#LIKE IMAGINE THEM WATCHING THE SUNSET TOGETHER???

[guppybibi]

Simon is a stealthy man, obviously—it's required for his job. Though the fact isn't quite true when it comes to proposals. You could clearly tell what he had in store for you the moment he coincidentally didn't have any work to do when the weather was just right and when he suggested that it was the perfect time of year to propose relax and go on vacation to anywhere you'd like.

Of course, you play along obliviously and decide to go to a tropical place that you've been eyeing for a while now. Simon wasn't complaining about your choice either, a chance to watch the sunset together and see you in a cute swimsuit? Sign him up!

So he books you two a tropical getaway, and insists that you should use his card to go shopping for a nice little dress, yeah? What's your ring size too, love? For future reference..nothing else.

~

The trip so far has been nothing but perfect, the plane surprisingly had enough leg space so Simon was comfortable the whole time. No turbulence either, it was like God was on Simon's side this time.

When you two arrive at your destination, the fresh breeze gladly greets you and the sun's heat is making beads of sweat form on your forehead already. It seemed like the heat had the same effect on Simon as well, although he was sweating more profusely than you for some reason..He'd never tell but he was insanely nervous right now, it felt like his guts were being turned inside out over and over again.

Everything does go smoothly, you two arrive at the hotel he reserved, quickly changing into your swimsuits since you couldn't wait to go out there and take a stroll around the beach. Maybe collect some seashells as a souvenir, build sandcastles or get a tan, do whatever you want, princess. Simon's going to be right beside you the whole time, glaring sharp daggers at anyone who even dares to look at you in the wrong way. Was it too much and completely unnecessary? Maybe, but you could never be too safe in these times. Creeps were always everywhere, casually walking around in broad daylight, hidden in plain sight.

Every single thing you wanted to do or get, was done and bought. You had to say, you were pretty surprised when Simon wasn't making any sarcastic comments about how he wasn't a money dispenser. Not even batting an eye when you got something from a clear tourist scam, weird. But hey, you're really in no place to complain here. Plus, money comes back, but the memories you and Simon will make here won't.

~

Hand in hand, step by step, you and Simon walk by the shore, your eyes full of adoration as you tried tracing the glow of the sun's light on Simon's face. You couldn't tell what was more breathtaking, the landscape or the man in front of you? The sun was bound to set soon, though it never really rests, you couldn't even imagine being the sun, working nonstop with no breaks is a big no no.

Quite ironic since in Simon's eyes, you were technically his sun. You were the center of his world, everything was peaceful when he was around you. Unlike when he's in the military, it always feels like he's out of orbit.

He has to do it, his heart can't contain it anymore. He has to propose, he's going to propose. Right here, right now. It was the perfect moment, the sunset peering, maybe a few folks watching but Simon couldn't give a damn about them. This was about you.

"Love," he calls out, stuffing his hand into his pocket to get the ring box. You snap back to reality, tilting your head in acknowledgement. You were taken aback by the sight of him kneeling on one knee, holding out a box with a shiny ring inside that you were barely able to hear the words, "Will you marry me?".

Without hesitation, you scream out "Yes!" at the top of your lungs, leaving Simon chuckling, still not getting up. "Wait up, luv. I prepared a message for you, mind if I tell you it first?" You were still jumping around the place, looking like you were about to bounce off to outer space. Once you manage to collect your excitement, you nodded, preparing yourself to hear Simon's message to you.

It was all about how you were the light of his life, all of that. It was short and sweet, not unnecessarily long but truly from the heart.

It's safe to say that the both of you went home from that trip with a big grin on your faces.

[toxicanonymity]

Some Landlord ! Billy smut would be Perfect, if you have time. Thanks Tox 🥺

murderbait

BILLY LOOMIS x f!READER | 2k words | The Leak WARNINGS: 18+ sleazy landlord Billy, Gratuitous slutty descriptions. masturbation in public, detailed PIV fantasy, degradation, praise, banter and bickering, light enemies to lovers dynamic, manhandling, dom vibes, sexual tension, pet names, "protective" Billy. NOTES: Sure, nonnie. I offer this sleaze with love. 🖤🖤

In the middle of the night, you wake up sweaty despite being completely naked and using no covers. Without putting on any clothes, you walk to your kitchen to get a cold cup of water, only to see a stack of filled ice trays next to the sink because you forgot to put them in the freezer. Ugh.

You get a glass of water and stand in front of the fridge with the door open. The air conditioner in your window feels weaker every day. It’s so stuffy in your trailer, you wonder if you’d be better off with the window open. Still naked, you go to the kitchen window and slide it open. No matter how hard you push upward, it won’t click and stay. 

“Piece of shit,” you mutter. But the fresh air does feel good. 

Standing in the window with your arms raised, tits blazing, skin glistening…. something moves in the corner of your eye. There’s a fake security camera mounted on the shed you’re looking at. At least you always assumed it was fake, since the owners are such deadbeats. You give it the middle finger just in case, then use a pitcher to hold the window up. 

You go back to bed for a while longer, then get up and rifle through your unfolded laundry, looking for a swimsuit. You find a bikini that appears to have shrunk, but it has adjustable strings so you put it on anyway. Next door, there’s an extended stay hotel that has a pool. It has a cracked and faded slide, no longer in use, and half the rungs are dangling from the pool ladders. It won’t be the first time you’ve snuck in there. No one seems to care, and no one’s going to be out at this hour anyway. 

The pool water is normally warm by sunset, but in the middle of the night, it’s cooled off enough. A weakly-inflated flamingo pool float sits atop the water, and a couple of pool noodles hug the wall. Half the pool lights are working. There’s no way this would pass an inspection, but sometimes it feels like barely anyone outside the area knows it exists.

You sit on the side of the pool, and as you lower yourself into the water, you look down to see your hard nipples barely contained by the shrunken, unlined triangle top, with some areola showing on one breast. The sight of your own slutty fit turns you on, and you don’t fix it. 

Kicking your legs out in front of you, you imagine Billy joining you. Billy and his dirty wifebeaters and trucker hats and jeans that fit too well. Billy and his slutty fucking selfies that you can’t stop looking at every night. Billy, and that look in his eyes like he could eat you up, if only he were hungry. 

He’d be hungry right now, you bet. You turn to your side and use both feet to grab a pool noodle, letting yourself off the wall as you mount it. Straddling the  pool noodle, you turn toward the wall and rest your forearms on the side and squeeze your thighs together. 

Closing your eyes and resting your head, you fantasize about him. He’s a low-life and a sleaze, and god he makes it hot. The way he moves, it shouldn’t be hot at all, but you’ve been watching him closer ever since he sent those selfies, and when scratches his lower belly, lifting up his tank top, exposing his happy trail, at this point it drives you fucking crazy. Like that’s where you need your forehead. You tilt your hips for more pressure from the foam between your legs. 

There’s not a single thing about him that says he’s a better guy than you thought, but maybe he is. Or more likely, you don’t care. Or, perhaps most likely, you kinda like him bad. 

He’s not the kind of man you’d want in your life, but in your bed? 

It’s so easy to picture his silhouette at the foot of your bed, scratching himself, then lewdly grabbing the massive bulge in his jeans. 

Your hips begin to move on their own, seeking friction with the foam noodle. 

You can see him kneeling onto your mattress, prowling toward you, arms flexing, chains hanging down from his neck, dangling in the air–god if you could feel those hit your skin. You can feel him grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand, while he unbuttons his jeans with the other. 

You reach down and slide the pool noodle against your front, grinding your hips. 

He’d probably lean in real close, say something cocky like, “you ready for this?”  Ugh, his voice. With his dick in his hand. “Think ya can take it?”  Yes, yes, please. He drops his thick meat heavily against your mound. Yes, please. God, please, you’d be squirming under him, wrists pinned by his hand, lifting your hips desperately.  “Sure ya can handle this big cock?”

Fuck. It’s so clear, you can practically smell him. Your whole cunt throbs and you’re gushing in your bikini bottoms. “Mm,” you quietly hum as you get closer. 

He’d shove himself into you, you’d arch your back and moan. He’d chuckle darkly, then his free hand would come to your jaw, dwarfing your face as he uses just two fingers and a thumb to squeeze your mouth open. The smell of cigarettes intensifies as his face hovers over yours, then he spits in your mouth. And he stays there, bottomed out, and you’ve never felt so full but you need the friction, you need him to move so bad, you need him to fuck you, you beg him to fuck you, really fuck you. “Yeah? Need me to fuck you?” God, yes. 

“Mm,” your face screws up. You're so wet, and your clit twitches as you rub the front of your swimsuit with the foam cylinder you're straddling.

You can practically hear him say, “Poor baby.” He’s got half a smile, amused and in control. “Yeah I'll give it to ya,” he begins to slowly retreat, pauses with his cock half-withdrawn and lowers his pitch. “Who’s your daddy?”

The tension snaps and your lips part as you see stars. 

Squeezing your thighs tight around the pool noodle, you ride it out, cumming to the thought of his girth stretching you with his gold chains dangling over you, hips beginning to move, jeans sitting loosely around his hips. 

You weren’t planning on doing that, but, there you are, coming down off that high in the motel pool, in your shrunken bikini, skin buzzing, so tired and peaceful you could fall asleep. 

And then metal scrapes against concrete, stirring you from your blissed out state. 

A shadow moves.

His deep voice at a low volume, with that edge of condescension: "All done?”

Your stomach drops. You almost don’t want to look up, but you do. It’s his silhouette, manspreading in a worn-out chair, with a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. The shadow of his stupid trucker hat hides his face. You let go of the pool noodle and try to subtly push it away, obviously too late. Frozen, heart racing, you’re standing with your chest above water. 

“What are you doing here?” you demand. 

“Don’t worry, I’m on my way out.” He stands up and stretches, revealing his happy trail. He twists in another stretch and god, his silhouette - his jeans bulging, clearly aroused. “An' so are you, c’mon.” 

“I’m still cooling off,” you protest. 

“I’ll bet.”  He drops his cigarette into his can of beer and carries it with him as he approaches the pool with his face still in the shadow of his hat. Light reflects off his gold chains. 

You make a fake effort to adjust your top and can’t take your eyes off his jeans. He adjusts himself and stands there giving you a moment. 

Then he loses patience and says, “Alright, sugartits. Let’s go.” 

He squats down and grabs you by the arm. 

“Hey,” you protest as he starts to manhandle you toward the shallow stairs. “Alright, alright. Damn”

When you’re out of the pool, he looks you up and down. You feel like covering yourself up, but you defiantly stand with your hands on your hips. 

“Tryin’ to turn tricks out here?” He slowly steps toward you and his eyes are glued to your chest. “Good place to do it….prolly make a few hooker friends too.” 

“How many of’em have you fucked?” you retort. 

He ignores the question and reaches for your chest. 

Without blocking his hand, you look down and part of your nipple is showing again. He “fixes” your suit, tugging it over and thumbing your nipple while he’s at it. It covers your areola but leaves underboob. 

“There ya go.” 

He puts a toothpick in his mouth and motions for you to lead the way. 

As you exit the pool area dripping wet, you mention, “If you’re gonna spy on me, you could bring me a towel next time.” 

“Yeah, okay,” He mumbles with the toothpick at the corner of his mouth. “Just lookin’ out for ya’s all.” 

“I don’t remember asking you to.”

He pulls the tab off his beer can and it replaces the cigarette that had been between his fingers. He throws the can into a bush.

As you reach the trailer park property line, he throws his toothpick into the shrubs and lowers his voice. “Listen sugar, there’s some shady fuckin’ characters over there.” 

You scoff. “Apparently so.” you shoot him a look and can’t help but check him out while you’re at it. A harsh floodlight highlights the freckles on his big, tan shoulders. 

He keeps on, “You tryin’ to get stabbed?” 

“What?”

“Dumb as hell, sneakin’ over there, middle’a the night.” 

Somehow, this makes you feel stupid. Like if he’s calling someone dumb... Damn. 

You walk the rest of the way to your trailer in silence with him following slightly behind you. 

“Lemme guess, ya left it unlocked, too,” he mutters, then opens your door himself. “Fuckin’ murderbait over here,” he grumbles.

He stands with his back to the open door and waits, making your body brush his as you walk in. 

Full body goosebumps. 

He stands there looking at you, and you eye his pants. Slowly, he steps into your personal space, and you back up almost to the nearest wall, but not against it. There, you stop. Letting him close. With his hand on the wall, he effectively traps you, blocking you from going any further into your trailer.

The smell of Newports fills your nostrils. He wets his lips and looks from your eyes to your chest, then  your mouth. 

He brings his nose to your neck and barely grazes you as he takes a long sniff. His nose brushes your cheek, and his lips follow. Just above a whisper, he warns, “Don’t do it again.” 

When you don’t answer, he pulls back and his hand comes to your neck. He’s gentle, not applying any pressure, but the presence of his large, strong hand is enough to feel like a threat. One that makes you more turned on than scared. “Got it?” he asks, looking at your mouth. Can’t be sure if he’s talking about going over there alone or leaving your trailer unlocked, and it doesn’t really matter. His eyes are wild, and it’s like he’s inspecting you, marveling at your face. 

You whisper, “Yes sir,” and await his next move. 

He takes his hand from your neck and cups your cheek to whisper, “Good girl.” 

You could actually melt.

He gives your chest another look and drops his hand, incidentally brushing his wrist against your breast before he pulls up his jeans. He bites the aluminum tab and turns to leave without another word. As he walks away, your eyes are drawn to a glock sticking out of the back of his pants. 

He looks back at you and winks before shutting the door behind himself.  

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Thank you for reading! I appreciate your interest and engagement with him so much.

Please take care of yourselves ♥️

[freedomfireflies]

I absolutely love 404 but an old fashion standalone summertime one shot would’ve ate!!

AAA LISTEN I'M WITH YOU, I STILL WANT TO DO IT!! He's gotta put sunscreen on her back....and his hands are so large and strong and feel so good against her skin....😗 and when she's pretending to flirt with him to make her ex jealous, he's almost a little too good at flirting back hehe

I need him and he's not even real, this is RUDE!!!!

[chlmtsdoll]

I WAS AN ANGEL

౨ৎ Paring: ballerina!reader x older!Art Donaldson/Patrick Zweig

౨ৎ Summary: it’s winter and your on vacation at a cabin locked away with Art and Patrick. Spending the weekend teasing the men till they’re wrapped into your alluring nature leads to you getting them exactly where you want

౨ৎ Word count: 10k - well yes, ur girl went crazy !

౨ৎ Warnings: smut ! threesome, p in v (unprotected) sex, age gap (reader early 20’s) older!Art and Patrick, inexperienced!reader, eventually filthiest filth, sugar baby!reader, mentions of Tashi, pet names, smoking (cigs), oral (m) receiving, fingering, porn with a lot of plot, petite!reader, size kink, corruption if you squint (it’s def there), teasing, fluff, a tad angst, so much praise kink, title based off Gods and Monsters by Lana Del Rey 🤍

౨ৎ Part one | two | three + more

The wind outside was frosted as it hit against the sealed windows of the cabin you’d been staying in for the weekend with no other than the only person you’d want to be cuddled up with on a cozy cabin trip in the hike of the woods on a winter like this one — accompanied by his best friend of course, Art and Patrick.

Tashi, making time for her off weekends of freedom being an underwhelming three times a year, was away with her daughter Lily on a girls scouting trip not too far by where you’d all been staying at in such a luxurious rental cabin.

And it really was the highest of class.

With eight bedrooms, each offering it’s own fireplace and balcony lookout to the fields of mountains and trees surrounding you. A beautiful avalanche of white dust covering trees was the scenery all around. You got to spend a week doing absolutely nothing but lying around the gorgeous place, and although the image of Tashi being uncomfortably out in the wilderness trying with all her dignity to get a signal to check her emails was a priceless sight to see — you knew that scoring such a win as to be stuck in winter paradise with two men near godly looking and over six foot walking around twenty four seven, was an opportunity you were never going to take advantage of.

It had been you and them watching movies all week. From silly romcoms down to chilling horror films that earned you the touch of Arts protective arm surrounding you as a shield, baking sweets with the blonde that was really overall unnecessary since the dozen of cupboards had been pre-stocked with all the foods and treats you could imagine before your arrival. But spending that time with him, laughing, and getting the tidy place all messy with cookie batter and themed frosting was worth it anyways. Getting closer than close. Falling head over heels for a man that had been someone else’s all while engaging in the most pompous wealthy people actives your friends back at the academy would of killed one another for. It was chimera.

And when it came to Patrick, although the two of you couldn’t quite be called the best of friends — Tashi had thought it would be better off if she reversed her approximation of keeping the two of you as separate as possible. Instead, you started spending even more time together. (Preoccupied of course) but settling the wall of any jealousy or tension between you both and the couple. And of course it probably would never be fully clear skies when Patrick was a man of such fiend for rivalry — even if for you, you’d just wanted him to like you deep down. And with the occasional bickering and obvious strive for Art and Tashi’s attention, you could now say the kinship between you and the tennis player wasn’t all bad for the time being.

It had been sunset when you were tidying up in the far end of the house that had been all yours as you glanced at yourself in the mirror of the grand bathroom. Bath tub behind you so large it could fit a party of ten at least.

You were braiding your hair into two dainty braids and your fingers worked quickly as you tied knots into little bows on the ends of your hair. Perfect and precious as ever you attempted yourself to be, getting ready for a dip in the hot tub on the patio Art had asked if you if you wanted to join him and Patrick — so of course you rushed to throw on your bikini. And just beneath you in the grand kitchen area, Art had been getting ready with his best friend to met you there themselves.

“Please ? I just wanna fuck her with the tutu on at least,” Patrick boasted to Art as he had been trying his hardest to bluntly ignore his friends comments about you, that had been in his perfect fashion of light hearted vulgarity.

“No.” Art replied giving the man nothing but an unbothered side eye as he searched the wet room they’d been in for a couple towels for the three of you, or at least you and himself since Patrick had been using the same one the entire time you’ve been there so far by choice.

“Come on,” the brunette laughed as he pushed Art in a way that was all too familiar to him, grinning widely as he burrowed in the fantasy of having solicited intercourse with you while his dear friend observed. “We’ll be stuck in this cabin together for the entire weekend, it’s bound to happen. You’ve been gettin’ virgin pussy all this time. I know you’re dying to share with me..”

“You say things like that and wonder why she doesn’t want to come near you.” Art chuckled, he shook his head at Patrick’s ignorance, “and you’ll probably just scare her away from wanting to participate in anything involving sex ever again, man. I just won’t let you overwhelm her, she’s still getting used to.. y’know-”

“Fucking?”

“Yes.”

“Well, your right, she’s only fucked you. So technically she’s still a virgin.” Patrick joked only to get under the blondes skin even more, and Art rolled his eyes away from Patrick’s obvious smirk.

“I could turn’er into a whole new woman.”

“You’re not touching her.” Art shrugged as he glanced at Patrick who wouldn’t give away the stupid grin on his face of wanting to cause nothing but foolery.

“I think you’re scared after I’m done with her she won’t wanna go back to you… so that’s why you gotta do it with me.” Patrick pokes Art in his exposed chest as they’d both been in nothing but their swim trunks. He looked down at the finger on his skin and then back up at Patrick’s face with a loose expression. Falling unconvinced.

“You know you wanna fuck her with me. See how she’ll react from the outside when someone else gets to make her cum.. it’ll be just like old times.” Patrick’s tone was laced with poison and desire the blonde would try to fight off till he ultimately couldn’t, grimace all over Patrick’s face as he described the image of you spread out for the two of them to enjoy, and Art would defend cutting the conversation short in response to an obvious tent forming in his trunks.

Art looked Patrick in the eyes as he called out for you,

“Baby, are you ready?”

“Yeah! Just a second!” You answered in chime.

Patrick couldn’t help but laugh in all seriousness at the fact that he had been this close to getting Art to submit to his desires and let him get his hands on you. When you had been so devoted to Art, and you had him wrapped around your finger, there was no way he didn’t think he couldn’t loosen the screws just enough by the time this little trip came to an end. He just had to keep trying, at the end of the day, it was all a game to him.

“keep dreaming. And grab the beer while your at it.” Art gave the man a generous pat on the back and sighed lightly with a fond but challenging smile as he walked around Patrick to the back door.

♡

When you had been pleased with your attire, you made your way down to the patio where you knew the two boys had been waiting for your arrival, in nothing but a strapy pink bikini underneath a bulky robe, you pushed the doors open to the nature and you’d been immediately hit with the brisk winter air — so thankful for the robe you’d decided to throw on, you scurried your way quickly to the steaming hot tub, and Art and Patrick’s eyes met your miniature figure skipping over.

“Cold, cold, cold, cold!” You pleaded as the air made you shake, and with a soft grin that turned into a laugh Art stood from the water he’d been adjacent in with Patrick to help you step into the tub, doing so you’d slipped your robe from your shoulders and let it fall as your smooth, shivering skin and dainty swimwear was revealed to the two.

“Careful, it’s pretty hot” Art chuckled as he held your delicate hand to guide you into the water.

“Good.” You breathed out as you settled in slowly, arms wrapped around yourself from the coldness and the steam hit your skin at the perfect rate — making you warm up from outside in. You let out a soft sigh as your body had released it’s tension. “Ahh”

Art’s sideways smirk was stuck to his face as he watched your adorable gesture already change the environment when you made your way over — and he couldn’t say he didn’t catch the eyes Patrick had been giving your oblivious state as you brought yourself to the two men in the littlest yet flattering bikini they’d maybe ever seen. Smile on your face like you’d hadn’t know how goddamn phenomenal you looked right then. Art still had a hand out to you as you’d both settled into the almost boiling water at this point, florescent lights from the jets hitting each of your faces even under the gloominess of the sky.

“Is that the set I got you ?” Art grinned at the way your bikini top had decorated your chest in a painfully perfect way. Dior. Your smile has been shy but girlish, you nodded coyly but with a soft giggle. You’d been waiting for him to notice notice that you were being patient on the perfect opportunity to bring it out of your wardrobe.

“Yeah. You like?” Your smile had widened as the blonde couldn’t have looked prettier right then, hair damp from the steam of the tub that had been hovering the water, chest glistening in the most stunning way which made made his pecks look godly and a certain boyishness look on his face.

Your eyes glanced over how it matched the smile on his peach colored lips.

“Like? I love it and you know that.” Art’s tone was low and laced with adoration mixed with a hit of lust rising. He held a hand out to you, eyes filled with nothing but intentions of getting you as close to him as possible. You’d been too far in his opinion, even being in the medium sized hot tub that had the three of you in an acute triangle. “Come closer baby doll,” Art asked of you and you couldn’t stop blushing already when you slid closer to him in the water. Smile plastered to your face as the man took you in with his muscular arm over your shoulder.

Eyes lightly hooded as he looked down at the way you fit snug in his side and he had to stop himself from biting into your shoulder as a way to show his affection. Just your sent was overwhelming him.

From the opposite end, Patrick had been sitting quite still as he observed the two of you. Elbows hanging off the rim of the tub and he held a cold beer in hand. His green irises switched between you and the blonde as if you were purely entertainment as you basked in each other’s warmth that had been heightened from the temperatures around you.

Patrick could almost feel the way Art felt you. The way you wanted him.

He’s been trying to figure out what made it so easy for you to stroll through the cabin around two men feverishly much older than you, so innocently without a care or censor in the world going off in your head. — and not just that, but you’d hardly ever wore clothing that actually covered you up. This has been the most revealing Patrick had seen you, but it wasn’t all shock when you’d merely always been in shorts that were just right off of having your ass cheeks on display — along with the smallest mini tennis skirts and tops so tight it was hard to imagine how’s you even get yourself into them. He didn’t know if there’d been a dip in your brain or what, but he almost wondered if you acted the way you did on purpose. Like a lost lamb in heat for only the sake of getting their dicks hard and uncomfortable enough for your own pleasure. Or for Art at least.

Maybe you could of just been playing slut like most girls your age did when it came to older men. Whatever it had been, Patrick knew to have you all figured out ahead of time.

“Save some space in between, yeah?” Patrick had noted out in reply of your and Arts closeness, only grin spreading across his lips as he raised the glass of beer to them slowly as if he’d been some threat you both should stay aware of.

And he loved that.

You looked over his way from Arts peering eyes on you with a soft blush. Art had looked at Patrick and remembered what they’d been sipping on to offer you,

“Did you want a beer ? I told Patrick to grab the cold ones.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

“Patrick, pass her one.” Art eyed his friend as the pack of six had been hanging out on the bar beside the tub, but before the brunette could speak up, you stood from the curb of the small pool.

“Don’t worry, I got it !” you smiled at both boys, but instead they had immediately gone to watch the droplets of water fall from your angel like body. And as you walked to exit the hot tub, you had to maneuver pass Patrick, which was a brief moment of his eyes just inches away from making contact with your breast being nearly one with his face. A shy kind of tint in your eyes as you climbed out and the water you carried splashed on the man while his eyes watched you in complete veneration. Only moving over a tad when he’d remembered you’d been literally trying to get out of the enclosure. And Art only watched, too mesmerized before he noticed Patrick had been staring just as much.

But even jealousy didn’t over take him right then when he saw the way your body was moments away from caressing the man, it was something more of yearning that took the lead.

You could of sworn you heard one of the men curse under their breath when you tuned your back to reach the table for the cold drink. Your ass had been of viewing now and you tried your best to hide an all knowing little smirk before you got back to them. Returning, Art didn’t even think twice before he reached for the can in your hands to open it up for you. The metal cracked with a pop and Art met your eyes again with a small grin as he handed it back to you.

“Merci” you giggled softly, as you relaxed beside him once again. Thinking to yourself before sitting comfortably, “y’know… there’s something I need to ask you both that I’ve been wondering for a while.”

With your delicate but filled, choice of words — both men had sat a little straighter in the steaming water at your voice, hanging on to your every note already as Patrick’s leafy eyes scanned your figure and Art looked down at you with anticipation for whatever had been on your mind.

“Yeah? What is it, doll face?” Patrick’s tone was low as he met your gaze for a brief second before you looked away with a coy scoff,

“Well… back at the academy a lot of the girls would constantly talk about it and - as embarrassing as it is - I just was never around boys much in my upbringing. Like ever. Most dance schools are pretty strict about that where I come from. So, I never got closure or a real answer. But you guys are boys...”

You couldn’t help but let out light girlish laughter after the hint to the male dominance of the atmosphere, and both Art and Patrick had matched your gesture with the sound of their laugher filling the air as they listened in on the way you spoke. It had been obvious they were both fighting the same urge to trail their vision to your exposed chest but you just pretended not to notice.

“So like, how do guys know when we’re ovulating?”

Art had coughed on the frozen beer that had been half way down his throat by the time your words fully got out, and Patrick’s grin only widened before he let out a louder laugh.

“Well-”

“Patrick- can definitely answer that one for you, right Pat?”

Art narrowed his eyes at his best friend sitting across from him in quick notion and your eyes flicked from the blonde to the brunette just as fast. His chuckle only fading some as he glanced back at you

“I mean, it’s more of a senses thing.”

“Like intuition, or?”

“A smell.”

“Oh-” you were slightly taken back by his answer as you snickered nervously. “That’s only a tad bit jarring I guess”

“It honestly comes with the package. Just a normal male thing, unless your consciously looking for it. I myself have a natural talent if you will.” Patrick’s smug was heavy as he educated you and you nodded in agreement, which made Art want to roll his eyes on instant.

“Because of the testosterone?”

“Likely.”

“Is it like that for you as well? Can you smell it?” Your wide eyes landed on Art again as you spoke in innocence that was almost too easy on the ears, the blonde met your eyes as he just lightly fondled with his ear in a fretful manner.

“Well, I- uh, it’s pretty much a normal thing. Like Patrick said. Not really an on or off switch.” The muscular but lean man chuckled and Patrick leaned forward as he watched.

“Art has you and Tashi around twenty four seven so he’s probably immune.”

“No. Not immune, overstimulated? Maybe.”

You watched between them as Patrick kept a sly smile on his face and Art had remained calm throughout the sultry conversation.

“Have you ever used it on me? Like- before we have sex or something..?” you peered up at Art through your lashes and Patrick had raised a brow at your new assertiveness — Art only tried to keep a cool state not too get too flustered as he sunk farther into the tub,

“Honestly babe, I can tell just from looking at you mostly. Like- how you look in those extra mini tennis skirts Tashi has you wear. The way your eyes sparkle a little more when you look up at me… When you’re being naughty.” Art went in to playfully nibble on your neck and you let out a string of giggles at the tickle off it as you fought him off with charm. But the blonde only grinned more as he pulled you in by the waist and he peppered kisses from your neck to your lips.

“I’d offer to say get a room but I don’t mind a little show.” Patrick inhaled deeply and when you turned to glance at him, hand staying on Arts jaw, you could see he had that idiotic look of arousal behind his not so hidden smirk as he sat man spread across from you both.

“My god. You’re such a perv.”

“Yeah? You love it, you’re a perv too.”

“I am not. I’m a girl,” you defended.

“And? Girls can be pervs also.”

“Or maybe you’re just projecting.”

“Art, your little play thing is talking back….” Patrick looked past you to his friend that was as used to the two of you naturally falling into bickering as anything else.

“Shut up.” You laughed, sending a light eye roll the brunettes way.

“You shut up.” He spat back at you like a tennis ball as he leaned up on the edge of the tub, broad shoulders flexing to catch himself and he reached for his pack of cigarettes. The man used his lips to pull a stick from box, he stared up at you with a glimpse of darkness in his pupils. “Want one?”

“Really?.. yeah.” You replied with chipper as you easily lifted yourself from Arts lap.

“Baby..” the blonde declared in a soft but alarming voice while he watched you stand, his hands slipped from your hips and he lost you to Patrick’s side of the pool with ease.

