yes way. That was sexy.” He hums, you’re both giggling a bit, but you’re close, too close, and his thumb is brushing your lower lip, sending desire straight through to your tummy.

“I thought you were mad at me.” You whisper then, earning his smile turning down at the corners, his eyes a little distant and hazy.

“I could never be.”

The elevator doors open, the two of you walk out of the sliding glass doors of the enormous building, and you are trying not to touch the lips he just had, trying not to think of just how good they felt. The driver pulls up and you get into the car, Satoru slides in next to you, far too close, you inhale his cologne, you still taste him on your lips, like torture.

“I’m not mad at you.” He says again, you blink a bit, taking a breath, before looking up at him as the car drives onto the highway, gently moving underneath you both.

“You turned down movies for days. You won’t eat dinner with me. I get you’re busy, I really do, but I enjoy it, spending time. I’m… lonely without you? I know that sounds so silly, I’m sorry. Shit.” You cover your face, hating the pathetic words spilling from your lips. “You’re probably sick of all this time, even as a best friend.”

That’s not it.

God that’s not it.

It’s just when he’s next to you all he can think of is fucking you, or making you cum all over his mouth, his fingers. He can’t stand how good you smell, how good you feel, he melts over your pretty smiles and giggles, he can’t stand how deeply he is starting to feel. The three times you all have kissed for publicity it took everything in him not to drag you home.

How does he just shut it off, the ability to kiss you when he wants? And now you’re lonely, you’re hurting, not even able to look at him when he gently pulls down your hands by your wrists. “Look at me.” He murmurs softly.

You do then, and he sees it, tears swimming. “Sorry I’m too emotional.” You whisper then, embarrassed.

“No, I’m being an ass.”

You let out a little laugh. “No, Satoru just distant, and I didn’t know if I fucked something up, the day in your office?”

“No, no. Please, I swear it’s not that… I’ve been in my head.” He mutters, unable to express it truly.

“I get it, you have a lot going on. I want to be here for you.”

“You are.” He’s brushing your hair back softly, leaning down, resting his head against yours, it’s too intimate then, the words on the tip of your tongue, that you feel more than you should, but you try to swallow them. “You’re amazing, you made them all look so stupid.”

“No…”

“Yes. You surprised me, I never have seen you like that.”

“Sexy, you said hmm.” You tease, but he’s serious then, as your breaths mingle, and he’s leaning even closer, wreaking havoc on your every sense.

“God yes, you’re sexy like that.”

“Satoru… it’s too much.” You whisper, as his hand rests on your thigh, and he feels it, how hot you are, earning his eyes shutting, trying to not let it affect him and failing. “I haven’t… I’m really…”

“Been a while, sweetheart?”

“Oh fuck you.” You don’t move his hand when he slips it up higher, in fact your thighs spread just a bit, his little moan making more wetness start to drool from your aching pussy.

“I take up all your time, you can’t date, why not let me take care of you?” He acts as if he can handle anyone ever touching you, the thought alone makes him feral, want to fucking claim you as his own, to devour you senseless. He tries to be teasing, casual, watching your breath catch, your pupils dilate.

“Wh-what!?” Your lips part, and his desperate blue gaze is so intense it’s hard to look at.

“Let me make you cum, sweetheart, hmm? It’s the least I can do, I’m taking up all of you, I am sure it’s been a bit.” You gulp nervously. “You’re not a…”

“No, no, not a virgin Toru, just I didn’t like it.” You admit softly.

“At all?” He whispers, frowning just a bit, before he feels your inner thigh with his thumb, finding you hot and sticky, making you gasp. “Who sucked that bad?”

“You don’t know him. But I didn’t like getting…”

“Fingered?”

“That, not at all, um the times it happened were uncomfortable. So don’t try, it won't work.” Satoru laughs then softly, shaking his head.

“I’ve never had that problem. And I would never hurt you.” His words are serious then, you gulp nervously.

“I know you wouldn’t. But it’s intimate, and it’s not for show.” Your hand clutches his blazer now, thick material in your palm when he finally touches you over your panties, making you cry out at the contact, his cock throbs in response.

“Let me just take care of you, make you feel s’good, hmm? Don’t think too much about it, just feel.” He presses kisses down the side of your neck, your free hand wraps the back of his neck, brushing over his undercut, the soft hair under your fingers like silk, when he presses his fingers over your clothed clit. “You like that, pretty?”

“Y-yes.” You manage, his lips kiss and then suck at the base of your throat, when his finger slips under your panties, finding you bare, soaked, your cry is louder, when he finds your engorged little clit, feels you slippery against his long fingers.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” He huffs, free hand slipping up the side of your breast while he rolls his finger in little circles, and your hips jerk, your head falling back. “She’s begging f’me to put one in.”

“You c-can try, but- ah!” Satoru sinks a long finger in you, pressing up, and you’re blinded when he finds your spot so effortlessly, leaning back to look down at your face, as it scrunches up in pleasure. “Ngh!”

“There it is, some loser couldn’t find it hmm? I’ve got you, don’t worry.” He’s pressing up again and again, the spongy spot in your gummy walls, gripping him so fucking tight. You hear it, the lewd sound of your squishing cunt, your eyes rolling back in your skull as he works you. “Let go, trust me.”

“It’s too much I… T-Toru…” You whisper his name, while moaning, your mouth open in this perfect O, it makes him leak precum, sticking to his boxers as your thighs spread for him, as you trust him, your eyes lidded. “More.”

“More?” He repeats, speechless for a moment as you’re leaning forward, your lips just a breath away.

“Please, it’s s’good Toru.” Your little plea destroys the last fighting brain cell he has, he’s slipping one more in you, making you pulse around the thick invasion, curling them up and sinking them inside you, to the knuckle, while you moan against his lips. “F-fuck… oh my god what…”

“That’s it, fuckin’ feel her, grippin’ me.” He’s fucking his fingers into you, wishing they were his cock, and you’re soaking his hand, your cunt drooling when he shoves them in deep, thumb pression on your clit, making you shatter. “There you go, sweetheart, that’s it, s’pretty like this.”

You’re cumming all over your best friend/fake husband’s talented fingers, nearly crying at how good the release feels, pulsing all around him, hands clinging to his jacket, hopelessly wrinkling the material, all while he watches you. Your mind goes blank, pleasure is the only thing you can focus on, as he eases his strokes, and you both are panting in the quiet car.

Satoru eases his fingers out, putting them to his lips and sucking now, moaning when he tastes you, and your mouth drops in shock. “T-Toru…”

“Fuck.” He’s kissing you then, your slick all over his lips as he presses your back against the seat, and your thighs shake, sensitive from cumming so hard, you can barely focus on anything but your throbbing pussy.

“Please.” You whisper again, as he yanks his cock out, right in the back of the car, and you reach down, stroking it, his eyes shut as he whimpers, Satoru Gojo whimpers, over you touching his pretty pink tip, swirling that precum.

“Wanna taste you first.” He huffs, kissing down your throat when the car comes to a halt, yanking at your dress, pressing hungry kisses on your breasts.

“What are we… Toru what’re we d-doing, fuck!” You’re whining out when he’s biting at your nipple over your bra, your hands yank on his hair, hips arching, feeling his length on your inner thigh.

“M’gonna-”

“Mr. Gojo, we’re here.” His driver infuriates him now, Satoru leans up, breaths heavy as he’s leaned over you, looking at your already fucked out eyes.

“We almost… we… y-you…” You are stuttering, suddenly so nervous, so overwhelmed. “Is this just you helping me out? Is it-”

“Mr. Gojo-”

“Ijichi, I’ll fucking kill you.” He mutters angrily, quieting his driver quickly, as he adjusts himself and then you, and you’re sitting up, blushing as he fixes your panties, fingers covered still in your slick. He sucks them again further making your tummy flutter, tighten, your heart pounding out of your chest. “God you taste yummy, the fuck, how does someone taste this good.”

“You tasted me? Twice!?” He smirks now, easing you to sit, tilting up your chin now.

“Not fully.”

“Fully!? Is this what friends do?”

“Well I sure don’t want you doing this with anyone else.” He glares now, jaw locking, making you gasp.

“What now?”

“No one else can do that to you.” His lips gently kiss yours, you taste yourself on them again, but you shove at him now, glaring.

“What do you even mean, no one else? You think you have some freakish claim on me now?”

“I know you came so hard you soaked my fucking backseats, hmm?” He whispers, you roll your eyes now, eagerly getting out of the car.

“You’re insane, Satoru.”

“You clearly like it.” You scoff, body shaking, legs literally wobbly, you try to ignore them as you stride up to the front of Satoru’s fancy doors, and walk in quickly, as he follows you with long strides, calling your name.

“That was fingering as a friend!?”

“No… it was…” He wants to say it then, you’re literally his fucking wife, even if it’s pretend, he can’t think of anything he wants more than you, to be inside you.

“Almost fucked me as a friend? Satoru, I can't do that.”

“I know, I didn’t… I just…” You’re turning away, if you look into those blue eyes too long you won’t be able to breathe, to exist, every inch of your body dying for more. “You loved it.”

You scowl as he smirks. “You’re a conceited little shit, just like when we met! Swear to god.”

“You’re still shaking.” He says, eyes raking over you, you gasp.

“You know what? Fuck you.”

“If you want to, say the word.” He murmurs, leaning against your doorway, and you roll your eyes.

“No way, I’m going to bed early. Good night.” You shut the door right in his face, sliding down it, head in your hands.

What the heck even was that.

Five weeks of being ‘fake married’ to your best friend, Satoru Gojo

Satoru and you were barely talking this entire week, you’re so furious with his cocky, conceited attitude, and the fact that he’s entirely right. Nothing felt that good, no one felt like just his fingers had, how he found you, how he looked at you. Now for the past week every night you’ve done the one thing you said you wouldn’t do.

Touch yourself to the memory.

You’re rolling your fingers on your clit, whining his name in a breathy whisper the morning of the charity auction, covering your mouth with your free hand as you realize that you’ve done it, that you’ve said his name, all while cumming all over your little fingers, which don’t even come close to his, lengthy and thick, the rough pads of his thumbs.

And you could fuck him, you know you could, but you also know what it will mean, there is no friends after that, kissing alone has made things impossible for you both. And Satoru is doing the most amazing things, you’re so proud of him already, and don’t ever want to lose him. But now he’s in your head, making you absolutely insane with want, with need, with desire.

Now you can’t even think of him without picturing his cheeks hollowing as he sucked your wetness off, picturing his head between your thighs, things you shouldn’t, and it’s like he knows. He smirks at you just so, lazy lidded eyes draping down your frame every morning, every night, making sure to constantly have a hand on you in public.

He was making you lose it, and he knew it.

Your stupid little fingers can’t do shit, in fact they frustrate you more, but it’d be a cold day in hell before you ask him for any help. In fact you realize the game he plays when he walks around in his boxers, when he does push ups in the middle of the living room with one arm, like he’s showing off, smirking when he catches you watching him, in your moments of weakness.

It would be so easy to fall into his bed, but to think of ruining your friendship terrified you, to think of the feelings you know would be unleashed like some fucking flood gate was too much. You never have been able to be casual, you’re not even interested in someone without feelings, and you’re slowly realizing that those feelings when you were younger never went away.

They’re just more intense now, living with him, with this unspoken tension in the air, every breath you take you can practically taste him, every time you watch his fingers slipping around the rim of his cup you remember them in you. As you see the clear bulge in his boxers you remember touching him, remember wanting to taste that precum on his tip.

The worst part is he looks so knowingly at you, so sure you’d probably beg for him, you’re sure many, many women do. But despite knowing Satoru to be a bit of a ladies man, you’ve not seen a single one here since you’ve lived here, not seen him go on a single date. You’re not sure if you could handle it, despite acting so very nonchalant about it.

But you have no claim over him, this was just convenience, every bit of the arrangement. Your new car, no more debt, helping Satoru do what he needed to, you all are a perfect team even with the added tension of your pussy constantly throbbing around said best friend. Surely it wasn’t worth ruining, complicating, just to feel that pleasure he brings.

As you’re putting the finishing touches on your makeup, you nervously step out of the room, into Gojo’s spacious foyer, where he’s turned around, a dark blue suit adorning his body like a glove. He hears your heels click on the marble floor below and turns, his lips parting as he studies you.

The red dress hugs every line and curve of your pretty body, the bold shade making your skin pop so pretty, it looks so smooth he aches to caress you, every bit of you. You are biting your lower lip nervously, looking up at him from across the room as you stand there, looking so beautiful his pulse races.

This week has been torture for Satoru, he wants to tell you then, that he feels so much more than he even knows how to convey, that it wasn’t just ‘getting a friend off’ it was such a joke, he can’t even understand how you believe that. He can’t get the sweetness of your pussy off his goddamn mind, he’d do just about anything to taste it again.

He’s even eyed your panties in the hamper. He's so pathetic and desperate for you, but he’s tried to keep some semblance of composure, to act unbothered, so scared to ruin your relationship. He knows how much you sacrificed just coming here, sure he’s helping you, but you uprooted everything, you acted perfect at every function, you stood up for him at every meeting.

You are the perfect wife.

Pretend wife.

Pretend, pretend, pretend.

He keeps repeating it like a mantra in his head, brushing off the moment in the back of the car as maybe you just needed to cum, maybe it was just that for you, but something about how your eyes met his, has him desperately pumping his cock, hearing your soft whimpers at night. He knows you’re touching yourself, he wishes he could see it, watch it, take over.

Instead he’s stuck endlessly jerking it to his best friend/fake wife, ignoring any girl that even texts him because they just aren’t you. They could care less he’s ‘married’ everyone just wants a piece of him, everyone but you. You just are there for him, with him, by his side, you’d have done this for nothing in return. You’re becoming everything to him so fast it’s terrifying.

The magnification of feelings he’s had for you over so many years is overwhelming, being near you, smelling your sweet scent, hearing you hum as you cook with your earbuds in, your nervous habits. How you twirl your hair, how you tilt your head, how you tremble just a bit when he holds you for the cameras, how you sigh sweetly as he kisses you for show.

You can’t fake that, he knows you’re affected too.

But he doesn’t know if it’s what he feels for you.

He’s stammering like a teenager at prom, but prom pales in comparison to seeing you now, how the diamonds glitter off your neck and delicate wrists, how he can picture fucking you with just that on. Your cheeks are decorated with that pretty color as you handle his wordless scrutiny, teeth releasing your lip when he comes closer, he brushes a thumb across the indentations left.

You gasp, eyes shooting up to his, as the electric current of his touch rocks through you. “You always bite it, stop. Gonna hurt it.” He says, voice husky, eyes hungry as he looms over you in the quiet, elegant room.

“Do I always?” You whisper, and he nods, brushing his thumb over it again, as if to soothe it.

“Mmhmm, gonna cut up such pretty lips.” His voice drops another octave as one of your hand grips his wrist, and you ache for him to kiss you, to press you against one of these cream colored walls and pound into you.

Stop that!?

You clear your throat, taking a breath and then plastering on a little smile. “You look handsome tonight, blue is your color.”

“Red is yours, clearly.” He brushes a bit of hair back off your bare shoulders, two fingers gently running down the strap, watching the network of goosebumps spread, your heart is racing at the contact. Your urge to yank him by his skinny black tie and slam his lips to yours tempts you to no end.

“Thank you for this dress, and the jewelry. Stop getting me more.” Your little glare just makes him grin.

“At the auction you can get whatever you want, so you know.”

“No way, it’ll all be overpriced.”

“It’s charity, baby. Hmm, should we practice kissing more?” He asks, and you smack his hand away, glaring as he chuckles.

