#and like i think the length makes his face look longer

[daylighted]

─ SWALLOW THE SMOKE, dad's best friend ! jackles

your dad's best friend isn't the best influence, is he? if he goes down, you're going down with him.

warnings. ( 18+ ! ) pls for the love of god don't interact with this series if you're a minor. hefty age gap. weed mention / weed smoking. slight innocent!reader & corruption arc + slight hurt/comfort. inebriated making out HAHA. word count. 4.3k

sneak into his room here!

THE NEXT MORNING IS AS UNCOMFORTABLE as one can be. the dining table is laden with breakfast, the smell of buttery pancakes and crispy bacon. two plates sat in the center of the table piled high with both, a bowl of assorted chopped fruits in between them. there's a big glass bottle of orange juice lifted between the thick fingers of—

him.

jensen looks better this morning than he had by the end of your time together. his eyes no longer hooded and empty of anything, like he'd buried all of his feelings between your legs and left them there to dry, but rather revitalized. there's a shine in his eyes, now, when they drift up to the kitchen archway you stand in.

"morning, honey," your dad greets, a piece of bacon held between his two fingers. he crunches down on a bite before he offers you a toothy smile. "sleep okay?"

you’d slept like a rock, what with how you’d spent thirty minutes locked away in the bathroom with the man ogling you over the dinner table, and then a couple more hours trying to pretend that you weren’t limping. at least you had the throwaway excuse of jetlag to explain away most of it.

jensen’s head drops to stare at his plate, pushing around the scrambled eggs on it. still, you can see the dimples breaking into the crests of his cheeks. "i slept fine," you say on a breath, dropping into the seat closest to the doorway.

"how ‘bout you, jens?" your father’s attention shifts to the other side of the table, waving the bacon around in gesture. "guest bed treat you alright?"

jensen’s left hand wraps around the glass bottle of orange juice, lifting the rim of it to his mouth. his voice echoes and muffles in the half empty glass when he says, "like a baby."

you pretend to be disinterested. you stab a fork through a strawberry in the fruit bowl, popping it into your mouth, eyes specifically averted from the bob of jensen’s throat as he drinks.

your mother slips a pancake from the hot skillet onto your plate, ruffling your hair when she passes. "mornin’, sweet girl," she says with a hum, "you gonna be okay if dad and i head out for a few hours, or do you wanna come with us?"

you think you must have missed part of this conversation, specifically not watching jensen’s adam’s apple so much that you had shut out the entire else of the world. your face twists in confusion, turning half around in your chair to prop your elbow on its back. "go where?"

"oh, just a few little errands around town," your mother says, punctuated by the click of the stove turning off. "heading down to your dad's work, picking up a few things... a little grocery shopping to keep up stock for our two guests." she flashes you and jensen a smile, and there's something so innocent about it, isn't there? how she lumps you two both in the same equation, unaware of what'd went down under their roof just hours ago?

you swallow thickly, refusing to glance over in jensen's direction. his eyes were still on you. you know what they felt like, like warm honey, dripping down the length of your body as he eyed you up. it takes every ounce of your restraint to not shift under the scrutiny. "i'll be okay," you promise, telling yourself the lie that it was not because you hoped jensen was staying, too.

what was your plan here, anyways? surely nothing good, with the way that you had to ask yourself a question like that. something like this was doomed from the jump, and yet, you chase it anyways.

"keep an eye on her, yeah?" your dad is asking jensen, sighing through his nose as he rises from the kitchen table. he tugs open the stainless steel dishwasher's door and drops his dirty dishes in before he spares you any acknowledgement. "doubtful she'll get into trouble, but—"

"dad." your face is hot, the words stuttering out of your open mouth. "i don't need a babysitter, i'm in college—"

jensen clears his throat, the simple sound enough to stop you dead in the middle of your ramblings. "actually, i've gotta head out for an hour or so, too," he waves his fork around in gesture, a tuft of scrambled eggs impaled on the prongs, "so you're safe from gettin' stuck with a babysitter, pretty thing."

the disappointment is like a double edged blade. you were free from him for a little while, but that also meant that you were free from him. your father sounds just as surprised, though he masks it better than you do. you have to remind yourself to breathe again in your momentary shock. "everything all good?"

"just a few little errands around town," he echoes your mother's words with a charming smile in her direction. when jensen's eyes make their way back to you, the clarity in the depths of the green strikes you speechless all over again. "i'll be back in time to shut down whatever party she throws in my absence."

how boring did it make you that the thought of a party didn't even cross your mind? all of the warning stories you'd heard about jensen's party animal days really had done their number on you. but on the same hand, how much trouble did it make you that you only wanted to stay home to be around him?

"i'm not going to throw a party," you scoff, and it really is that ridiculous to you, because why are they worried that their only child, the one they raised to be good, would do something like that? really, the thing they should have been worrying over was if you would fuck the forty-something guy sitting at your kitchen table. again.

maybe they were valid to worry.

you tune back in to the conversation to your parents up on their feet, clearing up the empty dishes left. you spear another strawberry, much more aggressively this time. as they tend to do, your eyes drift to the left, expectedly finding him watching you still. his hand is around the mostly empty bottle of orange juice, the neck of it in his gripping fingers, his lips to the mouth of it. 

pushing out of the seat you were in, you sidestep around your parents to get to him, shoving the bottle down from his mouth with a finger on the rim. "you shouldn’t drink straight from the bottle."

"my bad, sweetheart," jensen drawls, free hand raising in his surrender, "didn’t know what i did was so heavy on your mind."

"other people could want some of it, you know," arguing just because you could; anything to make it look like you weren’t blatantly ignoring the guest in your house, "and it’s not even your house, you can’t just—"

jensen nods along as you speak, his eyebrows raising as his lips purse in mock understanding. "i get it, sweet girl," he echoes your mother’s pet name back to you, somehow making your face hotter than it already felt, "i’ll be better next time, yeah?"

it was not fair for him to get to tease you like this when he’d been the one who got weird the night prior over his own decisions. it wasn’t fair that he could smirk at you and the memory threatens to erase itself. you feel it twisting in your chest — the irritation and the strange wisps of hurt that you can’t even explain curl around your heart in a vice grip. you lift the bottle to your own mouth, thinking that it’s a power move. dominance asserted in your own house, right?

jensen only smirks, now both of his hands raised in surrender. "if you wanted something from me, you could have just asked."

you barely manage to not choke. again, he’s so shameless in front of your parents, as if the fact that you’d even given into him in the first place wasn’t something detrimental to you. he rises from his feet before you can find a response, his emptied plate in hand, pressing a polite chaste kiss to your mother’s cheek as he slips it into the open dishwasher. "thanks for breakfast, laur."

he’s gone before you can blink, the sound of the front door opening and closing behind him like its own punctuation mark. you don’t even want orange juice. jensen had won whatever game this was, anyways. 

you help with cleaning the rest of the remnants of breakfast back up, getting yourself a proper plate in the process, since you’d been a little too focused on keeping up a stone-faced facade to actually eat. 

"he’s not giving you too much trouble, is he?" your dad draws you from the stupor you’d fallen into, stabbing at the fruit atop your pancakes.

you blink in momentary surprise before you shake your head. "no, why?" 

he hesitates, setting the dry towel back on the counter next to the kitchen sink. his arms cross over his chest, one of those half-baked smiles on his lips. "he’s a good guy, jensen, but he makes a lot of shitty decisions."

"what’s that have to do with me?" you ask, a little unsettled by whatever warning this was playing out to be. it wasn’t you who needed this talking to, you didn’t think; he was supposed to be the responsible one, wasn’t he? 

your father lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "just… don’t take anything to heart that he says. he’s only here for a couple more days, which is more than enough for him to fuck something up." it wasn’t necessarily news to you, considering everything you’d learned growing up about him and his antics, but this seemed like more than just stupid drunken mistakes at frat parties. "tell me if he starts to pester you too much and i’ll handle it."

"dad, i can handle myself." you weren’t a little kid anymore. you may have been their only child, but you were grown up, now.

still, your dad waves his hand dismissively. "i know you can, but i’ve dealt with him longer. i know how to hit him where it hurts." he pats your shoulder on his way out of the kitchen.

you’re not sure how to exactly respond or think of any of that. sure, jensen was a little bit insane for pursuing you at all, but he seemed relatively fine beyond that? of course, you’d only known him properly for twenty four hours, now. the truth was its own sort of blade, held between his fingers, daring you to question its sharpness before it dug into your skin. 

great. just what you needed: more alone time with the stranger in your house that you'd, somehow, let in your pants. at least there were plenty of leftovers from the party last night so you didn't have to try and swindle something to cook out of your parents' notoriously ingredient only household.

jensen hadn't returned yet. the sun was past the crest of setting, the sky deep violet and winking with stars. at least you had that, for now, but it wasn't going to last. eventually, he'd come back from whatever errands took half the day. maybe you'd get lucky and he somehow found out that your parents were at a steakhouse and dropped in.

you sat at the kitchen table again, your phone propped up on the wooden surface, doom scrolling through every social media you had until it bored you and you switched. idly, you pick at the food on your plate, knowing that you were waiting for the front door to open but refusing to acknowledge that fact to yourself.

the second the door does open, though, you drop the fork in your hand in surprise. it had to happen eventually, but it still managed to catch you off guard.

jensen had said he was running errands, and yet the only thing he returns with is a brown paper bag in his one fist.

"your errands was just getting alcohol?" you ask, leaned back in your seat to see him gliding through the entrance room of your house.

his head tilts up as he kicks off his boots, a little smirk on his mouth. "i don't think that's any of your business, little lady." little lady. you visibly bristle at that, and that only makes his dimples deepen in his cheeks. "gotta have somethin' to put up with you, don't i?"

"you weren't saying that last night." the words just slip out, your expression falling the second they are. that was stupid. you were lucky your parents were out of the house.

his face seems to reflect that, too, eyes darting into the kitchen archway as he steps through it, like he was looking for them. "last night was rough." it was, but it was doubtful that you and him were on the same page about what he meant by that. you open your mouth to attest to that, but he cuts you off. "parents not home?"

your mouth zips shut again. then, "obviously not."

"i'd watch that pretty mouth, sweetheart," jensen hums, dropping the brown bag on the kitchen countertop behind him. he rifles through it, the clink of his fingertips on the beer cans inside just proof to what you'd asked initially. "or i'm not gonna share."

your face scrunches up. "i don't want to drink tonight. they're not going to be gone for long, they're just on a—"

"i'm not talkin' about drinkin', babygirl," he says with a scoff, tugging a little ziploc from the depths of the brown bag. if you didn't already know what the rolled up joints inside were, the smell that permeates the small room gives it away. you stare at him, unimpressed. "someone was real pissy this morning when i didn't share, so i decided to try n' make it up to her."

you cross your arms. jensen mimics your stance right back.

so this was the game you were playing.

"i don't smoke." it wasn't exactly a lie, but it wasn't the full truth. you did it once back in exam week, and the guilt of that impulsive decision had made your high one of torturous anxiety instead of something peaceful to take the edge off.

jensen fishes a lighter from his pocket, rolling the ziploc closed again, waving the both of them in your direction between his two fingers. "i'll be on the back porch if you change your mind," he hums, and the smile on his mouth is infuriatingly gentle. disappointed, even.

there was no possible way that this was the same man who'd fucked you and then didn't look in your direction for the entire rest of the night prior. you'd just assumed that you were one of his aforementioned bad decisions, something that he'd move past.

this was not part of whatever plan you had in your head to get through the rest of this weekend. him actually seeming to at least acknowledge your feelings or how he effected them was not what you prepared for.

the glass screen door to the back patio slides open and then shuts with a light thud. for a few seconds, you sit in silence at the table, gnawing on your bottom lip as the road splits in front of you. go outside, or stay in.

the smell drifts in through the open window above the sink, and your decision is made for you. you jump up to shove it closed, and isn't that just the perfect excuse to step outside and pick an argument? the story continues to write itself.

you push open the glass door, one foot inside, one foot on the golden lit back porch. jensen's sitting in your dad's favorite patio chair, the one closest to the deep blue porch swing that your mom loved.

"you should close the windows before you start doing things you're not supposed to."

jensen doesn't glance in your direction, the joint hung between his two lips as he sucks in a deep breath, the cherry of it glowing red. "didn't know i was on the same tight leash they've got 'round you," his voice is muffled, speaking from the corner of his mouth.

you falter for a second. "i'm not on a leash."

"aren't you?" then, he glances over, eyebrows raised on his forehead. his fingers pluck the joint from between his lips, smoke curling around his words. "what exactly did you learn about me, pretty girl?"

you didn't understand this shift in the conversation. you step fully out onto the back porch, leaning back against the glass when you shut it behind you. "you went to the hospital with alcohol poisoning once? you ate a worm for a couple of bucks?" his lips twitch at that one, which feels like invitation enough to keep going. "that you went to class high as a kite, once, and—"

"publicly humiliated myself, yeah." jensen's hands spread open in an invisible reveal. "what else?"

again, you don't know what he's getting at out of all of this. "um, i know about that time you dated my aunt and—"

"something that doesn't stem from one of my low points," he interjects, cocking his head to the side. "don't got any of those types of stories locked n' loaded, do you?"

you stare at him for a long while, wracking your brain for anything at all. it clicks in your mind, then, that you really don't. you'd thought that jensen ackles was a figment of your dad's imagination, a character created just to warn you off of doing certain things, for a reason: because those were the only things you'd ever been told.

"and did you ever go to a frat party?" the joint is between his lips again, bouncing with each time his lips moved.

you square your jaw, straighten your shoulders. "yes, actually."

"do any keg stands?"

"no, but—"

"probably didn't eat a worm, did you?" again, this one makes him smile, even if it feels a little disjointed.

your face twists up. "absolutely not."

"and i guarantee you've either not smoked before, or you did it and hated it, swore it off, let your parents' little warnings echo in your head in approval at it. definitely didn't date someone just to make your dad happy, considering i bet you've never dated at all."

this wasn't supposed to be how this went. you were supposed to piss him off, pick at him enough to either make him drag you back inside and up to one of your rooms, or pester him enough to get him to spill whatever secrets your dad was talking about. jensen was not supposed to look you in the eyes and tell you all of the experiences you'd, so far, kept away from.

it stung. salt in wounds you didn't know you'd even had until he took the bruises beneath his fingers and jabbed. it must show on your face that he was spot on, even if you'd never admit it out loud, because his expression shifts too.

"so sit the hell down and let loose a little, sweetheart," his voice is softer now, like he recognized that he'd pushed a little too hard and was trying to make up for it, "i'm not gonna bite."

your hesitation is less forced this time. you drop down onto the porch swing, folding one of your legs up beneath you in the process. next to you, jensen plucks the half-smoked joint from his fingers and passes it over to you.

holding it between your fingers, you suck in a slow inhale, the smoke filling up your mouth and seeping down into your lungs. jensen's eyes are on you, they're always on you, watching you with a gaze you wouldn't dare call awe, but something akin to it.

"i mean," he adds as an afterthought, waving his one hand around aimlessly, "i could bite. if y'wanted me to."

right as you make to exhale, you're choking and spluttering on a laugh. he laughs right along with you, keeling half over himself in the process. "seriously?" you ask him, exasperatedly, and all he can give is an answering wheeze.

he coughs a couple of times, shaking his head as the sound of his laughter dies in the growing darkness. "you make it so damn easy."

like you have something to prove, and maybe you do, you give him a look around the dissipating smoke you'd choked out before you take another longer hit from the joint in your mouth. your lungs ache from choking on the last one, so you can't hold it in your chest as much as you wanted to to show off, but you still manage.

"you’re so pretty, baby," jensen drawls, and this time, the awe in his eyes is evident. they’re glittery green, his lips in a lazy smile.

you hate to admit that you like him best like this. all soft smiles and warm laughs and rasping voice. he’s as pretty as pretty can be, even if you don’t fully understand where you fit in his life, or where you’re supposed to fit him.

you give him a look from beneath the dark curls of your eyelashes, unable to resist the eye roll to follow. "shut up." he laughs again in response, but you aren’t done. the high hasn’t hit you, yet, but the placebo that comes from it has you relaxing back into your seat. "you know, i don’t understand you."

jensen folds his hands behind his head. "never asked for you to understand me."

"no, you just kissed me," you argue back, and the laughter bubbles out of you all on its own. "and—"

"i could kiss you again."

you cock an eyebrow at him. he cocks one right back. again, you grin despite yourself, dropping your gaze. "you won’t."

the patio chair creaks beneath him when he leans forward. his index finger tips your chin up, his face close enough that you can see the red outlining his eyes. "is that a challenge, or a lie?"

"i think that’s for you to figure out."

you almost look away, then, not able to withstand the eye contact he’d adamant on holding, but his grin softens, only making it harder to look away. "you’re so pretty, baby," he echoes it with a reverence that can’t he faked, not easily, at least.

"you’re a terrible influence," you manage to whisper, and that’s all that you can say, your voice trailing off before you can say anything else.

jensen shakes his head though, his hand coming up to cup your cheek beneath his palm. his thumb dances across your cheekbone. "i never claimed to be good."

and when jensen closes the distance between the both of you, you don’t move away. it's different than your first kiss, much more tender and slow, too much like he might mean it when you know he doesn't.

still, your hands raise to hold his face between them, the stubble of his beard tickling the sensitive skin of your palms. you raise up from your spot on the porch swing and he curls his fingers around your waist, guiding you into the expanse of his lap. his skin is so hot beneath his clothes as you drag your hands down his chest.

jensen parts your lips with his tongue, meeting yours with the same slow-paced laziness he'd grinned at you with. like he's savoring it, every inch, of the tongue that meets his each time. you try, you really do, to not make any sort of indication that you like this as much as you do, but the little whimper in your throat slips free anyways.

he laughs, and laughs again when his teeth scrape across the inside of your bottom lip, dragging it back with him before he swoops back in to properly kiss you again.

it's just kissing, but something about the drug coursing your system has heat pooling between your legs. it's just kissing, but he's worshiping your mouth, laying down prayers with each sweep of his tongue.

you don't know how long you're like that, sitting in his lap while he laps at your tongue with deliberate slowness, getting to know every inch of what you offer to him with intimacy that can't possibly only exist for these last couple of days.

the headlights from the driveway cast two bright gold beams across the backyard, only a couple feet away from the porch you and jensen are lounging on, one slight angle shift away from exposing what the both of you were getting up to in your parents' absence.

he's the one to pull away, pressing his lips together as if he could preserve the taste of the earth on your breath and staining your lips between his. when his eyes open, there's no mistaking it: a longing that won't be there in the morning, but at least it exists, then.

you're the one to move first, even if he was the one to break it. you smooth out your clothes with hands that you pretend aren't shaking, and now, you don't look back over your shoulder when you pry the sliding glass doors open and step inside.

you make it up to your room before your parents make it inside, the door shutting behind you like a permanent seal, closing you off from them and jensen.

through your open window, you can smell the smoke from his joint, as prominent as it was outside, the only indication that he didn't move.

notes | this was going to be SO much longer and take place over the span of 3 days but i decided ... what's the rush in speedrunning all three days of his stay ! PLUS I HAVE TO BUILD CHEMISTRY OK !!! dont mind me ik what i'm doing </3

become a notch on jensen's bedpost by commenting ☠ !! @soldiersgirl @seven7lee @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @winchestersbgirl @tinas111 @bejeweledinterludes @lonelylonelybaby @mourningthewicked @ultravi0lence14 @1-imbroglio @hughesinthebox @angels-silhouette @blossomingorchids @chris444evr @cassiecourtemanche @writtenbyhollywood @adrienneleclerc @losers-clvb @bluemerakis @fuckedupfate @legalmente-loca @k-slla @fxckingjo @blueschevy @fitxgrld @viluren @youdontknowe @sizzlingcheesecakepanda @cupidluvzz

[zeroseuniverse]

Guilty Pleasures

Word Count: 1.3K Summary: “Oh! And,” he interrupts, wiggling your fingers smugly, “you bite your nails when you’re thinking. Didn’t peg you for the anxious type, but it’s kind of cute.” He lifts a hand toward his—your—lips, playfully tapping your lower one. You’re going to kill him. Well, he’s already dead, but you’ll find a way. Pairing: Jaemin X reader

Taglist: @zaycie @sh0dori @tinyelfperson @lezleeferguson-120

Navigation

You barely register the faint prickle at the back of your neck before your limbs suddenly go slack. A sharp chill courses through your chest, followed by a disorienting lightness, like you’re being peeled away from yourself. Then—blackness.

When you blink, you’re no longer behind your eyes. You’re watching them. Watching him.

Jaemin smirks at you from your own reflection, his fingers wiggling in a sarcastic little wave. “Hey, gorgeous,” he purrs with your voice. “Miss me?”

Oh, you hate him.

When the exorcist first explained that Jaemin, a restless spirit, needed to temporarily possess your body to deliver a message from the in-between, you were willing to be gracious. Sympathetic, even. Poor, wandering soul. Couldn’t pass on until he spoke to his loved ones. You agreed without hesitation. But this? This was not part of the deal.

He’s supposed to be grateful. Solemn, maybe. Instead, he’s parading around in your skin like he owns it.

You glare at him from the mirror, your eyes narrowing, though it’s useless. He raises your eyebrows mockingly, as if to say, Is that all you’ve got?

“Y’know,” he hums thoughtfully, stretching your arms above your head, “you’ve got way more upper body strength than I expected.” He glances down at your torso, admiring it with an obnoxious little grin. “Are you secretly hitting the gym at midnight or something?”

You mentally screech, flailing in the disembodied limbo you’re stuck in. “Jaemin, I swear—”

“Oh! And,” he interrupts, wiggling your fingers smugly, “you bite your nails when you’re thinking. Didn’t peg you for the anxious type, but it’s kind of cute.” He lifts a hand toward his—your—lips, playfully tapping your lower one.

You’re going to kill him. Well, he’s already dead, but you’ll find a way.

Over the next few hours, Jaemin wreaks absolute havoc on your daily routine. He rearranges your entire spice rack alphabetically. He texts your best friend unhinged compliments like, “You have the most symmetrical ears I’ve ever seen.” And when you pass by your nosy neighbor, he waves far too enthusiastically, making her nearly drop her purse in confusion.

“Why are you like this?!” you scream from your incorporeal prison.

But the worst comes when he finds the full-length mirror in your bedroom.

“Oh-ho…” he whistles lowly, tilting your head at an angle. “Would you look at that.” His eyes (your eyes) darken with amused mischief, half-lidded as he trails your fingers down your collarbone. His lips twitch into a familiar smirk—the one you’ve seen on his face every time he appears in your dreams. The one that always leaves you a little breathless.

He leans forward until his breath (your breath, dammit) fogs up the glass. His lips part slightly, and in a soft, husky murmur, he says, “Damn. If I’d known you were this pretty, I would’ve possessed you sooner.”

Your heart, your actual heart, stutters. “Oh, you are unbelievable,” you seethe.

He chuckles, the sound rich with genuine delight. “Don’t be mad. You’re making this way too easy.” He trails his fingers over the mirror’s surface, like he’s caressing your cheek. “I’ve been watching you for so long. You didn’t really think I was gonna waste this chance, did you?”

You stop fighting. Stop flailing. You just blink at him. “…Wait. You’ve been watching me?”

Jaemin flashes you a slow, devilish grin. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs silkily, voice dripping with fondness, “you’ve been haunting me since day one.”

And damn it all—you feel yourself fall for him.

You stare at him—at yourself—but the person staring back feels nothing like you. There’s a glimmer in your eyes that doesn’t belong. A sharpness to your smile that you’ve never worn. It’s him. Completely him. And he’s making it impossible to breathe.

“Haunting you?” you echo, barely able to keep the waver out of your voice.

Jaemin’s grin spreads slowly, devilishly, like he’s savoring the effect he’s having on you. He drags your fingers down the side of your throat, deliberately slow, making your pulse pound in places you no longer have a physical form.

“Mmh,” he hums, tilting your head to the side like he’s admiring his favorite portrait. “You didn’t notice?” His voice dips into something low and smoky. “Every time you got chills for no reason? That was me.” His smile grows wicked. “When your window blew open, even though you swore you closed it? That was me, too.”

You reel, trying to process his words, but your mind keeps snagging on how he’s brushing your knuckles across your lips. His eyes glimmer with dangerous delight as he murmurs, “And when you had those dreams about me?” He presses your index finger against the corner of your mouth, tracing it slowly. “Yeah. Definitely me.”

Your mind blanks. No. No, no, no, no. Those dreams. The ones that left you breathless and achingly hot, your fingers gripping at sheets that never seemed cool enough. The ones you brushed off as some twisted side effect of your subconscious craving companionship. Those were him?

Jaemin watches the realization flicker in your eyes, and he smirks. The bastard smirks. “Caught you,” he taunts softly. “You liked it.”

You hate how warm your limbs—his limbs—suddenly look. How he’s using your body to lean against the dresser, one hand slipping into your hair with an infuriatingly slow, self-satisfied motion. “I— I did not like it,” you snap, but the waver in your voice makes the words feel brittle.

Jaemin clicks your tongue, mock-scolding you. “Tsk, tsk. Lying to a ghost? How cold-hearted.”

Then, with a wolfish grin, he steps closer to the mirror, lowering his voice into something just shy of sinful. “Admit it,” he purrs, lips brushing your reflection. “You miss me when you wake up.”

You want to scream. Want to throttle him. Want to— Oh. Oh no. You want to kiss him.

He feels it. The longing that spikes through you. His eyes—your eyes—flash with a victorious gleam. Slowly, deliberately, he presses your palm against your chest, right over your heart, as if to taunt you with your own racing pulse. “Wouldn’t it be easier,” he breathes softly, the words a whisper against the mirror, “if you just let me stay?”

The world stills. Your throat tightens.

Stay? Stay in your body? With you?

“You’re insane,” you murmur faintly.

Jaemin flashes you a dimpled grin. “Possibly.” Then, in a voice so soft you almost mistake it for reverence, he adds, “But you make me want to be alive again.”

And before you can stop yourself, you whisper back, “You already are.”

For a single, breathless heartbeat, he falters. His eyes—no longer teasing, no longer smug—widen slightly, raw and disarmed. For the first time, you catch a glimpse of something achingly human behind them.

And that’s when he lifts your hand—his hand—to the mirror. Presses his palm against the glass, longing sparking in his eyes like embers. “Come closer,” he murmurs, so softly it barely reaches you.

Without thinking, you do. Your consciousness—your disembodied self—drifts toward the surface of the mirror, drawn in by the magnetic warmth in his eyes. You hover there, feeling the pull of his presence. The way it stirs something deep and trembling inside you.

His lips part. Just slightly. His eyes lower to your mouth. “Stay with me,” he whispers, your voice barely a breath.

And before you know it, you’re crashing back into your own body.

The sensation is sudden and disorienting. Like being dunked into ice-cold water, your limbs snap back into place, your chest heaving. You blink rapidly, disoriented. Dizzy. Alive.

But when you glance at the mirror—he’s still there. His reflection. Smiling softly. Not smug. Not teasing. Just… gentle.

“See?” he murmurs. “Told you we were better together.”

Your lips part, your heart hammering painfully against your ribs. “You’re impossible,” you whisper.

Jaemin’s grin turns slow and fond. “Yeah,” he chuckles. “But I’m yours now.”

And God help you—you smile back.

[impossiblepluto]

I went with fainting because there are so many reasons it can happen, and it can come straight out of nowhere. Like, the other person is having a normal conversation and then the whumpee just drops. And then the sudden panic as their poor friend is trying to catch them and figure out what went wrong—are they hurt? Heat exhaustion? Does anybody remember the last time they ate?