It was known to the two men that you hadn’t ever smoked before, and Art always had his dad instincts constantly lingering in the back of his mind. He couldn’t help it. He never wanted you participating in anything that wasn’t necessarily the best for you, and especially since Tashi would surely be against the idea of it at all costs. It was part of the reason why she wanted Patrick away from you — his influence and easy persuasion always getting to the best of any of the girls he could mess with. So Art knew how easy it was for you to let up to him.

“I just wanna try. Please?” You pleaded, and Art couldn’t say your pretty wide doe eyes and shape all too heavenly for him to deny didn’t steer him away from giving you a clean no.

“Yeah Art, she wants to try..” Patrick’s voice mimicked yours and he started to slowly but surely show his friend a sly smirk which Art replied with a daring look. You’d now been seated beside Patrick and Art had sighed out a deep breath as he nodded you off speculatively, which you then smiled excitedly in regard.

“You’ve really never done this before?”

“No.”

“What have you done?”

Patrick couldn’t help but poke you, and when you hissed with a soft smack to his broad arm that had been intimidatingly large. The man chuckled. You shook your head playfully which also released a few droplets of water from your braids and Patrick observed how your eyes had searched him from up close — he wondered if this was how Art felt when he looked at you. All senseless with a newfound kind of vulnerability like he’d be willing to your every need. But Patrick being who he was naturally, knew how to restrain from that part of himself and kept a mostly dominant state even at your first fruits. He flicked open his lighter and passed you a cigarette which you held with mostly confusion of what to do next.

“Don’t give her a full one.” Art narrowed at his friend.

“Alright, alright,” Patrick furrowed his brows as he exclaimed with his own cig hanging from the side of his lips.

The corners of your mouth inched up into a small simper as you watched the two men exchange with consideration of protection over you. Art remained a safety net always even if Patrick had challenged that assertiveness to him. And as much as Patrick was a hard case you didn’t underestimate your power to have him just as softened as Art was when it came to you.

“You can share with me.” The brunette notified you and you watched as he lit the end of the stick effortlessly and cupped the fire away from you with his ravishingly large hands. In one swift motion he passed the burning substance to you, which you inspected before your eyes met his face again — slight worry crossed you mind. But you didn’t let it show, “inhale that.”

You did inhale it. But it happened much faster than you expected because when the smoke hit the back of your throat, you began to cough instantly.

“No, no, no you have to exhale it eventually,”

“Yeah, because you totally gave her proper directions, Patrick.” Art huffed as he leaned up from attention to your coughing with growing aggravation at what Patrick had lured you into. Already regretting his notion to agree. Patrick shrugged with open arms and he furrowed his brows.

“Fuck off. I’m not good with kids.”

“I’m not a kid.” You responded when your coughs had dialed down and you swayed the smoke coming from your lungs away from you.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Patrick replied in a snarky attitude and you half groaned half whined at his annoying remarks, which had lead you to doing nothing but choking on air, literally. And it made Patrick have to refrain from letting out a chuckle because he’d known Art kill him.

“Relax. Just try again and remember not to inhale it too far. Just hold it in the back of your throat a little then release it.”

This time you did what he told you more considerately. Inhaling the smoke temporarily, then pushing it out with ease and Patrick watched you. His observation quickly turned into dilated pupils and a grin that liking spoke of mischief had widened across his face again.

“Atta’ girl.” He praised, and you supported a cheeky smile.

You held the cigarette in your fingers as you repeated the same all while keeping eye contact with the tennis player and he could of fallen trick for your soft but glorious bambi eyes right then.

“How cool do I look?” You let a light giggle slip from your lips after you exhaled the smoke once again and passed the substance back to the man and he wondered if you or Art could sense the way his desire had basically broadened in the last twenty seconds.

And as Art watched you both smile in lust from each others presence on the other side of the tub, he shifted as a perplex expression rested on his face. He observed the eyes you gave Patrick that he knew all too well. Pleading and filled with elite burning desire that he knew was just seconds away from setting Patrick off — he knew he had to get into stop it somehow.

He just didn’t like to be left out.

“It’s getting dark out, sweetheart. Why don’t you head inside and start setting up for s’mores ? I’ll come set the fire in a bit.”

Your eyes had trailed away from their fixture on Patrick to settle on Art when his voice came ruling in, But Patrick was still looking at you.

“Okay, yeah.” You said energetically as you lifted your legs out of the water that were wet from the knees down, fondly smiling at the two men before you grabbed your robe to head inside.

And when the patio door shut with your exit, Patrick ran his hands over his rugged half beard in a pace.

“Fuck, Art. She wants to fuck me.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious. She told me. She wants to fuck us.”

“When did she tell you this?”

“Just a second ago. With her eyes.”

“Okay. So, she didn’t tell you that.”

Patrick huffed out and fixed the prominent bulge through his trunks that was growing fairly uncomfortable. Art looked down to notice and let out a soft chuckle of not very much surprise since he’d known the man sitting across from him like the back of his hand. Always just on the verge of needing to fuck whatever pitty excuse of emotions he had out somehow.

“For fucks sake, you’re unbelievable.”

“Whatever.” The man scoffed as he grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his hips in a hurry. “She’s just as much of a slut as I am, and I’m gonna find out.”

Art watched as his best friend exited from the pool, leaving a splash to hit Art in anxiousness to get to you. And Art scurried to dry off just to follow after him.

♡

It was almost an hour that passed since you’d all been spaced in the living area as the dim lights situated the room in a way that was all too torrid for the atmosphere at once, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

Art had been by the fireplace as he messed with the wood for a while till a brightening flicker over took the large cape and a small flame spread into a huge one in just a few seconds. You’d been sitting on the floor only a few inches away as you were putting a couple marshmallows on sticks (slipping a few chocolates in your mouth here and there) and when you heard the crackle of the fire come from Arts side of the room you glanced up at him with an impressive expression taking over your face and you clapped graciously.

Art couldn’t help but grin at your sweet gesture to which he found you all the more beautiful under the warm tones of the once cold room. You shook your head softly as the smile on your face hadn’t dropped when you focused back on what you’d been doing.

It was rather darker where Patrick sat on the couches not too far away as his forest like eyes watched the two of you basically flirt in secret code. He would usually find it all too soft for himself maybe, and to him, you’d just been a pint sized cheer squad for every time Art dropped a penny.

It was cute, he guessed.

What Patrick was more focused on was the way your eyes flickered to glance at him every so often.

Spotless and filled with attempt to say something. Anything. Just from the clear tension in the room, and as quite as it was — the brunette had to admit he was getting bored.

“Alright.” Patrick groaned as he stretched to lean up from his seat and your eyebrows furrowed as you watched the much taller man, seemingly giant from where you’d been on the rug, march over to where you’d been settled. Calmly but with a smoothness getting close enough to your face that he could read the quick nervousness fill your senses as your eyes searched him questionably, and Patrick’s own eyes scanned your rose tinted robe that you’d slung on, half fallen from your shoulder as he scoffed to himself.

“Just tell me. Do you want to fuck me and Art, or not?”

It came out as a mutter. But Patrick wasn’t the quiet type even attempted in the slightest. Art certainly heard and his eyes had snapped to where the two of you shared breaths with an immediate hardened expression.

“What the fuck, Patrick?”

“Just let her answer.” The other man spat back. And you fought not to bite down on your bottom lip as both men stare each other down. And with an irritated sigh, Art put his vision on you.

“You don’t have to answer him. Patrick just can’t control his dick — and that’s not your problem.” Art spoke sharply as his eyes flickered to the darker haired man who was in fact smirking.

Of course.

Both of their eyelines follow back to you.

And though you hadn’t needed to ponder for an answer, your bashful lashes met the floor anyways as you peered away softly. But all while keeping a dainty simper to your lips.

“No, it’s okay.. He’s right.”

With your words, you noticed Arts face soften, but not in a way you’d guessed — more in a perplexed manner as his eyebrows dipped. And on the other hand Patrick had been grinning to himself with a cocky chuckle coming from his lungs as he rested back on his palms.

“Simple. And easy. I was right, just like always.”

Art had ignored Patrick’s boastfulness and instead he rose to his feet and stepped over to where the two of you had been, you stood up as well — and you’d been immediately met with the blondes gaze on you, hand lifted to your cheek.

“Baby, are- - you sure ? You don’t have to feel pressured to do anything, Patrick can be very..”

“Charming, sexy, fucking unforgettable-” The brunette chimes in with a cheeky smile as he stood up to put his nose in the conversation between you two.

“A nuisance.” Art spoke over Patrick as his eyes went darkening with annoyance while he glanced over to the other nosy man.

“What? Do you think he’ll be too rough ? That I can’t handle it?” You laughed softly, “I can take it.”

“I never said you couldn’t.. but you are learning. And I get this is all new and exciting for you — and your sex drive is going to be heightened at this time…”

“Give the girl what she asks, Art.”

“Shut up. No one’s talking to you.”

“You’re talking about me.”

You couldn’t help but playfully roll your eyes at the two men bickering now, both over a foot taller than you, making your neck begin to pain just a little as you glanced up at the pair. And although, you would’ve been claimed very brave by most girls your age of how prominent your actions were towards teasing both of the men — you just couldn’t help but play with them.

A delicate sigh escaped you, “y’know.. if you aren’t nice to each other than I won’t want either of you to touch me.” You declare as you turn away from them and begin to walk away, but Art had grabbed on to your forearm and twisted you back around to face him.

“Hey. It’s just- - I’d never hear the end of it from Tashi.”

“She doesn’t have to know,” you began, and you searched the blonde’s expression for any ease which you failed to find — so you took your hand and reached up to gently caress the nape of his neck with your fingertips. “Besides, you’ll be involved. And therefore you won’t miss a thing.”

Your voice echoed songfully throughout Arts ears as he stared into your pretty eyes filled with desire, and just a spark of lust. You step closer to the man and your lips had been inches from his broad chest. It’s like your pleading eyes were like magic, and he couldn’t say he wasn’t fighting the urge to touch you all night long. He didn’t even care if Patrick watched — he liked showing you off anyways. Art pulled from your enrapture to look over at the darker haired man who was already pinned back at him. Chest inflating with a sigh, Art shrugged lightly.

“Fuck it. Fine.” He breathed out, and your smile had gone wide once again and you bit your lip with anticipation already. “But I need to prep you first.”

And with that Art had taken your hand in his as he lead you to one of the closest bedrooms nearby the floor plan, and Patrick of course, had scurried to follow after you both at the immediate note.

Your feet fastened to keep up with the blonde as the childish smile on your face had been filled with excitement to the rush where he lead you.

Patrick pushed open the cracked door as Art was lifting you to your feet on to the high bed where you stood ahead of him. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” Art murmured while he looked up into your eyes through his aquamarine that had darkened with lust in just the short amount of time — soft grin taking upon his lips and you could sense his head just being filled with ideas by the second. It made your stomach do flips with yearn. Your nod quick as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and Art lifted a finger to your silk robe and gently pull it from your shoulders. As it falls, lace straps are revealed to the man and he observed the fabric, eloquent against your glowing skin with a chuckle. “What do we have here?”

“I knew she was prepared,” Patrick’s voice came jarring as he stood next to the blonde and your pupils started dialing by the contrast of the two men gawking at you now. One filled with alluring desire to almost tear what was left of your clothing to pieces — and the other softened. Needing to worship every inch of your petite body before he lost it.

Art pulled away your robe completely in one swift motion as his wide-set eyes never left your own, you wet your lips as your cheeks had began to heat up with anticipation, but nervousness at his quick movements — you stood beyond him, lingerie displaying that was stuck to your body, white with small pink flowers scattered across the cotton and lace. Arts breath hitched just from the sight and he felt so constrained in his briefs as the little pink bow trimming the lining above your core making his dick go painfully hard. He moved his large hands across you carefully. Almost like you were a doll that could break at any given second.

“These stay on till I say,” the man softly mentioned at your ear and you nodded.

You reached for his shoulder blades and the man inched behind your back to undo your bra, he let it fall from your arms before leaning over you to place a smooch your neck area — seamlessly turning into kisses that scattered down to your exposed nipples and you closed you eyes. Bliss took over you for a moment and you smiled. Your hold on him close to your warmth, and Arts fingertips felt the lushness of your skin from every part of you he could. “mmm,” you left out a soft sough as the blondes plump lips explored your tender buds and his tongue brushed up against you briefly, making you hiss for a moment.

His eyes had been examining you, but yours had been softly lidded stint you glanced in Patrick’s direction — to which, the other man’s mouth had been slightly agape, feasting on the view of you both in exhilaration already.

Art braced his hands under your thighs and he laid you down against the bed, your legs were pushed apart on instant but with all tenderness as he leaned up from you — your smile had never faded for a glimpse while the man moved you like a toy. His hands went quickly to pull your panties to the side and Patrick had circled the bed around you both as he stood in awe of the way you weren’t even trying to put up a sexy or proactive kind of facade at all — in fact, you’d been laughing.

Right then. Girlish giggles filled the air as Art grinned down at you in the rising heat of the moment. Already knowing of your ways — you had big, wide doe eyes watching the man take a finger and run them against your slick folds. He examined over your expression, to your already dripping cunt and you bit down on part of your lip. Watching him explore you in an expert manner. Art’s tongue darted out to wet his own lips, he moved his body to tower over your own and your lower back arched a bit off the bed when you felt the tips of his fingers just over your soaking entrance. Coating him in your slick wetness.

“That’s it, sweet girl.”

Art started sinking his ring and middle finger into you painfully slow. You whined a little at the stretch before letting your head fall and braids spread against the comforter of the bed.

Your eyes had caught sight of Patrick looking down on you — so only giving him a playful but sweet smile laced with a kind of innocence and temptation that could of made his head spin. You could just read the expression on his face of how dare you even look at him that way when you’d lured them both into soon doing the dirtiest of acts with you in between. You were a fucking minx. And he then felt his mouth go dry.

“Holy fuck,” the brunette panted in a mutter as he quickened to lower his checkered green boxers to pull out his throbbing cock, stroking himself at the sight of your pretty smile — and cunt, taking Arts fingers so finely.

The soft yet high pitched sighs and moans that were coming from you were the remedy that pushed a complete solid hard on beneath Arts pajama pants as the blonde held your tender legs spread for him to get you ready for his and Patrick’s cocks. He watched you. Eyes filled to the brim with mercenary while feeling you clench and pulse around his digits. Slipping in and out of you, he used his thumb to rub at your clit and you whined out as your eyebrows knitted together in one motion.

“O-oh..” you moaned, reaching out for the man’s fit arm to grasp on to as your toes flexed.

“Good girl.” Art groaned.

You could hear the sound of Patrick jerking himself to the sounds of your moans and the sight of pre cum that was gooing on to Arts hands lead by the own tent that was prominent in sight to the man. Patrick let out a low noise of his own. And Arts eyes finally traveled from you to glance over at his friend,

“You wanna show Patirck what I taught you, princess?”

Your lips curled into a sly smile when you heard his word — you leaned up from the sheets and your legs swiftly moved behind you to now crawl over to the brunette standing by the end of the bed, cock hard and reddened with want for all that was you.

It was undeniable that he was bigger than you could of comprehended maybe, your eyes locked on him now from your knees. They travelled from his dick, to the way he peered down at your plump lips in enchantment for where your clues had left guesses, taking you by the nape of your neck almost immediately you let yourself lick a clean stripe from the base of his cock to the tip as your tongue wet him nice and slow. Patrick watched the way you made sure to show him the shape of your tongue flush against him and he could of came all over your face right then. Large hands going opaque with veins to match his hard member, he gripped the hairs on the back of your neck as you cinched your lips to the tip of him.

“Shit, shit you’re fucking pretty,” Patrick panted at the sight of your eyes staying on his — you perfectly sunk him into your mouth as you sucked with ease and a soft whimper exited from the back of your throat. Knuckles turning white as the brunette peered at the way you took him so sweet, and you brought a hand up to jerk him farther past your lips all at once.

Art just behind your shoulder, watched as you could only fit Patrick half way while you throated him, your lips left spit as you bobbed your head up his cock and back down. The blonde took reign of his own pants and t-shirt to remove them just like you and Patrick had been now, and as the scene had been going on between the two of you, Art couldn’t help but maneuver himself beneath you. Lifting your lower body up a bit effortlessly so he could fit himself underneath — he tugged on your panties to get them off, right down your upper thighs and over your feet in routine as he discarded them off somewhere across the room.

His cock hard and dripping pre cum just under your pulsing cunt, you felt yourself clench just from Arts grip on you, already guiding you down his dick. Familiarly to him filling your tightness still made you pull from Patrick to let out a high toned gasps as you felt the other man sinking into your hole. “Mmm- - fuck..” you breathe out as you feel yourself being stretched so nice — Arts hands never letting up easy from your hips, he guided you all the way down his member just to let out a deep groan and move you back up again.

“Oh, shit..” the blonde panted. You kept your hold on Patrick as you stroked him even moving up and down Arts dick and letting out strangled moans from beneath the brunettes chest. “Come on baby, just like that- keep stroking him while you take my cock..”

“My god. You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted us both.” Patrick huffed from the sight of you ridding Art with eyebrows knitted into another realm as you bounced up and down the blondes lap and Art couldn’t help but run his hands up your torso to your breast as you did. You placed your mouth back on Patrick and sucked him into letting out low moans of his own from your warmth around him.

“I could cum right now- - fuck, fuck !” he grunted, your hand had gone from moving quick to slowing down as you stroked his base and Art made you feel way to good inside — you didn’t know how much longer you even had in you as you’d gone light headed right then from the way he thrusted up into your soaking pussy, making your head fall back slightly and your words came out slurred,

“Oh- my-y god! Fuck..” you whimpered out as Art made your ass slap against his thighs from his pounding, he leaned up to peck at your neck and hold your body against his chest swiftly. You always remained content in his lap as you turned to kiss him back sloppily, moans and whimpers come from the two of you like a suppressed hunger.

Patrick felt his cock twitch with greed at the sight, “fuck Art, stop hogging her- - I’ve been practically dying to feel that tight little cunt.”

The already much sweatier and rough man, pulled you off of Art, and launched you forward on the bed as your hands braced your plummet — he made sure your ass was up and superb for his viewing. You moaned as your face hit the mattress and you rose to your hands and knees.

“I know this pussy feels fucking amazing. So sweet.” The brunette had been smirking as breathed in awe of the way the lips of your cunt shaped around his thumb as he felt up your folds and palmed your ass. He watched the way you turned to gaze at him with your own hazy fawning eyes that were full of a subtle plea to let him treat you like a whore. If you didn’t know before — you’d definitely known what I’d been like now. Patrick slid his dick over your soaked lips. You inched forward just from the feeling of the girth against you, causing you to hiss out a whine, not prepared or used to his size at all, it made you shake at the slight sensation.

“Keep still, baby doll” Arts hand had came to rub circles gently on your hip bone, your face consorted in uncertainty for a moment till you felt the blondes touch against your skin and you relaxed under his touch finally.

“Yeah. You’re a big girl, you wanted this remember?” Patrick added, he went to put his hand in your hair and you bit down on your strawberry reddened lips hard.

“Slow, please.” Your voice soft as you palmed the sheets beneath you to brace yourself,

“Slow.” Art repeated as his vision shifted from you to eye the brunette, leaning back on to his elbows beside you to making sure the darker haired man wasn’t pushing his luck.

Patrick raised a leg to get a better angle as he slapped the head of his aching cock a couple times to your puffy cunt, and he began to push in, taking his time to feel the way your tightness stretched fairly wide for him and when your jaw had hung to let out a choke moan, you’d been fighting the urge to give up on your arms strength. You took the man inch by inch. Whimpers escaped you like crazy and your legs began to tremble while Patrick’s lips parted to groan out deeply at the feeling of you clenching around him.

“There you go, pretty girl. Take my cock just like that..” he muttered as he started to fuck into you and your body had moved with his thrusts rather quickly, the man had been much more hasty to take you at a rapid pace on contact than Art normally did. His pelvis hitting the form of your ass and your soft cries matched the pace as he slid you up and down his throbbing member.

“Mmmh, fuck- your so- - big,” You watched as he grabbed on to your body and pounded into you. Patrick couldn’t stop himself now — your legs spread and nearly shaking just for him as your pre juices pooled at the bottom of his shaft. It was all too easy on the eyes for him to only take you faster. Your eyes had fought to stay open as hands come at you from every way at his escalated thrust.

Both of the men watch as you shudder to keep composure. The bows at the ends of your braids go wild on your back from the force of Patrick taking on your little body. And he had reached to grip them in his tough hands, making your your head to lift and echo out your whimpers and mewls.

Art felt himself coming close just from the sight, he had to calm his own hand from stroking himself into finishing. It was like the sight beyond him had surpassed what it ever could of been in his fantasies. He wanted it in you after all.

Patrick pushed on your lower back which forced you to arch for him all the more, your face against the mattress, watching you take his dick while pornographic moans fall from your pretty lips. You turned your head against the sheets to meet Arts eyes in petition as you’d been pulsing so hard — in fear you may start cumming too quick for your own little head to catch up to. Your eyebrows furrowed and your jaw dropped as Patrick fucked cries out of you.

“Aww, you want Art to save you now? Poor thing.” The brunette coo’d at you and you could almost taste the smirk on his face right then as he watched your ass cheeks going swell from his maul on your tight cunt. Art had run his finger tips across your face that had glistened with tears.

“I can- take it, I need more..” you whispered out. To which Patrick pulled out of you with a deep grunt, sack full as he could of came inside of you, but he too could agree. More. The man had simply taken place on his back , you swiftly adjusted your position as the feeling of being cockless inside had already increased your fine need.

“Yeah? Then show us how much you need it. Ride my dick like a good girl.”

You were already climbing on top of the man with abs that could of made your head drowsy all the more, you heaved softly as your much smaller legs adjusted over Patrick’s broad muscular thighs to position yourself to his member. Dripping with a mixture of his and your wet arousal. You sunk down on him more easily now and you winced with pleasure as you leaned back on your arms, head going with you as you started to feel butterflies down there from your first slight movement, moving your hips up his girthy cock and right back down.

Patrick moaned lowly as he held your hips there and helped you move, your tits daintily bouncing with your body in the low light of the room, and you could hear a muttered, “god” come from your side as Art leaned over your delicate shoulder to grope at your exposed breast. His bottom lip tucked in his teeth. You could feel his leaking cock run again your lower back causing you to moan as you took yourself upon Patrick’s hard erection ramming into you.

“You look like a fucking angel fucking yourself on his cock- - shit, you’re gonna make me cum.” The man groaned as he observed his best friend turn you into a whimpering mess.

“Ugh- -, I wanna cum. Fuck, fuck..” Your whimpers were heavenly and sweet, Art took the initiative to reach around you and rub at your clit the perfect pace — making your legs shake and you gasps out. “Yes- - yes, oh. Fuck!”

Patrick grabbed hold of your ankles so you’d keep your balance on top of him, his thumb grazed against your white lace frilled sock and he groaned. To him they were so stupid, but at the same time so fucking hot.

“Cum, princess. Go ahead, Be a good girl for us.” Art slow talked you and it made your eyes flutter as you couldn’t have been filled more with burning lust all over your body as the men brought you right to where you wanted like that — shaking and crying out moans as you had came hard on Patrick’s dick. Your movements became sloppy as you heard groans coming from him as well, he leaned up to grab hold of your neck and press for pressure just before he pounded up into you hard and released his own ropes inside your sensitive heat — feeling him pump you full and the overstimulation of his large hand around your throat had you moaning out his name. You lifted from his cock, but Art held your body so you wouldn’t fumble over.

“Oh my god, holy- - fuck,” your grin now of bliss, string of naughty words and giggles left your puffy lips as you sighed into Arts shoulder and he was smirking down at the way his fingers rubbed your now creamy cunt and the blonde laid you back against the comforter again.

Completely cock drunk and breathing heavy as your heart beat caught up with your breathing, Art didn’t want you losing your overstim too quickly — he was already towering over your petite body and sliding back into you at the second your eyes met his and you reached for his arms immediately. Jaw open as you let out a choked noise. You couldn’t catch a break. Just being filled up again. You lock eyes with the gorgeous blonde above you as he stretched you wide once again.

“You’re so fucking good, sweet girl. Just one more, for me..”

All knowing you’d do whatever he longed for, the man sweet talked you slow as he watched Patrick’s seed drip from your drooling cunt and met the tip of his cock as he began to sink in. You kept your legs spread for him. Round eyes glittering with adoration for him like worship, you stared up at Art — so obedient for him always.

“I wanna cum again for you, I can-” you tried to speak fairly normal through soft gasps when Art bottomed out into you, reaching that spot Patrick lit up within you, your head went cloudy again and released into the pillows priming you. “-do it.” You finished your sentence with a whine.

Art couldn’t help but to grin at your state, so tired and fucked out but so turned on by the way the two men had been taking their toll on you back to back. You couldn’t help but take it all — he held your body, pussy so full from cum and Arts member that filled you excellently. You began to shake and tremble with a whimper at his every slap against your sensitive cunt.

Your hand moved to your face unconsciously you took your thumb in your mouth to balance the sensations all at once, moaning as the blonde pounded you into the bed — he watched you bite down and suck on your own digit in euphoric bliss. He soon reached to remove your own hand and replace it with his, sliding his tip against your pump bottom lip before dipping his thumb in your mouth.

You let out a satisfied little chirp as you run your tongue sloppily over the man’s digit with a smile before sucking on him like it was everything you needed. Eyes shutting softly, he pleased you both orally and by the clench of your pussy. “mmmh” you whimpered out and Art kept fucking into you with a quick pace.

“That’s my girl. I know exactly what you want.” He kept his finger in your mouth before your legs were shaking with need and your own hands gripped his one as you cried out from his thrusts, the blonde panted at the slight of you beneath him so prolific and exposed — he couldn’t even think straight before he was spilling his load inside of you. Keeping himself flush to your cunt as he emptied himself with a low grunt and you ended up squirting on his cock with a muffled scream.

“Fuck, you got her to squirt.” You heard Patrick pant and by the looks of his hand covered in his own arousal, you and Art had both been knowing he came again. Sweaty and chests heaving you both melted into each other, your arms immediately going to wrap around Art as he squeezed and kissed you.

“Are you good, baby? Was that not too much for you? You took a lot just now.” Arts voice came in calmly as he looked over you for any signs of turbulence. His fingers graced your flushed face, wedding band cold as it brushed against your skin. You nodded as your breathing finally caught up to you steadily.

“Yeah.. Fuck, I feel good. You both came inside of me..” your words slip out as if you needed to convince yourself of the matter, like you hadn’t been on your back and both of the men’s cum wasn’t gushing out of you as you speak.

Art smiled softly at you and his tired eyes watched the sparkle in yours. He readjusted himself so he was lying beside your left — and Patrick collapsed against the pillows on your right.

“Fucking hell, Art. I just can’t believe you kept her all to yourself this whole time.”

“Yeah? She’s something isn’t she?” Art replied with a grin as he turned your way and continued to run his thumb over your cheeks and lips. Your blush was heightened at the two boy’s marvel over you, lip between your teeth as you let out a light chuckle.

“I hope you had fun, Patrick. She’s still all mine, right angel?” Art glanced down at you.

“Sharing is caring.” You shrugged in a teasing manner as the blonde scoffed playfully and raised a brow in thought before nodding, “okay, maybe a little sharing.”

Patrick laughed, “you call that a little ? We made her cum twice. You let me fuck her like a sl-”

The brunette was cut off at the blonde hitting him in the forearm then gesturing to you — sound asleep in between the two.

Your soft breaths slip through your lips as your head fell into Arts shoulder. He put his finger to his lips to warn Patrick not to wake you, and he leaned up from the bed slow. “Pass me my shirt on the floor, and grab a towel from the bathroom.” He whispers to the other man who carefully moved up from the bed and threw the T to Art before he went to grab a towel for your body.

Art started to maneuver his shirt on you with tenderness so you at least wouldn’t wake up naked and confused.

When Patrick came back he smirked at the way your small tiresome figure had been passed out on the bed like some sort of sleeping beauty. “See, I did that.” He nodded up at Art with the same darkened lustful eyes he began the night with — but Art only rolled his at the man’s cockiness.

“We did that.” He corrected while he ran the towel over your inner thighs lightly before he lifted your limbs to lie you beneath the covers, and Patrick helped him pull them over you. You only let out a quiet noise from the movement as you continued your slumber and the two men watched you for a quiet moment.

Arts lips curled up in a fond smile before he bent to leave a kiss to your forehead — the blonde looked over at the brunette who had folded his arms over his chest while he watched with a raised brow and Art contemplated before leaving another peck against your skin.

“And one from Patrick too, I guess.”

A/N: I love this little uv I’ve created sooo bad you guys <3

[yandere--stuck]

would u ever write more for stanley.. its so dry out here.. stanation is suffering in a drought……….

You're so right, I'm so sorry, Stanation!!!!

---

💰 Stanley's obsession for you manifests into rocketing between pitiful internal justification for his possessive feelings for you and deep, deep self-loathing and disgust with himself while trying to distance himself from you. Oh, and who could forget, Stanley allowing himself to indulge in fantasies of you returning his feelings and living out happily ever after together. Ha, like that'll ever happen! … But, a man can dream, can't he? Just nice, sappy, romantic stuff, you know? Cuddling together in bed, making the kids breakfast with sleep still in both your eyes, watching the sunset together on the porch, and scaring off any lousy creep that tries to take what's his with one of his many guns. In fact, he may already be doing that last one.

🎲 Talks a big game and acts like a tough guy around you, but it couldn't be further from the truth - at least when it comes to you. In reality, when Stan's around you, he feels one second away from breaking and acting like a lovesick puppy. He feels like a kid with a crush! He hasn't felt this way since he was a young man! It'd be embarrassing if it, if you, didn't make him so happy. He just feels lucky he hasn't turned into a babbling, blushing idiot in front of you or the kids. That's for when your backs are turned. There have been some close calls, though. Like the time he got so lost in listening to you speak that he hadn't realized he'd started resting the side of his face on his hand while staring at you, hearts practically in his eyes. The moment he realized, he'd run off from you with a shout of, “Nonspecific excuse!”