“We’ve had lots of practice, let’s go.”

You all are arm in arm as the cameras flash so brightly later that night when you both step out of the car, so much so they hurt your head, but you hold onto Gojo’s arm, as he guides you through, grinning and answering every question effortlessly. “Why the shades at night, Mr. Gojo?”

“Your bright ass cameras hurt my pretty baby blues.” He teases with a pout, earning the laughter there.

“And what’s this talk of major changes in the Gojo corporation?” Another reporter asks, Satoru chuckles then.

“Ah, well these old geezers needed some revamping is all. Right, pookie?” He asks you, and you smile up at him, then at the cameras.

“Satoru knows what’s best for the company and his employees, his changes are going to only make everyone more profitable.” Satoru watches you answer their questions left and right, enamored more and more by you.

“Are you trying for a baby, Mrs. Gojo?” Someone asks then, and you heat up at the question, at the image that flashes in your head.

Gojo breeding you.

So vivid you feel like you’re there, him murmuring a ‘let me fill you, sweetheart, have you so full of my babies’ and pumping over you. You almost faint it’s so real, and you have no clue what has come over you. You don’t think like that!? You’ve never done shit like that… you…

“We’re enjoying each other a lot right now, but it’ll happen I’m sure, when we’re ready. We’re a little consumed with each other.” Satoru answers now, breaking through the pounding of your heart in your ears, you look up at him, lips parted, as he completely saves you, you’ve frozen on the spot. “Right sweetheart?”

“Right.” You clear your throat, shaking your head then. “We are very much in love, and enjoying our alone time, but we’d both love a baby.” You say, and you hate how real it is.

He hates how he can picture you now, full mating press, as he fucks one load of cum into your pussy, and then another, watching it all pool out. Fuck he’d watch your tummy get so full of him. The thoughts of getting you pregnant make him feral then, he can hardly stand there as he just stares at you, and you at him.

You don’t get your best friend/fake wife pregnant.

Do you?

The auction continues, fancy and expensive items for filthy rich people, Gojo detests it more than even you do, though you’d never know with how he plays the room. You see Mei and Naoya again, laughing about something in this creepy way that makes you shiver. When Gojo is mingling while you're having a seat, you see a pretty brunette girl talking to him closely.

Why does it make you feel so sick to see him, you don’t know. You’ve watched him date, and he’s watched you, but something about living with him, about this enormous glinting rock on your finger really messes with you. His grin glinting under glittering chandeliers of this enormous auction room, another woman coming up, surely he runs in their circles.

You try not to focus on that, it’s not as if you have given Gojo a hint that you want more, and do you? Do you want to cross that line? If something doesn’t work, it’s not a fight between friends, it’s the end of everything, and isn’t having Gojo with you somewhat better than not at all?

“You look like you hate this, huh doll?” You hear then, looking up to see a dark haired man, grinning down at you, he’s handsome in a rugged way, not pretty like Satoru, but something appealing. A scar on his lip as he chuckles, gesturing around you both. “Bunch of rich assholes, huh?”

“Shh!” You giggle though, looking around, nodding.

“Knew it.”

“So what’re you doing here?” You ask quietly, he grimaces, running a hand through inky locks.

“Got a fuckin job to do, what about you?” You gesture to Satoru then, who’s glaring right at you both.

“I’m married to Gojo.”

“Ah shit, I’m too late.” You blush a bit at the attention, Satoru has a girl who’s far too close, whispering in his ear, her hand on his shoulder, making you sick.

“Hmm.” Is all you manage, looking back up at the man. “What is your name?”

“Toji Zenin. Yeah, I know, the name… but fuck them.”

“You are different.” You murmur softly, tilting your head to the side, he brushes his fingers then across your thigh subtly, your jaw clenches a bit.

“If I was with you I sure wouldn’t be over there with snobby bitches.” He says, and you don’t like it then, the jealousy in your heart as Gojo walks up suddenly, clearing his throat.

“Zenin.” He mutters, and he grins up at Gojo.

“Talking to your wife, Gojo, keeping her company y’know? Shouldn’t leave such a pretty thing so lonely.”

“You’re. In. My. Seat.” Satoru mutters, teeth clenched together, and Toji laughs with ease, taking your hand, planting a kiss on the back of it with a wink.

“See ya around, doll.” He says, patting Gojo on the shoulder, and Satoru wants to rip his fucking arm off then, as he glares down at you, sitting in the seat, but you cross your arms, looking away.

“Did he touch you?” He demands quietly, you frown then.

“He was nice, I mean he-”

“Nice!? Looked like he wanted to eat you.”

“What do you care, looks like they were all over you. Oh look, they miss you, go say hi.” You say, as three girls giggle and point over at Satoru, his blue eyes narrow, leaning over you then, cupping your face with his hand.

“Think I wanted to be bombarded by flirty ass drunk women?”

“I don’t know!”

“Do you care if I do?”

“No! What do you care about me then?” You demand, whispering amongst the loud crowd of auctioneers, as they start lining pieces up for sale.

“Because he… you…” Satoru trails off, mouth opening and closing. “You are my wife right now, you know.”

“Fake wife.” You correct, seeing a vein throb in his temple.

“It doesn’t matter, how does it look when-”

“That’s what you care about, appearances? Don’t worry, I won’t ruin your precious appearance any.” You whisper, as the crowd settles, and a brilliant sapphire necklace is now on display.

“You act like you don’t care at all, I saw you.”

“So what!?”

“So why don’t you just tell me how -”

“Ten thousand, do I hear…”

“Shh.” You scowl at him, as he scowls back at you. “Maybe you should go sit with your girlfriends.”

He laughs softly, without humor. “You’re jealous.”

“Nope, you’ve always been that way. What’s surprising is not having seen a girl at the house.”

“You think I want-”

“Twenty Thousand, going once, going…”

“Want someone more your speed? Sure, I know this is just convenience, I'm not stupid.” You say, he scowls even deeper, his hand suddenly on your thigh in the darkened room, making your heart pound as it squeezes bruisingly.

“I’ll not have anyone touch you.” His words make no sense, they don’t even compute in your brain then.

“What do you care, hmm? If I did. If I was discrete. Remember?” You ask, bitingly and full of shit, and you watch the hurt in his eyes, hating yourself for a moment before his eyes turn insane, dilating until they’re almost black.

“You wanna fuck him, huh?” He demands, you scoff, shaking your head.

“You’re stupid, Satoru.”

“Me stupid!?”

“If you think that I want anyone but…” You pause then, gulping as people are starting to look, hearing your hushed arguments then, and you stand angrily, stomping off until you hit the bathroom, splashing water on your neck, trying to pull yourself together.

You almost said it.

You’ll never want anyone but Satoru, your best friend, and you never have, fuck you probably never will, and it’s terrifying you. When the door shuts and he’s there, chest heaving, you turn away, tears pricking your eyes. “Just go away, fuck it’s the ladies room.”

“You’re mad at me for talking to women at an event?”

“You’re mad at me for talking to someone at an event?”

Yes, fuck yes he’s furious that man got near you.

That maybe you’d want someone else, more than him.

He steps closer, hands on your shoulders now. ““You gonna be mad when I fuck someone in my room, huh?”

You freeze, turning and glaring up at him then. “I hear you jerk off every night, so what’s the difference?”

Satoru looms even closer, you feel his breath hit your lips, making your tummy clench at the thoughts of him. “And I hear you moan as you play with your little clit, ya frustrated your tiny fingers don’t hit?”

“Oh fuck you!” You turn now, shoving at him, chest heaving, but he pulls you to him, pressing you against the bathroom counter, glittering and ridiculously opulent, hands shaking when they’re on your waist.

“You should just ask for help, sounds like you can’t cum.” Satoru whispers, earning a smack on the face that makes him smirk.

“Maybe you should ask me, how many times do you need to jerk off a night, huh Toru?” Satoru’s laughing then, insanity, his cheek decorated with red from your little hand print.

“At least I make myself cum.”

“Fuck you, I’m over this. I’ll take the opposite side of the house, won’t have to hear your moans.”

“Good, won’t hear your pathetic whimpers.”

“Good!”

“Good!” You both stand there, him bent over, barring you with his arms. “Admit it, you’re jealous.”

“Nope, just annoyed with you. Over you, Mr. never has on a fucking shirt!”

“Good, I’m done, Miss walks around in slutty panties!”

“Ugh!” You shove at him again, until he’s slamming his lips on yours, and then you’re lifted like you’re nothing, when his tongue slips in your mouth, and you’re clinging to him eagerly, as he sits you on the sink, hungrily shoving up your red dress. “You’re gonna rip it, shit!”

“I’ll buy you twenty more, just shut up.” You go to retort when he’s kissing you again, deeper now, and you’re crying out right in a bathroom, knowing anyone could walk in, only serving to make your cunt dripping wet, when he finds it he moans, pulling back and staring at you. “Why are you so beautiful?”

You can’t speak then, you’re lost in him, in his blue eyes and his pink lips, in his big hands all over you, his whispering words crushing any resolve you try to have. You lose all reason then, as your head falls back as he kisses up your throat, and you’re gushing down his fingers, remembering their shape and feel as they tease your entrance.

“Please, Satoru…”

“Why are you so sweet now, huh? Where’s your attitude?” He murmurs, but you’re arching up, whining as he stares at you so hungry. “Should fuck that attitude out of you.”

“Please…” You whisper again, when Satoru bends down, his head between your thighs, and stares right at your glittering pussy.

“Oh my god, she’s s’fuckin pretty…” He murmurs then, licking a stripe up your slit that has you crying out into your hand, thighs shaking as he groans at finally being able to taste you. “S’yummy mmm…”

“Toru…what’re you-ah!” You’re covering your mouth again as he laps at your cunt, his nose bumping your sensitive clit, and you’re dripping down his face, hand finding purchase in his silken white hair, gripping it.

“Gonna lick this attitude out of you.” He whispers, as your sweet nectar pours down his mouth, his hands spreading your plump lips, fucking you with his tongue then, your head smacks the wall, nearly sobbing it feels so good. “No one’s licked it, have they, baby?” You shake your head. “Good, s’all mine, huh?”

“All… y-you… Toru what are- mnh!” He’s yanking you to him by your hips, devouring you now, unlike anything you’ve ever felt, having you close so fast it’s embarrassing, tongue dancing and delving between your folds, drinking you up loud and wanton in this bathroom.

“F-fuck….” He’s achingly hard now, cock throbbing, tip of his tongue circling your little clit as he spreads you wide, looking at your perfect pretty pussy.

“You’re just… looking at it…” You manage to whisper, and he’s chuckling now, leaning over you, sinking two fingers inside, making your eyes roll back, so sensitive you’re about to cum right then and there. “Imagining it dripping out cum, sweetheart, that’s all.”

Your brain short circuits. “With cum!?”

“Mmm.” He’s not using words anymore, not when he’s picking you up, planting your heeled feet back on the bathroom floor, turning you to face the mirror. He’s lifting that dress up higher and bending down, pressing against you, finally he’s lost it, so drunk off your pussy, he can’t take it anymore.

“Satoru, you’re insane, what are you…”His cock springs out, heavy and aching with need, as he bends you over, one hand on his cock, the other, wrapping your pretty little throat, as your eyes catch his in the mirror, glassy and dilated.

“Next time he or anyone talks to you, it’ll be with my cum dripping out of your pretty little pussy.”

Final Part

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#gojo x reader #jjk smut #gojo smut #jjk x reader #satoru x reader #divider by cafekitsune #satoru gojo x female reader #gojo x female reader #gojo x f!reader #jujustu kaisen #gojo satoru #satoru smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x yn

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buckysleftbicep · 10 days ago

Text

soft hands, heavy heart 𐙚 b.b

pairing: inexperienced!new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, soft smut, praise kink (sorta), slow first time, unprotected sex, creampie, a tinge of angst if you squint, the fluff makes up for it

summary: bucky wants you, but he just doesn’t know how to let himself have you. but you’ll spend every second showing him how it feels to be wanted.

word count: 4.5k

author's note: hi my sweethearts! i'd like to think that after bucky returns, he would need a lot of reassurance and tlc, especially after all he has went through. i feel that he would love to be guided and to know he is loved. so i hope this fic encapsulates that 💌 love ya guys and stay safe out there! requests are open!

so in love with soft!bucky

It starts with his hands. Or rather, what they don’t do.

They hold yours when you’re walking down quiet halls in the compound, fingers interlocked, the brush of calloused skin a comfort more than anything else.

They linger at the small of your back when no one’s looking—firm, steady, grounding you when the world gets too loud.

They cradle your face when you’re scared, trembling, coming down from the edge of something violent. Missions gone wrong, intel turned sour, blood on your skin. In those moments, his hands are everything you ever needed. Steady and safe.

But when your lips are on his?

When your body presses into his in the quiet dark of your shared bedroom, heat blooming between the both of you like something long-restrained finally breaking free?

That’s when they stop.

Always. Just… stop.

Bucky, your boyfriend, your partner, the man who has grown to be your person. He kisses you like he’s starving, like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world, but somehow, he never touches you when it matters most.

And it’s not like you haven’t tried. You have, god you tried.

More than once, lying against his chest at night, your fingers ghosting beneath the hem of his shirt, tracing the hard lines of his abdomen. Kissing along the sharp cut of his jaw, whispering how much you want him. How much you need him.

Each time, his breath hitches, his body goes rigid. Then, slowly, carefully, almost apologetically, he pulls away from your touch.

Not with disgust, not with rejection. There’s no coldness in the way he moves. No sharp recoil.

But there is something worse that you have come to realise. Fear.

The first time it happened, you brushed it off.

He’d had a long day. The mission briefing with Val had been rough, all sharp orders, bad intel, and barely contained frustration within the team, Walker had quite literally stormed out of the meeting room.

Bucky had come back tense, shoulders tight, jaw set, that look in his eyes that meant he was still somewhere else. Still halfway in a fight.

So when you leaned in that night, pressing soft kisses under his jaw, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, and he stilled beneath you, gently shifting away with a quiet murmur of your name, you let it go.

You curled into his side instead. Told yourself he was tired. Told yourself you were tired too. You ran your fingers lightly along his arm until his breathing evened out, steady and slow.

And when sleep finally took him, you whispered a kiss to his shoulder and closed your eyes, thinking, hoping, maybe next time.

The second time, you wondered.

It was a few nights later. He wasn’t tense then, he wasn’t distracted or moody or freshly back from some dark place.. He was relaxed, even, the kind of rare, quiet ease you didn’t always get from him.

You both had laughed over dinner, some home cooked lasagna you had whipped up after finding the recipe online. You had teased him until he smiled into his fork and shook his head, muttering about how much trouble you were.

He’d watched you like he always did, like you hung the moon and the stars, like he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this, to deserve you.

And when you kissed him that night, slow and lingering, your hands soft on his jaw, you felt that same warmth in him. The way he kissed you back, like he meant it.

So you tried again. Slid your hand beneath his shirt, fingers brushing the firm lines of his stomach.

He flinched. Not much. But enough.

And then, just like the first time, he shifted away. Pressed a kiss to your forehead and murmured, “Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

You froze. Pulled your hand back like you had touched something sharp.

And then you nodded, smiling just a little too quickly.

“Yeah. Okay.”

You turned onto your side, curled up with your back to him.

Tried your hardest to not let the sting behind your eyes show.

His arm came around you a few moments later, his chest pressed to your back like nothing had changed. Like everything was still okay.

You didn’t say a word.

But that night, long after you were sure he was asleep, your eyes stayed open. Staring at the shadowed wall. Wondering what it was about you that made him pull away.

