#I’m really grateful I can draw
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lyrablack1883 · 5 months ago
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Mirror
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alaskan-wallflower · 15 days ago
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Stay Gold —Buy it here! <3
i can share my sodapop design with y’all now!
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two things with this—one, this was my first time drawing this head angie because dumbass never tried experimenting before and 2. i’m actually really happy with the flannel because i hand drew the pattern and it turned out better than i thought 🙏
i think i experimented a lot with this drawing which was a lot of fun! but if you wanna see the full piece you gotta buy the stay gold zine <3
this was a lot of fun to draw, and i’m happy with this little snipshot :) please reblog this to spread awareness about the zine!! it’s going to a really good cause and i know i and so, so many talented artists and writers put a lot of time and effort into these pieces, and the profits made through buying the zine is going to the save the children’s organization, and it really is an amazing cause :)
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edge-oftheworld · 8 months ago
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yeah I know Luke’s been running around saying he ‘can be a bit of a pessimist’ but I just wanna give him a little bit more credit than that. he’s been through so much and yet we’ll hear him talking about times that are ‘marred with trauma’ but still he can’t ever regret for getting him to where he is today. this whole year he’s been making an effort to do things that scare him and he even finds hard, he’s been pushing himself out of his comfort zone and doing 1000 solo interviews as well as his shows and last year he went to bogota to film 7 music videos in 2 days and believed he could do it and he did. he talks about mental health related things in such a way that’s filled with acceptance, not complaint or bitterness but dare I say even optimism, dropping horrifying little descriptions to already heartbreaking songs since 2021 and then turning around and saying writing songs is what gets him through it, he ‘wouldn’t have a good relationship with anything’ if he didn’t make them but he’s super proud of himself after and wasn’t put off by how much work it was gonna be even though it did make him apprehensive and he goes and mentions how it wasn’t easy. you look at everything we know of him for the last decade and a half and realise, maybe it was never easy. but someone once described optimism as curiosity + resilience rather than being naively happy all the time in denial of everything going on around. and with that active brain and all the things he figures out while writing all his beautiful songs there’s definitely curiosity there. and with everything he’s been through to keep choosing to be himself and do whatever he needs to do there’s so much resilience. and I’ve seen this spirit in the songs of sounds good feels good and 5sos5, as well as littered through wfttwtaf and boy; every project being a quiet, kinda emo, statement of survival. I’m just one fan with too many opinions but this is something I’ve always loved about the band, and a decent portion of it was always brought to the table by luke and idk I just think we should acknowledge it
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lifeonmvrs · 1 year ago
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preparing for valentine’s day >:3 i present to you ace attorney + bad puns valentine’s day cards!!
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[Image Description: a half-body digital drawing of mia fey from ace attorney. she’s crossing her arms and smiling with her head slightly tilted to the left and two little hearts by her side. her hair is wavier than canon. on the left, there’s some text reading “You’re drop-dead gorgeous! From: [colon] To: [colon]” in comic sans. the background is a solid turquoise.
the second picture is of a postcard and greeting card of the drawing as redbubble products. they are showed in a frame that resembles the structure of an instagram post with the user lifeonmvrs. it has a title reading “already available :3 [cat face emoticon]” and in smaller text one that reads “link in bio [heart emoticon]”. the third picture is the same but the products this time are a pin and a sticker. /end ID]
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cuteniaarts · 10 months ago
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Fanny, my sweet, beautiful girl
17.11.2012 – 14.04.2019
#my art#artists on tumblr#I cannot accept that it has been 5 years already#I know covid messed with everyone’s sense of time but it simultaneously feels so much longer and so much shorter than that#exactly five years ago I was holding onto my mom for dear life and sobbing as we watched lilo and stitch together#not the best movie to watch when you’ve just lost your first ever pet you know#and then I cried myself to sleep at the next morning we never mentioned her again#I know it’s because it was way too painful for everyone involved. but I do wish I was allowed to process that grief properly#instead of bottling it up and pretending everything was okay until I was reminded of her#feeling like my heart was being shattered over and over again every single time#well anyway. enough of that. I’ve allowed myself a nice long cry today and got most of it out of my system#and once I was feeling okay I decided to draw her#and I can count the number of times I’ve drawn animals on one hand so.. I’m not too sure about the result#but it felt like to commemorate her in some way.#so yeah. here she is. my dear girl. the best dog in existence. she was always so affectionate and kind#which I didn’t always appreciate bc of how young I was. when you’re a kid it feels like pets will live forever#never barked. never bit anyone. her only crime was chewing on my mlp and lps toys that I left out on the floor#but I’m grateful she did that. it taught me not to leave my toys lying around and to clean up after myself#she really was taken from me way too soon. ideally she could still be alive right now. but I’ve been down the road of guilt and regret#there was nothing I could do. I was a child. I can only hope that she knew she was loved right until the very end#even if I didn’t know how to show it properly. and great. now I’m tearing up again#I suppose it’s unavoidable. April 12th will always be a melancholy day. and maybe that’s not such a bad thing#it’s good to have a day when I can freely remember her and cry if I need to. it’s healthy. it’s better than crying every day#she never liked it much when I cried. always tried to comfort me. that’s the kind of dog she was. I miss her so much#when I move apartments and get a dog of my own I’m getting a spaniel. just like she was#well. maybe a different colour so I don’t end up sobbing every time I look at it. but spaniels really are the perfect breed#I mean. cavaliers especially were bred for love and warmth. that’s just what I need. it will be nice to have someone waiting for me at home#and while I don’t necessarily believe in the afterlife… I do hope that Fanny’s watching over me#spiritually comforting me when I feel all alone in the world. it’s a nice thought for sure#and hopefully she won’t mind me getting another spaniel too much. it will be done in her honour after all. to make up for my past mistakes
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mymelodyisme · 2 years ago
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I am a little clown✨
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oshimaoshimaoshima · 5 months ago
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If you genuinely like my art I feel bad for you and questioning your taste.
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Holy shit I love my job. Today is Tea loving her job day.
#its been so incredible like I finally get to do real work in my chosen field#and I’m absolutely in love with it like seriously y’all this job has revived my creativity and love of making art#that I’d kind of lost over the last few years post Covid especially#like I’m happy and excited to draw again it doesn’t feel like a chore or a huge daunting slog to get to something not worth it#I’ve found the joy & passion again I spent my whole evening tonight drawing for fun & making a Pinterest board full of references#so I can start doing some gestural anatomy studies#I’ve wanted to be some sort of artist since I was 4 years old & as a kid I settled on graphic design#because that seemed to be the best path towards making a career out of that#& unlike a lot of people who go into the field looking to just draw for a living#I’ve been so incredibly blessed to find that I actually really love graphic design specifically as a discipline#and holy shit y’all I think I may actually be good at it too#my coworkers are all really cool my boss is incredible she’s so kind#like on my best days I drive home smiling and I just feel really fulfilled#and even in the day to day ‘boring’ bits I’m still getting paid to sit there & draw & listen to music or podcasts all day#which is what I’ve dreamed of being able to do since I was like 12#I’m just really happy and proud of myself and I feel really good & secure about this aspect of my life right now#and honestly I could cry just thinking about all this stuff#like I really am just so amazingly lucky & I’m so happy & grateful rn#spilling the Tea#graphic design is my passion
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urdreamgirls-dreamgirl · 15 days ago
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part one
“so how was your first day?” robin asks steve as he slides onto the barstool next to her and chrissy.
“it actually wasn’t that bad,” steve shrugs before taking a long pull from the freshly opened bottle the bartender slides his way.
“it wasn’t that bad?” chrissy asks, incredulous. “so he didn’t make you go to the erewhon all the way across town? the one he goes to because selena gomez was seen there once?”
“that’s why he made me go there?”
“yeah, he really likes that one movie she’s in.”
steve thinks for a moment. “the dead don’t die?”
“no, the one with the dancing,” chrissy snorts.
steve makes a face and then shrugs again. “i made him his breakfast, i drove him around, i organized his tshirt closet… pretty standard stuff for an assistant.”
“you organized his tshirt closet? what the fuck does that even mean?” robin asks, laughing.
“exactly what it sounds like,” steve grins at her. “anyway, really, it wasn’t that bad. sure, he’s insufferable but not anything i couldn’t handle. don’t worry about it.”
“well, thanks for doing this,” chrissy says. “vickie handled it for a while, but i guess once you’ve been fired twelve times in the course of six months, you have to draw a boundary with the thirteenth.”
“it’s really not a big deal, it’s not like i’m doing it for free,” steve responds. “the money is more than worth it.”
“still, i know how he can be. but he’s really not so bad. once he’s… comfortable.” chrissy frowns.
“whatever,” steve shrugs for a third time. “i’m just here for the cash.” he winks and gives her a reassuring smile.
~*~
the next morning, steve pulls up to eddie’s huge beverly hills mansion bright and early, just as he had yesterday. he punches in the gate code, waves to the security guy on duty, and makes his way inside to the kitchen.
eddie storms in while steve is halfway through cooking another omelette, this time with tomatoes and onions and freshly grated cheddar cheese.
“i don’t care, wheeler, i’m not making a fucking appearance and i’m definitely not doing it with him,” eddie snarls into the phone pressed to his face. he hasn’t seemed to notice that steve’s in his house again.
eddie waits for whoever it is on the phone to speak before he says, “well maybe i don’t want to fix it. maybe this is it,” and then hangs up the phone. he lets out a frustrated little scream before he turns to leave the kitchen, finally noticing steve by the stove. “you’re back,” he says, voice monotone.
“i’m back,” steve smiles, sliding the plate full of food across the large island toward him. eddie looks down at it like he’s surprised. “eat,” steve tells him.
“another sweater vest?” eddie sneers instead of picking up his fork.
“i like them,” steve shrugs, still smiling.
eddie rolls his eyes. “whatever,” he mutters and then picks up the plate and retreats from the kitchen.
~*~
eddie is deeply annoyed by how good steve’s omelettes are. he practically licks the plate clean when he’s finished, which only serves to make his bad mood worse.
“can i take your plate?” steve asks from the doorway of the living room.
“jesus christ, man, wear a fucking bell,” eddie grumbles before holding out the plate, forcing steve to walk across the room to the couch and take it from him.
“i’ll remember to announce myself from now on,” steve replies. “chrissy just called; you have another meeting with the pr team this afternoon. we’ll leave here in about an hour.”
eddie doesn’t respond and steve goes quietly back to the kitchen.
~*~
eddie tries to confuse steve with the directions to nancy’s office again, mostly just to annoy him since the car has a built in gps. steve ignores eddie, leaving him to play on his phone in the back seat. the windows are tinted dark, just how eddie likes it & it lulls him into a false sense of security to where he’s almost relaxed by the time they get to nancy’s office.
the meeting is a fucking drag. it’s just a rehashing of the morning’s phone call and eddie had already made himself perfectly clear. he’s not willing to fix anything. nancy and chrissy try to double-team him, begging him to think about the tour & the album roll-out & the rest of the band. the entertainment blogs are running wild with the rumors circulating about the other night and now they’re digging up shit that he wishes would stay buried.
“absolutely fucking not,” eddie spits out. “i refuse to be fucking cordial with that moron.”
“fine,” nancy says finally. “i guess we’re done here then.” she gets up from the head of the conference room table and leaves through the big glass doors and the rest of her team takes that as their cue to leave, too.
chrissy levels him with a look, waiting until the last intern has left the room before speaking.