💰 Stan is a bit of a collector, and that certainly doesn't stop with you. He loves snatching little keepsakes from you. Nothing you'd miss, or nothing you'd miss for long. Discarded doodles, forgotten gloves, change that had fallen to the floor unnoticed, and occasionally, your phone, to make sure he didn't have a competition. Everything he keeps goes into his study. He also likes swiping your unfinished snacks or drinks and finishing them himself - he thinks of it as an indirect kiss (yeah, he's gross, what of it?) And it's hard to admit even to himself, but he gets a certain thrill whenever he snaps a candid shot of you from one of the polaroid he swiped from stock for “store use.” That's not all, though! He goes through security camera footage and rifles through it for cute videos of you - ah, but hey, you're always cute, aren't you? He saves them all and watches them religiously. He also may secretly go through Mabel's scrapbook to find pictures of you and make copies of them for his own personal collection, always making sure it gets returned to Mabel seemingly untouched. It's probably the most organized collection he has! And, of course, he's put a framed picture of you right beside the one of Mabel and Dipper in the laboratory downstairs. It makes Stan think of an imagined, impossible world where you and he raise the two together. Your own little family.

🎲 Another fantasy he indulges in is drugging you up and keeping you hidden in the laboratory. It'd be so easy. You're so trusting of him when you really shouldn't be, when he doesn't deserve to be. It'd be so easy to steal you away all for himself. Gravity Falls is a weird town. Strange things happen, and they either go unremembered or unspoken. Sure, you'd be missed, but it's not like the police force in town would get very far. Heck, he'd put more faith in his grand-niblings cracking the case than Blubs and Durland! And, well, you stole his heart first. It's only fair. And Stan would take such good care of you, he knows it! He'd keep you all nice and drugged up. Maybe you'd be euphoric and clingy, or your brain too foggy to escape or do much for yourself, or maybe he'd give you something so that you're too sick to even consider leaving for the hospital lest your condition worsen any further. You'd need him. That's all he'd ever want.

💰 Stan is very protective of you. He tries not to be so obvious, but his temper had such a short fuse when it came to you. You were just so sweet, so nice, even to a scumbag like him! You were so good with the kids, always such a help around the shack, even going so far as to visit on your day off just because you liked the Pines’ company. Liked his company. I mean, how the hell could anyone think they're good enough for you? Nah, nah, nah, he's not letting any mouth-breathing idiots in this town try to make moves on you just because they're too stupid to realize you're outta their league! And if he even thinks he hears someone a bad word about you, he'll be up in their face, cussing them out and making threats (as well as very rude hand gestures.) It's embarrassing for him afterwards, though. He doesn't want to think he's losing control and becoming more obvious, but with how Mabel claims it was ‘so sweet’ of him to be so protective of you, he can't help but worry.

🎲 Stan gradually becomes more physically affectionate with you. “Accidentally” brushing his hands against yours, leaving a hand on your shoulder or arm for a bit too long, nearly embarrassing himself by wrapping you up in a hug in front of everyone. He just can't help it! He's… He's in love! He's in love with you, and he wants to be with you. You make him happy just by being near him. You make his life better just by being in it. He wants to hold you, hug you, kiss you, be with you, and keep you with him forever. But, Stan also knows he can't. You'd never agree to it, surely. No matter how much Stan wants to think otherwise. Old bastard like him, he wasn't good enough for you - but then again, he thought no one was. But he could take comfort in you just being near him (if you ever tried to leave, he doesn't know what he'd do…) That way, at least, he couldn't screw anything up. That's all he'd do, anyway. It'd fail, just like all of his other relationships and all because of him. He should know better. He should know that he's a fuckup, that he destroys everything he touches, and that everyone he's ever known has suffered because of him. He just… He just wishes he could be closer. He knows he's not good enough for you to love him or need him and that he never will be, but God, does he wish he was.

[lady-ashfade]

soulmate au with percy and reader. i was thinking like reader is like a complete nobody at camp and the daughter of some not really known god. percy and reader meet by accident and they figure out they are soulmates. percy at first didn’t want anything to do with it because he had feelings for annabeth but comes around.

Percy Jackson x Fem!reader. (Soulmate au)

-£ Pictured a older version of book Percy, but imagine them staying a camp or coming late.

-£ words: 1.5 words

-£ warnings: Angst, rejection, jealousy, I love annabeth, percy being mean? Idk. Anyway kinda short. What can I say, I love a man with dark hair who has sass?🤷‍♀️

“Do you ever wonder who you’re soulmates is?” percy sat on the log near the cliff looking over the sunset. annabeth keeping her eyes on the forest below, smiling softly as the orange sun hit her skin.

“I’m not worried about it, they will come to me when the time is right.” she replied with a calm voice.

percy could help himself from looking down at her hand and slowly inching his hand near hers. the marking was just late. he knew that she was his soulmate. how could she not be after everything they went through? besides no one knew him like she did.

fate is a funny thing.

because the person who was chosen to be his, and his alone wasn’t the girl he sat next to. it was you. you barely had any contact with percy. never even spiking a word to each other and yet the world still twined you together.

looking back on it he wished he reacted in a nicer way then he did. anything other then what he did, even faint.

he was running a pile of arrows to the archery training ground when he ran into you. as soon as your eyes met the world was slow for just a second and colors shined brighter then they did. in that moment you both felt something that was more then the gods. something even the gods can’t touch.

“woah,” you whisper with your hands still held onto the arrows he was trying to give to you. his hands didn’t stop clinching onto the wood, he couldn’t believe it.

you blink at him for him to do something other then stand there and stare with a open mouth. sure this type of thing wasn’t normal but he didn’t even move a inch.

but you wished he had stayed quiet, “Look, I um..” he let go of the things you two shared and took a step back with hasted.

“I have to run.” you watched him run off like there was nothing important to keep him here.

At first you thought that he was just shy, in shock, and didn’t know what to say. but you soon figured out he wanted nothing to do with you. you followed him around and tried to talk to him at every chance you got but he would always slip from your fingers.

cornering him in the woods at night wasn’t the best idea but you had but there was not other choice. it didn’t feel good to have your soulmate avoid you.

“There is a mistake.” his voice echoed through the woods, “I feel nothing for you. I am sure you are amazing, but you are not my soulmate.”

he watched the tears pool into your eyes like the waves he controlled. taking a step back from the news from his lips that crushed your soul. “I am in love with another.”

Licking your lips you roll your eyes to try and stop the tears forming. “it’s annabeth isn’t it?” he couldn’t deny it even if he wanted to. the silence he gave when he opened his mouth but nothing came out told you everything you needed to know.

“I do hope you live a happy life,” you walked closer to him only inches away, “especially when she finds her soulmate.” you walked past him and down the dirt path back to your cabin where you broke down.

fate was twisted and cruel for giving you him.

day and night you thought about him. and day and night you got worse. everyone could see the toll of being rejected but no one new by who. not a soul knew about you and percy and you honestly liked it that way. no pity glances when they hung out together. 

soulmate depression was a serious thing and could lead one down to a never reversible illness. your eyes lost their light, no one ever saw you smile, looking as dead like as possible. every positive feeling in your body was drained out.

annabeth looked over at you at diner time as you stared at the plate in front of you, sitting at the edge of the bench. “It’s terrible,” she said and picked at her food with a fork. “I hope they come around.”

the trio stared at you in pity, one of them feeling guilt. “It’s a really bad case, I feel so bad.” Grover looked sad as he almost cried himself. love was supposed to be for real, that’s what soulmates were for! If he had one he would never let them get like that.

Percy found himself studying the girl. Her hair messy, her face grime and eyes blank and darker then the last time he looked in them. And Percy was the cause.

“Yeah,” the black hairy boy turned and poked at his food.

It has been week since then and a weight sunk in his stomach when he thought of you, which was almost every moment now. He thought about how you would smile before and how he wanted to see that again. He really thought he liked annabeth but each day that feeling went away.

Maybe he could think things over. But how could he apologize? Would you still want him?

But as Percy thought over the war in his head you moved on. Or as much as you could. there was a sickness in your body but you tried to fight it and spent time with your friends.

one boy took you in quickly. the two of you now glued at the hip and he was the only one who seemed to make you smile now.

“Dude,” Grover knocked his shoulder with his own, “What did he do to you?”

The son of Poseidon darted his eyes lowly at some boy. The way you smiled ever so sweetly like he has been wishing to see for weeks but this- This guy could cause it easily. And those small laughed he could hear so faintly in his ears.

“Nothing.” Percy stated while still glaring at the guy heavily.

the satyr nodded but lingered his eyes on his friend for a few seconds. clearly not believing him one bit.

“I have to tell you something,” he pulled his eyes away from you and to his friend. Guilt covering his face. “You know how y/n got reflected by her soulmate?” his voice shaky.

“Of course, it was hard to watch.” He answered. It didn’t take long for him to connect the dots when Percy lifted his brows as a sign. Grover gasped loudly.

“You did- Oh my god’s. How could you?” His mouth was then covered by Percy as he shh’d him.

Percy took a big breath as he held his hand over his mouth, “I’m not proud of it. It was just, I didn’t feel like we could be. I thought me and annabeth were soulmates until they came along,” he turned his eyes back to your direction to find you laughing slightly with your friends.

“I was terribly wrong.”

As much as Grover was mad at his friend he could see the guilt and regret on his face. He helped him come up with a plan, and gave him a very long lecture about love. Annabeth found out, and cursed him out. Saying that the marks don’t lie and was overly upset he could do that for her.

it took a week of long work for him to build up the courage to finally talk to you.

lucky he knew exactly where you would be. in the same stop he saw you for the first time as his soulmate. In the training grounds. You had been walking back to your cabin looking as beautiful as always even with your gloomy change.

you had a basket in your hand. you hummed quietly and kept your eyes on the dirt path underneath your feet. you were too out of it to hear him walking from behind you. “Y/n.” He called your name.

turning around startled you are met with him smiling at you. the boy who broke your heart standing there with a warm smile on his face as if he didn’t do anything wrong.

“Percy.” You whisper and step back. “I um…Do you need something?” you were shaking almost.

He got closer slowly as he got more awkward by the second, “can we talk?” you were hesitant to expect his offer but you nodded.

“I want to apologize for rejecting you. I felt horrible watching you- Well, get like this.” He kept getting closer and you didn’t know if you should run away or scream at him.

“I was wrong. You are the girl for me.” He saw the tears flood in the corner of your eyes and your lips tremble

“you think that’s enough?” you didn’t yell but he could sense the harsh tone in your voice. And you have that right.

“No, not really.” his frowns. Knowing he needed to do more.

“But I’m willing to work as hard as I need to. If you will have me?”

His green eyes filled with sorrow. the feeling to leave him here, with nothing like he did to you. But you couldn’t. You felt better in his presence as he looked at you.

“I’ll allow it, but we take this slow.” All he could do was smile again and nod his head in understanding.

even if you didn’t trust him. he healed your heart in the matter of seconds.

[taegularities]

colour me in: redraft | jjk (m)

Summary: The calm is more appreciated after a storm. Life with Jungkook proves to you that sometimes, joy can, in fact, overshadow grief. Yet, not without confronting and removing all hurdles standing in your way once and for all.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some tame angst, sooo much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: new relationshippppp, so much hugging and kissing, yoongi!! tae!!, tears, abandonment issues, talk about social anxiety (just briefly and nothing serious!), jungkook drops a big question :'), a surprise in the middle, a surprise near the end, and then a SURPRISE at the end lol, many surprises, they're so crazy for each other it's gross; explicit sexual content: okay – kook is wearing a chain.. this vibe :'), making out, showering together, shower sex, spanking, biting, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, mouth/face f*cking, mirrorssss, he likes her ass and tiddies, tears, choking, v brief ass stuff, rough and soft sex, dom and big cawk jk, vocal jk, multiple orgasms, they're simps; ALSO YEAH THE ENDING :') ➳ word count: 25.3k ➳ a/n: so when i said this chapter would be shorter… welp lol. but i still think it introduces the next arc really well. i kinda love the ending!! .. and the next part will be </3 :'''') as always beta'd by my lovely @missgeniality 🤍 i hope you guys like this one a lot. worked my ass off for this fr :') if you do, please do support the chapter and interact with me, too, it makes my day <3 ➳ listen to: i need u by yaeow | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER

Monday morning’s breakfast is awkward. Or at least, the very first minute of it.

The hands of your watch drift to 9 AM; you should’ve expected you wouldn’t be occupying the dining table alone. Your parents, sipping the last of their coffee, aren’t that much of a surprise after all.

You breathe a quiet breath of relief when their eyes dart towards your timid forms at the threshold, then back to the table. And a moment later, they’re pushing their chairs back across the marble floor before they clear the path to breakfast for the two of you.

Your father acknowledges you with a brief, polite nod on his way out, even flashing a similarly quick smile. Ingenuine, because his glance, fleeting when directed to you, is as disappointed as your Mom’s behind him.

Today, you understand. Somewhere in the depths of your recovering mind, you feel upset about shitfacing yourself so thoroughly, too.

You haven’t seen your mother in over two days. Jungkook’s post-showcase confessions brought you to Eun, and the next morning you barely scanned your room before you left for her place again.

Guess the momentary encounter in the hallway doesn’t quite count; you could hardly crack your eyes open. Combined with half the dozen naps you took in your locked room the very next day, you won’t exactly expect pride from her right now.

Until now, as she advances towards your body, you didn’t consider much of her side; you stayed focused on the other occurrences passing after sunset. Moments whose scent your sheets still carry.

As your mother comes to a stand, you prepare your vocal cords, breathing in to explain yourself until you realise that she isn’t looking at you at all. Her eyes are firmly glued to Jungkook’s face, devoid of enmity for once.

Instead, she flattens her dress, sighing through her red-tinted lips before she nods towards him and simply says, “Thank you.”

And that’s it. A little breathtaking, entirely new.

You’re dumbfounded when she leaves; Jungkook doesn’t manage a single word. You imagine that if you’re baffled, he’s probably rethinking her words to assure he didn’t hallucinate them.

But neither of you did. And the silence lingering for a couple more seconds proves the depth of reality; not that you’ll change your mind about leaving your place. But the hint of appreciation, shot directly at him is a pleasant first nevertheless.

Breakfast is patient but fast. The quiet atmosphere doesn’t derive from the night before or what your mother just left you with, but from the emotional fatigue slowly dropping off your shoulders.

Jungkook lets you feast in peace, a soft palm rubbing over the back of your hand every now and then to assure you’re okay. And you are. You’re getting used to these changes.

To this alternative to whatever you feared before. A chance to erase all words and start on a blank page; a white canvas, waiting for vibrant colours instead of monochrome gloom.

Yet, despite the tranquillity last night, still present in the air and in your aching limbs, you don’t understand the sincerity of all the confessions he uttered until you leave.

Because breathing in your car isn’t as suffocating as it was the last few weeks. Back when you’d navigate through the town alone, the passenger seat empty. Or when you plucked up the courage and drove to the showcase numbly.

Or when the pain pierced through your chest; when your drunk ass thought the world would  remain blue forever.

All of it is gone when you buckle up, shifting in your seat as you announce, “Okay. Let’s finally get you home.”

The engine roars for a moment, the car trembling, but you only register the knot in your throat when he says, “Feels so unfair of me. Having my girl drive me around so much.”

You don’t miss the endearment; neither the way your heart skips a beat.

Incapable of a proper reaction, you clear your throat and stutter, all at once and oddly in succession until you settle on a weak, “Why unfair?”

“Because. You do it a lot.”

You really do not. The night the museum closed and you dropped him off at your place was one of a few times; besides, he’s operated your vehicle more than enough before, too.

But you don’t contradict him, instead lightly suggest, “Well, you can drive if you want.”

You’re relieved when he joins your smile, dimples ever-so-sweet and genuine as he promises, “It’s fine. I’ll just stare at you.”

The shudder along your spine is delightful — relentless, he keeps your nerves alight. Perhaps he’s back to the self you knew pre-broken-hearts, playful and teasing, but the effect of his words curses through your veins hotter than ever.

“That’s creepy,” you still retort; you’ll gladly keep fighting this sweet, awkward battle against compliments for life, unaware how to handle them. “And it makes me nervous.”

“Sorry.”

Jungkook laughs, the back of two fingers reaching to your cheek to graze it featherlightly. Maybe he feels the heat beneath your skin, enhanced through his touch.

By now, you’ve spent a year with him — as a party fling, a class frenemy and a blue flower. But each second ticking away brings a new wave of soft, shy speechlessness. New honeymoon emotions.

The certainty of his reciprocated feelings, the fact that you’re finally on the same page, makes you rethink his tender confessions and touches differently. Makes you navigate the relationship differently.

His eyes drift back to the quiet, narrow street, surrounded by houses and blooming gardens. Probably as tired of the idyllic utopia as you, he doesn’t spare the suburban setting any more attention.

He only lets a flat hand rub against his thighs, nipping at his clothing as he says, “God, I can’t wait to get out of these damn joggers.”

Right. While not a main focus, you did find the special attire at breakfast today quite amusing.

“Did you even get to shower since picking me up?” you ask.

“Yeah. When you were napping again yesterday. Just gotta wash my hair later tonight.”

Hmm. You spent half your day knocked out; Jungkook could’ve circled the world and you wouldn’t have known.

“Oh. Good.”

The road proceeds straight, emptier near the suburbs. You allow a reckless glance before tackling busy streets; his eyes meet yours in curiosity, hair even messier than the night he met you in front of the bar.

When he left his apartment in joggers and an old shirt, mane untamed and no extra clothing at hand, he probably didn’t expect to abandon his place for so long. It gives you solace that he doesn’t regret it.

You drop the million memories of yesterday’s sunset burning into your eyes and everything that introduced it. The drunk words and the begging.

And then drop everything that followed afterwards; more pleading, more touching, more confessions that were in no way uttered through inebriate but not quite through sobriety either.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

You drop all the remembrances to focus on the moment; just to make sure that it’s real. So you ask, “Why didn’t you wash your hair there, too?”

For a moment, you see a flicker in his eyes, short-lived and quick; and his answer shoots out even more rapidly, “Just so.”

He emphasises his admission with a shrug of his shoulder, but it’s not nearly as convincing as he anticipates. Not buying a word, you push again, “C’mon.”

“I swear.”

“I’m curious now, though.”

There’s a momentary drop of silence before Jungkook hums, thinking as though he’s crafting a plausible excuse. Then, he says, “I didn’t wanna be away for too long.”

“…Why?”

“Why would I want to be?”

Ah…

Hmm. Well, maybe that’s enough for now.

Maybe he’s still not used to laying his secrets open. Maybe you need to practise patience, too, and stop digging like that.

You know that’s not all there is, but you certainly understand that it’s not a lie after all. Despite the pause and the obvious way his brain racked for a reason, his tone is genuine. You’ve experienced his insecurities before — that’s not what it was this time.

So you focus on the steering wheel instead, turning it left and away from the truck you drove way too close to. Your distraction might kill you — right there, next to you, clearing his throat and sitting up.

“Oh,” he says, segueing, and you let him, “wait, I forgot. Could we stop by at Yoongi’s for a sec? I wanted to see how he’s been doing.”

An abrupt change in topics, but not too abstract. As someone merely acquainted with the man, you’ve been collecting info on his state from Jimin; of course Jungkook would drop by personally.

You take a look at your digital watch; it’s barely ten and you don’t need to get away before 10:45. Taehyung agreed to meet with you to accompany you to your new potential flat again, so you should have time for a detour.

But.

“Is he…” you start, “gonna be okay with me being there?”

“Why?”

“I mean, just ‘cause… You know. We weren’t the closest for a while.”

Jungkook’s forehead wrinkles in new perplexion, muttering a few words. It takes a couple seconds — but eventually, he figures out that you’re not referring to Yoongi and yourself, and his expression changes immediately.

To subtle pain, you’d guess, like he doesn’t want to relive the memory. Like it never happened; like you weren’t two pieces of the same shattered heart this entire time.

But then he sighs, a hand wandering to your thigh. He kneads it softly, as a reminder to himself and to you that the past isn’t transpiring right now; that you’ve finally breathed and waded through it.

His optimism is encouraging when he says, “Nah. He thinks you’re cool.”

“I guess,” you mumble. You tap the steering wheel nervously, lips in a thin line before you add a hushed, “And if not, that’s alright, isn’t it? Like, hey, as long as you like me? Yeah, I shouldn’t overthink it…”

Jungkook releases air through his nose. You perceive a subtle shake of his head, as if to scold you, hear him say earnestly but gently, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t just like you.”

And whether casual or not, his words engulf your body immediately, like a soothing warm touch across your chest, yet effectively freezing your beating heart in place.

You can’t pinpoint whether the weight of his own words ever affects him as much as it affects you, or whether harbouring these emotions has become a familiar habit to him. At least to you, his tone is conversational and promising, perhaps even subliminally reassuring.

“At the very least,” he continues, “he’ll never disapprove of you the way Jimin disapproves of me.”

Which… snaps you back into reality for a second.

Your friend’s name is connected to more than mere dislike for the man next to you; currently, you think of dark nights and lamp-lit streets. After-midnight shenanigans and near tears in your own car, driven by the man who broke and mended your heart.

It reminds you of a blurry picture; two guys standing near an entrance, the older of them patting the other’s shoulder; smiling at him.

You do wonder if it was a fabrication of your mind.

“Forget Jimin,” you tell Jungkook, speech broken when you take another left and resumed when broader streets start. “Also. He did say he’s growing fond of you.”

“Because you like me. I still need to prove my worth to him.”

You tut.

“Kook, you don’t need to do anything. He’ll come around eventually. Just be you.”

“It’s fine, honestly.” He leans in, nudging your elbow, echoing you with a teasing undertone as he says, “As long as you like me.”

You love it when the initial nature of your relationship breaks through the mist of newfound passion; when you find the foundation of what you were, remembering how you landed here.

Which is why you bite back a laugh the moment you suppress a sassy, teasing remark, as if on reflex. One steer shy from pulling into a parking lot, you breathe out. If you halted here now, you’d kiss him, you’re sure.

But you merely laugh, squinting your eyes as you say, “You’re okay.”

Yoongi’s apartment, now inhabited by only one instead of two people, lies a couple miles from the campus. Jungkook guides you through the streets, jumping from one harmless topic to another — you reach his friend’s place a lot faster than you expected.

The building stands at a quiet place, surrounded by mid-high trees that give the grey colour of the complex a bit of liveliness. You walk to the entrance laughing about something stupid, a subtle nudge of his shoulder here, you pushing against his arm there.

But despite the familiarity and whatever occurred last weekend, it’s still odd jumping into the girlfriend role just yet. The word itself won’t even roll off your tongue very easily so far because you can’t believe a thing about this new reality.

So your hand dangles next to his awkwardly. Your thoughts keep drifting, registering half his sentence at times. What-if situations of gentle kisses and upcoming nights spent together tighten your chest.

Jungkook’s speech is clear and fluent, so you don’t know what your impact on him is exactly. At least he’s made sure you do have one on him — but you still wish you had a map through his mind to understand every thought he houses for you. Every emotion.

On the way up you feel a little dizzy; whether it’s due to the circular shape of the staircase or his proximity, you don’t know. You only realise that something’s still bothering you when you’re halfway up, coming to a halt with one foot on the next step.

“Okay, seriously,” you say, and he turns to you immediately, puzzled as he drops to the same level as you. Close to you.

“What?”

“You said you didn’t wanna leave,” you repeat, still stuck on the hair washing and staying longer thought, “why not?”

The answer could be simple. Could be rooted in emotions and the confessions you later uttered — but there must be something more. You saw it in the brief feeling flashing across his eyes, sitting in the passenger’s seat with silence sealing his lips.

Maybe something happened… because something always happens.

“You’re still thinking about that?” Jungkook questions, eyes wide in disbelief; lips pouting.

“No secrets, right?”

This seems to snap him out of all mysteries, last night’s conversation travelling to the forefront of his mind. But something about your curiosity amuses him. He wraps the fingers of his left hand around the staircase reeling, head dropping with a delicate smile.

His hair hides his eyes, but you know they’re sparkling; voice a mild drizzle when he starts, “It’s…” He draws in, inked digits touching your elbow before moving up your arm absentmindedly. “Don’t worry so much. It’s nothing harmful at all.”

You wait. Let his thumb graze your neck, up to your chin.

He sighs, almost exasperated in a way. “You speak in your sleep, you know?”

Wait. What?

You blink, thoughts disoriented. The staircase is dimly lit, but you recognise the slight upward curve of his lips; more empathetic than teasing.

So you still do?

“Huh?” you make.

“I think you dreamed of waking up a couple times? You hadn’t, though, and it’d always be something about being alone again.”

Again.

The word reverberates through your mind, dragging and stretching. Didn’t you once read that a broken heart is akin to serious rehab, accompanied by withdrawal symptoms and slowly healing scars?

You guess your heart was hurting more than you already knew.

“Okay,” you say, nodding when he does, thumb lifting your head when you drop it. You swallow thickly. “What did I say exactly?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know anymore. Something about me leaving. And I was scared of waking you up while gone ‘cause you’d actually think I’d left.”

You hum. Allow yourself a moment to process the info; you seek out fragments of your dreams, but you draw a blank. You feel guilty about his concerns, yet relieved. Vulnerable. And somewhat reassured.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.

Your voice is barely above a whisper — less because of the conversation. More because of the touch on your cheek. It’s soft against your skin, and you shiver. The flutter in your chest is only just bearable.

That’s the thing about falling in love. It’s sweet — so much sometimes that it twists your guts. You’re in so deep, you could hurl.

“Nah. You don’t need to worry about this anymore, okay?” he murmurs.

His eyes dig into yours. Dark and shiny through his healthy tresses, livelier than ever. Sincere. 

You, on the other hand, must look unconvinced without intending to, because his mouth aligns with yours soon after.

He exhales, tilting his head, and says, “Look,” leans in, leaves a featherlight kiss against your cheek, right next to his thumb, “I mean it.”

Guess being with him comes with occasional mental blackouts. And regular arrhythmia. The palpitations behind your ribs are almost ridiculous; instead of gripping your own chest, you grasp his shirt immediately.

Lightly, as if you could collapse without this anchor.

He lets you pull him closer just a little, whispering as if someone could hear, “What’s wrong?”

Vulnerability hidden, you blink again, and joke, “Nothing. Just thought you were gonna kiss me.”

Jungkook smiles. His nose brushes against yours, toying a bit, and his bunny teeth make him look somewhat younger when he voices, “You want me to kiss you?”

“I always do.”

Your grin is playful, but your heart is pounding in your chest. Who would’ve thought the journey from a car to an apartment could be so long, so thrilling?

His snicker is gentle and canorous, knees careful against yours. Your heartbeat accelerates some more, rose-tinted lips opting towards their goal. You part your mouth, ready with a deep breath.

But the two of you are always subject to disturbances — so you’re disappointed but not surprised when you hear rushed steps on top of the staircase, strolling down and crossing your path just when Jungkook backs away.

The stranger passes by you with initial surprise in his eyes, not expecting you, but soon gets over it and drops his gaze again. And once he’s gone, Jungkook winks, a hand on your back pushing you forward gently.

“Later,” he says.

You know as you ascend the stairs.

Know that with the ease with which you handle your feelings for each other, you’ll strive towards a future where you won’t be haunted by dreams of being alone. Where you won’t fear his departure, and where his kisses won’t be interrupted by this cruel world.

The building reminds you of when you’d frequent the dorm you used to know. The walls and hallways are similarly built, narrow and somewhat cheap. They look like most buildings from the inside do, honestly, but you like the pleasant illusion the nostalgia brings.

Even the bathrooms are located near the end of the hallways; Jungkook once told you that Tae and Yoongi have their own kitchen, unlike him back when he still housed his dorm. But there’s a communal bathroom here, too; allegedly one reason why Tae moved out.

The only thing that separates this place from Jungkook’s old dorm is the subtle difference in scent. Not pure testosterone.

You smile.

The mood doesn’t match with what you felt back in June at all.

Back when you stomped to Jungkook’s dorm, furious about yet another insignificant issue, you didn’t think your fingers would ever be brushing his like they are now. Or when you escaped the rain and entered the building’s warmth, your umbrella leaving behind a trail of raindrops.

Your relationships, your priorities, your emotions. Your universe changed faster than the seasons.

As you walk past a random door, Jungkook cranes his neck, staring as if he could x-ray-glare a hole into it and glance at what lays behind it. Perhaps he’s thinking back, too.

You don’t know about all the things he experienced throughout the years there. Part of your heart stings because you remember you weren’t the only girl who ever frequented his place.

But you still left an impression — if the current status of your relationship isn’t proof of it, then the sudden touch along the back of your hand certainly is. A thumb following a vein blindly, opting to grasp your palm into his, yet retracting when you finally come to a stand.

The digit caressing your skin lifts to the door, and his knuckles knock three times, rhythmically. Your chest constricts as you jump back into the moment, probably half as nervous as you’d be if you met Jungkook’s parents.

A moment stretches as you wait for Yoongi to open, allowing yourself just another spiralling thought as you imagine actually daring a meeting with Jungkook’s parents. It’s too early to think about it, isn’t it?

It’s just.

Since yesterday, you’ve created a dozen different scenarios in your head, ranging from a civil, calm conversation with his father to a full snap. Half of you wants to know his genuine thoughts on his son’s sorrows; the other half wants to rage and then bolt away.

Ugh.

When the door swings open, your hand flashes to Jungkook’s. A startled instinct, even though nothing about the action was surprising or scary. But he doesn’t mind — of course he doesn’t.

His eyes rush to yours for a second, warm and somewhat thrilled, his smile permanent. And then he looks back at his friend, quietly squeezing your palm, the shy smile soft as he greets, “You’re walking without clutches, huh?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away. He looks from Jungkook to you and back. His gaze isn’t very telling, but you find amusement in it. If you weren’t so ridiculously and inexplicably nervous about his upcoming statement, you’d laugh.