The third time, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

It had been an easy day, all things considered. No missions. No debriefs. No emergencies. Just the two of you, and the rare kind of quiet that settled into the compound like a blanket.

You ate dinner in bed, greasy takeout balanced precariously on Bucky’s lap while some forgettable movie played low in the background.

You stole bites from his container; he rolled his eyes but let you. Laughed when you misquoted a line. Kissed your cheek. Brushed rice off your shirt with the softest smile.

And maybe that was what made it worse.

Because everything had felt right. Comfortable. Easy. The kind of night that warmed you from the inside out.

It was late when the movie finally dwindled into credits. You stacked the empty containers on the nightstand, slid back under the covers, and curled against his chest with a sigh. His arm came around you like it always did, instinctive, easy. Protective.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The glow of the screen lit the room in soft, flickering blue. Your legs were tangled with his. Your cheek rested against the cotton of his t-shirt. He felt steady beneath you. Safe.

So when you tilted your head up and kissed him, it wasn’t with expectation. It wasn’t about sex, or hunger, or even want.

It was soft. Familiar. The kind of kiss you gave someone when you were in love.

He kissed you back, of course he did. That part was never the problem. He always kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that could anchor him.

But the moment your hand slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, everything changed.

Just the pad of your fingers brushing lightly over his stomach. Just a touch.

And still, he tensed.

You felt it the way someone feels a tide turning, quiet, sure, inevitable.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t recoil. He just went still. Careful. Measured. One hand lifted to catch your wrist and gently moved it away from his skin, like it wasn’t a rejection. Like it didn’t mean something.

But it did.

He turned slightly, as if he meant to settle back into bed like nothing had happened. Like you could pretend this wasn’t the third time in a row.

But you didn’t follow.

Instead, you sat up slowly, drawing your knees to your chest, the sheet falling across your thighs. You stared at the far wall, lips pressed into a thin line, throat tight.

You heard the shift in his voice before he even finished asking.

“Hey,” he said softly, already sensing the change. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer right away.

The silence that followed wasn’t loud. It was thick. Still. The kind of quiet that feels like the moment before something breaks.

When you finally spoke, your voice came out low, shaky.

“Do you want me?”

He didn’t move.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. You kept your eyes on your hands, twisting your fingers in the blanket like it might keep the rest of you from unraveling.

“Because I want you,” you continued, quieter now. “And every time I try, you pull away. I know you care about me, I know you do, but I can’t help wondering if maybe I’m wrong about all of it.”

He went very, very still.

Then, “Stop.”

His voice was sharp, and the suddenness of it made you blink.

You turned, startled.

He was sitting up now, scrubbing a hand over his face. His jaw was tight. His shoulders tense. Like your words had opened something he hadn’t meant to expose.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “I didn’t mean to—just. I’m sorry. Don’t say that. Ever.”

You stared at him.

“Then talk to me,” you said softly. “Because it’s getting harder not to take it personally.”

He didn’t look at you.

His gaze dropped to the sheets. His fists were clenched in his lap. The vibranium hand trembled slightly. The other, human and scarred, looked like it was holding on to something invisible.

You sat beside him again. Close, but not touching.

Your voice was quiet. Measured, ounded, but not accusatory.

“You think I don’t see the way you look at me?” you asked. “Like you’re in love with me?”

You swallowed hard.

“Because you do. Every day.”

He still didn’t say anything.

“And then I touch you, and you freeze. Like I’ve crossed a line I didn’t know was there. Like I’ve done something wrong.”

There was something in your chest pulling tighter with every second of silence. Something raw and anxious and aching.

His hands stayed clenched.

You reached for him, carefully, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. The human one. His skin was warm. His pulse jumped beneath your touch.

“Bucky,” you whispered. “What is it? You can tell me.”

He exhaled. Rough. Uneven.

For a second, you thought he might deflect. That he might dodge this like he had before — with a soft kiss or a change of subject. But then he swallowed hard, eyes flicking to yours for just a moment before dropping again.

“I haven’t…” he started, then paused. Cleared his throat. “I haven’t done anything since before the war.”

The breath caught in your chest.

He laughed, but it wasn’t amused. It was hollow. Embarrassed.

“Not just sex,” he said. “Anything. After HYDRA… after everything. I didn’t—I couldn’t.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, visibly ashamed. Smaller, somehow. Like admitting it out loud took more from him than he’d expected.

“It’s been over eighty years.”

You didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched him.

“I know it doesn’t make sense,” he said, still not meeting your eyes. “You’re here, and you’re kind, and you’ve never pushed. But I get so far and then it’s like—like my body just shuts down. Like some part of me still thinks I’m not allowed to want things.”

Your heart twisted.

Not from pity. But from the weight of it. The quiet devastation he carried like a second skin.

Then, more quietly:

“You think I don’t want you?” His voice dropped. “Fuck, sweetheart. I want you so bad it hurts. Every night I lie here hard as a fucking rock just thinking about you.”

His jaw clenched. His eyes squeezed shut.

“But I’m—” He shook his head. “I’m scared.”

You moved then.

Not away. But forward.

You reach for his wrist again, let your fingers slide gently down to his hand. His pulse was racing. His breath shallow.

“Scared of what?” you asked, softer now.

He looked at you. Finally. Really looked. And what you saw in his eyes made your chest ache, something wide and raw and terrified.

“That I’ll disappoint you,” he said. “That I won’t know what I’m doing. That you’ll want someone who’s not stuck in the goddamn 40s when it comes to this stuff.”

Your face softened. A small, aching smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, even through the tightness in your chest.

“Bucky,” you whispered.

You climbed into his lap carefully, like you were afraid you’d spook him. You framed his face with your hands, your thumbs brushing along the curve of his cheekbones.

“You’re already everything I want and more,” you said, steady and sure. “But I need you to believe that.”

His breath hitched.

“And if you let me,” you continued, voice barely above a whisper now, “I’ll show you everything. I’ll go slow. I’ll take care of you.”

He didn’t answer right away.

His eyes searched yours. Guarded, hopeful. Terrified. Like part of him still thought this might not be real.

But then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

And when he did, something in you finally, quietly exhaled.

You don’t rush him.

After everything he’s said, every word laced with fear and heartbreak and hope, the last thing he needs is haste. Or pressure. Or you moving too fast for him to feel safe.

So you just breathe for a moment.

You stay in his lap, arms curled gently around his neck, your forehead resting against his. And you breathe.

His chest rises beneath yours, shaky and tight. His hands are still in his lap, fists curled like he doesn’t know what to do with them, like he doesn’t quite believe this is real, like one wrong move will send the whole thing crumbling to pieces.

So you start small.

You tilt your head and kiss the corner of his mouth. Once. Then again, slower this time, letting your lips linger against his skin.

His breath stutters. His lips part.

You kiss him properly next, slow, deep, but gentle, your mouth moving against his with no urgency, no push, just quiet devotion. Like he’s something sacred.

His hands twitch in his lap. He doesn’t lift them yet, but he doesn’t pull away either.

You murmur against his mouth, “Can I touch you?”

He swallows thickly. Nods.

You kiss him one more time, a promise, before you shift in his lap, your thighs bracketing his, and reach for the hem of his shirt.

The moment your fingers graze the fabric, he tenses.

You pause. You meet his eyes.

“I’ll stop any time you need me to,” you whisper, your voice soft but sure.

He holds your gaze. His throat bobs with a hard swallow. Then he nods again, slower this time. “I want you to.”

You offer a gentle smile. “Okay.”

You lift his shirt carefully, baring him inch by inch. You don’t rush. You kiss every strip of skin you uncover, the ridges of his ribs, the warm slope of his sternum, the sharp cut of his collarbone.

You take your time with it, as if mapping him out with your mouth, like you’re memorising every inch with intention.

When the shirt is high enough, he lifts his arms, stiffly, hesitantly and lets you pull it over his head. You toss it aside and look at him.

He’s bare from the waist up. All muscle and scar tissue, strength and survival. The room’s low light catches on the vibranium, glints over old wounds, highlights the long-healed lines across his chest and side.

You let your gaze roam.

He doesn’t meet your eyes. He looks away, jaw tight, breathing shallow.

You reach out, slow, deliberate, and place your palm against his chest. Right over his heart.

He flinches. Just a little. A twitch in his shoulder. A held breath.

But he doesn’t pull away. You lean in and kiss the skin just beside your hand.

“Is this okay?”

His voice is low and rough. “Yeah. Feels nice.”

You smile against his skin, then keep going.

Your mouth trails lower, painting a path down the plane of his chest. You kiss over his heart again, then rest your cheek there for a moment.

“Still beating,” you whisper, a soft marvel.

You feel it stutter beneath your lips.

Your hands slide lower, down his abdomen, his skin warm, twitching under your fingers. You follow the faint trail of hair that disappears beneath his waistband, fingertips brushing gently, not demanding. Just exploring.

He exhales shakily, stomach tensing, hips shifting just slightly.

“There’s not a single part of you I don’t want to touch,” you murmur, kissing along his ribs.

He turns his face, like he’s trying to hide, like the intimacy of your words is too much.

“Hey,” you say softly. You reach up, cupping his jaw, gently guiding his gaze back to yours. “Let me say it. Let me mean it.”

His lips part like he might argue, but he doesn’t.

You rest your forehead against his.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper. “So strong, You’ve been through hell and still came of it.”

His eyes flutter shut. His breath catches.

Your lips brush his softly, like reassurance. Then again.

And this time, when your hands slide down to the waistband of his sweats, he doesn’t flinch.

You look up at him. “Can I take these off?”

His voice is strained. “Yeah.”

You move slowly, tugging them down inch by inch, watching his face the entire time. He lifts his hips to help, barely, and you kiss the inside of his knee as you go. Then the other.

By the time you’ve got them off, he’s flushed all over, from his chest to his ears to the very tips of his fingers. And trembling.

His cock is hard and leaking, resting against his stomach. Big. Heavy. Throbbing.

He tries to close his legs out of instinct. Reflex.

But you shift forward between them and place your hands gently on the outside of his thighs.

“You’re doing so good,” you say softly. “Are you okay?”

His nod is jerky. “Just—don’t look too long.”

You blink. “Why not?”

He swallows hard. “’Cause you’ll know I don’t have a damn clue what I’m doing.”

You smile, warm, never mocking.

“Baby,” you say gently, “I already know.”

You lean in, kissing the inside of his thigh, slowly, gently..

“But it’s not a problem,” you murmur, lips brushing his skin again. “It’s a privilege.”

His head drops back, his fists clench the blanket. You trail your mouth up his thigh, closer and closer, and then wrap your fingers around the base of his cock.

He jerks under your touch, breath catching sharp in his throat.

“Fuck—” His hips twitch. His mouth opens, like he’s trying to say something and can’t find the words.

You stroke him once, slow, deliberate, and his entire body shudders.

He’s flushed dark at the tip, leaking already.

“Nobody’s ever…” he starts, but doesn’t finish.

You look up. “Ever?”

He nods, barely. “Not like this.”

You smile. “Good.”

You stroke again, firmer now, and his jaw clenches, breath ragged.

Your thumb brushes over the tip, collecting the slick, and he whines, high, desperate, like he’s trying to hold everything in and failing miserably.

You kiss just below the head and he moans, low and broken.

“Holy shit—sweetheart, I’m not gonna—fuck, I’m not gonna last—”

You press a kiss to his hip. “That’s okay. That’s why we’ll take our time.”

You climb back into his lap, hand still wrapped around him, your other resting at his cheek to keep him grounded. He looks dazed, overwhelmed, like he doesn’t know whether to hold you or fall apart in your arms.

“Can I ride you?” you whisper.

His hands shoot to your hips like a lifeline. “Please,” he breathes. “I want you to. So bad.”

You guide him to your entrance, your slick soaking him already, and ease down, slow, careful, inch by inch — until he’s fully seated inside you.

Bucky’s head drops back, a strangled moan caught in his throat.

“F-fuck, baby—” he gasps. “Too much. Feels too—”

You don’t move.

You stay still in his lap, your hands on his chest, letting him feel you. Letting his body adjust. Letting the moment settle between you like something holy.

“You okay?” you whisper.

He nods, frantic. “Yeah. I—just give me a second.”

You wait. When his eyes open again, they’re soaked with emotion. Glassy and bare.

“You okay?” you ask.

“I think you’re killing me,” he says hoarsely. “But I don’t wanna stop.”

You smile.

Then you start to move.

Slow, gentle, rocking your hips, letting him feel everything, every squeeze, every inch, every slow drag of your walls around him.

His mouth falls open. He moans your name like a prayer.

“Feels too good,” he pants. “I’m not—fuck, I’m not gonna—”

You lean in, your forehead pressed to his.

“Then don’t,” you whisper. And he does.

With a choked cry, he spills inside you, body tensing, arms wrapping tight around you, hips bucking helplessly. His hands shake against your back as his breath catches in your hair.

He clings to you like he would fall apart without you.

And even after it’s over, even after he’s finished, breathless and wrecked, he doesn’t let go.

He just holds you. And for the first time in years, he lets himself be held, too.

He’s still trembling.

You don’t move. You don’t shift or speak right away. You just stay where you are, wrapped around him, your body cradling his, the last aftershocks of his orgasm still echoing in the taut lines of his body.

His cock is still inside you, softening slowly. The stretch of him, the heat of him, the slick, overwhelming closeness of it all—it makes your heart ache in the gentlest way.

Your fingers stroke through his hair, trailing through the sweat-damp strands at the nape of his neck. Then down his spine. Slow, comforting passes, like you’re coaxing his body back into itself.

He clutches you tighter.

His arms are around your waist, strong and firm—not bruising, not panicked. But desperate. Like he’s afraid that if he lets go, this will all vanish. Like maybe none of this was real, and holding on to you is the only thing keeping him grounded.

You don’t pull away.

You let him hold you. Let him shake. Let his breath shudder against your neck while your hand keeps moving slowly down his back.

His face is buried against your throat, and when he finally speaks, it’s muffled—barely audible. Raw.

“I didn’t mean to finish so fast.”

Your heart breaks for him a little, even as your lips tilt into a soft smile.

You press a kiss to his temple—tender, grounding.

“I know.”

His voice is barely there. “I just—fuck, I couldn’t stop it. You felt so good. I couldn’t think."

You hum softly, stroking his hair again. “That’s kind of the point, baby.”

He lifts his head, just a little, pulling back enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are wide, glassy, dazed, those perfect cerulean eyes soft and unguarded, boyish, almost.

His cheeks are flushed. His hair’s a mess. His lips are kiss-swollen.

He looks completely ruined. Completely beautiful. Yours.

“But you didn’t—” he starts, then hesitates. His gaze drops. “You didn’t finish.”

You don’t stop smiling. There’s no hurt in it, no impatience, just quiet warmth.

“I wasn’t trying to,” you whisper, brushing his damp hair from his forehead. “Tonight was about you.”

His brows pull together, like he doesn’t quite know how to process that.

“That’s not fair,” he mumbles. “I want to make you feel good too.”

“You already do,” you murmur, your nose brushing his. “But if you really want to keep going…”

You pause deliberately, shifting your hips slightly.

Just enough for him to feel the movement, just enough to tease.

He gasps, high and sharp, his body jolting.

“…we can.”

His hands flex at your waist. His eyes flutter. His lips part like he’s trying to speak but can’t form a single thought.

“I’m still—,” he whispers, like it’s a warning. But there’s no hesitation in his tone. Only want.

“But I want it,” he adds. “I want you.”

