#but maybe i can kiss him and make him my imperfect muse. Maybe that will calm him down. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alphabetboyluvr · 2 years ago

Text

throttle - jjk | five

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - jk and yoongi showdown (by showdown i mean they just glare at each other a bit), THE BUSAN CHRONICLES BEGIN!!! anyone who has read throttle know how important busan is for these babies he he, depictions of sex that aren't smut (i'd argue?), hair pulling, she's on top, existential crisis thoughts during it all, unprotected sex, creampie, HELLO KIM TAEHYUNG, he's a sleaze, ANGST, cc watches jk wank himself off <3, a lil mutual masturbation moment, cute kisses <33, cums on her tummy <3, character insight! backstory! ugh! i love the busan chapters! i'll upload the rest of the busan chapters now too

word count - 18.5k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

Jungkook has a face straight from a nineties rom-com. Boyish charm, eyes that linger; teeth that nibble on thin lips, and a smile that breaks like sun through a thunderous sky.

You're convinced that if he actually was a movie star, you'd watch every single film he was in - twice, at the very minimum. Maybe one would even become your comfort movie, for the days when real people felt like too much to handle; solace through the silver screen.

His nose slopes and points so delicately at its tip, that you always find yourself staring; marvelling. Wondering how an angle so simple could have you at such a loss for words. Eyes are wide and dark, they're like a vat of melted down dark chocolate, slowly hypnotising you with every stir of the rich delicacy.

It's when he smiles, though, that you really find yourself lost in everything he is. It's radiant, the way those plunging, round eyes of his crease at the sides, a deep line forming beneath them. His brows raise, and the dewy skin on his cheeks begins to tighten as they apple, and then his teeth - pristine, you think, ignoring any imperfection - are on show. You're home.

Home in his laugh, in his happiness, in the way that he always seems to be like this around you. Home in how he always finds an excuse to be touching you in some capacity, home in the sanctuary of unspoken words, and home in the hopes that maybe one day, he'll be brave enough to say them.

Hope is a funny thing, though. So much to gain and yet so much to lose - but if you never really had it, can it be considered a loss at all?

You're musing about this when Yoongi comes in through the side door, palms slick with motor oil, a few streaks staining his face and his shirt from where he's been a little bit careless. He cocks a brow, and throws you a cautious, coy smile.

"What are you doing here?" He angles his body away from you, almost as if he suspects you're about to throw something at him. His tone is slow, reserved, a little bit accusatory, if you do say so.

"My job?" You question - but you know exactly why he's asking such a thing.

You're always getting Jieun to cover you these days. He thinks you've barely worked enough shifts to cover the rent this month - and he's right.

He just doesn't realise that you have money sitting in the bank from stocks and bonds that had been purchased in your name when you were just a few months old. Rich people shit. Shit you wished you didn't understand, but were thankful for nonetheless. You may not be on good terms with your family, but you're not ignorant of the fortune you've had as a result of their choices. Having the ability to run from them is a privilege in itself.

"You still remember how to do it?" He teases. "Don't forget to offer the customers a receipt, and make sure you always pull up the right pump tab. Don't wanna be charging a soccer mom for some asshole's jeep tank."

"I remember, Yoongs," you say with a roll of your eyes and a narrowly hidden smile. He likes this smile of yours; the one you don't want to give but can't help but deliver regardless. "Thanks for the crash course, though." You thread your fingers together and stretch them in front of you. The way they click together has Yoongi looking at you like you've just shagged his dad. "Sure you don't wanna work my shifts all the time?"

"I'm sure," he nods. "Not a chance in hell I'm covering for you again."

And then there's that look on your face; the one he can never resist indulging in.

"Don't you dare," he says.

But you've always been up for a challenge.

"Yoooongs," you sing, voice high and sweet, like a hit of coke up his nose and down to the back of his throat, washed clean with Ribena. He knows what's coming, and he knows he won't like it - but he does like the way you bat your lashes for him. "Watcha doing this weekend?"

There's a resistance, but the invisible string that tugs on his lips is stronger than he cares to admit. He smiles, and you know he's where he's always been; wrapped right around your little finger.

"Why?" he deadpans, not hiding his infatuation well. "You asking me out?"

He laughs as if it's not what he wants more than almost anything in the world; as if he doesn't know it's the last thing in the world you'll be asking.

You laugh too, but it's to cover the guilt that weighs down on you. You thought he'd be over it by now.

"Not exactly."

"You should really start dating someone who respects your work schedule," Yoongi jokes, but it's kinda totally not a joke. He doesn't say it, but he'd always respect your work schedule. Would never ask you to make compromises for him; would never ask you to prioritise him.

But Jungkook doesn't do that, either. It's your choice.

"I'm not dating anyone," you say. It's childish because even though you aren't technically dating Jungkook, you're not exactly not dating him either. The 'what are we' talk hasn't happened yet. You're not ready for it. He won't ever be ready for it. You don't know this though, so you just think you're at the same stage, which is a whole lot more comforting. Think that things will progress naturally. Fall into place when they need to.

"But you're about to ask me to cover for you so you can go on a date, no?"

"...No?"

I mean, you're not.

You're not going on a date with Jungkook. You're going to his childhood town. So you're telling the truth - no dates involved.

But fuck, he'd held your hand as you stood beneath his shower together, telling you all about how he was going to take you to his favourite places, and you'd giggled when he told you that he'd force you to go swimming in the ocean with him, even if it was below zero.

You'd told him that it was fine, that you love winter beaches, and then you'd challenged him to a race from sand to shoreline. He'd agreed, of course, and then your laughter had dissolved into the pitter-patter of his shower, the warm water running over your body like a poor imitation of his hands, which were preoccupied elsewhere.

So no, you're not going on a date.

You're not dating Jungkook, full stop.

But you are existing together. Most nights these days. He works a night shift here and there, and sometimes you just need a little alone time - but more often than not, you'll head to his after work and wait until he finishes whatever he's working on. Your toothbrush has moved from the bathroom cabinet to the pot by the sink.

Your presence is undeniable, even if you are in denial.

Feels like you're lying to everyone, including yourself.

Especially yourself, actually.

Yoongi's back stiffens, his soft gaze that once was on you hardening as he glances out towards the forecourt. He nods curtly to his line of vision, and you know. He doesn't have to say anything because you can read Yoongi like a book.

His eyes look green in this light.

Beneath his breath, he mutters, "Speak of the devil."

And what a devil he is; dressed down in a pair of dark jeans with a black raincoat pulled over his head. You're down so bad that you're enamoured with the fact he's dressed for the weather, as if he's not a fully grown man very much capable of making such choices.

You think it's cute, and imagine him looking out the window as he was getting ready, heading back to his wardrobe for the anorak upon seeing the rain.

By the time you turn back around to tell Yoongi to fuck off, he's gone; snuck out the back to finish whatever work he was doing. He's not interested in watching you play happy families with some fucker he knows isn't worth your time. Jungkook could have been a brain surgeon, a charity worker, a fucking saint, and Yoongi still wouldn't have cared.

And by 'wouldn't have cared', he'd have been internally seething and ignoring the very existence of him, regardless.

"Just can't stay away, can you?" You say as you turn on your heel to walk away from Jungkook as soon as he enters the store. You're getting around to the cashiers' side of the till, creating distance.

Not because you want it, but because you think it might make him want you more.

It does.

"The cashier at Kang's ain't half as pretty," he flirts, and you swear that smile of his might send you to an early grave.

"Checking out other women, are we?"

"I'm here, aren't I? Not at Kang's?"

You want to argue with him just for sake of the flirt, but that anorak is really doing a number on you. All you wanna do is squish his cheeks and tell him how cute he looks in polyurethane-coated nylon.

"Touche," you grin, but it's muffled as he rests as palm on the kiosk and uses his other hand to pull you closer and steal a kiss. It's a risky move. Something he shouldn't really be doing. Not when there are three windows behind him.

He's on display like a puppy in the pet shop windows downtown. Anyone could drive by. Pull in. Anyone. Daegu ain't as big as it likes to pretend to be.

"So, I'm lying," he says, voice sweet and low. "I actually do have an ulterior motive."

"Mhmph," you breathe through your nose, rolling your eyes. "You're a boy, Jungkook. I know you didn't drop by just to ask how my day was."

"Okay, one - ouch. And two - I always want to know how your day is."

For a chronic liar, he's refreshingly honest when he wants to be.

"But?" You encourage, not wanting to skip the flirting, but anxious of the outcome for whatever it is he's here for.

He pokes at the bagged sweets like he so often does, his tattooed fingers gently prodding and pushing them about with no real purpose. He appears distracted, but he's anything but. You know this now; know it's just a Kookism.

"Buuuut," he takes his time, dragging out the word because he knows it will drive you insane. "I was thinking why don't we just head over to..." he pauses. Suddenly feels uncomfortable declaring the plans you have so publically. What if he hadn't noticed someone behind a shelving unit? What if your coworker is listening in? He carries on as if he didn't skip it, but waffles so much you don't have a chance to interject. "Straight after work? We go straight from here? You finish round about now, don't you? I know we were gonna wait till the morning, but I got itchy feet, baby. Wanna get outta this place."

You nod as his questions pour out like a broken faucet. You don't have to worry about your shifts, 'cause Jieun's already swapped with you. You'd struck a deal to work her typical early shift that day in return for her covering you over the rest of the weekend.

Truthfully, you weren't going to ask Yoongi to cover for you earlier - you were just going to ask if he'd watch the shop for 5 minutes until Jieun arrived so that you could escape a little earlier than you were meant to. He'd only just started his shift, opting for a later rota than usual. Weird, but not weird enough for you to question it too hard.

"Lemme just get changed," you smile, having come straight to work from Jungkook's apartment that morning.

The way you're always in each other's company, it's as if he'll suffocate without you around - which admittedly does feel like it's true, but it's more so that he's scared of what could happen if he's not there watching over you. Scared that someone will interfere with what he's doing. Scared the rug will get pulled from beneath your feet before he's gotten a chance to scatter pillows on the ground beneath you.

Running late, you'd skipped dropping by your place that morning. You weren't feeling all that fresh, despite the shower you'd had at his that morning, thanks to the second-day clothes you'd arrived in, so had opted for the uniform spares in the back rooms. The sizings were all off, and you're pretty sure you felt filthier in them than your own clothes, but it was rare for you to ever feel all that hot in your work uniform.

Jungkook is left alone in the shop as you head to the backrooms. He figures your colleague will be out soon enough to man the tills, so goes about looking a little busy. Eyes up the stale pastries that are definitely past their best in the cabinet next to the till. Reads the magazine covers, and wonders why the fuck people care so much about celebrities.

It's as he's flicking through a copy of Drivers Weekly that he hears a cough. "We prefer it if people don't read the magazines in the shop."

His eyes land in the direction of the voice, towards a man who is shorter than stature than Jungkook, but somehow feels taller. Broader. Stronger. A better man. Competition.

"You must be Yoongi, right?" Jungkook nods, voice a little hoarse. He's on edge. Doesn't like the way Yoongi is looking at him as if he can see straight into his soul - not that he'd find much there.

That's the trouble that comes with making a deal with the devil; he'll eat you from the inside out. It won't be long before Jungkook implodes, bones caving in on themselves. He's got a little while left to go until then, though. Maybe some major organs left to harvest. A little bit of liver for all the soju he's gonna need to drink to get over this, and the tiny sliver of his heart that belongs to someone else.

To you.

"Heard a lot about you," he continues.

Yoongi laughs. It isn't kind. "Funny. I've heard fuck all about you."

He stays stoic as he watches Jungkook purse his lips; shoulders rising ever so slightly and dipping again as he nods, letting out a scornful laugh. "Right."

Despite all he's done, all the stupid little mistakes he's made, Jungkook isn't dumb. He knows how to read people - and currently, Yoongi is a pair of burning red capital letters: F. U.

A petty remark rests on the tip of his tongue, one that could spark and ignite the dry wood of the bridge between the two men. There's no water beneath it yet. Jungkook would incinerate the entire structure.

Best not to. Not yet, at least.

"Hey babe," he calls instead, loud enough for you to hear, and direct enough to crawl beneath Yoongi's skin. You muffle a response to let him know you're listening. "I'm just gonna wait in the car, alright?"

"Okay!"

"Don't keep me waiting too long," he flirts, but he's looking at Yoongi. He's smirking. Eyes narrow. Winning. "We've got a hotel room to check into."

It's childish and he knows it, but he wants Yoongi to know exactly who's gonna be making you cum that evening.

You're cringing, knowing that Yoongi will be mentally imploding, but you also think that Jungkook is none the wiser. "Go wait in the car!"

"There's a place just off Gwangalli," Yoongi says, his attempt at looking unbothered fairly convincing - but not to Jungkook. He's convinced that everyone wants to fuck you just as much as he does, so would have always figured Yoongi was jealous. "A shoreline hotel. She really loves it. Maybe you should book a room there next time."

The insinuation is clear; Yoongi knows where you like to stay. For all Jungkook knows, maybe he's even stayed there with you.

But Busan is Jungkook's old stomping ground, and funnily enough, he does actually listen to you. He knows all about the hotel you love, and the fact you've never actually stayed there. Just dreamt of it; bridge views over the harbour, sleek marble coating the walls.

He also knows that it's overpriced and that there's a far better hotel just a few blocks up that doesn't get half as much attention. It's the place he's booked - 'cause fuck taking you home to meet the family - for the weekend.

Apart from the final night.

He's got you the hotel you love for the final night.

He'll say goodbye to Busan with you, just as you feel like you're saying hello.

There's an acute awareness that things between the pair of you won't always end happily, so he's trying to make the memories sweet. Giving you happy endings to daydream about when you forget that you hate him, as you inevitably, eventually will.

He's so caught up thinking about it that he forgets to reply to Yoongi. His train of thought is interrupted by Yoongi once more, his voice low this time. He's trying to avoid being heard by you.

"Just... be careful with her."

Silence in the wake of Yoongi's request deafens them both. His words are weighted. Jungkook knows Yoongi is telling him to take care of you, but part of him can't help but wonder if it's a warning. Maybe he should be careful of you, instead.

He's not the only one with secrets. Naive of him to assume he is.

"Thought you were waiting in the car?" You smile as you finally emerge.

Jungkook's eyes are on you immediately, and suddenly you're not the only one with a chime in your stomach. There's one in his too, and it's humming to the beat of his heart.

He'd already figured that you'd stolen one of his shirts before he woke, thanks to the fact your dress was hooked over the back of his desk chair that morning. It's grey and faded, a billion sizes too big, resting just below your midthighs. You're wearing tights again, because of course you are.

He knows, within about a second, that he isn't gonna be able to make it to Busan without being inside of you at least once. There's gotta be a side lane close by that you won't get caught in. Shit. Maybe he should just take you in the back rooms right now. Yoongi'd get over it, he's sure.

Cheeks a little hot, Jungkook is cringing at himself as he feels the blood rush to his cock. He can't be getting a semi in a GS-fuckin'-25. Wouldn't be the first time, but-

"Kook?"

"Sorry," he says with a smile, and pretends as if he was listening all along. "Was just talking with - sorry, what was it again? Yooji?-"

"Yoongi," you correct sweetly, eyes so smitten that Yoongi thinks stabbing himself in the eye with a motor oil dipstick would be less painful.

"Yeah, that. Didn't really how much we have in common. Both love our cars, real penchant for good soju..." Both wanna rail you so hard you forget your own name. "Interesting guy."

You look over to Yoongi, and it's clear as anything that he doesn't agree with a single word of what Jungkook is saying -but you think Jungkook is trying, and that only makes those eyes of yours even drunker in lo-

"You not have a hotel to get to?" Yoongi grimaces.

"Pollution's bad today, baby," Jungkook mumbles softly into your hair, ignoring Yoongi. It's said out of concern for you, but also for himself.

It's easier for him if your face is a little obscured; easier to deny that you're the one he's holding onto for dear life as he leads you out of the shop. You think nothing of it, pulling up the mask that had been resting below your chin before the cold wind gets a chance to hit your face.

He's not wrong - the midday skies are clouded, a thick smog obscuring the mountain peaks that you love to look at so much. You love the winter sun, but it has you wishing for rain. It always clears the skies a little more; brightens the world up.

Daegu is dreamy, in the obscure, nightmarish kind of way that made you eat cheese before bed as a child. The best kind of dreams were always the ones that made you feel something - and as Jungkook starts up the pony, you're terrified.

It's not a big deal. Going to Busan is casual. But being invited into a world that is exclusively his? Well, that's not casual at all.

It's weighted and deliberate, and intentional. He wants you there. Wants you in every aspect of his life, and yet you haven't even had the 'what are we' conversation yet.

You wait until Jieun arrives, just a minute later, before you make your departure. She says goodbye with a knowing look, and Yoongi is already out back working on breaking up a written-off car that came in for parts earlier that morning.

Jungkook's hand is on your back as he guides you out, the mask he had insisted on you wearing for air pollution purposes obscuring your face. It doesn't stop his eyes from darting all over the place, making sure he hasn't missed anyone lurking. He knows he's getting sloppy; that he could trip up at any point, and fall at the feet of the men who had sent him into your shop all those weeks ago.

But as the pair of you pull onto the highway, your dainty hand resting at the top of his thigh, nothing but the open road ahead of you and the smell of your perfume wrapping around his senses, he doesn't care.

He'd do it all again, he thinks.

In fact, he thinks he'd kiss you sooner, just to get a few more in. Your days are numbered. He knows you're not gonna last long enough to see the cherries blossom, and maybe it's better that way.

When he got into this mess, he was in search of a spring day to break; the seasons to change, and life to renew. The deeper he gets, the more futile he realises that dream was. You're the only thing he wants to see bloom, these days.

Such a shame he has to cut you from your roots, and watch you wilt instead.

────────────

Jungkook doesn't know what 'home' feels like anymore, and hasn't done for quite some time, now. He doesn't know what it feels like to be completely content, nor at ease, within his own body.

Sometimes, though, when he's behind the wheel, the balls of his feet pressed to the pedals, he thinks it might feel close.

When the scent of gasoline seeps through the vents, and a toxic combination of burnt rubber and wiper fluid clouds the atmosphere behind his tinted windows, it seems like he could have a grasp on what it means to be 'home'. Or to have one, at least.

Maybe that's why he clings to the idea of you so much, and the way that your hair smells like gasoline.

It's a trick of the mind; a subtle deception that perhaps you could feel like 'home', too.

He thinks of this as his car rolls onto a street he hasn't visited in what must be years, by this point.

He's silent, glancing over to where you nap peacefully in his passenger's seat. Light scatters through the branches of trees which are yet to bloom, refracting as it hits the pale stone in your necklace. The underside of your chin is painted in rays of rainbow light. Your throat, too. Impossible, he thinks, for someone to be so ethereal without even so much as trying. Thinks that you're magic.

But magic isn't real. He knows that deep down, beneath the scent of your hair and the taste of your rainbow stained skin, you're not real, either.

You're an illusion; a projection, just like that refracted light.

Still, he smiles as you begin to stir, neck aching from the uncomfortable position you've had it in for the last thirty minutes.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he teases, while you squeak and stretch your body out at far as you can. Palms on the dash, your head feels all stuffy and horrible, the nap only serving to make you feel even more sleepy. You bring the back of your hand to cover your mouth as you yawn, brows raised, eyes closed.

"We here?" you mumble, turning to face the road, only to find the view is obscured by cargo lorries ferrying things to the harbour.

The shipping container next to you is a deep navy blue, its history etched onto the corrugated steel with white chalk markers. It rusts at the joints, paint flaking off and scattering into the atmosphere. It's remarkable, you think, how even things built to sustain the most brutal of weathers can still have areas of weakness.

"Just about," he nods, turning the radio up a little louder now that you're awake. His phone is plugged into the aux for once, but it sounds like it's still your playlist going. It's not. He's been crafting his own, taking note of the songs you like, and adding his own into the mix. Subtle integration of you into his life, perhaps. "About 10 minutes away from the hotel."

You hum a response as you sit up a little straighter, a frown on your face. You hadn't meant to sleep through the journey, but late nights with him and early starts at the gas station have really been doing a number on you.

Jungkooks thinks he's benefitted from your sleepiness, as it made you so bloody endearing that he found himself wanting to let you sleep, instead of pulling into a vacant side-road to sort out the awkward hard-on he's had since the moment he saw you in GS25 earlier on that day.

There had been a brief moment, when the pair of you had stopped by your place to pick up your travel bag, that he'd considered making a move - but you were excited to get going, and so was he.

Why waste time in Daegu? He wanted out of there. Wanted to be elsewhere, anywhere. Wanted to hold your hand in public, with your mask off and your hood down, just to watch the way other men would double-take you.

Maybe because it's unknown - being with you, without fear of getting caught - or maybe it's because his intentions with you have changed in recent weeks. Whatever reason it is doesn't matter, though. The outcome will still be the same.

You watch as the cargo trucks begin to roll into gear, and then you're chasing the sun, heading towards your destination. Jungkook hasn't told you anything about where you're staying, just that he thinks you'll like it. Part of you hopes it will be that hotel you love along the shoreline, and as he takes a right onto the next road over, edging closer and closer to the shore, you think you might be in luck.

These hopes are short-lived, though, when you see a sign with the branding you know so well - even if you've only ever seen it online - and watch it disappear in the rearview mirror.

Funnily enough, there's no disappointment that follows this realisation. You couldn't care less where you stay. All you seem to care about is who you'll be staying with.

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips when his indicators begin to tick, and his hand, flat against the wheel, begins to pull clockwise. The place he's turning the car in to is nice. Too nice. There's a surface level car park, for starters, not one tucked beneath the first floor of a drive-in motel, like you'd half been expecting.

The exterior walls are finished with European style red bricks; purpose-built and not in keeping with the dated architecture of its surroundings. There's an attitude to the building; attention-seeking without trying, refined yet unassuming. It reminds Jungkook of you, in a way. Reminds him of how no matter what you do, his focus always seems to be on you.

"Had this place on my bucket list," he says. "Opened up around the time I left town. Always said I'd stay here if I came back with someone else."

His last comment is unnecessary. He doesn't need to tell you he'd never brought anyone home to Busan, and yet he does, because it somehow feels important.

A hotel resident swings through the front door as you're getting out of the car, and you can't help but notice that the chime is eerily similar to the one of the GS25 door. Identical, almost, to the one in your stomach.

"Pretty," you muse, adoringly looking at the ivy that trails up and down the side of the building.

"Prettier in summer," he says, taking your luggage from your hands and tilting his head forward as if to say 'ladies first'. "There's another vine running through it that blooms like nothing I've ever seen before. It's too cold for it to flower, yet, I think."

You smile as you listen to him talk, enamoured that a man so brash and bold can be so delicate and gentle when he wants to be. Mindless chatter fills the space between you as you enter the lobby, and wait for the concierge to check Jungkook's booking on the system, just to find out there's been a free upgrade.

"Wish she hadn't announced that," Jungkook mumbles in your ear as you head towards the elevator. "Totally would have pretended I'd splurged out on the upgrade instead."

You laugh, and tell him that he's stupid - and that you also saw the room rates by the front desk, so in your eyes, even the standard rooms are a splurge.

He shrugs, and insists he got it cheaper online thanks to some bullshit discount he can't be bothered to lie too deeply about. He wanted to experience this hotel, and he wanted to experience it with you. He'd have paid the price, whatever.

Chances are he'll be making the money back in a weeks time, thanks to you, anyways.

Thanks to you. Because of you. In spite of you. Whatever. Same difference.

Same disgusting guilt that coats his skin like oil and drips from his body. Dare you strike a match, he's sure he'll set fire. Ablaze with the glory of whatever the fuck he feels for you; the flames of his failures smoking him to suffocation. Failure to act quick enough, failure to control himself, failure to do wrong by someone that feels so right.

He shakes the thoughts from his head, his guilt steeped stomach a constant aide-mémoire.

"613," he reminds you of the room number as you reach the sixth floor.

It's not quite the top floor, but it's far enough up that your view of the harbour will take your breath away, you're sure.

He laughs when you squeal in response, thankful for the fact you don't try and downplay your excitement like he knows you would have done when he first started seeing you. He assumes you're comfortable now. Assumes you trust him. Assumes you feel safe. Assume, assume, assume. You're rubbing off on him, it seems.

He's got a rucksack on his back, and your own bag hooked is over his shoulder, yet he still uses his free hand to hold onto your waist as he walks behind you. He's so desperate to keep you close; fearful of what could happen if you ever were to part. His fingers grip a little tighter when you take a stride further than he anticipates, and he doesn't shuffle back when you finally reach the door. He rests his chin on your head instead, and watches the light on the door handle flash green when the room key taps against it.

The pair of you walk into the room in the same position, your back pressed to his chest, his strides wide behind you, so that he can walk in time with you. It's clumsy, and awkward, and hard to synchronise, but both of you are laughing so much that you're almost distracted from the view that floods in through the wall-length windows. Almost.

You stop in your tracks when you see it, gasping at the sight. Jungkook looks up from your hair, his arms tight around you, to see what you've noticed - and then he notices it, too.

"Holy shit," you say, unable to articulate anything else.

The ocean in front of you spans for miles; endless upon the horizon, with nothing but Gwangalli bridge standing in its way. Boats dapple the vast expanse, tiny and delicate, obscured by the incredible distance between you.

It's blue. Blue, blue, blue; the skies, the sea, the way you feel sorrow in your chest from never having seen anything so beautiful before.

Jungkook is smug as he whispers into your hair, "Boy did good?"

You've not even looked at the crisp white sheets, yet, freshly laundered on a queen size bed, nor the decadent hotel decor that you're sure will be identical in every single room. The other rooms don't matter to you, though; just 613, and the boy with bleach blonde hair who had driven you to Busan in his bright red pony.

The stuff of fairytales, some might argue.

"Boy did good," you whisper back, turning your head to steal a kiss. He smiles into your lips, your body his to move as he pleases, as he begins to walk you to the bed.

A soft puff of air blows around your body as it lands on the outrageously fluffed duvet. He crawls onto the bed with you, one hand on your cheek, the other laced with yours above your head.

"View like this and all you wanna do is waste it?" You grin into his lips, voice as sweet as his touch.

He's quiet as he presses his lips to your throat, slow as he trails his tongue down it.

"Not a waste,' he says, as his teeth graze ever so gently. The firmness of his crotch is devastatingly erotic as it presses against you. "And fuck the view. Rather look at you."

You go to argue against him, but he's adamant you're far prettier. Tells you if it means that much to you, though, he'll be willing to take you from behind so that you can look at the view - which is how you end up wrapped in a duvet, hair a mess and mascara a little smudged half an hour later.

You're sat together on the floor, backs against the side of the bed, looking out at the view as his arm drapes around your shoulders. His lips are nestled into your hair, because it seems to be his happy place, but neither of you are talking. Just existing, like you so often like to do together.

There's an unspoken understanding that this is an unusual occurrence for the both of you.

He doesn't do romance. He doesn't really do anything that would ever indicate a shag is more than just a shag. He'll compliment, and he'll charm, but he'll never say any words of actual worth. Not like he does with you. He doesn't cuddle, doesn't snuggle, doesn't kiss outside of the realm of a fuck. Again, not like he does with you.

When you turn to face him, catching the countenance in his eyes as he looks at you - chin, nose, eyes, lips, eyes again - you know that any kiss that could follow would be fatal.

It would seal the deal that neither of you have been brave enough to make.

There's hesitation. His breaths are heavy, prick still a little plump beneath the sheets that covers his modesty, but he's not hard. Not horny. It's not what's leading his thoughts, nor his actions.

And then, suddenly, but somehow also so perfectly predictable, he kisses you.

It isn't simple. It isn't just because he can - but it's also not for any ulterior motive, either. It's soft, his lips not as hard against yours as they usually are. They squeeze your bottom lip, then release. And then he does it again. No welcome intrusion of his tongue. No hands roaming to your chest. No smile as he does it.

But why would he be smiling when he's terrified?

He just kisses, and kisses, and kisses. He makes no further moves, not even when you let the sheets slip, nor when you hook your leg over his lap and move across to straddle his thighs. You're so incredibly wet, his touches minimal, yet so deeply intimate, that he can feel you leaking all over him. His cock is flushed, stiff, and stood to attention, resting against the base of his abs.

Still, he doesn't really touch you. His wrists are resting on the top of your thighs, but his palms aren't lying flat. They're open, not balled into fists, and you can't quite figure him out. You feel shy and insecure, because why isn't he touching you? Doesn't he want you?

But then you go to pull away from his lips, and he whines and shakes his head.

Come back, baby, he wants to say, but it gets trapped in his throat, and all he can get out is a little grunt.

He knows he's being pathetic. Knows that he must look like a fucking weirdo.

Part of you wants to laugh; wants to ask where the man who ate his own cum out of your pussy and spat it into your mouth is.

Most of you, though, is consumed by the sheer terror that's encompassing him. You feel it too. All of this is so unfamiliar, and scary, and alarming and yet so... safe.

His palms finally lay flat, prowling to your ass, where he squeezes as if to say hello. Eventually, he pulls you further up his lap. You're raised above him, the heat of your pussy so warm, and welcoming, and inviting, that he simply can't hold back any longer.

No words are spoken, you simply nod.

You aren't kissing anymore. Just looking at one another. He doesn't drop his gaze when he lines himself up with your entrance.

It's only when you sink down onto him that his eyes close, as his head leans against the corner of the mattress. The expanse of his throat is pristine, not a hickey in sight, and you like it this way. It - you - somehow still feels like a secret. One shared, but one that is safe. Just for you. Just for him. For one another.

Jungkook lasts longer inside of you than he thinks he will. The silence is only broken by hushed whines and dulcet groans. Your hands rest on his shoulders, and stay there the entire time. It's almost like you're both petrified that changing position will change the way that you're feeling. You look at one another like you're holding hands across a tightrope, dependent on one another to stay alive.

If he falls, so do you.

But it's not the falling he's afraid of. Not really. He's been enjoying the freefall for the past few weeks, now. It's the inevitable crash and burn that scares him.