Intently, he grants a peek at your entwined hands, and when he looks at the two of you again, he starts…

Smiling.

Gummies all out, a tiny laugh thrown in between before he says, “Ohoho. You’re here, too?”

The smile turns into a sly grin, a hand clutching the frame of the door. You guess he’s not as balanced after all. Possibly just abandoned his clutches for the short way from the couch to the door.

“I can totally go,” you tell him, the teasing tone missing; soft and small instead.

“Why in the world would you?” Yoongi steps aside carefully, nodding the two of you inside. You oblige, hearing his voice behind you jest, “Now, would you look at that. Did I do that?”

Jungkook automatically drops on the chair at the tiny dining table, like he’s arrived home, and you follow; make yourself comfortable on the seat next to him. There are three chairs, as though carefully chosen for the pair of friends who used to live together and a guest.

Next to you, Jungkook huffs, leaning back as he watches his friend plop onto the chair in front of him, and asks, “How would you’ve done that?”

“Well, you guys gathered at the hospital because of me.”

Right. Good point.

If he just knew how that night played out. Actually, you think he just might, yet not quite aware of its severity.

“Not because of you,” Jungkook promises, “I just charmed her again.”

You laugh. So does Yoongi.

He isn’t irritated or taken aback by the younger’s boldness; in truth, he seems entertained. Arms crossed, eyes small and grin wide. He half mocks, “The young ones are charming for sure these days.”

“Spoken like a true Grandpa,” Jungkook remarks. You press your lips into a thin line, but with a faint smile. You only listen; you’re in the territory of two friends who spend their time roasting each other. You’re not on that level yet, so you observe. “But I had to.”

“You had to, huh?” you joke. Okay, observation broken. Your body tilts towards him. “You didn’t need any of your charm for… this. But still good to know.”

Because you would’ve been putty in his hands, no matter what — charm or not.

"Can confirm," Yoongi agrees, nodding towards his friend, "that he was also a proper mess the last couple weeks. Very out of character."

Your eyes roll to the side to catch a glimpse of him, but the moment you detect the rosy dust on Jungkook's cheeks, you avert your gaze immediately.

Admittedly, the guilt in the middle of your chest is undeniable. But there's comfort in knowing you were never the only half who was deeply, perpetually falling.

Yoongi scratches his temple, doesn't meet your eyes; possibly shy when it comes to conversations like these. But he sounds warm and gentle when he says, "I'm really glad you guys are back."

You’re similarly timid, feeling strange. As if someone’s congratulating you on a fresh marriage. Or maybe that’s just the emotion you want, need to feel.

You say, “Thanks.” And then, ever-so-terrible with compliments, add a little, “Let’s say it was you. Double thank you to the man of the hour.”

Yoongi pulls a grimace hitherto unseen; it doesn’t faze Jungkook, but the Joker-esque grin and wide-eyed nod have you bursting into laughter. His friends are pleasant, you think.

If there was a way to lure Jimin in and convince him of this group’s collective appeal, you wouldn’t hesitate. There’s only a limited time you want him to play the petty, protective friend.

“So, how have you been?” Jungkook eventually asks.

Yoongi rubs the corner of his eye, stretching his injured leg under the table, “Never better. The bank is surviving without me. Besides, I haven’t gotten around to making some music in a while.”

“Tae did tell me you were enjoying your days off.”

Jungkook reacts with a tiny chuckle, but your eyes widen. You let him finish his sentence, and then spit, “Wait, wait. You make music?”

“Oh, I mean… I’m not any good,” he explains, wiggling a hand, a little startled as if he forgot you didn’t know yet. “I just. Make a few beats every now and then and write my own bars and stuff.”

“Wait, rap?” You stare between the boys, to and fro, only a little offended that you didn’t know you had a brooding future musician in your midst. “Can I hea—”

“No.” The answer is immediate. You pout. “Before you ask, I am way too much of a coward.”

“He’s amazing,” Jungkook intrudes.

And you whine, “Unfair, Yoongi.”

He imitates your expression, leaning back, copying your stance, and answers in the same childlike tone, “Warm up to me first! I’ll show it to you one day.”

“One day I’m gon’st hear it,” you declare, overly dramatic with your chin up, “you have my taste in music, you know? I know I’ll like it.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I can try.”

Yoongi blows a raspberry. You’re not sure what you expected; maybe subtle hostility. But the sense of casual camaraderie is refreshing; lounging comfortably in his living room was a picture far from your mind until now, and you think he enjoys the unforeseen gathering, too.

Because after a moment of stillness, a faint smile touches his lips, his voice back to normal and deep as he remarks, “It’s nice that you guys came. I get bored here a lot.”

Right. You kept wondering.

You don’t dive into the matter immediately, instead drenching your voice in a teasing lilt, “Even though Jimin visits you?”

“Shut up.” Mock exasperation rolls his eyes as Jungkook appreciates your joke, one foot pressing against yours under the table. “No. It’s just been lonely since Tae moved out. It’s a two people thing with two bedrooms.”

He shrugs his shoulders, attention fully on you. Jungkook either doesn’t have much to say or doesn’t want to interrupt. Only listens.

“Living here alone feels like I’m wasting space and money,” Yoongi finishes.

Curiosity piqued, you probe, “What did Tae say when he left?”

“He offered to let me move in with him. But that’d be pointless.”

“Why so?”

“He’s awesome for offering, but I think he wanted his own place, you know? Why would I intrude then? But I did tell him I’d look for another place.”

“Have you been?” you ask. You still remember how happy Taehyung looked last time you met him alone.

How he spoke so highly of a life on his own, gladly interrupted by the occasional visits Eun granted him. Yoongi, you think, would probably benefit from acquiring his own place, too — one that doesn’t remind him that someone left him behind, inhabiting a vacant space thought for two.

“Every now and then,” Yoongi admits. “Will think about it some more once my leg’s healed.”

You nod in understanding, a thoughtful hum escaping your lips. Yoongi soon leans forward, naked arms on top of the table, and delves into a discussion about the rising costs of rent.

He outlines the challenges of finding the right place in the bustling city, and explains his worries about the empty space in a too-large apartment. And you listen intently.

But as minutes pass, you can’t help but notice the contemplative silence Jungkook has fallen into.

It’s always the same with him — thoughts you can’t read, questions you need to postpone.

Because you do glance over at him, observe the distracted furrow of his brow, the distant look in his eyes. You understand he’s once again lost in unknown thoughts, and you sense how jumbled his mind must be.

But you still decide to hold off for the moment, out of respect for the ongoing conversation. You don’t focus on addressing his apparent preoccupation until it keeps going until later, way after you’ve bid Yoongi goodbye.

“Why do you seem so reserved?” you ask in the car, his home your new destination.

It must be around quarter past ten; you should still be able to meet Tae within half an hour. Yet, despite the brooding rush, you can’t help but wanna drag out the ride, finish this conversation.

“Hm?” he voices.

Did he not hear you? Maybe.

You sigh, seeking an available parking spot. You’ve already turned into his street, way past the park, halting close to his entrance. The engine dies, sudden silence inside the vehicle.

“Okay,” you turn towards him, forearm against the wheel. “You’re a lot less enthusiastic now. What’s up?”

He looks distracted. Drags his teeth over his full, pink lower lip hard enough for you to repeat, “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Uh.” Cue big boba eyes flitting to you. “I was just. Thinking about something.”

“Wanna share?”

“Yeah. Yeah, uhm. I swear I’m not trying to be mysterious, just. Not sure how to phrase it.”

He’s easing himself into this whole thing. The entire opening up act and being fearless with his feelings. So you don’t push him, but encourage, “Try. If not now, then maybe later, though?”

“No, no. Now is fine.” He frees his eyes off the dark bangs when he shakes his head a little, preparing to voice his hidden thoughts. Then, he breathes, “Yeah, so…”

One more second.

And.

“What if you dropped your plans of moving into that apartment?”

Oh. What?

Does he mean what you think he means…

There are only two options, right? And you choose to go with the one that would embarrass you less if it turned out wrong.

“Should I… do you think I should stay with my family?” you ask, your voice cautious.

But when his hands shoot up, immediately denying your assumption with round eyes, you breathe out through your nose. Relieved when he clarifies, “No, not at all. I mean, it’s up to you, but that’s not what I meant.”

So then…

“So you’re saying—”

He interrupts, rushing before he can back down, “Move in with me. And Yoongi could take the apartment you were considering.”

Fuck. 

You didn’t expect your heart to jump up to your throat like that. It’s a day full of brief heart failures. You barely know how to react anymore.

You stare. Then stare a bit more. And eventually, you simply ask, “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean…” He gulps, averting your gaze all of a sudden before it lands back on yours. You chuckle quietly, unprompted, and it boosts his confidence. “You stayed at mine for days and it worked. It could… you know— keep working.”

The suggestion lingers like a fresh breeze, grazing your cheeks and twirling around you like a soothing force. He beams — though subtle, he seems to interpret the simultaneous rise of your eyebrows and your lips immediately.

Still, he inquires, “I don’t know… too soon?”

Technically yes. But then again, no. Because he’s right — you’ve already experienced a piece of heaven, tasted the bliss of domesticity with Jeon Jungkook.

“You really are serious about this, yeah?”

“Only if you want me to be,” he counters, less tense than before, but a hand rubbing in nervous circles over his knee, “if not, then I was absolutely joking.”

An awkward, little chortle fills the small space of the car; you shake your head, teeth out and smile bright. There’s sweetness in knowing that his affection is real. That the thought of shared future pains, joys and days — that it’s all actually become so unbelievably real.

The car is cool in the shadow, but you feel a strange heat coursing through your body. At the end of the street, you see the sunlight brighten the moment he laughs. Fitting.

The crinkly eye smile softens when he reaches for your hand, pulling it off the wheel and wrapping it in his. There’s an automatic reaction in your chest, a constant racing when he says, “I mean it, though.”

Brief pause. He looks down to your fingers.

“I think I got used to having you there. And then, at Yoongi’s I had this… I don’t know, overwhelming urge to tell you. That,” his teeth worry his lip, releasing it softly, “I want you next to me for as long as possible.”

You understand.

He means every minute that society and norms don’t force you out of the house. At nights and in the mornings, on off days and holidays. To fall asleep next to his presence, to wake up on the same mattress, too.

And the longing is undeniable; you know that it is. But you’re already swamped with decisions as it is — could you call off the apartment right here, right now? Rethink all you discussed with the landlord, Taehyung or yourself?

Life decisions are harder than that, and despite all the wants infiltrating your body, you can’t dive into this without a couple more following thoughts.

You keep gazing into his smouldering eyes, more intense when he looks up. Let their effect send a thrill down your spin, a surge of yearning through your veins. 

And then, you acknowledge the need for prudence. You savour the moment, let the anticipation built, and flash a sultry smile to ensure that, yes, if not now, then one damn day, I’ll be yours entirely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything to work more than this,” you admit, “but I need to—”

You halt. Words come hard to you these days; and the two of you are sensitive. It’s not easy to reunite after weeks of overthinking and distance; and you don’t want to provide more reasons to overthink.

But you forget that as sensitive as Jungkook is, he’s just as understanding and gentle, too.

Because he says, “You need to think. And I know you can’t just pack your things and move over, I just— I wanted it out there.”

“I know. I know.”

“And I,” he continues, “I actually thought you were gonna say no right away since you’re getting out of your childhood home just now, so naturally, you would wanna be alone for a while and—”

You lean forward, pulling your hands out of his grip. His eyes shoot down, baffled and confused, but you don’t give him a second to think or speak. In a moment’s notice, his cheeks are squished between your palms, his bunny face now akin to a duck.

“I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone all my life,” you tell him; Jungkook eyebrows furrow in empathy and worry, but you smile, “I don’t wanna be anymore.”

His expression and voice are dorky when he speaks, first words incomprehensible. You let go, watching the red splotches on his cheek, and he repeats, “Is that a yes?”

“It’s… I don’t know. A to be continued.”

“I’ll live with that.”

You don’t know if it’s the electrifying prospect of a life together or the confidence he follows his statement up with, but the insanity burns wild in your head. Untamed and dizzying.

“And I’ll wait for however long.”

“I didn’t even ask, I’m sorry… but are you starting work later today?”

You stand in the middle of Taehyung’s living room, a hand over your eyes to protect them from the bright sunlight. He’s busy piling the saucers and the cups, and you wait as he drags a vocal in thought.

“No, no. I’m off today.” He stands, and you automatically walk the short distance to the kitchen, lingering at the door frame. “Need the afternoon for an appointment at the doc. So yeah.”

“Oh. Everything okay?”

He doesn’t speak yet, dishes in the wash basin too loud. They clink and rattle; the moment you’ll move to an apartment by yourself, you’ll have to wash them yourself, too.

Maybe you can make your place as aesthetically pleasing and beige as Taehyung did. You don’t know — you couldn’t imagine much today nor discuss further details about the contract and rent and general house rules.

The landlord bailed on you last second. And Taehyung sacrificed over an hour that he could’ve spent keeping Eun company between her morning lessons.

You apologised the second you entered his apartment instead, thankful for the invitation to tea, yet harbouring guilt for wasting his time. But Taehyung proved incredibly kind, waving off your concerns immediately.

He asked, playfully offended, “So you’re saying a tea party with me is a waste of time?” And then he laughed, immediately shaking his head, “Nah. It’s fine. Am glad someone finally prefers tea over coffee, too.”

So now you’re here.

“Yeah, just a check up,” Taehyung answers, “vamps drew my blood and will tell me today if it’s good or not.”

“Interesting way to refer to doctors,” you admit, backing away when he leads you to the exit. You need to be at work in forty minutes tops. “Good then.”

He hands you your blazer, silent for a moment before he says, “Talking about feeling unwell.” You look up, arm halfway through the blazer’s sleeve. “What were you doing getting shitfaced like that?”

“Uhm…”

Word travels fast. Your cheeks heat up, fingers curling into fists. You smack your lips, letting out a tiny laugh, and ask, “Eun told you, huh?”

“Mhm. Scolded her for taking you to the bar and leaving you alone.”

You sigh.

You should’ve guessed that she’d tattle. And of course you might appear like the helpless, heartbroken girl, seeking comfort in alcohol, dark clubs and blue neon lights. It’s a little embarrassing, actually.

“Kook was there, though,” you defend.

“I know. I called when he was still at your place.”

Huh? What else did he do when you were asleep? Painted a Louvre-ripe masterpiece, probably.

Taehyung decodes the dozen questions in your stare, tumbling until his back leans against the wall. He explains, “We just talked for a sec. He sounded worried, so I didn’t prod too much. Just don’t do these things anymore, okay?”

Huh…

You can imagine it well. Partly because you remember the way he looked at you that night: distressed beyond belief, giving you soft orders, insisting on help everywhere — the car, the shower, the bed.

But also because you know him.

And you don’t think you needed to see him in those very moments to know he must’ve brushed through his silky hair. Must’ve looked through your room, gaze stopping over your sleeping figure.

Voice strained on the phone, yawning, shaking his head because he must have been a little mad at you, but comforted that you were resting, too.

You remember the tone of his voice, soft as a piano tune but saddened nonetheless.

”What did you drink? You’re… in such a bad state.”

You shake the words off. God, he was there for you more than you’ll ever know.

You say, “That’s nice, though, Tae… I didn’t think you’d ever get so worried about me.”

“Hey. You’re still my friend,” he promises.

He’s possibly been the only person throughout this entire ordeal to not be pissed at you or annoyed by you. You never doubted that he still liked you.

“I might not know you inside out like Eun or Jungkook do, but you’re part of this group. So naturally, you’re important, too.”

You push your hands into the pockets of the blazer, gripping the car keys inside. Bashfully, you smile. His sincerity pumps warmth through you; it’s crazy how good belonging somewhere, to someone, can actually feel.

It’s refreshing. New. 

“Wow,” you murmur, shuffling your feet, “thank you.”

“You’re glowing, you know. That’s nice.”

“Am I?”

He nods. “I can’t wait to see him glow either. A couple weeks were a couple too long.”

Those couple weeks felt like someone ripped out the hands of time, keeping them from moving. Your brain aged faster in that time, deep in a bottomless abyss. You don’t want to experience it again.

And you don’t want to imagine Jungkook in the same pit again. Looking for you, but bumping against walls, painted with his past that made him stumble back instead of pulling him forwards.

Your eyes trail down the hallway, looking at the small paintings and decorations on the wall. You take in the furniture, inhale the pleasant colours. Imagine his living room in its entirety, the sunlight seeping through the windows. Curtains pushed aside.

Your apartment could be like this, too.

But.

“Tae,” you begin. You wrap your fingers around your rattling car key; lick your lips. “Do you think I’d like it here?”

“Hmmm,” he voices, gazing down as if he could look past the parquet floor and to where your potential apartment stands nearly empty. “Yeah. I mean, I like to think so, because I’m very happy here.”

He stops abruptly, the tone of the last syllable not matching a sentence’s end. You wait as he smiles a little, creating a thought, “But you could be happy somewhere else, too. Happier even.”

His words hang in the air, a sense of both possibility and uncertainty tangible. You were wanting to venture into this new chapter of your life with hope, but also with trepidation.

Suburban areas are nice, but you opted for the heart of the city — the vibrant tapestry of dreams and opportunities. You didn’t expect the journey to be fraught with sudden doubts.

The best thing, however, is that doubts and dilemmas never seemed this… tempting.

You tell him, “There’s always a place that makes people happier, for everyone.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice tinged with wisdom. “Only, some people already know of it, and some keep searching for it.”

“And I am—”

You pause, anticipating for him to finish the sentence; he responds, “You gotta know.” There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, support and acknowledgment hiding right behind — matching his words, “I’d be bummed if you didn’t become my neighbour, but. Also just happy you guys are happy.”

Too kind for this world.

In your endearment, you laugh, suddenly stepping forward for a brief, thankful hug. A silent gesture of gratitude for his friendship, no matter how shallow or new.

The people you surround yourself with offer endless reassurance, and you’re lacking the words to express your appreciation.

“Thank you, Tae. Eun’s right when she praises your constant respect for other people, you know?”

Taehyung, maybe a little perplexed, brings a hand to your back, patting gently as he states, “No worries. The worst is over.”

You hope so. God, you genuinely hope so.

You pull back, tucking your hair behind your ear and bid him goodbye with one last nod. Taehyung closes the door behind you with a humorous thumbs up, and you grin before it’s silent in the hallway again.

There’s a tiny window outside, overlooking the street down there and the cars flitting by. The area isn’t as peaceful as Jungkook’s — more lively and noisy. You can see the city’s river if you look far enough.

And as you step closer to the glass, you envision your own apartment again. You imagine the soft glow of the lamp before you go to sleep. The comfortable couch you want to plant in the back of the living room, curling up with work or your laptop or a cup of hot chocolate.

You picture the view of the city as you step to your open window, glancing out as the steam of your beverage swirls in the evening air. Contemplating the world outside.

But then you start rethinking Jungkook’s words, too. The idea of belonging and happiness, of domesticity and what could be.

And at last, you visualise what it’d be like if you didn’t see any of this — the lively street, the river in the distance. Wonder how you’d feel if the horizon looked different.

If you stared out and saw a different canvas instead.

The changes in your life are drastic in some way, but Jungkook always stays the same.

Your house lies quiet most of the time; as days pass, you frequent your room, then drop by in the living room, greeting the staff, grabbing dinner and retracting back to your beloved bed.

Jungkook’s apartment, baby-sized compared to your place, allows a much livelier atmosphere. Maybe because you don’t need to yell for him to hear you from another room. Or maybe because it’s just the two of you.

Perhaps even because you find solace in the couch, in the smaller smart TV in front of it, the glass table, the carpet, the homely furniture in general. The scent reminds you of wood, but you connect it with him, too.

It’s different from the room you grew up in. Different from the luxurious chimney and marble you’ve seen all your life.  And you must admit that you enjoy it a lot more, too.

One of the few reasons why your mood changes from exhausted to merry the moment you knock at his door on Thursday. He was expecting you, because when he opens, he beckons you inside immediately, pulling you in and planting a generous kiss on your cheek.

A smooching sound accompanies it, his foot closing the door as he suggests, “Dinner first or TV?”

“Shoes.” You laugh. You slip out of your thin jacket before tackling your snickers quickly, your clothes suddenly itchy and uncomfortable. “Shoes first, and then shower? Can I?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s not the first time that you’d be doing it. But there’s still something new and pure about this new chapter of your life; one that comes with polite questions and reinventing reality, apparently.

Redrafting life as you knew it and striving towards something better.

“I knew it, actually,” he says, forefinger wiggling, “I put a fresh towel on the washing machine. Also had a handful of your shirts here, so there’s one of those on the towel, too. And my joggers… Sorry, you left none of those, uhm—”

He’s started walking ahead, scratching behind his ear, but when he notices you not following, he looks over his shoulder. Blinks at you, staring into his living room and back, innocent voice unsure, “Come?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just— you didn’t have t—”

“I know,” he interrupts, breathing a sigh in faux frustration, “I know I never have to. But I figured you’d wanna shower.”

“…Thank you, Kook.”

You wish you could say more; express your gratitude the way you want to. At least your body is jubilating, craving the hot steam of the shower. Starving further for some peace when you step into the bathroom and detect the neatly placed clothing.

Jungkook halts at the door, gripping its frame, a little shy as if you didn’t breathe each other in for the last couple of weeks and months. He’s looking at you, waiting for something, and when you raise an eyebrow in curiosity, he snaps out of whatever daydream he was in.

“Oh. Right,” he mumbles, cheeks flushed, “sorry. I’ll leave. Can heat up the food. Or, or do you wanna order in?”

“Anything’s fine.” He nods. Opts to walk away, big hand flattening his hair at the back. It takes a moment for your heart to riot as you watch him leave, immediately babbling, “Actually. I was—”

Returning within a moment, he looks alarmed. Less so when you point a thumb to the shower and suggest, “Do you wanna join?”

“You in the shower?”

No, doofus. Join to watch the washing machine unsoil your sweaty clothes.

You clear your throat. “Yeah?”

“I uhm… Is that okay?”

Goddamn. Redrafting life as you knew it, you said.

You just didn’t expect the two of you to still tip-toe around each other. Seems you still have a lot of adjusting to do.

You try to break the ice.

“Acting like I’ve never seen you naked.”

“No, I know,” he responds, “I was just thinking that you…”

You can’t quite decrypt what he’s trying to say, but you do perceive the flash of concern in his eyes. It’s a tiny glimpse, barely there; but you see it. And you think about it.

Try to understand, let moments pass — until you’ve grasped his thinking.

The night he helped you clean up was the last time you stood under a showerhead together; maybe he thinks you’re still connecting it to the night’s trauma or borderline dangerous intoxication. And perhaps you’re wrong.

But you still take a breath, and then segue, “Already took a shower, didn’t you?”

You know he did. He’s addicted to cleanliness, sensitive to scents; he hoards diffusers, skin care products and new underwear like a treasure. And showering is always the first thing he goes for, a beeline to the bathroom after work out sessions and intense summer days.

You follow up with, “It’s okay, if you did. I’ll just go alone and hurry to dinner, then?”

“No, no… No, it’s fine.” He starts his sentence fast, but slows down halfway through, awkwardly. “Of course I can join. What’s some extra refreshment, right?”

“That’s the reason, huh?” you mock, laughing when he shrugs his shoulder. “Keep acting like you’re not the biggest simp around.”

Your confidence boosts his own, too. The signature smile is soft, lips curved gorgeously, but the subtone of his words is teasing, and even a little cocky.

“Of course. I know, I know.”

“Come then.”

You offer a stretched hand, curling your fingers in and outwards, and he places his warm palm into it like a key to a lock. Albeit tense and nervous, your body feels good next to his. The telltale awkward signs of a new relationship don’t deter you from indulging in its sweetness.

So you’re not surprised at how quickly you undress, throwing each other’s clothes at the back of the washing machine and planting kisses whenever one of you bares their shoulder. Eyeing each other from bottom to top.

You think you ogle for a moment too long, though — and how could you not with the freaking silver chain dangling from his neck?

An exciting evening lies ahead, you can already tell.

It’s fresher now outside, and all of Jungkook’s windows are open. Despite the cosiness of the bathroom, you rush under the hot shower stream.

Only, it’s not as boiling as you’d like it to be. Jungkook starts and finishes his showers ice cold, so you screech when you meet water from the Antarctic. You jump on your spot, arms around your torso.

And when you allow yourself one single glance at him amidst the breathlessness, you notice that the asshole is doing it on purpose. Same old. Rouses core memories.

Jungkook wipes over your hair and your face, drenching them thoroughly. You only realise he’s smudged your mascara when he starts rubbing underneath your eyes gently, managing to get some of it off.

“Fuck,” you curse, “I forgot about that. Should I take it off first?”

The intention is to slip out, use one of his cleansing skin products and get the mess out of your face before stepping back to him. But you don’t make it far anyway; he yanks you back before your foot can even touch the mat.

And then, the moment passes in a blur.

Tense body back against his, he tugs you close. Holds both your wrists in front of your breasts, leaning in without a warning, and then — connects his dripping lips with yours.

If there was any space to gasp, you would. Instead, your fingers instantly dig into your hand, sharp nails scarring the skin. You move your fists, trying to touch him, but he holds you in place firmly.

That is, until his digits relax, trailing up your shoulder to your neck, jaw and then to your cheeks. Face in your grip, you let him control the pace. You find an anchor in his bicep, holding on; kissing isn’t enough.

You wish he could eat you up. Wish the tongue finally touching yours, swirling around it, was everywhere on your skin at once.

You feel a slight twitch underneath, right against your body; ready to devour, hopefully soon to explode. But Jungkook gasps for air when his lungs give out, allowing a break, backing away with your face still between his hands.

And then, he utters something surprising — something you didn’t expect in the heat of the moment at all.

“I was meaning to tell you something.”

“…Oh?”

“I’m uh. I’ve been meaning to tell you for days. I just never quite got around to it and we were so busy and tired all the time and—”

“What is it?” you break in, heart pounding at an unnatural speed. “I’m here now, so…?”

For a second, you expect this to take a whole different turn.

The database in your brain empties the moment you scour it for an answer, preparing yourself for molten knees and dissolving hearts. Or maybe, it’s already clarifying to liquid, jumping out of your chest and flowing down the drain along with the water.

But he doesn’t say what you anticipate. Though, what he does admit has your nerves glowing neon white anyway.

“So— the first night of my showcase. On my birthday?” he starts. You feel the muscles of your face change, and he sees it, immediately assuring, “No, no. Don’t worry. I was just gonna say that a guy came to me by the end of it? And—” 

He lets all of it sound like an unsure question. But you think you know where it’s going — you hold your breath under the already suffocating water.

“And?” you prod.

“And turned out Namjoon invited him, and he’s kiiiinda a big shot in the art business? Like, he’s a gallery collector, he said. He’d invest in my art and acquire it and have it showcased in bigger museums for more recogni— I know!”

Your mouth and eyes opened halfway through his quick explanation, fingers back in fists, pressing against his solid chest and then moving up to hook in his silver chain. You’re restless in the congested space, suppressing the high pitched sounds.

He puts his hands on your hips, snickering in joy as he says, “Be careful before you slip.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Thankfully I’m not, angel,” he shakes his head, bangs sticking to his forehead, “not this time, at least.”

You raise a hand to his pec, tapping against it, “Wait. So just so I understood correctly — they’re gonna put up your stuff there for an even bigger audience to see, yeah?”

“I mean, the gallery is definitely far bigger than the exhibition I participated in.”

“Oh my god, Jungkook, the exhibition already had a shit ton of visitors!”

He nods, proving a point.

You feel an electric current in your blood. Pride, that’s what it’s called, too. You sling your arms around his neck recklessly, nearly falling, but you can’t be bothered as you exclaim, “This is so— I don’t even know how to react, Kook!”

And who could convince a big-shot art connoisseur so quickly after graduation anyway? Jungkook’s god given talents are never praised for nothing — you knew it. Fucking knew it.

Won’t make it anywhere, your ass.

“That’s so fucking awesome.” You stare, out of breath all of a sudden. God, if there was a way to express your delight. “When is it happening? Are you selling the one you showcased?”

“I don’t know yet. And no. That’s too… personal to me.” You blink, nodding. Still overwhelmed with how his pieces made you feel — of course they’d hit even harder for the artist himself. “He wants something in a similar style, though. I’ll make something new for him.”

“What’s it gonna be?”

It’s a simple question. You swear it’s nothing too deep.

But Jungkook’s gaze changes. An amused, delighted expression replaces a neutral one, head tilting to the side just a little. His lips, already slightly swollen from the kiss, move up, eyes kind and sugary.

If you only knew how your small details affect him, too. How you looking at him like this, expectant eyes split wide, innocent and gentle, shoots an arrow to his heart.

You just don’t know.

He brushes the hair sticking to your cheek back and tells you, “You’ll see. I’ve been working on it these days, but. Will show it to you when it’s done.”

You can’t even be mad. If it was up to you, you’d probably wait for the big day, too — can’t spoil the surprise, need to cry tears of pride and joy in public.

So all you say, deep from the heart, is, “You’re the fucking coolest person I know.”

“Nah—”

“The coolest.”

“Funny,” he retorts, as bad at compliments as you; throws them back like a boomerang, “thought the same when I met you at the party last year.”

“…Gross.” That’s what you say. But you still shake your head; overwhelmed, smile plastered to your face and cheeks hurting. “God, Kook.”

And that’s all.

You keep holding his stare, finally too tired of the distance to endure any longer — and then lean in. You stop a couple inches away, watch his head angle more, mouth steering towards yours. The smile is mutual, fingers seeking a spot to settle on on each other’s bodies.

Your heart monitor would be wilding right now — the effect of your lips meeting clear as day behind your ribs. And this time, you don’t stop.