“eddie, i know you’re pissed right now. trust me, i would be too,” she says, using that tone eddie always hates—the one that makes it sound like she’s trying to placate a rabid dog. “but the label has invested a lot of money into you and they need you to put in some work right now. take a minute, take a breath, and then we’ll talk again. but we need to respond; we can figure out what that looks like. i’ll talk to nance… maybe we don’t need a joint appearance. maybe you can just make a statement.”
eddie knows there are a ton of people relying on this tour & this upcoming album. he knows the band doesn’t deserve the hit from this. but what is there to even say? he’s just so fucking angry about it.
“fine. i’ll make an appearance. but i won’t, under any circumstances, be seen with him,” eddie tells her firmly. he slides his sunglasses back onto his face before pushing himself out of his chair and making his way over to the door. “just tell me when and where. and make sure nancy doesn’t make me sound like a fucking idiot.”
“great,” chrissy smiles so bright she looks like a teenager again. “i’ll talk to nancy. we’ll figure it out.”
any reassurance eddie feels is washed away by a renewed sense of annoyance when he sees steve waiting for him in the lobby, still wearing his pastel yellow sweater vest, drinking a purple smoothie from a straw and scrolling on his phone. he’s laughing at something on the screen and the sunlight comes through the huge front windows just right, making him glow golden, and eddie just feels something inside him twist unpleasantly.
steve looks up then to see eddie coming, but eddie breezes past him to the sidewalk. steve jumps up to follow, handing the valet their ticket. when the car finally pulls up, eddie says, “no liquids in the car,” before sliding into the back seat.
he sees steve shrug before smiling at the valet and handing him his half empty smoothie to dispose of and a tip.
the car ride home is silent. eddie practically leaps from the car before it’s even come to a stop when they pull into the driveway. there are packages on the table in the foyer, likely brought in by the security guy at the gate. “grab those,” eddie tells steve with a wave of his hand.
steve follows eddie into the kitchen, arms laden with paper bags and boxes. most of it, eddie knows, is free product and merch, stuff he never uses and mostly stuff he doesn’t even want. steve places the packages on the counter and watches as eddie sifts through them, clearly looking for something.
“do you want lunch?” steve asks. eddie ignores him, finally finding the package he’d ordered earlier today. he flings it across the kitchen island toward steve on the other side.
steve catches the package in his hands and arches an eyebrow.
“open it,” eddie tells him, nodding at paper wrapping. he opens the fridge to pull out a bottle of water and takes a long sip as he watches steve’s fingers tear at the brown paper.
once the package is open, steve huffs out a laugh, barely a breath, before holding up a bright pink cat collar with a tiny bell attached. he shakes it in the air, making the bell tinkle. the collar clearly will not fit him.
“fuck you, man,” steve says, still smiling.
“fuck you, too,” eddie says.
and then he leaves the kitchen.
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byakuyasdarling · 2 years ago
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#vent tw#tw vent#so basically I didn’t convince him at all.#at least there’s the caveat that I can draw if all tasks are completed beforehand but -#- I still had my art be called nothing. simple leisure (when I tried to express its really difficult for me)#and that I’m a burden and ‘taking advantage’ by not doing anything when I’m trying to recover#and not making enough efforts (when I have actually been more active recently)#and said I’m emotionally blackmailing when suggesting alternatives that suit my health better when beforehand he said it was okay#and that I’m manipulative and twist everything and ‘playing naive’ when I say I don’t understand things#and have words put in my mouth.#I don’t understand I don’t understand I wouldn’t say that I don’t unless I don’t#I’m so upset I’ve been crying for the last hour and a half#my life isn’t shit and I’m grateful but the things that are said to me every now and then are awful#at one point he just said ‘lock yourself in your room and do whatever you want. I don’t care. just stop ruining everything’#I think it was just one of those threats but I can never tell anymore#I’m not great with social signals but I can do very well through analysis. I can’t do that when I’m stressed.#but if I actually act on that he’s going to say I’m everything he said.#there’s no win. I tried to express myself calmly and it always backfires.#let’s not even mention my other parent.#ask to tag#tw parental issues#idk man //
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sturnsluttz · 6 months ago
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Let me~Chris Sturniolo ꣑ৎ
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SUMMARY: After a shitty day all you want is your boyfriend Chris who’s wants nothing more than to make you feel better, especially if that means softly fucking you till you can’t move.
WARNINGS: Soft dom Chris x sub fem reader, established relationship, smut, p in v, fingering, oral-fem receiving, slow sex, gentle Chris, slight overstimulation, unprotected sex (wrap it plz), aftercare
A/N: enjoy xx
You sat lazily across your bed, drained from an equally horrific morning, day at work and drive home. You had stained your last white work top, rushing out the door, been screamed at by your boss and when you thought the bad luck was over you nearly got rear ended on your way home.
As soon as you had arrived home all you wanted to do was cry your eyes out then call your boyfriend, Chris. You didn’t expect him to come over but you just wanted to hear his voice. Attempting to call and not cry you picked up the phone laying by your side, clicked his contact and it began ringing. You caught a faint glimpse of your reflection on the screen, Jesus, you looked rough. Quickly sniffing and wiping away the faint mascara stains off your face you recollected yourself before he answered.
“Hey ma” Chris talked through the phone enthusiastically, “Hey Chris” you responded, smiling to yourself at the goofy nickname. Chris sensed your dull tone immediately questioning if you were ok. “I had a really rough day, I didn’t mean to bother you, just wanted to hear your voice” you honestly admitted, “aww y/n I’m sorry, I’ll be right over, do you need anything while I’m omw?”
“Chris it’s ok you don’t have-“ you were cut off “No y/n tooo late, I’m leaving now” you giggled at his sassy response, “thanks” you huffed, “course ma”.
It wasn’t long before you heard a knock on your front door, you were too physically drained…and comfy to get up and open the door so you texted Chris to let himself up, but by the sounds of it he was already doing just that.
A glint of light hit you as your door was slowly cracked open. Standing there was Chris, with a sympathetic smile on his face, “hey y/n”. You didn’t know why, you were happy he was here but you began to feel that hot burning sensation in your eyes as a tear dripped down your now lowered face. “Shh sh it’s ok, I’m here” Chris spoke dropping his bag (presumably to stay the night) at the door and rushing to wrap his arms around you. He sat cradling you as you cried pathetically into his chest, squeezing him tight.
Chris held your shoulders lightly prying you away from him so he could see your face. You dropped your head to look at your twiddling thumbs, not wanting him to see you in such a state. “Hey baby, look at me” Chris spoke, lifting you head to look at him. You sniffled not even wanting to imagine how horrific you looked right now. “There’s my girl” Chris responded smiling at you, wiping away your tears and dripping snot shamelessly.
“Can you let me look after you ma?” Chris spoke softly, you nodded confused on what that ment but grateful nonetheless. He moved carefully from your comforting side, directing you to lay down. He adjusted around you comfortably laying next to you, drawing circles on your arm with his finger. Before you nearly nodded off to sleep at the calming sensation you felt a hand tap your hip, your gaze shooting down to meet his, “Can I take these off and make you feel good baby?” Chris said gesturing to your shorts with his eyes. You nodded back at him, helping him pull them down as he threw them lightly to the floor.
Chris stared in awe at your pink lace panties, toying with the waistband he glanced at you for permission and with a nod of your head they joined the pile on the floor. “So pretty” Chris praised, lowering himself between your legs, opening them. Your breath hitched at his new position squeezing your legs back together “it’s ok baby, let me see how wet you are for me”, you felt Chris’s breath on your thighs as he spoke sent light shivers up your spine. “Relax y/n, let me make you feel good” Chris whispered, reverting your legs back to their previous open position.
“Please” you muttered, your cheeks turning a dark shade of red, snapping Chris out of his admiration trance. “Of course baby” he responded placing a hand on your thigh. Chris inched closer to your heat, without warning placing a small kitten lick across your folds “mhm Chris” you whimpered at his touch somehow already sensitive. “I know baby, I know” Chris continued, licking up and down your slick, stopping to give a gentle kiss to your clit. He paused before carefully running a finger against your cunt “can I” he questioned before going any further. “Mm yes” you panted out, desperate for more of his touch.
Chris knew the control he had over you, he knew he could rail you to pieces if he wanted too. But he didn’t, he cared. All Chris wanted in that very moment was to take care of you. You felt his finger delicately enter you, your back arching him further into you. Strangled whimpers left your mouth as he began to pump his finger in and out of you. “Mfm-fuck—Chris” you moaned as he moved, “Mmore—please” you muttered. Granting your wish he added a second finger, his angel blue eyes locked on your contorted face as he continued pumping into you.
“Mm-Chris—Ddont stop” you chocked out, “I’m close”. His free hand lay holding your waist, the other still thrusting into your dripping pussy. “I won’t baby” Chris answered, and without slowing the pace of his fingers his tounge joined his fingers licking circles around your clit. Sweat beaded at your forehead as you felt your orgasm burn inside you, and without warning the knot snapped with a loud moan. Chris slowed his movements helping you ride out your high. Detaching his tongue from your swollen clit.
His face moved to meet yours, slowly pulling his fingers out of you in the process. His hands moved to hold either side of your face, kissing your lips. You could feel your own cum still on his fingers as they moved back down to reach under your shirt, squeezing your tits lightly. “Chris, I” you began “yeah” he replied, his eyes never leaving your face as he continued caressing your boobs. “I want you—“ you paused, “inside of me, not just your fingers” a light grin crept across his face as you spoke, “are u sure ma? I don’t wanna overstimulate you” he responded, care in every word. “I-im sure, I need you” you continued, your stomach fluttering with embarrassment.
Only second had passed before Chris’s pants and boxers grew the pile of the floor. He held himself over you while he pumped his length in his hand. Warm precum dripped onto your stomach before you felt his tip graze against your puffy folds. “You ready sweetheart?” Chris questioned, you nodded frantically as a reply, feeling his tip push into you. Your hands shot up to hold his waist for support, your nails digging into his soft pail skin “Mhmp—sorry” you apologised as the little red indents you left became visible “don’t be, I’ve got you” Chris whispered back. You felt his dick sink further into you, your insides stinging as you adjusted to him. “I’m halfway baby, you talk to me—tell me when you want more” Chris assured, so careful not to hurt you, “now” you exhaled while giving a light nod.
Chris finally bottomed out, his tip kissing your cervix “tell me when I can move baby” Chris says holding painfully still as his dick throbbed inside you. “Mfmm-uh-n—now” you whimpered back to him. Chris granted your wish as he began carefully thrusting in and out of you.
It wasn’t long before your pussy started to ache from overstimulation. Your previous organs hit you so fast and Chris’s dick was already inside you giving you no time to recover. You squirmed under him, his thrusts slowly rocking you back and forth. His speed picked up likely to chase his own orgasm, “C-Chris—mhm-sensitive rem-member” you reminded “sorry baby” his hips immediately slowed “your pussy just-uh-squezin me so—t-tight”
His thrusts continued at a much slower pace as your orgasm began to rebuild. Your pussy aching around him. “Mm-im c-close” you moaned. “Let it out gorgeous” Chris responded, and with that your orgasm hit you with a painfully guttural moan. A tear ran down your cheek as you tried to recover, Chris still thrusting deep inside of you.
“Mhmpf—C-Chris!” “T-too much” you cried, your thighs shaking from overstimulation. “I know ma-I-im sorry” Chris moaned into the crook of your neck, making your brain go fuzzy. “I’m so c-close I promise” he continued, you only whimpered in response before your insides were filled with that warm sticky sensation.
Chris panted loudly, trying to regain his composure “im so sorry baby” he spoke, his dick still holding his release inside of you. “You ok?” He asked, obviously concerned, you nodded tiredly in response as he let out a sigh of relief.