There's something about the angle, the way he's got you deep and slow, that has the tightrope tying itself in pretty little bows around the bell that lives rent-free in your stomach.

Jungkook sees the way that your brows begin to furrow. He grunts as your lips rest ajar, restless gasps shying away, hiding in your throat. His hips keep at the pace he's set. He knows what's happening, and even though he's spent the last couple of weeks desperately trying to not let happen, he knows he's gotta let you come undone.

He wants you to. Needs you to. Needs to know that it's not just him that can't control himself.

It's euphoric when it happens. His arms wrap around your back, pulling your chest to his, and only then does he realise how hard your nipples are; how much your entire body has begged him for this. He squeezes you so tightly that your back clicks, but he doesn't really worry because you're shaking on him, muscles out of control as the orgasm he was fucking into you finally cascades over your body.

You're thankful for the way he's holding you close, your pussy so tight that Jungkook finds himself whining into your neck; and then he's kissing it, pressing his teeth to your skin, holding them there as his muffled moans vibrate against you.

'Shouldn't-' he thinks, even his thoughts stuttering and getting all confused. 'Shouldn't do this. Gonna end in tears. Gonna end - shit. Gonna fucking end. Shit. So good. So fucking good.'

Pussy so good he swears he'll fuck it forever, and then his thoughts catch up with him, and he's spiralling all over again.

'Fucking disaster. Heaven in human form. Temptress devil dressed as an angel. Shut the fuck up, Jungkook. The fucking audacity,' he begins to scold himself. 'Prick. She never fucking lied -' And then his head is battling against itself. '-but she did though - she didn't - did-'

"Shut the fuck up."

He doesn't even realise he's said it until your laboured breaths and spent body seem to falter, but you fail to muster up anything more than a "Hmm?"

You're sure you must have heard him wrong.

"Nothing. Not you," he husks in your neck, though he can't really get his words out 'cause he's seconds away from spilling into you. "You sound so good, baby. So good. Gonna make me cum so fucking hard." He knows he shouldn't be encouraging it, but he can't stop. "Keep moaning for me, baby. Let me know how good I feel."

You hum a laugh, so sweet and saccharine that Jungkook thinks you must be laced in some kind of addictive substance. It's the only way to explain how he feels. He's an addict, hooked on you.

The moans that roll off your tongue aren't fake, but you let yourself be a little louder for him.

"Like that," you tell him. You're already done, spent, but you want him to feel just as good as you do, even if his size has you feeling a little sore by now. You encourage him, knowing that it'll become painful if he doesn't finish soon.

It almost feels like there's something holding him back, though. You think he's just edging himself. You don't notice the way the lines in his forehead crease together in such a way that they almost spell out words. You'd have studied them, if you had noticed. Would have convinced yourself that you could read 'trust,' in the lines, and not 'traitor,' instead.

You move your hips against his, ass bouncing against the top of his thighs in a way that you haven't done for the entire session. He's been working so hard for you that it's about time for you to return the favour, it seems.

The way his neck stretches back, eyes shut, lips pouted and perfect as he fails to formulate anything other than "fuck, baby," lets you know it's appreciated.

'I'm going to fucking hell,' he tells himself. 'When I die, which seems like a sooner rather than later kinda thing, I'm going straight down to the pits. Pussy like heaven, so fucking good that it's a sin. Angel. Angel, angel, angel, baby. Gotta have you. Can't let anyone else have you. Fuck, no. Shouldn't. Shouldn't have you. Fuck it. Need you. Oh, god. Like that. Like that.'

He pulls on your hair so that you're sat up straight as he rams into you, your fucked out face the only thing he wants to see when he finally succumbs to your body. He nods at you, as if he's trying to say something that you don't quite understand. Letting you know he's close? Letting you know that he feels the same way, too? It's unclear, but you're in no position to ask - so you just nod back, and let the rapture happen.

"Shit," he all but whimpers, and then he's in purgatory; heaven and hell meeting at some kind of divine intervention as he spills all that he is into a vessel of freedom that he isn't sure he can afford anymore. "Jesus Christ," he chokes, the mess of his load leaking from you and down his shaft.

The lines in his forehead have smoothed, now, brows open, eyes half-closed. He laughs, once, twice, unable to stop himself. He forgets it all in the wake of his orgasm; his turmoil, your troubles, the turbulent path he knows he's about to go down.

All he can think about is you, him, the present, the physical. The right now. The way that you're in Busan, and how the dreary streets of Daegu can't hurt you.

Rather foolish of him to think that little deaths would have you falling in love, when he's the one whose head feels like cotton candy, heart beating like a butterfly bursting from its cocoon.

The screen of his phone is alight on the dresser, again. You had noticed it earlier, but neglected to say anything; mainly because you didn't want to lose the moment, but also because you feared that whoever was on the end of the line could have you losing him, too.

The freedom of your arrangement, the unspoken boundaries, affords you great comforts, but also leaves you with lingering doubts. You aren't naive. You know that men his age - men in general - aren't ones to be trusted with your heart. Platonic, romantic, familial. Not a single man has ever deserved to hold it in their hands, and any that you have given the chance to have dropped it at the first hurdle. It's a death sentence, you think, giving Jungkook your heart.

So you simply won't.

But in the comedown of a fuck that really didn't feel much like a fuck, more like a meeting of minds, bodies, consciousnesses - fuck it - hearts, you find yourself thinking that maybe it would be nice to try.

You're still in his lap when he stands, his cock inside of you, even if a little soft, now. He's gentle, and slow, taking you with him, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his hips. There's comfort in his silence as he leads you to the bathroom; familiarity in his feverish need to shower.

His phone continues to ring out on the dresser, silent and sinister, the glow of his screen the only source of light other than the moon that pours in through the windows. He clocks it as he turns to close the door, while you let your body become acquainted with the pressure of the shower on your skin.

And then, he presses the door firmly shut. The world can wait just a little longer, even if only for a night.

Tonight, he's yours, even if you never asked him to be.

He's yours, because he knows that come next weekend, you really will never ask him to be.

But you're just as much his.

He'll wrap you up in a fluffy white towel, and lay down with you in white sheets, that are creased only by the illustrations of your entanglement. He'll give you a tissue, white, to clean yourself up with, after he loses himself inside you once again. He'll laugh with you, teeth on show, white, as you talk into the early hours of the morning. He'll watch the moon reflect in the ocean waves with you, white, until you both fall asleep.

And you'll feel all pink; rosy cheeks, blushed lips, bubblegum heart and peachy pigmented skin from his kisses that bloom like posies. Pink like the early dawn skies over quiet ocean waves, and pink like your favourite wine that can get you tipsy with just a few sips. Pink and pretty like his lips that pout even when he's asleep. Pink like the pads of your feet as you tiptoe to the bathroom to get a glass of water as quietly as you can. Pink, like the faint light next to the plug socket where his phone is plugged into a charger. Pink, like the tiny light at the top of his screen to let him know he has a flurry of unread notifications; missed calls.

Except it's not pink at all.

It's red.

Your eyes are just tired, and you're deluding yourself. Just like you have been of every single red flag that Jungkook has presented to you so far.

But when you look at the mess of blonde hair that belongs to the man hidden in the white sheets which have kept you warm all night, everything is pink again.

"Sleep," he mumbles as you crawl back into bed, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close. His lips rest in the crook of your neck, a lazy kiss delicately finding its home there.

"I'm sleeping," you whisper, the white lie nothing more than a joke that you're both in on.

"Promise?" he sleepily humours you, to which you smile.

"Pinky."

────────────

There's a magic to sea air.

It's not quite Disney, and definitely isn't Hogwarts, but it's something. It makes you feel all excited, and giddy, and like the world is at your feet. If you say the right words, or swish and flick a little bit of driftwood in the right order, then maybe you'll find that the world isn't all that hard to acquire.

Because maybe it's not the sea air that's magic. Maybe it's just what comes with being beside someone like Jeon Jungkook.

You quickly learn that there's a side to him you never knew. It's one that's incredibly mundane, but just as refreshing as the peach teas he points out to you on every cafe menu, 'cause he knows how much you like them, and doesn't want you to miss out on the opportunity to indulge in something you find such simple pleasure in.

Jungkook smiles.

He smiles a lot.

He smiles at the harbour views, at the elderly as they walk past, and at the market stall owners who charge him far too much for a stick of strawberry tanghulu. He smiles when you ask him about his life in Busan, and he smiles when you get distracted by every single dog you walk past, regardless of the conversation you've been engaged in.

He smiles when you tell him you fancy Italian for dinner, instead of engaging in an awkward back and forth of 'what do you want?', 'no, what do you want?'.

He smiles when you reach the halfway checkpoint of the Igidae coastal trail. You're leaning on the wooden bannister, clearly out of breath but pretending to look at the view instead - and it's a beautiful view, at that. Clear blue skies, waves that crash and mellow within the same second, and an endless cerulean sea.

He thinks about all the possibilities out there, and half-wonders if maybe he could just get on a boat with you and say goodbye to the choices he's made.

The only choice he's been sure of lately is you, and when his horizon is blocked by your sloping shoulders and claw-clipped hair, he's pretty sure you're the only opportunity he wants to experience from now on.

He's never walked this trail before, but he wanted to show you the best of Busan, hoping it would convince you that you're also seeing the best of him. As he pulls on your hand, pointing out the little numbers some poor soul had scribbled on the stairs to reassure other hikers how many were left, you're positive that you'd walk the trail a thousand times over, just to be met with his smile at the end.

Because Jeon Jungkook smiles.

He smiles and he smiles and he smiles.

He smiles over dinner, in a tight little hole-in-the-wall pizzeria, that at least attempts to make pizza authentic, even if they do have '+corn, 500w' next to every single option. He smiles when he tells you to put your card away, 'cause it's on him, and then he smiles when you trip on the ledge between the restaurant and the street.

You don't fall because he's holding your hand with a grip so tight you swear your fingers might actually fall off.

"One beer and you're legless," he teases, his hold on your hand tightening as he loops his arm over your shoulder. It's a warm embrace; one that fills your nose with the scent of his aftershave, and plasters an equally large smile on your face. He's infectious, it would seem, and not once has he insisted that you wear a mask since you arrived in Busan.

"Fuck off," you laugh, walking down the street together as if this is how it's always been.

Not a single person gives you a second glance, not even the middle-aged men sat drinking outside of the bar at the end of the street. It's dark, lamposts and decorative fairy lights guiding you home, the city alive with the hustle and bustle of whatever happens after dark. The noraebangs in the area are all hostess bars, and the actual bars are packed, so home is where you're headed. There's no company you'd rather keep than one another's.

"I love this place," you muse. There's a vibrancy here that you've been missing in Daegu, but if you were to take a moment to think about it, the cities have nothing to do with it. It's the boy, and the lack of distractions from him, that you really enjoy.

"Home sweet home," he replies nonchalantly. "Ain't nothing like it."

"You miss living here?"

Your question is met with silence. You leave it a moment, thinking that Jungkook is just debating his answer. Perhaps it isn't something he's ever given much thought to before. That seems like a safe assumption to make.

The answer would reveal a truth that Jungkook isn't quite ready to admit to just yet - but he wants to admit it. Wants to tell you everything.

All the things you should know, and all the secrets he wishes you'll never find out.

It's inevitable that one day you will find out, and he wonders if it would hurt more coming from his tongue. Regretfully, he thinks it will. To lie is to be merciful, or so he tells himself.

"You're so-" he begins so decidedly that it's almost a surprise, yet he cuts himself off. It's like he shocked even himself with the outburst. He glances down to his hand - the one you're holding onto - laughs, and then gazes back to the end of the street, where the dark tide is rolling onto a shallow beach. With a shake of his head, he says 'fuck it' to his reservations, and tries out a little honestly. "You're fucking with my head, you are."

There's a smile on his lips despite the accusation, and it has you smiling, too. You think nothing of it more than flirtatious banter.

"Oh yeah?" You toy. "How so?"

He knows this tone of yours, and knows you've taken it well; knows that all he can do is play along, so as to not raise suspicions. He doesn't mean to be so erratic with his thoughts, and in turn, his words - but he isn't kidding. You really are fucking with his pretty little head.

"How are you not?" He flirts back. "Can't think straight when I'm around you."

He watches as you drop your head, your nose all scrunched up, in the same way his own nose scrunches up whenever you're too kind to him. The only difference is he doesn't believe he's being kind at all.

You deserve more than he can - or is willing to - give you.

There's untapped potential between the pair of you, that will sadly remain that way. He figures he should make the most of this while it lasts; hold your hand as much as he can, get lost for days in the scent of your hair, and make you laugh for hours on end. He knows he'll miss hearing it when it all ends.

You don't know it yet, but you'll miss it too.

Maybe you'd do things differently if you knew that your time was limited.

"You're stupid," you reply rather childishly, because it's the best your bashful brain can think of. "Is that why you nearly hit me that night on the bridge? When you were racing? Too distracted by how much of a mindfuck I am?"

"You have any idea how much easier my life would have been if I had just hit you?" He muses, looking down at you.

You wait until he's finished his words to look back at him, but you wish that you hadn't, 'cause there's a look in his eyes which makes you think he isn't lying.

It should scare you - but like an uncomfortably awkward damsel in distress from a vampire movie, crushing on a bloke who is definitely a little bit too creepy for anyone's liking - it doesn't.

"Far easier," you guess, not letting your smile drop. "Waking up next to me must be torture."

"Waking up next you," he nods. "Sharing my aux with you, paying my water bill after learning just how much you like showers hot enough to kill a lobster. Hate it all."

"Oh god, me too," you say quickly before his lips cut you off for a second, only to let you finish a moment later. "Hate it so much. So glad we're on the same pa-"

This time, it's not the lips of the boy you like a little too much cutting you off, but the voice of a boy you're sure you could grow to like just as much, if ever given the opportunity.

"Well I fuckin' never," a voice booms from across the street in your direction.

You ignore it, not really thinking anything of it - just some rowdy lads who are talking amongst themselves after a few too many beers, you assume - until Jungkook's head snaps in the direction of the voice.

His expression is startled, but quickly softens to his usual boyish disposition. There's a defensiveness, though, to the way his hand tightens around yours - until he drops it altogether.

"Kim Taehyung," Jungkook beams, adjusting his posture so that you're partially shielded from the man across the street, who's checking both sides to make sure it's clear before he crosses.

He's handsome, in a way that's entirely different to Jungkook. His broadness isn't exclusive to his shoulders, but the way he carries himself, and the sleazy smile that rests on his lips where a cigarette fits snug. He exhales, and crosses the road, the grin on his face only getting larger.

"Jeon Jungkook," he nods, greeting him with such familiarity that you feel all embarrassed.

You've no idea who this man is. His name has never been mentioned before. In fact, no names have ever been mentioned. There's little you know about Jungkook.

Sure, you know how he mindlessly fidgets, and how he whines when your tongue strokes against his taint, but what do you really know about him? Nothing of any value. Nothing that signifies you're of any value to him.

"And who's this?" Taehyung asks, but Jungkook's reply only further confirms your assumptions.

The question is addressed to you, Taehyung looking just as dangerous as that cigarette in his mouth is. He's a slow burn, you think, the kind of boy who'll grow on you, and before you know it, you'll be just another victim of his charm. It's unsurprising that he would be acquainted with Jungkook. After all, the company you keep is a reflection of yourself.

You look to Jungkook, who looks over his shoulder back to you. He's not really looking at you, per say, not how he does when you're alone. When he turns back to face Taehyung, you see the way his cheeks rise to smile, and you don't mind his coldness all of a sudden.

But then he opens his mouth and you think if you weren't such stone-cold bitch, you'd cry.

"Just a friend from Daegu. No one special."

It's humiliating, granted, but any reaction would only serve to embarrass you both - so you simply keep quiet, and smile. Your brows lift a little, eyes on Taehyung, who takes a toke as he looks between you and Jungkook.

He's smirking as he exhales, like he knows Jungkook is full of shit.

"Well, fuck me. I gotta find myself some friends in Daegu. Taehyung," he says as he holds his hand out for you to shake, with a look on his face like he hasn't eaten for a week.

There's something about him that's refreshing. He's an asshole, yes - undeniable - but at least he doesn't pretend not to be, like Jungkook does. He's undressing you with his eyes in the same way that Jungkook does with his hands. And for what Jungkook just said? You're pleased. Maybe you should let Taehyung take you home instead - after all, according to Jungkook, you're just a friend from Daegu. No one special.

"Uh-uh," Jungkook shakes his head. He's teasing, but he steps further in front of you, blocking Taehyung from your vision. "I know what you're like, Tae. Hands off this one."

The way he's talking makes you wanna turn on your heels and walk all the way back to fucking Daegu. Whoever it is that's currently shielding you from the danger of a fuck boy isn't Jungkook. Not the Jungkook you know at least.

"I'm just a friendly guy," Taehyung jokes back. "You know me. What brings you back home? Haven't since you since the wake. Been a while."

Jungkook's back stiffens, but Taehyung doesn't notice.

"Just some family stuff. Thought I'd make a weekend of it." He tilts his head back towards you. The movement has Taehyung's eyes on you again. To feel so unapologetically desired is thrilling, but it kind of makes you sick. You want Jungkook to hold your hand. Signify that you're his. Tell Taehyung that he doesn't stand a chance. But of course, he doesn't. "Thought I'd show her around. Visit some old haunts. How have you been?"

"All good," Taehyung replies, not really interested in what Jungkook has to say. It's formality, really. If he cared that much about what Jungkook had been up to, he would have made more of an effort to keep in touch. "Saw your brother yesterday, actually."

God, it's like one sucker punch after another. A brother? You've no idea who this man is.

"Seeing him tomorrow," Jungkook nods, and again, it's bloody fucking news to you. "He good?"

"Baby's keeping him up all hours apparently, he looks fucking exhausted. Met the baby yet?"

"Nah, nah, tomorrow," Jungkook says, and you're surprised by how... mundane the conversation is. You can't tell if they're friends, or if there's something more troubling at play. Everything feels coded, but you're struggling to read into it. You're too fixated on how much of Jungkook's life you're unaware of.

"Oh, nice," Taehyung replies. "You should come by the boxing club while you're in town. Be good to see you. I'm sure the boys would be pleased to see Busan's finest back where he belongs." He looks over Jungkooks shoulder to you, again, and smiles in that sultry way you're sure enables him to never go without a bed to sleep in. "Bring your friend with you. Think we could all do with a new friend."

The way he talks is crude. It's unapologetic, and if it were any other man, you'd probably be repulsed - but you're too busy being pissed off with Jungkook to care.

"Think I could do with a new friend, too," you hum back, lips pouty, chest a little pushed forward. "See you there?"

"Oh, I'll be waiting," Taehyung almost fucking moans.

Jungkook presses the pad of his thumb across the tops of his fingers, one by one, clicking them in their sockets. His frustration is evident, but the grave he's in is one that he dug himself.

You may feel like you don't know him, but he knows you. He should have anticipated that you wouldn't play nice after he said something like that.

But oh, on the contrary - you think you are playing nice. Very nice. For Taehyung, you'll be the nicest girl in the world.

And that's all Jungkook can think about.

It's intrusive, the thought of just how nice you can be.

He's thinking of your hair, all nice and tied up in a ponytail, and how Tae's hand could wrap around it. He's thinking about your pretty little knees, and how good you look when you're on them. He's thinking about your chest - God, he fucking loves your chest - and how it stands to attention when you're cold. And of course, you'd be cold, 'cause he's imagining all of this happening in the back rooms of the boxing club. At least you wouldn't be able to come, but he's barely been making that happen lately, anyways.

If there's one thing he hates more than the idea of you with Tae, it's himself.

Taehyung says his farewells, and lets his gaze linger on you for far too long, and says "you've got a look about you, friend from Daegu. Something familiar," before heading back to where he came from. The gaggle of lads he was with are still waiting for him. It seems as if he's in charge; the ringleader of sorts.

It intrigues you.

But he doesn't entice you the way that Jungkook does.

There's no softness to him, not like Jungkook with his big, round, chocolate button eyes and ever-scrunched nose.

You're mad at him now, though. Pissed. In fact, you begin to walk away as soon as Taehyung is gone, because you simply don't want to be around him any longer. You're even thinking about booking yourself in for a separate hotel room. Fuck his gestures, and fuck the effort he's made. Means fuck all, now.

Who the fuck does that? Who brings you to their hometown - into their life - and turns around and dismisses what you are to them so cruelly? He'd paid god knows what for that hotel, driven the pair of you to the city, paid for everything despite your protests, and asked for nothing in return.

You know full well that if you'd have gotten back to the hotel before the Taehyung incident, and had been too tired to fuck, or just not in the mood, Jungkook wouldn't have cared. Even sex wasn't something he seemed to think he was owed. Not like most guys.

He'd have probably stroked love letters onto your back with the tip of his index finger until you fell asleep, instead.

See, there are - or at least there were - no expectations with Jungkook, which is probably what makes this all so disappointing for you. Foolishly, you thought you had a good one in him.

He's a man, though. How good can they ever really be?

Heels clicking against the pavement as you walk, you sound far more powerful than you feel. You want to take your stupid fucking shoes off and launch them at his stupid fucking head. How dare he reduce to nothingness.

"Hey," he calls after you, as if he hasn't just torn your heart out, hands all bloody while he toys with it. "CC! Hold up!"

There's a trail of blood as you walk that leads to the hole in your chest, and so he follows it like a bloodhound in search of its prey.

He repeats his call when you ignore him, catching up with you far too easily for your liking. You don't like getting caught.

"What?" You snap, arms folded across your chest, but you keep on walking. A gaggle of girls walk by, far too drunk to be in heels that high, and they coo a little bit as they clock Jungkook. You find yourself sneering. "Oh look. Some more friends for you to make."

"Hey, c'mon," he reaches out for you but you shake him off, so he tries again, a little harder. It doesn't hurt, and if you want to, you can pull away.

Shamefully, you can't bring yourself to. Those with the power to hurt are also apparently those with the power to heal - and all you want is for him to put your heart back where it belongs and kiss it better.

"You know I didn't-"

"Didn't what?" You fight, because that's all you're really good at. "Mean it? Mean to say it? Or didn't think that this actually meant anything?"

"Fuck," he seethes a little, teeth gritted and jaw sharp. He loosens his grip on you, and rubs the pads of his fingers against his jaw instead, tongue pressing into the side of his cheek. His nostrils are flared, and there's bite behind his bark. "Don't turn this into something that it isn't."

"I'm not turning it into anything," you say so calmly that it's almost unsettling. "But turn it into what? A lovers tiff? No worries. We're just friends, babe. Can't turn it into one of those."

"You're being unreasonable."

"I'm being perfectly reasonable."

"CC-"

"I've got a name," you remind him. "Maybe use that, instead. CC feels a little... I don't know. More than friendly? And we wouldn't wanna blur those lines, would we?"

"Christ. Can you stop?" he pleads, the frustration he feels overwhelmed by the desperate need to control the situation. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"I don't think you know what you meant, Jungkook," you shrug, because fuck letting him think you're hurt. "You just let some guy fuck me with his eyes, because according to you, we're just friends. You saw that, right? You saw the way he was looking at me like a piece of fucking meat? And you let him."

Jungkook doesn't say anything for a moment. His body is stiff, as if he's rebooting; calibrating to find an answer. Yes, he had let Tae do whatever the fuck he liked, because it was easier than explaining the truth of who you are to him. Safer. In his eyes, it had been a lesser of two evils, but you're seeing Jungkook as the only evil.

Your chest is beating so hard in your chest that the thump, thump, thump has drowned out the chime that's usually there.

"No," he tries again. "It's not like that. I know what I said, but it's not what I meant."

And then you do that thing again. You calm yourself, your voice so serene and superficial that it makes his skin crawl. He can tell how angry you are, and yet you're so fucking pleasant. It's psychotic - but how can he complain about your anger when you're fucking smiling at him like he just saved a bird from drowning?

"You don't have to explain, Jungkook. It's cool"

"No," he protests, but it's met with vacancy behind your eyes. "I do."

"No," you say, tone firm and assertive. You don't need to be let down gently. Your feelings don't need to be spared. "You know what I'm like. I need to stop making so many assumptions."

Ouch. He can practically feel the dagger you have for a tongue slicing at his heart.

"Well what did you assume?" He asks, because playing along seems like the only way he can get you to engage in conversation with him.

"My assumptions are mine," you say quietly, walking closer towards him, until your index finger can tap against his chest. "Maybe if we were friends, I'd share them with you. But I don't share with people who only know how to take. From the look in Taehyung's eyes, it seems like he knows how to give a thing or two, so who knows, Jungkook? Maybe I'll share with him."

Jungkook is silent.

It's a threat. He fucking knows it's a threat.

All those missed orgasms seem like a terrible idea, now. He thought he'd been helping, thought that you'd just think he was an idiot, like any other guy who didn't know where the fucking clit was. Thought it would help slow the feelings that are developing regardless.

But you knew he knew.

He's a fucking connoisseur. He's had you coming undone in ways that no other man has ever gotten close to. For him to suddenly forget how to make you tremble on his fingers was laughable.

You'd chosen not to mention it, because foolishly, you thought that you were the issue - but if he's gonna hurt your pride, then you're gonna hurt his right back.

You shake your head, and walk to the curb, raising your arm for the taxi that's hurtling down the road. There's a screech as it comes to a stop, almost like a reset button being pressed.

You feel a weight being eased from your chest, glad to have finally put him in his place for the no-gasm issue, but a new weight is just as heavy on your feet. You open the door, think about getting in, but can't. For some reason, the idea of leaving without him has you close to tears.

Asking the driver to wait just a minute, you turn to find him fixated on you, those soft chocolate eyes of his so warm as they stare you down. His brows are lifted, mouth firmly pursed shut, but you can see from the way his chest is beating that he's breathing heavier than his lungs can really manage.

You've never seen him cry, but you think you might tonight.

"C'mon," you eventually say, knocking your head to the side. You've a lot fight in you, but far more fear. You don't know what you mean to Jungkook, and you're not gonna kid yourself and pretend like you feel secure in it - but you know what he means to you. The idea of him staying elsewhere has you feeling all feeble and pathetic. You don't think he would, but you know that he could. "It's late. Let's just go back to the hotel."

He stuffs his hands into his front pockets and looks down, the usual confidence he wears masked by a thin layer of shame. It has a sheen to it; a stain. He's not the man that he wants to be for you, and he knows you're starting to wise up to it.

"Kook," you encourage, but he still resists.

He doesn't deserve this; doesn't deserve you. Doesn't deserve the olive branch you're extending, when he knows he should be on his knees begging like a dog.

He could do that for you. Beg like a dog, in his own, fucked up, kind of way.

On his hands and knees. Begging.

In fact, he thinks it's the only thing can do for you right now.

And so he gets in the taxi as you ask, and stays quiet.

The drive is silent, but taxi rides often are, so he tries to ignore it. When you go to pay, he holds your hand back, and offers up his card instead. The grip he has is gentle, but it burns like the heat of a thousand matches, and when it leaves, you're left smouldering. You don't want to lose the heat, no matter how much damage it can do.

Silence permeates, and dulls the chime in your stomach that you'd expect to hear in a hotel elevator with Jungkook.

So much silence.

Silence as the door to your hotel room clicks open, and silence as you kick off your shoes. Silence when your bag is tossed on the bed, and silence when Jungkook's shoes join your own.

There's silence as he walks to stand behind you while you look out onto the midnight sea, and there's silence when he presses a kiss into the crook of your neck.

There's silence when he whispers your name, and silence when you hum in satisfaction from the way his lips feel against the expanse of your throat.

Silence so loud that you want to scream.

Silence so loud that you wouldn't be able to hear the scream regardless.

Silence, silence, silence that is so fucking loud, you must be deaf.

But you can hear the small intakes of breath that he takes between the kisses he peppers on your skin. You can hear the click of his lips, and the way he whispers 'I didn't mean it,' as if it would eradicate the hurt caused by such a simple exchange of words.

And then his hands of fire are creeping beneath your shirt, and you're all warm and pliable for him.

You so desperately want proof that he didn't mean what he said, and if there's one thing you're sure of, it's that he doesn't fuck you like you're just a friend.

So you think you might just let him.

He can tell you're apprehensive and he knows why, and that he has to prove himself to you. Moonlight pours in through the window, and you're bathed in it like some kind of ethereal goddess that will surely disappear when dawn breaks. He has to make this last.

He strips you of your clothes, and funnily enough, it isn't the most vulnerable you've felt in the last few hours. In fact, you feel confident, now. You know what you're doing when it comes to matters of the body. Matters of the heart? Not so much.

Your capabilities for either of those aren't required now, though. This is all on him.

He encourages you to the bed, so you sit by the foot, and wait for instruction.

"Lie down," he says, eyes remarkably on yours, and not your tits instead. It must be a first.

It's curious how softly he looks at you; almost like you could break.

Maybe it's because he knows he has to be extra careful, because he's the only one capable of breaking you.

And so you nod, because maybe, just maybe, he could fix you, too.

In fact, when he gets to his knees and grips his palms around your ankles to drag you closer to the end of the bed, you can almost feel your heart swelling. Healing.

Y'see, it's familiar, and safe, and certain; Jungkook will fuck you, and you will mistake the way he kisses you when he cums as a declaration of something more than what it is.

For now, though, he's only thinking about ways to get you off. Anything is on the table. He'll do it all. Do whatever you ask. Do things you're too afraid to ask.

He spreads your legs apart, and spends longer than is normally comfortable staring at you. He's appreciating it; the way your lips slowly part, a little damp and so delightfully warm. He loves your scent. Wishes he could bottle it up - but for now, he'll settle for drinking from the source.

When his tongue strokes against you, it's slow. The pressure behind it feels intentional, the warm studs of his tongue piercing making your toes curl from just one touch. He exhales against you, then inhales because - fuck me - you smell divine. His tongue licks again, languid and flat, his head nodding ever so gently. The change in movement has your hands gripping onto the sheets, a shallow affirmation of 'fuck, Kook, yes' spurring him on.