The push against his chest is immediate, his feet slowly tumbling backwards. His tongue burns hot against yours, your lower lip fitting perfectly in the gap between his lips. There’s a sharp hiss when his back finally touches the tiles, mouth open but not leaving yours.

Teeth soon clash, and you opt for more of his taste, well aware that you just cannot kiss more than you already are. His hands move up and down, never settling, both your lips harsh and impatient. Your tongues keep moving in patterns, thirst never quenched.

You break the kiss solely for oxygen purposes, but he uses the moment to let his palm wander from your face to your hair, grabbing a patch. One hand pushes against the small of your back, though soon dropping to your ass, fingers between your ass cheeks, teasing the clenching hole.

Fuck.

The moan isn’t intended, but very welcome — you love the sound of it as much as he does, followed by his own. An automatic reaction. His hips indulge in the tiniest movements, length jerking against your body; no more than an inch of his fingertip pushing into your ass.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you breathe, eyebrows furrowing, mewling against the corner of his lips. “More, now, please.”

It’s an attempt. Of course he won’t act that fast — you know him well enough. He’s been a soft gentleman often enough; but after holding back the past few days, missing it for weeks, you know it won't be easy on him either.

One of you will be on the brink of tears soon; until now, it’s usually been you.

You take a deep breath, agitated when he laughs. He retracts his hand, smoothing back his chaotic mane before leaning in for another peck. And that’s all it remains — interrupted immediately, saliva mixing with the shower water.

“I’m so fucking crazy for you,” he confesses; the shiver doesn’t hesitate crawling down your spine — neither does Jungkook, peppering your neck with kisses.

His actions are smooth — you let him do anything. Like, explore every little spot of your skin. From the softness of your face, down to the flesh of your ass, echoing hard when a flat hand slaps it out of nowhere.

You propel forwards, barely aware of your surroundings. The shower raining onto you is the only indicator of where you still are.

So when he turns you carefully, 180 until your back touches the tiles, you don’t realise his intentions for a moment. Only when he changes his approach, digging your shoulders hard into the wall, knocking you out of breath.

“Are you trying to—” you ask, but he interjects right away.

“Don’t question it this time, okay?” His face inches close again, teeth suddenly pulling and nibbling at your lip. “Just let us do. Lemme do, yeah?”

His chest presses against your tits before he backs away and palms your mounds, squeezing nearly painfully.

For only a heartbeat, though — he doesn’t stall further. Because another second passes before you’re turned in his grip, chest not touching his anymore, but the wall now. From behind you, he grasps your hips, dragging you back just a couple inches; enough to sneak his hand through.

“But whenever things get too much, you…”

You nod. Promise, “Will tell you. I will.”

“Good.” His cock pokes between your ass, and he spreads its cheeks. Lets the hardness rest between them, sliding up and down. “Gonna make you feel so good, though. Wanna make you feel so fucking good.”

Wow… wow, f—

Not that you were ever interested in it before, but…

Part of you wants him to shove it in anywhere. Wherever the fuck he wants. You’d endure all hour-long foreplay and pleas and tears for him.

And perhaps he’s thinking the same. Perhaps you even spoke it out loud — you wouldn’t be surprised if you did. But you choke on your spit when he says, “Missing the sex toys. Like… What do you think of new ones, hm? Someday, maybe. Like— like an anal pl—”

“Please,” you beg, “I’ll do fucking anything for you.”

Break in conversation. Then, “Holy shit.” He chuckles. Fuck — his voice is deeper now, isn’t it? “You’re being whiny. I thought you’re a badass business woman, but you’re so whiny.”

“Because— I can breathe when I work.”

“Ohh. And now,” he whispers, close to your ear, hand moving. Up and further up, stopping around your throat, as if he’s testing your statement. As if he could tell him anything about the state of your lungs. “Now we’re not as focused, right?”

“No thinking when I suck your dick.”

“Dammit. Really don’t wanna wait to fuck you numb.”

You’re shamelessly jittery, patience out the window. “Don’t then. Get to it now.”

“Nope. I know you’re not ready yet. And I’m not either… so—”

He steps closer, forcing your body further forward until your cheek is squished against the wall. His fingers leave your throat to find another target; something far more south, a lot more dangerous.

One small circle drawn around your clit, you gasp, hearing him ask, “You think you can come with just my fingers?”

“I don’t know. I honestly think I need—”

He chuckles, and you can’t help but laugh, too. You’re hilarious sometimes.

“You think you’re so smart. But we can still try, though.” He says it casually, as if the two of you don’t exactly know that he’s perfectly capable of pulling through. But his voice still softens when you don’t answer, “Hey. You wanna try, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Anything,” you convince him, “anything, Kook.”

“Good girl. The best, always.”

His touch vanishes. You let out a mildly confused sound, observing with an unfocused vision how he opens the shower door a little. He reaches for the towel on the washing machine, drying his fingers, other hand moving the shower head until it’s mostly wetting his own back.

It’s a tiny detail, really. You only told him once how action around the clit might become uncomfortable with hands priorly washed or wet, and it seems he remembered.

Your eyes shut when he returns to your bundle of nerves, massaging gently, skilled. It starts slow at first; you feel the hot wetness build in and around your entrance, the line between the shower water and your arousal fading.

Jungkook’s movements, calculated and systematic, only spur your body on. He’s always known what he’s doing; has analysed and explored what you want. How you want it.

It’s true heaven to you: the way he kisses your cheek. The way he draws moans out of you, the motions around your swollen bud rhythmic. Your back and limbs tingle; you don’t know what to do with yourself.

And when you can’t stand still anymore, Jungkook orders, “Stop that. You’ll break my jaw.”

“Sorry.”

Your apology is timid, tiny; he laughs. “You cutie… you’re adorable even in moments like these.”

You throw your head against his shoulder as if to oppose him, opening your eyes, looking straight into his eyes. Your eyebrows are kissing, tension between them, mouth agape.

And he adds, “Or maybe not.”

He lifts you up a bit, dragging your body along the wall — you didn’t even notice that you slid down this much, angled, ass darting out like this. But you also don’t mind the arm that rounds your torso, just underneath your tits, keeping you steady when he takes it up a notch and—

“Oh my god,” you squeak when he pushes two fingers in. “Yes, yes, please—”

The incoherent, random requests are his favourite. Most of the time, he knows better than you what you’re pleading for. Which is why he doesn’t stop this time; probably more in the mood to please you than tease you.

From this position, he can’t reach knuckles deep, but just enough to brush the walnutty spot inside. And to your surprise, the orgasm builds up fast; the first quiver takes over your knees, but you understand that this is nothing compared to what’s to come.

You press your hands to the wall, holding onto remnants of your sanity when he kisses your neck, and along your damp shoulders. His mouth is hot against your pulse, wet hair tickling under your jaw. He bites lightly; soothes the fleeting sting with his tongue. Vampiristic.

Like a sensual massage, well thought out, pornographic.

And then he picks up on pace. Whispers, “That’s right— we got this—”

He starts pumping into you; relishes your incomprehensible curses. The thumb over your clit and the impatience of his fingers inside are a dichotomy, and you don’t know what to focus on. Which is why you stop thinking altogether.

Jungkook takes a sharp breath, quiet whistling sounds included, and then groans into your ear when you do. He keeps his motions up diligently, fingers a bit deeper with each time your ass moves back an inch.

As an aid, he shifts his arm, too, pushing forward, palm pressing against your clit now.

And when you come, you melt. Nearly collapsing, you keep moving, on edge, every spot of your body in tremor. You can barely breathe; you’ve been nestled in the heat of the shower for way too long.

He notices your tremble in an instant, encourages, “Got it. Got you. Keep going, baby, c’mon.”

The peak is blissful; you don’t want to ever fall off the edge again. Want to remain in this starry, gorgeous ache. Your eyes could stay in the back of your head; the world may keep fading. And you don’t need to know where you are.

All you know is that your voice sounds odd, high when you pant, “Don’t go away yet.”

“I’m right here. Right here, got you,” he repeats, holding you upright.

Jungkook knows — knows how to get you from lowest lows to your highest highs. Today was as pleasant as a day at work can be; but if he’s ready to do all this to you on any other, worse day, too, you might never encounter grief again.

He scatters kisses all over your jaw when you’re done — busies himself as you catch your breath, swallowing, eyes closed. Once you’ve caught yourself enough to utter fragments of sentences at least, you tell him, “Something not human about you, Jeon.”

“Oh. Are we back to surnames now?” He cackles, soothing motions along your arms. “Are we gonna shake hands, too, once we’re done? Bow and say thank you?”

You shake your head, though the stupid smile doesn’t wait to spread on your face.

“You’re dumb,” you say.

“You make me dumb.”

He drops his touch, brushing your pussy again — maybe as a test. But you’re sensitive and vulnerable, closing your legs and opening your mouth in response. He’s sly; uses the moment to push two fingers in right away, pressing your tongue down.

And you, as challenge-accepting as ever, start sucking, tasting some of yourself. You wrap your hand around his, moving your head, chest still heaving from the exhaustion. Your eyes close slowly enough for him to see them roll back, a reaction to the images your brain creates.

Like, the thought of the member currently poking you replacing those digits. The prospect of emptying him entirely.

“Fuuuuck— wish my brain could take a picture of this and save it forever,” he says, voice strained.

You open your mouth, licking a strip along his finger, past the tattoo. “What’d you do with it?”

“Would… would bring it to the forefront of my mind,” Jungkook begins, reclaiming his hand and dragging it down to your waist, “and use it whenever you’re away.”

“Hmmm… and then?”

“Would just…”

He doesn’t continue. Only shakes his head, lifting his shoulders, stance desperate and wanting; maybe he’s even a little out of his mind.

You egg him on, “Show me if you can’t say it.”

It’s a surprise that he obliges, but then again, it’s not. You always forget just how weak he is — that his heart sits right there in your palms, his body a magnet to yours.

So you’re endlessly pleased when your eyes flit down to a hand around his dick. Stroking slowly, its head hard against your pelvis. And you manage to watch a tiny second longer until the floor beckons you towards it, down to your knees.

It’s uncomfortable immediately; slick and odd. But you’re distracted by your dry tongue, thirsting, ridiculously hypnotised by the cock dangling in front of you. And then his thighs… muscular and thick. You reach out to them, holding them, steering forwards.

Despite his delicate frailty, you don’t fare any better. Ready to bruise your knees like an obedient doll, eyes wide when you look up at him. You grip him softly, urging him to remove his hand, stroking in his stead.

You pass all pleasantries and hesitations, and dive in immediately — leading your mouth to the tip before wrapping your lips around it delicately. Determined, you let only a second pass, eager as you start moving right away.

Bobbing your head, you take him in as much as your gag reflex allows. He’s too big — it’s impossible to ever swallow him fully. But no matter how greedy you are, that’s it.

You don’t give into it all the way just yet.

Instead, you back away after another lick. Straighten your body, drawing in and repositioning until you can push your tits together around the stiffness.

His groan tumbles out of him broken, choked, a hand against the wall. His abs are rippling, bicep bulged, nipples tiny and perked. Dark brown. Eyes hazy.

You want to do so many fucking things to him — want to mount him. Pull his head back by his long strands. Want, need to kiss him, rub yourself on him, back and forth along his cock until his moans become uncontrolled. Sticky white cum sprayed over his tummy.

Your nails in your skin, yearning for more — that’s one of your billion thoughts.

Instead, you summarise your wants, whispering a single, simple, fucked out, “I…” You gulp down the knot. Shiver at your position, craving the hot water a little now. Then command, “Fuck my mouth.”

His eyes threaten to fall out of his head; like they always do. He knows it’s a constant reaction, too, it seems, because, “God. I’ll never get used to you saying this.”

“You better, though.”

“Right. Right…”

He caresses your face, pushes your hair back. Perhaps he’s had enough of the pace; because he soon reaches for your arms, compliant deer kicked out of his head as he forces your wrists up and crosses them against the wall.

One hand is all he needs to hold them in their place. One hand gripping them hard, disabling any movement of your arms.

You let out a strange, obscene sound, finding utter liking in this gesture.

But despite your pleasure, he still eases you into the process, the heart tattoo grazing your cheek. A touch so soft that you think he’s praising you, wordlessly and gently. Making sure you’re absolutely okay with whatever he does to you.

And you confirm it with another blink, stretching out your tongue, ready. Holding his gaze. Mesmerised and frustrated, he says, “You’ll kill me with the way you look at me.”

Jungkook fuels your confidence with vigour each time, eloquent through scorching heat, too. Because you don’t think you’ve ever smiled this self-assured before you knew him; or been certain about your power over others.

You used to be far more insecure than that, feigning ignorance and carelessness, but reevaluating your decisions every step of the way. Months ago, you could’ve never predicted such a shift in conviction towards yourself.

So it’s new to you, but invigorating at the same time, the grin you sport, the words you utter, “Killing you isn’t my intention,” when he doesn’t, you move your head towards the leaking head of his cock, awaiting destruction, “wanna make you feel more alive than ever.”

The breath tumbling out of his mouth is ragged, pinky finger twitching a tiny bit when you wrap your lips around the tip and then let it go with a plop again; like it’s a lollipop to you.

Your knees move closer to his feet, and he stretches his one hand to your shoulder, making sure you don’t get hurt on the slippery ground. But you’re far too distracted to appreciate the gesture just yet, even though you feel the faint tickling along your limbs.

“I got it,” Jungkook then says, back in charge, hands back on the protruding, thick veins.

He moves his hips forward, testing. You roll out your tongue once more, closing your eyes. Try to make more room in your mouth, despite knowing it’s a thing of impossibility. And to your chagrin, it takes only a few more seconds for you to be full already.

Taking in as much as your throat allows, you gag when you reach your limit, letting out a tiny cough, salivating. You still can’t move your arms; his fingers are like chains around your wrists.

“That enough?” he asks. “I’ll stop here, okay?”

You nod. Wait. When he doesn’t move, you start pulling back, and then push forward again immediately. Your tongue is drenched in absolute filth; the spit trails down your chin, and you wish it was his.

But that’s not the point of it all — you’re not supposed to comfortably bop your head back and forth, are you? Despite the daily softness between the two of you, you want to be used. Want all his greed.

And he knows. Asks, “What do you need?”

Of course you can’t speak. He’s aware of that; stares down at you as you breathe heavily around him, mouth stuffed to the brim. Cheeks aching from the circumference.

You moan around him, parting your lips, moving your tongue from under his dick to swirl it around it a little. You move back, tasting the liquid minimally dripping out of his slit. Fuck, you want all of it, in thick, sickening ropes, in loads and buckets.

“Won’t even back away to speak,” he teases, words contradictory, because he won’t allow you to take a break either. Shoves himself inside again; you’re embarrassed that you only manage half of his length. “The dedication is hotter than it should be—”

Full, coherent sentences. How?

But even his string of thought breaks when he starts in earnest. Filling up your mouth once more, as much as he can and then a bit more for good measure. You adjust to his movements, suck down immediately.

You don’t care about the loss of voice later; you want to eat him up entirely.

His strokes grow harder by the second, rock hard inside you. You move your head until the head pokes against the inside of your cheek, and the tight wetness affects him, his knees buckling by one single inch.

“Easy…” he whispers, shaking his head, water drops landing on your face. “Fuck. Wanna have you hanging off the bed one day. Wanna see my cock ram your throat…”

Easy, he said. He’s definitely not being easy on you, though. Not with these admissions. Not with his motions.

The thrusts aren’t just hard, but deliberate and controlled, too. Your head keeps pushing back, lightly touching the wall. You’re far over sucking his dick, way too obedient and submissive to define it like that.

No, you’re being fucked. Gagging and choking around him, sucking in the spit whenever only his tip remains inside, sounds lewd and specific. Coming from the back of your throat, wet, hot and bothered.

God, you wish you were strong enough to take him all the way down to the base, licking at his balls, feeling his twitching dick thumping at the very far back. But you guess this is more than enough for him, too.

Because he holds your wrists harder, a rope around them, digging into your skin. The free hand wipes your hair away again, your body sweat-soaked while the shower water still trickles down his back.

He holds you there; then reaches for your nipple; pinches it hard over your heavily heaving chest, pleased when you open your eyes and look up at him. Waterline damp — the dangling chain might just be one of the reasons for that.

“Bit more,” he mumbles, and you think he’ll surrender right there, inside your mouth.

Which is why you sit up straighter, more determined, licking at the underside of his cock when he drags it out a little. His balls hang in your face and you reach for them, tongueing, hungry, not wanting him to move away now.

He doesn’t. Not yet. Relief courses through you, swallowing around his thickness again. Rolling your eyes back, hearing subtle “Doing well, so well, angel”s, ignoring the pain in your arms as he holds them upright.

You hollow your cheeks when he buries himself in deep, struggling when he stops right there. He doesn’t move; your eyes well up harder. All air enters and escapes through your nose, and you’re shaking, holding his stare as he keeps his cock in place, absolutely still.

That is, until you can barely breathe anymore, nails digging into your palms, arms trying to escape. He doesn’t say a word yet, only lets your hands drop. Your shoulders crack a bit, and you shake your arms, filling up your lungs, your palms next to his feet.

His cock is covered in your spit when you look again; your gaping mouth and chin similarly drenched.

And only when your head stops spinning, does he hold his hands towards you, urging you to take them as he says, “Sorry, baby. You did so well, I…”

You grip his fingers feebly, getting up on weak knees. Instead of holding onto your hands, he soon wraps an arm around your body, pulling you up before he asks, “Less next time?”

“No,” the word comes out as a squeak, throat already affected, “I’ll always tap if I feel it’s too much. I promi— promise.”

“Good,” he praises, a kiss to your damp forehead. He turns the water off. “That’s all I want, baby. Look at me.”

You’re already exhausted, staring down, fatigue fuelled by the hot water. Your eyes flutter open as you meet his gaze, and he puts a hand to your cheek, thumb on your swollen lower lip.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he compliments; his hand must be heating up under your touch, “did you know? So sweet and stunning. It makes me sick.”

“Thought I was the only one. You…” He looks at you, and you hold him tight, smiling about your joke in advance. “You have such an effect on me, it makes me wanna throw up.”

Right. So in love, it makes your stomach turn.

“Please don’t,” he pleads, conjuring a tender eye smile. The wide grin is unreal. “And let’s get out of here. We can’t keep standing here.”

“Waste of water.”

“Yes, waste of water. That, too. And I should have some lube in the bedroom.”

Of course he’s as impatient as you — although you’re almost a hundred percent sure you could do without that stuff easily. The insides of your thighs are slippery, and you’re certain the shower wasn’t the sole reason for that.

Your legs feel weird, your body heavy when you finally get out. The cosy bathroom is filled with steam and heat, but at least you can breathe easier here than under the piping hot water.

The mirror is fogged up; you glance into it to check your state, but recognise nothing but your vague form. You wipe a stripe the size of your hand along it as you walk past, halting at the door. And when you look back, Jungkook is making quick, brief work on picking up the clothes you haphazardly threw to the side before.

“You don’t wanna do this later?” you ask, still fond.

It’s just him cleaning up the floor, but… you enjoy watching him do mundane things. You might never be able to explain why, but you do.

“Just throwing them into the washing machine. Will turn it on later,” he answers.

He straightens his body with a sigh when he’s done, sniffling as he usually does. His eyes are hidden behind his long hair, so he lifts both his hands to brush the soaked tresses back. The muscles of his arms are mountainous and firm. Tattoos ending at his shoulder.

He’s indescribably pretty like that. Looking up, lips parted, jaw chiselled.

You observe him for a bit longer, gaze trailing down his body. Small nipples, broad and sculpted pecs, six painfully visible rectangles of abs. Cock still mostly awake.

Fuck.

Crossing your legs, you bite your lips, one hand on the door handle. You take in the domesticity. The moment might be subtle and casual, but something about it is incredibly homely.

How you speak to each other, and how his washing machine is cleaning both your clothes. It’s the little things, isn’t it?

Your eyes are fond when you say, “Whenever it does happen… I can already imagine all of it clearly.”

“Hm?” He blinks at you. “All of what, baby?”

“Of being here with you. All the time.” His motions stop. He drops his arms, a strand falling back into his face, but he doesn’t care. Glances at you for a couple seconds until you smile and nod towards the door. “Let’s go.”

But it seems he changed his mind in this split second that you turn to the exit.

Because all of a sudden, just as he did before, he tugs you back. And just like before, you land against the wall, having him staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time. His voice is a whisper, enchanting, “Okay… you know what. Forget it.”

“Huh?”

“Fuck lube, okay?” His eyes are glued to your lips. Then to your pupils. He looks lost. “We can manage. Don’t need the bedroom… just you. Want you right now.”

“Jungko—”

You don’t anticipate it — so it draws a small moan out of you when his fingers suddenly graze between your legs, digging in for just a moment. Fingering you for a split second as you gasp — and then they disappear again.

He moves in to kiss your cheek. Just a peck first. Then his lips open against your neck, hand moving up your body and pushing your tit up. His tongue soon joins the fun, darting through his parted lips, sucking your tits hard. Biting, groaning, moaning.

“Jungkook.” You push your touch through his hair as he kisses his way further down, nibbling at your sides, and you whine, “Don’t wanna wait, Kook…”

His eyes are closed and his voice hushed, raspy and deep as he says between kisses, “I’ll be gone for a moment, baby. You’ll barely notice, I promise.”

Strange how he means distanced from your kiss, not from your body. Strange how you miss each other while in the same room, but not melted into each other.

You’re losing your mind. Throwing your head back, ruining your hair against the tiles. Eyes droopy and hazy, mind turning in various directions as you relish each touch and peck. Your body relaxes; all the weight of the world off your shoulders.

Jungkook fondles your body, caresses all of you, planting kisses on your tummy, your waist, your pelvis. Continues to tug at the flesh of your thighs with his lips. It feels like a massage, not painful but gentle. Careful as he hoists up one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder. 

And then… he starts.

His tongue flashes out to your clit. Parts your folds. It’s difficult from this position, but his pointy wet muscle paints patterns over your pussy. And you reel.

Jungkook truly is an artist. Knows to make you mewl, turns your breaths laboured. You move your hips, guiding his face closer with your hand in his hair, slowly riding it. The French kisses, the brush against your thighs… he’s…

God.

“God,” you echo, “I love this, I—”

He’s feasting. Letting out alluring sounds, spurring you on, and you almost topple over the edge. But Jungkook knows what he’s doing — leaves you yearning, moving away and up to you.

When he said he’d be gone for a moment, he truly meant it.

Your lip quivers when he looks at you, ordering a soft, “You’ll come together with me.” He raises your chin. “Okay? You and I together. Always.”

Must be a hidden message. He’s not just talking about sex anymore, is he? But him and you in one bubble, separated from the world. Nothing but you, you and you.

You barely wait another second. Instead, you immediately lurch forwards, initiating a kiss beyond sinful from the start. Teeth clashing, tongues feral. For a couple seconds you breathe into each other, letting out odd noises, his hand pulling your leg back up again and pinning it against the wall.

You’re on your tippy toes when his cock teases your entrance, his lips soon on your shoulder again. Cold chain brushing your skin. He’s sucking harshly, guiding his dick inside with determination. Sheer impatience is palpable in his touch and audible in his sounds.

The head of his dick parts your folds, diving in; and you let out a moan so lustful that he grows downright desperate against your shoulder. Standing here like this is hard, too; so he puts his palms on your ass, commands—

“Jump once.”

“What?”

“Jump,” he repeats, “I’ll hold you. Want you, please.”

“Okay…” you mumble. You put your hands on his broad shoulder, readying yourself, “Okay.”

And then you do — immediately wrapping your legs around him. And he lets you fall slowly, body pressed against yours, so you’re sandwiched between him and the wall; so he can guide his hardness back to your cunt.

You drop onto it slowly, carefully. Impaling yourself on him, inch by inch penetrating your insides. The more you take in, the deeper the crease between your eyebrows. And when he’s bottomed out, you feel like… yourself again?

Because what moment is more intimate than this? What moment allows you to crawl out of your shell more than this?

Even if in a crude sense, this is yet another definition of home. And every definition can be traced back to him.

“You feeling alright?” he asks, and you nod immediately.

“Is a bit weird, but…” you hold onto him, one hand moving to his face. You don’t finish your sentence; only nod, exhaling against his lips.

“Can I start?”

Another nod; and then he starts pumping in. Slowly in and out; you’re firmly in place against the wall, slipping just a little. His hands engulf your ass again — his strength is mind-numbing, and his sounds loud as he splits you in two.

Your eyes shut for a mini moment, and when they crack open again, they’re met with the still mirror. It’s fogging up again, yet still clear enough to make out Jungkook’s back; the form of his body. Your thoughts tangle up.

You’ve seen him shirtless a million times before, fully bare — but it might be the first time you’re enjoying this very perspective. And the entirety of him… leaves you gasping. Butt naked, ass muscles flexing, the triangle shaped back smooth. Where do his guts even fit?

They’re a blessing, those reflections, catching the way he’s standing, ramming into you. And then you, burying your nails into his shoulder blades, expression fucked out, body moving up and down the wall. Having things done to you by him.

You’re so fucking lucky.

You mutter, “Kook…”

“Yes, baby.”

“You look so good… so…”

“Mmmh, you do, too,” the sentence starts in a clear tone, but morphs into a whisper, “just… can’t see enough of you… shit, babe—”

He leans in, parting your lips with his, your tongues touching as he delivers a rough jab just once. And that’s when things stop working for you.

Because soon enough, you’re swaying to the side, nearly falling; as his protective instincts kick in, immediately holding you, his cock jumps out. And he shakes his head, pecking your temple once, and then deducts, “Okay. This won’t do.”

“Hmmm,” you hum in agreement, weak on your legs, “bad idea for sure.”

“Hold up.”

He’s quick to turn you around, thoroughly in charge of your body tonight — you’re fully under his mercy. Ready to kneel and bend for him. And Jungkook, understanding your boundaries, gives you all you need — knows what to do, knows when to stop.

And you keep handing over control; more so when he pushes you over the sink, stating, “Okay. Looks easier.” A pause. “Looks so much fucking better, too.”

Wish you could see. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re tense.

He leans down to kiss your back. His dick pokes between your ass cheeks again, slipping down and further down until it makes itself home between your nether lips again.

It falls into it in one fell swoop, swiftly, as if it’s no effort at all — guess it never is.

And god, does the position feel heavenly.

Balls deep inside; the first angle that allows full unhinged, animalistic mode.

But he still starts out slow; with long strokes and a hand in your hair. You tumble backwards a little, urging him to move too, lifting your ass higher and pushing your legs together for maximal effect.

Allowing more tightness for him; more friction for you.

“I… missed fucking you so much,” he says between thrusts. “You feel unreal.”

You guess you do. He does, too. Maybe the two of you need a reminder that this is all too real; perhaps a tantalising equivalent to a wake-up-pinch.

So you suggest, “Fuck me harder, Kook.”

“Hmm… want that?”

“Been waiting so fucking long.”

And while a lover of patience and anticipation — who is he to reject your wishes after the entire ordeal occurring in this room? The two of you have dragged out this moment plenty.

So he listens fast; soon using your neck as leverage as his inked fingers wrap it smoothly. Agreeing, “It’d be my literal pleasure, babe.”

God, he’s a dumbass — but you can’t physically react. Too caught up in something else; storing the laughter and jokes for later.

Because he picks up on pace, not too much right away; but enough for his hips to slap against your ass. Enough for you to be catapulted forwards with a whine, cheek pressing to the glass.

You lift your hand, accidentally wiping again, but only manage a trail, hand sliding down. From behind, you hear a hoarse praise, “Looks so fucking hot,” he draws a sharp breath, nearly hissing, “I promise I’ll be careful, just…”

He pulls at your hair. Shoves his cock inside rougher, face closer to you, lips to your cheek. Swallows hard enough for you to hear, and then, “Tell me if it’s too much. Am careful until I can’t be, baby.”

Until he loses control. He says it right before he drops all inhibitions and — goes feral.

You squint your eyes shut, calling out his name; the word echoes in the small room, and for just a second, you worry the neighbours might hear. And then right away, you stop caring again.

Because you want this man. Now and later and forever; want him like this, want him in any way. This isn’t just sex to you — if that’s what you wanted, you’d download an app like your freshman self used to.

No.

No matter how obscene, there’s meaning in every one of your touches; in every stroke, in every word, in every single time you lose yourself in him.

Your stomach twists as he jackhammers into you; you’re craving proximity, craving all his attention. Want all of his emotions and touches raw and merciless. Want to see him.

Although, when your shut eyes open, you only see blurry forms in the mirror moving, him behind you. He squeezes your neck; you see that much before he slides it down your body, straight to your clit, no detours.

He pushes his knee up for a second, touching the edge of the sink and balancing on one leg, but drops it again soon. The white painted, stainless steel of the sink, previously cold on your tummy, burns against your skin now. A chafing feeling.

Jungkook draws more forms against your clit, but then retracts his hand; instead, squishing your tits, indecisive where to touch. But it’s the last move he makes before he straightens his body, palms on your ass until he spanks just once and…

Pulls out again.

What?

“Look at me, sweetheart,” you register.

You pant, fingers clutching the sink and gulping down the tiredness before you manage a turn. Your eyes land on his dick first; it’s fully drenched in your arousal, so unbreakably stiff.

He whispers again, “Look at me,” but the moment you do, he doesn’t withhold your stare for too long. Instead, his hands are back on your cheeks, drawing you close, seeking your lips. His never-satisfied thirst matches yours; you want to remain here and freeze time.

With your arms around his neck, he guides you towards the washing machine, pushing the clothes further aside. He helps you get on it, but you argue immediately, “This could be dangerous, right? Shouldn’t sit here, I think… might break…”

“It’ll be okay,” he says, making himself comfortable between your legs, pushing them apart with his thighs. Two fingers hold your chin, lips ghosting over yours. “Is a cheap ass thing… want a new one anyway.”

You wonder if he’ll say that about all the furniture he’ll fuck you on. Because observing his eyes, you know that he will — will soil every inch of his apartment within, what you anticipate, a short period of time.