He pulled out of you, making you wince from overstimulation-him immediately apologising. The white liquid began to leak from your pussy onto your bed, “shit sorry ma, I’ll clean that up” Chris spoke. He stood up from the bed pulling his sweats back on, leaving to go get a towel.
A minute or two passed before Chris was back, with a wash cloth in hand. You attempted to get up but the shake in your now jelly legs prevented you. “Here, I gotcha” Chris chuckled, picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom. He sat you carefully on the edge of the cold bench, wetting the cloth with warm water. Chris leaned between your legs, your core still throbbing “im just gonna clean you up baby, I’ll be gentle” he spoke softly. You felt him wipe your thigh lightly, you shivering at his touch “too cold?” He questioned “no-it’s fine, thank you Chris” you assured him as he continued to clean you up.
You returned to your spot in his arms as he carried you back to your room, dressing you in your favourite pjs. “Chris why is there a white stain on my favourite sheets” you questioned looking at your bed, “whoops” Chris replied, a guilty look painted on his face which made you laugh. “This what happens when I let you look after me? You giggled at him, “maybe” he replied.
LMK IF YALL LIKE THISSSSSS-it’s also not proofread so sorry if there are any mistakes😚😚
-ari xx
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Divider creds: @bernardsbendystraws
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onlyswan · 1 year ago
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summary: in which jungkook gets his motorcycle license and you don’t believe in fate.
idol!jungkook x reader, est. relationship / fluff, a dash of angst / word count: 5.5k
content/warnings: protective!bf jungkook 🫡 / jk gives oc h*ckeys / jk is sad and scared bc many couples r breaking up :( then he gets h*rny and i can’t blame him bc oc is hot / oc loves short skirts n jk is stressed / oc gets an anxiety attack !! bc they thought jk got into an accident / bam cameo <3
> in which masterlist!
note: ART REPORTING FOR DUTY 🫡 it’s been a while so i feel quite rusty and my brain is fried pls bear with me </3 i’m excited to post regularly again and get back into the flow hehe. as always feedback and reblogs are appreciated! 🥺
it is a rather calm afternoon in your shared apartment. you and jungkook may be together in the living room, but you’re each spending your alone time.
you’re sitting on the couch with bam’s head on your lap, your not-so-little baby sleeping soundly. you indulge yourself in a fashion magazine, occasionally lifting your head when you sense your boyfriend staring at you longingly from the desk. he would quickly avert his eyes to feign obliviousness, switching between the laptop or his phone to busy himself.
“babe, spit it out.” you giggle, lowering down the magazine from your face. “is there something wrong…? what do you want?”
“no, it’s nothing. just ignore me.”
“then you’re going to be upset with me when i actually do it?”
“yah! that’s not true!” he looks at you wide-eyed, chest puffing up in defense. “it’s really nothing, okay? you can go back to reading.”
“mkay, whatever you say… i’m not reading, though.”you mumble the last sentence, burying your nose in the magazine again.
with a glittery golden-inked pen, you draw a star beside a bag from the spring/summer collection that you fell in love with at first sight. you hear the clacking of the keyboard pause and resume, pause and resume, but you ignore your boyfriend’s beseeching glances like he asked you to.
minutes pass by on the clock as you flip the pages with twinkling eyes and silent squeals, but they feel like hours to jungkook.
he blinks at the laptop screen as he sinks his teeth on his bottom lip.
he just needs to do it— get it over with. whatever it is, he’s certain that the two of you could reach some sort of compromise… right?
he puts on a face of determination before wheeling the gaming chair towards where you are. and with no one to blame but himself, he releases a disgruntled noise when he collides with the leather couch. the impact sends him a couple of feet away from his destination, but his hands find purchase on your exposed thighs and he brings himself back to you.
his clinginess never fails to fill your stomach with butterflies.
you smile in secret, silent as he hooks his arms underneath your knees and lies his head beside bam’s. he kisses bam’s forehead, and in a somewhat twisted way, you are grateful for all the times the universe tugged at the string of joy and made you chase after it, because it led you here.
he has folded himself in a position that looks wildly uncomfortable, but jungkook likes to torture his senses for some reason, so you let him be. you pretend that no one has invaded your space, attached theirself to you so close that you’re carrying a quarter of their weight; feeling tickled by their exhales against your skin.
you planned to mix yourself a cocktail halfway through your magazine, but that is pushed to the bottom of things you can do now that your boyfriend is displeased with the lack of attention from his lover.
“this won’t do!”
his impatience forces him out of the chair and onto the couch, where he sneaks his strong arms around your waist. the movements shakes bam awake from his slumber. the doberman sits up, tiredly blinks at his father as if he is so done, and leaps off the couch to strut to his house.
jungkook scratches his head guiltily. “bam! dad is sorry that he disturbed your sleep!”
to no one’s surprise, he doesn’t receive a reply.
“oh, bam, are you mad at me…? you can’t be, right? you must understand… we both really love ____, don’t we?”
but he does receive one from you— a fond gaze that thinks of him bizarre.
“he’s not mad!” he defends himself.
“he should be. we were having a peaceful time together.”
“yah, that’s so mean. i’m part of this family too!” he complains with a scowl. “i want to cuddle.”
“no one’s stopping you, babe.”
this time, he hides his face in the crook of your neck.
he breathes you in, and his mind becomes clouded with the natural scent of you, so uniquely you, sweet and fresh like the clouds on a spring day, mixed with a hint of strawberries. humans smell fragrant flowers and break off their stems. jungkook smells you and he bites, sinks his teeth on your skin, sucks, again and again, and then soothes the ache with a slow and gentle slide of his tongue, but it doesn’t erase the marks that blossom into a hue of a bruise.
he licks his lips, wet with saliva, feeling cocky with the memory of your sharp inhales— cockier when he lifts his head and sees the dilation of your pupils behind a curtain of haze.
however, they’re still trained towards the fashion items printed on paper that you so desperately wish would materialize into thin air.
he groans.
“baaaaby,”
“mhmmm?” you mimic the tone of his whine, resting your head on his shoulder— just to be closer, let him know you’re here and you’re listening.
he clears his throat, prepares for the worst.
“these days, there’s something i’ve been thinking of a lot… i’ve been researching here and there, too…”
“about?”
“motorcycles…”
“okay,”
“okay?”
bewildered by your nonchalant response, he pulls away to squint at you in suspicion.
“…i’m planning to buy one and get a license? like, maybe next week?”
“okay,” you repeat yourself.
hit with a twinge of confusion, you briefly tear your eyes away from the beautiful gowns worn by beautiful models.
“are you telling me or are you asking me?”
“uh- uhm,” he stutters. “i’m telling you.”
“alright then,”
his chest puffs up as he inhales sharply. “that’s it?!”
“what do you want me to say?” you flip a page, a flicker of amusement flashing across your face. “you’re not allowed to…? i mean- sure, i can do that, too.”
“no, no, no, no, no-” he kisses your cheek— nearly, barely, he’s smiling too big to do it properly. “no, really! are you serious?”
“why won’t you believe me?” the magazine lands on your lap as you cross your arms in annoyance. “what do you think of me?”
“i heard couples really fight about this in particular, though?” he chuckles, and it’s your pouted lips’ turn to be granted a kiss. “sorry, i assumed you won’t approve of this one. you’re so strict with me about driving safely.”
“it’s no problem because i know you’re responsible. i just get worried sometimes,” you mumble. “when you’re tired from work.”
“i know,”
“good,” you sigh, leaning into him to steal a kiss yourself. “can i just ask you for one thing then?”
“yes,” he nods eagerly. “anything.”
“if i find out that you didn’t wear a helmet one time…” you tuck your bottom lip in between your teeth, unsure what type of reaction you will elicit. “you’re getting rid of it.”
“three times-”
“oh my god, absolutely not!”
the sheer horror painted on your face further fuels his mischief.
“twice?”
“you said anyth-”
“please?”
“no! then i’m getting rid of it myself!”
you shove his shoulder, and he allows himself to fall flat on the couch before bouncing back with the mission to ease your mind.
“i’m just joking, baby!” his giggles fill the entire apartment.
he cages your face in his hands but you stubbornly resist.
“i’m joking- i’m joking. i’m sorry. come here, give me a kiss.”
he makes a smooching sound with his puckered lips and you send an unimpressed glare in return.
“promise me first,” your fingers wrap around his wrist to deny his affectionate advances. “one time!”
“i promise!”
“and you won’t get angry at me?”
and with that, his heart begins to ache in his chest. the shift in your voice, the nervousness blanketed by softness… fuck.
“how hard can that possibly be?”
he just remembered how upset you were when he got himself infected after visiting a tattoo shop in america. you told him it would probably be best to do more research on the place, but he isn’t jungkook if he isn’t stubborn. it was hell, to say the least. being in pain and fighting with you for days. you would tend to him and the silence would rub salt on the wound.
today, however, he was more than prepared to defend his case in the event that he faces rejection.
he doesn’t.
on the contrary, he is a given a gift.
“i hate you,” you whimper, but your words contradict the way you respond to his kisses— the sharpness of them has been dulled by his tongue. he tastes like the green apple lollipop that you completely forgot you left on the desk four days ago.
he draws back with a playful grin.
thief… your kisses and your candy and your body and your heart. all his.
“huh, you don’t mean that.”
“i do!”
“i love you,” he utters tenderly. “i trust you to set me straight when i need to get my shit together.”
“then you understand that i just don’t want it to become a habit, right…?”
what does he think of you? a person who treats him with utmost gentleness, supports his happiness, and worries about his safety— a person more important to him than himself.
“and even if it’s only one time… we never know what’s going to happen. i wouldn’t be able to bear seeing you outside the celebrity segment of the news. jungkook, i swear.” you pray that he doesn’t hear the crack in your voice, disguising it with a layer of humor. “i will lose my mind.”
“of course i understand! that won’t ever happen, baby! i want to tell you not to worry too much, but… but to be honest… i think i will be more upset if you don’t lecture me about this kind of thing at all.”
“really?”
“yes. because then doesn’t that mean you no longer care about me?”
this whole time, you’ve been saying i don’t want you to get hurt i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you, and he hears you clearly— like how one recognizes their favorite song playing in public even from far away.
you smile sheepishly. “show me the motorcycle you want.”
your outspoken interest makes jungkook’s face light up like a christmas tree.
“there’s actually a few that i’m looking at…” he trails off, running back to the desk to grab his laptop.
“i’ll help you choose!” you clap your hands excitedly. “is there a pink one?”
“pink?!” he exclaims, which is then followed by endeared laughter. “you want it?”
you assume that he is going to ignore the silly idea, that is until he returns to his seat beside you.
“sure, there should be one somewhere.” he whispers, more to himself, typing away on the keyboard to feed your curiosity.
“really? really?” you babble, clinging to his arm to take a peek at the screen.
“hmmm,” he hums. “get a license too and i’ll buy it for you.”
a sound of disapproval bubbles in your throat. “eh, not for me. i want you to use it.”
jungkook dramatically pauses. he stares at you, doe eyes infront of blazing headlights.
he releases a burdened sigh.
“why me?!”
“bend over,” jungkook commands sternly, standing arms crossed infront of the bedroom door to deny your exit. “right now.”
“eh?” you gape at him. “but aren’t we goi-”
“i said turn around, baby.”
you’re left with no choice when his patience runs thin and he captures your hand— it comes so naturally when you twirl on your toes as if you’re waltzing to a slow love song. he pushes you forward gently, and you carry your innate grace all the way to the arch of your back.
jungkook swallows down a moan elicited by the tantalizing view, clearing his throat. he masks the sound by unceremoniously spanking your ass, the skin-to-skin contact also causing a sharp sting to spread across his palm.