There is such a nice variety with passing out. Do they know it's coming? Does the person they're with realize what's happening? Do they wait politely for a break in the conversation before dropping that little tidbit of info?

Mac stands, not quite at attention though the instinct and muscle memory is there. Warmth heats his cheeks as Jack paces in front of him. He feels stupid, standing here in the middle of the room that’s too big. Jack’s voice echoes off the far away walls. It’s only the two of them here, but he feels exposed. The too bright lights make him squint, his vision blurs. He feels like he’s being interrogated. 

He’s not. 

Interrogation would be easier. 

He hasn’t gotten a word in. Just standing here, listening to Jack ream him out 

Or trying to listen to Jack ream him out. 

He is actually trying to listen, not simply tune Jack out and float away with his own thoughts. Or lack of, for once his mind seems strangely quiet. It’s kind of nice. It would be easy to drift away but he respects Jack and their partnership too much to ignore him. 

Despite the way he feels nauseated and exposed and vulnerable, he recognizes that Jack’s rant comes from a place of concern. Of care. 

It’s… 

It’s not something he can try to process right now. Not with the way Jack is looking at him. Mac straightens up. Pay attention. 

The room really is huge. 

Mac blinks. 

The walls are really far away. It should take Jack longer to walk the length of the room. The average stride length for a man of Jack’s height is thirty-one inches so—

So Jack has plenty of space to lay out all the ways Mac failed today. Recap the danger he put himself in. The risks he forced the rest of the team to take to rescue him. 

Humiliation makes Mac’s ears buzz. 

Jack is upset. Scolding. But he made sure that he and Mac had privacy for this conversation. Humiliation is not the point of this lecture, not like it would have been with his dad. But then, Mac spent a whole childhood learning all of that, so he does a great job on his own. Heat builds in the back of his neck, then prickles along his scalp. 

Mac’s jaw tightens, breathing in through his nose. He narrows his eyes, trying to focus. 

“–Mac?” 

And blinks in surprise when Jack’s concerned face wavers in front of him. He gives a small nod. It must be the appropriate response because Jack seems to continue. 

His feet are numb. Like his shoes are too tight. And maybe his socks too. He didn’t notice that before. Too busy thinking about how big the room seems. 

Should he tell Jack?

No. He can't interrupt for something like that. Besides, why would he tell Jack about his shoes? 

Except Jack is looking at him expectantly, tipping his head in concern and taking a step closer. 

Mac’s eyes follow the path of Jack’s hand as it rises, reaches out, and slowly lands on his shoulder. 

Mac flinches. It’s several seconds after Jack’s touch, a delayed full body kick that he would have described as a hypnic jerk if he wasn’t wide awake, standing in the middle of a room. 

Jack’s mouth is moving. The sound hits Mac’s ears a moment later. “Mac?”

“Oh.” Mac blinks. Yeah, he probably should tell Jack. “I think I’m going to pass out.” 

He watches Jack's eyes widen as his own slip closed.

[bumbling-jester]

combatting my same face syndrome by drawing 80s al vs post-lasik al

[sixic]

letting gojo fuck you raw might have been a mistake, especially now that he wants kids..☆

(part 1 here)

yes—it felt good. heavenly, even. feeling him fill you up without a contraceptive barrier between you might overlap an ego death on the life-altering-experiences venn diagram.

but now your boyfriend throws a tantrum whenever you tell him to wrap it. he pouts and whines and stamps his fucking feet like a child at your child-preventative measures. he’s too tall to act like a toddler—if you didn’t secretly enjoy the pining you’d hit him upside the back of his head and tell him to stop sulking.

“we’re too young to be parents,” you’d tell him as he rubs his uncovered cock through your folds, from your entrance up to your sensitive clit and back down.

his counter? “the earlier we start, the longer we have to try for more.”

“maybe youre forgetting the whole ‘jujutsu sorcerer, could-die-at-any-moment' thing?”

“are you forgetting that i’m the strongest? plus, i think i’d look hot saving the world wearing a baby carrier… not that i would endanger our kid like that. bad point, ask me a new one.”

“we aren’t playing trivia.”

“cmon,” a tap of the head of his cock to your clit. “humour me.”

“alright, children are fucking expensive.”

“babe, you’re not serious—you do know i’m filthy rich, right? capitalism fears me. i’m like that rich disney duck with the top hat and—”

you point a finger in his face. “put a goddamn condom on or you’re banned from sex for a month, scrooge.”

and he blinks, pretends to be offended at how responsible you are, and then falls into an easy smile because sex with you is more than enough for him. when he sinks into you, condom-covered or not, he falls a little bit more in love each time.

but it is not the same and you know it.

the weight of him on top of you is the same. as is the snapping thrusts of his hips into yours and the gentle circles he traces over your clit and the way he moans your name once he’s sheathed fully inside of you. it’s the same.

but it’s not the same as taking him raw. it’s not the bulge of his veins against your velvet walls. nor is it the beading precum at his tip dripping inside of you, or the filthy fucking drawling moans he lets out when he fills you to the brim.

“you’re so beautiful,” he's moaning like he's in heat. completely enthralled with every aspect of your being, satoru groans and moans and snaps forward into you like he's trying to breed you regardless.

and you're so full, stretched to your limits with his cock pulsing inside of you, but you don't feel satiated like you could. you've tasted it once, the feel of his cum spilling into you, the knowledge of what it could do to you. to him. he would look good as a dad. god, him holding a baby in his arms...

"pull out."

gojo stops immediately at your words, blinking the lust from his eyes in an immediate shock change of expression. he's looking you over, making sure you're not in any pain, before pulling out of you completely with no questions asked. he's always been good like that—sure, he'll whine about wearing latex but he'd never push you past your spoken limits.

"you wanna stop?" he asks gently, already reaching for a washcloth to wipe you down with. his eyes watch you carefully, obsessed with your interest and comfort: you have to stop yourself from laughing at his panic. "we can watch some TV or go to bed or i could make you—"

his words die in his mouth when you reach down to his still-hard cock and slowly pull the condom that covers it from the top. it slides from his length with a little resistance before finally pulling over the head and snapping back at your hand with a subtle sting.

"fuck me," you meet his eyes.

"what? you said—"

"satoru. fuck me. breed me, even. how many other ways do i have to put it? i want you to fuck a baby into me."

he blinks again. no witty comment, no awful smirk or joke about being a dilf. you've gone and rendered satoru speechless. when he does finally move his lips, it's not to dirty talk you like expected.

"we aren't married."

you can't help but laugh. "what?"

"i'm going to marry you first, and then you are going to make me a dad. i have it all planned out, babe, we can't have drunk honeymoon sex if you're pregnant. though you would look fucking beautiful on a beach somewhere with a baby bump. god now i'm conflicted."

"you have it planned?"

the thought of satoru planning this out hits you, him thinking about a future with you, a ring on your finger, embracing the stress of parenthood together so well that when the kids move out and you're old and grey, you abhor having a silent home.

"so are you going to propose or not?" you look at him.

again, he blinks. "right now?"

"why not? do you have a ring?"

satoru looks at you, smiles, and slips off the bed—still naked—to reach into the bedside drawer. a small black box sits in his top drawer, ironically under a pile of condoms. he holds it in his hand and returns to you with a kiss to your knee, and then one to your inner thigh, and another just above your clit. he works his way up your stomach, of course stopping to bite at your nipples when he reaches your chest, and then presses himself fully against you once his lips find yours.

when he pulls away, you're met with the sight of a ring you had pointed out to him months ago. had he really been planning this long? "i knew i was going to marry you on our first date," he says, but then counters, "actually, that's a lie. it was when i tasted that sweet pussy of yours for the first time, but that's not as romantic."

you smile, bracing yourself for a long-winded speech when satoru suddenly pushes the tip of his now-uncovered cock inside of you. you gasp, and he swallows it with a kiss before taking your hand in his and slipping the ring down your finger with a breathy; "will you marry me?"

"yes," of course, is your answer. which warrants a sudden deep thrust from your now-fiancé as he bottoms out inside of you.

"yeah?" he nips at your neck. "you'll marry me? gonna make me a dad too, huh? gonna fill you up, baby, gonna breed you out and—"

"i thought you said—"

"changed my mind. now, lift your legs up: you're not leaving this bed until i've knocked you up, pretty."

[madaqueue]

18+ MDNI - f!reader (nasty freak boy who cums too early...i love him)

virgin!satoru who thinks he’s going to die. genuinely, he thinks his heart is about to explode out of his chest and his last memory will be the way you stare down at him with those lust-blown eyes and that awe-struck smile. why else would he be shaking like this, covered in a layer of sweat and lightheaded to the point his vision is swirling?

“are you ready, satoru?” is the only thing he can make out above the ringing in his ears - how can he tell you he only has a few moments to live when your legs are spread like this and he’s so hard it fucking hurts?

virgin!satoru who is the farthest fucking thing from ‘ready’ but he’d rather die than disappoint you, so he’s at least got to try.

with an unsteady hand he swipes the tip of his cock up and down your slit, watching the way the light sparkles with how wet you are, for him.

“you can put it in, baby,” and he fucking groans, he can barely look at you when you talk to him like that, all syrupy sweet and thick and dripping.

virgin!satoru who finally, finally, pushes himself past your entrance. his eyes are locked on the way you swallow his length, the way he’s so hot he can’t breathe, can’t get enough air in because it all smells like you.

virgin!satoru who cums before he even bottoms out. he’s trembling and whining and it only gets worse when your hands find his shoulders and pull him into you.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, fuck-”

“it’s okay,” you coo, and he’s so fucking warm, and he’s grateful he can’t see the smile on your face because he thinks it might actually make his heart stop.

virgin!satoru who straightens his back, slowly pulls his cock out of you and watches in awe as his cum leaks down your thighs, who can’t stop himself from smearing it through your folds with his thumb, who doesn’t miss the way your pussy clenches as he does.

virgin!satoru who’s already hard again, who no longer cares if he’s dying because this must be heaven, who stares back at you with wild, unfocused eyes as he says, “i think…i think i’m ready now.”

a/n: i think i blacked out from lust writing this

[swytdoll]

♡.ྀི₊thinking about mean!overworked and underfucked nanami:3

it’s utterly cruel as he forces your fucked out face against the penthouse window. any other time, you'd be gushing over the breathtaking view of the city lights, but the way kento's fat tip gnaws at your cervix has your eyes rolling back in your skull.

a sinewy hand grips your throat, tightening to the point where you feel lightheaded. the other hand is firmly placed on your hip, anchoring your ass against his pelvis. you've been in this position for what feels like an eternity, pressed against the glass like an animal as he fucked you like a mutt in heat. the chill of the glass contrasts with the warmth radiating from him, each thrust causing the surface to shudder beneath you.

“such a slut, letting me use you like this—ha! bet it turns you on fucking your boss like this—god,” he snarls, voice thick with lust. the wet squelch of your slick pussy is audible in the room, only adding to your embarrassment. the shame has your eyes brimming with tears, the sting of them mixing with the ache between your legs.

he chuckles darkly. "that's right, sweetheart. i know how much of a fucking whore you are." he's relentless, driving his cock deep into your cunt as he uses your throat to keep you upright. “m’not a whore!” you try to argue, but it's incoherent due to the cock shoved in your cunt. he doesn't respond, but the grip on your hip tightens. his pace is brutal, each snap of his hips causing your ass to jiggle. your pussy flutters around his girth, sucking him in as he plows into you. the pressure building in your abdomen too much.

“don’t make me laugh.” he hisses, bending his knees slightly so that he can hit a new angle, the new position knocking a series of whines from your throat. you’re pretty sure he’s in your womb, molding your gummy walls around his length.

"always prancing around in those slutty skirts and shirts—i see the way you stare at me when you think i'm not looking. so needy. you wanted this from the beginning, didn't you?” he pauses, letting out a guttural moan.

“i knew all along. how could i not? you were practically throwing yourself at me. batting your fucking eyelashes, and now i've got you exactly where i want you. i bet it was all just a ploy to get my dick. i'm right, aren't i?"

even as he’s degrading you, you can't help but moan. kento’s hand moves to your ass, giving your cheek a sharp smack. the stinging sensation forces a cry from you, and you clench around his member, causing him to let out a string of curses.

“my point proven—ha! s’fuckin sad.”

the hand gripping your throat moves to the back of your head, pushing your face further against the cool glass.

"i'm not gonna last long," he groans, his hips beginning to falter. he's going harder, faster, and the way he splits you makes you scream. tears begin to stream down your cheeks as you come undone, the sensation of being full, so fucking full, causing you to go limp in his grasp. he doesn't stop, and the way he fucks you through your orgasm makes your vision go spotty.

he draws your hair into his hands, creating a makeshift ponytail for his fingers to weave into. then, he yanks hard, the sudden action forcing you to arch your back. “why do sluts always have the best pussy? no fair.” he sneers, he's fucking into you with such fervor that you're afraid the window might splinter.

“s-slow down, nanami-san, you're gonna b-break me," you stammer, voice barely above a whisper.

he doesn't.

the only thing you can do is take it. the way his head slams against your hilt has your body shaking, the pressure building up in your core once more. you can't hold on much longer, not with him fucking you like this.

“slow down? you wanted this! running your fuckin’ leg up my thigh at a work dinner, touching me under the table like a desperate bitch—you want this, don't you? i bet you would've let me fuck you there. i could've bent you over that table and pounded your little cunt till you were screaming my name. and now, look at you—fucking pathetic. such a pretty face, such a nice little pussy” he moans loudly, "wrecked. all ruined. and all because of me."

he pulls your hair once more, forcing a strangled sob from your throat. the sound makes him chuckle. kento uses you as a ragdoll, pulling your hair, grabbing your waist, manhandling you like some cheap sex toy. it's fucking disgusting. he spanks you when you go limp, pulling your hair whenever you go quiet. and all you can do is take it. the pain is so delicious that you're not even thinking straight. you just want to be good for him.

he's mean. but you've never been this wet in your entire life. your body is writhing, begging for another release, and when kento’s fingers find your swollen clit, you nearly fall apart. his fingers rub tight circles against the bundle of nerves, sending a surge of pleasure up your calves. his hips stutter, and he's moaning louder.

your knees buckle, another slap. “stay up i won’t tell you again.”

he's so fucking close. the tip of his cock is battering the entrance to your womb, and the way his balls are slapping against your cunt is making you sob. he nearly blows his load in you when he presses a hand below your belly button, feeling his cock through your stomach. he curses, grabbing your hand and pressing it to the small bump.

"can you feel me, sweetheart? can you feel how deep i am? can you feel the bulge?" you can't respond, too fucked out to process the words. he lets go of your hair, instead using both hands to pin your arms above your head. his face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you can feel his hot breath against your skin. “can’t even speak, sad.” he grunts, pressing sloppy wet kisses behind your ear.

you're his, all his. “mine, mine, mine.”

the way his teeth graze the skin of your neck has your eyes fluttering shut, a fresh set of tears rolling down your cheeks. you're a fucking mess, and kento nanami loves it. he can't help himself, not when your cunt is sucking him in like this. he's so close, so fucking close.

the pressure building in his abdomen becomes unbearable, and he lets out a strangled groan as his hips snap forward, his seed spilling into you. he doesn't slow down, not even as his cum overflows from your pussy, dribbling down your thighs.

"oh my god—oh my fucking god," he pants, his thrusts erratic. he's so deep inside of you, and the feeling of him painting your insides white has you on the verge of blacking out. he's filling you, stretching you, breeding you. it's too much.

his grip on your wrists going lax, you're completely boneless. the only thing keeping you from crumpling onto the floor is kento’s firm grip on your wrists. he lets go, and you fall to the ground. the only sounds that fill the air are the soft whimpers that escape your lips, and his heavy breathing.

he runs a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself. he looks down at you, and the sight has his dick twitching.

you're a mess, his cum seeping from your cunt, mixing with your own arousal and dribbling down your thigh. the tear streaks running down your cheeks only make the scene more obscene. you're absolutely wrecked, and he's the one who did it. the thought has him grinning, and he crouches down to your level.

"you took me so well, baby girl," he purrs, tipping your chin upwards. his tone is surprisingly gentle, and you can't help but flush. his voice is a bit hoarse, a result of the noises he'd been making earlier. he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, admiring how fucked out you look. he can't wait to get his hands on you again.

[hueseok]

it was always you.

for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.

so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.

or at least, that’s what you think.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 13.2k

rating: 18+

content: fluff, semi-angst, childhood friends to lovers au, pining au | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + brother’s best friend!jungkook; professor!reader + editor!reader | inspired by purple hearts

warning/s: swearing, potentially wrong medical & military information (i’m sorry but i tried to do as much research i can 😭), mentions of having type 1 diabetes, making out, heavy petting, implied sexual content: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (this is only fiction!)

MINI PLAYLIST: ♫ die with a smile — lady gaga, bruno mars ♫ juno — sabrina carpenter ♫ selfish — *nsync ♫ nandito na ako — benj pangilinan, angela ken

opening note. omg this is my first full length fic in two damn years i think??? certainly took a long time before i had the motivation to write again but i hope y'all like this! to my og readers who still keep up with my shenanigans, this one's for you 🥹💗

“Any questions?”

A boy wearing half-rimmed glasses raises his hand and you gesture for him to speak. “Can we get an extension on the Save the Cat project due tomorrow?”

You sigh, just as several of your students begin agreeing with him and muttering reasons of their own why the extension should be approved. It’s the week before finals, and you’re aware that the class must be packed with assignments and projects for several of their classes because of it, hence the rather last minute request. They look tired and pleading, a complete reflection of how you were when you were the one in their position nearly a decade ago, begging for an extension from a professor who you thought was kind enough to be swayed with the proposition.

You scan the crowd. “How many of you are at least 70% with it, hm?”

More than half of the class raises their hands.

“Okay, that’s honestly unexpected,” you say, pleased to know that they aren’t slacking on your subject. “Does Monday sound good? That’s three more days, to be fair. I don’t want to extend it further because I have to read everyone’s work and you guys know I don’t like rushing it before turning in your final grade.”

A chorus of relief and thanks echoed in the room, all of your students either dramatically sinking in their chair or erupting in an animated conversation with their seatmate or making crying faces to portray how grateful they are.

“Thank you so much, Ms. ____!”

“I love you, Ms. ____!”

“Ms. ____, I will offer my first child to you,” one theatrically adds and you smile a bit, rolling your eyes at students like this one who is now opting to flatter you way too much for your act of kindness.

“Alright, alright. Just get it done and I’m expecting quality work, okay? Class dismissed.”

The whole class begins to gather their things at the cue and you don’t stay there a minute longer after your announcement, exiting the lecture hall to head to the faculty room where you’re certain half of the teaching staff have gone home already. It’s already 8:47 p.m., and all you want to do is head home to get the rest you deserve after an eventful day.

There was a time that having a schedule from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. wasn’t the norm for you. You used to value work life balance so much—it was even a nonnegotiable you used to say in interviews, saying that if you didn’t get enough rest within the week, then the job most likely wasn’t for you. But things have been very different for the past months; you have definitely grown out of that mindset due to the fact that you’re simply in need of another source of income to pay for your monthly rent, utility bills, and now your medication. You’re in a stage of your life wherein you consider working part time as a professor was a blessing rather than a big nuisance.

Making a right turn to where the hallway to the faculty room is, you’re too busy rearranging the papers inside the folder you’re holding to notice a man sitting on the bench placed just beside the entrance. He notices you the second you appear in his line of vision though; he straightens his posture and proceeds on standing up immediately upon seeing you closer, calling your name softly when you failed to look at his direction, too preoccupied with the thought of finally coming home that you’re oblivious that the man trying to catch your attention is Jeon Jungkook.

“____,” he calls again and this time you notice him, your eyes widening instantly.

“Holy shi—” You stop yourself from finishing that sentence. “Jungkook?”

He grins. “Hey, lamb chop.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He laughs, following suit to you who’s already giggling just by his presence alone, outstretching his arms then. “You gonna hug me or what?”

You beam and step forward to embrace him. He returns it without hesitation, muscular arms circling around you and squeezing tightly that it lifts you up from the ground for a quick second. The faint smell of fabric conditioner on his clothes enters your nostrils and you feel like a teenager again, warmth rushing to your face while your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Regardless of how old the both of you are, you think your hopeless crush on the guy will forever live on and constantly transform you into a middle school girl whenever opportunities like these to have him near arise. You’re just happy you’ve trained yourself to be better at hiding it now compared to when you were younger.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in base or wherever it is that you’re designated?” you ask, the first to let go from the hug.

“Actually, I returned from deployment three days ago. I’m on leave for two weeks.”

“Wow. Two weeks, huh?”

“Yep. It’s the longest break I’ve gotten in a while.”

“That’s good. Everybody needs a break from time to time.”

“Says the girl has a day job and a night job.” He points out with a smirk; your heart does a little leap at how handsome he looks doing that. “When the hell did you get into teaching, by the way? I never pegged you to be the kind who can tolerate it. You hate kids.”

“You’ll find yourself tolerating lots of things in this economy.” You snort. “And my students aren’t kids. They’re in college.”

“Yeah, which you graduated from six years ago. Still technically kids.”

“Are you seriously jabbing at my age when you’re two years older than I am?”

He rolls his eyes at that one, an indication that you won the argument. “Anyway,” he starts again and you grin, “I didn’t come here to compare how old we are—”

“You didn’t?”

He sends you a look. Your grin gets even wider.

“I’m here because I was hoping to treat you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” you repeat, not masking the surprise from your voice.

Let’s get the facts straight before we proceed to this conversation.

It isn’t a lie when you say that you and Jungkook are great friends. You have been since you were 7 and your family just moved into the house next to theirs. He was a natural playmate, a companion when you couldn’t tolerate the antics of your older brother, the boy who looked out for you aside from said older brother, and the person you’ve shared significant history with throughout your youth that you can never seem to forget nor disregard.

It’s just that you never deemed that you were great enough friends for him to go out of his way and visit you at your workplace, offering to treat you for dinner. Gestures like that were reserved for your older brother, Seowon, who’s the same age as he is and who you’re sure is considered as his best friend. Compared to them, yours and Jungkook’s dynamic shifted slightly after graduating from college. What once was a really close friendship turned into a casual one, with mostly just teasing, light talks, and the occasional welfare checks at times you hear certain news from the other that’s worth speaking directly about.

At the mention of that, realization dawns on you on why he must be here.

“Jungkook…” You’re trying not to sound mad but you can’t hide the exasperation from your voice. “That’s not the real reason you’re here.”

“Of course, it is. Why else would I be here?”

“He told you, didn’t he?” you ask, not willing to drag this out. “You’re just going to give me another lecture that I definitely don’t need.”

Jungkook frowns, like he’s dismayed that you caught on pretty swiftly.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You pressed.

“He meant well, ____.”

You scowl. To remark that Seowon is unnecessarily nosy and coddling would be an understatement. That man hasn’t left you alone the second he was aware of your condition. Usually, whenever he gets into his ‘big brother tendencies’, his girlfriend Winnie steps in and helps you lay him off your back. However, it’s different this time; no matter how much you reinstill your independence and insist that you’re fine, it’s like you’re talking to a wall.

“What exactly did you hear from him?” you query.

He seems hesitant in answering that. “That you got diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.”

You wince.

“Look,” he steps forward towards you, “I wasn’t going to bring it up unless you did, okay? I’m just here because I’m genuinely worried about you and I want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.” You murmur. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Worry doesn’t vanish magically just because someone says so.”

“Well, it should—because I’m fine.”

“You sure? I heard that you’re struggling to buy insulin among other things you’re having a hard time paying.”

“Fuck. Seowon told you that too? That’s private.”

“My parents know. He just filled me in because he wants you to have as much support as you can get.”

“I don’t need that. I’m an adult. I’ve lived by myself for years. I can fend for myself just fine.”

“It doesn’t look like it from what I’ve been hearing.”

“All you’re hearing is a warped and exaggerated version of the story told by Seowon who won’t listen to a word I say.” You huff. “I’m fine and I’ve been doing everything I can, alright? I’m taking care of myself. I’m going to the doctor whenever I need to. I’m making ends meet, buying treatment for this goddamn disease and regulating my sugar levels all the fucking time. Why do you think I’ve been working two jobs for the past year? It’s because I’m doing everything I can to stay alive.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, he only remains gazing at you.

“If you’re here to offer me money or whatever because of what he said,” you add, already embarrassed that you can’t even look at him anymore, “then I don’t want it.”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” he says.

“Then are you really just here to treat me to dinner?” you question sarcastically.

He laughs and you dare return your eyes at him, catching him peering at you with a fond expression. “Yes. It’s my way of doing a welfare check.”

“Welfare check.” You echo with squinted eyes. “Well, in that case, here I am—alive and healthy.”

“I can see that, and I’m glad.” He smiles. “But I need more than just seeing you. I need a conversation and an apology.”

“An apology?”

“For being the last person to know about your condition.”

“And we’re still talking about that apparently.” You mutter under your breath. “Sorry. I didn’t think that you wanted to know.”

“Of course, I would have wanted to know. It’s you we’re talking about here.”

Something about how he said you causes your lips to twitch as you fight off a smile. This isn’t a good time to dive into your romantic feelings for your childhood crush, but when he’s letting go of lines like that which are sure to have your heart soaring out of your chest, it’s hard to keep on a cool and unfazed facade. You just convince yourself that he sees you as a little sister and that’s why he’s so worried; you should already be past your ‘delulu’ phase at this age to be affected by such statements.

“I didn’t want to add to your worries,” you reason. “You already have your life to think about. Add to the fact that you’re a naval aviator—so you literally have your own life first to think about.”

“I can make space for you.”

Is he flirting? Is this a normal thing to say between friends?

You blink. “Okay, uh, that’s… that’s completely up to you, I guess.��

“I just like knowing those things first hand. It makes me worry less.”

“Got it. Next time I learn I’m dying, I’ll tell you.”

“____,” he says your name in warning, and you know he’s serious.

“Sorry.” You heat up. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

“I promise that’ll be the last time I make a dark joke, Lieutenant.”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare. You prevent yourself from grinning like a fool again in success of getting on his nerves.

“Are you done here? Because I’m hungry and would really like to get going now.” He changes the subject and gestures to the faculty.

“Yeah. I’ll just get my things and then I can get out of here.”

“Great. You’re letting me take you to dinner, right?” 

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Fine.” You deadpan.

This time, he’s the one who’s beaming at you. “I’ll wait for you here and we can go.”

“Okay.”

****

When Jungkook discovered that you had type 1 diabetes through a phone call with Seowon, he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, ignoring the snores of his squadmates and overthinking what’s supposed to happen to you now that you had an autoimmune disease which he was told didn’t have a cure. He was assured that you were okay despite it, that there was medication to treat it, and that you had access to them and have been very careful with your lifestyle due to the diagnosis ever since.

He still couldn’t be put to ease though. As ridiculous as it may sound, he had this overwhelming realization that life truly was short, that you had to make certain decisions all the time because you need to adjust to what the universe is only willing to give you. It was funny coming from a person who risked his life for a living. He thinks that perhaps he never understood the philosophy of the quote ‘time is gold’ until he had a loved one on the same trajectory, always one step closer to possible death.

And so that same night, he decided to file a leave for two weeks, effective immediately after his deployment. 

He wasn’t sure what his game plan was exactly in filing that two-week leave. Was he supposed to barge in your life and force you to let him take care of you? Was he supposed to demand why you ended up having diabetes? Was he supposed to act as a big brother like your actual big brother because he was that worried about you? But if Jungkook was going to be truthful, he already had an idea on what he wanted to do in the back of his head—he just didn’t want to execute it because it was absolutely insane.

Until he heard Seowon suggest it himself when they met up at a bar to share a drink together.

“She would never say yes,” Jungkook said, beyond doubt that you won’t be persuaded that easily with a plan like that.