He hums against you, and you swear it's better than any vibrator you've ever had. It's almost as if he's saying something, but can't get his words out - which would make sense, given the fact his mouth of full of your pussy. His tongue points, as his palms rest on the underside of your thighs to angle you a little better for him.

He pushes his tongue into your entrance, and it has you mewling. Wetness seeps into his mouth, sweet and musky, just how he fucking likes it, and he's doing that thing where he whines against you again, and you swear you might just cum right there and then.

It's noticeable, though, how your grip is on the sheets, and not him.

Your heels are digging into the duvet, not pressing against the top of his spine, and your fingers aren't in his hair.

Still, your pussy is leaking onto his tongue, and arguably, he could be fooled into thinking you've let down your guard for him.

But you haven't really.

He can see this; the way you've detached sex, and the pleasure that it coexists with, from the emotional intimacy he's fostered with you.

It's like he can touch you, but you're scared to touch him. You're using him - and he knows he deserves it.

When he pulls away from you, clear strings of slick connect his mouth to your core. The sheen covers his lips, his chin, the tip of his nose. Moonlight drenches him, and in turn, so do you. He watches how your chest heaves as his fingers come to replace the pressure from his tongue on your pussy.

Your body may be his, but you're not.

'Touch me,' he wants to say, but he's embarrassed by how badly he seems to have fucked up the one good thing going for him - and so he pushes his fingers into you, hoping that he'll be able to get you forgetting about the fact he's no good for you; get you wanting him like you used to.

And you do.

Oh god, you do, so badly.

There's nothing you want more than to have your fingers tangled in his hair, have him hissing when you pull a little too hard, keeping him locked in position against the mess he's made - but you're embarrassed. You fear that by taking any kind of leading role, you'll be forcing him to play along to something he isn't really all that into.

As much as you could pretend like you don't care about what happened earlier, it's chewing you apart, inside out, making it harder for you to get there.

Your body keens for him, though. The sounds of his fingers working your pussy are lewd, and only amplified when he spits on it in that way he always does. It drives you insane, but even now, you're floundering.

"Hey," you whisper, and your hand finally comes to rest against his hair. He leans into your touch, heart stiff in his chest as it appears to stop beating altogether. How a touch so simple can have him so damn wrecked is beyond him. He hums a response, and is met with a gentle tap against his bleached ends. He looks towards you to find you looking back, and the stillness of his heart is replaced with a beat so loud he swears it sounds like a thunderstorm is hurtling across the ocean. "Stand."

Your voice is soft, and Jungkook is confused, but he doesn't question it. He does as he's told, because quite frankly, he'll do anything you want at this point. He'd get on his knees, on his back - fuck it, he'd even get face down, ass up, if that's what you wanted - but you don't. Not now, at least. Maybe another time.

Right now, you want him as vulnerable as you feel.

When he stands, he keeps his fingers inside of you. He's gentle, massaging, making sure the movements aren't too rough. You've never shied away from things getting a little heated, but there's a time and a place for that. You don't want it hard. You want soft. Soft, soft, soft, like his eyes.

"Clothes," you say, almost timidly, unable to string your words together in a way that makes coherent sense. He knows what you mean, though, and slowly pulls his fingers from you, not caring to wipe them off. You're pristine, in his eyes. He couldn't care less about how dirty you could make him. He'd wear it like a badge of fucking honour.

He takes his shirt off first, eyes never leaving yours. He can see the way your heart is beating beneath your chest, and decides pretty quickly that he needs your tits in his mouth at some point before the night is done. His favourite fuckin' feature of his favourite fuckin' person - when he's horny, at least. He could list a million things he likes just as much, but his brain kind of just short circuits when he can see your chest looking all heavy and pliable and like it belongs in his mouth.

There's a clang, the metal of his belt tapping against itself, his tattooed fingers working quickly to rid himself of all his constraints. He pulls it from the loops of his trousers, tossing it on the bed just in case he'll need it later.

Your lips rest ajar, but you close your legs a little, watching him unbutton his jeans. He lets them drop, revealing the white of his Calvins.

He usually wears dark boxer briefs, which are always welcomed by you - but there's something about the white that has you salivating.

The outline of his cock is thick. He's stiff, and there's a tiny tell-tale mark of precum leaking from his tip. The contrast of his honey skin against the crisp white is the kind of visual you'd expect to see on a Hollywood billboard; not in your hotel room with you.

He'd worn them deliberately, expecting this kind of reaction, but had anticipated a far different feeling in the room.

The look on his face doesn't match the confidence that his strong body oozes. His wide eyes are just as vulnerable as yours. You both look like you're gonna fucking cry, which is actually kinda funny, when you think about it - but you don't laugh.

Perhaps that would be the most vulnerable thing you could share with him, and he with you: tears. There's a heaviness between the pair of you, the weight of unspoken words, hidden truths and deceptive intentions, which have led to the cluster fuck that is the relations of which you engage in.

It's just fucking, but it's also not. Not really. If it was just fucking, he'd be railing you right now, just like he did on that very first night you spent together.

But instead, he's cautious as he asks, "Where do you want me?"

You have to bite your tongue and stop it from saying 'inside me.' You're trying to keep your heart safe. Distance is needed. You're scared he's gonna steal it if he gets too close.

Pulling your legs up, cross-legged in front of him, you give him a look that he doesn't understand, but one that he knows means no harm.

He thinks you're asking permission to move, so he nods, and is proven right. You crawl a little further towards him, on your knees, until you're at the end of the bed. You sit up on your knees, shorter than him still, but the height is more matched than it is when you're standing on solid ground.

You give him that look again, and so - of course - he just nods. He's yours. You can do whatever you fucking like to him. He'd take anything you'd give him, pleasure or pain. He's stoic in the way that he stands, but you can see his jugular vein beating like he's just gone three rounds in the boxing ring.

Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of his underwear, right where the V of his hips meets the fabric, your eyes are on his.

It's torture, knowing you could be watching his thick, swollen cock spring free, but this isn't about the sex. Not really.

He bends a little, pushing his underwear to his ankles, kicking them off to the side and resuming his position in front of you. You still haven't looked at his cock, even though the thought of it has slick wetness seeping onto your inner thigh.

Your hand finds one of his, and pulls it to his cock. It throbs as you wrap Jungkook's hand around it, nodding at him, before retreating.

He's stood at the end of the bed, naked, hand tight around his fat, leaky cock, eyes on yours as you sit by the pillows. Your legs are crossed, knees up, covering your chest, light from the moon washing over you both.

He looks heaven-sent in this light. A white halo whisps around his fluffy blonde hair, the thick lines of his tattoos defined, his body carved from marble. And yet there's still a softness to him. It's in his eyes. Big and round; home in human form.

And so, for all the fear, for all the ways he has you scared about his intentions, for all the sheer instances of turmoil you put your heart through, none of it really matters.

In this moment, you feel safe.

"Wanna watch," you say quietly. You can see the way he swallows, his chest doing a terrible job of hiding the fact he actually seems to be a little bit nervous.

"Watch?"

You nod. "Wanna watch the way you get yourself off."

The request is simple, but it feels more complex than that - and it is. You want him vulnerable. You want him weak. You want him falling apart all over you without even so much as a single touch from you.

In his heart of hearts, he knows all this.

He knows, and still, he wants to do it for you.

There are sins to repent, and this feels like a start.

"Wanna see the way you touch yourself when you think about me," you continue, because you like the way his eyes look so pure and chaste at such a request.

There's a shadow to his face, the moon only illuminating half of his body, but it runs deeper than that. Divine feminity is a gift from the celestial body that watches over you, and it overcomes him, too.

Despite the hardness of his muscles, the metal of his piercings and the stiffness of his cock, he's so, undeniably soft for you.

Soft and velvety, just like his eyes. Soft and timid, like the boy who cried wolf and finally got caught. Soft, and softer still, when he says your name in such a hushed tone it barely reaches your ears.

"You do that, right?" You ask, though the answer is granted by how utterly enthralled he is with you - or at least, your body. "You think of me when you touch yourself?"

He nods, licking a slow stripe across his lower lip, before biting down on it.

His tight fist begins to roll up his cock, slowly bringing it back down again to the base of his shaft. There's a hypnotic quality to the way his foreskin retracts, exposing how red and flushed the tip of his cock is. There's desire burning through it, and he needs you - your pussy, your mouth - to soothe it.

He knows he isn't getting it, so instead, he revels in the pain that comes with being refused your body.

He's tepid as he starts, but his pace quickly builds, and so does the way he's moaning. It's a miracle you can even remember how to breathe. His torso is tense as he lets the pleasure run over his body, head tipping back, the expanse of his throat thick and wide, just like his cock.

He hums, imagining the way your pussy is leaking as you watch the show he's putting on for you.

He's not a performer, not by any stretch of the imagination, but the way he moves his body has you thinking that maybe in a past life, he could have been. You'd pay good money to watch him on stage. You'd devote yourself to him. Watch from the crowd as he sold himself to a thousand people every night. He'd be the main event, the headlining act, and maybe if you were lucky, he'd stick around for an encore.

What a shame, you think, that he never took advantage of his boyish charm and deliriously handsome face - but more fool him. You're the one who gets to reap the benefits, as you watch him now, free of charge, front row seat.

And yet, somehow, he seems to adore the crowd more than the crowd adores him. It fills your ego. Has you convinced that you've ruined this poor boy's life. Maybe you have.

"You're gonna think of me for the rest of your life," you tell him of your conclusion from your perch up by the pillows.

He so often talks in definitive certainties, that it's only fair you return the favour - but, remember, you're just friends, according to Jungkook. Best not to get ahead of yourself.

You find yourself prowling down the bed on all fours, stopping just beyond his reach. There's something primal about his gaze now. Predatory - but you aren't his prey. You're not going to get caught.

"Give it twenty years," you simper, rolling onto your back so your ankles are by the pillows, eyes on his cock as you tilt your head back. Kneading one of your boobs, you let your other hand dip between your legs. "When you're married, and your poor wife can't get you hard anymore, it's gonna be me who you think about."

"Shit," he hisses, both hating and loving what you're saying. Hating it because you're probably right, but loving it because, again, you're definitely right.

"It's gonna be me," you repeat. "When you get hard in your car, 'cause another girl has put her hand on your thigh. It's gonna be me you're thinking about."

He wants to protest. Wants to tell you that there'll never be another girl. He'd be lying, probably, but fuck knows why he'd ever give you up. Would have to be insane, you think, or something like that.

You know just as much as he does, that symbiotic energy like yours doesn't occur all too often.

"When your couples therapist asks what you think could be done to spice up your dead marital bedroom, it's gonna be me - gonna be this, right now - that you think of."

"C," he husks, unable to even get the full term of endearment out. There's a clammy sheen to his body now, his arm jerking at such a pace his veins are all engorged and pretty, just how you like them.

"It's gonna be me," you say again, barely a whisper, but it's enough.

And he agrees. "It's gonna be you."

Victory and defeat all in one blow; you're his forever, but it's likely he won't be yours.

He senses the heaviness behind his words, and the weight they've put of your chest, so he tries distraction as a method of easing it.

"Open your legs," he husks, the final syllable catching in his throat. When you do as you're told, he fucking whines.

The slickness pooling around the top of your thighs is sticky and hot, strings of clear fluid connecting your legs - all of you - together as you spread yourself for him. He nods, and it's your turn to obey, now.

Your fingers begin to rub at your clit, and Jungkook almost just give himself upright in that second. He swallows back the saliva that's pooling in his mouth, his cock growing hotter and heavier in his grasp. The way he's pumping himself is gonna have him finishing far quicker than he'd like, but he can't stop.

Not when you're looking up at him like that. Not when you're matching his moans.

"Don't stop," you almost beg as you see him begin to ease up. Returning his eyes to yours, his lips are parted. His hand continues to jerk, just a little slower.

"I gotta," he whines, but does as he's told, his grip a little looser than it had been. The muscles in his abdomen are tight. His balls, too. You want them in your mouth.

He watches as you turn, resuming the position you'd been in earlier.

As you wrap your arms around his neck for support, Jungkook finds himself grunting, picking his pace back up. He can smell you, your gasoline hair and sweet pussy, and it has him unable to think straight. Unable to do anything other than jerk himself off for you, because it's what you want.

The world. He'd give you that. If you wanted it, he'd give you it. He thinks he'd give you anything. Everything. Whatever he could.

The only thing he can't give you, not really, is himself.

And so he'll settle for everything and anything else your heart could ever desire.

But as your lips meet his, he knows that he's fucked, and that the only thing you really want is him.

Your kisses are slow, and tepid; a stark difference from the way his hand is working his cock, but it's everything he needs. How selfish, it is, that he still gets what he wants.

Unaware, you pull away, pressing your foreheads together, lips brushing his as you say, "you're gonna cum for me, now."

He tries to ask where, but you just kiss him instead. You kiss, and you kiss, and you kiss, and he's so fucking consumed that he barely notices when he starts gasping against your lips. His body begins to stall, muscles mirroring the way he begins to stutter, and then it's happening.

The tip of his cock is pressed against your stomach as he begins to unload himself, once, twice, and then he's sensitive, and trying to pull back, but he's still coming and - "Oh, fuck, babe" - he's painting you white with the innocence of the way he feels about you.

It's everywhere by the time he's done; your tummy, the underside of your breasts, dripping down to the mound of your pussy. He can barely fucking breathe, so caught up in the way it always feels to have you kiss him through his orgasm.

His hands grip your jaw, pulling you in for more, because he needs to distract his mouth from the words he's scared are gonna tumble from it. You both ignore the fact they're covered in the seed that's just spilt over onto them. It's nothing new, after all.

It's not like he's gonna declare love, or anything fucking ridiculous like that, he just doesn't know how the fuck he feels - and that's dangerous.

Unpredictability only leads to messiness, which it could be argued is what's happening right now.

Still, Jungkook hooks his hands beneath your ass and moves onto the bed with you, and thinks it's a pretty nice problem to have.

His cock is firm still, nestled in the warmness of your pussy as your legs wrap around his hips. Neither of you care about his cum, and it's interesting how often you seem to be covered in one another, with no desire to rid yourselves of it.

He didn't make you cum, but it was your choice, this time.

It's funny, because you're one who is scared now that an orgasm could have you falling in love. You don't want to give him that power back. Not yet, at least.

Your kisses dissolve into light pecks, the pair of you unable to hold back from worshipping one another. But you must, for it's foolish to idolise mortal Gods.

"This doesn't seem very friendly, Kook," you whisper.

Your chest feels uneasy as you joke. He closes his eyes, hanging his head in shame against yours, knowing that it was him and his inability to ever say the right fuckin' thing that had you refusing to fuck him that evening.

He's not stupid. He knows you stopped him from making you cum. He knows why. And he hates himself for it.

He presses a kiss against your cheek, once, twice, and works his way to your lips. It's goofy, the way he's planting little seeds of love all over your skin, but only time will tell if he'll water them. For now, you think you'd quite like to imagine the wildflower garden that could bloom in their wake.

"It's cause it's not, CC," he admits. "It's not very friendly at all."

And then, you just can't seem to help yourself as you tease, "Even if I'm just a friend from Daegu?"

He smiles, because he knows you're trying to soothe the burn of his words. Naked, spent, and vulnerable, Jungkook rolls off of you, repositioning himself so that you can rest your head on his chest. Still, neither of you care to get cleaned up. There's no disgust, nor discomfort.

More fool the both of you for thinking that this isn't love.

"You're my only friend from Daegu," he whispers, pressing a kiss against your hair. It's not strictly true, but he sort of wishes that it was. Wishes he knew you before he knew them.

"What about your other friends?" You ask gently, because maybe it's your fault you don't know more about him. Maybe you just haven't been asking the right questions.

Jungkook pulls the comforter over your body, 'cause he can feel how hard your nipples are against his torso, and guesses that you aren't exactly still horny now that you're asking him shit like this. Again, there's zero care for clean up just yet. Zero care for anything but one another.

And then you tack on an extra little question that has Jungkook mentally groaning.

"Who's Taehyung?"

Convinced that you're snug like a little comforter-human-burrito, Jungkook holds you tightly. He's still stark bollock naked and doesn't really care to be covered, but he wants you warm. Wants you happy.

And knows that your happiness, now, rests on open communication.

"I knew Taehyung in high school," he eventually admits. "We were both on the boxing team, and we were friends, but -" he stops, and laughs a little. "Well, I kept beating him. So on the days I'd stay behind and work on my form, shit like that, Tae would..." Jungkook sighs. And then he laughs again. "This is so embarrassing." He gently shakes his head, and then thinks fuck it. You deserve the truth, so the truth is what you're gonna get. "I started going to club more often, thought about going pro. I was pretty serious about it. Got to the point where Tae couldn't compete with me - but one thing he could do, apparently, was fuck. And I didn't know, but apparently, he could turn that into a competition, 'cause on the days I trained alone, he'd go hook up with my girlfriend."

It doesn't upset Jungkook anymore. Not really. Annoys him a little - and means there was no way he was letting Taehyung think you meant anything more to him than just casual sex.

"Shit," is all you can say.

"Yeah," Jungkook sighs. "Went on for like, 6 months. I didn't know till my dick started fucking burning. Turned out he'd given her chlamydia from someone else and in turn, me."

"Bastard."

"Right? At least wrap it up if you're gonna fuck about. Anyways, after that, it was rare for him not to pursue any girl I was interested in," Jungkook finally admits, and it feels good to get it out. Good to share. Fucking fantastic, actually. "Me saying what I said... It was a defence mechanism more than anything, and I'm sorry. I just didn't wanna give him any reason to try it on with you."

You nod slowly, because there's a lot to unpack. "What happened? With the girl?"

"We broke up," he says honestly. "That was the nail in the coffin, really. He's done it with a few other girls I've dated or fucked since then, to the point where it's definitely a pattern of behaviour, but I tend to avoid serious relationships. If I'm being honest, I haven't had one since."

"Since high school?"

God, it's mortifying, he thinks. "Since high school."

Heartbreak is a funny thing, though. You're similar in that regard. Neither of you ever want to give another person the power to break the one thing keeping you alive. It's just asking for trouble.

Then again, every single fucking thing about your 'friendship' is asking for trouble. Maybe it's fitting.

"I'm sorry," you say, because you're not sure what else to say. He squeezes the comforter bundle you're in and shrugs.

"Don't be. Just please don't have sex with Kim fuckin' Taehyung."

You laugh, because such a thing feels absurd - but it would do. You trust Jungkook. You care about Jungkook. Care for him. Care for his opinions, his well-being.

Would be a shame if that ever were to change.

But that doesn't feel like a possibility right now, so you simply don't think about it. Instead, you ask the question that you've been holding back, because you wanted to at least look a little compassionate before you got ahead of yourself.

"So what you said to him about me," you begin, and he rolls his eyes, 'cause he knows exactly where you're going with this.

"So what I said about you."

"You lied."

"I lied, CC."

The way he whispers it back to you has you all giddy and docile for him. He's dangerous, in the most delectable way.

"You like me," you accuse, and you're met with a shallow kiss, his lips curving upwards because he can't help but smile at how fucking smitten you look.

"I'm terrified of you," he smiles. "The way you make me feel scares the living daylights out of me, CC. This isn't... I'm not good at this. I mean, hello? Been out of practice since high school."

"Mmmm," you interject, questioning his statement. "You've fucked plenty of girls since high school."

His eyes roll again, because he knows you're just trying to get him to be specific.

"What do you want me to say, huh, CC?" He nudges his nose against yours, his grin prevailing as he sinks them down into a kiss. "That I spend my whole entire fuckin' day thinking about you? You stay at my place all the time. My Netflix account reckons I'm halfway through season one of Gossip Girl." You smile. It's a guilty pleasure. You watch it at his place when he leaves early for work, or on the days you arrive before him. "There's a spare toothbrush by my sink, and it's yours."

The way he emphasises 'yours' has the chime in your stomach ringing like a church bell.

"I haven't been serious about anyone since high school, so yeah, I'm a bit out of practice. I don't wanna put labels on things or move too fast or say things I can't take back. I just know it would really fucking sting if you slept with Taehyung," he smiles, attempting to lighten the fact he's basically just put his heart on the line for you. "So please just... don't."

The issue is, Jungkook's forgetting himself.

He's forgetting that you're not just you. He's not just him. The way you met wasn't organic like you think it was, and he's letting himself get wrapped up in the idea that the pair of you are just normal people who found one another despite all odds.

The thought creeps into his mind, but frankly, he wants it to fuck off. So he kisses you. Slow and deep. Just him, and you.

If he'd have met you under different circumstances, he'd have probably already asked your father's permission to-

And then it hits him. The reminder that he can never have a happy ending with you, all thanks to your fucking father.

Jungkook asked you to come to Busan for a reason. There are things you need to see, things you need to understand before it all goes to shit.

"I want you to come somewhere with me tomorrow," he husks against your lips, your noses stroking gently against one another. "Somewhere important. I've got some errands to run, and I'll see my family alone, but after that, I wanna show you something."

You nod to confirm that it's okay. Of course, you don't mind him seeing his family alone, and you could do with running a few errands yourself, so it works out well. He's opening up. Sharing. And that's all you can ask for.

It has you thinking that maybe you should do the same for him.

"Thank you," he whispers.

It's a loaded phrase, and you're not sure which part he's thanking you for, but you accept it nonetheless.

This is progress, you think.

Funny, 'cause Jungkook's the blonde one. If anyone should be a dumb bitch, it's him.

But the blonde is fake, and he's smarter than he should be after all those blows to the head in the boxing ring.

You're private school educated. Could have been anything you wanted. Could have had the world. Your daddy worked hard to make sure of it.

But as Jungkook leads you to the bathroom, stripped of everything except for the stain of his sex, you think you already have the world.

You think, for once, you finally have something good that isn't the result of nepotism or political fear.

Your daddy worked hard. He worked real hard. He gave you the world, and then some - but the world doesn't come for free, and there's a little collateral that he never counted on caring enough to fuck with his self-made solar system.

Yeah, your daddy gave you the world.

But it's Jungkook's job to give it back to its rightful owners, whether he wants to or not.

And so, as the shower begins to heat up, and the pair of you are doing what you do so well, his phone begins to buzz in the bedroom. It goes unnoticed. It's not Jungkook's priority anymore, which leaves him in quite a predicament.

The outside world can wait for a moment. He's letting himself indulge in the fantasy of you one final time.

What a brilliant, intangible fantasy you are.

But fantasy is just that;

a lie.

────────────

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

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protodroid · 2 years ago

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ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE? Connor doesn’t have a particular scent. Android’s were made to be perfect in every single way. But I suppose when he deviates he smells like fresh linen and a nice crisp scent. A scent that resembles going outside in the crisp cold air in the winter, signaling it is going to snow soon. Perhaps even the smell of fresh rain coming soon that brings comfort on a gloomy day. He smells calm and at ease and anyone around him (except Gavin) would agree too.

WHAT DO YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE? Soft. An android’s skin is created to be flawless and perfect. No imperfection can be seen and it should not be seen. Connor was made to fit in amongst humans but there will never be a callous upon his hands.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY? Eat? Android’s can’t eat. Although, Connor would love to try food someday, he simply cannot. He doesn’t have a digestive track and any food he consumes would back up his system and cause him to shut down. Maybe Thirium on a bad day but even then, that is only for when he loses thirium in a fight. He cant just drink it to satisfy hunger. He doesn’t feel hunger.

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE? Connor was made with all sorts of programs. Impersonating a singer is one of them. Well... male singers in particular. If he were to try outside of his programming he is sure he would sound fairly good. But that would be up to whoever is listening.

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICKS? Calibrating despite being a deviant. There are some things you just can’t let go. Connor is used to messing with his coin and doing such intricate tricks with it. He couldn’t imagine stopping. It makes him more human, fidgeting with a coin when he is bored or just thinking.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE / WEAR? Connor loves formal attire. He will always have his closet filled with dress shirts and slacks. On occasion he likes wearing hoodies, sweaters, and sweats. Maybe even shorts if he is feeling it. He owns a lot of comfort wear but when it comes to leaving the house? He will always be dressed to impress. Hank does make him leave the house in jeans and a old band tee he had, but Connor still prefers looking nice. If you want him to leave the house wearing something he will comply, though.

IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE? HOW SO? VERY affectionate. If he is dating you he will ALWAYS want to hug you, hold your hand, and kiss you. BUT if it is in a public area he will only narrow it down to a hug and holding hands. If you are family, he likes to walk close side my side with you and have a hand on your back if he is holding a door open for you. Either way, Connor likes physical touch A LOT.

WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN? Standing. Androids don’t need sleep ever but he can emulate it. If you pull him into bed with you (and not in that way) he will either hold you or have you hold him and just close his eyes until it is time to get up. But usually he will just stand around or do whatever around the house when everyone is asleep.

COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM? NO! Connor is very quiet, he doesn’t have much to say and his steps are as quiet as a mouse. If you try to listen hard enough I’m sure you can hear shuffling or the coin clinking as he messes with it. But you will not hear him unless you positively try to. Even when he is on call, he isn’t as loud as you would think.

tagged: @strongfuck tagging: whoever.

#:: headcanon // i only take orders from lieutenant anderson ::#{ this is very neat i like this a lot }

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years ago

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Infinity and More - S.R. (SMUT)

Summary: Happy with their little family, Spencer and Reader think that it might just be time to expand it.

CW: Emotional smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink, insecurities, oral sex (F receiving) (18 plus content)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Wife Reader

Word Count: 6,200

Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy this! Remember, all reblogs, comments and notes mean the world to me!

MASTERLIST | LATEST FIC | Tell Me What You Thought

Infinity and More

Looking back, I’m still unsure of how it all started. Like I’m not sure how one or two choices led to all this imperfectly perfect mess. I love my perfectly imperfect mess, with the colorful toys littered around in the living room, the tiny sneakers that line the entryway wall, and the crayon marks that never seem to come off the walls.

I adore the toys and the sneakers and the crayon markers because it all comes together into our perfectly imperfect life we’ve made. Pictures line the walls and the smiling faces of my children and husband beam down on me. I like to look at them, seeing how Spencer and I age ever so slightly through the years. While Spencer and I’ve only changed a little bit, new glasses and hairstyles, our children grow into adorable little people who are perfect combinations of us both.

Nearly a decade and two children later, it would be safe to say that our family is complete. Maybe in a couple years the kids will beg for a dog and, of course, Spencer will join in on the begging. And, of course, I won’t be able to resist any of them.

Spencer leans against the doorway of the kitchen, still looking handsomely sleepy. He watches me and I pretend to not know he’s standing there.

It’s a Saturday. Which means bringing Auggie to chess at the public library and making sure Florence has her gear ready for softball. It’s a small enough task and there’s a certain serenity in knowing that in a couple hours the chaos of our house will all be gone and all that will remain is the comforting quiet of silence. It’s something rare in the house and, as much as I adore my children, I know I’m going to savor the quiet.

“The quiet before the storm,” Spencer says, as he walks over to the counter. I smile softly at him, enjoying the way that his glasses rest on the bridge of his nose. He’s lucky that he can look so effortlessly handsome this early in the morning. His white tee shirt is discolored with bleach and rumpled slightly, but somehow he makes it work, along with his pajama pants to sit dangerously low on his hips.

“You look like you slept well,” I muse, reaching to grab a mug from a high shelf. Spencer reaches along with me, brushing his fingers against the back of my hand, slightly telling that he’s got it, “Thanks,”

Spencer smiles back at me, setting the mug on the counter. He kisses my forehead quickly through a smile. “Of course,”

“I thought you’d try to sleep in. You don’t have to take August to chess till noon,”

“Well I woke up and you weren’t there,” Spencer says, taking the coffee pot and pouring me a mug, “And I missed you,”

Laughing deliciously, drunk on the lack of sleep and Spencer’s kisses, “You missed me? We spent the whole night together,”

Spencer nods sheepishly, ducking his head and twisting his body into a hug. I welcome it, eager to feel his body against my body. The steadiness of his heartbeat is soothing. There isn’t another body, besides my own, that I know better than Spencer’s. I know the way his heart skips beats when he gets nervous, the way his cheeks blush at my touches, and the way his eyes dart around my body when I’m close.

“Hmm. It’s never enough with you,” Spencer says sweetly. He breathes in my scent, nose and breath tickling my neck. He, after all these years, makes my skin tingle with anticipation.

The sweetest and tenderness of the moment, suddenly, is gone. The pair of steamy coffees are neglected on the counter. His hands are holding my face still as he looks at me like he wants to devour me. Spencer eyes are a mixture of light honey brown and a cool green. It’s my favorite color because it’s so effortlessly Spencer. Or maybe it’s my favorite color because it’s what love looks like to me.

Spencer tastes like coffee. His skin is still warm from sleep and his hands find their rightful place on my waist. He grabs bunches of my shirt, his shirt actually, as he kisses me with more fervor. I start to feel something burn inside. Eagerness. Desire. Need. Love. All of it circles me, making me dizzy off the taste of his hazelnut coffee and vanilla creamer.

“Mommy! Mommy! Daddy! Dad-”

The little voices are heard before their even smaller bodies materialize. Dressed in mismatching pajamas, the kids bound into the kitchen full of glee. Spencer smiles into the kiss, nipping my bottom lip with his teeth. I scrunch my nose at the interruption, allowing myself to have a selfish moment to be annoyed at my children.

“What are you doing to Mommy?” Florence says, walking towards Spencer and tugging on his shirt. She looks up at him, her eyes exact copies of her father’s eyes. They’re the same honey brown and the same cool green.

“Kissing her,” Spencer says, brushing Florence’s hair from her forehead, “Good morning, Florrie,” he says, kissing the top of her head.

“Why?” Auggie says, appearing, as always, on his sister’s heels, “It’s icky,” he says, making a face that causes him and Florence to burst into a fit of unstoppable giggles.

“Because she’s so pretty,” Spencer says, winking at me and kissing my cheek. He effectively causes the children to roar with laughter.

“So you kiss girls because they're pretty?” Auggie says, a curious wonder appearing on his face not unlike his father’s own countenance, “That’s really silly,”

“Auggie,” I say, exhaling an exasperated sigh, “Baby, you don’t need to worry about kissing anyone for a really long time,” I tell him, ruffling his curly brown hair.