“shit- i knew it, it’s too short.” he tugs your skirt down, a useless attempt at concealing your white lace underwear. he harshly breathes out in exasperation. “baby, i can see everything! you can’t ride a motorcycle wearing this!“
“what? motorcycle?! i can finally ride it?!”
you only heard one word come out of your boyfriend’s mouth, it seems.
you flip in excitement, facing him again with a smile as bright as the sunny sky outside. “you got your license? why didn’t you tell me?!”
“i was going to surprise you but-”
he still looks stressed out, eyes trained to your skirt- well, your legs. the skirt is barely there.
“going back here from the parking lot to change would be-”
“but it’s miu miu,” you quietly remark, looking down at the article of clothing with a frown. “it’s not that short…”
“look at the mirror,” he points to your left with his eyes, but then he is already carrying you by the curves of your waist so that your back is facing it.
you bend down on your own, and jungkook clicks his tongue when you only giggle heartily upon seeing your own reflection.
“it’s fiiine! you’re there to protect me. i just won’t bend down.”
“but won’t you get cold?”
“nope!” you reply without a second to spare. “for fashion, i never get cold.”
it’s been more than five years since he met you; jungkook knows damn well that is very far from the truth. not a single autumn and winter have passed that he didn’t lend you his jacket, his warmth, and then some more, simply because you refuse to stop wearing skirts until you’re at the verge of freezing to death.
alright, maybe he’s being dramatic, and you’re stubborn as hell.
“and i’m wearing my tall boots,” you raise your leg in a straight line to show off the leather brown boots that stop below your knees. “look, look… don’t i look cute?”
cute? such a word won’t do you justice. you’re acting like he’s not also looking at your panties.
“of course,” a soft smile replaces his hardened features. “you look so beautiful, baby.”
“hm, thought so,” you scrunch your nose, and his heart skips a beat.
damn, but that- there’s definitely no other word to describe it but the word cute.
“but how about, let’s say, wearing a coat over it?”
“jungkook! no!” you grunt, punching his arm- but then a lightbulb illuminates your brain.
“or shorts under it-”
“oh my god, i think you have one that matches. i remember i saw it the other day-”
“no, wait, wait, wait- shorts are safer! ____!”
you sprint back to the walk-in closet, leaving jungkook alone in the bedroom.
“come back here!”
he jerks his head in distress, rubbing his eyes harshly with his tattooed knuckles.
“ah, ____!”
“what?!” you yell, voice bouncing off the walls of your apartment. “i found it!”
“is it too tight?” jungkook inquires, looking up to you from the floor.
you bend your knees to assess the tightness of knee pads. “nope, it’s good.”
he proceeds to grab the elbows pads he hung over the handle of the motorcycle.
“hmmm, next… you wear these instead.”
you pout, recalling that he forgot his riding jacket at work yesterday. “but what about you?”
“i only have one pair.” he says. “it’s fine, it’s just for now. let’s pick up my jacket at the company before going to the museum.”
“how about let’s wear one each?”
upon processing the mechanics of your suggestion, his tall and broad frame shakes with mirth.
you obviously grew up with little siblings. they were so lucky to have you.
“hey! what are you laughing at?”
“nothing, you’re just cute.” he chuckles, wrapping the other protective pad around your left elbow. “just wear them both. i’m confident with my driving but… i still need you as safe as possible, baby.”
“but jungkook! what if y-” you whine out a protest, which he instantly silences by slipping your helmet over your head. “ugh, you’re so rude!”
he beams with pride as he clips its straps beneath your chin. “wow, it fits so perfectly? i only guessed… ah, as expected of jeon jungkook.”
his hand freezes on the visor when you strike him with the beady eyes, pouting your lips to request for a kiss, which he grants— more than willingly. gladly. happily. with pleasure.
cruising through the city on a motorbike with the love of his life; going on dates; putting on your helmet for you and learning how to angle his face for when he steals a kiss— he used to only witness this in romance films.
at the end of the day he’s just a simple man, jungkook admits.
what a dream come true.
it definitely becomes clearer to jungkook today— why you did not oppose the idea of him getting a motorcycle license on such short notice.
“this is so cool!” you squeal behind him, subconsciously raising the pitch of your voice to contest with the wind and the roaring engines.
“____, be careful,” he chides you. “or else i’ll slow down!”
a sense of relief washes over him as you readjust your arms around his waist, your weight resting on him ironically making his chest feel lighter.
if only jungkook could protect you by keeping you bubblewrapped at all times, he would.
“you’re enjoying this more than i expected.”
the two of you idle before a red light. he balances the two-wheeled vehicle with his left foot planted on the ground.
“is it fun?”
“so much fun!” you gush, enthusiasm overflowing past the seams of your lips. “you already drive like a pro!”
“of course! i studied hard! i don’t plan on putting you in danger with my stupidity!”
“still-” you interject. “you’re just good at everything.”
while he is aware that he is gifted in many ways, technically speaking, jungkook knows he can’t possibly be good at everything. but hearing it come from the person he love and adore most in the world? he can’t help but to allow it to inflate his ego a little bit.
ten seconds before the traffic light turns green.
his smirk is hidden inside his helmet, but you can masterfully envision it in your head just from the transparent smugness in his voice.
“time to hold on again, baby.”
“i think you just like me feeling you up.” you muse.
you teasingly slip one hand underneath his shirt to caress his toned stomach, and he hisses out a curse. with how strict you are about road safety, one would assume that you would restrain on being frisky while riding a vehicle thirty times more dangerous than a car. you either have too much in trust your boyfriend or you underestimate your effect on him.
in his case, double the thirty.
the engine roars to life and the wheels screech against the concrete road. your gentle touch turns into a bruising grip on his waist.
jungkook thinks that you might be right. he would never miss an opportunity to feel your skin on his skin. he selfishly decides then and there— he now prefers motorycle rides with you.
it doesn’t take you long to catch up to that fact. when he tells you wear something comfortable, you also know not to spend too much time doing something cute with your hair because the helmet will just turn it into a tousled mess. for the past two months, he has been calling you every night to ask whether you want to be picked up from work with the bike or the car, because as much as you both relish in the thrill and the wind and the intimacy, sometimes you fall asleep on the way home from exhaustion and he doesn’t want you… quite literally falling on the streets of seoul.
but today is your day-off, and with your head hanging from the edge of the bed, you tear your attention away from your phone to find jungkook is upside down. he stands outside the bedroom door hugging your rainbow hello kitty plushie to his chest, frowning woefully with a cause you are clueless about.
the contrast of his black t-shirt with the rainbow makes you crack a smile, reminiscent of the countless memes you’ve seen on the internet. you find it funny, but mostly endearing. because you’re the one who loves colors but dreams of nightmares, while he loves dark colors but dreams of stars, fairies, and soaring through skies and different dimensions. you don’t believe in fate. however, jungkook believes that it was fate that brought him to you, and that you are the person he is destined with. you don’t believe in fate, but you wholeheartedly, unequivocally believe in him.
“i was watching the news-” he huffs, seemingly perplexed. “why is everyone breaking up all of a sudden?”
“who broke up?”
he freezes, attempting to recall the names that flashed across the television screen only minutes ago. “i honestly don’t know them, but still!”
“then why are you pouting?”
he doesn’t answer. instead, he carelessly tosses the plushie on the bed before climbing on it, sneaking his arms between your torso and the mattress to engulf you in a bone-crushing embrace. your phone slips away from your grip, buried somewhere in the sheets, but when big bundle of love and warmth is over you, it’s impossible to be consumed by anything else.
you weave your fingers through his hair, whispering teasingly. “scared of being in the headlines too?”
“scared…” he agrees, then he doesn’t. “of losing you.”
he scoots closer to nuzzle his face against your neck, his warm breath fanning your skin.
“i-it’s just,” he pauses. “ah, i don’t know! nevermind, forget it.”
“no, tell me. it’s okay.” your hands cup his cheeks, coaxing him to look at you. “tell me what’s bothering you. whatever it is. i’ll listen.”
there’s a glint of melancholy on his glassy eyes, and you desperately want to know what brought forth this pain so you can take it all away. your heart shatters when his nose scrunches into a sniffle, skin becoming more flushed, a shade of red that dusts his skin only when he cries.
“when couples break up after a long time… many of them say…” he trails off, held back by uncertainty.
“they say?” you urge him to continue, pretending to be absorbed in fixing his hair— running your fingers through the soft locks, rearranging his bangs, trying to see if they’re long enough to be tucked behind his ears— all in an indulgent effort to show him that this type of conversation doesn’t need to be awkward or intense.
“they say that… that they just woke up one day and- and realized they were no longer-” his lips curve into a frown, deeper than before, and you mirror him without knowing. “happy, or in love.”
he breathes shakily, avoiding your eyes to gather himself together.
fuck, jeon jungkook. man up! are you seriously going to cry right now? like this?
“and we’ve been together for five years.”
“almost five,” you correct him with a sweet smile, poking his soft cheek right where one of his dimples would be. “our anniversary is right around the corner.”
the unadulterated joy you radiated as you spoke those words makes the trepidation in his brain glitch.
“sorry, i couldn’t help myself. please continue.”
he licks his lips, and then opens his mouth but- “i’ve lost my train of thought.”
“oh my god, i’m sorry.”
“for what?”
“you were talking about something serious.” you wince guiltily.
“our anniversary is something serious too!” he points out, pouting cutely.
“yes, but… it’s a different story, breakups are- jungkook! why are you suddenly laughing?!” you sputter, shoving him away in annoyance when you hear a snort in the midst of his uncontrollable giggles. “what’s so funny…? you were just so close to crying!”
he shakes his head profusely, collapsing over you, but he ends up rolling over to the side so he can lie on his back and clutch at his aching belly.
“ah, ____! my heart fluttered when you mentioned our anniversary. i totally forgot what i was talking about!”
if it fluttered earlier, now it goes absolutely wild in his ribcage.
your positions are switched before he can comprehend it— you’re now on all fours on top of him. his head is trapped in between your arms and your gold necklace is dangling over his face and you’re straddling his lap and now it’s getting harder to breathe and not picture obscene images that involve you worshipping his body.
he probably likes this way too much than he cares to admit.
“do you see it now?”
he purses his lips, obviously distracted, controlled by his desire for you as he finds the curves of your waist to caress. “see what?”
“that you don’t need to be anxious about us not being happy in the future, because we’re happy right now.”
he cannot detect an ounce of hesitation even if he tried. you are steady. you are sure. something intangible and inexplicable floods your souls when your eyes meet, but the two of you know that it exists and it is real.
“fuck… i love you. i fucking love you so much.” his voice borders on a growl, and a whimper escapes your lips just before they crash against his for a kiss so full of passion that it completely catches you offguard. he pulled you down so swiftly that your hands anchored on the bed scrambled for his forearms to break your fall, nails digging into his skin as you balance yourself.
jungkook isn’t much for words, but something in him always wants more. he likes to speak with his tongue in a way so sweet that it compels you to abandon your vocabularies in the farthest back of your mind.
you sit down on his lap breathless after making out. your boyfriend watches you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, slipping his hands underneath his head as he cockily grins in satisfaction.
you roll your eyes at the sight of his biceps being shamelessly flexed. “bastard,”
“bastard you’re crazy about,”
“unfortunately,” you sigh with faux disappointment, hugging the hello kitty plushie you picked up from the floor.
“want to go for a ride?”
“to where?”