Seowon made a face. “I know. That girl is so hyper independent—she’d rather die than accept help.” He scoffed. “She needs it though. It’ll help with her medication and she won’t have to pay rent for that shit apartment she’s living in. Plus, she'll actually get the chance to take care of her body if she’s not juggling two jobs to have sufficient income.”

“You’re right.” Jungkook shrugged.

“You’ll do it then?”

He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah. I’d do anything for ____, you know that.”

“Even as crazy as marrying her?”

“Sure.”

Seowon stared at him, narrowing his eyes and morphing his expression into a teasing one. “Are you sure you’re not just considering this because it’s a perfect excuse to marry my sister? I know you like her.”

“I don’t like her.” 

“You’re in love with her.”

“I don’t—” Jungkook began to deny but Seowon was staring him down. “Fuck you, man. Don’t make me some kind of pervert who’s trying to lock her into marriage because he likes her. You’re the one who brought the idea up.”

Seowon laughed out loud. “I know, I just can’t believe you’d agree. It’ll benefit ____, that’s for sure—you, on the other hand? It’s career suicide.”

He shrugged. “I’m okay with the thought that she’ll be okay.”

“Because you love her, man.” Seowon pushed. “Why on earth would you consider this if you weren’t? It’s a fraudulent marriage. You’ll be thrown in the brig and be dishonorably discharged if you get caught.”

“We don’t even know if she’ll agree to this whole thing. You said it yourself, she would never say yes.”

“Yeah, unless maybe you’re the one who tries to persuade her.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to buy her a ring and kneel down before her or something?”

“That can work.”

“What?” Jungkook laughed.

Seowon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how she’s been crushing on you since we were kids.”

He barked out a laugh again. That he knew; it was impossible not to when a lot of friends and cousins kept on teasing you before, especially at instances Jungkook was in the very same vicinity. “We’re not kids anymore and I barely see her though.”

“Still, it ought to count to something. It raises the chances of her agreeing.”

“You’re really cool with me marrying your sister, Won?” Jungkook asked.

Seowon placed down the beer bottle he’s consuming on the counter. “Yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not perfect, but I know you enough to know that you won’t do anything that will purposely hurt her. Besides, if this sham marriage ends up to be a real relationship and then for some reason, you fuck up and decide to break her heart—I’ll easily know what to do, where to find you, and then I’ll do everything I can to fuck you up.”

Jungkook pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle.

“Noted.”

****

It’s always been a big wonder to you how no matter how long it’s been since you saw each other, it still feels like no time has passed between you and Jungkook. You think that’s why you can never get over him; he always had this comforting and familiar aura that you appreciate—something that you sought for in every other person that you liked. Maybe it was impractical, maybe it was the reason you can never hold a relationship for more than two years, but unless you gain the courage to confront your feelings and tell Jungkook about it, then you constantly dispel any doubts you might have whether this was good for you or not.

You don’t want to lose him. Admitting that you harbored romantic feelings for him would just make it awkward for everyone: your brother, your family, and then his family. You don’t think you can ever trade his smile, the sound of his laughter, and all the good things about him for anything in the world. 

“Are you dating anyone?” he asks.

You choke on your drink, having just poured yourself and Jungkook a glass of water after the server arrived with the pitcher. You’re in a Japanese restaurant near the university, aware that the cuisine was a favorite for the both of you hence why it’s what you recommended when he asked where you wanted to dine. The place is packed with people from the workforce and students; you’re thankful that you don’t see any of your students within the mix.

“We’re getting straight to it, huh?” you say.

Jungkook smirks. “I’m just making sure I’m not upsetting a boyfriend by meeting you tonight.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not upsetting anyone.”

He nods in understanding. You don’t want to add more meaning to his actions for the evening but he seems glad about the information.

“How about you?” you ask back. “Are you dating anyone?”

The ends of his mouth lift a bit upwards. “Nope.”

“Why? You don’t have the time for it?”

“Precisely.”

“It must be really hard dating when you’re in the Navy then.”

“Kinda. We’re away a lot and stationed in different places most of the time. It can get really dangerous for us too and people don’t like the stress that comes with that.”

 You bob. “Does it get lonely?”

“Sometimes, but when you’re on duty, you don’t get to think about those things.” He chuckles. “Besides, I don’t know if this sounds fucked up or not—but it can get exciting. Flying a plane can be fun, you know. Not to mention that it helps when you’re surrounded by good men in your squadron.”

“You’ve always been an adrenaline junkie.”

“And you’ve always been a scaredy-cat.”

You scoff at the declaration. “No, I’m not.”

“Remember when Seowon and I forced you to ride that ship in the amusement park that sways left to right and as it goes on it falls from a higher standpoint?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But you do, and Jungkook knows you do, it’s evident by how your expression is trying to feign innocence. That memory is your villain origin story; the whole pretext of why you refuse to ever visit the amusement park or ride an exhilarating ride again. Yet you can’t help but recall that it’s one of the rare instances wherein you got to hold Jungkook’s hand when you two were younger, as his hand was the one you were clinging for dear life when it happened while the other was too busy slapping Seowon in irritation.

He snickers, appearing like he’s replaying the scene in his head. “We should do that again with Seowon during my break.”

“Hell no.”

“I thought you weren’t a scaredy-cat?” He challenges.

“I’m not.” You give him a kittenish glare. “But I am busy. I have to send the final manuscript of this book I’m editing to the chief editor next week and it’s about to be finals week for my students as well.”

He fakes a shiver. “I don’t know how you can do two jobs like that, ____. Truly.”

“You work as a naval aviator so I’d say we’re pretty even.”

The waiter arrives with your orders not long after, and you and Jungkook carry on with your conversation, jumping from topic to topic without difficulty. You’re not certain when was the last time you saw each other like this to have so much to talk about—was it last Christmas? Or was it more recent or longer than that? Nevertheless, it feels good and you find yourself blushing multiple times throughout the night, whether it’s because of how his words can have two meanings or how his eyes are staring at you so intensely whenever you’re the one who’s talking.

You like the undivided attention, the back and forth that’s occurring as you discourse, the subtle touches one of you does when something funny arises, how your knees are touching underneath the table. You wonder what’s so different with this encounter that the energy feels so bizarre in a good way? As far as you’re concerned, you’re positive that you’re acting like you always have in his presence—lively, smiley, sarcastic—and aside from the little touches of flirting here and there, Jungkook’s acting like he always has too.

When dinner was done, Jungkook offered to drive you home. You obliged, no longer in the mood to annoy him for you were tired to make the effort. Before stepping outside the restaurant however, you excused yourself to the restroom first, checking your blood sugar with the glucose meter you brought along wherever you went. It’s a hassle but it’s necessary, largely because you’re still in the middle of saving up for the insulin pump that would help you regulate your sugar levels easier.

After administering yourself with the insulin injection you have, you spend a few more seconds inside the enclosed room. You should be past the point of feeling sorry for yourself, but it’s times like this wherein you’re with a loved one that the dejection hits and you wish that you’re in a better predicament than you are right now. You’re close to being broke, you’re overworked, you’re somehow fatigued all the fucking time—those factors aren’t soothing your worries at all. It’s a miracle how you manage to keep an optimistic mind amidst everything.

“Ready to go?” Jungkook smiles at you once you’re back at the table and you nod, clutching your bag tighter against your body and following him to his car.

He drives you to your place, turning the radio on, and letting it play while the both of you sit in silence. You’re both tired and you almost even sleep during the ride. It’s only when Jungkook gently shakes you awake that you realize that you’ve arrived in front of your apartment building.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists as you’re unbuckling the seatbelt. 

“That’s no need, Kook.”

“Of course, it is,” he says. “I’ll walk you up. That’s nonnegotiable.”

So, you allow him.

It takes five minutes tops to reach the door leading to your apartment. As you rummage through your bag to grab your keys, Jungkook patiently stands there, occasionally glancing around the hallway and even smiling when the old lady that resided in the same floor got out of her room to throw out the trash. He receives a smile in return which you notice and grin fondly at.

“Well, this is me.” You turn to him, done unlocking your door. “I’d invite you inside but you should probably get going. It’s quite a long drive back home.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out a chuckle. “Hey, tonight was fun. It made me realize how I missed you.”

Your brain temporarily malfunctions; you force yourself to recover quickly. “Me too. I had fun tonight. Maybe we should do this again whenever you’re on a break.”

“Agreed.”

You flash him a smile. “You can go now. Goodnight.”

Jungkook nods, however doesn’t move a muscle. He’s looking at you, like really looking at you, his eyes moving from one feature to another, as if he’s memorizing your face or having a hard time arranging the words he wants to say. You guess it’s the latter, familiar with a tongue-tied Jungkook that it takes you a few good seconds before you’re demanding why he’s impersonating a mannequin.

“There’s something I want to say,” that’s what he utters and you almost snort due to your assumption being right.

“Okay…” The smile is still on your lips. “What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t get mad first.”

“Well, if you’re making me promise that then it’s probably worth being mad about.”

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

“That’s not convincing at all.”

“It’s just…” He begins and trails, biting his lower lip, “it’s… it’s why I went here. Why I went here to see and meet you, I mean.”

You unconsciously recoil at the revelation. It’s certainly a rookie mistake to believe that there was no ulterior motive in Jungkook meeting you today. You just didn’t reckon you’d actually be truly disappointed at that—at the idea that he just didn’t randomly decide to visit and be with you earlier until now.

You draw a long breath. “Well, I knew you weren’t just feeling generous and wanted to treat me to dinner out of nowhere.”

There’s a pause and then he resumes. “Just—before I say it, you have to hear me out, okay? You have to let me explain before you berate me.”

“I can’t promise that either.”

“You have to.”

“Why do I have to?”

“Because what I’m about to say is for your own sake. You know I always have your best interest at heart, don’t you?”

You wrinkle your forehead in further confusion. “Can you just get on with it? The vagueness is making me more annoyed.”

“I just don’t want you to misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand what?”

“What I—and Seowon—genuinely think is the best option.”

“Oh, and Seowon is in on this too?” You bellow. “Have you and Seowon just been conspiring behind my back the whole time?”

“Calm down.” Jungkook puts his hands on your shoulders, a chuckle inevitably escaping him. “I’m sorry for dragging it out. You should know I’m high key afraid of you, that’s why.”

“You should be.” You grumble.

Another chuckle, but he’s back to appearing anxious. You want to shout that this isn’t healthy, that you’re close to giving him a real reason to be afraid of you—yet once he blurts the confession out, you’re speechless, gawking at him and staggering backwards in complete shock. Perhaps you would have bolted as far away from him as possible if not for his solid grasp.

“What?” You hiss.

He swallows hard.

“I want you to marry me, ____.”

You don’t bolt away running. You shake off his hold on you though, and before he gets another word in, you’re hastily rushing inside your apartment and slamming the door to his face.

****

Jungkook was your first kiss.

It happened in a game of truth and dare. You were at a party of a mutual friend and when the bottle miserably pointed in Jungkook’s direction, the person who was tasked to think of his dare when it was his pick said that he dared him to do 7 minutes in heaven with you. 

He profusely refused at first, especially since Seowon was in the same party, but everybody began booing and next thing you know, Jungkook was agreeing as long as it was fine with you. When you nodded to make your consent apparent, your friends were quick to shove you both in the closet, some of them pulling Seowon back who was complaining how it wasn’t right to bully you into doing 7 minutes in heaven with Jungkook. They calmed him down once they bullied him into agreeing too.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jungkook told you in the darkness, his breath fawning over your face. “You don’t have to feel pressured. It’s just a stupid game.”

You blushed.

Secretly, you were hoping that he’d kiss you or touch you. Who didn’t want to do anything with their crush at the age of 15? A lot can happen in 7 minutes. You were aware that sometimes people made out, went as far as third base, and although you didn’t want to go that far with Jungkook, you wanted something to happen while you were stuck in this small closet with him. There weren’t a lot of instances that put both of you in this kind of situation; you wished that you were brave enough to ask him to kiss you or do the first move yourself.

5 minutes in, Jungkook turned towards you.

“Is it true that Taehyung kissed you last week?”

You whipped your head so fast that you might have given yourself whiplash. “That’s—that’s not true. Where did you hear that?”

“During homeroom. Some girls were talking about it.”

Your cheeks burned. “Oh.”

“So, it’s not true?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” You laughed weakly.

It was his turn to seem stunned. “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?”

You shook your head again, then realized he might not see you doing so. “Not yet.”

“Want me to change that?” he asked, grinning.

He said that with a boyish grin and teasing tone, but you sucked at social cues (plus, you really couldn’t see shit that much) that you started nodding.

“Okay,” you told him.

“Huh?”

“You can kiss me.”

“Oh, oh, shit—I didn’t—” He was blabbering, about to take back what he offered. “I mean, I was just joking but—”

You widen your eyes. “You were? Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

“No, it was my fault. That was a little out of line for me. I’m sorry.” He was laughing and you felt like burying yourself 6 feet under. “It was a stupid thing to say. But if you want me to kiss you, it’s cool.”

“It is?” Hope sparked within you.

“Yeah. It’ll just be a peck anyway.” You can tell he was smiling through his voice. “Just don’t tell Seowon because he might punch me in the face for kissing his sister.”

You cackled. “Deal.”

56 seconds before the 7 minutes were up, Jungkook leaned down to match your level and placed his lips on yours. 

****

You’re seething with rage, the embodiment of Godzilla, channeling the God of War, Ares, in your body; you harshly press Seowon’s number on your phone to call him and he answers after three rings.

“What’s up?”

“I will fucking murder you,” you snarl.

A beat. You hear shuffling. Then he answers, “you already talked with Jungkook?”

The nonchalance and calmness in his voice drives you to be more frustrated than you already are. “Yes, I have! What is wrong with you? Why would you plant that idea on his head?” You yell, not caring that your walls are thin and that your voice can probably be heard by the couple that lived next door. You’re feeling a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and every negative emotion that exists at the moment. You’re comparable to a bull who just saw the color red.

“____, it won’t be a big deal if you don’t make it to be.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Did you even let Jungkook explain?”

“I don’t need him to spell everything out. I know why he’s asking me to marry him.”

“Then you know too that it’d be good for you.”

“Marrying him won’t be good for me.”

“Why not?”

“It just won’t!”

“You’ll get health insurance benefits that you don’t get with your current jobs. You can pay less rent once you move in at Jungkook’s place—there’s a huge chance he won’t even let you pay him while you stay there too. He’s away most of the time anyway, so staying there wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, you can start studying for a masters degree like you’ve always wanted.”

You groan. “Not like this. This is crazy.”

“The both of you can divorce once you’ve saved up a little. It really isn’t that complicated.”

“It’s a sham marriage!”

“It’s a sham marriage with Jungkook.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Are you sure? Your grade school diary might disagree.”

“Oh my God, that’s fucking low of you to bring that up. You just gave me another reason to hate you.” You stomp around the living room, acting like a teenager because of your brother’s behavior. This isn’t the first time he revealed that he’s read your diary before; that doesn’t mean it’s less infuriating to be reminded that he has. “I swear, you better fucking sleeping with one eye open tonight. I’m choking you to death.”

Seowon laughs out loud. “Just marry him. He’s surprisingly amicable with the idea.”

“That’s because you’re pressuring him! I bet you and Mom devised this entire thing together.”

“Mom doesn’t know. To be fair, she’d probably have the same reaction as you. It’s all me and Jungkook.”

“Wow. You have two brains and yet none of you thought this was goddamn stupid?”

“It’s not stupid. It’s genius if you come to think of it,” he says. “Jungkook just wants to help you, dude. He wants to make sure you’ll be okay and all that shit. You’re the reason he filed for a two-week leave, did he tell you?”

Your heart does that jumping thing again. “No.”

“Well, he did. He’s on a break for two weeks because he wants to convince you to marry him and actually marry you within that time frame.”

“This is nuts.” You sigh, finally flopping down the sofa and rubbing your face with your free hand. “The both of you are nuts. How are you okay with this?”

“It’s Jungkook. I trust him. Don’t you?”

“Of course, I do, I just—” you cut yourself off and frown, “I just feel like it’s unfair for him. I’m marrying him because of military spouse benefits and what does he get?”

There’s a long pause, and you almost check your phone to see whether Seowon has already hung up on you or not.

“It’s better that Jungkook answers that question,” he tells you finally.

“Why? You can’t answer it on behalf of him?”

“Something like that.” You can imagine him shrugging. “All I know is that he’s genuinely concerned about your health and your financial status right now. So, just think about it, okay?”

“God, fuck it, fine. I’ll think about it.” You grimace.

You hang up and glance at the door.

You don’t think the conversation you just had with Seowon took that much time. The initial rush you had upon having your longtime crush propose to you is wearing off and you’re realizing that it was a dick move to literally slam the door right in Jungkook’s face earlier, leading you to stand up from your seat and look through the peephole to check if he’s still there.

He isn’t, which you sigh in relief at.

As you lean against the door and regulate your breathing, you think how funny it is that Seowon is right about one thing—and that was grade school you would have been delighted at the thought of getting married to Jungkook. He’s your dream guy; your parents loved him, his parents loved you, the both of you got along very well, and his personality and looks are everything that you’re looking for in a partner. It sucks that you live in a world where the only reason he wants to marry you is because he’s afraid you’ll die because of self-neglect. 

Your phone pings and you unlock the screen to look at the message that flashes on it.

Jungkook: hey, seowon just messaged me to say that you two already talked Jungkook: i’m sorry for jumping on you with a topic like that… Jungkook: i’m shit at confrontation lol Jungkook: also it’s the first time i’m proposing so give me some slack

You scoff at his audacity to joke about it this soon.

You: it’s okay You: i’m sorry too for what i did You: the answer is no btw

Jungkook: already??? Jungkook: let’s talk about it first

You: no need You: i don’t want to marry you

Jungkook: oof that’s harsh

You: sorry not sorry?

He doesn’t respond and you think you’re safe. Maybe Jungkook does take no for an answer and you’re confused because you’re a little disappointed that he’s not falling on his knees, begging you to marry him like what your imagination is supplying you.

However, after you took a shower and went to check your phone again, you see that Jungkook messaged you a few minutes ago in response to your last message.

Jungkook: give me 10 days and i’ll change your mind

You have the urge to go take a shower again because of how hot your body is feeling at the statement.

You: hate to break it to you but you’re not matthew mcconaughey

Jungkook: 🤣🤣🤣

****

It’s not part of Jungkook’s branding to chase a woman. Typically, women chase him; they chase him in every city and country that he gets stationed in, flirting with him and hoping that they’ll get the chance to take him home for the night for a mindblowing one-night stand. They never succeed though, for despite their pretty faces and sultry gestures, Jungkook only smiles and declines every offer, saying that he had a girl waiting back home that he loved very much.

He used to think that he only used that as an excuse because he’s not the type to hook up with every attractive girl he meets. There are times when he succumbs, when he gives into the temptation of a little fun, especially after a life threatening or highly stressful mission—but most of the time, he thinks he declines and use that pronouncement of his because his mind reverts him to the idea of you, to what would happen if he just gained the balls to ask you out.

Evidently, although asking you out and asking you to marry him are two completely different things, he’s a bit afraid that your answer will always be a hard no. It’s what you’ve been literally spelling out to him since the day he presented the idea, regardless of how he’s trying his best in swooning you or explaining how this is the perfect plan to help you gain an upper hand with your diagnosis.

“I’ll file a restraining order against you, I’m serious,” you say to him when he appears yet again outside the faculty room, waiting for you to gather your things and head home. You’re wearing a white button up shirt and pinstripe wide leg trousers, an outfit combination that he ogles at before he goes down to business.

“You wouldn’t.” He glares at you. He gestures for you to let him take your backpack, and despite what you said, you let him. “Also, what the fuck is in this thing? You’ll break your back if you keep using this.” He swings your backpack on one shoulder.

You laugh. “My laptop, its charger, a couple of notebooks, books, pens, then the outputs of my students.”

“Aren’t they supposed to submit virtually? What happened to Google Classroom?”

“I still use it, but sometimes I like to have their work printed out so I can write the comments better. How do you know Google Classroom?”

“I have a squadronmate whose kid uses it for class.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding.

You two continue walking forward.

This has been your program for the past few days. Jungkook goes to the university you work at, he’ll wait outside, you’ll threaten him with something ridiculous, he’ll take your bag, he’ll offer to take you to dinner, you’ll decline, and then he’ll drive you home anyways. Before that routine ends, he’ll lean on your door frame and give you his best puppy eyes, asking you to marry him for the sake of your welfare, and you’ll scowl at him, insisting that you don’t need his help to survive.

“Dinner?” he asks, right on schedule.

You glance at him. “No. I want to go home and sleep for 12 hours.”

“Busy day?”

“Yep.”

“You know, if you marry me, you won’t have to work two jobs and overexert yourself.”

He doesn’t need to turn to you to know that you’re giving him a dirty look. “I won’t marry you, Jungkook.”

“Why not?”

“Because marriage doesn’t work that way.”

“It does. Billionaires do it all the time. The mafia does it too. It’s always been some kind of transaction.”

“Well, if I marry you, what do you get?”

“The assurance you’re taken care of.”

“That’s cheesy.”

You share a laugh and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says. “I’ll be fine as long as you are.”

He waits for you to quip back a reply, flickering his eyes to you when it takes longer than usual. Instead of the sneer he’s expecting, you appear to be flustered, an expression that is very recognizable for him who’s known you since forever—an expression that makes it too obvious for Jungkook that the crush you had on him that he thought has been long gone was still there. He’s been seeing it a lot lately, particularly when he’s uttering lines that sound flirtatious on purpose; he’s positive that you’ll threaten to kill him when you discover that he basks on the fact that he can still make you all flustered and cute, which encourages him to do and say anything that would elicit a reaction from you. Was it unethical to seduce you into marrying him? He might have to rethink that part too.

Reaching the parking lot, he unlocks the doors to his vehicle and places your bag inside the backseat. He watches you walk around the car, about to go to the passenger’s side, but then you wobble a bit and his attempt to get inside is instantly forgotten.

“Hey,” he strides to where you are, gazing at you as you now hold onto the hood, “you alright?”

You raise your chin up. “Kook, can you get my bag?”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s swinging the door again and getting your bag from the other end of the backseat while you get on the passenger’s seat, keeping the door wide and placing your legs outside, your feet planted on the concrete.

“What do you need?” he asks, crouching in front of you and zipping the bag open.

“Glucometer.”

He halts. “What does that look like?”

“It’s in the yellow bag. There.” You point at it right when he rummages through a certain part.

He brings it out and you take it from his grasp. Your movements are sluggish but he can discern that you’re doing your best not to be too slow; he’d present to help but he knows that he might prolong what you’re doing due to his cluelessness, so he just observes, noting how you’re pricking your finger with a device and then pressing it lightly to the glucometer which shows that your blood sugar is low.

“Apple juice,” you mutter to him and he finds it faster than the last one.

You grab the juice pouch from his grasp, prying the straw attached on the back, pushing its end for it to pop out of its plastic cover—then your hand shakes, preventing you from continuing and punching in the straw properly.

“Let me do it,” he says.

You don’t fight him, you just slump against the seat as Jungkook picks up from where you left, and the moment he does the job and guides the straw to your awaiting lips, a long exhale through your nose escapes you.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers. He didn’t notice that he was holding his breath the entire duration of the scene.

Another sigh. “Better.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

You seem to hesitate. “Not a lot. Just when life gets a bit too hectic.”

“____—”

“Just take me home.” You don’t give him the chance to lecture you. “Please, Jungkook.”

Defeated, he nods. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

He helps you position yourself properly on the passenger’s seat. “But we’re talking about this at your place.”

Before you can protest, he closes the door.

****

Lee Hyunwoo was the name of the guy that you brought home for Christmas Eve eight years ago. It was the first time that you did, and Jungkook hated how Hyunwoo was considerably handsome, intelligent, and kind—the exact kind of person he always imagined you deserved.

In the short time Hyunwoo spent with theirs and your family that night, everybody loved him and was already inviting him to the next gathering, all the while Jungkook avoided him at every cost, puzzled by this strong dislike he was feeling for your guest. He was annoyed at the manner in which Hyunwoo had an arm around your waist the entire evening, how you grinned up to him, eyes sparkling and all that shit. Hell, you used to look at him like that.

“Honey, can you get the mango float we have in our freezer?” Jungkook heard your mother tell you, and without thinking, he stood up from his chair and made a beeline to where you were, telling you he’d accompany you to your house.

“That’s fine,” you told him. “It’s literally next door.”

“Yeah, but it might be heavy.”

“It’s not.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and agreed then, excusing yourself from Hyunwoo who was in an engaged conversation with Seowon. The pair were geeking out because of their mutual love for the MCU and the next film slated to be released the following year.

Upon arriving at your home, you dashed to the kitchen with Jungkook trudging behind you. He wasn’t sure what his next course of action should be now; all he wanted was some alone time with you, away from the presence of that college boyfriend of yours, but now that he had that, he couldn’t think of anything that he wanted to say or do. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling a bit jealous—was it because of that saying? Wherein people are bound to want what they can’t have? Or was it that you only appreciate what you had when you’ve already lost it?

“How long have you and Hyunwoo been dating?” he asked, leaning against the counter as you pulled your freezer open.

“Four months, I think.”

“Four months? And you already brought him home?”

You snorted at his tone. “His family is in another country so I thought it’d be nice to invite him.”

“You must really like him then.”

“Yeah, but I’m not in love with him or anything.” You placed the mango float on the space beside Jungkook on the counter. “He’s nice, and he likes me too.”

“Does he treat you well?”

You flashed your eyes at him, amusement dancing in them. “What’s with that question?”

“What’s with it?”

“Nothing, it’s just that…” you trailed, a smirk etched on your face. “Wait a minute, are you… you can’t possibly—” Jungkook was widening his eyes, ready to deny your accusation once you questioned whether he was jealous of Hyunwoo or not— “are you pulling an overprotective brother skit on me, Kook?”

Fuck, thank God, he thought.

“I prefer ‘overprotective friend skit’,” he said.

“That doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”

“But I’m not your brother.”

“You don’t have to be, I’m just saying that you and Seowon have been acting similar since Hyunwoo and I arrived.”

“Nonsense. Seowon likes him.”

“Oh, so you don’t?”

He pressed his lips into a tight line.

“Did you just admit that you don’t like Hyunwoo?” you asked, chuckling. He was grateful that you didn’t seem to be offended by it.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him.”

“Instead you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You kinda did.”

He heard you laugh and he couldn’t help but allow himself to laugh as well.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Maybe I’m just not used to you dating anyone. You are chronically single.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong.” You snorted and picked up from the mango float, marching back to his house and gesturing for him to follow you.

He did, no words spoken between the both of you once more. Though when you were entering their place again, with Jungkook holding the door open for you, he mentioned something he never reckoned he’d have the guts to mention out loud.

“When you open my gift,” he began, “don’t do it in front of Hyunwoo, okay?”

“Why not?” You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, intrigued by his warning.

“He might not like it. You’ll see.”

That night, at the comfort of your bedroom, Hyunwoo nowhere near but instead sleeping at the coach downstairs in your living room, you opened Jungkook’s gift and saw that it was a necklace with your birth flower as its pendant.

You smiled, rolling your eyes to yourself, and slept with that giddy look never leaving your face.

****

“Not so fast,” Jungkook grunts.

Did he think that you were going to be less difficult since he was helpful earlier? Yeah, he did. He likes to think that if it wasn’t for him, you would have taken longer in feeding yourself with apple juice, so he at least wanted a thank you in the form of your willingness to have an adult conversation with him tonight. However, that clearly isn’t the case because when he walked you up to your apartment like he always did, you’re attempting to lock him out, shutting the door as fast as you can once you’re inside, thus trying to prevent him from initiating that talk he wanted the two of you to have.