“Okay that’s good,” he says, nodding his little head with worry, “Can Daddy make waffles?” he asks, looking up expectantly from me to Spencer with wide eyes.

Florence chimes in with an eager “Please!”

Spencer, whose cheeks are still a tinged pink from kissing, leans against the kitchen counter watching his family. It’s moments like these that make me grateful for all life’s thrown at us, even if it’s a little sappy. And, at this moment, I have a feeling Spencer’s thinking the same thing.

“Of course,” Spencer says, “And maybe if you ask your mom really nice she’ll let you decorate them with whipped cream and sprinkles,”

Over the resounding chorus of squeaky pleases and chants of Mom and Mommy, please, I look over at the kitchen table with Spencer, Florence, and August and think that there just might be enough room for one more.

“A date weekend?” Spencer asks, nearly tripping over Florence’s science kit as he throws himself down on the couch, “At a hotel?”

“Yeah,” I say, running my fingers through Spencer’s hair, “And what’s with all the questions? Don’t you want a date night with your wife?”

“Of course I do,” Spencer says, “It’s just been a long time since it’s been the two of us. We’re busy. And the kids are just getting busier,”

“I know,” I say sympathetically, “Penelope said she’ll sleep over and you know it will be nice to do certain adult things that we can’t quite do when there’s two little people with the best hearing in the world the next room over,”

“Oh,” Spencer says, burning his head into my lap, “Yeah, I mean. I’m not going to say not to that,” he says, turning his face to smile up at me.

He’s really beautiful like this. His hair falls into his face like dominos. His nose scrunches up in an innocent sort of embarrassment that makes my heart soar. His wire-rimmed glass reflects the little reading light, making him look somehow both young and older at the same time.

“And you know we do have enough bedrooms for another one,” I say, wincing protectively for Spencer to respond. When he doesn’t say anything for a moment and then another, and makes me wonder if I read everything all wrong. He left all these little hints. From him musing about how cute baby clothes look in the clothing store, to him sending me pictures of Auggie’s first birthday, to him talking to everyone and anyone about how great his kids are, I think, as the moments pass by, I read this so wrong.

“You want another baby?” Spencer asks, an unreadable tone in his voice causing me to pause, “Reall?” he says, and the quiver in his voice tells me everything I need to know.

“Yeah,” I say, loosening Spencer’s tie as he rests with his feet hanging over the arm of the couch and his head in my lap, “I mean, we make really cool kids. Look at Florrie, she’s so smart. She devours book after book. You know I caught her the other night using her alarm clock to read after lights out. I mean, she’s just a little sponge,” I continue, feeling pure love course through my veins as I talk about my wonderfully sweet and smart children.

“Auggie’s all you,” Spencer says, playing with my hands. He laces my fingers in with his fingers, unable to not touch you, “And well, Florrie is all you too. But Auggie’s kind and caring and he’s an excellent chess player,”

“Ha! So you admit it. I’m a better chess player than you!”

I love it when Spencer laughs. It’s this sound that’s full of love and life and everything good and warm in this world. Laughter, with Spencer, is completely contagious. It’s impossible for me to maintain a straight face when he laughs. He’s always, ever since I've known him, had an uncanny ability to crack my facade. Maybe not crack, but melt.

“Shhh, you’re being way too loud,” I hush him, letting him kiss in hands in protest, “I just put those mangy kids to sleep, don’t wake them up now,”

“So no chance to wake them up for a hug and a quick story?” Spencer asks, peering up at me through his glasses.

“Not at all. Because if they see you they’ll want three stories each with different voices. And then they’ll convince us to let them into our bed. They’re mangly little monsters, Spencer,” I say, hardly able to resist rolling my eyes at Spencer’s pout.

“Yes, but they are our mangy little monsters that are actually really adorable. Especially when they sleep. You know how Auggie does that thing when he rubs his infant blanket between his fingers for comfort? Or how Florrie will try to steal your shirts because she says it’s like getting a constant hug from you?”

I lean down so my lips reach Spencer’s forehead. Gently, I place a kiss on his forehead, chuckling lightly at the soft sigh that Spencer lets out. It’s a sound of complete comfort and trust.

“We got pretty cute kids,” I remind him, reaching over and tugging off the lamp on the reading table, “Let’s get you to bed, old man. Before you fall asleep on my lap,”

Spencer, groaning dramatically, slowly sits up next to me on the couch. He leans in, gently resting his hand on my jaw. His long fingers reach up to my ear and the base of his palm tickles my chin. I’ve always felt safe when he kissed me like this; hands cradling me like I’m something precious.

“I’m not old,” Spencer says, grimacing as he tries to sit, “Well maybe I’m as limber as I used to be. But you certainly are, or at least we’ll see that over the weekend,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

“God, you’re such a dork,” I tease, standing up from the couch. I grab my books in one hand and with the other I help Spencer up from the couch.

“Yeah, a dork that can make you come-” he starts a teasing sort of voice making my cheeks heat in the dark.

“Spencer!” I shriek, his laughter ringing through the living room as he follows me up the stairs, “You’re insatiable,”

“Only for you, darling,” Spencer says, grabbing my hand as we walk up the stairs to the bedroom. His voice drops low as we walk by the bedrooms where sleeping children rest.

“So we’re going to do this?” he asks, “Try for another?”

I nod immediately, not having to have a moment of hesitation for a decision like this. Spencer flops onto the bed, already sprawled out, still in his work clothes. He grimaces when I flip on the switch, letting the bright light flood the dark room.

“Yeah,” I say quietly, sliding into the spot next to him. I rest my head on his shoulder and kiss the spot in between his ear and neck, “I think the kids are old enough, but it won’t be too big of an age gap. And I’ll be able to take some time off work too,”

“Maybe I’ll go to academia full time. You know, leave the BAU,” Spencer says, clearly thinking aloud. He must know what I’m going to say next because he answers my question before I can even ask, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. There’s a full time position available for a Chemistry professor on a tenure track at Mary Washington. Maybe I should take it?”

“It would be really nice to have you at home before the kids go to sleep,” I say, kissing Spencer’s forehead, “But I know it will be hard to leave the BAU,”

“I don’t know,” Spencer whispers. I can just picture the sad smile that must be on his face, “I’ll miss seeing the team. I’ll miss helping people that need it. But I won’t miss thinking I’m never going to see you every time I get on that plane. Or every time I put on a vest,”

“Me too,”

“So it’s settled,” Spencer says, “I’ll tell Emily tomorrow,”

“It’s okay to be sad. It’s a really big chapter in your life that’s gonna close. It’s okay to be sad, baby,” I whisper into Spencer’s ear, kissing his soft skin with a whole lot of love and tenderness.

“But I’ll be very happy to know that the only time you’ll be getting on planes is to go to family vacations and the only vests you wear are my horrible crocheted ones,”

“I love your sweater vests,” Spencer says quietly, “And I think the BAU will prepare me for family vacations for three children,”

“Getting ahead of yourself there, racer,” I tease, sitting up in bed.

“Actually,” Spencer says, resting on his elbow, “I was going to say four or five, but I didn’t want to scare you off,”

“Dork,” I tease, slipping off the bed and dropping my sweater to the ground. Spencer’s gaze dips to my bare arms and I swear that he gulps at the sight of me, “Well, I’m going to go shower. You know, if you’re interested and all,”

Turning to the attached bathroom, I smile as I hear the bed creek and feel Spencer brush by me beating me to the bathroom.

“Woah. Now this is really nice,” Spencer says, running his fingers along the leather-bound copies of books in the small library, “I guess I was right in getting an AirBnB over a hotel room. It feels more like a home,”

I nod, unzipping my backpack for the weekend. Spencer already finds himself in vacation mode, probably moments away from pulling out the nearest book and cracking it open. On the drive up, it was so quiet with just the two of us. But it was a good kind of quiet because silence with Spencer sometimes says more than the noise.

“So, we have enough groceries with us to make dinner here tonight. Or can we order in?” I say, sitting on the arm of the chair that Spencer claimed. He wraps his arms around my waist, leaning his head against my chest and sighing deeply as I toy with his hair.

“Hmm, whatever you want,” Spencer says, “Pizza, Thai, Indian. All three because, you know I get hungry after marathon sex. Especially marathon sex in the middle of a woods in a lonely cabin, without children in the next room or noise travelers,”

“Good idea, Spence. Neither of us are going to want to cook afterwards,” I tell him, a sudden shyness overcoming me, “Is it silly if I say that I’m a little nervous. It is silly, right?”

“I get nervous whenever you walk into a room, Y/N,” Spencer confesses, “And it’s not because being close to you triggers my anxiety or whatever. Just being in the room with you makes me feel all these emotions all at once. It makes the hair on my arms stand up straight. It makes me feel like a teenager with a secret crush. It makes me feel fucking alive. And I love you, so if you’re nervous, that’s okay. We don’t have to do anything like that. We can just order in and watch movies that we’ve missed for the last 8 years,”

“No, no,” I say, “I want to have sex tonight, Spencer. It’s just, sometimes I think I forget I’m not the same 22 year old that you fell in love with all those years ago. I’ve changed. I’m bigger than I used to be and I have new marks that weren’t always there. I’m different, and I’m not sure if it’s a good different,”

Spencer doesn’t say anything for a moment, letting the words sink in and giving it time to settle.

“It’s the best kind of different there is,”

“Yeah. You’re just saying that because you have to,” I mumble, bringing my hands to cover my eyes to brush away the hot tears that fall down my cheeks, “You’re my husband. So-”

“So I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the room. In every room. In all the rooms. And yeah, you’ve changed in fifteen years. I’ve changed in fifteen years. God, you know that more than anyone, sweetheart,”

“Yeah and you’ve only gotten more and more handsome, Spencer. It’s actually a little ridiculous,” I tease, wanting to make light of the conversation that seems to be getting more and more intense.

“And think about how I feel about you,” Spencer whispers, dragging me from the arm of the chair to share the seat with him, “And you being the most beautiful, stunning woman in the world is least interesting thing about you,”

“You really know how to sweet talk a girl,” I say, leaning in so my lips brush against his when I talk, “And all this talk about how I’m so pretty and whatever, is making me want to fuck you. Right now,”

“Yes, ma’am,” Spencer replies, a mischievous glint in his eyes and wandering hands making me yelp with glee as he follows me into the bedroom.

There’s a full length mirror in the bedroom. When I walk in, I can see Spencer standing behind me. He walks up towards me, hooking his arms with my arms. His chin rests comfortably on my shoulder and his hair tickles my chin. I’m not sure how long he stands there, staring at me and at him the full length mirror with a brass perimeter, but it’s seconds I know I’m never going to forget.

“Spence,” I whisper, looking at his eyes through the mirror. It’s still early evening, have the entire night and rest of the weekend to spend together, “You look so pretty like that,”

“Like what,” he says, starting to kiss down my neck. He sheds the light jacket I wore, tossing it somewhere over on the floor. His continued kisses, bound to leave marks by tomorrow, threaten to melt my mind. And I just might let him.

“Like I’m the only woman in the world,” I groan, wanting to grab his face and deepen the kisses he places all over my skin.

“Hmm, you are,” Spencer says, turning to face me, “You are the only one to me. The only one by miles,”

Spencer, like always, brings his hands to cover my chin, holding me close as he closes to distance. Kissing Spencer is like kissing him for the second time. Not the first time. The first time is filled with nerves and sweaty palms. But the second time, the second time is when the magic happens. Because when you kiss for the second time, you already know what to expect. You already know the little whimpers of need and whines of pleasure that the other person will make. The second kiss means you know that to expect, but it also means you’re starved for more.

I could ask him how many second kisses he’s had with me. Thousands, perhaps? Spencer would be able to figure it out. He must have realized that my mind is turning, but he pulls back. The sudden lack of his warmth is jarring.

“What are you thinking about, love?'” he asks, still working his mouth across my neck. He moves slowly and languidly, clearly taking his time because he can. I can feel his teeth nip at my pulse point, making my heart skip beats.

“How many times we’ve kissed,” I say, my voice coming out in an exasperated sort of sound that’s borderline desperate.

“Oh,” Spencer says as he runs his hands underneath my shirt, “That’s simple, we average around 8 or 9 kisses a day. That’s 3,285 kisses a year, and given we’ve been together for nearly 15 years, I’d estimate that we’ve kissed 45,990 times,”

“God, only you can make math sound so fucking sexy,” I mumble into the kiss, the words making my teeth clash against Spencer’s teeth in a way that’s not entirely awful. The noise that makes is halfway in between a chuckle and whimper, but whatever it is, it’s making my knees wobble.

“Bed,” Spencer whispers firmly, “Now,” he says, the need and desire in his voice not going unnoticed.

I nod, not dropping his hand as I lie on my back. The pillows cradle my head as I watch Spencer shed his sweater vest. It’s Wisteria Purple, a favorite color of mine on him and probably a creation of my own. As he takes his sweater vest off, his button up and undershirt come undone from his pants. I can see a sliver of his skin and can hardly contain myself as Spencer starts undoing the rest of his shirt.

“Let me,” I say, beckoning him forward with my pointer finger. He listens and I can’t help but add a, “Good boy,” that makes his cheeks tint with embarrassment.

With my legs spread on the bed and Spencer situated in between them, I take a moment to look at him. His face is still his face, but with fifteen more years worth of wrinkles and scraps. I happen to like the wrinkles; thinking that they give him more charm and this dashingly sexy professor thing.

I unbutton the rest of his shirt, letting it hang open with his sleeves rolled up. I lean down, kissing Spencer for who knows what time this weekend. I’m sure by the end of it, both of my lips numb from it.

“How,” Spencer starts, grabbing my hand, the one with my wedding ring, and kissing it, “did,” kiss, “I,” kiss, “get,” kiss, “so,” kiss, “lucky,”

Each kiss fills me with this warmth from the bottom of my toes to each individual strand of hair on my head. It’s like I’m floating in the air, high above the trees. God, if I’m the only woman in the world then Spencer’s certainly the only man.

“I should be the one asking that,” I say, brushing my fingers across his face, “I always knew I was gonna marry you. When I first met you, I knew it. Immediately,” I reveal.

“I was so young back then,” Spencer says, “I didn’t know the first thing about girls or love or being a husband,”

“You were always a very quick learner,” I quip, “About being a good boyfriend and buying me books and other things,” I add, raising my eyebrows suggestively.

Not needing another que, Spencer brings his hands to the waistband of my pants. He looks at me, expecting another sign of affirmation to continue.

“Please,” I say, “God, it’s been so long,”

Spencer laughs. It’s that loud, bellowing sort of laugh that reminds me of how alive I am, “We did this just last week. Yeah, it was quick and in the shower, but-”

“Shh,” I say, pushing my finger against his perfectly pink lips, “It’s far too long for a woman who has a husband that talks a mile a minute and has a incredibly talented tongue,”

Spencer winks before he pulls down my jeans and tosses them on the floor. While he does that I shed my shirt, throwing it down with the other discarded clothing items. Spencer rests on his elbows and starts to kiss the inside of my thighs, already making me squirm at his affections.

“Spence,” I say, grabbing a fistful of his hair, “No teasing,”

His breath is hot against the sensitive skin of my thighs. I can feel his unsteadiness against my body and I want nothing more than to cradle him into my arms. His fingers, deft and nimble, tease me against the fabric of my underwear. He’s so completely in tune to my body at this point and knows exactly what makes me tick. Eventually, he relents, taking off my underwear, but not before kissing me tenderly.

Spencer peppers kissing along my thighs, spreading my legs even further apart. He leaves me completely exposed and I can feel the tiniest bit of stubble on his cheeks against my thighs. Spencer pears at me, his glasses reflecting the low light in the bedroom, smiling. He drags his tongue up my center, effectively making me shudder.

“God, you are so fucking beautiful,” Spencer curses, the uncharacteristic language making me want him more, “And all for me,”

Unable to even form words at this point, Spencer darts his tongue around my clit making a sucking sort of motion that threatens to upend me. His strong hands grip my thighs, holding me completely still and totally at his mercy.

There’s no way, but with his talented tongue circling my clit, that I’d rather be. I buck my hips, desperate for more friction, more tension, more anything, against his face. Spencer grids against the bed, also desperate for more. He groans into my thighs before he looks up, chin slick and licking his lips eagerly.

“No, God, please! Spencer,” I groan, nearly teetering over the edge as Spencer removes his fingers and tongue.

“If you come,” Spencer says, a certain darkness coming across his eyes, “It’s going to be on my cock,”

I can feel him pressed up against me. I’m desperate for the weight of him to rest on top of me, to consume me, devour me. It’s like a part of me at this point. We’ve always found ourselves to be inseparable, but now we’re simply one. All I can manage is a slight nod as I undo my bra. Spencer’s hands cling to my chest, massaging me and leaving kisses against my unkissed skin.

Spencer’s kisses lead up to my neck, my chin and jaw, and my lips. He’s full of fire and passion. I know it’s impossible, but Spencer’s kisses melt my lips. I’d let him ruin me, millions of times, as long as he would be the one to put me together again. He breaks the kiss, standing up to shimmy out of his pants.

My gaze traces over the curve of his lips, the slant of his nose, the little collection of scars that adorn his body. All of it adds up to him. All of it adds up to my perfect Spencer. I sit up in the bed, tracing my fingers around all his marks that make him up. I kiss along the surgical scar where he was shot, the first time I thought he was going to die. I remember how young and naive I was back then, we both were.

He must know I’m thinking about this because his hands snake up to my jaw, gently, yet firmly making me look at him. Spencer’s hair covers his ears, falling in brown curls by his forehead. His glasses are a little askew, probably from moments before, but nonetheless he looks devastatingly beautiful.

“It’s been a pleasure growing up with you,” I whisper, kissing his stomach gently. His thumb brushes my cheekbone, a lipless kiss.

“And it will be a pleasure to grow old with you,” he says, leaning down to kiss me yet again, “I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. More than anyone will ever love anyone,”

It’s impossible to top that, yet I have to try. Because as much as Spencer loves me, he deserves to be loved equally as much.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” I tell him, “You’re the best thing that’s ever been mine,” I continue, ready to drag him headfirst fearlessly.

“God,” Spencer whispers, “I’m dying for you to fuck me now,” he continues, guiding you down on your back as he kisses fervently against your chest and neck.

“Please, Spencer. I need you to touch me,” I whine into the kiss. My teeth nip at his bottom lip, tugging at it as we separate from the kiss. His wandering hands are rough against my body, making me yearn more for his touch. His kisses, lazy and long, threaten to go on forever. And, if you were to ask me, I would just let him kiss me like this forever.

Spencer sneaks his hands down to my clit, fervently rubbing circles, making me dizzy and delirious off him. I never want this to stop, I want to live it forever and ever, playing it on repeat.

“Do you like that, Y/N?” Spencer asks, a taunting, teasing sort of voice making me burn with need for him, “I think you do, sweetheart,”

“Yes, yes,” I chant, knowing that words will do nothing but fail me at his point, “Spencer, please. I fucking need you,”

I reach down in between where I two bodies meet, stroking his erection. Spencer whines into my shoulder, pressing kisses and the gentlest of bites against my skin. His whimpers are delicious in my ear, making me proud to still be able to make him crumble with the lightest of touches.

“Fuck me,” Spencer says, pleading into my skin, “Please,” he begs, adjusting his legs so I can sit in his lap. He lines himself up with me, letting me sink down on his erection, “Oh, fucking hell,” he whines into another kiss.

“You feel so good, so good, baby,” I praise, the words punctuated by the thrusting of his hips to my center, “You want to fill me up, hmm?”

“Yes,” Spencer cries out, clinging himself closer and closer to my body. His arm wraps around my torso, our sweaty bodies meeting as one, “So, so bad,”

“Yeah,” I coo, squeezing my eyes shut as Spencer’s fingers stimulate my clit in rapid, sloppy circles, “Yeah, you want me to make you a daddy again?”

“Y/N,” Spencer whines, unable to thrust into me. I bounce myself on his erection without mercy, watching as his normally put together exterior falters at my doing, “Please, let me fill you up. Let me, please. Let me get you pregnant, Y/N. I want it, I need it,”

“Do it. Do it, Spencer,” I tell him, bracing my hands against his shoulders. As if spurred on by the very thought of it all, Spencer leans forward, pushing me down on my back. He hooks my legs around his shoulders, opening me up more to him.

“Oh, God,” I cry out at the new sensation, “You feel…you feel so deep,”

Panting, I look at him with wonder. His hair is a complete wreck and his glasses rest against his nose, but he’s never looked more beautiful than he does now. Maybe it’s the emotions of it all, or maybe it’s something else.

“Yeah, that’s right, sweetheart,” he chokes out, his words short and clipping, a testament to his yielding disposition, “You’re dripping for me, my love. All for me. This pussy is all for me,”

I grip his hair, guiding him to my mouth for another kiss. He relents, kissing me deeply and passionately. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated, but I love it.

I love him.

“I need it, I need it, Spencer,” I call out, my approaching climax making me delirious off him, “I’m going to come, Spencer. Please, I need it,”

“That’s it,” Spencer coos, a certain softness in his voice making me want him to devour me completely. I want his body to be on top of me forever. I want to feel the weight of him on me as I sleep. I want the scent of him on me as I breathe. I want him, no, I need him in every sense of the word, “That’s it, sweetheart,”

His words, soft, yet strong, guide me to climax. I never believed it, but I could feel it in my bones. I could feel the way I twist and writhe under Spencer and the way he stiffens against me.

“Spencer, please,” I cry out, “I love you. God, I fucking love you,”

“That’s it. So good, so good for me,” he praises, brushing the sweaty hair from my face affectionately. He kisses my forehead, “God, I can’t wait to see you carrying my child. So beautiful, so fucking beautiful,” he says, the crudeness of his curses softened by the sweetness of the sentiment. And then it’s dirtied, filthied, but the way he moans into my lips.

“Please, Spencer. Please fill me up. Tell everyone who I belong to,” I cry out, clawing at his back, desperate for him to finish inside of me.

“So spoiled,” Spencer tuts against my skin, “What a spoiled girl, always getting me to come inside of you. Getting you nice and pregnant with my babies,”

“Yes, yes,” I cry, as Spencer’s sloppy thrusts grow more and more uncoordinated, “Come for me, please? Come inside of me, Spencer,”

Spencer’s frantic thrusts slow as he comes undone. He looks beautiful when he finishes, deep inside me. There’s sweat on his brow and his hair is even more wild and unruly. He’s untamed, but tamed only for me. Gently, he lets my legs down with a grimace. He flops down next to me, kissing me with his hands tenderly holding me in place by my jaw.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever been mine, Y/N,” Spencer whispers, breaking the kiss ever so slightly. His lips still brush against mine, like butterfly kisses that take flight.

“How do you get more and more beautiful, Spencer?” I whisper, taking his glasses off so he can rest against the pillow.

“That’s the hormones talking,” Spencer replies, “All those endorphins and oxytocin,” he starts, looking skeptically as I shake my head.

“Nope,” I say, sitting up on my elbow, “You’re just beautiful. I don’t need any hormones to know that,”

“That was,” he trails off, choosing to ignore my comments, even now compliments are a hard thing for Spencer Reid to accept, “That was very good,”

“Yes, it was,” I agree with an unabashedly proud smile on my face, “You know we might just need to pick up a pregnancy test on the way home if we continue at the rate we’re going,” I tease, scooting into Spencer’s embrace, “Lemme get cleaned up first though. And dinner, God, I’m starving,”

“If you’re planning on going again,” Spencer starts, grimacing as he sits up, “I’m going to need some Acetaminophen,”

I laugh, sitting up and kissing Spencer’s forehead, “Okay, old man. I’m going to get cleaned up and let’s see if you can figure out how to place an online order,”

Spencer brushes a piece of my hair behind my ear, tucking it in and out of my face. He smiles, softly as he drinks me in. I think to myself that there’s no one else I’d rather be drunk on, but him. There’s a uncertainty that washes over me, it’s not bad, but hopeful. And maybe, I’ll decide to embrace it, along with my perfectly imperfect life. A perfectly imperfect life made even more perfect by the man that sits to my right.

I sigh, thinking about the way Spencer’s hands on my body never fail to make me feel beautiful and desired, “Hey, Spence. How many kisses do we have now?” I ask.

“Well,” he says, turning his head to the side with an air of cockiness, “I’d venture to say we’re north of 46,041,”

“Good,” I say, kissing him yet again, “We just made it, 46,042,”

“And it will never be enough,” Spencer says, “46,043, because,” another kiss, “46,044, infinity isn’t enough with you,”

Kissing him again, I hover over his mouth, our bodies pressed up against each other, “46,045,”

Taglist

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lasquadrasfuckhouse · 3 years ago

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hello i hope it’s ok to request this, but I can’t stop thinking about that like really pure tender-emotional sex with la squadra— I was wondering if I could request that as either hc’s ( or a fic with melone or prosciutto if you get a muse for it ) I don’t know if that’s enough to go on but aa the sappy thoughts are running around my head ; v ; ) please and thank you ( unrelated but I love your blog and hope you have a wonderful day/night 💘 )

OK FIRST OF ALL THIS POST MADE IT INTO MY DREAMS i dreamt that i was answering this and one of the points i wrote for ghiaccio was 'don't worry he can handle it he's a gamer' WHAT DOES THAT MEAN??? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN???????

BUT!!! TOTALLY OK TO REQUEST IT I AM A SUCKER FOR TENDER EMOTIONAL SEX

and thank u sm afjglfndng i hope ur day/night is wonderful too 🥺❤️❤️❤️💕 even tho i think u sent this like maybe over a week ago time isn't real fjgkfkfj I HOPE UR CURRENT AND ALL FUTURE DAYS R GOOD. here are some hcs for u!!!!!

la squadra and lovemaking ❤️

18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI

risotto ✂️

he absolutely craves intimacy. goin hard and gettin freaky is super fun obviously but to him the best, most fulfilling and satisfying sex is when he and his partner are just close as can be in every way

he wants to open up. create a space like that for him, where he knows he's as safe with you as you are with him, and you'll really see the incredibly gentle, loving, and passionate side of risotto. he knows how he presents himself outwardly, as cold and intimidating, but the thought of everyone seeing him as just that--or worse, seeing himself as just that--makes him feel empty and he hates it.

so be his safe haven where he can express just how damn loving he is, openly acknowledge that side of him and embrace it, love it wholeheartedly, and let him know that you know he keeps you safe in turn not just with his ferocity, but his softness. he'll be so full of love he'll wonder how he ever could have felt empty.

he'll want to make love face to face, looking into each other's eyes, kissing soft and deep, and just absolutely basking in how you make each other feel. he'll want to take his time to feel every single inch of you and leave nothing untouched. he could do this for hours and hours, all day really, and he's almost achingly gentle. do the same for him, feel and love his whole self, let him know that he is precious and deserves to be treated with care; his expression will go so soft (and he is more expressive like this). the way he makes his partner cum isn't just physical, it's euphoria and love felt in every way and he'll want to carry them there as many times as they want because he just wants to make them feel as loved as they make him feel

he's just quiet by nature so he still doesn't say much, he'd rather express himself in other ways and you're connecting so deeply that you hardly need words (depeche mode enjoy the silence plays tenderly in the distance) and he loves that, he loves that intimacy. but he will, as least once, maybe while you're getting him close, whisper an i love you.

you also get him smiling with his cute dimples, because of course you do. and tell him genuinely that he's cute; he doesn't hear it often, and it makes him feel loved. he'll be head over heels.

he'll hold you very close for a long time after, just being with you. he'll stroke your back and feel your heartbeat against his, there's something so beautiful and intimate about it. you make him so happy. he's really warm too, perfect for snuggling!!!!

prosciutto 🚬

his caring nature always comes out at least at some point during sex, but especially when you make love. the tricky part for him is letting himself be cared for, too. he gets a bit nervous about it in all honesty, and that's less about guarding himself and more about guarding everyone else.

help him see there's nothing to worry about. you know you're safe and loved with him always, that doesn't change when he allows himself to be cared for, and in fact brings a whole new level of emotional safety to the table when you connect like that. remind him in no uncertain way that he deserves it, too. remind him that he's human, and show that you want to feel human with him in any way he'll share with you. and of course, he wants that with you. he trusts you completely, and once it really clicks that it's a matter of trust too, it's much easier for him to settle into.

there's something so special and unique about the connection you two make when he lets his walls down in that way. he never could have imagined how amazing it is to let go with you, it's nothing he's ever felt before and he can't get enough of it.

he loves to give, he gives wholeheartedly and unabashedly, and he'll receive your love without hesitation too

the forehead touch. always the forehead touch. it's his way of connecting and showing affection. he may also nudge your noses together and close his eyes to just soak in your presence. if you initiate it, he'll melt.

he embraces imperfection with you and it feels so damn good. he'll get a bit more vocal--not necessarily louder, but breathy whines and whimpers and soft moans. he may get playful too, give sweet little laughs about how you're making him sound and kissing the tip of your nose. you get real smiles out of him with that adorable tooth gap. tell him it's adorable and kiss his cheeks, and he'll laugh again and smile wide and genuinely in that way that ur eyes close too cause ur just so happy u kno

he feels so, so fucking loved and it's so beautiful to him. he tells you as much when you're laying there afterwards and he's admiring every inch of you, every mark, blemish or scar, everything that isn't exactly even, admiring your beautiful soul. and he basks as you do the same for him. he'll thank you for sharing this little piece of humanity with him.

pesci 🎣

soft sex is his favourite. sex as a way of feeling close with the person he loves is what vibes with him the most, as an act of emotion and of loving and being loved in return.

it's a lot easier for him to be confident with that kind of sex/perspective on sex, because he knows he can just tap into his emotions and those of his partner. he really shines here, and he may still get a bit flustered because it's sex and sex with you and you're so fucking gorgeous in every imaginable way, but you still get to see this whole other side of him where he's just so comfortable in his skin and it's both really hot and really endearing.