You kiss him again, slow and deep, and begin to move. Barely. Just a gentle roll of your hips, enough to stir friction between your bodies again.

He moans into your mouth, soft and aching.

You rock slowly, dragging your walls against his still-sensitive cock. He twitches inside you, starting to thicken again already. It’s slow, but unmistakable.

“Okay?” you whisper.

He nods frantically, hands gripping your waist like he’s drowning in sensation. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Just—shit. I’ve never… I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

You smile against his jaw. “You wanna come again for me?”

His moan is barely a sound. His eyes flutter shut.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Fuck, yes. Please—”

You tighten your thighs and roll your hips again, drawing a sharp gasp from him.

“Such good manners,” you whisper, kissing his throat. “So sweet for me.”

Your hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with practiced ease. You start to circle, slow, wet, just enough pressure to build your own heat.

He watches you.

Like you’re made of stars, like he’s never seen anything so beautiful.

“Touch me,” you murmur. “Please, Bucky. I want your hands on me.”

It’s the only encouragement he needs.

His hands move slowly, softly, trembling, sliding up your sides, grazing your ribs, cupping your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, and you moan, arching into his touch.

The sound makes him groan, deep and wrecked.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. “So fuckin’ perfect, baby—can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

His voice breaks on the last word.

You’re slick around him now, your arousal mixing with the mess from earlier. Every slow rock of your hips has him thickening more, twitching inside you, inch by inch.

His thighs are shaking. His jaw clenches.

“Feels so good,” he whines. “I don’t wanna stop. Don’t wanna come yet. Wanna feel you forever.”

You ride him harder now, the heat in your belly rising faster.

“You feel that?” you gasp. “How close I am?”

His hands tighten on your hips. His breath turns ragged.

“Please—please come around me, sweetheart—need to feel it—need to feel you—”

You bury your face in his neck. And let go.

Your whole body seizes around him, a white-hot wave crashing through you, stealing your breath, your balance, your thoughts. Your moan is broken, helpless, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Your walls clamp down hard around him.

And that’s all it takes.

He thrusts up once. Then again. Deep, desperate. A cry tearing from his throat as he comes again, shaking, gasping, flooding you with warmth.

His arms wrap tight around you.

He holds you close. Close enough to feel your heartbeat thunder against his. Close enough that the tremors in your bodies blur together, indistinguishable.

This time, his grip is softer. Still strong, but different.

Not desperate. Tender.

His hand strokes up your spine. His lips press to your temple, then your hair, then your jaw. Like he can’t get close enough.

You stay there, wrapped around each other, skin to skin, breath mingled and unsteady and you don’t rush to move.

Not yet.

“Jesus,” he whispers eventually, voice raw. “What the fuck just happened?”

You laugh softly, breathless, dazed. “That was called good sex,.”

He groans into your neck. “That was more than good. That was—fuck. That was divine.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his hair.

You collapse gently against his chest, boneless and warm, and he doesn’t let go. His arms stay around you, wrapped like a shield, like a promise.

Neither of you move for a long time. There’s nothing left to prove. Nothing to say.

Just the slow hum of your heartbeats and the safe, sacred space you’ve made between the two of you.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Bucky feels wanted.

And safe. And home.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed it! if you did, drop a comment or a reblog! thank you my loves, your support means the world to me! <3333333

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qardenofeden · 3 months ago

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ushijima wakatoshi wasn’t a man of pda, you knew that much. it’s not that he shied away from it per se, he just... was taught to value modesty.

and that’s exactly how you got here, sitting across from him as dishes upon dishes were served on your table. steamers of xiao long bao were placed before you as he paused from eating his hot garlic ribs to thank your server.

“wakatoshi, you ordered too much... it’s only our first date as a couple,” you say, concern furrowing your brows as you looked at the table.

“that is precisely why i ordered a lot. plus, i just finished a match and i’m quite hungry. i hope you don’t mind,” he deadpans before adding a meek, “is it not to your liking?”

...well, as meek as one ushijima wakatoshi can be, anyway.

you two had just come from one of his matches and to no one’s surprise, shiratorizawa won yet again. as a reward, you offered to grab dinner with him at his favorite foreign restaurant, but you seemed to have forgotten a major key detail— wakatoshi was used to living in luxury. you’ve never even heard of this place before, that’s how fancy and niche it was.

“no, no. it’s fine! it’s your celebration, after all,” you reassure him, hoping he doesn’t take notice of your... mood.

“our celebration,” he corrects. brown eyes hold your gaze, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were in trouble. “you finally said yes to me after months of courtship. i apologize if my schedule has not allowed me to take you out on a proper date prior to this.”

was it getting hot in here? you feel like melting under his stare. why is he so naturally intimidating?

“it’s okay. i’ve been a little busy too with requirements and whatnot,” you shy away from his eyes and begin eating.

except... oh, you don’t like that.

the flavors are too much, and your mouth feels like it’s going to explode with how powerful the taste is. did you accidentally order from the spicy section?!

ushijima must have detected your slight internal panic, because he immediately asks, “is everything okay?”

you cough out, putting on a fake smile as you nod. “mhm, all good!”

“are you certain..? you look... flustered.”

god, there he was again. wakatoshi, you’re scaring me!! you mentally yell.

“...okay, i’ve never... been here before so i just ordered whatever i thought was the most basic option on the menu.” your eyes avoid his, feeling small before him. “sorry,” you feel like a loser. hopefully he doesn’t break up with you for this.

“ah. i wish you had said that sooner. i would have explained their food and helped you choose.”

wakatoshi eyes the table before wordlessly rearranging the sequence of the dishes. he takes your plate and moves the steamer of the xiao long baos in front of you, then gently places your original dish to the xlb’s previous spot. he takes off the lid and takes one dumpling for himself.

“these are soup dumplings. i picked your favorite meat, so you should have no problem eating them,” he bites his dumpling into half as the soup leaks out from the center and into his spoon. “see?”

you look at him, then down at the dumplings before taking one for yourself and mimicking his actions. “mmh...” you nod, “that’s actually pretty good.”

“do you mind if i eat your...”

you nod enthusiastically before he can even finish. “take it, take it. i love the dumplings. woah. can i have more?”

ushijima chuckles, his chest letting out guttural breaths as his lips curved into a smile. “of course. eat as much as you’d like.”

needless to say, you and wakatoshi will definitely be coming back. who knows, maybe it could even be the start of a tradition.

atsumu post-match &&& bokuto post-match

a/n: this is still post-match right... just not courtside-immediately-after-game post match. sry lol sigh ushijima what am i supposed to do w u my nonchalant king

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vrystalius · 5 months ago

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Weird petnames for the Squid Game men.

How will they react? What kind of petnames do they give you?

Pairing: Recruiter, Thanos, Nam-gyu, Dae-ho, Gi-hun, In-ho x fem!reader

Summary: You giving them (three) stupid petnames, them giving you three

Genre: Pure fluff!

Note: This was a request by anon but I totally forgot to include it in this post! I hope you see this, anon!!

(Here are some HCs for them as dads and some pregnancy HCs if you’re interested!)

Gong Yoo // The Recruiter // The Salesman

You — him -> Monopoly man.

This nickname came to be after having multiple arguments over how that smug man kept buying up all the streets on the Monopoly board game with money he seemingly pulled out of his ass. You firmly believe that he cheated, you can’t prove it though.

That’s why you started calling him Monopoly man from time to time, since he is such a god at the board game.

You — him -> Sugar daddy.

It’s on the nose and an easy way to fluster your husband, even if it’s briefly. He likes sponsoring your shopping trips and buy you whatever else you ask him to. He enjoys making you happy and prove to you that he can provide for you for the rest of your shared life and so you deem the petname Sugar daddy appropriate.

It makes him chuckle under his breath to conceal his flustered expression. His cheeks briefly turn red as he stumbles over his words, handing you another hefty sum of money to silence your teasing words. You could call it a bribery.

“Just take this and go darling.”

You — him -> Origami prince.

You keep catching him making Dakji in his free time for some reason, but if you’re lucky, you can find him fold up a family of swans or a small bouquet of differently coloured flowers. You don’t really get his obsession with that childhood game but you like to cuddle onto him and rest your legs over his lap while he makes you a bouquet of paper roses.

His fingers work quickly and smoothly without any mistakes. It’s kind of sexy to be honest.

Is it weird to get turned on by how he he folds paper? Everything that man does somehow becomes sexy.

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳༚

Him — you -> Jackpot.

He sees you as a jackpot, a one in a million chance. Your husband considers himself extremely lucky to having found someone special and perfect like you. He sometimes jokes about how all his luck was used on you and that winning the lottery is going to be impossible (which he always knew is basically impossible to win but anyways).

Him — you -> Little devil.

You mess with his heartstrings and cloud his judgement, for better or worse. Almost like a little devil.

You also cause him a lot of trouble when it comes to worrying about you and your safety, his heart racing when you don’t text him back immediately. Again, messing with his poor heart.

Him — you -> Cherry blossom.

He saw how beautifully the cherry trees blossom during spring in Japan while watching a documentary with you one evening. The petals are fragile, soft, a beautiful pink. You kind of remind him of those small petals.

Su-bong // Thanos // Player 230

You — him -> Thanosaurus-rex

Thanos totally loves that petname. It sounds badass, intimidating even, but to you it’s more of an endearing and cutesy petname. He is strong and is intelligent if he tries, but most of the time, he’s a mushy and soft mess in your arms as you work your magic fingers through his hair.

He thinks you find him super awesome after you called him that nickname, but you use that petname ironically.

“WOMAN, C‘MERE!! Your Thanosaurus wants a well-deserved kiss!!“

You — him -> Galactic snuggle monster

It’s an accurate description. His title, Thanos, was stolen from a galactic titan and your boyfriend happens to be very snuggly and cuddly. His favourite activity is to either bedrot in your arms or drag you out to a random gig he aquired.

He prefers to act as your blanket though and completely crush you under his body. In a pleasant way of course.

You — him -> Bing bong

Bing bong is the best way to use his goverment name without making him think he’s about to get scolded by his mother. Su-bong sounds so serious, almost foreign, but Bing bong sounds stupid and makes him grin a little.

You saved him in your contacts as Bing-bong and used to use it as a codeword to talk to your friends about your boyfriend without revealing who he is during the first few weeks of your relationship.

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳༚

Him — you -> Sprite.

Thanos was probably high the first time he called you that. He really, really craved a sprite while being on a call with you and you thought your boyfriend was calling you a soda. Your boyfriend liked the tone of it so he calls you his soda, Sprite, Spritey or Spriiiiiiiiiitttaaaaaaaaa.

Him — you -> Chili pepper.

He likes annoying and fucking with you just for the fun of it but acts all innocent after you show some slight annoyance. In response, Thanos calls you his spicy chili pepper which annoys you even more in return because he cannot take anything seriously, ever.

Him — you -> Thanos’s star.

When he uses that petname it’s probably to introduce you to someone else, referring to himself in third person and introducing you as his star, which you are. You are his star, sun, the center of his galaxy. His mind and feelings always circle around you.

Nam-gyu // Player 124

You — him -> Rat

You like calling him a rat (sometimes even a wet one) because, well, he is. Nam-gyu hoards his snacks and hides them from you, his facial structure is very rat-like, his apartment was a rat’s nest when you first moved in and after he showers, his wet hair matches that of a wet rat. Your boyfriend doesn’t like that petname at all.

Whenever you cook some dinner and Nam-gyu comes up from behind, he sometimes gives you tips to how to not burn his apartment down. Like a certain rat chef you know.

You — him -> Nom-Nom / Nam-Nam

You like chewing on his fingers sometimes, they’re quite nice to nibble and chew on. Nam-gyu didn’t like it at first, eying you from the side in confusing and slight disgust but eventually warmed up to it and even gave you his hand willingly to let you chew on his finger while he orders some take-out on his phone.

He even began getting his rings off his hands before offering you your favourite chewing toy.

You — him -> Lizard

Similar to the rat pet name, you sometimes call him a Lizard or the Lizard-man. Your boyfriend likes being called a lizard even less than being called a rat. Why do you keep giving him stupid petnames? You’re embarrassing him in front of his friends!

“Stop calling me that in public, c’mon. Sounds stupid.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳༚

Him — you -> Turtle.

Not sure where he got that from but Nam-gyu just started calling you that one day and that nickname stuck to him ever since. It has no great backstory other than you remind him of a turtle when you steal all the blankets in the house and build yourself a makeshift nest on your bed.

The mountain of blankets remind him of the shell of a turtle. Besides, your hear sticking out doesn’t help the image.

Him — you -> Kitty.

Your boyfriend likes to “pspspsps”-you to get your attention. You perk up just like a cat when he foes that. Besides, if you call him a rat, he will call you a kitty. He‘ll sometimes even purr at you when you look especially good that day.

Him — you -> Wifey.

Even though you two aren‘t married, Nam-gyu really likes the idea of you being his wife. „Wife“ sounds very serious though— it sounds like tax benefits and a house with two kids and all that. He‘s not ready for that commitment just yet, so your boyfriend will call you his Wifey instead.

He always refers to you as his Wifey in front of his friends and others so that they know that his heart is yours, as much as yours is his.

Dae-ho // Player 388

You — him -> The nibbler.

The “The” is for dramatic effect. Dae-ho is obsessed with biting and nibbling any area of your body that seems convenient enough in the moment to chomp on. His favorite area is your nose, jaw, shoulder, fingers and hands. It‘s pretty random but does it most of the time when nervous about something or sleepy and in your arms.

The nibbler likes his nickname a lot, by the way. He sometimes jokes about you being his favorite chewing toy or candy while you eye the bite mark he left on your arm.

You — him -> (chicken) nugget.

To you, your boyfriend is just a cutie patootie, a mature man that has the heart of a golden retriever. You like calling him your chicken nugget because of how his facial structure kinda reminds you one. Dae-ho gets flustered whenever you call him that though.

Nugget is the shorter version of a petname you like to use, mostly in public or during texts. Chicken nugget you like to use when you two are together at home or to tease him.

You — him -> Bunny.

You first wanted to use Tiger as a petname since part of his name means Tiger, but you actually found out how much of a Bunny he actually is. He doesn’t like being left alone and on his own for too long, when he pouts he looks like one, the color of his blush looks like the nose of one and he certainly has the sex drive of one.

Being called Bunny makes him both embarrassed and flustered. He both hates and loves that petname you gave him.

“Isn‘t Bunny too cute of a name for me? Like.. it doesn't really fit, does it?“

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳༚

Him — you -> Cupid.

You shot an arrow through his heart the moment he saw and met you for the first time. Even if the name isn‘t 100% accurate since with that logic you would‘ve also shot yourself with an arrow to fall for him too, but Dae-ho likes calling you his cupid.

Him — you -> Tiger.

It‘s a play on his name and how maybe when you two marry in the future you can share part of it with him. Once he scraps the damn money together to buy you a proper ring and maybe save a little money for a nice wedding and honeymoon.

Maybe Dae-ho should give the card he got from that weird salesman a call and participate in these games for money. What could go wrong?

Him — you -> Tofu.

Since he is your personal nibbler, you are his tofu. That way he can justify his need to bite and nibble on you.

Gi-hun // Player 456

You — him -> Heartbreaker.

You playfully call him that. Gi-hun is a little insecure about his age, his divorce, his whole life too, and how much younger and naive you are, thinking a lot about how he is not the most suitable lover for a young woman like you.

You like calling him a heartbreaker in a ironic way almost. You find it cute how he huffs when you call him that.

You — him -> Raccoon.