“Seriously?” He successfully pries the door open and you scowl at him.

“Jungkook—”

“No, you don’t get to reason your way out of this. I’m done hearing you out. It’s your turn to listen to me.” He steps inside your apartment.

You groan, striding to the sofa and throwing your bag there. “You can’t force me to marry you.”

“Is marrying me so fucking bad that you can’t get over it for health insurance benefits that can really help you?” He demands, infuriated. 

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

“You can get arrested!” you exclaim. “And so can I! Does that not freak you out?”

“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“I’m not willing to see you die.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Who the fuck said anything about dying? I’m not dying.”

“You almost passed out on me. You almost—”

“It’s an error on my part, I admit.” You sigh. “When I get busy and preoccupied, sometimes I forget to check my sugar levels regularly throughout the day. I’m sorry.”

“And you expect to be convinced that you have everything handled?”

“God, I’m not a child. Stop treating me like I can’t do shit for myself.”

“Please, ___,” he approaches you with the most pleading expression he can muster, and he watches as your hard expression crumbles, “just accept my help. It’s really not a big deal—you won’t even see me often, so keeping up with the whole marriage ploy wouldn’t be difficult. We’ll divorce in two years, we can pretend we never got married after that.”

“You just don’t get it, don’t you?”

“What do I not get? If you think I don’t understand something, then explain it to me—”

“I can’t marry you,” you say. You do so like it’s final, like there’s no point in arguing with you because he can never change your stand on this. As he’s pleading with his eyes to urge you to agree, you’re communicating with your eyes in a similar way that’s wishing he would just drop this. “It’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow. “This isn’t the time to go on your high horse and decide what’s wrong and what’s not. It’s a fraudulent marriage—of course, it’ll be wrong to some degree.”

“No, I mean…” You turn away from him, rubbing your face in exhaustion. “It’d be wrong of me to marry you. I’m taking advantage of you if I do, and I don’t like that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, frustration worsening at the childlike excuse. Surely, you weren’t that naive, were you? “You’re not. I’m not doing this against my own will. Besides, we get extra pay just for being married. If it makes you feel better, I won’t split it with you.”

“That won’t make me feel better.”

“Then what will?”

You flop down on the coach and lean back, closing your eyes. He knows he’s being a pain in the ass but he can’t just stand here and do nothing. He thinks he’s already come too far in convincing you, he isn’t going to back out now. Every single day spent together, he can feel you warming up to the idea of marrying him for health insurance. Your connection and entirety of your relationship has been off the charts recently that it’ll be harder for him not to be assured that before he leaves for his job, you’ll be taken care off.

Jungkook goes to the spot beside you, sitting down. Your knees bump together, he keeps on gazing at you, waiting for you to focus on him; a minute passes and his gaze moves to your hand that’s laying on the small space between you.

Without overthinking, he stretches out and clasps it, allowing his fingers to play with yours that finally captures your attention. The moment he glances up, he sees that you’re staring at him and he doesn’t let go, he even smiles, a quiet promise that he’s always willing to listen to whatever you want to tell him.

You hesitantly smile back. “You know,” your eyes train back to your intertwined fingers, Jungkook reveling in the warmth of your skin, gaining more confidence in acting out his feelings, “there was a time wherein I would have said yes immediately if you asked me to marry you.”

He smirks, can’t deny how hearing that inflates his ego a bit although this route in the conversation isn’t where he expected to go. “What changed?”

“For one, I grew up.”

“Ouch.”

You laugh. Then you stay quiet for a while before speaking. “Can I confess something?”

That piques his interest. “Anything.”

“But you have to promise not to make fun of me.”

“That’s impossible.” He teases. “What is it?”

You stall, readjusting your position so that you can directly face him. Jungkook doesn’t let go of your hand, he keeps it in his grasp, his thumb rubbing along the expanse of your knuckles.

“I like you, Jungkook. I really really do,” you finally say and he blinks, startled.

It shouldn’t surprise him, considering that it’s been long established that he knew of your crush already, though he doesn’t seem to have anticipated for you to boldly admit it when all these years, it’s only been some kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you downright acknowledged.

You continue speaking. “In fact, I like you so much that maybe it developed into love at some point—I’m not sure. I’m at this stage of no longer being afraid of what I feel, I think? Most of the time, I just let it occur like it’s something so natural. Like it’s a feeling that I can never get away from? Like whatever I do, there’s no way to shake you.” You chuckle half-heartedly. “Though never in a million years would I have thought that I’d confess all of this. What for anyway? I don’t want you to be burdened with what my teenage heart couldn’t rub out.”

His mind is racing; hundred thoughts, hundred scenarios, hundred experiences he’s spent with you since the day you met. Jungkook never realized how much he needed you to say that you liked him—that maybe you even loved him—until he heard it from your very mouth that you did, causing every inhibition and doubt he had to vanish. Now, he only wants to engulf you in an embrace and shout Yes, I feel the same way! Sorry for being a fucking corward and not doing this first!

He would have done all of that in a flash if it didn’t appear that you still had something to say. Based on your rather constipated posture and the hand he’s holding that’s becoming clammy, he discerns that you’re just in the first part of what you wanted to admit.

“Actually, that’s also why I can’t let myself marry you,” you say. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know… it feels really icky somehow. I feel like I’m holding you hostage, or that I’m tricking you because of an ulterior motive, or that I’m defying the laws of the universe by having the chance to marry you. I’m not sure. I just know that I don’t want to marry you if it means I’ll only get to do so because you think you’re doing me a huge favor. I don’t want to be your charity case, Kook—I deserve to be more than that, you know? I’m not traditional or whatever but if it’s not for love, I’m not keen on getting married.” You abruptly pull away from his clutch, embarrassment washing on your features by what you stated. “Plus, two years might not be that long but what happens when you meet someone and you like her? How can you explain that you’re only married to me because I need it for my medication? It’ll just be unnecessarily messy. I don’t want to hold you back from those kinds of things. I don’t want to be a hindrance.”

That’s his cue. That’s when he knows he’s supposed to kiss you and take your breath away, to admit that he’s certain that he has loved you since that one time when he was in the Naval Academy and although the training was hard as fuck, the thought of you gave him strength and he didn’t want to see anyone as much as he wanted to see you after—that when you and Seowon visited him, that familiar urge to have you alone was all he felt the entire time, solidifying the idea that perhaps he didn’t just see you as a friend.

“You’re unbelievably dense, ___,” he murmurs, smirking at the play of events, and you glance at him, expression showing disbelief that he’s somehow treating this matter lightly.

“What?”

“Do you honestly think I go around and offer marriage to every woman out there who can benefit from being a military spouse? Do you think I’m that generous? I’m not. I wouldn’t ask anyone to marry me for the same reason if they weren’t important to me—or if I didn’t like them. I’m not that much of a saint,” he adds. “I mean, I’m taking a two-week break to convince you to marry me. I’m spending time with you every single day. I’m driving for almost an hour and a half, enduring the traffic to get from my apartment to the university you work in to do that—and you think this is because I want to be charitable?”

Silence. Your forehead wrinkles. He thinks you’re still not getting the point.

“I’m in love with you, ____,” Jungkook says.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re opening your mouth, then closing it, then opening it again, then pressing it into a thin line. He thinks you look cute, being taken aback like this, and he’s wishing that he’s done this sooner so that the last five days of him chasing you around like a lost puppy was spent with talking more about what’s possibly waiting for yours and his relationship next.

“Are you serious?” you ask after what seems like forever. “Or are you just saying that because you’re that desperate to have me on board with the whole fraudulent marriage thing?”

“God—” He’s inching closer to you now, laughing, watching your lips twitch at his reaction— “I’m convinced that you were born into this earth to drive me fucking crazy.”

And just like that, he no longer restrains himself from kissing you.

It takes you a few good seconds before you will yourself to move. You can’t seem to process the reality of Jungkook admitting that he was in love with you and then taking the liberty to plant his lips on yours. You’re not complaining, of course, but you are a bit overwhelmed that it literally makes you freeze, unaware of what you’re supposed to do now that your fantasies are coming into life.

However, once you feel him angle his head to the side, doing so to deepen the kiss, your reflexes kick in and you’re kissing him back, encircling your arms around his neck and leaning towards him, Jungkook sighing in what appears to be relief. He grips your hips to support you as you try to straddle him, but your movements are so clumsy that you end up sprawling against his chest instead, perched on a leg of his that provides pleasure on the spot you need him the most. He chuckles at your lack of gracefulness, gliding his lips to your cheek and down to your jaw, nipping.

“This okay?” he whispers with a palm drifting to your bottom.

You nod and Jungkook’s mouth is back on yours in an instant. He squeezes your ass, takes his time in fondling with it, cheekily slapping whenever you get brave yourself and push your tongue past his lips, before he skims his hand lower to your thigh and signals for you to mount him. Upon being properly sat on his lap, you get an immediate feel of his hard length through his jeans, prompting your imagination to run wild and induce the filthiest things he can do to you if neither of you stops.

“Holy shit,” he curses, your kisses roaming to the base of his throat where you lap and suck.

It becomes a dirty pattern for a while. The both of you will take a brief pause from making out to remove a piece of clothing or kiss every other exposed skin there is: the cheek, the jaw, the neck, the collarbones, the shoulders. Then one of you hauls the other back for another passionate kiss, hands skating everywhere on your bodies, sounds of arousal echoing inside the room; you’re starting to get lightheaded but you’re positive it’s not because of your sugar levels running low.

“I hate that it took us so long to get to this point,” he mutters.

You grin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m the man—I should have confessed long ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. ‘Was afraid to lose you, I guess.” He draws his head back and admires your blissed out expression. “But then when Seowon told me you had diabetes, I panicked and thought that I might lose you either way.”

You go back to making out, Jungkook guiding your hips in grinding on his clothed length. It’s addictive—the intimate feel of him, how he’s not shy in making sure you know how much he’s craving to be as close to you as you are to him. You think you can spend the whole night just doing this and be okay with it.

“Fuck, Kook,” you groan against his mouth, a hand descending to his stomach and to his manhood, “you’re so… so fuckin’ hard.”

You’re palming him now, tracing the erection evident under his boxers.

He lets out a grunt. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

“Do you… do you want me—” You’re breathless, not able to continue whatever it is that you want to say.

He understands you just fine though. “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do anything.”

You’re not sure what Jungkook means by that. How are you supposed to do nothing when you want to do everything to him? You soon comprehend what he means when he guides you to lay down on the sofa, when his lips skim lower and lower, passing your breasts, giving them the attention they deserve, until he goes lower than that and discards your underwear, kissing you in between your legs.

It’s like he’s releasing all the pent up emotions he’s been keeping all these years. His tongue and fingers are relentless, his voice is telling you that he’s eager to coax an orgasm out of you, and as he lifts himself up to return to his previous position, face hovering yours, you’re positive that he’ll get everything he wants because without a doubt you’ll give him everything he wants from you too. Hell, if he uses this opportunity to ask you to marry him again, you might answer yes straight away, no longer bearing in mind the worries you expressed to him earlier.

Although did that even matter anymore? Jungkook said he loved you. He said you drove him crazy. You never thought you’d come to see the day he’d utter those words but here you are. The man of your dreams is kissing you, pleasing you, and looking damn enthusiastic as he does all of that.

“Last chance to stop me,” Jungkook teases. His eyes are glassy and you can feel his cock nudging on your thigh.

You giggle, bringing his head closer to press another long kiss on those pink and plump lips of his. “Please never stop.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.”

“Please do.”

After this night, you’re certain that you’ll never allow yourself to be with another man aside from Jungkook. At the back of your head, you always thought that you were his, regardless if that wasn’t true or that there was no real relationship to prove that—however, at this moment, as he thrusts in and out languidly, you unquestionably know that you are. You belong to him now and he belongs to you; he lets you know through his love-filled gaze, his passionate kisses, and the manner wherein he moans your name.

“I love you,” he says, like he’s still in deep longing for your touch and affection.

You hum, tangling your fingers through the strands of his hair. “I love you, Kook.” You stare at his eyes. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”

A boyish grin erupts on his features.

Time passes by quickly. In a few more of his kisses, of the intoxicating slam of his hips, of his seductive whimpers, you’re coming beneath him, Jungkook pulling out and jerking his length until he too comes, his seed landing on the base of your tummy. You have the nerve to giggle at that, grinning at him with low-lidded eyes, and Jungkook hastily wipes his cum off your skin, attacking you with another passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

“There’s no way you’re not marrying me after this,” he murmurs.

You teasingly graze your teeth on his bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

He groans. “Don’t think about it. Just say yes.”

“At least let me sleep on it, Kook.”

“Fuck—fine.” He grabs your sides and pulls you flush against his body. “Guess I’ll have to keep on convincing you until you agree.”

****

“God, why is this so difficult?” Jungkook whines, keeping you in his embrace, head tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

The air is very humid and Jungkook’s in his naval aviator uniform, which doesn’t look cool in a sense that air is properly flowing through the material. He doesn’t care though, doesn’t care that it’s sticking to his skin as he refuses to let you go, not even when you complain playfully.

“Kook, I’m fucking sweaty.”

“I don’t care.”

You laugh. 

He’s leaving to return to his duty and you’re here with him outside the base before he enters, being with him until the last possible minute because that’s how much of a good wife you are.

Yes, you and Jungkook did get married. Three days ago in fact, at the city hall’s courtroom. Neither of you invited your parents; they didn’t know about the occasion and you refused to tell them, afraid that they may be critical about yours and his choices when they discover the true reason why you’re rushing to be wed. The only people that remained to be aware of it was Seowon and his girlfriend, Winnie, who served as the witnesses, which was fine by you. In your understanding, this was just for the papers and your health, and not the real deal yet to be celebrated lavishly.

“I’ll propose to you again after a couple of years,” Jungkook promised after the ceremony. “Let’s renew our vows and I’ll give you an amazing wedding.”

You would have told him that there was no need, but who were you kidding? You did want a proper wedding with Jungkook. The previous week didn’t even feel like you were newlyweds. Yes, the both of you compacted all of the dates you could have if one of you weren’t such a chicken in five days, and yes, though the honeymoon stage was experienced and practiced—it was only because you were a new couple who after years of hiding their feelings for one another, was now finally free to express it as much as they desired.

“Call me everyday?” you ask when he finally pulls back, Jungkook pecking your lips one more time.

“Definitely.” He smiles. “Visit me whenever possible?”

“Of course.” You kiss him too.

His smile transforms into a grin. “Take care of yourself, alright? Keep me updated all the time. No sugarcoating allowed.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives you another kiss and engulfs you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground that causes you to giggle.

“Okay, pack it up, love birds!” Seowon shouts.

The two of you turn to your brother who’s leaning on his car, the vehicle that was used to transport the three of you today. You’re still in the middle of moving your belongings at Jungkook’s place and Seowon was kind enough to volunteer helping, always dubious that you could do stuff on your own. Despite your reluctance, you let him assist you, mostly because you’re trying to make a conscious effort in not upsetting him again.

Let’s just say that when the judge hailed you husband and wife at the civil wedding, Seowon wasn’t thrilled to see that the kiss shared between you and Jungkook wasn’t as fake as the supposed sham marriage, leading him to the conclusion that in the middle of Jungkook’s ruse of convincing you to be his wife, something must have happened that led to your approval and that rather 18+ rated kiss. Mostly though, he’s just offended that neither of you thought of telling him that you were an official couple before the wedding.

Jungkook unwillingly places you down.

“I think I need to go,” you say.

He nods with a sigh. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” You affectionately caress his cheek, bringing his face down for the very very very last kiss. 

He leans into it. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave.”

“Seriously—hurry up!” Seowon shouts and you pull back.

“I will kill him,” you tell Jungkook.

“He’s your brother,” he says. “And now, my brother-in-law, so I can’t let you do that.”

“That might be your very first red flag, Jungkook, insinuating that you’re choosing my brother over me.” You cross your arms. “Tell me, if the both of us were drowning, would you save me or Seowon?”

“You,” he answers without missing a beat.

You narrow your eyes. “Is that the truth?”

“Of course. Seowon would probably undrown himself anyway and you’re shit at swimming. It’s an easy choice.”

You punch him hard on the shoulder and he feigns hurt, snickering. “For the record, I don’t think anyone can ‘undrown’ themselves—but fine, you pass the test.”

Jungkook faces Seowon’s direction and does a final salute, your brother returning it swiftly, and just like that, you and him share your last farewells. You watch as he goes through the entrance of the base and sends you a wave of goodbye; you weakly copy the gesture and stand there for a few seconds, just watching him fade from your view the further he trudges inside. You don’t think saying goodbye to him ever felt this heavy, and you blame it on the fact that after all this is the first time you’re saying goodbye to him with the assurance that he loves you too—and that alone weighs millions.

You spin on your heel and go to Seowon who’s already in the driver’s seat. As soon as you get in and wear your seat belt, he’s giving you a dirty look.

“What?” you ask.

“Please never do that in front of me again.”

His statement makes you smirk. “Why? Didn’t you want this?”

“Want what?”

“Me and Jungkook to be together.”

“When on earth did I say that?”

“You previously admitted that you were lowkey playing cupid by suggesting that Jungkook marry me for health insurance.”

A short pause. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch you two reenact a porno every fucking time.”

“We’re not—”

“You are. Don’t deny it.” He grumbles. “God, every time I see you two, it’s like I’m Ross from that one Friends episode where he accidentally sees Monica and Chandler doing it from the window of his apartment.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” You laugh. “In my defense, you haven’t seen me and Jungkook actually do the deed so—”

“Wait, so the two of you have?”

Your expression drops. His tone is approaching older brother protectiveness territory and you’re quick to attempt diffusing the situation. “I will not dive into that. All I’m going to say is that I’m a grown adult and so is Jungkook.”

He grimaces before starting the engine. “Yeah, never dive into that. I don’t need to hear the details.”

You share a laugh and then silence fills the car.

You press your lips together, looking at him while he backs out from the parking spot. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For driving today, and for offering to help me later, and maybe for also never minding your own business.”

You recall how Seowon was the one who couldn’t stop worrying about you and finding a solution when you told your family that you had type 1 diabetes. Your parents were concerned, they pestered you for months to force you to accept financial assistance from them, but they gave up soon after. Seowon though? He never did. He persisted through every outburst you had; he tolerated your bitchiness and your dirty looks all the time. Out of everyone in your life, you always felt like regardless of how stubborn and prideful you could be, Seowon was worse—in the best way possible.

A crooked smile illuminates his face. “You’re my kid sister. It’s my job to never let you experience peace in your whole life.”

You scoff. “Well, you’re damn great at what you do.”

When you reach Jungkook’s apartment, unloading the boxes and arranging your stuff to its designated places, your heart swells in happiness as the reality sinks in that your life is heading in the right direction after months of feeling hopeless. It drives you to be more thankful to the little things, to the people who were always by your side, to your previous circumstance that although wasn’t ideal was still manageable. A lot don’t get to have that kind of privilege and you promise yourself that you’ll make an effort to find more things to be grateful about from this day forward.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Seowon approaches in the middle of you arranging your books on Jungkook’s near to empty shelf, “Winnie wanted to give you this. She would have handed it over herself but she’s going to be busy for the next few days.”

You take the frame from his hand and see that it’s the picture Winnie took of you and Jungkook after the ceremony. It’s in the restaurant that you ate at to celebrate the civil wedding. Jungkook was grinning at you with an arm around on the backrest of your chair, you were leaning towards him, smiling at the camera—and the absolute selling point of why this was the best picture ever taken was because of how cake icing was scattered on your faces, places on spots in an artistic manner like it was planted there on purpose for the picture and not because the both of you were being silly that instance.

You think it showcases your relationship with Jungkook marvelously. It’s playful, it’s sweet, and most of all, it demonstrates how you two are clearly great friends.

“This is so beautiful, Seowon,” you say.

You immediately send Winnie a heartfelt thank you message for the gift and continue to take a photo of the frame, sending it to Jungkook as well.

Once you hit send, you type out a message to accompany it.

You: look how cute we look 🥹

You’re certain it’ll take hours before he replies so you keep your phone again, going back to staring at the picture which is now placed on one of the shelves. It’s the sole picture frame you have with Jungkook. In fact, it’s the only picture that Jungkook has in his apartment, and you like to think that this might be the mark of the new beginning you’ll have with him. Even though your relationship wouldn’t be traditionally explored given his occupation and how he’s most likely going to be away a lot, you don’t mind.

If there’s one thing you really believe in, it’s that waiting for Jungkook—whether consciously or unconsciously—always brings out the best outcomes.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[webism]

Virgin!Nanami is hesitant the first time you go down on him, because as he's nearing his (blinding, world shattering) orgasm, you aren't pulling off of him.

He's played the scene a million times in his head before, late at night as he palmed his cock through his boxers and tried to will his mind away from such lewd thoughts of you. In every fantasy he had of you on your knees like you are now, you serve him with your mouth until he's close, and then pull off to stroke him through his orgasm.

But your lips are still wrapped around him. His ragged breath, the gentle buck of his hips up into your mouth... is it not indication enough that he's about to unravel? Kento has to lick his lips to try and save his dry mouth before he speaks, though it comes out as more of a broken moan. "Sweetheart, I'm... so close."

And you hum around his cock, send a vibration up his spine that has his eyes rolling back. You hollow out your cheeks and increase your pace, desperate for a taste.

It's too much, he's never felt so boneless. His vision is already going, he's right on the edge of the strongest orgasm he's had in his life when he gently tugs back on your hair. "Stop, stop."

Of course, you're off of him instantly, wiping your spit-sheened lips dry and watching Kento wide eyes. "Are you okay? Too much?"

Kento is breathless, his cresting orgasm quickly fading out of reach. "You didn't pull away. I was going to..."

"I know," you nod, a gentle hand on his knee something soothing. "What, you don't want to cum?"

He blinks. "No, I... not in your mouth. I respect you, and I don't want you to sacrifice your comfort for me."

And you can't help but grin at the serious look strewn across his face. You lean down and press a kiss to his knee, and then higher up on his thigh, and another just above the patch of hair that bases his leaky cock.

"Kento Nanami," you look up at him, and press a feather-light kiss to his tip. "If you don't cum in my mouth, I will cry. I wanna taste more of you."

Your words alone are enough to relight that fire licking at his insides. He watches you for a moment, tries to discern whether or not you're speaking only to please him, but ultimately nods.

When you take him back into your mouth, all the way down to the base, Kento swears he must've been a saint in his previous life to deserve such pleasure in this one. You trace the vein that runs under his length with your tongue, and then suck on his cock as if you're trying to milk him dry.

When he cums, it's with a loud and uncharacteristically whiney moan that makes you wonder how he sounds begging. You taste his cum on your tongue, feel as he shoots it into your mouth, his dick throbbing and balls tightening in the same regard.

He's already overstimulated, panicking a little at the new subtle pain of more, and although he thinks he likes it, you know it'll be too much for his first time. You pull off of him, careful to spill as little of his release as possible, and sit back on your heels.

And Kento is a mess, lips parted as he watches your pull into a greedy smile. He's eager to watch you spit him out, perhaps a testament to the fact he was inside of you. But you meet his eyes, let him sit on your tongue a moment longer, and then swallow.

He's hard all over again, he wonders how he'll ever lead a normal life again after a sight like that. His mouth is dry, cock still wet with your spit, heart beating near out of his chest.

Still, he manages to stop you when you move to get up and start on his aftercare. "Wait," his voice is small, he's nervous.

You raise your eyebrows, "yes, Ken?"

"I want to taste you, too."

hi @angxlsatvrn

[lovelivision]

Satoru finding out reader has a praise kink🙏🙏🙏

₊⁺ જ⁀➴💌 and so it was done !! gojo and praise kink might kill me 🙂‍↕️ hope you like it lovely !! 💗💗

꒰꒰mdni // masterlist꒱꒱

Gojo is completely unfair when he discovers your praise kink in bed, his head tucked into your neck as he hammers into you, his moans and whimpers making your spine tingle. His hands everywhere on your body, pulling your face to his, lips interlocking hotly as he shoves his tongue in your mouth.

When he pulls back your lips are connected by a string of saliva, snapping as he licks at his lower lip, “You feel so good, sweetie,” he groans.

His hips stutter at how your pussy flutters around him, the small praise getting to you more than you think it should. Something he catches onto quickly, a breathless kind of chuckle leaving him at his realisation.

“You like being told how good you feel?” His voice is low, words tickling against your ear.

Turning your head away, you try asking for mercy, “Satoru–”

“–Don’t be so shy,” he almost singsongs at you, “You’re doing so good for me, taking it so well.”

You gasp at his words, hands pushing at his chest. It’s embarrassing how quickly he picked up on how he’s making you feel.

“So– fuck–so tight, gripping me like crazy,” he chokes on his moans, trying to talk to you at the same time.

He’s going crazy, your snug cunt sucking him back in every time he pulls back, pussy wet and drooling obscenely around him, slick coating his length so much that there’s a creamy, white ring at the base of his cock.

Your skin grows warmer at his earnest words, at how he moans for you, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he looks down between the two of you, to where he’s stuffing you full of his dick.

His eyes flick back to your face and it’s almost like he melts into a puddle for you all at once, a small whine leaving his lips before he has a chance to even think about stopping it. “You look really pretty,” he coos at you, large hand cradling your face.

The unexpected compliment has your pussy fluttering again, along with your heart, “I don’t think–”

“–I don’t think, I know,” his thumb pulls at your bottom lip before letting it go, “So beautiful while you let me fuck you full.”

His eyes are completely lost as he feeds you compliment after compliment, completely pussy drunk but still aware enough of what his praise does to keep spitting out nonsensical flattery. Words tripping over each other as his voice cracks with his moans and whimpers, the hand holding himself up gripping into the pillows behind you as he struggles to keep it together.

“Making the cutest faces– hnn– the cutest moans–” he intakes a sharp breath as you twitch around him, trailing off into a groan, “Don’t know how you feel so good, pussy divine– hah– fuck–”

The sounds of his pathetic moans and broken words have you dizzy, eyes hazy and wet as you struggle to focus in on his face. His own features wrecked, a lazy, blissed out smile on his face at how ruined and turned on he’s making you.

“Pretty little thing, look so hot when you’re close, sweetie.”

It’s entirely too much, his words pushing you over the edge, cumming all over his cock, coating him in your slick. Gojo doesn’t hold out much longer after, only really capable of a few more thrusts before he’s dumping his cum deep inside you, painting your walls white.

When he pulls out, he watches the way his cum dribbles from your cunt, his smile bright when he says, “You look pretty full of my cum.”

Proud of himself, even when you throw a pillow in his direction, because he now knows just how much you like when he compliments you and he’s never going to let you forget that.

[kurooh]

TOUCH, TOUCH, TOUCH ☆ JUJUTSU KAISEN

⊹₊˚. featuring gojo satoru, geto suguru, ino takuma, fushiguro toji, & kamo choso when their girl finds their weak spot.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, f! reader, erogenous zones, biting, hair pulling, sensitive men, lots of cumming even though it’s november, overstimulation, oral (f&m rec), kissing, nipple play. | 3k words of sluttery

GOJO SATORU # thighs

“ugh, fuck,” satoru laughs shakily, swallowing down a groan, “really, baby, ‘s like you were made to take my cock.”

“hm, really?” you pull off his cock with a pop, savoring the way his diamond blue eyes squeeze shut, crystalline tears poking at the corners.

satoru’s got his legs spread like a whore, with you between them, nails raking up and down his thighs while you lavish his cock with attention. he’s painfully hard, cock standing up straight and covered in a sheen of your spit.

to think that this all stemmed from a tickle fight, of all things—he’d thrashed around the bed, whining and giggling when you’d gone after his thighs. once you’d finally gotten between them to brush your fingers over the tender skin, his playful giggles had unintentionally shifted into breathy moans which he’d tried to cover up by coughing.