he stops sort of separating or thinking too hard on just the physical or the mental or anything else, and expresses his love on all levels of being in a way that just lights you both up. he thinks being with you in this way is heaven on earth and he will let you know it.

he can make love with you like this anywhere soft and quiet and private, but aside from your bed, he loves the bath. he loves bath sex in general for the warmth and wetness and intimacy, and especially when you're connecting in this way, it's like.... he wouldn't consider himself to be poetic or particularly spiritual, but there's just something special about making love in water, maybe because we're all born from water, we all need water to live, all life on earth came first from the water. it's just something he thinks about.

he'll want to be face to face; he loves watching your face because seeing you in pleasure is so beautiful to him, he'll want to see your eyes flutter closed and open and commit the look you give him to memory, soft and sort of honeyed-hazy y'know but bright because you love him, and you're loved by him, and he can see it in you. he'll want to hold hands too, and twine your fingers together.

words come a lot easier to him like this too, because he knows there's nothing to hide and nothing to worry about, so he'll just murmur throughout about how much he loves you, how good you make him feel in every way, how he wants to make you feel like that too. show him that he does; he'll kiss you so softly and with so much love that he feels like he could burst.

he's just so soft and gentle in every way. he'll want to still just hold your hand for a long time afterwards.

formaggio 🧀

he's very emotionally in tune, that connection u create with a partner no matter how casual is a huge part of his enjoyment of sex, so he absolutely loves taking all the time in the world to just feel each other in every way and be so emotionally close with you

he often likes to feel like a big macho guy taking care of his babe but he loves being taken care of too because he can experience another side of your connection (and it's just nice!!!!), so when he really makes love with his partner he can feel sort of both at the same time and he loves it. he just feels so entwined with you.

he's still playful, it's in his nature. but when y'all get really tendie he'll be especially gentle with how he plays around. he'll tweak your nose and kiss your neck to hear you giggle, he just loves to make his partner laugh and he's laughing and smiling too

he also still talks a lot, he murmurs about how much he loves you and how incredible you are, how you make him feel amazing in every way, he'll list off all the little things he notices about you that he's just so fond of. he doesn't tease as much, he just grounds himself in the moment with you. it's also really hot and sweet to hear his words trail off with little laughs or sighs or soft moans.

he also has a lot of cute pet names for his partner, and he does still use them but when you get really soft like this he'll often just murmur or moan your name more than anything and there's something so intimate about it

overall you'll see an even more genuine side of formaggio (and he's already a pretty down to earth dude) because he really just feels most at ease when he's surrounded by love

he'll snuggle and kiss you and lay around for a long time afterwards, play with your hair, stroke your back, talk about everything and nothing and how much he loves you. his wandering hands may lead to more lovemaking; he just can't get enough of you.

illuso ✨

it takes a lot for illuso to open up like that. he's extremely guarded with his emotions. he very much desires softness, and there's something about being bare (more than just physically) that really draws him in, but he'd need a lot of trust to get there.

and it's not just him trusting you that's part of the equation either; he isn't used to being trusted. show him honestly that you trust him, and treat every glimpse of genuineness from him with love, and it'll go right to his heart. he's unused to being really seen, so if you see who he is and choose to openly share your heart with him, he'll be smitten.

ask him to just be with you, and he will, he'd love nothing more. reassure him that he doesn't have to think so much; you can both just let go and feel. you'll see a side of illuso where he's just in awe and a really pure sort of wonder of what you create together, this little moment in time and space, this experience across all states of being.

you absolutely make love in the mirror world. it's illuso's safe haven, and he wants it to be yours as well, it's an entire world where there's no one and nothing but the two of you and the love you make and that's so special to him. he'll want to take his time, and with no possible interruptions, he can. you spend hours together; he goes very slow and very gentle. he just wants you to know how precious you are to him, and how much he wants to be with you.

you'll explore every single inch of each other. he'll kiss you absolutely everywhere, and not just in the obvious places; he'll kiss your palms, your fingers, your closed eyelids, every mark on your skin. when he kisses your lips, it ranges everywhere from a mere brush to open-mouthed, deep, and languid. treat him with the same slow, thorough care, and he'll melt.

he doesn't tease. he'll probably be pretty quiet, but once he whispers that he loves you, he'll find himself just telling you all his inner thoughts, everything he loves about you and everything you make him feel: truly beautiful in a way he'd hardly experienced before, safe, so genuinely loved. if you express the same to him, that you feel his love for you in every little way he shows it and cares, that you see and feel his whole self and love him in his entirety, that he makes you feel precious, he will feel precious too. he may actually cry a bit. he's just so happy with you.

he's the kind of guy who likes to watch everything, but he's not sure what to do now: see the love in your eyes or close his eyes to bask in it. he opts to just go with the flow of the moment. he's completely open and unguarded, his hair is loose (if you run your fingers through it he'll sigh sweetly), he'll give you these genuine smiles, you'll get real little laughs out of him, and every sound he makes (including the way he murmurs your name) is so soft.

he can't stop smiling after, he'll hold you and play with your hair, and eventually draw a nice bath for you to share

melone 🍈

he absolutely loves soft, emotional sex. of course he likes being kinky and stuff too, but human sexuality as a whole is so fascinating to him, sex is such a beautiful experience in his eyes and he's very eager to explore different expressions of it. it's really interesting to him how you can define making love as something different than fucking when it's all still sex.

he loves the connection it brings. it's such a deep, personal way to feel close with someone and he wants that with you, he wants to explore each other in every way. he loves to learn new things about his partner and finds it so intimate when they learn about him too, whether it's something you've always done that he's just putting his finger on or it's a new development, like the particular way you roll your hips or how your eyes squeeze shut when you cum. point out a subtle habit of his too, like how his breath stutters when you do something he really likes; it makes him feel cared for. but even if there's nothing new to notice, he loves the comfort of your familiarity, too.

he's very open with it, you don't have to wonder what he's thinking about. he'll be murmuring softly about your beauty, how much he cherishes you, how you make him feel cherished too, how good you're making him feel. he wants to know if he's making you feel good, too. tell him so--better yet, show him--and let him know that you feel his love for you, that you feel cared for and safe. he'll smile and give you a long, sweet kiss. tell him anything and everything you're thinking of, he wants to know you in mind, body and soul.

and he is spiritually open and explorative and it fascinates him to think of sex as an act of creation, and even if it isn't sex to make new life it's making love, it's making a bond, and that's a special sort of creation too. he loves to create with you. he understands how it could be viewed as sort of divine.

he loves to care for you, and being cared for in turn makes him putty. knowing that he's truly loved is one of the best feelings ever and it really just makes him wanna cover your face in kisses tbh. which he does, and he laughs hearing you laugh cause you bring him joy.

he's also still loud when he cums but that doesn't make it any less soft and tender tbh because he's just wholeheartedly falling into the bliss you give him, he'll cry out your name and how much he loves you between moans.

he'll want to do this all day if that's what you want too. eventually when you're done, he'll cuddle you, kiss you, and still murmur all his thoughts to you while you both trace patterns in each other's skin.

ghiaccio ❄️

he gets really flustered about soft, emotional sex at first. not just because he's being vulnerable with you, but you're being vulnerable with him, and it's you, and he cares about you so much.

part of him is almost kind of worried he'll never be gentle enough. help him see that's not true, because he absolutely is gentle with you; he knows he can be brash which is why he's always so careful with you, especially in softer moments. you also love him for who he is, in his entirety, and that makes his heart glow. you trust him, and he trusts you.

ghiaccio is passionate, and he can still express that fire in him softly and tenderly. he'll hold your face in both hands while he kisses you, and while he doesn't necessarily kiss hard, he's thorough, and it mellows out into something very soft and subtle before he pulls away. his pace is slowed a lot, because he wants to just feel you in every way; he really relaxes into the rhythm of something slow and gentle, but still passionate, holding your gaze with his hands never leaving your body. thinking of sex as a way to express your love for each other, he can't help but slow down and be soft, cause it's you.

he also can't help but make noise, soft as it may be, and say your name. he doesn't half ass important things, and you're so, so important to him, so he just completely wraps himself in your love and does the same for you. express that, with him, you know you're loved and safe; he'll want to kiss you again and again and again until you're both breathless.

may not talk as much, because soft words don't really come easily to him and he's sort of self-conscious about it, but once he gets really into it and he does start talking he doesn't stop: he'll say how much he loves you and how badly he just wants to show that to you, how you're so hot and gorgeous and loving, and he doesn't really think of them as flowery words because they're just truth, and his penchant for honesty is such a wonderful way to know you're loved

ghiaccio honey why on earth were u worried about not being gentle. after he's cum once or twice and he's gotten some energy out he is so, so gentle, he'll take care of you so tenderly and kiss you softly. he just wants to be close with you.

his cuddly side always comes out after sex and he'll be no different now. he'll press you against him and hook his chin over your shoulder and tangle your legs together, his cuddles are the best. you definitely get him smiling too, cause you make him happy.

sorbet and gelato 🔪🍦

they're both fucking crazy in nearly all aspects of life and that includes sex, but they're also very passionate and very in love with each other and with you; they're no strangers to tender, emotional sex and they love it because it's such a wonderful way to be so deeply close.

they have no problems being bare and open with you. they're so in their feelings all the time that it feels really natural; they'll very openly express how much they love you, all the ways they love you, how deep and powerful that love feels that they just want to surround all of you in it.

gelato is more talkative in that sense, he'll spill all his feelings in between kisses with his hands on either side of your face. sorbet will give you a long, slow, deep kiss, meet your eyes, and place your hand over his heart while your foreheads touch. you just know.

you're all tracing every inch of each other while you make love, they want to know everything because they just can't get enough of you, the entire world is the three of you. they're absolutely basking in your attention, too; kiss every scar and let them know how beautiful they are to you, that you see them and you love them, that they have your heart as much as you have theirs. they'll melt.

you're safe with them. let them know that you feel how deeply they love you and you feel their safety, and that they're safe with you too, that they're precious. having you and each other as their safe havens and being taken care of makes them feel so damn much.

they'll both still get very playful, they can never take anything too seriously and they just love you so much, they want you all to have fun together. gelato will absolutely do that thing where he kisses down ur front like he's gonna go down on u and then blow a raspberry on your tummy to make you squeak (but then he does still go down on you and doesn't break eye contact the whole time so you can see how fucking much he loves you and wants to make you feel good). if you're ticklish, sorbet will definitely sneakily tickle you, or do something really good while you're in the middle of murmuring something to hear you devolve into moans. then he'll press his loving smirk against your skin. they wanna get you both laughing and moaning, it's the best sound in the world to them, and they'll be right there with you.

gelato is still loud when he laughs and when he cums but it's so sweet and charming because that's just who he is and he's absolutely embracing how you both make him feel. sorbet is the quieter one, but he'll hum and sigh and murmur your names because he loves how they feel in his mouth. he will also whisper to both of you that he loves you because he just wants to say it in every way.

they can go all day and they'll absolutely want to. if one of you needs a break, you'll just watch the other two and kiss them and hold them, the way you all love each other is so beautiful to them. when you're all well and truly done, you'll be tangled in a heap (they are always very cuddly) and they'll both be smiling as they just lazily caress and kiss you and each other.

#THIS WAS SO SWEET AND I HAD SO MUCH FUN THANK U FOR THE ASK 😭❤️#la squadra #la squadra x reader #not safe fw #risotto nero #prosciutto #pesci #formaggio #illuso #melone #ghiaccio #sorbet #gelato #vento aureo #ask

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forever-rogue · 4 years ago

Text

Afterglow - Part 9

A/N: Hello! It is finally time for some more Frankie! I hope you all enjoy! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx 💕

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: drug and alcohol mentions; mild smut (18+ only)

AFTERGLOW MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“I love you, Honey Bee,” Frankie’s voice was soft and warm in your ear, still thick with sleep. You murmured your gentle agreement as you buried your face in his chest. His body was warm, as warm as you remembered as he held you tightly in his arms, legs tangled together. You reached up and ran a hand through his soft curls, wondering if this was a dream or reality. It felt too good to be real.

“Francisco,” you finally opened your eyes and his dark ones, your grin matching his own, “you’re so warm and soft. I don’t want to get up.”

“Then don’t,” he insisted as you nodded, leaning up and pressing your lips gently against his. His large hands found your waist as he pulled on top of him, earning a small sound of approval from you, “stay.”

“Only if you promise to stay too,” you insisted, nuzzling your face against his as he quietly promised the same, “don’t go away again. I’m your girl. I’ve always been your girl.”

His arms wrapped around your waist as he hugged you to him, feeling all of your bare skin against his. A tear had rolled down your cheek, which he quickly wiped away before tenderly cradling your face. The way he looked at you with such pure adoration in his soft chocolate brown eyes was enough to make your heart melt. He was studying you with fervent intensity, that you could tell a million things were going through his mind. You wondered how you’d ever managed to walk away from him...you should have followed him, you shouldn’t have spent the last twenty years without him. It should always have been the two of you.

“I’m not leaving,” he whispered gently, tracing the tips of his fingers over your face, “never again. I swear it.”

“I love you,” you reached up and grabbed his hand in yours, holding on it like you were afraid that if you let it go, he would disappear, before bringing it to your lips and kissing it, “I’ve missed you so much. Even if we were just silly kids back then, my love for you was real. Always, and if we could go back I would have followed you anywhere.”

“I would never have asked you to do that,” he insisted, a hand going to the back of your neck as he pulled you down towards him, “it would not have been fair to you.”

“I would have done it anyway,” you were firm with your answer as you looked at him soft, sensitive eyes, “an imperfect life with you would have been better than a life without you.”

“What did I ever do to deserve to be loved by you?” he whispered against your lips before you kissed, gently but with a sense of urgency, “will you let me love you?”

“Always,” you promised gently as his ran his large hands down your sides before settling them on your lips and pulling you flush against him, “I’m yours, Frankie.”

“And I am yours,” he promised as you buried your face into the juncture of neck and shoulder. He reached down in between your bodies, touching you where you needed him most, where you could already feel your arousal pooling. His touch was gentle, as he ran his fingers through your soaked folds, causing you to moan into his soft skin.

“Francisco,” it was but a breathy whisper against, like the sweetest music to his ears as you lightly bucked into his touch. He whispered soft praises and reassurances into your ear as he pressed kisses against the side of your head. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held onto him tightly, pressing kisses along his jaw, as he delicately pushed a few fingers inside of you.

“My sweet girl,” he whispered as he turned his face in order to capture your lips with his. His kisses were still as soft and gentle as you always remember, leaving you wanting more and more. If you had any say in it, you would have never ever left his arms again, “my sweet bee.”

“I love you,” you nuzzled your nose against his before delicately kissing it, “I need you, please.”

“Are you sure?” he asked as you nodded. His heart felt his heart skip a few beats at your gentle, tender willingness, but continued to touch you and kiss you. He was moving slowly, deliberately and gently so as to not hurt you, and it was enough to leave you almost breathless.

When you knew you were ready, you reached down to find his hand, moving it gently out of the way, before lining him up at your entrance. It took a moment but you slowly sunk down on him, the two of you moaning lightly at the feeling. Frankie had a look of pure adoration on his face as he watched you with reverence before pulling you back down against him. He wanted to feel all of you, to feel every inch of your skin against his. You both had so much lost to make up for and Frankie vowed to memorize every touch, feel, and sound you made.

“You are perfect,” he whispered as he started to move under you, setting a slow and gentle pace that you felt no need to increase it, “you are so perfect to me - for me.”

“Francisco,” you pressed kisses along his jaw and neck as you moved with him, “you feel so good, so perfect. I love you.”

“I love you,” he held you tightly in his arms, as a few tears rolled down your cheek. They were not tears of pain or fear or worry, but of love. It had been so long, so much time that you had been waiting for this - for him. It was like your heart, your soul, had always been waiting for him and only him. It had never felt the same with any else as it did with him; it was like the two of you were meant to be together and no matter what, the universe, fate, or whatever you wanted to call it, was determined to do. You like that idea - the idea that your soul was forever entwined with his, that you were meant to be. His was your home and you were his, “don’t cry, my sweet love.”

“I’m not sad,” you promised, “I-I just...I missed you. After all this time, I know it’s been you.”

“It was always you,” he promised, gently kissing away your tears, “you feel so perfect...I love you.”

“I love you too,” it was a soft declaration as your vision started to get hazy and the warmth and fire between your legs was getting to its peak, that tight coil in your belly threatening to snap, “I’m not going to last, Francisco.”

“Me neither,” he whispered, “it’s okay. You can let go, I’ve got you. Always.”

“Always,” you agreed as you closed your eyes and buried your face in his chest, feeling your climax wash over you. You whispered his name over and over like a prayer, like it was the only you knew how to say. Frankie held you tightly as he found his own release, following closely behind you. You could feel him inside you as he slowly stopped moving and you both worked to catch your breath, “oh Francisco.”

“Honey bee,” he whispered softly as his grip around you loosened and he moved a few stray looks of hair out of your face. You grinned at him, working your kisses up the column of his neck and only stopping one you got to his lips, pressing a kiss to them before beaming at him, “how I’ve missed you. Nothing could ever compare to you.”

“Nor you,” you opened your mouth to say something else, but were promptly cut off by the loud buzzing of your phone on your nightstand. You groaned heavily before the two of you burst into laughter before you kissed him and snatched the phone, “shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Frankie asked you looked at whatever was on your screen. You slowly rolled off of him, landing next to him with a soft thud as you quickly typed away, “work?”

“Yup,” you said as you gave him an almost pleading look, “I’m afraid I’ve lost track of time, and am running late for an appointment.”

“Shit,” he said as a wicked little grin crossed his features, and you could help but mimic it, “is it bad if I said I’m not even remotely sorry?”

“Not at all,” you promised, giving him one last little kiss before sliding out from under the covers and heading for the bathroom. When you turned around, you found Frankie watching and staring at you with pure reverence, “I’m not one bit sorry…but unfortunately I do need to go. If it wasn’t so…”

“Relax,” he insisted softly, “I understand. Your job is very important. Besides, it’s not like this was...planned. I’ll see myself out.”

“You can stay,” you promised, “as long as you want. Are you working today?”

“No...I’m off for a bit,” his response was normal, but you could tell there was something...off, “I’ll be home.”

“Would you mind terribly if I asked you to watch Daisy today?” you asked as grabbed some clean clothes from your wardrobe as he sat up and nodded, “she really likes you and it might be nice for her to be around you and away from me for a bit. I can pick her up this evening, or you’re welcome to stay.”

“I’ll figure it,” he offered you a small smile, “I’ll let you know what we end up doing. Are you free tonight...for dinner? I can make dinner or we can go out or get take out…”

“Whichever works for me,” you grinned at him, “maybe we can get take out. We still...we have a lot to talk about, Frankie.”

“Yes,” he agreed as he got up and came over to you, giving you a kiss on the cheek, “you better get going. You don’t want to keep them waiting much longer…”

“I’m just going to take a quick shower, care to join me?”

“I’m afraid if I did that, it wouldn’t be a very quick shower at all, “ he joked as he grabbed his clothes from the floor, “go on. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Goodbye Frankie,” you said softly, running a hand through his mused curls, “goodbye for now, anyways. Just for now. Not forever.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The minutes slowly bled into hours which painstakingly slowly turned into the majority of your day. You'd tried your best to keep your focus on your work, which today consisted mostly of some paperwork. At least that way you weren't taking away from anyone that actually came to you for help.

You felt like a giddy school girl again, young and carefree - happy. The smile that hadn't reached your eyes for what seemed like ever, finally did again. You looked and seemed truly happy. It wasn't just about the sex or the intimacy, it was everything. Everything you had been missing on and craving for so long seemed like it was slowly coming to you. That alone was enough instill such a sense of hope you within you that it was almost scary.

You'd exchanged a few texts with Frankie here and there, nothing of significance, but enough to make your heart race with excitement each time his name popped up.

Never in a million years would you have thought you would be in this position...and yet here you were. And something about it just felt right. Natural.

By the time you left the office you were giddy and starving. You called Frankie and were ready to ask him if you should pick up take out when you quickly learned that he had beaten you to the punch.

When you got home, Frankie was still at your place, unpacking the containers you quickly realized contained Chinese food. It made the whole kitchen smell delicious. Next to all of that was a big beautiful bouquet of a rainbow of tulips.

"Hi," your grin was stretching from ear to ear as you were greeted by Daisy running up to in sheer excitement and Frankie offering you a warm smile.

"Hi," he grinned back, "you're just in time. I got back a few minutes ago."

"Better not be Panda Express!"

"Absolutely not," he insisted firmly, "this is from the best Chinese place in town. And flowers for you, of course. Daisy helped me pick them."

"My favorites," you whispered as you went over and lightly touched some of the dainty petals, "you remembered."

"Of course I did," he whispered softly as kissed the top of your head, "I hope you're hungry, I went a little overboard, I think..."

"Starving," you grabbed a plate as you surveyed the spread in front of you, "especially after this morning."

"Cheeky," a light flush rose up in his cheeks as he piled up both of your plates, "some things never change."

»»————-　♡　————-««

As he finished loading up the plates, you went to the fridge and grabbed out a few beers, making quick of popping the caps off and taking them to the living room, setting them down on the table as you waited for him.

“Too casual?” you asked as he sat down next to you, setting the plates down. He shook his head as he took the beer you offered him, pausing to clink it against yours before you both took a sip, “to new beginnings.”

“New beginnings,” he agreed, his heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. Daisy made a small sound of content as she settled into her big fluffy bed, a new bone in her mouth as she looked between the two of you.

“Is that...a new bone?” you snorted with laughter as you looked at him with a crooked eyebrow and he sheepishly nodded, “ahh, she’s already got you around her paw.”

“Look at that face,” he groaned defensively, “how am I supposed to say not to her?”

“You don’t,” you agreed as she gnawed on the bone, “why do you think she has all those toys and beds?”

“Soft hearts win over soft hearts,” Frankie said it so quietly you almost didn’t hear him as you turned on the television and put on some random show on Netflix. You doubted you would be spending too much time getting invested in the show it didn’t really matter what you put on. You still had so many things you wanted to say to him, to ask him, but you figured it would all happen in due time.

Dinner was delicious; Frankie had been right that it was indeed the best Chinese place in town. Conversation flowed freely and in many ways it was like no time at all had passed between the two of you. You discussed some simple things, things that the made the two of you laugh, and deeper things, events and situations that had happened to both of you that made your heart ache for the other.

With Frankie, things were easy, you didn’t have to think about them. You wondered if it would have always been like this. You definitely wouldn’t have minded if they were.

But there was one thing still on your mind that was starting to slowly drive you crazy. The past two times you’d come across Frankie, he had been...completely out of it. You had your suspicions as to what was going on, but you didn’t want to jump to any conclusions. Whatever it was, you wanted to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth. Maybe your fears were for nothing, maybe it was nothing and you were overreacting…

“What’s wrong, sweet bee?” he asked as he gently nudged your leg with his. You swallowed thickly, setting down the beer and turning to face him, “you’re thinking very loudly.”

“Francisco,” as soon as his name spilled from your lips in that tone of voice he knew something was up, and he was not a stupid man and never had been. Frankie knew exactly where you were going. He exhaled sharply through his nose as he focused his attention on you, “when I found you at your house last week...and then the other night..what...what was going on?”

The shift in the air in the room was palpable, and the tension in the air was so thick you could have sliced it with the dullest of knives. He was silent for a few moments, hands on knees as he squeezed them lightly. Opening and closing his mouth a few times, he seemed to be at a loss for words.

“Please, Frankie...you can tell me anything,” your voice was soft as you moved to reached over and grab his hand, but he quickly moved out of your way, shifting so you weren’t able to touch him. You were so surprised by his action that a small gasp left your lips as recoiled, “Frankie? Baby, please talk to me...if there’s something going on, you can tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” his voice was sharp; biting even. It was a tone you don’t you had ever heard from him...not since...not since the day he had told you that he was enlisting, “it’s not a big deal, so just let it go.”

“It’s not...Frankie,” you set down your beer on the table and angled your body towards him. He stiffened, visibly trying to avoid your eyes, “it’s something that’s affecting you, obviously it’s something. You don’t have to hide anything from me - I can help…”

“It’s nothing, and it’s not affecting me,” he said softly, his voice losing the edge as he stared at the floor. His throat felt heavy and thick, constricting as he desperately wished you would let it, “don’t just assume you know it’s affecting me when you have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“I know enough to know you’ve had at least two bad trips, Francisco,” you could sense that he was trying to shut you out but you desperately hoped you could turn this conversation around. Now that you had him back, this gaping hole in your heart felt like it was finally filled again, you didn’t just want to let him go. Not without a fight anyway, “I found you lying on living room floor, high and out of it, Frankie. You came to my door high and barely able to stand. Tell me I’m wrong, tell me there’s nothing.”

“It’s not a problem,” he insisted sharply as you crossed your arms over your chest, unsure if you wanted to argue back or cry, “it’s not a big deal-”

“Then why did you come to my door, crying and apologizing to me?” your voice shook as you reached over and grabbed his face in a firm but tender hold. His dark eyes studied you as his lip trembling, “if you need help, I am here for you, but I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, baby.”

“Stop,” it was somewhere between a plea and a command as his large hands found your wrists and pulled you away from him, “stop. I am not your patient, you don’t need to try and psychoanalyze me.”

“I want to help you!” you insisted as he stood up, running his hands over his face in exasperation. Before you could try and stop him, he started heading towards the door, grabbing his jean jacket from where it was draped over one of the stools, “Frankie! Please, don’t…”

“Don’t what?” he stopped at the door, turned around to face you. His eyes were glossy with tears that were threatening to spill over as your own were already rolling down your cheeks. You didn’t even bother to try and wipe them as you watched him, mouth open as you tried to figure out what you wanted to say.

Don’t go. Stay. Please don’t leave me.

“Frankie,” your voice shook with every syllable, “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m not blaming you or whatever. I just want you to talk to me, to tell me what’s going on with you. I am here to support you always.”

“I don’t need your support,” the words were laced with venom as a deep frown etched itself on his face, “because there is nothing going on. It’s not a problem or an issue.”

“Francisco,” you could tell he was blatantly lying, either unwilling to confide in you or admit he had a problem, “two times in the time we’ve been reunited you’ve been completely gone. Please just...talk to me, that’s all I’m asking.”

“There is nothing to talk about,” he insisted and you could feel your heart breaking all over again. This time your heart wasn’t hurt for yourself, instead it was aching for him. You wanted him to be okay, wanted him to be the best for himself, “you’re making a big deal out of nothing!”

“Then why did not mention it to me?”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” he almost shouted, “you don’t get to come back into my life and then just do this!”

“Do what?” you asked as you stepped closer to him, treading carefully in order to keep him from running away, “care about you? Want what’s best for you? I love you, Frankie.”

“You don’t know,” he inhaled shakily, expelling his long breath slowly, “you don’t know what’s happened, what’s been going on...you’ve been gone.”

“Yeah?” you put your hands on your hips, unsure if you wanted to hold him and remind him that everything would be okay, or if you wanted to slap some sense into him. But in the moment, you could feel your own temper flair up, “and who’s fault is that, Frankie? I’m not the one who gave up everything and walked away!”

“I know that,” he said as he hung his head, “I know that! And I have regretted that decision every single day. I shouldn’t have...but you...I called, and you never called back. I waited for your call for so long…”

“What did you expect me to do, Frankie?” you shouted back at him, “we talked and we didn’t and then months went bye and nothing. I couldn’t wait forever. I couldn’t put myself back together and then have it come crashing down again. I couldn’t do it anymore…”

“Did you even...did you listen to my message?” he asked as you met his eyes. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to control your emotions.

“No,” you admitted, “I deleted it.”

“Y-you deleted it?”

“Yes,” you shrugged, “I never expected to see you again. I didn’t want to have my heart broken more, Frankie.”

“That message was everything-”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” you dabbed at your eyes, “you would have still been and I still would have ended up here.”

“I…” his hand was on the knob as he stared at his feet, pulling his signature cap back onto his head, “I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry….”

He opened the door, letting a cold rush of frigid winter air as your heart sank. You wanted to run and stop him, but you found yourself rooted in your spot, “don’t. Frankie, don’t go.”

“I can’t stay,” he almost choked on his words as your eyes widened in surprise.

“Please don’t walk away,” you were begging him at this point, not caring how pathetic you sounded, “don’t leave again. Stay. Please.”

“We’re only going to fight…”

“Then stay,” you rushed over to him, reaching for his hand on the knob, “and let’s fight. We can figure this out.”

“I can’t,” the words caught in his throat as he started to walk out of the door, his hand slipping out of yours, “I can’t do this to you. You deserve….the world, Honey Bee. I can’t give you that.”

“I want you,” you insisted, “I want you and only you, you are my world, Frankie! I don’t care about whatever you’re going through, we can figure it out, anything, together. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” he turned to you and offered the weakest ghost of a smile, “you are everything. Please don’t forget that.”

“Frankie, don’t walk away,” you called after him as he slowly got further and further down your driveway, “Frankie, please! Please come back!”

But he didn’t. He didn’t turn back and look at you for even a moment. He just kept walking until he was gone.

Just like that, Frankie was gone again.

Your lips trembled as you turned to walk back inside, slowly closing the door and locking it. Tears were running hot down your face as your vision grew bleary. You didn’t even make it to the living from leaning against the wall and slumping to the floor. Your whole body was shaking from your soft sobs as you tried to contain yourself. Had you just made the second biggest mistake of your life?

You heard soft footsteps as Daisy gently padded over to you, nuzzling your face gently with her snout as you wrapped your arms around her. She was calm and patient as she let you cry into her, offering you the occasional sweet kiss to try and make you feel better.

“Daisy,” your voice was dry and cracking as you scratched her ears, “thank you for being there for me. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Her tail wagged lightly as she sat down next to you. Her eyes were soft and gentle and it was almost as if she was trying to communicate with you. Sometimes you wished she was able to speak, just to hear what she wanted to say. But this time...you didn’t need her to - what she was saying was loud and clear.