“anywhere,” he shrugs. “it’s already late so there shouldn’t be traffic anymore.”
you jump off the bed without another word, returning a minute later clad in a black harley davidson jacket. you look so fucking chic and attractive in it, he always pats himself on the back for buying it for you.
jungkook would go against all laws of the universe if it meant spending a hundred more almost five years with you, until the hello kitty plushie you’re still hugging becomes gray and unrecognizable.
“babe, why are you still staring at me like that? i’m ready!”
from the entrance, jungkook discerns your familiar figure pacing back and forth across your designated parking spaces. you appear to be engrossed in your phone as you nibble on your thumb, which he knows to be a tell-tale sign of your anxiety. you just got your nails done, and for the first three days, you’re usually very conscious of messing them up.
you fail to notice the loud presence of his motorcycle, not until he has successfully parked and pushed down its side stand on the ground.
“baby! what are you doing out here?”
he lifts off the helmet, ruffling his hair to tame it. and as he brushes his stubborn bangs away from his eyes, that’s when he sees his lover overcome with distraught.
his heart drops to his stomach.
your eyes are filled with unshed tears, chin trembling with the struggle of holding them back.
“jungkook!” you wail out his name, and you haven’t cried this loud since you were sixteen.
an unnamed neighbor walks by the scene and says to theirself, somebody must’ve died.
“yah- why? why, why, why?” he stumbles over his own words in panic, carelessly hanging the helmet on one of the handles of the motorcycle as he gets off. “what’s wrong? baby? what happened?”
you hide your face in the palms of your cold yet clammy hands, ashamed by the surge of your emotions flooding the parking lot as acid rain, but a sense of safety blankets you when jungkook gingerly tugs you towards him.
“i thought something bad happened to you! a car hit a motorcycle nearby- and i thou- i really thought-”
“oh, that’s right! how did you know?” he gasps. “i passed by them earlier. there were so many people and police officers.”
“jungkook!” you snap, hitting his chest in frustration.
“sorry- i’m sorry! okay, that was insensitive of me- fuck.” he rambles, and you visibly cringe when his glove-clad hands touch your face.
the texture, and only god knows all the places it’s been…
“there’s no need to cry, baby! i’m already here, aren’t i? i’m so healthy. there’s not a single scratch on me.”
he hastily takes off his jacket to reveal himself in a white sleeveless shirt. spotless that it looks brand-new.
“see? all good!“
you fall silent. your eyes frantically scan his body, but your brain doesn’t really register anything that you perceive.
“aigoo, why are you shaking so much?”
he can’t bear to watch you in this state. he feels nauseous, almost, like his gut is being twisted and wrung in different ways.
“my baby must’ve been so worried about me, is that right? come here.”
in the solace of jungkook’s embrace, wrapped in his strong arms that are, praise heavens, not broken, the pounding of your heart gradually returns to normal.
his, however, becomes louder. and these days he likes to believe that he is no longer the crybaby he once was, but his skin feels flushed as tears fills his eyes, because damn, what a blessing it is to be loved by you.
he leans on the motorcycle, lovingly rocking you back and forth with shushes and soft hums.
time flies by when you are floating, but jungkook is patient as he waits for you to land and come home to him, even when his feet have fallen asleep.
“you haven’t forgotten your promise?” you whisper.
“never not wear a helmet,” he coos, pressing his lips to your temple. “of course i haven’t forgotten.”
“good,” you mumble, drawing back. “go home and shower. you’re all so sweaty.”
“i will. i feel so sticky.” he chortles. “this is so annoying. i hate summer!”
you continue to cling to jungkook all the way to the apartment unit, arms circled around his torso and soft cheek smushed against his back. snuggling him from behind like a koala does a tree is a newly-discovered joy. and if you were single you would be rolling your eyes at a person for saying this, but it is quite wonderful to have a boyfriend for a pillow that is also a blanket. has anyone invented that?
“you know, i regret not getting a motorcycle earlier.”
“why?”
the door opens with a short jovial jingle as a signal.
“i saw someone with a puppy in a basket this morning. it was even wearing goggles! it was really cute!” he laments, dragging you along with him into the living room. “ah, i’m an idiot. why didn’t i think of that? we could’ve done that with bam!”
you form the mental image of tiny baby bam wearing tiny goggles and a tiny leather jacket, and then another, but with the current bam.
“but bam is already as big as the bike!” you dissolve into laughter.
jungkook grunts, and you can’t tell whether he’s genuinely feeling this regretful or he’s just trying to distract you after you broke down with the mind-numbing anxiety of losing him forever.
“exactly!”
you sink into the couch, instinctively reaching for the hello kitty plushie to hug. meanwhile, he begins stripping off his shirt.
“it’s not even possible at all now!”
“but i do want to see him wear goggles…” you say in jest, fishing out your phone from the pocket of your shorts. “should i look for one?”
wait, what do you even type for it? dog goggles?
“i found them. there are helmets, too.” you gasp, covering your mouth as an epiphany hits you. “the puppy wasn’t wearing a helmet?”
driven by curiosity, jungkook sits next to you as you search for the item online. he is practically naked, left wearing only his black calvin klein boxers.
“oh,” he pauses. “now that you mention it, the puppy wasn’t wearing one.”
“how are you still sweaty?” with your thumb, you wipe the bead of sweat threatening to enter his eye. “go shower first.”
he manages to sneak a chaste kiss to your wrist before it becomes out of reach.
“before that, i need to tell you something.”
you bob your head, encouraging him to speak out, but the longer you maintain eye-contact with him, the faster his impulsive courage melts into a puddle of nervousness.
marry me.
marry me.
“baby…”
“yes?” you half-smile. “what is it? you’re starting to scare me.”
marry me.
when i see the future, i only see you.
“i love you.”
taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D
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giuliettagaltieri · 7 months ago
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Not Her Man
Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Childhood friend!Reader
Chapter Synopsis: Feathers fall gracefully slow
Warning: Girlrotting
Word Count: 3193
Part 1 • Part 3
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You were always scared to do drugs.  
You saw Rafe at his highs, you were with him, keeping him from doing anything stupid like when he was so sure he could backflip from Tanneyhill’s rooftop and land on the grass perfectly. 
But you also wondered how difficult it was for him to get clean.  To suffer from withdrawals.  And as you lie on your fur carpet, staring at the glimmering crystals of your chandelier, with your closet half emptied and scattered all around your room, along with rolling wine bottles on the polished hardwood floor of your bedroom, you think you might have understood just a little.
Blocking him was the hardest thing you have ever done in your life, especially when it was your routine to giggle over whatever interaction you had through text that day.  The itch to open his account for any update made you want to bind your hands together.
Your parents are out of the country, busy overseeing their business, forgetting to oversee their daughter.  Your maids were there for you, at least they try to be.  They bring you food on schedule, even sliding in a few scoops of ice cream every now and then in your room when your sobs start to echo around the halls.
Rafe tried to contact you multiple times.  First, through your phone, but you blocked him.  Next, he tried to throw pebbles at your window, but your seventy-six year old gardener fired a shotgun at him, thinking that he was a burglar.  Next, he tried a different approach, he was sending you gigantic bouquets of your favorite flowers, making the hallway leading to your room look like a wedding set up, the flowers perfumed the entire house too, drawing a concerning amount of bees.  One epipen to your chef’s thigh later, Rafe stops sending them.
He never really does anything right.  All he does is mess up, create more problems for himself.  You almost wanted to give in, but you remind yourself of the things he said.  Anger and hurt quickly replaces pity.
A familiar chime of your phone had you groaning.  Your friends are probably going to have another attempt of making you step out of your room, like inviting you to have your nails done or shop, just to get your mind off of Rafe.
You just let the ringtone end and you go back to staring at the chandelier, wondering if you’ll be quick enough to get out of the way if it somehow falls.  Before you can plan a strategic roll, your phone rings again.
Blindly reaching underneath the scattered pillows, you finally locate the buzzing device.  You answer without looking at the caller ID. 
“Y/N speaking.”  You mumble lazily.
“Hey, girlie.”  There goes the high-pitched voice of your friend.  “Sooo, the girls and I-hush!”  You hear a bunch of girls giggling behind the line and your brows crease together in annoyance.  “We’re going on a party tonight and we’re thinking that maybe you’d liketocomewithus?”
You play with the lace of your dress, eyes just following the patterns when you hear your name being called again over the phone.
“I’m not in the mood for parties.” 
“You are never in the mood for anything anymore.”  She whines behind the line.  Her tone prompts you to sit up to pick up the stale wine you left out in the open for too long.  Taking a sip and ignoring the thin coat of dust it caught after you ransacked your closet for something that made you look confident, only for you to end up squeezing in the dress that Rafe got you as a present for your 13th birthday.  He didn’t pick it out for you, of course, but it still made you all fizzy and bubbly and excited inside.
You put down the wine to scratch at the waistband that is digging on the skin of your under bust, the fabric being stretched beyond its capacity.
“I know.”  You tried to sound apologetic.  “I just can’t, okay?”
She sighs, making you let out a grateful sigh.  There’s still some ceiling viewing you had to get back to.
“I’m picking you up at seven.”  She speaks with finality and before you can answer, she continues.  “Please don’t let that awful man get the satisfaction of knowing that he has this much effect on you.”  You can hear her begging behind the phone.  She and the other girls are just looking out for you.
With an unwilling heart, you decide to get on your feet, your socked foot nearly slipping the moment it touches the wooden floor.  Cursing, you finally crouch on the piled up clothes you threw earlier. 
“Fine, I’ll come.”  You roll your eyes.  “Dresscode?”
You hear an airy chuckle and you can imagine her pinching your cheeks if you were within her reach.  “Party’s open to all, Kooks or Pogues.  In the community beach house.  You dress however you like.  I’ll match your vibe, if you’d like.”
This makes a smile creep on your lips.  She’s definitely on the top 10 list of the most annoying people you know but you thank God everyday for a friend like her.  “You know I love you, right?”
She snorts before bursting out in a fit of laughter.  “Duh.  I love you too.”
“See you later.”  You grin.  “Tell the girls I’m coming too.”
“Sure, see you!” 
You hang up and get started on searching for the right outfit.  Well, there’s the classic white flowy dresses, but everybody wears them.  You could wear a short and a cute top, show some belly?  Blech, you’re not exactly in one of your maneater moods.  But perhaps if you covered it with that oversized white pinstriped polo, it could work?  Yeah, something casual yet put together.  It’s not like you’re dressing to impress anybody, or somebody in particular, you’d prioritize comfort over fashion tonight.
A knock on your bedroom door pulls you from your thoughts.  With a shrug, you throw your chosen clothes on your bed.
“Coming.”  You call while trudging over to open the door.  There stood your maid, she was looking anxious, wringing her wrinkly hands.  “What is it?”
She glances at your odd choice of clothing before she looks away so as to not make you uncomfortable.  “Well, uhm, Sir Cameron is here again, miss.  He’s waiting for you downstairs, in the drawing room.”
You press your lips in a firm line.  “Tell him I’m not here.”
Your maid smiles apologetically.  “He…he saw you in your bedroom window before he came in, miss.”
Huffing, you tap your feet impatiently.  “Just tell him I’m busy.”
“He said you’ll say that.”  She mutters, amusement in her tone.  “And he asked us to tell you that he can wait.”
You close your eyes to keep them from rolling.  “Whatever, he can stay as long as he likes, but I’m not coming down to meet him.”  You push the door a little wider and your maid’s eyes widen at the state of your room.  “I’m sorry, I know you’re busy but can you help me clean up?”
The rest of the afternoon was spent tidying up your room. 
It was dark out, a couple of minutes past seven when your phone buzzed.  Knowing that it’s your girlfriends, you pick your bag, filled with the usual party necessities and head downstairs.  It’s a habit, assigning yourself as the responsible friend who stays sober to look after the others.