“you should’ve told me these were this sensitive,” you breathe, pinching at his inner thigh. satoru jerks in his seat on the edge of the bed, blushing harder when he looks at the mirror across from the bed.

“riiight. and that would’ve opened the door to me waking up to you chewing on them in the mornings? nuh uh.”

“you’re so annoying, satoru,” you roll your eyes, the happy smile dropping from your lips. for good measure, you grip his cock more loosely, and he silently panics. “maybe you should suck yourself off then.”

“no no no,” satoru backtracks, spreading his thighs and slyly bucking his hips toward you. his cock bobs, fully flushed and desperate to be taken care of properly. “baby, i was joking! let’s rewind to the part where i was saying you were made to take my cock, heh.”

slowly, so as to make it as painful as possible, you take his cock into your mouth inch by inch until you’re swallowing around it. satoru moans loudly, cupping the back of your head to ease the rest of his length down your throat. he was right—he fits inside as easily as two puzzle pieces connect.

his voice shakes and he looks down at you gratefully, thighs tensing as your nails scrape a little harder. “c-can’t believe you’re all mine, baby. goddamn, you’re always so fuckin’ good to me.”

you let out a muffled moan around his thick cock, the vibrations resonating through the entirety of his lower body. spit races down to his balls from the base of his cock, making his skin sticky. this is always his favorite way to cum—somewhere inside you after you’ve made a mess together.

you bob your head on his cock, which only seems to thicken and twitch against your tongue, the first signs of his inescapable high. satoru chews on his lower lip, his breath coming in wheezy puffs while his hips rock into your mouth.

“ngh, t-take it all,” he directs you, his voice strained as the first spurts of cum spill into your throat. “be a good girl f’me and swallow, baby.”

the muscles in his thighs jump beneath your palms as his cock finally finishes emptying all the cum into your mouth—satoru’s breath audibly hitches in his throat as you swallow a few times around him. before his hazy brain can fully register, you’re no longer on his cock, instead kissing up the tender skin of his thighs.

“toru, what do you think’ll happen if i bite you?”

“it’ll hurt,” satoru pouts in reply, the expression on his face only encouraging you to do so. “ow!” he exclaims, but he doesn’t make any move to close his legs or push you away.

“what if i mark up your thighs?”

he quirks a brow, as if to dare you to. “do what you want, babe . . but it’s my turn next.”

GETO SUGURU # scalp

“so weak, baby. is that really the best you can do?” suguru teases, sticking his tongue out at you. “i mean, come on . . there’s no way.”

your fingers twist tightly in his hair and you yank, the dark tresses soft against your skin, smelling of the best shampoo and conditioner. suguru lets out a hiss, savoring the sting of his scalp with a smile that has a pleased smirk playing on his lips.

“how’s that, suguru?”

“if you keep doing that, i might just give you what you want,” he replies breezily, balmy breath fanning over your sticky cunt. “heh, you’re not even pulling hard enough, that’s—”

you interrupt suguru with a vengeful yank of his hair that pulls a groan from the depths of his chest. you raise an eyebrow, looking at him and then between your legs expectantly.

without any more protest, suguru finally presses a kiss to your swollen clit. the little smack of his lips and the preface to what’s coming soon elicits a desperate whine from your bitten lips. “sugu, jus’ spank it, please.”

a hushed chuckle follows the sharp slap to your cunt and your resulting cries of bliss. “someone’s needy today, hm?”

“yeah,” you whimper, nails scratching lightly against his scalp while your fingers tremble in his hair. the bed creaks beneath you as suguru adjusts his position between your legs, tongue lapping up your slick with a primal urgency. his nails dig crescents into your thighs as he spreads you further inch by inch—even with all your squirming, you’re unable to close your thighs.

you’re tugging at his hair insistently, impatiently, and he pins you with an unserious glare. “if you wanna be like that, you can just use my tongue, sweet thing.”

you groan, biting down on your lower lip as suguru slips his tongue inside you. it’s silky soft, hot, and the biggest tease, faintly curling as the tip of it drags against the walls of your cunt. here he is, offering himself up so you can use him; there’s no way you could possibly turn this down.

without any semblance of hesitation, you experimentally jerk your hips forward, and his nose bumps into your clit. he lets out a muffled groan, losing himself in your pussy—your slick covers his skin and makes it shine. it mixes with his spit and drips from his chin, soaking the sheets.

suguru’s scalp stings with overstimulation, shockwaves resonating through his body and shooting straight to his fully hard cock. he can’t help but hump himself against the bed in an attempt to alleviate the wild need for friction.

all too quickly, suguru gets pussydrunk, eyes rolling back while your hips roll forward sloppily. it doesn’t take long for that familiar quake to settle in your thighs, cunt squeezing and fluttering around his tongue.

“s-sugu,” you whine, and he’s sure he’s in heaven, “‘m gonna—gonna cum!”

“lemme taste it, sweetheart,” is the most you can make out from his muffled words. his fingers squeeze your thighs as they twitch beneath his palms, threatening to lock around his head. your orgasm rips through you and your cunt spasms, hips bucking as you ride out the high on his tongue. a broken whine leaves your lips as your thighs overpower his hands and squeeze around him, the soft strands of his hair tickling your skin.

he carefully moves backwards, clicking his tongue and sighing as he scoots off the bed to take off his wet boxers.

“sugu—”

“i don’t want to hear it,” he waves his hand in the air and tosses the boxers into the laundry basket. “it’s your fault anyway, you were the one ripping my hair out.”

“you encouraged me—”

“me? encourage you to pull my hairline back? never, honey.”

INO TAKUMA # neck

“takuma . . i missed you so much,” the words are mumbled against his soft, plush lips. ino smiles against your mouth, a strong arm tugging you into his chest.

he’s got you seated on his lap, for the first time in weeks—he’d been away accompanying nanami on a lengthy mission. the bed softly creaks as he adjusts himself beneath you, inadvertently grinding you down on his hardening cock.

you pull back, face hot with excitement and surprise. “hehe, sorry. was an accident,” ino leans in, pouting at you when you ignore his kiss. instead, bracing yourself with both hands on his shoulders, you start to sloppily bounce up and down in his lap. although there’s no particular rhythm or smoothness behind it, it feels amazing. ino’s face has crumbled into an expression of unadulterated bliss, and he forces his glassy eyes to focus on you rather than let them close.

“ugh, baby,” he whines as your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders, the sting a garbled mix of pain and pleasure. “f-fuck, keep doin’ that.”

without slowing your frantic movements, you toss an arm around him, fingers haphazardly twisting into the feathery hairs at the nape of his neck. you give them a light tug, forcing his head back and eliciting a sudden moan from him.

ino gasps sharply when he feels your nose nudge at his jaw, tipping his head to the side in order to expose the slope of his neck and the tender skin there. although he moved without hesitation, he still wonders what you’re doing. “huh? babe, what’re you—”

“jus’ kissing your neck, takuma,” you coo, inhaling his scent deeply. he smells faintly of his favorite soap (he bought a bar that smells the same as your body wash) and clean laundry. ino seems to tremble beneath your touch, hips jolting upwards as your own begin to slow, your focus on his neck.

truthfully, ino is afraid.

he’s afraid of what he might do or say when you inevitably discover just how sensitive his neck is. and god, the way you’re still moving on his cock has his heart swelling in his chest as he starts to forget about his initial fear. it would be insulting to even consider thinking about anything besides you when you’re on his lap like this and spoiling him with your touch.

“hah—baby,” he adjusts his hands so that they sit tightly on your hips, bouncing you up and down so you won’t get so tired. the drag of your lips against his adam’s apple has him gasping out, eyes rolling back shamelessly. “i-if you’re not careful, i swear you��ll make me cum in my pants.”

this is supposed to be a warning, one that makes you pull off him and shimmy off all the layers of clothes together, but you simply ignore him. he knows you heard what he said, feeling that little smile of yours grow against his skin. ino’s breath hitches in his throat and he loses himself in the almost-euphoria that the friction of his cock against your cunt brings. he’s been starved of you for so long that he’s hyper aware of everything—the stickiness that seeps through your panties and shorts, the scent of your body, and the unstoppable heat that courses through his limbs.

you can feel his cock throbbing against your clit in the moments between each desperate movement, and you only moan into his neck, teeth sinking into the supple skin. your kisses are flirty and teasing, peppered up and down his neck with the occasional nip every now and then.

“a-a little faster, takuma,” you beg, voice tight. “god, you feel so fucking good.” a startled gasp leaves your lips when you feel his fingers slip into your panties, heading towards your clit.

something both hot and cold races down ino’s spine after a few more bites, the double stimulation becoming too much too quickly. the way your slick sticks to his fingers doesn’t help his inescapable high to slow down. fuck, this’ll be messy . .

“b-babe,” he groans into your ear, insides twisting as he slumps against you weakly. “‘m gonna cum, baby—you’re gonna make me..” ino’s voice drifts off into a loud whine as his cock shoots white in his boxers. his face burns and he looks up at you adoringly as you sweep the stray hairs away from his eyes.

“you came, takuma?”

“yeah,” he huffs, the wetness in his underwear making him shift beneath you. a sly smile plays on his lips. “would you . . mind cleaning me up?”

FUSHIGURO TOJI # nipples

toji swears up and down he doesn’t have a single spot on his body that’s hypersensitive, besides his cock. so one night when you’re gesturing for him to lie back, propped up by all the pillows and entirely shirtless, he fixes you with a defiant scowl.

“really? you’re gonna suck my nipples? do i look like a fuckin’ girl to you?”

“toji, it’s not at all like that,” you reply calmly, taking a seat directly on top of his flaccid cock. “jus’ wanna try something, if it’s okay with you.”

“fine, i guess. if this makes you stop whining about sucking my ti—nipples,” he grunts, the corners of his lips curving to the side in annoyance. toji’s thighs are loosely spread, his body entirely relaxed. you give him a chaste kiss with a playful sweep of your tongue against his lower lip before leaning toward his strong chest.

toji’s muscles gleam with the water from his shower, a few droplets racing down the slopes and curves of his pecs. although he’s trying his hardest to act uninterested and offended, a small part of him is strangely curious to see if you’ll prove him wrong. whenever you’re messing around together, you end up playing his body like an instrument—knowing all the places he wants to be touched, how he likes it, and so on.

he covers up the hitch of his breath with a cough into his palm, and your eyes flick up to his.

“what?” he asks accusingly. “fuckin’ throat’s dry.”

“nothing, toj,” you reply, eyes twinkling in a way that has his heart kicking against his ribcage. he expects you to say more, but you don’t.

his body’s cooled substantially since the shower, and the second your lips wrap around his nipple, hot tongue flicking over the hardened bud, toji’s letting out a choked groan. the dichotomy between the temperatures is the first thing that gets him going, but then the way you start to suck—you’re about to seriously humble him.

you look up at him, asking a silent question.

“‘s not bad,” toji huffs dismissively, “just not enough stimulation.”

you nod, fingers finding his other nipple and pinching it lightly. his leg twitches and his abs clench, but he plays it off with a small shrug. you know that toji has always been too prideful, writing things off without giving them a chance. heat sparks through his body, settling in his cock, and you feel him growing rock hard beneath you.

instead of saying something cocky to piss him off, you only let out a small giggle, teeth catching on his nipple. toji hisses, unconsciously cupping the back of your head to push you into his chest.

“doll, no need to be so gentle,” he drawls, gasping sharply when you bite down. it hurts a little, but toji’s something of a masochist—he spurs you on with a weak groan. pleased with your handiwork, you switch nipples, fingers growing sticky with your spit as you spread it around his pectoral.

pressed up against your cunt, his cock throbs, desperate for attention. just as you’re thinking about touching him to alleviate the pressure, toji beats you to it, large hand pushing you to sit on his abs. he grips his cock firmly and his body shudders, jade eyes squeezing shut as he sets up a lazy pace.

“h-holy fuck,” he bites out, head tipping back onto all the pillows as puffs of breath leave his flushed lips. “‘s good, just keep doin’ that . . yeah, right there, doll.”

KAMO CHOSO # ears

“baby, i—oh, fuck,” choso swallows, fingers lightly ghosting along the slope of your bouncing ass. “i can’t hold it anymore, ‘specially not with you riding me like this.”

“i know, i know,” you huff out, voice trembling. your chest presses against his and it’s a clamor of teeth and impatience as your lips meet, tongues pushing against one another. choso has always fought off his orgasm in favor of your own, too focused on you before himself. today, it’s no different, but this time you’re drawing it out to see just how long he can last.

his eyes are closed as he loses himself in the kiss, too focused to notice you pulling away; his lips drag against your cheek when you tuck your face into his neck. confused, he asks breathily, “h-huh? is everything okay?”

“of course, cho,” you say sweetly, pressing kisses against the flushed shell of his ear. almost immediately, choso tenses beneath you, arms wrapping around your midsection tightly. he gasps when you take it a step further, nipping at his earlobe in a way that’s not so gentle.

“what’re you doing? i wanted you to cum first—then i could too.”

“‘s okay, i want you to be selfish this time,” you giggle, “cum for me, ‘kay? can you do that, cho?”

“of course i can,” choso mumbles, “jus’ look at the way you’re fucking me . . hah, ‘m gonna cum.”

he leans into you, letting you tongue and bite at his ears. choso’s on the precipice of euphoria, walking the edge and ready to fall, but you keep teasing his ears in a way that drags it out of him. he cums deep, his cock spilling against your cervix and inspiring your own high. choso’s shuddering beneath you, teeth clicking together from the overwhelming strength of it all. he whispers a few incoherent things, fingers splaying over your back as you cum around him with a loud whine.

choso’s holding you closely, pressing a few kisses to your shoulder and hissing as your riding finally comes to a stop. you can feel the heat of his cum inside you, slipping because of gravity, pouring out of you and pooling at his base.

“pull my hair next time,” he says softly, sounding embarrassed. “and i want you to bite a bit harder.”

“‘m not trying to give you an ear piercing,” you laugh, kissing over the flushed skin your teeth sunk into. “but next time can be right now, if you want it, cho.”

your hips lift upwards, and he stifles a groan, watching his cum drip from your sloppy cunt. “yeah,” he bites his lip, looking at you with rosy cheeks, “i need a minute, so before we go again . . wanna taste her, if that’s alright?”

[nereidprinc3ss]

fixation

in which you love spencer reid's hands so much you could... well, you could practically eat them. or at least let him put his fingers in your mouth.

18+ (fluff, suggestive) warnings/tags: finger sucking...lol....., established relationship, ummmm d/s adjacent dynamics, like softdom spencer but there's no sex, pet names, teasing a/n: this was inspired by @gublersg1rl who said 2 nights ago she would suck spencer's fingers as he was reading a book. my beautiful angel with so many great ideas in her beautiful head. anyway this will not be my magnum opus in terms of quality but its just a fun short little thing I hope u like :D

Spencer is reading. 

He got home forty five minutes ago, and he’d hugged you and he’d kissed you—and they were good hugs and kisses, but as you sit curled on the opposite end of the couch from him, watching him read, it doesn’t feel like enough. Three days isn’t the longest he’s been gone, but you missed him like he was gone longer. And now, he’s not truly ignoring you—but he’s not giving you enough attention. It’s unintentional, but it’s making you feel all kinds of needy and overly-affectionate anyway. 

Especially when he’s so gorgeous. Ankle crossed over knee, lithe fingers skimming over the page to keep track of his place. Those hands are truly distracting. It’s unlike you to be struck by such wildly inappropriate thoughts so out of context, but here you are, having been without him for days, practically feverish on the couch as you imagine all the things they could do. All the things they have done. The way they've traced down your bare spine, up your side, so lovingly in the middle of the night... how they've touched you elsewhere...

And... that's enough.

Despite the whole committed relationship thing, you still feel a bit scandalized picturing him like that. And you know from experience these thoughts will only get worse if you stay over here, staring at him, wanting him, so you crawl across the couch and under his arm, settling your head in his lap and looking up at him expectantly. He chuckles—a quiet, dry thing, that says he’s only partially surprised by your behavior. 

“Well hello,” Spencer says, taking one hand off the book to settle on your leg. 

“Hi.”

For a moment he just studies you, affection seeping into his eyes along with the humor already there. “Can I help you?”

“Mhm.”

His brow darts up. 

“With what, baby?”

Baby. Your whole body tingles. He only calls you that when he’s feeling especially soft toward you and your whims. In turn you soften, and you both become rather mushy. 

Unfortunately your brain is not excluded from melting, and you look up at him helplessly. 

“Um…”

Spencer’s hand falls from your knee, taking an unnecessary but appreciated route down your thigh and up your stomach before settling on your cheek. He brushes away a few baby hairs before two knuckles begin drawing soft lines from the corner of your mouth up toward your ear and back again, and your stomach becomes a hail of butterflies. He’s got this soft smile on his face and you love him so much and he’s so sweet and perfect, you could just—

You’re not thinking very clearly when you tilt your head, angling your chin up until you catch his fingers against your lips. His eyes remain on yours as he traces the shape of your mouth with those same two knuckles—until you’re slowly parting, obstructing his path and offering a very different kind of invitation. Spencer’s eyes narrow fractionally and you watch the way his focus changes, the way he only tests the waters at first, letting the tips of his fingers trace the length of your bottom lip, before barely tugging down just enough to feel the soft warmth of the border of it. They skate over the ridge of your teeth and find the tip of your tongue, at which point you can’t help from closing your lips around his fingers, eyes fluttering contentedly as you draw them deeper into your mouth. His brows draw together, and those pretty pink lips part soundlessly like you’re the eighth wonder of the world in a way that has your thighs clenching. You hear the book shut and fall carelessly to the side table. He doesn’t even bother saving his place—too busy bringing that newly freed hand to your hair and combing gently against your scalp. 

It’s strangely calming to have him like this—he’s undeniably with you, undeniably close, against your lips and tongue. All your worries about his distance dissolve and you feel incredibly comforted. With his other hand, his thumb begins stroking a line from the bridge of your nose up your forehead, and you could pass out. 

“Comfy?” He asks after a long moment, slowly withdrawing his fingers from the heat of your mouth. You pout. 

“I was.”

Spencer hums, eyes soft on you. “I don’t think I should be nurturing your oral fixation, angel.”

“You didn’t like it?” You challenge, turning your head inward to nose at his stomach. He  cups your cheek with damp fingers and pointedly turns your head outward again. If he wasn’t so blushy and flustered and cute you might’ve cared more about the feeling of your own spit on your skin. 

“Don’t make it about me.”

You allow a minute to pass in silence. 

Fine.

“I liked it,” you say shyly. 

Spencer’s response is deeply fond as he smiles down at you. “Did you?”

Like he couldn’t tell. 

“Mhm. You should let me do it all the time.”

His smile flickers wider the way it does when he’s about to tease you. 

“I don’t know if you deserve it. I don’t know if you can be good all the time.”

You make a face. “Shut up.”

“Is that what we say when we want something?” Before he can pull his hand away, you nip at his fingers. He laughs. “You’re off to a terrible start. I think you need to work on your manners. Not bite the hand that… goes in your mouth.”

“Is that the saying?”

“I’m pretty sure,” he nods sarcastically, helping you up until you’re sitting across his lap. He lovingly tucks hair behind your ear, eyes warm as they flit across your face up close. “You know, that was incredibly unhygienic. So much bacteria it boggles the mind.”

“Yeah? That kinda turns me on.”

Spencer leans in to kiss you sweetly, choosing your mouth over his worry about bacterial transmission. “You are so psychologically concerning,” he whispers against your lips. You sling your arms around his neck. 

“Because of the bacteria thing or the oral fixation thing?”

His hands settle on your hips. “Both, lovely. For so many reasons.”

It’s only another tease, but you pull back anyway so he can see the full force of your pout. “Don’t say that. It’s mean.”

“I was kidding! It was a joke. I was joking.”

“It was mean.”

“Okay,” Spencer begins, patient and happy to untangle this ridiculous snag if that’s what it takes to make you content again, “Freud’s psychosexual stages of development are contentious at best. I’m not worried about your oral fixation because I don’t really believe in such a thing. I was just teasing you, but I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

“So you’ll let me do it again?”

Spencer pulls you back into another kiss. 

“You’re kind of insatiable, you know that?” 

When you don’t answer, only wait for him to respond, he sighs goodnaturedly. 

“You know you can have any part of me whenever you want it.”

You give him a winning smile and kiss his cheek in reward. 

“You’re so nice, Spence.”

“I thought I was mean.” 

“Now you’re nice.”

“Because you got what you wanted?” You nod enthusiastically. He seems not quite as thrilled, though perhaps distantly amused by his own helplessness when it comes to you. “Yeah, I feel like that happens a lot, doesn’t it?”

But it clearly doesn’t bother him that much. He’s still smiling when you kiss him again. 

[imaginedisish]

Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: This took way longer than expected, and I also sort of got carried away...Hope it still lives up to the requester's expectations (I also saw that the anon asked for fluff...and this ended up being fluff and smut...hope that's okay). Def some errors...I only proofread twice. This one is also inspired by "Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby" by Cigarettes After Sex. Enjoy!

Summary: Logan's kindness towards you is strictly friendly. Until it's not just friendly anymore...

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI! Unprotected PIV, Oral (f!receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms (uh, they're outside...), grumpy!Logan, cursing, major angst, comfort, fluff, references to canon typical violence/death/conflicts, f!reader/afab!reader (reader has hair at the nape of her neck but no description of length/texture/color), mutant!reader, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,662 my back hurts

It had been a long day. Every day was a long day. There were the kids to worry about, and then there was the rest of the world. There’s a war coming, you see it everywhere you look, and hear it everywhere you go. The news. The papers. The kids whispering in hushed echoes late at night when you’re walking the halls sleeplessly. You don’t want a war. You want a life. 

The mansion is still bustling—it always is—but it’s slowly winding down. You listen as kids walk up the stairs in waves, heading into their bedrooms for the night. You know you should too, but you like it when the mansion gets quiet. You like knowing that everyone is safe, tucked away. You like it when no one else is around—when you can be alone, the stillness and quiet of a dark and sleeping house cradling you like a mother.  

You find yourself in one of the living rooms, the T.V. still on, playing reruns of a cartoon you recognize from years ago. You smile as laughter erupts from down the hall, the padding of small feet echoing along the floorboards and the sound of much heavier boots following close behind. 

“Hey! Watch it!” A grumpy, familiar voice shouts as kids run past the doorway to the living room, giggling mischievously. “Fucking kids.” You turn towards the sound of Logan’s voice as it bounces off the walls, his frame entering the doorway. 

He has a plate of cookies in one hand and a glass of milk in the other as he strides over to you. 

“Hi,” you say sheepishly, smiling up at him. He’s in his beater and his jeans and that leather jacket that hugs him just the right way. You try not to think about how good he looks as he places the plate and the glass down on the coffee table in front of you. Friends don’t think about friends like that, and that’s all you two are: friends.

“Thought you might want a snack,” he mumbles, pointing to the cookies. “And maybe someone to talk to. You’ve got that look on your face.”

You roll your eyes, staring at him incredulously. “What look?”

“That sleepy, stressed face you make,” he starts, walking around the coffee table and taking the spot on the couch right next to you. “When you’re listening to everyone, making sure they’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” you say, reaching for a cookie. Logan sits up and grabs the glass of milk, extending it out to you. “Really, I am,” you promise, but you know he can tell that you’re lying. 

You take the glass from him, and his hand falls to your thigh. The feeling of his skin against yours is intoxicating. He works his jaw and opens his mouth. “What’s going on—”

“Logan?” Storm cuts him off, standing in the doorway. Her gaze is focused on Logan’s hand resting on your thigh. “Did you make tea?”

His eyes flicker between you and Storm. You tilt your head, waiting for his response. “Yes,” he answers, his hand lifting from your thigh as he stands. The spot is suddenly cold. You want to grab his hand and yank him back down. 

“Well, the water is about to boil,” she says, smirking as the kettle begins to whistle. 

Logan mutters a quick shit under his breath as he prowls out of the living room and down the hall to the kitchen. Storm giggles as she watches him, shaking her head. She squints at the cookies and milk, and then at you. You nervously place the milk back down on the coffee table.

“Wow,” is all she says, her arms crossing her chest as she leans against the frame of the doorway. You can hear Logan shuffling around the kitchen, closing cabinets and cursing. “All this for you, huh?”

Your jaw drops just a bit at her words, their meaning instantly smacking you in the face. “O-oh, no,” you stutter defensively. “It’s not like that.” 

The conversation quickly ends as Logan walks into the living room with a cup of tea, passing Storm and heading to the couch. He sits down next to you and places the tea in front of you. The tag of the tea bag hangs over the side of the mug, steam wafting off the top.  

“You like tea, right?” He asks as you lean over and grab the warm mug in your hands. The heat feels good, but not as good as when his hand was on your thigh. 

You nod, swallowing those feelings down as you blow into the cup to cool the hot liquid inside. “Thanks, Logan.” You smile, and he smiles back. 

Storm is still in the doorway, a soft laugh stuck in her throat. “I’ll leave you two alone.” And before you can protest, she’s gone, her heels clicking down the hardwood floors of the hallway. 

Alone now with Logan, you can’t help but feel nervous. You bring the mug to your lips and finally take a sip, the hot tea dripping down your throat. Was Storm right? No. This is just a friend looking out for a friend. There’s no deeper meaning. So what if Logan brought you cookies and milk? So what if he made tea for you? He’s just being nice, kind, caring. That’s what he always is…to you at least. Maybe only to you—

“Hey, everything okay?” Logan’s voice yanks you back to reality, his palm suddenly warm on your thigh again. You jump at the sensation, accidentally spilling tea on Logan’s hand and all over your thighs. 

“Shit,” you mutter, the liquid stinging just a bit against your bare skin. “I’m so sorry,” you say, placing the cup down on the coffee table. When you look back up, Logan is gone. You can hear scuffling in the kitchen again, drawers opening and slamming closed. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Logan?” Scott’s voice chastises in the distance. 

Logan scoffs, his footsteps echoing against the tile floors. “Fuck off, Summers,” he chides, and you can’t help but laugh at their bickering. 

“Think that’s funny?” Logan teases, suddenly in front of you. He rushes over, kneeling next to you. He has a towel in his hand. “You okay?” He asks. “Anything hurt?”

You shake your head from side to side. “Nope, all good,” you say, grinning, ready for him to pass you the towel. But he doesn’t—he’s cleaning you up himself. 

He rubs the towel gently across your thighs, sopping up all the tea. His touch is soft and careful. You can feel heat rise to your chest at the closeness—the intimacy of it all. You take a deep breath, struggling to calm your heart as he takes his time taking care of you. 

“You sure you’re alright?” He whispers, his eyes suddenly searching yours. The towel hikes up a bit further, the tip brushing against the hem of your shorts. You’re dizzied by his touch, by the comforting way he smiles up at you as he lets the towel fall to the side. Both of his hands are on you now, one on each thigh. His thumbs brush soft shapes into your skin. 

Just friends, you say to yourself. Just friends just friends just—

“Hey gu—oh,” Bobby stutters, standing in the doorway with Peter. “S-sorry to interrupt. We didn’t mean to—”

“What do you two want?” Logan cuts him off, his hands slipping off your thighs as he stands to face the boys. You can hear the gruff annoyance in this voice. “No privacy in this goddamn mansion,” he mutters under his breath so low you almost don’t hear it. 

“Charles told us to come get you, Logan,” Bobby continues nervously. “He has to talk to you about something.” 

Logan groans, irritated as ever. “Fine. Tell him I’ll be there in a second.” 