“You’re right,” you told her as she made a small sound of acknowledgement, “you’re right. I’ve lost him once, but I’m not going to lose him again. I can’t - he’s...he’s everything. And I’m never letting go again, no matter what.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #triple frontier #afterglow

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angeloroki · 4 years ago

Text

the angel and her prince — keigo takami

« his angel, you were his angel. or was he your prince ? your fantasy ? »

— character ; keigo takami x poc fem!reader

— genre ; fluff, maybe angst ?, au fantasy

— warnings ; suggestive content

— a/n ; i wanted to write something that venerated the beauty of the black woman, i hope it's not too lame

you had been watching him for a while from your cloud. keigo takami, the prince of a kingdom with rich lands. he was handsome, strong, young. the princesses only had eyes for him, bla-bla-bla.

but he was a gambler, he had never fallen in love according to your friend Cupid. it was this information that had piqued your curiosity.

what about you ? you were mean. it was mean from you to disappear every time, leaving no trace of your passage after making him completely in love with you.. miss, you had the unfortunate tendency to let him the next day, alone and helpless. only your feverish kisses left a sweet and bitter hint of your lips on his skin. and perhaps sometimes, if luck smiled on him, a feather or two would fall from your majestic wings, to remind him of the graceful angel that you were.

but that never stopped him from wondering when he would see you again.

while you, from your cloud, only looked at him with an amused expression. you left him with his doubts that you were just a mirage.

but why that ? simply because your selfish fear of falling in love with him prevented you from getting together with the young prince.

however, this time you had left him a nice note in your beautiful handwriting, promising him to come back as soon as possible, promising him ever softer caresses and ever more loving kisses. his heart was beating wildly. and that was the effect you were looking for. the mere thought of you gave him an incomparable adrenalin.

that night you promised him finally arrived.

the moon reflected its whitish light on your dark, luscious skin, amplifying the divine air you already naturally exuded. the soft satin sheet partly covered your goddess-like body. a painting worthy of the greatest baroque painters, you were a muse unto yourself. your lips, reddened by the kisses you had offered him, were now blowing sweetness that made him blush.

you were perfect. but this perfection was real, it was not the word you dared to say to a beautiful woman you were meeting for the first time for example. your beauty was complex, supernatural, incomparable, pure.

your smile that you would address to him when he sometimes surprised you with his stupid human features. you remeber this discussion you had with him, the first time you met him.

« i want to buy you all the jewels this land has. it's my duty as a prince, let me embellish you with crystals, gold, and precious prayers. » a narcissistic smile appeared on his beautiful face.

you rolled your eyes. human pretension.

« i already have all the gold in the world, handsome. i am the angel of beauty. »

« so maybe my poems could make you fall in love with me ? »

but, yeah, that smile that could light up an entire city without power. that smile that had the gift of giving a second chance to a wilted flower. it was one of the many things that made you an angel.

but what the prince liked best was surely your stretch marks. those slightly darker brown features on your black skin that could only gratify it. they were witnesses of a natural beauty.

as for your cherry-scented hair, it was strewn with strange golden glitter. a characteristic unique to angels, you had once revealed to him.

these imperfections, or should i say, perfections, were adored by your lover. that's why you were called the angel of beauty. simply because you were the very definition of it.

wait, had he also mentioned the beauty of your wings ? those wings that turned a light and imperceptible pink in the sunlight, and then turned bright white in a darker place. this detail, which he had noticed from admiring you in your secret garden, was perhaps what had charmed you at first.

an angelic laugh, like celestial music, escaped from your lips. you did not yet have the power to read the minds of humans, but you could see that the man in front of you only had eyes for you. and you loved it.

« marry me, y/n. we don't need a ceremony, i can get us two rings now. and we'll just have to make our vows. »

your dark eyes widened slightly.

« don't be silly, my love. »

your words seemed to sadden him a little. your hands came to meet his face which you took in your hands.

« marriage is only a futile and human way to make us belong to each other. but you are already mine, as i am yours, keigo. my embrace doesn't prove it to you enough ? » you say in a honeyed voice.

and also, maybe is it because i can't marry you, takami ? an angel could never live forever with a vile human like you. we are both victims of a romantic tragedy, keigo, you were thinking of yourself.

« i could never stop loving you. » he says in a voice filled with desire.

a strange warmth came over your cheeks. what was happening to you ? could it be the effect of love rubbing off on you ?

« continue to take me as your muse and write these fabulous poems, darling. »

« are you going to break this one's heart too ? » your friend Cupid asks you.

too busy re-tuning your harp, a faint smile lit up your face at the thought of your lover.

« mmh you tell me... i think one of your arrows must have hit me too, Cupid. »

a crisp laugh escaped his lips before he gave you a bored look.

« don't talk nonsense, angels can't fall in love. specially you, the angel of beauty. »

the angel of love was far from imagining that he was wrong.

« oh and by the way, i didn't shoot any arrows at that human, y/n. if he's madly in love with you, it's because of you. »

#bnha x reader #bnha insert #keigo x reader #blackinbnha #hawks x reader #takami x reader #mha x reader #keigo x poc!reader #bnha x black!reader #bnha x poc!reader #keigo x black reader #hawks x black!reader #hawks x poc!reader #takami x you

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homesteadchronicles · 4 years ago

Text

Original Writing Excerpt: “To Me”

Hello, my homies! I have an unexpected piece of writing to share with you all today, one not related to my known WIPs. Instead, this comes from the world I detailed here, one I’ve now been given permission to flesh out into a full-fledged story.

You don’t need to know the world in order to read, but I’ve provided the necessary context below in order to dive on in!

CHARACTERS:

Ero “Del’Gris” Idess: An intergalactic music idol in service to her agent, Kiladian Wellthane, who enlists her help in exposing his enemies’ corruption. Yoselle of the Starsea (”Ghost”): Ero’s bodyguard and long-time employee of Kiladian Wellthane whose unspoken feelings for Ero grieve him.

CONTEXT:

Ero and Yoselle have been dispatched by Kiladian to the Polaris Nightclub in order to secure information on the corrupt CEO of a pharmaceutical empire. When Ero botches her mission, she seeks comfort from a source both she and her target know can only lead to complications.

THE EXCERPT:

You are a specter: ethereal, immaterial, insignificant. She is a spotlight: illuminating, enticing, unyielding. These two halves cannot hold one another. These pieces fit different puzzles. But she needs something to elucidate and you did not hallucinate her invitation to centerstage. Still you skirt around the sidelines, flirting with shadows, fearful of exposure. She stands, a beacon in the clubhouse, awaiting your answer.

You refuse to reply.

Polaris, you convince yourself, requires better surveillance than the shoddy bodyguards provide it. Expensive liquor, lavish decor, and a distinct lack of security – the omen of emergencies. It was everything you loathed and Ero loved.

She didn’t seem to mind now, not that she ever had before. Why would she? She has you. Needs you. Wants you, a part of you thinks, hopes, refutes. Ero plays her role without shame. Flattery reserved a permanent space in her mouth and her lips make use of their eternal inhabitant to elicit information even when her hips were in motion.

Your place lies elsewhere. Astride. Afar. Procurer and protector both had their parts to play. Separately.

Then why does she keep staring at me?

It is your fifth circuit around the dance floor when you notice her attraction attention. Her gaze ought to be on your target, on Gentarou Hongou, on the mastermind of a corrupt pharmaceutical company. Her hand would bat his chest as her lashes bat her cheeks and he would indulge her as everyone always did. Their mission depended on his entanglement. Did she expect to seduce him with a half-given gaze?

Either Ero or Gentarou comes to the same conclusion, as she discreetly excuses herself to evacuate the floor and he does not even bother watching as she goes. You give chase, coming to a heel behind her as she reaches the dancing’s edge. Stress tugs her brows together. She has disappointed her target. Disappointed herself. Worse, you realize, she has disappointed Kiladian.

“You’re off your game,” you note. A comment and a question intermingle therein, indiscernible.

Ero maneuvers through the crowd with angered grace. Each foot falls just shy of stepping on another’s toes, the click of her heels on the metal beneath like a tongue snapping against bared teeth. “Hongou’s harder than I thought,” she mumbles, “and not in the way I need him to be.”

The bar comes quickly into focus as you follow her. It’s going to be a long night.

Ero glides into the shaky comfort of a barstool. Before you can intercept, she has the bartender concocting something with a name you won’t remember for a price you cannot fathom. Ero’s erratic when inebriated and adamant when infuriated – not a winning combo for their cause.

She beckons you over with a caress of the empty seat beside her and you stiffen. Your place is beneath behind her. But, for a moment, weariness cracks her mask and the lonely soul inside creeps out. ��Ghost,” she drawls. Her fingers walk up your chestplate, eyes unblinking in unspoken expectation, and you will indulge her as you always have. “To me.”

The seat is filled before you can stop yourself.

Two drinks slide along the countertop and stop in front of them, one a glittering gray encrusted with crystal and the other a dusty yellow clouded by rising mist. Ero cradles the latter before acknowledging the former. “Oops. Looks like I ordered one too many.” Her tone holds no remorse, only mischief. She nudges the glass towards you. “Guess someone ought to keep me sober.”

You can’t deny that. Deny her. You drink.

Each sip is a burning kiss to your lips, searing all the way down until the sweetness kicks in thereafter. It’s easier to forget the sting when the aftertaste settles in. You swallow again. Again. Again, until you learn to love the flames, too.

Ero only toys with her order. It’s not her usual selection, not her Nightfire. The glass in front of her holds Del’Gris’ favorite - all flash and fruitiness - but no bite. Which means she believes the show must go on. Which means Del’Gris gets an encore.

You need to navigate this delicately. “Hongou gave you the slip?”

“He may as well have. Kiladian’s information was off – Hongou’s not involved.”

“You’re sure?”

Ero dips her head as if to nod before it droops in defeat. “Honestly? I don’t know. Making heads or tails of the man is more complicated than making eyes at him.” She retrieves the cherry inside her drink and rips it clean off the stem. “I’m not myself tonight.”

“That’s not true.” The words slip out before you can subdue them. An unfortunate error, but Ero appraises you with wide-eyed surprise and you wonder whether it was a blessing in disguise. “You were not Del’Gris tonight, true. Del’Gris holds every man captive in her grasp. But you were Ero tonight – and any glimpse behind the curtain is enough to fluster a lesser man like Hongou.”

Ero twists your words around in her mind like the stem she knots in her mouth. When she pulls the stem free, her answer spills out too. “You know me too well.”

Not as much as I’d like, you think. Still not enough to keep you safe. It is an unbidden - but honest - admission. Not one Ero would adhere to half-plastered and wholly penitent. You settle for “well enough to know when you’re not well.”

She scoffs into her cup, a bitter laugh against sweet liquor. “Can’t get any worse”. Ero raises her hand and requests another round of liquid courage: Nighfire on the rocks. It’s a slow burn, she told you once, reeking of booze and other bodies, just the way I like it.

You hadn’t liked it. Hadn’t liked the way her hair ensnared your shoulders, encircling you in her scent as you scraped her offstage. Hadn’t liked the lingering kindling of body heat. Hadn’t liked how much you dreamt of her touch afterwards.

The bartender brings her his poison and she tips it back in one go. Tipsy, but standing, Ero advances towards the dance floor. “Well, if our mission’s botched, must as well bust a move.” Half-lidded eyes hone in on you. “Don’t make me do it alone.”

There’s a plea beneath that tease, but the implications complicate your reaction. To stay would be wise. To go would be wine, a gradual inebriation, a delight today and a mistake tomorrow. A slow burn.

Noticing your hesitance, knowing your heart’s a mess, she approaches. “I’m not the only one unwell,” Ero whispers. Her tender denouncement strangles your judgment. “But we both have to choose health.”

She steps away. The crowd begins to swallow her, enclosing on all sides. Ero extends her hand to you. “Ghost,” she calls out. Her fingers curl inwards, a gambler clutching their stake. “To me.”

Your hand finds hers before you can stop yourself.

Polaris’ patrons shove you deeper into the throng of hedonism. Writhing bodies surround you on all sides, ushering you and Ero closer, closer, closer along to the beat of a song. You can’t make it out – not over the beat of your heart.

But Ero can. She leans into you, giggles sending shockwaves against your skin, and it’s then you realize: the woman on the soundtrack is Del’Gris, but the one in your arms is Ero.

In my arms. The thought locks into place before you can register that your arms are, in fact, around her. Mechanically? Yes. Uncomfortably? Undoubtedly. Neither of you seem to mind, if the way she slides her hands around your neck and nuzzles into its crook is any evidence.

Then again, you always were the problem. After all, what right have you to hold her after haunting her for so long?

“You’re overthinking it,” Ero says. You’re not the only one who knows the other too well. “Maybe I ought to take the lead.”

You both laugh at that, at yourselves, at everything that your twisted lives have led to because if you don’t laugh, you might both break. Then again, at least you’d crumble into one another.

Ero only leans back and leads on. Your hands keep her feet aloft, her back aligned. This imperfect rhythm, this imbalancing act, leaves you both in synchronized breathlessness.

Neon lights illuminate your mingling skin in a patchwork of discordant colors. They rise to wreath Ero in a heathen’s halo: green envy, violet ire, scarlet lust. The crowd around exalts her alias - “Del’Gris! Del’Gris! Del’Gris” - but Ero has only ever worshipped you.

Always the star, you muse, and I am but the planet trapped in orbit.

“They’re calling for their queen,” you tease.

“They’re calling for Del’Gris,” she clarifies, “but I believe someone requested Ero.”

“You must have heard a ghost.”

Whatever impish inclinations Ero might otherwise maintain were exorcised in an instant. Seriousness seats itself in place of playfulness, mouth thin and eyes taut. Her hand rises to graze his cheek. “Ghost you may be to everyone else, but you’re always Yoselle to me.”

You have been brutalized by mobsters, held for ransom by hitmen, and crushed by an atmospheric crucible more times than you can count, but nothing has ever taken hold of your heart half as hard as that. “I never mind playing the specter if it means shadowing you.” And it’s true. You would spend the rest of your days in obscurity if it meant skirting around her radiance.

But Ero has never been one to settle for second best.

“Oh, is that so?” That ruinous mischief reclaims her lilting smile as she presses herself inward, upward. “In that case,” she whispers and her breath is a phantom promise against your lips. “Ghost, to me.”

Your mouth finds hers before you can stop yourself.

#writing excerpt #original writing #my writing #writeblr #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #writer things #writing things #original wip #writer #writers #write #wip #my wip #project: falcrux #also yes #there is a blatant nonary games/zero escape reference in here #iykyk

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getitinbusan · 4 years ago

Text

Locked -

Taehyung

Smut with Taehyung in Paris what could be better? 19+

Happy Birthday Taehyung! You are my sun my moon and all of my stars.

Part of the The Juis Suis Fou de Toi Universe.

Artist Tae AU. 4213 words.

While convincing his girlfriend he should paint her, things get a little sexually abstract.

Contains sex (M/F), Oral (M) Mutual Masturbation (M/F), Swearing, Slight Dom Tae, OC is insecure. Do not be fooled before the read more, there is no cheating in this fic.

"We're almost home, please don't make me carry you."

Yeontan looked up with big eyes as he defiantly sat in the middle of the sidewalk. Crouching down to his level in defeat you tore a piece of your pastry off and began bargaining.

"It's strawberry your favorite, you can have some if you just stand up."

He let out a little bark seemingly in agreeance with the bribe and stood, tail wagging frantically.

"Tannie," Taehyung scooped the excited dog into his arms while placing a kiss on your cheek.

"Camille, this is my girlfriend Y/N and this," Yeontan wiggled in his arms while licking his face, "is Tannie."

"Oh, Hi."

Shocked you took in the tall gorgeous blonde who accompanied you boyfriend. Why Taehyung was walking around the streets of Paris with her you were unsure, and honestly not very happy.

"It's really nice to meet you Camille."

Suddenly feeling self conscious you pulled your coat tighter around yourself.

Taehyung, noticing the sudden shift in your mood wrapped his arms around your waist.

"Camille is helping me with the gallery opening. We were going to grab some dinner before we started. Do you want to join us?"

Your mind raced, what do you do? He hadn't invited you in the first place so obviously you'd be intruding.

If you stayed he'd be looking at you side by side, comparing Pomme to Pomme De Terre. But, if you left they'd be alone, getting to know one another or worse. Maybe they already knew each other better than they should.

In either scenario your insecurities would be winning.

"Tannie's getting pretty tired and I was going to stop at the Butcher to grab us dinner." Your eyes fell on his searching for guilt and found nothing but adoration. "But I guess you've already got plans so I'll just catch up with you later."

He passed the dog back to you, a new look of concern on his face.

"Okay, I guess I'll just see you at home later," he kissed your cheek.

"Bye Tannie, bye Y/N."

The woman smiled and looped her arm through Taehyung's as they walked towards the cafe.

"That doesn’t mean anything right Tan? It’s just a French thing I’m sure.” You must be going crazy standing in the street talking to your dog. “So, how do you feel about stopping for some wine?"

You frowned at your four legged companion and for once he seemed sympathetic offering a head tilt and a whimper.

"Don't worry, you can have his Steak."

Walking home in a daze you searched your memory, had he told you about this? Taehyung liked to work alone, surely you'd remember him mentioning he'd hired an assistant.

Your feet had suddenly become as tired as your mind. The blue mansard roof of your apartment peeked through the greenery of the blowing trees urging you forward, calling you home.

Rounding the last corner, the Pont Des Arts had been covered in gaudy yellow caution tape. In the hour and a half you'd been out, workers had begun pulling off rail sections of the love locked bridge.

You felt dizzy, was this a sign? The lock that you'd placed on it signifying your commitment was being taken away. Helpless you stood watching thousands of couples promise's to one another being disassembled.

Pulling your phone from your satin lined pocket your first instinct was to text Taehyung.

Y/N: I can't believe it, they're dismantling the bridge and taking away our lock 💔 I'm so sad Taehyung, It really meant so much to me.

Tears rolled down your cheek as you reevaluated the message. Instead of hitting send you deleted and replaced your words

Y/N: The bridge is under construction, maybe take a different way home later.

You hadn't heard him come home and had no idea how late he'd been out. With sadness and worry getting the best of your brain, sleep seemed like the only way to curb your anxiety. It had been quite an effective method until you found yourself wide awake tiptoeing through your house in the wee hours of the morning.

The worn floorboards creaked underneath your slow step, the vintage wood was cold to the touch of your bare feet. The old apartment was drafty on the best of days but 4 am carried its own specific type of chill.

A shiver ran up your spine, perhaps one of Le Marais famous revolutionary ghosts had joined in on the quest to find your boyfriend. Or maybe it was just the ominous feeling in the pit of your stomach that the universe was trying to tell you something.

A faint light glowed yellow under the warped door at the end of the hallway and the sounds of Thelonious Monk's piano drifted through the air the closer you got.

The painted metal door handle gave way opening to a wall of heat from the radiators lining the enormous windows.

"Go figure I'd find you in the warmest room in the house."

He was shirtless and seemingly debating the fate of the canvas before him. With his paintbrush clenched between his teeth he turned, a huge smile warming you instantly.

"Why aren't you in bed?" He set the brush down and walked over to wrap you in his embrace.

"I don't like sleeping without you, you're the only thing that keeps me warm in that freezer of a bedroom."

You stood on your tiptoes to place a peck on his lips.

"What are you working on? Is it for the gallery?"

He sighed heavily, "Just another Lavender Field I guess. I'm so uninspired. Why won't you just let me paint you, hmm?"

His fingers splayed over the lace covered small of your back pulling you in tighter. "What are you so afraid of."

"Tae," you buried your face into the crook of his neck. "Isn't the point of art painting things that people want to look at? You should be painting women like Camille not me."

Pressed to his chest you swear you heard his breath halt. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully before he spoke softly.

"Camille is pretty but there is absolutely nothing unique or inspiring about her."

He kissed the top of your head before tugging on your chin to make you look at him.

"You are the most beautiful woman in the world, but you are a terribly uncooperative muse."

"I don't want to be Tae, I'm just afraid"

"What is there to be afraid of? It's just you and me, If you don’t like it I'm the only one who will see it."

"That's it though, what if…" a tear slipped from your eye, "What if you don't like what you see, what if painting me makes you see all my flaws. I can't stand looking in the mirror for 5 minutes and you want to immortalize my every imperfection on a canvas."

His face was soft and serious, the lights from the city streaming through the large windows across his honey skin.

"Sweetheart, how do I make you believe me? I never want you to be uncomfortable but I think if I can show you how you look through my eyes you'll understand what my heart sees every time I look at you.”

Stepping back from him you nodded. Sliding the thin straps off your shoulders you stepped out of the white lace puddle that now lay at your feet.

"Okay."

His face lit up like he'd received divine inspiration.

"I have an idea."

He scurried for a palate, squeezing colors on it like a man possessed. Rummaging for the right brushes he returned presenting them to you like a cat who'd dragged home a mouse.

"Trust me?"

You nodded, "I do."

Loading his brush with paint you stood waiting for him to lay the first stroke to the oversize canvas leaning on the wall beside you.

Raising the tool to his mouth he exhaled a warm breath over it as if trying to take the chill off.

"I've never seen this technique before"

"It's because I've only just invented it."

He ran the paintbrush down your torso sending a shiver from head to toe.

You gasped, "You're not just painting me... you're literally painting Me?"

The biggest smile overtook his face, "You said you trusted me."

Trying to remain still and not ask questions you watched him work. Diligently mixing colors and trading brushes his design slowly revealed itself.

"Are you painting me as starry night?"

He stepped back to admire his work. "Like the stars, you guide and inspire me. I think it captures your spirit."

He shifted the canvas so it was flat to the wall.

"Come over here." He reached for your hand, "Are you ready? I want you to press yourself against it."

"Here?"

Sliding in close behind you he raised your arms into position, holding them up.

"Like this, right here."

His breath felt hot on your skin and your nipples hardened with his words. Gently he used his body weight to press you onto the canvas.

"Now step back to me slowly."

Pulling back, the paint had transferred to the canvas. It was stamped with starry breasts, stomach and thighs, it was you and it was beautiful. He dragged his lips down your shoulder as you stood looking at it.

"Now let's do the right side."

You repeated the process but this time you could feel him growing hard against you. His hands trailed down your sides and his lips moved warm against your ear.

"You've never been sexier."

His rumbles of admiration set your insides on fire.

"Taehyung I want you."

All the gentle brush strokes and touching had left you aroused aching for him to fill you.

"Do you need me to take care of you baby?"

He slid his cloth covered cock over your bare ass, grinding, teasing, slowly torturing your needy cunt.

"Fuck you until you're screaming my name?"

Sliding two long fingers deep inside you he held them there motionless.

Leaning over you, dominating, he growled into your ear.

"Show me how you like it, fuck my fingers like you want to fuck my cock."

You clenched immediately around his digits and he laughed, "that's my dirty girl, now use me to make yourself feel good."

Throbbing wet and desperate you used his hand to pleasure yourself. Harder and deeper it felt good but it wasn't him.

"Tae, It's not enough I need your cock."

He snickered again, "why is that, maybe you should tell me."

He reached his free hand around to pinch your nipple.

The truth was, nothing could satisfy you once you'd had him inside you. He was huge and perfect and he knew how insatiable you were for him.

"I need you to stretch me, wanna feel you against my cervix fucking me so hard."

You sounded whiny and it flipped the switch inside him from teasing to wanting instant gratification.

Pulling his hand away from your breast he undid his pants and kicked them away. His erection fell against your ass as he pressed you back to the center of the canvas.

"Right here, arms up for me."

You did as you were told as he took a stance behind you lining himself with your entrance. He could be the most generous gentle lover when needed but right now you both wanted something animalistic and dirty.

Thrusting hard and deep your whole body slid in an upward motion streaking the paint vertically onto the canvas.

"Fuck."

It was pleasure, it was pain and it was satisfying to your core.

"Is that enough for you?" His large hand feel heavy against your ass.

"Harder."

"Such a greedy little girl you are."

Another thrust and you were seeing stars. Splayed across the canvas your cheek dragged through the midnight blue acrylic.

Trying to desperately catch your breath your mouth hung open panting the words fuck me and faster while he pumped furiously into you.

His fingertips traveled from their grip on your hip to the protruding bud engorged with arousal that lay starved for attention between your thighs. He pressed and rolled your clit softly in contradiction to the rough pounding your pussy was taking.

"Tae."

His name moaned out of your mouth and it was the only signal he needed to know he'd done his job. He slowed his hips and pulled you down impaling you onto his cock until your walls convulsed around him. He held you there, still for a minute until your senses had come back and you were able to stand on your own.

His mouth hung open in a grin while his erection still stood hungry for more.

Pulling the canvas from the wall he laid it on the ground.

"I think this painting needs some pretty little knee marks on it."

"Show me where." It was your turn to tease.

He pointed where he wanted you to kneel and shoved his finger into your mouth.

"Right there, and right here," he stroked your tongue with his thumb.

He pulled his finger away and rubbed his tip around your lips.

Opening up wide for him he gently began fucking your mouth. Head was always a challenge given his size so it was never rushed.

Gingerly you wrapped your hands around him stroking the length that didn't fit in your mouth. His head was thrown back, eyes closed as puffs of air heaved from his chest in pleasure.

He was getting close, his now careless thrusts began making you choke around him.

"Fuck, sorry," he pulled back.

You kitten licked and sucked at his tip while he wrapped his hand tightly around himself and began rubbing.

You looked up at him from the position on your knees. His beautiful body was covered in paint splatters everywhere it had connected with yours

"Fuck Tae, I love watching you touch yourself."

"Yeah?" he took a long stroke thumbing the tip.

"Yeah," you could feel yourself getting worked up again.

"Lay back. "He stood over you, "Can you see how beautiful I think you are now?" His hands wandered between his legs and he rubbed his balls with one while he resumed stroking with the other. "How sexy I think you are?"

His words washed over you, arousal peaking you nipples.

"When I can't find inspiration I imagine you just like this and I masturbate thinking about your perfect tits."

Your pussy was pulsing at the thought of him in here clearing his head by milking himself.

"Can you touch yourself for me? Give my imagination something to use next time I'm stuck in here?"

You nodded, breath heavy in anticipation of cumming again for him.

"Stick your fingers in your pussy for me."

You did, moaning instantly. You were sensitive, every nerve was lit like a fuse ready to explode. Pumping your fingers in time with his strokes you were both unravelling quickly.

His exasperated breathing got louder signaling his immanent release. Picking up speed he came in warm droplets that landed on you and over the canvas on which you lay.

So turned on watching him you finished your own orgasm mere seconds after he did.

Opening his eyes looking down at you shocked he smiled, "Did we just do that?" He held out his hand to help you up.

"Yeah, I think we did." you blushed.

Grabbing a clean drop cloth from the shelf he draped it around you as you both stood looking over the painting.

"It's really not bad, I can still make out the important parts. The way the stars smeared looks intentional like their shooting through the sky."

Laughing you shook your head, "It's definitely an abstract."

"As are you," he turned you to the mirror. Painted cheeks, wild hair, dried yellow stars flaking off the skin of your stomach.

"Let's go out!” He abruptly declared. “I want to see you all messy and fucked out with the Eiffel Tower as a backdrop."

"You're crazy Taehyung, What will people think?"

"They'll think they're in Paris and that an artist and his muse just made wild passionate love in the wee hours of the morning because they couldn't stand to keep their hands off of one another."

He grabbed his coat from the corner and tied the belt tightly around your waist.

Placing his hands on your cheeks and cradling your face his lips pressed and lingered against yours.

"They'll think, that must be what true love looks like and they’ll all be jealous."

Taking leisurely steps across the bridge the quiet of dawn was only broken by the water lapping beneath you. The absence of the locks amplified the little wakes and you tried to mentally record them as one of the many new memories you'd made tonight.

Coffee in one hand and Taehyung's in the other. He pulled pieces of chocolatine from the bag tucked under his arm and fed them to you as you walked.

"I don't think I'm ever going to get over the fact you don't like coffee." You took a big sip.

"It's strategic. If I had to hold a coffee and the pastry bag I wouldn't be able to hold your hand."

He stopped abruptly lightly jarring your arm.

"Hey, Did you know that right here, this is the exact spot we first met."

His dark eyes reflected the lamplight just like they did as he looked at you that night.

"You were leaning over the rail," he pointed, "right here, waving to the passengers in the boats."

"Ughh, I was such a tourist." You laughed in retrospect.

He took the coffee from your hand and set it on the base of the lamppost.

"Go pose for me, I want to take your picture so I can paint you from the night we met, I'll even add the locks back in."

"It won't be the same." You sighed, "I'm covered in paint, my hair's a mess and all I have on is your trench coat."

"You're crazy if you think I don't remember everything about the way you looked. How that loose strand of hair fell," he tucked your hair behind your ear, "and still falls over your eye. You had on that green sweater, I remember It was so soft against my fingertips when I reached out to hold your hand.”

He kissed you and whispered, "Let me have that moment again."

"You're such a hopeless romantic my love." You smiled fondly and obliged. Leaning over and looking down you re-enacted the opening scene of your meeting.

After a few minutes of waving to an imaginary boat you turned giggling. "Did you get what you wanted?"

He was kneeling on the ground a few feet away looking pensive.

"Almost."

"Do you want me to do it again?"

His smile grew as his hand reached into his pocket and he held up what appeared to be a padlock.

"No," He paused. "I want you and I to be locked together forever."

Turning back towards the rails you inspected them closely. "I don't think we can Tae, they pretty much made them lock proof." By the time you'd spun back to face him he was standing beside you.

His large hand was wrapped around the lock with only little glimmers of metal peeking out.

"But this is a magic lock. I'm going to give you the key and you're going to have to make a decision, just like when we first met." He pressed the lock's pronged companion piece into your palm while simultaneously unfurling his fingers.

"Marry me?"

Shocked floored, not even an ounce of intuition had told you this was coming. Hooked onto the shackle an enormous pear shaped diamond awaited your answer.

"Tae," your hand shook and tears blurred your vision as you moved to free the ring from it's restraint.

"Of course, Yes." Turning the key Taehyung pulled the lock apart and slid the diamond onto your finger.