But unfortunately for the washing machine, you’re too weak to reject the offer.

So you hold him tight, jostling him closer to you as you ask, “Yeah?”

“Mhmmmm.” The word drowns in your moan when his cock glides back in; when will you ever get used to this? “Don’t worry… won’t break as badly as we will.”

Well, fuck.

The ridges of his cock drag just right along your walls, the angle making your mouth water. Your cunt is burning; and he still dares to ask, “Okay like that?”

“More than okay, Kook… more than—”

He always screws you numb; barely ever lets you finish your sentences. Your moans have become a constant interruption, along with the goddamn things he says, “Your pussy is so good. So, so good.”

And then he’s back making out with you, sweatier than before. His body is enticingly warm, muscles working on you. Both his and your hair sticks to the nape of the neck or your back, and you hold onto him, keening against his lips.

Then, you lean back for a second, keyed up as fuck, propping up your body with your arms. Your palms press against the back of the machine, and he inches close to explore the bare skin of your torso. His chain skims your nipples, as if on purpose; and he kisses you here, there, everywhere.

Neck, clavicles, tits, jaw.

Perspiring without an end, all of this could be gross. But instead, you feel hyped up, sexy as never before. Dizzy at the sight of his golden skin, the small beads of sweat spreading on it.

It takes one or two more minutes of this insanity until things come to an eventual end. A glorious end, that is — filled with deep moans, squealed calls of names, unrhythmic thrusts that fasten for the finale.

“I’ll come,” Jungkook states, and you shoot back up to him, holding his head against the mounds of your tits. He kisses between them, breathing irregular, words muffled, “Gonna come so hard, what the f—”

And when he does, you lose all coherent thoughts immediately. Not that you could think before — but his uncontrolled exclaims already make you wish for a whole new round. Nevermind that your pussy is wrecked and beaten.

Vocal as ever, he finishes with deep shoves, slowing down with each second. His lips remain open between your collarbones, and you feel his eyebrows draw together. Thick strings of hot cum filling you up, your cunt tightens.

And somehow, after all this, he still finds the energy to sneak his hand between your bodies, blindly seeking your clit until he finds it. Familiar circles render you breathless, even though they’re lazy — but picking up on intensity when he leans back, still breathing hard.

He looks absolutely done — still fucking the rest of him into you. But you’re moaning and groaning, and he’s far from giving up as he says, “Come with me, baby.”

Honestly, he doesn’t need to tell you. You’re already calling and blurting out random words, already limp. Wrapping your legs around his torso with the tiny remaining energy you have left, absolutely insane.

Jungkook kisses you one last time. And you let the build up in your lower tummy and pussy proceed; up and up and up to the peak — until he delivers one last stroke, cock already softening, finger on your nub diligent and…

You milk his dick in its entirety. Your pussy clenches and unclenches. Random figures swim in your vision, flashy behind your eyelids. Limbs trembling, body a mess and fingers hooking into his chain, you only notice now that you’re repeatedly whispering his name.

Winding and crying. Trying not to tug too hard, to break the jewellery, but still urging him closer, closer.

You’re shivering, surviving the vertigo, breathing stagnant. Trying to control it. Quivering like fucking crazy, not feeling your legs.

Also hating how his cum is dripping onto the damn washing machine. In your hazy mood, you laugh a little.

It takes a bit of time for the two of you to calm down, to dim the adrenaline in your nerves. Your chests rise and fall in unison, still clutching to the embrace. His skin is flushed, yours hot, skin tingling with the lingering heat of the passed passion.

And when he finally moves back, looking at you, you see half a dozen things in there. Satisfaction and vulnerability among them. Maybe even a hint of mischievousness, proud of whatever just happened; happy with the emotions it conjured.

Stars in his eyes. Contentment, composure and affection at last.

A pleasant stillness follows, the world outside the bathroom nonexistent. The aftermath of the steamy encounter lingers until you break the silence after all.

“When the hell,” you start, throat dry, “did you get so broad?”

“…What?”

“You just. You looked endless in the mirror. You’re so—”

Amused, he displays a grin as sly as you adore. He tsks and then mocks, “Stop drooling.”

“You first.”

His chuckle is throaty; a result of the constant exclaims and the absolute dehydration. You give the two of you a moment to collect saliva on your tongue, to swallow and wet your cords.

Your fingers paint an invisible, light pattern on his skin; tracing his tattoos is one of your favourite things to do. You jest, “That’s a good way to destress.”

He arches an eyebrow, then rolls his eyes — but the devotion towards you behind the gesture is irrefutable. It carries into his words, no matter how playfully mocking his tone or his sighs, “Everything for the princess.”

“So,” you pause, lips curling into a soft smile. “Is this what I’m gonna be getting for the rest of my life?”

You see it immediately. The explosion in his eyes; the burst of stars in the depths of his pupils. Clear as the night sky, fond and sweet and magical. Guess you spoke big words for sure.

“…The rest of your life, huh?” he asks.

“No?”

“Is that what you want?”

Ever-the-boomerang, you gauge his reaction, closing the distance between you. Lips barely apart, you throw back again, “Don’t you?”

You don’t need to glance through his ribs, lungs, blood and skin; you see the swelling around his heart. Emotions swimming in it in abundance. You see all of it right in his eyes.

And his voice proves it; delicate and quiet, “Baby… you make my heart drop to my stomach all the time. Do I not look at you like I want a rest of my life with you?”

Gosh. You’re too weak for this.

“Look at me like that more often,” you answer, breathing against him, eyes dancing with delight, “maybe I’ll believe you then.”

“Huh,” he makes, letting out an entertained huff, “brat. Maybe later. Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed for now, alright?”

Right. You forgot you’re still here. Snapping back into reality is always a task.

Of course it is.

Because your world is a cocoon; you don’t want to leave it just yet. And maybe, somewhere in the near future — you won’t have to anyway.

Jungkook and you don’t waste minutes doing formalities tonight. No flickering candle flames; no organised set up of your table. You dim the lights, snatching a lamp from his bedroom and rely on it along with the TV’s brightness.

You filled your plates and stomachs with a dish he’s wanted to show you for a while. It’s some special Jeon recipe — limited to him specifically, not his family. The brief cut in your relationship kept you from the meal, but watching him fiddle with the pots and cutlery was worth the wait after all.

He’s still proud of it; you’re filled to the brim, sick to the core, but the noodle-Buldak-mayo-perilla-oil-combination introduced the night just perfectly.

Your body is limp against his after dinner, bloated. A mutual agreement concluded that watching a movie might be the easiest activity you could indulge in to further destress. So you cuddle up, eyes droopy as you wait for the Netflix logo and thump to subside.

You let the username float by, though unable to suppress your giggle. Your back shakes against him, his hand halting mid-air, remote control in it, and you comment, “Letjungcook7. You’re such a dork.”

“Why?” You look back, met with raised eyebrows and round eyes. “Do you not like it?”

“I love it. Don’t you ever dare change it.”

He tuts, trademark smirk tilted; responds, “And don’t you ever change your Sunny Baudelaire icon.”

“God, she’s an iconic baby,” you groan, enthusiastic; your hands gesture to the TV, Baudelaires nowhere in sight, “I will never shut up about this show.”

“That’s why you’re not allowed to change it. Kinda cute how much you love it.”

“Jungkook,” you tug at his unoccupied arm, placing his wrist and palm over your belly button, “would you ever rewatch it with me?”

His hand rubs gently over your shirt, and then drops until his fingers are toying with your — his — jogger’s strings. “I’m a pro at rewatching. I’m down.”

You whisper a dragged celebratory word, eyes back to the screen. He’s scrolling through the genres fast, barely inhaling the titles and summaries. And when he skips three more of the stuff you’d usually settle on, you say, “Don’t think you’ll find anything on there.”

Ironically enough, he answers, “We’ve barely looked. Look. Knives Out’s second part is on there.”

“I just watched it recently. Hmm, what about that Poe movie with Christian Bale?”

On cue, he passes it three seconds later, only stopping on it for a moment before he voices, “Hmm…”

You wait. Drag out another second. Then conclude, “Okay, you’re not feeling it. Got it. Something else?”

“What about Disney?”

“What about scrolling until we fall asleep?”

The hand still busy with the strings moves up to your sides, pinching you lightly. You flinch, hard enough to nearly break his nose, overdramatic by nature. Amidst your commotion, you hear him say, “Don’t mock me. I’ll kick you from the couch.”

“I’ll just stay on the floor then.”

“Angel, I swear.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

But you’re not.

Because the bicker continues for another ten minutes, remote control snatched every now and then, ideas suggested and immediately rejected.

Jungkook admits his guilty pleasures merely a couple minutes later, and you conjure all your patience and discourse abilities to explain why you can’t watch The Notebook or Titanic anymore.

But once Dion’s soprano voice builds a nest in a lobe of your brain, you give in, half laughing, half agitated as you tackle the 90s classic — only for Jungkook to click out again.

“It’s no fun when we’re not both ready to watch it.”

“Dude…”

More scrolling, you guess.

Five more minutes pass — and eventually, Titanic deserted, you sing the songs of Coco instead. You expect Jungkook’s attention and lips to shift halfway through the movie, tracing down your neck or along your sides – a standard for a weekday movie night.

But to your surprise, he powers through it with minimal dialogue and wide, focused eyes. Palm above your ribs, moveless under your shirt and his cheek pressed against your heartbeat, you assume he’s fallen asleep by the time the credits roll.

Until – you feel warm liquid wetting your shirt, a sniffle combining with his shaky breath before you ask with your own damp eyes, “Babe— are you crying?”

His answer is delightfully unashamed and immediate, “I’ve never watched Coco without crying.”

The soft strains of the movie’s soundtrack won’t let your eyes dry either; but Jungkook seems far more into it than you. Adoration burns hot in your veins.

“You never told me that!” you exclaim.

“Because it’s not worth telling. Should be a given — these movies are made to cry to!”

You giggle through your tears. Jungkook’s mind works in miraculous ways — non-judgemental, yet probably flashing a side-eye to those who do not partake in a sob fest during Coco or Encanto.

“I honestly love how you’re not a toxic male at all, you know?” you point out; you feel a huff against your chest.

At least he’s smiling through the brief sadness, too.

You crane your neck, not quite turning around just yet, and watch him rub his cheek clean off the tears. Not that his eyes have stopped welling up, though.

For a moment, you observe, staring at the swollen, pouty lower lip. His pupils glimmer in the TV’s light, long locks brushed back; half of them tied in a tiny ponytail.

You could overthink every detail of his face. Tell him all about his everlasting elegance. Instead, you only lower your voice, soft as you say, “You look pretty even when you cry.”

“Thank you,” he returns, though fingertips still work at the liquid, and you can’t help but laugh.

You can barely believe that’s the same confident beast who was pressing you against cool tiles just an hour ago. The stark contrast baffles you.

You’re amused when you question, “It really affects you so much?”

“Everything about it!” he immediately argues. You expand your eyes. “The way Coco looks at Miguel at the end. And that freaking moment when she meets her parents at the end. Does it not affect you?”

“Oh, of course it does,” you defend, “I’m a story girl. I’ll cry reading and watching these things, for sure.”

“And then the lyrics,” he continues, in his element a hundred percent, “the thought of remembering someone even after they’re gone and far away…”

The further his sentence progresses, the more the words blur. His voice is feeble, hoarse when he gets to the final syllables. When he pauses between his rambling to draw a breath, you hear a heartbreaking shake in his inhale.

And the exhale sounds like a quiet sob.

You turn back immediately, pressing onto the pause button, remote control still in his hand. The credits darken the room as opposed to the movie’s colours before. You see a damp trail along his cheek, eyelashes wet.

Your smile vanishes as you stare a little longer. The blanket falls from your chest into your lap when you lift your arm from under it, hastily drying his tears with your thumbs. Just slightly, he leans into the touch, but his face soon falls, an attempt to hide.

You ask, “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook isn’t embarrassed of tears — you figured this out without him admitting it to you. But he’s embarrassed of the guilt he feels; acknowledging it when he speaks.

“It’d just be nice,” hands holding his face drop; you touch his chest, “to make up with the family like this. They made it look easy.”

You keep looking. Bewildered, unable to answer for seconds too long. You blink until the words sink in properly, incapable of more than, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“No, no,” he argues, shaking his head, “I mean. Who am I to tell you something like this?”

“It’s okay. Your worries are legit worries, too. Look at me,” you reassure, prompting him to meet your gaze. “You’re not a bad person. Okay? It’s… so terrible that you think you are.”

“I fucked up.”

It dawns on you once more that he firmly believes that; causes a searing sting. The process is neither a smooth nor a quick one — you know it’ll take a while for him to convince him otherwise. To drop his current beliefs about himself.

“You didn’t,” you refute, firm certainty and conviction in your voice. “That’s not how a fuck-up is defined, I promise you. And those who are actually wrong probably know, too.”

“It’d just be nice,” he starts again; the shrug of his one shoulder doesn’t distract you from the misery and self-loathing in his eyes, “if he called at least.”

“I know. I don’t know, I… do you think you could call instead?”

Jungkook’s lashes brush his skin, the apples of his cheeks not as round and squishy as usual. Yet, the sadness makes him look younger, softer.

You sigh; a warm blanket isn’t enough anymore. You need to wrap him in the comfort of the world — ideally, in his father’s care.

Jungkook opens his mouth for another argument, but then holds it in, says after another moment of contemplation, “Actually… There’s a gathering coming up. I’ll see my people there, so… I don’t know. Trying won’t hurt, right?”

“It never does.”

His eyes start unfocusing. You recognise it in the way he glues his gaze to a point on the glass table, unblinking, staring nowhere in truth. You keep your attention on him for another second, hoping he’ll look at you, even if forlorn.

But when he doesn’t, you wrap your arms around him instead. His chest is calmer against your head now, breathing as soft as the palms that find your back. He presses you into his body by mere inches; you barely notice.

Your fingers draw shapes on his arm, a subtle consoling gesture. In the background, you hear the song fade, volume lower now. The movie soon transitions to something else; you don’t pay any mind to it, drowsy and distracted in his embrace.

But then your mind wanders; to the man keeping Jungkook’s thoughts hostage. You remember the conversation the two of you had last Sunday. You recall the way your hand held his broken heart together.

You wish it was as easy as a small scar — an echo of whatever once transpired, but also a reminder that it healed.

Then, for a second, you think of your own wounds. How they still need to be cured, too. How years and time alone won’t fix issues; you need to tackle them actively — maybe at some point, the two of you can.

You laugh softly against his shirt, burying between his pecs; joking, “We’re perfect for each other. Dysfunctional families and whatnot.”

His chuckle is still a light tremble, but genuine enough for you to celebrate. His hands push a little harder into your back; your body shifts up his lap, butt half on his thigh. Eyes shut, still sniffling.

Jungkook wraps around you like a soothing force, an invisible bubble. A bandage despite carrying all bruises. You sigh in contentment, head dizzy from exhaustion; waking up just when he blurts a question again.

“You really think that, right? That I’m not a bad person.”

You crack your eyes open a slit.

You understand. Someone who overthinks needs multiple repeated reassurances — you’re the same.

So you nod against him, guaranteeing, “You’re… kind of ridiculously amazing. You’re someone who gives all those people hope who don’t believe in humanity anymore.” Pause. “And I admire you in every way. So much.”

He doesn’t respond. You wait. Further dead silence, interrupted by the soft sounds of the TV. You lick your lower lip, dropping your gaze to where your thumb rubs his wrist. Tracing a vein.

His mellow voice reverberates, a melody to your eardrums when he whispers, “We’d do this so much if you were here all the time.”

“Crying in each other’s arms, huh?”

He clicks his tongue, accompanied by the grin you’re certain graces his face, even if you can’t see. You hear it in his voice all the more, “Sure. Also, have dinner together. Shower and watch movies together. Laugh and cry.”

You smile. “I still can’t believe it, you know? That you want this… and me at all.”

“You feel that, too, yeah?” Fingertips move up your spine, between your shoulder blades and then to the nape of your neck. Tickling, grazing gently. “I promise I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t truly feel all that, though.”

“What’s all that?”

“Just.” His chest rises. Then falls. “Everything.”

One of your heartbeats freezes, you’re sure. And when it comes back alive, you think — maybe he doesn’t need the world’s comfort after all. Or his father’s care. Maybe yours is enough right now.

But then again.

You’d be damned if you kept your traumas intact. Or his. You took each other as you came long ago — as vulnerable human beings, with a whole lot of baggage. With all the injuries on your heart.

Yet, this isn’t a state you want to accept. For neither of you.

Your unwavering belief remains steadfast — that one day, things need to become… okay.

So you gulp down all the pain, lighting a candle in your chest, and say,

“It’s not over yet, baby.”

Zara keeps yelling orders around. Her voice, usually collected and tender, is agitated today. You can barely imagine how many little tasks, how many stressed phone calls must be overrunning her.

You establish a distance between your device and your ear, protecting your hearing with one eye squinting shut. And when she returns to the conversation, you exhale through the nose.

“Sorry. You were asking—”

“How’s it look?” you repeat.

“I mean, everyone’s stressed,” she responds, clearly frustrated; as if it should be obvious to you. And it is; but you’ll spiral, too, if you don’t keep your calm, at least. “A lot to do.”

“You’re sure you don’t need me to come earlier?”

“All good, love. You’re not a manager yet,” she stops her speech to mumble something to another co-worker, imaginary hands jam packed with preparations for the press conference. “But when you are, you won’t know what to do with all the stress.”

“Great outlook into a potential future.”

“I just mean you should enjoy things while they last.”

Zara isn’t the only one wandering up and down the building to assure perfection. She’s only one of the big mentors, managers to handle everything; responsible for the catering and content to be presented at the conference.

Her team stands firmly behind her, but you don’t blame her for still allowing her head to steam. Of all busy people in their blazers and slacks, however, she’s been the only one to spare some time for you.

You’re grateful for her enthusiasm and support. You smile as you ask, “Do you think I can answer everything the way I intend to?”

“I think so.”

“It’s so new to me.”

���Yeah, but you’re a natural at this stuff. And also,” she speaks slower now. The chaos behind her has calmed a little; her voice echoes off somewhere. Perhaps a restroom. “Things are looking good.”

You stop sauntering through the room, pausing in front of the bed’s corner before dropping onto it. Dragging your tongue over your lower lip, you blink, and then ask, “You’re sure?”

“We had a couple conversations over here. Made a few more phone calls, and I think you don’t need to worry about a thing. We’ll come up with something if things derail, though, okay?”

You’re uncertain, still anxious. Should this afternoon flop, you’ll be screwed.

You need it to succeed. You can’t afford misfires. Ugh.

Restless, your foot taps against the floor. You try not to think of things going astray; try to think of a smooth progress, not precarious in any way.

Yet, you ask doubtfully, “Can we do that?”

“We always can. That’s business.”

Guess she’s right. Your mother has saved you one too many times — from stupid things you did as well as from things you never needed saving from.

A rich human being’s power over the media — and frankly, the world — is unbeatable. Barely to be underestimated.

“Okay,” you mutter, “thank you.”

Despite only hearing her voice, you imagine her nod, the way she often does. You miss the warm, promising palm on your shoulder. Appreciate that she’s still here instead of dropping you to the side; leaving the call to handle more relevant issues.

No, she lingers there; you hear her breathe until she asks, “Are you bringing your man, too, by the way?”

Your man.

You straighten your back in pride, bright smile back, “Yeah! He said he’d come and support me. But he’s not home yet.”

“Oh? Well, you gotta be here in three hours. Where’d he go?”

“God knows. But don’t worry about punctuality.” You hear a hum, glancing up at the clock. Past noon. “Hey, also. My parents are definitely gonna come, right?”

“Babe,” she drags the word a little, and you can almost see her side-eyeing you, “journalists will be present. Cameras everywhere. At least your mother would never miss such a thing.”

Right. Cares about that company too much.

You remember the times she proved it to you. When you’d come home from middle school, eating some extravagant lunch while watching her talk on TV. Conversing with your staff.

“Okay. Good,” you say, happy about that very answer for once.

Outside, a door creaks. Steps echo through the hallway, a soft call of your name following as you hear the jingling of keys stop.

He sounds joyful.

You get up, phone halfway off your ear as you say, “Hey, I should go. I think that he—”

And the moment you look at the open door of the bedroom, your heart stops. For a second, you fear an intruder at his apartment, but the longer you look, the more your brain gives out.

The black-white-red jacket hugs his broad shoulders comfortably, the thin white sweater underneath it nearly transparent enough to reveal his tiny nipples. But despite his stature, it’s not his body that kills the power in your head.

It’s the—

You murmur last words into the phone, making out a goodbye that doesn’t reverberate as much anymore. She’s probably out of the restroom again; too distracted to give your mumble any attention anyway.

You place your phone where you previously sat and inhale his appearance carefully.

First off — you can see his ears. Can see most of his eyes. His forehead.

His hair is still dark, but it’s tamed. The wild locks, usually a feature you’ve gotten used to over the span of that one year, lay comfortably on his head. In fact, most of them are gone.

You feel a needle in your chest, but one of the surprising sort. Not painful at all.

“Wow,” you only say.

He reaches to the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing the hair there. “Yeah?”

You move towards his body, eyes fixated on every hair strand. Then, close enough, you state the obvious, “You cut your hair.”

“I… yeah. Is it terrible?” he asks, round eyes meeting yours. He raises his hand again, to his ear this time, scratching behind it for a second. “Not used to it at all. But I figured I’d look a little more serious as an artist like this.”

Really? Most artists you knew cared the least about a fancy appearance.

Then again, Jungkook doesn’t look fancy. He just looks different. Breathtaking, more mature, older.

His cheekbones look more chiselled now, his eyes wider. You could pass out right here, right now, and he still wouldn’t know how relentlessly he affects you.

“More serious?” you ask, less because you need an explanation. More because your mind keeps wandering, and you can’t fathom a word he’s saying.

“Just. Needed a change, I think,” he admits, “and wanted to adjust to a press conference’s typical look, too.”

“You did this for the press conference?”

“I wanted to look put together.”

Your heart dissolves and dissipates. His voice is soft as a petal, tender like the colours on his arm. The expression he sports is unsure, like he wants to hide — waiting for your opinion.

He really put thought into this. Woke up this morning and set a goal with purpose, not uttering a word to you to surprise you a couple hours later.

You don’t know what to say. You barely know what to feel, except this unbearable urge to ramble down every piece of tiny emotion he’s ever made you feel.

You want his body wrapped around you, engulfed in a blanket, head on his chest and slumbering for the rest of your life. Want to mumble little confessions, shiver when his lips touch your scalp.

Overwhelmed — that’s what you are.

“I loved the long hair,” you finally admit, “I guess I got too used to it, so I need to adjust, but. But… this is so… It… it suits you.”

You’re stumbling over your words, suggesting doubt. Not the way to go. Perhaps they shouldn’t have chosen you as one of the press conference speakers after all. 

Jungkook’s concern grows visible in his big, round pupils; expressive, a true glimpse into his heart. You feel bad because you’re not as good with words as he is, and because he seemed so happy about his choice.

You just can’t fucking express yourself — even though you’re melting inside, falling harder. And maybe he notices your awkwardness, because he tries again.

“You’re uh— sure you don’t hate it?”

“No! God, no. It’s different. You look amazing, Kook. You look like…”

He swallows. “Like what?”

“You’re so pretty, Jeon Jungkook.” You say it with genuinity this time. He closes his lips, blinking, and while he attempts to veil his relief, you still see the high rise of his chest. “You look fucking gorgeous, no matter what you do. I… I mean it.”

The answer satisfies him. His risen shoulders drop a little, tension falling off, and he fixes the already perfectly sitting collar of his jacket before he smiles. Just a little, a subtle twitch of the corners of his lips.

As soft as his response, “I always aim to reach your level, you know?”

You roll your eyes. Partly to keep them from watering because your heart is bursting. Splintering like every morning and every night; you wonder if you’ll ever get used to it.

A couple gentle words lie heavy on your tongue, pressing against the muscle to let them out; but at the prospect of actually uttering them, your guts twist. You don’t want to throw up before the meeting.

So you remove the tightness from your chest with a deep exhale, nearly until your lungs are dry, and say, “Shut up.”

Playfully, you deliver a soft push against his chest, laughing when his dramatic ass stumbles backwards. Submerged in those goddamn dimples, you immediately grab the hem of his jacket and before you know it, you’ve taken a step forward and landed in his arms.

You sneak your arms underneath the leather-ish material, not hesitating for a second before you’re squeezing his torso. He lets out a choked sound, groaning, but reacts similarly fast as you.

His heartbeat accelerates for a moment, right against your ear as you make yourself small. The sweater smells like his favourite detergent and him; musky, fresh. Your palms, flat against his back, crave deeper touch.

Nothing crude; just an afternoon on the bed behind you, limbs entwined, laughing about things that probably aren’t that funny anyway.

For a moment, the silence transcends words. You inject the blend of gratitude and affection through your touch, ensuring he understands.

But when it’s not a testament to your emotions enough, you speak against his chest, voice very likely muffled, “You didn’t have to do this for me… you just. You never have to do anything for me, but you still do.”

“I’ll do anything for you.”

Immediate and sincere. Voice unwavering.

God, you’re not his strongest soldier.

A smile tugs at your lips, and you chide, "Stop that."

"What?"

"If you keep saying these things," you continue, a frisky lilt in your voice, "I'll die. Do you want me to die?"

Jungkook chuckles. Always a soothing melody in a hushed room. He remarks, grip still wrapped around you securely, "Acting all innocent now."

You don’t understand right away what he means — but then you hear his heartbeat, picking up on pace again.

Makes you want to squash him harder. Melt into him further.

“Shut up, Jeon,” you respond with a nudge, cheek pressed against his shirt. Just a moment longer — just a couple more seconds to inhale the solacing scent.

Your heart is unguarded; he could sever it if he wanted to. He’s proven that he has the power to. Yet, you keep fuelling it, vulnerable in his warmth as you say, “You’ve no clue what you mean to me, Kookie.”

Your vivid imagination might be forcing things upon your mind that aren’t actually there, but you do think you perceive the way his entire body melts. Nearly limp, in a state so relaxed and peaceful that you have only experienced in the mornings before.

Waking him up for work, feeling weightless limbs wrapped around you, passed out.

His fingers trace patterns on your back lightly, stirring from bottom to top and back. They first stop at the small of your back, then lift off your body, hands suddenly on your shoulders.

He pushes you off him, your movements reluctant, and looks at you with profound sincerity. His voice matches his expression, gentle and adoring, “Will you tell me how much I mean to you?”

Amidst the delicate minutes you spend standing between the bedroom and the living room, you almost forget that there’s a world outside. It’s a little more grey than before, similar to the suit you’ll be wearing in a couple hours.

You remember the prospect of an audience, the answers you’ve prepared, to questions they probably will ask. Zara told you they wouldn’t hold back — they’d phrase their inquiries friendly, but still keep the intentions devilish.

Right.

The world is still turning out there. You want it to stop for the two of you — frozen moments. But it can’t, at least not yet. Right now it’s too real; and you guess that the worst part is that in your line of business, it will keep revolving around people like you.

Whether you want it or not.

So maybe, if it truly needs to keep spinning and can’t halt for you, keeping you in the centre, you should give it something to talk about, too.

Something crisp, something new. Without a care for it, but all the care for you and the man in front of you.

Which is why you spare him another fond smile, forehead calm and your demeanour confident — and tell him, “I’ll do my best to let you know."

The audience stretches to the far back. All the rows are filled to the brim with reporters or guests. The shutter of the cameras and the flashing lights are agitating.

You look down.

Nervously tapping your feet on the stage, you shrink into yourself inch by inch. Your seat is uncomfortable, though padded, a little too warm against your ass right now. Zara notices your tick and puts a steady hand to your knee, repeating for the millionth time today, “Stop. It’ll be okay.”

“It’s just dawning on me though, Zara.”

“What is?”

You nod faintly towards the mic and the attendees, tell her, “That I was actually chosen to speak. They shouldn’t have chosen me.”

“You asked for it.”

“Yeah, but there are more important things to discuss.”

Zara’s lips form a circle; she shakes and lowers her head, sending out a beam of air that you feel on your wrist, blazer sleeves rolled up. You’ve been like that all evening.

“You can do it,” she repeats patiently, “you’re the boss’ daughter and they want your opinion. You’ll hit them hard with yours.”

You suck in a breath, leave the air in your cheeks, and then puff it out again. “I want to. I hope to, I just— never thought it’d be this nerve-wracking. Don’t wanna say anything wrong.”

The subtle shake of her head continues — or reemerges —, lips in a thin line, eyes slowly blinking, “Mh-mh. We talked about it, okay? Practised all the questions they could ask. You’ll be good.”

“You gotta promise.”

“As much as I can, babe, it’s up to y—” She takes in your falling face, holding back with a sigh when she sees the dread in your pupils. “I promise. Of course.”

She taps your knee, softly and lightly, and then says, “I’m so curious about everyone’s reactions. Like. Gosh, just look at those people.”

You understand what she means. “I know.”

Zara places a manicured thumb on her matte red lips, mumbling, “Here for entertainment. At least a third of them will add their own fantasies to the articles they’ll write. Hypotheses and manipulative, neutrally phrased thoughts. Cockroaches.”

Funny. That’s what you call them, too. A collective understanding, you see.

But.

“Shhh,” you voice, “they—”

“It’s fine. They know it, too. Like lawyers do.”

Can’t refute. Eun told you one too many times how unfair the law business usually is, and how she’ll strive to not have anyone ever manipulate her. To remain genuine.

“Yeah, but,” you still argue, “I imagined they’d be listening in all the time. Don’t they do lip reading and stuff?”

She nods, a finger still on her mouth, smiling, “Mhm. I also feel like I could say whatever, but it’ll be you they’ll focus on today.”