Bobby and Peter nod, too nervous to say anything else, and walk away. Logan is still standing in the same spot. You can tell he’s thinking, contemplating something. 

“You better go,” you say, cocking your head towards the hall. “Can’t keep the professor waiting,” you joke. You watch as the corner of his mouth twitches up. Your heart squeezes in your chest at the sight of turning his frown into a smile. 

He turns his body so that he’s completely facing you. His throat bobs as his hands curl into fists at his sides. He looks like he’s holding back, resisting—but what? You can’t quite tell. 

“Logan?” Charles’ voice calls from down the hall. 

“I wanna see that plate clean when I get back,” Logan finally says, pointing to the cookies. 

You let out a laugh as he walks to the doorway. “Yes sir,” you pledge, hand on your heart. His smile widens, his eyes grazing up and down your body, as if committing your form to his memory. What you’re seeing can’t be right; it has to be an illusion. You almost think he doesn’t want to leave you—can’t leave you. His feet are planted on the ground, his arms tucked against his chest. 

He opens his mouth, but the Professor interrupts him before he can get a word in. “Logan!”

Logan steps out of the doorway impatiently, fists still clutched at his side. “Meet me on the lawn in thirty minutes, okay?” he huffs out, walking down the hallway towards Charles’ voice before you can give him an answer. Charles calls him again. “Yeah, yeah, old man. I hear you!” 

Thirty minutes. Just thirty minutes. You can—absolutely cannot—wait thirty minutes.

God. You are so lovesick.

Twenty-five minutes later you’re sitting out on the lawn, far away from the mansion, waiting for Logan, popping the last cookie into your mouth. 

You lay down on your back, the cold, wet grass sending a shiver down your spine. There’s a light breeze in the air, bending the green blades and the leaves of the trees back and forth. You look up at the stars, imagining just how hot they are, just how bright they can shine. 

“You finished the cookies!” Logan’s voice calls from a few feet away. You sit up, watching the shadow of his form make his way over to you. You can see the smile spread across his face as he reaches your slide, crouching down and sitting next to you. 

“Of course I did,” you say. He’s looking down at you, his eyes flickering across your face. You want to look away, but you can’t. It’s like he’s got you stuck there—he always does. He is the one thing you can’t resist. 

Logan’s shoulder bumps against yours, the sudden warmth reminding you just how cold you are. You shiver, crossing your arms and tucking them into your chest. 

You instinctively and involuntarily lean into his touch, searching for warmth. He catches on to what you’re doing before you do. “Cold?” He asks, shuffling a bit in his spot as he lifts his jacket.   

“O-oh no it’s okay you don’t—” But then he’s taking off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders. 

“Better?” He asks, his arm wrapping around your shoulders too, inviting you to lean into him completely.

“Y-yeah,” You stutter, letting your head rest against his chest. You close your eyes, too nervous to keep them open. His jacket smells like him—pine and tobacco and musk. Every breath you take is intoxicating. He’s everywhere, flooding your senses. It’s overwhelming, but there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than with him. 

He sighs, his breath fanning against your forehead. “So, what’s the matter?” He asks, tugging you in tighter. 

You shake your head, looking up at him. “Nothing,” you say, doing your best to be convincing. “I’m fine.” But you know it’s no use. He can see right through you. It’s like knowing when you’re lying is part of his mutation.

Logan raises his brows. “You’re stressed.” It isn’t a question, it’s a fact. “I could see it before, when we were inside. I can see it when you’re teaching the kids.” He rubs his hand up and down your arm, the feeling almost distracting you from his words. His eyes search yours for the truth, for an answer. “You can talk to me, darlin’. I’m right here.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as those last three words replay in your mind. You swallow your nerves down, searching for the right thing to say. 

“What if we’re in danger?” You stumble over the sentence quickly, shooting it out into the air like it’s something you’ve wanted to get rid of for a long time. “What if the stupid war they’re always talking about comes, and we aren’t ready?” You can feel your heart racing, tears brimming behind your eyes. 

Logan presses a kiss to your forehead, the warm feeling of his lips unexpected but welcome. “Hey,” he coos, his lips still pressed against your skin. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

A tear slides down your cheek. The words come out like vomit, each syllable slipping off your tongue in rapid-fire succession. “But what if it’s not? What if I can’t protect the kids or the team or you for fuck’s sake?” You can’t stop the floodgates—tears flowing freely down your cheeks. You’re speaking between sobs now. “What if they get to us before we can convince them that mutants aren’t something to be wiped out or some disease to be cured? What if—” 

Logan’s arms wrap around your body, tugging you against his chest, pulling you as close as possible. “I’m not gonna let that happen,” he murmurs. “We’re going to figure this out. We’re going to be okay.” 

“H-how do you know?” You choke, your chest heaving against his. “What if—"

“No more what ifs,” he whispers, his hands rubbing against the leather of the jacket—his jacket—on your back. “No one’s gonna hurt you, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” He presses a kiss to the side of your head. “Gonna keep you safe, okay?”

“O-okay,” you mutter. “Gonna k-keep you safe, too.” 

Logan hums, the bassy timber of his voice filling your ears, calming your mind. “Don’t worry about me,” he pauses, one hand reaching up to the nape of your neck, rubbing circles into the sensitive skin there. “Just let me worry about you.” 

“Always gonna worry about you,” you say, not backing down. 

You can feel his heart beating against yours. “You don’t have to right now,” he soothes. “Let me take care of you.”

You don’t protest—don’t try to fight him this time. You let him pull you into his lap, let him hold you closer, let him play with the hair at the nape of your neck.  You can feel his lips on the crown of your head. He’s so close—closer than he’s ever been before. He feels so good, so firm and solid underneath you, so steadfast and constant. He’s a lifeline, a necessity. A safe place—asylum. 

It has always been him that you need, and you’d be a liar to say otherwise. 

Logan finally breaks the silence. “What are you thinking about?” He asks.  You, you think. 

“Me?” What? 

“Did I just…” you trail off. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Yeah, you did,” he husks, his hands lowering down your back, slipping under the jacket and your thin t-shirt to the bare skin underneath. His palms are warm, and his touch is tentative, hesitant. “This okay?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, and Logan starts to draw patterns and shapes across your back. “Feels nice.” Your voice is soft and shaky as he explores your skin.  

“I’ve been thinking about you too, you know,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. His nails drag across your back. You move your legs to straddle him. “You’re the only thing on my mind, princess.” He presses his forehead to yours as if to show you, to prove to you that he’s telling the truth. You shudder at the words, at the thought. He presses a chaste kiss to your nose, lowering his lips until they’re just centimeters from yours. 

The world feels frozen. You’ve long forgotten you’re outside, the breeze cutting across the grass. You’ve forgotten about the stars twinkling above you. They’re nothing—just balls of heat burning out millions of miles away. You’ve forgotten about all the hatred you’re forced to face, all the variables and lives at stake in this stupid war. Your mind is calm. Everything is suddenly nothing. 

Everything is him. Logan. 

“Logan,” you mumble. It’s a plea, a prayer, a demand. And he knows exactly what you’re asking for as his name hangs in the air between the two of you. 

His lips crash down onto yours, tasting you, savoring you. But it isn’t languid or slow—it’s rushed, frantic, starving, as if your world is ending; it very well could be. He’s pushing you down onto the grass, his muscular arms on either side of your head, caging you in underneath him. 

“Wanted you this whole time,” he pants in between kisses. “Needed you, couldn’t stop thinking about you. Still can’t.” He pushes the jacket open with one of his hands and hitches your shirt up. He lowers himself onto his forearm as his nails drag up your stomach, settling just under your ribs. He spreads his palm, feeling the expanse of your skin, tracing your curves and the dips of your body.  

“F-fuck,” you stutter, arching your back off the grass and into his chest, offering more of yourself to him. 

He bites your lower lip and kisses the pain away. “You gonna let me take you right here?” He growls, his fingers playing with the hem of your bra. “Gonna let me fuck you outside, pretty girl?”

“Yes,” you whine, lifting your hips against his, feeling his erection straining in his jeans. “Need you, Lo.” 

He curses under his breath as he sits up, his hands pawing at the leather jacket, tearing it from your body and casting it aside. You sit up too, keeping yourself close to him. He’s yanking at the hem of your shirt, lifting it up and over your head. He takes off his beater next, but you don’t get the chance to admire him. Everything is a blur, the throwing of clothes, the way he’s shoving you back down to the grass as his fingers unclasp your bra. The straps fall down your arms, and Logan slips it off the rest of the way. 

He pauses, taking you in, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, lowering himself back down over you, balancing on one forearm as his free hand slides up your stomach, over your ribs, finally settling on your chest. He cups your tits, squeezing gently, his thumb brushing over one nipple and then the other. 

“Perfect. You’re so goddamn perfect,” he praises, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, and then to your chin. He continues his trail down to your jaw, your collarbone, the center of your chest. 

He takes a detour, his lips latching onto your nipple and biting lightly, his tongue flicking out and soothing the ache away. He kisses across the valley of your chest, bringing his mouth to the other side. He flits his tongue across your other nipple, and continues his trail down your stomach, peppering innocent kisses as he travels lower and lower. 

He stops at the hem of your shorts, looking up at you under hooded eyes. You can see the lust, the desire, the need. “Please,” you whimper. And then he’s hastily unbuttoning and unzipping your shorts, wasting no time as he hooks his fingers into the waistbands of your shorts and panties, yanking them down your legs and throwing them carelessly into the grass. 

Logan pushes your thighs open. “Keep your legs spread for me, sweetheart.” You can feel his breath on your clit. “Wanna taste you,” he rasps, kissing your core teasingly. “Wanna feel you come on my tongue.” 

And then his tongue is pushing through your folds, lapping at your juices, all the way up to your clit. It’s already too much, your hips lifting off the grass. Logan brings his arm across your hips in response, keeping you down. “Stay,” he grunts, his voice vibrating against your heat. “Don’t know where you think you’re going, princess.” He’s looking up at you now. You can see the desperation and the hunger in his eyes. 

He's starving for you.

He buries his face back into your cunt, swiping his tongue through your folds again before finally settling on your clit. He latches his lips around the bud, sucking harshly. He flicks his tongue out, drawing sweet, sacrilegious circles against your core. 

His free hand climbs up your inner thigh, spreading your legs wider for him. His nails ghost across your skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. He finds his way to your folds, spreading your slick, teasing your entrance. You moan his name as he presses your squirming hips down firmly into the ground. “Doing so good for me,” he breathes against your swollen clit. “Such a sweet fucking pussy.” 

He sinks two fingers deep into your cunt, humming against you, savoring the taste of you. He pumps in and out, deeper every time. “F-fuck Lo,” you cry out, your hands grasping the blades of grass beneath you for purchase. “Feels so good.”

Your walls flutter around him, your muscles already contracting as he works you open. “That’s it, princess,” he huffs, his teeth grazing your clit as he sucks, hard. “Can feel you squeezing my fingers, can feel you getting close.”

“S-so close,” you choke out as he fucks his fingers into you. His pace becomes faster, relentless. He laps at you like he’s a man who has never eaten in his life. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he soothes. “Come on my tongue, darlin’. Know you can do it.” He’s working you through it, swirling his tongue, flicking your clit, licking thick, hard stripes around the bud. His long fingers scissor inside you, rubbing against your walls deliciously. It’s all too much, but it’s just what you need. “Let go for me, pretty girl.”

You feel your walls contract as the fire in your belly spills. You chant his name—Logan. It’s a prayer—no—a promise. It hangs in the air as you come undone underneath him. His fingers pump in and out of you slowly, helping you ride out your orgasm. He carefully pulls out after a few more thrusts, but his face is still buried in your cunt, still lapping at your swollen, overstimulated clit. 

“Lo,” you whimper, looking down at him. He looks up at you, his tongue licking one long stripe before he stops completely. 

He presses a chaste kiss to your clit as he sits up and unbuckles his belt. “Gonna have to taste that pretty pussy again later, yeah?” He throws his belt to the side and unbuttons his jeans. He slides the zipper down, too, and hooks his fingers inside his jeans, shoving the denim and his boxers down his legs in one quick movement. 

You can make out just how big he is in the moonlight. You swallow at the size of him. He lowers down onto you again, resting on his forearm, guiding his cock towards your entrance. 

He captures your lips in a kiss as he nudges against you, teasing you, spreading your folds open for him. “Gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” he coos, kissing you again. “Gonna make you feel good.” 

You wrap your arms around his back, bringing his chest flush to yours. “Need you, Logan. Need you inside me.”

“I know,” he whispers, nudging teasingly against you again. “I know.”

And then he’s shoving himself deep inside you, filling you up. You can feel his cock twitching, throbbing, searching for more of you. He pulls all the way out and buries himself back down to the hilt. 

“F-fuck,” you curse, your nails digging into his shoulders, searching for support. “It’s s-so much. So big.”

He presses his forehead to yours. “I’ve got you, pretty girl,” he husks, setting a slow, easy pace, letting you adjust to the size of him. “Taking me so good.” He’s working you open with every pump, his cock rubbing against your walls and stretching you out. 

Logan brings his free hand between your bodies to your still-swollen clit, stroking gently as he plunges deeper into you, hitting your G-spot with every thrust. You moan his name, your chest coming flush with his as you arch your back. The contact feels so nice—just what you needed. He’s fucking you out, pounding into you over and over again. 

He's erasing every fear, every bad dream, every horrible vision you’ve ever had. It’s what he does to you. It’s just him—Logan—always has been and always will be. 

“Such a good girl,” he grunts. “Letting me fuck you out here.” His hips snap against yours—building his pace, growing faster and deeper as he thrusts into you. You can feel yourself growing closer, crumbling underneath him. You can’t last much longer, your walls fluttering around him, squeezing him tightly. 

He moans your name into your mouth, his tongue sliding across your bottom lip, tasting you. “You feel so good, pretty girl,” he groans, rocking into you. “So soft, so tight. Know you’re close.” He flicks your clit, and then circles roughly. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.”

“G-gonna…” You trail off, a bumbling mess, unable to finish your sentence as Logan fucks into you. 

“I know, pretty girl,” He soothes. “I’m right here, I’ve got you. Come for me.” 

You can’t hold back anymore. You can feel yourself letting go, your walls fluttering around him, taking him deeper, holding him tighter. Your orgasm washes over you, like sun stretching across your skin, like a fire spreading in a forest. It’s all too much, too good. 

Logan isn’t far behind. You can feel his cock twitching deep inside you, his pace faltering, his thrusts becoming sloppier. His fingers leave your clit and travel up your body. His hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you gently as he pumps into you, pressing his forehead to yours. 

“Wanna come inside you, pretty girl,” he moans, pulling you closer, taking you deeper. 

You nod against his forehead. “P-please,” you stutter, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Don’t want you to leave yet.”

“F-fuck,” he growls, your words sending him over the edge as he spills inside you, filling you up. “You’ve idea,” he chokes, “how long I’ve fucking wanted you.” His thrusts slow as he rides out his orgasm, pumping in and out a few more times before pulling out of you. 

He doesn’t break contact—doesn’t rush to get changed. He rolls onto his back and pulls you with him so that your head rests on his chest, your body tucked tightly into his. You can hear his heart beating deep inside—hear his shaky breaths become more stable. The air is no longer cold—the breeze a welcome contrast to the hot summer night air. 

Your legs tangle together. Somewhere in the distance birds sing. A branch creaks. The wind whisks through the grass. You close your eyes and listen. The calm before the storm. This peace can’t last.

“Lo?” You call, breaking the silence. 

He kisses the crown of your head. “I’m right here.”

“I know, but—”

It’s like he can read your mind. “I’m not going anywhere. No one is.” He tightens his arms around you, pulling you closer. 

“I’m just scared to lose you, to lose all this.”

Logan presses another kiss to your head. “I know,” he murmurs. “But I’ve got you. Nothing’s gonna hurt you. I promise.” 

Nothing’s gonna take you from my side.  

[humanjarvis]

blushing bandit: part 2

synopsis: when you caught caleb stealing your panties, you'd told him to ask you for the real thing next time. he disobeys.

tags: sub!caleb, dependent caleb, caleb steals your panties again, begging, facesitting, cunnilingus, handjob with used panties, mean reader, dirty talk, sexual condescension, caleb comes untouched (and then touched), overstimulation, slight aftercare, actions/positions may be anatomically challenged idk how any of that works irl pairing: caleb x reader word count: 2.3k

PART 1

a/n: so much love on the last one. i hope i did y'all justice

You’re not sure why your eyes flutter open in the dead of night until you hear the soft groans echoing down the hallway. 

As you come to your senses, a spark of anger dissolves your lethargy. It’s 2 a.m., you’d had a long day, and you really don’t feel like leaving the comfort of your bed to investigate. Whatever he’s getting up to, he can whimper his way through it alone, you think, nestling deeper into your sheets. 

That is, until you hear the faint grunt of your name float through the air, luring you in with the promise of punishment. 

With a grunt of your own, you swing off the mattress and pad down the hall, shivering from the chilled air prickling through your camisole and shorts. Great, and it’s freezing in here. Another grievance to add to the list.

Braving the cold, you come to a stop a few steps from his room, refusing to be caught in the soft light spilling from the cracked doorway. Two days before, Caleb had been reckless—he’d been moving so hastily to catch a glimpse of you touching yourself that you could’ve spotted his shadow with your eyes closed. 

No, you wouldn’t be so careless. This was your grand entrance to make, after all. You’d bide your time, make him wonder if you’d been serious about your request from earlier—if you cared enough to correct his misbehavior. 

Gingerly, you slink to the opposite wall, deftly avoiding the gleam of his floor lamp as you cross to the other side of the doorframe. 

As you peer through the gap in the doorway, holding your breath in anticipation, you expect to see Caleb disobeying the order you’d given him: to come to you for help, to ask you for the real thing. Check.

You expect to see a pair of your panties pressed against his face as he desperately fucks into his hand. Check.

You expect them to be the pair you’d so graciously gifted him two days prior, when you’d made him admit his thefts. But you’d underestimated him, it seems. No check here. 

Because pressed against Caleb’s nose are the lavender panties you’d worn during your trip to the mall this afternoon. He must’ve stolen them from your hamper while you were in the shower. With a quiet scoff, you slip into the room, your footfalls muted by his crescendoing moans and the soft rubs of skin on skin. 

Leaning against the wall in front of him, you take in his writhing form: his trembling hand molding your panties to his face, his muscled chest heaving through inhales, his swollen cock bobbing with his movements. His scrunched-closed eyes blocking the one view that might be able to get him off.

It’s when he huffs in frustration, clearly no longer able to find release without you present, that Caleb opens his eyes. Annoyed, he squints at the ceiling, then at his lamp, before finally spotting you in his periphery. 

You wear a blank expression as he meets your eyes, and flickers of alarm, then relief, then anticipation cross his face. 

Slowly, haughtily, you uncross your arms and push off the wall, stalking toward his bedside to tower over him with a sneer. As your eyes travel down his body, his length throbs under your gaze, and he moves to reach out to you before thinking better of it. With an unimpressed look that you hope masks your arousal, you quirk an eyebrow. “All that effort to disobey me and you couldn’t even come, huh?” 

His cheeks flush, and he looks down at his chest to escape your scrutiny. “I was almost about to—”

“You were almost about to give up and go to sleep with a leaking cock,” you say plainly, earning a garbled choke from the man beneath you. 

Sighing, you climb onto the mattress. “I distinctly remember telling you,” you start, crawling up his body, “the next time you want to get off, you ask me. You come to me.” 

When you reach his waist, you settle your hips onto his abdomen, resting your palms flat on his chest. “And not only do you choose your hand over my help, you also steal from me again. What do I say to that? What should I do with you?”

He feigns contemplation for a moment before smiling up at you, a coy softness in his gaze. “You could show me,” he whispers, circling his thumb on your hip. “Show me why I should come to you. What I've been missing.” 

You snort. 

“Right, of course,” you humor him, rolling your hips into the hard panes of his waist. “I should punish you by giving you a reward. Why didn’t I think of that?”

His hands, which had come up to grip your ass as you moved, flex in response to your teasing. “No,” he corrects, his breathy voice dropping an octave, “you should punish me by using me. Takin’ all your anger out on my face. I stole from you—woke you up, didn’t listen to you, right? Shouldn’t you use me? Put me in my place?”

You know what he’s doing. You fully know what he’s doing, but his display of docility has made you too wet to care. You’re sure he can feel it seeping through your shorts and onto his abs—that’s probably why his pupils push the purple from his eyes, his breaths coming out in soft pants. 

Lightly digging your nails into his pecs, you lean toward him, your cleavage hanging just before his chin. “Okay, Caleb. I’ll use you.” 

Shifting your weight, you inch further up his body, coming to kneel with your legs on either side of his head. Bracing one hand on the headboard, you start lowering yourself toward him, savoring the way he licks his lips in anticipation. 

But it can’t be that easy. If you’re doing this, you’re doing it your way. 

Halfway to his mouth, you pause, suddenly, casting an exaggerated frown down at his eager face. 

“I’m not sure I really should, though—use you, I mean. You were so ready to disobey me, I’m just not convinced. Maybe I should let you keep licking my panties and rutting into your hand—you seemed happy enough doing it earlier. What do you say?” you taunt, moving to lift off him. 

“No,” Caleb whines, bold hands coming to hold you in place above him.

You still in acquiescence—hell, you weren’t going anywhere, anyway—and tut down at him. “No?” you repeat, a mocking lilt in your voice. “Do you deserve it, then?”

You see the impish glint in his eye the moment he thinks of pulling you down himself, but you challenge him with a much less playful glint of your own. In an instant, his mischief fizzles, and his throat bobs in time with the blush blooming on his cheeks. “I deserve it,” he mumbles, his breath fanning your cunt. “Deserve to be used. By you.”

“Mm, you do? Then why don’t you say ‘please,’ Caleb?”

It’s a beautiful moment, the seconds where he almost breaks in desperation. The man who never asks for anything, suddenly forced to beg for everything. But before he can crumble, his faltering, scarlet face twitching from impatience, he schools his expression, returning to the simpering, pliable version of him that only you could bring out.

“…Use me. Let me have the real thing. Please,” he whispers hoarsely, pressing a light kiss to your inner thigh. 

With a fond, appeased smile, you finally sink down on him, aligning his nose with your clit and lips with your sticky heat. When you press flush against his face, he freezes momentarily, his fingers tightening around your hips as deep inhales flutter across your cunt. 

Recovering, he gives you a reverent, chaste kiss before flicking his tongue out, and as the tang of your flavor—right from the source—spreads across his mouth, an impulse to eat consumes his thoughts. In an instant, he parts your folds with a decisive lick, swirling his tongue to taste every part of you he can reach. 

As he explores you in warm, dutiful strokes, you thread your fingers in his hair, tugging up to bump his nose against your clit. When he feels the twitching bud, he pauses to give it an open-mouthed kiss before diving back between your folds. 

“Aw, look at you,” you giggle. “Isn’t this so much better? Imagine how much time we could’ve saved if you’d come to me earlier.” 

At your words, his lips release you with a lewd smack before latching back on with fervor. 

Emboldened by his encouragement, you tighten your hold on his hair and pull him to you, rolling your cunt against his face in a steady grind. Moaning into you at the friction, he bucks his hips involuntarily, and you grin down at him. “This fits you, don’t you think? Being used?” 

Humming against you in agreement, he burrows deeper between your legs, eyes screwed shut in concentration. 

“Eyes on me,” you order, stilling your movements to catch his attention. After a moment, his hazy violet gaze finds yours, and all the confusion he’s capable of mustering is evident on his face. “There he is,” you coo. “You didn’t want to come up, did you? Too shy to look at me?”

He shakes his head ardently, squishing your cunt harder against his lips. 

“No? What was it, then?” 

Conflicted, he whines at your prodding, clearly wanting to answer but unwilling to part from your core long enough to do so.

You laugh softly at his stubbornness before throwing your head back and resuming your earlier pace, dragging your slit up and down his ready mouth. “What, you wanna stay down there forever? Wake up under me, breathe me, live off my cum?”

As the suggestion rings through the air, a few things happen at once. Caleb’s lips detach from you with a wet pop, seemingly against his will, as his eyes roll back and he grips your hips so tightly you think they’ll bruise. 

It’s then that you feel something splatter against your spine, and you look back to catch his engorged, twitching cock spurting thick ropes of cum. As the heavy breaths that punctuate his whimpers fan into you, you conceal the smirk on your face and look down at him with a pout. 

“Already?” you whine playfully. “I haven’t even done what I wanted yet. You won’t wait for me?” 

Still recovering from his high, Caleb can only press a light kiss to your clit—a sign that it’s okay to continue. 

“I guess I’ll have to give you another,” you decide. “I’m feeling generous tonight, in spite of it all.” 

With a wink, you extend an arm to where your panties lay discarded and loop them through your fingers, wearing them like a glove. Threading your other hand in Caleb’s hair to stabilize yourself, you reach back and clasp his pulsing cock, the fabric in your fingers meeting his skin with devastating friction. 

Giving him only a moment to gasp into you, you slide your hand down his length, collecting his seed as you go and ruining yet another pair of your underwear. Once the material is coated with his cum, you repeat your movements—up and down, up and down in time with your thrusts against his face. 

Overwhelmed and overstimulated, he grinds you into him, imprinting his head into the plush pillow beneath. With nowhere left to go and everything left to give, he frantically probes at your entrance, fumbling slightly before finally breaching your hole with his tongue. You gasp at the intrusion, instinctively clamping your legs around his head in defense, which only sucks him further inside. 

Wanton moans falling from your lips, you rock your swollen clit against the bridge of his nose, claiming every part of him as you chase your release. When his flicks and swishes between your walls become too much to bear, you clench around his tongue with a breathy cry and gush into his waiting mouth. As your movements stutter from the pleasure, your hand slips from its place on his cock, and the lace border of your panties snags on his tip. The dual sensations have him coming again, painting his chest and your lower back a milky, translucent white.

In the silence that follows, the only noises in the room your intermixed, shuddering breaths, Caleb laps at your release in continued reverence. When those laps turn to suckles, you clamber off of him before he can start again.

Supporting yourself with your elbows, your feet planted on the bed, you take in his flushed face, drenched with your essence and a mix of your sweat. Between heavy pants, he fixes his imploring gaze on you and reaches out with a whimper, to which you quickly oblige. Crawling to the headboard, you lean your back against it and wrap your arms around his spent body, pressing a long kiss to his damp hair. 

He folds himself into your chest, nuzzling against you, and the decelerating beat of your heart steadies his. Running a hand through his soft strands, you give his scalp a brief massage before asking the question that’s been on your mind from the moment his moans disrupted your sleep. “Caleb?” you murmur into his ear. “You wanted me to hear you, didn’t you?” 

Sluggish, he looks up at you with a blissed-out smile, his unfocused eyes settling on your knowing expression. Wordlessly, he presses one kiss to your wrist, another to the valley of your chest, before nestling back down, his large hand resting on your still-leaking heat.

taglist: @mcdepressed290 @imiqz @silviex

[aegonstradwife]

exposure therapy | aemond targaryen x reader

summary: anonymous requested; you and aemond were recently married. you're afraid of him, but aemond goes to great lengths to show you he's not that scary.

warnings: excessive use of ellipses, #1 wife lover aemond targaryen, brief mention of childhood trauma, smut. (fingering, face riding, oral.)

a. note:link to the original request.

As Aemond's new wife, it's surprising how little time you spend together. The servants whisper about it around every corner; how you skulk through the halls hoping to avoid him, how nearly every meal you take is apart from each other.

But there's a very good reason for this, one that you've never admitted to anyone.

You are terrified of him.