You are slipping in the pearl bracelet your grandmother got for you last Christmas when you hear your name being called and in instinct, you turn around.
“Oh, right.”  You say with a tone that is drier than the Sahara desert.  “You’re here.”
Rafe’s standing just outside your drawing room, his hands falling to his side.
“Yeah.”  He spoke awkwardly, his eyes glancing at your outfit, familiarity crossing them before he looked at your eyes again.  “I was waiting for you.”
You exhale softly and he just stood there, waiting for your reaction.
“I know.”  You say simply.  “Gotta go.”  You start walking again to your door.
“Wait, Y/N.” He easily catches up.  “You’re…you’re coming to the party, right?”  He asks hopefully.
“Yes.”  You respond without looking at him.
Rafe smiles but it quickly dissipates when he sees a different car waiting for you.  “Hold on, I can drive you there.”  He says quickly, his hand gripping yours just to get you to listen to him.  “I can drive you to the party.”  He says in an uncharacteristically sheepish way.
For a second, you look at him, really look at him.  His smile grows wide.  He missed having your eyes on him.  You’re his best friend, and he’s used to doing everything with you by his side.  He also liked how dependent you were on him too, always asking for his approval.  You have a bit of an overbearing attitude but he would be lying if he’ll say that he doesn’t miss you doting on him too.  Perhaps you’re not the only one who’s dependent on this odd friendship you both have.
“No, thank you.”  You say before pulling your hand away with a sharp look thrown his way.  He watches you walk away to greet your friends.  He’s still stuck there, staring, even after the car drives away.
He doesn’t understand it.
You’re the emotional one, why are you doing so well without him?  You never go to parties with other people, it was always him that you stick close to.  Clinging on him, pulling him to the dance floor when he’s about to do a line of coke, or accidentally knocking his cup when he’s had too much drinks.
Running a hand through his face, Rafe decides to hop on his car and follow you to the party.  You’ll be in the same space as him in the next few hours.  He’ll get another chance there.  He’s certain of it.
He didn’t get the chance.
With you by his side all the time, you memorized his set of activities at parties and you evaded him perfectly.  Rafe decided that it was best to stand by the punch table.  You’d get thirsty eventually, and he’ll be there waiting if you do.
On the other side of the house, farthest from Rafe, there you sit by the porch swing, admiring the push and pull of the waves.  The party was at its climax and everybody was cramped inside the house, dancing and drinking, or doing unholy activities.  You don’t know how you managed to slip away from your friends but you’re glad you did.  You needed the fresh air.
You’re just starting to get comfortable when a man stumbles out the door.  You watch him struggle to keep himself up.  He looked lost? Or just flat out drunk.  You watch in amusement as he scratches his blonde head, he must be having a whiplash from all the blinding neon lights inside and suddenly his vision switches to the bright light provided by the LEDs. 
His feet twist and he starts to fall to the side, your head tilting to follow his fall.  You wince when you hear the loud thud of his body hitting the floor, followed by his muffled but loud groaning.
“Motherfu-”  He sits on the floor, his legs sprawled out in front of him as he shakes his head like a dog.
“You alright, JJ?”  You chuckle.
He whips his head to you, cursing again when his vision spins.  “Y/N?”  He drawls out while rubbing his eyes.  “You saw everything?”
Still laughing, you get up to crouch next to him.  “I did.”  You smile when he groans out again.  “Are you okay?”
He props up a knee and rests an arm there, he looks buzzed, his eyes are heavily lidded as he stares off into the ocean.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”  He glances at you.  “Well, this is a strange sight.”
“What is?”  You mumble as you look away from him, deciding to play dumb.
He shrugs animatedly, hands gesturing to you and the entire space of the porch.  “Usually, wherever you are, your boyfriend is not that far behind.”  He points a thumb behind him.  “And if I wasn’t imagining it, I’m pretty sure I just saw him brooding over the drinks.”
You chuckle dryly as you bring your knees to your chest.  “He’s not my boyfriend.”
JJ looks at you with an unimpressed face.  “That’s all you heard.”
Playfully punching his shoulder, you sigh.  “We fought.”
He frowns, back straightening immediately.  “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”  It’s kind of sweet how your words seemed to have sobered him really quick.
“No!  No, he didn’t.”  You reply right away.  “Well, at least not physically.”
You watch him grimace.  “Outside physical fights, I have little to no idea how to respond.”
“That’s okay, JJ.  I don’t wanna talk about it, anyway.”
He gives you a boyish grin, as if to reassure you before scratching at his jaw, your eyes mindlessly follow his movements and you see a scratch.
“You’re hurt.”  You tell him, pointing at your own jaw.
“Huh?”  He touches his jaw and winces.  “Ow!  Must’ve scratched myself when I…uhm.”
“When you decided to attack the floor.”  You finish for him and he clears his throat.  “You’ll have to disinfect it.”
“Pfft, it’s fine.”  He shakes his head.  “It’s just a scratch.”
But you are already grabbing your bag by the swing and you return with a small kit.
“I forgot to bring wipes.”  You mumble before crouching down in front of him.  He swallows at your close proximity.  “Come on, JJ.  It’s just antibacterial cream.”
He hesitantly shows you his face and you gently apply the cream, tutting when he dramatically pulls away.
You grab his face and tilt it slightly and JJ squeezes his eyes.
“It fucking stings.”  He nearly whines, making you roll your eyes.
“Don’t be a baby!”  You huff and he stays still for a second, allowing you to smear the cream evenly and he rolls away from you as soon as you’re done.
JJ was muttering about God knows what while you’re busy putting your stuff away.  When you sit next to him again, he’s much calmer, a lazy smile back on his face again.
“Thanks, Y/N.”
You throw him a playful glare.  “You’re welcome.”
He touches the scratch and you almost tell him off but he quickly pulls his hand away. 
“Why didn’t Cameron make you his girl?”
You blow out a big sigh.  “He doesn’t like me.”
“Bullshit.”  He laughs but he clears his throat when you look at him unamused.  “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”  You smile at him genuinely before averting your eyes.  “I wouldn’t blame him.  I mean, you saw how I can be.”  You chuckle this time but there’s no humor on JJ’s face, he’s looking at you rather sadly.  “I care too much and everybody suffocates around me.”
“I don’t.”  He says quickly.  “I was just being dramatic earlier.”  He rubs his nape.  “I’m not used to having people tend to me, I mostly just do it myself.”  He seeks your eyes and you finally look at him. 
You hear a creak behind you but before you can look, JJ cups your face to keep you from breaking your eye contact, making your breath hitch.
“I liked being taken care of like that.”  He whispers and your lips part slightly.
“JJ.”  You say breathlessly and he grins, his face leaning dangerously close to you.  “You’re drunk.”
He gently bites his bottom lip and you have to look away from his blatant flirting.  “I’m sober enough to kiss, I promise.”
This…this isn’t right.  
You gently push him away and his lips immediately form a pout.  “You’re such a kid, JJ.”
He clicks his tongue and angrily stoops as he glares at the ocean.  “You had no idea how long it took me to build the courage to do that.”
“Five minutes?”  You jokingly bump his shoulders, making his act break at the edges, a smile threatening to crack on his lips.  “Seriously, J, I can’t kiss drunk guys.  It’s unethical.”
He mimics you in a childish voice and buries his face on his palms harshly.  He turns to you again, with his hair disheveled and sticking to his forehead and red blotches appearing on some areas of his face.  “I’m not as drunk as you think I am.”  The way he glances at your lips had your throat drying up.  “I really wanted to kiss you.”  Aside from Rafe, you have little to no experience with the male attention and frankly, you don’t know what to do.
You place a hand on his shoulder and stiffly pat it twice.  “You’ll get over it.”
JJ looks at you exasperatedly.  “You’re taking this too lightly, this is my feelings we are talking about.”
You stifle a laughter.  “Oh, so you have feelings for me.”  You raise a brow at him and he nods his head enthusiastically.
“Every guy on this island has a thing for you.”  He says animatedly.  “If it wasn’t for your bodyguard, we would have made our move long ago.”
You are deeply flattered, you can’t resist the girlish smile from tugging on your lips, your cheeks slowly heating up.
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
He looks deeply offended and places a hand on his chest.
“You’re the ultimate dream girl, stupid!”  He dodges a punch from you.  “You’re like the total package.  You’re sweet, and smart, you’re also very pretty, you can be funny too when you let loose.”  He wiggles his eyebrows at you and this pulls a laughter from you, a real, genuine laughter that had your shoulders shaking.
“When are you gonna get serious, J?”  Wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes, you get up.  “Wait here, I’ll get us a drink.”
He gives you a two finger salute before lying smack down on the floor, with his arms spread out.  You shake your head, chuckling when you open the door.
And your hair stands on end.
There stood the very person you have been avoiding the entire night.
But for once, he isn’t wearing a scowl or a condescending cocky smile.
He was looking at you like a man defeated and broken.
“Rafe.”  You whisper as you reach for him but you stop yourself before your skin can touch.  He looks at your hand and then your eyes.  You don’t know if it’s the trick of light but you could have sworn his eyes are glassy.
“Hey, Y/N, everything alright?”  JJ calls.
Rafe glances at JJ and then back at you, he nods slowly as he takes a step back.  Your heart aches as you watch him take another step away from you but you will yourself not to follow.  He runs a hand on his mouth and he turns away from you.
You stare at his back as he leaves, torn between choosing your own pride or running after him.  For what seemed like hours, you stood there, frozen.  Still lost in the onslaught of emotions that surged through you.
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Not Your Girl • His Girl
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1K notes · View notes
pucksandpower · 10 months ago
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Hydrate or Diedrate
Charles Leclerc x wife!Reader
Summary: after an issue with his car leaves Charles racing without water for the entire Miami Grand Prix, he wants to hydrate with something only you can give him
Warnings: 18+ content and lactation
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The Miami sun beats down relentlessly as you make your way through the paddock after the race. Charles had an eventful day, managing to bring his Ferrari home in P3 despite having no water in his car for the entire Grand Prix.
You spot him being interviewed by the broadcast team, sweat still glistening on his face and his hair matted to his forehead. Though he seems coherent, you can tell he’s feeling the effects of the dehydration.
As soon as the interview wraps, you rush over and take his arm. “Come on, let’s get you out of this heat.”
Charles gives you a grateful smile. “I’m fine, I promise.”
You shake your head sternly. “Don’t give me that. You’re clearly dehydrated.” You glance around and wave over Charles’ best friend. “Can you take Jules for a bit?”
Joris nods and gladly takes your four-month-old son from your arms, expertly cradling the bundled infant. “Of course, go take care of him.”
You guide Charles into the air-conditioned Ferrari motorhome and down the hall to his driver’s room, closing and locking the door behind you. Charles immediately faceplants onto the couch with a groan.
“It was so hot out there. I could barely see straight those last few laps,” he mumbles into the cushion.
You settle onto the couch next to him, rubbing his back soothingly. “I know, I could see it on the screens. You did amazing to hang on for that P3.”
Charles rolls over onto his back, squinting up at you. “Do we have any water in here?”
“Of course.” You grab a bottle from the mini-fridge and hand it to him.
He wastes no time downing half of it in one long gulp. “Ahh, that’s better.” His eyes drift down to your chest, where your nursing bra peeks out from under your shirt. “Actually … I have an even more effective idea for rehydrating.”
You raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh? And what might that be?”
Charles sits up, a playful glint in his eyes as he sets the water bottle aside. He reaches for you, bunching the fabric of your shirt in his fists. “This.”