In the most respectful way possible, you sometimes think that Gi-hun looks like a raccoon. His hair is so fluffy like fur, his eyes get so big when you scold him for something and you sometimes catch him digging through an old pile of dirty clothes to find to wear, like a raccoon digging through trash.

You sigh everytime you go into the kitchen and catch your boyfriend dig through the fridge, trying to find something that isn‘t expired and doesn‘t need to be cooked into a meal.

You love your raccoon of a man, though. Although you have to admit that sometimes he resembles more of a hamster the way his cheeks fill up with food so adorably.

You — him -> Noodle.

His build is is flimsy and he resembles a spaghetti noodle. You like calling him your noodle, it‘s cute, short and endearing. Gi-hun thinks calling him a noodle is a little childish but he would never reject your petnames.

„Seriously? Noodle? Y‘know, other women call their boyfriends honey and stuff. Noodle sounds like an insult!“

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳༚

Him — you -> Angel.

You are his angel, his savior, his saint and light. It‘s only fitting to call you his angel. Even if he mostly addresses you that way when he is about to ask you for a little bit of money to afford the groceries his mother send him out to get.

He gambled the money his mom gave him away and bet on horses, but you don‘t have to know that.

Him — you -> Koala.

Gi-hun grins like a Highschool boy whenever you cling onto him like a cute koala for cuddles. That‘s where he got the name from in the first place.

Him — you -> Peanut.

Random but cute nonetheless. He likes to pull on your cheek and coo at you and how adorable you look when you pout or are annoyed. To annoy you even further, he calls you a cute little peanut.

In-ho // The Frontman // Player 001

You — him -> In-ho-tato.

Back when you first met him, In-ho liked to style his hair slicked back and containing multiple ounces of hairgel. The way his hair was styled and his grumpy facial expression made him look a potato of sorts.

Calling him a potato outright might confuse him or even make him a little upset, so you call him In-ho-tato. That‘s how you saved him in your contacts too. He doesn‘t know the origin of the petname but it has a nice ring to it, so your husband doesn‘t mind.

“You‘re quite creative with your words. Care to explain their origins?“

You — him -> Gramps.

You call him Gramps whenever he struggles with something. Can‘t open a jar of pickles? Old man. Complains about back pain after waking up? Gramps. Gets annoyed with one of his pink guards? Grandpa.

In-ho hates it. He glares at you from the side every time you call him those things. Your husband never stops you though, as long as you‘re having fun.

You — him -> Huffster.

You began to notice how many times and how much he groans, huffs and sighs when he‘s at work. It‘s mostly under the mask but you notice it anyway. When his mask is off, massaging his temple and bridge of his nose goes hand in hand with letting out an exhausted sigh at the incompetence of the players of this year‘s games.

Naturally, want to make him feel better whenever In-ho feels stressed or exhausted and for some reason calling him a huffster makes him give you a small, fond smile. Your husband never being here simply makes everything better.

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳༚

Him — you -> Snuggle tyrant.

You are a very demanding tyrant when it comes to cuddles. You drag him out of his study or control center just to have him all for yourself in bed. A little selfish, isn‘t it? True tyranny to give him orders like that.

Him — you -> Boss lady.

Sure In-ho is the Frontman and all but you are still his boss in a way. You remind him to drink, sleep, eat, give him orders to rest for the night and to shave every once in a while. You are his boss lady, so the petname is very fitting.

Also, the workers and soldiers also see as some kind of boss of their boss. Thanks to you, multiple of their lives were saved by you scolding the Frontman in the middle of the control center, reminding him to be a little more lenient and merciful for breaking rules.

Him — you -> Sugar baby.

It‘s rather self explanatory. In-ho likes to refer to you as his sugar baby by the way he throws his money at you whenever you even look at an item. He is more than happy to sponsor you with a new helicopter to reach the mainland, a new credit card to spend on online shopping and whatever else you want.

Even if you aren‘t his full time sugar baby, he likes to treat you like one.

💠

Author‘s note. Thank you for reading!

First of all, thank you for giving my last Squid Game men post so much love!! It got like 1000 notes in two days, so thank you <33 Also, I really want to show my private art again. I haven‘t done that since I had 200 followers, so like last September was my last art dump. I‘m really into creating clay figures and painting masks, so I‘m not sure if you all would be into that. On one side, some people may just be here for the fics and get annoyed if I don‘t post that but on the other are people who may be genuinely interested :,)

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33 Stay safe!

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todomochi-uwu · 1 month ago

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Is there any way I could repay you?

Pairing(s): Luffy x reader; Zoro x reader; Sanji x reader; Ace x reader; Law x reader Genre: Smut Warnings: This content is for a mature audience Synopsis: Is there any way you could repay them? Author's notes: I love @inseobts layout for their fics so I decided to use something similar. I've never worked with this style, I hope you guys enjoy it. I'm also right around the corner of Marineford and I feel like dying since Ace is my favourite character. So, indulge me. Masterlist If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee

Luffy

Your fridge broke down a couple of hours ago.

You had tried everything and anything to make it work, but the piece of shit wouldn’t budge (it’s also old af).

On your way to ask anyone if they knew someone who could repair it, you stumbled into the gum boy.

"Oh, hello, neighbour!"

"Oh shit, that sucks, but don't worry, I can fix it. How hard can it be?"

He wouldn’t fix shit, but he would try (or in a stroke of luck he just might).

Let’s say, by some miracle, he does.

You’d spent hours watching him work. He had taken his jacket off, a white tank top underneath.

Getting a little sweaty, tongue poking out in concentration.

You had ogled for a good hour to two, and no, he hadn’t even noticed.

He would groan in frustration when he couldn’t manage to get it to work.

“Stupid, fucking thing.”

You delivered small treats for his trouble: a lemonade, a sandwich, and a bowl of ramen he was craving.

“Fucking finally!”

“Thank you so much, Luffy! Is there any way I can repay you?

Yeah, remember when I said he hadn’t noticed you ogling? Well, he did.

And that’s how you found yourself bent over the kitchen floor, being pounded to the nines, crying out like bitch in heat with a pizza slice resting in your back.

“Fuck, Luffy! Don’t stop, don’t stop." Spit dribbled down your mouth, and your fingers gripped the floor, desperately to hold onto anything that would ground you.

Behind you was Luffy, who panted in between taking bites out of his pizza, “You are so tight.” The grip of his hands on your love handles would surely leave a nasty bruise, but that was the least of your worries.

Zoro

You had just come back from work, the only thing you wanted was to take a shower.

Of course, the fucking thing wasn’t working.

You had tried everything, from hitting it with a hammer to twisting the handles to yelling at it.

No idea how to fucking fix it.

You texted the landlord, but he said he won't be able to fix it until tomorrow.

And you need a shower NOW.

Just when you were to knock on your chef neighbour's door, he appeared.

Sweaty, towel around his neck, and sporting a really tight compression chest. Zoro popped one ear out of his headphones, “Curly brow's not home.”

“Shit, my shower is not working, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“That’s happened to me before. Let me check it out."

Now you have another issue: the wet patch that formed in your panties after you watched the handyman check out your shower.

His strong back muscles faced you, flexing and moving while inspecting the problem.

He would cuss under his breath and groan every time his methods wouldn’t work.

This angle also gave you a great view of his ass. He had clearly worked for it.

Your head fantasized about what would happen if you were to bend to your knees in front of him, pull his pants down and take his cock in between...

“Shit!” He had fixed it. Water splashed onto your floor, but not before soaking him. If you thought that shirt was already see-through enough...

“Oh god, let me get you a towel.” Or maybe you could dry up the water with your tongue. Everyone wins, right?

“Thank you so much, Zoro! Is there any way I could repay you?”

And that’s how you found yourself just the way you imagined. Choking on his cock, tears running down your face, and gags escaping your throat.

“Yeah, keep sucking that dick”, His hips thrust against your mouth, pushing his member further down, making you gag. Your nails biting the skin of his thighs, trying to balance yourself, but never wanting him to stop. You looked up at him, that lazy smirk and the way his tongue licked his lips made you dizzy.

You sucked your cheeks in, running your tongue against the thick vein that ran down his member. His grip on your hair let you know you were doing something right, "I’m going to ruin you for anyone else, baby.”

Sanji

It was your grandma's birthday tomorrow, so you decided to bake her a cake.

Shit, the fucking oven isn’t turning on.

You have the batter ready to bake it will spoil if you don’t do something about it, right?

Oh, how convenient, your neighbour is a chef.

(Never mind he is blow-minding hot. What? Who said that?)

"Hey, neighbour. I’m so sorry to bother you, but would you mind if I borrow your oven?"

He would never no to a sweet little thing like you, but pushing your tits out as you showed him the ramekin didn’t harm anyone.

Would do all the work for you, even going as far as fixing your recipe.

You watch his hands the entire time.

He had folded his sleeves so you could see the veins that covered his arms.

“Open up, I want to see if it’s sweet enough.”

He pushed the frosting-covered spoon against your lips.

And, gladly, you took it. Looking into his eyes while covering your tongue with the thick substance.

He gulped.

Amazing what watching a man decorate a cake can do for your libido

"There, it is all done for your grandma's birthday." The result was far better than anything you could have ever done.

“Thank you so much, Sanji! Is there any way I could repay you?”

And that’s how you found yourself laying tits up, nipples covered in the leftover frosting and the chef’s head in between your legs.

"Oh, my god, Sanji." He’s got you cross-eyed while his tongue laps against your sweet cunt. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking it and licking it while his fingers piston in and out of your entrance.

He lets out moans and whimpers, you’ve got him pussy drunk, and the only thing on his mind is making you cum again and again on his tongue, “You taste so sweet, mon cœur.”

Ace

Your heater had broken down in the middle of the fucking winter.

No matter how many sweaters and jackets you wore, you still couldn't feel your fingers.

You had messaged your landlord hours ago, but oh, surprise, surprise, he never answered.

You were walking down to the elevator, about to go out and get some hot chocolate, when he saw you.

“Hey, neighbour!” It was minus two fucking degrees outside, but this man was in a tank top and shorts (to be fair, it would be a crime to hide those arms)

“Oh my god, are you okay? Your lips are blue!” “Your heater broke? Maybe I can help!” The optimism and overconfidence run in his family, if you can’t tell.

He took a look at the thing, and Lord knows how, but he melted it.

“Uh, umm, uh...” Indeed.

He spent the next couple of hours trying to fix what he had done on top of the main issue.

He would bite and lick his lips, eyebrows furrowed, focused.

His frustrated groans belonged in a porno.

“Fuck.” He would whisper occasionally.

Like his little brother, Ace would also appreciate the food you’d offer.

“This pie is so good! Did you really bake this?” He licked his thumb, savouring the rest of the sweet filling.

What that mouth do.

You don’t know how or what the fuck he did, but he did fix it.

“There! You stupid shit!”

“Thank you so much, Ace! Is there any way I could repay you?”

And that’s how you found yourself backwards riding his cock on your couch. The cold had abandoned your body, and now you felt like you were burning with his hard chest against your back and his fingers toying with your aching clit.

“Ace!” You moaned his name; it was the only thing that your mouth managed to say. Your brain had turned to mush the second he stuck his dick inside you. His hands pushed your hips up and down; his hips pounded you into oblivion, his dick reaching places your fingers (or frankly, any other dick) never could.

“You like that, baby girl?” He said against your ear, his teeth pulling on your earlobe. He laughed, amused by your cock-drunkenness. He slapped your clit, making you jump and gasp, throwing you over the edge, “You don’t need no heater, baby. I am the heat now.”

Law

You were stupid, and you cut yourself while making a fruit bowl. yeah.

While it wasn’t a deep wound, it did sting, and blood kept coming out.

Trying to be very careful, to not hurt yourself any further or stain even more things.

You bump into him.

First, he looks at you, annoyed and then notices the blood on your hand.

“Tch, that looks bad.” Yeah, you think?

He grabs your hand, carefully, inspecting the cut.

His eyebrows furrowed, twisting your wrist, his skin is a bit rough, and the tattoos in his hands make you want to ask him if he was willing to choke you.

(You had seen this man once or twice in your life, barely knew his name, and already you are thinking about sticking his fingers in your mouth, get yourself together.)

“It’s not that deep, but you might wanna clean it. Come.” Gladly.

And just like that, you were inside this man’s apartment.

Score?

His place smells like a clinic, it’s almost funny the fact he has a penguin and polar bear plush on the couch.

He pulls out his medical kit and begins cleaning the wound. The sudden sting makes you flinch.

“Don’t move.” He commands, and you obey. No idea who this man is, but if he were to ask you to bend over, you probably would. Yeah, common sense leaves the room when it comes to dick. His dick.

“There. Next time, try to pay attention to what you are doing.” Rude... you were listening to a true crime podcast, and it was just getting good.

“Thank you so much, Law! Is there any way I could repay you?”

And that’s how you found yourself, face pressed against the surface of his desk and fingers pumping in and out of your cunt. Your juices are dripping down and wetting every document and book, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Law, please, please.” You don’t even know what you are begging for; he’s giving you everything you want, and more. His fingertips brush against the walls inside you, his thumb rubs and plays with your clit, while his other hand spanks you and pushes your head harder against the wood.

He pulls his fingers out for a second, right when he feels you are clenching harder against them, “Quiet now. Don’t want the neighbours knowing how much of a slut the girl next door is.” He spanks your right cheek. Yeah, he isn't letting you cum, at least not right now.

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lazysoulwriter · 3 months ago

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not your girlfriend. - rafe cameron.

He’s leaning against your car again. Shirtless. Again.

You don’t even flinch when you see him in the parking lot, arms crossed over that annoyingly perfect chest, hair still wet from whatever poor excuse of a beach day he just had. You walk past him like he’s air.

"Hey, baby," he says, smirking, falling into step beside you. "Missed you."

You don’t look at him. "Rafe, I told you. Stop calling me baby unless you’ve scheduled your first therapy appointment."

He grabs your arm, gently. "C'mon. Just one date. One. I’ll even wear a shirt this time."

You finally turn, eyebrow raised. "Wow. A shirt? That’s commitment. What’s next? Not threatening people who look at me for too long?"

He grins like that’s the most romantic idea he’s ever heard.

"You’re sick in the head, Cameron," you mutter, but you don’t pull your arm away.

"And you love me."

"I do. Which is the worst part."

He perks up. "So you admit it!"

"I’ve been admitting it. Since May." You pause. "Still not dating you."

He groans dramatically, stepping back like you just stabbed him. "Why do you play these games with my heart?"

"Because your heart comes with a criminal record and severe trust issues."

"But I’m working on it."

"You said that last week."

"I stopped bringing my gun places, didn't I?"

You squint at him. "...Did you?"

A beat.

"...Mostly."

You sigh so hard it shakes your whole soul. “Rafe.”

“I’m trying!” he whines, leaning his forehead dramatically against your shoulder. “I’m trying, baby.”

"Don't call me baby."

"But you just said you love me."

"I do. Like I love my cat. Which also bites me sometimes."

He laughs against your skin, arms sliding around your waist now like he’s trying to melt into you. You should push him away. You always push him away.

Instead, you let him hug you. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel how warm he is. How much he smells like sunscreen and trouble.

He pulls back a little, looking down at you with that annoying little smirk. “You really love me?”

“Rafe—”

“No, I just wanna hear it again. Like, properly. Full sentence. Maybe with a kiss after.”

You roll your eyes so hard they practically leave your body. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he says, soft now. Sincere. That look in his eyes—the rare one that says I’d die for you, but like, in a surprisingly non-toxic way.

You shake your head, but your hand slides up his chest anyway, landing on the side of his neck. “If I kiss you, it doesn’t mean I’m your girlfriend.”