Your heart drops, an uncomfortable twist in your guts adding to the stress. Might have to dash to the bathroom at the very last minute. You curse, “Shit, Zara… I should fucking ru—”

“Stay. You can do this. I promise.”

“Okay,” you take another deep breath, helping your oxygen-lacking, spinning head, “okay.”

You look back to the media present, ready to survive questions; prepared to provide answers. The moderator is talking to your mother at the front, covering the mic with a hand.

They gave you around five minutes to speak, and in that time, you need to answer everything. How you do it is up to you, but the pressure to perform in a certain way, accordingly, weighs heavily on you.

But it’s alright.

You’ll just need to stay confident. Stick to your message. They’ll have things to say anyway — and you’ll make the best of them.

You stare past the lights, squinting to find him, raking your neck. His figure towers in the back, easy to detect, and once he meets your eyes — or perhaps never having averted his from you — he lifts a hand to wave in tiny motions.

Then, he drops his fingers again, entwining them in front of his body. He isn’t necessarily allowed here, but you were able to sneak him through in advance. So now he’s a couple feet from the wall, choosing to stand rather than sit, so you find him easily.

So you seek his eyes for comfort if need be.

Before you parted near the entrance, he said, “I’ll be offering a dozen thumbs up like a fool if you need me to.”

You chuckled — but maybe he meant it. Because his smile and nod undoubtedly dispel your fears; as if he can see you struggling.

The seconds drag on, and the conference begins seven minutes later. Your mother is the first to talk, outlining a general overview of what’s to come. Of Charmante’s philosophies, of its success, praising the team.

Then, she forwards to important employees like Zara, letting them ramble about launches or ideas in depth. Business strategies, partnerships, bringing across points that you usually don’t get the chance to share.

This is legit press; even though out for a loophole, they won’t follow you around or hide in the shadows. Incessant and vexing, but at least they’re allowed here.

Conversations about new collections, store openings as well as expansions and customer engagement pass in a trice, and at some point, another coworker is uttering last words to a last question.

And you realise — that you’re next.

The moderator introduces you with pride; everyone applauds, smiling at you fondly despite all the controversies. ”Controversies.” Under quote marks, as Zara pointed out, because you never committed an offence.

You stand on weak knees. Trembling when you grip the podium. It’s like the sound in the room fades, a single peeping tone overshadowing all noise. You barely blink anymore; not even the flashy white can shut your eyes.

And god, you can hear your breathing. Your damn heart. Your nose sucks in all the air available in the room, or at least in the building, and then you open your mouth to speak.

a/n: this is not a cliffhanger!! tumblr just doesn't allow to drop looong posts anymore, so here's the rest of the chapter lol, keep reading and enjoying, i love you and will see you on the other side!! and don't forget to support this chapter, folks 🥺 <3

[freakassfemme]

chronically offline abby headcannons ✧˖*°

she is coping so well and thriving. i said i could fix her and i did

heyyyy so this is sort of kind of low-key a little bit of a continuation on beloved butch abby, the premise of the au and personality is the same. i got a request asking for more and i was thinking about this anyways and thought they worked well together

♫ above the chinese restaurant (laufey)

ೃ༄ abby is (unfortunately) a retired soldier, she's got a kid to look after, she runs a cafe downtown and she's got two dogs. all at like, 22. did we really think she has the time to go online for anything more than �� thirty minute dinner recipes your vegan teenager isn't going to kill you over

ೃ༄ just kidding. she doesn't mind lev trying out new things lol. he is her whole fucking world, she's more than happy to spend time with him cooking something he remembers from home, giving each other grossed out faces when they fuck up the tofu again, and giving up and going to target 15 minutes before close to piece together some random junk food.

Manny will come over and cook with them sometimes, and that's always a fun time. he's got abby drunk before nine and she's just a laughing mess.

ೃ༄ she just loves being around Manny in general. they meet up for lunch a lot, go on runs together in the morning, work on each other's trucks, etc.,

now that she's living a normal life, she's able to take a serious Spanish class, and he's very supportive about it.

ೃ༄ definitely takes the dogs into the cafe with her. whenever someone complains about the pandora radio she puts on, she blames it on the dogs.

yeah she uses pandora until someone teaches her what Spotify is

ೃ༄ she's such a planner. she's got a huge chalkboard in the kitchen for the week and the month with both of their schedules drawn on it down to the hour if needed. hers is written in orange and lev's is written in green.

only watches tv once a week, and it's for a designated show that's so laid back, like the great British baking show.

"do you want to watch this show?" "no it's not Sunday"

ೃ༄ she's definitely the type to limit screen time, and lev himself isn't like partial to brain rot, but sometimes he says something that has her turning around like what did you just say eyes wide and everything

lev tells her to touch grass one day and she goes on a hike

ೃ༄ her favorite evening activities are taking the dogs on a sunset walk with lev, and then when lev's gone up to his room for the night, she will pack him like a little bento-type lunch. she'll cozy up in her lazy boy by the fireplace with Alice at her feet and journal away, sometimes until she falls asleep.

she's got BUCKETS of journals. it started in therapy after her dad passed, as like a coping mechanism to at least attempt to correct her thought processes, and it's always stuck. it's always made her feel like she's putting herself in order again.

after therapy, i feel like abby spent a lot of time thinking about religion. she never really found anything that clicks, but she reads a lot about buddhism and really appreciates the perspective.

ೃ༄ definitely has a weird phone setup going on. she's either got a really old like iPhone 7 with maybe 6 apps on it or one of those CAT flip phones lol. can you imagine flip phone selfies from her

ೃ༄ writes her grocery lists on a little piece of yellow paper that she'll tuck into her front pocket. carries specifically one of those bic ballpoint pens, has like 5 year old reusable grocery bags and a keychain for her Aldi quarter that she thinks is so clever and fun.

she definitely uses one of her favorite coins from her collection as her Aldi quarter.

ೃ༄ gets the paper delivered to her house. she prefers to read it that way, but she pays for lev to get a digital subscription to his kindle or something

ೃ༄ keeps her dads beat up, decaying quilt as a topper for her bed. she folds it up neatly every night and sets it in a rocking chair in the corner of her room, just to preserve it a little longer.

ೃ༄ knows how to get throughout almost the entire west coast without a map or gps or anything

ೃ༄ reading is HUGE in her house. lev's reading log was NEVER forged not once. she spent a whole summer building ceiling to floor bookshelves with a gorgeous trim and a mahogany stain. she loves to swing by the used bookstore after work every once in a while, the one where she can get a book for 25 cents or a big bag of them for two bucks.

every birthday, lev gives her a bag of books, and he always puts one in that he loves but isn't sure she will like. it's usually not her style, but she likes learning more about his interests and she thinks they're always very sweet books.

always secretly surprises lev with little books with transmasc characters or about real trans people. she will just leave them on his desk in their shared office or something with a little sticky note with a heart on it

ೃ༄ makes friends with the lanky manager of the record store with a weird fucked up tattoo when she's looking for more cassettes for her beat up truck.

"dude, you're the only person who has looked through this crate in like, six months. you can just take what you want."

"holy shit, really? it's the only thing i can play in my truck besides the radio."

"jesus, that's kind of funny. yeah, anytime you want, you can use my shit to make your little mixtapes. if I'm not here, just tell them Ellie said so."

ೃ༄ is definitely an active member of her local library, not only for reading material, but to check out music, and she loves to participate in the chess and book clubs.

really loves board games in general.

ೃ༄ I feel like abby loves Birkenstocks, but the clogs. she has a pair of sandals for the summer, but in my heart I know she's a clog girly.

ೃ༄ very simple, very minimalist wardrobe. I feel like she exclusively sticks to Levi's for jeans, and then she has like 8 black tee shirts and some thrifted sweatshirts and tee shirts.

would very much adore though if her girlfriend crocheted her a hat or a scarf or something <3

ೃ༄ speaking of girlfriends, I feel like abby really goes for opposites attract. she's so mild in appearance, that she loves someone that's a little over the top. maybe a little frilly, or adds odd little details to their outfits. she loves funky hairstyles and creativity in women.

ೃ༄ she loves making her own coffee. working at the cafe wasn't just convenience for her, abby loves the slowness of it. she loves packing the espresso, she loves checking on her sourdough every morning, she loved crafting her own tea blends. she definitely has a beat up metal French press, but she probably invests in her own espresso machine to keep at home too.

ೃ༄ i feel like eventually abby would coach for a sports team at lev's school. maybe he joined gymnastics or like, made the soccer team, and abby's packing-coolers-full-for-the-team and carpooling and excessive volunteering eventually takes her to leading after school drills and a best coach ever mug for the middle school boys soccer team lol.

this OR she becomes one of the most active parents any GSA has ever known to mankind

joins the pta

ೃ༄ is SO sentimental. has photos of people she loves all over the walls of her house, keeps tickets from movies and cuts out bits from the newspaper to keep in a little shoebox under her bed. she keeps her dad's medical journals and research on a special shelf above the fireplace.

her little flip hone has a blurry picture of her and Manny in the background

ೃ༄ Abby texts and types like this. She is a very formal typist. She will become very confused if someone texts her in lowercase or without punctuation.

[gojonanami]

Imagine papa Suguru taking his little baby love to the beach for the first time 🥹😭❤️

tags: jealous!reader, girl dad suguru, established relationship, curse hijinxs,

note: could not resist the urge to write this. sorry it took a bit :)

“There’s no need to be scared, love,” Suguru had his daughter on his broad shoulders, drawing the attention of several onlookers, lingering far too long on your husband. His black locks tied into a neat bun, and his swim shorts looking far too good on him, not to mention the smile he gave you as he stole a glance at you, “daddy and mommy are right here,”

“That’s right,” you kiss your daughter’s hand, “not gonna let a single bad thing happen baby,”

“But,” she sniffs, grasping onto her dad, “what if a shark comes and tries to eat me or a monster comes and tries to kidnap me?”

“She gets her imagination from you,” Suguru whispers, and you elbow him.

“Daddy will make sure any monsters stay away, right?” You look pointedly at Suguru, and his lips press together to bite back his laugh.

“Of course, baby.”

But those were not the monsters you were worried about. The ones lurking like vultures as Suguru helped your daughter get used to the water were the ones that were irritating you, but— as you looked at Suguru and your daughter playing together, it was hard to stay upset.

But it didn’t mean you couldn’t assert yourself.

You walked over, dipping your feet in the water as you wrapped an arm around Suguru, as your daughter stumbled over to you in the low tide, little feet sinking into the wet sand.

You felt the glares of the women watching Suguru pierce into your back, as Suguru smiled at you.

“What?”

“You’re very cute when you’re jealous, sweetheart,” and you pout,

“I’m not jealous,” and he shakes his head, pulling you close, your breath hitching as his bare skin presses against yours.

“Really? Good,” he presses his lips to yours, hard yet soft, as your hand splays over his chest, “because I haven’t noticed a single person other than you,” you kiss him again, but you hear a disgusted cry

“Yucky daddy, where’s my kisses?” your daughter pouts, and he laughs, scooping her up.

“I told you see takes after you,” and he’s pressing a million kisses to her cute round cheeks as she squeals with laughter, “how about we take rainbow dragon for a ride at sunset?” Your daughter gasps, nodding excitedly.

“Baby, we’ll scare the locals,” he tilts his head, leaning over to whisper in your ear.

“I’ll let you use one of my curses to scare those women,” and you glance over his shoulder to see them still ogling your husband.

“Deal.”

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Summer With Them

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

ׂׂૢ Y’all have no idea how much i hate summer i defrost from vampire to weird nerd -1000 aura points or whatever they’re saying on the clock app

Anyways i finished this while at the laundromat

Ghost

Prefers summer nights to summer days or evenings

Sits on the porch at night with you listening to the cicadas sing

And during this time you can’t take showers together bc he won’t let you adjust the temperature, he takes his showers ice cold

Don’t ask me where I get this from but he vibes with that one Type O Negative song bc according to him it gives “summer” (iykyk)

Prob has sun sensitivity

Cannot leave the house without his sunglasses

And he avoids driving when the sun’s too bright

Soap

Bastard who enjoys summer #1

He likes summer because it means going down to the beach and showing off his muscles that stay clothed under uniform throughout the year

Wants to buy swimming trunks that’ll match your swimwear

He likes joining teens in volleyball and flying kites with kids

Loves going on walks on the beach at dawn and dusk

He once gave you a bad scare when making you think the dolphin fin in the water was a shark

Even if you’re at home he’ll drag you out of bed to join his morning walk and evening walks after dinner

Gaz

He’s content with summer

Will come up with tons of things to do

Picnics he prepares every weekend

Cloud watching

Catching fireflies in a jar and setting them free all at once to see them glow

Running his fingers through your hair as the breeze blows

Making lemonade together to stay cool outside

Buys a vintage camera to take lots of pics of you

On every evening walk you take together he picks something small like a leaf or flower and saves it

At the end of the season he gets everything together and creates a page in his scrapbook

Alejandro

Bastard who enjoys summer #2

He likes the feel of summer breeze on his bare skin and you look forward to seeing that ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Likes to sleep with the windows open at night

Blasts music

Carne asadas

Frequents the local ice cream shops to buy mangonadas

Throughout the entire summer your kitchen has fruits of all kind that he eats with tajin

Will take you for a drive around in his truck and then find a quiet little spot like a lake or mountain to park and sit on the truck bed watching the sky

Phillip Graves

Sits outside with sunglasses on and beer in hand

Calls for you to come out and sit with him to watch the sunset

Cookouts

Anytime you complain of the heat you better hope he’s not around to yap your ear off about some anecdote from when he was a child

“It’s hot” “Ain’t that hot” he responds whilst his face is sunburned bc he refuses to wear sunscreen

Will only wear sunscreen if you are able to catch him before he goes outside and apply it for him

Keegan

It seems like summer evenings are the perfect time to do stuff

For some reason likes to do things shirtless in summer: yard/garden work, mowing the lawn, washing the car..

You set up a chair on the porch to watch him

Falling asleep on a soft patch of grass under the shade of a tree

Will start a bonfire and sit around it with you for hours into the late hours of the night

Sometimes you’ll stay out so late with him that both of you fall asleep

König

He’s not fond of summer

Would prefer to stay inside but if you want to he’ll go out as well

Sprawls on the floor with the fan on

He’ll drive where you want to go and then sit in the car watching you

Prob keeps ice packs in a cooler to keep cool when going outside for a long time

He’d rather be outside when the sun starts to set and the sky turns orange

Sets up a hammock

Afternoon naps on the hammock with the gentle sway of the wind

Horangi

He likes summer and prepares for it

Just imagine him getting out a little backpack with a sunhat, sunglasses, sunscreen, water bottle, umbrella, cooling sleeves, etc…

That’s not for him tho that’s for you he puts on sunglasses and is good to go

During summer he loves going to markets and buying fruit bc that’s when it’s best

Lots of strawberries, grapes and tangerines

Constantly reminds you to wear sun protection

He likes being outside a lot actually and will take you to his favorite parks and places to hike

Nikto

The change of seasons does not affect him much

He’ll notice the change of weather one day and mention how much warmer it is

“It’s summer” “Oh, we should go camping soon…”

He’ll take you camping whether you like it or not insisting that you will like it

Sets a tent near the river to catch fish

He also likes to plant vegetables during the nice weather and bring them to you, proudly showing off his hard work rewarded

He likes to cook meals together and eat outside

[tarotmundomonde]

Their 18+ fantasies about you (for singles)

pick a number 1-6 OR an emoji 🎥 🐎 🎞️ 🕶️ 🎳 🎣

(ps. this reading is for practice and for fun)

1.🎥 First of all, this is someone, who might be having hot thoughts about you especially in the morning. But even if not, they might fantasize about having morning sxx with you. They imagine courting you showing off their strength and agility and flexibility. For some reason the word gladiator is coming through, so maybe they have quite the muscles. They definitely do imagine having a quickie with you. Maybe a quickie in the morning. And they also focus on the breathing. So maybe they like to imagine breathing onto your neck or ears, soft moaning and they want it to be hard for you to breath. Like speed, they really like speedy sxx. So they like to imagine just swiftly putting it in and going at full speed. They also might fantasize about pregnancy sxx or making you pregnant. Some key details for this pile in regards to their fantasies is they like to take their time. As like they can go about it for hours. They imagine doing it many times. They also fantasize a lot about what you'd look like naked and what you sound like. This person comes through as someone you've never done it with before. Also, they might fantasize about you taking a shower and them seeing you all wet and naked. They want a taste of your lips. This person fantasizes about being in your embrace. Also, it looks like it's possible they've been watching some 18+ stuff and they've seen something they want to play out with you. ++: When they fantasize about doing it with you, they might prefer the idea of you two being a couple, because they want to sort of have permission from you. This person likes to imagine you doing the "basics", which they imagine it all being so amazing and perfect. They imagine it to be so great that the neighbours can hear you! They really like to imagine, how your body is so receptive to them and how ready and wet you are. Again, shower reference. Definitely lights on. This person likes to imagine it very vivid with details. And then they just imagine your two naked bodies going at it, rolling on the bed, changing positions and they like to imagine also doing it while spooning. They imagine a lot of heat and passion there. I'm getting also warm summer nights or early autumn.

2.🐎 This person either imagines doing it during daytime with you or they want the lights on. They want to see everything and they want to be seen! They are very sensual and sexual and they are proud. They love their body and they want you to love it, too. Dignity is important for this person. They like to imagine you two looking both super sexy and that you have very passionate sxx together. Like riding off to the sunset. But they don't want it to be too serious. They want it to be joyful. They fantasize about you two being playful, joking and laughing, while doing it. There is also focus on the hair. They fantasize about your hair, you letting it down and they can touch it, smell it and even pull your hair and they want the same. They also fantasize about kissing your forehead and pressing their forehead against yours. Something else coming through as well is they could like to imagine you both being tipsy or lightly drunk. They like to imagine in that sense quick action like you both quickly undressing. There is a focus on playing with each others' lower parts. Of course, they imagine you both getting a happy ending. They really like to imagine the details and what you would look like naked. Also, like what kind of lingerie you could be wearing. ++: Being a bit drunk is definitely a huge fantasy of theirs. They like to imagine that you are you and that you could be a little difficult and they like to imagine that you both kinda avoid each other but in reality you can't take it anymore, because you both just desire each other so bad. And so they like to imagine you two teasing each other, until you can't take it anymore and then it's just messy and so passionate and intense. They might like to imagine you getting dressed ready to leave and as they pull you in closer to kiss you, then you go at it again. Or vice versa. Like they like to imagine that it's way too difficult to leave and go back home. That in a way they are sure you'll end up doing it again another day. Hope it makes sense.

3.🎞️ This pile could be about freaky sxx. This person could fantasize about fake d's, toys, wearing chokers, maybe with bells, etc. Maybe you have a huge difference in height. They fantasize about you being open about the things they wanna do in bed with you. They'd like you to be cool about it. Maybe they are into the fifty shades of grey dynamic. Because it's like they want to teach you about gratitude. They seem to fantasize about tying you up, so maybe ropes, handcuffs. Or just they like to restrict your movements. They could be dreaming about bites, digging your nails and the such. Really, the fifty shades of grey comes really strongly through for this pile. They want you to be open to it and receptive. They like to imagine rewarding you for being a good girl/boy. Listen, ain't going deeper into this, the message seems pretty clear. ++: There is definitely a bit of a forceful energy coming through here, so it seems they like to imagine scenarios, where they force themselves onto you. Touching you all they please, putting their fingers into your mouth, etc. They like to imagine that you can't escape and that in the end all you can do is surrender to them. However, it seems the main part of their fantasy is that you end up seeing them as the one for you. They imagine, how as you two have sxx, you then fall for them. That's really the main plot of their sxx fantasy about you. How suddenly you two just become intimate and it turns into love making. That you enjoy and love it, as much as they do.

4.🕶️ Magic, fairytale sxx. This person could be literally fantasizing about some roleplays, maybe fantasy roleplays. Like wearing ancient times costumes, kings & queens, if you catch my drift. For others, they simply fantasize about having magical sxx with you. That it's so divine, so good, so heavenly. They simply fantasize about becoming one with you, their fantasies are gentle. They just want to feel you, your body heat and they want you to feel theirs. They want it to be perfect. Navigating came through. They really, really want you in their arms. If they have their own place, they like to imagine you two doing it at their place. You are honey to this person. Sucking comes through as well. They want all of your honey in their hands and mouth and on their wand, if a man. They fantasize about intimacy, about how they want to shower you in affection, intentional affection, devoted and they want happiness. They imagine you two having a happy ending in bed. It seems they definitely imagine doing it in face to face positions, because they really want to embrace you, while doing it. It's so weird, though, looking at the cards, maybe this person is taken or you are or they are someone at a distance. But definitely this person imagines going straight to the point, the bed is shaking or whatever you are on, maybe the table. They imagine it to be random but so perfect. And that if you are into someone else, that person will become just history. ++: This looks indeed a bit more specific. There is a feeling like you two are being watched and so in their imagination it's like they aware of it, thinking about how they want to inch closer towards you, how they want to softly touch you. How they can't let others know, but they want you to know, they want to give you a sign. It's like in their imagination they think you don't need them, but they want you, they want to touch you. Very soflty and gently. They want to make eye contact, to hold your hands. They imagine how without a word their body language makes it clear to you that they want to get closer to you and then that they kiss you. They really fantasize about intimacy with you. And then they like to imagine that the sxx is effortless, you have amazing chemistry and it's so good, it all happens naturally. They imagine both ways, from behind and face to face. It seems in their fantasy they imagine that when you two come together, everyone else fades around you. Like the exes are forgotten, etc. That suddenly it's just the two of you. This person really fantasizes about you having amazing intimacy, amazing chemistry, so much affection and warmth and… love.

5.🎳 They fantasize about love with you. They fantasize about making love with you and showing their love to you. They might like to fantasize about winter, like literally snow or just about cold weather. But there is an aspect of purity and innocence in their fantasies about you. They love to watch you, so they imagine watching you. And then like a surprise attack. Like just surprising you suddenly by making a move on you. They definitely also fantasize about having a quickie with you or they just really see themselves doing it at full speed. They have a very high drive so it can manifest as them doing it really fast. But otherwise, it's for them all about the love and happy ending. There is a focus on your body and how they love to touch it in their fantasies. Also, lingerie. ++: In their fantasy, they don't want to stay second to your exes. They want it to be good, but even better. They imagine showing you appreciation and showing how they've listened to you, like they want to show you they remember the stuff you like. For example if you are into candles, they imagine getting some just for you. If you are in a situation, where perhaps you just broke up or got rejected, this person imagines you dwelling on that other person and then they just come in and then straight to action. It's like they put your phone down and lift your chin up and go for a kiss, then pull you up and start undressing you and then you do it against the wall, on the desk, whatever is their preference. And you'll do it again and again in different places and positions. They imagine they are all you need and that they give you, what the other person doesn't. And they imagine making you feel loved. They also love to fantasize about touching your tatas with their hands and mouth.

6.🎣 They might imagine, how they whisper your name or you theirs or both ways. Definitely they fantasize about it being somehow very powerful and transforming. Like very intense, high-drive sxx session with you. If they haven't done it with someone or not for a long time with anyone, it could be that there is a huge focus on that in their fantasies, like how it feels so good to finally do it with someone. They might fantasize about you sensually touching yourself and then they just come and grab you and do you. They imagine it to be perfect, amazing, positive experience. Looking at the cards, this person definitely feels a little tense and it's reflected on their fantasies as well. How they imagine there to be very high tension between you two. How you both stand there naked and feel so nervous that when you stare at each other, the air is so thick that you could touch it and that every small touch would feel so tingling. They imagine there being a sense of expectation. This person has a lot of question marks. Like they seriously don't know, how things would happen, so it comes off a little akward in their fantasies. ++: Really, a lot of awkwardness. They actually like to imagine that they are trying to touch you, but it's so weird so they pull their hand back quickly and they imagine literally walking away like it was such a stupid idea to even think that you'd want them, too. And as they are leaving, they imagine you coming after them, maybe grabbing them from their shirt to pull them back in. And they'd turn around and first caress your cheeks, cup your face and then kiss you. At first gently. They imagine dim lights and that from there you'll take the lead. They seem to see you as the one to undress them and go on your knees and so on and then you'll tell them what to do and so forth. And then you'll do it in different ways, it will be very much up to you. So each time they fantasize about doing with you, the way you do it, the places, the positions, it changes. Only that they like to imagine it each time being so good that your neighbours can hear you!

[little-spicy]

SNOWFALL

Robb Stark x !Baratheon Reader

Summary: an alliance of house Baratheon and house Stark was going to set place in Winterfell. Y/N Baratheon and Robb Stark were to be wed and be man and wife.

WARNING: MDNI!! Smut 🔥🔥

THE EARLY MORNING WAS CRISP AND COLD, the warm breath that Y/N emitted could be seen in the air.

She held her coat close to her as she watched the morning sunrise. She felt sad as this would be the last moment she would be a young maiden. She would be married later in the afternoon and she felt frightened.

She was told her entire childhood that Robb Stark would be her betrothed. Her father and his father were friends and her father knew the best way their houses could come together was through marriage.

She was the oldest, being one year old than Joffrey and the only one of her family to have her fathers brown curls.

Of course her mother despised the agreement, she believed her daughter was worthy of a better suitor but nonetheless it was still set in stone.

Robb Stark was definitely different from what she imagined. She knew it could of been worse, he was a gentleman and kind, showing her the home that was soon to be shared.

And she could tell he was just as nervous was her. They were both young and knew their duties were required one day.

Y/N tried not to think of it as she felt the sun rise and felt the heat of the sun rest on red cheeks.

"Excited for the big day?" A voice said and Y/N jumped and turned to see her uncle Tyrion coming forward.

"Excited to be married and away from my family?" She asked her uncle sighed and stood beside her.

"It's probably better, you and I both know that kingslanding is no place for someone like you." He told her.

"And what am I?" She asked and he chuckled.

"Truthful, kind, surprising you turned out that way considering how your mother is." He said and she laughed.

"Don't say that too loud, mother can hear everything." She told him.

"That's because your mother is a wicked witch, have I taught you nothing from my bedtime stories?" Tyrion asked and the both laughed.

"I do, even though I know how my family is, I'll still miss them." She said and looked down at her uncle. "Especially you, what will I do without my favorite uncle?"

"You'll adapt, you'll grow that's a good quality you have as well." Tyrion said. "Just know that you'll be taken care of, that Robb stark is a good man, I hate to admit but he's a good man."

"Thank you." Y/N stared at the sunset and closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Time to start the day?"

"Of course, let's go." Tyrion said and walked with his niece.

Both of them taking of the future and of the past, making Y/N feel at ease from the words of her uncle.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

After the small walk and talking with her uncle, she returned to her chambers and only a few moments of peace lasted until her hand maidens came in and began to get ready for the wedding.

She smelled of lavender and lilac, and her long brown curls fell perfectly. She felt refreshed and as they dried her, she saw her wedding gown laying on the bed.

Soon her mother, Lady Stark, and her soon to be sister Sansa had come in to help.

The Stark women came to bring Y/N gifts to welcome her into their home. Sansa had helped make a veil for Y/N and Lady Stark had brought a beautiful brooch of the Stark family to welcome her.

She felt so honored by the kindness of the Stark family, of course she could tell there was never a dull moment.

"If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to be alone with my daughter." Cersei told the Stark ladies and the nodded.

"Of course, see you at the wedding my dear." Lady Stark said and Sansa followed behind and left the two women alone.

Cersei looked at her daughter and smiled, she placed her hands on her daughter's cheek and led her to the dresser.

"Let me do your hair." Cersei said and Y/N nodded and felt content as her mother brushed through her hair. Feeling as if they were home in the castle. "This will be the last time I do it, then you'll do it for daughters of your own."

"I'll miss this." Y/N said sadly. "You always made the prettiest braids."

"Your grandmother did the same thing for me when I was a child." Cersei told her. "You remind me so much of her, my mother was so kind and i remember the day you were born, I could just feel my mother's presence in you."

As Cersei continued to brush, Y/N but her bottom lip and felt the creeping question she always had when it came to her betrothal.

"Mother, is it scary?" Y/N asked her. "I mean I know you didn't marry father for love, how did you do it?"

"Wine, lots of wine." Cersei said, bitterly and grabbed a chunk of hair and brushed it softly. "Overtime it did help that I had children, I had you, that's all that mattered."

"Do you think he'll make me happy?" Y/N asked and Cersei scoffed.

"I wouldn't count too much on that, sometimes it's just an alliance, remember that." Cersei told her and Y/N grew silent. "Are only duty is to marry and bring honor to our house through marriage and bare many children."

Y/N nodded and the two of them fell silent as Cersei continued to do her daughter's hair.

Cersei loved all her children but something about Y/N was special. She was her first, the first one of her children to truly live. She looked up at Cersei and when she did it felt as if nothing mattered.

Her daughter looked up to her and still does, Cersei knows the type of person she is, but the warmth and innocent eyes of her daughter made her feel human and her softer side was only seen by her.

Cersei didn't care of that her daughter wasn't Jaime's all she cared was that her daughter was protected. She truly had a place for her little doe.

"Lets get you in your dress." Cersei said as Y/N looked in the mirror and saw her hair up in a beautiful braid.

She followed her mother and helped her in her dress. She tied up her corset and helped her to the tiniest detail, knowing this would be the last time she would.

"You look beautiful." Cersei said as she led Y/N to the mirror. Y/N felt truly beautiful, she forgot for just a moment what awaited her and felt happy with how she looked.

"Thank you mother." Y/N said and turned to her mother and hugged her tightly. Cersei held her daughter right and tried not to cry.

The women heard a knock on the door and Cersei wiped the tears away quickly and cleared her throat.

"Come in." Cersei said and the door opened to reveal Robert Baratheon, Y/N's father.

"You look so beautiful my little doe." Robert said and came over, he took her hands and took a long look at her.

Y/N blushed and smiled as her father looked down at her with such pride. He thought Lyanna was the most beautiful but at that moment, his daughter was the most beautiful thing he had seen.