Under the lamp, on the bridge in the middle of Paris it was like lightning had struck twice. You stood kissing the man who'd once again changed your life.

"But what are we going to do with the Lock?" The bridge was stark under the first rays of sunrise and heartbreakingly void of the promises it once guarded.

"So superstitious." He put the lock back in his pocket. "You're just going to have to hold on to that key until the time is right."

Fresh paint overwhelmed your senses. Guiding you with his large hands he steered you forward for what felt like forever.

"Is the blindfold necessary?"

"In order to surprise you, yes, yes it is."

He'd been working hard on his new exhibition and it had been kept tightly under wraps. One advantage of sleeping with the artist was the private advanced viewing from the curator himself.

"Are you ready?" he stilled you adjusting your angles. "Hold out your hand."

"Oh, it's an interactive piece?" you chided him. "I agree to do one painting and suddenly we're Marina and Ulay."

Placing something that felt like cool metal into your palm he slipped the blindfold off.

Before your eyes stood a huge section of railing, thousands of padlocks adorning it. Behind the rail, a life size painting, a girl in a green sweater. Leaning forward she waved, looking happy, as her hair blew softly. Her eyes naïve, not knowing she was about to fall in love.

The words on the wall named the piece, "Locked"

"Tae," a tear fell in awe at his recreation. "You made me look beautiful."

"No mon petite, you make you look beautiful. Do you have your key?"

Lifting the chain from around your neck you held it up for him.

"Let's find our lock. It was closer to the top if I recall correctly."

"There's no way? This isn't a recreation? This is the real bridge?"

He laughed, "I know what it meant to you. They were selling pieces for charity. That's what I was really doing with Camille that day. She's a broker for the auction house."

The memory of your insecurities came back in a flash and your cheeks blushed pink at how foolish the notion of him straying seemed now.

"Here it is!" He crouched down holding it in his hand, your inked initials a little worn but still visible.

Slipping your key into the new lock you popped it open and knelt down beside him. Hooking it through the original it stood out higher than the rest and you both smiled.

"You're stuck with me now, triple locked." He fiddled with your ring suddenly shy.

"I don't need metaphors to know we'll be together forever Taehyung." You kissed his soft lips. "but I really like them."

The gallery had been taken over by a hum of excitement, the air hanging heavy, was full of compliments and bids. Everyone was clamoring for the chance to own a Kim Taehyung original.

You hadn't seen the man of the hour in a while. You'd been kept dutifully in one spot regaling everyone with the romantic story behind the girl waving on the bridge.

Finally breaking away you grabbed a glass of champagne from the nearest waiters tray and made your way to the back of the gallery. He stood by a painting you'd yet to see with an eclectic looking woman in large red framed glasses. Her bangle bracelets chimed together as she theatrically asked him questions about his work.

Noticing you moving towards him, his face pleaded silently with you to come to his social rescue.

"Ah, the girl in the Green Sweater!" She pulled you into her side grabbing and holding your hand. "Are you also The Reluctant Muse?" she pointed to the secretly cum splatterd piece.

Taehyung held back his smile, biting his lip.

"Yes, I guess I am."

"The abstract way he displayed your body, it's very sexy. You know I used to be someone's muse." She patted the back of your hand. "From the size of this ring I'm guessing you're not nearly as reluctant anymore."

Knocking back your champagne you reached for another, "I'm currently working on lowering my inhibitions."

Focusing back on Taehyung she continued, "I simply have to have this painting, it reminds me so much of my younger days."

He shook his head to reinforce what he was about to say. "Unfortunately this one has already been curated to a private collection." He winked nodding discreetly in your direction.

"Don't be silly, I'll give you $20,000."

You choked on your drink surprised while he reiterated his statement.

"I'm sorry, It's just a very special painting to me."

You had to interject, "Let's not make any hasty decisions."

Taehyung raised a scolding eyebrow, "The piece is simply priceless, I've put too much of myself in it to sell."

You smirked at his secret admission. "What if," feeling emboldened with confidence you put forth the suggestion, "we make it a series?"

Taehyung's eyes lit up as you explained.

"It'll be one of a kind, just for you madam."

Her bangles declared her excitement as she clapped. "Yes, I love that! But I have two conditions."

Leaning forward you both eagerly waited.

“I want extra splatters, I really like the way they look. And I'm going to need it finished in time for my party next week.”

Taehyung shook the woman's hand and grinned proudly at you.

"No problem, we'll start working on it tonight."

#taehyung smut #tae #bts smut #bts #Tae #V #JSFDT series #This is part 2 to an unwritten part 1 because my brain sucks

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euphoricsunflowers · 4 years ago

Text

imperfect — lee hoseok/wonho (the gang au)

a/n: not my usual thing so i won’t add the taglist!! but!! @nct99 nae this is for you!! i hope you like it <33

word count: 1.2k

content: set in like 1920s prohibition gang kinda era you’re basically al capone, mob wife wonho is what i’ve been calling it he’s basically just your sexy trophy boyfriend but ur also like Whipped™️ as anyone in a relationship with this man should be, gang leader/mob boss!fem!reader, i’m not good with terminology you know what i’m trying to get across, i was sad today so this got angsty, finished this earlier but again i was sad so i just now got my shit together to post it, uhh you do kill a man, warnings for: death, gangs and gang violence, and general creepiness

(gif by @imnameimss)

the tension in the air is palpable, even though you know changkyun and minhyuk are sitting at the table next to you with the others scattered around the area, ready to send this speakeasy into chaos the moment you give the signal, “so, y/n...”

‘you don’t get to call me by my first name, lee. you know that,’ the words are on the tip of your tongue, but you hold them back. you hold them back because portraying any sense of hostility wouldn’t be helpful in this situation, and you can see changkyun peeking over at you from your peripherals, “do you want a drink? i’ll cover it.”

��i’m alright, doll, but thank you,” the pet name makes you dig your fingernails into your palms in order to hold back the urge to shoot him then and there, “i want to talk about a possible alliance. our gangs’ hostilities serve no benefit to either of us anymore. and i think… well, i’d like it if us two could get along much more personally.”

“oh? you got a crush on me or something?” you chuckle, but he doesn’t seem to like your humor.

“my gang has a monopoly on the alcohol in this city, so if you’re looking to make more money, all you need is me, baby,” you felt yourself have the urge to throw up, and you’re not subtle about that feeling. he doesn’t even seem bothered, reaching out to place his hand on top of yours in the most disgusting way possible, “let me help you, y/n, we don’t have to be enemies.”

he really wants to test you today, doesn’t he? “alcohol is not a commodity my gang is interested in, nor are we in a financially bad enough state to accept help from you. now if that’s all you wanted to talk about, clearly this was a waste of my time—” you turn to get up out of your seat.

“his name is hoseok, right?” lee’s voice echoes in your head, and you’re locked in place, head ringing at the implications of him knowing that name. it horrifies you to your core, knowing your one weak spot is that greek god-looking angel that you practically worship, “he’s quite the catch i suppose, no wonder you seemed so disgusted by all my advances. i wouldn’t try so hard to resist me though, babe, you don’t get anything out of that besides maybe your dignity. though i do want to laugh at how an irritable girl like you is in charge.”

you take a moment to compose yourself, before sitting back down in your seat, making very brief eye contact with your right-hand-man shownu across the room. his words make you want to shove his head through a wall, but looking over at a friendly face reminds you that you just needed to wait a big longer before you could unleash hell on this asshole, “you didn’t need to insult me to get your point across, lee. i’m fine with an alliance between us, but if it’s me you’re more interested in, then i’m afraid i can’t give you what you’re looking for.”

“oh? avoiding talking about him?” he smirks like he’s done again and again this conversation, like it’s all he does, “i wonder why that is.”

“i have nothing to hide, lee. yes, you’re correct on his name,” you mimic the way wonho brushes his thumb against the back of your hand to comfort yourself just like he does, thinking about how he rests his head on your shoulder and smiles up at you to calm your anxious heart.

“can i confess something?” he muses, leaning in with another smirk on his disgusting face, “the more you stay so insistent on not going along with me, the more i can’t wait to hear him scream.”

alarms ring in your head and every inch of your body miserably aches to shoot this man right now, but you hold yourself back just long enough to whisper a response, “can i confess something too? if you don’t mind,” he nods dismissively, and you lean into to whisper, “if only he wasn’t used to that, but i make him scream every night, darling.”

the second you hear the signal that you can shoot, you do. the gunshot rings through the air. everyone tries to leave the building, fearing for their own life. the only ones left at this run-down speakeasy are you, your gang members, and the bartender that you can see poorly attempting to hide behind the bar. you set your still smoking gun down on the table as lee’s body falls to the ground, blood pooling near the gunshot wound.

—

his hands gently caress your shoulders and arms as you hold him loosely by the waist in a kiss before resting your head on his shoulder, swaying back and forth to no music, just the sound of your voices. you press gentle kisses to his neck, smiling as you hear his soft giggles, “i missed you so much, baby.”

he sighs, suddenly much more melancholy, “i missed you too. you’re always out there, doing some things i don’t even want to know about, and every day i wonder if this is the day you don’t come home to me,” there’s a sadness in his eyes that you know you’re the cause of. there’s no hostility in his words (there never seems to be) only the bitter truth that the life you live isn’t exactly the safest.

“i know i can’t promise to always come back, but i love you so, so much, my pretty dove. i'm so grateful that you choose to love me, as imperfect as i am and as perfect as you are,” you murmur in between kisses on his jaw and chin, working your way up until you reach his lips.

“i love you,” he mumbles, hands calloused from lifting weights but still so soft in the way they cup your cheeks, “i love you more than anything.”

“the rival gang leader that i’ve been complaining about recently mentioned you when we met at the bar today,” you hold him tighter against you subconsciously, like you physically feared himdisappear from your grasp, “i’m sure you don’t want to know what happened, but i just keep thinking about how he said your name like it was a threat,” you murmur as you rest your forehead against his, “he knew you’re my weakness. and that terrified me.”

“i know, my love, i know. just keep holding me, i’m here with you right now, and that’s all that matters,” he whispers, and you’re content with doing just that.

even after moments pass of just holding him in your arms, basking in the warmth of his presence, you still can’t manage above a whisper when you speak next, “i'm an even bigger target now that i killed him,” you frown, “you realize that you’re a target too, hoseok.”

“i know,” he closes his eyes, focusing on the feeling of you with him. it’s all he really can do for now, “god, i love you so much, please just promise me that you’ll remember that when you’re out there. when there’s a gun pointed at your head, please remember that i’m not that strong of a person, and i couldn’t bear to lose you.”

#uhhh how do i tag smthin like this ajsjdhss #like i honestly don’t know #this doesn’t feel subby so i don’t wanna call it sub wonho #much confusion #the gang + mob wife wonho #wonho #wonho x reader #wonho angst #monsta x #monsta x fanfic #monsta x x reader #tw: death #tw: gun mention

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justalarryblog · 4 years ago

Text

📄 Hometown by @allwaswell16 (2k) | Not Rated

On the day Harry gets his driver’s licence, he drives through the suburbs, heartbroken that he can’t drive home to Louis.

📄 Overkill by @fivesecondsofmae (4k) | Explicit

Louis was never going to get over how fucking attractive Harry was. How glorious his big, tall, curvy body was. The feeling of Harry behind him, hot and heavy, trapped on the tube after they’d been somewhere during rush hour. His thick hands, full of pretty rings sometimes, handing Louis a cup of coffee, then getting one for himself.

Or Louis and Chubby!Harry are as close as best mates can be and clearly are in love. Time to take it to the next level.

Top!Harry smut and fluff.

📄 New Places, New Possibilities by orphan_account (12k) | Explicit

Harry has always longed for Louis from afar, never sure exactly what Louis wanted, or if they could even have what they wanted. Even though Louis would sneak into Harry’s bed every chance he could, they’d never gone further than cuddles and innocent kisses. But when the boys are finally away from home on their first visit to LA, things finally begin to change.

📄 In All Its Imperfections by @BriaMaria (15k) | Explicit

From: Louis Tomlinson

To: Undisclosed Recipients

Hello!

I’ve asked the front desk and you lovely folks are the ones who are on the same level as me in the car park. I found a to-do list today that looked somewhat important because it has lines of poetry scribbled at the bottom that seemed like they might be for a card project. The stationary has a moose in a canoe at the top of it (and he is quite adorable). Let me know if it’s yours!

Cheers!

“Oh. My. Fucking. God,” Harry whispered, his eyes darting over the sentences again willing them not to make sense. They did, they did make sense. “Oh. My. Bloody. Fucking. God.”

The next thing he knew he was on the floor, staring at the ceiling, with a very concerned Liam hovering over his head.

“What happened, mate?” Liam asked.

Harry just pointed to his computer.

Liam bent over Harry’s desk to read the email. “What? This isn’t bad. Is that your to-do list? Did you finally come up with the inside text for those cards?”

“Leeyum" he groaned. “It’s what’s on the list.”

“Oh,” Liam paused for a beat. “Is it dirty stuff?”

Harry nodded.

There was more silence. And then, “Dirty stuff with Louis?”

📄 If We Have Each Other by @pocketsunshineharry / ishiplouis (23k) | Mature

“When are you going to accept my offer to go out again? It’s been seven years and you’re still saying no to a fun night?” Niall complains.

“A night in with Mads is a fun night for me Ni, I already told you that.” Harry responds while serving a customer.

“You’re infuriating, I just want my best friend to go out with me tonight, is it too much to ask?” Niall pouts but all Harry does is chuckle and prepare the coffee machine for the double espresso the customer ordered.

“Playing the victim, are we now?” Harry is so used to Niall’s techniques. “Well, I have good news for you, Maddie is having a sleepover at one of her friends so tonight so I’m all yours.”

OR AU where Harry is a single father and a one-night stand is going to change his life forever.

📄 In Dreams by @dolce_piccante (23k) | Mature

AU. When Harry moves to a new city, his new flat come with a number of sweet, anonymous gifts and surprises that brighten his days. Could it be a friendly ghost? Another friendly presence in his new building is his tattooed neighbor, Louis, who seems determined to put a smile back on his face.

📄 Love Is on The Radio by @whatevertearsyou / perfectdagger (sincerelyste), @star_k (35k) | Explicit

“So Louis, who’s the lucky person that will not only get to see Arsenal and Manchester United facing each other, but will also possibly become your girlfriend… or boyfriend? I mean, that’s a good catch, to ask someone out like this on the radio. It will be hard to say no after this.”

“It’s, hm, his name is…” Oh boy, Harry was about to pass out, he couldn’t bear to hear what Louis would say. Susie was looking at him, worried eyes watching him from the till as she noticed that Harry had simply abandoned his cupcake duties. “Harry. Harry Styles.”

To win a pair of tickets to watch Manchester United playing, Louis may have possibly lied to Nick Grimshaw on the BBC Radio 1 Breakfast Show, asking Harry, his best friend, to be his boyfriend. Problem is - Harry has always been in love with Louis and so, this Valentine’s he’s gonna see his dreams come true, with a tiny bit of a twist, in order to watch the football team they have loved together since they were kids.

📄 That’s What I’m Here For by @taggiecb (46k) | Explicit

Louis Tomlinson is a dairy farmer on a tiny farm in eastern Canada. His wife of nearly thirty years has left him and his children are all grown up and out of the house. Louis needs help running his business but has no idea where to even start looking. Luckily for him his children know just the man for the job.

Part 1 of Grace, Too

📄 Pinkies Never Lie by @alltheselights (83k) | Explicit

“I just think if we’re both into it and neither of us is looking for something serious, why not?” Harry asks, eyes soft and voice sweet. He pauses and gives Louis a moment or two to answer.

There are countless reasons why Louis shouldn’t agree to this, but in the end, none of them really matter. This will end with Louis in pieces, but he’s been in love with Harry for four years. There was only ever one answer.

“Yeah,” Louis answers finally, hoping his voice sounds normal. “Why not?”

AU in which Louis hates his job and loves Harry, Harry just wants a distraction, everyone else wants them to get their shit together, and Louis learns the hard way that new beginnings are only possible when something ends.

Part 1 of Pinkies Never Lie

📄 Dress you up in my love by @LucyStarkid (103k) | Explicit

Harry is single, and more than anything wants to find love. Agreeing to sign up to a dating website was a bad, bad idea. Niall’s bad, bad idea. Louis is single, but has no interest in relationships. Or so he tells himself. ??Harry is a lawyer, his boss, Nick, happens to give him a bonus, which he decides to splurge on a new work wardrobe. Louis is a frustrated designer, working as a personal shopper at Selfridges. Louis happens to be working on the day a very beautiful, but out of his depth, new customer ambles into their department in need of advice. Louis might have just found the muse he never knew he was looking for.

Featuring: Sophia as Louis’ colleague, with a somewhat unhealthy obsession with his love life, whilst being oblivious when it comes to her own. Liam as the ‘IT bloke from downstairs’ with the mother of all crushes on Sophia. Niall as Harry’s sport’s writer flatmate who spends most of his time making Harry’s life as complicated as possible. Zayn as Louis’ flatmate and lifelong best friend, whose cat, Noodle/Princess/Princess Noodle loves Louis more than it loves him. And Nick as Harry’s boss and one of Louis’ regular customers: is Imelda Marcos reborn.

📄 amaryllis by @hattalove (146k) | Explicit

“Where are we?”

“Um. A little while out of London?” Niall tries, seemingly the only one willing to not be mysterious and provide Harry with information, and. Oh.

“London London? As in, the capital of England London?” he asks, just in case he’d misheard.

“No, the other London,” Louis laughs, low and biting. He comes closer finally, the moonlight just enough to reveal a sharp-cut jaw and pale skin. “Sorry, Pup.”

Nobody’s ever called Harry a “pup”. Frankly, he finds it quite insulting, but he lets it slide to try and comprehend his current crisis.

or the one where harry gets bitten by a werewolf. louis is the mysterious not-quite alpha, liam and zayn have Things going on, niall is their token human, and together, they watch a lot of TV.

📄 This Multiplicity of Powers by @helloamhere (149k) | Explicit

Maybe in another universe he isn’t different. Maybe he hadn’t been given an impossible choice. Maybe he wouldn’t have lost everything and broken everything and then fallen impossibly, irrevocably in love with the first next thing that was kind. Maybe in that universe he doesn’t feel like he’s never breathing, always pretending, teaching the kids even though they all have to learn alone, trying hard not to read the headlines, and so afraid, every day, that he won’t be a good enough teammate to the superhero he can’t live without. He knows that love isn’t supposed to feel this way, slid secret under your skin like a surgical razor, an invisible war held close over the tender vein that keeps you alive. On the other hand, Louis wonders, had he ever known how to do it any other way?

Maybe there’s a universe where he doesn’t have to keep all his secrets on the inside.

But this isn’t that universe.

//an X-Men AU.

📄 Have Faith In Me by @stylinsoncity (183k) | Mature

As the son of Anne Styles, millionaire owner of one of the world’s most luxurious fashion labels, Harry has spent his last seventeen years living in carefree extravagance. And now he’s grown tired of it, along with the pressure from his mum to follow in her footsteps and the constant care given to him by her past assistants.

When his mum’s newest assistant, Louis, moves into the guesthouse, Harry determines to be treated differently. To be treated like an adult. Except Louis is not at all what Harry was expecting…

This is a story about growing up, growing in love and having the faith to make it last.

📄 Built Memories by @fresharold (211k) | Mature

“It was a comet.

The boy saw the comet and he felt as though his life had meaning.

And when it went away, he waited his entire life for it to come back to him. It was more than just a comet because of what it brought to his life: direction, beauty, meaning.

There are many who couldn’t understand, and sometimes he walked among them. But even in his darkest hours, he knew in his heart that someday it would return to him, and his world would be whole again… And his belief in God and love and art would be re-awakened in his heart.

The boy saw the comet and suddenly his life had meaning.”

» where louis and harry after long years start over again. they’re strangers again and introduce themselves, they relearn what they already know and what they don’t know, come with new inside jokes, create new memories and give each other a second chance.

📄 Relief Next To Me by @dolce_piccante (333k) | Mature

AU. What happens when a baker and a graphic designer meet via a very specific Craigslist post? Fate, friendship, food, and maybe more.

✨You can also check my fic tags for more fics! ✨

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theeightbts · 4 years ago

Text

The Eight, Chapter 66

Seven Korean Warriors and their Queen.

Always together. Finding each other in every lifetime. Their souls destined for each other for eternity. Sometimes as friends. Sometimes as lovers. Sometimes as spouses. Always together. Until around two hundred years ago, when the Queen vanished. The Warriors: Poet, Misdirection, Ferocious, Watcher, Mischief, Adventure and Passion, continued to find each other, always accomplishing great things in their lives. In their current lives, they’ve found each other and created the biggest boy band in the world. When their Queen is found, and The Eight souls are re-united, they have to figure out how to live, and love, together again.

Chapter 66

Summer Package meant they had projects to do even when they weren’t shooting pictures. The Muse was able to stay out of the way of the cameras, but still partake in the fun. She made rice wine with Yoongi and Hobi, and got to make her own kite. They weren’t able to fly the kites because of the rain, but they still came out really pretty and were fun to make.

Steve arrived the morning after her rain dance.

“What are you doing here?” She asked him, tone full of surprise, “I thought you had some time off now that we are back in Korea?”

“Well, Highness,” he smirked, “It seems the managers think that you are a bit of a handful and need someone to make sure you behave.”

She rolled her eyes at that.

“Did you remind them that you are a security expert, not a babysitter?”

Steve laughed out loud at that, “Yes. I did.”

The Muse let out a loud, dramatic sigh, “It’s so stifling with these managers sometimes.”

“What’s stifling?” Jimin asked as he came up behind his wife, wrapping his arms around her middle and setting his chin on her shoulder.

“The managers.” she pouted as she leaned her head onto his, “They brought Steve all the way out here and interrupted his perfectly lovely time off so he can babysit me.”

Jimin smiled and kissed her cheek, “You are a little bit of a handful.” one of his hands slid back around and grabbed a handful of her bottom.

She giggled at him and leaned a little harder into his frame.

The loud voice of one of the managers calling him pulled Jimin out of the little mini cuddle with a sad little pout on his lips. He gave her a sweet little kiss and caressed her cheek before heading back to work.

With Steve on hand, The Muse was back to sitting in the background behaving herself. Sort of. He did let her wander around within her parameters, but he wouldn’t let her dance in the rain. Honestly. Who did it hurt? She stayed well out of the way when they let her wander free out there. She thought she was more of a distraction sitting in front of them while they recorded.

They took a lunch break, and the managers allowed her to sit with them while they ate. It was mostly because she couldn’t get the food herself, but she was still glad. The managers were really irritating her on this trip. She didn’t want to complain to her Warriors at the moment. Maybe once they were back at the dorm or somewhere private they could all talk.

Her Warriors were in a bit of a rowdy mood that day, and spent most of lunch making fun of each other for this and that. The Muse frowned when the topic turned to very personal things.

They made fun of every little physical imperfection they could find on each other. She thought it was nothing but mean.

“I swear to God,” she snapped, “If any of you speak to any of my children that way, we will be having words.”

It got silent around the table.

Jungkook leaned across the table toward her, “It’s ok Yeppeun. We are just playing with each other.”

Shaking her head, she said “No. You’re not. You’re picking each other apart and saying terrible things that go along with some ridiculous version of beauty standards you grew up with, as if there aren’t literally millions of men and women around this planet that think each of you is the most beautiful person they have ever seen. Imperfections and all.”

They all fell into a thoughtful silence as they finished their food and were, once again, hustled back to finish their schedule for the day.

The whirlwind that was their life had them in Busan a few days later to prepare for the Muster. Well, one of them. This was the first stop. The next would be in Seoul.

Jungkook and Jimin were especially excited to be in their hometown, and both spent some time pointing out landmarks to her from their hotel room windows.

She was spending some quality time with Jinnie after rehearsal, he was showing her how to play some crazy game on his computer. She was terrible at it, but it was still fun. She didn’t know what everyone was up to, but knew that they were all in good spirits. She was left at the hotel, again, this afternoon while the rest of the Warriors wandered. The Muse was trying so hard not to be upset about it. Jinnie tried to convince management that he could take her out to a restaurant or to see some sights, but they just kept insisting that it wasn’t possible with the security man power they had at the time.

“What is their problem?” she had asked Jinnie when he explained that they didn’t want her to go out.

“Honestly? I’m not sure.” he scratched his head, “We have plenty of security. Plus, Steve never leaves your side when we go anywhere. In fact, I believe he’s right outside the door.”

She looked down at the floor, “I’m starting to think he’s there more to keep me in than to keep anyone out.”

Jinnie pulled her into his lap, knowing she needed touch and comfort.

“Come on,” he said as he kissed her on the temple, “Let me teach you how to play this game. You might like it.”

She lost every round and decided that she would take a bath so he could play uninterrupted.

All in all, it was an uneventful evening, and she fell asleep before any of her Warriors or Husbands were back, watching some movie on the local cable.

They all met for breakfast in the suite, and The Muse was excited to see her husbands and warriors. She missed them. Hobi and Joonie both got big hugs and a sweet peck on the lips for their good mornings. Yoongi pulled her close and threaded his fingers into her hair as he kissed her silly. Taehyung moved in and pressed against her back, kissing the side of her neck before Yoongi registered what he was up to.

Passion was not having it, and Jungkook jumped up from his chair, “Ay ay ay ay, Hyung!” as he grabbed his wife’s arm and pulled her to him. “Not here.”

He sat and pulled her into his lap, kissing her sweetly as he ran his finger tips down her cheek, “Good morning, Love. Are you hungry?”

The Muse nodded, she was starving. Luckily their food was already on its way, or she’d be begging for the little bags of chips they had stacked up by the water bottles.

Jimin stumbled in, face puffy and hair still a mess. He’d obviously just woke up. She thought he looked adorable. He plopped down in the chair and scrubbed his hands over his face.

Hoseok chuckled, “You’re looking a little rough, Jiminnie. Too much to drink last night?”

He grumbled and reached for one of the bottles of water on the table.

After Jimin drank half of the bottle, he sighed, “My brother was in the mood to celebrate, and my parents supported the idea.”

The Muse stared at Jimin, a pang of hurt slicing through her chest.

“My family wanted to celebrate, too, Jimin-ah.” Said Jungkook, “But I refused to drink with them over dinner. We have Muster happening. We can’t be limited with things like hangovers.”

The Muse was looking between the two husbands, fighting tears,

“You met with your families yesterday?”

They both nodded.

“Why did you not introduce me?” they stopped cold, “I am your wife. For better or worse.” she scooted off of Jungkook’s lap and moved to the other side of the room.

“Am I not good enough? Is that the problem? Am I not someone you would take home to meet your families?” she was losing the fight against the tears now.

“Yeppeun, the schedule didn’t allow..” started Jimin, but she was having none of it.

“The schedule was clear. You all left the hotel to do whatever it is you do while i’m stuck inside.”

“The managers have said we don’t have enough security to…” started Jungkook.

“The managers are full of shit. And so are you.” She turned to Seokjin, “Can we leave, please? Have breakfast in your room?”

“Yeppeun, don’t you want to talk it out with them?” His look was concerned, but she knew he would take her away if she needed him to. And she did need him to.

“Please, Jinnie” she sent to his mind, completely ignoring whatever argument anyone else was trying to make out loud. “I don’t want to be here right now.” her tears were falling in earnest now. She was hurt. She knew she had been forced on them, but it had seemed like they were figuring it out and forming relationships. But hearing them make excuses for why they didn’t want to introduce her to their families made her feel like nothing more than their whore.

Master List

#BTS #BTS fanfic #BTS fluff #BTS Smut #BTS angst #bts soulmate #BTS Warriors #The Eight #The Muse #Yeppeun #BTS fan fiction

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kuiinncedes · 4 years ago

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show me the places where the others gave you scars

shadowhunter!klaine oneshot

author’s note i guess lmao: so i saw a prompt list that had something like “i’d hurt anyone who’s given you a scar” and i ran with some shadowhunters!klaine 😋 idk if i need to explain the shadowhunter things... i think i’ll leave it out for now tho so if anyone has any questions about it please feel free to ask :)

might need warnings for minor descriptions/discussion of violence and injury? nothing too graphic, nothing that you wouldn’t see in a young adult novel (which is what the shadowhunter chronicles is so yeah) -- it’s slightly angsty i guess, i was going for hurt/comfort, did i achieve it who knows

i’m scared of ao3 so i’m just posting here lol 😗✌️ and it’s completely under the cut because idk where else to put the cut 😂 (sooo pls click keep reading if u want :3)

***

“Blaine, I’m okay, by the Angel,” Kurt huffs as Blaine pulls him into the infirmary and calls out a quick response to someone asking where they’re going.

“You’re not, really, but humor me.”

Kurt kisses his cheek. “Fine.” Blaine smiles at him from the side as he takes out some supplies. Kurt smiles back and swings his feet from where he’s sat on the infirmary cot, humming lightly and smiling wider when he sees Blaine holding back a giggle.

“Okay, let me see,” Blaine says, stepping up to the injured arm’s side. He gently holds Kurt’s arm and starts cleaning the wound near his shoulder.

The work is interrupted when Blaine’s hands slow and stop as they near Kurt’s elbow. Blaine inhales and Kurt’s eyes snap to that spot, seeing immediately what Blaine’s attention has been caught by. His heart starts beating a little faster, more out of instinct than actual tension or fear, which he knows is unnecessary right now. He takes a breath and looks up at Blaine expectantly.

“You haven’t seen this one before?” Kurt asks softly. It’s probably one of his most prominent scars -- definitely the one he’s most insecure about, so honestly, it’s not that big of a shock that he’s managed to hide it for so long, even from Blaine. But he’s still a little surprised.

“No,” Blaine murmurs, his golden eyes warm, close, safe. “Can I… how’d you get it?”