“Would never assume,” he says quickly, hopeful. “Might cry though.”

You laugh, short and sharp, and then—well. You kiss him.

Slow, warm, dangerously good. His hands tighten on your waist like he can’t believe this is real. Like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

You pull back just a little, lips still brushing his. “You really want a chance with me, Cameron?”

He nods, dazed. “More than anything.”

You tap his chest with one finger. “Therapy. Every week. No skipping. And no more guns.”

“Even the little one?”

“Especially the little one.”

He groans, head falling into your shoulder again. “God, you’re so mean.”

“And you’re lucky I’m in love with you.”

You feel him smile against your neck.

“Don’t worry,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna get my shit together. Just you wait, baby.”

“Rafe.”

“…Right. Sorry. My love.”

You sigh. “Still not your girlfriend.”

“Yet.”

You glare at him.

He grins.

And you kinda hate how much you’re smiling too.

read the headcanon!

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https-bobreynolds · 1 month ago

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a favor

pairing: robert ‘bob’ reynolds x reader

summary: bob has been having trouble getting sleep, so he asks his crush teammate for a favor.

warning: reader is sooooo whipped for bob

author’s note: so pissed rn i was already halfway with the story then my phone decided to restart and i didn’t get to save it :) this is based on one of my headcanons of bob that you can read here

it was half an hour past midnight on a regular friday, you were already fast asleep, given the fact that you just went home from a long mission. you thought that you were going to be able to enjoy this sleep more than you did, until you heard the constant knocking on your front door.

you sighed, being awaken from your dreamland. you quickly sat up and walked to the front door, wanting to murder whoever was disturbing your sleep, “i swear to God, if it’s- oh hi bob.”

the man stood there with a guilty face, fidgeting with his sleeve, a nervous habit. there was a long pause before he started, “h-hey, y/n. can i ask you something?” his voice was hesitant, his gaze flicking to you for a moment before darting away again.

“of course you can” you quickly said, looking at him with a mixture of genuineness and confusion.

he took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. therw was a moment of hesitation, then he spoke again. his words came out in a rushed tumble, almost like he was worried he’d lose the courage to say them if he didn’t hurry. “can i… can i ask you for a favor? it’s sort of… it’s kinda dumb.” he admitted, his cheeks flushing a bit brighter.

“anything, bob. what is it?” you replied softly. at this point you were already cursing at yourself at how obvious you were that you’re absolutely whipped for this man.

he chewed nervously on his lower lip, the nervous habit seemingly taking over. he was still avoiding eye contact, his gaze dropping to his hands that fidgeted on his lap. “i- i uh… i know it’s stupid,” he said, his voice quieter now. “but i’m just… i’m having a hard time… falling asleep is all.”

“oh!” she exclaimed, a bit surprised as the favor but nonetheless, “no, no it’s not stupid. how can i help you.?” she asks, genuinely nervous uncertain on what to do.

he shrugged again, his gaze still averted. he was uncomfortable, whether from his own request or the realization that he couldn’t just power through his insomnia on his own, you weren’t sure. maybe both. he looked tired, and his expression was conflicted. bob fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt, refusing eye-contact. ”i-i don’t know,” he muttered. “it’s just… could you… uh, could i sit with you for a bit?”

you could only nod to the man, leading him right to your bed. you sat on one side, patting the other one down to let him know that it was okay to sit there, to which he immediately does- a bit too fast for his liking.

you moved closer to bob but still maintaining a small distance, afraid to make him more uncomfortable than he already is. you thought to yourself for quite a while before asking softly, almost coming out as a whisper, “can i touch you, bob?”

he finally looked up at you, his expression caught between surprise and hesitation. he was still nervous, but there was something else there too, something almost like hope. his gaze flickered to her hand, then back to her face. he swallowed hard, then nodded. It was a small motion, barely visible. a silent ‘yes’.

you nodded back at him, one hand moving to carefully caress his arm, almost as if you was writing down something. and the other moving to play with his hair gently, massaging his scalp from time to time, “this okay.?”

he shivered at the contact, but it was a shiver of pleasure. hus eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a soft sigh. bob leaned into your touch, his body losing some of the tension it had been holding onto. despite the initial hesitation, he clearly craved the physical contact, needed it, maybe. his body spoke volumes, even if his words couldn’t. “y-yeah,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “that’s… that’s more than okay.”

you hummed as a response, letting your hands continue the magic… eventually, you started humming a lullaby your mom used to sing for you, back when you couldn’t sleep as a child. the flood of memories making you a bit more sleepy as well.

bob’s expression relaxed even further as you hummed that old lullaby. his shoulders slumped, and he almost seemed to melt into your touch. it was strange, the all-powerful sentry, reduced to a puddle under the slightest touch and some old song. he leaned in, his head tilting to the side, almost like a stray cat being stroked.

you noticed his movement, somewhat understanding what he wants- needs. you moved the hand that was caressing his arm to his jaw, ever so slightly tracing his jawline. the other stroking his head, all still whilst humming the lullaby.

he leaned even further into your touch, practically purring like a cat. it was fascinating, truly, this powerful man, reduced to a relaxed mess just from the simplest of touches. he seemed desperate for more, like he’d never been on the receiving end of such gentleness before. and now that he was, he couldn’t get enough. every brush of your fingers against his skin made him shiver, and each hum from your lips made him melt just a little more.

the sudden realization of your close proximity, the fact that you’re caressing a man on your bed, made a blush creep up your cheeks but she still continued nonetheless. you have also realized that you, have in fact, had never done this kind of skinship before. and the fact that you’re doing this with a profound friend, a teammate even, made your cheeks even more red than it already is.

unbeknownst to you, bob was very much aware of your proximity. the way your knee gently brushed against his leg, the touch of your soft fingers on his skin, the way your breath dusted across his face as you hummed that lovely little song.

you were so close to him, and it was messing with his already rattled brain. he couldn’t deny the way his heart raced and his eyes fluttered shut every time you skimmed a finger against his jaw- he opened his eyes, and saw how red your face was.

the way bob looked at you out of nowhere, caught you off guard, this time you were the one avoiding eye contact, unable to hide your blush. “uhm don’t mind me...” you said softly, pulling away your hands from him, “goodnight bob”

“no, wait, don’t go.” his voice was soft, almost pleading. he reached out, almost on instinct, and caught your hand in his. it was the barest of touches, but the intention was clear.

“o-oh, no yeah, i won’t.” you answered shyly, mentally cursing at yourself once more at how you stuttered with your words. you caressed his hand and said a bit more firmly this time, “i won’t leave you, bob”

his lip twitched at your words, the hint of a smile forming on his face. bob’s grip on your hand loosened, but he didn’t let go. instead, his thumb moved gently over the back of your hand.

”s-stay with me…” he said.

the words were quiet, but there was a hint of desperation in them. he sounded almost like a lost child, searching for comfort in the darkness.

“i will, as long as you’ll have me” you replied, with a smile.

his eyes widened at your response, as if that was the last answer he’d been expecting from you. ”good,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “don’t leave me. i don’t… i don’t want to be alone ever again.” he sounded vulnerable, lost, and more like just ‘bob’ than anything else.

“won’t.” you whispered softly, coming a bit closer, getting rid of any distance the two of you had, “i won’t ever leave you, bob.”

his heart skipped a beat as you came closer, the air between you growing thick with unspoken feelings. his eyes darted over your face, roaming your features as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he looked away.

”p-promise?” he asked, his voice cracking. he searched your gaze, looking for any hint that you were being dishonest.

you looked at him with a genuine look of affection, some might even say… look of love? “i promise, as long as you promise to stay with me too…” you said, carefully caressing one of his cheek, making him let out a shaky sigh.

he leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut. it was as if your hand was a lifeline, anchoring him to reality and keeping him from sinking back into the darkness of his own mind.

he leaned forward, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. his breath was warm against your face, and he spoke in a low, almost reverent tone. “i promise… i’ll stay.”

almost as if saying ‘please do, please stay’ you nodded lightly, afraid to lose his touch- like you might never be able to touch him ever again.

he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, seeming to relax at your gesture of affirmation. the tension in his shoulders melted, and he allowed himself to lean in a little closer, basking in the comfort of your presence, pulling yourself to lay on his chest.

for a moment, there was only silence.

he looked down at you, a wide, satisfied smile spreads across his face when he realized you had fallen asleep. he gently brushes his fingers through your hair, taking a moment to admire you. he felt oddly at peace- comfortable in a way he never had been before. there was no tension, no anxiety, no fear… he was just… content.

bob let out a long sigh, his eyes fluttering shut as he pulled you closer, your limbs tangling together. he was tired- exhausted, really- and he let himself drift off into sleep, a small, faint smile still on his face.

bonus: the next morning

“that favor doesn’t seem so stupid now, huh?”

“n-no, not so stupid at all…”

#bob reynolds x reader #bob thunderbolts #bob reynolds #thunderbolts #lewis pullman x reader #lewis pullman #fluff #fanfic

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flwrstqr · 2 months ago

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PAPER RINGS ★ WHEN YOU SHUT THEM UP WITH A KISS

𓋜 手紙 ❜ 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 '𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍

【 𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐒 】 𝑙’ boyfriend!enha & fem!rea 8OO established relationship fluff reaction ˊᯅˋ skinship petnames kissing ｡｡ CLICK

다니 ⠀⦂ hope flueries enjoy :0 i promise i'll be back to my old posting schedule after i get less busy with exams TT

LEE HEESEUNG

you roll your eyes, but heeseung’s endless teasing finally tips you over the edge — you grab his face and kiss him, shutting him up mid-sentence. he freezes for half a second, then melts into you with a soft little chuckle against your lips, his hands sliding to your waist, thumbs drawing lazy circles against your skin. when you finally pull back, breathless, he’s grinning like an idiot, eyes crinkled, forehead resting against yours. “couldn’t resist me, huh, baby?” he teases, and you swear your heart physically flips. he pulls you closer, arms wrapped around you like he never wants to let go, peppering soft kisses along your cheeks, jaw, anywhere he can reach. “it’s okay, angel. i’m all yours,” he murmurs, so smug yet so impossibly sweet that you can’t even be mad. heeseung’s love for you is written all over him, stupidly, helplessly.

PARK JAY

you’re half-listening to jay’s lecture about how you really need to start dressing warmer, but the way he’s fussing over you, adjusting your scarf and smoothing your jacket, makes your heart ache a little — so you lean in and kiss him, cutting him off mid-sentence. he immediately forgets whatever he was saying, hands pausing on your shoulders before sliding down to hold your waist gently, like muscle memory. when you pull away, he blinks at you, dazed. “you’re unbelievable, princess,” he murmurs, forehead brushing yours. he tucks you even closer to his chest, wrapping you up with his warmth. “guess i’ll just have to keep you warm myself, huh, sweetheart?” he mumbles.

SIM JAKE

you don’t even think — you just surge forward and kiss him, pressing your mouth to his mid-ramble about the dumbest thing, something about his game strategy or whatever nonsense he was so excited about. jake immediately shuts up, the words dying on his tongue as he melts into you, but holding you close like he’s scared you’ll pull away too soon. when you do, he blinks at you, lips pink and pouty. “do it again,” he mumbles, barely above a whisper, eyes flickering to your mouth with such softness it makes your knees weak. “please, baby…” he adds, voice a little whiny, already leaning in like he can’t stand another second apart. you laugh under your breath, but jake’s hands are already tugging you closer, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him upright. god, he’s so easy to love.

PARK SUNGHOON

he’s still rambling —teasing you about how you can’t go five minutes without touching him — when you finally yank him down by the collar and kiss him hard enough to wipe that smug grin off his face. his hands immediately find your waist, warm and firm, pulling you closer like he’s been waiting for you to snap. sunghoon tastes like mint and trouble, and god, you melt when you feel him grin right into the kiss, so full of himself even now. “someone missed me, huh, baby?” he mutters against your lips, laughter humming in his throat. “not my fault you’re so kissable, baby,” you breathe, and he chuckles, all stupidly handsome and stupidly yours.

KIM SUNOO

you can’t help it — he’s been talking for five minutes straight, waving his hands, cheeks glowing pink as he lists reasons why you should let him pick the movie. you grab his face mid-sentence and kiss him, soft and quick, and for a second he freezes under your touch. then, like a machine rebooting, sunoo just keeps going, voice a little lighter, ears burning. “—and it’s not just because i think you’ll like it, baby, it’s genuinely a cinematic masterpiece,” he insists, as you laugh. “plus, i mean, you kissed me, that’s practically a contract. you trust me. you love me.” he grins like you hadn’t just stolen his breath away two seconds ago.

YANG JUNGWON

jungwon’s mid-lecture about how you’re “so irresponsible, baby, you can’t just eat ice cream for dinner,” when you lean up and kiss him, catching him completely off guard. he goes stiff for half a second, lips warm against yours, before letting out a breathy little laugh, palms instinctively settling on your hips. “yah,” he huffs when you pull away, trying to sound stern, but the way his eyes crinkle at the corners completely betrays him. “you can’t just shut me up like that, pretty girl,” he says, voice all fond and playful, squeezing your sides and pulling you closer at the same time. you nuzzle into his chest, and he rests his chin on your head with a quiet sigh. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” he mumbles, smiling so wide now it physically hurts him to pretend he’s still mad.

NISHIMURA RIKI

riki’s teasing you, poking your side, making dumb jokes just to hear you whine, when you finally grab his collar and kiss him. for a second he freezes and then he grins against your mouth, like you just handed him the best challenge of his life. “oh, so we’re doing this now, baby?” he murmurs, voice low and smug, before kissing you back even harder. “what’s wrong? can’t handle me?” he teases, peppering quick, annoying kisses all over your cheeks until you’re shoving at his chest, laughing breathlessly. “should’ve thought twice before starting something you can’t finish, pretty girl,” he says, arms trapping you easily against him like he’s never letting you go.

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callsign-fox · 2 months ago

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Closing the Distance - Bob/Robert Reynolds

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

Warning: 18+ / Foreplay

I hope you guys love it! xo

The floor creaked for the third time in five minutes.

Y/N cracked an eye open, sleep still heavy in her limbs, and peeked over the couch at the large figure sprawled on the floor. A mess of brown hair caught the faint streetlight, casting soft shadows across the wood and the sharp line of Bob’s jaw.

“You doing okay down there, Boy Scout?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

A groan came from the floor. “I’m six-foot. This blanket’s a napkin. And I’m lying on Bucky’s freshly refinished hardwood. So yeah, living the dream.”

Y/N smirked. “So you’re fine then.”

His laugh was low, genuine—enough to make her lips twitch despite herself.

“You know,” she added, “you could’ve had the couch. I would’ve given it to you.”

“I was trying to be a gentleman,” he said, stretching with a grunt. “Didn’t know chivalry came with lower back trauma.”

She chuckled softly, warmth spreading through her as she lay in the quiet of the apartment. It was too late to be awake, too early to get up—but sleep wouldn’t come. Not with him there. Not with everything unspoken hanging between them.

Silence lingered, charged with something neither dared name. Then she cracked it with a sleepy grin. “You always suffer this loudly in silence?”

Another soft huff. “Only when there’s an audience I’m trying to impress.”

She glanced down again. He looked ridiculous—arm flung over his face, blanket tangled around his legs—but somehow, he felt like home. And maybe that was the problem.

“So,” she said lightly, “who’s the lucky audience?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he dropped his arm and met her eyes through the dim room, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Take a wild guess.”

Her stomach did a slow flip. That fluttering, electric kind that always meant trouble.