Even at night, you might share the same bed, but it's big enough that you can sleep soundly without ever once touching him. Although even that was difficult at first; those first few nights you dreaded climbing into bed with him and got nearly no sleep at all.

He is so much bigger, and much stronger, than you. He really could do anything he wanted to you and you would have no chance of fighting him off.

Eventually, however, Aemond's still body beside yours throughout the night, you realized he either wouldn't, or didn't want to, touch you. And finally you were able to get some sleep.

But now, though sleep comes much more easily and your nights are no longer fraught with peril at the thought of him forcing himself upon you, it still doesn't mean you have any desire to be around him.

And you thought he felt much the same. Until tonight.

Aemond is already comfortable on the settee by the window, reading, when you retire to your shared bedchamber for the night.

Hells bent as usual on ignoring him, you busy yourself with removing your shoes in front of the wardrobe.

"Come. Sit with me."

In the quiet of the room, Aemond's sudden, uncharacteristic, voice makes you jump, going very still. His tone is soft; now that you think on it, you've heard Aemond's voice very few times, either before or after you were married.

In your mind, the few times you had heard him speak, you remember him sounding like a complete barbarian. Not this lilting, almost melodic, softness....

Straightening, you nervously smooth the skirts of your dress down over your thighs. Aemond's silhouette is stark against the candles guttering on the windowsill.

You gulp, starting to tiptoe toward him, but stopping at the opposite arm of the settee. "Do I have to?" You ask quietly, and even that takes every ounce of courage in your weary body.

This is probably as close as you've ever been to him when not in bed together at night.

"I won’t bite." Aemond's lips are quirked in a half smirk. He closes the book in his hands and sets it aside, patting the space beside him. "I assure you, I won’t hurt you. Come. Sit."

Though he had indicated the middle cushion, you sweep your skirts under you and take a seat on the one beside it, furthest from Aemond.

Normally you would have loved sitting and reading by candlelight, the cool breeze from the open windows ruffling your hair.

But now you bite your lip, heart hammering hard against your ribcage like a frightened bird.

Aemond can feel the tension radiating off of you. Your shoulders tight as a bow string, the muscles in your jaw taut, hands folded in your lap fidgeting with a loose thread on your gown.

He simple looks at you for a very long moment. Your features are delicate, almost fragile, your frame small and dainty when compared to his. To Aemond, you look very much like a porcelain doll. He has no idea how someone could be so beautiful and yet so…. breakable.

You glance nervously at him, wondering what he could possibly be thinking.

"What?" You ask, though you keep your voice low, not wanting to anger him.

"You're afraid of me," Aemond states bluntly. He leans against the back of the settee, studying you with one intense purple eye. "Why?"

You laugh aloud, unable to stop yourself. Now seems as good a time as any to tell him exactly what you've been thinking since your wedding day.

"Look at you. And look at me. You could do whatever you want to me and I wouldn't be able to stop you. Not to mention...." You shrug. "The stories about you aren't kind...."

Aemond raises an eyebrow at your laughter, that same small, wry smile never leaving his lips. He can't help but wonder if you're mocking him as he leans forward, gaze still locked with yours.

"And what do the stories say about me, little wife?" His voice is low, a dangerous, frightening edge to it.

For seemingly the first time, you look your husband in the eye. One piercing violet eye stares back, the other covered by his customary eyepatch. "They say you're a fearsome warrior, one of the strongest swordsmen alive. And they say.... they say you killed that boy. Rhaenyra's son...."

Aemond’s eye narrows. There is so much uncertainty in that gaze of yours, something about your innocent face makes Aemond feel.... bad. His jaw clenches and he leans back.

"Lucerys Velaryon. Yes, I did kill him. Though I didn't mean to.... I lost control."

"You didn't?" Your eyes narrow as well, suspicious of him. "Then.... what did you mean to do?"

Your husband lets out a long sigh and crosses his arms. "I meant to scare him. I was.... angry. I wanted to teach him a lesson, to frighten and humiliate him. And I did not have such good control over Vhagar as I do now...."

At the mention of his dragon, you perk up - that's one thing you've always been curious about. The Targaryen dragons are so beautiful and powerful; you would love to ride one one day, if given the chance.

"So your dragon, she disobeyed you?"

Aemond is clearly taken aback by your interest in Vhagar. For a moment, it seemed you forgot you were supposed to be scared of him. He tries to hide the hint of surprise flickering across his face.

"Well, yes and no," Aemond says, diplomatic. "Vhagar is a very old and powerful dragon, and she is used to doing what she wants. Sometimes.... it's difficult for any Targaryen to control a dragon, even the strongest of riders."

You are positively fascinated, hearing about Vhagar, leaning in toward Aemond without realizing. "What is it like, riding her? Does it ever get cold, so high up?"

Aemond can smell your perfume as you lean toward him, a mix of jasmine and honey, faint yet sweet. He clears his throat.

"Riding Vhagar is like nothing else," he tells you. "And yes, it does get cold at times, but the feeling of the wind in your hair and the power of the dragon beneath you is.... indescribable."

"Do you think she'd let me ride her?" At this point, you're nearly nose to nose with Aemond, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Or do they only let Targaryens?"

Aemond freezes, gaze still locked with yours, your heads so close together that he can feel your breath ghost across his lips. He is surprised by your question and even more surprised by how badly he wants to fulfill the request.

"They only let Targaryens ride them, yes," he says, voice sounding much huskier than he intends. "But.... I'm sure Vhagar wouldn't mind letting someone else ride her.... if I were to accompany them."

"Would you?" You reach out, hand finding his thigh and giving a thankful squeeze. Realizing what you've done, how close you've become to him, you quickly snatch that hand back as though Aemond is on fire. "I'm so sorry...."

Aemond’s eye widens; for a heartbeat, your touch sent a shock through his entire body.

"It's alright." His voice is rough. “Don’t apologize....” He catches your wrist gently, before you can pull your hand away completely. "It was.... nice."

You tense, wrist caught in his strong embrace. "What are you doing?"

For a long moment, Aemond doesn't respond, simply staring at your slender wrist in his hand. Your skin is so smooth, so soft. He can feel your pulse beating against his palm, fast and fluttering like the wings of a small bird.

"Doing?" He finally asks, looking up at you with a sly smile. "Just.... holding your hand, that’s all."

"Holding my.... oh." All things considered, Aemond is handsome, you suppose. With his long silver hair, that chiseled jaw, the little moue of his lips. "You.... you really aren't all that scary, are you?"

Chuckling softly, Aemond's fingers gently stroke the skin of your wrist. Your words, spoken almost as a question, take him by surprise.

"I'm not trying to scare you," he says, his voice low and slightly amused. "And I don’t want to be scary, to you. Can I be honest with you, little wife?"

You nod, letting him continue to stroke that sensitive bit of skin around your wrist. He is very gentle, which has taken you by surprise.

"The truth is," he mutters, "I don't like it when you're scared of me. I don't like the way you look at me, as if you think I'm going to pounce on you and tear you apart at any moment. That's not what I want."

Slowly, still wary of him, you curl your fingers around his thumb and Aemond's breath hitches. Your hand is small compared to his; Aemond's fingers look massive beside yours.

"Everyone else seems so frightened of you. I thought.... I should be as well. I didn't know, that you hadn't meant to kill that boy. Have you told anyone else that?"

“No,” he says after a moment. “No one else knows. I haven't told anyone.”

He pauses, looking down at your hand in his. His other hand comes to trap your fingers inside of his palms, his thumbs tracing back and forth over your skin. “You’re the first I've shared this with.”

"You should tell others, that way no one will be scared of you."

Aemond lets out a soft chuckle, his gaze still fixed on your fingers intertwined with his own.

“I quite like others being afraid of me,” he admits. The smile on his face fades, just a bit, in the flickering candlelight. “But not you.”

"Not me?" You query, a sweet blush rising high on your cheeks. "Why not me?"

Aemond’s eye is drawn to that color blooming across your cheeks, the innocent flush sending a strange feeling coursing through him. He continues to stroke your wrist in a gentle, almost reverent, way.

"A wife should not be afraid of her husband," he says finally, his voice soft. "She should be worshipped by him....”

Slowly, so as not to startle you, he brings your wrist to his lips and places a gentle kiss there.

You lick your lips, nervous as all seven hells with the way things are going. Not only are you still afraid of Aemond - though growing less so by the moment - you have also never been close like this with anyone else before.

"And why.... why is it so important for other people to be afraid of you?"

Aemond’s lips linger over your skin, the faintest ghost of a smile there. He can feel the way your hand trembles slightly in his, the nervous flutter of your pulse against his fingertips. But he also notices how you don’t draw back, how you sit still and allow him to hold you.

“It's.... payback, almost,” he confesses. “For the torment I suffered as a child. It is better to be feared than loved - no one will ever again treat me the way they did when I was young.”

You are not aware of any torment in Aemond's childhood, though that isn't saying much. Of course the Targaryens keep much of what goes on between them a secret. Even now that you're married, you're hardly privy to all - or even most - of their secrets.

"Is that.... how this happened?" Shaking ever so slightly, you raise a hand to Aemond's face, fingers stroking the strap of his eyepatch.

As your slender fingers brushed against the edge of it, Aemond tenses, every muscle in his body going taut. No one has ever touched him there before, and it's an unfamiliar intimacy.

He closes his eye for a moment, trying to control his reaction, before speaking. “Yes,” he says, his voice thick with emotions he finds difficult to name. “That's how this happened.”

You feel for Aemond; having to grow up that way must have been torture.

Pulling your hand gently from his grasp, you bring both up to hook beneath the rough leather strap. "May I?"

His breathing hitches as your hands tug gently at the straps of his eyepatch. He knows your touch is innocent.... but no one has ever dared to remove it for him before. He nods once, his voice low.

“You may.”

With fierce concentration and a desire not to ruin his perfect hair, you slide the eyepatch up and off, gasping at the gorgeous sapphire glimmering where his eye should be.

"Gods, it's beautiful, Aemond." Letting the patch rest in your lap, you run your fingers lightly over the scar tissue below Aemond's eye. "Who did this to you?"

Aemond's breath hitches again, rougher this time, as he feels the tips of your slender fingers graze the scarred tissue around his eye, the touch stirring something deep within him. The feeling of your touch against the sensitive skin there is almost overwhelming.

He swallows hard, that old pain and anger bubbling up inside of him.

"My.... nephew," he finally says, his voice surprisingly even. "Lucerys Velaryon."

You inhale sharply; all you can think of is that if Aemond had really meant to kill the boy, he would have been well within his right to, after having been mutilated like this.

Grabbing for his hands, you hurry to say something. "Aemond, I-"

But your husband cuts you off. "There is one other reason it's important for others to be afraid of me."

"A-And what is that?" You ask, holding his hands close to your bosom.

"So that I can protect my wife, and my family." That sapphire is positively glowing in the light of the flickering candles. "The more afraid people are of me, the less likely they are to try and harm me, or you, or our family.... once we make one...."

His declaration takes all the air from your lungs, and you find it hard to breathe. "If I had known all of this, I.... I would never have been so frightened of you. I'm sorry, Aemond."

You cast around desperately for something else to say, some other way to apologize.

"Do not apologize."

His voice is gentle, yet firm. Your hands are still holding his against your breast, and he can feel the warmth of your skin even through the layers of your gown, the rapid beat of your heart.

"You didn't know, it is not your fault for being afraid," he soothes you. "But.... now that you know.... may I ask you something else?"

You nod, eager now to answer Aemond's questions and to ask more of your own - you want to learn so much more about him.

Aemond's fingers tighten around yours, the feel of your soft skin against his own sending a strange heat through his veins. He draws you in a little closer, his face now so close to yours that he can feel the warmth of your breath, that same scent of sweet honey and jasmine in your hair.

"You.... have not shied away from my scar, or my missing eye," he says, his voice a low whisper. "You have touched them, caressed them even.... why?"

Why...? You find it odd he even has to ask.

"Because I think they make you beautiful. Is that wrong?"

Your thumbs find his wrists now, pressing in against his pulse points, which are fluttering erratically.

Aemond's breath catches in his throat, the feeling of your dainty thumbs resting against his wrists, feeling the rapid beating of his pulse, setting his skin on fire. Your words, declaring him beautiful, ring in his ears, stirring something deep within his chest.

"Be-Beautiful?" He repeats, his voice a terrible croak. No one.... no one has ever called him beautiful. The word sounds strange in his ears, as if they're not meant for someone like him.

You nod, and after only a momentary hesitation, you bring one hand up again to his scar. This time, brushing the side closest to his hairline, a few strands of long silver hair getting in the way.

"Beautiful, Aemond. You're beautiful. I mean.... I did always think that. Just.... was too afraid of you to tell you. Do you forgive me?"

Aemond's breath hitches once more as your fingers stroke his hair, your soft touch sending a shiver down his spine. No one, no one, has ever touched his scar with such tenderness, such care.

"I.... I forgive you," he whispers, voice raw. "And for what it's worth.... I'm sorry, that I.... that I made you afraid of me. I never wanted that, I swear."

"I know. It wasn't even your fault, really." You roll your eyes, relaxing against the back of the settee. "I was just.... assuming that what everyone else said was true. Which is a terrible thing, really. My parents raised me much better than that."

A particularly chilly gust of wind blows in through the window and you wrap your arms around yourself. "I have to admit, I thought if my shenanigans went on much longer, you'd be forced to.... well, force yourself on me...."

Aemond is silent, as if that thought, the notion of forcing himself on you, is something he refuses to even consider. He turns to look at you, the pale glow of his sapphire eye giving him an otherworldly appearance.

"I.... I would never force you to do anything, little wife, not ever," he says, his voice low and serious. "I believe the first time a man and wife.... are together.... it should be.... enjoyable.... for both of them."

Suddenly, all words are caught in your throat. The thought of your first time with Aemond still makes you nervous, even knowing that he would never want to do anything against your will.

"I thought.... a woman's first time was always painful?" That's what you've always been told. You have never done anything of the sort, but perhaps Aemond knows better.

At your words, Aemond's jaw tightens. His fingers clench into a fist, the thought of you in pain during your first time together sending a wave of anger through him.

"No. No, never. It shouldn't be painful, not unless you don't want it, too," he says, his voice low and urgent. "Your first time should be.... enjoyable. Pleasant. I would never take you simply for my own pleasure. I would make sure you...." he falters.

Flinching slightly away from him at the sight of his hand in a fist, you gasp softly. Have you said something wrong?

Still, you dare to ask, "You would make sure I what?"

In the candlelight, Aemond's eye flashes dangerously and that sapphire blazes.

He takes a very deep breath, forcing himself to relax, to open his hand again. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, "I.... I don't like the idea of hurting you, it.... makes me angry."

He looks down at you again.

"I would make sure that you.... felt pleasure as well. It wouldn't be about me. It's about both of us."

If you had known how protective Aemond was of you, you would have asked him about these things sooner. He is, after all, the only person you can think to ask. If you can't discuss bedroom matters with your husband, who can you discuss them with?

"How does it feel?" You ask him softly, scooting closer to him on the settee. "When you have sex, how does it feel?"

Aemond is taken somewhat off guard by the sudden question, his cheeks going pink at your unexpected candor, but he doesn't back down. He doesn't want to shy away from your questions, not when you're so close to him, peering at him through those wide, innocent eyes.

He takes another deep breath, shifting on the settee so he can face you fully.

"it.... it feels.... good," he begins, his voice a low rumble. "It feels.... full. Warm. Tight. But.... good. More than good, especially when you do it with someone you care about. It feels safe, like nothing can hurt you ever again."

The look on Aemond's face as he speaks is one you've never seen before - something vulnerable and almost childlike staring back at you. You wonder how you could ever have been afraid of him.

"And you? Who was your first time with?"

As your question hangs in the air between the two of you, Aemond goes stock-still. No one has ever asked him that before.

He hesitates for a moment, peering warily at you. "Why.... why do you want to know?" He asks finally, voice cautious.

Now you know you've definitely said something wrong. "I was just curious," you hurry to tell him. "It's wrong of me to pry, I'm sorry...."

Aemond sighs softly, shaking his head. "No, no, don't apologize," he says, his voice a light simper now. He reaches out, taking your hand gently in his.

"It's okay, I just.... wasn't expecting you to ask that." He pauses, and you can see a flicker of something run across his face. "You.... you really want to know?"

"I do," you admit bashfully. "If you feel comfortable telling me?"

Aemond's hand grips yours a little tighter, your words sending a strange, tight feeling through hm. He hasn't thought about that night in a long time, and the memory is still painful enough to make him wince.

"All right," he says, letting out a slow breath. "I.... I'll tell you. Just.... just don't.... don't judge me, all right?"

"I won't judge," you assure him with a shake of your head.

Aemond looks down at your intertwined hands, his fingers tracing a light pattern against your palm. He closes his eye, gathering his thoughts, before lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a barely-there kiss to your knuckles.

"My.... my first time," he begins, and his voice is rough, "was with a whore, in a pleasure house, at the behest of my brother who frequented - and still frequents - them much more than I did."

"I don't think that's anything to be ashamed of," you admit, mulling the idea over. "Most men visit those types of places at some point in their lives.... don't they?"

Aemond pauses for a moment, his eye locking with yours. He looks almost surprised by your response, as if he hadn't thought you would be so blasé about the situation.

"Yes...." he says slowly, "they do. But.... it's not.... it's not the sort of thing a wife would expect to hear, about their husband's past exploits."

You chew your lip thoughtfully, running your fingers around and through the spaces between Aemond's. "I don't mind, as long as...."

You hesitate, wondering if you really want to say this now or leave it for another night. "What I mean to say, Aemond, is that.... now that we understand each other better.... perhaps you can show me what it's like? Sex? And, if you do, I expect there to be no more pleasure houses in your future, is that clear?"

Aemond's gaze darkens as your words register, his heart stuttering in his chest. His fingers twitch against yours, breath catching in his throat.

"You.... you want me to show you...?" He repeats weakly, his eye wide and disbelieving.

You close your fingers tightly around Aemond's now, leaning in toward your husband. "Mm. But as I said, you must promise - no more pleasure houses. After all, you did say you want to worship me, did you not?"

Aemond's head swims with your words, his heart hammering in his chest so hard it's difficult to catch his breath. The way you're looking at him, the sweetness in your voice, the scent of honey and jasmine in your hair.... all of it is almost too much to bear.

He swallows hard, and nods. "No more pleasure houses. I promise," he whispers, his voice hoarse and rough.

His oath sets you at ease, but there's one more thing you must tell him.

"I must admit, Aemond, I'm still scared...."

He looks about to interrupt, but you cut him off. "Oh, not of you. I'm.... terrified of the pain. I've never done well with pain, and I'm so scared it's going to hurt like hell."

Aemond's heart twists at the worry and fear in your voice, his fingers tightening over yours. He hates the thought of you being scared, hates his own inability to take that fear away from you.

"Why do you still think it's going to be painful?" He asks quietly.

Instead of making you feel trapped, his fingers around yours make you feel safe. Aemond is lethal; you can see it in his face, in the hard line of his body. But he wants to use all of that to protect you....

Though what could he possibly do to prevent his own body from hurting you, even though he might not mean to?

"That's all I've ever been told." You gulp. "A woman's first time is always painful. And.... There's always blood."

Aemond's jaw clenches in anger. He doesn't know who planted these false, hurtful notions in your head, but he wants to tear them limb from limb.

He reaches out to you, tilting your head gently up to meet his gaze. "No. No, no, no," he says, his voice low and intense. "It's not supposed to be painful, especially the first time. You've just.... you've been told wrong."

He pauses. "Sometimes there is blood, I won't lie to you about that. But there are ways to minimize the chance of that."

Aemond's fingers start to skirt back and forth under your chin. "How .... How can we stop there being so much blood? I want you to show me."

Heart now beating much faster, Aemond's stomach twists with a mixture of desire and trepidation. He swallows, hard, his eye dark and heavy-lidded as he gazes down at you.

He runs his fingers through your hair, the soft feel of it against his skin maddening. "I can show you," he murmurs, "but.... you have to trust me."

"Of course. I do now." You turn your face toward his hand, palm skimming your cheek as he touches your hair. "I know you'll take care of me."

He takes another deep breath to steady himself, his hand coming to rest against the side of your face, thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "Good," he whispers, "because I will, always. But there's something.... something I need to know first."

You shiver, Aemond's fingers reverent along your cheek and jaw. "What is it?"

Fingers now trailing down your neck, he pauses, hand coming to rest on your collarbone, your pulse beating fast and hard against his palm.

Aemond leans in close, his voice a rumble in your ear. "You.... you have never even been touched, have you?"

You are very aware of how hard your heart is beating, thumping underneath his fingers. "I haven't.... is that bad?"

Aemond breathes heavily, pulling back to look at you.

"No," he says emphatically, "it's not bad. It's.... it's just...." He trails off for a moment, struggling to find the words. "I need to know.... if you're still.... if you're still intact."

The question makes you blush furiously, looking down at your laps, side by side, so you don't have to look Aemond in the eye. "I.... yes.... isn't that where the blood comes from?"

You don't know much, but you do know that.

He places two fingers gently under your chin, coaxing you to look up at him again.

"Yes," he says, "that's where the blood comes from. But it can break in other ways. For instance, from fingers or.... other objects." His fingers trace along your cheek, obviously trying to soothe your growing discomfort at this conversation.

"But it.... it doesn't have to," he adds after a moment.

You chuckle, reluctantly meeting Aemond's gaze. "Can we try?"

He takes a moment to steady himself, his hand now trailing back down your neck, slowly caressing. "Are you sure? Absolutely sure?"

You nod fervently, gripping onto his wrist. "Positively. Now that I understand you better, I can think of no one else I'd like to teach me such things...."

He leans in, lips brushing your ear again, breath hot against your skin. "Then I will," he murmurs, his voice an uneven, ragged whisper, "I will show you. And I will take my time."

Long have you waited for someone to come along and share this experience with you. When you were initially betrothed to Aemond, you thought all hope was lost - he was so frightening and the thought of sharing a bed with him sent a shiver of panic through you.

But now.... Women have desires just as much as men do, surely... At least you know you do. And Aemond is offering to take care of them for you....

You steady yourself with a hand on Aemond's chest, nails digging into the soft cotton of his tunic. "Please.... I want it."

Aemond's stomach clenches, your soft, pleading voice sending a bolt of white hot desire through him.

"Patience," he murmurs, his sizeable palm laid against the back of your hand on his chest, "I'll take care of you, I promise. I just need you to relax for me, all right?"

"Mm, I'll try...." With another nod, you take a deep breath, shuddering at the feeling of Aemond's big hand covering yours entirely. "Maybe a drink would serve to relax me better...?"

This gives Aemond pause, and he pulls back slightly, his eye raking over your face, taking in the soft blush on your cheeks, the way your lips are parted as you catch your breath.

He gives a single, slow nod. "Yes," he admits, "I think a drink might help."

Without another word, he moves to a small table on the other side of the room, pouring you each a generous glass of sweet wine.

As he does so, you finger the pendant at your throat, a gift from your late mother. The way Aemond looks at you; any woman would be lucky to have a husband who looks at her that way. Like you're precious, like he would do anything to protect you.

Once offered your glass, you take it and swallow a large mouthful, hoping to get drunk as quickly as possible, to make this whole ordeal more bearable.

Aemond watches you closely, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he sees you gulp the wine so quickly. He knows you're trying to get drunk, trying to use the alcohol as a crutch to make this easier.

"There's no need to rush," he says quietly, taking a seat beside you again, his knee bumping yours. He lifts his own glass to his lips, taking a slow, measured drink.

Swallowing another substantial mouthful of wine, you furtively watch the way Aemond's lips purse around the rim of his glass.

You smooth the skirts of your dress down, taking a deep breath. "I just want to be as relaxed as possible for you, Aemond."

He continues to watch you, that striking violet eye taking in every tiny detail - the way your fingers grasp the fabric of your dress, the soft movement of your body underneath the silk.

He takes a deep breath, his eye watching you as he drains the last of the wine from the glass. "I know," he murmurs, his voice a husky rumble, "but there's no need to get completely drunk, my love."

"It can't hurt." You upend the first glass of wine, draining the last dregs, and hold your glass out toward him. "Another?"

Apparently highly amused, Aemond raises a brow, but refuses to pour you another.

"I think that's quite enough. There's no need to be quite so drunk tonight, I promise."

You pout, setting your glass aside, but starting to feel a pleasant warmth wash over you from the first glass all the same.

"How do we start?" You question, leaning in close to him. Aemond smells of chamomile and sweat and.... maybe just a hint of blood? It's the best thing you've ever smelled.

Aemond reaches for you suddenly, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you gently onto his lap so you can straddle him.

The next breath he takes rattles through him as you settle on top of him, his hands gripping your waist, heart beating fast. "We.... we start here," he whispers, his voice a rough murmur.

"Goodness," you breathe, hands curling over his shoulders to steady yourself. "And.... what do we do here?"

You're trying your best to be brave, and the wine is making it easier, but there is still that niggling worry at the back of your mind, chanting blood blood blood.

Aemond feels that slight tremble in your hands as you grab his shoulders, the way you hesitate and swallow nervously as you ask your question. He can practically hear your thoughts racing, paying attention to the fear and trepidation in your words.

He leans in close, hands slipping from your waist to bracket your ribs, pulling you flush against him, your body cradled easily in his lap. "We start like this," he murmurs, his fingers gently tilting your chin up to look at him. "Just like this."

Slowly, fingers gentle but firm on your chin, he's bringing you in for a kiss.

The sound that leaves your mouth at the first dry press of your lips together is embarrassing. You curse. "I'm sorry." You bite your lip hard, searching Aemond's one violet eye for forgiveness. "Can we try again?"

Aemond chuckles good-naturedly, hands coming up to cup your face, thumbs tracing slow, gentle patterns over your cheeks.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he whispers, leaning ever closer to you, his breath hot against your lips. "We can try as many times as you like, darling."

With a hand again around his wrist to steady yourself, you don't have far to go, what with Aemond's face so close to yours. You press your lips to his - soft yet firm. Your other hand slides up the outside of his thigh as you open your mouth under his, grateful for his willingness to teach you.

You hear Aemond's breath hitch again as he feels your hand moving up his leg, the touch of your slim, soft fingers against his body sending a shiver down his spine. He groans as you open your mouth, his tongue immediately seeking yours, tangling, tasting, claiming.

He grips your hair in one hand, angling your head back so he can deepen the kiss, his other hand back to gripping your hip, pulling you tighter against him.

You do the same, hands migrating down, loving the feeling of Aemond's slim, strong muscle under your fingers. As you kiss, you surreptitiously move the thin cloth of Aemond's tunic aside so you can touch him skin to skin over his sharp hipbones.

This earns you a keen inhale from your husband, who jerks away from you.

"I'm sorry," you breathe. "Is this okay?"

His mouth has opened in a gasp against yours, eyes squeezing shut.

When they open again, he merely looks at you, taking in the soft, pink flush of your cheeks, the way your pupils are thoroughly dilated, your chest heaving. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "Yes," he says ruggedly, his voice a scratchy gasp, "I'm sorry, it is. It's okay."

A flood of warmth washes over you, and you grin. You don't know why, but you want to kiss his neck.

Fingers digging hard into his hip, you lean in, nosing his long hair out of the way as your lips meet his neck, sucking and biting. Aemond tastes clean and faintly of rose water.

Aemond's head tips back immediately, giving your lips and teeth free reign over his neck, his skin breaking out in gooseflesh at the unfamiliar sensation. A soft, low moan escapes him as your mouth traces a path along the sensitive skin of his neck.

His body arches against yours. "My love," he gasps, his voice a ragged, breathless plea, "this is maddening."

"Need you to teach me," is your reply, pushing harder against him. "Don't go mad just yet."