With one deft tug, he frees your breasts from the confines of your top. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he takes in the sight.
“You know that’s not really what they’re for, right?” You tease, trying not to get too flustered.
Charles scoots closer until your bodies are flush together. His hands roam over your chest reverentially. “I think this is the perfect use for them.”
You shiver at his touch, arousal already beginning to pool in your core. “I don’t know, they’re usually just for feeding Jules ...”
“Well, think of this as multi-purpose.” Charles leans in to press kisses along the swell of your breasts.
Despite your banter, you’re already melting under his touch. “I … ah … I suppose you could use some rehydrating.”
With a low hum of approval, Charles takes one rigid peak into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it firmly, coaxing out the first few drops of your milk.
A soft gasp escapes your lips at the wet heat of his mouth. You tangle your fingers in his sweat-damp curls to hold him close. “Charlie ...”
He only responds by increasing the suction, hungrily drawing more of your sweet essence. You bite your lip to stifle a moan as he switches to your other breast, lavishing it with the same rapt attention.
All too soon, Charles pulls back with a satisfied smack of his lips, chin and mouth glistening. “Delicious ...”
“You have no idea how hot that was,” you pant, completely transfixed by the erotic image he makes.
A cocky grin tugs at the corner of Charles’ mouth. “Oh, I think I do.” He presses his palm to the front of his race suit, making it obvious just how aroused he is. “Want to help me with this?”
“Absolutely,” you purr, pushing him back against the arm of the couch to straddle his lap.
Charles groans as you grind down against the hard bulge in his suit. “You’re a tease, you know that?”
“Takes one to know one.” You lean in to capture his lips in a heated kiss, all tongue and teeth.
One of Charles’ hands threads into your hair to angle your mouth more firmly against his. The other drifts down to grope your ass, pulling your hips flush with his.
You rock against him shamelessly, addicted to the delicious friction. He meets each grind with a roll of his own hips, quickly reducing you both to panting, needy messes.
“I want you,” Charles rasps against your lips. “Need to be inside you ...”
“Yes ...” You fumble for the zipper of his suit, desperate to free him. “God, yes, take me ...”
He surges up to kiss you again, all heat and urgency and unbridled want. You can taste the tang of your own milk on his tongue and it’s so dirty, so sinfully hot that it makes your head spin.
Finally, you manage to tug the fire-retardant fabric down far enough to free Charles’ straining erection. He hisses at the friction of your hand on his bare length.
“Hurry, mon amour,” he pleads, deft fingers already working to divest you of your underwear. “Need to be inside you ...”
No sooner is the scrap of lace pushed aside than Charles is guiding himself to your entrance. You sink down in one endless slide, stretching deliciously around his girth to take him to the hilt.
“Fuck ...” He bucks up into you with a choked groan.
You whimper at the exquisite fullness, rolling your hips to take him even deeper. Already you can feel the tight heat beginning to gather low in your belly.
Charles grips your hips hard enough to bruise, guiding your movements as you start to bounce on his length. His head falls back against the couch with a thump, mouth falling open in ecstasy.
“You feel so incredible,” he pants, meeting your thrusts with shallow rolls of his own hips. “So hot, so tight ...”
“Only for you,” you gasp out between moans, bracing your hands on his heaving chest.
He slides one calloused palm up to toy with your neglected breast, rolling the stiff peak between his fingertips. You cry out at the new stimulation, walls fluttering around him.
“Going to come just like this,” Charles grunts, increasing the pace. “Make such a mess of you.”
The thought of him painting you with his release has you clenching down hard. You ride him with wild abandon now, chase that electric high.
Charles leans up to suckle at your other breast, drinking you down greedily even as his hips snap up to meet yours. “Yes, just like that, fuck!”
With a broken shout, your orgasm slams into you like a freight train. Every muscle locked rigid, toes curled, as molten bliss washes over you in waves. Charles follows a beat later, still thrusting fitfully as he spills deep inside you with a guttural growl.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the room are your harsh pants mingling together as you float down from your highs. Charles peppers sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder and neck, gradually gentling the movement of your joined bodies.
“Incredible,” he murmurs against your salty skin. “Absolutely incredible.”
You hum in satiated agreement, nosing at his hairline. Eventually you pull back far enough to take in his thoroughly debauched state — hair wild, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and red.
So beautifully wrecked because of you.
“Feeling rehydrated now?” You can’t resist teasing.
Charles lets out a breathless chuckle, warm palms sliding up and down your back. “More than I could have ever imagined.”
But the sound of the door opening makes you both freeze.
“Oh mon dieu!” Joris exclaims with a bark of laughter, looking thoroughly amused as he stands in the doorway cradling Jules. “I was just coming to return your son, but it looks like you two are already hard at work on the next one!”
You yelp and scramble to cover yourself as Charles groans in embarrassment, burying his rapidly reddening face against your chest.
Joris is already backing out of the room, Jules blissfully unaware as he continues chuckling to himself. “Never mind, never mind! I’ll just leave you lovebirds to it ...”
The door clicks shut and you can’t help but dissolve into nervous giggles against Charles’ shoulder. He joins in, the rumble of his laughter vibrating between your bodies.
“Well, that was mortifying,” he says once you’ve both calmed down some.
“At least Jules is too young to understand.” You press your smile to Charles’ hair. “Though Joris is never going to let us live that down.”
Charles groans again, but you can see the beginnings of a sheepish grin. “I don’t even care. That was more than worth the embarrassment.”
He tightens his embrace around you, settling in to simply enjoy the closeness for a while longer. You’re inclined to agree — a little teasing is a small price to pay for such blissful rehydration.
2K notes · View notes
void-my-warranty · 2 months ago
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𝐀𝐱 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝟏𝟖+)
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟓 - 𝐓𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬
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Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Fem Reader Zombie apocalypse AU (all parts here)
CW: Death, gore
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You’re so shocked by the sudden contact on your lips that all you can do is jerk away at first, stumbling back a step and trying to process the fact that he just kissed you. 
Gaz makes no move to pursue. He meets the stunned outrage on your face with that icy, dark gaze of his, and then ignores you entirely to tuck a cigarette between his lips.
“Don’t ever do that again,” you threaten in a low whisper. There’s a mortifying burn lingering on your skin where his mouth touched you. 
He’s just finished coaxing a flame out of the lighter, and regards you over the first red embers of his cigarette. “You haven’t got your supplies sorted, have you?”
“I’ve—“ you square your shoulders, irritated that he’s somehow sensed your failure. “I’m almost done.”
“You’d better hurry…” smoke curls around his face as he softly breathes it out, raising his eyebrow at you and adding, “…wife.”
A sizzle of rage gets added to the churning hatred deep inside you, but you don’t dare make a move to knock that stupid thing out of his mouth like you want to. You have to be smart, because you do need your supplies. You need to be able to leave and never see him, ever again. 
“Goodbye, Gaz,” you tell him for the last time, securing your backpack onto both shoulders.
The smug bastard has no idea what you mean, or course. For all he knows, you’ll be hanging around like an idiot, today, tomorrow, and every day after. 
With a jerk of his chin towards the door, Gaz dismisses you with an exasperated, “Fuck off.”
So you do. 
You turn your back on that miserable prick, and get to work on what matters. 
You’re grateful for that chance encounter. It spurns you on, makes you remember the reason you’re here in the first place, and it’s not to sit around and be nostalgic about your past life. Today, it’s your job to escape the control of men once and for all. 
You get lucky, soon after. Someone who lived at the next house must have been a planner, because you find four unopened boxes of tampons tucked away in the back of a cabinet. Normally you’d be gleeful at the find, but all you feel now is righteous determination. This is your day. You just need some food, a lighter, and some warm clothes, and you can leave these weasel men to their weasley ways. 
It’s going to work out. 
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“Consolidate supplies here,” Doran orders, setting a small jug of gasoline on the grass. You’re not really sure why he has it, but you don’t dare ask and draw unwanted attention to yourself at the moment.
It was just plain bad luck that allowed Tim to catch up with you right before you could sneak away. The jacket you found isn’t as thick as you hoped, but you did get some new boots that fit well, and thick socks. Maybe you’ll come across another town before too long, but for now, you just need to survive until nighttime, when you escape. 
Regretfully, you unload all your beautiful food onto the pile — tinned fish, bean soup — things you were looking forward to eating as your first freedom meal. You’ll have to raid the food before you leave. Damn you, Tim. 
You step back to give the others room to unload, so lost in your own planning that it takes Doran’s booming voice to shock you back to reality.
“You’ve still got a full pack.”
Confused, you look up to find that, yes, his eyes are locked on you. He’s talking to you, for some reason. 
“I— uh, it’s just menstrual stuff.”
Before you can process the strange way everyone seems to be staring at you, Doran tips his head towards the pile. “Communal supplies.”
What? 
You blink in confusion for a second, before Doran reaches over and rips your backpack out of your hands, dumping out your tampon boxes and a few fire starting tools.
“S-sir!” you protest, sputtering in your indignation. “I’m the only one with a vagina!”
“Communal supplies,” he repeats evenly, thrusting your bag back into your arms without any further explanation. Doran holds your eyes in his steely gaze, daring you to question his authority in front of everyone. All of them are his men, apart from maybe one, and that one is not your friend.
An infuriating chuckle sounds from somewhere nearby.
In your absolute disbelief, you glance around the group for a second, trying to figure out if this is some tasteless prank. You’ve never had to fork over any hygiene products before. They’ve never even been mentioned, except to verify that you’ve got enough. 
Gaz doesn’t even bother to meet your eyes, instead taking a large bite of some chocolate bar with a hideously bright wrapper, as if your human rights were the least of his concerns at the moment. 
He did this. Gaz was the one who made you an outsider here, who changed all the rules and drove a wedge between you and your carefully-wooed leader. You can’t even stand to look at him now. 
Disgusted, you zip up your empty backpack and retreat to the edge of the group. It’s dizzying how easily your earlier plans slipped right through your fingers. If Doran is mistrustful enough to confiscate your tampons, what else does he have in store for you? How many more trees will you have to sleep in before you can fucking leave? 
You can’t leave, when you have no tampons. Your period starts in two days, and now you can’t even leave. 
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There is another option, you realize, helping to set up the temporary camp an hour later. The distance from the town is still pretty small, you could spend the night ransacking houses again in the dark, and just hope you can find everything you need all over again. It’s your only feasible option at this point, because you will not let yourself become some kind of slave, with more and more of your autonomy being stripped away every day. 
So you bide your time. You chew on your stash of jerky as you help erect a tent over the supplies, because it looks like it’ll rain overnight. You don’t work diligently or quickly, because fuck them.
“Hey,” calls Nick’s voice from somewhere behind you, and you feel a lock of your hair getting playfully tugged. 
Warily you turn to face him. “What?”
“Want to help me with firewood?”
His eyes are lazy and lidded, dropping to your mouth and staying there, with the camp ax dangling in his hand. Always a casual hold on the ax, but that can change so quickly. 
On the other hand, you could really use an ally. If you can convince Nick to help you escape, maybe even run off with you, things could go twice as smooth tonight, and every night. Do you trust your own ability to manipulate him? 
“Okay,” you agree, and then scowl when he steals a piece of jerky out of your hand and pops it in his mouth. 
“Great,” he says through the mouthful, hand on your lower back to lead you towards the woods.
“Nick,” calls Doran’s hateful, horrible voice, making you grind your teeth in frustration. 
“Yeah, boss?”
“She’s going hunting with Rich. We won’t need much wood, get going like I told you.”
Grumbling to himself about busybodies, Nick hooks his arm around your neck to give your cheek a solid kiss. “Sorry,” he whispers, before pulling away. 