“Careful,” she murmured, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Say something sweet like that again, and I might actually let you up here.”

A beat.

“You sure that’s a threat and not an invitation?” His knee shifted closer, just enough to make her breath catch. “Because the way you’ve been tossing and turning—I think you want me closer.”

Her breath caught, sharp and shallow. She rolled onto her back, the couch creaking beneath her. The silence wasn’t empty—it pulsed, heavy with everything they hadn’t said.

“Bob…” she whispered, voice fraying with everything she felt.

But he was already moving. Slow, deliberate. He pushed the blanket aside and knelt beside the couch. Her heart raced as he braced one hand on the armrest, climbing over her until he hovered, just close enough to feel the heat of him—but not touching.

“You shouldn’t,” she breathed, even as her body arched toward him.

“I know.”

He stayed there—suspended—waiting. Then, his voice came, rough with honesty. “But I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you. And you’re not exactly helping.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Not when his knee slipped between her legs. Not when his nose brushed hers, their breaths mingling.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” he murmured, voice a vow. “Not unless you ask me to.”

Her fingers curled into the couch, pulse thudding in her ears.

“And if I don’t?” she whispered, barely a challenge.

He smiled, soft and aching. “Then I’ll stay right here. Close enough to hear you breathe.”

It unraveled her. She reached for him, fingers trembling as they curled into his shirt—not pulling, just needing him closer. And when she looked up, voice barely a whisper, she let it out.

“Then kiss me.”

Bob didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance in a breath, his mouth brushing hers in a kiss that felt like reverence—soft, savoring, as though he’d been holding back for too long.

Her sigh cracked something open between them. The kiss deepened—slow, then urgent—his hand sliding beneath fabric, skin to skin. He groaned, pressing against her, his knee anchoring between her thighs.

“God,” he breathed against her jaw. “I want to feel every inch of you.”

She tilted her head back, giving him space. He kissed along her throat, slow and deliberate, tasting her. When he reached the curve of her chest, he paused, breath catching. His nose brushed the soft skin as his hands trembled, cupping her breast.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he whispered, voice frayed at the edges.

His hand drifted lower, tracing the lines of her body—ribs, waist, hip—until it settled there, warm and steady. Then, lower still, fingers grazing the edge of her underwear. He stilled, forehead pressed to hers, waiting.

The space between them pulsed with tension. Her body ached for him, heat coiling low. “Don’t stop,” she breathed, trembling. “Please… touch me.”

His breath hitched at the plea. Slowly, his fingers dipped lower, the air between them electric. Their breaths synced—fast, shallow, building.

She leaned into him, heart pounding. “I want this… I want you,” she said, voice raw. “Don’t hold back.”

Her hand traced down his chest, guiding him closer. Still, he held on to restraint, every muscle tight with control.

She slid her hand to his waistband, pulling him in. Their lips met again—soft, urgent, desperate.

He hovered, fire in his veins, brushing his lips over hers in silent question. She answered with another kiss, deeper now, her hands slipping beneath his waistband to feel him.

Bob exhaled shakily, his control unraveling under the feel of her hand on him. He buried his face in her neck for a breath, grounding himself, before lifting his head again—eyes dark, focused entirely on her.

His fingers slid between her legs with purpose now, parting her gently. Her breath caught in her throat, hips rising instinctively to meet him. He watched her face, every flicker of pleasure reflected in his own expression as his touch grew bolder, more sure.

Y/N gasped, her hand tightening in his hair, hips rolling into his palm. He found her rhythm and matched it, teasing, coaxing—until she was panting, her body strung tight with anticipation.

“Look at me,” he whispered. She did, eyes wide and glassy. “I want to see you fall apart.”

She bit her lip, but didn’t look away, even as her body began to tremble under his touch.

Bob groaned, eyes fluttering shut, hips twitching forward into her hand. His grip on her faltered, only for a second, before he returned the pressure with renewed intensity. They moved in sync—hands exploring, learning, taking.

Their moans tangled between kisses, each touch more urgent than the last.

Y/N’s body arched as tension coiled tighter and tighter, her breaths breaking against his mouth. Bob’s name left her in a desperate gasp as his fingers pushed her higher, each stroke pulling her closer to the edge. She clung to him, her body trembling, eyes locked with his.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice wrecked.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, kissing her again—slow, deep, like he wanted to swallow her whole.

Her hand on him grew more purposeful, matching the rhythm he gave her. His jaw clenched, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as she stroked him, the pleasure nearly breaking his composure. Still, he held on—for her.

“I can’t hold on much longer…” Y/N whispered.

His lips crashed against hers as her body shattered beneath his hand, a soft cry breaking in her throat. She convulsed against him, hips grinding as the waves of pleasure rolled through her, long and all-consuming.

Bob followed a heartbeat later, his release torn from him with a groan that vibrated against her skin. His forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged, every muscle drawn tight before he finally melted into her.

For a long moment, neither of them moved—just clung to each other, sweat-slicked and breathless, hearts pounding in the same frantic rhythm.

He kissed her again, softer this time, brushing hair from her face with reverent fingers.

She let out a shaky laugh, voice barely above a whisper. “If that was you holding back... I’m in trouble.”

He smiled, lips brushing hers again as he murmured, “I guess you’re in trouble, because the night’s only just getting started.”

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bejeweledinterludes · 2 months ago

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givin’ it all.

OR touch starved ! dean, part 2. you ask, i answer <3

my masterlist

read part 1 here!

「 pairing 」 : touch starved ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 5.9k

「 content / warnings 」 : late seasons sad n soft!dean, vulnerability to da max (again), emotions, emotions, EMOTIONS, past trauma, confessions?

you have one ( 1 ) new message from the author ! ↓

surprise! here is a lovely part 2 for the people that asked and in honor of my bday month starting! BUTTTT most importantly, this is a thank you for 600+ followers !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i hope all of you know that i appreciate every single one of you that enjoys and interacts with my writing! it means the world, truly. once again, thank you all so much for the continued and ongoing support + love! i hope you all enjoy this one! and special thanks to @emeraldcrs + @maddie0101 (even though i ended up not doing what i said i was going to LMFAO <3)

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

dean winchester’s touch problem was getting out of hand.

again.

ever since that night in your bedroom, he’s wished he could be there again, laying next to you every night— he’d even actually got the courage to get out of his bed one night when he couldn’t sleep to go to your room, but he never knocked on your door.

he did, however, sit down next to it in the hallway until he got tired enough that he had to fight to keep his eyes open, then went back to his own room.

you hadn’t even treated him any differently, either. you had still smiled at him when he walked into the kitchen that morning when you were already sitting with sam, like you always did— and you hadn’t said a word about the night before, when you held him like he’d always wanted to be held.

and god, did he want more.

dean wanted everything, actually. anything you had to offer. he’d take a squeeze on his shoulder, a ruffle of his hair— but hell, you did that pretty regularly already. and who was he to just ask for more?

dean winchester did not ask for things. he wasn’t allowed. he’s done just fine up until now without the touch of another human being, so why couldn’t the ache in his chest go away after your fingers left his skin? after that night?

it felt pathetic, wanting to need it. and to make matters worse, dean wanted all of you. it was selfish. you didn’t deserve someone like him, he knew it. but then again, you never flirted with anyone at the bars, ever. even when you all first started hunting together. and when he’d asked you about it (not so casually), you shrugged and told him the truth, because you always did— that as crazy and stupid as it sounded, you’d wanted something, someone real.

and dean?

he wanted to be the one to give that to you.

that’s when he knew he was in trouble.

because of too many things, really— what if you died, again? what if he died, again? and what happens when you ultimately rejected him, because if dean winchester was anything, it was unloveable.

but charlie said she loved him. sam told him once in a while, too— and you’d said it the first time you ‘died’, then came back. he never brought that up. neither did you. but he just wanted to hear you say it again.

so he could say it back this time.

dean hated the way he felt when the people he loved actually showed him that they maybe cared about him, too— like the way a person feels when an entire room is singing ‘happy birthday’ to them and they don’t know what to do with themselves.

and yet, time and time again, dean found himself desperate for it. and he didn’t even know what ‘it’ was half the time.

but being around you when he felt like that helped. a lot.

dean didn’t know what it was, or when it even started, but he always gravitated towards you. always had to be around you, be near you. and you never once pointed it out. you just let him into your space, your bubble, even your hobbies— and sometimes, doing literally nothing at all.

it was one of the reasons dean loved you. yeah, yeah, he said it, whatever. leave him alone. it seemed like any time you were near, he was more relaxed. not fully, of course— but his shoulders felt less tight and his jaw wasn’t sore from clenching it so hard.

he breathed easier. without realizing it, you helped dean take his mind off things (but of course you damn well knew that. why else would you have invited him to go to the post office with you?).

and he craved it.

if dean got captured by a jinn right now, you’d be there. you’re all he’s wanted. you, maybe a house— screw anything else, honestly. if you were there, so was he. but he’d definitely prefer you sitting on the hood of baby— yeah, his two girls. that was a little strange analogy though, because he’s thought about fucking you right on top of baby. or inside, on the seats. maybe even under—?

this djinn-fantasy thing was starting to sound a lot like just a sex dream.

wouldn’t be the first time dean had one about you, though.

besides. you were all he dreamed about, anyway.

but this night, he was wishing he had a dream like that. no. tonight, he was having yet another goddamn nightmare.

the barely-lit light on dean’s desk (he says he ‘accidentally’ leaves it on once in a while, but he really uses it as a makeshift night light. don’t tell anyone i told you that) cast soft dim glow on the concrete walls of his bedroom. the room was quiet, except for the occasional hum of machinery coming from somewhere in the bunker.

yet dean's mind? anything but peaceful. images, smells, sounds, and memories were piercing his mind— hell, purgatory, failed hunts, you name it. and the faces of people he’d lost, people he’d tortured were clear as day— the pain, the hurt, it was all there, as usual; but ten times worse tonight, it seemed. screams, snarls, gunshots, and his father’s voice echoed off of the traumas he was reliving.

he doesn’t know when his eyes had snapped open. but now dean was sitting up pin-straight in his bed, his breathing more like choppy gasps as he held and pointed his gun at— nothing. and his throat hurt, why did his throat hurt—?

oh.

it wasn’t just screams of other people.

it was his own this time. dean had screamed out loud.

a few rooms away, you were also jolted awake by dean's scream. it was so loud that it had even carried through the thick concrete walls of the bunker that were separating you both. you shot up from your bed, years of instincts kicking in and legs moving before your sleepy mind could catch up— or think twice.

because the only thing that was going through your freshly-awoken mind?

the absolute worst.

you made it to dean’s door in record time, swinging it wide open with your own gun at the ready to fight something— but the sight you were met with was not the one you had been expecting.

at all.

dean was still sitting up straight, but now barely-relaxed, rapidly blinking his eyes with his trembling hand still holding his gun, adjusting to the still-dim but brighter light flooding his room, to feeling damp in his clothes instead of all bloody and broken, to the echoes of screams being replaced with the white noise of the bunker–

and to… you.

yeah, you. standing in his doorway, hand on the edge of his door (you’d caught it as it bounced back from you essentially tearing it open), your own gun now at your side instead of drawn. your hair was all messy, clothes a little bunched up in places, breathing a little unevenly, yet not as much as him— but you still looked breathtaking, nightmare aside.

dean didn’t know what the hell kind of water you were drinking to make you look like that. even being freshy pulled from sleep like him, you looked beautiful. pretty, gorgeous, stunning? dean couldn’t find a word, and he doesn’t think he ever will.

and him.

oh, him.

dean always looked good— to the point where it bordered on you wanting to rip your hair out, most days. and despite what de’d just gone through, he still looked good. kidding aside, you craved the times you were able to see him like this more than you cared to admit to yourself.

not because he was in pain, or suffering the traumas of his less-than-peaceful life— but because it reminded you that even dean, for as everything that he was: a hero, larger than life, better than any hunter, still had moments like… this. when the memories became real life again. when the thoughts and his past actions echoed in his mind like taunts.

when you saw him like this: sweat all over, hair sticking up, eyes like they didn’t know what was real, you saw a piece of dean that few— or none at all had seen. most times, it felt like you were intruding on something private, sacred. and every realistically-thinking cell in your body screamed that you shouldn’t be here, seeing this. seeing dean.

but that little voice in your head just wouldn’t listen.

it never did. not when it told you that maybe dean didn’t touch you like he did everyone else— because hell.

he never touched anyone else. only you.

he’d do it all the time, so frequently and without a word that you weren’t sure he was aware he was actually doing it. dean sat so close to you what seemed like 24/7, like a magnet. in a booth, at a bar, wherever. you’d gotten so used to it, it had been unusual not to have the solid warmth of dean next to you when you’d gone off on your own to interview witnesses on a case.

and you would catch him playing with your hair on more than one occasion. and while dean got all embarrassed, you just smiled a little, then went back to reading the old-ass book you’d been poured over (but not without first nonchalantly adjusting yourself so he got more access to your hair).

dean would never forget it.

because that’s who you were, essentially. taking all the pieces of him in tow with you. all the dirty, messed up, strewn-about shards of him, scattered like a discarded shattered vase on the floor— and just accepting it.

and you never tried to ‘fix’ him, but in some way, you still somehow were. without really ever talking about it, or maybe even knowing. but when those times that only occurred on a rare occasion that dean would talk, the words spilling out and overflowing— but you never judged him. only listened. spoke when it was needed from you.

it meant everything.

and more.

dean would hug you almost every five minutes when he was too drunk to stand straight, you had learned one night early on in your friendship. when his ‘hey, maybe we shouldn’t do that’ voice in his head was silenced, he was kinda (a lot) all over you. because yes, he was much touchier when he was drunk, especially around you.

even now, after years since it happened, you still remembered the way his broad, loose frame had crumpled against you— and you caught him.

just like now.

you’d snapped over whatever the hell just came over you— and you weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there, but you hoped it wasn’t as long as you thought it to be, then slowly shut dean’s door behind you with a click, enveloping you both in the dim light this time.

because no way in any world were you about to leave dean alone after seeing him like this.

you pad across his room like you’d done a million times before— but never in this way. this late in the night? sure, but not like now.

you weren’t really thinking. because let’s be honest here: for every critical and rational thought you had, dean seemed to just… make them all disappear from your mind.

not in the survival sense, but in the ‘really, what’s stopping me from just kissing him’ viewpoint. so much so that you had to literally force yourself to not do anything. to not cross that line. you weren’t sure if he even knew that he was aware he was doing it to you, yet it still happened. a lot.

but back to now. back to dean’s room, to the light being returned to normal, and dean’s wondering why the hell is it so cold? he was still just a complete mess, his frayed and raw nerves only being held together by skin, blood and bones. he shut his eyes and kept them like that, trying to banish the memories from his mind, to just snap the hell out of it. he could hear this ringing in his ears, and it was so loud, he just wanted it to stop—

and suddenly, it did.

dean didn’t even realize you’d started holding him until the scent of you finally flooded his senses. until he felt how warm you were. until he felt your hair on the side of his face. until he felt and heard your breathing.

during the aftermath, you’d somehow managed to gently pry dean’s gun out of his hand, setting yours and his on his desk before you’d gotten on his bed and sat with him, hugged him.

when his eyes finally opened, just for a split-second— the only sight he was met with wasn’t the pit, or purgatory, just the guns. the metal had glinted off of his desk light, his vision only slightly impaired by your hair.

your hair. why did it smell so good. and why was it so soft. the world may never know, dean thinks. well, he does know. you’d told him one night while putting something in your hair, and he had been walking past the doorway. he’d teased you about your ‘girly stuff’, but you didn’t even bat an eye.