He runs his hands down your sides, skimming over the soft, silky material of your dress, his body reacting powerfully to your closeness. "Gods, woman," he gasps, thumbs playing idly along the edge of your ribs, "are you sure you haven't done this before?"

You rest your cheek on Aemond's shoulder, nose brushing along the chiseled line of his jaw. "Positive," you sigh, arms now slung around him. "But I like the way you touch me. It's making me feel all hot and wet.... down there."

At this declaration, Aemond makes a noise you've never heard anyone make before. He nuzzles against your collarbone, pressing slow, hot kisses along the line of your chest just visible over the collar of your dress.

His mouth is starting to curve into a wicked smile. "Do you want me to touch you there, too?"

With a nod, you begin to pull the folds of your dress up over your thighs. "Please. The feeling down there, it's.... very insistent." And Aemond's fingers look perfectly long and warm and rough with calluses.

Aemond swallows hard as he watches the fabric of your dress retreat up over your thighs, the soft, bare skin of your legs suddenly exposed to him. His gaze rakes over you, taking in every detail - the soft, pale flesh, the way the candlelight casts shadows over the curves of your body.

As though trying not to startle you, Aemond runs his knuckles painstakingly slowly up the inside of your thigh. "When we were first betrothed, I knew I had gotten lucky."

That drunken haze still hovering around you, you let your legs slip further apart around him. "Lucky? How so?"

His hand moves further up, touch feather-light against her skin. "Lucky," he murmurs, "because I knew I'd be marrying the most beautiful woman in all Seven Kingdoms."

He lets his hand move higher still, fingers stopping just before they reach the edge of your smallclothes. He pauses, looking intently at you, the question plain on his face.

"I never knew you thought I was beautiful...." You lean more against him, feeling impossibly safe and comfortable in his embrace. "Please. You can."

Hips canting forward, you try to push his hand in toward you.

"The most beautiful," he replies. He can feel your hips moving subtly against his, feel his own desire rising with every move you make.

Those long fingers hook into the edge of your smallclothes, running the backs of his knuckles along the sensitive bit of skin he finds there.

Your eyes flutter shut, the feeling of his gentle fingers finally scooping up under your dress making your stomach flip nervously. "Please." The word is uttered against Aemond's chin, where you've pressed your lips as you wait to feel his hand where you need it most.

As slowly as he an manage, he insinuates those fingers fully inside your smallclothes. He can feel the heat of your skin, the way you squirm in his lap as he moves closer to his destination, his own body reacting strongly to the anticipation.

He leans in, mouth finding yours in a heated, hungry kiss, his fingers finally, finally touching that wet, sensitive flesh between your thighs.

A sharp inhale accompanies the meeting of Aemond's hand to your sex. Everything down there feels so wet already, you suppose you should be embarrassed, but the wine is making it hard to feel so, which you're grateful for.

"Aemond...." Seeking his lips for another kiss, you mutter, "please don't stop."

One long finger sinks into your wet, hot flesh, his entire body shivering at the feeling of you beneath his hands. He lets out a ragged gasp as you kiss him, mouth moving fervently against yours, tongue delving into your mouth, tangling with yours.

With a low, gruff noise, he starts to move his finger inside of you, slow, gentle circles that make your muscles tighten and twitch against his hand. "I won't," he murmurs against your lips, his eyes squeezed shut, "I promise, I won't."

Aemond's finger has slid easily into you, all the way down to the knuckle. "Is it -?" You gasp, glancing down, tugging your skirts out of the way to see better. "It's inside? I thought it would be much more painful...."

You know it might not be the same with his manhood, which is surely a fair bit bigger than one of his fingers, but you're glad things have gone smoothly so far all the same.

Aemond's other hand presses itself solidly against that little bundle of nerves, the one you're familiar with, the one that makes you see stars, and you bite his lower lip a little too hard in response.

"Shit, sorry."

Aemond lets out a low chuckle at your reaction, his lips curving into a smile against your mouth. "No need to apologize, sweet girl," he mutters. "There's a possibility it might hurt more than this when we go further, but I promise I'll be gentle."

He moves his finger in and out of you slowly, his other hand still pressing against you, the pad of his thumb circling that swollen bud, his touch gentle but firm. "How does this feel?"

A pang of fear shoots through you at his declaration that you will likely be in pain later on, but it's soothed by the way Aemond's fingers are gently coaxing themselves inside of you and over your clit.

"It feels perfect, Aemond. I never even knew it could feel this good." Not even when you'd touched yourself in bed at night.

Aemond's eye darkens as he hears your words, the sound of your voice, gutted and breathless, making his stomach clench. "This is just the beginning, sweet girl. There's so much more I can show you."

He slips another finger into you, feeling your body tighten and go taut around him, his own body still reacting powerfully to the sight and feel of you. He leans in to kiss you again, his mouth hungrily claiming yours.

With another finger inside, you start to squirm in his lap, and your hand slips, colliding with something hard inside of Aemond's trousers.

"Aemond," you gasp, "it.... it's hard."

Aemond lets out a strangled noise as your hand brushes against him, his body shuddering, his eye squeezing shut. "Ah, shit, sweetheart," he gasps, his breath ragged, "Don't do that."

He looks at you, his breath coming in quick, rough pants, his eye darkened to a deep, intense violet. "I'm going to be patient with you."

He says this like he's trying to convince himself of it.

"I'm sorry," you gasp again, hands flying to your mouth. "I didn't mean to touch it...."

Gaze flickering to the windows, to the Targaryen flags flying from every turret, you stifle a smile. "But maybe.... maybe you don't have to be so patient...."

Aemond growls at your words, fingers slowing their ministrations over you. "How impatient would you have me be?"

You reach down to take his free hand - the one currently touching your clit in nice, soft circles - in yours, lacing your fingers as you lean into him. "Still gentle, just.... Maybe lead me? Show me how things like this should be done."

Aemond can practically feel his self-restraint slipping at your words, the feeling of your small, soft hand in his making his head spin. He takes a deep breath, trying desperately to maintain control, to keep up the facade of gentility.

He grips your chin with his free hand, lifting your face to meet his eye, his voice low and rough. "Are you sure you're ready for that?" He asks, the question almost pained.

"I am. I'm sure." You wrap your shoulders around him, burying your face against his neck. "Take me to bed and show me, please."

Aemond swallows hard, the feeling of your breath against him sending a shudder through him. Lifting you easily in his arms, he stands silently from the settee.

The loss of Aemond's fingers from inside of you makes you whine, clinging to his broad shoulders as he makes his way to the bed.

He lays you gently down, crawling over you, hand once again trailing up the soft expanse of your thigh.

"Aemond...."

A sweet noise rumbles through him as he positions himself on top of you, body pressing you down against the covers, hips slotting between your legs. His gaze as he looks down on you is fiery, eye raking over your body, hands gripping and kneading the supple flesh of your thighs.

"You drive me mad, do you know that?" He murmurs. He leans down to kiss your neck, his mouth hot and insistent against your skin.

With Aemond on top of you, you reach around to tug the back of his tunic up, skimming your fingers along the warm skin of his lower back.

"Why did you never.... tell me before?" You mutter quietly, nibbling at Aemond's earlobe.

Aemond allows himself a deep moan as you touch him, your fingers roaming over his skin, your mouth on his ear. He rolls his hips against you, the aching hardness of his body weighing you down.

"Gods, I don't know," he gasps, his hands roaming over the soft curves of your body. "Maybe I could tell you were afraid of me. Maybe I was a fool."

"I suppose we both were fools." You curl your tongue around Aemond's ear, teasing.

His hardness is pressing insistently against you through your clothes. Aemond leans his forehead to yours. "I'm going to take your dress off now. Is that alright?"

You've never been naked in front of anyone before, but Aemond is making you feel so safe that you nod hurriedly, sitting up. "Yes, please."

Aemond's eye darkens at your nod, his hands immediately going to the laces of your dress, working them loose until the fabric falls away from your body. He lets his gaze roam over your exposed skin, his fingers tracing the soft planes of your body, reverent and gentle.

"Seven Hells," he mutters, his voice a ragged whisper, "I've never seen anything so perfect."

The wine allows you to feel comfortable enough to stretch out over top of your discarded dress, staring up at him over the swell of your breasts. "Don't you want to touch your perfect wife, Aemond?"

"Of course I do," he mutters. He moves aside only slightly, letting his fingers scrape over one of your hardened nipples. "I want to touch every part of you."

You arch into his touch, his fingertips hard and callused against your sensitive nipple. "Aemond.... Would I be a complete whore if I asked for your fingers back inside of me?"

"No," he mutters easily, a hand running its way down your body, the other holding himself above you. "No, you wouldn't. But I want you to ask for it, my love. I want you to tell me exactly what you want."

Your breathing quickening, the air in the room thick and heavy, you spread your legs around him, unabashed. "i want you to touch me. To touch my stomach, my hips and thighs .... my cunt. Please."

Aemond makes a ragged noise at your request, his body shuddering as you open yourself to him. He trails his hand lower, his fingers grazing over your stomach, trailing over your hips and thighs, before coming to rest between your legs.

He lets that hand rest on your for a moment, feeling your wetness, his violet eye dark and full of lust. "Is this what you wanted, darling?"

"Yes," comes your voice, wrecked, entire body feeling overheated and overwhelmed already. "Gods, Aemond, I.... I'm sorry I didn't ask for this earlier."

You run your hands up Aemond's toned arms, tugging on the short sleeves of his tunic. "M-May I take this off?"

Feeling you tug at his tunic, Aemond nods, loving that ragged and pleading tone in your voice. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, can see the raw, pleading look in your eyes, and he's never been more turned on in his life.

By way of a real answer, he reaches down and hooks his fingers under the hem of his shirt to rip it off over his head. He shakes his hair out majestically, making you giggle.

But after that giggle.... You can do nothing but lay beneath him and stare. His body is perfect, abs cut into his skin above the smooth, narrow line of his hips.

"Goodness ...." You whisper, fingertips prodding at his hardened stomach. "You're.... actually perfect."

"Perfect, really?" He replies, clearly perplexed. "I'd say I'm looking at perfection right now."

You whimper, Aemond's moist lips once more at your neck, his body pressed to yours. "How do you.... get your body to look that way? Maybe you can teach me that too, as well as how to ride a dragon."

Aemond laughs softly, his teeth scraping against you as he kisses down your neck. "It's actually quite simple," he murmurs, his hands roaming over your body, arms caging you in against the bed. "Just a lot of sword practice and fighting."

He pauses, his lips trailing teasingly over the line of your jaw. "I'm going to teach you to ride more than just a dragon, my love."

"I could sword fight." Your voice doesn't sound like it ever has before. "Easy. Train me."

You gasp at his words, nails now digging into his back. "And what else are you going to teach me to ride, husband?"

Aemond lets out a low chuckle at your response, his muscles coiling where your nails dig into his skin. He rolls his hips against you and makes you gasp.

"I can teach you how to ride me," he mutters, his voice a rough, ragged whisper. "Or maybe you'd like a ride on my face."

Your eyes go wide, and you press him away by the shoulder just so you can look him in the eye. "I.... I'm allowed to do that?"

You've never heard of this - using your mouth? Why have you never thought of it before?

"Of course you are," he murmurs, looking bemusedly down on you. "And I would be more than happy to let you."

His hot breath whispers over your skin as he leans to speak into your ear. "You've never heard of it before, have you?"

"I haven't." You tilt your head, fingers tender along Aemond's jaw. "How should I.... How do I do it?"

Aemond's eye closes at the feeling of your fingers, tender on his jaw, your touch ever gentle and caressing. He makes a very small noise and shudders over top of you. "It's easy, darling."

"I just lean back here...." With one swift movement, Aemond rolls and settles himself against the pillows. "You come up here...."

Gentle but insistent hands guide you, pulling you all the way up. "And swing a leg over me."

Still helped along by his strong hands, you throw one knee on the opposite side of Aemond's head, bracketing his ears with your thighs. "Like.... this?"

This position makes you feel as nervous as you have all night, even with the aid of the wine - Aemond can see all of you. Truly all of you, and you can't quite meet his eye because of it.

Aemond's hands tighten on your thighs, his breathing growing ragged. He can sense your nervousness, the way your muscles are tensing up, the way you're avoiding his eye.

He rubs his hands soothingly across your thighs, trying to relax you. "That's it, darling." His voice is soft, comforting. "You look gorgeous."

You bite your lip, carding one hand through Aemond's alluring silver hair. The other you place over his good eye, the hint of a smile on your face as you mutter, "Don't look...."

Aemond smirks, and yanks you suddenly, roughly forward by the backs of your thighs, so that your womanhood is directly above his smirking lips. "As you wish."

He places a single, open-mouthed kiss to your clit and the suction, the wetness, of it all is enough to make you squeal.

There's one poignant moment where Aemond's intensely hot, wet mouth rests over your womanhood. Then, with a jagged moan, he begins to lave over you, lips, tongue, and teeth working in tandem.

His callused palms cradle the backs of your thighs, keeping you in place as his tongue works you over. And when that same tongue points itself deep inside of your core, you can no longer keep your hand over his eye, lest you want to smash your husband's head painfully into the sheets.

Instead, that hand flies to the headboard, holding on for dear life. "Gods, Aemond! I.... I've never felt anything like this, what.... what in the seven hells...."

Aemond redoubles his grip on your thighs, keeping you in place as he works you with his tongue, his mouth and teeth and lips bringing you to new heights of pleasure. He moans roughly, and the sound reverberates through you, making your mouth fall open.

"Just... relax, my love," he mutters against your folds, "I did say I would worship you, did I not?"

You nod, still petting a hand gently through Aemond's hair, coiling your fingers around the strands, feeling how soft it is. Your eyes, however, are trained on the gilded ceiling when you answer.

"Y-You did, but.... this.... I didn't even know this was a thing people did. Is this.... common?"

"No, sweet one," he mutters, his voice thick with desire and - somewhere - a hint of disdain, "it isn't common. Most men see their wives as something to be claimed, conquered. And I...."

"You see them as something to be worshipped," you answer, remembering his words from earlier.

Aemond lets out a low chuckle against you as you knot your fingers in his hair, his tongue continuing to lathe across you. He lifts his head for a moment, his lips and chin glistening, a smirk on his face. "Look at me."

You do, and are rewarded with his fingers climbing the insides of your thighs, splaying themselves over you. "You are the most exquisite creature I've ever laid eyes on."

The sight of his face, so slick with you, his eye dark, his sapphire glinting, his fingers roaming over your thighs, it all makes you shiver, your breathing coming in short, ragged gasps.

"And you," he continues, voice muffled against your folds, "you taste divine."

And without another word, he dives back in, his tongue delving into you once more, his hands gripping your thighs, bringing you lower, closer to him.

All of this - Aemond telling you how beautiful you are, his talented mouth on you, the haze of the wine moving through you - has you tumbling toward the edge quicker than you've ever done so by yourself.

"Aemond.... close!" You give a hard tug to Aemond's hair, warning him.

He closes his eyes as he focuses on nothing more than bringing you further to the edge, the heat of your body and the taste of you driving him wild, pushing him to give you more, more, more.

"Just.... let go," he mutters against you. "I want you to let go for me, my sweet."

You're trembling now, hips riding down against his face of their own accord. "Oh, gods...." You've never done this in front of anyone before. What will Aemond think of the way you climax? Will it be embarrassing? "Aemond...."

There's no longer any time to think it over, though, as one last swipe of his tongue sends you spiraling with a loud cry.

Aemond's heart is pounding hard, watching you cum, his eye wide and alight with desire as he watches your body shudder and shake above him, your cry of pleasure filling the room and, undoubtedly, the hallways around it.

He helps you ride out the wave of pleasure, his tongue slowly bringing you back down, peppering your thighs and hip bones with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

Your eyes fluttering, your chest heaving, Aemond coaxes you through your first climax with him and then maneuvers you down to lay beside him. You feel so boneless, you sure you aren't much help in this endeavor.

"That was...." You don't even have the words to describe what just happened to you.

Aemond watches you closely as you lay beside him, breasts rising and falling heavily, your skin flushed and marked all over with his mouth, one hand trailing lightly over your stomach. The sight of you, well-loved and satisfied, makes his chest burn with desire.

He leans in close to you, curling his body around yours like a protective shield. His mouth trailing over your neck, his voice a quiet whisper. "That was beautiful. And we're only getting started."

You gaze at him out of half-lidded eyes, your body already feeling drained from just one round. "What...." You stifle a yawn behind your hand, trying to hide it. "What's next?"

Aemond laughs at the sight of you yawning, both hands now brushing over your body, his touch gentle. He can see the exhaustion in your eyes, hear the tiredness in your voice.

He leans down and presses a loving kiss to your forehead. "I don't think you're quite ready for more yet, my love. You look like you're barely awake."

Through your tiredness, you whine, "But you promised to show me. What it's like...." You're pressing sleepy kisses to Aemond's jaw, lips sweeping down over his neck.

Aemond's lashes flutter at your tiny kisses, his arms curling strong and protective around you. He makes an odd noise, and you realize you may have had an orgasm, but he never did.

"I can take care of it for you." Searching down below, hands clumsy and heavy with sleep, you feel Aemond grab for your wrist.

"And you will," he mutters, admonishing. "But tonight it's getting late, and you're tired. We have our whole lives together, we need not rush this."

Another yawn overtakes you, and you snuggle down into his warmth. "Tomorrow, then?" You mumble, arms slung lazily around him. "And dragon riding tomorrow, too...."

Aemond chuckles again at your insistence, hands gently rubbing themselves over your body, comforting you. He shifts back on the bed, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you, holding you as close as possible.

"Of course, my love," he murmurs, his voice a gentle, soothing rumble in your ear. "Tomorrow. And dragon riding, too. But for now, you need to sleep."

Aemond runs the very tips of his fingers up and down your back, just along your spine.

"I really am sorry, Aemond...." You're already half asleep, struggling to stay awake, to get the words out. "D'you really forgive me?"

Aemond sighs.

"Of course I forgive you," he whispers, breath tickling your ear. "It's all in the past now, my love. The only thing that matters is you and me, right here, right now. And dragon riding tomorrow, I promise...."

[atxchiphxbix]

Content. mdni afab + f! reader, unprotected sex, swearing, caleb finishes in reader, he does call you pipsqueak like once, caleb is called gege once, handjob, overstimulation, slight size difference, grinding and humping, making out, and slight religious imagery (mentions of heaven and sinners)

a/n: inspired by his affinity 85 secret times: lover's whisper. bro had my knees buckling and everything so I had to lock in and write this. infold is cooking w caleb

Caleb is a desperate man. With desperate thoughts and desperate needs, but when you’re in bed with him — it seems he has all the time in the world.

With naked and sweaty bodies, he presses his hips oh so gently against the soft, weepy folds of your cunt as his lavender hues admire the gooey strings of slick that connect you both together (created by his dexterous fingers when buried deep inside you). He drinks in all of you, from your tits that heave up and down with heavy breaths to the swallowed lump in your throat, bruised by his kisses.

His warm hands run up the sides of your body reverently, lavishing your skin in angelic kisses while his hips buck feverishly against the soft flesh of your warm pussy. Your own hips buck and lips part in light gasps and moans whenever the pearly mushroom tip of his hard cock kisses your sensitive bundle of nerves — so close to just dipping into your wet warmth like you want.

But Caleb is a patient man, years of yearning and devotion are nothing compared to his last few minutes of mounting and humping your body under him.

“You’re so wet.” He murmurs, lips pressing gentle kisses to your burning temple. He isn’t even condescending about it. It’s a simple observation, one he finds great joy in when he pulls away, watching bands of your wetness keep the flesh of your cunt connected to his leaky tip, you’re begging for him not to leave even if you don’t say it. Your achy hole and twitchy clit say it all — flushed with need and desire.

Caleb swears to himself that only he will ever see you in this state. If anyone else got a glimpse of you with your legs hooked over his shoulders, teary-eyed, and weeping pussy all spread out for him — he’ll tear them apart.

A wave of embarrassment washes to your cheeks at his words before you’re reaching down and wrapping your hand around the thick girth of his length, giving him experimental pumps and listening to the erotic squelch whenever your dainty hand slides down. Caleb can’t help the way his hips twitch and he bucks, a heavy blush settling over his pale cheeks. His ears somehow get redder as he involuntarily fucks himself into the palm of your hand, purple irises looking desperately down at where your soft palm domes over his sensitive tip, thumbing over the slit of his cock and collecting pearls of pre-cum to fuck it back over him.

“Fu—ha, shit, pipsqueak,” he whines, catching your wrist in his hand and pulling you away from his pulsing cock. The expression on his face is cute, flushed redder than an apple, and embarrassed that he could cum from the feel of your warm palm wrapped around his hard, throbbing dick. He aches to be flesh to flesh in the depth of your tight hole but he holds himself back, wanting to tease and torment you for just a bit longer — like he has all the time in the world.

“Caleb,” you pout, bottom lip jutting out into the sweetest expression he’s ever seen on you.

What he doesn’t expect though, are your lithe fingers, snaking down to your thighs, using your middle and ring finger (that he will definitely put a ring on), and spreading your wet, sticky folds, open for him — presenting yourself to him.

He doesn't think you know the effect you have on him. Or perhaps you are aware and he's being played like a pawn, wrapped around your little finger — Caleb decides he's happy in the palm of your hand, settled into your heart.

“Gege,” you plead, and he swears he’s just gotten harder to the sound of your pleading voice. And he knows it’s over for him when you bat your pretty lashes and look up at him with the eyes you know he just can’t ignore, “Please put it in. Look, ‘m so wet and achy for you.”

Caleb loses it. Of course, how could he not fold when he sees you look up at him with such wanton need, begging him to bury into the deepest part of you? When you’re presenting yourself, whispering coos into his ear, and pressing sinful kisses to his hot skin.

Once the words leave your lips, the pilot is immediately pressing himself into your sopping cunt, and bullying his girth into you, stretching your velvety walls to accommodate his heavy length. His hips twitch, eager to fill you up with thick ropes of his hot seed and admire you as it pools in filthy globs underneath you, seeping into his dark sheets. He wants to lay in his bed and be reminded that you were here in that moment, in all waking moments.

Your lips part and a sharp breath is sucked into your lungs when you feel his tip notch into your entrance, but then you feel his entire cock splitting you open. The stretch is more than you expect and you’re suddenly crying out and clawing at his broad shoulders, twirling the cool chain of his necklace in your fingers with pleasured whines and pleas that grow in pitch as he sinks in your velvety walls inch by inch.

“Oh, fuc-” You swear he enjoys the way that you’re squirming around his thick length, takes pride in the way you’re writhing and moaning and eating your words as he folds you into a mean mating press.

“Oh, fuck… don’t stop, please. ‘s too deep, too good.” You hear yourself whine out, head falling back onto the plush pillow. He takes the time to kiss down on the glossy sheen of your neck, pink tongue darting out to taste your salty skin and the drool that trickles from the corner of your mouth.

“It’s too deep? Okay, I’ll be more gentle.” His voice is hot and gravelly against your ear, nibbling and suckling deep marks into your skin that'll last for days to come, each a reminder of this night.

His finger latch at your hips, pinning you down as his hips pull back until his tip is just barely lodged in the warmth of your cunt, fucking you gently with just the tip like the teasing bastard he is. He can’t tear his eyes away though, enraptured at the way your cunt flutters so greedily around him, trying to suck more of him into your desperate pussy.

“It’s my fault,” he croons, licking and suckling at your pebbling nipples with his mocking voice, “I should’ve made sure every part of you accepted me.”

You love Caleb, you truly do. But when he’s like this, making you eat your own words and fucking you with his sensitive, leaky tip, you just want him to fold you until your ankles hook over his shoulder and sink his entire length into the walls of your pussy until you feel him in your chest.

So you pull him closer by the cool chain of his dog tag, whining and pleading incessantly again to sink into you, to have his cock kissing your cervix, and flooding your womb with white ropes of his hot cum. It's really the least he could do. Slurred pleas of “gimme more” are pressed to his throat, a pitiful attempt to lull him into sheathing himself into the warmth of your pulsing walls once again.

And though it seems pathetic and pitiful, Caleb is Caleb. He is a man who can never deny you, no matter how absurd, minute or simple a request is; he wants to be the only one to complete it for you. The only one you turn to, the only one you need.

“It can't be too deep or too shallow. Can't be too rough or too gentle either. You're so hard to please.” He mumbles hotly against your ear but he relents, mounting himself on top of you and sliding his thick length into the warmth of your clenching cunt once again. He falls onto his forearms, palms cupping the top of your head to prevent your head from hitting the headboard. His deep strokes are punctuated when the bed knocks against the wall with a repeated thump, thump, thump and it only serves to remind you of his need.

The air feels like it’s been knocked out of your lungs and you whine into the kiss he captures your lips in — hot and flushed with need as his cock repeatedly bullies your g-spot. Your lips part and his name falls like a mantra, the only coherent thought in your head being Caleb and how good he’s making you feel.

It’s erotic, lewdly so, the way his skin on yours reverberates in the room and yet swallowed by the obscene squelching of your soaked cunt every time the man on top of you bottoms out, chasing his high and desperately bringing yours to you. Your whines and moans of his name sound sweeter than any harmony he’s ever heard and he swears that heaven opened its gates to a sinner like him. His name falls from your lips and yours from his, a swearing of devotion in your hazy minds. Born from a desire meant only for each other.

When his hand dips lower, thumbing at your sensitive clit, you find your lower stomach coiling and growing taut quickly — too quickly that you’re pushing at his sturdy shoulders with a throaty cry, back arching, legs trembling, and toes curling when he doesn’t stop his unrelenting rhythm.

“Cal-Caleb, stop. ‘s too much, I—”

He cuts you off, devouring your lips in a sloppy, languid kiss, globs of his saliva blend with yours, tongues tangling, and salacious webs of saliva connect your lips when he pulls away with a smug smile.

“My name isn’t a safeword.”

His teasing words instantly cause the tightness in your stomach to snap and you cum with a pleasured cry. With nothing to grasp onto, your nails rake down his back, reddening lines trailing in wake of the lingering crescent marks.

“Shit, shit, fu—”

The dull pain is barely registered when he feels your walls fluttering as you cum, surging his own orgasm through him. His eyes screw shut, bursts of white flashing behind his lids, and a raspy groan of your name rips from his vocal cords, hips erratically bucking until he’s overstimulating the both of you and painting your walls white with fat loads of his seed.

He collapses on top of you, burying his face into the sweaty crook of your neck, and laying kisses to your collarbone and neck, laving his tongue over the lovebites left over. He hums in contentment when your hands card through the damp strands of his dark hair, tracing the red lines on his shoulders and back — proof that you’ve laid claim on him.

His fingers rub soothing shapes into your hips and thighs, allowing a few shared beats of your hearts to pass before he's looking up at you with a spark in his eye. Still buried inside you, he flips your positions so that you’re on top of him, hands secured around your waist, and peppering kisses to the lavender bruises that’ve bloomed on your chest.

“Think we could go for a round two?

Caleb’s words send a light laugh through you and you’re wrapping your fingers around the silver chain of his dog tags, pulling him impossibly closer, and nosing the skin of his cheek with a teasingly glint in your eyes.

“Think you can handle me for another round? You seem kind of wiped, Caleb.” You tease, scattering light kisses along his jaw and your lips curl into a smug smile when his hands tighten imperceptibly on your waist.

In a second, he’s flipping you onto your back again with a raised brow and a light smirk. His violet hues look down hungrily at you.

He won't be satiated for a while.

“I guess we won’t know until we find out, will we?” He leans closer, his breath hot on your lips and silver chain cooling on your burning skin. “This time, you can’t tell me to stop.”

to the person at infold who is in charge of Caleb’s secret times… 🫡