"Let us go." Robert said and Cersei sighed and grabbed her veil and placed it over her. "Robb will treat you right, he's a noble man."

Cersei fought the urge to bite back but knew better than to do it. Y/N walked along her mother and father as they began to walk.

Each step they took Y/N began to fully realize she was getting married.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Many people were at the Godswood, the heart of Winterfell and where Lord Stark wanted the ceremony to be.

The tree stood beautiful before them, the faint redness of the leaves contrasted with the white snow. The birds chirped and the small murmurs of the people from Winterfell and the guests that came from Kingslanding.

Her mother parted from her reluctantly and went to where her brothers stood and Robert guided Y/N down the snowy path.

Y/N could see Robb in his bear skin cloak, his face freshly shaven and his eyes were full of emotions. Fear, admiration, and another one she couldn't figure out.

She felt her heart race as she came closer and closer to him. As Y/N and Robert came up to Robb, Robert smiled down.

"Take care of her." Robert said and walked over to his wife.

Robb looked at Y/N and he smiled, she blushed at his gaze and the Septon interrupted their eye contact.

"You may now cloak your bride and bring her under protection." The Septon said and Robb did so and placed the large cloak over her shoulders.

Robb then placed his hand on her back to bring her closer to the Septon and he continued.

"My lords and my ladies, we stand here to unite these two houses as one. Princess Y/N Baratheon and Lord Robb Stark as one flesh, one blood, and one soul."

The Septon pulled out a ribbon and grabbed both of their hands. Y/N's hands were shaking as the Septon took her hand and when Robb placed his hand on top of hers he took it gently and squeezed.

"In the sight of all who sees and in the eyes of the gods I hereby bound these two souls, binding them as one." The Septon spoke. "You may kiss your bride."

Robb looked at Y/N and leaned down to kiss her softly. When they kissed it felt strange, an unfamiliar feeling crept up and Y/N didn't know what it was but she liked it.

The feeling of his warm lips against her made her forget of everyone around them, ignoring the sounds of their cheering and screams of the houses being united.

They parted their kiss and looked at each other with bewilderment. Y/N smiled first and made Robb smile back, he kissed her left cheek softly and the both turned to the crowd in front of them.

"I present to you Lord Robb Stark and Lady Y/N Stark." The Septon spoke and everyone erupted in applause once more.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

After the wedding ceremony the feast that was held afterwards was a party to remember. For once everything seemed peaceful and joyful.

Cersei was actually civil with her brother Tyrion, Robert was blinding drunk yet, and even Joffrey was not as unpleasant as usual.

Everyone cheered and praised the happy couple, giving them their blessings and kind words.

It seemed everyone was so engrossed with the feast that Robb took Y/N away from the loud noises and back to their now shared chamber.

Y/N and Robb were still in their wedding garments, Y/N was able to get her braid undone and her long hair flowed behind her back. They were both unsure of what to do, and stood in front of each other in nervousness.

"I- uh- I know this isn't- that this is-" Robb was then was cut off by Y/N.

"Strange?" Y/N said and Robb nodded and sighed in relief.

"Yes." Robb answered. "We don't have to-"

"I- I want to." Y/N said, her face turning red. "I just want you to know, I know I'm not the ideal girl you intended to marry but I want to be the best wife I can."

Robb's eyes softened at her words, she cupped his cheeks.

"I don't want to be like my mother and father." She told him. "I want to be an ally, a companion, so much more than just an alliance."

She kissed both his cheeks and he grabbed her waist and pulled her close.

"I'd like that, I want you to know that I will be an honorable man."'Robb told her and held her tight. "I know I'm not the man you wanted either but I promise you I'll treat you as an equal."

Y/N nodded and grabbed his hand and placed it on top of her shoulders and guided him to take off her dress. The world felt still and they both felt as if they couldn't breath once Y/N's dress fell on the floor.

Robb then got on his knees and kissed up her thigh, she blushed bright red and felt electricity as she felt every kiss on her thigh.

She tried to hide a moan but Robb heard her and that's what made him feel bold, snap.

Robb suddenly got up and picked her up bridal style, she squealed as he placed her on the bed.

Y/N looked up to Robb and the look in his eyes held lust. She watched as Robb moved his hands across her body and felt her body tingle and goosebumps erupted.

He placed her on the warm bed, layered with thick blankets, and the soft feel of sheep's skin.

Her long hair fell back as Robb looked down at her, his eyes filled with lust.

"Gods, you're beautiful." He said and kissed one of her breast, causing her to squirm.

He smiled while continuing to kiss her, he went up to her neck and up until he reached her lips.

She kissed him and touched his cheeks gently. As they pulled apart they put their foreheads together and both caught their breaths.

"It's going to hurt for a second, I'll be gentle I promise." Robb told her and she could feel her tummy flutter as he grabbed his cock and rubbed it through he folds, touching her clit over and over.

She felt terror rise in her chest as she awaited the pain, all her life after she gotten her maiden hood, her maids, mother, and septas told her of the pain of her wedding night.

She felt his cock slide through and she hissed, she immediately put her hand on his arm and squeezed. He stopped and saw the tears fall.

"I'm sorry." He said and kissed her cheeks and waited for her to allow him to move.

"It's alright." Y/N told him and looked up to him with glossy eyes. "You can move, love."

The nickname she gave him made his heart swell and he moved at a slow pace, he tried not to cum as he felt her warm, tight walls grip him.

She felt the uncomfortable burn of being stretched and as he continued to move, the more bearable it was. The soon burn began to make her stomach flutter, and her breath hitch.

Robb watched as her expression changed from pain to pleasure. It made Robb swell with pride as his wife felt pleasure and leaned down and kissed her as his pace didn't stop.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and gripped into his auburn curls. As they released each other from their kiss, she threw her head back with a moan.

"Please." She begged and Robb smirked, leaning down to her her ear.

"What? What do you need?" He asked tauntingly, and pulled back slowly and slammed back into her and she yelped in surprise.

"Please, don't hold back." She looked at him and touch her hand on cheek. "Fuck me."

She kissed him once more and he moaned in her mouth and obliged to her and began to fully pound into her.

He was feral, he was relentless and fully in heaven as she milked him.

"I-I'm, oh gods!" She yelled and felt her walls clamped down onto his shaft.

She felt him shudder in pleasure as his ropes of cum began to fill inside her.

"Gods, yes." He moaned and jolted as he moved his cock in and out slowly, coming down from his high.

She felt goosebumps on her arms and legs as she began to breathe heavily from her first orgasm.

Robb pulled out of her and she felt full of his seed as he collapsed beside her. She moved to her side to face him, the faint glow of the candles and fire shone on his face.

The look of happiness and content from his face made her heart swell.

"Hi." She said to him, which caused him to chuckle.

"Hi." He said and she felt her cheeks redden.

He put his hand on her hip and he could feel the goosebumps rise.

"So that was-" Robb couldn't find the words and she finished for him.

"Amazing." She said and he nodded, he leaned forward and kissed her lips softly.

"Now that you're my wife, I won't be able to get enough." He said and she shuffled closer to him and he held her in his arms. "I meant what I said."

"What?" She asked and looked up at him.

"I'd treat you as an equal, my wife and a friend." He said and Y/N laid her head on his chest. Smiling hearing those words and hearing the sound of his heart beating.

"Thank you." She said and moaned as she felt Robb touch her clit and made her squirm in his arms.

"What do you say, lady stark, another time?" He asked and felt his cum coat her thighs and smeared his cum around as lube and she could feel herself getting wet again.

"Yes, my lord." She said and Robb growled and got on top of her, she giggled as he enveloped her in his arms and kissed him.

She felt happiness in his arms, and held him close. Both of them later in the night tangled in each other and asleep together.

Both of them glad that they were husband and wife.

A/N: HOPE YOU LIKED IT!!! Ty for reading and I also wanted to add I'm doing commissions!!!! Just message me and I can show you some of my pieces or go to @ peytonmunson on insta!

[calummss]

Eye of the Beholder | Penelope Featherington

masterlist

summary: you had liked penelope for as long as you could remember and watched her change for someone else. at least so you thought

pairing: sapphic! penelope featherington x lesbian! reader

words: 1k

a/n: i <3 penelope sm and needed a wlw imagine so bad. spent 1 hour on this so if it’s bad i apologise but it’s 4am and i couldn’t sleep without finishing this story

“Pen!” You called out from the Featherington’s hallway. “Make haste, we are already late. Madame Delacroix promised us those fabrics from Paris and I am in desperate need of new garments.”

Farleigh raised her eyebrows at you but remained silent as she glanced up the stairs to see if Penelope had heard the lady shout from downstairs; improper manners but being late to an appointment was far more rude.

Penelope eventually made it downstairs wearing her bright yellow dress. Penelope hated the citrus colours her mamma always had her wear. You thought it rather suited her. It was a happy colour indeed and she looked the kindest in them. The details were too much—you agreed with Pen on that but she looked beautiful in any colour. How could she not? She had hair, orange like the sunsets over London; rosy cheeks that matched her fiery hair; when she was embarrassed or vexed, feeling too hot or cold, the apples of her cheeks would shine bright alike. She was so very bewitching but you could never tell her. It was unheard of—a woman in love with another? No one ever even uttered a word of queer affections. So you stayed silent and admired her from afar.

“Ready?”

“Indeed.” She beamed, taking your arms and headed towards the carriage that waited outside.

At the Modiste you eyed a pink fabric that Madame Delacroix had laid out for you. Pink like little piglets and flowers, decorated with the most marvellous design of glitter. Penelope had strayed away from the citrus colour and asked Madame Delacroix for the latest fabric from Paris that weren’t orange or yellow.

“Do you think it wise to alter your mamma’s signature colours?” You asked.

“I simply do not understand her fixation on citrus colours. ‘Happy’ colours indeed but it makes me look washed out. Sick even. It is not for me.”

“I think you look pretty.”

“You might be the only one in Mayfair who thinks so.”

“I doubt so,” you walked towards the mirror to stand opposite Penelope, “but if you must know, those colours Madam Delacroix chose rather suit you quite well..”

“You think so?” You swear you saw a tinkle in her eyes.

“Yes.”

Madame Delacroix promised Penelope six new gowns, one to be done in two days time just in time for Lady Danbury’s first ball of the season. It was both Pen’s and yours third season out with no prospects to show. Either men were too interested in you or not. Believed you to be some kind of dog they could just tell about. And with your conveyed feelings you weren’t even quite sure you wanted a love match with a man. A woman sounded much more pleasing but out of reach. Your family; your papa, mamma and younger sister knew of your unwise choices and savoured the word of acceptance over and over again but that it was a fantasy that could never be real. That you had to marry a man and that it would be easier to forget. Society liked women in brothels that performed together. Was queer love only good for the pleasure of others?

It was even harder knowing that Penelope felt for Colin Bridgerton. He barely eyed her and yet her affections were in a box with a key only he could open. Penelope had grown more silent on the matter and not staring too much out of her window. It was odd for Pen not to stare into Bridgerton house but you couldn’t blame her. A flame only lasted so long.

At the ball you had waited by the food table in hopes of Penelope finding you. The two of you enjoyed being stuck to the wall and observing the ton. The most peculiar things did happen when one thought no one was around to see. You saw the Featherington’s arrive when you noticed that Penelope hadn’t taken her cape off and when the staff helped her remove it, Pen stood on top of the stairs like a fallen angel. The green complimented her well. Well was an understatement. It was unmatched. You weren’t even able to get to Pen as the suitors went up one by one.

When the suitors did eventually leave, Cressida had walked up in the same moment and you saw her purposely edging the heel of her foot into her fabric so that when Pen tried to come towards you, her gown had ripped.

“How mortifying! I am so clumsy. My deepest apologies.” She said, cruelty marking her every word.

Penelope stared at you and without warning rushed outside. You followed her after telling Cressida off, hoping she would one day learn her lesson.

Outside Pen started weeping, a sight you wished you wouldn’t have to witness.

“Pen, I am so sorry.”

“I am the laughing stock of the ton even when I change my entire wardrobe!”

“You didn’t have to change to begin with.”

“All night I waited to be noticed. To be admired but who could I blame?” She let out a concealed sigh with a laugh.

“Pen,” you grabbed her hands, “I saw Colin look at you. I am very sure he was engaged by your charm.”

“Colin?” Pen pulled her hands back. “Who said I’m talking about Colin?”

“Are we not?” You asked carefully.

“No, I am talking about you!” She shouted, her chest rising and falling.

“What?” You mumbled.

“All day,” she breathed out, “I waited to be beholden by you. To see you gaze at me in a way that is considered forbidden but you didn’t.”

“I—“

“Nevermind, I should have never said what I said. I’m-a-fool-and-should’ve-stayed-quiet-and—“

“Shut up.” You muttered before kissing Penelope.

A momentarily calmness came over Penelope as she melted into the kiss. You had grabbed her by the face and pulled her in. Her hands held your wrists and she kissed you back so softly, unsure if the kiss was reality or fantasy.

“You have kissed me,” Pen pulled back.

“Shouldn’t I have?”

“I’m not sure, I—“

“Kiss me again.”

And she did. With the same tenderness as before as you nervously waited for the carriage to arrive and to take you two home.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Heyo! I love how you write stories with Logan with animals because they’re so beautiful!! I was wondering if you’d write another one please? The reader is a shy mutant with nature powers (grow all kinds of flora, manipulate the elements, live harmonious with any kind of animal), she’s basically like Mother Nature. She has a big secret place where she often goes to. She created it to keep all kind of creatures save from humans and mutants, especially exotic ones, and are very dear to her. He tried to follow her once, but others cannot find the place except for her or if she allows them in. One day, she wants to show it to him and have him meet her family and one of her oldest family members, a gigantic dragon. The dragon is quite intelligent and doesn’t seem impressed nor does he seem to like Logan and constantly tries to kindly kill him/play pranks on him whenever she’s not looking (e.g. pushing him into a pool of mud, taking up all her attention for him, etc.). You can also add Wade to the story if you want to. Thank you so so much and hope you’ve a beautiful day!! 💙

The hidden Sanctuary

Wolverine had always been a lone wolf. Even as part of the X-Men, he kept to himself, preferred the company of silence, and embraced the solace of solitude. But there was something about Y/N that intrigued him. Maybe it was her shyness or the way she melted into the background, rarely speaking unless spoken to, or perhaps it was the powerful, almost mystical energy that seemed to ripple off her in waves whenever she was around nature. Whatever it was, Logan found himself drawn to her in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

Y/N was a mutant with powers unlike any he’d seen before. She could grow entire forests with a wave of her hand, manipulate the elements like it was second nature, and animals of all kinds flocked to her as if she were Mother Nature herself. Logan had seen her turn a desolate wasteland into a thriving ecosystem in seconds, and yet, she remained so modest about her abilities.

He had tried to follow her once when she snuck out of the mansion, curious as to where she went when she thought no one was watching. But no matter how closely he trailed her, she always managed to lose him, disappearing into the forest like a whisper on the wind.

Eventually, he let it go. If she wanted to keep her secrets, he wouldn’t pry… too much. But the more time they spent together, the more Logan found himself wanting to know everything about her. He wanted to protect her, keep her safe, and though he’d never admit it out loud, he wanted her to trust him enough to let him in.

One evening, as they sat on the mansion’s roof, watching the sunset, she turned to him, her eyes sparkling with a mix of anxiety and excitement. “Logan, I… I want to show you something. It’s important to me, but you have to promise not to tell anyone about it.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, surprised by her sudden openness. “You know you can trust me, darlin’. I won’t say a word.”

She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “Okay… follow me.”

The journey was long and winding. They traveled deep into the forest, far from the mansion and any sign of civilization. The trees grew denser, the air richer with the scent of pine and earth. Logan stayed close, his senses on high alert, but Y/N moved with a confidence that made him feel oddly at ease.

After what felt like hours, she stopped in front of a large, ancient tree with sprawling roots. She placed a hand on the bark and whispered something he couldn’t make out. To Logan’s astonishment, the tree seemed to shimmer before it slowly began to part, revealing a hidden pathway bathed in golden light.

“This way,” she said softly, taking his hand and leading him through the opening.

Logan’s breath caught in his throat as they stepped into a paradise beyond imagination. It was a hidden sanctuary, a place untouched by the modern world. Lush, vibrant plants of every color covered the ground, towering trees stretched high into the sky, their branches heavy with fruit, and a crystal-clear waterfall cascaded into a sparkling pool surrounded by delicate flowers.

Exotic creatures roamed freely, some so rare that Logan had only heard about them in legends. There were unicorns grazing by the water’s edge, phoenixes perched in the trees, and even a small family of griffins playfully wrestling in the distance.

“This… this is incredible,” Logan breathed, his voice laced with awe.

Y/N smiled shyly, a blush coloring her cheeks. “This is my sanctuary, a place where all creatures, mutant or otherwise, can live in peace. I’ve spent years creating and protecting it. It’s… it’s my home.”

As they walked deeper into the sanctuary, Logan couldn’t help but notice the way the animals greeted Y/N as if she were their queen. She interacted with them lovingly, whispering words of comfort, stroking their fur, and laughing when they nuzzled her affectionately.

But then, they reached a clearing, and Logan’s senses immediately went on high alert. A massive shadow passed overhead, and he looked up just in time to see a gigantic dragon circling above them, its scales shimmering in the sunlight.

The dragon landed with a thud, the ground shaking beneath its weight. It was an ancient, majestic creature with eyes that glowed like molten gold, and it was staring directly at Logan.

“Logan, this is Drakon. He’s one of my oldest friends,” Y/N said, her voice filled with affection as she approached the dragon without a hint of fear. “He’s been protecting this place for centuries.”

Logan nodded, trying to keep his cool, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that Drakon was sizing him up, and not in a friendly way.

“Nice to meet you,” Logan said gruffly, extending a hand. The dragon huffed, a plume of smoke curling from its nostrils, clearly unimpressed.

Y/N laughed, completely oblivious to the tension. “He’s just being protective. Drakon, Logan is my friend. You can trust him.”

The dragon narrowed its eyes, but finally gave a reluctant nod. Still, Logan couldn’t shake the feeling that the dragon didn’t like him very much.

Over the next few hours, Y/N showed Logan around the sanctuary, introducing him to all the creatures and explaining how she had come to find and protect them. Logan listened intently, more captivated by her passion and love for this place than the creatures themselves.

But every time Y/N turned her back, Drakon would make his displeasure known. The dragon would nudge Logan toward a pool of mud, causing him to stumble and fall face-first into the muck, or he’d suddenly swoop down to land between Logan and Y/N, cutting him off and demanding all of her attention.

At one point, Drakon even “accidentally” knocked Logan off a ledge into a thorny bush, earning a surprised laugh from Y/N when she turned around to see Logan tangled in the branches.

“You alright, Logan?” she asked, rushing over to help him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Logan grumbled, glaring up at the dragon, who looked away innocently, a satisfied smirk in its golden eyes.

Logan wasn’t easily intimidated, but this dragon was really starting to get on his nerves.

As the sun began to set, Y/N and Logan sat by the edge of the pool, watching the sky turn shades of pink and orange. Drakon rested nearby, keeping a watchful eye on Logan, though he pretended to be dozing.

“I’m glad you brought me here, Y/N,” Logan said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. “This place… it’s a part of you. I can see why you wanted to protect it.”

She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’ve wanted to show you for a while now. I trust you, Logan. I know you’d never hurt this place or the creatures here.”

Logan felt a warmth spread through his chest at her words, and he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. “I wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’. I’ll protect it just like you do.”

They sat in contented silence for a few more moments, but then a voice broke through the peaceful atmosphere.

“Hey, lovebirds! Mind if I join the cuddle fest?”

Logan groaned as Deadpool suddenly appeared from behind a tree, his red and black suit standing out starkly against the natural beauty of the sanctuary.

“What the hell are you doing here, Wade?” Logan growled, his patience wearing thin.

“Oh, you know, just following you guys. Figured you’d need a chaperone. And what do I find? A magical Disney wonderland! Seriously, you guys have been holding out on me!” Deadpool exclaimed, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of the sanctuary.

Before Logan could retort, Drakon let out a deep growl, his eyes narrowing at Deadpool. “Oh, big guy, relax! I’m just here for the hugs and maybe to steal a unicorn for my apartment.”

The dragon let out a jet of flame that narrowly missed Deadpool’s head, causing him to dive for cover behind a boulder. “Yikes! Tough crowd! Guess I’ll stick to pestering Wolverine.”

Logan sighed, rubbing his temples. “Y/N, I think we’ve got enough trouble with the dragon. We don’t need him making it worse.”

Y/N giggled, watching as Drakon continued to eye Deadpool suspiciously. “I think Drakon likes you more than Wade, at least.”

Logan let out a low chuckle. “Yeah, well, I’ll take what I can get.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the sanctuary glowing in the soft light of twilight, Logan realized that, despite the dragon’s antics and Deadpool’s unwelcome appearance, he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. Here, in this hidden sanctuary, with Y/N by his side, he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t known in a long time.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d find a way to get along with that damn dragon too… as long as it stopped trying to push him into the mud.

As Logan and Y/N prepared to leave the sanctuary, Wadw trailed behind them, trying to coax a reluctant phoenix into his backpack. Drakon, still suspicious, hovered nearby, ready to intervene if necessary.

“Come on, little birdie, you know you want to—ow! Okay, okay, no stealing the mystical creatures,” Deadpool muttered, nursing a singed hand.

[nepetacataria-art]

MegOp week 2024

Hi everyone! as you can see I couldn't make it on time, buuut I'll still be working on the skecthes I did! so here have the fourth day!. The prompts for this day were Role reversal/Peace and I choose peace!. For this sketch we have Earthspark Megs and Op!, since they already are in peace with each other in this universe they were perfect for this prompt!. I like to imagine them watching the sunset together while talking softly about their days 🥰 💖

Here is the official account of the event! @megop ✨(where all the prompts are listed 🥰)

[fridayth13]

Could I request Zhongli reuniting with his wife after the two had a falling out 500 years ago?

crushed cor lapis.

↳ zhongli × gn!immortal!artist!reader

↳ part one, part two

↳ genre: soft angst at the beginning, but it's mostly bittersweet | wordcount: 1.6k | warnings: none

↳ notes: i ended up with less angst than i thought i would have. but i did want to explore the thought of time passage and fighting for people who are going to live forever, even if it's subtle; reader is immortal and implied to be an adeptus or a god, but the kind isn't very important; ive had an idea for zhongli and an artist reader for a long time so i tried to combine it i hope you don't mind; as with the gender. i did write with a fem!reader in mind as per the request but in the end, the gender didn't need to be specified for anything so i left it gender neutral; i tried to give reader a more divine disposition about them so the writing ended up really flowery, but in any case i hope you enjoy! i really did have fun writing this one

You were a painter.

In your old life, as you liked to call it, however, you were a god. Your domain of influence laid in artistry and beauty.

Or rather, that was what Morax used to tell you. Archons like him were the only beings in Teyvat with real domains of influence. But you wouldn't really stop him if that was his way of calling you pretty.

That was about five hundred years ago. Nowadays was a very different story.

You crushed the yellow berries in your mortar and pestle to turn into paint for tomorrow's commission.

You liked your job in Liyue Harbor. As quaint and.. human as it was, you thought there was divinity to be found in the painstaking recreation of the things around you. Though a painting couldn't rival a Kamera in terms of accuracy, you were certain it completely surpassed the device in most other things.

You slowed your movements, surveying the consistency of the paint and the color. That would probably do. You'd collected quite a lot, so you supposed it was time to head back. All you were really lacking earlier was yellow.

And so you trekked on home from the terraces, skipping over stumps of cor lapis and sunset-painted grass along your way.

As you finally reached your home in the harbor, the sun had fully gone down. The lanterns lit, casting the entire city in a soft, warm glow. The neighboring waters reflected the deep blue of the sky and the speckles of rust and gold adorning every building in sight.

You opened your door and you thought of Morax, wondering if he knew five hundred years ago what beauty would settle upon his previously war torn nation. Leaning on the doorframe, you watched over it for a while. Children playing, kites flying, dinner being prepared, laughter and joy running amok.

You don't like to think about him too much, or how his silence is present in every part of the city that was all him, despite having nothing to do with him any longer. No matter how much time had passed, you seemed stuck in the first night he decided not to apologize.

Still, five hundred years was a long time. Although it felt like the blink of an eye, even immortals had to move on eventually.

You gathered your materials inside and closed the door behind you.

—

The mountains may erode, but they will always be mountains.

You recalled his own words as you saw him again for the first time in five hundred years.

A human-sized Rex Lapis stood before you, hands behind his back, dressed to the nines, pristine, and put together, and perfect, and not at all like he ought to have seemed like at your first meeting in several centuries. Though at the very same time, you couldn't imagine him looking any other way.

You bitterly savored the way he avoided your eyes in front of his boss.

"So this is him!" She said. The lively Director Hu Tao of the local funeral parlor was Rex Lapis's boss. You tried not to laugh. "Our new consultant, Mr. Zhongli."

You set your canvas down onto its easel, then the bulk of your dyes and paints on the floor. You did this without averting your eyes, as if trying to burn him if he ever had the nerve to look back at you.

He did not. And to her credit, it seemed Hu Tao noticed it as well. So as not to make your client too uncomfortable, you decided to take a step towards them.

"Mr. Zhongli." You said. With the proximity you put between you, he had no choice but to look back at you. Not a lot changed about him in human form, but by far, his eyes were the most the same. Down to the hard, intense stare, and the set of his brows. You wondered how many other people in Liyue he'd enchanted with them while he was busy avoiding you.

"Mr. Zhongli?" You repeated, a little less amused. Though you somewhat enjoyed how stupefied he looked at your appearance, you'd endured his silence long enough. "My name is Y/N. It's an honor to meet you here."

This seemed to regain him his senses. That, or Hu Tao's suspicious back and forth glances between the two of you.

Zhongli cleared his throat.

"..The honor is mine."

Hu Tao nodded, seeming satisfied for now. She clapped her hands together in excitement, turning to you.

"Alright! I suppose I'll leave you to it then. I have complete faith that you'll be able to depict the poise and elegance of my esteemed consultant."

You gave her your best half smile.

"Well, I'll try."

"No need to be modest! I've seen your work before. You're one of, if not the best, painter in Liyue. Just ask Mr. Zhongli! He's been very taken with your paintings even before we first met. He speaks very highly of you."

You crossed your arms. "You don't say?"

Five hundred years or the blink of an eye, you could still see his embarrassment without him having to say a word.

—

Director Hu Tao had business to take care of for the funeral parlor, and so left with a flourish, and a "Make sure to get his good side!" as she ran off.

You both continued to speak as civilians for a little while. He sat down at a table on the porch, a steaming pot of tea on said table between you. Your face was obscured to him through the thick white canvas.

Avoiding conversation was easy, but not. Comfortable, but not. Natural, but not. It shouldn't have been. As such was the nature of a marriage to the Geo Archon, you supposed. Or rather, the current lack thereof. But even that was up in airs.

"How.. How have you been?"

Your responding glare was unseen to him, but he heard it in the vitreous tone of your reply.

"Fine." You said. "Something must've happened to you though. Your eloquence seems to have disappeared into thin air."

"..You are still upset. I see."

"In what world would I be upset, Mr. Zhongli?" Your use of his mortal name created a crease in his brow. You gently brushed over it on his painting.

"I didn't think you'd want to see me."

"You still could've asked." You muttered, momentarily leaning sideways to look him in the eye. "For someone so revered for his wisdom, your brain still seems to be as hard as rocks."

You caught his surprised expression as you turned back to the canvas. You didn't allow him another word.

"Honestly, who ghosts their own spouse after an argument like that? You'd think the best time would be after.. five hours. Five days. Maybe five weeks after. Not five centuries—"

You caught him mumble, "Well, it's not as if you tried to talk to me either."

"I didn't think I needed to. You made it very clear you wanted me to leave you to die in the Archon War all on your heroic lonesome."

When he didn't respond, you snuck a glance.

The sun's rays were at the precipice of turning gold in its descent into the sea. The glow smeared his porcelain cheeks in amber, his eyes in glitter, the metallic components of his suit in light. He looked like a monument. Tall, statuesque, and lonely. Almost like his mountainous true form. More beautiful than even his numerous statues across Liyue could capture. More than you could capture. Though you did certainly try.

Annoyed and angrily pining as you were, you still tried to get his eyes right. The little flecks of rust against gold. Like cuts of cor lapis crushed to shimmering powder in the Archon's hand. A man of his own making.

You looked at Zhongli as the golden hour faded, slowly turning dusky pink. His eyes swam in wistfulness as he stared out at the harbor. You couldn't help the dull twinge of sorrow deep in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

You didn't know how to follow up. You weren't entirely sure what you were apologizing for. But it felt nice to hear it back from him.

When he finally looked back at you, you were tracing the rich scarlet of his eyeliner onto the canvas.

At some point, he turned on the lamp and set it down beside you while you worked on the finishing touches.

"You're better than I remember." He whispered like he thought you couldn't hear him.

You weren't sure what to say to that either. You just kept painting.

—

"This doesn't change anything. I'm still angry with you."

"Of course."

Zhongli never seemed to run out of tea. Despite not having brewed a new pot throughout your stay, the one on the table continued to steam, its aroma wafting leisurely throughout the room. When he offered you a cup after you left the canvas out to dry, you let yourself take it. You allowed him a calmer response when he spoke.

"This may upset you a bit more, but I am also somewhat bothered you never tried to talk to me."

"So we are at an impasse."

Of course, it did occur to you that you were both being hardheaded and moronic. But you were comforted by a few things.

"It would seem so." Zhongli nodded.

"Or maybe not." You quipped, glancing pointedly at an old painting on the wall. "You seem to have been stalking me, Mr. Zhongli."

"I think stalking might be a slight exaggeration."

"Oh, really."

Even as the mountains erode over the centuries, from the dust, they are fated to reform anew.

dividers from @clutteredfun