that was another thing he’d noticed about you. you didn’t change yourself based on other’s opinions. you were secure in who you were, and didn’t need approval from anyone else to feel your best. it was one of the things dean wished he could do for real and not just as a front, as a defense.

you were confident, but you still asked him once in a while if you looked okay, more so in the most recent years.

and dean could never lie to you. he always said “‘course y’do”.

but that night, you’d shrugged, then just told him about whatever the hell you were putting on your head, explaining it in a way he’d understand if he’d been listening— but dean had been a little to focused on your lips moving and not enough on the words actually coming out of them.

dean found himself burying his face into your hair now, half into your neck and chest, his breath coming out uneven and in short pants against your skin. he allowed his eyes to flutter shut again as he just let himself sink into you, resting his head on your shoulder, arms finding your waist. he felt the adrenaline wearing off, but his heart was still pounding in his chest, and he felt his shoulders trembling. his mind was starting to adjust, but he felt like he’d just gotten off a treadmill after running on it too fast.

and dean felt so weak. even more so now than he ever had. a shell of himself, a whole grown-ass man crumpled into you like he was a little kid again, scared of the dark.

if his dad could see him now.

if sam saw him right now. oh, sam would finally see that his brother wasn’t the tower of light, safety he’d always viewed him as. he’d treat him differently, for sure. dean was no longer the protector, the one who watched over everyone and everything. too much had happened to sam, to the people he loved for that to be even a fraction of true anymore.

what was true, though?

dean was a failure.

in every sense of the word. he’d failed innocent people, family, friends— everyone more times than he could count.

but his mind remembered.

and it reminded him every night.

dean used to have the sense that he was at least doing something right, but as of late, everything he’d done so far was nothing short of one disappointment after the other. it was pitiful, really— he was a freakin’ hunter, for god’s sakes. you’d think he’d get a goddamn win once in a while. but not for a long time, it seemed.

and this was just yet another failure, another thing he absolutely sucked at. dean couldn’t even get back to normal after a nightmare without someone being there to hold him. it was pathetic, humiliating— but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of you.

somehow, that was his breaking point. the last straw.

dean finally just… broke.

you didn’t even realize what was happening until you heard the smallest strangled, trapped noise came out from the man you were essentially holding together, muffled against you— but you still heard it.

all it took for dean winchester to cry these days?

a hug, apparently.

the tears had been welling up in dean’s eyes faster than he could will them away— and he just couldn’t do it anymore. couldn’t put up the front he’d always been able to. he tried, god he tried so hard, but he was still shaking, for christ’s sakes— and he’d just woken up.

the more dean thought about it, the more your arms seemed like a good place to finally let it all out. you’d always treated him with kindness he didn’t deserve, so he just prayed that you wouldn’t push him away. that you would just let him have this. he doesn't think he could handle you rejecting him in this way right now.

and when you hear a slight sniff against you, you almost couldn’t believe it. dean didn’t cry. he got angry, upset, went non-verbal– but the one thing you hadn’t seen him do (at least in front of you) in all the years you’d known him, is cry.

but you weren’t leaving.

no, you just held him tighter, adjusting your grip and the way you were sitting so dean was more comfortable. you didn’t lay down, but you pulled him closer to you, running a hand up and down his back.

it’s not like you could say anything. what the hell could you say?

well.

one thing did come to mind.

so with your hand still gently rubbing dean’s back, you moved your head just a fraction so it could rest on his, whispering close to his ear.

“i got you.”

and that was it.

dean’s eyes screwed further shut, lip wobbling as he gripped way harder onto you, like you were the only lifeboat left in a choppy sea. like you were going to keep him here, like he’d suddenly fall apart, die if he let go.

and he let go—

figuratively.

you’d never heard a sob come out of dean before, but that night, you decided you never wanted to hear it after this. because it was physically hurting you to hear dean right now.

but you didn’t dare let him go. you held dean in your arms, still running a hand on his back, and he cried into your chest like he was four years old again, his entire body trembling against yours with the force of how much his sobs were wracking through his form.

this wasn’t just about dean’s nightmare. this was everything. the decades of holding things in, pushing them down, then moving on without ever unpacking it— it was all bursting through the floodgates, roaring in his ears, his senses.

broken sounds left his throat, almost choking on them. they were coming straight from the place dean dared not to ever touch in his heart. but he didn’t care how loud he was anymore, or how embarrassing this must be, how humiliating—

because you said that you had him.

and you wanted nothing more than to take every ounce, every inch of pain, heartbreak, suffering, and loss that made up the man you loved away from him so he didn’t have to deal with it.

dean didn’t deserve any of it. he deserved to be normal.

to have a life.

and damn you wanted to give that to him, so badly.

but for now, you’d just hold him. give him a place to rest. to let everything go.

to be the solace he needed, he deserved.

neither you or dean knew how long he’d stayed like that, but you both didn’t say a word the entire time you held him— the only sounds that filled his room were his less-than-quiet sobs (god he hoped sam hadn’t made it home from elieen’s yet) and the faint rustle of his sheets.

but at some point, with a final sniff, dean lifted his head from your shoulder, but didn’t meet your eyes. couldn’t.

he was so ashamed of himself, his actions. it didn’t matter that you guys had been friends however long, this was not supposed to be the side of him you saw. he’d seen you comfort dozens, maybe even hundreds of crying people on cases— because of lost loved ones, or because they had seen something too scary.

dean just never thought he’d be one of them.

you didn’t say anything at first. dean, eyes and face still wet with tears, was looking down between you both, eyes fixed on your pyjama pants’ pattern. he was avoiding the obvious, the pill he had to swallow. he’d just cried like a baby into you.

he could see the wetness on your shirt from the corner of his eye, but he dared not look up all the way. god, this was humiliating. you’d probably move out of the bunker after this.

because no way does dean come back from a stunt like he just pulled. staying in your bed is one thing, but the fact that he just broke down in front of you? you’d never see him the same, never look at him the same– and even if there was any chance of it before, no way in hell were you ever going to look at him in the way he wanted you to look at him.

he’d messed up big-time— again. the only thing he swore to never ruin, to never take away from himself, it all just unraveled because he was a goddamn crybaby. an idiot. why did he do that? just let himself? was he seriously that braindead that he couldn’t—

dean’s pulled out of the spiral of thoughts he’d conjured up for himself when he feels a hand under his jaw.

your hand.

dean’s breath was all out of whack, courtesy of crying— but his next inhale literally gets stuck somewhere when your free hand uses your fingers to wipe the tears off his face.

you hadn’t really registered the fact that you’d even started doing that until you see dean’s glassy and red-rimmed eyes meet yours in his barley-lit room. all you’d been thinking was that you wanted to see him. and when you saw all the wetness on his face, how ashamed he looked, you didn’t think.

case in point: you never did.

not when it came to dean.

and dean just melts all over again. you could’ve teased him, poked fun, even just got up and left— but instead, your arms are still halfway around him. you’re leaning over by his nightstand, grabbing a tissue for the snot and larger tear tracks.

he should feel embarrassed. at least a little gross.

but he didn’t.

he just felt you.

dean let his eyes flutter shut, because this had to be a dream now. he wasn’t expecting this from you, but damn if he didn’t need it. every gentle brush of your fingers on his face felt like pure gold. like you were putting him back together.

dean’s still trembling under your gaze, under your touch. but seeing him react the way he did stirs at that feeling inside your tummy that always seemed to spike when dean was around. you toss that urge away, along with the tissue you’d used on his face.

but you don’t take your hand away.

your hand was so warm, so soft was all dean could think, feel. you weren’t taking your hand away, so dean just melted like a pad of butter in a pan into your fingers that were cupping the side of his face, his eyes still shut. he could feel the slight burn of them from crying, along with the pressure in his face so high— but your thumb absentmindedly brushing on his cheek was starting to make him feel like he was floating instead.

and because he’s greedy, because he’s weak, dean’s own hand releases its hold from your shirt and finds your wrist, keeping your hand on his face. the one that used to be under his jaw had dropped when you knew that he wasn’t going to look down again.

no one’s shown dean care like this. your presence was like a blanket, like the warm, soft light of a candle. he couldn’t get enough. he never wanted it to end.

dean doesn’t know how long he stays like that— could’ve been seconds or hours. but he finally breaks the silence with a quiet, raspy “thank you”. he doesn’t open his eyes yet.

because he’s afraid that you’ll be gone when he opens them.

but you weren’t.

no, in fact? you did something much stupider.

you leaned forward and kissed dean on the cheek that your hand wasn’t currently holding.

dean’s eyes snap open in surprise at the contact if your soft lips on his skin, his trembling breaths getting stuck in his throat again— because holy hell. whatever he’d been guessing you’d do, it wasn’t even close to that.

like everyone knows now: you weren’t thinking.you just wanted him to feel better. you just didn’t know how to do that for him.

dean’s red-rimmed eyes were still wide as you leaned back, your hand on his face faltering when you see his expression, because that didn’t seem like he enjoyed it— but he didn’t drop his hand from your wrist. he wasn’t going to let you let go. you’d only kissed him on the cheek one other time, and that was when he was dying for the third, maybe fourth time? it was too long ago for him to remember, but honestly, he had been happy just dying like that, too. you’d kissed him, and that was what he needed. he didn’t want anything else from this world.

and you just did it again.

the only thing he said?

“do that again.”

now it was your turn for your breathing to stop working.

but you didn’t hesitate.

you leaned forwards once more and pressed your lips on dean’s cheek again, lingering for a second too long before you reluctantly pulled away. because you wanted more. you wanted everything, honestly. but you’d never ask that of him.

you don’t know how you’ve lasted this long, pretending not to want one of your closest friends for as long as you can remember. you can recall a time when you didn’t feel like this— back when dean winchester was just some hunter with his brother. you helped them out once in a while, since they were your age and seemed nice enough, but somewhere along the way, after an apocalypse or two, sam and dean were always kind of just… there. it was like you were on parallel paths, going in the same direction— and both had intersected at some point.

now here you were.

it was times like these you wished that dean would just pick a side. he never truly hit on you, only for a case once in a while— and he couldn’t even look at you after he did that. he never made a move, and honestly, you were fine with that, for a really long time. you’d deemed dean much too out of your league anyway, since he didn’t really flirt with you like he did every other woman that came across his path— and that was odd to you, because dean flirted with everyone.

just not… you.

and while it stung, you just pushed through it. i mean, it’s not like you haven’t been let down before— but you couldn’t place why your heart felt like it was being shredded up in your chest when you’d met lisa for the first time.

but you knew.

deep down, you knew exactly why.

you knew why your gut twisted whenever he chatted up a waitress, or a witness. you knew why your friends gave up on talking to you about him, because you were a lost cause.

because you were so stupidly in love with dean, it was almost humiliating.

every single person, even some monsters you were literally hunting had called you out on it.

and you didn’t know what the hell to do.

there were too many variables, too many outliers, and certainly not enough confidence to even consider the fact of telling him. of manning up and just taking what you wanted. because what would you even say? do? what happens after he rejects you? and what if—

your thoughts are interrupted by a warm hand on your face.

dean’s hand.

your hand was still on his cheek, one of his own still holding your wrist— but the other was now brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

and then it just… stayed there. on the side of your face.

just like you were doing to him.

you’re gonna die, you think.

once again, you found yourself wanting dean to just do something. he’d been blurring the invisible line you’d drawn for yourself, the one you swore to never cross—

unless dean wanted you to.

it was getting much harder to tell if he wanted you to or not, especially in the most recent months.

and it was killing you. slowly but surely.

“what’re you thinkin’ about?”

the words leave your mouth before you even have time to think, because dean’s hand is so warm, so big against your face and it’s really hard to focus when his own thumb is brushing on your cheek—

“you.”

the answer leaves dean’s mouth without hesitation, without another thought. it wasn’t a lie— because you were all he thought about.

dean didn’t deserve this. you. any of this. and yet, he couldn’t refuse it right now. not when you were so close to him, and your skin was so soft—

“are you—” the words get caught in dean’s throat. “are y’thinkin’ about me?”

oh, why did dean just say that. why on chuck’s green earth did he ever say that. how did he even sound more pathetic than he’d just been when he was crying in your arms? and his voice was so small, so unlike him— plus it was still raspy from his stunt he’d pulled earlier. he was an idiot. a fool. he sounded like an insecure freakin’ teenager. it was pathetic. he was pathetic—

“yeah.”

dean’s eyes flicked back up to yours— and that was a mistake, because your hand was still mirroring his own on his face, and you were looking at him like you meant what you’d just said. like he meant something.

“yeah?” the breath left dean’s mouth before he could stop it, and he hated how hopeful he sounded. he’d moved a fraction closer to you, but it felt like he just traveled a mile.

“yeah,” you nodded, a little dazed, voice barely above a whisper. because dean was so close to you now, you could feel his breath on your face. you could barely think straight, because all you wanted to do was just lean in a little further— “i don’t really, uh… stop. thinkin’ about you.”

and dean’s gonna die.

he is going to die, because you said that and you were looking down at his lips and you smelled so good and your hand was still on his face—

dean was a simple man. that’s all he’ll ever be. he’d never ask you to do something you didn’t want.

but god, he wanted you.

so the words fell out of his mouth in another exhale—

“me, either.”

oh.

the way you were looking at him right now? after he said that in response?

you wanted him, too.

you’re both not sure who moved first, but your lips were on dean’s after you leaned in and he used his hand on your face to tug you to him, closing the remaining space between you both on his bed.

the first thing you noticed?

dean tasted like home.

you didn’t kiss him too fast. neither he with you. because you wanted to map out every inch you could, and because you were half-sure that this was some fantasy your mind had cooked up out of a state of delusion. your hand on dean’s face snaked deeper back, burying into his hair, and he groaned into your mouth at the action.

that did something to you. the same thing happened when dean’s hand went into your hair, too— you made this little noise on his lips.

that did something to him.

kissing dean was actually gentle at first. not hesitant, but like you already knew how. but then after you’d both made those noises, it’s like a switch flipped. suddenly, there was way too much space in between you both— and you gripped onto the front of his shirt, tugging him towards you as you let your back hit his sheets, taking him down with you.

this wasn’t like anything you’d ever felt. no, this was going on a decade of wishing, wanting, hoping for something, anything to come of you and dean besides friendship.

and dean? dean pressed right into you, one of his hands and barely bothered to keep himself upright. he needed to touch you, feel you. another groan escapes you and him involuntarily at the friction between you both— because you’d spread your thighs, his torso fitting right between you.

and it felt good.

you couldn’t take a full breath anymore, but you didn’t dare take your lips off of dean’s. you just tugged him closer, hand still in his hair, the other on the back of one of his shoulders.

both your lips broke with a pop, you and dean taking in the same breath of air, his nose brushing against yours and eyes fluttering, because wow.

dean didn’t know he’d said that aloud until a smile tugged on your lips, eyes looking up at him like he still wasn’t real. like this wasn’t real.

“you know how long i’ve been waitin’ to do that?” dean breathes against your lips, eyes threatening to shut again.

your smile gets wider as your own eyelashes flutter at the closeness, relishing in the contact of feeling dean on top of you before you respond:

“you know how long i’ve been waiting for you to do that?”

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tags: @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @bruisedfig @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina @mahi-wayy @viarasvogue @tinas111 @0ccvltism @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @lunaleah @saintfaux @kimxwinchester @bettystonewell @honeyyxxbee @harlekin705 + if i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

#faith’s works . . . @bejeweledinterludes!#supernatural #dean winchester #spn #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester one shot #touch starved #part 2

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