“It’s okay,” you whisper back. Maybe he would have conspired with you, but Doran is determined to keep you apart. 
At least he’s paired you with Rich, and not Gaz. Rich isn’t exactly your friend, but he’s always been a safe option. Quiet, keeps to himself, and doesn’t leer. You scale your plans back to what they were five minutes ago, and mentally kick yourself for getting your hopes up over nothing. 
Rich meets you between two trees, with a large knife on his hip and the compound bow slung around his shoulder. This is a new location, so there’s a decent chance he’ll take down something edible, even if it’s just a squirrel or two. Canned food is always a last resort these days.
“How’s it going?” you prompt, trailing behind him as he starts to move through the trees.
“Fine. Ready to be headed south.”
“I think we all are,” you murmur. Winter is coming whether you’re prepared or not. It’s your first winter in the elements, and memories of every survival show you’ve ever watched have been flipping through your mind, flashes of frostbite and starvation. 
The last time you had a period, Rich was the one who would go into the woods with you, keeping a look out while you changed and buried your tampon. In fact, he’s been a pretty constant, safe resource for you, for a while. You start cursing yourself internally for overlooking that obvious alliance, in favor of Nick’s aggressive flirtation. 
You stare at the back of Rich’s ponytail as you walk, calculating the trust you have for him. He’s doing his usual hunting routine, stepping carefully and scanning slowly each direction, bow in hand as he goes. You’ve been completely oblivious to any foraging opportunities, but that’s alright because you need to save your brainpower for scheming. 
“I think we should split up,” he finally says, glancing back at you for just a second before looking away. “You’re making too much noise.”
“Okay,” you say automatically, coming to a stop as well, in the thick layer of fallen leaves. 
“Okay.”
He seems to vanish into the trees in an uncharacteristic rush, and you’re just left standing there, wracking your brain for any other time he’s ever asked to separate on a hunting trip.
Never. Not once.
Goddamn it.
That familiar feeling prickles across your skin, the same warning of danger that you’ve felt since the first day that Gaz arrived. The trees are suddenly too still, the birds suddenly too quiet. Something is wrong. 
You take a few quick steps in the opposite direction of the way Rich went, and again, dread sinks low in your belly, when you realize you’re running away. You’re running from a man with arrows. 
God damn it. 
For the second time that week, you sprint for your life. Half feeling like an idiot, and half feeling like prey, you take off as fast as you can, farther away from camp and deeper into the woods. You duck under branches and weave around trees for several minutes, looking around frantically for what you need—
There. An evergreen with branches low enough to get a foothold, if you take a running leap. Your foot sinks into a space between rocks while you plan your trajectory, but thankfully you’re not hurt. Mentally cursing yourself, you do a better job of mapping out your path, and then your legs pump as you fly over the leaves, and launch yourself at your safety tree. 
You make it on the first try. Scrambling up the branches, you don’t stop climbing until you’re sufficiently hidden away behind the pine needles, and then you hug the sticky, papery trunk, and catch your breath as quietly as you can.
And then you wait. You wait a long time. It probably feels like longer than it is, but the sun is setting, and the forest remains artificially silent, and you’re still so afraid. 
You oscillate between convincing yourself that you’ve made up an enormous pile of nothing in your own mind, and no one is actually out to get you. It’s normal to have delusions when everyone in the world turns into walking corpses, and you're left wandering the wilderness for months. You probably can’t even rely on your own perceptions anymore, with how paranoid you’ve grown. 
Tampons. Splitting up. Gaz. You’re not delusional, surely. You haven’t been hallucinating these things, right?
A faint animal cry rings out, the creepy kind that owls make at night, but it’s not quite right. It cuts off just when you think you recognize it, and then the woods are blanketed with tight silence again. 
The sun is setting, and you’re still stuck in this damn tree. 
There’s been no sign of Rich, so when you land on the ground with a heavy thump, you prepare yourself to pretend you’ve just been lost all this time. If he hasn’t gone looking for you, it probably means he killed something decent for dinner, and he’s busy burying the blood. 
You’re basically being the worst hunting-helper imaginable, so you decide that you’ve been exaggerating things in your own mind, and start walking in the general direction of the new camp. 
Maybe you can’t trust your intuition every time. Maybe the wind has been playing tricks on you, making your skin prickle and your nerves stand on end. Maybe you’re just not used to being in the wilderness this time of year, and it’s making you imagine sensations that aren’t there. 
The dreadful silence continues as you walk, trying to plan your next steps, but for some reason unable to think about anything but the danger. The arrows. The ax. They circle your mind like vultures, as if waiting for the singular moment when you drop your guard. 
The sky is just light enough that you make out a larger sort of lump, a few minutes later. At first you think it’s an unusual boulder sticking out of the leaves, but soon your heart sinks as you recognize a human arm, bent at an odd angle. And then you see a familiar ponytail.
Shit. 
Cursing aloud, you stumble to the form of your fallen companion, horrified the closer you get and the more blood you see. It’s definitely Rich, and he’s been viciously torn up. 
How could you have missed the rotten smell of the biters? You whip your head around, sniffing and trying to discern any movement through the scattering of trees. Nothing. 
Fuck, Rich. You can’t let him turn.
You find a serviceable rock about the size of your fist, and heave the corpse of your dead campmate over, to get a better angle at his skull. 
Only to find it already spectacularly crushed in, with what appears to have been efficient, targeted blows. 
A shudder of repulsion wracks your body as you finally glance around the leaves, and realize the horrible truth. There’s no knife on his body. No bow or arrows anywhere to be seen. 
Rich was murdered. 
And he was supposed to be with you.
Next Part
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Dividers by the-aesthetics-shop
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moonstruckme · 4 months ago
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hello my sweet gorgeous mae!!
how we feeling abt a fic where reader has some difficulty regulating her emotions when she’s upset and just some casual poly!wolfstar dominance. girl honestly just needs a hug and someone to validate her feelings tbh
Hi lovely, thank you for requesting!! I did give her a reason for her upset which in retrospect I probably should have just left vague but I hope it doesn't take you out of it and if anyone knows anything that makes them think this relates to me in any way no it literally doesn't why would you think that
cw: somewhat subtle/implicit d/s dynamics (really just a couple joking mentions of "rules" or "bans")
poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1k words
You’re grateful to come home to an empty apartment. No sooner does the door shut behind you than the sob that’s been building in your chest jostles its way out. You hug your bag to your front and go to the floor, crying. 
You don’t hold back. You let tears flow down your cheeks and take short, jagged breaths to fuel even more, curling your knees towards your chest and pushing your fingertips into your forehead. 
Your heartbeat is loud enough in your ears that it takes you a second to register the sound of footsteps on the stairs, but you notice when they pick up their pace as they draw closer. Not, evidently, so empty an apartment after all. 
“Dovey.” Remus sounds gutted. You open your eyes, and he looks it, too. Sirius comes up behind him, both of their forms blurring as they crouch in front of you. “What happened?” 
You shake your head. “I—I didn’t—” You’re crying like a child, all choked sobs and snivelly voice. “I didn’t—”
“Shh, that’s okay.” Sirius takes your face in his hands. His hold is firm but his thumbs gentle as they brush over your cheeks. “Just nod yes or no for me, my love. Are you hurt?” 
You shake your head. 
Some of the worry eases from his features, but his brows pinch sympathetically. “Just sad?” 
You open your mouth to answer him, and a hiccup of sobs spills out. 
Sirius makes a pained sound and pulls you to him. Remus murmurs, “Oh, sweetheart.” 
You try to speak again into the material of Sirius’ shirt, to apologize for coming home like this, but both boys shush you, Sirius rubbing your back while Remus gives your arm a squeeze and leans over to kiss your head. 
Remus takes your shoes off for you, and Sirius helps him ease your bag off your shoulder without ever really loosening his hold on you. They move you to the couch. Your boyfriends work in quiet harmony, one always comforting you while the other takes measures to make you more practically comfortable. 
“Dove, listen to me,” Remus says after a while. “You’re going to make yourself sick. Take a deep breath.” 
You try, inhaling only for it to come jerking back out of you on another sob. “I can’t.” 
“You can.” Sirius rubs your back. “Keep trying, baby.” 
They talk you through deep breaths for a while, until you start to calm and it’s only Sirius’ voice in your ear, low and reassuring while Remus goes to get something from the kitchen. 
He passes you a cold glass of water when he gets back, while Sirius is scraping damp pieces of hair back from your face. Presses it into your hands. 
You sniffle. “I’m not really thirsty.” 
“You’re going to be dehydrated after all that. You don’t have to drink it all at once,” he says, and the message is clear: but you do have to drink it. “Take your time if you need to.” 
You take a shaky breath, bringing the glass to your lips. 
“There you go.” Sirius kisses your cheek. You love and hate when they gang up on you like this. You’re between them on the couch, quite literally the center of attention. It’s both comforting and overwhelming. “Now, are you ready to say what’s wound you up so badly?” 
You swallow, nodding. “Sorry,” you say, and you still sound congested, “I didn’t think anyone was home.” 
Sirius tsks. “You know the s word is banned.” He somehow manages to strike a tone that’s both loving and stern. “You don’t get to start bending the rules because you’ve had a bad day.” 
“You shouldn’t feel like you can’t cry when we’re here, either, sweetheart,” Remus adds. 
“Probably wouldn’t have made such a spectacle of it, though.” You attempt a feeble smile. Neither boy looks amused. “It was only that I got my rejection from the Lunds job.” 
“Oh.” Remus' face creases with sympathy. He rubs your thigh. “You really wanted that one, yeah?” 
You shrug, but tears fill your eyes again against your will, dribbling down your cheeks. “I thought I had a good feeling about that one,” you whisper. Sirius starts stroking between your shoulder blades again. “It was stupid.” 
“I’m beginning to think we should ban every s word,” Sirius mutters. There’s no bite to it, though, and when you crack a smile he kisses underneath your ear. “It wasn’t stupid, baby. You were excited about it.” 
Remus’ voice is a low hum. “It’s not just about this one job, though, is it?” 
You look at him, tasting salt in the seam of your lips. 
“You’ve been anxious about all this for a long while,” he says, thumb moving over your knee in a slow, soothing back-and-forth. “I think you put all your stock into this one, and now it’s caught up to you, but this was never the only one that mattered. You can still find a job somewhere else.” 
“I just…” You draw in a breath, trying to steady yourself. “I thought I was so perfect for this one. If they didn’t want me” —your voice wavers— “how can I expect to ever get one?” 
“Angel, I love you, and you know I think you’re a genius ahead of your time,” says Sirius, “but that is some very shoddy reasoning. You’ve no idea who else applied. They might’ve had fucking superman in their stack of applications, and you could’ve been their second choice. That’s not going to happen every time.�� 
“But it is still,” Remus tells you, taking your hand in his, “very hard to feel like you weren’t good enough. I’m sure all you’ve been putting in without getting results weighs on you, yeah?” 
You bite down hard on your lower lip to keep from bursting into tears again. Somehow Remus always knows how to get to the heart of the issue. 
“Yeah,” you say softly. 
“Oh, I know, sweet girl.” He pulls you into his side, kissing your head. “You’ve worked so hard. But it’ll all pay off in the end, alright? What’s say we have a break for tonight. No more applications, just relaxing.” 
“Yeah,” Sirius agrees for you. “After a good cry like that, I think a film and some cuddles are in order.” 
“These aren’t already cuddles?” you joke wetly. 
He makes an offended squawking noise. “Not proper ones. Get your cozies on and let Rem make us a hot cocoa, babydoll, and then we’ll remind you what real cuddles are like.”
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