Kurt shrugs. “A training accident my first year at the Shadowhunter Academy.” He pauses, then continues with a grumble, “Although, if you ask me, maybe not that much of an accident.” Also if you asked anyone else in the room -- other than the person who was the cause of the incident, or the incompetent weapons training master who would rather fight and be destroyed by a Greater Demon than run a single effective, useful class, and especially rather than treating his only half-faerie student with any kind of respect. (Kurt had had to teach himself most of the weapons, finding ways to sneak into the training room after class or in the middle of the night, fighting twice as hard as anyone else for his proficiency in fighting skills as well as for acceptance among his classmates. He had done pretty well, if he could say so himself, especially for the former. And if the midnight training might have given him the opportunity to set fire to some of Scarsbury’s things… that was an added bonus.)

Blaine gently runs his fingers over the imperfect skin, sending shivers down Kurt’s body. “I want to hurt anyone who’s ever left a scar on you,” Blaine whispers vehemently, and it makes Kurt think, anyone who believes that Blaine Anderson, one of the best Shadowhunters Kurt knows, is only gentle and soft -- Kurt’s even heard weak, hissed in a demeaning, cruel tone, and that one almost sent him running with seraph blades blazing for the speaker -- is in for a surprise if they ever face him.

“Well, it might be hard to track down all those demons, but I appreciate the thought.” He smiles as Blaine rolls his eyes at him.

“I’d do it,” Blaine says. Blaine’s eyes hold steady contact, and the insistence almost brings tears to Kurt’s eyes. He swallows the feeling down.

“As if you could,” he teases.

Blaine scoffs. “Is that a challenge?” He goes back to washing off the dirt and demon ichor on Kurt’s upper arm. “I’ll have you know, I am Blaine Anderson, most promising Shadowhunter of a generation, blah blah blah blah…”

Kurt just grins and shakes his head. “You are, though,” he says quietly, and kisses Blaine when he leans closer to reach the clean bandages behind him.

Blaine sighs, shrugging, but he smiles a little as he pulls back despite the resentment in his eyes.

Kurt knows how much Blaine hates the reputation, the whispers, the jealousy, the attention, but most, if not all of it is well-deserved -- it doesn’t take much time spent with Blaine to see that. And fighting against it will be for another time; right now, it’s acceptance (and some teasing).

And it’s Blaine’s gentle, calloused fingers brushing against his skin, quickly and perfectly wrapping Kurt’s arm again, so careful not to hurt him and Kurt’s heart aches with how much he loves him, having had so much thrown on him from a young age but still the most compassionate soul Kurt’s ever met. Gentle -- but in a different way than what others see and make fun of.

Not to mention an incredible Shadowhunter… in many different ways.

“I think you should be able to use an iratze soon,” Blaine muses as he works. “You look a lot better.”

“Oh, so I looked bad before?” Kurt knocks Blaine’s shoulder gently with his.

“Next time don’t take a poisonous demon tentacle to the arm, okay? It wasn’t pretty.” Blaine grimaces a little.

“I’d do it again.” Kurt’s voice is hushed, bare and honest as their eyes meet.

Blaine swallows, looking down and then leaning his forehead against Kurt’s lightly. “I don’t want you to,” he whispers.

Kurt cups his cheek. “I know, honey.”

The demon tentacle had lashed out for Blaine, who had been distracted by a different demon, and Kurt managed to cut it in time, just not before it hit his own arm. It wasn’t fun to deal with it for the rest of the patrol, while relatively short. And it definitely wasn’t fun to know that Blaine was worrying about him, or to almost pass out before Mike could warlock-magic away the poison from the injury, or to have Blaine see that.

For you, a thousand times over, Kurt thinks, watching as Blaine finishes with his arm.

“Okay, your turn,” Kurt says, trying to lighten the mood. He hops up from the small bed and moves to the side.

“Don’t worry about me, I wasn’t hurt that badly -- ”

“You still need an iratze, honey, sit down.” Blaine laughs softly and obeys, watches as Kurt carefully draws the rune on his upper arm and the cuts on his cheek and collarbone disappear. Leaning in, Kurt gently brushes his lips over both spots, now with barely even a scar. “There,” he murmurs, “all better.”

Blaine looks up at him, the light in his smile blinding but Kurt doesn’t mind. “I love you,” he whispers.

“Love you, too. So much.” Blaine squeezes his hand, kisses him again, deeply, sweetly.

Kurt starts to deepen the kiss, pulling Blaine up and closing the space between them, but they are startled apart from each other when someone bangs on the infirmary doors.

Rachel’s voice rings out from the other side. “I don’t know what you guys are doing in here and it’s been a while of you ‘cleaning up,’ so I’m not coming in, just telling you we’re doing game night in 5 minutes! Don’t be late!” Her footsteps echo away loudly.

Kurt laughs softly. “Ready?” he asks, extending a hand to Blaine. They lightly swing their hands between them on the way out.

***

other notes for after :P

“for you, a thousand times over” is a line from the kite runner by khaled hosseini!!! i used it because it makes me lose my shit every time i think about it <3

mike’s a warlock for fun reasons 🤪

title from “willow” by taylor swift :)))

again please let me know if you want/need to know anything about the shadowhunter part of this!! idk how understandable it might be to everyone else because i’m absolutely obsessed with the books and just kinda wrote this very (VERY) self-indulgently hehe

thank u for reading 💕💕

#glee #klaine #klaine fic #glee fic #this was.... S O self indulgent XD #it started as an idea for my gleewatch gift exchange thing which is the reason for a couple super minor things #including the fact that rachel is in it at all lol but i just decided not to change that :P #and i decided not to make this my present thing bc it's literally the most self-indulgent specific thing ever lol #so yeah anyway #i think that's it lol #i feel fine about posting this rn honestly maybe because the target audience is me #so i'll be fine if people dont like it lol but yeah shut up #my ficsssss #shoutout to jas for daring me and sim for hyping me up to post this lol love u guys :))

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years ago

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Where They Should Be

Another combo of femslash feb and @winter-atla-femslash

Prompt(s): Buttercup (femslash feb) & Braiding (atla femslash) Fandom: ATLA Pair: Jinzula Summary: Jin braids Azula's hair and helps her confront her imperfections.

Jin runs the comb through her hair. She snags it more than once. Azula flinches each time. And each time Jin kisses her cheek and gives her an overly cheery, ‘whoops, sorry.’ Azula folds her arms across her chest and pouts, caught somewhere between annoyed and smitten.

“Your hair is so silky.” Jin muses aloud. “Mine is so dry, I wish that I had your hair.”

Azula wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. She isn’t sure that she likes her hair anymore. She feels Jin tangling her fingers in her locks. “What are you doing?”

“Has anyone ever braided your hair before?”

Azula shakes her head. “It isn’t a Fire Nation tradition, we prefer…”

“Top knots and honor, yeah, I know. But you’re in the Earth Kingdom now and I think that it’s time to try something new. It’ll look cute.”

She doesn’t think that cute is what she aspires to be; beautiful, imposing, confident--that is how she’d like to look. Cute is not her thing. Cute is TyLee’s thing. And yet she lets the woman play with her hair anyhow.

“Have you ever thought about shaving your hair?”

Azula jerks, “absolutely not!” She clutches her hair almost protectively.

Jin pauses her braiding to give a full belly laugh. “I was just joking. But I think that you could work a shaved head.”

“I’ll take the braids.” She grumbles. At least those could be unravel and corrected if they look as ridiculous as she anticipates. Jin hums to herself as she continues toying with Azula’s locks. Azula fixes her eyes upon the city streets. The view is rather nice from Jin’s balcony, the midday sun bathes green-tiled roofs in a soft, glinting gold. It sparkles itself over puddles left over from last nights rain. Azula smells the lingering petrichor in the air around her.

Jin steps back, “all done, have a look!” She grins and leads Azula to the mirror.

Azula’s stomach flutters, she hasn’t looked in a mirror since… She swallows. She isn’t sure that she will be pleased with what she will see and so she doesn’t want to see it at all. She doesn’t want to know what her face looks like since losing daily access to the royal spa.

She looks up anyhow. She watches Jin’s reflection wrap her arms around the torso of her own reflection. “What do you think?”

She studies her face for the first time in a while. She swallows down a lump that has formed in her throat. She feels the pressure of unshed tears building behind her eyes. It is as she had dreaded, her face is blemished and her light dusting of freckles are somehow more obvious than before.

But her hair. It looks nice. Her bangs frame it nicely again and she supposes that the twin braids are flattering on her.

“It’s nice.” It is the best that she has felt about her hair in a long while. She wishes that she could say the same about her faces.

“Oh wait! One more thing!” She turns around and holds up a flower. A little white buttercup and tucks it behind her ear. “Perfect.”

She isn’t perfect. But the buttercup is a nice touch. “I like it.”

“Great!” Jin smiles. She puts herself between Azula and the mirror and stoops down for a kiss. Her smile falters, “you don’t look happy.”

“My hair isn’t the problem.”

Jin sighs, “you always seem to have a problem with yourself.”

“Because there always is a problem. I used to be…”

“Too perfect.” Jin cuts her off. “I like this much more. It’s…” she pauses. “Authentic. But if it doesn’t make you happy then we can go back to the palace and they can fix up the way you like.”

But Azula isn’t sure that she wants that either. She does think that being perfect had made her happy. If anything it just makes her feel as though she has to meet some unattainable standards. They are all mostly self imposed. And for what? She no longer has her father to impress, she had well and disappointed him. She doesn’t have her nation to impress because they are moving on from their rigidity. Maybe she should too. Though the habits are so deeply ingrained…

Jin’s fingers rub against her cheek. They rub against it and with so much affection and she isn’t sure why. She isn’t sure how Jin can ignore the blemishes. She studies Jin’s face. The girl has her own share of imperfections. Azula is rather fond of those. She wishes that she could be as fond of her own.

“Do you like them?”

“Hmm?”

“Your freckles.” Azula specifies, “do you like them?”

“You ask some strange questions.”

“Answer them.” She should add a please.

“I don’t mind them.” Jin says. “Why?”

Azula shrugs. “I like them.”

The woman smiles. One of those smiles that has her eyes squeezing shut. “Yours are pretty too.” She ruffles Azula’s hair, knocking the buttercup out of place. Azula catches it and weaves it into Jin’s hair.

“Are we playing pass the flower?”

“Pass the flower?”

“When it falls out of my hair, I give it back to you and then when it falls out of your hair, you give it back to me?”

“Sure, Jin. We can play pass the flower.” It is those little things that make her heart flutter.

And the profound things that draw it to Jin completely. Jin smiles again, “I think that you’re perfect Azula. All of those freckles and those little scars. They’re all placed perfectly where they should be.”

She thinks that one of those tears has managed to leak out. But she isn’t distraught. She isn’t unhappy. She is so overwhelmingly relieved.

#femslashfeb2021 #Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Jin #Jinzula #Fanfiction

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minghaoss-archive · 6 years ago

Text

redamancy - jung jaehyun

summary : a prince who finds himself tangled in a forbidden romance.

pairing : nct jaehyun x female reader

warnings : mentions of prostitution, unprotected sex, use of profanity

genre : one shot, smut, angst.

character count : 26.100 | words : 4.7k (fuck ..whoops how inconsiderate of me)

this beautiful moodboard was made by my very talented friend @jaehyunay

Thank you a ton, my dear. ♡

listen to the tchaikovsky’s 1 hour loop of compositions and ‘howl’s moving castle’ to enhance your reading experience. (esp. valse sentimentale, swan lake and the nutcracker)

Jung Jaehyun had developed a peculiar obsession with you from the day he had seen you by a lake near the infamous dirty, unfit, dilapidated brothel.

You weren’t quite the artist but the man admired the ugly swan which sat against the gooey mud regardless. He thinks it’s a fleeting moment that love comes to him, whilst the dim sun shone against your skin and droplets of water collected on your lashes. It was the most foreign kind of beauty he had ever laid eyes upon. Usually, he would see women of luxurious lives, with even more luxurious statuses, with complexities heaped over their simple seeming facade.

They were all calculative, mathematical, everything he despised. They were all pearly whites, golden jewelry, intricate liquidised platinum details on napkins, they were everything that Jaehyun didn’t need. They could not complete the lonely prince even after thousand nights spent with him. No tangling of limbs could grant them his heart, a heart encased by tough spirals of distrust. They were all too complex and mundane.

Thus when in you, he found simplicity, delicate and pretty, he hadn’t the courage to let it pass. For he had found art, he had found in you strokes of oil paint, torn excerpts from the classics, in you he had found everything he had ever wanted.

But he was not a commoner, he was no ordinary man who you could let yourself fall in love with. He was a prince. He was woven from a different fabric than you. Your happiness, your melancholy, your good and bad had been worlds apart. Yet why had he brought forth such a burden in his life? Why had he believed the stars aligned in strings and ropes to bring you two together?

He knew you were a whore and from the way he sat transfixed on his saddle, gawking at you with not much abashedness in his eyes, he did not care much for it.

It was almost as if he bought you when he asked his most trusted man to take you to the castle. You barely had a say as you looked back at him - the sight still one which is hard to forget. He is not, after all, a man who can be easily erased.

He had his white shirt tucked into khaki colored hand stitched pants, he was in his hunting attire, brown hair falling in messy tresses whilst he stared at you with knitted brows.

Not one day in his life did he succeed in looking imperfect, he was someone beyond worldly beauty. It was an unfair thing, the way he made beautiful look like the easiest thing to own in the entire universe.

You raised your head when called and there he looked - like someone out of a painting. “Pay them whatever price they ask.” was his curt command. It was a silly thing, you think, for anyone to doubt that the brothel could refuse what a prince wanted. Especially when she is a whore.

His back disappeared into the serpentine trail of trees, his ebony skinned horse had become a dot, gallops had muted, whispers had died down, the bustling crowd had become a shell shocked audience and you - you were his.

His best man, perhaps his greatest friend, Johnny, had shot you a sympathetic smile back then just as he did whenever he would see you. Pitiful he was and never failed to make you feel small. It was an unfriendly thing he did, for someone who was so amicable. You could never look him in the eyes. “He is not a bad man.” He would tell himself more than he would tell you. And you believed him. Like incantations of a religion which ousted you.

“You are thinking too much tonight.” Jaehyun chuckled, watching you sit atop the velvety bed whilst he stroked his paintbrush on the pasty canvas.

One may think he had brought you here to fuck you like his personal whore. But such was not the case.

He did not lay a finger on you yet. He treated you like an equal. He was not common, not ordinary and unlike any other man you had ever met, unlike anyone else in the palace. Maybe that is why you were so drawn to him. He was the only person you knew who hadn’t treated you like a dirty old rag they could pick up and use whenever they wished.

But no one was allowed to touch you, no man could share a bed with you or give you their hearts. Because you belonged to him.

He had a passion for art, something he was a master of. On days when he would be upset, he would take you to the attic and paint you in forlorn blue hues and on the days when he was happy, you would be in bright yellow, pastel pink, off white; a multitude of colors.

He was an artist and you were his muse.

“Pardon me, your majesty.” The prince now looked back at you with an amused smile playing on his lips, his glasses sat along the bridge of his nose and he placed the wooden brush down. “Would you stand up for me?” You pushed yourself to your feet and watched as he took steady steps to you.

It was splendid how the buttery champagne glow of ordinary candle lights could make him look outer worldly, much more beautiful than he already was. You could not take your eyes off him, even if you tried. Especially when he undid a button of his nightshirt.

He came forward, forward and forward until there was little space between your bodies. Your heart rung in your ears and your toes tugged into the Kashmiri carpet. Why did he do this to you all of a sudden? Why was he playing with your heart?

You leant back into the bed pillars, red curtain brushed against your skin as he placed his palm over your head, face near yours, breath sending shivers down your entire body.

He stared down at your mouth, offering a peek of his milky body from the narrow split in the shirt, a silver locket hung loosely around his neck, complementing how platinum streaks of moonlight sat against his skin.

His fingers played with the thin knotted straps which held your loose dress up.

Once he caught you looking for too long, his rosy lips parted, glossy from the way the wet muscle of his tongue swiped over it. It is so hard to not kiss him. To hold him. To touch him. To feel him. It was so tempting.

But you do not wish to ruin your bond. You do not want to know if you are in love with him. He is a prince and after all, you are a whore. There will be no fairy tales written about you two. No stars will bind you two together.

You are two parts of a world which shall never be abridged. Your story is a tragedy. Not a romance.

So you turn your head away, eyes clamped shut.

Maybe Jaehyun could become every other man you had ever met, maybe he would fuck you into the mattress and leave. Maybe that way you could love him less, maybe that way you could forget him. Maybe Jaehyun would be blurred out of your memory if he lay with you tonight. If he treated you like the whore you are known to be.

But he doesn’t.

He huffed, nimble fingers pull the knots, push it off of your shoulder. Your skin burns from the way he touches you, rough pads of his digits smoothed down your upper arm and his nose brushed along your shoulder blade. “You are so beautiful.” He whispered against your skin as he gently kisses it, sucking in a red rose and licking it over. It is not the first time he had complimented you but it is the first time he had touched you. It was the first time someone had touched you the way he did.

You were accustomed to hunger, not want, not the way his fingers would graze against your skin, like you were delicate antique. All your life you had learnt you were of worthless, cheap but between the gaps of his index and thumb, you found value. You had learnt for the first time that night that love was a tangible thing and you wanted nothing but to hold it in your arms forever.

You bit down on your lip to swallow down a whimper.

“Step out of it …for me.” He dragged the article to your hips, voice incredibly low, like you were a secret he wanted no one to know, his eyes a fantastic dark brown and lustful.

This had to be the end, you reiterated. Jaehyun would bed with you and he would become every other man. He would not be someone you are gradually falling in love with.

But he had only asked you to lay against his velvety mattress and sat back in his chair, painting you again. “Your Majesty…I do not like that name.” He told you, an outline of his bulge forming against his pants when your fingers dig into the satin sheets. “Lovers do not call each other in that manner.”

Lovers.

Had he really meant what he said? Lover, lover, lover.

You told yourself over and over again. Afraid it would sound unreal if you had not.

This night was special, different from every other night you had spent with him.

Because every time he would paint you in colors, in ornaments and dresses from his palette but this particular night he had painted you in nude. Bare. Fragile. And strong. All at the same time.

Lost, love struck and reminiscent of last night, you had found him on one knee the next day, speaking portions of a conversation you hadn’t heard. “I swear to you as you should to me.” He told his mother and kissed her hand, the happy in his tone astonished you, it was like a tune you had rarely heard and you could not help but wonder what they had spoken of.

Days when the prince went away for travel were longer, the nights darker, the sun lurid and the rain more pestering. Those were the days when everybody dropped their facade of kindness. Those were the days the castle was not much different than the brothel.

You had readied yourself for an entire week of melancholy yet as his back descended into the background of cobalt sky, littered with dark clouds; you felt.. unprepared.

There was something wrong, terribly rotten, in the air, something atrocious, ahead of you that you could not put into words and it was wearing a glossy lavender gown.

The queen.

She was known to be kind or so you could tell from the way a smile curled around her face. She was everything you had expected of her..at first glance and she had become nothing you had noticed in the second.

You wondered if remorse is a luxury too pricey for the rich whenever she looks to you - with nothing but hatred, like you had earned punishment, like she would not mind seeing your head on a silver platter.

"He must marry a princess.“ She beamed at you, with a subtle cruelty masked beneath quintillion layers of primping “You do know so?” it was something she said to you every time he would leave, something she reminded you of. Like telling you that you could never fit into the glassy shoes of a princess. Every time she would warn you and it was all the same, with a stern whisper. Albeit today, her words stood in your miserable room like an ugly show piece, they hung in the air like a missed note. Loud they were, like how horses neigh acridly before carriages run over pitiable peasants. You learnt that threat insinuated he must marry a princess soon. Like he had promised her.

You learn that shock can come to you in mysterious ways, like when your father had granted you a brothel life to earn a shilling, like when you cried the first time a man had touched you, like when you understood why Jaehyun stood on his knee and how he could be king if he had a princess; like just how betrayed you had felt after, shock had come one night and made you weep into your cheap mattress. Shock had reminded you how you did not belong. How you never will.

When the prince returned, you avoided him like the plague. You had no reason to be upset and you would not fall victim to love.

At least that is what you told yourself when the cruel prince both surprisingly and unsurprisingly did not come looking for you. Perhaps it was what he wanted, to be prince and to marry someone who was not as low, inferior as you. Maybe he wished to erase you like the dirt made swan, maybe he used you for art, to flaunt his own talents. Because Jaehyun had always been beautiful, unreal and unforgettable and you ordinary, very, very real.

You had agreed to join the castle’s maid service. A proposal the queen offered to you with great kindness.

Heartbroken and dethroned from your unfulfilled dreams, you carried the silvery tray with great attention. Watching lukewarm water crash against the cream body of the small white cup, like imprisoned wishes, tumultuous and never freed. You wondered how easily your resolve may wear away when you see Jaehyun. it was the first time you would be encountering him after his depart, after all.

Your dress was a sleeveless lilac like all the other maids and you wore it well with your nullifidian, battered heart, a petal you looked like.

“Brother, dare I speak of the girl?” Hendery spoke with his eyes glued to your back. Infuriated, you furrowed your brows, he hadn’t even spared you a glance despite the tea table being sprawled with paintings of you. Selfish and ruthless, that is what Jung Jaehyun is.

The queen sat with them, nonchalantly chatting away about the town’s people and how she liked her soap. Chats which spoke of anything but your naked body on her son’s canvasses. Who acted as if the piece belonged where it was.

You wondered if Jaehyun bothered at all when you begun to forward his rose tea, the liquid a brilliant blushing quartz, like the way his cheeks flushed in summer’s heat.

Jaehyun blew at the crisp canvas, a soft hum escaping his pursed lips as he shot the younger prince, Hendery, a glance, urging him to go on. With his eyes still on you, the youngster spoke with a low voice.

“She was a whore.” Crash. It was no surprise. No matter how hard you tried, you could never rid yourself off of your identity. A whore. it was like a scar which would never heal. The liquid rolled down your dress in unflattering dark purple streaks, “Pardon me.” you winced, getting to your knees with bruised fingers to gather whatever remained of the poor little cup.

Your hand is pulled forward with a light tug and the sight before you almost made you gasp. Jaehyun had dark rings around his eyes which sucked the warm brown in them up, his skin looked barren and lips chapped. It was the first time he had looked..human, imperfect and absolutely devastated.

He parted his mouth, licking off the line of blood which formed around your injured index. You felt flustered when the warm muscle of his tongue swirled around the bruise. He must loathe you too much for punishing you like this, giving you a taste of him, mocking you, knowing you cannot have him to yourself fully.

You rushed to pull your hand away when he let it go, hearing the unison of clearing throats but again, he dragged it back, this time with a stronger pull. “What are you doing here?” You remained silent, looking away, biting back a sob. Your words begged to be said but you swallowed them down with a hard gulp.

“You informed me of her leave. You told me she was ill.” Of all the emotions you have seen on Jaehyun’s face before, anger was not one of which. He was always kind, smiling and emoting himself in softer ways. The contrast was so alarming that the room fell into palpable, eerie silence. “She is well now, as you see.” His mother replied with a bravery so false and a voice so shaky that you could almost pity her.

“You told me she refused to see me.” Jaehyun gritted his teeth and sprung up rather ungracefully. The queen now, slightly shaken blinked at her son, attempting to grasp at her words like a sinking ship would to its anchor. “She took an interest in being a maid instead upon hearing your marriage proposal.” She looks to you, lying smoothly through her pearly white teeth. “She could not see herself off before you had gotten married to the princess.”

When he stares at you like you are a traitor, gaze burning into your face, you let the heavy weight called a head hang low. There was no emotion on his typically vibrant, euphoric face, nothing but indifference, phlegm, a barrier. “Forgive me, my lady.” You turned, broken portions of both the cup and your pride in hand. You took your fingers away from him and this time, he does not stop you.

You do not see the prince for a day, not until the King arrives, not until you are summoned to set up his bath. Something no female was allowed before. It was usually arranged by his most trusted men. No one was allowed the luxury of seeing him bare and it rose immediate suspicion. See, invites of his marriage were being sent out generously to both the commons and elites. No one had see his spouse to be and the excitement of this reveal had thus begun to buzz throughout the entire empire. Banners hug in red and white, rose and the whole palace smelled of rosemary and chicken stew.

You sighed worriedly, avoiding the way everyone looked at you like you were a poor girl being sacrificed to a pagan demon.

Pushing the white, satin curtains away, you took in the enormous bathing room’s rudiments with widened eyes and a parted mouth. It was dimly lit by orange lanterns on each corner, the sapphire glow of moonlight slipping in and letting a waltz of a multitude of colours dance its way into the chamber. It smelled of honey and roses, something that reminded you of your long passed mum. You found yourself smiling, absorbing fond memories but only for a brief moment …because before you, dipped into the opalescent water, sat Jaehyun, with his back pressed against the enormous water body and arms rested on either side.

“Come here.” He said, face stern and voice sharp, like he was enraged. You placed a basket of his scents and salts and sauntered to the spot he gesticulated you stand in, just across from him.

“Sit.” You almost winced at the harshness of his tone, he spoke to you for the first time with impoliteness and it made your heart ache. “Near the water. Closer.” Had he really forgotten your loving exchanges? Did you really ever know the prince?

“My Prince.” You paused, not wanting your heart to be broken like the time before. If he was not going to be yours, you did not want to be so close. You did not want to desire him so much. “I am not your prince.” Dots of gold sat against his skin in droplets and his hair fell back in wet tresses. He looked like someone carved him out of ivory and smoothed out every imperfection there is with their very own fingertips- and you, much flawed, wondered if there was a world where he could love you back.

Your toes disappeared into tender circles of water and you watched him make his way to you in long strokes. Much thanks to his long arms. “Forgive me. Callous of me to forget your approaching wedding.” You had not. It was all you could think of. You do not mean to sound bitter. Reminding yourself that indeed, he is not your prince. Even so, you could hardly miss how the reminder of wedding was weighing your memory down, grabbing its throat and taking its life. How could you forget when it was the one thing you wanted?

“You might as well forget everything about me.” He mocked you, hands on either side of your hips, you instinctively parted your thighs, letting him slot in between as he pushed the cottony material of your dress upwards.

“We are equals.” A dry laugh escapes your chapped lips, like they had been glued for an eternity. Lost in a daze, a change in emotions so very sudden that you succumbed to the urge of running your fingers through his wet hair. Jaehyun took great offense at your cackles but rested his cheek against your bare thigh regardless.

You have always wanted to touch him and tonight just might be the last night that you would be permitted to.

“Why did you join the service?” He looked up at you with a peculiar droop of his lids, an inscrutable haze in his eyes. “Why did you promise to marry?” Ridiculed, he seemed, now with his chin rested and brows raised upwards. “I promised to marry you.” Shock came to you in many ways, like when Jaehyun kissed the wet skin of your inner thighs with a lewd smack of his lips and when he confessed to you, when your heart beat in your ears, when a happy ending raced towards you and you welcomed it with open arms. Like you had known. All your life.

“I do not understand what you mean-”

“I promised to travel overseas to ensure allies in the North, instead of father… in exchange of your hand in marriage.” You blinked rapidly, wondering if what you had heard was real and not imagined. “Father was not very pleased but he conformed finally.” He grinned at you, “I have 20 brothers, after all. i am sure someone else is more befitting.” The prince paused, fingers travelling upwards upwards and upwards, at pace so tantalizing, you scoffed impatiently .

“Your mother…” You sighed, tugging onto his roots as he creates a trail of wet kisses with his rosy mouth. “wanted me to marry into royal blood.” Your breath hitched when he placed a tender kiss to your clothed core. “Father dealt with her, I suppose.” He whispered into your skin, pulling your body into the water with such care that it made your toes curl.

“The person you are marrying soon is..” Jaehyun smiled bemusedly at you, indentations digging deep into his cheeks. Your hands were pressed against his bare chest, bodies warm and hearts racing. You could swear sanity had swum away from you when his mouth met yours. “You.” He kissed your cheek, your nose, the corner of your mouth and every spot there is on your face. “you. you. you.”

His tongue licked into your mouth, hands travelling to each bend and curve on your body. “ I am in love with you.” He learnt you like poetry, like literature and you let him. He parted, stroking your hair back from your face. “The chambers.”

All this time you thought you were his. You were his from the day he had found you. It was nothing you did not know. Yet when he touched you, stripped from your long, skimpy dress, you discovered a sense of belonging like never before. You were unprepared and flabbergasted when his fingers set your body ablaze with something as simple as a stroke. You were his, true but he too, was yours.

Jaehyun stared at your naked body with a faint, scarlet dusted on the apples of his cheeks, his lips are parted as his knees dig deep into the sheets. You could see the outline of his cock from under the silky white barrier of a robe, he held your legs apart and hoisted them on either side of his hips. “Do you not want to wait till I become your wife?” You furrowed your eyebrows, words coming out in broken syllables when he licked his index and wiped it along your folds. “No. I cannot..not anymore.”

He took your interlaced fingers and placed them above your head, groaning against your neck as he slipped into you. His pendant hovered above your face whilst his hips snapped into yours, noise unholy, unceremonious. You were convinced his name is the only word you know when your insides clench at the lewd sight of your lower stomach bulging with every thrust he delivered. You loved the feeling of being one, like you were never meant to be apart in the first place. You loved being his and he loved being yours. He held your legs up to his shoulders, which allowed him to reach a spot in you which made you feel dizzy.

His forehead creased, pace reduced to sluggish snaps as he said your name into your ear, like sermons, like words to a song he will never forget and filled your wet cunt up. His hips did not halt, instead they jolted back in, in slow slapping of skin against skin, teeth clambered down on your jugular. Overwhelming your body with so much pleasure, it quaked. Trembling with want, desire and love, love love.

You released with heavy breaths against his open mouth, voice raspy from moans so loud you would have thought the whole kingdom had heard you.

For the first time in Jaehyun’s life, he thinks he felt strong and not fragile when he is bare. He held your body, in sweaty sheets and not felt a bit dirty, he felt enamored, contented and incredibly in love, never to be alone again, to stay endless nights in the same fashion, in the arms of the woman he would spend the rest of his life with.

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